HIDDEN GIFTS [Su, 9-3-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith and Life for the Years of Winter—HIDDEN GIFTS [Su, 9-3-23]

 

[I have written about marching with King before, and about our friend, Phyllis, but there is a new eureka moment below…]

 

We commemorate meaningful episodes in our own histories and the history of larger groups, like churches and nations, not only because they remind us of old memories, but because they create new memories. The 60^th anniversary of the March on Washington stirred up memories at our house.

 

I heard MLK speak at that March on Washington only on TV, but I heard him in person 3 times. The first was Dec. 12, 1958. He had become the preeminent civil rights leader because of the Montgomery bus boycott. He spoke in Indianapolis, at the invitation of the YMCA. They knew their building was not large enough, so the meeting was held in the Cadle Tabernacle, where I had gone a couple of times as a grade schooler, before we moved to the farm near Oakland City, for Christian programs for children, riding the street car, the precursor of buses, that ran on rails in the middle of the street, requiring us to cross on foot the stream of car and truck traffic, to get on board, sure of my safety because I was holding the hand of my twelve-year-old sister.

 

In 1958, though, I was appointed as the preacher on a 3-church circuit, so, unlike other IU students, I had a car. [Cars were forbidden to students unless needed for work.] So it wasn’t a street car but a Detroit car [Chevrolet] that I used to transport a group of Wesley Foundation students to learn about the Civil Rights movement from its main spokesman. We were 5 among 4,000 who heard King that day.

 

The 2^nd time was the Quadrennial Methodist Student Movement conference, in Lincoln, Nebraska, Dec. 20, 1964. By that time I was the Wesley Foundation minister in Terre Haute, serving IN State U and Rose Poly Institute [now Rose-Hulman U]. I took five students to the conference. We were 5 among 5,000 who heard King that day.

 

The 3^rd time was at the State House in Montgomery, Alabama. I have written about this before, so won’t go into details, except to point out that the Alabama Methodist Student Movement asked folks from the IN Methodist Student Movement to come march with them on the last leg of the Selma march for civil rights. Prof Andre Hammonds and student Bob Mullins went with me. We were 3 among 30,000 who heard King that day.

 

The morning that I was in Alabama, marching into Montgomery, Helen was home with two little girls, one and tree years old, trying to keep them entertained while also watching our small black and white television set, to see if I had been murdered yet. That was a real possibility, that marchers would be attacked, and the police would not only fail to protect us, but be among those who assaulted us.

 

There was a knock on the door. It was Phyllis Graham, my old high school biology classmate [1], now a new math PhD from Indiana U, and new math prof at IN State U, and a favored aunt of our girls. I thought you might like some company today, she said. She spent the day taking turns, helping with our daughters, watching the TV.

 

I told this story when I spoke at her funeral. Afterwards, one of her friends said, I know how important that must have been to Phyllis, to be with Helen that day, and by extension to be with you, because she NEVER cancelled classes.

 

As Helen and I recalled Phyllis, I mentioned what her friend had told me. Helen said, This is the first time, almost 60 years after that day, that I realized she, of course, had to cancel classes. I was just so glad to see her, it never even occurred to me she was skipping classes…

 

Sometimes, even major parts of the gifts we give, and the sacrifices we make to give them, don’t show…until much later…or, perhaps, never.

 

John Robert McFarland

 

1] Because I was a mid-year student with a convoluted class schedule, I had to take freshman biology with the girls instead of the boys, from the home ec teacher. I sat across one of those big sewing tables from Phyllis. As I said at her funeral, She was both pretty and smart, so I could look at her or her test paper and expect edification in either instance. When it came time for the class on human reproduction, I was sent to the principal’s office to be sure I would not see or hear anything unfit for someone of my ilk. The next day I asked Phyllis if I had missed much. I think you’ll still be able to have children, she said. She was pleased to see I had those two little girls when we reconnected in Terre Haute a dozen years later.