The Coonridge Digest: Making a list

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

The only thing that kept me from getting a whipping was the fact that we were in Sunday School class. The "Sunshine Class" for first-graders was taught in the choir loft, and when Mike Burbridge leaned too far back in his chair, I just gave it the extra nudge it needed to go crashing down the steps and into the pump organ. Mike was bruised, the teacher was mad, and I was given the closest thing Presbyterians had to a detention…I had to sit on the teache’s lap.

The lesson that Sunday was on loving your neighbor. I knew that this was the right thing to do and if you’d have asked me if I loved Mike I would have dutifully said, "Yes, even though he’s an idiot." I was fast on my way to becoming an adult. I could love somebody without liking him.

I hadn’t learned the word "tolerance" yet, but I was headed in the right direction. My store of love was like a bank account. I paid out lots of love to dogs and family members, but I judiciously withheld any large love deposits for those who failed to come up to my standards. I was learning to punish those unlike me with only small portions of love.

Church hopping is about the only exercise I get these days. Oh, I’m not irritated at any particular congregation, I just like to see what’s going on in the next denominational pasture.

In the past year I’ve attended both liberal and conservative churches, and even a couple of places where it would be a stretch to apply the label of "church." I don’t regret a single experience, I’ve found God in each place of worship, and I consider myself better off for having taken a peak into the next pulpit. But I have learned one thing: we may be the best lovers on the planet but we don’t like each other very much.

Perhaps an election year is a poor time to put the love-meter into action and so it’s probably the best time.

I attended a conservative church on the Sunday after the last Presidential election. It was a victory party. We sat there loving everybody, but we didn’t especially like the liberals, the gays, the Muslims, anyone who was against the war in Iraq, or NBC news.

The following Sunday I visited a decidedly liberal church. This was another love-espousing congregation, but there was not much liking for conservatives, warmongers, the current administration, or Fox News.

Lovers, we had aplenty. The likers were in short supply.

One of the reason I tipped Mike Burbridge and his chair down the holy uncarpeted steps was the fact that he only came to Sunday School near Christmastime when he knew he’d get candy and a bible with Jesus’ words printed in red ink. And chocolate drops – the kind shaped like a wizard’s hat and filled with gooey-delicious peppermint cream. You only got these at Christmas and our Sunday School teacher, Mrs. White, insisted on giving out the candy without a single thought as to who deserved it.

Unconditional love I could handle, but this totally indiscriminate liking was…well…not to my liking.

Mike had not done enough to deserve my love. I only had so much love in stock and I couldn’t be wasting it on someone who was so totally different from me. (The main difference: my folks made me go to church and his didn’t.)

There’s no time better than Christmas for sorting out priorities. The news of the summer has been duly digested, opinions have been formed, and as the end of the year approaches we tend to look back at what we’ve accomplished, settling back into our cozy prejudices to keep us warm.

And looking back it seems as if we’ve wasted a great deal of time this year hating. I can imagine God making His list and checking it twice.

"Let’s see..Who gets ordained? Who marries who? The color of the skin? The label on their faith? Their political party? Their cholesterol count, mode of transportation or worship? Interesting, but not biggies.

Now let’s check the love quotient. Ooooo. Got a lot of progress to make here, folks. A whole lot of progress to make. I’ve gotta find a way to get through to them that they can’t love each other out of principle.

It’s gotta be real or I’ve wasted a good son."

Merry Christmas from Coonridge, and if you’re in the area, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy trip.