Reflecting on Legacy Series
TURNING SEVENTY
I recently turned seventy. It didn’t feel all that monumental, in fact, pretty damn calm. There was, however, a ripple of anxiety, which has since swollen to tremor size, and daily creates a tremble in my world. I doubt it will reach tsunami heights, but I am pretty sure it will be cable of some fairly severe confidence erosion. I don’t feel overwhelmed or anything, but I do notice the occasional shudder.
Most of the time being seventy feels satisfying. I am glad to still be around. I have a beloved grandson now. I am still writing and painting and flitting about the countryside in search of the good photo. I preach and teach now and then, enjoy a few good friends, and find my little family (Justin, Heather, Jay, and James) to be a source of pride and many moments of joy. Life is not perfect, but it is bittersweet, and I have acquired an adult taste for it.
Other than having a buffoon for a President, and his oh so very deplorable voter base, with their mantra that greed is never wrong and white is always right – I remain ironically hopeful. I still hope America relocates its soul, and recognizes that the friendly fascism which extols the virtues of dictators, champions the KKK and neo-Nazis, and condemns a free press, is still fascism. I believe we will come to our senses, and learn once again that evil is ever so subtle and smart.
Having seven full decades under my belt, has also got me thinking a good deal about how I will be remembered. I am not out window shopping for caskets, nor is my not so hot health at the hanging by a thread point – at least not yet. Still, I frequently find myself pondering if I have made much of a difference, or been true to my calling. I suspect that LEGACY will be a dominant theme of my seventies. Trying to ascertain if I have only left a scrawling X of a mark, or managed to somehow display a signature style.
One thing for sure, I know our culture does not take the concept of LEGACY all that seriously, and offers little encouragement for such self-examination. We live in a trivial pursuit culture, one which is all about acquiring stuff, racking up popularity points, keeping everyone happy, trying to be perfect, and performing even when sicker than a dog – physically, emotionally, or spiritually. Simply put, Americans are highly prone to being superficial, to small talk, and to scoring enough points to be declared the winner. LEGACY, on the other hand, has zero interest in the externals upon which our culture’s addiction to adolescent thinking and acting is built.
LEGACY building is for adults only. It requires silence, stillness, and solitude – in a culture hell bent on being busy and noisy and angry. LEGACY is a matter of maturity. Our culture seems to be growing down, not up. True adults understand the vital importance of compassion and care and community. Grown-ups keep growing, changing, being transformed, reaching for stars, and attempting to be at their very best. Choosing to be a genuine adult is at the very core of any LEGACY.
A LEGACY demands being honest. It requires being on the up and up. It is neither tolerant of lies, nor entertained by crazy conspiracy theories. Adults work at telling and living their Truth. Adults do not climb up a ladder of success which can only lead to a fall, but choose instead to walk the walk – to honestly seek to move forward on this good high ground. A LEGACY is ultimately about making the world a better place, and only real adults have the ability or inclination to take on this courageous chore. Real adults make a Life, not just a living, and they strive to make Life better for us all, as often and as best as they can.
A LEGACY necessitates swallowing a large dose of humility. Who would choose to remember the bragger, the know it all, the arrogant elitist, or the one who thinks he or she has all the answers? We will recall and revere those fine simple folks who lived genuinely good lives, and whose greatness was measured in terms of kindness and mercy, patience and perseverance, service and sacrifice. Humility is a deep knowing and acceptance of one’s own insignificance, while simultaneously believing that little things done with great love can make a world of difference.
A LEGACY, in these oft crazy times, will ask that we decide daily to make hope happen. We live in a time when we all must recognize the issue of extinction is clearly on the horizon. We must protect this sacred ground called earth. We must dramatically close the gap between the rich and poor. We must celebrate diversity, especially racial and religious. We must find ways to demonstrate respect, and to enthusiastically listen to one another. Bottom line, all hope is built upon a foundation of extravagantly gracious and generous love – even to the point of loving an enemy.
I am seventy. It is time for me to take stock. I need to take my own personal and spiritual inventory. It is time to declare that what our culture claims to be the character of greatness, is pure foolishness in the eyes of God.
I hope you might also put the subject of LEGACY on your radar. It may not be an answer, but it cannot hurt. It can help us to heal and be healthy – in body and soul. Here is to a positive and productive 2020, and the decade which follows, may we rejoice in the chance to create our own LEGACY.
WHAT’S NEW?
I long ago learned that the only difference
Between a rut and a grave,
Is the depth.
We love ruts.
They are cozy nooks in which we can hide,
And have the world disappear.
We adore routines.
They offer us the great comfort of
Feeling in control – being in charge.
We are a culture addicted to all things OLD.
Antiques are believed to be innately superior.
The good old days will always trump the Now.
Everything old is best – except those of us who are.
We are the disposable and the neglectable.
2020 arrived. No great shakes. Just another year.
Even the Times Square countdown has grown stale.
Nothing new under the sun once again.
Everything is on instant replay.
The circles grow wider and deeper,
And our orbit distant from Life or earth or God.
We are strangely fascinated by angels and aliens,
Dazzled by gadgets and toys and other technological wizardry.
We barely notice a season or a sight or a sound.
We have little taste for genuinely good things.
We think most days stink.
Our common sense has grown uncommon.
We are out of touch,
Fail to pay much attention,
And seem to be dead long before we are dead.
2020, and my hope for us all is
That we come back to Life, on Life’s terms.
It is God’s will for humans to be human.
We try to be anything but.
It is God’s wish that we live out
Not a plan, but a dream.
It is God’s hope that we follow
Not a map, but a calling.
It is God’s longing, that we nurture
Our souls, and not just our bodies.
We need to make new choices.
A new attitude.
A new perspective.
A new yearning.
A new friend.
A fresh mercy.
A ripening respect.
A jumping joy.
And a leaping faith.
All need to be exercised daily.
We must walk the walk,
And admit we know
Where we are going, and why,
And we know when to stop and look,
Enjoying the overlook,
And we know that all true following
Climbs up to higher ground,
And in the clean air of the mountain top,
We can see the Kingdom
Of a God who cherishes us all,
And where we are living certain
We are more than enough.
UNFORGETTABLE
A LEGACY is composed of moments, unforgettable moments, moments so bloated with beauty or wisdom or Truth, the soul will never choose to shake them. Now, the question is, “What makes for an unforgettable moment?” This, my friends, has been a puzzlement since the whole shebang began.
One thing we do know, there is no surefire way to produce unforgettable. There are no books to study. There are no quotes or tutors or gurus to point the way. There is no map to where it resides. There are no secrets to speak of, and seemingly few clues or hints. Unforgettable is pure mystery. Unique to each of us, and, like faith, our own version.
So…how does one create some unforgettable moments to shape and form his or her LEGACY? It is not a matter of creating them, but rather noticing, paying attention, witnessing and experiencing unforgettable moments in our own life. They are there. They are happening. They are thriving even when we are stumbling along, heads down, blinded by a fog we helped create.
As a culture, we choose to live in a blur. We are dire near comatose most of the time, oblivious to what is happening around us, and almost illiterate to the signals being sent by our souls. We function like robots - Efficient, competent, steady, but detached from almost everything which declares either our humanity, or a very present Divinity.
Leaving a LEGACY begins by being awake, aware, and alert to our very own lives. We need to have our eyes and hearts and souls open to bearing witness to what we experience as magnificent or memorable or even thrilling. A first kiss. A first child. A first snow. Even our first funeral. Each innately possesses a transcendent magic, etching an indelible message upon our hearts – something which naturally has the mark of the eternal.
LEGACY is the result of having paid strict attention to our days, our lives, our longings, our yearnings, our deepest desires, our wishes, our hopes, our callings, our loves, and all that we say makes us COME ALIVE. It is a paradox. Life is a paradox. We are living every day, and yet, we often choose to be dumb to its revealed wisdom. It is like the birds singing, which we most often fail to hear, and then when we stop and listen, we laugh and call it a racket.
I believe one way to create a context conducive to growing a LEGACY, is to chase beauty. To behold the cathedral of Autumn’s fire; the flutter of Goliath snowflakes in Winter; the lime lace of Spring; the stunning terror of roaring thunder and wild lightning during a late August thunderstorm; each is calling us to attention, asking to be noticed and respected. Nature is incessantly begging us to BEHOLD, which is another way of God saying, “Let me hold you.”
I would also contend that the unforgettable is frequently something heard, just like the sweet sounds of amazing Grace. We remember a few phrases and sentences. Sometimes an entire page or paragraph or poem. We have them memorized, or they whisper in our ear like an echo of the Word of God. We will know it when we hear it. We will find ourselves repeating it again and again. It will come out of nowhere, at the strangest of times, like a childhood nursery rhyme that is somehow always on the tip of our tongue. It does ring pure and true. A sweet mellow honey like sound.
I lost a truly great friend nine years ago. He was a fellow pastor and a sensational and inspirational man. During his lengthy, yet spiritually swift, dying, he repeatedly said to me, “Grimbol, forgive everyone everything. There is no point in carrying some silly grudge around like a bag of garbage; just throw it in the bin, and walk away.” I will never forget those words. They are unforgettable, and I knew it the minute I heard them.
When you hear the Truth, the oozing stuff which emits from the soul now and then, and speaks a language of purpose or meaning, write it down, record it, make sure to pass it on. The unforgettable must always be passed on.
I also have a deep faith in our bodies to tell us when something unforgettable is occurring. I think of this as a “body of knowledge”. Our bodies are telling us in graphic ways, that something special, sacred, unique, holy, miraculous, magical, and obviously, quite memorable, is happening. A lump in the throat; being moved to tears; being left dumbstruck; goosebumps; a shiver up and down the spine; butterflies in the stomach; losing our breath, as if Life has punched us right in the gut; or simply feeling so swollen with Life, we tingle, and feel as if we are on the verge of exploding. When the body speaks such a deeply spiritual language, we are being challenged to remember, and to take note of what is ablaze with being unforgettable.
If our lives have become boring or bland or even brutal, it is often the result of missing the miracles of the day, the moments which sparkle and radiate hope and joy and love. These fireworks are never limited to a single night, but are being set off on a daily basis. We just need to stop and look – look up. The unforgettable is exclusive to the here and now. It comes at night and in the day. It is an everywhere for everyone event. Receive it. That is all, and the least you can do.
Open the inn. Make room. Let the babe of Bethlehem be born in you this day. Every birth is unforgettable – including yours. Be born again – every single day.
STOPPED DEAD IN OUR TRACKS
We need to listen to our losses – long and hard. They have a powerful message to deliver. They are lightning bolts which scorch the soul. They leave behind a sour rancid smell. They are grave and difficult. They are also wondrous in their capacity to transform us, bring out our very best, and teach us the wisdom of choosing to be fully alive.
I hope I will leave behind me a LEGACY of having embraced my losses, squeezing the mystery out of them, and freeing myself to learn exactly what they had to say. I hope I have taught others how vital it is for a Christian to know why we call Good Friday good. I believe I have made a good effort in making it clear how necessary it is to be good at grief. It is one sure way to die well, and live well – like stands of DNA, weaving in and out of one another.
I remember the day I walked across the parking lot at the Buxton School, and told my son the news his mother had finally passed. The news itself was no shock, as we had left the hospital together to get away from the agony of witnessing her fade for another gruesome day. He needed to be back at this sacred place, his school, his friends, and where his Mom could still linger in his mind – fresh and funny and gloriously naughty.
The look on his face was one of wicked wincing. It was as if his whole body might turn inside out. I knew at that precise moment that Justin had been drained dry of all joy. (This joy would only return after the birth of his son James.) He was not in agony, but shrouded in despair. Despair is not depression, but a darkened and bruised perspective, an attitude which struggles to care on a daily basis. He became a young man waiting for the bomb to drop. He was looking for the next vicious loss around every corner.
He was never the same. I was never the same. Our world shifted. Our lives were shattered. We attempted to put the jigsaw puzzle back together again, but knew full well there would always be a missing piece. Nothing would ever feel complete or whole again. In truth, it is still the same. On the day Heather delivered sweet baby James to the world, I felt Christine’s (Justin’s mother) robust presence. She draped herself all over the good news of James having arrived. She did not make it bad news, but human news, always and forever trimmed in sadness.
Life is difficult. Life is grave. Life is wondrous. Life is pure miracle. It is a requirement of our spiritual maturation, our efforts to make a difference, and our capacity to leave a LEGACY, that we befriend our grief and claim our losses. Yes, every day we are living we are also dying. Every day is packed with potential hellos, but will also calls upon us to say very real and frequent good-byes. Every one of us will watch a slow but sweet and necessary death. Every one of us will have someone snatched from our soul’s grasp, ripped from our arms and hearts and souls, and leave us wailing and gnashing our teeth and shaking our fists at a seemingly indifferent God.
One of the reasons I have come to have considerable faith in the holy myth (a sacred story) of Jesus, is that its plot is the pulse of coping with living and dying, and inspiring the desire in us to do both with integrity and dignity, and yes, great maturity. Life makes no sense. It is not a perfect whole. It is fragmented. There are missing pieces. Some of these pieces have sharp edges, and cut our hearts out. Still, on the whole, Life remains an incessant blessing.
I have no respect or fondness for President Trump. I do not experience him as a good or moral man. He is dangerous in more ways than I can count. I will pray for him – this is the best I can do. It is not that he is a Republican or conservative, which in fact he is neither, but it is his blatant patronage of evil. He extols the virtues of ruthless totalitarian dictators, and offers his meager compassion to the KKK and neo Nazis, asking Americans to look for the good in them. At the same time, he shows no empathy at all for frightened anxious children being deprived of their families, and living in places nobody could ever call home.
I believe Senator McCain made sure President Trump would not attend his funeral, as he did not wish to have the event or his LEGACY tainted by such a vile spirit. I believe Barbara Bush left the Republican Party, and George H. Bush voted for Hillary Clinton, because they knew down deep in their souls, that they could not find any soul in this President. The soullessness of Donald Trump is the result of a wholesale rejection of maturing, and a philosophy of Life which sees greed as never wrong, and white as always right. Trump’s LEGACY will not be pretty. To some it will be entertaining – like one of those God-awful reality shows I cannot stomach watching. It is my great hope that he will be quickly forgotten, along with his idea of greatness.
When we die, how will we be remembered? What will be a part of the litany of our LEGACY? It will indeed be about the quality of our lives. LEGACIES are never about numbers or bank accounts, or car models, or dimensions of a house, or where we have traveled. LEGACY is only and always about the quality of our loving. It is about possessing a tender and merciful soul. It is how we lived, and yes, how we face and came to know, accept, and embrace Death. It is about the courage to live fully and lovingly and compassionately, while always knowing our days are numbered. A LEGACY is never comfortable with death, but there is a dignified acceptance of its presence. We know we go away in the end. Over is over. What is beyond is even a greater mystery than Life itself. Be well acquainted with grief, it is a required course – it is PASS/FAIL.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Remember when the late beloved Aretha Franklin spelled out this sacred word as the refrain of a song which demanded that it be actualized? Somehow, this word has faded and frayed in our culture. It seems hidden under the rubble of rumor and judgment and plain old mean-spiritedness. We have become a nation of bullies. The essence of being a bully, is to show nobody any respect.
It is the memory of being savagely bullied, which appears to haunt the souls of many of our young school shooters. No excuse for their bullets, but no excuse either for we who tolerate the bullying which helps spawn those bullets being fired at live targets.
Our airwaves are full of talk shows which are better called screaming matches. Civility is gone from our political process. It even appears to have vanished from most human discourse. We do not talk unless it is small talk, and any big talk tends to quickly erupt into great fury. Religion remains a hot potato, and there is a tone of hostility to any exchange of differing beliefs. Mercy is also missing from most religious discussions, and I would contend, from many churches as well. Main line vs. evangelical and fundamentalist. Born again vs. dead again; or so it is implied. The only true religion vs. all those who are falsely informed. The field of religion is strewn with the carcasses of faith, hope, and love. What remains are myriad warring factions.
Where did it go? The respect. Was it all an illusion -- the progress we thought we had made? Are we just as bigoted as we were before? Have we always been this badly divided? Were there always rallies being held to herald the arrival of a message of hate? Is the Civil War still being fought? Is fascism here and now, just in drag, or wearing a friendly mask? Will the human race destroy itself over who worships the right God? Is the answer to the question, “Can’t we all just get along?”, a resounding, “NO!”?
I remember a friend telling me about the day he won a blue ribbon at the Playground Pet Show. He had gone home, showed the ribbon to his Mom, and tried unsuccessfully to get his shaggy pooch to wear it. He was telling his mother all about the Pet Show, when he was struck by the reality, “Even Connie won a blue ribbon for her pet – a stupid ant she caught with her finger in the sandbox!” He then ripped up his blue ribbon; declaring it worthless. A blue ribbon was meant to declare superiority, not EQUALITY.
Our nation is being shredded by divisions of all kinds. I suspect the lack of respect which so often dominates our culture, is at base, the result of a complete failure to believe in or celebrate equality or diversity. Our culture is all about cloning and sticking to those folks with whom we totally agree. We refuse to honor our heritage of being a melting pot. We no longer rejoice in being a patchwork quilt. We no longer see the beauty in a collection of widely diverse patches; different in shape, color, themes, voice, belief, and orientations. Half of our nation is all about an all-white culture. The same half believe in a white American southern Republican Jesus – created, of course, in their own image. Many of us stick so close to those with whom we agree, we are not living as much as hiding.
I think a LEGACY is mandated to be for all people for all time. I do not believe we can label it a LEGACY, if it is intended to only be passed on to some clique or club or exclusive group. LEGACY is by nature meant to be universal. It is uniquely human, and open to the whole human race. A LEGACY is never divisive, elitist, exclusive, or of any warring intentionality. A LEGACY is a natural born peacemaker, striving always to bring us together, to create true community, and make hope happen by making us good neighbors to one another.
I am seventy, and I have one black friend, Michael Livingston, the Interim Senior Pastor at the Riverside Church in NYC. I have one Hispanic friend, Manuel Barrera, with whom I am working on a manuscript all about leaving behind a legacy. Two friends in seven decades. How sad is that. Very sad.
I suspect we all need to reach out to people of other races and religions, and strive for understanding and acceptance – which is built upon R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I would also love to see us significantly expand our efforts to be in touch with other beliefs, opinions, interests, convictions, callings, longings, and hopes, and getting to know those who hold them. Again, this is simply a matter of genuine respect; which is the catalyst and the inspiration.
The world is shrinking. Diversity is growing by leaps and bounds. We will need one another if we are to address any of the major issues of our time, especially violence, hunger, housing, health care, and climate change. We can only do it together. Respect will be the foundation upon which any true lasting legacy is built.
“Imagine all the people, Living Life in peace.” Lennon’s famous refrain to his song IMAGINE. The melody of this song is respect, which carries the tune forward, and makes the music beautiful. Imagination is not idealism, naivete, or foolishness. Imagination is allowing the Spirit to move through the human spirit, and lift us up, way up to higher ground – where we walk in peace, knowing and celebrating our grand diversity, as well as our inherent equality.
HELP!
We live in a self-help culture. We're taught daily that God helps those who help themselves. We are sworn to uphold the fine but foolish philosophy…pull yourself up by the bootstraps, which any dope should know is neither possible, nor a very smart perspective. It will take a person on either side of you to grab those proverbial bootstraps, and lift you – unless you are my size, when it will take a six-pack of strong individuals to get the job done.
Americans speak of being self-sufficient with such solemn, even smug, pride. Of course, the fact is we are all dependent to our very core, on a Higher Power if nothing else. Americans are lousy at team work, consensus or community building, or even the art of compromise. We want it our way. We want it when we want it. We want no questions asked. Otherwise, we will just take what is ours. In most other cultures, this is called being a spoiled brat. In ours – SUCCESS.
This has clearly led to lifestyles of futility and a deep inner sense of failure. We believe we are never enough. We always fall short. Our neighbors are thought to be our opponents, and their words are indeed often belittling. We have an insatiable appetite to compete and compare, and are so addicted to winning at any cost, we sell our soul almost daily. The American mantra is, “I don’t need any help from YOU!”, and that “YOU” means pretty much anyone and everyone.
As a minister for over four decades, I witnessed our culture’s obsession with proving ourselves to be independent and self-sufficient. I silently and sadly watched my parishioners be avid deniers of needing any help with anything; while their marriages faltered; their parenting became neglectful and often nasty; friendships were discarded on a silly whim; families collapsed under the pressure of trying to be a modern version of Walton’s Mountain; and grief got buried under a mountain of busyness. We looked cool, calm, and collected, when in fact, we were a hot mess, scattered, fragmented, and spinning in shrinking circles.
There are 80 million Americans presently involved in Anonymous addiction healing programs. 80 million Americans got wise, and sought help, but first were asked to declare themselves anonymous. I understand why, but wonder if this is not directly linked to the American fear of needing help of any kind. If they do not know my name, they will not know I sought help, admitted I was powerless, and surrendered my will to a Higher Power. I would also contend that there are an equal number of Americans who believe anyone IN an Anonymous Meeting to be a genuine loser. Why? What is it about America and Americans, which makes the concept of needing help so repulsive?
Well, part of it is history and tradition. America is the land of pioneers, the brave daring souls who set off to conquer the wild frontier. In many respects, since America was a sparsely populated place for a long period of time, it was simply a necessity to do it all yourself. Like the old-fashioned farmer who lived off the land, there was indeed a need to take care of business by yourself. There remains some merit to this philosophy. The conservative value of taking care of our own, is also worthy of our consideration – as long as the “our own” is not determined by bigotry.
However, the crux of the matter, and why needing help is THE NORM for our modern lives, is due to Life being more and more complex; the world is shrinking; the population is swarming upward; the climate is warming; resources are dwindling; violence is epidemic; celebrating diversity is now a demand, not an indulgence; and of course, extinction is now on any sane person’s radar. We need one another, perhaps not more than ever, but in a truly big way. No man or woman is an island. We cannot do anything alone. We are a world, a humanity, longing and yearning to become one, one powerful force of peace and hope. UNITED WE STAND – UP.
We have a magnetic moral and spiritual attraction to being one, which makes divisive religiosity ever more demonic, and declares nationalism and social elitism a real evil. A Third World? Really? The haves vs. the have nots? Really? An economic gap of canyon dimensions. Really? We are human. We need one another. We often need help. In today’s world, when there are so many signs of imminent catastrophe, we need to help one another focus on ways to save the planet, our lives, and our world as a whole.
First, we must admit we have a problem. We are addicted to accumulation. We are addicted to adolescence. We are addicted to arrogance. We are all about ME, and seldom about WE. Religious folks are tragically all about CREEDS rather than DEEDS. We are badly divided, and seldom function as a whole. America supports the United Nations on the surface, but has affairs with its capitalistic dreams on the side – THE AMERICAN DREAM IS NOT UNIVERSAL. We are a people who have grown callus and cruel, lacking in generosity and grace, refusing to grow up and face the music – a sad song of the rich getting richer, and the poor being discarded as trash.
When will we hit bottom? I think we have. We just haven’t acknowledged it yet. When a few folks control more money than two thirds of the world’s population, we are digging our very own graves. When a President pretends the climate is not really changing, we are hopelessly and frighteningly in denial. We are there…NOW. If we look around us, all we will see it dirt. There are as yet few meetings, but they are beginning to form; and we all need a sponsor. Read the 12 STEPS – an awesome spiritual health program. Where it says, in the very first step, “I admitted I am powerless”, allow your soul to insert the words “over greed and bigotry and hate”, and we then we all get to work, and give our Higher Power some real POWER. No longer worshipping an American Jesus, or a juvenile buffoon as President.
A THIN COAT OF HOLY
2020. A new decade. An era of what? Our choices will decide. Our values will create its attitude and perspective. Our ethics will determine its difference. There will be a pinch of luck and fate thrown in, as well as a drop or two of the unexpected, even miraculous. There will also be a shocking eclipse, a shooting star of hope now and then, and yes, several days of thick heavy fog or smoke or both.
On the whole, Life can be pretty damn crazy. It can also be brutally painful. We are more in touch with the rest of the world than ever before, and yet our loneliness is bloated to the bursting (into tears). Technology declares that solutions are a mere day away, but we appear lost and aimless, wandering about without vision or voice. Walking in smaller and smaller circles, until we are left marching in place in quicksand – and sink.
The Church and the Gospel, are in exile. We are being told that one cannot mix politics and religion, which basically reveals that the Church will have nothing to say about anything which matters, except supposedly about who gets into Heaven – the one topic we most assuredly have no power to understand or determine. The Church orbits Life, and seldom lands, and thereby is fading in its importance and its capacity to help build a Kingdom.
America is in a steep and rapid decline. We have lost our moral authority, and appear to the world as the spoiled brat teen who wants his or her way; when he or she wants it; without questions asked. 50% of our nation appears to worship at the feet of Wall Street, whose theology is simply that greed is never wrong, and white is always right. Could we have strayed further from the dream Jesus Christ held before us?
I know this sounds pessimistic, but I believe it to be a fair and reasonable assessment of the state of the Church and the Union. We are badly divided, deeply wounded, and weary of just about everything. We have reduced the meaning of Life to – “it is the economy stupid!”; which is the essence of stupidity itself. We have come to accept a lying, boasting, creepily smug President, who rules by decree, and declares himself a genius, in spite of sounding like an 8th grade know it all bully.
What lays before us in this decade is massive, scary, overwhelming, and will demand every ounce of our courage and creativity, as well as seeking to become a kinder, more compassionate and civil world community. The planet is in peril. The gap is so massive you can barely see the other side. Health care is abominable and ridiculously costly. The homeless and hungry remain. The presence of racism warps our soul, and the violence which swarms, speaks of a growing societal insanity. This new decade must expect our best, at a time when the lack of mature genuine and true leadership is glaring.
Still, Life is coated in a thin coat of HOLINESS. Life can still be quite magical, memorable, unforgettable, mysterious, awe inspiring, tender, merciful, and wildly loving. Yes, there remains significant signs of hope.
I am witnessing many young people who are passionate about the climate and our resources. There are a few within the Church who are fiercely loyal to Christ’s vision of equality and diversity; this is also sadly coupled with the hastening demise of many churches, which is the direct result of being silent in the midst of staggering spiritual crisis. I hear more and more mature adults who are just plain fed up, hanging by a thread, but ready to tie a sturdy knot, hold on, and lift themselves and others up to higher ground.
It promises to be a wild ride, this new decade. I have a grandson now, sweet baby James, and he will deal with extinction within his lifetime. I hope my legacy to him will be to show him his own reflection in that thin coating of HOLINESS. I want him to see the holy in himself and his dreams and his hopes and his humanity. I want him to know he shines. That he is enough. That he can make a difference. But, most of all, I want him to see the holy reflection of all the others on this planet.
I want him to be like the first humans on the moon, who, after all the money and energy was spent, basically looked back at the earth from atop the moon’s crust, and beheld a beauty which took their breath away. It was an achievement, yes, but one they could have discovered by walking out the back door, and looking up. No matter how you look at Life and Creation, up or down, it can awe you with a lump in the throat, or move you to tears. We need not search for it. It is everywhere. All of the time. In every single one of us.
So, here we go again. But maybe, just maybe, change and transformation will be etched into that thin coating of HOLINESS, like a winter’s frost which swirls magically all about a window’s surface. We can only hope. Hope is the only thing left. Choose it. Live it. Be it. Ask yourself daily, if you have brought hope into this day the Lord has made?
Then shoot for 3650 days of bringing it home.
DO YOU REALLY EVEN CARE?
When I watch our President’s rallies, I am struck by a couple of things. First, has he ever really stopped campaigning? Second, I watch the smirking, cackling, cheering faces behind him, and wonder what it is that strikes them as so funny? Most of all, I am struck by the fact that this has very little to do with politics; it certainly is not about conservative values; but then, what is it about?
I think it is about a chance to be mean, get even, throw out some scorn and ridicule, and laugh at those consider to be less. Even when the President imitates a woman having an orgasm, or mocks a sixteen year old girl who is passionate about the earth and the climate, or describes all Hispanic immigrants as drug addicts and criminals and rapists, the “Greek chorus” behind him, does not seem to bat an eye – THEY JUST DO NOT CARE.
These rallies are about being nasty. They are about defiantly rubbing liberal noses in the stench of bigotry and misogyny and homophobia. These rallies celebrate an America which has nothing whatsoever to do with what our brave soldiers fought for in WWI or WWII. No, this is a chance to point the finger, and to do so out in the open, unafraid to show its true colors, which, ironically, are pretty bleak – almost black.
I have never really understood the America which thought slavery was OK. I have never fully grasped how the KKK came into being, or why white supremacy is once again banging its brutal drum. I sure haven’t a clue how a crowd can roar in approval when our President claims a deceased congressman was looking up from Hell, or that John McCain was not a hero, because he was captured. This is way past being political. This is about being damn mean.
I think it is a blatant attempt to make being a bully fashionable. There is no denial here, or trying to cover it up, except the craziness of often claiming it was only a joke. No, this is the human need to push someone down in order to push themselves up. It is also a severe case of indifference and apathy.
I recall Archbishop Desmond Tutu being horrified after the massacre of children in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, when he witnessed the American Church having little to no response. He questioned why people of faith were not in the streets in protest – “they are slaughtering your children.” He was befuddled. So am I. Assault weapons which can fire 300 bullets in a minute. This is what our forefathers and mothers championed?
I do not pretend to know when, or why, or how, we in America seem to have become a people who care so little about appallingly bad behavior. Our good life culture not only has little to nothing to do with goodness, but it now subtly endorses a decadent and deadening spirit. Being bad to the bone is what we no call reality shows. Like it or not, we are no longer the beacon of hope for the world, just the adults with the most toys, and seemingly, the biggest braggers and complainers on the planet.
I have never longed so deeply to see Americans choose to care again. Our historic greatness was certainly created out of a willingness to care deeply and compassionately for those who were hurting or suffering or in need of a lift. We were the nation of a big heart, as seen in the Marshall Plan, or the New Deal, or the Civil Rights Act, but never about being callus and cold and cynical to the max.
I hope we will all choose in 2020 to be kinder, gentler, more merciful, and far more willing to risk caring. We need to let our eyes tear up; our hearts bleed; our hands reach out and touch. Yes, I do still believe that caring transcends our politics, but it must also infuse our ethics and our morals. We must be a people who have a pulse, and the beat of that pulse must be one which dances to the rhythm of service and sacrifice.
When we stop caring, we become a deplorable place and people. That is the bottom line, and it is a spiritual fact we must face. If the only thing we care about is ourselves, and the size of our home, or closet, or bank account, well, then we have sold our soul.
The soul, my friends, is still all about caring. Compassion and kindness are its fuel. Its destination is higher ground. The journey promises beauty, joy, and hope. May we embark on a pilgrimage which will enable us to reclaim our souls, and find greatness not in success or numbers, but in the sweet satisfaction of leaving a legacy of caring deeply and consistently about our neighbors, our planet, and our God.
PLAYING PROPHET
I recently watched the film, TWO POPES, starring Anthony Hopkins and Jonathan Pryce. It is an extraordinary film, and the performances of the two leads, nothing short of amazing. It offers a solid foundation to understanding the ongoing crisis with the church between the traditionalists, and the reformers who are calling for sweeping changes.
The thrust of the film is about an ironic friendship forged between an ardent traditionalist, Pope Benedict, and a tireless reformer, Pope Francis. They were at one time bitter foes. Pope Benedict worked diligently to protect the protocol and doctrines of the Catholic church. Pope Francis wanted to see a Church which embrace people of color, an enhancement of the role of women, and even an acknowledgment of its gay membership.
However, it was the crisis of the sexual misconduct of the clergy, which brought their battle to a boil. Benedict was lukewarm in his condemnation, and seeming responsible for a policy of just moving the guilty clergy to other settings. Pope Francis wanted the behavior condemned and the clergy culprits gone.
It is quite helpful in understanding Pope Benedict, to gain insight into how The Vatican was indeed his life and his world. To turn his back on sexually abusive clergy, was literally to turn his back on lifelong brothers. This does not excuse his behavior, but it comes along way in showing its very human origins. Benedict believed the Church had called him to never stop loving the blessed Church and its calls and chosen clergy.
Pope Francis, the present Pope, respects tradition, but refuses to worship it. He is a both/and thinker and believer, and not either/or. He is one who follows a very prophetic pastoral path. This means he feels called by Christ to challenge his congregants to mature in faith. He calls upon the Catholic Church to return to a passionate embracing of the poor, the downtrodden, and the outcast. He is a champion of justice, equality, and a refreshing voice for a true celebration of diversity.
When then Archbishop Francis arrives at the Vatican to resign, Benedict will not accept it. In so doing, he lets Francis know the ironic secret – the Pope will soon be resigning. In even further irony, Francis calls up Benedict to respect the protocol of the Church, a protocol which has never seen or experienced the resignation of a Pontiff.
The friendship which develops between these two is charming, if a bit odd, as best evidenced when the worldly and joyful Francis tries to teach Benedict to eat pizza, enjoy watching a soccer game, and even learn how to tango. Benedict is worried about his image, keeping everyone happy, performing his duties with great decorum, and appearing to be perfect. Francis just wants to be a good man. He rejects the cloak and the red shoes and fancy quarters of all previous Popes, and simply makes it clear, he doesn’t like anything showy.
In the end, both Popes play prophet. They both call upon the Church to courageously climb up to higher ground. Benedict does so, by admitting to himself that he cannot lead the Church out of this crisis of sexual abuse. Francis so, by returning the Church to a laser focus on closing the gap between the rich and poor, saving the planet, encouraging an end to violence and racial tension, and practicing peacemaking on a daily basis. Both men make brave choices, and ones which demand them to put the needs of others before their own. In Truth, both men choose to serve Christ, and to follow in his cross carrying footsteps.
It is my abiding hope that I will be remembered as prophetic voice and vision maker with the Church. I am indeed a bleeding-heart liberal, which is not just my politics, but my understanding and belief in Jesus. I do not worship Jesus as my ticket into Heaven. I worship Jesus as the inspiration for bringing Heaven to earth. My Jesus is a human being, devoted to mercy, extravagant in loving, a force for justice and peace, and most of all, the one who calls me to keep on maturing. Maturation is the movement of faith, and faith is a verb.
Though I may respect the historic role of polity and protocol, and often still choose to honor tradition, I am fervent in my belief that today’s Church must change dramatically and forcefully. I seek to follow Christ. I see this as vastly more important than adhering to the Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church, or even the catechism of the Lutheran Church. For me, it is a matter of trusting my capacity to discern the movement of the Holy Spirit in my life and in my world.
And yes, a resounding yes, the Church is dire need of prophetic voices. Too often the Church is nothing more than a voice calling us to conform, clone, and grow down – not up. The Church is commissioned to bring us to adulthood, as only adults are equipped to build the Kingdom. This is why I feel such disdain for so many megachurches, who remind me of Disneyland. Following Jesus should not be easy, popular, or limited to our saying we are saved. It is when we live in such a way that others can witness the Christ within us, that we have fulfilled the prophetic calling.
I'll say this, and not worry if I offend. Religious conservatives do not get crucified. They are the establishment. The Scribes and the Pharisees. The hierarchy. It is the prophets who risk it all, and surrender themselves to a Higher Power with real power. It is the prophets who will rock the boat and know how to duck the rocks.
THE SACRED LANGUAGE OF SIGHS
I am seventy now, and find I sigh a lot. Deep sighs, sighs which border on gasps, or sighs that threaten to scream “ouch”. I think it is the result of now having so many parts of my body ache. Every movement pays a price. At the end of most days, I am damn weary, and then some mosquito of anxiety keeps me up most of the night.
Sometimes I think the sighs are the result of knowing how fast Life is whizzing by – it is so blatantly uncatchable. Other times I feel it is the result of knowing how little I know, or even makes any sense at all, or matters, for that matter. The roots of a sigh go deep. They tap into our humility, and the futility of our words. We truly have little we either genuinely wish to say, or would want others to hear. So…the sigh is often there just to feign interest.
I often believe my sighing is the result of the swarming sadness of the parade of losses in my wake. I don’t think a day goes by that I do not recall the faces of so many loved ones, or even those for whom I conducted a funeral. I review the obituaries daily and with diligence, and check the nearness to my own birthday year. Some of my deepest and fullest sighs are spent on those who have passed at my age or near it.
I still sigh quite a bit at beauty. I make that happen. I take long lazy drives in the countryside, and I always find a photo or two which strikes my fancy. Snow still makes me sigh, as do most sunsets, and the few sunrises I greet when the anxiety prevents me from sleeping. I love looking at children, especially when they are having raw fun, and find it just splendid to see a couple of teens in love, or wearing an outfit or hair or whatever, which I would have never risked wearing.
I don’t really sigh all that much in worship these days. I just have a hard time with the Church and its crazy belief in not mixing politics and religion. Talk about choosing to be boring, or saying nothing worth hearing. I like hearing about love and forgiveness, and still enjoy many scriptural stories or statements, but I long to be challenged, and yearn to find hope – I just don’t find it in most churches. Yes, I still love to preach, but I don’t sigh in response to my own messages – I am not that grandiose. Well…not most of the time.
My son puts his new son up to the phone, and lets me hear James coo, and I sigh like a machine gun. Man, it is amazing how little it takes to bring out our joy. My sons, Justin and Jay, both can make me sigh. They keep it so real, and challenge me to be honest, authentic, and to say what I truly mean and wish and want. They offer good insights on being alive, and offer me great comfort in times of darkness – or a bit of despair. Heather, my lovely daughter-in-law, is such a good woman, and wife, and teacher, and soul, and I just adore the lady. Adoration always yields a sigh.
I have read several great books lately, and they inspire sighing. The entire series by Marilyn Robinson, HOME…GILEAD…LILA, all three are transcendent writing. ON EARTH WE’RE BRIEFLY GORGEOUS, by Ocean Vuong, is a tough and tender and scarily talented book by a young man of immense heart and poetic insight. OLIVE AGAIN, by Elizabeth Strout, brings aging to life in thoughtful, moving and most compelling ways. Made me shudder AND sigh.
I have also watched several significant films which blew me away, left me dumbstruck, and blessedly without any language to convey their impact --and so I just sighed. I highly recommend MARRIAGE STORY, and the performance of ADAM DRIVER; the lovely and disarming TWO POPES; a tiny sleeper of a film, COLD BROOK, which should never work at all, but somehow does; THE PEANUT BUTTER FALCON, offering a welcome redemptive performance by Shia LaBeouf, and the discovery of Zack Gottsagen, who so transcends the fact he has Down Syndrome; and THE REPORT, again starring Adam Driver, and a brilliant job by Annette Benning, in bringing Senator Diane Feinstein fully to life on screen.
If you have never seen the BBC series THE VICAR OF DIBLEY, please do; as well as the absolutely charming DOC MARTIN. Both of these are a pure pleasure, and leave a sweet taste in the soul; and yes, the sweet sighs of innocence and unbridled optimism.
Sighs are a cheap date. They are not hard to find. We know where to look. They are a sure thing. Like tucking a child into bed, or sitting by a roaring fire, or hearing SILENT NIGHT on Christmas Eve, or savoring stillness or silence, or choosing to give yourself a day of doing nothing – when we ironically fulfill God’s dream for us. Sigh. Repeat.
I guess the key to a sigh is to stop. To treat ourselves to a nip of Sabbath. To rest and relax and veg out on the inside. Sighs require us to come to our senses. To see inside. To find our vision and our voice. To feel a caress. To offer a pat of understanding or appreciation. To smell the roses, or the baking bread. To hear the sweet sounds of amazing Grace; the echoes of eternity; the whispered answers.
When we are too busy, bothered, and bewildered, Life will pass us by, and we will miss out on all those fabulous occasions so suited for sighing.
BEFORE THE BEGINNING
Before the beginning there was chaos. I think of chaos as swirling spirals of stardust. It is bright and black and like lightning flashing on a night sky. The Hubble telescope has certainly revealed what chaos looks like, or at least gives us a clue, a holy hint, as to what spins and struts and twirls all about the universe.
Strange. Chaos does not look all that chaotic, but maybe that is because we mistake clutter for chaos. Chaos is quite beautiful really, and though it defies shape or form, it seems to be alive with mystery and glory and the ground of our being (I suspect). The colors are spectacular, blues and purples dripping with royalty, and then the ostrich plumes of white and coral and pink. On the whole, it is quite holy looking.
I don’t think chaos can be tamed. I can’t imagine it being corralled or collared or cornered. I mean…what would be the point? Maybe it is like those times at the county fair, when we paid to watch the many-colored paints spin on a blank white card, until the speed at which they spun made all the color disappear, and the pure white return. Then, as the machine slowed, and as if by some magic, the colors reappeared in some intricate and peacock colored pattern. I can still see us kids, mouths agape, like a nest of feeding baby birds, trying to understand what just happened. (To be honest, I still don’t fully know.)
I think we live in a culture which is terrified of chaos. We hate that which we cannot control. We don’t like puzzles we cannot solve. We despise being stumped. We can get angry and anxious when we know we are totally not in charge. To wave the white flag of surrender in America is anathema; the very pinnacle of being a waste of space, and a first-class loser.
Maybe this is why we have some eighty million folks (estimated) going to various anonymous groups to battle their addictions and compulsive behaviors. From booze to drugs to sex to fried chicken, lying or cheating or gambling, when we humans get hooked, we must surrender in order to heal. Most Americans hate the very thought of surrender. In fact, near the end of the war in Vietnam, we went on fighting when we knew we had lost, more importantly, had nothing to win, but simply could not admit defeat – surrender.
I hope I will have the time and health to teach my grandchild to risk embracing the chaos. Go for the ride. It will be wild, but wonderful. Scream your head off. Take it all in. Do not try to figure it all out, just experience it fully. Go with the flow, eventually you will hit an ocean, and this vast sea will pulse with waves of Grace. The peaks and the valleys, the twists and turns, the sudden drops, the slow steady anxiety building climb – all just part of the ride.
How do you embrace the chaos? You choose to live. To be fully and honestly alive. Wide open to the world within and outside. Available to the day, and at peace with the here and now. At ease in your own skin. Accepting of the limits and boundaries which are imposed on a day to day basis.
You do not hide behind stupid masks. You don’t decide to be in denial. You feel things deeply. You think hard, and listen even harder. You take risks. You fail and flop and forgive and forgive and forgive. You dream. You imagine. You listen to your losses and longings. You take every year as a sacred chance to follow your heart’s desire; to obey your yearnings; to greet a world of difference as a big whopping blessing.
Chaos can indeed be scary. It is surely quite unknown. It is rarely named or addressed. It is seldom claimed or brought home to roost. Chaos is full of haunting voices telling us to stay away, get out, scram. It is so bright it hurts our eyes, and makes us wince. It is not noisy. It is a shouting silence -- like a speaking stone. It is so present, and yet, so far past. This Life of ours can be difficult, brutal, terrifying, but when lived to its fullest, it reveals a sweet tender side, one filled with goodness and growth and the presence of a Higher Power.
I want my grandson to have a Higher Power with some power. At this point, I am not sure if I want him to be part of a church, unless it is a gracious gathering of questioners who have no need to think or act or feel or speak alike. I just don’t want him to ever think of faith as something neat and tidy, captured in a creed or a doctrine or even a sermon. I want him to discover sermons everywhere, in every nook and cranny of every day. I want him to love the silent sermons.
I also want him to understand that faith is one mighty verb, and yes, it is chaotic much of the time. But those miracle moments, when all is still and silent and awesome, they are so worth the risk of the wild ride. Those are the times when The Holy punches though the veil between this world and what’s next, and taps us on the soul, and states firmly – PAY ATTENTION.
ALL IS CALM
It was a pearly day. The sky and ground were both white, antique white, which seemed to hide gold beneath its surface, and there are everywhere, swirling streaks of pink and lavender and ice blue. I sit by the lake, which was a pale flat blue, and reflected the wan sky and the soiled snow. It was so still and quiet. I could hear my breathing, which still carried a wheeze from a Christmas cold. It was a Sunday in January. It was cold but not frigid. There was nothing remarkable about the view. Nothing bright or beautiful. No noise. Just a quite blessed sense of calm.
The crazy, yet delightful, Christmas rush had passed, and we watched the silly ball drop to herald another year. It is now a handful of days into the first month of the year, and I am looking out at what reminded me of my mother’s stationary, which she wrote on when I was in college and Seminary. Simple lovely letters of family news, and neighborhood chatter, and an item of gossip or two, and then her benediction of hoping I knew just how much – I knew all too much, and it was way too much indeed. Worship often masquerades as love, but its demands are massive, and the worry it creates – incessant. Still, I miss her, and long to receive one more letter. A Hedy epistle which would promise a bliss inspiring 2020 for her most beloved son. My eyes moisten, and I think how odd it is to have my family missing. It is a quivering loneliness, like Grandma’s grand Jell-O molds.
Then, time stands still. Time inhaled itself, and hushed for a few seconds. Time gasped in gratitude, and shuddered without sound. Time quaked. The earth and my soul shook. It was a single solitary moment of pure raw acceptance.
I am seventy, and my health is shaky on a good day. But…I am really trying. I cannot believe the craziness of our world and the greed of our nation. I do, however, believe we will come back to our goodness, we will restore our souls, and we will recover the will to be a true moral leader in the world. I considered how badly the Church is falling short of the wishes and dreams of our God. The Church must resist the desire to be braggingly big; it must cease reflecting the culture, and creating a God in its own image; it needs so badly to make the long hard climb up to higher ground – serving others until it hurts. Sacrificing. If it does not, I am afraid in a few quick decades, much of the Church will be gone.
I am at home with my faith. I no longer need Jesus to be the answer, only the one who raises all the good life-inspiring questions. I believe I know what Jesus wants. Build the damn Kingdom, not some Christian theme park, or another Disney world. A kingdom. Celebrate equality, diversity, compromise, compassion, caring, civility, decency, respect, and cherish and adore one another, be one people, stop fragmenting and dividing, refuse violence in all its evil forms, make peace, bring hope and Sabbath to all. This isn’t rocket science. Just do it. Here and now. Faith has nothing to do with what you own, or can by. It is free and here and willing to be invited in. Be a good host.
I have forgiven myself most of my mess. I can be too damn needy. I can be grandiose. I can be so impatient. I can be wickedly jealous. I can give up way too soon. I have hurt so many so often. I have disappointed friends and family. I think I know when, and where, and how. I know I do. It makes me sad. No, I am not just human, I make some foul choices, and foolish decisions. I can be more mature. I must be more mature. Maturing is now my only true calling.
I know there is an end in sight. I think of it like sleep, like a welcome mercy, as a reprieve from being so damn tired – dead tired. I am not ready for it, but it does not scare me much. I still have wishes though. Books I long to write. Sermons I long to give. A grandchild I have yet to hold. I just know enough not to waste time, or spend it unwisely, or kill it, or give it away. I cherish my days.
I am pretty calm on the whole. I am ripe and ready for most of what Life might has to hand me. I am not shocked by much, except for our tolerance of our President’s crude nastiness. I still worry a lot, but then, I am afraid it is my nature, and no amount of nurture will talk my heart out of it. I like getting up. I do have many days, however, when I must talk myself into standing on wounded knees, or having the energy to try and make a difference. I count my blessings. I am impressed. I have too many regrets to count. I would love a Life mulligan.
BUT. It is enough. This life of mine. My little family of Justin and Jay and James and Heather. They are a delight to me. I so respect their honesty and the integrity of their lifestyles. I still savor many good memories. I still have hope for the Church, in spite of the fact that it has caused me considerable pain and loneliness. I still have hope in America, as I know we are so much better than we are now behaving.
Yikes. I am calm. It is pleasant. It is warm. It is nice. It is like a roaring fire after a day spent shoveling. It is an ease. It is an orbiting holiness. It is a morsel of Grace. It is a hug. It is a pat on a burdened shoulder, or one badly scraped by a grindstone. It is sweet and satisfying, and on some level, I believe, it is eternal.
How about that? Whatever lays beyond, I am content. I believe it will be worthy of a God whose Creation has more than proven itself to be beautiful beyond measure. Ooh! Aah! Whoopee! There are just no words to capture the magnificence of calm. Calm is bliss, a deep satisfaction, a sense of value and worth. It is the point and the purpose. It is when we know we know, and have no need whatsoever to talk about it. Let the miracle of calm have its say.
I recently turned seventy. It didn’t feel all that monumental, in fact, pretty damn calm. There was, however, a ripple of anxiety, which has since swollen to tremor size, and daily creates a tremble in my world. I doubt it will reach tsunami heights, but I am pretty sure it will be cable of some fairly severe confidence erosion. I don’t feel overwhelmed or anything, but I do notice the occasional shudder.
Most of the time being seventy feels satisfying. I am glad to still be around. I have a beloved grandson now. I am still writing and painting and flitting about the countryside in search of the good photo. I preach and teach now and then, enjoy a few good friends, and find my little family (Justin, Heather, Jay, and James) to be a source of pride and many moments of joy. Life is not perfect, but it is bittersweet, and I have acquired an adult taste for it.
Other than having a buffoon for a President, and his oh so very deplorable voter base, with their mantra that greed is never wrong and white is always right – I remain ironically hopeful. I still hope America relocates its soul, and recognizes that the friendly fascism which extols the virtues of dictators, champions the KKK and neo-Nazis, and condemns a free press, is still fascism. I believe we will come to our senses, and learn once again that evil is ever so subtle and smart.
Having seven full decades under my belt, has also got me thinking a good deal about how I will be remembered. I am not out window shopping for caskets, nor is my not so hot health at the hanging by a thread point – at least not yet. Still, I frequently find myself pondering if I have made much of a difference, or been true to my calling. I suspect that LEGACY will be a dominant theme of my seventies. Trying to ascertain if I have only left a scrawling X of a mark, or managed to somehow display a signature style.
One thing for sure, I know our culture does not take the concept of LEGACY all that seriously, and offers little encouragement for such self-examination. We live in a trivial pursuit culture, one which is all about acquiring stuff, racking up popularity points, keeping everyone happy, trying to be perfect, and performing even when sicker than a dog – physically, emotionally, or spiritually. Simply put, Americans are highly prone to being superficial, to small talk, and to scoring enough points to be declared the winner. LEGACY, on the other hand, has zero interest in the externals upon which our culture’s addiction to adolescent thinking and acting is built.
LEGACY building is for adults only. It requires silence, stillness, and solitude – in a culture hell bent on being busy and noisy and angry. LEGACY is a matter of maturity. Our culture seems to be growing down, not up. True adults understand the vital importance of compassion and care and community. Grown-ups keep growing, changing, being transformed, reaching for stars, and attempting to be at their very best. Choosing to be a genuine adult is at the very core of any LEGACY.
A LEGACY demands being honest. It requires being on the up and up. It is neither tolerant of lies, nor entertained by crazy conspiracy theories. Adults work at telling and living their Truth. Adults do not climb up a ladder of success which can only lead to a fall, but choose instead to walk the walk – to honestly seek to move forward on this good high ground. A LEGACY is ultimately about making the world a better place, and only real adults have the ability or inclination to take on this courageous chore. Real adults make a Life, not just a living, and they strive to make Life better for us all, as often and as best as they can.
A LEGACY necessitates swallowing a large dose of humility. Who would choose to remember the bragger, the know it all, the arrogant elitist, or the one who thinks he or she has all the answers? We will recall and revere those fine simple folks who lived genuinely good lives, and whose greatness was measured in terms of kindness and mercy, patience and perseverance, service and sacrifice. Humility is a deep knowing and acceptance of one’s own insignificance, while simultaneously believing that little things done with great love can make a world of difference.
A LEGACY, in these oft crazy times, will ask that we decide daily to make hope happen. We live in a time when we all must recognize the issue of extinction is clearly on the horizon. We must protect this sacred ground called earth. We must dramatically close the gap between the rich and poor. We must celebrate diversity, especially racial and religious. We must find ways to demonstrate respect, and to enthusiastically listen to one another. Bottom line, all hope is built upon a foundation of extravagantly gracious and generous love – even to the point of loving an enemy.
I am seventy. It is time for me to take stock. I need to take my own personal and spiritual inventory. It is time to declare that what our culture claims to be the character of greatness, is pure foolishness in the eyes of God.
I hope you might also put the subject of LEGACY on your radar. It may not be an answer, but it cannot hurt. It can help us to heal and be healthy – in body and soul. Here is to a positive and productive 2020, and the decade which follows, may we rejoice in the chance to create our own LEGACY.
WHAT’S NEW?
I long ago learned that the only difference
Between a rut and a grave,
Is the depth.
We love ruts.
They are cozy nooks in which we can hide,
And have the world disappear.
We adore routines.
They offer us the great comfort of
Feeling in control – being in charge.
We are a culture addicted to all things OLD.
Antiques are believed to be innately superior.
The good old days will always trump the Now.
Everything old is best – except those of us who are.
We are the disposable and the neglectable.
2020 arrived. No great shakes. Just another year.
Even the Times Square countdown has grown stale.
Nothing new under the sun once again.
Everything is on instant replay.
The circles grow wider and deeper,
And our orbit distant from Life or earth or God.
We are strangely fascinated by angels and aliens,
Dazzled by gadgets and toys and other technological wizardry.
We barely notice a season or a sight or a sound.
We have little taste for genuinely good things.
We think most days stink.
Our common sense has grown uncommon.
We are out of touch,
Fail to pay much attention,
And seem to be dead long before we are dead.
2020, and my hope for us all is
That we come back to Life, on Life’s terms.
It is God’s will for humans to be human.
We try to be anything but.
It is God’s wish that we live out
Not a plan, but a dream.
It is God’s hope that we follow
Not a map, but a calling.
It is God’s longing, that we nurture
Our souls, and not just our bodies.
We need to make new choices.
A new attitude.
A new perspective.
A new yearning.
A new friend.
A fresh mercy.
A ripening respect.
A jumping joy.
And a leaping faith.
All need to be exercised daily.
We must walk the walk,
And admit we know
Where we are going, and why,
And we know when to stop and look,
Enjoying the overlook,
And we know that all true following
Climbs up to higher ground,
And in the clean air of the mountain top,
We can see the Kingdom
Of a God who cherishes us all,
And where we are living certain
We are more than enough.
UNFORGETTABLE
A LEGACY is composed of moments, unforgettable moments, moments so bloated with beauty or wisdom or Truth, the soul will never choose to shake them. Now, the question is, “What makes for an unforgettable moment?” This, my friends, has been a puzzlement since the whole shebang began.
One thing we do know, there is no surefire way to produce unforgettable. There are no books to study. There are no quotes or tutors or gurus to point the way. There is no map to where it resides. There are no secrets to speak of, and seemingly few clues or hints. Unforgettable is pure mystery. Unique to each of us, and, like faith, our own version.
So…how does one create some unforgettable moments to shape and form his or her LEGACY? It is not a matter of creating them, but rather noticing, paying attention, witnessing and experiencing unforgettable moments in our own life. They are there. They are happening. They are thriving even when we are stumbling along, heads down, blinded by a fog we helped create.
As a culture, we choose to live in a blur. We are dire near comatose most of the time, oblivious to what is happening around us, and almost illiterate to the signals being sent by our souls. We function like robots - Efficient, competent, steady, but detached from almost everything which declares either our humanity, or a very present Divinity.
Leaving a LEGACY begins by being awake, aware, and alert to our very own lives. We need to have our eyes and hearts and souls open to bearing witness to what we experience as magnificent or memorable or even thrilling. A first kiss. A first child. A first snow. Even our first funeral. Each innately possesses a transcendent magic, etching an indelible message upon our hearts – something which naturally has the mark of the eternal.
LEGACY is the result of having paid strict attention to our days, our lives, our longings, our yearnings, our deepest desires, our wishes, our hopes, our callings, our loves, and all that we say makes us COME ALIVE. It is a paradox. Life is a paradox. We are living every day, and yet, we often choose to be dumb to its revealed wisdom. It is like the birds singing, which we most often fail to hear, and then when we stop and listen, we laugh and call it a racket.
I believe one way to create a context conducive to growing a LEGACY, is to chase beauty. To behold the cathedral of Autumn’s fire; the flutter of Goliath snowflakes in Winter; the lime lace of Spring; the stunning terror of roaring thunder and wild lightning during a late August thunderstorm; each is calling us to attention, asking to be noticed and respected. Nature is incessantly begging us to BEHOLD, which is another way of God saying, “Let me hold you.”
I would also contend that the unforgettable is frequently something heard, just like the sweet sounds of amazing Grace. We remember a few phrases and sentences. Sometimes an entire page or paragraph or poem. We have them memorized, or they whisper in our ear like an echo of the Word of God. We will know it when we hear it. We will find ourselves repeating it again and again. It will come out of nowhere, at the strangest of times, like a childhood nursery rhyme that is somehow always on the tip of our tongue. It does ring pure and true. A sweet mellow honey like sound.
I lost a truly great friend nine years ago. He was a fellow pastor and a sensational and inspirational man. During his lengthy, yet spiritually swift, dying, he repeatedly said to me, “Grimbol, forgive everyone everything. There is no point in carrying some silly grudge around like a bag of garbage; just throw it in the bin, and walk away.” I will never forget those words. They are unforgettable, and I knew it the minute I heard them.
When you hear the Truth, the oozing stuff which emits from the soul now and then, and speaks a language of purpose or meaning, write it down, record it, make sure to pass it on. The unforgettable must always be passed on.
I also have a deep faith in our bodies to tell us when something unforgettable is occurring. I think of this as a “body of knowledge”. Our bodies are telling us in graphic ways, that something special, sacred, unique, holy, miraculous, magical, and obviously, quite memorable, is happening. A lump in the throat; being moved to tears; being left dumbstruck; goosebumps; a shiver up and down the spine; butterflies in the stomach; losing our breath, as if Life has punched us right in the gut; or simply feeling so swollen with Life, we tingle, and feel as if we are on the verge of exploding. When the body speaks such a deeply spiritual language, we are being challenged to remember, and to take note of what is ablaze with being unforgettable.
If our lives have become boring or bland or even brutal, it is often the result of missing the miracles of the day, the moments which sparkle and radiate hope and joy and love. These fireworks are never limited to a single night, but are being set off on a daily basis. We just need to stop and look – look up. The unforgettable is exclusive to the here and now. It comes at night and in the day. It is an everywhere for everyone event. Receive it. That is all, and the least you can do.
Open the inn. Make room. Let the babe of Bethlehem be born in you this day. Every birth is unforgettable – including yours. Be born again – every single day.
STOPPED DEAD IN OUR TRACKS
We need to listen to our losses – long and hard. They have a powerful message to deliver. They are lightning bolts which scorch the soul. They leave behind a sour rancid smell. They are grave and difficult. They are also wondrous in their capacity to transform us, bring out our very best, and teach us the wisdom of choosing to be fully alive.
I hope I will leave behind me a LEGACY of having embraced my losses, squeezing the mystery out of them, and freeing myself to learn exactly what they had to say. I hope I have taught others how vital it is for a Christian to know why we call Good Friday good. I believe I have made a good effort in making it clear how necessary it is to be good at grief. It is one sure way to die well, and live well – like stands of DNA, weaving in and out of one another.
I remember the day I walked across the parking lot at the Buxton School, and told my son the news his mother had finally passed. The news itself was no shock, as we had left the hospital together to get away from the agony of witnessing her fade for another gruesome day. He needed to be back at this sacred place, his school, his friends, and where his Mom could still linger in his mind – fresh and funny and gloriously naughty.
The look on his face was one of wicked wincing. It was as if his whole body might turn inside out. I knew at that precise moment that Justin had been drained dry of all joy. (This joy would only return after the birth of his son James.) He was not in agony, but shrouded in despair. Despair is not depression, but a darkened and bruised perspective, an attitude which struggles to care on a daily basis. He became a young man waiting for the bomb to drop. He was looking for the next vicious loss around every corner.
He was never the same. I was never the same. Our world shifted. Our lives were shattered. We attempted to put the jigsaw puzzle back together again, but knew full well there would always be a missing piece. Nothing would ever feel complete or whole again. In truth, it is still the same. On the day Heather delivered sweet baby James to the world, I felt Christine’s (Justin’s mother) robust presence. She draped herself all over the good news of James having arrived. She did not make it bad news, but human news, always and forever trimmed in sadness.
Life is difficult. Life is grave. Life is wondrous. Life is pure miracle. It is a requirement of our spiritual maturation, our efforts to make a difference, and our capacity to leave a LEGACY, that we befriend our grief and claim our losses. Yes, every day we are living we are also dying. Every day is packed with potential hellos, but will also calls upon us to say very real and frequent good-byes. Every one of us will watch a slow but sweet and necessary death. Every one of us will have someone snatched from our soul’s grasp, ripped from our arms and hearts and souls, and leave us wailing and gnashing our teeth and shaking our fists at a seemingly indifferent God.
One of the reasons I have come to have considerable faith in the holy myth (a sacred story) of Jesus, is that its plot is the pulse of coping with living and dying, and inspiring the desire in us to do both with integrity and dignity, and yes, great maturity. Life makes no sense. It is not a perfect whole. It is fragmented. There are missing pieces. Some of these pieces have sharp edges, and cut our hearts out. Still, on the whole, Life remains an incessant blessing.
I have no respect or fondness for President Trump. I do not experience him as a good or moral man. He is dangerous in more ways than I can count. I will pray for him – this is the best I can do. It is not that he is a Republican or conservative, which in fact he is neither, but it is his blatant patronage of evil. He extols the virtues of ruthless totalitarian dictators, and offers his meager compassion to the KKK and neo Nazis, asking Americans to look for the good in them. At the same time, he shows no empathy at all for frightened anxious children being deprived of their families, and living in places nobody could ever call home.
I believe Senator McCain made sure President Trump would not attend his funeral, as he did not wish to have the event or his LEGACY tainted by such a vile spirit. I believe Barbara Bush left the Republican Party, and George H. Bush voted for Hillary Clinton, because they knew down deep in their souls, that they could not find any soul in this President. The soullessness of Donald Trump is the result of a wholesale rejection of maturing, and a philosophy of Life which sees greed as never wrong, and white as always right. Trump’s LEGACY will not be pretty. To some it will be entertaining – like one of those God-awful reality shows I cannot stomach watching. It is my great hope that he will be quickly forgotten, along with his idea of greatness.
When we die, how will we be remembered? What will be a part of the litany of our LEGACY? It will indeed be about the quality of our lives. LEGACIES are never about numbers or bank accounts, or car models, or dimensions of a house, or where we have traveled. LEGACY is only and always about the quality of our loving. It is about possessing a tender and merciful soul. It is how we lived, and yes, how we face and came to know, accept, and embrace Death. It is about the courage to live fully and lovingly and compassionately, while always knowing our days are numbered. A LEGACY is never comfortable with death, but there is a dignified acceptance of its presence. We know we go away in the end. Over is over. What is beyond is even a greater mystery than Life itself. Be well acquainted with grief, it is a required course – it is PASS/FAIL.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Remember when the late beloved Aretha Franklin spelled out this sacred word as the refrain of a song which demanded that it be actualized? Somehow, this word has faded and frayed in our culture. It seems hidden under the rubble of rumor and judgment and plain old mean-spiritedness. We have become a nation of bullies. The essence of being a bully, is to show nobody any respect.
It is the memory of being savagely bullied, which appears to haunt the souls of many of our young school shooters. No excuse for their bullets, but no excuse either for we who tolerate the bullying which helps spawn those bullets being fired at live targets.
Our airwaves are full of talk shows which are better called screaming matches. Civility is gone from our political process. It even appears to have vanished from most human discourse. We do not talk unless it is small talk, and any big talk tends to quickly erupt into great fury. Religion remains a hot potato, and there is a tone of hostility to any exchange of differing beliefs. Mercy is also missing from most religious discussions, and I would contend, from many churches as well. Main line vs. evangelical and fundamentalist. Born again vs. dead again; or so it is implied. The only true religion vs. all those who are falsely informed. The field of religion is strewn with the carcasses of faith, hope, and love. What remains are myriad warring factions.
Where did it go? The respect. Was it all an illusion -- the progress we thought we had made? Are we just as bigoted as we were before? Have we always been this badly divided? Were there always rallies being held to herald the arrival of a message of hate? Is the Civil War still being fought? Is fascism here and now, just in drag, or wearing a friendly mask? Will the human race destroy itself over who worships the right God? Is the answer to the question, “Can’t we all just get along?”, a resounding, “NO!”?
I remember a friend telling me about the day he won a blue ribbon at the Playground Pet Show. He had gone home, showed the ribbon to his Mom, and tried unsuccessfully to get his shaggy pooch to wear it. He was telling his mother all about the Pet Show, when he was struck by the reality, “Even Connie won a blue ribbon for her pet – a stupid ant she caught with her finger in the sandbox!” He then ripped up his blue ribbon; declaring it worthless. A blue ribbon was meant to declare superiority, not EQUALITY.
Our nation is being shredded by divisions of all kinds. I suspect the lack of respect which so often dominates our culture, is at base, the result of a complete failure to believe in or celebrate equality or diversity. Our culture is all about cloning and sticking to those folks with whom we totally agree. We refuse to honor our heritage of being a melting pot. We no longer rejoice in being a patchwork quilt. We no longer see the beauty in a collection of widely diverse patches; different in shape, color, themes, voice, belief, and orientations. Half of our nation is all about an all-white culture. The same half believe in a white American southern Republican Jesus – created, of course, in their own image. Many of us stick so close to those with whom we agree, we are not living as much as hiding.
I think a LEGACY is mandated to be for all people for all time. I do not believe we can label it a LEGACY, if it is intended to only be passed on to some clique or club or exclusive group. LEGACY is by nature meant to be universal. It is uniquely human, and open to the whole human race. A LEGACY is never divisive, elitist, exclusive, or of any warring intentionality. A LEGACY is a natural born peacemaker, striving always to bring us together, to create true community, and make hope happen by making us good neighbors to one another.
I am seventy, and I have one black friend, Michael Livingston, the Interim Senior Pastor at the Riverside Church in NYC. I have one Hispanic friend, Manuel Barrera, with whom I am working on a manuscript all about leaving behind a legacy. Two friends in seven decades. How sad is that. Very sad.
I suspect we all need to reach out to people of other races and religions, and strive for understanding and acceptance – which is built upon R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I would also love to see us significantly expand our efforts to be in touch with other beliefs, opinions, interests, convictions, callings, longings, and hopes, and getting to know those who hold them. Again, this is simply a matter of genuine respect; which is the catalyst and the inspiration.
The world is shrinking. Diversity is growing by leaps and bounds. We will need one another if we are to address any of the major issues of our time, especially violence, hunger, housing, health care, and climate change. We can only do it together. Respect will be the foundation upon which any true lasting legacy is built.
“Imagine all the people, Living Life in peace.” Lennon’s famous refrain to his song IMAGINE. The melody of this song is respect, which carries the tune forward, and makes the music beautiful. Imagination is not idealism, naivete, or foolishness. Imagination is allowing the Spirit to move through the human spirit, and lift us up, way up to higher ground – where we walk in peace, knowing and celebrating our grand diversity, as well as our inherent equality.
HELP!
We live in a self-help culture. We're taught daily that God helps those who help themselves. We are sworn to uphold the fine but foolish philosophy…pull yourself up by the bootstraps, which any dope should know is neither possible, nor a very smart perspective. It will take a person on either side of you to grab those proverbial bootstraps, and lift you – unless you are my size, when it will take a six-pack of strong individuals to get the job done.
Americans speak of being self-sufficient with such solemn, even smug, pride. Of course, the fact is we are all dependent to our very core, on a Higher Power if nothing else. Americans are lousy at team work, consensus or community building, or even the art of compromise. We want it our way. We want it when we want it. We want no questions asked. Otherwise, we will just take what is ours. In most other cultures, this is called being a spoiled brat. In ours – SUCCESS.
This has clearly led to lifestyles of futility and a deep inner sense of failure. We believe we are never enough. We always fall short. Our neighbors are thought to be our opponents, and their words are indeed often belittling. We have an insatiable appetite to compete and compare, and are so addicted to winning at any cost, we sell our soul almost daily. The American mantra is, “I don’t need any help from YOU!”, and that “YOU” means pretty much anyone and everyone.
As a minister for over four decades, I witnessed our culture’s obsession with proving ourselves to be independent and self-sufficient. I silently and sadly watched my parishioners be avid deniers of needing any help with anything; while their marriages faltered; their parenting became neglectful and often nasty; friendships were discarded on a silly whim; families collapsed under the pressure of trying to be a modern version of Walton’s Mountain; and grief got buried under a mountain of busyness. We looked cool, calm, and collected, when in fact, we were a hot mess, scattered, fragmented, and spinning in shrinking circles.
There are 80 million Americans presently involved in Anonymous addiction healing programs. 80 million Americans got wise, and sought help, but first were asked to declare themselves anonymous. I understand why, but wonder if this is not directly linked to the American fear of needing help of any kind. If they do not know my name, they will not know I sought help, admitted I was powerless, and surrendered my will to a Higher Power. I would also contend that there are an equal number of Americans who believe anyone IN an Anonymous Meeting to be a genuine loser. Why? What is it about America and Americans, which makes the concept of needing help so repulsive?
Well, part of it is history and tradition. America is the land of pioneers, the brave daring souls who set off to conquer the wild frontier. In many respects, since America was a sparsely populated place for a long period of time, it was simply a necessity to do it all yourself. Like the old-fashioned farmer who lived off the land, there was indeed a need to take care of business by yourself. There remains some merit to this philosophy. The conservative value of taking care of our own, is also worthy of our consideration – as long as the “our own” is not determined by bigotry.
However, the crux of the matter, and why needing help is THE NORM for our modern lives, is due to Life being more and more complex; the world is shrinking; the population is swarming upward; the climate is warming; resources are dwindling; violence is epidemic; celebrating diversity is now a demand, not an indulgence; and of course, extinction is now on any sane person’s radar. We need one another, perhaps not more than ever, but in a truly big way. No man or woman is an island. We cannot do anything alone. We are a world, a humanity, longing and yearning to become one, one powerful force of peace and hope. UNITED WE STAND – UP.
We have a magnetic moral and spiritual attraction to being one, which makes divisive religiosity ever more demonic, and declares nationalism and social elitism a real evil. A Third World? Really? The haves vs. the have nots? Really? An economic gap of canyon dimensions. Really? We are human. We need one another. We often need help. In today’s world, when there are so many signs of imminent catastrophe, we need to help one another focus on ways to save the planet, our lives, and our world as a whole.
First, we must admit we have a problem. We are addicted to accumulation. We are addicted to adolescence. We are addicted to arrogance. We are all about ME, and seldom about WE. Religious folks are tragically all about CREEDS rather than DEEDS. We are badly divided, and seldom function as a whole. America supports the United Nations on the surface, but has affairs with its capitalistic dreams on the side – THE AMERICAN DREAM IS NOT UNIVERSAL. We are a people who have grown callus and cruel, lacking in generosity and grace, refusing to grow up and face the music – a sad song of the rich getting richer, and the poor being discarded as trash.
When will we hit bottom? I think we have. We just haven’t acknowledged it yet. When a few folks control more money than two thirds of the world’s population, we are digging our very own graves. When a President pretends the climate is not really changing, we are hopelessly and frighteningly in denial. We are there…NOW. If we look around us, all we will see it dirt. There are as yet few meetings, but they are beginning to form; and we all need a sponsor. Read the 12 STEPS – an awesome spiritual health program. Where it says, in the very first step, “I admitted I am powerless”, allow your soul to insert the words “over greed and bigotry and hate”, and we then we all get to work, and give our Higher Power some real POWER. No longer worshipping an American Jesus, or a juvenile buffoon as President.
A THIN COAT OF HOLY
2020. A new decade. An era of what? Our choices will decide. Our values will create its attitude and perspective. Our ethics will determine its difference. There will be a pinch of luck and fate thrown in, as well as a drop or two of the unexpected, even miraculous. There will also be a shocking eclipse, a shooting star of hope now and then, and yes, several days of thick heavy fog or smoke or both.
On the whole, Life can be pretty damn crazy. It can also be brutally painful. We are more in touch with the rest of the world than ever before, and yet our loneliness is bloated to the bursting (into tears). Technology declares that solutions are a mere day away, but we appear lost and aimless, wandering about without vision or voice. Walking in smaller and smaller circles, until we are left marching in place in quicksand – and sink.
The Church and the Gospel, are in exile. We are being told that one cannot mix politics and religion, which basically reveals that the Church will have nothing to say about anything which matters, except supposedly about who gets into Heaven – the one topic we most assuredly have no power to understand or determine. The Church orbits Life, and seldom lands, and thereby is fading in its importance and its capacity to help build a Kingdom.
America is in a steep and rapid decline. We have lost our moral authority, and appear to the world as the spoiled brat teen who wants his or her way; when he or she wants it; without questions asked. 50% of our nation appears to worship at the feet of Wall Street, whose theology is simply that greed is never wrong, and white is always right. Could we have strayed further from the dream Jesus Christ held before us?
I know this sounds pessimistic, but I believe it to be a fair and reasonable assessment of the state of the Church and the Union. We are badly divided, deeply wounded, and weary of just about everything. We have reduced the meaning of Life to – “it is the economy stupid!”; which is the essence of stupidity itself. We have come to accept a lying, boasting, creepily smug President, who rules by decree, and declares himself a genius, in spite of sounding like an 8th grade know it all bully.
What lays before us in this decade is massive, scary, overwhelming, and will demand every ounce of our courage and creativity, as well as seeking to become a kinder, more compassionate and civil world community. The planet is in peril. The gap is so massive you can barely see the other side. Health care is abominable and ridiculously costly. The homeless and hungry remain. The presence of racism warps our soul, and the violence which swarms, speaks of a growing societal insanity. This new decade must expect our best, at a time when the lack of mature genuine and true leadership is glaring.
Still, Life is coated in a thin coat of HOLINESS. Life can still be quite magical, memorable, unforgettable, mysterious, awe inspiring, tender, merciful, and wildly loving. Yes, there remains significant signs of hope.
I am witnessing many young people who are passionate about the climate and our resources. There are a few within the Church who are fiercely loyal to Christ’s vision of equality and diversity; this is also sadly coupled with the hastening demise of many churches, which is the direct result of being silent in the midst of staggering spiritual crisis. I hear more and more mature adults who are just plain fed up, hanging by a thread, but ready to tie a sturdy knot, hold on, and lift themselves and others up to higher ground.
It promises to be a wild ride, this new decade. I have a grandson now, sweet baby James, and he will deal with extinction within his lifetime. I hope my legacy to him will be to show him his own reflection in that thin coating of HOLINESS. I want him to see the holy in himself and his dreams and his hopes and his humanity. I want him to know he shines. That he is enough. That he can make a difference. But, most of all, I want him to see the holy reflection of all the others on this planet.
I want him to be like the first humans on the moon, who, after all the money and energy was spent, basically looked back at the earth from atop the moon’s crust, and beheld a beauty which took their breath away. It was an achievement, yes, but one they could have discovered by walking out the back door, and looking up. No matter how you look at Life and Creation, up or down, it can awe you with a lump in the throat, or move you to tears. We need not search for it. It is everywhere. All of the time. In every single one of us.
So, here we go again. But maybe, just maybe, change and transformation will be etched into that thin coating of HOLINESS, like a winter’s frost which swirls magically all about a window’s surface. We can only hope. Hope is the only thing left. Choose it. Live it. Be it. Ask yourself daily, if you have brought hope into this day the Lord has made?
Then shoot for 3650 days of bringing it home.
DO YOU REALLY EVEN CARE?
When I watch our President’s rallies, I am struck by a couple of things. First, has he ever really stopped campaigning? Second, I watch the smirking, cackling, cheering faces behind him, and wonder what it is that strikes them as so funny? Most of all, I am struck by the fact that this has very little to do with politics; it certainly is not about conservative values; but then, what is it about?
I think it is about a chance to be mean, get even, throw out some scorn and ridicule, and laugh at those consider to be less. Even when the President imitates a woman having an orgasm, or mocks a sixteen year old girl who is passionate about the earth and the climate, or describes all Hispanic immigrants as drug addicts and criminals and rapists, the “Greek chorus” behind him, does not seem to bat an eye – THEY JUST DO NOT CARE.
These rallies are about being nasty. They are about defiantly rubbing liberal noses in the stench of bigotry and misogyny and homophobia. These rallies celebrate an America which has nothing whatsoever to do with what our brave soldiers fought for in WWI or WWII. No, this is a chance to point the finger, and to do so out in the open, unafraid to show its true colors, which, ironically, are pretty bleak – almost black.
I have never really understood the America which thought slavery was OK. I have never fully grasped how the KKK came into being, or why white supremacy is once again banging its brutal drum. I sure haven’t a clue how a crowd can roar in approval when our President claims a deceased congressman was looking up from Hell, or that John McCain was not a hero, because he was captured. This is way past being political. This is about being damn mean.
I think it is a blatant attempt to make being a bully fashionable. There is no denial here, or trying to cover it up, except the craziness of often claiming it was only a joke. No, this is the human need to push someone down in order to push themselves up. It is also a severe case of indifference and apathy.
I recall Archbishop Desmond Tutu being horrified after the massacre of children in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, when he witnessed the American Church having little to no response. He questioned why people of faith were not in the streets in protest – “they are slaughtering your children.” He was befuddled. So am I. Assault weapons which can fire 300 bullets in a minute. This is what our forefathers and mothers championed?
I do not pretend to know when, or why, or how, we in America seem to have become a people who care so little about appallingly bad behavior. Our good life culture not only has little to nothing to do with goodness, but it now subtly endorses a decadent and deadening spirit. Being bad to the bone is what we no call reality shows. Like it or not, we are no longer the beacon of hope for the world, just the adults with the most toys, and seemingly, the biggest braggers and complainers on the planet.
I have never longed so deeply to see Americans choose to care again. Our historic greatness was certainly created out of a willingness to care deeply and compassionately for those who were hurting or suffering or in need of a lift. We were the nation of a big heart, as seen in the Marshall Plan, or the New Deal, or the Civil Rights Act, but never about being callus and cold and cynical to the max.
I hope we will all choose in 2020 to be kinder, gentler, more merciful, and far more willing to risk caring. We need to let our eyes tear up; our hearts bleed; our hands reach out and touch. Yes, I do still believe that caring transcends our politics, but it must also infuse our ethics and our morals. We must be a people who have a pulse, and the beat of that pulse must be one which dances to the rhythm of service and sacrifice.
When we stop caring, we become a deplorable place and people. That is the bottom line, and it is a spiritual fact we must face. If the only thing we care about is ourselves, and the size of our home, or closet, or bank account, well, then we have sold our soul.
The soul, my friends, is still all about caring. Compassion and kindness are its fuel. Its destination is higher ground. The journey promises beauty, joy, and hope. May we embark on a pilgrimage which will enable us to reclaim our souls, and find greatness not in success or numbers, but in the sweet satisfaction of leaving a legacy of caring deeply and consistently about our neighbors, our planet, and our God.
PLAYING PROPHET
I recently watched the film, TWO POPES, starring Anthony Hopkins and Jonathan Pryce. It is an extraordinary film, and the performances of the two leads, nothing short of amazing. It offers a solid foundation to understanding the ongoing crisis with the church between the traditionalists, and the reformers who are calling for sweeping changes.
The thrust of the film is about an ironic friendship forged between an ardent traditionalist, Pope Benedict, and a tireless reformer, Pope Francis. They were at one time bitter foes. Pope Benedict worked diligently to protect the protocol and doctrines of the Catholic church. Pope Francis wanted to see a Church which embrace people of color, an enhancement of the role of women, and even an acknowledgment of its gay membership.
However, it was the crisis of the sexual misconduct of the clergy, which brought their battle to a boil. Benedict was lukewarm in his condemnation, and seeming responsible for a policy of just moving the guilty clergy to other settings. Pope Francis wanted the behavior condemned and the clergy culprits gone.
It is quite helpful in understanding Pope Benedict, to gain insight into how The Vatican was indeed his life and his world. To turn his back on sexually abusive clergy, was literally to turn his back on lifelong brothers. This does not excuse his behavior, but it comes along way in showing its very human origins. Benedict believed the Church had called him to never stop loving the blessed Church and its calls and chosen clergy.
Pope Francis, the present Pope, respects tradition, but refuses to worship it. He is a both/and thinker and believer, and not either/or. He is one who follows a very prophetic pastoral path. This means he feels called by Christ to challenge his congregants to mature in faith. He calls upon the Catholic Church to return to a passionate embracing of the poor, the downtrodden, and the outcast. He is a champion of justice, equality, and a refreshing voice for a true celebration of diversity.
When then Archbishop Francis arrives at the Vatican to resign, Benedict will not accept it. In so doing, he lets Francis know the ironic secret – the Pope will soon be resigning. In even further irony, Francis calls up Benedict to respect the protocol of the Church, a protocol which has never seen or experienced the resignation of a Pontiff.
The friendship which develops between these two is charming, if a bit odd, as best evidenced when the worldly and joyful Francis tries to teach Benedict to eat pizza, enjoy watching a soccer game, and even learn how to tango. Benedict is worried about his image, keeping everyone happy, performing his duties with great decorum, and appearing to be perfect. Francis just wants to be a good man. He rejects the cloak and the red shoes and fancy quarters of all previous Popes, and simply makes it clear, he doesn’t like anything showy.
In the end, both Popes play prophet. They both call upon the Church to courageously climb up to higher ground. Benedict does so, by admitting to himself that he cannot lead the Church out of this crisis of sexual abuse. Francis so, by returning the Church to a laser focus on closing the gap between the rich and poor, saving the planet, encouraging an end to violence and racial tension, and practicing peacemaking on a daily basis. Both men make brave choices, and ones which demand them to put the needs of others before their own. In Truth, both men choose to serve Christ, and to follow in his cross carrying footsteps.
It is my abiding hope that I will be remembered as prophetic voice and vision maker with the Church. I am indeed a bleeding-heart liberal, which is not just my politics, but my understanding and belief in Jesus. I do not worship Jesus as my ticket into Heaven. I worship Jesus as the inspiration for bringing Heaven to earth. My Jesus is a human being, devoted to mercy, extravagant in loving, a force for justice and peace, and most of all, the one who calls me to keep on maturing. Maturation is the movement of faith, and faith is a verb.
Though I may respect the historic role of polity and protocol, and often still choose to honor tradition, I am fervent in my belief that today’s Church must change dramatically and forcefully. I seek to follow Christ. I see this as vastly more important than adhering to the Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church, or even the catechism of the Lutheran Church. For me, it is a matter of trusting my capacity to discern the movement of the Holy Spirit in my life and in my world.
And yes, a resounding yes, the Church is dire need of prophetic voices. Too often the Church is nothing more than a voice calling us to conform, clone, and grow down – not up. The Church is commissioned to bring us to adulthood, as only adults are equipped to build the Kingdom. This is why I feel such disdain for so many megachurches, who remind me of Disneyland. Following Jesus should not be easy, popular, or limited to our saying we are saved. It is when we live in such a way that others can witness the Christ within us, that we have fulfilled the prophetic calling.
I'll say this, and not worry if I offend. Religious conservatives do not get crucified. They are the establishment. The Scribes and the Pharisees. The hierarchy. It is the prophets who risk it all, and surrender themselves to a Higher Power with real power. It is the prophets who will rock the boat and know how to duck the rocks.
THE SACRED LANGUAGE OF SIGHS
I am seventy now, and find I sigh a lot. Deep sighs, sighs which border on gasps, or sighs that threaten to scream “ouch”. I think it is the result of now having so many parts of my body ache. Every movement pays a price. At the end of most days, I am damn weary, and then some mosquito of anxiety keeps me up most of the night.
Sometimes I think the sighs are the result of knowing how fast Life is whizzing by – it is so blatantly uncatchable. Other times I feel it is the result of knowing how little I know, or even makes any sense at all, or matters, for that matter. The roots of a sigh go deep. They tap into our humility, and the futility of our words. We truly have little we either genuinely wish to say, or would want others to hear. So…the sigh is often there just to feign interest.
I often believe my sighing is the result of the swarming sadness of the parade of losses in my wake. I don’t think a day goes by that I do not recall the faces of so many loved ones, or even those for whom I conducted a funeral. I review the obituaries daily and with diligence, and check the nearness to my own birthday year. Some of my deepest and fullest sighs are spent on those who have passed at my age or near it.
I still sigh quite a bit at beauty. I make that happen. I take long lazy drives in the countryside, and I always find a photo or two which strikes my fancy. Snow still makes me sigh, as do most sunsets, and the few sunrises I greet when the anxiety prevents me from sleeping. I love looking at children, especially when they are having raw fun, and find it just splendid to see a couple of teens in love, or wearing an outfit or hair or whatever, which I would have never risked wearing.
I don’t really sigh all that much in worship these days. I just have a hard time with the Church and its crazy belief in not mixing politics and religion. Talk about choosing to be boring, or saying nothing worth hearing. I like hearing about love and forgiveness, and still enjoy many scriptural stories or statements, but I long to be challenged, and yearn to find hope – I just don’t find it in most churches. Yes, I still love to preach, but I don’t sigh in response to my own messages – I am not that grandiose. Well…not most of the time.
My son puts his new son up to the phone, and lets me hear James coo, and I sigh like a machine gun. Man, it is amazing how little it takes to bring out our joy. My sons, Justin and Jay, both can make me sigh. They keep it so real, and challenge me to be honest, authentic, and to say what I truly mean and wish and want. They offer good insights on being alive, and offer me great comfort in times of darkness – or a bit of despair. Heather, my lovely daughter-in-law, is such a good woman, and wife, and teacher, and soul, and I just adore the lady. Adoration always yields a sigh.
I have read several great books lately, and they inspire sighing. The entire series by Marilyn Robinson, HOME…GILEAD…LILA, all three are transcendent writing. ON EARTH WE’RE BRIEFLY GORGEOUS, by Ocean Vuong, is a tough and tender and scarily talented book by a young man of immense heart and poetic insight. OLIVE AGAIN, by Elizabeth Strout, brings aging to life in thoughtful, moving and most compelling ways. Made me shudder AND sigh.
I have also watched several significant films which blew me away, left me dumbstruck, and blessedly without any language to convey their impact --and so I just sighed. I highly recommend MARRIAGE STORY, and the performance of ADAM DRIVER; the lovely and disarming TWO POPES; a tiny sleeper of a film, COLD BROOK, which should never work at all, but somehow does; THE PEANUT BUTTER FALCON, offering a welcome redemptive performance by Shia LaBeouf, and the discovery of Zack Gottsagen, who so transcends the fact he has Down Syndrome; and THE REPORT, again starring Adam Driver, and a brilliant job by Annette Benning, in bringing Senator Diane Feinstein fully to life on screen.
If you have never seen the BBC series THE VICAR OF DIBLEY, please do; as well as the absolutely charming DOC MARTIN. Both of these are a pure pleasure, and leave a sweet taste in the soul; and yes, the sweet sighs of innocence and unbridled optimism.
Sighs are a cheap date. They are not hard to find. We know where to look. They are a sure thing. Like tucking a child into bed, or sitting by a roaring fire, or hearing SILENT NIGHT on Christmas Eve, or savoring stillness or silence, or choosing to give yourself a day of doing nothing – when we ironically fulfill God’s dream for us. Sigh. Repeat.
I guess the key to a sigh is to stop. To treat ourselves to a nip of Sabbath. To rest and relax and veg out on the inside. Sighs require us to come to our senses. To see inside. To find our vision and our voice. To feel a caress. To offer a pat of understanding or appreciation. To smell the roses, or the baking bread. To hear the sweet sounds of amazing Grace; the echoes of eternity; the whispered answers.
When we are too busy, bothered, and bewildered, Life will pass us by, and we will miss out on all those fabulous occasions so suited for sighing.
BEFORE THE BEGINNING
Before the beginning there was chaos. I think of chaos as swirling spirals of stardust. It is bright and black and like lightning flashing on a night sky. The Hubble telescope has certainly revealed what chaos looks like, or at least gives us a clue, a holy hint, as to what spins and struts and twirls all about the universe.
Strange. Chaos does not look all that chaotic, but maybe that is because we mistake clutter for chaos. Chaos is quite beautiful really, and though it defies shape or form, it seems to be alive with mystery and glory and the ground of our being (I suspect). The colors are spectacular, blues and purples dripping with royalty, and then the ostrich plumes of white and coral and pink. On the whole, it is quite holy looking.
I don’t think chaos can be tamed. I can’t imagine it being corralled or collared or cornered. I mean…what would be the point? Maybe it is like those times at the county fair, when we paid to watch the many-colored paints spin on a blank white card, until the speed at which they spun made all the color disappear, and the pure white return. Then, as the machine slowed, and as if by some magic, the colors reappeared in some intricate and peacock colored pattern. I can still see us kids, mouths agape, like a nest of feeding baby birds, trying to understand what just happened. (To be honest, I still don’t fully know.)
I think we live in a culture which is terrified of chaos. We hate that which we cannot control. We don’t like puzzles we cannot solve. We despise being stumped. We can get angry and anxious when we know we are totally not in charge. To wave the white flag of surrender in America is anathema; the very pinnacle of being a waste of space, and a first-class loser.
Maybe this is why we have some eighty million folks (estimated) going to various anonymous groups to battle their addictions and compulsive behaviors. From booze to drugs to sex to fried chicken, lying or cheating or gambling, when we humans get hooked, we must surrender in order to heal. Most Americans hate the very thought of surrender. In fact, near the end of the war in Vietnam, we went on fighting when we knew we had lost, more importantly, had nothing to win, but simply could not admit defeat – surrender.
I hope I will have the time and health to teach my grandchild to risk embracing the chaos. Go for the ride. It will be wild, but wonderful. Scream your head off. Take it all in. Do not try to figure it all out, just experience it fully. Go with the flow, eventually you will hit an ocean, and this vast sea will pulse with waves of Grace. The peaks and the valleys, the twists and turns, the sudden drops, the slow steady anxiety building climb – all just part of the ride.
How do you embrace the chaos? You choose to live. To be fully and honestly alive. Wide open to the world within and outside. Available to the day, and at peace with the here and now. At ease in your own skin. Accepting of the limits and boundaries which are imposed on a day to day basis.
You do not hide behind stupid masks. You don’t decide to be in denial. You feel things deeply. You think hard, and listen even harder. You take risks. You fail and flop and forgive and forgive and forgive. You dream. You imagine. You listen to your losses and longings. You take every year as a sacred chance to follow your heart’s desire; to obey your yearnings; to greet a world of difference as a big whopping blessing.
Chaos can indeed be scary. It is surely quite unknown. It is rarely named or addressed. It is seldom claimed or brought home to roost. Chaos is full of haunting voices telling us to stay away, get out, scram. It is so bright it hurts our eyes, and makes us wince. It is not noisy. It is a shouting silence -- like a speaking stone. It is so present, and yet, so far past. This Life of ours can be difficult, brutal, terrifying, but when lived to its fullest, it reveals a sweet tender side, one filled with goodness and growth and the presence of a Higher Power.
I want my grandson to have a Higher Power with some power. At this point, I am not sure if I want him to be part of a church, unless it is a gracious gathering of questioners who have no need to think or act or feel or speak alike. I just don’t want him to ever think of faith as something neat and tidy, captured in a creed or a doctrine or even a sermon. I want him to discover sermons everywhere, in every nook and cranny of every day. I want him to love the silent sermons.
I also want him to understand that faith is one mighty verb, and yes, it is chaotic much of the time. But those miracle moments, when all is still and silent and awesome, they are so worth the risk of the wild ride. Those are the times when The Holy punches though the veil between this world and what’s next, and taps us on the soul, and states firmly – PAY ATTENTION.
ALL IS CALM
It was a pearly day. The sky and ground were both white, antique white, which seemed to hide gold beneath its surface, and there are everywhere, swirling streaks of pink and lavender and ice blue. I sit by the lake, which was a pale flat blue, and reflected the wan sky and the soiled snow. It was so still and quiet. I could hear my breathing, which still carried a wheeze from a Christmas cold. It was a Sunday in January. It was cold but not frigid. There was nothing remarkable about the view. Nothing bright or beautiful. No noise. Just a quite blessed sense of calm.
The crazy, yet delightful, Christmas rush had passed, and we watched the silly ball drop to herald another year. It is now a handful of days into the first month of the year, and I am looking out at what reminded me of my mother’s stationary, which she wrote on when I was in college and Seminary. Simple lovely letters of family news, and neighborhood chatter, and an item of gossip or two, and then her benediction of hoping I knew just how much – I knew all too much, and it was way too much indeed. Worship often masquerades as love, but its demands are massive, and the worry it creates – incessant. Still, I miss her, and long to receive one more letter. A Hedy epistle which would promise a bliss inspiring 2020 for her most beloved son. My eyes moisten, and I think how odd it is to have my family missing. It is a quivering loneliness, like Grandma’s grand Jell-O molds.
Then, time stands still. Time inhaled itself, and hushed for a few seconds. Time gasped in gratitude, and shuddered without sound. Time quaked. The earth and my soul shook. It was a single solitary moment of pure raw acceptance.
I am seventy, and my health is shaky on a good day. But…I am really trying. I cannot believe the craziness of our world and the greed of our nation. I do, however, believe we will come back to our goodness, we will restore our souls, and we will recover the will to be a true moral leader in the world. I considered how badly the Church is falling short of the wishes and dreams of our God. The Church must resist the desire to be braggingly big; it must cease reflecting the culture, and creating a God in its own image; it needs so badly to make the long hard climb up to higher ground – serving others until it hurts. Sacrificing. If it does not, I am afraid in a few quick decades, much of the Church will be gone.
I am at home with my faith. I no longer need Jesus to be the answer, only the one who raises all the good life-inspiring questions. I believe I know what Jesus wants. Build the damn Kingdom, not some Christian theme park, or another Disney world. A kingdom. Celebrate equality, diversity, compromise, compassion, caring, civility, decency, respect, and cherish and adore one another, be one people, stop fragmenting and dividing, refuse violence in all its evil forms, make peace, bring hope and Sabbath to all. This isn’t rocket science. Just do it. Here and now. Faith has nothing to do with what you own, or can by. It is free and here and willing to be invited in. Be a good host.
I have forgiven myself most of my mess. I can be too damn needy. I can be grandiose. I can be so impatient. I can be wickedly jealous. I can give up way too soon. I have hurt so many so often. I have disappointed friends and family. I think I know when, and where, and how. I know I do. It makes me sad. No, I am not just human, I make some foul choices, and foolish decisions. I can be more mature. I must be more mature. Maturing is now my only true calling.
I know there is an end in sight. I think of it like sleep, like a welcome mercy, as a reprieve from being so damn tired – dead tired. I am not ready for it, but it does not scare me much. I still have wishes though. Books I long to write. Sermons I long to give. A grandchild I have yet to hold. I just know enough not to waste time, or spend it unwisely, or kill it, or give it away. I cherish my days.
I am pretty calm on the whole. I am ripe and ready for most of what Life might has to hand me. I am not shocked by much, except for our tolerance of our President’s crude nastiness. I still worry a lot, but then, I am afraid it is my nature, and no amount of nurture will talk my heart out of it. I like getting up. I do have many days, however, when I must talk myself into standing on wounded knees, or having the energy to try and make a difference. I count my blessings. I am impressed. I have too many regrets to count. I would love a Life mulligan.
BUT. It is enough. This life of mine. My little family of Justin and Jay and James and Heather. They are a delight to me. I so respect their honesty and the integrity of their lifestyles. I still savor many good memories. I still have hope for the Church, in spite of the fact that it has caused me considerable pain and loneliness. I still have hope in America, as I know we are so much better than we are now behaving.
Yikes. I am calm. It is pleasant. It is warm. It is nice. It is like a roaring fire after a day spent shoveling. It is an ease. It is an orbiting holiness. It is a morsel of Grace. It is a hug. It is a pat on a burdened shoulder, or one badly scraped by a grindstone. It is sweet and satisfying, and on some level, I believe, it is eternal.
How about that? Whatever lays beyond, I am content. I believe it will be worthy of a God whose Creation has more than proven itself to be beautiful beyond measure. Ooh! Aah! Whoopee! There are just no words to capture the magnificence of calm. Calm is bliss, a deep satisfaction, a sense of value and worth. It is the point and the purpose. It is when we know we know, and have no need whatsoever to talk about it. Let the miracle of calm have its say.