An Urban Bridge Story
The Quest of George
Last week we began our summer topic on the fruit of the spirit
The book of Galatians in the New Testament chapter 5 tells us that the fruit of the spirit is love and that it has 8 qualities: Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Last week we learned about patience and this week we will discover the qualities of kindness and faithfulness. The book of Luke communicates this quality of kindness in story form Luke 10:30-35: 30A Jewish man was traveling on a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he was attacked by bandits. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road. 31 “By chance a priest came along. But when he saw the man lying there, he crossed to the other side of the road and passed him by. 32 A Temple assistant walked over and looked at him lying there, but he also passed by on the other side. 33 “Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. 34 Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. 35 The next day he handed the innkeeper two silver coins, telling him, ‘Take care of this man. If his bill runs higher than this, I’ll pay you the next time I’m here.’ (NIV)
Kindness expresses itself through the simple details of life and relationships: being interested in others, showing attention, listening, remembering the little things, tender hearted, forgiving In a word kindness is grace lived
The second quality of love we are going to introduce is faithfulness. The book of Luke 16: 10-12: 10 “If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities. 11 And if you are untrustworthy about worldly wealth, who will trust you with the true riches of heaven? 12 And if you are not faithful with other people’s things, why should you be trusted with things of your own? (NIV)
Faithfulness speaks of reliability, trustworthiness, a consistency that can be counted on.
Have you ever been a fish out of water, feeling that you needed to change to fit in?
Have you been the one to show the kindness?

The Quest of George Part Two
The spongy moss that hemmed in the road stretched to the trees like a lumpy blanket and cushioned George as his noisy stomach and aching sides recovered from the retching and heaving. He coasted jerkily to sleep, but it was rare for him to sleep away from home, and the breeze and the crickets upset the comforting whisper of the woods. Still, he was able to drop into scattered pockets of deep sleep. In the last, deepest pocket, he and Emma were kissing. It had been so long, and in his dream Emma was the way he remembered her in the beginning: gentle, subtle, caring.
She began to kiss his chin, cheeks and forehead: big, wet, sloppy kisses, murmuring her love for him: it was an affection long pushed to the back of their relationship. Emma’s murmuring was morphing into soft growls which quite frankly startled George. Her breath, how best to describe it? It was like doggy breath.
The big yellow dog dropped back to its haunches, pleased to have roused the man on the ground. He watched as the man on the ground sprang to a sitting position, vigorously rubbing—no, more like scrapping his face, at the same time shouting sharp strange words while offering his heavily booted feet in a crazy bicycling motion.
Yes, the man wanted to play! The big yellow dog obliged by grabbing the heavy padded boots, first one then the other as they were offered.
George collected his senses enough to jump to his feet. Swinging the wine flask and frantically shooing the biting yellow monster he grabbed a stick and pitched it at the crazed animal. It missed high and to right clattering far into branches and whooshing to the undergrowth.
The big yellow dog responded in a second bounding gleefully to fetch the stick. George grabbed a rock, knowing the creature would return to attack – and it did, but with a stick in its mouth, stepping proudly with a waggle in its tail.
George’s shaking slowly subsided; his weak shooing noises at the dog were useless. The dog continually bounded off only to return with unfailing reliability.
It was more than a village, more like a town, certainly bigger than what he was accustomed to. George needed a place to clean up. Unshaven and smelling vaguely of vomit, he did his best to wipe the moss from his trousers. Finally, quite pleased with himself he began his descent down the gentle rolling slope of the broad valley, unaware of the trapped piece of brown peat bouncing lightly where his coat collar met his matted curls.
Making his way to the edge of the town he tried one more time, “Go, go you cur!” The big padded sole of George’s boot aimed for the yellow dog’s head but instead found its way into the beast’s mouth and the pooch gleefully wrenched George’s leg like a thanksgiving wishbone. Angrily, a bouncing George swapped the stick for his boot.
It really was a pretty town: everything in its place. An oversize sign welcomed George to “Benignus” and beneath the funny sounding name was a slogan that read, “ welcome friend, your home for a night or a lifetime” A crisp, banner strapped to a street lamp snapped in the breeze and reminded him of the frayed relics that clung to the lamp posts of his own village. The town was larger than his, but not so big that a stranger would go unnoticed. George felt noticeable, but not in a comforting way and he could tell by the foot wear that they did not farm. His big padded boots with their oversize great soles called attention to themselves, and for the first time George wished they wouldn’t. They looked menacing compared to the slick, shiny tops and razor-like soles of the town’s people. Besides, the cobbled stones kept grabbing at his toes, as though to remind the boots that they really were out of place.
Everyone seemed friendly enough, nodding and smiling, just like home. But it wasn’t like home, at home George knew he belonged, but not here. There was a difference. But what was it? Ahh, yes, they were smiling with their mouths, but their eyes, their eyes weren’t smiling. Their eyes were evaluating him, measuring him. George had always considered himself a hospitable person, perhaps if he initiated, things it would be different, “ and a happy day to you” he confidently offered the pretty young mom and bright, blond little girl; the young woman reminded him of younger Emma. The little blond girl giggled, and the mom smiled – but not with her eyes, the same as Emma. The girl reached for the big yellow dog and her mother jerked instinctively pulling her back. “He’s not my”…. Oh what was the use? George had forgotten about the yellow creature padding reliably at his side, at least the dog’s smile was genuine, trustworthy.
It was odd to be considered odd.
The Benignus community centre was new and placed prominently. North across the street was the Court house and north-east diagonally through the intersecting street was the Post office. A large church had its home directly to the east. A commanding presence, it seemed oversized even for this town and George could tell that it was an important place. He stepped into the community centre. Wow it was so modern. Here and there were gadgets he had seen but could not name, and machines he had never ever seen.
A tall wooden rack held rows of fancy folded paper. The sign said “take a brochure”. George guessed that brochure must be a big word for fancy folded paper. He took one. The words were written in his language but they seemed to mean something different. It reminded him of the time he learned a new sport and how he had to figure out the new jargon before the game made sense. It was worth his while to learn the new sport – he was not sure if this was worth his while.
A big voice called from corner, “Hey buddy” George turned, he must be the buddy as he was the only one in the room. A thin, smallish man with narrow shoulders and pants hitched uncomfortably high owned the big voice. He wore slick shoes with shiny tops and razor-like soles. The man smiled – but not with his eyes, George returned the smile and wondered if his eyes also gave away the truth. The big voice continued, “Nice dog – but he really should be tied up outside” “He’s not”…. Again what was the use?” “What was that” asked big voice, “He’s, he’s not well trained” George impatiently swung the door open, and the dog obediently rambled out. “You look like you can use some help friend” the big voice offered, George wasn’t sure about the friend part, but he could use some help. The man continued on before George had a chance to respond, “We’ll get you some new clothes and a belly full of food in no time; of course we do expect a little consideration in return. What you need is to feel better about yourself, gain back some self-respect.” The big voice dashed to a closet in the corner and flung it open revealing rows of brooms, shovels and dustbins. Neatly stacked worn gloves rested on a shelf above the brooms and over that, another row displayed hard hats each with a decal that proclaimed “”By helping others I help myself”. The big voice smiled, stood on his tip toes, and reached for a hard hat. George’s eyes got big, he wasn’t smiling. His big padded boot was readying itself for a stomp.
It was a touch so light his impatience and anger almost over rode it. But the touch persisted, not in a commanding way, rather in a caring way. He shifted to see an elderly woman and her subtle fragrance reminded him of the best of Emma and his big padded boot with its large sole eased up. She smiled and her eyes were listening eyes, caring eyes. They were kind. “Karl” she directed her herself to the big voice, “how about I take over from here” Karl, prepared to lunch with friends replied, “buddy you go with Charis, she’ll take good care of you”
“My, what a friendly dog you have!” Charis was taken with the big yellow dog as it fell in beside George. What is his name? “His name,” George said with a resigned acceptance “is Fido.” “And does he live up to his name” Charis asked, “Yes, if nothing else he is faithful.” —And George smiled.
Charis, George learned had lived in Benignus her entire life, and had travelled even less than he. She once was married to a man from other parts, but the love of her life had died many years ago. Charis had been devastated by the loss and her spirit began to shrivel and the capacities to love slowly dissolve. Her loneliness and heart ache demanded an outlet so Charis had become a community centre helper to break the monotony and dull the hurt.
Charis offered her full attention to the stranger with the large padded thick soled boots, and the brown peat dangling at nape of his neck. She fed him, she cleaned and pressed his clothes and even wiped his boots, and all the while she listened and her eyes gently drew out memories: the good ones sliding easily off his tongue and the hard ones, once drawn out like a stubborn sliver, lost their power to inflict pain. And when he spoke of his quest she nodded, and he knew she knew how he felt. He felt safe with her and asked her opinion of his need for new land. And she replied that not being a farmer, she couldn’t really know but she encouraged him and said that the great land owner surely would do what was best for George.
Refreshed and encouraged George was up early enough that a lamp was necessary.
Charis had wrapped and packed him enough food for a number of hearty meals, placing his flask on his carefully folded coat to ensure George would not forget it – for he had told her its story and she encouraged him to keep the flask, though George was less sure.
The one thing he was not sure of was the offer of her dead husband’s boots. They were solid boots with high lace tops to protect his ankles and firm gripped soles. George liked his boots though they seemed more suited to the farm than the road. In so many ways they represented his life and reminded him of home. Take them she offered, “You don’t have to wear them just yet, but take them just in case.”
George agreed. He opened the closet to gather them up where he noticed three sets of boots; his great soled thick boots on the left, the high topped firm gripped boots in the centre and on the right, ancient and dusty from their long rest in the closet another pair of great thick soled boots – just like his. Charis simply smiled, and her eyes smiled, and kindness and grace reached deep into George’s soul. George and the big yellow dog made their way down the dew saturated path leading out of town.

Tags: Stories, The Quest of George

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 11th, 2007 at 11:26 am and is filed under Sermons. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.