[Faith-talk] Good Night Message for Thursday, March 14, 2013

[Paul]

Hello and good day to all of you, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of our heavenly King-Father and saints of the Most High God.  I hope that your day or evening are going well or went well.

I neither know the name of the author nor its source, except that this article appeared in the Gospel Messenger magazine several years ago, but it is entitled "A Gray Day," rendered as follows:

One Sunday morning in March, many years ago, I woke up feeling gloomy.  Worse than gloomy.  I lay in the sheets looking at the gray, dull light of early spring coming through my window.  Like an undertow, a great sadness washed over me.  I got up and made coffee, but the sadness didn't go away.  What's wrong with me? I'd fallen asleep feeling fine.  Life as an aspiring artist in New York City had its challenges, but I had things under control.  A decent apartment, good friends, a side job which gave me enough to live on while I pursued my dream of making a living as an artist.  Usually, I was just thrilled to be here in New York City, period.  Today the city seemed to offer me nothing.  It simply felt cold and lonely.

Come on, I told myself.  It's up to you.  You can feel good or bad.  It's your choice.  I had to get out.  There was something I'd considered.  Every Sunday at Lincoln Center was a nondenominational spiritual service.  Maybe it was just what I needed.  As I left my East Village apartment on the long walk to the subway, a strong wind swept garbage along the streets.  I pulled my collar up tight around my neck.  It was always quiet on Sunday mornings in the city, usually a welcome change from the fast-paced hordes of people.  Today the desolate streets only made me feel more alone.

I reached the subway and stepped onto an uptown train.  It was more crowded than I'd expected.  The din of voices grated on my nerves.  So many people, but none cared for me.  I shut my eyes and wished I was far away.  "Next stop, Sixty-Sixth Street, Lincoln Center," the conductor announced.  I pushed my way out of the train.

I joined the throngs of people moving up the escalator of Avery Fisher Hall and found a seat in the balcony.  The ushers were dressed in their Sunday best, but their cheerful smiles just struck me as false.  They don't really care, I thought.  They're doing their job.  Maybe I should just leave.

Before I had the chance, the service began with a meditation.  Then came the sermon.  Whose spirits wouldn't be lifted by the stories of people having faith in God under the most trying circumstances? Mine, today.  I couldn't seem to get past my own dark mood.  So what if other people could hold onto their faith, I could not.  I felt like I was drowning in grief, but I didn't know why, or what I could do to make it stop.

I have a good life, I thought.  I'm living my dream in the big city.  I felt even more bereft at the end of the service.

People poured out of the concert hall when the service was over.  My eyes fixed on the ground, all I could think about was finding a place to hide.  There were a few chairs bordering some large potted plants on the mezzanine.  I dropped into one, my whole body racked with sobs.  People walked by and stood in groups talking.  Suddenly I heard, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

It was a soft, caring woman's voice.  I didn't look up.  I didn't think I could face anyone right now.  She'll go away if I don't look up, I thought.  Please, God, let her go.  She put her hand on my shoulder:  "There, there, it's going to be all right," she said tenderly.  "Whatever it is that's got you down, it'll pass."

Just an ordinary woman, but her warm touch soothed me.  Slowly, I raised my tear-stained face to hers.  She was an African-American woman nicely dressed in a pastel blue sweater with a matching skirt, a string of pearls and gold hoop earrings.  She was so put together.  The spell I was under began to break.

"There we are," she said as I looked into her eyes.  I couldn't help but smile, just a little.  I wiped away my tears with the tissue she offered me.  The kindness shone off of her.  How could a complete stranger have such an effect on me?

She sat down in the empty chair next to me and took my hand.  "As soon as you feel well enough, I'd like to introduce you to a group of my friends.  They're downstairs waiting for me in the lobby." Someone cared, someone who didn't even know me.

I took a few minutes to steady myself.  "Okay," I said, "let's go." But just for a few minutes, I thought.

I gingerly pulled my jacket over my shoulders.  The noonday sun streamed in through the west wall of windows.  I felt warmed from head to toe.

The woman found her friends and introduced me.  Every single one welcomed me enthusiastically, asked questions about me and looked delighted by everything I had to say about myself.  The more I talked, the more like myself I felt.

My new friend spoke for the group, saying I was to be their guest of honor at lunch.  We rode downtown in a taxi to a popular bistro where the group insisted I have anything I wanted, including dessert! I'd woken up feeling totally alone.  Now I was surrounded by comfort and caring.  Maybe it wasn't my job to cheer myself up that day.  Maybe it was the job of angels, and some brand-new friends, to lift my spirits for me.

Wow, but what a story! I had similar experiences while in mainland China in 1986, and it was during one of our visits, to the northeastern city of Harbin, in fact, that our guide, who also spoke English as well as Esperanto, told me of how ordinary citizens solved the problem of eye contact with people who were totally blind.  You won't read about this in any scholarly articles about China.  Basically, a sighted person would squeeze yor hand and, depending on the tightness or looseness of the squeeze, would indicate to you how he/she was looking at you, a loose squeeze meaning a surreptitious glance, and a tight squeeze meaning a long look.  But we moderns in our so-called enlightened Western culture, and that includes our Christian culture, are completely unaware of this.  The practice has been going on in the province in which Harbin is the capital for at least a thousand years, according to what our local guide told me personally.  We have an expression for just such an encounter in Esperanto which is hard to translate accurately: "Samideaneco intima."  Literally it means an intimate and abstract quality with someone who is a member of the same idea, but in practice it goes much deeper than that.  Perhaps the Greek word "koinonia" best expresses it in a more widely known language.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, throughout this night or day and especially in these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul