Unexpect the Expected.

Stepping on the plane from Washington, DC to Fort Worth, Texas, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Perhaps I was expecting a tall man in jeans adorned with a larger-than-life brassy belt buckle in the shape of Texas, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat atop his head. Perhaps I imagined a brown leather jacket, and yes, maybe there was some fringe involved. He’d speak to me in a drawl, greet me with a “Howdy, partner.” and ask me if I’d ever ridden a horse. “Of course,” I’d reply, trying to be cool, though I’d know that the pony at the county fair was not what he’d envisioned. After all, I had never been to Fort Worth, but I’d seen Texans on TV. I’d seen them in newspapers. I’d even seen them in our own White House. When I attended camp as a little girl, we used to sing a song called “Long, Tall, Texan” in which we’d name the pieces of the Texan’s attire: big white hat, shiny spurs, yellow star, shiny gun… all culminating in the final question (inevitably in the worst southern accent we could muster) “is you the law?” Granted, somewhere in my mind I knew that an honest-to-God cowboy was not going to carry me off on a horse from the DFW airport – for one thing, where would he put my suitcase? Nevertheless, this is the picture I’ve painted of Texas, not to mention of Texans.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign, and we ask that you do remain seated for the duration of the flight. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.” I shifted nervously in my seat. I prepared myself for what was ahead. Texas.

But nothing in this world could have prepared me for Edie Sunday.

It was the sign with my name I saw first – then the woman. She stood at a mere 4’ 8”, but if her height didn’t mirror the greatness of her character, her apparel certainly did. She wore an African printed tunic which she would later tell me had been a gift on one of her many travels. She wore glasses which covered nearly half her face, framed by short, thin, whitish hair. And… her hat. She wore a rainbow colored beanie with a propeller on top, and every inch of it was covered in pins. There were pins from every state welcome center she’d ever visited. Pins from races and walks, benefits and non-profits. There were pins from churches and from city councils. The history of a whole journey told by the little pieces of metal she’d affixed to her hat. Later some of us would sit and brag about which of us got to be picked up from the airport by Edie – but when I stepped off that plane, the only thing I could think was, Wow. I didn’t expect this.

This woman quickly showed me I had nothing to fear. I had pointed to her sign, saying “that’s me”, and no sooner had I gotten the words out of my mouth than she had her arms around my waist, hugging me tightly: No boundaries, simply love for me, someone she’d never met. She hadn’t yet introduced herself when she handed me a Ziploc bag. “This is for you,” she said matter-of-factly. “We’re parked way over yonder, I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit of a walk.” “That’s alright,” I’d replied, “I’ve been sitting all day.” I’d arrived with a group of Army Drill Team members, and as if she could read my mind (which was whispering this can’t get any weirder), she began to hug each of them, thanking them for their service, telling them of her own son, a soldier in Iraq.

When we got to the car, I reviewed the contents of my gift. A collection of 19 postcards, most vintage, some with writing on the back. Two of Edie’s famous pins, both from North Texas Western Days, from her native Saginaw. A business card offering Edie’s services in the way of Original Poetry, Plays, Special Liturgy, Retreats, Programs, and Bible Studies, and noting her experience as a Certified Lay Speaker of the UMC for 48 years. And a macramé rainbow cross, with a card reading: “Never forget that You are one of God’s rainbow people, Called to step outside your high church steeple, To show that you have heard God’s holy call By loving, serving, and witnessing God’s Grace to all. Live Forgiven! Edith Tallent Sunday”

I took a deep breath. This, I’d thought to myself, is Texas.

The Bible, Old Testament and New, is full of reversals, from creation through resurrection and beyond. Surely, we think, God will strike down the wicked where they stand. Yet time and time again we find God’s mercy to be far beyond that which we humans could imagine. God grows frustrated with God’s people. Over and over we fall away from the will of God, and God redeems us. God cries out, “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?” Surely, we think, God will choose the most powerful, the best-looking, the great speakers, to carry God’s message. Yet God’s light-bearers are often the young, the weak, those marginalized by society, those who have no power. And from time to time, though I know the story well, when I read the Gospel of Luke and hear Jesus praying to let the cup pass from him, I expect God to pluck him off the Mount of Olives and save him from earthly death. But higher are God’s thoughts than mine, higher are God’s ways than mine. And the incredible power of the resurrection is so infinitely better than I ever dream or expect.

God even reverses the way we think about things. This is especially evident in this past week’s lectionary text. In Luke 20:27-38 we hear the story of a group of Sadducees who come to Jesus with a question. It’s a very specific question, pertaining to the law and the kingdom to come. As I heard it this weekend, it sounds like “A train leaves Denver traveling at…” The question is about seven brothers who marry, in sequence, one woman, all 8 of them dying without her bearing any children. Which one, they want to know, will be her husband at the resurrection? (Here, I picture Jesus gently shaking his head. When will they learn?) “You’re looking at it from the wrong angle,” I imagine Jesus saying. “It’s not about marriage, it’s about devotion to God. See, at the resurrection, things that are important here just won’t be so important anymore. The law helps us get closer to God while we’re here, in this life. But one day, we’ll be in communion with God, and none of that stuff will matter anymore.” But the Sadducees are so focused on the “perfection” of the Kingdom (as they see it) that they are blind to the picture Jesus is painting: “they can no longer die; for they are like the angels. They are God’s children, since they are children of the resurrection.” (Luke 20:36)
As the conference went on, I saw glimpses of the Kingdom of God: People being in authentic community with one another, loving one another, sharing in one another’s struggles. But nothing continued to surprise me quite so much as Edie Sunday. Every time I saw her, she had something else about which to be joyful. She read some of her poetry at the open mic night, she made countless trips to the airport to pick up our worship leaders and central conference participants, and she told me stories of her excitement about interactions with people different from herself. For Edie, every moment is an opportunity to experience God’s Grace in a way we haven’t before. How could I have possibly imagined such an amazing person?

This got me thinking: how many times have I let my stubborn expectations about the way something will or should be get in the way of my experience of God’s Grace? There’s no way I can possibly be awake to the wonder of God’s goodness, so often seen in the eyes of my neighbors, if I’m too hung up on my own uneasiness about a situation? How can I see God’s picture of God’s kingdom when I’m so focused on the way I’ve painted?

This is not to say that we should not expect God’s grace. On the contrary, as the author of Hebrews tells us, we must hope in things not seen. However, we must not allow ourselves to become so attached to the means by which we believe God’s grace should be made known. We must not become so arrogant as to believe that God may only speak to whom and in the ways we each see fit. And similarly, we must not doubt that God may speak through us, even when we don’t expect God to do so.

In the week to come, I encourage you to think about the ways in which your expectations have limited your experience of the divine. How can you open yourself to hearing and seeing God in a different way this week? How can you work to “get out of the way” of what God is showing you?

Never forget that You are one of God’s rainbow people,
Called to step outside your high church steeple,
To show that you have heard God’s holy call
By loving, serving, and witnessing God’s Grace to all.
Live Forgiven!
- Edith Tallent Sunday