"The Tireman Returns"
A sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman
July 12, 2009
READINGS ANCIENT AND MODERN:
Our first reading is from the Tao te Ching, written by the
ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu, and translated by Stanley Rosenthal:
"EXPERIENCING THE MYSTERY"
The Tao is abstract,
and therefore has no form,
it is neither bright in rising,
nor dark in sinking,
cannot be grasped, and makes no sound.
Without form or image, without existence,
the form of the formless, is beyond defining,
cannot be described,
and is beyond our understanding.
It cannot be called by any name.
Standing before it, it has no beginning;
even when followed, it has no end.
In the now, it exists; to the present apply it,
follow it well, and reach its beginning.
Our modern reading is from a sermon illustration by Vernon Grounds,
former president of Denver Seminary. Grounds wrote:
Norman Cousins, after his experiences at UCLA Medical School, notes
a common misunderstanding about what is "real" and "unreal."
In Bob Benson's He Speaks Softly, Cousins is quoted: "The words
'hard' and 'soft' are generally used by medical students to describe
the contrasting nature of courses. Courses like biochemistry, physics,
pharmacology, anatomy, and pathology are anointed with the benediction
of 'hard' whereas subjects like medical ethics, philosophy, history,
and patient-physician relationships tend to labor under the far
less auspicious label 'soft'. . . (but) a decade or two after graduation
there tends to be an inversion. That which was supposed to be hard
turns out to be soft, and vice versa. The knowledge base of medicine
is constantly changing . . . But the soft subjects--especially those
that have to do with intangibles--turn out in the end to be of enduring
value."
SERMON:
At the risk of seeming, or even being self-indulgent or, worse
yet, tedious, I offer the following account of my adult life told
through the experience of a particular strand or arc that runs through
it. My hope is that, in the end, there might be some redemption
from the account in ways that might offer insight, comfort, acceptance,
or perhaps even commitment or determination in and for your own
journey. And so this is yours, whatever it's worth.
Lao Tzu wrote, "[The Tao] has no beginning; even when followed
it has no end."
I'm not at all sure when this story begins, or if it does have
a beginning. And so, I'll pick it up the week I graduated from high
school, back in June of 1968. On Saturday morning of that week,
I accompanied my sister, Margie, to the local Firestone Store, where
she was going to get a new set of tires. She would pay for two of
the tires; my brother, Bill, and I with whom she regularly and generously
shared her very smart, little red and white Plymouth Valiant convertible,
each paid for one of the two remaining tires.
I was looking for a summer job at the time, so it occurred to me,
while we waited on the installation, to ask for a job application.
I filled it out and gave it to the salesman who had waited on us.
Maybe five minutes later the store manager came around, introduced
himself to me, and asked if I was serious about wanting a job. "Sure,"
I said.
"What do you know about changing tires?" he asked.
"Absolutely nothing," I answered.
"Why do you think I should consider you for the job?"
he asked.
"Well, I was a wrestler for four years and if I could do that,
I'll bet I could do well wrestling with those tires."
"A wrestler," he repeated. "I used to wrestle myself.
Can you start work on Monday?"
"Sure can," I said. So that following Monday, I became
a tireman.
I ended up working at that Firestone Store through that summer,
and then part time through my first two years at junior college.
Mostly, I changed passenger tires, but little by little learned
to work on truck tires, too.
In the broader context of that time, you might remember that the
Viet Nam War was raging half way around the world. In my sophomore
year, student deferments were cancelled. I, along with all the other
male students and non-students of my age group became eligible for
the draft as it was to be administered through a lottery. I got
a low number, which meant that I'd have received my, "Greetings,"
notice by February or March. Rather than wait for it, I joined the
U.S. Naval Reserve as a Hospital Corpsman. That allowed me to stay
in school until the end of the year, and would allow me to avoid
shooting weapons at other human beings.
When the time came for me to leave for Basic Training and Hospital
Corps training, I thought it was also time to leave my career as
a tireman behind. So, at the end of my last day on the job, I thanked
Bill Harris, still the manager who had hired me, and told him that
while I appreciated all that he'd done for me, I wouldn't be returning.
"If I ever change another tire again," I said, "it
would be too soon!"
After returning from Great Lakes Naval Base several months later,
I recognized that my passive attempt at being a Conscientious Objector
within the military structure was still making me complicit with
the war effort and put me at odds with my leanings towards nonviolence.
I applied for a discharge as a C.O. While that drama played out,
I needed work.
I have learned since then, though it did take me a long time, to
never say never. Sure enough, I got a job with another tire shop
in town that was only too happy to hire a tireman trained by Firestone.
With a little more training, I became the resident truck tireman.
When my supervisor assured me that this meant I, "…would
always have a job to fall back on" - I grimaced! Several months
later, when my C.O. discharge came through, I was fired from that
job with the admonition, "Why don't you go back to Russia where
you belong!" I said that I'd never been to Russia.
I didn't really mind being fired; it set me free. After a few months
of hitchhiking around the country, I settled in Chicago where I
had the great fortune of doing my alternative service to the draft
in an excellent facility working as a childcare counselor in an
adolescent psychiatric treatment center. That was followed by a
couple more years of study at the University of Illinois at Chicago,
then a stretch of years as a social worker for Uptown Center Hull
House, one of the off-shoots of the Jane Addams program that began
as a settlement house on Chicago's South Side. Next was a year of
travel and singing in Europe.
My return to the States brought me to Champaign, IL, where, by
the way, there are more unemployed social workers and musicians
than you can shake a stick at. You might guess what was in demand,
though. So I began working for the Firestone Store in Champaign.
About three months later, my boss and I left to start a tire company
on behalf of a couple of wealthy farmers who owned a number of agriculturally
based businesses. He ran the commercial/truck end of the startup.
I quickly became expert at tractor, combine and all manner of farm
tires, so that I could run the agricultural end.
A year and half later, I married Judy Blustein. She and I enjoyed
nearly a year of honeymoon travel in the U.S.A., and then settled
in Joe Daviess County in the very rural northwestern corner of Illinois.
I worked extremely part time for the county mental health clinic
and performed in clubs and such, singing on most weekends. Even
though, together these didn't amount to what you might think of
as gainful employment. So I began casting about to see what other
needs were going unmet in our area that I might be able to employ
myself by filling.
You are right again! There were no farm tire service companies
located in our county. Area Tire Service began and I was back to
wrestling those monstrously big farm tires. This was probably a
bit more like ministry than you might think. I was called to respond
when people were in distress, and often spent long hours - some
of those big tires took a long time to change - talking with and
calming those in need.
Area Tire lasted a few years until a serious knee injury led to
surgery and the eventual sale of the business. I then returned to
school, took only a few minor detours, and emerged several years
later as a minister, which has been my trade for the past two decades.
During this time, as you can probably imagine, I haven't had much
of any investment in my former identity as a tireman.
(Walk to table at center of the chancel and begin changing my bike
tire while speaking.) So I have to say that on my recent bike ride
across the country, I found it rather surprising that on our first
day out we had two flat tires. On the second day we had another,
and by the time we reached the Delaware shore, 47 days later, we
had over 40 flat tires. I was the resident tireman once more! Try
as I might to flee that identity, once again it had found me; I
had found it. Because I was the fastest and because we didn't want
to lose anymore time than necessary, I changed most of the tires
myself and assisted in the few others so the other guys could get
some experience at it.
Here's an interesting thing about it though. It wasn't hard work.
In fact, it was gratifying and enjoyable. It provided a very pleasant
break in the long, challenging days of pedaling. Most often, it
created a space for easy conversation about any number of things.
And it allowed this old tireman to feel that I was adding something
of value on a trip I was taking with two bikers whose athletic abilities
were far superior to mine.
Changing tires is a lot more gratifying than you might think. First,
it's very physical, where ministry is not. In ministry one most
often does not know the outcome of one's labors. With tires there
is a mechanical problem; there is a way of grabbing hold of that
problem, applying a solution, and successfully moving from a state
of brokenness to fixed. There are no questions left in the balance;
at least usually there aren't.
I've always been a sucker for geometry. Euclid and I - soul brothers!
Changing tires is all about applied geometry - circles, arcs, lines,
angles, distribution of balance. Throw in a few challenging puzzles
and changing tires becomes a geometrician's field day.
To top that off, changing tires - especially on large equipment
or on bicycles - is an activity that's nearly always done out-of-doors.
I love to be outside and I love activities that take me there. (While
still talking, put finishing touches on putting the tire back together,
air it up a little and walk back into the pulpit.)
So you see, I had a lot of time to think about all kinds of things
as I rode my bike across the continent. Lao Tzu wrote, "Without
form or image, without existence, the form of the formless is beyond
defining …it cannot be described and is beyond our understanding."
But, answers 20th Century British poet, Henry Reed, "Intuition
is the very force or activity of the soul in its experience through
whatever has been the experience of the soul itself."
Perhaps it is true, as Lao Tzu suggests, that we cannot know the
great mystery, the form of the formless beyond defining. But, as
Reed suggests, I believe we can intuit, we can feel a sense of that
force as it is experienced by our souls, through our lives.
Sometimes our lives seem to be lived out in segments, almost independent,
one phase distinct from the next. Now we are students; now we are
workers or professionals; now we are single; now we are partnered;
now, sometimes, we are single again; now we are employed; now we
are not; now we are injured or sick; now we are well; now we are
youthful; now we are old. You can fill in your segments. Round and
round they roll.
The thing is, they are not independent. They are merely places
along an arc that is the path of our lifetimes. They are parts of
a story, our story. They are parts of a flow, of a whole that requires
the sum of all its parts, in order for us to take just the next
step on that path - building on our intuition, connecting with that
very force and activity of the soul through whatever has been a
part of our experience - and more, linking the nature of our own
experience with the ongoing process of All-That-Is. The arc of our
individual lives is part and parcel of the arc that reaches though
time and through All-That-Is.
So often in our work-a-day world, in our keep-busy-at-any-cost
culture, we stay focused on the task at hand, and, if at all, on
who we are merely in relation to that task or that challenge. It's
good from time to time, through sabbatical or even Sabbath, to take
the time to remember the many facets of who we are on this grand
journey of life, which is our opportunity to grow our souls.
To paraphrase Norman Cousins - the knowledge base of life is constantly
changing….But the soft objects - especially those that have
to do with intangibles - turn out to be of enduring value. We might
also recognize that even those subjects that seem to be more closely
connected to the tangible aspects of our lives, also turn out to
be part and parcel of the larger picture, connected intricately
to the streams that run deeply through the stories that are our
lives.
To remember, to take the time to identify our experiences as part
of the whole and identify ourselves as part of All-That-Is provides
us the opportunity to redeem those experiences: however difficult,
however lonely, or grief-filled, or mundane, however wonderful they
might be.
What is redemption in this sense? Perhaps it is the opportunity
to grow our souls through the process of reconnection, finding and
making greater meaning and purpose in our lives. Perhaps it is the
opportunity to grow our souls by connecting the dots and strengthening
the strands of the web; by connecting the seemingly disparate parts
of our lives, connecting us to the seemingly independent other,
connecting us to our seemingly unrelated planet, allowing us the
possibility of faith in knowing that we do always have something
to fall back on.
Perhaps it is the opportunity to grow our souls by allowing us
to see that we really are not in this all alone, but part of a much
longer arc, larger stream that exists because it is determined to
exist, because - we might say - it loves to exist.
What is redemption in this sense? Perhaps it is growing our souls
through the gathering of strands that hold us in a web-work, a tapestry,
of love. To what end? Maybe it is no more than that might enable
us to be more fulfilled by being more attentive, dutiful participants
in the ongoing creation of that love.
I call that arc or that eternal flow, love. You might call it by
another name -God or nature or whatever. Lao Tzu reminds us that,
"It cannot be called by any [particular] name. Standing before
it, it has no beginning; even when followed, it has no end. In the
now, it exists; to the present apply it, follow it well, and reach
its beginning."
What are some of the strands that connect you to the beginning
of that stream? I trust that the more we are able to know and hold
them, and hold them dear, the greater access we have to the redemptive
gifts of insight, comfort, acceptance, commitment and determination
in and for the journeys that are our lives.
Flat tires need to be and can be repaired. Our lives can be mended.
The world can be made more whole. The connections are there for
us to find, or to make, and to hold.
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