“Just
Visiting”
“In
the last century, a tourist from the States visited the famous Polish
rabbi, Hofetz Chaim. He was astonished to see that the rabbi's home
was only a simple room filled with books. The only furniture was a
table and a bench.
'Rabbi,
where is your furniture?' asked the tourist.
'Where
is yours?' said Hofetz.
'Mine?
But I'm passing through. I'm only a visitor here.'
'So
am I.'”
This
was the contemporary reading for our Ash Wednesday service last
evening. It captures the essence of Lent as a journey. I don't know
about you, but when I travel, I try to take as little as possible. I
hate schlepping heavy suitcases around, lugging them into and out of
trunks and overhead bins. So I travel light. I also find myself
wanting to pare down to a precious few the possessions I own. When I
find I don't have room to store an item in my house, I think that is
one item I must not need. Now and then, as I am doing now, I go
though and clean out all the stuff I either haven't used, or haven't
worn in a year, and take it to one of the shelter thrift stores. This
week, I moved my sewing room back upstairs, and just about hobbled
myself carrying bin after bin of fabric up the basement steps. Time
to go through and get rid of all the excess.
I
know other people who are going through this same process. My friends
Harry and Sharon have been cleaning out their basement. They bought
two large identical cabinets; one for each of them. They made a pact
that if it didn't fit into the cabinet, it would go. Harry said they
filled up their deep front porch with stuff and then went out to
lunch. When they returned, it was all gone—picked up by King's
Ranch. What a good feeling. It's like taking a nice hot bath after a
long day of yard work. You feel lighter, better.
Lent
is the chronicle of Jesus journey to the cross and beyond. Once he
turned his face toward Jerusalem, he did not look back. We are all on
that journey, too, whether we acknowledge it or not. Best to travel
light, so that by the time we arrive, we are like the visitor in
Hafetz's story—just passing through.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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