DaddyRoBlog

My Election Season Manifesto

OK, I admit it. Sometimes I hate being a pastor.

Why?

Because sometimes I just can’t say the things I want to say.

There are times, for instance, when I’d love to jump into the political foray.  But here’s the thing. America right now is a deeply divided nation. About half of us lean liberal, and half of us lean conservative. So if I come down on one side or the other, I give about half the people in the country an excuse to stop listening. That’s the mistake the Episcopal Church has made. In the end, our staggering decline may be as simple as over indentifying with a political position. For a church that prides itself on being welcoming, that sure leaves a lot of people out.

I believe the larger message of the Gospel—that we need to love God and each other and treat all people right—is too important for that. In other words, if I am to exercise the kind of love Jesus commends to his followers, then I need to consider how my words and actions will effect others—especially those who are different from me. If those words are hurtful for the purpose of furthering my own cause, getting attention, somehow boosting my own ego, or allaying my own insecurities, then I need to value my brothers and sisters highly enough to find a better way ahead.

This doesn’t mean we don’t weigh in with our view of things. It does mean that there is a thoughtful, kind, and respectful way of doing so that is increasingly absent in America right now (and certainly on Facebook). Actually, I love being a pastor, because when I am true to my calling it forces me to speak and act from the perspective of putting others before myself (although I don’t always succeed in this, obviously).

The fictional narratives of both political parties not withstanding, life is complex.  There are two sides to everything, and it’s the wise person who sees that instead of using the party line as an excuse to stop thinking, whatever your party may be.

There is always a reason people believe what they do, no matter how wrong-headed it may be,  and it is the loving person who remembers that.  As a pastor, I can tell you that nine times out of ten, that reason can be traced to people who have hurt them.  This does not justify a belief that is wrong, but if we are ever going to really change it—instead of making ourselves feel superior, witty, and brilliant—we must first understand why they see the world as they do.  Then we must stand with that person in their pain, whatever is causing it.  Perhaps then, together, they will be able to walk out of it.

Maybe during an election year we’d all do well to pray the prayer of St. Francis every day. Maybe we’d do well to post it on our keyboards. From my perspective, at least, St. Francis--like Jesus before him--had it right.

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

A Quiet Moment Interupted

It was about 5PM yesterday.  Linda and I had both just got home after busy (but good!) days, and so we were spending a quiet moment together relaxing and catching up.  All of sudden she exclaimed:  "WOW!  Look at that!"

I wasn't sure what she meant.  There's a fitness trail that winds through the field behind our house, and a guy was on it.  I thought maybe she meant him.

But then I looked a  little closer, to the bench on our lower deck, and saw a very fine physical specimen there as well:  a truly massive groundhog, its rolls of fat clear and distinct through its plush coat.

I had left a bag of peanuts out for the chipmunks and the bluejays.  He would crawl right in, with loud crunching sounds emanating from the bag.  After a few minutes of that, he would emerge to look around, generally with a peanut in his mouth.

Finally he'd eat that peanut and then repeat.  A groundhog this large (read "fat") is a HUGE eater, and can really wreak havoc in a garden.   Still, he was just so cute  it was hard to do anything but watch him and smile.  Oh, and take pictures--over 1oo of them.  That I managed to limit it to three here is saying something!

As Good as a Blog Post Gets

Every now and then I come across an exceptional piece of writing; one that somehow touches my heart, helps me see the world differently, or gives me a new perspective.  The following blog post, written by David Knight, does all three.  David is an Episcopal priest who was serving at St. Patrick's in Long Beach, Mississippi when Katrina hit.  He is also a friend and a role model who helps me remember what a priest really should be.

It’s just a horrible feeling, that’s all I can say….

I’ve been debating even writing this for a couple of days. But in some ways it is cathartic (hopefully). First, all you folks on the Coast of Land Mass (also known as Mississippi) please know that almost every ounce of prayer time I have is offered on your behalf.

Why. Because I know….

Of course I have been watching – ever since Isaac was a depression with potential. It’s the Weather Channel 24/7, even if they don’t know the name of my state. By the way, how comical is it to watch them now try to say “Mississippi” every other sentence! Stephanie Abrams “I am showing you some love Mississippi”, and good ole Jim Cantore “we know NOLA suffered from a man-made flood and Katrina wiped out the coast of Mississippi”. I guess 7 years of being virtually ignored can pile up some hard feelings.

But, back to the watch. I just can’t look away. Cones and predictions and models and prophecy, I take it all in. And that’s when the feeling begins.

You know it, if you lived it. That feeling in your gut, your soul, your heart. The wound is there, the scabs peel back, and you have to deal with it all over again. My head hurts JUST LIKE IT DID when the pressure dropped. The nausea has existed for days, the anxiousness, the snappy remarks, the fear. And I am not even on the Coast now, although I still have a house in the Pass. So I lift up my brothers and sisters to the Holy One who never forsook us and never will. And then I watch some more.

And for those who don’t get it  but want to make light of how we are, where we are, who we are in this moment – maybe you should just leave us alone. You cannot possibly comprehend the feeling, the feeling I cannot even define. There are probably moments in your life that are the same for you and we won’t be able to know what that was like, but heaven help us if we mock you on Facebook or roll our eyes behind your back. You see, it’s just different, if you were there. I saw the bodies in the bags, and blessed them. I prayed with search and rescue units whose job really was only to pull out dead people and spray paint the houses, when what they really wanted to do was save someone. And I had the miracle blessing of a house largely undamaged, so my story is far better than most. Maybe for a day or two, you just let us be.

No, this is not Katrina. But neither was any other storm and we just had no clue, no concept, no benchmark for something so horrendous and wide spread and all encompassing. Now we do, and we really, really wish we didn’t.

So I watch, and the memories come. The parishioners’ houses-that-were-gone, their desperate faces, their uncertainty, the overwhelming feeling of what will we do now. Yes, there was much, much to be thankful for in the months and years that followed, especially the people who came by the thousands to help. But those memories are for later – for today, and for the anniversary-of-hell that is tomorrow, we just get that feeling all over again, amplified by Cantore and Abrams and Isaac and projections and surge and preparations and despair and hollow laughter and that feeling.

Tonight and tomorrow and probably Thursday way up here in Jackson we will get wind and lots of rain and maybe tornados (hopefully not). We won’t get the sea whose incomprehensible power we learned the hard way. And as the skies darken and trees fall, I pray for those here who are alone or afraid or desperate as well. And the feeling, THAT FEELING will grow a bit more, I am sure, and if I hear the sound – you know the sound if you were there – then forgive my weeping for all that was and is now lost.

Anniversaries – sometimes we celebrate, sometimes we dread them. Sometimes we want them to just go away.

But they don’t. So tonight and tomorrow, we just pray. Because that feeling is here, for a bit.

May God protect you all.

Tigers

I guess it is the bright reds, but the dahila "Wheels" really attracts the butterflies, bees, and hummers.  It's a beautiful flower in its own right, but the bonus of the additional beauty it attracts makes this a real plus in the garden.  Add in the fact that it is a strong grower and heavy bloomer, and you have a winner all around.

The butterfly is a tiger swallowtail.  Generally they are yellow with black stripes, but this is a "dark phase" and so looks a lot like a black swallowtail.    In the picture below, where the sunlight is coming through the wings of the same butterfly on another dahlia, you can see the pattern.

As a point of contrast, here's what they normally look like.  These are a couple of old timers, their yellows paled by age, their wings beat and tattered.  Glad I can make their life a little easier, giving them a little something to eat and drink.

Passages

By and large, Linda and I have come to that point in our "empty nesting" where we have rediscovered the joy of being a "couple".   We are finding it to be a sweet time in life, not unlike a second honeymoon.   Still... there are moments.

Saturday night we were snuggled up together at the end of the day.  It just so happened that both of our girls were home for the weekend, though Christine would be returning to her home in Baltimore and Mary to her apartment on her college campus.  We were talking about how good it was to have the four of us together again.

Linda said, "It makes me realize what we've lost".   And she was right.  It did.

With kids returning to school again, there are many families experiencing this dissonance; joy in watching our children blossom, an appropriate sense of pride in their growing independence as they move towards, or actually become, adults themselves, and a great sadness as we miss them.

What I have come to believe is that every stage in life that we are in is a sweet one.  Life is always a mixture of things lost and found.   Appreciating the time in which find ourselves, being duly thankful for it,  tucking it in our hearts so we can treasure it when it is time to move on, and then moving on...  well,  that is a great gift to be able to give to someone we love... and to ourselves as well.

The Grey

One of the things I love about St. Matt's is that they are a group of people who knows how to have fun.  Today, for instance, it was our seminarian and now Youth Minister's first Sunday back with us.  Since his name is Grey, someone had the idea that everyone should wear grey.  And lots of people did, prompting Grey himself to note that "never has a person been so happy to see so many people looking so dour."  To capture the moment we managed to gather a group of folks in between a couple of our services for the picture above.

Some folks took the grey shirts a step further:

And then some folks decided not only to dress in grey, but to do so to their very finest.  Stylin'!

You might think that having "fun" is not very spiritual, but I'd argue differently.   A party is one of the predominant metaphors for life with God, and a party is nothing if it is not fun.  Of course, that's not all there is to it.  As Grey talked about in his sermon today, sometimes life lived in faithfulness to God is just plain hard, and it is.    But if there is not at least some joy in there somewhere,  I think we've missed the boat.

Grey on Grey

Tomorrow is a BIG day for us at St. Matt’s. Why? Because tomorrow we welcome Grey Maggiano, our new Youth Minister. To help us get better acquainted, Hillary Tattersall interviewed him. Here are a few highlights.

Grey on who he is:

“ I'm a follower of Jesus, a lifelong Episcopalian, married to a wonderful woman and a new father.”

Grey on where he has been:

“It is a long list, but some of the highlights are Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, China, Uganda, Rwanda, Morocco, Honduras, Nicaragua, Colombia, and, of course, Toledo.”

Grey on what he’s done:

"I worked for the State Dept. for five years before going to Seminary. I ran programs training judges, prosecutors, prison guards, police and special agents in Afghanistan working on Drug, Corruption and Terrorism cases. I spent a lot of time traveling back and forth and around Afghanistan..walking through the Taliban wing of prisons interviewing inmates… "

Grey on being a Youth Minister:

"Youth understand God and faith in a way that is simply inaccessible to most adults. They "get it" in a way that most of us don't understand. Because of this, we've basically been going about youth ministry all wrong. We've been trying to make youth more like "us" - giving them rules to follow and standards to adhere to, instead of trying to figure out how we can be more like them - finding joy in late night Mt. Dew binges, finding God in songs by Fun., Lupe Fiasco, or Katy Perry, and loving each other unconditionally and without exception in a way that most adults have, quite plainly, either forgotten how to do or had to relearn."

Grey on faith:

"My overall goal is to make Christianity make sense for our youth. If we give them the skills and ability to seek answers to the difficult questions they are facing, to build an honest and authentic relationship with Jesus, a robust and sincere faith, and a relationship to the Church that can be a spiritual and physical home for them, wherever they are in the world… I think we may actually make a difference in their lives."

In other words, Grey is a very interesting young man with a lot to offer. If you are part of the St. Matt’s family, I hope you’ll join us tomorrow to welcome him. I hope you’ll remember him regularly in your prayers (if you are a prayer, we’d love it if you do that even if you don’t go to St. Matt’s or are not in the area). And I hope you’ll join me in the months ahead in supporting Grey in this important ministry in whatever ways you can.

Personally, I think Grey is as good as they come, and I can't wait to see the great things I know God will do in the lives of our youth as we all join together in this vital work.

Shark Week Merola Style, Take Two

Perhaps you remember the very first Shark Week Merola Style, Swimming with the Fishes.  Well, with large Caribbean reef sharks actually.  If so, you'll no doubt be pleased to know:  We're back!  And this time, Sharks Save the Day.

It all started out as a fishing trip for cobia, a large and hard fighting fish that also just happens to be delicious.  Unfortunately, with a strong cold front having just pushed through, the wind, waves, and clouds made conditions unfavorable for actually catching one.   The sharks, however, were more than happy to come out and play.

Here's Mary with a shark of her own.   Some of the sharks were too big to bring in the boat.  Others were just plain Too Big, and they are still swimming for Cuba.  

Kids

Whether Haiti, the USA, or anywhere elsewhere, kids are kids.  Our hearts go out to them.  They smile, and we smile back.  I sometimes think that if we all could all just see the kid in one another, and perhaps remember that kid in ourselves, the world would be a much better place. 

The Best Shape of My Life

I was talking with a friend last night who said he is excited about getting into the best shape of his life. Having lost a lot of weight, put on some muscle, and increased his overall level of fitness, he is well on his way to accomplishing this. I fully believe the changes he is making are making him both happier and healthier as well.

But I found myself thinking: I’ll never again be in the shape I was in when I was younger. Let me be clear: I’m not complaining. I feel good, and in purely physical terms at least, can still pretty much do anything I want. Well, I tried a one-armed extension push-up (arm fully stretched out in front of you, so that it is actually your lower back that lifts the body) the other day and that was a disaster, so maybe not quite anything.

Which actually is kind of my point. Given the natural changes that occur in a body as it ages, I’ll never be as strong as when as I was young. That means that I will never carry the muscle I did back then as well. And without all that muscle to keep my metabolism burning, unless I want to be completely emaciated I’ll never be as lean either.

Depressing, right?

Certainly it could be, and for a lot of people it is. But it doesn’t have to be.

A wise person once told me that the secret to aging well is “replacement.” It’s being honest with one's self about one’s limits, and then replacing the things he cannot do  with new things. I’ll never bench over 400 pounds again. But I can plant a garden.

I am happy for my friend, in part because I know the joy that being in the shape of your life can bring. I remember that joy, and it was good. But there are other joys to be had now, and they are good too. The Biblical book of Ecclesiastes sums it up pretty well, I think:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.