Eclectic Christian

Each month I select one of my own favorite stories from my own blog to post on here. This month I’ve selected St. Lucia.

The coins clattered to the stone and Lucia looked around as if she expected somebody to notice. In fact, many people noticed the sound of coins hitting the ground in this poor neighborhood but none of the people were her wealthy soon-to-be husband. She had no trouble giving away the money but knew it must be done in relative secrecy lest her betrothed find out that she was giving away her dowry. Her mother had not approved and had begged her to think of her father–her recently passed father–but could not convince her. At least, not since that night at Agatha’s tomb when she had been healed from her bloody problem. They had waited and prayed all night and Lucia’s mother had finally been healed but Lucia had been the recipient of a vision at the same moment that foretold her soon coming martyrdom. Mom had been happy to be healed and Lucia had not let her know what she had learned. Instead, she proposed that she be allowed to give away her dowry to the poor as an act of almsgiving. Of course, mom had resisted but Lucia won out. As she handed over the last of the coins, she breathed a sigh of relief–partly because she had maintained the secrecy and partly because she was glad to finally be rid of the bride money–after all, she had committed herself to a celibate life and had no desire to be a bride in this world.

Yet, as thing so often happen, her betrothed was quick to find out. He was a wealthy man and so he had much influence. Great influence in a city buys many eyes in various places and some of them had told him that they thought they had seen her in the streets giving away a large sum of money. He confronted her and asked to see the dowry set aside for him to gain when he finally married her. She knew she had been caught and so she admitted that she had given it away–knowing well that her martyrdom was likely to spring from this moment of opportunity. “If you don’t replace it, I will betray your secret–that you are a Christian–to the magistrate. Maybe then you’ll see some sense once you’ve given up these silly Christian fables.” he yelled. She nodded because she knew he would and because she had come to accept it.

She was arrested at her betrothed’s insistence and dragged before magistrate Paschasius. This was during the time of the Diocletian persecutions and being Christian was akin to high treason. She was ordered to make a sacrifice upon the Roman altars and she refused. Paschasius was not surprised by any means–it seemed that the Christians were only all too willing to refuse and die if the other option was denying their Faith. “If you do not,” said Paschasius, “then you’ll be killed. Offer sacrifice and live.” Paschasius wasn’t surprised but he was confused–what could be so valuable as to forfeit your life–it didn’t make any sense to him (it never does to the Empire).

“Here is my offering,” Lucia began, “I offer myself to God, let God do with His offering as it pleases Him.” Paschasius sat in shocked silence for a moment. Lucia’s betrothed was dumbstruck by what he might call her lunacy but others might call her courage. Paschasius finally asked her why she would not like to keep her life and be married. He pointed out many of the desirable traits of her betrothed. Lucia let them know that she had committed herself to celibacy and was not interested in marriage.

At this, Paschasius saw an opportunity to wring a denial out of her. “Deny your faith,” he said slickly, “or I’ll turn you over to the brothel to be raped and become a prostitute.” He gloated to himself and smiled what can only be called a smile of self-satisfaction. In this, he had revealed the Empire’s great lust to control and dominate even if by evil means. He fully expected her to give in but this time he truly was surprised.

Lucia siad: “No one’s body is polluted so as to endanger the soul if it has not pleased the mind. If you were to lift my hand to your idol and so make me offer against my will, I would still be guiltless in the sight of the true God, who judges according to the will and knows all things. If now, against my will, you cause me to be polluted, a twofold purity will be gloriously imputed to me. You cannot bend my will to your purpose; whatever you do to my body, that cannot happen to me.” Furious, Paschasius ordered her eyes gouged out and then to be martyred. The soldiers followed through and ended her life as a martyr.

by Joshua Hearne

Jumping quickly from the #6 Bus to catch the #1 bus was a regular occurence for me during the school year. The #6 picked me up near Duke’s campus and carried me away from idyllic Duke and through Downtown Durham to get to the primary city bus terminal. Once I got there, I had to rush to make sure I caught the #1 bus so that it could take me, through Northgate and Walltown, to my apartment. The city buses were a learning experience on many occasions but near the end of my Durham Bus tenure, I had a particularly interesting experience.

By some stroke of luck, the #6 had arrived at the terminal early and the #1 had not yet arrived. I had about 4-7 minutes to stand and wait. That was okay, though, because I was busy reading Adolf von Harnack’s What is Christianity? for my Church History course. It’s a dense read so I was focused pretty intensely on it. My attention, though, was raised by a homeless man who I had seen at the terminal before, who had told me his name was Robert, asking for handouts and/or help. Usually, the line was that he had a baby that needed diapers. Regardless of what you had to give, he was clear to say: “C’mon… diapers cost more than that…” Maybe Robert wasn’t scamming people but it did seem dubious at times. I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a ruse. If that makes me a bad person, then I imagine that I am not alone in my wickedness.

I looked over and saw a man, Ibrahim, that I had become familiar with while riding the #1 bus. His kufi and copy of the Koran–in Arabic–clearly identified his religion. On more than one occasion, I had set in front of or behind Ibrahim on the bus. Often times while engaged in studying either the New Testament in Greek or Old Testament in Hebrew. I’d imagine that we were quite the sight for the other riders. Side note: If you ever want to have a seat on the bus to yourself, read a book in a language with a different alphabet. On more than one occasion, Ibrahim and I would have the last free seats on the bus next to us. Ibrahim approached Robert and discretely gave a few folded bills to him and then began to walk away as Robert thanked him in his, typically, loud way. I was, apparently, not the only person who saw this, however. As Ibrahim was walking away, a large woman that I knew as Clara from a previous encounter [a story for another day in which I was berated for my reading selection] walked up and demanded, “How much did he give you?” Robert was wary of her as she was very loud and very forceful. Too much attention could be bad for him in Downtown Durham. There were gang members around who would be interested in how much money he had on him and there were police officers around who would not be pleased with panhandling.

She opened his hand, very impolitely I might add, and loudly asked: “15 dollars? That’s it?” She then proceeded to dig into her purse and produce three 10-dollar-bills and place them into his hand as if she were giving him his change at McDonalds. “I’m a christian…” she added loud enough for anybody to hear, “… and I want you to know that Jesus loves you…” and that christianity wins this alms-race. Her tone and the focus of her eyes clearly pointed out that her gift (twice that of Ibrahim) proved her right and more loving. I shook my head and mumbled to myself when I saw another woman approach.

I was familiar with her, too. She had long braided brown hair, wore a tattered skirt and smelled of patchouli. She wasn’t a “hippie” or a “new-ager.” In fact, conversation with her would demonstrate that she didn’t necessarily believe in specific ideas or thoughts but, rather, failed to believe in “established” or “orthodox” thoughts. She was a bit of a religious mutt. Some might call her a syncretist. I called her Eileen. I, also, called her a fun and interesting conversation. Today’s flavor seemed to be a particular shade of Wicca that involved obligatory references to the “Earth Mother.” She approached Robert, Clara, and Ibrahim and with some soft and hard to understand statements about life, earth, nature, and harmony she gave Robert another fifty dollars.

Robert was very happy. He was benefitting from this Alms Race and doing very well with it. He had received 95 dollars to be a plot of land over which people could fight. An argument had broken out between these Clara, Ibrahim, and Eileen in which Clara was picking fights, Ibrahim was disinterested, and Eileen was trying to calm down everybody but herself. Robert was basking in the chaos.

I was completely dumbfounded.

But from my right I see a small man I didn’t know and still don’t know walk up to Harry, one of the other homeless men at the terminal, and say “Blessings upon you, brother. Life has been hard but there is a God who cares for you and loves you. Though we suffer now, God wants to redeem us. Though we are alone and struggling, now, God offers peace and rest in Jesus Christ the suffering and struggling.” I smiled and tried to make sure that he didn’t know I had overheard. He handed Harry some money and continued, “Here’s something to help you out. If you need a meal, a place to stay, or anything I can help you with… Here’s my phone number and address. Don’t hesitate to call, brother.” Then, he slipped away behind the building and caught his bus. Harry looked around to see if anybody else had noticed. I smiled at him and he indicated confusion at what had just happened. I held up my book and tapped the covered which prominently displayed the title: “What is Christianity?” Then I pointed towards the bus where the man had boarded. I looked back over my shoulder at the Alms Race. Robert was gone. Clara was still yelling. Eileen was still struggling to remain calm. Ibrahim had gone back to his reading and ignored the others.

I put my book away and turned in my bible. I turned to Matthew 6. I smiled as I read verse 3: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing…”

by Joshua Hearne

It was 2:45 AM. I had been called to the Hospitality Room of the Intensive Care Unit. I was bleary eyed and I had mistakenly put on navy pants with my black jacket and white dress shirt. I had received the call at about 1:45 AM and had rushed to get dressed and get down to the hospital. My navy-black recognition skills aren’t good to begin with. Throw in the darkness of night and sleep-deprived eyes and it’s pretty much random. I had taken off my jacket and stashed it in the office. Dress pants and shirt would be good enough. So, after checking in with the family in the hospitality room, I ducked out to get a cup of coffee and check on the patient with the doctors and nurses down the hall. On my way back, I noticed that one of the cleaning-guys was waxing the floor.

I leaned against the wall next to a guy who was watching the floor-waxer.

“I wonder if they wax the floors in Orthopedics…” I remarked. He laughed at my lame joke. I’m still not sure if it was a pity laugh but I’m guessing it was. As a chaplain, I usually appreciated the pity laugh. After all, I was just trying to break the ice, usually. It doesn’t have to be funny, it just has to be conversation.

“You can wax the floor in such a way that it isn’t slippery” he said to me. Over the next 10 minutes, he proceeded to teach me about how to wax a floor correctly. I needed to give the family in the Hospitality Room time alone. Time alone is an important part of the grieving process and the process of preparation for death. It gives them time to grow together and talk openly.

“You seem to know something about floor waxing” I replied to the man.

“It’s what I do. I’m a janitor and floor waxer over at Barrasons. Look at the way he moves that waxer. He’s sliding it back and forth but he’s not getting the edges.” He remarked. He continued, “He’s not doing a very good job.”

“Not many people will notice around here.” I offered.

“But he should notice. I don’t see how he can do his job that way” he questioned. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I know that it’s only waxing floors but when something is your job, you should do it as best as you can. Right?”

I nodded numbly and felt as if either he had just said something important or he was getting ready to do so.

“It may not be important work but it is the work that you do. Why do anything if you’re just going to cut corners? Why live if you’re just looking for the easy way out?” He questioned.

I didn’t have an answer but I considered all the times I had felt unappreciated in my position as chaplain. I asked, “So who are you looking for around here?”

“I’m part of this group in this room” he stated. He indicated the Hospitality room. “I just can’t be in there right now. That’s my father that’s dying down there.”

Now, it felt like I needed to say something. “It’s okay to be scared of this. It’s okay to be upset about it. You have every right to feel the way you’re feeling. But for every blessing in our life, there is the fear of losing it. You cannot feel great without knowing that there may be a time when it’s no longer there. If your father dies tonight, it will be a sad thing. And you will, and should, grieve. But this grief is not something to avoid by standing in a hallway and refusing to feel it. Instead, I remind you that living life by cutting corners is hardly a way to live. Grief is a terrible and painful thing but it is part of our experience. It’s tough but you will not go through it alone. I have faith that God cares about our sufferings so much that even when it was God’s right and privilege to avoid pain, suffering, and death… God chose it. God didn’t cut the corners then and understands how you feel, tonight.”

He nodded. He cried a little. He gave me a hug. He went into the Hospitality Room.

His father died that night. The family grieved. They grieved well for a beloved father. They didn’t cut corners. They lived.