Saturday morning. Sofa. Coffee.
There's a little ditty about Jack and Diane, two American kids growing up in the heartland. You've probably heard the 1982 John Cougar smash hit (some of you probably can sing it all, along with clapping rhythm and a capella chorus) but if you haven't, the chorus begins with the line "oh yeah, life goes on . . ."
Whether I am with a bunch of folks or singing all alone, the line is sung defiantly, almost triumphantly.
And life does go on. A blessing and a curse.
I think that the line should be re-written to say "oh yeah, my life goes on," or "oh yeah, our lives go on." Because while the flowing river of life carries most of us along to the sea, there are those who get caught up in the eddies, the whirlpool traps that go round and round in circles (a Billy Preston song from the seventies, but just a coincidence), or stuck in those stagnant pools close to the shore behind logs and stones where mosquitoes breed, where no current is present to pull them out of the quagmire.
A number of friends and friends of friends have suffered tragedy in the past year. I have been a part of the crowd of support for some of them in their time of immediate crisis or loss. I have also been a part of the crowd that moved on with our lives, more times than not leaving my hurt and injured friends stuck in the eddies and stagnant pools.
Being able to move on is a blessing. We could not survive without it. No matter what great tragedy or grief has struck today, tomorrow still requires food and water and the stuff of life.
But with that blessing comes a curse. The curse of becoming blind to those left behind, to those for whom life is not moving on, to those the current does not reach or whose heavy burden locks down like an anchor and chain.
Last week a bunch of Lesterines* went back to New Orleans to work on houses. Yes, there are a few houses that are still not repaired. Somewhere between a thousand and a million. The house that the Lesterines worked on belongs to an 84 year old woman who works every day in a nearby elementary school and presently lives in a FEMA trailer behind her house where she has resided for fifty or so years.
Four years. This dear, strong, smart eighty something year old American citizen has been waiting four years to get back into the house where she and her husband raised twelve children. She is still raising one grandson. In a FEMA trailer.
Our national life moved on. The news crews speed ahead on the river of life racing to stay ahead of us and each other, creating a cruelly short news cycle. Those eddies and stagnant pools on the sides of the river become an insignificant blur from their vantage point. Human tragedy is only interesting when it is fresh.
If only tragedy were so short-lived.
In today's world the temptation would be to dredge and channel the river. Straighten the curves and remove the logs and rocks. That way no one would ever get caught in the eddies and stagnant pools. We would all be flushed to the sea at an efficient speed.
But it is necessary for the hurt and injured to stop and repair. The current of life is too strong to allow healing of wounds.
There really is only one good answer.
Sometimes those of us in the mainstream must paddle over to the eddies, even though it may be a little dizzying and a little dangerous. We must wade into the stagnant pools, though it may be murky, smelly, and expose us to things we want to avoid.
Sometimes we must voluntarily join those that have been left behind in the places that hold and harbor them in hopes that one day they will be able to return to the center of the river where the current is strong and life moves on. We must offer our encouragement and support, praying for the wisdom to know when it is time to help them test the deeper waters.
I never really liked the next line of John Cougar's song:
"Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone."
The river ride can get pretty boring out in the main channel through the deep waters, safe from rocks and rapids.
The thrilling river ride is through the rocks where whitewater sprays and whirlpools grab hold.
But to get there is risky. You gotta occasionally get out of the mainstream.
And head to the edge.
"So let it rock, and let it roll . . ."
* work team from Lester Memorial UMC, downtown Oneonta, Alabama, a fresh breath of air.
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