My Father is my Role Model

A little over twenty three years ago my father began a new phase of his journey. He departed this life and entered the next.

Wherever he went on this earth my father left an indelible impression on those he encountered. To start with he had a port-wine birthmark that covered one half of his face. So to meet him was to see that huge red mark. But in just a few minutes, if you were like 95% of the people who met him, you completely forgot about the birthmark. My father’s warm, gregarious personality overwhelmed any feelings of “look at that red mark.” In short he became your friend and then there was so much more to be fascinated with than a port wine colored birthmark.

Though he was never able to finish the sixth grade, my father was a widely read man. Dad used to say, “If you can read you can learn anything!” And he proved his love of reading by collecting books and magazines on almost any topic, from all around the world. Just off the top of my head I remember a novel about a Chinese peasant, a collection of folk tales from Liberia, Mother Earth News, a host of political writings, McGuffy Readers from the early 1900’s, various tomes on holistic medicine, popular science, popular mechanics; and the list is just getting started.

Dad’s friends were…well most everyone wanted to be his friend. Our home was always open for the stranger. So many people counted our family as their own, that we had a hard time figuring out who should sit where at the funeral. The conversation went something like this. Well there’s Don. He has to sit with the family. Don was about a third cousin, but spent as much time at our house as I did.

We never had Thanksgiving or Christmas where only our immediate family was present. Someone always brought a friend or sometimes even the friend of a friend along who had nowhere to go that day. Each one was welcomed and accepted to sit at that table and enjoy the conversation, great food, and hospitality in our home. The funny thing was that few people felt like they were outsiders. In just minutes they would be laughing and talking, fully engaged in whatever topic was being discussed.

What made this even more interesting was that our family was only one generation removed from being Amish. Both my mother and father were raised Amish. I grew up in a very conservative offshoot of the Amish. We had cars and electricity, but other than that…we looked the part.

Among people who counted my dad as their friend were people who were blatantly racist, people who were deeply religious, as well as those who did not believe in God at all. Our family had so many friendships outside our close Amish-like community, that none of us kids learned how to speak “dutch.”  But to everyone who crossed his path, dad was welcoming, generous, and giving.

He once gave his credit card to a young man who got stuck on his honeymoon and told him to mail it back when he got home. More than once, young men seeking to buy a house, came to my dad for help; and our family really didn’t have that much to spare, but he tried to give these young families a shot at home ownership.

Long after his death, after my brother had purchased the home place and was then getting ready to sell and move away, there was an amazing gathering. So many people had come to see 1121 Rittman Road as their second home, so many referred to my parents as their grandparents, that they gathered together  to remember. They talked about the wonderful days and nights they had spent within those walls. They talked about the way my father had influenced them; befriended them. They reminisced and shared. They all laughed, and some even cried.

Even though my dad had long since begun that new phase of his journey, here were people gathered to remember how his open door home made them feel like they belonged, like they mattered. His generosity had touched them all in some powerful way. He truly reflected God in a powerful way.

So this weekend as I remember my father, I realize anew the desire to be like him. I want my children to see me welcome and accept others, especially those who need a place to feel safe and at home. I want to instill in my children a deep love of books and reading, to be “hunters and gatherers” of learning. And long after I begin that phase of my journey that comes after this life, my hope is that my family and others remember my life as reflecting the values of my both of my fathers…earthly and heavenly.

Peace,

Leon

Camping: I Hate It

It’s that time of the year. School is out and families are preparing to experience the great camping adventures of summer.

We have friends who use pop-up campers, others prefer tents, and there are even a few who love a sleeping bag out under the stars. But they all tell wonderful stories of sitting around the campfire at night, making smores, roasting hotdogs and making hobo breakfasts on the bottom of old tin cans. What an economical way to bring entertainment and fun into the lives of your children.  And it doesn’t stop there. I know elderly people who as they got older bought bigger and better campers. When they camp it is in style. Every weekend throughout the summer one can find large groups of people visiting or playing games together as they sit outside their beautiful pull behinds or RV’s.

I am not one to rain on anyone’s camping experience, but I just don’t like sleeping outdoors. I don’t like sleeping in a tent. I don’t like mosquitoes and bugs. I don’t like choking on smoke. I don’t like baking in the heat or freezing in the cold. Actually camping seems like the perfect way to waste a house. My big beef is with tent camping, but please hear me out. Almost every time I have been camping since 1979 it has rained. In fact, I can only remember one time when it didn’t. And I don’t mean a gentle rain or drizzle.

Once in Indiana there was a tornado. Tents blew away, trees came crashing down, camp sites were flooded; it was a doozy. Then there was that time in the UK, it started raining the minute I got into my sleeping bag. All night long the rain poured down, and before it was done it was raining sideways. I was soaked. My sleeping bag was soaked. My backpack and everything in it was soaked. But since I was not a quitter several nights later we were trekking once again. This time it alternately snowed, hailed and sleeted throughout the night. People always say things like, “Oh but what great memories!” Memories! I needed inner healing after that week!

Sometime since that night I decided the camping Gods had it in for me. Never again would I go camping. But then I got married. And a couple of years ago my wife begged me to go camping in a tent with her and the kids. I told her “No way was I going to sleep in a tent again.” I explained that if I did it would rain. She scoffed at me and muttered something about inducing a curse.

So after we got the tent set up (you see who won that argument) we chatted with the folks nearby and finally decided to go to bed around ten that night. And sure enough it started to rain. The little creek near our tent was transformed into a raging torrent. Soon a small river was running through the tent. Once again everything got soaked and once again I got no sleep. I spent a large chunk of the next day at a laundry washing and drying things out.

I really should find a way to market this unusual ability…or curse. Got a drought? Give me a call. I’ll set up camp and it WILL rain. For now I will watch others go camping and listen to their stories of adventure. Me; I prefer a Hampton Inn and Suites with high speed internet and a good breakfast buffet. I‘m not a weenie. I just hate getting wet out of context.

Peace,

Leon

Deep Thoughts

I like to explore the depth of people from years gone by.  I often read the thoughts of people who lived hundreds or even over a thousand years ago. The difference between the Christian faith many of these people exhibited makes what one sees today in North America seem kind of selfish and superficial.

I find my own mind and heart challenged as I allow those who were giants of faith, in an era that suffered deeply and remained faithful, to speak into my life. So I thought I would share this one I read from Saint John Chrysostom. Saint John lived in the fourth and fifth century. He was a prolific writer, powerful preacher, and lover of God. His thoughts are sometimes so deep that I have to read and re-read them. This piece refers to the “prayer of Jesus.” This ancient prayer of the early Christians goes like this.

“Lord Jesus Christ, son of God. Have mercy on me a sinner.”

Below is the passage from St. John.

Remembering the name of Jesus rouses the enemy to battle. One who forces himself to pray the prayer of Jesus can find anything by this prayer, both good and evil. First, he can see evil in the recesses of his own heart, and afterwords good. This prayer can stir the snake to action, and this prayer can lay it low. This prayer can expose the sin that is living within us, and this prayer can eradicate it. This prayer can stir up in the heart all the power of the enemy, and this prayer can conquer it and gradually root it out. The name of the Lord Jesus Christ, as it descends into the depths of the heart, will subdue the snake which controls it pastures, and will save and revive the soul. Continue constantly in the name of the Lord Jesus that the heart may swallow the Lord and the Lord the heart, and that these two may be one.

Peace,

Leon

Torture: Simply Wrong

As a child I heard about the evils of Communism. I heard about gulags and Stalin. I heard about Khruschev and godlessness. I heard about torture. As got older, and was able to read for myself, I read about first-hand experiences of people who were tortured for their faith.

I remember reading about people being forced to endure temperature extremes, sleep deprivation, beatings, and violence as others attempted to get information out of them. I wondered how people could treat other people so inhumanely. How could a difference of ideas be so misconstrued as to constitute justification for that kind of evil?

Then came the Vietnam War and people from my town were POWS and endured horrible tortures. “Why?” I wondered. “Why do people treat each other like that?”As I matured I learned to feel pride that my country did not engage in those kinds of behaviors.

The “Soviets” were concerned with keeping their society safe from the myths of religion and political ideas that threatened their norm. The Vietnamese were under attack from our forces and used that as a justification for their mistreatment of our soldiers. Both societies were concerned about protecting their way of life. But even as a teenager none of the reasons I heard made enough sense to me as to justify torture and beatings (as an aside, killing people in general does not make much sense to me).

Now I hear people from my government, and my society, using the same kind of rhetoric to justify “enhanced interrogation” techniques. Good, well-meaning people proudly proclaim, “If just one American life is saved it is worth it.” This is not the head in the sand “we didn’t know what was happening” situation the world encountered after WWII. No! We know what was going on. We have pictures of the degrading treatment in Abu Ghraib. And I seriously doubt that such behaviors only happened in that one prison.

We know that people were being water boarded, an activity that has always been considered torture. A Texas sheriff deputy was prosecuted by Ronald Reagan’s Department of Justice for water boarding prisoners in an attempt to get information. But now we have voices at the highest levels of government saying they are not sure if water boarding meets the legal definition of torture since a doctor was always in the room. Now, since it is to protect our way of life, things that once were considered torture by most everyone, are suddenly not so clear.

I am reminded of our erstwhile president’s statement, “It depends on what the meaning of “is” is.” Redefining “is” caused outrage, and justifiably so. Redefining “torture” seems much more palatable to some of those who were aghast at President Clinton’s “is” fiasco. In my opinion both redefinitions are nothing more than attempts to hide from the truth.

Torture is simply wrong. While I do not want our country attacked, and I do not want American lives lost; I do not believe that safety is worth losing our collective soul. It is wrong to engage in the kinds of behaviors our constitution and the Geneva Convention condemn. It is wrong to adopt methods of treating others, even those considered our enemies, that constitute torture.

Please. Not in my country and not in my name.

Peace,

Leon

Death

For a long time, in my daily prayers, I have included prayers for those who have lost loved ones. The sense of despair can be overwhelming.

This week dear friends of mine lost their 18 year old son in a car crash. I was reminded of the depth of sorrow death brings to those of us who still live. While I have never lost a child I have lived through the death of numerous family members, including my first wife. As I have grieved the loss of my friend’s son I tried to put into words how I remember feeling when death invaded my life.

What follows is kind of dark, but it is real. It is what I felt. Thank God it is not the end of the journey, but it was a very real phase. Perhaps later I will add more to this piece that includes the healing phase. I can honestly say life is good. I have joy.  But I also have a deep identification with those who suffer the pain of loss. Join me in lifting up to God all who are in the depth of pain that comes when someone they love departs this life.

Death

The gaping hole inside…is filled with empty, numbing pain

Tears; waterfalls really…but I can’t seem to cry anymore

Shock…overwhelming reality

I cannot go on…I must go on

I am exhausted…insomnia has become my partner

I cannot take in such a vast amount of pain…yet it keeps on coming

I go into the room, smell the clothes …but will never again hold my loved one

Memories comfort me…memories torture me

I am empty inside…but filled with an aching longing

I will be sad forever…I cannot even imagine the future

Vague numbness…specific pain

I cannot cry anymore…but suddenly, I weep and sob

I feel abandoned…a deep, abiding sorrow is my constant companion

I am so full of pain…I am rarely hungry

My life has come to a screeching halt…others go on as if nothing has happened

All of me is pain and suffering…my soul has been shredded

Every waking moment is wracked with pain…the blessing of sleep eludes me

Life goes on…I cannot put one foot in front of the other

I cling to memories…but the life I knew is gone

Will this nightmare never end…I am reminded at 3 AM, this is no dream, this is my life

O Lord. Have mercy on all who suffer the despair of loss. Have mercy O God. Have mercy.

Joyous Music and Bloody Occasions

Last evening my family went to my daughter’s high school pops concert. I was impressed with the quality of the music. The jazz band was amazing, the string orchestra rich and lush, the brass was polished (both literally and musically), there several choirs; overall it was a great concert!

The theme for the concert was Americana. We heard everything from rock and roll and Scott Joplin to some Walt Whitman stuff set to music. It was a high quality production with vocalists, projected images, recitations, and all around great music.

A major part of Americana is the military side of things. Let the record show that the stirring, martial music of all branches of our military was present and accounted for. It was moving to see old men, long retired from this or that branch of the military, be honored for their years of service. Each stood as the song from their branch of the service was played.

However, it was also quite jarring to hear the happy, dignified strains of the songs honoring those who served, while watching images of tanks, helicopters, and F-18s at war. Somehow the honor and dignity conveyed in the songs seemed darkened and sullied by the reality (projected images) of what war actually does to people; both those who must fight and those who are killed.

Nowhere in those spirited songs did anyone get the sense of how many service men and women have committed suicide after they returned home and were not able to re-integrate the horrors of their experience back into society. Nothing in the music reflected on my friend with PTSD (and thousands like him) who, after Vietnam, wonders through life destroying relationship after relationship with his explosive outbursts, and also missing from the music was the precious little help he  did not received from the VA hospitals. The uplifting melodies did not reflect the increase in broken families and failed marriages that come with war. And finally, nowhere in the stirring music is one moved to think about the tally…you know, how many people did that tank crew have to kill? How many bombs did that sleek, beautiful F-18 drop, and on whom? And the kindly older gentleman who stood three rows back as the Marine Hymn was being played; what scars, emotional or otherwise, does he carry as a result of his participation?

My mind was filled with these musings. Was I the only one present who had these thoughts. Did anyone else wonder at the juxtaposition of amazing music and weapons of destruction, designed only to kill and maim the nameless enemies. Am I strange to think that somehow Jesus our Lord, shakes his head and sighs at the inability of humanity to get along? Am I nuts? Everyone else seemed to be fully at home and not giving the beautiful music paired with the violent images a second thought. Did the music somehow serve to sanitize reality? I left the concert deep in thought.

As we left my son summed it all up when he offered this unsolicited comment. “That sure was some joyous music for such a bloody occasion.” Ok. No blood was spilled at the concert. But he gets it! He understood the message and saw that it was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. He understood that no amount of violins, brass, flutes, and kettle drums; or stirring, emotional music, can erase the violence of war or make it better.

Joyous music and bloody occasions…makes you think don’t it?

Peace,

Leon

What Kind of Dictator Would You Be: And Other Topics My Kids Bring Up

Driving around with my kids can be a wonderfully mysterious, often hilarious, experience. Getting to hear their insight into life, experiencing their wit and emerging ideas can have you in stitches, or tears, depending on the subject matter.Recently we were out and about grocery shopping when I was startled by this question from my son.

“Dad, if you would be a dictator, what kind of dictator do you think you would you be?”

Well now there’s a question you don’t get every day. In fact, I don’t think I have ever given it a thought! I was not sure how to begin to answer his question, so I did the classic; I have no idea where to go with this one, move and turned it back to him.

“Hmmm. Not sure son. What kind of dictator do you think you would be?”

Unlike me he had obviously given this a good deal of thought, because he immediately responded.

“I would want to be a good dictator so people would like me and stuff. I would try to make everything equal for the people. I would try to show people how to do God stuff, show them right from wrong. And I would avoid death at all costs!”

At first I wondered how avoiding death was a political objective, but after I thought about it for a bit it did make sense. However, I am not sure he’s picked up on the difference between a democratic leader and a dictator, but that is one of the reasons the conversation was so funny. And I guess I had better inform him that eventually death is in the cards for all of us.

On another recent trip, he reminded me to “buckle up.” I thanked him for reminding me. After a brief moment of silence he burst out with.

“You must have AIDS!”

“What?” I asked, shocked and surprised.

“You know. It’s a disease that makes you forget stuff. And you forget stuff all the time so you must have AIDS.”

It was very hard not to burst out laughing. “Do mean Alzheimer’s?” I asked him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “That’s the one I mean.”

This morning on the way to church with my kids we talked about the economy and the political will to make hard choices. They brought it up and off we went. At one point we stopped the conversation and I was told,

“This is a good conversation and I’m enjoying it so don’t stop talking.”

On the way back we talked about abortion and war, why they exist and what Jesus might want for those situations. After that we discussed homosexuality and the Kingdom of God. Believe me that was a challenging conversation to have with a twelve and fourteen year old.

What a gift my kids are. While they are typical kids, they think deeply about life. Sometimes I expect them to be occupied only with fun thing like sports, cell phones, and music. But I am constantly challenged with their deep thoughts about the nature of life.

Lord have mercy. I need far more wisdom than I have to guide them.

Peace.

Are the Decorations What it is All About

The last few weeks I have been noticing all manner of Christmas decorations. Some are lovely and others are just sad. All are suppose to reflect the “reason for the season” but do they?

Probably my least favorite thing is blow up decorations and we seem to be polluted with them around here. I have seen blow up Santas, blow up globes with carolers in them, a blow up Christmas tree with Santa and a reindeer, blow up snowmen, blow up angels, blow up nut crackers, blow up penguins, blow up polar bears, and the worst of the lot; a blow up manger scene complete with the holy family and a shepherd or two. And this list does not count the many blow up decorations I witnessed laying deflated on the ground. In that state they look even more like what I consider them to be: trash that needs to be picked up!

Then there are the wire mesh reindeer and Christmas trees. Why do these things exist? Sometimes they are covered in gaudy blinking lights just to make sure they are noticed. I don’t get it. What is attractive about blow up decorations? Why would you place a wire reindeer in your front yard? In my opinion they look cheap and tacky! I fail to see how they convey the depth and mystery of Christmas.

There are probably few decorations that can actually do that, but some just seem to be more tasteful than others. I hope I have not offended any of you by offering my frank opinion. But we seem to have come a long way from what Christmas is about. The following sermon was given by St John Chrysostom at the feast of the Nativity almost 1600 years ago. He really did grasp the depth of God becoming human. Notice the present tense voice he uses. This eternally relevant event took place in history, but is not just something from the past.
Christ is born! Glorify Him!

I behold a new and wondrous mystery! My ears resound to the shepherd’s song, piping no soft melody, but loudly chanting a heavenly hymn! The angels sing! The archangels blend their voices in harmony! The cherubim resound their joyful praise! The seraphim exult His glory!

All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead here on earth and man in heaven. He who is above now, for our salvation, dwells here below; and we, who were lowly, are exalted by divine mercy. Today Bethlehem resembles heaven, hearing from the stars the singing of angelic voices and, in the place of the sun, witnessing the rising of the Sun of Justice!

Ask now how this was accomplished, for where God wills the order of nature is overturned. For He willed, He has the power. He descended. He saved. All things move in obedience to God.

Today, He Who is born. And He Who Is becomes what He was not. For when He was God, He became man – while not relinquishing the Godhead that is His. And so the kings have come and they have seen the heavenly King that is come upon the earth, did not bring with Him angels, nor archangels, nor thrones, nor dominations, nor powers, nor principalities, but treading a new and solitary path, He has come forth from a spotless womb. Yet He has not forsaken His angels, nor left them deprived of His care, nor because of His incarnation has He ceased being God.

And behold the kings have come that they might serve the Leader of the Hosts of Heaven; Women, so that they might adore Him Who was born of a woman so that He might change the pains of child birth to joy; Virgins, to the Son of the Virgin . . .Infants that they might adore Him Who became a little child, so that out of the mouths of infants He might perfect praise; Children, to the Child Who raised up martyrs through the rage of Herod; Men to Him Who became man that He might heal the miseries of His servants; Shepherds to the Good Shepherd Who has laid down His life for His sheep; Priests, to Him Who has become a High Priest according to the order of Melchisidech; Servants to Him Who took upon Himself the form of a servant that He might bless our stewardship with the reward of freedom; Fishermen to the Fisher of humanity; Publicans, to Him Who from among them named a chosen evangelist; Sinful women to Him Who exposed His feel to the tears of the repentant woman; And that I may embrace them all together, all sinners have come, that they might look upon the lamb of God Who takes away the sins of the world!

Since, therefore, all rejoice, I too desire to rejoice! I too wish to share the choral dance, to celebrate the festival! But I take my part, not plucking the harp, nor with music of the pipes nor holding the torch, but holding in my arms the cradle of Christ!

For this is all my hope! This is my life! This is my salvation! This is my pipe, my harp! And bearing it I come, having from its power received the gift of speech, I too, with the angels sing: “Glory to God in the Highest,” and with the shepherds: “and on earth peace to men of good will.”

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Christmas

So a funny thing happened on the way to Christmas.

We always like to go out and cut our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. That way we get to enjoy the tree for a whole month. It’s a big family outing. And then we decorate the tree and bring out the old standby ornaments we have had since the kids were just little. It’s a wonderful way to spend the weekend.

Usually my dear wife is the tree chooser. Oh the rest of us act like we have a say, but in reality it is the queen of our household who gives the nod to this or that tree. We start out at the tree farm with all the options. There are big trees, little trees, fat ones, well shaped ones and those that have gaps. They all cost the same so price is not really an issue. But my dear wife has us traipsing hither and yon looking for that perfect sized and full-bodied tree. Often we wind up at the first or second rejected one, because it was “Ok after all.” This year the weather was perfect, not too cold. We were done in about 20 minutes; very little fuss or wasted time. Sue said, “That was too fast. It should have taken longer.” I should have known then that something strange was up.

Then the decorating of the tree went off without a hitch. My wife rarely rants, but I have experienced her completely unglued when strings of lights seemed to have a will of their own, randomly lighting up and going out. Numerous times we have had the tree inexplicably decide to lean off to one side, which made my poor spouse crazy! Other years ornaments fall for no reason, but not this year. This year there was none of that. The new LED lights worked like a charm. The tree seems to be standing at attention. And all the tree ornaments are hanging in there. Why didn’t I take notice?

I managed to purchase my children their gifts a couple of weeks ago. Sue’s gift was purchased last week. Looking back I realize all this was going way too smoothly. Wednesday evening I wrapped Sue’s gift. I do not enjoy wrapping gifts, and I am not that good at it. Somehow the paper always gets bunched up or crooked and looks like a third grader did it. But since it was Sue’s gift I couldn’t very well have her wrap it. So I managed to wrap this rather large box in a way that actually looked Ok. The stripes were running pretty straight, and everything lined up.

I was in the process of bringing her gift down the stairs to the waiting tree. Now the stairs in our home seems to be the repository for just about everything under the sun. At any time one might find homework, coats, socks, books, really just about everything on our stairs. Well my field of vision was full of a freshly wrapped gift and I did not see that about half-way down the stairs was the homework assignment of one of our dear offspring. My foot hit the paper, which decided to act like black ice, and suddenly I was moving down the steps in a far more rapid fashion that I ever anticipated. Well at least a part of me was. While one leg was bumping rapidly down the stairs, my other leg managed to get twisted and wedged at what felt like eight feet in the other direction. After all of me was back together at the bottom of the stairs I was one hurting puppy. And sure enough I am now the proud owner of a fractured fibula. Thankfully it was not a complete break or a displaced fracture.

On another bright note the freshly wrapped gift was intact and not even wrinkled; and our stairs have never looked so empty. My family jumps to serve me at every turn, a reality I am trying to milk for all it’s worth. My neighbor even came over to check on me today while everyone was at work and school. My hunch is that all this service will change in direct proportion to the return of my mobility.

Well next year I am looking forward to at least an hour of looking for just the right tree in a cold wind, preferably one that won’t stand up straight. Hopefully the lights will not work properly. And I won’t buy any Christmas gifts until the week of Christmas. And hopefully next year I will not have any broken bones.

Peace,

Leon

Advent: Expecting the Expected

Advent is a time when intense expectation fills our hearts with longing for that which already is. God has entered our world. Eternity has come into our realm. Heaven has invaded earth. So we celebrate with great expectation.

This is not the celebration of a calandar day, but rather the celebration of the dawing of a new age for humankind. Christ is coming. That reality is as exciting today as it was almost 2000 years ago. It is like Christ is coming for the first time today. This sense of expectation is captured so well in this song I posted a year ago. I thought I would post it again.

Enjoy