Wednesday, November 29, 2017

A Salute to Women

Looks like this is the Year of the Woman. Or maybe The Sexual Predators. Or maybe just Women Bashing. Reminds me of an old book that (thank God) is out-of-date by John R. Rice (of fundamentalist fame of yesteryear). The book was called: (I kid you not) Bobbed Hair, Bossy Wives and Women  Preachers. Anyway in response to the Tennessee Baptist Convention dismissing a church  because (horrors!!) they have called a woman minister...Nancy Sehested has written a mighty fine response. I have always thought she was one of the best preachers I have ever heard--and has been a long-time friend. The Baptist Global News printed her fine piece called: God Speaks Through donkeys, burning bushes, rocks--and Women Preachers. Read it--and maybe stop when you are finished and strike up the Doxology.

A lifer shared his conversion experience during the sharing of joys and concerns in the worship service at the maximum-security prison where I served as chaplain. “I got a prayer concern,” he said. “I was talking to some guys out on the yard this morning. They said they wouldn’t come to the service because women can’t preach. I told ’em I used to think the same way. Then I was studyin’ on a story in the Bible and I decided if God can speak through Balaam’s ass then God can speak through Chaplain Sehested.”
The news that God can speak through donkeys, burning bushes, rocks and women ministers is still making the rounds in the yard. Recently the Tennessee Baptist Convention severed the 140-year-old ties with First Baptist Church of Jefferson City for calling the Rev. Ellen Di Giosia as pastor. The story is a repeat of one that happened 30 years ago. Prescott Memorial Baptist Church in Memphis was “disfellowshipped” from the Shelby County Baptist Association for calling me as their pastor. The same justifications were used for the rupture. We were considered heretical, unbiblical and violators of the word of God.
The executive director of the Tennessee Baptist Mission Board said that the recent vote to bar the church from voting in the annual state meeting showed that “the convention is committed to scripture … and is firm in its position that only men can serve as senior pastors.” That position has certainly been firm, but is it a commitment to scripture or a commitment to power over women?
The Bible continues to be used for good and for ill. An Alabama state auditor used the Mary and Joseph story to condone adult male predatory behavior on teenage girls. The Bible is bruised and battered from its misuse as a weapon for abuse, hatred and prejudice.
There was a time when I enjoyed volleying Bible verses back and forth with those who differed from me. In my growing up Baptist church I was a champion of “sword drills” and the memorization of scripture. I was prepared for the debates. I had the idea that I could toss a Bible verse into an opposing camp and see it explode with new converts. I stopped the practice when the casualty count rose with increased hostility and division.
Instead I found myself wanting to have a conversation about our common fears, about how the world is changing too fast and it can make us afraid enough to think people different from us are enemies. I wanted to talk about our fears for our children in an unsafe world awash in endless cruelty and violence. I wanted to talk about the scripture as a source for bringing us together, not tearing us apart. But we never found a way to have that conversation. Here we are 30 years later with the same divisions in our religious yards. And once again it is not women ministers who are to be feared.
There will always be daring churches like First Baptist of Jefferson City who will not be afraid to live into God’s vision of the full partnership of women and men in ministry. Women pastors will continue to seek and find denominational homes in hospitable places.
Yet I still fear the perpetuation of the belief in our second-class status. Dismissing women pastors in particular reflects a dangerous belief about women in general. The damaging denigration is being revealed in the daily news reports of assaults, intimidation, and violence against females of every age. A religion that justifies the subjugation of women and the superiority of men through sacred texts is a religion that creates the dynamic for the abuse of power. It teaches men that they have the divine right of sovereignty over our bodies and our destinies. It cultivates an image of inferiority in women that is internalized. It is perilous to the welfare of women and undermines the trust essential for mutual relationships of respect.
Let’s be studyin’ on that story in the Bible about everyone living in peace and unafraid.
 --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogsptot.com

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

It's Thanksgiving--and the Room is Filled with Faces

On this Thanksgiving Day
the room is filled with faces.
Much like that scene in the book where
   there are just too many to number.
And yet I remember. Some at least.
Most have slipped away somewhere—
 But the delight they brought—those unremembered 
  and remembered ones—
  the doors they opened—the fun we had—
  all those shining times when the sun really did stand still.
These remain embedded deep in my heart.
That’s why I need a Thanksgiving.
To open the door and see here and there
   those that have cheered me on—and others too.

On this Thanksgiving Day
the room is filled with faces.
The old book says we are all surrounded by a sea of witnesses...
  and this is true.
The woman who birthed me and named me 
  and held me close to her breast her whole life long.
The church with its tall white columns and stained glass windows 
  
and its picture of Jesus—
But more—all those who made faith so possible that after 82 years
  I am amazed to discover that old ragged “I will be with you” is true after all.
The schools...the books...the fun...
But more: classmates and authors and teachers
   who did more than they could possibly know.
And all those friends who walked into my life 
  wherever I’ve gone.
They accepted, and affirmed and did not judge—
  they let me be--most days.



On this Thanksgiving Day
The room is filled with faces.
Dating her under a harvest moon...courtship...wedding day...
  seeing her walk down that aisle.
And children—my two red-heads
  and my two grand girls.
And so many more too.
The old book is right.
On this Thanksgiving Day 
The room is filled with faces.



(I wrote this blog piece a couple of years ago. It still expresses how I feel about so much and so many.                Thanks..Thanks. Thanks.)

--RogerLovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Thanksgiving--Mud or Stars?

photo by ally213 / flickr



Once upon a time Jesus healed ten lepers. Incurables. People not supposed to ever get well. They all went away except one man he had healed. He knelt down and said: “Thanks…thanks…thanks…” And Jesus looked around and said: “Where are the nine? Were there not ten healed?” I think Jesus is still asking that question. We all beset with blessing after blessing…and most of our days we forget all the tender mercies that come our way. 

And so that’s what I want to talk about today. Making sure that of all the things we do in life—we do not forget to be grateful to God. It isn’t easy you know. And if we don’t work at it—we’ll be like those two guys in prison: “Two men looked out from the bars—One saw the mud and the other saw the stars.” This thanksgiving will it be mud or stars. Will  we pass or fail this test.

I want to get a handle on this idea by using a little poem I read the other day by Mary Oliver. 

“Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention. 
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”

So this is what I am trying to remember not just this Thanksgiving but all the other days that follow. I think it is a way to make sure that we don’t follow those nine that Jesus healed and went on their way, Forgetting this wonderful thing that had happened to them.

First lesson for us: Pay attention. Sit down folks—look out your window. What do we see? I’m talking about really seeing. Mud or stars. I look out my window and I had to first turn off the TV and put down the newspaper. It wasn’t easy. I wanted to know what was going happen with Roy Moore. I wanted to know if this tax bill would pass and if it did—what would it mean. I wanted to know what Mr. Trump’s yet another tweet said this morning. 

photo by eltpics / flickr
But to do this—I can’t look out my window. You see there is so much diversion in our lives today that it is so easy to spend all our time on the mud—and ignore the stars. But put it all down—not only the newspaper and the TV and your aches and pains and the frustration with some brother or sister or child or job or whatever. I’m not talking about just whistling while you work. Some pollyanna thing. Not that. But something a little deeper. 

Look out your window. It was a beautiful day last Friday while I was trying desperately to figure out what I’d say today.The sun was shining. It was a nippy November morning. Across the street the Hispanic workers are building a house. They’re laughing. They are working hard. This morning a man came to check our furnace and make sure that Christmas Eve we’d have heat. work. Yes—it costs but somebody came when I called them and helped out. Outside my window the tree ln my front yard is still beautiful—the leaves, most of them are still there. And they are sort of a red-gold. Maple tree. Beautiful. Some of the ferns and hostas I planted out front are still there. And the pansies are beginning to show their color. My bird feeder needs to filled again. The birds just keep coming. 

photo by The Pageman / flickr
And the phone rings and my son wants to know how the old folks are doing. And I look across the hall and see my wife—and know once again—how grateful I ought to be for somebody who puts up with me and all my strange habits. 57 years. And she’s still here. I forget that a lot.

We’re all in the same boat folks. Look out your window and tell God what’s there. That’s the real thanksgiving. You may remember Robert Fulghum that wrote that book—Everything I learned in kindergarten…Well he wrote several books. And in one of these he tells the story of what happened to him when he was in an airport in Hong Kong. He said he sat down and there was a young woman in the seat next to him. And she was crying. Big time. She was young and looked something like a hippie. Had a backpack and shoes pretty worn out, holes all in her blue jean—and just crying. She told him she didn’t want to go home to America but her parents had said it was time. Her money had run out—and so she had to leave. But she kept crying. “I’ve lost my ticket,” she said. And I don’t have any money and my plane is gonna leave before long and I’ll be stuck. I don’t know what to do.” Sobbing. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t buy her another ticket—but he felt so sorry for her. After they had been sitting for two-three hours—an older couple came by and saw her tears and wanted to talk to the airlines about her problem and take her to lunch. So she tried to wipe away the tears and she stood up and reached for her back pack. Suddenly she began to scream. Like she had been shot. What? And then she began to laugh. Her ticket was in her seat. She had been sitting on it the whole time. She laughed and cried and picked her backpack and ran off to catch her plane. 

Fulghum said he had told that story a hundred times. For he said most of us—have sat on our tickets, have had no idea and don't know what we are going to do. And he said we all have a ticket—and we just need to look around carefully and find it—and we’ll make the trip.

So that’s the first point. Not mud—stars. Pay attention.

photo by Kevin Steinhardt / flickr
Second lesson: Be astonished. The nine lepers did not come back. They never stopped to give Jesus thanks. And I doubt if they saw the stars—the wonder of what had happened to them. 

Remember Jesus telling his disciples if you want to really be a disciple you need to become like a little child. Children didn’t count for much—in that time. And yet Jesus said these little ones hold the secret of discipleship and maybe life too. 
Why? They have the gift of astonishment. They look around and say: “Wow.” 

Remember what happened that first Christmas. Those old scruffy shepherds, dipping snuff—rough as they come. They heard the angels sing and they were told where to find the child. The angels sang: “Glory to God in the highest.” And the Shepherds finally found not the inn—but a stable. And there in a straw-covered manger surrounded by animals and steaming dung—they began too whisper—these rough-tough men. “Them angels was right—it shore is glorious. He is glorious.”I wonder if they did not live off that night for the rest of their days. The song says: “Glory shone around.” Not everybody in Bethlehem saw that glory. I wonder about us.

Astonishment can change our lives. Somebody said that the glory is any place that God is present. Years before the Shepherds—Moses, tending sheep—maybe wishing for a better pay check—or wishing his wife wouldn’t stay on him so much—God spoke. God. And he said, there by that burning bush, “Moses, take off your shoes, the place where you stand is holy ground.” Remember the song: “We are standing on holy ground—and there are angels all around.” Here. Where we are. In this church. Down the road at your house. Holy Ground. You gotta be kidding. Here? Here?

The Psalm said: “The whole earth is full of your glory.” Look up: the heavens are telling of the glory of God. We just got back from Ireland—and I want bore you with the details. But when we got back we sent our pictures off and made this book called Ireland Memories—2017. And I looked through it Friday morning and remembered. And I’d look at a page and say: “Yes.” 

Folks, we all have and album and this Thanksgiving we need it take it down and look closely. The day you finished college. The day you came home from the service. The wedding that night by candlelight. The day you joined the church. The time you stood at the hospital and looked through the glass and there was your baby. Your baby. Or when you lost him or her and you didn’t think you could stand it. And somebody gave you a hug. Or somebody brought a casserole. Or somebody called you in a moment when you needed it the most. 

Take off your shoes. Look around you. Be astonished. There are palaces everyone and we need to remember.

Third lesson: Tell about it.  Remember Roger Hammerstein’s song: “A bell is not a bell until you ring it. A song’s not a song until you sing it; Love in your heart was not put there to stay—Love isn’t love ‘till you give it away.” 

Do you think that leper that came back to Jesus to thank him for what he had done for him—forgot that. I doubt it. He went home and said: Let me tell you why they let me come back to the village—lepers had to live outside the gates. For a reason. Sanitation. And he was home “Let me tell you why…I meet this Jesus and he changed my life forever. I am so grateful.” 

That’s thanksgiving. Not keeping it quiet. But telling somebody. 

There is a little book I found called 365 Thank Yous. It’s by John Kralik. I recommend it to
photo by daBinsi / flickr
every body. This is his story. He said in December 22, 2007 he was in a terrible place. His law firm was losing money. And they had lost their lease. He was going through a difficult divorce. He was out of money and living in a small, stuffy apartment where he slept on the floor under an ancient air conditioner. He said his sons had grown distant from him. It was supposed to be Christmas. And he was this fifty-two year old guy, forty pounds overweight, pasty and tired.  He said after twenty-eight years as a lawyer he had nothing to show for all his hard work. He said he had recovered a million dollars for one client and the man had stopped paying him his bill. They owed him $170,000 and would not pay. He had a girl friend—Grace—but she had broken up with him the night before. He was alone.

He said that he and Grace had decided to take a walk through the mountains on New Year’s Day. But when he called her she had other plans. So he went anyway. By himself. He said walking there was life everywhere.And he did not know what to do. Just a loser walking alone. He said I wanted to do something with my life that I wasn’t doing. And he thought—I always wanted to write. But he never got around to it. As he walked he thought he heard a voice that said: “Until you learn to be grateful for the things you have—you will not receive the things you want.” He remembered that his grandfather years before when he was little saying I”m going to give you a silver dollar. And the grandfather said: If you write me a thank-you note I’ll send you another silver dollar. But he said he never sent a thank-you note for that second silver dollar. Maybe, he thought, I ought to begin to say thank you for the people that have meant something to me. At least I could do that. And so then he said: “I wonder if I could find one person to be thankful for every day of this new year.” So he said I’m going to do this. I’m going to write 365 thank you notes this year. And he did—and out of it came this little book. 

He said he didn’t make the 365 day deadline. But it took him a couple more. But he said his first note was to his son. His boy had sent him a single-cup coffee maker and he thanked him for the gift and said: I’ll see you soon. He said they didn’t even speak…but it cracked the door. He put the letter in an envelope but said he didn’t even have son’s address. They were that estranged. So he called him up to find out the address and zip code. And the boy said let’s have lunch. And weeks later they did. John said he didn’t know how that would be—but slowly they began to talk. And before they left the son handed his Daddy an envelope. This is for you, he said. He opened it and out fell these hundred dollar bills. What’s this, he asked. And the boy said I am paying back the loan when you loaned me that money. There were 40 hundred bills. And they began to talk and meet. 

He said he wrote only two or three lines in every note or he couldn’t have gotten around to all his notes. But something happened to him as he remembered help and kindness from all sorts of people. At the end of the book he said over a two-year period he had written over 200 thank-yous. He wrote that in writing those notes he examined his life and what seemed to be perfectly awful was really a whole lot better than he thought. And the wonder was when he tells how his life changed dramatically when he looked out at his world with gratitude.

The point—there’s is enough mud in all our lives. Sometimes we think we will drown in that stuff. But those that are grateful—see something more. They see the stars. This man’s life changed miraculously over time. But it started and continued when he began to say thanks. 

We don’t know where the nine really are. But we do know that we can be the one that thanks God for every gift—and turns then to share our gratitude with those around us.

And that’s our sermon for this Thanksgiving. Thanks be to God.


photo by Zulkifi Mohamad / flickr



(This sermon was preached at the Mount Zion Presbyterian Church, Sandy Springs, SC, November 19, 2017)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Monday, November 13, 2017

Keep Jesus Out of This Mess

(This was an artist's rendering of the Anglo-Saxon Jesus 
which was a popular in Nazi Germany.)

One of the terrible things about religion is that we keep trying to drag Jesus in to prop up our pet heresies. Every age has done this. We proved slavery by the Bible. After all--didn't Paul talk about slaves and Jesus said nary a word. Then we dug around in the Bible until we found justification for putting women in their rightful place. They were supposed to keep silent in the church and walk ten steps behind their men. They couldn't hold but certain offices in the church like cooking dinners and arranging flowers. They certainly could not be Deacons and, perish the thought, surely not Pastors. The Bible after all could not be wrong. Hitler and his crowd painted Jesus as a blue-eyed blond--forgetting somehow that he really was a Jew. And with that promise of Anglo- Saxon supremacy they killed millions and millions of Jews, homosexuals, gypsies and Jehovah's Witnesses.  And on Sunday many in Germany went to church to hear their preachers underline it all with Jesus talk. I can still remember my college where there were no black faces except those that swept the yards and cleaned our toilets. Nee-groes rode in the back of our buses--and we proved it all by the Bible. Selectively.

And if that was not enough in 2017 the Evangelicals are lining up in droves around Mr. Trump. It doesn't matter how many he would deny health care to, how many immigrants he would send back to unsafe places they fled. He would lie continually, changing his words from one day to the next--and nary a peep out of the Evangelicals. How in the world can Christians do this? This isn't a Democrat-Republican fight--it is a human fight. What kind of a country do we really want to be? Whatever happened to character. I can understand how Germany got in the mess they did when I see so many church-going Christians standing up for Mr. Trump. This man--thrice married-- who never goes to church--sounds as pious as some TV preachers. Mr. President--please leave Jesus out of all of this.

All this brings me to Judge Roy Moore in Alabama. He has been charged with sexual abuse toward more than three young women. One fourteen year old. He pulls out his black Bible and assures us that Muslims should be denied a place in the Senate and would dismiss the man that is. He has proclaimed homosexuality as bestiality and saying their sexual acts were the same as having sex with a monkey or a cow. He quotes Jesus continually. And one of his fans who is the Alabama State Auditor has said, in responded to the charges.  32-year old Roy Moore charged with having sexual contact with a 14-year-old girl--the state Auditor said:  "Take Joseph and Mary...Mary was a teenager and Joseph was an adult carpenter. They became parents of Jesus. There's nothing immoral or illegal here. Maybe just a little bit unusual."

Jim Wallace, by the way an Evangelical, took a Bible one day and clipped out all the passages about poor people and poverty. And when he was finished he would hold it up in churches and say: "This is an American Bible--filled with holes where we have taken out what Jesus really said." This is exactly what is happening when we church-people ignore the whole message of the Bible.

You might take the "whosoever will" out of your Bible--but it is still there whether we like it or not. We might mis-interpret the John 3.16 passage: "For God so loved the world..." but the Book is not up for revision. We are.

This whole debacle reminds me of a poem the poet, Carl Sandburg once wrote in response to a prominent Evangelist in his day.

"You come along...tearing your shirt...yelling
about Jesus.
Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of
Jerusalem everybody liked to have this Jesus
around because he never made any fake passes
and everything he said went and he helped the
sick and gave the people hope."

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   

"I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my 
religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never
works except with his mouth and never cherishes
any memory except the face of the woman on
the American silver dollar.
I ask you to come through and show me where you're
pouring out the blood of your life.
I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha, 
where they nailed Him, and I know if
the story is straight it was real blood ran from
His hands and the nail-holes, and it was real
blood spurted in red drops where the spear of
the Roman soldier rammed in between the ribs
of this Jesus of Nazareth."
                                                     --Carl Sandburg, excerpts from 
                                                           "To a Contemporary Bunkshooter"

Religion is having a hard enough time today without mis-using it to prop up our sins, our lies and our deceptions. We must keep Jesus out of this mess.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com






Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Guns (Out Of) Control

photo by Julie Ellis / flickr


Well, here we are again. Another shooting. And another. And another. And yet another. How many of our citizens have been snuffed out just in the last year or so? How many funeral have been held? How many families have been torn asunder?

Nobody in their right minds would even advocate getting rid of all of our guns. It isn’t going to happen. But can’t we do something about this problem. We Americans have always been a Can-Do people. Have we changed? I thought after Sandy Hook when 20 school children and 6 adults were mowed down that something would be done. I thought when eight of our citizens were killed in a church in Charleston that something would change. And this was followed by Orlando and others. No change. Then there was the worst shooting in our history in Las Vegas when 58 of our brothers and sisters lay dead and 500 others hurt or wounded. Still no change.
photo courtesy of KUTAustin-90.5FM
And now—this little tiny church in Texas that will never be the same again where 26 of their members were killed and 20 others wounded. Eight members of one family gone forever. And our response? We wring our hands and mutter that must do something. But we don’t act.

Our President barely mentioned guns when he talked once again about the grief of these shootings. We needed more mental health facilities, he said. He said this was a mental problem period. Tell that to the counselors and psychologists that have found their funds whittled down and down. Tell that to all the Mental Health Centers scattered across the nation. They open their doors to help everybody. They tell us their funds are drying up. Read this new proposed budget.

 KUTAustin / flickr
Two suggestions. You’ve heard these before. We need more gun control. We need to know who buys a weapon. If a man is dismissed from the service, has assaulted his wife and almost killed his step-child should he buy a gun. Our President recently signed a proclamation allowing people with mental problems to buy guns. We need gun registration that tighten the restrictions in those who buy guns. Why can’t we stop the buying of weapons on the Internet. 

We need legislators that have enough courage to do something besides mouthing: “our thoughts and prayers are with you..” If these that serve us were really serious about the common good and genuinely cared for all those who have been killed and their loved ones—this sad picture could change. Let’s quit giving the NRA such power.  They and their cadre of lobbyists do not represent the health and well-being of our country. More than a few of our legislators have sold their souls for yet another vote and another four or six years. Every 15 minutes someone in  our nation will die of gun violence. So why can’t we do something about these dangerous weapons that were designed for war. We don’t allow citizens to buy tanks or flame throwers. 

photo by Julie Ellis / flickr
We need to do something about gun dealers. Background checks should mean something. We need gun owners—good decent people—to stand with all those who have lost someone through gun violence. We need to change our laws to say that every gun salesman will be held responsible for those he/she sells guns to. They should be charged with accessory to murder when they have not followed even the barest of restrictions today and sell weapons to those who have no business handling a gun. I wonder if any of these who sell weapons have any idea that they have contributed to the blood bath in this country.

What we do not need is the foolish idea that cleverly citizens should be armed. We have fine policeman whose salaries we pay to help keep us safe. If we don’t have enough—we should hire more. We do not need guards standing at church house doors and we certainly do not need Pastors who claim to follow the Prince of Peace packing on Sunday while they preach. Arming teachers in our schools? Ludicrous. 

Our crisis reminds me of something the Russian Poet Yevtushenko wrote years ago. Knowing the injustices and inaction of the leaders in his homeland he wrote: “Remember how in so strange a time common integrity could look so much like courage.” Common integrity—this is the great need of our time from all of us.


We seem to have forgotten common integrity these days. We need a recommitment to the values that our forebears dreamed just might be possible in this new land. Let’s quit this crazy notions that if we restrict some of our gun laws that we will be turned into a jungle. We are not far from that now. We really have been a can-do people. Let’s do it once again as we tackle this most serious of problems: gun control.



photo by KUT Austin /flickr


--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
 

Friday, November 3, 2017

All Saints Day--Remembering Time

photo by dvdbramhall / flickr


I remember reading the story of the great New York preacher Harry Emerson Fosdick. A troubled woman came to see him one day. And when she left she turned to the secretary and said, "He put the stars back in my sky."

That remark sums up how I feel about All Saints Day in the church. Somebody out there put stars in your sky or you wouldn't be around. At the church where I attend on this special day last year there is a time in the service when people could come forward and call out the name of someone who had been a saint to them. And a long line stood by the microphone and mentioned some name. They covered the waterfront. Name after name. There were mothers and fathers. There were teachers and husbands and wives. There were friends that had stuck by them through it all. I remembered an old gracious lady who made my days bearable during some hard days in the church. Again and again she made me laugh.

If we are wise this day can make us all remember. And remembering might just be a healing and perspective thing for us all. There is so much that weighs us down. In this chaotic time in which we live it is hard to keep the car on the road. Bitterness, anger, rage, depression and hate are everywhere you turn. The old Psalmist raised this query one day during a terrible time. "How long, O Lord--how long?" We've all asked that question from time to time. 

And so we come to church on this day and sing, "For all the saints who from their labor's rest..." I can't sing it without a lump in my throat. Because there have been so very many along the way who helped put the stars back in my sky. Still do. 

Tim Madigan wrote this wonderful little book about his friendship with Mr. Rogers of TV fame. He called his book, I'm Proud of You. I recommend it. Mr. Rogers changed Tim's life. And the book tells that story. Tim tells that when his brother was in his final days dying with cancer, Tim and his four brothers sat up all night with the dying Steve. After that night vigil Steve stirred and Tim told him how much he loved Steve and said, "I have loved you longer than anybody else." Steve replied, "I love you, too. But you look worried. Are you worried about me?" Tim nodded that he was. And Steve said, "Don't worry about me, I have a great supportive cast."

We all have a great supportive cast if we are honest. And this All Saints Day gives us the opportunity to think once more of all those along the way that put stars back in our skies. Maybe turning away from this day we might just help put the stars back in somebody else's sky. Everybody needs a supportive cast. Everybody.


(You might want to  read the book about Mr. Rogers that I mentioned, I'm Proud of You, by Tim Madigan [New York: Gotham Books, 2006] It's great.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com