AND WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? today's forgotten question copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo ON, 2017
A Background to These Thoughts I was born in 1951. A baby boomer. Dad was recently back from Scotland where he had served in the Air Force, flying out over the North Sea for reconnaissance and radar watch. Big old Sunderland floating bombers. He was working subsequently in a well established sporting goods shop in London Ontario owned by his uncle Tom Munro. One of the regular store patrons was a remarkable elderly golfer, Hank Radway. He and his daughter Haddie Derm lived down the street from Perce and Mary Dawkins. Mary was aunt to my Mother Bev Roberts, a nurse with Victoria Hospital. Mom had lost her own mother Hertha to heart attack when just 13 years of age.
Neighbourhood conversations led to a beautiful match-making effort and Jack and Bev soon became an item, married in simple ceremony in 1947. I was born in '51 and my brother Scott in 1959. The old family home was purchased for $27,000 in '54 near the corner of Regent and St. George Streets. Neighbourhood. My parents remained there watching the place blossom with renovations until accident and illness in 2010 forced a move to a seniors' residence. Think of such permanence and attachment to a home and familiar faces all around. Friendly chats over the back fence while cultivating gardens. Teamwork in the shoveling of heavy snowfalls. Home milk delivery by horse-drawn wagon and purchases simply left in a milk box by the back door. Communal Victoria Day fireworks celebrations run by the fathers with strict control of the matches and firecrackers. Barbecues in backyards arranged and shared almost by unspoken ties. Glad hospital visits and casseroles for any infirm fellow traveler. Sunday mornings three blocks up the hill to neighbourhood Robinson United Church. Children with ruddy cheeks walking unescorted to the public school where special presentations were always happily attended by the adults. And raucous field days of competition and ribbons in the playground just before summer break. I could go on about the sharing and transparency in such a community of blocks... But sad to say it is all now an anachronism. Double income families with “farmed out” children do not have the time or inclination. Residences are shortterm stepping stones to ever-increasing equity opportunities. Realtors push and push and push. Mobility has gone somewhat crazy. Why bother to get to know these people? They will be gone before you know it. I recall a comedy TV series with Tim Allen (Home Improvement). He shared a friendship with next-door neighbour “Wilson”. Wilson was just a manly voice of help, comfort and advice heard from over the tall back fence. We NEVER got to see his face. Did Allen? Or were the self-centred trends of isolationism and “busy-ness” already setting in? Look at standard house lots today. Small square footage. Structure optimized. Yards minimized. Zero lot line. Separating fences, decks or gazebos. MY SPACE for the short term. The wife and the kids; we four and no more.
And This I Learned From My Parents' Fortunate Generation
Fellow Travelers The years have gone Yet still you smile And rush to hold me tight The common paths We shared so oft Now shine with special light And there were hurts An there were hopes We shared as comrades bold And I still see Your face of youth Now even when we're old And others came And others went And insincere their touch But you would share Your last resource You love me just that much And now sun fades And colder climes Would hint we're near the end But o'er that hill Of faith's traverse I'm sure to meet you Friend. Yet all would not Be as we trust Beyond our reach the price Had we not shared That precious gold A dauntless hope in Christ.
Intercession in Your Circles Heavenly Father, I thank you for every friend, family member, neighbour, school-mate, work-mate and acquaintance in shopping or in travel. So many of them are preoccupied with agendas that afford no room for faith. Please help them to see Jesus as very real, very necessary and very kind. Open their eyes and ears to the happy and humbling realization that you have been there for them all along, and that there is newness of life through simple repentance and trust in your timeless promises. Amen.
Reads Like This Morning's Newspaper
2 Timothy 3 King James Version (KJV) 3 This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. 2 For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, 3 Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, 4 Traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; 5 Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. 6 For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, 7 Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.
My Old Friend Ali
Years ago Ali worked at our factory. A most interesting man from TrinidadTobago, who had lived in the islands, Great Britain, the States and finally Ontario. He delighted in sparking provocative discussion at lunch break about upsetting current events. I miss that tall, good-humoured welder's input. Other participants in the choice cross-fire were Salvatore (Italian) and Mr. Soo (Korean). The younger men usually just sat back, listened and learned. Often as the bell rang ending a session Ali would turn to his friend and state “It's not nice out there Salvo.” Never forgot that. Perhaps the man chuckled as he said it, but truly he recognized the many ways in which bad had become good and greed, duplicity, oppression and lawlessness ruled the day. In intervening years it has only gotten worse. Perhaps I sound pessimistic in this generalization. A lot of good still occurs and this world offers a wide vista of natural beauties. But the trend is downward. We as messengers of Christ do a dis-service if we only come out with rosy stories and agendas. Remember how Jesus spoke of the evil issues from the hearts of men – a nasty list (Mark 7: 17-23). His solution was that they follow Him. Experiencing remarkable change and unprecedented comfort, direction and confidence.
Only Just Now
Til now talk Has only been casual A neighbourhood Item or two. You chat and you go And scarcely you know The tunnels That he has come through. But today offered
Something quite different. No work and The both of us home. A sickness come up Some dregs in the cup And hardship that Neither had known. Turns out that Each father knows Jesus And thrives In a faithful wife's love And put kids Through Home School And feeds on God's Word And takes time To launch hopes above. Took long enough Here for the Shepherd To urge two dear Sheep face to face. Might lawn chairs And coffee now offer Rich sharing of Goodness and grace? A change has been felt Spite our blindness And family ties Faith will see glow. And two men Transparent Or so they will try That God's kind of Love might show. (Best wishes to my new friend a couple of doors away.)
Out...Shopping She came in for some groceries With cane and darkened glasses Slow the pace and smiling A Saturday event Most others rushed oblivious To her need for human comfort A simple talk and flesh-press Would keep her smiling yet. Apartment was a still place With photos of the loves gone Figurines of Doulton Those treasures obsolete Maidens bright on hilltop And windswept their long dresses Eyes that flashed a future And oh so tiny feet. But the feet now pained her And memories came up sketchy Products in this market Confusing as of late Then she saw me shelving For dairy and for frozen Felt that here was someone To listen and relate.
Socrates
Eight years out now And stayin tame Stayin low Kilt a man over a woman Kilt her next Dese hands, dese crushin hands
Den came twenty-seven years Indiana guest Locked in my cell Locked in my head Locked in my heart and hope. Don't neva rock the Man Don't neva speak out But crack a black man Sometime for respect Or for an orderly house Dass allright. My little quiet place Poor, puny and peeling But mine. And I collects things From evywhere. Also cans and bottles for refunds. Brought a boy here For a break and a bite He so close to dem gangs And death Watts here is a smolderin fire Hate and hypocrisy. He been comin long. First sight was him Killin my chicken out back Didn't know no different And he come to know I was OK with dat. I was a man of murder Lookin straight and quiet now Missin a wife and kids Missin they laughter And purpose. Coupla friends meet With me at the Book Store Talkin bout everything Sizing up our ways and arguin. Old Lady at the counter Lets us come And smiles extra hard When her Man arrive
Gentle stooped ovah They saints to me And friends lettin me speak. Lettin me come. New job is a blessin Packin and deliverin groceries Fine old folks Smilin, sayin “thank you”. A wage, a walk and a way. I hung on applyin Til they said “yes” And I woik hard an strong Kids around me shapin up Curious about dis ole man. But so many Messin with girls, guns and drugs Would they see What I seen. Who knows? Mebbe I'm heppin a lilbit? Sleepin comes better, easier Even with dem fights and fires outside. An some o my dreams Turnin bright. (Images inspired by excellent book Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned by Walter Mosley. And the memorable character Socrates Fortlow.)
Though He Slay Me
Three men from the Church were talking over lunch: “I don’t know what gives with Harry. His situation just goes from bad to worse. Lay-off. Eldest kid caught in a gas-bar heist. Possible mortgage foreclosure. Sheesh!” “He has always been a great help at the Church when asked.”
“Yeah, but there must be some inner darkness or rebellion or ignorance. He needs to take a tougher look at himself.” “Just the other day I gave him a copy of that DVD series ‘Confess Into Favour’.” “Wonderful teaching. Helped get me through the sale of my business last year.” …Six blocks from the Diner, Harry was taking a walk in the park to clear his head. Sun was starting to peek through the clouds. Sat down on a wooden bench. Watching Moms and kids over on the swings. Little blonde one leaves her perch and runs over to his bench: “Hiya Mister. Did you see me on that swing? This park is great, isn’t it? You can join us, if you want.” Sun comes out now full blast. Harry notes a spiritual significance. God is close. God knows, and He is Father.
Good Will Toward Men
We knew it would be awkward New neighbours six doors down Facing a bleak Christmas Lay-off at the factory No signs of improvement Our Dad alone had found A way to break the ice With the Father, Harry Mother kept inside
We suspected an illness Four siblings played by themselves. But that evening Dad was late from the store Crystal clear outside Snapping cold with Four inches of fresh snowfall About two days into our Break from school Dad burst in the back door Kicking off boots Up the stairs with red face aglow. “He hugged me, the man hugged me And wept. Saw him in his lane-way, shoveling. Knew I had to do it. Went over with a good chunk Of money in my pocket. Told him that I Would be honoured. Really didn’t want the rest Of his family to know. Just two of us In subdued light Snow falling magically
Their little spaniel at my feet Happy to make a new friend. Ruth, you know full well Been there a couple of times Ourselves. I think you might get a chance Soon with the woman…name’s Corinne.”
Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan “neighbour” in Luke's Gospel chapter ten:
Robbed
Robbed, stripped, abandoned Of every hope and plan And dropped here, and left for dead Would no one help the man? Religion in its busy-ness Was quick to pass on by Tradition simply crossed the road
Lest duty would espy. But then a fellow traveler Who knew the risks around Came close, in earshot of his moans And stooped toward the ground And stopped his beast, a gentle ass Who silently observed The mercy, drink and helping hand With which his Master served. And lifted up the drooping frame And walked while patient rode And gave the world this timeless charge To bear a neighbour's load. Galatians 6: Bear ye one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.
Funny What They Remember
My brother Scott is eight years my junior. Very successful investment adviser in Toronto “on the street”. Sailboat racer. Private pilot. Georgian Bay cottager. Fisherman in exotic venues. Much traveled adventurer. Married happily to Zoe Adrian who shares the business. Proud father of two fine young men Jake and Peter. Formerly married to Kelly McConnville a youth's flame going right back to YMCA Summer Camp. Common family business had Scott and I in London a few weeks ago. We relaxed into the evening with delightful conversation and memories. At one point he turned to my wife Hilary and blurted out unexpectedly, “That guy beside you is my big brother. He was always my hero. Took me down with some of his buddies to the woodlots by the Thames River and University Campus for adventures when I was just little. Robin Hood. River wading on his back. Stick whittling. Stone bridge building. Bird spotting. Stone skipping. Peanut butter 'n jam sandwiches. Quite alright with his school friends Steve Mann or Jim Carson.” And I could hardly remember the episodes, simple and distant as they were. But they had mattered and had registered in an indelible bond. I needed to be reminded, and with tears. And isn't that always the way with youth. Same goes for my kids Lauren and Jordan, today's Corporate Human Resources Specialist and Commercial Airlines Pilot. The simple, inexpensive, imaginative jaunts are never forgotten. Many would come during times of hardship and straightening. But such is family. Such is neighbourhood.
And I must acknowledge the gracious involvement of Providence in my life, family and circumstances. There are other environments into which I could have been born. Try to meditate upon the following short story:
Just Like That
The American had really enjoyed the flight in the single engine craft until over the horizon he saw it. Stretching for excruciating miles over the dust and sad vestiges of vegetation. The refugee camp. The noise of their approach had scarcely raised a head in the heat, exhaustion and brilliance of mid-day. Deceleration across the dirt track had been surprisingly quick. The Agency's Rover was already there with the Belgian, Andreas and his one very thin nurse Miranda, standing at attention and shielding their eyes. "Welcome to the new nation, my friend; it's a far cry from Fort Worth, isn't it?" "Greetings Andreas, your arrangements have all been meticulous, really. I am thrilled to be here. I must gather the data and the photos and the interviews to make a convincing pitch back home. What I see here is really overwhelming!" "Not so fast. First a humble lunch of welcome at the main tent. I want you to meet the key doctors and water specialists. Four of the fifteen are from the States. They have all read about your comparative success in two other camps and they are very hopeful. Then an introductory drive around the camp and to the admissions sector where things get tense. So many, my friend, so many..." The meal had been surprisingly tasty and entirely local. The conversation
heightened, yet comfortable. One doctor knew the American's brother from college. He had taken eighteen months off already from a successful obstetrics practice in New Orleans. The tour seemed like miles of the same thing. Mothers shielding babies from the sun. Young children still trying to run in short bursts from one shading canopy to the next. Fathers sitting in small circles with the ubiquitous pipes and a look of sad accountability for the perplexity of their families. On the hour different tents opened for different health needs. All faces would turn with a noticeable frequency in the direction of the food dispensaries. The American took one of his new doctor friends on a short walk. They noticed an elderly man, shirtless, gaunt and sitting against a tripod of sorts with occasional use for supporting washing pots. This was a place of water, but it was apparent that the commodity was so much in demand and dwindling. He spoke some French and they were all able to understand each other. The doctor was called away briefly by an acquaintance, one of the sector councilmen who had chosen to stay behind to help after two exodus movements from the camp. The American continued his chat with the old man. A knowing twinkle still in the eyes. A hint of education and poise from a former life before the insurrections. His breath came in short, raspy puffs. Obviously he was parched with thirst. And alone. "Sir, I am going to go and find you a drink. Just relax." "Monsieur, that would be exquisite, merci."
Rejoining the doctor, the newcomer scrounged in amazement for the next twenty minutes until success. Smiling broadly with an apple juice size of can half-filled with copper-coloured water, he paced bending over toward the elder. Still leaning against the tripod. Eyes closed. Suggestion of a contented smile on the wrinkled face. No raspy puffs. Dead. Just like that... Note: Heard a testimony somewhat like this from missionary-evangelist Peter Pretorius of Africa. He has been engaged for years in mission feeding programs in cooperation with James and Betty Robison of Life Today.