Veterans' Day thoughts

When I was growing up in the 1950's all the boys in the neighborhood would spend our time "playing Army;" that was a big thing for us as we played together.  I remember talking with my Dad about World War II.  He told me that he hadn't gone to the war because of his work. Dad was born in 1916, married in 1937, and he and Mom had had two children (my older sisters) by the time he received an induction notice in 1942 shortly after the war had begun.  As I got older and reflected on all of this, I assumed that part of the reason that Dad had not been drafted was because he was married, was the sole source of income for his family, and had two children under the age of four.  When I finally asked Dad about this directly, he told me that the Army didn't really care about those issues.  Rather, he said, his boss went to the Draft Board and asked them to give him a deferment since he worked in a "necessary defense-related industry."  You see, Dad worked for Caterpillar Tractor Co., and they were busy churning out earth-moving equipment for the Army and the Seabees.  The Draft Board granted Dad the deferment.

Fast forward to 2002.  Dad was 86 years old, and we had just helped him move from South Carolina to a retirement community near our home in Omaha, Nebraska.  I was visiting Dad one afternoon in his apartment, and he told me about a conversation he'd had that day at lunch with some of his "buddies."  Those men were all approximately the same age, and so the topic eventually turned to what they had done during World War II.  Each apparently had shared where they served during the war, and Dad told me what he had shared with them.  "You know," he said to them, "I worked for Caterpillar Tractor Company, and I was deferred because my work was necessary at home to support the war effort.  But I've felt guilty all my life because I didn't go to the war." He could have knocked me over with a feather!  Like many men of his generation, Dad rarely spoke about things that went on during the war, even for him when he was working for Cat.  But Dad went on to relate his lunch conversation... One of the other men, who had fought during the war, looked at Dad and said, "Next time there's a war, Jerry, you go and fight... and I'll stay home... and I won't feel guilty at all!"  Another feather could have knocked me over the other way. Two old men, talking over lunch about events that had happened 60 years earlier.  One talking about the guilt he felt about not fighting in the war.  The other talking about the pain he felt about participating in the war.

I did not go to Vietnam, the war du jour of my generation... because of a complex interrelationship of academics, field of study, and physical issues.  Perhaps not surprisingly, therefore, I have mixed feelings about war and the military history of our nation.  I don't believe I'm naive about the reality of the fallen condition of our world, and about all of the wars that have been fought through the centuries. Yet I also can't see Jesus blessing military interventions, no matter the "justness" of their cause.  Having just engaged in extended discussions on Dietrich Bonhoeffer with colleagues at the Association of Stated Clerks meeting in Louisville, I was reminded of the tension he felt, being a Christian yet participating in a plot to assassinate Hitler.  So I'm not clear about how to come to some unambiguous clarity about all of this in my theology and in my thinking.  However, I am very clear that those who have served and are serving in the military, and their families, need and deserve our care, our support, our gratitude for their service.

So on Veterans Day this year I simply offer two prayers, both from our Book of Common Worship...

Righteous God, you rule the nations.

Guard brave men and women who risk themselves in battle for their country.

Give them compassion for enemies

who also fight for patriotic causes.

Keep our sons and daughters from hate that hardens,

or from scorekeeping with human lives.

Though they must be at war, let them live for peace,

as eager for agreement as for victory.

Encourage them as they encourage one another,

and never let hard duty separate them

from loyalty to your Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ.  Amen.

And this prayer, attributed to Presbyterian ruling elder, President of Princeton, and U.S. President, Woodrow Wilson...

Almighty God, ruler of all the peoples of the earth,

forgive, we pray, our shortcomings as a nation;

purify our hearts to see and love truth;

give wisdom to our counselors and steadfastness to our people;

and bring us at last to the fair city of peace,

whose foundations are mercy, justice, and goodwill,

and whose builder and maker you are;

through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Sad learnings from Twitter

I sometimes think that I'm in touch with things going on in the world, that I keep up-to-date on issues that face the Church and our nation, and that most people think pretty much like I do.  Oh, I realize that there are people who hold some different values than I do, of course.  We are a diverse species, we human beings.

Yet I confess that I was shocked this past Friday night to learn how much of an insulated part of the world I inhabit.  The Rev. Dr. Margaret Aymer Oget, Associate Professor of New Testament at the Interdenominational Theological Seminary in Atlanta, led a conversation in advance of the Synod Assembly that was held Saturday and Sunday at Stony Point Center.  She called her presentation, "Unpacking Ferguson," and she invited the 40 or more people in attendance to talk together and reflect together about the still-pervasive issues of racial tension and violence in our nation, as it has been most recently symbolized in the events in Ferguson, MO this past August. Some of the things that Margaret point out in her presentation...

·      "We must confront the social sin of racism head-on."

·      "The death of Michael Brown is just one symptom of the bigger problem."

·      ProPublica reported that black teen males are 21 times more likely to be shot dead by police than white teens.

·      "Racism is not about an insult. It's is about causing fear of having to bury your child at age 15, 16, etc."

·      Parents of black children have to have "The Talk" with them. It is about survival wisdom. "The Talk" tells young black youth how to act when confronted by a police officer:

o   Say "Sir" (usually the case as most officers are male).

o   Keep your hands visible and by your side at all times.

o   Smile.

o   Be respectful.

o   Make no sudden moves.

I was on Twitter, sharing with people who follow our Presbytery's Twitter feed (@CayugaSyracuseP, if you'd like to follow along as well), the things that were being shared that night. At one point I wrote that after learning that Michael Brown's body lay uncovered in the street for four hours on that hot, August day, many people were reminded of the very public lynchings of blacks that happened, especially during the first half of the 20th century.  What I wrote was this: "Brown's corpse left on the street for 4 hrs raised old images of public black lynchings." Now, one of the things about Twitter is that people can, and often do, respond to what others write.  Several people around the country were joining in the online discussion.  Most of the people I knew; some I didn't.  But all of the comments were supportive, reflective, thoughtful, insightful... until... until...

Out of nowhere I received these responses to that one "tweet" I wrote about Brown's body lying in the street:

·      "Was he in the street or in a tree? The 2 are very different things!"

·      "Possibly, because the lynch mob of residents became too violent & wouldn't allow the body to be removed for 2 hrs." (my note: which was, of course, not what happened.)

·      "This may be the dumbest thing I've ever read."

Wow!  I was floored.  I was shocked.  I was angered.  I was befuddled.  I was (almost) speechless.  During a time of sharing at that event, I read to the group these responses. There were audible gasps when I read these responses.

I realized then just what a "bubble" I live in, how insulated my world is from people who make cruel, thoughtless, hate-filled, racist comments.  I was saddened that there are people who hold such views.  I stopped and I prayed for them.  And then I gave thanks to God for the people with whom I live and work, for our Presbytery and our congregations, for those who faithfully witness to the Gospel of Jesus day in and day out, going about their lives and shining the light of love and compassion, of concern and justice, wherever they are.  It made me realize that even the most serious disagreements that we sometimes have with one another don't rise to the level of ignorance and hate that came across my Twitter feed.

What can we possibly do to respond to such people in a way that might make any kind of difference?  And more broadly, what can we do to address issues of racism and violence in our society and in our world?  What can our local worshiping communities do?  What can our Presbytery do?  We shared some ideas together on Friday night, but the thing that struck me as the most important to remember was this simple thing that Margaret told us:  "Just pick one thing... just one... and do it."

We are not alone in this world.  We are not left to our own resources alone.  We are children of God... claimed by God... followers of Jesus... filled with the Holy Spirit!  We can't do everything to help be "the exhibition of the Kingdom of Heaven to the world," as stated in our Book of Order (F-1.0304).  But we can do some things... even if it's only one thing.  And that can sometimes make all the difference.

Silverware, china, tradition, and the future

I know... This is a strange title for my reflections this week, right?  However, something that a colleague of mine wrote about recently got me thinking.  Teaching elder Sue Krummel, her husband, and I were in seminary together in Louisville, KY. After years of serving the Church as a pastor, a Stated Clerk, and an Executive Presbyter in various locations, Sue recently was called to serve as the Associate for Mid Council Relations at the General Assembly.  in other words, she's the conduit for communications between the General Assembly and the 172 presbyteries and 16 synods in the Presbyterian Church.  In her last newsletter, she wrote about the several set of china dishes, the three sets of silver flatware, and the full silver tea service that she ended up receiving after her grandmother, her mother-in-law, and her mother passed away.  She writes about how beautiful they all are.  She says that seeing those things always brings back so many warm and meaningful memories of family members and times spent together.

Sue talked about how many of her female colleagues find themselves in the same position: having inherited several old sets of china and flatware.  And then she wrote this in her newsletter piece:

"We are now the custodians of these beautiful things that our grandparents and great grandparents cherished and for which they saved. They were symbols to them of having reached a certain level in society and a certain level of sophistication. My friends and I are not sure they are still worth the cupboard space that they are taking up. But what should we do with them? One of my friends has already sold hers as a part of the estate auction for her mother. The full sterling silver place setting for twelve brought very little money.

"It strikes me that this is just what it is like in many of our congregations. There are some people who just cannot give up the way they have done things and the place where they have done them. It is not because they do not realize that things need to change. But they feel like they are the custodians of those traditions and that place. Are they really going to be the ones that finally give up what their ancestors in that church held so dear and worked so hard to get? It is a very hard decision."

I've shared before in this space about how the last congregation I served as pastor faced that decision while I was with them, and they couldn't quite bring themselves to make the decision to give up their building for something new... and how they since have arrived at that very conclusion to sell their building.  Our sisters and brothers at Elmwood Presbyterian Church also just came to that conclusion.  This past Sunday was the last time they gathered together to worship in that space that holds so many sacred memories and holy experiences for them.  They came to the difficult decision to sell their building, and to move in and "nest" with the saints at Robinson Memorial.  That had to have taken an incredible amount of courage and an amazing depth of faith and trust to arrive at that decision.

What sacred spaces are we stewards of, and how should we most faithfully tend to those?  What sacred memories and traditions do we observe, and how should we build upon those as we move into whatever future God calls us to?

At our worship service last night here at the Fall Polity Conference in Louisville, KY, we heard two different speakers.  General Assembly Moderator Heath Rada said that after his visits around the Church and around the world, he has concluded that 'We are at a turning point of hope as a Church.'"  G.A. Stated Clerk Gradye Parsons, during his sermon at worship last night, preached from the 24th verse in the 8th chapter of the book of Romans, which says, in part, "For in hope we were saved."  Gradye then reminded us that "certainty is not hope."  Hard words.  Wise words.  Biblical words.

We as a Church, as a Presbytery, as congregations, are in times and situations that are anything but filled with "certainty" about what the future holds and what it will look like as we move into it.  But we followers of Jesus are not called to bask in certainty and security.  We are called to follow Jesus as we walk into whatever future God holds for us.  That might mean giving up some of our sacred traditions, and even some of our sacred spaces.  But our faith, and consequently our hope, is not founded upon our traditions and not bound within our buildings. We will mourn those things which we may have to give up, and it will be risky to move into a future that is not now visible to us.  However, as St. Paul continued: "Who hopes for what is seen?  But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."

So here we are, in that "in-between" place.  We are stewards of all that has gone before us... and we are disciples of Christ who follow God into the future.  I don't know how we'll balance that tension, but I know the One who holds us close, loves us without end, and empowers us on our journeys.  Thanks be to God!

Columbus Day and Immigrants

Columbus Day used to be something I looked forward to as a child.  After all, it meant one thing:  no school!  Later, it meant reading and reflecting on the tremendously risky undertaking of Christopher Columbus and the men who joined him on those three, now-famous ships:  the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María.  Still later it meant reflecting on the impact - mostly negative - that Columbus' so-called "discovery" meant, not the least of which was the impact of Old World diseases on New World inhabitants who had no natural immunity to those diseases, with predictably disastrous results.

Of course, Columbus & Co. were not the first Europeans to arrive on this continent. Evidence points to Norse sailors who, traveling west from Greenland, arrived in Newfoundland almost five centuries before Columbus.  And of course this hemisphere wasn't "discovered;" it had been here, and been inhabited, for millennia.  So, how should we observe this day?  Well, what might one call a boatload of Hispanics who arrive on our shores with no papers?  The contemporary term is "illegal immigrant."

I don't underestimate the challenge of immigration in our day.  We all are keenly aware of the limited resources of our assistance programs, our educational system, and our housing availability.  Yet, with the exception of our Onondaga neighbors, who are one of the original five constituent nations of the Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) Confederacy, all of us were immigrants to this country, many of us brought here illegally as slaves or indentured servants.

There are no easy answers to how to wrestle with this challenge.  However, we must respond, both as citizens of this country and as Christian people, and we must respond with compassion.  After all, Emma Lazarus, in her poem, "The New Colossus" that is engraved in the Statue of Liberty, calls that landmark the "Mother of Exiles." And the closing words of the poem still clamor to be heard and realized:

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

And then there are these pesky two verses in Leviticus 19:33-34:

"When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God."

These two verses go along with some 60 or so other citations in the Bible about how we should treat immigrants and those who are societal outcasts.

So what do we do about immigration?  Our political leaders must decide that.  We don't need to deal with "immigration," as if it were some abstract, sociological subject for study.  Our task is to deal with people, some of whom happen to be immigrants. And we interact with them as we are called to interact with all of God's children: "And you shall love your neighbor as you love yourself."  And lest we defensively demand to know just how one must define "neighbor," remember that Jesus was asked that very question... and he answered it persuasively.

The other victims of depression and suicide

This past August 11 comedian and actor Robin Williams committed suicide.  Most of us were shocked that someone who had such wealth, such an apparently happy family, such a full life would take his own life.  Most of us were shocked that someone who made so many others find joy apparently could not find enough joy within himself to sustain his own life.  Many knew that he battled with depression and with substance abuse, but his suicide came as a surprise to everyone.

Many comments were made in the news and ubiquitously on the internet about the joy his humor brought to their lives.  He had a way with words, with actions, with expressions, with his smile that just made us feel good.  Many expressed their sense of loss at his death.  Many expressed gratitude for his life, and many others expressed a sense of relief that his suffering from depression was now ended, and that he was at peace.

One of the positive things that came from his widely-publicized affliction with depression was the opportunity for people to urge others to seek help if they were battling with that horrible mental illness.  It seemed that the website of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline was suddenly plainly in view (http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/), and people were urged to call the national 800 number for help:  (800) 273-TALK (273-8255).  I am grateful that such information became so readily available and visible.

Depression is largely an invisible illness.  People who so often seem intelligent, stable, productive, loving, compassionate, insightful, and emotionally "together" often struggle silently and in secret with depression.  If Robin Williams' suicide brought this to our attention, then I am grateful.

However, what was not made visible, and what remained unspoken and unpublished (at least in the press and online) was that there are victims when people commit suicide... beyond just the person who ended their own life.  Family members are affected in ways that are profound, and they are affected for the rest of their lives... and their unique "battle" often is also invisible, with suffering done in secret.

I know.  My Mom took her life when I was 10 years old.  My two older sisters had moved away from home to get married within 6 months of each other.  The one most recently married had written home to say that she had just gotten pregnant.  Mom had been hospitalized at least twice that I remember, with what I much later found out was severe depression.  I cannot begin to imagine even now, and I of course had no method or reason to comprehend when I was only 10, how greatly she must have suffered, how much pain she must have been in for her to conclude that death was preferable.  And I cannot help but think that if she would have been able to see beyond her own pain to see us, the members of her family, she would never have committed suicide.  The pain we suffered was excruciating, and was intense for years.  I still miss the fact that I didn't have my Mom when I was growing up... when I was in plays and concerts in high school... when I was graduated from college... when I was ordained... when I got married... when I had children... when I now have a grandson of my own.  If Mom only could have seen.  But, of course, she couldn't see any of that.  That is the nature of depression... and of many other mental illnesses.

If you are suffering from depression, take a risk.  Reach out.  Call someone: your pastor, a friend, a counselor, or the 800 number above.  If you are someone who lost a family member or close friend to suicide, then you reach out, too.  People care, more than you imagine.

I don't think Jesus was kidding...

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

I don’t know about you, but to me those words seem sometime to be quaint or naïve at best, anachronistic or irrational at worst.  I mean, could peacemakers have stopped Adolph Hitler?  Could peacemakers stop Boko Haram extremists in Nigeria or Islamic State extremists in Iraq?

 

"Well, but it was a simpler time in Jesus' day," we might be tempted to say?  Really? Rome ruled Israel/Palestine with an iron fist in Jesus' day.  Anarchists and revolutionaries sought whatever means they could find to subvert Roman authority.  Public executions were horrific and commonplace.  Religious extremists encouraged public stonings for those they identified and labeled as "sinners."  People seen as collaborating with Romans were ridiculed and outcast from their communities.  People with leprosy were shunned and isolated, and people with mental illness were labeled as demoniacs.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

I confess I don't know what to do with this statement of the Lord's.  It stays with me.  It troubles my conscience.  It echoes in my head when I'm in church meetings that sometimes are less than cordial.  And I confess I don't know how to reconcile what often appears to be a conflict if one works for peace while at the same time advocating for justice.  It reminds me of one time when I was leading a training event for newly-elected ruling elders and deacons.  We were going through the questions for ordination/installation, and got to the seventh question:  "Do you promise to further the peace, unity, and purity of the Church?"  One of the candidates asked, "But what happens if working for the Church's purity disrupts its peace and threatens its unity?"  Good question.  I didn't have an answer then.  I guess I still don't.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

This coming Sunday is recognized in the Church as World Communion Sunday, reminding us of our Lord's prayer that we might all be one, be united, be at peace together.  Although I'm not sure all the ways this could/should be evidenced in the life of the Church and our witness in and to the world, what I know is that I'll be spending some time thinking, praying, reflecting about the need for peace:  in our congregations... in the Presbyterian Church... in the Church across the world... in places rocked by war and violence, whether in Mosul, Iraq or Ferguson, Missouri... in areas where Christians are persecuted... in my own life.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

And I don't believe he was kidding.

Thoughts from Two Ordinations

Within a matter of just about one month, our Presbytery will have the opportunity to celebrate the ordination of two individuals, and will have installed them to positions of pastoral leadership in two different congregations.  What a joy!

We talk about people "going into the ministry," "receiving a call," "becoming a Reverend," and many other things.  What does it really mean, though, to be a minister? Do you have to be "ordained" to do it?  Are only ministers "ministers"...what about ruling elders, deacons, Sunday School teachers, educators, health workers, youth leaders, plumbers, etc.?

Over the years I often have appreciated the pithy sayings that I've found in the writings of theologian and author, Frederick Buechner.  Here are some of his thoughts about what a "minister" is...from his wonderful book, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC (HarperSanFrancisco, 1993):

"There are three basic views (of what a Minister is):

1.     Ministers are Nice People. They preach good sermons, but they're not like those religious fanatics who think they've got to say a prayer every time they pay a call.

2.     Ministers have their heads in the clouds.  If you should ever happen to use bad language in their presence, you apologize.

3.     Ministers are as anachronistic as alchemists or chimney sweeps. Like Tiffany glass or the Queen of England, their function is primarily decorative.

"The first ministers were the twelve disciples... When Jesus sent the twelve out into the world, his instructions were simple. He told them to preach the kingdom of God and to heal (Luke 9:2), with the implication that to do either right was in effect to do both.  Fortunately for the world in general and the church in particular, the ability to do them is not dependent on either moral character or I.Q. To do them in the name of Christ is to be a minister."

Lorrie Cooney and Mario Bolivar didn't become "ministers" when we ordained them as teaching elders.  (Okay, Mario won't "count" until this Thursday afternoon... but you know what I mean.)  We simply recognized the gifts for particular forms of ministry that God already had entrusted to them, and we commissioned them to live out those ministries in Parish, NY and Skaneateles, NY respectively. We Presbyterian and Reformed folks believe the each of us and all of us have been "called" to "ministry," and the symbol of that call was our baptism.  What form(s) our particular ministries have taken are as varied as are each one of us.