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

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