“You are to eat or drink nothing,
nor to return by the way you came.”
1 Kings 13:9
I walked home from the park by a different way this
morning. Not a big change; just Conrad Sauer instead of
Shadowdale. And on my way home I met a man I
rarely see anymore. He is a neighbor of ours,
but lives toward the east end of the street and works nights, so he isn’t out
during the day much and I guess he has already gone to work when we are out for
an evening stroll. I used to see him in
he early mornings when he was coming home from work. Around 5:30 or 6am he’d come pulling into his
driveway usually just as I was pausing to put Mrs. V’s newspaper by her front
door. She lives across the street from
him. Normally we would wave, say good
morning. Things like that. Maybe get as far as the weather if we were feeling
chatty. Rarely, but on occasion, he
would ask about the kids. After his divorce, the conversation got even more
stoic. We would nod, raise a hand, at most
our socializing would extend as far as a greeting. Nothing more.
Now, usually my walking path is very routine. I go east to Conrad Sauer and then turn on
Londonderry back to Shadowdale and head to the park. The way home is straight
Shadowdale. Basically, I pretty much return the way I came. But this morning I was reading 1 Kings 13 about
the “man of God” who was given the order not to eat or drink or return by the
way he came, and when he disobeys things don’t go so well for him. So, I
thought –let me try it. I will change my route a little. See what happens.
Coming home, I noticed that the recycle truck must have
come. The lids to the green bins were open and there were a few messes in the
street where recycled paper and plastic and cans had spilled. If you read my post about my red
pants and picking up trash, you’ll know I am one of those neighbors
who doesn’t like to just walk past a mess.
Especially when there is an open can so nearby. So, coming around the corner I don’t normally return by I saw a few
plastic bottles and cans in front of the driveway of the corner house. And a
tipped over recycle bin. Without too much hesitation, I picked up the bin and
started picking up the mess. And when I
finished I was feeling pretty good about myself. I’d done my walk –burned enough calories to
enjoy a croissant, I hoped—and even done a good deed for a neighbor. This Bible stuff, it’s not so bad, I thought.
And then I saw my neighbor’s car zip into his driveway, and he
hopped out wearing workout clothes that made him look like he could handle a
few croissants and a jelly doughnut or two!
I have to say, he’s getting a little buff (if that’s the right word).
Anyway he hops out of his car in his skintight workout pants and t-shirt and
points to the street, where the truck had spilled beer cans and water bottles
and shredded paper from his bin. And he starts cursing. I don’t mean calling on
the gods to smite someone with a rain of fire and brimstone or frogs and locus or
skin lesions and boils…eegads! But
serious drunken sailor/hammer to the thumb type cursing! He’s cursing the
recycle truck and the [expletive deleted] idiots who drive it. He was standing there, basically yelling some
of the most creative expletives deleted I have ever heard outside of a Joe
Pesci movie. And in his skin-tight workout pants and t-shirt he starts grabbing
up beer cans and plastic bottles and throwing them violently into his recycle
bin.
My gut reaction was to bend down and start helping him, but
I hesitated. Anger frightens me. But, I was also a little worried that if I
started helping things would only get worse.
So, I nodded my head and said, “What can you do?” It’s a classic non-committal comment that
allows an impression of sympathy and compassion without affirming the actual
behavior. I think I learned that one
with my kids.
I stood there for a few seconds watching him work. Wishing
that I had the spine to just bend over and pick something up. But before I could summon the gumption, he
slammed the lid of his bin closed and wheeled it away cursing again –but a
little more quietly this time.
In the story, the “man of God” fails to follow God’s
directions; he is tempted by another prophet to come and share a meal. And because
he disobeys the Lord, on his way home he is killed by a lion. But, oddly enough, the lion doesn’t eat him,
it just mauls and kills him --then stands guard over his body (cf. 1 Kings 13:24-28)
without harming the man’s donkey. In the end, when the body is found,
the lion and the donkey are standing either side of it—just waiting. It is a
strange and fearful ending to an odd story.
In my version, I guess there is a lion, but instead of
killing me he yelled at his recycle bin and walked away. Walking home, I was a little shook up. I had this strange feeling of fear and shame haunting me. I think I was ashamed of our shared moment there. It was such an oddly intimate moment. That was certainly part of it. But also, I think I felt ashamed of my
hesitation to help. Why had not just stooped down and begun helping him? But even more, I think I was ashamed because I’ve lived down
the street from this man for almost 17 years and I have no idea who he really
is.
And the fear… Well, I’m not good with anger. I have struggled with that
fear all my life. When people get angry they lose control. Situations get out of control. I think I fear that loss of control most of
all. I think I fear being not only other
people losing control, but that somehow
their loss of control will envelop me as well.
It is --I think-- a fear of being completely and utterly vulnerable. That morning I returned I let go of my
habitual route, and came home by a way I had not gone. And in doing so, I saw
things –my neighborhood, my neighbor and myself—in a different way.
Every once in a while, it is important to do that, to break
your habits, change your way of thinking, take a different route home. It may not be easy, and you may start to feel vulnerable, but do it anyway. Even if
you are afraid. Perhaps, especially if
you are.
