Friday, October 11, 2019

The longest sermon I ever preached

(Maner Tyson, a Southern Baptist minister, asked me to preach at, I think, his 10th year of service and on 'Pastor Appreciation' Sunday. He worked with the poor and lost of Waterbury. A street ministry in many ways. I love him greatly. And since it was a Southern Baptist Congregation, I wrote a sermon longer than usual. I wanted to share it with you.)



PASTOR APPRECIATION SUNDAY (9/17/2007)

          Remember the story of Elijah when he fled from Jezebel and the priests of Baal and found himself on Mount Horeb. This story is told in First Kings 19, beginning with verse 11. I’m reading from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible.

          God said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”
       Now there was a great wind, so strong it was spitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind;
       And after the wind, an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake;
       And after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire;
       And after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
       When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “what are you doing here, Elijah?”


          I bring you greetings from the people of God who worship and minister across the street at St. John’s. And I bring their best wishes to Rev. Tyson on this day to honor his prophetic and pastoral ministry in your midst.
          I share in many ways your appreciation for Maner’s work and dedication and commitment as your Pastor. In addition, as most of you know, Maner and Rhonie work with St. John’s as our Youth Ministers.
          Now, Episcopalians and Baptists have some different ways of looking at the Christian Faith and some different ways of worshipping God. There’s a story about a Baptist who went to an Episcopal Church. He sat in the very first row—which was empty because Episcopalians usually don’t sit in the first row except on Easter and Christmas. He followed along in the Book of Common Prayer and listened to the scripture readings. And he sang the hymns a lot louder than most of the folks around him. But the trouble started when the priest got up to give the sermon.
          After a couple of sentences, the Baptist said, “Amen, brother! Preach it!”
          Well, the Episcopal priest was so startled, he stopped preaching. But he gathered himself and started again. Another few sentences and the Baptist said, “Praise the Lord, thank you Jesus….”
          Some of the members of the congregation were getting a little nervous at that point, but the preacher continued and the Baptist man stood up and said, “I hear you, brother! Amen!”
          At that point one of the ushers came down to the first pew and whispered to the Baptist: “Sir, I’m afraid I have to ask you to keep quiet during the sermon.”
          “I can’t be quiet,” the Baptist replied, “I’ve got the Spirit!”
          And the usher said, “Well, you didn’t get it HERE….”

          I’m pleased to say, you CAN “get the Spirit” across the street at St. John’s. And I’m proud that we’re the only Episcopal Church I know of with Baptists as youth directors….
          And I’m delighted to be with you today.
          I was told “prophet leadership” should be the theme of what I have to share with you. I want to talk about three prophets this morning: Elijah at the cave, Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones and Jesus on the Cross.
          But before that, I want to define what a “prophet” is. My definition is this: A PROPHET IS ONE WHO SPEAKS THE WORD OF GOD IN UNCOMFORTABLE, EVEN DANGEROUS SITUATIONS.
          Somewhere along the line, people started thinking of “prophecy” as having something to do with being able to “see the future”.  You might have heard of Edgar Casey and Jeanne Dixon. Edgar Casey had waking “dreams” of what was going to happen and Jeanne Dixon made predictions of the future. Neither of them were “prophets” in the Biblical sense. They were “sooth-sayers” and fortune tellers, not “prophets”.
          I contend that a true prophet—a “prophet” as the Bible describes them—does three things: first, “listens for God”; second, “speaks for God”; third and most importantly, “loves for God”.
         
          Let’s go back to Elijah in his cave, listening for God. It is good to remember how he got there. Elijah, in Chapter 18 of 1st Kings, is the last living prophet of Israel and he single-handedly defeats 70 priests of Baal when God miraculously set fire to Elijah’s offering though it had been soaked by water. Then the people of Israel, convinced of God’s power, killed the prophets of Baal and Elijah ran for his life, fleeing from the wrath of Queen Jezebel. Fearing for his life, he sits under a bloom tree and asks God to take his life. But God sends him instead to Horeb.
          The journey takes Elijah 40 days without food and water (that sounds familiar doesn’t it?) before he comes to the cave and listens for God. A prophet must listen very carefully for God. To “speak” for God, a prophet must “hear” God clearly and discern God’s voice.
          God speaks to Elijah on Horeb—but not in the wind and not in the earthquake and not in the fire. Most translations of the Bible say that God spoke in “a still, small voice”—but I prefer the translation I read which compares God’s speaking to “a sound of sheer silence”.
          One of the most important ways we “listen for God” is in prayer. But most of the time we think of “prayer” as talking to God rather than listening for God. Prayer is a conversation, and like any conversation, we have to “listen” as much as we “talk”.
          A prophetic leader must be a person of deep, profound prayer. And, most often, that prayer must often be “without words”, simply being present to God and listening for God’s voice. Prayer is the beginning of Prophecy. Prayer is the food and drink of Christian leadership. And you must be very quiet, very attentive, deeply listening to hear “a still small voice”, to recognize the “sound of sheer silence….”

          Now let’s turn to another prophet—Ezekiel. This is found in the 37th chapter of Ezekiel.
                             EZEKIEL 37.1-10
          The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley: it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley and they were very dry.
       He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?”
       I answered, “O Lord God, you know.”
       Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you and cause flesh to come upon you and cover you with skin and put breath in you and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”
       So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked and there were sinews on them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them.
       Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal and say to the breath; Thus says the Lord God, come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.”
       I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.


          Ezekiel spoke for God and the words he spoke were words of renewal, words of rejuvenation, words of healing, words of resurrection, words of Life….
          Prophetic Leadership is leadership that brings healing and hope and life to bear on a world deeply wounded, despairing, dying.
          Remember the prophetic message of Jesus to those disciples of John the Baptist who came to ask him if “he were the One” sent from God. This begins in Luke 7:22: Jesus says: “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard; the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them….”
          Words of healing and hope and life to a world wounded, despairing, dying….If dry bones can put on flesh and breathe again and live, can’t we bring healing and hope and life as well? And it is vital to notice that the Words of the Prophet are not “just talkin’”—the Word of God is “action” as well. Lots of people talk a good line about God, but true Prophetic Leadership “takes action” in this world.
          Remember the story of the Last Judgment in Matthew 25, when the Son of Man divides the sheep from the goats. He condemns the unrighteous, not because they didn’t “talk the talk”, but because they didn’t “walk the walk”. He doesn’t say, “you didn’t praise my name enough, you didn’t pray in church enough, you didn’t testify to my power enough”…oh, no, those are just words. The Son of Man condemns the “unrighteous” because they didn’t “DO” enough, they didn’t take the actions in this world of healing and hope and life.
          …for when I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink. I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me…”
       And who does the Word of God speak to most vividly, most forcefully, most powerfully? To “the least of these”. It is what we DO for “the least of these” that we truly DO for Christ. Talk is cheap. Actions speak louder than words.
          True Prophetic Leaders “speak for God” AND “act for God”—and their words and actions are always for “the least of these”: the poor, the oppressed, the broken-hearted, those imprisoned by bars or by addiction, those on the margins of society, those longing for equality, for justice, for inclusion, for freedom. True Prophetic Leaders—like Gandhi, like Mother Teresa and Mother Jones, like Martin Luther King—work for justice and have a dream.
          Mother Teresa’s dream was to eliminate poverty and sickness from the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, India. Someone once asked her, surrounded by thousands of suffering people: “Mother Teresa, how do you ever expect to help all these people?”
          Mother Teresa smiled: “one at a time,” she said.
                                      ***
          A prophetic leader “listens for God” and “speaks and acts for God”. But most importantly, a prophetic leader “loves for God”. This brings us to Jesus on the Cross. In the midst of his suffering and dying, his thoughts were still thoughts of love.
          “Father, forgive them,” he prayed from the cross, “for they know not what they do….”
          Imagine that—imagine, if you can, loving and praying for the ones who  beat you and spit on you, the ones who made you carry your own cross, the ones who drove the nails into your hands and feet and lifted you up to die. That is radical and prophetic love. That is the love God calls us to share and to be. To love our enemies and bless those who persecute us.
          This is the hardest and most important role of a Prophetic Leader—“to Love for God….”
          Here’s what I think Jesus was saying from the Cross—I think he was saying: “Father, God, even though they are killing me, they are your children and you love them. And I love them too.”
          Loving for God, as a prophetic leader, tells us two things: it tells us “WHO WE ARE” and “WHOSE WE ARE.”  No matter what the world says, God’s love tells us that we are his beloved children and that we belong to him.
          Did you notice that when I began this sermon, I crossed myself like this?....I did that on purpose, knowing that it is one of the things that Episcopalians do that Baptists don’t do. And I wanted a chance to explain why we do it.
          Whenever I cross myself like this…I say to myself, silently, “in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Doing this—crossing myself—is a way I have of reminding myself of my baptism. When we baptize a child or an adult in the Episcopal Church, we say: “I baptize you in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” And a little later in the service we anoint the newly baptized with oil on their foreheads in the sign of the cross and say: “You are sealed in the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever….”
          MARKED AS CHRIST’S OWN FOREVER….That’s a pretty amazing and wonderful and joyful thing to be. “Marked as Christ’s own forever” is who I am and whose I am. And every time I cross myself, I am reminding myself of those two things: that I am a child of God and that I belong to Christ forever. So it’s not an empty gesture to me….It speaks to me of God’s radical and prophetic love.
I heard a sermon two weeks ago in Columbus, Ohio, at the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, that points to this kind of radical and prophetic love. The preacher was a man who has been oppressed and hated by many just because of who he is—but he said to us all—“love them anyway….No matter what they do to you, love them anyway. It is by loving that you know who you are, really….”
         

          I want to end with a story that, it seems to me, speaks to the role of a Prophetic Leader in today’s church.
          It seems a man from the city was out driving in the country. He passed a free range chicken farm and almost wrecked his car because right in the middle of a huge flock of chickens he saw a full grown bald eagle, digging and scratching in the dirt. The man stopped and turned around just to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. He stopped his car beside the fence and sure enough, there was a full grown eagle eating grain with the chickens.
          The man walked up to the farm house and knocked on the door. He introduced himself to the farmer and asked about the eagle.
          “Yessir,” the farmer said, “I found the little fellow when he was not much passed newborn. I don’t know how he got here, but I put him in with my chickens and he’s seemed to have adjusted to life.”
          “But don’t you think the eagle is unhappy?” the city man asked.
          The farmer thought for a minute and then said, “he don’t seem to mind much….”
          The city man drove about 20 miles in silence, thinking about the eagle among the chickens. Then a thought came to him—he should go and liberate the eagle and show him the sky. So he turned around and went back to ask the farmer if he could try to teach the eagle to fly.
          The farmer didn’t seem to mind. “Don’t think you’ll have much luck though,” he told the city man.
          The city man went into the field and waded through dozens of chickens until he was near the eagle. He picked the huge bird up and held him over his head.
          “You are an eagle,” the man said, “you must fly!” And he threw the eagle up in the air as far as he could.
          Plop, that eagle fell to the ground on his side and tried to get away. But the man was undeterred. He picked the eagle up and carried him across the field away from the chickens. The eagle clawed and bit to get away, but the man ignored the pain. Again he said, “You are an eagle, you must fly!” and through the great bird up in the air.
          Plop. Again the eagle fell to the ground, jumped up and waddled off back to the chickens.
          So the man caught the eagle again and put him in the backseat of his car and drove him up to the summit of a nearby mountain. He held the eagle over the edge of a cliff and the bird became so frightened that he climbed up on the man’s shoulder, digging his great talons into the man’s shoulder.
          “You are eagle,” the man shouted to the sky, grimacing with pain, “you must fly!”  He jumped around, trying to knock the eagle off his shoulder.
          Then something wondrous happened. The eagle, afraid of losing his balance, raised his wings and brought them down….Whoosh! went the eagle’s wings through the air and the great bird, for the first time, felt the power he possessed. After a moment he tried it again…Whoosh!...and lifted a few inches off the man’s shoulder.
          With a pause of amazement, the bird seemed to realize something his life on the ground had made him forget. He lifted his head and stared at the sky and then with a grace and beauty born of God, his wings came down again and again and again and again…and he was soaring into the endless sky, once more remembering “who he was” and “who he belonged to”.
          The man watched until the eagle was but a dot in the blue above him. Then, weeping with joy and the pain of the wounds he had received, he walked back to his car and drove home.
          And the Eagle Soared.
                                                ***
          Here’s what I believe with all my heart. Your pastor, Maner Tyson, is a prophetic leader to you. He is a man of bone-deep prayer who listens for God’s word and will for Waterbury Baptist Ministry. He is a man of courage and commitment who speaks for God and acts for God in this suffering, sorrowing world. And he is a man who loves for God, loves deeply, with all his heart and soul.
          And one person at a time, he holds up the Eagles all around him in this congregation and in this city and reminds them—no matter what the world says—he reminds you “who you are” and “whose you are” and he invites you to soar as you were meant to soar.
          It is not without a cost to him—a cost to his energy, his stamina, his faith, his ministry, his very soul. AND, it is “what he is among you to DO…it is who he is among you to BE.”
          It is right and good that you show him all your appreciation today. Honor him and love him and nurture him—this man of prayer and action and love…this prophetic leader in your midst…this good and kind and gentle soul who is God’s special gift to you, and to me, and to this whole city.
          I love you, my friend. I love you.

Wednesday, October 9, 2019

More than I can handle--and I want more!

Every hour something new comes out about the inquiry of the House of Representatives into the President's possibly impeachable actions.

It's more than I can handle--and I want more!

The letter today from the Legal Counsel to the President had more wrong things in it than cogent thoughts.

The emails that are coming out, along with text messages, are damning to say the least.

And the President's attitude and behavior is beyond comprehension.

And I want more.

Polls--lots of them--show over 50% of Americans (in some 58%), like me, want more inquiry.

I'm not sure anymore I need an actual impeachment.

I just more of this stuff I can't handle.

Right up to November of 2020. A whole year of reveals.

Then let's vote.

And the nonsense about selling out our allies the Kurds to Turkey has caused a lot of Republicans to pause and think (for a change) about who this guy in the White House really is.

Stuff is shifting like the over-head storage on a bumpy flight.

Bumpier is what I want.

More shifting.

It's all more than I can handle.

And I want more......


Tuesday, October 8, 2019

Body and soul--one or seperable? I don't care.

I stayed up to 1 a.m. last night, watching the Yankees sweep the Twins and was so hyped up by their win I didn't get to sleep until after 2. So, I didn't get to my Tuesday morning group in time for Eucharist (and no one offered it to me, I noticed!). When they asked me why I was late, I told the story about the Yankees and we talked about baseball for 15 minutes or so. One of the group, who I love dearly, had no clue about the baseball playoffs, which shocked me beyond measure.

I once had a conversation about church politics with a guy who had served with me as a seminarian for two years. He was much more conservative than I'd imagined and asked him why he hadn't told me before.

"Jim, you are so sure everyone agrees with you," he said, "it would do no good to disagree."

I suppose that is true. Driving down Cornwall Avenue this morning I noticed that most of the signs for the local elections next month, were for Republicans. I was shocked! My neighbors MUST  be Democrats, right?

Apparently not.

Anyway, after talking about baseball, someone changed the subject to whether the soul is independent of the body or not.

Folks got very involved in the conversation and started throwing around Phoenicians and Pharisees vs. Sadducee's and Indo-European and Jung and Freud.

I said, "this is a long way from baseball", and everyone laughed and agreed.

What I should have said is this: "I don't care if you have a soul independent of your human life or not. I care about you and you and you and you--but not your soul. I leave stuff like that up to God. It simply doesn't interest me."

Which is the truth.

The whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I don't think about such things--I think about the people I am around.

Just that.

So be it.


Monday, October 7, 2019

Which excuse are we on?

The President has made at least 6 excuses for his call to Ukraine's president.

First it was a 'perfect' call.

Then it was a 'hoax'.

Then it was that the whistle blower had only second and third hand information.

Then it was whoever gave the whistle blower the information were 'traders'.

Then it was Adam Shift was a spy.

Then Nancy Pelosi should be impeached (never mind that there is no way to impeach a member of the House).

Then it was he had ever right to do it--and do it to China as well, as he did.

Then he was 'joking' about China.

Then it was all Rick Perry's fault.

That's more than six and there are several more I've left out.

Holy Cow!!!

Can you believe this guy?

Sunday, October 6, 2019

Haven't written for a few days

The whole impeachment news is so compelling, I haven't caught up with my blog.

Amazing, what's going on,

Today's gospel from Luke (the usually compassionate gospel) tells 'believers' that they are like 'slaves'--what a horrible comparison, and shouldn't expect acknowledgement for what they do since what they do is what they're called to do--be loving, generous and open to the needs of others.

And that's the truth.

The idea that 'everyone gets a trophy' has created a generation of folks who think they are 'entitled', whether they have succeeded or not.

I had one person tell me how she used to run a Science Fair and give three ribbons until parents told her everyone should get a ribbon.

Another person told me how, in her office, folks show up 'expecting' to be promoted and treated with respect even if they didn't know how to do their jobs.

I am 'magna cum laude' and Phi Beta Kappa.

I earned that, just as I earned my four degrees.

And I didn't feel like I deserved any praise. It was just 'what I did'.

We all need to 'do' what we are called to do.

And expect no praise.

It is simply our calling.

Be loving, generous and open to the needs of others.

A prayer I often say before a Eucharist is this: "God, open our hearts to your love, our minds to the Truth and our lives to those in need."

Our calling.

No acknowledgement or praise needed.



Thursday, October 3, 2019

The Tuning (part one)

I promised you The Tuning a while ago. So here's the first quarter. I'll add as I go along and maybe this will make me hurry up....




THE TUNING

(April 10, 2000)
          When Spitzer arrived at my door, instead of Dobbs, I almost gave him money and sent him away. It was Monday and Dobbs had promised to some on Tuesday. “Sometime in the afternoon,” he’d said on the phone, “so I might walk around back if you don’t come to the bell. You might be doing yard work.” I almost said, “small chance of that”, but remembering my daughter Dora’s stern warning, “don’t inflict your moroseness on others”—which is a direct quote and no way for a daughter to talk to her aging father—I held my tongue.
          “This is my rush season,” Dobbs went on, “Easter season is a busy time.” He spoke as if I were lucky to have him come at all, as if he hadn’t tuned our piano three times a year for two decades, spending more time in our living room than most of my law partners. It was as if were imposing on him! Dora tells me I’ve become increasingly short tempered and impatient with people. She simply doesn’t realize that her mother always dealt with troublesome, irritating things like piano tuners. I’ve always been short-tempered and impatient. It just shows more, now that Sarah’s dead.
          “See you Tuesday.” Dobbs’ affected, half-British accent was beginning to annoy me considerably. “THIS Tuesday,” he said again, “in the afternoon.” His needless repetition seemingly implied I’d grown absent-minded in my widower head. So I replied, ending the conversation, “I won’t forget, Dobbs. I lost my wife, not my mind.”
          I’m glad Dora didn’t hear me, though I imagine Dobbs telling one of my neighbors, while tightening whatever piano tuners tighten with their little tool, “old George Martin is getting testy since his wife died. Just the other day on the phone….” Then that neighbor might run into Dora on the street during the time she and Kelly were visiting and say—with the best of intentions, I don’t doubt—“I don’t mean to interfere. dear, but I think you should know what Mr. Dobbs, the piano tuner, told me about ‘poor George’….”
          Sarah had been dead for only 149 days on that bright and clear April day when Spitzer had shown up and already I was ‘poor George’ in the mind of almost everyone—my daughter and granddaughter most especially. “Morose”, “irritable”, “short-tempered”, “forgetful”, “rambling around alone in that big house”—oh, I could imagine what they were saying, mostly because Dora said it directly to me. When she and Kelly had come at Christmas, she told me I needed to start ‘getting our’ and ‘doing things’. She said, ridiculously, “when spring comes you can work in the yard”, knowing better than anyone that I’ve never been the one to work outside. That had been Sarah’s domain.
          “I’m a lawyer,” I said to her, “not a gardener.” But she just chucked and shook her head, replying, “an a ill-tempered one at that.”
          Another time, on the phone line between Columbus and New Haven (fiber optics at work that I cannot comprehend) Dora said, “you should have some friends over.”
          “I have no friends,” I told her, meaning every word.
          “Of course, you do,” she told me, after a long pause, “that’s just not true. You and mother had lots of people over all the time. You lost your best friend, Daddy, but not your only one. For God’s sake, offer someone a scotch. It’ll come back to you, I promise.”
          I was on the verge of telling her that ‘those people’ were really Sarah’s friends, not mine, but luckily realized that she probably had a list of things pointing to my clinical depression and that might just cause her to call one of the psychiatrists who lived on my block. She even mentioned two of them as she rattled off people I could ‘have over’, if only I would. Meddlesome adult children, I believe, are God’s punishment for the lust of your youth.
          When I opened to door to Spitzer and said, “May I help you?”, he handed me a tan card with the deaf alphabet on the front—drawings of 26 hands in the letter positions. Even though the card said it was printed by the American School for the Deaf in West Hartford and was not for sale, I reached for my wallet. So, the real reason I almost sent Spitzer away wasn’t that he wasn’t Dobbs and it wasn’t Tuesday and it wasn’t afternoon: it was because he was deaf.
          Spitzer started shaking his head and making little sounds unlike any I’d heard since Dora had guinea pigs—squeaks, whistles and grunts—which indicated I had misunderstood.
          “What then…?” I began. He twisted his hand as if miming how to turn a door knob. I’ve never been a man who dealt well with confusion and was about to say, impatiently, “I don’t understand sign”, when Spitzer pointed to the card and I realized he meant for me to turn it over. On the back, in penciled block letters, as if those who cannot hear can barely write, it said: I AM SPITZER, DOBBS SENT ME TO TUNE YOU PIANO.
          “Ah,” I said, turning away from him to open the door wider, “why didn’t you say so?” Then I turned quickly to face him, my neck burning, and said, with slow, exaggerated diction, “COME…ON…IN….”
          Spitzer nodded and squeaked, showing what I imagined to be gratitude. He was inside the door and the door was being shut behind us when I belatedly realized I’d forgotten, in the confusion, that Dobbs had said Tuesday afternoon and was Monday, late morning. Besides which, the very idea of a deaf piano tuner finally registered in my brain as absurd and that this man might be a burglar. I was glad, for once, Sarah wasn’t there to be in danger or to know I’d might have let a thief in by the front door. I tried to decide whether to bolt out the door and go for help or try to overpower him. I’m nearly 66, but I haven’t smoked in twenty years, drink only one scotch before dinner and beat men half my age in racquetball. Besides which, Spitzer wasn’t much bigger than the 12 year old Vietnamese paperboy. All that was running through my mind—LOCAL BARRISTER TWARTS THIEF-TUNER—the headline would have read—when Spitzer rummaged through a pocket and handed me another deaf alphabet card. It was curled, dirty, much handled. The same black script said: BEETOVERN WAS DEAF, BUT HE KNEW ABOUT PIANOS.
          “You must need this a lot,” I said, mindlessly.
          Spitzer nodded, snorting a laugh. He looked a  little like Al Pacino—swarthy and Italian—but his eyes were blue, round as poker chips, and his dirty-blond hair curled in loose knots from beneath a Red Sox baseball hat. His clothes were the work uniform—brown shirt and slacks—of Sears repairmen and he wore a carpenter’s apron packed full of the kind of intricate and medieval tools Dobbs carried in a little box Sarah once told Dobbs looked like Father Allison’s communion kit. “I’m the high priest of pianos,” Dobbs replied (or so she told me, giggling like a school girl) “the Cardinal of the keyboard.” Sarah liked Dobbs immensely, even when he said such inane things as that.
          I was staring at Spitzer, about to tell him he reminded me of a cross between Al Pacino and someone I couldn’t quite place, when he handed me another card that said: A LITTLE LIKE HARPO MARX, BUT PART OF THAT IS MY BEING MUTE.
          Before I finished reading the card, Spitzer had found the piano, moving to it without me noticing him go, and had leaned his head just above the keyboard, playing scales with his left hand. He turned toward me grinning, then grimaced and shivered. I must admit that the piano sounded off to me and both Sarah and Dora consider me the most tone-deaf individual they had ever encountered. In Sarah’s case, he being dead, I will eternally hold that dubious honor. Dora, I can still hope, will someday meet someone less musical than me.



         




Wednesday, October 2, 2019

Wait until he gets home

Sauli Niinstio (should be an umlaut over the final 'o' but I can't do it on my keyboard) is the President of Finland, one of the most polite and sophisticated countries in the world.

I can't imagine what he'll say to his folks back home after sitting through an oval office meeting and press conference with the President of the US where He Who Will Not Be Named railed and cursed about Democrats and the impeachment inquiry.

He even said that "Shifty Shiff" (the Congressman from California who is head of the Intelligence Committee) couldn't carry Secretary of State, Mike Pampeo's "jock-strap", though he left out the word 'jock' but asked twice if the reporters understood what he meant.

Such kind of language probably wouldn't be in public in Finland.

Our President is melting down under the pressure of the Ukraine investigation. He is making no sense in many of his statements and outright lying in others.

It is a scary time in our history.

Be Lions, not Mountain Goats.

Please.

The Finnish will have a good laugh over this over some good wine.

Alas for us.


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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.