Pondering in Other Places

Ever since July of 2010 I have been making posts on this blog.  Almost six hundred since then.  Usually once a week.   Prompted initially by environmental concerns after the massive BP
oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, this blog has gone on to address very personal concerns, as well as issues impacting the wider world.  Racism, sexism, homophobia, war and peace, gun violence, climate change, and so many other issues.  All the result of this pastor's ponderings on Periwinkle Way.  And other places as well--California, Israel, Trinidad, all over New England, Chicago and during the pandemic lockdown, at home!

But this coming Sunday, April 24, I will conduct my last service as Senior Pastor of the Sanibel Congregational United Church of Christ, which has its facilities on Periwinkle Way.  2050 Periwinkle Way to be specific.  And then I will retire.  While my wife Linda and I will remain here in Southwest Florida, my ponderings will not be taking place on Periwinkle Way.  So this blog, will come to an end with this post.  

They say once on the internet, always on the internet.  So the blog will remain on line.  But there will be no new entries.  I do anticipate starting a new blog once the dust of retirement settles.  There will be ponderings in other places.  And if you want to be notified when that happens, please feel free to leave a contact e-mail in the comments section of this blog, or e-mail me at the church over the next few days.

I have been very grateful for the continued interest in these writings and your loyalty as readers.  As you continue in your own ponderings, might you be blessed with insight and clarity.  

(And if you are in the area, I'd love to greet you in person at that final service which will be held at 10:30 AM, Sunday, April 24, at the church.)

A Lesson from DaVinci

This coming Good Friday my congregation will be presenting a dramatization of Leonardo DaVinci’s famous painting, of the Last Supper. It is a series of costumed monologues, interspersed with music, and all against a projection of the painting in the background.  I've been cast as Judas.  Go wonder!

A story is told about DaVinci and that painting that illustrates how forgiveness works. The great artist had a falling out with a man and decides to exact revenge by depicting Judas with his enemy’s face. After he painted Judas, he went on to paint the face of Christ. But try as he might, he just couldn’t come up with the image he needed. And in the midst of this great mural Jesus’ face was blank. 

Shortly after that, though, DaVinci had a change of heart and forgave his enemy. And then he changed the painting so that Judas no longer resembled the man who had hurt him. That night he had a dream, and in that dream, he saw the face of Christ. He painted it the very next day. Only when he had forgiven his enemy, was he himself able to see the loving, forgiving face of Christ.

As we move through these final days of Lent, as we prepare for the joy of Easter, let us not take shortcuts.  Rather, let us be as willing to forgive and to be forgiven as DaVinci.  Let us clear our hearts and minds for an infilling of the Spirit which brings all things to life!

Have a meaningful Holy Weeks, and a Blessed Easter!

(And, if you are in Southwest Florida the presentation is Friday, April 15 at 7:30 PM.  The church is located at 2050 Periwinkle Way on Sanibel.)

Retirement Ahead: Will I Sleep In?

Three weeks from today I will be able to sleep in if I so choose.  I will be retired.  (My last Sunday here at Sanibel Congregational UCC will be April 24.)
  Knowing myself, I don't really anticipate sleeping in (which in my case means anything after 6:00 AM) but who knows?  I will have that choice and can exercise it if I so desire.

Preparing for retirement has been a long process, one in which I am still engaged.  I read a couple of books, spoken at length with my spiritual director and therapist about the implications of retirement for my spiritual and psychological health and wellbeing.  I am part of a support group (a community of practice in church speak) for those preparing for retirement or newly retired.  I've prayed about it, spoken with friends who are already retired.  Consulted with my financial advisors.  And of course, have had long conversations with my wife Linda.

Frankly I have mixed emotions going into this next phase of my life.  I have been in parish minsitry now for forty-five years.  More than two-thirds of my life!  And while at times it has been frustrating, for the most part it has been a very satisfying experience and a career well-lived.  Frankly, I will miss having a regular pulpit.  But I also anticipate having more discretion in how I spend my time and being free of many of the administrative aspects of my work.

I realize my experience is far from unique.  But it is my only experience of this transition, and so it feels unique.  I am not overly concerned, nor am I overly excited.  When people say "Congratulations!" I am not sure what I am being congratulated for.  Enduring?  Having a good career?  Being able to retire?  But mostly I am grateful.  Grateful for my career, grateful for the people i have served with, and grateful for the resources that allow this transition to happen.

Will I sleep in?  Check with me in three weeks!

Worry Warts All!

I am convinced we are a nation of worry warts.  Everywhere you turn somebody is worried about something.  We are so stressed out by our anxieties that whole industries have been developed to help manage our stress and deal with our worries.  It doesn't matter who you are, everyone seems to worry.

As preoccupied with worry as our culture is today, its not a new problem.  Human beings have always had a tendency to worry.  Our unique ability to think about the future, to dream and plan, to visualize that which lies before us, is a wonderful gift.  But its downside is that we can also imagine the worst.  And out of our ability to conceptualize future mishaps and disasters, grow our worries.

Jesus knew this.  Jesus knew what it meant to worry.  And he also know how debilitating it could be.  In a lot of stress management courses and books today, one reads or hears about prioritizing.  But Jesus knew it all along.  If you want to minimize worry in your life, the first thing you must do, he said, is get your priorities straight.  And your first priority must be what Jesus calls, "striving for the kingdom of God."  In other words we must put God's way of love and concern for others first in our lives.  Our first concern should be seeking to live as God would have us live..  Love God, love neighbor.  It won't eliminate all our problems, but it will minimize our worries.

 

Love Still Makes a Family

This past week the Florida Legislature passed the Parental Rights in Education Bill.  Often referred to as the Don't Say Gay Bill, it is full of legal language and in sections very detailed.  But the section of the bill which has raised the most concern and the most conversation is Section 1001.42, Subsection 8, Paragraph C which is labeled STUDENT WELFARE.  It reads:  "Classroom instruction by school personnel or third parties on sexual orientation or gender identity may not occur in kindergarten through grade 3 or in a manner that is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students in accordance with state standards."

Nowhere does the bill say you "can't say gay"--but it does raise the question of what you can say.  What you may say.  If, for instance, a little boy in second grade has two lesbian mothers, and another child asks why he has two mommies and no daddy, what is a teacher supposed to say?  Is saying something as simple as, sometimes two women love each other and want to have a family, classroom instruction?  What if the teacher responds, you'll have to ask your parents, isn't that a form of instruction as well?  Doesn't it convey an unspoken message that somehow the little bay's family is so different we can't even talk about it?  Doesn't it convey to that child that his family is somehow subpar?  If I were a second-grade teacher with a child whose parent or parents is or are LGBTQ I would be at a loss as to how to make certain that child was made to feel fully welcomed in my classroom.  Just as they are. 

Public schools are supposed to be just that.  Schools open to the public.  The whole public.  Everyone is supposed to be welcome, regardless of who they or their parents are in terms of race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, ethnic background, and so on.  Perhaps the real, underlying debate here is over the purpose of public education.  Yes, part of the expectation is that students will learn how to read, write, work with numbers, and so on.  A democratic society relies on its citizens being literate.  But it also relies on their ability to work with others.  And to do that you must first be willing to accept the ways in which human beings can be and are different.  And that acceptance doesn't happen overnight, it begins in childhood.  Kindergarten doesn't need to feature full on biological discussions of sexual differences, but teachers do need to feel free to simply say love makes a family.

Ukraine: Nuclear Fears, Biblical Hope

 

One of the most concerning aspects of the war in Ukraine has been the assault on nuclear power plants by the Russian military.  Memories of Chernobyl and Three Mile Island come readily to mind as we consider the danger this creates.  Such moves really up the ante.  All that notwithstanding, we must not give up hope that the situation can be bettered.

Over the years I’ve come to believe there are three components to hope.  First, it means honestly assessing a situation—what’s right here, and what’s wrong.  What can be left untouched, and what needs to be changed, corrected, transformed?  Second, hope means committing oneself to doing all within one’s own power to bring about the necessary changes.  How can I contribute to the change that is necessary in this situation?  And third, hope means recognizing we may not be able to do it all ourselves and will need to trust that God is truly at work in the world.  Hope, you see, is not a feeling or an idea, it is a conscious decision.  To be a person of hope, then, one must be honest, committed and filled with trust.  Eliminate any of these factors, and hope disappears more quickly than bedbugs in the presence of an exterminator.

No one knows for sure where the war in Ukraine will lead.  It is a situation fraught with danger.  We must encourage our leaders to be cautious yet firm in their responses to these challenges.  As a nation we must honestly assess the dangers and be committed to doing all in their power to bringing about a change for the better, trusting that good can be accomplished.  We can bow to the culture of fear, or we can live as people of hope.

Perhaps it would help for me tell you about a gutted out old industrial facility, this one not in Ukraine, but rather in Massachusetts.  I was there a few summers ago.  It used to house a company that manufactured trigger devices for our nuclear arsenal.  But the facility closed down in the mid-eighties.  Today it houses the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art.  Instead of creating weaponry that can kill thousands, even millions, those who work within its walls create life-giving art and music.  Swords beaten into plowshares.
  

Let us live as a people of hope, rather than fear.   

 

Mud Season, Sanibel and Lent

 

So this is Lent.  It always seems a little odd here on Sanibel.  Growing up—and indeed for most of my adulthood--Lent began in the midst of snow and cold.  It was a dank and dreary time as we waded through the final throes of winter.  The slow dirge-like hymns of Lent seemed to fit perfectly our weather-weary hearts!  And as March drifted into mud season, as it was called in northern New England, we eagerly looked forward to longer days, warmer temperatures and the early flowers of spring.  Easter, with its bright colored clothing and vibrantly hued flowers provided the perfect antidote to our mud season doldrums.  Not only was Christ raised from the dead, but our spirits were raised up as well.

 But it’s different here on Sanibel.  Winter is, very arguably, the loveliest season of the year!  The crowds on the beaches, the cars on Periwinkle Way, and the visitors in our pews all bear testimony to the fact that this is the place to be in March.  Easter will come in all its glory—but the contrast will not be the bit of drama that it was up North.  So it is that if Lent is to have its impact here where it is unaided by the world of nature, we must take on the responsibility for examining the dank and dreary spots ourselves.  We must be willing to stop and consider how drab our lives would be without the love of God made known in the Resurrection.  Not that we should pull ourselves into some sort of emotional or spiritual hole, but rather that we should be honest in our appraisal of life.  Then, and only then, will we be able to fully appreciate the wonder of that great and special day we call Easter. 

 
That, of course, is how it should be anywhere that Christians live—New England, Minnesota or Southwest Florida.  But stripped of the external reminders brought about by winters up north, we must be especially alert to the importance of internal reflection and preparation in Lent.

 

Wanderlost: A Review

Leafing through the March 9, 2022, edition of The Christian Century I came across an article written by Jack Jenkins of the Religion New Service title "Immigration reform no longer united faith groups."  In the article, utilizing results from a February poll conducted by the Public Religion Research Institute, Jenkins describes how over the past decade or so support for things like a pathway to citizenship has moved from being uniformly supported by various faith groups and traditions, to something that adds to the numerous differences that they hold.

I was struck that I came across this just as a was finishing up Natalie Toon Patton's book Wanderlost:  Falling from Grace and Finding Mercy in All the Wrong Places. I note that because this volume, which traces her faith journey and her literal journeys after she is ex-communicated from an evangelical megachurch upon the occasion of her divorce, is at its best in the final chapters as she describes her own experiences with a family of Somalian refugees.

After a friend is detained with her family in a detention center in Bangkok, where the author lived with her husband and children, she describes in detail the injustices she experiences.  She wrestles with the theological implications of immigration policy and asks hard questions.  Many of which she doesn't pretend to be able to answer.  She also speaks of how from a perspective of privilege, we can often distance ourselves from the angst of such difficult situations by what some have called Band-Aid charity.  "We like to do good," she writes, "as long as we can keep suffering at arms' length."  (253)

While I found myself thinking some of the sections of the volume were less than fully inspiring, but her writing is always honest and clear.  And the last chapters, with their honest view of immigration issues, is worth the wait and makes most sense when seen in the larger context of the book.

Patton was not, and is not, a refugee in the literal sense of the word, but in many ways,
she was a refugee in terms of her faith journey.  She does find safe harbor in the end, partly due to the fact that she learns how to embrace the questions.

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.

Times of Feasting, Times of Fasting

 

The rhythm of fasting and feasting is largely lost in much of Western society.  But there is a certain wisdom to it.  The contrast between times of plenty, even excess, is better appreciated when we also have times when we intentionally restrain our appetites.  Lent is just such a time.  

One of the benefits of fasting, of course, is that it allows us to more closely identify with those who have little.  Some who fast during Lent put aside what they might normally spend of a meal each day, or special treats, and then give the money to those in need.  Some use the time normally spent at meals to observe times of prayer, meditation and study.  One needn't be a Christian, or a person of any particular faith, to engage in times of fasting.

Perhaps this is the year to consider engaging in fasting.  Perhaps this us the year to learn from the contrast between feasting and fasting.  In many parts of the world, the days or weeks before Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, are observed as festive times, most notably in New Orleans where Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) is marked by parades and parties.   a time for cleaning out all the fats before the Lenten time of fasting.  Hence the name, Fat Tuesday.  This year Ash Wednesday falls on March 2.  My congregation marks that important day with a worship service complete with ashes.  But before the days of fasting, the feasting and celebration of Mardi Gras!  So each year we hold Mardi Gras Sunday, complete with beads and a Dixieland Jazz Combo.  It is a grand time of celebration, followed only three days later by a time of somber reflection.  Such is life!

The Love of a Grandfather

 

I love being a grandfather.  And I have pictures on my cell phone and in my wallet to prove it!  But sometimes, for me at least, it is a bit confusing.  Let me explain.

When my oldest grandson Zachary, who is now in his twenties, started to talk, he had a very hard time pronouncing certain words, as do most children.  He had no trouble with Mom and Dad, and he managed to spit out his grandmother’s name, Oma, with ease.  But when it came to Grandpa, he just couldn’t wrap his little tongue around it.  But he could say Pepa.  And so it stuck.  To Zachary, and his brother Christopher, I am not Grandpa, I am Pepa.

 That was well and good, and seemed to work, that is until our other son’s oldest daughter was born.  As she started to talk, she decided that I should be called Pop Pop.  You’d think I was a wad of bubble gum or a glass of champagne.  But that too stuck.  And so my two granddaughters both call me Pop Pop.

Our third child, our daughter Elizabeth, and her partner Erica later adopted a pair of sisters.  I decreed that to keep things straight they should also call me Pop Pop.  That way, if I was interacting with a grandson, I'd remember I was Pepa, and if it was a granddaughter, I was assured I was known as Pop Pop.

Usually that’s OK as well, but when all six of them are together, they sometimes argue about what my real name is!  “No,” Megan used to say to her boy cousins, “he’s my Pop Pop!”  I’ve signed more than one birthday card with the wrong name—and you better believe I hear about it!

 You can see why I get confused!

 The truth is, however, I love both names—and I’ll love a third if that’s my fate!  For you see both of them remind me that these guys love me—and that I love them more than I would have ever imagined possible!  And in the end, loving and being loved is far more important to our identity than whatever else we may conjure up!

(Photo: Five of six grandchildren, taken four years ago.)

Light Through the Window, Light Through Your Life

 It starts as a pile of broken glass.  Sharp edges.  Odd shapes.  Not much different than what you might see in the colored glass bin at a recycling facility.  Then, using classic techniques developed through the centuries, the glass is arranged and bonded together, piece by piece, until an image begins to emerge.  One which capture's the designer's original intent.  Still, when it's completed and sitting on the shop bench, beautiful as it is, something is missing.  Its full glory is yet to be revealed.

But then the newly created stained glass window is taken and put in its frame and placed where it was intended to be all along.  A church door.  A balcony window.  A transom over an office entrance.  At the top of a stairway.

Years ago,

the church I was serving was installing some brand-new stained-glass windows.  As the installers of the new windows were putting on the finishing touches, I stepped into the narthex, the church entryway, to check on their progress.  It was late afternoon.

"They look great," I said to one of the installers.

"They do," he said, "they look so much better here than in the shop.  They need to be in context."

I nodded.

He then pointed to the cross design, surrounded by rays of yellow, orange and red.

"When the light hits that one," he said, "It will be on fire!"

And so it was!  For what was missing on the shop bench was light.  It changed from a pretty but dull picture into an amazing image of beauty and hope!  Its full glory was truly revealed.

And as it is with stained glass, so it is with us.  When we are in the right place--and that will be different for each of us--when we our broken pieces are assemble and exposed to the light of God's love, then we too become amazing images of beauty and hope!

(Photo:  Rose window at the Sanibel Congregational United Church of Christ)

I Read Banned Books

 As a subscriber to the New York Times, I get an e-mail each morning with the top stories in the news.  This morning, one of those stories was headlined:  "Book Ban Efforts Spread Across the US."  Frankly, it sent a chill up my spine.  It's nothing new, of course.  Banning books, especially in schools, has been going on for decades--centuries even!  In recent times, banned books have often been books about race, LGBTQ issues and stories about the Holocaust (as is the recent effort to ban Maus). 

When I was in what we called back in the sixties Junior High, I developed a taste for romance novels.  You know, the Harlequin-type stories about love lost and gained.  The ones with muscled men and voluptuous women on the covers.  Not porn--at least not technically--but hardly good literature.  But our local library had several shelve of them, and I started checking them out and devouring them.

One morning my mother got a phone call from our local librarian.  She was appalled that a thirteen-year-old boy was reading such things.  Did my mother know I was into such material?  Didn't she think it important that I restrict my reading to those volumes found in the children's room?

Much to her credit, my mother said, "No."  And in no uncertain terms told the librarian I was free to check out and read anything I might find in the library.  Even if it was rather lousy literature.  I, ultimately, wasn't going to harm me.  And probably, she said, I'd grow out of it.  Which I did.  In just a year or two I was reading Graham Green, John Steinbeck, Willa Cather, and more controversial writers like J. D. Salinger and Herman Hesse. 

I sometimes wonder if Mom had restricted my reading if I would have turned away from it altogether?  I don't know.  But I do know her permission allowing me to "read at will" resulted in a greatly expanded worldview.  

Banning books is not the answer--and Mom knew that fifty plus years ago. 
It's a lesson I'll never forget--and I hope others will soon learn.

I have a pin at home that says, "I Read Banned Book"--I guess (sadly) it's time to dig it out again.

A Matter of the Heart: A Word about Antisemitism

 

The recent incident in Texas points up yet again the importance of relations such as ours with Bat Yam.  For those who think antisemitism is a thing of the past, something confined to Nazi Germany, it was a frightening reminder that it still haunts our world.  I know it has proven very unsettling to my Jewish friends and neighbors.  And it is unsettling to me as well.

Annually our congregation is part of a pulpit exchange with our sister congregation Bat Yam--Temple of the Islands.  Bat Yam is a Reform Jewish congregation that shares our space.  We share a number of activities over the course of each year, some of which have been highlighted in previous posts on this blog.  And in many ways the highlight of our shared life was a trip we took to Israel which featured daily posts while we were traveling.  Many of our respective members have gotten to really know one another--and we all are better educated about the lives and faith of our counterparts.

I am not so naive as to think a relationship such as the one my congregation has with Bat Yam is the sole answer to antisemitism.  Certainly, tough laws and the faithful enforcement of them are important.  Being prepared to respond when there are life threatening circumstances is vital.  And speaking up whenever antisemitism or any other ugly bias surfaces is essential.  But long term the fear and hatred that lies at the root of antisemitism is a matter of the heart.  And hearts are truly changed only when we get to know each other at more than a mere surface level.  When I am able to see that you are at core a human being with many of the same concerns, interests, hopes and dreams as those that I have, then I can begin to treat you with respect, or at least with a sense of tolerance.

The reality is this:  my life is greatly enriched and expanded by the shared journey I am on with Bat Yam.  And so too the lives of my congregants.  For when we open our hearts to one another, we can be joined together in a powerful way.  Joined together as human beings, joined together with the Holy One.

Thoughts about God and a Close Call

This past Sunday an EF-2 Tornado ripped through our part of Fort Myers clocking winds up to 118
miles per hour.  It was a stormy morning throughout Southwest Florida, and the tornado here was not the only one registered.  But it missed out neighborhood, our community.  Not 200 yards from our home trees were felled, siding on buildings ripped off, even a roadside building with an icemaker in it was lifted off its foundation and dropped back down fifty feet away.  As I sit in my living room writing this I can hear the chainsaws clearing away fallen trees.  But though our community lost electricity due to damage to lines down the road, it was untouched.

I wasn't home.  I was on Sanibel, conducting worship.  It was stormy out there--lots of wind and rain and some thunder and lightning.  But no tornadoes.  Just the inconvenience of the internet going down in the middle of our livestream.  But Sanibel is well-known for its less than fully reliable internet.  My wife, though, was caring for my mother here in Fort Myers, and they took to the laundry room for shelter at one point.  But as I said, in the end the community was unscathed.

No doubt there are some within our neighborhood saying God spared us, God protected us, or something like that.  But that always bothers me.  Did God abandon, or worse yet punish, the hundreds of folks whose homes were damaged?  Did God look the other way as some thirty or so mobile or manufactured homes were totally destroyed?  I think not.  But that is the logical corollary to suggesting God spared us.

This is not a new conundrum.  Folks have pondered it for centuries.  And I'm not sure how to unravel it.  But for the moment, I am satisfied with suggesting that while God doesn't direct tornadoes or any other natural disaster, God does stand ready to support us when they occur.  And often that support comes in and through other people.

Just What Is Normal?

Here's a phrase I am hearing quite often these days . . . "When things get back to normal . . ."  It's usually said with a sigh, or a light chuckle.  But it expresses, more often than not, a bit of weariness, or impatience, or even, once in a whle, anger.  But what is normal?

I have a therapist friend who used to say, "Normal is just
a setting on a washing machine."  I'm not sure even that's true anymore, what with all the computerization one finds in appliances these days.  (My wife and I were looking at a new stove the other day with a very helpful appliance salesman.  Linda asked him if it had the old-fashioned kind of self-cleaning feature, or the new steam kind. The new er ones, he told us, are mostly all steam, because the old style, where you turned it up to 600 degrees for three hours, gets too hot for the computer-based parts.)

Whatever, my friend's point was that there really is no such thing as normal.  That the world changes all the time, and so do we.  Assuming we finally get past the pandemic, the world will be different than it used to be.  And while we will speak of that as "the new normal," it will quickly change into something different yet again.

I think we are wise to not be waiting for "normal" to return, whatever that was, but rather, doing our best to live here and now as fully (and as safely) as we can.  One day at a time.

Tired of Decision-making--Version 2022

Have you noticed?  It's a new year, but we seem to be faced with a lot of the same old challenges, and decisions we need to make.  Do I wear a mask?  Do I eat indoors at restaurants?  Do I watch church on my phone or laptop, or do I attend services in person?  Do I cancel a trip, or still try to navigate airports and ever-changing airline schedules?  And the list goes on.

For some of us it means making decisions about scheduled events.  Do we cancel or plunge ahead?  Do we go virtual or hybrid or all in person?  For others it means facing choices around surgery--having it or not?  Holding a wedding or memorial service?   Should my kid go to school or stay home and attend virtually?

There can be little question that it is all very wearing.  And as a result, we are having more difficulty dealing with other people.  Tempers are shorter.  Words are less kind.  Some communication cues are missing altogether.

I don't like making all the decisions required these days any more than the next person.  I get weary of them.  And I get short at times.  But I can do better.  We can do better, if we put our minds to it, and remember that key teaching in Judaism, Christianity and virtually (no pun intended) every other major religious tradition.  Love your neighbor as yourself.

Let's recommit in this new and challenging year, to do just that.

We'll all be better for it.