SWEARING FOR LENT [F, 3-8-2

 

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Curses of An Old Man--SWEARING FOR LENT [F, 3-8-25]

 

 

In my constant search for Lenten disciplines that will help me grow spiritually, I came across this fascinating article in The 7, [daily email] of The Washington Post of 3-4-25.

“Experts” are suggesting that swearing might be good for you. “It can increase pain tolerance, bolster social bonds, improve memory, and alleviate the social pain of rejection. An expert suggests trying it out by cursing steadily while performing a painful task.”

It is interesting that this article followed several about the activities of Donald Trump.

It seems to me that “the social pain of rejection” might be a Catch 22, since a lot of social rejection comes because of cursing, but what do I know; I grew up in a culture where emitting a “Hell” was likely to get you sent there.

Since I have quite a bit of pain these days, though, in my right hip…and ankle…and in between, and Extra Strength Tylenol and Penetrex and Physical Therapy seem to be helping only a little, and my social bonds are frayed, because people keep dying, and my memory could use some improvement, and dentists keep rejecting me, because I’m unwilling to pay $500 for a new-patient appointment, [our former dentist retired] I think I’ll try out this cursing method...

Shucky durn! Hells bells! Pig feathers! Golly darn! Holy smoke! Thunderation! By hokies!

By gosh, it helps!

Well, maybe. I was only sitting on my sofa. I’m not sure that qualifies as “…performing a painful task,” since my sofa is already the best pain relief I know. If you have a “painful task” to perform, come over to my house, and I’ll let you sit on the other end of the sofa. [It’s pretty long.] It may do you more good than swearing.  

John Robert McFarland

THE NAMES AND FACES OF HEROES [W, 3-6-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Memories of An Old Man--THE NAMES AND FACES OF HEROES [W, 3-6-25]

 

[Our church, St. Mark’s on the Bypass, has produced a book of Lenten devotional reading, written by folks in the congregation. We were asked to write on “what makes you come alive.” This is my contribution.]

Helen and I were once part of a group of young married couples. It was a friendship group that was a semi-support group. We learned from one another how to be better spouses and parents. One night our leader passed out paper and told us to write our definitions of love. When we were finished, he asked us to read them. These were university people, and there were some beautiful and deeply philosophical definitions of love. I began to feel more and more uncomfortable as they came around the circle to Helen and me.

Finally, it was my turn. My definition of love was: Grandma Mac, Uncle Johnny, Aunt Nora, Helen, Mike Dickey… Then Helen read her definition: Daddy, Mother, Judy, Lucretia… We had just done lists of names. At least we were thinking alike, but it was embarrassing.

Then, though, a strange thing happened. All the other members of the group reached out and took new sheets of paper and began to write lists of names, 

We are inspired by heroes. What makes me come alive now in my old age is the same inspiration that has always enlivened me…Uncle Johnny, Grandma Mac, Helen, Mike Dickey, Jack Newsome, Mary Louise Hopkins…

So many of those are dead now, but we know that death does not conquer love. What makes me come alive is love, and this is always the way I define love, always the way I come alive, by seeing and saying “the names and faces of heroes…”

I start with those of my childhood and youth… Darrell, Carolyn, Don, Anne, Bob, Mary Louise, Mike, Donna, Jim, Mina, Jarvis, Hovey, Wilbur … and keep going through the years. Maybe by the time Lent is over, I’ll have completed the Lenten list, become fully alive, by living in that “great cloud of witnesses.”

John Robert McFarland

The Names and Faces of Heroes is the title of a book by the great southern writer and fellow cancer traveler, Reynolds Price.

Happy Birthday to my North Star, the one whose face has always made me want to be a hero.

 

 

 

A JOMO LENT [T, 3-4-24]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Theology of An Old Man—A JOMO LENT [T, 3-4-24]

 

Tomorrow is the first day of Lent. I think I’ll do a JOMO Lent this year.

That surprises me a little, because I’ve always been a FOMO sort of guy. FOMO is the Fear Of Missing Out.

In our time, however, FOMO actually makes us miss out by taking us into a world that does not exist.

FOMO is why people stare at their screens all day, so they don’t miss out. They walk across streets in traffic, down stairs in the dark, into walls of concrete…all because of FOMO. They put on mismatched socks and backward shirts. FOMO. They stick potato salad in their eye and carrots up their nostrils. FOMO. They give the cat a bath and put the baby outside. FOMO.

But why? What might they miss out on? Nothing real.

That kind of FOMO actually makes us miss out on what is important. It is the opposite of inclusion. It IS missing out. We have FOMO because we want to be included. We fear missing out on inclusion. But you can’t be included on a screen.

We think we can. That’s why we take so many selfies. It still doesn’t work. Our screen-obsession FOMO is actually what causes our epidemic of loneliness. We are included in a false world, and so we miss out on being part of the real world. Our FOMO of missing out on the false world is so great that that we forget about the JOMO which is part of the real world.

JOMO is the Joy Of Missing Out, missing out on the false world. When we start missing out on the false world of the wizard behind the screen, as Dorothy and her friends did in The Wizard of Oz, we begin to know the joy of the real world.

Traditionally, Christians “give up something for Lent,” as a reminder of the sacrifice of Christ. I’m going to give up FOMO. I’ll have a JOMO Lent.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

LITTLE CHRISTS [Sun, 3-2-25[

BEYOND WINTER: The Musings of An Old Man—LITTLE CHRISTS [Sun, 3-2-25[

 

My college and seminary friend, Bob Parsons, did a whole clergy career on the Texas plains. Sometimes he would need to call on a family that lived fifty or so miles away. They were folks who had been Methodists for generations, but as rural populations declined, their local church had closed, and so now they were his parishioners, even though so far away, because he pastored the closest Methodist congregation.

The directions to find those sorts of folks were always interesting, and challenging. “Go out north of town on Dry Creek Road for about five miles. You’ll see two silos at Butch Thompson’s place. Take the first gravel road to the right and go past two cattle guards. When the gravel ends, go another two miles…” Well, you get the idea. Half-way there!

I recall that in those situations, when I was trying to find a remote home that didn’t have a street address, people often gave directions that made no sense to me, because they used landmarks that no longer existed. “Go to where the Western Auto store was before it burned…

Bob said he never minded making those calls, even though the route to get there was confusing, and it was a long way, and took a lot of time, because the folks at the end of that trip were so glad to see him. I felt the same way.

Pastors and doctors and first responders have an automatic welcome. People are glad to see us. Well, not always. Not exactly. I had a friend who had heart problems and relationship problems. Once when I went to see him, he said, “I’m always glad when you come, but every time you do, it means I’m in trouble.”

You don’t need official status to make things better by your presence. My college roommate was not churchly. He respected my faith attempts, and we remained best friends throughout his life, but he was never much interested in religion. He passed that lack of interest on to his children. When he suffered a stroke, Helen and I found out about it and drove the necessary miles to the hospital. His son said later, “We were all so confused and worried, but when you walked in, suddenly it seemed like everything would be okay.”

C.S. Lewis, in his famous Mere Christianity, says that we are to be little Christs to one another, doorways to God, to the eternal.

Some of us have the “little Christ” designation just because it is part of our professional or social identity, but it is meant for each person, a real possibility and calling for each person.

One of my favorite stories is about a missionary in Africa. One morning, a student presented her with an exquisitely carved statue. She knew that people in his village excelled in such carvings, but that the village was many miles away, and he had no transportation. “You must have walked such a long way to get this for me,” she exclaimed. “Long walk is part of gift,” he said.

John Robert McFarland