Virtual church

We did virtual church again. We had lessons and a psalm and a gospel and I preached and we had prayers and a virtual communion and then a closing. Jeremiah played the organ at Emmanuel for a prelude and postlude and then we had a virtual coffee hour!

It was good to see people's faces on zoom, but I couldn't see the people on face book live or on their phones. But it was good to see people I haven't been together with for over a month.

We'll do this as long as we need to so we can be sure it's safe not to be in the same space together.

The people in the three churches are very hug-prone and I'm not sure when we'll go back to that.

Not the same thing, obviously, but way, way better than nothing.

Sunday is the day I really resent the virus. 'Church' gives a deep meaning to my life.

I miss it terribly.

Who are these people?

I've seen them on TV--protesting the closing of their states. They are almost all white, all angry and many of them are not wearing masks or keeping social distance. And many wear MAGA hats and wave, of all things, Confederate flags!

And the president is encouraging them in tweets to risk their lives and the lives of those they go home to in order to say "Open up, America!"

We can all agree that the closing of our economy because of the virus is a shame. But can't we all also agree that keeping people safe is more important than 'business as usual'? And what, once this pandemic has abated more, will 'business as usual' look like?

Not like it did a few months ago, I assure you.

I am horrified that these people are out there in Michigan and other states.

STAY HOME AND STAY SAFE should be on everyone's lips.

Yet there they are.

Who are these people and what are they thinking?

Today is my birthday

I was born 73 years ago today at Welch Memorial Hospital in Welch, WV, about 20 miles from Anawalt, where I grew up.

When I was born, the population of McDowell County--where Welch and Anawalt are, was over 98,000. Coal mining was booming and miners were paid well. Today, with all the deep mines closed, the population of McDowell--the southernmost county in West Virginia--is barely over 18,000. Imagine that, over 80% of the population is gone from a county about the size of Rhode Island!

About 20 years ago, some folks and I took a dozen kids from St. John's in Waterbury to Keystone, also in McDowell County, to do a work camp, working on houses of poorer people.

Back then the population of the county was 35,000. I took some of the kids across the mountain--any place in West Virginia is 'across the mountain' from where you are--to look at Anawalt. Even then, my heart broke in pieces. The place I remember from my youth no longer existed. The apartment where I grew up was gone, as was my Uncle Russel's house behind it. Nothing was the same. I was horrified.

When I grew up McDowell County (MAC-dowell to the natives) had 8 high schools. Now there are only two so some students ride a bus over an hour to and from school. Only 33% of students are proficient in reading and only 9% proficient in mathematics.

I have 4 degrees--BA, MTS, M.Div., D.Min--and I got my start in schools there.

Anyway, enough whining about my home county.

I was the only child of a father who was 40 and a mother who was 38. In those days, that was not the norm. My parents were friends with my classmates' grandparents.

We lived in a two bed-room apartment above one of the three grocery stores in town. No central heat and a bathroom that was outside the coal stove warmth of the apartment. I slept in "Pat's room" because before I was born a much older first cousin named Pat lived with my parents for several years.

But I knew nothing else and didn't mind.

When I was in high school I thought I wanted to go to Shimmer College in Chicago. (Now it's a part of the University of Chicago.) It was a 'great books' school and I was fascinated. But it required a year of a foreign language and the only language at Gary High was Latin. Students usually took Latin I and II in the 9th and 10th grade. So, there I was, a senior with kids 3 years younger than me.

I never went to Shimmer, but I thank God for them, because in Latin I I met Bernadine Pisano, love of my life and my wife for 50 years in September. What luck that was.

I've had a series of names. As a child I was Jimmy Gordon because I had a cousin named  'big Jim' and that distinguished me. In high school I was 'J. Gordon' as an affectation. My college friends know me as 'Brad', and now I'm just 'Jim'.

(By the way, my parents and I didn't live in a non-central heat apartment because they had no money. My mother was a school teacher and my father drove a laundry truck and sold insurance--Nationwide, which Bern and I have today.)

The year I left for West Virginia University, my parents paid cash for a house in Princeton, WV--in the county to the east, Mercer County. When I came home from college the first time I wondered if I had interrupted their lives and now they were back on track.

Much more to tell--12 years of higher education, marriage, two kids, ordination to the priesthood, 2 wondrous children and 4 incredible granddaughters, serving three remarkable churches in 30 years,
my 7 years of part time work since retiring, the books I read, the things I write here on this blog, my political beliefs that make Bernie Sanders look like a moderate, what I love to eat, how I sleep at least 9 hours a night, how precious Bern is, how much I love my life....

But that's enough for one birthday.

"Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday, dear Jimmy, Happy birthday to me."

I do sing that washing my hands.

phone call

I am part of a group of people who enroll people and lead the "Making A Difference Workshop".

It's for people in ministry--lay and ordained, of all faiths.

We had a workshop scheduled in mid-May at Holy Cross Monastery, an Episcopal monastery, in West Park, NY,. on the Hudson (beautiful place!) but that's not going to happen. We connect by phone on 'free conference call' every two weeks and then every week as we get closer to the workshop. Eight people on the line from all over the east coast and beyond.

We talked today about possibly September for the workshop but decided 'no'.

But what was great was the connection question. We start each call and each in person meeting with a 'connection question' to get us all in the same place before we start.

Today's question call from Pittsburgh: "what quality have you discovered about yourself in these difficult times that gives you and others strength?"

What I realized is that I discovered my being an 'only child' has helped me through this crisis.

Only children know how to entertain themselves. W don't need other people around.

I've never been 'bored'. When people say they are 'bored', I'm not sure what they mean or what it might feel like.

So, I haven't fretted about all this the way many have. I entertain myself. I don't get bored.

And that helps others, I think. They see my calm and self-satisfaction in my words and thoughts and way of being and it helps them cope: on line, on the phone, across the back yard fence.

Many times in my life, I've regretted being an 'only child' (until I speak with someone about their siblings!!!) but in these times I don't.

I'm fine, mentally and emotionally. I'm not lonely. I'm not bored.

I'm an aging 'only child'.

What a joy!

I got a birthday card and letter from C. today. The card had a lion on the front and the envelope--she sent it UPS--had her rendering of the lion with "Jim" on his crown. She remembered I loved Aslan--I've got a dozen stuffed lions in our dining room.

She was a young woman when I met her 30 years ago. I officiated at her wedding and baptized both her children. Her mother was one of my favorite parishioners. She even remembered the patchwork coat and bunny ears I wore at Easter.

Her letter moved me deeply. It was about what I'd meant in her life.

It made me think I did the right thing by becoming an Episcopal priest instead of a college professor.

I appreciated that knowledge more than I can say.

I wrote her back and hope to talk with her on the phone or to email.

I also sent her my blog name. I hope she sees this post and knows how much I appreciated what she wrote.

Stuff like that is so much more than joy--it is what heaven must be like, if there is one.

I know a priest should be sure there is a heaven, but I just withhold judgement and leave all that stuff when we shuffle off this mortal coil to One greater than me.

The idea of Heaven is great. But forever???

Not sure about that.

At some point, it seems to me, life should be still and over.

Just me talkin'...or more accurately, writin'....

Thank you so much C. Love to you.

Not so bad

Hope you're doing well.

We've been home now a month and it's not so bad.

But then, except for a couple of trips a week--to my group in Waterbury and to Church twice--I'm not out and about much.

Bern's women's group meets on Zoom a couple of times a week.

Neither of us were out in the world much before this started. I read a book a day before this--I read a book a day now. We used to go to the grocery store every day, now we go every three days or so. The Consignment Shop, that Bern frequented, is closed. I buy enough wine at a time to last 3 or 4 days, used to buy it almost daily.

Bern watches TV, I'm on line a lot.

But we were before the virus.

We've always talked to our neighbors at a distance and we still do.

So, we aren't as freaked out as some folks are by all this. Not so different as before.

I really feel for people who are at home with kids. The kids are the ones' whose routines have been smashed.

Bern talks to Eleanor or face time every day for an hour to give Tim and Mimi a break.

The Bradley girls in Baltimore told us on Zoom on Easter that they 'love' this. They do school work on line but also bake and cook and talk to their friends on line.

But I'm sure it's a very trying time for many, many people. Pray for them and reach out to the single people you know.

At least Bern and I can have social time with each other. I worry about those isolated and alone.

As a Buddhist would say, "this too shall pass". But the cost to some is enormous.

Wash your hands. Wear a mask when you go out. Shalom.

Easter Sermon

(Not the one I gave this year, just one I had from 2008)

EASTER

          Dying is an astonishing thing.

          And, as far as I know or can tell, the only living creatures on this planet who “know” they are going to die are human beings, like you and me. My dog, God bless him, has no idea he is going to die someday.

          But you do know, don’t you…I know you do…somewhere in the back of your mind…that you’re going to die? You do know that, don’t you? Sooner or later, in one way or another, you will say your last words, take your last breath and shuffle off this mortal coil….

          Just like that….Here today, gone tomorrow.

          Each of us will, some day or another, ‘kick the bucket’, ‘buy the farm’, ‘pass away’, ‘exit the stage’,  die.

          I’m sixty years old—older than I ever imagined being, by the way—and it was just a few months ago when I finally admitted to myself that I am mortal, that I will die.

          When I turned onto exit 3 of Interstate 91, going to the Episcopal Church at Yale to celebrate a Eucharist and realized that the rain back up on the Interstate was black ice on the exit, I knew, in my heart, I was about to die. It was a moment I will never forget. The car started sliding out of control as soon as I hit the ice, and as I was spinning around in a 360 degree arc, I had two thoughts:

          The first thought was, much more calmly than I ever imagined it would be, simply this: I AM ABOUT TO DIE.

          The second thought followed hard on the first one, because things were happening very quickly…that thought was this: I’M ABOUT TO MESS UP CHRISTMAS FOR A LOT OF PEOPLE THIS YEAR….

          Obviously, I didn’t die. And, beyond the two plates in my left arm that gave me some impressive scars, I’m pretty much back to ‘normal’—though more people that you might think have commented that what is ‘normal’ to me is up for grabs….

          Herbert Hoover, the only president we’ve ever had who was known for not ‘saying much’, was stopped as he came out of church one Sunday by a reporter who asked, “Mr. President, what did the preacher talk about today?”

          Hoover said, simply, “Sin.”

          The reporter asked what the preacher said about sin and the President replied, “He’s agin’ it….”

          That’s what I have to say about dying. “I’m agin’ it.”

          I’ve lost some dear, lovely friends in the past year because they died. And “I’m agin’ it.”

          But there it is, waiting for us somewhere down the road—death.

          Jesus died.

          He died a horrible death—suffocation is what killed people who were crucified. The loss of blood and the nails and even the beating before that wasn’t what killed him. He died because, hanging on a cross, his diaphragm could no longer push air out of his lungs and he suffocated to death. Sometimes the executioners would break the legs of those being crucified to make sure death would come more quickly since the victim couldn’t hold himself up and make his diaphragm work.

          This is obviously not the Easter Sermon you came to hear. I’ve said nothing cheery yet.

          But there is this—after Jesus died…died as all of us will…--after that and after he was sealed in a tomb, he simply wasn’t dead anymore. In an instant that must have rocked the universe, he was alive again…and forever.

          That’s the Easter message: Life conquers Death.

          That’s what we should all carry in our hearts—today and always.

          LIFE CONQUERS DEATH.

          No matter what befalls us—life conquers death.

          No matter how dark the day is—life conquers death.

          No matter how things fall apart—life conquers death.

          Now and forever and forever—life conquers death.

          That is my Easter message: Life Conquers Death.

          Alleluia, he is risen! He is risen indeed, Alleluia.

          Amen and Amen.

          Joyful Easter to you all.