Fat Tuesday
So, last night was Fat Tuesday in Pioneer Square.
For the uninformed, Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday) is the night before the start of Lent, which begins with Ash Wednesday. For Christians this is a season of reflection, repentance, and renewal, marked by giving up some indulgence -- like fat for instance. (Suddenly I'm regretting the bacon burger I ate for lunch!) I'm giving up computer games, and propose to myself to use the time for better and more productive pursuits.
Anyway, I spent the evening downtown with another minister, visiting a bar, hanging out on the sidewalk talking to revelers and greeting public officials who have also made a tradition of hanging out on Fat Tuesday, since the riot of 2001 and the death of a young man in a general street brawl.
Two construction managers for a major national company dominated our time and attention for over an hour. They were amazed that we were in a bar -- one thought it was an act of God. Before we showed up they were debating about the Trinity. The active Catholic guy was trying to explain it to his tipsy lapsed Lutheran. After hearing our explanation they were both satisfied and amazed.
In the course of this conversation a humble homeless guy presented himself with a hypothetical. "What if an out-of-work fisherman had no place to go for the night? Could something be done?"
Lutheran guy hands the enquirer $5, I made a quick call to determine the availability of shelter, and found him a spot in a shelter.
On the way to the shelter "Bobby" told a tale of woe -- out of control with alcohol, and worse, he doesn't think God wants anything to do with a "heathen like me." He is mourning the loss of his family, two sons were killed, one in Desert Storm in 1991, the other in Iraq last August. While he wept I prayed for him to have faith, and to find the strength to move one step closer to sobriety and wholeness.
After this dramatic moment, I returned to Pioneer Square.
Here were groups of men trying to induce women to show their breasts for the sake of a few cheap strings of plastic beads. Many of the young women were wearing provacative clothing. Not much needed to happen for them to be appreciated by the lustful crowds. Honestly, it wasn't very distracting. Most of the women walking around were women who frankly would not have garnered much male attention otherwise -- plain faces and rotund builds. I found myself repulsed but intrigued. Difficult not to look -- like watching a car wreck in some cases. One Rubenesque 20-something covered her face in shame as we walked past. "I've gotta go to confession!" she howled.
I was given a few strands of beads which ended up around the neck of our mayor and police chief.
A memorable night.
Rick
For the uninformed, Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday) is the night before the start of Lent, which begins with Ash Wednesday. For Christians this is a season of reflection, repentance, and renewal, marked by giving up some indulgence -- like fat for instance. (Suddenly I'm regretting the bacon burger I ate for lunch!) I'm giving up computer games, and propose to myself to use the time for better and more productive pursuits.
Anyway, I spent the evening downtown with another minister, visiting a bar, hanging out on the sidewalk talking to revelers and greeting public officials who have also made a tradition of hanging out on Fat Tuesday, since the riot of 2001 and the death of a young man in a general street brawl.
Two construction managers for a major national company dominated our time and attention for over an hour. They were amazed that we were in a bar -- one thought it was an act of God. Before we showed up they were debating about the Trinity. The active Catholic guy was trying to explain it to his tipsy lapsed Lutheran. After hearing our explanation they were both satisfied and amazed.
In the course of this conversation a humble homeless guy presented himself with a hypothetical. "What if an out-of-work fisherman had no place to go for the night? Could something be done?"
Lutheran guy hands the enquirer $5, I made a quick call to determine the availability of shelter, and found him a spot in a shelter.
On the way to the shelter "Bobby" told a tale of woe -- out of control with alcohol, and worse, he doesn't think God wants anything to do with a "heathen like me." He is mourning the loss of his family, two sons were killed, one in Desert Storm in 1991, the other in Iraq last August. While he wept I prayed for him to have faith, and to find the strength to move one step closer to sobriety and wholeness.
After this dramatic moment, I returned to Pioneer Square.
Here were groups of men trying to induce women to show their breasts for the sake of a few cheap strings of plastic beads. Many of the young women were wearing provacative clothing. Not much needed to happen for them to be appreciated by the lustful crowds. Honestly, it wasn't very distracting. Most of the women walking around were women who frankly would not have garnered much male attention otherwise -- plain faces and rotund builds. I found myself repulsed but intrigued. Difficult not to look -- like watching a car wreck in some cases. One Rubenesque 20-something covered her face in shame as we walked past. "I've gotta go to confession!" she howled.
I was given a few strands of beads which ended up around the neck of our mayor and police chief.
A memorable night.
Rick
posted by Pastor Rick | 2:45 PM
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