Early Wednesday evening I posted Mannheim Steamroller's "Silent Night" as my introduction to this year's favorite Christmas music. Nothing since. What happened?
Well, we had a pretty good-sized 'norther' come in during the wee hours Thursday morning. What was kind of weird with this one is that tornado warnings started being posted shortly after I published my last entry. They think it might have been a lightning strike that knocked out a big chunk of power at Hobby Airport and camera shots showing the hundreds of people waiting in humongous lines outside the terminal to be checked in were more proof positive that traveling during the holidays is perilous and fraught with risk and made me shake my head at their frustration and concern at the distinct possibility of not being able to get to their destinations on time.
Thank goodness those that I drove to either airport experienced no such delays, but you never know about the returns. I have one scheduled to come back in to Hobby Monday evening (late, with a Chicago connection) and another next week. Hopefully, their return schedules will be as delay-free.
Thursday afternoon I decided that I had to make one more Randall's stop. I hadn't found the 'perfect' Christmas card for my granddaughter. Had one that I really liked for the whole family, but wanted one really special for her. This year my granddaughter decided to become a Christian - a 'biggie' for me, as those of you who read some of my previous posts already know - and I wanted a card that would exemplify how I felt about the combination of her new faith melding in with that of her family. Without it actually saying so, if you know what I mean. You probably don't, but it's the best I can do here. I wish I had copied down the message - I'd share it with you - but I didn't.
[I gave her three ceramic figures of the holy family that I'd had for many years, and she seemed to like them. Also, a Bible that was given to me - either when I was baptized or when I joined the church, one or the other (don't know, because the dedication page is missing) - some 60 or 65 years ago. It was in the trunk of the taxicab all the years I was driving, and is now in a very fragile state. It's the old King James version, with Jesus' words in red.]
But back to Randall's. The temperature outside was now in the very low 40's (Fahrenheit) and winds were blowing at a constant 20-30mph, gusting to 41. I didn't dress anywhere near warm enough! I was not expecting the temperature inside the store to be the same as that outside.
Initially, however, I didn't realize that fact and decided to shop for chili and fudge ingredients 'as long as I was there'. Well, it took me a whole lot longer than it should have because this particular store's layout was unfamiliar to me. I got a good chill that went right on down through my bones and - tell you the truth, have still not quite recovered from.
The rest of Christmas Eve day and all of Christmas Eve were spent with me either in bed, tossing and turning - moaning, groaning and coughing, or watching "It's a Wonderful Life" for the 89 gazillionth time. I should have sent my son-in-law an e-mail before going to bed - telling him I wasn't feeling well and to 'start without me' Christmas Day - but I didn't. Guess I didn't think I'd sleep that long.
And so, around 9am the phone rang, waking me up. I knew who it was. I lay there for a few more minutes and then got up and staggered around, trying to find the phone so I could call them back.
I did get out there eventually - early afternoon, maybe - but felt really lousy the whole day. I ached all over. I had tried to go back to bed that morning and get some more sleep, but it just didn't happen. Tossing and turning while moaning, groaning and coughing were the most I could accomplish.
All things considered, it was a nice day. Well, the best that could be expected, I should think. I tried to lay down for a nap before driving back home, but was sleepless. Just all achy. I don't want to drone on and on and on here about how I felt, but it wasn't good.
I decided to get back up after a couple of hours at the attempted nap farm - as long as I was awake, anyway - and visit with the family before starting back. My daughter was upstairs napping, my granddaughter was on her second book of the day - she skim reads, she says (probably why she couldn't tell me what the book was about when I asked her) - and my son-in-law was prowling around, having just gotten up from his nap. Thank goodness someone was getting their sleep!
When I first began writing this post, I intended to say something more about my favorite Christmas music - and possibly include another selection or two for your enjoyment, but have decided that this is enough already! [Also, I have not forgotten that I owe you another "Simon Says" for December.] And so, without further ado, I wish you and yours the very best for this Sunday, December 27, 2009.
2010 is now just around the corner. How is that possible? Later!
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Ichabod or Ebenezer?
I feel so blessed - SO blessed! - to be able to share with you Dr. James A. Wharton's sermon, given just a few years ago at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary's centennial celebration.
Initially, I was under the impression that this sermon was available on the web. As I discovered, however - this being some 6+ years later, it is not ... ... and so, I spent some time trying to reach the 'powers that be' at the seminary in Austin to see how I might be able to obtain a copy of it.
You might recall that I first mentioned Dr. Wharton in some prominence in this post, wherein I shared not one of my 'transformative moments', but one of his!
We have since gone back and forth - the seminary and I - leaving voice mails and so forth, but today I feel an almost unbelievable sense of wonder and absolute delight in being able to share with you Dr. Wharton's sermon.
Today, I spoke to both Dr. Wharton and his wife on the phone. They are currently residing in the Carolinas ... a beautiful part of our world ... and he very graciously gave me his permission to publish his sermon on my blog. And so, without further ado, here it is ... ...
C E N T E N N I A L S E R M O N
Ichabod or Ebenezer?
By James A. Wharton, former Professor of Old Testament, Austin Seminary
A sermon preached on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, October 1, 2002.
Text: I Samuel 4:10-22; 7:7-12
So . . . Who shall it be? Ichabod or Ebenezer? What is at stake here is nothing less than the freedom of God. Are we to worship a God who is captive to our traditions and our ideas and our feelings about God? Or . . . and this is a huge or . . . are we called to worship the God of whom Scripture tells, the one who is gloriously free from us, the one who shatters our most sacred preconceptions about who God must be, and yet the one who chooses to be with us, and for us, in surprising faithfulness to all that has gone before?
Ichabod? Or Ebenezer? Washington Irving and Charles Dickens have made it difficult for us to see anything profound in the choice between these two weird sounding names. Ichabod Crane in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . . . the quintessential wimp. Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol . . . the quintessential cheapskate.
Wimpy and self-serving as we ourselves may be, nobody wants to be an Ichabod or an Ebenezer, and there is not much to choose between them. It's been a long time since Presbyterians could sing "Here I Raise My Ebenezer" without laughing.
It strikes me that the one hundredth birthday party of Austin Seminary is a grand occasion to take a fresh look at Ichabod or Ebenezer. To face again, as these texts invite us to do, the huge question about the freedom of God. As I see it, this is the watershed question that confronts the church of Jesus Christ in our time and place.
The story of Ichabod begins with Eli, the priest at Shiloh . . . a man who devoted his entire life to the worship and service of the Lord of Hosts, who was radically present to God's people, the one who was enthroned above the cherubim on the ark of the convent which was enshrined in the temple at Shiloh.
I feel increasingly kin to Eli, because Scripture describes him as being "old, and heavy." And, like Eli, I know what it means to cherish strong convictions about who God is, and who we are in relation to God, and what on earth God is up to, and what God wants from us, and what we may expect from God.
For old Eli, all those years of devotion, and all those cherished notions about God were now at risk, as never before in his lifetime. Imagine the shock Eli must have felt when the soldiers of Israel and their chaplains burst into the holy place, take upthe ark of the covenant on their shoulders, and charge off to do battle with the Philistines. Thinking to use their God as a weapon of mass destruction. After all, the ark of the covenant means that God is with us . . . Immanuel . . . Gott Mit Uns. Surely God will protect us against the evil doers, against the enemies of God . . . that is to say, against those who threaten our politics, our security, our way of life.
Perhaps those who carried the ark into battle also thought of themselves as "One nation, under God." Just how far "under God" they were was made painfully clear on the day of battle. As Thomas Jefferson wrote in his Notes on the State of Virginia, "Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just." If we are to retain"under God" in our Pledge of Allegiance, I suggest that it be followed by an obligatory Jeffersonian tremble, as we reflect that God is just. Thank God, the God we worship is not captive to our nationalistic pieties.
Eli's heart trembled as he awaited news from the field of battle. He trembled for the fate of Israel's armies. He trembled for the fate of his two warrior sons, Hophni and Phineas. But Scripture notes only that he trembled for the ark of the covenant. If the ark fell to the Philistines, then all was lost, including his lifetime of devotion and his deepest convictions about God. If the ark is captured, then God is dead. And so is Eli, as soon as he hears the news.
Despair of this magnitude is not reserved for disillusioned old men. A young woman, in the very act of giving birth, receives word that her husband has been killed in action. She sees her whole future stripped away in an instant, and she experiences the same unbearable emptiness as the old priest.
"Don't be afraid," say the midwives. "You have given birth to a son." As if bearing a male child should make a woman feel that her highest destiny has been fulfilled. She knows better. With the last of her strength she names the child "Ichabod" and cries out, "The glory has departed from Israel."
All her young life she may have heard old Eli expounding the holy mystery of the glory of God . . . Kabod, in Hebrew . . . which was enthroned above the ark of the covenant. The best definition of God's Kabod I have heard was given by old Johann Albrecht Bengel in the early eighteenth century. He called it "Aufgedeckte Heiligkeit" . . . "Holiness Laid Bare." Perhaps the young woman believed it all, who knows. But the sheer cruelty of this unspeakable moment forces her to cry out, like a keening wolf, "Eeeeee . . . where? Eeeee Kabod . . . where is the famous "holiness of God Laid Bare" in this hellish time?
It occurs to me that this might have been a convenient place to conclude the Bible. With apologies to Andre Gide, we might have renamed it The God that Failed. When the crunch comes, God simply fails to measure up to anyone's expectations. To the expectations of the armies of Israel. To the expectations of Eli, or his sons, or his young daughter in law. The word for that is "Ichabod."
A convenient place to end the biblical story, except . . . except for a strange stirring abroad, a strange stirring that challenges us to think the story between God and the world may not be over yet. I find it fascinating that this strange stirring doesnot begin among the survivors in Israel . . . not among the pious . . . not among the true believers. It begins in the camp of the enemy, the Philistines, of all people.
Apparently, there were two major mistakes you could make about the ark of the covenant: Mistake number one was that God was somehow contained in, or held captive by that strange piece of ecclesiastical furniture. This was Israel's mistake. Mistake number two was that God had nothing to do with the ark of the covenant or with God's ancient promise to Israel to be radically present with them in their story.
The Philistines appear to have made mistake number two. Before you go to bed tonight, re-read the hilarious story of how the ark makes its was back to the people of God...not on the Philistines' terms . . . not on Israel's terms . . . but on God's terms, as a kind of deceleration of God's independence from all preconceptions about God, including the preconceptions of God's own people. The Philistines and Israel alike are confronted with "The Holiness of God Laid Bare," in absolute freedom from all human efforts to make God conform to our own self serving interests. God is God, and we're not.
I take this to be the first principle of Reformed theology 101. The God we worship is not captive to any religious ideology, including our own. This is bad news for every form of religious fundamentalism . . . by which I mean the smug certainty that our thoughts are God's thoughts, and our ways are God's ways . . . that those who oppose us are the enemies of God.
It often goes unnoticed that there is not only a Right Wing fundamentalism . . . there is also a fundamentalism of the Left. Anti-Fundamentalism is fundamentalism still. With it comes the cock-sure confidence, not only that right-wing fundamentalists are wrong about God, but that our own terribly sensitive and intelligent and open minded and politically correct notions about God are correspondingly right. In short, left is right, and right is wrong. God is on our side, not on theirs. God has no choice but to place the stamp of divine approval on our peculiar version of political and social and economic and theology correctness. God simply must conform to our own best image of . . . well, us.
I shall not pause to describe the fundamentalism of what our outrageous colleague Walter Johnson loved to call the Far-Middle, the mindless fundamentalism of "The man upstairs." The old Tonight Show host Johnny Carson, once described this group to perfection. Speaking of his own religious community, Carson said, "For us, God is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
And that brings us to Ebenezer. The ark has returned to the people of God . . . on God's terms, not ours. Israel is still locked in a struggle for survival with the Philistines. Against all odds, under the leadership of Samuel, Israel wins a skirmish with the Philistines. The future of God's people remains as precarious as a fiddler on the roof.
But Samuel looks at all this in a different perspective. His strategy of battle did not include aiming the ark at the enemy asa secret weapon. Instead, his sole preparation for battle is to assemble the community for a time of repentance and prayer and fasting . . . a frank recognition that God is God, and we're not. Our thoughts are not God's thoughts. Our ways are not God's ways. If there is to be a future for us at all, it will not be because we are right about anything, but because God freely chooses to be with us and for us anyway, in spite of our failure to be the people God has called us to be.
For Samuel, then, the fact that God's people have survived the day is nothing less than an act of God's amazing grace. As Samuel sees it, a victory of this magnitude must be commemorated, not only in his own time, but in all future generations, including ours. To that end, he sets up a stone monument, and names it "Ebenezer". . . Eben Etzer . . . stone of help. "Thus far . . . up until now, that is . . . God has come to our aid"
How unmonumental this monumental statement sounds to contemporary ears. Not a word about our bravery in battle. Not a word about the sincerity of our repentance and prayer and fasting. And not a hint that this victory guarantees us a future of peace, and security, and prosperity. Such a future as we may have, wherever it may lead, will rest in God's free hands, not in ours. We have no claim whatever on God's future with us, but we do have this dazzling memory . . .one among so many others in the biblical story . . . that, when we had reached the rock bottom of our human resources . . . when we could only cry out "Eeeee Kabod" . . . God was there with us and for us, in ways that pass all human understanding.
To my ears, as a Christian, the desolate cry "Ichabod" resonates with Jesus' cry of dereliction from Good Friday's cross: "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Does God love this heartbreaking and heartbroken world so much, that even the most profound human despair is taken up, and embraced, and experienced to the death, in the very heart of God, so that it cannot separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord? Is that what prompted the Apostle Paul to speak of "The glory of God . . . God's Kabod . . . the "Holiness of God Laid Bare". . . in the face of Jesus Christ?"(II Cor. 4:6)
It has always been a dicey business to step into an unknown and often terrifying future supported by nothing more than memories of God's free and always amazing grace . . . so far . . . up until now. Yet, in every generation, Christians have continued to see what we take to be sign after sign that God's grace in Jesus Christ has been with us. We have seen it most clearly, I think, in the lives of highly problematical people such as we are, who . . . nevertheless . . . have been empowered to live in faith, and in hope, and in love, in something reminiscent of the way of Christ.
In microcosm, perhaps that is the story of Austin Seminary over the past century. Especially on this day, we are challenged to remember the signs of God's irresistible grace that have emerged among us . . . here and there, now and then . . .throughout our history. I think now about kitchen workers and dietitians, maintenance engineers and janitors, secretaries and administrators, students and graduates, many of whom won no great public acclaim, but of whom the world was not worthy, dedicated professors and deans and presidents, board members and benefactors who refused to give up on us even in tough times, thousands of Presbyterians who suffered the ministrations of our graduates gladly,and prayed for us anyway, and confounded us with their generosity. I also recall a distinctly non-apostolic succession of odd-ball characters among us, who would not let us take ourselves too seriously.
Ebenezer . . . Eben Etzer . . . "Stone of Help". . . that is not a word that describes our religious ideology, or our wisdom, or our virtue, or any other attribute we may think to posses. The word for all that is Ichabod. Ebenezer is a word in praise of the free grace of God, who has worked among us in such unlikely ways to keep our story going, in spite of us on many occasions.
As Austin Seminary moves into its second century, our future is not at all clear. Past history warns us that Ichabod moments may yet lie ahead of us, times when it may seem to us that "The Holiness of God Laid Bare" has departed from us. But, insofar as we remain faithful to the God who has been so surprisingly faithful to us, our watchword for the future can only be Ebenezer . . . so far, up until now, God has come to our aid. Into God's free and gracious hands we can commit our future of God's so beloved world.
And now, in the unreconstructibly Presbyterian and Reformed words of Psalms 115 . . . Non Nobis, Domine, Non Nobis, Sed Nomine Tuo Da Gloriam. "Not to us. O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory." Amen.
As I said, I feel so blessed and so favored to have been allowed to share his sermon with you. I came very close to crying when I spoke with both Dr. Wharton and his wife on the phone earlier today. I felt such joy!
I pray, most fervently, that our dear Lord will hold each of you in His loving arms and watch over you as you go forth in your daily endeavors.
Initially, I was under the impression that this sermon was available on the web. As I discovered, however - this being some 6+ years later, it is not ... ... and so, I spent some time trying to reach the 'powers that be' at the seminary in Austin to see how I might be able to obtain a copy of it.
You might recall that I first mentioned Dr. Wharton in some prominence in this post, wherein I shared not one of my 'transformative moments', but one of his!
We have since gone back and forth - the seminary and I - leaving voice mails and so forth, but today I feel an almost unbelievable sense of wonder and absolute delight in being able to share with you Dr. Wharton's sermon.
Today, I spoke to both Dr. Wharton and his wife on the phone. They are currently residing in the Carolinas ... a beautiful part of our world ... and he very graciously gave me his permission to publish his sermon on my blog. And so, without further ado, here it is ... ...
C E N T E N N I A L S E R M O N
Ichabod or Ebenezer?
By James A. Wharton, former Professor of Old Testament, Austin Seminary
A sermon preached on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, October 1, 2002.
Text: I Samuel 4:10-22; 7:7-12
So . . . Who shall it be? Ichabod or Ebenezer? What is at stake here is nothing less than the freedom of God. Are we to worship a God who is captive to our traditions and our ideas and our feelings about God? Or . . . and this is a huge or . . . are we called to worship the God of whom Scripture tells, the one who is gloriously free from us, the one who shatters our most sacred preconceptions about who God must be, and yet the one who chooses to be with us, and for us, in surprising faithfulness to all that has gone before?
Ichabod? Or Ebenezer? Washington Irving and Charles Dickens have made it difficult for us to see anything profound in the choice between these two weird sounding names. Ichabod Crane in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . . . the quintessential wimp. Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol . . . the quintessential cheapskate.
Wimpy and self-serving as we ourselves may be, nobody wants to be an Ichabod or an Ebenezer, and there is not much to choose between them. It's been a long time since Presbyterians could sing "Here I Raise My Ebenezer" without laughing.
It strikes me that the one hundredth birthday party of Austin Seminary is a grand occasion to take a fresh look at Ichabod or Ebenezer. To face again, as these texts invite us to do, the huge question about the freedom of God. As I see it, this is the watershed question that confronts the church of Jesus Christ in our time and place.
The story of Ichabod begins with Eli, the priest at Shiloh . . . a man who devoted his entire life to the worship and service of the Lord of Hosts, who was radically present to God's people, the one who was enthroned above the cherubim on the ark of the convent which was enshrined in the temple at Shiloh.
I feel increasingly kin to Eli, because Scripture describes him as being "old, and heavy." And, like Eli, I know what it means to cherish strong convictions about who God is, and who we are in relation to God, and what on earth God is up to, and what God wants from us, and what we may expect from God.
For old Eli, all those years of devotion, and all those cherished notions about God were now at risk, as never before in his lifetime. Imagine the shock Eli must have felt when the soldiers of Israel and their chaplains burst into the holy place, take upthe ark of the covenant on their shoulders, and charge off to do battle with the Philistines. Thinking to use their God as a weapon of mass destruction. After all, the ark of the covenant means that God is with us . . . Immanuel . . . Gott Mit Uns. Surely God will protect us against the evil doers, against the enemies of God . . . that is to say, against those who threaten our politics, our security, our way of life.
Perhaps those who carried the ark into battle also thought of themselves as "One nation, under God." Just how far "under God" they were was made painfully clear on the day of battle. As Thomas Jefferson wrote in his Notes on the State of Virginia, "Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just." If we are to retain"under God" in our Pledge of Allegiance, I suggest that it be followed by an obligatory Jeffersonian tremble, as we reflect that God is just. Thank God, the God we worship is not captive to our nationalistic pieties.
Eli's heart trembled as he awaited news from the field of battle. He trembled for the fate of Israel's armies. He trembled for the fate of his two warrior sons, Hophni and Phineas. But Scripture notes only that he trembled for the ark of the covenant. If the ark fell to the Philistines, then all was lost, including his lifetime of devotion and his deepest convictions about God. If the ark is captured, then God is dead. And so is Eli, as soon as he hears the news.
Despair of this magnitude is not reserved for disillusioned old men. A young woman, in the very act of giving birth, receives word that her husband has been killed in action. She sees her whole future stripped away in an instant, and she experiences the same unbearable emptiness as the old priest.
"Don't be afraid," say the midwives. "You have given birth to a son." As if bearing a male child should make a woman feel that her highest destiny has been fulfilled. She knows better. With the last of her strength she names the child "Ichabod" and cries out, "The glory has departed from Israel."
All her young life she may have heard old Eli expounding the holy mystery of the glory of God . . . Kabod, in Hebrew . . . which was enthroned above the ark of the covenant. The best definition of God's Kabod I have heard was given by old Johann Albrecht Bengel in the early eighteenth century. He called it "Aufgedeckte Heiligkeit" . . . "Holiness Laid Bare." Perhaps the young woman believed it all, who knows. But the sheer cruelty of this unspeakable moment forces her to cry out, like a keening wolf, "Eeeeee . . . where? Eeeee Kabod . . . where is the famous "holiness of God Laid Bare" in this hellish time?
It occurs to me that this might have been a convenient place to conclude the Bible. With apologies to Andre Gide, we might have renamed it The God that Failed. When the crunch comes, God simply fails to measure up to anyone's expectations. To the expectations of the armies of Israel. To the expectations of Eli, or his sons, or his young daughter in law. The word for that is "Ichabod."
A convenient place to end the biblical story, except . . . except for a strange stirring abroad, a strange stirring that challenges us to think the story between God and the world may not be over yet. I find it fascinating that this strange stirring doesnot begin among the survivors in Israel . . . not among the pious . . . not among the true believers. It begins in the camp of the enemy, the Philistines, of all people.
Apparently, there were two major mistakes you could make about the ark of the covenant: Mistake number one was that God was somehow contained in, or held captive by that strange piece of ecclesiastical furniture. This was Israel's mistake. Mistake number two was that God had nothing to do with the ark of the covenant or with God's ancient promise to Israel to be radically present with them in their story.
The Philistines appear to have made mistake number two. Before you go to bed tonight, re-read the hilarious story of how the ark makes its was back to the people of God...not on the Philistines' terms . . . not on Israel's terms . . . but on God's terms, as a kind of deceleration of God's independence from all preconceptions about God, including the preconceptions of God's own people. The Philistines and Israel alike are confronted with "The Holiness of God Laid Bare," in absolute freedom from all human efforts to make God conform to our own self serving interests. God is God, and we're not.
I take this to be the first principle of Reformed theology 101. The God we worship is not captive to any religious ideology, including our own. This is bad news for every form of religious fundamentalism . . . by which I mean the smug certainty that our thoughts are God's thoughts, and our ways are God's ways . . . that those who oppose us are the enemies of God.
It often goes unnoticed that there is not only a Right Wing fundamentalism . . . there is also a fundamentalism of the Left. Anti-Fundamentalism is fundamentalism still. With it comes the cock-sure confidence, not only that right-wing fundamentalists are wrong about God, but that our own terribly sensitive and intelligent and open minded and politically correct notions about God are correspondingly right. In short, left is right, and right is wrong. God is on our side, not on theirs. God has no choice but to place the stamp of divine approval on our peculiar version of political and social and economic and theology correctness. God simply must conform to our own best image of . . . well, us.
I shall not pause to describe the fundamentalism of what our outrageous colleague Walter Johnson loved to call the Far-Middle, the mindless fundamentalism of "The man upstairs." The old Tonight Show host Johnny Carson, once described this group to perfection. Speaking of his own religious community, Carson said, "For us, God is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
And that brings us to Ebenezer. The ark has returned to the people of God . . . on God's terms, not ours. Israel is still locked in a struggle for survival with the Philistines. Against all odds, under the leadership of Samuel, Israel wins a skirmish with the Philistines. The future of God's people remains as precarious as a fiddler on the roof.
But Samuel looks at all this in a different perspective. His strategy of battle did not include aiming the ark at the enemy asa secret weapon. Instead, his sole preparation for battle is to assemble the community for a time of repentance and prayer and fasting . . . a frank recognition that God is God, and we're not. Our thoughts are not God's thoughts. Our ways are not God's ways. If there is to be a future for us at all, it will not be because we are right about anything, but because God freely chooses to be with us and for us anyway, in spite of our failure to be the people God has called us to be.
For Samuel, then, the fact that God's people have survived the day is nothing less than an act of God's amazing grace. As Samuel sees it, a victory of this magnitude must be commemorated, not only in his own time, but in all future generations, including ours. To that end, he sets up a stone monument, and names it "Ebenezer". . . Eben Etzer . . . stone of help. "Thus far . . . up until now, that is . . . God has come to our aid"
How unmonumental this monumental statement sounds to contemporary ears. Not a word about our bravery in battle. Not a word about the sincerity of our repentance and prayer and fasting. And not a hint that this victory guarantees us a future of peace, and security, and prosperity. Such a future as we may have, wherever it may lead, will rest in God's free hands, not in ours. We have no claim whatever on God's future with us, but we do have this dazzling memory . . .one among so many others in the biblical story . . . that, when we had reached the rock bottom of our human resources . . . when we could only cry out "Eeeee Kabod" . . . God was there with us and for us, in ways that pass all human understanding.
To my ears, as a Christian, the desolate cry "Ichabod" resonates with Jesus' cry of dereliction from Good Friday's cross: "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Does God love this heartbreaking and heartbroken world so much, that even the most profound human despair is taken up, and embraced, and experienced to the death, in the very heart of God, so that it cannot separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord? Is that what prompted the Apostle Paul to speak of "The glory of God . . . God's Kabod . . . the "Holiness of God Laid Bare". . . in the face of Jesus Christ?"(II Cor. 4:6)
It has always been a dicey business to step into an unknown and often terrifying future supported by nothing more than memories of God's free and always amazing grace . . . so far . . . up until now. Yet, in every generation, Christians have continued to see what we take to be sign after sign that God's grace in Jesus Christ has been with us. We have seen it most clearly, I think, in the lives of highly problematical people such as we are, who . . . nevertheless . . . have been empowered to live in faith, and in hope, and in love, in something reminiscent of the way of Christ.
In microcosm, perhaps that is the story of Austin Seminary over the past century. Especially on this day, we are challenged to remember the signs of God's irresistible grace that have emerged among us . . . here and there, now and then . . .throughout our history. I think now about kitchen workers and dietitians, maintenance engineers and janitors, secretaries and administrators, students and graduates, many of whom won no great public acclaim, but of whom the world was not worthy, dedicated professors and deans and presidents, board members and benefactors who refused to give up on us even in tough times, thousands of Presbyterians who suffered the ministrations of our graduates gladly,and prayed for us anyway, and confounded us with their generosity. I also recall a distinctly non-apostolic succession of odd-ball characters among us, who would not let us take ourselves too seriously.
Ebenezer . . . Eben Etzer . . . "Stone of Help". . . that is not a word that describes our religious ideology, or our wisdom, or our virtue, or any other attribute we may think to posses. The word for all that is Ichabod. Ebenezer is a word in praise of the free grace of God, who has worked among us in such unlikely ways to keep our story going, in spite of us on many occasions.
As Austin Seminary moves into its second century, our future is not at all clear. Past history warns us that Ichabod moments may yet lie ahead of us, times when it may seem to us that "The Holiness of God Laid Bare" has departed from us. But, insofar as we remain faithful to the God who has been so surprisingly faithful to us, our watchword for the future can only be Ebenezer . . . so far, up until now, God has come to our aid. Into God's free and gracious hands we can commit our future of God's so beloved world.
And now, in the unreconstructibly Presbyterian and Reformed words of Psalms 115 . . . Non Nobis, Domine, Non Nobis, Sed Nomine Tuo Da Gloriam. "Not to us. O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory." Amen.
As I said, I feel so blessed and so favored to have been allowed to share his sermon with you. I came very close to crying when I spoke with both Dr. Wharton and his wife on the phone earlier today. I felt such joy!
I pray, most fervently, that our dear Lord will hold each of you in His loving arms and watch over you as you go forth in your daily endeavors.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A Transformative Moment
I've written so much about myself - blabbed, actually - that I thought I'd have this transformative moment be someone else's!
In 1977, I was a new 'single' and looking for a church home, preferably one that had an active singles group. I found one, at the Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church. This group, called TGIS (Thank God I'm Single, as they somewhat irreverently nicknamed it, instead of Thank God It's Sunday), met at 11 am each Sunday morning in a very large fellowship hall.
The vast majority of its members came only for TGIS, altho several arrived an hour early to attend the "folk" services. I asked about these. What were they like? I was told that these services were more 'relaxed', that the songs were often composed by the choir director and accompanied - not by the majestic organ, but by jazz combo-type performers and that parishioners often laughed, clapped and sometimes even shouted during the service.
That sounded very strange to me - yet, at the same time intriguing, and so I went to one. Then I went to another. And another. It was while I was attending one of those folk services that I first heard Dr. Wharton speak.
I was so impressed! His central message always seemed to be "God's love", "God's grace", "God's forgiveness". I couldn't get enough of listening to this man! He filled my heart with such joy. I attended every class he taught and dragged every one of my friends who would allow themselves to be 'dragged' to church with me, hoping they might feel just a wee bit for themselves some of the happiness that welled up inside me every time I heard such good news.
One of these was Ruth, one of my best friends, who was a Unitarian church member. I asked her after the service what her impression was and she said, "If I had to try and describe him in one word, that word would be 'nonjudgmental'."
As a Christian born in the late 1930's, I was taught early on that only those who believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Saviour will go to Heaven. However, I often heard Dr. Wharton say he had trouble believing that the God he loved so much could be so narrow-minded (his exact words).
He had many friends - close friends - outside of the Christian faith, but there were those within the church who felt threatened by his publicly-stated views. He had a profound influence on me, and to this day - 30-some years later - I am often reminded of his stance on judging others when I find myself being critical.
It is Dr. James A. Wharton's "transformative moment" that I would like to share with you ... ... the definitive moment in his life that forever changed him from a smug, anti-social and rebellious teenager into a lifelong and nonjudgmental servant of God.
He and his group were walking along down the sidewalk, seeing what kind of trouble they could get into, picking on whomever and rudely laughing at others' misfortunes when - all of a sudden - they heard the screeching of brakes and the unmistakable sound of 'something' being struck.
Quickly, they all looked around. There, lying almost in the gutter, was a woman. It was she who had been hit by the car. She was bleeding. Badly-injured, it appeared. She was unkempt and filthy and reeked of liquor. The group began to laugh and point.
Young James, however, went towards her to get a closer look. He felt compelled to take the dying woman in his arms, and as he did so he felt the love, grace, forgiveness and power of Jesus Christ go through his arms and enfold the woman.
"Even to the least of these," he thought, and was overwhelmed with God's love and mercy.
I'm sure I haven't told his story very well, but that's the truth as I remember him telling it many times over. In preparation for this post, I tried to look up James A. Wharton, to see if he's still with us here on earth.
He spoke on "Ichabod or Ebenezer?" at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary's centennial celebration in 2003, the text of which can (supposedly) be read on-line. However, when I went to the site, it's not there. But, this would have been six years ago. Tomorrow*, if I get a chance, I'll call their library to see if the text of his sermon can still be read.
*This is being written on Tuesday evening, the 18th.
I hope that you and your readers will forgive me, Steven, for not writing about myself here. You had such a splendiferous idea and I can't wait to read all of the linked entries!
In 1977, I was a new 'single' and looking for a church home, preferably one that had an active singles group. I found one, at the Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church. This group, called TGIS (Thank God I'm Single, as they somewhat irreverently nicknamed it, instead of Thank God It's Sunday), met at 11 am each Sunday morning in a very large fellowship hall.
The vast majority of its members came only for TGIS, altho several arrived an hour early to attend the "folk" services. I asked about these. What were they like? I was told that these services were more 'relaxed', that the songs were often composed by the choir director and accompanied - not by the majestic organ, but by jazz combo-type performers and that parishioners often laughed, clapped and sometimes even shouted during the service.
That sounded very strange to me - yet, at the same time intriguing, and so I went to one. Then I went to another. And another. It was while I was attending one of those folk services that I first heard Dr. Wharton speak.
I was so impressed! His central message always seemed to be "God's love", "God's grace", "God's forgiveness". I couldn't get enough of listening to this man! He filled my heart with such joy. I attended every class he taught and dragged every one of my friends who would allow themselves to be 'dragged' to church with me, hoping they might feel just a wee bit for themselves some of the happiness that welled up inside me every time I heard such good news.
One of these was Ruth, one of my best friends, who was a Unitarian church member. I asked her after the service what her impression was and she said, "If I had to try and describe him in one word, that word would be 'nonjudgmental'."
As a Christian born in the late 1930's, I was taught early on that only those who believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Saviour will go to Heaven. However, I often heard Dr. Wharton say he had trouble believing that the God he loved so much could be so narrow-minded (his exact words).
He had many friends - close friends - outside of the Christian faith, but there were those within the church who felt threatened by his publicly-stated views. He had a profound influence on me, and to this day - 30-some years later - I am often reminded of his stance on judging others when I find myself being critical.
It is Dr. James A. Wharton's "transformative moment" that I would like to share with you ... ... the definitive moment in his life that forever changed him from a smug, anti-social and rebellious teenager into a lifelong and nonjudgmental servant of God.
He and his group were walking along down the sidewalk, seeing what kind of trouble they could get into, picking on whomever and rudely laughing at others' misfortunes when - all of a sudden - they heard the screeching of brakes and the unmistakable sound of 'something' being struck.
Quickly, they all looked around. There, lying almost in the gutter, was a woman. It was she who had been hit by the car. She was bleeding. Badly-injured, it appeared. She was unkempt and filthy and reeked of liquor. The group began to laugh and point.
Young James, however, went towards her to get a closer look. He felt compelled to take the dying woman in his arms, and as he did so he felt the love, grace, forgiveness and power of Jesus Christ go through his arms and enfold the woman.
"Even to the least of these," he thought, and was overwhelmed with God's love and mercy.
I'm sure I haven't told his story very well, but that's the truth as I remember him telling it many times over. In preparation for this post, I tried to look up James A. Wharton, to see if he's still with us here on earth.
He spoke on "Ichabod or Ebenezer?" at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary's centennial celebration in 2003, the text of which can (supposedly) be read on-line. However, when I went to the site, it's not there. But, this would have been six years ago. Tomorrow*, if I get a chance, I'll call their library to see if the text of his sermon can still be read.
*This is being written on Tuesday evening, the 18th.
I hope that you and your readers will forgive me, Steven, for not writing about myself here. You had such a splendiferous idea and I can't wait to read all of the linked entries!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Memories of my mother ... (part eight) ...
Steven eloquently wrote in this post about his efforts to try and cope with the loss of his father in early December and better understand Buddhism, his father's faith.
I felt a deep sense of peace after reading this, which is why I'm sharing it with you. For some reason, it made me think of my mother. There was no one specific word or phrase that jingled my memory's bells, as I told him in my comment. Perhaps it was Steven's thoughts about life and death that got my mind wandering back to my mother's views on religion.
My mother was brought up in the Christian Science faith, about which I know almost nothing. When the three of us children were very young, we attended either a Congregational or Presbyterian church, depending on where we lived and what was available. Mom and Dad always went with us. We were encouraged to participate in Sunday school classes and later, in various youth groups within the church.
She did not believe in an afterlife. She did not believe in 'heaven' or 'hell'. I can clearly remember her saying, many times, "You get all your heaven and hell right here on earth."
[This is not going to be a treatise on religion. Such a personal thing. Nevertheless, it will have 'religion' as one of its labels. My tenth. I'm going strictly with my memories and personal thoughts here, and will make no attempt whatsoever to judge. I am not in any kind of a position to be judgmental!]
Then, something that Chuck said as a responsive comment to one of my recent posts - and I quote, "You have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat me ..." - also reminded me of my mother!
We have to go back in time many years now! Her father, my grandpa, had long since been divorced from his wife (my grandmother). I remember hearing, every so often as a child, about "Lill" (his 'girlfriend').
My mother disapproved. They weren't married, but yet they were overtly living together. Shocking! (And it was shocking, particularly at that time. I mean, we're talking 50, maybe even 60+ years ago now!)
Anyway, this one year Grandpa and Lill were planning to come for a visit. (I would have been in college then, and Peggy was in Spain ... only Johnny would still have been at home.) They would be staying several days. Mom absolutely refused to allow them to share a bedroom. That fact was stated up front. It probably came very close to them cancelling the trip altogether!
But there was no cancellation. They arrived. Mom put them in separate bedrooms, and Dad and Grandpa spent many delightful hours walking in the woods until Dad - finally admitting, in utter exasperation, that he couldn't keep up with Grandpa - called the outings quits.
The night before Grandpa and Lill were due to depart, Mom resolved to set an internal alarm to get up really early to cook breakfast for the two of them before they hit the road again.
Her internal alarm went off, and she trudged downstairs all bleary-eyed but ready to fix breakfast for her guests before they had to depart.
What did she see? She saw Grandpa and Lill sitting on their suitcases, having already cooked and eaten their breakfast (not to mention having washed the dishes afterwards!) and just waiting for Mom to get up so they could say their good-byes!!
I felt a deep sense of peace after reading this, which is why I'm sharing it with you. For some reason, it made me think of my mother. There was no one specific word or phrase that jingled my memory's bells, as I told him in my comment. Perhaps it was Steven's thoughts about life and death that got my mind wandering back to my mother's views on religion.
My mother was brought up in the Christian Science faith, about which I know almost nothing. When the three of us children were very young, we attended either a Congregational or Presbyterian church, depending on where we lived and what was available. Mom and Dad always went with us. We were encouraged to participate in Sunday school classes and later, in various youth groups within the church.
She did not believe in an afterlife. She did not believe in 'heaven' or 'hell'. I can clearly remember her saying, many times, "You get all your heaven and hell right here on earth."
[This is not going to be a treatise on religion. Such a personal thing. Nevertheless, it will have 'religion' as one of its labels. My tenth. I'm going strictly with my memories and personal thoughts here, and will make no attempt whatsoever to judge. I am not in any kind of a position to be judgmental!]
Then, something that Chuck said as a responsive comment to one of my recent posts - and I quote, "You have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat me ..." - also reminded me of my mother!
We have to go back in time many years now! Her father, my grandpa, had long since been divorced from his wife (my grandmother). I remember hearing, every so often as a child, about "Lill" (his 'girlfriend').
My mother disapproved. They weren't married, but yet they were overtly living together. Shocking! (And it was shocking, particularly at that time. I mean, we're talking 50, maybe even 60+ years ago now!)
Anyway, this one year Grandpa and Lill were planning to come for a visit. (I would have been in college then, and Peggy was in Spain ... only Johnny would still have been at home.) They would be staying several days. Mom absolutely refused to allow them to share a bedroom. That fact was stated up front. It probably came very close to them cancelling the trip altogether!
But there was no cancellation. They arrived. Mom put them in separate bedrooms, and Dad and Grandpa spent many delightful hours walking in the woods until Dad - finally admitting, in utter exasperation, that he couldn't keep up with Grandpa - called the outings quits.
The night before Grandpa and Lill were due to depart, Mom resolved to set an internal alarm to get up really early to cook breakfast for the two of them before they hit the road again.
Her internal alarm went off, and she trudged downstairs all bleary-eyed but ready to fix breakfast for her guests before they had to depart.
What did she see? She saw Grandpa and Lill sitting on their suitcases, having already cooked and eaten their breakfast (not to mention having washed the dishes afterwards!) and just waiting for Mom to get up so they could say their good-byes!!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Cataclysmic events
There is no 'good time' to experience the loss of a family member or loved one. For a Christian, this time of year is perhaps the worst. Around Easter, because of our belief that Christ lived and then died for our sins and subsequently rose from the dead in both triumph and humility, we have the hope that our loved one is with the Heavenly Father.
I cannot speak for those of other faiths or those with no 'faith' at all except in the here and now and what they can actually see and put their hands on. I can only write from my perspective.
It doesn't matter whether or not you might have been 'hoping' that your dear one's suffering might end. Perhaps your beloved was in a terrible accident and your loss was sudden and particularly shocking. Perhaps the person died and it was only after his/her death that you realized how much this person meant to you. Perhaps you had some sort of 'closure'. It really doesn't matter.
The fact is that your dear one is no longer with you here on earth except in your memories and in your heart.
The grieving process is described eloquently, yet succinctly, in a seemingly insignificant little paperback book, "How to Survive the Loss of a Love", which includes some poems and little snippets of added thoughts that you might not find elsewhere.
I have - somewhere around this house - what is now probably a terribly dog-eared copy of this book with pages highlighted with different colored markers, depending on which loss I was experiencing at the time.
In my post "Loss and feelings" - published December 11th, I attempted to address this convoluted and often most elusive of subjects.
I used the words "maelstrom" and "whirl" to try and describe some of the emotions one feels after experiencing such a loss and how they threaten to overtake, overwhelm, and even interfere with our everyday functioning. I spoke briefly about how one will - eventually - assimilate all of these feelings and experiences into a new definition of 'normality'.
I could have used the word "morass" or even several others, I'm sure, to illustrate the helplessness and inadequacy one feels.
What's my point? Well, I guess I have only one ... ...
Unless you have experienced a significant loss in your own life, you really have not the vaguest idea of what another person is going through, emotionally. Even then, I venture to say, you are not that other person and so you still do not 'know' - nor will you ever! - what they are going through. The very best that you can do is listen, to try and provide a 'sounding board', as it were.
There's a wonderful little saying from that book that I'd like to quote for you. "I sat evaluating myself. I decided to lie down."
My friend sat evaluating and then decided to lie down.
Once again, I ask that you send your most heartfelt thoughts and prayers my friend's way.
I cannot speak for those of other faiths or those with no 'faith' at all except in the here and now and what they can actually see and put their hands on. I can only write from my perspective.
It doesn't matter whether or not you might have been 'hoping' that your dear one's suffering might end. Perhaps your beloved was in a terrible accident and your loss was sudden and particularly shocking. Perhaps the person died and it was only after his/her death that you realized how much this person meant to you. Perhaps you had some sort of 'closure'. It really doesn't matter.
The fact is that your dear one is no longer with you here on earth except in your memories and in your heart.
The grieving process is described eloquently, yet succinctly, in a seemingly insignificant little paperback book, "How to Survive the Loss of a Love", which includes some poems and little snippets of added thoughts that you might not find elsewhere.
I have - somewhere around this house - what is now probably a terribly dog-eared copy of this book with pages highlighted with different colored markers, depending on which loss I was experiencing at the time.
In my post "Loss and feelings" - published December 11th, I attempted to address this convoluted and often most elusive of subjects.
I used the words "maelstrom" and "whirl" to try and describe some of the emotions one feels after experiencing such a loss and how they threaten to overtake, overwhelm, and even interfere with our everyday functioning. I spoke briefly about how one will - eventually - assimilate all of these feelings and experiences into a new definition of 'normality'.
I could have used the word "morass" or even several others, I'm sure, to illustrate the helplessness and inadequacy one feels.
What's my point? Well, I guess I have only one ... ...
Unless you have experienced a significant loss in your own life, you really have not the vaguest idea of what another person is going through, emotionally. Even then, I venture to say, you are not that other person and so you still do not 'know' - nor will you ever! - what they are going through. The very best that you can do is listen, to try and provide a 'sounding board', as it were.
There's a wonderful little saying from that book that I'd like to quote for you. "I sat evaluating myself. I decided to lie down."
My friend sat evaluating and then decided to lie down.
Once again, I ask that you send your most heartfelt thoughts and prayers my friend's way.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Religion and me
It is the day after Thanksgiving. After enjoying a wonderful meal and the warmth of Beth's family and friends, I came home and cried - again. The same thing happened last year - well, no, not last year - granddaughter's schedule kept my immediate family in town, but the year before, and the year before that.
It's the season, pretty much, the 'holiday' - Holy day - season, although I'm sure there are many other aspects of my personal makeup and experiences that could easily be factored into the resultant equation of why I feel this way. Perhaps if I write about my feelings it will help to alleviate them.
My daughter and I have had kind of a rocky road of it, I think. Not unheard of, but this time of year is particularly hard on me.
She has many close friends, among them her cousins (whom she is visiting in California as I write). When she called yesterday afternoon to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving, I didn't have much to say after the first few sentences. She put her husband on and then my granddaughter. I had more to say to my granddaughter, becuz I had just sent her an e-mail that I thought she would have a lot of fun with when she got back.
Then DD came back on and I asked her if she wanted to talk to Beth. She said she did, and they had what sounded like a very cheery conversation for a couple of minutes. I tried to listen and pick up on something positive to say when the phone was returned to me. Nothing came. We ended the call with the usual expressions of love.
One of the weightier reasons this 'holiday' season is so hard on me, I think, is that Christmas - one of the most Holy of days - is just around the corner, and I am expected to spend the day with my family. I've had a lot of trouble with this in the past, but in the last year or two am doing a little better with it. At least I think I am! It's Thanksgiving that's the bad one.
Why would that be? Well, I have always believed that Christmas should have Christ as its center. If not at the very core of the celebration, certainly an integral part of it. However, I was 'instructed' years ago that Christ, or Jesus, is not to be talked about by me to my granddaughter.
That was a shocker. I asked why they bothered to observe Christmas at all! My mind has blocked out her answer. I developed terribly mixed feelings about these two holidays. Because I had such trouble resolving these feelings, in my mind I think Thanksgiving became even more important, but that's when they like to go to California.
I want my daughter to be independent of me - she is; be happy, fulfilled, and an equal partner in her marriage - she is; to have many interests and be recognized in some, even, as an authority - she is; be a good mother - she's a wonderful mother!
So what's the problem? It's me. Has to be. That's the only answer I can logically come up with. I have to continue to try and reconfigure my thinking.
Am I being judgmental? No, I don't think so. That's not it at all.
As a Christian, I was taught early on that only those who believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Saviour will go to Heaven. Dr. James Wharton, pastor of Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church, of which I was a member for many years, often said he had trouble believing that the God he loved so much could be so narrow-minded (his exact words).
He often spoke of God's grace and God's love, and helped fill me with such joy that I wanted everyone I knew to come with me to church and hear this man speak so they could maybe capture a little of the wonder I felt. I took Ruth with me one time. She was a member of a Unitarian church and one of my closest friends. I asked her afterwards what she thought and she said, "If I were to try and describe him in just one word, that word would be 'non-judgmental'."
He had many friends, close friends, outside of the Christian faith, but within the church those who were aghast at what he publicly stated finally succeeded in removing him. He was too 'liberal' for them. In addition to their disagreements with his variant views, especially as they thought they were outside of what their denomination was built on and stood for, I think some of them felt personally threatened.
Dr. Wharton had a profound influence on me, and to this day - 20-some years later - I am often reminded of his stance on judging others when I find myself being critical.
I ran across just a beautiful saying that I'd like to share with you. I don't remember where I saw it or who originated it. Here it is ...
Treat the other man's faith gently; it is all he has to believe with. His mind was created for his own thoughts, not yours or mine.
And so I have a perplexing situation here. I don't want to foist my religious beliefs or opinions on my daughter, granddaughter, or anyone else, for that matter! I guess that makes me not a very good Christian. I do not like it when others try to impose their beliefs on me, and very much dislike it (usually) if/when I catch myself trying to do the same to others.
On the other hand, this is my immediate family and they matter more to me than anyone else. When I'm with Beth's family, particularly on Thanksgiving, their closeness brings out sad feelings in me. I know they have their own unique set of problems - every family does - , but my mind then creates this 'imaginary' utopia. Do you see how that might happen? I know it's confusing. It's certainly confusing for me!
My daughter reads my blog. I almost hope that she doesn't read this post. I wouldn't want her to 'pretend' something just to try and make me happy and feel good. I love her very much and am proud of her, of what she has accomplished and the life she has made for herself.
You know what? I do feel better! Thanks for listening. I'm really glad you were there.
It's the season, pretty much, the 'holiday' - Holy day - season, although I'm sure there are many other aspects of my personal makeup and experiences that could easily be factored into the resultant equation of why I feel this way. Perhaps if I write about my feelings it will help to alleviate them.
My daughter and I have had kind of a rocky road of it, I think. Not unheard of, but this time of year is particularly hard on me.
She has many close friends, among them her cousins (whom she is visiting in California as I write). When she called yesterday afternoon to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving, I didn't have much to say after the first few sentences. She put her husband on and then my granddaughter. I had more to say to my granddaughter, becuz I had just sent her an e-mail that I thought she would have a lot of fun with when she got back.
Then DD came back on and I asked her if she wanted to talk to Beth. She said she did, and they had what sounded like a very cheery conversation for a couple of minutes. I tried to listen and pick up on something positive to say when the phone was returned to me. Nothing came. We ended the call with the usual expressions of love.
One of the weightier reasons this 'holiday' season is so hard on me, I think, is that Christmas - one of the most Holy of days - is just around the corner, and I am expected to spend the day with my family. I've had a lot of trouble with this in the past, but in the last year or two am doing a little better with it. At least I think I am! It's Thanksgiving that's the bad one.
Why would that be? Well, I have always believed that Christmas should have Christ as its center. If not at the very core of the celebration, certainly an integral part of it. However, I was 'instructed' years ago that Christ, or Jesus, is not to be talked about by me to my granddaughter.
That was a shocker. I asked why they bothered to observe Christmas at all! My mind has blocked out her answer. I developed terribly mixed feelings about these two holidays. Because I had such trouble resolving these feelings, in my mind I think Thanksgiving became even more important, but that's when they like to go to California.
I want my daughter to be independent of me - she is; be happy, fulfilled, and an equal partner in her marriage - she is; to have many interests and be recognized in some, even, as an authority - she is; be a good mother - she's a wonderful mother!
So what's the problem? It's me. Has to be. That's the only answer I can logically come up with. I have to continue to try and reconfigure my thinking.
Am I being judgmental? No, I don't think so. That's not it at all.
As a Christian, I was taught early on that only those who believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Saviour will go to Heaven. Dr. James Wharton, pastor of Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church, of which I was a member for many years, often said he had trouble believing that the God he loved so much could be so narrow-minded (his exact words).
He often spoke of God's grace and God's love, and helped fill me with such joy that I wanted everyone I knew to come with me to church and hear this man speak so they could maybe capture a little of the wonder I felt. I took Ruth with me one time. She was a member of a Unitarian church and one of my closest friends. I asked her afterwards what she thought and she said, "If I were to try and describe him in just one word, that word would be 'non-judgmental'."
He had many friends, close friends, outside of the Christian faith, but within the church those who were aghast at what he publicly stated finally succeeded in removing him. He was too 'liberal' for them. In addition to their disagreements with his variant views, especially as they thought they were outside of what their denomination was built on and stood for, I think some of them felt personally threatened.
Dr. Wharton had a profound influence on me, and to this day - 20-some years later - I am often reminded of his stance on judging others when I find myself being critical.
I ran across just a beautiful saying that I'd like to share with you. I don't remember where I saw it or who originated it. Here it is ...
Treat the other man's faith gently; it is all he has to believe with. His mind was created for his own thoughts, not yours or mine.
And so I have a perplexing situation here. I don't want to foist my religious beliefs or opinions on my daughter, granddaughter, or anyone else, for that matter! I guess that makes me not a very good Christian. I do not like it when others try to impose their beliefs on me, and very much dislike it (usually) if/when I catch myself trying to do the same to others.
On the other hand, this is my immediate family and they matter more to me than anyone else. When I'm with Beth's family, particularly on Thanksgiving, their closeness brings out sad feelings in me. I know they have their own unique set of problems - every family does - , but my mind then creates this 'imaginary' utopia. Do you see how that might happen? I know it's confusing. It's certainly confusing for me!
My daughter reads my blog. I almost hope that she doesn't read this post. I wouldn't want her to 'pretend' something just to try and make me happy and feel good. I love her very much and am proud of her, of what she has accomplished and the life she has made for herself.
You know what? I do feel better! Thanks for listening. I'm really glad you were there.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Amen
I just finished watching "Lilies of the Field" (1963) - in black and white - forgot that little detail when I first saw it many many many years ago.
I am in such a good mood right now. Thank you, Lord, for Sidney Poitier. Thank you, Lord, for such a magnificently uplifting story. Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live long enough to view once again - after so many years - such a wonderful film. Thank you, Lord.
Amen.
I am in such a good mood right now. Thank you, Lord, for Sidney Poitier. Thank you, Lord, for such a magnificently uplifting story. Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live long enough to view once again - after so many years - such a wonderful film. Thank you, Lord.
Amen.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Close calls
I was doing some editing and proofreading a day or two ago, and came across a sentence where the author was describing his closest brush with death.
It reminded me of when I was 17 years old. I was driving my parents' car to Marquette, some 42 miles to the west. I don't recall my reason for going.
Traffic is normally very light in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and I would say that it was not a bit unusual at that time to see no more than four vehicles in either direction the entire trip.
For the most part, the highway is flat and travels parallel to Lake Superior. There are a few places, however, where the road goes around curves and up and down pretty good-sized hills. Double yellow lines, indicating no passing zones, predominate in these areas.
I was coming around one of these curves, intending to continue on up a hill, when I saw a fully-loaded logging truck in my lane, passing another truck illegally and coming right at me at 60+ mph.
There was only one choice to make and a split second to actually do it. I went off of the road. It was either that or hit one or the other truck head-on. There were no nice broad shoulders in these spots, only steep embankments. Ten feet or so down the embankment was a wire fence that, supposedly, would prevent one's vehicle from continuing on downward into the ravine.
Well, the logging truck roared past me. Somehow or another, I was able to keep the car under control and not go so far as to hit the fence. I kept my foot off of the brake the whole time and concentrated, with both hands gripped tightly to the wheel, on maintaining control.
I did, got back on the road, and continued my journey. That was my closest call ever! I don't think I told my folks about it, either.
In all of my nearly eighteen years of taxicab driving, when I put 1,000 miles each week on the car and where I was witness to a lot of accidents, this one incident from 54 years ago stands out in my mind as potentially the most deadly.
You know, as soon as I make a statement like that, it seems, I think of another. Well, there was one other, and it occurred when I was driving a taxi.
I was sitting on Bellaire, heading west, stopped at a red light at Beltway 8 along with other vehicles. I was going home. Five lanes of traffic, the two farthest left for left-hand turns (I was in the 2nd from left) and three others for continuing straight.
I was first in my lane. There were vehicles behind me. There was a vehicle to my left that was first in his lane. The same to the right. Other vehicles behind them.
The light turned green. Nobody moved, which was strange enough in itself, but -- stranger still -- nobody honked, either! Another couple of seconds passed. Still no movement, no horn-honking, nothing!!
Then, going northbound on the feeder, came this huMONgous 18-wheeler just barreling through a light that had long since turned red. I don't know how fast he was actually going, but it had to have been well over 70mph!
After he had cleared the intersection, it took all of us a while to tentatively take our feet off of our collective brakes and inch ahead. I think that, if any one of us had tried to accelerate when the light initially turned green (or even a few seconds afterwards), that people would still be finding bits and pieces of body and car parts!
None of us stopped to exchange information or offer a prayer, but I swear by all that's Holy that the strong arm of God came down and saved us all that day!
It reminded me of when I was 17 years old. I was driving my parents' car to Marquette, some 42 miles to the west. I don't recall my reason for going.
Traffic is normally very light in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and I would say that it was not a bit unusual at that time to see no more than four vehicles in either direction the entire trip.
For the most part, the highway is flat and travels parallel to Lake Superior. There are a few places, however, where the road goes around curves and up and down pretty good-sized hills. Double yellow lines, indicating no passing zones, predominate in these areas.
I was coming around one of these curves, intending to continue on up a hill, when I saw a fully-loaded logging truck in my lane, passing another truck illegally and coming right at me at 60+ mph.
There was only one choice to make and a split second to actually do it. I went off of the road. It was either that or hit one or the other truck head-on. There were no nice broad shoulders in these spots, only steep embankments. Ten feet or so down the embankment was a wire fence that, supposedly, would prevent one's vehicle from continuing on downward into the ravine.
Well, the logging truck roared past me. Somehow or another, I was able to keep the car under control and not go so far as to hit the fence. I kept my foot off of the brake the whole time and concentrated, with both hands gripped tightly to the wheel, on maintaining control.
I did, got back on the road, and continued my journey. That was my closest call ever! I don't think I told my folks about it, either.
In all of my nearly eighteen years of taxicab driving, when I put 1,000 miles each week on the car and where I was witness to a lot of accidents, this one incident from 54 years ago stands out in my mind as potentially the most deadly.
You know, as soon as I make a statement like that, it seems, I think of another. Well, there was one other, and it occurred when I was driving a taxi.
I was sitting on Bellaire, heading west, stopped at a red light at Beltway 8 along with other vehicles. I was going home. Five lanes of traffic, the two farthest left for left-hand turns (I was in the 2nd from left) and three others for continuing straight.
I was first in my lane. There were vehicles behind me. There was a vehicle to my left that was first in his lane. The same to the right. Other vehicles behind them.
The light turned green. Nobody moved, which was strange enough in itself, but -- stranger still -- nobody honked, either! Another couple of seconds passed. Still no movement, no horn-honking, nothing!!
Then, going northbound on the feeder, came this huMONgous 18-wheeler just barreling through a light that had long since turned red. I don't know how fast he was actually going, but it had to have been well over 70mph!
After he had cleared the intersection, it took all of us a while to tentatively take our feet off of our collective brakes and inch ahead. I think that, if any one of us had tried to accelerate when the light initially turned green (or even a few seconds afterwards), that people would still be finding bits and pieces of body and car parts!
None of us stopped to exchange information or offer a prayer, but I swear by all that's Holy that the strong arm of God came down and saved us all that day!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
'Gotcha' concept of God
My post yesterday about the exploding watermelon reminded me, in some obscure way, of a story I hadn't thought of in years.
It seems that a preacher and another fellow were out on the golf course. This would be their first time playing together.
The fellow asked the preacher how many strokes he wanted for his handicap. The preacher replied that he didn't need any strokes, but he'd take three 'Gotcha's'.
The fellow didn't know what a 'Gotcha' was, and asked the preacher to explain. The preacher replied, "You'll see."
On the second or third hole, just as the fellow was about to strike the ball on a very important swing, the preacher snuck up behind him, dug him in the ribs, and said, "Gotcha!"
Shocked, the fellow turned around. The preacher winked and said, "That's one."
Guess who had the lower score?
I think I must have heard this story originally as part of a sermon. Makes sense. The preacher was probably trying to illustrate the 'Gotcha' concept of God, how some people seem to always be looking over their shoulders in anticipation of someone sneaking up behind them or something going wrong ... maybe even a distant relative of "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong and at the worst possible moment".
My reluctance to cut into my brand-spanking-new-hand-picked watermelon strikes me as a bit similar. "Once bitten twice shy" is another old saw that fits.
Well, I'll probably have a 'stare down' with the gigantic beast later today. Will have to let you know if "Goldenrod, the magnificent watermelon slayer" is successful or not.
It seems that a preacher and another fellow were out on the golf course. This would be their first time playing together.
The fellow asked the preacher how many strokes he wanted for his handicap. The preacher replied that he didn't need any strokes, but he'd take three 'Gotcha's'.
The fellow didn't know what a 'Gotcha' was, and asked the preacher to explain. The preacher replied, "You'll see."
On the second or third hole, just as the fellow was about to strike the ball on a very important swing, the preacher snuck up behind him, dug him in the ribs, and said, "Gotcha!"
Shocked, the fellow turned around. The preacher winked and said, "That's one."
Guess who had the lower score?
I think I must have heard this story originally as part of a sermon. Makes sense. The preacher was probably trying to illustrate the 'Gotcha' concept of God, how some people seem to always be looking over their shoulders in anticipation of someone sneaking up behind them or something going wrong ... maybe even a distant relative of "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong and at the worst possible moment".
My reluctance to cut into my brand-spanking-new-hand-picked watermelon strikes me as a bit similar. "Once bitten twice shy" is another old saw that fits.
Well, I'll probably have a 'stare down' with the gigantic beast later today. Will have to let you know if "Goldenrod, the magnificent watermelon slayer" is successful or not.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The glory of God ...
... is what came to me immediately, upon viewing the Astronomy Picture of the Day just a few moments ago.
All sorts of faintly-remembered phrases from the Bible appeared in my memory banks ... "And the firmanent shown round about them" probably being #1. I'm pretty sure I don't have the quote right -- and, even if I do, cannot beGIN to tell you where you might find the book, actual chapter, or verse.
Just click on the link and revel in your own reactions, interpretations, or reflections, OK?
All sorts of faintly-remembered phrases from the Bible appeared in my memory banks ... "And the firmanent shown round about them" probably being #1. I'm pretty sure I don't have the quote right -- and, even if I do, cannot beGIN to tell you where you might find the book, actual chapter, or verse.
Just click on the link and revel in your own reactions, interpretations, or reflections, OK?
Friday, June 13, 2008
Friday, the 13th
I'm not much for superstition, but I have been known to do my share of knocking on wood. Other than that, very little attention is paid to this date.
I do not happen to be one of those who goes around shouting, "The end is coming! The end is coming! Repent!!". I am not a religious zealot, altho I am trying to be a born-again Christian. I say 'trying to be' only because, deep down in my heart, I have trouble believing that God would welcome me with all of my past (and even a few current) sins into His kingdom.
Wow!! This post is not turning out at ALL like I thought it would when it began. This will NOT be an exercise on religious beliefs, OK? Let's move on.
My heart goes out to all of those rain-drenched and tornado-r/savaged folks in the Midwest. (And now I know how I got side-tracked earlier.) My thoughts and prayers go out to the family and friends of those killed when a truck was blown into the chimney at that Boy Scout camp. To me, it's a miracle that there weren't more young people severely injured. I even am somewhat forgiving of the media coverage of this event. It's important for people to have an outlet where they can express their feelings and allow some of the hurt and anguish to escape.
I've watched countless film coverage of those valiant and bone-tired folks who filled sandbag after sandbag in an attempt to stem the tide of raging flood waters. I listened to one fellow asking, "What did I do to deserve this?" (As tho he might have personally caused the horrendous flooding.)
I have not had the news on this morning, so I do not know what further terrors last night might have brought to that stricken area of our country. Let us all hope and pray that these folks might have the fortitude and inner strength to -- at least in the short term -- survive. Long term answers for these people are very much up in doubt, aren't they?
Truly, truly, I can not even beGIN to imagine their pain!
Have you ever been in a tornado? I have, many years ago.
We were living in Montmorenci, Indiana, at the time. Out in the country. There had been storm warnings all day. We frequently went out to look at the skies. We talked about what possible shelter we could avail ourselves of.
There was a pretty good-sized ditch close to our house. (By the way, a ditch or other lower-lying area than normal is ALWAYS a good idea! Tornadoes do not 'dip down'. Instead, they will go right over you. Try to cover and protect your head from flying debris.)
That was one possibility, but what if we didn't have enough time to get to it? What then? We had no basement, but did have a couple of throw rugs. We could wrap ourselves up in them and hope for the best. That's what we decided we would do if 'push came to shove'.
Well, it was much later that evening, well after dark, when the storm hit. We didn't think it was a tornado, at first, but then we heard a terrible roar (like that of a freight train). We could smell it. Tornadoes smell 'dirty'. I just don't know any better way to describe it.
We were busy holding each other and wondering how bad this was going to be when the hail began. HUGE chunks of hail hitting the house! We heard the sound of glass breaking and then the unmistakable sound of rain coming in through whatever window had been broken.
My husband went outside to inspect for damage a short while later, and, in the process of twisting and trying to nail down some sort of protection from the rain due to the broken bathroom window, he sustained what was then commonly known as a 'football knee injury'.
The next day, in broad daylight, we could see the extensive damage caused by this tornado. It had NOT hit our house directly. Rather, it had skipped over us, clipping the tops of many trees (branches, nests, and dead birds everywhere!). If it had hit our house directly, I would probably not be here to write about it.
Question ... What would YOU do in the event of a tornado warning? The obvious answer is to get out of its way. (In the Midwest, tornadoes generally travel from SW to NE.)
[This really doesn't seem like the most appropriate time to pause and tell a story that might resemble a joke, but I'm going to do so, anyway. And, by the way, I don't think it's a 'joke'. I think it might be based on a true story.
It seems that there was this motorist who was traveling at a VERY high rate of speed down this county road. All of a sudden, he noticed some sort of official vehicle coming up behind him with its lights flashing. He didn't even slow down to allow the other vehicle to pass. In fact, he urged his car to go even faster!
The 'chase' continued for another mile or so. Then he heard, "Pull over, you SOB!" He refused to do so. The official vehicle pulled alongside him, the officer obviously irate that his instructions were not being followed. Not knowing what else to do (and, certainly, he was not going to stop!), the motorist rolled down his window and frantically pointed behind them.
The officer looked back and discovered that a tornado was chasing them! He told the motorist, "Follow me!", and leapt ahead, sirens still screaming.]
I don't really know of a good way to end this post. There are so many thoughts just swirling around in my mind right now.
Let me just try and conclude, however feeble as it might sound, by wishing all of you a day without dire consequence. (That sounds just AWful!) I apologize. It's the mood I'm in at present.
I do not happen to be one of those who goes around shouting, "The end is coming! The end is coming! Repent!!". I am not a religious zealot, altho I am trying to be a born-again Christian. I say 'trying to be' only because, deep down in my heart, I have trouble believing that God would welcome me with all of my past (and even a few current) sins into His kingdom.
Wow!! This post is not turning out at ALL like I thought it would when it began. This will NOT be an exercise on religious beliefs, OK? Let's move on.
My heart goes out to all of those rain-drenched and tornado-r/savaged folks in the Midwest. (And now I know how I got side-tracked earlier.) My thoughts and prayers go out to the family and friends of those killed when a truck was blown into the chimney at that Boy Scout camp. To me, it's a miracle that there weren't more young people severely injured. I even am somewhat forgiving of the media coverage of this event. It's important for people to have an outlet where they can express their feelings and allow some of the hurt and anguish to escape.
I've watched countless film coverage of those valiant and bone-tired folks who filled sandbag after sandbag in an attempt to stem the tide of raging flood waters. I listened to one fellow asking, "What did I do to deserve this?" (As tho he might have personally caused the horrendous flooding.)
I have not had the news on this morning, so I do not know what further terrors last night might have brought to that stricken area of our country. Let us all hope and pray that these folks might have the fortitude and inner strength to -- at least in the short term -- survive. Long term answers for these people are very much up in doubt, aren't they?
Truly, truly, I can not even beGIN to imagine their pain!
Have you ever been in a tornado? I have, many years ago.
We were living in Montmorenci, Indiana, at the time. Out in the country. There had been storm warnings all day. We frequently went out to look at the skies. We talked about what possible shelter we could avail ourselves of.
There was a pretty good-sized ditch close to our house. (By the way, a ditch or other lower-lying area than normal is ALWAYS a good idea! Tornadoes do not 'dip down'. Instead, they will go right over you. Try to cover and protect your head from flying debris.)
That was one possibility, but what if we didn't have enough time to get to it? What then? We had no basement, but did have a couple of throw rugs. We could wrap ourselves up in them and hope for the best. That's what we decided we would do if 'push came to shove'.
Well, it was much later that evening, well after dark, when the storm hit. We didn't think it was a tornado, at first, but then we heard a terrible roar (like that of a freight train). We could smell it. Tornadoes smell 'dirty'. I just don't know any better way to describe it.
We were busy holding each other and wondering how bad this was going to be when the hail began. HUGE chunks of hail hitting the house! We heard the sound of glass breaking and then the unmistakable sound of rain coming in through whatever window had been broken.
My husband went outside to inspect for damage a short while later, and, in the process of twisting and trying to nail down some sort of protection from the rain due to the broken bathroom window, he sustained what was then commonly known as a 'football knee injury'.
The next day, in broad daylight, we could see the extensive damage caused by this tornado. It had NOT hit our house directly. Rather, it had skipped over us, clipping the tops of many trees (branches, nests, and dead birds everywhere!). If it had hit our house directly, I would probably not be here to write about it.
Question ... What would YOU do in the event of a tornado warning? The obvious answer is to get out of its way. (In the Midwest, tornadoes generally travel from SW to NE.)
[This really doesn't seem like the most appropriate time to pause and tell a story that might resemble a joke, but I'm going to do so, anyway. And, by the way, I don't think it's a 'joke'. I think it might be based on a true story.
It seems that there was this motorist who was traveling at a VERY high rate of speed down this county road. All of a sudden, he noticed some sort of official vehicle coming up behind him with its lights flashing. He didn't even slow down to allow the other vehicle to pass. In fact, he urged his car to go even faster!
The 'chase' continued for another mile or so. Then he heard, "Pull over, you SOB!" He refused to do so. The official vehicle pulled alongside him, the officer obviously irate that his instructions were not being followed. Not knowing what else to do (and, certainly, he was not going to stop!), the motorist rolled down his window and frantically pointed behind them.
The officer looked back and discovered that a tornado was chasing them! He told the motorist, "Follow me!", and leapt ahead, sirens still screaming.]
I don't really know of a good way to end this post. There are so many thoughts just swirling around in my mind right now.
Let me just try and conclude, however feeble as it might sound, by wishing all of you a day without dire consequence. (That sounds just AWful!) I apologize. It's the mood I'm in at present.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Presbytery Point
One of my blogger friends recently posted a picture on her site of a birch tree. It reminded me of a church camp that I attended for a week every summer many years ago.
Located on Lake Michigamme in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Presbytery Point was kind of a magical place for me. So many good memories. I'd like to share just a few with you.
Our living accommodations consisted of several log cabins with wooden plank floors and steel bunk beds, perhaps eight altogether in each cabin. The camp was co-ed, girls usually outnumbering the boys, but nobody really cared. We were having too much fun!
Luster lace. Do you remember luster lace? (At least, I think that's what it was called!)
One part of each day was set aside for Arts & Crafts, and I always had to choose very carefully. The crafts I could probably handle, but the arts?? Forget it!
This one year I enrolled in a class where we made our own wallets with real leather and luster lace. Boy, was that neat! You know, for years I carried that wallet proudly around. It finally just disintegrated from a lot of use, but I loved that wallet. I made it! It was mine!!
There was a large building where we all met to eat. Long rectangular tables were set end to end -- two in each row, perhaps four columns. Or were there three in each row with three columns? Whatever. I've been trying to picture it in my mind. I remember how it was. I just don't remember how many rows & columns.
It was cafeteria-style. We all went through the line (and it moved really quick, as I recall), and then took our places at one of the tables.
After grace, we chowed down, sometimes with a lot of antics going on. Did you ever take a piece of food, hold it against the end of your knife, and then flick it in a specific person's direction?
Well, a little bit of that happened every once in a while, often initiated by one of the ministers! Things never got out of hand, however, and it was always in good fun.
After eating, there would be a song or two. Many 'rounds'. Do you remember rounds? What fun!
One of my favorites (not a round) was, "Two old maids". Do you know that one? The leader (usually one of the ministers) would stand up and sing, "Two old maids in a folding bed, one turned to the other and said, ... ... ... " He would then point to a specific table (all of us having been pre-alerted, of course, that this was coming and had our responses all ready), and that table would respond with the answer in unison (had to be either a song title, or a phrase within the song itself that might be appropriate). The response, of course, had to be sung, not just recited.
A couple of real goodies that I remember (as a response) were, "I'm always chasing rainbows" and "I can't stop talkin' about him, talkin' about him, talkin' about him, I can't stop talkin' about the man that I adore". (Betty Hutton on the latter. Does this 'date' me, or what? What can I say?? I'm a dinosaur!)
Let's see, what else?
Well, the communal showers are not particularly good memories. I don't care where I am, or what age I might be, I have never been in favor of shared shower facilities. (Didn't like them in high school, either!)
I must say, however, looking back on it this many years, that those in charge at Presbytery Point did their very best to ensure that we left our camp experience in the same healthy condition as when we arrived. That, in retrospect, is impressive!
One moonlit night I was sound asleep in my lower bunk when, all of a sudden, I woke up to see a man standing over me. Boy, was I scared!
I dove under my covers and just lay there, trying not to breathe, expecting at any second to be attacked. Nothing. "Hours" went by while I was holding my breath ... still nothing.
Finally, I peeked out from underneath my covers to see if he was still there, and he WAS!! In fact, he hadn't moved at all from the last time I had seen him! I went back under the covers, hoping he would go away and I could safely get back to sleep.
An interminable amount of time later, still wide awake, I somehow found the courage to peek out again. He was still there!!!
Still in the same position, unmoving.
My logical mind finally kicked in, saying, "Something about this just isn't right!"
I moved my arms to strike the man and found myself, instead, just batting at the covers of the person in the top bunk that had fallen over the side -- and, in the moonlight, looked like a figure bending over me.
Vespers were special. They were held at the very tip of the point, which faced the sunset.
All of us campers & counselors sat on long wooden benches facing the stone altar. There would be readings from the Bible, prayers, and a sermon. A hymn or two.
Truly wondrous occasions.
Every once in a while, there would be a campfire an hour or two after vespers. We would make 'smores' ... remember those? Sometimes we even told ghost stories.
Usually, tho, we left the point with candles lit, softly singing.
I last visited Presbytery Point in 2001. In fact, I scattered some of my sister's (Peggy's) ashes there.
It was early July, and I had fully expected that there would be a camp full of youngsters when I arrived, but there was not. In fact, the campground was totally empty! Then, I remembered that it was the 4th of July weekend.
Actually, I was kind of glad to have the camp all to myself. It allowed me the time I really needed to leisurely walk through the grounds and reminisce.
I would like to leave you with this round that my friend's post reminded me of. It goes like this ...
White stately birch beside a sparkling lake,
Here we campers gather and new friendships make.
Presbytery Point is so like Heav'n above,
Here we grow like Christ in joy, faith, hope, and love.
It is my most sincere hope that all of you are well today, and that you feel the warm embrace of God's love.
Located on Lake Michigamme in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Presbytery Point was kind of a magical place for me. So many good memories. I'd like to share just a few with you.
Our living accommodations consisted of several log cabins with wooden plank floors and steel bunk beds, perhaps eight altogether in each cabin. The camp was co-ed, girls usually outnumbering the boys, but nobody really cared. We were having too much fun!
Luster lace. Do you remember luster lace? (At least, I think that's what it was called!)
One part of each day was set aside for Arts & Crafts, and I always had to choose very carefully. The crafts I could probably handle, but the arts?? Forget it!
This one year I enrolled in a class where we made our own wallets with real leather and luster lace. Boy, was that neat! You know, for years I carried that wallet proudly around. It finally just disintegrated from a lot of use, but I loved that wallet. I made it! It was mine!!
There was a large building where we all met to eat. Long rectangular tables were set end to end -- two in each row, perhaps four columns. Or were there three in each row with three columns? Whatever. I've been trying to picture it in my mind. I remember how it was. I just don't remember how many rows & columns.
It was cafeteria-style. We all went through the line (and it moved really quick, as I recall), and then took our places at one of the tables.
After grace, we chowed down, sometimes with a lot of antics going on. Did you ever take a piece of food, hold it against the end of your knife, and then flick it in a specific person's direction?
Well, a little bit of that happened every once in a while, often initiated by one of the ministers! Things never got out of hand, however, and it was always in good fun.
After eating, there would be a song or two. Many 'rounds'. Do you remember rounds? What fun!
One of my favorites (not a round) was, "Two old maids". Do you know that one? The leader (usually one of the ministers) would stand up and sing, "Two old maids in a folding bed, one turned to the other and said, ... ... ... " He would then point to a specific table (all of us having been pre-alerted, of course, that this was coming and had our responses all ready), and that table would respond with the answer in unison (had to be either a song title, or a phrase within the song itself that might be appropriate). The response, of course, had to be sung, not just recited.
A couple of real goodies that I remember (as a response) were, "I'm always chasing rainbows" and "I can't stop talkin' about him, talkin' about him, talkin' about him, I can't stop talkin' about the man that I adore". (Betty Hutton on the latter. Does this 'date' me, or what? What can I say?? I'm a dinosaur!)
Let's see, what else?
Well, the communal showers are not particularly good memories. I don't care where I am, or what age I might be, I have never been in favor of shared shower facilities. (Didn't like them in high school, either!)
I must say, however, looking back on it this many years, that those in charge at Presbytery Point did their very best to ensure that we left our camp experience in the same healthy condition as when we arrived. That, in retrospect, is impressive!
One moonlit night I was sound asleep in my lower bunk when, all of a sudden, I woke up to see a man standing over me. Boy, was I scared!
I dove under my covers and just lay there, trying not to breathe, expecting at any second to be attacked. Nothing. "Hours" went by while I was holding my breath ... still nothing.
Finally, I peeked out from underneath my covers to see if he was still there, and he WAS!! In fact, he hadn't moved at all from the last time I had seen him! I went back under the covers, hoping he would go away and I could safely get back to sleep.
An interminable amount of time later, still wide awake, I somehow found the courage to peek out again. He was still there!!!
Still in the same position, unmoving.
My logical mind finally kicked in, saying, "Something about this just isn't right!"
I moved my arms to strike the man and found myself, instead, just batting at the covers of the person in the top bunk that had fallen over the side -- and, in the moonlight, looked like a figure bending over me.
Vespers were special. They were held at the very tip of the point, which faced the sunset.
All of us campers & counselors sat on long wooden benches facing the stone altar. There would be readings from the Bible, prayers, and a sermon. A hymn or two.
Truly wondrous occasions.
Every once in a while, there would be a campfire an hour or two after vespers. We would make 'smores' ... remember those? Sometimes we even told ghost stories.
Usually, tho, we left the point with candles lit, softly singing.
I last visited Presbytery Point in 2001. In fact, I scattered some of my sister's (Peggy's) ashes there.
It was early July, and I had fully expected that there would be a camp full of youngsters when I arrived, but there was not. In fact, the campground was totally empty! Then, I remembered that it was the 4th of July weekend.
Actually, I was kind of glad to have the camp all to myself. It allowed me the time I really needed to leisurely walk through the grounds and reminisce.
I would like to leave you with this round that my friend's post reminded me of. It goes like this ...
White stately birch beside a sparkling lake,
Here we campers gather and new friendships make.
Presbytery Point is so like Heav'n above,
Here we grow like Christ in joy, faith, hope, and love.
It is my most sincere hope that all of you are well today, and that you feel the warm embrace of God's love.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Easter ...
... is tomorrow, actually, but I am going to post this today.
As all of you who read my previous post know, I've been up since three this morning. I haven't yet been back to bed for a nap.
I just called my favorite Indian restaurant, and they're open, so I'll be taking a 'time out' shortly to go and pick up some of their delectable food to go.
My day will not end until I have finished watching "The Robe" (for at least the twentieth time!) on TBN (Trinity Broadcast Network) late this evening -- midnight or so.
Meanwhile, I'd like to share something with you.
A few minutes ago I logged on to a very special music website, one that I have visited many times before. I just sat here, looking at the lovely photograph and absorbing the moving piano accompaniment.
As I continued to quietly enjoy, the words of a tune that I have sung time and time again crept into my mind and heart. Here they are, in part ...
God so loved the world, God so loved the world
That He gave His only begotten son
That who so believeth, believeth in Him
Should not perish, should not perish
But have everlasting life.
I pray that all of you have a blessed and glorious Easter.
As all of you who read my previous post know, I've been up since three this morning. I haven't yet been back to bed for a nap.
I just called my favorite Indian restaurant, and they're open, so I'll be taking a 'time out' shortly to go and pick up some of their delectable food to go.
My day will not end until I have finished watching "The Robe" (for at least the twentieth time!) on TBN (Trinity Broadcast Network) late this evening -- midnight or so.
Meanwhile, I'd like to share something with you.
A few minutes ago I logged on to a very special music website, one that I have visited many times before. I just sat here, looking at the lovely photograph and absorbing the moving piano accompaniment.
As I continued to quietly enjoy, the words of a tune that I have sung time and time again crept into my mind and heart. Here they are, in part ...
God so loved the world, God so loved the world
That He gave His only begotten son
That who so believeth, believeth in Him
Should not perish, should not perish
But have everlasting life.
I pray that all of you have a blessed and glorious Easter.
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