Scanners Are Reading No Life Signs

Blessed are those who trust in the Lord … they shall be like a tree planted by water. Psalm 1

I went into one of our local mega-marts the other day to buy an item that was not otherwise available nearby. I’ll confess I have an aversion to using this particular store for historical (and sometimes hysterical) reasons. But I needed one item and didn’t want to have to order it online and wait days or weeks for it to be delivered. So, I put on my big boy pants, headed to the store, and wandered around for what seemed to be forty days and nights (as there was no staff to point me in the right direction). I really could have used a burning bush, but the only thing burning were my cheeks.

I finally found what I was looking for and headed to the Red Sea, er, uh, check-out lanes. The bank of two dozen registers were closed, except for two, and they were clogged by shoppers I assumed were survivalists considering the tonnage they had packed into their baskets. If there was a register for people with fifteen or fewer items, I either didn’t see it or it was also closed.

Now I had a choice. I could stand in line and wait my turn, or I could use the self-checkout registers (which I detest). I dropped my head in disgust and chose the self-serve option. I went to an open machine, scanned the item: Beep – “Item not recognized. Call for help.”

I turned and saw a clerk straightening up a nearby shelf and asked her for assistance. She arose from her kneeling; you could almost hear arthritic joints snapping and crackling as she struggled to stand upright, all the while muttering, “Yeah … I’ll … be …” (deep sigh) “… right … there.”

She shuffled over. Long stringy graying hair hung down over her face. I wondered if she might be a shirt-tail relative of Cousin It. She came and stood next to me and I had the sense she wanted me to scan the item again –  probably needing me to prove that I hadn’t pulled her away from her other duties for no reason. So I ran the item over the scanner again, and again: Beep. “Item not recognized. Call for help.”

Miss Helpful took the item from my hand, looked at the barcode on the back of it, blew some gray hair-strands out of her face and said, “You scanned the Canadian barcode.”

I looked, and sure enough, there were two barcodes. One was American and the other was Canadian. But they were right next to each other. I hadn’t scanned the wrong barcode; the machine had read the wrong barcode. That wasn’t my fault, and frankly, I resented her tone. I already didn’t like doing a job someone in the store should be doing. However, I also knew the poor woman, whose only goal each day is probably to get through a shift without being yelled at for things over which she has no control (like opening or closing registers or replacing staff with machines), wasn’t at fault, either. 

Once she realized where the problem lay, she manually punched in the code; I completed the purchase and thanked her for her help. I don’t know if she heard me, for by then she was gone. Once again her shoulders succumbed to the pull of gravity as she shuffled back to the shelves from which she had sallied forth to help. I could almost feel her eyes glaze over as she returned to shifting products around, filling gaps, and turning labels out in an effort to entice shoppers into making impulsive purchases.

Miss Helpful struck me as a woman who’d been planted far too far from water. Whether my observation was correct or not is immaterial. Sometimes we are the only streams flowing through the deserts of a person’s life. There’s no reason to make things difficult for others.

“Blessed are those who thirst,” says Jesus. If a tree can’t get to the river, we can bring the river to the tree. 

To those who thirst, we must always remember to be kind – to be living water gushing forth in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of newly released: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Is Dancing a Competitive Sport?

The Promised Land always lies on the other side of a wilderness. Havelock Ellis’ The Dance of Life (1923)

I was at church a week or so ago taking care of business which, for me, is running the audio and video equipment for our church services. I miss being in the pulpit and behind the altar, but I’m glad I can be a part of extending the church’s reach during this seemingly never-ending pandemic. 

If it hadn’t been for the virus, we would never have learned how to get the excellent preaching of our pastor, the wonderful music of our musician, and the devout worship of those gathered beyond the four walls and roof that keep the work of God’s people otherwise constrained. Those for whom travel, weather, or health prevents their getting out and mingling are able to join us for worship, adding their prayers and voices to those who ARE able to gather in person.

I have been feeling restless, however; two years of captivity has gotten me down. I am ready to break those chains that have kept me toiling (with nary a break) in the cotton field they call the Organ Loft. Two years. Can you believe it?

I found myself grumpily groaning about laboring through two years of (mostly self-imposed) isolation and confinement. But then our deacon, Dennis Taylor, got up to speak. He was the preacher, and he referenced our two years struggling with the pandemic, and compared it to the forty-seven years the Children of Israel were held captive in Babylon. Oof. That put things into perspective, didn’t it?

The trouble with my brain, though, is it doesn’t stop when it gets a thought (although it often cramps up). I looked at those decades of captivity and compared them to 246 years of American slavery (and another seventy-five years of Jim Crow). Hmmm.

It would be easy to feel guilty or regret (and those would not be inappropriate or uncalled for). It is important to look at our lives (individually, and as Americans) and ask what, if anything, we can do better, make amends when and where it is warranted, and find ways to move forward without trampling on those around us. It is important to ask those who have been oppressed what THEY think they need for reparation. Otherwise it is too easy for us to try to get off the hook with a simple, “Sorry” (and expect them to be satisfied with that).

In some ways, it’s awkward, of course. Have you ever gone down an aisle at the store and you and a person coming the other way try to find a way past? Sometimes it works smoothly, and other times the two of you will engage in a dance you haven’t rehearsed until you’re able to magically switch places and continue with your shopping.

Life is like that. I am sure that most of us mean to do the best we can to be honest, open, and flexible, and yet we get to a spot where it seems everybody is trying to move in differing directions, and instead of dancing our way out of trouble, we turn it into a competition. We’d rather fight over who has the right of way than yielding to the Spirit of peace and cooperation.

I have no desire to be a slave, except a slave to the One who said, “Blessed are the poor … blessed are the peacemakers … blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness … blessed are they who mourn …” 

I’ll admit I struggle with what Jesus said. I have an echo chamber where my ego’s line “Don’t let people walk all over you” competes with his, “turn the other cheek” and “go the extra mile.” There are people who cheerfully take advantage of God’s multi-cheeked children. It’s a struggle, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.

Lama Surya Das says, “If it looks like wisdom but is unkind, it’s not wisdom.” My job isn’t to get my way, nor is it to be a doormat (and thereby growing a fine crop of resentments), but to change my trudging into a dance where more of us can reach the promised land over time. 

May God break our chains so that we all may dance more freely here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of newly released: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)