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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?

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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?

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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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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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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?”

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William Sloane Coffin

During my final year of seminary, as 1983 began, I heard a taped sermon that transformed my life—an all-too-rare occurrence.

The sermon by William Sloane Coffin at the Riverside Church in NYC begins with words I would never forget: “As almost all of you know, a week ago last Monday night, driving in a terrible storm, my son Alexander – who to his friends was a real day-brightener, and to his family ‘fair as a star when only one is shining in the sky’ – my twenty-four-year-old Alexander, who enjoyed beating his old man at every game and in every race, beat his father to the grave.”

10 days after his son died in a wreck, the father preached this sermon to his church January 23, 1983. You can search the sermon online; you can download the audio through his archives site.

As a pastor and hospice chaplain for 35 years, Coffin’s words still ring true: “When a person dies, there are many things that can be said, and there is at least one thing that should never be said. The night after Alex died I was sitting in the living room of my sister’s house outside of Boston, when the front door opened and in came a nice-looking, middle-aged woman, carrying about eighteen quiches. When she saw me, she shook her head, then headed for the kitchen, saying sadly over her shoulder, ‘I just don’t understand the will of God.’ Instantly I was up and in hot pursuit, swarming all over her. ‘I’ll say you don’t, lady!’ I said.”

“For some reason, nothing so infuriates me as the incapacity of seemingly intelligent people to get it through their heads that God doesn’t go around this world with his fingers on triggers, his fists around knives, his hands on steering wheels. God is dead set against all unnatural deaths……. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

Since 1983, I have imagined being in hot pursuit, swarming all over many funeral consolers. With all the best intentions to protect God or insulate pain, I have overheard each of my top twenty list of deadly things to say to a grieving person. 

When you put your personal grief into words, what do you think, write, or say? Which cultural comments have not been helpful to your grief work and journey? What expressions and actions have brought you transformative comfort?