Second Sunday of EASTER (Written on April 7, 2009)

For the Lectionary (what's a lectionary?) of April 19, 2009: Acts 4:32-35

 

Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.

 

MULESKINNERS by Larry Patten

I Googled for Muleskinner shoes. Nothing.

I could check with my parents, but it’s much less embarrassing to cruise websites to uncover any evidence.

What are Muleskinners? (Assuming they even exist or once existed.) Glad you asked. Let me tell ya a when-I-was-a-kid story.

In the time before Skechers, Birkenstocks, and ten thousand specialized Nike options, shoe choices were limited. Maybe girls had endless selections, but female needs or wants were (then and now) beyond my understanding. For Baby Boomer boys, for those of us cheering Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays, making snap-the-whip sounds from Rawhide, and not able to identify Vietnam on a map if our life depended on it, there was only one real shoe.

The Chuck Taylor high-top sneaker.

Yeah sure, some kids revered the cleated shoes they wore for baseball or football. And most of us had wing tips or a like-minded shiny monstrosity gathering dust in our closets (for church and other painful occasions). But for daily use, from pick-up basketball games during recess to clomping off to school in any season, Chuck Taylors were it.

It. Everybody had ‘em.

Except me. My parents wouldn’t let me own Chuck. I pleaded. I begged. I bartered. My mother was the problem. I think I could have eventually hassled my father into submission. But Mom was a brick wall with one consistent argument: canvas shoes start smelling after only a little bit of use.

Like who cares? But she won. And I was the only kid in the world that ever lived, at any time in history, who never owned Chuck Taylors.

What did my parents buy for me? Muleskinners. At least, I think they did! As noted, I couldn’t find a reference to Muleskinners after a search (and if Google comes up empty, is it real?) My recollection is they were kids’ athletic shoes made from leather. Or, after hours of basketball, less stinky than canvas.

I probably lost the shoe disagreement with my parents the moment I claimed EVERYBODY had them. Parents possess X-ray vision when this tactic is employed. I gotta have a hula-hoop, or a Davy Crocket coonskin cap, or an iPod Nano because everybody else has one. “Nope,” parents declare, “not everybody. And certainly not you.”

Now a so-called adult, I understand. My mental red flags always wave when words and phrases like “everybody” or “it will never happen” are used.

Because of that red flag waving at the always-and-never arguments, I’m suspicious of the sugarcoated optimism described by Acts 4:32-35. Depicting Christian community in the immediate generations following Jesus’ ministry, it claimed that everyone wore Chuck Taylor high-top shoes. Here are a few of Acts’ statements:

“No one claimed private ownership.” (Red flag appears.)

“Great grace was upon them all.” (Red flag waves.)

“There was not a needy person among them.” (Red flag obscures sun.)

Were those early believers perfect? Everyone helped! None were ignored! Maybe I’m too cynical, still reeling from Chuck Taylors’ absence on my elementary school feet. And realistically, I know the Bible is not the place for accurate history. All the humans who wrote it had their various agendas. Though my eyes glaze over when Biblical scholars refer to the “J” and “D” and other alphabetized and divergent theological sources that were eventually blended together to form the Torah, I understand different people from different times with different influences contributed to the rich narrative of my faith’s Good Book. Always, the Bible’s a blend of selective history, public relations, confessional faith, mythic stories, and compromise.

Acts 4:32-35 seems primarily public relations.

And yet a part of me—let’s call it the Methodist part—averts my eyes from those wildly waving red flags. And, whether or not I’m wearing leather or canvas shoes, I approach Acts’ with optimism and am thankful. One of the cornerstones of John Wesley’s beliefs was that we are “going on to perfection.” I can’t speak for Episcopalians, the No Preferencers in the Pacific Northwest, or Moravians, but I do know that when I was ordained a United Methodist clergy one of the questions asked of me was . . . Do you expect to be made perfect in this life?

Like all Methodist clergy since the eighteenth century, I vowed I did. I lied. I told the truth. I won’t—and probably couldn’t—explain the depth and breadth of Wesley’s understanding of “perfection.” And even if I did or could, I’m confident I’d agree with some, but not all of it.

Still, seeking perfection encourages a faithful call to be on a journey where we grow in faith. Where we confess where we aren’t and strive for where we can be.

Do I think that early Christian community Acts described was perfect? No. But I believe they understood, if only choosing my “red-flagged” verses, the better choice of sharing over hoarding and embracing grace over casting judgment.

And still I wonder: was I the only one with Muleskinners? Or did they even exist? Well, who knows? No one’s perfect.

in Peace,

Larry