The Sacrament of Friendship

Friendship is an adventure.  It is also a sacrament (an outward sign of an inward invisible grace).  William Ferrar Renzulli and I have been friends since 1971.  We were young, handsome, thin, had hair,  and were “full of piss and vinegar” (rowdy, boisterous, full of youthful energy) back then.  That expression was used by John Steinbeck in his novel “In Dubious Battle” (1936) and it fits.  We were on the threshold of our vocations, he in medicine and I in ministry.  We were both young husbands and young fathers, eager to be the best in both roles.  We were altruistic and naive.  We had no awareness of how life could and would tumble in, or if we did, we paid it no mind.  We had the world by its tail!

Forty-four years have passed since first we met.  We are no longer young, our handsomeness has taken on the marks of maturity, and our thinness has turned into well-rounded waists, and we still have a little hair (at least I do) on our heads.  Our children have all grown up, have children of their own, and Bill and I are grandfathers now. 

I wish I had space to tell, but I cannot, of all the many experiences of these years Bill and I have shared in friendship.   Bill fulfilled his calling in medicine and also his calling to be an artist.  I fulfilled my calling in ministry and also my calling to develop ministry in new and various forms.  We have been successful, I suppose, in the eyes of the world.  But more importantly, we have, through thick and thin, through turmoil and joy, in trouble and in peace, in rocky places and in smooth, maintained our friendship.  The adventures Bill experienced, I experienced with him, and he shared my experiences as well.  

There are many things I prize—but at the top of the list is the adventure and the sacrament of friendship—because this is rarer and more precious than all the rest. 

E. Stanley Jones

I’m here in my study again with E. Stanley Jones. He wrote many books, all of them good books, but the best of all his books was his last, “The Divine Yes.”

Late yesterday I thought to myself, “You’ve read all these wonderful books written by your friends, but have you taken on their words, their wisdom, their examples, and lived accordingly?” The answer was and is both yes and no. 

“Brother Stanley” provided me with several things to think about today:

“Society demands conformity. If you fall below its standards, it will punish you. If you rise above its standards, it will persecute you. Jesus said, ‘Beware when all men think well of you.’”

“Yes, I have found that when life shuts one door, it opens another if you have eyes to see and initiative to follow.”

“Everyone comes from his peak to a gradual or sudden fall into old age. A…woman said to me, ‘I hate to grow old, but I feel it gradually coming upon me.’ She was going into a gradual decline, a slow aging. She didn’t like the process for she could feel the creeping paralysis of old age. There is a way to come into old age with a crash. Apparently I have come into it that way.”

“Now that I am in this crisis I face the question of living on crippled or calling it a day and accepting a passage to the other world. I am honestly indifferent as to which it shall be. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds it. I have tried for 88 years (and in a few days it will be 89), and I have no need to live any more unless he decides.”

“Sometimes I find myself musing….Dear old body—for the past nine decades we’ve walked the dusty roads together, we’ve flown across contine

nts, and you’ve been uncomplaining even when I’ve put impossible loads upon you. Thank you for your faithful service, and now you say you’ll be faithful till death us do part. When that parting comes, I’ll look back at you and salute you and thank you, and I’ll say to you, ‘When I get my immortal body, I hope there will be a lot of you there incorporated.’ Thank you again, for everything."

(October 13, 2015)

The Coming of Autumn

I find myself singing to myself this morning, “The autumn leaves pass by my window, the autumn leaves of red and gold.” as the leaves drift down from the trees in my back yard. Not many are red or gold, except for those that cling to my neighbor’s dogwood tree. The chill in the air reminds me that autumn is well on its way and very soon, the trees will become barren, the ferns will dry up and hug the ground, and even the grass will take on its winter hue. Everything has its season according to the writer of Ecclesiastes. There is a time for this, and a time for that, and another time for something else. 

We were meant to bloom....

What kind of time will this autumn be for me? Will I, like the squirrels I’m watching just now in my back lawn, gather and store what I need in preparation for some other time? Will I, like the daffodil bulbs I’ve planted along the fence, hunker down and wait patiently and with hope for what is to be when another time comes? I certainly don’t want to shrivel up and hide away somewhere like those dahlia tubers I dug up last week!

We are not leaves, or squirrels, daffodil bulbs or dahlia tubers! Winter, spring, summer and autumn may affect our human spirit some, but every season in nature and in our living, is our time to live and to live as fully as we can. There is no need to let our leaves fall and become barren, no need to gather and store for some other day, no need to hunker down and just wait, no need to shrivel up and hide away. We are called to live abundantly in every season—to live with gratitude, joy, hope, and love now and always. 

(October 14, 2015)

Windows into the Soul

These morning hours in my study are precious ones.  I ponder over many things from 5 or 6  to 8 a.m.  I think of those persons I know who are going through tough times.  I hold them in my “bundle” of care.  I think of my children and their children and wonder what this day may hold for them.  I sometimes ponder my own trail of life, the roads taken and those not taken, and the friends I’ve met along the way.  I think of my parents and my heart is grateful for the love they gave to me and my six siblings.  I ponder the “Star Persons” of my life, those who provided light to guide me along the way.   With my  books surrounding me, I am aware of my “Friends of the written word” who have left indelible marks on my thinking about life.  

Bangor University in Wales

I think about those I do not know who wander in search of a home—those refugees from Syria and many other places where life is so threatened.  I wonder about the future of our planet earth and what that will mean for human life, particularly what that will mean for my grandchildren and great grandchildren.  

This morning time is so full of pondering, wonder, sorrow, loss, love, care, gratitude and hope that the hours seem but minutes.  Sometimes, naturally, the complaining mood comes to the fore.  When that mood and others like it come over me, I find it helpful to focus on the things for which I am grateful.  Sometimes that tact works and sometimes it doesn’t!  Complaint and similar moods are self-defeating.  I know that, but knowing does not always have the upper hand.  We have within us many selves, each competing for first place.

Almost every day, for over a year now, these morning thoughts have been posted on Facebook in one form or another, sometimes as poetry, sometimes as travelogue, sometimes a quotation, and sometimes just plain ranting and raving, Each post in some way a window into the soul.  Whatever form “these traces of thought and mountings of the mind” the post has taken, the purpose is to awaken a real faith in our own spiritual nature.  

“Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,

For the living of these days.”

Robin Hood Was Right!

In the late 1970’s  I read “Robin Hood Was Right” (A Guide to Giving Your Money for Social Change) by the Vanguard Public Foundation.   Former Presidents Carter and Clinton, along with Bill Gates and others of wealth, believing Robin Hood WAS right, have set up foundations which not only seek to remedy health and poverty issues,  but  to also foster social change.  Without social change, the health and poverty issues will continue ad infinitum.

President Carter recently wrote “A Call to Action,” (Women, Religion, Violence and Power) addressing the need for social change around the world.  Addressing the health and poverty needs of the world is an immense task.  Attempting social change in the midst of that work is an even greater task.  (These issues, health and poverty needs, along with social change are not limited to poverty-stricken areas of the world, they apply to every nation, including our own).

Yesterday I wrote about the philosophy of  sufficiency (having enough) as opposed to the philosophy of “more and more.”  “Enough” means not only that we have sufficiency for ourselves but also enough to be given to one’s brothers and sisters.  Many people are willing to do this, but how?  Many feel guilty, having more than enough, but not knowing how or where to give (in a way that will make a real difference). And there are many who are not willing to give a single penny.  This is the way it is!

The Banyan Tree suggests how our world must
come together.

So the first necessity is to develop the WILLINGNESS to share.  The second necessity is to  form an international coalition to carry out the mission  (if we can form one for war, we can form one for a better purpose). Abraham Lincoln’s definition of government was that governments should do for the people what the people cannot do for themselves.   We do not not how or where to give out of our sufficiency.  We do not know how to bring about social change.  We do not know how to lift up our neighbor here, there, and everywhere.  Private Foundations can’t do it alone—only a coalition of governments, dedicated to this purpose can begin to tackle the problems.

Our day requires a new direction in life-style—a move toward simplification.  Our day requires a new philosophy—the philosophy of sufficiency.  There is a “cry” (Kazantzakis) or “call” to meet the needs of brothers and sisters everywhere in all areas of living (social change, health, poverty, women, violence, an endless list).  An international coalition might help—or not, since governments are part of the problem too.

[October 17, 2015]

The Simple Life

What is the “simple life?”  Many people in our Western society (and particularly in religious circles) talk about it and even claim that they are living it.  I’ve fallen into that kind self-deception trap occasionally, thinking that in this autumnal season of my life, I’m living a “simple life.”  What a self-deception that is!  Of course, it is necessary to define what we mean by the “simple life.”  

Sunset in Little Falls, MN

If the simple life means gearing down our lifestyle and dropping our entrenched philosophy of “more and more,” we certainly would not be candidates.  We’ve got to have the iPhone 6, even if we already have the iPhone 5!  The simple life in this sense would necessitate impossible changes.  Suppose, for example, that we wanted to gear down to the level of the average impoverished family in India.  What would that mean?  It would mean getting rid of one or more cars and taking up walking, selling our home, throwing away all our clothing except for one well-worn garment that we would wear to every occasion.  It would probably mean living in a tent or a sheet metal shack along the street, doing without daily bath or shower  (which do you prefer?), giving up all medical care and eating one meal a day.  (It would even mean letting go of our iPhones!)

I don’t want that kind of simple life, do you?  What I would prefer is that we share our abundant resources and lift that kind of “simple life” into a more complete life, where everyone has a car, a home, and several sets of clothing.  I would prefer that everyone have a choice between a shower or a bath and food enough to nourish and strengthen, and medical care too.

The philosophy I prefer is not the “simple life” but the philosophy of sufficiency, not just sufficiency for my simple life, but sufficiency for the simple life of every human being on the planet earth.  

[October 16, 2015]

A New Discipline

My friend of many years, William Renzulli, from Paducah, KY, is visiting for a day or two.  We’ve known each other for a long time.  In the midst of our conversation last night I mentioned that I should like to memorize some of my favorite poetry.  It would be a good exercise for my mind—and it is something I use to do.  If Cato could learn Greek when he was eighty, surely I can memorize a few poems at the age of 72!  Will I follow through with this resolve? Who knows?  

When my granddaughter, Eleni, visited earlier this year she told me how much she liked to visit our house because “Grandad’s house has imagination.”  Her words came back to me this morning as I thought about a poem I once had memorized.  (When you don’t use it, you lose it!)  Perhaps re-memorization of   Joyce Kilmer’s “The House With Nobody in It” can be good starting point for my new “self-imposed” discipline.  

The House With Nobody In It

Joyce Kilmer

Granddaughter Eleni exercising
 her imagination...or whatever.

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track

I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.

I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it. 

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;

That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. 

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;

But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside. 

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid

I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be

And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free. 

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,

Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known. 

But a house that has done what a house should do,

a house that has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet. 

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track

I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,

Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,

For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.