We've Moved--But Not Too Far Away!

Linda and I moved this past Monday.  Not far away.  I'm still at the church, she's still at the Community House.  But we finally decided to buy our own home, and we ended up with a lovely place just over the Causeway in Fort Myers.

The move means I'll be commuting about nine miles each way.  Not a long commute by many standards, though in season the ride home may take a good deal of time.  And while I don't relish the ideas, it does mean, every day I work, I'll be guaranteed at least two trips, one each way, across one of the most beautiful stretches of roadway in America.  It's hard to exaggerate how stunning the view can be from atop the highest bridge on the Causeway.  Sanibel, San Carlos Bay, Fort Myers Beach . . . all can be seen from that vantage point.  More than once, many times in fact, I have witnessed a beautiful sunrise or sunset (and occasionally both in the same day) as I've made my way across the bridges and islets that make up the Causeway.

I've always been a little curious--not to mention frustrated--by the fact that Lee County, which owns the two mini-islands, and has turned them into a public park--refers to them as Island A and Island B.  Oh my goodness, what bureaucrat thought up that pair of names?  There are so many options, so many possibilities.  One could go with the famous people on Sanibel theme--call one Bailey Island for instance, and the other Darling Island.  You could go with birds, the variations here being almost endless!  You could even have a naming contest, awarding the winner the right to name the island of his or her choice!  Or, you could even sell the naming rights to some local businesses.  Imagine:  Chico and Hertz Islands.  Or (this is something of an inside joke) they could have the same name and be called Morgan and Morgan Islands!  Whatever--anything but A & B!

Moving is always a bit unsettling, and a lot of work.  But mixing things up a bit can be an occasion for a little self-examination.  And now that I've got the longer commute, I may just do some of that on the way home.

Goodbye 2015! Hello 2016!

A new year.
A brand new, right out of the box year.
A fresh start.
A new beginning.
However you want to characterize it, 2015 is done and over, and 2016 has just begun.

Wall Street is happy--if you can believe the business section of the newspaper.  2015 was a less than stellar year when it came to the stock market.  Maybe 2016 will be more bullish.

Washington is happy--2015 was something of a political nightmare, but with elections coming up maybe power will shift in significant ways.  Those who are out may be in.

Yes, 2015 is over.  Thank God!  (Or so say many folks.)  But really, what makes anyone think 2016 will be better?  Don't get me wrong.  I hope it will be better.  I hope we will pay more attention to vital issues like addressing poverty in meaningful ways, giving the environment some much needed attention, curbing our violent tendencies, dealing with our deep-seated prejudice and biases.  I hope all that will happen.  But I've hoped the same things in years past, and where's that gotten me?  Where's that gotten us?

Yet, I still hope.  Because I believe, deep in my soul, that God is at work.  And slowly, surely, if we will only learn to pay attention to the divine prodding within, we can have a better 2016.  If we will only give over our very lives to living the way of Jesus, truly loving God and neighbor, I believe we can see changes in how we function as a society and a world.  And the best place to start--the only place I can start--is with me.  God help us all!

Packing Up Christmas

So Christmas has come and gone--Christmas Day, that is.  Technically we are still in the season of Christmas.  But we in America are so quick to pack up the decorations, put away the lights, turn off the special music and move on to preparing for the Super Bowl (usually brushing past Martin Luther King, Jr. Day with a mere nod of the head in the direction of civil rights or black history.)  I am not opposed to the Super Bowl, I just think we shortchange ourselves!

We feasted through Advent, with office parties and family parties and neighborhood parties and school parties and, well you get the point!  And so we were worn out by the time we got to Christmas Day itself!  We will rally a bit for New Year's Eve, but that is mostly an excuse for excessive drinking, late night partying and journalistic pontifications about year's best (those ubiquitous "Best of" columns) and the year ahead diatribes (you know, "Forecasting 2016" articles).  And as for Epiphany?  Aside from our Hispanic neighbors who enjoy the day as El Dia de Tres Reyes, most of us forget it even exists.  January 6th, a holiday?  What's that?

It's sad, really, that we've lost the fasting/feasting cycles of life in postmodern America.  There are, of course, those who fast unintentionally, the poor, the hungry, the homeless, and those who engage in non-stop feasting, indulging in every whim.  But intentional fasting, going without, and intentional feasting, enjoying the good things of life in a healthy, happy way--that's a lost art for most.

As I move into 2016 I wonder how I can rectify that in my own life.  Maybe you'd like to join me.  Maybe we can use the rest of Christmastide to figure it out!

Branches of Hope and Tree Trunks of Faith: An Immigrant Christmas

Like hundreds of thousands of other German immigrants, Heinrich  had come to this country early in the last century in hopes of finding a better life.  He'd been apprenticed to be a cabinetmaker, and hoped to use his skills to provide for his family.  While he was here his son, Walter, was born--and life looked promising. 

But then news came of a sudden death in Germany, and Heinrich, by now known as Henry, got word that he had inherited a chicken farm in the homeland.  So back he went.  And things went well, at least for a bit.  But it was a time of growing unrest in Germany.  A time when evil was on the rise; when neighbors were being pitted against neighbors by a madman known as Der Fuhrer.  And Henry could not stand the distorted reality called National Socialism.  So he gave up the farm and his inheritance, and with his son Walter in town, returned to America.

They found a tiny attic apartment and scraped by on Henry's meager earnings.  They were good Lutherans, and normally looked forward to Christmas with its special music, and of course, the tree.  After all, wasn't it Luther himself who started the tradition of decorating a pine in honor of Christ's birth?

But money was very tight, and there were other things to worry about.  Still, Henry wanted to keep the tradition alive, if not for himself, then for his eight-year old son.  So he scraped together what little he had, twenty-five cents in all, and went out late on Christmas Eve to look for a tree.  Finally he found a tree seller still open.  He was down to his two last trees.  And a very sorry sight they were!  Both of them were scraggly at best, with only a few branches each.  One of them was as crooked as the Rhine River.  But the second, at least, had a trunk that was straight and true.

Maybe the seller was tired, or eager to get home.  Whatever the case, a deal was struck.  And Henry took both trees for a quarter.

He and his son Walter dragged them home.  And then, undeterred by their scrawniness, and using his carpenter skills, Henry cut the branches off the crooked tree, drilled hole in the trunk of the other, and soon assemble a fine looking specimen.  It was a Christmas tree to make old Martin Luther proud, but it was more than that.  For it was, in retrospect, a symbol, a sign, a reminded that the importance of facing the unexpected twists and turns of life with courage and honesty.  For time and again, Henry did just that.  He embraced the unexpected, and over time, assembled a life that would provide branches of hope, and a tree trunk of faith, not only for young Walter, but for his daughter as well. Henry's granddaughter.  Who told me this story many years later, as we sat one December afternoon in her living room.

My Christmas prayer, for each of you, my dear readers, is that you too might face the unexpected twists and turns of life with courage.  Might you too create branches of hope and tree trunks of faith.

Merry Christmas!

Meeting God at the Mall

This time of year, one often is flooded with memories of Christmas seasons past.  One such memory for me involved a young woman from one of my former parishes, who was living far from home.  She was facing a very difficult pregnancy and, just before Christmas, her unborn baby developed some very serious complications.  First she was rushed to a local hospital, and then to a specialty unit in Philadelphia.  It was vey touch and go.  To treat the fetus meant putting the mother at some real risk.  But she and her husband clung to hope.

Meanwhile, the young woman's mother-in-law was in Northern New Jersey.  She was able to pray.  She did her best to support her son and daughter-in-law with visits and phone calls, still, she was worried.  More than that she was afraid.

But Christmas was coming, and she had things that needed to be done, including some last minute shopping.  So with a heavy heart, she headed off to the mall.  She wrestled the traffic, found a parking spot, and was exhausted before she even got inside.

As she passed though the mall hallways, she came across a group of children singing in one of the courts.  She sat down to listen, and soon the poignancy of their Christmas carols just washed over her, and she began to weep.

One of the children's moms was seated next to her.  She reached over and gently touched her arm.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

With that it all came flooding out:  my friend's fears, her worries, her tears.  But lo and behold, the singer's mother was a woman of faith, and within seconds, she gathered up three of her friends and right there in the middle of the largest shopping mall in New Jersey, they prayed for a woman they had just met, her daughter-in-law a hundred miles away, and a baby not yet even born.

After my friend finished telling me the story, which she gave me permission to share with others, she said, "You know, John, I'm sure God sent those young mothers to tell me, "You know where I am, and you know what you're doing, so just keep doing it."

And right there, in the middle of the mall, my friend knew God was with her.  Emmanuel.

Shortly after that encounter, my friend became a grandmother.

Might you too be blessed by an awareness of God's presence in this holy season.  And might you make that presence known in your own acts of love and kindness.

Faith in God, Faith in Guns

I subscribe to two newspapers, the New York Times and the local daily paper out of Fort Myers, The News-Press.  The Times gives me a broad picture of the nation and the world, the News-Press helps keep me current on matters of concern here in Southwest Florida.

One of the features in the News-Press is a chronological listing of events and classes being held by area faith communities.  As I read through this past Sunday's listings for the week ahead, it contained an array of items, mostly focused around Advent, Chanukah and Christmas:  a 25th annual Christmas carol sing (twenty-five years is old in Florida!), a Chanukah celebration (no specifics, but menorahs and latkes will most likely be included!) and an event called Celebrate the Advent Season (most likely without latkes!)  Imagine my surprise, however, when wedged between a Christmas cookie decorating event and a Holiday Bazaar, I found this listing:  "Florida Gun Shows Fort Myers until Dec. 13, Lee Civic Center, etc.)"  (The News-Press, 12-6-15, 28A)  Florida Gun Shows?  In the Faith Calendar?  I realize, one could argue cookie decorating has little to do with matters of faith as well, but Florida Gun Shows?  I can only hope that some editor was asleep at the switch when that entry was included.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that it may have been incredibly appropriate.  For there are many, many Americans (and others) who place their faith in guns.  Why else would they hold on to them so tightly?  What's that t-shirt that shows up on Facebook every once in a while?  "They'll take my gun out of my cold, dead hand"?  If that's not religious fervor I don't know what counts as such!  Perhaps those who claim religion is the cause of all--or most--wars and violence are right.  They've just forgotten to list faith in guns among the various religious expressions around the world.

That's why, as much as I agree with the front page editorial that showed up in the New York Times this weekend as well, I don't think it's going to happen.  Here in part is what they said:  "Certain kinds of weapons . . . and ammunition . . .must be outlawed for civilian ownership . . . . [A]nd yes, it would require Americans who own those kind of weapons to give them up for the good of their fellow citizens." (New York Times, 12-5-15, A-1)

That sounds to me like a practical application of the Golden Rule, subscribed to by people of many different faith traditions.  But I suspect it doesn't cut it if you put your faith in guns.

JESUS, BREAD AND CHOCOLATE: A Review

 

Would Jesus want his followers to drink Budweiser, or some locally produced craft beer?  Would he urge them to eat Wonder Bread, or a freshly baked 12-grain loaf?  These are the kind of questions one can't help but think of when reading John J. Thompson's Jesus, Bread and Chocolate.  In fact, this intriguing volume might be described as a collection of object lessons for grown-ups.  You remember object lessons, don't you?  Sometimes called children's sermons, object lessons involved pastors taking some common everyday item, and using it to illustrate a theological point or to teach a moral principle.  Lots of preachers still use them, including from time to time me.  And arguably, Jesus used object lessons all the time--however we usually call those parables.

But I digress.  The objects Thompson writes about all fall into the general category of artisanal products.  Handmade, hand crafted, individualized things like craft beer, fair trade coffee, home baked bread . . . you get the idea.  Part of the book's charm lies in the details Thompson provides about the objects themselves.  He is a home brewer himself, and lovingly describes the process of creating beer.  "The grain must first be malted," he writes, by exposing it to just enough moisture so that the germ inside starts to grow." (165)  That kind of detail is offered up for coffee, chocolate, farmers markets and indie music.  Again and again he makes the point that what makes such things extra fine is the simple fact that they are not produced by machines and assembly lines, but rather by individuals who truly care about the end result.

The key to understanding Thompson's book can be found in the final paragraphs of his text where he writes:  "In confirmation class, I learned that a sacrament is 'an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.'  Therefore, cultivating taste for the good, the true, and the beautiful is a sacramental process.  How amazing is that?  There are outward and visible signs everywhere around us."  (254) Things that can be found in places like farmers markets or small local bakeries.  Throughout the book he attempts to point out the "inward and spiritual grace" tucked away in such common things--much like the germ inside the grain.

As Thompson's half-title indicates, he is advocating for "crafting a handmade faith in a mass-market world" or what he calls "an artisanal faith."  Occasionally he gets lost in the details, but for the most part he successfully makes his point.  His object lessons work. 

Thompson's book can be read cover to cover, or, one could benefit from picking out the chapters that intrigue and gleaning the wisdom contained in those so chosen.  To some extent, Thompson's writing is at its best when he focuses on very tangible objects and the lessons they have to convey.  It is less successful when he strays into the abstract. 

Which brings me back to my original questions.  I'm not sure how Thompson would answer them.  However, despite Bud being the self-proclaimed King of Beers, I suspect he would have us understand that the local craft beer would be the choice of the King of Kings.  And even though Wonder Bread claims to build strong bodies twelve ways . . . well, you figure it out!

(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)

 

(Note to my readers:  I am now part of SpeakEasy, a network of bloggers who review books having to do with matters of faith.  Every four-six weeks I will feature a book review that I hope will be of interest to you.  Otherwise, this blog will continue to focus on those issues and ideas that impact our lives as people of faith.  Thank you for your continued loyalty to this blog!)