Memory

As a kid, I loved to play any type of memory game. You know the kind where all the cards are turned faced down and a player flips a card over, looks at the image, and then from the remaining face-down cards tries to find a match. Make a match and you remove the cards and place them in your stack. Of course, the game and the odds of finding a match got much better the more cards that are revealed.

Earlier this week I attended an event called FROM WRONGS TO RIGHTS which told the story of a group of parents, advocates, newspaper reporters, and lawyers who brought needed reform to the horrific living (I use the term very loosely) conditions of children and youth and young adults with disabilities being basically ware-housed in the Polk State Facility. The stories were told and the heroes and heroines of the effort were celebrated and honored. As it should be.

As a current advocate with persons with disabilities it was a necessary and important history to be shared and remembered and even labeled with the oft-repeated advocacy phrase: “Never Again.”

I read an article that highlighted the efforts of groups to have the story of the Holocaust taught in schools. I commend and support this work. Reading the piece, I was disheartened to learn of the significant number of young people who have no knowledge of the when, the where, the why, and the who of the Holocaust.

“What we don’t learn and fail to remember, we are destined to repeat.”

A couple of things we must do and do well --- know the stories of those who have gone before us and made a path of justice upon which we also trod. Celebrate them. Remember them. Continue what they started.

Secondly, be a student of history. More so in this era in which due to shrinking resources, schools are cutting history programs from their curriculum, we must find ways to teach our children our history. I loved the fact that Steven Spielberg made DVD’s of his Oscar-winning film, LINCOLN, available to schools around the nation.

Your assignment: read a critically-acclaimed book or watch a critically-acclaimed movie, visit a museum, tour an historical site….for bonus points --- bring a kid or young person with you.

sj;

Big Picture

My niece will soon begin a major adolescent rite of passage --- getting her driver’s license. I volunteered to help teach her to drive. Should be fun….

I remember learning to drive….yikes! My brothers helped and taught me how to drive a stick shift. (NOTE: Every car I have owned has been a stick shift. ) My brother’s tutelage ended when going 55 mph I downshifted because I wanted to be sure to make it up the next hill. That did not go well for the car, my brother, and ultimately me.

My father lasted two lessons and proclaimed, “You’ll never be able to drive if you don’t know where to look!” Where to look? I protested that I was indeed looking out the window and paying attention to which my father clarified, “You’re looking at the end of the hood. You have to look out and ahead and see the big picture and be able to see what may be coming.”

Dad’s advice served me well in my driving and continues to serve me well in my living and my advocacy work in trying to influence policy that benefits the shared common good.

Look beyond the edge of your hood.

What is the best course of action that serves the common good and makes the most sense in the long run?

Look beyond the edge of your hood.

Move past what’s in it for me to how will this benefit the bigger community of which I am a part.

Look beyond the edge of your hood.

That pesky “love your neighbor” thing was meant to include more than just the folks on your street and in your zip code.

Look beyond the edge of your hood.

sj;

Great Expectations

Previously, I wrote about the gift of the giant rubber duck that was docked along our river's shoreline and brought over a million people to a blissful state of being. The rubber duck has been appearing in various cities around the globe drawing thousands upon thousands of visitors.

Admittedly, I had no idea what to expect when I went to see the giant rubber duck, yet, the energy was a-buzz and everyone seemed so happy walking to the duck that I soon realized this would be most memorable.

I am sure the persons in Taiwan were expecting the same wonderful experience as they went to visit the giant rubber duck docked in their river. However, what they found one day last week was not a giant, yellow, rubber duck. Alas, what they found was a large, flat piece of yellow rubber stretched across the water's surface resembling, as some folks stated, "a flattened, fried egg."

An earthquake nearby created a power outage which caused the duck to deflate and when workers attempted to re-inflate the duck they did so too quickly and the duck....exploded....sigh.....

What to do when what you are expecting turns out to be something totally different?

The stores are starting to tell us that the Holiday season is starting (me....I'll follow the rhythm of nature and the calendar of the church) and children everywhere will be jacked-up with expectation and anticipation of the Big Holiday. What to do if one does not receive the X-Box and instead gets a package of underwear, a dvd, and a candy cane?

The person of your dreams asks you to dinner and it is a nightmare....

It's early November and the Steelers are already out of playoff contention....

The movie everyone raves about you can't stand (Seinfeld reference: Elaine and the "English Patient).....

What to do?

Deal with what is real;

Adjust your sails and find the new wind;

Look for the light that is there;

Be and become....

sj;

Journey Lights

Trick-or-Treat just concluded and it looks like another good haul for the kids of the neighborhood! Following the example of my mother, I pride myself in putting together a great treat bag affirmed by the kids’ responses of “Wow!” and “Whoa!” and “Mom, check this out!”

While sitting out on the porch watching for the kids, I noticed the row of lights up and down the street that directed the children on their journey for junk. Yes, a light on signals CANDY HERE! Yet the house lights also helped to light the path for the kids on their travels.

On this eve before All Saints Day, I thought that is a good metaphor for the saints who light our way as we journey to wholeness. We find ourselves looking for the light and are drawn to it for the goodness we will find there. The lights direct our steps.

I am a big fan of the belief that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses --- kind of like the family and friends who show up for your Little League game or your school play. They are there watching, cheering, beaming, supporting. For me, knowing that always made me play stronger and ham-it-up more, they gave me confidence and a sense of security.

Take a moment today and actively re-member the saints who lit your journey. Read one of their favorite passages; eat their favorite food; tell the stories where they shine the brightest!

We are not alone…..blessed be;
(by the way, how are you doing with the when and who and why of your blessings?)


sj;

Blessings

To begin an update on the "Plays the Thing" post where I ranted about school districts' banning the game of tag. I heard from several of you and appreciated your reflections and shared "are you kidding me?" responses. On the delightful CBS Sunday Morning show there was a wonderful segment on a group of childhood friends now grown who still play a game of tag. This is entertaining and full of good insights. Here's the link: http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-3445_162-57609129/an-epic-game-of-tag/

As part of my daily reflection time, I am re-reading Kate Braestrup's book on prayer, BEGINNER'S GRACE. A good read, Braestrup begins by talking about blessings and namely the ones we offer before meal time. For many of us, around the table is the first lesson we have in prayer. You know...."God is great and God is good" fare. The blessing is a thank you: thanks for each hand that brought the food to this point; thanks for those gathered at table with us and the gift of fellowship. Table blessings are a good laboratory in which to teach prayer.

One of the grandest things about being ordained is being asked to offer blessings. I've blessed bread, houses, play-doh, foundations for houses-yet-to-be, sports contests, milk-and-cookies, teddy bears, potluck suppers, unions, marriages, dogs, cats, ants, the weather, baby's feet and the list goes on and on.

I like when someone reminds me "to have a blessed day." To me, it's to both be aware of the abundance of blessings surrounding and to be about the work of offering blessings. In that light (and I mean that in every way possible), one of the persons who is a part of my Health Committee for People with Disabilities stopped by one day this week to make a very generous donation to my organization. In my thanking her, she said, "I want to bless those who have been a blessing to me."

First, I was humbled by being referred to as being a blessings and second, I was inspired by living with active gratitude.

This week take an inventory on when and what and whom you bless and whom in turn does so to you. I mean everything and everyone you bless: sneezers, succotash and the Steelers. Let me know what you learn.

Blessed be....

sj;

The play's the thing

I have a t-shirt that says, “Dodgeball: America’s Twist on Stoning.” I find it quite amusing and from those who were the throwers and those who were the dodgers it usually elicits some type of response.

I share this with you because of a story I heard about a school in New Hampshire that is planning on stopping children from playing tag. Seriously. Tag. The game perhaps every child grew up playing. Tag.

The reasons given by the administration is that while playing Tag kids were not paying attention and were running into things and tripping and falling. Seriously. Tag.

I am still troubled by the fact that schools were doing away with dodgeball and now this!

Ask any person of a certain age what they remember about Dodgeball and you get a response. Some will still cuss-out the jocks without mercy; some will berate the gym teacher who would not allow them to intentionally get out of the game; and some will smile maniacally and tell tales of targeting cheerleaders.

To balance out this narrative, today I heard a story where local researchers here in Pittsburgh celebrate and condone the nature of play and find that children who regularly play and notably play board games show increases in creativity and development.

Play is what kids do. I come from a family of….how to put this...players. We played board games almost every day (please see the above findings of the researchers...smile) anything from Parcheesi to the aptly named Aggravation to “Sorry” to card games to outside games involving a ball and our imagination.

We had frequent game nights and every Christmas someone in the family gets a boardgame of some sort and it’s game on!

Playing games is a very good thing!

I grieve the fact that kids today seem incapable of simply getting together with the neighborhood gang and playing a game. I am saddened when kids tell me they don’t play board games at home.

Sometime soon I beg you to get together and play something!

Break out a board game! Get a bouncey ball and play “7-Up!” Shuffle a deck-of-cards and play “Go Fish!”

Shoot, be a complete radical and get a group of people together and play a game of Tag…..just be sure to wrap the trees and telephone poles in safety padding….please……

sj;

Buddha and The Duck

Did the title get your attention?

Today, Sunday, 20 October, the giant Rubber Duck goes away…..it’s amazing, yet, for those of us who have visited the Duck it is understandable that persons lobbied and petitioned to keep the duck inflated and harbored to the shore near the Point.

They estimate that over 1 Million persons visited the Duck. Having spent time with the Duck I can understand why. The giant Rubber Duck reconnected folks to their childhood and was simply and wonderfully fun. Folks gathered because the energy surrounding the Duck was joyful, playful, positive and a blast!

I know! Who knew a giant, rubber duck could have that effect but he did! Folks of all ages took their photo with him, posed, positioned and preened next to a big, yellow, friendly fowl!

Now, as per the agreement, the Duck will leave the shore, be deflated (as will the spirits of many Pittsburghers) and be stored away leaving us to hopefully await his return.

The Duck taught us lessons ---to find joy in the simple things; deep happiness is sharing a whimsical moment with friends; and nothing is permanent. I’ve always been amazed at the Buddhist monks who spend days meticulously crafting a beautiful mandela only upon its completion to destroy it and sweep away the sand and the image and the hours and the work. It is a lesson that nothing lasts and to be in the moment, to trust, to be present to where your feet are at the present time.

If you’ve not already done so and to fill the space with the absence of the Duck, go see the film, GRAVITY and do so in 3D for an incredible movie-going experience. It is not difficult to get the message of this very spiritual film. My favorite scene, that puts a semi-colon on the picture, is the closing scene ---- watch the film and pay attention to the last words of the movie….another lesson in how to live.

sj;

Random thoughts on things

Every once in a while when I want to get back into a rhythm and order of writing the blog, I do a post that is part reflection, part rambling on things. This is such a post ---

How big of a genius was Myron Cope with the invention of the “Terrible Towel?” Every baseball team currently in the playoffs has fans waving some kind of towel. It’s a bit disconcerting to watch fans of the Oakland A’s wave gold towels ….looks too much like the one-and-only original towel talisman.

Can our democratic experiment be more broken? Everyone is concerned about making sure to be re-elected and caters to their respective political base instead of the shared common good of the nation.

Did you ever think the annoying kid on the playground who if she or he didn’t get his way would threaten to take her or his ball and go home would one day end up a member of congress?

Is anyone else longing for sweatshirt weather? Enough of the 80 degrees and humidity --- we are in the season of fall and should be preparing for the first frost not running the air conditioning

It’s been a long time coming, yet, how cool is it that local hospitals are dressing new-born babies in Pirates sleepers and wrapping “pirate style” a red bandana on the babes’ heads? They call them “Bucco Babies!”

The best word I’ve heard to describe the giant, 40-foot rubber ducky docked near the Point is “whimsical.” Perfect.

When you have your team in the hunt, how intense and nerve-wracking is playoff baseball? I agonize on every pitch.

How about Pope Francis? Humble. Active-concern and justice for persons who are poor. Asking us to put compassion and understanding first and foremost before judgement.

Not for anything, yet, I have learned how to make one darn good meatloaf! My culinary expertise is expanding beyond something one can microwave and a sandwich.

Society would be so much better off if we made gathering at table with others a daily practice.

There’s my ten ramblings. What are you thinking about?

sj;

The RITE Stuff

In many ways clergy fill the role of the keepers and leaders of rituals and rites. Of course we do this in worship settings and as faith leaders. Performing the ritual of baptism and communion are some of my most favorite moments as clergy.

As we know, here in our fair city of Pittsburgh sports are a religion in terms of the gathering of the community; sharing a common language; statues; relics; holy places; saints and sinners; hope and belief.

Last weekend I traveled to Cincinnati to attend the first two games of the series and guarantee Pittsburgh would host a playoff game. Tapping into my decades-long practice of creating and performing rituals and rites, I took a 20 ounce empty bottle (20 for the 20 losing seasons) and went to gather Allegheny River water at the location nearest the Roberto Clemente statue near PNC Park. Having gathered the water, I took the filled bottle to the Clemente statue and tapped it on his feet --- that we would be fast; on his bat --- that we would hit; on his hand --- that we would catch and throw well; and on his #21 --- that we would play with passion and heart. Once I arrived at the Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, I circled the stadium sprinkling Allegheny River water and claiming the space for Pittsburgh. I made it a point to share what I was doing with the Pittsburgh fans that were there. They loved it! In fact, persons asked me to sprinkle water on their hands so they could assist the effort.

Do I actually think my sprinkling of Allegheny River water had anything to do with the outcome of that series? No. Yet, it connected me to the other Pirates fans who were there, brought a lot of smiles, and made me feel as if I was doing something to help my beloved Buccos! Did I mention it was fun?

A part of us believes that if we wear the shirt we wore when the team won that they will win again. Or, if we eat the same food we had when the won the big game they will do so again. Recent case in point, ever since the 40-foot rubber duck docked along our shores near the Point the Pirates had won --- sweeping the series against Cincinnati last weekend to earn home field advantage and winning the wild card playoff game Tuesday night. Persons contacted in huge numbers the local powers responsible for keeping the duck moored in Pittsburgh and told them the duck must stay in our city throughout the Pirates playoffs run. I confess that prior to hearing the news that, indeed, the duck will be staying throughout, I was gathering a group of volunteers to prepare a covert operation to harness the duck and keep him anchored in our fair city.

Truth be told, I have been thinking about this particular post for awhile, yet decided not to post it while the Pirates were winning. Alas, after today's thumping, I can post...sigh....

Sports connects us and unites us. That's a good thing. The energy in the city over the Pirates is a delight! Enjoy this! Have fun!

After today's loss, we need to adjust the duck. Does anyone want to help me place a giant, inflated, Pirates cap upon his head? Or, help me build and inflate a giant Ernie decked-out in black and gold?

sj;

Welcome Autumn

Today, officially, we welcome in the season of autumn. I’m a big fan of fall. I love the cool temperatures that ask for a wardrobe of big sweatshirts and sweaters; the changing of the leaves is magic; and there is nothing better than October baseball….yes, I completely plan on our Pirates being there!

As summer fades into fall, I realize how much my parents by the simple, ordered living of their lives and their connection to the land built into their children an order based on the seasons of the earth. Planting in spring; tending in summer; harvesting throughout late summer and early fall; tilling under the corn stalks and removing the tomato stakes; planting bulbs; bringing in the flowers as the first frost approached; covering the picnic table; putting on the storm windows --- all actions required in their due season.

In symmetry and rhythm with the world’s turning, my mother decorated the house in accord with the seasons --- another helpful reminder to be seek to live in rhythm with the earth.

For years we have been bemoaning how our capitalist bent infringes upon our balance with the seasons. Halloween candy has been in stores for over two weeks and Thanksgiving greeting cards are already on the shelves. There is a lot in our modern society that disconnects us from nature, the bigger world around us, and each other. For our sake we need to get back into a balance and become better dancers with creation’s rhythm.

I say today’s Autumnal Equinox, which is one of only two days of the year in which daytime and nighttime are exactly of equal length, is the perfect time to begin! Break out your biggest, most comfortable sweatshirt and join me in getting back to balance!

sj;

Does it matter?

Today the Census Bureau released data on levels of poverty in America. Granted, it’s not the Forbes list of the richest people in the world, yet, this information deserves our attention and our action.

In my second decade as ordained clergy, I’ve been reflecting on the lessons I have learned and what surprised me. Leading the list of surprises was my experience with local congregations and their outreach to, welcoming of, and ministry with persons who are poor.

As I sought to call my congregations into ministry with persons who are poor, I was met with comments such as: “They are not our children” and “We don’t want to share the gospel with those people.” Ouch.

There is a disturbing and disheartening trend at work in this nation. We have begun to categorize persons into the “deserving” and “undeserving poor” and are blaming persons for living in poverty. Seriously.

Because of how I understand God and, in my tradition, how I re-present the Christ whose name I take on, I believe it is foundational to be in ministry with persons who are poor and to advocate with them for a more just and equal society.

I think it’s kind of basic ---- whenever someone is hungry, feed ‘em; thirsty, give ‘em something to drink; cold, cover ‘em; isolated, go and bring ‘em into the fold.

Well?

sj;

Finally.....

It has finally happened! After 20 long losing seasons the Pirates have accomplished a winning season!

I have been a Pirates fan my whole life: born during the grace and glory of Clemente; weaned on the “Lumber Company;” and survived adolescence thanks to “We Are Family!” No other baseball cap have I worn. To no other team have I offered my allegiance. Forget jumping on the bandwagon, I’m taking my turn driving the bus of the Bucco die-hards, the loyalists, the fans who stayed and stuck through it all.

Some say being a Pirates fan takes courage or craziness. Some say being a Pirates fan is a true exercise in hopeful living. Some say being a Pirates fan is easier when they win.

I say being a Pirates fan is an act of faith. The last time the Pirates won, I was newly ordained and serving my first church. At congregational suppers the conversation was not about the finer points of theology, it was about Jay Bell’s perfectly placed sacrifice bunt. During youth group meetings, the excitement wasn’t around “New Kids on the Block” it was about the Pirates starting nine. Many clergy say they hate to talk about money with their congregants. I refused to mention the names Belinda, Cabrera, Bonds, Bream and the heartbreak of Game Seven in the 1992 NLCS.

Faith and fan-dom go hand-in-hand. I have never prayed for a win. I have, however, worn the same Pirates shirt every day of a winning streak, eaten at the same restaurant prior to each home game, and currently have a commemorative 1971 World Series Championship mug placed on the shelf beneath my television set.

These last twenty years have at times been so full of futility and regret that a certain amount of ritual has been required. I attended the final game at Three Rivers Stadium and before leaving the park removed my shoes and walked barefoot. It is family law that we never leave any game until the final out. This adherence has increased my endurance. A few years ago I sat through the 20-0 loss to the Brewers while fans around yelled for the opposition to “hit blackjack!” In the first-half magic of the 2011 season, I caught a Pirate Parrot-launched hot dog and kept it in my freezer as, sadly, the magic and the wiener frosted.

I am a sports fan, yet, of all matters of athletic contests my favorite is baseball. It’s the perfect sport for a member of the cloth because the focus is to get home safely. Baseball is a family affair. I remember my sister writing mini-signs like “Deck the Cards!” and posting them on the fridge. I took my nephew to his first Pirates game and upon seeing the park he asked, “Is this the field with dreams in it?” You better believe it is --- dreams and disappointments and hopes and heartbreak...an ongoing metaphor for life.

I find the journey made easier by having a faith that is open, trusting and present like an afternoon spent at the ballyard. Perhaps the best life lesson I have learned is “don’t cling;” keep open to possibility, don’t grip the bat too tightly, trust. For the last twenty years, Pirates fans from Forbes Field to Three Rivers have clung to the memories of glories past. The current generation has never known a winning season. All that has changed with this season of who-could-have-foreseen-it stellar pitching from Liriano and Locke, the shark tank bullpen that refuses to allow any circling of the bases, and the a next-man-up team philosophy that delivers the needed start and the timely hit.

It has happened Pirates fans. Savor this winning season. Plan on playoff baseball. Pardon me while I go light my candle of victory.

sj;

Alphabet Wrap-Up

M = Mowing Grass Talk about a rite of summer! There is something about mowing the lawn that gives one a sense of accomplishment as it is easy to look back and see all that has been completed. My mower of choice was and remains a push-variety. Of course, the bane of my mowing was the looming possibility of coming across a snake. I despise the creatures and had I been in the Garden of Eden we would still have paradise because I would certainly never had gone near one.

N = Night Is there anything more wonderful than a summer’s evening? The cool, the lingering light, the crickets’ song, the fireflies, the smells --- bliss.

O = Outdoors The clear lake, the full pines, the berries, the brush and growth --- if you need a reason to get outside...summer gives you an abundance.

P = Paint The warmth of the sun, the long days, the time off all lend themselves to checking “paint the porch,” “paint the house” off one’s to-do-list.

Q = Quiz As has already been referenced, one of my favorite places ever was the front porch at my mother’s home in summertime. We would spend most summer evenings there as a family. Often, my brother would break out the quiz books and we would challenge, cheer, cajole and critique one another on our knowledge of useless information.

R = Radio The “songs of summer” blaring at the community pool or park; windows down and stereo on high as you cruised; the ballgame being listened to on the front porch. Although there is much to be gained by a ear-buds and ipods, the radio remains a great tool of community.

S = St. George I’m not referring to the summer sport of slaying dragons. I am referring to the home of my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Chuck in the town of Kennerdell along the banks of the Allegheny. It was here every Fourth of July that the Beale Family reunion was held. A reunion reconnects you to roots and strengthens the line.

T = Tionesta Our family vacations were spent camping out in Tionesta. No trailer, no cabin...this was serious, not-for-wimps camping. We hiked-in a mile over rocky terrain and set-up camp. We cooked each meal over a campfire and once a week went to swim in the Tionesta River.

U = Ugly Duckling Have you ever had the experience of coming back from summer vacation to begin another school year and noticing the previous plain kid suddenly transformed into the class beauty? Summer sun and freedom works wonders.

V = Volleyball With 20 people on a side, we whack at the sport at picnics and summer parties. Sand volleyball is iconic of summer be it played along the ocean’s shore or in a park with pebbly sand and the closest body of water being the creek.

W = Water Swimming at community pools, wading in creeks, taking a boat out in the lake, watching the ocean waves, squirt gun battles, and running through sprinklers --- summer allows for all to enjoy the wonder of water!

X = The mystery For a kid, summer has no schedule and each day one wakes to make of it what one will. Part of the gift of summer is the freedom and the mystery of what each day bathed in warmth and light holds and is yours for the making.

Y = Yawn Enjoy to the fullest those “lazy, hazy days of summer….”

Z = Zoltan The Pittsburgh Pirates are about to have a winning season….it’s been twenty years...the players continue to flash the “Z” of Zoltan and so do the rabid fans hungry, at last, for a winning team!

...J...K...L....

J = Jumonville The camp is named for the French general killed by General George Washington’s troops during the French and Indian War. Located on a mountaintop outside of Uniontown in the little town of Hopwood, Jumonville is one of the three church camps run by the Western PA Conference of the United Methodist Church. While in college, I worked two summers there as Program Staff --- a camp counselor. I lead groups through the Ropes Course, whitewater rafted, cooked-out, swam, lead Bible Studies, played endless games of kickball, made crafts (ugh!), and kept the children busy so as not to get homesick. It was here, that I received the call to ordained ministry. Sometimes, I wish the history of the name was a bit more peaceful.

K = Kickball This was the neighborhood game. We played it every day for hours. Looking back it made for a great sociological study. There was the ordering of rules: “Three fouls and you’re out” and to make it official adding, “I called it!” There was learning that strategy and a well-placed ball was far better than kicking it as hard as you could --- mainly because someone who grew tired of chasing the ball across the road declared, “Any ball that goes on the road is an automatic out...I called it!” Of course, there was that horrible act of choosing teams where someone’s self-esteem was always destroyed by the team captain yelling, “We took him yesterday, you have to take him today!”

L = Lemonade It seems almost wrong to drink lemonade anytime other than summer as it is perfectly paired with picnics and cookouts. A lemonade substitute was “Lemon Blend” which came in the gallon jugs and you mixed with water. After helping my father in the garden, we would come inside and he would butter Saltines crackers and we would wash ‘em down with a cold glass of lemonade.

G...H....I...

G = Golf My oldest brother really was into golf. He practiced constantly, had lessons with a golf pro and built his own set of clubs. Being a most generous, big-hearted guy he also built me a set of left-handed clubs and built child-size clubs for our nephews. I practiced with him in our field hitting orange wiffle type golf balls, I went with him to the driving range, and we golfed on the local public course.
I did enjoy it. I wasn’t very good at it, yet, it was fun. Golf is also one of the most frustrating sports ever invented. On one hole, you can drive the ball perfectly, by the wonder of a good gust of wind hit a fine approach shot, and then make your putt. Then sadly that will not occur again for the remaining 17 holes. It’s enough to make one throw their sand wedge (get a good spin on it you can get good distance) and yell toned-down obscenities that make the foursome of little old ladies the next hole over gasp......or so I hear that happens......

H = Hoagies As has been alluded to previously in this blog, I come from a maternal lineage of great cooks. Blessed be. My Aunt Jean made the very best homemade pizza and would come over to her sister’s, my mother's, house nearly once a month in the winter season and gift us with this delight. It was a family tradition that we honored frequently.
Just as we had pizza in the winter, in the summer the meal was hoagies. We would drive down the hill, through town, and up the next hill to pick-up my Aunt Jean. On the way home, we stopped at the local butcher shop, Brestensky’s, and bought fresh lunch meats and cheese. Next, was a visit to the local deli where we purchased homemade hoagie rolls and onions and pickles (lettuce was from our garden). Back home, Jean would set-up in the kitchen and create a culinary assembly line that included her homemade “hoagie sauce” which was the perfect closer --- think of the sauce as the Jason Grilli of hoagie making. The hoagies were incredible, yet, even more was the centerpiece of our home and lives together which was gathering at table as a family.

I = Ice Cream My mother and I welcomed the warm weather and the season of summer by having the “first banana split” of the summer season. During the long, lazy, hot, bright days of summer the regular stops at one’s favorite, local ice cream stand is mandatory for the season. How great is an ice cream cone licked and chomped on a summer’s evening?

sj;

D....E....F....

The Summer Alphabet continues....

D = Diving I was swimming at the local pool and was paddling near the diving board. A group of kids were there lined-up to go off the board. “I can do a pencil,” said one youngster. I was intrigued. What is a pencil dive? I paddled back, treaded and watched for this feat of diving prowess. She stood on the board. Took a deep breath. Walked to the end of the board. Stretched out her arms and then placed them down straight to her side.......and......jumped in the water......Seriously?? Who knew that “dive” had a name? Shoot, I’ve been doing pencil dives my whole swimming career and never knew it.

The lure of the diving board at the community pool --- you thought about it for a year. This summer, this would be the moment when you would jump off the high dive at the Freeport Community Pool! You steeled your courage. Told your friends. Updated your will. The day arrived and you climbed the steps. Remembered to try and not look down. Although, one was noticeably scared, I never recalled anyone running and jumping off the board in an effort to just get it over with. Nope...like a walk on the plank (Go Bucs!) you plodded to the end and jumped.

Being raised in the country, the majority of my swimming time, as of that of my family, was spent in the Buffalo Creek. There was not much to jump off of so my brothers, bless them, invented a new game to play: Who can bring up the biggest rock?”

Contestants dove under the water and sought to find the biggest rock one could grab and carry to the surface, out of the creek, and place upon the shore. An additional challenge to the contest was the fact that the Buffalo Creek is not a clean-flowing, natural, mountain stream. It’s muddy and cloudy and I would rather not think about its source; thus, one relied on feel more than sight which can be particularly frightening.

Naturally, competitiveness kicked-in and the rocks being brought to shore grew dangerously huge and eventually lead to the next game played being Who can build the biggest dam?

E = Evening It is the subject of poems and songs --- the grace of a summer evening. The day concludes tinged in warm light; there is a softness and a peace. Be it at a ballgame, at a campsite, on a boat, or on your front porch enjoying a summer evening is one of the joys of the season.

F = Feet In summer, go bare. Feet, I mean. Or, if so inclined, “go all in with nothing but skin!” Bare feet in summer --- strolling in the morning grass still wet with dew, or on a warm sidewalk; wading in the creek; the softness of sand --- take off your socks and shoes, ditch your sandals and go barefootin’!

Summer ABC's --- The Remix

Previously, this little exercise got me going and was well-received. We are in the heat of summer and let us take a chance to list and listen. As always, do feel free to make your own summer alphabet:

A = Ahhhhh! The season of summer is the great exhale ---- ahhh.... It is the season of long, lazy, easy evenings on the front porch with a cold beverage and the baseball game on the radio. It is sitting on sand and listening to the waves; spending afternoons at the baseball game where there is no clock and the game can last hours. Summer is campfire rings and floating on the river....ahhh......

B = Bikes The mode of transportation in summer. There was always a place where the neighborhood kids would gather during the summer. One recognized the place by the number of bikes parked, dropped, and lying in front of the home. My ride was a sporty little 3-speed that even had a speedometer. In recent years under the leadership of my oldest brother we have embarked on “Bike the Burgh” which is a day-long bicycle ride along the trails and byways of our fair city. My brother is quite the biker and takes the time to research the route, making sure the hills are few and the stops-of-interest are spread out widely. A couple of weeks ago we did 32 miles (blessed be Aleve) with stops that included “Penn Brewery” and “Dave and Andy’s Ice Cream.” I tell you for beer and ice cream I’ll bike many miles!

C = Church Camp As a kid I never went. As a young adult, I was hired as Camp Program Staff and worked two summers as a camp counselor. Every week a new batch of kids would arrive and we spent our week assisting in either sports camp, adventure week, tennis camp, swimming camp....you get the idea. I enjoyed the experience --- hanging out with the other staff was a blast and Saturday evening staff nights out were memorable. The kids were, for the most part, well-behaved, rarely suffered from home-sickness and were quite entertaining and provided great sermon illustrations. Yep, it was during my tenure as a program staff counselor that I received the call to ministry. I also could identify a tiger lilly, helped children scale a 16 foot wall, sunk a raft at Ohiopyle, and learned that if you are doing a cook-out and bbq chicken is on the menu be sure to boil the chicken first or your cook-out will conclude at 11 pm. Lesson: Always opt for either hot-dogs or pizza mountain pies when doing a cook-out for 30 elementary age campers.

Candy Land

One of the first board games I ever played was the classic, “Candy Land.” It was truly wonderful because of the name itself and the fact that six actual lollipops came with it and because my parents would always let me win and instructed my siblings to do the same. Sweet in every way!

I believe it is this board game that began my competitive streak and my deep affection for sugary confections.

What a grand experience of childhood was the local candy store stocked full of penny candy and complete with the right-out-of-central-casting store owner, an older gentleman with white hair and glasses. A quarter got you a paper bag filled with candy! Seriously, ask anyone of a certain age what they know about penny candy and watch their eyes glaze over like shine on a donut!

The store, “Gene and Boots” in Perryopolis is a throw-back to the sugar-laced glory days of childhood. Although it will cost one more than a penny, the store has all those great candies we grew up on. And, making an in the Maam stage of life statement, they don’t make candy like that anymore and....one can probably understand why:

Liquid- sugar filled wax bottles
Styrofoam-consistency flying saucers filled with colored sugar pellets
Candy cigarettes complete with the red-colored tip
“Charms” lollipops
“BATS” taffy on stick in chocolate, vanilla and strawberry flavors
Fireballs jawbreakers which were used to create a candy endurance test with the kids in the neighborhood -- how long could you keep the hot cinnamon jawbreaker in your mouth?
Pumpkin seeds coated in a half-inch of white salt
Yard long plastic tubes of sugar with the magical name “Pixie Sticks” because ingesting that much sugar made you believe you could fly!

I know I did not list all of the great candy. Do share some of your own sugar-filled memories of childhood when the candy was cheap and the sugar rush was long!

sj;

Hitting the refresh button

Since my years in the local church, the start of July has always been a renewing time for me, a new beginning, a fresh start. It comes from the clergy appointment season starting on 1 July.

Therefore, I find myself being drawn to images and words of resiliency and re-birth. I began to carry around a red rubber ball as a tangible reminder to “keep my bounce” and remain resilient, to keep coming back and to keep going forward. I write these words in a coffee shop named PHOENIX COFFEE.....perfect.

If one was able to steal a glance at my daily journal one would read a steady refrain of my need to be in balance, to have a clearer sense of purpose, to live me wholly. I have always been one who is kind of like a tumbleweed --- a make-up of lots of stuff and varied interests who tends to be blown about by the wind of the time to wherever it carries me. Hence, the need for balance, a plan, a purpose, a direction. I almost was driven to the point of listening to “One Direction” yet figured that would indeed be taking it too far.

All this is to say, it has been a very long time since I blogged....sigh.

All this is to say, I both need to and want to start up THE MINISTRY ON THE MARGINS blog.

Consider this, the first of a new season of posts.

Thanks for sticking with me.....if like Snow White you’ve kind of drifted from the blog, please come back.....

Water rush

It has been four years since last we saw one of the signature sights of our city -- the fountain at Point State Park. The wait is over --- tonight at 5 pm, the ribbon will be cut and the water will flow and soar to a height of 150 feet!

What is it that draws us to water?

We vacation at the ocean and spend hours walking in the surf, sitting on beach chairs reading as the waves roll in the rhythm we try and match with our breathing.

We trace the river’s run. We wade in creeks. We lull away the hours at lakes.

I confess I am one who needs to be near water -- I like to walk along the river’s edge; a favorite vacation spot is the ocean; I have spent many summer days swimming in the Buffalo Creek -- please, let us just pretend the water flowed from pure underground source....

Yet, with all this water log, there is something about the rush of a waterfall or the majestic height of a fountain that always draws me in. Maybe it's my prophet Amos moment of needed recall (a free dessert for the one who can explain that reference).

I am thrilled that finally the fountain at the Point will once again be turned on. I have grown weary of standing near the Fred Rogers stature and looking across the Allegheny River and seeing the teasing, yet, empty base of the fountain. Let the water flow!

The re-opening of the fountain coincides with the start of the annual Three Rivers Arts Festival. Speaking of water, natives of the area know that rain always accompanies the festival. Even if you can’t get to the grand re-opening of the fountain, make it a point in the next days to drive past, walk across (the walkways that is....if you walk across the water....whoa!), or splash in the fountain.

Where are the waterways and water rushes you visit?

sj;

Worth the practicing

A couple of weeks ago on Pentecost Sunday, the church I attend celebrated by taking in as members seven young persons who had just completed their confirmation studies.

In most of the mainline Protestant denominations, youth go through a months long process of study, discussion, and experiences aimed to prepare them to join the church. In theory, the vows that were made at their baptisms they now make for themselves.

At the worship service a couple of weeks ago each of the confirmands had been asked to write a belief statement and portions of those efforts were compiled to make a 2013 Confirmation Class Statement of Belief which was proclaimed by the entire congregation. Very cool.

There was one particular line that caught my attention --- “I still celebrate Easter.”

“I still celebrate Easter.” --- I love that line. In those four words are deep hope, resilient faith, the foundational why of the beliefs we proclaim.

The line reminds me of the farmer, poet and essayist Wendell Berry’s call to us to “practice resurrection.”

I know I need the practice. For me my practice regimen needs to include rising early and greeting the dawn --- stop hitting the snooze button; looking for the beauty in a moment --- pay closer attention, slow down and listen; doing that which is my passion and puts the wind in my sails --- commit myself to this wholly.

I, too, still celebrate Easter....practicing resurrection is part of the celebration.

Got bounce?

Resiliency --- great word; greater way of being.

The coverage of the tornadoes that tore through Oklahoma, one person captured the spirit of resiliency when amidst the fallen trees and houses reduced to pick-up sticks said, “We’ll get up, clean up, and stand up.”

So be it.

I do not believe resiliency is common only to Americans; however, our “unbridled optimism” does create a strong foundation for resiliency to take root and rise.

Resiliency is every rebuilt home, village, city and life.

Resiliency is why we root for the underdog.

Resiliency is why we don’t leave sporting events early.

Resiliency is our love affair with the second chance.

Resiliency is vacations in New Orleans.

Resiliency is cutting the ribbon to claim the Jersey Shore is open for summer.

Resiliency is falling down and getting back up; falling down and getting back up; falling down and getting back up.

Claim it.

Simplify

In a time where we are electronically connected in a moment’s notice to persons near, far, and around the globe, yet, are seemingly unable to carry on a focused, give-and-take conversation with someone face-to-face, the latest film adaptation of the novel, THE GREAT GATSBY arrives at a perfect time.

Recalling my high school and college days when reading the book was required, I view F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel as an insight into American society and our abundance of things and stuff and possessions, yet, being interiorly so shallow and empty.

We Americans have a lot of crap; so much so, that storage centers are a big business. I am as guilty as anyone with my mini-library of books, dvds, and Pittsburgh sports teams shirts, hats, and jerseys. I know I am part of this when going out-of-town requires far too much baggage and I rarely travel light.

We often used to joke that my mother maintained her child-of-the-depression outlook. She saved and re-used even the styrofoam cups from restaurants, she washed and re-used aluminum foil, and worked culinary wonders with leftovers.

She taught us the lesson of living simply and in doing so living wonderfully. By example, she showed us and we learned well the gift of quiet evenings spent on the front porch just being and talking; how important it is to gather at table and stay at table long after the meal’s conclusion; to take care of things so they last; and the treasures found in flowers, gardens, and the gifts of the outdoors.

I for one need to learn and live these lessons for I have sputtered in my clutter.

sj;

Believe...

Today is the birthday of J.M. Barrie the author of Peter Pan. Although I was never thrilled with the concept of the boy who would never grow up, the message of the power of belief and a place called “Neverland” is appealing.

There is something powerful in the word believe. Fans of serious underdog sports teams put the word on banners, placards, t-shirts, and signs. Yes, I’ve seen them in abundance with the New York Islanders fans.....sigh....

Believe....one has to believe in something and I do believe (pun intended) there is power in that which we hold onto no matter any tangible and intelligent proof to the contrary. Be it one’s faith, one’s family, one’s sports teams, one’s nation --- belief sustains and anchors us.

While in seminary, the first class all incoming freshmen take is “Systemic Theology.” For a large class of students still a bit incredulous about finding themselves in seminary, the course called you to really think about why you believed what you did and asked you to think and reflect about the grounding and why of your beliefs. The class was a bit intense as budding theologians wrestled with the question of what one actually believed and found some long-held beliefs really weren’t that foundational anymore when faced with deep questioning and life experience.

A key exercise in the class was to write a personal “Statement of Belief.” The really cool thing was you wrote another one your senior year before graduation. The hope was that the two belief statements were drastically different and provided evidence that one had matured in one’s faith during their seminary years.

While teaching a Sunday School class on the Apostles Creed, I asked persons to write their own “Statement of Belief” and like all good teachers, I also did the exercise. That was about five years ago. A lot has happened in that time frame. It’s time for me to write another “Statement of Belief.” I invite you to join me.

In what do you believe and why?

sj;

Super

I ran into a friend of mine whom I had not seen in awhile. He’s a new father so I asked him about his children. He shared that his son is really into Super Heroes. Makes sense, as kids I think we all had our Super Hero stage. As a kid, my favorites were “Mighty Mouse” and “Aqua Man.” I would have liked to write that it was Wonder Woman, yet, that would not be true. She was too fluff and the lasso of truth....seriously....whoo.

What was fascinating, however, was that my friend’s son’s favorite Super Hero is Robin. I liked that he is drawn to the loyal partner, the faithful sidekick, the one not grabbing all the headlines.

As the buzz begins for this season’s summer movies, it looks like once again there will be an abundance of films based on Super Heroes. They will be there because people love those movies and they will bring in a lot of money.

What is our ongoing fascination with Super Heroes?

Is it our need to believe in a positive force for good?

In this post 9-11 world, do we need to know that good ultimately will triumph?

With so many so very afraid do we need to know someone has our back and we will be rescued?

There’s a great movie called MYSTERY MEN that features common persons claiming their own very personal super powers. There’s “The Bowler” and “The Shoveler” and “Mr. Furious” --- basic amateurs with a belief in what they can do.

The point is that “all of us are heroes and heroines if you catch us at the right moment.”

Be super today!

sj;

Have a ball!

Yesterday, a large, purple, rubber ball was in the front yard. It was wedged between the telephone pole and the hillside. By the time I checked again the ball was gone...I’m figuring the kids must have come to get it. Good.

Although it didn’t make the National Toy Hall of Fame until 2009, is there any better toy than a ball?

As a kid, if I had a ball to play with --- any ball --- all was well in my world.

If it was a “Superball” we would bounce it off the sidewalk to see if we could get it as high as the house.

The rubber balls in the big metal tubs at the store were perfect for kickball.

How great were the giant, red, rubber balls of elementary school gym class?

Tennis balls --- nothing better than opening that new can and getting that good bounce!

Any small rubber ball was built to enhance one’s fielding skills by throwing it up against the garage and catching it infinitum.

Growing up near fields and roads one quickly learned to make rules: “Any ball kicked that lands on the road is an automatic O.U.T.” If a ball went over the hillside and into the weeds one would yell, “Did you see where it went? Mark that spot so we can find it!”

Because I’m happy the ball found its way back home, here then a TOP 10:

10. Always put a found ball back into the yard from whence it came.

9. Always kick, not throw, back a wayward soccer ball.

8. Be the first person to buy a kid her or his first ball.

7. When asked to play catch....even on a Sunday morning after church...always say YES!

6. Be gracious to the kid who’s hit or throw breaks a window....doubly so if it’s your window.

5. Have at least one ball in your house.

4. If you are ever fortunate enough to get a baseball from a major league game put it in a place
of honor. Mine sits above my writing desk.

3. Make it a point to smell a baseball....sweet!

2. Know who the person is, or be that person, who has the needle and pump to fix when a ball
has gone flat.

1. Bouncing, shooting, throwing, catching, kicking a ball is great therapy!

Go outside and have a ball!

sj;

"AD" it up

I was listening to NPR and heard that the folks who oversee Stonehenge (you will recall dear reader that my maternal lineage comes from here and a little village nearby called “Elf’s Hole”) are seeking persons to oversee the site and the solstice celebrations. The commentator jokingly stated “applicant must like large rocks and be willing to talk to Druids.”


I’ve been doing a bit of reflecting recently on the role of clergy and the witness of the church. So much of what we do is to be the person who does oversee celebrations --- be they births, marriages, or deaths. Clergy are to be the spiritual leader of their respective communities and to present the spiritual insight to the issue, the matter at hand, the decision needing to be made. I understand this to mean that one should see some folks in collars (colloquial speak for: faith leaders) at school board meetings, town council meetings and present where significant policies are being debated, decided, and enacted.

What if organized religion took out an ad for clergy?

*“Must like strawberry festivals, drinking tea with old women, and potluck suppers;”
*“Must be heard in the pulpit, seen in the community, and present when there’s a need;”
*“Must stir up, stand with, and step up the march toward justice;”


Do these seem accurate?

What else would you add?

Is there one needing to be filled now more than the others?

Speaking from experience, one never knows who it is that might apply.

sj;

Lessons everywhere

I just can’t get enough of the eagles who have nested on the hillside near the Mon River! This seems appropriate on this Earth Day!

The other day I took a walk on the trail to see the pair and big news --- there are now two eaglets to join the family! While I was there one of the eagles was sitting on a branch looking regal and glorious. As I stood there watching him, an older gentleman wearing a bright pink shirt and riding a bike pieced together of various parts, including the still-way-cool banana seat, stopped and said to me, “Hey, I’m gonna’ tell ya’ I’m a blind cat. Is there an eagle up there? Just tell me.”

I smiled and replied, “Yes, there is. In fact there are two eagles and two eaglets.”

He nodded, looked at me and said, “OK. That’s good enough for me.” And he pedaled away further down the trail. He never stopped to look up at the hillside. He had his answer and he was good with it.

Talk about trusting a stranger’s reply.

Talk about the power of believing an eyewitness account.

Talk about believing without seeing.

This brief encounter on a walking and biking trail on a cool, sunny day in Pittsburgh was a gift recalling for me in this Easter season the need to trust and believe in what I know to be true based on the experiences of others and my own encounters.

Trust it....

sj;

Power Play

There is a point to this story. Yesterday, I went for my walk around the North Shore and this time took a different track. I crossed the bridge and went down to walk the path that runs along the Allegheny River. There is a renewing effect of being near water.

It was a great walk and as I approached the Warhol Bridge I noticed a solitary goose standing on one of the cement outcroppings along the edge of the river. Please know that I am a big fan of geese. One of my favorite sights is geese in V-formation flying overhead. I was quite pleased to see the goose and as I approached the goose turned his head, stared at me, took a slight step forward, opened his mouth and…..hissed…..yes, he hissed at me.

Now, I’ve walked past my fair share of geese and never has one ever hissed….let alone hissed at me. A honk, yes, a hiss, never.

I am not ashamed to admit that the hissing goose freaked me out. After the first hiss, I backed off and retreated. After a few minutes, I approached again and more hissing. I retreated. Another walker approached, knowing there is strength in numbers I tried to time my approach with her…aforementioned goose again stared me down. I stopped and retreated. Let it be known that a biker, a jogger, and another walker approached and I could not make my move around the hissing goose.

However, I would not be deterred. After 10 minutes of contemplating a strategy a couple approached. I made up my mind to go for it. I kept my head down, did not even acknowledge the hissing goose, and walked past in concert with the couple figuring that I had a one in three chance of the horrible hissing goose attacking someone else.

There were no attacks….however, as I walked past the couple the young man said, “So, you made it, huh? We were watching you keep trying to get past him. Good job!”

The point of this story (aside from my wuss-iness) is that my reading for the day was about how everything and everyone has power. Though seemingly gentle, the hissing goose had power over me. In many ways I also gave him that power due to my fear. It may not be how society at large defines power ---- wealth, status, ownership of stuff, position --- yet, each of us and each member of creation does have power. Ask a new mother about the power of a crying baby at 2 am. Ever watch a storm form over the ocean and come ashore? What about the one who stands her ground and will not be moved?

The thing about power is to realize you have it. I have it. Creation has it. The challenge is how do you use your power? May it be for our shared common good.

sj;

Table it

“Always room for one more,” was the lived rule of being at table in the House of Snyder. My Mom was an amazing woman who from children's artwork on the fridge, to an always-full cookie jar, to innumerable little ones soothed to sleep in the rocking chair was the very best Mom.

One of the key ways Dorothy Snyder showed her love was through food. Yes, I was loved a whole lot.
From her grandmother and her aunts, she learned that gathering together at table was a central part of being a family --- table time was a priority.

Therefore, it is not surprising that Mom’s favorite Bible story was the Risen Jesus preparing breakfast on the beach for his disciples. This post-Resurrection story concludes with Jesus instructing his disciples that if they love him to “feed and tend” one another and all the others.

I’m sure it’s due to my lineage and my upbringing, yet, my living out of my calling as an ordained minister is about setting and inviting and feeding and extending the table. If someone is hungry, feed ‘em. Make reasons for folks to gather at table. Invite everyone to table…make room and make connections. Labor so all may have enough to eat. Never meet unless you eat.

The three things people most want to hear are:
• I love you.
• I forgive you.
• Supper’s ready.

We find that when we gather together at table.

Feed and tend…..

sj;

Always stop for the street musician

For one of my daily readings, I have been using the essays of Robert Fulghum...always good stuff. One of the things Fulghum suggests is developing your own set of principles and guidelines to live by. (Mine will be forthcoming in a later blog). One of the items in his list is "Always stop for the street musicians."

Wanting to be not just a reader of Fulghum, yet, also a do-er, I've been putting this into practice. Earlier today, I needed to run an errand that took me downtown. As I walked about Smithfield Street an older gentleman had set-up a speaker and microphone for his stage on the street. With a face and a voice very much Jimmy Durante like, he approached me singing, "Do you see the gypsy in me?"....Alas, I did not.

However, he made me smile and brought a laugh which in turn two women passing me on the street also smiled and chuckled. I may not have noted the gypsy in him, yet, he was successful in his efforts: he made folks smile.

I admire street musicians for their courage and willingness to share talent out-in-the-open with folks who often may not be receptive or, worse yet, ignore them. In the bigger cities of DC and New York, I've found street musicians to have taken the art to a higher level. These folks are talented and sound great, in fact, many times persons stop just to listen.

Here in Pittsburgh, I have begun to notice the regulars. The woman who plays the violin outside of the Manor Theater in Squirrel Hill is a personal favorite. She's talented, I love violin music, and she always acknowledges each donation with a smile or a nod or a wink...or sometimes all three. There are the keyboardists, and the guitar players, the drummers banging on plastic buckets, and the folks just singing for whom or why --- it's their reason and their call.

So, the next time you pass a street musician, heed the advice of this blog, and make a point to stop, acknowledge, and, if so lead, make a donation.

I'm dusting off my kazoo to join in.....

sj;

Here's a thought...

The wonderful and it’s-about-time sunshine has brought people out to parks and benches and grassy lawns. Wonderful!

Yesterday, while out with the crowd, there was a gaggle of girl scouts and their leaders. The girls were wearing their sashes emblazoned with badges and patches. One patch in particular caught my attention: “World Thinking Day.” How, I wondered does one earn that badge? What are the possibilities that can be realized through pondering?

I researched the “World Thinking Day” badge and found it has been around since 1926! As I understand it the point is to connect girl scouts to their global sisters in thinking about and being thankful for one another and to raise funds to assist in addressing global problems.

Thinking of and being thankful for another is one of the coolest ways to earn a badge! Who is in your thoughts today? Who are you missing? Who was featured in the last story you shared that evoked warm memories of time shared?

Be thankful for those persons.

Send a hand-written note to let the persons know you are thinking of them.

Do something that supports the cause or interest of the person.

I’m not sure if I can get you a badge to add to your sash, yet, I know that doing these actions will bring you a full heart.

sj;

Markers

I carry in my pocket a wooden token that I received from children’s book author, Peter Reynolds. When I worked for the Children’s Defense Fund, Reynolds was promoting his book, “DOT” and I was invited to be part of a small group that got to spend time with the author. To each of us, he gave the wooden token that has printed on it “Make Your Mark.” It’s a clear and important lesson: be the difference that makes a positive difference.

As a society we celebrate and mark individual and corporate achievements as a way to call the community to remember and also, I think, to inspire.

In Pittsburgh many of our public markers center on sports. This week on my statues walk on the North Shore I also went in search of the monument to the “Immaculate Reception.” It’s located past Stage AE and before Heinz Field at the exact spot where in 1972 Steelers running back, Franco Harris, made what has been called the “greatest play in NFL history” and that birthed the Steelers dynasty.

In yesterday's “Post Gazette” was an article recognizing the latest faces to be added to the “Wall of Fame” at the original PRIMANTI’S BROTHERS in the Strip District. What caught my attention was whom they honored --- Dan McCoy and Josh Wirt, members of the Mighty Penguins sled hockey team. Sled hockey is ice hockey where players navigate the ice on sleds affixed with blades and use short sticks to hit the puck. The game is made for persons with disabilities to play ice hockey.

We each want to make our mark.

We each are capable of making our mark.

The point is however you do it, make your mark, use your talents, and respond to the opportunity provided.

One may not make it on the wall at Primantis or have a statue. The most one can hope for is to do that which shines some light on the path others will travel and bends that long moral arc of the universe a bit closer to what is just.

Go for it --- make your mark;

sj;

Book it

For several years the Carnegie Library has been doing the “One Book, One Community” project. Basically, a good book that should prompt discussion is selected and the community is encouraged to read the book and invited to attend a variety of discussion groups to converse about it.

This year’s selection is PEOPLE OF THE BOOK by Geraldine Brooks.

Early on, the book has me thinking about what a wonder are books and that one can learn a lot about a person based on what they read.

I come from a family of readers. My mother often shared how rare and valuable it was for her to have a book of her own as a child and that she cherished those books and would read them over and over. My Aunt Florence was a librarian who gave her children, grandchildren, and nieces and nephews a new book each Christmas. I still have those great “Disney Classic” and Dr. Seuss books that she gave me. They are treasures.

It’s amazing what a book that has been read and enjoyed can tell you. I’ve been looking through some of the books my mother had and it’s warming to read the inscriptions written by the persons who gave her the book and why they chose that particular book for her.

Pick-up a book that has that worn and read look to it and one can detect passages that had meaning for the reader by looking for that turned-over corner of the page. A close observation may reveal if the person read the book while drinking a cup of coffee. One may even be able to detect background information on the reader based on what pieces of paper or receipts are tucked into the pages.

One of my college English professors encouraged his students to write in their books. (It took my Mom awhile to view this as a good thing). “Mark ‘em up,” he would say, “show me you’re reading the book and are finding something worthwhile, something that made you think!” Ever since then, I’ve been a writer in books. I have a series of symbols and markings, underlined passages, and notes and reflections written in the margins. Persons who have borrowed a book from me say they read two things: the book itself and what it meant to me.

To this day, when we get together as a family usually early on in the conversation someone will ask, “So, what are you reading now?” .... Well?

sj;

The game breeds hope....

Happy, Pirates Opening Day!
(I'll pause for you to insert "Yeah, and it's also April Fools Day!" joke here.....)

So, why, after 20 consecutive years of losing, am I still excited about our Buccos?
Why will I once again root, root, root for the Pirates?

Here's ten reasons:

10. The game itself. Of all the sports, I love baseball the most. There is a beauty, a balance, and an order to the game. Even more, sometimes the Pirates show us those things.....

9. Tradition. I'm from here, this is our team and the Buccos are whom we support. I am a sucker for their slogan of showing the block-letter P and the words: Pride, Passion, Pittsburgh Pirates. I grew up when the Buccos were good and were the game in town --- Clemente, Stargell, Stennett, Moreno, Tekulve, Garner, Foli, Drabek, Smiley, Van Slyke....

8. The game is a part of spring and summer memories. I would get out of school to go to the home opener; we saved "Town-Talk" bread wrappers as part of a promotion that would get you a ticket to the game; listening to the game on the radio while sitting on the porch and sharing the joy and angst with neigbors; attending games with numerous church groups as a visible sign and effort of hope...do you think Pope Francis likes baseball?

7. As one ages, one instructs the next generation. Notably, I've taken my nephew, Nathan, to innumerable Pirates Fests, to the Hall of Fame, have instructed him on the greatness of Roberto Clemente, bought him ballcaps and game gear, and have attended many games....alas, he has these memories yet sadly can't remember the last time the Pirates won...

6. PNC Park is a beautiful place to watch a ballgame. Celebrate, folks, it was rated the "Best Ballpark in America!" I'm pretty confident this will be part of a bobblehead give-away sometime this season.

5. The "Why Not Us?" slogan of the team in the mid-90's who were in the hunt for awhile. Hey, it was way better than the "Come Hungry" campaign which highlighted the "All-You-Can-Eat Seats."

4. The dreams of former Little-Leaguers remain. If the T-Birds (team of my youth) can go from a 54-9 trouncing on our opening game and zero-wins our first season to league champs then anything is possible! Hey, maybe the Pirates should have a local car dealership or local business support 'em! Oh....that's right....the local taxpayers and fans...we do. You think for each of the 162 games played this year they could put "Sponsored By" and list the names of a 100 or so fans on the backs of their jersies?

3. There is a spriitual quality to the game...it soothes me....calms me.....and then the game starts.....

2. The ongoing quest to find what is the right "ju-ju" to break the losing streak. We know never to bring a bag of peanuts purchased outside the stadium into the park; we had a winning streak going when we ate curry puffs, alas that ended; biking to the ballpark was working....for a while; we've positioned Pirates caps on lamps during winning streaks....sigh, those hats were eventually removed. This season we will go through numerous rituals, outfits and lucky hats, sooner or later it has to work for the long haul...I have not ruled out sacrificing a small animal sometime this season.

1. The game has a timelessnes to it, there is no clock so the game can go for hours or feel like an eternity. My family has a solemn vow that we never, ever leave a Pirates game early....we are a hearty lot......LET'S GO BUCS!

Happy Easter

The poet Mary Oliver said that the greatest sermon she ever heard was the sun. Perfect.

Consider yesterday and the energy in people outside doing yard work, playing catch, reading, taking a walk...persons out with one another in the light and warmth of the sun.

A sunshine is one of the first things we learn to draw. Still, when I’m doodling, there are an abundance of suns.

A majority of the great leaders and thinkers arise before dawn and welcome the sun. There is a rush, a catch of the breath, a vibrancy, a zest, a tangible movement of hope in watching the dawn of a new day. One is really aware of how light comes softly yet with noticeable intention. The birds sing to welcome the light. In the moment before dawn there is a quiet hope, a peace, a newness.

I’ve noticed that a lot of faith communities seem to have moved past the Easter Sunday Sunrise service. It needs to be re-claimed. The service gets people up and outside and the wonder of nature brings the message.

When I moved to Erie for a new church appointment and was near a significant body of water in Lake Erie I determined that my first Easter sunrise service would be at the lake. I would not be swayed. I spent a couple of weeks prior to Easter checking for myself which beach would offer the best view of the rising sun so as to properly direct parishioners where we would gather.

That Easter morning it was a bit brisk as I drove to the beach in the late night darkness. I had determined that I would do the service in barefoot. One, because the occasion and what we were celebrating was holy and two, I could share with this new congregation my take on “Easter Feet.”

Years previous, while doing the children’s sermon on Easter I had taken off my socks and shoes and met the kids at the steps of the altar area barefooted. Of course, this caught their attention and I proceeded to tell the story as relayed in John’s gospel of Peter and John racing to the empty tomb and how they were so excited to get there they ran right of their sandals! Easter feet --- we need ‘em in our excitement to run and share the great news of the Resurrection.

Of course the kids paid attention and all the little ones in their colorful Easter dresses and white tights and patent leather shoes and sharp suits also wanted to have “Easter Feet” and proceeded to enter various stages of undress on the altar area. One never knows how the message will be responded to.

This Easter, do respond to the message of Life and “Practice Resurrection.”

To light!

To life!

To hope!

To joy!

Happy Easter Feet!

sj;

The Elusive Egg

I should preface this post by saying that I do not understand the millennial generation; they of the “everyone gets a trophy” and “pass or fail” grading scale. In my upbringing there were winners and losers and the kids who won got to be cocky jerks, poor winners, and flaunt their glistening trophies in everyone’s face. In a way I think it served as motivation.

In that light, not everyone was guaranteed an Easter egg either. The Hunt in pursuit of the elusive Easter egg sure has changed since the version that was popular during my childhood. If you were lucky…or should I say physical enough to find an egg, you kept it, if not…tough. Didn't find any eggs? Too bad, go home and cry in your milk.

My experience was that The Hunt of my youth was a much more aggressive, grab-what-you-can, full-body-contact affair. The adults who planned The Hunt were merciful enough to divide the kids by age groups: toddlers up to age five, six to eight year olds, nine to twelve year olds. Twelve was the cut-off, once you became a teenager adults assumed you were too old for such childish pursuits and should be off hunting and killing your own dinner.

The Hunt was held in the big field near the big tire in Freeport Community Park. (NOTE: There were no soccer fields then….we were Americans and played American-originated sports.) I don’t recall the area being roped off; I think the expanse of the grassy area lead to more of a free-for- all, contact sport that was fueled by the all-out blood-lust for a colored egg filled with jelly beans and the maniacal pursuit of the elusive gold-colored money egg.

Kids on Tang-induced and Pop-Tart- fueled sugar highs lined up in one long, jittery, jumpy, and jockeying for position, horizontal line. The whistle blew and The Hunt was on.

There were some poor kids who never made it off the starting line; they had “Chuck E. Taylor” tread marks on their backs. Some kids hunted in ravenous packs and were to be avoided. Others ran after the leaders hoping that where there was one egg there must surely be more. Bad move. Never happens that way. Besides, by the time the followers got there the area was cleaned out and all that was left were the spoils of the hunt evidenced in empty candy wrappers.

The Hunt was individualistic and pugilistic.

I heard of the fabled money egg, yet, I never knew one kid who found it. As for me, I once came upon a brightly colored, appeared to be yellow-tinted, glistening in the morning sunshine egg that was hidden in an arch in the monkey bar set. Eyes wide, I raced for the egg. So did another kid whose name I did not know, yet, her kick to my shins left quite an impression. She claimed that egg. I think her family moved into a really big house later that year.

I stopped attending The Hunt.

Instead, I enjoyed the family-lead egg hunts around the house where the challenge was in finding the eggs not fighting over them. In later years, the Snyder Easter Egg Hunts involved maps and eggs with clues that lead to even bigger treasure. It was creative, it was challenging, it was fun.

Happy….and I do emphasize the word happy….hunting.

sj;

I'm so angry I could just....

Waking up in late March to three or four inches of heavy, wet snow may make one have thoughts of grilled groundhog. In the past week or two you have used an expletive before the word groundhog?
Been guilty of road rage? Do you stare down or honk-off the driver who cuts in front of you?
Ever curse Pirates owner, Bob Nutting and his spending or lack thereof?

Anger. We get it, spew it, stew in it.
Being angry over groundhogs, tailgaters, and tight-wad owners are blips in our emotional read-out, inconveniences that quickly pass.

Yet, what about being truly angry about what matters? I read a quote that stated, "Had we been truly paying attention we would have been angrier more." I like it. I understand it. In the work of justice, anger often fuels the advocacy and undergirds the efforts. I think one should become angry when witnessing how people live in oppressive poverty, how white-collar cheats are celebrated and persons receiving benefits are stigmatized, and how greed and bluster deplete both our nation's moral character and bank account.

Women are raised to not get angry. Yelling or swearing or pointing fingers and demanding ultimatums have for a long time been seen as "unbecoming" in a lady.
Guess I won't ever become one.

The Christian tradition holds that on the Monday of Holy Week Jesus became angry, knocked over some temple tables, and called people names. He was angry.

He was irate over how the faith had become a surface faith that was shallow, money-focused, and indiffrent to the plight of persons who are poor. Hmmmmm......

Maybe we are just not invested enough in the conditions of our world to be angry. That's a shame. Heaven knows, there is a lot to be angry about.

sj;

Water Ways

Here in Pittsburgh with our three rivers and many creeks and lakes and streams we know the work and wonder and play of water. It is true that we are drawn to water. We vacation at the ocean, we spend an afternoon near the banks of lakes and ponds, and water supports our industry.

Water, that most precious of resources is so essential to life --- water: bathe, wade, quench, sip, gulp, wash, splash, dive, refresh, sustain.

The global community celebrated WORLD WATER DAY earlier this weekend. For over 750,000 citizens of our shared world, water is a scarce resource. Thousands of women walk several miles each day to gather water for the cooking, cleaning, watering of crops and livestock. They endure years-long droughts. Companies intervene and stake claim to water-ways and place fees on what once was free-flowing.

Here, in the United States we tend to take water for granted. When thirsty, we turn on the spigot or reach in the fridge for a plastic bottle of water. What must three-fourths of the world think about that? With little a thought or concern of if the water will be there, we take our showers, brush our teeth, wash our dishes, even fill-up balloons and squirt guns for water battles. Last summer's drought that baked the midwest shocked us with the apocalyptic-tinged images of miles upon miles of withered, shrunken, burnt acres of corn or the cracked rows of rutted dirt. However, the initial shock quickly passed and the heavy snowfalls of this winter have thankfully filled the water table.

Today, in the many ways you will use water...first....pause. Think. Reflect on this most precious of resources. Consider what it must be like for the thousands who must walk and work for the water we receive so easily.

For an additional exercise, in the readings and reflections and remembrances of this Holy Week, look for the role that water plays in these stories. If not mentioned directly in the text, consider how water was present and what it lends to the story.

Water...the very start of our creation begins there.

sj;

A spring in your step

Yes, there were snow flurries yesterday.

Yes, I am still wearing gloves and a tossel cap.

Yes, the furnace still runs regularly.

Yet, according to the calendar IT IS SPRING!

Simply writing those words or saying them provides an energy, a boost.

Spring is here and soon the words written and proclaimed will be evidenced in green grass, flowers in bloom, warm temperatures, and baseballs in play.
The season of spring is something we anticipate each year and is one whose signs we mark easily. Already, the days grow longer and robins are hopping in the yards where flowers are coming to bloom. Of course, if we get snow those blooms will frost…yet, I digress….spring is here!

There is the season we mark by calendar and time. So to, there is the season of the spirit that we mark by a change in attitude, a new way of being, and a renewal.
This spring season I encourage you to claim newness. The resolutions that never took flight, try again.

This is a season of coming to life!

This is a season of energy released!

This is a season of hope!

Claim it!

sj;

Bathtubs, Bedrooms, and Big Deals

Since the election of Pope Francis there has been an understandable and warranted appreciation of the new pope's humility. He is very genuine. Personally, I am still impressed that upon meeting the crowds he first asked for their blessing....and paused....he paused a long while...because he meant it!

This man who is in a position of great prominence and prestige chooses to dress simply (as simply as a pope can dress) and stay humble. I'm sure in his home country of Argentina folks are already placing historical markers in his home and on the bus he rode to work. Pope Francis probably would not approve.

It's a contrast between how we Americans do the fame game and especially where presidents are concerned. Let's be honest, be you R or D, it takes a significant ego to think of one's self as having the ability to be President. I think our culture lends to this by our "George Washington Slept Here" phenomena.

I'm referring to the various inns, hotels and homes that have a marker informing all visitors that the first president of the United States once bunked in that very place for a night or two. Of course, in Pennsylvania those claims are many. Goerge and his horse got around.

This weekend I was in Bedford County and was shown an old building where the native Bedfordian told me that "George Washington did indeed sleep there." However, the landmark of even greater presidential significance was found in Berkeley Springs, WVA which is home to the famous Berkely hot springs and commerce surrounding said hot springs and Roman-style baths. (I laid down some cash for the experience and I have to say it is well worth it.)

According to the town events calendar, this past weekend marked the celebration of "George Washington Bath" day. I'm serious.

Yes, as the photo attests, they have a small, rock-laid, rectangular bath filled by the area's hot springs and according to journal accounts from George himself, he did, indeed, come there to bathe in the soothing, wonder-working waters of Berkely Springs.

It begs the question, what is our fascination with the sleeping, bathing, eating, and transportation habits of the famous and powerful?

All I know is, after my experience in the Roman baths at Berkely Springs I had a strange hankering to hatchet down a cherry tree.

Light Lessons

A friend was needing to buy a birthday present for her friend's little boy. She asked for advice and I shared that one of the best gifts to buy a kid is a flashlight.

Through the ages a flashlight holds its own as a power gift and favorite of children.

I think kids are fascinated by the way the light breaks through the darkness.

Carrying a flashlight gives a kid both courage and power.

Let’s be honest a major part of the fun in sleeping out was the chance to bring your flashlight. Remember summer evenings playing flashlight tag?

As is so with most things, children teach us a lot and when given the opportunity we should listen more, observe more, and realize their wisdom.

Any kid with the light wants to be out front and taking the lead.

Any kid with the light loves to look out for those with her and shine her light to help others on the path.

Any kid with the light confidently and with great seriousness takes on the responsibility given to being a light bearer.

Flashlights may not carry the same cool factor they did when we were children. However, the need to bear and bring the light remains…..be like a child.

sj;

A helpful exercise

Before I begin this new entry let me share that over the weekend I was successful in my quest to see the bald eagles currently calling Pittsburgh home! WOW! Not only did I see the bald eagles, yet one did a fly over not once but twice and also sat for quite a long time in the tree branch looking very regal. Here’s to perseverance and a special thanks to the group of hikers who provided both direction and shared their binoculars!

That WOW Moment leads me to today's post.

Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors. Yes, she is another one who could write down her grocery list and I’d find it surprisingly moving and worth reading. I have read her books and am a huge fan of her non-fiction works, especially those when she expounds on her faith journey. Often I use one of her books to supplement my morning devotion time.

Her latest effort is "HELP. THANKS. WOW: The Three Essential Prayers." The title alone is worth reading the book and I do agree with her assessment on prayer.
In the “Wow” section, Lamott is expounding on the notion of other planets and solar systems and how wondrous and awesome that is and she presents what will be the point of the little exercise. She writes, “Thank God we live on the planet where someone thought up Monopoly and Oreos.”
The exercise, to use her template “Thank God we live on the planet where someone thought up…” and come up with a few of your own.

For example, Thank God we live on the planet where someone thought up baseball and those mini Cadbury chocolate eggs

Or, Thank God we live on the planet where someone thought up books and flannel sheets.

You get the idea?

Give it a try.

It's a great exercise to stir you from the blahs and to awaken you to all the wonders and wows that surround.

Share a few thanks....

sj;

Art appreciation

My mother was a life-long curator of refrigerator art. Her entire life there was some drawing, some article, and some photo that highlighted her children, grandchildren, grandnieces and grandnephews. As anyone fortunate enough to be raised in a home that appreciates fine refrigerator art, one knows what a priceless collection it is.

What makes a work of art great?

I think in part it’s the name and reputation of the artist. Even more, I think it’s the feelings and emotions the artwork stirs in the eye of the beholder. Often no one else will “get it” or be moved by it, yet, the curator of the collection knows the story and the talent behind the work which is a major reason why the artwork, and the artist, is so cherished.

Of course, all that holds true for refrigerator art and artist.

For anyone who has ever had a drawing, the popular stick-figure family portrait, a glue-paper-tape creation, a colored picture, or a magnet made from popsicle sticks prominently displayed on the refrigerator of a parent or grandparent one knows their artwork, and more importantly, their very self is held in highest esteem.

My mother never visited the Louvre and she never toured the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She did, however, in tewrms of appreciation and care and love of the artist create and maintain a gallery just as impressive.