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AM & PM

            The heart-wrenching news of these disturbing times are, at least for me, becoming increasingly difficult to hear and watch on our flat screens. The constant bombardment of ugliness descending upon our world is downright depressing. How much more can we take of videos of men clothed in black, knife in hand, preparing to behead innocent hostages? It causes stomachs to churn when we see the streaming images of an NFL player slugging his now-wife in an elevator or when we read on the front page of the Boston Globe of three little children found dead in their home, apparently as the result of the actions of a deeply disturbed mother. How much more can we absorb of the irrational and continual shedding of blood in the Middle East and in Ukraine? It is all too much, just too damn much! Nevertheless, I think it important to remind ourselves that the vast majority of the people in our world really are good people who, more often than not, are striving to do the right thing.

            “AM” and “PM” are my nicknames for two incredible people who are part of my spiritual community on Cape Cod. They moved here a few years ago for what they said was retirement, but has, in reality, been far from restful or entwined in inactivity. I suspect that from an energy-expending viewpoint, AM and PM might long once in awhile for the much more serene worlds of their teaching and business pasts!

            Shortly after I met them, it was quite apparent that they were extremely passionate about a place called the Child Rescue Center in West Africa’s Sierra Leone. I kiddingly labeled them as zealots. The Child Rescue Center provides a home for orphaned and impoverished street children, some of whom have been deeply impacted by a horrific 10-year civil war in that part of the world. To put it mildly, AM and PM give their hearts to these kids. Traveling at their own expense, twice a year they make the long sojourn to Bo, Sierra Leone to volunteer their time and skills in support of Sierra Leone’s kids.

            Over the years, the passion of PM and AM has gone viral. Many folks in my community are now infected with helping these kids as well. Tragically, however, a more insidious virus is now at work in West Africa. The devastating, life-taking Ebola virus is threatening millions of people. It has struck particularly hard in Sierra Leone, so much so that the government declared the nation to be locked down, with almost all daily activity put on an enforced hold.

            Early last year, the director of the Rescue Center resigned and AM became the acting head of the organization. In late summer, AM and PM came back to the States for a hiatus to catch up with their “normal” life and fulfill some important family obligations. While home, the Ebola virus quickly metastasized. The number of those infected climbed and the death toll rose rapidly. Most, sane volunteers to any West African country would not dream of returning to those countries until the Ebola outbreak is contained. While AM and PM are quite sane, they are also deeply committed to their kids. Despite the fact that the cost of airfare to Sierra Leone has sky-rocketed AND that their worried spiritual leader (me!) asked (begged!) them to wait until the virus abated, first AM returned to Bo to resume his interim leadership of the Center and, yesterday morning, PM texted me from the Bo airport that she had arrived safely. Together, they continue to compassionately care for and love the children living in lockdown at the Child Rescue Center in that beleaguered and suffering country.

            AM and PM’s passion, commitment and compassion blow me away. They could have remained safe and sound, living in their beautiful home overlooking an idyllic Cape Cod pond, but the needs of the kids at the Rescue Center and AM and PM’s love for the people of Sierra Leone trumped any concern for their own safety. They returned because, as AM told me, that’s what “God wanted them to do.” AM and PM don’t mess with or attempt to negotiate their way out of what they believe to be their Eternal One’s marching orders to love and serve the kids of Bo, Ebola virus or no Ebola virus!

            Yep. We can get depressed very quickly if we narrow our vision to view only the bad or hate-filled actions of some people in our troubled and disturbing world. As for me, I refuse to allow the hate-filled actions of the few to push to the sidelines the heart-inspiring actions of the many. I refuse to allow evil and hate to shroud my soul in darkness. I am in awe of the courage, commitment and love of AM and PM. They embody the words of the ancient poet who once said, “Weeping may linger into the night, but joy comes with dawn.”

            AM and PM have administered a healthy dose of hope and joy to many of us on old Cape Cod in both the “A.M.” and in the “P.M.” I hope that the thought of them will give you a little of both as well. God knows we all need it!

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

 

 

 

 

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When the Storm Raged: Prose on the Anniversary of September 11th

When the storm raged…

…towers crumbled and fell

…smoke blinded, fires burned

…fears rose, despair lingered.

Yet in the eye of the storm…

…calm prevailed

…hope hovered

…God lived.

When the storm raged

…tears mingled together

…a mother wept for her child

…a father held vigil for his son.

Yet in the eye of the storm…

…there was the hint of dawn

…the fog of despair lifted

…God commanded, “Let there be light!”

When the storm raged

…evil encroached upon the good

…death threatened life

…doubts gnawed at faith.

Yet in the eye of the storm

…God subdued the howling winds

…God calmed the seas

…God spoke, “Shalom. Peace!”

When the storm raged…

…God touched our spirits and whispered,

…“Remember!

…You are not alone,

…not now,

…not ever.

End of story.

So be it.

Amen.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

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Breathe It In

Spending time with people who are dying is never easy, if for no other reason than it confronts us with our own mortality. And yet, it is not an uncommon human experience that, when we are standing near the portal of death, lessons of Divine proportion are learned. Even more incredible, these insights into the Spiritual Power of the universe are more often beautiful, rather than life shattering.

I first noticed Diane and her partner Kara when I saw them sitting in church in some regular attendee’s sacred pew. (Wrong thing to do!) This identified them immediately as visitors. Wrong pew, must be new! I made a mental note to seek them out at our usual Sunday morning “meet and greet.”

They were not shy about why they had come to my church for a spiritual test drive. Kara noted that they searched on-line for a church on the Cape that was open and affirming, not just to gay folk, but also to everybody. We are! This reason for their visit made my heart sing! But when Diane quietly, almost hesitantly, told me another reason why she came, my heart wept. She was likely dying of pancreatic cancer so she needed to check out the “God-thing.”

Over the next several months, my heart was torn between singing and crying; crying as Diane’s declining health became apparent and singing because she lovingly invited me into her life. We truly connected with one another heart-to-heart.

One day Diane called and invited me to visit them at their home, but when I arrived, Diane kicked Kara out. She wanted to talk to me alone, one-on-one. We sat in the living room with a coffee table between us upon which rested a well-worn Bible. Our conversation was so personal that I would never dare share it with anyone, especially since Kara is still very much in this world and still very much a friend. The only part of the conversation I will share is one of her questions, because that question is not hers alone: “PJ, have I come to this God thing too late? Should I fear God?”

I answered, “It’s never too late, especially since God transcends time. There is also never a reason to fear God. God is sheer love, love that will never let you go or force you to go it alone. Diane, you are in. You are in God’s heart forever.”

Tears welled up in Diane’s eyes as she breathed a sigh of relief.

A few months later, Diane’s aggressive cancer required greater care than Kara could give her at home. Diane was given the gift of space at an incredible hospice house on the Cape. I visited her often. As she neared death’s door, we continued to laugh and cry together.

One morning, I arrived to find Diane very agitated and anxious. Her pain had reached a level that significant amounts of morphine were needed to control it. Kara was distraught as Diane’s agitation ebbed and flowed between injections. Instinctively, I knew that her anxiety was not due to pain alone. I moved to the side of her bed, held her hand and whispered into her ear, “Diane, breathe out anxiety; breathe in God’s peace. Breathe out anxiety. Breathe in peace. Breathe out. Breathe in.” In harmony with me, Diane began to breathe out her anxiety and breathe in God’s peace. Her anxiety lessened. A slight smile revealed that God’s peace was making its presence known. Not too long after that, Diane breathed her last breath. Without a doubt, Kara and I believe that eternal peace had been gifted to her.

Diane’s life, particularly her last days, has grown increasingly significant in my life. Just a few short days ago, I visited that same hospice home again. This time I went at the urging of a friend to visit a family that was keeping vigil for their 22-year-old daughter. (That beautiful young woman died a couple hours after I wrote the first draft of this post.) There is no tragedy that I have witnessed in nearly 30 years of pastoral care that equals the pain and grief of a parent losing their child.

Upon my arrival, the Mom invited me into her daughter’s room to say a prayer. After that, she asked to speak with me privately. We went to the chapel, but before we could even sit down, the Mom painfully, even a bit angrily asked, “Why is God doing this? Why does a good God let this happen?”

This was not the first time I have been asked that question. It is a troubling question with no really satisfying answer. I used to respond by saying, “I don’t know, but an old professor of mine once said that he didn’t know either, but the God that he thought he was in touch with was in heaven weeping.” Not a bad response, but not good enough. How many tears must a supposedly all-powerful God shed before God intervenes to bring a halt to undeserved human suffering? Wasn’t the genocide of six million Jews enough to get God off his duff? The old professor’s answer would never satisfy that grieving Mom, so I told her about what I learned from Diane’s last days at the same hospice home.

I will never be able to answer the question of “Good God, why?” Diane, however, left a clue for us. An all-powerful God that allows undeserved tragedies to thrive cannot be a good God, which leaves us with a choice: We can either declare God to be evil OR we can redefine God’s power. I choose the latter. Perhaps God’s power is not coercive. Maybe God’s power is a persuasive or a wooing love. Maybe God can’t fix what is tragic and broken in life, but instead woos us to draw near so that our hearts and souls might be healed. God’s power is not to fix what is around us, but to create peace inside of us. God’s power nudges us to breathe out anxiety and breathe in God’s peace.

I must reiterate that I truly do not know the answer to the “Good God, why?” question. That question is bigger than me and God is bigger than any question. But, on the basis of my own personal experience, I embrace that God’s loving power may not change my world, but it will change my heart. This answer satisfies me for now because of what I witnessed at the bedside of my friend Diane. It satisfies me because, after my talk with that grief-stricken Mom, I saw her at her daughter’s bedside, stroking her beautiful daughter’s arm and whispering, “Breathe out anxiety. Breathe in God’s peace.”

Breathe out anxiety. Breathe in God’s peace.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Peace.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

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I Almost Wrecked My Car

I was driving home from Boston and listening to the news on WBZ when I heard it for the first time. It so shocked me that I almost wrecked my car! It was not, however, a bad thing. It was a good thing, a very good thing! It was five words that absolutely took my breath away: “Who am I to judge?’ Pope Francis’ words stood in stark contrast to the ugly, judgmental religion that garners most of the forever babbling, talking heads’ attention. I pulled over to the berm as the traffic whizzed by and Googled Pope Francis” to make sure that he actually said such benevolent words. He did and, from that moment on, I have had a crush on the Bishop of Rome.

The Pope’s five simple words were like a fresh breeze blowing into our mucked-up universe, or, as it says in the Hebrew Bible’s creation story, it was as if the “ruah,” the wind or the Spirit of the Divine, moved over the chaos of our troubled world, calling it and us from death to life. That’s how powerful such humility is, not to mention how astounding the true nature of the Divine is. The Spiritual reality is that grace trumps judgment, love overcomes hatred, hope dissipates despair, and peace soothes anxiety. Pope Francis’ five words reinvigorated the words spoken in the creative moment: “Let there be light!” His words prove, once again, that darkness cannot ultimately overcome the light.

For years, I lived in the shadow of judgment. For reasons I do not now remember, I learned from a very early age to hate myself. Maybe it was because I grew up within a religion that I believed cast me as a dirty, rotten sinner…forever. The best I could do was to beg for mercy. There was no way I was ever going to get on God’s good side. I spent years beating myself up, filled with guilt and convinced that my chances for eternal survival were “slim to none.” Perhaps one of the reasons I decided to make a career of “church” was because it might mitigate the Divine anger that seethed at me, or at least give me ONE chance rather than NO chance in hell of getting cut some slack on the day of my reckoning (although in my most truthful moments, I still thought the “slack” would be a noose). But just as Pope Francis’ five words almost caused me to wreck my car, some words spoken to me by Father Henri Nouwen brought light to my darkness; a fresh breeze blew away my self-hatred and rehabilitated my tattered soul.

I went with a couple of other guys to visit Henri at the Daybreak Community in Toronto, Canada. For those who know nothing about Father Nouwen, he was a Dutch priest, a brilliant scholar and probably one of the greatest spiritual lights of the 20th century. Henri gave up a very successful career in academia to become priest to the people of Daybreak. They were not ordinary people. Those who lived at Daybreak were some of the most seriously disabled people I have ever seen. They were so disabled and deformed physically that they were very hard to look at. Our culture prefers to keep such people from disturbing our view: “Out of sight, Out of mind!” But Henri not only saw them, he also cared for them, every single one of them, with a remarkable love that absolutely defies description! By the end of the day, I was so moved by what I had seen as Henri cared for his flock that I was unusually speechless. As we stood in the parking lot getting ready to leave, all I could do was to stammer out a question: “How do you do this, Henri? How can you do this all day?”

Henri looked at me like I was nuts before he answered me, “Don’t you know, John, that we are all God’s beloved children?”

As he looked into my eyes, Henri knew that I didn’t know it. I didn’t know that anybody was God’s beloved. I certainly didn’t know that I was God’s beloved, so Henri narrowed the focus: “John, you are God’s beloved child. Nobody can take that away from you. It is not yours to lose. It is pure gift. Hasn’t anybody ever told you that?”

I had grown up in the church. I had served the church as a pastor for 15 years before I met Henri, but NOBODY had ever told me that! Instantly, that incredible Divine truth lifted a heavy weight off my soul. Could it be that I was Divinely loved? If so, then it certainly must be OK to love myself. This new truth was so liberating that I promised that I would never, ever miss the opportunity to remind myself and everybody else I had the chance to meet of it, just in case they had been walking around under a shadow of dark guilt cast over them by one religion or another. This is why I am sharing this deeply personal experience on my blog today. Maybe somebody reading this has only heard, and therefore come to believe, the judgmental condemnations of a perverse religion. I truly hope you are not driving your car when this astounding truth sinks in or you might almost wreck your car like I almost wrecked mine when I heard Pope Francis’s five life-giving, life-transforming words. Nevertheless, let me add my five words to the mix: “YOU are God’s beloved…PERIOD!”

Postscript: Far too many times over the last 15 years, I have had people walk out of my spiritual community because I refuse to judge anybody. I categorically refuse to declare anybody “OUT” of the good graces of the Divine. I don’t care if they have “got” religion or no religion, what their sexual identity is, what they have done, or what they have failed to do. Even those who angrily walk out on me are still “IN.” They are as much God’s beloved as I am. After all, “who am I to judge?” I hope, however, that someday, rather than walking away from this incredibly liberating truth, they will walk toward it.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

 

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It Speaks for Itself

Any religion that does NOT provide a supportive community for those who belong to it or for those seeking it, should sell their property, liquidate their assets and give all the proceeds to those in need. Sadly, more often than we think, somebody seeking to connect with a group of people or maybe just in need of a friendly ear will wander into a faith community only to have their desire for human contact short-circuited. It reminds me of an old story about a little girl who went to Sunday school one morning. When her Mom picked her up after her class, she asked her daughter how she liked it. The little girl said, “It was awful!”

“Why?” the Mom asked, concerned that something really bad had happened.

The little girl answered, “They put me in a room full of people all by myself!”

What happened to that little girl was not so bad as it was sad. Wanting to be connected, she instead felt disconnected.

I had such an experience myself. At a very difficult time in my life, I went to a church looking for an opportunity to get over myself by conversing with somebody…anybody. When I arrived, a program was handed to me, but nobody said “hello.” When it was time to greet one another, I was ignored. Later in the service, I could not get the guy collecting the money to acknowledge my presence even when I flashed a twenty-dollar bill in his face. Nobody said “goodbye” as I escaped the building. Like that little girl’s Sunday school disaster, I felt like I was “in a room full of people all by myself.” I left that church feeling worse than when I arrived!

Having taken yet another swing at organized religion, however, I now have to cut it some slack. I confess that after nearly 30 years of making my living by collecting a percentage of the proceeds from church offering plates, I have more frequently witnessed people connecting rather than disconnecting. But supportive community is much more than simply making superficial contact. Real community is about the connecting of human hearts.

I was not at my new position on Cape Cod long before I met Ty. You could not miss him. He and his buddy Alex were like cyclones whirling around; a couple of bundles of non-stop energy. It was not long, however, before I frequently found Ty under foot…sometimes annoyingly. I did not really understand why I was tripping over him until my first Father’s Day with my flock.

For a number of years, I have written a letter to my Dad on Father’s Day and shared it as my Sunday message. Even though my Dad died in 1973, I still have a “hole in my heart” that my Dad once filled. It is not unusual, therefore, for my Father’s Day letter to be a bit emotional for me and to cause a few tears to well up in the eyes of those sitting in the seats.

After ending my first Father’s Day service on Cape Cod, I felt somebody tug at my shirt. It was Ty. Before I could say a word, he said to me sadly, “I don’t have a Dad.” He didn’t. His Mom was and is an incredible single Mom who I admire greatly, but there was no Dad anywhere to be found in Ty’s life. As I looked at Ty, who was still hanging onto my shirtsleeve, I said to him, “You DO have a Dad. I’ll be your Dad and there’s a bunch of other guys here that will be your father, too.”

“Thanks, P.J.,” Ty said and scampered off to find Alex in order to create yet another perfect storm.

That was over six years ago and I am overjoyed to inform you that Ty has never lacked for a Dad. In fact, I think he might, on more than one occasion, felt as if he had a few too many. There is one guy in particular who really stepped up to the plate. Gary has known Ty forever. Gary’s family has become Ty’s second home. Gary rarely misses being present at any significant event in Ty’s life. I am deeply moved watching the two of them together. It brings back memories of my Dad and me.

Ty grew up so fast that my mortality has come into view. He graduated from high school last spring. At his graduation, Ty was asked to give the commencement address as the representative of his class. There was more than one of his adopted Dads at the ceremony. We were all so proud of him.

After graduation, Ty began to prepare for college. He had been accepted at a great college in Western Pennsylvania. Finances are always an issue for Ty’s family, but his adopted Dads have often stepped up to the plate when a need arose. A few months ago, one of the Dads gave me a check for $500 and asked that I give it to Ty anonymously so he could buy stuff that he needed for school.

Even though Ty worked at B.J.’s for several years to save money to go to college, he still made connecting with his Dads on Sunday morning a priority. He also dragged his little brother Jake along with him. Little Jake has some serious health issues, but he is also a whirlwind of energy just like his big brother and there is another similarity between the two. Jake is already finding a few “adopted” Dads chasing him around on Sunday morning. The story of Ty (and Jake) has been incredible to watch unfold, and something happened last week that put an exclamation point on it.

Ty left for college last week. As happy as everybody is for him, it was a mite sad to see him go. I personally felt like I was sending my own kid off to school. Ty and his Mom headed west on Route 6 to exit Cape Cod via the Sagamore Bridge. Unbeknownst to them, Dad Gary and his family had arisen early to get to the Sagamore before them. They assumed a position by the side of the outbound lane of the bridge, As they neared the bridge, Ty was completely surprised (shocked!) to see them standing by the side of the road holding a huge, handmade banner that read, “We love you Ty!”

There really are no words that can truly describe the amazing love on display by the side of the outbound lane of the Sagamore Bridge that morning. Wordlessly, it is the heartbeat of community and when it speaks, it speaks for itself.

 

John E. Holt

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

August 27, 2014

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A Fairy Tale

            I am a political junkie but, unlike my kids, I am still hooked on old-fangled newspapers. I need to hold newsprint in my own two little hands every morning as I wander my way through the Boston Globe. I start with the sports section, before bracing myself to withstand the latest stench emanating from the sorry state of our nation’s leadership. On the face of it, it appears as if there is little honor left amongst the leaders of our nation. Even though I know that there are some leaders who are honorable and seek to serve their country with integrity, I am distracted by those who are corrupt, power hungry, have sold out to special interests or could generally care less about their constituents or our nation as a whole. They make me quite cranky, to the point that I once announced that I was forming a new political party called the “Disgusted Party.” I was only kidding, but I was amazed at how many took me seriously and wanted to jump on my bandwagon!

            This leads me to spin a fairy tale for you. This story, which reeks of impossibility, is completely a figment of my ever-hopeful imagination. After all, it is a mortal sin to live without hope.

            Once upon a time to come, the good old “US of A” embarked upon yet another presidential campaign. At first, it was the “same old same old.” The candidates were seasoned politicians, most of whom were TV “charismaniacs,” who promised that, if elected, they would instantly end the gridlock in our nation’s capitol and lead our nation to new heights of power, prosperity and glory: “Just vote for me and I’ll save the world!” Of course, these old pros, most of who had been sipping the Kool-Aid of arrogance, had lined up massive financial resources long before the primaries began. Millions of dollars were spent to inform the people as to why, if they voted for one of them, heaven was near, but if they voted for an opponent, they should prepare to plumb the depths of hell. This, of course, was nothing new. Everybody knew that all the candidates were really one and the same. The cynical citizenry knew that, no matter which candidate they voted for, not a thing would really change. So they collectively yawned and tuned out the media noise. They felt discouraged and disillusioned. They longed for something new.

            Then a strange thing happened. Actually, a strange woman happened. From the tiny village of Cotuit, Massachusetts, a different voice was heard. At first, she did not attract the attention of the nation’s big-time media, but rather her voice and message went viral on the Internet. Her message swept across the land via Facebook and Twitter and her presence became familiar on Instagram and YouTube.

            She was a simple woman. She worked most of her life in retail. She had virtually no charisma, but her honesty was undeniable and her vision of a compassionate country and a government that existed for the people, rather than above the people, echoed the founders’ dreams. She became too big to ignore. The mainstream media picked up the story. The woman declared that she was running for President, but that she would not raise any money or buy TV ads. What she would do, however, was cast a new vision for the nation, without making undeliverable promises. She said that she would represent store clerks and bankers, the upwardly mobile and the down-and-outers. She would do her best to work with everybody to make real the vision expressed in our nation’s creeds: the vision of a nation in which the unalienable right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness were a tangible reality, not a shattered dream. She also promised she would not run for a second term. One and done. “After all,” she said, “if I can’t do what needs to be done in four years, I don’t think four more years will be any different.”

            To make this fairy tale short and sweet, the strange woman from Cotuit won! Through the electrifying stimulus created by social media, millions of people turned out to vote, many of whom had never voted before! Running as an independent, and often a write-in candidate, she clobbered both the “old guard” candidates. A tweet announced the stunning news: “A woman rules!”

          Inauguration day dawned bright and sunny. It truly reflected the rejuvenated mood of the country. Madame President was sworn in by the Chief Justice and then moved to the microphones to speak. This is what she said:

“My fellow Americans: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.You prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

            Then she paused for a moment. One could sense that the crowd was wondering, “Where is she going with this? Really??? The 23rd Psalm??? Is that all she’s got?” Then, however, she struck a new chord. She created a new harmony.

            “As your President, our Creator has called me to be your shepherd, a shepherd to every man, woman and child who lives in our cherished land. I will do my very best to care for your needs and your wants. I will work to create a sense of peace in our country and in our world. I want to do nothing less than to lift our nation’s spirit, to heal its tattered soul. I promise I will always try to do what’s right so that my actions reflect the eternal values bequeathed to us by our Highest Divine Power. No matter what happens, even when fear and death confront us, I will strive to comfort you and walk with you in our shared journey. Our enemies will have no sway over us. They will only be able to marvel as our joy overflows like a cascading waterfall. I firmly believe that goodness and grace will always tag along behind us, because this is not only your land or my land. This is God’s land. And in God we trust!”      

          Then, she sat down as the deeply moved crowd stood on the mall and chanted: “In God we trust! In God we trust!”

            Drats! Too bad this is only a fairy tale, but it is a fairy tale with a point. It is to remind us that our ancient, psalm-singing ancestors had an incredible vision of leadership. A true leader is charged to be shepherd-like: to govern, not with coercive power, but with a persuasive power motivated by goodness and mercy. Every member of a leader’s flock is important; every sheep and lamb is to be cared for and kept safely in the fold. And a true leader is always on the lookout for strays!

            What a leadership concept! Imagine if the kings and queens, presidents and prime ministers, popes and pastors of our age and the ages to come embraced a shepherd-like leadership. Perhaps this ancient vision of shepherd leadership has the potential to be a refreshing wind that blows away the stagnant smog of a political leadership that, too often, believes itself to be above and beyond the people. If only our leaders would assume such leadership. Then, with perhaps a Divine nudge, my over-the-top fairy tale might be converted into a new narrative for our nation; a narrative that reeks, not of impossibility, but of the possibility for a restoration of our nation’s spirit and the healing of our tattered soul.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, Massachusetts

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TIME FOR SOMETHING NEW?

            I immediately get defensive when I see a person approaching me with a Bible in hand and a scowl on their face. I do not have anything against the Bible, the Koran, the Torah or any other religious “instruction” book. They all have some very interesting and worthwhile stuff in them. The reason I go on a “defensive” alert, however, is because 98% of the time that person is going to take exception to something I said by stating emphatically, “The Bible says….” For that person, if the Bible says it, then I am obligated to believe it or I am on the road to hell. The only problem with this way of thinking is that:

  1. the Bible sometimes contradicts itself.
  2. the same people who tell me that I have to believe what the Bible says word-for-word, more often than not, pick and choose only the passages that support their position or prejudice.

            It would be easy to simply ignore these folks and hope that they will go away, but unfortunately there is too much violence and injustice on account of close-minded religion in our world to ignore them. Too often, such overly-righteous, judgmental people insist that their way of doing religion is the only way to do religion AND if you don’t do it their way, they might try to force it down your throat. Despite what we hear from the media, however, do not think for one moment that Islamic fundamentalists are the only ones guilty of inflicting pain or resorting to violence in order to convert the world to their way of thinking. Over the centuries, there are more than enough bodies pushing up daisies on account of Christians who insisted that it was “their way or the highway”.

            A couple of Sundays ago after church, a man in a cowboy hat approached me with a Bible in hand and a frown on his face. I could only think to myself, “Here we go again!” I did not really have the energy or desire to argue with him. As a matter of fact, I decided long ago to avoid any more futile attempts to have a rational discussion with such folks. Generally, they are not interested in such open-minded conversation. They have already made up their minds.

            I could not, however, avoid my cowboy-hatted friend and he did not contradict my expectations. “PJ, “ he said, “what do you think about gay marriage?”

            “I am in support of two loving people getting married,” I replied.

            “But PJ,” he countered, “the BIBLE SAYS it’s wrong!”

            Thinking I might defuse the tension with humor, I said, “I suppose somewhere it might infer it, although I can’t think of where. Nevertheless, let me ask you this: The Bible also says women should have their heads covered in church and keep their mouths shut. I see your wife is not wearing a hat and is talking quite a bit with that lady next to her. I dare you to go over to those ladies and tell them to shut up and go get a hat!”

            Surprisingly, the man didn’t bite my head off. Instead he asked, “Where does it say that?”

            “In one of Paul’s letters,” I replied.

            He thought for a moment and said thoughtfully, “Well, St. Paul probably wrote that for ‘back then.’”

            I went for the jugular: “How do you know that? How did you decide what is for ‘back then’ or for ‘right now’? How do you know that any passage in the Bible that refers to homosexual behavior as sin was not written for ‘back then’ and applicable to ‘right now’?”

            The man was quiet for a moment before he stunned me by concluding, “I don’t know the answer to that. I’ll have to think about it.” Then, he walked away.

            I felt as if I had scored at least a minor victory. A major victory, however, might require the discarding of our current human-created religions and the creation of a new spiritual community that embraces what almost all religious people embrace as eternal, divine truths. The Higher Power we sense in our universe is most often described as a just, loving, grace-giving, peace-loving, hope-filled, creative Spirit that encourages all of humanity to stand for justice, live lovingly, err on the side of grace, engage in peacemaking and never, ever lose hope. If we measure our moral and ethical decisions by testing them against these divine, eternal values, maybe Christians, Muslims and Jews will stop killing each other. Perhaps when we encounter people who are different from us or do not believe the way we do, we can stop harshly judging them and instead try lovingly and respectfully to listen to them in order to gain new understanding and perhaps find some common ground.

            Yes, that would be whole new religion, a new, positive, divinely inspired, unifying force in our world! Wait a minute! Such religions already exist! Maybe we only have to read our religious “instruction books” not as rulebooks, but as a source from which we can discover, through the thoughts and lives of those who have gone before us, the eternal and enduring truths that lead to a lasting interconnection between our hearts and the heart of the one we embrace as eternally Divine.

John E. Holt, Cotuit, MA

 

 

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“What if it was my kid?”

         It’s the children. It’s always the children that get to me. Without blinking an eye, I can watch bad news on just about any channel. Impassively, I can listen to talking heads ramble on about the Ukraine, the Gaza, Ebola in Africa or unaccompanied children crossing our southern borders. But when the videos roll and images of suffering children assault my senses, my eyes blink back my tears. I ask myself, “Why do kids have to suffer and die? What did any child do to deserve this?” And then, a flock of troubling questions hover over me. The questions most often begin with “What if it was my child…?”

What if it was my child that went down in an airplane over the Ukraine?

 What if it was my child who was killed by an artillery shell on a Gaza beach on a Jerusalem street?

 What if it was my child gasping for breath as Ebola threatened to take his or her life?

 What if I had to make the choice between watching my kid die on a Guatemalan street or to give my child a chance to live by sending her alone across the Texas border?

         I don’t care about the politics.  I don’t care to argue with anybody over policies that may address the challenges that face our country and our world. I don’t know the answers. I am not sure I even have the right questions. When I look into the eyes of a desperate child, however, and realize that that child could be my child, I do care. I deeply and profoundly care because, just like a pebble thrown into a still pond disturbs the whole pond, a suffering child disturbs my world. I embrace what I believe to be a Divine truth: Every child is my child.

         Since I do care about all children as if they are my own, when I witness innocent children suffering, I look to the heavens and address my Higher Power: “Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord, listen to me! Have mercy on our children who are suffering needlessly or living on the brink of death. Lord, I am waiting. With every ounce of my being, I wait and I hope. I hope that you will reach down from the heavens and assure me that the tears of any innocent child will dry and that joy will come with the dawn.”

John E. Holt, Cotuit, MA