Sent....

 

Monday, while "woman-ing" the grill....old school charcoal is how I roll.....I remarked, "This is a great fire! Look at these glowing red coals!" Of course that led me to reflect on Isaiah 6.1-8.....what???? You mean when you grill this is also not a reflection you have????

......clergy are weird......

Isaiah 6.1 - 8 was one of the lectionary readings this previous Sunday and details the call story of the prophet Isaiah. The highlight of the passage is the tale of an angel bearing tongs of hot coals approaching the prophet and placing said coals onto Isaiah's lips. It might be just me, yet, I don't recall that particular story included in a felt-board lesson for children's Sunday School.

My call story has no descending angels with hot coals. Whew.....What my call story features are the affirmations of others whose words and comments could have come from the "Just for Sally Snyder" section of a Hallmark store.  Instance after instance, person after person, sermon after sermon all confirmed and affirmed what I was experiencing as a call to ministry.....of course the cool part was I had told no one that I had this nudge, this sense of calling, these "you talking to me, God?" moments.

Fact is each of us, I believe are gifted, shaped, called and sent.....it's just the clergy call thing gets more of the "Hollywood" treatment and in people's minds tends to "corner the market" on being called. 

It's the being sent piece that is the fun part.  It would be great if God worked in the neon signs or GPS methods more often -- "Turn approaching....recalculating...." Alas, it doesn't work that way so one is contemplative, prayerful, attentive, shares out with the universe, watches, trusts and steels up the courage to act and to go.  

As both a softball player and coach there was a whole lot of importance and trust placed in the third base coach. I was taught that when rounding second to not watch the ball and instead to immediately pick up my third base coach and heed the sign to stay or go; of course and to cheese-up this metaphor even more, the point was to get safely home......

Education...the difference maker

 When I worked at the Children's Defense Fund (CDF) located in Washington, DC, twice a year the staff would have a day of service and community connection. The employees would be placed in a variety of teams and sent to a diverse collection of agencies and institutions in and around the city.

Personally, the most profound of these experiences was the day spent at an inner-city public elementary school. Before we met the children, the principal took us outside to the playground. She emphasized the outside of the door which lead from the school to the swing sets and monkey bars. The door was marked with multiple bullet holes. "The children can't use the playground every day because sometimes we need to clean up the used needles, liquor bottles. Usually once a year when we arrive in the morning we have to call the police because there's a dead body on the playground."

Walking through the elementary school the walls had some kids' projects and artwork, yet what I noted was it was the season for elementary school election of class officers. I wanted to volunteer to be the campaign manager for the young girl running for class secretary whose campaign poster highlighted her skill set: "Vote Alia for Class Secretary! I know cursive!" 

Later that year, I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in San Diego (great work when you can get it....) where I presented to various faith groups on the need for educational reform so each child received a quality education no matter one's race, gender, income or zip code.

My stay provided me the opportunity to visit a local public elementary school located in a lower-economic area. The children were all black or Latino. I spent the morning there following the schedule of the students. We had recess and I played basketball with the children.  A rousing game of H.O.R.S.E. had a fair share of trash talk among the fifth-graders. "Nothing but net! You'll see me in the NBA! I'm outta here!"

The classroom had a piano. The teacher told me that because the school didn't think it necessary she bought it with her own money and paid for the movers to bring it into the building. "There are several kids who love music and relate to it so deeply. I use it to reach them and teach them."  She showed me what she meant and the several kids who during  the math lesson were twirling their hair and staring with heads titled back up at the ceiling, when the first notes of the piano played the children sat up and were attentive to whatever instruction was about to begin.

Today is the 67th anniversary of the historic Brown versus Board of Education Supreme Court decision which declared racial segregation in public schools to be unconstitutional. 

Education is the game changer, the life builder. I am thankful I was raised in a home that celebrated reading and education. I am lucky I attended a good public school...go Freeport Yellowjackets!  

Yet, I know my experience is not the reality for far too many of our nation's children. I have committed time and energy and feet power (walking at marches, rallies and through the halls of power) toward educational justice. Today, public schools are even more segregated and many in areas where they are most needed are under-staffed, under-funded and under-whelming to their communities. 

The Wonderful Wizard

It has been official for some time now.... I am old.  Tell-tale signs are being referred to as “Maam,” starting way too many stories, “When I was younger ----” and longing for a simpler time when the music was better, the pace slower and the nation on more stable ground.

 

I still chuckle (even though deep down I’m growling) when I share the time at a work meeting with intergenerational staff, someone mentioned the Olympics and we began sharing about grand Olympic moments and I shared, “Has to be the Miracle on Ice when USA Hockey beat the favored Russians. I still remember where I was. Does anyone else remember?” At this point a young’un shared, “Sally, I wasn’t born yet.”  Ouch.  

This also happens when discussing films and one has to say, “The original FOOTLOOSE….”

 

Yet, there is one movie I believe we can still relate no matter our age.  That film is THE WIZARD OF OZ.”  Today, is the birthday of Frank L. Baum, the author who wrote the book.

 

Those of us of a certain age, can recall the days when television had four channels (CBS, ABC, NBC and PBS). Once a year one of the stations would air “THE WIZARD OF OZ,” it was usually in the Springtime and everyone we gathered around the family set.  The next day we talked about it with friends and would exclaim how scary were the flying monkeys, the love we had for the cowardly lion and to remember this handy tip when faced with the encounter of a witch: water melts ‘em.

 

Even before the pandemic, we have lost a sense of community. When people talk about getting back to normal, my response is we need to do some improvements first. 

 

I loved my first Walk-Man. However, it also broadened one’s perspective hearing a variety of music on long car rides with the family. Personally, it is how I came to appreciate the music of the girl groups of the sixties and the classic rock of the seventies. (One more sign of being old, the music of your youth is now featured on the Oldies station…sigh…..)

With hundreds of channels and multiple television sets in homes, one can watch what one wants. Yet, there are lessons of patience learned when sitting through another episode of “Gunsmoke” because that was your father’s favorite program.  

What connects us? What are the shared moments to which we can each experience and then discuss?  

Think about it, Little League has been replaced by travel leagues; church has become irrelevant with large segments of the population identifying their religious affiliation as “none;” and a community-sponsored bake sale was always sketchy and in the pandemic era near obsolete. 

How to connect? We need to answer this one or, I fear, the community we need and want will become something left to be granted and given by  the great Wizard of Oz.