IN ZACH'S LIVING ROOM

"If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men." (Romans 12:18)

I'm usually really good at composing something to post on my blog or on Facebook.  I know exactly how to begin.  I know exactly how the whole piece should flow.  I know the main point I'm wanting to express.  And, I usually know a pretty cool way to wrap it up.  

It's Wednesday afternoon and I'm sitting here "flying by the seat of my pants"!  It's humbling and it's embarrassing.  But I need to write this piece.  And I'm looking for feedback - not nasty or insulting feedback -but any thoughts you have that you think might be helpful.

On Monday afternoon, I spent two hours sitting in Zach's living room.  ("Zach" is not his real name, but I chose to use a fictitious name for him.)  I did some talking, but most of the time I listened.  Zach is 87-years-old.  I don't know if this detail is important but he looks more like 75.  He lives alone in a fairly nice, albeit small, single family home located in a suburban neighborhood about an hour's drive from where I live.  

Zach has been rather seriously hearing impaired all of his life.  He wears a hearing aid which allows him to function with reasonably good hearing.  Until about a decade ago his vision was good.  He had a driver's license and drove a late model mini-van.  But his sight declined rapidly over just a few years due to macula degeneration.  Zach has been legally blind for at least five years.  Zach has never used a computer or a smart phone.  The thought of computers is scary to him.  He does use a simple flip phone.  Zach has a service dog - a German Shepherd.  Honestly, the dog's a little scary!  Zach speaks excellent English, although English is his second language.  His parents were immigrants from a faraway country.

My father would be 101 if still alive.  Zach was a friend of my father's - probably his youngest friend.  My father, unlike my very introverted mother, was very outgoing and knew many people.  He met Zach fifty years ago at the Registry of Motor Vehicles in Boston where he worked.  My Dad tended to be very helpful to RMV customers.  They'd be so stressed out and so grateful for the help that they'd sometimes say, "You'll have to come and visit me sometime!"  And he would!  In Zach's case, they got to be very good friends.  During my father's final days on an a nursing home's Alzheimer's unit, Zach regularly visited him.

Following my father's death in 2000, I kept in contact with Zach.  Sometimes we'd go out for Chinese food.  Sometimes we'd just talk on the phone.  Zach's moved (I think) six times since 2000.  Once he moved eight states away for a couple of years but then came back to Massachusetts.  Zach has a brother and a sister who each live less than forty miles from him but his relationship with them is strained.  He has a close friend who lives fifteen miles away, but the friend, like him, doesn't drive. 

About eighteen months ago I called Zach one day, and to my surprise I didn't reach his usual voicemail message.  Instead, a robot-like voice instructed me to leave my name and number after the beep.  I did.  No call back.  I tried again a couple months later.  Same thing.  And again at least four times over several months.  My wife and sister each began asking me why I never talked about Zach anymore.  Each urged me to just go see Zach.  I wanted no part of that!  At Zach's house is a large "BEWARE OF THE DOG" sign.  And he's unable to see.  Honestly, Zach's very suspicious and very paranoid.  I imagined the channel 7 news proclaiming "Intruding minister mauled by service dog"!

A couple of weeks ago,  I tried calling Zach again.  To my shock, Zach answered the phone.  He never did that.  You always had to leave a message and he'd call back.

I nervously told him I was shocked it was really him and Live!  He wasn't amused or impressed.  Zach was usually very polite and very nice.  On this call he was irritable and angry.  He lectured me about what a selfish and uncaring person I was to just ignore him and let him waste away for a year and a half.  I feebly apologized.  He wasn't buying it.  We talked for about twenty minutes.  As the late Don Imus used to say, "It was awful"!

I did try to reassure him I'd call again very soon and I'd visit him very soon.  I don't think he believed me, but one week later I called him.  That was Monday.  I asked if I could come and visit.  He said to come at 2:30 that afternoon if I wanted to, and I did. 

Zach asked me what church near him he could visit.  Normally that's music to a born-again Christian's ears!  But I couldn't come up with a good answer.  I know of a small church less than two miles from where Zach lives.  It's pastored by a nice black man from Africa.  But Zach makes it very clear he doesn't like black people.  And there's a large church about six miles away which attracts people under age 50 and blasts loud contemporary worship music.  Zach would hate it.  If it were possible I'd bring him to church with me.  But I live far from Zach and that's not feasible.  I didn't know what to tell him.

While I was in that living room he made a point of telling me how strongly he supports the Palestinians and how horrible he considers Netanyahu and Israel to be.  I'm pro Israel!  I could sit there waving a Star of David flag!  What do you say to that?

I just smiled and didn't say anything.

At 4:30 Zach wanted me to take both of us to get Chinese food.  I told him I really needed to be going but that I'd be back and take us for a meal sometime soon.

Monday night I was exhausted!

I've been thinking a lot about Monday afternoon in Zach's living room.  As The Beatles asked many years ago:

"All the lonely people, where do they all come from?  All the lonely people, where do they all belong?"