Glimmers
June 30,2010
Last month I had the opportunity to visit New York City for the first time. I went as part of a three-person training team sent by our denomination to teach at a church in Brooklyn. It was an eye-opening experience.
I used to think that if I met someone nice who was from New York, it was because they were from New York. Based on how New Yorkers are often depicted in television and movies, I assumed former New Yorkers must have had some sort of niceness conversion, a cultural epiphany or personality transplant to be so friendly. I thought all real New Yorkers glared menacingly and barked “Yo, what you lookin’at” and “You talkin’ ta me?” Last month’s brief visit to New York City blew a hole so big in my prejudice you could drive a battleship through it.
After spending the first day teaching at the East Flatbush Church of God, my fellow trainers and I returned to the hotel, changed clothes and headed out to Times Square. On the subway train, just after we passed Jamaica Station, it happened. The three of us, Vernon from Virginia, David from Iowa and I, were looking at subway maps and trying to figure out how best to get to Times Square. The young women in the blue work polo shirt asked, “Where are you wanting to go?” “Times Square,” David replied. We told her we wanted to get some famous New York pizza and see the famous landmark. She told us that 42nd St was the place to get off for Times Square, but if we wanted some really good pizza, we should get off on 52nd, turn right and about halfway down the block on the right, we’d find her favorite place downtown, Ray’s Pizza. We talked with her for a full thirty minutes until it was time for us to get off the train. Shockingly, she was not the last New Yorker we found to be friendly and helpful.
Two more times on successive trips to Manhattan, New Yorkers surprised me. On Friday night as we were transferring to a different train, we heard someone call out, “Hey, someone forgot their cell phone!” Slapping his pocket quickly, David discovered he was the one. Before the subway car doors closed, the nice New Yorker, after demanding he identify it, returned his cell phone to him.
Saturday afternoon, after seeing the sights in lower Manhattan and scooting up to Rockefeller Plaza, we headed through Grand Central Station to catch the subway to Canal Street so as to transfer to the J train and get back to our hotel near JFK. Noticing we looked a little confused, another nice New Yorker offered to help. “That train,” pointing to the Number 5, “might take you there.” “But this one," pointing to the Number 6, "I know will take you there.” She was from Upstate, but came to the city frequently. We thanked her, boarded our train and made it back in plenty of time for David to catch his 4:30 flight.
Prior to my trip, I would never have expected to meet New Yorkers who would go out of their way to help strangers, particularly three strangers with Southern accents (David from Iowa is originally from Alabama). My stereotypes were no match for real New Yorkers.
“What ya gonna do?” “Fogetaboutit.” Indeed.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Father's Day; A tribute to Ernest Ezell Rathbone
Glimmers
Father’s day edition, 2010
A tribute to Ernest Ezell Rathbone, Jan 6, 1930 – June 11, 2010, on the occasion of his funeral.
I am proud to say that Ernest Ezell Rathbone was my father in law. I met Steve and David Rathbone at Lee College, long before I met Sherry or her Mom and Dad. I met them when I moved to Tampa to work at Riverhills Christian School, and considering my prior experiences of knowing David and Steve, I found Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone to be remarkably normal. (A little brother in law humor). Even before I met Sherry, they took an interest in me and encouraged me.
This week, I overheard my mother in law talking about Dad’s military service as a mechanic on B52s. She said pilots used to ask for him because they knew he would tell them the truth about the plane and whether or not it should fly. He was the same way at church.
When I met him, Dad was a leader at the Riverhills Church of God. He served on the pastor’s council and took that role very seriously. He was every pastor’s dream. He was insightful, respectful, candid and kind and would kindly let them know whether or not their proposals would fly. In all the years I have known him, I have never heard him say an unkind word or critical remark about any of his pastors. He held his pastors in the highest regard. Whatever disagreements he may have had with them, I never heard about them. As a former pastor, I can tell you that pastors love people like my father in law.
When Sherry moved back home to live with them, they started inviting me to lunch after Sunday church. At first I thought they were just being nice. I was a little slow in realizing they were hoping something would click between us. The scheme didn’t work at first.
After a brief move back to Tennessee from Florida, they returned to Tampa in January of 1980. When I heard they were coming back, I discovered all those dinners had a delayed effect. I met them at the house and helped them unload the truck. Sherry and I started dating and on Feb. 29, 1980 I asked her to marry me. That evening, after her parents had gone to bed, we woke them up to share our news. With a mischievous grin, Dad said, “Let me be the first to offer my condolences.”
God willing, Sherry and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary on July 12th this year. We have three daughters of our own, three great sons in law and two grandsons.
After our daughter, Candace, married Chris Hatcher, I learned how wise my father in law really was. On the way to work one morning, after I was feeling particularly bad about overstepping my bounds with Chris, I called him up. I said, “Dad, I just want to thank you for being a great father in law. Now that I am one, I realize how hard it really is.” He said, “Thank you.” That was it. “Thank you.” Not “what did you do and how could you have been so stupid.” Just “thank you.”
So with that being said, I’d like to share some sage advice, my “top ten” if you will, on how to be a great father in law from the best father in law anyone could ask for.
10. Never let the words, “You did WHAT?” cross your lips.
9. Always encourage your son in law. Dad took to calling me his “highly intelligent son in law” early on. After a while, I started believing it myself.
8. Be supportive. Dad and Mom both told Sherry that if she left me and came back home, they would put her and her bags out on the porch and send her back. It goes without saying that would not apply if I mistreated her in any way. He was a big man and I was, after all, highly intelligent.
7. Celebrate their successes- don’t dwell on their failures. He had plenty of opportunities to be critical, but he never was.
6. Don’t meddle. I am not as good at this as he was. I have had to apologize for overstepping my boundaries more than once. I had the wonderful privilege of officiating the wedding ceremonies for all my girls and at the last one, I gave all my sons in law express permission to let me know if I forget the “leave and cleave” part of their vows. He never had to be told. In that way, he was far more intelligent than I.
5. Give advice only when asked. Same as above.
4. Pray for them. He was a man of prayer and I knew at some point during the day, he’d be praying for me.
3. Trust that God is at work in the process. I was often frustrated in my early career as a pastor. I have made a lot of mistakes and made some unwise decisions. He always believed I would eventually figure things out. It took me a long time to find out that my gifts are best suited for hospital chaplaincy. His steady trust that God was at work helped me not give in to discouragement.
2. Be a good example. I knew him long enough to learn he had some flaws. We all do. But he was as sincere a Christian as I have ever met.
1. Finally, and most importantly, treat your son in law like a son. There is a beautiful theological concept called adoption in the Christian faith. The Greek term is huiothesia. It is a combination of huios, “son” and tithamie “to place or put” (If Dr. Arrington, professor of New Testament Greek, was here, he’d be so proud of me). It means to place as a son with all the rights and privileges of a natural born child. That’s how Dad made me feel. I didn’t just marry into the family, I felt like I had been adopted. I was not a natural born son, but I was loved like one.
My own father died when I was 12 years old. That’s a hole in a boy’s life that never gets filled. But I was blessed to know a man who became a father to me, who in so many ways and so many times became the love and grace of God to me. I am a better man for having known him.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Father’s day edition, 2010
A tribute to Ernest Ezell Rathbone, Jan 6, 1930 – June 11, 2010, on the occasion of his funeral.
I am proud to say that Ernest Ezell Rathbone was my father in law. I met Steve and David Rathbone at Lee College, long before I met Sherry or her Mom and Dad. I met them when I moved to Tampa to work at Riverhills Christian School, and considering my prior experiences of knowing David and Steve, I found Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone to be remarkably normal. (A little brother in law humor). Even before I met Sherry, they took an interest in me and encouraged me.
This week, I overheard my mother in law talking about Dad’s military service as a mechanic on B52s. She said pilots used to ask for him because they knew he would tell them the truth about the plane and whether or not it should fly. He was the same way at church.
When I met him, Dad was a leader at the Riverhills Church of God. He served on the pastor’s council and took that role very seriously. He was every pastor’s dream. He was insightful, respectful, candid and kind and would kindly let them know whether or not their proposals would fly. In all the years I have known him, I have never heard him say an unkind word or critical remark about any of his pastors. He held his pastors in the highest regard. Whatever disagreements he may have had with them, I never heard about them. As a former pastor, I can tell you that pastors love people like my father in law.
When Sherry moved back home to live with them, they started inviting me to lunch after Sunday church. At first I thought they were just being nice. I was a little slow in realizing they were hoping something would click between us. The scheme didn’t work at first.
After a brief move back to Tennessee from Florida, they returned to Tampa in January of 1980. When I heard they were coming back, I discovered all those dinners had a delayed effect. I met them at the house and helped them unload the truck. Sherry and I started dating and on Feb. 29, 1980 I asked her to marry me. That evening, after her parents had gone to bed, we woke them up to share our news. With a mischievous grin, Dad said, “Let me be the first to offer my condolences.”
God willing, Sherry and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary on July 12th this year. We have three daughters of our own, three great sons in law and two grandsons.
After our daughter, Candace, married Chris Hatcher, I learned how wise my father in law really was. On the way to work one morning, after I was feeling particularly bad about overstepping my bounds with Chris, I called him up. I said, “Dad, I just want to thank you for being a great father in law. Now that I am one, I realize how hard it really is.” He said, “Thank you.” That was it. “Thank you.” Not “what did you do and how could you have been so stupid.” Just “thank you.”
So with that being said, I’d like to share some sage advice, my “top ten” if you will, on how to be a great father in law from the best father in law anyone could ask for.
10. Never let the words, “You did WHAT?” cross your lips.
9. Always encourage your son in law. Dad took to calling me his “highly intelligent son in law” early on. After a while, I started believing it myself.
8. Be supportive. Dad and Mom both told Sherry that if she left me and came back home, they would put her and her bags out on the porch and send her back. It goes without saying that would not apply if I mistreated her in any way. He was a big man and I was, after all, highly intelligent.
7. Celebrate their successes- don’t dwell on their failures. He had plenty of opportunities to be critical, but he never was.
6. Don’t meddle. I am not as good at this as he was. I have had to apologize for overstepping my boundaries more than once. I had the wonderful privilege of officiating the wedding ceremonies for all my girls and at the last one, I gave all my sons in law express permission to let me know if I forget the “leave and cleave” part of their vows. He never had to be told. In that way, he was far more intelligent than I.
5. Give advice only when asked. Same as above.
4. Pray for them. He was a man of prayer and I knew at some point during the day, he’d be praying for me.
3. Trust that God is at work in the process. I was often frustrated in my early career as a pastor. I have made a lot of mistakes and made some unwise decisions. He always believed I would eventually figure things out. It took me a long time to find out that my gifts are best suited for hospital chaplaincy. His steady trust that God was at work helped me not give in to discouragement.
2. Be a good example. I knew him long enough to learn he had some flaws. We all do. But he was as sincere a Christian as I have ever met.
1. Finally, and most importantly, treat your son in law like a son. There is a beautiful theological concept called adoption in the Christian faith. The Greek term is huiothesia. It is a combination of huios, “son” and tithamie “to place or put” (If Dr. Arrington, professor of New Testament Greek, was here, he’d be so proud of me). It means to place as a son with all the rights and privileges of a natural born child. That’s how Dad made me feel. I didn’t just marry into the family, I felt like I had been adopted. I was not a natural born son, but I was loved like one.
My own father died when I was 12 years old. That’s a hole in a boy’s life that never gets filled. But I was blessed to know a man who became a father to me, who in so many ways and so many times became the love and grace of God to me. I am a better man for having known him.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Flashbacks
Glimmers
June 3, 2010
I’ve been having flashbacks lately. They are not like the ones associated with post-traumatic stress. These usually make me smile. A couple of weeks ago, I was driving home from Melbourne, Florida in the early evening. The rain had just ended. The air was warm and so heavy it seemed you could wring the moisture out of it like a wet rag. Suddenly, in my mind, I was driving through a curve on Old Centerville Road outside of Tallahassee. It is pitch black except for the glow of my headlights, steam rising from the wet pavement. It was a warm summer night and I was heading home from the Halstead’s house in my 1965 purple Corvair. Yes,purple. It had black vinyl interior and an under the dash 8 track that I had installed myself in Gene Williford's backyard. It was my first car and it was ugly, but it had only cost me a few hundred bucks and I was happy have a car-any car. That’s the feeling that “flashed back,” happiness.
A few days later, I saw a man riding a bicycle on South Barna near where it meets 405 here in Titusville. He was on the sidewalk and turned sharply to follow the curvy sidewalk path. Now I am nine years old on my bicycle with the high handlebars and the banana seat. I am on the sidewalk on the main street that runs through Brooker, FL. In my mind I am opening the screen door of the general store. Across the hardwood floors, to the left of the one manual cash register with the big numbers is a little cooler full of Royal Crown colas and Yoo-Hoo Chocolate sodas. A quarter is all it takes to satisfy my longing. Happiness!
Last week I made my first trip to New York City. It was an amazing experience about which I have much more to say and I’m saving it for next week’s Glimmers. For now, I’ll share another flashback. At the East Flatbush Church of God, where I joined with two other training instructors for the Church of God Chaplains commission to teach for three days, I am standing beside the table with pastries, coffee and tea. There is a big pot of hot water for the beverage of your choosing. The coffee is instant, Folgers Crystals to be exact. And instantly, I am transported to the dining room table of our 12x60 mobile home. I am eleven years old and feeling much older because my mother has allowed me to have coffee, Folgers Crystals instant, with my toast and jelly before heading off to school. I savor it- the aroma, the flavor, the brief encounter with grown-up privilege. I am blissfully unaware of the gathering storm the next few years would bring.
Memories are precious things. They are the repositories of our past, the stuff of who we are. No doubt you have some painful ones, like me. But when you have flashbacks to the good ones, stop and revel in them for a while. It may help you remember who you are and why you’re here.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
June 3, 2010
I’ve been having flashbacks lately. They are not like the ones associated with post-traumatic stress. These usually make me smile. A couple of weeks ago, I was driving home from Melbourne, Florida in the early evening. The rain had just ended. The air was warm and so heavy it seemed you could wring the moisture out of it like a wet rag. Suddenly, in my mind, I was driving through a curve on Old Centerville Road outside of Tallahassee. It is pitch black except for the glow of my headlights, steam rising from the wet pavement. It was a warm summer night and I was heading home from the Halstead’s house in my 1965 purple Corvair. Yes,purple. It had black vinyl interior and an under the dash 8 track that I had installed myself in Gene Williford's backyard. It was my first car and it was ugly, but it had only cost me a few hundred bucks and I was happy have a car-any car. That’s the feeling that “flashed back,” happiness.
A few days later, I saw a man riding a bicycle on South Barna near where it meets 405 here in Titusville. He was on the sidewalk and turned sharply to follow the curvy sidewalk path. Now I am nine years old on my bicycle with the high handlebars and the banana seat. I am on the sidewalk on the main street that runs through Brooker, FL. In my mind I am opening the screen door of the general store. Across the hardwood floors, to the left of the one manual cash register with the big numbers is a little cooler full of Royal Crown colas and Yoo-Hoo Chocolate sodas. A quarter is all it takes to satisfy my longing. Happiness!
Last week I made my first trip to New York City. It was an amazing experience about which I have much more to say and I’m saving it for next week’s Glimmers. For now, I’ll share another flashback. At the East Flatbush Church of God, where I joined with two other training instructors for the Church of God Chaplains commission to teach for three days, I am standing beside the table with pastries, coffee and tea. There is a big pot of hot water for the beverage of your choosing. The coffee is instant, Folgers Crystals to be exact. And instantly, I am transported to the dining room table of our 12x60 mobile home. I am eleven years old and feeling much older because my mother has allowed me to have coffee, Folgers Crystals instant, with my toast and jelly before heading off to school. I savor it- the aroma, the flavor, the brief encounter with grown-up privilege. I am blissfully unaware of the gathering storm the next few years would bring.
Memories are precious things. They are the repositories of our past, the stuff of who we are. No doubt you have some painful ones, like me. But when you have flashbacks to the good ones, stop and revel in them for a while. It may help you remember who you are and why you’re here.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Thursday, May 6, 2010
My Stress-God's Problem
Glimmers
May 6, 2010
He is an imposing figure at 6’ 4” with a big frame and a smile that is bigger still. His name is Reverend Ira Lightsey. He serves as the minister at St. Mary Missionary Baptist Church in Mims, FL. He also works for the Brevard County school system as an assistant PE coach. Last year, he was named employee of the year, a well-deserved honor. We both are fathers of daughters and we have had some kinship moments around that common theme.
A few months back, I saw him at Wal-Mart with his youngest daughter. We waved at one another from a good distance away. After we got close enough to talk, he said his daughter had asked who I was. He said that he told her, “That’s my problem.” I laughed and said, “Well that’s great!” He wondered why I had said that and I told him that if I was his problem then I don’t have any problems. His daughter looked at us both in that roll your eyes teenager perfected kind of way.
I continue to think about the stressors we are dealing with in our community and the resource our faith affords us. In the silliness of that Wal-Mart meeting with my friend Ira, a profound truth is illustrated, a truth the Psalmist learned long ago.
Psalm 27 opens with a declaration that “the LORD is my light and my salvation, so why should I be afraid?” He rehearses all the reasons why he should not fear when faced with things that seem overwhelming to him. He lists outward things like evil people, foes, enemies, false accusers, opposing armies, and inward fears like being abandoned by those closest to him. In the face of it all, he remains confident. He says, “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10). It is as though the Psalmist shows up before God, carrying his heavy load of worries and fears. Someone says to God, “Who is that?” God smiles with a smile bigger even than that of Ira Lightsey and says, “That’s MY problem.”
Peace to you all,
Jerald
May 6, 2010
He is an imposing figure at 6’ 4” with a big frame and a smile that is bigger still. His name is Reverend Ira Lightsey. He serves as the minister at St. Mary Missionary Baptist Church in Mims, FL. He also works for the Brevard County school system as an assistant PE coach. Last year, he was named employee of the year, a well-deserved honor. We both are fathers of daughters and we have had some kinship moments around that common theme.
A few months back, I saw him at Wal-Mart with his youngest daughter. We waved at one another from a good distance away. After we got close enough to talk, he said his daughter had asked who I was. He said that he told her, “That’s my problem.” I laughed and said, “Well that’s great!” He wondered why I had said that and I told him that if I was his problem then I don’t have any problems. His daughter looked at us both in that roll your eyes teenager perfected kind of way.
I continue to think about the stressors we are dealing with in our community and the resource our faith affords us. In the silliness of that Wal-Mart meeting with my friend Ira, a profound truth is illustrated, a truth the Psalmist learned long ago.
Psalm 27 opens with a declaration that “the LORD is my light and my salvation, so why should I be afraid?” He rehearses all the reasons why he should not fear when faced with things that seem overwhelming to him. He lists outward things like evil people, foes, enemies, false accusers, opposing armies, and inward fears like being abandoned by those closest to him. In the face of it all, he remains confident. He says, “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10). It is as though the Psalmist shows up before God, carrying his heavy load of worries and fears. Someone says to God, “Who is that?” God smiles with a smile bigger even than that of Ira Lightsey and says, “That’s MY problem.”
Peace to you all,
Jerald
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Stress allergies
Glimmers
April 27, 2010
April has turned out to be an interesting month. It has a number of things to commend it this year. It is Holocaust Month, Poetry Month, Jazz Appreciation Month and Be Vigilant Against Child Abuse Month. I vote we add “I’m Sick of Pollen Month” to the list.
As I was mowing the grass in the front yard a couple of weeks ago, along the edge of the driveway where it meets the street, the mower stirred up a suffocating yellow cloud from the oak pollen droppings that had covered the grass like a blanket of yellow-brown snow. My throat tightened, my nose began to run and it felt like I had gravel in the corners of my eyes.
The pollen season in Florida, and in much of the rest of the country, has been an especially tough one this year. Speculation is that it could be related to the much colder than normal winter we experienced. Whatever the reason, it has produced some unusual sights and sensations.
Last week, as it finally appeared to be ending, I shoveled up the oak pollen droppings I had blown into the street from my driveway and filled two 30-gallon garbage cans. You read that correctly. I shoveled POLLEN. And I wasn’t the only one. My neighbors, some clad in breathing masks and goggles, were doing the same thing. Another year like this and the city will need to acquire some Pollen Plows to clear the streets. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I am normally not affected too much by pollen season. I don’t have much of a problem with allergies. But I discovered that such an overwhelming dose of pollen could cause even the non-allergic to suffer.
April, in addition to the designations above, is also National Stress Awareness Month. Stress is a given in life. It always has been. And like pollen season, most of us cope with the normal levels of stress quite well with no ill effects. But sometimes, when the right environmental factors converge, a stress outbreak can overwhelm our coping mechanisms. It seems to me that this is one of those seasons for our community. On top of the normal stressors of life, we have the uncertainty of the Space Center’s future, the health care reform bill that recently passed, and the ongoing recession. How is it affecting you? How are you coping with it? Shovels may be good for an overwhelming outbreak of pollen, but dealing with stress requires other tools.
I think faith is certainly the first and most effective tool for stress. Scripture invites us to cast all our cares, our anxieties and stressors, onto the Lord because God cares for us (I Pet. 5:7). Start there. It may prevent you from doing some less productive things with your shovel.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
April 27, 2010
April has turned out to be an interesting month. It has a number of things to commend it this year. It is Holocaust Month, Poetry Month, Jazz Appreciation Month and Be Vigilant Against Child Abuse Month. I vote we add “I’m Sick of Pollen Month” to the list.
As I was mowing the grass in the front yard a couple of weeks ago, along the edge of the driveway where it meets the street, the mower stirred up a suffocating yellow cloud from the oak pollen droppings that had covered the grass like a blanket of yellow-brown snow. My throat tightened, my nose began to run and it felt like I had gravel in the corners of my eyes.
The pollen season in Florida, and in much of the rest of the country, has been an especially tough one this year. Speculation is that it could be related to the much colder than normal winter we experienced. Whatever the reason, it has produced some unusual sights and sensations.
Last week, as it finally appeared to be ending, I shoveled up the oak pollen droppings I had blown into the street from my driveway and filled two 30-gallon garbage cans. You read that correctly. I shoveled POLLEN. And I wasn’t the only one. My neighbors, some clad in breathing masks and goggles, were doing the same thing. Another year like this and the city will need to acquire some Pollen Plows to clear the streets. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I am normally not affected too much by pollen season. I don’t have much of a problem with allergies. But I discovered that such an overwhelming dose of pollen could cause even the non-allergic to suffer.
April, in addition to the designations above, is also National Stress Awareness Month. Stress is a given in life. It always has been. And like pollen season, most of us cope with the normal levels of stress quite well with no ill effects. But sometimes, when the right environmental factors converge, a stress outbreak can overwhelm our coping mechanisms. It seems to me that this is one of those seasons for our community. On top of the normal stressors of life, we have the uncertainty of the Space Center’s future, the health care reform bill that recently passed, and the ongoing recession. How is it affecting you? How are you coping with it? Shovels may be good for an overwhelming outbreak of pollen, but dealing with stress requires other tools.
I think faith is certainly the first and most effective tool for stress. Scripture invites us to cast all our cares, our anxieties and stressors, onto the Lord because God cares for us (I Pet. 5:7). Start there. It may prevent you from doing some less productive things with your shovel.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Hardest Question
Good Friday, 2010
I have heard “why?” a lot more than usual this week. It seems to be the favorite word of my 4-½ year old grandson, Christian. We spent Tuesday together and the “why” question came up in a multitude of forms. When the fish refused to participate in our fishing expedition and not so much as nibble on the hook, he asked “why?” “Why is the water dirty?” he asked, referring to the green stuff growing at the water’s edge. Later, at MacDonald’s for lunch, he pointed out the dragon toy that he wanted in his Happy Meal. When he got a Gronkle instead of a Night Fury he wanted to know why. I entertained “why” questions about alligators, blue herons and egrets. I offered explanations about manatees, turtles, minnows, shells, rain and sand. Some answers satisfied him. Some were met with yet more “whys.” As a chaplain, I’ve learned some “whys” can be much more complicated than the ones about dragons, real or imagined.
She looked at me as I sat in the chair just off to the side at the end of bed. The tears welled up in her eyes as she formed the question. “Why did this happen?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I listened as she searched in vain for some reason in her life, some behavior or sin that would explain why God had allowed her to suffer so. “I have prayed and prayed and prayed and I can’t understand.” “I just want to know why.” I felt the urge to explain it away or offer some defense for God’s questioned character and pushed it back, fighting to stay with her in the pain. No answer would have been adequate. And she is not alone.
He wondered aloud about unrealized hopes. Would he be there for his son’s graduation? Would he be there at his wedding? Would he ever know the joys of being a grandfather? “Why do the men in my family have such rotten genes?” “My brother, my father, my grandfather, all of them had rotten tickers!” “I thought I had beaten the odds, my heart is fine.” “So why did I get this cancer?”
“He’s just a baby.” “Why did God take my baby?” Her cry was inconsolable. It is the kind of pain every parent imagines and hopes never to experience. Her husband arrived and added “whys” of his own. Family and friends tried to answer them; saying things I learned long ago made no sense and offered no comfort.
Why questions about alligators and manatees are not so tough. “Why did God take my son?” “Why did God let this happen?” kind of questions are much more difficult. The best one can do sometimes, most times, is to be with them in silent brokenness. God knows.
Easter blessings,
Jerald
I have heard “why?” a lot more than usual this week. It seems to be the favorite word of my 4-½ year old grandson, Christian. We spent Tuesday together and the “why” question came up in a multitude of forms. When the fish refused to participate in our fishing expedition and not so much as nibble on the hook, he asked “why?” “Why is the water dirty?” he asked, referring to the green stuff growing at the water’s edge. Later, at MacDonald’s for lunch, he pointed out the dragon toy that he wanted in his Happy Meal. When he got a Gronkle instead of a Night Fury he wanted to know why. I entertained “why” questions about alligators, blue herons and egrets. I offered explanations about manatees, turtles, minnows, shells, rain and sand. Some answers satisfied him. Some were met with yet more “whys.” As a chaplain, I’ve learned some “whys” can be much more complicated than the ones about dragons, real or imagined.
She looked at me as I sat in the chair just off to the side at the end of bed. The tears welled up in her eyes as she formed the question. “Why did this happen?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I listened as she searched in vain for some reason in her life, some behavior or sin that would explain why God had allowed her to suffer so. “I have prayed and prayed and prayed and I can’t understand.” “I just want to know why.” I felt the urge to explain it away or offer some defense for God’s questioned character and pushed it back, fighting to stay with her in the pain. No answer would have been adequate. And she is not alone.
He wondered aloud about unrealized hopes. Would he be there for his son’s graduation? Would he be there at his wedding? Would he ever know the joys of being a grandfather? “Why do the men in my family have such rotten genes?” “My brother, my father, my grandfather, all of them had rotten tickers!” “I thought I had beaten the odds, my heart is fine.” “So why did I get this cancer?”
“He’s just a baby.” “Why did God take my baby?” Her cry was inconsolable. It is the kind of pain every parent imagines and hopes never to experience. Her husband arrived and added “whys” of his own. Family and friends tried to answer them; saying things I learned long ago made no sense and offered no comfort.
Why questions about alligators and manatees are not so tough. “Why did God take my son?” “Why did God let this happen?” kind of questions are much more difficult. The best one can do sometimes, most times, is to be with them in silent brokenness. God knows.
Easter blessings,
Jerald
Friday, March 12, 2010
Moments
Glimmers
March 12, 2010
"Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment." Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855)
A friend of mine from college used this Kierkegaard quote as his Facebook status recently. My friend has experienced levels of pain I can hardly imagine and my heart aches for him. I can see how he would identify with Kierkegaard. I added a comment on his post that Kierkegaard must have been looking at the wrong moments.
Kierkegaard, for all his brilliance as a theologian and philosopher, never came across as particularly happy. He struggled with melancholy, what we now call depression. He passed on one opportunity for happiness by breaking up with the love of his life, thinking that he did not deserve such happiness-which makes one wonder about his theology. He never seemed to find another happy opportunity. I think he must have been the inspiration for the quote I saw on a bumper sticker once; “Life is hard, then you die.”
Clearly everyone’s life is different and I will allow that for some life holds little enjoyment at the beginning, or the end, or for many of the moments in between. But I don’t think that is true for all people.
Life is hard. It is often a struggle at the beginning, the end, and many moments in between. But these aren’t the only moments. There is that moment at the end of the aisle when she appears on her father’s arm and the breath nearly leaves the body. There is that moment just after the labor is over and we gaze at the miracle of new life and pain is overwhelmed by joy. The first smile and first word. There is the first day of school and the first step of faith.
Some moments are so full of joy the heart can barely contain them. Some are so full of pain the soul can hardly bear them. Moments. We’ve all had our moments. And we will have others, like the one after the labor is over and we gaze at the miracle of new life. I hope at the moment, after his “last extremity,” Kierkegaard saw that one and finally knew joy. Too bad he had to wait that long.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
March 12, 2010
"Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment." Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855)
A friend of mine from college used this Kierkegaard quote as his Facebook status recently. My friend has experienced levels of pain I can hardly imagine and my heart aches for him. I can see how he would identify with Kierkegaard. I added a comment on his post that Kierkegaard must have been looking at the wrong moments.
Kierkegaard, for all his brilliance as a theologian and philosopher, never came across as particularly happy. He struggled with melancholy, what we now call depression. He passed on one opportunity for happiness by breaking up with the love of his life, thinking that he did not deserve such happiness-which makes one wonder about his theology. He never seemed to find another happy opportunity. I think he must have been the inspiration for the quote I saw on a bumper sticker once; “Life is hard, then you die.”
Clearly everyone’s life is different and I will allow that for some life holds little enjoyment at the beginning, or the end, or for many of the moments in between. But I don’t think that is true for all people.
Life is hard. It is often a struggle at the beginning, the end, and many moments in between. But these aren’t the only moments. There is that moment at the end of the aisle when she appears on her father’s arm and the breath nearly leaves the body. There is that moment just after the labor is over and we gaze at the miracle of new life and pain is overwhelmed by joy. The first smile and first word. There is the first day of school and the first step of faith.
Some moments are so full of joy the heart can barely contain them. Some are so full of pain the soul can hardly bear them. Moments. We’ve all had our moments. And we will have others, like the one after the labor is over and we gaze at the miracle of new life. I hope at the moment, after his “last extremity,” Kierkegaard saw that one and finally knew joy. Too bad he had to wait that long.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
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