Peace Be With Us

 

April 19, 2020; Second Sunday of Easter

John 20:19-31

I have red hair, when I was young, it was really red…and I was often reminded of this fact, by strangers, old ladies at church, and bullies.

One day, when I was in second grade, I ran afoul of said bullies, and after letting them know that I did not appreciate their teasing, they offered to meet up with me after school to discuss the situation further: a classic set up, right out of the movies.

However, it was not quite as much fun in real life.

So, when school ended, I found myself sheltering in place. I was smart enough to stay near the office, but could see the bullies loitering just outside. I knew I was safe for the moment, but would not be able to stay there for long, and was thinking of an exit strategy, but not coming up with anything practical.

All I knew was that it was not safe to go outside.

I was thinking about my chances of taking another exit, thinking they could not be watching both the front and back doors at the same time…right? Then I saw a rattling old ’65 Valiant pull up to the curb!

It was my big brother Pete!

I was not expecting him, but my mother had asked him to pick me up after school, because there was big news!

When I walked out of the school, the bullies approached, but Pete saw them and told them to “get lost” and they backed away!

I was safe, at least for that afternoon!

When I got home, my mother told me I was changing schools!

(Yes, this really happened)

I would have to get used to a ‘new normal’ but at least those bullies wouldn’t bother me again!

And I knew that no matter what happened, that I would always have someone watching my back, always have someone to support me…just like Pete did, when he chased off the bullies.

In today’s Gospel, we find the disciples, also sheltering in place.

They were afraid to go out…because it was dangerous out there.

I remember hearing this Gospel in church, as a child, and thinking that they lacked faith in God, faith in the words of Jesus.

Wondering why they did not go out boldly and stand up their bullies…although I used caution with my own.

Looking down on them because they were afraid, and hiding.

However, these were thoughts of a child, and I was mistaken. For the disciples, going out WAS dangerous!

It would have put their lives, and the lives of those they loved, at risk because the same people who had executed Jesus wanted to kill them as well!

So, the disciples stayed hidden, and waited until it was safe to go outside; although they did not know when that would be.

While in hiding behind locked doors, they did their best to make sense of everything that had happened:

The arrest, torture and death of Jesus, the threats given by those in power, and now, the stories of his return! None of it made any sense, no wonder the disciples were afraid and confused.

They were facing an uncertain future. They knew it would be different, but had no idea what it would be like…yet.

But, for the moment, they knew it was better for them to play it safe, and stay in hiding.

There are some of us who may be able to relate to how the disciples were feeling on this evening.

Then, in the midst of their fear, sorrow and confusion, Jesus was with them!

And he appeared right when they needed him!

Just like my brother Pete did on that afternoon!

On this evening, the disciples needed hope, they needed to have something to give them peace, they needed Jesus!

He knew this, and so the first thing Jesus said to them was “Peace be with you”.

Usually, it is a simple greeting, but here, in the midst of their hiding place, these words became something more!

The last thing the disciples were feeling at that moment was peace.

Jesus’ greeting was also a sincere wish calm, a message of hope in the midst of a very difficult time.

Telling them, “Peace be with you” was a way of letting the disciples know that they were not alone, that God was still with them…that the promise of Christ, the promise of new life, was at hand…and this was reason for peace!

And this gift was given to them…and to all of us!

Then, Jesus asks us all to go out into the world, to tell others the good news, to share this gift of peace with a troubled world.

It is not an easy task, as our world is unsettled, and not everyone wants to hear this message of peace, nor does everyone want to hear the about God’s presence in our world.

The disciples would discover this for themselves, and that is why their road was not an easy one, but Jesus never promised that following him would be easy. There were plenty of reasons for them to have fear and uncertainty, but in the words of Jesus: “Peace be with you” there is hope, and strength.

Because with these words, Jesus is reminding the disciples that they are not alone, that they were part of the miracle of the Resurrection.

That faith can overcome fear.

Our lives are not easy either, even without a pandemic there are plenty of reasons to feel fear and uncertainty…

And at a time like this, it is even more important to be at peace, to seek out the faith that can quiet our fear, the hope that is found in knowing that God’s love surrounds always.

It is also important to remember that not only did Jesus wish us peace, but he also called upon us to be peace in our world…and to share this gift with our troubled world.

For the more we share God’s love and grace with each other the stronger it grows!

When we show compassion to those who are struggling, offer comfort to those who mourn, we are sharing our faith, faith that speaks to fear and uncertainty.

It is together that we will find the peace that we need to face the challenges of today, together that we will become the peace we need to move forward into our new normal…as we adjust to a new way of life in the wake of the virus.

In our new normal, it will be even more important for us to watch out for each other; not only to share this peace, but to be that peace!

May the peace of the Lord be with us all.

Going Public

There are guys sit there in the middle of Lincoln Financial Field, during a game, and not care one bit…there they would be, in all their glory, cheering on the team, happy to have such a great seat, right on the field and did not have to miss any part of the action!

I am not one of these guys! 

I am much more private in regard to these personal matters, and have never been a fan of using public facilities to participate in more focused activities. I think they are nasty, and I don’t enjoy over-sharing with others, like strangers and co-workers. This includes my family and my Significant Other – some things need to remain mysterious, even in a long-term relationship!

If it’s a routine trip, where I can remain standing, I am okay with using a public restroom. However, if it requires me to take a seat, I am less than enthusiastic. If possible, I usually wait until I get home, or at least at a more suitable location.

This has tended to be problematic, especially when on a long road-trip, like when driving out to South Dakota or down to Florida. I got exposed to many gas station restrooms during these trips, and one that was still segregated in 1971…where I drank out of the ‘wrong’ water fountain because I was a kid and it was lower to the ground.

The water tasted just fine.

This quirk of mine was also a problem at Summer Camp, where the facilities were cleaned by High School and College students making some summer cash, and more interested in hanging out with their friends once work was done! With dirty cement floors, half-cleaned utilities, and open to insects, the worst part was having the other kids know exactly what was going on in the stalls! This is why I did my best to find some alone time!

At camp our time was structured, and to have the bathroom all to myself, I’d have to sneak off during free-time, when everyone else was playing softball or exploring the woods. I would hope that no one else had the same idea, and that it was relatively clean…although there were weeks when these opportunities only presented themselves once or twice, and I only found relief when I made it home!

When I went camping with my family, if there was one available, I could sneak over to the bath-house later in the evening, or early in the morning, and would usually have the place to myself, though it was still gross, at least I was alone.

However, when we went camping in the Maine woods, I was presented with another challenge: having to use an outhouse!

I have often thought that I would not have lived long if I had been born 100 years earlier, because outhouses are really disgusting: the smell, the dirt, the bugs…and did I mention the smell?

During that week in Maine there was no other choice! I was reluctant to use the outhouse to begin with, and then my brother Pete warned me to be careful because that the pit might have raccoons living in it. When he saw that this scared me (I was 7) he added that it was probably okay, because the snakes might have eaten them all!

I became very close to nature that week, and am still surprised that I didn’t wind up with a case of poison ivy!

However, there was one outhouse that I was okay with…because I helped to build it!

Some friends had a place in Massachusetts, it was basically half of an old house. The previous owner was going to add an addition, but for some reason the project was abandoned. This left the house without adequate bathroom facilities (if it ever had them) so on our first visit, I got to help dig the hole and build the privy out of logs! I did not mind using that one…at least when it was new!

While I am not sure where my aversion to public toilets came from, a contributing factor could be trauma suffered as a young child.

When I was very little (preschool age) my friends and I would tag along with our mothers on their shopping trips. We’d often get lunch out of the deal, and get to play on the coin operated rides outside of the Acme, as well as just generally get into trouble.

After drinking lots of soda, the inevitable would occur, and we’d have to visit the facilities. Stores like Korevettes or Two Guys had pay toilets, so our mothers would give us each a dime; however, since we wanted to keep the money for candy, we would usually slide underneath the stall doors!

We thought we were so clever, and we got away with it, we were little kids, so no one really cared. This plane worked out just fine…until it did not!

The one time that this plan did not work out so well led to some ‘unfortunate’ consequences and it was the last time I ever tried defraud the pay-toilet industry.

I am sure that this incident had a negative impact on my opinion of public restrooms, but this is not the only reason, there were other unpleasant events that I have encountered during my time here on earth.

In fact, there are some bathrooms I would not even use in a dire emergency.

The facilities at the Staten Island Ferry terminals and the Port Authority are atrocious. People actually live in some of the stalls! And then there were the bar bathrooms that were equally horrific! Most of these were unisex and only had room for one person and the cockroaches, but this did not stop me from using the back of the tank to do lines of cocaine!

One of the worst bar bathrooms I ever encounter was at Studio 54. I went there for a work event, the club was a shadow of what it used to be, and on its last legs! The signs denoting gender were largely ignored, which was understandable because the bathrooms no longer had any doors, and neither did the stalls! Everything was sticky, and there were all sorts of inappropriate activities going on in there!

Unfortunately, there are very few public facilities in New York City, this along with being under the influence of drugs and alcohol led to some choices that were not very well thought out.

The fact that this is no longer an issue is another gift of Sobriety, it is amazing how that solved so many of life’s nuisances.

However, there are some nicer public restrooms in the city, like the big one in Times Square (my has THAT area changed) and two spots with very nice facilities are in 30 Rockefeller Center  and the Empire State Building (although these can be hard to find), and the higher-priced mid-town hotels have even nicer facilities…these are actually tolerable!

And before you ask: I have never used the facilities in Trump Tower, although I was once briefly in the lobby, and thought I saw a bad comb-over through the crowd, but I may have been mistaken.

Train stations, museums, shopping malls, and retail stores usually have tolerable facilities; however, I am sure that many of these now have cameras in them, for security reasons. This assumption is based on anecdotal evidence provided by certain associates who have availed themselves of the restrooms at Walmart, only to have been confronted by store security upon exiting, and then invited to chat with representatives of local law enforcement.

The acceptability of work bathrooms can be a toss-up.

Most are fairly well maintained, but I have been in some where the sinks turned into fountains, and the floor was always wet with trash on the floors. There were stalls were coated with filth and graffiti, and many that were clean in the morning, but a disaster by noon.

Once, when I worked in an old office building in Lower Manhattan, one of the ‘units’ in the Men’s Room had a plumbing issue that lasted for months, unfortunately, its integrity had been ‘compromised’ prior to being closed off. The stall was sealed with tape and plastic, but the oblivious (or curious) found their way inside, and the conditions found inside were very troubling. The bathroom also smelled terrible and there were flies but it seemed that the roaches and rats were too grossed out and stayed away.

Fortunately, I had networked my way into the ‘executive’ facilities on the next floor up. These were not all that much nicer, but they were cleaner and did not stink as much. Our Men’s room remained unusable for several months, until a VP walked into it, and walked right out, that a cleaning crew and a plumber were called in.

Speaking of which, it is important that we recognize those brave people who are tasked with keeping these bathrooms clean.

To this day, although I am a Middle-Aged man, with many years Sober, who has been married, divorced, raised a child, held many jobs and earned two degrees, I am still reluctant to take full advantage of public facilities…and while it can be problematic at times (and silly), I can live with it. I still find them gross, and still feel that somethings just don’t need to be shared with the world (which makes it writing this essay a bit of a contradiction).

However, this is one thing that all people have in common, no matter who we are, what our political or spiritual beliefs are, or where we are from, we all need clean water to drink, food to eat, and, at some point, we all will need use the bathroom, and often these are public facilities!

These are the great common denominators in our humanity: what Maslow referred to as the Hierarchy of Needs:

As humans we also share one more thing: that we all have our quirks, yet we are still loved, which meets the important need of companionship…for most of all, we need each other!

The fact that we can find love and acceptance in spite of ourselves says something about the people in our lives. For they put up with our quirks, and more annoying tendencies, but they still care for us!

And this is what really matters: for while I know that using a public restroom will most likely not be the end of me, losing these people that I care for, and who care for me very well could be.

 

Orange Head & Pink Hair

We moved into the big house in East Orange in July of 1969, right around the time of the moon landing. It was a beautiful house, on a tree-lined street of well-kept homes, and much larger than our old house in West Orange.

I had left behind my old school, my neighborhood friends, and moved to a new town. Although it was not a great distance, the move changed everything. The new neighborhood looked nice, and it was close to where my dad worked as a College Professor, but there weren’t a lot of kids my age, and the once who were there did not want to make friends. The folks already living there were well off, and we were not (though we were not poor either) and they came off as somewhat snobby.

In addition, about the time we were moving in, many of the neighbors were making plans to move out!

It was less than two years after the Newark Riots, and ‘White Flight’ was underway. It did not help that the riots took place only a few miles away. One kid told me about watching the National Guard trucks going up Park Avenue (at the end of our street) on their way to the riots.

This is probably why we got our house at such a good price, the family who lived there before us were among the many who were getting out of town. Within the next two years the ‘demographic’ of the neighborhood changed, as the old residents moved away! All of the new families were African-American, and much nicer than those who left…and I actually made a few friends.

When I started first grade in the fall of 1970, I found that I was one of a few white kids in the school, and the only one with bright red hair and blue eyes! This proved to be problematic for me, although most of the kids were fine, a few (like in any other school) enjoyed teasing and bullying me!

Before long, even my friends were calling me “Orange Head”; which was not as bad as getting threatened and chased (with intent to injure) because I looked different from anyone else. This made me a frequent target, and on more than one occasion, the kids who were my friends, helped me to get out of the back door of the school, telling me to hit the ground running…because the bullies were waiting for me at the front door!

This was not the first time being a red-head caused me problems, and while it was an extreme case, it would not be the last time in my life that having red hair caused me problems.

All my life, people have been reminding me of my hair color!

I was adopted by my family after having come as a foster child. As I was the only one in my family who was not biological, it was clear that I did not quite fit in with everyone else! They all had dark blond or brunette hair (except for my dad, who really was mostly bald) and I did not.

Of course, people were not shy about pointing this out! Often, when I was out and about with my family, people would point out “You have red hair!”

Of course, I knew I had red hair, it would be hard not to know that, and if I forgot, there were plenty of people to remind me of that fact!

Then, this initial revelation was usually followed up by the question “Where did you get that from?” to which I would happily answer “Because I was adopted!” Which seemed like a solid reasoning to me…it is true, I was the only one with red hair because I was adopted!

The old ladies at church would comment on how amazing my hair was, and tell me that “…the girls are going to LOVE you!” This made me blush at first, but as I got closer to my teens, I began to wonder when this might happen. While I might have been disappointed, at least they weren’t teasing me…they actually thought my hair was nice.

However, there were plenty of adults who did tease. Although they were good natured about it, I was still bothered. At the Chicken Delight where my brothers worked (and where I had my first job), the boss, Ritchie, took to saying that I had “pink hair”! Something he continued to tease me with until he passed away, and then came back when I wound up working with some of the Chicken Delight people at The Town Pub in 1983!

They called me “Jimmy Olsen” because I was interning with a newspaper, until Frank reminded me that I had “pink hair”! I got teased a lot, but it was a guy thing…and meant that I was now a part of the team (or so I like to tell myself).

Even when I went to a new school halfway through third grade, where my class was more diverse, the red hair made me stand out. Even through college, and entering the workforce, I was always reminded that I had an “orange head” and “pink hair”….that I was different!

No wonder I have often struggled to ‘find my place’ in the world, between being an adoptee and a red head, not to mention that I have never been very good at sports (and generally klutzy). However, I do not believe I was every treated like I did not belong in my family, quite the opposite! As for my lack of skill (or interest) in sports, this has freed me up for other pursuits, like my (attempt at) writing, love of movies and books…as well as hiking, and other activities.

My red hair has caused me to stand out. It has gotten me a lot of attention, both good and bad, and it has led me to become less self-centered (a work in progress), and think more about the feelings of others, giving me empathy for those who are facing their own struggles – even (to a point) for the bullies themselves…as they are often very broken people.

The teasing that I got for my hair color (and a few other things) also helped me to grow a thick skin, I had to…if I took all that to heart, I would have never survived. This thick skin has served me well in business, when working with customers, and in my personal life and volunteering, allowing me to face some awful situations without panic…even when I really wanted to!

My life has also taught me how we are all different, but also have so much in common with each other. I have learned the value of acceptance, and respect for each other, because there are no “minorities” when we are all part of the same human family, and being a part of the family doesn’t mean we have to agree on everything, or even always like each other; it does mean that we are all in this together, and the only way we can move forward is together.

Today, while the color has faded, my hair is still reddish, but my main reason for gratitude is that I still have most of it! Red hair has impacted the course of my life, for better and for worse, but I am glad that I was born with it.

I was also nice pass on this trait to my lovely daughter, who has thick bright red hair…which has caused her some embarrassment. She has tried to tone down her hair color by using black dye, but has been only relatively successful, as her natural color cannot be completely hidden away, much like her personality. Today she is the one who is constant reminded “You have red hair” over and over again!

At least it’s not orange or pink!