Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas!

There...I said it.

In this modern age when we are so afraid of not saying the entirely appropriate thing that we fail to say anything of any value, I said it.

Merry Christmas!

To the defense of all of my friends who are more sheepish, I really do understand. In this increasingly multicultural and humanistic world, there are tons of reasons to steer clear of the social risks of the inappropriately placed Christmas wish:

  • The Jews thought Jesus was a great guy and all, but not nearly as much of the warrior king type as they were expecting. He was not the messiah they were waiting for. They wanted a revenge guy…a guy to set things straight and put them on top for good. Jesus didn't deliver. For grief’s sake, he lost a simple popularity vote to that troublemaker Barabus! Why would he deserve a holiday?
  • The faith of Islam also loves the Jesus child, the miraculous birth, amazing prophet, the whole package. But the whole “God becoming man” thing is a deal breaker for them. Admittedly, the world can be a pretty seedy place most of the time and it is a tough case to prove why the God of all creation would need to come down and get his fingernails dirty to clean it up. God could have just wiped us out, or better yet he could use us normal Joes (or Mohammeds) to do his work, right?
  • You would guess, that the holiday would not bother an atheist or an agnostic, but strangely enough, we have to dance around these guys too. My understanding of their objection is a little uninformed, but it seems that people who believe that your existence has no meaning other than what you can do or get in the short three or four decades of a human life are somehow irreparably harmed by other peoples' beliefs and the offensive displays of the nativity scene. If nothing really matters, then why does it matter? I know that they feel that it shouldn't be forced on them or supported by the government in their view, but does it matter? We’ll all be dead soon anyway, right?
  • And then there’s the Christians…they can’t say Merry Christmas because they are way too sorry for all the other times that they have imposed their beliefs on the world. We all know that the early Popes were a group of playboys and forget about that greedy land grab that history calls the Crusades. And the Inquisition…say no more! They are sorry for that, and for not seeing WWII coming, and for missionaries that made the natives wear pants. They are sorry for wanting God to be mentioned in school, and for the music being too loud, and for the ten commandments…all that stuff and more! They are sorry.

But, here is my thought. Stick with me a second…

At Christmas we celebrate the birth of a child; a child of carpenter and his very young wife, poorer than most of us could imagine and relocated temporarily from their home. I imagine Joseph going out into the town during the day to get odd jobs to support his family while Mary sat in the square or in the stables knowing the baby was coming soon. It’s not that hard to imagine. But this time it was different, people were expecting something amazing to happen and there was only this baby (in and of itself nothing exceptional, nature has done this trick millions and millions of times before and since that day). But this time the mother was said to be a virgin. Was it true? For now let’s just say we don’t know. Rumor has it that shepherds came from their fields and astronomers traveled from distant lands, some say as far as China, to see this baby.

Over the next thirty odd years the child grew up in his traditions, as we do in ours, learned a trade and became a man. But for him, as for some of us, it was not enough. He had always had an uncanny understanding of all things spiritual and loved to stick it to “the man” whenever he had the chance, just like a lot of us. But through it all, he never thought less of others in their struggle to get life right. He only had one running argument and that was with a group of people who kept trying to tell him who he was and how he should behave. So, all said, he wasn't that different from you and me...except at the end.

Any historical account will tell you that he hadn't committed any crime worth dying for...but die he did. He died believing that he had no choice...that he had to die to save...us. He didn't know you...he couldn't imagine all the small, petty deceits that we would commit two thousand years later...but he died...believing that he was doing it for you. Crazy, huh? Indisputably, a man was born two millennia ago who would go to his death with your eternal soul as his foremost priority. That is amazing!

The rest of the story we will argue about if you want. Some say he was a fraud, a lunatic or both..others say he is the Son of God. Believe what you will, I think that he was amazing.

On this day we celebrate an innocent child who would die an innocent man...except for our sins...sins that he asked for...sins that he bore without committing. And that kind of man is worth celebrating...no matter what you believe.

Merry Christmas.

Friday, June 18, 2010

A Poem for Ray on Father's Day

Did you bring you pistol?
Do you want to go shoot?
So it goes…
A man becomes a boy going out to gun down cans
Or wound an old tree

The rhythmic rattle of brass on brass in a cardboard box
provides the cadence for the walk to the pasture where the battle would occur.

We make small talk, laugh as we load our guns…
We turn.
Take aim.
The report shatters the quiet of a summer’s day.

After subduing an old pine and reducing a plank to splinters
He bends to pick up the casings.
It wasn’t an odd thing.
He encouraged me to shoot more if I wanted…he had all he wanted.
Two more clips…I was done.
Though he was there…it wasn’t the same shooting alone.
He bends to pick up the casings…
Each one singing its bright eulogy as he drops them into the box.

He knew, I think.
The cancer was doing its work in a quiet corner of his left lung.
He knew.
             I was unaware
In two weeks we would share a last Father’s day
But before the summer was done he would be gone.
On the day of his surgery, we made small talk and laughed as we denied our fears
Two weeks later the disease had subdued him, his still strong body reduced to damp clay.
I bend to pick up his hand as they disconnect the machines and
Struggle as the silence interrupts the noise of a summer’s day.
He knew, I think, that I was unaware, unprepared, undone.

In my dreams, he asks me if I brought my pistol…
We walk the walk together to the shuffle of the cartridge box.
But when he asks me if I want to keep on, I say yes,
For fear of the last casing being retrieved
Placed in a box
Closing the lid
Saying good-by

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Dedicated to my beautiful sister, Alecia, who says she loves me...and means it.

It was October 17 ...my sisters 13th birthday.  The party was in full swing and I was the only one without a gift…. but to save the day, I picked up a card at the last possible moment…

Birthdays were a big deal at our house and there was an impressive stack of presents on the kitchen table from everyone in the family… well, almost everyone. As my sister ripped into each successive present the pressure grew until, at last, she picked up my card. She looked at me and asked in a tone that only a teenage sister can create, “No present?”  I replied in as any self respecting little brother should… I lied! “It’s in the card”

As she opened the card she read my loving inscription and then looked inside for the magic and mythical money that I never put in. She said it was empty…I was SHOCKED! We must have searched through the piles of wrapping paper for twenty minutes. Friends, the whole time she knew what you know today…. There was no money!

And yet, she forgave me…after all, I had at least remembered the card. There is something magic about the card. I am convinced that this is the primary reason that most of our elementary school career is dedicated to the fine art of card making.
                Mothers day – make a card
                Fathers day – make a card!
Valentine’s day – make a whole lot of cards!
Glitter, glue and elbow macaroni, all fashioned together to make a good impression and show how much we care

As adults, most people leave such childish things behind, but not me! I didn’t forget! Even in college…the girls LOVED them! Everything I need to tell the latest object of my affection I could put in the card!

My buddies would come over and ask me to go have a beer and play some tackle football at the intramural fields...I’ll be right there! Just need to slip on some shorts and put away my crayons…

Whether it is a Hallmark or homemade… there is something about a card!

How do I know? Because I know a beautiful girl who has saved some of my cards for over twenty years! That girl is my wife…and for her to have married me…those were some really good cards!

What is it about a card? – It is because it is an emotional snapshot… a genuine feeling in an electronic, pre-formatted age. How many times do we stop long enough to tell someone how much we care, that we are there for them, how much we love them? Not enough! But the card is all that, and more, because we can hold it and read it again and again… relive the emotion on command.

The best card I think that I ever sent was… well it was not even a card… it was a church bulletin. A note I scribbled down when I realized that father’s day was coming and I didn’t have a card. (Are you seeing a pattern here with me?) I just wrote some thoughts about what I had learned as a father and how I appreciated my Dad and his example. I can assure you, it wasn’t that profound… it was certainly the cheapest card I ever delivered! But when my father passed away a year and a half ago my brother, my sisters and I went to go through his things. And there tucked into the front of his sock drawer was my church bulletin.  I imagine him glancing at it daily as he went through the mundane procedure of putting on his socks… a daily reminder to him of how I felt. He kept that make shift card for over fifteen years. And I suspect that I will keep it at least that long now that it is in my sock drawer…

There really is something wonderful about a card!

Have you ever tried to give that “someone special” the perfect gift? Well let me tell you a secret… all they really want from us is to know that we love them … and care enough to say so.  To know that you care enough…  to put it in the card.

I love to give cards…but I love to get them even more!

Just a couple of days after my last birthday, I walked out to my mailbox and found this envelope with the familiar curve of my sister’s handwriting. It looked like a card! It felt like a card! IT WAS A CARD!
But before I could even open it my phone rang and who do you think it was? It was my sister!
Her timing was perfect! I had to ask her an important question; was there any money in it? She lied!

When I opened the card it was as I suspected… no money.

But there was this:
     “I just wanted you to know that I consider myself to be one of the luckiest sisters in the world to have a     brother like you. I love you and admire you… I am so proud of you…”

Three things I know:
            My sister tragically overrates her brother
            My sister loves me…
And she cares enough to put it in the card. 

Friday, March 5, 2010

Why I cried at Godspell...

Why I Cried at Godspell...

It wasn’t because of the meaning,
the passion,
a surprise of feeling,
or even that I had seen the young people in the cast playing shepherds and camels in Christmas pageants gone by.

It was when I saw my daughter’s face
when they removed Jesus from the cross.
Her expression was open and beautiful;
a reflection of sadness,
compassion, and
innocence
captured unaware under the weight of a moment.

Before the broken relationships,
Before the friendships that fade,
Before the dying of parents…
There is sadness...
                Pure,
                Captivating,
                And obvious in its purpose.

Within this slice of eternity, I am completely in awe of this girl…
            She is Mary.
She is the Venus of Hohle Fels.
            She is the woman at the well.
            She is Venus De Milo.
She is Esther.
She is Lucy.
                She is…
                                                Beautiful.

I watch her.
Her heart beats softly on her sleeve as she winks away her tear
I adjust my glasses to hide my own.