The Long Unwinding Road

There are times when it is hard, if not impossible, to imagine what lies ahead...down the road-of-life.  When I was sixteen...I had no clue. 
At nineteen, when the twins were born...I might have thought I knew what parenthood was like, but not really.  Not even close.
When I began my professional career as a clergy-person, at age twenty-nine, I was in no way whatsoever clear on what sort of things were yet to come.

Since every day unfolds in surprising ways for us, it should not come as a shock that the road-of-life is never easy to discern.

How far down the road can you see?  Can you see past tomorrow?  Can you see a year down the road?  Can you see beyond the present moment?

Life is a long unwinding road, I think.  So straight that it is tempting to think we can see all the way to the horizon...as the road stretches out ahead of us.

But that is just not possible...to see all the way to the horizon.  We don't have much of a clue as to what lies ahead.  We like to think we do, but we do not.  There are simply too many variables...too much randomness.

What do you make of the picture above?  An elderly woman...with a cane...trudging down an empty street...noone else is around...the road stretches straight ahead into...into what?

You see my point.  I rest my case.

Pack your bags, its gonna be quite a trip...life-long, in fact.

Ya Just Never Know Where

Sometimes its easy.  Sometimes not so much.
There are times when it is as easy as opening your senses to your surroundings.
Other times its like trying to find a needle in a haystack.  (How and why did that needle get in the haystack, is what I wanna know.)

I am in the business of pointing others toward the finding, toward the discovery...but much of the time I am clueless myself, and couldn't make the finding or the discovery no matter how hard I tried.

Truth is, ya just never know where.

Elusive.  That's the word, elusive.

Wouldn't it be great if it were this easy?  Maybe.

There are folks who claim it is this easy.  They can and will point you to Jesus at the drop of a hat...sometimes you don't even have to drop your hat, they will grab you by the throat and take you to where their Jesus is.  Scary.

You and I would do well to stay clear of folks like that.  You and I would do well to not be like those folks.

Here is a poem, written by Peter Putnam...it sums up well my sense of how hard and how easy it is to discover God-in-the-flesh, to find Jesus.

This poem was given to Grace Lee Boggs in 2010, on her 95^th birthday. Boggs was the force behind Detroit Summer, a multicultural intergenerational youth program, in 1992. As recently as 2005, she continued to write a column for the Michigan Citizen newspaper.

 

 Detroit Jesus

Time, Inc., buys a house in Detroit
and tries to track him for a year.
But he’s invisible to those looking for a
blue-eyed dude in a white robe
or for a city gone completely to hell.

He is the cinnamon of my son’s skin
with a green thumb and a Tigers cap
and my daughter’s dove-grey eyes.
He prays into Blair’s guitar,
hangs out on Field St.,
bakes bread at Avalon
and plants tomatoes on the East side.
He rides his old-school bike down the heart
of Grand River,
paints a mural in the Corridor,
shoots hoop in the Valley
with priests and pimps and lean young men
trying to jump their way to heaven.

 At night,
while the Border Patrol counts cars,
he walks across the water
to Windsor,
grabs a bite to eat,
walks back.

Like Grace,
born in Providence,
he lives so simply,
he could live anywhere:
Dublin, Palestine, Malibu.
But Detroit is his home.
It was here one Sunday
a boy invited him down
off the cross
and into his house
for a glass of Faygo red pop.

That was centuries ago, it seems,
and how far he’s come,
reinventing himself more times than Malcolm.
He’s been to prison,
been to college,
has a tattoo of Mary Magdalene on one arm,
Judas on the other,
and knows every Stevie Wonder song by heart.

He’s Jimmy, he’s Invincible, he’s Eminem.
He’s the girls at Catherine Ferguson
and their babies,
and he’s the deepest part of Kwame
still innocent as a baby.

The incinerator is hell,
but he walks right in,
burns it up with love,
comes out the other side,
walks on.

 He can say Amen in twelve religions,
believes school is any place
where head and heart and hands
meet,
and wears a gold timepiece around his neck
with no numbers, just a question:
What time is it on the clock of the world?

 And every second of every day
he answers that question
with a smile wide as the Ambassador
and a heart as big as Belle Isle,
hugging this city in his arms
and whispering to each soul
words no one else dares to say:
You are Jesus,
this is your Beloved Community,
and the time
on the clock of the world
is Now.

Terrified by the Wonder of It All

~What do you guess life is like for most folks?  Is it mostly filled with terror, or mostly filled with wonder?
~Which is it for you? 
~Has it always been the way it is for you now, or has the terror-wonder balance shifted one or more times over the years?

My answers to the questions above would be:

~I think for most people that I know, life is more wonderful than it is terrifying.  However, there are probably many, many people I do not know, for whom it is the other way around.
~For me, life is much more wonder-full than it is terror-filled.
~The balance has always been in favor of wonder for me, but not always to the same degree.

What does that picture say to you about wonder and terror?  Does it look like a picture of someone taking in the beauty of a heavy snowfall of an evening?  Or, does it look like someone caught out in a blizzard, maybe lost, as night falls?

What about this one?  Do you think of a wonder-filled morning walk through the forest in the early morning hours, maybe just after a great cup of coffee?  Or, do you think of a terror-filled trek through a deep forest as night closes in, hearing strange sounds with every step?

One more.  When you see this picture do you think of the wonderful silence and beauty of the first snowfall of the season in the big city; or, do you think of the terror of being alone, all alone, in an unfamiliar place in the cold of the concrete and snow?

Carlos Castaneda has written this: “The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive.”

It is a delicate balancing act, for sure.  If you can, tilt the balance in favor of wonder...for yourself.  And if you can, for others, too.

Here I Come to Save the Day...

I wonder how many folks are holding out for someone to come along and make everything right in their lives.

I wonder how often folks dream about, pray for, yearn for someone to correct all wrongs, settle all scores, and turn everything around in their lives.

I wonder how many of us are folks like that.

Mighty Mouse used to save the day for folks who were in trouble in the cartoon world he lived in.  "Here I come to save the day/That mean's that Mighty Mouse is on the way..."  Developed by Terrytoons studios, the cartoon ran from 1942 to 1961.  Mighty Mouse had super-powers of flight, incredible strength, and he was invulnerable.  He could turn back time.

Mighty Mouse was one of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons when I was a kid growing up in small-town Indiana.  I knew he wasn't real, but it sure was fun to pretend that maybe there was some super-hero like him who could make everything right, make everything good, and avenge all ills.  Wouldn't it be great if he really could save the day.  Every day.  All day long.  Just for me.

Well, Mighty Mouse can't really do that sort of thing.  Not in the real world where you and I live.

Nobody can do that in the real world where you and I live.

Not even a particular god we believe in can do that in the real world where you and I live.

Some days cannot be saved.  Some days are just terrible.  That's the real world where you and I live.  That's real life.

What we do in reaction to every day of our life...the good days and the terrible days...that's what will, in some small way, save (redeem) the day.  You and I have that power.

But we don't have a really cool cape, like Mighty Mouse.

So Very, Very Close...But

Stuff like this is hard to read.  Not hard to read like stories about people being wounded or killed in fighting or war, or folks losing all they have in a natural or man-made disaster, or families being torn apart by all the things families are torn apart by; not that kind of hard to read, but hard to read, all the same.

Stuff like this may be hard to read because we all know what it feels like to be so very, very close to something big, something good, something lasting...only to never actually get the big thing, the good thing, the lasting thing.

So here is the stuff I am talking about:
"What a tough break for Chicago Cubs second baseman Darwin Barney, who was three outs away from breaking Placido Polanco's Major League record with his 142nd consecutive errorless game at second base, before committing a throwing miscue in the Cubs 8-3 loss to the Diamondbacks on Friday night."


So very, very close...but.

I offer some pictures that capture the feelings, I think, of those of us who have been so very, very close but never actually got...

I wish Darwin Barney had broken that record!  Records are meant to be broken.  Dreams are meant to be realized.  Goals are meant to be achieved.  Aren't they?  But more often than not, it seems, we read about the near-misses and not the have-gots.

Here are some words from wise people on the subject at hand:
~To risk is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk appearing sentimental. To expose feelings is to risk exposing our true self. To place your ideas, your dreams, before the crowd is to risk loss. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live is to risk dying. To try at all is to risk failure. But to risk we must. Because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The man, the woman, who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.  -Ralph Waldo Emerson


~We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope. -Martin Luther King, Jr.

~When you don’t get what you want, you suffer. If you get it, you suffer too, since you can’t hold on to it forever.  -Peaceful Warrior

~Loss is the great unifier, the terrible club to which we all eventually belong.  -Rosanne Cash

Well, since we nowadays reduce some of our deepest thoughts and greatest perplexities to bumper-sticker or T-shirt slogans, here are two T-shirts to put this whole mess in perspective...

Better luck next time, Darwin Barney.  Never stop trying.  I'm not a Cubs fan but I will be cheering you on.  You were so very, very close, man...but.

 

My First...

I can still remember my first...when I was just over 16 years old.

I am now half-way between 67 and 68 years old.

Fifty-one years later, I still remember.

That's a 1951 Studebaker Champion.  It was my first car.  Well, not that exact car, but one like it.  Not that color, mine was more maroon in color.  Mine was never that clean n' shiny.  Mine had some rather obvious rust spots.  The nice chrome hood ornament on the car pictured above was missing from my car.

When I got my car the world suddenly became larger and more accessible all at the same time.  Gas was cheap back in 1961.  27 cents per gallon.  And just to run some historical trivia for a moment: back in 1961, the average cost of a new home in the U.S. was $12,500; a first-class postage stamp was 4 cents; a gallon of milk cost 49 cents; and the Dow Jones hit a high of 734.  The average income in 1961 was $5,315.  I can still remember my dad telling me, as he was showing me how to fill out a tax form, that if he ever made $10,000 per year we would be rich!

The average cost of a new car in 1961 was $2,600.00. For that kind of money you probably could have purchased one of these beauties:

That's a '61 Chevy Impala.  Nice.  Very cool.

And a '61 Desoto.  The Chrysler Corporation used to produce that car.  Nice, I guess, but not cool. 

In 1961 John F. Kennedy was inaugurated as President of the U.S.  Later that year, Kennedy told American families to build bomb shelters.

The Berlin Wall was begun in 1961.  Also that year, The Peace Corps was established, the UN General Assembly condemned Apartheid, and sadly, the first direct U.S. military involvement in Vietnam began.  "Pony Time," by Chubby Checker was released in 1961.

Barack Obama was born in 1961 in Hawaii...although there are some really nutty and nasty people who insist this is not where he was born.  Goobers.

George Clooney, Woody Harrelson, Wayne Gretzky, and Wynton Marsalis were also born in 1961...nobody seems to doubt the fact they were all born in the places they said they were born in.

The first in-flight movie was shown on a TWA flight.

Speaking of flight, Yuri Gagarin was the first human in space.

My first car...just thinking about that 1951 Studebaker, which I became the owner of in 1961...started me thinking about all sorts of things related to 1961.  I ended my sophomore year of high school and began my junior year.  The Yankees beat the Reds in the World Series, 4 games to 1.  Notre Dame's football team had a 5-5 record.  Ugh.

In 1961 I was just 3 years away from becoming the father of twin boys, and moving from Lydick, Indiana to Inglewood, California.  Lydick had a population of about 400, Los Angeles (Inglewood was a part of that sprawling metropolis) had a population of more than 400.  More like 2-and-a-half million.  In 1961, my mother was just a little over 4 years away from dying of cancer. 

Can you remember your first?  And if you can, what other kind of memories flood back when you do?

Lots of luck with that.

Go Ahead, Make My Day...

Like you, I saw a video clip from the GOP convention where Clint Eastwood carried on a "conversation" with an empty chair.  I didn't see much humor in it...thought it was crude in a couple of spots...and, wasn't sure why the GOP would have wanted the routine to be a part of their event.  Moreover, I was very puzzled by Clint even thinking to do it.

I am aware of Clint's political persuasion.  It is different than mine.  I neither find that amazing nor disappointing.  People differ on such things.  However, I wouldn't want Clint to become a political pundit...that I would find amazing and disappointing. 

I do not want Clint to be silent on his political persuasion.  I am not one who thinks Hollywood-types should be silent on their politics, or religion, or whatever.  Just because he is an actor, director, and producer doesn't exempt him from the usual concerns and passions of the rest of us.

But.  But, Clint, I like you so much better as the guy I see up there on the big screen.  Some of your recent movies have dealt wonderfully with very important subjects.  "Gran Torino," and "Mystic River," and "Million Dollar Baby," and "Unforgiven" are some really great flicks.  And as a preacher, I can tell you, Clint, those movies will preach!

When you were that guy with no name in the Spaghetti Westerns, you were quite the screen-presence, even with very little dialogue.  And, as Dirty Harry you had me anxious for each new film as soon as I watched the current one.

Not a whole lot of people saw, or remember, your 1974 film, "Thunderbolt and Lightfoot," but I do.  And I watch it every time it is re-run on TV.  (And whenever I can re-watch "The Outlaw Josey Wales," I do.)

"Absolute Power," and "True Crime."  Two of your other really good movies, Clint.

And tomorrow, your newest, "Trouble with the Curve," comes to theatres.  I will be there.  Keep up doing what you do about as well as anybody: producing, directing, and starring in movies.

I hope I don't see you talking to an empty chair again anytime soon...although if that's the way you want to express your politics, its OK.  You won't be amazed or disappointed if I disagree with you, will you?  I didn't think so.  Its a free country, and all.

But by all means, Go Ahead, Make My Day tomorrow with your newest big-screen adventure.

On Healing, and Health, and God

Any thoughts on how God may or may not be involved in death-defying healing?  What's your position on the truthfulness of those reporting they have died and been returned to life?  If 100 people are praying for someone's return to health following an illness, or accident, or surgery, is there a better chance God will respond to those prayers than if just 3 people are doing the praying?

If God is involved in our healing and health, what does that involvement look like?

The Divine Healing website claims this: "There is an unseen world that surrounds us with love and healing, whether we believe it or not. It is the world of the Divine."

The Apologetics Coordination Team website reports that, "True Biblical Divine Healing is immediate, lasting, (and) verifiable..."

The Bible says that all things are possible to those who believe.  It also says the prayer of faith will heal the sick.

Where do you come down on these sort of pronouncments?

I am very skeptical of them.  And yes, I do realize this is a very touchy, sensitive, argument-producing topic of discussion and faith.

I want to quote Scott Russell Sanders at this point:

“How could our hearts be large enough for heaven if they are not large enough for earth?  The only country I am certain of is this one here below.  The only paradise is the one lit by our everyday sun, the land of difficult love, shot through with shadow.  The place where we learn this love, if we learn it at all, shimmers behind every new place we inhabit.” 

 

I think Mr. Sanders is suggesting that real life is the life we live...here and now...on earth...with each other.

 

And now, I want to post a captioned picture:

 

I think the picture speaks incredible truth. 

 

I believe we are able to dispense the healing and health God would want for all of us...but, of course, we have not yet come close to doing that sort of thing.  Hopefully, someday we will.

So Much Hurt...

Some folks have been hurt often.  Some folks have been hurt deeply.  Some folks have been hurt in ways they can't put into words.

Some hurts are physical (I don't know which hurts worse, back pain or dental pain...but they are the biggies I have known personally).  Some hurts are emotional.  Some hurts are mental.  Some hurts fall into the category of spiritual (it could be that when you have a soul-hurt you have a real doozy of a hurt).

It would be true to report that I have hurt folks, sometimes on purpose, more often unknowingly.

Everybody reading this blog-post has been hurt, and has hurt others. 

That's life.  At least, it is life the way we live it.

Its not always easy to escape the hurt.  Time does not heal all wounds.  Its easy to say, "Get over it," but its hardly ever that simple.

Here are some words from wise people and sources that might address in some way how we can take an exit from the hurt, and move toward healing:

*Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless. ~ Mother Teresa

*We don't see things as they are. We see them as we are. ~ Talmud

*One should count each day a separate life. ~ Seneca

*With the gift of listening comes the gift of healing. ~ Catherine de Hueck

*There is no such thing as justice -- in or out of court. ~ Clarence Darrow

*Take a day to heal from the lies you've told yourself and the ones that have been told to you. ~ Maya Angelou

*The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
    ~ Mahatma Gandhi

*Don't cry when the sun is gone, because the tears won't let you see the stars.    ~ Violeta Parra

I hope your hurts are few.  And that you refrain from hurting others.

 

 

Not Were, but Had Been…

Friday night Pretty Lady and I enjoyed an outdoor evening concert on the lawn of a wonderful city park in downtown Indianapolis.  We were within two blocks of Victory Field, home of the Indianapolis Indians baseball team, AAA affiliate of the Pittsburgh Pirates.  As the concert was in its encore presentation, the ball game ended, and it being a Friday night game, fireworks were going off just behind us.  How cool is that?  Very cool.

The concert was by the “The Dukes of September.”  A rather strange name, given we were seeing the concert on an August evening.  Of course, the “September” reference may have been assigned to celebrate the ageing stars of the show: Michael McDonald, Boz Skaggs, and Donald Fagan (one of the stars of, and originators of, the recording group known as “Steely Dan.”)  All three solo stars were on stage for the entire two-hour show, backed by a great collection of horns, keyboards, bass guitar, and drums.  Two female back-up singers had outstanding voices, and the guitarist was very, very good.  Very good.

It was a good night to be outside, and it was a very good concert.

Several hours before time to leave home for the concert, I was telling a colleague about my plans for the evening.  Her young son overheard our conversation and wanted to know if the artists headlining the concert had been famous.  Not were famous.  Had been famous.

The young man had never heard of Michael, Donald, or Boz.  Try as I might, I could not conjure up even one of their songs that he knew.  My 13-year old daughter, a few years older than my colleagues’ son, most likely would not have know the names of the were famous singers we went to enjoy that night.  She might recognize a couple of their hit tunes from the oldies radio station I listen to…but maybe not.

Fame is fleeting.

Time flies.

The music I enjoy is not the music my parents enjoyed; and its not the music my daughter enjoys.  There are other generational differences, of course, but music is a particularly obvious bone of contention.  Guess I shouldn't be so surprised by this. 

However, there is a glimmer of hope.

The very next night, Pretty Lady and I were in Brown County for a concert headlined by Carrie Newcomer.  The opening act was a young lady name Cari Ray, a darn good songwriter and pretty fair singer.  I purchased one of Carrie's CDs and two of Cari's.  When my daughter was in the car with me on Sunday, she was forced to listen to one of Cari's CDs.  She liked it!

I had gained "cool" status with my kid!

Life is good.

Sweet Dreams, Baby...

I don't remember my dreams.  I do accept that all of us dream, but I simply do not remember mine.  In a Seminary class with Dr. Wismar, we were all asked to keep a pad of paper and a pen (or pencil) on our nightstand, and, over a given period of time, to write down our remembered dreams.  We were going to discuss dream patterns...and probably some other items, as well.  I knew I would have nothing to write when I woke up in the mornings, so I faked it.  I made up some stuff and wrote it down.

Dr. Wismar (whose son gave me guitar lessons for about two years) quickly figured out I was not reporting real dreams.  We had a conversation about the whole thing...I told him I had never been able to remember my dreams...and while he sympathized, he wasn't very happy with what I had chosen to do other than be honest.

The picture above is titled "Dream State" by Howard Brink.  If I could remember my dreams, I think they would look like that picture:  no color, strange images, sorta "washed out" looking.  I think that because I tend to daydream like that picture, so I assume my nightdreams would be similar.

I have heard people describe their vivid dreams, their romantic dreams, the frightening dreams.  I've heard about dreams of falling, dreams of running away from a threat, dreams of sexual activity, dreams of heroic activities, and many more.  If I have dreams like those, I don't remember them.  Maybe I am missing out on some exciting nightime stuff...maybe not.

I have read Freud's material on dream interpretation.  There have been times I wished I had dreamt some dreams that would make a dream interpretation publication.  Only the kind of dreams that would reflect well on me, of course...not so much the other kind.

If you remember your dreams, good for you.  Maybe you could tell me about some of them so I could vicariously remember the sleeptime brain activity that all of us engage in...but not all of us remember.

Sweet Dreams, Baby!

School...

School starts tomorrow.  In Bloomington, Indiana, school starts tomorrow.  The bus taking my daughter to begin her eighth-grade year at Tri-North Middle School will arrive at 6:40ish a.m.

I can barely remember my eighth-grade year at Lydick Middle School.  I am sure that at the time, it was a big deal in my life.  It would be the final year of attending school in my small hometown.  High School would be about ten miles away in New Carlisle.  I don't think school back then started as early as it does for my daughter this year.

School started after Labor Day back in my day.  Now, it starts before the middle of August.  I think I remember school ending in early June when I attended.  My daughter will finish her final year at Tri-North before Memorial Day weekend.

That things are very different for my daughter than they were for me, school-wise, is not surprising.  And its mostly all for the better.  And even if it isn't better, there's nothing that can be done about it.  It is what it is.

I didn't have a computer in the eighth-grade.  No i-phone.  School wasn't air-conditioned.  My daughter will study what were current events in my school-days as history from half a century ago.  2 plus 2 will still equal 4, of course.  What was taught as "writing" to me is "cursive" to Hannah. 

It is what it is.

School starts tomorrow.  Time marches on.  I hope it is a very good year for my daughter, and that she will learn and experience new and positive things.  There's a chance that one or two things could go less-than-positive for her this school year, but probably nothing we can't deal with together.

My kid is in the eighth grade!

And the bus arrives at the butt-crack of dawn!

It is what it is.

Your Own Personal God...

I have a set of golf clubs...not a usual set...but my own personal set.  I don't carry a 9 iron or a pitching wedge, I let my 7 iron do the work of those two clubs that most everybody else carries in their golf bag.  I do carry a sand wedge and employ it in place of a wedge when the shot I have to make doesn't lend itself to a 7 iron.
Likewise, I don't load my golf bag up with other clubs I simply haven't mastered and choose not to use: a 3 iron, any metal-wood with a number higher than 7.
Over the years, I have purchased new clubs to replace older ones, of course, but I am still using the only putter I have ever owned.

I have the same Honda SUV model as millions of other folks, but I have personalized it to suit my tastes.  Its my own personal car...even though a whole big bunch of red CR-Vs were made and purchased between 2007 and 2012 (when the styling was revamped).

I've got my own personal stuff.  You've got your own personal stuff.  All God's children got their own personal stuff.  Including their own personal God.

The concept of God many folks...maybe even most folks...have is that of a God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever; and for everybody, too.  And if not that exact concept, one quite like it.  But that's just the God we pay lip-service to.  My guess is, from personal experience, that the real concept of God we live our daily lives in service to, is very much like the man in the picture above speaks about.

Our own personal God has the same beliefs as we do.  My God has my beliefs, and your God has your beliefs.  I don't think that plays out too well in real life, do you?

BTW, I am working on some bumperstickers:

• My God is Bigger than Your God
• Your God can't hold a Candle to Mine
• My God can Beat Up Your God

What do you think?

Once a Year, Every Year...

Every August (for a very long time) the Indiana State Fair rolls around.  And, its a good thing to go to the Fair.  For all kinds of reasons.

• Displays by all kinds of people, from 4H members to adults to senior citizens.  Paintings, home-made clothing, photographs of Indiana scenery, pies, cakes, cookies...and on and on.
• The small band that plays just outside the Home and Family Arts Building every day...great Central and South American indigenous music.
• Animals. (I especially like the tradition as you enter the Cattle Barn from the State Fair Blvd...some kids have a large black spider rigged to a nearly invisible line that they drop in your face as you enter...especially if you have kids with you.)  Sheep and cows and horses and goats and rabbits and chickens, and pigs...always some very large, huge, boar just laying there doing what a boar of that size would do: nothing (but getting bigger, maybe).
• The watermelon-seed spitting contest.  My friend, Steve, and I used to enter that thing every year...back when the Fair was an annual event for us to attend together.
• The Midway...

• Fair Food!  Great corn-on-the-cob.  Indiana Pork Producers pork chops.  Indiana Dairy Association milk shakes.  Something deep-fried...something different every year: deep fried oreo cookies, deep fried pepsi-cola, deep fried snickers bar, deep fried ice cream, and this year: deep fried Girl Scout cookies.  A doughnut burger.  An elephant ear.  What's not to like?
• Your kids.  Take your kids to the Fair.  I used to take my boys.  I used to take my grandkids.  Now I take my daughter.  Its a wonderful tradition.
• Friends.  I cannot remember ever attending the Indiana State Fair and not running into someone (or several someones) I knew.

The weather will be hot...most likely very humid, too.  But, go anyway.  Its the Indiana State Fair, for cryin-out-loud!  And it only comes once a year.  Thankfully, its every year.

Vultures on a Cross...

The picture posted with this entry is intriguing.  What does it say to you as you take a first look?   What does it say to you as you think about it a minute or two...and sneak another look?

Here's the picture:

Vultures on a cross.  Wow.  As a preacher, I can tell you that the thoughts that stream from a viewing of that picture will preach!

Just showing that picture on a screen to a group of folks gathered for a discussion or for a worship service could get some lively conversation going.

When I first viewed "Vultures on a Cross," I thought back to a blog entry by Rachel Held Evans (rachelheldevans.com).  Here is some of that blog-entry.  (Take another look at the picture and, if this applies, think of the times and churches you have been a part of or visited where what "they said" sounded like some kind of death sentence for the kind of faith you were experiencing.)


They said that if I questioned a 6,000-year-old earth, I would question whether other parts of Scripture should be read scientifically and historically.

They were right. I did.

They said that if I entertained the hope that those without access to the gospel might still be loved and saved by God, I would fall prey to the dangerous idea that God loves everyone, that there is nothing God won’t do to reconcile all things to Himself.

They were right. I have.

They said that if I looked for Jesus beyond the party line, I could end up voting for liberals.

They were right. I do (sometimes).

They said that if I listened to my gay and lesbian neighbors, if I made room for them in my church and in my life, I could let grace get out of hand.

They were right. It has.

They told me that this slippery slope would lead me away from God, that it would bring a swift end to my faith journey, that I’d be lost forever.

But with that one, they were wrong.

Yes, the slippery slope brought doubts. Yes, the slippery slope brought change. Yes, the slippery slope brought danger and risk and unknowns. I am indeed more exposed to the elements out here, and at times it is hard to find my footing...

It was easier before, when the path was wide and straight.

But, truth be told, I was faking it. I was pretending that things that didn’t make sense made sense, that things that didn’t feel right felt right...

Now, every day is a risk...
 
And they were right. All it took was a question or two to bring me here.

That's what Rachel Held Evans had to say.  I don't know if she has ever seen "Vultures on a Cross," but that picture and her words remind me that way too often, and in way too many places, what "they say" is a real buzz-kill.

Too bad about that.  Hope your faith is full of questions, and risks.  (Maybe that's what is meant by: "Ask...and it will be given; Seek...and you will find; knock...and it will open up for you."  ...I took some translation liberty with the last part of that three-part formula.)

Just for Fun

Everybody has something...maybe several somethings...they do just for fun.  I'd be surprised if that's not a true statement.

Just for fun, I watch old-time TV shows: WKRP in Cincinnati.  Bob Newhart.  Barney Miller.  Mission: Impossible.

Just for fun, on Tuesday's at noon (in the summer) I go down on Kirkwood Avenue to listen to local musicians play at Peoples' Park.

Just for fun, my wife tells me, folks might sit in a screened-in porch and talk with a friend while sharing a bottle of wine.  (I suspect she speaks from experience.)

What do you suppose some of the great figures of history did just for fun?  How about Abraham Lincoln...or, Gandhi...or, Albert Einstein...or Pablo Picasso?  Or, Jesus?  What do you suppose Jesus did just for fun?

Wouldn't that have been a great scene for the writers of the New Testament to have reported to us.  Jesus and the disciples sitting around the fire one night performing shadow puppets, just for fun...we won't ever know if it really did happen, of course, but wouldn't it be cool, if it did?

I have trouble believing Jesus was serious, and profound, and life-lesson-teaching 24/7.  Some of the stories he is reported to have told, some of the things he is supposed to have done, certainly point to his having had a sense of humor, a sense of playfulness.  Just like everybody else.

So, I'm guessing he had some things he did just for fun.  Just like everybody else.  Maybe shadow puppets.  Maybe some game we know nothing about that kids and adults played back in the day.  Back in the day when BCE was transitioning into CE.

Just for fun, try to imagine that and see what you come up with.

Play Ball! Wage Peace!

The New York Yankees. 

The Bronx Bombers.

The best team money can buy. (Mostly Red Sox fans, critics of the Yankees, throw that one out there.  And there is no doubt that pro ball players of all sports make waaaaay more money that most folks think they should.  The system behind them getting all that money implicates every pro sports fan who watches on TV, listens on the radio, or buys a ticket to go to the game...that's not the point of this posting.)

Ruth, Gehrig, Dimaggio, Berra, Maris, Kubek, Nettles, Williams, Ford, Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter!
And "The Mick."  #7, Mickey Mantle.

You got your favorite team and players.  I got mine.  The Mick has been, since I was a kid, my favorite player of all time...but Jeter is now running a close second.

I re-read the following from David James Duncan recently.  Check this out:

"I cherish a theory I once heard propounded by G.Q. Durham that professional baseball is inherently antiwar. The most overlooked cause of war, his theory runs, is that it’s so damned interesting. It takes hard effort, skill, love and a little luck to make times of peace consistently interesting. About all it takes to make war interesting is a life. The appeal of trying to kill others without being killed yourself, according to Gale, is that it brings suspense, terror, honor, disgrace, rage, tragedy, treachery and occasionally even heroism within range of guys who, in times of peace, might lead lives of unmitigated blandness. But baseball, he says, is one activity that is able to generate suspense and excitement on a national scale, just like war. And baseball can only be played in peace. Hence G.Q.’s thesis that pro ball-players—little as some of them may want to hear it—are basically just a bunch of unusually well-coordinated guys working hard and artfully to prevent wars, by making peace more interesting."

That's #2, Derek Jeter playing at short, ready for one of his patented go-to-the-left, field-it-cleanly, jump-in-the-air-and-do-a-180-to-throw-the-runner-out-at-first moves.  Yeah, that's great stuff.

I doubt, however, that Jeter thinks he is artfully preventing war by making peace more interesting.  In fact, there are far too many dang wars going on everytime he takes his position on the field.  But, I did like that piece by Duncan, if only to wish-it-were-so.

Play Ball!  Wage Peace!  They don't go hand-in-hand, but wouldn't it be nice if they did!

Take a Chance...or Else...

The biggest chance you ever took?
Or, how about the dumbest chance you ever took?
Or, if you could've seen forward in time a day or two, what is the one chance you would have refused to take?

Celine Dion sang these words:
"...what do you say to takin' chances?
What do you say to jumpin' off the edge?
Never knowin' if there's solid ground below
Or a hand to hold or hell to pay
What do you say?  What do you say?"

And there is this wisdom from some unknown source: "The only trouble with resisting temptation is that you may not get a second chance."

I don't know which one I would list as the biggest chance I ever took?  Maybe parenthood.  Maybe my profession.
Sitting on the loveseat across the front room from me, Pretty Lady says the biggest chance she ever took was driving cross-country with three kids under ten years of age.

The dumbest chance I ever took?  It was pretty dumb trying to hike across the Grand Canyon for the third time.  I wasn't really in the best shape to do it and had to be airlifted out by helicopter when my body began shutting down on me.  Thank goodness my sons were there to make the important decisions necessary to get me the heck outta there.  If I thought about it long enough, I could probably come up with something even dumber...mine has been a full life in that regard.
Julia Soul says, "If you are never scared, embarrassed or hurt, it means you never take chances."

If you could see forward in time a day or two, what is the one chance you would never take?  Well, that's just silly.  None of us can see forward in time.  And to stop taking chances based on what we think we can see down the road is to stop being fully alive.  Don't ya think?

Never knowin' if there's solid ground below
Or a hand to hold or hell to pay
What do you say? 
What do you say to takin' chances?

Here's a big chance to take: "Our lives only improve when we take chances and the first amd most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves."  (That comes from Walter Anderson.)

So, hey there, go ahead, tear off one of those "A Chance" tabs in the picture above.  Yeah, for real, take one.

Take a chance.  Or else.  Or else you'll never be fully alive.  You don't want that.  Really, you don't.

Times Away

The normal, usual, predictable, day-to-day routine of life is where most of us live most of our lives.  Mostly, we folks do today what we did yesterday; and we will do tomorrow what we did today.  Monday-thru-Friday has its routine.  And, if we are honest about it, more often than not, the weekend, even though it appears different on the calendar, has its own sameness-routine.

Since June of 1974 I have been employed as a United Methodist clergy-person, and so, the weekend having its own sameness-routine makes perfect sense to me.

Times away from the routine can be valuable life-enriching experiences.  Necessary, even. 

That's a picture of my daughter and me in an airboat on vacation in the Florida everglades two years ago.  That was a great time away from the routine of daily work and school and family life in Bloomington, Indiana.  On that vacation we also went to a Yankees spring training game in Tampa.  And, we spent time on the beach of Estero Island.

This one is a picture of me surrounded by grandchildren at a minor league baseball game in Chico, California during a vacation to my son and daughter-in-law's ranch.  That time away was a break from the routine of daily life, even though it included most of our family sharing time and space together for a week or so.

And this is a picture of Elizabeth, Hannah, and me in Chicago...reflecting on that giant "bean" in Millennium Park.  On that Spring Break time away we visited museums, ate at some unusual spots, and enjoyed fairly decent weather, considering it was springtime in the Windy City.

That's my Honda Shadow above.  I get on it for times away when the weather is nice.  Sometimes its Elizabeth and me, sometimes its Hannah and me, sometimes its just me...but rides on the bike are always excellent times away.

Times away from the routine can be valuable life-enriching experiences. Necessary, even.   Find a way for time away occassionally.  It will do a body good.  Your body.  Your good.

The Permanent Campaign and No-Compromise...

It has become dang near impossible for national elected officials to govern!  There are several reasons for this, and I am not savvy enough nor expert enough to address all of those reasons.  I mean, this is just an amateur blog-post for goodness sake.

Here are two reasons why it has become dang near impossible for national elected officials to govern...two reasons that are very easy to identify.

One reason that has become blatantly obvious in recent years is that most elected folks refuse to compromise.  How crazy this is to try and govern a country based on a constitution born of compromise...by refusing to compromise!  There is plenty of blame to go around, of course, but the most obvious example of this is the fellow elected as the Republican candidate for U.S. Senator in the Indiana primary.  His name is Mourdock, and here is what he had to say about compromise: "Bipartisanship ought to consist of Democrats coming to the Republican point of view."  That's just crazy-talk.  But, the fellow was elected, evidently by folks who believe this is the way to govern.

Another reason why it is dang near impossible for national elected officials to govern is because they are in permanent campaign-mode.  No sooner will someone be elected and they will be engaged in their next political campaign to be re-elected!

The Permanent Campaign...the never-ending need to raise millions and billions of dollars to do what, these days, must be done to keep your job as an elected official...is just killing us.  "Killing" because if an organism or an institution stays frozen-in-its-tracks long enough, it will cease to be a living thing.

Its easy to point a finger or two at the problems of non-compromise, and the permanent campaign.  Its not so easy to offer solutions.  However, I am gonna do just that.  Everybody has solutions they would suggest if they were just asked or allowed to offer them...why not me.  Here.  Now.

First off, it is impossible to govern in our society without the ability to, and the willingness to, compromise!

So, why do we voters keep electing men and women who tell us they ain't-a-gonna see somebody else's point of view, and will not work toward compromise?

Secondly, it is impossible to govern in our society while you are continually running to be re-elected!

So, why not longer elected terms-in-office...with maybe a two-term-limit, or something like that?

You probably have some thoughtful answers to these two obvious problems, too. 

Looks Like We is Stuck...

I didn't go to Tampa for the Conference.

I only watched it via Live-Streaming on my computer from time-to-time.  Never did I watch an entire session.  Except for once.  Bishop Michael Coyner had the misfortune of being in the leadership position for what may have been the shortest United Methodist General Conference session...ever.

Bishop Coyner presides over the Indiana Area of the UMC.  He is my Bishop.  He is a good and fair man...perhaps it was only fitting that he would preside over a Conference session hijacked by protesters, agitating for a more open position as regards the matter of homosexuality...allowing gay and lesbian persons to be ordained, and pastors to officiate at gay and lesbian Unions or Weddings.  For about 18 to 20 minutes the Bishop tried, calmly, to conduct business; but it was impossible to do so with protesters shouting him down, standing on tables, etc.  True to who he is, Bishop Coyner remained cool, calm, and collected...maybe not inside, but certainly on the outside.

I am in favor of folks protesting.  I am also in favor of a conference moving peaceably through its agenda.  I don't have a side to take in what happened at the session Bishop Coyner presided over.  I do, however, think he was the right person for that time and place.

We UMCs have been debating and arguing over this matter for some 40 years!  We couldn't even come together in Tampa over inserting language in our Book of Discipline (that's right up there with the Bible...not really; but you get the point: its our book of rules, positions, polity, governance, etc.) that would state that we agree to disagree on this volitile matter.  No language to the effect that "we disagree" on things at all!

There was actual business conducted in Tampa.  Nothing I will delve into here...except for the matter named above.

I read reports from friends and others who actually attended the Conference...some as delegates, most as observers.  I found this:
"An 18th Century structure cannot sustain a 21st century global organization."  A very interesting blog-observation from a Conference attendee, Maria Dixon Hall. She continued: "While as a denomination, we will not disappear over the next 4 years, I believe that the Fat Lady has taken off her kaftan and is looking through sheet music and for an evening gown."

I paid attention when one friend, Mark Dicken, a delegate, posted on FaceBook that he was discouraged...or maybe it was disheartened...or angry.  At any rate, he was not feeling overjoyed as he returned to northern Indiana from Tampa.

I should point out that, as relates to the matter mentioned earlier, Dixon and Dicken would come down on opposite sides of the debate.  Discouraged was the one thing they shared in common.

The preacher at my church yesterday, talking about Jesus as the Good Shepherd, and how his view of things opens new windows for us to see through...said that we should never make our fold the prototype for the whole flock. All the sheep in one fold might look (and think, and smell, and act...my words, not her's) alike, but that one fold of sheep is in no way the whole-world's worth of sheep that make up the flock Jesus calls his own.  Look out the window, the preacher was suggesting, there's more to the world than your little corner of it!

That preacher, she knows her stuff.  But that ain't easy "stuff" to wrestle with.  Some of the folks on either side of the matter are downright nasty!  Each believes they are correct (who is gonna hold on to a belief they think is incorrect?). 
 
I do have a dog in this fight (a phrase I learned from another Indiana Bishop, Woodie W. White).  I have taken a side in the matter.  I think folks on the other side should see it my way.  They think the same thing over there on their side.
 
The dog in the picture above seems to me to be the United Methodist Church at this point in its history.  I could be wrong...but I could be right.  I don't know who the "some kind soul" will be to pull our UMC butt out of the bind we've gotten ourself into...maybe God's Spirit; maybe some lightning-flash of new truth; maybe some wise Bishop, or wise clergy person, or wise lay person.  Maybe it will take something more dramatic and drastic.
 
But it sure do seem like we is stuck!
 
 



What Was Supposed to Become of Us...

About twenty centuries or so ago, half a world away from where I sit as I write this blog, Jesus of Nazareth, son of a carpenter and his wife...very normal folks and parents, most likely, by the way...began a small movement centered around recognizing God loves us all, and wishes us to treat each other the way God always treats us: Gracously.

That's a very short and simple (but not simplistic...as in meaning "overly simple") explanation of a now-world-wide religious movement.  I am aware that there are many articles of faith, myths, traditions, practices, and long-held beliefs that have attached themselves to this Jesus-movement that I am excluding from consideration here, but I am just going with love and graciousness for my purposes right now. 

OK then, here we go.  I attended a gathering at my church this afternoon at which youth and adults visited with a Bloomington resident and IU professor, and member of the Islamic community.  The gentleman took time to explain his faith as he understood it, and outlined the similarities and differences between his faith and the Christian and Jewish faiths.  (I especially liked hearing that in his faith there is no notion of "original sin.")

The hour-long conversation got me to wondering:  What was supposed to become of those early-on followers of the Jesus-movement?  And what was supposed to become of all the followers thereafter?

Were we supposed to become bogged down in deciding who God does and does not love, or will not treat graciously?  (Jesus cleared that up, I thought.)  Were we supposed to become arrogant about our way of understanding God most clearly...thru the message of Jesus; all the while laughing at, or snickering about, or even attempting to eradicate other understandings of God?

Were we supposed to become gracious...or hard-hearted?  Were we supposed to become lovers...or haters?  Were we supposed to become tolerant...or not?  Open to new truths...or not?  Were we supposed to become more like Jesus...or less?

The cartoon above may be a bit harsh for some folks, but for me it points to the worst that can become of us as we try to live out our faith in God.  I would hope that we could demonstrate the best that can become of us instead: that we celebrate God's love for us by being gracious to each other.



Grape Malts

There is a Brusters Ice Cream shop just about a mile from our house. And there is a Jiffy-Treat Ice Cream shop about a mile or so further away. Good stuff, that ice cream. When I go to the Jiffy Treat, I always order a small dish of cherry cordial...there are small chocolate bits mixed in with real cherries and french-vanilla ice cream. Brusters rarely has the black cherry or raspberry flavors that I like when I go there...so its usually mint choco-chip I order. Another Jiffy-Treat in the next town west has great blueberry malts! Great. Blueberry. Malts. I don't eat much ice cream, really. Probably much less than the national average. But I do like it every now and then. In the small town where I grew up was the Lydick Ice Cream Parlor. I don't remember ordering a whole lot of ice cream there (well, quite a few chocolate malts over my 18 years there) but I do remember really good hamburgers, and really, really good fountain drinks. A "Green River" is to die for...at least as I remember it.

A real treat when I was a kid was to load into the back seat of the Studebaker and go with my dad and mom, and my brother, to the Bonnie Doon restaurant near the Bendix plant and have the car-hop bring our burgers and fries and drinks to the driver-side window of the car. The Bonnie Doon in the picture above is just a small version of the bigger one we used to frequent. I always...and I am talkin ALWAYS...ordered a grape malt. Oh man, those things were good. Really good. I can remember the whole experience, and especially the taste of the grape malt to this day. I wonder if my young daughter will remember Brusters or Jiffy-Treat in that same sort of way. I hope so. Good memories are really good things. Great gifts from a distant past that have the power to brighten life no matter what the present day has been like. Make that a Large Grape Malt, please!

School House Rock..

Remember that cartoon, "School House Rock?" Great teaching and learning tool from back in the day. I remember taking my daughter to see a live version of the best of that show which was staged at Vincennes High School...she loved it. Of course, when she got a bit older, she denied liking it as much as she did when we experienced it. Such are the rules of kid-life.

School House Rock: The interesting dissonance between my school-years and my childrens' school-years. School House Rock: An angst-producing time of life that can cause serious rift between parent and child.

This is where I went to High School. New Carlisle (Indiana) High School. We were the Tigers. Great times, those were: 1959-63.

This is where we used to hang out when we weren't in school. The Soda Bar. Classy, huh?

I am positive that my parents thought my school, and my hang-out, and my social circle (pretty sure we used to just call that "our friends") were not up to the standards of their back-in-the-day school, and hang-out, and social circle. I'm positive about that because they told me so.

Way back in 1959-63, the School House Rock played on. We thought it was the best of times; our parents, not so much. We had TV to ruin us; they didn't. We had Elvis to seduce us; they didn't. We had more opportunities to "mix" with the opposite sex; they didn't.

I don't remember having those kinds of thoughts about my (now in their 40s) sons and their school-time. Maybe because their "time" didn't seem all that different from my "time." Still, I am sure that if you were to ask them about their dad's angst during those days, you would conclude that the School House Rock played on. Maybe I just don't remember way-back-then as clearly as I ought.

But now...now, my daughter is in 7th grade, headed for High School soon. I am here to tell you, that with what I think is very good reason, School House Rock is getting quite rocky, indeed.
Sure would be nice to go back to that night in Vincennes High School when both dad and daughter were enjoying an idealized version of what life would always be like.
School House Rock. Yeah, no thanks!