The importance of walking with a friend (thoughts on Nebuchadnezzar on the rooftop)

“…while strolling on the roof of

the royal palace in Babylon, the king

was saying: Great Babylon! Was it not

built by me… and for the majesty of

my glory?”  (Daniel 4: 26-27)

I am a walker.  I love to get up early and go for walks alone through the neighborhood, down to the park, saying hi to the neighbors who are also early birds.  Over the year we have become a little sunrise community. And we notice when someone is missing. For instance, I had been sleeping in for a few days recently and when I got back out at my normal time, a man I see most mornings greeted me with an enthusiastic: Hola, mi amigo.

His voice was so full of cheer and welcome that I was practically walking on air most of the day.  Hola, mi amigo.  Not only was it nice to feel noticed, and greeted with such friendliness, but I have to say I was also struck by the words, the sound of the phrase: mi amigo.  My friend is what it means, but the sound of it says something more; that interior rhyme –the two “mi” sounds—gives this greeting a kind of warmth and lightness that the English phrase: my friend lacks.  There is a kind of delight in this phrase that endears it to me and endears that speaker to me.  He is someone whose name I don’t know.  Before now, I have always greeted him with a smile and a friendly, “Good morning.” But now, I think I can’t stop thinking about his smile, his slightly leaning gait, and that delightful greeting. And now, I want to say something more to “mi amigo.”

As I was saying, for most of the day I was delighted by the memory of that greeting echoing in my ear.  It gave an incomprehensible sense of peace and joy.  I felt not only noticed, but somehow, I felt loved because of the gentle and sweet words of a stranger. 

The next time you see a neighbor on the street, remember that.  A simple, sincere greeting can mean so much.

Back to my other point: Because I am a walker, I think I probably pick up on that image when it shows up in books and poems and movies. I feel a kinship with the “walkers” of the world.   And here I was reading about the king of Babylon strolling on his rooftop, surveying his own glorious kingdom and giving thanks to the one who built it: himself! For his own majesty and glory.  Nebuchadnezzar goes for a walk on his palace rooftop and gazing at his own splendid kingdom begins to sing his own praises, his own glory.  Life is pretty good when you are the king of Babylon.  He’s conquered most of the known world, has enslaved the people of Israel and now has a moment to rest and reflect and what does he see, what does he reflect on but his own power and glory and majesty. He is –as far as he can tell—the king of the world and he deserves all the credit, all the praise, all the glory. Because he did it all! And –as Frank Sinatra used to sing—he “did it, MY way……”

I have read the book of Daniel several times, and this is the first time I noticed that Nebuchadnezzar’s walking on the palace rooftop comes right after three other characters go for a walk in a very different setting.  And both times, in both strolls, the characters are singing someone’s praises.  In chapter 3 we have the famous story of the fiery furnace and Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. In that story three young men (Israelites) are thrown into a fiery furnace because they refuse to honor Nebuchadnezzar’s decree and worship his golden statue (another sign of his splendor). He has them thrown into the furnace to be burned alive, only to see them walking unharmed among the flames, “praising God and blessing the Lord” (3:24)[1].   And when the king calls them out of the flames, he discovers they are unharmed, not even the smell of smoke on their clothes or in their hair.  Even in their suffering they gave thanks to God and were delivered unharmed for the glory of God.  That is one way of walking through life. To give thanks to God for whatever we have, good or bad, to receive it and be grateful –if not for the flame itself, for the fact that God’s presence is there every day walking our path with us. Our amigo.

Another way is Nebuchadnezzar’s approach, to give thanks for his own glory, his own ingenuity, his own success, to give thanks to himself for all the great things he has achieved! Thinking only of himself, and his abilities, his awesomeness.  And what happens to Nebuchadnezzar after he goes for his walk alone (his solo stroll)?  He ends up going mad. He goes into a kind of frenzy and starts living out in the fields like a beast, eating grass like an oxen, sleeping on the cold damp ground, wet with dew, his fingernails become like talons and his hair like a bird’s feathers (4:30).  Placing ourselves at the center of our universe, building up our own egos with golden statues and mighty palaces, kingdoms of our own glory, leads to madness. Turns us into animals, or something worse: a self-destructive beast.  But, when we are willing to see that we are not in charge, that the world, the fates, God in all His glory, is actually in charge—then we can find peace even when we walk through flames. Even when the world seeks to destroy us, we can find peace and even a kind of joy that comes from knowing, we aren’t in charge. The world does not depend on us.  We are here because God wants us here, we are seeds He has planted and we are called to grow and bloom right there --wherever we are planted.  

I tend to like to walk alone. To get out by myself and wander.  But walking alone can become a habit, or even what we used to call a near occasion of sin. I could be tempted to become like King Nebuchadnezzar, walking alone and thinking only of myself and my importance, my independence and solitude, my worries and my concerns.  I can become overly isolated and "independent" in the worst of all possible ways.

To find joy and delight even in the hardships, even in the fiery furnace, even in this time of social distancing and quarantines, we must walk with others. We must share our gifts, share our joys, the peace, the delight that God plants within us. We must share it with anyone (and everyone) we meet. Because whether we are walking on the rooftop of a palace or amid the flames of a fiery furnace, we are never truly alone. There is another who walks with us. A friend.  A savior.  Someone we might even call--mi amigo.  We are communal creatures, made to be in relationship with others. Literally made for others.  Don't hide from it, and please don't hide your lamp under a basket. We need every light shining, especially now. Go out into the world and be light, be a friend, be an amigo.

---

[1] This part of the story comes from the Greek text of the OT and is usually included in the Apocrypha in most Protestant Bibles.  But it is considered canonical by all the Orthodox churches and the Roman Catholic church and is therefore included in the Book of Daniel in these versions. If it isn’t in your Bible, here is a link to it.

Recognizing who we are

“...the God of Jacob,
who turns the rock into a pool of water

and the flint into a flowing spring…” 
--Psalm 114:8

How often do we feel misunderstood? Or worse, unnoticed.  Unseen.  People look at us and see not a refreshing pool of water or a life-giving stream, but a jagged rock, a flinty piece of stone.  They see not us (at least not who we imagine we are), but someone else… Perhaps it is just who they think we are.

Sometimes this isn’t necessarily unpleasant.  At least a few times I have been standing in the frozen food aisle at HEB and had someone ask me where the eggs are?  Or, wandering through Barnes and Noble, I am occasionally stopped by someone looking for a particular book.  Both cases might be explained by the fact that I was wearing a tie and looked like I could be an employee.  But, explain this one: I was waiting at the light at Gessner and I-10 when someone pulled up next to me and rolled down his window. I thought he was going to ask directions, so I rolled mine down ready to help. But, instead he said, Hey! Are you a preacher? You look like a preacher.  (I wonder what he would have thought if he had seen that I was wearing my red pants!)

People have their ideas, their opinions; I still remember overhearing a salesman tell my mom that I had wide hips like a girl.  I was 8 years old.  That was 1967. I was in the dressing room at the Craig’s store at Memorial City.  All, I wanted were some hip-huggers and a Nehru shirt! But what I remember is that comment.  It has stuck with me. In my imagination I was a lean, athletic build. A cross between Peter Noone and Jimmy Wynn! Was it true? Did I have wide hips?  I don’t know. Do I still? Does it matter? I guess the answer is obvious; to an 8 year old boy it did.

No matter how hard we try to be a fountain, too often the world looks at us and sees only a pile of rocks (in mom-jeans). 

Anyway, perhaps because of my life-long concern over my hips, I try to exercise every day. I get up and go for morning walks.  It is something I’ve written about before-- my morning walks to the park; and over the years a part of my morning routine has become picking up the trash at the park.  I try to make the place look a little better for the people who come after me.  I’m not alone in my efforts. There are a few of us.  We have a kind of community.  No special handshakes or anything, but we know each other’s faces and we thank each other for our efforts. And when the messes get really bad, we offer sympathy and a helping hand.

But during the school week I am often out extra early—before dawn, so I don't see my trash buddies, and when it is that dark I can’t always see the trash --or what’s in it.  One morning I had the awful experience of picking up a pizza box only to have a swarm of ants come streaming out complaining that they hadn’t finished breakfast.   So, on this particular morning I was just walking, praying my rosary and enjoying the stars. The sky was beautiful and clear and the trees were thick dark shadows against it. At that hour the park is pretty empty, but occasionally someone would pass and--not wanting to disturb the quiet-- we would mutter a quiet good morning to each other.  Near the end of my walk as I was coming around the far end of the park to the street side I caught a glimpse of something in the headlights of a passing car.  It was a Burger King bag standing on the curb. I thought about just leaving it. Someone else will get it.  But, instead I walked out the gate. Picking up the bag, of course I found more: a cup and fry envelope close by and burger wrapper a few feet away with some wadded up napkins and a couple of ketchup packets.  Anyway, there I was bent over by the curb carefully trying to pick up a straw and cup lid without letting go of everything else, when I heard a voice call:  Hey. I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you doing?   

Looking up, there was the silhouette of a woman paused on the track.   After a few niceties, she thanked me for picking up the trash and waved and disappeared into the dark. Only after she was gone did I realize it was Sara. The freckle-faced woman in the hijab that I talked about in another of these essays.  I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it was her by two things: first, her speed. She’s a pretty serious runner. And second, and most certainly, as she passed under the dim glow of a street lamp I caught a glimpse of her head covering.

After putting the trash into a can, I headed home feeling slightly giddy. I kept hearing those words in my head: she hadn’t seen me for a while.  She had stood out to me, because I don't see many women dressed like that. Full body jogging suit and a hijab. But me, I'm just a goofy old guy who walks at the park. We're a dime a dozen! No one even sees me...  And yet...

It feels good to be noticed. Makes us feel –what? Seen. As if someone has recognized that we matter. We have value.

But how? Why had she recognized me? We don't really know each other. We just see each other at the park --and not that often.  I was out in the street, a good 15 or 20 yards away from her. And it was dark. And the nearest street lamp was half a block away. And my back was to her; I was bent over the curb picking up trash and… oh.  That!  She recognized me not by my face, not by my clothes, or even my name, but by what I was doing. She knew me by my action. 

And in that moment I felt truly recognized. Like I had been truly seen. And it felt wonderful. Almoast home, I paused at the corner.  My shadow stretching out over the damp grass, across a driveway and into the street ahead, majestic and tall --a reflection of how I felt at that very moment.  I looked up into the sky in wonder at the feathery edges of the tall pine trees against the fading night. And I remembered those beautifull lines from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, “As Kingfishers Catch Fire.”

“Each mortal thing does one thing and the same…

…what I do is me: for that I came.”

And I thought –yes. This is who I am. This is why I came.  I am more than the mistakes I make. The annoying habits I can’t seem to quit.  More than the foolish things I say in public.  I admit that sometimes I may be a rock, a real stumbling block.  But sometimes, gosh darn it! I can also be a pool of cool and refreshing water. And standing there I had the wonderful feeling that this person, this near stranger, had recognized that. Had recognized me.

Of course, there is more to me than what I do at the park.  For instance, in the 5^th grade a girl told me I was a good kisser.  You can probably tell, I am still very proud of that.  And of course, there is more to Sara than her head covering, her speed and her great posture.  But for the moment, I felt seen, truly seen and it felt very good.  Realizing that I still had to get home and shower before work, I started walking again. And noticed again my shadow stretching out before me.  Looking at it now, I realized how comical and elongated it actually looked. And I noticed something else; the shape of it bounding ahead of me shrinking slightly as I came to the next street lamp. Watching it, I realized there was something about the middle… the shape… in fact, the pockets of my walking shorts seemed oddly prominent. I touched them.  In one was my phone; the other had a packet of Kleenex and my rosary; but there was something else about the shape of it --of me... something about the hips…  Oh well… At least I was recognized. That’s what really counts.  Right?