When I was taking French in high school, our French teacher showed us a series of movies which all depicted humorous situations that Americans found themselves in when they went to France without sufficient knowledge of the French language. The one I remember best portrayed a middle-aged American woman who was wandering about the streets of Paris alone on a very hot summer day. She was exhausted and desperately thirsty as anyone in her situation would be when she happened into some type of shop which she had mistaken for a café. The mix-up was no doubt caused by some language error which was supposed to teach us a lesson, but I can't recall what it was. I do recall what happened though.
The woman wants some orangeade. The shopkeeper greets her and she says emphatically, "ORANGEADE!" The man tries to explain to her that she isn't in a café but she appears puzzled that he isn't complying, and she says more emphatically than before, "ORANGEADE! ORANGEADE!" He makes another attempt to set her straight, and she says again, this time a bit forlornly, "orangeade! Orangeade." At this point, the shopkeeper, who is both frustrated and amused, gives up trying to get the woman to understand that she's in the wrong place, and he simply makes them both some orangeade and sits down with her on the front stoop to drink it. The woman enjoys the cold drink, pays the man and walks away, never understanding that she has been granted a favor by a kind stranger who came to her mercy.
The French man of course, understood that the woman was honestly confused. He could have taken offense, however, at the aggressive way she implored him for a drink, but he didn't. While he was trying to explain to her that it wasn't his business to give her what she was asking for, he realized that he could in fact provide her with what she wanted; and that to do so would be easier than trying to show her that she was mistaken. He went beyond his normal boundaries and met a need.
How often we let OURSELVES get in the way of simply doing the work of the world and meeting a need. We don't like the way we were asked for help. We don't feel we should have to help. We think it's someone else's job, or often, we feel we have nothing to offer. But some of our richest and most worthwhile experiences can come from rising to the challenge of meeting a need for another.
A few weeks ago, my partner Tom and I were standing by our driveway chatting with neighbors when two young boys we didn't know stopped in front of us on bicycles. They were about eight years old. I was only peripherally aware of them as we continued our conversation. Finally one of the boys said to us accusingly, "Hey, can't you see we need help?" We were a bit ruffled by their rudeness but turned our attention to their problem. One of the bicycles had a loose chain and they didn't seem to know how to fix it. My first thought was, "it's not my problem. If you want my help ask for it nicely." I didn't like their demanding manner. But then I began to think about how frustrated and frantic I can become when my computer fails to do what I need it to. This always seems to happen the day I have a paper due and I feel panicked and overwhelmed by a situation that I can't fix on my own. I realized that they were feeling the same way and they were reaching out in desperation to adults who are supposed to fix things and make the world safe. Tom also recognized their frustration and he began to help them and the bicycle chain was soon fixed. We did point out to them that the next time they should say, "please," and they said, "thank you" as they peddled away in obvious relief that someone had come to their rescue.
U.S. First Lady Hilary Clinton wrote a book entitled, It Takes A Whole Village To Raise a Child. She had it right - not only does it take the whole village to raise a child, but it is the duty of the whole village to do so - and to take care of whatever else needs doing. The way those boys approached me, I didn't really feel inspired to help them. And I nearly let myself get in the way of performing a simple act of kindness. I'm not excusing rude behavior. But what would those boys have learned if I had followed my first instinct to shrug them off and tell them it wasn't my problem? My behavior would have confirmed their worst suspicions about the world and humankind - that no one cares and everyone is on his own.
My friend, Sue, has a family on her street that never cut their grass. It bothers everyone and people constantly used to grumble about it until one day, Sue simply went over and cut it after she finished her own. "It's a small lot and takes about ten minutes to cut," she told me "and I already had the lawnmower out." Now several neighbors take turns doing it. What used to be a source of irritation has now become a source of pleasure for Sue. She says that she feels good knowing that she's doing something to make her street look better. I can't help but wonder what a different world it might be if more of us followed Sue's lead - if more of us did what the French man in the film did and simply took care of the need he saw. What if we all were truly our brother's and sister's keepers?
We would probably need fewer government assistance programs. Our children's worlds would expand because no matter where they went, someone would be there to look out for them. And we'd have fewer endangered species if we tuned in to all of the troubles of the world and made it our business to meet the needs we saw.
In his famous book, Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl says, "Being human always points and is directed to something, or someone other than oneself - be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter. The more one forgets himself by giving himself to a cause to serve, or another person to love, the more human he is and the more he actualizes himself." Frankl survived life in Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi concentration camp and wrote this book based upon what the camp taught him about human nature. It is his belief that the most profound personal transformation takes place when we forget about ourselves and wholeheartedly focus on the work of the world.
Part of the ministerial formation process is a program called CPE, Clinical Pastoral Education. It is, basically, hospital chaplaincy training. I did my CPE at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago and for me, as a Unitarian Universalist Chaplain, CPE was often a matter of giving orangeade to the tourists.
In the population at large there are very few UUs. So it is not surprising that most of the patients I saw were really hoping for a clergy person of a different denomination - the Roman Catholics wanted a priest, the Jewish patients were hoping for a rabbi, and most Protestants expected someone who was an expert on the Bible. I could offer none of these things. Yet I was usually the only chaplain in the hospital so I had to rise to many occasions - what I felt unprepared for. What I discovered was that even though I wasn't necessarily what the patients were expecting, I could nonetheless usually meet their pastoral needs. What was required was for me simply to put myself aside for a moment while I considered what they were asking for. The interactions weren't about ME. They were about them.
One evening during my on-call at the hospital, I was paged to see Mrs. Johnson an elderly, African-American woman who was 75 years old. Mrs. Johnson had had a hard life spending thirty years in the Cabrini Greene housing project. She lamented that most of her grandchildren were involved with drugs, a son was in prison and her daughter was too busy to visit her. She told me about life in Cabrini Greene. "It's ROUGH," she said. "You can't even leave the doors and windows open when it's hot because strange men come running in your apartment hiding from the police."
As we talked it became clear that all that stood between Mrs. Johnson and total despair was her faith in Jesus. "I keep telling my roommate here that all I need is Dr. Jesus." Mrs. Johnson told me, "All I got is God. My whole family has forgot about me, I got no money and I got cancer. It's so sad. All I have left is Jesus and the good book. But that's all I need isn't it, Reverend?" she asked me. "You're the only person around here who can understand that," she said to me, confident that I shared her theology. "The doctors here think I need pills, but they're wrong because the pills can't do nothing without Dr. Jesus. Am I right, Reverend?"
Mrs. Johnson was lonely. She needed to have her experiences heard by another person and she needed someone to share her reality with her. She also needed to speak to someone who could validate her faith in Jesus. I said nothing really. My role as chaplain was enough for her to assume that I shared her faith and in the same way she did. It sounded as if there were few religious people in her life and she needed to see evidence of God and "Godly people." At that moment, I was her witness for Christ.
It didn't matter that my theology is very different from hers. In fact, had I told her about what I really believe, I would have failed her miserably. I would have changed from a beacon of hope into another reason for despair right in front of her eyes. A minister who doesn't believe Jesus was God?! Surely another sign that the end times must be near. I needed to set myself aside right then and had I not done so, I really would have been saying to God and the universe "This isn't MY job. Get someone else." I have plenty of opportunities to discuss my own personal theology. But I had only one opportunity to give some orangeade to this particular tourist. And Mrs. Johnson was as thirsty as I've ever seen anyone.
I'm not always able to set myself aside as I did with Mrs. Johnson or the young boys with the broken bicycle chain. Sometimes I pretend not to see a problem. Other times I alert someone else to a problem and then go about my business. And sometimes, I protest loudly that what is being asked for isn't my job. But I have difficulty justifying it in my own mind when I do this, for I really know that the world doesn't work this way. And I know that at times I'm like the American tourist in Paris and I am incredibly thankful at those moments when disgruntled shopkeepers take mercy on me and give me orangeade.
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