My wife, Maurine, stays in touch with United Church of Christ ministerial annuitants (pensioners) on behalf of the Board of Pensions to let them know their service is valued. I asked her to share her holiday letter to them to remind us of deeper dimensions of Advent/Christmas. 

                                                                                                                                Max

For Such a Time as This

     Esther 4:14

Dear Annuitants,

          Ah! What a difference a year makes!

          As we have visited this year – all by phone of course! -

               you have shared different realities.

                    Frustration; wonder.

                   Goodness; pain.

                    Anxiety; creativity.

               Covid – 19 has created a different way of living for us.

                    Facemasks; social distancing; hand-washing.

               Yet the blessings of God' presence abide

                    in some unusual ways!

                    Zoom! Walks in the beauty of creation,

                    Quiet times to reflect. Face time.

               God's presence abides as it always has.

         This Advent/Christmas 2020, as we stay home and adjust,

               My mind wanders to the event that began this tradition -

               The journey that became Advent/Christmas 0000 -

          The year Joseph & Mary, instead of staying home

               as was customary for the birth of their child,

               traveled for the Census, and there delivered

                    the one we know as Jesus, the Christ.

               How different that must have felt to them,

                    and yet, they managed.

               As will we.

          God has blessed us “For such a Time as This.”

          I am certain that each of you

               will continue to embrace opportunities

               to share the love, joy, and peace of God,

          and I thank you for sharing those gifts!

          Happy Advent! Merry Christmas!! Blessings in 2021!!!

          We'll speak again next year – and in the meantime,

               you know how to be in touch in the need arises!

                                                                                        Maurine   

 

Set Us Free

Our world needs truth, lies take a deathly toll

We hear the cries of those in deepest pain

Bring tyrants down let a just love prevail

May those be judged who prey upon the poor

Raise up for us leaders both bold and true

When justice reigns we will be free to love

     This year I will add a candle of Justice to my virtual Advent Wreath.

Our nation may survive Covid-19. Thousands of people won't. That fills me with deep sadness. That so many suffer and die needlessly because of callous indifference, greed or malice makes me angry.

Scientific creativity with the help of health care professionals will give us the choice to end the pandemic.

A fresh slate of political leaders will provide the same choice for a societal reformation. I applaud the desire to unite and heal our dysfunctional democracy.

But if we ignore the evil and refuse to hold perpetrators who caused our distress accountable, we will be telling ourselves and our children that unjust and immoral actions are only normal.

Love without justice has a hollow ring.

                                                            Max

 

Dealer's Choice

Then I could

     have said

          yes ma'am

Attitude was all

     I had to

          change

Today's sign

     hope wanted

          apply within

Heroically

     embrace

          hopelessness

Search

     backward from

          the dark

Wear a

     mask to show

          our strength

Dream and fall in

     love as long

          as it takes

Reset the

     holy in

          turbulent times

 

Move

They said it

     would be hard to

          leave

Warm strength

     of principled

          notions

Stuff and

     the chance to

          assemble hope

With those

      who think

          and feel alike

Well tried

     useful

          pragmatics

Well ordered

     efforts to

          succeed

Still

     hemmed in

          soul stifled

Pretending no hurt

     beyond

          frescoed walls

Spirit worn down

     by cultivated

          uncaring

Fatigue complicit

     eroding essence

          of compassion

Lest imperative

     dissolve to

          suffocation

Better rootless than

     wingless vision

          hoarded

Go now

     shift the

          paradigm

A

     risk dial

          to hope

The Day Auburn Was Integrated

Auburn was just never going to be kind or even fair to Harold Franklin, Jr. in 1964. The faculty had been warned by Governor George Wallace and by the President of the University to make it as difficult as possible for Auburn's first ever African American student to succeed. His professors were complicit. When Harold and I reminisced thirty years later about his historic entrance into the University, he talked little of his pain and anger or of the blatant discrimination that finally forced him out without a degree. But I knew. And I knew it was all the more painful because the injustice of it all had yet to be addressed.

Then in 2001 the University gave him an honorary doctorate. Fourteen years later a historical marker commemorated the integration of 1964. But still there was no attempt to address the racism Franklin endured. He had to wonder if anyone really wanted to hear his story.

This year, over a half century later, Harold Franklin, Jr, now 86 years old, was invited back to defend his Masters thesis, which he still had. He claimed the time to tell his story. The usual committee of four faculty members was joined by the entire faculty, including the dean of the graduate school who listened, thanked him, and awarded him his Masters Degree in History.

 I didn't see any mention of an official apology in the news release.

 

 

 

No One Left Behind

Grace under siege

overheating rage

Combustible fear

refueled

Counterfeit lawful

order recycling 

 Evil impulses escaping

their cages

Scabs pulled off

scars sighted

Masses unhuddled

yearning still

Weakened by

enfeebled hope

Diluted by archaic

sanctimony

Across widening chasm

buddy system

Reciprocal respect

fueled by caring

Together lifted from

the sorrowing

Manage the rage for

the arduous trek

Threatened with

hope

We twist and turn to

find the light

 

Wanted, a Safe Place

*

Mask Covid's spread

Uncover denial

Recall for duty

Hope's spirit bearers

                                     Max

Unforced Hope

Deflect panic

consecrate the good

convert pain

Hear the evil see the

good feel the pain

hope translates

Despair alone

mimics

transformation

For God's sake which

is to say our

neighbor's

The smiling spirit

transparent beneath

the mask

Leave breathing space

for heart piercing

suffering

Challenge the spread

of contagious

nonchalance

Filter the fog

of bureaucratic

betrayal

On guard for placebos

that trivialize

the grief

Prepare to be

startled by unrestrained

giggles

Act with loving

presence to

reshape the pain

Pray into the presence

of a God whose habit

it is to walk with us

Face the world

boldly with

tragic optimism

The last line of the poem are the words of Viktor Frankl, author of Man's Search for Meaning. Simply put, tragic optimism is the ability to say yes to the no of even the deepest suffering. It does not mean that we ignore reality or that we don't do everything we can to stop the suffering. Case in point: to withhold or mismanage resources we have presently to combat Covid-19 is inexcusable if not criminal. And not to pay attention to the science is dangerously shortsighted. But tragic optimism also means we go deep in our soul to find the hopeful strength to triumph.

 A Walk in the Woods

Mid December

     rain slowed to

         a slow drizzle

Time for a ten-year

old and his

                long absent father

Slow quiet heart-filled walk

in south

                   Alabama woods

Over a carpet of rain soaked

leaves birds and small

          animals the only sound

Carrying shot guns

          just in case a squirrel

         or two for supper

See that hickory

the one with a

                hole 'bout 12 feet up

I could see it coming

          a story but I had to give

       him time to tell it

When I was a kid on a day like today

my Dad and I saw a tall dead tree

 with a hole half-way up

We never thought

about a snake

          being in the hole

Went home got the wagon and

a crosscut saw came

                back and cut if for firewood

Threw all the pieces onto

              the wagon never thought the

                     one with the hole had a snake

Stacked all the pieces out

              back of the house including

               the one with the hole in it

Burned that wood all winter

            and come early spring threw

                       the one with the hole on the fire

He quit talking I waited

             as long as I could was there

     a snake in the hole

I don't know

I never

                      thought about it

     One year when I was nine, going on ten, my grandmother died and my mother and I moved down to stay with my grandfather in south Alabama for a couple of years to help out. My dad, who had been teaching for some twenty years with a two year teaching certificate took that time to go back to college and get his degree. Money was tight and I don't remember seeing much of my Dad during that time. The one time I do remember was when he came home for Christmas the year I turned ten and we went squirrel hunting, just the two of us. That was when he told me this story. I tell it now with no overarching purpose except to offer a diversion for these trying times. I don't know, can snakes climb trees? I suppose I could google it.

     Are you still there? Got another minute? I have another take on I never thought about it.

     The morning after I composed this poem, I had a video appointment with my cardiologist. At the end of the visit, he said, "Just be sure to wear a mask whenever you leave the house."

A couple of days after the call I went outside to set the sprinklers. From a comfortable distance I watched a neighbor visiting with the mail man, neither of whom wore a mask. After he got his mail he came over to see what I was wearing around my neck and we visited. A few minutes later as I was making my way to the backyard sprinklers, I met another neighbor, who also was not wearing his mask, getting his mail and we visited for a few minutes in my driveway. I finished my work with the sprinklers and came inside. That evening my wife asked, "Why weren't you wearing your mask?"

     My answer? I never thought about it.

     All this in the midst of the Covid19 virus pandemic. Think about it. I certainly will, from now on.

          Be smart, stay safe

          Max

Undefeated

These are the times

     that open

          the soul

Pernicious evil

     persistent

          grace

Silence

     the smothering

          cacophony

Deny oxygen to

     inflammable

          panic

Circumvent

     the nerve-wrecking

          fear

Quarantine

     the simmering

          anger

Save that

     energy for

          reconstruction

Raise the humor

     volume to

          balance the tension

Breathe the bloom

     filled air see the

           hope-filled elegance

Hold the heart

     door open

          for the stranger

Poised together we

     shape the world to

          fit God's dream

Wake up

     to a new

          reality

     Covid-19 has hit hard and keeps on hitting. What can I do? I wash my hands, keep my distance, donate, and pray. I compose a poem. And last week just before our Mayor imposed more restrictions, my wife drove me to the Blood Bank and I donated a pint of my best. (She can't donate because her immune system is compromised). I'm told my blood will help three other people. That's a pretty good return on an investment. It was something I could do.

     

I share this as a prompt for all of us to continue to find our own appropriate ways to overcome helplessness and contribute to hope and healing for all.

Open Hours

Shrinking interludes

expanding horizon a

present challenge

Time shrinks

between waking

and sleeping

Imagination

endows existing

moments

Redesigning

slowness for a

world on speed

Spending time

to practice

breathing

Feeling the contours of

a moral and

spiritual life

I can't keep up

read what everyone

is reading

Know what

everyone is

saying

Fear of being left

behind stresses

the spirit

Revisit the intermissions

remove the

stumbling blocks

Egress from

a season of

enduring

To a chance

to embrace

life

And find new

ways of

growing up

My Dad

1989-1996

Contrary to conventional wisdom, I contend time does not move in regular intervals. To be true, circumstances may determine the amount of time we have, but each one gets to decide for ourselves how to use the time we have. One year when I called Dad to wish him a happy birthday, my mother answered the phone and told me Dad was out back planting walnut trees. She asked me to wait while she went to get him. When he got to the phone I asked, "Dad, you're 80 years old: are you planting the trees for the nuts or the lumber?" He answered, "I've got time." When he died, 17 years later, the trees were bearing and could have been cut for lumber, but that, of course, was not the point.

A Penitent's Prayer

I pause on

the borderline

of prayer

My soul

simmering in

sorrow and joy

Searching for

a place to

push off from

Prophets of quietude

distracting with

empty phrases

Declaring love is

without

justice and

Grace does not

require

compassion

Replace the counterfeit

with fresh and

honest words

Challenging

with the substance

of hope

Linking transcendent

myth and

reasoning truth

Tools I can

use to repair

my story

Prized Possession

I told a

story well

with humor

His hungry

heart said ummm

is that all

A compound

fracture left

untreated

Let me

try

again

Funny as it

is life is

no joke

Answers without

questions don't

nourish the soul

The serious may well

lean toward

story refreshed

A holy man (aren't we all)

finds a

precious ruby

Freely gives to a dispirited

pilgrim who

petitions

They part company

reunite years later the

pilgrim still heartsore

He pleads give me now

what allowed you

to give me the ruby

Aaah

there is

more

And the way out is not

the way

we came in

*This poem was inspired by a response to a Sufi story I once told to a group of college students who had gathered for worship. I asked them to imagine what happened after the pilgrim and the monk reunited. I waited but there was no response. After awhile I said, "I'm serious, I would like for you to help me complete the story. Any ideas?" Again I waited. Time passed. After several more minutes, I noticed that a young woman sitting on the front row was starting to cry. I said, "What's wrong?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "We're not supposed to think, you are supposed to tell us." Later when I was alone, I cried..