Lost and found............................

     A black tenant farmer he was, then, in 1967, when I first met him, and a black tenant farmer he still is today.  But time takes its toll, he reminded me recently, as we reminisced together.  I had returned to Alabama in the summer, a whirl of a trip, all too characteristic of my ilk—the busy, self-importance of the Yankee bourgeoisie.  He had no claim to being in a rush; his time was mine, all of it I wanted, and then some.  As for my various obligations, he sure hoped they didn't "overwhelm" me.  I thanked him for his concern, and hastened (in a hurry with words, also!) to let him know I was "alright."  I was referring to my body—letting him know that I wasn't suffering any ill effects, as a consequence of my various speedy trips.  But he had other thoughts in mind, and he was willing to offer them without hesitation:  "You can get going so fast, you lose your way.  Jesus told us:  He said, He's the way, but we figure we're the way, and that's being lost!"

-Robert Coles,  from his 1988 Harvard Diary:  Reflections on the Sacred and the Secular