I started working in September of 1974, three months after graduating from college. My Dad died in December of my senior year. Not wanting to be a burden to my Mom, I decided to skip seminary and go to work. My Dad’s company, J&L Steel, graciously hired me as an inside salesman. (Inside sales is what we call “customer service” today.) The job was located in Chicago. The day after I was hired, I packed up my blue Chevy Vega, drove to Chicago, found an apartment, furnished it with a bed, a sofa and a couple of lamps and started to work a day later. I was paid a whopping $10,000 a year and granted two weeks (10 days) vacation, but only after surviving a probationary six months. Adulthood had been thrust upon me, like it or not!

For years, I would carefully preserve my vacation days. I always took a week off at Christmas and usually a week in the summer. Several jobs later, I was given three weeks vacation. I still took a week at Christmas and during the summer, but the rest of my allotted days I would use to extend a holiday weekend. When my vacation time was upped to 4 weeks, I added a 10-day winter vacation to someplace warm. I hate winter! Since 1974, the longest time I have ever taken off work is three weeks and that was not a vacation. It was when I had an artificial hip installed in the fall of 2013.

Why am I telling you this? Because shortly, I will begin an eight-week sabbatical, graciously granted to me by my church. During those eight weeks, Karin and I will spend time in Ireland, France and Italy as well as a significant amount of time with our family. I cannot begin to describe how weird it feels not to have to go to work for eight weeks. Even more, I have been ordered not even to think about it. I guess my newly graduated wife, Dr. Liiv, and the good Reverend Holt are left with only one thing to do: “Wheels up! Let the adventure begin!”

I love the word “sabbatical.” We are truly taking a “sabbath.” If God only needed a one-day sabbath after creating the universe in one week, I figure a mere mortal, like me, needs all 56 days of my sabbatical to catch my breath and restore my soul. I understand what a blessing it is to have been granted this gift by my flock. Not too many people are fortunate enough to receive such a gift during their working life. Nevertheless, as we prepare to leave, my prayer and wish for all who honor me by reading this blog is that you will find some time to “catch your breath” this summer. Maybe it will be sitting on the shore of Nantucket Sound and watching the sun go down or, even better, taking a week or two to get out of your routine and explore a new little corner of God’s world. And…I hope you will find, at least a moment, to let the Divine One breathe into you a breath of new life. I pray you will find “time to pause” and some much needed rest for your weary souls.

Shortly, I will be off the grid and http://www.pjlive.me will go dark. Later this summer, “PJ” will go “Live” again and we will reconnect. For now, however, I am pressing the off button and shutting down.

Arrivederci!

John Holt, Cotuit, MA

Dear Bishop,

I am SO sorry for what happened last Sunday! With the many churches under your jurisdiction, I am fully aware that it is an honor for you to come to visit my church. I also recognize that, when you do come, you bring a message that needs to be heard. Therefore, I must apologize that I was completely distracted from listening to you. It was not because your message was irrelevant or poorly delivered, although since I wasn’t paying attention, I cannot attest to its relevancy or to the effectiveness of your preaching style. Rather, it was because a child that I invited to attend Sunday stole the show. I never intended that my Granddaughter would overshadow you and reduce your message to a mere afterthought. I truly wish that this had not happened, but it did.

Bishop, you have never been full of yourself. You are a humble and compassionate person, a man who does not need to be the star of the show. Nevertheless, I still apologize. It was my responsibility to create the right atmosphere for you to challenge and inspire us. I failed. I hope you might render me some grace, even though I am not deserving of it.

Bishop, may I ask a favor?  Can you explain why I totally lose contact with what is going on around me whenever my beautiful Granddaughter Samantha is nestled in my arms? Holding her, I feel as if I have ascended into heaven! Sunday in church, I rarely took my eyes off her. Even when I was called upon to perform my duties during the worship service, I was just going through the motions. Bishop, what is it about little children that takes our breath away? Is it their beauty and innocence? Is it because they remind us of the miraculous wonder of God’s creative genius? Is it because they cause our hearts to instantly overflow with love and joy? Whatever the reason, don’t you think we need a whole lot more of what our children and grandchildren bring to our world? We desperately need more of the beauty, innocence and the “out-of-this-world” love and joy that Sammy and all of the precious little children of the world bring to us. Children may, on occasion, overshadow our message, but the love that they evoke in us lies at the very heart of how we experience God’s awesome and eternal love.

Bishop, even as I apologize, I also want to thank you. Thank you for telling me that no child has ever “messed up” one of your worship services. Thank you for being as “over-the-top” in love with kids as I am. That’s why I love you. And…it’s why God called you to be a Bishop of the church. Bishop, you demonstrated, once again, that it is not what we say or how effectively we perform on life’s stage that really matters. It is how we live and how we love.

Bishop, thanks for loving my Sammy!

Pastor John

John E. Holt, Cotuit, MA

Last week, Karin’s Mom and I attended the commencement exercises at Harvard University. After seven years of learning, writing and hard work, Karin earned her Doctorate in Education. It was very moving and joyful when Karin was “robed” and then received her diploma. I confess a few tears trickled their way out of my tear ducts. What else I can say? Karin rocks!

The “robing” ceremony was held in an auditorium with about 100 people in attendance. The awarding of the degrees took place in a huge tent in Radcliffe Yard. We were warned to get there early and reserve seats. The program was scheduled for a little after noon, so I went to the tent two hours early and secured two seats with a view. When we returned to take our seats, the tent was already packed with a couple thousand people sweltering in 85° heat.

About 15 minutes late, the processional began. First, came those receiving their Doctorates in Education, followed by those receiving Masters’ degrees and the faculty. It was a long processional. It takes awhile for nearly 800 people to march in and get settled. As the processional continued, I examined the program. It suggested that the ceremony would not be too lengthy. Because I had been to a previous commencement at Harvard, I knew that the program was deceptive. After an address by the Dean of the School of Education, all degree recipients would have their names read, walk across the stage, receive their diplomas and shake hands with the Dean. Exactly 701 graduates would go through the process. Broiling in the “oven” tent would last for, at least, a couple of hours.

Born with very little patience as well as recognizing that an air conditioned hotel room was a mere three blocks away, I hatched an escape plan. Since those receiving their doctorates went first, after they received their degrees, my plan was to exit, as if I was heading for the Porta-Potties. When the time to escape arrived, however, I couldn’t do it. The Dean had spoken about “Sins of Omission” in his address, but if I left early, I knew it would be a “Sin of Commission.” What if everybody left after their graduate received their degree? Only five people would have been left to see Tianxingyan Zou, the last in line, graduate. In addition, those in attendance cheered for Karin. Shouldn’t I stay and cheer for their loved ones? No “Sin of Commission” for me. I settled in for the duration

As the names were read, I was surprised that I did not lose my mind. Instead, as I watched the line move along, I was struck by the incredible diversity of the graduating class. There were representatives of every race and many nations. There were those who wheeled up the ramp in wheelchairs, while others crossed the stage with their kids in tow. When Tianxingyan Zou crossed the stage, two full hours had elapsed. It was, however, well worth the wait. Every graduate deserved his or her “moment in the sun.”

I often worry that too many people are invisible. Hardly anybody recognizes the plight of African-American young men, until a few of them are gunned down. Those who accumulate great wealth often overshadow those who live in abject poverty. One day, I asked a young man who was trying to start over after spending several years in the Rhode Island Training School (a polite name for a kid’s jail), what I could do to help. His answer broke my heart. He said, “Say hello to me when you see me on the street.”

Everybody needs a “moment in the sun!”

In this post, I bequeath to you a hope and a challenge. My hope is that every one of us will have a “moment in the sun;” that not only will people say hello to us when they “see us on the street,” but that we will also know that the sun of the Divine One’s love always shines upon us. To God, we are never invisible. My challenge is that we will try to give to those who cross our paths, a “moment in the sun.” It can really be as simple as saying hello when we see them on the street.

A number of years ago, some friends and I visited the Daybreak Community in Toronto, Canada. Daybreak is a community for severely disabled people. We went not to visit them, however, as much as to visit Father Henri Nouwen. Henri left a prestigious career in academia to serve as a humble priest to the people of Daybreak. Even though his priestly duties were his priority, Henri continued to write thoughtful and inspirational books on spirituality. Though he died in 1996, his life’s work remains influential. Henri was one of greatest spiritual writers and thinkers of the 20^th century. On our visit, we quickly discovered that Henri lived what he wrote. He was truly a man of deep faith and harbored a heart full of love.

Given Henri’s notoriety, none of us expected that he would act as our tour guide that day. It was not, however, the “bells and whistles” of the place that made Daybreak so special. It was the people, the sense of community and observing Henri’s love and care for his flock that moved us. He knew everybody’s name and he knew their stories. He made everyone at Daybreak, as well as those visiting the community, feel as if they were “God’s beloved.”

Billy was one of Henri’s beloved. Billy had Down Syndrome, but that did not stop him from practicing the craft (art?) of carpentry. He was a highly skilled woodworker, who along with several others in the wood shop, created beautiful furniture for the Daybreak Community. It was not, however, their work that I will remember. Rather, it was how Billy greeted me that made my visit to Daybreak’s wood shop so memorable.

As soon as I walked in the door, Billy stopped what he was doing and dashed across the room to greet me. He got right up in my face, almost nose-to-nose, and said, “I have a joke for you!” He proceeded to tell me MY joke. It was MY joke, nobody else’s. His joke was ONLY for ME! Billy’s joke was not particularly funny, but it did not matter. It was all that Billy had to give and he loved giving it. It may be one of the greatest gifts I ever received.

After Billy gave me my joke, he gave Allan, Gary and Henri their jokes. Henri said that he received many jokes from Billy over the years. He only remembered one as actually being funny. Nevertheless, Henri said that every Billy joke he received made him feel special. He did not mind making repeated trips to the wood shop, especially when he was in need of a little love. Personalized jokes were Billy’s way of saying, “I love you.”

I never saw Billy (or Henri) again, but his gift remains stuck in my soul. I cannot remember the actual joke, but whenever I get down on myself, I think of Billy dashing across the room, getting in my face and saying, “I have a joke for you.” Somehow it shakes me out of my negativity. It reminds me of the incredible power inherent in a small act of love. I cannot get out of my head that when I meet my Maker, the Divine One might dash across the room, get nose-to-nose with me and say, “I have a joke for you!”

Was not Billy’s gift the perfect manifestation of Divine love? I think so. Billy’s gift also reminds me that, if all it takes is to give somebody a joke to make them feel beloved, then maybe I should skip preaching three-point sermons and make up a few jokes to give away…one person at a time.

As you read this, imagine me dashing across the room to YOU, getting in YOUR face and gifting YOU with Billy’s words: “I have a joke for you!” My joke may not be funny, but my love for you is real. You are my beloved AND you are God’s beloved. That’s no joke!

She is Jewish and works amongst the “least of these” in Providence, Rhode Island. She is a loving presence to kids who otherwise are considered not worthy of shedding a tear over. She is short in stature, but large in love.

Karen Feldman loves all kids, but especially those who live in the shadow of poverty in South Providence, Rhode Island.  Far too many of these kids drop out of school, fall prey to dope-dealers and graduate to the Rhode Island prison system. They are supposedly bad kids, but Karen is passionate in her belief that no kid is a bad kid; misguided or in need of love maybe, but never BAD. She is passionate in her belief that all a kid really needs is for somebody to care, somebody to encourage them, somebody who will not give up on them and for somebody to value them. She may not call herself a Mom, but to those who have fallen under her spell, she is the very definition of motherhood.

Karen’s passion for kids prompted her to found a non-profit in a run-down Methodist Church that lent her some space. Her staff consisted initially of herself. Her budget was $0. Her business plan was to hang out at the city high schools and connect with kids one-on-one. Her plan bore fruit. Kids flocked to Mommy Karen and she attracted the attention of charities that wanted to support people who had boots on the ground in the inner-city as well as churches and synagogues that wanted to support a loving presence working with youth on the front lines of poverty. Karen gave birth to Youth-in-Action.

When I was first introduced to Youth-in-Action, I was blown away by the transformation of the kids Karen nurtured. She empowers them. Her kids become passionate advocates for themselves. Instead of dropping out, they pursue their education. Several Youth-in-Action kids not only graduated from high school, but also enrolled in colleges as prestigious as Brown University! More and more, the kids in Youth-in-Action speak for themselves, while Karen, like a proud mother, stands back and applauds their efforts. I can tell you one more thing about Karen: NOBODY better stand in the way of one her kid’s movement from poverty and despair to freedom and hope. Those who do often learn a valuable lesson: Never get between a mother and her cub!

If Jesus was anything he was passionate about people, especially children and those who were impoverished, neglected or forgotten. It was not wise to mess with the ones he called the “least of these.” Contrary to how most people think of Jesus, he might best be described as a mother to those who lived on the fringes of society.

It is amazing, and yet disconcerting, that a diminutive, passionate Jewish woman understands Mommy Jesus much better than many Christians do. Our world needs a few more “Jesus-like” Moms that “love large,” just like Karen Feldman.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, MA

As Mother’s Day approaches, my mind drifts back to last weekend in Dallas. One of the most beautiful moments of that family gathering was when my almost 94 year-old Mom held her first Great Grandchild for the very first time. As I thought about that moment, it struck me how much history my Mom has witnessed. She was born in the depression. She lived through World War II, in which she lost a husband and a brother, followed by wars in Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq. Mom lived through the trauma of both Pearl Harbor and 9-11.

When Mom was a kid, radio and newspapers were the only means of keeping in touch with world events. She was able to adapt to television and private landlines, but she has not been able to make peace with the inter-net, email, smartphones or texting. She still writes letters and sends birthday cards.

During her 93+ years, Mom witnessed a massive amount of turmoil and change. Any reasonable person would affirm that Mom’s life has been eventful. A friend of mine, however, told me that we create our own narratives. He meant that we are in control of our life’s story. World events and a myriad of voices may try to control or influence that narrative, but ultimately it is ours to create and nurture.

Mom’s narrative has always included a firm reliance upon God. She is still quick to tell anybody who cares to listen (and even those who don’t!) that, in the lyrics of the oft-sung spiritual, “the Lord will see us through.” For her 93 (and counting) years, her life story has kept that firm belief front and center.

As Mom held my Granddaughter Samantha last week, I had an epiphany. Far too often, I hear people bemoaning the future. They fear that the “next generations” will screw things up, maybe even worse than they did. They suggest that the future is bleak for our children and our children’s children. I am not buying what they are selling. I will not inhale such toxic fumes. Like my Mom, I trust that when Sammy is down, God will lift her up as if she is on eagle’s wings. In the words of the Psalmist, occasionally Samantha’s “weeping may linger into the night, but joy will come with the dawn.” Undoubtedly, if she lives as long as my Mom, her life will also be eventful, but I am more than willing to trust in Sammy’s God-given potential to create her own narrative. If I did not believe this, I would have to get out of the God business.

Sammy…I trust that you will create a great life story! But never forget, just like Mom still has my back, Grand-Papa will always have yours!

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts