June 15, 2009
But while he was yeat at a distance,
his father saw him and had compassion,
and ran, and embraced him and kissed him.
Luke 15:20b Parable of the Forgiving Father
Jesus took commonplace people,
places and things to use in his
teaching stories called parables.
These stories might exaggerate,
clarify, confuse, prove, disprove
or simply bring to life real issues
with which the real people of his day
were dealing on a daily basis.
Parables were meant to teach.
Yet their lessons were not always
clear cut. I look at these stories
like precious gems. Each time
I read one, it is like picking up a
beautiful amethyst (my favorite gem),
holding it up to the light to discover
new facets and new beauty with each
viewing.
When the Gospels give an interpretation
of a parable, it is generally something
that was added to the text at a later date.
Jesus told the stories to make people
think for themselves. There was no single
lesson to be learned by those listening.
No parable proves this better than
the Parable of the Forgiving Father -
more popularly called The Prodigal Son.
Some would, of course, identify with the
young man who left his home and family
to follow the devices and desires of his
own heart. The fact that the father was willing
to settle his estate before he was dead -
well, that would pique listeners' curiosity
because as far as they knew, no sane
father would do that - not for any son -
least of all the youngest.
But at this point in the story, most are imagining
themselves as that youngest son who gets
tomorrow's inheritance today and the chance to go
off by himself and do anything he wants as well.
Who among us has not had a time in our lives when we
wanted to just get away from the pain and
problems, the ruts of responsibility of ordinary life?
There are very few who have not fantasized about having
loads of money and no one to spend it on
but ourselves? A dollar and a dream is definitely
part of our culture today. A dream of being able
to do exactly as this youngest son was doing.
Some listeners would be more than ready
to take off with this young man, imaginining what their
life would be like if they could walk away
from all their obligations. Some would
daydream about a life free of responsibility,
the opportunity to pursue any personal pleasures
they had at any given moment. Of course, the
fantasy gets snapped back to reality when Jesus uses
this young man's journey - happily leaving
home but then returning humbled and
humiliated - to show how
wrong the young man had been. Ooh,
maybe we don't want to be that
young man after all.
Once we know the end of the story, the
next time we hear it we'll identify more
sympathetically with the father. What
an ungrateful son! How sad and hurt
the father must have been for a son to
choose this course of action! Listeners
who idenfied with the father would be
angry at this self-centered and self-
absorbed teenager. As the father, we
may feel righteous anger, rejection,
maybe even some self-pity until we
remember the ending of the story -
where the father welcomes home this
wasteful wanderer with open arms.
Ooh, maybe we don't want to identify
with the father after all. Forgiveness
and love like that, well, that's a tall order for
ordinary people. It is hard to imagine
welcoming this ingrate home without
at least a lecture - and some kind of
punishment. But that's not how the
story goes.
The only other main character is the
older brother. People would hear these
stories over and over again. They would
easily understand the older brothers
outrage at how his father was favoring
his younger sibling.. Hadn't he,
the older son, stood by his father faithfully?
Hadn't he taken up the slack and done
double duty to cover for his brother's
desertion? He hadn't wasted his father's
hard-earned money. Why hadn't his father
ever thrown him a party? Ooh, being the
older brother leaves a bad taste in one's
soul. He insists on wallowing in self-pity
and self-righteousness. He refuses to join
in the celebration. It's definitely
more fun to imagine ourselves back at the party
with the father and the younger son.
Look at all the lessons Jesus packs
into this one story. Look at the complexity
of each character. The main lesson, of
course, is that God is like the father in the
story - we are like one or both of the sons.
If we take the blessings God gives us and
squander them on years of wasteful living,
God will still love us when we come to our
senses, repent and request forgiveness.
God will exceed our humble expectations.
All we want is to get back in God's good
graces. God will throw a party and make
sure we have the best seat in the house -
the best clothes - the best food! WOW!
Okay, maybe we do want to identify with
the youngest son. He gets the happy
ending. Or, perhaps after seeing the
foolishness of the older brother's attitude
and actions, we'll have a newfound
appreciation for God's role in our lives:
how hard it must be for God when we
turn our backs and walk away; how
patient God has to be when we think
like the older brother that God's love
is a reward for good behavior rather
than an amazing resource available
to us for every day living whether we
are good or bad. The younger son failed
to value the bond of love until he was
at rock bottom. The older son
failed to understand that it was always
there. He didn't have to earn it. It wasn't
his reward for good behavior. His father's
love had been there for his benefit every
moment of his life.
The older son could have been celebrating
every day with his father. He worked
hard. He did all that was expected of him.
But he never said, "Hey, Dad, do you know
how much I love you? Let's have a party
to celebrate our relationship. You are an
awesome father and I just want you to know
it." What a party they could have had!
If the older brother had been able to
understand that love was a gift to be
shared - not a reward to be earned -
well, then he would have welcomed his
brother home too and helped his father throw
the party!
This little parable from Luke 15:11-32 is
full of other insights. I could preach on
this one story for the rest of my life. These
are only a few highlights which I thought
were good ones to share for Father's Day.
Our mortal fathers will have their faults
and flaws - ways in which they fall short
of God's capacity for love. But this secular
holiday - yes, it makes money for the card
manufacturers - but it is also a good excuse
to look at our Dad or the father figures in
our lives, to see what God sees in them
and to tell these fathering folks in our lives
how we see God in them. It may or may
not be a biological father - may not be any
relation at all - but someone who shared
love with us as the father in the parable does.
Someone who sometimes gives us exactly
what we ask for, lets us go off on our own
to learn from our own mistakes like the
father does for the youngest son.
Someone who has had patience with us,
is there for us day in and day out, someone
we failed to appreciate and/or to understand
as the older brother did for his father in this parable.
Someone who welcomes us home with open arms -
without the scolding or moralizing we deserve - but
instead throws a party and invites everyone to join in
the joyful celebration or our return and the love we
share.
Celebrate those someone's in your lives. And wish
them a Happy Father's Day.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Music! Music! Music!
Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak....
A bride mourning the death of her groom
says these words in Act 1, Scene 1 of
William Congreve's 1697 play, "The
Mourning Bride." It is often misquoted,
substituting beast for breast. Almeria,
the bride, is bemoaning the unrelenting
pain of her grief, curious as to why music
is not able to give her the healing peace
she seeks. Music is comforting.
Music may be soothing. It seeps right
into the depths of our souls. But music
cannot make the pain of grief
miraculously or magically disappear.
Nonetheless, it can and does distract
and delight us. Music can make a
happy occasion happier, a sad occasion
easier to bear.
In fact, Karl Paulknack concluded
in an article in the Christian Science Monitor
that we actually need music in order to survive.
"Music finds the invisible pieces inside our
hearts and souls...like a telescope that looks in
rather than out." As a singer and musician
myself, I agree with Mr. Paulknack's conclusion.
We each have our individual tastes in music.
Some love classical. Others love jazz, bluegrass,
or country. The all time favorite hymns like "How
Great Thou Art", "In the Garden" and "Amazing Grace"
please just about anyone. But no one style answers the
needs of everyone. In fact every generation's music tends
to offend the preceding generation. I clearly remember how
much my parents hated The Beatles. And their parents were
scandalized by the likes of Elvis Presley. Thank goodness,
we have an abundance of styles to soothe all the savage breasts
of any age throughout the world.
I can't remember life without music. As soon as
I came home from the hospital, Mom had me listening
to the radio. We loved the Jim Deline show on WSYR.
I learned to sing listening to the harmonies of Norma
and Sandy Bigtree. Even then, I wanted to sing like
them. I couldn't even talk yet. I memorized songs
as easily as I memorized the ABC's. Before I started
Kindergarten my repertoire of popular and Sunday
School songs was quite extensive.
My Aunt Frances lived in NYC. She had been
a missionary to the Philippines. I loved it when she
came home for a visit. She was my first piano teacher.
On the unheated porch at Grandma's house, with a
quite out of tune piano, she taught me to read music.
I can still play the first two songs she gave me to
learn.
In 2nd grade, Mrs. Kaltenbach and Mrs. Stauffer
taught us songs like "Oh My Papa" and the "Lichtensteiner
Polka" along with many others. I still remember all the
words to the Papa song but the German has evaporated.
This was in addition to a regular music class. We also
learned to square dance with these two teachers. We must
have been good because we got to appear on television. It
was the best year of elementary school for me because it was
the year with the most music.
The year I received a violin from my grandfather
and free lessons was memorable too. I was in fourth or
fifth grade. We got piano lessons whenever Mom and Dad
had enough money. This meant a trip to the big city of
Oneida. Mom would drop us - and our $3 each - off at Doris
Rhinehart's house on Stone Street. We'd get to read comic
books and pet her Dalmation "Pepper" while the others played
their scales and lesson pieces. I took more lessons at Crane
School of Music in Potsdam after I was married. It was hard
for me to understand why I couldn't have had lessons all the
time. It is a regret with which I have had to make my peace.
In Junior High, I was blessed to be offered free organ
lessons. The catch was that I had to agree to become the next
church organist so that my teacher, Arlene Alger could retire
and get married. I not only became the organist for the United
Methodist Church but also played for the Presbyterians. In fact,
they paid better. I earned $3 a week for my church and a whopping
$5 a Sunday from the Presbyterians. I played until I went off to
college. I didn't pick up the organ playing again until I needed
a paying job to help pay for seminary. I was a church organist
again for two of the three years of seminary. By the third year
I was a supply pastor.
As a pastor there was precious little time to play piano or
organ. But I count it as one of my blessings that I was able to
play for a few months for the Trinity Episcopal Church in Gouverneur.
Their organ was nearly identical to the one on which I first learned
to play - and, except for one hymn which it ended up that none
of us really knew - I hope that the music soothed listeners' souls
as much as it did mine as I played.
Recently I've started using those performance trax CD's and
learning NEW songs!!! What fun! It can take me as long as a
year to get a song performance ready. I will always regret not
learning to sing professionally too. When my thyroid was removed
in 1978, the vocal chords were scraped and damaged. There was
no way of knowing if the damage was permanent. I had no voice
at all for more than six months - six very frustrating months.
Fran, my daughter, was a toddler - an active, always getting
into trouble toddler. I had to wear a whistle around my neck
in order to keep her little butt safe and sound. I made a deal
with God - I know, we're not supposed to do that but I wasn't a
pastor then and I didn't know any better.
I told God that if my voice returned, I would learn to sing.
Eventually my voice did return and I did manage to get in a year's
worth of voice lessons before the divorce. When I first joined the
choir at the church in Norwood, my voice could barely be heard and
I was terrified of solos. Now I'll sing at the drop of a hat, don't
usually need a mike and the more solos the better. Many thanks to
Sandy Richards for giving me that first solo and encouraging me to
sing.
All of which brings me to the purpose of all these music, music,
music memories. Four years ago, I had this vision of a tent meeting
taking place at the Pennellville UMC. It was NOT a fundraiser. It
was an evangelism event!!! Music! Music! Music! I woke up all
excited. The excitement died in the face of reality. How could
we ever do such a thing? It was just a dream. And I put it in the
back of my mind. Two years ago, we had an ecumenical Lenten
study group. We shared visions God had given us. And when I
shared mine, the response was - "why can't you do it???" "Just
do it!"
I nearly gave up twice because no one was showing up at
planning meetings. One of the last things Dorothy Bell shared
with me was how excited she was about this event happening in
Pennellville. I didn't have the heart to tell her I had given
up. After she died last December, I called one more meeting
and FINALLY we got plans off the ground.
It has taken two years but the tents are rented. The
portapotties are due to be delivered. And the following music
groups have agreed to perform: Tired Hands String Band,
Diamond Someday, The Atkinson Family, Dennis Shortslef,
Les and Linda Green. Chris McCabe, Diana Gardiner and myself
will be filling in between groups. And Alice Popps will do a
couple of Native American dances around supper time. Watch for
more publicity of this event!
Meanwhile mark your calendar for Saturday, August 1, 2009
and head for 389 County Route 54. There will be music from
noon until 9 p.m. We hope to end with a bonfire and a singalong.
There will be music! music! music! Hopefully, this day will
soothe many a savage breast - and folks will leave with serenity filled
souls. Music does indeed have magical and miraculous charms
to add to anyone's daily life. And some of us wholeheartedly believe
that we need music in order to survive. Spiritually speaking, music
is simply good for the soul!
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Real Memorial Day
May 25, 2009
Lilacs, lilies of the valley, American flags placed on the
graves of Veterans, red paper poppies for sale, parades
and picnics - all are associated with our celebration of
Memorial Day. The Indianapolis 500 has been part of this
holiday since 1911. Most of us view it as the unofficial
beginning of summer. It is also the most dangerous season
for car accidents. There were and still are major objections to
observing it on a Monday instead of it's traditional observance
on May 30th.
According to Prof. David Blight of Yale University, the first
Memorial Day was observed by freed slaves just
after the Civil War in 1865. It was at a race track
in Charleston, SC which was also the site of a
prison camp. There was a mass grave for the
Union soldiers who had died in captivity. This
group of newly liberated men and women took on
the task of digging individual graves and reburying
the dead soldiers. This was a daring and dangerous
enterprise for freed slaves to do in the South.
Three years later they returned to place flowers on
those graves. There was a parade, patriotic singing
and a picnic. They called it Decoration Day.
It was May 30, 1868.
Northerners credit Waterloo, NY with first celebrating
Memorial Day on May 5, 1866. General John A. Logan
issued a proclamation on behalf of the Grand Army of
the Republic - a veterans' group - that Decoration Day
become a national observance. It was first observed
on May 30, 1866. The date was chosen because it
was NOT the anniversary of a battle. The graves of
Union soldiers were decorated in remembrance of their
sacrifice. Waterloo's role in creating this holiday was
nationally recognized by official proclamation signed
by then President Lyndon B. Johnson on May 26, 1966.
The alternate name of "Memorial Day" did not appear
until 1882. It did not become the official name until
1967. Four years later the date was moved from
May 30th to the last Monday in May. Hence we will
celebrate it on Monday, May 25th this year.
For me, this holiday is also associated with my
mother's death. We had all been home for the
holiday. We had watched the local parades
which we had been part of as children. We
heard the 21 gun salute coming from the cemetery.
Then we went home for a picnic lunch. It was
the last time we were all together.
In December of 2000, the U.S. Congress passed
"The National Moment of Remembrance Act."
It is meant to encourage the people of the United
States to give time, talent and money to their
country which affords them the freedom and
opportunities of living in a democracy. We are
asked to pause, wherever we are at 3 p.m. on
Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember
those who have died in service to this nation.
This year we need to give special attention and
appreciation to the young men and women who
have fallen in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is good to
solemnly remember the dead - especially as a
nation - all together on the same day. It is also
good to say thank you to those who have returned
from battle alive, as well as those who are
still fighting.
Let us remember our history and be grateful for our freedom.
Let us celebrate the present with our loved ones, sharing
all the joy and gratitude we can.
Let us pray for our future with all the wisdom and grace we
can muster.
Have a blessed Memorial Day!
Drive safely and those who live in Phoenix, NY
wish Mary Earle a Happy Birthday
on the "real" Memorial Day - May 30th.
Lilacs, lilies of the valley, American flags placed on the
graves of Veterans, red paper poppies for sale, parades
and picnics - all are associated with our celebration of
Memorial Day. The Indianapolis 500 has been part of this
holiday since 1911. Most of us view it as the unofficial
beginning of summer. It is also the most dangerous season
for car accidents. There were and still are major objections to
observing it on a Monday instead of it's traditional observance
on May 30th.
According to Prof. David Blight of Yale University, the first
Memorial Day was observed by freed slaves just
after the Civil War in 1865. It was at a race track
in Charleston, SC which was also the site of a
prison camp. There was a mass grave for the
Union soldiers who had died in captivity. This
group of newly liberated men and women took on
the task of digging individual graves and reburying
the dead soldiers. This was a daring and dangerous
enterprise for freed slaves to do in the South.
Three years later they returned to place flowers on
those graves. There was a parade, patriotic singing
and a picnic. They called it Decoration Day.
It was May 30, 1868.
Northerners credit Waterloo, NY with first celebrating
Memorial Day on May 5, 1866. General John A. Logan
issued a proclamation on behalf of the Grand Army of
the Republic - a veterans' group - that Decoration Day
become a national observance. It was first observed
on May 30, 1866. The date was chosen because it
was NOT the anniversary of a battle. The graves of
Union soldiers were decorated in remembrance of their
sacrifice. Waterloo's role in creating this holiday was
nationally recognized by official proclamation signed
by then President Lyndon B. Johnson on May 26, 1966.
The alternate name of "Memorial Day" did not appear
until 1882. It did not become the official name until
1967. Four years later the date was moved from
May 30th to the last Monday in May. Hence we will
celebrate it on Monday, May 25th this year.
For me, this holiday is also associated with my
mother's death. We had all been home for the
holiday. We had watched the local parades
which we had been part of as children. We
heard the 21 gun salute coming from the cemetery.
Then we went home for a picnic lunch. It was
the last time we were all together.
In December of 2000, the U.S. Congress passed
"The National Moment of Remembrance Act."
It is meant to encourage the people of the United
States to give time, talent and money to their
country which affords them the freedom and
opportunities of living in a democracy. We are
asked to pause, wherever we are at 3 p.m. on
Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember
those who have died in service to this nation.
This year we need to give special attention and
appreciation to the young men and women who
have fallen in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is good to
solemnly remember the dead - especially as a
nation - all together on the same day. It is also
good to say thank you to those who have returned
from battle alive, as well as those who are
still fighting.
Let us remember our history and be grateful for our freedom.
Let us celebrate the present with our loved ones, sharing
all the joy and gratitude we can.
Let us pray for our future with all the wisdom and grace we
can muster.
Have a blessed Memorial Day!
Drive safely and those who live in Phoenix, NY
wish Mary Earle a Happy Birthday
on the "real" Memorial Day - May 30th.
How Does Your Garden Grow?
May 18, 2009
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Gardening is an exercise in optimism.
Marina Schinz, photographer and author
I went to the garden store on one of those
warm days. Now it is cold. I've got a little
red wagon filled with plants. I've got my first ever
topsy turvy planter holding an unsuspecting
tomato plant. I can't wait to see if it's really
as good and as easy as those infomercials
proclaim it to be. I'm going to try a cucumber
vine in the other one I bought.
I've got one quarter of my flower beds dug up
and ready for new plants. I'm scratching my head
trying to remember the name of the plants which
I planted last year. Some are quite prolific.
They are filling in just as I wanted them to do.
I don't suppose it matters if I know what they
are in the grand scheme of things. I'll just
enjoy watching them grow and be pleasantly
surprised when they are all grown up for this
season. Maybe by then I'll remember what they
are.
I've got fresh rhubarb. The plants I brought
here from Dad's three years ago have finally
established themselves. The lilacs are in
full bloom under my bedroom window along
with the lilies of the valley. I wish it would
warm up so I could have the window open
and drink in their scents, especially first thing
in the morning. Ferns are unfolding in their
shady nooks too - all that I didn't accidentally
massacre with the weedwhacker last week.
Every year I am determined to buy a trellis
for the wild blackberry bushes. I think of this
when I am hanging out clothes and those little
thorns grab my clothes and leave painful
scratches on any exposed skin. Maybe this
will be the year I actully accomplish this
task.
I'm trying to fill in the flower beds with perennials
to minimize the care needed. But gladioli and
iris - and dahlias when I plant them - they all need
to be dug up and replanted each year. I'm not
good at doing that. Kneeling is already impossible.
Bending over is easier now that I exercise regularly
but gardening gets more labor intensive with each
passing year.
I've got my basket of pansies from Easter which
I have managed to keep alive. I have the haul
from my trip to the garden store which patiently
waits for their place in the sun. I have two broccoli
plants which a friend gave me. I have several
packets of sunflower seeds which I hope will have
a chance to grow rather than ending up in a
squirrel, chipmunk or bird's stomach.
Thanks to Jim Faulise, my sunflower mailbox is
back in service. Thanks to Ryan Wood, the lawn
finally got mowed. Hopefully, we'll keep ahead of
the grass from now on The rest of the work at hand
is up to me. In fact, I should be out there working
instead of writing about working. The weeds are
already winning in the front flowerbeds.
I cheated this year. Last year I started things
early from seed. This year I bought one of those patio
cherry tomato plants. It is loaded with green tomatoes.
In fact there are two of them almost ripe enough to pop
in my mouth.
Although most of what I plant fails to grow as
bountifully and beautifully as the pictures in the
garden magazines, I will do it every year for as
long as I can move. I do like exercising optimism.
One of my success stories is my super-size milkweed
plants. I fed them Miracle-Gro one year and now I have
a bumper crop. I have to warn those who like to pull weeds,
that the milkweed growing in MY garden does NOT
get pulled. Milkweed attracts monarch butterflies,
which proves to be delightfully entertaining.
I wholeheartedly agree with Maria - the photographer
and author quoted above - "gardening is an exercise
in optimism." It requires rigorous physical exercise
to get things in the ground and to keep the weeds
at bay. But it is sheer, soul filling joy to watch
everything grow and bloom as the summer progresses.
Even though it is only in the sixties and breezy today,
Memorial Day is not far away. Excuse me now, I have to
go exercise my optimism. I may have to wear my long johns
and a flannel shirt to keep warm, but I've got lots to do -
and, for the moment, optimism to spare and share.
Happy Gardening!
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Gardening is an exercise in optimism.
Marina Schinz, photographer and author
I went to the garden store on one of those
warm days. Now it is cold. I've got a little
red wagon filled with plants. I've got my first ever
topsy turvy planter holding an unsuspecting
tomato plant. I can't wait to see if it's really
as good and as easy as those infomercials
proclaim it to be. I'm going to try a cucumber
vine in the other one I bought.
I've got one quarter of my flower beds dug up
and ready for new plants. I'm scratching my head
trying to remember the name of the plants which
I planted last year. Some are quite prolific.
They are filling in just as I wanted them to do.
I don't suppose it matters if I know what they
are in the grand scheme of things. I'll just
enjoy watching them grow and be pleasantly
surprised when they are all grown up for this
season. Maybe by then I'll remember what they
are.
I've got fresh rhubarb. The plants I brought
here from Dad's three years ago have finally
established themselves. The lilacs are in
full bloom under my bedroom window along
with the lilies of the valley. I wish it would
warm up so I could have the window open
and drink in their scents, especially first thing
in the morning. Ferns are unfolding in their
shady nooks too - all that I didn't accidentally
massacre with the weedwhacker last week.
Every year I am determined to buy a trellis
for the wild blackberry bushes. I think of this
when I am hanging out clothes and those little
thorns grab my clothes and leave painful
scratches on any exposed skin. Maybe this
will be the year I actully accomplish this
task.
I'm trying to fill in the flower beds with perennials
to minimize the care needed. But gladioli and
iris - and dahlias when I plant them - they all need
to be dug up and replanted each year. I'm not
good at doing that. Kneeling is already impossible.
Bending over is easier now that I exercise regularly
but gardening gets more labor intensive with each
passing year.
I've got my basket of pansies from Easter which
I have managed to keep alive. I have the haul
from my trip to the garden store which patiently
waits for their place in the sun. I have two broccoli
plants which a friend gave me. I have several
packets of sunflower seeds which I hope will have
a chance to grow rather than ending up in a
squirrel, chipmunk or bird's stomach.
Thanks to Jim Faulise, my sunflower mailbox is
back in service. Thanks to Ryan Wood, the lawn
finally got mowed. Hopefully, we'll keep ahead of
the grass from now on The rest of the work at hand
is up to me. In fact, I should be out there working
instead of writing about working. The weeds are
already winning in the front flowerbeds.
I cheated this year. Last year I started things
early from seed. This year I bought one of those patio
cherry tomato plants. It is loaded with green tomatoes.
In fact there are two of them almost ripe enough to pop
in my mouth.
Although most of what I plant fails to grow as
bountifully and beautifully as the pictures in the
garden magazines, I will do it every year for as
long as I can move. I do like exercising optimism.
One of my success stories is my super-size milkweed
plants. I fed them Miracle-Gro one year and now I have
a bumper crop. I have to warn those who like to pull weeds,
that the milkweed growing in MY garden does NOT
get pulled. Milkweed attracts monarch butterflies,
which proves to be delightfully entertaining.
I wholeheartedly agree with Maria - the photographer
and author quoted above - "gardening is an exercise
in optimism." It requires rigorous physical exercise
to get things in the ground and to keep the weeds
at bay. But it is sheer, soul filling joy to watch
everything grow and bloom as the summer progresses.
Even though it is only in the sixties and breezy today,
Memorial Day is not far away. Excuse me now, I have to
go exercise my optimism. I may have to wear my long johns
and a flannel shirt to keep warm, but I've got lots to do -
and, for the moment, optimism to spare and share.
Happy Gardening!
Monday, May 11, 2009
The True Vine
May 11, 2009
The True Vine
Did you know that there are vineyards
in nearly half of the counties in New
York State? New York State is the
2nd largest producer of wine in the
United States. California, of course,
is number one in this field. I had no
idea that New York State had that
many vineyards though.
Did you know that two thousand years
before Jesus was born, the Egyptians
were praising the abundance of wine in
the country where he was born? It seems
that Syria-Palestine has ideal conditions
for vineyards? The Egyptians had to create
raised beds and bring in soil for growing
grapes. Even with all of that effort, their
wine never rivalled that of Jesus' land.
The land of Canaan was the heart
of vine growing long before Jesus said:
"I am the true vine,
and my Father is the vine grower."
Everyone listening to Jesus would have
immediately had a mental picture of a
local vineyard. For the people of Jesus'
day grapevines were as familiar a sight
as McDonald's golden arched "M" is for
us today. Vineyards were everywhere.
They provided good fruit, good wine and
good money for their owners, plenty of
employment for the local folks too.
My Father removes every branch in me
that bears no fruit. Every branch that
bears fruit, my Father prunes to make
it bear more fruit.
I've been studying the Bible for nearly
sixty years now. Yet whenever I read
an old familiar passage like this, something
new pops out. In the past, I've always
associated pruning with getting rid of
the barren branches - the ones with no
fruit. For the first time, it sank in that
there was more to pruning than taking
out the barren branches. Pruning was meant
to make fruitful branches bear MORE fruit.
Not a stunning insight - but I had always
associated pruning with getting rid of
what was useless, bad or dead. This time
I heard Jesus saying that pruning was
meant to improve and increase the
production of grapes.
You have already been cleansed
by the word which I have spoken to you.
Abide in me as I abide in you.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches who are supposed
to be growing and producing an abundance
of grapes. The grapes represent all that
is good in this life - love and laughter,
close and caring relationships, living to gain
ever increasing wisdom and an attitude of
constant wonder - an ongoing process of
growth leading to spiritual maturity, giving
our every moment of life on earth meaning.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches drawing sustenance
from them both.
I love this allegory! It gives such a clear
and comforting image of our relationship
to God and the primary purpose of our
existence - to grow and bear fruit.
Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself
unless it abides in the vine,
neither can you unless you abide in me.
Another aspect of this insight is the
affirmation that pruning is NOT punitive.
Pruning is meant to minimize waste
and maximize growth.
I am the vine,
you are the branches.
Those who abide in me
and I in them bear much fruit
because apart from me
you can do nothing.
If branches do not bear fruit or choose
to leave the vine, there are dire consequences.
Whoever does not abide in me
is thrown away like a branch and withers.
Such branches are gathered,
thrown into the fire and burned.
Too often folks associate this with the eternal
fires of Hell. For me, it is simply stating the
consequences of trying to live without any
connection to God. Even those who choose
to leave or are pruned away serve a purpose.
They are gathered and provide fuel for fires that
cook food and keep people warm. Being
thrown in the fire to be burned is not a punishment.
It is a consequence of being disconnected.
When we sever our relationship with God,
we are useless in the sense that we can
no longer bear fruit. But we are still useful as
fuel for much needed fires.
If you abide in me and my words abide in you,
ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit
and become my disciples.
This probably gets misunderstood more than
any other part of this passage. It does NOT mean
that God becomes our Fairy Godmother granting
every wish and whim we think up. It is about
an eternal relationship with God, a forever
connection to Jesus and a non-stop commitment
to live life on God's terms - bearing fruit as one
of many branches who are providing spiritual
nourishment for the world at large. This is the
foundation out of which our requests to God
will be made - asking for whatever we need to
keep going and growing. It is NOT about asking
for "things" for ourselves. It is about asking
for strength and support for ourselves so that
we can keep adding to the abundance of God's
goodness and grace in this world.
As my Father has loved me so I have loved you.
Abide in my love.
If you keep my commandments
you will abide in my love,
just as I have kept my Father's commandments
and abide in my Father's love.
This is my favorite verse. All I have to do is
let Jesus soak up the sun, drink in the rain and
give me what I need to grow, grow, grow. God
harvests the grapes, prunes me when I need it
and all I have to do is stay connected and
productive. Jesus keeps the God-ness I need
flowing so I can just keep on growing. A nice secure
arrangement if you ask me.
I have said these things to you
so that my joy may be in you,
and your joy may be complete.
A happy ending! If you need the sight of
a real vineyard to enhance your understanding
and appreciation of this grapevine allegory,
head out towards Wolcott, NY and get yourself
intentionally lost. I did last week. I always
have to explore where I will come out if I go
the opposite way of what will take me home.
I ended up on Lummisville Road. I passed
Chimney Bluff State Park. I saw spectacular
views of Port Bay. I did u-turns on several
Dead Ends. I went around in circles for about
an hour surrounded by acres of orchards,
fertile farmland and vineyards. I ended up
going back to Wolcott and returning home
on my usual route, chuckling at myself for
not realizing how close to Lake Ontario I was.
It was a great day for a ride in the country and
it produced a bumper crop of good fruit - in the
form of inner peace.
I have written this column so that my inner
peace may be shared with you, and it will either
affirm the peace you already have or move you
to bear some of that good fruit for yourself today.
The True Vine
Did you know that there are vineyards
in nearly half of the counties in New
York State? New York State is the
2nd largest producer of wine in the
United States. California, of course,
is number one in this field. I had no
idea that New York State had that
many vineyards though.
Did you know that two thousand years
before Jesus was born, the Egyptians
were praising the abundance of wine in
the country where he was born? It seems
that Syria-Palestine has ideal conditions
for vineyards? The Egyptians had to create
raised beds and bring in soil for growing
grapes. Even with all of that effort, their
wine never rivalled that of Jesus' land.
The land of Canaan was the heart
of vine growing long before Jesus said:
"I am the true vine,
and my Father is the vine grower."
Everyone listening to Jesus would have
immediately had a mental picture of a
local vineyard. For the people of Jesus'
day grapevines were as familiar a sight
as McDonald's golden arched "M" is for
us today. Vineyards were everywhere.
They provided good fruit, good wine and
good money for their owners, plenty of
employment for the local folks too.
My Father removes every branch in me
that bears no fruit. Every branch that
bears fruit, my Father prunes to make
it bear more fruit.
I've been studying the Bible for nearly
sixty years now. Yet whenever I read
an old familiar passage like this, something
new pops out. In the past, I've always
associated pruning with getting rid of
the barren branches - the ones with no
fruit. For the first time, it sank in that
there was more to pruning than taking
out the barren branches. Pruning was meant
to make fruitful branches bear MORE fruit.
Not a stunning insight - but I had always
associated pruning with getting rid of
what was useless, bad or dead. This time
I heard Jesus saying that pruning was
meant to improve and increase the
production of grapes.
You have already been cleansed
by the word which I have spoken to you.
Abide in me as I abide in you.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches who are supposed
to be growing and producing an abundance
of grapes. The grapes represent all that
is good in this life - love and laughter,
close and caring relationships, living to gain
ever increasing wisdom and an attitude of
constant wonder - an ongoing process of
growth leading to spiritual maturity, giving
our every moment of life on earth meaning.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches drawing sustenance
from them both.
I love this allegory! It gives such a clear
and comforting image of our relationship
to God and the primary purpose of our
existence - to grow and bear fruit.
Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself
unless it abides in the vine,
neither can you unless you abide in me.
Another aspect of this insight is the
affirmation that pruning is NOT punitive.
Pruning is meant to minimize waste
and maximize growth.
I am the vine,
you are the branches.
Those who abide in me
and I in them bear much fruit
because apart from me
you can do nothing.
If branches do not bear fruit or choose
to leave the vine, there are dire consequences.
Whoever does not abide in me
is thrown away like a branch and withers.
Such branches are gathered,
thrown into the fire and burned.
Too often folks associate this with the eternal
fires of Hell. For me, it is simply stating the
consequences of trying to live without any
connection to God. Even those who choose
to leave or are pruned away serve a purpose.
They are gathered and provide fuel for fires that
cook food and keep people warm. Being
thrown in the fire to be burned is not a punishment.
It is a consequence of being disconnected.
When we sever our relationship with God,
we are useless in the sense that we can
no longer bear fruit. But we are still useful as
fuel for much needed fires.
If you abide in me and my words abide in you,
ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit
and become my disciples.
This probably gets misunderstood more than
any other part of this passage. It does NOT mean
that God becomes our Fairy Godmother granting
every wish and whim we think up. It is about
an eternal relationship with God, a forever
connection to Jesus and a non-stop commitment
to live life on God's terms - bearing fruit as one
of many branches who are providing spiritual
nourishment for the world at large. This is the
foundation out of which our requests to God
will be made - asking for whatever we need to
keep going and growing. It is NOT about asking
for "things" for ourselves. It is about asking
for strength and support for ourselves so that
we can keep adding to the abundance of God's
goodness and grace in this world.
As my Father has loved me so I have loved you.
Abide in my love.
If you keep my commandments
you will abide in my love,
just as I have kept my Father's commandments
and abide in my Father's love.
This is my favorite verse. All I have to do is
let Jesus soak up the sun, drink in the rain and
give me what I need to grow, grow, grow. God
harvests the grapes, prunes me when I need it
and all I have to do is stay connected and
productive. Jesus keeps the God-ness I need
flowing so I can just keep on growing. A nice secure
arrangement if you ask me.
I have said these things to you
so that my joy may be in you,
and your joy may be complete.
A happy ending! If you need the sight of
a real vineyard to enhance your understanding
and appreciation of this grapevine allegory,
head out towards Wolcott, NY and get yourself
intentionally lost. I did last week. I always
have to explore where I will come out if I go
the opposite way of what will take me home.
I ended up on Lummisville Road. I passed
Chimney Bluff State Park. I saw spectacular
views of Port Bay. I did u-turns on several
Dead Ends. I went around in circles for about
an hour surrounded by acres of orchards,
fertile farmland and vineyards. I ended up
going back to Wolcott and returning home
on my usual route, chuckling at myself for
not realizing how close to Lake Ontario I was.
It was a great day for a ride in the country and
it produced a bumper crop of good fruit - in the
form of inner peace.
I have written this column so that my inner
peace may be shared with you, and it will either
affirm the peace you already have or move you
to bear some of that good fruit for yourself today.
Monday, May 4, 2009
On With the Show!
May 4, 2009
Spiritually Speaking
I spent Sunday afternoon watching SUNY Oswego's
production of Steven Sondheim's musical
"Into the Woods." Characters from several
fairy tales make journeys 'into the woods' for
various reasons. All learn valuable, though
sometimes painful, lessons. The first act,
however, finds everyone with a happy ending.
Their wishes are fulfilled. And viewers are tempted
to think the play is over. It isn't.
In the second act, all the happy endings go
awry with the arrival of one very angry giantess.
Her husband had been accidentally killed in the
first act. She wanted vengeance. Only four
characters are left standing at the end. All are
determined to have more realistic expectations
for life and to be content with what they have
instead wasting time and energy on wishes
and fantasies of what might be. It was a delightful
show starring Gregory Reynolds, a former tenor
in the choir at the Pennellville church - now a
sophomore at SUNY Oswego. Thanks to his
proud mother, Karen many of us were privileged
to see the show this past weekend. I love a good
musical. Sitting there watching Little Red Riding
Hood, Cinderella, a baker (Gregory) and his wife,
the Big Bad Wolf, Jack and many, many others
romp through the woods, singing and dancing up
a storm, reminded me of how much I enjoyed
being part of a theater group in my younger days.
Maybe when I retire, I'll be able to incorporate
this time-consuming pasttime back into my
life.
I usually worked behind the scenes. I got involved
in a local summer theater group the first two years
of college because the young man I was dating at
the time was involved. He was a star.
Our troupe had little money but lots of talent and time.
Trent, my boyfriend of the moment, played
Matt, the lead in Harvey Schmidt's and Tom
Jones' musical "The Fantastiks" the first summer.
He had a gorgeous tenor voice. That musical
has beautiful tenor solos. My favorite one was
"Soon It's Gonna Rain" a plaintive love song sung
by Matt and Luisa, the main characters who love
each other. I admit that I was extremely jealous
of his leading lady back then. I can't even remember
her name now. I worked on props, costumes and
publicity.
I also held a cast party at my house that first
summer. My parents were on vacation in Florida
with my two youngest sisters. No, I didn't have
permission to have a party. But I was 19 years
old, my parents were away and hey, it's what
you do at that age. I had chaperones. A married
couple from England were in the area for a brief visit
so I invited them to the show and the party.
Prof. Jones, the male half of this couple,
had been a visiting geography professor
the previous year at SUNY Potsdam. He and his wife,
Barbara had only been in Potsdam for one year. I took
his class, and then kept in touch when they returned
to England.
I didn't see anything wrong with inviting a few friends
over to meet them, celebrating the closing of the play
and stocking the fridge with a few six packs.
Well, I did know that it was wrong. But I was 19
and sure that I wouldn't be caught. Did I mention
that alcohol was never allowed in our home? Imagine
the drama, and my personal ethical dilemma,
when my parents returned home two days
early during this party. I don't think there has ever
been a more dramatically complex moment in my life.
I have blocked out most of the details - except for how
I sent those six packs home with the guests and
thanked them for bringing them in the first place.
They looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted
that they take home what they had brought. No
way was I going to get busted for buying beer as
well as having an unauthorized party. Need I
remind you readers, I was 19. The drinking age
was 18 back then - so at least I hadn't broken any
laws - just my parents' rules.
Mom and Dad discouraged my theater
work after that. I insisted that others had
brought the beer and little had been consumed.
I pleaded for mercy because Barbara and Arthur
were both adult chaperones and nothing bad
happened. I cleaned the house. I tried to make
amends. And I was back in the troupe by the
next summer.
Trent played the lead in George Kaufman's and
Moss Hart's "You Can't Take It With You." No
music in this one. This time we had little money and
lots of laughs. I worked on props and costumes
again. No cast party. I learned my lesson.
And my parents stayed home the whole summer
anyway..
My theater career ended temporarily when Trent
and I broke up and I went to live in France. When
I returned to this country, I spent a quiet summer
working before returning to Potsdam for my senior
year. I had an evening French class. It was a
small and intimate class. We often went to a
place called "Station for Steak" - a local eatery -
to socialize after class. There was also an English
literature class which let out at the same time. The
professor knew two of the people in my class and
he often joined us for our social hour. Before the end of the
semester, we were all invited to the wedding of the
man who owned the restaurant. The reception was
at the "Station for Steak" with live music. The English
Professor asked me to dance. He was a very good dancer.
Turns out, he was also involved in the local theater
group, The Potsdam Community Theater. He was
starring in their production of "The Melodrama."
I can't remember who wrote this one. Bill, the
English Professor overplayed the villain's role as
was befitting this predictable tale of woe where the
innocent young maiden is rescued from the wiles
of the villain by a handsome young hero. I didn't
actually work on this play. I did attend all of its
performances.
Bill and I ended up getting married. We worked
on productions of "Come Back, Little Sheba"
and "Damn Yankees." I actually made the chorus
line in Damn Yankess - as well as working on props,
publicity and costumes. Those are good memories.
Stephanie, another member of the Potsdam
troupe, and I made annual pilgrimages to NYC
to see at least one Broadway show each year.
I got to see Harvey Korman in Plaza Suite, the
first run of Chorus Line and The Wiz, an unforgettable
tour of the Metropolitan Opera House and a
lecture by Bob Fosse. It's been a long time since
those NYC trips. Today's performance brought
them all back.
My daughter, Fran ended up being a theater major.
I was amazed at her talent in a high school play
where she played a character similar to Anne Frank.
I can't remember the name of the play. She had been
memorizing lyrics since she was three. One of her
favorites is "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I think she
knows the entire show by heart. I enjoyed travelling to
Niagara University to see her in college productions.
One of the best was "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."
I also traveled to Prestonsburg, Kentucky to see
"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." She had arranged for
me to be the volunteer they called up on stage in the
last act to play "Heart and Soul" on the piano. She
was also in a few shows with the Grasse River Players
in Canton. And now we are both too busy to get
involved in any theater productions.
It takes hours and hours of hard work to learn a part,
to get all the scenes blocked out, get sponsors,
print posters and programs and do the publicity.
But there is no thrill like opening night, when the
overture plays, the house lights come up and the
performance is on. For many of us, this feeds our
souls in ways that nothing else does. I get to do
many mini-dramas as part of Vacation Bible School,
occasionally even a Sunday sermon. But I do dream
of retirement - and the luxury of having time to
join a theater group again. Being part of a show
is a soul nourishing adventure from the trembling
tryouts through the applause of the crowd
as the curtain comes down on the last performance.
Spiritually Speaking
I spent Sunday afternoon watching SUNY Oswego's
production of Steven Sondheim's musical
"Into the Woods." Characters from several
fairy tales make journeys 'into the woods' for
various reasons. All learn valuable, though
sometimes painful, lessons. The first act,
however, finds everyone with a happy ending.
Their wishes are fulfilled. And viewers are tempted
to think the play is over. It isn't.
In the second act, all the happy endings go
awry with the arrival of one very angry giantess.
Her husband had been accidentally killed in the
first act. She wanted vengeance. Only four
characters are left standing at the end. All are
determined to have more realistic expectations
for life and to be content with what they have
instead wasting time and energy on wishes
and fantasies of what might be. It was a delightful
show starring Gregory Reynolds, a former tenor
in the choir at the Pennellville church - now a
sophomore at SUNY Oswego. Thanks to his
proud mother, Karen many of us were privileged
to see the show this past weekend. I love a good
musical. Sitting there watching Little Red Riding
Hood, Cinderella, a baker (Gregory) and his wife,
the Big Bad Wolf, Jack and many, many others
romp through the woods, singing and dancing up
a storm, reminded me of how much I enjoyed
being part of a theater group in my younger days.
Maybe when I retire, I'll be able to incorporate
this time-consuming pasttime back into my
life.
I usually worked behind the scenes. I got involved
in a local summer theater group the first two years
of college because the young man I was dating at
the time was involved. He was a star.
Our troupe had little money but lots of talent and time.
Trent, my boyfriend of the moment, played
Matt, the lead in Harvey Schmidt's and Tom
Jones' musical "The Fantastiks" the first summer.
He had a gorgeous tenor voice. That musical
has beautiful tenor solos. My favorite one was
"Soon It's Gonna Rain" a plaintive love song sung
by Matt and Luisa, the main characters who love
each other. I admit that I was extremely jealous
of his leading lady back then. I can't even remember
her name now. I worked on props, costumes and
publicity.
I also held a cast party at my house that first
summer. My parents were on vacation in Florida
with my two youngest sisters. No, I didn't have
permission to have a party. But I was 19 years
old, my parents were away and hey, it's what
you do at that age. I had chaperones. A married
couple from England were in the area for a brief visit
so I invited them to the show and the party.
Prof. Jones, the male half of this couple,
had been a visiting geography professor
the previous year at SUNY Potsdam. He and his wife,
Barbara had only been in Potsdam for one year. I took
his class, and then kept in touch when they returned
to England.
I didn't see anything wrong with inviting a few friends
over to meet them, celebrating the closing of the play
and stocking the fridge with a few six packs.
Well, I did know that it was wrong. But I was 19
and sure that I wouldn't be caught. Did I mention
that alcohol was never allowed in our home? Imagine
the drama, and my personal ethical dilemma,
when my parents returned home two days
early during this party. I don't think there has ever
been a more dramatically complex moment in my life.
I have blocked out most of the details - except for how
I sent those six packs home with the guests and
thanked them for bringing them in the first place.
They looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted
that they take home what they had brought. No
way was I going to get busted for buying beer as
well as having an unauthorized party. Need I
remind you readers, I was 19. The drinking age
was 18 back then - so at least I hadn't broken any
laws - just my parents' rules.
Mom and Dad discouraged my theater
work after that. I insisted that others had
brought the beer and little had been consumed.
I pleaded for mercy because Barbara and Arthur
were both adult chaperones and nothing bad
happened. I cleaned the house. I tried to make
amends. And I was back in the troupe by the
next summer.
Trent played the lead in George Kaufman's and
Moss Hart's "You Can't Take It With You." No
music in this one. This time we had little money and
lots of laughs. I worked on props and costumes
again. No cast party. I learned my lesson.
And my parents stayed home the whole summer
anyway..
My theater career ended temporarily when Trent
and I broke up and I went to live in France. When
I returned to this country, I spent a quiet summer
working before returning to Potsdam for my senior
year. I had an evening French class. It was a
small and intimate class. We often went to a
place called "Station for Steak" - a local eatery -
to socialize after class. There was also an English
literature class which let out at the same time. The
professor knew two of the people in my class and
he often joined us for our social hour. Before the end of the
semester, we were all invited to the wedding of the
man who owned the restaurant. The reception was
at the "Station for Steak" with live music. The English
Professor asked me to dance. He was a very good dancer.
Turns out, he was also involved in the local theater
group, The Potsdam Community Theater. He was
starring in their production of "The Melodrama."
I can't remember who wrote this one. Bill, the
English Professor overplayed the villain's role as
was befitting this predictable tale of woe where the
innocent young maiden is rescued from the wiles
of the villain by a handsome young hero. I didn't
actually work on this play. I did attend all of its
performances.
Bill and I ended up getting married. We worked
on productions of "Come Back, Little Sheba"
and "Damn Yankees." I actually made the chorus
line in Damn Yankess - as well as working on props,
publicity and costumes. Those are good memories.
Stephanie, another member of the Potsdam
troupe, and I made annual pilgrimages to NYC
to see at least one Broadway show each year.
I got to see Harvey Korman in Plaza Suite, the
first run of Chorus Line and The Wiz, an unforgettable
tour of the Metropolitan Opera House and a
lecture by Bob Fosse. It's been a long time since
those NYC trips. Today's performance brought
them all back.
My daughter, Fran ended up being a theater major.
I was amazed at her talent in a high school play
where she played a character similar to Anne Frank.
I can't remember the name of the play. She had been
memorizing lyrics since she was three. One of her
favorites is "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I think she
knows the entire show by heart. I enjoyed travelling to
Niagara University to see her in college productions.
One of the best was "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."
I also traveled to Prestonsburg, Kentucky to see
"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." She had arranged for
me to be the volunteer they called up on stage in the
last act to play "Heart and Soul" on the piano. She
was also in a few shows with the Grasse River Players
in Canton. And now we are both too busy to get
involved in any theater productions.
It takes hours and hours of hard work to learn a part,
to get all the scenes blocked out, get sponsors,
print posters and programs and do the publicity.
But there is no thrill like opening night, when the
overture plays, the house lights come up and the
performance is on. For many of us, this feeds our
souls in ways that nothing else does. I get to do
many mini-dramas as part of Vacation Bible School,
occasionally even a Sunday sermon. But I do dream
of retirement - and the luxury of having time to
join a theater group again. Being part of a show
is a soul nourishing adventure from the trembling
tryouts through the applause of the crowd
as the curtain comes down on the last performance.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tribute to a Friend
The holiness and the hecticness of the last two weeks
has subsided. It is the Monday morning after Easter
and so far so good. A few phone calls to return but
enjoying the momentary calm and quiet. Two
funerals, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday,
Sunrise service and the grand finale of Easter Sunday
celebrations including a Baptism/Confirmation
are officially behind me.
This week's main task is to sort through all the jokes
and funny stories I've collected and/or been given for
the past year. Some will be used as part of this
Sunday's Holy Humor liturgy. Long ago, Easter
Sunday through Bright Monday - which will be next Monday,
April 20th - these seven days after Easter were filled with
picnics and parties marked by joy and laughter as folks
stretched out the celebration of Jesus' Resurrection.
Practical jokes were normal and numerous for clergy and
laity alike. The rationale behind all this wholesome mischief
and mayhem was that God had played the biggest and best practical
joke of all time on the Devil by raising Jesus from the dead.
What better, more appropriate response than a week filled with
mirth and merriment?
I'm not exactly up to the mirth and merriment level
yet. I think a good long nap, absolute quiet and doing
absolutely nothing for a few hours is in order. There is
much to ponder. Time is needed to mull over the events
of the last two weeks and let their impact sink in. There
is one impending change which hangs like a cloud of
sadness as I plan next Sunday's fun.
Rev. Lauri Craig arrived in Phoenix about three months
before I arrived in Pennellville. We have worked well together
over these last six years - as colleagues, then confidantes,
and now good friends. What fun we have had planning something
new and different each year for the Down by the River Service!
What adventures we have had moving the service inside one
of the churches when the weather refused to cooperate. I worked
the desk while Lauri, Bob and the dogs did the CROP Walk
where we raised money for hunger - global and local. We did
our best to publicize each other's fundraisers and not have
two at the same time. For the most part, we succeeded.
We have shared leadership at worship services at Syracuse
Home, done a few funerals together and covered for each
other while away on vacation.
We were constantly trying to involve more of the community in
activities and projects sponsored by the Southern Oswego County
Council of Churches. Most have probably forgotten our first and
only community Thanksgiving dinner? It seemed like a good idea
at the time. Our "Heart to Heart" kit project (making kits for kids
for Church World Service to distribute at disaster sites) was a
resounding success though much more time consuming that we
had imagined. If you have ever attended the annual Youth Awards
banquet, you have heard one of us bless the food and one give the
Benediction. We were also part of the Baccalaureate service at
JCB each June. And each September 11th, we participated in the
Memorial Service at Henley Park.
There have been many meetings held over lunch at Larkin's and
other local eateries. We also discovered the luscious latte available
at the State Street Cafe. We have done a variety of things for Lent -
always taking a lead at the weekly lunches, sometimes sharing a study
group, frequently planning joint services for Holy Week. As we stood
behind the altar table on Maundy Thursday consecrating the elements for
Holy Communion, we realized that this would be our last service together.
It was a sad realization.
We have been there for each other when our mothers' died. We have
both appreciated working with Doug and Gordon Tappan on way too many
funerals these past six years. We share prayer concerns and pray for
each other's parishioners on a regular basis. Sometimes we've even been
able to visit each other's people in hospitals and nursing homes.
It is hard to say good-bye to what has been a huge part of our
relationship - providing pastoral care and spiritual leadership
for the Phoenix community. We have worked together easily and
can look back on many, many collaborative worship experiences
which hopefully have been spiritually nourishing for those
who attended. I will miss working with Pastor Lauri. We have
weathered many seasons together. And now, as it says in
Ecclesiastes 3, "there is a time to weep,and a time to laugh."
It will be time for both in the two weeks ahead. Though
Sunday, April 26th will be Pastor Lauri's last Sunday as my
colleague in ministry here in Phoenix, I thank God that it
will not be our last day as friends. But the 26th will bring tears.
Here's an email contribution which will hopefully bring
laughter on the 19th, Holy Humor Sunday. My apologies to
blondes everywhere, including my sister Andrea.
The True Meaning of Easter in Canada
Three blondes died and found themselves standing before St. Peter.
He told them that before they could enter the Kingdom,
they had to tell him what Easter represented.
The first blonde, a American, said "Easter is a holiday
where they have a big feast. We give thanks and eat turkey."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The second blonde who was British said, "Easter is when we
celebrate Jesus' birth and exchange gifts."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The third blonde, a Canadian, said she knew what Easter was,
and St. Peter said, "So, tell me."
She said, "Easter is a Christian holiday that coincides
with the Jewish festival of Passover. Jesus was having Passover
feast with His disciples when He was betrayed by Judas, and the
Romans arrested Him. He was nailed to a cross where he died. Then
they buried Him in a tomb behind and sealed the entry with a very
large stone."
St Peter said, "Very Good.'
Then the blonde continued, "Now, every year the Jews roll away
the stone and Jesus comes out. If he sees his shadow, we have six more
weeks of hockey."
St. Peter fainted
A time to laugh? Or a time to weep?
has subsided. It is the Monday morning after Easter
and so far so good. A few phone calls to return but
enjoying the momentary calm and quiet. Two
funerals, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday,
Sunrise service and the grand finale of Easter Sunday
celebrations including a Baptism/Confirmation
are officially behind me.
This week's main task is to sort through all the jokes
and funny stories I've collected and/or been given for
the past year. Some will be used as part of this
Sunday's Holy Humor liturgy. Long ago, Easter
Sunday through Bright Monday - which will be next Monday,
April 20th - these seven days after Easter were filled with
picnics and parties marked by joy and laughter as folks
stretched out the celebration of Jesus' Resurrection.
Practical jokes were normal and numerous for clergy and
laity alike. The rationale behind all this wholesome mischief
and mayhem was that God had played the biggest and best practical
joke of all time on the Devil by raising Jesus from the dead.
What better, more appropriate response than a week filled with
mirth and merriment?
I'm not exactly up to the mirth and merriment level
yet. I think a good long nap, absolute quiet and doing
absolutely nothing for a few hours is in order. There is
much to ponder. Time is needed to mull over the events
of the last two weeks and let their impact sink in. There
is one impending change which hangs like a cloud of
sadness as I plan next Sunday's fun.
Rev. Lauri Craig arrived in Phoenix about three months
before I arrived in Pennellville. We have worked well together
over these last six years - as colleagues, then confidantes,
and now good friends. What fun we have had planning something
new and different each year for the Down by the River Service!
What adventures we have had moving the service inside one
of the churches when the weather refused to cooperate. I worked
the desk while Lauri, Bob and the dogs did the CROP Walk
where we raised money for hunger - global and local. We did
our best to publicize each other's fundraisers and not have
two at the same time. For the most part, we succeeded.
We have shared leadership at worship services at Syracuse
Home, done a few funerals together and covered for each
other while away on vacation.
We were constantly trying to involve more of the community in
activities and projects sponsored by the Southern Oswego County
Council of Churches. Most have probably forgotten our first and
only community Thanksgiving dinner? It seemed like a good idea
at the time. Our "Heart to Heart" kit project (making kits for kids
for Church World Service to distribute at disaster sites) was a
resounding success though much more time consuming that we
had imagined. If you have ever attended the annual Youth Awards
banquet, you have heard one of us bless the food and one give the
Benediction. We were also part of the Baccalaureate service at
JCB each June. And each September 11th, we participated in the
Memorial Service at Henley Park.
There have been many meetings held over lunch at Larkin's and
other local eateries. We also discovered the luscious latte available
at the State Street Cafe. We have done a variety of things for Lent -
always taking a lead at the weekly lunches, sometimes sharing a study
group, frequently planning joint services for Holy Week. As we stood
behind the altar table on Maundy Thursday consecrating the elements for
Holy Communion, we realized that this would be our last service together.
It was a sad realization.
We have been there for each other when our mothers' died. We have
both appreciated working with Doug and Gordon Tappan on way too many
funerals these past six years. We share prayer concerns and pray for
each other's parishioners on a regular basis. Sometimes we've even been
able to visit each other's people in hospitals and nursing homes.
It is hard to say good-bye to what has been a huge part of our
relationship - providing pastoral care and spiritual leadership
for the Phoenix community. We have worked together easily and
can look back on many, many collaborative worship experiences
which hopefully have been spiritually nourishing for those
who attended. I will miss working with Pastor Lauri. We have
weathered many seasons together. And now, as it says in
Ecclesiastes 3, "there is a time to weep,and a time to laugh."
It will be time for both in the two weeks ahead. Though
Sunday, April 26th will be Pastor Lauri's last Sunday as my
colleague in ministry here in Phoenix, I thank God that it
will not be our last day as friends. But the 26th will bring tears.
Here's an email contribution which will hopefully bring
laughter on the 19th, Holy Humor Sunday. My apologies to
blondes everywhere, including my sister Andrea.
The True Meaning of Easter in Canada
Three blondes died and found themselves standing before St. Peter.
He told them that before they could enter the Kingdom,
they had to tell him what Easter represented.
The first blonde, a American, said "Easter is a holiday
where they have a big feast. We give thanks and eat turkey."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The second blonde who was British said, "Easter is when we
celebrate Jesus' birth and exchange gifts."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The third blonde, a Canadian, said she knew what Easter was,
and St. Peter said, "So, tell me."
She said, "Easter is a Christian holiday that coincides
with the Jewish festival of Passover. Jesus was having Passover
feast with His disciples when He was betrayed by Judas, and the
Romans arrested Him. He was nailed to a cross where he died. Then
they buried Him in a tomb behind and sealed the entry with a very
large stone."
St Peter said, "Very Good.'
Then the blonde continued, "Now, every year the Jews roll away
the stone and Jesus comes out. If he sees his shadow, we have six more
weeks of hockey."
St. Peter fainted
A time to laugh? Or a time to weep?
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