A Nation of Grievers on All Saints Day

photo by Fr Lawrence O.P.  / flickr

Before this visus kept us all at home I met on Monday nights in a circle with a group of people who have lost somebody they love. We call it a Support Group for Grievers. Just as the sun is setting, they drive up one by one in their cars and trucks. After several weeks--they greet one another as old friends. They have listened quietly as the others in the group opened up their hearts and told their stories. Their losses have been many. Sometimes a child. A suicide. A mother that lived in the home and was her buddy. Husbands and wives and friends, sometimes and even neighbors.

In the middle of all their lives there is this enormous chasm. A loss--that right now they wonder if they can ever recover or feel different. Grieving is a personal thing--and a solitary journey. You find yourself having blinders on. You can't go about your ordinary tasks like you  have always done. Not now. It is a hard place to be and if we live long enough we will all find ourselves at this place.

Because Grief is so isolating and forces us to turn inward or try to run away distractedly--we often find those who have lost someone--stuck. Immobilized. Fearful. Depressed. And there are no instructions when you lose someone you love.

So, as the leader it is my task to try to help. One week I asked each one to write three thank-you notes before our next meeting. Keep the notes simple, I instructed. Pick out people you are grateful for--but not just the people you usually remember. Not those that sent flowers and cards. Not those that brought casseroles or hugged you and were so kind. But think of folk that have helped you on your journey and send your thank-you's to them. The next week some came with notes but all with stories that went behind the words they had written.

As they told us about friends that had not heard from in forty years, neighbors that had no idea how much those tiny kindnesses meant. Some mentioned little children that graced them in this hard time. Some were relatives and some folk would never have guessed what they did was a matter of life or death to these that limped along in pain. Some even mentioned a dog or a cat and the comfort they brought.

After those in my Grief Group had named the people or even animals that kept them going, I  remembered a book that helped frame what I wanted to say about all the people they wrote those words that kept them going. The book was by William Armstrong, a very fine writer. He called his book Through Troubled Waters. He wrote that one day his wife had some pain and went to the doctor while he took their kids to school.  Hours later a call came: Your wife is dead. Out of the blue or the dark, maybe--a tsunami struck his little family and he was destitute. He was left, I think with three little children to raise by himself. He'd wondered, again and again how in the world he could get through that ordeal. He likened it to the flood that old Noah and his family faced on the ark. It rained and rained.  Finally the rain stopped and Noah just floated along. Bored and desperate one day the family sent out a dove to see if somewhere there might be dry land. The bird never came back. Days later--Noah sent a second dove and the bird came back with an olive leaf in its beak. For Noah and his family it was a sign that the water had gone down and they could return to land and life. The writer Armstrong, likened the death of his wife to the flood that came and swept so much away.

He thought he could not go on. But weeks, months later--he said little Mary, his four year old daughter came bearing an olive leaf. She, he said, would be the dove for him. Saying in her own little way the message he needed more than anything: the water was going down and life could begin again.

I told my Grief group after they had shared their thank-you notes about the little girl who became a dove of promise for her father. I said the people they had mentioned have been a dove to them. These enablers had come in their own way bearing an olive leaf. By their words,  cards, actions and prayers they reminded their loved one that the water really was really going down and life could begin again.

As we celebrate All Saints Day--it isn't just about the saints in stained glass and men and women that laid down their lives for the faith. All Saints Day is much larger.  Whoever it is, along the way that has come as your personal dove surely is a saint. None of us could have made it or make it without this great cloud of witnesses who have stood on our balconies at different times in our lives and cheered us on.

You may not write a thank-you note this week-end. But you can stop and whisper a prayer for whoever it was that saved your life and kept you going even until this very day.

"For all the saints who from their labors rest,     

Who thee by faith before the world confessed,

Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.

Alleluia! Alleluia!"

photo by Reji / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

(I wrote this blog piece on October 28, 2015. This year as we look out on more than 225,000 of our brothers  and sisters who have died--most of us are awash in grief. Think of all those family members represented by those who left us in this plague. On this special day let us remember all those we lost this year, too.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

A Great Benediction for These Days

                                                                photo by auntjojo /flikr

Somewhere I bumped into this moving Benediction that speaks to me and maybe you too.

It was given by Bishop Woodie White at the 1996 United Methodist Conference in Denver, CO.

"And now, may the Lord torment you.

May the Lord keep before you the faces of the hungry, the lonely, the rejected and the despised. 

May the Lord afflict you with pain for the hurt, the wounded, the oppressed, the abused, the victime of violence.

May God grace you with a burning thirst for justice and righteousness.

May the Lord give you courage and strength and compassion to make ours a better world, to make your community a better community, to make your church a better church.

And may you do your best to make it so, and after you have done your best, may the Lord grant you peace." 

                                                 --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Trump And Evangelicals

                                                           photo by MyfanwyX / flikr

Every once in a while you read something that you have thought about for some time. How can Evangelicals stand behind a man who has destroyed the lives of thousands of desperate immigrants, ripping away their children and losing more than 500 children, many of them infants. The only thing any of these who fled for the lives had were their children who may not ever see their parents again. But this is only one many issues we could talk about. What kind of people are we. That may be the burning question for today. 

I don't want to go on and on. But I hope you will read this very fine article by John Alvon which appeared in Apple News.

And in this strange time where so many die and most of us are afraid--somehow with the help of God and one another we will get through this plague time. And it matters not our political persuasion--we are all in this together--brothers and sisters all.

                                                  --Roger Lovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com                                   

Birthday Time

                                                      Roger and Gayle somewhere in Portugal  

I woke up the other morning thinking about my oncoming birthday. Who wants to be 85? Just saying the number gave me the shivers. But lying there my thoughts took a different direction. I began to think of every church I ever had. I remembered a couple of people in every  congregation. I was amazed when I look back at the people that blessed my life there and often made it bearable.  The list is seemingly endless.

 I counted faces like rosary beads. Touching every bead of memory and my heart swelled as I remembered. But those beads did not stop with people in churches. For after my family of Gayle and Leslie and Matthew and my parents and my brother I remembered so many. 

I writer named Arthur Schopenhauer has written a book called The Ages of Life, One sentence struck me, “In our early days we fancy that the leading events of our lives, and the persons who are going to play an important part in it, will make their entrance to the sound of drums and trumpets, but when, in old age, we look back, we find that they all came in quite quietly, slipped in, as it were, by the side door, almost unnoticed.”

As I sat there in that little four room house where we lived across from the mill—I wondered what it would be like to grow up. What would I do? Never realizing back there that there would be a multitude that would cheer me on and open doors that i never even knew existed. They would love and affirm me and say, as my wife continually said, “It’s gonna be all right.” I never thought I would go to college or Seminary or summers at Princeton and Octobers in Oxford. Or that I would have six churches and eight Interims after I retired. How could I even envision back there that there would be books and books and stained glass windows that would let the light in and mentors and friends and my beloved family that kept me going. 

I sit here today surrounded by memories galore. I have no idea where it went but I tip my hat as I fondle that rosary thankful to God for all those that slipped in quietly and changed my life. Some of them don’t even remember my name—but that does not matter. They taught me grace and faith and love and hope, always hope. 

I don’t mean to brag folks—but take your own rosary beads and sit in a corner somewhere and remember. God bless us one and all that every day may just be a birthday for every one of us.

                                                                      photo by Saint Joseph / flikr

 

Job speaks to Us in a Time of our Plague--Is There Anyone Up There?

photo by Andrew McGill / flikr

.

Looking out the window—beyond the stained glass—what can a preacher say in such a time as this? Seems like a long time ago that we remembered what happened on September 11th 19 years ago. Weeks ago we turned on the TV and listened as family members and loved ones call out name after name that were lost that sad day. We remembered.

But after that memory, now 19 years old—we find ourselves wading through another kind of loss. Since January when the virus trickle had not become a roaring river—we didn’t think the virus would affect us. Yet we have lost over 200,000 teachers and children and strong women and men and doctors and nurses and aides who have cared for the dying. The list of those names is seemingly endless.

And that does not count all these who have lost their jobs. So many cannot make monthly payments on their homes or apartments. Some of them now live in their cars and on the streets. Thank God we have established food banks for many in need. And yet many that come never look us in the eyes because shame does this. Everything has been touched—church, school, sports, businesses—everything. And it isn’t over yet and may not be for a long time. The scary thing is that we just do not know what the future will hold.

                                                       Anger and Rage

Anger and rage is in every town. We have spit on Chinese. We have pointed fingers at immigrants. So many have taken to the streets to protest while some rioted. A number of people have been shot by citizens or police. Cities have burned as if there is nothing to lose. And a woman at the Wal Mart the other day saw my mask on and sneered, “That’s a waste of time,” and shaking her head she moved in.

As I was working on what wanted to say today I thought about the book of Job. Job? It's is the oldest book in the Bible. So I started studying Job and began to put him down beside all of us today.

The book was written during Israel’s exile. God’s people were dragged hundreds of miles by the Babylonians. More than 4500 were taken over time from their homes against their will. And they were homesick.And in that cursed new land the language was strange. The food was even stranger. And many of their children began to adopt Babylonian customs and some even married their captors. And one of the Psalms captured their feelings: “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”

Loss piled on top of loss. It was a terribly hard time and one of the defining moments in Israel’s faith. And there came this book. Job. Most of them could not read. But they told Job’s story around campfires.  And they told the story to one another and to their children.

They asked, over and over, “Where is God?”And they were angry and tired of being tired. And so this book of Job frames the old question that we too struggle with. Why do God’s people suffer?

                                                

                                                          The Book of Job

And so the exiles told the Job story. This godly man with great faith. Was wealthy. Had a great family. Lots of kids that the loved. A farmer. Sheep everywhere and other animals. Many acres. And the Devil looked down and saw Job and told God: “I bet if you let me put the pressure on old Job he’ll buckle. He’ll curse and turn his back on you.” And God wearily said, “Well do what you will with Job but you cannot kill him.”

And so the Devil went too work. Job lost his kids. He lost his wife. His house burned down. He lost his health and was covered in sores. And so the book deal with his losses. Which were a lot. And there were days when he suffered terribly. And the story says some days he railed out at God. Some days he prayed to the Lord God for help. Before the Devil took his wife she said, “Job, why don’t you just curse God and die.” But he shook his head. 

The story goes on for 42 long chapters. And the question he asked has been asked in every age since: “Why does God allow suffering of the innocents.?” And over the death of babies and little children and ALS and cancer and cancer and mental illness and every other adversity that after all these years there is still no answer.

It reminds me of that funny story about the guy who fell off the cliff. He reached for a tree’s root and he was just dangling in mid air. He saw it was a long way down. And he began to pray: “God help me. God help me I’m gonna die.” A voice came out of the blue that said, “Let go of the root. Have faith. Let go.” And the man yelled out: “Is there anybody else up there?” Have you ever asked that question? A whole lot of people around the world are still asking that question today. Is there anybody else up there?

A couple of summers ago I took my Granddaughter  to see the September 11th Memorial. And she and I stood there with our hands over our mouths as we looked and looked at all those pictures of the 3,000 murdered that day. They came from 75b countries. Like Job we wondered too: Is there anybody else up there?

This is gloomy talk I know. Maybe you wished you had stayed home. Bur we leave here where we have to wear masks and keep away from one another and wonder how long this will last and how many other hundreds or thousands will be affected? We keep muttering: When we ever get back to normal?

So what are we to do? We can whistle while we work. We can look for a silver lining. We could say: “You know we could be worse off than we are.” Or like why painter-buddy told me, “Ah, this virus is nothing. Just the flu. Don’t worry.” We can turn off the TV because the bad news just keeps coming. We could turn the TV back on until we find one of these prosperity gospel preachers just smiling and saying everything is great. We could tell one another: “Let’s just talk about positive things.” But the Bible never turned away from the hard questions. 

                                                         The Promise

That’s the Job story. He took it all. Every single loss the Devil could throw at him. And covered in sores, and tears streaming down his face. he wrote these words:

“For there is hope for the tree, if it is cut down, that it will sprout again, and that its shoots will not cease. Though its roots grow old in the earth, and its stump dies in the ground…” Listen. Even after all this devastation old Job writes: “Yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth branches like a young plant.” He ended that 42nd chapter by saying to God: “I know that you can do all things and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted…I have heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes sees you…”

As I read those words I remembered that time when my wife and I visited England. We went to Coventry to see the town and the ruins go the great Cathedral  that was bombed during the Second World War. The Germans  dropped 198 tons of bombs on that city. Over five hundred of their citizens lost their lives. 2,300 homes were destroyed. And the beautiful Cathedral that dated back to 1043 was obliterated. When we got there we went to the church. The town decided to prop up the bombed-out ruins to remember that sad time. And next to the ruins they built a new Cathedral. They named it: The Cathedral of Saint Michael’s. Outside that entrance of the new church Jacob Epstein, great sculptor has designed this huge statue of St. Michael with an upraised spear in his hand. And below him was the devil he had destroyed.

photo by Coventry City Council / flikr

As I worked on this sermon  I thought of Coventry and Job and us, too hanging on to our fragile roots. Wondering about the future. I try to remember that faith always has a hard time. Read the Bible from one end to the other. Look at the centerpiece of our faith: a Cross. 

In another hard time Psalm 30 was written. Looking back on all the hurt and pain and tears this was the promise of faith that some writer left for himself and those around him: “Weeping many last for a night, but Joy comes in the morning.” 

Friends we have lost a lot but this is not the end of the story. Think about Job and us and the whole world. There really is someone up there.

Thanks be to God.     

                                                                

photo by Roland Turner / flikr

(I preached this sermon two weeks ago at the Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church., Sandy Springs, SC )

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

                                            

Losers One and All

                                                                           photo by jan buchholtz / flikr

I watched that somber scene last week in New York recalling that day when 3,000 of our brothers and sisters lost their lives. The drums sounded, the bagpipes played their sad tunes. People—many family members or friends called out name after name of those lost that morning or soon thereafter. We remembered. And we reached out in our grief to one another in the weeks and months that followed. We all lost something that day and in the days that followed. We went to war which has evolved into the longest war in our history. It still goes on. And once again we have lost. Thousands that came home in “little boxes, little boxes.” And children and wives and husbands and lovers and grandparents and friends and so many, many others lives were changed. And so when we remember that day there are still lumps in many of our throats even after these nineteen years. 

For the last few years I have been leading Grief Support groups. And so much sadness has walked through those doors because all that came lost somebody. Some more than one family member. Many brought the pictures of those they lost. And they told stories—good and bad—about those that were no more. Some grievers couldn’t stand it and just left. Grief was too fresh.

                                                  Grief is like an amputation

Loss is like an amputation, sometimes I would say to my groups. And we will be different from here on out. Hopefully not groveling in your grief but like those amputations that the person still feels that leg or arm or breast or other organs long after the surgery is over. 

Grief changes us forever, And for some time after September 11th we reached out beyond ourselves and old and young and many in-between and genuinely cared for one another. On subways and streets we smiled at strangers not knowing who they were or if we would ever see them again. But we were bound together—most of us—seeing others through different eyes. We all grieved but each one in separate ways. 

Losses just hurt. And we had suicides and drug overdoses and hoping those drinks would take the pain away. There were divorces and depression and anger, so much anger. The whole terrain around us makes us feel like we are in a place we do not know.

One friend told me that going to the cemetery to bury her husband a cousin drove the car as she wept uncontrollably. The cousin turned around and said, “Sis, you have got to get over this—now. Stop that crying.” Like those that fled my grief groups. We all have a hard time facing the darkness that always comes with loss.

                                                       Another Kind of Loss

And after nineteen years we all are wading through another kind of loss. Since January when the virus trickle had not become a roaring river we didn’t think this weird virus would affect us. Yet like it or not—we have lost 200,000 teachers and little children and strong men and women and doctors and nurses and aides who have cared for the dying. The list of those names is seemingly endless. 

And so many others have lost their jobs, And name brands we thought were sacred have closed up shop and will not come back. Loss. So many cannot make their monthly payments on homes and apartments. Some now live in cars and others on the streets. Thank God folk have established food banks for many in need. And yet many that come never look us in the eyes because shame does that. And loss. Everything has been touched—church, schools, sports—everything. And it isn’t over yet and may not be for a long time. 

Anger and rage are in every town. We have spit on Chinese. We have bullied immigrants or worse. So many have taken to the streets to protest so much.  People have been shot by citizens with guns and by policeman. Cities have burned as if there was nothing to lose. Oh, but there is.

                                                                 One Day 

One day hopefully not years away we will look back and remember. And once again we will call out all those other names. Much more than 200,000. And we will wonder why we turned on our neighbors as if they were enemies.

This coming election it may not solve our problems. But it might help. There is no Messiah out there. But we need a healer, we need someone who understands all the grief awash everywhere. Someone who can put their arms around the whole nation and build some bridges across our treacherous divides. And teach us what is our part in this enormous challenge.

So as this sad remembering ends I think of all we lost that day on September 11th and all those thousands that fell victim to this virus. We grievers one and all were really one people. And old wise Lincoln reached for his Bible when he said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”Our tortured history should teach us that. But Rome fell and Germany fell and Vietnam and so many others. Let’s do what we can remembering that we are all grieving one way or the other. 

                                                           Mary Oliver wrote:

                                               "Someone I loved once gave me

                                                     A box full of darkness.

                                                 It took me years to understand

                                                    That this too, was a gift."

Let it be, Lord. Let it be.

                                                               photo courtesy of Flikr

                                                    --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
                                                                   

Vote Jesus ??

Driving down one of our country roads the other day I saw this sign: Vote for Jesus. Well, folks Jesus is not on the ballot. We cannot drag Jesus into any voting booth. So when we vote for a Republican president we do not vote for Jesus. When we check the Democratic nominee on our ballot we are not voting for Jesus. Where did we get this strange idea that God is on our side? Which means that if you are on the opposing side you must hate God. Consequently we must hate you.

For followers of Christ the basic message was always: Follow me. Caesar proclaimed that all under Roman rule must bow down to him and say: Caesar is Lord.  But that tiny cluster of Christians refused. Their creed was: Jesus is Lord. They remembered that Jesus had said: Render to Caesar the things that are Caesars and to God the things that are God’s. And through the years the church has had to struggle to make sure God and Caesar were not one and the same. Often our record has been spotty.

As we preachers stand in the pulpit we look out at a divided people today. We are scared of many things. Drugs…the economy…foreclosures in housing…joblessness…worries about health insurance…schools safety…terrorists…wondering what is true or false on social media. Everything has changed. We’ve lost more than 180,000 in this pandemic. We don’t know if we are to send our children off to school this fall or not. And we wonder about our elderly that are so vulnerable. We struggle about how to have a wedding or a funeral or even in-person worship services. We mutter, “When will we ever get back to normal.”

But even with all these dark days we Christians are called to be people of faith. We cannot kill each other off or demean one another. We cannot hate those that disagree with us. We cannot buy into the politics that claim if we vote for so and so they—and we—hate God. We are not to smear another’s reputation. Who we are as followers of Jesus Christ must take what we say we believe outside of the stained glass windows. We speak to racism—reminding ourselves that black lives matter and that all lives matter. We must denounce children in cages remembering Jesus said: “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones…it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depths of the sea.” 

The old slogan: What would Jesus do? Must be placed down beside the poor, those without health insurance, those who face foreclosures on their homes and those 16.3 million who have lost their jobs. We are to care for one another. 

Remember Jesus’ first sermon in his hometown. He read from the Isaiah scroll: ” I have come to bring good news to the poor…to heal the broken-hearted…proclaim release to the captives…help the blind recover their sight…and to bring freedom to the oppressed.” They received Jesus’ words gladly until he began to unpack those powerful words. 

History tells us that there have been terrible chapters when the church has veered away from faith, hope and love. Often we have been silent. Many times we have joined some bandwagon that runs counter to Jesus’ principles. Church history says that through the years we have turned inward and ignored the convulsions around us. But once in a while we have been stretched by those powerful words of the prophet, Amos. We have opened the Book and read: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream.” 

 

Bill Coffin once said that: “We are to put loyalty to God above obedience to the national will. For obedience to the law is no invariable obligation for those who must serve God rather than man. We said this to the Germans at Nuremberg; we must repeat it to ourselves now.”

We cannot vote Jesus—but we can place the Lord’s words down beside all of us and hold those running for office accountable for what they say and do. Don’t vote Jesus he is not on the ballot—just vote.

                                                           --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com