Christian Abnormalities

Liz was my next door neighbor and every time I walked down the street to the church, we exchanged greetings.  She was not a church-goer, but she was always friendly and neighborly and liked to tell me the kind of stories church members would never tell the preacher.  In the beginning I think she was just trying to “egg” me on and hoping to make me blush.  She was Liz—everywhere!  No phoniness, no mask, no game-playing, she was just who she was.  She played the piano and often times as I walked past her home in the evenings and heard her music, I would go up on her porch and do a little dance.  She got quite a kick out of the “preacher” dancing on her porch and later as we became good friends, she would say, “I don’t know how you ever became a preacher!”  I took that as one of the greatest compliments anyone could possibly give me.  (By the way, I don’t like the word “preacher, reverend,” etc).

You see, preachers (including me) and church people often exhibit religious abnormalities.  We cover up our real selves and become Pharisees, Sadducees, and staid religious folk (sometimes just on Sundays—and sometimes all the time). I know this to be true because I have been caught up in it myself from time to time. Liz was Liz all the time and she was fun to be around just because she was Liz.  

Granddaughter Katie dancing the night away with
her Grandad!  Living water!

Jesus said that his message was “living water;” living water dances, it flashes, it ripples, it sings!  Contemporary followers of Jesus seem to have a lot of trouble with “living water!” Remember how those who first saw him reacted to him?  They turned away from him because he wasn’t the “religious type.”  They couldn’t figure out how he ever became a preacher.  He broke all the rules!  And though sad, it is true, religious people ever since have sought to bring Jesus into conformity with their supposed “religious person” stereotype.  Jesus’ message to us is the gospel, the shout of good news:  and good news makes for a party, where people dance and sing and celebrate. Somehow that good news has become garbled, distorted, and overshadowed by  our religious abnormalities.

These religious abnormalities are also reflected in the way in which we have twisted the teachings of Jesus to fit our own opinions and lifestyles.  We “love to tell the story, of Jesus and His love,” but we have changed the story—it is our story now, not His.

The Age Slump

A friend wrote, “My body is affirming the long standing belief I’ve held that 77 marks the beginning of old age.”  A few days later I saw Jim.  Jim is 85 at least, if not older.  Jim said he mowed two acres of grass the day before—on one of the hottest days we’ve had this summer.  Then I had breakfast with my friend, Vernon.  He will be 82 years old tomorrow and is still going strong.  He told me I was just a youngster!  What does it mean to be old?  Are we old or just stuck in the Age Slump? 

Over the next new hilltop

Or through the garden gate

Or just around the bend of the road,

The great adventures wait.

And when my mind leaps not,

And when my heart is cold

To the call of the road and the gate and the hill,

I shall know that I am old. (Source unknown)

You’re getting old when you don’t care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don’t have to go along.  You’re getting old when work is a lot less fun—and fun is a lot more work. You’re getting old when it takes longer to rest than to get tired.  You’re getting old when you realize that caution is the only thing you care to exercise.  You’re getting old when you wake up with that morning-after feeling, and you didn’t do anything the night before.  You’re getting old when you take on the cardiologist’s diet:  if it tastes good, spit it out!  You’re getting old when the doctor says, “I have good news and bad news—the good news is that you are not a hypochondriac.”  You’re getting old when you find it difficult to be nostalgic because you can’t remember anything.

Some say old age is no fun at all, but it could be, if one could just muster some energy.  For example, statistics show that at the age of seventy, there are five women to every man.  Now isn’t that the darnedest time for a guy to get those kinds of odds?  Wisdom comes with age, but by the time a man is wise enough to watch his step, he’s too old to go anywhere or have any fun.  “Of course,” says the 80 year old, “I’m against sin; I’m against anything that I’m too old to enjoy!”

Dr. Seuss writes:  “I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups [will] happen to you.  You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch.  You’ll be left in a Lurch.  You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump.  And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.  And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun.  Un-Slumping yourself is not easily done.”

Personal Values and Politics

A post appeared on my Facebook page a few days ago (one of those “Like” posts) suggesting that political comments should cease to be posted on Facebook.  "No one cares," the post said, "about your political views anyway." The comments on this post indicated that friendships are being damaged and some actually being lost because of political posts.  Still other comments suggested that political posts do not change another person's political position and, therefore, are a wasted and unwanted effort.  "Let's post," some commented, "about something we care about, something other than politics."

Social media is social media and is defined as "forms of electronic communication (such as Facebook, Twitter, Blogs and Web sites) through which people create online communities to share information, ideas, personal messages, etc."  Personal messages are fine. I enjoy sharing my own travel adventures and reading about the travel adventures of others on FB.  I enjoy reading about and seeing pictures of my FB friends and their families. But, whether we realize it or not, politics is present in these posts too. Politics is  an essential part of  our social life and our conversation (social media).  It has to be, because we think, we act, and we live according to our political views.  Our political views are derived from our personal value systems.  We tend to think that politics is about the government, those who run for office, etc., but at base, politics is “of, for, and having to do with citizens.”  A simple definition of politics is "the opinions and thoughts that someone has about what should be done by government..." These “opinions and thoughts” are, in fact, our deepest and most cherished values. 

When Franklin Graham erroneously says, “Christians need to vote for Trump (because) he embodies our values,” he is affirming precisely the point I am making.  His so-called “Christian values,” however, are not mine!  Nor does Mr. Trump “embody my values!” Indeed, his values are antithetical to my values! The point I’m making is that our thoughts and opinions are based on our personal values and thus everything we do, think, and say, reflects our politics.  And I might add, that just as my voice is my own and I will not give it to anyone, neither will I give to anyone, or give to any party, the trust “to embody my values.” Nor will I cease to express my values (politics) on Facebook, Twitter or anywhere else because it is impossible not to express them and still be me!

Keep The Clown in You Alive!

John Mostoller was known as “Percy” the Clown.  John and I became yoked together many years ago through the Yokefellow Movement.  We shared so much together and I miss him these days.  We were both concerned about those incarcerated and worked together in the Yokefellow Prison Ministry.  John’s family were “circus people” and John continued that heritage by becoming “Percy” the Clown.  He used his “clowning” to deliver his message and his “act” made that message come alive to his audiences.

Percy the Clown always ended his “act” with this prayer:

“Lord, as I stumble through this life, help me create more laughter than tears, dispense more happiness than gloom, spread more cheer than despair.  Never let me grow so big that I will fail to see the wonder in the eyes of a child, or the twinkle in the eyes of the aged.  Never let me forget that I am a clown, that my work is to cheer people up, make them happy, and make them laugh, make them forget momentarily all the unpleasant things in their lives. Never let me acquire success to the point where I will discontinue calling upon my Creator in the hour of need, or acknowledging and thanking him in the hour of plenty.  And in my final moment, may I hear you whisper:  ‘When you made MY people smile, you made ME smile.’”  (Percy)

Many years ago, I encouraged one of my parishioners to go to a “Clown Seminar” and use her “clowning” as John used Percy to deliver her particular message.  Later, she gave me a photo of herself in her clown garb.  On the photo she wrote, “Hal, keep the clown in you alive!”  

“Never let me forget,” Percy prayed, “that I am a clown.”  I’ve often forgotten the “clown” in me.”  How about you?  Aren’t we all clowns to some degree and haven’t we all buried the clown within us by our seriousness, self-importance, and religiosity (in whatever form)?  Maybe if we kept the Clown alive in us we wouldn’t be embarrassed when we acted the “buffoon!” Instead of being embarrassed by our buffoonery we’d laugh at ourselves as every authentic clown does.  Wouldn’t that be a freeing moment—to laugh and laugh and laugh at our own silliness and foolishness? Some might say that we have enough clowns around without adding more.  The truth of the matter is that we are all clowns and we are all needed in this world!  Percy knew this and prayed, “…as I stumble through this life, help me create more laughter than tears, dispense more happiness than gloom, spread more cheer than despair.”

Doxologies and Dirges

Some say it is the worst of times and paint a dismal picture dark with gloom and despair.  Some say it is the best of times and paint with bright colors the canvas of the future.  Certainly our time is not the worst of times when we consider past history.  For example, in 1665 the Great Plague swept over the city of London leaving in its wake about 70,000 dead.  Then came the great fire of 1666, which destroyed four-fifths of the city.  Samuel Pepys viewed the destruction around him and wrote in his diary:  “All is death and despair.  I do not believe we shall ever recover from this double tragedy.”

Not all shared the pessimism of Pepys.  John Dryden wrote “Annus Mirabilis” (Year of Wonders) in 1666.  Samuel Johnson said that Dryden used the phrase “annus mirablilis” because it was a wonder that things were not worse.  In his poem, Dryden describes the tragic Plague and the Great Fire and yet he speaks of his own deep spirit of optimism.  After the fire is spent, he imagines a new city of London rising from the ashes “with silver paved, and all divine with gold” which will last until the “death of time.”  Bishop Key, a prominent clergyman of the period, also lived through these disasters.  His response to the challenges of the time was  to pen the words that we now call “The Doxology:”  

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts….;

In our time there are many who see nothing but darkness.  Their songs are dirges.  Their central theme is despair.  Their attitude is cynical and their spirit is devoid of hope.  Their primary message is one of “doom and gloom.”  They are down on people who are different; they stand against the stream of time and science, blind to anything positive in the world around them (wanting to go back to a time and place that is no more) and they are afraid, angry, paranoid, frustrated, as well as immersed in self-pity.

To be sure, there are harsh realities in our time, challenges that seem insurmountable, but I’d rather sing a doxology than spend my life singing a dirge.  With Jean Jaures, it seems to me our wisest course is to “Take from the altars of the past the fire—not the ashes.”

Don’t Give Your Voice To Anyone

The subject of this writing has stirred about in my mind for a number of days and as I kept repeating to myself, “Don’t give your voice to anyone,” it took on a musical quality.  I wondered where the music came from and finally remembered the line (Don’t give your heart to anyone) from the popular song, “Save the Last Dance for Me.”

Oh I know that the music's fine

Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun

Laugh and sing, but while we're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone

"We're not his (Donald J. Trump) defamers," a reporter wrote. "We're just his stenographers.  We let him talk…” So, I’m just being a stenographer as I write what  Mr. Trump said in his acceptance speech last week: “Every day I wake up determined to deliver for the people I have met all across this nation that have been ignored, neglected and abandoned. … These are people who work hard but no longer have a voice,” Trump said. “I am your voice.” 

Others have said the same and promised to speak for us.  “I am your voice.”  Don’t give your voice to anyone!  Not to Donald Trump, not to Hillary Clinton, not to your representative, not to your spouse, not to anyone!  Your voice is uniquely your own.  It is your's to say what you want to say and no one else can say it the way your own, your very own, voice can.   Don't let anyone be your voice for no one else can really be that for you.  Your voice is your very own and I beg you to hang on to it and to use it as only you can.

Why do I say this?  I say it because I have, on occasion, given my voice to another or to some group through the years.  Let me explain.  In the early days of my ministry I gave my voice to a congregation when they suggested I preach only the things they wanted to hear.  For a number of years, I gave my voice away to the religious denomination to which I belong, allowing them to speak for me and proclaim things I did not support.  I gave my voice to my vocational colleagues, permitting them to speak for me and pronounce things I could not tolerate.  As a member of a pastoral team I gave my voice away to the senior team member, because my voice was a disturbance to the cause.  There were times as an Air Force Chaplain when I gave my voice away to those who outranked me.  I confess this and I  regret it with all that is within me.  Don’t give your voice to anyone.  Speak your own mind and use your own voice in doing so.

Sunset on the Pacific in Costa Rica

   

The Porch

It is silly, I know, but with the weather forecast today predicting a temperature of 100° I’m sitting here in my air-conditioned study wondering if I’ll be able to sit on the deck this morning.  The deck is very small, only 10’ x 12’ with a little awning for shade, but in my mind it is spacious.  My study is about the same size as the deck and it, too, for me, is a spacious space. Both the study (especially in the winter) and the deck (especially in the summer) provide me “a place to sit and think and look out on the stream of life.”

I grew up in a house with a large back porch.  It had bannisters all around it.  In my childhood imagination those bannisters became more than bannisters.  Straddling one of those bannisters, I would ride my imaginary horse for hours, leading my imaginary band of “cowboys” across the plains and mountains of my mind.  Oh, what wondrous adventures I enjoyed on that porch. 

The porch also provided a place to play on a rainy day and a place where we sat as a family in the summer evenings.  I can still see my mother and grandmother sitting there snapping green beans or shelling lima beans, or my father and grandfather cutting potatoes to plant in the newly plowed garden.  It was there, in the summer time, that baskets of tomatoes and peaches and other vegetables were placed awaiting canning.  My brother and I, sneaking a salt shaker from the kitchen and a tomato from one of the baskets, would climb a tree in the back yard and enjoy one of the best snacks in all the world.  The porch was a breath of fresh cool air compared to the heat within our house in mid-summer.  When visitors came, we would all go to that spacious porch, the children playing on one side and the adults, sitting in the rocking chairs, on the other.  

I should add that there was another dimension to our back porch—it had a crawl space beneath it .  That space became special too.  It was a place to hide when playing “hide and seek” and a place to hide when Mom was looking for us to do some chore.  It, too, was spacious when seen and experienced with the eyes of a child.

“The disappearance of the porch on our houses,” Douglas Steere quotes, “is something to think over.  This old porch represented a contemplative element in American life” and was a place to spend leisure, to read, “a place to sit and think and look out on the stream of life.”The deck awaits me and bids me come, to sit beneath the awning and think and look out on the stream of life.

Rabid Paranoia

Paranoia is a “mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically elaborated into an organized system.  It may be an aspect of chronic personality disorder, or drug abuse, or of a serious condition such as schizophrenia in which the person loses touch with reality.”  Paranoia manifests itself  in persecution complexes and delusions. 

Paranoia is a thought process influenced by anxiety or fear, often to the point of delusion and irrationality.  It manifests itself in “conspiracy theories” and “perceived threats” towards oneself or a nation.  It leads to making false accusations and is generally distrustful of others who are different, whether in thinking, race, or culture, etc.  It is often expressed with a religious fervor.

Yesterday a post appeared on my Facebook page that expresses the rabid paranoia rampant in our society today.  The post was about Franklin Graham, son of the world-renown evangelist, Billy Graham, who is urging Christians to vote for Donald J. Trump.  Graham feels that Trump has “been chosen by God,” saying, “the reality TV star was the only thing standing between Christians and death camps.”  “The liberal Democrats are openly hostile to Christians,” said Graham.  “We won’t survive four more years of Democrat-led government.  I can see them rounding Christians up and putting us in death camps unless we follow their laws that want to grant special rights to gays and transgender people.”  “Christians need to vote for Trump,” Graham goes on to say, “he embodies our values.”

Solar Eclipse, Wales, March 20, 2015

This is absolutely ludicrous.  It is pathetic. It is a classic example of rabid paranoia. It is delusional. It is a distortion of reality and of the Christian message.   It would seem to me that Graham’s statements would be repugnant to both Republicans, Independents, and Democrats, and most of all to Christians (regardless of their political leanings).   Graham seems to be saying that all Christians are, by virtue of being Christian, Republican, or at least supporters of Donald J. Trump.  That too, is delusional.

Rabid Paranoia

Paranoia is a “mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-important, typically elaborated into an organized system.  It may be an aspect of chronic personality disorder, or drug abuse, or of a serious condition such as schizophrenia in which the person loses touch with reality.”  Paranoia manifests itself  in persecution complexes and delusions. 

Paranoia is a thought process influenced by anxiety or fear, often to the point of delusion and irrationality.  It manifests itself in “conspiracy theories” and “perceived threats” towards oneself or a nation.  It leads to making false accusations and is generally distrustful of others who are different, whether in thinking, race, or culture, etc.  It is often expressed with a religious fervor.

Yesterday a post appeared on my Facebook page that expresses the rabid paranoia rampant in our society today.  The post was about Franklin Graham, son of the world-renown evangelist, Billy Graham, who is urging Christians to vote for Donald J. Trump.  Graham feels that Trump has “been chosen by God,” saying, “the reality TV star was the only thing standing between Christians and death camps.”  “The liberal Democrats are openly hostile to Christians,” said Graham.  “We won’t survive four more years of Democrat-led government.  I can see them rounding Christians up and putting us in death camps unless we follow their laws that want to grant special rights to gays and transgender people.”  “Christians need to vote for Trump,” Graham goes on to say, “he embodies our values.”

Solar Eclipse, Wales, March 20, 2015

This is absolutely ludicrous.  It is pathetic. It is a classic example of rabid paranoia. It is delusional. It is a distortion of reality and of the Christian message.   It would seem to me that Graham’s statements would be repugnant to Republicans, Independents, and Democrats, and most of all to Christians (regardless of their political leanings).   Graham seems to be saying that all Christians are, by virtue of being Christian, Republican, or at least supporters of Donald J. Trump.  That too, is delusional.

Grandma's Rocking Chair

Grandma’s rocking chair is one of my most cherished possessions, because my memories of her have always been of her sitting in that special chair.  I found the chair in my grandfather’s barn in 1973 and brought it home hoping it could be restored.  It was in bad shape, several spindles broken and the chair covered with that old black varnish often found on early 20th century furniture.   The first task of the restoration was to strip that old finish off.  Someone recommended that I talk with Sadie (an expert “stripper” of antique furniture here in our town) about how to remove the varnish in the tight places.  Sadie was willing to help me and to show me some of the tricks of her trade.  

With the rocking chair stripped of the old varnish, the next task was to restore the broken oak spindles. I talked with my friend Mort McCardell (a woodworker here in our town) and we searched his workshop for some similar oak pieces that might match the original spindles but we could find nothing. As we walked out of his workshop he spied his wife’s clothesline pole.  It was white oak, Mort said, just right if I could find someone with a lathe to turn that clothesline pole into the spindles I needed.  He recommended Paul.

Paul was a “jack-of-all-trades” in our town. He agreed to turn Mort’s wife’s clothesline pole on his lathe to furnish the three spindles I needed to repair Grandma’s rocking chair.  Looking at the chair today, you cannot tell any difference between spindles Paul turned and the original ones.  He volunteered to help me re-glue the chair—taking it apart piece by piece—and then putting it back together again.    

Now it was time to apply a finish of some sort on the chair.  Someone recommended that I talk with Merry Noel, who at the time, was re-finishing antique furniture.  She was happy to share a secret formula she had concocted and so it was that Grandma’s rocking chair was brought back to life.

At some point, some thirty years later, someone sat in the rocking chair and the curved arm of the chair split.  I took the chair to George (a new woodworker in our town).  George repaired the    arm with such finesse that one cannot even see the mend. This year some of the joints in the chair became loose, and again George came to the rescue, re-gluing every joint and bringing Grandma’s rocking chair back to life yet again.  

Yesterday morning I sat in Grandma’s rocking chair and thought not only of my grandmother,  but also of Sadie, Mort, Paul, Merry Noel and George, realizing that the rocking chair itself is not my most cherished possession after all.  I cherish more the memory of those who helped bring it to life again.

History and Political Correctness

A knowledge of history (the study of past events) is vital to our future.  Any attempt to re-write it for any cause (Right or Left) can be catastrophic and to ignore history is the death knell to our society’s future.  Even more dangerous than re-writing or ignoring history is not to “know” or “pay attention” to the events of the past—even our recent past.  

This morning I’m thinking about how things were “back in the day” as we say.  Some folk want to go back to some other time as in “Make America Great Again,” but they don’t say what “other time” they want to return to.  Do we want to go back to the 1800’s, 1900’s or some early part of the twentieth century?  I don’t want to go back to any of those times.  I’d much prefer to go forward.  But many voices cry out to go back—to wherever or whatever.

I hear some saying they want to go back to a time when the words “politically correct” were nonexistent.  That’s okay with me as long it doesn’t mean going back to being nasty toward one another.  I really don’t have any problems with getting rid of the term.  I never liked it! From my perspective, the term is shallow and doesn’t go far enough to satisfy what I think is the “moral law of the universe.”  This moral law is written in the pages of ancient history—from the Code of Hammurabi, the works of Plato, the Talmud, the Bible, the Koran, and also written in the human heart (when we allow ourselves to be human).  I could choose a passage from any of many sources describing or expressing this moral law, but since I am a Christian, I’ll just refer you to the passages found in the Gospel of Matthew, chapters 5 and 6.  And as an American, I’ll refer you to the Declaration of Independence, a document in which this “moral law” is deeply embedded.  So let’s do away with “political correctness” and begin living with one another at the deeper level of this moral law of the universe:  “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all people [men] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”  

I surely don’t want to go back to a time when some saw free public schooling as something which “invaded the field of individual initiative” and was a “gratuitous education” for those “who were better suited to their station without it,” and as “creeping socialism.”   I do not want to go back to segregated schools and restrooms and drinking fountains.   Nor do I want to go back to 1849 when a prominent educator heard Susan B. Anthony make a speech.  It wasn’t what she said that shocked him—it was the fact that a woman should make a public speech at all.  “Miss Anthony,” he said to her afterward, “that was a magnificent address.  But I must tell you that I would rather see my wife or my daughter in her coffin than hear her speaking, as you did, before a public assembly.”

"...this moment it will break from the bud.  Can you
not perceive it?" (Isa. 43:18, NEB).

There is a moral law in this universe that bids us to love one another, do good to one another, treat others as we would want to be treated, etc.  It goes further than, and deeper than, any form of political correctness.  We can do away with that term—because it is small and narrow—and doesn’t do justice to the moral code of the universe.

The Thoughts of Others

My thoughts are not my own.  They are born out of all that I have experienced, seen and felt through the years.  They are born out of what others have shared of their experiences and what they have seen and felt.  I wonder this morning if I have ever had an original thought of my own.  My thinking is colored by my parents, my upbringing, my environment, my teachers, and the books I have read.  All our thinking is plagiarized to some degree.   I think it important for all of us to acknowledge this reality and give credit where credit is due, rather than pretending that we are the first to ever discover this truth or that truth. Such acknowledgement saves us from thinking more highly of ourselves than we ought to think.

Arthur Gossip, a much-revered Scottish Protestant minister, tells of how he came in the late afternoon of an exhausting day visiting his parishioners and at four o’clock stood at the foot of a five-story tenement building where one of his parishioners lived on the top floor.  He said that he was feeling exhausted and said to himself, “I’ll go home now, and come back tomorrow.”  At that point, a vision of a pair of stooped grey shoulders started slowly up the steps and a voice seemed to say, “Then I’ll have to go alone.”  Gossip concluded his story by saying, “We went together.”  

Such a story has been told by many others, and the idea, the thought, the experience parallels my own—and so my thoughts about religious experience are not really my own, they are not new or original, but colored by the experiences and the thinking of others.

Anker Larsen wrote, “I sat in my garden but there was no place in the world where I was not.”  Have you ever experienced this feeling, this thought?  When I experienced this thought just the other day, sitting on my deck in the back lawn, I thought it was something only I had ever thought.  But no, others (like Larsen) have felt the same and thought the same—my thoughts are not original.  Anker Larson also wrote, that the greatest thing that any man could do for another was to confirm the deepest thing he has within him.  So it is, the thoughts of others “confirm” our own. 

Perhaps only God can say, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not my ways” (Isaiah 55:8, NEB). 

The first Dahlia blossom of 2016

The First Amendment

There are days when I wonder (as we all do) if what I do and say makes any significant difference in this world.  Oh, well, I’ll say it anyway! It is my bounden duty to do so and my First Amendment right!

Al Smith (1873-1944) was the first Catholic nominee for President in 1928.  He wasn’t the “cleanest guy” in the world.  But then, who is (politician or non-politician)?  Smith was governor of New York four times and did a fairly good job, but having links with the notorious Tammany Hall machine that controlled New York City’s politics and being a Roman Catholic prevented him from reaching the White House.  It wasn’t the other party, the Republicans, who defeated Smith, it was his own party, the conservative Democrats, who could not tolerate a Catholic in the highest office in the land.  It would take another thirty-some years before that would happen even though we say we honor the First Amendment of the Constitution:  “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances  (italics mine).”

Today we seem to honor the Second Amendment (at least the NRA interpretation of it) as being more important than the First!  Discrediting or denying the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances” is a far greater assault upon the Constitution than having to register and be licensed to own an assault rifle.   There is a reason why this freedom to assemble is the “First” Amendment and not the “Second.”  

O beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the
years thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by
human tears!...America! America!
God mend thine every flaw, confirm
thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.

Now back to Al Smith.  He once said to a self-important politician:  “Go stick your finger in a pail of water and take it out again, and see what a hole you have made.”  That seems to sum up the feelings  and frustrations of many Americans today.  How do we make a difference?  How can we be heard?  What can we do?  I, for one, am going to stick my finger in that pail of water—and if enough sound-minded citizens will do the same we might, just might, make a hole in it and preserve the First Amendment. 

The Crucifixion of Our Intellect

Cyprian (200-258 CE) was considered one of the pre-eminent writers of Western Christianity in his day.  He once wrote, “It is a bad world, an incredibly bad world…”  And so it seems this morning as I ponder the events of the last several weeks.  “It is a bad world, an incredibly bad world.” History tells us Cyprian had it right.  Well, almost right!  For in spite of all the “bad” there is in the midst of it “good!”  History tells us that too.  There once lived a Nero and there once lived a St. Francis of Assisi.  There was a Hitler and there was an Albert Schweitzer.  Always, we must use what Elton Trueblood called the “holy conjunction”—It is a bad world AND it is a good world.  It is BOTH a good world and a bad world.  Without the use of the holy conjunctions our world becomes an “either/or.”  Either it is a bad world or it is a good world.  We must use AND and BOTH if we want to survive mentally and spiritually.  The “either/or” approach will do us in for it is a crucifixion of our intellect!

We can see this “either/or mentality” clearly in our own lives where “either/or” often reigns supreme as in “us or them.”   “The world is a dangerous place to live,” said Albert Einstein, “not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”  We are part of “the people who don’t do anything about it” when we fail to use those “holy conjunctions.”   If we could begin to think in terms of “both us and them” we just might be able to  experience and produce a resurrection of our intellect.  

The Star Gazer Lily blooms and gives me hope!

The darkest times in our history have been those times when “people” didn’t do anything about what was happening around them, when they let their intellect, their minds, be crucified by their silence and apathy, or allowed the “either/or” mentality in others to go unchecked.  Bertrand Russell wrote, “The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.”  That doubt can lead us into deep trouble and, indeed, it is doing so now.  Let us not permit the crucifixion of the intellect in ourselves or in others.  Think, don’t just swallow whatever comes along.  “Either/or” is the product of a “closed mind” or a dead one!  The open mind is one that thinks—not either/or—but both/and.  The world is a tough place but it is the only place we have.  It is both bad and good!  It can get better if we use our heads!

Two Special Friends

Yesterday I sought out the company of one of my “Friends of the Written Word” who lives among my other friends on the bookshelves in my study.  Harold Bell Wright (1872-1944) was an American novelist who wandered off to the Ozarks in the 1890’s for health reasons and later wrote stories about his experience there.  He wrote nineteen books and was one of America’s top-selling inspirational authors in the early part of the 20th century.  

This friend (Harold) died the year after I was born, but I was introduced to him by another friend, a life-long resident of our little town, J. Morton McCardell.  “Mort,” as he was called by all, was a woodworker and a “restorer” of antiques.  But he was much more!  Mort was something of a philosopher, a poet, a teacher, and a musician.  We often went to the woods together, where with the help of Mort and others, I had built a little cabin.  We would spend the day there, enjoying the picnic lunch his wife had packed for us, and talking about many things.  It was there I first heard him speak of Harold Bell Wright.  Mort had read Wright’s books as a young man.  He offered one of those books, “The Shepherd of the Hills,” to me, introducing me to his writer friend. Now, Harold Bell Wright, has become my dear friend too.

Sometimes my friends ask me why I ever came to this little town and stayed for all these forty-plus years.  My usual answer is that I felt  “called” to be here, and I still do.  Mort has long since died, but just having been with him has made the sojourn here a meaningful one.  In his later years, Mort would sit on his porch (in the middle of town, near Center Square) and watch the people go by, epitomizing William Foss’ poem, “The House By The Side of the Road,” which he could recite from memory.  I meet Mort every morning as I sit down at my desk.  His photo and his beloved poem hang on the wall of my study.

Oh, these morning hours!  They bring so many thoughts to the surface, so many that I can’t even keep on topic.  I began with Harold Bell Wright but ended up thinking of Mort.  Well, I guess the two go together, for without my friend,Mort I would never have met my friend, Harold.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the peace of their self-content;

There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellowless firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths

Where highways never ran;-

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house

by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by-

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,

Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Turkey On My Mind

Today I have added the people of Turkey to my bundle of care and prayer.  More people were killed in Turkey last night during an attempted military coup than in Nice, France the night before! The country is a divided one, with 52% of the population supporting and duly electing the current president.  That means 48% of the people are against the current government.  

I’ve had the good fortune to visit Turkey several times.  It is a great country with a tumultuous history and spectacular sights.  Its people are people just like you and me..  In recent years, however, the country has changed and the attitudes of some of the people have changed with it by supporting a Neo-Islamic political party.  According to the latest news, the attempted coup of last night has been foiled and now we must wait to see how everything “shakes out.”  Will democratic ideals be upheld and honored in the aftermath?  That is a big question.  It could turn out to be “the best of times” or “the worst of times” for the people of Turkey!  And for NATO, and for Europe, Asia, and yes, even for these United States.  We are all dependent on one another; all connected to one another as nations and as people.

Did you know that the Seven Churches mentioned in the book of Revelation are in Turkey (Asia Minor)? Many of the Apostle Paul’s missionary journeys recorded in the Book of Acts were in present-day Turkey:  Antioch, Ephesus, Hierapolis, and Colossae, Perge, etc.  Paul was born in Tarsus, a city  dating back to the 14th century B.C. in Turkey, just a few miles from the present-day Syrian border.  Istanbul was once called Constantinople (named after Constantine the Great).  It was the capital of the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) Empire—the first city where Christianity was made a capital religion.  The city bridges two continents,  Europe and Asia.  The ancient city of Troy (remember the Trojan Horse?) is in Turkey.  What a history!  And there is much, much  more! 

We are all troubled in this mysterious world where so much is dark to us just now  Heavy clouds seem to hover over us everyday, both here and abroad.  I know it doesn’t help to say, “It has always been this way!”  But the truth is that it always has.  Our tendency, unfortunately, is to dwell there.  I find some comfort these days in Browning’s view of things:

Ephesus

Oh, we’re sunk enough here, God knows!

But not quite so sunk that moments, 

Sure tho’ seldom, are denied us,

When the spirit’s true endowments

Stand out plainly from its false ones.

Another Tragedy

The horrific violence perpetrated on innocents in Nice, France yesterday fills my mind and soul this morning. Reuters reported at 5 a.m.,  “A gunman at the wheel of a heavy truck plowed into crowds celebrating Bastille Day in the French city of Nice, killing at least 84 people and injuring scores more in what President Francois Hollande called a terrorist act.

The attacker, identified by a police source as a 31-year-old Tunisian-born Frenchman, also opened fire before officers shot him dead. The man was not on the watch list of French intelligence services, but was known to the police in connection with common crimes such as theft and violence, the source said.”

This is the most up-to-date information I could find this morning. We must wait now, as we have waited before (after Orlando, Charleston, San Bernardino, Paris, Newtown) to know the facts as to whether this tragedy was spurred by some evil group.  The problem with minute by minute media coverage, no matter how carefully done, is the tendency to make assumptions and attempt to “name” the source of such despicable acts.  At the moment, we do not know if the Nice attack was spearheaded by a terrorist group or the act of one very sick person.  We must wait to know.

Does the peony cry?  Yes, all nature cries today.
Even the "stones cry out" with yet another senseless act!

What do we do during this interim period of not-knowing?  Isn’t there something more important  at this moment than knowing who is responsible?  Should we not be acting on what we do know? We know that at least 84 people died, we know that scores were wounded, we know that many families have suffered, we know that thousands are  forever scarred psychologically by what they saw and experienced last night and thousands all over the globe are fearful (including ourselves).  Can we focus on what we know and be with our brothers and sisters (that is, feel, hurt, cry, agonize, and mourn with them, which is the heart of intercessory prayer)?  Can we stop  being just detached spectators, and become involved  participants in what happened last night?  This world in which we live is not only one geographically, it is meant to be one spiritually as well.  We can help make it spiritually one right now—we can be with our brothers and sisters in the depths of their anguish by taking it into our own hearts.

Sometimes we tend to worship the gods of our enemies.  Nietzsche wrote, “When you fight a monster, beware lest you become a monster.”  The strange paradox of war is that while we proclaim that we hate our enemy’s ways and ideas, we proceed, in our fear and anger, to imitate them.  Another horrendous tragedy has occurred.  Let us not imitate the enemy, but imitate “Love at the heart of all things.”  Let us love one another.