Losing That Religion - Part 2

We are all the same

Time and change have an inseparable relationship. The shock, the incredulity, the dissonance of change morphs into reality, and reality tempers with time to become acceptance, eventually settling into the ordinary. For me, days of sameness soon became a lifestyle of being single again. But change came sooner than before. After 34 years of process control work in an oil refinery, I decided to retire from that work and I chose to venture into a second half of life pursuit: loving the homeless as an associate pastor at an outreach storefront church in a strip mall on Crenshaw Blvd.

2016

There are eight of us here this evening. Head Pastor Dick, Albert the worship team leader, Derek the audio visual guy, and myself. We are joined by three regulars, José, Wayne, Sal and a newcomer this evening, Ahmed. No meal at this bible study, but plenty of dessert and coffee to go along with the spiritual discussion.

Pastor Dick is leading the study this evening and the topic is on the subject of prayer. Experience based on previous bible study discussions has taught me that tonight’s desired outcome is most likely going to follow the unspoken, unwritten, scripted agenda of Pastor Dick.

Albert and Derek know the assignment. They both give generally accepted answers to the questions presented based on the issues prompted by tonight’s readings of scripture. Everything they say falls within the realm of speaking biblical “truths” in the most positive light possible. Nothing is said that can be considered controversial and everything said is generally accepted as fact within mainstream Christian thought.

Unlike the others, the bottom of my box of perfect answers had already given way under the weight of life events that didn’t follow definitive yes or no, cause and effect outcomes. When the box broke, I chose not to repair it; instead I discarded the box, sifting through the broken pieces of sureties, holding them to the light, inspecting them from all angles. It’s easier and more truthful for me to accept the sharp, jagged edges of real life, devoid of perfection. Truths can exist simultaneously, no matter how dissonant or opposite they are to my beliefs and wishes. I rarely use the words “never” and “always”, choosing instead the possibility of an innumerable amount of outcomes that happen outside my control, my will, my hopes and desires.

José and the other regulars nod approvingly when I use the phrases, “not always,” “sometimes,” and “at the same time.” The church staffers look puzzled at my non-definitive, “maybe” answers and Pastor Dick struggles to hide his dismay.

Pastor Dick had reached out to me to help him pastor this church because I had lived through tragedy and didn’t play the blame game with God. In his estimation, I would have sincere empathy for the less fortunate, for those whose lives are being dictated by circumstance. He was right about my capacity for empathy and tonight, empathy and authenticity are taking priority over canned, scripted answers to life’s problems.

Our homeless regulars, as well as our first-timer, Ahmed, share a similar sentiment. José voices his observation, “Sometimes I think God isn’t listening to me. I ask him for things, not just for myself, but for others, and a lot of the time, nothing happens. No response.”

Canned answers follow. 

“God waits on those who wait on him.” 

“Faith can move mountains.” 

“What’s impossible for man is possible with God.”

There are nods, yeses and amens, all in agreement with the textbook responses given to unanswerable conundrums that occur when one believes in a loving God, despite the seeming capriciousness of how God responds. I give my take on the situation.

“You know, it’s possible that God could be telling you, “No” or “Not yet.”

There is a moment of awkward silence and I avoid eye contact with Pastor Dick. I look at José who gives me a quick smile and a wink. Then the new guy, Ahmed, goes off-script.

“I’m a Muslim. I’ve been going to Pastor Steve’s feeds on Wednesday in the park and he says he doesn’t get paid to do this. This guy feeds people for free, what the hell for?”

I’m looking at the table now, trying to suppress a laugh, so Pastor Dick decides he’s going to field this one.

“You say you’re a Muslim, well, who do you pray to?”

Without hesitation, Ahmed answers, “Allah.”

Eyebrows stand at attention all around the table, including mine. Pastor Dick delivers his definitive declaration on this turn of events.

“You probably don’t know this, but according to the bible, if you're not directing your prayers to the true God, then your prayers are useless and not even heard. They won’t be answered.” Pastor Dick shrugs and throws a smirk in the direction of Ahmed.

I find myself praying silently, hoping that no one heard me mutter, 

“God damn! Are you serious?!”

I swallow my words, my anger, my desire to lash out in counter response. All physical efforts are used in restraining my facial expression, not to show any emotion, no eyebrow raising, forehead creasing, or twisting my lips. I turn my attention to Ahmed, who silently looks down at the table, embarrassed and ashamed. I try to catch his eye and when he sees me I give him the slightest smile, the hint of a nod to reassure him that he is being seen, he is being heard.

The rest of the evening follows Pastor Dick’s plan, the staid, true, approved agenda. At the end of the meeting, I catch Ahmed’s attention and motion for him to follow me into the parking lot. Ahmed, like the others, is homeless and sleeps in the park where I serve dinners and interact with the other local homeless. The park is about a mile from the church, so I offer to give Ahmed a ride back. He accepts and we have a chance to debrief a bit.

I offer this to Ahmed.

“You might not know this but the bible also says that God is not playing hide-and-seek with us, and if you are sincerely seeking him, he will be found. God goes by a lot of names and he really wants to be with you, no matter what you call him. He’s looking at your heart, your intentions, your sincerity. If you really want to pray to him, I don’t think it matters to him that you call him Allah. I think he’s happy to just talk and spend time with you.”

Ahmed gives me a guarded smile. “I meant what I said in there, I don’t understand why you feed us, spend time with us, and you’re not getting paid. Why would anyone choose to spend their time with us?”

I look Ahmed directly in his eyes. “We’re all the same, Ahmed. We’re all the same.”