Cloister thoughts....
Sonny is a part of the community. His mama and daddy died when he was a young boy. Sonny attended special classes growing up in school. He did graduate from high school with a certificate that the principle designed for him.
Through the years, Sonny became obsessed with cowboys and could tell you everything you wanted to know about a cowboy. He knew all the names of the best Westerns and once you hit his “Cowboy” button, you could expect to engage in quite a lengthy conversation.
Sonny is a little temperamental. When Sonny is having a good day - it’s all smiles, a gentle wave and a friendly conversation. If it’s a bad day - it may be hard to get a single word out of Sonny! He is known to mumble a few words of profanity - and you wonder where he learned such a vocabulary - except maybe off the television.
Even though Sonny is well into his seventies - he looks like he is in his fifties. The city pays him a little money to walk from the convalescent home - where he lives - downtown to the courthouse - which is about two miles - and along the way he picks up trash. Each month -Sonny gets a check from the city for his good work in keeping the city clean.
Sonny and I had a Sunday morning ritual. He would get to church long before others - in the early hours when I would be going through the sermon for the day, Sonny would come into the sanctuary - find his seat which was always on the last row of the first three sections - the inside aisle seat - where his parents sat with him as a little boy. Sonny got a private - fresh - hot off the press - first take of my sermon every Sunday morning. Through the years, we had enough “predicaments” - well, I could just about write a book.
Like the day when a bird followed Sonny right into the sanctuary! Sonny brought out all his cowboy techniques to lasso that bird and get him out the church before services - keeping the story short - we had to take Sonny to the emergency room after he gashed his head chasing that bird up the chancel steps.
Sonny called me Preacher Rick - he kept telling me - Preacher Rick - I’m going to have a party - and I want you to come: I kept saying to him - Sonny - I’ll be glad to - you just let me know when - expecting all the while that this was just some fantasy in Sonny’s mind - and I would just play along.
Well it happened! Early one Sunday morning - when Sonny and I had finished our ritual - he came up to the chancel and invited me to his party on Tuesday at 12:00 in a designated dining area - in the convalescent center. I showed up a few minutes before 12:00 - and there was Sonny at the door of a “special dining area.” He had on a white shirt - a nice “cowboy” tie, a corded jacket - and I believe I got the whiff of some good smelling sauce.
He greeted me with a hug - and as I looked up, there were four other guests in the room. Sonny had assembled five of us for this special party that he had designed. He got the convalescent home to cooperate with him and give him special privileges. Sonny had set the table, put flowers in the middle - he had at each place setting a handmade favor and he pulled out the chair for each one of us to sit at his table. It was a delightful time of laughter, of wonder, of grace. All five of us realized as we sat at Sonny’s table that Sonny had learned some powerful expressions of hospitality, about community, about giving and receiving.
I left Sonny’s party that day full - of food, to be sure - but mostly of wonder, appreciation, and humility. Somehow in this small isolated little dining area - with a curious host, I had feasted on the Kingdom of God. And it was good. Now, I’m not sure exactly where Sonny fits into this teaching of Jesus and offering cups of cold water. He makes no claim to be a prophet. He can call up some religious vocabulary when circumstances command it, but matters of faith and discipleship and the will of God are not Sonny’s conversation of choice. Neither am I too sure of Sonny’s righteousness. Sonny is a good man - kind and generous - he stays out of trouble, harbors no apparent resentment or bitterness about the difficult life he’s lived.
He seems grateful for each day and accepts each on its own terms. If anything, Sonny qualifies as one of the “little ones” of whom Jesus speaks, but it is more often Sonny who is dispensing the cool water than consuming it. Nonetheless, everything about Jesus teaching us to offer cups of water returns Sonny to my mind. Sonny finally had the party - the “prophet” or “righteous one" or at least “little one” God had sent that I almost failed to receive. He taught me, among other things, that I couldn’t predict nor reliably recognize by their appearance those vessels of grace and wisdom that God employs on my behalf.
But I intend to be a good deal more eagerly expectant, a good deal more hopeful and, hopefully, more receptive of cups of cold water - welcoming not simply Sonny and the others I might bump into, but through them, welcoming the God who sent them in my direction.
