Christmas Eve

Have you ever wondered why shepherds are the first to hear about the birth of Jesus? I confess I haven’t. Hearing that story from Luke is so familiar and so much a part of all my life, that I can slip into it in the same way I slip into my comfortable evening slippers. They’re stretched and ready, requiring no effort. They’re warm and comfortable and add to my relaxation. This story is just like that. It’s so comfortable to hear these words on Christmas Eve that they often don’t challenge me at all. Until this year. Suddenly, I wondered, “why shepherds?”

Shepherds were the epitome of all that was bad in agrarian culture. The stereotyped shepherd was regarded as a thief who stole, killed and sold the owner’s lambs he was there to protect. Shepherds were seen as ritually unclean and, therefore, unfit for company. Yet angels come to them. Our expectation is that they would be among the last to hear any good news, as unworthy as they were. Yet, contrary to our expectations, they are the first. Luke shows us from the very beginning of the story of Jesus that God is going to care about everyone, no matter what their reputation or station. And isn’t that just like God to surprise us?

Who could have expected God to come as a baby in the first place? If you want to start a revolution in the hearts and minds of people, you come with a trumpet, don’t you? You come with an army, don’t you? You come with a media blitz, don’t you? But not only does God come as a helpless baby, he has the new kingdom announced to shepherds—the lowest of the low. What incredibly good news this is for us!

In my tradition, we often pray that our God is one “unto all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid.” That should just scare most of us to death. To think that God knows the innermost junk that clogs up my heart, the desires I have no business harboring, secrets that no one can ever know—to think God knows all that and knew it about the shepherds too, and still he came to them first! What blessed hope this is for us.

I heard a story recently about a woman diagnosed with a terminal illness who had been given only a few months to live. As she faced this, she called her priest and said she wanted to discuss her final arrangements with him. She told him the hymns she wanted sung and what Scriptures she’d like read. She also said she had a favorite Bible she wanted buried with her.

When all seemed to have been said, the priest said a little prayer and was getting up to leave, when she said, “Oh wait. There’s one more thing. This is very important. I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.” The priest was taken aback and blurted out, “What in the world for?” She explained her wish this way. “In all my years of attending potlucks at church, as we were clearing away the dishes, someone would always lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was a signal that some delicious dessert was on the way—my favorite part of the meal. So when people see me in the casket with a fork in my hand and ask why, I want you to say: ‘Keep your fork. The best is yet to come!’”

That’s what Christmas tells us. If the angels and all the company of heaven sing the good news to lowly shepherds, we can be sure that song is for us as well. “The hopes and fears of all the years,” the carol tells us, “are met in thee tonight.” All the promises of the prophets are fulfilled in this baby. All the struggles and disappointments of the people of God are overcome by this tiny bundle of hope and assurance. Our future is secure, our hopes assured. The best is yet to come. Even shepherds know that.

Peace, really!

Jerry+

Advent 4

Life is full of unexpected twists and turns. You know that. You’ve had the experience of chugging along, minding your own business, as it were, and then…. And then something happens you could never have predicted, never anticipated in your wildest imaginings and your life is never the same. I’ve had those moments. In 1984 I was conducting a workshop at Grace-St. Luke’s, something I had done before and which had always been completely uneventful, only this time my life suddenly changed. There, in the front row, was a woman who caught my attention. Without telling the whole story, let me just say, she was single, I was single and we’ve been married ever since. Pretty life changing, huh! And completely unexpected.

Or take Mary’s story. Her openness to God’s movement in her life changed everything forever. She seemed to understand what the angel was saying, but could she really have understood what the whole story of Jesus would be?

Kathy Mattea sings a haunting song about this, called Mary Did You Know?
“Mary did you know your baby boy would someday walk on water? Mary did you know your baby boy would save our sons and daughters? Did you know your baby boy has come to make you real; this child that you delivered would soon deliver you? Mary did you know your baby boy will give sight to a blind man? Mary did you know your baby boy will calm a storm with his hand? Did you know that your baby boy must walk were angels trod? When you kissed your little baby that you kissed the face of God? Mary did you know? Mary did you know the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again; the lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the Lamb? Mary did you know your baby boy is God of all creation? Mary did you know your baby boy will one day rule the nations? Did you know your that baby boy was heaven’s perfect lamb; this sleeping child you’re holding is the great I AM?”

No, she couldn’t really have grasped all that, she couldn’t have known what saying “yes” would cause any more than I could have know what asking a workshop participant for a date would cause. But because of her faith, she said, “Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” She never turned away from that. She was his loving, supportive mother to the end.

It doesn’t matter how fearful or perplexed we may be in the face of God’s daily call. It doesn’t matter how inadequate we personally feel or how poorly we understand exactly what we are getting ourselves into. What matters is our willingness to say “yes,” every day opening ourselves to the fire of the Spirit. God will take care of the rest.

You’ve got things you need to say “yes” to. And if you don’t right now—you will. Go ahead. God will take care of the rest.

Peace,

Jerry+

Advent 3

This is my favorite Advent sermon. It's a little long for a blog, but please indulge me.

John 1: 6- 8;19- 28
I know he shouldn’t have been, but my brother Roy was my favorite brother. It’s not like I had a lot to choose from, there was only one other, but I chose anyway. Roy is seventeen years older than I am and the other brother, Alfred is fifteen years older. That might have had something to do with it. Given their ages when I was first old enough to have a clue that I had brothers, Roy would have been a young adult, just graduated from high school and working. And Alfred would have been a self absorbed senior in high school. This is probably why they treated me differently, but whatever the reason, it was different enough that I was aware of it. And so, I had a favorite.
Roy had a job as a graphic artist and went to work every day in a clean white dress shirt. At dinner, he was still wearing it and I insisted that Bubba, which was what I called him when I was small, sit next to me at the table. I liked to reach out and touch him. Now think about that a minute. I’m two, feeding myself, and he’s got on a white dress shirt. But he didn’t care, because I was, in his words, his “little man.” In the family picture album, there are pictures of me with him, but never with Alfred. Beginning to get the idea? See why he was my favorite?
When I was barely a year old, Pearl Harbor happened, and by the time I was a little over two WWII was in full rip and Roy was in the Army, in Europe and in harm’s way. My Mom and Dad used a map of Europe to track troop movements they heard from the radio or read in the paper. It helped them feel connected to him in some way. When I was curious about this, they explained to me what a map was and I asked if Bubba had a map. They weren’t sure, but they thought he might. I thought he needed one, so I drew him one which they sent to him. I learned years later that he posted that map in the headquarters company he was assigned to so everybody could see it.
With his being gone, you might expect things would change in the seating around the dinner table. But I wouldn’t hear of it. Bubba had to have his chair—even if we had guests—and it had to be next to mine. It’s not that nobody else paid attention to me or loved me. I had plenty of that. I had a bunch of girl cousins who were my brothers’ ages and they loved to spend time with me. And, of course, I was especially precious to Mom and Dad, because a year or so after Roy left for the military, so did Alfred. I was it now, and with two brothers in danger, you could easily see how I might get lots of attention. No, it wasn’t that I wasn’t loved, it was that I missed this special man who loved spending time with me. I scribbled on paper and called them letters and Mom faithfully mailed them. And in his letters home, he always had something to say to me.
Then one day, we got a telegram. He was coming home! He didn’t know when exactly, but he was on his way. I woke up every morning wanting to know if Bubba was home yet. I went to bed every night asking if it would be tomorrow. The waiting was dreadful, but it was also full of excitement. Any moment, Bubba might be home! I’ve told you this story because I see a connection in it with the story in our Gospel. The people of Israel listening to John must have felt what I felt knowing Bubba was coming and coming any minute. Like me, they were filled with terrible excitement and hope. God, who had loved them, and yet who had felt so far away when they were in exile in Egypt and later in Babylon, was sending a long awaited one with power to restore things to the way they were. The Psalmist wrote about that dark time when God was so far away by saying, in part,
By the rivers of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept…
On the willows there we hung our harps…
How could we sing the Lord’s song…?
And now, not only were they back in Israel where they could sing the Lord’s song, but someone was coming to restore things to the way they were meant to be. They rushed to be baptized to prepare for this extraordinary moment which would shortly be upon them. They and I waited with heightened expectation for different things, but expectantly just the same.
One day, as we waited, Mom and I did what we did almost every week. We boarded a trolley and rode downtown to look around and get a bit of lunch at a lunch counter. After an afternoon of adventure, we climbed aboard another trolley and made our way back to the neighborhood, and after a short walk from the trolley stop, she let us into the empty and still house. And there on the bed in the front bedroom was Bubba, still in his Army overcoat, sound asleep.
It wasn’t at all how I imagined it to be. I thought there might be a parade or a band. Or maybe we’d go to the train station to meet him in the midst of the billowing steam and clank and clatter of steel on steel. All the family had to be there, too. I mean, this was a special time and I needed special things to be going on. But there he was, sound asleep, the house quiet and still. Israel, too must have expected something with a lot more flash and dazzle than what they got. Jesus had no army, no horsemen, no chariots. How could he deliver Israel from their oppressors? This couldn’t be what they had waited for with so much excitement; after all: a peasant showed up when they expected a warrior king. A peasant who begin his work by being baptized by the same John who was announcing him as the be all and end all. Something seemed very wrong with this picture.
But things are often not what they seem. Even though Bubba hadn’t arrived as I expected, when I saw him there on the bed, I was on top of him before he knew what hit him. And you know what he said as he hugged me close, “Hey, little man. I’ve missed you! I’m so glad to see you!” Better than any band or parade or chugging, smoking, clanging train! Better than I could have hoped or imagined. Bubba was home and he was thrilled to see me. It was an unforgettable and extraordinary moment!
And though something seemed wrong with the picture when Jesus arrived, it turned out that it was very right too. Unforgettable. Extraordinary. This story about my brother reminds me that Jesus still shows up just like my brother did—the realization of my expectation but not the way I would have planned. But there’s something else the story helps me with. Being in that expectant frame of mind, but open to all possibilities, is important, not just in Advent, but all the time. It may just be the case, that if you’re always expectant, Jesus may come more often than you can imagine and in ways that will thrill and delight you. It’s at least something to think about as we again prepare to celebrate his first coming.

Peace,

Jerry+

Advent 2

Advent is my favorite season, and not just because it ends in Christmas. It's because it's about new beginnings in a way no other season is for me, not even Lent. Here are some thoughts about it.

Isaiah proclaimed that God would send a messenger--a messenger who cries out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” John’s appearance and announcement centuries later is enough for Mark to be sure that messenger has arrived. These few verses from Mark are filled with expectation! And expectation is so much of what Advent is about.

As I think about Advents past, it seems to me most of us have the expectation part of Advent down pat. Our entire culture has really gotten on board with that part. The expectation of gifts, of a Christmas card from a friend, of a huge holiday meal and a round of parties; the expectation of beautiful trees covered with lights and angels, of family visits, and beautiful worship experiences, these are quintessential Advent expectations. That some of these are viewed with a sense of dread doesn’t overshadow the excitement of others of them for us.

But, John’s mission was not only to announce the coming Messiah, but to call people to prepare their hearts for his arrival. We keep Advent season as our time of preparation. But, have you wondered what does the preparation entail? In John’s theology, a necessary part of that preparation for our encounter with Christ is repentance.

What is the repentance John says is necessary preparation? Our problem with repentance is that it may be very misunderstood. Repentance doesn’t mean penitence as in “godly sorrow for sin.” Repentance is not remorse; it’s not admitting mistakes, nor is it self condemnation. Repentance is an act of will that produces a complete change of mind, a complete change of will, an altered purpose in life.

Once there was a learned and pious man who went to see a Zen teacher. He said to the teacher, “teach me what I need to know to have a meaningful life. I have studied sacred scripture. I have visited the greatest teachers. I have traveled the world looking. But, I haven’t found the answer to a meaningful life. Teach me, please.” The Zen teacher said nothing, but began serving tea. He began to pour tea into his visitor’s cup and kept pouring until it overflowed. Even then, he continued pouring until it ran all over the table and flowed off on the floor. Still he poured. The visitor couldn’t restrain himself and said, “Stop! It’s full. No more will go in!” The Zen teacher then said, “Like this cup, you are full of your own opinions and speculations, full of yourself. How can I teach you anything unless you are empty?”

During our Advent work, if we look deeply, we may find like the learned and pious man, we’re already full. Full of the busyness of the season. Full of the distractions commanding so much of our attention. Full of ourselves. If so, maybe we need to repent in the sense that we need to want to do things in a new way and in the sense that we begin to do things a new way.
Each of us knows we are not, at least in some ways, the person or the Christian we might be. Perhaps the beginning of repentance is to ask, “What holds me down; what holds me back from being the person God longs for me to be?” Maybe it is our love affair with the material and transient. Maybe it is baggage from our past we’ve not unpacked. Maybe we are consumed with our selves in the most selfish sense. Maybe it is thinking we have no need for repentance. If repentance is a change of mind, we have to ask “what changes in my thoughts and attitudes are called for?” If repentance is a change of will, we have to ask, “how can I make God’s will my will?” If repentance is an altered purpose, we have to ask, “for what holy purpose, large or small, have I been called?”

Advent gives us the occasion to struggle with these questions. Honest self examination is never easy or fun. Most of us would just as soon skip it if we can. I know I would. But Advent calls us to a discipline of self examination. Whatever it is that we are full of that will keep Christ from pouring in calls out to be discovered and emptied.

Peace,

Jerry+

First Sunday in Advent

Today's post is a sermon I preached for clergy colleagues of mine. Perhaps it speaks to all of us as well.

Today’s Gospel reading is, in a very real sense, a wake up call. “But in those days, after suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.” Or put another way, “Wake up! There is going to be a catastrophic advent one day.”

Ever since Jesus ascended, people have been talking about the days they live in as “the last days.” And I don’t know how many times, even in modern history, some charismatic leader has convinced great crowds of people that he had it all figured out, right down to the year and the day. Many have been convinced to give away all they had and gather on a mountain top to wait for the trumpets to sound.

It’s not so hard to understand focusing on Christ’s return when you think about it. After all, in this same reading, Jesus says ominously, “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.” Early Christians lived with the clear expectation that, literally, at any moment, Christ would return and the redeemed would be caught up into heaven in what has been called the Rapture. It must have been very confusing to them as years passed, then generations, and still Christ hadn’t returned.

In today’s Gospel, the wake up call is clear in Jesus’ words. He says, “watch—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”
I read something in preparation for this sermon that struck me and bears directly on what it means for us to “keep awake”. It said, of all the –isms of the world, the worst may be som-nam-bul-ism: sleepwalking-- failure to be awake and paying attention when we should be. If our sleepwalking is spiritual in nature, maybe this is the Advent message: keep awake.

We may sleepwalk through our days and suddenly wake up to notice that evil in the world has the upper hand. It’s hard to hear about another murder/robbery or another act of terrorism, without thinking the world has become truly a bad place. Keep awake, says Jesus.
Sleepwalking can result in slowly allowing our purpose in life to shrink to the mundane without even noticing. Once we may have believed we were called to something noble or that we could make a difference. But over time we may lose our passion, our sense of mission. I know in my own case, the idealism of my twenties has suffered from my nodding off. Like my head slumping over onto my chest and startling me awake, there’s been more than once when I realized my idealism had gone to sleep. Keep awake, says Jesus.

Sleepwalking mists over our eyes, so we never notice that our principles are being eroded. Without even meaning to, we put away our moral compass and do things we know are wrong. One small thing here, one there, one tiny one now, one then. We make these accommodations so slowly, we hardly notice when these exceptional behaviors become our normal behavior. Keep awake, says Jesus.

Sleepwalking can come upon us so slowly, we are never aware we’ve changed. It’s like a frog in hot water. It’s said, if you dump a frog in a pan of hot water, it will immediately jump out. But if you put that same frog in a pan of water and slowly increase the heat, it will stay there until it’s boiled alive. (Not that I ever tried that, but I’ve heard it’s true.)

Human life is fragile. The end of live always seem to occur before we’re ready. We’ve all heard stories about a husband and wife or parent and child who quarreled just before one was tragically killed in an accident. If we were awake, we would always take the time to make up, to say, “I love you.” Or thinking we have plenty of time to phone or write or visit a friend, we learn the friend died of a massive heart attack. If only we were awake to the transience of life we would make time to be compassionate, supportive and involved.

When I was in a college fraternity, at the end of a meeting, after all the usual business was conducted, there was always a time called “For the Good of the Order.” This agenda item was there to allow us to share those things which needed or might need our collective attention so the fraternal atmosphere could be maintained or enhanced. It was a time when significant soul searching went on as we focused our attention on the state of our corporate relational and spiritual health.

I think that’s a kind of watchfulness Jesus might be calling us all to—watching for the good of our soul. Religious orders have practiced a time of examining one’s conscience, of examining one’s actions during the day just past. The purpose was to look at how your life lived that day reflected or neglected the principles on which the Christian life is to be built. The idea behind this time of examination was simple: being a faithful Christian doesn’t just happen like mushrooms or dandelions popping up on the lawn. It requires care, attention and cultivation just as a beautiful garden does. It requires that we stay awake, that we watch, that we live examined lives so we can be constantly renewed for the day ahead.

“Keep awake,” Jesus says. Advent is a good time for checking to see if we’ve slipped into slumber. But, it is even a better time for awakening to the Lord’s constant desire to be present with us. “Keep awake” is our call to experience him today, in this moment, and for all time.

Peace,

Jerry+

Hate Reigns

Back in the mid-70s, I was a campus minister at the University of Tennessee Martin. Through the miracle of technology, a group of the students who were there the same time I was, have stayed in touch with each other and included me on their Yahoo group. There I learned that recently a student art exhibit had created a great deal of furor on campus and beyond. And now, this morning, I read about it in the local newspaper.

It seems that the student created art work from torn pages of the Bible and from torn bits of the Constitution and flag. I can well image the motivation of a college student to do such a thing. And I’m not expressing my opinion about the work. But this morning, the Yahoo users group email included one from the wife, Jenn, of the chair of the Visual Arts Department where the work was done. Jenn was very involved in the ministry when I was there—she was even the choir director the last couple of years.

Jenn reported that her husband had received hate mail and even threats of harm from people who don’t care for the student’s display. Needless to say, Jenn is afraid for her husband—and probably herself as well.

But there was another email from a member of the group, Jerry. Jerry was, back in the day, very outspoken about many issues and had a column in the campus newspaper in which he could express his views. Here’s a little of what he said in his note:

[There were] letters to the editor, suggesting that I should leave town, or that I would burn in hell for what I wrote, or how un-American I was. I remember there were phone calls and letters to the moderator and the Dean of Students, I think even [the Chancellor] got a couple asking that I be removed from the staff. The funny part was most people didn't have a clue what I looked like. I was just a name to them and a symbol, nothing more. Something they didn't understand and were afraid of. One of the reasons I started hanging out at the [the Interfaith Center] was that even after folks there found out my last name, they took me for what I was and respected my right to express myself and choose my own road to the Infinite even though we had many hours of debate, discussion and listening along the way.

I couldn’t be prouder to have been a part of such a place and to minister with such a group of students who would love Jerry even as they disagreed with him. But the letters from Jenn and Jerry also brought a wave of sadness over me. I was reminded of too many times that Christians couldn’t love and disagree, but felt they must hate, harm, even kill if they disagreed. Not just throughout history, but it seems even in this time of ours. Tolerance and forgiveness are not commodities in great supply among Christians, it seems.

Do your part today and tomorrow and into the future to reverse this terrible trend. Love as Jesus loved—even his enemies and even those who put him to death.

Peace,

Jerry+

Restored Souls

A friend recently gave my wife a little book written by Max Lucado, titled Safe in the Shepherd’s Arms. It is a series of short reflections on the 23rd Psalm. In it Max writes,

…Life is a jungle. Not a jungle of trees and beasts. Would that it were that simple. Would that our jungles could be cut with a machete or our adversaries trapped in a cage. But our jungles are comprised of the thicker thickets of failing health, broken hearts, and empty wallets. Our forests are framed with hospital walls and divorce courts. We don’t hear the screeching of birds of the roaring of lions, but we do hear the complaints of neighbors and the demands of bosses. Our predators are our creditors, and the brush that surrounds us is the rush that exhausts us. It’s a jungle out there. And for some, even for many, hope is in short supply.

Yep. I think he nailed it. And jungles such as these can be overwhelmingly fearful places to be—places where hope can be in short supply. But, as Max points out, God can restore hope in the same way God can restore souls. He goes on to write,

Whether you are a lamb lost on a craggy ledge or a city slicker alone in a deep jungle, everything changes when [the Shepherd] appears. Your loneliness diminishes…your despair decrease because you have vision. Your confusion begins to life because you have direction. Please note: You haven’t left the jungle. The trees still eclipse the sky, and the thorns still cut the skin. Animals lurk and rodents scurry. The jungle is still a jungle. It hasn’t changed, but you have. You have hope.

The Shepherd can appear in many guises. A friend who slips you a little book to bolster your spirit. Another who drops you a card with a warm and loving note. Still another who sends a card that makes you erupt in laughter when laughter seems such a forgotten experience. A hug. A whispered, “It’s going to be OK. Don’t know what it’s going to look like, but it’s going to be OK.” The phone call that concludes with, “I’m praying for you.” These are the urban jungle’s machetes that hack away the strangling vines and help point the way toward a sense of hope.

It’s a jungle out there. But, it’s not one you in which you are alone and lost.

Peace,

Jerry+

Feast Day

Today is my birthday, but it is also the feast day of William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury, who died in 1944.

Temple's admirers have called him "a philosopher, theologian, social teacher, educational reformer, and the leader of the ecumenical movement of his generation," "the most significant Anglican churchman of the twentieth century," "the most renowned Primate in the Church of England since the English Reformation," "Anglican's most creative and comprehensive contribution to the theological enterprise of the West.”

Pretty impressive company.

One of his most important accomplishments was his vigorous involvement in movements for Christian co-operation and unity, in missions, in the British Council of Churches, in the World Council of Churches, in the Church of South India (a merger of Anglican, Congregationalist, Methodist, and Presbyterian churches into a single church, with provisions for safeguarding what each group thought essential).

Temple was initially refused ordination by his bishop because of his less than orthodox views on the Virgin Mary and Jesus’ resurrection. But the then Archbishop of Canterbury thought he saw something important in Temple and ordained him anyway. I guess he was right. Oh, incidentally, Temple eventually came around to the orthodox view, but clearly his greatest contributions had little or nothing to do with his orthodoxy. Hmmm. Could this be something the Church needs to pay more attention to?

Peace,

Jerry+

All Saints

Today is All Saints’ Day in much of Christendom. Most churches that observe it will do so tomorrow since we tend not to do weekday feast days.

Venerating those who have died for the faith began very early in Christianity, almost as soon as the Jesus Movement started. During the Roman persecutions of the late first and throughout the second century, many chose death rather than renounce their faith. Pretty quickly, the places of their birth or their martyrdom began to be venerated along with them and then churches began to be built on or near those spots. After the Peace of the Church in 313, martyrdom virtually disappeared, but the definition of saints changed a bit and the identification of saints continued .

The Gospel for All Saints is the Matthew list of the Beatitudes. And not accidentally. The Sermon on the Mount, of which they are a part, has been called the summary of Jesus’ teaching and the Beatitudes the summary of the summary. They are not prescriptive, however. That is, they are not the new law which all must obey. They are descriptive. They represent the reality for those who live according to these precepts. Not that it would hurt us to consider them prescriptive! But we wouldn’t be any better at living them than in living the Golden Rule, so maybe it’s just as well we don’t set them out as the desired ideal.

One more thing. During the persecutions, very many more people caved in than stood firm. One of the first controversies of the Imperial Church was how to treat the lapsed—and this was not the first time the issue had arisen. The context this time was “if a clergyman lapsed and then returned to the faith, were the sacramental acts, such as baptism, that he had performed or would perform, valid?” The bottom line, which by no means pleased everybody was, “yes.” The grace resides in God not the “actor.” Damn good thing don’t you think.

Peace

Jerry+

Surprized

“…since the will of man is a slender reed, not to be relied on to do the right thing, evil will exist. No police force can be expected to do what religion, good example, and the fear of being caught have failed to accomplish.”

This quotation is from a novel by Ralph McInerny titled Grave Undertakings: A Father Dowling Mystery. I was struck by it’s simple truth. In fact, stunned by it is a more appropriate way to put it.

It is very popular today to decry the decline of morality. It’s as if it’s a new thing; that there was some better time, say the post War 50s that where a high water mark of civility and high morals, or perhaps the Victorian Age. Well I certainly remember the 50s as pretty good, but I had a very limited world view. And since the media didn’t always tell us everything they knew, for example, JFK and MM, we can’t be faulted for believing it was actually better. Plus, there were so few choice of media. Now with the 24 hour new cycle and the necessity to fill it up, plenty of “bad” news gets reported perhaps given us a jaundiced view.

It’s not that I don’t think modern morality is the pits—I do. But declined? I’m not so sure. As regular readers know, I’ve been teaching a survey course on the history of the Church. Again and again I get reminded of the low level of morality both of the religious leaders and of the people throughout history. Otherwise apparently good men got elected to bishoprics or to the papacy and the power just seemed too much. There was a rampant sense that holding the office somehow permitted excesses. And the temporal rules seemed to basically care about their own needs at the expensive of their subjects.

So it seems pretty clear that McInerny is right. If religion can’t reform the lives of people, we’re doomed. And it seems clearer and clearer to me that it can’t—or at least it doesn’t. That’s not to say there aren’t good moral men and women in the world, clearly there are. It is to say that all the evidence seems to indicate they are outnumbered very many to one. That being the case, we can just expect things to continue to be bad. I just don’t see another Great Awakening coming and I don’t see a corrective in culture swing us back from our excesses.

I know this seems pretty pessimistic. But I’m feeling pretty pessimistic these days as injustice touches close to home again.

Jerry+

Test?

"When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. "Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?" He said to him, "`You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: `You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." [Matthew 22: Sunday's Gospel]

It could hardly be put more simply. Love God with all you are; love others at least as well as you love yourself. Why is it then, we seem to have so much trouble with this? I begin each day reading the local paper. I’d guess that about 30 to 40 percent is about how we fail at the second part of this pair. Those news bits are about murder, robbery, gossip, malfeasance, and more. About 2 or 3 percent seem to be about something good. This morning a local woman was highlighted as one of 500 nationally invited to the White House because of her volunteer efforts. That was nice to read. She seems to get it.

I went to a Bible study last night with a group of people I don’t know. Meeting new people is always hard for me, so this was a big deal. The man to my left was named—it really doesn’t matter. I found him friendly at first, but quickly he began to be contentious with the leader and others who spoke up. Argumentative in an environment in which we had been encouraged to listen to other points of view. To my right was a young man who had broken his wrist and who looked a bit ragged. About half way through the Bible study, he leaned over and asked for money to buy some BC powders for the pain in his wrist. I didn’t doubt he was in pain, but I also believed the free clinic that set his wrist had probably given him something for it. Was I being taken advantage of? Conned?

Was this a Phariseean test for me? On my left hand a difficult person to like. On my right hand a stranger who hit me up for a few bucks. I left the parish hall wondering if I’d return. I will, I decided, on the ride home. But the real test for me is how I will relate to these two people next week. My natural tendency will be to avoid them. But would that be loving?

Peace,

Jerry+

A Bribe

Sunday, at the announcements, the priest said, “Remember next Sunday to stay after services for free Gus’ fried chicken and fixings. Let me be up front about this. It’s a bribe to get you to stay and learn about this years’ pledge campaign. We’re going to try to get you to make a pledge.” I had two reactions. On the one hand, I laughed. I loved his candor. “Let’s not sugar coat it. We want your money.” On the other hand, how regrettable that we have to entice people to learn about the financial needs of their parish and “twist their arms” to get them to give.

Isn’t something very wrong with that picture?

Plus, if this presentation is like the other thousand (well not literally) I’ve sat through, it will not be very detailed and it will indicate that the vast majority of the money will go for internal needs: salaries, utilities, etc. Just keeping Church’s the motor running costs a fortune—never mind actually getting on the road to the Kingdom.

A professor I had in seminary, James Glass, wrote a book called Getting It Together in the Parish. One of the things he wrote was the Church might want to consider a different model. How about, he suggested, a congregation of ten families: 1minister and 9 lay? All would tithe. That would make the minister's salary an average of the lay salaries. The minister would tithe too and this would all be spent on external programming. Plus, the minister would have such a small congregation that he/she would be free to devote almost all his/her time to ministry in the community. As the congregation grew to 20 families, they would split and form a new ten family congregation. And, of course, they would meet in someone’s home so there is no facilities upkeep to drain resources.

Though it is a model not without some problems, it certainly seems to return us to New Testament times when Christians met in homes and the definition of minister was very fluid. And it provides for a lot of community ministry. Unlike the present big church model.

Oh, well. Just an idea.

Peace,

Jerry+

Moses, Paul, and Me

The Exodus reading for Sunday [32:1-14] is troubling. Having grown tired of waiting for Moses to come down from the mountain, the people insist that Aaron, Moses’ right hand man, make a god for them to worship. He collects their gold and makes the golden calf and he and the people begin to worship the calf. This is the troubling part for two reasons.

The reading shows again just how fickle God’s people can be. They are unhappy there in the wilderness, perhaps still preferring Egyptian slavery to difficult freedom. The thankful they must have felt when they crossed over from Egypt is completely forgotten. In their unhappiness, they decide to abandon Yahweh and chase after a god of their own making who will apparently take better care of them. We should be able to identify.

It’s not as if we’ve never done the same thing. In fact, we seem to be better at it today than ever. The most recent god at whose altar we have decided to devote ourselves seems to be greed and a sense of entitlement. We seem to have largely abandoned concern for the things of God in favor of chasing after more transitory things which we believe will make us happy and provide security. It has backfired in spades, of course. Greed and stupidity have created the worse economic situation we have faced in 90 years—and not just in the U.S.

Whatever security and peace we’ve sought has turned in on itself and now many are just chasing survival. Not to say some haven’t gotten filthy rich in this debacle, but most have lost their shirts.

Paul, in Sunday’s epistle reading encourages his friends in Philippi to seek peace in a very different way. He says, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received…and the God of peace will be with you.”

I shared with my wife, Carol, the other day what mixed emotions I have when I write a check from savings for a charitable purpose. On the one hand, the needs are real and we want to respond to them out of a sense of thankfulness for our having been blessed. On the other hand, as a retired person who has seen pension and investment values drop by 30% in the last few weeks, I can’t help think, “We may need this money ourselves before long.” So far, the thankfulness has outweighed the fear. But I can better understand those who fear in the wilderness.

Peace,

Jerry+

Hoping For the Worst

Last night I watched Jay Leno’s monologue. He asked the audience this question, “How many of you watched the VP debate to see Sarah Palin screw up?” Wild applause and cheers. Then he followed with, “How many watched to see Joe Biden screw up?” Wild applause and cheers. No winner. Everybody was hoping for a screw up.

I didn’t laugh. In fact, I felt sad. What have we come to when we admit to watching a debate JUST to watch somebody make a mistake? Are these the same people who’ll sit at a highway rail crossing to see if there is going to be a train wreck? Are these the people who would have gathered in the medieval square to watch a heretic hung, drawn and quartered? How messed up have we become?

Mark Twain liked to make fun of politicians, and indeed, it has long been a national pastime. But I think I detect a difference in the historic way this was done and the way it’s being done in the last 30 or 40 years. Comics are spending a great deal of time and energy focused on the foibles of those who are to lead us. And considering most young adults get their news from the satiric “news” shows such as the Colbert Report and The Daily Show, we are spending a great deal of time and energy ridiculing people in government. Not that some of it is not on point—it is. But it has become unrelenting and continuous, even to the point of Jay’s question which could have gone unasked forever.

Nobody would have taken on FDR, HST, or JFK or others like them in the way it’s done today. Are we better or worse for the change?

Peace,

Jerry+

Matthew 21: 33-46

Sunday's Gospel is another parable, a perplexing one about vineyard tenants killing the owner's son. When you hear this parable, you just have to ask yourself: what were they thinking? You can sort of follow them when they resist the first time, maybe even the second, but what in the world made them think they would inherit the vineyard if they killed the owner’s son? It’s another example of those things we read and hear about when company executives cheat companies and shareholders out of millions of dollars. When they stole the first little bit, you can kind of understand how they would think they would get away with it. I mean, I’m sure most criminals think they won’t get caught. But after a while, didn’t they finally realize it had gone too far and they would have to pay up?

Common sense would say yes. But as it turns out, common sense apparently isn’t so common. Even Paul, a saint of the Church and full of dedication and fervor for the Lord, tells his close friends in Philippi, that here at the end of his life, he realizes he has not attained his goal of having Christ be Lord of his life. Elsewhere he says, “I do the very things I should leave undone, and fail to do those things I should do.” For some reason, we just don’t seem to learn from our mistakes. Or at least we don’t learn enough to truly become different. Why is that?

I don’t know. My own tendency is apparently to forget the pain I feel when I realize I have embarrassed myself before God. Then without the reminder, I find myself doing the bad thing all over again. Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant Reformation, is said while a monk, to have made confession multiple times a day. It was common place for him to rise from his knees having just confessed and then to immediately kneel and begin his confession all over again.
I suppose the point here is that we are and will remain imperfect and sinful people. The good news is that our sin will not inhibit our relationship with God because Jesus has died for our sins. Perhaps we should hear Paul again as he says, “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” Perhaps we can think of this as, “don’t become bogged down in your past sinfulness, but instead continue to look toward the next opportunity to avoid sin and to do the will of your Lord.”

Taken that way, we can avoid the paralysis of Martin Luther, weighed down with his imperfections and instead look at the life of Paul who was always trying to share the power of God with others, even until the time of his death.

Peace,

Jerry+

A Sad State

Sorry for the last of posts. I'll do better.

As you may remember, I’m teaching a seminary course on the history of the Church. We’ve just spent the last several weeks in the muck and mire that was the Church of the Middle Ages. Story after story of episcopal , papal, and clerical greed, lust for power, and indifference to the needs of the people. After the students had read the material and before I began to supplement it with lectures, I asked them for their reaction. These were pretty typical.
“Disgusted!”
“Appalled.”
“If you’ve known this all your ministry, how did you keep YOUR faith?”

I thought the last question was a pretty good one. My answer was something to the effect that most of the time I could separate God from the Church. I meant that most of the time, I’m able to remember that we have not even come close as a Church to carrying out the work to which Jesus has called us. Largely because we are fallible humans who, when offered the opportunity, tend to misuse our power and position. We either get carried away with the belief that we’re God’s anointed and therefore can make no errors and admit no unrighteousness, OR we just like the power that comes from leadership positions—even though there is no real money involved anymore.

I remember being told by a friend in ministry years ago that, for the most part, I would serve parishes who were led by people, who in the “real world” were relatively powerless. Most would be blue collar or low level employees of companies in which they would take orders rather than give them. But at church, they would be on par with others and when they became leaders, they would bring with that the frustration of their daily lives. And they would play that out in their leadership style and decisions.

I really didn’t want to believe it. It’s true though.

There’s something else I learned on my own during the time I did business consulting. Most business leaders are not competent to lead their businesses to excellence. As long as they are making some money, they feel successful. Consequently, they tend to make poor management decisions. I had lots of companies pay me lots of money to continue to do stupid things. These people also become church leaders and muddle that work too. Even worse, they justify a lot of that poor decision making by saying, “The church is not a business.” Except, of course, when it comes to balancing the budget and giving less than adequate pay to their staff, and postponing capital expenses until something outrageous happens. [Remember, our current sorry situation in the good ole U.S. of A, was brought to you by these same people.]

I was also asked what the day to day life of people in the Middle Ages parishes was like, spiritually speaking. In fact, there is a lot of information available to answer that question. The short version is that for the most part, they did the best they could to get their spiritual needs addressed by a largely indifferent and unqualified clergy. True, of lot of that was through the development of many superstitions that are still present today. But, what the heck, you do what you have to.

I’d like to end on a happy note, but we’re in the middle of studying the Reformation. A movement meant to reform the Church and its practices and in which hundreds, if not thousands, were tortured and killed for the sake of uniformity and the glory of God. So, it’s a bit hard to be hopeful.

BTW, did you know that present research indicates that if the present trend continues, that by 2050, the majority religion in the U.S. will be Islam?

Peace,
Jerry+

Forgiveness. Uh oh!

The Gospel for last Sunday is a toughie. Forgiveness. Seven times seventy. Of course what Jesus meant is that there should be no end to our willingness to forgive those who sin against us. And a parable that says, and if you can’t do it, that is “forgive from the heart,” the Father will “hand you over.”

I’m in big trouble. In the first place, I can’t pull off that kind of forgiveness. And in the second place, I can’t believe God is that cruel.

My primary difficulty in the area of forgiveness is with those who have harmed me, but not only have not asked for forgiveness, but feel completely justified in what they have done. I’m not talking about the day to day kind of stuff. I can forgive all that. Hell, I screw up. I recognize it and I ask forgiveness. So I’m very able to see the frailty in others that results in their needing my forgiveness. So I can give it. Truly. From the heart.

But there have been those few who have irrevocably done me harm. Not many. Just enough. Those who had no clue they were doing it—no problem. It’s those who understood, or should have understood, that they were going to cause me serious harm and acted anyway. And felt righteous. Or indifferent. I’m stuck. I just can’t seem to find it in my heart to forgive them.
Which, as you can see, brings me to the second point. If I am to believe Jesus, then I am in deep crap. Maybe that’s why I just can’t believe God would be as Jesus describes him in this regard. In fact, the God I’m trying to believe in and have a relationship with would easily understand my human frailty and inadequacy and love me anyway. Perhaps that’s what I chose to believe since I can’t get past these other situations and it’s my “ace in the hole.” But I don’t really think so. I think God is not that kind of petty record keeper who is expecting us to show up with a clean record. If so, I’m in much worse trouble than I thought. And what is grace for anyway?

Peace?

Jerry+

9/11

Today is an anniversary and I couldn’t let the day go by without writing. Nine-eleven has been called this generation’s Pearl Harbor. I was barely a year old when Pearl was attacked, so I have no memories of it. I have watched hours and hours of videos and a couple of movies. It took both of my brother sinto the military for several years. My older brother fought in Europe, as had my father in WWI. My second brother missed combat, but it was a “luck of the draw” kind of thing. I became something of a WWII buff watching movies, TV shows and reading books over the years.

But 9/11 seems more real to me than all that.

Even so, in both cases, Americans pulled together as they seldom do to respond to these two despicable acts. We all sacrificed in WWII. Even though I was young, I remember rationing of gas and various foodstuffs like sugar. And I think there was no butter available for “the duration.” Nine-eleven differs in that way. Few of us made any kind of sacrifice. That is not to say we weren’t shaken and moved by what happened. But the continuing legacy is we complain about airport delays, suitcase searches, and restrictions on liquids when we fly and inconvenience at border crossings at Canada and Mexico.

Nine-eleven sent men and women to Afghanistan, and probably to Iraq as well. Unlike Vietnam, while we deplore the necessity, we support our troops. And certainly there have been sacrifices in those conflicts, sacrifices in full measure. But as chronological distance separates us from 9/11, it seems to me we have not just become disconnected from each other; we have become almost rabidly hostile to each other.

On 9/11/01, the parish I was a part of had an impromptu prayer service in the late afternoon. Over 500 hundred people came to pray and to be consoled. I noticed today as I went about my normal affairs, including lunch with a friend, life was so ordinary it is easy to think many forgot what day this is. I hate to think that may be true.

We must remember, not that we have enemies, but that bridges must always be our focus and reconciliation a national policy. As idealistic as that sounds, if we don’t try to do those two things, we will not only slide further apart, we will continue the growing sense of alienation on the international level that is beginning to be our lot. Neither of these two things can be good for us or for the world.

God bless all who carry wounds from that day and its aftermath. God forgive us for our lack of vision.

Jerry

Matthew 14:22-23

What happened to Peter as he walked on the water, heading toward Jesus? You know the story. He sees Jesus walking on the water and says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And hearing the command, he steps into the lake and heads toward Jesus. Then he notices the wind blowing strongly and begins to sink. What happened?

Did he “lose faith” as Jesus seems to say? “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” If he did, I think he lost faith in himself, not Jesus. I’ve seen children learning to do something for the first time, such as riding a skate board. In the midst of their success, they falter and fall. Is it a lack of practice? Or is it a sudden realization of how unnatural this act is or incredulity at their ability to do something that appears so hard. Some will be reluctant to try again. They’ve lost faith, as it were.

I think it’s pretty human to “notice the wind” that seems to often blow against us as we muddle through life. And when we do to lose confidence. The important thing seems to be what happens next? Do you sink as Peter did? Or do you duck your head into the wind and press on?

Pressing on is tough. It’s tough to get back up on the skateboard. It’s tough to get back on the bike. It’s tough to power through a troubled marriage, trying to recover what has been lost. It’s tough to push aside all those well intended people in our lives to tell us to “hang it up—stop beating your head against the wall.” But, so what? So it’s tough.

Peter might have felt very different about himself if he’d said, “Let me try again Jesus.” Who knows?

Peace,

Jerry+

School Daze

A return to the academic life is not without its ups and downs. Truthfully, I rarely feel more alive than when I’m teaching, so to be paid to do that every week is a real plus. I love the preparation, as tedious as it can sometimes be. I love the delivery, the classroom interaction.

The surprise on the face of students when they learn something unexpected and good.
On the down side, the seminary in which I teach has grown tremendously. So there are layers of people where their used to be a single person to deal with. Also, professors are expected to be able to use the new tools available in this 21st century environment. I’m down with that. I can use the computer, the computerized library catalog, the projector which allows the expected PowerPoint presentation in each class. But there are new tools—something called Blackboard. Ah. Not so easy.

Blackboard allows me, I’m told, to post a syllabus, handouts, and the like, as well as leave messages between classes for the students. To use Blackboard I have to have an account. I was sent to three different people to establish and account and learn how to use the system. Finally, a friendly professor colleague gave me the introductory lesson. Unfortunately, when I tried to use Blackboard from my home computer, my status was listed as Student rather than Instructor. Back to school for another attempt and another lesson from my colleague.

The “times” have made some things mandatory which were less so in the past. I, nor any student, may use gender specific language for God. God may not be “He.” Shoot. Can’t be “She” either. Which makes for some really awkward syntax from time to time. It’s not that I object. I think it’s a good idea in principle. However, since I believe God to be male and female, I sometimes want to speak of God as Mother or Her as well as Father or He. No dice. I’m sure I’ll slip.

One thing I was pleased to hear during my orientation was that it was time to clamp down on grade inflation. Funny. When I taught there in the 80s and early 90s, I was frequently questioned about the number of my students who were assigned Cs, Ds and even Fs. I was even indirectly accused of being a racist since some students who received those grades were minority students. To be more frank than I should in writing something that can easily be circulated and read by those who might wish me harm: the school had admitted older students without college degrees, some of whom couldn’t write a complete sentence. I believed it would have been racist for me to have treated them differently from other students who could write complete sentences. Not everyone bought that stance.

The politics are troubling too, but this is not the place to go into that. What I wonder is why I had forgotten about the various down sides to teaching when I agreed to return. I guess I thought the personal high and the chance to influence lives was worth it. And I still do. I’m just less tolerant than I need to be.

Peace

Jerry+ BTW: I love it when readers use the comment function to interact. Feel free!

OMG

“Oh…..my…..God!” This has become perhaps the most common exclamation uttered on TV these days. This, or course, assumes you leave out the “premium channels” and those cable channels that bleep words that are not bleeped on the premium channels—the “F” word no doubt the leading contender. OMG is uttered when the home makeover is revealed or the contestant learns he/she has won a new refrigerator. The shocked interviewee on the news will treat us to and OMG as she/he describes the latest good/bad event in the neighborhood, as in “Oh my God! I couldn’t believe it!”

Personally, I’m pretty tired of it. Surely there must be other ways to express surprise and delight or horror, leaving OMG to actually be a prayer.

Is there any chance we can mount a campaign against this profane use of God’s name? I guess not. I mean, OMG, it’s just so ingrained!

Sorry,

Jerry+ PS: the first class went extremely well. A good time was had by all. Stay tuned.

A New Journey

Tomorrow I begin teaching Intro to Church History at a local seminary. I learned today I have 44 students, which is a huge seminary class. It is a required course offered each semester, but this is my first time to teach it. It will be a mixed bag of mostly first and second year students, most of whom are preparing for ordained ministry.

My guess is the class will be almost entirely second career learners—a difficult group to teach a purely content course. I’d like to think they are eager to learn about the history of the organization in which they practice their faith, but I think most are taking it because they must. Consequently, I feel more challenged than I did when I taught in the 70s through the early 90s in a field about which I knew tons—pastoral counseling. I could call on dozens of counseling stories and illustrations to make what I was dealing with lively and relevant. Students tended to hang on every word. In the early years, I even had an afternoon class that, once a week, adjourned to Ruby Tuesdays for nachos and wine and more discussion after class.

Somehow I imagine most of these students have little or no interest in the past, particularly the dim past. As adult learners, most of whom will be serving in parishes in some capacity, they will be interested in “how will this preach,” or “what’s that got to do with my ministry.” I think that is my biggest challenge. My principal consolation is that when I was most recently in the parish, whenever I taught adult ed classes on some part of Church history, most people were intrigued and very interested. Of course, it was kind of recreational—not unlike watching the History Channel. Still, for many, making a connection with their roots made their present faith life more meaningful.

So, pray for me and for those upon whom I inflict myself over the next 13 weeks. Through our mutual experience, ask that the Spirit be upon us and enrich our lives of faith.

Peace,

Jerry+

Doubt

Jack, a parishioner of mine long ago, showed up at my office. I invited him in and before I could say a word, he said, “Judy just had me served with divorce papers, and when I couldn’t reach her on the phone, I ran home. She’s cleaned out all her stuff and she’s gone. She left a note saying she’d call me tonight. This is all my fault.”

Frankly I have to say it has been rare in my experience that anyone really thinks a divorce is their fault, much less all their fault, so I was caught a little off guard. Based on our previous visits and a brief conversation or two I’d had with Judy, I thought I could honestly say there was plenty of fault or responsibility to go around. “Jack, what makes you think that?” His answer was heart-rending. “I’ve prayed and prayed that God would save our marriage and now she’s left. Obviously, I just didn’t have enough faith so God’s letting it fall apart.”

Jack, like so many other people, read Jesus’ remarks to Peter, “Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt,” as he drags Peter up from the water, and applied them to their situation. I believe Jack and others who think they have too little faith is truly a dramatic misunderstanding of the nature of faith and of God. The message from this passage isn’t “if he’d had enough faith he could have walked on the water.” And the message to us isn’t “if we each had enough faith we could overcome our problems in astonishing ways.”

When Jesus uses the phrase, “little faith,” he’s describing a mixture of courage and anxiety. We’ve all felt that, haven’t we? Way back in 1972 when my bishop tapped me for a totally different kind of ministry than I had been doing—moving me from the parish to the campus—I remember feeling excited and sacred. I called my good friend more senior than I with whom I’d worked and asked him if he thought I could “cut it,” that is, do the job and do it well. There was a part of me that was supremely confident. But there was a part of me that was supremely unsure at the same time. Been there?

There’s another point to make. The word “doubt” Jesus uses when asking “why did you doubt,” means “why were you skeptical,” or “why did you vacillate,” not “why didn’t you believe.” The skeptic or vacillator is not an unbeliever. Unbelievers have no doubt or uncertainty—they are sure in their unbelief. It is only the believer who has moments of uncertainty or feel skeptical or wavers. Peter believes, but for a moment, the feel of the strong wind is the dominant experience rather than the feel of the water on the bottom of his feet. He has a kind of “what am I doing here” moment. My clergy friend asked me, “What makes you wonder whether or not you can do this.” Just as Jesus might have said to Peter, “what made you wonder whether or not you could take another step on the water?” I answered my friend with, “I don’t know. Maybe just the fact that I don’t know a single thing about campus ministry.” “Really,” he said, “you don’t know how to care about people?” I was stunned. “Well, when you put it that way.”

Peter’s faith was not demonstrated by his being able to walk on water. Faith is being willing to cry out to Jesus when we are being battered and sinking and expecting his strong hands to comfort and sustain us.

Storms batter and sometimes boats sink. Disease hurts and takes lives. Terrorists bomb subways and buses. Insurgents kill liberators and patriots and innocent bystanders. Wives decide to stop trying and leave marriages. This is the fabric of life. To understand faith as a quantifiable something which if you somehow having enough of will cause God to make spectacular exceptions to the weave of this fabric is problematic, at least. Even Jesus, when asking for the apparently inevitable outcome of his ministry—his painful death—to be set aside by saying, “let this cup pass from me,” he only did that in the context of also praying, “but not my will, but yours.”

God’s permissive will allows bad things to happen as a part of the natural order. But God’s ultimate will is that all things will be reconciled to him. That is the point of the Incarnation and all that followed. I think this story is not about Peter, but about the reality that Jesus is there when we are in need.

What I said to Jack that long ago day doesn’t matter. It did to him, but I think the message today to us is this: our Lord is not continually judging our every action and deciding if our faith is in good shape or not. However, our Lord is aware of our every action and does care whether or not each action is loving, kind, just and merciful. We confess because we know we don’t always demonstrate the faith and hope we have, nor respond to the grace we’ve received. Some times, we slip under the water. When we do, we just need to remember it is not a permanent condition and Jesus himself is there to restore us to wholeness and to enable our faithful witness to resume.

Peace,

Jerry+

What's Next?

My general position on reality shows is that I don’t watch them. I made an exception a couple of years ago to watch Last Comic Standing for a few of its closing episodes—in search of a laugh, which I found. Last week and this week, I made another exception. I watched America’s Got Talent—poorly named, but an interesting variety show.

AGT apparently works like some of the other “talent” shows. Thousands audition, dozens are given spots on TV and the list slowly narrows. I was genuinely moved by some of the passion and desire of some of the performers. And, I’m happy to say, their talent. But. And this is a big but. The producers allow acts on the show that no one in their right mind would think show any promise. Why? Apparently so the studio audience can boo them, give them the thumbs down, and actually drown them out with shouts of derision. I couldn’t help but think “This must have been what the gladiator audiences were like—rude, bloodthirsty, and boorish.”

In my youth, there was a talent show on TV, The Ted Mack Amateur Hour. Ted would host the performers, some better than others certainly, but no awful acts. And the audience would politely applaud even the not so stellar performers. It wasn’t necessary to hoot and holler and make semi-obscene gestures to make the point that a given act lacked something.

But today we have to humiliate people on national TV. People who probably should realize they are not “star” quality, but apparently don’t. People who should never have been seen has having any talent and allowed to get on that stage to begin with. They have been put there simply to allow America to make fun of them and the studio audience to ridicule them.

What is wrong with us that we think this is entertaining? And don’t get me started about some of the fight shows I’ve seen advertized where anything goes. This is a sport? This is what we’ve come to?

My, my, my.

Jerry+

Prayer

The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. [Romans 8:26a]

This is the opening verse from this past Sunday’s Epistle. It wasn’t the text for the sermon I heard Sunday; I wish it had been. I’m not exactly sure what the point of Sunday’s sermon was, but that’s probably my problem and not the problem of the preacher. But I think I might have gotten something from being reminded of this passage. “We do not know how to pray as we ought.” This may not be a problem for you, but it is for me.

I have often described myself as “piety impaired,” and prayer is one of those areas where I’m definitely impaired. In the first place I don’t pray much. And in the second place, when I do, I sometimes wonder why bother. After all, God surely knows what’s going on with me—better than I do in fact. So I get confused about the necessity of letting God know what’s up. And, I don’t feel as if God is prepared to set aside the laws of the universe just for little ole me, so I’m always very hesitant to make requests.

The good news in all this is Paul’s certainty that it is no problem for God that I suck at prayer. God’s very Spirit is at work in my feeble prayers—both the formal ones and those I kind of toss off conversationally in passing. It is as if the Spirit is the great translator who not only can speak my words to God, but that the translation is better than I could have put it in my own words.

Comforting, no?

Peace,

Jerry+

Officially A Grump

Okay. I’m frustrated. Yesterday I dropped into the library and had a pleasant hour selecting this week’s clutch of books to read. As I walked up to the check out person, she was busy talking to the person at the computer next to her. She took my card. She scanned my books and the first word she spoke to me was to tell me when the books were due back, and then, quickly returning to her conversation with her fellow staff member.

Then I as I made my way out the door toward my car, a man and woman came from another door heading toward their car. Our paths had to intersect. She is talking to her husband and looking at me as she walks directly in front of me, causing me to have to stop in my tracks or crash into her.

Now I’m in my car and about to make a right turn with the light onto my street. Opposite me is someone in a car making a left turn. I have the right of way of course because of the right turn, plus I’ve actually already started my turn. She turned in front of me and looked at me as if I was a terrible inconvenience to her. I slammed on my breaks to avoid a possible collusion.
Now what do these three people have in common besides incidentally being women? Right. They were rude. I expect some rudeness in life. Not everyone is considerate—I get that. I’m sure now and then I’m rude too, though I’d like to believe it’s unintentionally. But, gosh, three episodes in the course of less than five minutes?

Now and then my family and I are downtown to see a Redbirds game—our fine Triple A baseball home team. Seven or Eight thousand people crowd into our still great little ball park. And like all sporting events, people are in and out of their seats and walking around the concourse on a quest for goodies. I know, because I’m sometimes on that quest too. Let me suggest that three cases of rudeness in less than five minutes is pretty normal there. And, of all places, AT A SPORTING EVENT, in which there are very clear rules of propriety in play on the field. But apparently none of this pastoral setting or game seems to rub off on those who watch it.

I wish these incidents were aberrations. I wish I could get through one public outing without at least one such encounter. And I suppose being pissed off by rudeness and writing about it officially makes me a curmudgeon. I don’t care. I’m fed up. I just don’t know what to do about it. Except grump a bit.

Peace to you, when peace is really hard to come by.

Jerry+

P.S. Most idiotic remark of the day category. The Anglican Archbishop of Sudan publically announced yesterday that "there are no homosexuals in the Sudan--at least none have come forward." Guess not.

The Sower

One of the most familiar parables was the Gospel for Sunday—the Sower. The problem is, the way Matthew treats it, it isn’t a parable, it’s an allegory. The difference is important. A parable is a wisdom teaching device that has one point. Really rich parables can have more than one point, but only one at a time. And remember, Jesus is said to only teach in parables. Yet in Matthew, Jesus is asked to explain his parable to his disciples and he allegorizes it. So what, you might ask?

Really nothing, except that parables are intended to produce struggles in the hearer. Aesop used parables and, as he did with the tortoise and the hare, it ended with a tag line: “the race doesn’t always go to the swift.” He didn’t take each twist and turn of the story and fill it with meaning. The alternative use of parables is to not even provide a tag line—the more conventional way of using them. Consequently, Matthew has Jesus doing all the heavy lifting for his disciples.

I’m guessing a lot of people prefer that. Just spell it out, don’t make us think. And, by the way, give us the one “true” meaning rather than confusing us with all the options. In short, we like to be told what to think.

Frankly, I doubt Jesus actually explained himself. I think his “editor” added it. And I think he did it because he didn’t trust his readers to figure it out on their own. There is a lot of that going around. But in all things, spiritual and temporal, I think we’re better off to struggle, to debate, to disagree, and to arrive at our own conclusions. After all, if we trust in the Spirit to guide us, why rely on someone else’s guidance to short-circuit our own search?

Just a thought.

Peace,

Jerry+

July 4th

I enjoyed an all-American 4th of July this year. On the evening of the 3rd, my wife and I went with my son and his family to the Millington fireworks display at the naval base. Since Mike is the Executive Officer of the base, we were able to sit in the VIP section, quite near the launching pad for the fireworks. And we were treated to B-B-Q and the fixin’. The event isn’t sponsored by the Navy, but by the city with the Navy as honored guests. The fireworks were outstanding and the weather was perfect.

The next day, our neighborhood put on its annual parade of people, strollers, riding mowers, decorated dogs and bikes. It’s led by a firetruck up a nearby street to someone’s big yard where we have a pot luck lunch. The firetruck sprays water for the kids to play in and prizes are awarded for various categories of decorations. Then we stuff ourselves and go home.

Two years ago, Mike was then Executive Officer of Diego Garcia, a Naval base in the Indian Ocean. Diego is British Territory with the U.S. leasing the island as a base. But the Brits have a presence there. Mike said maybe his best ever 4th was on that base! The Brits were good sports about it all.

When Carol and I were on vacation some 23 or 24 years ago, we were in Williamsburg in August. They re-enacted the arrival and reading of the Declaration of Independence. Took that long for it to be printed up and travel the several hundred miles from Philly to Williamsburg. It was a grand day for the colonies—or rather the new republic—and we enjoyed being a part of it.

Great days and great memories, but more happened as well. On the afternoon of the 3rd of July this year, Mike and I went to the cemetery to visit my father’s grave on the anniversary of his birth. We looked at a government issued tombstone that reminded us he was a corporal in WWI. And I have two brothers who lie in military cemeteries with similar gravestones from WWII. All three fought to assure that the liberty won for us so long ago is kept safe.

It would be wonderful to have every neighborhood do what ours did. Or to have people stop and remember why we’re off from work and enjoying a long weekend. But I know such a celebration or such a reflection is an exception and not the rule. Most of us are too busy or too jaded to stop and be mindful. Most of us seem to take our liberty for granted, as if we’re entitled to it. And maybe we are entitled. But isn’t it just polite to be thankful even for those things for which we’re entitled?

Peace,

Jerry+

"Learn From Me"

“Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

These are Jesus’ words in Sunday Gospel. “Learn from me,” he says. If I learn from Jesus, what is it I learn? As I look at Jesus I see one who loves without condition. Matthew, a hated tax collector, is beckoned to with the words, “Follow me,” inducted into the inner circle. The woman at the well, whose checkered life made her a near outcast in her village, is engaged by Jesus without regard to her many marriages and her current living relationship outside of marriage. The woman caught in adultery is offered forgiveness and guidance without even asking for it: “Go and sin no more.” The man who lay beside the pool thirty years, longing for healing, is given that healing without a word of reproach or condition. Peter’s betrayal of Jesus is brushed aside with the gift of a new responsibility to carry on Jesus’ work of feeding the sheep.

Paul calls himself the “chief of sinners.” And in Sunday's Epistle, he is puzzled by his behavior. Like Paul, I do not understand my own actions, my reasons for not following Jesus as I wish to. I find myself uncondemned by any but myself. Forgiven and loved even when I don’t forgive myself or love myself. How can I not long to be like Jesus when I am transformed by him? His yoke doesn’t require that I follow impossible rules or that I meet impossible standards. His burden is that I accept his love for me, allow that to burn away the last vestiges of self, and become one who accepts others rather than tolerates others. Who heals others with a touch or a word or a smile, who is genuinely concerned with the welfare of others, not because it’s my job or a part of a deal I’ve struck, but because his Spirit lives within. Who loves others when they are hard to love, perhaps all the more because they are hard to love.

Shall we be this kind of person because we’re afraid not to be? Shall we be this kind of person because it’s a good thing to do? No. We will take up this yoke because Jesus has encountered us in our great need and dealt with us generously and we just can’t help ourselves. Therein is rest for the soul.

Peace,

Jerry+

Oops

To my faithful reader, and you know who you are, sorry it’s been so long!

I’ve been immersed in developing lectures on the 2000 year history of the Church which I have 13 three hour class sessions to cover. Come this fall, I will teach 25 or 30 seminarians of all ages the importance of our past as Christians. To give you a sense of how daunting that seems, next Spring, I will teach another course on The Early Church, about the first 425 years in the same number of lectures. This fall, it merits one class meeting.

But I am completely looking forward to the challenge. I have to say, however, the task has brought unexpected sadness. The reality is, the history of the institution and, frankly, many of its leaders at every level, is dark. Well, if not dark, sad. It is very unpleasant to see how far removed both have been from the basic teaching of Jesus from the very early.

Perhaps the worse thing that happened to the Gospel was for the institution entrusted with it to be tolerated and then legalized during the reign of Constantine in the early 4th century. Very quickly, it not only became the state Church, it became a tool, or willing partner anyway, in the power associated with kings and emperors. But, dear reader, I know you know all this.

And so do I, but it has been tough to be reminded of it again in significant detail. And to be very aware that, while the leadership today may not be personally corrupt and completely caught up in the trappings of power, the Church remains a long way from the teachings of Jesus. That is not to say that none of what Jesus modeled or commanded gets done. Heck, much was done in “those olden days” too. But when the average parish budget is 85% or more dedicated to ministry within the congregation, we’re probably not spending much on the poor, the orphaned, the widowed, or those who need the consolation of the Gospel.

But you know this too, reader. I guess the question many men and women of good will and who love God have been asking and are asking still is, “How long, O Lord? How long?”

Peace,

Jerry+ P.S. I’ll do better about writing. P.P.S. Thanks to those who sent more items for the list from the last post.

Natural Highs

When my older son was about 15, we were talking one day and the subject of drugs came up. “Pop, don’t worry. I get high on life,” he blurted. He began to list the things in his life that made him “high.” I believed him. I thought of that when I got an email from my cousin. She had forwarded the following list of natural highs. Don’t hurry through the list. Savor each one. See what happens.

1. Falling in love.

2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.

3. A hot shower.

4. No lines at the supermarket .

5. A special glance.

6. Getting mail.

7. Taking a drive on a pretty road.

8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.

9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.

10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.

11. Chocolate milkshake (vanilla or strawberry).

12. A bubble bath.

13. Giggling.

15. The beach.

16. Finding a 20 dollar bill in your coat from last winter.

17. Laughing at yourself.

18. Looking into their eyes and knowing they Love you

19. Midnight phone calls that last for hours.

20. Running through sprinklers.


21. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.

22. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.

23. Laughing at an inside joke with FRIENDS

24. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.

25. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep.

26. Your first kiss (either the very first or with a new partner).

27. Making new friends or spending time with old ones.

28. Playing with a new puppy.

29. Having someone play with your hair.

30. Sweet dreams.

31. Hot chocolate.


32. Road trips with friends.

33. Swinging on swings.

34. Making eye contact with a cute stranger.

35. Making chocolate chip cookies.

36. Having your friends send you homemade cookies.

37. Holding hands with someone you care about.

38. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or bad) never change.

39. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much desired present from you.

40. Watching the sunrise.

41. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another beautiful day.

42. Knowing that somebody misses you.

43. Getting a hug from someone you care about deeply.

44. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.

Peace,

Jerry+

Matthew and Us

The calling of Matthew to discipleship in the Sunday Gospel should give all of us great hope. The reason for hope will become clear as the story unfolds.

Being a tax collector meant Matthew was an unlikely person for discipleship. He was almost certainly hated or at least dislike by other Jews, if for no other reason than that what he did consorted with the enemy. And, it was very common that tax collectors were involved in graft and extortion. They weren’t even allowed in the synagogue. A tax collector was such an outcast that their money wasn’t accepted as alms! Seen as so untrustworthy, they couldn’t testify in court! Very likely, Matthew was a pretty unsavory guy.

Yet, even before Matthew himself knew he could be more, could play and important role in announcing the kingdom, Jesus knew it about him. But there is something else here that is marvelous. Jesus didn’t condone Matthew’s choices and life, but he didn’t criticize him either. As far as we know, there was no discussion at all about it. No interview. No accounting asked or given. I think what happened here is that Jesus believed Matthew could live up to the call and renounce his former life.

So here’s the hope. Jesus sees in us the good, the potential we have for the kingdom’s sake. He sees how we may come to be an earthly extension of his heavenly love. He sees how we can by the way we live with others be the presence of his love in their lives, love for which they long, for which they ache, for which they search, sadly often in all the wrong places.

What an affirmation that is for us! If we ever wonder if we have anything to offer anybody, any purpose in life, we just need to remember what Jesus saw in Matthew and what he sees in us.
Jesus eats and drinks with tax collectors and the likes of us. He chooses us! Why? He loves us and we need him. Isn’t that wonderful? We need him and he’s there for us. In our pride and selfishness, greater affronts than the tax collector’s extortion, he’s there without reservation because we need him.

There’s an interesting point here we don’t want to miss. The rabbis of Jesus’ day wouldn’t have criticized Jesus merely because he cared for the outcast, the poor, the sinner. They too welcomed the repentant sinner. What was different was that Jesus sought them out! Just as he seeks us out in our own unrighteousness. This is truly the Good News.

Matthew is apparently so ready to break free of his old life that he drops everything--a considerable everything--and follows Jesus. Matthew threw a dinner party which all the other tax collectors and sinners attended with Jesus as the honored guest. Wouldn’t that make sense? He’s just experienced his life’s and soul’s salvation, wouldn’t he want to share the source of that with everybody he could? Wouldn’t we? Wouldn’t we, being overwhelmed with his love for us, remembering that “while we were yet sinners, he died for us,” wouldn’t we do the equivalent? Of course we would.

How could we do this? We resist the temptation to maim others with our words. We act on those impulses that hit us to make that phone call to a friend or someone in need instead of turning on the TV. We pay attention to those around us, and when we see pain, large or small, we show concern, real concern, not just curiosity. We look for and acknowledge the good in someone rather than focus on real or imagined flaws in them. We trust others because we expect the best from them.

We eliminate criticism, even the uninvited constructive kind, and replace it with acceptance. We abolish the intolerance in our lives that is so much a part of the way of the world, and we replace it with openness and tolerance. We don’t insist on our way, instead we try to respond to the need of another. We don’t demand, we ask. We don’t imagine mean spirited motives in others, instead we try to clarify and understand their actual motive. The list goes on and on. These are just a few ways we love, not as the world loves, but as God loves.

“Follow me,” Jesus invites. “Follow me,” Jesus commands. “Follow me,” Jesus implores. “We will,” we respond. Let our prayer be for the continuous presence of the Spirit to strengthen us in this ministry of grace with which we’ve been entrusted.

A little long, but then I've missed the rest of the week! Peace to you.

Jerry+

Lord, Lord...

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.” In the Lucan parallel, it’s, “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you?” Jarring at least. Terrifying at worst.

There are a couple of absolutes in what Jesus is saying and they are terribly. The first is also seen in a similar saying in Luke. In a parable, Jesus reports the Lord of the house as saying to those who knock to enter, “I do not know you.” To which those outside say, “but we ate and drank with you and you taught in our streets.” And the Lord replies, in a phrase repeated in today’s reading, “Go away you evildoers.” Imagine the shock of those who thought they had a companionable relationship with the Master because they associated with him at the table and heard him teach. To their enormous surprise, he sends them away—and worse—calls them evildoers.

Evildoers!? That can’t be us can it? Well, an evildoer as Matthew understands it is one who rejects or perverts righteous living. And righteous living is understood as living, from the heart, the teaching of Jesus on the primacy of love. So we must ask if we reject or pervert righteous living.

To put it another way, the point Jesus seems to be making is this: religious behavior is not going to create that union with God. Going to church, taking the sacraments, giving funds and time, reading the Bible, praying carefully—as good as these things are, they do not comprise “doing the will of the Father.” All these things can be done and done well, without the spirit of love as the motivation or the outcome. We can be in church on any given Sunday because that is what we do on Sunday. We can even listen carefully and be moved by a powerful worship service in music and the spoken word. But if when we climb in our cars, we are as surly as we were when we fussed at the children to hurry and get ready or we’d tear up their little behinds, we have received no benefit. If we were out of sorts with our spouses when we entered church, we can’t be out of sorts when we leave. We can receive the blessed bread and wine daily, but if this means of grace doesn’t impel us to treat others with grace in our dealing with them, we’ve simply been selfish.

Oh listen, it gets worse! Jesus says, they will say, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and cast our demons in your name and do many deeds of power in your name? Then I will declare to them,” Jesus says, “‘I never knew you; go away from me you evil doers.’” So if the first point Jesus makes is that simple association with him or with holy things will not be sufficient, then the second point is: even doing acts in his name will not be enough. The ultimate point Jesus is making is that the deeds must represent the inner nature of the person doing them or they are hypocritical and empty. Association with him and holy things isn’t enough. Good deeds aren’t enough. Only true conversion from a selfish nature to a loving nature can create union with God.

As I re-read the Sermon on the Mount, often thought of as the summary of the Christian life, I for one, feel pretty inadequate as a Christian. I have to wonder if love is my intention and my motivation as I move through life. And if it is, am I consistent in letting love be my guide? Can I even, in my wildest dreams do what Jesus said and “be perfect even as my Father in heaven is perfect?” Surely, if we are brutally honest with ourselves, the net effect of thinking about all this is to make each of us, me included, feel almost like total failures as Christians. We probably should be feeling guilt and even shame at the recognition of ourselves as evildoers. Worse, we should feel devastated to think the Lord might say to us, “I never knew you.”

The peace of the Lord be with you.

Jerry+

Family Memories

What a great few days! Mike arrived home from Iraq on time last Thursday and the family and three senior officers from Navy Support Activity Millington where he is Executive Officer were there to meet him!

Friday night, the family all gathered for a birthday dinner for my step-son Lynn. Saturday Mike’s family and my wife and I headed out to a baseball game (Triple A Redbirds). Sunday, Carol and I took the two smallest grandkids to our world class zoo. Monday, Mike’s family and my wife and I attended a Memorial Day cookout.

I mention all this because it seems to me in our world, there is a decreasing emphasis on family time. Meals are hardly ever taken together. Mom’s in one car and Dad’s in other taking kids to some kind of practice. Evenings are often spent with everybody “in their corner” as it were, studying, catching up on work from the office or finishing chores around the house. So much seems to conspire to keep us moving and not necessarily moving together, just at the same time.

Our family has certainly been guilty of this kind of life. But looking back, some of our best times, the times we often tell and retell stories about, are those times when we were together—at a dinner table, trapped in a car heading to a vacation spot, strolling the zoo, or sharing a movie.

Perhaps that’s why I wanted to be there at the airport. One more time we’ll have together and one more time we’ll be able to say, “Remember that time when…” If you’re not doing much of this, you might want to rethink how you set your priorities.

The picture was taken by the chaplain who came to the airport. The face belongs to Mike, the gray hair to me.

The peace of the Lord be with you.

Jerry+

Worry

In Sunday's Gospel from Matthew, Jesus tells his followers "Don't worry."

It’s easy enough to say, “Don’t worry.” We’ve probably all said this to people at one time or another as they shared some problem with us. And “Don’t worry,” is usually followed by, “It’ll be OK.” But have you ever noticed when people say that to you, it’s not much comfort?

That being true, why did Jesus tell us not to worry? Don’t worry about what you’ll eat or drink or wear he says. Can worrying accomplish anything, he asks—can it make you live longer? And in another passage, he says, “Take no thought for tomorrow, for tomorrow’s troubles are sufficient for the day.” In other words, take one day at a time. And since worry is always about the future, he again is telling us: Don’t worry. Why? The why is simple—worrying about the future does not impact the future in any way, except to make you less physically and emotionally able to handle it. The “how” is the hard part isn’t it? I know it is for me. And that is actually what Jesus is trying to help us with.

I read a anecdote recently that fits here really well. Most of us are generally familiar with downhill skiing. There are various kinds of downhill skiing and the one thing they all have in common is they are done on an open course. Some have snow humps called moguls to deal with, others have sets of flags called gates that people ski through, but there are no real impediments. But there is another kind of skiing called “tree skiing.” This takes place on a downhill run—in a forest! Trees everywhere. If you hit one of the gates in downhill skiing, it flexes and you just keep going. But if you hit a tree—not so much!

One of the tree skiers was interviewed about this dangerous sport. Here’s what he said: “Look at the spaces between the trees—the exits you hope [emphasis added]to be traveling. Don’t stare at what you don’t want to hit.” I think this is basically what Jesus was getting at. Our loving God will protect us from the “trees” or else help us recover if we hit one. This being true, focus on hope.

Today my older son returned from his tour in Iraq. I can’t say I never worried while he was there, but it was episodic, not continuous. We both kept our eyes focused on the “space between the trees.” And he reached the bottom of the hill.

The Lord’s peace be with you,

Jerry+