Sunday Afternoon
Friday evening I was driving through the rain.
It was a beautiful drive, in a way; thick fog, bursts of heavy rain, down a country road where I was late for a homegrown arts program in a little part of the world that nobody goes to unless that’s where they’re going. As I drove through the rain, late for my meeting, I thought of those nearby who have no car to drive. I remembered the warm bed and the dry clothes waiting for me at home, and I thought of those nearby whose roofs would leak this very night, who would wake up to a day of cleaning as best they could the damp and the mildew that can’t be separated from their lives. What good does it do, I asked myself, to sing of a God of love, without letting that love somehow get past me and to someone else? Of course, the benefits I enjoy, plenty of food (too much!), a warm place to sleep, a means to go from here to there, and people nearby who care about me: these are the things that are characteristic, are they not, of the kingdom of God. ”Give us this day our daily bread” we are taught to pray; indicating that the wise man who taught that prayer thought it appropriate for everyone who prays it to have enough to eat. ”If we have food and covering, we shall therewith be content” says the apostle who carried that wise man’s message to the nations.
