Monday, November 25, 2013

Sig

SIG 

            The first time I saw Sig I thought he was a homeless man, a street person.  He came to our Sunday school class, drawn by Dr. Price.  He was searching for truth, and for him that was a struggle.  He was a fairly tall man, but bent over and slouching.  His hair was gray, his face lined, teeth missing.  He was wearing work clothes, but they were clean.  He kept his head down and seldom spoke.  He was Jewish and proud of the fact, though he was not a practicing Jew.
            I often saw him at the flea market on Twenty-third Street.  I spoke to him, but he never answered, never even looked up.  I kept at it, always with the same response (or rather, lack of response.)   But then it changed.  He needed a ride (as far as I know, he had never driven or owned a car.)  My husband volunteered to take him where he needed to go, and so began a strange friendship.  Soon my husband was his chauffeur.
            Then, another change came when my husband started bringing him home, usually for a meal.  Most of the time he ate whatever I had prepared, but Sig would decide every few months that he wanted to barbecue.  He would bring the meat and I would fix the rest of the meal.  He worked every time to perfect his barbecue sauce and I was his assistant, finding what he needed and handing it to him.  Then we would have this huge meal and after I had cleaned up the dishes, Sig and I would sit in the living room and visit.  We talked about philosophy, society, government, religion.  Sometimes I played the role of mother (though he was ten years my senior!), scolding him or offering advice.
            I think my children were actually a little bit afraid of him, sometimes uneasy in his presence, but he did have a place in our family.  I have not seen him in many months, life having changed for both of us.
            Last Sunday I opened the paper to the obituary page and saw that Sig had died in a local health care facility.  I grieved for him and hoped that there would be some recognition of his death.  I was afraid that he would be ignored in death, as he often was in life.  There was no announcement of a funeral, but Tuesday afternoon I read the paper and saw that there had been a graveside service for him at the National Cemetery.  Since my son-in-law works at the cemetery, I asked him about the burial.  He said that there had been a full military burial and that somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred people had been there that morning.  Even an ex-mayor had been present, since Sig had worked for the city on the street crew for many years!  
            I realized then that I had underestimated Sig.  I had forgotten the people he sat next to on city buses and had given money to, when he saw their needs.  I forgot the waitresses he had befriended.  I forgot that, in his own way, he had been concerned for people and their needs.  He made an impact on this city, on his world.           
            Every person is valuable, is worth honoring.  I will remember Sig.  I honor his life.

                                                                        ~~Faith Himes Lamb

            

Monday, November 11, 2013

What Can I Do?


I’m feeling a little overwhelmed just now. The news from the Philippines is just crushing.  I talked to my daughter Sarah, who spent some time working in a hospital there in 2001, and she has heard from a friend who is safe. That’s an encouraging bit of news, but the images are awful, and we are too far away to take a cup of water or a blanket.  However, I did see a picture of United States Marines who were loading up supplies to go to those in need. In moments like these I am so proud of my country. I know we have a lot of problems, but the world does look to us for help.  May we never stop giving.

I was struck by a couple of lines in one of our songs from Sunday morning: “Christ is the water; We’re the cup God holds.” But how can we help those who are on the other side of the earth?  I remember years ago Bea Ward talking about the angst that develops when we have access to information but are too far away to do anything. The inability to provide tangible help creates stress. This is when we pray. It’s also when we look around Chattanooga and see how God might use us here.

My sermon notes from Sunday morning include these three points: 1—Be generous.  2—Pay attention to details.  3—Serve God. These are things I can do right here. How? I can buy yet another box of fruit or package of wrapping paper from a student who’s raising funds. I can set aside some money support some of these young people who will be going on mission trips next summer. I can say a kind word to someone who’s hurting or help a scared toddler find Mommy. In all of these things, Jesus said, “You did it to me” (Matthew 25:40).

If Christ is the water, and we’re the cup, may we be so full that when we are jostled, it’s the love of Christ that spills out onto others. Life is rough, that’s for sure. So let the jostling begin!

 
--Sherry Poff