GOOD TRADE

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

A woman was driving along in the West when she saw a Navajo woman standing by the road. She stopped and offered her a ride. In the car, she saw her rider eyeing the big bottle of whiskey in the back seat. “I got that for my husband,” she said. The Navajo woman nodded wisely. “Good trade,” she said.

When emergency surgery at midnight on my 53^rd birthday revealed colon cancer, and the pale oncologist told me I’d be dead in a year or two, I began to think about my funeral.

It would be grand, for death at 54, or hopefully 55, at the height of one’s career, is tragic. The church would be packed. All my friends would eulogize me. Some would cry. At the end of the service, all my ministry colleagues would gather around my coffin and sing Amazing Grace, although before death I would have crawled into the church and replaced the music in their folders with Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone, and everyone would laugh and say, “Isn’t that just like him?”

I have lived too long now for that to happen, and I live too far away. Many of my friends have already transferred from the church militant to the church triumphant. Those left are not very good singers, or travelers. There will be no singing at my funeral, for there will be only eight people there, and one of them will be paid to come. The paid one will eulogize me, but she will have known me but two years, in my dotage, and will only be able to say that for a curmudgeon, I was a relatively nice old man.

I have lived well beyond the “one or two.” There have been a lot of problems in those years. My parents have died. So has my little sister. Our grandson died three times before he was two. His slightly older sister was traumatized by that, as were we all. My wife got cancer. So did our older daughter. The surgical altering of my colon into a semi-colon means that I have to be up in the morning for four hours before I can leave the house. That schedule has limited my life in many ways for 24 years. 

In that time I have walked my daughters down the aisle. I got to care for our granddaughter in her time of trauma and see her grow into a beautiful and brilliant young woman. I got to care for my parents in their long declining years. I have ministered to many other cancer patients through a book I wrote and in conferences and personally. I went through their cancers and recoveries with my wife and daughter, and saw our grandson cured to become a handsome and multi-talented and appropriate young man. [1]

Old age brings a lot of pains and problems. And loneliness. When I die, there will be no one left who remembers the parsonage in Stanford or Crossroads Church or Uncle Rufus. My funeral will not be grand. In fact, it will be sort of pathetic. As the Navajo woman would say, “Good Trade.”

John Robert McFarland

jmcfarland1721@charter.net

1] Until recently, I had never heard “appropriate” used to describe someone. After a band concert, in which Joe was a clarinetist closest to the audience, a woman said to me, “He is such an appropriate young man. His looks and actions are always appropriate to the occasion.”

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

You don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.

I tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721

Caught Between Word & Words

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

 [John 1:1-18.]

I was singing along with “It Is Well with My Soul” as I walked.  I was struck by the phrase, “…the clouds be rolled back as a scroll.” As I sang along with it, I had sung “like a scroll.” Horatio Spafford [1] used “proper” English when he wrote it in 1873, meaning grammatical English. I had not used proper English when I sang it 139 years later.

I should have known better. At IU when I was in freshman composition, that would have been a “gross illiteracy.” If you committed 3 gross illiteracies in a composition, it was an automatic F.  [2]

During those same 1950s college days, a Winston cigarette commercial that used the phrase, “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should,” caused quite a controversy. Grammarians were offended and protested so much that Winston’s advertising agency actually came out with a new magazine ad wherein an English professor marked through “like” and replaced it with “as” while smiling college students looked on with nicotine addled approval. [Their bright teeth gave lie to the idea that they actually smoked the things.]

I have always been caught between the law and grace of language, wanting to be accurate, keeping the laws of grammar, but also wanting to be creative, using the flexibility of the words to convey old truths in new ways.

That’s our problem, caught between grace and law, even in our language, caught between language by the rules and language in the streets, or these days, language in the tweets. [3]

One of the graces of the English language is its flexibility. We have so many ways to say things. The more arrows we have to shoot at the truth, the more likely we are to hit it once in a while.

The grammar laws are important. They help us to communicate. I cringe when I hear someone say “I could care less,” because they are trying to say the exact opposite, “I could NOT care less.”

Language laws are there, though, not for their own sake, but so that communication will be clear. In common usage, we all know that “I could care less” means “I could not care less.” It’s clear enough.

In the era of tweets and texts and autocorrects, there are no language laws, and meanings are often muddled. Old people don’t much like that. We put in a lot of time learning the rules, so we want folks to use them. Let’s relax a little. The Word doesn’t need laws to be the Word. There are many ways to put the Word into words.

John Robert McFarland

1] The music is by Phillip Bliss.

2] Another gross illiteracy was splitting an infinitive. Now it is almost mandatory to boldly split every infinitive.

3] I’m quite sure I have mentioned this before, and I apologize for doing so again, but I think it’s insightful, and fun. Daughter Katie said years ago, when Vance Law played 3^rd base and Mark Grace played 1^st base for the Cubs, that the reason the Cubs could not win was that they were caught between Grace and Law.

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!

ON THE JERICHO ROAD

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a place of winter For the Years of Winter…

        I’m listening to Kate Campbell singing Three Rusty Nails. The devil has ten thousand lures, she sings, but three rusty nails, that’s the cure, for ten thousand lures. It is a great song, and it makes me miss going to professional conferences.

        Not the conferences themselves. I don’t miss the trivial arguments over irrelevant issues. I miss the fellowship. And I miss driving to get there. And listening to Kate’s CD as I drive.

        Not just driving to conferences. I miss driving to church, too.

        At the start of my preaching career, and at its end, I drove on Sunday mornings to where I would preach, twenty to thirty miles. In those early days, I drove to Solsberry, Koleen, Mineral, Walker’s Chapel, Greene County Chapel. At the end, I drove to Walnut or Tampico or Morrison.

        Throughout, I would drive to retreats and conferences and district meetings.

        Those drives were times of anticipation. The greatest anticipation was being with my friends, feeling that great joy of being with my teammates, sharing stories, being reminded of who I was.

        In the early days I sang as I drove. I especially liked to sing Don S. McCrossan’s Gospel song, “On the Jericho Road.” I sang that in the later days, too, but by then cars had tape and CD players, so I could listen to Kate Campbell and others sing. That’s why listening to Kate now reminds me of those days alone in the car, anticipating with joy that I would once again find out who I was.

        That’s why I went to conferences, and why I go to reunions, and why I go to church—to find out who I am.

        Life is lived in relationships. We know who we are only in relationships to others. I am the son of John and Mildred, the grandson of Harry and Henrietta, of Elmer and Maggie, the brother of Mary and Margey and Jim, the husband of Helen, the father of Mary Beth and Katie, the grandfather of Brigid and Joseph, the father-in-law of Patrick, with too many uncles and aunts and cousins and friends to name, the colleague of even more.

My parents are dead. So is Margey. So are many of my aunts and uncles and cousins and friends and colleagues. Those relationships are gone, in person, but my identity from those relationships remains. My identity is more than just the sum of those relationships, but I am who I am, and remain so, because of them.

I’m still on the Jericho road, listening to the voices that remind me who I am.

John Robert McFarland

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!

X MARKS THE SPOT

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

Finally, a Hymn that Begins With X

[I do meditations by starting with any letter of the alphabet and singing a hymn, what I can remember of it, that starts with that letter, and working all the way through the alphabet that way. I have never been able to find a hymn that begins with X, though, so I decided to write one. X, of course, is the Greek letter Chi, an ancient way of saying Christ. Feel free to sing it if you have a tune…]

[Refrain]

X marks the spot

of the greatest treasure yet,

buried ‘neath the sand of sin and pain.

X marks the spot

where the treasure was revealed,

where the tears of the sinners fell like rain.

[Verse 1]

God is Alpha and Omega,

X reveals the in-between,

the simple mark upon the page or soul.

God is the complex One in Three,

X is the Story heard,

the simple One that makes the broken whole.

[Refrain]

[Verse 2]

God is Awesome and Transcendent,

X walks with us all the way,

making holy every foot of land.

God is Creator and Provider,

X is a nail-pierced hand in mine,

the one who with me always takes his stand.

[Refrain]

[Verse3]

God is Sovereign of the Kingdom,

X is of a peasant born,

hallowing the body and the blood.

God is the mighty hand of judgment,

X is a shelter in the storm,

the one who pulls us from the ‘whelming flood.

[Refrain]

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.]

You don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.

I tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721

Jesus & The 2nd Grizzly

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

                    

Jesus was such a kidder, such an exaggerator.

There is a maxim among story-tellers. If you’re telling a story about fighting a grizzly, and it looks like people aren’t believing you, throw in a second grizzly.

Jesus liked to throw in a second grizzly. Forgiveness? Seven times? How’s about seventy x seven?

He was probably the first one to tell about the man who lied so much he had to get a neighbor to call his hogs.

There are different forms of truth-telling. Factual truth is one of those, but only one. There is also the truth of love and wholeness, and that truth is best told in extravagant terms, just like that story of the prodigal father.

Jesus claimed to be the Truth. Sometimes people don’t hear the truth unless it comes in the form of a second grizzly.

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.]

You don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.

I tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721

I'M THE GORILLA

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

Is there something still to do today, something I may have forgotten?

I lived with that nagging thought for forty years of work. The answer was always Yes! There was always something more to do. I had not necessarily forgotten it. I might have been better off if I could forget it. There was never a day when I did not leave something undone, just because there was too much to do. There was always that nagging feeling of things undone.

That feeling is still there, even though it’s usually wrong. Well, not absolutely. There is always something more I could do–write a letter, weed a flowerbed, sweep out the garage. But those are not things that must be done, certainly not right away. They’ll still be there tomorrow, and it’s okay if they’re still there tomorrow.

They don’t feel okay, though. They feel the same as when I did not get a call made at the nursing home or did not get the fundraising plan for the homeless shelter finished.

When you are used to being nagged by things undone, the feeling remains the same, even though the things undone are much less important.

I’m sure you’ve heard the old question about where a nine hundred pound gorilla sleeps: any place it wants to! In business it is said about the CEO, in politics it is said about the president or governor, in churches it is said about the bishop: He, or she, is the gorilla.

Bishop Leroy Hodapp was adept at using gorilla status for good. During meetings, he would write letters, by hand, in green ink, with a fountain pen–not a ballpoint, while listening to the business with one ear. If you are not the gorilla, you can’t get away with that. But Leroy was the gorilla, and a total multi-tasker, and he got everything done, on time. Until he retired.

He and I were on our way to a basketball practice [watching, not playing!] one day when I thanked him for his Christmas card. It had just come. It was February. He laughed and said: “When I was a bishop, I had to get everything done, today, because there would be no time for it tomorrow. Now, I look at tomorrow’s schedule and say, Oh, there will be time for that then. So I don’t get it done today or tomorrow, either one.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, that nagging feeling, the feeling there is something you’re supposed to be doing?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “When I was working, I did what I was supposed to do. Now that I’m retired, I’m still doing what I’m supposed to do, except now I’m supposed to go to basketball games and put off writing Christmas cards.”

When the nagging feeling comes, that feeling that developed back when, I try to remember who I am now, not who I was back then. I don’t have to live with the naggers from back when, because I’m not the person I was then. Now, I’m the gorilla. Gorillas take a nap, wherever they want to, and clean out the gutters tomorrow.

John Robert McFarland

jmcfarland1721@charter.net

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

You don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.

I tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721

DREAMS & MEMORIES

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

I’m always reluctant to share dreams. People who know more about them than I do are likely to say, “If you dream about that, it means you’re crazy as a loon.” I don’t need to know that from dreams; I have people for that. Occasionally, though, a dream seems right on the mark…

Last night I dreamed that I had become so lost that I could not find my way home. I was in that dream town, familiar, the town where I live, but only in my dreams. It’s a small town, but it has a lot of large church and college buildings. Many of them are neglected or abandoned. My wife had taken my father to the hospital, and I was trying to go there, but I had walked in from the country, and I was a long way from the hospital. I kept seeing familiar sights and sites, but I kept taking wrong turns. To make matters worse, I tried to call Helen to come get me, but I couldn’t remember her phone number. [Anyone familiar with my life can make a LOT out of all that!]

Old people worry a great deal about losing memory. I suspect that one reason for that dream at this time is that I had several conversations this week with other old people about how we can’t remember where we put our glasses or parked our cars. [BTW, a good reason to have a land-line as well as a cell phone, or at least two cell phones, is so you can find the phone you’ve lost by calling it. I know that for a fact.]

Men rely on wives for memory. Earl Davis used to say, “I have a perfect memory system. It’s called, ‘Martha, where is that?’”  I love the story about the old man who was trying to tell a friend about a new restaurant but couldn’t think of its name. “What’s that flower with the nice smell and thorns?” he said. “A rose? Oh, was the restaurant called The Rose?” “No. Hey, Rose, what was the name of that restaurant we went to?”

My wife is especially helpful when I worry about losing memory, because she says, “I’ve know you since you were twenty, and you’ve always been this way.” At least, I think that’s helpful.

Of course, forgetting your glasses or the third thing she told you to get at the grocery is just a frustration. Forgetting where home is, that’s tragedy.

After my friend of 60 years, Darrel Guimond, was in a car accident that left him brain-damaged, he was able to remember one thing. He told Linda, “I know you. You’re the best thing ever.”

The good news is that we don’t have to remember everything, because God has a perfect memory. It’s not perfect just because of total recall, but because it’s a forgiving memory. As Paul Tillich said, “Forgiveness doesn’t change the facts, but it does change the meaning of the facts.”

John Robert McFarland

jmcfarland1721@charter.net

The “place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where people are Yoopers [UPers] and life is defined by winter even in the summer!

You don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.

I tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721.