Peaceful Melancholy

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My young athletic doctor was an All-State basketball player for the Boerne Greyhounds some thirty years ago. He gets up at 5:00 am three times a week to play basketball in our high school gymnasium. It is not a good thing to have a former all-state athlete for your physician. His parameters of possibility expand far beyond the normal boundaries of hope.

"Follow my advice and you will die a quick, easy death. Keep going as you are and your death will be slow and painful."

What he wants me to do is slow and painful: run, walk, ride a bicycle, grab the flirtatious hand of the vixen of health. As opposed to sinking into the fraternal order of sofa spuds ("couch potatos" to you not so hip) and enjoying another round of decadent goo and fizz.

So the option is (1) slow and relaxed interminables as a presage to slow and painful death. Or (2) a quick, easy death preceded by pain and deprivation.

It's just a major league quandry framed in a trick question. When I was five years old, my mother presented a minor league dilemma with its own deceiving choice: "Do you want to wear this red shirt, or the blue shirt?" The question offers no permanent choice at all, except to settle mother's anxiety (I might miss the school bus if she doesn't get a shirt on me.) So I chose the red shirt, but tomorrow the blue one was still there.

All through our lives we struggle with the red/blue issue, ignoring the suppressed desire to not wear a shirt at all.

Not to die at all.

We ignore death to the point that it always comes as an unexpected guest. It is the enemy, the darkness against which even the most valiant light dims. The poet laureate of our youth schooled us:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


I think not. Rage just doesn't fit the end of the living of these days. Sometime in the next year, ten years, twenty or even thirty, I will die. The thought does not scare me. I have given up control many times in times when the force was undefeatable. ("Just close your eyes and count backwards from 100": "100, 99, 98, 97 . . .") Rage, no.

Give me gentle submission when I bow. Give me a completeful release of the last energy flow. Concern is small for whatever lies beyond that last revival attempt by the caregivers. Let me go gentle into that good night.

And, I sleep best with no night shirt.

Random Expulsions

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A drive has taken me here, pushed me here, forced me to sit at the keyboard. Yet, I know not why, nor what to say.

I do not think George W is an evil person, but I may be wrong. What compulsion could be driving the man into a position of attacking another country (Iran) at a time when we can barely sustain our forces in Iraq? There is no way we can sustain an extensive ground war in Afganistan, Iraq and Iran at the same time. No way short of a military draft. Yet he talks as if that is his focus. Evil, no, but possibly tragically possessed with some obsession of manifest destiny.

My early favorite Democrat, Obama, seems to lack the spine to get mean enough to defeat Hillary. Hillary has too many loose ends and too many tight stretches to hold it together. This tragic couple (Hillary & Bill) will be unable to avoid a major melt-down before the election (Nov 08). Watch her start to fade by mid-January.

Edwards will fade, as his money dries up. Richardson can't stop talking about his experiences (and we are tired of listening). So that leaves Joe Biden, another early favorite of mine. The most articulate candidate in the field, he may have learned to measure his words.

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Interesting to me, at least, but not the reason I sat here this day.

I am headed to retirement next June (08). The change looks very intriguing to me. Mostly, I hope to have time to research and write: stuff about theology, mental illness, to re-read all of Kurt Vonnegutt's books. To teach some progressive theology classes. To work 20 hours a week in some church, probably in a visiting pastor role. To be able to find a small circle of friends with whom I'll need not maintain a "pastoral" role. To get my blood sugar under control. To help my grandson, grand daughter grow up. To develop a web site that will have lasting value. To get my appetites under control: financial and food.

Well, maybe one of two of those things, before I peek into eternity.

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Erik Erikson's Eighth Stage of Man involves the struggle between despair and intergrity. I know that will be a major field of turmoil for me. Despair could mean falling into the easy chair with the latest book of Sudoku puzzles and refusing to come out. Or, it could be a fanatical dive into some messianic effort to set the world right. May I be saved from any resolution; saved for a wholeness that comes from equal parts of ying and yang.

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Where does the passion of life surface? Have I really developed gills so that the passion for fresh air has been squashed? Little by little, unnoticeably, have I pushed my own thoughts and feelings back into the folds of a dark blanket, for the sake of promoting the growth of parishioner's spiritual weeds? Have I listened with an ear concerned for their tranquility rather than growth? Have I worried more about being controversial, than instructive?

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Somehow this diatribe has not brought satisfaction, for there is an incompleteness to it all these days. Standing on the precipice, looking down, then up, I feel certain that the allure of what's-happening-tomorrow will keep me in the race. Hardball, Countdown, Jon Stewart, even Bill Maher will keep me looking around the corner; hoping that George W hasn't blown up the world, or provoked some else into doing it. Pity the man; fear what he might do.

Conrad

Liberals more tolerant?

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Is it true that liberals are more tolerant of conservatives than vice versa? If so why is this the case? Your comments please.

Tripping DC

The last week of August, Judee (my wife) and I spent in Washington DC. It was an extremely inspiring and uplifting venture---of course we did not see any politicians.

But we did get to sit in the gallery of the House of Representatives, and imagine Sam Rayburn dispensing power. We humbly climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and read the engraved words of the Gettysburg address: of the peple, by the people, for the people ....

We slowly walked the trail of the Vietnam Memorial. It is a difficult thing to pause and read the names of those who would be my age today, if only .... We passed hundeds of geese enjoying the waters of the reflecting ponds and scrounging for food from the grass. They will be flying south in a few months I suppose.

We reached the magnificent World War II Memorial with its dual tribute to the Pacific and European theaters. And finally the spire of the Washington Monument, reaching some 55 stories up into the sky, centering the city.

Arlington Cemetary was next. Our shuttle moved slowly through what appeared to be millions and millions of white crosses. Hushedly we walked toward a beautiful green slope of grass. At the top of that hill was Arlington House, one-time home of Robert E Lee. Turning back to the east you could see the Lincoln Memorial to your left, the Washington Monument straight ahead, and beyond it the beautiful dome of the capitol building. Two weeks before he died, John Kennedy stood on that slope and said it was so beautify that he could spend eternity there. His grave with the eternal flame now lies at the foot of that slope.

Granite tablets hold some of the words from his 1961 inaugural speech.

Now the trumpet summons us again--not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need--not as a call to battle, though embattled we are-- but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, "rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation"--a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself.

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

Having just lived a few, too brief moments with Lincoln, these words invoked such a longing that we could have leaders today who could dream such dreams and heal such hurts.

And we watched in silence the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers in Arlington. Every thirty minutes, 24/7, all kinds of weather that ritual is repeated.

At the capitol building our tour guide explained the interior of the dome, tooks us downs stairs to a room filled with statues donated by each state (Sam Houston represesnted Texas). And, gave us passes to the gallery of the House of Representives (Congress was not in session).

On to the museums: the Air & Space Museum held the Spirit of St. Louis, rockets, space station mockups, the lunar rover, planes from WWI and all the others, even a large model of the Star Ship Enterprise. We saw a 3D Imax movie on the building of the space station; and a planetarium presentation on the universe that was outstanding.

And because the History museum was undergoing renovation, some of the exhibits had been moved to the Air & Space: Dorothy's red shoes from Wizard of Oz, Lincoln's top hat, Mister Rogers' sweater, rocks from the moon, etc.

The Indian Museums was very thorough and informative, even inspiring at times.

We did not get to see the Jefferson Memorial nor the White House (a visitors center is available, the actual White House was not).

Great praises for the DC Metro system. For twenty dollars my young wife bought a ticket that allowed her to travel all over DC all week. My ticket cost $10 (Senior Citizen) and lasted until Thursday. Our hotel (Radisson, Crystal City) was about two blocks away from the Metro Station and we travelled by rail all over DC and Arlington. Never rented a car. But, they do rent cars (Zip Cars) for $7.75 an hour, and I wish I had rented one to go to the Jefferson Memorial. We loved riding the rails and find it hard to understand why Texas is pushing toll roads instead of the rails.

It was a great week.

Sexual Integrity

Yesterday (Saturday, August 18) I returned to San Antonio from a trip to Saddleback Church in Lake Forest, California. A group of eight from our church attended the Celebrate Recovery (CR) national Summit 2007. Over 3,500 persons were there.

We are in our third year of CR at our church. It is a 12-step program designed to serve folks with all sorts of hurts, habits and hangups. Sure, CR deals with addictions to alcohol and drugs; but, it is so much more than that. Any kind of hurt a person might be carrying inside, any kind of destructive habit, any relationship-destroying hangup is fair game.

During this Summit, I became aware of a new area that needs to be addressed in our churches: sexual immorality. I attended a group of over 200 men who admitted to be struggling with sexual addictions---things like lust, pornography, sexual infidelty, adultery, etc. I heard confessions of how sexual obsessions had been extremely destructive to lives, marriages, jobs and careers.

I also heard men say they have been "sober" or "clean" from impurities for days, months, even years. I heard men proclaiming a hunger for holiness. Men whose lives had been restored.

I was directed to a book: Every Man's Battle by Steven Arterburn, Ph.D. He is a psychologist whose book has been used as a study guide for those seeking freedom from sexual obsessions.

A study will be proposed to our Adult Ministries and Council on Ministry. Hopefully a study called "Sexual Integrity" can be offered through our church. And, after the eight-week course, a "maintenance share group", and 12-step program hopefully will be started at Celebrate Recovery.

We live in an age where sexually-stimulating imagery and language is presented to us many times a day: in entertainment media, print media, advertisements, in daily conversations, in our choices of clothing. Pornography, in whatever form it is presented tends to restrict the dimensions of our relationships. We as a people have a real need to learn to control and appropriately use the sexual aspects of our life.

I am aware that Celebrate Recovery, and much of the sexual integrity literature that is out there may take a reactionary, rigid, puritanical position on sex. I don't belong in that camp. But, I do believe that sexual addiction (especially lust, pornogoraphy and adultery) can be very destructive to the most precious relationships we share.

As I learn more, I will write more.

We (Pridefully) Are Number One!

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This fall at some football game it is inevitable you will see zealous students waving their index finger in the air and proclaiming "We're Number One" over and over. And it will be just as certain that they are not. They may have a good won-loss record, perhaps 7-3, but more than likely they will be second or third in their conference, certainly not number one in the nation.

Rampant, exuberant pride will blind the student body to its losses and propel their unfounded claim. We understand all this and take it with a grain of salt. Kids love their school, want to think of it as great, and, allow some of the "greatness" to filter down on themselves.

But it is harder to understand when adults make such a claim for themselves, when the evidence so clearly points elsewhere.

Witness: Pope Benedict XVI a couple of weeks ago declared that the Roman Catholic Church (RCC) was the only true church.
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Other churches havc elements of holiness, the Pope said, but are defective.

Oh my, oh my! This pronouncement, echoing such claims of a bygone day, came during the very same week when the Los Angeles diocese of the RCC announced it was going to pay $660 million to persons who claimed to be sexual abuse victims of church priests.

Add to that the millions and millions other archbishops have coughed over to those offended by their priests and you have a "defect" larger that a billion dollars, and -- even worse -- thousands and thousands of lives blighted. The only true church? We're number one indeed!

Weekly a small group of men meet in our church. Recently one person noted that pride was one of the deadly sins. Quite a discussion ensued, with such statements as "I'm proud to be an American." and "I take pride in my work." And those meanings of "pride" do abound in our popular usage.

But pride's first meaning in your dictionary (look it up) is "overhigh opinion of oneself, exaggerated self-esteem and conceit". It is this kind of "blowing oneself up" that leads us humans to think we are better than everyone else.

When I was growing up in West Texas there was a church there which claimed it was the only true church. All other churches (including the RCC) were false churches because they had practices which were not found in the New Testament (e.g., using pianos in worship, calling their building a "church", naming their churches after saints, etc.).

Many other churches or religious bodies have asserted their exclusive righteousness, their special standing before God. Ever hear the phrase "chosen race" or "chosen people"? In the Christian church we struggle with the early church's quote of Jesus: "No one comes to the Father except through me." And the Islamic and Jewish faiths have adherents who make a similar claim, "we are the only way to salvation".

It is a childish arrogance to proclaim oneself or one's group as the one group or people on all the earth whom God loves more than others.

Years ago I worked as a caseworker on a psychiatric unit at a state hospital. It was not unusual for us to admit persons with many different delusions. E.g., unwed mothers often claimed to be the virgin Mary. Once we had two different patients, both claiming to be Jesus Christ. Even to them it was obvious that there could not be two of them. When confronted with that contradiction, one of them replied, "Well, I am the real Jesus, he is a fake." And, of course the other patient said the same thing.

Whenever we are led to claim that we are special, while others are ordindary, chances are our claim is based on prideful delusion.

Why do we do this? Do we not all want to be special? Do we not all want to be important? In the Christian Scripture the mother of James and John wanted to insure a seat of importance for her sons in heaven. As disciples of Jesus, they were already important to Jesus, but their mother wanted them to sit in places of honor (Matthew 20.21). She wanted her sons to be number one (and number two, I suppose).

The antidote to this kind of thinking is humility---the opposite of pride. I have often wondered about the relationship between the word "humility" and "humus". The latter is a rich and fertile dirt, but still, only dirt. And, in the Jewish story of creation, God made man out of dirt. To me this suggests that our true satisfaction in life is rooted in the knowledge that we come from "dirt" and to "dirt" we will return.

In a "first-shall-be-last" kingdom, claiming we are number one almost certainly assures that we are not.

Save Me from the Gripers

I know a religious lady who claims to be a Christian who publisihes a gripe about every five minutes of her waking moments. Mostly she gripes about the people around her; and, I am convinced she must gripe about me once I am out of her sight.

We have a lot of "cultural Christians", many, many such, who religiously perform "Christian" rites (associated with the church) but whose life can hardly be distinguished from a non-Christian when they are away from church functions. They even gripe about the preacher, the selected hymns, the choir, the ushers, the temperature in the sanctuary, the other people who come to functions. And, they fail to see the selfish toxin they spread and multiply in themselves. It is difficult to be around them for long.

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A story is told about a man who wanted to be a monk in a monastery, so he took the vows and began his novitiate.

"For the first year, you must work daily in the garden, and keep silent."

So he did his daily work without a word. At the end of that time, the Abbot said he could speak two words.

"Hard Bed", said the novice.

He was chastised and told he had to work another year in silence. At the end of that time, he once again was give the opportunity to say two words.

"Bad Food", he replied.

This time he was told he must work two years in silence, in the garden, the kitchen and mopping floors. At the end of that time he was brought before the Abbot again and given two words.

"I quit.", he spoke.

"Well, it's just as well," said the Abbot. "You have done nothing but gripe ever since you have been here.

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I think griping is a very aggressive way, a very negative aggressive way of walking through life. It is possible the griper is not consciously aware of their constant harangue. A griper may be like the preacher who says, "Dear God," fifteen times when he utters a pastoral prayer. [That's the religious version of the secular person who says, "you know" over and over in conversation.] The griper probably does not know how bitter and negative they sound. And they may not even be aware of their words.

But others are. And others are aware that the griper makes a choice not to be thankful for life. The griper plays out his/her life from a cess pool of daily pain and rotting relationships. He does not trust the rule of thanksgiving. Nor is the call to "come into the presence of the Lord with thanksgiving" answered in their life.

David Scholer is a very popular New Testament professor at Fuller Theological Seminary. He was diagnosed with colorectal cancer five years ago. It has now spread to both lungs, and he has asthma, diabetes and arthritis. Students say that his most important lesson is the importance of living with ambiguity; and, to ponder Paul's 1st Thessalonians statement, "Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances."

When you give thanks to God for all things in your life, daily, one-by-one, the good things and the bad things, it absolutely transforms your life. You become a joy and a blessing to those you meet.