An Ordinary Life

Train drama can happen anytime, but the later in the day, the more likely it is that one will witness the craziness of humanity. Last evening was no exception.

I can know that the commuters around me see what I’m doing. They hear what I say. My life is exposed on the train though my bysitter seems otherwise involved or asleep. They have the NYC heightened awareness of circumstances.

Last evening, though on my phone, I saw the two young women across from us. I felt shocked when they began to spray graffiti. I did nothing. It wasn’t my business. I didn’t need their retort. What did I care!? However, as they continued, I, almost without thinking, switched to a seat alongside them. “What are you doing?” I asked. “You look like such nice girls.”

They quit their act of vandalism. The one girl’s eyes got big. She muttered an apology of  “I’m sorry.” I returned to where I previously sat beside my husband, and soon, we got off the train.

This morning, I read Nehemiah 4:14, “After I looked things over, I stood up and said to the nobles, the officials, and the rest of the people, ‘Don’t be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your families, your sons and your daughters, your wives and your homes.'”

We have an enemy who would destroy us. Do I look on fascinated and disbelieving of his actions in the people I love? Let me instead be a woman of prayer, a prayer warrior who fights for these dear ones so that we all might reach heaven. God would have us to be saved. He has the power.

Berniece

“I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD” (Psalm 122:1).

A week ago, Laurence and I stopped at the Great Stone Dwelling of the Shaker Museum at Enfield, New Hampshire. It was the place of our first writer’s retreat. After touring the Dwelling, Laurence and I went next door to the elaborate Mary Keene Chapel. Built by the Catholic Church, the chapel now belongs to the historic Shaker museum. We looked in at a dank and dark sanctuary with its stained-glasses windows and wood pews. It surprised me that the sanctuary held no appeal. I thought about how it had filled with light as we’d worshipped here with our people. The first evening of the retreat, we quoted the 23rd Psalm together. Morning and evening, we lifted our voices in this place to sing songs of praise. We heard the Word, and we prayed together. I realized when I saw the musty chapel last week that it had been a beautiful place only when it held the people of God, the people of His church.

As I write this, we are riding the train to Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in Harlem. It is a chapel lit with the presence of God, and my heart thrills to meet with His people there. I think of the ordinary apartment living rooms that became special when the Church held Sunday school, sang, and listened to the Word. I recall the late Deacon Reuben Shirk preaching on, “Come into me all you who are weary and heavy laden,” in a Queens apartment. I remember a brother finding His people in an upper room in Washington Heights. The warmth of a communion in the teacher’s house in Poughkeepsie is ever special to me. The list could go on and on of knowing God’s presence as we gather with His children.

God bless you today as you worship in Spirit and truth with the people of God.

Berniece

I’ve thought much about hospitality this past week, but all my thinking has not led me to a full comprehension of the definition of biblical hospitality.

I read that the three things people most like to hear is: “I love you. I forgive you. Supper is ready.” “Supper is ready.” What a warm and inviting statement.

In John 21, Jesus said, “Come and have breakfast.” Can you imagine how this invitation felt to the disciple who had denied Him? The love. The forgiveness. The welcome into the circle of the children of God.

Many years ago, we climbed six flights of stairs to dine at the home of Brother Maxeau and Sister Martha. Supper was ready. Simple tea lights glowed on the table. I do not remember the food served that evening, but I will never forget the warmth of fellowship with Papa Don, Mama Alene, Papa Dennis, Mama Marjorie, Maxeau and Martha, and Steve and Susie. I especially enjoyed being transported to the Nigerian mission field by the stories from the Papas.

Papa Don told us later in a sermon that Sister Martha’s simple decor of tea lights glowed with love. Love was in the invitation.

“I was an hungered and you gave me no meat.” Hospitality is showing kindness to a stranger. God brought to mind a market customer whose lifestyle I found repulsive. I did not want to wait on this person. The Spirit told me that I did not see the customer in the way God does. I did not see the cry of the soul.

Just now, a young man butted in front of me to grab a seat on the F train. I gave him a ‘look’ as I sat down beside him. Had I seen as God sees, I would have sympathized for the young man immediately fell into a sound sleep, his body slumping toward mine.

I look up while I’m writing this on a D train, and I see a market customer of ours. I step over to her and we discuss where we worship. I told her about our Sunday School lesson on “Hospitality.” She told me how in a study they had at their church, she realized that hospitality is not only about the hostess but also about the guest, and how this opened a new line of thought to her. What is it to be a guest of Jesus, and then, to be a guest in your home?

I feel like this blog is unfinished. I am still learning. What are your thoughts on hospitality? Please share them with me.

Berniece

I am the older woman on the Church Avenue-bound G train. I don’t fit in, but I feel at home. I know these trains because from the beginning, way back in 1988, my husband saw this city as The Great Adventure, so we tramped from one subway stop to another, from the ghettos of Brooklyn to the gleaming towers of Manhattan (the ones that crashed on 9/11).

I’m the woman at the Carrol Garden’s coffee shop in a vibrant, affluent, and family-oriented Brooklyn neighborhood. I’m the plain woman among the trendy young people walking here.

I’m the woman wearing a dress and a black prayer covering who walks along the East River to work at a farmer’s market on Roosevelt Island. This city is my home. I’m the woman you see shopping at the Asian market or at Trader Joe’s.

I am first of all a woman who follows Christ. You can ask me about Him. I worship with Christians at Sugar Hill Mennonite in Harlem. I’m a woman of prayer. I pray anywhere, but most of all in an apartment in Queens.

I’m a woman of Queens. It’s my borough. My favorite eating places are the ethnic restaurants of Queens. But right now, I’m in Brooklyn. I’m the woman contemplating going on to Red Hook, to where you can look out over the Bay and see the Statue of Liberty, or maybe sneak into a hole-in-the-wall place that only sells key lime pie.

I’m the Mennonite woman who wanders the city and feels very blessed to call it, “home”.

Berniece

PS Thanks, Jesse, for reminding me how fortunate I am to live here. Sometimes, I forget!

Dad peacefully left us for Glory two years ago on July 5, 2024. I miss him. Dad and Mom enjoyed coming to NYC to visit us, and I am so thankful they came as often as they did.

There are so many memories. In the beginning, Mom complained about how fast Dad walked. It was hard to keep up with him. Who would have thought how his steps would slow. I remember him carrying the suitcase with Kansas steaks in it himself from the Q70 airport bus to our apartment, a half mile away.

A shining moment came the last time folks were here when him and Mom rode the 7 train by themselves to have a Guatamalan lunch. Afterward, they bought apple pies at McDonald’s, and they found a park to eat them in – one that I didn’t know about. It was their 60th wedding anniversary. We celebrated that evening with the mission staff. (I believe it was Todd and Carmen, Galen and Julie, and the four young men.) We picnicked the evening before at Forest Park, and Laurence grilled brisket for the celebration while we ate supper. He was almost finished when a rain shower came up. We quickly packed and caught the bus home. It was a drippy walk to the bus stop.

That time, I overheard Mom exclaim to Dad, as they looked in amazement around the Oculus, “Who would have thought we’d spend our 60th anniversary here.” It was a special time for us too!

One time the bus we were on with folks broke down in Beach Channel after we’d been to the Atlantic Ocean. It was a jolly experience, kinda like the time we boarded a bus after being at the Jamaica Wildlife Refuge, and the driver joked, “Get on you ole birders you.”

I remember when people started offering folks a seat on the train out of respect for the elderly, and when folks could ride for half price because they were over 65. I never thought that someday we’d be the seniors in this city and how Dad would be gone to another City.

Dad shook with laughter at the street performers. It seems to me that was during one of the first times folks came here. These guys were displaying their antics while we waited for a ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

In those first times of folks coming, we did all the touristy things, and I have a special memory of sitting beside the lake in Central Park with them. In the later years, we moved on to showing them the places we’d discovered during our years of living here. Various times after spending a few days here, we’d rent a car and go out of town to places like Vermont, New Hampshire, Niagara Falls, Bear Mountain, etc. We stayed together in an old cabin in Saranac, NY, where I remember folks decided it was their turn to make supper, and they grilled hotdogs. Dad liked caves, and we were with him when he discovered his favorite one, which was Luray Caverns in Virginia.

So many memories. Dad has moved on. Someday we will too. Berniece

The sun is setting in NYC. We had the opportunity today to sing gospel hymns with young men, tract workers, and mission couples in the Times Square subway station. Different ones handed out tracts and children’s Bible story books. Trains roared through the station, but we sang on, and the Light shone.

God spoke to me once again through the verse that He used in 1988 to bring me here: “When Jesus heard it, he saith unto them, They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Mark 2:17).

First, I must tell you that I have been sick. I have been a sinner. Even today, I am nothing but wicked except for the blood of Jesus. And because of my Savior, I am a saint.

Let me never forget this. My own righteousness is nothing but filthy rags. However, because of Jesus, I have a story to tell

to the girls that were very scantily dressed.

to the young man who said he had never before heard the name of Jesus.

to the one who claimed to not believe in heaven and hell.

to the ones who snickered as they walked past.

to the ones who sang along.

to those taking pictures.

to the tourists.

There are millions of sinners in this city. The woman caught in adultery is here. The heathen are just outside our door, dancing to an unknown god. The beggars sit nearby with alcohol in their hands. Gross sin abounds.

I think on these things and then I see Jesus. His compassion. His feeding the multitudes when his disciples only wanted to send all those people away. How he made breakfast for the one who denied him. How He loved and forgave a sinner like me.

And in the end what I really want to say is that if Jesus can save me, He can save you. Jesus loves you, me, and all the people in New York City.

Berniece

The new pocket park fascinated me, and I set out on a nice day to see it. The day was warm, and I imagined drinking a mango bubble tree on a patio chair beneath a shady tree.

I ordered the drink, and then found that I’d brought no money. “We take cards,” the youth said, but I had no cards. I walked on for several more blocks until I found the park. Padlocked gates greeted me. I peeked through the fence at the loveliness of the landscaped place with small tables, resting chairs, and a pavilion. I was sad that it wasn’t open for me. I felt like I’d walked in vain.

Then I remembered the man who by appearance wasn’t from a Christian culture. A small daughter on a pink scooter rode beside him. As we passed on the sidewalk, I heard him say, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.”

I also said, “Thank you, Jesus.”

And the man said, “Amen.”

“Amen,” I replied, and I laughed because of the joy-filled encounter. The walk was not in vain.

As Laurence and I like to do before going to Trader Joe’s, we stopped first that same evening at Panda Express for chow mein and orange chicken. A man left the ordering line and came over to where we sat. He asked, “Is there a Mennonite Church in NYC?”

We gave him the address of Sugar Hill Mennonite in Harlem where we worship. As he turned to go, I inquired, “How do you know about the Mennonites?”

“I used to be Amish. I left and never went back, but I’ve kept my faith.”

The man picked up his take-out order and  went out the door. He was dressed for the heat and I could not picture him being Amish: wearing a wide-brimmed hat and suspenders. However, God knew his past. God knew ours. He knew how to direct our steps when we left the apartment. He knew when the bus would come that would take us from Broadway to the second stop on Woodhaven. He knew when the light would turn green for us to cross the wide boulevard and how many steps it would take for us to enter the restaurant. God knew we’d choose a table by the customer line…

This is all too big for me, but it isn’t for God.

Berniece

We recently met for a reunion with the 1995-’96 USA Missions staff at a retreat in Pennsylvania.

The young men of that time are 50 plus. The mission couple from that era will be moving into a beautiful church-operated care home. I saw the gray hairs and the slower steps of some of us.

We prayed together. I heard difficult life stories. After telling the hard things, I’d hear, “Life has been good.”

We reminisced about our being together in NYC 30 years ago. It was the time of the token and of riding the Redbird cars on the 7 train. The men talked about how being responsible for devotional time at the Pantry shaped them for service. All of us remember Mrs. Chin, who owned the building and lived below us, knocking on our apartment door and telling us that we’re making too much noise – so much so that a picture even fell from her wall.

We laughed about how Mr. Chin took the mission van’s backseat from beside the garage to the street, and how though Laurence ran, the men operating the trash truck said, “You’re too late. It’s already crushed.”

Then there was the old Indian man in Bible study who got upset when a Bible was placed on the floor, if someone leaned on their arms when talking, or even if someone wiggled in the office chair, he would tell us, “You must respect the God!”

One of the men talked about how he’d been taken for a beggar after spending a day working at Habitat for Humanity. A passeby had dropped a coin in his coffee!

A lady picked up a tract two of the young men had set by a payphone. When the train came in, she sat between them. With tears, she told them that they must be angels. She’d been ready to throw herself in front of the train before taking the tract that saved her life.

So many stories. Yesterday, I stood with one of the former young men and his wonderful family and looked up to the 3rd floor apartment in Woodside, Queens, where it all began. The Chins have passed on. However, the window shades still look the same. The planes must still fly low behind the bedroom windows, the ones with a view of the Empire State Building.

The young men have mellowed, married, and matured. They have beautiful families. They can still make me laugh. I felt loved. What mattered most though was seeing their feet planted on the Solid Rock and making sure steps towards Heaven.

Berniece

I write this as the first planes take off from LGA. I hear the trash truck slowing down to pick up the mounds from the sidewalk outside the building where we live. With coffee beside me, and the Bible open on my lap, I read, “See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have a little strength…” (Revelation 3:8).

Living for many years in a small apartment in a big city is not the life I expected. I didn’t anticipate that someday I’d fall down a subway stairs and break a leg, I could not foresee 9/11, the pandemic, and long COVID. Today my  husband is recovering from the surgery he had last week. I didn’t realize my rightness wasn’t strength, how my strong will would be crushed, and I’d see my nothingness without God.

The invite to gather with those who once served in the NYC Mission said, “Come just as you are.” Laurence and I get to ride Amtrak out of town today to honor this invitation. Thirty years ago, when this group worshipped together in a basement room in Upper Manhattan, we were young and strong. I’d have to laugh then as the youth sang, “We are going down the valley one by one.”

Even now I smile. We’re so much closer to Home today. Little did we realize all the brokenness life would bring all of us, how the hard things would open the windows of Heaven to us, and there would be joy welling within that the world knows nothing about.

Over thirty years ago while I sat on some steps beside a pecan orchard in Georgia, the Spirit whispered,  “They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:31,32). It was the call to the mission in NYC. It is understanding that I too was lost without Jesus. My strength is in him and him alone.

I’m excited today to be reaping the blessings of serving in NYC by meeting some of those who belong to the I Love New York Mission Club. We are going with little strength and just as we are.

Berniece

Thank you for reading. I never foresaw that I would have the privilege of writing for this audience.

Friday began with a neighborhood walk. It’s the ordinary moments that make me grateful to live here. The robe-wrapped monks went into the yard of the Buddhist Temple. One of their number, swept debris from around the decorated Buddha god. 

Later I boarded a train bound for Manhattan. At 34th Street, I left the local M to get an express B train to Brooklyn. I had a 10-minute wait, and, quite unlike me, I began conversing with a man who sat with his bags on a bench in the station. He told me that he’d gone to college to be a doctor, but hadn’t passed the final exam. Our conversation ranged from tasty goat curry to worshipping God. He thanked me for talking to him. He said, “I know I look bad (he did). I know I don’t smell good. Most people ignore me. You are very kind to talk to me.” We connected!

The B train came, and I got on. Two Jewish boys in an animated conversation sat across from me. They seemed comfortable in their black suits, white shirts, and black hats, the kind I remember the preachers wearing in my childhood. The train went above ground to cross the East River, giving me a spectacular view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and then back underground until I reached my stop at Prospect Park where we were once more above ground.

My friend Shelly met me there, and we went to buy a Trinidadian lunch of doubles (curried chickpeas between soft flatbread). The line to the small West Indies take-out stretched onto the sidewalk. It moved quickly and before long we were back at Shelly’s apartment where we ate lunch and discussed life for several hours. Shelly then walked me through a tree-lined Brooklyn neighborhood with its large, old homes and landscaped yards. Allen’s Bakery is a popular Caribbean place. As we waited in line they brought out fresh black currant pastries. Shelly told me that as a New Yorker, I should insist on one of the fresh ones. Afterwards, she took me into a grocery to ask for some tuber that the West Indie people use in their cooking. When she asked an employee if they stock it, the man said, “The plane didn’t come in!” After we left, I told Shelly that I was sure glad she was with me in the store. “Yes,” she said, ” they would have been looking at you and wondering, what is this lady doing here?”

We ate our pastries as we ambled to a subway station where I took the train for home. Soon after I got on the F train, Joel, a Roosevelt Island customer, stepped on. He came to where I was and we visited. Like many of the customers, Joel has a hard time wrapping his mind around that I’ve lived in NYC for 30 years.

The day ended with Laurence and I doing a neighborhood walk. Now that the weather has improved, the sidewalk street vendors are busy. The small tables and plastic chairs by the man selling chicken skewers, pork intestines, pork stomach etc., were filled with Asian young people.

That evening as I knelt in prayer, I got a picture of the homeless man, Shelly, Joel, and me meeting in Heaven.

Have a restful Sunday. Berniece