Written on August 29, 2008

For the September 7, 2008 lectionary: Matthew 18:15-20

I MISSED YOU by Larry Patten

On weekday mornings I ride my bike when most normal folks are headed for work or school. Lots of cars on the streets, but not many bicyclists.

Six miles from my house I enter Fresno’s Woodward Park and its sprawling 300 acres. Another couple of miles past the park’s entrance, I pedal over a bridge. From guard rail to guard rail the bridge is about ten feet wide and forty feet long. Surfaced with wooden slats, my tires create a pleasing thumpity-thumpity noise.

On those weekday mornings, mostly alone, I’m focused on speed, time, exercise, and admiring the Sierra foothills in the distance.

However, on the weekends, I’m rarely alone. Then the thumpity-thumpity bridge bottlenecks with thoughtless and clueless people. And last weekend it seemed every member of the “Less” family (not just Thought and Clue, but also Care and Reck and Wit) was present.

Three women strolled elbow-to-elbow on the bridge, going in my direction, obviously in conversation, and oblivious to the rest of the world.

Just behind the women, two miniature mutts were taking their owner for a “walk.” The dogs were at the North Pole end of loooooong expandable leashes. They tugged here and careened there, popsicle-stick legs like pistons.

A gaggle of giggling girls, on bikes and wandering side-to-side on the bridge, followed the dogs.

Oblivious walkers. Miniature mutts. Giggling girls. My life flashed before me. And also the verse, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” Racing toward the bridge and the more than three gathered there, I was struggling to not use Jesus’ name in a bad way.

I survived. Barely. And I was also polite as I weaved through the human and canine obstacles. You might even say I momentarily joined the “Less” family. Call me Speech, for I said nothing I’d regret later.

While both the Old and New Testaments have examples of the importance of the solitary life of faith, I’m thankful Matthew had Jesus say, “Where two or three are gathered . . .” Yes, I know that same Matthew quoted Jesus about the importance of praying alone (Matthew 6:6). And yes, when Elijah is on the lam from Jezebel’s wrath (I Kings 19) and hears the “still, small voice” of God, he’s alone.

Ah, to be alone. With clerks in a store, I’ll joke and say, “Wouldn’t your job be easier if it wasn’t for the customers?”

To teachers, “If it wasn’t for those students . . .”

To nurses, “If it wasn’t for the darn patients . . .”

Almost always the clerk or teacher or nurse smiles along with me. (And oh, wouldn’t churches be so much easier to serve if it wasn’t for all those folks in the pews? Just kidding!)

And yet how important the other is in our life. Two or three gathered.

I am thankful Jesus said that. Alone can sometimes be more dangerous than all of the “Less” family crowding the bridge.

* * * * * *

In college a professor was impressed with a paper I’d written. “Expand it,” he said. “I know a scholarship contest coming up where your paper will have a good chance of winning.” I reveled in his praise.

But I procrastinated. I “planned” to work on the paper tomorrow, then next week, and certainly before the month ended. Soon I avoided the hallway where that professor’s office was located. Or if I spied him (or thought it was him) in the distance I changed direction.

Finally, weighted with shame, I slunk into his office. I had failed him. Failed myself.

He was pleased to see me. “I’ve missed you this semester,” he said. “Where have you been?”

I admitted I neglected the paper. I was a bum, a loser, a flop.

He appeared surprised. “I thought you knew? That contest was cancelled this year. I heard weeks ago about it.”

Years later, I still recall staring at him, my mouth open, stunned.

The professor, so happy to see me, asked, “But didn’t I tell you it was cancelled?”

How could he? I’d spent months avoiding him. And, “alone,” I had created my own little world of misery and ignorance.

Slowing down, I weaved between the women and dogs and giggling girls. Thumpity-thumpity. Yes, I was a little irritated with the weekend crowd. But even more, as my ride continued, I knew I’d also enjoyed them.

Alone times are essential. But two or three or more gathered . . . there’s joy there too, where maybe people will say, “I missed you!”

in Peace,

Larry