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Dick needed a horse. What Do You Need?

Hope in the Dead? Shutterstock 285809015

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!” cried Shakespeare’s Richard III. A king desperate for something as common as a horse, is willing to give his entire kingdom away. There are several things that we can learn from this. But, this is not the time. This is the time to discuss something much more important.
What the hell is a kingdom?
It’s probably a good bet that no one reading this has ever been a subject of a king. Nor, a citizen of a kingdom. Even those who do have royal heads of state don’t live in the type of feudal world in which Richard III is cast. So, our understanding of these terms is fairly limited.
The only ‘Kings’ that we have ever had any contact with come from ancient literature, or sadly, from the Silver Screen of Hollywood. With such data we can only use our imaginations to try and construct a world where knights were bold and battle filled the air. Oh, sorry, that’s Hollywood speaking. Certainly, not the reality.
Perhaps, in our imaginary quest to realize what a king and kingdom are we can start with sovereignty. A king was a Sovereign. A simple definition would be to have “supreme power and authority.” For our kingdom in the mind, a Sovereign King would be that person who has supreme authority to rule without any outside interference. He would be a person who could assimilate the title of “Your Worship” and it would have real meaning. Any person who refused to bow in obeisance to the Sovereign could expect to learn very quickly that he was truly mistaken.
Our kingdom would likely include several vassal states. These would be lands held by people who had expressed fealty to our sovereign in homage and loyalty. They would also be expected to pick up the costs of our king. These vassals had people who actually did the work on the land. These folks are known as serfs. Serfs have no rights, no land, and no life that their lord and master did not give permission.
I know that this is an extremely simplistic view of Kings and stuff. Hey, I don’t live in a feudal culture. None of you have, either.
And, yet we do, in a way give our loyalty and obeisance to others who are not royalty. We don’t always think about this, but it’s true. Everything we do is an act of giving homage and loyalty to those we consider important, if not sovereign.
Now, the rest of this post is directed specifically to the Christian Church. To those who consider themselves followers of Jesus.
Listen up!
Jesus came to Israel and proclaimed the Gospel. “Repent! For the Kingdom of God is near!” There’s that word “Kingdom” again. He pronounced this Gospel everywhere that He went. To lepers and tax collectors. Pharisees and learned scholars all got to hear this message from the man from Nazareth.
Jesus called people to “Come! Follow me!” And, they did. Leaving hearth, home, and lives they set out on the road with Jesus in order to join Him in that same proclamation, “Repent! For the Kingdom of God is near!” These people even thought that they would join Jesus in ruling this new kingdom. Two of his followers even enlisted their mom to ask Jesus if her two sons could sit on His right and left. These were positions of power in any kingdom.
There was just one catch to all of this. Jesus mentioned that little bump in the road to this new kingdom. He told the Roman prelate, Pontius Pilate that if Jesus was a king, that kingdom was not of this world.
What?! A kingdom with no land? No palace where the vassals and other subservient subjects could come to grovel at the king’s feet? NO TREASURY?!?!?
Well, yeah, that’s pretty much the definition of a Kingdom not of this world. Isn’t it?
But, YOU have made it about a kingdom of this world! You have put your trust in human leaders; their so-called power; their riches and treasures! From the earliest days of God’s kingdom revealed in the people who followed Jesus, you have sought to make peace with the ways of these kingdoms of men. You codified it under the banner of Constantine. And, you have made it your sworn duty and calling to subject all who you encounter to your false king and god. For, if you say that you are members of god’s kingdom and serve those who are Not god, are you not idolaters?
John the Seer wrote to a church that was in the city of Laodicea. He wrote, “You say, ‘I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing.’ You do not realize that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.” That is what the Church has become. And, the sad part is that you don’t even realize your poverty. For, you have given up the glory of God’s promise in order to eat the slop that this world’s ways offer you.
John also offered hope to those at Laodicea. He encouraged them to seek the true gold and the true riches that are found only in the kingdom in which God is sovereign. He asked them to change the direction of their hope from the kingdoms of this world. Their hearts and minds needed a new object of trust. For, this world offers nothing but smoke and mirrors. Dust blowing in the wind.
I know that this isn’t a typical blog post from me. But, it is what I had to say. I don’t want to leave on a down note. That’s not my way, not is it God’s. God is nothing if not a God of Hope. If my words offend you, well, ok. But, I rather hope that they may cause some to pause and reflect on where their true hope and life are found. In the kingdoms of folks like Richard III? Or, in the One Kingdom that entered this world with the voice of a lone Galilean, “Repent! For the Kingdom of God is near!”

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Brides and Ashes. It’s Lent.

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Today is Ash Wednesday. In the Christian liturgical calendar this is the beginning of forty days of fasting and reflection called Lent.
Now, I grew up in a nominal Christmas & Easter protestant home. Ash Wednesday and Lent weren’t even on our radar. I remember in elementary school seeing some of my classmates come to school with black stuff on their foreheads. When I asked, they said it was for Ash Wednesday. It was a Catholic thing. For us, Catholics were already weird. No meat on Fridays, church every Sunday, and now, dirty foreheads. Being protestant I had no clue what that was all about. But, I was glad that I didn’t have to do all of that. Sheesh!
It wasn’t really until I was a teen that I began to understand the history and tradition of this Lenten season. Even then, though, it wasn’t something that I observed. My whole time in the world of religious Fundagelicalism didn’t change that. Some years one of the leaders would offer a Lenten devotional for anyone who was moved to follow it.
Ash Wednesday and Lent simply weren’t important. They still aren’t in many traditions.
And, that’s sad.
We put so much effort into celebrating Christmas. I guess that’s understandable. Who doesn’t like a birthday party and babies? Amiright? Madison Ave. saw Christmas and great big silver and gold dollar signs danced in their heads. You can’t pitch a crucified guy like that. What are they gonna sell, Stigmata suits and crowns of thorns?
Now, however, I am part of a tradition that does embrace Lent. After all, the Resurrection we celebrate at the end of these 40 days is kinda important.
I wrote about this today in my journal. I mentioned Lent as something that we celebrate. Now, I know a lot of folks may push back on Lent being a celebration. “No, we OBSERVE Lent!” Yeah, I get it. Lent is supposed to be all about repenting and introspection. That doesn’t sound too celebratory. But, hear me out.
The Bible uses a lot of Wedding imagery when it comes to speaking about the Church. The Church is called the Bride of Christ. We read about the Wedding Feast of the Lamb. Lent, in a way, is the preparation of the Bride of Christ to meet her Bridegroom on Easter. During this time we spend time cleansing ourselves in preparation. Yeah, the theological word for that is repentance. But, that simply means to turn away from the grit and grime that collects on us throughout the year. There are other forms of penance that may be followed. But, the point is, to be clean and ready for the Bridegroom. We may prepare our gown and get our hair done and buy new shoes and all of that. That may entail following a Lenten devotional or fasting. Spiritual practices that prepare us, mind and heart, for the Resurrection of Messiah Jesus.
All of this is celebratory. We prepare, not with heaviness in our hearts, but with the joy of anticipation.
“He’s coming!” cries the watcher on the wall. “He’s coming and He’s bearing gifts for His beloved! Prepare the Bride!”
That’s what Ash Wednesday and Lent are really about.
Let’s take time to reflect on this in 2024 as we enter the Lenten season.
Anticipation.
Preparation.
Bated breath.
Coming Joy!

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We Can Never Go Back, But Maybe Forward Is OK

I chose Woody Woodpecker because, well, IT’S WOODY FREAKIN’ WOODPECKER!

Recently, my family took a trip to Universal, Orlando. I really didn’t want to go to Florida, but the trip was already booked and paid for. We did have a good time. Although, the weather was cool and cloudy by Florida standards. With my Ohio blood I wore shorts and tees most of the time. Fifty degrees is plenty warm enough to stand in lines for hours.
The trip was pleasant. It was really good to spend time with our adult kids. We haven’t done a “family vacation” for almost 20 years. We rode rides and ate way too much. The Volcano Nachos at Margaritaville were great!
On our way home, my wife and I had the pleasant opportunity to stop and visit some old friends who had moved out of state a bunch of years ago. Since they live close to the route we drove, it seemed like a good thing to catch up. It was good. Much has changed, besides our age. We’re all a little grayer and more wrinkled.
Physical appearances weren’t the only things that changed. Our worldviews and outlooks on life have, well, I guess you could say matured.
We all came out of the same Fundagelical milieu that I’ve written about before. We were all deeply affected by that world. We all have, somehow, escaped from there. We had various forms of leadership within the closed box that we helped to build. Our story goes back to the very beginning. To that time in the early 1970’s Jesus Movement. Yeah, we had some things to talk about.
I’ve written about how that world is extremely authoritarian. Yeah, we built that. The ‘church’ we built was, in a word, cultish. And, above all, we were certain that everything that we did was God’s will and, therefore, RIGHT! We couldn’t even conceive of our being wrong. We were building God’s Kingdom on earth. While at the same time, preparing to evacuate the world when the Rapture took us all to some disembodied heavenly bliss. Yeah, I know, good stuff!
Part of our main focus became our families. We who were husbands had the responsibility for running a tight ship. Our wives were indoctrinated, er, encouraged to submit to their husband’s authority as head of the household. Children, of course, had no say in anything. They were taught to obey all authority.
As parents it was our prime directive to ‘raise up our children in the way of the Lord.’ Besides the obvious heavy-handed discipline we were encouraged by our leaders impart, we were also instructed to make sure that those pliable little minds were taught all of the good things that the Bible said. (Although, much of what we taught as Bible was merely our own interpretation. So, it was ‘Biblical,’ not really the Bible.)
So, when we talked about things like the so-called ‘Rapture’ we were preparing our children to totally freak out when we didn’t come home exactly when we told them we would. They were left to wonder whether the rapture had happened and they had been left behind. Hell, I had those fears as an adult! I can’t imagine what a 10 year old might think.
When a leader would expressly target young people with the threat of damnation and hell-fire if they didn’t keep there sexual purity as pure as those leaders thought it should be. Or, just as evil, to threaten that same fire if they did not make the right decision to ‘give their lives to Christ and be born again.’
There are passages in the Bible that were regularly taught as God’s own truth that truly are NSFW. Yet, we fed our children a continuous diet of this. We tried our best to indoctrinate them to the truth.
And, we failed. Miserably.
What we did to our children falls under the heading of Child Abuse. Of course, we had no idea at the time. We thought that we were offering the best of love to them. To prepare them to walk in faith. To raise those godly children to become godly adults. Yeah, not so much.
The reason that I’m even writing this is because of the fact that I see the marks of abuse in my own kids. There is distrust in anything religious. Church is a dangerous place. And, God? Well, we taught them that their parents were God’s representative in their lives. Just like the Elders and leaders of the church were God’s voice to the church. So, yeah, God’s not necessarily their bff.
As my friend and I talked that evening we tried to console ourselves by confessing that we really did try to do our best. We had no idea that what we were doing was so damaging. What could we have done differently in the cultural context in which we lived?
Actually, I think that we could have done a lot. There were red flags that were ignored. Other voices of family and friends were there for us to listen to. Yet, we ignored them as the voices of the Tempter trying to knock us off of the path to Glory.
We didn’t talk about what we might do now to try and repair the damage. We are all working on that in our own ways. But, is there something that families that were part of such cults can do as, say, reparations? Can we ever repay to our children what we stole from them? Their childhoods? Their innocence? Their trust?
The only response I have is that I know that I have changed direction. I’ve turned away from all that world has. It’s evil.
I’ve learned my own limitations. I’m no longer certain about, well, anything. I’m just a fallible meat head like so many others.
I also have learned to accept my kids for who they are. They are, in fact, whole humans who are image bearers of God. And, I love them for that.
I know that I’m rambling a lot. Maybe trying to offer this story as some sort of penance for being an asshole.
I also know that there are still people living in these religious environments where these abuses are still happening. Many more children, (and adults), are being indoctrinated to hate in the name of God. Maybe, just maybe, some of them may read this and be encouraged to walk away from the abuse.
That would be good.

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Here we are, 50 Years On

50 years. A half century. A long time.

Last weekend the class of 1973 celebrated that milestone. A long time.

So many memories. Yet, new games. We all got the chance to play “Pin the Name on the Face.” You know, trying to put names to old and wrinkled faces. Ok, not all of them wrinkled. But all of them older and riper. It was good to see them all laughing and smiling. Like right after passing one of Jerry Briggs’ algebra tests.

On Friday afternoon we spent time decorating a “float” for the Homecoming parade on Saturday morning. I put the word “float” in quotes because it was actually a long trailer used to haul heavy machinery to worksites. They pulled it with a semi. We put some balloons and some crepe paper on it and called it a “float.”

On Friday evening we invaded local Tex/Mex and Cantina, Rico’s. While it was truly great to catch up in an informal, margarita enhanced environment, not all was joyful. A memorial was set up to honor those classmates who have walked on before us. Some faces have been part of that shrine since the beginning. Those friends who never had the opportunity to grow old with the rest of us. Some are recent additions to this Hall of Remembrance. One in particular brought tears to my eyes. A once beloved bandmate whose quick wit and humor truly blessed. He also had his demons whose claws dug deep into his soul and clung to him. But, which one of us does not have such hangers-on from hell?

Saturday brought the parade! A motley mashup of old folks riding on that “float.” It was a lot of fun. (Except for the splinters!) We got to toss candy to kids along the parade route. Most of those kids made out better than they ever will at Halloween!

Saturday night was the dinner, the Main Event. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions that ran through my heart. Yeah, we kept playing Pin the Name, but even without remembering names, it was a beautiful thing to remember the times in which we grew toward adulthood. To “feel” what I felt all those years ago. Such is the way in which our memories work.

These memories, these relationships, forged in the white-hot flames of youth are far stronger than we realize. After the pomp and circumstance of commencement, we all went our various ways. We were each a new vessel christened to sail our way through the so-called “Sea of Life.” The wind carrying us to new and exotic places. Ok, maybe not so exotic. Wherever the winds carried us, though, those old relationships formed in the days that have gone by, still remain. A little dusty, perhaps. Some may even have some pigeon doo spattered on them. But the relationships are still strong and binding.

It’s to these relationships that I pay honor. We weren’t all friends. Our varied personalities and interests always seemed to get in the way. Yet here we are. 50 years on. The bond is not broken.

I know that there is another reunion yet to come. Many more of us will adorn that Shrine of Honor to sisters and brothers who have gone on. There remains, still, that one graduation that we all will celebrate one day. And it will be an honor to walk across the stage with all of you as we receive our diplomas.

Thank you to all who worked so hard to make all of this become a reality. It was truly a blessing. I also want to thank all of you who showed up to celebrate this part of life that we all shared. Ours has not been an easy path. It may have been filled with ruts and roots, blocks and boulders. Getting here has been an ordeal. No one said getting old was easy. It is a testimony to our resilience and hope that we can share a meal and a few moments with one another yet one more time. I know that I will hang on to the memories, old and new, as I continue to wander on. And, with them, I will carry each of you with me.

Thank you!

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Myth of the Strongman. And, I Don’t Mean Hercules

The Pillars of Hercules shutterstock_2214295633

“Hail to the Chief” is a song that the Marine Corps band plays when the President of the U.S. appears at certain functions. I guess that’s ok. Although, I really don’t like the tune. It might be better if, say, Metallica played it. I’m still waiting, though, to hear a song called, “Hail to the Senator,” or to the Congressperson. Maybe, “Hear Come Da Judge” for the Supremes? This isn’t a post about bad songs. It’s about why we Hail the Chief. It’s about why we view the President as the tippy-top point of the Power Pyramid. Not to provide an answer. Rather, to ask that question. Why do we look to that one person who holds the office of President to have the solutions to our problems? What is it within us that seems to need that One Person?

Since the 2016 election for president, there has been a lot of talk about authoritarianism in the U.S. and around the world. The last decade has seen an alarming rise in these so-called Strongmen to positions of world power. Pictures of Donald Trump with a Romanesque image of Jesus standing behind him. Other images of him with armor or weapons photoshopped in abound in certain circles. A golden image of him was actually created. He is still ‘worshiped’ in many circles as the only person who can ‘save’ America. Why?

I’ve read opinion stories, essays, blog posts, tweets, and Facebook posts from liberal and progressive folks who cry that conservatives are playing into the authoritarian hand of Trump and his people. “They’re fascists!” they scream. “This is exactly what happened in Italy when Il Duce came to power!” they warn. And I can’t see that they’re entirely wrong. Misguided nationalism mixed with religious overtones does seem to be a repeat of the same mistakes made in the last century. If you look closely, though, you can see this has been repeated century after century after century. Authoritarian strongmen have always been the populist choice. Someone who can grab the reins and Git ‘er Done!

Those who profess a more liberal point of view decry such action by conservatives. Yet, while they’re wringing their hands and crying foul, they are doing much the same. How many in our time look to President Biden for their deliverance from, say, student loan debt? (Hey, I could use some of that myself!) In the 2020 election the left was cheering just as loudly as their conservative counterparts did 4 years earlier. “Joe, Joe, he’s our man! If he can’t do it Nobody can!” I know that some of my readers may take exception to this. After all, progressives aren’t calling for armed rebellion. That’s true. It’s also not my point. My point is, no matter where we fall on the political spectrum, people tend to focus on that one person at the top who they hope can “save” them.

I’m calling this the Myth of the Strongman. If you Google that, you’ll find stuff about Hercules and maybe Samson. Different kind of strongman. It’s a myth. We may even go so far as to call it a complete falsehood. But more on that in a minute.

As I considered this another kind of societal need popped into my head. I don’t know if any of you have read René Girard’s scapegoat theory. In a nutshell, it claims that when a society finds itself in distress, they are likely to find one person or thing to focus their distress on and sacrifice it. All the pent-up emotion in the community is spent on that one act. As a result, the community fear or whatever negative emotion it was is assuaged and peace can return to them. I know, that’s way simplistic. But it is essentially accurate. We can again turn to the current news cycle to see who or what is bearing the burden of the community’s fear and wrath. The Woke left, LGBTQ+ folks, White, Christian Nationalists, teachers, politician, banks, the courts, etc., etc. ad nauseum. Someone or something must be responsible for whatever perceived mess we’re in. If we can banish these curses from the community, then peace will ensue and all will be well with the world. Of course, that’s just so much bullshit. But you get the gist.

In the Bible there are examples of both the Strongman myth and the Scapegoat. In the Law of Israel, the Torah, God told the people that on the Day of Atonement two goats would be selected. Lots would be cast. The goat that the lot for the Lord fell was sacrificed as a sin offering. For the goat that the lot fell as the scapegoat was sent alive into the wilderness because all the sins of Israel were laid on it. It had to be sent away from the community. In this way, sin was purged from the people.

Also, from the Hebrew Scripture there is the story of King Saul, the first king of Israel. As the story goes, Israel was governed by Judges who were raised up by God. These were people, men or women, on whom God’s Spirit empowered to lead and protect the community. Over time, though, the people of Israel decided that they should have a king, just like all the nations around them. They wanted a strongman who could lead them into battle and govern them. “Hey, God! Why can’t we be like everyone else? They have kings and everything. We want that, too!” God obliged them. But, as God did, he told the prophet and judge, Samuel, that the people had not reject him. They had rejected God as their source and power.

Both strongman and scapegoat have been with humans since the beginning. None are immune to it. Liberal, conservative, something in between. It seems that humanity is always looking for that which they can’t have. A savior of their own making. A victim to carry their sin away from the camp.

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To the Hidden Evangelist: Olly, Olly Oxen Free!

Jack Chick Scare Tract

Yesterday I had an experience that, truth be told, I would never have expected in a million years. That’s not hyperbole! This struck out of the blue without any warning. It left me with a crinkled brow wondering, WTF? Now, it may sound like some earth shattering event took place. Something that completely rocked my world. It wasn’t. Not by any stretch. It was a surprise, though. A scratch-your-head-and-you-head kind of surprise.
I received a piece of mail. Yeah, just an envelope with stuff inside. It was addressed to me. It looks like the sender used a home ink jet printer to address it. The return address simply stated, “Narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, few there be that find it.” That’s it. No real return address. No name. No nothing except some King James verse without any context. Inside of the envelope there was no note or letter. There was, again, nothing to identify the sender. There were simply 2 religious tracts produced by a guy named Jack Chick. Now, for those of you who don’t know, Jack Thomas Chick was a fundamentalist cartoonist who produced small comic-like tracts with some kind of pre-millenial gobbledy-gook. These were designed to instill fear into the reader that would force the reader to make a choice to follow Jesus and avoid whatever mean and hateful future awaited them.
At first, I was a bit miffed. Apparently, the sender has so much concern for my immortal soul that he/she was willing to look up my address and spend postage to send these. If you’re reading this, thanks for that. I guess. But, what initially ticked my off was that the person appears to be a coward hiding behind the veil on anonymity. Not afraid to perhaps offend someone. Yet, too afraid to stand up and be accountable.
That was my initial reaction. Then, I laughed and tossed the stuff in the recycle bin.
However, as I reflected on this I realized something.
This was me 50 years ago. Way back then, when Chick was still alive and producing his nonsense, I was that guy at the mall or at the park quietly walking up, and with shaking hands, handed Chick tracts to anyone who would accept them. Of course, we were supposed to then engage with those folks and explain to them the Four Spiritual Flaws or the Roamin’ Rode way to salvation. Because, we knew that unless these poor unbelieving heathens confessed their sins and recited the magic words that we told them to say, they would be lost to eternal flame and torment. We didn’t wait. We handed of our treasure and trusted that God would miraculously touch their hearts when they read about the coming apocalypse of the inevitable ending of their misguided life. Remember the “narrow way” thing? I put my heart into that kind of ministry. Either as a performer on stage, (again separated from real people), or dropping hate filled missives to people I thought were in the gravest of danger. I think that all of us who were caught up in that time felt like we were doing our job as true disciples of Christ. We were doing the work of the evangelist. We were the Watchmen on the wall warning the poor, ignorant, unsuspecting multitudes of the impending doom that was coming over the horizon. We were deadly serious about that work. We were also cowards who really never wanted to engage with people. So, we timidly passed out our tracts. Or, we hid them in library books so that someone might actually find it and read it. I know some that went to adult bookstores just to place the tracts in the merchandise that these ‘angels of hell’ were distributing.
So, I can sympathize with my anonymous friend. It’s hard to look someone in the eye and tell them that they are in danger of hell’s torment.
Or, it may be that, like me, this person has doubts about that. Is this truly the way things will work out? Will a Just and Righteous God actually condemn people, most of whom are completely unknowing about our God? Does this person feel a tinge of embarrassment about intruding on a complete stranger’s life? Maybe a bit of all of the above.
I have no ill feelings toward this person. I would, however, sit down for a cup of coffee and chat rather than deal with all of the cloak and dagger stuff. It’s always better to talk about things than to make untrue assumptions about others. At least, that’s what I’ve learned over the past 50 years.
If the person who sent these to me is reading this, I extend that invitation to engage. After all, didn’t Jesus tell us to love one another? I’m neither you enemy nor you mission field. If you don’t want to talk. That’s OK. I’ll continue to lift you to God in prayer. I will also ask you not to waste your postage on me. Chick tracts are by far the worst evangelistic tool ever invented. I won’t read them.

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Life? Or, Death? Words Have Power to Create and Destroy

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It’s March in Northern Ohio.
The day before yesterday, we flirted with 60 degrees. Yesterday and today, 35 with a wind chill in the 20’s. The weather geeks say that we are currently in meteorological Spring. They might be right. I can look out my front door and see crocus starting to peak up into the sky. The robins are back en-mass. The other birds are also out in their full-throated glory filling the air with songs of hope and optimism. And, of course, the real test for this season, dead skunks along the road. Yep, around here Spring is synonymous with squashed-skunk season.
Right now, the sun is pouring through my office window. The orchid and rubber plant on my desk are loving it! It’s also good for my humor. No, not the funny kind of humor. The other kind. You know, the melancholic kind that is exorcised by sunlight. Not a bad day, so far. It’s still early, though.
I recently read a book by Dr. Randy Woodley, (Cherokee), about Indigenous theology and Western worldviews. It was a good read. One of the things that struck me was how he wrote about the traditions of passing on wisdom and stories in the two different worlds. It was a discussion about oral tradition and the written word. For those who’ve read anything that I’ve shared on this here blog thingy know, Words are a big deal with me. Words are not just powerful. They are Power, itself. Ancient people knew this well. Remember that story in Genesis in the Hebrew Bible? “God said,” and “it was so.” Stories like that create identity, if not actual worlds. Indigenous people all over the world have their own identity stories that help to explain their existence in the world. For some Native Americans, the story of how Turtle Island came to be is one such story. Although, there are different versions of the story depending on which Nation tells it, the gist is that the creatures of the earth had a large part in the creation myth. They had to work in order for their world to become real. Creator said that if they didn’t have a stake in the making of their world, they would not be grateful.
Other stories like the Sky Woman and her children gave meaning and purpose to the earliest people on this continent. These words were powerful in that they gave true identity and purpose to the people. They saw that because of Creator partnering with them, they had a vested interest in the care of the world. The earth and the cosmos around them were also part of Creator’s team to make sure that balance and life could continue. They utilized symbols and ceremony to reflect these living relationships. Wisdom and knowledge of how to live together and in the world was passed from generation to generation. The power of the stories created the living bond that stretched from age to age.
We in the West have diminished the power of words to what may be written on a piece of paper. We call those written words “binding.” That seems to me the exact opposite of the words of power that gave life and identity to all of those generations of Indigenous folks who came before us. We think that our way is the best way. All of those ‘Natives’ were nothing more than stone age hunter-gatherers before we arrived to show them the right way of things. Thank God for Us!
I could stop right there and let that thought sink in. But, I’m afraid that the thought may just bounce off and fall on the floor. We who think that our enlightened Western Way is the only way are guilty of the same arrogance that our forebears were. Our words and our laws make that true. Right? Just ask any lawyer or politician. The Rule of Law reigns supreme!
I said that words are Power. It’s true. Words have the power to bring life. Ask our Indigenous sisters and brothers and they will tell you. Words can also bring death. Our Western ideal is built on words like that. Words that kill are baked into Western culture.
I wonder if we can change that.
I wonder if we even care.

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New Beginnings; New Life

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A week ago my wife and I were trekking around Universal Orlando. She has just retired, and we decided to get away for a bit. Something we haven’t done in, oh, 40 some years. Jobs and family and stuff kept us pretty much at home except for the occasional weekend away. So, this trip was kinda special.
I took my laptop with me hoping to be able to write a bit about the trip while we there. Yeah, that didn’t happen. Besides not having any time to write, the wifi at the resort sucked big time. My computer is slow at the best of times. Add single bar wifi and, well, I could have sent letters via the USPS faster. So, that’s why I’ve been absent from here for a while.
Now, we’re home. It took until Wednesday to recuperate and get back to whatever this is that passes for normal. And, I use that term purposefully.

“Whatever this is that passes for normal.”

I retired from printing three years ago. That was at the beginning of Covid-19 and my time getting fixed up from colon cancer. Not the circumstances that I had thought would ring in the new life of “Formerly employed.” But, over the last three years I’ve tried to adjust and figure out that proverbial “New Normal.” (Spoiler alert: There’s nothing New or Normal about it. Just sayin’.) I have developed new routines and practices that help make sense of every day being Saturday. As time goes on, I’m adding some things to that in order to actually get stuff done. Like this blog.
Now, however, a new variable has been added to the mix. There are now TWO of us retired and trying to make sense of this life of non-employment. Life is never boring! I truly have no idea where the road will lead us. For sure, we want to travel a bit. I proved that I can still do the whole road trip thing. We drove to Orlando in 2 days. We drove home in 1. I’m encouraged that I can get us where we want to go, when we want to go. So, that’s good.
We also have the house that really needs some lovin’. All of those fixes and updates that have been set to the side all of these years are screaming at us for attention. There are walls to fix and paint, a roof that needs help, new windows to install, shutters to build, a garden to put in, and, of course, that grass that never stops growing. I don’t think that we’ll lack for stuff to do.
For me, besides all of the stuff that needs done, those things that my wife and I will work on together, there is the need to continue to study, think, and write. I lost way too much time while connected to the Fundagelical world. I am still trying to heal from what I would consider spiritual abuse. It wasn’t intentional, of course. While many would have viewed some of our early years as ‘cultic,’ there was no manipulation for malicious or self-serving ends by the leaders. They were, and still are, simply ignorant. That doesn’t lessen the damage done by that world.
So, I will continue to reflect, meditate, contemplate, study, and proclaim. I can do nothing else. If anyone is helped to find freedom from the chains that bind them to a false image of God and God’s people, then my work is a good thing. Besides, I find release and healing through this work as well.
Anyway, I just wanted to put something out there to let everyone know that I’m alive and kicking. I hope to reflect more on the whole retirement thing as we grow into it. I’ll also continue to attempt to speak truth to power as I see it.
If you have anything to suggest or comment on, please use the comments section at the end of this post. Perhaps, we can begin a dialog about things that will build us all up.

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Choose Life! Or, Not. It’s Up To You!

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This past Sunday I had the privilege to share from the pulpit at St. B’s. (Click here to see Facebook video of the service.) The lections for this week were difficult ones. They had to do with choosing life and death; prosperity and adversity. We read the part about divorce and anger in the Sermon on the Mount. Negative topics for many people.
I chose the passage form Deut. 30:15-20 where Moses and the elders of Israel challenged the people to choose between two ways. Would the nation of Israel follow the path that leads to life, prosperity, and security? Or, would they choose death, want, and destruction? “Choose today!” Moses commanded them.
On the face of things, this seems like, “Well, Duh!” Of course they would choose Life, Right? Who in their right mind would choose otherwise? “Lead on, Moses! We’re all with you! YAY!!!”
What most folks fail to read, though, is the part where Moses pretty much states that they will fail. And, fail miserably. He went so far as to say that they did not have hearts to know, eyes to see, nor ears to hear. In other words, after they had witnessed all that God had done with them and for them, they still would not get it at all.
A lot of folks walk around today thinking, “Whew! I’m glad that’s not me! I’m a believer and one of God’s special people. I would never make the wrong choices and wind up on God’s Naughty List! Yay, me!”
Oh, really???
Such ignorance and arrogance! When we say that God could never accept LGBT+ people, we’re exposing our arrogance. When we say that natural disasters happen because someone, (not us), sins or accepts sinfulness. When we sayt “if only we hadn’t taken prayer out of school everything would be made right” our ignorance of God shines like the noonday Sun.
Every single day we make choices that take us away from the Way of Life.
Every. Single. Day.
“Well, God leads me to believe that those people, (you fill in the blank of the latest ‘Out Group), are sinners and destined for Hell.”
No, God does NOT lead you there.
“But, the devil made me do it!” You’re not Flip Wilson. And, no the devil did NOT make you do anything.
The passage from Deuteronomy was pretty clear. Moses said, “YOU choose!
We are all Free Moral Agents. We choose our path. No one else chooses for us. Period. God certainly is not going to force our choices. God may attempt to influence our decisions. God will never coerce a decision. And, God will never punish anyone for making any decision. God did warn the Israelites about impending doom. Not because God was planning to use some punitive action against them. No! God sees the way and may warn about the consequences that are already present on any given course. God does not cause them. In fact, by warning the Israelites, God showed love for them. “Don’t go that way! Thar be Beasties!
Even when we choose the way that leads toward death, (and, Beasties!), God has already prepared a way for us to change direction and skip over to the path of Life. (This is something that I know personally. Lord knows I’ve chosen some horrendous paths to explore. I destroyed lives and broke relationships. Not good. You’ll need to take my word on that. I won’t detail anything. Mostly because anything that I may or may not have been active in is part and parcel of the Way of Humanity.)
For me, and for many others like me, God’s grace allowed me to change the way I followed and take the path of Life. That’s how God works. That’s Good News!
Not like the so-called good news that fundamentalists and evangelicals preach. Their good news is not good. They say that the path toward death is only averted by their proprietary formula, or better, sacred spell, that supposedly puts someone on the right path automatically. Without those magic words, people are doomed to some Medieval eternal punishment that is NEVER mentioned by God. In fact, even with the recitation of magic words, people still rush headlong along that path of curses and destruction. It’s how people are. So be it. Amen.
Still, God in God’s mercy and grace embraces us where we are when we listen to God’s voice. Then we see God as the Lover of the World who stoops into our reality, not worrying about the mud and the muck, and walks with us. Always, God leads with tenderness. Always.
Again, Good News.

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Words Are More Powerful Than You Think!

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Today is Thursday, February 9, 2023.
I mention this because on Sunday, February 12, 2023 I will be in the pulpit at St. Barnabas Church in Bay Village. I will have about 10 minutes to present a bunch of words to a large group of people who are expecting to hear Words For The Ages. I’m sure that they all come in high anticipation of some oracular pronouncement that will change the world and align the Earth with the Cosmic Graces of God. They arrive hungry for the wisdom of Solomon, himself. We who pontificate on the great mysteries of the Creator are expected to be authorities. We are, after all, experts on all things Spiritual! (Spoiler alert: we aren’t. We’re lucky we put our pants on with the fly in the front. That IS where it belongs, right?)
In our tradition a homily is a brief observation, usually on whatever Scripture lections are read that morning. It is not the main focus of our gathering. The Eucharist is that. But, that’s not to say that a homily is a useless appendage that has hung on for millenia. It isn’t.
What else it isn’t is an opportunity for some preacher to ramble on for an hour. I spent most of my adult life in one of those churches. We weren’t offered a “sermon.” No, we had “teachings.” Yeah, I guess that makes it more important. How can a person possibly know which group of people God hates unless they are taught? These men, they’re always men, rattle on and on. They pull proof texts out of their behinds to PROVE what God thinks, who God likes, and more importantly, how we are always RIGHT! Usually, the audience is lost after the first 5 minutes. They are thinking about the roast in the oven or who’s gonna win the Super Bowl, or something. These guys could take a lesson from the 10 minute homily. But, then, they couldn’t impress their flock with their ignorance.
No, I have a finite amount of time to make a point. A point that may enlighten or inspire. It could offer freedom to someone shackled in unbelief. It could simply make space for someone to smile. The homily is not a place to dazzle with brilliance, or like those other preachers I mentioned, baffle with bullshit. It is a place to offer hope and understanding. The words are words of welcome and peace.
There are places where words have other purposes. Words must be used in order to “speak truth to power.” They shine a spotlight on injustice and hatred. Words are Power for the Powerless.
There was a movie made in the 1970s. The story was about St. Francis of Assisi. If you’re interested, the title is “Brother Sun, Sister Moon.” Warning: it is a truly bad movie. The only thing good was the music by Donovan Leach. Take that for what it’s worth. In the movie the Francis responds to a friend’s offer of help with,
“Words, Bernardo. There was a time when I believed in words.”
The gist of that response was that words without action are simply empty air. Profound, right? Like I said, the best part was Donovan.
I do have to confess, there was a time when I believed that. In fact, from the time I joined the fundagelical world of faith, I was indoctrinated with the idea that actions are stronger than words. If our work did not match the faith that we professed with our mouths we were missing the mark by a wide margin.
Can I hear an Amen!
As I have gotten older, and become more of a writer, preacher, and teacher, I have come to see that as only partially accurate. At Best. Words are powerful. Word are active. Even the Scripture uses words to introduce people to the God Who loves us. Words create worlds and spawn change in human lives.
Words can also destroy and kill. They can be a combustible substance that sets the world on fire. Not believe in words, Frankie? Take a look around and you’ll see what words are capable of.
I handle words with the same care that I would handle nitro glycerin. I take my calling very seriously because I know that what I say is able to affect others. That’s why it’s Thursday, February 9, 2023 and I’m preparing to fill a 10 minutes slot of time this Sunday. I’m not even sure that this will be enough time to prepare properly.
But, I hope so.

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