All Saints and All saints

Protestant Christians don't have an easy time talking about saints. We aren't quite sure how much we should get into the whole subject. We are pretty sure we are not supposed to pray to them, but we do find ourselves transfixed by the stories of their lives. Having some Irish ancestry, I have always been fond of St. Patrick. Of course, lots of drunken Americans become very fond of him on March 17th, so nothing new there. But there are Saints, and there are saints. The Saints are those deemed worthy by the Roman Catholic Church to be exalted above most of the rest of us. However, saints are more plentiful, and each of us has known at least one. Frederick Buechner once described saints this way: In his holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a handkerchief. These handkerchiefs are called saints. Granted, the imagery of flirting by dropping a handkerchief is from a by-gone era, but we get the point. Saints, with a small "s" are people we all have known: the kind lady next door, the gentleman who offered to mow your lawn when you were ill, the teenager who offered to help with a project. On All Saints Day, all members of the Christian Church, Protestant and Catholic, honor and name the saints who have died in the past year. We name family members, neighbors, friends. We name them so as not to forget them, or their examples. My father's funeral was a Catholic mass. The priest said that we should pray to Sam, my dad, and he would intercede for us. Well, I appreciated the kind thought, but my theology does not extend that far. Besides, my dad was anything but an observant Catholic. However, he was a man capable of great generosity, both of spirit and of materials. He was a very hard-working, decent guy who was very honest. He usually expected too much of we kids, but I think it was because he expected so much of himself. He was not an overtly religious person and certainly he was not perfect. But, he was a saint, because he sought to make his corner of the world a better place and he did believe in God's love being extended. Such is the type of person we will remember on All Saints Day. So, think of your favorite saint, small "s" and mention that individual's name when asked in church this Sunday.

What if You Were Jerry's Chaplain?

With one phase of the Jerry Sandusky travesty drawing to a close with his life sentence, I have been bothered by a persistent question: What if I was Jerry's chaplain? During my college days, I thought that I wanted to be a prison chaplain. That lasted until I actually visited a maximum security penitentiary, as a part of a Christian singing group, my junior year. The image of hopelessness that I saw in the eyes of one of the inmates, a man about my age, has never left me. What could he have done to be in that place at such a young age? Would could any chaplain have said to him to give him hope? And what can any chaplain say to Jerry Sandusky? The man will not accept responsibility for the horrors that he perpetrated on legions of young boys. Ok, that's the part we all know and acknowledge. Here is the hard part: Jesus would say that Jerry Sandusky is a child of God. He is a very bad example of a child, and he has destroyed lives and blames others for his misfortune. It would be so easy to hate him. But that does not alter, for a moment, that he is God's child. His prison chaplain will be charged with offering pastoral care, and the sacraments to him. Can his chaplain cut through his denial to a point where Sandusky admits to his terrible crimes and prepares the way for sincere repentance? Well, if the gospel is to be believed, the answer must be yes. But would you want to be that chaplain? Would I? Isn't it easier to hate him from a distance than to try to figure out a way to think of him as a child of God? Jesus loved the unlovable, and never closed the door on anyone. Jerry Sandusky shares my United Methodist heritage. There is a pastor or chaplain somewhere who will have to work with Sandusky to seek to recover some trace of God's goodness in the man. Pray for that pastor. Pray for all of Sandusky's victims and their families. And, this is the hardest part, pray for Jerry Sandusky. To do any less is to doubt that God can do what Jesus said God can do. And that, according to some scholars, is what Jesus referred to as the unpardonable sin.

Counting Our Blessings

I just finished reading Have a Little Faith: A True Story by Mitch Albom. I didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I did. In the book, Albom describes the journey he took after his childhood rabbi, Albert Lewis, contacted him and asked to see him. Albom had not seen the rabbi in years, but complied. When they met, Rabbi Lewis told Albom that he wanted him to deliver his eulogy. Not knowing what else to say, Albom agreed, but only on the condition that he could meet with the rabbi on a regular basis so that he could learn more about his life. And so they did that, for about ten years. Alongside the story of Al Lewis, Albom writes about Henry Covington, a person his age who grew up not far from him, though they were not friends. Covington's story was vastly different from that of Al Lewis, and involved lots of brushes with the law and finally a stretch in prison. He battled drug abuse and extreme poverty, but eventually became a preacher to a poor, crumbling church in Detroit. The book moves back and forth between the two men, one facing the end of his life, and the other finding his purpose in life. I was reminded when reading this book about how fortunate I am to have grown up in relative comfort, and that I have always had a fulltime job and a good home. As the story bounces back and forth between the life of Al Lewis and Henry Covington, one cannot but take a breath and think, "There but by the grace of God went I!" Al Lewis lived a very long and happy life, serving generations of his synagogue family. When he died, hundreds came to honor and pay tribute to his life and work. Henry Covington continues to serve a diverse array of members of his church: homeless, hungry and struggling folks. Albom was challenged, and ultimately, changed, through the work of both men. Reading the book is an experience in seeing both sides of the faith coin, realizing how our blessings in life obligate us to work that others may be blessed, as well.

What Song Shall They Sing?

I attended a Rally Against Hate last night on campus, and was surprised at the variety of ways in which students expressed their belief in justice for all people. The poems, rants, and dramatic recitations gave power to their feelings, hopes and dreams. At the end, we adjourned outside to the Quad, and, holding glowsticks aloft, all were asked to join in singing the words to "We Shall Overcome." It was at that point I realized the chasm that exists between my generation and that of today's university students. Very few sang the words, because very few of them knew the words. The Civil Rights movement was contemporaneous with my birth, so I was a small boy for much of the activism. But I do remember hearing the words and tune to “We Shall Overcome” many times, as it was the anthem of the movement. It occurred to me during the rally that folks of the generation before me as well my own have not been very effective at passing on the songs, words and the spirit of the movement. I have been around college students for enough years to know that they feel passionately about justice and equality, and they have their own songs and artistic expressions to convey that passion. But the stories, the music and the spirit of the Civil Rights and Peace movements have not been conveyed to them in a way that enables them to incorporate them into their own movements. For students, each rally is a new event; there does not seem to be a sense of continuity from one generation to another. The same can be said for the necessity for continuity of our religious traditions and faith stories. Today's students do not possess a sense of urgency about such things, because those of us who have come before them have not conveyed it very well. As a result, we are playing catch-up, continually. It is not true that our young adults lack passion and a prophetic spirit. It may be true that those of us who know the stories have not been terribly effective in communicating them. So we must strive ever harder to convey the truth of the Gospel, whose mandate for justice provided the foundation for the Civil Rights and Peace movements. The story is there, it just needs us to continue proclaiming it. Otherwise, the stories that this generation of young adults pass on will be sadly, and irrevocably, incomplete.

Looking for Meaning

Whenever I read the passage from Mark 9:42-47,I am reminded of a terrible incident that happened in my hometown years ago. A young man, despondent over the breakup of his marriage, and high on drugs, took that passage literally. I won't recount here exactly what he did, but if you read the passage, you will get the idea. Several days after he mutilated himself, I was asked if I would agree to meet with his estranged wife and family, since I was serving a parish just a few miles away. I was working on my counseling degree at the time, but was not prepared for this situation, I assure you. I met with the family and they were horrified that "God would do such a thing" to someone. Getting past that unfortunate bit of theology took some time, and, near the end of the session, I realized what the real reason was for the family requesting a meeting with me. In his deluded state, the young man stated that he committed such an act of self-destruction because he wanted to go to heaven. It was what he said next that caused concern for his estranged wife and family: he wanted to take her to heaven with him. It was not my theological expertise (if one could call it that!) that they were seeking. They wanted some assurance that he could not come after his wife and harm her. Since he had been involuntarily committed to a psychiatric institute, I knew enough about state law at the time that I could assure them that he would not be getting out anytime soon. They breathed a huge sigh of relief and thanked me for my time. I was glad that the session was over, but I wished that they were as happy to know that God does not make people do such things as they were to learn a bit about the intricacies of mental health law. Then again, who could blame them? God's providential care may be most evident when it is understood in the context of actions that affect folks directly, for the better. I know that God did not will for that young man to disfigure himself in such a horrible way. But sometimes, we struggle to understand tragedy, and when we cannot understand, we attribute it simply to God's will. That seems to be more helpful in our minds than admitting to ourselves that we don't know why some things have to happen. In such an instance, God becomes the villain, instead of being the One who can be our comforter and advocate when we experience the tough times. Our sense of hurt and outrage may blind us to seeing God as anything other than an avenger when bad things happen. Perhaps if we can focus more on understanding God's presence as a constant in our day to day lives when things are going well, we will have built up the reserve of grace needed to get us through the tough times by believing that, though God did not cause the bad stuff, God remains with us as we go through it. Of course, if we insist on maintaining the attitude that God must not permit bad things to happen, ever, then there is no amount of reasoning that will suffice and we will refuse to be comforted.