Parking Lots

These urban "parking deserts" may be our new mission field.

Dear Friends,

Well, so much for the “plans of mice and men.” After multiple texts with Substack, we determined that their new “audio template” was having “issues” interfacing with various browsers, and they referred the “technical issue” to their “development” division. I’m told to be patient The question remains: “If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

Alas … bottom line, this week’s podcast is in written form only. I’ll keep you posted, friends.

In the interim, I’m praying for all of you this beautiful fall season; your prayers are appreciated as well!

Stay Strong! Stay safe!

Pressing On!

D. Paul

The Church’s One Foundation Is Jesus Christ Her Lord!

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PARKING LOTS

It may be true, as attributable to H.R. Balcomb, that “Regardless the destination, all roads lead home” despite its counter variants, e.g., “All roads lead to Rome,” and “You Can’t Go Home Again,” the latter phrase made famous by Thomas Wolfe’s novel about outcast author, George Webber, who after becoming famous is shunned by his hometown and travels the world in search of acceptance and identity.

Balcomb’s “…all roads lead home,” though, was certainly my case when after nearly fifty years in NYC and Los Angeles my wife and I found ourselves “back home again in Indiana.” We’ve no complaints and are more than happy to be out of the constant “hurly burly” of those hustling cities, great as they are for the young and ambitious. But it seems here in Indiana that between the leaving of and returning to our homes, all roads lead to the ubiquitous parking lot: the grocery parking lot; the bank parking lot; the church parking lot; the restaurant parking lot; the mall parking lot (what a nightmare that can be!); the parking lot for the post office, the bank, the courthouse, the state fair, and those gargantuan, stadium parking lots with their row upon row of perfectly proportioned spaces. According to one study, the US has some two billion parking places overall when including underground and multiple-level stacked parking. But it is those outdoor lots, mostly asphalt in composition, that have been described as “parking deserts” for their “heat islands” and “water pollution,” with minimal foliage for shade and inadequate facilities to control the runoff of rain. Most of these parking lots, of course, have multiple video/digital cameras, and what a banquet of human behavior there must be on those recordings in any given week: old friends meeting after years of not seeing one another; the neighbor down the street whom we’ve not seen in weeks; that estranged ex-wife, husband, or distant relative; and, on the periphery of the lot, those smoked-filled cars where drugs deals are done and where those anxious “lovers and other strangers” meet clandestinely, hopefully beyond the range of a probing camera.

I’ve suggested it before (see “Divine Appointments” March 5), but these urban “parking deserts” may be our new mission field, filled, as they are, with millions passing through “a parched and weary land,” longing for the “living water” that only comes from the living Christ. And even as the master said to his servant, “Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in…” (Luke 124:23), are we not constrained to share the love of Christ wherever the road leads us?

A brief exchange in my oft-mentioned Safeway parking lot occurred this past week. I had just pulled into a front-row space (my sister used to pray for such parking places!) when a man using a walker passed by the right side of my car. He had a visible limp, reminiscent of James Arness’s distinctive gait in the old TV series, “Gunsmoke,” (a great show by the way, if you never saw it). A woman came around the corner to enter the store and, at the man’s initiative, exchanged a few words with him. He was poorly dressed in dirty jeans and a T-shirt, she impeccably so, decked out in vibrant, fall colors. She continued into the store, the man sitting on a bench located out front. A light rain soon began, and the man and walker moved down the street and disappeared around the corner. The rain soon stopped and the lady returned with some bills in her hand, looking around for the man. As I was getting out of the car, I told her that he had walked away when it began to rain.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’d wanted to give him some money. He said he needed some food, and I thought rather than buy it I’d get some cash and give it to him.”

“Well, that was good of you,” and added spontaneously, “and God sees all our good intentions.”

“Yes … yes … He does see, doesn’t he.”

“They’ll be another time,” I said.

“Yes, they’ll be another time,” she replied, and we walked into the store saying nothing more.

How significant was that seemingly insignificant exchange, as I was touched by this stranger’s desire to care for someone less fortunate than she. These simple exchanges, these little acts of kindness can turn a “parking desert” into a mission field overflowing with kindness and generosity.

In truth, how many times in the “hurly burly” of my own busy life (Indianapolis is no longer a Naptown!) have I let these opportunities pass me by. I see the neighbor from down the street but walk the other way, not wanting “my important agenda” for the day interrupted. I see that estranged relative or friend getting out of their car but fail to take advantage of an opportune moment to speak a word of reconciliation, still harboring some resentment … perhaps? So caught up in “myself,” I pass by the one wanting little more than a bottle of water, and I have to ask: Have I, like the “rich man” who passed by the beggar Lazarus “…longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table” (Luke 16:19), become indifferent to the needs of those I see in the Safeway parking lot? How easily it can happen. How easily I can justify it.

The Confession of Sin from the Book of Common Prayer reminds me weekly of my shorcomings and strengthens us all to “walk in [his] ways,” wherever the road may lead:

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your name. Amen

Amen & Amen

The Safeway store & parking lot at Illinois & 56th, Indpls. IN.