(a Steve Orr scripture reflection)
"The Bumpuses were so low down on the evolutionary totem pole that they weren't even included in Darwin's famous family tree. They had inbred and ingrown and finally emerged from the Kentucky hills like some remnant of Attila the Hun's barbarian horde.”
—Jean Shepherd, A Christmas Story
If you've seen A Christmas Story, then you surely recognize that line. The Bumpuses lived next door to Ralphie Parker and his family. The Bumpus hounds absconded with the Parker family Christmas turkey. Even though we never actually see them, author Jean Shepherd portrays them as the ultimate hillbilly family.
I went to church with a family like them.
My Bumpuses had the requisite drawl, the car with the busted suspension, the rambunctious kids who just could not stay clean between their house and church services. Their clothes never seemed to fit: too large, too small, too long. There were plenty of people who could not see past the look and sound of them. I heard the talk. I saw the looks. I quickly discerned how most of the folks in our church regarded them: not quite measuring up, too hillbilly.
Confession: I, too, was put off by their apparent disinterest in looking and acting like everyone else. At first. But the way they lived their lives soon won me over. At a crucial time in my development, God sent these simply-living (yet anything but simple) people into my life.
My Bumpuses were one of the very best things to happen to my young life. Think of the people who helped shape you into the person you are. My Bumpuses are high up on my “shaped me” list. I learned something so important from them. I knew I was witnessing something I had read about but could not recall ever seeing. I didn't have a term for it then.
I have a term for it now: Advent People.
My Bumpuses lived as if every day was Advent, as people who were expecting Jesus, looking forward to His arrival. Yes, they seemed to give little thought to how they were dressed, the baby's drooping diaper, the loud creaking of their old car‘s suspension, an accent that turned heads even in Kentucky.
In place of all that, they invested their time and energy into helping others. They were always available to help out. Always. They taught Sunday School when substitutes were needed. They did all of those behind-the-scenes kinds of jobs that are so forgettable but so necessary. They were almost always the last to leave, just in case something needed doing.
For some reason, they took an interest in me. I rode in that old car to church camp when my parents couldn't take me. I later learned my Bumpuses rounded up the camp fees when my mother couldn’t pay. I had a front-row seat to observe them pray, simply and earnestly. I could not count for you the numerous acts of kindness I saw these folks perform, and almost always on the down-low.
Don't think they didn't know what others thought and said about them. They knew. They just didn't care. They were living, breathing examples of that well-known A. W. Tozer quote:
"I claim the holy right to disappoint men in order to avoid disappointing God."
My Bumpuses, my Advent People. I call them that because they embody what Advent is all about, especially as described in this week’s Philippians passage. I really do thank God every time I remember them. Like those Philippians, the way they lived “produced the harvest of righteousness.” They understood this fundamental thing: What Jesus said and did to others is a template for how we should speak and act. Most of all, they wanted to be found being just like that when He returned, something they longed for and expected at any moment.
It’s Advent. Embrace your Bumpuses.
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