Ken’s e-Pistle

February 28, 2024

Growing up, I had some neighbors whom I dearly loved.  Mr. and Mrs. Lee lived next door to us and thoroughly enjoyed our coming over to visit and do forbidden things like drinking hot tea and eating peanut brittle, of which my parents knew little.  Their daughter had grown up and left for college, so there was a bit of an empty spot in their lives.

Mrs. Lee was always very gracious and more than ready to share books from her considerable library.  The only catch was that you had to be ready to discuss your reading when you returned the book.  Mr. Lee was a shade-tree mechanic and was always working on his old DeSoto, which was in mint condition.

Looking back, I believe that Mr. Lee suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress.  He served as a Marine in the Pacific during the Second World War and proudly showed items which he had saved from those days.  By and large, they were personal possessions obtained from the bodies of Japanese soldiers.  Being a youngster, I was far more interested than horrified and the highlight of one visit was the well-oiled and tenderly cleaned Thompson machine gun which he carried during the war.  I was not curious how he still had it, I was just excited to see it and learn how it worked.

Still, his life was a series of unfinished projects.  One side of the house was such an endeavor.  He had decided to paint the house and took a blowtorch to the peeling paint, scraping it with a putty-knife.  About half-way though the project he lost interest and moved on to another job. Such was the rhythm of his life.  Alcohol was also a constant presence and it was not uncommon to find him fast asleep in his workshop.

The one constant was the beloved DeSoto. He loved to tinker with the engine and would discuss its workings while I looked on, fascinated.  It was my first lesson in connectivity.  I saw how the motor ran and turned the fanbelts, moving energy throughout the machine.  Mr. Lee explained how the internal combustion engine worked and showed me what would happen if one of the fanbelts came off.  The alternator would quit working and the battery would then drain until the motor stopped.  After each lesson we would get into the automobile and he would push a button on the dashboard which would engage the transmission.  I am not exaggerating when I say that the car glided out of the driveway and onto the road.  It gave me a real demonstration of how, when everything is operating as it should, marvels result.

Years later, as a chaplaincy resident, I was introduced to Dr. Clay, the Pathologist at what was then Athens General Hospital.  Part of our clinical course was to see a surgical procedure, a childbirth and an autopsy. Dr. Clay was in charge of the autopsy rotation. Far from being a morbid moment, he proceeded to instruct us on the divine connectivity of the human body. He was at once reverent and professional as he showed us the systems that hold us together and concluded the session with a prayer that we would have an enhanced appreciation for God’s wondrous ways in holding all the precious parts of creation together.  Again, the lesson in connectivity was learned.

As we move through Lent, I hope that we can all have a deep appreciation for the part that each of us plays in our church, community and world.  There are no bit parts in the Kingdom of God and if one of us drops out, for whatever reason, we are all diminished.  Keep this thought in mind whenever you feel unimportant, unloved, or underappreciated.  We’ve all been there, but by God’s grace, we can rise again to resume the path and purpose to which we are called.

I bid you peace!