ok, here's a couple more

I've given up on the posts with two zeros in them. But here's a couple more from the past...just imagine they are #800 and #900.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Is nostalgia addictive?

I don't think of myself as a nostalgic person. I usually like Today better than Yesterday and I certainly don't think "The good old days" ever existed except in hind sight. Who was it that wrote the song, "I'm going to stay right here for these are the 'good old days'...."? That sort of sums up one of philosophies of life--I've got dozens of them.

I remember going to my 10th high school reunion and Roger Rose said to me, "high school was the best years of my life." I wanted to say either: "adolescence is a nightmare" or "then I hope you don't live too long, I don't want you miserable." Instead, I inwardly wept for him. Imagine the best years of your life over at 18!

However, these old sermons and other writings I happened upon the other day have an allure to me I never imagined. For the most part, I don't have any memory of writing them so it's like reading something new. But, on the other hand, they put me back in touch in some way with the person I was then and with the circumstances I was experiencing.

I promise not to keep transcribing this stuff and to get back to pondering current things, but I do want to share one I wrote with you today.

I started my time at St. John's in Waterbury on July 1, 1989. I was 42 years old. Nine days later on July 10, some misplaced tornadoes  tore across Connecticut from south to north (looking I imagine for Kansas or Oklahoma). Every tree on the campus of Albertus Magnus College in New Haven was uprooted and later in the day a stand of ancient trees in Litchfield County was leveled. In between, the storm hit two of the small spires around the central spire of St. John's. One fell onto the sidewalk and created an impressive crater. The other fell through the roof and smashed the impressive McManis organ to smithereens. (I  have one of the small pipes mounted in our living room.) So a 12 foot by 12 foot hole in the roof let in a small lake of rain that ruined what the granite didn't. I drove home to New Haven (we hadn't yet moved to Cheshire) wondering why there were limbs all over the road.

As I look back, I realize it wasn't a bad way to start a ministry. Everyone's attention was instantly focused on the damage and we were, all of us, on the same page and with the same purpose. How can you get picky with your new Rector when a thousand slates blew off the roof, all the mortar fell out of the Rose Window, the organ is gone, there's a hole in the roof and three ton of granite in the balcony! (I also have one of those slates--some were found two blocks away--with a design created by Judith McManis, hanging on the wall. We made a killing selling artistic slates and organ pipes....)

Maybe I stayed so long because I didn't think I could go somewhere else and rely on a storm to pull the congregation together....

So, here's what I wrote in the newsletter on August 23, 1989--6 weeks after the tornado.

********

"Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after the wind."
                                           --Ecclesiastes 4.6

A friend of ours gave our children little clear glass globes to sit in the sunlight. Inside the globe are four squares of metal, black on one side, white on the other. They are attached to a central spoke in the globe. When the globe is in sunlight, the little squares react in such a way that they begin to spin. I have no idea how the thing works, it is a mystery of no small order to me. The brighter the sun, the faster the spinning. Set the globe in the shade and the spinning stops.

I have been sitting in the widow seat in my office watching the squares spin in the globe while the workers crawl around on the roof to my left, replacing slates. Work is underway to repain the damage caused by the July 10 storm. It is good to watch it. As the sun drives the squares in my son's globe, the desire for wholeness, for restoration, for healing drives our human efforts. We long to build up that which is thrown down, to make whole that which is broken, to replace slates, repair the tower, rebuild the organ...get on with life.

When the globe is sitting in bright sunlight, the squares spin so fast that they make an annoying little tinkling noise that drives me to distraction in about two minutes. So, I move the globe to the shade and enjoy the quiet.

There must be rhythm for life to be whole--movement and rest, work and play, singing and quiet, together and alone. I watch the workers sit perched like huge birds halfway up the slope of the church roof to rest and talk softly with each other. In a while they will be scampering again, defying gravity, shouting instructions to each other in gruff voices.

There is a point to this musing. It is the rhythm, the ebb and flow, the yin and yang of sunlight and shade, activity and rest, toil and quiet.

I am committed to a church that works with nobody left out. And that can only happen when we find the right pace, the right rhythm, the right way to hold our mouths....

(I love to play basketball. I would be heresy from someone who grew  up in West Virginia not to love basketball! Basketball is art in West Virginia. Fred Schaus, Mark Workman, Hot Rod Hundley, Hal Greer, Jerry West, Rod Thorn, Gail Catlett, Ron Fritz...those are the names that moved me as I grew up. The names may mean nothing to you, but for me they were like gods. They were the basketball stars that lit the night sky of my childhood.)

Every day, I would shoot foul shots for an hour. And I came to believe to this day...that the secret of shooting foul shots is holding your mouth right. You dribble the same number of times for each shot. You spin the ball the same way each time. Rock three times, hold your mouth right and then shoot. And the ball goes in if you hold your mouth right.

What we need to do as a church, as a parish, is discover how it is we should hold our mouths. We need to discover the rhythm that is right for us. We need to find the balance between sunlight and shade, action and reflection, motion and quietness, dancing and standing still. We need to experiment with how we can be a church that works and...at the same time...a church that leaves nobody out.

And the way you do it is to "do it ". The only way to be a good foul shooter is to shoot foul shots. The only way to find out how to be a church that works and leaves nobody out is to practice doing and being that kind of church. How much sunshine is enough and not too much. How much shade is enough and not to much...that just depends on 'practice'.

I invite you to stand in the sun and the rain and the snow with me. I invite you to 'practice', in the months and years to come, being "a church that works and leaves nobody out". We'll be moving back and forth from sunshine to shade. We'll be scurrying around on the rooftops of our common life, patching the holes and then resting on the slope, speaking softly...or not at all.

And it will take time. Lots and lots of time. And patience too. And we'll sometimes make a dozen shots in a row and then miss five straight. It's like that. That's the way it will be. Quietness and toil will ebb and flow until it is natural and right. And still, even then, we'll occasionally miss five in a row.

That which is most NATURAL is well PRACTICED. A great dancer fools us into believing that her movement is natural, spontaneous, accomplished effortlessly. The truth is, a great dancer has practiced and practiced and practiced and, even more, practiced, and still sometimes falls, but the performance looks 'natural'.

I invite you to dance...to find the rhythm...to journey toward Go...to risk and to dream...in good weather and foul...in sunlight and shade...toil and quietness and striving after wind.

I invite you to be the Church of God, to be the Body of Christ...to see what it might mean to hold your mouth right.

Friday, June 13, 2014

An Eschatological Laundry List

Sheldon B. Kopp wrote a book that has influenced me more than anything besides the Mastery Foundation's work, my theological studies and, most of all, my family.

The book is called If You Meet The Buddha On the Road, Kill Him! It is subtitled, "The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients" and is called, below Dr. Kopp's name, "A fresh, realistic approach to altering one's destiny and accepting the responsibility that grows with freedom".

I gave away most of my books a few years ago. Many went to the library at St. James, Higganum. Others went to friends. What I kept was some volumes of The New Interpreter's Bible, all my books of poetry, including How Does a Poem Mean? by John Ciardi, which I've had since my Junior year of college, A Canticle for Leibowitz. a novel by Walter Miller, a handful of Biblical commentaries and The Elements of Style (third edition) by Strunk and White, which I've had since 1980. A few other random things, but not much else. I use the Cheshire Library these days, almost never buying books (except for the 'Hunger Games' trilogy and how many ever volumes there are in the 'Game of Thrones' series.)

And I kept "If you meet.....", well worn and brown on all the edges.

I don't read the whole thing anymore, but every few weeks I read what comes at the very end, which Kopp calls: 'An Eschatological Laundry List: A partial register of the 927 (or is it 928?) Eternal Truths'.

I'd like to share that list with you now.


1.     This is it!
2.     There are no hidden meanings.
3.     You can't get there from here, and besides there's no place else to go.
4.     We are already dying, and we will be dead a long time.
5.     Nothing lasts.
6.     There is no way of getting all you want.
7.     You can't have anything unless you let go of it.
8.     Your only get to keep what you give away.
9.     There is no particular reason why you lost out on some things.
10.    The world is not necessarily just. Being good often does not pay off and there is no
         compensation for misfortune.
11.    You have a responsibility to do your best nonetheless.
12.    It is a random universe to which we bring meaning.
13.    You don't really control anything.
14.    You can't make anyone love you.
15.    No one is any stronger or any weaker than anyone else.
16.    Everyone is, in his/her own way, vulnerable.
17.    There are no great persons.
18.    If you have a hero, look again: you have diminished yourself in some way.
19.    Everyone lies, cheats, pretends (yes, you too, and most certainly I myself).
20.    All evil is potential vitality in need of transformation.
21.   All of you is worth something, if you will only own it.
22.   Progress is an illusion.
23.   Evil can be displaced but never eradicated, as all solutions breed new problems.
24.   Yet it is necessary to keep on struggling toward solutions.
25.   Childhood is a nightmare.
26.   But it is so very hard to be an on-your-own, take-care-of-yourself-cause-there-is-no one else
        to-do-it-for-you grown-up.
27.   Each of us is ultimately alone.
28.   The most important things, each person must do for themselves.
29.   Love is not enough, but it sure helps.
30.   We have only ourselves, and one another. That may not be much, but that's all there is.
31.   How strange, that so often, it all seems worth it.
32.   We must live within the ambiguity of partial freedom, partial power, and partial knowledge.
33.   All important decisions must be made on the basis of insufficient data.
34.   Yet we are responsible for everything we do.
35.    No excuses will be accepted.
36.    You can run, but you can't hide.
37.    It is most important to run out of scapegoats.
38.    We must learn the power of living with our helplessness.
39.    The only victory lies in surrender to oneself.
40.    All of the significant battles are wages within the self.
41.    You are free to do whatever you like. You need only face the consequences.
42.    What do you know...for sure...anyway?
43.    Learn to forgive yourself, again and again and again and again....

If that's not enough to ponder under your own Castor Oil Tree for like forever, what is?

Wisdom from 1972 to ponder. 

 

 

(I'm going to be away until Friday, leading a workshop at a Monastery. Great stuff....I'll have my laptop but it is an intense workshop and I might not write much. See you on Friday.)

OK, I give up

I can't even explain to you why it is hard to find the double noughts of posts. And it is hard for me being intuitive rather than rational. So, for now, I'm stopping doing that and instead am sending you posts I want to to celebrate 1300 of them.

This one is weird. It is a nothing, a mistake. Yet it would be in the top 50 of most viewed posts. Go figure.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

untitled post

This post is not only untitled, it doesn't exist, until now of course.

I hit a wrong button and posted a blank but when I saw the title 'untitled post' I saw a chance to edit it and make it a post...if an unintended one...

and, still untitled....
_____________________________________________________________________________________

(And here's what's stranger still, When I posted the next post, I realized this post was still in DRAFT FORM. The damn thing doesn't want to be published and yet people read it.....go figure again. And ponder that.)

43 and counting

One of the most viewed of all my 1300 posts. see if you can figure out why....

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

43 and counting....

Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. We were married in 1970 at Our Lady of Victory Roman Catholic Church in Gary, West Virginia. We were babies--23 and 20--and didn't know any better.

It was the first time ever that an Episcopal priest was on the altar at Our Lady of Victory. "Pop" Bailey was there, along with Fr. Cook. And we got married--Bern and me.

The reception was at the Gary Country Club, that I had boycotted as a Senior in High School because the Senior Prom was not open to the five black members of our class. There was no dinner, only hoers devours and wedding cake and alcohol in the basement for selected members of my family and all of Bern's family, leaving weak punch for most of my tee-totaling family. It all lasted about an hour and then we were off in my father's Ford since I had wrecked my car on the way for a second blood test a week before, running into a lake in Princeton when I misunderstood a truck's signaling--which I thought meant "Pass Me" (a message truckers often send in West Virgina since mountains loom and there is difficulty getting around them) and which really meant, "I'm turning left". There was a second blood test needed because they tested me for diabetes the first time rather than whatever it was the test was supposed to be about.

Forty-three years. Amazing.

I sometimes tell people I've been married five times but always to the same woman.

And that's true, accurate, real.

The first marriage was two children in love. That lasted a year or more.

The second marriage was Bern going to New York to act and me staying in Morgantown to be a social worker. Two years of that.

Then there was the 'children marriage', interrupted 11 years in by a separation that lasted several months.

Then, the second 'children marriage', lasting until Josh and Mimi were well away and on their own.

The fifth marriage was what we have now. The Empty Nest, it's just you and me again marriage, which has become the longest and best of them all.

God, I love my life and my wife and 'our life' for the last dozen plus years.

I was of the generation who thought we should "live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory". But let me tell you, the last 18 years or so have been the best of my life. Bern and I have settled into what many would consider a boring and very routine life. And it is. And I love the rut we've been in. It is simply the life I've always wanted to live. Especially since I retired. We live to the songs of Maggie, our parakeet, the needs of Luke, our cat, and the wonderment of having a Puli dog named Bela. We read constantly, watch TV from time to time, always eat dinner together, seldom need to discuss anything since we know each other so well, and love each other in a way that is deeper and more profound than all the passion and lust that came before.

Forty three years with Bern (plus the years before--I was 17 and she was 14 when we met in Latin class) so that makes our time together 49 years...is exactly how I would have wanted to spend almost a half-century. Exactly the way--though it didn't always seem that way--but just right, just wondrous, just perfect.

43 years ago tomorrow, two children who didn't know any better, got married. And through all the marriages we have had, we have arrived at the best one, the one we meant to have when we said 'I do' four decades and a bit ago.

I realized a few years ago that Bern is not 'the Love of my Life'....In a real way, she 'IS my life', for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health...for 43 years and whatever years the gods of marriage indulge us with in the future.

(I remember the child of 14 I met when I was 17. We first kissed under the bleachers at a high school football game. She was ethereal, mystical, foreign, unknown to me. A Hungarian/Italian child kissing a WASP of forever generations. I remember that first kiss--the kiss when I knew, against all odds and all reason, that somehow she and I would share our lives in ways we could never imagine but that would endure. I can't tell you how humbled and delighted and wonder-struck I am that I was right. A life with Bern is worth two or three or more in some other circumstance.)

Forty-three years and counting tomorrow....

Imagine my wonder, my gratitude, my joy......

300 & 400

Friday, October 21, 2011

Three and out ('so far, so strange')

My daughter is in Oman or Dubai (she's going both places, I just don't remember which is first.)

She sent me a cryptic email: "Arrived. So far, so strange."

I've felt that way over the past year or so. I've done the funerals of three people who were not only my dear friends but my profound mentors. Ginny, Reed and Kay all played a remarkable role in the forming of my ministry and my life over the past 25 years. And now they are dead, each of them, all of them.

Ginny was the head of the Council of Churches in Waterbury when I arrived in Waterbury in 1989. She was an Episcopalian and sometimes came to St. John's though she was a member of a suburban parish. She was tough and nails and funny as hell. Ginny loved to work and she loved to play and she taught me a lot about how to navigate the weird, unpredictable waters of ecumenical relations.

Reed was, at the same time, the director of a non-profit called Green Community Services (not because it was near the Waterbury Green but because the Rector of St. John's, the Pastor of First Congregational and the Minister of First Baptist had a green file box they passed around, taking a month at a time to try to meet the needs of the urban poor and weed out the urban con-men. He was a member of St. John's and one of the most outspoken Liberal voices I've ever heard. He taught me how to treat people who disagreed profoundly with you with the kind of respect and kindness that made them at least 'listen' to what you had to say. And he liked nothing more than to laugh.

Kay was a long-time member of St. John's who was a political activist and mover and shaker. She was no nonsense but compassionate, dedicated but deeply humorous.

(As I write this, I realize that I admired each of them for their ministry and commitment AND because each had a great sense of humor. My wife decides who she likes by 'how smart' they are and that matters to me as well. But my first priority for a dear friend is 'how funny' they are. If we aren't having fun we should find something else to do.)

I only had notes for Ginny's funeral sermon and can't find them. But I have the text for Reed's and Kay's. I thought I'd share them. What I said in those sermons will tell you a bit about why I loved them so much and why I'm declaring a moratorium on the death of mentors. Anyone else 20 years or so older than me who taught me much must remain alive, for my sake. I'm three and out in the past year. I can't lose anymore people like these from my life.

So far, so strange....

Memorial for Reed Smith

“Then the Righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prision and visited you?'

And the King will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least o these who are members of my family, you did it to me.'” Mt. 25.37-40

So here is something I saw one day, years ago, looking out the window of my office that was above the Close of St. John's in Waterbury and gave me a view of the whole Green and much of downtown.

I saw Reed crossing the street between St. John's and the little store owned and run by some folks from India where I went, often, to get coffee. School had just let out and the kids from the high school next to St. John's on Church Street were waiting in front of the little Indian store for the next bus.

The high school beside of St. John's was the school of “last resort” for the kids who when there. They'd been kicked out of one of the three high schools in the city for something or another—certainly untowardly—and they were going to school there because no other school could contain them. There were about 20 of those kids standing on the street where Reed was headed. They were goofing around and smoking and being generally unruly. And here comes Reed.

Reed was dressed, I swear to you, in navy blue knickers (I never knew anyone besides Reed who wore honest to God knickers), blue and yellow argyle knee socks, dress shoes, a blindingly white dress shirt, a red bow tie, a seersucker jacket and a straw hat.

“This will be good,” I said to myself, watching Reed approach 20 or more high school students who were jacked up on teen-aged hormones and God knows what else, and these where teens who had somehow fallen through the cracks of our society. “Bad kids” in the estimation of most people.

As Reed approached, the kids (who didn't give in to anybody) parted like the Red Sea and let him pass. He tipped his straw hat to them and they watched him, silent and staring, as he walked two blocks, greeting homeless people, a police officer and several people in serious suits on the way. Once he was out of sight, having turned a corner, the kids remained subdued, didn't revert to the nonsense they'd been up to before Reed appeared. They seemed to be pondering something until the buses they were waiting for arrived.

They had been “Reed-ed”. Reed Smith had crossed their paths, shared their journeys for a moment and I believe, I truly believe, some few of them will remember that encounter years from now. I truly believe that.

When Reed crossed your path, something shifted, something changed, life as you knew it was somehow subtlety transformed.

Reed was like that. When you encountered him, something shifted, altered, changed. You were 'Reed-ed' in a way that mattered and made a difference.

No one could possibly challenge his commitment to justice, to empowering the powerless, to serving the poor and marginalized of society. Reed's life was spent, as his daughter Pam called it, “saving the world every day”. And he did it with total integrity and utter authenticity. Every Day.

I remember watching him load a bus with people from Waterbury—people on welfare, the working poor, the neglected and forgotten of the city. The bus was parked in front of First Congregational Church so I crossed the street and asked him where they were going.

“An excursion to Hartford,” Reed said, smiling that little crooked smile he smiled and his eyes twinkling, “to have a little talk with their elected representatives....”

Reed had no compunction about walking into the halls of government to advocate for the poor—but he went beyond that: he empowered the poor to advocate for themselves.

It reminds me of a quote from Mother Teresa (though Reed, I'm sure, would object to his being worthy to be spoke of in her company). A cynical journalist asked Mother Teresa how she could possibly imagine she could save the poor and dying of Calcutta.

“One at a time,” she replied, smiling HER crooked smile, her eyes twinkling.

“One at a time” is how Reed entranced us all. His devotion to 'the least of these' was only equaled by his devotion to his family and friends. “His lady” Marty, his children, his friends. To be in his presence was to feel you had his total attention, his interest, his love.

One of the most conservative members of St. John's, the parish's long time Treasurer, would wax eloquent about Reed. Though they agreed on....well, 'nothing'...Ed always knew he was friends with a man of authenticity and integrity. Just that—being authentic and having integrity and being able to love those who don't agree with you—is devoutly to be wished by any of us.

If welcome to the Kingdom does rely on serving 'the least of these', then Reed has been welcomed with laurels. And I'm sure he accepted his welcome with humility and good humor and walked immediately into the Nearer Presence of God and said, “I've been waiting to meet with you. There are a few things back on earth we need to straighten out....”

I've often heard it said that a successful life would entail leaving the world a better place than you found it. Reed went beyond that. He made every person he encountered a 'better person' than they were before meeting him.

Since you're here today, I know you've been 'Reed-ed' in some significant way. And I'm sure he's glad to see you. His eyes are twinkling, he's smiling that little crooked smile and he's tipping his straw hat to each of us and all of us—most of all to Marti....

Let us thank God that we got to walk a little road with Reed.

And let us thank God—profoundly, joyfully, always and everywhere for him.....Amen.

Sermon for Kay

I saw Sandy at the nursing home the day that Kay started slipping away from life.

“I think she just decided to die and get it over with,” Sandy told me. “Just like Kay, still making up the rules.”

That got me started thinking about “KAY'S RULES”.

Kay's Rules would be demanding and passionate. Kay's Rules would be rigorous and committed. Kay's Rules would be full of dedication to justice, to fairness, to compassion and to action.

There would be a Rule in Kay's Rules that required standing with and advocating for those who were oppressed by our society because of poverty, gender, sexuality or race. Kay's Rules would fight against discrimination in whatever guise it raised it's ugly head. Kay's Rules would not let us rest until Justice was done.

There would be a Rule in Kay's Rules that demanded a passionate commitment to education and learning. Kay's Rules would give everyone access to Knowledge and the Power that knowledge brings.

There would be a Rule in Kay's Rules that would not tolerate 'unfairness' in any part of our society—in access to health care, in economics, in equal pay, in government services.

There would be a Rule in Kay's Rules that would insist that we 'get involved' and 'stay involved' in politics. Kay's Rules would hold us accountable for being a part of the forming and reforming of our political system.

There would be Rules in Kay's Rules that would deal with friendship, with loyalty, with personal integrity, with devotion, with responsibility. All in all, the world would be a much better place if we all played by Kay's Rules—just as the world and our lives have been made richer, fuller, more challenging, more complete, more compassionate by having known and loved Kay Bergin.

We are better off—each of us and all of us—that she lived in our midst and touched our lives. Truly. That is profoundly True.

The only Rule in Kay's Rules that I would object to is that there would probably be a rule about having to play golf.

I once played in a foursome in the Hastings Open that included Kay and Fran. I don't play golf but I'm reasonably good at anything that requires hitting a ball with a stick of some sort. Mostly I was comic relief for the real golfers.

Kay and Fran amazed me. I could hit the ball much farther than they could, but almost always to the left or right of the fairway. Kay and Fran always hit the ball straight down the fairway. Not to far but always on target, always straight ahead.

That is a metaphor for those two remarkable human beings. They always advanced things straight ahead and with consistency and with passion and with commitment.

Often, when I was Rector here, I would notice Kay going back to the Columbarium after the Eucharist and sitting with Fran for a while. Sometimes she brought some flowers in a vase. And she would just be with him for a spell.

And now she is with him again.

“When people die,” a friend of mine wrote in a poem for a mutual friend who died in Viet Nam, “When people die, it's like a bird flying into a window on a chill day.”

With Kay's death, the bird flew into the window again.

And we are here today to remember her, to mourn her death and to proclaim the promise of God in the midst of death and loss.

Memory is one of God's greatest gifts. All of us fear 'losing our memory' more than we fear death. Memory reminds us of 'who we are' and 'whose we are'. Memory is the anchor that keeps our small boat stable and safe in the storms of life.

So, we remember Kay today and thank God for the gift of her to each of us and all of us. And in our memory, our stories, our recollections, Kay lives with us.

So, we mourn Kay today and comfort each other in our loss. Grief shared is easier to bear. A touch, a hug, just 'being together' helps us endure the pain.

And, we gather to proclaim the promise of God that death is not the 'last word'. It is certainly the 'next to last word', but the last word is hope and life and resurrection. A priest wears white for a funeral—not the black of mourning but the white of Easter, of life, of hope.

In today's gospel Thomas says to Jesus as he announces his leaving them, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

Amen, Thomas. The land on the other side of the door of Death is not a place we 'know'. But I do know this, St. Francis of Assissi once wrote, “Death is not a door that closes, but a door that opens and we enter in all new....”

I do not 'know the way', but I do know the promise of God. And that promise is this: that in ways we do not imagine and perhaps 'cannot imagine', Death's door opened for Kay and she entered into the nearer presence of the One who loved her best of all, and she was made 'all new'....

We will miss you my dear friend, Kay, and we will mourn you. And we will also remember you and the rules you gave us to live by. And we will celebrate your life and the privilege it was to share some of the road with you as we journey to the Lover of Souls.

Amen.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Don't get me started....

A web sight called "Stumpy's Stickers" has bumper stickers for sale that say (I kid you not!)

DON'T RE--NIG IN 2012
Defeat Obama

There's another available with a picture of four hooded KKK members with their arms crossed in front of a burning cross that says

The Original Boys in the Hood
Defeat Obama

I grew up in a segregated county--the southernmost county of West Virginia. I didn't go to school with Blacks until High School and then only the 'brightest girls and best athletes' --5 blacks in a graduating class of 99.

The older black people in my little town of Anawalt--which was 50/50 white/black called me "Mr. Jimmie", and , much to my embarrassment, I didn't realize until I was 11 and 12 how wrong that was. My father and to uncles were all business owners and Black folks wanted to stay on the good side of the Bradleys.

I never played with a Black child in my childhood. Never knew any of their names. But they all knew me. It wasn't Mississippi, but it was toxic and bad.

A guy from Gary District High School (as opposed to Gary High--the white school) and I became friends in college. He would introduce me to his Black friends by saying, "Jim and I went to different high schools together...." I was properly humbled by that. This man who I became quite close with went to a different school less than a mile from mine, who had lived 10 miles from me for all our lives, who had my interests and my concerns-- and we had no opportunity to 'know each other' until we went to college--the SAME college, together.

The first parish I served was an African American parish in Charleston WV--even in 1975 there was tacit segregation in WV--and I learned great wisdom from the good folk of St. John's. They were of my class and education--not quite right, about 1/3 of the congregation had Ph.D's and were several steps above me economically--but it was close enough that, just like my one black friend in college, I realized we shared a great deal, more than I shared with many of the white people I knew.

But we didn't share everything--we listened to the same music, read the same books, voted for the same democrats (though some of them were still members of Lincoln's party because it was Lincoln's party) laughed at the same jokes and shared many social passions. However, I once was watching a parade in downtown Charleston with Col. Ben--a Corneal in the segregated army of WWII--and he said, "Jim, do you know how you're different from me?"

I wasn't sure and said so.

He took a deep breath and a great risk: "When you hear a band coming from around the corner, you can decide if you like it or not. But I have to wait until I see it. And if there are young Black faces in that band, then I like it, no matter how good they play."

I had been accepted into a Black community with grace and compassion, unlike any Black priest could have been accepted into a white church. I was blessed. More than blessed. I was transformed by the people of St. James. "Integration" has always concentrated on "how we're alike" and ain't that great. What true equality means is noticing 'how we're different' and celebrating that.

(Tonight at a wondrous St. Patrick's day corned beef and cabbage dinner at St. James in Higganum--hundreds of people came to eat or take out meals and some were probably delivered to a nearby elderly housing group and 10% of the proceeds went to a local soup kitchen--these folks in the Cluster really 'get' being a Christian....I said to Howie, half-in-jest, half-in-truth, "you know the thing I'm still not used to in the Cluster is being around so many white people."

Howie laughed and agreed the group was 'quite white'.

The three churches I served before I retired were a Black church, a totally integrated church and a totally integrated church that began a successful Hispanic ministry that became the 2nd largest of the three Sunday services and will, I suspect, become the largest of the three some day, through God's Grace.

I felt dirty after viewing Stumpy's Stickers web site. Dirty and despondent and fearful. Such hatred of 'the other' is full of ignorance and resentment and fear. How can this still be in this time and in this place?


Think back to the last time you didn't say something when someone told a joke or made a statement that was racist or sexist or xenophobic 0r homophobic or anit-Semitic or anti-Muslim?

Don't let it happen. Don't let it happen.

It is up to us, each of us and all of us, to Stand Up against Hatred and Fear and proclaim Inclusion and Hope. By the way, Courage is not the opposite of Fear, Hope is. That's because Fear allows no possibility and Hope is ultimate possibility.

You know the quote: John Locke: "All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil is for good men (sic) to do nothing."

I want to live in a world where Stumpy's Stickers would not exist. I support freedom of speech absolutely, but if we could all come to realize that we are all Children of God, with differences, and celebrate that (the 'differences' most of all) something akin to Sanity might become part of our national dialog.

Maybe. Hopefully.

#100 & 200

As I promised (threatened??) here are the first two of the two naughts. I was just over a year doing the second hundred. I've sped up since then--I was still working full time back then.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

linear time confounds me

Back in June I preached a sermon about being here 20 years. I had the seven top reasons I'd stayed so long. OK, I couldn't come up with 10 or ran out of time or something....

But the first reason was this: "I lost track of time...."

Which for me is pretty easy. I often feel like Billy Pilgrim in Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five". Billy Pilgrim, Vonnegut writes, is 'unstuck in time'.

Like me, sometimes. I am hard pressed to get any chronological order in my life beyond "Before/After" I got married, "Before/After" the kids were born, "Before/After" I came to St. John's. That's the extent of my mastery over linear time. It confounds me.

I am totally confounded, amazed, stricken, astonished and flabbergasted that when I leave in, what is it?--80 some days, that I will have been the Rector of this church for over 21 years. (I could take a pencil and paper and figure out exactly how long--but 'over', 'not quite', 'about' and 'somewhere in there' is the best I can do in my head about time.)


Someone asked me today, "doesn't it seem like 'yesterday' that you came to St. John's?" And I had to tell them, 'well, yes, in one way, in another it seems like I've been here forever.' Linear time, like I told you....

So, here I am 80 some days from the end of yesterday and forever. Harriet told me today that the dream I told you about--especially the losing of my dog--had something to do with fearing I would lose my 'center'. There was a lot more about that, but that's the essence of it all. And now that I think about it, that's exactly right--I'm in danger of losing both yesterday and forever when I leave.

I know 'all will be well', but this linear time thing has me really screwed up. 86 days--that's it--I did that with pen and pencil and a calendar.

God I'm going to miss all this....

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Still one Christmas Tree to go....

We still have one Christmas Tree in the house. The long needle pine is gone, long ago, shortly before Epiphany, though I like them up until Epiphany. Long needle pines start to decompose rapidly after a week or two. So Bern drug it out the back door and cut off most of the branches and stood what was left up next to the recycle container. Here's how long ago that was--I put out the blue box for recycle stuff out the next Tuesday. It's now under three feet of ice. We'll see it in May or so.

The fir--we always have two Christmas Trees since 40 years of relationship accumulates more ornaments than one tree can bear--is still in the dining room. Still doing well, though I doubt it's been watered for a month almost. Tomorrow is February 13--a month and a week past Epiphany and another 12 days besides that past Christmas. And still that little fir sits in our dining room, not having shed a needle yet, still green and proud. I've gotten so used to it since it went up a couple of weeks before Christmas--two months ago now (we always put them up then and decorate them during Christmas week...we used to wait until our kids came home but have long ago admitted that the trees are 'our trees', Bern's and mine and the kids no longer want any part in them). Josh and Cathy had their own tree this year. Tim and Mimi haven't yet, I don't think. I still remember when Bern and I had our first tree--but being a priest and working on Christmas meant we didn't 'go home' to what was no longer 'home' for Christmas.

Christmas trees are magical things, mystical and marvelous. I spend hours each Christmas season looking at the ornaments, remembering where they came from if I can, when they joined our lives. Christmas trees are green memory devices.

I'm trying to imagine how long the fir will be there. Looks to me it could last until June or later. Firs are sturdy little trees. I'm thinking if we leave it until June it will have lived with us for half a year. Not a bad thing, I don't think. Maybe we should all have Christmas Trees up much of the year--not with ornaments or lights, but just there, a reminder of life beyond human life, something to share your home, a member of the family in a special way.

We have lots of plants. Bern cares for them, I hardly notice. Just like she is the yard and garden person and I enjoy the colors and the variety but seldom ponder how wondrous it is.

In the midst of this frozen, white winter, that little fir has reminded me there is a Spring to come and green things and new life.

I should spend some time with that tree--it was our 'flying thing tree' this year. Each Christmas one tree has only 'flying things' on it--angels, birds, some ornaments that are flying elephants or fairies or things with balloons or wings.

Perhaps I should ponder, in the midst of the dead time of winter, how things, how life, how imagination can fly, can soar....

Not a bad meditation. I'll do that tomorrow.

Something to ponder--flight and life and greenness in the midst of ice and chill.

All the 'double noughts"

Did I spell 'noughts' correctly? Apparently so, since there is a red line under it from spell-check. But spell-check refuses to give me options.

Hark! I paragraphed and the red line went away. So, maybe 'noughts' is right (another red line, let me paragraph....

Gone again.

Anyway, what I plan to do tomorrow is post all the posts of the 1300 (this post, by the way, is #1300 of an enterprise I was talked into and dragged into kicking and screaming by several members of St. John's on the Green (Episcopal) in Waterbury, Connecticut. I didn't want to do it and imagined if I did 50 or so over a couple of years they'd leave me alone and I could stop.

I'm truly amazed that I've done 1300 posts! Way beyond my normal attention span.

Here's how I've done it--I've written to myself....which I've always done. I have three novels and a memoir that I've never tried to get published because 'writing to myself' is what matters to me. I'm a big time Extrovert, so I seldom know what I think about stuff until I write it down and read it. Writing to myself is how I discover what's going on in my brain.

(Actually, I lied--I'm not a 'big time extrovert": my Meyers/Briggs--or Briggs/Meyers, whichever it is--shows me as only slightly extroverted. On all the other scales, I'm pretty much off the scale....I am extremely Intuitive, remarkable Feeling, and astonishingly Perceptive. But I've lived a life that has called out my 'slightly' extroverted side...being a priest in the Episcopal Church...so that side of my 'slightly' side has been called into duty for 30+ years. I have always be happily 'slightly less' Introverted and, as an only child, perfectly happy to be alone and do introverted things. Like, I average reading 5 books a week...260 books a year--and I post blogs, and I play entirely too much Internet Hearts {over 10,000 games so far!) so my 'introverted self' is appropriately involved.)

I know lots of Extroverts and a few less Introverts and the interesting thing is that being, as I am, only marginally one over the other, I have none of the down sides of either. My wife and my daughter are Introverts and my son is more an Extravert than me. Bern and Mimi suffer from exhaustion with too much contact with people. Josh 'needs' people to have energy. I'm happy either way--surrounded by crowds/all alone for hours.

Talk to me about how exaggerated my Intuitive/Feeling/Perceptive sides make me a wreck from time to time. That's a whole different story.

Anyway, look for the 'noughts' tomorrow.

(Paragraphed and the red line went away.....)

1299

I just realized this is the 1299th post I've done. Amazing that I've stuck with it so long--people who know me will assure you I have a pretty faulty attention span!

So, to honor the next post--#1300, I'm going to repeat the posts that end in '00'.

I won't do it tomorrow since Bern and I are going to Jacob's Pillow to see Mimi and Ira Glass's show. But Monday, I promise--whether they are worth pondering or just worthless--you'll get a reprise of 100, 200, 300...well, you can do the rest of the math.

I'm interested in seeing what's up with all of that....

As the Africans say, "Be well, umfandusi...stay well, umfandusi..."