Do you ever see the Pharisee… in you… in me? I do. In me mostly.
He appeared again tonight. I’m cooking supper. A honey garlic sausage and rice. And a healthy serving of organic broccoli. Fresh from Aura. That’s for me. For Larry, it will be meat and potatoes and other stuff. He doesn’t do honey garlic and rice. (Much less broccoli and organic.) We have a five o’clock date – after the Marlins finish off the Cubs. In case you don’t know, baseball holds a revered spot in our house. As far as Larry is concerned. And after 45 or so years, I think I have my priority threads untangled.
So the Marlins are wrapping it up at 5 to 3. Sausage and pork chop are nicely crisped. Rice and potatoes are in their final simmer. Dinner plates ready. The phone rings. Every night it rings at 5:10. Mostly telemarketers. No call display. But we do have the Rogers Blessing. It’s easy to pick out those rings. We ignore. Tonight, the call is local. Our end-of-the-day daughter? Charlie or Nicholas? Turn down the knobs on supper. Answer the phone. It’s Earl.
Earl is a dear Christian friend. He has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. And learned behaviour issues. And, let’s be honest, has been known to drive some people crazy. But to know Earl, to really know him, is to love him. (OK, so maybe you’re too young to remember the Teddy Bears’ hit from the ‘60s, but there we are.)
Earl needs to talk. I can smell the broccoli. (How low did I turn the burner?) He’s been on the phone with Christine. You remember Christine. Schizophrenic. Sweet. Wears T-shirts in a winter blizzard and black fleece in mid-July. Two phone calls. The third time, he calls to invite her to supper. And she’s blocked his number. Again.
‘That’s OK, Earl,’ I assure him. ‘I’ve seen Christine today. She’s fine. Just needs space.‘ We are all different. One call per day works well for Christine. She’s fine.
Mollified, Earl changes direction. ‘Are you coming to visit me? When are you coming?’
That is when the Pharisee appears. He’s been walking beside me for 102 days. And I didn’t even see him.
In case you don’t know, Earl used to live in a rooming house. Under challenging circumstances. Neighbours on alcohol and drugs. Fowl language. Small space. Shared kitchen and bath. Rent soaked up most of his money. But, in late summer, after much stressing, hoping and praying, he moved to a sparkling new subsidized housing unit on Brookside Court. Earl will tell you: God is Good. He keeps His promises.
Then came that Sunday afternoon in early January. We celebrated his new life with a house warming. With the goodbye hugs and congratulations, there were promises to ‘come and visit’.
So here we are. Suppertime. Thursday. April 19. Earl is alone. And the Pharisee is staring me straight in the face. What would it cost me… you… anyone? All it will take is one hour. Call ... just call him. Drop by Brookside Court. The unit at the back. On the second level. Maybe a package of cookies from Superstore. Say ‘How are you doing?’ Earl’s Mom moved on to Glory about a month and a half ago. He’s certain to be missing her.
And, after all, Earl is family. God’s family. For me, that one hour costs nothing. For him, it is pure gold. What will you do? For me - it's time to pull out my calendar. And then check the broccoli.
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