Inter-Faith Banquet ( Alternative title: "Trapped' in the Modern World")

Ramadan is a time for introspection, analyzing our relationship with God, our families and re-charging our spiritual batteries. It is also a time, however, for reaching out to those in need, the hungry, the poor, the lonely as well as to improve our relations with our neighbors. This is an excellent opportunity to invite others to break bread together as part of a community Iftar.*

I had somehow found the time to proof- read the above paragraph before dashing to work. It was from the program I had made to promote our community Inter-faith gathering. I was pleased with my handiwork and looked forward to the event later that evening.

This naturally meant I had been running around like a maniac all day. Two colleagues were absent at work so I had I had turned into a faxing, emailing phone-calling automaton. Even after I left the office and drove to Jewel, I remembered a fax that I had forgotten to send. Just then, the phone rang, it was my first-born son. Tennis practice had ended early and he needed picking up. His voice was urgent.

“It’s pouring with rain, Mom, will you be long?”
“I’ll hurry,“ I promised with maternal concern, but knowing it would be at least another 20 minutes as I had critical grocery items to purchase.
I pushed my grocery cart around as though I was in Supermarket Sweep, lined my purchases up on the conveyer belt and willed the cashier to hurry up.

I forced myself not to glare at the lady in front of me who had clearly violated the “10 Items or Less” rule. I pulled out my Jewel discount card and requested paper over plastic without even raising my head.

It was then that I saw them.

A six pack of lint traps.
There they lay between the National Enquirer and People Magazine covering up a rather flattering picture of Angelina Jolie.

The sight of these humble little objects should not normally provoke such joy. But only a week ago, our Bosnian plumber had told us this was the reason we were having so much trouble with the dryer.

His exact words had been:

“You need LINT TRAP” I wondered how I had reached middle age without ever having purchased such an object or even knowing of its existence.

I tossed the traps onto the conveyer belt in between the grapes and the frozen waffles, happy that my laundry troubles were over but nervously watching the clock over-head.

“Fine, thank you” I mumbled to a polite request from the cashier. I had no time for pleasanteries today.

It was then that I heard a warm, low, masculine drawl:
“Lint traps, eh?..
Gee I remember my wife used to use her old silk stockings to take care of all that pesky lint!”

It was 4.45 in the afternoon. My eldest son was probably soaked by now. Dinner had to be made, there was that wretched fax to Fruitful Packing Company. But what was that??? Real silk stockings?

Time stopped for a brief moment. It seemed like even the conveyer belt had come to a complete halt.
In the chaos of this modern world, I had not even glanced at the bagger who was so patiently putting groceries into my cart- carefully placing the egg cartons on the top and double bagging the ice cream.

He looked to be about 70years old and had a full head of snowy white hair. When I finally looked him in the eyes, he smiled broadly. I then noticed his bright orange nametag.
Hi I’m Harry, How May I help you?

What a fool I’d been ,taking on SO many responsibilities. I had believed myself so competent and important, running a business, being a soccer mom, volunteering for this inter-faith dinner.

Here was an opportunity for “interacting with a person from another faith” and I had blown it!

But Harry’s look was warm and encouraging. He moved around with some effort but performed his monotonous tasks with such grace that you would think he was here for the joy of helping mankind and not because he was struggling to pay his heating bills.

Harry’s smile was telling. It spoke of a long-gone era. This was before impersonal supermarket chains and annoying cellphones. Going to the local grocery store was just another social visit. People knew each other’s families, asked about the loss of a job, the birth of a baby or a sick relative.

There was no Peapod.com and CERTAINLY no " Unexpected items in the bagging area"

(Lest I get too carried away here, no one wants to go back to hand-washing clothes, using type-writer ribbons or ration books.)

But I would like to stop. Breathe. Smell the flowers. Smile at Harry.

I tucked the now silly looking pack of lint traps into the nearest grocery bag and turned to Harry. I wanted to know his stories, how many grand-children he had, which presidents he had lived through.

I also wanted to hear him describe the local grocery store of his childhood, the Bakery, the Fishmonger’s, the Candy Store, the people, the smells, the sounds. But I did not want to get Harry into trouble.

So, instead I asked, smiling now:

“Did they do the trick? Er.. the silk stockings. I mean.?”

“Yup, yup” replied Harry with such a glint in his eye that I knew he had been transported back to 1936. “ You take care, now” and he went off to assist the customer behind me.

So this Ramadan, I have vowed to slow down my harried self. Calmer days must come if there is to be any of that afore-mentioned intro-spection. Instead of picking up and dropping off the boys like they were orders of fast food , maybe I could PLAY the odd game of tennis or chess with them more frequently ? Go back to reading aloud before bed-time, even?

Also, inter-faith is not a three hour event at the Westin O Hare. It is a frame of mind.
We all know that the Prophet Muhammad, Peace be Upon Him, said “Even a Smile is Charity”

Would taking the time to listen to someone, hearing their tales, talking to them then be considered equivalent to inviting them to a banquet?