Once upon time, I shared with you my obsession with Pako, our tuxedo cat of outstanding character. You may remember that the definition of this obsession is that Pako (without apology) gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. What does Pako want the most? L-O-V-E!!!  Pako is a love addict and he seeks such love with great “purr-sistence.”

When I am at work, Pako constantly wants Karin to hold him. What’s wrong with that? Nothing, unless you need two hands to type your doctoral dissertation. It is a bit of a challenge to hug Pako and type at the same time. Try, however, to “control-alt-delete” him and you will discover that Pako is similar to one of those spiky burrs you keep picking off your socks after taking a walk in the woods. When I am home, all Pako wants is for me to “box” with him or scratch his neck. No “time-outs” permitted. What’s wrong with that? Nothing, unless it is in the middle of night, when I am trying to sleep. It is very difficult to snooze, when Pako is walking repeatedly across my head. “What?” you might ask. “You and your wife let Pako sleep with you?” Yes, we do. Our relationship with Pako is a “ménage a trois.” Laugh at us, if you want, but Pako’s “purr-sistence” has also been quite instructive.

It happens as often as the same commercials are repeated during an NFL game. A person comes to me lamenting that “life sucks” and then throws God under the bus: “Why does God do such things to me? Why doesn’t God help me?”

I usually reply, “Well, have you asked?” Most of the time they give me a funny look and change the subject, but if they answer “yes,” then I ask, “Persistently?” I suppose that most think God should answer immediately. Maybe God does, but we fail to hear the answer. So I say, “Ask persistently and then listen attentively.”  Perhaps the voice of God is not a shout, but a whisper.

The larger question is, “What is it that we really need?”

Several years ago, Charlie died. Charlie was a young adult with significant disabilities. His death was sudden and unexpected. I did not know Charlie and I had met his parents only once. Nevertheless, they asked if I would assist with Charlie’s memorial service. I was more than willing to help.

When I met with Stephen and Gretchen, they were very clear that they wanted Charlie’s service to be a celebration with lots of music. “That’s what Charlie would have wanted,” they said.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked.

Stephen said, “I am going to get the Harlem Gospel Choir to come and sing.”

“Sure you are,” I skeptically thought to myself. But, much to my surprise, he did.

The day of the service the sanctuary was filled to overflowing with Charlie’s friends and family. The Harlem Gospel Choir led off my marching down the aisle singing, “When the Saints Go Marching In.” There are only eight or nine members of the choir, but those incredible voices lifted the roof off the church.

It was, however, when they sang Richard Smallwood’s Gospel song, “Total Praise,” that everybody in that room, if they were listening, learned how persistently asking God pays off. As the choir sang, they disbanded, and moved off the chancel toward the family. Then, each person in the choir took both hands of a family member and sang:

Lord, I will lift my eyes to the hills.
Knowing my help is coming from you.
Your peace you give me in time of the storm.

You are the source of my strength.
You are the strength of my life,
I lift my hands in total praise to you,

When they finished, the choir gently let go of the hands and embraced the family, before returning to the chancel area and singing once again, “You are the source of my strength. You are the strength of my life. I lift my hands in total praise to you.” They ended with an eight-fold “Amen” that, literally, took your breath away. Regardless of one’s spiritual inclination, everybody in that room was blown away. There is no way you could have been present and not felt the presence of the Divine.

The Divine One is not a Mr. or Ms. Fix-it. If we expect God to wave a magic wand and wipe away all life’s challenges, that God will come up short. If, however, we understand God as the “source of our strength” and the “strength of our life,” then we might just be onto something. If we persistently ask for strength, we might find some “peace…in the time of the storm” and even find ourselves singing an eight-fold “Amen.”

Over a year ago, I invited my flock to join a new political party. I named it the Disgusted Party. My party was designed to give anybody who is sick and tired of those who are running our country a new political home. Down with the Democrats! Down with the Republicans! Re-register to vote as card-carrying members of the Disgusted Party! God bless America!

I was just kidding, but I was surprised by the number of people who wished that I wasn’t! I guess my little joke hit a nerve. Since the formation of the Disgusted Party, disillusionment has grown even more pervasive as those who pretend to lead us continue to bicker like spoiled, little children. (Oops! Sorry kids! You actually do a better job than our leaders in tackling the issues that are keeping our world from becoming a better place!)

This week, however, a little bit of my faith has been restored. When Indiana passed a potentially discriminatory Freedom of Religion Act and Arkansas threatened to follow Indiana’s lead, good people, responsible businesses and non-profits as well as many of our more enlightened political leaders took notice and shouted, “No!” A massive groundswell of disgust and anger sent the Governors of those two states running for cover! They thought they could appease their “base” by signing such a law, only to get spanked by a massive majority of Americans from across the political and religious spectrums who refused to allow members of the Gay community to be reduced to second-class citizens.

Most Americans do not understand why we need such laws. Doesn’t our Constitution protect religious liberty? Nevertheless, at least the chastened political crazies in Indiana and Arkansas passed amendments to their Freedom of Religion Acts. These amendments prohibited discrimination against any of our people. Thank God so many of our fellow citizens stood up and insisted that the unalienable right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” must never be compromised!

The events of the past week produced an interesting back story. They brought into the light of public scrutiny the all-out theological war raging between two brands of Christianity. Sides have been drawn for a long time. Thanks, however, to the events in Indiana, some different Christians voices are now being heard. These voices have been drowned out by the judgmental Christian voices that dominated the religious chatter in the media for years. The battle revolves around a very simple question, “What did Jesus mean when he said, ‘For God so loved the world…?’”

On one side are Christians who promote discriminatory laws like Indiana’s Freedom of Religion Act. These Christian fringe-groups are doing all in their power to halt the progress of Gay rights in this country. They believe that homosexuality is a sin and that members of the Gay community have fallen out of favor with God. They not only endeavor to deny the unalienable right of “life, liberty and pursuit of happiness” to those who do not conform to their standards, but they also deny the sacred worth of anyone who does not strictly adhere to their set of beliefs. That’s one side.

Pope Francis represents the best of the other side. On Holy Thursday, the Pope went to Rome’s largest prison, humbly knelt down and washed the feet of 6 men, 6 women from a nearby detention center and an inmate’s son. As the Boston Globe reported, the Pope has “revolutionized the Holy Thursday foot washing ceremony by performing it on women and non-Catholics and by traveling to detention centers and facilities for the sick. In his message delivered in the prison chapel, the Pope sought to give the inmates hope, telling them that Jesus loved them to the point of giving his life for each and every one of them. ‘He did it for you, for you, for you, for me,’ he said pointing to the inmates. ‘For every one who has a first and last name. Because his love is personal.’”

Which side do you think better reflects a God who loves the whole world? I stand with the Pope! I love you Pope Francis! God’s love is PERSONAL! It is extended to EVERYBODY “who has a first and last name!”

If you stand with the POPE (and me), vote “YES” by liking this post or by leaving “YES” as a comment on my blog. It’s time for the message of God’s personal love for all the world to go viral!

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

I have a question for Indiana Governor Mike Pence: With the passage of Indiana’s Freedom of Religion Act, will some God-fearing folk be able to change the words “Colored” or Negroes” on the signs above to “Gay?” Governor Pence said, “This bill is not about discrimination, and if I thought it legalized discrimination in any way in Indiana, I would have vetoed it.” Really? Everybody, including Governor Pence, understands that the bill was designed to give people (clergy?) the freedom to deny marriage to gay couples. What’s the difference between denying gay marriage on religious grounds or a religious person denying service to a gay person at a restaurant? Will anti-gay religious people be able to designate water fountains for “Gay” and “Everybody Else” or change signs like the ones below to read: “GAY PEOPLE SERVED IN THE REAR. WE SERVE GAY PEOPLE CARRY OUT ONLY?” As one lawyer commented with regard to my questions, the Indiana law creates a “very slippery slope.”

Governor Pence and the Indiana legislature passed this law only because the Supreme Court has done a courageous thing. The Court determined (thus far and I hope will do so with finality) that to deny marriage to a gay couple deprives them of an unalienable right. Yea!! How I wish all religions would affirm the right of ALL people to love and marry as they choose.

I have been an ordained United Methodist pastor for 30 years. My denomination currently bars its clergy from performing gay marriages. No state or federal government agency has ever attempted to order the United Methodist Church to allow its clergy to perform gay marriages. They never will. What we do in our church buildings is our business. Unless we break a law that injures somebody else, we have the freedom to practice our religion inside our buildings as we wish. If, however, I shoot a person in my church building or outside of it, I will be arrested, because I denied somebody their unalienable right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” As far as I am concerned, my denomination’s rules against gay people DO deny good people of an unalienable right, which is why I will perform a gay marriage, whether inside or outside my church building. Our unjust rules, however, have me asking if I can remain a member of my denomination, even though the local church that I currently serve has, for over 20 years, declared itself to be open, affirming, welcoming, reconciling or any other word you want to use that says, “Welcome! You are a beloved child of God! Come sing and pray with us!” Even so, am I condoning injustice by staying? That’s a troubling question.

The saddest thing is that some Christian people deny gay people their rights, because the Bible says homosexuality is wrong. Yes, it does. The Bible also says that slavery is OK, but we determined that the Bible was wrong on that one. It says women should have their heads covered in church, but nobody enforces that rule. Why don’t Christians eat Kosher foods? The Bible says we should. I have heard one too many Reverends say, “Well, those things were written for “back then.” My question is, “How do they know what was written for “back then” and what was written as God’s eternal truths? Nobody denies that God calls us to be a people who create love, justice, peace, grace and hope. To deny people the right to express their love for each other is a fundamental breaking of God’s law.

I heard Rev. Brent Sadler on CNN say that, if we abandon the rules in the Bible, we will have to “start to try to figure things out.” That’s right, Rev. Sadler. We need to believe every word in the Bible, otherwise we will have to THINK! Wait a minute! Didn’t God create us with a brain? I assume that since God created us with a BRAIN, God also expects us to use it to decide what is right, loving and just. However, if Rev. Sadler doesn’t want to “figure things out,” in our great country, we respect his right to do so. He cannot, however, deny me or anybody else, the right to use our God-given intelligence to discern the ways of God.

When Dr. King led the civil rights movement, he advocated for non-violence. His reason was that, by practicing peace, his people would prove that they were more enlightened than those who beat them with clubs or taunted them with vulgar words. As frustrated as I am with the leaders of the State of Indiana and what some people in the United Methodist Church declare to be truth, I will not stoop to their level. Instead, I will pray for them. I will pray, “O Lord have mercy on their souls.”

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

It’s tough to lose a close friend. As I write this post, I am in mourning; in mourning for Chuck Caton, a man who taught me a little more about love and a lot more about wearing my heart on my sleeve. And…I grieve for the man who convinced me that it is OK to cry.

It is hard for me to think of Chuck, without thinking of Liz. I can’t imagine one without the other. There was a deep bond of love between them. From the very first moment Chuck met Liz, he was hooked. Their love never diminished. It took root, grew and perpetually bloomed.

Now sometimes Chuck was bit over the top. We would be sitting around the table arguing politics, when all of a sudden Chuck would go silent, his eyes would fill to the brim and he would say, “Isn’t Liz beautiful? I love her.” This did not happen just once. There were frequent commercial breaks in which Chuck would remind his listening audience of his undying devotion to Liz. It was a bit much, but it was also sincere.

Chuck and Liz asked me to marry them. I was honored to do so. When the big day arrived, Chuck went off script. I asked, “Chuck, will you take Liz to be your wife?”

The correct answer is “I will.” Chuck, however, ad libbed, “Isn’t she beautiful? I love her!”

Chuck and Liz taught me something about the true nature of love. They taught me that love requires vulnerability, a giving of one’s heart without reserve. Without such vulnerability love fails to take root. It withers and fades. Love is a risky business, because not only do we open our hearts, but we also pledge that we will keep them open “for better or for worse until death do us part.” Easy to say when all is well, but not so easy to do when the dominoes of our lives are falling. Nevertheless, through thick and thin, Chuck and Liz’s love never wavered. They gave each other their hearts without fear or reserve.

Chuck also taught me to wear my heart on my sleeve. For Chuck, love meant to get your hands dirty. No need to preach, just live what you believe and it will be a sermon in and of itself. For Chuck, a great sermon was working on a Habitat house or putting new windows in a hospice home. It was not only to advocate for peace, but also to live peacefully…every day.

Chuck stood for justice for ALL people. He respected the uniqueness of all of God’s children. What do we not understand about Jesus’ instructions to “love one another and to judge not?” I never heard Chuck ask that question of anybody. He didn’t have to. He lived it. Thank you, Chuck, for teaching me to shut up once in awhile. To let my actions speak louder than my words.

Just about every Sunday I preached during my years in New Hartford, New York, Chuck would come out of church with tears running down his cheeks. He would say, “You got to me again.”

I would reply, “For God’s sake, Charlie, you are so easy. You started crying when I said, ‘Good morning!’”

My Dad taught me that “big boys don’t cry.” Chuck taught me that big boys ought to cry. Never was that more important than during some difficult days when the bottom was falling out of my life. I was flying so low that I was beginning to wonder if life was worth living. I knew I needed a dose of Chuck and Liz, so I made the trek from Rhode Island to New Harford. Chuck met me at the door and embraced me like my Dad never did. He let me wet his shirt with my tears. Before long, I felt his tears soaking my shirt. Chuck was crying with me and for me. Nobody ever cried with me or for me before that day. At that moment, I began to rise out of the ashes of despair. Chuck put flesh on and gave meaning to the words of the Psalmist, “Weeping may linger into the night, but joy comes with dawn.”

I could go on and on AND I WILL! Thanks Chuck for loving my kids. Thanks for loving my new family and for embracing Karin as warmly as you embraced me. Thank you for laughing with me over silly things, for intensely arguing politics, for teaching me what a real man-cave is and for showing me that it is possible to fall in love with tomato plants.

Charlie, your death severely tests me, but I get a little peace of mind in knowing that you are at rest in the arms of your Creator. Thanks for being you…for being authentically and honestly YOU. You gave so much more to life than you took from it and, beyond a shadow of a doubt; you proved that the best way for the Divine One to get into the world is through us. Charlie, I love you. I will miss you. There will never be another YOU in my life.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

It’s been a long time since I went to a high school musical. I forgot how much fun it is! Recently, I went with our church youth group to see “Godspell” at Mashpee High school. Taylor and Nathan, two incredible young people from our church, had lead roles in the show. I knew they were talented, but I did not know they were that talented. Nathan sang a wonderful solo and Taylor brought the house down with her vamp and singing of “Turn Back, O Man.” I said to both of them after the show, “You have to keep using your talent, because to whom much has been given, much is demanded. Using your God-given talent will make our world a better place!”

Like all high school productions, Mashpee High’s “Godspell” is not quite ready for Broadway. As one who once directed high school plays, I am keenly aware of how difficult it is to stage a show like “Godspell.” It’s a huge challenge for the cast, crew and musicians. For the Director, it takes time, energy and, most of all, PATIENCE. Why patience? Because the most important thing about the production of a high school show is to get as many kids involved as possible. This means that some members of the cast, no matter how many rehearsals, will never be quite ready for primetime. Not everybody has the God-given talent to grace a stage. That’s where patience has a major role to play. To some in the cast, making a character come alive is relatively easy. For others, no amount of direction or rehearsal is going to result in a good characterization. Especially in high school productions, there will always be a few off-key voices, missed lines and a few technical difficulties. That, however, is not the point. The point is that a youthful cast of characters works together to create on stage something that makes them feel good and proud. In the end, it is that moment in the spotlight that really matters. Mashpee High’s “Godspell” was no exception.

We attended the first of three performances. At the beginning, the cast was a bit tentative as they got their “stage legs”, but by the end of the show, their energy and enthusiasm filled the theater. They held the audience (God)spell bound as they brought the show to its final curtain. Then, it was time for the best part. The cast returned to the stage to receive a well-deserved standing ovation. The sheer joy and pride reflected in the face of each cast and crew member’s face was worth far more than the price of admission.

Centuries ago, the guy from Nazareth said, “Let the children come to me, because such is the kingdom of heaven.” That was Jesus’ way of saying, “Kids should move to center stage with a spotlight or two shining on them, because this is God’s way of doing things.” Encouraging our kids to use their talents, no matter how great or little those talents may be and then shining the spotlight on them and applauding their efforts, is a wonderful antidote for the negativity that, far too often, surrounds our kids and clouds their future.

Advice is cheap, but I’m going to give you a little anyway. Find a high school theater production of “Godspell” or any other show near you, buy some tickets, take your seat, have your soul lifted up by our kids and then give them their moment in the spotlight. For a bunch of committed and inspired kids, it will make all the difference in the world!

 John E. Holt, Cotuit, MA

Got up early yesterday and headed off to Market Basket in Bourne. I choose to grocery shop there a couple of times a month, essentially because I am cheap. Even though it is only five minutes away, the prices at Stop & Shop give me severe sticker shock. It takes about 20-30 minutes to get to the “Basket”, but it’s worth it. It makes me happy to leave with a trunk full of groceries, without having to acquire a second mortgage.

Yesterday, the “Basket” was packed. There were cart jams in the aisles and long lines at all 15 or so of the check out registers. Most peoples’ carts were as full as mine. I was not surprised. It has been this way at Market Basket ever since the strike.

For those of you who do not live in New England, the Market Basket strike might have only been a blip on your radar screen. It was not, however, a normal strike. There was no union involved and the employees were not “striking” to get an increase in their wages or benefits. It actually was an uprising. The “Basket” workers rose up on behalf of the president of the company. When was the last time that happened? Never!

The details do not matter. All you need to know is that there was a family brawl in the boardroom. As a result, a cousin fired the workers’ beloved boss, President Artie. At least, he tried to fire him, but the workers rose up and said “No!” They shut the entire chain of stores down. It lasted for several weeks. The new management fired a few folks. They threatened to let everybody go. The “Basket” employees, however, remained resolute. When the new regime did try to open a store, not only did the workers not show up, but the customers also stayed away. The company began hemorrhaging money. At last, the cousin and his allies gave up. They sold out to Artie. The stores re-opened, the employees happily went back to work and customers flocked back to the “Basket” in record numbers.

The first time I went back, I accidentally crashed my cart into an employee in one of the over-crowed aisles. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

“No worries,” he responded, “I’m fine.”

I said to him, “We are all proud of you!”

He smiled and replied, “Thanks.” Then, he continued restocking Puffed Wheat on the shelf.

Yesterday, as I was shopping, I bumped (not literally) into that guy again. I said, “Hey, how are you? Do you remember me? I crashed my cart into you shortly after the store re-opened.”

“Yea, I remember,” he said, as he quickly moved out of harm’s way.

“How are things going?” I asked.

“Living the dream!” he said. As opposed to the guy who deadpanned the same thing to me at B.J’s a couple of years ago, his smile told me that he meant it.

Those employees risked their livelihood to stand up for Artie. They rose up for him, because he looked out for them. Artie made sure they earned a decent wage, received some benefits and were treated fairly. Artie must not have been trained in corporate human relations theory. The “Basket Employees” were not simply human capital to be acquired, expended and discarded. Nope. Artie sees them as living, breathing human beings that are the key to Market Basket’s success. They are. The long lines prove it.

There is, however, a greater lesson to be learned. In our society, we can easily be discarded, if we don’t stand up for ourselves. We can complain about our country all we want, but Artie and the “Basket” employees taught us that we still have the freedom to say “No!” to greed and inequity. We will be acquired, expended and discarded, only if we allow it to happen.

There is a lot going wrong in our world today. Inspired by Artie and the “Basket” workers, maybe we are past due in standing up for ourselves. Our fate need not be inevitable. There are more of us who want to do what is right and fair, than there are those who would abuse us in the name of the god of personal gain. The “Basket” employees also taught us that, even though we may be called upon to stand alone, it is much more effective to stand together.

I often get cranky with God. Why can’t God just snap a finger and fix what is wrong? But maybe God does not choose to exercise the power to acquire, expend and discard. Yesterday at the “Basket,” a thought popped into my head, “If I stand up for myself, God will stand up with me. If we stand up for ourselves, God will stand up with us.”

I like that thought. It was worth standing in a long line at “Market Basket” to learn it.

John Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

We meet some very interesting people as we move along our way. For me, none was more interesting than Lew Platt. I first met Lew at the home of his father in New Hartford, New York. Lew had flown in from the “left” coast to visit his Dad who was dying of cancer. A few weeks later, Lew called and asked me to visit his Dad again, I immediately went to see him and continued to do so on a regular basis.

One day when I arrived, Lew answered the door. His Dad was sleeping so we sat down in the living room and talked. I asked him what he did for a living. I was surprised when he disclosed that he was Chairman of the Board and CEO of Hewlett Packard, one of the largest corporations in the world. We talked at length about the challenges of our professions. As I left, we agreed to keep in touch.

A few weeks later, Lew’s Dad died. We held his funeral at my church. Lew spoke eloquently and lovingly about his father and made the point that “all the money in the world” could not buy the love that he received from his Dad. It was very touching. After the funeral was over, we parted company agreeing, once again, to keep in touch.

About a year later, I took a new job running a workforce development program in Upstate New York. I was asked to serve on a committee that was planning an economic development conference for our community. We needed a keynote speaker. I suggested Lew. Nobody believed that I could get the head of Hewlett Packard to come and speak, but one phone call later, Lew readily agreed to come! Everybody was really excited, including me. I looked forward to renewing our friendship

Lew did a great job as our speaker. After he finished, however, a cranky guy stood up and complained, “I am a stockholder. Can you tell me why you spend so damn much money on R&D? I think you should return some of that money to the shareholders.” Lew’s answer was brief and to the point, “We spend money on R&D so that we don’t fall behind technologically. If we miss the technology curve, we will be out of business in less than a year.”

There are two ways to go bankrupt in a hurry. One, as Lew Platt suggested, is to miss the technology curve. The other is to forget who you are and why you exist. It saddens me to report that most religion is failing on both counts. Many religions are withering away because they have missed the technology curve. They are out of touch with real life and in danger of becoming obsolete. The only headlines that many religions generate today are negative ones: headlines that highlight a nasty judgmental streak and, even worse, headlines that tell of beheadings and violence in the name of God. Too many religions also cling to a fatal flaw that essentially renders them pointless. They have lost their heart. To believe in the Divine is fundamentally a matter of the heart. Religion must never be reduced to a bunch of heartless, judgmental rules and regulations. As it was said to me long ago, “You can’t go wrong, if you lead with your heart.”

As to my own Christian religion, I believe our founder would be appalled at what we have become. He would indict us on the charge of 1st degree heartlessness. What Jesus taught can be reduced to a trinity of ideas rooted in the heart. First, we should love God and love one another. Second, a religion neither has exclusive access to God, nor does God pick one person over another or love one person more than another. There is equality in the Divine love. Sam Davis wrote: “We are chosen. Now and always, whoever we are, whatever we are like and wherever we go. We are not chosen instead of someone else or in front of someone else…and not chosen because we are better or stronger or wiser. We are simply CHOSEN, period.” Third, true religion requires us to be deeply disturbed by human need. We must never keep our hearts to ourselves. Our hearts are designed to be given away.

A religion with heart never withers or fades. Those who embrace such a religion will bloom and grow into the people God hopes for them to be: a people who love and do good, a people who “judge not” and a people who are disturbed enough by human need to try to do something about it. A religion with heart will never become irrelevant as long as those who embrace it always, ALWAYS, lead with their hearts. After all, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

On good old Cape Cod, the artic blasts of snow and cold over the past month take me back to a different time and place. Since I am definitely not a fan of winter, that part of that “different time and place” I had hoped would remain out of sight and out of mind (Forever!), but another part continues to warm my soul. Welcome to “O Little Town of Harrisville!”

Winds driving across Lake Ontario give birth to lake effect snow. That does not sound too bad unless you have experienced it. When bands of lake effect snow set up and blow east, Tug Hill and the villages and towns on and around it are often blessed with a foot of snowfall, sometimes for several days in a row. Season snowfall totals on Tug Hill average nearly 17 feet a year. Harrisville is located on the edge of Tug Hill.

On a warm summer’s day in 1988, my boss called and said, “The Grand Poobah has in mind appointing you as pastor of our church in Harrisville.”

“Where on God’s earth is Harrisville?” I asked.

With a hint of uncertainty in his voice, he replied, “North of Syracuse and east of Watertown.”

I grabbed an atlas. It did not show a Harrisville in New York. With no Google Maps available back then, I went to my car and found a neatly folded, Exxon-produced map of New York. I located Harrisville, 40 miles east of Watertown and 80 miles west of Saranac Lake, on NY Route 3. My heart sank. “What did I do wrong? Why was the Grand Poobah exiling me to Harrisville?”

It got worse.

A couple of days later, I loaded my family in the car and took off on a reconnaissance mission. It was 173 miles from home to Harrisville. After driving for an eternity, we saw a sign that announced “Harrisville.” We drove for another minute, maybe two, before seeing a second sign that read “Pitcairn.” What? Did we miss the turn? We reversed course and drove a bit more slowly, looking for signs of life. Eureka! Just before we crossed a small bridge over the Oswegatchie River, we spotted downtown Harrisville on our left. We made a quick turn onto the main drag and drove past a restaurant, a bar, a gas station, a small store, a bank, a post office, a bakery and a pharmacy. After some additional scouring of Harrisville’s “suburbs,” we found the school, (Grades K-12 all in one building), a couple of churches, a fire station, a bowling alley and a cemetery. That was it.

As we drove home in silence, I thought, “I have got to find a way to get out of this.” But I couldn’t. The Grand Poobah would not be moved. Harrisville was my new church and home. Get over it.

We moved about a month later. Immediately, some strange things happened. I went to the Post Office to sign up for a mailbox. The clerk said, “Welcome to Harrisville, Reverend, we are glad you are here.” The same thing happened at the bank and at the gas station when I stopped to fill up my car. How did they know that I was a Reverend? I did not tell them. My family had the same experience. People knew them, even before they were introduced. It was weird, almost spooky.

There is, however, more to the story. Not only did the good people of Harrisville know and welcome us, but they also gave us the benefit of the doubt. They decided to like and trust us. Their “like and trust” was a gift. It was only ours to lose.

My first Sunday at church, there was not hint of skepticism about the new pastor. They embraced me as if I was one of their kids returning home from college. My children had playmates before the end of the morning and a gaggle of women warmly welcomed my wife. They, without conditions, loved us. The feeling was mutual. Within 24 hours, I fell in love with the good people of Harrisville.

Despite living there less than three years, it has proven to be a lasting love affair. I still get a warm feeling in my heart when I think about gentle Fred and barber Hal or when I get an email from church secretary Marion or follow the Atkinson Family Bluegrass Band on Facebook. I will never forget how they gave a rookie pastor the benefit of the doubt. Their love and acceptance made 17 feet of snow a year acceptable. Even in the long, dark days of winter, they made me feel as if life was a perpetual spring.

We live in such a skeptical world today. Security threats and ID theft make us nervous. Better not to trust anyone. Security rests in being suspect. NEVER give ANYBODY the benefit of the doubt. This may be necessary with regard to conducting our business on the web, but it need not be true with regard to those who live near and around us. The truth is that the vast majority of people who walk this earth are good people. They deserve and need to be given the benefit the doubt. Yes, we may get burned once in a while, but more often than not, when we give the benefit of the doubt, it ignites a spark of love.

That’s the truth, a Divine truth.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

From the instant I met Jay, I had a wide-eyed crush on her. I was, to quote the famous line from Walt Disney’s Jungle Book, “hooked.” Too bad Jay did not feel the same way. She humored me for a couple of months before informing me, somewhat gently, that I was NOT the man of her dreams. I found out a couple of days later that a dope-smoking, beer-swilling, backstabbing frat brother of mine had swept her off her feet. I only had myself to blame. I introduced Jay to him at a party. How was I supposed to know that Judas-of-a-fraternity-brother would find a way to steal her away from me? But…he did. It took a few consultations with my pastor, before I even considered forgiving him. The good Reverend told me that I had to love and forgive him, but that it was also acceptable to God to hate what he did. I was OK with latter part of the pastor’s equation, but it took a long time to embrace the former.

Despite Jay’s obvious poor taste in men, she was a very devout Christian. I was, at the time, in the throes of a rebellion against the rigid, judgmental Christianity of my youth. That brand of religion judged me to be a dirty rotten sinner. Since I refused to spend the rest of my life groveling before God, eternally begging for forgiveness, I decided I may as well “sin boldy.” After all, sinning was much more fun. Feeling the way I did, there was not an ounce of desire in my soul to go to church, but Jay wanted me to go and, wherever Jay wanted me to go, I went.

We attended the Presbyterian Church on the edge of campus faithfully each Sunday. On the inside, I was cursing the preacher and his God, while on the outside I appeared angelic and devout. One thing I did enjoy, however, was singing. The music in that church was amazing. The organist would pull out the stops on the pipe organ and Jay and I would sing our hearts out. The only problem was that Jay could not sing. She was so off-key that the people standing near us cringed.

One Sunday, the service ended with the singing of the oldie-but-goodie, “How Great Thou Art”. Not too many folks have the pipes to hit the high note on the refrain’s last “How GREAT Thou Art!” Jay, however, zestfully attacked it. Her voice fell far short of the high note, somewhere between bad and “badder,” and finally slivered down to rest on a note that wreaked havoc on any eardrum within a five-pew radius. As the organ moved on to the final verse, I leaned over to Jay and whispered with as much kindness as I could muster, “Jay, you might want to sing a little more softly.”

Jay, without hesitation, responded sharply, “God created my voice and He’ll have to listen to it.”

Poor God did have to listen Jay, but, unfairly, so did I and so did those seated within earshot of us. Her futile attempt to hit that note certainly put a negative spin on the Psalmist’s encouragement to “make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”

Now let me do an about face. Every time I see a picture of Kayla Mueller, I get so angry I can’t see straight. Several months ago, ISIS abducted Kayla, a beautiful young woman who was giving her life to help alleviate human suffering. Last week, she died, perhaps murdered, by those despicable and evil monsters. Every time I feel her eyes staring at me from the photograph her parents released of her, I let God have it. It’s really ugly what I have to say to God. Some of what I scream is not respectful of the one who is “how great Thou art”, but rather I state emphatically “how wrong God art!” With epithets I learned working in the steel mill as a kid, I give God an earful: “What the (expletive deleted) are you doing up there? Why are you fiddling while the world burns?”

I suppose if you were seated next to me while I was shouting my angry “noise” at God, you might lean over and whisper gently, “PJ, you might want to speak to God a little more softly.”  

To which I respond, “God created me with these feelings, so God will just have to listen to me. This has to stop. No more Kaylas! This **** has gone on too damn long. Stop it God! I can’t take it. Stop it NOW.”

Maybe I’ll sing “How Great Thou Art” again, but not until I don’t have to stare into the eyes of murdered innocence. As long as I do, God will have to listen to me. God will just have to listen to my angry noise.