Hello at the beginning of April,
The reality of Spring seems more likely this past week. While the rather usual cyclical weather, both reminding us of the lengthy winter and teasing us the possibility of spring, continues, the increasing hours of light does assist in my more hopeful attitude. As I write it is Holy Saturday in the Latin Calendar; it is on this date in 1968 that Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis; and perhaps also significant, but not as readily remembered, on this day, in 1973, Microsoft was founded and in 1975, the World Trade Center opened. Both events could have never prepared us for the change they would make many years later or their importance in our national psyche.
While I understood the tragedy of Dr. King’s death, I was only 12 and his importance to the concepts of justice, to non-violence, or the importance of Civil Rights was not realized by a middle class Midwestern boy who had no meaningful experiences with racial biases or what anyone different dealt with on a daily basis. My town of 100,000 had a minority population, but my little neighborhood of Riverside was more self-contained than I realized. Certainly through elementary school, seldom, with the exception of trips to Sunshine, the food market, the Sunset Plaza, or sometimes downtown, most of my life occurred in a few block radius. As noted, my grandmother’s bakery was in an area of downtown called Lower Forth, and the minority I saw there was primarily Native American. It was probably one of the tougher areas of town, but my diminutive self walked the sidewalks past some department stores, factories, or seedy bars blissfully unaware of most what was around me. I believed what my parents told me. I trusted in my grandmother’s love and goodness; and yes, I saw the world as a reasonable place, where, if I stayed out of trouble (kept my nose clean as my father called it) and went to school, attended church on Sunday, and obeyed both the internal (home rules) and external laws, life would go well. Yes, in spite of some difficulties at home, life was simple. Riding my bike with friends on the block, playing in the yard, and doing to school and church was life as I knew it.
And yet the world was much more difficult, much more unfair. What I comprehend much more completely now is my parents protected us. My father, as oft noted, worked out of town for years; my mother struggled, being relegated to performing parental duties as a single parent, which did not please her. What I know now is my father was working to put aside enough money to purchase a larger house for his family. And I suspect my mother, who probably did not want three children to begin with found her additional responsibilities not only arduous, but being alone to do it as only insult added to injury. There was no justice as she saw it. I think my father believed he was doing something necessary, required, and justified (yes, justice of sorts) to provide for his family. Furthermore, I do not think he ever saw himself as someone treated unfairly or as a victim to his circumstances. He was living the proverbial American Dream. He was providing for the family he had created; he had desired.
As I write today, now Easter Sunday, the memories of Easter Sundays, of singing in church, of going to sunrise service as well as others that same morning, the time I was in seminary, the years I served as a pastor, be it in Lehighton, as a supply pastor in numerous parishes or even after when I was a campus pastor or professor, the connection to the significance of the holy season of Lent or the week of Christ’s passion has always moved me in a way much different than the somewhat parallel season of Advent into the almost two weeks of Christmas in our liturgical calendar. Besides worship, I watched the second half of the Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments as well as listened to a good portion of Handel’s Messiah. My thoughts about faith and the manner in which I believe I can be most connected to my baptism and beyond continues to evolve, or perhaps more importantly, find clarity. In Pope Leo’s Easter homily he said, The mystery of the proclamation of Easter is how it embraces our lives and our history . . . that there is an unfailing hope, and unfailing light, and a fullness of joy that nothing, not even death can overcome. . . . the darkness of death is around us in the injustice of partisan selfishness, in the oppression of the poor, when we fail to provide for the vulnerable, and when we fail to care for those less fortunate because of our own lust of money and power.
This speaks to me as someone who, even in the midst of retirement is still so comfortable, even as I have downsized, minimized, and seem to have given away so much. I still have an ability to carry on with few worries. Too often I think about what I had (even though I chose to make the changes made). Choice is about more than decision it is about agency, and agency is about power. Power is an intoxicating thing; often it is a selfish desire. We have this incredible need to be in charge – and yet often we fail even taking charge of ourselves let alone another. I think that is, at least in part, because we too often want to take care of someone rather than give care to them. The choices I have made at time are made because I felt the pressure of the moment. Too often the choices were made because I wanted something rather than needed something. And yet as noted in a recent blog, some of those choices set me on a path that ultimately helped me. What I believe now is that was not my own individual wisdom, but perhaps the gift of that Easter God, a Creator that watched out for me when I was incapable of watching out for myself. When I was too afraid to allow God to be God as my father once said. I remember him once telling my mother during a conversation about worrying when “the kids got home.” He said, “I say my prayers and I allow God to be God. I cannot worry about them because I have no control over them.” He was a wise man.
I am continually amazed by our propensity for drama. Some people thrive on it, and I must admit, I have been pulled into it more often than I wish, but again there is a choice. I believe if we work toward justice for our fellow humans, if we focus on doing the best we can in any given situation, realizing we only have control of ourself, we avoid drama. This is not eliminating it, but it is choosing to not be involved in it. Perhaps it is a reconsideration of priorities; perhaps it is finally learning to focus on what is most important; or maybe there is a bit of wisdom finally taking hold. Recently I wrote about the difficulty of managing what Luther explains when he considers the commandment about “bearing false witness.” Explaining our brothers’ and sisters’ actions in the kindness of terms – refusing to involve ourselves in gossip about the other. If we can do that, we learn to not take sides, but step away, keeping ourselves out of a fray that does little to help us. One of my former colleagues, a person for whom I have great appreciation, worked on developing her certification to teach mindfulness. Some of my other colleagues saw it as a sort of New Age in vogue thing. I believe there is much more to it because it also considers traits like gratitude, simple acceptance of our situation, which is not resignation, but realizing what we have power to manage and what we do not, and finally, I think the ability to focus on things individually, realizing there is always more, but allowing something to be what it is in the moment.
One of the things I am still in awe of is the beauty of nature and creation, in spite of all we do to muck it up. A walk along the river here in town, the seeing of the sun rise or set on the mountains in the area . . . there is so much beauty if we only take the time to notice. When I began this blog, my mind was somewhat all over the place, but as I complete it, I am content; I am feeling blessed; and perhaps most importantly, I know I am where I need to be at this point in time. Thanks as always to all of you who make my life extraordinary – those who love and support me. The picture at the top of the post is from Artemis II. As they looked back at this amazing planet, the beauty of it in space is stunning.
Thank you as always for reading.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 