Holy Conversations

I was going to talk more about sanctification today—the process whereby God makes us more holy, after we come to know and accept his son, Jesus, as our personal savior. But instead, I want to talk about some “holy conversations” that I was blessed to be a part of, on our train trip to Chicago. I think we will see, along the way, how God is at work in each of our lives—wooing us to come follow him… justifying us, as we realize we have sinned and are in need of his forgiveness… sanctifying us, as he uses others around us to make us more holy… as he uses others to give us the opportunity to love him and his people more fully.

I only saw her through the reflection of the train window. She was seated in front of me, an older woman with short, gray hair. She began making comments when I was talking to Dakota about some of the buildings and things we were seeing along the way. Beautiful churches, and such. I could only see her reflection, as she spoke. And before I knew it, I was sharing photos of other churches in the area, on my iPhone, in between the space between the train window and the seat between us.          

Eventually, she moved forward and looked back, and we began talking about the things of God. She had an understanding of scripture that one usually receives when they have taken a course in theology… that scholars believe there has likely been a weaving together of writers in Genesis, who have contributed two stories of creation—one, focused on the creation of the universe, the other, focused on the creation of humankind. 

There was a connection there, between us… she was a member of the Free Methodist Church, which meant that women didn’t wear jewelry. She would paint pants on a photo of a doctor doing surgery out in the middle of Africa, so his bare legs wouldn’t show, in their denominational newsletter… because they were so modest. She also was a fan of the writer and theologian Henri Nouwen. I told her, you like Nouwen, you should read Thomas Merton. And Brennan Manning. And finally, she wrote her name and contact info on a piece of paper, and handed it to me between the window and the seatback. She wanted me to let her know if there were other books she ought to read. Later, Dakota would say, I knew you were gonna talk to her for, like an hour, when you began.

And then there was the younger woman sitting behind me, who was softly singing this song that sounded so familiar. I’ll try to sing it for you:

My God is awesome,

he can move a mountain,

keep me from the valley,

hide me from the rain.

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome.

She had her hair shaved on one side, dyed bright pink, and long, on the other. She was sitting across from her elderly parents, who had trouble smiling. At first, I thought it was because they were overhearing the conversation I was having with the woman in front of me… that they didn’t agree with, or approve of something I’d said. How often do we think that others’ actions are because of us, and they’re not? Amen?!

I talked to the young woman a bit about the song she was singing. Wanted to break out in song, there on the train, with her… and for some reason, asked if she knew another song I’d heard one afternoon in the hospital cafeteria. “Take me back, take me back dear Lord, to the place where I first received.” I hadn’t gotten a few measures into the song, when she started singing it with me. She got teary, said it was one of the most meaningful songs in her life.

She was from Liberal, Kansas, her parents, from Garden City. We saw them again, when we got to the waiting room at the train station, headed home. Oh my! We all said. How did we do this? Come to Chicago the same day, go back, the same day. They wondered that we would stay exactly the same length of time. Why were we there? They asked. For sightseeing, I said. Why had they come to Chicago? A celebration of life. Code name for funeral. But they said it twice, because they wanted us to know they had HOPE. Oh, I said… was this for family? Yes. For a woman. A niece, a sister? I asked. No, it was their daughter. Their oldest. Oh my, I said. Was it expected? Yes, she had battled cancer for 20-some years. She was only 52. I went over and asked the mother if I could give her a hug. Later, Dakota and I marveled that they had also put their luggage in the locker right next to ours. We were all supposed to be there, on both those trains, coming and going.

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome…

Before this, a man with dark, longish hair, ruddy complexion, sat down next to us in the waiting room. He pulled out a can of beer, and a red cup. He was talking to himself. He opened the can, poured it into the cup, and drank it straight down, all the while, talking. Then he opened the second can, poured it into the cup, and drank it right down, too. He was telling us that he had been on the train for two days, already. To get to Alabama, if I remember, he had to go all the way up to the northeast, down the east coast, and back west, to Alabama. He was heading home to California. Four days it took him, to reach his girlfriend, who was sick. If he’d flown, it would’ve only been something like four HOURS. I’m going to guess he had met her online. He was upset she hadn’t picked him up at the train station. It was because she had been in the ICU. But she was doing better. He just needed someone to listen to him. He was lonely.

My God is awesome
Heals me when I'm broken
Gives strength where I've been weakened
Forever He will reign

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome

And then, we got up to go eat dinner in the dining car, and as some of you know, they will often put you with other people so you make a fuller table. We were sitting down, reading the menu, when an older man of slight build came in. He wanted to eat by himself at the next table, but the dining car attendant, a woman, would not have it. So he sat down with us, right next to me. He was wearing old, good clothes… rather eccentric looking. We waited for his story to unfold. He was staying in a sleeper car. Said he had not worked a day in his life, as far as he was concerned, because what he had done hadn’t been work at all. I slowly pried it out of him—he was a composer, had written some songs of note. Would we know any of them? Do you like Christmas music? He asked. Yes, we said. Do you know “Santa Baby?”

You wrote that? We asked. Yes, he said. The music. He knew all kinds of people—Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Eartha Kitt. But most of his contacts had died. Santa Baby only really became extremely popular when Madonna recorded it, back in the ‘80s. Then, it had taken off, like wildfire. His daughter was in charge of the royalties and licensing for the song.

He wanted to know about us. Eventually he found out I was a pastor, had been a writer. Before I knew it, I was summarizing a sermon for him, at his request, that I had written last time I was in Chicago, about the beacon lights on a tower, and the presence of God in our lives. Sometimes the clouds are so thick in our lives, we cannot see him anymore, and doubt he was ever there, in the first place, even though we have seen him in the past. The man wasn’t sure about heaven. I said, we will know it’s true, someday, when we get there. He told us about a time travel story he was working on, hoping to see it become a movie, one day. He would invite our whole family to the opening, if it happened, before he died. He talked about a father who wanted him to be a pianist instead of a composer because there was more money in it. It is a sad thing, he said, not to have your father’s approval.

My God is awesome
Savior of the whole world
Giver of salvation
By His stripes I am healed

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome

And then there was the man two seats behind us, who I only discovered after the train stopped just beyond Kansas City’s Union Station, and the lights and power went out. Suddenly we could hear people talk, instead of the noise from the engine. He was worried his wife would be waiting at the station way ahead of time, because we were running late. He was headed to Needles, California. He had no cell phone to call her. So I let him borrow ours. He shared that he had been in Michigan, not by his own choice, but because he got thrown into jail for not paying child support. He’d been there, the past three months.

The clothes he was wearing were from a mission. There, he’d met a kind chaplain. The Michigan jacket was going to become a bed for his dog when he got home. Even thought it kept him warm, now, his time in Michigan would not be something he wanted to be reminded of, later.

He was diabetic, and needed something to eat. A man across the aisle threw a rice krispy treat his way. I found some pretzels and a bottle of water. I stood and listened to him tell his story. He had little, to no money. I gave him some extra, that I had from my trip. He was grateful, said, you didn ‘t have to do that. I said, I did—I’m a pastor. He threw his arms around me, told me about going to church at the mission, about a Bible he was carrying in his bag. God was providing for him, through his people. God was wooing him to him. (Prevenient grace, did you get that?)

My God is awesome
Today I am forgiven
His grace is why I'm living
Praise His holy name

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome

My God is awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome