Kay Yow was buried today. The finality of life that seems to just end for some.
She was an inspiration to many of those fighting cancer. Her “success” at having had 2 recurrences and continued work seemed to define what cancer should look like…manageable and chronic. As one who has witnessed it up close in my personal life and work, I can be assured it doesn’t always look so “easy”. She was likely in pain for much of the last few years. Fogged by chemo brain and tired beyond any measure of a way we healthy ones can imagine. Admirable for sure, and certainly for her, the way she managed the disease was a way she could continue to educate and care for young women.
But rather than being defined as a “fighter” and “brave”, I hope that she knew in her heart of hearts what she meant to others. Reports of 1400 or so at the funeral yesterday are followed by reports of 300 or so at a burial. She did a video that was played at the funeral. A little creepy but she was known as a talker so no reason to deny a woman her last word.
I didn’t know Kay Yow. I watched her coach basketball for so many years she just seemed to be there. Kind of like Pat still is. There is a bevy of coaches who are still considered the matriarchs of this sport I love so much. And most are still young enough to remain active for a while to come. Yet we forget they have lives to live. Kids to raise. Divorces to contend with and diseases to fight.
I knew Kay Yow’s nephew however. He was a tall gangly fella named Walt Beeker. A kind soul who loved his Aunt Kay. He spent a good deal of time in my office on Friday afternoons when I was at East Tennessee State University. Last I knew of him he was a contractor in Myrtle Beach. From him, I heard stories of visits to the country and fun times with family. Full of food and those warm southern memories. I didn’t know until just before graduation that "Aunt Kay" was Kay Yow. I am glad I didn’t because I could hear stories of the woman and not who I thought she should be.
I hope we can all be seen as who we are. Not just what we do or who we know or how many people attend our funeral.
May we all be Aunt Kay, or Cousin Khette, or whatever we are called by our loved ones.
Because that is what matters.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Reality and Religion
I got a call today from the Children’s Emergency Dept. I don't always get to go down there but when I do, it is never good. I guess it is what I call the Jesus shit. That stuff no one wants to do but some of us get to do and it becomes a back-ass-wards blessing. And well, Jesus shit likes me I think.
A 1 year old child was hurt in a car wreck. Uncle was driving. He is being treated elsewhere. Mom is about 25 or so. There were a gazillion people in the Trauma room doing what a zillion individuals do in a trauma room to keep a being alive. How that all works I have no idea. The little girl’s heart had stopped completely at one point but oxygen was continually running so maybe there is no further damage. So they prepared to take the child to get a CT scan. Before they go Mom went in to see her baby for a moment. So was escorted by a very skilled nurse manager. We had already prayed in the hallway… that place that for me seems to be the literal line often between life and death. The no man's land of uncertainty.
After they whisked the baby away to CT, Mom collapsed into a chair. I held her as close as I could. I realized as I started to put my own knee down to the floor a nurse stopped me. There was a pool of blood beneath me. I think I have some on the bottom of my shoes probably. We moved mom to another room for some privacy. Grandma came to be of no use as she decided to have heart issues (a pre condition anyway). I moved to the hallway to let them do their medical thing and the same capable nurse manager came out and thanked me for being there and said "She is of no f-ing use" which made me laugh. One thing about ED nurses is that they don't mince words...about anything. Much.
I passed the same trauma room when I left the ED. All the paper and plastic and yes the blood was still there. The chaos of keeping life in this world.
It makes the body and blood real. All of it.
And somehow I have to go read some book on Shenandoah Religion….
A 1 year old child was hurt in a car wreck. Uncle was driving. He is being treated elsewhere. Mom is about 25 or so. There were a gazillion people in the Trauma room doing what a zillion individuals do in a trauma room to keep a being alive. How that all works I have no idea. The little girl’s heart had stopped completely at one point but oxygen was continually running so maybe there is no further damage. So they prepared to take the child to get a CT scan. Before they go Mom went in to see her baby for a moment. So was escorted by a very skilled nurse manager. We had already prayed in the hallway… that place that for me seems to be the literal line often between life and death. The no man's land of uncertainty.
After they whisked the baby away to CT, Mom collapsed into a chair. I held her as close as I could. I realized as I started to put my own knee down to the floor a nurse stopped me. There was a pool of blood beneath me. I think I have some on the bottom of my shoes probably. We moved mom to another room for some privacy. Grandma came to be of no use as she decided to have heart issues (a pre condition anyway). I moved to the hallway to let them do their medical thing and the same capable nurse manager came out and thanked me for being there and said "She is of no f-ing use" which made me laugh. One thing about ED nurses is that they don't mince words...about anything. Much.
I passed the same trauma room when I left the ED. All the paper and plastic and yes the blood was still there. The chaos of keeping life in this world.
It makes the body and blood real. All of it.
And somehow I have to go read some book on Shenandoah Religion….
Friday, January 9, 2009
Epiphanies and Referendum (or is it Referenda? Referen-duh?)
A few weeks ago I was called to the room of a mother whose child had been admitted to the hospital.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
Epiphanies and Referendum (or is it Referenda? Referen-duh?)
A few weeks ago I was called to the room of a mother whose child had been admitted to the hospital.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Reflections on Christmas
Ok it has been a long long while since I last blogged…much has happened but alas it is Christmas. A time to reflect… or a time for me to do such things. Most people I think just eat a lot…which I did about an hour ago.
But I digress. I was on call this holiday. I work as a chaplain at Vanderbilt Hospital. Some of you know this. I have had two calls this last two days. Both yesterday. One was from a man whose wife was dying …slowly. The other was for a very young mother whose baby was about to undergo surgery for a chest tube. Today I went in for a “prayer appointment” for a woman who had Stage 4 lung cancer and some other complications that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
Here is what I have decided: No one should be sick on Christmas. No one. My mom got sick once on Christmas. I declared then that it shouldn’t happen. And furthermore, no one should have to die on Christmas, say good bye to their kids, or generally suffer on Christmas.
God and I are discussing this at the moment. I yell a lot and God, well God is God. I will say that the hospital seems to be a bit more gentle on Christmas. Not many folks around and the halls are quieter. Makes getting through the rat maze of buildings a little better.
And there are reindeer who hang on to cookies for Santa at the Children’s Hospital. I stole a cookie this morning from one…I figured Santa had eaten enough by that point.
That is all really. Just a declaration for a moratorium on sickness and suffering on Christmas.
I could settle for some Jesus dust though. Presence is enough sometimes.
But I digress. I was on call this holiday. I work as a chaplain at Vanderbilt Hospital. Some of you know this. I have had two calls this last two days. Both yesterday. One was from a man whose wife was dying …slowly. The other was for a very young mother whose baby was about to undergo surgery for a chest tube. Today I went in for a “prayer appointment” for a woman who had Stage 4 lung cancer and some other complications that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
Here is what I have decided: No one should be sick on Christmas. No one. My mom got sick once on Christmas. I declared then that it shouldn’t happen. And furthermore, no one should have to die on Christmas, say good bye to their kids, or generally suffer on Christmas.
God and I are discussing this at the moment. I yell a lot and God, well God is God. I will say that the hospital seems to be a bit more gentle on Christmas. Not many folks around and the halls are quieter. Makes getting through the rat maze of buildings a little better.
And there are reindeer who hang on to cookies for Santa at the Children’s Hospital. I stole a cookie this morning from one…I figured Santa had eaten enough by that point.
That is all really. Just a declaration for a moratorium on sickness and suffering on Christmas.
I could settle for some Jesus dust though. Presence is enough sometimes.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Strawberry Time In Tennessee
I have a gallon of strawberries in my refrigerator at the moment. And while that may not be all that unusual for many of you, it is for me.
These are special strawberries for a variety of reasons. First they are hand picked …by me. I have never picked a strawberry in my life, other than out of the grocery store off the produce aisle. I wasn’t even sure I could identify a strawberry plant if I had to. But I think I can now. The closest I have come to fresh strawberries is a roadside stand in Johnson City that proudly claimed to be from Unicoi County. There was a lot of claim to fame in those parts with regard to “home grown-ness”. Not the least of which are Grainger County tomatoes. But that is another story.
I am involved in a class at the moment called Ecological Theology. In it we are discussing the nature of ecology, what it has to do with God and further what it has to do with us. We know about global warming and its effects on our environment and the planet. The statistics are staggering. And the reason that Minnesota has tornados and it is 95 degrees in June? I don’t think we have to think too much about that one. But also within these discussions is talk about sustainable agriculture and local produce. It is not so much about the produce as it is about the cost of the produce…to grow it, to pick it, to transport it. All of which adds up.
So off I went today to pick strawberries. At an “honor system” farm outside of Gallatin. Lyndsey and I went together and in the 90+ degree heat we picked a wad of strawberries. In preparation, we needed our own Strawberry Receptacle Devices, which looked remarkably like sand buckets purchased from a local Kmart. Lyndsey has picked strawberries before and was amused at my rookie picking lack of ability I am sure. But along the way another thing happened. We talked. Now those of you who know us, know we talk a lot anyway, but today was a little different. We talked about family and her grandfather’s strawberry patch. How it was that as a child she helped pick strawberries (and other garden goods) and hated it sometimes.We talked about how it was that we KNEW where these berries were from much like those she picked as a kid. And how it is that the small Ohio town that raised her is still that small Ohio town that remains home to her. My thoughts went back to Mr. Fleming and the garden he grew on the plot of land next door to me as a kid. Which led me right back to 225 Carta Road on summer nights catching lightening bugs between the corn rows.
I am reminded again of how important time is. How important it is to DO something with our lives that matters. We often talk a good game about sustainability and the “good earth” but how often do we work in those places that are sacred earth? And how often do we share those places and those times with others we love.
So go pick some strawberries while you can. Even when it is 90+ degrees. Even when you are tired from work. Take the day off. You have to be intentional. You have to look for it. But it is worth every last drop of strawberry juice that stains your shirt in the hot summer sun.
And blueberry season is coming along soon.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Progressive Lenses
Progressive lenses. The “new” bi focal.
Call them what you wish, they are bi focals. I have talked for a long time now that I need new glasses. I know this. I can see but when it comes to “detail work”, as my mother used to say, things are fuzzy around the edges.
It first concerned me when I had trouble reading from the pew Bible at church. Normally, my own manuscripts are a little larger font anyway. But I could do with the pew Bible…but a few months ago it got irritating and it has now gotten down right difficult. And then there is the looking at people thing. I can see them but even faces are a little fuzzy around the edges. And when you start messing with my peeps then we got issues. I need and want to see the beautiful faces of my friends. Their smiles and eyes and whatnot.
So, I went to the eye doctor. We did the “one or two” thing a good bit and then he did a double vision test…only the lines of un-seeable letters were horizontally placed upon each other. And then I knew.
Is this the bi focal test? I asked
Not yet. We are getting to that.
Goodie.
We did and I will have a brand new set of bi focals in a week or so. One good thing is I got kid frames. That is helpful and I hope they don’t mush against my face. I don’t think they will but I did pick them out by myself … a dangerous idea.
So the big deal about bi focals? It is a milestone of sorts. I will get over it. My friend Amy told me that bi focals are the new braces. This from someone who has yet to wear glasses and is 45! Heidi has been in them for two years now. No one really cares and swears they will love me anyhow. And I have the text messages to prove it.
I am not a vain person. I have some gray but not enough to color. I am blessed with reasonably good colored hair so the gray doesn't show unless you look for it. I hate my contacts because it takes too long to put them in. And I don’t wear makeup unless I want to impress some one… so bi focals it is. Again, with kid frames.
I can still act 12. And will do so as I have for most of my adult life. I think I have my mom’s family genes….those for long hearty lives. I am healthy. I have a lot of things left to do.
And now I can see to do them. That always helps matters.
If I run into a wall or two just pick me up. The glasses lady told me it may take a bit to used to them.
Call them what you wish, they are bi focals. I have talked for a long time now that I need new glasses. I know this. I can see but when it comes to “detail work”, as my mother used to say, things are fuzzy around the edges.
It first concerned me when I had trouble reading from the pew Bible at church. Normally, my own manuscripts are a little larger font anyway. But I could do with the pew Bible…but a few months ago it got irritating and it has now gotten down right difficult. And then there is the looking at people thing. I can see them but even faces are a little fuzzy around the edges. And when you start messing with my peeps then we got issues. I need and want to see the beautiful faces of my friends. Their smiles and eyes and whatnot.
So, I went to the eye doctor. We did the “one or two” thing a good bit and then he did a double vision test…only the lines of un-seeable letters were horizontally placed upon each other. And then I knew.
Is this the bi focal test? I asked
Not yet. We are getting to that.
Goodie.
We did and I will have a brand new set of bi focals in a week or so. One good thing is I got kid frames. That is helpful and I hope they don’t mush against my face. I don’t think they will but I did pick them out by myself … a dangerous idea.
So the big deal about bi focals? It is a milestone of sorts. I will get over it. My friend Amy told me that bi focals are the new braces. This from someone who has yet to wear glasses and is 45! Heidi has been in them for two years now. No one really cares and swears they will love me anyhow. And I have the text messages to prove it.
I am not a vain person. I have some gray but not enough to color. I am blessed with reasonably good colored hair so the gray doesn't show unless you look for it. I hate my contacts because it takes too long to put them in. And I don’t wear makeup unless I want to impress some one… so bi focals it is. Again, with kid frames.
I can still act 12. And will do so as I have for most of my adult life. I think I have my mom’s family genes….those for long hearty lives. I am healthy. I have a lot of things left to do.
And now I can see to do them. That always helps matters.
If I run into a wall or two just pick me up. The glasses lady told me it may take a bit to used to them.
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