A is for ANGELS

A few years ago angels were all the rage. (Do angels rage? I believe they do….) There was an over-abundance of angel pins, angel calendars, angel figurines, angel books, angel calendars…..you get the idea. During this Advent and Christmas season, angels are a major player in the familiar stories we tell once again and in the time honored holiday pageants featuring a roster of angelic clad ankle biters roaming up the aisles and to the altar areas.

The diner with the purple awning at the end of an alley in Harrisburg is no longer there. Seven years ago in the early part of the season of Advent on an early weekday morning I was served scrambled eggs, home fries, rye toast and coffee by an angel. That’s what I believe.
To quote the movie, MICHAEL, the waitress was “not that kind of angel” of which you may be thinking: halo, wings, harp, flies, and sings songs with lots of vowels. Nope….not that kind of angel.

The angel who served me breakfast was dumpy, wore too much blush, had a not-so-great permanent, loudly chewed and cracked her chewing gum and on her blue, button-up cardigan wore a nametag that said Harriet.

I was stressed, surly and solo and in Harrisburg for a meeting. Not wanting the hotel’s breakfast, I asked the lady at the front desk to recommend a good, local breakfast place. She told me to go out of the hotel, turn right, go down the alley and go to the place with the purple awning.

The place had counter seats which were mostly filled and several tables. People were smoking and drinking coffee and reading newspapers. The crowd was diverse and most, like I, appeared to be there alone. I took a table near the back and observed the community that had gathered in this place. This was a blue-collar diner where people wore blue jeans, worn sweaters with snowmen, sweatpants with boots and winter coats with the fur lined hoods and neon orange linings. They were a mix of old and young, Latino, Black, white, middle class and poor.
The person who led this community was the waitress who poured the coffee, flitted from table to table, cracked her gum, called you “honey,” wrote down the orders, brought the food, cleared the tables, talked with everyone and seemed to know the stories of each person there. I noticed that the persons at the counter seats knew one another and called the waitress Harriet….clearly, they were the regulars. They asked after one another’s well-being, volunteered to come by and fix what needed fixing at someone’s house and offered to take someone to the store tomorrow so she could get her groceries. They bantered and chided each other with the usual teasing about age as one remarked, “Herm, you’re so old your social security number is one!”

As I watched my fellow diner patrons, I was leafing through papers in a manila folder and jotting down notes in a hurried attempt to do some last minute prep before my meeting. I checked my phone, jostled more papers, wrote a few more lines and ate with my focus on my tasks at hand, not my toast and eggs.

“You in town for a meeting, hon?” asked the waitress.

“Yeah, I got in last night and I’ll be heading back home tomorrow afternoon, “I replied.

“Take your time and enjoy Harrisburg,” she said. “Will do,” I replied as my attention once again went to my papers and meeting preparation.
Several minutes passed and she was back with a pot of coffee asking if I needed a warm-up saying, “It’s a fresh pot, take your time and enjoy the diner’s finest,” Harriet joked as she filled my cup.

A little while later, Harriet was back with my bill and as she placed it face down on the table said, “No rush. Take your time.”
I finished my coffee, put my folders and notepad in order, grabbed my book, took out my wallet and prepared to leave and Harriet came over with a wrapped present. “Here you go! Merry Christmas!”

I wasn’t expecting to receive a wrapped present. Some places give each patron a candy cane or chocolate marshmallow Santa, yet, a wrapped gift?!! I was pleasantly surprised.

I walked to the counter, set down my folders, notepad and books, handed Harriet my bill as I opened my wallet for some money she said, “No rush. Take your time.” I paid the bill, went back to my table to leave a few bucks for a tip, thanked Harriet and exchanged holiday greetings as I left the diner.

I hurried along the streets of Harrisburg at a fast pace carrying my folders, note pad, book and a wrapped present from a waitress I didn’t know. I balanced my stack of stuff as I weaved around and past the slower pedestrians. At one point someone bumped into me nearly upsetting my seemingly well-balanced stack of “important” documents with the wrapped gift on top.

Hours later, after a day of meetings and back in my hotel room I opened my present. It was a midnight blue, with white fringe hand towel with the word “PEACE” embroidered upon it.

Slow down. Take your time. Peace.

The word angel comes from the Greek word “angelos” meaning messenger. Harriet, the busy waitress in a downtown diner gave me the message I most needed to hear….peace…..slow down…take your time… peace.

The Advent season asks us to slow down, pause, ponder, prepare; to listen, look, learn; to give and to receive.

Pay attention to the persons you encounter, the strangers in your path who give you an unexpected gift you most need to receive and to open.

Often we have entertained angels unaware.

sj;
kitetails©

France

When the first you hear of the news is on a local pop music station, you know it’s going to be bad. Driving to Erie last evening, I first heard of the terrorist attacks in Paris, France. Tweets, television coverage and newspaper articles confirm the horror of the attacks at a concert, hotel and soccer match.

Fear. A typical Friday evening ripped apart by gunfire, bombs, blood, carnage. The random killing of civilians out for a drink, a sporting event, a concert. The randomness of it is chilling because we know it could easily be any one of us, anywhere, anytime. Such is the world we live in.

How do we live? How do we respond?

Some seek to attack --- doing so with blaming, fueling-the-fire postings about Syrian refugees and a larger plot to destroy “our way of life.” Fear so easily removes our heart, our sensibilities, our compassion.

In such chaos, life becomes reduced to the simplest and the smallest details. I turn to the wisdom of Fred Rogers.

Mr. Rogers would often recount the story of when he was a little boy and a tragedy would occur and in his fear his mother counseled, “Look for the Helpers, son. Look for the Helpers, they are there.” Friends stemming the blood of strangers with their t-shirts; doctors staying and helping, offering a calming presence; first responders and police rushing to the scene. Look for the helpers.

Today happens to be the birthday of the renowned Impressionist painter, Claude Monet. The first artist to present and excel in this manner of painting, it was said that Monet saw and painted “life as it felt rather than as it was.” There are no stark, definitive lines in his paintings --- everything is fluid and able to change. Today, we feel frightened, angry, sorrowful; nothing is as it used to be. What is left is how we will respond.

Sj;
Kitetails_sjs©

Dorothy and Margaret

I always enjoy the bits on the radio and in the newspaper that highlight who was born on this day. I think each of us checks to see who is born on one’s birthday in hopes of drawing inspiration and seeking similarities from the stars in those who share your date of birth. Alas, my birthday, January 9, is shared with Richard Nixon…..

For those who have a birthday today it is shared with Dorothy Day and Margaret Mitchell ---- two amazing women: one convicts and one challenges.

Dorothy Day was a bohemian, an activist, a pacifist and one who lived with persons whom are poor offering a shared home for the impoverished in New York City.

Pope Francis lifted up the name of Dorothy Day in his address before Congress stating, "In these times when social concerns are so important, I cannot fail to mention the Servant of God Dorothy Day, who founded the Catholic Worker Movement. Her social activism, her passion for justice and for the cause of the oppressed, were inspired by the Gospel, her faith, and the example of the saints."

She is an example and she convicts me to my core every time I hurriedly walk past a person on East Ohio Street asking for money or whenever I fall to the temptation of writing a check and placing it in the plate instead of being in community with persons who are poor, knowing their names and listening and hearing and responding to their stories.

Margaret Mitchell wrote the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, GONE WITH THE WIND --- it was the only novel she ever wrote. Talk about a one-hit wonder! She started it while recovering from an ankle injury and it took her several years to finish. A fun-fact about the novel is that the original name for the female protagonist was Pansy (!) not Scarlet ---- great save there by the editor!

Mitchell challenges me to commit to opening and fully using my gifts.

When I was pastor of a congregation in Erie in an early sermon I shared about my fondness for M&M’s. That disclosure elicited a slew of M&M themed dispensers, phones and toys from my congregants. So many, in fact, that many of them remained in their packaging sitting on the shelves in my office. One day, Dennis, a parishioner said to me, “Gifts are meant to be opened and played with and used. Seems a shame to both the giver and the receiver to just let a gift sit there.”

A bullseye truth both literally and metaphorically.

Happy Birthday, Dorothy and Margaret ---

SJ;
kitetails©

Seasonal Disorder

When is it too early?

I was at the local mall earlier this evening and as of today, 5 November, they are already in full decoration mode for the holiday season....seriously.

They pushed aside Thanksgiving like a second helping of pumpkin pie by a stuffed diner and have moved right into the Christmas season. A giant wreath is on the main door, decorated trees of assorted themes and wisemen of varying diversity fill a storefront and the ultimate Christmas season shout-out: Santa! Yes, they are ready --- with the fake-snow dusted path, the candy cane markers, the reindeer and the big, red, velvet chair all waiting for Santas with fake beards and insincere good will to arrive and stay for weeks on end.

Clearly, I'm not yet in the holiday mood.

Perhaps it's the amazing run of warm weather (high seventies) that we are experiencing in Southwestern Pennsylvania, yet this took me aback and made me call for a rushing-the-season penalty.

I'm going to go and place a candle in my jack-o-lantern and let her shine!

sj;

CEMETERIES, SAINTS and CIRCLES

Growing up near a cemetery gives a kid an interesting perspective bred by proximity to what on the surface prompts fear and uncertainty in most people. The cemetery bordered the neighborhood and as kids we used that vast space as a place to play.

There was a large, flat grassy space that with a row of tombstones on one side and the old road on the other made a perfect set-up for football as the boundaries provided natural sidelines and end lines. In the summer we road our bikes, go-karts and skate boards down the big cemetery hill and walked through the cemetery on the way to the community park.

Being kids and needing something to do on a summer’s evening, we issued dares and challenges to one another about who could walk around the cemetery in the dark of night. Our bravery was boosted by going in small groups and sticking together. However, that game plan came apart, quite literally, on one particular evening when one adult snuck into the cemetery and hid in wait for us to approach. We screamed and scattered leaving discarded flip-flops in our wake.

Through all this, we maintained respect for the cemetery. We were silent and respectful whenever we saw the long line of cars in a funeral procession. For several of us, it is where our families are laid to rest. Following the example established by our parents and grandparents, we continue the tradition of planting flowers on the graves of our family members in conjunction with every Memorial Day holiday.

I am not one who goes to the cemetery to visit the graves of my loved ones. I’ve used this line several times at funerals I have officiated and I believe its wisdom holds true, “Though the ones who have passed on are no longer in all the familiar places where we are used to seeing them; they are now wherever we are and wherever we go, they remain a part of us.” In many ways, that truth is a wonderful, working definition of a saint.

At the graveside service for my mother, as the last Amen was lifted and persons went back to their vehicles, each person in our family went to and touched my mother’s casket…leaving our fingerprints; a symbolic gesture signifying how my mother and her love and influence touched each of our lives individually and collectively and would remain with us. Saints do that and we are blessed.

Today, 2 November, is “Look for Circles Day.” I understand saints as being big circle makers and circle finders. These are folks who always make room for one more at the supper table; who notice and talk to and invite the “outsider” into the circle; who look for ways to join hands with others and “draw the circle wide and wider still.”
sj;
©kitetails_sjs

In the upcoming days, many congregations will hold a "Blessing of the Animals" service. These gatherings are most often held in October in celebration of St. Francis, the saint who is often depicted with birds on his shoulders, chipmunks at his feet and deer at his waist. Clearly, he was a big nature and animals guy.

Celebrating a "Blessing of the Animals" service is always a risky proposition. I was always worried that some little cherub would bring his boa constrictor in for a blessing and not being exactly a fan of snakes (read: I've been known to leave a running lawn mower when one slithered across my path), I was not sure how to handle that situation in a pastoral and kind manner and didn't think proclaiming to the snake "get thee behind me satan!" would do much for the esteem and faith development of the youngster who claimed the snake as his pet.

However, there is a huge "cute factor" to the service as kids come forward with their bunnies and kittens and puppies and parakeets and hamesters and turtles and....yes, even their.....insects.

Once upon a time at a "Blessing of the Animals" service, children were coming with their dogs...lots of dogs and a few cats...sigh....and a herd of hamsters and a bunny added for good measure. As the blessing for the animal and the owner was given all attention was on the child and their pet. It was into this scene that a young boy about 10 years old came forward with a match box. I was hesitant and asked, "And what's your pet's name?" To which the lad replied, "His name is Anty. He's my pet ant." Sure enough inside the match box was a little black ant. I offered blessing upon Anty and Anty's owner.

Truth --- I don't really believe that the boy had this ant as his long-standing pet. I don't believe he taught the ant tricks or fed the ant crumbs of cookies and breads. I don't believe the pile of matches in the church kitchen just happened to be there conincidentally.

I do believe there was a deeper lesson to the blessing of Anty that is at the heart of most blessings. The little boy without any pet wanted to be part of what was happening in the service. He wanted some of that attention. He wanted a blessing. In return, he blessed those with "eyes to see" as the scripture says. He was creative and resourceful. He was familiar with the occasional ant that crawled on the floor in the Sunday School wing (vanilla wafers leave tasty crumbs). He knew were the matches were in the kitchen as he'd seen them used to light the burners on the stove.

He taught a lesson in how far one will go to receive a blessing and be included. We all should be so passionate. The community of faith would benefit from the resourcefulness he displayed. We would do well to remember the sacredness in all beings and all creation --- the big and fluffy along with the small and often overlooked. We would do doubly well to make it a point to offer blessing upon all who come seeking.

sj;

Like vacation....thank a Methodist????

I have been and remain on vacation and in a word, yes, it is glorious. In doing a bit of research on vacation, I found out that our modern understanding of vacation has a lot to do with....Methodists??!!?? Say, what???

Yep, my home team of religious order, the United Methodists, were instrumental in the evolution of the concept of vacation. So, "put that in your pipe and smoke it, Presbyterians!"

Used to be that persons labored long hours, six days a week and on the seventh day spent a good deal of time in church where they were sermonized on idleness being the devil's handmaiden and were drilled on maintainence of that pesky protestant work ethic.

However, in the mid to late 19th century, docs begin saying that working too hard is not good for one's overall health and a popular ailment was referred to as persons suffering from "brain fatigue." At this moment, you guessed it, the Methodist clergy (we didn't add "United" unitil 1968) also start to preach on the virtues of rest and Sabbath and the Methodist campgrounds primarily used for revivals, begin adding a relaxation type atmosphere and promoting themselves as a place for persons to vacation without the temptations of alochol and carousing. NOTE: Not all Methodists favor this mode of vacationing....just saying. Furthering the "birth of the vacation," is the advent of the railroad that makes it easy for persons to travel long distances and along the coasts and various waterfronts resorts spring up (pun intended). Hence, the modern understanding of vacation that has been honored by innumerable persons from woods to waves!

Speaking of, it always shocks me the number of persons who do not use all their vacation days. By all means, use those days! Even if you don't go away to mountatins or waters, do spend time away from the office, lounge on your porch, drive the country roads, read as many books or watch as many movies as you can, just rest, go on bike rides, go to ball games, go to the woods and hike....just rest and renew.

All that said, if you've taken or are planning on taking a vacation this year...thank a Methodist! I'm raising a glass to one right now from my beach chair!

sj;

Pray and Fight

I was in Harrisburg the last couple of days….bad news, the budget impasse continues; good news, Representative Frankel (D – Squirrel Hill) introduced legislation to expand Pennsylvania’s non-discrimination laws to include gay, lesbian and transgender persons.

As I was strolling the capital, I couldn’t help but notice the “prime real estate” occupied by several congregations. Walking past, I hoped and sent “be of good courage” vibes to the congregations to rise voice, bear witness and stand up and with those in the labor for what is just.

On one of the benches hewn into the cement walls in front of the capital, I noticed chiseled into the cement this quote by Muhlenberg: “There is a time to pray and there is a time to fight.”

To live faithfully we need to do both.

I came into my adulthood after the great justice movements that were central to the decade of the 60’s. Yet, with the issues of my time (inclusion for LGBTQIAA persons, the rights of persons with disabilities, and the many facets of poverty) I have joined in the long line of the cause for justice and seek to move the reality a little bit closer in the world we share.

During the various marches, rallies, and witnessing in which I’ve participated, there seems to be a noticeable lack of faith leaders joined in the cause. This both saddens me and angers me for I cannot separate the prophetic sensibilities from my calling…nor should I.

I am a firm believer in prayer. It works and it does “get ‘er done.” Yet, as the Whoopi Goldberg character in the film, SISTER ACT states, “We can do more for the people than just pray for them.” Yes, we can donate and go to towns and cities and build, re-build, lift and love.

However, there must be a time when we start to ask the important questions of:
In a nation with such wealth and resources, how can 1 in 5 children go to bed hungry every night?
In our great democratic experiment, how can we not labor for equal rights to be extended to all?
Does not my faith in a God of liberation and justice compel me to pray and to act and to labor and fight for what is just?

There are a lot more questions to be asked, that’s for certain. Yet, there is also a gnawing need for answers…and actions…..prayers and battles.

sj;

See what I mean?

I am the youngest of five and am the baby of the family by a seven-year spread on the youngest of my older siblings. Our house was a noisy affair with a lot of activity. Yet, amidst all the noise and words and energy one could always find a quiet space; what Virginia Wolfe would call that all-important “room of one’s own.”

I’m not sure how my parents pulled off this little domestic miracle, yet, a large farm-style house with magnificent front and back porches and set upon several acres aided greatly to the gift of one’s own space.

The mixture of raucousness and quiet spaces helped to shape me as one who enjoys a good party and one who needs silent spaces and time apart; as one who loves nothing more than a table filled with family and friends, good food and loud conversation and one who likes libraries and has no problem going to a movie by herself.

I share this because of a recent article in the New York Times (see Special Olympics and the Burden of Happiness by Lawrence Downes) that speaks of the isolation that impacts persons with disabilities and is the norm more than the boisterous cheers and hugs being experienced at the World Special Olympics which concluded yesterday with the closing ceremony.

Isolation impacts one’s health and well-being. For many persons with disabilities and seniors, being “shut in” (sadly, still the preferred reference point for congregations) is more than just loneliness it is the bearing being apart from others and one’s community has upon an individual. Barbara Streisand aside, it’s not just the lucky ones who need people --- we all need each other.

In AVATAR instead of saying, “I love you,” they said, “I see you.” How perfect. I see you as a unique individual. I acknowledge your self-worth. You are not to be easily labeled or categorized or institutionalized. You are. You matter. I see you.

Imagine the impact if we unplugged, moved our eyes from whatever mobile devices and actually made eye contact, acknowledged one another --- each one --- everyone --- all the others.

When I worked in Washington, DC I was in a ministry group that took on as our action being in ministry with persons who are homeless. (NOTE: For every group, please use person first knowledge. One is more than one’s housing situation or bank account or ability….thanks, mini sermonette concluded). As we got to know Jay and Jonathan and Daniel they said the toughest thing for them was when persons would cross by on the other side of the street or look away or fail to simply acknowledge…to see them as a person.

It’s true we all need folks in our corners and our own support network who cheer for us and chant our names, yet, before that we each need to be seen and acknowledged as an important part of our shared community.

Who did you see today?
sj;

Equal to the Apostles

Are you planning to celebrate the Feast of Saint Mary Magdelene today, 22 July? To the left of this post, the icon by Robert Lentz features Mary holding an egg. Legend has it that when Mary went to Rome to preach the Resurrection to the Emperor of Rome, he was more than dubious. Pointing to a basket of eggs he exclaimed that he'd no more believe in the resurrection of Jesus than he would that the eggs were red not white. At that point, Mary picked up an egg and it turned bright red.

Long after Anne Bancroft portrayed Mary Magdalene in the annually aired t.v. special, "Jesus of Nazareth," I, a woman answering the call to ordained ministry, took Mary Magdalene as my personal saint to kick some ecclesiastical keester!

As a kid, I remember sitting in church while my mother preached the sermon. Yes, at the traditional 11 am service. Yes, from the pulpit. And, yes, very well, thank you. What was shocking to me was not that my mother preached. I was shocked by the reaction of Mr. Myers, the kindly, older gentleman who shared our pew and every week provided me with peppermint patties and spearmint gummy candies. Upon witnessing my mother deliver the sermon, he with much disdain and disgust exclaimed, "a woman ought to keep quiet in church!" So much for my Sunday morning "Sugar Daddy."

I've been ordained 23 years in the United Methodist tradition and....sigh...have my own stories to tell. Members from one congregation called the District Superintendent (my boss so to speak) and said that I was re-writing scripture. Why such an accusation? Because the previous Sunday while preaching from the text where Jesus calls his disciples to go and fish for disciples I read "Jesus called them to fish for men and women." GASP! In previous centuries, the disillusioned and much a-feared congregants probably would have fetched wood and kerosene as well.

I remember getting into a bit of a tiff with the senior pastor of my first appointment when during rehearsals for the youth-lead Easter pageant (which I was directing), he showed up at rehearsal and told the young teen playing Mary Magdalene that "Oooh! Watch out! You're playing a prostitute!" Now, pause for a moment to unpack how incredibly inappropriate his comments were on literally every level. Of course, I jumped in with a loud (shocked?) diatribe on how scripture never says Mary Magdalene was a prostitute and that fasle view is derived from male-dominated, chauvenistic, fearful influences in the church that wanted to try and keep women silent and stupid. It's hard to know how to be helpful and educational at times.

On this Feast Day for Saint Mary Magdalene celebrate by proclaiming what you know to be true no matter who tries to silence you.

Raise a glass to all the strong women who have nurtured and continue to shape you with their grace and courage.

Be bold. Be Beautiful.

sj;

The right words

Your heart breaks for British soccer player, Laura Bassett, she, who kicked the ball into her own team’s net --- an “own goal,” a mistake seemingly too hard to shoulder.

Watch the reply of the game and you too break a little over Bassett’s bad break. It lost the game. For England. In the semi-final. Of the World Cup.

She is weeping….so much more than tears….she heaves as she sobs. One of her teammates holds her, cradling her teammate’s head that is buried in her chest as she walks her from the pitch.

Her coach comes to her and wraps his arms around her.
The announcer keeps repeating, “What can you say to her?”

Nothing.

She’ll hear it. She’ll read it. She’ll watch it ---- all kinds of messages of well-wishes and pick-me-ups. Yet, what she needs is space and support and knowing persons are there.

For most of us we have been on both sides of this moment ---- needing comforted and wanting to offer comfort. Why do we always feel we need to say something? We’re nervous and not knowing what to say so we too often resort to worn-out cliché’s.

Stop.

One does not need to say anything. What matters is that you are there....in the midst of it... with and through. That is enough.

sj;

Sanctuary

When I was serving as pastor at an inner-city congregation in Erie, a frequent sound was the yells and loudness of children. Play in the inner-city seems to have a rougher edge than it's more pastoral cousin of rural rough-housing. One night while leaving the church, a young girl came running up the sidewalk to the church door and said, "I'm safe." I asked, "From what? You OK?" She replied, "I am now. I always run to the church because it's a safe place."

I remembered this moment as I reflect upon the murders at the Mother Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina. I've always loved the concept of sanctuary --- the safe place where persons run to and are sheltered and protected. I grieve the loss of this and even more that in many places of faith it was lost long before a troubled young man with a .45 caliber gun entered a church prayer and bible study meeting.

The deep disquiet over Charleston is because it was such a common, frequent occurrence. I have sat in many a church meeting space on many an evening leading a Bible study and joining with persons in prayer. I have welcomed the stranger who showed up and joined the circle of study and reflection. If we are who we say we are, we must continue so to do.

After the 9-11 terrorist attacks on the United States, congregations all over the nation were posting various slogans and quotes on their sign boards. Many were of the "God Bless America" variety. At the congregation where I was the pastor (also in Erie), I put "NO FEAR" on our sign board.

Of all the places in our society, communities of faith must remain open, hospitable places of peace. All talk of having the ushers carry guns or mace and installing video surveillance equipment to check-out who is coming to our locked doors must be denied and stopped. Remember who we are and what we have been given --- we are a people of peace whom have received a spirit of love -- this was made abundantly clear in the mercy-filled responses of the family members of the nine persons killed while attending a Bible study and prayer circle open to all.

Trademark "Good"

"I think we're creative all day long. We have to have an appointment to have that work out on the page. Because the creative part of us just gets tired of waiting." ~ Mary Oliver

Sometimes one needs a nudge...often one needs a series of nudges....ok, more often than not one needs hit over the head with a sledgehammer before one realizes, "O, that's what I should be doing....." As all of us can attest, one's days can quickly become a litany of to-do's and try-to-pleases and have-to-do-this-cause-it-will-make _______ (add whomever fits this space for you)happy. Faithful blog readers have read it before....ok, many times before....I need to commit to writing. I need to commit to speaking. Take this any way you wish, yet, I've had myself committeed to the task of daily writing.

Being one who always looks for a cool celebration or anniversary or special date to start anything new, today, 12 June, is perfect as it is the birthday of Anne Frank. Thanks be to the designers of high school curricula who deemed it important that students should read THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK and kudos to Ms. Ruth Bird who assigend this book to my sophomore self. We're familiar with the story. On her 13th birthday, Anne received a diary that she named Kitty and on whose pages she confided. Anne and her family who fled Germany for the Netherlands went into hiding in response to the Nazi occupation and would eventually be captured and sent to a concentration camp where, except for Otto, the father, they would all perish. An acquaintence of the family, found Anne's diary and returned it to her father who had it published in 1952.

It is the dark backdrop of war and holocaust that brings even more gravity to, perhaps Anne Frank's most well-known quote: "Despite everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart." I remember debating in seminary classes if humans were innately good or innately evil. I landed on the innately good side and so do still believe.

I recieved my call to ministry while working as a summer program staff for two summers at Jumonville, the biggest of the three church camps run by the Western PA Annual Conference. I remember working an elementary kids camp that included several little cherubs that would bring me to question my belief that we are innately good. Johnny, please don't wear our identifiable orange bandana as a loin cloth. Jennifer, the fire is to help us cook our supper, please don't pile on one more log as you yell, "Camp Inferno!" It was during this week circling through the woodsy version of Dante's levels of hell, that I recall the camp dean repeating over and over to the youngsters, "Remember, make good choices." Sounded good, yet, where was the instruction of what would happen when their choices were not good and bordered on destructive?

As we know, every action has a consequence, or, as I am fond of saying, every action creates a ripple ---- good or bad. Every person can list moments when we've made terrrible choices, created really bad ripples. For many of us, the consequences were lessened by a strong support system of family and friends and community. What about those persons who lack any support system? Who's responsible? As members of a shared community, what is our role? Do we have one? What happens when we refuse to play it?

A few points to ponder as the days grow hotter, the sun shines brighter and the grass gets greener.

More to come.....nudged worked;

sj;

Just breathe

Patience. Why, it’s been around forever.

“Just be patient” was a refrain of my mother be it at the dinner table, waiting in traffic, waiting for a uniform to be patched….

Hitting instructors tell players to be patient at the plate, to take some pitches, wait for the one you like.

With the always-manages-to-amaze-me technology, transportation seeking to go faster and be more efficient (the proposed BRT line in Pittsburgh and the Port Authority App), and download speeds which computer companies promote as faster with every new device, we are a society that is being ordered and organized for speed.

As the highway patrol once touted….”speed kills”

Our society has the attention span of the Golden Retriever in the movie, UP.... “Squirrel!”

Modern society seems to be happily and collectively suffering from attention deficit disorder. We don’t remember last week’s “big story” and therefore over-hype everything as the “story of the decade!”

As a kid, my mother got me a subscription to Highlights magazine and she kept me as a subscriber for several years. Of course, there is the thrill a kid has (psssst….we all do) of receiving something in the mail with your name on it and a magazine was triple bonus points! Yet, the coolest thing and what I loved the most about Highlights magazine was the search puzzle at the back. Every issue would have a different drawing and hidden in the picture were animals and objects that one had to search for, find and circle. The exercise taught observation, patience, paying attention --- all wise skills for any one.

More recently, the I SPY and WHERE’S WALDO books do basically the same thing yet in much more colorful and glossy formats. However,the “why” behind them is the same: slow down, look twice, patiently search until you find what you are looking for. My brother Mark made sure to purchase them regularly for the niece and nephews continuing the family tradition of teaching observation and patience. Please note, I’m in no way suggesting we’ve mastered these skills, just that we realize their importance and seek to foster them in ourselves and in others.

As referenced several times in this blog, my mother was a total gift and I continue to realize how much by the many valuable lessons in how to be and become that she taught us by exemplifying them in how she lived. One of the most special and sacred spaces for me was the front porch at my mother’s house during the season of Summer. With flowers surrounding, hanging and in baskets and ample, comfortable furniture for many persons to sit and be together, I spent many wonderful times having porch moments; moments to just sit, watch the traffic go by, read, listen, talk, play word games. These were simple resting and renewing moments.
After dinner and before the final clearing of the table, we would stay at the table to talk and listen (the two really must go together to be effective) and sometime engaged in a game of table basketball (more on that in a later post).

I find myself continuing these gifts because I need to as they refresh my spirit and my being. when I am "in good space" these happen easily and on purpose.

They are ways that I get the daily recommended allowance for my spirit.

It's the start of the first official holiday of the summer season. Take time and just breathe and just be.

sj;

"Nothing like it...."

Opening Day!
Baseball is back in town!

Yes, our Buccos have already played six games and wear a 2-4 record, yet, there remains something electric and fresh about your home team's opening game!

This afternoon, PNC Park will have the red-white-and blue bunting; "Opening Series 2015" will be painted on the field; they'll announce the line-ups and players will trot out and stand along the baselines; the hot dog buns will still be fresh (try one in late August...); and all will be well.

Baseball is a glorious game. Perhaps it's because of the symmetric structure of the game, the fact that there is no clock and games can go on for hours upon hours. The pace of the game is easy lending itself to conversation on the history and the stories that mark an individual fan's journey with the game. Perhaps it's because for many of us this was the game we played and watched; these were the cards we collected and traded and saved; these heroes we mimicked --- how many of us did the Willie Stargell bat windmill in the games we played in backyards and Little Leagues? The game stretches over the wonderful times of spring and summer and into autumn. Timeless is the ache from a painful loss (Franciso Cabrera, 1992, anyone?) and the exhiliration of a huge victory (October 1, 2013, Wild Card Playoff win, anyone?).

Another season of baseball along the Allegheny River begins! Glorious!
Is there anything better than day baseball played on a grass field with the sun shining?

I'll be there today and I'll think back to Opening Days when I got out of school to attend the game.
I'll refect on my first game when I was a kid and was amazed at how big everything was and how I was a bit anxious to stand up because of how high it seemed we were sitting.
I'll remember collecting "Town Talk" bread wrappers to receive a free ticket to the game.
I'll mist a little bit when the jumbo-tron shows the greats of Pirates past --- Wagner, Law, Face, Kiner, Maz, Clemente, Stargell.
I'll stand, as I do every game, when my Buccos take the field and I'll keep score --- my one and only venture into anything resembling mathematics.

It will be glorious, win or lose because it's baseball in the home park with the home team with a new season jolted with a hope-filled buzz and a bloom of possibility ready to bloom.

Play ball!

sj;

Ramblings on Resurrection Sunday

Whenever one of us would be bummed over a lost game, a lost opportunity, a lost grade, a lost deer, a lost love (note: the last two mentions in the list would perhaps lead one to believe I misspelled dear...nope....I come from a family of hunters....I meant to write deer)....our mother would say, "Life goes on." The confidence with which she said those words was a comfort as well as evidence of the conviction of her faith.

Today is the exclamation point for we who access the Divine through the life and ministry of the Christ. Easter is the answer, the why, the reason, the foundation, the hope, the energy that drives our faith.

Like most holy days, the point is they are recognized in a 24-hour cycle yet the reason behind the celebration is to continue each day and cycle and season. To borrow a phrase from the poet and envrionmentalist, Wendell Berry, "practice resurrection."

Here in Pittsburgh following another "winter of our discontent" it does look like Spring has finally sprung. A day with bright sunshine, warm temperatures and buds about to burst --- practice resurrection.

The start of a new baseball season, that sport without a clock, a Pirates team seriously being mentioned as a World Series contender(!)....practice resurrection.

Birdsong in the morning...practice resurrection.

The yellow tips of the daffodils in the yard just needing a little more sun and then boom!....practice resurrection.

Kids on swings....practice resurrection.

Resurrection is liberation from all that binds us, blocks us, breaks us.

Faith is always in need of being renewed. I often say that I head the list of persons least likely to be ordained...yet, here I am...23 years this June. The president of my seminary said to the freshman gathered in his Systemic Theology class that one would've had a good seminary experience if one's views and thoughts were different, had changed when one graduated, evidence that one had wrestled and grown. I can say with that criterion, I had a good seminary experience.

What's true of individuals is true of the congregation, denomination and institution. We have always struggeled with who to let in...what to do with the Gentiles? The women? The blacks? The refugees? The undocumented? The gays and lesbians and bisexuals and transgendered? I think it's an easy answer: Love 'em. Welcome 'em. Include 'em.

In that spirit and in response to what went on this week in Indiana (not the Final Four...my bracket is officially blown), I quote the Easter Sunday sermon delivered by the priest finding his voice in the movie CHOCOLAT:

"Why do we choose to measure our goodness based on what we give up and who we exclude? Why? When we should measure our goodness by what we do and who we include. Christ is kindess, tolerance, life, love, joy!"

....practice resurrection;

Pep Squad

Throughout my high school years, that bastion of mature and welcoming hearts, I was not friends with one cheerleader. Nope. Not one. Furthermore, I still do not understand why they were ever and continue to be invited to the annual high school athletic banquet. Seriously. More still, during the high school football games I used to wish the coach would call a sweep play whenever the team was near where the cheerleaders roamed….preened….cheered (?).

With the gift of distance (a whole lot of it) from my days at dear old Freeport High School, I have come to both realize and appreciate the need for the cheerleaders in our lives --- those who encourage us, cheer us on and remind us of the little old ant and the rubber tree plant (shout out to Shirley Feeney).

I am reminded of this from, of all things, the wrapper on a HALLS cough drop. Printed on the wrapper are things like “Get back in the game” or “It’s yours for the taking” and “Fire Up these engines!”

These “a pep talk in every drop” lozenges got me thinking as to why? Perhaps, it’s because one takes them when feeling a bit under the proverbial weather or one uses them when preparing to do a lot of talking, teaching, preaching. If so, what a nice pick-me-up!

Along with the occasional cough drop, who are the cheerleaders on our sideline?

Are you a picker-upper?

Sincere words of encouragement from someone who is strongly in one’s corner work and have amazing staying power. Case in point, to this day in the Bible I received on the day of my ordination there is little note card. It was placed in the bag lunch she packed for me on the day of my ordination interview. The card said, “there is nothing you and God cannot accomplish together.” The card was from my mother. Gift in so many ways and still.

A few days after I wrote this post, I saw a segment about high school basketball in Texas. The Juvenile Correctional Facility in Gainesville, Texas fields a boys basketball team. As you might imagine, there is not an abundance of fans at their games --- being in lock down prevents that.

However, for good behavior the team is able to travel outside of the correctional facility to play a few games against other schools --- these schools are predominantly private schools in Texas. A couple of players from Vanguard College Preparatory School had the brilliant idea to ask half of their typical fan base to cheer for the boys from the correctional facility in Gainesville.

The students and parents went all out: signs, cheerleaders, and shouts and whoops whenever a Gainesville player scored or made a good play.

This fan base was a total surprise to the players from Gainesville who are used to playing with zero support. The players said the fans and cheering section was something they would remember the rest of their lives.

As one of the Vanguard players said, “It’s a very real impact that encouragement and support can mean for someone. We all need to have someone who believes in us.”

Encourage someone today. Better yet, encourage someone who would least expect it, yet needs it the most.

sj;

Ashes to Fire

Happy Lent!

Welcome to the season of introspection and finding out what it means to be “you” and how that fuses with what it means to be a follower of the Christ. I always look forward to the beginning of Lent and welcome the occasion to slow down, ponder, pause, pay attention and be more intentional about reflection. The kick is that the groundwork established during this season harvests a life change.

As is true for most journeys, it is wise to take a good read along to accompany you on the journey. For me, this Lenten season, I’ve chosen two: SEIZING THE NONVIOLENT MOMENTS: Reflections on the Spirituality of Nonviolence by Nancy Small and THE ART of PAUSING by Judith Valente, Brother Paul Quenon, OCSO and Michael Bever.

Always looking for a good read, what texts and tomes are accompanying you this season? (NOTE: I think of scripture as a given).

I want to slow down and live from my center not my to-do list.

Believing that we are made in the image of the Creator and therefore we are each creative, I want to write more and find the discipline so to do. Favorite poet, Mary Oliver (if you have not yet read her writings I strongly encourage you to pick up a book of her poetry --- yes, she’d be a wonderful journey mate) writes, “Discipline is very important. We are creative all day long and we need to have an appointment to get that out on the page.” This is one appointment I will seek to keep, not so much for anyone else, yet, first of all for myself.

In that light, the book THE ART of PAUSING is arranged by a series of haikus written and shared by the three authors. I like a haiku with its structure of three lines with the first line being 5 syllables, the second line 7 syllables and the last line 5 syllables all based around a topic, a moment, an encounter.

I am going to daily write a haiku. On what? Who knows --- whatever speaks, strikes or celebrates on the given day.

I may find the courage to share a few.

I’m extending an invitation to folks to join me in this exercise. If courage rises and you want to share your haiku ---- I vow on my Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap that I will honor that sharing and respond in kind.

Let the journey begin anew…..

sj;

A few rants and a reflection

The news that another novel by Harper Lee will be published and released in mid-July made me say, “well, what have I been waiting for??”

Speaking of the new novel by Ms. Lee, I am at once excited to read the new book and at the same time troubled as to whether or not this is something Harper would want. After over a half century of holding fast to her position that she would never write another novel and then within months of her older sister passing on the second novel is passed through….hmmmm.

Today, 7 February, is a big day for writers as it’s the birthday of Charles Dickens, Sinclair Lewis and Laura Ingalls Wilder. I’d bet my lost Super Bowl wages (run the ball, Pete!) that each of us has at one time or another read something by these authors.

Dickens is revered as one of the greatest authors in the English language and was also reported to use his finances and fame to convince the wealthy in England to give of their money to help the poor. That, little Dickens!

I may be a bit grumpy, yet, I am incredulous at how self-centered and self-obsessed our society has become. Hover parents refuse to get their kids vaccinated without thought nor care for the numerous children on the block, in the school or at the park. A woman talking on her cell phone speeds through a crosswalk without even a tap of the brake or a notice of the elderly couple crossing in the middle of the street. A bus full of people cuss out the bus driver who stops on a cold, snowy morning to pick-up a person waiting at a bus stop who also happens to use a wheelchair.

I’m a big supporter of the concept of the shared common good. Or, to put it another way, we are, whether we choose to realize it or not, in this together. I worry about the lack of compassion and empathy for persons whom we do not know because they do not traffic our neighborhoods, schools, faith communities, gathering places. Not only is their no concern, there is instead blame and disdain. (See Nicholas Kristoff’s recent columns in the New York Times).

Friends, the “I got mine (or inherited mine) good luck getting yours” philosophy of economics and community building is destroying both. Martin Luther King stated, Life’s most persistent and urgent question is what are you doing for others?”

Answer well. Live better.

sj;

The dew is still on it.....

Happy 2015!

This post starts five days into the New Year to give us a chance to have made resolutions and determine which ones have a chance at being kept. May your resolve be strong so your resolutions are kept...at least until next week….hey, baby steps...baby steps….

This year will mark the 150th anniversary of the end of the US Civil War with the surrender of General Lee at Appomattox and also the 150th anniversary of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.

As a nation with cries of “Black Lives Matter” continuing to ring, we will mark the 50th anniversary of the March on Selma and the longer march from Selma to Montgomery for voting rights for African-American citizens of this country.

For those of us whom are of a certain age, this year will mark the 30th anniversary of the film “Back to the Future.” I went to that film with friends, one of whom was able to get the keys to her parents car to take us there...sigh…..

For 2015, I want to ponder more and slow down.

For 2015, I want to pay attention so, I am “dazzled at least ten times a day.”

For 2015, I want to give time and effort to important relationships in my life.

For 2015, I want to get in balance --- in spirit, physically, mentally, work and play.

For 2015, I want to be more about honoring the two sacraments of my faith tradition --- baptism and communion --- and therefore spend significant time near water and at table in shared community.

For 2015, I want to participate frequently in what Anne Lamott calls the “sacrament of the lawn” and blow bubbles and play catch with any and all takers.

For 2015, I want to linger longer in the places where there is magic.

For 2015, I want to commit deeper to the labor for justice whenever, wherever and whomever.

For 2015, I want to listen to more stories and tell more of my story.

For 2015, I want to be bold.

There’s my list….five days in…..how goes it with you?

sj;