Yesterday, I participated in a worship service marking the passage of a state law here in Minnesota which will allow same-sex couples to get married.
Here is the prayer I prayed:
God, Creative and Creating Spirit, whose nature and name is love, we have gathered together tonight with joyful and humble hearts. There is joy in that we believe justice has been done, that compassion has been embodied, that love has become law, that the beloved community is a little more real today. There is humility, for we know how long the road has been, and we know there are significant tasks ahead. Laws are important, but laws by themselves don’t change hearts. There is heart work to be done as we move toward the beloved community. There are those who have been wounded along the way, and those whose disagreement with this new law is like an irritating pebble in the soul. There is soul work to be done as we move toward the beloved community. The same scriptures which enjoin us to do justice, encourage us to love our enemies. Love’s work toward the beloved community is not yet done. With humble hearts we ask for tender strength and gentle courage to continue the journey toward the beloved community - where compassion reigns, where justice is done, where in love we recognize the common humanity of all, and where we acknowledge our shared dependence upon the earth itself. Amen.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Boston Bombs and a Dog's Death
It has been a helluva week. It has been a week filled with sadness.
Sunday afternoon, I went to a local nursing home to lead a worship service. One of my parishioners is a resident there and I planned to visit with her if I did not see her at the service. Walking in, I saw her daughter, a woman who lives in the Twin Cities. I suspected that she might not have such good news about her mom, and that was the case. Her mom had taken a turn for the worse a couple of days prior and this time, she was not going to pull through. I visited my parishioner following the worship service. She died later that night.
Monday, the joy and delight of the Boston Marathon were punctuated by two bombs planted near the finish line. Three people have died and more than one hundred were hospitalized. A woman from my church ran the marathon and thankfully she and her family were o.k. We are all deeply troubled and saddened by what has happened. At the end of the day, I returned home to find that one of our dogs, Grace (Abby is the other, both poodle/Pomeranian mix) was not doing so well. She had vomited a couple of times, but this had happened before. She has a sensitive stomach
Tuesday afternoon I received a phone call that another parishioner had been admitted into hospice. Death is immanent, though she is still hanging on as I write.
Tuesday evening, coming home after the hospital visit, Grace’s condition had deteriorated. She had been vomiting all day. She seemed especially weak. If she was not doing better the next morning I would take her to the vet.
Wednesday morning it was clear that Grace was not doing better. I would bring her to her vet when they opened at 7:30 a.m. We never made it. She died in my arms at 6 a.m.
Comparing the death of a dog to human death, or even the loss of a limb is nonsensical, though over the years I have come to the conclusions that it never makes sense to compare grief. Every instance of grief has its own dynamic and intensity for the person experiencing it.
Grace was not yet six years old. In her short, happy life, she shared a lot of gifts with us. She shared unconditional love, and I was the fortunate recipient of much of that (though she could be a bit of a pest sometimes). She followed me wherever I went in the house. When she needed to go out, she sought me out to take her. Yet she was always waiting when I came home, and never failed to dance a bit with excitement. Grace was an exuberant dog. She did dances for her treats. She loved to play. Grace had a big heart. Weighing in at about six and a half pounds, she barked “fiercely” at threats, and we were always concerned that if she got loose she would chase after a deer. Grace offered warmth and affection. She enjoyed cuddling. She was a licker.
It is not fair to compare the loss of human life, or even human limb, to the loss of a dog. I don’t want to do that. Though when sadness comes, wave upon wave in death, destruction, and loss, the gifts a pet can bring are treasured, and when she is gone, they are missed terribly.
To live in this world
You must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal,
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods”
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Movie Music
Obviously blogging was not among my Lenten disciplines. Here it is, just days before Holy Week and I have maybe blogged once since the beginning of Lent.
I have, however, worked on my taxes, beginning them a couple of weeks ago, and just finishing up the rough draft today. One more review before I send them in. I know, I am a Luddite when it comes to taxes – still using a calculator and a pencil.
So the Sunday afternoon that I began this year’s tax journey, I thought some quiet music would be in order. Awhile back I had purchased a cd set “Hollywood Hits: 70 Years of Memorable Movie Music.” It was quite reasonable priced at Half Price Books. The three cds were: (1) Movie Themes; (2) Oscar Winners; and (3) Musicals. There was also a briefer fourth cd primarily with live versions of a few movie songs, though it also included Dooley Wilson “As Time Goes By.”
I gather all the necessary information, sharpen my pencil, hit play, and begin. Preparing the returns is its typical laborious experience, but the music – the music is wonderful. There is an emotional connection with some of the songs. With some, I can almost see scenes from the movie (side-by-side with mortgage interest numbers). I can remember late nights watching some of these films on the late show when it was summer and I did not have to get up for school the next day. As “Days of Wine and Roses” is playing, I recall the incredible sadness I felt watching that movie for the first time. When Kermit the Frog sings “Rainbow Connection” I remember watching “The Muppet Movie” with my children. Some of the songs simply evoked another time, another place, another me. Hearing the movie theme from “The Odd Couple” I recalled watching television re-runs after school. Listening to the theme from M*A*S*H brought me back to college and seminary days. I remember gathering around the community television for the final episode of M*A*S*H at my seminary apartment building.
After a couple of days, I began thinking about how powerful music and movies can be in shaping us. “Brian’s Song” taught me something about multi-cultural sensitivity before I had any idea what that was. “The Days of Wine and Roses” powerfully portrays the devastation of addiction. Often movies and music do little more than distract or entertain, but they have the capacity to shape us, to bring certain narrative threads to our lives.
Then I began to consider how much more complicated sharing the Christian story can be in a multi-storied world. How do we deal with these other narratives that are present in our culture?
Some would choose to isolate themselves from the wider culture. At the extreme end of this strategy would be the Amish. I went to high school with a young man whose church forbid watching television. Honestly, I think we would all do well to critically monitor our media intake. Some of it may not be worth our time and attention.
However, I don’t think this is a terribly realistic strategy. It also ignores an important theological idea - that the Spirit can be at work in unique places and mysterious ways. We would do better, I think, to find places where the culture helps us tell our story. There is something about hope, courage and determination to be learned when the prisoner Papillon whispers up from his prison cell, “I’m still here, you bastards.” Caring community and openness to new cultural experiences are beautifully portrayed in the film, “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.” The Harry Potter film series does a wonderful job of depicting friendship and sacrifice for others. I always found it odd that some Christians were so spooked by the “magic” that they missed the underlying themes, many of which are deeply compatible with Christian faith. The most ironic instance of missing the boat was a mother I knew who was concerned about letting her daughter see or read Harry Potter, but thought nothing of taking her to a Brittany Spears concert.
I intend to keep watching and listening, learning along the way, thinking critically and theologically, though sometimes probably just enjoying the ride.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
I have, however, worked on my taxes, beginning them a couple of weeks ago, and just finishing up the rough draft today. One more review before I send them in. I know, I am a Luddite when it comes to taxes – still using a calculator and a pencil.
So the Sunday afternoon that I began this year’s tax journey, I thought some quiet music would be in order. Awhile back I had purchased a cd set “Hollywood Hits: 70 Years of Memorable Movie Music.” It was quite reasonable priced at Half Price Books. The three cds were: (1) Movie Themes; (2) Oscar Winners; and (3) Musicals. There was also a briefer fourth cd primarily with live versions of a few movie songs, though it also included Dooley Wilson “As Time Goes By.”
I gather all the necessary information, sharpen my pencil, hit play, and begin. Preparing the returns is its typical laborious experience, but the music – the music is wonderful. There is an emotional connection with some of the songs. With some, I can almost see scenes from the movie (side-by-side with mortgage interest numbers). I can remember late nights watching some of these films on the late show when it was summer and I did not have to get up for school the next day. As “Days of Wine and Roses” is playing, I recall the incredible sadness I felt watching that movie for the first time. When Kermit the Frog sings “Rainbow Connection” I remember watching “The Muppet Movie” with my children. Some of the songs simply evoked another time, another place, another me. Hearing the movie theme from “The Odd Couple” I recalled watching television re-runs after school. Listening to the theme from M*A*S*H brought me back to college and seminary days. I remember gathering around the community television for the final episode of M*A*S*H at my seminary apartment building.
After a couple of days, I began thinking about how powerful music and movies can be in shaping us. “Brian’s Song” taught me something about multi-cultural sensitivity before I had any idea what that was. “The Days of Wine and Roses” powerfully portrays the devastation of addiction. Often movies and music do little more than distract or entertain, but they have the capacity to shape us, to bring certain narrative threads to our lives.
Then I began to consider how much more complicated sharing the Christian story can be in a multi-storied world. How do we deal with these other narratives that are present in our culture?
Some would choose to isolate themselves from the wider culture. At the extreme end of this strategy would be the Amish. I went to high school with a young man whose church forbid watching television. Honestly, I think we would all do well to critically monitor our media intake. Some of it may not be worth our time and attention.
However, I don’t think this is a terribly realistic strategy. It also ignores an important theological idea - that the Spirit can be at work in unique places and mysterious ways. We would do better, I think, to find places where the culture helps us tell our story. There is something about hope, courage and determination to be learned when the prisoner Papillon whispers up from his prison cell, “I’m still here, you bastards.” Caring community and openness to new cultural experiences are beautifully portrayed in the film, “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.” The Harry Potter film series does a wonderful job of depicting friendship and sacrifice for others. I always found it odd that some Christians were so spooked by the “magic” that they missed the underlying themes, many of which are deeply compatible with Christian faith. The most ironic instance of missing the boat was a mother I knew who was concerned about letting her daughter see or read Harry Potter, but thought nothing of taking her to a Brittany Spears concert.
I intend to keep watching and listening, learning along the way, thinking critically and theologically, though sometimes probably just enjoying the ride.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Lingering
Do you have to let it linger?
The Cranberries
Three days after Ash Wednesday, there remain on my hands small places where I can still see traces of the ashes from that night. They linger.
The season of Lent is a bit about lingering, about slowing down, about listening intently for God’s voice in the rush and din of our day to day lives, about taking some time away from those lives to listen. Perhaps it is also about being willing to linger with some of our own experiences.
Not long ago, in Stephen Mitchell’s The Gospel According to Jesus I came across Mitchell’s translation of the original version of Rilke’s Tenth Duino Elegy (p. 159). It is about lingering.
How dear you will be to me, then, you nights
of anguish. Why didn’t I kneel more deeply to accept you,
inconsolable sisters, and, surrendering, lose myself
in your loosened hair. How we squander our hours of pain.
How we gaze beyond them into the bitter duration
to see if they have an end. Though they are really
seasons of us, our winter-
enduring foliage, ponds, meadows, our inborn landscape,
where birds and reed-dwelling creatures are at home.
We need not search out difficult experiences nor suppose that God creates difficulty and pain so we can learn from it. Pain and difficulty will come. Joan Chittister puts it simply and well – “no one goes through life unscathed” (Called To Question, 224). What might we learn and how might we grow if we linger with such experiences, even if only for a while?
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
The Cranberries
Three days after Ash Wednesday, there remain on my hands small places where I can still see traces of the ashes from that night. They linger.
The season of Lent is a bit about lingering, about slowing down, about listening intently for God’s voice in the rush and din of our day to day lives, about taking some time away from those lives to listen. Perhaps it is also about being willing to linger with some of our own experiences.
Not long ago, in Stephen Mitchell’s The Gospel According to Jesus I came across Mitchell’s translation of the original version of Rilke’s Tenth Duino Elegy (p. 159). It is about lingering.
How dear you will be to me, then, you nights
of anguish. Why didn’t I kneel more deeply to accept you,
inconsolable sisters, and, surrendering, lose myself
in your loosened hair. How we squander our hours of pain.
How we gaze beyond them into the bitter duration
to see if they have an end. Though they are really
seasons of us, our winter-
enduring foliage, ponds, meadows, our inborn landscape,
where birds and reed-dwelling creatures are at home.
We need not search out difficult experiences nor suppose that God creates difficulty and pain so we can learn from it. Pain and difficulty will come. Joan Chittister puts it simply and well – “no one goes through life unscathed” (Called To Question, 224). What might we learn and how might we grow if we linger with such experiences, even if only for a while?
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Yearning
Do you ever yearn, George?
Kramer to George, Seinfeld
The other night I was on the treadmill at home, a place I need to be more regularly. While there I watched part of a documentary about Bruce Springsteen and the making of his seminal album, Born To Run. I was captivated by Springsteen’s artistic vision and by the effort and energy that went into trying to put that vision into vinyl. Nearly every word, every phrase, every instrument, every note was pondered then played, then played again. Springsteen sought to put his thoughts and feelings into music, something that I have long admired in his entire body of work. While I appreciate everything he has done, there is something very special about Born To Run.
As I was watching, I also felt again some of those feelings I felt when I first listened to the record in my late teens. The joy, the angst, the longing, the searching, the yearning, that was on that record struck a deep chord in my young man’s soul. “But tonight you’re gonna break on through to the inside/And it’ll be right.” “Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider/But I gotta know how it feels/I want to know if your love is wild/Girl I want to know if love is real. “Tramps like us, baby we were born to run.”
Coming upstairs when my time on the treadmill was over, I saw my daughter getting ready to watch a movie. She is home between her January class and the beginning of spring semester. It was 10:30 p.m. I thought of all the times I watched those late night movies in my own college days. While many movies are just for fun, many are also dream machines, stoking the imagination, feeding a certain yearning for more life – deeper, fuller, richer.
I’m 53, and glad for all the experiences I have had since those days of late night movies, and Born To Run spinning on a turntable (and sitting here typing on my computer I am looking at the vinyl album cover, now darkened around the edges). At the same time I never want to completely lose that part of a young man’s soul that continues to reach for something more, that continues to yearn for deeper thinking and feeling, that longs for a better world.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Mary Oliver, “When Death Comes”
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Kramer to George, Seinfeld
The other night I was on the treadmill at home, a place I need to be more regularly. While there I watched part of a documentary about Bruce Springsteen and the making of his seminal album, Born To Run. I was captivated by Springsteen’s artistic vision and by the effort and energy that went into trying to put that vision into vinyl. Nearly every word, every phrase, every instrument, every note was pondered then played, then played again. Springsteen sought to put his thoughts and feelings into music, something that I have long admired in his entire body of work. While I appreciate everything he has done, there is something very special about Born To Run.
As I was watching, I also felt again some of those feelings I felt when I first listened to the record in my late teens. The joy, the angst, the longing, the searching, the yearning, that was on that record struck a deep chord in my young man’s soul. “But tonight you’re gonna break on through to the inside/And it’ll be right.” “Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider/But I gotta know how it feels/I want to know if your love is wild/Girl I want to know if love is real. “Tramps like us, baby we were born to run.”
Coming upstairs when my time on the treadmill was over, I saw my daughter getting ready to watch a movie. She is home between her January class and the beginning of spring semester. It was 10:30 p.m. I thought of all the times I watched those late night movies in my own college days. While many movies are just for fun, many are also dream machines, stoking the imagination, feeding a certain yearning for more life – deeper, fuller, richer.
I’m 53, and glad for all the experiences I have had since those days of late night movies, and Born To Run spinning on a turntable (and sitting here typing on my computer I am looking at the vinyl album cover, now darkened around the edges). At the same time I never want to completely lose that part of a young man’s soul that continues to reach for something more, that continues to yearn for deeper thinking and feeling, that longs for a better world.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Mary Oliver, “When Death Comes”
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Serendipity/Grace
Finding time to write has been a challenge. Other things have taken precedence, and needed to. On December 31 we admitted my mother-in-law, Lois, to Solvay Hospice House here in Duluth. Five days later, she died.
I thoughtfully and passionately believe in God. More than that I have faith in God, that is, I trust God, trust that the meaning of my life is the meaning it has for God. However, I don’t believe that God is a cosmic controlling power. I don’t believe “God determines every detail of the world” (Process Theology: an introductory exposition, 9). My theology could be wrong here, but I don’t see how a theology that has God determining all that happens is compatible with a significant notion of human freedom. What makes God God, in my theological view, is that God is the only necessary being and God’s purpose, while it can be temporarily thwarted, is never entirely defeated. God’s purposes keep coming again and again and again into human lives and into the world.
If God does not determine every detail of the world, the fact that my wife Julie and I now live in Duluth, Minnesota is not simply something God arranged well ahead of our coming. Yet I believe that we have been here for seven and a half years, now, is seen as good in God’s eyes. I trust that God’s Spirit influenced the events which brought us to be here now.
You see, both Julie and I grew up in this community. We went to different high schools here, and met at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. While Duluth is a wonderful place, we did not aspire to return here. As a United Methodist pastor appointed by a bishop, aspiring to be some particular place is a good recipe for frustration. Seven and a half years ago, I was appointed as pastor of First United Methodist Church, Duluth. We returned home.
Four years ago, my father died. We were here. Two years ago, a close cousin of my mother’s died. We were here. A year ago, my grandmother died. We were here. Now just a couple of weeks ago, Julie’s mother died. We have been here during her final illness and through her death.
I believe thoughtfully and passionately in God. I trust God. I believe God works through influence, and God delights in serendipity. That we have been here now has been serendipity. That we have been here now has been grace. Such serendipity, such grace is part of God’s purpose in the world. Thanks be to God.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
I thoughtfully and passionately believe in God. More than that I have faith in God, that is, I trust God, trust that the meaning of my life is the meaning it has for God. However, I don’t believe that God is a cosmic controlling power. I don’t believe “God determines every detail of the world” (Process Theology: an introductory exposition, 9). My theology could be wrong here, but I don’t see how a theology that has God determining all that happens is compatible with a significant notion of human freedom. What makes God God, in my theological view, is that God is the only necessary being and God’s purpose, while it can be temporarily thwarted, is never entirely defeated. God’s purposes keep coming again and again and again into human lives and into the world.
If God does not determine every detail of the world, the fact that my wife Julie and I now live in Duluth, Minnesota is not simply something God arranged well ahead of our coming. Yet I believe that we have been here for seven and a half years, now, is seen as good in God’s eyes. I trust that God’s Spirit influenced the events which brought us to be here now.
You see, both Julie and I grew up in this community. We went to different high schools here, and met at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. While Duluth is a wonderful place, we did not aspire to return here. As a United Methodist pastor appointed by a bishop, aspiring to be some particular place is a good recipe for frustration. Seven and a half years ago, I was appointed as pastor of First United Methodist Church, Duluth. We returned home.
Four years ago, my father died. We were here. Two years ago, a close cousin of my mother’s died. We were here. A year ago, my grandmother died. We were here. Now just a couple of weeks ago, Julie’s mother died. We have been here during her final illness and through her death.
I believe thoughtfully and passionately in God. I trust God. I believe God works through influence, and God delights in serendipity. That we have been here now has been serendipity. That we have been here now has been grace. Such serendipity, such grace is part of God’s purpose in the world. Thanks be to God.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Friday, December 21, 2012
Resonant Thoughts
Tomorrow I will be officiating at the funeral of a lovely woman from my congregation. She died earlier this week at age 82. Three years ago, I officiated at her wedding. It was her third marriage following the loss of two previous spouses. It was an occasion filled with joy. There will be joy as we celebrate her life tomorrow, but joy marked with sadness and grief.
In the wedding reflection I offered three years ago, I included these thoughts: Of course evil and ugliness exists, as much now as ever. These get all the headlines. We all know about the bad news. Plenty of reasons for pessimism. The wrongs of the world are clear. Meanwhile, I remain astonished at the good and lovely that exists. And most of it is free and readily available if I’ll look for it. (Robert Fulgham, What On Earth Have I Done?)
In that wedding reflection, I read a poem which included these words:
We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working,
servant of thought and a lamp held in one hand.
(from “Distances” Phillippe Jaccottet)
Somehow as I think about this funeral, as I think about the twenty-three year old making slow progress in her recovery in a local ICU, as I think about the world after Newtown, as I think about holding a candle on Christmas Eve and singing “Silent Night,” these words spoken three years ago still resonate.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
In the wedding reflection I offered three years ago, I included these thoughts: Of course evil and ugliness exists, as much now as ever. These get all the headlines. We all know about the bad news. Plenty of reasons for pessimism. The wrongs of the world are clear. Meanwhile, I remain astonished at the good and lovely that exists. And most of it is free and readily available if I’ll look for it. (Robert Fulgham, What On Earth Have I Done?)
In that wedding reflection, I read a poem which included these words:
We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working,
servant of thought and a lamp held in one hand.
(from “Distances” Phillippe Jaccottet)
Somehow as I think about this funeral, as I think about the twenty-three year old making slow progress in her recovery in a local ICU, as I think about the world after Newtown, as I think about holding a candle on Christmas Eve and singing “Silent Night,” these words spoken three years ago still resonate.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
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