Epiphany--You Can't See Much in the Dark

Credit Peter Haden/flickr

Epiphany. What does it mean? It harks back to the story of the Wise Men that followed the star until they came to the manger. The old strange word means: manifestation. Something not known or unseen suddenly became real. So standing there in the starlight, in the drafty barn, those three well heeled Ones from another place were caught off-guard by the child in the manger. This, this was the Promised One? This infant—with smudges on his face—looking very much like his mother even then—this was what they had been traveling so far to see.

The old poet had it right:

“They all were looking for a king 

  To slay their foes and lift them high—

Their cams’t, a tiny, baby thing

  That made a woman cry.”

It means that the light really does shine in the darkness and the darkness cannot put it out. Light—just a tiny light so that we will not stumble or fall or break something. Just enough light to find the way.

Skeptics want us to show them. Proof. They want to see for themselves. Don’t we all! Another poet prayed:

“God, if you’re really God

 fling us a dipper full of stars.”  

 I’ve never seen that kind of dazzling light. It would be good if we all could.

John Bunyan, in Pilgrim’s Progress caught the Epiphany truth when the wandering Pilgrim was trying to find the way. The journey was scary and fraught with dangers and  obstacles seemingly impossible to overcome. Pilgrim cried out loud, “I’ve got this burden on my back and I don’t think I can make it.” Evangelist told him, “’Do you see yonder Wicket-gate?’ The man said, ‘“No’” Then said the other. ‘Do you see yonder shining light?’ He said, ‘I think I do.’ Then said Evangelist, ‘Keep that light in thine eye, and go directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate...’”  

And that’s Epiphany. Like Pilgrim if we squint enough  we may just see that tiny light. It’s all we need to get through the darkness of this time and the darkness of our lives. Don’t let anyone fool you—the light is here. We are not alone. No wonder the Church year after year, decade after decade has taken these cold days after Christmas to remind us of the warmth of the shining light.

Credit SummerTX/flickr

rogerlovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

After Christmas Blues

"Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree, Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes--Some have gotten broken--and carrying them up to the attic. The holly and mistletoe must be taken down and burnt, And the children got ready for school. There are enough left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week--Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot, stayed up so late, attempted--quite unsuccessfully--To love all our relatives, and in general grossly overestimated our powers.

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"The streets are much narrower than  we remembered; we had forgotten the office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen the child, however dimly, however incredulously, The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all."
    --W.H. Auden, For the Time Being


We hear a lot of talk during this Christmas season about depression. With all the advertised joy many folk, going through a hard time, wonder what is wrong with them. There's nothing particularly wrong with them. Life has just been lousy and they don't feel much like celebrating.

We don't hear much talk about the After-Christmas blues.Tomorrow my kids leave for Philadelphia and Atlanta. The old house has shaken for days with laughter, movement, constant eating and catching up. Tomorrow the house will. be quiet. We will look around and see that the decorations are already beginning to sag. There will be some left-overs in the fridge--but we are just tired of Christmas food. In a day or two we will begin the hard task of taking all the Christmas decorations down and getting back to what we call normal.

And we'll miss the kids and even the dog. We will miss the stairs shaking as the teenagers came and went. We will miss the wonderful feeling of having everyone under the same roof. There is a comfort in that. It doesn't happen very often these days. We are too busy and too scattered.

One Christmas Eve I served Communion in the tiny church where I worked. It was a come and go affair. In the sanctuary only lit by candlelight and a tall Chrismon tree--people came to the altar one by one. "What shall we pray for?" I whispered. And after we prayed for family members, for health, for people they loved, for the war and many things, I held out the Bread and the Cup and said, "Remember." But in between their coming I sat on the front pew in the darkness. I don't do this very often. Just sat in the silence. And something good happened there without cell phone or text messages. I remembered faces of so many people I love. I thought of all those who had waded through a hard time and made it. Like a rosary, I thought of blessing after blessing that had come unreservedly to me this year. I hope that I can save those memories for the months to come.

I began this piece by those powerful words of W.H. Auden. Toward the end of that poem he wrote:

"Remembering the stabled where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an it."

So we take down the decorations and pack away all the vestiges of Christmas. Yet we can all hold on to some personal vision or promise. Days when the light came into a very troubled world and the darkness has never, ever been able to put it out. Even after all these years--even after all the terrible things that have come down the pike.

(I first published this piece when I began my blog in December, 2008. Of all the writings I have published since then--this is the favorite or many people.) 

Christmas--Where's the Star?

High up on our Christmas tree, near the top, if you look closely you may see it. If you don’t squint your eyes and look carefully you’ll probably miss it entirely. I’m talking about the star.

It may be the tiniest ornament on the tree. The little star is probably an inch and a half in diameter. The star was made in the church kitchen by a little girl and her Sunday school teacher over forty years ago in Southside Virginia.

Every year, without fail she breezes into the house with her own two daughters. After lugging in suitcases, pillows and presents she always moves toward the Christmas tree in the corner. She asks the same question year after year. “Where’s the star?” Christmas would not be Christmas without that star. I used to think it was a foolish request hanging on to that old homemade star. But I have changed my mind.

We all need some ties to back there. We need some stack pole of remembering that sends us back, back toward yesterday and the past and our roots. What’s your star? Probably not a paste ornament. What is it that calls you back to what used to be with a tug and a pull that is almost magic? I have a buddy who keeps high on a shelf an old threadbare teddy bear. Some of the stuffing is missing and one eye has been lost. His Daddy bought it for him at the fair one time. They stood there looking at the wonderful stuffed animals and he pointed and his Daddy shook his head. The little boy burst into tears and snubbed and snubbed. Finally the Father sighed took out his billfold and handed the clerk the money. His Daddy has been dead for more than thirty years, yet that teddy bare are one of his most precious possessions.

 I have another friend, long gone now, that kept an old pouch of chewing tobacco pinned to the bookcase behind his desk.  He told me he grew up in this little tiny cotton mill village and smoke breaks were few and far between. Almost everybody then chewed tobacco in the mill.  The man has written a score of books. He taught hundreds of students. And he always kept a pouch of chewing tobacco as a reminder of how far he had come and how grateful he was.

Several  years ago I stopped by to see the old black lady that we would now call a Nanny. She kept my brother and me for years and loved us fiercely. As I started to leave she told me she wanted to show me something. She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. She unfolded the yellowing paper and held up a slip. “Miz Ruth give me this slip. She always gave me the nicest presents.” She had never worn it but she kept it and remembered.

Christmas is a time for stirring memories. Silver Bells. Silent Night. Santa Claus is coming to town. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. O Come All Ye Faithful. But this season is much, much more. The faces loom up before us. Names of those long dead get mixed up with fun-filled times from our crowded pasts. Christmas is a remembering time.

Some of us hang the symbols of our memories on a Christmas tree. Some pack them away in tissue paper. Some place these momentoes carefully in a jewelry box and open it up from time to time and just smile. Some just keep our treasures tucked away in our hearts.

“Where’s the star?” Good question. Unpack it gently. Hang it high in your own way. And remember. Remember. Remember. 

(Almost every Christmas for years I have told this story. It has appeared in The Birmingham News (AL) and The Greenville News (SC). I have published it several times in my Christmas blogs through the years. Read it and do your own remembering.)

                     --rogerlovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Christmas--A Baby! A Baby! A Baby-- 4th Sunday in Advent

"On that night of nights--God came down the

 stairs of heaven with a child in his arms."

           --Paul Scherer

As I read the Isaiah 7 text for the week Christmas began to knock on my door. "Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel." And the New Testament passage helps us remember. "She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."

What do we say as we stand before the mystery of mysteries? Music helps. The gift of just being together again under one roof helps. Decorations might help. Cards that come from far-away may help. Taking a food basket or clothes to  a family in need could help--if we don't forget the family after Christmas. Advent services--particularly Christmas Eve helps.  Just sitting in the darkness pondering the mystery as we look at our Christmas tree or lighted candles--could take us back to the wonder of it all.  

But let's face it--there is no way to really express this inexpressible gift. But we try and sometimes we pull it off.  One of the best ways I have ever seen this glory of Christmas expressed came from a strange source. Our Christmas texts help me remember. It happened on the Bill Cosby Show years ago. Bill was trying to help a woman have a baby. He was stranded with this woman and her two children in a terrible rainstorm. All the lights and telephones had been knocked out. The very-pregnant woman told him she had her two other children by natural childbirth and there was not much for Bill to fear. He didn't believe her. He knew he had to do something to help this woman. What? He offered to get boiling water. He ran around frantically looking for towels. Nothing he did seemed to work. He tried to smile at the woman but it wasn't really reassuring. He finally ended up with this helpless look on his face just swinging his arms in the air. The baby came and the mother survived and Bill, was thrilled beyond words. He just walked out into the rain with a voice colored with many meaning, simply saying over and over, "A baby! A baby! A baby!

So amid our power failures and hard times and troubled world--we can stand open-mouthed and wondering before this great miracle called Christmas. What else can we say? "A baby! A baby! A baby!

It's Christmas And I Can See Their Faces

I sit here and see their faces—

One by one they march by—

Troubled, tear-stained, open-mouthed. Desperate.

What can I do to help?

Of course it’s a male thing—we have to help.

But no.

As they march by slow and weary—

I reach back in memory and remember other days—

When the sun was high in the sky and we laughed and ran

   and loved it all.

Nights when we drank or smoked or argued  and just enjoyed being as one.

What can I do to help?

No much.

We live too far away—

   Phone calls, books and notes are too fragile vessels to carry

   our love and care.

And so I pray.

Does it matter?

Who knows?

But I pray—believing—half-believing--somehow out there

   where they live and go through the motions of the day—

   a lightness will come to their heaviness

   and a glimmer of hope will find a way into their hearts.

                                            --Roger Lovette

                          

                     -- rogerlovette/rogerlovette.blogspot.com 

Third Sunday in Advent --Hard Times Come Again No More

"Let us pause in life's pleasures and count it's many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor
There's a song that will linger in our ears;
Oh, hard times come again no more.
(chorus)
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary
Hard times, hard times come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door
Oh hard times come again no more."
   --Stephen Foster  



As we were moving from one place to another the saddest thing happened. My cousin, my good friend--took his life. He was in his fifties with a great deal of promise. He left me a note that said he wanted me to have his funeral in our church in Birmingham. He lived out of town but loved our Church and he loved its openness--he loved the fact that we took in all kinds of people.

As I struggled with what to say one of his nieces called me and wanted to use a particular song at the funeral. I was not sure--often people suggest music that is totally inappropriate for the occasion. But that was not the case--she wanted us to use Stephen Foster's plaintive, hopeful song: "Hard Times Come Again No More."And so at the end of that service we played this most appropriate song. The music could not have been more fitting.

I remembered that occasion as I turned to to this week's lectionary passage in Isaiah 35. I was struck by one word that is used over and over throughout the chapter like a mantra. Shall is repeated 24 times.

• The wilderness shall be glad...
• The desert shall rejoice...
• The glory...shall be given...
• The lame shall leap like a deer...
• Waters shall break forth in the wilderness
• A highway shall be there...
• And it shall be called the Way of Holiness...
• Sorrow and sighing shall flee away...

Isaiah wrote in a bitter time for God's people and gave them a word of hope.  So this wonderful word, shall is reiterated over and over. The door to their present and their future was not shut tight. Exile was not the last word. And today? Neither will suicide or a mean-spirited time or continual gun violence be the last word. We put this five letter word down beside the heartbreak on every street. We use the word at a time of terrorists threats--real or imagined. And certainly we could use the word out there for all the  grievers. In the  middle of whatever we deal with--or the world struggles with--embedded in it all is this hopeful word: Shall.

It is a word for people whose lives feel like a wilderness. The word speaks to the weak , the fearful, the blind, the deaf--all the broken people.

Is this shall just a mirage? We keep coming back to this word Advent after Advent. So we put it down beside our newspapers and the web and that family down the street and all  those widows whose husbands or wives will not be coming home from Afghanistan--ever.

Like Foster's song that emerged from that terrible time of slavery. Isaiah also proclaimed: hard times will come again no more   Our task, the text says in verses 3-4 is to help one another. "Strengthen the weak hands," he writes, "and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, 'Be strong, do not fear!'" This is not only a personal word for us but it is also a challenge fore us to respond to but all those out there without jobs or enough to eat or sleeping under the interstate bridge. We are given a mandate. Our task is to make the word shall become a reality for us all.

And so, like other hard times, we pilgrims light three candles. We whisper shall. For we believe, deep in our hearts, that this hard, hard time is not the last word. Say it over and over as did the Prophet. Shall...Shall...Shall.

Prayer for Peace at Christmas

"Protect me oh Lord for my boat is     so small

Protect me oh Lord for my boat is       so small

My boat is so small and your sea is      so wide

Protect me oh Lord."

  --Breton Fisherman's Prayer

Lord—your disciples told the story of that scary time when they were in the boat...and the water got choppy and the wind blew hard...and the waves got high...and they were afraid they would drown. And they wrote that Jesus came—walking on the water—whispering one word: Peace. And the winds died down and the water became calm and the boat made it safely to shore.

Lord—the water still gets choppy. And sometimes the waves just get too high...and, like those other disciples, we too get scared.

So here—where it’s quiet and all seems so peaceful—we know better. We confess that we don’t feel like we are safe and secure from all alarms. For some of us the water is wide and the waves are just too choppy. Some of us are afraid of what might happen to our little boats—or our child’s boat and all those we love. Some of us are fearful for the future. And so here in this safe place—we lift up our fears to you.

Could you do for us what you did long ago for those disciples? Could you bring us peace—here--where we are? Could you calm down our insides? Can you give us enough faith that we will know we are not alone.

Outside these walls—up and down these streets and out to Interstates to this whole country—and world—the waves get mighty high sometimes. Is it too much to ask you to do for us what you did for your disciples long ago? But not only for us—we ask for your peace for all those out there. In Afghanistan—not only our forces—but all those who live there and have known nothing their whole lives but fear and confusion and heartache. Could you do for them what you did for those disciples years ago?

As Christmas comes much too fast—so many today dread it’s coming. Some have lost someone precious. Some face enormous problems. Some worry about many things. The waves are just too high...and those boats feel like they won’t make it. Could you do for them what you did for those disciples years ago?

So Lord Jesus—walk across our choppy waters. Whisper peace to every troubled heart. And may that peace that really does pass all understanding—touch us and all those others out there. Leave no one out for we all have a common need.

We ask it all in the strong name of that Prince whose name we know as Peace. Amen.

(The artist who painted this picture is H Qi, a Chinese artist. He currently resides in the United States and He studied at Nanjing Normal University, Nanjing Art Institute and Hamburg (Germany) Art Institute. His work has been shown around the world at Universities at Cambridge and Oxford and Yale and Princeton and many other places. His unique style has been featured in many leading magazines and newspapers. He is committed to the artistic creation of modern Chinese Christian art. I first saw his work at Regent's Park College in Oxford and was struck by its power and  beauty.)

I wrote this prayer for an Advent service at the First Baptist Church, Clemson, South Carolina.

   --rogerlovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Wish I'd Said That--The Biggest People in the World.

From time to time I read something so good and so moving that I want to share the words with you.  One of my favorite columnists writes for the Los Angeles Times. Steve Lopez knows how to write. He has won more than a dozen national journalism awards for his work. You may remember, The Soloist which was Lopez' book which was made into a movie. It was the moving story of a homeless man that I still find unforgettable. Recently he wrote a column about Margaret McWhorter, a lady who has worked for four decades as a waitress in South Pasadena. The mark of fine writing is that it brings to mind someone you know that needs to be honored. Read his moving words about a very fine lady. I hate the term little people. For some of those unheralded folk are the world's biggest citizens. Forget Time's Person of the Year. Think of all those whose lives have touched yours and made an indelible difference.They make us proud to be part of the human family. And so does the writing of Mr. Lopez.

(Nancy Fears worked for our family for years. Even after my Father helped her get a job in the mill--she still came to our house on Saturdays and cleaned and helped. She was my first counselor. She listened. She loved. She was always there when we needed her.She had six children of her own...yet she had to work at menial jobs away from her family to make ends meet.  She made an incredible difference. This Christmas...I remember and I am glad.)

2nd Sunday in Advent - Unlikely Hope

"They all were looking for a king
  To slay their foes and lift them high;
Thou cam'st, a little baby thing
  That made a woman cry."
  --George McDonald, 1824-1905


As we study the Advent passages for today—one theme runs them all. Hope

 In Psalms 72—hope for the poor. Deliverance to the needy. Unlikely hope. 

In Isaiah 11—with the frightening exile looming in their future the prophet gave the people what? Hope. From a tiny shoot, hardly perceptible would emerge from the stump of the cut-down tree. And from that shoot would come a branch Unseen—but real—the roots of the shoot were alive...and hope was on the way. Unlikely hope. 

In Romans 15 Paul says that the Scriptures were written that we might find hope.  God, he says, is a God of hope—filling us--even us—with joy and peace and yes—hope. Unlikely hope for the mess they were in. Even with what we are in?

 In Matthew 3—there appeared on the scene a wild man, John the Baptist. If you were to paint a picture of a prophet—would he look like the wild John? No. Yet—this unlikely one would pave the way for Him who was to come.

Unlikely. Hope. These are the two words that jump out of the text for me. Unlikely at every point. Poor family. Sixteen-year-old girl. Peasant father. Born in a barn, for God’s sake. Far, far from Rome and all its power. Unlikely hope.

The TV brings us the news that Nelson Mandela has died. Black man in segregated Africa. Imprisoned for 27 years for his plots against his established government. A long time. What happened? I do not understand it. He became President of South Africa. He was a Nobel Prize winner. He reached out to blacks and whites and helped his fractured country find some hope for all its citizens. In The NY Times editorial for Friday the President of Ghana writes: “He Taught a Continent to Forgive.”

Truly God has a sense of humor. Unlikely hope in all directions. In an exile. In a wild man with no real credentials. In a barn. From a jail cell to the Presidency of his country. Unlikely hope.

   

What about us? Here. Now. Heartbreak everywhere. The poor still bashed by too many well-heeled people. A President under siege. A mainline church not sure at all where it will go or what it should do. Too  many still coming home in flag-draped boxes.And you and me, stringing lights, hanging wreaths on doors, sending cards across the way. Could it be that here and now--up and down our streets: hope—unlikely hope might just knock on our door and all the others? “Let every heart prepare him room...” the old Carol goes. Rich. Young and old. Muslim and real live Southern Baptist. Catholics and Jews. Gays. Every heart. E-v-e-r-y heart. Unlikely hope.

( I saw this rendering of John the Baptist last fall and thought it strange. The great sculptor Rodin fashioned this piece as his understanding of John the Baptist. Unlikely Hope) 

Grieving--The Long Goodbye

"Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift."

  --Mary Oliver, from Thirst

(Last week I was asked to speak at the annual Memorial service at our Funeral Home in Clemson as we remembered all those that had died in the last year. Over 160 people had left us. And so that night I looked out on a slice of humanity. All kinds of folk. The very sophisticated and those who had little of the world's goods. There were people on walkers and all ages who gathered to remember their loved one. Our griefs became an equalizer. It did not matter who we were. We were grievers, one and all, trying to deal with the hurt and heartbreak of our loss. This is what I said to those in that crowded chapel room.)

We Come to Remember

 We remember wives and husbands and children and grandparents and uncles and cousins. And besides these, there are some good friends who have come to stand with you this night. Yes, we have come to remember.

You were brave to come tonight. Because what you have done is rip open the old wound and know, once again, the grieving is not over. The tears may not be over. And this evening is a painful reminder of this hard, hard time in your life.

We come to Touch our Grief Once More

I am glad you came for a lot of reasons. In this remembering time you need to touch your grief once more. Some people don’t realize that it takes a long, long time to say goodbye. And some of you think this hard place in your heart will never move. So I first say that you are not finished grieving. Mark Twain lost 3 children. A 16-month-old son. And two daughters: Jean and Susy. But talking about the loss of his children he said, “Losing one’s loved one is like the burning down of your house—it will take years and years to reckon with all you have lost.” And this is true. For a long, long time you’ll look and remember something

you thought you had forgotten and the grief comes roaring back. Not as bad as the last time...but it comes. One man wrote: “The shine went out of everything.” Facing your grief—which is what you all are doing tonight is hard but it is healthy. For if we don’t face it—it will eat us alive. And our loved ones we lost would not want to happen. 

We have all looked at the pictures of your loved ones on the screen. Alive and vital and funny and mean and human and stubborn and kind and loving and hard to live with. Some of their peculiar habits that drove you crazy—you’d give anything to have them back. So tonight brings it all back. But look around you—this is another reason I’m glad you came. Because you are surrounded by a whole lot of other grievers. When we lose somebody our focus gets very narrow and we think that we are the only one that feel the way we do. Nobody else we think, has gone through what we go through. So looking around you-- you know there are whole lot of others who are in the same hard place you are. There’s a comfort in that. And you mutter: “Well, maybe I’m not crazy after all.”

This Goodbye is very Long

One woman tells of going to the cemetery after the funeral. She lost her husband and she was crying. A relative, driving the car turned and said, “Stop that. You’ll just have to get over it.” We talk a lot about closure and moving on. But these words should not apply to our grief. We do get over it but it takes a long, long time. And we don’t think we will ever get over it.  But you will. One day you will get out of bed and look through the window and guess what? That old yellow thing in the sky will be shining once more and somewhere in the distance you’ll hear a bird sing. And you are back. You never thought it would happen. But it will or it has for some of you,. Life will go on. It’s like an amputation. Different, always different—but life will go on. My buddy lost his wife of 47 years the other day and I knew both of them well. And when I called him, one week after the funeral I said, “Do you know what Marilyn would say? Bob—this is going to be very hard—but you going to get through it.” And she was right. And this is true of everybody here.

Grief can evolve into Thanksgiving

The third thing I would say is that we have just come through a period of Thanksgiving. And maybe you feel like you don’t have anything to thank God for. Well—remember. Remember your loved one. Remember their face and how they looked and acted. Their little quirks that made them who they were. Whisper a thanks—You did not have them long enough—but for the time they were here--they added grace to your life. Give a thanks for that.

But that’s not all. Think of all the people that stood in that long line to hug you and stand with you. Think of those people that said they would  pray for you. Think of all that food—more than you could ever eat. But it came with a heart full of love. Think of the service and those that left their jobs and some their own grief to come and stand with you. And the cards—they didn’t have to send them or the flowers. As you remember I hope you thank God again and again.

You are not Alone

 Whether you go to church or not—we all need to remember that Jesus wept when his good friend Lazarus died. And God aches for you in your pain. The quote I keep hanging on to these days says: “I came upon earth’s most amazing knowledge—someone is hidden in this dark with me.” You are not alone. God will send you his angels in one form or another. Angel means messenger. God’s love might come through a

grandchild...a friend...a Pastor...someone you hardly  know. Sometimes—believe it or not—that old dog that follows you around and thinks you are the greatest thing in the world could be one of those angels. These messengers however they come...tell us we’re gonna make it. That life is not over. Grief might not be over yet—but life is not over either. The prayers that have gone up for you and your family will be heard. God will send his Spirit in one form or another. Let not your heart be troubled—neither be afraid. Somehow you will make it.

And if old grief won’t leave you alone—talk to someone. A Pastor. Your Doctor. A counselor. They can help. But I love that old verse in the Bible that says: “Weeping may last for a night—but joy comes in the morning.” And this is my prayer for each one of you. After the tears do not come as often...you will discover that joy will come to you. And you will live again. That’s my prayer for everybody in this room. 

Advent Watching

The Preacher Said Watch

The preacher said, Watch.”

It was the first Sunday of Advent.

He said, “Watch” over and over.

How can I possibly watch when I must find my lost car keys?

How can I watch when I’m trying to figure out this Dentist’s bill?.

How can I watch when my feet hurt always—my age is ridiculous?

How can I watch when across town my good friend has lost his wife much too soon?

How can I possibly watch when the pundits on TV keep blaring about this and that—

     mostly that?

This watching never was easy.

Jesus knew that.

And the disciples that wrote it all down knew it, too.

The distractions were real then and still are.

Worrying about who’s in and who’s out—Jews, Gentiles.

Worrying about the crippled donkey and the drafty barn.

Worrying about if Jesus really sweated and wept 

and got tired and was furious some days.

Worrying about who’s greatest—Peter, James and John 

or Donald Trump or Brad Pitt or Lady Gaga.

No, there always has been something out there or in here

 to take our eyes off of what matters.

No, your child is not perfect.

No, you never will have enough money or security.

No, you won’t be able to complete your bucket list.

But—listen and look and wait and see.

We don’t know when the Lord will come.

But it could be remembering all the good, good things 

that make up your less-than-perfect life.

Put down the newspaper and listen to the music.

Forget the game you did not win—and open your eyes to what’s here.

Wait, whether you’re patient or not.

Who knows, God may just come.

See, beyond all the broken things,

The treasure hid in your field.

And even though we will never know the day nor the hour

We will know, deep in our hearts that it’s coming—this child 

born and yet to be born.

This Christ-mass.

And so we watch, like the Preacher said.

And we shall wait, hard though it may be.

And amid the mounting busy-ness something deep down will tug at our hearts.

And we will  know

somehow that drafty barn and that donkey with the wounded leg really do matter.

And so we watch.

   --rogerlovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

World Aids Day Reminds Me of Faces and Names and Real People

(Today is World Aids Day. I don't think I have seen a single mention of this day in any publications I have read. And yet this is far too important a cause to be ignored--even though we have made great strides in helping people with HIV live long lives. 

There are 35.3 million people living with Aids around the world. 
3 million people still die every year from this disease.
Over 65% of those infected do not have access to the drugs that would help.

On this day I think back on all those brave soldiers whom I have known that have struggled valiantly with this disease.
I wrote the following words in a blog piece in 2009. It makes me remember so many who have given so much.

Michael

My first encounter with AIDS came about twenty years ago. I was invited back to the first church I ever served in the early sixties. It was a rural congregation about six miles out of town, surrounded by rich tobacco land. They invited me back for a week of preaching. That first Sunday a young man came down the aisle and joined the church. Michael had been in my youth group as a boy thirty years before. After the service he told me he had AIDS. I had never met anyone with AIDS. So I went to see him that week and he told me his story. One of nine children, he always knew he was different. Michael had a hard time finding his way and accepting who he was. And just about the time he had made peace with himself and his family he discovered that he was very sick.

He had come home from the West Coast to Kentucky to die. He was trying to work but he was exhausted most of the time. They baptized Michael the Sunday after he joined the church. I was proud of that little church that reached out and took Michael into their hearts. In less than two months he was dead. But I have thought about Michael, his mother who loved him fiercely and his family and church that stood by him to the end. I realized twenty years ago that if AIDS could come to that little rural village, on a side road, it could touch any community in America.

Two weeks after my encounter with Michael I was invited to participate in a healing service for people with AIDS at the downtown Episcopal Church in Memphis, Tennessee. That night, as the people streamed forward and whispered their requests for healing I was one of the ministers who heard their sad requests. It was a holy moment.  One old man said, “I have a son dying of AIDS and it’s killing me.” One young man told me, “My partner died six months ago and I am very sick—would you pray for me.” A mother leaned forward and said, “My boy is very sick and I don’t know if I can hold out to care for him. It’s hard.” Person after person whispered their needs. Parents, friends, siblings—partners. That evening touched me at some deep level I cannot fully understand.  I saw the human side of this disease.

Little Maggie

The first big challenge with AIDS was when one of our members wanted to bring a little black girl named Maggie to our church nursery. Remember this was eighteen or so years ago. Everybody was scared of AIDS and infection. Here was a challenge: could we put our own children at risk? Could we possibly turn away someone who needed the church? We invited all our children’s’ workers in for a Seminar. A physician, no stranger to our church who worked with the Center of Disease Control came to talk to us about the realities we faced. We learned about Universal health precautions. We learned that with great care Maggie was no threat. Reluctantly our workers agreed and aids came walking into our church.

 Kevin

Months later a member came by and said, “I have this friend who goes to another church. She has a son very sick with AIDS. He is coming back from California to live with her—and she doesn’t think her church will accept him. You think we could do that?” “Hmm,” I thought, “who knows—I would certainly hope we would take them.” She joined the church weeks later. And when her son came home from California furious and angry and his life had been turned upside down. You could tell he was sick just by looking. One Sunday he came to church and people welcomed him. Months later he walked down the aisle one Sunday and said he wanted to join our church.

I didn’t know how people would respond. But my little church opened up its heart to Kevin and his mother. He would live, as I remember about a year and a half. Toward the end he was very sick. The last day of his life his Sunday school class went twelve miles stand around his bed and give him Holy Communion. It was the last food he ever took by mouth.

Charles...Karron...Gary...Roy

Since that time many gay people wandered into our church and many stayed. It was not an easy struggle. Over and over I would say that this was an integrity issue and either we welcomed all or we were not a real church. Slowly that congregation rose to the occasion. First we lost Kevin and then Charles. Karron would be next—and then Gary and dear Roy. Since those early days we have made great strides.  The University of Alabama at Birmingham has been on the forefront of  research for HIV/AIDS problems.

Since my journey with AIDS began over twenty years ago we have made much progress. Drugs have been discovered that have prolonged life. I have met many persons who are profiles in courage. I have seen the ugly face of discrimination up close. People who could not let their employers know they were sick and paid costly, costly medical bills out of their own pockets. I have heard stories of parents who turned their backs on their children—leaving them without resources to live or die alone. One prominent family told none of their friends that their son was home sick and when he died no one knew. They were ashamed. No obituary. No funeral service except the four of them. And yet I have seen some members of the most conservative churches reach out and open their hearts to families in great pain. I have seen other people change their minds and hearts. 

We have made great progress—though we have a long way to go.People complain to me sometimes, “AIDS is not the only terminal disease.” And they are right. My brother has battled cancer. My mother and father both died of heart disease. My mother-in-law was taken by Alzheimer’s. There are a multitude of killing diseases out there. But we are to respond with care and love with whatever the disease and whatever the condition. I do know this—I have seen the face of AIDS a multitude of times these last twenty years and the lenses through which I see the world will always be different. 

Advent Comes--Not One Day Too Soon

"But about that day and hour
 no one knows, neither the angels
of heaven, nor the Son,
 but only the Father."

  +         +       +       +

"Keep awake therefore, for you 
do not knows on what day your Lord is coming."  
    --Matthew 24. 36, 42

“No one knows the day nor the hour...”

I preached on this Advent text one Sunday.

And a woman with big hair and a bigger Bible—

  got up and stalked out of the church.

She called later to say she was leaving.

“The Late Great Planet Earth, said  He was coming soon.

The signs are everywhere. Don't you believe the Bible?”

What we all know—the woman with the big Bible

  and all those who do not care—

Reading on down the page—we may not know

  the day nor the hour...

But the floods will come pouring into our lives.

Our own special Katrina. Maybe a tsanami.

Everything will be changed, altered,

   turned upside down—destroyed.

William Armstrong called it

  Through Troubled Water

   when his young wife died suddenly.

As this holy season begins—I think of all those

 in my Grief groups who dread this year

 like a plague.

He, she—they-- are gone forever.

“Christmas won’t be the same...” 

   and they are right.

I have no answers.

But I let my finger move

  down the old text.

“Keep awake...”  it says.

 “ Open your eyes”, even those filled with tears,

   it says.

Somehow we grievers will learn—with eyes wide open—

   what so many other fellow-strugglers have learned.

Somehow, some how—the water will really finally go down.

And life—our life—will go on.

No wonder the Church picked these words for

  The First Sunday in Advent.

(This photograph of the Annunciation hangs in our kitchen. Years ago traveling in Canada to Niagara- by- the- Lake we stopped in this tiny town and saw this antique shop. It was filled with stained glass pieces. The old man who ran the shop told us that some time after the Second World War he was able to buy stained glass figures from bombed our churches in England. Then he took those pieces and put his own stained glass around them and made a frame for them.  We bought this window and since that time it has hung at different places in our houses. Even broken things, kept and made new, continue to bring us all joy.)

      --rogerlovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Thanksgiving--A Chance to Transcend our Headaches

"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip my pen in the ink."

       --G. K. Chesterton

The year was 1863. For the man sitting in the White House it was a turbulent time. On January 1 of that year he had issued the Emancipation Proclamation: “All persons held as slaves…shall be then , thenceforward, and forever free.” The country pulled at him from all sides. The Abolitionists said the Proclamation did not go far enough. Many wondered how this action would affect the morale of the troops. Senators, like the newspapers, put their ears to the ground and barked out varied opinions. That year they began to talk about Mr. Lincoln’s War. The year before he had lost little Willie, his eleven year old son, and his wife would never fully recover. Many of his generals had let him down and then July 1-3 of that year Gettysburg came. It was the bloodiest battle in America history. When the fighting stopped on the third day 51,000 casualties from both sides were reported dead. One book about Gettysburg called that battle, A Vast Sea of Misery. By September of that hard year half the Northern public was against this war.

That same year there was a little known poet and editor named Sarah J. Hale. She had been lobbying for some time to make Thanksgiving a national holiday. Many states observed this special day that went all the way back to President George Washington. But Sarah Hale felt strongly that the nation needed a national day of Thanksgiving when the whole country would pause and remember.

Mrs. Hale came to see the President about her concern. If the country had a national day when all would pause and give thanks it might just do something for all the people. Lincoln listened and began to wonder if perhaps such a day might just help unite his divided nation. And so on the third day of October in 1863 Lincoln signed the national Thanksgiving Proclamation to be held on the fourth Thursday in November.

It would be two more years before the war would end on April 9, 1865. Did that Thanksgiving Proclamation stop the war? No. Did the declaration change anything? Who knows? We do know that the President continued to courageously lead the nation in the hardest of days. We do know that on November 19, one week before that first national Thanksgiving that Lincoln stood at Gettysburg and looked out on a torn battlefield and gave his finest address.

147 years later on this Thursday we pause for another Thanksgiving Day. It would be great if the old dream of a united people stirred once again. Our nation has many difficulties. Some say our President has as much on his plate as did Abraham Lincoln. We do know the mood of the land has turned sour. We have come through yet another contentious election. The battle lines are being drawn while foreclosures continue, people are desperate for jobs and the economy is in disarray Anxiety settles down on us like a fog. Some even say America’s best days are over. 

Our mood reminds me of the little boy that brought home from school the familiar picture of the three Patriots that marched down the road. One played the fife, another beat a drum and a third carried a flag. The little boy showed the picture to his father and said, “Daddy, the man carrying the flag looks like he has a terrible headache.” Most of us understand that picture.

Yet Thanksgiving gives us another opportunity to transcend our headaches. It could be a moment when we might just renew our faith in the old vision of the Pilgrims and George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. It might be a time to put away our weapons and labels and reaffirm our faith in this good land. We have been blessed beyond measure. We have survived so much in our history. It is high time to pause and give thanks and recommit ourselves to making this word united a reality for America once more.

(This article appeared in The Greenville News, Monday, November 25.)

     --roger lovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

God Does Not Need Our Praise

God does not need our thanks.

Yep, I said it.

I’ll say it again: God does not need our thanks.

What kind of deity would God be if He (She) sat around just waiting for our praise?

And what kind of a God would it be that would zap us if we forgot to praise Him or Her?

I’m getting a little weary of all these praise songs...that infer that God needs our praise or our worship.

God is God and needs nothing from us.

On the other hand—we need to praise.

We need to thank God.

Sure, we need to keep singing the Doxology.

Praise makes us remember. 

Gratitude makes us more humble and more human.

To say a thank you that comes from the heart does something to the giver.

So—we won’t scrap our thanks or our praise.

But we will remember we’re not pleasing God as we thank. 

God does not need our pleasure.

But back of it all—we need reminders, again and again, that at the heart of it all is love and mystery and understanding and forgiveness.

Praise God!

    --roger lovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Thanksgiving--Paying our Dues

On this Thanksgiving week I remember that old  couple who were members of the rural church I served. Once a month, without fail they would hobble in and hand me a  check. They always said the same thing, "We've come to pay our dues." 

We all have dues to pay, don 't we? Thanksgiving  provides us all with an opportunity to ponder the faces and events that stir our memories and take us back across the years. Surrounded by the lushness of so much, this day provides even the poorest of us with opportunity to do some healthy remembering.

Think about your own dues--and the people you owe more than you can even imagine.  I recall a tree my Daddy planted the day I was born that still stands. I remember a First-grade teacher that taught me to love learning and books. I remember a little all-too-typical church that pointed me upward and gave me an anchor that still holds.  I remember high school and a journalism teacher that whispered one day: “Would you like to write? I think you can.” And then there was College and Seminary and teachers and books and windows that opened to a much-larger world that I could have ever imagined.

My dues must include parents who sacrificed out of their poverty to provide me with opportunities they never had. How could I ever forget that girl that said yes over fifty-something years ago and has stuck with me through thick and thin? I also must include our two redheads that have made the trip enormously delightful.And my two beautiful granddaughters.  

Dues. Dues. Dues. It's time we pay up.  The friends we made. The dogs we’ve had—or had us. The employers that took a risk with us and forgave our mistakes. Enormous dues like music and laughter and stained glass windows and “The Lord is my Shepherd…” All our cups are full and running over. Flowers and full moons and colored leaves and singing birds and jogs on a fall day when you wish you could live forever. The list is endless.

 I think of the down times and the friends and family members that have stood by me. The people who called from all over when my father died. And that group that drove many miles to stand in the cemetery when I buried my mother. We all have wondered how we would get through the darkness of some troubled time. Sickness, death, disappointment, life taking a wrong turn--rejection slips. And sitting here on Thanksgiving I remember.

So pause between turkey and football. Maybe make a list. Look back over your shoulder and stir your memories. How far you have come and all those that cheered you on and made the trip worthwhile.

 Don’t be distracted at the spread on the table that seems to go on and on. Forget the Internet, troubles at work—the election, your aching back. You may just find yourself overwhelmed at what comes to mind. A check won't do it. That would be too simple. But bowing your head or just sitting in the silence maybe you'll remember all those dues that this Thanksgiving are coming due.

No wonder, in a terrible time of plague and death, the Pastor who had to bury all the dead
wrote, amazingly:

"Now thank we all our God  With hearts and hands and voices
Who wondrous things has done, in whom the world rejoices;
Who from our mother's arms, Hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love, and still is ours today."

                   --rogerlovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

The Kennedy Assassination--Lessons to Ponder

Friday we remember the much-too short presidency of John Kennedy. Has it really been fifty years since he left us much too soon? Accolades have been coming in from all directions. And should. But we have a problem in this country of forgetting our history. Amnesia is rife. Maybe it has always been. Pause and think of the Kennedy years. He was hated by many people. In fact he was warned not to go to Texas. The atmosphere there was toxic. The newspapers in Dallas and other places were calling for his impeachment. The Pastor of the then-largest Baptist Church in that town denounced him as a traitor from his influential pulpit. He would not let people forget that Kennedy was a Roman Catholic. This was the setting of that terrible day in Dallas. But it was a mirror of much of our country. We have a selective memory. We forget the painful and dark side.

Behind the carefully choreographed facade was a President who was very ill, and who had serious problems with sex. His public persona as a family man did not stack up with what we now know. In a different age he would not have fared as well probably as Bill Clinton. Seymour Hersh’s book, The Dark Side of Camelot is worth reading. A reputable journalist—not a hack, wrote it.

 All said, we forget that God always writes straight lines with crooked sticks. Maybe countries, too. This does not excuse irresponsibility or wrong-doing. 

But we must remember that we live only in the present. Today. This week. This time in history.  So—fifty years from now people will look back and remember another President. Black. Smart. He will be then called courageous for breaking the color line in the White House. They will write of how people of color the world over felt so good about America. Obama will be compared to Jackie Robinson and Martin Luther King and Lincoln. Hopefully they will write that he left us with a legacy in which all our citizens were covered with health care. Will that memory still be selective? Probably. Little will be said about the birther fantasy. Few will remember the ugly whispers: “He just is not like us--he is a Muslim.” “He will destroy this country.” His  real weaknesses, too will be mostly forgotten.

Now we forget most of the bad stuff of yesterday. We remember only that the myth of Camelot was real and right and true. We should not forget that terrible day when our hearts stopped and we watched the sad, sad drama acted out in Washington for three long days. And we should also remember the horrendous climate that made that awful day possible. Hated for his integration stand. Hated because of the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Hated because he dreamed big dreams for all our citizenry. Some just loved to hate.

Democracy is always messy. Our history surely tells us so. But when we look back this week on the short Kennedy presidency let us remember the whole story. The difficulty of trying to help this people live up to its best dreams and its values. And let us pledge ourselves that in this day and this time. We will never be yes people to this President nor any other. But we will try our best to make this climate today healthier not only for those that serve us—but for us all.

I keep remembering the story that comes from Philadelphia. As Benjamin Franklin emerged from Constitution Hall a a Hall a woman asked him, “What kind of a government are you giving us?” He replied, “A republic, Madam, if you can keep it.” 

           --roger lovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Gay Bashing--A Christian Virtue?

 Just read on Yahoo News a story about a New Jersey waitress. After her customer paid the bill and left, she was shocked at the note the woman had left behind. There was no tip. The note read: “I am sorry but I cannot tip because I do not agree with your lifestyle and how you live your life.” The note-writer and her family skipped the tip on their $93.55 bill and only left her this pious explanation. The server reported that she had been waiting tables for ten years and that she never told the family she was gay when she introduced herself. “Just a normal introduction,” she said. “My name is Dayna and I’ll be taking care of you today.” She reported that the woman at the table replied, “I thought you were going to say your name was Dan.” “I didn’t know how to react,” she said,” ‘ I never thought this would ever happen.”

Most folk would not react this way—thank God. But we still have a long way to go. I’ve sat in the counseling room and heard story after story from gay people. They opened up their hearts and talked about the pain of discovering who they were. Hating themselves because they felt they were different. Sitting in church and hearing their preacher denounce the "gay life-style." Kids at school snickering about fags and queers. Or parents that often did not try to understand and turned their backs on them. I have had gay friends tell me that they have been with their partner for years yet they could not bring their loved one home. Some families did not even know the partner existed. The parents knew their child was gay--but they closed the door to this discussion years ago. Some said, “OK, we’ve talked about this—subject closed.”

I keep remembering that quote: “Be kind; everyone you meet is having a hard battle.” Straights, gays, everybody. Everybody.

   --Roger Lovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Immigration Reform Can't Get Lost in the Shuffle

It looks like Immigration reform has gotten lost in the shuffle. How do you lose 11 million residents of our country?  I guess you can ignore this number of people when you realize that 49.9 million—yes, million—do not have health insurance in this country. (That figure is up from 2009’s number, which was a mere 49 million.)

We’ve spent all our energy lately talking about the glitches in the Affordable Health Care law—and we ought to say: GLITCHES—because we have done a poor, poor job of getting this program off the ground. And so most of the opponents of that program are wringing their hands and saying: “How terrible—all these people that call or check on the web site and can’t get in.” They do have a good point. And hopefully we will finally iron out this mess.

But—back to the eleven million people that are wondering what place they have in our country. Most churches don’t put down “I was a strange and they took me in.” beside the immigration issue. Well, most faith groups do not put down: “I was sick and you visited me” as it applies to over 49 million uninsured people either.

We‘ve got to tackle this health care dilemma in a way that will deal with our 49 million problem. But—we still have to struggle with positive ways to help these people already in our country. Story after story tells of the sadness of our foot-dragging.

The Sojourner’s blog—God’s Politics--which always keeps our foot to the fire—has a splendid article called: “What Immigration Reform Looks Like.” Ivone Guillen tells of this problem in human terms. She also provides a video of an undocumented Minister and his family. The article and video are worth looking at.

Why do I keep talking about this issue? Because this country is in the people business whether it’s health care or immigration. But more than that—because the church of Jesus Christ is supposed to be on the forefront wherever people hurt and need.

(Want to read another story that puts a human face on 11 million immigrants--read Karla Guillen's story about her parents being deported.)

   --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com