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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?

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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?

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Apart From into A Part Of

During my childhood Tuesdays “our” maid, Pauline, shined our home and brightened my life. Many weeks mom would trade days with Pauline’s Friday employer to prepare for crowded cocktail carousals. I remember Pauline’s laughter, her chess pie, her discipline, her love, and her riding the bus to the west end of Louisville. Like Psalm 103: “as far as the east is from the west.”

I remember Pauline crying only once. The second Tuesday of April I was home from fifth grade to watch a long funeral procession on our colored TV. I recalled being home from first grade on the fourth Monday of November to watch another funeral on our black and white. Pauline watched the funeral with us, soaking her white apron with her tears. I was baptized into her grief as she invited me in by hugging and holding me.

Twenty years later, the thickest book on my shelf was “A Testament of Hope – The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr.” Unlike so many books around it, I actually read this one — moved by his poetic, prophetic preaching. That year, during our annual meeting, the fourth week of April 1988, I was given the Mexico, Missouri “NAACP Drum Major for Justice Award”. 

I was astounded. I had attempted to answer Dr. King’s call, but I hadn’t accomplished much. And why an award from the National Association of the Advancement of Colored People, the NAACP? I asked the leader, “Why me? I’m not a C in the NAACP!” She said, “Honey, we’re ALL colored by God — there’s just a variety in the pigmentation.” I realized this award was not one more benefit of my privileged life. I was not apart from others; I was a part of a community sharing a vision of skin tone bringing no power, stigma, fear, or hierarchy. I accepted the appreciation for being part of a kin-dom where everyone equally strives side by side for the betterment of all.

Eleven years ago tonight I was invited to speak when our town’s community gathered at 2nd Baptist Church to remember, celebrate, and be inspired by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I invite you to discern if those words have something to say today.

What is your experience of moving apart from into being a part of whatever “the other” is in your life?

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Brian’s Song

When I was fourteen I watched an ABC movie of the week called “Brian’s Song”. I was moved by the music as I was drawn to the interracial bonds Gale Sayers and Brian Piccolo shared, the vast differences in their personas, and the struggles and griefs that were surmounted. The narration opens with Coach Halas saying, “Earnest Hemingway once said, ‘Every true story ends in death.’ Well…. this is a true story.” His closing narration is: “When they think of him, it’s not how he died that they remember, but rather how he lived…. how he did live!!!!”

When I heard the movie was going to be re-broadcast (you couldn’t choose when to watch something then), I grabbed my new Craig “T-stop” cassette tape recorder, held the microphone to the TV mono speaker, and made an audio tape of the music, and some of my favorite speeches that I listened to many times. “To Sir With Love” and “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” were the only other movie music and speeches I recorded on audio while they re-played on TV.

I once was too ashamed to share that about myself, but I learned during classes with Suzanne Stabile that a “2” on the Enneagram feels other people’s feelings, while having no sense of their own feelings. She also told me that my embarrassment was because male “2s” have a hard time in our culture — at least it’s not as difficult as what female “8s” face.

Maybe I was being prepared by a loving guiding hand in my life-long vocation — the times I’ve spoken out for and worked for racial justice, visited those recovering in hospitals and rehab centers, led youth groups, and the years I spent as a hospice chaplain and minister to grieving families. I’ve appreciated a variety of personas, orientations, views from points, rather than homogeneity. I’ve worked with media across cassettes, 8-tracks, slide/tape shows, video, CDs, DVDs, digital, powerpoint, and streaming. My spirituality has been transformed alongside changes in technology.

On July 6, the actor who played Brian Piccolo, James Caan, died — every true story ends in death. I will remember knowing him through his many magnificent roles throughout my life for which I am grateful. 

What movies had an impact on your life in your youth? How has technology changes affected your way of living? What do you appreciate about James Caan’s lifetime of work on stage and screen?

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Stressed backwards is Desserts?

During my first attempt at being a hospice chaplain, I was intrigued by a speaker coming to Kansas City named Darcie Sims. Her book title “Why Are Casseroles Always Tuna: A Loving Look at the Lighter Side of Grief” drew me in. I heard her speak on October 5, 2001—3 weeks after 9/11 when our whole nation was grieving. That was also two weeks after my brother died; I’m glad I wrote a lot of notes because I was too numb to hear it at the time.

One session was for caregivers and hospice workers called “Creative Coping: First Aid for Burnout and Compassion Fatigue.” She talked about stress. Darcie said, “stress isn’t a thing or a person; it’s our response to a thing or a person.” Guess who’s responsible for how we respond? She said, “Expectations are the major source of our stress. Stress is the distance between what you expect and what you experience.” How realistic are you about your expectations? How many of your expectations come from the voice of another who “shoulds all over you”? How much do you have compassion for yourself as you care for others?

An experiment you might try is this. First thing in the morning write down what you’re worried about. Write all your worries, but put each worry on one index card or slip of paper. Put them all face down; then pick one. That’s what you get to worry about today; carry it with you, and give it the worry it deserves; act on it. The rest you can let go today; some people email the rest to the best worrier they know; some read Matthew chapter 6; some put them aside until the next morning.

What do you find helpful in your life in these stress-full times? How do you seek healing from burn-out or compassion fatigue? To whom do you go for help in seeking your answers for “what is mine to do?”