DEPARTMENTAL GIRLS [T, 7-7-26]

CHRIST IN WINTER: The Irrelevant Delusions of An Old Man—DEPARTMENTAL GIRLS [T, 7-7-26]

[Time for another reminiscence with no redeeming social value.]

 

Middle School in Oakland City was called “The Departmental,” meaning we graduated from being in one room all day, with one teacher, to going between Departments [classrooms] for English and social studies and arithmetic, etc.

We moved to OC on May 21, 1947. At least, Daddy and I did, via Uncle Johnny and his lumber business truck. Uncle Bob and Aunt Rosemary--who was probably still Fiancé Rosemary then--brought Mother and Mary V and Margey and Jimmy a couple of days later, after Daddy and I had time to put beds and stoves together, etc.

Shortly thereafter, I rode Jimmy Bigham’s totally dilapidated school bus to OC Grade School. Bus drivers owned their own buses, and apparently there were few standards. Most of the windows were stuck open or closed, in all weather. As the new kid, I had to sit over the hole in the floor. 

I was in May Mason’s 5A class, meaning we had started first grade in January. The 5B kids had started in September. As the new kid, I got to sit between Ernest Bilderback and Jim Brown. Both looked to be about 15. They were never unkind to me, and I felt sorry for them, especially since Mrs. Mason was not very nice to them. I didn’t think they had chosen to be, in the word of that time, dumb.

[I was into free will at an early age. I later expressed that by saying that I have great sympathy with people who are stupid by nature but none for those who are stupid by choice.]

In 6^th grade, we went to The Departmental. It was only 6^th and 7^th grades, since 8^th grade was in the new high school building. Mr. Ronald Nelson [Social Studies] and Mr. Claude Gladish [English] and Mr. Cecil Grubb [more English?] and Mr. Carl Fowler [Arithmetic] stayed in their own rooms, and we students did the traveling between them. It felt very grown up.

Each student in The Departmental had our own desk in the assembly room. There was a cloak room for “wraps” and galoshes. Our desks served as lockers. We kept our books and personal stuff and lunches in the desk, and we sat at them to eat our lunch.

The assembly room was quite long, with a stage at the front end. The stage had a piano and a flag and a desk, for whoever was watching us during homeroom [study hall] and lunch. Occasionally the stage would be the site for a musical program or address from the principal. Five long rows of desks. The back desks were highly prized, since they were less visible to the homeroom teacher. The desks had ink wells, from back when my father went to school there, no longer necessary in those modern days of fountain pens and the burgeoning “ball points.”

There were windows behind the stage and up and down the left side of the room, with a pencil sharpener under the windows. You could get up to go to the pencil sharpener whenever you needed to—one of the few activities available without permission.

One day, Shirley Black, about 10 desks ahead of me, got up and went over to the sharpener. She was short, with curly hair, and bounced when she walked, sort of like Tigger, except I did not know about Tigger then.

I thought, “She’s pretty.” Then I thought, “Where did that come from?” I mean, girls were yucky and had cooties. You needed to avoid them as much as possible.

Actually, I never believed the yucky and cooties stuff. I respected older girls, because my older sister demanded it. And I thought little girls were cute, because my little sister adored her big brother, since she could manipulate me into playing with her.

But I knew girls in between respect and cute were mysterious. I didn’t think I was supposed to be noticing girls as pretty. I mean, if you start thinking about girls as pretty, where will it go?

The Departmental was a long time ago, but Shirley is still pretty, I’m sure, even though I haven’t seen her for a long time. I’ve forgotten a lot, but I’m still able to remember pretty. That hasn’t gone anywhere yet.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

DESIRE PATHS [Sun, 7-5-26]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: The Irrelevant Mutterings of An Old Man—DESIRE PATHS [Sun, 7-5-26]

 

I read an article by Melissa Kirsch, in the NY Times online, about “desire paths.” They are the routes people take even though they are not prescribed or intended.

Kirsch uses the example of crossing in the middle of the block, instead of at the corner, which is the proper way, the legal way, because it is the safest way. We all know that we should cross at the corner, but it’s so much easier just to go ahead right here… so, a desire path.  

I learned about that kind of desire path when I was a campus minister. The campus had a nice network of concrete sidewalks. If there were snow, or if it were raining, students stuck to the concrete walkways. But any sunny day, they would wear a path into the grass if it saved a few steps, or saved even one step. Since several thousand students used that desire path every day, the grass was soon dead.

This happened to the lawn at Wesley United Methodist Church on the campus of the U of Illinois. Instead of using the sidewalks that made a square around the church lawn, students were wearing out the grass on a diagonal line across the lawn. The trustees put up signs, Don’t Walk on the Grass. Didn’t work. They tried Stay Off the Grass. Didn’t work. Then someone suggested Let It Live. The students went back to the sidewalk.

We desire the easy way, the short way. Hence, desire paths. But we also desire community, and that requires respect for others, even if it’s just respect for grass.

As a society, we seem to be in a desire path frenzy. Everyone, from the president on down, wants to take the short cut, the easy way, instead of using the sidewalk, the community way, the respectful way.

From its earliest days, Christian faith has been called The Way. That’s not in order to leave non-Christians out. It’s to remind Christians that the path we take is not up for debate, not available as a shortcut, not subject to our desire. It’s not a desire path. It’s the Christ path.

It’s strange these days, that the people proclaiming most loudly their devotion to The Way, so easily slide off into desire paths. But that’s the nature of a desire path, isn’t it? Taking the easy way.

There is a reverse Catch 22 here: The longer you stick to the Christ path, which does not appear to be an easy way, the more it becomes a desire path.

I think it’s time to put up a sign: 

John Robert McFarland

 

 

 

PATRIOTISM OR NATIONALISM? [F, 7-3-26]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—PATRIOTISM OR NATIONALISM? [F, 7-3-26]

 

Through much of my ministry, the church year, the appointment year, started on July 1. That meant that my first Sunday in a new appointment was on the July 4 weekend. People were expecting a sermon, and scripture, and hymns, about America. Usually what a great country we live in, how we’ve been blessed by God, how the blessings show that we are favored by God.

For some preachers, that was no problem. They just equated faith in God with faith in America. In worship, they sang all the patriotic songs, used patriotic slogans and liturgies, paraded with the American flag, had military veterans stand to be honored, preached that we live in the world’s most wonderful country—natural resources, beauty, freedom, military might, financial freedom, that God has blessed us and given us the responsibility of running the world.

That gave me problems. It was my first sermon in this new place. In many ways, it would determine the course of my entire ministry in that place. And I could not preach “American exceptionalism.” I had to make the distinction between patriotism and nationalism, and a lot of people can’t make that distinction, or at least don’t want to.

I’ve written before, I’m sure, about walking down a street in Moline, IL about 40 years ago. It was early July.  I passed a bakery. In the window was a white cake, formed to look like an open Bible, edged with red frosting. On it, in blue frosting, were the words God so loved the USA.

No, that’s not what John 3:16 says. God does love the USA. More importantly, God loves the world. We might have the biggest economy and the biggest army but God doesn’t love us any more than any other country.

 

We see it in bold letters these days, but it has always been with us, this struggle between patriotism and nationalism. Patriotism is being proud of your country and being a good citizen of it. Nationalism is saying your country is the only one that counts, that it is special so it should get to do whatever it wants. Patriotism is respectful. Nationalism is arrogant.

It’s the struggle between original sin and prevenient grace [original empathy], writ large. It’s been going on for 250 years now in our country.

Many of the early statesmen of this country believed that there should be no political parties, that they would end up dividing the country into warring camps.

In some ways, it worked in reverse. The country divided into warring camps, quite literally, over an issue, slavery, and political parties took sides over that issue. In that, we see the beginning of our current political chasms, patriotism vs nationalism.

I think about worship services and concerts and other events when we’ve had military veterans stand to be honored. It always gives me a shiver down my spine. I respect those men and women so much. But almost always, some announcer says something like, “These are the defenders of democracy and freedom.” Not so. Military folks are defenders of the nation. It’s up to all citizens to be defenders of democracy and freedom. That is what patriots do.

John Robert McFarland

 

CONFRONTING THE HIDDEN DANGERS [W, 7-1-26]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—CONFRONTING THE HIDDEN DANGERS [W, 7-1-26]

 

When I was a new young pastor and husband and father, one of my church members was worried about me, because I did not seem worried enough—about the dangers of Communism. [This was 1961.] He brought to me a book that outlined all the ways the commies were trying to subvert us. Being a recent history major at Indiana University, I took exception to some of the facts in the book. My church member was dumbfounded. “Well,” he said, “if it wasn’t true, they wouldn’t put it in a book!”

He was not a stupid man. He had a good job and a nice family. He read the newspapers. He was a faithful church-attender. But… I mean, what can you say to that?

He wasn’t through. He thought maybe I would be more agreeable to his ideas if I were approached by a colleague, namely the local Lutheran pastor. Apparently my church member and that pastor were in the same local anti-communism group. My Lutheran colleague explained to me that he knew for a fact that the commies had already infiltrated the country so completely that they had secret control of the totality of Chicago Land. We lived in Indiana, but well within Chicago Land. “They could take over at any moment,” he said, “and when they do, they already have detention centers ready for all the clergy.”

“If they are already that well organized, and have that much power,” I said, “why don’t they just go ahead and do it? They want to take over, right? And they are ready. So what are they waiting for?”

He had no answer for that.

But I had already learned a lesson the year before, one that I forgot too often through the years. A Sunday School teacher came to me and begged to be allowed to quit. She was just too tired. She couldn’t do it anymore. So I found someone to replace her. Then she told others in the church how much she loved her class and how I had pushed her out against her will.

That was when I learned to look behind what was behind what was behind. People are multi-layered. If you deal only with the layer they present, you don’t understand what is really driving them.

People who are frightened by hidden conspiracies are not just being phobic. Hidden conspiracies actually exist for them. But they are not external, like Communists or gays or Muslims. The hidden conspiracies are within themselves. And they don’t want to admit it. They have to externalize their internal fears onto other political parties or religions or races or genders, any group beyond the pale. They know well the power of personal hidden conspiracies, hidden dangers.

They are often addicts—alcohol, sex, gambling, greed, drugs, lust, gluttony…all the biggies, some physical, some psychological.

Very few folks do not have something hidden within that is frightening to us. We really need to do something with it, so that it does not overwhelm us. So we project the personal danger within onto a supposed public danger without.

That’s why we go to church, to be reminded—and, once again, every 7 days is for most of us not often enough—that all that is hidden, why, God already knows about that. What’s the point in trying to cover up something that is known where it counts most, in the heart of God?

Go to church. Tell God about all the stuff you’re afraid of, including all that stuff inside of you. Then that stuff will lose its power.

John Robert McFarland

I’ve heard a rumor that it is July already. That can’t be true!

 CHRIST IN WINTER: The Irrelevant Reminiscences of An Old Preacher—WELL, BLESS YOUR HEART [6-29-26]

 

In Methodist churches, the appointment year for pastors starts July 1. That’s when the transition to a new pastor starts, as it did for Wesley UMC in Mason City, Iowa, when we lived there.

We lived in retirement in Mason City because the grandkids were there, I was the occasional unpaid assistant pastor at Wesley UMC. Whenever Dave Shogren, had to be gone, he’d have me preach. Then the bishop appointed Dave to be a District Superintendent, and Bill Poland came to be our pastor.

Bill began to make changes. Church people don’t much like changes, but everyone liked Bill, so we were in a conundrum.

One change Bill didn’t make was asking me to preach whenever he was gone. So, one Sunday, I thought it good to take on that matter of the changes he was making. Here is the abbreviated form of that sermon…

I call where I come from, in southern Indiana, “The Mississippi of the North,” for how we deal with race, and for the humidity in the summer, and for the way we talk. In either Mississippi, you can say anything you want about a person if you follow it with, “Bless her heart; she’s doing the best she can.”

“That meatloaf she brought to the church picnic could choke a giraffe. But bless her heart, she’s doing the best she can.”

“He’s the poster boy for lead paint, but bless his heart, he’s doing the best he can.”

Our pastor, Bill Poland, is gone today, so we can say anything about him that we want to, as long as we bless his heart.

Bill keeps making all these changes, and every time he makes one, attendance goes up. Bill thinks it’s because we like the changes. But we don’t like change. We like Bill. We don’t just like him, we love him, because we know he loves us. So we keep coming to church, and inviting others to do so, not because of the changes, but in spite of them.

Bill doesn’t understand that. He keeps going to these conferences about church growth, and they suggest some change, and he comes back and does it, and then he thinks, “Hey, it worked. I did that change Willow Creek told us to do and now the attendance is up.”

He went to a conference and they told him he should take out the communion rails. You see any communion rails? Nope, they’re gone. Instead of kneeling at the rails, they told him, we should get in line and shuffle along like convicts in the prison cafeteria, and when we got up to the front someone would give us a tiny piece of bread and one swig of grape juice and say, “God loves you, and keep moving.” That’s both good information and good advice, but… well, bless his heart; he’s doing the best he can.

He went to another conference and they said that instead of an organ to accompany the hymns, we should have a clavicorn…or clavicle…or…whatever that instrument there is. But, bless his heart, he’s doing the best he can. We got one of those clavimachines, and attendance went up.

And hymns? We don’t even sing hymns anymore. He went to yet another conference, and they said we should sing “praise songs” instead of hymns. Praise hymns are a grocery list of all the known words for God or Jesus. Praise hymns are “count-down” music—5 words sung 4 times to 3 chords from 2 screens to… bless his heart. He’s doing the best he can. Now we’re singing praise songs, and attendance is up.

But church people don’t like change. We love Bill, but we’re so tired of all these changes. So I went to God and prayed about it, and God said… “Bless your heart. You’re doing the best you can.”

Joh Robert McFarland

 

 

JOHNNA ROBERTA [SAT, 6-27-26]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: The Irrelevant Reminiscences of An Old Preacher—JOHNNA ROBERTA [SAT, 6-27-26]

 

It was late afternoon when Lucy* showed up at my office, with a problem. I had never met her, but that was not surprising. I had a reputation as a good counselor. Well, maybe it was more that I had a reputation as a free counselor.

Lucy had grown up in a family that never went to church, any church. Her sister, though, had recently started coming to the church I pastored, and she had recommended that Lucy come to see me about her problem.

Lucy was an educated and competent professional woman.  She was also a new wife. She was used to spending money like a single professional woman, not as part of a marriage. She had spent a lot of money on a sick cat.

Women in general are willing to spend a lot of money on sick cats. Men in general think that money is misspent. Lucy knew that. Only after, though, had it occurred to her that perhaps she should have talked with her new husband first.

I was sympathetic. Helen and I had been married only six months when I showed up one day with a new car. In my defense, I had gone to the car lot just to look at the new models. In those days, every car make was different every year, from every other make and model, and different from the year before. Now all cars look alike, all the time. Back then, though, it was reasonable for a man to go look at the new models just for the looking. If suddenly a sales guy made you a trade offer too good to refuse, what could you do? Well, talk it over with your wife, that’s what you could do, but I had been financially independent since my childhood. I was used to making money decisions on my own.

I learned rather quickly, via that new car and my new wife, that monetary independence was not acceptable in marriage. So, I sympathized with Lucy, and I knew that she was in trouble.

I can’t remember what I told Lucy. It was probably along the lines of…Talk with Keith. Explain that you are used to making financial decisions on your own and that you won’t do it anymore. I’m sure he’ll understand. I had not yet met Keith, because he had never gone to church, either, so I wasn’t really sure he would understand, but I was hopeful.

It worked out. Lucy and Keith became regulars at church. They thought I was great, because I gave such good advice. They consulted me often. We became good friends. When their daughter was about to be born, they were deciding what to name her. I said that since they owed their marriage to my great counseling, they should name her Johnna Roberta. They said they would think about it.

Much to my dismay, they gave her some lesser name. We remained close anyway, through the rest of my pastorate there. I, however, secretly called that little girl Johnna Roberta, especially as I sat with her parents and prayed for her as she went through a lot of painful physical problems.

I stopped seeing Lucy and Keith when my pastorate there ended. It is necessary always to do that with every pastoral relationship, to allow the new preacher really to become the pastor. But they were special to me. I had been the only pastor they’d ever had, the one who walked through the valley with them. I kept them dear in my memories and hopes and prayers.

I ran into them a couple of years later, in the court house. I was delighted to see them, but they barely said “Hello” as they went by me. They had other things on their mind. They were involved in an imbroglio in small claims court.

I was disappointed. I wanted them to tell me again how wonderful I was, how I helped their marriage, how I introduced them to church. I wanted to see how they were doing, especially if Johnna Roberta were okay. But I understood…

Not every relationship is meant to be forever. Indeed, no relationship can be forever. If nothing else, death will end all relationships.

The message of God through Christ, though, is that the end of a relationship does not mean the end of love. Love is always, be it short or long.

I still pray for Lucy and Keith. And, especially, for Johnna Roberta.

John Robert McFarland

*Not their real names.

 

ARE YOU GOING ON TO PERFECTION? [R, 6-25-26]

CHRIST IN WINTER: The Irrelevant Musings About Perfection by An Old Man Who Is Still Going On—ARE YOU GOING ON TO PERFECTION? [R, 6-25-26]

 

When I was still a young preacher, I heard a basketball referee say that in his profession, you were expected to start out perfect and then get better. I immediately applied that to the ministry.

 

I should not have been surprised at the need for perfection as the minimal standard. I had learned as a child that perfection would save me from punishment but not gain me any praise. Perfection was the necessary minimum.

For instance, I learned to be quiet about pain. Never say “Ouch.” If I got hurt, my mother would hit me. Not for saying “Ouch,” but for getting hurt. It meant I did something wrong. If I had paid attention, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt. To this day, pain doesn’t make me hurt as much as it makes me angry, at myself: Durn, I messed up again.

Perfection as the minimum standard was right in my wheelhouse, as a Methodist minister. After all, it was the organizer of Methodism, John Wesley, the great theological exponent of free will, who espoused the doctrine of Christian Perfection. Along with the others in my ordination class, I answered Yes when asked, “Do you expect to be made perfect in this life?” I’m sure that all of us crossed our fingers behind our backs, and, more importantly, immediately began defining perfection in various non-perfect ways.

 

When John Wesley declared that perfection should be the goal of Methodists, it is usually added that he meant perfection in love. No one can be perfect in intelligence or athletic performance and such, even in kindness, but love is entirely different. With love, you can start over at any time.

 

Gabrielle Zevin says that her book, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow “…is about work. And it’s about love.” It certainly is, but it’s also about perfection. Because it’s about video games.

The book title, of course, comes from Macbeth’s famous soliloquy in his eponymous play by Shakespeare…

 Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. [1]

Zevin is an excellent writer and story teller, but I’m sure I missed a lot of the nuances of the book because I haven’t played a video game since Pacman. Tomorrow3 is about young people who play and create video games. That involves work, and love, and the possibility of perfection.

There is no standard by which you can judge that a game is perfect when you are creating it. You can work and work and get it better, but how can you possibly know if ever does reach perfection?

Love and playing video games, though, you can start over at any time. You don’t even have to play to the end of the game. Any time you make a mistake, you can start over.

You have learned how to play better next time. You have moved closer to perfection.  When you feel that life is a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing, you can start over.

In Christian terms, starting over is called repentance. Its original meaning is simply to turn around and go the other way. If you have trouble with the others who are trying to create and play the game, you can start over at any time. That’s called forgiveness,

You don’t go on to perfection by being perfect. When you make a mistake playing the game, you just start over.

You don’t have to wait for tomorrow… or tomorrow… or tomorrow…

John Robert McFarland

1] My college roommate, Tom Cone, once had a dog named Brief Candle, so that when necessary, he could order the dog out of the house in Shakespearean terms: Out, out Brief Candle!