Learning to dance

Bishop Karen, how do I sum up in a few words the last year since Scottsdale, Arizona? I could speak of your vision for our conference that excites me, the deep love you have shown for every congregation small and large, even those who haven’t been ready to love you in return. I stand amazed at the deep insights and instincts of a shepherd you bring to every situation. The list of what I could say is long. So perhaps I should start at the beginning.

When you were elected, I was thrilled. You were meant to be a Bishop in The United Methodist Church I love. The interviews, the conversations, the Spirit whispering as it moved in the room… all showed this was undeniable. But then you were assigned to the Mountain Sky Area. You were to be my Bishop. Suddenly, the excitement in my gut had a partner — fear. I am privileged to serve as the District Superintendent of the Wyoming District, a District full of beautiful vistas, wide open spaces, and good salt of the earth people. But this is a conservative place. Not all in my District would be pleased with this news. Did I have what it would take to manage the emotions and the conflict? Could we get through this?

And then the announcement was read (yes, I had advanced notice, thanks to a friend) and you came to greet us, your new flock. And the first words I heard you say, with a face beaming with joy, “We are going to have fun!” The fear in my gut could hardly believe it. Fun? It was the smile on your face, the love in your eyes, that convinced me. Bishop Karen, you’ve been true to your promise, and so much more. When Bishop Elaine invited me to the Cabinet table, I knew the work would be hard, I knew it would be rewarding. I never expected it to be filled with such joy. But then, at your consecration, you began to dance… and I knew then, I think all of us present knew our lives and our conference would never be the same. Praise be to God it isn’t the same.

There have been some hard times. Some good people have parted company with us. There have been times of being on the receiving end of bitter words and having to swallow hard, kick the dust off our feet, and move forward in grace. The letters of encouragement, the power of changed hearts, the fun and friendship within the circle I’m privileged to share had made the bitter days worth it.

How do I sum up the last year? You are teaching us — let me be personal — you are teaching me how to dance. I confess: my feet haven’t learned the lesson yet, but my heart at least is learning how to dance in the melodies of grace in ways I never would have expected. You inspire me to find the joy — inexhaustible joy — even in the hard days, the frustrating days. You also inspire me to let my heart break at times, especially with those whose hearts or spirits or even bodies have been broken time and time again. You inspire us to be vulnerable enough to be our whole authentic selves in this strange journey of loving Jesus and loving those Jesus loves.

Has it really been a year?
It seems like yesterday.
Has it only been a year?
It seems like a lifetime.
Thank you for the journey
and for the lessons
along the way.
Most of all thank you
for the friendship
and for being you
through and through.
I’m ready for the
next year.

Here we are, one year later. Bishop Karen, thank you for accepting God’s call to be a Bishop in this church we love. And may God’s Spirit continue to work within and through you. Some of us – especially me – still have many steps to learn yet, but when it’s time to dance, I don’t believe you will ever be without dancing partners in the Mountain Sky Area.

*Note on this entry: This is a revised, and expanded, version of words I was privileged to offer at the Rocky Mountain Conference 2017 in a moment where we celebrated Bishop Karen Oliveto’s first annual conference as our Episcopal leader. 

Holding it together when everything is falling apart : an extended reflection on the Boston bombing

Boston… before that Newtown… before that Aurora… Darfur, Ground Zero, Columbine, Jonesboro, Oklahoma City, Munich ’72.  The list is growing.  No longer names just identifying spots on a map, these are now sign-posts of our collective pain, markers where the fabric of our society and our communal life together have been torn.  And with each explosion or gunshot, we hear another rip.  Sometimes the noise is so loud we can’t distinguish one tragedy from the next.  Many go unnoticed.

• Yesterday, 82 were killed by firearms in the United States.  A third were under the age of 20.
• Yesterday, dozens were killed or injured by unexploded ordnances – the leftovers of wars we think are over.
• Yesterday, in Africa, almost 1500 died of malaria (a treatable, preventable disease).
• Yesterday, almost 16,000 children worldwide died of hunger-related causes.

None of these should in any way minimize the pain and grief we feel because of yesterday’s bombing in Boston.  But, maybe, it will give us the opportunity to see that yesterday’s pain was not an isolated event.  Our world is unraveling.

And I am weary of the weight of grieving for our world.  When I was young, I thought it was the whippings, the nails, the weight of his body hung on a cross that killed my Savior.  Today, I believe it was the weight of our sin, the weight of his grief that ultimately crushed him and expelled his last breath.

That we feel grief today is hope.  That we are still shocked by such senseless violence is hope. The world is unraveling, but we still recognize the pattern in the tapestry God intended.  We have not and should not accept that this is life as it is.  I am reminded, however, that my life of relative security, comfort, and ease, is neither a given nor an entitlement. On observing a convict being led to the gallows, John Wesley commented,

 There, but for the grace of God, go I.[1]

My good life is not primarily the product of my hard work or virtue any more than the pain those affected by yesterday’s events are feeling is a product of some individual sin of theirs, hidden or otherwise.

 At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. ²He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? ³No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. ⁴Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? ⁵No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’[2]

Those who suffer aren’t worse sinners… whew, that’s a relief… but unless you repent, your fate will be no better… WHAT?  Here’s how I read this:  Our world is fallen and is falling apart.  Our world is unraveling.  But we are still connected in often strange and unpredictable ways.  Pull a thread here and a hole opens up over there.  Sin and death are chaotic.  They tear at the order of creation God intended.

Here are some affirmations I am holding on to today.

• Yesterday, God’s will was not seen in the bombing that led to such pain and loss of life.  Whoever is responsible for yesterday’s bombing was working against God, not for God.
• Yesterday, God’s will was seen in the courageous and loving response of those who ran to help even while still fearing more explosions.
• God’s will shall prevail because whatever is unraveled in the tapestry of creation, God can reweave.
• Finally, we are called to help in the reweaving.

So what are we to do?  First, it’s ok to say a prayer of thanks that the little corner of the tapestry under your feet is firm today (if that’s the case, and I pray it is so).  But do not stop there.  Find a loose string wherever you are and secure it.  Weave it back into the fabric of life.  It is these even small things that may matter most.  There is a wonderful quote in The Hobbit (the movie, not the book) by the wizard Gandalf that we need to hear…

 Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? I don’t know. Perhaps because I am afraid, and he gives me courage.[3]

Yesterday, with the explosions at the finish line of the Boston marathon, flesh and bone and the fabric of our society were once again torn.  But there were also many “ordinary folk” who came forward with courage and love to begin the mending.  Today, we begin again, and that gives me hope.

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[1] This quote has been attributed to several others including John Bradford, a Protestant martyred in the 16^th century and John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress.

[2] Luke 13:1-5

[3] In the movie, the “great ones” (Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, Saruman) gathered in Rivendell are faced with the prospect that the ancient Enemy has arisen.  Faced by such evil, Gandalf reflects on how the free people shall resist it.

Footprints in the Snow

A beautiful image by photographer Rolf Hicker

No, this is not some cute Wyoming variation of footprints in the sand… well, maybe not. 

Last night it snowed just enough here in Laramie to cover the sidewalks and streets.  So, once again, when I took my dog Suzy for a walk, I was met by footprints in the snow.  It’s one of the few small pleasures of walking in sub-freezing temperatures.  Like an amateurish Sherlock Holmes, I try to surmise what kind of person has moved on before me.  Size 11 boots… likely a man.  Long stride… taller than me, or in a bigger hurry than I am.  Many have furry companions with them.  When the snow-drifts get big, I become more than curious.  I become thankful that some-one has done the hard work of breaking the snow so I can literally walk in their footsteps.

Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.” -John 1:43b

Discipleship is defined by following others. It is necessary to I am thankful for so many others who have walked the path of life I now tread whose footprints I may or may not see.  Parents.  Grandparents.  Teachers.  Writers.  Friends.  Some, thankfully, are still with me.  Others have walked before me long ago and now tread on higher paths.  I am thankful, too, for those who walk beside.  Sometimes I grumble at Suzy for “making” me walk each cold morning.  But she is helping me be healthier.  Being accountable to her needs enlivens and improves my life.  Sometimes we walk alone and there can be joy in that experience too; but it is often good to have a companion.

 Quite often as I survey the footprints in the snow, there are tracks I find that are going in the opposite direction.  I do not begrudge them that they are not going my way.  After all, they started in a different place than I did.  I wonder why we are so impatient with so many in life who are walking in opposite directions from us, demanding that they do it our way.  I do not believe that all paths of life lead to the same destination.  Nor do all paths have happy ends.  Many do not lead anywhere good at all.  But one good road may also divide up for a time so that many can eventually can join up on the same journey.  I cannot speak for paths I have not tread.  I can only say what is good and true about the path I am on and on occasions be the one to do the hard work of pushing through the snow bank so that others that follow might find the walk a little less difficult.

 For the wise the path of life leads upward, in order to avoid Sheol below.  -Proverbs 15:24

A Lesson from Michelle: Radical Hospitality

Practicing Radical Hospitality means we offer the absolute utmost of ourselves, our creativity, and our abilities to offer the gracious invitation and welcome of Christ to others.  We pray, plan, and work to invite others to help them feel welcome and to support them in their spiritual journey.[1]

Since I arrived in Laramie almost 4 years ago, I have attended a breakfast with a small group of men at the local Village Inn.  We come to discuss a spiritual book we are reading together (during Lent, the Forty Days of Fruitful Living by Robert Schnase), talk about Laramie events and our lives, and generally encourage one another in our daily faith walk.

We arrive around 7 am (I’m usually late).  Gary orders two poached eggs and cottage cheese.  Dean and I are a little more extravagant; French toast for us.  Harold and Larry just have coffee.  Only we never really have to order.  It’s already taken care of.  For the last year or more, we have had one waitress, Michelle, who always goes beyond the normal expectations.  She has memorized our orders (we are very predictable), knows our names, even knows what cars we drive and watches for us every Wednesday morning so that by the time I get my coat off and sit down, my small orange juice and hot tea with extra honey are practically waiting for me.   She greets us as friends, attends to our needs with diligence and care, and gives us space when it is needed.  Every week, Michelle makes an ordinary breakfast meeting just a little more special.

In his many works on the five practices of fruitful congregations, Robert Schnase describes radical hospitality as one of the essential practices of congregations who want to grow and bear fruit for Christ’s kingdom.  Such hospitality goes beyond shallow greetings and cursory gestures toward the guest.  It is a deep, abiding, focus on the needs of the guest as we welcome them into our church and nurture their growth in faith.

Following Jesus’ example of gathering people into the Body of Christ, inviting them to the banquet of God’s gracious love requires intentional focus on those outside the community of faith.  Jesus’ example of hospitality demands an unceasingly invitational posture that we carry with us into our world of work and leisure and into our practice of neighborliness and community service.[2]

When I think of what radical hospitality should be like within our church walls, my mind returns to that weekly breakfast meeting at the local Village Inn and Michelle’s service to us.  She does her job welcoming us and attending to our needs.  But it is more.  Her radical hospitality is shown in the small but important extra details… being ready before we ask, knowing who we are by name, taking the time to stop and say a few words.  Her attitude is authentic; she is not doing this to get a bigger tip.  She honestly wants to welcome us and serve us to the best of her ability.  She makes the extra effort because she wants our experience each Wednesday morning to be a good one.

It is Michelle’s spirit of hospitality that I want in my church.  And I hope her attitude is one we can take outside of our church walls as well.  I pray that I can have such a spirit in every relationship, but especially with those whom Christ is inviting through me to a new relationship with Him.  I want us to offer Christ with the same generous, authentic, hospitality that Michelle offers me breakfast every Wednesday morning.  Her example reminds me that radical hospitality doesn’t have to be radically hard.  It is often the simple gestures that make a difference when offered genuinely.  It is attentiveness to the other that makes hospitality truly radical.

Yesterday, like every Wednesday, we arrived for our breakfast.  Only something was different.  There was a small card on the table waiting for us alongside my hot tea with extra honey.  After we had arrived, Michelle told us she was leaving her position at Village Inn.  In the envelope was a thank you card.  She was actually thanking us for allowing her to serve us these many Wednesdays. Thank you, Michelle, for your service to us.  And thank you for the example of true, authentic, hospitality.

Thank you, God, for servant-friends like Michelle who give us glimpses of the hospitality You offer us as You invite us into Your life and kingdom through Christ our Lord.  May we extend that same hospitality to others in Jesus’ name.  Amen.

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[1] Schnase, Robert C., Cultivating fruitfulness: five weeks of prayer and practice for congregations (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2008) 6

[2] Schnase, Robert C., Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2007) Location 199 of 2863 Kindle

Crying for the World to Change

I was thinking about repentance today.  After all, it is Lent, the season of repentance.  Lent is the 40 day season of preparation before the great celebration of Easter.  Yet when we give up something for Lent, I suspect most of us look at that particular practice more of as a faith challenge (“Can I do this?”) than as a means of showing penance and contrition (“I’m sorry, God”).  In short, repentance seems in short supply even during Lent.  Yet it was not a reflection on Lent that led me to think about repentance.  It was a post on CNN’s Belief Blog by Stephen Prothero:

My Take: Rush Limbaugh’s ‘apology’ fails test for public confession

It’s a good article and worth your time to read.  Prothero not only calls into question Rush Limbaugh’s apology but also gives a good summary of what confession is (or at least should be).  First, admit wrongdoing; second, say you are sorry; third, humble yourself; fourth, change your ways.  What struck me in particular was his mention of tears in his second point.

“Second, show that you are truly sorry. Saying “I’m sorry” (which Limbaugh did not do) is a good start, but it isn’t enough. You have to make yourself believable. Here tears are not necessary, but they help. Others need to believe that you are confessing for the sake of your soul, and not merely for the sake of your career. Hint: the best way to make that happen is to actually be sorry.”(bold emphasis mine)

First, I cannot imagine Rush Limbaugh, the radio persona, actually ever being moved to tears by his own poor choice of words.  And then I began to wonder, might Prothero actually be wrong?  Maybe tears are necessary, if not for true confession, then for true repentance.  From the collective wisdom of the Desert Fathers, found in the Philokalia, there are many references to the shedding of tears.

 When you fall from a higher state, do not become panic-stricken, but through remorse, grief, rigorous self-reproach, and, above all, through copious tears shed in a contrite spirit, correct yourself and return quickly to your former condition. (St. Theognostos, II, On the Practice of the Virtues, sec. 48)

…before we have experienced inward grief and tears there is no true repentance or change of mind in us… for without tears our hardened hearts cannot be mollified, our souls cannot acquire spiritual humility, and we cannot be humble. (St. Symeon the New Theologian, IV, Practical and Theological Texts, sec. 69)

The Desert Fathers saw tears at least as a sign of true repentance and perhaps even a means for achieving true repentance.  I cannot imagine Rush Limbaugh, the radio persona, ever being moved to tears over his mistakes.  But when was the last time I cried over mine?  Too long I am afraid.  When was the last time I cried at all?

If I cannot be moved to tears by guilt, then can I by compassion?  This week was a heart-wrenching week in the news.  So many killed by the terrible storms moving across the Midwest and South.  So many continue to be killed in Syria by the hand of their own government.  So many children die in Africa by a disease that is preventable (every 60 seconds malaria claims the life of a child in Africa; want to know more? http://www.imaginenomalaria.org/).  I was almost moved to tears.  Why only almost?

I believe God cries tears over such tragedies of the world.  Jesus wept.  So why don’t I?  My four year old daughter cries tears over the slightest hint of disappointment from her father.  So why don’t I?  How have I become so callous over the disappointment of my heavenly Father who loves me?  How have I become so callous over the pain I see in the world?  In his beautifully haunting song, “Tears of the World,” Michael Card imagines the collective grief of the world filling the oceans.  And he, too, wonders, “So how could it be that my own eyes are dry?”

I remember a favorite line from one of my favorite books, The Lord of the Rings.  Gandalf, saying goodbye to Sam, Merry and Pippin for the last time, declares, “Go in peace!  I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”  Some tears are not an evil.  Some tears are heaven-sent and blessing… tears of guilt, even, and tears of compassion.  Our tears, when joined with God’s tears, can lead to true repentance and wash away the stains upon this world.  In the chorus of “Tears for the World,” Michael Card prays a prayer… for tears.  This Lent, it is my prayer for me and for you.

so open my eyes

and open my heart

and grant me the gift

of your grieving

and awaken in me

the compassion to weep

just one of the tears of the world.

-Michael Card, “Tears of the World”

“Hello Wind!” A Cold Lesson in Reverence

The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.’ – John 3:8

As I walked my dog Suzy today, it was cold… and, as usual, the wind was blowing.  I live in Wyoming.  The wind always seems to be blowing here.  Most of the time, most of us around here have learned to ignore it.  Most of the time.  Unless it is really blowing. (some days it is blowing so hard if we were on the Gulf Coast they would call it a hurricane.  Here it’s just another day in Wyoming.)  Or unless it’s 10 degrees outside and there is 6 inches of snow on the ground.  Suzy didn’t seem to mind; I’m not sure she even noticed.  But then again she is a Great Pyrenees.  She was born for this weather I guess.  I don’t think I was.   Most of the time I turn up my collar, put my head down, watch my feet and keep walking… sometimes grumbling under my breath.  Today, I did something different.

I acknowledged the wind.  I stopped for a moment, lifted my gaze, and turned my face full into the cold of the wintery Wyoming wind.  I acknowledged the wind. In her wonderful book, An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor writes of ways we can connect to that More that we so long for in our lives yet often overlook.  It is in the often day-to-day practices, like paying attention and cultivating reverence, that we can connect to God.  She describes how her dad taught her reverence by, among other things, teaching her to clean a rifle or inviting her to watch a meteor shower from her balcony.  She describes a native american friend teaching reverence through an invitation to acknowledge a tree: “Do you know that you didn’t make this tree?”  ‘If they say yes, then he knows that they are on their way.’  It strikes me that her examples were a whole lot more comfortable than mine today.  The most uncomfortable experience of reverence she mentions is watching a mosquito as it bites.  The cold Wyoming wind bites a lot harder.  But I guess that is what I get for living in Wyoming instead of rural Georgia.

Still… I have a reverence for the Wyoming wind.  Barbara Brown Taylor quotes philosopher Paul Woodruff,

“To forget you are only human, to think you can act like a god–this is the opposite of reverence.”

Again Taylor writes, “Woodruff argues that true reverence cannot be for anything that human beings can make or manage by themselves.”  One thing is for certain, I cannot manage the Wyoming wind.  I can no more tell the wind to stop and it obey me than I can tell my eyes to turn brown.

Jesus tells Nicodemus that the Holy Spirit — that God’s very movement in the world — is like the wind.  We do not know from where it comes, nor where it goes.  We can only see it’s effects.  I must say I have never equated God’s Spirit with the bitter winter wind of Wyoming before.  Is God’s Spirit so…. cold?  Does it have a bite?  I have always at least hoped God’s spirit was a gentle breeze, warm and refreshing to the face.  But such an image limits God I think.  Jesus was not trying so much to comfort Nicodemus as he was trying (quite successfully) to unsettle him.  That too is part of reverence.  Awe.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. -Proverbs 9:10

I’m not sure many folks here in Wyoming are afraid of the wind but we respect it.  And, yes, some days as I hear it rattle the fence and whistle by the windows in all its strength I am in awe.  My house withstands the wind but it does not stop it.  And it is only one force in this world that God the Spirit gives life to.  I am in awe of God’s Spirit too.  Why should this matter?  Because awe is the beginning of wisdom.

Paul Woodruff and Barbara Brown Taylor suggests that if we can revere what we see greater than us – especially God – then we can respect what we see lower or weaker than us.  And that surely does make a difference… in how we care for this world God has given us, how we respect and love our neighbors and how we raise our children.  How much of the pain in this world has been caused not because one meant to hurt another, but because one simply didn’t see that other or understand how we are related.  How much pain has been caused not by malice but by foolishness?  Too much.  Way too much.

I lifted my gaze, turned my face full into its cold blast and acknowledged the wind.  And it greeted me as only it could, by making my cheeks tingle, then burn, and making my eyes water.  Not altogether pleasant yet life-giving just the same.  For that moment, I was more conscious of my own breath as small as it was compared to my companion.  My senses were awakened.  I knew my place in God’s great big world.  And, in a way, the wind acknowledged me.  Even as it turned my cheeks bright red and brought tears to my eyes, it had to alter its course ever so slightly in that moment in that place I stood before moving on its way.  We were related somehow.  How much more will God’s Spirit acknowledge me if I take a moment to lift my gaze, turn my face full into its gentle breath or awakening blast?  It may just choose not to alter its path, but be breathed in, and reside and give life.

Lord, may I acknowledge the Wind!  May I turn my face into the presence of Your Spirit.  May I breathe deep Your breath that gives life.  Teach me to be in awe of You and Your creation.  And as I stand in awe of what is greater than I, may I also bow to respect what is weaker, what is smaller, yet no less precious.  Amen.

On Steve Jobs, Providence and the Need To Trust

Yesterday we learned that Steve Jobs has resigned as CEO of Apple.  It’s almost as if he has died.  There are praises this morning on the internet worthy of obituaries.  Twitter is abuzz with grief.  I wonder what Steve Jobs has to think about this reaction.  Perhaps touched by the outpouring of those who admire and respect him.  Maybe a little annoyed that everyone thinks he is “done.”  Being an Apple addict myself, I very much hope neither he nor Apple are done, but it’s still not a bad thing to reflect on a remarkable life and some lessons to be learned.

This morning I ran across Steve Jobs’ 2005 commencement address at Stanford University.  A wonderful speech with some wonderful theology.  Here is the link to hear it  directly (www.youtube.com/watch?v=UF8uR6Z6KLc).  In his address, Steve shares three stories of his life.  In the first, Steve describes how dropping out of college and dropping into a calligraphy course changed his destiny and maybe even the destiny of computers today.  Then he says…

 “It was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college, but it was very clear looking backwards 10 years later.  Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust the dots will somehow connect in your future.  You have to trust in something.. your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever… because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart even when it leads you off the well-worn path and that will make all the difference.”

I instantly thought of the story of Joseph and the understanding of Providence.  Joseph, too, had no idea that all the events that were transpiring in his life — dreams, brothers selling him into slavery, Potiphar’s wife seducing him and then accusing him, meeting a baker in prison, all of that — were all each dots that were leading him to a place where he could save his family and even the entire nation of Egypt from a great famine.

One thought: who really connects the dots?  If Steve had no idea that calligraphy class was so important to his future, why did he go?  He says curiosity and the call of his heart.  I aim a little higher.  The amazing way the Bible tells the story of Joseph is that God is so rarely mentioned yet always so very present in the wonderful yet subtle ways Joseph’s life is formed and shaped.

Another thought: What makes the great ones great?   Steve Jobs is one of the great ones and I think it is because he is uniquely gifted by God with vision for what he loves and what he does.  But what he chose to share with those Stanford graduates is not rocket science.  Nor is it beyond the reach of anyone.  “You have to trust in something…”  How much of what has made Steve Jobs into the innovator he is is nothing more than dogged trust in the vision he has for his life’s work.  Might we even say vocation?  Calling?  Faith… unswerving, unwavering, uncompromising faith.

In my college years, I learned a lot about calling.  Some I learned from my campus pastor who was instrumental in helping me see how I was called.  But I learned a lot from her forester husband.  He was very good at what he did.  He told us once, “I was called to be a forester.  It is who I am.”  Faith… unswerving, unwavering, uncompromising.

I hope Steve Jobs all the best in his new position at Apple and his new position in life.  I pray good health for him and that he has many more years to share lessons about design, vision and life with us.  Technology, and life, would be duller without him.

Hello world!

Well… here goes another attempt at sharing ideas publicly from time to time, for what they are worth.  It’s good to write if only to clear the cobwebs and see my musings out in the real world (or at least the virtual one outside of my own head).  Some of my creativity goes toward producing theme images for worship each week.  And I have benefitted greatly from others who have shared their visual creations online (and often free) I thought it was time to contribute a little.  If you happen to stumble across my site and find something useful or inspiring, say a prayer of thanks to all of those who’ve inspired and helped me.  And feel free to leave a few comments too.  I’m always trying to learn; that includes learning not to take myself too seriously.

Lord, Remember Me! Thoughts on News about Coach Pat Summitt

Recently the legendary coach Pat Summitt has disclosed to the world that she has been diagnosed with early onset dementia… a condition that will likely take her cognitive capacity and even her memories from a figure who has been revolutionary not only for women’s basketball but for all of sport.  In true Pat Summitt spirit, she told the Knoxville News-Sentinel, “There’s not going to be any pity party and I’ll make sure of that.”[1]  But the sports world and many who look up to her are shocked and grieved by this news.

Coach Summitt’s recent diagnosis shines a light on a growing concern in our country – the mental health of our aging population.  According to the Alzheimer’s Association, an estimated 5.4 million Americans have Alzheimer’s disease.[2]  This number will increase dramatically as the Baby Boomers age.  Alzheimer’s and dementia in general robs its victim of more than ability; it takes something more precious: identity and the ability to relate.  There are few families today who do not know the grief of saying goodbye to a loved one long before they die because of the affects of Alzheimer’s or dementia.  Of Coach Summitt, Wetzel describes this grief well:

“… this is one cruel disease.  What a life this woman has led, and for her not to be able to sit back for decades to come and enjoy every last memory? What an impact this woman has had on so many other lives, and there’s a chance she won’t get to appreciate it, or recall it?  And how brutal is it that a woman of such accomplishment, wisdom and impact might have her career cut short, robbing any number of players that would’ve enjoyed her guidance.”[3]

Memory and forgetfulness are important theological themes especially in the Hebrew Canon.  Forgetfulness leads to isolation from God and usually ends in disaster.  In Deuteronomy, the people of God are implored no less than 20 times to remember and not forget…  the poignant irony of a book written by a people who have forgotten and are trying to remember who they were called to be.  The Psalms too are filled with the relationship between memory and salvation (Psalm 50:22 ‘Mark this, then, you who forget God, or I will tear you apart, and there will be no one to deliver.’)  The Psalmist often declares she should be saved by God precisely because she remembers (“Look on my misery and rescue me, for I do not forget your law.”, Psalm 119:153)

If memory is so important to our continued life and even salvation, what does that mean for those who “forget” through Alzheimer’s and dementia?  Are they destined to “depart to Sheol” with the wicked because the have forgotten themselves and God?(Psalm 9:17)  Will God forget them because they have forgotten God?

God’s apparent forgetfulness is perhaps of more importance to the Psalmist than her own.

How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me for ever?  How long will you hid your face from me?  (Psalm 13:1)

Why do you hid your face? Why do you forget our affliction and oppression? (Psalm 44:24)

On many occasions it is God’s remembering that saves God’s people.  Noah is saved from the Ark because God remembers; Rachel and Hannah were given children; Moses is sent to save the Israel from slavery.  My favorite passage is God’s own proclamation in Isaiah.

Can a woman forget her nursing-child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?  Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. (Isaiah 49:15)

Ultimately our hope is not in our own memory but in God’s.   And when we can no longer remember for whatever reason, God will remember us and through remembering will re-member us through the Resurrection (remembering is re-membering, a great line I learned from Stanley Hauerwas… I think!)

Just as it is God’s promise to remember, I think it is also the church’s task to remember especially for those who have forgetten.  When powers and principalities forget who is really in charge of this world or forget the needs of those they are called to serve, it is the church’s place to stand up and help them remember.  This week Martin Luther King’s Memorial in Washington D.C. was dedicated.  It is our responsibility to remember his words and legacy.  When our grandfather looks at us with confusion in his eyes and asks, “Who are you again?” it is our bittersweet burden to remember for him not only who we are, but also who he was and through God’s grace and remembering he can become again.

As Jesus was struggling on the cross to take his last breaths, the criminal dying next to me had only one request, “Remember me.”

“Today, you will be with me in Paradise.”  Something worth remembering.

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[1] Dan Wetzel, “Dementia diagnosis won’t stop Pat Summitt,” Yahoo! Sports website (http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/womens-basketball/news?slug=dw-dementia_diagnosis_wont_stop_summitt_082311)

[2] “2011 Alzheimer’s Disease Facts and Figures” (http://www.alz.org/downloads/Facts_Figures_2011.pdf)

[3] Ibid. Wetzel