MY 1960S SONG

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds about right.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

THE NURSE WHO SNEERED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

STRENGTH & AVAILABILITY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Robert McFarland

jmcfarland1721@charter.net

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

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

Jesus Is Always on the Other Side

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

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

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

Bless Those Assembled Here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

TODAY JOE IS 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.

The Point of No Return-a hymn

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

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

VERSE 1

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

As we journey toward the place for which we yearn.

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

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

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

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

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

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

VERSE 2

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

To the life of slavery we desired to turn.

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

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

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

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

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

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

VERSE 3

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

No one else could see the shadow of the cross.

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

He knew we could not gain without his loss.

REFRAIN:

No return. No return.

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

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

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

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

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

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

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

I tweet as yooper1721.