Ode to a Thrift Store

Good Night Irene.........

            So it may be no irony that this Holy Week I have found myself saying good bye to a dream, big idea, a hope, a wish or at its most basic level, maybe just a want.  We will be closing The Friends of Richmond Thrift Store in a few months.  After one year, it has proven to be more work than a few volunteers can do and financially we cannot afford local rent.     

            The interesting fact about the timing is that while I am preaching about Peter having to confront who he is while on the street with everyone watching, there has been talk by some that the store would have done better on a side street.  Maybe it was too difficult for people to come in because of what that might say about them.  

            Let me share what it said:

•  If you came in to donate clothing that was like new, sometimes with tags still on, with the clothes washed and folded---it said you cared and had no judgment about who was going to wear it next, and that you respected the volunteers sorting the clothes.

•  If you were a volunteer it said that where some saw a junk store you saw hope, possibility, and a chance to make a difference. 

•  If you were one of our customers it said you were smart!  It said you were wise enough to see opportunity, to not only treat yourself to a deal but to help your neighbor as the purchases were to assist the food pantry and fuel fund.

I have learned so much from this experience and created relationships with people I would have never met.  I have seen people who have very little according to the 21st Century's standards, give beyond measure.

I am not going to lie, just like any place there are always those wanting to trip up their brother or sister, those who have axes to grind or delight in failure, and I want to make it clear -------our closing does not mean we failed--we won!  We kept a shop open 4 days a week for a whole year with volunteers alone---no pay!  We had so many donations that we needed to add rack after rack. 

           

            When I stood with a friend and we imagined neighbors helping neighbors we had no idea where it would land us.  The shop may close but the volunteers will remain, those willing to give their time and energy will do so again.

What we shared in that space was more than sales, we shared relationships, we shared stories and once we have connected without neighbor in that way we can no longer turn our back on them.  

"Here we are all in one place

The wants and wounds of the human race

Despair and hope sit face to face

When you come in from the cold"-------Carrie Newcomer (Betty's Diner)

It is bittersweet this parting and has made for a heavy heart this Holy Week; sharing this news and telling our volunteers.  However I do know this---We shook the status quo up, we made people think, some were angry (Really? Yes really), some grateful and some were inspired. 

The people I have come to know are amazing, this is not the end of our story ....it may actually be only our beginning.  And so back to the beginning, it may be no irony that I am dealing with this during Holy Week....after all Easter is right around the corner.

I dare you....

Well used.

I was given this chalice and paten (cup and plate for communion) when I was reappointed from my first church eight years ago.  It was hand made by a pastor/potter from another church.  The irony is that this now broken set came to me broken.  It had separated in the kiln and the potter mended it.  She offered to make me a new one but I wanted this one, while it may have been imperfect there was something in the imperfection that appealed to me.  And after all isn't part of communion the recognition of all that was broken in order to be whole again?

     Today's scripture from John 12 is about Mary washing the feet of Jesus with expensive oil, she is accused of wasting it by Judas.  Some might accuse me of not being careful with this cup and plate as I used it to bring communion to people outside of the church building, this is obviously not a travel set, but it was my most loved set and there was something about sharing this with those who could not travel to church.

     And so its broken fate was inevitable, I always knew it, I just didn't know when it would happen.  The moment was like one I have had many times, walking down the sidewalk, a basket in my hand containing the cup, the plate, some flat bread, and on this day some paper hearts.  I heard the items break before I knew what happened.  I looked down and there it was; I wonder if anyone saw me gently picking up all the pieces.  It was not a quick retrieval as I reflected on my foolishness, and at the reality of just how fragile the set was; when it was in pieces it seemed so light.  The truth was that it was surprising it had made it this far at all. 

     When my grandmother downsized her home to move in with my parents my sister and I helped her pack and took to our own homes some items that meant something to us.  A red ceramic pitcher was one of my items.  I brought it to our home with 3 children between the ages of 6 and 3 years.  The pitcher immediately went on a shelf.  One morning I went to serve breakfast and the safe PLASTIC pitcher, for juice was already in use for something else.  I looked around and there was the red pitcher, sitting on the shelf "use me I dare you"! 

     I made the juice in the pitcher, cautiously stirring with a wooden spoon, I set in on the table and three sets of eyes looked at me "really?"  It was like a celebration, a beautiful breakfast, Granny (yes we called her Granny) was at the table.  We used that pitcher for years, and like my communion set, we forgot how fragile it was.  One evening while at church, our daughter called and said...”Mom it's broken, Granny's pitcher, it was an accident, we are sorry...we..."  I stopped her fumbling words and told her it was ok...really it was pretty amazing it had made it this far at all. 

      Bill and I made our way home; we stayed in the car for a minute as I had a moment thinking of my grandmother.  We entered the kitchen and those three sets of eyes looked at me with great sympathy.  I told them that I always knew it would break, I just didn't know when.  I could have left it on the shelf where it would have remained safe, but worthless.  That for years I felt her presence, felt her love through memories stirred in me every time I used the pitcher and I wouldn't change that for anything.

     The oil, the cup and plate, the red pitcher, these were simply vessels, vessels that were meant to be used.  We are vessels as well, made perfect in our imperfections, more fragile than we know at times, strengthened by the wonder of this fragility and the fact that we have made it this far at all.  God dares us to be used .

            I took a picture of these drooping daffodils because I was feeling a little like them.  Having been sick with bronchitis, a secondary infection from that and then finally shingles, I too was ready to fall over.

            Then I read this line from Psalm 32:6--Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of the mighty waters shall not reach them.

            I looked at the daffodils in a new light, what if they were simply a symbol of being folded in prayer.  Rather than looking at them as defeated compared to the dying but still standing mates in the vase, I looked at them as giving in to God as opposed to resisting God.  The other daffodils were still standing, but were they really alive?

            At my first pastoral appointment I was blessed to know a woman who was in a wheelchair as a result of polio.  Helen's was the first funeral I presided over.  I learned so much from her and her family as they shared her story.  She was the oldest of 7 or 8 children and acquired polio at the age of 2.  She learned to “walk” really using her hands; she climbed stairs and did what everyone else did in her family.  She was very bright, and loved to read to her brothers and sisters.  At some point in her life Helen realized that she needed to be in a wheelchair.

          Some may think this was a sign of giving up or of weakness, but to Helen it was a choice to remain strong.  Once she was in the wheelchair she had more energy to do all the things she wanted to do, she could get places quicker stay up later!  As she got older she realized she could no longer drive herself to the places she wanted to go.  Again she had to assess her energy; she needed to accept weakness in order to embrace her strength.  Helen was constantly readjusting her life, therefore living a vital life all of her life.

          This is really our story, as we deal with illnesses, grief or simply age, sometimes we have to accept our weaknesses in order to be strong again. Giving up on something that is non-productive or is preventing us from our best work, worship and love is not caving to weakness; we are made strong by our honesty.

            How much energy does it take to fight God's plea for us to fold in prayer, how much energy does it take to stand even when there is every indication in our lives that it may be time to fold over and regain strength?

            There is no better time than Lent to look at how we spend our time, money and energy.  No better time to bend in prayer and look at what we can let go of in order to be strong.