Under Used Talent: Absent Without Leave
Sitting in church while the words of the gospel lesson wafted about something clobbered me on the head; the under used talent. Momentarily stunned into a moment of reflection I wondered, how often have I sat glumly listening as someone else preached? Even now, days after that Sunday, I find myself retracing events that led from my tenure as senior minister of a large church to the moment when, as a ubiquitous presence in the pew, I was struck by a word flitting about the sanctuary.
When I retired from ministry I was weary. I needed rest. My need for an extended respite was due, at least in part, to choices I made. After all, I took upon myself more than I should have. Now, in retrospect, this is self-evident. I rarely, if ever took vacation. I preached two different sermons every week, conducted two other worship services, and attended to the pastoral needs of a pretty good sized congregation. And there was more. At the time, though, it seemed I had no choice. The end began just after Thanksgiving a number of years ago.
My wife died on a Saturday. It was unexpected. She was gone from us only hours after I called the church officers to inform them I would be late returning from our annual holiday. The aftermath was jumbled. From her parents home I clumsily began making funeral arrangements while struggling with how I could comfort our children. I had not rehearsed what I would do “if or when something happened” and I felt eerily disconnected as though I were talking of and tending to the needs of someone else. I conducted her funeral on Tuesday. Time seemed to accelerate. On Friday of that same week I conducted another funeral. This was for a member who had been a friend to my family during my wife’s illness. Again time skidded and a few days later I preached another funeral. The deceased was the son-in-law of another good friend.
In any season so many funerals so close together would have taken a toll but, as Christmas approached, I felt especially bleak. My young children clustered around me and, I suppose, their proximity alone kept me afloat. As the year turned there were more stresses and little relief. I felt estranged from myself and, whether it came as a shock or a relief to my congregation I cannot say, I retired in July at the ripe old age of 41. I had no prospects for work. In the course of one weekend, I remarried (a scandalous act in the minds of many), retired, and moved what was left of my family from the coastal Georgia to New England; a distance of little over a thousand miles by road and by cultural measure a distance of galactic proportions.
I needed a rest but how much; how long; from what? Here I am years later, pondering the past when, more to the point, I should be perplexed by the future. I am transfixed by a word; I am confronted with an under used talent. The sermon had not even begun when my typical Sunday reverie was interrupted. The intrusion reminded me of something. The gospel can break in on its own. I have learned this from my own, too frequent, bouts of homiletical mediocrity. Many times, despite my ineptitude, the gospel launched an incursion into someone’s life. Its message is not always constrained by the skill of the messenger.
How I got ‘here’ has value but only in so far has it contributes meaningfully to what happens next. When I consider the future I feel I am squeezed between two mutually exclusive realities. On the one hand I ‘am’ a preacher. Perhaps one with some talent? On the other hand, I have no pulpit. In the first place, Jeremiah’s words reveal my own existential crisis, “But if I say, ‘I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in” New International Version (©1984) In the second place I am filled with self loathing for the jealousy that I wish to deny but must in honesty confess.
Since then I have been greatly blessed to a degree and in ways I do not deserve. Every day I wake to a home filled with people I love and who, in turn love me. I am stunned by the good fortune that I have a job that permits me to care for them. I discover some measure of purpose as a leader of cub scouts. I do not discount that these are all good things but, well, I owe and am capable of much more. And it is a whispering realization that has broken into into an uproar today.
Oh the nuisance a word can cause. I wish to be the un-afflicted comfortable pew warmer but the the gospel won’t let me go. That this nuisance is not ‘good news’ for me does not mean that, in the end, my torment might not be the source of good news for others. So be it. I relinquish the cherished goal of letting my small talent lie fallow. Though the return that may be earned is diminished from small to trivial through years of neglect, I do here with commit myself to speak – or write- and in so doing to preach.
‘This is what the LORD says: See, I am setting before you the way of life and the way of death’.
Amen
A Sermon to Wake the Dead
The words, “Lazarus, come forth”, move me. There are other phrases, scents, and sounds that stir me as well but these words re-kindle a deep seated urge to stand up and demand a hearing. It has been seventeen long years since I began a self imposed exile from the pulpit; I retired. That’s not to say I have not had an occasional visit and, at the time the estrangement began, I imagined it would only be temporary. Each visit has seemed like an encounter with an old friend; a visit in which the months or years between disappear and the friendship is fresh. Alas, despite the durability of the relationship, the visits have been rare and the exile seems to be permanent. Yet, ever do I have preaching on my mind.
Why I am a Cubmaster: Reason No. 235
Do you notice that days fly by the older you get? I remember getting out of school for the summer and I believe that June to the end of August seemed as long as September to Christmas.
Not anymore! Walking through my garden yesterday morning I was acutely aware of summer… in a good way. The air was not heavy and the sky was clear. It was perfect and the scent of sage, oregano, and thyme wafted up from the garden. That’s when I realized that in not too many weeks the first frost would be here. Not what you wanted to hear? Well try this on then, some our boys will be old enough to join the army, drive away from their high school graduation, or pack for college in as many days as it has been since they were born. Weren’t they born a few weeks ago?
They are going to make more and more decisions and the time remaining for us to help them make good ones is very short. By the time they turn 11 or 12 they will already be well on their way to independence. By the time they hit high school, whether we like it or not, they are going to be making choices and living with the consequences.
It is my deepest hope that in the time left to us our boys will internalize the twelve core values of Cub Scouts so well that it will be second nature to them to try their best and stick with the effort to achieve worthy goals, respect others, speak the truth and deal honestly even when it is hard, be compassionate even to those who do not deserve it, exercise faith and have a positive attitude rooted in the belief that good can rise above any circumstance, demonstrate good citizenship and an ability to find solutions when none is obvious, and finally, to have courage that they are adequate to prevail over any obstacle that confronts them because they have within themselves the confidence that comes from a strong heart and clean mind.
Visit our Pack web site: http://pack610.com
Life in Light
Sun shines over my shoulder. Cascades of light and warmth spill across me and to the north I see long shadows of myself on the floor.
I cannot look into the light but I know of Light’s embrace. I cannot see God but I accept that God is near all the same.
Winter Blah
Let me be clear, I love snow. I love seeing flakes accumulate in ominous piles foreshadowing a frozen end of days. I like huge snow-ball sized globs of it falling on balsam and fir lending an air of Christmas to the early days of Lent. I love snow. What I do not love is the deepening chill of night when the air is wet and the wind bores a hole through to my gizzard; the premature sense that this chill is of the grave.
Brine the Bird – The Biggest Secret to Moist and Delicious Turkey
Sitting at lunch on Friday a colleague remarked, “We don’t like turkey, it’s just too dry.” This reminded me of the epic “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”, “Home for the Holidays”, and all the other movies that feature infamous turkey moments of one kind or another. It always strikes me as strange. My home is more reminiscent of what we fondly call the “Shoot Your Eye Out” move, aka “A Christmas Story”, in which the patriarch famously lusts after the family turkey until deprived by a pack of dogs. In our home it is the matriarch who lusts after the bird and I am the cook and guardian of the pending feast. To summarize, we love turkey. We love it year round and at Thanksgiving we celebrate the regal fowl by roasting it with elegant simplicity.
Here, in a nutshell, is how.
- Buy a fresh, never frozen turkey. The quality of your turkey may vary significantly by vendor, whether it is a Tom or a Hen (male or female), and size. I have not had the best luck with gigantic mutant turkeys over twenty pounds. Resist the temptation and, if necessary, buy two average birds. As for gender, Toms are usually tougher and have a slightly different taste. They are also usually cheaper.
- Brine your turkey. This consists of dissolving salt in water and soaking the bird for up to but never more than eight hours. Cooks Illustrated has a great pdf explaining the technique and mechanics of brining: http://www.cooksillustrated.com/images/document/howto/ND01_ISBriningbasics.pdf I will describe how I brine in a moment. Note: Remove neck and giblets from body and neck cavities of turkey; discard or refrigerate for another use.
- Organize the kitchen to roast the turkey. Obtain kitchen twine to truss the bird, locate or fabricate a covered roasting pan and an oven safe roasting thermometer.
- Assuming you have brined your turkey you will preheat your oven to 325.
- Place turkey, breast side up, on a flat roasting rack in a shallow pan. Truss the turkey (a great YouTube video is here:
- Brush turkey lightly with melted unsalted butter (NOT margarine).
- Roast turkey according to weight and remove cover for last 1/2 hour of cooking until meat thermometer reaches 180-185°F when inserted into the deepest part of the thigh.
- Let turkey stand 15 minutes before carving.
I brine by removing gibblets, rinsing the turkey and preparing 1 quart of brine per pound of turkey (enough to cover bird in my oversized pot). The brine is 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 cup Diamond brand kosher salt to 1 quart of COLD water. You can use warm water to make the brine but be sure to chill the water BEFORE brining the turkey. Keep the turkey COLD while brining (refrigerate).
Getting Started in Beekeeping
A friend asked, in a recent comment, for some tips on getting started.
The first thing to do is find out about local beekeepers. In the case of my friend in Savannah, the Coastal Empire Beekeepers Association looks like a good bet. I didn’t see a web site for them but there is a public email address listed at UGA
Many associations offer ‘bee school’. This is what we did through the Seacoast Beekeepers Association in New Hampshire. These programs can be excellent because they reflect local realities, season specific tips, and often provide a well structured approach for introducing the novitiate to the art and craft of beekeeping.
Beekeeping is not a cheap hobby but it need not be horribly expensive either. In general a beginner needs a good understanding of the vernacular that describes equipment, methods, and the bees themselves. Books abound and are helpful but may not be sufficient. Web sites are helpful too but, as one commentator said, getting advice from the internet is like asking a stranger to guard your wallet (or your purse).
This shot if from April when we started our colonies.
In our case we purchased supers, frames, wax foundation, a smoker, a bee hat, and feeders. Our plan was (and is) to start with two colonies placed in two hives. (See there, I am passing on some jargon already. A hive usually refers to the habitation while a colony refers to the organic ‘collective’ consisting of a queen, a gazillion workers, and a small number of drones.) To get things going we purchased two packages. (Jargon alert!) A package consists of a queen and a nice cantaloupe sized ball of workers shipped in a box that looks a LOT like my Dad’s old cricket cage.
From that point we followed the process suggested by our mentors at bee school and, with a lot of luck, our colonies should be ready to survive their first winter. Yep, that’s a fact. It takes all of their best effort to ensure that there is (1) enough comb (2) enough brood -future bees (3) enough food to make it from late October to late March. For my friend in Savannah this is not nearly as much of an issue but I am sure he will discover that even the lush gardens of his home and the traditionally mild winters are the bright side and some other threat looms periously over the future of his colonies if he decides to take up this practice.
One final (for now) note. Beekeeping has changed in HUGE ways in the few years since I first considered getting into it. Twenty years ago, a box and some frames would have been sufficient. Not anymore. If you decide to keep bees, do it right. There’s a lot you can do wrong and it won’t just harm your bees, it may well do harm to many others as well.
Omaha
Don’t have much to say. Spent the day in Des Moines and drove west just so I can fly east tomorrow.
Wet Water
None who know me will be surprised when I admit I have done many foolish things. Once I rode a bicycle across a high exposed ridge in driving rain, deafened by thunder and hounded by lightening with a lust for more than bare rock and scattered trees.
The occasion for today’s commentary was my advice to a bride not to be nervous. Perhaps not the most foolish thing I have done but certainly one of the least effective. On that occasion, during the course of some correspondence, the bride observed that she simply could not stop being nervous even though I had suggested she do so. I might as well have attempted to command the tide stop, the moon rise, or my wife to do my bidding; each are utterly impossible.
In retrospect I realize how silly it is to tell anyone who is nervous not to be. It is, I think, like telling water not to be wet. This is especially true for people caught up in major life events like weddings, funerals, and high school reunions.
The Divine Recluse
“They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.”
- Emily Dickinson
A philosophy of religion professor I greatly admired said to me that “God is either in everything, or in nothing.” I have often thought of this and think I will never let go, entirely, of the sense that this question is very close to the center of our existential dilemma. The declarative testimony of some preachers often clashes with our own, and often profound, sense that God is a very long way off. Perhaps this is most true of ‘high mileage’ ministers; Ministers who say, week after week, that “God is near” or “God will provide”, or “God is love” while at the same time living lives of personal spiritual desolation.
Saint John of the Cross, a Carmelite monk and famous Spanish mystic of the 16th century, spoke of “The Dark Night of the Soul”. Though I can lay no claim to mysticism due to my own proclivity for skepticism and rational thought I do not believe that the spiritual desolation that many know today can be equated with his experience of exquisite sorrow. For one thing his travail was a stage in a life long journey toward greater awareness of the nearness of God. Ours, by contrast, is a contemporary and increasingly empty wasteland. A wasteland that is the consequence of longing or lust for something other than God.
When I retired from public ministry almost fifteen years ago I was met by objections from colleagues and friends. One, I remember in particular, said, “Don’t do this, you will lose your faith.” Really? I suppose the epicenter of this concern depends on what is meant by faith. What often passes for faith is not faith but enthusiasm for it. That is, what many consider ‘faith’ is an emotional rush associated with tantalizing hope for ________ (fill in the blank with health, wealth, power, the winning lottery numbers). Longing, not faith, is the hallmark emotion of our age. We are obsessed with this sense of longing and the market is eager to exploit the demand. Consider our entertainment, the means by which we create and then fill idle hours. Today the ‘leading brands’ are fueled by longing. American Idol, Next Super Model, The Bachelor/Bachelorette are testimonies to our ambition for something more. In contemporary religion we are all too often exhorted to believe so that we too can have __________ (you may borrow from the previously completed blank).
Week after week the disenfranchised, the wealthy, the overwhelmed, and the overlord exhort their personal deities to grant a boon. And, to assure success, they (we) cry all the louder, “Hear Us!” The regular worship of many takes on the trappings of a pep rally and we, the worshippers, are the fans. Fans of Faith.
It is this kind of “faith” that can be easily lost. And when it is lost the heart of our hearts is a desolate, without relief from the scorching winds of self reproach, doubt, and despair. This is no “Dark Night of the Soul” it is a living hell.
When I first began to compose this piece the juxtaposition of statements by poet, professor and parishioner occupied my mind. In 1993 my wife, deeply loved by me and all her family, died. In the seven years prior to her death we struggled, together. For my own part, I was not so troubled by some sense that God was absent. Instead I was haunted by an inexplicable sense of pervasive good. I began to realize more fully that we live in an ugly world where cancer is part of nature. I saw the compelling evidence that pestilence is an unrelenting condition of life. Likewise, poverty is the norm for most people in this world and yet… in the midst of such a world I held in my heart something mysteriously beautiful. In the fifteen years since then I continue to question many things but what I question most is how could we all seem to miss the outrageous eruption of good in a world so utterly hostile to it.
Far more than the presence or absence of God I am amazed that any of us ever has a sense of God’s presence. We, in spite of ourselves and our distance from conventional means by which we articulate faith continue to be amazed by God. I suppose this is the real meaning of “amazing” in grace.
