Help in grieving?

I just finished watching an incredibly powerful speech by Vice-President Biden to families of troops who had been killed.  Now, our VP is known for doing amazing things in speeches... though those things are often embarrassing, right?  However, this speech was as far from that as possible.

Biden spoke to these grieving families about grief, and specifically about how he dealt with his own grief when, as a 29-year-old newly-elected United States Senator, he got a phone call telling him that his wife and daughter were killed in a traffic accident, and they didn't know if his sons would survive or not.  The Vice-President was truly amazing in this speech.  He was vulnerable.  He was open.  He was candid.  He was compassionate.  He was honest.  He was hopeful.

However, he also said something else that grabbed my attention.  He talked about how, even now, his current family gathers every December 18, the anniversary of that tragic accident, and has a funeral mass said for his deceased wife and daughter.  When I heard him say that, my "Protestant brain" began doing what we Protestants always have done... protested!  (Hence the name, yes?)  The whole theology behind a "funeral mass" is certainly biblically questionable, at least from my perspective.  However, in the context of all that Biden was saying, it suddenly occurred to me to look at this practice of our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers in a different light.

Anniversaries of deaths are difficult.  I still can vividly remember March 29, 1962, and all of the events that evening surrounding my Mom's suicide.  I was 10 years old.  Every March 29 I remember... even all these decades later.  It's not painful now, but I remember.  Every July 4 I remember that it was my Mom's birthday. She would have been 97 years old this year if she were still alive.  I remember.  How helpful would it be to have some liturgical means by which to translate those memories into opportunities to express faith?  How helpful would it be to have some vehicle by which to wrap those memories in an act of worship?

Maybe a "funeral mass" doesn't make sense in my theological understandings of things... but it makes sense to me spiritually and emotionally.  Is there something we Protestants might do that is true to our beliefs while still providing some sensible help in grieving?  I think there must be... and I think I'll either find it or write it.

What would Jesus do? No, really!

I'm guilty of at times trivializing people who have a passion for WWJD.  You know - What Would Jesus Do?  It just sounds simplistic, almost gimmicky.  It's too easily put on a T-shirt, poster, bumper sticker, or wrist band.  Maybe that's what feels so much like a gimmick to me.  I'm not sure.

And yet, that really is what we who carry the name of Christ are supposed to do, isn't it?  Aren't we really supposed to focus in on being like Jesus?  After all, the very name, "Christian," means one who follows Christ.  In fact, it means even more than that.  One reference (yes, even though it was on Wikipedia, I looked up the citation) said this:

"The Greek word Χριστιανός (christianos)—meaning 'follower of Christ'—comes from Χριστός (christos)—meaning 'anointed one'—with an adjectival ending borrowed from Latin to denote adhering to, or even belonging to, as in slave ownership."

So how serious are we if we say we are Christian?  Do we really believe that we "belong to" Jesus?  If so - or even if we are anywhere close to that understanding of what it means to be a Christian - then our goal should be to live like Jesus did... to follow in his paths... to pay attention to the things in which he was involved... to adhere to his teachings.  So, yes, "What Would Jesus Do" really is the key question, isn't it?

I lay all this out because of something that struck me as I read an article today about the Vatican cracking down on the predominant group of women religious (i.e., nuns) in the United States.  The report concludes that the group has "serious doctrinal problems."  It then goes on to list the many "problems" that the nuns have, which need to be addressed and corrected.  Among other things, the Vatican has concluded that the group has focused its work "too much on poverty and economic injustice, while keeping 'silent' on abortion and same-sex marriage."  (See the article in the New York Times:  http://goo.gl/Dmt2V).

So, let me ask the question again:  What would Jesus do?  Well, what did Jesus do?  Let me think... Did he talk a lot about "poverty?"  Yes, absolutely... as does all of the Bible!  "Economic injustice?"  Again, yes.  "Abortion?"  Hmmm.... nope.... not a word.  How about "same-sex marriage?"  Again, Jesus was silent on that one.  So the bishops want the nuns to focus more on issues that Jesus did not address, and downplay issues that he clearly did address.

I vote with the nuns on this one!  But then again... what do I know?  I'm just a Presbyterian.

A simple baptism

28 years ago today was also a Sunday.  I preached that morning, as per usual.  However, then it was time to baptize a little boy.  However, instead of assuming the usual position behind the baptismal font, I had taken off my robe, joined my wife, carried our four-and-a-half month old son, and stood in front of the baptismal font.  You see, my primary role that day was not "pastor."  It was a more ancient role, a more honorable role, a more important role.  My primary role at that moment on that Sunday morning was "Dad."  I answered the questions with my wife, whereby we promised "to provide nurture and guidance within the community of faith until the child is ready to make a personal profession of faith and assume the responsibility of active church membership." (Presbyterian Church's Book of Order, W-2.3014).  A colleague then spoke the ancient words as he put water on my son's head.  I was teary-eyed.

I long had had questions about baptism... specifically about the different understandings of so-called "believer's baptism" (that is, being baptized as a result of one's own profession of faith in Jesus Christ) and "infant baptism."  It wasn't until I was in college and at a retreat that someone explained the Presbyterian/Reformed understanding of baptism to me... or at least explained it in such a way that it made sense to me.

Baptism is not about the faith of the one being baptized.  Baptism is not about what we say; it is about what God says!  And God says, "This person belongs to me.  I surround and fill this person with my love and grace.  I will be this one's God... forever!"  My tradition's understanding of baptism is that this is the New Testament ritual that is equivalent to what Calvin and the creeds called the Old Testament "sacrament" of circumcision.  A Jewish boy could grow up to be a faithful, observant Jew, or he could grow up wanting nothing to do with his faith or his tradition.  However, all of his life, at least a couple of times a day, that Jewish boy would look down and know that he was inseparably a part of God's covenant, inseparably a part of the community of God's people, inseparably a part of God's love.  Baptism is obviously much more inclusive than circumcision... since it's for girls as well as boys!  However, the rest of the symbolism is the same.  In that simple act of placing water, of praying, of reciting ancient words, all of us present that morning were reminded that God's covenant, the community of God's people, and God's love all were extended to my son.  Amazing!  Each time I am blessed to officiate at someone's baptism, each time I place my hand in water and put it on someone's head, each time I utter those prayers and recite those ancient words, I am reminded - powerfully and deeply reminded - of the wonder and mystery tied up in this sacramental act.

28 years ago today my older son was baptized.  26 years ago this August 24 my younger son was baptized.  60 years ago last December 16 I was baptized.  I remember and celebrate these dates of our baptisms because it helps me remember and celebrate and be thankful for the covenant of love within which God embraces me... embraces my sons... embraces us all.  They are dates worth remembering!

Do you know when you were baptized?  Do you possibly remember your own baptism?  Do you want to be baptized because you never were baptized when you were younger?  The date is worth remembering... the act is worth celebrating.  Such an amazing act wrapped up in an ancient sacrament, all in a simple baptism.

Come on in!  The water's fine!

I get SO angry...

So, Rush Limbaugh got to me again.  I hate when I let him get under my skin.  It's not that I listen to him... I gave that up years ago.  A church member and I were talking about the news once at a Men's Breakfast from church, and when I mentioned listening to Morning Edition on NPR, he chuckled, shook his head, and said, "Steve, you ought to balance that out by listening to Rush."  I also chuckled, shook my head, and admitted, "Well, I probably should balance out my news sources, but I can't listen to Rush.  He's just plain mean."

And so His Meanness once again did it, and, since it has been reported so widely, I read his comments, and, as I said, I allowed him to get to me.  When he called Georgetown University Law School student Sandra Fluke a "slut" and a "prostitute" after her testimony before Congress regarding funding for contraception, I was appalled, stunned, and, yes, angry... SO angry!  Didn't we all learn as children that you don't call other people names???  Of course, I guess being polite and respectful doesn't sell advertising time in the media!  But still... I mean, come on, Rush!

Then on Thursday he said he wouldn't apologize for his remarks.  Then he said the same thing on Friday.  Something must have happened, though, because today he apologized.  Well, he sort of apologized.  But then he added that he hadn't meant his words as a "personal attack" on Ms. Fluke.  Really???  You call a woman a slut and you didn't mean it as something personal???  And so that got me angry all over again!

Why is it that I allow someone like Limbaugh to get me so riled up?  Perhaps - and, good Lord, I hate to admit this! - perhaps it's because I see so many of us, myself included, in Rush.  Ouch!  Oh, I succeed most often in not calling other people names... at least I succeed in not doing that out loud.  Yet in my heart... well, there's the proverbial rub.  In my heart I think that Limbaugh is a jerk, a misogynistic and mean-spirited bastard.  And then I realize that I am no different than he.  And that does, indeed, make me mad... not at Rush, but at myself, at my own failings, at my own failure to rise above the fray, at my inability to see Christ in "the other," even in Rush Limbaugh.

Rats!  So now I have something else to work on within myself during Lent!

Please, Lord Jesus:  help me love all of your children... even Rush... even myself.  Amen.

What makes for a friend?

Like many people, I am blessed to have many friends, and tons of acquaintances.  However, probably also like many people, I have perhaps only a handful of really good, close friends.  You know the kind... These are the people in my life with whom I can be totally and even brutally honest, not having to filter my words or my thoughts before putting them out there.  These are the people in my life with whom I can completely relax.  These are the people in my life with whom I can be totally at ease in about, oh, two minutes.

Friends like this are amazing; they are an incredible gift in my life.  These are the people who know me... who know me... and yet who are my friends anyhow!  It blows me away.

Friends like this seem immune to the distances that can be caused by either geography or time.  I might not see or talk with one of these friends for months, sometimes even years... yet, when we are together again, it's like no time has elapsed at all.

How does that work?  What makes for a friend, anyhow?  Surely there's something about shared stories, shared memories, shared times spent together in formative ways.  But to be honest, I really don't know how someone, even with whom I might disagree politically or theologically, can be my friend... yet they sometimes are.  It's a mystery to me.

But about these special kinds of friends that sometimes come along in our lives, I have one comment and one hope.  The comment is - I am profoundly grateful for such people in my own life; they truly are gifts that make me rich beyond measure.  The hope is - May I be that kind of friend for someone else.

Like a coyote?

Sunday afternoon, as I was driving back home from church, I was listening to our local NPR station.  They were playing some show which featured folk music.  I just caught the tail end of a song that they were playing, followed by a few minutes of the post-song interview with the artist.  Her song really would be more in the "country" genre, it seems to me.  She was singing about why she seemed to hang on to this relationship with her man, even though it wasn't a good relationship.  The chorus, which so seemed "country" to me, was something about her wondering why she was so much like a coyote, liking to hang around dead things all the time.  Doesn't that sound "country" to you?  All she needed was something about a pickup truck and a train, and I think she would have been all set!  And who knows... maybe those things were in the song, too.  As I said, I only caught the last bit of her singing.

After I chuckled at the "country-ness" of the song, though, I began to wonder myself if I'm not like some coyote as well.  What dead things do I tend to hang around?  What dead-end habits do I persist on repeating?  What dead-end world views - of despair, of powerlessness, of hopelessness - do I entertain and also perpetuate?  What dead-end lenses do I insist on using when I think of or see politicians, when I engage in a bitter cynicism that leaves me both angry and despondent about our country's leaders and leader-wannabees?

Maybe, just maybe, I'm more like that ol' coyote in her song than I'd care to admit... even to myself.  Maybe, just maybe, I, too, keep hanging around things that are dead... or things that should be dead, at least to me.  Maybe, just maybe, I ought to spend some time during Lent examining the ways I need to look at different things, or at least look at the same things in different ways.  Maybe, just maybe, I can spend my time and energy, my prayers and reflections, doing away with my persistent coyote ways... and begin to focus on the things that give life, that encourage growth, that promote healthy living and healthy attitudes.

Prayer... fasting... giving.  Those three traditional Lenten spiritual disciplines might just help me here.  I haven't always engaged in those disciplines each Lenten season.  However, I'll bet they can help me chase my coyote-self away.

And all this from just a snippet of some country-sounding song on an NPR radio station.  Ideas do come from surprising places, sometimes, don't they?

The impact one life can have

In the Omaha World-Herald today, there was an article about a retired state worker who died.  Normally, that's not news.  However, here is what made that former state worker memorable...

"Sally Gordon, often called the matriarch of the State Capitol, died early Tuesday in Lincoln.

"She was 102. Her 103rd birthday would have been March 26.

"Gordon retired last year as a sergeant-at-arms for the Nebraska Legislature... Gordon worked for three governors and was a sergeant-at-arms for 27 years."

There are some obvious things - well, obvious to me at least - about this notice.

First, she was 102 years old!  That's not a small feat in and of itself.

Second, she was 102 years old, and she retired last year!  I'm going to be 61 years old this April, and, God willing, I hope to retire at least by the time I'm 66!  Now, I've got lots of plans for other things I want to do, but I don't envision that any of those things would be something so involved for me that I would be said to "retire" from that as well!

Third, she had worked at the Nebraska State Capitol for 27 years.  That means that Sally didn't begin working as a sergeant-at-arms until she already was 74 years old!  It reminded me that perhaps it's not such a far stretch after all to imagine that Abram responded positively to God's call to pack up and move to a whole new place when Abram was 80.  Sally might have directed him in the right way and kept everyone in order along the journey if she had been alive back then!

Now these three things - her age, how old she was when she retired, and the fact that she began a whole new career at the age of 74 that lasted almost three more decades in her life - are amazing to me... impressive... and a bit daunting.

However, there's one other thing about Sally Gordon.  A few years ago I was invited by one of our Nebraska state senators to lead the chamber in the invocation to begin one of their day's meetings.  I was honored... although I was not naive enough not to be unaware that rarely are invocations - whether in a sanctuary or in a government meeting place - things that are "impressive," that they usually don't make a big impact.  Still, I felt honored.  When the morning came, however, I also was a bit nervous.  It wasn't "stage fright;" I've been praying in public far too long for that.  However I was aware that I was standing in the place of power in the state of Nebraska... and, in that place, I was going to dare to address the Almighty on behalf of those assembled.  So, "nervous" might not be the most accurate word to describe what I was feeling, but I felt some inner tension.

I walked into the chamber a bit before the session was to begin with prayer, and this mature woman comes up to me, ask me who I am, and, when I told her, smiled broadly and welcomed me to the Legislature.  She told me that things were not going to start on time - I know, what a surprise, right? - and that I could wait over where some chairs were gathered for onlookers.  She walked me to the chairs, and then stayed and talked with me for a few minutes.  She floored me when she told me her age; I knew she was not young, but I would never have guessed that she was nearing 100 at that time!  She shared with me her love of the state house and her passion for her job there.  We talked about families, and how much they mean in our lives.  We chatted for only a few minutes before she excused herself and resumed her position at the door.  About an hour or so later, when the senators were ready to convene, she came over to get me and escorted me to the center aisle of the chamber, patted me on the arm, smiled, and nodded for me to proceed to the podium where the Speaker was about to introduce me.

What Sally did was noteworthy to me, because she made me feel welcomed.  She was hospitable.  She took an interest in who I was and how I was doing.  She left an impact.

She obviously left an impact on the lives of many, many people, and that impact was positive and helpful.

I think I could safely say that Sally Gordon would not have remembered me after a few days, probably after a few hours.  I could safely guess that Sally Gordon would not have thought she made any impact at all on me, or on anyone with whom she came into contact.  Yet her simple acts of kindness and welcome went a long way.

It makes me think today about my life.  What kind of impact do I have on people that I meet simply in passing?  How welcome and warm do people feel after I chat with them for just a few minutes?  Perhaps if we could be more aware of the impact one life can have... well, who knows how the world might be a different place?