thewritingprofessor55

Hello on a quiet, but beautiful June morning,

The time from Winter to impending Summer has another season, and it is transitional, but this concluding last couple weeks of that connection between the shortest to the longest day of the year seemed anything but predictable. Some warm days in the 80s in early April spoiled up, but what has followed since then has been cool, incredibly damp with incessant rain (which was probably more needed that most might realize), and finally, this last week we have returned to the 80s. The continued rain has kept things blooming, keeping allergy medications close by, and the vegetation (and corresponding greens) is (are) lush and beautiful.

The recent response of someone about my blog caused me to ponder a number of things, and most importantly the role my undergraduate education played (and continues to play) in my life, and perhaps as importantly, how that happened as well as why it matters to me more than four decades later. While Dana and its influence have been a significant thread in my writing, this blog is about the how and why. As it is the rationale for much of what I write, I hope that some find my musing is relatable, and that it might offer them some reflection on their own experiences. As a professor, I worked diligently to not tell people what to think, but rather to teach them how to think. One of the things I found most disturbing, particularly in the last decade in the classroom, was the propensity for many well-meaning students to merely want a recipe card. I think that is the first thing I realized when I enrolled at Dana as a soon-to-be 24 year old veteran. While I arrived in Blair quite unsure of my scholarly abilities, my professors with Danish names like Jorgensen, Nielsen, Hansen, or Neve, as well as a Warman, Hutton, or Bienz, not quite as Danish, each of them pushed us to participate actively in their class. Generally, they welcomed questions, and would require us to ponder and integrate. This expectation of integration is what prepared me for life, fostering my desire to understand and learn in a way never anticipated. That first year’s interim class, an in-depth consideration of the Civil War, with King Rich, opened my eyes to the conflict that wracked the fabric of our country. Years later, after being assigned to the NEPA Synod of the newly formed ELCA, I found myself walking the fields of Gettysburg. Some of Dr. Jorgensen’s insights bubbled to the surface a decade later. When I traveled to Europe for another interim, the reality of what it meant to learn was finally realized. Memorization had its place, but learning was being a sponge and soaking up as much as possible. Those 3:00 a.m.conversations with Dr. Nielsen on a train from Venice to Paris changed my life. They were not in the curriculum or a syllabus, but they mattered as much as our planned tours in København, in München, or in Paris. All these years later, I know the pneumonia I managed to catch while traveling that January were the initial symptoms of what has been a life-long health struggle. That trip to Europe is integrally connected to my own taking of students to Eastern and Central Europe or to my choice of studying Polish two summers, hoping to teach in Kraków the fall of 2020, which COVID scuttled.

Too often, which is not surprising, we compartmentalize things, we become too granular, failing to see the connective elements that explain our lives. I believe my Dana education taught me, instilled in me an appreciation for the complexity of life that integrates the philosophical, the physical, and the spiritual. I remember struggling to wrap my head around determinism in that first Introduction to Philosophy class. Dr. Clifford Hanson, in his soft-spoken way, admonished my consternation, “Michael, you do not have to agree with it, you merely need to understand it.” That sentence has served me well now almost a half century later. There is little in my life that was not either formed or solidified at Dana. It is so apparent to me with minimal reflection. The why that happened can be considered from two different points.

When I arrived at seminary, other Dana students were there, a Grorud, a Tyler, a Holz, a Brockhoff, but I often called LNTS the Norwegian pipeline to ministry. Certainly the sister institutions (most of them in Minnesota) were outstanding in their own right, but what I received in my classes at Dana not only prepared me for seminary, but for my eventual PhD.. And yet, as importantly, it taught and established a profound foundation on what it meant to me an informed and critical thinker. Dana took what I learned in the Marine Corps about respect and decorum, adding an evaluative, an interpretative element to it that serves me to this day. Much like the person questioning the why I might write and post, which is a perfectly legitimate, honest, inquiry, it caused my own consideration of how I might, how I should respond. When I walked the oval across the steps of Old Main that May day of 1983, I had a nascent understanding of what Dana meant, but I was looking forward to what would happen next.

Much like the footings of a building, what is build upon them obscures their appearance, and as the years go by, it is only when the building remains steady and true that their true value becomes apparent. If the appropriate care is not given when the footings are dug, the concrete poured, and the bricks laid, what happens does not show through immediately. It is the reality of time, the result of weather, seasons, or years that will provide the evidence of what happened at the outset. Similar to what I say about my father who passed that late December day in 1997, in spite of his quarter or a century as a memory, he is still getting smarter. The lessons learned in classes, at Hum Events, in choir concerts, sitting with classmates in the Dragon’s Head or at campfires, I still see and experience their consequence today. I still have all of my Humanities classes’s notebooks. The number of times I referred to them as I prepared something in my own class decades later are too many to count. This past week I got my Heritage Center newsletter; two words written on the back of the envelope are more meaningful than words can express.

So the how and the why of Dana are basic to the individual I am today. Most certainly there is an element of nostalgia in this, definitely there is a reminiscence that creates some degree of wistfulness for those times that were so influential. More importantly, there is a thankfulness and gratitude for what a visit on a Lutheran Youth Encounter team, and yes, a Grorud, a Beltz, a Kendall, a Rowland, a Brockhoff, and a Merc, who made Dana more than a stop on a year-long journey. Those people changed my life; Dana and those individuals blessed my life. They started me on a path that has made me much of who I am. The how is still being realized. The why is because that is what the Holy Spirit does.

Hail fair Dana, and thank you for reading.

Michael (Class of 1983)

Hello from Williamsport,

I have been here in Williamsport more in the last 10 days than perhaps in the entire time I lived in Bloomsburg (16 years). Between meeting with Pennsylvania College of Technology, helping some with Social Security issues, and now getting my Real ID, I could probably put my car on autopilot to get to the Basin Street exit. I like the downtown area of Williamsport; it is welcoming, clean, and quaint.

Over the past couple weeks more than once I was asked if I remember dreams. Generally the answer is no. There are a couple of exceptions, and sometimes, I might have a fleeting glimpse of what might I have dreamt, but then it is gone. And there there is a different aspect of the word dream that I believe is perhaps as essential to the nightly things that drift through our minds or psyche as we sleep. Those are the hopes or aspirations we might have. This morning I listened to someone’s thoughts about those things that might propel us forward. We were all asked at some point, and probably more often than we might realize, what do you want to be or do when you grow up? The only thing I remember want to be when I was growing up was a funeral director, which mortified my adopted mother. When her 8 year old rushed to get the daily afternoon paper to read the obituaries, it caused her some serious consternation. The irony that I ended up working with funeral directors often as a parish pastor does not go unnoticed. And yet, I am not sure I ever had a dream or hope that corresponded with some vocational goal.

And now as someone retired, it might be worth asking what are my current dreams, hopes, or aspirations. Somewhat amazingly, as I ponder, I think my dreams were always more about actions or character than job or some level of achievement. Even as a very young person I was always questioning the why of something, but more often than not, it was the why about the why? I remember when I had my second major abdominal surgery at Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ in April of 1991. While staying with my Great-aunt Helen, my grandmother’s elder sister, and that grandmother being my mother from ages 2-5, I spoke of things I remembered as a small child. My great-aunt was stunned telling me that I was barely two. And yet somehow, I remembered. She told me that her recollections of me at that point were that I was always happy, and I wanted others to be happy. There is a significant consistency in that attitude as almost 7 decades later I abhor drama, and I work diligently to keep things on an even keel. In an effort to be transparent, I did have a period in my life I did not manage that, but I think that was more in response to others than emanating from or originating in me. Even now, I work intentionally to minimize disharmony in any circumstance I encounter.

Somewhere within my time teaching here in Bloomsburg, someone asked if I could give them my life’s philosophy. My initial response was “In 30 words or less?” Yet, I responded rather immediately, and said, “If my life makes other lives more meaningful, I make my own life more meaningful.” I still believe that was an answer with the help of the Holy Spirit, but that sentence has remained with me since that first articulation. And as I write this it seems that is also my dream – to simply make the lives of those around me better. I think making the lives of those I meet more enjoyable is fulfilling the most gracious thing, the most impossible dream I could ever hope to accomplish. There is no real materialism or financial gain, but there is a profound emotional, a significant mental, benefit. Growing up in a household that always had me walking on eggshells was difficult. And it taught me how I did not want to live. This is not to say I have no standards or preferences. And in fact, I struggle mightily at times with both my own OCD and propensity for perfectionism. In fact, two good friends tease me regularly about how I set my own personal dining space before I eat.

What I realize now is that I have never been profoundly intent in becoming rich or important. Most certainly I appreciate nice things, but my father’s admonishment of “if you pay for it take care of it.” has served me well. My second notable characteristic is my willingness to give. I must admit it gets me in trouble (and has). I remember a bank branch manager telling me if I wrote another check loaning money, she would close my bank account. What I learned in all of that is if you cannot afford to lose the money, do not lend it. I will not reveal how much I have provided, but it is significant. Even when I left Bloomsburg, the number of things I gave away was extensive. But my reason for doing so was simple: if someone can get good use of those items, why not do it? Lydia, my Austrian neighbor, used to chide me for being too kind. When I told her there was no such thing or I had no complaints, she would respond in her Austrian accent, “That’s disgusting.” I would tell her regularly I was brought into her life to counter-balance her pessimism. Optimism is for me a sort of dreaming; it believes in possibilities; it hopes for things not yet realized. It is akin to the verse that describes faith in Hebrews 11:1. It is acting in a manner that makes the world immediately around you better. I choose to dream. When I was growing up, my sister, who was an incredibly talented pianist, used to play this song and we sang it together. What a memory that is. The initial picture is one of the earliest I have of my sister and me.

Bless your dreams, may they come to fruition, and thank you for reading.

Michael

Hello from the Former F&F, now Cafe Martha,

It’s a day off with an actual feeling of solitude, something that is difficult to come by as of late, and for a number of reasons. Retired life seems anything, but, and yet there is a freedom, even in the busyness of lately, perhaps because I know there is the power of choice. That always exists in reality, but often we abdicate too much of our own power to exercise it as freely as we might hope.

When I grew up I began singing at an early age, in church choirs, eventually school choirs and choruses, eventually in a quintet as a member of a Lutheran Youth Encounter (LYE) Team, college choirs, and select choirs where I participated in the Messiah and Brahm’s Requiem (twice – once in English and once in German). Learning to play guitar as a member of the team, I even had my own solo gig playing and singing. So music and vocal participation is engrained in who I am. And yet, perhaps my favorite music to sing is Lutheran Chorales. The harmonies, the significant contributions of each part, and the sound created is both beautiful and soul-stirring to me. The movement and interplay of the parts, the movement from major chords to diminishing chords, from expected progressions to the occasional Picardy Third always astounds. Time changes, the reciprocity of parts, and how the lyrics and the music complement the other give me both pause and solace.

And yet, the true beauty of any composition is the ability of the musicians to harmonize, both in terms of blend and tone. I remember the struggle of singing in one group where the person on one side of me had a propensity for singing on the bottom side of a note. The person on the other side did the opposite, seeming to be on the top side of the note. It felt like my ears were being pulled in opposite directions. Oh my goodness. And in an entirely different experience, I believe my LYE team had incredible blend and I believe we created an amazing sound.

However, the concept and consequence of harmony is applicable to a substantially wider array of elements beyond music. Harmony when related to life is working together in the same direction; creating a vision that is mutually agreed upon; establishing a process that accomplishes a shared goal. All of that seems logical, but implementing it is much more difficult. It matters not whether we are talking about an individual encounter or working within a group. I remember my senior pastor and colleague requiring our staff to take a personality inventory test. The intent was to better understand how each person thought, acted, and responded the way they did. As I look back, it was a profoundly wise thing to do. I ponder if it could be helpful in what I am working on now. In spite of my general lack of surprise by most anything now, I still try to understand why people act as they do. I have a pretty good handle on my own self at this point, and I am pretty astute at figuring out the other. Perhaps that is why I still struggle that we seem to work way too readily in a selfish manner versus a more reciprocating way. Often a lack of harmony is based on the fear of giving up power or control. I know this from my early life. It is certainly frightening to allow another influence when the result is unknown. It is easy to get caught up in the minutiae, and fear is a powerful motivator. The response to fear is often instantaneous, but the consequences are longer lasting.

Earlier in life, I spent an exhaustive amount of time trying to project my fragility, to make sure I was liked by everyone. Fragility is not wrong; it is normal. It also creates vulnerability, increasing our fragility, a seemingly terrible circle. Being liked or appreciated is not wrong, but when it is done at the expense of ourselves, it is problematic. It is amazing the pain I’ve endured as I look back upon the energy I put into things unattainable. Even now, as a person retired, it is important to question what is achievable, reasonable, manageable. It is true that my idealism is not as unfettered as it once was, but I still hold on to the hope that most will do the right thing, act in a manner that makes other’s lives better, be willing to live their lives in a benevolent way. I know these statements are all akin to the ideal. Part of it is I want to believe that most desire harmony. And while achieving it is difficult, I think maintaining it might be more challenging. Much like staying toned or in shape, one must nurture harmony. One must practice its maintenance. Perhaps the difficulty is knowing if and when it is obtained. A person with perfect pitch knows when harmony is achieved, but if only one in the group has it, getting to that place can be tough. Moreover, keeping it is exponentially tougher. And so it is in the other areas of life. What is the equivalent of perfect pitch in other harmonic attempts? Does such a thing even exist? I am not sure it does. Ponder for even a moment, at what point did your life seem to be in perfect balance, in a completely harmonic state? Too often, I think we are only aware of when it occurred after the fact. In other words, it was not maintained because we are seldom, if ever, aware of the possibility we actually had it. If I try to imagine a time of balance, I am not sure when or if that has ever occurred for a significant (or even a brief) period of time that I can easily recall it has such. Perhaps that is more of my own making than external forces, again something worth examining, but that is a rather grim realization. What is necessary for harmony?

There is a level of thinking (writing) out loud here, but perhaps the first element of harmony is internal – feeling content with who we are, with what we do, and with whom we are associated. That does not mean that everything is perfect, but we are generally positive with all that affects us. Second, I think the effect of external influences, everything from family and friends to our world and what occurs contributes to our own profoundly personal feelings of balance. As I grew up, my mother struggled to be happy, which was due to a number of issues, but I remember once writing, “She was not a happy person, for many understandable reasons, but it made life difficult.” Difficult is an incredibly understated word. The point is she affected everything and everyone, both with in her immediate proximity as well as even those further away. I have learned some of that in conversations with extended family and childhood friends in this past year. Her lack of balance, her inability to be harmonious was because of her own life experiences.

My point is simple. Harmony is both essential for living a comfortable and meaningful life, but it often seems unattainable or fleeting at best. And yet does that mean we should not strive for it? I believe harmony and balance are essential if my life is be beneficial and meaningful, not only for myself, but for those I meet. To maintain that harmony and balance, to develop a meaningful existence, I need emotional, physical, and spiritual health. For me, that requires intentionality; it requires time, thought, and support. Perhaps what is most significant as I ponder this is it is worth working toward. Second, it is something that requires consistent, and considerable, effort, but the results are worth it. Even as I write this I am facing issues of balance on multiple levels, but the desire to maintain balance is there Imagine?

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Hello from Starbucks,

It’s been a few days beyond two months since I drove across I-80 to make my way back to Bloomsburg, and the path has been anything but predictable. I am busy working, but not at what was expected. The bus is still in Iowa, while I try to remain patient with the process of fabricating the two metal doors that are needed to replace what was there and make the bus safe, waterproof, and more usable. So the reality is there is little to nothing I could be doing in Iowa at all, so working at the restaurant is keeping me more than occupied. In fact, two phone calls have put more on my plate. Organization and management seem to be the catch words of the day.

Some of my personal growth work of late has focused on the importance of my sacramental cognizance. I remember the day of my ordination feeling overwhelmed to the point of being sick to my stomach by what I had just vowed to do. It seems a bit akin to what was written about the first time Luther presided over the sacrament of Holy Communion. Rather than this mass being a celebration of his ordination, he was so filled with fear and trembling that he almost dropped the bread and chalice. The vows of ordination are still part of who I am in spite of my no longer on the clergy roster. I would dare say I probably practice those demands more precisely today than I did almost 4 decades ago. One of the most significant things in those vows, at least for me, was to “institute sacraments with integrity.” To do that I think it is essential to understand what a sacrament is. Both in terms of essence as well as significance. Sacrament is etymologically related to sacred and for good reason. As outward symbols of the grace of the Creator, as tangible experiences of God’s graciousness, the importance of a sacrament cannot be overstated. They are both the easiest and most complete way to participate in a personal faith journey. In a recent blog post I noted my own somewhat roller coaster struggle with church attendance, but I do know without regular attendance, participation in the sacraments is limited. Experiences the most visible, tangible elements of grace are lost, or certainly missed out upon.

As I have considered the idea of sacrament in the Roman Church, where there are seven rather than two, the sacraments correspond with inflection points in someone’s life, when participation in that sacrament changes the relationship with the Creator; it transforms the relationship. The clichés about life and its process are legion (relational pun intended), but matching a sacrament with those significant point when life’s moments move one into a new stage, a new understanding of their identity and potentiality. Think the work potentiality is integrally related to transformation. We are continually recasting or remaking ourselves, sometimes consciously and other times perhaps more unaware. As we approach Transfiguration in the liturgical year (which was the first text I ever had to preach on in preaching class) it’s perhaps apropos that I consider transformation and its connection to the transfiguration of Jesus. Perhaps, even more important that the sacraments are visible examples of God’s grace as our Lord is no longer visible as He was in the first decades of the change from BCE to AD.

When I think about those transformative moments, confirmation was that time I felt important because in the Lutheran church it meant the time you gained an opportunity to experience the Eucharist. And while marriage was (and is) not a sacrament in the Lutheran Church, I think I appreciate that sacramental importance placed on those vows. Furthermore, the irony of that position is not lost on me as a person twice-divorced. I think about my adopted parents and their marriage and I am conflicted when I ponder what they had or did not have, but there is some profound admiration for their loyalty to their vows. I actually wrote quite a revealing blog about my perception of their marriage in a blog the summer of 2014. There are moments I struggle to imagine what I believe demonstrates a healthy marriage. I did address my own emotional connection to ordination earlier in this very blog, and I remember that I cried when I gave my stoles to a seminary classmate after resigning the clergy roster. That was a difficult day. The Sacrament of Reconciliation, and the very action of being penitential is also something I find deeply personal. Luther speaks of the Office of the Keys, and the power one holds in the act of forgiveness. Certainly, one of most important things we can do, both for ourselves and those we meet, is ready admit mistakes as well as working hard to forgive those who have wronged us. Life would be far less dramatic. Too often we discount apologies, which is an act of contrition. We respond with an understated, “no worries” or “it’s okay” which undervalues their request for forgiveness. We inadvertently fail to free the other, failing to unlock the door. Perhaps the act of penance when viewed sacramentally might help us realize the importance of forgiving the other.

When my father passed away, I was still on the clergy roster, and I presided at his committal service. it was a bitterly cold early January day. I still find the point in that service where, as you stand at the opened grave, you recite the scripture, “This is the gate to eternal life.” The stark reality of both death and life beyond are connected at that point like no other time. Perhaps what was once called Last Rites, also known as Extreme Unction, or now Sacrament of the Sick, might be one of the times we most need the visible grace of God. I think the idea of God being visible in the daily elements or experiences of life offers a sense of comfort to the search for faithfulness in such wonderful simple way. Faith is an incredible exercise, folly for some and necessary for others. As I work to find a deeper meaning in the sacraments for myself, I feel a fervor about my own faith process that has been missing for some time. The renewed appreciation of these inflection points pushes me, calls me to care about others more thoughtfully or intentionally than I perhaps have. Where will it lead, I am reminded of the song sung at my ordination, the song by the John Michael Talbot, “Prayer of St. Francis.” It is a song that has instructed me many times, and a song for which I have particular affinity.

Thank you for reading and blessing to you,

Michael