Dismissals

Voices from my past… words of three men at different times and places when I was young… words that come back from time to time to help get me through whatever it is I need to get through. Phil Parker: “I can see you’re looking for something, but I don’t think you know what it is.” Jim Krause: “You won’t get anywhere just standing there.” Ed Perkins: “A wet bird never flies at night.” Phil and Jim’s aphorisms keep me on the path, moving ahead. Ed’s wet bird lets me get off the path and not take myself too seriously.

Halfway home on a long drive, I stopped to buy a comestible from a vending machine. I put in two crisp dollar bills, pushed the button for chips… nothing. I pushed pretzels… nothing. Peanuts… nothing! I hit “refund,” heard two, tinny clinks and knew I’d been hoodwinked. Two bucks invested, two coins in change and no snack. I set about cursing the machine. Drat! Phooey! I scooped the coins into my pocket and drove on. I pulled into the the next rest area and fished the coins out of my pocket. It was a miracle! They were now dollar coins.

Before Christmas, I heard the Cleveland Orchestra perform George Frideric Handel’s Messiah. The choir, numbering over a hundred, sang words from Isaiah: “His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace!” Beautiful! It was surely Christmas! Yet Handel’s masterwork continues. At the oratorio’s end, from the Book of Revelation, the choir sang: “Blessing and honor, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever.” These are words of Easter. Then, God willing, I will listen again to the words of Handel’s Messiah.

At the St. Luke’s food pantry, I give oranges to children who wait in line with their parents out in the cold. Sometime I give an orange to a mother or a father or some guy who’s alone … I don’t keep track. One girl had her hands tucked up under an old sweatshirt. I held out an orange. She took one hand out and held it open. I placed that orange in her hand. I felt her hand … her fingers were so cold. Maybe I’ll give the oranges a rest. Mittens! I’ll get a wheelbarrow full of mittens and gloves!

My grandmother kept the brittle, yellowed obituary of Return Jonathan Meigs in her Bible. He achieved distinction as an officer in the Revolutionary Army and later as a pioneer in Ohio. The obituary concluded: “His father, when a young man, became enamored of a young Quaker woman. Though repeatedly rejected, he persisted in his suit. On his last visit, as he slowly mounted his horse to ride away dejected, she relented and beckoned to him to stop, crying out, ‘Return, Jonathan. Return, Jonathan.’ These words, which gave him so much happiness, he gave as a name to his firstborn son.”

A letter to a prisoner, dated December 3rd, 2008: “Dear Michael, Never a day goes by that I do not think of you. As a churchman, I have come to believe that thought alone may be a form of prayer. I offer now my prayer for your wellbeing, your good health and your peace of mind. I do believe that prayer is made stronger, more powerful, if we send it along with a small gift, an offering to God. Michael, please consider this letter, poor as it is, to be that small gift, an offering to God. In peace, Josh”

Did you ever know anyone famous? Not just be in the same room but have them speak to you? I have. Frederick Buechner, American writer, novelist, poet, autobiographer, essayist, preacher, theologian and ordained Presbyterian minister, was a teacher at a boarding school where I spent some time. Buechner once sought me out to tell me, “Turn down your stereo!” I could barely hear him. A few years later, after our admittedly brief encounter, Fred Buechner wrote this: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Those words I heard.

Thanksgiving is a time to give God thanks for our blessings.Yet, if we have met with disappointment, let us find our way to gratitude without having everything we want or even need. Disappointment need not preclude gratitude, nor need gratitude crowd out the very real possibility of disappointment. We do not have to choose one over the other but rather make space in our heart to accept the sheer complexity and contradictoriness of human experience … for which, thanks be to God. [Based entirely on The Heart of Torah, Vol. 1; by Rabbi Shai Held, p. 63; The Jewish Publication Society]

The difference between the two is the first letter. I notice it in these contentious times … so many opinions, so very little agreement. Someone will say, “So, you believe…” and they will lay out their understanding of what they think I believe. With that, I’m on the defensive. Change the first letter and it’s a question: “Do you believe…?” The question deserves a thoughtful answer. As I answer, a certain clarity may come to me, especially if I have the presence of mind then to ask, “Do you believe…?” It’s only that first letter, but it makes all the difference.

There is a story of Alexandre Auguste Ledru-Rollin, a champion of the working class during the French Revolution. He sat in a cafe as a crowd of supporters marched by. His words: “There go my people! I must find out where they are going so I can lead them!” The people of the church are a wellspring of energy and ideas for building up the church and ministering to a hurting world … members of the congregation are engaged in active, challenging ministries. They are already leading … and we must learn where they are going so we might go also.

I am brought low by the events of each day, confounded by each news account. I struggle to keep my own demons at bay. What does God expect of me? Another letter to a senator? Signatures on a petition? What am I to do? I recollect words of Antoine de Saint-Exupery: “If you want to build a ship, do not drum up people to collect wood and do not assign tasks and work, but rather teach people to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” The first work of the peacemaker is to learn to long for peace.

What he told me went something like this: “For a long time I was understanding it all wrong, about when Jesus said, ‘Take up your cross and follow me.’ I had it that Jesus was carrying his cross to Calvary and there was all these other crosses set out, and I was supposed to take my cross and follow Jesus. But my cross is not like Jesus’ cross. My cross isn’t made of wood. My cross is the work I’ve been given to make the world a better place. This work’s not easy, but it’s what I’m called to do.”