Worrying about the dental hygeine of Muslims is not something that keeps me awake at night. Nonetheless, I learned that the collective breath of a few dozen Iraqis has been improved by my contributions and the benevolence of congregants in my small Presbyterian church across the Mississippi River from Baton Rouge. Although the church is thirty miles or so from our home, my wife and I became members three years ago in the wake of a tragic surgical blunder that left the church’s minister totally blind. More on that later. But first, the toothpaste tale.

At Sunday services yesterday, a Navy Captain just returned from Iraq told us about his dilemma of disposing of tubes of surplus of toothpaste sent to his unit by our church. Each week, we pass two baskets to collect goods—one for the local food bank and the other for soldiers overseas. Despite the size of the tiny congregation of fewer than fifty worshipers, we usually fill the baskets. And since there are restrictions on what can be sent overseas, toothpaste, tooth brushes and floss are favorite donations. So what is a Captain to do when the teeth of the troops he commands are gleaming white? In this case, he shared the treasure with Iraqi civilians.

But more interesting than his anecdote about giving away toothpaste was the officer’s attititude toward the Muslim population. In contrast to bigots polluting the airwaves with religious intolerance, the naval Captain—a brother of one of our church members—said he developed friendships and trust while in the country. Speaking of his own Christian faith, he spoke to our congregation about his respect for Muslims he encountered. In a place where mortar attacks were a regular occurence a few months ago, the officer said he and most of his men became comfortable enough in this part of Iraq to shed their body armor in the final months of his tour of duty.

Although the short presentation yesterday has no great bearing on events of the world, especially the war in Iraq, the speaker was someone refusing to condemn a religion based on the actions of the nineteen terrorists who brought down the World Trade Center.

At the conclusion of services outside the church, I didn’t hear any grumbling about putting toothpaste in the mouths of Muslims. Nor did anyone propose that we conduct a “Burn the Koran Day,” like the so-called Christian church in Gainesville, Florida. In fact, I don’t recall ever hearing an anti-Muslim comment in our congregation, which is made up of older members whose politics, for the most part, are far more conservative than my views.  

I’ve never been very conscientious in my church attendance. And it is the misfortune of someone else that accounts for my presence most Sundays at the West Baton Rouge Presbyterian church. I am there because of the tragedy that befell its minister, Jim Sawyer. In October, 2007, during routine back surgery, the anesthesiologist failed to properly monitor the operation. As a result, Jim’s optical nerves were irreparably damaged. His blindness was a shock to my wife, Annette and me. For 25 years, he has been our friend and spiritual advisor. And in 1986, he was the minister who conducted our marriage ceremony. 

After retiring as pastor of the Baton Rouge church where we were married, he agreed to become a part-time minister at West Baton Rouge Presbyterian, a chuch he served many years earlier. The botched operation in 2006 seemed to have ended his tenure in the pulpit. But in a remarkable display of courage,  Jim resumed his Sunday duties at the church just three weeks after becoming blind. At forst. his wife, Anita, pushed his wheelchair to the altar and he delivered his sermons—or as he calls them meditations—with her assistance as a prompter. He now uses a tape-recorder and earpiece to help him maintain the flow of sermons. Still, it is sometimes a struggle. But to have abandoned the pulpit, Jim said, would have sunk him into a deeper depression than the darkness that was already on the verge of overwhelming him.

Prior to the tragedy, Annette and I occasionally attended services—making our obligatory Easter and Christmas church visits. To support Jim, we made it a point to be there for his return. Since then, we have staked a claim on the fourth pew from the front, sharing the space with longtime friends, who were also married  by Jim at his previous church. 

For me, it has been an inspiration. Jim and I have developed an enduring friendship. How enduring? At his insistence last year, I read him my entire book from cover to cover. And never once did he kick me out of his house.

Nowadays we are shoulder to shoulder in taking care of Iraqi dental hygeine. As the basket for the military passed yestereday, I could see through the thin plastic grocery bags that the supply of  toothpaste was being replenished. If our church is an indication of Christian philanthrophy throughout the nation, a bright spot in the Islamic world will be the smiles of many thousands of Muslims.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.