It Happened on a Sunday Afternoon

Thelma called, panic in her voice - something strange and quite beyond words: “George shot himself. He’s upstairs.”

A quiet man who gave no evidence of distress … no sign of anything at all … I think in his late 50s at the time … so who knows what pain danced around him.

I walked over to the house, just a block away … one of those large, three-story affairs, a central Pennsylvania railroad town … 

Thelma answered the door … I don’t recall if anyone else was there yet … the police, an ambulance - I have no idea.

I went upstairs … did I go alone?

But in my mind’s eye, there I stand by the bed … George on his back, head on a pillow … lots of blood … where’s the gun? I don’t know … I don’t recall seeing it … lost in the folds of the bed?

I suppose Thelma thought he’d gone up for a Sunday afternoon nap.

But with a gun in hand, George ended his life instead …

That day, for the first time in my life, I wondered about suicide.

Like most folks, I had easily thought that suicide was a sin. Period! I had never dealt with it, never known of anyone in the family or in our circle of friends who took their own life. 

I remember thinking that George, a gentle soul, was certainly no sinner in this case, and certainly not deserving of eternal hellfire, or whatever grim punishments the church conjures up to keep wandering souls in line.

Did George shake his fist in the face of God?

Did George heroically assert his independence and end his life in some kind of ironic rebellion against God?

Was he guilty of some supreme cowardice?

I’m 28 at the time, and hurriedly thinking it through because the funeral is three days away.

It was then and there that I became clear - whatever suicide may be, it’s no sin … neither pride nor arrogance. It’s a moment of desperation, as the mind cannot see any other way out, of whatever the dilemma is. 

And no condemnation for the broken-hearted. No condemnation for those lost in sorrow, entangled in whatever heartache has come their way, either of their doing, or simply the circumstances of life … who knows just how tangled the pathways are for anyone. And when the moment comes, it all must make sense to them, even as it leave us bewildered as we try to figure out what will never make any sense to the living.

So, there it was for me … my first suicide funeral … and I spoke about the kindness and mercy and love of God for George … I remember saying something about our own struggles, and whatever hope I might offer, it’s not an encouragement to end our lives. But it is to say: None of the living can fathom the darkness that drove George to take a gun, load it, hold it in hand, place it to his head …

Did he take a deep breath?

Was he crying?

Was he thinking of Thelma?

Did it take long to decide?

I’ll never forget that Sunday afternoon and the funeral that followed.

It was a moment to decide.

I made the right choice, at least for me.

In subsequent years, other suicides would follow … amazing how people take their lives … some gave no hint whatsoever; others were clearly on a troubled road heading downward. Some do it in the home; others by a tree with a rifle … or in the car on the roadside. Maybe a note is left; in most cases, no note at all.

I’ve always remembered that moment when I had to decide. 

On a Sunday afternoon!

Whose the Enemy?

“People of faith, whatever the faith, are never the enemy. The enemy is materialism.”

Somewhere in the early 70s, I heard this from the Ecumenical Institute.

At the time, it seemed so truthful, so vital. Though, at the time, my exposure to “other faiths” was pretty much restricted to Hardshell Baptists and Pentecostals. I did not yet know persons of other faith traditions. 

And what is faith?

But to look through the things of the world and see the hand of divinity, the love of the universe, the hope of the ages ... that beyond us all, beyond all sight and sound, life and death, a vast universe of goodness and purpose and justice and peace, at work in all things, for good.

Whatever the faith, however it appears, it behooves us all to welcome and affirm one another.
No one has to be wrong in order for anyone to be right.

And we’re all right, in bits and pieces, though none of us have it all. And so we learn from one another, and discover in one another the common element - our creation, and our Creator, and the love that sustains all of us.

Certainly, we’re all unique in our faith traditions and expressions, and in all of this diversity, a great richness of faith, hope and love. 

We give thanks for who we are, in the accidents of birth and culture - Hindu, Moslem, Jew, Buddhist, Christian (to name but a few) ... to be who we are, with grace and kindness for who others are, too.
People of faith are not the enemy of faith. 

There are enemies, of course - “the world of the flesh” as John’s Gospel often puts it - a craven materialism that grasps and takes and pillages the earth and animals and people, lusts for power and will stop at nothing to gain its own glory.

That’s the enemy, and it’s all around us, some of it all dressed up in religious garb, wolves in sheep’s clothing.

But that’s a story for another day.

Today, the simple reminder that whatever our faith might be, to be that faith with great intentionality and discipline, joy and hope, and to look upon other traditions with favor and kindness.

Every human being of faith is pretty much the same, when it comes to the daily stuff of life ... moments of great insight and courage, and other times, stumbling and unsure. But people of faith, whatever the faith, are all caught up in a great procession of a great mystery ... the divine of the universe calls unto us, and walks with us in the days and nights of our lives.

Glory, laud and honor to the Divine Wonder in whom we all live and move and have our being.

Evangelicals, Crazy Mad in Love with Donald

Power!

That's the Evangelical Way - the way, the truth and the life.

The roots of it are deep, but in my recent memory, one has to go no further than the snake handlers of West Virginia and Kentucky ... in those deep and shadowy hollers, filled with the wreckage of mines abandoned and lives bent and damaged, the reading, the spurious reading, from Mark's gospel, about handling snakes, became a central element in worship.

To handle something evil and overcome it ... to dance with it, kiss it, play with it, and not be harmed by it - that's power, that's glory, that the Evangelical Dead End.

Because the snake sometimes bites, and people die.

And if the folks liked you, well, then, God called you home ... it was your time ... God said so.

And if they didn't like you, well, then, you failed ... you didn't have enough faith ... there was sin in your life and you didn't trust Je-e-sus ... and our god is a punishing god ... so, no tears shed - ya' had it coming.

And that's power ... power over evil, and power over death, and the power of judgment.

But on a more sophisticated level, Billy Graham and his crusades, his anti-union crusades, anti-communist crusades, his pro-capitalism crusades ... Jesus died for your sins, so that you can go to heaven when your brief span of years is done ... this earth isn't your home, but heaven is, and Jesus, the Jesus I proclaim, will get you there ... so, come forward now, and give your life to Jesus. You don't need your unions, your agitation, your FDR dreams of a better life; you just need Jesus.

And that's power ... ultimate power ... because you're heaven-bound, and your crummy relatives aren't ... and neither are those raucous Catholic neighbors next door, nor that Jew-boss of yours ... they won't get there, but you will ... you'll have the last laugh.

And that's power.

Then add to that the healers of every malady,  and the purveyors of wealth, health and happiness, and you end up with power ... and if heaven isn't quite the goal it used to be, then big homes and fast cars and Wall-Street-sized investments will do nicely. Heaven's bling, here and now ... Tammy Faye eyelashes and Jan Crouch hair ... and more miracles than you can shake a stick at.

Megachurches and Oral Roberts' Praying Hands ... miracle stories to keep the cash-cow happy and producing ... the woman who threw away her pills and the sweet little kid who no longer needs his wheelchair ... wow, that's power, too.

And do worship, of course, with the latest gimmicks and gizmos and trends and Twitter ... keep it thin and dazzling ... and preacher, wear those untucked shirts and pressed jeans ... but it's still the same ol' Je-e-sus who'll get you what you want - hey, you're a child of the King ... and if you think positive, if you give your tithe and then some, if you hate abortionists and if you despise homo-sex-u-als, well, then, you're better than they are, much better, and god loves you.

And that's power.

And so are guns ... bang ... there ya' go ... to protect my family and keep us safe ... and someday, when the Anti-Christ comes,  and maybe he's already here in that man in the white house ... we'll be ready with our bottled water and our guns ... and off to the woods we'll go ... no people of color, or course, just the White Bread, please ... whistling Dixie.

And that's power.

And if god hasn't punished anyone lately, then go after the Muslims, go after the poor, who are nothing but leeches on the godly system of Capitalism, leeches who make you feel bad, leeches who make bad choices, compared to your good choices, and they smell bad and do drugs.

And that's power.

So, no wonder, is it?

That Evangelicals are crazy mad in love with Donald Trump.

Praise God?

Psalm 146.
1 Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD, O my soul!
2 I will praise the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God all my life long.

Praise.

What a bitter word ... sometimes.

Since we are often are led to think of praise as something joyful, exuberant, exultant - woo hoo, whoopee ding dang, and ain’t God’s love just the most wonderful thing in the world?”

But such is not the case with my good friend, Jeremiah the Prophet.

Nor is it the case with another good friend, Job.

Or, for that matter, my Savior, Jesus ... who certainly isn’t jumping up and down, waving his arms, and shouting Hosanna in the Garden of Gethsemane.

So, the question: does “praise” include the darker notes of despair, sorrow, bitterness, rage, disappointment? Does “praise” include the dark moments of a Jeremiah, a Job and a Jesus?

I believe so.

To turn toward God in despair, to lament the times, or one’s situation ... to level the charges of doubt ... to question God’s integrity ... to get totally pissed off at God ... to lay before God all the complaints of life ...

That, too, is praise ... 

It speaks the truth of the moment ... it’s honest and forthright ... and in a curious way, expresses confidence that God will hear, that God deserves to hear, that God can be trusted even when I’m expressing my gravest doubts - accusing God, questioning God, ready to walk away from God and never look back!

It helps empty the soul of darkness ... and heaven knows, and so do I, that the soul needs a good shaking out now and then, to empty it, of all things, good and bad, to make room for another day.

Whatever is has to be admitted, confronted, expressed ... repression is the servant of despair ... free expression is the consort of love ... “a love that will not let me go” ... because “there is a wideness in God’s mercy” ...

So, on those bitter days when God’s love seems more like a cruel joke than a blessing, this, too, is a part of our journey ... a chapter among many other such chapters ... so let God have it, express the darkness of despair, the Dark Night of the Soul, and such is, in its own curious way, a form of praise.

And I dare say, that God welcomes, above all else, honesty ... honesty is the first virtue of praise! ... the exultant expression, or the moment soaked in tears and bitterness, the dance of joy or the dirge of despair.

Praise the LORD ... all my life long.

Caught My Eye and My Mind (from Edward Carpenter, 1844-1929)

I used to go and sit on the beach at Brighton and dream, and now I sit on the shore of human life and dream practically the same dreams. I remember about the time that I mention—or it may have been a trifle later—coming to the distinct conclusion that there were only two things really worth living for—the glory and beauty of Nature, and the glory and beauty of human love and friendship. And to-day I still feel the same. What else indeed is there? All the nonsense about riches, fame, distinction, ease, luxury and so forth—how little does it amount to ! It really is not worth wasting time over. These things are so obviously secondhand affairs, useful only and in so far as they may lead to the first two, and short of their doing that liable to become odious and harmful. To become united and in line with the beauty and vitality of Nature (but, Lord help us ! we are far enough off from that at present), and to become united with those we love—what other ultimate object in life is there? Surely all these other things—these games and examinations, these churches and chapels, these district councils and money markets, these top-hats and telephones and even the general necessity of earning one's living—if they are not ultimately for that, what are they for?

Carpenter, Edward, 1844-1929. My days and dreams (Kindle Locations 4041-4049). London : G. Allen & Unwin ltd..

Reading bio of English Mathematician Alan Turing ... with the above quote from Edward Carpenter, an influence in Turing's life. The quote caught my attention, I downloaded the source to my Kindle, and here it is. That any of this "digital" stuff should work is very much linked to the work of Alan Turing. If, btw, you have seen the "Imitation Game," please do so.

Love Prevails

I think,
I believe,
I trust,
That love prevails.
Not in every moment, of course.
But ultimately.

Nothing so big to change the world forever.
But to keep the world moving.
With more good than evil.
Just enough good.
To outweigh
(not by much)
The bad.

Mundane Christianity Gets My Vote

I like the word mundane with regard to faith (Dictionary.com) ... at least in it's second and third definitions, with a few words from #1 ...

Adjective:
1. common; ordinary; banal; unimaginative.
2. of or relating to this world or earth as contrasted with heaven; worldly; earthly:
mundane affairs.
3. of or relating to the world, universe, or earth.

With respect #1, I affirm the words "common" and "ordinary" ... though definitely not banal ... and sadly, too often unimaginative.

But #2 and #3 seem terribly important to me.

The idea that faith is woven into every-day life and every-day life woven into faith ... like having lunch, or taking a nap, going for a walk, having a spat with a loved one, brushing one's teeth, watching TV, wondering what it's all about, and a fine glass of wine.

There was a time in my ministry when I wanted faith to be something more than mundane, and the Christian Publishing World, of course, provides entire libraries on how to be anything but mundane.

The contemporary church has spent a lot of time and money puffing up the gospel, and it's too bad, actually. It's less than accurate, finally addicting people to "experience."

So I vote for mundane ... finding God in all the small places of life, places out-of-the-way ... learning to appreciate the commonplace as an environment in which God is likely to be found, sort of like Bethlehem.