A Morning Funeral

A funeral this morning for an unusually gifted man.
Who rode freight trains,
And invented new toys for his kids.
And reinvented and improved just about everything.


A video of stills and music ... from his parents to him as a babe in arms.


And then a kid ... and then the adolescent ... and then a young man.


And then a husband, and then a father, and then a grandfather and then a man getting up in years ... and then just shy of 90 turns around the sun, time to tuck things away and say goodbye.


Others now, to take up the tasks.
The fun, the work, the play and the love.


He managed to be more than a father, a husband and an uncle ... more than a friend and a co-worker ... what it was that he was, best summed up, I suppose in his:


Never-going-away kind of smile.


I saw his life unfold in all of those delightful pics.
Like a flower - from seed to bud to unfolding.
And then wilting in the heat of time.
Petals dropping away.
Life getting lived ... lived quite well ... and then ...


A Mighty Fortress Is Our God was a favorite.
So was Amazing Grace.
And lots of other music.


So, I wonder ... about this thing called life.
We're so unconscious of it when we're in the throes of it.
And, then, one day, it hits us.
We hear the clock ticking.
Incessantly.


It's okay.
Though I don't like it.
Times, I hate time.
And not a dern thing to do about it.


And so it goes.
Live while we can.
If we can.
As best we can.


Know nothing but love.
And love covers a multitude of sins.


What is love?
Oh, I don't know.
But I know it when I see it.


And I suppose you do, too.

A Morning Funeral

A funeral this morning for an unusually gifted man.
Who rode freight trains,
And invented new toys for his kids.
And reinvented and improved just about everything.

A video of stills and music ... from his parents to him as a babe in arms.
And then a kid ... and then the adolescent ... and then a young man.
And then a husband, and then a father, and then a grandfather and then a man getting up in years ... and then just shy of 90 turns around the sun, time to tuck things away and say goodbye.

Others now, to take up the tasks.
The fun, the work, the play and the love.

He managed to be more than a father, a husband and an uncle ... more than a friend and a co-worker ... what it was that he was, best summed up, I suppose in his:
Never-going-away kind of smile.

I saw his life unfold in all of those delightful pics.
Like a flower - from seed to bud to unfolding.
And then wilting in the heat of time.
Petals dropping away.

Life getting lived ... lived quite well ... and then ...

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God was a favorite.
So was Amazing Grace.
And lots of other music.

So, I wonder ... about this thing called life.
We're so unconscious of it when we're in the throes of it.
And, then, one day, it hits us.
We hear the clock ticking.

Incessantly.

It's okay.
Though I don't like it.
Times I hate time.

And not a dern thing to do about it.

And so it goes.
Live while we can.
If we can.
As best we can.

Know nothing but love.
And love covers a multitude of sins.

What is love?
Oh, I don't know.
But I know it when I see it.
And I suppose you do, too.

Cancer of the Soul

Cancer, a serious business requiring hard measures.
Surgery ...
Chemo ...
Radiation ...
And then some ...


Hard to treat.
Hard to defeat.
Hard to remove.


We all know this ...
From personal experience ...
Or that of loved ones.


Cancer's a serious business requiring hard measures.


But what of cancer of the soul?
Cancer of the spirit?
Cancer of our values and attitudes?


A serious business requiring hard measures.


As for the cancer of racism.
Most whites choose to pretend.
It's not there.


Or it's not their's ... but someone else's.


"It's not so bad."
"I'm okay."


At first instance, we all deny.
We all pretend.
When it comes to cancer.


But sooner or later, the reality
Is upon us.


And demands treatment.
Surgery ...
Chemo ...
Radiation ...
And then some ...


Racism is our social cancer.
And no sense pretending.
No sense hiding.
It hasn't gone away, has it?


Eating away at our vital organs.
Until little is left.
Soulless and weary.
We slog on in our denial.


Social cancer.
Cancer of the soul.
The mind and heart.
Attitudes and fears.


A serious business.
Requiring hard measures.

I Was Born ...

I was born and baptized a Presbyterian ...
I was reared in the Reformed Church of America.
I was ordained in the Presbyterian Church.
I'm doing an interim in a Congregational Church.

It's not the biggest kind of world.
But I've learned a lot.
Mostly, what I don't know.

It's been a good world for me.
I've learned about walls.
And how to take 'em down.

Noting wrong with a wall.
As long as it has plenty of openings.
Without doors.

Doors that never can be locked.
If there are no doors.
Just passage ways.

And there ya' have it.
It's been good for me.
Amazing world.

I'd Prefer to be Quiet!

I’d prefer to be quiet.

I don’t like stepping up and speaking out.

I’d prefer to be quiet ... because the Truth of any matter, is always complex, and, frankly, what do I know?

When it came to homosexuality, a good sum of years ago, I would have preferred a little more time, a little more reading and thought, a little more reflection and prayer, until a dear friend said to me of her brother, who was gay, “He doesn’t have any more time.”

And considering my quiet ... I thought of those who were doing all the shouting ... 

The strident voices of hate never tire, it seems, of hearing themselves ... there’s comfort for them, I suppose, even in their lack of coherence, because words without meaning can be given meaning at will, and shouting, of course, as if volume alone, both in word-count and decible-level, increased the chances of their owning The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth ... and even if there’s no Truth whatsoever in their mean-spirited meanderings, they don’t care, because in their heart-of-hearts, they know they’re right, even when they lie, engage in double-speak and broadcast their perverted vision of their idealistic world of 1950s’ whiteness and moms in the kitchen.

I remember ... when I started to go public on some issues, at various times, some early on in school ... others came later ... not because I knew everything there was to know about everything, but rather because I knew enough about those who stood in the way of life for others - and isn’t that what it’s all about? Life for others, and some, for some reason, can’t let them have it - that I could no longer choose my quiet.

I had to step up and speak out.

Because I knew enough about what life means for others ... a place in the sun, a chance at opportunity - so I have to work: to tilt the system a bit more evenly, to increase the number of players and up the chances of victory, even a small one, for those who otherwise would have to stand at the edge of the field of play and never get chosen by the handsome captain ... watching the game from afar, and hurting in the gut so deeply, mind twisting in shame ... wondering why life is so cruel, and doubting themselves until there’s nothing left but darkness.

Okay, so I step up and speak up.

Tyranny of Time

Time, you dastardly thief ... You take everything from me: Time, friends, family, life.

Time, you dastardly thief ... who are you? What are you?

History, Time, movement, ticks of the clock, turns of the calendar.

The enemy of all that’s me.

But what can I do?

Crap.

One of these days, the last breath.

For me, okay.

But I don’t like it.

Death is a pisser.

Time, the thief.

I wish it were different.

But what would that mean?

So it is.

Time, takes away everything.

Everything.

Shit.

And shit stinks.

But who knows for sure.

If I lived more than a lifetime.

Then what?

And so it goes.

To God be the glory.

And I mean it ... if there is a god, and to this god I belong.

Then, so what?

I’m flesh.

I’m mortal.

I’m dust.

It can’t be any other way.

Can it?

Oh well.

Ho well.

Ho.

Onward.

To the end.

The last.

No more.

Amen!

"The Gods of the Peoples"

From today's lectionary: Psalm 96.5 -

"For all the gods of the peoples are idols, but the LORD made heaven and earth."

I guess there are at least two ways of reading this ... "the peoples" being everyone else but "my peoples" ....

Or,

"The peoples" includes "my peoples" and that includes me, too.

I suspect it was easy for Israel/Judah to read it the first way, but maybe the second reading makes the most sense, based upon the ease with which Israel/Judah constantly fell into idolatry, so painfully pointed out by the prophets who were not easily lulled into the propaganda of the ruling powers.

Perhaps a Tillichian focus might help - that the LORD who made the heavens is always transcendent - always beyond what any of us might understand ... reminding us to check our pride at the door, if you will, and hold our views of "our god" lightly.

Anyway, just some thoughts ...