More Delights and Disdains . . .

of a diminutive nature of late . . . Number 22

Disdains:

Assisting a work friend in finding an assisted-living facility who can take in her mother within the next two weeks due to disdainful circumstances. Seems that her mother’s current assisted-living facility was sold out to a local big-box non-denominational church. The sale happened last April but was only made public this week when the residents were notified that they would need to vacate the facility by the end of the month. It seems that the church requires the property for growth though they didn’t specify whether said growth was from God or Mammon. I, along with the widows, orphans, and all other displaced persons, suspect the latter.

Thinking about another local church nearby who exercised the same lack of spiritual discernment several years ago except it was on a micro rather than a macro-level. This may read like a parable, but it is true. There once was a widow who lived in a house next to a church of which she was a member. She had only recently lost her husband to cancer. Her finances were in bad shape and she fell behind on her mortgage payments. Eventually the bank foreclosed on the house and put it up for auction. Instead of doing what they were literally commanded by Scripture to do, the church’s board of deacons voted to bid on the house, purchased it, evicted the widow, and converted it into the church parsonage. Where is Brother Maynard with his Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch when you need him?

Delights:

Visiting with my Favorite Aunt who is recovering from septicemia in a post-acute facility and witnessing the attention and care that she has received daily from the members of her church. An example of pure religion undefiled as St. James defines such.

Re-reading Peculiar Treasures by Frederick Buechner. My brother and sister-in-law gave me this book as a birthday present many years ago. It is a comedic book of “unsystematic” theology that resembles the wit of Mark Twain without his contempt.

Viewing Wildcat, a new bio-drama about Flannery O’Connor, written and directed by Ethan Hawke. The film follows O’Connor as a young writer coping with the lupus diagnosis that eventually took her life at age 39. As regular readers of this site know, I am a huge O’Connor fan. Her stories capture the absurdity of the South that still existed when I was a child during the 1970’s. She remains an inspiration to all of us living with chronic diseases.

Giving thanks for my late son Max, who passed away 19 years ago today. He was just shy of his 3rd birthday. In a touch of O’Connor-esque absurdity, he went into shock as I carried him through the door of his pediatrician’s office. You know that it is bad when your child’s doctor calls 911. The crash team tried to revive him but he was gone, lost to an undetected internal bleeding episode caused by his hemophilia. After many years I have accepted that he lived the best life that God gave him. Max continues to remind me to embrace life with enthusiasm. He’s always with me, badminton racquet in hand, chasing after September’s yellow butterflies.