The Race That Knows Joseph…

One of my favorite childhood authors, L.M. Montgomery (of Anne of Green Gables fame), coined the term “the race that knows Joseph”.  One of her most colorful characters, Cornelia Bryant, says “There are two kinds of people in this world – those who know Joseph and those who don’t.”  The phrase must have been referring to the book of Exodus “Then a new king, who did not know about Joseph, came to power in Egypt”  (Exodus 1:8).  He was the one who first enslaved the Israelites.  I think about “the race that knows Joseph”all the time.  Particularly when I have a conversation with a person I really connect with or meet someone new and we fall into easy conversation.  Kindred spirits, like minds.  You know when you meet those people and you automatically connect?  They speak your language.  They get you.  It can be just a chance meeting with a stranger, a member of your family,  a long-time friend, or a new friend.  I have met many and have many in my life.  They are out there allright.  I love meeting people I feel a deep and sometimes instant kinship with and the freedom to share my innermost thoughts.  I’ve spent a lot of time in my life performing and trying to be perfect.  Now that I’ve actively retired from that lifestyle, when I really connect with people it thrills me to my core.

I met one of “the race” on a trip to Ireland a few years ago.  His name was Seamus, and he was the father of some acquaintances of ours here in Florida.  Chris and I were making our way across the United Kingdom and our final stop was Dublin, the Ring of Kerry, and the tiny out-of-the-way town, Rathkeale.  Rathkeale looked like something out of any movie I’ve seen about working-class Ireland or England (like Billy Elliot) except maybe a little more desolate.  Set in the middle of nowhere amongst more touristy towns like Limerick and Killarney, Rathkeale was the epitome of the tiny Irish town.  On its outskirts we were told live lots of gypsies (and not the kind who sing and dance, but the other kind who have your car stripped down to the bare frame and sold to their cousin in less than a minute.  You’ve seen Snatch right?  You know, “pikeys”).  We had driven past a crumbling, ancient church covered in ivy with a cemetery peering out from behind it on our way to the “main street” that consisted of several empty-looking pubs.  Seamus met us outside one of those tiny pubs with a faded wooden sign hanging over the door.

Seamus, Chris and I, and two of his sons (with nicknames I couldn’t quite understand) played some darts and had a few pints of Guiness.  We talked about Ireland and Seamus’s kids that we knew in the States.  He talked about how terrified he was of flying and how much he wanted to get over there to see them.  Feeling drowsy and a little heavy from the Guiness, we said goodnight to Seamus and the boys, and Chris and I went back to the bed and breakfast we were staying at in the next town.  We were preparing to head back to Dublin early the next day and then home to Florida.

The next morning we had our breakfast (where I mistakenly ate blood sausage thinking it was  regular sausage) and drove back to Rathkeale to say our final goodbyes. Chris realized we had misplaced our rental car key somewhere so he was busy looking for it.  Seamus and I began to talk.  I was very anxious about us getting stuck there and missing our flight the next day, and he was very kindly trying to distract me in conversation.  I knew things about Seamus from talking to his kids in Florida.  I knew his wife had died when the kids were young and that he’d worked hard all his life to provide for them.  I knew he still struggled with her death every day and got very low at times.  And I knew that he still felt guilt over her and like maybe something he could have done may have kept her from dying.  We dropped the pretenses and really started to open up.  I talked to him about God’s forgiveness and grace.  I told him that he didn’t need to carry this burden of guilt around all his life and that there was One who could take it from him.  I’ll never forget what he said to me.  With tears in his eyes he said, “I feel like you’ve come here especially for me.  That you have a message for me.  A message that you couldn’t receive yourself.”  I was stunned and speechless.  In our brief time of talking he had me pegged.  He was right.  I have been struggling for most of my life trying to understand and receive God’s grace and what I end up doing is trying to redeem myself over and over and constantly falling into a pit of self-condemnation and guilt.  I have struggled time and time again to grasp the Gospel and yet I keep trying to live by the law.  The thing is that Seamus didn’t know me.  Not really.  But I believe that day God had a message for me.  I meant what I said to Seamus and he received it but I hadn’t….and he somehow knew that.

I have thought about this conversation many times over the past few years.  How God met me in that tiny pub in Ireland through a very scrappy and unexpected messenger.  I am learning to receive God’s grace every day but it’s still an uphill battle for me.  I think about Seamus and wonder how he’s doing and if he’s warding off the pikeys.  And I think of how God connects us with people in life and that he’s in those conversations.  He’s in the love and comfort we let overflow to others and that we too receive, and he will meet us in the most unexpected places.

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