Remembering the Fallen

The Bishop tells us: "When the boys come back
They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
In a just cause: they lead the last attack
On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
New right to breed an honorable race,
They have challenged Death and dared him face to face."

"We're none of us the same!" the boys reply.
"For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find
A chap who's served that hasn't found some change."
And the Bishop said: "The ways of God are strange!"
                                  
                                              --Siegfried Sassoon

I began this series of reminders months ago. I keep doing this for several reasons. Selfishly, this forces me to read through the long
sad list of young men and women who will not be coming home. I do not know these that have given their lives for us--but I stop by every name and lift them and their families up to the care of the Father. As the war goes on and the war news slips from the front pages of our newspapers I do this as a reminder to those that read that we must not forget those that have served and that this terrible war goes on. Will you join me in remembering?

Sgt. Daniel M. Angus / age 28 / Thonotosassa, FLA / One of three Marines killed while supporting combat operations in Helmand province, Afghanistan /  January 24, 2010.

Lance Cpl. Timothy J. Poole / age 22 / Bowling Green, KY / One of three Marines killed while supporting combat operations in Helmand province, Afghanistan / January 24, 2010.

Lance Cpl. Zachary D. Smith / age 19 / Hornell, NY / The third Marine killed while supporting combat operations in Helmand province, Afghanistan / January 24, 2010.

Lance Cpl. Jeremy M. Kane / age 22 / Towson, MD / Died while supporting combat operations in Hewlmand province, Afghanistan / January 23, 2010.

Petty Office 2nd Class Xin Qi / age 25 / Cordova, TN / One of two Marines killed when a roadside bomb detonated while supporting combat operations in southern Afghanistan / January 23, 2010.

Staff Sgt. Thaddeus S. Montomery / AGE 29 / West Yellowstone, MON / Died of injuries sustained from a non-combat related incident at Korengal Outpost, in Kunar province, Afghanistan / January 20, 2010.

Pfc. Gifford E. Hurt / age 19 / Yonkers, NY / Died of injuries sustained from a non-combat related vehicle accident in Mosul, Iraq / January 20, 2010.

Tech. Sgt. Adam K. Ginett / age 29 / Knightdale, MC / Died of wounds suffered from a roadside bomb near Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan / January 19 / 2010.

Capt. Paul Pena / age 27 / San Marcos, TX / Died of wounds suffered when enemy forces attacked his unit with a roadside bomb in Arghandab River Valley in Kandahar province, Afghanistan / January 19, 2010.

Sgt. 1st Class Michael P. Shannon / age 52 / Canadensis, PA / Died of injuries sustained from a non-combat related incident in Kabul, Afghanistan / January 17, 2010.

Spc. Robert Donevski / age 19 / Sun City. AR / Died of wounds suffered when insurgents attacked his unit using small arms fire in Abad, Kunar province, Afghanistan / January 16, 2010.

Sgt. Christopher R. Hibek / age 25 / Westwood, NJ / Died while supporting combat operations in Helmand, province, Afghanistan / January 14, 2010.

Sgt. Lucas T. Beachnaw / age 23 / Lowell, MICH / Died of wounds suffered when enemy forces attacked his unit using small arms fire in Darya Ya, Afghanistan / January, 2010.

Staff Sgt. Daniel D. Merriweather / age 25 / Collierville, TN / One of two soldiers killed when enemy forces attacked their vehicle with a roadside bomb in Logar province, Afghanistan / January 13, 2010.

Pfc. Geoffrey A. Whitsitt / age 21/ Taylors, SC / The other soldiers killed when enemy forces attacked their vehicle in Logar province, Afghanistan / January 13, 2010.

Spc. Kyle J. Wright / age 22 / Romeoville, IL / Died of wounds suffered when enemy forces attacked his vehicle with a roadside bomb in Kandahar province, Afghanistan / January 13, 2010.

Staff Sgt. Matthew N. Ingram / age 25 / Altoona, PA / One of three Marines killed while supporting combat operations in Now Zad district, Helmand province, Afghanistan / January 11, 2010.

Cpl. Jamie R. Lowe / age 21 / Johnsonville, IL / The second of three Marines killed while supporting combat operations in Now Zad district, Afghanistan / January 11, 2010.

Cpl. Nicholas K. Uzenski / age 21 / Tomball, TX / The third Marine killed while supporting combat operations in Now Zad district, Afghanistan / January 11, 2010.

Pfc. Michael R. Jarrett / age 20 / North Platte, NEB/ Died of injuries sustained from a non-combat related incident in Balad, Iraq / January 6, 2010.



    

49 Years

Anniversary Poem


49 Years.
Where did they go?
49 Years.
What do they mean?
49 Years.

It all began under an October harvest moon.

49 Years.
She was 21 – I was 25.
49 Years.
We are much older now than our parents were

dressed in their finery that snowy evening.

49 Years.

Loving the little girl, then the
little boy who graced our lives.
49 Years.
Wearing a gold ring that never

turned green.

49 Years.
Of struggle, fear, frustration and
fun, fun, fun.
49 Years.
Of lying next to the one

who keeps you warm and safe.

49 Years.

Of packing and moving and packing

and moving and packing and moving.

49 Years.

Of saying goodbye and hello and
goodbye and hello.
49 Years.
Of fighting over the tiniest of things.
49 Years.
On agreeing on what really matters.

49 Years.

Like water on a rock—altering, changing
making smooth and shiny.
49 Years.
Of stretching and forgiving
and hurting and healing.
49 Years.
Where did they go?
49 Years.
What do they mean?
49 Years.
Finally learning love not an emotion
or an act or a word but much, much more.
49 Years.
Love is a bridge that helped me/us

Over many troubled and peaceful waters.

49 Years.

Grateful. Humble. Joy-filled. Maddening.

Comfortable. Confusing and Right.

49 Years.

Where did they go?

49 Years.

Much, much too fast.

49 Years.

What do they mean?

Every thing.

Everything.

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reddit.com: submit: Is Chicken Little Really Right?

An Epiphany Meditation

"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling

  gloom,

Lead thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far from home;

Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene; one step enough for

  me."

        --John Henry Newman

Most of us Baptists discovered Epiphany late. We knew about Advent, of course and Lent and Easter. But Epiphany? What was that? Digging around in my books I learned the word in the Greek means manifestation. For the Eastern Church Epiphany was older than Christmas in celebration. By the Fourth century the three great festivals of the Church were: Epiphany, Easter and Pentecost. In Rome it was linked to the coming of the Magi bringing gifts to the manger. It is also a reminder that the Magi were non-Jews and that Christ came for them, too. Out of this understanding Epiphany came to mean missions for some. But the central meaning of the word is light. Like the star the Shepherds first saw and then the Wise Men. John would interpret this to mean:"the light has come into the world and the darkness cannot put it out." Even though Epiphany began right after Christmas--it is a wonderful time to meditate on the wonder of God's great light.  I thought about the season of Epiphany as I wrote the lines that follow.          

I read somewhere on the ship that sunrise came at 4:22 or some ungodly hour. I never get up this early—seems like the middle of the night. Consequently, I had never seen the sun rise. Yet I crawled out of bed in the darkness—careful not to wake my wife. I slipped on my sweats and grabbed my camera. Everything was quiet on the top deck. The old ship rocked along. Most of the 3,000 of the passengers must have been asleep. Not a person in sight. I looked up at the blinking stars waiting in the silence and the dark. Just waited. On the far horizon in the East I saw what I thought was a slither of light. Slowly, ever so slowly that old yellow thing began its upward climb. Across the dark water came ripples of light. The blue-black water was changing color. And slowly the sun crept over the horizon. It was a new day—opening alike a present before my very eyes. The tall white ship rocked. It was now covered in light. Far below people began to stir. The old book is right. “From the rising of the sun to its setting the name of the Lord is to be praised.” (Psalm 113. 3) Thank God for the light.

Is the Sky Really Falling?

Now let me get this straight--a man I never heard of (until lately) named Scott Brown has completely destroyed singlehandedly the one year tenure of our president. Huh? This man whose claim to fame is that he appeared in Cosmo years ago and drives a great big green truck has pushed the democratic party off the cliff. Huh? This one man in knocking off the 60th Democratic Senator in the Kennedy neighborhood has totally dismantled the one-year work of all those who have struggled so hard for health care? Huh? I think not. Let's at least try to put a little perspective on this Chicken-Little-the sky-is-falling brouhaha.

I know Obama should have probably given more attention to those long lines of the unemployed and all those home foreclosures. But let us remember in all fairness President Obama he inherited a colossal mess. Understatement.The economy was in the tank--we were tettering on the brink of a depession as deep and wide as the last. Torture and Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo has made all the rest of the world really wonder if we really do believe what we say American truly is. He inherited a war or wars--Afghanistan and Iraq--and trying to figure out how in the world to end this mess was left on his doorstep.

Despite the cruel and racist attacks on his birthplace--and the treasonous whisperings if he really, really is a Muslim --or if he really is black enough--not to mentiom the former Vice President's daily rants about his incompetency, his inability to just about anything.  Not to speak of all these wild and wooly rumors of how he will set up these death panels and clear out the population of all or almost all the wood. Huh? Seems like to me we need to give our President a medal for just still standing.

Zogi Berra used to say: It ain't over until it's over. Pundits and columnists please get off your bandwagons. The sky is not falling.One man's surprise election is not the end of any era. After all somebody ought to remind us that Mr. Brown just got elected to the Senate--not the Presidency.

I do hope the President has gotten the message.We must do something about the unemployed. We must give serious attention to all those who do not have enough money to stay in their homes. This man whom many have called one of the most brilliant men ever to grace the White House--surely will serious attention to some of the crying needs that have yet to be addressed.

So--let us stop wringing our hands. Let's get back to work. Let's give our President three more years. And let's look carefully at Mr. Brown and see who he really is and what he is made of. Hopefully he will surprise some of us who wonder. For God's sake let's turn down the temperature--and remember the sky really is not falling.

Dr. King's Birthday makes me remember

This particular Martin Luther King meditation began on an airplane years ago. As the plane took off from Birmingham I began to talk to my seat-mate. She was a distinguished-looking black lady from Birmingham. I asked her if she might be a member of the Sixteenth Street Church--I was to preach there soon. She told me she used to be a member of that church. I asked her if she was there when the church was bombed. And she said: “My daughter was killed in that bombing... Her name was Carole with an 'e'." Carole Robertson was fourteen years old, a clarinet player, lover of fancy dresses, in the 9th grade. Her mother told me that she was getting ready for church when she heard the noise that would change her life forever. Her husband came home with the saddest of news: Their church had been bombed--Carole was dead.

Since that chance meeting on a plane our paths crisscrossed several times. She promised to speak in our church on Black History Sunday but her health would not permit. Through the years we talked from time to time on the phone. I would call her, sometimes she would call me.

Mrs. Robinson was born in Birmingham over ninety years ago. Her father, John Anderson was a Postman and dealt in insurance and real estate. Her mother founded the first PTA Council for African Americans in the city. Her husband served as Principal of the Martin Elementary School.

When Thomas Blanton was arrested and charged as one of those who did the bombing, they wheeled her into the courtroom and she testified in the trial. Was it hard to sit there in the courtroom and to speak? “No,” she said, “it was what I had to do”. She told those in the courtroom that her daughter would have been 52 years old the day she testified.

What kept her going? I asked her. “Hope, I think. That one day things will be right, not just the bombing, many things. You never know how justice is going to work its way out. But Blanton and the others”, she said, “will have to pay whether there is a conviction or not.”

Mrs. Robinson was featured several times in Spike Lee's Four Little Girls. The movie told the world the story of what happened that sad day in Birmingham when Sixteenth Street Church was bombed. As the movie was coming to a close, Spike Lee asked Mrs. Robinson about what this whole terrible event did to her. I will never forget how movingly she spoke as the cameras captured her face. “I have worked very hard not to feel anger and hatred. I had to keep my spirits up so I could help my husband's spirits up and the folks around me. We had good friends and family who gave us a lot of support. But”, and her voice was colored with emotion, “ you have to work with it and pray...Gradually,” she said, " healing came about because hating people would not do me good and it would do me more harm than it would them”. She continued to speak: “I think I conquered it but every once in a while it comes out, not the hatred but anger...It comes out in different ways. I've tried to put all that behind me and go on and live. My husband is gone, three brothers, my sisters and parents are gone. I still have my son and daughter and three grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. So I have something to be thankful for after all.”

She called me one day and said, “Guess what? I just got back from the Academy Awards. Spike invited me to come and sit with him—it was wonderful. We had the best time.” And then she laughed with that deep down wonderful chuckle she had.

I wrote and article one Mother’s Day for The Birmingham News about Mrs. Robinson. She called me that Sunday afternoon and thanked me for writing. She said, “Dr. Lovette, it was wonderful even if it was about me.”

Not long after that she died. But meeting her and that friendship has been one of the great blessings of my life. On this day when we remember the great King I remember another great one. The mother of one of the four little girls that was killed that sad Sunday morning in Birmingham Maybe the old book is right: “Weeping may last through the night…but joy comes in the morning.”

(The above photograph was taken at the new Lincoln Memorial on the Ohio River in Louisville. There is a very impressive larger than life stature of Abraham Lincoln and nearby  this bronze plaque is part of the memorial to remind us of the great part that President Lincoln played in freeing the slaves.) 

When Jesus Comes through the Line

The scenes, the voices and the dead bodies in Haiti have touched us all. With sorrow so deep and so all-encompassing there is not much to say. The low estimate is that 100,000 have lost their lives-- many buried under debris and will never be found. And then all those others who suffer and cry out in pain for themselves and for their lost loved ones.

I think a Jim Wallis story is appropriate. Twenty blocks from the White House the door of the Sojourners Neighborhood Center open early for the Friday morning food line. About 300 families regularly are fed. Just before the doors open, the volunteers all join hands for prayer. Wallis said that most of those volunteers come from the food line themselves. That particular morning Mary Glover, a seventy year old African-American women offered the prayer. She prayed; “Thank you, Lord, for waking me up this morning. Thank you that the walls of my room where not the walls of my grave.” And then she added: “Lord, we know that you’ll be coming through this line today, so help us to treat you well.”

I thought about that story when I watch the pain and pathos in Haiti. Most of the people there have known nothing but poverty and hunger and fear and pain all their lives. And now this. We can’t turn away, you and me, we can’t turn away. Jesus is standing before us in the faces of those in Haiti. Let’s pray and then put legs on our prayers and send money to whatever organization that you feel comfortable with.

That old prayer-poem by Langston Hughes seems an appropriate way to close.

“At de feet o’ Jesus

Sorrow like a sea.

Lordy, let yo’ mercy

Come driftin’ down on me.

At de feet o’ Jesus,

At you’ feet I stand.

O, ma precious Jesus,

Please reach at you’ hand.”

          --Langston Hughes

(The above photo was taken in Barcelona, Spain just as you enter the beautiful church, La Sagrada Familia. Note how as pilgrims have passed this plaque they have touch the name of Jesus until it shines like gold.)