That can't be right, can it?

...if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved. As the Scripture says, "Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame." For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile — the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved."
(the apostle Paul's letter to the Romans, chapter 10, verses 9-13, NIV)

I heard this reading in church on Sunday, and I had to write to you, buddy. Surely there must be a mistake, brother Paul... maybe it was because you were writing this letter to the Romans, and not to us faithful folks. You're just watering down your message for those heathens, right?

I mean, come on ... don't I have to DO something? Don't I have to clean up my language, get holy as God is holy? Don't I at least have to come to church, sing in the choir, serve, tithe...do *something*?

And that word EVERYONE? Don't you mean everyone who comes to church, o wonderful apostle Paul, o former dispenser of the Law? Or everyone who believes as we believe? Folks who worship as we worship? The ones who use the right hymnal?

Didn't you mean to say, "everyone who is righteous?", Paul? The good folks - like us? The ones who pay our taxes and live good lives and send our kids to school? The respectable ones? I mean, what if we had to let the rifraf in? Those sinful folks, Paul? What kind of church would we have then?

And you really slipped a cog with putting the word "Gentile" in there, brother Paul! I mean, come on - those people are sinners, bubba - sinners with a capital "S"! They're disgusting! They eat filth, they don't know how to cleanse themselves, their very LIFESTYLES are abominations! We wouldn't even let them into the temple! We certainly wouldn't dare let them be priests or servants in worship! So if they can't even be a part of our church, how can they POSSIBLY get into Heaven?

But there it is. In our Scripture.

Believe in your heart, and you are saved.

No difference between observant Jew and disgusting Gentile. None. No wiggle room there. Their practices, much as we despise them, don't keep them out.

"Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved." No asterisk, no footnote, no escape clause, nothing. No matter what anyone else tells you, it's there in the Bible. The Bible we all profess as the inspired word of God.

Everyone.

Even you.

And yes, even me.

People who normally would not mix

We are average Americans. All sections of this country and many of its occupations are represented, as well as many political, economic, social, and religious backgrounds. We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful. We are like the passengers of a great liner the moment after rescue from shipwreck when camaraderie, joyousness and democracy pervade the vessel from steerage to Captain's table. Unlike the feelings of the ship's passengers, however, our joy in escape from disaster does not subside as we go our individual ways. The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us.
(from Alcoholics Anonymous, "There Is A Solution," p. 17)

My friend and co-worker Dave G.'s last day as an employee of The Evil Empire is today. He hasn't even left yet, and I miss him already. But as I contemplated our brief time together, I thought of this passage from the AA text, and how it also applies to my relationship with Dave, as well.

I was at an AA meeting Thursday night when I thought of Dave. My sponsor, Bob S., and I were talking with a new guy named Jon at the end of the meeting. Jon was 25 (maybe), a college dropout, and only 12 days sober; then there was me, nearly 50, 16 years in recovery, and a college graduate; and Bob S. is 76, nearly 46 years sober, and a life-long tool-and-die man who didn't finish 8th grade. Bob's known me since my first night in the fellowship; we'd never seen Jon before.

Yet we understood each other perfectly, because we had been given common experiences which gave us a special fellowship and a common "language of the heart."

In many ways, it is the same with my young friend Dave and I. Dave is 23 today (happy birthday, brother!) and I am a month away from fifty. Dave naturally multi-tasks on about twenty different channels, while I have trouble walking and chewing gum at the same time. (A geek friend of mine would say that Dave is definitely USB 2.0, while I am closer to RS-232 serial.) He is a trim, attractive young man in the prime of life - and I am (to be kind) somewhat past that. He is quite comfortable with social drinking - he will likely never grace the tables of the fellowship that I attend regularly.

Externally, we could not be more different.

I've only worked with Dave for about 8 months now - and due to the virtual nature of our work, I think I've only actually met him in person about twice in all that time. But like so many virtual friendships I've already made across the blogosphere, we've managed to develop a special relationship despite the physical distance.

Poor Dave was recruited to The Evil Empire out of college in June; I came here after my ministry career plans soured, eight months earlier. Dave got drafted onto The Client from Hell team, and sometime in his first week or two he got stuck with me, as I was (a) trying desperately to get our weekly payroll operations completed and (b) trying to provide him with a mind-dump of what I knew about the operation and the system we'd been stuck with.

It's a tribute to his durability and resilience that he didn't run screaming from the building....

The crucible that forged our friendship was a series of crushing system failures, our impending year-end processing, the simultaneous effort of recoding a significant portion of our system, and his providing technology to Band-Aid our system together until the recoding was complete. As part of his trying to create specifications out of thin air for the "panic-code" projects we needed, Dave and I spent a lot of time on the phone and in instant-message-land. We discovered a common love for science fiction, dry humor and a certain level of cynicism, and an appreciation for just how much good material Dilbert would have found at our firm. Dave's experiences with many of the folks in EE-Land (like my own) have often been very much like this classic comic:










Which brings me back to my opening quote: We are people who normally would not mix... The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us.

It's true that if we had met at a restaurant, or a theatre performance, we would likely never have connected. But we have been through wind, and rain, and fire together - and I have to say it has been a blessing to "trudge the road of happy destiny" with him. In fact, I don't know that I would have made it through without his help - period.

When he first told me of the call from the recruiter, and the offer of a much more lucrative position, he said something to the effect of, "Leaving the job won't be hard - but it will be tough leaving the people" - and I know that many people feel the same way about him. It's amazing that when people of goodwill band together to do good things, a special bond forms that (like the rope of three strands) is not easily broken.

Though Dave's last day as a fellow employee is today, the virtual community of the Internet will ensure that we will be no further apart than email or instant messaging. He will join the binary band of sisters and brothers I have been blessed with in the virtual world - digital disciples working toward a more peaceable kingdom. But in our little band of co-workers, he will leave a hole not easily filled, and I will miss the laughter at work most of all.

The words of singer/songwriter Wayne Watson, perhaps, say it best:

Sometimes I'll think about you
Some old memories'll make me cry
Remembering the good times makes me laugh
But all in all, I'm richer for the happy and the sad
And thankful for a season in your path.

Fare thee well on all the roads thou must travel, my young wizard friend...

Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly

Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

(just a few of the promises from the text Alcoholics Anonymous, page 84)

If you were outside Wednesday evening about 5 PM Eastern time (4 PM Central) and you heard a great sucking sound followed by a loud pop!, I can tell you all about it. I know what that sound was.

It was the sound of loving hands helping me to pull my head out of my ass about my employment situation.

For more than three months, I and my co-workers have been led through a seemingly unending series of crises at The Evil Empire. The carrot at the end of the stick that led me to put in more than 300 hours of unpaid overtime in the last quarter of the year (leading up to my hospitalization January 5th) was the promise that the Empire would "make it up to us," with some kind of financial compensation. What each of us heard was variations on this line: "I know that it's been difficult, and I know you've been putting in impossible hours - but we'll work to make it up to you in the new year."

And then, the second week of January, the person who had provided this assurance was abruptly slid out of managing our team, and those promises were deferred. Then they were rejected by our former manager's boss. The expectation that we would continue to breathe life into the ongoing processes through working late into the night every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday didn't go away. Just the promise of any kind of compensation or flex-time-off for it. Our position was getting a wee bit ambiguous, to say the least.

So I sent the obligatory "here's what we've done for you lately" memo, and suggested that if we were going to be expected to keep doing this, we needed a different compensation model.

Silence from the camp of the princes and knights. Growing annoyance in the camp of the squires.

So I sent a second copy of the email - with a read-receipt attached, this time. A swift response to this one - basically saying, "Hey, I've been busy. But you should know that these positions are salaried, exempt positions. That's what you signed up for. And exempt positions are not eligible for overtime or bonuses. Oh, and by the way, you guys shouldn't have to be doing all this stuff anyway - don't know what you were thinking when you agreed to do it. I'll call you later and we'll talk about it."

I re-read his email, and I thought, "Well, that is many things - but it is certainly not ambiguous."

I got angry. How dare they do this to me, after all I've done for them! Then I got a fleeting dose of reality. I put on my CSI:Miami glasses, and looked very carefully at all the evidence - all the timecard entries, all the software and all the files. And guess what? An objective examination showed that everything that had hurt me had my fingerprints on them. No weapons had been pointed, no poison threatened. No GSR anywhere. If I had any wounds out of this deal, they were entirely self-inflicted.

Selfishness - self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles. Driven by a hundred forms of fear, self-delusion, self-seeking, and self-pity, we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate. Sometimes they hurt us, seemingly without provocation, but we invariably find that at some time in the past we have made decisions based on self which later placed us in a position to be hurt.
So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own making. (ibid, p. 62)

It seems that my twisted logic went like this: if I were just selfless enough, willing enough, committed enough, and just fixed enough, saved them from the fire enough, then surely they would have no choice but to reward extraordinary effort with extraordinary rewards, eh?

/sigh/

(The sad part is, I am the one who keeps taking the institutional church to task for being stuck in the 1950's. But evidently my work ethic and motivation comes out of that same twisted history...I just think it should "work," in my case. Bleah.)

Well, after passing through anger, denial, and self-examination, the humiliation led me to just a wee dose of humility, and a massive dose of depression. I got vastly demotivated to do much of anything.

And the combination of all those things led to that great sucking sound, and that pop, I referred to earlier.

And I surrendered.



So today, at work, I didn't kill myself responding to anyone today. And by the time dinner-time came in northwest Ohio, I was logging off from whatever passes as "virtual reality" at my employer. No "hey, I'm leaving," no explanation. Just "Take me off the grill; I'm done." Watched a little CSI:Miami with my brother in law. Went to the Thursday night men's meeting, and told them of my uncomfortable revelations. Came home, had dinner with the family, and here I am.

I am still grateful for my job, to be sure. I am still employed, I still got paid this week, and I still have benefits. (There are 13,000 Chrysler workers who would gladly swap with me, today. ) The vast majority of my co-workers think that what I do has value, even if my managment does not. It didn't take another trip to St. Luke's Hospital to get here, this time. I'm still sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober. This lesson didn't cost as much as others I have learned from....I am still a very, very, very blessed man, still very much in the bonus round.

So, later on today, it's back to the exercise routine. And I'll suit up, show up, and give 'em a full day - but no more, and let the chips fall where they may. There is a God, and They are not it.

When we sincerely took such a position, all sorts of remarkable things followed. We had a new Employer. Being all powerful, He provided what we needed, if we kept close to Him and performed His work well. Established on such a footing we became less and less interested in ourselves, our little plans and designs. More and more we became interested in seeing what we could contribute to life. As we felt new power flow in, as we enjoyed peace of mind, as we discovered we could face life successfully, as we became conscious of His presence, we began to lose our fear of today, tomorrow or the hereafter. We were reborn.

May it be, even unto me, God. Amen.

Winter wonderland, finally

So this was the scene outside Casa de Ragamuffin this morning. This is looking out our garage, at Sue's car, with about 18" drift, and a 3-foot drift across the neighbors' garage area.

It was hardly a blizzard - that's defined as "a violent snowstorm with winds blowing at a minimum speed of 35 miles (56 kilometers) per hour and visibility of less than one-quarter mile (400 meters) for three hours."

But here in Waterville, it became a level 3 snow emergency briefly - where if you're not a law-enforcement, rescue or medical-facility staffer, you are not supposed to be on the road. Highways were closed due to icing and snow-pack, and wrecks were everywhere.

The weird part, though, was the way the snow got blown around. In our neighbor's driveway, right next to the car, there was a pure bare spot in the middle - no snow at all. There were several places where bare pavement was set right next to 2-3-foot drifts.

Thank God, no commute, all the comforts of home. The 15-35 mph winds are showing us where our windows are in need of repair or recauling, though...

People like Poor Mad Peter, my blogging brother from Thunder Bay, Ontario, will just scoff. Peter has already recorded actual temperatures lower than -40 C (at -40, Fahrenheit and Celsius scales actually cross!). But at -3 F, I'm glad I'm here, and they are there...

We are safe, warm, and tucked in for the night. For what it's worth, Happy Valentines' Day.

A place of welcome

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Matthew 22:36-39, NIV)

Rick said we should live missional lives, that we should intentionally befriend people who were different than us. I didn't like the sound of that, to be honest. I didn't want to befriend people just to trick them into going to my church. Rick said that was not what he was talking about. He said he was talking about loving people just because they exist - homeless people and Goth people and gays and fruit-nuts. And then I liked the sound of it. I liked the idea of loving people just to love them, not to get them to come to church. If the subject of church came up, I could tell them about our church, but until then, who cared. So we started praying every week that God would teach us to live missional lives, to notice people who needed to be loved.

(Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Non-Religious Thoughts About Christian Spirituality, page 135)

Over the years, I've heard so many people say, "How can we connect with the culture, with the community? How can we reach others for Christ?" Rick, the leader of Imago-Dei, the small church that Donald Miller attended, seemed to have the right idea.

But how many times have we as a church prayed that God would teach us to live missional lives? How many times have we as a congregation prayed for those around us, who need to be loved?

So many times, the mainstream church has had the attitude made famous in the movie "Field of Dreams" - "If we build it, they will come." We build a beautiful edifice; we put out attractive signage; a great Yellow Pages ad; news articles in the paper; flyers and notices in our weekly bulletins. And then we ask the question: "We've built the place - why won't they come?"

Could it be that we (as the Church) are asking the wrong Person?

I can only give you one person's perspective, in one context. In Toledo, 90% of the AA meetings are held in churches; one local church I know of hosts AA meetings Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. But there is nothing I have seen in any church so far that specifically invites the community of recovery to fellowship, worship, or provides any other service besides a meeting place.

I have seen one particularly smug sign - in my sister's inlaw's LC-MS church here in Toledo - that I find particularly offensive:

Free coffee. Eternal life.
Yes, membership has its benefits.
The message is, of course, that church members get free coffee and eternal life - and those who are outside the pale are, of course, bereft of those things. Interesting message, of course, given the attitude of Jesus toward the established church in the Gospels...words like "snakes...viper's brood" come to mind. Not to mention that Jesus had much more concern for people than he ever did for institutions and buildings...

Here's the sign I wish I could see on the wall of even one of the churches where I attend meetings:

Questioning? Seeking?
Wondering how to connect with this Higher Power?

So are we.
It's what we do.

Why not join us on the journey?
It doesn't matter where you come from.
You're welcome here.

(The closest I have ever come to that is this series of ads, which brings me to tears every time I watch them.)

And then it would be really, really cool to see a seeker-friendly service - even a prayer service - open and accessible enough that even the most timid souls would find themselves welcome.

I know - it's a dream. Probably a hopeless dream. But most of the ideas that changed the world started with an impossible dream, I guess.

God of love, open our hearts to those who need to be drawn in, welcomed, helped, and loved. And help us to remember that it doesn't matter if they never come to church, if they never sing in the choir or do anything for us. Show us the ones who need to see you, Lord God. And then help us show You to them, through our love. Amen.

Prayers for healing....

Too much illness, I'm afraid...

Beyond my own health concerns, a number of friends are struggling as well. My blog-sister Penni is struggling with both pneumonia and conjunctivitis in both eyes (yuck-o-rama, sister!). Her own mom has been dealing with all kinds of health issues, too. My sister and brother-in-law's health has been sagging lately - at precisely the time that their temporary health insurance has run out.

In addition, my adoptive sister Sandy in Kansas is dealing with asthma, and my aunt Roma in New York has been generally failing for some time. My brother-of-the-heart in Kansas City, Mike M., has been fighting shingles and emphysema and various other ailments - and for the last little while, the ailments seem to be winning.

I tell people of faith what's going on, and they say, "Well, you gotta just pray for them!"

Well, duh. No kidding?

The problem is, I have struggled for years with faith healings - running between faith, trust, and complete disbelief, at times. For a long time, faith healings (and the lack thereof) was one of the biggest stumbling blocks to belief that I had.

I have seen truly Godless people being spontaneously healed, while incredibly Godly folks, dedicated servant ministers, were prayed for day and night and still died - often horrible, senseless deaths. I kept wanting to ask God, "OK, whose side are you on, anyway?"

The worst was the loving wife of a minister, who was herself a powerful preacher and music minister. At the time when their church was reaching out in powerful ways to the middle-class black community in suburban Kansas City, cancer swept through her like a wild-fire. There were prayer vigils and prayer chains and prayers without number; faith healers; anointing with oil; laying on of hands. Nothing. In no time at all, she died. A family lost a mother and a grandmother; a church lost a preacher and a music minister; and a whole lot of people lost a friend who knew Christ in a powerful way.

It made me insane. I completely understand the envy, and the "what the heck did she, or I, do to not make it on this particular train, Lord?" Because trust me - this woman did NOT die to to a lack of faith. If faith was the answer to healing, the whole city would have been healed on her faith alone!

The one who saves me from the fire on this particular topic is Nicky Gumbel, of the oft-maligned Alpha Course, who had perhaps the best words I've heard on praying for healing:

When we prayed for no one, no one was healed. When we prayed for people, some were healed, and some were not. We have no answer for the whys and wherefores, but now I pray for everyone, hoping that some prayers will be answered.

A dear friend also suggested to me that there is a big difference between prayers of supplication where I turn my prayer concern over to God and let it go, and praying just to manipulate God into giving me what I want. Ouch. There are many days I still can't find the line between those two. I know beyond any doubt that I know how to do the latter much better than the former.

And then there are the words from singer Wayne Watson's old classic, "Home Free:"

Out in the corridor,
We pray for life
A mother for her baby
A husband for his wife
Sometimes the good die young
It's sad but true
But while we pray for one more heartbeat
The real comfort is in You

You know, pain has little mercy
And suff'rings no respecter or age
Of rank or position
I know that every prayer gets answered
But the hardest one to pray
Is slow to come
"O Lord, not mine
But your will be done....

Yeah, no kidding, Wayne. When I heard of Penni's illness, I told her, "I keep telling God, 'You're not checking my list!' And the fact that I even have a list is a good sign that I'm not quite all there, spiritually..."

In the end, I have to come back to the simple answer: God is God, and I am not. This side of the final trumpet, I will never know the "whys." All I can do is sing and pray Wayne Watson's chorus:

Home free
Eventually
At the ultimate healing
We will be home free...

Real life, real hurts

You show me someone with significant pain, and no signficiant grace, & I'll show you someone who has withdrawn from the human enterprise in one way or another. And if you show me someone with signficiant grace, and no significant pain - no scars whatsoever - I'll show you someone so slick, you wouldn't buy a used car from 'em. (Eugene Lowry, "Jazz & Christianity")

My virtual brother-of-the-heart, Rick Luoni, has a great post over at a new life emerging about Joel Osteen. In Rick's typical, gentle way, he doesn't slam Osteen - but he points out how sugary-sweet, "life is GOOD!" stuff may sell books and draw folks, but it just ain't real life. Not to him, and not to me. His post led to my comment, and I couldn't help but post it here as well.

Joel Osteen, and folks like him, always call Gene Lowry's quote to mind. People who are just full of honey and vanilla simply creep me out...even though there are people who are good, kind, and seemingly loving folks who are that way. They may be honest, open, caring folks - but they sure as hell don't live in my world.

The first pastor I ever really listened to was the first person in a collar who I ever, ever remembered admitting doubt from the pulpit. (That story is back here, if you're interested...) The folks whose spiritual journey speak the loudest are the ones whose scars show the clearest. I'm so glad that I found life in the church and life in the community of recovery at the same time - because I needed both of them to find God.

Interestingly, Pastor Tom's wife was one of those sunshiney folks to me, for quite a while. It just seemed that nothing could faze her. Later, as I got closer to her, I learned that nothing could be less true - it was just her faith kept dragging her back to the sunshine side of the street. But she struggled with Tom's illness, with her mother's dementia, and with her church's stumbling toward faith. (To be honest, though, her faith witness looked a lot more real to me once I saw her struggles.)

My buddy Dave G. is one of the very few co-workers I have shared this blog with (because I understand the term Dooced). Though he is less than half my age, and I've only met him a few times in person, we've found a neat "virtual" bond across the miles, it seems. He sent me an instant message yesterday, saying he had gone back and read some of my older posts, which touched me (though I told him he really needed to get a life...). His comment made me smile: "You've had a hell of a life."

It's true - and yet I hope that even through the "hell of a life," he also saw signs of heaven, for there has been much of that. It is that balance that Gene Lowry talked about, between pain and grace...a balance I don't always maintain, but always strive toward. Even as I struggle with work, and what direction to take (and the willingness to take it) I have to admit that there is sunshine in the midst of all the mudslinging and sewage. If I'd not been at this job, I'd not have touched a whole bunch of folks - and I've had that reinforced time and time again since my hospital stay. So it seems I'm still very much "in the bonus round."

I am very much the doubting Thomas - even though Jesus is not here for me to touch his wounds. But when I see my sisters and brothers in Christ, and find just enough of them who are willing to show their scars, I can find my way back to the One whose wounds saved me.

Perhaps, that is an answer I have been searching for to the question I have struggled with mightily of late: "Why even go to church at all?" Perhaps it is simply to go and be a part of something... to sift through the flawed humanity, the politics, struggle, hypocrisy and rituals in order to find those folks who can show their wounds, and through their wounds find Christ in them. (That's something to think about a lot more, later...)

Fact is, the world is painful. The world hurts. If you are unhurt, then I'd guess you are probably unengaged with the world. Jesus came to earth - even though he knew in the end it would kill him.

You won't hear it from Joel Osteen, but you will here it from Jesus:

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
(John 16:33, NIV)

Now that will preach.

Listening to powerful voices

My first day back to work today was a reasonably sane day - although there are rumblings on the horizon that are still saying, "Head for the lifeboats." We will see, and try taking the next right action...

But today, I need to step aside and share with you some incredibly powerful writing by some of my favorite bloggers:

My friend and mentor Tom at PurpleScarf has an incredible post about Bayard Rustin, who was (in Tom's words) "the man who brought Gandhi's protest techniques to the American civil rights movement and helped mold Dr. King into an international symbol of peace and nonviolence." The difference is that Bayard Rustin is largely unknown and discounted in the civil-rights movement, because he was an openly-gay man at a time of great homophobia. Go read about the man who taught MLK about non-violence...and give thanks for the teacher of the teacher.

One of the most powerful voices I've found in the blogosphere is the very-anonymous [rhymes with kerouac] at Today at the Mission. I think that everyone who professes to be a Christian - regardless of flavor - should read [rwk]'s Following Jesus Manifesto. It's as powerful a statement of living-my-so-called-faith as I have seen in a long, long while. And then, when you're done, check out his definition of church and his reflection on finding "the least of these" at church. Br'er [rwk], you are a classic example of one who is "blessed, to be a blessing."

One of my "brothers-of-the-heart" is Rick at a new life emerging. I've never seen a bad post on his site, but two of his recent posts have definitely struck me. In his post Shut off from the light, he talks about the various kinds of things that can cut us off from the source of spiritual light. As one who has allowed himself to walk on the dark side of the street for too long, it was a powerful read for me. And Rick's Losing My Religion reminds me that anything that distracts me from God is not a good thing - even if it's my religion or my church.

There is much I need to think about - everything from lessons from a century plant to the basic spiritual struggle I share with Henri Nouwen. But for now, it's time to get to bed...

Praying for a church with a dream

1 The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,

2 to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,

3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
(Isaiah 61:1-3, NIV)

I always find it fascinating that when nationally-known preachers insist on the "inerrancy" or the "infallibility" of the Bible, they are rarely pointing to passages like this one. God, I am told, was absolutely right about a literal seven-day creation; absolutely right about the ordaining of marriage, absolutely without error about Levitical prohibitions. But when I point to this passage, and ask if these words are inerrant, somehow the once-loud voices go strangely silent.

On this day, when we remember the legacy of a Baptist pastor from Alabama (and his commitment to freedom and non-violence), I found Isaiah's challenges curiously missing in the congregations I visited this weekend. I visited Lutheran, Episcopal, and non-denominational services this weekend - and I heard sermons about getting out of debt, preserving the sanctity of marriage, and the bioethics of stem-cell research. I visited web-sites of nationally-known evangelical leaders, and found many of the same topics.

What I didn't hear about was the challenge of Matthew 25 - the command by the One we claim to be the Son of God to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, to welcome the stranger, to clothe the naked, to visit the sick and the imprisoned. I heard nothing about Christ calling us to serve "the least of these," and nothing of Isaiah's Spirit of the Lord anointing each of us to bind up the brokenhearted or proclaiming freedom for captives.

Over the years, I have listened to more than one Lutheran pastor preach elegant sermons claiming that one could hardly call oneself a Christian without understanding and accepting "the absolute truth of the doctrine of the Trinity." But sadly, I have rarely heard from those same pastors about the commands of that same Trinity to love one's neighbors (even the neighbors who didn't believe in the Trinity).

On this Martin Luther King Day, I am praying in hope for a new spirit in a new church, one willing to both "preach good news" and "do good works" to the poor - the poor in spirit and the poor in fact. A church of open arms, of willing hands and feet. A church that takes action, rather than taking "responsible positions on important social issues." A church that will not just *speak* of justice and mercy, but one where the members will actually act on it, and live it. A church that spends more time on caring for sinners than on cataloging their sins.

If we can transform Christianity from words to actions, from judgement to love, then I truly believe that, as Reverend King wrote, "we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Lord God, let that change come in your church...and let it begin with me. Amen.

A late Christmas story...

Yes, I know what the date is.

Yes, I know that according to the Revised Common Lectionary, we are at the Second Sunday in Epiphany. We can't talk about Christmas, for cryin' out loud, right?

Well, for all of you who find such violations of the "church calendar" heretical, I have three words: get over it.

In following a couple blog-bunny-trails from penni/martha's blog, I found Sister Mary Martha's post about spiders at Christmas, and I felt (for whatever cornball reason) compelled to share this story. I don't remember who told it first, or last, for that matter. But while I certainly loathe spiders (certainly on the top-20 list of everyday things I loathe), I do enjoy telling this particular story about one particularly generous spider. I guess I enjoy it because the theme is a recurring one in my life - one's ugliness and self-revulsion, overcome by the gifts one offers to the Savior. So, Sister, I offer you...

The Spider's Christmas Gift
In a barn in a distant village, there once lived a spider. He was well-liked by all the other creatures who lived in the barn, for he had a good and loving heart. But one day, after a rainstorm, he chanced to see his reflection in a puddle of rain-water. He could not see himself as the other animals saw him, but instead he saw only a multitude of skinny, hairy legs and a heavy, misshapen body.

Despising his appearance, he climbed up into the very highest rafters of the barn and hid himself away, determined not to inflict his ugliness on the other animals, lest they tease or reject him. The only thing he did to pass the time was weave intricate and beautiful webs out of gossamer threads, and hang them from the barn's roof beams. Sometimes, on humid mornings when the dew was heavy, these delicate artworks would gather drops of dew, reflecting the early morning sun.

The barn animals would be amazed at their beauty, and call out in joy to the artist. But the spider was ashamed, thinking only of his appearance, and could not hear their words of praise. So he hid in the dark recesses of the rafters until night-time, when he could continue his weavings in solitude and anonymity.

One cold night, the doors to the stable flew open, and in came a man, and his wife who was heavy with child. It soon was obvious that the time had come for the child to be born, but there was no place for these two travelers among the rest of the humans, so they had been exiled out with the animals in the stable.

The woman gave birth; the newborn baby was wrapped in rough swaddling clothes and was laid in a bed made out of the hay in the feed-trough. Star-light from heaven shone on the Child, showing him to be a gift from Heaven sent to that lowly place.

It was soon clear that the baby, though healthy, was extremely cold. Yet neither the parents nor any of the animals in the barn could help - there were no blankets or other cloths left to use, and none of the animals could give of their fur to help the shivering Child. Each of the creatures cried, whinnied, bleated and neighed, "Who can comfort this heaven-sent Child?"

From his vantage point in the rafters, the spider was given a wonderful idea. He raced from rafter to rafter, gathering all the beautiful webs hanging from the roof-beams, and stitching them together, layer after layer after layer of intricate web.

The products of year after year of the spider's work were woven together, until they formed a wondrously white blanket. And on a gossamer thread, the spider lowered the blanket down onto the manger and the baby. The holy Child's shivering ceased, and the grateful Mother smiled her thanks. "Thank you for your blessed gift, dear spider! May your weavings continue so long as the sun rises, o shy one, and may your threads never run out!"

Later, shepherds and wise men arrived bearings gifts - but the first gift to the Christ-child was given by one who felt himself unworthy to be seen.

Thus it is (to this very day) that some cultures consider spiders to be a sign of luck or blessing at Christmas, and we remember the spider's gift with shiny gossamer strands on our Christmas trees.

I understand that the original story may be Polish or eastern European in origin. If nothing else, it's a great story of sharing the gifts that one has been given - another constant theme in my own life...

[back into Marty McFly's theological DeLorean, to take you back to your regular liturgical season...]

Two heartbeats away....

Here's an interesting point, and (also interestingly) from brother Paul Baggaley in Australia:

Feminists take note. As of today we are now 2 heartbeats away from a female US president. Democrat Nancy Pelosi has taken up the position of Speaker of the House of Representatives, the first woman to hold this job. This makes her second in the Presidential line of succession, behind VP Dick Cheney. So if Bush and Cheney were both killed off, she would have the job. Now wouldn’t that make Hillary mad!

As I commented on Paul's post, very few people in the US think of Nancy Pelosi as #3 in the chain-of-command. And that's either a great thing or a scary thing, depending on your view of things. As for me, nothing could be scarier than a Dick Cheney presidency...

Starting over again, looking for more light

Here's an interesting coincidence. January 11, 2007 marks 21 days since December 21st - the winter solstice. Twenty-one days since the year's shortest day and longest night - the time of the least light and the most darkness of the winter.

In the olden days, on the solstice I understand there were huge bonfires to bring light into a darkened world. It's from these supposedly heathen celebrations that we have the traditions of lights on Christmas trees - illumination to a darkened world, reminiscent of a Star shining on another dark night, bringing the Light of the world.

It would be nice to celebrate the coming of more light, wouldn't it?

I'd really like to take that high road of philosophical imagery today, but I can't.

For me, Thursday is simply the fourth day that I have been out of the hospital.
.....

Anyone who has been reading these posts over the last year know that the single most significant focus of my life for the last fourteen months has been a sadly codependent, addictive relationship with my employer. It has been a battle to do the impossible - to take a series of systems that don't play well together and an undertrained but desperately committed staff and somehow make them work for a deeply-unhappy client. The intention was always that "when things get better, when things get stable, the work schedule will ease back." But we "went live" on New Years' Day 2006, and twelve months later the situation is not in the least improved. In fact, it is in many respects worse.

And I've been an idiot - somewhere between a John Candy imitation of the Man of Steel and a badly-drawn Dudley Do-Right, trying desperately to save the day, to make things right, to "get it all together" somehow so that life would be good. Through increasingly manual intervention, I (and others) have tried and tried and tried to defeat the shortcomings of systems we barely understood. And the more we tried, the more we (especially I) failed. Once again, I have learned the painful lesson that the blue tights and the red cape still don't fit, and almost certainly never will. In fact, they never did fit. It was all a lie.

Over the last four weeks, the hours have gotten (if one could believe it) even more insane - aided and abetted by the fact that since my move to Ohio and my work-at-home situation, I don't even have to walk to the train anymore. My "commute" is now about 8 feet - from the bed to the desk in my spacious bedroom/den/office. Over the last three months, physical human interaction (e.g., non-instant-messaging relationships), exercise, even eating dinner with my sister and brother-in-law, all fell off significantly. And when I finally did take time for myself - for sleep, for recovery meetings, for fixing and eating meals (or, eventually, eating the meals that my disabled sister fixed for me) - it always felt like there was too much left to do to get up and walk away from the desk, from the crisis at hand, from the heart of the battle.

All that changed Friday, January 5th. For about two weeks, I'd been having some uncomfortable spasms in my chest when I finally did get to go to sleep. Being overweight, hypertense, diabetic and nearly 50, I was getting a wee bit nervous about what those spasms might mean.

So I went to the doctor on Friday, in the midst of the latest end-of-year and start-of-new-year battles at The Evil Empire, to get it checked out. I figured it would be as it had been in the past - new medicine, new/fresh warnings about my lifestyle, and that would be that... that is, "until things got stable" and I could actually find some leisure time to take some action.

Then the doctor said the words no one wants to hear: "I don't like the looks of this - I can't be 100% sure, but I'd say you really need to be in the hospital to get this checked out."

I said, "But..."

...and the doc gave me a look that spoke volumes, and said, "Today. As in, right now. As in, 'Do you need someone to drive you? Or should we call you an ambulance?' "

So I called my brother-in-law, and I went.

When I got there, my blood pressure was at stroke level, my blood sugar was in the stratosphere, my heart was racing like I'd just run a 50-yard dash, and I was damning all the time that I spent working and NOT either praying or getting my will and durable power of attorney updated. All the things that were so critical two hours earlier - other people's lives and information - seemed to shrink to insignificance as I confronted the admissions form saying, "Indicate your next of kin."

Those five words will get your attention.

So will having a nurse start an intravenous line in your arm.

I have to admit it - I made a great drunk at times, but I would have been a dismal failure as an IV drug user. I simply hate needles. Yes, I get the occasional vaccination; yes, I submit to the periodic blood-test, and don't even whimper much (though I do sing Hosannas to whoever invented those marvelous vacu-tainer things that mean you can get stuck once, and get many vials of blood removed. Thank you God, for those things).

But getting even a short-term hospital IV line set? I'd rather have a gasoline enema. I'd rather be stretched on a rack, or to attempt suicide by hitting myself in the head with a baseball bat. I loathe them - period. My preference would be that if I have to have an IV, I would have them start it, then immediately fill it up with thorazine or pentothal or something to knock me smooth out. The long-term goal would then be to wake me up five minutes after the IV was successfully removed. I don't hate many things, but I hate IV's.

I even tried, pitifully, to hold off getting it started. After all, I just GOT here, for cryin' out loud. Do we have to do this now, of all things?

The nurse looked at me, pointed to my chart and said, "Honey, with readings like those, I may need to get medicine into you quickly. And if I do, you just don't want me fumbling, trying to find a vein. If you're sick enough to be in a hospital, you're sick enough to need an IV line in."

And she pointed again to the listing of my vital signs, and said, "And I'm sorry, honey, but you do qualify to be here. Really."

At least she was sensitive about it, and was successful the first time she tried. The semi-sadistic triage nurse who first encountered me slapped the heart-monitor (EKG) connecting pads on my somewhat-hairy chest without benefit of shaving the spots first. So everytime I moved, one or more of the connector pads would be pulling chest-hair - and trust me, that is a serenity-killer, every single time.

After all the tests and the imaging and this and that, it ended up a 50/50 deal. I was not as bad as my doctor feared - but I am worse off than I imagined. And all those "someday" lifestyle changes? Eating less, doing some exercise every day, watching the vital-signs more, working less?

They started yesterday.

For two days after I left the hospital, I had a 24-hour heart-monitor. Now, I have a heart-rate monitor (like runners use), a new glucometer and an auto-inflating blood-pressure meter. If the heart-rate gets too high, or the BP gets too elevated, it's no longer a "white flag" situation - it's an "international-orange" flag. And I have started the daily stroll to the condo clubhouse, to the exercise bike and the treadmill - starting slowly, but starting. And the work situation? Well, I had a doctor's release for three days off - and my boss extended the offer to just take the week off. And I took him up on it.

I haven't signed back on to see what's waiting for me on Monday. I have no doubt the demands of the addicts will start as soon as I turn the silly thing on.

But I have my hospital arm-band taped to the side of my work PC's monitor - as a reminder.

And my left arm is still well-bruised from where the IV was, and there are still a dozen round bare spots on my chest where the pads were. (They itch, too.)

I've had the three-and-a-half days in the hospital, and four more days at home, to reflect on just what has been happening over this last year. The spiritual, emotional, mental and financial excuses for the insanity of which I've been a part. And the lessons - in all of those categories - that I've ignored to get to this point.

In the communities of recovery, what we call 'hitting bottom' is the process of realizing that you can put down the shovel - you don't have to dig the hole you're in any deeper. As a friend "in the rooms" is wont to say, "If you'll just put the shovel down, and look up, you'll see where you need to go - at least you'll see daylight, for a change!"

It's sad, too - both from a spiritual and a recovery standpoint - how easy it has been to set up worship of false gods - to violate the spirit of the 1st Commandment: "You shall have no other gods before me." How many times have I heard the lesson - where your treasure (in my case, my time) is, there your heart will be. What a sad, sad waste.

But, if I am willing to trust that each day is indeed a new begininng, and that everything that does not kills us makes us stronger, then today is Christmas Day all over again. I have the gift of life, of love, of (relative) health, and hope. Yes, I'm stuck with a heart monitor, for a while - but I still have a working heart for it to monitor, as well. I have spent a long time walking a long way from God over the last year, it's true - but I also know that this God is one whose Son told the story of both the prodigal son and the prodigiously welcoming Father.

So today I am celebrating the light, rather than cursing darkness. I'm trying my best to make wiser choices, even as I acknowledge my seemingly innate ability to live and work stupidly.

Monday will bring a fresh set of challenges to this rediscovered faith - but, just for today, all is not "well" - but it's OK.

And that's enough.

Glances backward, by candlelight

Happy New Year, one and all.

Life has been crowded since my last post - way too crowded to cram into one posting. So I'll be taking a couple days to catch you up over the next several days.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were islands of respite from four weeks of absolute, flat-out insanity at The Evil Empire. Everyone involved in the technical side of things was on a similar "rev-on-the-red-line" schedule - several of the tech/IT guys went way beyond my own excesses of work addiction. But I resolved that whatever wasn't done on Friday, December 22nd could just wait until December 26th, and worked hard to focus on the holiday, and the Savior, and not the taskmasters in Chicago.

One of our family Christmas traditions is a set of incredibly delicate ornaments from the Corning Glass Works. Less than 2 inches square, each one is a thin wafer of winter-frost Corelle (yes, just like your everyday dishes) laser-cut into incredible designs. Each ornament is about the thickness of five or six sheets of paper - and I've never seen anything like them ever again. Both sisters and I own a set of four - and when they go on the tree, I know the holiday is in full swing.

The "Home Sweet Home" ornament has been triply meaningful this holiday - because my heart is both at home here in Ohio with my family, and missing friends and "extended family" in both Kansas and Chicago. The problem has been that during this holiday, I allowed my working "works-righteousness" addiction to worm its way more and more in between me and the important parts of my life. Looking back - especially in light of a number of recent events - that was really freaking stupid.

But the holiday itself was pure bliss. Between Friday night dinner in Findlay at sister Sandy's, Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day, we definitely caught up on family. We saw the photos from San'n'Dave's latest Harley-Davidson ride adventures (and, of course, all the photos of the cutest grand-baby in these here parts). We ooohed and ahhed over each others' respective Christmas tree decorations, spent a brief amount of time whining about our respective work situations, and gave thanks that for a few short days, our respective taskmasters had been retired to at least tertiary place, behind God and family.

The week between Christmas and New Years' was just lost to work. There is no other way to say it. And to be honest, at times I didn't know whether I was making things better or worse by my participation in the insanity. There were a number of SUE's (stupid user errors) caused strictly by an ill-conceived mixture of my own exhaustion and SSP's (stupid system problems) - and it wasn't very pretty at all. By December 30th, I'd had all I could take - and more.

New Years Eve was, in some ways, amazing. A "gratitude meeting" at the AA hall, watching the movie Camp (which will be fodder for several other posts), followed by just lolling around the house, and then Chinese food (boneless almond chicken, a dish I could never find in all the Chinese restaurants I hit in Chicago) and going to see A Night At The Museum, which gets my vote for feel-good movie of the winter.

As we left the Chinese restaurant, headed for the movie, the all-day-cloudy skies opened up and poured, as one friend is wont to say, "like the firehoses of God." When we got back home, about 10:30, we found out that the power had been out since 7 PM for about a mile radius...the entire neighborhood was in darkness. With no alternative (no TV, no internet, no nuthin') we lit candles and oil-lamps and snuggled under blankets, reflecting on the year gone by and the blessings we had received.

And that gratitude was important. By the time that New Years Eve rolled around, we all needed a dose of it. A day earlier, I'd been ready to quit the job that my family and I needed so badly; but that night, by candle-light, I could see how it had helped me help my family when they have needed it badly. In fact, it was fairly easy to see how almost every challenge or calamity in the last twelve months has brought at least some good with it, even though it seemed impossible at the time.

The power came on about 12:30 - so somehow, the various symbols of the new year managed to drop successfully without us. We yawned, kissed, and went to bed - and in my mind, at least, the song which echoed was not "Auld Lang Syne," but a 70's classic by Barry Manilow:

It's just another New Year's eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's eve
It's just another "Auld Lang Syne"
But when it's through
This New Year, you'll see
We'll be just fine....

Happy New Year, indeed.

Still with us

Our God is with us...Emmanuel
He's come to save us...Emmanuel
And we will never face life alone
Now that God has made Himself known
As Father and Friend
With us till the end
Emmanuel...
(from "Our God Is With Us," by Steven Curtis Chapman)

... deep down in every man, woman, and child, is the fundamental idea of God. It may be obscured by calamity, by pomp, by worship of other things, but in some form or other it is there. - Alcoholics Anonymous, page 55

For three days, it seemed that "calamity, pomp, and worship of other things" left the field vanquished, and it was clear that our God is indeed with us.

The two weeks leading up to Christmas were another thing entirely. Without going into all the horrific details (including 2 separate 24-hour work marathons) I will categorically say this: by January 9th of the new year, a change is gonna come. It will be a change in situation, or it will be the serious search for new employment - but life is going to change dramatically. I am certain that my work life absolutely cannot go on as it has for the last thirteen months...and that's all I'm gonna say about that.

For me, the emphasis of my faith has always been on that word Emmanuel - "God with us." And perhaps it's why "the season" didn't feel like much before Friday, because it's been a real effort to see God with us in the mix of calamity and uncertainty around my family and I. I know, intellectually, that God has been present - the fact that I haven't had a heart attack up to this point is proof of that - but it's been hard to feel, to be sure.

The holiday began with a delightful Friday breakfast with my friend Ted. I told him how dry and drained and untouched-by-the-Spirit I had been feeling - and he reminded me that when he had gone through the tougher times in life, the only thing he could do at the time was to simply persevere. And I was reminded again of my dear friend Sandy Motsinger's image of "left-foot, right-foot" - just keep taking one more step forward. It felt more familiar than I wanted, of course...

Which, of course, led me to the apostle Paul's instruction, "Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand" (Ephesians 6:13, NIV).

And, thanks be to God, I am still standing...even if I was so filled with panic and loathing by the end of the work day on Friday that I could have just curled up and become catatonic. The whole weekend was an exercise in just trying to stay awake - my sleep patterns had been so disrupted that it was an extreme effort to just keep my eyes open....

The weekend continued with dinner Friday night at sister Sandy's in Findlay. It was a good time all the way around, even if we were suffering "sudden sleep syndrome" (SSS) by the time the meal was over. San is a step-grandmother (her husband's daughter has baby Faith), and that was going to take up a good deal of her time for the holiday. But I was delighted we could come down, have dinner, catch up, and see her beautiful Christmas tree. The calamities of work and life in Toledo haven't left much time to stay connected with Sandy recently, so it was good to spend time with her.

Saturday morning started with a gratitude AA meeting and breakfast, and the evening was filled with my sister Sue's favorite Christmas movies - "The Christmas Gift" with John Denver, "Christmas In Connecticut," Reba McIntyre's "The Gift," and (of course) "Scrooged." We'd already made it through "A Wish for Wings That Work" (with Opus from "Bloom County" cartoon fame), "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and the original animated "How The Grinch Stole Christmas". (I don't think I will ever be able to watch any other version of that show.) Sue and Jeff know about all the lines, but we still have to watch 'em all ("it's the rule," Sue says).

Christmas eve was a family reunion, with sister Sandy and husband Dave up from Findlay, and Sue's husband Jeff's whole family over for the traditional meal of pulled pork sandwiches and shrimp, then church with Jeff's family. Christmas Day, I started off the celebration by sleping in, then calling friends across the country (the ones that weren't out visiting others). I went down and saw a bunch of friends in recovery at the city-wide AA open house at the Toledo Senior Center, and then
returned to south Toledo for dinner at with Jeff's sister's family, and wrapping up the night with a gratitude gathering at the Monday Night Men's meeting.

There were no presents; Sue, Sandy and I made that decision a couple years ago, when Sue and Jeff were first struggling financially, and to be honest, I didn't miss it. Even as I was watching my sister open gifts with her inlaws, it somehow felt weird - the gifts were nice and all, but it just seemed to draw away from what the holiday was about. Yes, I wish I could do the shopping/gift thing with abandon, as so many do. But this Christmas, the gifts were all "family" and "friends" and "home" and "love," and nothing that would fit in a box under a tree.

The work-a-day (and night) world will arrive in about forty minutes. The chore now will be to carry the spirit of Christmas into the lion's den. I have signed myself up for a spiritual retreat January 19th-21st, put on by two Jesuits in recovery down at the Spiritual Center of Maria Stein near St. Mary's, OH. I'm carrying more than 70 hours of vacation time over this year - and it's the last year I intend to do that - so I have time to spare. And I need to take this time, too.

Preparing for Christmas 101

John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The axe is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire."

"What should we do then?" the crowd asked.

John answered, "The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same." (Luke 3:7-11, NIV)

Long before the birth of Jesus, a cranky prophet named John was sent out in the desert to "prepare the way for the LORD; make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God" (Isaiah 40:3). And John was none too subtle about it - talking to upstanding church-folk with phrases like "brood of vipers." He told them, "It doesn't matter about your heritage, who's son or daughter you are, or your tradition - what matters is the fruit you are producing for the Kingdom of God."

The crowd says, "OK, you've insulted us, but we're listening. What should we do?"

And then he delivers the simplest definition of repentance and service: "The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same."

Oh.

Take care of those around you. Not just at Thanksgiving. Not just as part of a "Toys for Tots" drive or "adopting a Christmas family." If you have some, and someone has none, you take care of them. All year long.

Look at the sweep of Christ through his three brief decades of life, and you'll hear the same lesson, time and time again. "I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly" (John 10:10). "...for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me" (Matthew 25:35-36). "Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?...Feed my lambs." (John 21:15)

Jesus has no problem hanging out (and even having dinner) with prostitutes, tax-collectors who are traitors to their countrymen, with thieves or lepers or the blind or lame. Physical and medical uncleanness, or who has slept with who, or who gets to have communion, or what color the liturgical vestments should be just doesn't seem to bother Jesus as much as the answer to the simple question: "Are you takin' care of my Father's kids?"

It's tragic how far we as a church, and a supposedly Christ-following community, have strayed from the instructions on how to prepare for the first Christmas.

God, in the midst of the insane commercial sprees of this time of year, help us to focus on the very first instructions for Christmas preparation - to take care of those who are in need. Help us turn our churches back to this simple message from John. John showed us how to prepare the way for Christ's arrival. Let it begin with me - with my church - with my life - with this day. Amen.

A backward glance, a glance ahead

God will constantly disclose more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man who is still sick. The answers will come, if your own house is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit something you haven't got. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 164)

The gentle alarm sounded - my fourth "where are you?" email this week. So I am following instructions from my sister-of-the-heart Erin to stick my head up and let folks know what's going on.

It's been a long month - a long two months, to be honest. I have been wrapped up in myself, and the challenges facing me and my family - and, as the old saying goes, a man wrapped up in himself makes a mighty small package. I have been spending an awful amount of time working - perhaps hideous would be a better word - and for many days, the absolute last thing I have wanted to do after 14-18 hours sitting at a PC is to turn from the work PC to the home PC and write. So that has been part of the my absence here in cyberspace.

Part of the struggle has been the crashing return of what the recovery community calls "fear of people and of economic insecurity," that stuff that's supposed to leave us after a while. The week of Thanksgiving (a peak time in the insanity cycle at The Evil Empire), sister Sue got word that the job she'd had for almost 19 years would not make allowances for her to be in a light-duty position - and so she joined "the job placement pool" of soon-to-be-laid-off employees at the hospital she works at.

That same week, my brother-in-law's employer of 25 years told him, "We might have to lay you off, this year," and then followed through the following Friday. So, having come to Ohio to "help out," to hold up one corner of the structure here, I find myself the sole means of support for my family. Oh, there are options, and there is hope, but for a while it seemed pretty ephermal. Not exactly what I signed up for...

At times like this, there are two phrases that get over-used and mis-used in recovery - the first being trudging the road of Happy Destiny. The contradiction in the phrase, of course is that trudging has always painted images of walking through a vat of molasses with wading-boots - every step an effort...while the road of Happy Destiny seems more suited to a Nike or Irish Spring advertisement.

It also evokes the Dunkin' Donuts ads of a decade or more back, when the DD baker is literally trudging along, with his hallmark phrase, "Gotta make da' donuts..." It's corny, but in many ways it's exactly where I've been for a while. Just puttin' in my time, trying to make it through the day.

The second dangerous phrase in recovery is one day at a time. The classic Al-Anon passage Just For Today says,

Just for today, I will try to live through this day only and not tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do something for 12 hours that would appall me if I felt that I had to keep it up for a lifetime.

The danger of that, especially as I've seen it this last two months, is that I often end up putting-up-with appalling circumstances for a whole lotta 12-hours, and found myself in states of mental, spiritual and emotional deprivation that I would never have put up with if I'd know about it going-in. That's definitely been my story since Veterans' Day...

It's appropriate to be returning to posting today, too, because today is my sixteenth sobriety anniversary. In some ways, I've struggled as this date approached, because I haven't felt like I've been at a very good point in my recovery. My meeting attendance has been limited, my general interaction outside of the virtual-work environment has been nil, and very few people would look at where I've been recently and use the words Captain Serenity. The recovery text says, "If you want what we have...." - but I've felt like I wouldn't even want what I've had over the last two months. So that too, has kept my voice low - both in meetings and out here in blogger-land.

By the same token, I've had the opportunity over the last week to reflect on the high-points and low-points of those sixteen years - and it has been interesting to be here, so near the place where it all began, at this stage of my life. While I would choose to be in vastly different circumstances, there is much to be said for being, as one friend says, "sunny-side up, suckin' air, and sober." I am not where I'd choose to be - but I have ample evidence that I am not where I used to be, either.

And I have seen, especially in recent meetings, people who have been so gravely affected that they are mentally incapacitated...wet-brains, or close enough, who seemingly have no control over their minds or their actions. That is a cause for gratitude right there. I have to admit that while gratitude has been a little harder to find in recent days, it has been coming easier the last few days.

Today is also my one-year anniversary at The Evil Empire. And it is, as they say, the first day of the rest of my life. In this last week, there has been a reinforcing of the image that the firm really doesn't care about personal sacrifice - any more than a vampire is concerned with their victim's anemia. The Empire's motto seems to have become Use 'em up & toss 'em aside. On sites like JobVent and Yahoo!Jobs, the conversations appear to be pretty uniform: (1) The EE is sucking the life out of everybody, (2) there's no sense in giving them loyalty or service, because no good deed goes unpunished, and (3) if you haven't been laid off, and you don't already live in India, you will be. It is oh, so very very Dilbert-ian.

So today, I asked my co-worker if he would cover for me tonight on the late shift. I called my local AA sponsor, and made a date for a meeting and dinner - and then actually went. The meeting topic was finding faith and maintaining it, which was perfect. Then I took Bob S. (who was my very first sponsor when I got sober here) to a wonderful Italian dinner at Biaggi's in Perrysburg, and generally spent the evening making one long gratitude list. It was time well spent.

Just before I left for the meeting, my sister stopped in to say that she was ready to throw in the job-search towel and take the first job she was offered - this one through a temp agency, with no benefits. I feel badly because being sucked into The Empire's daily drama overdose has left me less capable of "being present" for Sue in her job search. So the time from 11:30 PM to 1 AM this evening was spent asking her what was going on, and trying to find some answers to questions about timing and benefits and what the job would mean to her wage-continuation package. She's depressed, both about her health and her unemployment, which is not compounded at all by her husband's unemployment. (Yeah, right.)

Which brings me back to the image at the top of this post. I can remember as I left for seminary, wishing that I could see the road ahead, and see around the bend so I know what was coming. But, as the photo shows so clearly, I can't see around the curves. I can only see a little bit ahead, and see a bit of the curves that life has headed my way. I just have to keep on going - and continue to ask God for some direction. I haven't been doing that as much as I should, lately, but it's getting better.

I've also struggled with posting here, because it seems that all my life right now is just making it through the day, rather than anything beautiful or uplifting. So much has been left aside, lately - and (as the AA text quote says) I haven't felt that I had much of anything to pass along. But one of the lessons that my dear friend Tom S. has pointed out is that my primary purpose is not to teach or to share but simply to be. It's still a slow lesson for learning, for me...

Tonight, at the meeting, this young fellow spoke up. He said he'd been 6 months sober, but 5 of those were in jail. He was 2 days out of the joint, and didn't feel "a part of" the fellowship, or life in general. And once again I heard the call...to welcome, to encourage, to bring a smile and a handshake. So I gave him my number - and more importantly, I got his number. And when I go to the Thursday night men's gathering, I'll invite him along...not because I'm some kind of saint, but because that is what was done for me. The task, as I understand it, is simply to pass it on. Who knows if he will go - but it's clear what my part is.

So begins the next phase of the journey. I know in my heart that the time from now until January 8th is going to be a challenge at the Empire, but I also know that I am called to be alive and "a part of" each and every day. So I will trust that this passage from the last page of the recovery text is still at the core of what will be right and true - and try to do a better job of following instructions...

Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.
May God bless you and keep you - until then.

Letter to a friend in jail

I've known Brett for years - probably ten years, at this stage of the game. When he came into AA, he was 18 or 19, I guess, and had a pretty good crystal-meth habit. He's been in and out of AA since then, and ended up in jail a couple times. He's now in a county jail in rural Kansas, doing a one-year sentence. He wrote to me just as I was moving, telling me what was going on, and asking me to write.

I wrote back a typical-for-Steve epistle - and then, just for good measure, included my coming-out post, too. (Can you say, "extra postage required"?) And I told him that if he didn't want to hear from me, that would be sad, but understandable. But if he wanted, I'd write him periodically, and hope he'd reply.

This is my second letter to him, and recaps life over the last two weeks since I wrote to him on November 4th. It also says some things about some realizations I had over the weekend, and some truths about sobriety and life that I am going to try to live by, today.

November 13, 2006

Hey, buddy!

Well, just a brief message to you, brother – it's been a crazy two weeks since I last wrote you.

My sister, who I moved out here to help out, has been judged "totally disabled" by the Bureau of Workers Comp for the job she had. She's been listed as "permanent light duty," so she'll probably never be able to go back to doing what she has been doing. Which sucks, big time. And of course, any retraining program she could get in won't start until the end of the month – AFTER her disability income runs out. It's pretty freakin' nuts.

Her husband, my brother in law, is not taking this well, and is exhibiting every kind of stress-related illness – stomach aches, depression, you name it. Which ain't makin' it too easy for him to show up at his work. Admittedly, it's not the best job in the world – but we need every penny we can get, right about now…

And my first AA sponsor, who I'd chosen to be my "new" Ohio sponsor, and his wife of 15 years, are separating. (Not divorcing – but they have decided for various reasons they just can't live together.) So we spent part of the day Saturday moving her out of his house. It was civil, even friendly. But it was just a lot of time, and it was sad.

And the job that I am generally so grateful for, that allows me to be here and help out – has gone south in very powerful and ugly ways this last week. It got so bad that out of desperation I started posting my resume on Monster.com, an internet job board.

So yeah, things are pretty challenging. And unfortunately, the demands of work have meant that I'm not taking care of myself – I'm eating too much, and I'm not exercising at all, and that's not helping anything about my health.

But, I've been trying, repeatedly, to focus on gratitude. The job sucks, but it's providing most of the income to keep this family afloat. My sister's unemployed (basically), but she's alive, and there's hope of finding a desk job or something she can do that doesn't take standing all damn day.

And I still have options – there is a big open area around here to walk around, and as soon as I get this written, I'm going to take a shower, and then take at least a 15 minute walk. And do that several times a day. Because I won't be worth a damn to them if I'm dead, or in the hospital.

And I know that my employer isn't going to take care of me – their job is to bleed me dry, and my answer, so far, has been to let them. When I talked to my AA sponsor yesterday, and told him about it, he didn't tell me what to do. But he did tell me, "It sounds like they have found a willing mule, and they're ready to load him up until his back breaks and he dies."

Sure – the thought is always in the back of my mind. "Screw them, screw this, screw everybody. I just want to run away and hide." And the best way to do that, of course, is drinking or drugging. Or overeating. Or masturbating and watching porn, or TV or DVD's, or doing anything instead of living sober and recovering.

But if I do any of those things, I'm pissing away today. Granted, any of it sounds more fun than the day I'm probably going to have today. But I also know where that crap will take me – because I've seen it. I've seen it in meetings time and time again. And I'm pretty sure that, at nearly 50 years old, I won't have the chance to survive another run "out there." In fact, I'd be really surprised if you could survive another run out there.

Today, I choose life. With all the pain, and all the flaws, there is still much joy and much love in my life. I had the chance to spend some time Saturday afternoon and evening with some other gay Christians I'd met online, and it was enjoyable to spend time with them, and see people who were out, but not rubbing it in people's faces – and living loving, productive lives in the community. It was really cool. I got to tell Sue and Jeff about going to the Toledo Museum's new Glass Pavillion (though we missed the glass-blowing demonstration - booo....) And Sunday night, as I was racing around to get ready for the evening meeting, my sister made me a great but simple dinner, and gave me a kiss as I left.

People have been encouraging my blog-writing, too. There are folks who are really, really telling me there is a book to be published in all of this. And that I need to get busy with it.

I can't see the love of my family, the friendships I've found in AA, in the church, and elsewhere in life and not be willing to do whatever I need to keep alive – to keep living.

So today, I'm gonna get showered, get dressed, take a walk, and then get to work. I'm gonna work as hard as I can, knowing that tonight, "work" will end about midnight or 1 AM, and that Tuesday and Wednesday will probably follow suit. I'm gonna do my best to get through this with a couple more bouts of physical activity, and I'm gonna call my sponsor in the middle of the mayhem tonight. I'm having to go back to absolute basics – stuff as simple as remembering to make my bed, and to shower AND shave each day (because as a virtual worker, I don't have to do any of that). But as a sober member of life, I do.

I'm gonna get this in the mail on my walk, brother, so I'm gonna wrap this up. You don't have to write a 5 page monster letter or anything to me each time you write – even short notes will be great. And, of course, you may not have gotten the balls up to say, "Stop writing me," from my last "little" letter. I recognize that might also be the case. But I have to admit that I hope it's not the case at all.

When our buddy Mike T. was in the federal pen in California, I suggested that he write about what was going on right that day, and then at least one question or topic about sobriety that he was struggling with. And that he treat it like a journal – write a page or two, send it off; write a page or two, send it off. I'll send 'em all back to you when you get out, so you can have a kind of journal of what happened to you while you were in.

OK, that's it. So much for "brief message," eh?

Zen hugs across the miles, Brett.
Steve


Now, God, help me to make it so...today, and always.

Stop...remember...honor...

Saturday is Veteran's Day in the US, and Remembrance Day for my friends in Canada and Australia. And this day finds me making a confession, and hopefully making amends.

I am a child of the 70's. My father was a very Republican, "my country right or wrong" guy in the middle of the Vietnam War and Watergate. I was a stubborn, opinionated, "what the hell did Nixon think he could get away with?" high-school student who would have gladly wrapped himself in the Constitution the way some folks did with the flag. I had no use for the war, the "military industrial complex" or most of the US Government at the time. And for one summer, I protested the war, the military, and almost every damn thing I could. If there was something to be against, I was against it.

My confession was that I was stupid enough to lump the servicemen and women of the armed forces in with their leadership, in my head and in my heart. I generally despised what I believed was the mindless mentality of the armed forces, and their involvement in what I believed was a stupid war.

That was wrong. Period.

Now my other confession is this: I don't think any more of the war in Iraq than I did of Vietnam. But my amends is that I'm not about to debate that, today. Because Veteran's Day, and Remembrance Day, is not about national policy, or politics, or posturing or photo ops or sound bites.

It's about the men and the women of the armed forces. Committed, brave, talented men and women who believe enough in what they are doing to live, and breathe, and fight...and suffer, and die...in the service of their country.

It is to remember the sacrifice of soldiers who served, and fought, and lost limbs, and died in the service of their country. And to remember, support and encourage all the families and friends, who struggle with their loved ones' woundings or who mourn their deaths. That's who we remember, and that's who we honor, on this day.

It is a tradition in Canada and Australia to remember veterans who have served with two minutes of silence at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month (originally, when the World War I armistice was signed). I like that idea a lot. I think it's a tradition that is overdue in the US as well. And that brings me to Terry Kelly and "A Pittance of Time."

A year ago, I heard Kelly's story:

On November 11, 1999 Terry Kelly was in a Shoppers Drug Mart store in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. At 10:55 AM an announcement came over the store's PA asking customers who would still be on the premises at 11:00 AM to give two minutes of silence in respect to the veterans who have sacrificed so much for us.

Terry was impressed with the store's leadership role in adopting the Canadian Legion's "two minutes of silence" initiative. He felt that the store's contribution of educating the public to the importance of remembering was commendable.

When eleven o'clock arrived on that day, an announcement was again made asking for the "two minutes of silence" to commence. All customers, with the exception of a man who was accompanied by his young child, showed their respect.

Terry's anger towards the father for trying to engage the store's clerk in conversation and for setting a bad example for his child was channeled into a beautiful piece of work called, "A Pittance of Time." Terry later recorded "A Pittance of Time" and included it on his full-length music CD, "The Power of the Dream."

I'd urge you to take a couple minutes to go to Terry's site and watch the video. I don't mind admitting that I've seen this video a dozen times - and it still brings tears to my eyes. (Then click on the link that says, "Click here to view a clip from the concert production" - some great insights on a play produced around the theme of Kelly's music.)

And on this Veterans Day, I leave you with the words of Abraham Lincoln, whom I hope spoke for us all....

... that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.