Grandmother

“You can only perceive real beauty in a person as they get older.”

(Anouk Aimee)

“Grandmother.”

The older lady behind the serving bar in the cafeteria of the university said that all of the student from Japan called her, “Grandmother.”  She explained that it just made her day whenever these students referred to her as “Grandmother.”  Looking at the lady she could have been anyone’s “grandmother” . . . she is a rolly-polly sort with her white hair up in a bun . . . a wonderful smile . . . twinkling eyes . . . an a great sense of humor she shared with a laugh . . . and, she is caring.  She is always this way . . . and, not just to the foreign students who call her “Grandma.”  It is always a pleasure whenever she graces my life when I am in the university’s cafeteria . . . she is a “Grandmother.”  She has earned that respect.

In the book that I have been reading, The Girl Who Sang to the Buffalo: A Child, and Elder and the Light From an Ancient Sky, by Kent Nerburn, he writes of the respect that the Native American culture has for its older members . . . the elders.  In the book the characters refer to an elderly Lakota man and Ojibwe man as “Grandfather” . . . though none of the characters are related to the two men.  It is a sign of affection and respect that this term is used.  Several years ago I attend a Native American conference in which the registration form had several categories from which to choose . . . one of the categories was “elder”.  An elder was anyone over the age of 55 years.  At the time, I was not old enough to be an elder . . . close, but not close enough.  I got to pay the full registration fee.  But, these were the “Grandmothers” and “Grandfathers” . . . earned through time and experience.

I like this term of respect . . . this term of affection.  Sadly, I do not think that we Americans live in such a culture that pays respect and affection to those who are older.  Most of us only one or two sets of grandparents in our live . . . usually our parents’ parents.  All the other people are just “old people” we know, and we do not give to them much time or energy.  We do not see them with the same respect or affection that those Japanese students do . . . like the Native Americans do . . . like many of the other cultures of the world do.  No, older Americans . . . the elderly . . . the “Grandmothers and Grandfathers” . . . are not as valued as they are in other cultures.

Now I am sure that there are those who disagree, but it does not take a whole bunch of effort to see how our society views and treats those who are getting up there in age.  Society reflects the attitudes of what is valuable in the lives of the people who inhabit that niche.  Not since the Waltons has there been elderly people given respect as the “wise ones” on television.  Instead we see the elderly played up for laughs and jokes . . . they are often the butt of the rude humor that drives a lot of entertainment today.  Being old is not valued in our society.  Read the newspaper and magazine advertisements . . . when was the last time an old person graced the cover of a magazine that wasn’t associated with the AARP?  Same goes for what we see in commercials . . . if you are over the age of fifty you get to be the star in constipation ads, “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” ads, Viagra ads (another form of “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” sort of ad) . . . medical ads . . . Depends ads.  That is not quite the way to show respect to those who are getting old.  This is not the way that we should treat the “Grandmothers and Grandfathers”.

Still don’t believe me . . . then, consider this: We have changed the way that we care for the elderly in our society.  Study the history of nursing homes in the United States.  We have moved from keeping our elderly relatives and parents living at home with us to moving them out and out of sight in care facilities.  We don’t even call these care facilities “homes” anymore because these facilities have little in common with what many of us consider to be “home”.  No, these facilities are nothing but warehouses to store people until they die.  History shows this movement and we have done nothing to stop its movement of separation . . . separate and forget.  This is not the way that we should treat the “Grandmothers and Grandfathers”.

A little less than two years ago I finally became a “Grandfather” for the first time as I was graced with a beautiful granddaughter by my daughter and son-in-law.  A little less than a year ago, I finally became old enough to become an elder according to the Native American classification I read on the registration form . . . old enough to be considered a “Grandfather”.  The granddaughter hasn’t called me “Grandfather” or even “Grandpa” yet, she is still too little . . . but, she squeals and giggles and gives me great big hugs whenever she sees me.  She knows that I am her “Grandfather” . . . but, at the same time, I can’t wait until that day comes when she calls me that for the first time.  I also cannot wait until the day comes when others . . . those who are younger . . . begin to show me the same love and respect that that cafeteria worker receives when she is acknowledged as “Grandmother” by the students she serves.

I thought about the words that this “Grandmother” shared about being acknowledged . . . respected . . . and, being loved.  I thought about the words that the author share in his book about the way that the older people are called “Grandmother” or “Grandfather” . . . of being acknowledge . . . respected . . . and, being loved.  And, why shouldn’t this older people receive acknowledgement, respect, and love?  It is pretty amazing that any of us ever make it to old age the way that we barrel through life!  We are the survivors and we have a few tales to tell . . . the young could learn something from those of us getting up there in age.  Author Gary Snyder writes: “In Western Civilization, our elders are books.”  Oh, the stories and wisdom we could share if only the young cared enough to care.

Unfortunately, in our society in the United States of America, it just does not yet exist . . . we do not yet see the power of a village raising a child . . . of the elders being treated as a treasured resource . . . of being one family under God.  We have not opened our eyes to the “Grandmothers” and “Grandfathers” around us.  We are losing them . . .

Singer/songwriter John Prine, in his song Hello in There, tells us not to let the opportunity pass us by.  His lyrics are a warning to us all:

So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello."

Let us remember the “Grandmothers” and “grandfathers’ before they are gone . . . they have much to share.

Okay, One More Time

The other day the wife had an appointment with one of my co-workers at the university.  It was an appointment to get some assistance with our number three child who has Epilepsy and needs some help with getting services for this disabling condition in his life.  The co-worker is one of the best in the state of Montana at this sort of work, and so it only made sense that we use her skills in helping our son.  The only problem . . . well, it meant that the wife would have to come to the university where I work.  That meant that she would have the opportunity to meet my co-workers . . . that meant that they would have conversations . . . probably about me; and, that they would compare notes about me.

I work in an office of women.  I am the only male in the office.  I represent ten percent of all the people who work in the office.  Yes, to state that I am a little overwhelmed at times would be an understatement.  But, they are gracious women who have learned to accept me . . . or at least put up with me.  Yet, and this may be a generalization, I have learned over the five plus decades of my life, women like to talk about the men in their life.  And, when they are talking, they like to compare notes.  They have inquiring minds and they want to know . . . they want to know if the "John" they know at work is the same "John" that the wife knows at home.  My experience is that rarely do the two realities mesh.

They didn't this time either!

One of my co-workers told the wife that I was quite the extrovert.  The co-worker explained that I talked all of the time to everyone . . . told a lot of jokes . . . was kind of in the way a lot of the time.  This made the wife laugh.  After more than thirty years of marriage, she assured my co-worker that I was not an extrovert . . . she explained that I was an introvert, through and through.  None of the co-workers believed her.    They weren't buying it despite the wife stating that when I get home, pulling a conversation out of me is like pulling teeth . . . in fact, pulling teeth is easier.  He is exhausted at the end of the day and had enough of people.  He is an introvert, said the wife.

As usual, my co-workers don't get it.  They don't get what it means to be an introvert.  Just because they see one thing doesn't mean that they are seeing the real McCoy.  After five years, I have come to trust my co-workers, and I accept that they are pretty "safe" to allow them to step into my space.  I like them.  When I allow them to step into my space, I trust them that they won't hurt me or mess with what is in my little world.  This takes a lot of energy on my part to allow this to happen.  Unlike the extrovert--who gains energy from people being in their space, introverts spend a lot of energy when people get into their space.  The result?  Extroverts are raring to go when people waltz into their world, while introverts are exhausted.  Even though I trust my co-workers, they exhaust me!

Both the wife and I are clergy.  Being a clergy means that there is interaction with people . . . especially on Sunday mornings!  The wife comes home from a morning preaching, teaching, and leading worship ready to save the world . . . she is energized.  I come home from the same experience and I am exhausted.  She cooks a three course meal, I take a two-hour nap.  The wife is an extrovert . . . she can talk on the phone for hours; I hate the phone . . . I hate talking on the phone . . . the phone is an invader in the life of an introvert . . . an energy drainer.

People, including my co-workers, don't understand.  Introversion and extroversion are a continuum.  All of people have varying degrees of introversion and extroversion within their personalities.  There are several personality tests out there in the world that can help people learn more about themselves and their personalities.  Probably the most popular is the Myers-Briggs Personality Indicators.  This is not a cheap test and is quite extensive, the better alternative is the Kiersey-Bates which is found in their book on personality traits, Please Understand Me.  The book is at most bookstores and costs about twenty bucks.  Their test is shorter, but just as accurate.  In administering both over thirty years, the results are pretty accurate when comparing the results.  In both, they emphasize that these traits are on a continuum and not a one and done thing.

Simply put the continuum is a line.  In the middle of the line is "zero".  Going in both directions from zero--left and right--the line is numbered to ten.  When taking the personality trait surveys each person is given a score for introversion and extroversion.  Typically one of the numbers is going to be bigger than the other . . . the greater number is the "favored" preference of the individual.  If it is a seven in extroversion and a two in introversion, then the person's preference is extroversion.  Introversion is the weaker of the two preferences.  People have a tendency to rely upon their favorite "strength".

Now, put the numbers on the continuum.  The extroversion number, in this case "seven" goes to the right; the smaller number, again in this case, goes to the left and is about introversion.  Now color the space between the two numbers another color.  This is the continuum from which all people will chose their preference.  I have a real low number (below three) for extroversion, and a really high number (seven) in introversion.  My preference is introversion when I am thrust into a social situation; but, I can choose to be an extrovert.  After all, I am not a complete hermit . . . but, when it comes to people, I would prefer being alone.  So, yes, there are moments, when I play the role, I am an extrovert . . . but it takes a lot of effort on my part to be that extrovert.

They just don't get it.

Yes, I like to talk to the people I work with.  In fact, they are pretty much some of my closest friends . . . as much as I will let them be.  I usually arrive at work well before any of my co-workers ever show up . . . it is my time to prepare for them . . . my time to work into the role.  In situations where I have to deal with people--at workshops, Sunday worship, mingling with the masses--I can be quite the extrovert . . . but, it is a "push" for me.  It wears me out . . . tires me . . . and, it makes me a grump when I have reached my limit.  Grumpy because enough is enough, and I need a break.

I remember a guy from the state Office of Public Instruction telling my boss that he was an introvert . . . and, she didn't buy it.  She didn't buy it because she had always experienced him in a group setting  . . a leader of the meeting . . . and, his behavior was that of an extrovert.  He laughed and said, "It is a role I play."

Again, one has to go to the continuum . . . there are strengths and weaknesses.  Introverts prefer introversion to being out in front of a crowd being the headliner.  Any introvert who lead a public life will tell you that he or she is worn out from acting like an extrovert.  Remember, extraverts get their energy from crowds . . . introverts get worn out.

Despite what people might think . . . I am an introvert.  I love the life that floats around within me.  It is a life that is more fascinating than the world that floats around me on the outside.  Yet, at the same time, I know that when 75% of the world's population is extraverted and to exist in that world I, as an introvert, must jump in with both feet if I am going to survive.  Most of the time I do not mind . . . I do what is necessary . . . yet, it wears me out.  Totally floors me!  Come Sunday afternoon I NEED that two-hour nap just to get back to my baseline.

I am an introvert . . . plain and simple.  Do not let the "act" I put on deceive you.  Just because I can act as an extravert does not mean that I am one . . . it is the weaker of my personality traits.  Given a choice--which I am not often given the choice, I am going to pick the introversion side of life.  I guess I need to let the people I work with know that it is all an act.  What I do not understand is how they miss it  I am constantly complaining about the phone (a great invader of the introvert's domain and life) and how it interrupts the day.  I complain about having to go to meetings to speak . . . I complain about having to go to "all campus" gathering . . . and, I complain about hob-knobbing with the faculty and other staff in campus-wide events.  Yet, because it does exist in my personality, I do what needs to be done no matter how tiresome it might be . . . I do whatever is required of me.  True it is with a lot of whining and complaining, but I do it.

That does not make me an "extravert" . . . far from it.  I am an "introvert" . . .  plain and simple.  I know that my co-workers would disagree, but they only have to put up with me and the daily act I make myself do.  I do what I have to do . . . as tiresome as it might be . . . in order to keep my job.  That does not make me an "extravert".  What it makes me is a person who stumbles into the world of "extraverts" and it wears me out.

The differences between "extraverts" and "introverts" is more than a simple understanding.  Just because I talk to people--because it is a part of my job and how I sell it . . . that does not paint me as an "extravert",  What it paints me as is a weary "introvert" . . . it goes back to how one reacts to the situation. What my co-workers have experienced is far from the behavior or being an "extravert" . . . I am, always will be . . . an "introvert".  Ask the wife and she will vouch to this .

I wish the world . . . and, my co-workers . . . could accept the fact that I am an "introvert" without having to prove me wrong.  If nothing else, they should believe the wife . . . she doesn't lie . . . when she laughingly affirms the fact that I am an "introvert" . . . because I am. Despite their experiences to the contrary . . . I am an "introvert".  Always have been . . . always will be.  Nothing is going to change that.  For those who do not believe me . . . check with the wife . . . check with my kids . . . and, they will tell you that I am an "introvert".  Shoot, I am what I am.  And, for those who do not believe it . . . well, there is a ton of literature and research out there that will confirm exactly what I have written.  I just wish my co-workers would believe me.

As they say inAlcoholics Anonymous, I am who I am as God created me . . . with all of the quirks and oddities that come with who I am.  I can be nothing else . . . as tiresome as it might be . . . I am who I am.  Sort of biblical wouldn't say?  Believe it or not . . . all I can do is to deal with the cards God dealt me.  In a world that has over 75% of the people being extraverts . . . well, maybe they need to change rather than giving us "introverts" such a hard time.  We are who we are . . . "introverts" . . . and, if the world can't handle us, so be it.  But give me a break . . . especially at the university where I work . . . I am an "introvert" despite my actions.  I am who I am . . . the sooner my co-workers accept it . . . well, the sooner they get over it. What ore can I say . . . other than, "Give me a break!!!!"

Finding Quiet in the Noise

I had forgotten how noisy the city is . . . forgotten how it seems to hum even in the darkness of the night.  There is constant travel fourteen floors down from my hotel room on the streets . . . horns blaring . . . sirens wailing . . . screeching tires . . .whistles blowing.  The noise is constant like a heartbeat for the city.  Then add to this base line hundreds of thousands of people moving up and down the street . . . talking . . . yelling . . . screaming . . . crying . . . and, singing.  It is kind of like a melody line in music playing over the sound of traffic.  There is noise everywhere . . . constant noise.

Yeah, I had forgotten how noisy the city is; but, what should one expect when they shove a couple of million people into Philadelphia proper . . . more than double the whole population of Montana spread out over the 147,046 square miles that makes it a state. I think it gets noisy whenever two or three people gather . . . imagine the noise when a couple of million are milling around.  It gets noisy.

Since being in Philadelphia I have noticed that I do not hear as well . . . I have a hard time hearing . . . especially when I a outside.  Now, I know it is true that the wife thinks that I have a hearing loss . . . something more than a husband's selective hearing loss . . . especially when I get into crowds.  I know that whenever I am in a group of people I have to lean in close to hear what they are saying . . . but since being in Philadelphia I have turned to lip read (which I am terrible at).  I just don't hear well and I do not think that the noise is helping.

I wonder how the people who live here put up with the noise.

I guess I never realized how quiet Montana is . . . or at least the part where the Keener Homestead is . . . or the parts where I am in the mountains.  In the quiet of where I live I can hear the birds sing . . . I can hear the geese honk and the the Sandhill Cranes cooing as they fly over.  In the night I can hear the cows mooing and the coyotes howling.  I can hear the Rock Creek rushing down its banks.  I can hear the wind rustle through the trees.  I can hear the breeze move through the tall grass.  I can hear the snort of a moose . . . the bounding of deer.  It is amazing how much of God's natural presence one can hear in the quiet . . .

. . . but, here, in Philadelphia, I have not heard the birds sing.  I have not even heard a dog bark.  From the fourteenth floor of the hotel I have barely heard the wind over the traffic from the street below.  This is a noisy place.

I don't know about anyone else, but I know that noise makes me irritable if I am in it for too long.  Makes me grumpy.  I need quiet in my life.  I think the people in the hotel understand the noise of their city.  In my room is a little note on the desk stating: "For added tranquility, please feel free to use the complimentary earplugs located in the nightstand drawer."  Sure enough . . . there are two sets of earplugs in there.  I don't think I need them for sleeping, but I am thinking about using them for walking around the streets of Philadelphia.  Research shows that noise makes children and adults more aggressive . . . Philadelphia has a fairly high rate of crime and violence . . . maybe, they should be passing out earplugs on the street.

Noise changes a person.  I can feel it and I have only been here for a little over twenty-four hours.  I cannot even imagine what living here would do to me . . . I'd become a crazed pastor (well, more crazed than I am now).  I could not live without the quiet.  I feel sad for all of these folks.  Sad that they cannot find the quiet in the noise.

I like to paraphrase the part in the Bible that tells us to be still and know God.  I like to think that in that stillness there is also quietness . . . quietness because we need to hear God . . . in the birds singing, the wind blowing, the breeze moving through the grass.  In all of this noise, where is the quiet?

If I am going to be honest, then I have to admit--like everyone else, that there is noise in my life that drowns the voice of God.  These days in Philadelphia only serve as a reminder of that fact.  The noise may not be caused by traffic or people . . . but it is still there drowning out the needed silence.  The noise of problems in my life . . . the noise of relationships between family, friends, co-workers, and many others . . . the noise of the life happening around me that touches me directly and indirectly . . . the noise of loneliness, sadness, anger, hate . . . there is noise in my life.  At times it gets pretty noisy in that rock garden between my ears . . . and, the reaction is the same.  I get irritable and grumpy . . . I get aggressive . . . and, I get lost.  Lost from who God created me to be . . . and, lost from God.

Yet, I know that there is a quiet place within all of us.  A place where there is no noise.  A place where the presence of God can be heard.  And, I know that it does not matter where I am . . . in the noise of Philadelphia or the quietness of a mountain meadow in Montana . . . that quiet place exists and waits for me.  I know that I just need to be still . . . to be quiet . . . and, listen.  God's voice will find me in the quiet.  I just have to keep reminding myself . . . be still . . . be quiet . . . even in the noise God is there.

With such knowledge I think I can make it.  The crazed preacher is in retreat . . .

Time Warp

Dorothy said, "This ain't Kansas any more, Toto!"

There was a time I thought I was halfway "urbanized" . . . halfway "East Coast"; but, that is no longer the case.  This business trip to Philadelphia to attend the national conference for the Council for Exceptional Children has pretty much confirmed what I did not suspect . . . I have lived too long in rural America to ever feel completely comfortable with the city life . . . and, it does not matter whether it is on the East Coast, West Coast or anywhere in between.  I have been away far too long to accept what I am experiencing as "normal" when compared to what I presently live.  Philadelphia is not Montana . . . nor Nebraska . . . or even (and I cringe to say it), Kansas.

I am a country bumpkin in a strange and foreign land.  People do things differently back here in the BIG city . . . plus, there are a hell of a lot more of them!  I think I have seen and encountered more people today in a span of less than twenty-four hours than there are in the whole state of Montana from border to border . . . and, I have experienced them in the airports and in the ten-something blocks I have wandered around since arriving in Philadelphia.  There are people every where!  Seems everywhere I turn there are more and more people.  This is enough to drive an introvert crazy!  I am not used to being in contact with this many people in one day . . . people, people, people!

Not only are there lots of people . . . the people are all in a hurry.  Where they are in a hurry to get to, well, I don't know; but they are always moving and moving fast.  I imagine they are just going about the paces of their lives, but they do it so quickly.  They never look a person in the eyes.  They just press onward and forward.  Not one person acknowledged me whenever I said, "Excuse me" or simply acknowledged them with a simple "Hi".  Which brought up another observation . . . the further east I went in the United States, the less courtesy there seemed to be.  I was bumped, shoved, tripped, maligned, and looked at like I was an idiot, and not once did anyone practiced common courtesy by saying, "Excuse me."  The behavior I experienced is not something I am not used to because I experience it all of the time at Walmart . . . you know what I am talking about . . . that mindless, lost in space, sort of behavior where people forget to practice the Golden Rule because they are in shopper's paradise.  It runs rampant the further east one goes.

Of course, the people don't see this as a problem . . . this is just the way life is for them where they are living.  It is not their problem, it is our problem . . . those of us not used to such living.  I realize that because it is the same thing that my sister (from back east) complains about whenever she comes to visit me in whatever rural location I am living at.  She says the "laid back" attitude drives her crazy.  The people being nice to one another and actually expecting a reply when asking, "How ya doing?"  The slow pace kills her.  So, apparently, this is a two-way street.  Yet, at my age, introvert or not, I still like to be acknowledge with more than an abrupt bump as someone is rushing by.  Haven't seen a lot of that from the locals yet . . . they are too busy living their lives to realize there are others out there.

Now, I said, I once considered myself to be fairly "urbanized".  I spent a few of my years in a very populous area . . . the Washington, D.C. area . . . and, I adapted fairly well after some time.  I learned how to survive and not do the ultimate faux pas . . . things like flipping off driver while driving on the Beltway . . . better safe than shot!  But, I have been gone too long . . . been out in the wilderness for much too long . . . I have settled into the ways of Ma and Pa Kettle.  I am about as urbanized and comfortable in the big city as Dorothy was in the Land of Oz.  It is a sort of time warp I am experiencing.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I see this challenge as a sort of an adventure . . . just like Dorothy in trying to get back home.  That is kind of what I feel like . . . Dorothy trying to get back home.  I am encountering people who are different than me . . . but, there is more diversity within the one block of the hotel where I am staying than there is within a sixty mile radius (probably even more) where I live in Montana.  And, I am encountering a heck of a lot more people . . . I don't like living where the people live on top of one another.  That was one of the major selling points and reasons why I moved to Montana in the first . . . there are no people!  People live differently out here than we do out west in the rural parts of the country . . . strangely, but they think the same about us.  Things are different . . . like stepping into a warp of time and place . . . almost surreal.  Sure, it is frustrating, but it is not bad.  It is just different . . . not what I am used to . . . and, that is what makes it an adventure.

Despite the differences these folks were created in the image of God, just like I was.  And, they are also considered to be a part of God's family, just like I am.  Like me, they are just trying to figure out how in the world they are ever going to find their way home.  We have more in common with one another than we have different . . . it is that our differences drive each other crazy.  But, we can say the same thing about those we are closest to . . . our spouses, children, and friends . . . they drive us crazy too. We are family!  And, if we are going to be honest, there are things about our family that drive us nuts!  Yet, we love them anyways.

That is the challenge of this adventure . . . well, that and surviving . . . to love them anyways.  So what if they are never going to acknowledge me until I bump into one of them spilling their ten dollar cup of Starbucks coffee.  True, being cursed at is no fun . . . but, hey!  At least they will know that I am there.  I will return home, I always do, sigh a sigh of relief that I am home where life seems normal . . . but, I will also return home with a greater appreciation of those who are different than me.  The problem is not them . . . it is me.  I am the fish out of familiar waters, not them.  I stepped into their world, not my world.  I just have to keep reminding myself, "This is not Kansas (Montana), Toto!"

Thus the adventure begins . . . a foreigner in a strange land . . . or is it a stranger in a foreign land . . . or is it just me being strange?  Whatever the case, the adventure begins . . . what lessons will I return to Montana with?  Who knows . . . but I do know that I will never develop an affinity for expensive coffee and teas . . . shoot!  Five bucks for a cup of tea when a whole box of fifty Lipton tea bags is just a little over four dollars . . . it ain't ever going to happen.  I don't live in Philadelphia, I live in Montana . . . but I know there is a bigger world out there.  It is time to embrace my fellow sojourners . . . even if it is only for a little while . . . but, NO five dollar cups of tea!

Faith is Messy

I have been thinking about faith lately . . .

In M. Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Traveled he makes a profound statement in the very first paragraph: “Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult-once we truly understand and accept it-then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.”  And, you know what, I don’t hear too people arguing against that statement.  That statement is true . . . no one is arguing.  In fact, to paraphrase Peck, once a person can accept this truth, life gets easier.  The book is a good book and one any person on a spiritual journey should read.

In the same manner I propose a similar statement: “Faith is messy.”  That’s it . . . faith is messy.  Any person who has taken the role of faith seriously in his or her life knows this statement is true . . . faith is messy.  If they don’t, well then . . . they are in denial.  They are in denial because . . . plain and simple . . . faith is messy.

I think that the “church” has lived a perpetuate lie for many, many generations by attempting to sell faith as something that is pretty easy . . . believe and life will be good.  Yeah, there are several theologies floating around out there that hard sell that idea . . . prosperity theology jumps out in my mind.  But, the “church” really can’t be blamed . . . the problem goes all the way back to the beginning.  Jesus ran into it all of the time . . . this idea that faith is easy.   He fought this idea all of the time . . . why are some people blessed, some cursed, and everyone else is milling around in the middle avoiding one and hoping for the other.  As simple and easy as faith appears on the outside . . . it is not.  It is messy.  Jesus never said that being faithful would be easy . . . or clean.  Faith is a constant mess that the faithful struggle with on a daily basis.

In preparation for the Sunday before Easter I was asked to pick which emphasis I was going to use for worship.  Well, traditionally the Sunday before Easter is Palm Sunday . . . so one of the choices was the story of Jesus’ triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem . . . the waving of palms, throwing of coats, and Hosannas everywhere.  It is a kind of “feel good” story that then gets shattered against the deteriorating backdrop of Holy Week with its bleak news of crucifixion.  But, because faith is easy . . . we overlook the rest of the story.  The other choice is the long passage that focuses on what the “church” likes to call the “Passion” . . . this year it is John 26:14-27:66 . . . probably longer than the sermon.  This reading focuses on . . . well, how difficult faith is.  It speaks of the betrayal of Jesus by Judas Iscariot . . . about Peter proclaiming he would never deny Jesus and then doing it (not once, mind you, but three times) . . . how the disciples promise Jesus that they will stay awake while he prays in the garden and then fall asleep . . . and, how even Jesus struggles with what he knows he should do for God.  It also speaks of the Roman governor struggles with putting an innocent man to death, but does what he is charged to do while still questioning it all.  This is the one I chose for the Sunday before Easter.

The seven days between Palm Sunday and Easter stand as a witness and testimony of how messy faith is . . . most of us want to throw in our cheers for the entering Jesus, but we want to forget about the mess in the middle, while we welcome the conquering Jesus of Easter.  Why?  Because it is too messy . . . no one likes a mess.  Faith is messy.  In my choice I think that more of us can identify with the “mess” between Palm Sunday and Easter more than offering up cheap adulation by waving a few palms and shouting, “Hosanna!”  I think that deep down we know that faith is messy and instead of denying it, we need to acknowledge it, accept it, and grow because of it.

Judas wanted to believe . . . and, he did; but this Jesus was way too slow . . . way too peaceful . . . way to loving . . . and, wasn’t willing to raise up the people to destroy those who were oppressing them.  Peter wanted to believe . . . Peter who was always wanting to be at the head of the class, always wanting to be the first to rise up to the challenge . . . always wanting to be Jesus’ best buddy; but when tit came for tat, Peter flunked the faith test.  So did the disciples who promised Jesus they would stay awake with him while he prayed in the garden . . . they couldn’t do it despite their best intentions.  And, then, Jesus himself, did he not struggle . . . were his prayers not for relief from the struggle to live up to what he knew God wanted him to do . . . didn’t he ask God for another way; but, in the end, gave into faith telling God, “Thy will be done”?   The faith involved in this biblical passage sure does not look simple . . . does not look easy.  It looks messy.

Faith is messy . . . plain and simple.

If faith was easy, wouldn’t everyone be doing it?  Wouldn’t everyone be jumping on board and buying the heavenly insurance policy?  But they are not.  The people are exiting through the back door of the church faster than they are entering the front door.  So, why does the “church” insist on selling this idea that faith is easy?

If faith is easy . . . simple, then explain to me why we struggle when “faith” is brought into the discussion of politics . . . when “faith” is brought into nationality.  Whose side is God on?  Democrats?  Republicans?  Which country has God blessed . . . the United States formed as a nation under God? 

If faith is easy . . . simple, then why is there war?  Why is there hate?  Why is there prejudice?  Racism?  Genderism?  Why do we hate our brothers and sisters . . . created in God’s image . . . and, do so in the name of God?

If faith is easy . . . simple, then why do we—the “church”—deny people access to the table of Christ?  Ask people to agree to creeds, dogma, and other silly babble to belong to the family of God?  Isn’t it a shame to look around the table and see that more are not at the table than those who are?

The fact of the matter is . . . faith is not easy.  Faith is a mess.  We are constantly being confronted in our spiritual journey with situations that put our faith to the test.  Unfortunately, faith, like life, is not black and white.  I challenge any person who claims to be a person of faith to honestly tell me that where they are right now in their faith is the same as it was on the day that he or she proclaimed it for the first time.  The truth of the matter is that it isn’t.  Faith is a struggle in which growth comes . . . growth closer to God and to others.

Growth towards greater intimacy with the one who created us . . . who loves us . . . and, who accepts us for who we were created to be . . . the children of God.  That is grace.  Growth towards greater intimacy with siblings in this holy family of God’s . . . to love one another . . . to care for one another . . . and, that is love.  This is the foundation of faith . . . the challenge Jesus set before all of us . . . to love the Lord completely and to love one another.  If we attempt to live our lives to this challenge, we quickly discover how messy faith really is.

If you find “faith” to be easy . . . well, then I think I would question whether or not you have truly found “faith”.  It is not a matter of being “good” or “bad”, but a matter of living up to God’s will.  To love God . . . to love one another . . . what more is there?  Faith is messy.  The sooner that we can accept that fact, the more time we have to deal with it . . . faith is not in the word, but in the actions of living.  Jesus never promised that it would be easy, and neither can I.  Avoid those who promise the “easy way”!  To live is to have faith . . . life is difficult . . . so is faith.

Fragile

“Life is like an onion; you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.”

(Carl Sandburg)

Yeah, I know . . . I have a tendency to mix my metaphors, but I think people will understand the essence of the images (verbal and non-verbal) of what I am attempting to convey.  Life is fragile.  For a while now I have been thinking about how fragile life truly is.

About two weeks ago, having spoken to the woman who is my advisor on the state level for my job at the university, and then waiting for her response . . . I learned three days later that she and one of her children were killed in a car accident.  A mother of four children between the ages of eleven and sixteen she had died in an unfortunate accident as her oldest child was driving the family Suburban south of Butte.  The son got distracted, drifted in his lane, attempted to over-correct three times before sending the vehicle end over end at least three times.  His mother, Amber, and one of his siblings was killed.  It all happened in the blink of an eye.  Amber was in her mid-forties, the child killed was fifteen . . . gone forever in a flash . . . lives changed forever.  No one saw it coming.  Life is fragile.

An older couple in the congregation where I serve as a pastor . . . an active couple who do a lot of traveling . . . walk everywhere . . . fun.  For weeks this couple had been talking about heading out to West Yellowstone for their annual two-week trip.  Then suddenly the wife started having trouble with her back . . . trouble the doctors thought they could remedy with shots . . . and, for a while it seemed to work.  But, it actually got worse as it affected her ability to walk and keep her balance.  From nothing to a cane to eventually a walker . . . things changed.  Then one day, the woman fell.  The husband was unable to get her up.  The ambulance came, the doctors checked her out, and the ultimatum was given . . . surgery . . . and now!  One day they are laughing and enjoying themselves with friends and family, the next they are gone due to the body suddenly exerting itself through age.  What was one day is gone the next.  Plans get canceled.  Dreams get squashed.  Things change.  Life is fragile.

Earlier this week, down in Alabama where the son-in-law is receiving training at Fort Rucker, the daughter and granddaughter went to the doctor’s office for a pre-appointment for the daughter’s pregnancy.  It had been raining for a couple of days . . . really raining . . . like three inches worth . . . and thus the parking garage under the building was wet.  With the granddaughter on her hip, the daughter slipped and sent them all tumbling to the ground.  With natural parental instincts the daughter fell on her side protecting the granddaughter and the granddaughter-to-be.  She scraped herself up, bruised her him, and shattered her ego.  The granddaughter bumped her head.  Immediately in panic the daughter started to cry.

Of course, seeing how it was a medical building, there were people there to help about as fast as it happened.  Rushing her in to the emergency room they gave her the whole rigmarole . . . they examined her . . . x-rayed her . . . ultra sounded her . . . poke and prodded.  They did the same for the granddaughter.  Satisfied, they declared them all to be okay.  The daughter calmed down, the granddaughter was a trooper, and the granddaughter-to-be probably did not realize anything was wrong.  Yet, in the slip of a foot . . . the potential of serious injury and problems was there.  And, it scares the bejeebers out of you . . . you imagine the worse and expect the best.

The daughter immediately wanted to call Mommy and Daddy, but refrained . . . until later in the day.  When she did she shared all those feelings of helplessness as the accident happened.  She shared how scared she was that something had happened to the unborn baby as they were entering into the third trimester.  Shared how mad she was at herself for having fallen down.  Shared all those things every parent has ever felt when things suddenly fly out of their control . . . life is fragile.

I think that all of us get so busy living life that we sometime forget how fragile life really is . . . how it can change in the blink of an eye.  With Amber’s death . . . and all the traveling I do on the roads . . . I suddenly had to stop and thank God how lucky I have been in all my travels . . . that could have been me.  The Lord knows how many close encounters there have been.  With the couple from the congregation I serve . . . as I get older my body gets more defiant . . . it announces its aches and pains with more force . . . and reminds me that entrophy waits for no one.  What works today might be gone tomorrow.  One never knows what tomorrow will bring when going to bed at night.  So far, I have been lucky.  And, with the daughter’s unwanted trip . . . well, one never gives up the natural tendency of a parent to want to protect his or her children.  My reaction was one of sadness as I was not there to protect her or my granddaughter . . . sadness that I could not bring them comfort . . . sadness to assure her that everything was okay . . . that she was not the first person in the history of parenthood to trip, fall, and bang up the kids in the process.  Shoot, two of her brothers are lucky to be alive today after I dropped them!  Hmmmm . . . might explain a little about them as adults now.  But, the fact is all these things served as a reminder how most of us take life for granted and forget how fragile life really is.

To fully live is tough business.  It is not easy as Mr. Sandburg reminds us . . . sometimes life is so tough it makes us cry.  That is a part of life, too.  I think the problem is that most of us have short-term memory problems.  That we forget these moments when we are confronted with the fragileness of life and how quickly it can change . . . forget because we do not want to acknowledge that it could happen to us.  No one is promised that bad things will not happen . . . and, they do.  And, when they do, another layer of life is peeled back to be exposed, and we cry.  We cry for what is lost.  We cry for what mystery and change lies before us.  Cry for what we once were and will no longer be.  And, then . . .

. . . we jump back in and start living once again.  At least that is what God hopes that we do.  Maybe it is not a short-term memory problem, maybe it is a faith thing . . . a faith thing that is built on trusting in God to carry us through the fragileness of life . . . to carry us through the changes, crises, and problems thrown our way . . . or at least the knowledge to know that we are not alone, that God is with us all the way.  Maybe because we do remember God’s presence we jump back in with two feet and live.  I don’t think that I really know the answer to the question . . . despite the wonderfully mixed metaphors!  I don’t know the answers, but I know that the reality of it all is . . . life is fragile.

In these moments when we are reminded that life is fragile, we receive a gift and blessing.  The gift and blessing is in the moment that reminds us that we are living, breathing, and existing in the wonderful world that God has created . . . that we are embracing life to its fullest and most beautiful with all that we can . . . and, that this is what God wants us to do.  Life is a gift and blessing, but it is a fragile one we must respect, honor, and treat well . . . by moving forward.  It just hurts when we are reminded . . . life is fragile . . . sometimes we cry . . . but we must always strive to live it to its fullest.  God expects nothing less.