Sacramental Transformation

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

Faith, Piety, and Practice

Hello from a McDonalds on Interstate 80,

I am on my way to a pinning ceremony for a former Lock Haven student, one of the more incredible students I ever had the opportunity to have in my class(es). She ended up with me by accident when I took over a class at a sister institution because of an emergency leave. She would follow up an take my technical writing course. Industrious, intentional, organized, and intelligent are apropos when considering her work, but what made her even more astounding was a combination of her background and the fact she was a full-time, experienced, and well-respected EMT on top of her full academic load. In the group work required for her TW class, she was the final editor and regularly went above and beyond to research and respond to the intricacies of what the questions implied. Her group had no idea how much she helped them because she just did the work. It’s an hour to be invited to her ceremony. If the role I had returned for had happened I would be here anyway. Now I merely get to celebrate with her. It’s all good.

The importance of the medical profession and those who commit their lives to the care of others has always been significant, but it seems it is more important now than ever. When I listen to the public comments about what we should or should not do, it certainly gives me a sense of pause, wondering if everything I have believed should be tossed out the door, or it is merely we have become so suspicious of anything and everyone that we trust nothing or believe in no one. I would question why anyone would want to subject themselves to working in such an atmosphere? When I think of the amazing care I have received for three decades since I was first diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, there is no doubt that I have been the recipient of outstanding medical care from one end of the country to the other. From doctors to attending, from PCPs to specialists, from nurses to patient advocates, the number of people are more than I have fingers and toes.

As a child I grew up in the church, attending Sunday School and Sunday services regularly. I went through confirmation, a vibrant youth group, and yearly youth group trips to a winter conference. Church and youth group were a central part of my social fabric. When I was in the Marine Corps, I attended the protestant church service, though sporadically. When I returned to the service, the pastor at my home congregation changed my understanding of church and theology in general, and his becoming a somewhat surrogate father to me probably saved me from what might have been a much more difficult path in life. But I think it was at Dana College, which followed a year travels on a Lutheran Youth Encounter Team, where my faith finally became my faith, and not the simple imitation of what I had learned growing up. It was that first Religion 111 class, titled Introduction to Religion, taught by Dr. John W. Nielsen (“The Pope”) and eventually his Religion 342 (I think that was the number), titled Christian Thought, where I first read Bonhoeffer, St. Augustine, Black Elk, and other things that made me question what it meant to believe, and ask what were the consequences of believing? It was a letter written to my inquiries about what it meant to be called that probably influenced my choice to choose ordination as a path (thanks Father Fred!) as much as anything or anyone. I actually loved my time at seminary, both the classes and my classmates. I was intrigued, and I am still am, though perhaps not realizing it at the time, by systematics. When I realized what happens in baptism, and how it changes the question from “do I?” to “what do I do with it?” faith came alive for me. While this statement might shock, what I realize now is the church did as much to cause my struggle with faith and piety as to foster it. The apparatus of the church became the very thing I detested the most, and it caused both pain and harm to a faith I believed to be rather unshakeable. In spite of my theological education or my church upbringing, my faith was fragile. Since that encounter with a bishop a quarter century plus ago, I have spent my own time in a theological wilderness, some of my own choosing and some from my own integrity. The soul searching has been a constant, although not always in the foreground.

Returning to Bonhoeffer’s concept of Religionless Christianity, he asserted requires one to live a life rooted in Christian faith without being bound by traditional religious rituals and structures. It’s about embracing a living faith that actively engages with the world and tackles the challenges of life, rather than simply practicing it. I think it is important to realize that much of this came from Bonhoeffer’s personal struggle with the significant element of the church, which was unwilling or unable to question the actions of Hitler and the Nazis. I think that context is important if one is to understand the choices both visible and not visible that Bonhoeffer chose. As I taught a Bible as Literature course the past 15 years, as I attended church again sporadically, I once again wandered and pondered what do I need to feel faithful? What is necessary for me to feel connected to a more formal practice of my personal piety? In a number of ways, I think I was practicing what Bonhoeffer would refer to as a faith free from ritual, but one that questions and tackles the tough questions. In someways, perhaps this blog has become my scriptural reflection on both the Bible and the Church. And yet, what I realize now is while it has sustained me to some degree, my sacramental self has been missing, the ritual of worship, which to some degree offers safety, was absent. The importance of ordinaries and propers has a place for me. It does serve a place for me both individually and corporately. The systematic work toward faithfulness does not, at least for me, take away from the opportunity of individual expression, but instead creates a foundation from which I can more intentionally imagine the possibilities of faithful living. I remember some of my own parishioners telling me that my sermons made them think all week. My response at the time was a simple “Good.” What I thought was that the hearing of the word in preaching needed to influence the other 167 hours a week. Luther asserted “preaching is not just a way to impart knowledge, but also a way to usher people into God’s presence and bring about spiritual transformation.” It is where the reality of God in daily life can be so intentionally considered. It is about the practical application of the word in our earthly existence.

When I consider some of those who helped me understand this, it is a combination of people. Father Fred, mentioned earlier, was my pastor when I came home from the service. He was the person who most profoundly revealed to me that pastors are human. That was an important lesson for me, both as a 20 something as well as someone who would eventually be ordained. It was Dr. John W. Nielsen, whose ability to live out his faith as both a person and a scholar, who taught be importance of faith as both a spiritual as well as a thinking process. It was Dr. Fredrick Gaiser, my Old Testament professor at LNTS, whose incredible heart and brilliant mind, perhaps taught be more about the grace of God than anyone. And now, in spite of my never meeting them, it is both the late Pope Francis and my perception of the newly elected Pope Leo XIV, who inspire me to refocus my energies to be more intentional in my expression of faith.

The Holy Spirit is an incredible thing. As I write this now, a couple days after I began, I am sitting in Panera before I go into the restaurant for what will be an incredibly long day. The day started cloud and ominous, and how it is pouring raining and lightening. I am reminded of the song “Lightning Crashes”, by the group Live (which is a Pennsylvania group from York). The circle of life is interesting, but what happens in between is even more astounding. From that gift received in baptism, the Spirit has always been there, but like Jesus standing at the door in that famous painting, it never chooses to take over. It is like a beautifully wrapped gift, but we need to unwrap it. I feel like there are times I have started to unwrap it, amazed by what I might find, but somehow never really completing the process. The faith has always been there, but not always considered, the piety has also been an important part of my life, but the how to manage it has often been decided by others expectations, by institutional demands, and even though I have a clear sense of what I believe important, to say I have been inconsistent would be a bit of an understatement. It is for that reason my practice has been less than stellar. What is it about now that has me searching anew? I am not completely sure, but I am searching, and I am working on asking the questions and being open to the answers. There is so much to imagine and I am excited about the possibilities. Here is that video from Live. The idea of an ethereal angel of sorts, of how there is a spiritual that is around us at all times seems more apparent to me than perhaps ever before. Perhaps the gift will finally get unwrapped.

Bless you all and thank you for reading.

Michael (the wandering soul)

Elementary Art

Good morning,

As I drove to Burger King this morning, I heard it was 5-7-0 Day here in North Central PA, which is the area code of the majority of phone numbers here. According to the radio, it was initially noted when we were locked down for COVID, and was meant to remind people of their connection regionally even while isolated. It has grown into a more profound celebration of the area, which is probably a good thing as we seem more divided across the board. I am actually stunned at moments when I consider the discontent that seems so significantly prevalent in our daily lives today. I am sure there are other times in our national history that we were much the same (the Civil -quite the oxymoronic term – War; the Great Depression; even the struggle to create a nation). Is there a difference now? Indeed, as is always the case, there are similarities and differences. Perhaps the similarity is there has always been a xenophobic nature to this nation of immigrants (ask your grandparents or great-grand parents if they are still around). There has always been a certain us versus them mentality to our melting pot. There is no small irony to either of these statements. Perhaps the difference that I find most apparent (and again perhaps sardonic) is in spite of our technological connectedness, we are more isolated than ever. We have more access to information, but seem more willfully ignorant than anytime in our history. I always say not knowing can be a difficulty, but not wanting to know is far beyond . . . for me it is unconscionable. I know those are rather mordant statements, but I believe the consequence of our self-imposed “head-in-the-sand” has been shown to be profound. I should note I made it through another weekend (and it was a busy one with Mother’s Day yesterday). The next week will also be a bit crazy with a graduation weekend at the University.

While I do not consider myself any sort of artist in the realms of drawing, painting, or those more sorts of tactile forms of artistry, I am always amazed my colors, hues, tints, and it is a bit surprising that though I grew up with no sense of decorating, I have a pretty good idea or eye for aesthetics. Perhaps so much so that I have been asked to help others decorate their spaces. I remember elementary art classes with a certain sense of angst because I was not particularly creative at that point of my life. I found it interesting, but seldom did my hands and fingers seem to have the talent to create something that would wow anyone. I think the difficulties were two-fold: first, I am not sure my mind worked in a particularly creative manner; and second, I was not the most coordinated little guy. Thinking back I wonder how much my sight difficulties might have created some of that? I think there were other reasons that connected to my own difficulties in my upbringing, but all of these thoughts are my sort of thinking out loud. And yet, as noted colors actually fascinate me. The ability of the color of something (like a room, the color of the house, the accountramenss of a space can completely change someone’s perception and their emotions about a space and themselves. I remember when I first painted the Acre house and people were stunned by the difference. I have found that a moss green (muted and more dusty in hue) is one of my favorite colors. I also like a lavender. Both colors are secondary colors, they require the blending of two primary colors (green, of course, being yellow and blue and purple being red and blue). Perhaps it is not surprising that my favor color is blue, the simple primary color. What I realize is that it is in the blending of things we come away with something more comforting, more accepting of possibility, more open to the vast array of change or chance.

Perhaps those colors and the reality that complexity can bring opportunity is a good realization as we seem to be more inclined to only do what we can understand or participate in the things we find comfortable. I remember when I chose to enlist in the Marine Corps at 17, looking like I was 13 and only weighing enough to pass the physical after a Gunnery Sergeant gave both the money and the directions to go across the street to a bakery and eat all $5.00 worth the bakery goods. While my father thought I had lost whatever small amount of common sense I had, I was determined to prove I could survive the notorious bootcamp. That was far outside my comfort zone. I remember enrolling in college at Dana College after I had flunked out of Iowa State a couple years before, again wondering if I was smart enough to be there. It was both frightening and exciting. Some of the most significant things in my life would have never occurred if I had opened to remain static, to fail to move outside what I knew. Even now, whether it is the bus build, the taking a chance to return to Bloomsburg with somewhat of a plan (in spite of what happened), or even now being in something I understand, but it still being new, change and chance creates opportunity, not only for me, but for others. Recently I did a training for servers . . . the most noteworthy takeaway for them (at least I hoped) would be for them to understand the importance of teamwork and seeing themselves first and foremost as a sales person. They are more than order takers or food runners and check collectors. They are psychologists, creators, and movie directors. The complexity of what happens at a table is controlled by them. What the table might experience is determined by how well they present and orchestra that encounter. They need to be able to walk up to a table and scan faces and expressions and determine on the fly what is possible. The faire available at the restaurant is outside the basic meat and potatoes I grew up on for Sunday dinner. The very first restaurant I waited tables in was called Aunt Maude’s and is still located in Ames, Iowa. At that time it had flaming desserts and flaming entrées. We used a Flambérechaud and that was not anything I had ever experienced. It was where I found that food and dining could become an experience. I am always amazed when complexity becomes a hinderance versus seeing it as an opportunity for growth. It can be discomforting initially, that is what change does to most of us. We are certainly creatures of habit. We like consistency. And yet, too much of that placates us, lulls us into complacency. Those who know me know I love to learn, to ponder, to explore. My foray into the culinary world in that first serving position was where I learned to love food, to experience food, to ponder what one might do with it. It is where I first learned about wine, alcohol, and how even that is a craft. Craft bartending is something now I never expected. I love what one can do. And why does it matter? An important and relevant question.

Time at a table with those we love brings us joy, it deepen relationships, and it changes how we experience nutrition. Too often we merely shove things in our mouths, and then we wonder why there are so many health issues. Everything is connected; it all matters. The crayon above is something given to smaller people (or maybe even some older ones) when they come into a restaurant in the area. The second one is yellow and green. There is something interesting in the combination crayon. It moves us beyond the simple. Even here there is a complexity. I am sure that Crayola, the preeminent maker of crayons, did this for simplicity, but I like the idea that there is a combining of possibilities. When I got up this morning, I was immediately thinking about the weekend and what is coming at the restaurant. What can I do to put pieces into place now that will make things run smoother? What can I do that will allow for both the front of the house and bar, the various stations in the kitchen and the line work for effectively as a team? What can we do to prepare ahead of time so that when we are slammed on every front to make it go as smoothly as possible. I am always thinking. As I have noted, I am a planner, a process person. Again, there can be complexity in the task, but when it is structured and orderly, the complexity is minimized.

I am a believer in perpetual learning. I am a practitioner of always moving forward. I am a adherent of treating the other with respect and care. For me that is elementary like the colors I learned as a small child. While it can be complex at times, and the colors take on different hues, tints, and possibilities, when managed it is elementary. I wish I could remember the name of that first art teacher in Elementary School. I have a former student in Minnesota who is an art teacher, and I know she is fabulous. I have a former colleague at the University of Wisconsin-Stout and she is the more incredible artist I have ever met. Thank you to you both for reminding me that art is life.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Consistently Inconsistent

Hello on an atypical Saturday afternoon,

When I first started this post we were about 1/2 the way through April, and rapidly approaching the Easter weekend. I had attended the PMEA State Choral concert in the Poconos. The picture is from our drive. It appeared and seemed anything but Spring, as the photo above illustrates. In spite of the roads, there was a beauty to the snow, and the concert, which had a theme of Identity, was fabulous. My colleague, friend, and adopted family’s daughter was in the chorus, and she is extremely talented. Going to the concert reminded me of my days of concerts and practices in high school, and how finally offering the concert made the morning practices, the individual effort outside the organized work, and the finally result worth it all. I thought about morning practicing before school, the Saturday afternoon rehearsals, and how the working with so many other dedicated people worked together to created something that mattered, not only to parents and grandparents, but also to each of us who participated.

As I post this, it is now the last day of April and the stock market continues to blow like a weeping willow in a wind storm, and the gyrations are not only herein the United States, but globally. Likewise, the first 100 days of President Trump 2.0 are not only beyond the unpredictability imagined here on our continent (and for Mexico and Canada), but throughout the world. Elections, stock markets, the role of America, be it with allies or enemies, cannot be taken for granted. The whiplash changes to announced tariffs or the removal of USAid through a multitude of places or roles had taken what we have done for decades and turned it on its head. What has been status quo is no longer the case.

What I continue to realize about myself is how expectation and consistency are essential to my feeling of safety or to my need for stability. Things that are expected seem to be left more to chance than ever before. While I have realized I might be more Libertarian than I ever imagined (fiscally I am more conservative, but socially I am more liberal), I do believe the world has been significantly pushed to the right. Again, I did not realize until recently, to what degree my theology falls more into a liberation theological camp. My current reading of the martyred Oscar Romero pushes me toward a social gospel that returns me to my research and writing on Bonhoeffer. And yet my own economic situation puts me into the category of privileged. I find myself trying to connect the two, and questioning what I am called to do. I find some solace in Bonhoeffer’s background and how he chose to use it for others, including even the other prisoners in Tegel. The importance of questioning, as I recently wrote, has never been more essential. Today, I watched a video of the carnage in Sumy Ukraine on a Palm Sunday and it is appalling. I listened to the Presidents of El Salvador and the United States say, in spite of the SCOTUS directive say the man from Maryland will not be returned. This puts our balance of powers in serious jeopardy, as if it was not already there. If there is one truth at the moment, our world is consistently inconsistent. Precedence is something we have relied on when it comes to SCOTUS decisions, but the current court seems not only likely to disregard that MO, they seem intent on dismantling it. Again, I am not against reconsideration, nor am I conceptually opposed to some of the concerns and actions of the Trump Administration, but the methodology that seems to merely smash it all, much like what the French Revolution did in1789, is alarming, and that is an understatement. There is a bigger issue with this scorched-earth method, however, and it is apparent in what is happening to our practice and perception of the checks and balances that had been foundational to our country since the writing of the constitution. The checks and balances, also called separation of powers has been the one constant that has bore us through the trying times of the Civil War, the depression, the era of Civil rights, or even other aspects of the turbulent 60s. I had an interesting conversation with a gentleman the other evening, someone who also appreciates history and somehow he ended up asking at what moment did I find the United States most like the French Revolution. I told him I believed it was where we are currently. He believed it to be the 60s. I think we would have an engaging discussion. Even the Catholic Church is soon to elect a new Pope, and that too has global consequence. As of late, there have been moments, and often, where I find myself overwhelmed by the degree, number, and nature of the changes that seem to hit like an uncontrolled Gatling gun (I am reminded of the scene toward the end of the movie, The Last Samurai, when Omura wanted everyone slaughtered.).

I know that earlier in my life, I pushed boundaries, sometimes out of not respecting them, and sometimes out of trying to understand them. What I realize now is the boundaries create safety. Safety is a profound concept, but it’s also an essential part of human society. I have noted in earlier blogs that the only time I have actually felt safe was when I was a small child, living at my grandmother’s house. I think that safety was based on love. Through her unfailing, endless, and profound love, I was never afraid. In fact, I don’t remember fear as a small child, and looking back, I think that’s quite miraculous. And what makes it even more miraculous, was during that time, after the death of both her father and her husband within a few months, she was in the throes of alcoholism. And yet, the spite of many things crashing around her, she still loved us, my sister and me, with every ounce of her being. fortunately, a few years later, between Alcoholics Anonymous, her church, and Eastern Star, she would turn things around and live the rest of her life alcohol free.

What concerns be about our present atmosphere is a seeming lack of any consideration of our institutions, of our sense of structure or order, of a sort of French Revolution type of disdain for what created society up to that point. The questioning of effectiveness, efficiency, and even of the institutions themselves in never wrong, but it is the manner in which it is done. Generally some knee-jerk reaction to what happens does not work in terms of establishing some good practice moving forward. Dana alumnus, Art Simon, the first director of Bread for the World (in 1974) worked with the believe that Christian people could could be mobilized to influence US policies that address the causes of hunger. The current director, Eugene Cho, and the founder of One Day’s Wages, was interviewed recently and spoke about what the dismantling of USAid has done to the work of Bread for the World. It is both devastating and unconscionable. The inconsistency that is characteristic, and currently occurring because of such cuts will have global consequences. The protectionism and xenophobia that characterizes our current foreign policy to the statements made from both the Oval Office and the State Department, the image of the United States in the world in the eyes of both allies and others has to be a sort of double-take, a rubbing of ones’ collective eyes and looking again to see if that is what is really occurring. In 2015 when Marco Rubio was a primary contender in the first serious Trump run for the Presidency, I was interested in what he had to say, and had both intrigue and respect for him. What I have witnessed in his first months as Secretary of State, now an interim Overlord (and I use this term intentionally), and now NSA Director, I have lost all respect, and the only intrigue that might exist is my questioning what the hell happened? How much of the kool-aid did he drink or is it being administered by IV?

Over the weekend, I had the occasion to speak to four Canadians, who said they have been in the states for some time. I inquired, “And you did not run and hightail it home yet?” They noted that is within the realm of possibility, and I responded that I was a veteran, but that I was embarrassed by what is occurring here at the moment. I would note I have had about a half a dozen political conversations with strangers in the last month, and even those who would identify as Republican are flabbergasted by what is happening. I actually noted that in a recent post when I noted having a conversation about a topic would be an interesting conversation. I remember during the first Trump Administration, speaking with an Uber Driver on my way across Italy, which is another story in and of itself, and he wanted to speak about President Trump, and I did not want to really have that conversation, but he had an American captive, so I acquiesced some. I told him that I had not voted for him, but I did realize he was my President. I also told him that at that point I only found him embarrassing and despicable. And that was in his first term. By the end of the term and in light of January 6th, I found him much worse. Now, and I guess this takes some skill, I find him to yet be all of the above, but additionally, I believe he is dangerous beyond words. I know all of these are political statements, which means I cannot post to a couple places I usually do, but I never remember a time in my life where I was so concerned about my country, about our democracy, of what the actions of the current administration will do to our entire world. I have noted this before, but one of my seminary professors noted, “When we pray, ‘Come Lord Jesus,’ we can only hope it happens today. I have used this video before, but this Phil Collins song (and particularly the video) convicts me to remember the other.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

In Media Res

Hello from the diner,

It’s been a bit since I stopped in for breakfast, as the BK group has become the morning habit. And yet the diner is where I can find the closest thing to where my comfort breakfast is available. This simple fare of poached eggs and toast are what I still remember (the half grapefruit is missing and has been replaced by some seriously tasty home fries with green pepper and onion) as my morning happiness. As I woke this morning, I heard the news that Pope Francis has passed. Even though I am not Roman Catholic, I am feeling a sense of loss that I do not remember when other Popes have passed. I remember the passing of Pope Paul VI, and the incredibly short papacy of John Paul I; I have been to Kraków a number of times and visited both the place John Paul II lived and the cathedral where he served as the Archbishop of Kraków before his elevation to Pope. I learned of his skills as a linguistic person while studying at Jagiellonian University and how that ability may allowed him to survive the Nazis after Hitler invaded Poland. I think that connection to place and history (and my work with Bonhoeffer) probably interested me in the papacy in ways that had not previously occurred. The papacy of Benedict was not as interesting to me, though I was aware of both his German background and his significant actions as the Prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith. Additionally, it was both unexpected and atypical he resigned his papacy. His conservative doctrinal positions, and his more academic nature, made the election of Francis to the papacy more politically significant. As the first Jesuit, Francis’s focus on the poor, his theological position, which was more attuned to Liberation Theology, and his renewed focus on being the pastor, endeared him to many (as well as frustrated many others). As I listened to the extended commentary this more of Sylvia Poggioli this morning, the comment was made that the Holy Father brought the church into the 21st Century.

What I found interesting in my listening to the words of Francis was his ability to weave faith and politics into a cloth that compelled the faithful to live that faith. It was not merely something you “wound up on Sundays,” to use the words of Jethro Tull, whose album, Aqualung, contained a rather scathing indictment against Catholicism. I remember the line “And you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday School and have all the Bishops harmonize the lines.” The institution (the church) while instituted by Christ is a human institution, and as such, is deeply flawed. And yet, if we go back to its founding, the role of Jesus himself, Jesus regularly put himself in the middle of things. When I was in college I remember the first time I heard the phrase “In Media Res.” It was in my humanities class, and it was the consideration of Horace’s Ars Poetica, which was the use of the narrative technique of beginning in the middle of the story. To do something like that effectively requires both knowledge and skill. Often the knowledge comes from one’s experience, and the skill to pull it off is both a combination of tact and common sense (rhetorical savviness). The latter is much more nuanced. As I have listened to the onslaught of information shared about Pope Francis since he passed, which is only about 36 hours now, what seems readily apparent was he was a master of this latter ability, which allowed him to interject himself into thorny issues with both a sense of purpose and clarity. It seems too often we have become a society where we either gloss over the troublesome things or we simplify them and then reject those who question. Little is accomplished, and, in fact, we exacerbate the problems. Pope Francis, in his commitment to an inclusive Gospel, a Gospel that Christ claimed was based on love, was willing to push the world to consider the consequences of actions that lacked the central tenet of loving the other. To push others to reconsider, Francis placed the church in media res. As I am wont to do, I return to Bonhoeffer’s argument against cheap grace. The grace of God is incredible, undeserved, and limitless, but it is never cheap. The God in whom I believe and trust spared nothing to provide us an opportunity to experience that goodness. And yet, seldom do we share that profound gift with our sisters, brothers, or those whom we find different than ourselves. Such actions are contrary to the spirit of the Gospel. It seems Francis not only understood this, he lived it. From his time as a priest and eventual Archbishop in Argentina to his papacy, Francis’s focus on the least of these epitomized the Gospel in action. If the church does not address injustice, does not reach out to all, there is nothing apostolic about it, there is nothing truly ecclesiastical, it becomes an exclusive club of self-service. I will argue that the present motion of the current rise of Christian Nationalism would make the church that very thing.

I believe the late Pope’s ability to speak truth in a spirit of love is what sets his papacy apart from what I have watched in my life time. Even though I am not Roman in my own practice, I find the example of Francis and his papacy compelling. Faith, for me, like ethics, is a verb and not a noun. Francis practiced this, and while he still fell short in some serious places, I do not believe it was for a lack of effort, but rather the unwieldy nature of church hierarchy, and my own non-Roman belief that even when publishing an Encyclical, he is first and foremost human. I know that is not what the Catholic Church teaches. Perhaps that is what I appreciate most about what I have read and learned about him. The words humility and humor seem to be used most often. Both are admirable, and not surprisingly linguistically related. One of the things about both traits is they require understanding and compassion. Both seem to be in short supply in our present world. A world leader noted that Pope Francis continually stood for compassion over cruelty. To be compassionate, you need to put yourself in the middle of things, working diligently to understand the other. This requires the humility that characterized the late Holy Father.

Certainly, the Pope had the platform of his office and the resources of the church, but it was who he was from the time became a priest. The stories over the past week demonstrated this clearly and continually. What if it could be who we are in our own individual way, in our own small corner of the world? One thing I have found continually as I work on the various things I am doing, if you treat people with respect, amazing things can happen. If you listen to them before you speak, what they say will be more forthcoming and honest because they are not afraid. If you try to understand them before you respond, community can be created. It is amazing that as the Pope placed himself in the middle of things, he worked diligently to make the Roman Catholic Church more inclusive; he worked to make the church more welcoming by speaking truth to power. That is an incredible thing, considering his position as Pope made him the most powerful person in the church. When we place ourselves in the middle, we immerse ourselves in chaos, but we also create the possibility of fostering order. On of the reasons I resonate with the mass is because if offers order and structure to worship for the parishioner. While the great majority of the mass has been in Latin, the Kyrie has remained in Greek. Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy. I offer this as a sort of requiem for an amazing Pope, and an incredibly faithful human being. Thank you, Pope Francis for the outstanding example of goodness (and I realize he was not perfect) and as we say in our liturgy. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Rest in Peace.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

To Speak Out is America

Hello from Cracker Barrel on a wintry April morning,

It’s chilly enough that I am sure the robins and the daffodils are wondering if they miscalculated. It’s supposed to be in the 20s tonight, and April showers might include snow. Perhaps there is some method in the atmospheric madness we are experiencing. In the spirit of consistency, which seems to be in short supply lately, I was at Burger King with the infamous societal prognosticators this morning, and it was surprising to listen to them lamenting (not really, but perhaps that it has occurred so quickly) what is happening to their well-planned investments, what might happen to their best laid plans. And one person in particular when I noted a couple of specific instances of the crackdown on basic freedom of speech seemed shocked. And as he noted his Missouri “show me”background, I promised to send him specifics, but the specifics did surprise him. As I noted over the past four years the vitriolic comments I heard about President Biden would get people in trouble if that practice was used in the previous administration. And when he noted, but I am a citizen I noted it is happening to citizens. The attack on dissent is unprecedented.

As many of you know, I wrote my dissertation, which is a rhetorical analysis of some of the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran pastor who chose to involve himself in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. That decision would cost him and other members of his immediate family, or spouses, their lives. Eberhard Bethge, Bonhoeffer’s student, and eventual biographer once noted, “Because he was lonely he became theologian, and because he was a theologian be became lonely.” Bonhoeffer grew up as a person who attended church, but was more academic than emotional in his faith journey and it was not until he studied at Union Theological Seminary in NYC and participating in field work at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem he felt the spiritual power of the gospel. That would change the course of his life and push him into the path of a different Christian activism he could have not earlier imagined. As Bonhoeffer realized the pogrom of the Nazis, he believed the church had both the duty and the need to question. Bonhoeffer mentioned three possibilities of church action towards the state: “In the first place it can ask the state whether its actions are legitimate and in accordance with its character as state, i.e., it can throw the state back on its responsibilities. Secondly, it can aid the victims of state action. The church has an unconditional obligation to the victims of any ordering of society, even if they do not belong to the Christian community. The third possibility is not just to bandage the victims under the wheel, but to put a spoke in the wheel itself” (Wind).

The speaking out against the current actions of President Temp’s policies that violate our constitutional rights of free speech, of the right to assemble, freedom of the press, or jeopardize our national security should not only be questioned, each and everyone of those actions require steadfast resistance. I have done some research throughout the day, examining the Hands Off rallies and protests not only across the country, but globally. In spite of the 10s or perhaps 100s of thousands who protested, the incidences of violence were minimal in comparison. In comparison to what, might you ask? Perhaps January 6th, 2021 comes to mind. Our very Revolutionary War was a rejection of oppression. Our country was founded on the idea that protest was a practice in democracy’s most foundational tenets.

The founding individuals of our democracy believed in creating a space where dissent was essential and the questioning of process and authority was evident from the beginning of our fledgling Republic (e.g. States Rights vs. Federalism). Certainly the questions of slave states versus free states caused such furor that our country engaged in a brutal Civil War, and at the beginning of World War II the internment of Japanese Americans demonstrated some of the xenophobic behavior that seems indicative our current national tenor. The struggle of the left and right to form a republic in their own particular understanding of constitutionalism is nothing new, but perhaps the rancor that is present has reached a level I not known or experienced in my lifetime. The lack of respect and decorum is certainly problematic, particularly when it is so apparent even among our elected legislators and those in the President’s cabinet. Arrogance as a matter of course foments arrogance, and the consequence is significant. It destroys possibility; it reverses progress. Arrogance is not a sign of strength; it is precisely the opposite. Arrogance is a form of bullying. Dissent and speaking out against arrogance and bullying is frightening, but it is essential if such behavior is to be curtailed. As I write this now, it is 80 years ago that Bonhoeffer was executed in Flossenbürg for his conviction to become the spoke in the wheel that would stop the extermination of the Jewish people. He was one of four in his family that would be killed for their involvement in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. As I noted above, his commitment to justice took a radical turn, but he believed that was his duty as a Christian, as a pastor of the radical gospel that did not believe in cheap grace.

Democracy is not easy, and it is not maintained easily. This is something we have been told. Former President Obama referred to it as messy. I believe his statement is accurate, and messy is a lot to manage on multiple levels. Terms and concepts like balance of powers, republic, democracy, basic rights, constitutional republic, all come to mind. Our increased lack of civic understanding makes both the discussion and pondering of such concepts exponentially more difficult, but ultimately, the questioning and dissent of what happens has never been more significant. I am always willing to engage in the conversation, one-on-one is where I believe the most productive things happen. Expressing an opinion here and being open to the beliefs and opinions of those with whom I might not agree are of importance. I’ll buy the coffee.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Over Nothing

Hello from Burger King in Buckhorn, Pennsylvania,

If you’re not from this area in North Central Pennsylvania, you have little idea of where I am. But it’s a little town just outside of Bloomsburg and more of a shopping area than a housing community. But it’s where my doctor’s clinic is; it’s where the AT&T store is, and it’s where the Starbucks store is where I can redeem my points. So for the last six weeks, I have intimated some things as a possibility, but they did not come to pass. Some of that is process; some of that is politics, and all of it is people. For the last three weeks, I’ve been back at Commonwealth, and in Bloomsburg, as they worked through a process to possibly rehire me as an emergency annuitant faculty hire. Things in term of the university system, and the pension were approved. That is process the politics come in to where the department would need to accept me as a temporary faculty person before I installed as their chair. For a number of reasons: some I know, some I perceive, it did not happen. In the big picture, I still believe that everything happens for a reason, and in my piety, I am a firm believer that God works behind everything that happens. However, in the big picture I am back here trying to figure out next steps. As an optimist, I know that some things have gotten done on the bus that needed to happen. They were all subcontracted so I couldn’t do the work anyway. So my three weeks here in Pennsylvania have made no changes in my bus process. That might be different going forward, although there is still one last subcontracting process. Some of the logistics of things like mail, managing life, or appointments are different because of states and borders and licenses. Again, things have been accomplished here that I could not have accomplished in Iowa; but moving forward, I’m not sure where I will be or what will happen so there are now other things up in the air.

One of my mantras over the past 10 years or so, and certainly, since I left UW-Stout, was I wish I would’ve known two things earlier in my life, or paid attention to them. First, if I have no power over it, it is useless to waste energy on it. Second, if I make a mistake, if I “F”something up, simply own it. In the first case, if you have no power, and you waste energy, the only consequence is frustration. In the second, when you take ownership of a mistake, that’s all that can happen. You simply move on. I’m not naïve enough to believe there are no consequences, but I can’t change what has happened. I can only learn from it. and even as I write this, I am well aware the both things are easier said than done. But like any habit as I’ve gotten better at it, they are now not so difficult.

This morning, I had a great conversation with a former student, and someone who has become a terrific friend, a confidant, and the closest thing I can imagine to a best friend, even though there is a generational difference. They are someone I love with my whole heart, someone I admire beyond words, and someone who has taught me what it means to love someone unconditionally. we do not agree on everything, and there are, in fact, areas, especially in our current world atmosphere where we are quite distant in position, one from the other, but nonetheless, we trust and believe in each other. That is such an incredible gift to have from someone. As I grow older, I realize what an incredible gift that is. I actually wrote about this not that long ago comma but we have power over nothing that is external, outside of ourselves. Perhaps if influence is a form of power, I should be corrected, but influence is perceived, and it is seldom constant. Therefore, it is fleeting at best. The only constant I have is myself and the power I have is to be constant. Or in my imperfection, to attempt as much consistency as I can. As I ponder, I’m reminded of my understanding of Martin Luther am I somewhat simple distillation of his theology. I believe Luther would say this, but if you are gonna depend on yourself for salvation, just be perfect. Needless to say that’s a difficulty, so we better be dependent on something else, and that is the grace of God. It is for that reason I think Luther is so well understood his four word Latin phrase: simul Justus et pecattor. Reflecting on Paul in Romans, he understood Paul didactic “the very evil I hate I do.” Way too often I resemble this statement; in spite of my best intentions I fall short. This is the reality both conceptually and physically of the Greek word for sin, hamartía. It means to fall short of the mark. When even our best intentions fall short there are consequences.

Fortunately, a late afternoon call reminded me of the consistency of some people. Gavin, who continues to manage my bus build work, and his check in with me gave me a sense of progress in one aspect of things. To say I am indebted to him is an understatement. His insight and his genuine care for the project and me is a precious gift that increases in value each week and day. . . .

At the beginning of the week I thought I had things figured out, and as I reach the end, I have no idea what I should do, what options I have, or perhaps even why I might have or take a particular one. And yet I am still in pretty good shape. Nothing has really been added to my plate. I can choose what I will or will not do moving forward. I still have people around me both near and far who care, people, who are there if I need them. So what then is my best path forward? The answer is still unclear, but the options boil down to should I stay or go immediately? Doing anything spur of the moment does not seem to be the best idea. One could argue I did that with my university. In spite of the fact that there were multiple levels involved, I put my trust in a process without having all the pieces, or more accurately, examining all the pieces. And yet, what power did I have in the situation, in the entire process. I had none; indeed, over nothing. In the larger picture, I have little must or have to do. I have control over what I do, what I am willing or not willing to do. It was the same before I chose to take the chance to come back to Bloomsburg, it is the same now. Some things important to others have occurred. Perhaps there will be more. Stay tuned.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

When it Seems Hopeless

Hello from QSL,

It is a bit surreal to be sitting in this familiar place, and yet also strangely comforting. Wishing my former student, one who was always amazed by my desire for spice, was her to join me. However, it’s a bit from a commute from Russia back to Pennsylvania, and there might be a Visa issue now. We are creatures of habit, and we can often be trapped by those habits and our past experiences. Additionally, it can be difficult to see beyond those things which have profoundly affected both who we are as well as whom we believe we are. Much of my life, in spite of my rational understanding that what I was told was not true, I struggled to believe I was smart enough, good enough, or worthy enough to become more than the adopted child who heard too often about what he could not do. Certainly what I was told defied logic when the very people who chose to bring me into their home told me I did not deserve to be there. Yet in spite of what seemed logical, the damage of hearing this mantra again and again was long-term. And the ways it manifested itself were numerous, at times revealing themselves at unexpected or inopportune moments. I remember one morning in the kitchen with Lydia, and as I fixed breakfast, she, in a somewhat foul mood, said something in a particular tone. I do not even remember what was said, but the tone set me off. Fortunately, my only reaction was to turn and tell her I was going home. She was shocked at my response, but before she could react much more, I was out the door and back to my house (our doors were probably 35 feet apart). She honestly had no idea what she had done. Again, because I was still overall healthier at this point, later that day, I went back and I apologized to her for my earlier actions. I also explained why I had reacted, and then told her it was not her fault. I think that was one of the first times I ever connected tone and response, and I realized even though I had made significant progress, the demons still had power

Mental health and emotional stability is such a complex thing. I have neither a background academically in psychology, nor am I a trained psychologist, psychiatrist, and in spite of my pastoral care and counseling history, I am not someone with an MSW. So with that disclaimer, allow me to ruminate on some things I believe. In spite of the incredible advances in neuroscience, it seems we still understand so little about the brain, or how the brain salad of physicality, emotions, and psychology as well as experience works in a definite manner. When Lydia was in the memory unit the last 3+ year of her life, I witnessed dozens of people struggling and in the throes of Alzheimer’s Disease or some level of dementia. In spite of the similarities in their etiology, they were not the same. The one thing that did surprise me, however, was regardless their symptoms, there was a constant. They seemed to be keenly aware of someone’s attitude or demeanor towards them. If that caregiver treated them rudely or without genuine care, they would get incredibly angry, and almost instantaneously. I remember how Lydia responded, and how this stáid, proper Austrian, academic seemed to not only learn, but regularly use the words bitch and bastard with abandon.

Those who follow me know that there was a tragic loss of a brilliant, talented, and yet struggling former student in the last two weeks. As bits and pieces of her story continue to emerge, one thing seems consistent. The labor she put in, the toiling which now seems was insufficient, or the pain, which I believe ultimately caused her decision much have felt immeasurable. I know from the time I met her until I left Bloomsburg in this past fall, we had a few significant and lengthy conversations, and she desperately wanted to be happy and content. She asked repeatedly how I, in spite of all I had experienced, could be so upbeat about my life. I remember reassuring her again and again that she had many things to be thankful for, to believe she had value. As is the case whenever we are confronted with such a tragic ending, we reflect, wondering what we might have done differently. The last time I reached out to her was shortly before I retired, which I was still here in Bloomsburg. I did not hear back. And I did not follow up. It would be easy to wonder if that was a mistake.

I learned of her passing within eight hours, from another person who is dear to me, and knew her well. She was crushed, and profoundly emotional on the phone. She wondered what she could’ve done differently. I have no doubt that’s the same for many at this moment, particularly those closest to her. This gets me back to the complexity of the neuroscience that makes us uniquely human. Medication did not stop this occurrence. And that is no pejorative statement about medication. At the visitation the other evening I would estimate there were more than 400 people who came to pay their respects. That’s how much she meant to so many, but she could not see it. How is it that someone gets to a point that the pain is so profound that stopping the pain at all costs is preferable? Not a single day has gone by that I don’t find myself pondering what it is that makes us both resilient and fragile. each of us have at some point in our lives had suicidal thoughts. Is it a long ways from imagining people would miss us if we were gone to getting to the point that we have a plan, or we put some course of action into motion with an eternal consequence? I’m not sure. In my piety, perhaps one of the most basic tenets of my theology is that we have a compassionate and loving God, a God who hurts when we hurt, a God who mourns when we mourn.

The difficulty of this past week and a half is simply this: most of us will go back to our lives with some degree of sadness, wondering if we might’ve done something different would there be a different outcome? But for her family life will never be the same. The incredible amount of attention that occurred over the last week and a half is almost numbing, but it was also important. But now the attention has gone away, and those who loved her are left to pick up pieces. This is the time when a card, a phone call, a text, some specific way to reach out is most important. Again, in my piety, I hope the comfort of loving God has surrounded her and helped her to see how incredible she was. I hope the comfort of a loving God will surround those who were closest to her and give them peace in this incredibly difficult time. I hope the comfort of loving God might remind us that not all is lost. And I hope the grace of God abounds for all.

Thank you for reading. Please hug those you love.

Dr. Martin

Returning, Leaving, or Merely Moving On

Hello from Martha’s Cafe . . .

At the moment, I am back in familiar places, and also leaving familiar places. I am sitting at the coffee bar, with my computer on a piece of wood that was milled by a former student, fellow veteran, and co-journeyer to Poland with me. Martha’s it seems was the name of this location before it was a Starbucks, and Fog and Flame as I knew it for most of the time I lived in Bloomsburg. The past few days have been a whirlwind of reconnecting at moments as well as pondering the sort of next steps that might be in the wings. I have learned that planning is important, managing one’s schedule and future are of significance, but much like when tradition can stifle progress, when one becomes too regimented, often opportunity or change is squandered. I remember when I was first interviewing with the bishop about possible parish assignments, and I told him that while I realized the importance of tradition and parish practices, finding a way to help them see new possibilities was important. Some of that might need to be revisited in a situation I could be placed in again soon.

When it seems that everything that has been a given in our daily lives is up for debate, up for reconsideration, and simply being tossed away, the idea of precedent seems to be gone (and the redundancy of that statement does not go unnoticed). This morning I met with my morning coffee klatch (the old white guys), and it was even a bit surprising to hear there concerns, particularly about the situation in Ukraine, though as many are veterans, I would hope that to be the case. As I learn more and more about the Ukrainian land, the people, and the culture, there is little doubt of its complexity. Perhaps that is, in part, why they (and we) are in the current dilemma, but I cannot help but believe in the sovereignty and dignity of people. That is part of our struggle as we seemingly swing to and fro regarding how alliances and democracy work in our current global situation. . . .

It’s a couple days later and I am at The Family Table in Pocahontas for a final breakfast. It was a whirlwind week in Pennsylvania between doctor’s appointments, a dentist appointment, and some unexpected developments there in another area. Nonetheless, all the infamous stars seemed to have aligned, and there will be some changes. I am always amazed how little we control of some things. The time in Iowa has been both busy and reminiscent of thoughts, feelings, and emotions that have been mixed. Iowa has a beauty to it, often overlooked, especially in the winter, I imagine. One of the things changed since I grew up are the incredible number of wind turbines that dot the fields and bluffs of the landscape that is my home state. The cold, the smells, the flatness – for the most part, all of that was expected. I had forgotten about the strength, intensity, and frequency of the wind. It is really life-altering. When it is blowing and there is no place to avoid it, it changes what you can or cannot do. It changes what you want to manage or stay away from. Even as I drove, it buffets you across the highway, particularly when it is a crosswind. And going back to my hometown and my old neighborhood was eyeopening. There are a number of things I remember that are now only memories because they are no longer there, and some are significant (e.g. my grade school, some of the neighborhood stores that were such a vibrant part of my area of town, even some of the houses I remember). On the other hand, there are other parts of town that are renovated and really quite amazing. What was Sunset Plaza when I was growing up is now called Marketplace, and it is really quite nice. What was called Lower 4th Street, is now historic fourth, and it is really very different. Some of that has been decades long in the making and I experienced earlier iterations, but all in all, it is good. Then there was seeing old life-long friends, speaking with childhood friends, and even making a new ne or two. That was both unexpected and wonderful, and then there was the reality of both being bug lovers (you know who you are)!

Returning is taking a chance . . . that is reality. What we remember is clouded by time, and there is the reality of what we choose to remember and believe. I realize even when it comes to simple things, it is easy for us to put our own spin on the memories. As I returned to the streets of my childhood, listened to those who knew me as a child, it was stunning to realize what they knew, what went unspoken. And yet rather than feeling sad about that, it offered a sort of solace, a comfort that what I remember is more accurate than I perhaps wish it was. I will get back to Sioux City a couple more times before I move on to the next dot on the proverbial map. The returning raised a number of significant realizations and the subsequent emotions. What I do realize is Sioux City will always be home. That is important when it comes to understanding who I am as well as why I am that person. I will note that I have rewritten this blog about 5 times. I am thoroughly frustrated with WordPress at the moment as it seems to randomly delete my work, and finding the drafts that I have previously saved seems to be impossible. I actually went to WordPress help, but it was not that helpful. This morning I had to renew some of my prescriptions and it was a potent reminder of how f-ed up our medical system is. Three prescriptions cost almost $750.00, and one of those does not even apply to my $2,000.00 out of the pocket expense that is the max this calendar year because of the IRA. Also this morning, I ran into someone I know who is on Medicare, and they were verbalizing they are afraid they will lose their coverage. I want to be empathetic, and I did not say, but you voted for this, though I know they did. President Trump is doing much of what he said he would. So there should be little surprise.

One of the last short phrases in the title above is about the reality of our lives. We are always moving, transforming, changing, reimagining. It is easy for me to see that in my own life, in part because I have not remained in one place very long. My time in Bloomsburg was the longest. And yet, I think it’s been my return to my roots, to my hometown, that clarified this reality for me. While I have been anything but geographically static, I saw life-long friends who are, or have been. They’re content, and that is good they can be. One of the people I reacquainted with is the older brother of my best childhood friend. Our families were close, and there is a generational connection. Our mothers were friends in high school, and my grandparents sold his grandparents their house. It was interesting to spend time with him after 50 years. He is two years older, and in high school was a standout at most everything he accomplished. And that has continued in his life. He is an incredible man. It was so wonderful to have conversations with him to share memories and consider our current world. Our fathers were stalwarts of our church congregation, and I worked on their farm at one point. What was most intriguing to me was how our lives have changed, but that our shared memory of our childhood demonstrated how we have gotten to where we have. It was a significant gift to spend time with him. We addressed our consistent thread of connection in spite how our age difference pushed us in such different directions and paths. The constant in the change of life is the fact that does not stop. There is so much to be grateful for, and that is something I am continually reminded of. Everywhere I have been has shaped me . . . everywhere I have been has blessed me . . . and there are more adventures to take, more journeys to begin. In the return to something previous we find an opportunity to better understand who we are. When we leave we take something with us, but we also leave something behind. Hopefully both things are positive in some way. And in the moving on we create new possibilities. We are offered opportunities, and too often we miss them. One thing I have tried to do throughout my life is be grateful for those I have met along the way, not merely leave them behind, but to hold on to them in some way. That has served me well, both in creating memories, but in establishing gratitude. I would like to believe I am a gracious person. As my father once said, “No one owes you anything.” What he was saying implicitly was everyone is a gift in your life, and it is best to treat them as such. Thank you to my Iowa friends and to the landscape for the memories and the opportunity to be back. Thank you to Bloomsburg for the gift of 15 years and all I learned there, both about myself and others. As I continue to move forward, I am not sure where it will all go. Indeed, the bus will be the vehicle, but the road is open. There is still work to do, but I am grateful for a number of people already in this building process. So much yet to do, but it will happen. One of the pieces I have listened to lately to offer me a sense of comfort and peace is what is below. From the movie, The Last of the Mohicans, this version is both beautiful and soothing. I think perhaps I need to learn to play the tin whistle. Something else to do as i am traveling.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Hello from Caribou Coffee in Sioux City,

While the first couple of paragraphs of this were written a couple weeks ago, I think I will leave them largely unedited. I am actually sitting with my computer and doing a bit of work on a variety of topics this morning. I am in what has become a favorite hangout, and I have a scad of things to manage. It has been difficult at times doing some of my admin work on a daily basis, which is why I have run off to Sioux City the past two weekends. Sitting in Caribou is comfort for me. I am feeling more transient that I expected, but that is my issue and something I need to manage. One of those strategies has been to go to something familiar. I have in someways, invaded my cousin’s house, and they have been most gracious, but I think there are times they need their space too. So building the bus is certainly a project of gargantuan proportion and the reality of some of that has been a kick in the head, but as noted recently, progress is being made. Certainly not as quickly as all wish, but process and doing it well is of more importance than merely getting it done. I have already learned that watching others. So this morning, I have been working on a variety of things from plans to ordering things, from insurance things to prescriptions . . . most things completed, and now off for some errands . . . One of the things that continually catches me off guard is no matter how intentionally I plan, the forces in the world seem to have no trouble in reorienting my intentions. Since I started this blog to say the past week has been a whirlwind of unexpected events, possibilities, and imagining what next would be a profound understatement. And yet, progress continues to occur, on the bus, in what might happen next with construction, and with how it can all be managed

Three or four times since arriving back in Iowa, I had the opportunity to meet with the older brother of my childhood best friend. His name is John, and he was the eldest of the three brothers. He was incredibly talented, unparalleled in his kindness, and one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. 50 years later, he is no different. The conversations we’ve had and memories we have shared have been eye-opening. if you read this blog for any period of time, you are well aware that my mother struggled to raise us, to be fair or equitable. The way that manifested itself was both difficult and literally painful. When I found out in this continuing conversation with him, as well as in conversations with others, more were aware of our situation than I realized. That was difficult to hear on one hand, and yet affirming on the other. . . . Another 10 days passed and it still has not been completed. I am presently sitting in the Minneapolis airport waiting to fly back to Pennsylvania for a week-long visit to manage a number of appointments. I drove up early yesterday from Mallard to beat a snowstorm, which did actually arrive; it might be the most snow I’ve seen this winter. At the moment, my flight is still on time, and I can only hope that remains the case. 

Since I first began this blog post, the world has been a whirling dervish of craziness. Again, if you read my blog with any consistency, you are well aware of why I might believe this. Over the last 10 days, I’ve had to come face-to-face with the reality of global politics And how it affects people I actually know and care about. I have Ukrainian friends, some here in the states and some still in Ukraine. Others have actually left their country and are living in other European countries or Canada. I hurt for them at this moment, and I feel helpless. That is not a political statement; that’s a human statement. The first time I went to Europe with Dr. John (the Pope)Nielsen, before leaving we were required to read books by Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann. One of those books is the title of this post. Until I did some research recently I did not realize the connection between what Hemingway Road and Dr. Nielsen‘s dissertation, which looks at the poetry of John Donne. it is from Donne’s Meditations. He wrote “No man is an Island intire of it selfe; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine; (Donne’s original spelling) and he would continue, “any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. (Again, spelling and italics in original)” it is profound to realize that everything we do has consequence far beyond our imagination. And of course, the more powerful individual, the more extreme the consequence. Recently, I used the term “transactional colonialism” and it seems that’s where we’ve returned I believe the goals of Vladimir Putin to return Russia to its Soviet power, which is not realistic, or even possible if you look at all the pieces, but he is determined to do so. My friends in Poland, my exchange to in Estonia, and yes, my friends in Ukraine are stunned by what is happened in the last seven weeks. They reach out to me and ask what I think, and I’m not sure, but I do know what I feel. I feel disillusioned at moments, and more often, I am embarrassed by my President’s actions. I watched about as much of his address to Congress last night as I could. The divisiveness of both his comments as well as both sides of the Congress are palpable. Donne’s words and Hemmingway’s novel, which I should perhaps reread, continue to ring through my ears, as I listened to last night’s address.

Recently, I listened to a United States senator and their response to one of the Talking Heads about what they could do. The reality is the Republicans control all three branches of our government, and I do mean branches. This is something we have done as an American public. It has created a pause for me, wondering two things: first, who are we as a country? and second, how did we get here? Even as a veteran, who has been proudly patriotic, but not nationalistic, I wonder if there is a place where I will feel comfortable in public? I am honestly not sure. For whom the bell tolls? I once asked that question as I walked across campus and the carillon rang out – I had just gotten my ass kicked in Dr. Hutton’s Greek final. Today, I ask it for myself again – are the arguments true the Democrats have become merely intellectuals, speaking about principle in a manner that matters not to the every day person? I find myself returning to my humanities classes, which encouraged intellectualism, but also being a good citizen. Have we lost the connection? I am certainly hoping that is not the case, but at the moment, it certainly seems to be the reality. There’s so much more I could write, and I hope that the reading of this might cause some to ponder how it all fits together.

Looking out at the snow, there was a beauty and a starkness to it. Parallels the world I seem to envision at this point. We are not an island, and what we do has consequence. We are part of the larger collective – being a humanist, using that term as someone who is related to others, I want to believe that we can overcome the present, overwhelming selfishness characterizing so much of what I see. For whom the bell tolls? If indeed, we are all connecting, the tolls for all of us. And to say it’s mournful, might be the most profound understatement I have ever written.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael