The Mortuary Chaplain

Another response to a response

2008-07-27T12:51:00.000-07:00

The Response: It is this juxtaposition of realities, as you call it, Dave, that has always been such a difficulty for me. Those of us who have walked through life have seen so much, and it has changed us in one way or another. How do you cope with a church, a family, a business, friends, etc. that have not seen such events; for whom you would not wish them to see such events? How do you help them to believe when they have not seen the scars, or put their hands in the wounds as you have done? How do you allow them to look at the world through your eyes, and at the same time remember to look at it through theirs?

My Response:

Not easily and I am sure I do not have the definitive or even adequate answer. Nevertheless let me try to share what I have come to think I think.

First - I believe in conversation.
I think truth is better discovered in dialogue rather than didactics
That is probably why I always learn more in seminars than speeches
Keep the conversation going
Speechifying makes me tired
Didactics shuts down conversation
Lecturing makes me feel small and stupid
Now I don’t even want to learn
Don’t tell me what to think - lead me to enjoy discovery
Don’t tell me how to think - model the process

Second - I believe that openness begets openness.
Not 100% - maybe only 40% of the time
But lack of openness will result in lack of openness 99% of the time
If there is any hope of learning, growing or discovery openness is the beginning
Who said, “The best teacher is the lead learner?”

Third - I believe that my reality is my reality and I do not have to convince the other to believe anything
This is hard - my agenda to convince usually works against my goal
I might have better luck at convincing if I could enter into the others reality
this too is hard - but not too hard if I am comfortable with my own reality

Fourth - I believe that my job is to be as honest and open as the other can tolerate.
Push and back off - Push and back off
I push my reality until I feel resistance - then I push a little more and then back off

Follow-Up to Vacation Post Day Nine

2008-07-26T19:28:00.000-07:00

So many of my friends have commented on my July 16-Day Nine Vacation post.

One thoughtful observation deserves this public response. I think there are some principles here which can be applied to lots of circumstances.

Here is the observation made by a chaplain friend; "It is interesting to note that they (emotional dumps) happen during times when you are released from the cauldron of the grieving ministry in which you are involved."

This is a principle which we learned after 9/11. Prior to 9/11 the mortuary was functioning like an ad hoc committee. When there was a mass casualty (9 or more) the reserves were called in, the incident was dealt with and everyone went home. We never saw the emotional afterbirth. Chaplains did not walk with their reservist parishioners through any reintegration process since everyone had gone home.

But after Dover's part in the 9/11 incident was complete we did not go home. We were kept on orders waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the days immediately following the end of the "push" chaplains were faced with a constant counseling load. We had been through the thick of "it" with the troops and now they had the time to open up, process and face life realities which had been put on hold during the crisis. Most of the counseling was standing up in a hall way. "Chaplain can I talk to you?" "Do you have a couple of minutes chaplain?" "Chaplain, let's go have a smoke." The invitation to "a smoke" is a code I developed with the troops and all of our chaplains have followed suit. Almost none of us smoke. So the code means, "I need to talk but I don't want to do it out here in the open."

The Wine Bottle is the illustrative symbol. Pressure builds up in the bottle but is kept safely contained by a well placed Cork. Then comes a day when the wine needs decanting. Intentionally, a corkscrew is procured, the cork is gently removed and the built up pressure released with a satisfying POP. On the other hand, if they bottle is subjected to undue stress, i.e. heat, I am told that the horizontally stored bottle can unintentionally blow it's cork or even break the bottle.

In the case of unusually high and constant stress environments corks come in many varieties. For us the corks consist of focus on mission, families, science, or in my case focus on my parishioners. As long as the cork stays in place all is well. But when the tempo wanes or the work comes to a stop the cork is going to come out. Intentionally or unintentionally the built up pressure will be released. Stress that goes in will come out. This accounts for the significant increase in "stand up counseling" and multiple smoke breaks. The chaplains become one of many intentional and safe pressure releasers.

As a side note, the counseling issues raised after 9/11 were not about the horror and sadness of what we had just been through. Mostly the conversations were about issues left behind when the reservist was called to duty: family, finances, extended family, children, jobs, health and many more.

It was not until weeks later when the pressure was really off that the afterbirth of war trauma became visible and even then the issues were not what were expected. Now they talked about the relative meaninglessness of their jobs at home compared to what they had just done. "I have never been so fulfilled. This job is so close to history and our unseen part in the grief process of our country’s families so real. I don't think I will ever do anything more important. It is going to be hard to go back home."

Another commonly raised reintegration issue was verbalized like this: "My wife/husband is so concerned with such small and insignificant things. I can hardly tolerate talking with him/her." I will never forget the night of my own close encounter with this insensitivity to the difference between my new normal and my former normal.

It happened during the third week of the 9/11 intense mortuary involvement. I was living in a motel room but spending precious little time there. On the motel bed and half asleep I was talking to Phyllis on the phone. She needed to tell me about our 15 year old cat who was sick again and she was afraid she was going to die. She did die a year later while I was in Dover yet again. But that night Phyllis went on and on and on about the sick cat. I wanted to say: "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE CAT! THE CAT IS NOT IMPORTANT! WE ARE DEALING WITH 189 LOST SOULS AND YOU ARE WORRIED ABOUT A CAT!" Notice, "I wanted" to yell at her. Fortunately I realized that yelling at Phyllis or even wanting to yell at Phyllis was not normal for me. I had to steel myself to remember that what was not important to me NOW was important to her now and probably would be for me again. I had to (still have to from time to time) remind myself that though my changed perspective was a normal response to an abnormal event I still had to live in a real world and with people for whom my reality and theirs was different.

This juxtaposition of realities is at the heart of a necessary reintegration process for all those who have been exposed to the stresses of war.

Vacation 2008 - Day Fifteen & Sixteen - 22,23 July

2008-07-25T19:22:00.001-07:00

The last two days of vacation. The first one was spent in Maine cleaning the cabin, packing the car and shopping at the Kittery Trading Post in Kittery Maine. It is a tourist trap and we were tourists. This shopping trip was conducted during a driving rain storm while 20 miles to our west a tornado was tearing through trailer parks in Durham New Hampshire. The most frustrating thing about Maine gifts is that they all seem to be made in China. The fact that we could not find Maine-made Maine gifts seemed frustrating but in light of nearby disaster it was just a small thing.

We stayed the night in Marlboro Mass, not the home of the Marlboro Man. In the morning, after a night of rain, the Tippy Canoe, traveling on top of the car, was nearly full of water. I wondered if anyone took notice of the guy in the motel parking lot with a manual bilge pump. The kayak was empty after only 20 minutes of pumping. The rest of the day Thursday the 23rd was spent on the road trip home. In spite of continuing rain for the first half of the trip we arrived home safely even though sore of bottoms. The cats greeted us un-warmly, looking out the door to see if the other people (our cat and house sitters) were behind us. By this morning however they were resigned to the fact that we were back. We too are resigned. Resigned from vacation. Resigned from the lake and cabin. Resigned to being back in the saddle.

Thanks to all of you who have been reading and responding to my vacation blog. I will now return to my more normal blogging schedule: Once in a Blue Moon.

Vacation 2008 - Day Fourteen - 21 July

2008-07-21T07:09:00.000-07:00

This is the cabin in which we are staying. It is owned by very good friends of ours and as I understand it we are the first persons outside of close family to be allowed access. We think it is great and are having a very relaxing time.

The following is the e-mail traffic between the owner and I over the last couple of days about the property. BTW: You might want to know that she is also a clergy person and has the requisite sense of humor.

First Note: You've noticed our over abundance of trees. Although trees are great, we would prefer more daylight. Codes only allow for cutting trees if they are damaged, in the way or ill. Don't you think ours are acting depressed or nauseous?”

My Response:

We love your trees.
They provide shade from the sun;
they keep the cabin cool;
they provide a privacy barrier;
they are pretty;
they smell wonderful;
they provide shelter for the birds;
they sing us to sleep with the wind in their hair;

Your trees are healthy and happy.
After your e-mail I went and talked with a couple of them.
They are in no way depressed. They enjoy standing tall and are proud that God made them just the way they are. A quote from the tree closest to the cabin; "God don't make no firewood." They tell me that they are fulfilled by their holy life style fulfilling the purpose for which God created them.

The Pine closest to the water asked, "Does she notice how straight I am or how I stretch my arms in praise to God every day?"

The Oaks on either side of the gas grill asked me to mention that though they love the smell of cooking meat they hope that you have read all the safety instructions and are aware that "only you can prevent forest fires."

In the final group session they came to this consensus: for you they would move to provide you more sunshine if they could. But they are reminded of the scripture that commands,
"Bloom where you are planted."

They asserted, "That's what we are doing and you can tell your friend to complain to the Creator or bark at his wife Mother Nature."

After that comment they discussion took a nasty turn with vague threats; something about plagues, firstborn and fiery lakes.

E-mail Number Two, A Response to the Response:

OK, OK, OK! I give up. Now you've made me cry. I hate when that happens. I feel so sorry for my trees, I will kiss the ground they root in as soon as I have a chance. And I will place myself between them and any army of tree cutters appearing on the property.

I also think there is a deeper message in your reply. Duh!!

After I heard the message for me, I saw the sonnet and offer the following analysis.

In the octet I saw my friend, David, between the lines.
If he doesn't see what I see, I am not going to enlarge upon it here.

The sextet describes my friend's life to date.

In the first half of the couplet I heard my friend's voice saying even he needs to be acknowledged for his strength of character and his devotion to God;

in the second half of the couplet I also heard The Great Advocate saying my friend needs to be carefully protected, too, and I have some of the responsibility for doing that.

The Sonnet suddenly evolved, reverted, overturned to become a church board meeting where the kind hearts shared their desire to do more, preached at themselves and the preacher, defended themselves, passed the buck and then ended with all too familiar threats should their point of view be ignored and a decision made with which they disagreed.

Perhaps you have heard a voice through our trees yourself this week.
If not, reread the message from them.

My Last Response:

I see it. I see it. You have un-done me.
Great job.

Vacation 2008 - Day Ten thru Thirteen - 17,18,19,20 July

2008-07-20T07:37:00.000-07:00

Reading, Sleeping, Kayaking (EVERY DAY)

We went to the laundry mat for the first time in years. Reminded me of days I want to forget.

We spent one evening with Phyllis brother at the Maine State Music Theater in Brunswick Maine. A small theater on the campus of Bowdin College. We saw “All Shook Up” a script loosely held together by the music of the “King.” The picture is Phylli'ss brother in rare form.

This evening (Sunday) we will go the Ogunquit Music Theater in Ogunquit Maine for a performance of the Mel Brooks “The Producers The Musical.” Ogunquit is true summer theater with cast members from Broadway and Off-Broadway.

Vacation 2008 - Day Nine - 16 July

2008-07-20T07:19:00.000-07:00

Actually my last day at work was the third of July. I was off for the holiday, then for my regular weekend and then I took a CTO on Monday. I started counting vacation on Tuesday the eighth when we left Magnolia for Maine. If I started counting on the 4th of July I would be counting today as day 13.

Why do I care about the day count? Because it took 13 days for it to happen.

Everyone who has worked at the Dover Mortuary for any length of time agrees. After having left the building for some time you should expect an “emotional dump” of some sort.

I first heard this from an Active Duty chaplain who had been assigned to Dover during the 9/11 time frame. At that time, though the reserves were called to supplement the workforce, the active duly chaplains were working full-time in the mortuary. About 3 months after he left Dover he called me with his story and a warning.

He told about sitting at the kitchen table with his wife some friends. The conversation was easy and the friends good listeners. At some point they asked about what working in the mortuary had been like during 9/11. He gave them some personal observations without any of the gory details, told them that he had processed his feelings about it all very well and then he broke down and sobbed for half an hour. He told me that he was surprised. He did not know that all that emotion was still “in there.” “David,” he warned, “don’t be surprised. Expect it. It’s going to happen to you at some point You will be OK but you may need to find someone to help you ‘process.’”

I really wish he had called two months earlier. My first big “dump” came during an annual preachers and spouses retreat while Phyllis and I were chatting with another pastor and his wife before lunch. We were standing, unfortunately, in the lobby of the hotel with approximately 100 other pastors and spouses, all waiting for lunch.

My pastor friend wanted to tell me how wonderfully the Army had treated an extended family member and her family at the loss of her husband in Iraq. He told about the care and attention to detail they had experienced. He told me about the Post Commander who had come to the door with the chaplain to notify the family of their loss. He said that the day after the notification the commander came back for a visit, looked around the house, found the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed the house without comment. Two days later, a Saturday, he returned to mow their lawn and rake leaves. He kept up these random acts of kidness for weeks. It was a great story of the Army family taking care of its own.

Then my friend named the name. You would not think that I would remember one name out of so many. I didn’t think I would either.

In those days, with so many soldiers being prepared and awaiting transportation, the Army would place a simple piece of masking tape on the foot end of each casket. On the tape the name. It was not a official identification tag. Those were smaller and harder to see from a distance. With so many it was just a expedient way to identify a single casket from a distance.

When my friend named the name I saw the magic markered masking tape. It was just a simple visual memory. But there it was and it opened a flood gate of emotion.

I ended the conversation abruptly. I think I said, “I’m sorry friend but this conversation is over.” I am sure he would have been offended but for what happened next. Phyllis and I turned to move toward the lunch line and I began to sob. Not tears and a sniffle. SOB, SOB, and SOB some more. Phyllis guided me to an overstuffed leather couch. Just in time as my knees buckled and I fell into the cushion with Phyllis beside. While the sobs were still uncontrollable I remember a part of me standing aside and commenting on my “emotional dump.”

“That’s cool. I know what’s happening here. All that built up stress is coming out. It had to happen. It is a good thing. I wonder how long it will last”

The sobbing lasted for 8 to 10 minutes before I got control of myself. Phyllis was holding on to me and was herself crying. I took a couple of deep breaths wiped tears and mucous from my face, turned to Phyllis and said, “I think I’m all right now.” I wasn’t yet and it started all over again. Another 2 or 3 minutes of crying and then it was over and I was fine. It took Phyllis a little longer as I became aware of the gathered crowd. I heard them saying, “Sparks is crying.” No kidding. What powers of observation. Some went to tell the District Superintendent, “Sparks is crying.” None approached me or attempted to offer help. That was probably a good thing.

The second dump was two years later while on vacation in Virginia. It came out in anger at Phyllis over nothing. I am not going to tell that story but we cried that time too.

This time it took 13 days.

It was not nearly as dramatic or emotional and there were no tears. It was just a dream; a dream with mortuary content. Not a nightmare. Just intense mortuary content. A dream I will not commit to print. A dream in which in which I was a supporting actor. A dream with both recognized coworkers and not. A dream with deep intensity as well as bizarre humor. A dream through which built up stress was released. I woke up tired but aware again that any stress that goes in, WILL come back out. Intentionally or unintentionally it will come out. In healthy ways or unhealthy ways it will come out.

Vacation 2008 - Day Eight - 15 July

2008-07-15T17:28:00.000-07:00

Vacation 2008 - Day Eight - 15 July

Today was a very quiet day. I took a couple of kayak trips and Phyllis went out for a long trip this afternoon. The sun was filtered by the clouds, the humidity was low and the breeze very very nice.

Twice now I have had new appreciation for the disciples who “rowed all night” and were still in the middle of the lake. When the wind comes up on Sebago I cannot make my little kayak move forward. I row and row or stroke and stroke or paddle and paddle: but the best I can do is hold my position and wait for a lull. I have had to do that a few times when I was not on a lake.

The first two or three years at the mortuary were like that. Just kept doing what came to hand to do but no progress. More soldiers died, Hollywood Nazarene waited patiently and I had no idea when the winds would change. In the third year the wind started to change. My resignation from the ministry in Hollywood became final and two years later the Air Force made me a civilian chaplain. Forward movement at last. I wonder what is around the next point. More wind or maybe a safe harbor.

Vacation 2008 - Day Seven - 14 July

2008-07-14T19:36:00.001-07:00

The picture is from Two Lights State Park located just out of Cape Elizabeth Maine which is very near Portland Maine.

All of that to say - Phyllis was born and raised in Portland Maine. She grew up with what she calls the fresh smell of the clam flats. Clam flats are wide expanses of mud exposed when the tide recedes. They smell like mud and rotting fish to me but I have come to define the smell of rotting fish as “fresh.” It is a survival technique.

During my first week as a college freshman I met Phyllis. How that happened is another story but we took to each other right a way. I was awed by and drawn to this sophisticated sophomore woman who was stunningly beautiful, the smartest woman I had ever met and who acted like she did not mind being around me. She, on the other hand, was drawn to me in the same way you might be drawn to site of a train wreck: Six foot two, 140 pounds of skin and bones, sporting a flat top (a haircut style), wore a necktie every day, afraid of people, played trumpet in the pep band and told Phyllis on our second date that I thought I was in love. What a mess.

But we kept dating or at least hanging out together and she even accompanied me to preaching assignments all over the North East while I tried to learn how to preach and exchange my fears for love.
.
Anyway, she took me home to meet her mother. I fell in love immediately. I remember thinking: If this is the woman Phyllis is going to become we are going to be fine. Of course I was young and naive.

Then Phyllis took me to Two Lights State Park. The Park is more of a Coastal Preserve than a park. There are benches and picnic tables, walking trails and of course the granite coast. No swimming or boating here. In fact a couple of people die here every year. They just don’t get the danger and power of an open ocean wave breaking on granite.

Over the course of four years of courting we spent many hours at Two Lights and especially at the spot pictured above. When the tide is a little lower than in this picture we would sit on the right shelf and talk for hours. That was back when backs were stronger and butts less sensitive. Or was it that we just did not notice?

In the next 39 years we and our girls visited the park and this spot as often as possible. You can see that Two Lights has become a part of our Family Tradition and Folklore. This cut in the rocks is where our ashes are to be scattered and whenever we visit Maine this spot is a necessary stop.

Vacation 2008 - Day Six - 13 July

2008-07-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

Up early this morning because I just can’t help it. Spent some time trying to get the photo’s from yesterday to load and show. Sorry for the inconvenience but both Festival1 and Festival2 links are working now.

The rest of the morning was spent with a cup of coffee and a copy of Uncle Henry’s. Uncle Henry’s is a New England and (I just learned) Canadian tradition. This is a well organized and massive Swap It or Sell It guide. If you are trying to sell you can place an ad (up to 30 words) for free. If you are trying to looking to buy you can pick up a weekly cope of Uncle Henry’s for 2 bucks.

Indexed in the front are over 70 categories of items. Uncle lists everything from airplanes to Yard Sales, Animals to Trucks and Cycles to Snowmobiles.

Examples:
AIRPLANES: FAA reg. homebuilt 2002 Hawk Arron, 65 hp Hirth Pusher, 164hrs, tailwheel, Chute, 5 gal Aux, Lotus Floats, current annual, tandem seats, call for price
YARD SALES: 127 Galilee Rd, Farmington, 3rd left up behind fairgrounds, look for green posters, rain or shine, collectables, antiques, tools, household items and much more

Animals: Full grown cats and kittens, all different colors and sex, too many, need to get rid of some. Industry Maine
Trucks: 85 Toyota Med truc. 6” lift, 33” Super Swampers, V6, Chevy eng. $800obo, Call Dave

Cycles: Women's leather chaps, sm, red/black flames, tassels, worn six times or so. $50. Call my cell
Snowmobiles: 04 Rev parts, give me a call. Head, seat, rear skid, front end parts

Then there is a whole section of Household Items: Mattress sets, Mirrors, Craftmatic (asking $1000), Humidifier, Dehumidifier, rugs, sewing machine, kitchen table (no chairs), one keg kegalator with taps and gauges, 5 chandeliers, valued at $30,000. Anything you want you can find in Uncle Henry’s and it makes a good morning read.

Now here is what surprised me: Vacation Home Rentals in Maine can be affordable. If you want to be out on Peaks Island off the Portland coast in a two bedroom cottage on the ocean with a Jacuzzi and 2 fire places it will cost you; $1600/week. But if you can be comfortable with a little isolation on Sibley Pond with 2 bedroom and 4 kayaks you can stay a week for $600. Or how about East Grand Lake where a cottage that sleeps 7 with a gas grill, porch, dock and TV will only cost you $500/week. You can’t stay in a hotel for a week for those prices. I see Moose lake 3 bedrooms for $675 and two bedrooms for $575. I see a cottage that sleeps 3 close to Bar Harbor for $595 and in Patten a waterfront camp that sleeps 6, private, gorgeous Katahdin view for $600.

Maine - the Way Life Should Be

Vacation 2008 - Day Five - 12 July (Part 2)

2008-07-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

This morning after picking up Phyllis’s brother Richard in Portland we made our way to Lisbon Maine for the Annual Moxie Festival. We arrived on the Silver Anniversary of the Lisbon Festivities. It was quite a day. We did not arrive until about noon.

Here is a link to the pictures we took during the Festival1 and Festival2

9:00 - 3:00 p.m. - Pony Rides - by Maine Trailriders - No Pictures of Phyllis or David

9:00 - 2:00 p.m. - Moxie Day Book Sale - Yes there is a bookshelf of Moxie Books

9:00 - 3:00 p.m. - Children's Games consisting mostly of bouncing - Phyllis got sick watching

9:15 a.m. -------- National Anthem sung by Shawn Arndt - was disappointed to see that though there was a patriotic moment there was no prayer of blessing - I am sure I could have written a Moxie specific prayer

10:00 - 2:00 p.m. - Face Painting * Phyllis thought they might be able to improve my countenance

11:00 a.m. -------- Moxie Recipe Contest- I have my own simple winter time Moxie recipe (pour one can of Moxie in a microwave safe container - do not cover - heat but do not let it come to a boil) this makes a tasty alternative to hot chocolate

12:00 - 1:00 p.m. - Elvis is in the Building - this was a wonderful hour and my brother-in-law screamed and screamed and nearly passed out with joy (SEE PICS)

1:00 p.m. --------- Inkaswasi - Peruvian guitar, wooden flutes and pan flutes ( this provided a much needed one hour sit down and music to smile to. (SEE PICS)

1:30 p.m. --------- Fireman's Muster - if you ever have a chance to watch a must in person do it - but bring a swim suit (SEE PICS)

2:00 p.m. --------- "Moxie" Chuggin' Challenge - we thankfully missed this event

2:00 p.m. --------- Coastal Cloggers or Dancing ladies ages 60 and up - no comeback on this allowed

3:00 - 6:00 p.m. -- Dube's Music Review - Local Talent, we left soon after this review started

Vacation 2008 - Day Five - 12 July (Part 1)

2008-07-12T17:47:00.000-07:00

We are on our way to pick up Phyllis’s brother Richard and head to Lisbon Maine for the Annual Moxie Festival. WHOOO WHOOO! you never heard of a Moxie Festival? Or have you never heard of Moxie.

Moxie, a carbonated beverage, is considered by some to be the USA's first mass produced soft drink, although both Vernors ginger ale and Hires Root Beer predate it by a decade.

Moxie was created in 1876 by Dr. Augustin Thompson formerly of Union, Maine, while working for the Ayer Drug Company in Lowell, Massachusetts. Accordingly, Moxie stands today as Maine's state beverage. Moxie was first marketed as a patent medicine in Lowell, Massachusetts, under the product name “Moxie Nerve Food." From 1928 through 1953 Moxie was bottled at 74 Heath St. in the Jamaica Plain section of Boston, Massachusetts. The building, known as Moxieland, featured an advertisement on the roof along with an arrow pointing in the direction of Logan Airport. Moxie was said to cure ailments ranging from softening of the brain to “loss of manhood.” In 1884, it was sold in carbonated form and merchandised as an invigorating drink, which claimed to endow the drinker with “spunk”. In the early phase of its life as a recreational soft drink, Moxie is said to have been kept handy by bartenders to give to customers who were too drunk to be given any more alcohol. This story may be apocryphal, however, inspired by Moxie's noted aftertaste, which many people find unpleasantly strong. Many people, even those who do not like the soda on its own, find it refreshing when mixed with whiskey.

The origin of the name Moxie is unclear, but two possible theories lend insight to the question. The name is most likely a Native American word meaning either "wintergreen" (one of the drink's ingredients) or "black water" (thought to be the reasoning for Moxie Falls, Moxie Bog, etc.) It is also possible the word is related to moxa, a type of mugwort burned to relieve various ailments and increase energy as used in East Asian medicine, and in turn would come from the Japanese word for the herb mogusa.

Each year, the town of Lisbon Falls, Maine, is host to a Moxie Festival. The festival includes Moxie vendors and a town barbecue, as well a parade and public concerts. This festival is the topic of Part 2.

Vacation 2008 - Day Four - 11 July

2008-07-11T19:48:00.000-07:00

Another little Maine adventure today.

Phyllis and I have kayaked twice in our lives. The first time was here in Maine two years ago when we joined a small Kayak Tour group. Phyllis LOVED it but I was unexplainably scared out of my mind. I found the kayak I was issued incredibly tippy. From the moment we entered the water I was tense and became more and more tense as we traveled down stream. Within 20 minutes every muscle in body had frozen up and by the 30 minute mark I was begging to get out of the water. Phyllis loved it and decided that they had put me in a kayak that was “not right” for me. She was so gracious. She did not use the “W” (wimp) word even once.

The second time was in Ocean City last summer. We rented a couple of sit-on-tops. Though still a little tippy and frightened it was much better and we enjoyed our selves a lot.

SO ... For weeks Phyllis has been saying that we should rent a kayak while in Maine. After all we are within 40 feet of the water with two docks and our own little cove.

SO ... this morning I went to find a rental kayak for the next 10 or 12 days. I found one at $50 a day. So I bought one instead. Saved half the price and I may try to sell it back to them as a rental at the end of the vacation.

The picture is of me after the "SS Tippy Canoe" was launched with me in it for the first time.

Vacation 2008 - Day Three - 10 July

2008-07-11T06:32:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Portland last night at 6 pm and by 10 pm we had unpacked for the night, frequented the Old Country Buffet and crawled into bed.

Today we moved to our two-week vacation home on the lake. This cabin on Sebago Lake is owned by very good friends, Paul and Gloria Coffin, and is a beautiful as it is simple. The master bedroom features a 15 foot window that opens from the bottom and is latched to the ceiling leaving a 15 by 5 foot screened opening that looks directly out on the lake. It also faces east to catch the rising sun across the lake.

There are two docks and about 75 feel of waterfront. The lake, also the water source for Portland Maine, is deep and wide. 350 foot deep in the middle and four or five miles across at the widest places. The camp cabin sits on the end of a peninsula that reaches about 3 miles into the lake. What a beautiful venue.

After unpacking the car I sat in the swing-for-three and fell asleep to the sound of water, breeze and Ski-Doos. An hour later I threw my first hook into the water. Nothing came back - I mean nothing came back - no hook, no leader, no sinker. I still have the pole and reel.

Vacation 2008 - Day Two - 9 July

2008-07-09T19:07:00.000-07:00

300 miles later we have arrived in Portland at the Wyndham Portland Airport Hotel.

You won't believe my story which starts last month.

My dad could not attend the 50th wedding anniversary celebration of his sister Pearl and and her husband Clarence in Montreal last month. On his behalf my sister and I drove to Montreal to represent. The Holiday Inn which my sister had Price-lined was overrun with young adolescent males in town for a week-long hockey tourney. I love kids but the hallway hockey playing at midnight was unbearable. Playing with short sticks and a round hard ball they bounced off every wall and a few doors including mine. When the front desk said they could not seem to get the kids under control I approached, carefully, a hockey adult sponsor. It turned out I could not have been careful enough and he was not an adult. He swore at me and told me to go back in my room and do something which I think is physically impossible.

Today when Phyllis and I pulled the car under the hotel overhang we found ourselves surrounded by lots of cars with Canadian license plates disgorging their diminutive passengers, suitcases and HOCKEY STICKS.

I asked the question of a couple of adults though I was not sure I wanted to know the answer.

Yes, there is a young adolescent hockey tournament going on in Portland this week.
Yes, they were at a Holiday Inn in Montreal a couple of weeks back.

I joked, "Yes there were kids playing hockey in the hallways. I wanted to strangle them."
Response, "That's what Canadians do."

No remorse, no promises of better behavior in Maine than Montreal and no fears of retaliation.

Vacation 2008 - Day One - 8 July

2008-07-09T19:02:00.000-07:00

After a 4 month blogging hiatus I am taking leave, possibly of my senses certainly of my job. For two glorious weeks Phyllis and i are planning to sit by Sebago Lake in Maine and among very few other things I am attempting to blog the trip.

After a 13 hour marathon packing, cleaning, preparing, finding, losing, lawn mowing and gassing up session we left our home in Delaware at 9:45 pm.

We are on our way to Maine. With just one stop for a late-night burger king on the Jersey Pike we arrived in Yonkers, NY at 2 am. Courtesy of the Garmin we pulled up to a Marriott Inn and prayed that they had a room for one night; two people, two doubles NO SMOKING. They did at a $299/ night rate. “Is that the best you can do?” I asked. The answer, “The best I can do is $250”

I turned on the Garmin again and headed for the nearest Holiday Inn. Courtesy of hidden signs I pulled into the Yonkers Ramada. They had a room too, at $149. The reason that sounded cheap was because everything about the Yonkers Ramada was cheap. That included the cockroach I killed when Phyllis wasn’t looking.

Personal Update

2008-03-09T06:56:00.000-07:00

It is time to give a little update on my current position in life so I will give you a somewhat redundant update.

In July of '07 Dover Air Force Base, realizing that according to Air Force rules I had to retire in Nov of '07 (with no possibility of waiver), chose to offer me a civilian chaplain position. They asked my supervising chaplain and me to write the job description. So we designed a job description which described what I have been doing for the last 5 years at the Dover Mortuary.

The Dover leadership signed off on it and offered me the job which I accepted. I started on Sept 10th, 2007 though I was still a reserve chaplain until Nov 28th when I was honored with a real Air Force Retirement Ceremony.

On the strength of this new position the Chase Bank graciously offered us a loan against our FIRST home.

We purchased a four year old home just south of Dover, with a front yard (including 4 large green utility boxes) , a two car (if they were VW's) garage, a back yard (with birds and 70 foot evergreens) and a deck (without a grill - what do I know about grilling). We are enjoying our privacy (I can't tell you where the nearest church parking lot is located), comfort (30 foot bedroom and 15 foot bathroom with garden tub which phyllis filled with plants trees and ivy), new bills (we've not paid utility bills since seminary), and a mortgage which will be paid off when I am 92.

The chaplaincy job remains essentially the same with the addition of some intentional supervision of deployed personnel. In addition, I am filling in as the supply pastor of a little Nazarene church just north of Dover. I had forgotten how much I missed regular pulpit duty and my own congregation to love.

Phyllis is ecstatic with our new life and attends the Dover Nazarene church without any stress. She is mostly a house-wife (please don't judge) these days but that is due in the largest part to a constant fight with an arthritic back and an absent husband. She loves the birds, feeds the squirrels, furnished the 30 foot bedroom with 28 feet of IKEA wardrobes and is about to install two feline bedroom depreciation specialists. I took her to a cat show on her most recent birthday which pushed her over the edge.

OK. I admit it. I too was pushed over the edge by a most intelligent and conversational Blue Abyssinian. I can't wait to pretend that one of the purr machines is mine.

A Prayer for the New Year

2008-01-03T19:12:00.000-08:00

For a couple of years I volunteered at a local nursing home in Southern Maryland. Once a month I joined a small group of residents for a Protestant worship service. It was simple but seemed to be of some encouragement to the attendees. All were over the age of 85 and most were suffering with some degenerative process.

There was a little piano in the room which was played by an equally little lady. If Francis could have stood at her full height she would have been only 4’ 10” but osteoporosis had taken its toll. She was so considerably less than 4’ that she could not be seen from the back side of the piano. But even her suffering could not deny her the joy of music. We had some very sweet times in music and Word.

During my second year with this little group Francis died. So the month following her death I took my portable keyboard along. I read some scripture and talked about Francis’ joy in music and prayed that her joy was being fulfilled in heaven.

Then we sang while I played the keyboard.

When I finished playing I shared my farewell wish, “I pray that you get better.”

One elderly gentleman replied, "I hope you get better, too." :-)

OK – this is my New Years prayer:

I pray that I will get better in 2008.
I pray that I will make my family will be happier, healthier and wiser.
I pray for peace in 2008. Peace with God and each other.
I pray that I will not forget that getting better is a result of BEING better; and that "being better" is directly connected to: service before self, integrity first and excellence in all I do.

Amen

Intimate Acts

2007-12-27T18:23:00.000-08:00

I will mark December 2007 as the month in which we received the fewest causalities since before the war started. In fact, Christmas Day 2007 was the first in five years that the Mortuary was not preparing fallen heroes for their final resting place. I found time to meditate on the intimacy of those acts which that preparation requires and the reverent honor of those preparations.

For the last almost five years now young and not so young troops representing all branches of the services have volunteered and been deployed to Dover to provide the dignity, honor and respect which is due to each of our war dead. When asked (as they often are), “How can you possibly do this job day in and day out?” each will answer that they do this job for families who grieve.

They are very aware that for each soldier, marine, sailor or airman who comes home through Dover there are multiple family members who wait at at a kitchen table somewhere in the U.S. Unable to begin the long journey to closure until their loved one is returned they simply wait. That wait started when their hero first deployed and the wait continues after every e-mail, letter or phone contact. Some military members call mother, wife, husband or dad before and after each mission. If the second call is delayed the wait becomes intense and deeply unsettling. For the family who are notified that their warrior has fallen their wait becomes wake. But still they must wait to see, to say goodbye, to understand, to deal, even to grieve. They wait while the Dover family prepares.

Preparation of someone else's child for burial is both physically and emotionally intimate. Touching, lifting, washing, dressing are personal acts done with all possible care and always with family in heart. The following vignette illustrates both intimacies.

Hair must be washed. Water and shampoo - hands and hair. Intimate and personal. The chaplain stood observing the shampooing of a handsome 19 year-old soldier and engaged the Airman hairdresser in conversation. The conversation eventually came around to how this Airman sustains himself over the long-haul, facing the constant river of souls. The unexpected response brought tears to the chaplains eyes. I should have known.

Looking away from the chaplain and toward the head and hair he washed; he responded with measured words, “Oh - - - - His mother washed his hair the first time. - - - - I’m washing it for the last time.”

If perchance a grieving parent reads this little blog - draw some strength from your Dover Military Family. You are constantly in our thoughts and prayers. We too grieve your loss and ours. Your hero was loved, cared for and offered the utmost dignity.

Receiving My Retirement Pin

2007-11-30T20:10:00.000-08:00

It was 2 p.m.on Wednesday November 28, 2007. We gathered in the Dover Air Force Base Chapel for my retirement ceremony. My wife Phyllis; my daughters; Angela and Elinore; sons-in-law, Rick and Tony; grandson, Little David; and my Dad were all there.

Also present were four representatives of the Hollywood Church of the Nazarene in Maryland as well as a small contingent from the Dover Nazarene Church. I am grateful for these churches, along with the Augusta Maine church. All were consistently gracious in both accepting and adopting my extracurricular military ministry over 27+ years. None ever complained about my regular absences for military duty and in fact they mostly celebrated my participation as an extension of their own ministry. Of course, the Hollywood church deserves an award for their gracious support while I was fully absent for 3 years after 9/11. Their desire to welcome me home when the deployment was over, demonstrated by their repeated extensions of a leave-of-absence, was a great encouragement.

In addition, about a hundred base personnel including the Wing Commanders' representative; forensic odontology and radiology team members, personnel from the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, FBI, liaisons from the Army, Marines and Navy; Dover Port Mortuary personnel; and some chapel friends and parishioners.

My very good friend, Colonel and Chaplain, Don Simpson, flew in from Oklahoma to make the award of a Meritorious Service Medal. We spent almost two years together developing a chaplains office for the Dover mortuary and seeking to provide quality ministry and stress management. in the process we became brothers bonded by the death of over 2000 heroes and by daily care for each other.

Five chaplains assistants and 4 chaplains participated in the ceremony and my pastor, Tim Evans from Dover Nazarene prayed the invocation. These folks are my support system. Each provides an ear, a shoulder and occasional distractions from the intensity of the work we do.

Nice words spoken, career summed up, awards given, prayers prayed and retirement made official and a tear shed. Gifts and appreciation certificates were given to Phyllis and the girls and a US flag which had been ceremonially flown both in Iraq and Dover was folded and presented.

My first act as a newly inducted civilian was to go out to eat with the family where we ate, shared growing up stories and laughed a lot. During the meal my phone rang. By 10 p.m. I was back in uniform, now wearing a retiree pin. On the flight line we welcomed home yet another fallen soldier. He was escorted by his friend and I had opportunity to try and explain to his family via phone what was happening.

What is there to say? With or without a retirement pin the war goes on, young men and women are in harms way and families wait by the phone. And in a small way, I can help.

Yep - it was a great day.

A Long Overdue Update

2007-11-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

On November 28th the Air Force requires that I retire from my status as an Air Force Reserve Officer. This is due to my impending advanced age of 61. You may know that this is the same requirement made last year when I turned 60. Last year they extended my retirement date by one year but they WILL NOT do that again. The quote from Air Force Reserve Headquarters was, "Don't even ASK!"

So here is what Dover Air Force Base leadership asked: "David - would you be willing to take a civilian chaplain position at the mortuary?"

"Yes." I answered.

I have become a civilian chaplain doing the same job in the same place. I am wearing civilian clothes for my in-house responsibilities but putting the military uniform on for official military functions: meeting families, escorts and praying on air planes.

This works well on all sides:
1. Dover leadership values my experience, relationships and pastoral care expertise.
2. I love the ministry I get to do here.

3. Dover wants the continuity of ministry and training that I provide.
4. Phyllis and I also want some continuity as we approach old age.

5. Dover can't seem to find someone else to fill their requirements.
6. Phyllis and I do not have any other place to call home.

7. Dover has bent over backwards to try and keep me in place.
8. Phyllis and I have found and purchased our first home.

9. Dover leadership thinks that this a good plan for the foreseeable future.
10. Phyllis and I are convinced that God is as much in "this" future as he has been in our past.

Please feel free to e-mail for updated contact information. All of our telephone numbers and e-mail addresses have remained the same. Only our mailing address has changed.

Philippians 4:7

2006-10-16T23:35:00.000-07:00

I just got back (0200 on Tuesday morning) from receiving another 6 fallen heroes. Tonight I spent two hours with a family (mom, dad, sister) who came to welcome their son and brother to home soil. They were a delightful catholic family. Sister was in a daze. Dad hoped he would wake up to find that all of this was a cruel joke. Mom just felt that "this" was not real.

Out on the flight line, watching the honor guard carrying their hero to the hearse, Sister was still in a daze. Dad woke up to find it was a nightmare. Mom turned to me through her sobs and said, "It's real now."

I prayed for the little family. I asked for strength and peace that passes understanding. I spoke the truth about God; "The God whose arms were always open to your son now welcomes him into His grace." I asked God to protect their sons comrades in arms; "Oh Lord bring them back safe and soon."

I AM still on active duty. Now I am told that I will be done (retired from the Air Force) on November 30, However I am also told that my retirement date will be waived and I may be here until next Sept 30.

Here is what I have decided: Whatever.

Whatever will be fine. God is still God and we are good with that. I did resign as pastor of the Hollywood church. That was a little painful and a lot relief; Not relief to be done with Hollywood but relief that they can move on after 3 years without a pastor on site; relief that I need not carry the guilt of leaving them in the lurch; and relief from the awful wrenching of attempting to live in both worlds.

If I am not in the Air Force in December I will be looking for another ministry and that will be fine too. No worries. The amazing thing is that Phyllis expressed this "everything will be fine attitude" before I did.

We are at peace and it passes understanding.

An Agent of God

2006-07-26T13:48:00.000-07:00

Dearest Lord, though you hide yourself behind the unattractive disguise of the irritable, the exacting, the unreasonable, may I still recognize you, and say, "Jesus, my patient, how sweet it is to serve you." — Mother Teresa

Colossians 3:23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men ..."

Mother and Paul remind me that my ultimate customer is not the families of the fallen. Each of those nearly 3000 families are God's ultimate customer. He cares more profoundly, grieves more deeply and and knows more intimately. He fulfills the promise to go with them all the way. He is with them through the dark and lonely nights. He delivers His healing when the pain is too great to bear. He fills the empty place in their hearts with meaning. He heals broken minds with memory of precious moments and will administer, at just the right moment, the relief of humor. He strengthens weak knees and lifts broken spirit. He offers the dignity, honor and respect that could only come from the Divine.

And what about me? My ultimate customer is the Lord. During a very brief moment on a families journey I pray a prayer, offer condolence and walk intimately with them during the repatriation of their loved one. I offer an opportunity to grieve hard and fast. I open the door to life story and remembrance of humor. I am a channel for His strength and comfort. I am an agent of God.

Mother and Paul remind me that my ultimate customer is not the young folks who work in the mortuary. Each of these young and not so young soldiers, airmen, marines and civilians are children of God. Each is created and loved by the God who went to extraordinary lengths to demonstrate that love. God has blessed them with strength of character, categorical attention to detail and a focus on their mission which is almost absolute. They carry the horror of war with grace but each bear a lifetime of spiritual scar. Each is more precious and valuable than either they or I could possibly know.

And what about me? My ultimate customer is the Lord. For a few brief months I get to stand beside them while they work. I provide distraction, perspective and a personal touch. I am third in the ping-pong hall of fame and first in the foosball hall of shame. I offer a nonjudgmental ear and a safe shoulder. I provide a comfortable space and offer nearly unconditional acceptance. At various times, I am father, confessor, counselor or morale booster. I perform religious rites, personnel arbitration and pray for and/or with each. I am the Presence of the Holy. I am an agent of God.

The Return Home

2006-05-29T07:14:00.000-07:00

During this past week Kristin Harty, reporter for the Delaware News Journal, published a series of articles titled, “Losing Stephen.” I worked with this family for several hours when they came to observe their son's Dignified Transfer at Dover Air Force Base.

I remember too well their grief. But I also shared in the joy of Stephen’s story. I was the first to view the DVD that Stephen made just weeks before his death. He just wanted to tell a second grade class about his job in Iraq.

Kristin did a great job with this story and I encourage you to go to the link on the right titled "Losing Stephen". Plan for two or three sessions to interact with the story.

Kristin also interviewed me. I was not allowed to tell her that I had worked with this specific family but she did a great job of capturing an important part of my job as well as my heart. You can find that article at the link on the right: "The Return Home."

Emphatically - YES!

2006-05-22T15:06:00.001-07:00

A good friend recently asked, “Are you doing what you want to be doing?”

My answer? Emphatically - YES. This is a great job, except for the HR's. HR’s are the shorthand and politically correct way of referring to flights that carry Human Remains home from the war in Iraq and Afghanistan.I have met something over 400 of these flights in the last three years. Too sad, especially when they just keep coming and coming with no end in sight.

But I have no need to focus on the HR's.

I get to focus on the living, breathing and vertical young people who must be entirely focused on the HR's. I have the opportunity to help them change their focus just a little: from Devastation to Dignity; from Horror to Honor; from Remains to Respect; from Fatalities to Families.

This death to life message is familiar and comfortable. It is confirmation and completion of my original call to ministry: “Preach the Word ... Do the Work of an Evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.” 2 Timothy 4: 2,5

Doing the work of an evangelist is another whole topic but for this: I have never spent so much time with the unchurched, under-churched or formerly churched. I have never built deeper or more honest friendships and I have never seen the hand of God more clearly. I have not once shared the Four (or Five) Spiritual Laws, I have not taken anyone down the Roman Road and I have yet the opportunity to ask “If you died tonight, would you wake up in heaven?” But, amazing as it might seem, I have put multiple young people in touch with a living God, I have prayed for and seen miracles (big and small) in their lives, and I have known the joy of deep spiritual conversation in which the God of the Universe has participated.

Am I doing what I want to be doing? Am I doing what I should be doing?

Emphatically - YES!

Above the Board

2006-02-25T17:51:00.000-08:00

In one of our offices there is a large white board on the wall. It is divided vertically into three sections. The top section lists alphabetically the names of soldiers whose remains are located in the mortuary and ready for home-going. The second section lists alphabetically the names of soldiers who have been reported Killed-in-Action but have not yet arrived in Dover. The third section lists - well, you really do not want to know. All of us who work in the mortuary like it when the second section is blank. Our troops rejoice publicly and pray privately. “Lord, keep this board empty. No more dying. No more IED’s. Bring peace.”

Yesterday I walked by the board - - - ten new names.

Sitting close to the board was a young army PFC. His job is to keep the board current, adding, moving and deleting names. I asked him if he could please stop putting new names on the board. He responded, “Sir, I pray every day that there will be no new names to add.”

I’m a chaplain. The door was open for a teaching moment; a spiritual conversation; a reminder of grace; the presence of God brought to the mortuary.

“So, PFC, what’s the problem? You prayed but the names keep on coming. Why?”

“Maybe you should be the one praying Sir.”

To myself I thought, “Point well taken.” To him I said, “I pray for peace every day, PFC. What’s going on here? How come God does not answer our prayers?”

“Must be God’s will Sir.” But his answer was quick and flippant.

“In what religious tradition did you grow up PFC?” I asked.

“Catholic and Baptist Sir.”

“So is that what you learned from your Catholic/Baptist training? That if our prayers are not answered it is because it’s not God’s will. Is that all? Nothing else? No other reason? Come on! Give me some help here.” By now four other PFC’s, two sergeants, and one Lt.Col. had stopped working and were all ears.

I neither can nor need to reproduce the entire conversation that ensued. Suffice it to say that all the party line religious answers, a little strange folk theology and some thoughtful perspective were expressed in the next 10 minutes. The conversation was animated. Everyone had something to add. It was classroom, worship space and retreat all rolled into one. The specific answers were of little importance to me. However we process these questions the names seem to keep going up on the board. What is of extreme importance to me is the awesome opportunity to enter into this conversation, turn minds toward higher things, turn hearts toward the things of God and lift eyes above the board. God showed up and it was enough.

The Fog of Alzheimer’s

2006-02-20T17:33:00.000-08:00

On January 11, 2006 Patricia Wood (my wife’s mother) passed away after a short illness. My wife had been in Maine since receiving the news that mother had been taken to the hospital. For two plus weeks she and her two sisters and brother were able to sit by the bedside and provide comfort, presence and some physical ministrations for their mother.

Mother was a musician. She was a master pianist who could read any music, play any tune, play by ear, transpose to any key and all with no apparent effort. On occasion she would compose, arrange and perform her own music on the keyboard in real time. These times were own one time only, performance art. Her fingers were her paint brush. Sounds, flowing chords, changing tempos and a unique feel were her oils. When asked how her fingers flowed so delicately, even magically over the keys, producing such beautiful music she could only answer with an enigmatic smile, “I guess it’s a gift.” Her music was certainly a gift to her family, her church and finally her Alzheimer’s Unit.

Though music was her reality it changed during the course of the expanding fog. I’m not sure how to describe the change. Maybe it became more basic and simple. It certainly became less technical. What was slowly lost in the fog was the connection of tunes to their names, musical language and names of notes and chords. It was a little sad when she discovered that she could no longer look at a page of sheet music and play it. Even long loved songs could not be played while looking up at the page. But when she looked down at the keys she was fine. Where once I could ask mother to play a familiar tune in the key of “F,” later I could only ask her to “take it up” until we got to the right key. Where once I could ask for “What a Friend” later her daughter Sharon would have to start the tune on her violin before mother could make the connection.

In the last few years mother’s reality was crowded out by the fog of Alzheimer's. But her music continued. Long after she began to lose words she continued to play. Though her sentences became fragmented her music kept coming from deep within her. Even when her day to day decisions were in doubt she continued playing gospel songs. And when she could no longer drive or find her way home she could always find her way to the keyboard.

Self Discipline of Writing

2006-02-19T18:02:00.000-08:00

OK - OK - OK

I am embarrassed and pleased that in the last week I have been prodded by friends and relatives to post again. “Hey David. I’ve got you bookmarked.” “David, I notice that you have not added anything to your blog.” “Uh - David I haven’t seen anything new on your blog. Am I doing something wrong?”

My response: I’ve always had a problem with self discipline. Give me a deadline and I’ll probably meet it. But if you leave me to my own devices I will have great ideas but probably won’t follow through. It is a character flaw. I’ve been told that our weaknesses have flip side strengths but for the life of me I can’t see the other side of this one.

Lots has happened in the last 6 or 8 weeks about which I could and should write.

Phyllis’s mom died. More on that another time.

Phyllis’s brother had a six-way bypass surgery. I didn’t even know we had six! Recovery seems to be going well? We are in Delaware. He is in Maine. It is so hard to be separated.

Since last I wrote the mortuary has received and prepared almost 100 national heroes. In one of my upcoming posts I need to describe the homecoming for each of our fallen.

My favorite Wing (Boss) Chaplain is leaving Dover to become Wing Chaplain at another base. I am going to miss his wit, personal support and deep spirituality. He loves Jesus with all his heart. Sometime I should write about what I have learned about spirituality from priest-chaplains. My faith has been encouraged and deepened and challenged by my catholic brothers in Christ. I thank God for the exposure to faith traditions outside my own provided by my Air Force Reserve career.

I shared what I thought was a funny satirical article about preaching with a number of friends. One of them called me a bad name. Another decided that we were “apparently not in the same place.” I’ll have to share the article here and tell you why I thought it funny.

It is Sunday night, February 19. Phyllis and I just got back from a Jazz Vocal concert held at the Chestertown Church of the Nazarene. The concert featured Joe Holt (music director and pianist), Allen Dale (a GREAT drummer in the classical jazz tradition), and Beth McDonald in her FIRST full concert. Beth has an alto voice that will not go away. She has a grasp of the traditional jazz style but loves the sad/poignant love song and nails the ballads. Tonight she sang a Love Song concert for the Valentine Season. The first set was devoted to traditional jazz love songs. She reserved the second set for love songs to Jesus. The first set knocked my socks off. The second set was magical in a spiritual way. If you want to sample some of Joe Holts musical style check out his web site at joeholtsnotes.com.

Enough for now. Thanks for holding me accountable to my “attempt at the discipline of writing.”

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

2006-01-02T16:31:00.001-08:00

I have the dubious priviledge of meeting the first plane of the new year. It arrives late tonight and carries three of our fallen heroes. Though I cannot reveal details you can find their names and some personal detail on the public web site . I post here the prayer written for them and which I will pray over them later tonight.

Father, we honor this moment as a formal commemoration and welcome home for name, name, name who died fighting to protect the dignity and freedom of humanity and to provide liberty and national security for Iraq.

As we remember these departed patriots our minds are full of pride, our spirits moved at the fragility of human life and our souls mindful of our dependence on your guardianship.

Faced with such sacrifice we seek to be courageous protectors of freedom and examples of selfless love; true soldiers and airmen in peace as well as in war.

Now, in your mercy, have compassion on their loved ones. Grant healing and meaning in a new year begun in darkness and marked by loss. We pray that pride will overshadow sorrow, hope defeat despair and love fill the emptiness. Fulfill Your promise O God: “Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”

Amen

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem

2005-12-24T20:38:00.000-08:00

This poem illustrates, for me, a creative touch of God in a secular enviornment. Inclusive but still carries the gospel in poetic form. The poem is not a gospel sermon but it does remind me of Paul on Mars Hill.

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem
By Dr. Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.

At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.

We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.

(This poem is copied to this blog without permission)

Response to the Praying in Jesus Name Controversy

2005-12-23T18:34:00.000-08:00

Some people don’t understand the difference between (1) a denominational worship service and the prayer therein and (2) a public prayer at a mandatory formation that should meet the needs and lift the spirits of all in attendance, believers (of all faiths) and non-believers alike. Offending and denigrating others whose beliefs are as strongly held and as sincere as ours even though they don’t include our belief in the divinity of Jesus is NOT a way to draw folks into the presence of Jesus.

I work hard to pray prayers at mandatory formations that will move non-believers toward a loving, accepting and forgiving God. I want to demonstrate a God who cares much more about individuals and less about cultural religious formulae. Have I prayed any more or less in the name of Jesus if I do or do not say the words "In Jesus Name?" The chaplain wears a CHRISTIAN cross and they ask him or her to pray at their mandatory formations. This is an awesome privilege to influence for Christ that I would hate to lose in favor of insisting on a favorite closing formula.

Chaplain Gordon James Klingenschmitt has the right, the mandate of the military chaplaincy and the backing of the Constitution of the United States of America to pray however he wishes when he is leading Christians in a worship service or praying in a private or a non-mandatory setting. Military chaplains CAN and DO pray “according to their individual faith traditions.” There’s no need for an Executive Order.

Part of the “protecting religious freedom” that the chaplain is demanding from the President consists in protecting the rights of those who are not of the Christian faith tradition, ensuring that they not be forced to pray in a tradition that is not theirs—in the same way that we Christians ought not to be forced to pray within the strictures of another’s faith tradition. It’s a matter of respect for all of God’s children—not just the ones we see as special.

It sounds as if the good Chaplain Klingenschmitt has somewhat less tolerance and respect for others than that demonstrated in Scriptures by Jesus Himself. Perhaps our prayer for him should be that he be guided to develop a sensitivity for the rights and beliefs of others, and an ability in all circumstances to ask himself: “WWJD?”

IMHO, Christianity does not need this sort of behavior put forth as an example of what it means to be a Christian clergy-person.

On Christmas Music

2005-12-22T12:01:00.000-08:00

I'm embarrassed to admit it. I love the Thanksgiving to Christmas Day 768 hour Christmas music marathon on my satellite radio. When it is over I will be glad but in the meantime, if I'm awake I'm listening to Christmas music. A friend wants to put sharp objects in his ears at the sound of the constant Christmas clamor. Not me. I have come to love Madonna's stylized "Santa Baby"; Ray Charles and Edie Brickel make me smile; my current favorite, "The Man with the Bag" will probably end up in an Advent sermon next year; any Marsalis family member puts me in the spirit of the season; "Walking Round in Women's Underwear" makes me laugh till I pass a little pee; I get perverse pleasure from forcing my visitors to listen to "I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Klaus" (So you won't "ask or tell" Santa turns out to be Mommy); and I still (since 1953) love to listen to the diminutive voice of Gayla Peevey singing "All I want for Christmas is a Hippopotamus cause I love hippopotamus and hippopotamus'uz love me."

Should I be embarrassed? Or is it possible to enjoy the schmaltzy, commercialized, and absurd bottom line driven season without losing the rich, historic and religious context. I really do know the difference between the two but I also find the first to be a conversational bridge to the second. It really is not so far from "The Man with the Bag" to a gracious God who brings gifts even when I have not been "extra specially good."

Thanks to Friends and Relatives

2005-12-21T12:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the encouragement of friends and relatives I am going to make an attempt at the discipline of writing. Some of it will be random thoughts but most will revolve around and flow out of what I am doing, writing and praying at the Dover AFB Mortuary. Thanks in advance for any comments or criticisms.