another memory--post from the past

I noticed in the statistics my blog gives me that some people have found this post from 2013 lately.

It's one of the 5 most visited posts of the 1800+ on this blog.

In four months I'll have to do "46 and counting". But for now, this must suffice. A life I'm glad I spent with who I spent it with. And blessed beyond measure. Beyond any measure.

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......






(Feb of 2017--Maggie and Luke are gone now, but the Puli endures...and the love.)

What a Deal!!!

So, I get an offer through my Credit Union for life insurance.

I usually toss such things away without opening, but the Credit Union has been a good thing for us, so I give it a look.

Get this: I can get $300,000 coverage for $33 a month, which will go down to $16.50 a month when I turn 70 this year! What a deal!!!

I'd have to live 20,000 months or so to give the insurance company $300,000. And since that's over 16,666 years I figure this is a bet I am sure to win....

(Life insurance, it seems to me, is always a 'bet'. "I bet I'll die before I pay you the money you'll pay out on my death!" It's a weird bet, but a bet none-the-less. But there wouldn't be 'life insurance' if the companies didn't win. They invest your money or lend it out and get interest. Life insurance must be a money making winner or, like I said, their wouldn't be any....)

I'm stunned that I can actually, not only win this bet but scam the insurance company big time!

I'm about to fill it out and send it in with instructions to take the premiums from my account at the credit union when I notice a word I had missed--'accidental'.

It's a policy for dying in an accident.

Now, that's a really dumb bet however you look at it. Not only betting you'll die before you pay the policy amount but betting it will be accidental and probably horrible.

I told Bern about all this and she said, 'well, I could push  you down the stairs and say you fell...."

I hope she was kidding.....

looking for friends....

NASA announced today that a 'nearby star' (take that with a huge tablespoon of salt) has 7 'earth sized planets' orbiting it and three of those are in a zone scientists believe could have water and life.

Hooray!

Trappist-1, the name of the dwarf star, is only 40 light years away. Which means, if you wonder, whatever we're seeing from there is from 1977--just to get a handle on '40 light years away'.

I'm torn about the whole 'looking for friends' projects.

On the one hand, I'm a great supporter of pure science--any science, really. With a President who doesn't seem to believe in global warming and a Vice-President who wants 'creationism' taught along side of evolution, we need to stand up for 'science' in all its guises.

And it would be interesting to know that Trappist-1's planets harbored intelligent life. Interesting but useless since we have no way to travel there. At light speed, which is impossible, we'd arrive in 2057. Beneath light speed it would take 4 or 5 generations to traverse if we had the technology to do it, with, by the way we don't.

On the other hand, since we have no way to begin to cross the light year distances, perhaps we should just sit back, imagining ourselves to be the only intelligent life in an almost endless universe (hard to imagine we're the only intelligent life, harder to imagine an almost--or truly--endless universe!!!) and wait to be found by our 'friends' who, if they find us will be so much more advanced than we are that they might think of humans as cockroaches. Or maybe cockroaches would be more interesting to our 'new friends' who know how to travel many light years to come visit.

It was supposed to be cloudy tonight, but when I let Bela out to pee at 10 p.m. the sky was as clear as a bell. A look at the night sky--even if it's only long enough for a dog to pee--humbles me every time.

Infinity is not something I can get my head around--even if I'm one of the only intelligent beings in that infinity.

Keep going NASA. Yea Science!

But it is really all beyond my ken, as my oh-so-Irish maternal grandmother, Lina Manona Sadler Jones, would have said.

"Beyond my ken" indeed.

"The vast expanse of interstellar space" is how Eucharistic Prayer C of the Book of Common Prayer expresses it.

Beyond my ken to imagine....

Conversations

On most Tuesday mornings, I meet with a group of men (all men, unfortunately!) who are, all but one, Episcopal priests (the lone layperson gives us the barest shred of credibility).

Often the conversation is rather mundane or silly or uninteresting to all but one of us. But that's the kind of group we are--we tolerate each others' hobby horses and obsessions. We've been meeting on Tuesday mornings for longer than I've been a part of it and I've been a part of it for 26 years or so. More of the people who've been part of the group are dead than are alive. (Or, since I'm reading an Alexander McCall Smith novel about the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Botswana--all of which I have read and recommend--I should say, 'more of us are late than living. I love those novels but Bern can't get 3 pages into them.)

Someday I should post about the 'late' members of the Tuesday morning clericus (which it isn't anymore since a lay folk is part of it). They were amazing men. Again, regrettably, all men. I sat at their knees for decades, taking in wisdom that became my own. I loved them all. Greatly.

Tuesday we had a conversation that started with my whole 'Christian without Creed' rant and ended up, I think, with two of my friends questioning my obedience to my ordination vows. I'm not sure that's what it was, but it was leaning in that direction.

They may be right--I'll give them that--because I really don't consciously think about 'being obedient' to my ordination vows. Not really. I'm vaguely aware I said some things--when was it?--1975, I think (if you read this blog much you know I'm, like Billy Pilgrim, 'unstuck in time') linear time, like so much else, confounds me. Like this, I helped someone arrange a celebration of their 40th anniversary of their ordination when I was a year past them and didn't even once think about it!!!

I looked at the ordination service in the Book of Common Prayer and could justify, in an email to those friends, that I kinda, sorta, in a way kept the vows I made. A strong if not convincing case I made.

But what that Tuesday morning conversation caused me to do is ponder my priesthood in a way I never have.

They made me a priest (a Standing Committee, a Bishop, God--I hope) and since then I've just assumed that's what I am. A priest. Like that. A priest.

The first parish I served was St. James in Charleston, WV. It was an historically Black parish that integrated backwards over the time I was there. The Black members knew any white person who came to St. James must be safe. Maybe 10% of the members--some from mixed marriages, others because it's where they wanted to be--were white when I left. Which made it easier, I assume, when they merged with St. Luke's (a 'white' parish) 6 or 10 years after I left. I know, I know...linear time....

I was a white guy serving and being priest to Black folk--a big reversal of my segregated experience as a child growing up.

My bishop in West Virginia called me 'the young Turk'. He was amused at my outlandish, ultra-liberal, counter-cultural way of being a priest. I've always felt on the outside of the 'Episcopal Ethos' because I'm the son of a coal miner and first grade teacher who is associated with the movers and shakers of our culture. Do you realize how many 'Anglicans/Episcopalians' have been President? Google it.

But what I've pondered in the last 48 hours is how much more I feel like a "Priest" than I feel like a member of an institution.

I probably have violated left and right my ordination vows. I recognize that for the first time. But I don't think I've violated my Methodist baptism or my optimistic view that the Episcopal Church is the last, best refuge for Christians who are left-wing.

I honor what my friends told me Tuesday. And I'm shakier than I've ever been about calling myself 'an Episcopal priest'.

But I have no compunction about saying, loud and full of truth: I AM A PRIEST OF GOD.

Institutions come and go. Some interest me, like the Episcopal Church and the Democratic Party, and others don't.

God, I'm pretty sure, endures.

And I'm his/her priest in the end.

Maybe someday I'll renounce my ordination vows if it turns out I have so ignored them. But I won't renounce my priesthood for God. That's way past institutions and vows.....

another memory

(This was one of the 10 most viewed posts ever. Thought I'd share it again.)

Friday, May 11, 2012

Knowing four Jesus'

OK, I just completed a class at UConn called "Reading the Gospels side-by-side" and wrote something to read at the end of the last session. Someone suggested I publish it on my blog.

So here it is.

LOOKING FOR JESUS

Most of us are looking for Jesus.

One place we could expect to find Jesus is in the Four Gospels. So we turn to them. If we read them critically and carefully, what we discover is not Jesus but Four distinct Jesus'.

When confronted with that reality, there are two obvious reactions. Either I (I'll speak only for myself here and invite you to ponder your reaction)...either I despair and give up my search OR I walk the road with each of the Gospel writer's Jesus' and glean what I can from the four of them.

When I am doubtful, it is Mark's Jesus I want to walk beside because he too struggled with doubt. He spends time with the wild beasts. He can't seem to understand what is being asked of him by God. He agonizes in the Garden. He feels abandoned on the cross. Mark's Jesus is a good companion in times of doubt.

When I am confused, it is Matthew's Jesus I turn to. Matthew's Jesus is jerked away from his home to a foreign land. His earthly father relies on dreams and visions of angels in his confusion. The Magi visit him and give him great gifts. Matthew's Jesus knows that traditions and boundaries and scripture can help in times of confusion. Matthew's Jesus knows right from wrong, truth from Falsehood, the sheep from the goats. Matthew's Jesus stands on the mountain top and speaks wisdom to those who are in darkness and confusion. The Jesus of Matthew has correctives to my confusion.

John's Jesus is my traveling companion when things are going well and I am feeling confident. John's Jesus is certain and resolute and convinced of his purpose and his way. John's Jesus has an ego to match my own. Nothing much bothers him. His eyes are on the prize. His feet are firmly on the ground even as his soul soars to heavenly places. In 'good times' John's Jesus is the ideal companion. He can validate my confidence, inspire me to even greater things, teach me that I am loved and meant to love others. He breathes on me and wishes me “Shalom”, which means fullness and health and hopefulness. There is nothing like the Jesus of John when God's in his heaven and all is right with the world. Walking the road with him just reaffirms my optimism and hopefulness and sense of well-being.

But when I suffer, when I am in pain, only Luke's Jesus will do. He will walk with me to Emmaus and calm my fears and set my heart of fire. The breathless, timeless songs and poetry of Luke soothe me, heal me. Luke's Jesus is the healer, the non-anxious presence, the font of all Compassion. Luke's Jesus walks with those in distress, in pain, in need. Luke's Jesus is constantly standing with the marginalized and outcasts. Luke's Jesus teaches us on the same level where we stand. He is always on my level, near me, suffering with me, forgiving me, holding me near. Luke's Jesus walks the road of our world's suffering. He knows me through and through. He bears my burden. He lightens my load. He touches me and makes me whole.

Seeking Jesus and finding four is 'good news'. Four companions on the Way to the Lover of souls, four brothers with various gifts for various needs, four faces of God, four revelations of the Almighty.

A hymn from my childhood says, “What a friend we have in Jesus....” It is wondrous and precious to have a friend. But to have four, all of whom love me and care for me and walk my road with me. What could be better than that???

Every silver lining has a cloud

Silver Lining: We paid off our mortgage!!! (which I can only spell with spell check--what's with that 't'? No one says "Mort-gage".

Cloud #1: All the paperwork came the other day so we could have our credit union taken off the deed and I was going to the Town Hall to do it and found Town Hall deserted. Oh, right, I told myself--Presidents' Day!

Cloud #2: I was looking over the paper work from the credit union when I discovered it referred to our property as '25 Cornwall Avenue'. There is no 25 on Cornwall Avenue. We're the second house on the left and we're '95'.

Cloud #3: I called the Federal Credit Union we belong to to ask them to correct the mistake and no one answered!

Oh, yeal, Presidents' Day....

Some memories

I've done over 1800 posts on this blog. This was the first.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

My first post

Sitting under the Castor Oil Tree (March 7, 2009)

The character in the Bible I have always been drawn to in Jonah. I identify with his story. Like Jonah, I have experienced being taken where I didn't want to go by God and I've been disgruntled with the way things went. The belly of a big old fish isn't a pleasant means of travel either!

The story ends (in case you don't know it) with Jonah upset and complaining on a hillside over the city of Nineva, which God has saved through Jonah. Jonah didn't want to go there to start with--hence the ride in the fish stomach--and predicted that God would save the city though it should have been destroyed for its wickedness. "You dragged me half way around the world," he tells God, "and didn't destroy the city....I knew it would turn out this way. I'm angry, so angry I could die!"

God causes a tree to grow to shade Jonah from the sun (scholars think it might have been a castor oil tree--the impications are astonishing!). Then God sends a worm to kill the tree. Well, that sets Jonah off! "How dare you kill my tree?" he challanges the creator. "I'm so angry I could die...."

God simply reminds him that he is upset at the death of a tree he didn't plant or nurture and yet he doesn't see the value of saving all the people of the great city Ninivah...along with their cattle and beasts.

And the story ends. No resolution. Jonah simply left to ponder all that. There's no sequel either--no "Jonah II" or "Jonah: the next chapter", nothing like that. It's just Jonah, sitting under the bare branches of the dead tree, pondering.

What I want to do is use this blog to do simply that, ponder about things. I've been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years. I'm approaching a time to retire and I've got a lot of pondering left to do--about God, about the church, about religion, about life and death and everything involved in that. Before the big fish swallowed me up and carried me to my own Nineva (ordination in the Episcopal Church) I had intended a vastly different life. I was going to write "The Great American Novel" for starters and get a Ph.D. in American Literature and disappear into some small liberal arts college, most likely in the Mid-Atlantic states and teach people like me--rural people, Appalachians and southerners, simple people, deep thinkers though slow talkers...lovely for all that--to love words and write words themselves.

God (I suppose, though I even ponder that...) had other ideas and I ended up spending the lion's share of my priesthood in the wilds of two cities in Connecticut (of all places) among tribes so foreign to me I scarcly understood their language and whose customs confounded me. And I found myself often among people (The Episcopal Cult) who made me axious by their very being. Which is why I stuck to urban churches, I suppose--being a priest in Greenwich would have sent me into some form of shock...as I would have driven them to hypertension at the least.

I am one who 'ponders' quite a bit and hoped this might be a way to 'ponder in print' for anyone else who might be leaning in that direction to read.

Ever so often, someone calls my bluff when I go into my "I'm just a boy from the mountains of West Virginia" persona. And I know they're right. I've lived too long among the heathens of New England to be able to avoid absorbing some of their alien customs and ways of thinking. Plus, I've been involved in too much education to pretend to be a rube from the hills. But I do, from time to time, miss that boy who grew up in a part of the world as foreign as Albania to most people, where the lush and endless mountains pressed down so majestically that there were few places, where I lived, that were flat in an area wider than a football field. That boy knew secrets I am only beginning, having entered my sixth decade of the journey toward the Lover of Souls, to remember and cherish.

My maternal grandmother, who had as much influence on me as anyone I know, used to say--"Jimmy, don't get above your raisin'". I probably have done that, in more ways that I'm able to recognize, but I ponder that part of me--buried deeply below layer after layer of living (as the mountains were layer after layer of long-ago life).

Sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of him, running madly into the woods that surrounded him on all sides, spending hours seeking paths through the deep tangles of forest, climbing upward, ever upward until he found a place to sit and look down on the little town where he lived--spread out like a toy village to him--so he could ponder, alone and undisturbed, for a while.

When I was in high school, I wrote a regular colemn for the school newspaper call "The Outsider". As I ponder my life, I realize that has been a constant: I've always felt just beyond the fringe wherever I was. I've watched much more than I've participated. And I've pondered many things.

So, what I've decided to do is sit here on the hillside for a while, beneath the ruins of the castor oil tree and ponder somemore. And, if you wish, share my ponderings with you--whoever you are out there in cyber-Land.

Two caveates: I'm pretty much a Luddite when it comes to technology--probably smart enough to learn about it but never very interested, so this blog is an adventure for me. My friend Sandy is helping me so it shouldn't be too much of a mess. Secondly, I've realized writing this that there is no 'spell check' on the blog. Either I can get a dictionary or ask your forgiveness for my spelling. I'm a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa ENGLISH major (WVU '69) who never could conquer spelling all the words I longed to write.

I supose I'll just ask your tolerance.