Chapter 28 The End of This Traffic, Part 2

So, I wipe my eyes and blame it on the wind, as if he’d even buy that, and I follow him inside the adjacent storefront on the north side of the Rialto. We sit in some old regal looking chairs that a law firm donated; they've always seemed a little out of place, but the price was right.

We have space heaters running from time to time, but it’s still so friggin' freezing in the Rialto. As if it wasn’t cold enough outside, the terrazzo stone floors inside are six inches deep and, so, as you can imagine, they forgive nothing. We might as well be sitting on a block of ice.

He tells me he brought me here because he wants to revisit the whole relocation thing that we talked about the last time we were downtown (the very topic I was hoping he’d forget), to help me further grasp this idea of a new kind of church. As a side note, from a mere environmental standpoint, I can think of at least a dozen warmer places for us to have this talk, but I assume he knows what he’s doing.

Wasting no time, he launches into the topic at hand, and how this all plays into justice -- or more appropriately -- a just distribution of resources. On that note, I just presume he’s going to explain how you and I, the collective we, pay our taxes, or tithe, and then, how he takes that money and redistributes it through the government, or churches and non-profits, like this one or that, so that people who have next to nothing can heal from brokenness, rebuild their lives and learn new skills, and essentially be comforted during a rough time.

And maybe even find the Jesus that’s sitting right smack dab in the imaginary front of me.

You're close, he says, nice try, in fact. But justice is more than giving your money. Justice is more than social activism. Justice finds its true stride when my followers make big choices to die a little each day to themselves and their self-centeredness.

And, just in case I’m having trouble seeing this picture, he’s going to tell me another story. Here we go again, I think.

There once was a tall majestic sailing vessel that navigated its way into a small town’s harbor. It would arrive each year around the same time, and its esteemed owner, the ship's captain, would arrange to have it docked some distance off. The townspeople, upon seeing the ship on the horizon, would celebrate its arrival with great enthusiasm and shoot off fireworks and send out ferries to greet them. The entire crew would be welcomed ashore to enjoy the festivities, to impart their gifts from foreign lands and to share in the town’s local flavor and customs.

But after a week or so of frolic and furlough, the captain and his crew and his majestic ship would always leave.

All the same, each year, the people in the small town would anticipate their return. It wasn’t that they didn’t live during the months in between, it was just that they didn't thrive. Through a series of unexpected events over generations, many obstacles were placed in their path, and they suffered by comparison to other wealthy and flourishing ports. Try as they might, they couldn’t do much to expand their own influence. Ultimately, the the town's success depended largely upon those who would take a chance and simply believe in them – the ones who would sacrifice the time to visit, to share their skills, and experience the hidden beauty of its shores and its people.

But, even though the ship and its crew visited once a year, and even though they told others from far and wide about this hidden treasure of a town, no one ever actually stayed.

One year, though, the captain decided he was growing tired of the sea and thought the small town would be a wonderful place to put down roots. So he brought his ship in and actually docked it this time; his shipmates and crew moored the beautiful vessel and they began to unload supplies from its berth and distribute the captain's substantial bounty; some through gifts, or simply as investments in the town's stagnant economy. They shared skills which they had learned from other shores.

One week turned to two, and two into four. Almost immediately, word spread that this well known and respected captain and his crew had begun to look for homes in and around the harbor so that they could settle in this town. Others soon came to visit and sometimes, even they began to relocate there from places far and wide.

The town began to prosper, simply because the captain and his crew came to live among them.

After a time, many months in fact, it became clear to the townspeople that these sailors were no longer visitors from the sea and foreign lands, but fellow inhabitants of their town. Without much ado, they slowly blended in and became just like everyone else, but the momentum of the town’s success was already underway; in fact it was contagious. Still more came and the generational chain of suffering was eventually broken.

The anchored ship stood tall and ultimately became a permanent monument in the town’s harbor. It was used for local events like festivals and weddings, and one creative townsperson started a café on the main deck. At Christmastime, lights were hung from the mast and they lit up the entire harbor...

I told him this was a cute story and that it warmed the cockles of my heart; I might have even cut him off, in fact, but (and I hate to beat the same drum as before), are you saying this to everyone, or just me? I felt a little like my 11 year old son when he complains that he has to clean up his room when in fact, someone else made the mess.

Why me? Why not someone who likes that sort of thing? I stammered.

Jeff, when you decide to move where I tell you and live among those who are less fortunate than you, you are grasping the concept of redistribution. You bring your skills and your resources and your connections to bear upon collective problems and issues.

Of course, I had to say it. It was running through my mind:

I feel a little pompous, you know, this ship’s captain, coming in with all of my wealth and knowledge to save the town and save the day.

And that’s when he said: You weren't listening. What makes you think you’re the Captain in this little story?

Ouch, I think.

You may think you have more because you've made wiser choices, but you have been blessed because I've entrusted it to you. You are merely managing it for me. I now want you to share it with others, plain and simple. Do not squander or waste or squirrel away what you have. Live to give it away and together we will break the chains of injustice.

Live to give it away?

There's a ridiculous amount of effort being spent on that which doesn't matter. Are you going to ride with me, Jeff, or not?

It’s too cold, I think -- you know -- to myself. How can I abandon this pseudo warmth I enjoy?

You’ll be fine.

He hears it all, doesn't he?

Trust me.

I’m not really dressed for this.

Get on. You’ll be surprised.