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

            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 23^rd 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