From Hart to Hearts
A Message from Rev Linda Hart for the month of April 2010
When I was moving from Connecticut on the east coast of the US to Spokane, Washington (very nearly the other side of the country, around 2,700 miles), a good friend, Paul, came along for the ride. With all my worldly possessions being transported by a removals company, we were free to do some exploring as we made the drive over the wide prairies and the mountains. We had a few adventures, such as meeting up with several herds of cows being moved along the small roads we were travelling. There were some beautiful vistas and some urban ugliness. But my favorite moment of the whole trip happened when we were staying overnight in a small town in Montana.
We’d had a longish drive that day, and were lucky to find an inexpensive motel that offered a two bedroom apartment for the same price as regular room. I opened the boot of my new car, took a few things out and tried to close it. It wouldn’t stay closed. Paul watched the car while I called roadside service. They offered to find a garage to put it in until Monday (this was Friday) and then tow it 60 miles away to be repaired. I declined. After an hour on the phone, I was finally utterly fed up and just thanked them – with a considerable chill in my voice – and hung up. Paul crawled into the boot with a flashlight and figured it out. A little bend here a bit of a push there and it was fixed. Thank the designers for having a back seat that flipped down to allow access from the passenger compartment to the boot. We were saved, but now tired and frustrated.
Paul had spotted a restaurant when we drove into town, and we decided to walk down there – a few streets away – to have a nice dinner. Not very far along the main thoroughfare of the town, a man called out to us from across the street. We stopped, puzzled. He dodged traffic, and came running over to us. “Where are you all going?” he asked breathlessly. “To dinner,” we told him, even more confused. “Well,” he said, “in here” – he pointed to the community hall right next to us – “there’s an accordion jamboree taking place. It’s not to be missed!” Now that, I said to myself, is an evangelism that I would have never imagined.
Paul didn’t miss a beat. He asked the man about the event and what happened. There was a small back up band, and accordion players from far and wide each got a turn to play a couple of tunes. Some people danced, and everyone had a few beers and a good time. I peered in the window, as did Paul. The room was filled with smiling, happy people. Great, we both agreed. We’d have dinner, go get our dancing shoes and be back.
And back we went, and had a truly splendid evening. Paul and I both love polkas, swing and waltzes, and had been dancing friends for many years. The people were friendly and kept commenting on how lovely it was to have “young people” (I was 39, Paul well into his 40's) there to be part of the community.
I think of that night more often than you might expect. Often, I laugh to myself about the absurdity of actually wanting to be at an accordion jamboree – who could have imagined such a thing? More, though, I remember what made it special:
- » that I was tired and frustrated and in need of some good cheer;
- » that someone really went out of his way to ask me, his enthusiasm overflowing;
- » and that I was welcomed and celebrated, immediately one of the community.
And I think that it’s the same with our religious community, too. We offer a place of hope, inspiration and care for the weary and lost. Our enthusiasm for what we receive as members of the community can invite others in, and we think of any who enter our doors as part of us, if only for those few moments. I hope we’re all willing, like that breathless man, to proclaim who we are and our worth to those we meet.
With breathless enthusiasm,
Linda