Photo: Ice cream parlour
But friendship is precious, not only in the shade, but in the sunshine of life; and thanks to a benevolent arrangement of things, the greater part of life is sunshine.
Thomas Jefferson
Category: Black and white
Memories in Sepia
Photo: Sepia roses
I tried my hand at my version of vintage-style photography this week. I like the juxtaposition of something new and fresh encased in a historical frame.
When I was a child I thought the second world war took place in black and white. That idea probably came from watching the old TV show about the war narrated by Walter Cronkhite- the one on Sunday afternoons that started with a big picture of the Rock of Gibraltar. Even as an adult I am surprised when I see photos of the war years in colour.
In a way, I suppose all history is written in black and white. So many colourful nuances are left out of historical accounts. What made masses of regular people believe certain ideas? Why did they choose to make the choices to follow the leaders they did? What made some cultures xenophobic or aggressive or peaceful? Who convinced some that genocide or infant sacrifice or slavery was a good idea? What was going on in the mind of an ordinary woman as she stirred the pottage, or a man as he mended a door hinge?
Historical accounts are rarely accurate, of course, since they are written by the winners and don’t take dissenter’s opinions into account. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian who worked behind the scenes (aka a spy) to bring down a regime he saw as evil, is one example of many who opposed what was happening in his country. Current history writers (the winners) remove his traitor status, but that label hung him on the gallows in his own time.
I was on a jury that heard the testimony of thirty-two people who witnessed the same shooting. Amazingly no two versions were the same. When I read newspaper accounts later I wondered if the reporter and I were at the same trial. His perception of what took place was so different from mine. That month was a dramatic lesson in how people’s minds screened truth. I do believe the majority of witnesses were trying to be factual (although most were seriously drunk at the scene of the crime) but I tended to believe the ones who revealed their own weaknesses, and included details about which way the door opened and not being able to see faces clearly because of back-lighting, rather than the ones who saw themselves as heroes but couldn’t remember if they drove home “after imbibing.”
History, as we are taught it, may not be fully accurate in detail, but it does teach us about patterns and cycles. We are foolish to ignore those patterns. Mark Twain said something like, “History may not repeat itself, but it rhymes.” If the people holed up in David Koresh’ compound in Waco, Texas had known the strikingly similar story of the people holed up in Munster, Westphalia in the 16th century would they have used the same tactics? Would the government sponsored assailants have repeated the same type of seige? Has anyone noticed the pattern in history of proclaiming a group of humans “non-persons” in the process of trying to excuse their annihilation? Historically what has happened when people are fed messages of fear over and over? What has happened when political leaders are more relied upon for safety and provision than God? Why are people surprised when ones they hand power to, expecting them to save us, tend to usurp more power and start acting like gods? (That power corrupts must be one of the most often repeated lessons in history.)
The Bible says to teach your children their history. It includes enough details about the failings and faults of so many characters to make it quite believable to me. Bible heroes were also cowards, adulterers, drunks, thieves, slave masters, perjurers, and power-delusioned wretches like the rest of us. We can learn from them, or we can repeat the same mistakes.
The roses I photographed yesterday will be blown next week. A photo-shopped sepia memory exists, and now that I’ve posted it may be flung out into cyberspace in perpetuity. It’s not exactly how they looked (they were actually softy pink) but they are recognizable as roses –and they have taught me something.
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Family business
Photo: a tired building
I think the current church at large is like a business with an assignment from head office.
I see us divided into four main departments:
Those who talk about how their great-great-great-great-grandparents did it. Big on costume dramas and protocol.
Those who keep studying new translations of the instruction manual (from the Japanese) and rarely get off the cautions page. Only pop out of the book long enough to tell the other departments what they are doing wrong. Big on memos.
Those who see the need and urgency of the task. They put a lot of effort into recruiting new staff because there is a high turn-over of burnt-out employees exhausted from trying to do something/anything with the proceeds of lemonade stands and car-washes. Big on heart-wrenching commercials.
Those who are busy zapping each other with the power tools they found in the box that came with the manual. Often found lying on the floor, frizzy-haired and vibrating with that finger-in-the-socket look. Big on topping each others stories of finding cool new tools and wads of cash.
Then there are a large number who are still listed as employees who don’t fit anywhere, those who are disillusioned or frustrated or have been wounded in the cross fire, those who work from home, (or a mountainside, or fishing boat – or bed) and just check their emails once in a while.
Each department holds regular pep rallies or potlucks to tell each other why they are the best and why the other departments are off the rails. If abundant food (and especially dessert) is involved more people show up for these meetings.
A few try to bridge the gap and communicate with all departments. They tend to be familiar with the smell of tar and feathers.
When are we going to quit competing with each other, seek the CEO and listen to His point of view, ask Him to bring an intervention, allow Him to show us where we have gone off the rails, admit it, and change — and then get his show in the road?
End rant.
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A light in the hall
Photo: Light arises in the dark
“Nana, leave the door open a little bit.”
My little granddaughter always reminds me, when I have the joy of tucking her in bed, that part of the ritual is adjusting the door to her specifications. She doesn’t like darkness. Who does?
When the door is shut and light is blocked out the things we fear the most begin to stir under the bed. We hear them stretch and yawn in the closet. They slip out from behind the curtains. They tap against the window.
My husband, brilliant scientist that he is, reminded me this week that darkness has no power over light. You cannot aim darkness at light and see the light dim. There is no such thing as a flashdark.
The only way we can create total darkness is to intentionally block out every source of light.
I remember visiting the Lewis and Clark caverns when I was a child. Deep in the earth the guide turned off the lights to demonstrate real darkness. Even this was not total darkness since my dad had glow-in-the-dark hands on the watch on his wrist.
I hear people talk about how we need to be aware of dark times approaching, how we need to be aware of dark spirits where we least expect them, how we need to be aware of the lies and secrets hiding in the dark corners of our hearts. As they focus on these things I see fear stirring under the bed; I hear hopelessness yawning in the closet; I see despair slip out from behind the curtains; I sense paranoia tapping on the window.
Every Sunday we begin our service by having a child light a candle and say, “Jesus is the light of the world.” Every Sunday, because we need to be reminded not to shut out the light.
Psalm 112 tells us how to leave the door open enough to remind us that Abba Father never sleeps and keeps watch over us.
Blessed is the man who fears the Lord,
who greatly delights in his commandments!
His offspring will be mighty in the land;
the generation of the upright will be blessed.
Wealth and riches are in his house,
and his righteousness endures forever.
Light dawns in the darkness for the upright;
he is gracious, merciful, and righteous.
It is well with the man who deals generously and lends;
who conducts his affairs with justice.
For the righteous will never be moved;
he will be remembered forever.
He is not afraid of bad news;
his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.
His heart is steady; he will not be afraid,
until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.
He has distributed freely; he has given to the poor;
his righteousness endures forever;
his horn is exalted in honor.
The wicked man sees it and is angry;
he gnashes his teeth and melts away;
the desire of the wicked will perish!
Psalm 112
When we remain constantly aware of Holy Spirit’s presence and the riches of His goodness and faithfulness we can afford to be gracious, merciful and righteous.We give out of the overflow of our hearts.
We can be a source of light in the world.
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As a mother
Photo: Precious
Mother’s Day can be horribly painful for some people.
I held more than one sobbing child in the big rocking chair during the darkest nights of their little lives. More than once I heard, “Why doesn’t my mommy love me?”
As a foster parent my own heart was torn up by the pain of little ones whose mothers chose alcohol or drugs over their kids, and with one exception all of the 24 children who arrived on our doorstep were there because their mothers’ own pain left them with nothing left to give. In the midst of drowning fear and emptiness they forgot their kids. It was hard to forgive them sometimes, but I realized that a person can’t give what they have never received, and these moms needed to be loved themselves.
God understands that too.
“Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you. (Isaiah 49:15)
None of us were parented perfectly. Even the most outstanding mother in the world has moments when her own deficits get in the way. That’s when Abba–Daddy-Father God, our Mother, can fill in. The Bible speaks of his gentle nurturing motherliness –something beyond gender.
For thus says the Lord:
“Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river,
and the glory of the nations like an overflowing stream;
and you shall nurse, you shall be carried upon her hip,
and bounced upon her knees.
As one whom his mother comforts,
so I will comfort you;
you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.
You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
your bones shall flourish like the grass;
and the hand of the Lord shall be known to his servants,
and he shall show his indignation against his enemies. (Isaiah 66: 12-14)
More than a foster parent he adopts us and makes us full heirs. This is why I love adoption. It is a picture of being chosen and of lives redeemed by a perfect parent –without age limit.
Sometimes he also uses someone else with skin on to be an agent of this grace.
Paul wrote: For we never came with words of flattery, as you know, nor with a pretext for greed— God is witness. Nor did we seek glory from people, whether from you or from others, though we could have made demands as apostles of Christ. But we were gentle among you, like a nursing mother taking care of her own children. So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us. (1 Thessalonians 23: 5-8)
A few years ago I wrote a hymn for Mother’s Day recognizing God as a mother and thanking him for all the “mothers” –biological, fostering, adopting, step-parenting, hosting, caring and mentoring (regardless of gender) he has put in our lives who have nurtured us in some way.
As a Mother
As a mother, on whose bosom,
rests a child in total trust,
so, oh Lord, You love and comfort
‘til our earth-bound fears are hushed.
As a mother guides and teaches
little children to obey
so, oh Lord, you firmly tell us,
“Listen child to what I say.”
As a mother waits with weeping
for a child who’s gone astray,
so, oh Lord, You wait with longing
‘til we find our homeward way.
As a mother who rejoices
when her child says, “I love you,”
so, oh Lord, Your heart rejoices
when we sing, “We love You too.”
We, your children, come before You
to give honour and to praise.
Thank you for the precious “mothers”
who have shown Your loving ways.
Help us, Lord, to love and nurture
those entrusted to our care,
‘til as one united family
we will live together there.
(suggested tune setting: The Welsh folksong, “Suo-Gan” )
God is good.
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Begging to Differ
Photo: Even Calvin and Hobbes don’t always see eye to eye
What? Somebody on the internet is wrong? Well, cancel my appointments and hold my calls! I’ll straighten him out! He is probably a _____ist and you know what _____ism can lead to!
Wait. I’m trying to change.
I don’t want to go back to the days when I was told by a rather stifling range of fearful clergy and “Totalled and less-than-Fascinating Women” my husband’s opinion was my opinion (a situation which left one of us not only depressed, but redundant). When, after decade or two, my feistiness finally burst forth more than one innocent bystander was left wondering what the heck that was all about.
But…
On the one hand, my opinion –and I do have one- (As Ellen DeGeneres wrote) needs expression, even if it is subject to change.
On the other hand, the problem with winning a game of intellectual king of the hill is that the winner takes his or her prize alone.
I’m not a career academic as many of my nearest and dearest are. Debate was considered to be disrespectful and was verboten in my family of origin (even the verbs were passive). Perhaps it started when the priest grabbed my momma by the nose and dragged out of her seat to the chair of shame in front of the other catechism students. She questioned something he said. Momma had a substantial Cleopatra-style nose which she hated, and after that day hated even more. She never stuck it in church business again and instilled the same rule against questioning clergy in us, but in the business of people she considered under her command? Well, her opinions lived large. Papa just wanted a conflict-free zone.
Imagine my shock when I married into a family whose favourite form of entertainment was recreational argument. Now I understand the academic inclination to hypothesize, criticize, revise and go at ‘er again, but at the time it seemed to me that verbal volleyball in the dining room took out a lot of light fixtures and left the participants with creamed ideas splotching their shirts and clots of mashed opinions resting in their hair. The crazy part came when the discussion began to reach resolution. They would switch sides and keep going. Politics, sex, religion, health, science, the cost of tea in China –even the weather, served as shuttlecocks. If you said, “Nice day,” someone would bat back, “Not really,” and wait for your return.
Few people enjoy arguing like that because few people can detach themselves from their ideas (including these guys). An attack on an idea can feel like an attack on identity. Have you noticed the average number of posts it takes for an internet conversation to descend from “I disagree” to “You’re a _____”? On some news sites it’s about one.
I’m fascinated by the Moravians of Herrnhut. They kept a continuous corporate prayer vigil going 24/7 for a hundred years. Before the dramatic experience of the Holy Spirit showing up in their midst with all the same weird and unexpected special effects that shook the early church in Jerusalem, the Moravians taking refuge on Count Zinzendorf’s property were as schism-ridden as churches tend to be now. The motto they adopted after the Holy Spirit event was, “In essentials, unity; in nonessentials, liberty; and in all things, love.” They lived it, went on to accomplish amazing things for the kingdom of God –and conveyed the good news of hope and new life to many.
The Bible says:
Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17
By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:35
We need both –sharpening and refining, but above all to be motivated by love.
If we want to learn we need to hear and discuss opinions other than our own.
If we want unity we must relinquish the need to always be right about everything.
If we want to love and build each other up we need to agree on essentials and respectfully disagree when we perceive dangerous ideas sneaking in. Love does not always look away, but we need to leave room for people in process, including ourselves. It’s called grace.
In my humble opinion.
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Letting Go
And Forgive Us our Debts
Nothing left to give.
Look into my empty sack,
my empty jar.
See my cold black torch.
How am I to live?
I cannot pay back what I owe
‘til I get payback for my lack.
And they took it.
They squandered it.
They spent my joy on riots.
They spent my innocence on games.
They threw my peace on the bonfire
and danced around it.
Let go
I’ve squeezed my eyes until they bled,
I’ve held my breath
until my heart pounded on death’s door —
still I cannot disappear
into the disheveled dirt bed
And here you are
–and you want more.
How dare you?
How dare you, God?
How dare you?
How dare you shove
your saber hand into my chest
and divide spent spirit from sullied soul
to reach the hissing python.
Let go
I can’t let go!
It’s only anger —
it’s only hate
that coiled around my crooked spine
enables me to stand up straight
and curse them!
Let go
Aren’t you gentle Jesus
meek and mild?
Go take your love to some purer child.
And stop that!
You’re hurting me!
Let go
They poached my song!
They caught my rhyme!
They raped my soul!
They took my time!
They grabbed my mind
and jammed it on a fearsome pike –as a warning.
They took my gates forever.
I’ve damned the light
and sealed the sash
with dark green plastic meant for trash.
What good are thickened walls of stone
when the door’s been burned to ash.
Let go
The bill’s right here;
I have kept track.
My hands will tighten ‘round their necks.
My hands are strong —
they’ll not be slack
‘til I get everything I lack.
Give it back!
Give it back!
Give it back!
Let go
You let go!
I’m offended by this “loving hand”
that feels more like a gunshot wound.
Let go
I can’t let go!
I won’t let go!
I don’t want to let go!
They owe me!
Let go
Help me.
Let go
You know if I let go it will kill me.
I know
It’s hard.
I can’t fill your hands until you empty them.
Who is going to help me?
I am.
(This poem was written about one of the toughest steps in healing from chronic depression –forgiveness. To me forgiveness is about letting go of legitimate debts owed me and allowing God to supply my needs.)
Charis: Subject to Change 