Reflection: Diversity - PG# 5120 (2007/2008)
by Jason Byassee
While traveling in Europe as a college student, I let my friends convince me to go with them to Morocco for a camel ride overnight in the Sahara desert with guides who spoke no English. Soon after we camped, a scorpion came crawling into our midst. We Americans all screamed. We wanted to go home.
Our guide began to speak in a mess of hurried French. I heard him mentioning the names of cities and pointing in each direction, with the words Allah and “no problem” interspersed. Then I translated, as though speaking in tongues: “He says he's been all around this area and nothing bad has happened because God has protected him.” Though in terms of the normal rules of religion and language we could not communicate, the guide and I held a common language of faith. We all slept soundly underneath the dazzling desert stars, and did not fear the terror of the night.
Reflection: Endurance - PG# 5114 (2007/2008)
by Jason Byassee
My grandmother was an ever-day-mass Catholic. I say this with admiration now, but as a kid it was simply annoying. We'd all be driving to the beach or somewhere else fun, and she'd stop and say, “It's Sunday, I need to go to church.” And wherever we were on the planet, we'd have to find her a Catholic parish. For a kid with the sand and the surf on his mind, this was infuriating!
I've come to see my grandmother's mass attendance as the particular grace of endurance. I'm sure my grandmother didn't much feel like going to mass all those times either. She liked to relax on vacation as much as anyone else. But her faith obliged her to be present on Sundays and holy days, so she went, cheerfully. For she believed every time she did Jesus would meet her there and they would rejoice together. That's endurance.
Reflection: Forgiveness - PG# 5117 (2007/2008)
by Jason Byassee
I was pastor of a small rural church once. One of our members ran against another for a seat on the county commission. Naturally this did not make for cordial relationships in a congregation of eighty people. Folks lined up for one candidate or another. Longtime friends stopped speaking. No one could wait till Election Day—just so we could go on as a church.
In the midst of the unpleasantness one Sunday we had the passing of the peace. And one candidate went up and offered his hand to the other. He told me later he had no idea why he'd done it. He still resented the other man for running against him. “It was like I couldn't help myself,” he said. That's the church at its best: forgiving before it knows what it's doing, erring on the side of forgiveness even when we'd rather not.
Reflection: Gratitude - PG# 5112 (2007/2008)
by Jason Byassee
My 3 and 4-year-old sons are just learning to pray. As we ask God to bless mommy, daddy, friends and enemies, they'll throw in some additional blessings: “God bless stuffed animal. God bless toothbrush. And God bless Charlie Brown.”
So much of parenting is sheer difficulty. Getting the kids to bed on time. Getting them potty trained in time for preschool. Getting them to get along with their friends and each other and not fight. The list goes on. But they're thankful, even for toothbrush and Charlie Brown. And parents, frenzied and harried as we are, are told by our elders to cherish these moments—they pass too quickly, and the children are gone. No one has ever looked back on their life and said, “You know what, I was entirely too thankful!” We could all stand to be more grateful. Even for stuffed animal.
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