Christ In Winter: January 2015

Saturday, January 31, 2015

MY 1960S SONG

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

I never take those Facebook quizzes. They can’t tell me anything new. I already know that my aura is gray, that my life vegetable is the rutabaga, that my spirit guide is the hamster, that I can name all 7 dwarves and thus qualify as a “Disney Dandy.”

However, when the one came up about “Which 1960s song represents your life?” I couldn’t help myself. Those were my songs. I anticipated the quiz would give me “Sounds of Silence,” considering my hermit tendencies. Or maybe “Blowin in the Wind,” considering my elderly digestive system. Or “We Shall Overcome,” considering my hand-wringing about injustice.

It was Atlantis! By Donovan! I’ve never even heard of Atlantis! Or Donovan!

So I youtubed it. Donovan seemed like a nice young man, if a bit plummy, and a bit overdramatic as he recited the legend of Atlantis, interminably, which I, of course, already knew, so that I kept yelling, “Get to my song!” He finally did. All 3 chords and one line of it, which seemed to have nothing to do with Atlantis.

So the song of my life is about a city that never existed, and is under the sea, sung by a London poof [I hope that’s not a bad or politically incorrect word.] who, I hope, later got some guitar lessons.

Sounds about right.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP], where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.]

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to… what’s it called… oh, yes, memory. Sorry about repeats.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, in 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Friday, January 30, 2015

THE NURSE WHO SNEERED

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

Ellen claimed that she had sex only twice, and got pregnant both times. It sounded suspicious, even then, when abstinence and condoms were the only birth control, and boys told girls that if they really loved them they would use neither. It sounds more suspicious today, when girls more often brag about having sex twice, per hour, rather than being embarrassed for having sex twice in their lifetime, even if the lifetime has been for only twenty years.

That wasn’t the immediate problem, though. This was not her first pregnancy. She had given the first baby for adoption. This second time her father had called her a slut and disowned her. She had dropped out of college and was living in a rented room, with no friends, no food, and no pre-natal care. Her boyfriend, Josh, who was much more able to get girls into trouble than to get them out, came to me for help. I give Josh credit for seeking help for Ellen, but once Helen and I were involved, Josh went his merry way, scattering problems for other girls and their fathers like a flower girl scatters rose petals.

We had intended for Helen to take Ellen to the hospital when “the time came for her to be delivered,” but she was teaching a class at the university, so I was the one who picked Ellen up at her drab rented room, helped her to my car and into the hospital, got her paper work done and into the labor room.

That was the greatest fashion era, ever. Since I ministered on a university campus, I dressed accordingly. I can’t remember exactly what I was wearing that day, but I know I sometimes dressed in an old-gold crushed-velvet vest that hung to mid-thigh, and in vertically striped bell bottom pants with a three inch belt, and in a green shirt with multi-colored flowers. I also had a hobo moustache and a Bolshevik beard. I was young and hip and cool.

Also a pervert, according to the nurse. Ellen introduced me as her minister, and every time the nurse referred to me as such, as she did often, with great enjoyment, both to Ellen and to anyone else in earshot, she rolled her eyes and sneered as she said “minister.”

I suppose I should have been slightly pleased that the nurse thought I was Ellen’s “baby daddy.” Ellen was pretty, and men like to have others think that they are both virile and attractive to pretty young women. It was quite embarrassing, though, and the more I tried to act and talk like a minister instead of a cad, the worse I made it sound.

This is one of the strongest arguments for women ministers, I think. If they take a pregnant girl to the hospital, no one accuses them of being the one who got her pregnant. If you are a male minister, though, it helps if you have a pretty wife who eventually shows up at the hospital to help a girl like Ellen through her labor, which Helen did, just as I had to leave for some other responsibility, probably trying to get Josh out of some other trouble, at which I spent a lot of time with mostly futile results. Apparently it cooled the nurse off a bit when Ellen introduced Helen as her minister’s wife, but not entirely. Helen says the nurse still rolled her eyes whenever I was mentioned. The nurse and I were about the same age. I think she must have had some interactions with guys our age who were not what they claimed to be.

As we got to know Ellen, we became less suspicious of her “only twice” claim. She was not naive, but she was sweet and innocent. She gave that baby up for adoption, too, and moved away. Josh wanted her to return for his wedding, when all the bridesmaids were former girlfriends he had impregnated and not married, but she did not. She was sweet and innocent, but she wasn’t stupid. She dropped out of his life, and ours.

I still pray for her, and for her children. And for that nurse, but not as often.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

Yes, Josh really did have his former girlfriends as the bridesmaids at his wedding. He was charismatic, talented, obnoxious, brilliant, and manipulative. Why would girls put up with someone like him? I don’t know. Why would a minister put up with someone like him? That’s our job.

Ellen and Josh were not their real names, of course.

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

STRENGTH & AVAILABILITY

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

I did CPE [Clinical Pastoral Education] at the University of Iowa hospital when the girl who would become the mother of our grandchildren was only nine years old. I had no idea that 27 years later she would produce the world’s cutest grandson, or that he would spend the second year of his life in that hospital.

My supervisor was David Belgum, who, along with Granger Westberg, and building on the work of CPE pioneers like Anton Boisen and Carroll Wise, were developing a new relationship between medicine and religion, specifically between physicians and pastors, one that never quite worked out the way they hoped.

We had an excellent group of CPE students. Most of us were in our thirties and had ten to fifteen years of experience as pastors. One I’ll call Greg. He was very handsome, well-spoken, but down-to-earth, sort of like Joey Tribbiani playing Dr. Drake Ramoray.

One day he was sent to call on a middle-aged woman who had a terminal diagnosis. “How does it feel to be dying?” he asked her, in his Drake Ramoray voice. She screamed. It was the first time she had heard her diagnosis.

Like many family members and medical folks at the time, it was felt it was best to keep a diagnosis like that from the patient. There are good reasons for that sort of secrecy, but it almost always backfires. In this case, it backfired just because of a lack of communication between doctor and pastor, the very thing David Belgum was trying to facilitate. It wasn’t really Greg’s fault, but he got the blame.

George Paterson didn’t get the blame, but he got the fall-out. He was the hospital chaplain, and had the responsibility to be the next one up in that room, to deal both with Greg and the patient he had traumatized. George did it. He had what Ed Friedman called “a non-anxious presence.” He turned the whole fiasco into a lesson for the hospital on communication, a lesson for Greg, and the rest of us, IN CPE, on sensitivity, and a quick walk-through with the patient in all the steps of death and dying.

Later Dr. Belgum had another middle-aged woman, one who knew she was dying, talk to our group about how to deal with patients like her. She essentially said, “Be like George Paterson.”

She told us how George Paterson had come to her room after she was given the diagnosis. “At first I was confused,” she said. “I knew him. There is this dive downtown I like to go to. Some nights a little jazz combo played. He was the trombonist. I know music is a soothing thing for someone who is dying, but jazz trombone? But he didn’t play trombone. We talked. He had just the right combination of strength and availability.”

Many years later, when grandson Joe was in that hospital, George had retired, but he and Ida Belle were there for Joe and his parents, and his grandparents, with just the right combination of strength and availability.

Even later, as George himself was dying, a young woman with a guitar stood at the side of his room and played and sang very softly. At his funeral, the combo from that dive played, without a trombone. Just the right combination of strength and availability.

John Robert McFarland

jmcfarland1721@charter.net

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! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.]

I tweet as yooper1721.

I also write the Just Words blog, about writing and reading. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Jesus Is Always on the Other Side

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

“The problem with drawing lines that divide people is that Jesus is always on the other side.” Matthew Weber, quoted in Nadia Bolz-Weber, PASTRIX [Jericho Books, 2013]

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I tweet as yooper1721.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Bless Those Assembled Here

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

When I pastored at Wesley UMC in Charleston, IL, at the campus of Eastern IL U, I had an easy ride in worship. We had both a lay liturgist, who basically read scriptures, and a pastoral liturgist, one of the other ministers on staff, who did prayers. All I had to do was preach. [1]

One of the pastoral prayers followed the sermon. When George Loveland had that prayer, he used the occasion to correct all the heresies I had espoused in the sermon. “Oh, Lord, Thou who knowest that what we have just heard is a bunchy of baloney…” Well, not quite that clear, but close.

Don Lemkau was thoughtful and scholarly and wrote out his prayers ahead of time, with careful consideration for the concerns of the congregation and the world and the scriptures of the day.

Bob Morwell… well, no one had any idea what would happen, but Bob was, and is, such a creative thinker and skilled wordsmith that you knew it would be interesting.

Max White saved his corrections of my heresies until it was his turn to preach, at which point he would take them all on at the same time. When he did the pastoral prayer, though, he always started with, “Bless those of us assembled here…”

I can’t remember when, but at some point I began to hear the double meaning of that phrase. Not only those of us who have come together from separate lives to worship here, but bless those of us who are being put together here, who are being made whole here.

We were the church of choice for a lot of addicts, drugs and sex and alcohol in particular, and also for people who had been damaged in meat-grinder churches and needed an oasis for recovery. I loved when Max prayed, “Bless those of us assembled here,” for I could feel those ground down and ground up folks being put back together into wholeness.

All our staff members were good friends, loyal and faithful to me and the congregation and one another and to God, even when they disagreed with me. I loved them all, even when they misunderstood the situation and thought I might be wrong about something. George and Don and Max are now on the heavenly staff. I rejoice and give thanks when I think about them assembled there.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

1] The best thing I did for that congregation was hiring staff. Most of the folks I brought onto the staff, pastors and musicians and program people and secretaries and custodians, did such good jobs that they stayed on for decades.

2] Meat-grinder churches stick each individual into the grinder and turn the crank until you come out on the other end as a wiener that looks just like all the other wieners. If you can’t be ground down to be like all the other wieners, you’re discarded out the back as offal.

I tweet as yooper1721.

Monday, January 26, 2015

TODAY JOE IS 16

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

Our grandson, Joe, was diagnosed with liver cancer at 15 months of age. After 3 surgeries and a year of chemo, he weighed 2 pounds less on his 2^nd birthday than he did on his first. Then we were told that instead of being cured, the cancer had spread to his lungs. He would need a liver transplant and a double lung transplant. Joe said an emphatic “no” to that. He had things to learn, places to go. So the cancer just gave up and left. Today he is 16.

Our friend, Kathy, says that Joe is the most centered person she knows. She had a career as the director of a mental health clinic, so she may have a very low bar for “centered,” but it’s still a nice diagnosis for a guy who today is 16.

It’s hard now to remember that we were told that, because of all the chemo, this tall, handsome, sensitive, musical, literate, brilliant, centered young man would probably lose his hearing and never be able to jump. It would embarrass him if he knew I speak of him this way. Being centered means that he does not need attention like this. I don’t think he reads Christ In Winter, though. Why should he? Winter for him is a long way off. He is barely into spring. Today he is 16.

Being centered, Joe knows the proper thing for a 16 year old is to get his driver’s license and stop hanging around with his grandfather, except for plotting behind Grandma’s back to buy a 1955 Chrysler Windsor Newport Deluxe together. I know that because even though I was not very centered at 16, I knew the proper 16 yo life style is to run around in a car with your friends. Joe knows that, too, for today he is 16.

Not every boy or girl who says “no” to cancer gets be 16. I don’t know why some do and some don’t, since they are all loved by God. I mourn for those children who don’t, and for their parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters and all the others who share in God’s love for them. But I celebrate and affirm and give thanks for those who do. Did I mention that today Joe, our grandson, is 16?

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

You can read more about Joe’s cancer and cure in the 2ne edition of NOW THAT I HAVE CANCER I AM WHOLE: Meditations on Life and Healing for Cancer Patients and Those Who Love Them [AndrewsMcMeel, and available in Czech and Japanese translations]

I tweet as yooper1721.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Point of No Return-a hymn

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

Every once in a while I write a hymn. I have a tune for this one, but I can’t write music, so you’ll have to make do with “just words.” It’s simple, though, so you can figure out a tune for yourself.

VERSE 1

We are but dust in this one life, in the middle of the strife,

As we journey toward the place for which we yearn.

Our strength is almost gone, we’re too weary to go on,

But my friends, we’re at the point of no return.

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

Let us push on toward the joy for which we yearn.

Fellow pilgrim, take my hand; let us join the upward band,

For my friends, we’re at the point of no return.

VERSE 2

In the desert we did wander, we began to look back yonder,

To the life of slavery we desired to turn.

Moses struck water with his staff, and he killed that golden calf.

He said, Friends, we’re at the point of no return.

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

Let us push on toward the joy for which we yearn.

Fellow pilgrim, take my hand; let us join the upward band,

For my friends, we’re at the point of no return.

VERSE 3

Jesus walked that lonely road, burdened by a heavy load.

No one else could see the shadow of the cross.

His disciples ran in fright, but Jesus’ face was toward the light.

He knew we could not gain without his loss.

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

Let us push on toward the joy for which we yearn.

Fellow pilgrim, take my hand; let us join the upward band,

For my friends, we’re at the point of no return.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I have also started an author blog, “Just Words,” about writing and reading, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, in 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Friday, January 23, 2015

Those Boring Peanut Butter Sandwiches

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

A man looked into his lunch box. “Damn. Another peanut butter sandwich,” he said.

“Why don’t you get your wife to make you a different kind of sandwich if you don’t like peanut butter,” said his friend.

Somewhat offended, the man replied, “I make these sandwiches myself.”

A young woman I respect a great deal said recently, “I need to stop complaining about my life being boring. Yes, my life is boring, but it doesn’t have to be. I have a choice about it.”

I recently told Helen I was bored, and she said, “If your problem is boredom, you have no problem.”

In other words, if you don’t like the peanut-butter sandwich life you are living, make a different sandwich.

I personally have concluded that a different sandwich is a lot of work. It would require me to get off the sofa. I have decided that instead of complaining about boredom, I’ll embrace it. I shall tell myself that I like boredom. I suggest you embrace boredom, too. What’s wrong with that? Winter is just a boring time, that’s all. Keep making the same old sandwich.

Of course, you do have a choice.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to… what’s the word… oh, yes, memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

What a Friend--RIP Marcus Borg

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

It was while I was on chemo, under the threat of death by my first oncologist, of “a year or two,” that I discovered Marcus Borg’s Jesus: A New Vision. It changed my life.

I had been a fairly good New Testament scholar, in service of my preaching. I still read some New Testament in Greek each morning. I especially appreciated Gunther Bornkamm’s approach in Jesus of Nazareth. As I have done old-age culling, down-sized living, of my library, that is one of the books with which I can’t part.

I felt I was slightly fraudulent, though, whenever we sang “What a friend we have in Jesus” in worship. I didn’t think of Jesus as a friend. We was the Christ, the Word of God, God’s way of communicating to us what God expects of us in relating to God and the world and others and to our own selves. That’s a bit distant to be called “friend.”

In part, Jesus was not a friend because I never felt need of an intermediary in approaching God, not angels nor the BVM nor saints nor the Bible… not even Jesus. God is God and is always there, always available, regardless of how I feel about it. I still “know” that and feel that way.

In reading Marcus, though, Jesus became more of an historical figure than ever, and in the process, became more of a spiritual reality for me. Stripping away the layers of crust and dust that had accumulated on him over the years made the real Jesus, the real friend, more available.

So when I learned that Marcus would be the main speaker at a conference in Morehead, MN at the same time I was speaking to the staff and the Clinical Pastoral Education students at the Roger Maris Cancer Center in Fargo, ND, just across the river, Helen and I immediately signed up for the conference.

It wasn’t our last conference with Marcus. Every time we went to one, he presented the rough-draft of his most recent research and thinking, which would then become another of his books. Every time, a new layer of Gospel encrustation was removed, and we were allowed to see the real Gospel underneath. Every time, Jesus became a better friend.

And although we had not really hung out with him at that conference in Morehead, he always knew us, called us by name, and remembered our circumstances. “What are you doing in Ohio? I thought you were in Illinois.”

We began to exchange books by mail whenever we came out with a new one. He was the loser, as he was far more prolific than I. He told me that his Episcopal priest wife often gave my Now That I Have Cancer I Am Whole to patients she knew. Knowing I am a bit of a novelist, he wrote to tell me how proud he was of his first novel, Putting Away Childish Things, said he felt like a new parent. It wasn’t a great novel, as a novel. It was primarily a way for the characters to say what Marcus himself said in his other books. But what Marcus wrote is always worth reading, regardless of the form.

That’s what Helen thought when she mentored granddaughter Brigid for confirmation. They felt the confirmation material was, let’s say… “limited.” So they read Marcus’ Heart of Christianity. Brigid, like most grandchildren, is extremely bright, so it was no trouble for her. Helen knew, though, that other kids might need a less scholarly vocabulary and so wrote to Marcus and suggested he do a version of Heart for middle-school kids, for confirmation. He said he didn’t think he could write that way, but since she was a school teacher, she could do it, and he’d put both their names on it and he’d have his publisher bring it out. Alas, that never happened.

Some people misunderstood Marcus. Especially because of his participation in “The Jesus Seminar,” which tries to separate the real historical sayings and doings of Jesus from the additions of others, some folks thought he did not honor the scriptures. Exactly the opposite. Marcus was a believer. He was a follower who wanted to walk with the real Jesus, the one who is a friend rather than a flannel-board caricature. When you separate the wheat from the chaff, the bread you can bake is far more nutritious.

At those conferences, and in many other settings, we met so many people who said, “Marcus Borg made it possible for me to be a Christian.”

I give thanks for Marcus Borg and his work. He provided me not only his friendship, but that of Jesus.

What a friend we had in Marcus.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

WRINKLED INTELLIGENCE

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

Our friend, Kathy, is now a grandmother, but like most old people, didn’t use to be. In that nether time, she was asked by a little child if she were one. She admitted she was not. “Well, you’re wrinkled enough to be one,” he said. I’m sure he meant it as a compliment, because he knew that wrinkles are a sign of intelligence.

Like most old people, I spend a lot of time reading in quantum physics, sociobiology, and brain research. Well, I spend most of my time eating and sleeping and playing pickle ball, but if there is any left over…

From all my scientific investigations I think I have discovered the secret of intelligence. Wrinkles.

Wrinkles are what separates humans from less intelligent species. The brain has developed wrinkles in order to have more room for neurons to operate on the cerebellum without having to expand the skull to unmanageable proportions, sort of like Andy Williams. The little crevices are called sulci and the ridges between them are called gyri.

Incidentally, one of the most popular sets of names for twins in ancient Greek science fiction was Sulci and Gyri. [1]

So, the more wrinkles you have, the more intelligent you are. That is why old people are smart enough to be grandparents, even if we aren’t. We’ve got the wrinkles.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

1] This is not true. It was inserted by Autocorrect, which is the modern source of all sins, sort of like the snake in Eden used to be.

I tweet as yooper1721.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

PERFECT PRAYER

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

Prayer is the only human activity of which we require perfection. If we pray for something, even something noble, like a cure for a child with cancer, and we don’t get it, we say, “See. Prayer doesn’t work.”

In treating cancer we use surgery and chemotherapy and radiation. They don’t always work, but we keep using them.

In treating poverty we use legislation and food pantries and red kettles. They don’t always work, but we keep using them.

In treating addictions we use psychotherapy and support groups and 12 step programs. They don’t always work, but we keep using them.

In science we use theories and experiments and observation. They don’t always work, but we keep using them.

Indeed, many of the other approaches we use to make life better actually make it worse, such as the new wonder drugs that have side effects more gruesome than the condition they are treating. [1] But we keep on using them.

I don’t know how or why prayer works. I know that sometimes it does not work. But I keep on using it. It is important not to let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

As I count my blessings first thing each morning, and give thanks for them, I am reminded of those who are not so blessed, and I pray for them. I especially pray for those who have no one else to pray for them, the forgotten ones, those who are counted as the refuse of the world. Perhaps the prayer for those who have no one else to pray for them is the perfect prayer.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

1] Back when I was a speaker/writer in cancer circles, Helen and I were invited to a medical conference to hear Dr. Dean Ornish. He mentioned a new potato chip that noted on its container that it might cause anal leakage. Dr. Ornish said, “Anal and leakage should never be used in the same sentence.”

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

What Bait Should You Use?

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

I think that the lection for this coming Sunday, January 25, Mark 1:14-20, about “fishing for men,” has been one of the most fruitful Bible stories for humor, although it is now translated, properly, as fishing for “people” instead of men. The more inclusive translation does cut down considerably on humorous possibilities.

I was once talking about this scripture during the “time with children” in our main Sunday morning worship service. This being a camping and fishing sort of congregation, [at least that is what they told me they were doing when they were not in church], one of the kids asked, “If you’re fishing for men, what would you use for bait?”

I, of course, did what one should never do with children. I turned it back to them. “What do you think you would use for bait?” I asked the kids. Corey Schuleter spoke up, very loudly. “If you’re fishing for men, you’d use women for bait.”

Corey’s parents took him camping for several weeks after that.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Marching With King for the Soul of the Nation

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

MLK Day is surprisingly warm for the UP in January, about 20 degrees. It was a lot hotter on the day I marched into Montgomery with Martin Luther King, Junior, along with a whole lot of other folks, and especially my dear friend, the late Andre’ Hammonds, the first black man to receive a PhD from the U of TN.

We were not congregating there simply to advocate for equal rights for all, as admirable as that might be, but for the very soul of the nation. Democracy and equality before the law are always under siege. Every time that we push back against the reactionary forces that want special privileges and status for some at the expense of others, it is soul work.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Shall We Gather-an old preacher joke

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

I love the old preacher stories. When I started preaching at age 19, I collected these assiduously and delighted in using them in my sermons. Most of them are out of date and out of fashion, but I still love them, and I can’t help but think of them when some part of worship reminds me.

Recently, when we celebrated the baptism of Jesus, and the worship service concentrated on baptism and the meaning of water, we sang “Shall We Gather at the River.”

It reminded me of the time the revival evangelist preached a temperance sermon and concluded with a shouted, “If I had my way, all the booze in the world would be thrown in the river.” The choir rose and sang, “Shall we gather at the river…”

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

LOVE IS NEVER LOST

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

While attending the memorial service of long-time friend, Bettie Story, we stayed with long-time friends, Bill and Ann White. I’m up before anyone else, wherever we are, and on the morning of Bettie’s service, I pulled from a shelf Bill’s copy of Harry Emerson Fosdick’s book of prayers for public occasions. Included is a prayer for a memorial service. The language is a bit old-fashioned, so I translated it into the language of that particular and special day. Thus Fosdick said: “God did not lose Bettie in giving her to us to love, and we do not lose her in letting her return to God.”

He is not saying that we don’t lose the physical presence of Bettie, but that we don’t lose the love. Even death does not conquer love, according to Paul, in Romans 8:31-39. God gave Bettie in love, and takes her back in love. The love still connects us.

If “God is love,” as John, the epistle writer says, then love cannot be lost. It’s like in physics, where energy is not lost. Water can turn into ice or steam, but its energy, its essential being, remains in the universe. Love can be expressed in this worldly body or transfigured into another sort of body, but it is not lost.

“Love is the only rational act.” Morrie Schwartz

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Friday, January 16, 2015

The Day the Circus Came to Town-a poem

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

The day the circus came to town

I stood on the curb on Main Street

and watched the parade go by

It was more than I could stand

to stand

to watch

I took my place

at the dragging end

among steaming piles

of elephant dung

and left-over snarls

of second-hand lions, caged

We went to the big top

to do our acts before the people

It turned out that I

wore floppy shoes and a big red nose

Everyone clapped

Politely

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

Thursday, January 15, 2015

FREE SPEECH & THE APOSTLE PAUL

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter… ©

I was in NYC, recording the audio version of the first edition of Now That I Have Cancer I Am Whole, when I learned some strange things about free speech.

HarperCollins had bought the audio rights from AndrewsMcMeel. They were going to get Jerry Orbach to read the audio version. I protested. “I like Jerry,” I said, “but he just can’t interpret what I’m saying in that book the way I can.” “Send us a tape,” HarperAudio replied. I did. “You’re right,” they said. “You’ve got a better voice than Jerry. And you’re a lot cheaper.” [They did NOT mean singing voice. Orbach was a great Broadway musical star before he was a detective on “Law & Order.”]

So they flew Helen and me to Manhattan, and put us up in a hotel, from which we went out in the morning to buy tea from a pushcart. And in the studio I sat in the same chair where Tony Hillerman and Hank Aaron and The Countess of Romanova had sat the week before, recording their books. It was neat.

But in the recording, we kept hitting snags. Not like the Countess. She wore a leather dress, and stirred her hot chocolate with the ear piece of her glasses. Each time she shifted position, the engineers had to have her start the sentence over because the noise was audible on the tape. They were pleased with me. I sat very still. They called me “one take.” Except for the singing parts.

Yes, I wasn’t Jerry Orbach, but there are some songs in that book. I had adjusted a lot of songs to use for myself and other cancer patients. “Chemo-pusher’s Ball.” “After the Chemo’s Over.” “You Light Up My Life.” [radiation] “Cancer’s Gone,” to the tune of Edelweiss. And that’s when they would go crazy in the control room and yell, “You can’t use that tune; that belongs to Richard Rodgers.” Or somebody else.

So I would have to adjust on the spot, changing the tunes to old folk or Gospel songs which were not owned by anybody. Like “No more cancer,” to the tune of “Oh, freedom.”

“If you were using the material of others for satire or pornography, that would be a protected free-speech right,” they assured me. “But you can’t use other people’s material if you’re using it to help people get well.”

Free speech is a funny thing. And its limits are sometimes in funny places.

Let me be clear: I sympathize entirely with the French folks who were exercising their free speech right--a human right, although it is not honored as such in many places--to do cartoons critical of others, including religious people, and the religions themselves, and were murdered by terrorists because they exercised that free speech right. I totally condemn the people who killed them, both for their murdering and for hiding behind religion to justify their hate and cowardly actions.

But I’m thinking about the Epistle for this coming Sunday, in the 6^th chapter of Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. I realize this is a slightly different context, but I think it applies. Paul says, “All things are lawful for me,” meaning as a follower of the Messiah, he no longer has to keep the religious rules-dietary and such-of his people. They no longer apply. “But not all things are beneficial.”

In other words: I don’t have to keep these rules when I am with these people, but since it is respectful to them, and doesn’t diminish my freedom since it’s my choice, I’ll abide by those rules.

Free speech is a good thing. It covers some things that are not so good, though, like pornography and being disrespectful. Just because it is lawful doesn’t mean it is beneficial. If you use your free speech to criticize, you have to expect a reaction, and in a world of violence, where guns and bombs are plentiful, and violence of all sorts, including war, is glorified, it is not surprising that some people who feel that they cannot be heard any other way will use violence as their response to what they see and hear as disrespect.

I am a religious person, a follower of Jesus, whom I call the Christ, even though I follow better in theory than in practice. I don’t want my religious faith disrespected. However, I respect the free speech right of people who do want to be disrespectful to me and to my faith. I shall answer with free speech which is respectful to them, because that is what is most beneficial. And I shall continue to mourn those who have trouble knowing the difference between lawful and beneficial.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Something Special On the Mind-In Honor of Joe Frazier

Today is the birthday of the late Joe Frazier, who was the baritone in The Chad Mitchell Trio and an Episcopal priest. The CMT was always my favorite folk trio, from the time I first heard the guys in the 1960s, but Joe and I did not meet until a few years ago, because of our shared “strange calling.” At this time of year I would always remind him that he was older than I [by 3 weeks] and he would reply, “How can I forget when you keep reminding me?” Here’s a song I wrote about the way Joe saw the Gospel, and his calling to proclaim it.

SOMETHING SPECIAL ON THE MIND

The Ballad of the Good Mexitan [Luke 10:25-37]

I went down to Mexico,

Not so very long ago,

With nothin’ special on my mind.

There I went into an inn,

To engage a little sin,

Then I had something special on my mind;

Oh, yes!

I had something special on my mind.

But in the corner lay a man,

He’d been beaten head and hand,

He’d been beaten and robbed and left behind.

And for those who done the beatin’,

And for those who done the leavin’,

He had something special on his mind;

Boilin’ oil!

He had something special on his mind.

He’d been lyin’ by the way,

Nearly half the day,

When a bankin’ man came by.

The victim had no money, the banker thought it mighty funny,

But he had something special on his mind;

Compound interest!

He had something special on his mind.

His lights were almost out,

He had no breath to give a shout,

When a priest of the church came by.

The man he was a bleedin’,

But the priest, he had a meetin’,

He had something special on his mind;

Holy Moley!

He had something special on his mind.

He was just about to die,

He couldn’t even heave a sigh,

When there came one of those, well, you know the kind.

And I’ll never understand,

But he stopped… and helped the man,

I guess he, too, had something special on his mind;

Jesus Christ!

He had something special on his mind.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Holes in the Boat-a thought

Some people are quite willing to go down with the boat as long as they’re the ones who get to make the holes. Then, of course, they blame the others for not bailing hard enough. It’s called original sin.

JRMcF

Monday, January 12, 2015

Death Warmed Over, Eating a Cracker

We heard Bryan Bowers, the great autoharpist-folk singer last night. He looked like death warmed over, eating a cracker.

No, I’m not being nasty. Those were his words. He had a cold, and he said, “People will probably say I looked like death warmed over, eating a cracker.” So I said it.

We were at The Second Sunday Folk Dance at Fortune Lake Lutheran Camp. It’s the 30^th year that Dean & Bette Premo, who perform as White Water, have produced SSFD. They are PhD environmental consultants by profession, but they are also professional level musicians.

They mentor young people as part of White Water, too. Recently Carrie Dlutkowski has been one of those. A few years from now, when I’m hanging around with Carrie Newcomer, and Rev. Peyton and the Big Damn Band, and Richard Thompson, they’ll say, “Can you get Carrie’s autograph for me?” She’s that good.

Each SSFD opens with a set by White Water, and then comes the special guest, and after that we dance. Every January the special guest is Bryan Bowers, because he does not have good sense and thinks January is a good time to come to the Upper Peninsula. He lives on the west coast. UP here we are on the cold coast.

After Bryan’s set, while others danced, Bryan and I talked. Usually we tell each other jokes, but this time he read his poetry from the last year to me, because his muse has been so active. Bryan is well into his 70s. He still has that powerful voice, those marvelous fingers, and that nimble mind. Don’t assume that because you’re old you can’t be creative.

He said that he has written, as a rough estimate, about a thousand songs, only a dozen or so have caught on and stayed around. He doesn’t think that’s a good batting average. It would not be if he were a first baseman, but the averages are different for song writers. Charles Wesley wrote 20 thousand hymns. Only a few are still in the Methodist hymnal. But every Methodist, and a lot of other folks, can sing “Oh, for a thousand tongues” and “Hark, the herald angels sing.”

I sing every morning, quietly, so I won’t wake Helen, as I putter around the kitchen. I sing Wesley. If folks are still singing your songs 300 years after you’re dead, your batting average is pretty good. I think folks will be singing Bryan’s great “When you learn a song, you’ve got a friend for life” long after he’s eaten his last cracker.

I really should have titled this CIW with “When you learn a song, you’ve got a friend for life,” but I figured you would be more intrigued by “Death Warmed Over, Eating a Cracker.” See, I still have a nimble mind, too.

When you learn a song, you’ve got a friend for life

That you can call on, in the still of the night

When you’re down and out, on a two-lane road

Your friend the song will be there to ease your load

When your mom and dad cross your mind

Thinking back to the ties that bind

Won’t fill your heart like singing some old song

They used to sing back when you were young [Chorus]

When time hangs heavy on your hands

That novel that you burn your eyes out on

Won’t fill your heart like learning some old song

That will be there to help you later on. [Chorus]

When the night is young but you’re feeling old

TV’s empty hours won’t fill your soul

Like singing some old song that was your friend

When you were young, and you are young again. [Chorus]

Here’s a youtube link to Bryan singing about our friend for life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3duaK3orqc

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I used to keep a careful index of all the things I told in this blog so that I would not repeat. That has become unwieldy. Now I just trust to memory. Sorry about that.

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, about four handicapped and homeless Iraqistan veterans who are accused of murdering a VA doctor, n 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Football-like Activity

Recently I heard a football coach explain why his very talented team did not win very much. “They are very good,” he said, “at running around the field, doing football-like activities, but they don’t really play football.”

I’m afraid that explains the decline of the church. We run around the place doing Christian-like activities, but we don’t really live Christian.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I tweet as yooper1721.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Advice from Philo

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is carrying a great burden.” Philo of Alexandria [First century] Quoted by Jim Bortell in his Green Thoughts blog.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Redeeming the Time

It’s five degrees below zero here this morning. I don’t even want to guess at the wind-chill. It’s the kind of morning that makes me long for spring training, and Sarasota.

That’s where Helen and I went to see the Cincinnati Reds in spring training. Florida is where all the teams used to train in the spring, the way God intended.

We were part of what was then called an Elderhostel. It was fun to sit in the sun in the delightful little Jack Smith Stadium and watch the parrots fly over and hear the crack of the bat and sing along with the grounds crew whenever “YMCA” came over the loud speaker and they dropped whatever they were doing and acted out the song.

Oh, I would love to be there this morning… except for the guy without a watch.

Young people will not understand this, but people used to wear clocks on their wrists. It was simple to find out what time it was, not like now when you have to fish your cell phone out of the toilet before you can learn the time. You just had to glance at your wrist.

Unless you were proud that you were retired and didn’t have to keep a schedule anymore and so did not have to know what time it was. So on one of our bus trips, after a day that had been long and tiring, all the rest of us in the group sat in an uncomfortable bus, without a toilet since it was just a short trip, sat there for an hour, until the man without a watch came sauntering up.

No, of course he didn’t get to the bus at the appointed time to return home because he had no watch, duh! Because he didn’t need one anymore, duh! Because he was retired, duh! Because it didn’t matter anymore if he were on time, duh!

Except it mattered to the rest of us. We were the ones who paid the price for his freedom.

There is a great difference between freedom and irresponsibility. Much of our current individualism is not really about freedom. It’s just a mask for selfishness and meanness, the desire to be a bad neighbor. Old people earn the right to the freedom of retirement, but no one ever has the right to be a selfish jerk. It may be a political right, but it’s not a human right, and certainly not a Christian right.

I like the KJV translation of Ephesians 5:16, because it reminds us to “redeem the time.”

Get there on time, and redeem it, or you’ll suffer the same fate as the man without a watch in Sarasota. No, we didn’t ban him from Reds games or put laxatives in his oatmeal. His fate was that he had to live with his own selfish self.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, in 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/

I tweet as yooper1721.

Iron Mountain ski jump

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Friday, January 30, 2015

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Monday, January 26, 2015

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Friday, January 23, 2015

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Monday, January 19, 2015

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Friday, January 16, 2015

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Monday, January 12, 2015

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Friday, January 9, 2015