Grace-Or Lack Thereof--in the Grocery Store

 Even before Covid world, I stopped going into the grocery store very often. It just was too darn easy to order my groceries, pull up, and have them loaded right into my trunk. I told myself this was saving money as I wasn't impulse buying, and perhaps that is true. It also, however, disconnected me from grocery store reality.

Several weeks ago I had to go into the store as both pick-up and delivery options weren't available until the next day, and I was in need of a few essentials. It was a cold rainy day late in the afternoon. I pulled up, put on my mask, and ran from the parking lot into the store. Immediately I was annoyed at the many people not wearing masks. Just being honest here...

There was a time several years ago when running into the store would take little time as I knew where everything was. But alas, over the years, things get moved around, and what I thought would be a quick trip in was already beginning to take more time. Music was playing overhead sometimes interrupted by "special announcements," and I could hear several children either whining, talking very loudly, or flat out having screaming tantrums. I huffed and puffed wishing I had my AirPods. I would like to claim I was in sensory overload, but really I was just being a selfish jerk.

I filled my cart with what I needed and headed to check out. There was only one cashier and four self-checkouts open. And there were long lines. I waited in the self-checkout line which really isn't a line but rather a gaggle of people all vying for the next open register. A young woman with three screaming children pulled her cart into the milieu. One child was sitting in the cart with snot running out of his nose and down his face. One child was swinging around the cart knocking into other customers, and the third was shrilling proclaiming every five seconds how hungry she was. The woman was on her cell phone it sounded like making some sort of appointment. Needless to say, she was getting nasty looks from other customers. Out of sheer desperation or complete resignation, she grabbed three bags of m&m's off the shelf and handed them out. The volume immediately lowered. (I was, I must admit, quite grossed out by the now snotty m&m snack.) With the lowered volume, I could hear several other customers whispering about "parenting" and "giving in." I'm sure the young woman heard it as well.

Over the next several days, I couldn't stop thinking about that woman. I had been that woman, sort of. At first, I thought these things

• What was she doing taking her children to the grocery store at the arsenic hour? (That's what I call the hours betweeen 4:30pm and bedtime--you either want to take it or give it.)
• Why was she trying to make an appointment while shopping and juggling three kids?
• Why didn't she just leave the cart and try again another day? (I distinctly remember walking out of the grocery store in Athens with four screaming children as I apologized to the clerk who would have to reshelve the entire cartful of groceries.)

I kept thinking and realized how incredibly judgemental and self-righteous, not to mention privileged my thoughts were. I didn't have to take my children to the grocery store during those hours because I didn't work outside of the home. I could go during their "best behaved" hours or while they were in pre-school/school. Maybe this woman goes to work early and rushes to pick up kids before the dreaded late-fee pick-up every day. I had all day to make phone calls and appointments--but let's be honest, I have also been on the phone while shopping...  Maybe she was trying to make a doctor's appointment to get that runny nose treated. I think the thought that gets to me the most is, I could leave that grocery cart full of groceries and just go home because I had food already there. Maybe she didn't.

I don't know this woman's story because I didn't bother to stop and help. I didn't let her move in front of me. I didn't help unload her cart. And I didn't wipe the little boy's nose. Maybe she is just a give-in to every whim parent who doesn't manage her time well, or maybe she's just trying to do the best she can and could have used a smile, a helping hand, and a little compassion.

Choices, Compassion, and Clothes

Y'all, I just can't stop thinking about that roasted chicken, (in case you need to read) probably because of some of the "suggestions" given to me. To be clear, I am open to suggestions. In fact, I love them even if I don't agree with them. They give me more to think about, and goodness knows I need more to think about--especially things I can't control...(well maybe my therapist needs that so she can stay in business).

So one of the comments I heard revolved around the idea of choices. The most extreme was that people who are homeless are probably that way because of the choices they made. Well, first of all, let's agree to say unhoused (or at least that's what I'm going to say), and secondly, there actually are people who are unhoused because THEY CHOOSE TO BE! So if that's the choice you're referring to, I wholeheartedly agree. Something tells me, however, it's not....

I could argue this one particular scenario until the cows come home, but I won't because a) I would get so angry I would want to tear your arm off and beat you to death with the bloody stump and b) I'd rather generalize this whole thing so that, please refer to a).

I agree with this. We all make choices AND we all face consequences (or should face consequences) for those choices--both good and bad consequences. What I don't get with all this thinking and reflecting I'm doing is why some choices and their consequences seem to be unforgivable and are not met with any sort of compassion?

Play along with me here--let's say I'm speeding, have an accident and one of my children in the car is killed. I made the choice to speed; one of my children was killed, but I can almost 100% guarantee you no one would show up and say or even write on my Facebook wall, "Well, you made the choice to speed so that's just the consequence of your choice." (If you did either of those things, well then you're meaner than a snake, and should probably stop reading now.) 

Now let's return to the unhoused again for a minute and the supposed choices they make that result in being unhoused. It could be true for some people they squandered all their money on gambling or drugs or bad investments or whatever else. They made choices and the consequence of the choice is they lost a place to live, often instead of compassion, there is judgment and scorn (and no roasted chicken).

Let's look at a final example, what if I was speeding, had an accident, one of my children was killed and the way I coped was by numbing my mind with alcohol and drugs, and then either I lost my house or my husband kicked me out? 

It seems to me if we are to have true compassion--the kind of compassion God asks us to have--it shouldn't be dependent on someone else's choices. It seems like we should be able to have compassion for others as human beings even if we disagree with the choices they make. People already have to live with the consequences of their choices, they don't need us to pile on.

On a less serious note--I have to live with the consequence of having some Godawful pictures out there because of my choice in attire....

Life is Not a Competition; Faith is Not a Competition

I woke up Tuesday morning and did not want to get out of bed. Nothing particular had happened—just felt like a gerbil in a habitrail—same ole thing day after day—or at least that’s how I felt that day. But the dogs were barking, so I got up, let them out, and laid down on the sofa in the den. Some time passed,

and wouldn’t you know it? Those darn dogs wanted to come back in (read above), so I let them back in and moved to the sofa in the living room.

 

So slight confession here—when Chris got up I pretended I was asleep so he would make the coffee. That seems to be the extent of our change in routine—who makes the coffee.

 

I started to get up and thought to myself, “I don’t want to get out of my pj’s today. I just want to lounge around doing what I want.” But then I remembered…

 

August 1^st I joined a Facebook group One for One Hundred. Actually, I joined the group in 2016, and that year I completed it, but I recommitted on August 1^st. Basically, you commit to walking or running at least one mile every day for 100 days straight no exceptions and I had done it—even the day I had an infection. I really didn’t want to do it on Tuesday AND I really didn’t want to be a failure AND I’m a little competitive with myself and others. Not a good combination.

 

I got up and moved to the basement (where there is not another sofa to lie down on). I looked over at the ironing and realized I could iron and be on the zoom calls I had scheduled for that day (truth y’all, ask the Bible study group). Two and half hours later after ironing 37 napkins, 9 pillowcases, 7 sheets, and 4 shirts, I was finished.

 

I was finished ironing and I was finished beating myself up because I didn’t want to and ultimately wasn’t going to complete my mile that day.

 

Here’s where I am—at least for today. Accountability groups are good, lifesaving even (think AA, NA, etc), they are meant to build up and support. Being a part of this accountability group was not doing that for me—it did once, but now instead of being encouraging and supportive, it made me grumpy, self-loathing, and competitive in an unhealthy way. It was standing in the way of me listening to the still small voice (what I consider the Holy Spirit) inside of me saying, “It’s okay. Take this day to do what you need to fill your soul.”

 

While ironing I thought about the upcoming readings for this Sunday. Romans 12:3-4says, “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all members have the same function.” Faith is not a competition. Life is not a competition. How we live our lives of faith is not a competition. We do not have a measuring stick or measuring cup that proves one person is “more Christian, more Christ-like, more holy, more worthy.”

 

Yes, we are to hold one another accountable, but that does not include making judgments. There is a difference. We each have a calling, a function God is calling us to. For some people it might be marching in protests, for others, it might be stocking food pantries, for others, it might be spending hours in prayer, for others, it might be extending hospitality to all, for others, it might be participating in studies, and the list goes on. There is no particular way that makes someone a “real” Christian.

 

Tuesday the meanie little voice in my head (I call her Darlin’ Devil) was telling me if I didn’t do that mile I wasn’t a “real” runner, a “real” competitor, a “real” athlete. It’s a good group, with good people, and there was a time it was a positive in my life, but not now, and that’s okay.

 

Let’s commit to not being the Darlin’ Devils voice in each other’s head. Let’s support where we are each called because we are all real people created in the image of God and loved unconditionally, no exceptions.

The Twelve Step Eucharist and Transformation

I had no idea what to expect.  Jamie and I really wanted to attend a service at Grace Episcopal in Charleston.  Bishop vonRosenberg had been Jamie's sister's, (and my sister by friend-in-law rules) The Rev. Taylor Dinsmore, Bishop years before.  Taylor had so much love, respect and admiration for this man.  She kept telling me, "You have to meet him."  The only weekly Eucharist we saw was on Friday evening--it was a Twelve Step Eucharist.

Jamie mentioned the Eucharist; I must admit I paused a moment--unsure.  Did I want to go to a Twelve Step Eucharist?  I struggle with the 12 steps.  That's not entirely true--in that moment I realized I hated the 12 steps.  I hated I knew them; I hated they were part of my life; and I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of the anger at the person who brought them into my life.  I had no idea how much anger was still simmering under the surface of my daily life.  (To read part of the story Why I Gave Up Drinking Wine)  Wanting to meet Bishop vonRosenberg over powered my angry al anon self, and I agreed to go.

I arrived early (I was meeting Jamie).  As I sat in the pew, I was not only struck by the beauty of Grace Episcopal, I was overcome with the amount of joy surrounding me.  Every person who walked in seemed to exude peace and so much joy.  My carefully constructed angry armor began to come unhinged.

There is so much I can say about the Eucharist (and I will if you give me the time--but I won't give you my copy of the bulletin--I'll make you a copy--I always have it), but there were two parts that have stayed with me--two parts that particularly touched my soul--two parts that transformed me, two parts that reignited my love for and my belief in people and in the Church.

The Rev. John Zahl was the homilist.  He told his story eloquently, but more importantly, in my opinion, he told his story as part of The Story.  He told his story in connection with the Gospel.  I kept listening for pride or self promotion or the opportunity to puff himself up, to exult himself for "defeating this disease",  but all I heard was humility and mercy and compassion and love and grace.  I don't remember the entire sermon word for word (I very much want a copy), but one part continues to resonate.  He said (and I am taking liberty quoting), "He didn't beat him up about what he had done. He had beaten himself up enough for both of them.  He just offered him compassion and grace.  Just like Jesus didn't list every sinners sins; he was just present with mercy, love, forgiveness, compassion, and grace."

"I'm not there" I felt my heart say.  I still want to list every hurt I've experienced because of alcoholism, and I want Mama to take responsibility for each and every one.  (I do not, however, want to list the hurts I've caused because of my response to this disease...)  "Let go." my soul said, "You need to give to your mother the same love, compassion, and grace you extend to everyone else. The same love, compassion, forgiveness and grace you PREACH!"  I'm still working on it.

I was holding it together.  No tears yet (and y'all know that's a miracle)!  The offertory music began; I looked up at the altar, and it happened. The tears began to cascade down my face. Bishop vonRosenberg was setting the table. He was setting the table for himself!  A bishop at the altar with other clergy present was setting his own table; I couldn't believe my eyes; I froze (except for the tears pooling in my lap)--it was a powerful testimony of servant leadership.  In a church where hierarchy can reign, where hierarchy can be abused, in a world where privilege and elitism win more times than not, in that moment Love won--the Kingdom of God was fully and completely present.  In that moment, I experienced the Gospel in its entirety--in its total fullness--in humanity.

God was present in those moments and God continues to work in my life through the words and actions of these two men.  The transparency of The Rev. Zahl, the willingness to be real, to be open, to be honest and to be challenging has given me the strength to dig deep and to try each and every day to find that love, forgiveness, and compassion I so desperately need.  I wish I could write I've done it completely, that I've done it once and for all, but I can't.  I have less armor on and it's getting easier, there are more moments of peace, it's a process...

And at at time when I desperately needed to see the Church in a different way, at a time when I was somewhat (read very) jaded by the power dynamics, by the politics of Church, at a time when I was mired and wallowing in the negative, Bishop vonRosenberg quietly and humbly modeled the Church at its best.  I was transformed....

Addendum:  There are many people in the Church--clergy and lay alike--who are conduits of God's love, compassion, forgiveness, servanthood and grace.  Today's post is not to deny that but rather a personal narrative of how I was transformed by two particular people at a time in my life when I needed it most. Taylor was right--I had to meet him....