Saturday, March 25, 2023

Answer?

 

In one of my first classes in seminary, a key assignment was to write a belief statement. Then three years later before graduation to write a belief statement. The hope was that the belief statements would be different, that one’s theology grew and was further shaped. 

 

I can report that my two belief statements were different, and I too was a different person upon graduating seminary.  The growth came from asking if based on my gained knowledge, my reason, the foundations of my faith tradition and my experience did I still believe what I had been taught as a child. 

 

Christianity is not a doctrine to be taught. Christianity is a life to be lived.

I believe this.

 

I definitely believe that if we answered the question, “Do you believe?” by our living the love and doing the justice and walking humbly --- "a proper sense of self in a universe full of wonders" --- that the world would be as God would have it to be.

 

 

Friday, March 24, 2023

My first hat of belonging




I completely agree with Mo Rocca's quote about wishing he'd played team sports as a child because team sports teaches cooperation and leadership; I am on the side that kids need to be part of something and no better something than a sports team.

The T-Birds (Thunderbirds) were my team. Every kid who played in the South Buffalo Little League eagerly awaited the practice when team ball caps were given and promptly placed on heads and worn constantly only to be removed at church or bath time.

The T-Birds were the league expansion team comprised primarily of the sons and daughter of steel workers, kids who used rocks for bases, borrowed their brothers' gloves, shared the couple of baseball bats that they found in various family garages and wore sweatshirts and blue jeans.  Our team had the chubby kid who played the tuba, the pipsqueak kid who was over-sugared and was like a gnat in constant movement and just as annoying, and, yes, we had the girl. 

Spring really begins when you start baseball practice. There is crackling excitement as your team is together and you've initially claimed and then had assigned your positions. Every kid got their at-bats and every kid played defense.  On the last practice before our first game we received our Bure's Ford sponsored uniforms a wool-type-blend with a button-up top, belt-needed pants and maroon with white-stripes stirrup socks that never stayed up nor stayed centered.

It was a cool late April evening when the T-Birds visited the Comets, they with the orange caps with the black C.  Our ballcaps, the uniform, the benches, the fans....we were a baseball team about to play our first game! 

The field was all dirt, near a creek with a tree lined outfield and no fences. Being the visitors, we batted first and plated one run! "That's all we need, Charlie!" we shouted to our pitcher as he took the mound.

We would need more... a lot more.......

Little League games are six innings. At the end of four we had scored nine runs!  The Comets....54.  I started the game playing third and became better acquainted with many Comets players on their ways around the bases. As was the case with any kid who could throw the ball without a bounce to home plate, I too, took my turn pitching. When I took the mound one heard the Comets say, "Oh, man, they're putting in the girl to pitch! Let's see if we can score 100!" 

The game was long....both in terms of athletic embarrassment and in terms of time. It takes a while to plate 54 runs. Literally and metaphorically the sun had begun to set.  Although several of the parents of the Comets volunteered to pull their trucks around the field and turn on their lights, mercifully, wisdom prevailed and the game was called.  Blessed be nature's light cycle.

Following the handshake line, the Comets chorused us with the song of poor winners everywhere: "Two, four, six, eight...who do we appreciate? T-Birds! T-Birds!"  

We T-Birds had a decision to make and I spent a restless evening tossing and turning and considering my options.  My team had not just lost we were embarrassed, gutted, smoked and whatever other hunter area metaphor you choose. We needed to decide if we would risk the jeers and laughter and wear our maroon with the block white T ball cap to school the next day. 

Before I left the house to catch the bus, I reached back, grabbed my ball cap and placed it atop my head. When I got on the bus I heard the snickers and outright laughter. I also saw a couple of my teammates each one also wearing their ball cap. At school, each T-Bird wore the ball cap as the finger-pointing and laughing and sarcastic "Great game, Turd-Birds" echoed relentlessly.

The T-Birds would lose every single game that season. After each loss, the margin of defeat did decrease, each player wore our maroon, with the white block T ball cap to school and everywhere.  It was our team.  We played.  We, this expansion team of marginalized mis-fits were a part of something...together. 

This was my first hat of belonging. 

(Postcript: Because I am a competitive sort, three years later, the T-Birds would go undefeated and win the league championship).


Tuesday, March 21, 2023

Homer Moment

 


There are times when you just really want a hot dog.  

On that quest, I went to the Brighton Hot Dog shop drive-thru. 

I pulled up to the order window and waited....I waited some more....then kept waiting for someone to welcome me (nice, yet, I really just wanted a hot dog...) and then to ask me my order; that's how the system works....ask and answer.

Nothing.

I waited some more. Zippo. 

No cars were behind me.  I looked around. Then I saw the sign on the drive thru board: IF NO ANSWER, PLEASE TAP HORN.

The drive-thru board had a speaker in the shape of a horn...got it.

I got out of my car.

I approached the order board. 

I extended my hand and tapped said horn three times.  

When there was still no response. I tapped the horn two more times....still nothing. 

I got back in my car and then realized that I am a moron.

It was then that I gently tapped my car horn.

Chuckling to myself and shaking my head, finally, the person's voice came on the speaker asking for my order....sigh....

I ordered (my wanting that hot dog was somehow greater than my embarrassment) and approached the window to pay and pick up my food.  

The young woman at the window had long since passed any effort to hide her laughter. I smiled and nodded in that "yes, I know...." and with compassion for the village idiot (that would be me) she said, "It's all good....maybe we need to make the instructions clearer."

Her grace was appreciated.

Though my recent behavior does not add credence to this offering, here are instructions we all can follow:

"Instructions for living a life. 

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it."

~ Mary Oliver