CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter For the Years of Winter…
Roger Imhoff was cool. He was a good-looking version of Tommy Lee Jones. He wore blue blazers and khaki pants and penny loafers. He drank beer and smoked cigarettes. He was married more than once. He was a Lutheran pastor.
Roger was one of the first persons I met when I attended an annual conference of The Academy of Parish Clergy [APC], almost 40 years ago now. He confused me. He looked like a Baptist, dressed like a Presbyterian, and drank like a Catholic. Until I met Roger I had never used the words “cool” and “Lutheran pastor” in the same sentence.
From then on, though, whenever I attended an APC event, I hung out with Roger, hoping people would think that I, too, by association, was cool.
In the APC, I always referred to Roger as I Imhoff, to distinguish him from II Imhoff, his brother, David, the current President of APC.
I always wanted to be cool like Roger, but it was a stretch. Instead of being the good-looking version of Tommy Lee Jones, I’m sort of the less-blue version of Papa Smurf, or the more-blue version, according to how cold it is UP here at the moment. Despite the best efforts of my wife and daughters, I dress like a fugitive from Goodwill. I smoke bacon and drink the Kool-Aid. I’ve been married to the same woman for 53 years.
Roger was very much in the world. He was willing to eat meat sacrificed to idols.
But he was also cognizant of the consciences of his weaker brothers, and sisters. [I Corinthians 10:23-33.]
He was in the world, but not of it. He was a II Corinthians 5:19 kind of cool.
The Rev. Roger G. Imhoff, Jr., APC, entered the church triumphant at 11 pm on, fittingly, a Sunday, Jan. 29. Today I feel more at ease about transferring to the church triumphant when my time comes, because I know it is now a cooler place.
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
Iron Mountain ski jump
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The Still Point
CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a place of winter For the Years of Winter…
Today my grandson, Joseph, is thirteen years old. Eleven years ago there were only a few of us who thought he would have even a 2nd birthday.
Kathy Roberts says that the word for Joe is “centered.” She used to run a mental health circus and so knows well what “centered” is, because she saw so much of its opposite. I think maybe Joe got through his liver cancer because he was already centered, even at 15 months of age. If not, when he had gone through three surgeries and a year of chemotherapy, that left him 2 pounds lighter on his 2nd birthday than he was on his 1st, the cancer experience had centered him. He survived because he had found “the still point in the turning world.” [1]
As I took Joe and Brigid home from school Tuesday, she said she’d had an assignment to write on someone she admired, and she had chosen Joe. Brigid herself is highly admirable. As a 16 year old sophomore she is a straight A student, a 99 percentiler on the PSAT, on her high school’s Quiz Bowl team, the Lay Leader of our church, and a HS Ambassador and Marketing Intern for hercampus.com magazine. She’s also an older sister. Older sisters think that any little brother is annoying. [I have an older sister I still go out of my way to annoy.] For an older sister to admire a little brother, he must be truly admirable.
The emotional task of old age is what Erik Erikson calls Final Integrity v. Despair. If you can say, “I accept my life, just as it was, joys and sorrows alike,” that’s integrity. If you can’t, that’s despair.
We reach Final Integrity by working back through the other stages we all have lived, through memory and life review. We review the middle years of Generativity v. Stagnation, the young adult years of Intimacy v. Isolation, the teen years of Identity v. Identity Diffusion [no center], the tween years of Industry v. Inferiority, the childhood years of Initiative v. Guilt and Autonomy v. Shame and Doubt, and the infant times of Trust v. Mistrust.
So far, I’ve done Generativity/Stagnation successfully by saying, “What’s wrong with stagnation?” I’ve also done Intimacy/Isolation by opting for Isolation as a good thing, since there are no committee meetings in Isolation. Of course, UP here, it’s Iceolation.
Now I have to learn to accept my adolescence, just as it was, joys and sorrows alike, so I can go on toward Final Integrity. Now I’m ready for Identity/Diffusion. So is Joe. His task is to learn who he is as a young man. My task is to learn who I am as an old man.
I can’t identify myself any longer by what I do, because I no longer do anything. I can no longer be a human doing. I must learn who I am as a human being. Someone asked me recently how old I am. “75 going on 13,” I said. [2] Joe and I will work on identity as human beings together.
Joe became my hero when he was just fifteen months old. Now at thirteen years he will be my guide. I shall watch as he wades through the snows of adolescence, centered on that “still point in the turning world,” and I shall place my feet carefully in the steps in the snow that he has made to guide me.
JRMcF
1] You can read more about Joe’s cancer experience in the new edition of “Now That I Have Cancer I Am Whole: Reflections on Life and Healing for Cancer Patients and Those Who Love Them.” It’s also available in Japanese.
2] Today is also the birthday of Ed Tucker, the famous “Friar Tuck,” the church cartoonist. He’s also 75 going on 13. Happy Birthday, Ed.
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
Today my grandson, Joseph, is thirteen years old. Eleven years ago there were only a few of us who thought he would have even a 2nd birthday.
Kathy Roberts says that the word for Joe is “centered.” She used to run a mental health circus and so knows well what “centered” is, because she saw so much of its opposite. I think maybe Joe got through his liver cancer because he was already centered, even at 15 months of age. If not, when he had gone through three surgeries and a year of chemotherapy, that left him 2 pounds lighter on his 2nd birthday than he was on his 1st, the cancer experience had centered him. He survived because he had found “the still point in the turning world.” [1]
As I took Joe and Brigid home from school Tuesday, she said she’d had an assignment to write on someone she admired, and she had chosen Joe. Brigid herself is highly admirable. As a 16 year old sophomore she is a straight A student, a 99 percentiler on the PSAT, on her high school’s Quiz Bowl team, the Lay Leader of our church, and a HS Ambassador and Marketing Intern for hercampus.com magazine. She’s also an older sister. Older sisters think that any little brother is annoying. [I have an older sister I still go out of my way to annoy.] For an older sister to admire a little brother, he must be truly admirable.
The emotional task of old age is what Erik Erikson calls Final Integrity v. Despair. If you can say, “I accept my life, just as it was, joys and sorrows alike,” that’s integrity. If you can’t, that’s despair.
We reach Final Integrity by working back through the other stages we all have lived, through memory and life review. We review the middle years of Generativity v. Stagnation, the young adult years of Intimacy v. Isolation, the teen years of Identity v. Identity Diffusion [no center], the tween years of Industry v. Inferiority, the childhood years of Initiative v. Guilt and Autonomy v. Shame and Doubt, and the infant times of Trust v. Mistrust.
So far, I’ve done Generativity/Stagnation successfully by saying, “What’s wrong with stagnation?” I’ve also done Intimacy/Isolation by opting for Isolation as a good thing, since there are no committee meetings in Isolation. Of course, UP here, it’s Iceolation.
Now I have to learn to accept my adolescence, just as it was, joys and sorrows alike, so I can go on toward Final Integrity. Now I’m ready for Identity/Diffusion. So is Joe. His task is to learn who he is as a young man. My task is to learn who I am as an old man.
I can’t identify myself any longer by what I do, because I no longer do anything. I can no longer be a human doing. I must learn who I am as a human being. Someone asked me recently how old I am. “75 going on 13,” I said. [2] Joe and I will work on identity as human beings together.
Joe became my hero when he was just fifteen months old. Now at thirteen years he will be my guide. I shall watch as he wades through the snows of adolescence, centered on that “still point in the turning world,” and I shall place my feet carefully in the steps in the snow that he has made to guide me.
JRMcF
1] You can read more about Joe’s cancer experience in the new edition of “Now That I Have Cancer I Am Whole: Reflections on Life and Healing for Cancer Patients and Those Who Love Them.” It’s also available in Japanese.
2] Today is also the birthday of Ed Tucker, the famous “Friar Tuck,” the church cartoonist. He’s also 75 going on 13. Happy Birthday, Ed.
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
The Tidal Bore
CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a place of winter For the Years of Winter…
Helen talked about seeing it so much and so often that we began to call her The Tidal Bore.
The Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia has the highest tidal range in the world. Sometimes the tide is so low that row boats simply hang from pier poles, suspended several feet above the mud. Then the tide comes back. At Truro you can watch it travel up the Shubenacadie River, It’s called “the tidal bore.”
I was still rather depleted from surgery and a year of chemo. I was within the “one to two” year range that I understood from my first oncologist was my life expectancy. I didn’t know if I had any adventures left in me, but I wanted Helen to be able to see that unusual natural phenomenon that fascinated her so much. I wanted us to have an adventure together.
We flew to Boston and rented a car and drove up to Truro, to the mouth of the Shubenacadie, and we sat on the shore and waited.
I had assumed it was a wild gush of water that would come roaring up the river. I was hoping I could get back from the shore in time to keep from drowning. But that was not the way the bore came. It was slow and deliberate, and it took every hanging boat and raised it back up until it floated on the surface once again.
Sometimes there is a moment, no bigger than a baby’s toe, maybe even smaller, a piece of dandelion fluff in the breeze perhaps, but that toe fluff moment is so full, so round, so whole, that in it bubbles all the joy that I have ever known, or will ever know, and then it is gone forever, yet it floats on the breeze and smiles at every other moment, as they pass by.
That’s the way our tidal bore moment came. Sometimes that’s the way God’s grace comes.
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
Saturday, January 7, 2012
The Last Mile
CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a place of winter For the Years of Winter…
THE LAST MILE
Although I occasionally write poems, I am not a poet. That title is reserved for people who know what they’re doing, like Elaine Palencia or Billy Collins. Nor am I a song writer, although I occasionally write a song. That title should be reserved for folks like Jim Manley or Tom Paxton.
Poems and songs are not the same thing. Occasionally a poem can be set directly to music, as John Baptiste Caulkin did with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Most of the time, though, lyrics and poems are different animals. One is written to be read, one to be sung. The flow of a poem doesn’t automatically fit the flow of music.
So, which is “I’ll Walk the Last Mile with You?” I think of it as a song, because I have a tune in my head to which I sing it. If you don’t have a tune you can use to hum it, you’re welcome to read it as a poem.
I used the phrase “ride the last mile with you” in a letter. Helen saw it and said, “You should do something with that.” So I did.
I’LL WALK THE LAST MILE WITH YOU
On the bright white floral morning
When we could see forever
And the path was paved with blossoms for our feet
We clasped our hands together
And this is what I whispered
I’ll walk the last mile with you
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
On those chill still rainy mid-days
When storm clouds gathered o’er us
And the way was only mud beneath our feet
We linked our arms together
And this is what I stammered
I’ll walk the last mile with you
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
On this low slow lingering evening
When the light is growing dimmer
And the road is long behind our weary feet
We shall press our lips together
And with our fading breath say
I’ll walk the last mile with you.
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
THE LAST MILE
Although I occasionally write poems, I am not a poet. That title is reserved for people who know what they’re doing, like Elaine Palencia or Billy Collins. Nor am I a song writer, although I occasionally write a song. That title should be reserved for folks like Jim Manley or Tom Paxton.
Poems and songs are not the same thing. Occasionally a poem can be set directly to music, as John Baptiste Caulkin did with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Most of the time, though, lyrics and poems are different animals. One is written to be read, one to be sung. The flow of a poem doesn’t automatically fit the flow of music.
So, which is “I’ll Walk the Last Mile with You?” I think of it as a song, because I have a tune in my head to which I sing it. If you don’t have a tune you can use to hum it, you’re welcome to read it as a poem.
I used the phrase “ride the last mile with you” in a letter. Helen saw it and said, “You should do something with that.” So I did.
I’LL WALK THE LAST MILE WITH YOU
On the bright white floral morning
When we could see forever
And the path was paved with blossoms for our feet
We clasped our hands together
And this is what I whispered
I’ll walk the last mile with you
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
On those chill still rainy mid-days
When storm clouds gathered o’er us
And the way was only mud beneath our feet
We linked our arms together
And this is what I stammered
I’ll walk the last mile with you
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
On this low slow lingering evening
When the light is growing dimmer
And the road is long behind our weary feet
We shall press our lips together
And with our fading breath say
I’ll walk the last mile with you.
I’ll walk the last mile with you
Wherever this road takes us
In sunshine or in rain
In gladness or in pain
I’ll walk the last mile with you
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Opportunity of Winter
[Some folks have asked to receive Christ in Winter by email. If you’re not one of those, I don’t mean to be intruding in your IN box. I’m just sending to you this way because I think you may be interested in the subject or the places or people mentioned and I didn’t want you to miss it in case you don’t check the blog site today. http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of winter For the Years of Winter…
Now that the unseasonably warm December has gone the way of the rest of 2011, and 2012 is here, and with it the reality of true cold [minus 5 F when I got UP this morning], here is Ron Wetzell’s response to my musings about long underwear on 12-6-11. Ron is a long-time MN resident and thus is a prominent philosopher of the frigid. [1] Ron is a wonderful combination of the physical and the philosophical.
Here’s Ron, with his permission:
... and so, winter comes our way again. When it is part of what we have known, part of our regularity, we manage it the same way we always have, i.e. we regulate it. Buck up, boy. You just have to get used to it.
When it is something other than what we have known, it challenges us. It becomes the other. When we have at least half a tank, when the glass is half full, we can more easily let go. When we have less than half a tank, we tend to contract, to attach to what we have always known and always done. It is easy to be noble when we have it going our way; it is another thing to be noble when things go south on us. I have known persons who have been noble when they have been on fumes. I can only aspire and hope to be able to do the same.
What I know is that the Winter of 2010-11 handed me my backside: the third snowiest year in Minnesota, just under 90 inches. It was like Bill Murray's Groundhog Day, i.e. go to sleep, get up and shovel; go to sleep, get up and shovel. I now realize that my past attempts to embrace winter may have just been a variation of the Stockholm Syndrome.
I met an old guy (about my age) walking around the lake yesterday when the temperature was in the teens and the teeth of the wind had a bite to it. He said, "It's a nice day", to which I replied that "yes, it was nice to see the sun , but the wind did have a bite to it." To which the old guy said, "Well, you just have to get used to it." I bid the gentleman a good day, but my thoughts were saying, "Get used to it? I have known cold hands since I was 5 y/o, I don't like them anymore today than I liked them then. Why would I want to get used to it?"
It is true, though, that when we can change the way we look at things, we can change the things we look at. Here's hoping that I can emerge from the Post Traumatic Syndrome of the Winter of 2010-11 and be grateful for another opportunity to meet the challenge of winter - whether it is similar to what I have known or different.
Ron
1] Ron was a sophomore at IL State U when I went to Normal to be the minister at The Wesley Foundation, the Methodist campus ministry. He was one of a wonderful group of kids from Whiteside County, Ron from Tampico, Denny Heller from Prophetstown, Arlette Cocking from Erie, Linda Miller from Morrison. Little did I know then that in retirement I would live in Whiteside County [Sterling] and pastor Ron’s home church. At the Wesley Foundation he became the first of what are now known as “peer ministers.” He earned a MSW from U of MN and was until retirement the director of child protection services for Hennepin County. He now runs his own kettle bell studio. When he learned we were moving UP here, he made a special trip to Sterling to explain how to survive, and he sent me a Filson vest and a wool blanket! He keeps on his desk the motto, “The only way out is through.”
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of winter For the Years of Winter…
Now that the unseasonably warm December has gone the way of the rest of 2011, and 2012 is here, and with it the reality of true cold [minus 5 F when I got UP this morning], here is Ron Wetzell’s response to my musings about long underwear on 12-6-11. Ron is a long-time MN resident and thus is a prominent philosopher of the frigid. [1] Ron is a wonderful combination of the physical and the philosophical.
Here’s Ron, with his permission:
... and so, winter comes our way again. When it is part of what we have known, part of our regularity, we manage it the same way we always have, i.e. we regulate it. Buck up, boy. You just have to get used to it.
When it is something other than what we have known, it challenges us. It becomes the other. When we have at least half a tank, when the glass is half full, we can more easily let go. When we have less than half a tank, we tend to contract, to attach to what we have always known and always done. It is easy to be noble when we have it going our way; it is another thing to be noble when things go south on us. I have known persons who have been noble when they have been on fumes. I can only aspire and hope to be able to do the same.
What I know is that the Winter of 2010-11 handed me my backside: the third snowiest year in Minnesota, just under 90 inches. It was like Bill Murray's Groundhog Day, i.e. go to sleep, get up and shovel; go to sleep, get up and shovel. I now realize that my past attempts to embrace winter may have just been a variation of the Stockholm Syndrome.
I met an old guy (about my age) walking around the lake yesterday when the temperature was in the teens and the teeth of the wind had a bite to it. He said, "It's a nice day", to which I replied that "yes, it was nice to see the sun , but the wind did have a bite to it." To which the old guy said, "Well, you just have to get used to it." I bid the gentleman a good day, but my thoughts were saying, "Get used to it? I have known cold hands since I was 5 y/o, I don't like them anymore today than I liked them then. Why would I want to get used to it?"
It is true, though, that when we can change the way we look at things, we can change the things we look at. Here's hoping that I can emerge from the Post Traumatic Syndrome of the Winter of 2010-11 and be grateful for another opportunity to meet the challenge of winter - whether it is similar to what I have known or different.
Ron
1] Ron was a sophomore at IL State U when I went to Normal to be the minister at The Wesley Foundation, the Methodist campus ministry. He was one of a wonderful group of kids from Whiteside County, Ron from Tampico, Denny Heller from Prophetstown, Arlette Cocking from Erie, Linda Miller from Morrison. Little did I know then that in retirement I would live in Whiteside County [Sterling] and pastor Ron’s home church. At the Wesley Foundation he became the first of what are now known as “peer ministers.” He earned a MSW from U of MN and was until retirement the director of child protection services for Hennepin County. He now runs his own kettle bell studio. When he learned we were moving UP here, he made a special trip to Sterling to explain how to survive, and he sent me a Filson vest and a wool blanket! He keeps on his desk the motto, “The only way out is through.”
JRMcF
The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer!
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much. It is okay to refer the link to older folks you know or to print it in a church newsletter or bulletin.
{I also write the fictional “Periwinkle Chronicles” blog. One needs a rather strange sense of humor to enjoy it, but occasionally it is slightly funny. It is at http://periwinklechronicles.blogspot.com/}
(If you would prefer to receive either “Christ In Winter” or “Periwinkle Chronicles” via email, just let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the email list.)
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