America the Beautiful

Happy Independence Day, America! 

Have you ever heard Ray Charles' version of America the Beautiful? If not, click the link and take a listen.  It is a beautiful rendition.  He takes some artistic liberty to change the lyrics a bit, which changes the author, Katharine Lee Bates, intention when she wrote the poem in 1893, inspired by her journey to Pike's Peak in Colorado.  Read these lyrics: 

O beautiful for spacious skies 

For amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties 

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea! 

O beautiful for pilgrim feet 

Whose stern impassioned stress

A thoroughfare of freedom beat 

Across the wilderness! 

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw

Confirm thy soul in self-control

Thy liberty in law! 

O beautiful for heroes proved 

In liberating strife

Who more than self their country loved 

And mercy more than life!

America! America!

May God thy gold refine

Till all success be nobleness

And every gain divine! 

O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam 

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy God with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea! 

O beautiful for halcyon skies 

For amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties

Above the enameled plain! 

America! America! 

God shed his grace on thee

Till souls wax fair as earth and air 

And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrims feet 

Whose stem impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat 

Across the wilderness! 

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

Till paths be wrought through 

Wilds of thought

by pilgrim foot and knee! 

O beautiful for glory-tale

Of liberating strife

When once and twice

For man's avail

Men lavished precious life! 

America! America! 

God shed his grace on thee

Till selfish gain no longer stain

The banner of the free! 

O beautiful for patriot dream 

that sees beyond the years 

Thine alabaster cities gleam 

undimmed by human tears! 

America! America! 

God shed his grace on thee

Till nobler men keep once again 

Thy whiter jubilee! 

Now, the lyrics are dated and perhaps 125 years later there are things we should not care to understand about it.  But there is something within this song that I believe we have missed.  

I grew up singing this song as an acclamation of what G-d has done for America.  We sang it as a declaration of America's greatness. Ray Charles sings it as such; however, Bates wrote this song as a prayer, as a longing for G-d's intervention.  Doesn't that change it quite a bit? Re-read it. Read it as a cry to G-d for mercy.  

You see, I think Bates, a woman living a fairly bountiful life, yet still oppressed for her gender and her orientation, understood something. That day standing on Pike's Peak she realized that for as beautiful as this nation was, for all that had happened to get us to that day 125 years ago, where she could pen these infamous words; there was still so far to go.  

This poem was NOT etched as a declaration of superiority, but instead it was penned as a supplication for mercy, for humility and for freedom. It was a prayer for something more than what was.  It was a prayer for America to be the land of the free that it longed to be when it adopted these words on July 4, 1776:  

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." 

May this song become a prayer again! May we today stand, like Katharine Lee Bates, on the beauty of the world that G-d has created and cry out to G-d for something more, for our nation to be the nation of freedom for all; a nation of brotherhood; in which more than self we love others and seek mercy for all; a nation that dreams paths that are wrought in wilds of thoughts; a nation that selfish gain is no longer our stain, but instead we fly the banner of the free and continue become better beyond what our eyes can see!

The Four Chaplains

"Not for my safe return, that wouldn't be fair. Just pray that I shall do my duty...never be a coward...and have the strength, courage and understanding of men.  Just pray that I shall be adequate."  

~ Chaplain Poling to his father before board the Dorchester 

     Today marks the 75th anniversary of the sinking of the USS Dorchester, an American military transport ship. Six hundred and seventy-five people died that fatal morning. Among them were four Army chaplains - George Fox, Alexander Goode, Clark Poling, and John Washington.  In the moments of terror that followed the torpedo strike, the Four Chaplains selflessly gave their life vests to four soldiers.  This action was a choice to die.  Over 40 eyewitnesses confirm that, after sealing their own fate of death, the Four Chaplains linked arms, sang hymns and offered prayers in their own faith tradition as the ship sank into the frigid waters.  The Four Chaplains, each of different faith traditions, gave their lives in the hope that four others might live.  

     These Four Chaplains became immortal heroes that cold night. They became chaplains because they believed they were called to serve and love Soldiers.  They fulfilled that mission with a valor and strength that leaves me personally inspired and in awe.  

     Learning this story had made me ponder some things.  Where we are today is because of the people who have come before us.  When we take titles or positions, we take them with the history that they bear.  Those history's become a part of our story or rather, we become a part of their story.  We become fruit of their labors. 

    The Four Chaplains knew their identity. They knew their call and they knew the sacrifice they were making.  I wonder if they knew their story would live on for generations to come? I wonder if they realized the lasting legacy they would be leaving for every chaplain who would come behind? Sometimes we never see the fruit of our labor, but good or bad, it is always there. We all produce fruit of some sort. Our choices and decisions impact not only ourselves and those around us, but they go on for generations.  Our stories are not our own, but are instead a part of a  story that transcends time and space. 

     

     

Making Excuses

"Produce fruit in keeping with REPENTANCE. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham."

 Luke 3:8

 

How often do we make excuses? How often do you tell ourselves or others that although we know something to be right, we don't have to do it? Or that it's not for us? 

Nearly every day I seem to have this conversation with my children.  I'll tell one of them to complete their chore and they will come up with every excuse as to why they cannot. It's time for soccer. It's time to do homework.  It's bedtime. It's always something they perceive to be better than chores, although they'll eventually complain about those very things too. This doesn't just happen at home. As pastor's kids, they seem to adjust very well to using the excuse, "I'm the child of Pastor Sharon," when they are told to not be in a specific area or when they are asked to help with something.  Don't get me wrong. My kids are fantastic. We all get comfortable and want to avoid anything that incites change, that isn't what we want or that is just plain work.  We ALL make excuses.  It's nothing new, in fact, John the Baptist spends sometime addressing this very issue. 

This morning the text above came to my mind. Here's a fuller picture:  

"The word of God came to John in the desert. He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  As is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet: A voice of one calling in the desert, 'Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him. Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill made low. The crooked roads shall become straight, the rough ways smooth. And all mankind will see God's salvation.' John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, 'You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire."  (Luke 3:2-9) 

The Israelites were coming to John out of a sense of obligation. They were good at being religious and they were good at being children of Abraham; to the point that they used that reality as an excuse to keep from doing the things they were called to do.  They had a superiority complex. They were better than everyone else. They had what they believed was the right way.  They had acquired a power that was not theirs to have and their actions were not God honoring.  They were comfortable with saying "We are children of Abraham, we shouldn't have to. Repentance isn't for us. We haven't done anything wrong." 

The Israelites were coming for this baptism for all the wrong reasons.  John, in essence, tells them "No. Coming to this baptism is about the Kingdom. It's about repentance and fixing things. It's about reconciling - making straight paths and smoothing out what is rough. And you can no longer sit back on your rear-end and say 'I'm a child of Abraham. The promise is mine. I don't need repentance.' Jesus is bringing about a Kingdom and He will raise up repentant hearts that know the true heart of Abraham.  Not because of blood lines, but because they seek first the Kingdom and His righteousness, producing fruit in keeping with repentance.  The rocks on the ground are more obedient than you." 

Ouch! John was bold, but he was bold because he knew something to be true.  We find the Kingdom of God through repentance and reconciliation. It is there in that work that God invites us to join Him.  Second Corinthians 5 says, "all this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of RECONCILIATION." We are to repent, be reconciled to God, so that we can repent and be reconciled to one another. His Kingdom come, His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. 

Discipleship as gift-giving

Several years ago, these plates were given to me as a gift as I departed a call and moved into the next season of my journey.  The gift-giver communicated that she had handmade these treasures to reflect all of the things that I had somehow taught her about herself and about G-d.  She admittedly isn't a crafty person, so creating something like this made it all the more special to me.  Today, they hang over my desk, right in plain sight as a reminder, not of what I've accomplished, but instead that I'm learning the same things.  You see, the beauty of discipleship is that you do life together, truly an "iron sharpens iron" experience.  The very words that she felt she learned from me, I had learned from her. 

     These plates have come to be part of my most treasured gifts because they remind me daily of where my strength comes from. They remind me daily that I am not alone.  They remind me that my story matters and that G-d has been all over it, even in the darkest of times. 
     When a gift is given does the giver know the impact of the gift? In a society that prides itself in allowing the receiver to pick it's own gift, how is there even opportunity for the giver to know the weight of what they have given?  My local grocery store has a kiosk of gift cards from any place imaginable. When  you don't know what to give someone, allowing them to choose their own gift via a gift card or even cash, seems to make sense.  But oh, the gifts that someone has thought out, the gifts that speak a piece of their heart to yours.  Those are the gifts that impact. Those are the gifts that change the world. 
     Discipleship is like gift-giving.  The receiver shouldn't be choosing their own gift, but instead the giver imparts a gift that touches the darkness of our lives.  Why is this important? Because as receivers, it's unlikely that we would choose a gift that transforms everything within us.  

     In discipleship, we give of ourselves, our story, our journey and we give it to one another.  It's in that journey together that we decrease, that we learn our poverty and our dependence, not just on G-d, but on one another as well.  It's in the giving of our whole selves that we learn.  

     We learn...

"G-d's love can always be trusted, and  His faithfulness lasts as long as the heavens." 

"The Lord was always there..."

"When I felt all alone, He was there..." 

"We had no one to turn to or depend on but the Lord..." 

"I will praise you again because You help me and You are my G-d." 

"When I am hurting, I find comfort in your promise that leads to life." 

"G-d showed me..." 

"I don't know what I would have done without Him" 

"Daily, I draw my strength from the Lord..." 

"My power and my strength come from the Lord, and He has saved me."

My Demon Cat is stealing my soul while I basket-weave underwater with mohawked snowmen...

Well, if that isn't the most random blog title ever! All thanks can be given to my wonderful friends who give me topics when topics seem to lack

Topics: My demon cat is stealing my soul, underwater basket-weaving and Mohawked snowmen - GO!

Since my son was about six years old he has said "when my dad dies, I'm getting a cat!" He loves cats. His dad does not.  Every time my kids have brought up the idea of a cat, their dad has shut them down with excuses. Bottom line: he hates cats.  My son is ten now and his older sister is nineteen.  They conspired, compiled money and
in June, despite their dad's grumblings, Frankie the Siamese kitten came home.  (The Demon Cat as my friend calls him) It turns out the boy didn't  have to wait until his dad died, so that's good. And it turns out that cat sure does love daddy!

It was seven years ago that my boy and his dad created this mohawked snowman in our front yard. It was created to look like our friend that sports a mohawk and usually has a Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand.  They were so proud of this creation! Every year now our snowmen have mohawks.

So how do I tie this all together?

Well, Christmas isn't what I want it to be. It's kinda like my husband having a cat despite his wishes. Truth is - Christmas hasn't been the same since my grandma passed away.  With each passing year, I find myself a little less "in the spirit." At one point my home had seven Christmas trees. Now, I struggle to get up the one.  I would love for my house to be decked the way it always used to be, but I just don't have time or even the want to make it happen.  I'd love to say that the demon cat is stealing my soul, but this problem existed way before Frankie.

As I age, winter is dragging me down.  I love building snowmen (especially cute ones with mohawks!) I love sledding, ice skating, seeing the Christmas lights. But I dislike the cold, the lack of sun, and the darkness.  Through this season I just feel like I don't measure up to all the pretty cards I've received, the homes of friends that are beautifully decorated, or all the bake goods that fill my Facebook feed. It seems that everywhere, but my house, people are making fantastic Christmas memories. On most days, I feel like taking up underwater basket-weaving would be easier than trying to fulfill all the Christmas expectations that I have for myself, not to mention the demands of others.

So topics escape me right now and I turn to my friends for inspiration! My demon cat is stealing my soul while I ponder basket-weaving underwater with mohawked snowmen! You see, we aren't alone! We may feel that way, but truth is, we all struggle. We all, at some point, secretly feel as if we don't measure up. In the times where I struggle, I try my best to reach out to friends. I depend on relationships to perk me up! I look to my friends and my family to make me laugh, to make me smile, to show me love and let me show them love. Christmas is different and I'm learning to be okay with that.

Sacred Pants

“There is nothing so secular that it cannot be sacred, and that is one of the deepest messages of the Incarnation.” 

― Madeleine L'Engle

The other day a friend and I had to make a trip to Walmart.  We had been working on a project all day and needed one final thing to complete it.  We were a mess. I was wearing my "painting clothes." The whole way there we laughed at how thankfully we were going to Walmart and not the mall because at Walmart we'd fit right in.  I love to paint. I'm not Van Gogh or Monet, but I love to paint walls and houses and sometimes things a little more creative.  Years ago I started wearing the same clothes to paint - a pair of blue sweat pants and a light blue shirt.  Even though I am a very clean painter, the clothes are covered in paint.  Knowing that I wear these "painting clothes" whenever I paint, my friend said, "Your pants are like the Traveling Pants."

Have you ever seen "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants"? Four lifelong friends have to spend their first summer apart. They go shopping and amazingly they find one pair of jeans that fits each of them perfectly, despite their varied body shapes and sizes.  The girls decide to have shared ownership and these pants spend the summer traveling between them, experiencing family turmoil, first love, tragic loss and lots of exploration.  In the midst of story is the magical element of these pants that saw so much of growing up and learning.

When my friend said, "Your pants are like the Traveling Pants?" It hit me for the first time that I had unintentionally created one of the most sacred items in my possession.

These pants were worn by my husband before I ever knew him, through boot camp, through his time on Active Duty and then through the first several years of our relationship until they no longer fit him or until I grabbed them one day that I wanted to paint a wall and needed something that I didn't care if I ruined.  They were his and they didn't really fit anymore, so that day over 10 years ago they became mine. My painting pants.  Painting pants that I'm sure already had such a deep story. They were pants that had already seen so much in his life.

I never intended for these pants to be anything more than a comfy pair of sweats that I could feel free to wipe my hands on, spill paint on and basically trash.  But the other day on the way to Walmart I was struck with the sacredness of what I was wearing.

You see, these pants have painted every home we have lived in during our nearly 20 years of marriage; two of which no longer are standing. They have painted the nurseries of our children when I was expecting. They have painted the rooms that we have invited people into over and over. These pants have painted the homes of my grandparents, parents and siblings.  Hours have been spent in these pants laughing, crying, and grieving because painting is therapeutic.  These pants have painted three different offices that I have inhabited, each with their own stories.  These pants have painted homeless shelters where they brought hope and new life to women who have been through so much.  These pants have painted the home of a dear friend who couldn't herself because of cancer.  These pants have painted the walls of my church as I have attempted to create sacred space for my community.  I guess in sense you could say, these pants have painted my life.

These pants have become sacred.  And when I look down, I see a rainbow of colors that each hold a sacred moment in my life.

I walked into Walmart that day holding my head high because I was clothed in the sacred and I wouldn't have it any other way.  These pants are sacred because love has been incarnated in every moment of their existence. My painting pants make their own rounds, never worn by others, but always presenting themselves in service to others.  They are my "traveling pants" that have seen so much. Like the pants in the movie, they've seen family turmoil, love, tragic loss and indeed, lots of exploration.  They have grown up with me and in them I have learned so much.

Rising From The Ashes

"Well, religion has been passed down through the years by stories people tell around the campfire. Stories about God, stories about love. Stories about good spirits and evil spirits."

~ Andrew Greeley, Roman Catholic Priest

Camp Mission Meadows, Lake Chautauqua, NY (07/23/2016)

     Not visible in this photograph is the faint smoke plume rising from the ashes of what had been a decent fire the evening before. Just about 10 hours earlier there had been about 150 junior high students and their camp counselors gathered around this campfire, telling stories, singing songs and praying.
     Around campfires we tell stories.  In Junior High, being a cool kid was directly tied to your ability to cause your friends sleepless nights over the zombies and vampires that your mind would manifest into tales of horror. Campfires facilitate relationship.  We sit around them and chat, as if the world melts away.  I want to propose something else.  Campfires foster healing because campfires promote telling.  Around campfires, even the shyest of us, tell stories.  We muster up enough courage, as if the embers of the fire fuel our hearts, to speak out.
     As we listen to the stories of those gathered around us, we find space and openness to begin to tell our own stories.  "Storiest about God, stories about love. Stories about good spirits and evil spirits." Around campfires we become not only good listeners, but we find the value of the story.
     Our stories are meant to be told. Our stories are meant to be found in the midst of God's story and the story of his people. We are meant to sit around campfires.  Perhaps the Church should reclaim and resign the art of campfire storytelling? Perhaps every house of worship should have a communal campfire in their yard.
     As we speak around the campfire, we burn down walls of division.
          As we speak around the campfire, we learn to tell our story and we learn to tell it well.
     As we speak around the campfire, the stories of our lives rise from the ashes
          and the flames of the Holy Spirit ruminate in our souls.
     As we speak around the campfire we are healed.