Sandpaper raw

My appreciation for the Psalms was transformed when I was introduced to Eugene Peterson's version of the Bible, The Message. Peterson's language isn't just contemporary, it captures the Word in stunningly visual ways.

Today at staff meeting, we read/heard Psalm 7. While there are a whole variety of compelling images in that particular Psalm, the phrase that captivated me was 'sandpaper raw'. Because friends, we are living out a whole season of sandpaper raw.

Our nerves, sandpaper raw.

Our emotions, sandpaper raw.

Our patients, sandpaper raw.

Our nation, sandpaper raw.

Our world, sandpaper raw.

And in the midst of this time and place, what can I do anyway?

Hmmmm.

This morning, one of my colleagues had a visitor. We will call him Clarence.

Clarence showed up at her church and someone invited him in to see the Pastor. As it turns out, without a home, this man wanders the streets at night, checking in with the other folks who are likewise out and about. Looking his nighttime sojourners in the eye he inquires, 'Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?'

Mind you, Clarence has no physical resources; he has not a thing to share. And yet he does.

Out on those cold and dark streets this man is on a mission. In fact, when my colleague asked, she discovered that he has been doing his nocturnal check-in for about 11 months. Why? Because he thinks God has sent him to do so.

Without a place to sleep himself, without money or connections to it, Clarence has become one of God's babysitters, watching out for some of the most vulnerable folks in our community.

In the middle of so much 'sandpaper raw', Clarence is a reminder and a beacon for the art of asking and listening, perhaps two of the most precious commodities that we have been entrusted with.

Pastor Leah