Student Sermon...

Last spring I composed this sermon for a class in Homiletics. It isn't perfect, there was some good feedback on things I could improve, but I thought I'd post it, in hopes that someone read it and comment on it here. The proposed audience was those at my seminary, though I suspect it applies to your church or social group as well.

So, without further ado:

Eyes Right
HM - 4002 Introduction To Preaching, Sermon #2

Our reading this morning is one of the most violent, most cruel passages in the Hebrew Bible.

It's an odd passage, in that it was not in the King James Version of the Bible-- it was only discovered in the 1940s, when the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered.

Perhaps some copyist accidentally deleted it, or perhaps some ancient scholars decided it was too violent. Whatever the reason, we now have it in modern translations and it fits with today's sermon.

It is from the Book Of First Samuel, Chapter 10 verse 27 following

Now NA-hash, king of the AM-mo-nites, had been grievously oppressing the GAD-ites and the REU-ben-ites.

He would gouge out the right eye of each of them and would not grant Israel a deliverer.

No one was left of the Israelites across the Jordan whose right eye NA-hash, king of the AM-mon-ites, had not gouged out.

That's all I'm going to read. You get the idea.

------
Eyes Right

I'm very sorry to have selected such a cruel reading for today. But when I red it, I saw us. I saw myself. I saw a message that needs saying.

There are several ways to use this reading. The blind leading the blind might have worked--- but the people of GAD and REUBEN aren't completely blind.

I could have talked about the way that people have blinded themselves with sorrow, or with love, or with drugs-- that might have been an interesting angle--- but they would be situations where individuals blind themselves, rather than having blindness inflicted on them.

In the reading, the Gadites and Reubenites lost a battle against NA-hash, and chose a life of semi-blindness over the alternative, which probably would have been death.

So, I am thinking of a situation where a nation loses a battle, and chooses blindness. Can you imagine what I'm thinking of?
----
Sadly, you are right.

Let's take a straw poll... How many of you have thought about this statement today: "our nation is at war"? ...
How many of you have made the war an important part of your day?

"America At War" is the headline... or was four years ago.

The United States of America is at war, in Iraq and in Afghanistan.
Forgive me, I'm going to use a popular shorthand, and I'm going to call the USA "America"-- as millions of us Americans do.

Sadly, these are real wars. Real people are fighting them. Real people are going half way around the globe, serving, and either returning or dying... and WE put them there.

Do you notice?

Every morning, as you shower and load your iPod with the day's music, a completely invisible part of our nation awakes to war. The war is the first thing on their minds, and every night, as they try to sleep, the war is the last.

But for us here at our seminary, where is the war? Like the tribes of Reuben and Gad, we have lost our vision in that eye. We don't see the war, we don't taste the war, we don't pay the bills of the war.

Indeed, I lament our current situation. I lament my own blindness, I lament our school's blindness, I lament our community's blindness.

Laments are important, but eventually weeping must change to resolve.

So I think the answer lies in this morning's reading.
Or maybe it lies in your heart.

Here's how I see it.

Plenty of people will tell you that we need to OPPOSE this war.
I'm here to tell you that we need to BECOME A PART of this war.

Let me repeat this point.

Plenty of people will tell you that we need to oppose this war.
I'm here to tell you that we need to become a part of this war.

And opposing something isn't the same as being a part of it.
I'm not going to say if the war is right or wrong. I'm saying it's ours.
-----
Now there are three foolish things in how the American public engages with the war, and there are three remedies.
-----
Let's go back to the reading to help frame this.

The reading described a time when Israel had no single leader. Instead each tribe lived for itself.

The story involves the tribes of Gad and Reuben. Most of the twelve tribes of Israel were west of the Jordan River, but Gad and Reuben were out there, EAST of it, in what is now the Kingdom of Jordan.

Now [NA-hash], the king of the [AM-mon-Ites] had defeated the two tribes, probably in battle, nobody knows whose fault it was... nobody knows if the tribes attacked NA-hash or if NA-hash attacked them first, but we do know that NA-hash won.

Now King NA-hash just wants peace, and he wants the income from the farms. To get the income, NA-hash wants the Reubenites and Gadites to be passive vassals.

To make sure they don't rise up and object, he has them all blinded in the right eyes. This is actually better than earlier battles, when victors simply killed all the losers-- you can read about the battle of Jericho, if you want a real bloodbath. So we could say that NA-hash is a compassionate innovator.

Think about it for a moment. If you hold your sword in your right hand, and you don't have a right eye, can you see to fight? Nope. You will be blindsided.

You can't do anything but submit to those in power. Sure you can still plow fields, you can still milk cows... but you have been effectively passified.

I'm sure you are all wondering about how the story turns out... do the good guys win?

Not really. The other tribes of Nation of Israel come to help. In the end there are tens of thousands of bodies rotting on the face of the earth. And after a generation or two, they have another war, and more are killed.

YOU KNOW THE OLD SAYING: There are only three types of people in a war: The living, the injured and the dead.

OK, enough physical violence for one morning. End of lament.

Let's talk about the three foolish things I mentioned.

The first one is obvious. It is the myth of separation. People talk about this being a "red state war" or a "blue state war". People claim that because they elected a Congresswoman or Congressman or Senator who voted in the minority on some authorization bill once upon a time...
That this somehow makes it somebody else's war. It is foolish. The war in Iraq and in Afghanistan is everyone's war.

I'll bet you've figured out what the second one is... It is that we are blinded. Some of you will assign blame for the blindness, but I don't want to go there.

Suffice it to say that somehow, and I don't care about why, we have been blinded, become passified milkers of cows, passified plowers of fields unable to raise an effective sword, or even an effective pen. Our number has been are disconnected. We don't see the soldiers. We don't see the families. We don't see the coffins, or injured, or abandoned.

The third foolishness is that we think we are doing something.

Sorry to seem so down, but protests come and go... vigils burn lots of candles, contributing in their own small way, to global warming.

Do you think that last week's protest rallies changed the course of history?

Sad to say, I doubt it.

But that's not true of all the protests. Let's think of why some are different.

In the summer of 2005, a mother named Cindy Sheehan and members of the "Gold Star Families for Peace"-- they are families of those who had died in the war-- began a protest.

The protest, outside President Bush's ranch in Texas, was effective because the people protesting weren't Berkeley college students-- they were people involved in the war.

They were worthy of attention because it was, and still is, their war.

Without participation we are powerless. If we don't make the war our war, we can neither support it nor oppose it.

I don't care if you think the war is a crime, or if you think declaring war was right. I just want you to turn your remaining good eye and see the situation for what it is. I want our whole nation to do that.

For the past four years we have been dis-involved... intentionally.
- We pay no taxes for the war,
- We attend no funerals, and see no caskets,
- We knit no woolen caps for the sailors.

That's a story worth remembering. It was a big thing in WWII... my Grandmother and all of the ladies of South Orange, New Jersey did that... They would each spend four hours a day knitting... they get together weekly, turning in knit woolen hats for the war effort.

To knit a cap for a merchant seaman on a freighter going across the North Atlantic was to have a personal interest in the cargo.

And when you had knit the cap as an act of love, that sailor was your cargo.

Each Nazi torpedo was aimed at you.

You know, this war has been sold to us as free, fought by volunteers-- volunteers who see signing up as a way out of poverty, or gangs or dead-end living.

Volunteers who bought the dream of civics class,

Volunteers who answered GOD'S call to defend the country.

Whatever the reason, we sold it to them. WE, our government, our nation.

These wonderful volunteers keep our war out of our sight, out of our mind.
-------------
They say that if there were a draft, if it were our brothers, and perhaps our sisters, in a literal sense, who were fighting in the desert, our vision would be restored.
------
I think it's time we hear the words "One Nation" and understand that it really is "Indivisible"... and start thinking of those being killed or injured as OUR brothers and sisters.

Only by opening OUR eyes and embracing OUR responsibility can we BE a part of the solution.
----
And I'm proposing three remedies.
----
To me they don't involve forming committees or public policy study groups. They don't involve pointing fingers and assigning blame.

The solution is in the word "Indivisible." The solution is in becoming one nation again.

The solution is to re-engage, with voice, hands and hearts with those who are part of the war.

The men and women fighting under the American flag in Iraq and Afghanistan have the same blood types as we do. Their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers and children cry in the same way we do. The broke and broken soldiers worry about the rent, and face fear just like us too.

To be engaged with them, they get our respect, our support, our love and prayers.

Our principles speak of worth and dignity.

How might we show them that they have worth? Perhaps by insisting that persons in harms way be well paid, be well cared for if injured and that they have guaranteed, professional emotional support after return to the routine of life.

Ya know, they did their duty for us. We need to show them that they are worth-ful. This is going to cost us money. It should. The Veterans Administration hospitals should provide the best care, not the worst care in the nation, and
Playing economic politics with those who are disabled is simply unconscionable.

It's time we taxed ourselves to pay for this war.
----
But the men and women fighting under the American flag in Iraq and Afghanistan need more than the promise of care when they return. They also need support.

Our hymnal speaks of mutual support-- we need one another.

Here's where America is divided. In conservative circles it is seen as a religious duty to support our troops.

The men and women fighting under the American flag in Iraq and Afghanistan can have all their support from conservative Christian groups, OR they can have support from all of our nation. Which should they have?

How might we show support for those in uniform?

Now being in the US Army in Baghdad is very different from being a kid at sleep-away summer camp, but a friend who is just back from there reports that "Care Package Day" was always special for his unit. School kids, church groups sent a taste of home, and for an hour or two, it was like they were family.

But back home, there are fewer care packages. Their families are often strapped for cash, strapped for time, struggling for resources. Do we contribute to relief organizations? Do we know how to offer personal help?

This needs work... we need to better learn how to support our troops... our web of mutuality needs to include them.

But beyond support, the awareness of love is the greatest gift.

Our Judeo-Christian tradition speaks of LOVE

And this is most important, the men and women fighting under the American flag in Iraq and Afghanistan need to know that they are loved.

They certainly have heard the stories of LIBERALS spitting on soldiers returning from Viet Nam. I know, none of you actually spat. But that's word on the street.

They have been prepared to be hated. Can we change their perceptions?

They already have prayers from those who believe in vengeance, why can't they have love and prayers from those who know that God is Love? Why can't they know that the entire nation sees them as worthy and loved?

AND How could we express love? I have a few ideas...

If each day we here at the seminary stopped our routine. If, for the duration of the war, we stood for one minute, our thoughts and love inclined to them, how could we stay blind?

What if, for the duration of the war, we honored the dead of the week in our chapel service, as if they were our fellow students, how could our hearts not go out to the families and those they loved?

These are both wonderful practices (if I do say so myself), but they don't invite the rest of the community to see... to fight their blindness.

What about if we erected public prayer stations, so that as we walk to classes we could pause along le Conte, or Ridge Road. For the duration of the war, we might pause to pray for, or simply remember people in the many different groups involved in the war: Army soldiers, Navy Sailors, Marines, members of the Air Force, Families, Contractors, affected civilians, families of the dead, the injured. If we could erect simple wooden signs-- each with a name of a group on it-- as public prayer stations, placed around the GTU like stations of the cross. Then every day we could draw our hearts to the many facets, the many human faces, the scope and scale of this war, would that be love?

Would these things involve us in the war?

Would being involved like this teach us, as individuals, help us grow in understanding? Would it get us away from the variety of opinions we hold AND INTO a different place, a place INDIVISIBLE?

In spite of the way this war has been orchestrated,
and blinded as we are, can we learn new ways to see?

Can we learn new ways to go beyond milking cows and become a nation again?

Could this restore our nation's ability to see the war? Could our actions spark others to put up prayer stations across the country. Could they give focus and help the general public becomes aware, aware of the many human dimensions of the conflict?

I don't know, but I can't see another way to do it. And I don't see anybody trying.

Only with our respect,

Only with our support,

Only with our love and prayers... do we have a chance to influence the future.---- Though we may only see the problem with one good eye, the answer has to be with us.

This must become our war.

Well, not quite PKs...

The soon-to-be-released movie "Preacher's Sons" (http://preacherssons.com/) is going to be interesting, and, I think, wonderful.

The name is a play on the term "PK", meaning "preacher's kids". Perhaps you know some of them... I knew one or two when I was growing up. They have two lives they must live, the public one related to their parent, and then, there is their life. It's a heavy burden. I knew one who was perfection itself-- football, public speaking-- but to look in his eyes was the only way to see the him that was inside. Another PK was wild, played electric guitar, etc.

So now we have Stillman and Greg's kids-- all adopted-- all former foster kids. What's inspiring to me is that being a PK is a step up for them.

So I am looking forward to seeing it this autumn.

Poem "Almost"

Almost


It's a simple system, really.
In dots and dashes all words can be expressed
All things communicated.
A simple system of talking 'round the world

And you may think it's a joke,
But even numbers say certain things
To most, seventy-three is just a number,
Who knew it meant "Best Wishes"?

Or the much more amorous eighty-eights,
Old and married men feel no shyness,
When saying "Love and Kisses"
To twenty year old women.

But these were meant for telegrams,
And not for signals bounced,
like super balls, in the atmosphere.
For distant strangers, faces unseen.

Some nights the solar wind is steady,
and signals come through strong and clear.
A chat of dashes spaced with dots.
You weep to hear his syncopation.

Reclined, around a crackling fire,
Ensconced in weathered leather.
Speaking with your fingers,
And listening with an open heart.

Two strangers were never closer.
"My daughter's getting married"
"I've got a new job"
"They want to try more treatments"

Our sun's afflicted with flares and spots,
and earth is full of storms.
Crackles overpower the beeps,
Chats become struggles, and nothing is clear.

Gone are armchairs and the personal beat,
Thunder crashes pain the ears,
Stripped of nuance, it takes your all,
To tell him "I am here!"

And even after he is gone,
And the radio is put to bed,
Antenna disconnected, grounded wires
It seems the beeps live on.

In the shower, can you hear it?
Was that an "L"? Was that a "V"?
Was he talking to me, in the
rushing of the water?

You listen for words from the dryer,
Or hope from the dispose-all
The rumble of traffic holds an eight,
or perhaps just a seven...
... and was there a second number?

-CBD

More Memorial Day bits...

Three photos from the USS Hornet museum. I think this area is being developed for a "Women at Sea" exhibit.

More Memorial Day bits...

Three photos from the USS Hornet museum. I think this area is being developed for a "Women at Sea" exhibit.

Memorial Day...

From the very messy desk of Charlie...

It's Memorial Day, and I'd spent many years working on the Battleship New Jersey... but now I'm in Berkeley... so I can't go down to Camden!

So I felt especially driven to go the aircraft carrier USS Hornet, in nearby Alameda. I took the bus... the 51 to the 63.. which took an hour, it being a holiday... and got there about 12:30 PM.

Here is the USS Hornet:


Now most of you would say 'wow, big ship'... but I took this picture because there are four white antennas on the right hand side... it's the ham radio operator in me!

Here is the view from the "island", looking forward. The Oakland hills are in the background.


And here's our tour guide, explaining what we were about to see:


And this is what we were about to go see, the flight control center:


I had a few more pictures, mostly of radios and the like. I won't bore you with them.

After that I went below decks to the hangar deck. This was the Memorial Day ceremony:


I missed most of the speeches, but caught the blessing. Next, the wreath was brought outside (sorry about the blur):


And everyone was offered a flower:


After a blessing by the chaplain:


Then we threw our flowers overboard:


I tried to think of who my tulip was for, but in the end it had to be for everyone-- yesterday, last week, last year, last war.

Rest in Peace.
---

That was my day.
Peace,
Charlie

(Taps)

But, Well, You Know...

But, Well, You Know

I had an odd dream last night... yea, I know-- when has anybody had a dream that isn't odd-- but this one was interesting in being uninteresting.

In the dream I was waiting somewhere. Maybe I was in an airport lounge, or maybe I was waiting in line at a Stuckeys or one of those other restaurants they have near the interstates in the south... I know I was in the south, though, and I was waiting.

I'd struck up a conversation with a family. Mother and father were in their late 30's, maybe early 40's. She was taller than he was, but he was a substantial man, possibly a farmer, with well groomed, black hair. There were maybe three or four school-aged kids, staying close to mom and dad, but not saying anything, and looking rather bored.

Dad was saying: "When I have off we like to go see things."

Then, after a pause he added: "Normally we'd go to New Orleans, but well, you know..."

That was it. I woke up.

"But, well, you know" Those were the last words.

Now Jung and Freud would probably explain this dream as having something to do with unresolved childhood issues, but fortunately, I'm not up on all that. Instead, as I slowly woke up, I thought about what I would have answered. "But, well, you know"... in fact I didn't.

I thought about that maybe the father was trying to say "there are homosexuals in that city" or "there are Negroes there", but, well, there has been racial diversity and visible Lesbian and gay businesses in the Crescent City for generations, so why would he say "Normally we'd go to New Orleans"?

In fact, NOLA is less racially diverse, it's "Whiter" today than it was a decade ago, thanks to the disproportionate loss of housing in majority-black neighborhoods. But that wasn't the conversation I was having... in my dream.

"But, well, you know" If my mind hadn't made that phrase up, I'd be very offended. I certainly have heard others use it, it's a common conversation stopper. And maybe that's the whole point. It's like those big steel bumpers they put on railroad sidings... you know, to keep boxcars from going off the end of an incomplete track. It might have meant "I don't want to go any further." But, I'm the type of guy who wonders what's around the next bend. Where would the conversation have gone, if I'd pressed on?

What if I'd said something like: "I'm not sure I understand, tell me more." What would he, or his wife, have said?

In my mind, I see them saying something like: "Well, you know, they had some trouble down there." Can you imagine someone saying that? Maybe you've said it. "Some trouble", and more importantly "they". Another level of conversation stopper... like a big block of iron, welded onto the rails... "this should stop any boxcar that rolls down here, and maybe a runaway locomotive too!"

So I searched the faces of the people in my dream. The kids were easy, the older teens were looking at the floor or off into space, bored. They were so familiar with dad's attitudes, they'd heard it all before. And they were not happy that he'd taken them away from town and their friends, but they'd become resigned to a month of motels or RV parks.

The younger ones, the ones who still looked up to the parents, were still trying to make sense of the world, and dad clearly understood the mysteries of life, though they weren't sure why he was talking to strangers. They told volumes in their posture and clean double-knit shirts.

Dad himself was at ease. Probably a church-going man, he had a job, maybe in sales? Probably in a small town. One could imagine he sold propane or combines or ran a carpet installing company. Something needed, something conventional. The mom might be a teacher, or she might homeschool the kids. She wasn't going to interrupt her husband, and besides, she thought the same thoughts he thought.

I've met these people a hundred times in a hundred places. They are good people... as they say.

So why the "But, well, you know"?

Since I dreamt them, I can continue the conversation any direction I like. And today I think I'll go somewhere biblical... not my usual style, but as I was waking up I realized I was trying to apply a passage about caring for the sick, and visiting those in prison.

The triplet in the bible: Clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the imprisoned is an interesting one to try to fit into the situation. The scene isn't a charity scene, it's a vacation. New Orleans, Louisiana isn't a town to be pitied... it's a city, a city recovering from a flood, and recovering from the attitudes and platitudes of the flood recovery. NOLA is a city that knows what it means to be dismissed, to be quietly made a non-place. Well, you know.

So when Jesus talks about the three actions that will get you into heaven, clothing, caring for and visiting, you would think he wasn't talking about summer vacation.

It isn't just because it's called "The Crescent City", but I'm imagining NOLA as a sort of woman with breast cancer. The sudden diagnosis of a lump is a shocking thing... To bring the men into this, imagine finding a lump on one of your testicles. I hope you never do. But this lump, wherever it is, is not good. It is going to kill you. It needs to go, and you need radiation and chemotherapy too. It is going to make you very sick for several months, longer than you expect. But someday, you are likely to be cured.

Cured is an odd thing for a woman who has had a breast removed. It might be similar for a man who has lost a testicle, but a woman is reminded of the whole episode every day. Even on vacation.

When it comes to clothing the naked, most post-breast-cancer women experience shame-- and that's a pity. I, for one, think a woman who has survived is as beautiful as one who has never experienced adversity. And I'm not just saying that because my mother was one.

So the phrase "Clothe the naked" can mean various things... It could mean that they should be hidden away under layers of muslin, veiled, keeping secret the effects of the cancer, keeping up appearances. But it doesn't have to mean that. It could also mean keeping our recovering friend warm, giving them a place of honor and a fine new outfit.. perhaps a new swimsuit that shows off their new figure, rather than pretending that it is the old one.

Here's where the testicular cancer analogy doesn't work that well... I don't think I'd advocate the creation of custom Speedo bathing suits for the 'one testicle man'... so we'll leave that thread, ok?

But we need to get back to New Orleans. Why does our friend shy away from visiting the Crescent City? Is it because he is un-Christian? Is it because he fears his children will have nightmares, nightmares of abandonment and panic? Or is it because he's decided NOLA is a "they", not an "us"? Has he decided to shun 'them'... But, well, you know... because they don't fit his family's lifestyle? Is New Orleans the breast tissue cut away with the cancer?...simply lumped with the lump, made non-existent to protect the health of the rest of society?

I'm left this morning without a good answer. It was, after all, only a dream. I'm left with no words to say to my nocturnal friends to make them see that "But, well, you know" is not a Christian way to end the conversation; it is not Christian for the happy and healthy family to restrict their view to the happy and healthy parts of the world, to imagine that shivering nakedness, sickness and imprisonment only happen to the unworthy.

But the dream is over. I can't go back and tell them, they are gone. And in real-life I'm not sure I'd do much better. In real life there would be excuses, reasons to visit an aunt in Florida, or a new vacation community in the Ozarks. And real life families are never so perfect. He's worrying about the new boss, their son's friend died suddenly, maybe she's recovering from cancer. In real life, I probably wouldn't even be having the conversation, and that's a pity too.

Oh, I went back to sleep for a bit, and had a second dream... it involved pecan pancakes, and lots of syrup and two eggs over easy, and sausages, deep fried sausages. And of course grapefruit juice, because I'm on a diet.