PRIDE MONTH [M, 6-10-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—PRIDE MONTH [M, 6-10-24]

 

I don’t like Pride Month. People become desperate to show that they don’t hate gay folks. Someone even stole the rainbow ribbon from Helen’s name tag at church.

I don’t think we should have special months for minority groups. Good grief, we’ve got them now for women [not exactly a minority group] and people of color, and Latino heritage, and Pacific & Islands, and…

Tig Notaro, one of my favorite comedians, was recently telling Steven Colbert about driving her kids to school. She and her wife have had twin sons since infancy. [The infancy of the sons, not the mothers.] The boys are almost 8 now. Tig and her wife were in the front seat of the car, and one of them said something about Pride Month. One of the boys suddenly perked up and said, “What? You’re gay?”

He knew he had two mothers. He just hadn’t considered that they were gay.

That’s the way every month should be. We don’t even notice who’s what color or gender or heritage. I mean, straight white guys like me don’t get a special month… oh, wait. We don’t need one, do we?

As Rosanna Rosannadanna used to say, “Never mind.”

John Robert McFarland

IT’S VBS TIME! [Sun, 6-9-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man--IT’S VBS TIME! [Sun, 6-9-24]

 

It was Jonah and the ark

Noah and the whale

Jesus in a basket

Memory verses without fail

 

Wise men with ashes on their feet

Because they came from afar

Their origin was no mystery

It was known as Orientar

 

The waters parting for Goliath

While we ran all 'round the place

Rub a dub, dub, thanks for the grub

That’s how you say your grace

 

The Lord’s some kind of shepherd

Who keeps the sheep from strife

And surely good Miss Murphy

Will follow me all the days of my life

 

We saw them on the flannel board

And on the teacher’s worried face

Stories from the Bible’s page

And Kool-Aids last disgrace

 

It was memorize your verses

And you were sure to get a star

But nothing of the God of now

Just the One beyond afar

 

But you really must be patient

And apply the Golden Rule

To those bedraggled ladies of the church

Who teach Vacation Bible School

 

John Robert McFarland

 

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I probably should not use the title Christ In Winter anymore, since its assumption is that the writer cares about the readers. In fact, the real title now is Beyond Winter, which means the writer is an old man and beyond caring. But I don’t know how to change the CIW title up above, and if anyone looks for this column online, they’ll probably search for CIW, so…

 

 

 

Saturday Prayers [Sat, 6-8-24]

 BEYOND WINTER: An Old Man’s Irrelevant Musings—Saturday Prayers [Sat, 6-8-24]

 

Saturday morning prayers

are hurried affairs

Tossed over the shoulder

on the run

So much Saturday fun

that must be done

That’s why Saturday night dreams

are so extreme

They are prayers, panting,

trying to catch up

 

John Robert McFarland

 

 

 

 

FOLLOW UP TO PERMISSION VS PERSUASION [F, 6-7-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—FOLLOW UP TO PERMISSION VS PERSUASION [F, 6-7-24]

 

Early in my campus ministry days, a prominent, non-denominational campus ministry unit advertised for students to attend an evangelism conference that they were sponsoring. The posters said that they would show you a way to convert anyone to Christ, guaranteed, within 38 seconds.

One of our students went. He reported that the method was getting people to answer a series of questions that were slanted in a way that dictated the answers. Within 38 seconds you got that person to say “Yes” to “So you agree that Jesus is the savior?” They called that evangelism.

Evangelism is not persuasion, especially by argument. “God is never found at the end of an argument.” [2]

Both in personal witness and in preaching, I always tried to present the Christ story/option in such a way that a person could find their own way of responding. I tried to give people permission to experience God. As Jim Manley wrote in his wonderful “Palm Sunday” song, “He must be a mad man, or publicity seeker, or… what we’ve all been waiting for.” [1] In evangelism we give people a chance to see for themselves that Christ is “…what we’ve all been waiting for.”

 

As D. T. Niles put it, in perhaps the best definition of evangelism ever, “Evangelism is one beggar telling another beggar where to find food.”

John Robert McFarland

1] On the “Raggedy Band” album.

2] People called “evangelical” these days, despite that designation, are often not very evangelistic. They are more concerned with keeping people out than bringing people in.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I probably should not use the title Christ In Winter anymore, since its assumption is that the writer cares about the readers. In fact, the real title now is Beyond Winter, which means the writer is an old man and beyond caring. But I don’t know how to change the CIW title up above, and if anyone looks for this column online, they’ll probably search for CIW, so…

 

 

 

 

GIVING PERMISSION TO SUPPORT DEMOCRACY [R, 6-6-24]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—GIVING PERMISSION TO SUPPORT DEMOCRACY [R, 6-6-24]

 

In 1967, I preached a sermon titled “Oxen, Field, And Viet Nam.” [1]

It was based on Jesus’ story of “The Great Banquet.” [2] One by one, the invited guests used an excuse for not coming. “I have a new wife.” [Family is my excuse for skipping your banquet.] “I just bought 6 yoke of oxen and have to try them out.” [Oxen were power in those days, so he was saying, Getting more power is my excuse for skipping your banquet.] The third said, “I just bought a field and have to examine it.” [Getting more stuff is my excuse for skipping your banquet.] [3]

Like almost every other American citizen in the early 1960s, I supported American intervention in Viet Nam, because of the reasons given us by our government. It was going to be a short war, they told us, because our cause was righteous, and by fighting Commies there we wouldn’t have to fight them when they invaded our own shores, and we had the most powerful military in the world. Sounded good. Sounded reasonable.

Boys who were sent to fight in Viet Nam came back and told very different stories about why we were there and what was really going on. I was in campus ministry, so I heard those different stories before most people did. I had to begin to re-examine my position, my reasons, my excuses for supporting that war without really thinking about it.

I knew that the people of First Methodist Church in Normal, Illinois were unanimous in their support of the war. I knew I would get into trouble for questioning our presence in Viet Nam. But I came to the conclusion that I had to make a witness.

I learned that some people in the congregation who heard me began to call others and say, “You need to hear this sermon.” That meant reading it. I didn’t usually use a manuscript, but I did when preaching about controversial subjects, like race and war, so that I could prove exact what I said. And more importantly, what I did not say. People asked for copies, so we mimeographed it. It began to circulate widely.

My witness did not persuade anyone, but it gave others permission. To look at things differently. Witness is always, I think, more about permission than persuasion.

We need to make a witness now. Before November. To give people who are willing to give up on democracy permission to think again. We need to give people who are persuaded by lies and fear permission to think again. We need to give people who think “it’s us against them” permission to think again. We need to give them permission to think beyond the usual excuses.

In the parable Jesus told, when those invited to the banquet made excuses not to come, the host told his servants, “Go to the streets and alleys and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame. Not one of those who made an excuse will get a taste of my banquet.”

John Robert McFarland

1] It was published in The Pulpit Digest.

2] Luke 14:15-24, Matthew 22:1-14.

3] It was almost like the story of the college girls dormitory, back when there was only one telephone on a dorm floor. The girls had posted a list of excuses they could use if an undesirable guy called for a date. “Have to wash my hair.” “Have to study.” “My parents are coming.” Etc. One girl got flustered as she read the list to find an excuse and said, “Oh, number 9.”

I probably should not use the title Christ In Winter anymore, since its assumption is that the writer cares about the readers. In fact, the real title now is Beyond Winter, which means the writer is an old man and beyond caring. But I don’t know how to change the CIW title up above, and if anyone looks for this column online, they’ll probably search for CIW, so…

 

 

MY LIFE IS A WRITING LIFE [W, 6-5-24]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—MY LIFE IS A WRITING LIFE [W, 6-5-24]

 

In yesterday’s column, I wrote of the importance of living in one’s own story. But as I applied that to myself, I made a rather significant mistake. I interpreted living in your own life to mean that you don’t share that story of your life with others. But my story, as it turns out, is sharing the story. My own life, in which I must live, is a writing life.

The difference is not in writing or not writing. It is in the audience. If I live in my own life, I write for myself. If I live in the world—the world of church and society—I need to write for others.

The difference is whether you tell the story with others in mind, or only for yourself. If others are going to hear or read, you must think about their ears and eyes, not only your own. Will this communicate? Is it worth the time of someone else? Can they get inside the story?

That puts on the teller… not a burden. Saying it’s a burden would be an insult to the reader. No, it puts on the writer a responsibility. Can the reader get any benefit from this?

When I wrote about living in one’s own story, I assumed that meant living in my own head, not living in writing. There was an obvious tell, which I totally overlooked. I was WRITING about how I should not write anymore, in order to live my own life. Clearly, to some of my readers, but not yet to me: MY own life, in which I need to live, is a WRITING life.

Okay, I have not explained this well and I’ve mixed CAPS and underlining. I am saying simply that I have to write, but that I am not going to care about whether it does anything for you. Oh, wait, I guess that is really it: I have to write, but I’m so old I don’t have to care if anybody else gets any good out of it.

I think “that idea will preach,” as preachers always say, even though they are usually wrong.

I was never a propositional preacher, anyway, but a prepositional preacher. I think only in stories. As soon as a thought arises, I begin to see it in story form. And those stories will probably get posted here. And if you get nothing from them, or if you’ve heard it all before, well, remember they are just the irrelevant musings of an old man. And you were warned.

So, okay. I’m going to do the exact opposite of not writing. I’m going to post something every day. [Unless I don’t.]

John Robert McFarland

I probably should not use the title Christ In Winter anymore, since its assumption is that the writer cares about the readers. In fact, the real title now is Beyond Winter, which means the writer is an old man and beyond caring. But I don’t know how to change the CIW title up above, and if anyone looks for this column online, they’ll probably search for CIW, so…

 

 

LIVING IN YOUR OWN STORY [T, 5-6-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—LIVING IN YOUR OWN STORY [T, 5-6-24]

 

There is a street sign I pass regularly that proclaims “Arden.” Makes me think of Eve Arden. Makes me think of “Anatomy of a Murder,” in which Eve played defense attorney Jimmy Stewart’s secretary. Makes me think that I am there in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where Jimmy defended Lee Remick’s boyfriend, contemporaries with Jimmy and Eve. Except they were 51 years old then, and I was 51 almost 40 years ago.

When you’re my age, there aren’t many current stories where you can imagine being part of the adventures and banter. Would Sheldon and Leonard want me hanging around? Not likely. Even the curmudgeonly old men in TV shows and movies are the age of my children, not my age!

When I was young, I often imagined myself as a character in a story. Usually as observer but sometimes as a participant.

I think it’s because of radio, specifically The Lone Ranger on radio. Listening to a radio drama, you have to supply the pictures from your own brain. As the masked hero and his faithful friend rode out of the radio speaker in our living room, it was not a long reach to start riding along with them. I probably named my horse Aluminum, since that’s a very cheap version of Silver.

As a kid, you make up your own hero stories. You are the one who makes the winning shot in the NCAA playoffs in your own driveway. Or you stand in the back of the auditorium and see yourself singing on stage. Of course, now those dreams are of hitting it big on Fan Duel. 

As I grew into teen years, my participation in the fictional stories of others became greater. I was the reporter who got “The Big Story.” I was one of the college students joined in singing about “The Halls of Ivy.”

With Bible stories, I was just a listener, until I made a deal with God to be a preacher. Then, as I read the Gospels, I wondered what it was like to follow Jesus around. That, of course, was encouraged by songs like “Were You There?”

I really got into the Jonah story when I was trying to escape that deal. Jonah was trying to get away from a deal with God, and so was I. It wasn’t hard to imagine myself sitting under a gourd plant, hoping God wouldn’t notice me. Of course, God did, and appointed a worm to cut the plant down, just like with Jonah.

But then I got so busy living in my own story that I did not have time to imagine being in others.

In more recent years I’ve had less story of my own and so have started being in other stories again

In particular, I have sat in the corner of The Drovers Arms and observed the characters in “All Creatures Great and Small,” as I pastored the Methodist chapel in East London in “Call the Midwife,” where I have made friends with the Nonnatus House nuns. It’s not a difficult imagining, because London’s Poplar in the 1950-60s is very similar to Chicago’s Pilsen, where I was a social worker and preacher in 1958.

Now I’m at an age where there are no stories because none of the story writers are as old as I am. Writers imagine that old people are either horny or foolish, which says more about the writers than it does about old people, because the writers, through no fault of their young lives, have no way to imagine what the life of old people is like.

It is okay to imagine being in other stories. That’s what dreams and ambitions are, kids in the driveway shooting the winning basket at March Madness, or standing in the back of the music hall and imagining being on stage

But when you’re old, more than any other time, I think, we have to live within our own stories. It’s not a bad place to live.

John Robert McFarland