Attic Treasures

 

I grew up in New England where old colonial and Cape Cod style homes dominated the landscape.  And a feature of such homes often was, and is, a full attic.  In our house, you walked up to the attic on a full flight of stairs, and except for the spaces by the eaves you could actually stand up without banging your head.  It was one of our favorite spots when we played hide n’ seek--big boxes and a free-standing mirror made for excellent places to hide!  And if you wanted solitude and quiet for an afternoon of reading you could find it there.  It was spooky at night and where my father would take us on Halloween to tell ghost stories.  My grandfather’s sea chest full of memorabilia from World War I was kept in the attic.  And it was, of course, where all the Christmas decorations were stored between seasons.   Our attic, like many, was filled with treasures:  treasured items, and treasured memories as well.

Earlier this month a parishioner shared a lovely story with me about an attic treasure.  How one day in what had been his parents’ attic, a rather dusty box was discovered that contained the American Flyer train he’d received one Christmas many decades ago.  It wasn’t just any Christmas, though, because he had contracted measles in a time before the measles vaccine.  Before getting sick he had seen the train, and desperately wanted it.  But he was so sick, he was confined to bed, and was sure he’d miss out on all the wonders Christmas had to offer.  Christmas Day came, and while the rest of the family was downstairs, enjoying the festivities, he lay alone in his bed.  But then, he heard his footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly appeared in his doorway, crossed over to his bed, and scooped him up into his arms.  And then, carried him down the stair to the living room, where under the tree, where the train was set up in all its glory.  The very train he had dreamed of having.  And in the end, what for a sick young boy, what seemed destined to be a very blue Christmas, turned into one remembered to this day.  A Christmas when love was made known in such a wondrous way.

As I’ve pondered things this second Covid Christmas and reflected on the past two years of struggles and challenges, I have been so incredibly grateful for the many Christmas treasures stored in the attic of my memory.  Often thoughts of a special moment from a Christmas past have lifted my spirits as I’ve had to make decisions about masks and social distancing and sanitizers and all the other concerns we’ve had to address.  I have been buoyed up by those memories, buoyed up by those treasures.

I am also reminded that chief of those attic treasures, is the story we remember each Christmas, pandemic or not, of a time so long ago when God chose to be revealed to us in the birth of a tiny child.  It is a story both simple and profound.  A story populated by angels and shepherds, an innkeeper, a tired teenaged mother, and her travel weary husband.  A story rich with detail.  A stable.  A manger.  A donkey.  And cooing doves.  It is a story told round the world on this very night.  And even as we hear it again, even as we witness once more the beauty of the tale, even as we imagine the child being 
scooped up in Joseph’s arms and being handed to Mary, we are touched by the love made known on this night.

Maybe on this Christmas you need to be scooped up and carried.  Maybe you need to be cradled and held.  Maybe you long to be treasured and loved. 

If so, there is incredibly good news.   For in this birth that we celebrate each December, God appeared in human flesh and chose to remind us that human beings have inherent worth.  That you and I are indeed treasured.  Treasured and loved by the Creator of all that is, all that was, all that ever will be.  And God stands ready to scoop you up and carry you through the trials of life. 

Here in Florida we don’t usually have literal attics.  No stairs leading up to a space filled with treasures.  But we do have the attics of heart and mind.  And there, if we are only willing to look, we will find again the greatest treasure Christmas has to offer.  Not a box of decorations, not even a brand-new train set, but rather the love made known on a night so long ago in Bethlehem.  A love that can hold you throughout time and beyond.

So, This Is Christmas

This past Sunday two of our younger church members sang "Happy Xmas--War Is Over" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono as our special music at one of our church services.  The older of the two, Henry, is in college and home on his Christmas break.  His younger sister, Anabelle, is in high school locally.  Neither of them, of course, were alive when that song first hit the airwaves in 1971--I'm not even sure their parents were!  But their simple presentation, just a guitar and their two lovely voices, was heartfelt and well done.

I, of course, was alive, and in my first year at college.  It was the year I got my draft card and was subject to the draft, and part of the draft lottery.  The war in Viet Nam was still in full swing, and back then the song spoke directly to me and my life.  I was opposed to the war and concerned about being drafted.  But in the end my number in the lottery was well above the cut off that year, and so I was not at risk of being drafted.

All of that came flooding back as I listened to them sing and reflected on it later.  I am glad that neither of them face the prospect of being drafted.  I am glad we are out of Viet Name, Iraq and Afghanistan.  But the truth is war is not over.  There is literal war in various corners of the world.  There is the ongoing war against Covid in this time of our Second Covid Christmas.  There is the ongoing war with racism.  And the list goes on.  War is not over.  But it could be.  That's what the song says, "War is over, if you want it."  As we prepare to celebrate the birth of the One we call the Prince of Peace, perhaps we do well to ask ourselves, as individuals, as a nation, indeed as a global community, do we really want it?  Do we really want war to be over?  Do we really want peace?   I hope so.

(Photo Credit:  Dana Crater)

Tornados and Church

Yesterday, in the aftermath of the horrendous, tornado that ripped through Kentucky, the evening news featured a story about one of the churches in Mayfield that had gathered that morning outside the remains of their church building.  The story included video of maybe two or three dozen folks sitting in folding chairs, all bundled up against the cold, all singing a familiar Christmas carol.  

In an interview with the pastor, we were reminded of a powerful truth.  The church, he said, is not a building, it is the people.  We love our building and are very saddened by the destruction it has suffered.  But the church is the people.

This, of course, is a truth that transcends Christianity.  While our buildings can be extremely important, it is the people who gather in them--whether the building is a church, a mosque, a temple or a synagogue--that are the most significant.  

We will, of course, remember all those who have suffered the damages brought about by the tornado, and especially those who have lost loved ones.  And we can and will find ways to support them with monies, and volunteer hours, and supplies.  We must.  But first and foremost, as people of faith, any faith and all faiths, we must support them with our prayers.  It's what the mayor of Mayfield asked for.  It is what the Governor of Kentucky asked for.  For it is in and through prayer that we are reminded of God's great love for all those impacted, bundled up and singing carols, or not.  And our responsibility to reach out to help as we can.

Guns and Children: All I Can Say Is Amen

 Last Tuesday, November 30, a 15 year old boy entered a school in Michigan with a weapon.  A semi-automatic pistol.  After firing over thirty rounds, three students were left dead, eight others were injured.  The following day, one of them died as well from injuries sustained in the attack.  The shooter was apprehended on the scene by police, but his parents eventually fled the area, only to be hunted down and later caught.  The boy's father had purchased the gun for him just a few days earlier.  And both parents appeared to be cavalier when there were signs he might use it as he did.

The parents have now been charged with four counts each of involuntary manslaughter.  School officials may also face charges.  All of which is largely unprecedented.  

Of course, I am rehearsing details here that most of my readers already know.  But what may create more interest and therefore more press coverage, is the seeming facts about the parents and their actions.  The boy is just that.  At fifteen, just a boy.  Should he bear responsibility for his actions, of course.  But were those actions made possible by parental actions or inaction?  That will be decided in the courts.  But perhaps the fact that such questions will be asked in court is an indicator that we've turned a corner in terms of our attitudes and approach to gun ownership and use.

The day of the shooting a friend of mine, a fellow clergyperson from New England, posted a prayer online.  He posts a benediction many nights on social media.  Benedictions that often reflect the day's news.  That night he wrote: "Good night all.  I pray for a day when this country loves and values its children more than its guns.  The Lord bless you and keep you."

All I can say to that is Amen, Brother Rick, Amen.

It's Not Jewish Christmas . . .

Many Christians think Hanukkah is the Jewish version of Christmas.  Which of course is not the case.  It is a uniquely Jewish celebration rooted in the story of the Maccabees and their success in regaining the Temple after it had been desecrated by Antiochus Epiphanes and his troops in the second century BCE.  The observance of the eight-
day festival includes the well-known lighting of eight candles, one for each night of the festivities, and the recounting of the lovely story of lamp oil that lasted just long enough.  

At root, though Hanukkah is all about religious freedom, and the importance of preserving it.  A value to which any person of faith can ascribe.  And, for that matter, so long as religious freedom includes the right to practice no religion, any person period.

The great diversity of religious practices and traditions in our country is especially dear, and part of what makes America what it is today.  Still, the lessons of Hanukkah are often missed, and there are those who insist all should believe as they do.

One of the things I most treasure about serving here at Sanibel Congregational United Church of Christ is the fact that we share our building, and various aspects of our life including at various time educational events, worship, travel and community outreach, with Bat Yam, Temple of the Islands.  While we all openly acknowledge the ways in which we are different in beliefs and practices, we also strive to celebrate our commonalities.  And because of religious liberty, we are free to do so.

Sunday, December 5, we will be joining together for a joint celebration, exploring together both Hanukkah and Christmas traditions with special music, readings by my colleague Rabbi Stephen Fuchs and myself, as well a the lighting of the Second Advent Candle and the Eighth Candle of Hanukkah.    

Any who read this who are on Sanibel or nearby are welcome to join with us, Sunday, December 5, at 5:00 PM at our shared address:  2050 Periwinkle Way, Sanibel Florida.  

Why Did He Take a Gun Downtown?

But why did he take an AR-15 style weapon downtown in the first place?  That's my primary question as I reflect on the verdict in the Kyle Rittenhouse trial.  When I was a kid my parents would say of certain actions on my part, "You're just asking for trouble."  That seems to me to be the case here.  Carrying such a weapon into the middle of a protest heavily monitored by the police was just asking for trouble.  The defense argued he was being a good citizen, and was there to protect private property.  But isn't that what we pay law enforcement to do?  The last I knew Kenosha wasn't part of the Old West.

We are told it is very hard to argue against self-defense.  And that may indeed be the case.  And maybe his actions were in defense of his own safety.  But if he was worried about staying safe, why was he there?  Why didn't he stay home, out of harm's way?

Yes, we need to respect the jury's decision, though I can't help but think it might have gone differently had he been a 17-year-old black man.  To their credit, the jury did appear to take their work seriously.  There was no snap judgement.  But still . . . why did he take a rifle downtown?

I continue to support the right to bear arms, but within limits.   I do so in the hope that gun owners will use them wisely and well.  Which is the case with many gunowners I know and respect.  But I imagine most of them would have stayed home that fated day.  Or gone to work, or school.  But not downtown.  After all, if Kyle Rittenhouse had done that--stayed home--or at least left his gun behind, Joseph Rosenbaum and Anthony Huber might still be alive, and Gaige Grosskreutz would have his whole arm.

Really, in the end, this isn't about gun rights.  It's about commonsense.  Which brings me back to my original question . . . why did he take an AR-15 style weapon downtown in the first place?  Why?

Dad and Dancing Angels

 A collection of my short stories has just come out.  It's called Angels Dancing on  the Roof  and includes seasonal stories that I've written over several years.  Most are Christmas stories, but I have included a Chanukah story as well.

I must say, seeing them is print is a bit of a thrill.  I have had other things, liturgical materials and essays, published, but a whole book!  Cool!  

I will be doing some/readings/signings over the next month.  Being seasonal literature there is a rather specific time frame for promoting it.  But the spirit of the season, which I hope these varied tales reflect, can and should last throughout the year.  I know that's a tad cliched, but who among us doesn't wish that, hope that?  Only the most ardent misanthropes.  I won't say Grinches or Scrooges because (spoiler alert) they both go through a dramatic conversion experience!

The book is dedicated to my Dad, one of the most ardent fans of the Dickens story about old Ebenezer and Tiny Tim.  He would read it to us every Christmas, one stave (chapter) a week through Advent, culminating on Christmas Day with the fifth and final stave.  The epigram on my dedication page, in fact, comes from Dickens.  "It was always said of him, that he knew well how to keep Christmas, if any man possessed the knowledge."

I don't pretend to be in the same league as Charles Dickens.  Not even in the same fictional universe!  But I do hope I have captured some of that same sense of wonder and hope that he did.  

If you'd like to check out the book for yourself, you can find it on Amazon, or locally, at McIntosh Books.

Why I Will Pray on Veterans Day

I've been asked to pray at Sanibel's official Veteran's Day ceremony this year.  I have done it before and have agreed to do it again.  Not because I am a supporter of armed interventions or war.  But rather because I am a supporter of veterans., which to some may seem an odd thing for a pacifist like myself to say.  So let me explain.

First and foremost I respect the fact that veterans have sacrificed their individual interests in support of the larger good.  To be willing to rise above one's own particular needs or interests in support of something greater than oneself is admirable.  Would that more of us were willing to do that.  So many of today's problems, ranging from pandemics to climate change, could be more effectively dealt with if we approached them in a selfless and united manner.  Veterans have shown us how that can be done.

Secondly, I find it appalling that we have asked men and women to sacrifice a portion of their lives, to even risk their lives, and then have left them without the support they need to reintegrate into society and recover from their physical, emotional and spiritual injuries.  That so many vets are homeless, struggling with PSTD, coping with various addictions, is just plain unacceptable.  We have asked them to serve on our behalf and come to our aid--we must come to their aid when they need our help.

So it is that I will pray. I will offer words of gratitude for the selflessness of veterans.  I will pray for those who are sick and injured that we might help bring them healing and hope.  I will pray for those who grieve the losses war inflicts.  I will pray in the hopes that a day will come when there will be no
more need for people to become veterans.  And I will pray for peace.

  

Wheels for Wheels, 2021--Part II

Saturday, as I rode sixty-eight miles on my bike as part of the Howards S. Danner Jr., Wheels for Wheels Cycling Challenge (raising funds for wheelchairs) I was joined by two friends for most of the ride.  And, near the end of the ride, gathered with many fellow Rotarians and others, to celebrate their rides and their support of the effort which led to our success  our success (we have raised as of this writing over $25,000 dollars!)

It was a good day.  It felt good to get some serious exercise.  It felt good to spend time with people whose company I enjoy.  It felt good to be working for a great cause.  And there were also lessons to be learned along the way!

We started the ride before dawn.  We had a lot of miles to cover, and we hoped to make the gathering at 11:00 AM.  That meant we rode in the dark, for over an hour.  And to do so safely, we had to take special precautions:  lights on our bikes, reflective clothing, and so on.  It was important for us to see the road, and it was important for drivers to see us!  How often we forget that on any journey having light to show us where to go is vital!

A good portion of the ride we were heading into the wind--which slowed us down quite a bit.  But then on the return, we had a tailwind and though rather tuckered out at that point (we were already firty-five miles or so into the ride) we were able to make up some lost time!  I was reminded that whenever you face into the wind someone else is being carried along by it.  Sometimes literally, but more often metaphorically.  I was also reminded that often in life, the headwinds come first, and then the tailwinds.  The work precedes the reward.

We also had to deal with rain.  In fact early in the ride, we got caught in a heavy downpour.  It didn't last long, and when it abated there was a lovely rainbow.  And towels.  We were very near one of my friends homes, and so we stopped, and took a few minutes to dry off (a bit--my shoes remained soggy for the rest of the ride!)  Have you ever noticed despite all the rainbow clichés, they never grow old?  Such a persistent symbol of hope!  And  friend with a fresh towel?  Priceless!

When we were all done, the shoulders and necks and legs were all sore, but the good kind of sore that says, you did something today that was worth doing.  And so it was.  Along with the other riders, our bicycle wheels will make it possible for two-hundred
and fifty folks to get wheelchair wheels, seats and all!

Sealed: A Review

Scrupulosity.  If there is one word that sums up much of Pastor Katie Langston's memoir recounting her journey from being a lay person in the Church of Jesus Christ--Latter Day Saints, to being a clergy person in the Lutheran Church, it is scrupulosity.  If there is a second word it is grace.

Scrupulosity, according to Webster is all about "acting in strict regard for what is considered right or proper."  Emphasis on strict.  Emotionally it can lead to a great measure of anxiety, as it does in Langston's case.  Time and time again over the course of her childhood, adolescence and early adulthood she obsesses about whether or not she has obeyed the rules of the Mormon church.  In fascinating detail she outlines the rituals, liturgies, and expectations of one of the fastest growing religious traditions in the world.  And, in doing so, she highlights its theology.  A theology that in her opinion, ultimately led to her scrupulosity. After recalling many of her early struggles reconciling theology and practice, she writes: "I'd spent my childhood consumed with effort and anxiety, but confidence in my salvation still escaped me.  It was a worry that was always at the back of my mind:  what if I'll never be enough?" (87)

Eventually Langston has an experience, a conversion experience if you will, that convinces her that God's love is greater than her worries and concerns, that she is accepted and loved regardless of her efforts.  She understands it to be grace, leading to the full title of her volume:  Sealed:  An Unexpected Journey Into the Heart of Grace.  Over time Langston senses a call to ordained ministry, which in time leads to her attending seminary and being ordained as a Lutheran pastor.  Appropriately Lutheran, I would suggest.  As her struggles with scrupulosity mirror those experiences by none other that Martin Luther himself.

Langston describes the various challenges her leaving behind Mormonism led to, especially in her own family.  Yet she also speaks again and again about the ways her relationships were healed over the years despite the major theological and institutional differences with most of her family.  She also, unlike many accounts written by ex-members of various faith communities, recognizes the positive gifts she has received due to her Mormon upbringing. Mormonism, she writes, taught her to value "connections, togetherness, horde for unity . . . ." (234)

I have Mormon friends who time and again have shown me the beauty of their faith.  I disagree with the theology of the Church of Jesus Christ--Latter Day Saints, but I can't help but admire and respect the unqualified devotion those friends have.  I am moved by the way they give of themselves time and again to help their fellow believers.  Like the time one friend moved clear across country as a single woman and who was given enormous amounts of help from the members' of her new ward (congregation) as she moved into a new community.  I suspect Langston would understand far better than I the admirable qualities of members of her former community, while still needing to move into a new way of relating to the holy.  Her well-written and compelling story is worth reading by any who wrestle with what it means to be a person of faith.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through Speakeasy blogging book review network.  I was not required to write a positive review.  The opinions I have expressed are my own.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255.

In Memoriam: Another Side of Colin Powell

In light of his death this morning, you'll no doubt be hearing a lot about Colin Powell in the days ahead.  He truly was a significant figure in our nation's history over the last decades.  Folks will write about his long military career, including his work as the Chairperson of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; his efforts as the first African-American to serve as Secretary of State will be written about extensively; his willingness to cross party line when that seemed to be in the best interest of the county.

You may not have always liked what he did, nor the positions he took on various issues.  But you would be hard-pressed to ignore his loyalty to these United States.  All that will be written about, talked about.  

But I'd like to take a moment to focus on Powell as a Dad and grandfather.  His family spoke of him as being "remarkable and loving"--he was also very astute, recognizing how important that sense of closeness, that willingness to show a child love, truly was and is.

Powell once said:  "All children need a laptop. Not a computer, but a human laptop. Moms, Dads, Grannies and Grandpas, Aunts, Uncles - someone to hold them, read to them, teach them. Loved ones who will embrace them and pass on the experience, rituals and knowledge of a hundred previous generations. Loved ones who will pass to the next generation their expectations of them, their hopes, and their dreams."  For all his wise words over the years about leadership and loyalty and obedience, maybe his words about laps are the ones we most need to hold on to.

Thanksgiving--An Everyday Holiday

I was talking with a Canadian friend today who reminded me that north of the border yesterday was Thanksgiving.  For most Americans images of Thanksgiving are tied to the Mayflower, and the Pilgrims.  But not in Canada.  We do share the basic foods of the day in common, turkey with all the trimmings.  And Canadians watch football as well.

There is, of course, a certain irony in the fact that yesterday was also Indigenous Peoples Day here in the States.  All too often in the various
tellings of Thanksgiving, we have prettified the picture of the impact on those who already populated this continent and Europeans first arrived, north or south.  There is much to consider.  Still, that doesn't negate the importance of expressing our gratitude for life itself.

But giving thanks should not be restricted to one or another day on the calendar.  I am reminded of something I read in doing research on the Shakers in Maine.  The journal-keeper for the community, writing in the late nineteenth century as Thanksgiving approached, with its usual presidential proclamation, noted that Shakers didn't need to be reminded to give thanks.  It was something they did routinely.

Whether we are Canadian or American, or the citizen of any other nation, we would do well to emulate the Shakers, and offer up thanks any day and everyday.

An Instrument of Peace

St. Francis of Assisi may be the most revered of all the saints, not counting St. Nicholas, who is more revered as Santa Claus than as the Bishop of Myra.  There is something about his humble approach to life that warms people's hearts.  

But make no mistake, Francis was in many ways a firebrand.  He was, after all, the son of a rich merchant, he was privileged.  But seeing the needs if those around him, he decided to renounce his father's lifestyle, and demonstrated his intention to do so by stripping off all his fancy, well-tailored clothing in front of the local bishop.  All of it!  

He was always an advocate for the poor, for the outcast, for the downtrodden.  He was known as a friend of lepers, who were in his day literally and figuratively untouchable.  He sought to convey the gospel message of love and hope in ways even the least educated person could understand, most notably in his creation of a living creche.

He was known for his respect for creation, and the creatures who inhabit it.  It is said he would even avoid stepping on worms, and more than one story emphasizes his ability to communicate with animals, even those perceived as enemies of people, like wolves.  It is why in parts of the church an annual Blessing of the Animals is held on his feast day.  This day, as I write, October 4.

And while he probably did not actually write the famous Prayer of St. Francis, it certainly captures the spirit of this saint.  "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace," it begins.  And then it eloquently describes concrete actions we can take to do just that.

On this day, might we all commit ourselves to being more like Francis of Assisi.  Might we all be instruments of God's peace.
   

Autumn Memories--Then and Now

 Autumn.

It really is different here in Florida.  While I think of cooler temperatures and crisp air, in Florida we are still in the upper eighties and even the low nineties.  Humidity levels are still very high.  And there is green all around us.  

Yes, there are some subtle differences as we move into this new season.  And in time the temperatures will drop--a bit.  Humidity will let up.  And it will be wonderful.  (I call the weather in January "Why I Moved to Florida" weather.)  But still . . . it's not a New England style autumn.  When September rolled around the kids here had already been back in school for three weeks!  And the beaches were just as crowded as ever on the weekend.

I'm not complaining.  (OK, maybe a little!)  But I am realizing yet again, in this my twelfth autumn here in Florida, that the one thing I miss the most is--well, autumn!  The whole idea of a crisp new beginning.  The digging out sweatshirts and blue jeans.  The best apples in the world, right off the tree. In some ways, though, its more a feeling than a set of details.  There is a certain nostalgia about autumn.  

But autumn as I remember it, is of my experience here and now.  And while I could wallow in nostalgia and a touch of sadness, I am far better served expressing my gratitude for beautiful memories, and my appreciation of the fact that every day I get to make new ones.  Here. Now.  In Florida! 

Bicycles, Wheelchairs and Dad

 

Eight years ago, this summer, the year I turned sixty, I decided to mark the occasion by going on an extended bike ride.  Through my Rotary Club I had learned about the Wheelchair Foundation, and its amazing work providing wheelchairs for individuals around the world in need of such a basic tool.  Through Rotary, wheelchairs could be purchased for one hundred dollars apiece.  So, I decided to take a three-day ride, of roughly sixty miles each day, and raise money for wheelchairs.  So was born Wheels for Wheels.  That first effort raised $22,000.  Enough to buy 220 wheelchairs.  And it was my pleasure to help distribute them in Trinidad later that year.

At the onset I determined to dedicate the ride to the memory of my dad, Howard S. Danner Jr.  As some of you who read this blog know, Dad was confined to a wheelchair for seventeen years after being struck by a drunk driver.  Without that wheelchair his life would have been much poorer!

Five years later, as I approached sixty-five, I decided it was time to mount my bike once again, and this time ride for one sixty-five-mile day.  I also decided to invite the Rotary Club to join me in the effort—and many folks did!  Together we raised another $25,000.   As we planned for the ride, my two co-planners asked if we could name the ride for Dad.  I was delighted, and so it became the Howard S. Danner Jr. Wheels for Wheels Cycling Challenge.

Last year, despite the pandemic, we were able to hold the ride again.  And again, raised some $25,000.  Which brings us to this year, when we will be holding the ride on October 30, and I plan on matching my age and riding sixty-eight miles on that day

If you would like to contribute to the effort feel free to make a check payable to the Sanibel-Captiva Rotary Trust Fund, and mark Wheels in the memo.  Send it to my attention at Sanibel Congregational UCC, 2050 Periwinkle Way, Sanibel, FL 33957.

Thank you!

Back Seat Observations

My father was a rather frugal man.  True to his Scottish heritage, you might say.  Thrifty, careful.  OK--cheap.  In his prime he loved to save a buck.  IU don't think he ever bought a stitch of clothing that wasn't on a clearance rack, so he often had things that were rather strange colors, or slightly out of style.  And, in a day long before calling plans and cell phones with hundreds of minutes, a long distance call at our house required filling out a three-part requisition form.

OK--I exaggerate, but not by much.  The truth is, he did watch his pennies.

When it came to buying a new car, something I remember happening only twice in my eighteen years living at home, he would shop and compare and dicker until he got the lowest possible price.  Car salesmen (they were all men back then) would cave just to get rid of him!  And the car he got was always the cheapest model, stripped down to the bare essentials.

One of the cars I especially remember was the 1950-something baby-blue, pushbutton Rambler.  (If you can remember American Motors, you've been an adult for a few decades at least!  If you remember Ramblers, your hair is probably the same color as mine.  And if you call them Nash Ramblers--well, let's just say I probably refer to you as  "sir" or "madam"!)

Anyway, we had that old Rambler, with its big fins and copious chrome trim, for years. And every week or so we'd all pile in--Mom and Dad in the front, and my two brothers, my sister and me jammed in the back.  And off we'd go.

There was always a lot of pushing and kicking.  You know, "Mom!  Bob punched me!"  "Dad!  John breathed on me!"  That would go on until one of the adults would say "Quiet!  All of you!"  And then we'd settle down for at least a few minutes.

Usually we didn't know exactly where we were going.  I'm not sure Mom or Dad did either.  But knowing our father we suspected it would probably involve ice cream.  And unless the pushing and kicking and breathing had gotten completely out of hand, we often ended up with sugar cones--never cake, the Danners were sugar cone people to the core--sugar cones topped with vanilla or chocolate chip, or, in my case, peppermint stick.  You know the kind? With the little pink and green bits of candy and a minty taste to clean your breath for month?

I wish I could say we enjoyed those rides.  I wish I could say we enjoyed the time together or appreciated the scenery, but the truth is, until we got to the ice cream stand, we were mighty restless.

Today, I've come to a new appreciation of the car trip itself.  Today, I've come to realize that as much fun as it is to eat an ice cream cone, it is really all about the journey.  Not just on the highway, but more importantly, on the road called life.

I wonder what it would be like to go for ice cream today with my siblings, all of us in the backseat?

A Truly New Year

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year,  It is a time of of year for reflection.  The name for this holiday in Hebrew means "head of the year."  It is said that on this day the Holy One determines what names are written in the Book of Life.

For many, many school children this is also the week marked by the first day of the new year.  The new school year.  And while schooling always has an impact on the direction ones life is headed, this year, perhaps more than any other, is a time when the fate of many children hangs in the balance.  For in the midst of the ongoing pandemic, life and death decisions are being made by governors and legislators, school boards and administrators, parents and teachers, about whether or not children should wear masks in school.

In truth, the Covid battle is far from over.  Yet scientists are working diligently to help us defeat this virus.  But we must all do our part in the effort.  Unfortunately, for many, questions about vaccinations and masks are being looked at as poetical questions.  Perhaps in this new year we can find the courage and the willingness to set aside partisan divides and agree to do what is best for the health of our children,

To my Jewish readers, L'shanah tova!  And for all of us, may it be a truly new year!

The Crisis of the Hour

Have you ever noticed how our collective attention span is so very short?  It has been a very challenging few weeks internationally and as each crisis erupts we seem to forget the last one.  Wildfires in the West, the current Covid surge, flooding in Tennessee, the earthquake in Haiti, the unfolding disaster in Afghanistan, and now Hurricane Ida.  Each of these have had their time at the top of the news, and then gradually slipped down the list and eventually even out of sight.  One study based on the number of Google searches for information about a news story noted that even the biggest stories have a median cycle of seven days.  One week.  That's how long we are interested enough to find out more.

I am not really sure what we can do about it, except this.  What if we all truly took a concern, a story, an area of need, and focused out attention on that?  Learned all we could about it. Prayed about it.  Discovered how we could make an impact on the situation and then took action?  Rather than simply moving from crisis to crisis, like some sort of disaster tourists, really honing in on one particular issue and making it our own.

Obviously we can't solve all the world's problems.  And just as obviously we shouldn't ignore any of them.  But we can make a concerted effort to address one of them.  Seriously.  Prayerfully.  Concertedly.  

Does God Hate Haiti?

Yesterday a parishioner forward a blog post by Canadian pastor Jim Taylor in which he asks, "Dear God, why do you keep picking on Haiti?"  He follows his question with a short summary of all the human-made and natural disasters and dilemmas the island nation has faced.  And they were and are many.  I recently taught a course on the history of Haiti, and there is little question that both nature and foreign powers all seemed and seem to be aligned against the first independent black-led nation in the West.  

I think Taylor's post is theologically tongue-in-cheek.  Certainly I don't believe God is picking on Haiti or any other nation for that matter.  I just don't think that's how Divine Love operates.
But I do think God expects us to reach out in responsible ways to our sisters and brothers in need.  And they don't come any needier, at least not in this hemisphere, than folks in Haiti.  

Responsible ways.  Sustainable ways.  Haitian directed ways.  Too often Americans and other good hearted folks just pour money into a problem without giving it a lot of thought to how it will be spent.  That has happened over and over again in Haiti.  To really make a difference we need to ask questions of the charities and organizations we help fund.  Who will be overseeing the spending of donations?  How will projects and efforts be chosen?  Will folks on the ground be involved in the choosing, especially nationals?  Is the technology to be used appropriate for the location and the people who will be using it?  What plans are being laid for the future?  Is the project sustainable?

No, God isn't picking on Haiti.  God doesn't hate any nation.  But God is expecting us to respond.

(If you want to read Taylor's full post you can find it at http://quixotic.ca)

 

Spiritual Sneakers

Covid is on the rise (again).  Afghanistan is crumbling (again).  Parts of Haiti are in ruin (still).  Hurricanes and tropical storms are working there way through the Caribbean and onto various coastlines here and elsewhere.  Wildfires continue to burn.  Climate change is bringing bizarre weather to much of the world. It is enough to make one want to turn off the television, close the lap top, ignore social media and simple hide away.  But of course we can't--not if we want to be responsible members of the human race.  But though we can't escape we can find a bit of respite.  How?  By making sure we create and adhere to our spiritual practices.

There are many ways to do that.  We might find comfort and sustenance in meditation.  We might feel more connected to the Source of Life in and through prayer.  Journaling might give us an opportunity to sort out our thoughts and feelings and offer up our concerns to God in written prayers.  Worship, online or in-person, might help us remember we are part of a greater community which is traveling though these days with us.  

There are any number of good books which can help you explore spiritual practices and identify one or more for yourself.  Modern classics include Anthony Bloom's Beginning to Pray, Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline and Marjorie Thompson's Soul Feast.  But there are many others as well geared for many different religious traditions.

Whatever you plan on doing, whatever you think would be good to you, as the sneaker manufacturer
puts it, the most important thing is to just do it.  

There's Just Something about a Sunset

There's just something about a sunset, isn't there?  Especially when seen across the waters.  Whatever waters!  I took this picture when I was in Maine last month on retreat, and its beauty shines across Boothbay Harbor, which opens out into the North Atlantic.  But sunsets over the retention pond that our lanai overlooks here at our condo in Florida can be equally inspiring!

Sunrises have a similar effect--at least on me!  Maybe for slightly different reasons.  A sunset puts a seal on the day just ending.  It seems to say, you worked hard, well done!  Now, take a break, you've earned the rest.  Whereas a sunrise promises a fresh start, a new day, a new opportunity to make a difference in the world.

Both sunrises and sunsets, though,, are also reminders that though this is an often troubled world, it is still a place of beauty.  A place we need to protect.  And the rising and setting of the sun also reminds us of the cyclical nature of life.  There are always beginnings and endings and then new beginnings.  There is something reassuring in that.  Something, that for me at least, is a reminder that though my thoughts and feelings about God, my awareness of God's presence, may wax and wane, it is always present.

It's true, there's just something about a sunset . . . .

Conversations with Silence: A Review

"Attempting to describe silence," writes author Sally Longley, "is like trying to grasp air . . . ." (4)  And so it is.  But despite spending a fair amount of time delineating the different forms silence can take, Longley's book is, as the author of the book's introduction Trevor Howard puts it, not so much "about" silence as an "encounter with silence."  (xi)

Longley organizes her book around a variety of her own experiences and those of others.  generally her illustrations work well and do add a measure of clarity.  I found the second chapter, "The Eloquence of Silence," especially helpful.  She deals, as the chapter title implies, with shadow experiences and how they can lead into a greater awareness of life itself if we are willing to sit with them in silence.  Such experiences require, she reminds us, a level of vulnerability many may experience as uncomfortable at first.  But in drawing us closer to the Holy Presence, they can also be a source of reassurance.  In particular she encourages the use of imagination in such experiences.  

The chapter, as is the case with each chapter, ends with a number of possible practices and exercises/experiences with which the reader might engage to further the learning.  These are well-thought out and certainly worth the effort.

Among other things, Longley takes a very creative look at the Biblical character Susanna, and fleshes out its meaning relative to silence for our day.  She also offers an interesting take on the largely untranslatable word selah, often thought to be a rubric for choristers.  "It is not easily translatable," she writes, "but there is general agreement among Hebrew scholars that it may mean pause, wait, notice or lift up."  (93)  These "slivers of silence," as she calls them, are present in every day, in every life, and we are wise to pay attention to them.

Enough of words, though.  This review, after all, is about a book focused on silence.  It is well-worth ones time.  But even more so is silence.

Disclosure of Material Connection:  I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through the Speakeasy blogging book review network.  I was not required to write a positive review.  The opinions I have expressed are my own.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255

Retreats, Relationships and Precious Memories

Ninety-one years ago a Unitarian minister named John Wilson founded a religious order for Protestant clergy called Brothers of the Way.  In creating the order Wilson laid out certain obligations which served as the basis for the vows members would take as they were brought into the order.  And one of those obligations was to take an annual retreat with the order.  A retreat which incorporated (and still incorporates) prolonged periods of silence, spiritual reading, prayer, singing, shared work around meals and a daily celebration of Holy Communion.

Wilson built a retreat house on an island off Boothbay Harbor which he called Greystones.  While a beautiful place, it had no electricity and while there was running water it was (and is) limited by the overall water level on the island.

After Brother John's death, the house and the island remained in his family, who were gracious enough to allow the Order to still hold retreats every year.

In the eighties the Order finally recognized that women also serve as clergy, and began admitting women into the Order, changing the name to Brothers and Sisters of the Way.

In time, however, Greystones was sold--and so the Order found other places for annual retreats, including locations in Maine, Rhode Island, New York, West Virginia, Ohio and Pennsylvania.

Last year in honor of the ninetieth anniversary of the Order the current owners generously offered to host a celebratory retreat.  Unfortunately, due to Covid, that event had to be cancelled, and eventually rescheduled for this year.  This week, in fact.

My Dad was a member of the Order, and I went on my first retreat at Greystones while I was still in seminary in the late seventies.  Upon graduation and ordination, I was consecrated as a full member:  Brother John.  That was forty-one years ago--I was still in my twenties!

The Order has been part of my life as long as I can remember.  Every year as I was growing up
Dad would head off for retreat.  And then later, we shared time together on retreats.  Going on retreat is always special, but going back to Greystones, for the first time in almost forty years, is more than special.  It is a time for me to reflect on my relationship with God, my relationship with my father, and my relationship with the profession and the religious order that we shared for many years.

(Photo:  Greystones, Fisherman's Island, Maine)

Thoughts about Time and Grandkids and Old Friends and Retirement

Back to school sales are already popping up in the retail sector, even though school for some doesn't begin for a month and a half.  For others, like children and young people who live in our county, school resumes in just three weeks!

This summer three of my six grandchildren have had summer jobs.  And two of them will continue in those positions with fewer hours after school reopens.  My oldest grandson is already in the full-time work force, leaving just the two youngest ones to take part in routine summer activities.  And as they both turn thirteen this year, that will change soon as well.

It is so cliched to ask "Where does the time go?"--but it's true.  The sensation of time passing ever more rapidly is experienced by many, many folks, maybe even most.  

This weekend an old seminary classmate who I haven't spoken to in years, touched base.  It was good catching up, but it too provided a reminder that tempus fugit!  More than once one of us said something like, but that was forty years ago now!  He is older than I am and has been retired for over ten years!  And this coming April I will retire.

My birthday is this week (Thursday) and that may be why I'm waxing poetic about time and age and so on.  I turn sixty-eight. Compared to many, if not most of my parishioners, I'm still a kid! 
 Whatever, I have very little to complain about, and am grateful to have grandchildren who are blossoming, old friends who haven't forgotten me, and a job from which I can retire when the day comes.

How to Pray in the Face of a Hurricane

Last week a tropical storm, Elsa, passed through our area.  It wasn't a direct hit, in fact, Elsa didn't make landfall until she was quite a bit north of us.  At one point in her journey she was a category one hurricane, but off our coast, "just" a tropical storm.

Fortunately here, at least, she didn't leave a lot of damage in her wake.  We did have some flooding in neighboring areas due to a great amount of rain, and some minor debris on the roadways and in people yards from the winds.  But really, nothing overwhelming.

Every time we have a tropical storm or a hurricane that could make landfall where we live there is a fairly long buildup in the days, sometimes week, ahead.  As it crosses the Atlantic, as it moves through the Caribbean, we hear any number of updates and warnings.  At times the buildup is worse than the storm itself.  Sort of like anticipating a visit to the dentist.

Every time we are in the so-called cone of concern, and often even before that, I find myself fairly torn.  I clearly do not want to be caught in the midst of such a  storm.  But I also worry about other places it might go.  No, I say, as if I could actually speak to it, don't come here!  Stay away!  But even as I do so, I realize that means it may go elsewhere.  Does New Orleans need another hurricane?  

Obviously what i hope for is that it will run out of steam along the way, dissipate, simply vanish from the weather maps altogether.  And sometimes that happens as well.  But when it doesn't I never pray that it doesn't hit us--because the backside of that prayer may mean disaster for someone else.  What I can and do pray for is that we all might be prepared for whatever comes, and that we all will have the courage and the compassion to respond in whatever ways are best.  

I suppose that's a pretty good pray on sunny days as well. 

With Liberty and Justice for All

Pursuing justice has always been incumbent on Christians,  but I think it carries a special bit of weight for those of us who live in twenty-first century America.  For we live in a democracy, and as members of a democracy that means that we are a part of creating and maintaining the system itself.  If we are to live justly we must be willing to participate in the politics of the day which shape how the system functions.  We must be willing to participate by voting, by serving on juries, by supporting candidates who reflect our understandings, by making our opinions known to our elected representatives, perhaps even by serving in some elective or appointive office.  We are to do whatever is in our power to make certain we have a system where there truly is justice for all.

But we are also called to bring justice into our everyday living as well.  Yes, we should be concerned about the issue of immigration on a grand scale, we should be as informed as possible about the legal options for addressing the problems it brings into life.  But we must also ask ourselves, how am I treating the immigrants—legal or undocumented—in my day to day life?  Am I paying a fair wage to the folks who mow my grass and trim my trees?  And I treating waiters and waitresses from other lands as human beings, and tipping them generously? 

Yes, we must be concerned about who gets appointed to the Supreme Court, we must remain informed about the laws that undergird the system and how they are made and interpreted.  And if such laws fail to be fair to all people, we must seek to have them changed.  But we must also guard against using the laws and courts to create unfair advantages for ourselves over the poor and underprivileged.

Yes, we must continue to wrestle with how healthcare is provided in this country and struggle to create an equitable system where all people have access to medical care and treatment.  But if we are employers, we need look at what we have made available for our own employees in terms of health coverage.

And the list goes on.  We are to be involved in justice at all levels of life.  The wider systemic levels, and in our personal comings and goings.  Justice should, indeed, be a way of life for each of us.

 

 

 

There's Just Something About a Rainbow

 As June draws to a close we pause for a moment to acknowledge that this is Pride Month.  It is that time each year when we set aside a month to recognize, honor and celebrate the
wide variety of differences in sexual orientation and gender identifications found in the human family.  A veritable rainbow of differences!

I've been thinking about rainbows.  It is the beginning of rainy season here in Florida, and so we are being blessed with more rainbows than usual.  The other day my wife Linda even saw a full double rainbow!  Gorgeous!  

Now don't misunderstand what I am about to say.  All colors of the rainbow are beautiful.  Indigo.  Purple.  Red.  Yellow. Green.  Orange.  Each color brings its own specialness to the overall picture.  But a full-fledged rainbow, with every color, is something else altogether!  It is an exquisite expression of the beauty God has created in this world of ours.  Each color is enhanced by the presence of the other colors.  Each color is made all the more stunning by the others.

So it is when it comes to humanity.  Our differences are not cause for alarm.  Rather our differences are cause for celebration!  For our in our diversity there is great beauty.  And without the whole spectrum, it is just not the same.  Imagine a literal rainbow without red, for instance.  Just not the same!  Thankfully today we can and do acknowledge more freely the wonder of our diversity!  It is a beautiful thing to behold!

 

One More Time: Prayer in Public Schools

I believe in prayer, and engage in it daily.  And prayer is not impossible for children in public schools.  In fact, as one wag once put it, "More prayer happens in school before an algebra test thyan in church before the sermon."  But prayer shouldn't be mandated in schools funded with public monies.  Period.

But here in Florida folks persist in their effort to do just that.  The latest attempt is a new piece of legislation signed into law by Governor Ron DeSantis, mandating a moment of silence at the beginning of the school day for all K-12 students in public schools.  On the surface, it sounds like a good idea.  A bit of time to silently pause and perhaps reflect on the day ahead, is good for all of us.  The trouble is, this is a thinly veiled attempt to get around the constitutionally mandated separation of church and state.

On signing the bill, the Governor said, "The idea that you can push God out of every public institution and be successful, I'm sorry, our founding fathers did not believe that."  And the signing took place in a synagogue.  How more obvious can one get?

It is also rather presumptuous to think anyone can push God out of any place!  That of course, is a theological view.  A religious view.  But there you have it.  But the question isn't whether or not God is present in public schools.  The question isn't whether or not prayer happens there.  God is, and prayer does.  Trust me.  But my religious perspective, nor that of any one else, should be forced on students.  Not at school.  
Period.

Books--Can't Live with 'Em, Can't Live Without 'Em!

Books have always been an important part of my life.  I was read to as a child.  From early on, one of my favorite gifts was a new book.  I collected biographies in late elementary school.  The signature series.  Biographies written especially for young people, with an imprint of the subject's signature on the cover.

I continue, decades later, to favor biographies.  Though I also enjoy a good novel and frequently read volumes on religion and society.  Frankly, I can't imagine my life without books.  I have borrowing privileges in three different library systems, and am on a first name basis with the owner of our local independently owned bookstore.

As you can imagine, I own hundreds, make that thousands, of books, and as I consider retiring in ten months or so, I will have to make some serious decisions about what to keep and what to give away.  Some may go to colleagues, others to family members, still others to local libraries.  And some, no doubt, will go to our congregation's used "bookstore."  But many of them I will want to keep, partly becuase I enjoy being surrounded by books, partly because some have sentimental value (my complete set of John Steinbeck paperbacks acquired in high school when I tore through everything he wrote, as an example)
and others because I will have need of them for research and comfort in my retirement.

I'm not sure I'd take on this vital task if not for the prompting of my wife, who has made it clear our condo isn't big enough for all of them.  She's an avid reader as well, but relies on the library for her selections.  I'll keep you posted.  So far--well, so far I haven't even begun! 

FEAR, ANGER AND MASKS

I am part of the Iona Community's Prayer Circle.  Every day I pray for a group of ten or twelve complete strangers who have requested that folks connected to Iona include them in their prayers.  

One of the benefits of being a part of the Prayer Circle is receiving the e-mail letter with updates  sent out from Glasgow Scotland by the Circle's coordinator, Chris Polhill.  Chris often has some real wisdom to share.  Last week I got the June edition of the letter, and was especially struck by part of what Chris had to say: "Fear," wrote Chris, "is a reasonable emotion for life in the time of a pandemic, it motivates us to live more safely and leads us to be more compliant with advice and rules  . . . It is not a very healthy or uplifting emotion however, and the relaxing of it allows space for other emotions to surface."  Emotions, Chris goes on to say, like anger.

There seems to have been a lot of anger about masks in this country.  I know there have been fights over them on airplanes and in stores.  Fortunately there have not been such outbursts here at church.  This past Sunday I was able to announce that we are changing our mask policy to coincide with the CDC recommendation that those who are fully vaccinated will no longer be required to wear masks in worship.  It was received with applause.  But I also said we continue to recommend that those who are not vaccinated do wear masks.  I wonder if that made anyone angry?  I hope
not.  It is being offered up for the good of those who are unvaccinated as well as the community at large. 

Perhaps we would all do well to closely monitor our own emotions as the fear engendered by the pandemic begins to wane.  And if we find ourselves feeling anger, perhaps we can follow the good advice offered up by Chris in that same letter.  It is my view that the safest place for anger is before God."  In other words, pray your anger.  Shout at God.  Punch a pillow as you mutter your words of anger to the Holy One.  For God can handle it.  As Chris writes, "God absorbs our anger and continues to love us."  And that is good news!   

 

What Do You Remember?

What do you remember?  having an 88 year old Mom with Alzheimer's I realize how important and at time poignant question that can be.  Mom can't remember what she had for dinner last night, but she still remembers details about her childhood, and, fortunately, who her own children are.  Even her eight grandchildren.  She does get a bit fuzzy about the eleven great-grandchildren, and she may not even remember she has one great-great.

She probably can tell you who the president is, she's followed current events fairly closely over the last couple of decades, but I am not sure she knows who the VP is.  Memory is a fragile thing, and intentionally or not, often very selective.  I think that is part of the reason why we set aside certain days to remember important events and people.  Days like Memorial Day.

As many of my readers know, and others may have long since intuited, I am a pacifist.  I am opposed to war.  But I still think it is important for us to remember and honor those who made, as we call it, the ultimate sacrifice.  I think it is important for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that it is a regular reminder that war comes at a great cost.  Not just to the enemy.  Not just to our own nation.  But to real families just like yours and mine.  Moms and Dads, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, who can't forget, don't want to forget, their loved ones who died in battle, who died in service. Memorial Day can and should prompt us to ask, how many more lives must be given over to war?   It is certainly my hope that in those memories we can find the key to peace, for without days like today, we can too easily forget.

First World Problems

Right at the moment there are two tile workers in my bathroom here to fix my new walk-in shower which was improperly installed when it was originally put in place.  The tile on the floor was all at the wrong pitch.  Or actually, at no pitch.  So water built up on it by the end of a shower and had to be squeegeed off.  So they are resetting the tile at a slight angle, thereby directing water flow down the drain.

The fellow who originally laid the tile was a new member of the crew, and very young and inexperienced.  The owner of the company is doing this reset himself.  He wants to make sure he ends up with a happy customer.  He gave me no hassle when I first called and told him of the problem.  And it is being done at no cost to my wife and me.  That is except for the inconvenience of not having a functioning shower for a few days.  But we'll manage! 

Our improperly laid tile shower floor is what some folks would call a first-world problem.  And so it is.  I can't help but think of the folks in Gaza and to a lesser extent in Israel, who are faced with far more serious rebuilding issues.  Many if not most of them don't have the resources needed to undertake such projects.  Nor are they covered by a warranty.  I suspect they aren't even covered under whatever insurance policies they may or may not have.  Acts of war rarely are!
  

As a white, middle class, male American I am very prone to forgetting just how fortunate I am.  I am prone to forget that I didn't do anything to earn that good fortune.  I didn't choose to be male, or American, or white--arguably I didn't even choose to be middle class.  But I am all of those things.  And as a result I am privileged.  I would be wise to remember that next time I am tempted to complain about my shower floor.  At least I still have a roof over my head--that and a whole lot more!

Heart Broken and Tongue Tied

I'll be honest with you.  I want to write about what's going on in Gaza and Israel.  I want to say something profound about the value of human life, no matter the religion, the ethnicity or the nationality of any particular individual.  I want to say, "Knock it off!"  But I just don't know how.

Partly that's because I feel underinformed about the whole matter.  I've been to Israel, twice.  I've been to the border with Gaza.  I've seen the wall and been stopped by Palestinian and Israeli soldiers in crossing between the two regions.  I have met Muslims, Jews and Christians in the region who are working on the ground for peace. I've read a fair amount about the issue.  But it still feels too complex to address in any meaningful way.

And maybe that's the problem.  It is complicated.  And it does feel like no matter what one says somebody will be upset, somebody will feel you are being unfair.  Maybe that's why peace talks have inevitably fallen apart in the region.  Maybe I'm not the only one who doesn't know what to say, how to address the issue.

One thing I do know for sure.  Lives are being lost.  Innocent lives.  Palestinian lives and Israeli lives.  And property is being destroyed, laid to ruin.  And none of this in the long run can do much to advance the cause of peace.  Violence, as I see it, only begets violence.  Not an original thought--but at the moment it's all I've got to offer.  That and my prayers.  My deeply felt and sincerely offered prayers.

The Year of the Apocalypse!

The Greek word apkalypsis is at the root of the English word apocalypse.  It means to uncover that which is hidden.  While the world didn't come to a crashing halt, while the Second Coming didn't happen, this has truly been an apocalyptic year.  For much has been covered.  Much has been revealed.

As most readers of this blog already know, I am preparing to retire in about eleven months.  As part of that preparation process I belong to a clergy group made up of folks facing that same life passage.  We meet once a month and share prayer, a bit of meditation, readings about retirement, and discussion around a variety of related issues.

This week our facilitator asked us to think about what author Larry Smith calls Six Word Memories.  How would we describe this past Covid year in just six words?  It was a bit of a challenge, but I finally came up with this:  "Who knew how much was hidden?"

Over the course of the year Covid19 exposed so much!  So many things were revealed in my personal life, in the life of my congregation, and in the wider world.  Good things, and challenges.  Things that had been there all along, but were only uncovered when so much was stripped away by the pandemic.  On a large scale, we saw how climate change became more real, as the environment got a breather during the lockdown.  We were reminded of the inequities in society as people struggled with economic hardship.  We were forced to admit that some of the most essential jobs were and are some of the least financially regarding jobs.  We saw how racial matters have not all been resolved.  And on and on.

Our congregation discovered holes in our technology, and the need to integrate more of it  into our work.  We also discovered that certain folks are always willing to step up--no matter what's going on!

On a more personal level, I was shown just how vital to my life my wife is as she was forced by quarantines and so on to stay in New York for three months.  I recognized that as much as I love my work, it would be okay to finally consider retirement and make plans for it.  And so much more.  It has indeed, been apocalyptic!

Who knew how much was hidden?