SHOT

I got a pneumonia shot today. I didn’t cry. So, I thought, “I’ll get myself an ice cream cone.”  And I did.

How did those things ever get connected in my mind? Why did I think I should get an ice cream because I got a shot—and did not cry?  Is it deep in my childhood memory? Was I rewarded for not crying when I was in pain?

I am not sure, but I have heard of such a thing. We often reward children if they don’t cry. Or, we sometimes shame them if they do. When a child gets hurt, we sometimes say, “There, there, don’t cry.  It’ll be all right.” (As if the fact that it will be all right makes the pain any less intense.)

Why do we teach children to hold in their tears when they are hurt? Is it because we don’t like the sound of crying? Is it because we don’t want them to hurt and we can pretend it doesn’t hurt if they are not crying? Is it because we feel powerless to fix their problem?  Probably these and many other reasons explain our efforts.

But, I wonder what this conditioning does to us when we become adults and do not feel that we have permission to cry when we hurt.  What does this way of dealing with tears of children contribute to the inability of many people to express their painful emotions? 

Tears are a gift. They reflect our being in touch with primary feelings such as pain or hurt or sadness.  If we do not express these softer and more honest feelings, they can often get twisted and become hardened and then channeled as anger or aggression toward others. Tears help us release the tension that we often feel when we are overcome with stress or too many painful circumstances.

So, maybe we could try something to help us adults express our more primary feelings.  Maybe we could get an ice cream cone when we give in to the sadness and cry. 

OFFICE HOURS

Most of my life I have done work in service of others. I spent over 3 decades providing pastoral leadership in churches and another 15 years working at a seminary training people to become clergy.  During the past 7 years I have been an executive coach and congregational consultant.

One of the things that all three of these phases of my life shared was the unpredictability of the job. You could make plans but were never sure that someone might come along that would require that you change your plans. Office hours were terribly unpredictable.

But several years ago I finally found the sign for my office door that reflected the reality of my job. Deb and I were hiking the Milford Track in New Zealand and after a couple of days through the rain forest, we went over a mountain on which it was snowing.  In the hut at the top where we had some hot chocolate and a snack, I found this sign:

OFFICE HOURS

Open most days about 9-10,
Occasionally as early as 7 but some days as late
As 12 or 1.
We close about 5 or 6
Occasionally about 4 or 5
But sometimes as late as 11 or 12.
Some days or afternoons we aren’t here at all
But lately I have been here just about all the time—
Except when I am someplace else but I should
Be here then too!!

Now that I am partially retired and work only part time, this still adorns my door as a reminder that I have practiced this schedule all my life.  

And it has been a really good life!!

WHICH SIN

I am not sure which sin I committed today. Lust, Envy. Not sure.  I went to an auto show today with probably 10,000 people and 150 automobiles.  There they were, Lotus, Lamborghini, Maserati, Porsche, Aston Martin, BMW, and dozens of others.  They were glistening as their owners dusted off the finger prints. Incredible beauty and lines, amazing restorations and lush leather trim.  I was enthralled. 

Now I think there was some lust in my heart.  There was an intense desire to have what I was seeing. I could imagine driving at high speeds out in the western plains. I could imagine that the smooth grace of those cars could rub off on my rough, wrinkled skin. I could be young again.

Or, maybe I was committing the sin of envy.  Maybe I was looking at young men who couldn’t be more than 30 years of age having enough money to own such a beautiful ride. Envy is defined by Augustine as “sadness over another’s good fortune.” Not sure I was sad, just wished I might have what they have.

As I pondered my response to this gathering of grace and beauty, I looked at the title of the event. “Artomobilia”.  Oh, so this is art.  It is automobiles which are to be appreciated as pieces of art. It reminded me of a recent exhibit at the Indianapolis Museum of Art called “Dream Cars.” It was an installation of concept cars from 1934 until the present. They were there to be appreciated as pieces of art.

Now I get it. I was not really lusting after what someone else owned. Nor was I envious of them of having the resources to own them. Because, really, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for taking care of such luxury. But, what I was really doing was reveling in beauty.  And so as I drove home, the primary feeling I had was appreciation—appreciation to these people who came from all over the country to share the beauty and appreciation for the ability to see and experience such beauty.

And as far as I know, appreciation isn’t a sin.

Whew!!

NOT SUCH HOT STUFF

As a person of faith, I have prayed and heard prayers all my life. Prayers are expressions of the deepest longings of the human heart cast before the mysterious, creative reality that many call God.  In a recent Sunday service, an elder prayed before the sharing of the Lord’s Supper.  He spoke my heart.  I want to share this prayer by my friend Clark Williamson.

We do not come to this  your table, O gracious and compassionate God, trusting in our own righteousness because, frankly, we are not such hot stuff.  We come because you call us, one by one, by name, as you called the people Israel, by name, as Jesus called all his disciples, one by one, by name. So you call us one by one by name, to this table, and we are here because we are wanted.  Many of us know what it is “not to be wanted” and what a victory it is to know and accept that in fact we are accepted. Amen

My heart was broken with gratitude for the words that speak the longings of each human heart and the good news that the holy creator knows and wants each of us. Would that our lives could share that gift with those we know.

UNDER-APPRECIATED ARTIST

I was sitting in church and suddenly it dawned on me. Keith was playing the organ. He is our organist at the church and the week before he was not there. A guest organist was there and I knew it when I heard the first notes. It didn’t sound the same.

But, last week Keith was back. And all was right with he world. I am accustomed to his practices in worship. I know how long he waits to begin the introduction to hymns. I can detect the subtle differences in the way he plays a spiritual or a classical piece. His selection of the music for the offering is diverse and interesting.

As I sat there listening last Sunday, I realized how much we take Keith’s presence for granted. Here is an artist who shares his gifts each week. He has practiced piano and organ for hours on end throughout his life. He works on music each week to enhance the experience of worship. He selects music that helps communicate the message for the morning. He courageously puts his music into the worship knowing that each mistake he might make will be noticed. And yet, he keeps sharing his love of music with us.

But all to often I come and go from worship, failing to notice how important his gifts are for my experience of the divine presence. His constant presence, his gifts woven through the words, prayers and liturgy, his leading of the congregational hymns with the touch of fingers on a keyboard, all help create a unified experience. All the different things that we do in the worship service and held together by the sensitive contribution of Keith’s talent with he organ and the piano.

I noticed last Sunday, and I deeply appreciate an artist who often goes unnoticed.