A Volley from the Canon, Number 89 An Encounter

A VOLLEY FROM THE CANON, NUMBER 89

REFLECTIONS ON AN ENCOUNTER

The flight from LaGuardia to Detroit was full, and I was glad to have my window seat so that I could rest my head against the bulkhead to sleep. My row-mates were already seated. The Man in the Middle, a handsome, well-dressed, young (twenties) Indian man, was already chatting with the Aisle Seat. I slipped in, and he soon turned to me.

“So, what do you do?”

Moral dilemma number one for the morning: Do I tell the truth and deal with the consequences, or do I lie and then have to make up dozens of further lies to cover it? I really don’t know much about any other profession. I told the truth.

My new friend’s face lit up with excitement. He had himself a real, live priest, cornered in the window seat, unable to escape until we arrived in Detroit. He dived right into the deep end of the conversational pool.

“How do you define God?” he wanted to know.

I must admit, my first thought, regretfully eyeing the bulkhead where I had intended to rest my head, was “Oh, xxxx.” It was the word “define” that threw me—it sounds so rigid and boxed in, something I don’t want to apply to God.

But the Voice inside my head reproved me. “Don’t say, ‘Oh, xxxx,” it said, “Say, ‘Oh Jesus.’ Cause xxxx ain’t gone help you.”

Recognizing that head-voice, I knew, then, that Jesus was in this. I knew also that I was being challenged and reminded. I must—we all must—be prepared to field questions on faith and theology from interested and well-intentioned inquirers, at all times and in all places, and we must take questions, and translate our responses, in other people’s terms, because they don’t know how to converse with us in our terms.

My three-second preparation time had passed.

I told him that I believe that God is the source and origin of all things—and God is the one who repairs and restores all things that are broken or fallen from their created purpose—and God is the one who draws together and reconnects all things in unity with each other and with God. And underneath all that, the power and the purpose of God is what we call Love, which includes generosity, compassion, patience, forbearance, and forgiveness.

“Is God a person?” he pressed.

“Yes, intimately involved with creation. And I do believe that God is most clearly revealed in the life and teaching of Jesus.”

Seat-mate reflected on my statement for a moment, nodding. Then he shifted to what I believe was what was really bothering him, what preoccupied his mind that day.

“Don’t you think it is odd that just about all people, no matter where they are from or what their religion or background, spend so much time and effort trying to accumulate as much wealth as possible, when they know from the beginning that one day they will die and leave every bit of that behind them?”

“Yes, I do think that is odd, and sad,” I said. “Maybe that is why we all need that God who restores and reconnects.”

He was mostly silent for a while, except to say, “You can tell me to be quiet any time, you know.”

“I don’t think I need to do that,” I said.

He smiled, and we talked about a few other things for a while. Then, he told me that he was flying all the way from India today for one meeting in Detroit, that had to do with car and truck manufacture and sale in some way. (We did not share the same English dialect, and with engines roaring, I didn’t catch every word.)

Afterward, he would get on another plane and fly back home again. He had another stumper first, though.

“Since you are a priest, you must be a very holy man.”

I hope I did not roll my eyes up toward heaven, but I did call upon the divine name again. “Jesus, now you’ve set this young man to meddling,” I thought. But I knew the response already: That’s Just How It Is.

He wasn’t finished. “You have so much knowledge and wisdom to share with so many people.”

This time I had to respond. “I don’t mind for YOU to say that, but if I ever start thinking that, I’m in very serious trouble.”

After awhile, we landed in Detroit, and passengers began to deplane. My friend paused, though.

“Before we go, would you give me your good wishes?” he asked.

He wanted my blessing. He even slightly bowed his head.

So I said, “Having come all this way, I know that you are as well-prepared for your meeting as you can be. So I hope it goes well for you, and I hope for a safe and happy return to your home, and joy and blessings in the years to come.”

He fell into line with the others, and he left the plane smiling. I followed, setting my face toward Charleston, with much to reflect upon.