“Surrender to the Day and Let Life Happen”
The Rev. Rebecca Crosby
Text: Isaiah: 55:10-12, Ephesians 4:1-6
I love telling stories and sharing my experiences in a story format. Stories shape our lives and guide our understanding of our fellow human beings and the world in which we live. I just finished reading, ‘This is Happiness’ by Niall Williams, an Irish author, about a young man, Noe Crowe, 17, living with his grandparents in the quaint rural village of Faha, Ireland in the 1970’s. Noe tells us that his grandfather, Ganga, loves stories. “He believed that human beings were inside a story that had no ending because its teller has started it without conceiving of one, and that after ten thousand tales was no nearer to finding the resolution of the last page. Story was the stuff of life, and to realize you were inside one allowed you to sometimes surrender to the plot, to bear a little easier the griefs and sufferings and to enjoy more fully the twists that came along the way.” I don’t necessarily believe we live according to a divine plot, but I like the idea of sometimes sitting back and taking a break from our busy life seeing the “twists that come our way.” I am an organized person; it makes me think I have some control in my life. I wake each morning with a plan for the day to further my goals, but I have learned as I have gotten older and through my life experiences that life gets in the way of the plan, and you sometimes must go with the flow and see what happens. With that in mind, I have two short stories from our Partnerships, where I surrendered to the day and let life happen.
It is August in Deschapelles, Haiti, the place where our Crosby Fund for Haitian Education is located. It is about 15 years ago, and we had not yet built our Education Center or our guest house. We were staying in the only hotel in town called “Kay Ayiti.” Our office building was rented from a man named Luquece, an entrepreneur in town who owned the hotel and the morgue. Ted and I traveled alone on this trip, and on this particular day, I was planning to visit more schools in the area, but it was very hot even in the morning, and my back was bothering me, and I decided to take the day off and catch up with some paperwork. I was sitting at a table under the metal roof going over my notes, when I heard a strange sound. I recognized it as human, but not a language per se, and not a sound caused by any emotion like pain, laughter, or surprise. I turned around and a saw a young man, probably in his early 30’s. He was slowly approaching me, a little hesitant, not knowing how I would respond. Seeing that, I motioned for him to come and sit with me, and he seemed pleased with the invitation. I could tell at that point that he was deaf and unable to speak. We sat together that morning and communicated a little through bodily gestures and pointing at things. He always made the same sound with little variation. Most of the time, we simply sat in silence. He had such a gentle demeaner, but a lonely face devoid of emotion. Occasionally he smiled a little. I could tell he liked sitting with me, and we shared mutual curiosity for one another, we also shared a sense of peace as we sat together for what seemed like over an hour.
I learned later that he is called BéBé, which in Kreyol means a deaf mute. Nobody knows his proper name, or if he ever was given one. He has always been called BéBé, a fact I found heartbreaking and disrespectful, but people say he doesn’t hear it or know it, so it doesn’t matter. It mattered to me. I was told his mother abandoned him when he was a young child, and he has literally been passed around within the community, never being adopted or having a home. There are no social services in Haiti, so being born deaf and being abandoned is hard to imagine, especially in that very impoverished country. At this point in his life, he was living in a room at the hotel that Luquece had given him and was given food by the cook, Gladys, in exchange for his work at the local morgue. Not a very pleasant job I would imagine, perhaps that is another reason for the blank face. I can’t imagine the sadness of his life and his inability to share his burdens or feelings with anyone. After learning his story, I felt such compassion for him and I wanted to help him in some way, but I didn’t know how, except to spend a little time together just sitting and communicating each day, just being present together. I realized on that day that my time and attention was what he needed the most – what he hungered for and never had from others. It was a gift to him – and realizing that, was a gift to me. I learned more deeply that day the importance of the gift of presence to another. We should never underestimate it or reduce it to a small thing. It matters.
When it was time to return to the U.S., he helped carry our luggage, and he looked sad, more sad than usual. I tapped my heart and pointed to him, and he returned the gesture to me, and I gave him a hug – the universal language of love and care. He understood it. That was the beginning of our friendship, and on every subsequent trip, we saw BéBé. When the youth from our church traveled to Haiti, he helped carry supplies and watched over their backpacks when they were doing other things like playing soccer with the local Haitian team. He wanted to help but most of all he wanted to be included in the group, he wanted to matter to someone, to belong to some circle of friendship. He desperately wanted to be loved and belong.
We haven’t been to Haiti in 5 years, I learned several years ago that he no longer was working at the morgue or living at the hotel, he had lost that job and Gladys, who had been feeding him, died a year ago. I inquired about Bébé to see if he was okay. Fednor, our program administrator, said he would find out. Later in the day, he reported back that Bébé was okay but hungry, and he didn’t know where he slept at night. I have since made a request that BéBé be included in our food distribution program. This program was founded 4 years ago to help the most vulnerable people in our area. Each month a group of volunteers receive funds and purchase food such as rice, beans, pasta, and vegetables and distribute these bags of food to over 100 families and individuals. Our church’s mission board helps support this effort. It seems like a drop in the bucket, but I know it helps people like BéBé and that helps me sleep at night. What I miss about not being able to go to Haiti, is not only the scholarship and education work we do with our amazing Haitian staff, but the relationships that we have nurtured over 22 years, and all my dear friends, like BéBé, who made our life so rich with love.
The second story takes place in 2011 on a Green Grass trip to the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota to be with our Lakota friends. We were leading a youth group of about 8 young people and there were 8 adults as well. It was on that trip that I met Noah, a shy 12-year-old Lakota boy. He is the youngest son of Winona Kasto, who has visited our church several times. School was challenging for Noah in the city of Pierre, where he lived. He was one of the few Native Americans at the school and there were many children who were raised to be prejudiced against the Lakota, and on top of that, he had a learning disability that made him stand out as someone lesser than the others. Life was challenging for Noah.
Toward the end of the trip, we traveled back to Rapid City, and several Lakota friends including Noah joined us. We took a day trip to Sylvan Lake located in Custer State Park. Most of the group climbed Harney Peak, renamed Black Elk Peak, a sacred site for the Lakota people. Once again, my back was bothering me, and I decided not to make the climb. I stayed behind at the lake with Noah, who wanted to play in the water and needed someone to watch him. I was happy to do so; I just wanted to relax for the day on my towel. Noah splashed around in the water by the shore, but after a bit, he came to me and asked very earnestly and politely if I could teach him to swim. He declared that he wanted to swim to the big rock that was about 75 feet away from the shore and over his head. I had my doubts, but I didn’t share them with him. I told him I would try and luckily, I was wearing a bathing suit. I worked showing him the doggy paddle, how to hold and cup his hands and kick his feet while I held him up. Every time I removed my hands, he sank time and time again as if stones were tied to his ankles. He tried so hard, and was so determined to swim, so we didn’t give up. Finally, much to my amazement, he started to stay above the water and actually move forward a bit. By the end of the afternoon, we swam together very slowly to the rock, and when we arrived, he managed to climb to the top of it. I have never seen a boy so proud, with such a big smile at his accomplishment. He was literally beaming. Noah faced many challenges in his life, but on that day, after hours of hard work and determination, he was on top of that rock standing with great pride for the world to see, and I was treading water with tears of joy. A memory I still hold dear in my heart, and I wonder if he does too.
How thankful I am that I sat the day out, because this experience was a treasure, a moment of connection that is dear to me, just like the time spent with BéBe. These experiences wouldn’t have happened if I had participated in the plan for the day, but because I stayed behind and was open to whatever came along, I experienced and connected with two very special individuals, who I believe needed my presence and attention that day, and I needed them as well. They touched my soul and warmed my heart deeply in a way that does not happen on a regular basis. These strangers became my friends, not just acquaintances but so much more. To be fully present with another human being and share something of yourself, and to receive what they are offering is a gift of the spirit, felt in our body and in our hearts as love. These relationships are transformative and help us be more open and compassionate toward all the vulnerable people in this world like BéBé and Noah – those outside the mainstream, with difficult lives, with no voice, but deep and passionate feelings and desires waiting for someone to see them as worthy of their time, to recognize in them the dignity and beauty of one of God’s beloved. These experiences were simple in nature, there was no great adventure, no dramatic turn in events, just simply a mutual sharing of time and self with another – the ministry of presence.
These experiences of mutual sharing are the treasures of our Partnership and Mission work in our church and our work with immigrant families. Many times, we cannot fix the people’s problems, yet we can share their burdens for a time. We can give them the gift of our time and undivided attention. This mutual sharing is a healing act of compassion, an act of spiritual unity expressed by the author in the Letter to the Ephesians, where we are called with humility, gentleness, and patience to bear one another in love. There are times when more can be done like a gift of food, or funds to pay for something urgently needed, but it is done in the same spirit that does not make the recipient beholden to the donor. It is done in the spirit of mutual love.
Isaiah writes, ‘For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the Sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.’
I like to think of the word that Isaiah speaks of in broader terms, similar to how we understand Jesus as the Word of God in his presence, actions, teachings, his love and very being. The word goes out to another and does not return empty, instead it transforms and changes a relationship from a stranger to a friend – it is the Spirit in you engaging and recognizing the Spirit in another. This is the Unity of Spirit in the bond of peace that we read earlier in the Letter to the Ephesians.
This unity of Spirit is felt in this congregation each Sunday. We come together to build relationships, to make new friends, to nurture old friends, to share our lives in the spirit of unity.
Over the last few weeks, many volunteers came together to share a monumental task called the White Elephant Sale. Working side by side with others for a common cause, reacquainting some old friends and making new friends, sharing each other’s lives over the tasks of setting up, sorting, labelling, organizing, selling and breaking down. I have heard the stories through the years of friendships made, good times felt, and a sense of community while much is accomplished. Through your work, second-hand goods are transformed into funds that help our church do the work of Christ, to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, house the homeless, care for the elderly, aid the sick and wounded, and engage in our missions, partnerships, and immigration work, to be present for another in their time of need. This was a more challenging year, as we experienced a change in the leadership, but you stepped up to the task and accomplished what you set out to do—just like Noah on the rock. You exemplify the unity of the Spirit as one body called the First Congregational Church of Old Lyme. For that all of us in the congregation are proud and truly grateful! Thank you! Amen.