WHY THE DUMB KID SPOKE [Sat, 12-30-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter--WHY THE DUMB KID SPOKE [Sat, 12-30-23]

 

I have written before of my first four years in school, in Indianapolis, when my main approach was trying not to be noticed. Lucretia Mott # 3 was an experimental school. Education profs used us to test out new theories. Teachers did not give us grades; they wrote notes to our parents. Mine always said, “Can’t read, can’t write, can’t spell, can’t talk.” I was so afraid of making a mistake, and being humiliated by doing so, that I’d rather not try. I was a dumb kid.

 

I disproved a lot of educational theories. One such, of which I generally approve, is that kids will respond positively to attention. I did not want attention. More attention meant more opportunity to show my deficiencies.

 

So the question arose, as I was thinking about being in a play, Why the Chimes Rang, at East Park Methodist Church, when I was in 4^th grade, why I was not the same way in church as I was in school. The two buildings were only a block apart. But my reactions in them were entirely different. Yes, I was still reticent in church, but if the pastor or Mrs. Darringer, my Sunday School teacher, asked me to do something, I did it.

 

I can only surmise now. I’m looking at that era through more than 80 years of misty memories. But I think it is mostly because no one at church was going to write a note to my parents evaluating me. My folks did not go to church, so no one would even make a comment to them about me in person. Church belonged to me. There I was not afraid to try. [1]

 

The Sunday School women got the idea that we should do Why the Chimes Rang [from the short story by Raymond Alden] as a Christmas program. I still remember standing in front of the big sanctuary Christmas tree, as William B. Lewis and I performed that two-man play, about the church with the most-beautiful chimes that no one had heard for many years, and no one knew why they never rang.

 

The play was probably done as a showcase for Willim B. Lewis. [Yes, that’s how everyone, including he, himself, referred to him…always.] He was the darling of the church, literally “the fair-haired boy.” Our only teen boy, about 16, valued as only a teen boy in a church can be. I think they wanted to show him off—and probably encourage him to become a preacher—by having him act the role of the wise, older brother who misses the Christmas eve service to do an act of kindness to an old lady. He is helped along by his little brother, who slips his older brother’s offering into the Christmas eve collection, causing the chimes to ring.

 

I remember it as being about an older and a younger shepherd, but that is probably because William B. Lewis and I wore shepherd garb--bath robes.

 

When it came time for the chimes to ring, William B. Lewis didn’t know his lines. I, a nine-year old, basically had to do both parts, speaking mine and prompting William B. Lewis for his. I could do it, because I was in a place where I could not be wrong. That was why the dumb boy spoke. “…his praise, ye dumb, your loosened tongues employ.” [2]

 

John Robert McFarland

1] My older sister, Mary V, went to church. In fact, we were in the same confirmation class. I never got criticism from her. She was always on my side, always had my back. I was afraid of her only when she threatened me, for no good reason, with physical mayhem, but that was an entirely different kind of fear. It was also manageable; I was a faster runner.

2] “O, For a Thousand Tongues to Sing.” Charles Wesley. Hymnary.org says it is published in 1,719 hymnals.

THE OUT OF PLACE ANGEL [W, 12-27-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—THE OUT OF PLACE ANGEL [W, 12-27-23]

 

I believe in The Out of Place Angel. I knew about her, knew her story, but I had not actually seen her until Shelly Rasche’s studio.

Shelly’s husband, Jeff, was a clergy colleague. He invited me to spend a few days leading his congregation in experiential faith.

A church has five areas of work: worship, education, fellowship, service, and experience. It’s the last one where we are usually deficient.

Worship [reminding ourselves who God is and who we are], and education [learning the beliefs and history of Christian faith], and fellowship, and reminding people to be of service, [either as project or just seeing a need and meeting it], can be done pretty well in Sunday morning worship. Experience, learning how to be personally open to the presence and leading of God, that can’t be done very well in public worship on Sunday morning.

So churches sometimes take a period, usually a few days, to work on “spiritual renewal.” In former days, we called that a “revival,” and invited an “evangelist” in to “get people saved.” Congregations invited me in as an evangelist, but my purpose wasn’t getting people “saved,” as a one-off. I tried to help people learn the ways of listening for God, and continuing to do so. I tried to help people learn who and where they are in the story God is telling.

Anyway, I was staying in the guest room of the Rasche’s house, and Shelly showed me her studio. She was an unknown artist then, but her work was so delightful. I immediately saw The Out of Place Angel there.

 

Her name is Miranda. Not sure why. She is a little girl angel. Never where she was supposed to be. The other angels were exasperated by that, but they put up with her, because God loved her and forgave her for always being in the wrong place.

The problem was with the Herald Angels. They were sent to earth to proclaim the birth of Jesus, and Miranda was some place else when it was time to go, so they left without her. When she realized what had happened, she flew all over the world trying to find where she was supposed to be.

 In desperation, whenever she found a baby being born in humble circumstances, she just went ahead and proclaimed the birth of Christ and the time of God’s acceptance. In mangers in hot deserts, and frozen tundra, and flat prairies… everyplace. When she got back to heaven, the other angels were really upset. She had messed up God’s best plan. But God understood that she had really carried out the divine plan. I said it better in the book, because I was writing for children.

Anyway, Shelly liked the story, and created the most marvelous pictures of Miranda doing her thing, out of place. Alas, no publisher was willing to take the book, by an unknown author and an unknown artist. Even without Miranda, though, Shelly has become quite well known. You can find her on the internet.

I still recognize little Miranda whenever I encounter her. Always out of place, but always proclaiming the good news.

 

John Robert McFarland

BETTER THAN SANTA-A Christmas Repeat [Su, 12-24-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter: BETTER THAN SANTA-A Christmas Repeat [Su, 12-24-23]

 

I post this every Christmas, not just because it features my favorite granddaughter--although that is enough reason for a grandpa--but because it is the best explanation of Christmas that I know…

As Christmas approached, when Brigid was four years old, she said to her mother, “You know, Santa and Grandpa are a lot alike. Santa has a bald head, and Grandpa has a bald head. Santa has a white beard, and Grandpa has a white beard. Santa brings toys, and Grandpa brings toys. But Grandpa is better, because he stays and plays.”

That is the message of Christmas, the birth of Christ into the world. God is not just some Santa, hurrying across the roof of the world, stopping just long enough to throw some goodies down the chimney. In Jesus, the Christ, God stays, and plays.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

GOD LOVES YOU. YES, YOU! [R, 12-21-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of  Winter—GOD LOVES YOU. YES, YOU! [R, 12-21-23]

 

If I have but one thing to say to you, it is this: God loves YOU.

Not God loves everybody, because you may not be included in everybody.

Its the same as Black Lives Matter. Many people get caught up in proper grammar and forget that proper grammar often gets lost in reality. 

Saying All Lives Matter leaves black people out. They have never been included in all. If we say that Black Lives Matter, that is when we say that all lives matter, that is when black folk are finally included.

Semantics? No, reality!

Like most of the good stuff I know, I learned that from Helen. All of this comes out of remembering what Helen said to me one day when I was trying to figure some way to preach about one of those stories that no one listens to because they think they already know all about it—like the garden of Eden, or Noahs Ark, or Jonah & the Whale, or The Good Samaritan, or The Prodigal Son, or… especially at this time of year, the birth of Jesus.

Helen said, “You worry too much about that. You have only one thing to do when you preach, and that is to remind us that God loves us.”

I belong to an inclusive church congregation. Not everyone feels included there, though, because some folks feel that they do not deserve inclusion. If you don’t think you should be included, you aren’t, regardless of the good intentions of the includers.

So I don’t say to those, God loves everybody, because they don’t want to be part of everybody. To them I have to say, God loves you!

Others simply want to be left out. They are loners, and feel comfortable that way. We don’t include them unless we respect their desire not to be included. For them, non-inclusion is inclusion.

Semantics? No, reality.

So I don’t say to those, God loves everybody, because they don’t want to be part of everybody. To them I have to say, God loves you!

The message of Christmas is simple: God loves you!

John Robert McFarland

 

 

 

CHRISTMAS IS A TIME OF NEW LISTENING [M, 12-18-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter: CHRISTMAS IS A TIME OF NEW LISTENING [M, 12-18-23]

 

When my mother was in the nursing home, she talked all the time of how she wanted to go home. The problem was that there was no one at home who could take care of her.

 She couldn’t do even the most basic things for herself, and Dad was 89 years old and almost totally blind. He had worked hard at caring for her, and for their house, but he was worn out. We went over often to help, but we lived three hours away. She needed daily care. I still remember the day he was waiting for us on the porch when we arrived. “I just can’t do it anymore,” he said. “You’ve got to put her into a nursing home.”

It wasn’t just the physical care that had worn on my father. Mother didn’t appreciate what he did. She belittled him all the time. He was just ground down.

But after we got her into the nursing home, he started feeling guilty about it. He knew she hated it there. He couldn’t even go see her very often.  He couldn’t drive. It was a small town without taxis or public transportation. Helen and I both had jobs, hers M-F, at least, and I worked weekends.

He began to forget how unpleasant she was to live with. He started to get his strength back. He asked us to take him to get her to bring her home for Christmas.

We didn’t think it was a good idea, but when it’s your parents, you do a lot of things you think are bad ideas. We took him to see her. He was going to surprise her with the good news of “going home.” He started to tell her about how he was there to take her home for Christmas. But as soon as he started, she broke in. More out of habit than anything else, I think, she began to criticize him. One of her favorite phrases was, “Old man, you don’t know anything…” and then she would detail all the things he didn’t know. That’s what she did that day. He never got the chance to take her home, to give her what she wanted. As she railed at him, he finally muttered, “Well, you can just stay in this damn place then.” She didn’t hear even that. She wasn’t listening.

Christmas is a time of remembrance and nostalgia, but it’s important to remember that was not what the first Christmas was about. It was about a totally new start. A start of unlikely listening. Like angels singing. And a proclamation of peace on earth. We won’t hear it if we’re too busy talking. We’ll miss what we most want to hear.

John Robert McFarland

I don’t want to give the wrong impression of Mother. She saw things in her own way, but she was not a mean person in general. She liked people. She could be quite nice to anyone…except her husband. They were the model couple for “can’t live with and can’t live without.”

 

CHRISTMAS YEARNING [F, 12-15-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—CHRISTMAS YEARNING [F, 12-15-23]

 

I sometimes think that I became a preacher just so I could do a Christmas sermon. Or, maybe more accurately, I have always preached Christmas sermons all year long. My theology is always rooted in Christmas. I don’t need lighted trees and manger scenes to preach a Christmas theology.

By Christmas theology I don’t mean the emotional feel of warm family scenes and an evening church service lighted only by candles. I mean the theology of the presence of God that comes to us in human form, even in, perhaps especially in, a little baby.

Or maybe I became a preacher only because I was “just a story-teller,” and Christmas is the quintessential time for stories.

In my early churches, I basically tried to tell the birth of Jesus story as my Christmas Eve sermon, rail against commercial Christmas, try to force onto people “the true meaning of Christmas.” Folks were nice. They didn’t much care what I said. They didn’t come to church on Christmas Eve to hear a sermon. They came for the candles and “Silent Night.”

I began to understand that it was both useless and disrespectful to try to make them think about Christmas the way I thought they should.

So I began to write a Christmas short story to use as my sermon on Christmas Eve. They were never specifically about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. I thought I might get people to open up to the presence of God in a secular story that pulled them into the Christian story in an unexpected way.

Thinking back now, having written those five rather boring paragraphs above, I realize that I wanted to preach a Christmas sermon when I first started because I had what I thought was a perfect “illustration,” and it just seemed like a sin to have an illustration and not use it.

My family had a cardboard nativity set. We’d fold the figures flat at the end of each season and store them in their box for next year. We had gotten them out for Christmas of… 1955? We always set them up on the top shelf of our one bookcase, the one Uncle Bob, from whom I get my middle name, made in shop class in high school in Oxford, Ohio around 1930. It is plain but very sturdy. Helen has it in her study. [Please forgive the personal history excursion.]

Anyway, my little brother, then about ten years old, had received a gift in one of those dollar-sized envelopes with an oval in the middle so that you could see what money denomination you had received. It came in a Christmas card. He took the bill out and casually tossed the special envelope over his shoulder.

It landed in the nativity set. Right in front of the baby Jesus.

I was astounded. It was just perfect! I had just discovered that some people thought Christmas was all about gifts and such and not about Jesus. I was shocked. “Commercialization!” I was the first person who realized Christmas was being commercialized. And here was the perfect illustration of it, a money envelope obscuring Jesus. Oh, I just had to tell someone…

In case you haven’t noticed, a lot of folks don’t “put Christ into Christmas.” That’s okay. He’s there, anyway… in the gifts, and the cookies, and the family gatherings, and even those durn gift cards. Especially in the yearning of little children. Definitely, Christ is in all the yearning of the season.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

A CHRISTMAS LITANY [T, 12-12-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—A CHRISTMAS LITANY [T, 12-12-23]

 

[I apologize for the absent photo just above. It was a picture of the 1944 Book of Worship. I don't know why it didn't print.] Now it's W, 12-13, and, as you can see in the Comments--unless you can't see Comments--Katie says she can see the picture. So I've gotten this site up again for myself, and sure enough, there it is. Gmail has saved Christmas!]

I appreciate contemporary versions of the Bible and worship books. Sometimes, though, especially at a time like Christmas, the old “stilted” language is so long forgotten that it brings new meanings via the old words. So it is, I think, with this Christmas Litany from the 1944 Methodist Book of Worship for Church and Home, a book that Bishop Richard Raines gave to me when I was ordained. I used it in ministry in my early years, and use it still for personal worship.

A CHRISTMAS LITANY

 

Glory to God in the highest.

 

And on earth peace, good will toward men.

 

O God, thou art our salvation; we will trust and not be afraid. Thou art our strength and our song.

 

Therefore with joy we shall draw water out of the wells of salvation.

 

We thank thee for the birth of Jesus, that thy spirit was upon him, that he was anointed to preach good tidings to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, the recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those that are bruised.

 

Help us to make the present time the acceptable year of the Lord.

 

O God, enable us as we worship thee to kindle with the joy of simple shepherds long ago at the thought of all that came into the world with the birth of Jeus Christ.

 

Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.

 

Help us, O God, in the light of the shining star to realize the wastes and desolations of the world, to feel the weight of the world’s sorrow and need, to be made aware of the power of evil, to see what spiritual loss is made by man’s hatred and sin.

 

Help us with the spirit of Jesus to build the old wastes and to raise up the former desolations.

 

Forgive us, O God, for our weariness of heart through great conflict and exertion. Suffer us not to become creatures and nations of selfishness, of narrow, foolish pride; marred with hardness of heart, and weakened by fear and suspicion.

 

Grant unto us that we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies may serve thee without fear.

 

Over the face of the ancient earth, weary and torn with strife, the passing generations have come and are gone, and have not seen the triumph of good will among me; yet we give thanks for the unceasing renewal of life born to new hopes and strong to achieve new victories of good.

 

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder.

 

In the light of the shining star that giveth happiness to little children and cheer to all, help us to renew for that good time when none shall be far off or forgotten, but shall live within the circle of the blessed life.

 

May the dayspring from on high visit us, to give light to them that sit in darkness, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Amen.

 

John Robert McFarland

TRENDING [Sat, 12-9-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—TRENDING [Sat, 12-9-23]

 

These days, “trending” is an almost holy word. Open up a web site of any kind and they’ll tell you what is trending, as though it’s somehow important just because a lot of folks are falling for it.

Have you noticed the new trend in outside house lights, like for porches and beside garage doors? They look like flames flickering. I thought our neighbor’s house was on fire! Not so. I think these new lights must be an homage to the Moses story in Exodus. The fire keeps burning, but the fixture is not consumed.

Which reminds me of a contemporary trend I’m told about but have not observed myself. Young preachers, especially women, preach barefoot, because in that burning bush story, Moses was told to take off his shoes because he was standing on holy ground. It makes me worry about what they might take off when they are preaching about the Garden of Eden story.

I don’t know why it’s mainly young women who preach barefoot. Maybe avoiding high heels? That would certainly be a relief to their Achilles tendons.

These worship trends happen every once in a while. Some seminary professor gets a burr under the saddle about being “authentic,” which means literal. When I was in seminary, the trend was not mentioning the deceased in a funeral service, because it was a worship service, and worship was to be about God only. That might work in a seminary chapel. It definitely does not in a normal congregation. I found that out the hard way.

Another trend was treating a wedding as a worship service. It’s about God, not the couple, or their marriage. So the officiant should preach a long boring sermon about the place of God in marriage. I never tried that, but I have seen it done. Not quite sure how it came out, since I went to sleep.

Now the trend is not to light the Peace candle in the Advent wreath, since the world is so non-peaceful right now, especially in the “holy” land. But isn’t that exactly when we need the peace candle? And the Prince of Peace?

Seminary students assume their profs know what they’re talking about. So they try to be “authentic.” They don’t know that the reason these people are seminary profs is that a congregation would not put up with their “authenticity.”

When our granddaughter was in kindergarten, she reported to her mother one day that a classmate had been sent to the principal’s office because he called another child a “tootiehead.” “Do you know what a tootiehead is?” Katie asked. “No, but apparently the teacher does.”

No, I’m not saying that seminary profs are tootieheads. It’s literally true that “some of my best friends are…” This simply happened to come up next in my story queue. Just like Brigid’s teacher, though, I’m sure God knows who the tootieheads are.

John Robert McFarland

 

HOMEWARD BOUND—Retired Preacher Version [With apologies to Paul Simon]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter: HOMEWARD BOUND—Retired Preacher Version [With apologies to Paul Simon]

 

I’m sitting here with a morning candle

Trying hard to get a handle

On what it means to follow that Jesus man

A Bible and an up-raised hand

The joy of a raggedy Gospel band [1]

Preacher still ready to take a stand

 

Oh, homeward bound

Yes, homeward bound

Home with the words of praying

Home with God’s music playing

Home where my friends are waiting

Smiling just for me

 

Every day was an endless stream

Of sin redeemed and hopeless screams

Problems beyond the reach of me

Broken people with broken dreams

And every childhood face I’d see

Reminded me that I wanted to be

 

Oh, homeward bound

Yes, homeward bound

Home with the words of praying

Home with God’s music playing

Home where my friends are waiting

Smiling just for me

 

This morn I’ll say the words again

Of Christ’s salvation and the devil’s sin

But all my words come back to me

In irrelevance and mediocrity

But I can still sing poetry

I have memories to comfort me

 

Oh, homeward bound

Yes, homeward bound

Home with the words of praying

Home with God’s music playing

Home where my friends are waiting

Smiling just for me

 

John Robert McFarland

If you don’t remember the tune, you can listen to Simon & Garfunkle sing the original on YouTube.

1] Jim Manley [James K.] has been my friend for almost 60 years, ever since I heard his first album, “Raggedy Band,” and persuaded him to come all the way from Hawaii to sing for the students in my Wesley Foundation [campus ministry] at IL State U. 

 

 

CHRISTMAS IS THE HEART OF CHRISTIAN FAITH [12-3-23, First Sunday of Advent]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter--CHRISTMAS IS THE HEART OF CHRISTIAN FAITH [12-3-23, First Sunday of Advent]

To me, Christmas has always been the heart of Christian faith. Not Good Friday, the crucifixion [salvation]. Not Easter, the resurrection [eternal life]. No, it’s Christmas, the birth [presence].

O Come, or come, Emmanuel.  Emmanuel means “God with us.” The Presence of God is the Present of God. That’s what Christmas is about.

I don’t understand the theology of salvation. How does the death of Jesus save people? Yes, there’s the legalism, that God is holy, and we are not, so there has to be a sacrifice, and we are not worthy to sacrifice, so Jesus does it on our behalf… All that stuff maybe made sense, back in the days when folks thought in terms of Hebrew sacrifice theology, and Roman legalistic theology [Well, somebody has to be punished for sin!], and pecking order “honor” theology.

We need to give up the word, “salvation.” God does not save us from anything. God goes through it with us.

I don’t understand the theology of resurrection. Especially the part about Jesus coming again… soon… or maybe not soon, but… can we date it… oh, Jesus, how this talk about you coming again has tied the church in knots! Is there a heaven “up there,” or anyplace else, that we go to for eternal life, when this life is over? Is there a hell “down there,” where people are tormented forever by a merciful God… oh, wait, that’s not mercy.

Aren’t we supposed to live life now in God’s presence, with God’s help, and trust God for whatever comes next? Isn’t that faith? Isn’t that hope?

Resurrection at its best is simply an acknowledgement that Jesus isn’t off somewhere else. He was the love of God with us on earth, and he still is. Easter is simply an exclamation point for Christmas.

Salvation and resurrection theologies have become reasons to divide people into the okay and the not-okay, the saved and the damned, us and them. From the start of time, people thought religion was about exclusion—we are the chosen, or the saved, or the true believers, and you are not. Jesus said, “No.” Religion, faith, is about including everybody. And Christians immediately said, “Oh, that’s right, we’ve got to exclude everybody who doesn’t believe what Jesus said.”

For two thousand years faith in Jesus hasn’t been about living the Jesus life, but believing stuff about Jesus. Stuff that divides us, that keeps us away from the Presence.

Our friend, Suzanne, when she was a young woman, was kidnapped and raped, repeatedly, by a huge man. Six feet seven inches. 250 pounds. All the time he was raping her, he told her that when he was through, he would murder her. She said, “I didn’t pray for anything but God’s presence. I said, I don’t care if I die, God, as long as you don’t leave me. If you are with me, if you stay with me, I can get through this.”

Decorate a tree. Buy some presents. Sing about snow. Whatever. Kitchy, commercial, or whatever, it’s Christmas. It’s all about the presence of God with us. That’s all we need.

John Robert McFarland

Suzanne’s story is not private. She is a preacher who tells this story publicly.

 

 

THE SALVATION OF INCLUSION [F, 12-1-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—THE SALVATION OF INCLUSION [F, 12-1-23]

 

You already know this, but I have to think this through for myself from time to time, and I do my thinking by writing. That’s the way I find out what I’m thinking. So…

…the theme of my life has been inclusion. I wanted to be included. If you want to be included, it makes no sense to leave anyone else out.

There are those who do, though. Like J.D. Vance, of Hillbilly Elegy. They fume at being left out. Claim it’s an injustice. Then, once they are in, they try to keep others out. I understand it psychologically, but not rationally.

I had a big extended family. My mother was one of 8 children, my father one of 7. Until I was 4, my immediate family often lived with my paternal grandparents, because it was Great Depression days. I learned that inclusion had the best chance in a wide circle.

If you try to get included in a small circle, and you are rejected, the hurt and shame are great. If you try for inclusion in a big circle, even if you are rejected in one place, you might be accepted somewhere else.

In our small nuclear family of four, I often felt excluded. Our parents spent so much energy trying to work out their relationship that they often had none left over for my older sister and me. [My younger siblings came almost ten years later.] Mary V was a great older sister, including me in her love and concern, but almost 5 years older, she often wanted time to herself or with other girls her age. I was often left on my own, roaming the streets of Indianapolis at age 8 and 9, looking for some place to belong. I liked to roam especially in the winter, when lights came on early, because I could look into the houses as I walked by on the sidewalk and see scenes of inclusion. In those houses, I could imagine that everyone was included. In my own house, I felt that was not true.

In my early years, until we moved to the farm near Oakland City when I was 10, I just wanted to be included. I didn’t want responsibility for including others, leadership of the circle. Likewise, I was afraid of exclusion, so I didn’t try hard for inclusion, for fear of rejection. I mostly looked on from the outside.

But Oakland City was a different world. I didn’t need my small family circle. Kids on the school bus and in my class thought it was not only acceptable but good to have a new kid. I had friends. My circle was widening. I saw new possibilities. I not only enjoyed inclusion, but I wanted to extend it to others. Big circles were best. I wanted to have a role in making the circle bigger.

I think that is why I was elected class president our first three years of high school, [and would have been for a fourth had I not thought I should relinquish the presidency to concentrate on editing the school newspaper, since I was planning a career in journalism.] I knew the names of everybody in the class, and I called them all by name. I made sure that each got a personal invitation whenever there was a class party or other event. I was everybody’s friend.

I think that is why I became a preacher. Yes, I traded my life for my sister’s, but that was the mechanism, not the impetus. In the real church, everyone is included. everyone in the world. That’s what I wanted.

Including people who are usually excluded, such as ethnic or gender minorities, people who are “different,” that has always been a goal for me. But I learned that anyone can feel excluded—the rich and powerful, the poor, the homeless, the everyday workers, the educated, the uneducated, the atheists, the Christians... I wanted to “go to the byways and highways and compel everyone to come inside.” [Luke 14:23]

It makes no sense to me that anyone should be excluded from the world created by a God who was willing to sacrifice the divine self, in Christ, for everyone. I think that inclusion is the definition of salvation.

John Robert McFarland

Biblians & Christians [T, 11-28-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—Biblians & Christians [T, 11-28-23]

 

I heard an Assemblies of God pastor from Louisville interviewed on TV. The occasion was an upcoming Sunday at his church called, if I remember correctly, “Open Carry Sunday,” for which people were invited to bring their loaded guns [yes, loaded was specified] to church. The invitation poster shown on TV had several phrases like “They won’t take our guns away.”

The interviewer asked if this were not contrary to Christian theology. The pastor replied in a rational-sounding way along these lines:

“Pacifism is not the only Christian tradition. For instance, “turn the other cheek” might be more a matter of dealing with dishonor than with personal protection. We believe in the whole Bible, the Old Testament as well as the New. We believe that God covenanted in this way.”

Then he said specifically, “We do not live by the red words alone.”

The red words, of course, are the words of Jesus in the red-letter editions of the New Testament.

For quite a while there has been a growing chasm between Christians called “conservative” and those called “liberal” or “progressive.” We notice the end result of that chasm first—a 90-to-180-degree difference--on social concerns such as abortion, homosexuality, guns, taxes-economy, poverty, AIDS, war, torture. It is reasonable to ask: How can people who read the same Bible and claim the same Christ come to such different conclusions?

The answer is that we do not claim the same Christ. Conservative Christians [and I use that term only descriptively, not pejoratively] are really not Christians; they are Biblians. I am trying to use that as a descriptive rather than pejorative term, too. Christ-ians believe in Christ as the full revelation of God. Biblians believe in the Bible as the full revelation of God.

Biblians believe that the “black” words of the Bible have equal revelatory quality with the “red” words. 

This is not new, of course. Many churches have advertised themselves for a long time as “Full Bible” churches, meaning the black words have equal weight with the red words, although they have rarely said it that way.

There is a great deal of difference in claiming that Christ is the Word of God or that the Bible is the Word of God.

The problem is what Bible scholar Hans Frei referred to as “the eclipse of Biblical narrative.”

Biblians are basically anti-narrative. There is no movement in the Bible. Every word of the Bible has equal weight with every other, no matter where it comes in the story. There is no progress from Moses to Jesus. The Ten Commandments are equal to—and often held higher—than John 3:16.

I am tempted to say that Bible believers should call themselves Biblians instead of Christians, but that would be both arrogant and useless. I do think these are two different faiths, however.

I am sure, however, that Biblians will never call themselves that, and will continue to call themselves Christians, but I would like to be able to distinguish myself from that sort of Christianity.

Yes, I “believe” in the Bible. I study it. I learn from it. But Jesus is not just one of several “Christian traditions,” as the Louisville pastor put it. Jesus is the Christ. The Bible is not the Christ. The red words always supersede the black words. The black words are equal to the red words only if you are a Biblian, not if you are a Christ-ian.

John Robert McFarland

 

I have written about this before, but it’s like going to church: we don’t hear anything we don’t already know, but it’s good to be reminded.

 

 

 

LIFE IS PERSONAL [Sat, 11-25-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections On Faith & Life for The Years Of Winter—LIFE IS PERSONAL [Sat, 11-25-23]

 

When I was the ten-year-old new kid on the school bus, one of my fellow riders, about my age, said, “My father says that the worst white man is still better than the best black man.”

He said it like he wanted to believe his father, but as though it didn’t sound quite right. I didn’t say anything, even though I knew it wasn’t right, because I was afraid to talk in those days. I knew it was wrong, though, because I lived in the real world, the world of facts and knowledge and logic and common sense. I knew what was going on.

That surprised my teachers during my first four school years in Indianapolis. In their report card comments, they noted that I could not spell and I could not write and I could not read and I could not talk, including the obligatory reading aloud.

They also all commented, however, on how well-informed I was in social studies and current events. How could a kid who couldn’t read or write or spell or talk know that much?

I think that was because those were WWII years, and my beloved uncles, the younger brothers of my parents, were in the army and air force and navy and marines. The whole family listened each night to H.V. Kaltenborn on the radio, to the news of all the theaters of the war.

That led me to seek out news of the world in other places. I listened, and I learned. So I was not taken in by that “any white man is better” stuff. I knew about George Washington Carver and Booker T. Washington. And I knew how to think.

That school bus experience was 20 years before the Civil Rights movement. I learned that a lot of people believed the same way as my school bus friend’s father, as non-sensical as it was. They wanted to believe it because it meant that they always had someone they could look down on, regardless of how miserable and unsuccessful their own lives were.

That’s why Donald Trump is so appealing to many people, despite the common sense that he is a charlatan and scammer. Trump claims he is successful and wealthy when he isn’t. We identify with that. We want to think we are successful and wealthy even though we aren’t. Trump claims that he gets cheated out of what is rightfully his. We identify with that. We feel like we get cheated out of ours, too. Trump claims that he is better and more deserving that others just because of who he is, not because of merit. We identify with that. We want to believe that about ourselves, too.

It is easier for us to relate to a person than to a theory or to reason. Christians should understand that. After all, we have Jesus. He’s easier to related to than some distant God. The more out of control your life is, the more you need to simplify. The easiest simplification is through relating to a person. “Save me, Jesus! Come, Lord Jesus. He lives!”

That’s why so many people claim that Hitler or Elvis or whoever their savior is still lives. We want, need, some PERSON, who can go with us through the valley of the shadow of death…without any of those black people or gay people or educated people who think they’re better than we are.

I suppose my grade school teachers would be surprised that I lived my life as a talker, and as a writer. I hope they would not be surprised that most of that talking and writing was to say that we do have a Person to whom we can hitch our wagons, and that the best white man and the best black man should walk together to help everyone be better.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

ON THE ROAD AGAIN [W, 11-22-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—ON THE ROAD AGAIN [W, 11-22-23]

 

It’s time for holiday travel. I always dreaded it. I’m the only person in our family who actually knows how to get out of the house. Nobody in my family can just get into a vehicle and go.

My parents spent several weeks living with us while my father had colon cancer surgery. We took Mother back to their house, 125 miles away, before we were able to take Daddy [all four of us kids called him that forever], since he had to have a second surgery for reattachment, and she wanted to be at home. When we were able to take Daddy home, too, we found Mother lying on the floor, where she had been for several hours because she had fallen and could not get up. She rebuffed our attempts to call an ambulance. We did anyway. She told the EMTs she would not go. They said she would. So she said, “Well, let’s stop at Hilltop Restaurant on the way. I’ll pay.” Anything to delay actually going.

When all the good-byes have been said, and the coats and boots are on, that’s the time to bring out the odd piece of furniture to add to the already strained trunk, or go pick a peck of tomatoes to take along, or argue about who should take how much of some left-over food in the refrigerator, or discuss at whose house the gathering for the next holiday will be, and who will bring what. All while standing at the door in a parka.

And it’s not just getting on the way that is the problem. It’s staying on the way. We used to do trips with two daughters, from when they were babies through teen years, with my parents, who were always old. It wasn’t a car full of people; it was a car full of bladders. And every one of them was on a different schedule for rest stops.

When it is time to go to bed, I think a person should get into bed, but I’m wrong. That’s when one is supposed to pull the sheets tighter and beat the hell out of the pillows, which is called fluffing the pillows.

I personally have always been eager to get on the road, to make good time [we’re totally lost but we’re making good time], to see what comes next, which is one reason I’ve never feared death.

Yet when Charon, the ferryman on the river Styx, comes to collect me, I suspect I’ll say, “Why don’t we stop at Hilltop first? I’ll pay.”

 

John Robert McFarland

NOVEMBER MISCELANY: Humility, Memory, Sanctuary, A Different Way [Sun, 11-19-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—NOVEMBER MISCELANY: Humility, Memory, Sanctuary, A Different Way [Sun, 11-19-23]

 

HUMILITY

Early in his ministry, Dr. John Wilkey included a Greek word in his sermon, sure that his country congregation would know nothing of it and he would thus look quite smart. After the service, Miss Ruth Tapper, known to Dr. Wilkey only as a retired teacher, corrected his pronunciation of the word. Turned out Miss Tapper was Dr. Tapper, with a doctorate in ancient Greek lit!

That was an early lesson in humility for Dr. Wilkey. Similar to that of legendary sports writer Bob Hammel. He was writing for his hometown newspaper when he was so young that his mother had to drive him to events. Once he was not sure of the first name of the game’s high scorer, but he was in a hurry. So he did not look it up. He guessed at Jack. It was actually Tom. He ran into Tom years later. He opened up his billfold and pulled out the newspaper clipping with his wrong name. That was 68 years ago. They became good friends, but whenever Tom writes to Bob, he always signs as Jack. Bob says, “Fortunately, I learned very early that a good reporter never guesses.”

MEMORY

An older woman out in public ran into an old friend she hadn’t seen for a long time. They started chatting, decided to have coffee, etc. She kept trying to think of the other woman’s name and just couldn’t. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t remember your name. Will you tell me, please, what your name is?” The other woman thought and then asked, “How soon do you need to know?”

The older we get, the more relevant that joke is. We just don’t remember very well. If we remember at all, it’s a lot slower than it used to be.

SANCTUARY

Coaches, preachers, teachers, executives… these often share a common approach. They think, and often like to repeat, “it’s my way, or the highway.”

I intuitively knew better when I started preaching. Or perhaps it was just because I was young, nineteen, and knew I was ignorant. For whatever reason, for my whole career, when I became the “new” preacher, I did not try to change what I inherited. Until there was some good reason to do so.

A good reason always came, because nothing remains static. Situations change, and churches have to change in order to meet them. So do governments and schools and businesses and…

When I became the preacher at the Tampico, IL UMC, I inherited a little chorus that they always sang to start the service. I had heard it before, but never used it regularly. But I enjoyed singing with those folks… Lord, prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I’ll be a living, sanctuary, for you. Tampico was the last of my every-Sunday, year-long appointments, although I did a couple of shorter interim pastorates after that. I’ve not heard a congregation sing it in my 20 years since Tampico. But I sing it every day myself, to start my day, and, with the marvel of memory, each time I sing it with those good folks of the Tampico church.

A DIFFERENT WAY

At some point, old age is not just more of the same; it is a different way.

A different way of thinking, of remembering, of hoping, of faithing. I can’t explain that in words, but if you are old enough, you understand. If not, just enjoy your bliss.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

LIVING IN A FLYING COFFIN [R, 11-16-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter--LIVING IN A FLYING COFFIN [R, 11-16-23]

 

The father of our Iron Mountain friend, Lola, was killed in WWII. Her mother had three children and no place to live, so moved in with her husband’s bachelor brother. Even though there was no “relationship,” people talked, and the brother felt that to preserve his reputation [That was a real thing back in the 1940s.] his new family should move out. So, they did, except the only place they could find to live was in a glider left over from the factory there that made them.

There was a lot of ready timber in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, so for the first half of the 20^th century, it was the place where unique creations were made from wood.

First came Henry Ford’s Model T cars. Henry wanted to have a factory in the UP where everything was in one place. He had a foundry that used the iron ore mined right there to make the steel for his cars. He had a saw mill that made the wood parts for the cars, like floorboards. He had an assembly plant that put them all together. It would create three thousand jobs. He thought that Iron Mountain should provide all the infrastructure for his factory, like roads and water supplies, without cost to him. The IM city fathers balked. Henry was not one to dither with negotiations [which helps explain his support for Hitler] so he just had his cousin’s husband, a man named Kingsford, create a sister city to Iron Mountain, by the name of Kingsford, a city that would do as Ford insisted.  Interestingly, the Kingsfords never moved, always lived in Iron Mountain. We went by their house every time we walked grand-dog Ernie.

The “woody” Ford station wagons were made at that Kingsford factory, which was always referred to as being in Iron Mountain, even though it wasn’t. When you process a lot of wood, you end up with charcoal, and thus the Kingsford brand used by every backyard BarBQ expert. Like everything else, though, that starts out in a small Midwest town, that charcoal is now made in California.

After the Model T came WW II, and the need for wooden gliders, stealth airplanes, known as “flying coffins,” since they had no motors, and pilots had minimal control. They were made in the Kingsford Ford factory.

The war ended before all the gliders were finished, so, shamed by the town for living with her brother-in-law, Lola’s mother just moved her children into an abandoned, not-quite-finished glider behind the factory.

It turned out that living in a glider was even more scandalous than living with your brother-in-law. It made people face their own narrow-mindedness and lack of neighborliness. They didn’t like what they saw, and as we usually do, they blamed it on the victims.

“They live like that because they want to.” “Nah, nah, nah na na, you live in a glider.” “They’re not willing to work.” You know, stuff like that, even though the victims were finding a workable, albeit unusual, solution. But only certain solutions are acceptable in a self-righteous society.

I think my first reaction, when I heard Lola telling this story in a presentation at our Bay De Noc Community College-West LIFE group was, “Why hasn’t anyone made this into a children’s book?” Wouldn’t that be great? [LIFE = Learning Is For Ever]

Apparently, though, I got to thinking about that so much that I cannot remember how the story came out. Except I knew the little glider girl when she had become one of the smartest and most knowledgeable and articulate persons in Iron Mountain.

You can always turn the tables on small-minded detractors by taking the object of their derision and turning it into a really good story. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be able, when you are “mature,” to say that you grew up in a flying coffin? That’s what Lola did.

John Robert McFarland

The photo above is of the Kingsford Ford factory producing the gliders.

 

 

 

 

A TIME BEFORE THE SNAKE [M, 11-13-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—A TIME BEFORE THE SNAKE [M, 11-13-23]

 

There was a time

before the snake…

 

            And do not discount the snake

                        It is not innocent

                                    claiming to be only an image in a story

                                    saying, “I gotta be me.”

                                    No one ever says “I gotta be me”

                                    to explain good behavior

            No, it had its choices

            and it chose evil

            not just for itself

                        that would be bad enough

            but for everyone

            all the innocent little

boys and girls

who would wake up, grown up

and find themselves

            east of Eden

and in finding themselves there

would know in the finding

            their lostness

 

Anyway, as I said

            there was a time

            before the snake…

 

John Robert McFarland