My dad and mother would help anyone, and they did. They farmed the old home place in East Texas, which barely made us a living. Still, my dad had time to be on the school board and my mother was active in the community. They were not part of the white caste system that existed in East Texas. We often hear stories of how the African Americans were abused and mistreated, and they were. We seldom hear of other groups, mostly white, unless you read a Flannery O’Conner novel. They were called the poor white trash, “Folks who couldn’t/wouldn’t help themselves.” They were Steinbeck’s people, desperate, on the move trying to find a place. Their land in the dust bowl was “all tractored out,” and hope was gone. My mother and her Methodist Circle spent many hours reaching out to these folk.
After moving to Iowa, I would go home in the summer to see my family. My parents were retired and living on a small acreage in a little house that my Dad and a friend built from scrap lumber. And it was a good house. With his Ford plant union pension, they managed very well.
One of the last times I visited them before my mother died, she always had a list of people who needed prayer, and would I go with her. I think she wanted to show off her educated Preacher Son.
One stop was to see the new baby that had arrived to the couple down the road. I asked, “Mother, who are these people?” “Well, they didn’t have two nickels, so your Dad and I have been helping out.” She had a bag of food from the grocery store, and some drugs from the pharmacy.
All of this comes to mind as I meditate over the words,
“Be not weary with well doing.
” With all of the noise we are making within our solemn assemblies, it is easy to feel like a weary church. Is it possible those tiny little words from the Thessalonians might yet save us?
We always live in two worlds. One foot in the world that is; the other in a world that could be. It is common these days to ignore the world as it is unless it causes discomfort. But the Good News of Jesus Christ will not let us off the hook. And this bit of scripture points to the world that could be—
with our help
.
When I hear those words, “Be not weary with well doing,” I sometime also hear, “I’m tired and I’m weary and I must go on.” Then I see my Dad’s old work shoes and his ax. During the war years, he cut wood in his spare time with that double-bit ax for Christmas money. Both parents looked tired, but still offering a helping hand where needed. For them that was their faith. The sparkle in the eye was always there.
They were Methodists and they knew that being the good neighbor sancitified life.
I am glad they didn’t live to see what we United Methodists are doing to ourselves these days. But I know how they would have responded. My mother would write the Bishop “to give her a piece of my mind” and to let her know that the conversation we are having is very harmful to parents who have children who are different. Then the question, “Why in the name of God are we persecuting the innocent?”
When I am on the verge of growing weary, I think about my parents, and I press on.
“Lord Have Mercy.
Christ Have Mercy.
Lord Have Mercy –Indeed!”
