6-3-13<\/p>\n
Do you have memories that come unbidden to your mind? There is one I have recalled a thousand times through the years. Not a bad recollection; in all, a good memory; but it convicts me \u2013 there is always a little wince that accompanies it.<\/p>\n
Decades ago, before I married, I worked in Manhattan for a newspaper syndicate, editing comics and columns. Often I worked late and would walk cross-town in the dark to catch a late train. But one evening it was bitterly cold, and I hopped a bus. As I settled into my seat I overheard an elderly couple behind me sharing the fact that the icy cold obliged them, too, to take the bus despite the fact that an occasional bus fare affected their meager budgets.<\/p>\n
It was hard not to listen, as they sat right behind me. They were friends, maybe closer than friends. She shared some cute facts about what she had done during the day: little babies she saw; fancy window displays; how she called to a lady who had dropped her gloves; and how she couldn\u2019t wait to meet her companion for what was this impromptu and warm bus ride. For his part, he told little stories about people he met and conversations he had. A magazine article he read at the Public Library; music he heard outside the Record Hunter store. They had each stopped at churches during their day. With delight, he said he bought some hot chestnuts. He opened the bag and they shared them.<\/p>\n
This sounds almost charming, but \u2013 shame on me \u2013 I let other senses trump my sentimentality. I turned my head as if to look at something out the window, and could see that they were as ragged as could be. Today, in political correctness, they would be filed away as \u201chomeless.\u201d They probably had homes, or shelters, but anyway were clearly in extremely straitened circumstances. They exuded an aroma \u2013 wet clothes on a warm bus \u2013 that was redolent of urine and other city smells. Shame on me, I moved to another seat.<\/p>\n
My new seat, however, let me observe them better. They took joy in each other\u2019s stories and little gifts, in each other\u2019s smiles and eyes. It is a clich\u00e9 to say they didn\u2019t care about each other\u2019s clothes or fragrance; and I didn\u2019t know about their commitments or relations, but they loved each other. They loved being with each other. I don\u2019t think I have ever seen another couple so much in love as those two raggedy denizens of the bus. <\/p>\n
I shed tears for them \u2013 not in pity, not at all. I was touched, I was envious, I was scolding myself: I almost missed, and dismissed, an example of pure and unconditional love as we seldom see in this life. I realized this was a manifestation of Jesus\u2019 love for us. Jesus could have been the dispenser of love as I beheld; He should always be the recipient of love that we are told to share \u201ceven unto the least of these.\u201d <\/p>\n
And\u2026 I had a sense that these people were, in a way, manifestations of myself relative to Jesus. Believe me, for I know: there is no one more raggedy, at times, and stinky too, than I. I am speaking metaphorically \u2013 but not sarcastically. There we sit, ungainly, unattractive, reeking of sin and who knows what else\u2026 and Jesus comes alongside us with a smile. And joyful words. And little gifts. In a warm, comforting place. With the assurance of friendship. More: love. Pure and unconditional. <\/p>\n
How odd, I thought then, and think now, a thousand recollections later. Finding another person who shares such love, in this world, is actually a rare occurrence, precious and to be cherished.<\/p>\n
\u2026 when the love of Jesus, freely offered and available to every one of us \u2013 especially those who need it most \u2013 is often ignored or rejected. Odd, and sad.<\/p>\n
Those raggedy denizens of the bus were happier, and luckier \u2013 that is, more blessed \u2013 than they knew, I thought. God bless them. But on second thought, I think they knew quite well how happy and \u201clucky\u201d they were indeed. And such a realization, when it happens to any of us, is even rarer than the fact. <\/p>\n
How often do we say \u201cGod bless you\u201d? How much more often should we recognize reality, and encourage people, and say, \u201cGod blessed you!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have learned how to be content with whatever I have\u201d (Philippians 4:11b).<\/p>\n
+ + + <\/p>\n
Approaching Jesus, or receiving Him, surely is a \u201ccome as you are\u201d party. Not only are there no conditions He places on fellowship, or healing our wounds, or receiving our confessions or needs \u2013 it would be as ridiculous as thinking we have to bathe before we take a shower. He already knows not only who we are, already, but how we are. So we approach Him \u201cJust As I Am.\u201d There is powerful meaning in the old hymn, here sung in a Celtic version by Eden\u2019s Bridge. Designed by the great Beanscot Channel.<\/p>\n