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Patrol Boy 101124

Last night we started watching the 2012 documentary on Ethel Kennedy. This afternoon we learned she just died at the age of 96. Eerie. While giving thanks for my heroes working for justice and racial equality during my childhood, I also thought of being a patrol boy; weird; here’s why.

A week after being chosen to be a patrol boy, during my training in June, I heard Sen. Kennedy had been shot; the news wouldn’t sink in for several years. When I started my year serving as a patrol boy, I was given the responsibility of helping Chenoweth Elementary kids safely cross Brownsboro Road — the four-lane state Highway 42 in Louisville’s east end. 

I liked the power and prestige that went with being chosen to be a patrol boy. When I felt like it, I could push the cross button to change the light and stop all the traffic on Hwy 42. I would tell the kids when to cross. I loved the sense of control over others I had. I loved the look of my patrol boy outfit with a white belt across my waist and shoulder and a silver badge with AAA on it. (I thought it was something super cool like A plus plus.)

Soon enough I learned that being chosen is not easy. The few sunny fall days became the many rain, sleet, snow days. I had to get there early, stay late, and be responsible. But at least I wasn’t alone; I always had the other patrol boy assigned to that crossing by my side.

People of faith often talk about being chosen for their spiritual journey. I now know that being chosen isn’t easy. It isn’t about the control, the power, the badge, or the certificate in the end. We are chosen to serve —  to do our part each day to make the crossings of others safer and better with our presence.  We are chosen not because we are better, but to be better.

When have you experienced the honor of being chosen before learning how much responsibility you would have? How have you helped others cross dangerous paths on their journeys? What rewards do you receive in loving and serving others with empathy and compassion?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Betrayal 10-03-2024

Her name was Leslie? I seldom mention names in these reflections, but it may have been fake. She sprung into my frat house the spring of my sophomore year at Emory. For weeks, we shared several socials together until I left for summer study in Vienna, Austria. Upon my return in the fall, I fell into two betrayals.

The first was a feared betrayal that wasn’t. The fraternal code was broken by a brother seeking to oversee Leslie’s availability — while I was unavailable overseas. Like Jacob to his brother Esau, he was afraid of how I might react to being betrayed. I told the three friends sent to “confess on his behalf” that I really had no claim on or plans for a relationship. I trusted women to make decisions about their lives.

The betrayal that didn’t matter resulted in the one that did. I was told that Leslie lied to me. He wanted to protect me with his discovery that she was in high school, not college; she lived at home, not an apartment, and on and on. I didn’t want to believe it. How could I have been so gullible? What kind of person would lie repeatedly? What was her motive? Experiencing someone who knows the truth while repeatedly lying dispelled my naïveté.

Some of her statements that had seemed a little off, now began to make sense. My ego-protecting denial eroded, as my pride crumbled. Everyone knew I had been conned; they saw the usurper as the better investigator. I wonder how that experience influenced my future visceral reactions to religious and political leaders who confidently con followers with deception. I hope my embarrassment helped my compassion for other people — I wouldn’t want to waste the pain.

When have you realized someone had been lying to you? How did you react? What actions ended or restored your trust? How long did it take to move forward?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Kris Kristofferson 09302024

On my 15th birthday, 2/2/72, my older brother Baylor gave me the album “The Silver Tongued Devil and I” by Kris Kristofferson. He said words matter and these words are creatively and carefully chosen. Oh….. and…… “If you want to know me,” Baylor said, “I’m ‘The Pilgrim Chapter 33’” – from the rockin’ of the cradle to the rollin’ of the hearse the going up was worth the coming down. Two years later I was on the front row to hear Kris and Rita sing “Jesus Was a Capricorn” and “Why me Lord?” During the 3rd of six concerts I attended I helped Kris sing some words he was too drunk to get out by himself; future decades were better.

The song that celebrates what’s good about humanity is “Here Comes that Rainbow Again”. Someone on YouTube put stills from “The Grapes of Wrath” to Kristofferson’s words and music — it’s worth your while to watch. (search YouTube – Kris Kristofferson – Here comes that rainbow again (1982))

So many of his songs form the album of my life, but my vocation comes from “To Beat the Devil” (on his “Me and Bobby McGee” album) — you see, the devil haunts a hungry man; if you don’t wanna join him; you gotta beat him. I ain’t sayin’ I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothin’; then I stole his song. And you still can hear me singing to the people who don’t listen to the things that I am sayin’ prayin’ someone’s gonna hear. And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about are things they could be changing, hoping someone’s gonna care. I was born a lonely singer and I’m bound to die the same, but I’ve gotta feed the hunger in my soul. And if I never have a nickel, I won’t ever die ashamed, ’cause I don’t believe that no one wants to know.

What movie, poem, album, concert, or song comes to your mind remembering Kris Kristofferson? How do words and music challenge you and inspire you in your life?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Miracles 091324

After my post “With God on Our Side” on Sept. 4, I’ve been asked if saying “God saved Trump from assassination” breaks the 3rd commandment – You shall not use God’s name in vain. Was it a miracle? I don’t know. I’m glad he wasn’t another casualty of our children whose parents arm better than combat soldiers. Trump did turn to lie about a misleading graphic as the shot only hit his ear — did it help him listen? I don’t know.

I do know this from comforting those who grieve. God doesn’t stop a bullet, grab the wheel from an impaired driver, or pull the innocent off a cross. God allows our choices and God allows us to suffer the consequences of our choices. God grieves with us even when we take no responsibility for our deeds. 

I do know this from personal experience. When God acts in my life, I see a transformation; I see a change, an improvement that lasts more than a few hours. We all see hope, joy, love, peace, resurrection, compassion, justice, empathy whenever God acts in our world and lives..

I do know this from scripture. God tells Elijah: Don’t look for me in enormous earthquakes or violent winds, or consuming fires. I’m not there. Listen for me in the silence, the still small voice. (1 Kings 19).

Maybe, maybe God’s action was in the small act of our nation’s president Biden getting Covid. When Covid forced him to stop “running” and listen to the still small voice of God and advisors to focus on the remainder of his presidency and pass the mantle to Kamala Harris, was that a miracle? I don’t know. But I wonder. Do you see any signs of transformation, resurrection, hope, joy, unity, empathy, and love? That’s usually a good sign God’s involved.

When have you been transformed by God acting through your suffering beyond your control? What signs do you look for to see God at work in the world? When do you listen in silence to the still small voice of God?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally) · 2 Comments

With God On Our Side 090424

My deepest theological roots were watered by the poetry of Bob Dylan. As a youth I spent hours each day in the presence of two-sided LPs by BD, JB, K3, AG, S&G, and PPM. Meanwhile, each unrhythmic Sunday sermon was sort of listened to one time only. Baez’s rendition of Dylan’s song “With God On Our Side” inspired a lifetime of resisting religious justification for the conquest of violent victories. “If God were on our side, he’d stop the next war.”

As I matured, I learned that the third commandment was not about childish cussing. Using the Lord’s name in a “wrongful way” (or in vain) was more about misrepresenting God. Thou shalt not use God to justify actions that actually go against God’s desire for us. Thou shalt not say God is on our side and against them — when we proclaim “there is no them”. Thou shalt not use God’s name to justify violence, oppression, racism, sexism, pyramids over tables, to name a few.

Later still I was taught that the worst wars and most violent acts in human history have been done in the name of God — and the times aren’t changing today. The song “With God On Our Side” revealed the importance of learning lessons from history instead of ignoring or distorting history; after all, every LP has 2 sides. How many times can a preacher proclaim the all-powerful prefers “his” politician? The answer my friend is blowing in the wind.

Which song lyrics have influenced your beliefs and impacted your life? What songs inspire you,, lift you up, and bring you joy? Which genre of music spoke to each age and stage of your life?

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First Impressions  July 17, 2024

I’m not as sure I was a child of the 60’s, as I know I was a child in the 60’s.  In first grade on a fall Friday, my principal Miss Lewis told my teacher Miss Goodwin to tell our class that our president was dead.  I didn’t fully comprehend the impact of the news — as if I could at any age. 

Two days later, as we arrived home from church, dad turned on the TV in time to watch the assassin shot dead in Texas — live on TV.  It was a first for both of us.  I noticed the shooter wore a hat just like my dad had worn to church.  I remembered the day before on the same TV I watched the Lone Ranger shoot a bad guy in Texas, but that guy lived.  The event that started where they store school books led to school canceled on Monday.

My journey would soon include hearing crazy conspiracies about what had changed history until each conspiracy was quashed with explanation and experience.  In a decade I’d visit Dallas and remember the Dealey Plaza as much as I remembered attending the Cowboys-Dolphins Thanksgiving Day game. I learned that I couldn’t control life; the actions another can change everything in an instant.

As I have witnessed many other unreal events happen before my eyes, I’ve stopped to ask myself: “How are first graders seeing this?”  What impact will this have on their lives?  How will they see the world based on this first impression? In 2021, on the church’s Epiphany Day, I wondered how children would come to view our nation’s capital and what crazy conspiracies they’ll face in their futures.

I’ve heard it said: “you only get one chance to make a first impression.” Maybe we get a lifetime of chances to grow beyond it.

Describe a first impression that impacted your life.  How old were you?  How were you affected?  What have you firmly held onto?  How have you grown and changed to allow some first impressions to fall away?

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Sharing Life May 22, 2024

This reflections and questions journey paused for a journey with my sisters (one by birth, one by marriage). They shared a stranger’s home, sights, meals, and memories with Nancy and me.

The night our mother would have been 99 we had dinner beside her chair that was emptied 26 years ago. We four allowed her spirit to fill the space with stories, sayings, teachings, laughter, and tears. Some stories needed only the first sentence by one to be completed by another. Since mom was an only child, we orphans are the ones who keep her living alive.

I have one person in the universe who shares with me a lifetime of memories, loves, trials, joys, and griefs, but in different ways than I do. Our mother’s mother experienced the death of her husband and her brother within months of each other. She quipped, “Now the only two people in the world who think I’m perfect are gone.”

Like my mother, our son is an only child. How will he find ways to keep the fires burning? I have been told and I truly believe that people can be alone without being lonely. That is not my experience, however. I am thankful for a lifetime of sharing support with the mutual admiration society that is my sister and me. 

Who is the person who has shared your life with you the longest? How do you celebrate that relationship? Where do you demonstrate your gratitude? 

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My First Best Man  May 6, 2024

When I finished four years of Emory college in Atlanta, I started four years of seminary studies at Union in Richmond, I had been dating a high-class underclass-woman for a year. After two years of long-distance romance, she graduated and we planned our wedding to be in the seminary chapel.

I called Jeff to invite him to be my best man and see if he could schedule our wedding date around his world-traveling business trips. He asked, “Are you sure you want me to be your best man?” Puzzled, I said, “Of course I want you. You’re my best friend!”  “No Wallis, do you want a gay man standing beside you at your seminary chapel wedding? Would that be allowed?” 

I quickly responded, “I’m not asking you because you’re gay. I’m asking you because you’re you. You’re my best man because of what you’ve done to become my best friend.”

In the silence before he said “I will” stand beside you when you promise “I will”, I did not ask the question I could have — but wondered if I should have. I did not ask, “How did the church you loved and brought me back to harm you so?” Instead, I silently grieved my friend’s pain.

Soon enough though, I got back to planning my first wedding. I got back to seminary studies to learn how to follow and serve my Lord Jesus as an unfinished person in an unfinished church. I got back to becoming the pastor God called me to try to be.

How have you (or someone you love) been hurt by a church in the name of God’s love? Where have you received healing and wholeness? In what ways does your community invite your transformation in your unfinished life? 

Video of the blog above
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Covid Contemplation

Last Monday I went to a funeral; last Wednesday I got Covid-19 — for a second time. This variant had harsher symptoms. Thankfully, I had my vaccinations and boosters and I qualified for Plaxlovid that keeps it from getting worse. 

Some friends were surprised that Covid is still around. They were unaware that at least 600 people a day still die of Covid and 3000 a day are hospitalized. It’s no longer a pandemic that affects all of us, but it sure affects those real people, their families, and friends.

During my lying around, I recalled giving part-time pastoral care to a church at the outbreak of Covid. This is the fourth anniversary of when I was forced from taking homebound communion, leading nursing home services, and visiting people at home to writing notes or making phone calls — lots and lots of phone calls. Not going in person was now the loving act.

Maybe it was fever fog or Covid brain, but it dawned on me that I was prepared for phone counseling back in 1979 when I was 22.  I was a Psychology major at Emory and I entered seminary to do pastoral care in a church. My mentor suggested I volunteer with “Contact Richmond” which was a 24-hour, 800 number, phone counseling service in the basement of a church near my seminary.  Since I learned to pull all-nighters in college, I took the 11 pm to 7 am shift every Thursday.

I contemplated changes in technology that makes phone counseling from a church basement a dinosaur. I grieved the changes that haven’t occurred in access to affordable and available mental health services. I reflected on some of the phone calls I received 45 years ago. One man called every month or two; he was bi-polar and when he was off his lithium and manic we’d talk for three hours until he was tired out. I guess I was being prepared for being bi-polar too.

What earlier experiences in your life prepared you for a challenge now? How has grieving in the past strengthened you for griefs today? When have you been surprised by skills you’ve been given you weren’t seeking?

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Considering Matthew Shephard

We went to the University of Missouri choral union and chamber orchestra’s performance of “Considering Matthew Shephard” last night. Incredible music, miraculously performed, took us to a shared experience of being united with sighs too deep for words. You can listen to an original 2016 recording, or watch a PBS special about this opus by Craig Hella Johnson.

25 years ago, Tuesday October 6, 2018, between the Snowy and Laramie Ranges of Wyoming, Matthew Shephard was tied to split-rail fence, beaten severely and left to die in the elements because he was gay. 18 hours later a fellow student riding his bike found him; he thought it was a scarecrow.  Matt remained in a coma on life support for six days until he died. 8 years later, Johnson’s words and music would ask: When a hate crime is committed, what does it mean to be a victim, a parent, a community member, a perpetrator? How do we learn to find hope in hopeless situations?

In 2019, when I listened to Matt’s parents Judy and Dennis speak in profound ways, I knew I could no longer keep silent.  For over a decade of quiet conversations with pastors and Bible scholars, I had worked with a group called “Freedom to Serve” seeking ordination of LGTBQ persons called to ministry in the church. Now this act of violence and hate, along with Fred Phelps saying he got what he deserved, gave voice to my compassion, even if it meant upsetting misguided opinions of people I loved.

If I had to choose one word to describe the peasant Jewish rabbi Jesus, it would be “compassion” — to suffer with — to acknowledge another human’s suffering and feel motivated to alleviate it. Jesus taught his followers: “be compassionate, as your Father in heaven is compassionate.” If someone claims to follow Jesus and has no compassion for the suffering of others, I question the road they’ve taken. 

Words and music stirred up my compassion last night. I needed it. Compassion fatigue is rampant. I am exhausted by a rewarded compassionless spewer of deception, hate, and division. The continued suffering of Israelis and residents of Gaza and Ukraine deplete me. Sarcasm and silence reveal signs of burnout. From the God of Abel who continues to hear my brother’s and sister’s voices crying out from the ground for justice, I seek the energy to speak.

What events in your life gave voice to your silence? How is compassion fatigue affecting you today? What do you feel called to do about it?