The Magic Bus

The train is mildly crowded, and there are only a few seats available as I enter at the Washington Street station. There is one seat partially available, since the older, poorly dressed black gentlemen is taking up the one of the positions on the dual seat, where the indentations indicate the actual place where you are supposed to place your glutes. He is not a large man, but nevertheless he is taking up a little bit of the seat next to him, so I sit in the remainder, so that our legs press against each other. He then moves away a little bit, into his own space, but gradually his legs shifts or sinks back against mine, which is not abnormal on the train. What IS abnormal is that after a few seconds of pressing against me, he jerks that leg back quickly, as if he abhors the touch, but then over the next minute or so lets his leg drift back, again touching mine, and then again, after a few seconds, violently retracts it. This sequence repeats over and over again for the full length of t...

I see Ken down the household aisle, and I have no idea what he has in his hand, never did know, since like me he is just here killing time, probably didn't need anything, other than to get out of the house. My cart is still empty but I have every intention of getting toilet paper, which is really the only thing I need, but I get two other things that I absolutely don't need since I don't like to check out with only toilet paper. Ken says hello, and a few other pleasantries, but his voice has no force, as if he's talking inside himself, so I tell him he looks good but doesn't sound good. I just said one to balance the other, but really only one was true. He mentions the accident, which I kind of knew about, since he had told me about it last year, right here at this grocery store, possibly right in the same aisle. Instead of saying that I have no idea what you are talking about, I say can you tell me about the accident again, and how it happened? As he tells the rete...

In 1973 I met a man in Kelowna, British Columbia named Bill Something. I am really not sure why I was in Kelowna, since Kelowna is on Highway 97, and I had been traveling west on Canadian highway 1, trying to reach Alaska, but I probably just took a wrong turn since I was hitchhiking at the time, and didn’t really care too much where I went, as long as I ‘went’, kind of like Alice in Wonderland. I was 19 at the time and although I met lots of people, I can’t remember most of their names, but I do remember Bill because he befriended me, fed me, housed me and shared the Gospel with me for about two weeks straight. (I know, I should remember his last name as well, but 1973 is long ago.) At the time I really knew almost nothing about Christianity, except for the things I couldn’t do if I did decide to be a Christian like getting wasted, fighting, swearing, and sex. I was actually ok with giving up the first three, but the fourth one was a real problem since even I knew that I really...

This is actually a Netflix movie that I watched last Thursday evening, and I don’t recommend it at all. Seriously, a disturbing, intelligent,   but   non-enjoyable film that did little for me except there was one 30 second scene that hangs with me, and will probably continue to do so, and I’ll address that in a minute. The essence of the movie is the depiction of a mother’s life after her son Kevin, an excellent, albeit evil archer, is the perpetrator of a mass shooting (arrows, not bullets), at a high school.   As you can imagine, the mother, whose name is Eva, becomes a pariah in the town, with the community blaming her for the heinous deaths of their children, which is manifested by mocking, threats to her life, open aggression on the street, alienation, and so on. In other words her life is a living hell.   It should be noted that Kevin also shot Eva’s husband and only daughter in their back yard before the school massacre, so as the writer intended, I begin...

Last week I was a church visitor. It has been a long time that has happened since I have been at Life Church since 1996, but I had heard that there was this black church, Mt. Zion Baptist, where the music is fantastic, and more than fantastic, that it could move you to tears within a few minutes of listening. Since I had only been to one other church where that crying thing actually happened to me (Brooklyn Tabernacle), I decided to visit last Sunday at 2019 Fisher, just off of Park Street in Madison. For the first time in many years, I felt that feeling of not knowing a soul in a place where everyone knows each other, as well as being one of only four white people (yep, I counted)   in the building. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel bad either, just different. Everyone was dressed up, you know that whole respect for God thing that black churches do, and most of the men my age wore suits and ties, which since I kind of half expected it due to my visits to the Brooklyn Ta...

Hello Everyone, I don’t really know how long the helps ministry has been going, and I don’t suppose it really matters much. What does matter is that we are starting to see fruit here, and I would expect that some of the fruit, probably most of it is still unseen. Nevertheless there are little things that I see as well big things, but it is the little things that sometimes cause my eyes to become moist. (Yes, I know some of you disapprove of that word) So today for instance I’m at the chili lunch (cookoff) after the service and I’m sitting with one of the guest families whom we have been working with in the ministry. This is the very first time that the kids have been to church, so I doubt that they had many preconceptions, a blank slate so to speak. All they know about me is that I have asked them to come today and since I put on my friendly demeanor this morning they think I’m friendly. That’s all the kids know. Anyway, I mention that I’m still hungry after my first bowl of chi...