There's Just Something About Fridays...

Friday’s are kinda funny....

 I reserve them for my wife. When Friday comes around, her name is on it. It should be called wife-day. 

 They are somewhat paradoxical though.We spend a great deal of the day together. Just doing whatever. But even with the freedom that we hold in charting the course for the day, we click back into some invisible pre-defined mold. As though we are on some cyclical amusement ride of a weekly schedule. And that’s okay. We have habits and routines that we like to follow and we are comfortable with that. 

 Last Friday was different...

I’m not as good at life when she is out of town. I don’t misbehave or anything, it’s just that I have trouble finding things. I’m not as good a cook. I make more mistakes on the piano. I forget when the garbage men come. 

 Things like that. 

 So after her leaving on a Thursday, I knew I’d be in trouble when Friday came. 

 My plan was to do things in whimsical fashion. Go by the seat of my pants. I was to catch up on some reading, sing loudly and step directly on the cracks in our hundred and fifty year old wood floor. I even considered working on some new form of budget, or going for a run with no sense of direction.

 But I didn’t.

 I went to some of the places we often go on Fridays. I ate a flatbread pizza as is my common Friday lunch. I bought coffee from a shop instead of making it at home. I sat quietly on the couch listening to our friend “downtown” make plans for the weekend.  All things we do on Fridays.

 But as I found myself looking back on a day whose activities beat my will for spontaneity, I was okay with it.  

 Thursdays

 They come earlier. I meet with a group of men at 5:45 at a place called Kountry Kitchen. (It’s spelled that way so that, from the moment you walk in the door you don’t feel the need to allow things like proper grammar or phonics to get in the way of good eatin’) While we devour country ham and drink our weight in coffee, we talk about ways that our lives could look more like Jesus’

 Last week we challenged one another to spending 30 minutes listening to God opposed to doing all the talking. That’s what Friday was for me. Listening. 

 It’s amazing what you’ll here when you listen. 

 It reminds me of a time when I was headed to the west coast with my wife. On the second leg of our flight we met a man who wanted to talk.  I wasn’t in a talky mood. I wanted to “not talky” the whole way there. 

 Frank (we’ll call him) was clearly nicer than me. He told me all about his profession of lawn care for a strip of land in the redwoods of California. This land was the meeting place for folk music festivals of Woodstock proportion on the weekends. He and a few others lived there in exchange for keeping it clean. 

 A few moments into the conversation I found myself reaching for this imaginary hat. It’s one that I easily put on when I need to pastor people. It’s got it’s own set of rules and expectations. It’s even got it’s own accompanying language.  And I’m fluent.

 Just after I told him that I was a minister and just before I ducked for the expected rocks that he’d throw,  he surprised me with how okay he was with it. I fully expected my words and my  forthcoming advice to change him, but instead of reacting with a defense mechanism, he was kind. 

 Frank went on to tell me about drugs and moral failure and the strangely positive relationship he had with his rich “oil tycoon” dad.  (Strange only because of the dichotomy that lie between their lifestyles.)  After his willingness to divulge crummy details of his less than perfect condition to me, I was shocked and admittedly felt as though my assumed approach had failed me in some way.

 It was just pride. 

 The truth is, I was about to go into the whole thing wrong. My approach would be teaching, preaching, changing, motivating.  Frank may not have needed any of that. He likely didn’t want any of it.

 I’m sure good at it though. 

 Granted there are people who need to hear something. There are people all over who need a good verbal kick in the behind to get them back on track. I know I often do. But Frank didn't need to meet a Christian who had all the answers. In that moment, he needed to meet someone who had a few questions of their own. He needed to meet a representation of Christ who was a peaceful, listening ear. 

 Frank taught me an unexpected lesson that day. He hit my pride and made me take a second look at how people of God should treat others.  I think it comes down to loving people first. Not simply demanding a response that tickles our ears. Not expecting other people to act democratic or conservative. Not assuming that we will always meet strangers who give in to our success stories of a life well lived. We just love people because Jesus tells us to. Not for the numbers or really even the results. Just because we believe. 

 Sister Helen Prejean once said “I watch what I do to see what I believe” 

At the end of the day, people act like what they believe. 

God is a lot bigger than my plane ride that day. He's a lot smarter than the knowledge that accompanies my pastor hat and He loves me much more than I deserve. I know God has a lot to say to me. Friday evenings, Tuesday afternoons, whenever. Sometimes I just need to be still and listen.