“To be or not to be…”

Hi, friends,
I’ve always found the ending of Shakespeare’s Hamlet a bit too much. The Prince of Norway arrives to meet with Prince Hamlet of Denmark only to discover that everyone in the room is either dead or dying (and Hamlet is involved in them all.) With his fading words he proclaims that the Norwegian prince is now the ruler of Denmark. What was Shakespeare’s point with so much death and destruction?

But Dr. Rufus Fears, Professor of Classics and History at U. Oklahoma, has helped me to make sense of this, and leaves me marveling once again at the genius of the “Bard.” It all starts when Hamlet listens to the ghost of his father who had been murdered by his own brother and so orders his son to wreak vengeance. The story is designed to hook us into Hamlet’s justified sense of horror and anger. But once Hamlet agrees to take on this ghostly (and ghastly) task he and everyone around him are doomed. Prof. Fears summarizes the message of Hamlet in one short phrase—“Move on”. Let it go. Seeking revenge won’t help—one way or another, it’ll wind up killing you and those you love.

We try to fool ourselves by thinking that if we keep the vengeance inside with our self-talk, we are safe. Wrong! Inside or out, this is toxic stuff. No one escapes. That’s why forgiveness isn’t a sign of weakness, or of inviting more bad behavior. It requires incredible strength, because we are paddling upstream—against our culture, our image, and most especially ourselves. It’s the most powerful expression of love we know.

Shakespeare’s final scene is filled with an orgy of death because… he knew his history, and he knew human nature. And while he(like Jesus) did his best to shock us into awareness about the deadly dangers of retaliation, this is a lesson that we have yet to master.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

“Patriots’ Day”

Hi, friends,
I hung our American flag outside this morning. It’s Patriots’ Day—a holiday here in Massachusetts and in Maine, commemorating the Battles at Lexington and Concord and “the shot heard ‘round the world.” The re-enactment will get a lot of coverage during the evening news and tomorrow’s papers. I treasure the freedom to speak my conscience and to worship as I feel led, and I honor those with the vision and courage to birth and sustain this noble experiment called the United States of America.

But Patriots’ Day is now more likely to be called “Marathon Day”; the Big Race will dominate the news in Boston all day. Patriotism will have to wait until the 4th of July to have its big day in Massachusetts.

We all know that the earliest Christians suffered persecution at the hands of Rome, but did you know that the main reason was because the Christians were judged as unpatriotic? Rome was surprisingly tolerant of other religious expressions, as long as everyone recognized Caesar as God. Most were able to make this compromise—but not the Christians. To them it was blasphemy, and they paid dearly for their tenacity—for almost 300 years. They stood up for their faith, and eventually the world changed.

Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote his landmark “Letter from A Birmingham Jail” back in April, 1963 in response to some local white clergy who criticized him for being an outside agitator, and implored him to show more patience by working through the courts rather than leading volatile demonstrations. King’s letter tells why he and his people couldn’t wait any longer. The rest is history—and five years later, almost to the day, he was dead.

Was he a patriot? In my mind, one of the most noble we have ever had—because he took seriously the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights. He held us to our words of self-definition. And the world changed.

Patriotism can be a very good thing, but it’s complex. It has mostly to do with how you understand “lordship”, and to Whom, or what, you will bend the knee.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

“Teamwork”

Hi friends,

I bumped into Teddy while out shopping—he’s been on the cemetery crew for years, so I’ve worked with him often. He’s middle aged, and today would be described as having “special needs”. Long deep conversations are not his thing. When provided with supervision, he performs his work well.

“Hi, Teddy! How have you been?” “You’re da PRIEST!” “Yes, I’m the Protestant Priest—that’s pretty close!” “Same thing.” (That’s high praise from a Roman Catholic in Milton.)

“You say the words.” “That’s right. And you dig the hole. We work together. I couldn’t do it without you, and you couldn’t do it without me.”

“God gets us to work together.” “That’s right! God likes it this way.”

Teddy is also a member of the Auxiliary Fire Department here in town. I don’t know how much responsibility he carries in that capacity, but I know this: When he stands at attention in the cemetery in his blue uniform at the Memorial Day exercises, no one does it with more dignity and pride.

I like the way our town has affirmed and supported him. And I like how he tells us what’s important to him—and to us.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

Hi, friends,

What does one say on the day after Easter? The sanctuary is very quiet now, as opposed to yesterday morning when the house was packed. You can still see some bulletins scattered in the pews or inside a hymnal. And if you look closely you can spot the odd palm tucked away somewhere. The Confirmation Class banners still hang, proclaiming their colorful messages. And I can still hear the many voices singing the traditional Easter hymns—or shall I say, “feel” the voices. Easter worship was powerful yesterday, and it would have been hard not to feel upbeat and excited. This morning, the questions lingers: “now what?” My response may surprise you.

Years ago a British expedition set off on a safari in an unnamed jungle in Africa. The terrain was too rough for pack animals, so they hired local natives to carry the gear on their backs. The Brits were in a hurry, and pushed the group to cover as much ground as possible from dawn to dusk. Finally, after about a week of this, the British leader got out of his tent in the morning only to find all of the natives sitting silently in a row on the ground. He told the native translator to order them to get up and get going, but the men didn’t move. The translator turned to the commander and said, “They cannot work today, sir. They are waiting for their spirits to catch up with their bodies.”

Lent and Holy Week offer many different kinds of opportunities to worship—drama, personal testimony, special music, and so forth. Interesting–I have seldom had an “aha” spiritual experience in worship. Those seem to come later, when and where I least expect them. But I’ve noticed a pattern. If I haven’t been worshiping, reading and reflecting, or taking time for personal prayer, the “aha experiences” seem to mysteriously dry up. Worship helps me to break open the crust of my heart and plant sacred seeds. The rest takes much more time.

And so it’s appropriate that today be a slow day, waiting for my spirit to catch up to my body. Easter is a celebration of something we proclaim as essential and life-giving. But the essence of what I’m celebrating needs time to sink in. So in response to my earlier question “Now what?” my answer is—“Today, not much.” And yet, this might be the most important part.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

“Good Friday–Where Are You?”

Hi, friends,

I’ve decided I’m going to stop fretting about whether many people will attend our Good Friday service tonight. Numbers are usually low at such a service, and I’ve got to accept that. And a service like this isn’t “my” thing, although it sure is tempting to take low attendance personally.

Fr. Richard Rohr makes the following comment about Good Friday:
“We would rather admire Jesus than follow him to Calvary…The cleverest way by which we’ve avoided following Jesus on his path toward death was to worship him. He never once said, ‘Worship me,’ but clearly said, ‘Follow me’ a number of times.”

I doubt that we followed Jesus any better when attendance was up. God is much more interested in whether we follow Jesus into the ever-present Good Fridays of this world, not so much a service at 7:30 tonight. Where are people broken and struggling for hope?(think prolonged unemployment) Where are they experiencing betrayal?(think human trafficking) Where are they forgotten?(think Haiti, or New Orleans) Abused?(think ‘near and far’) Told that they are nothing?(think Muslim women in some oppressive countries—or other people much, much closer to home)

Worship is intended to inspire us, educate us, challenge us, guide us. I lead it, and I also need it. But when push comes to shove, we already know the kinds of places where Jesus shows up. He’s waiting for us to join him. And the most important Good Friday prayer we can make? Probably something like this: “Oh, Lord, give me the strength and courage to stick by you.” So no matter where you are at 7:30 tonight, take some time to pray that prayer.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

“Holy Week & an Angel Named Sarah”

Hi, friends,

I was visiting Ethel in a local rehab, and after a while she invited her roommate Sarah to join the conversation. She wheeled over and I asked her to tell me about herself—and out poured her incredible life. She was a young woman living in the Auschwitz area when the Nazis came and because she is Jewish, was placed in the nearby concentration camp.

“How did you manage to survive?” I asked. “I don’t know. None of the accounts can capture what it was really like. We would wake up in the morning and find those who had died in the night. And we thought that they were the lucky ones. These eyes have seen too much cruelty.” She is hurt and angry, but strangely there is no bitterness.

“And your family?” I asked. “I was one of nine children—only one brother also survived. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles—all gone. And my husband—he was the only survivor of his family. So, we found each other and came to this country. Now we have a wonderful family—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. We had to make our family ourselves.”

“Sarah—what a special name,” I remark. “The mother of the Jewish people.” “Yes, I have been to her tomb in Israel. She is my namesake.” I turn to Ethel and ask, “did you know that Sarah means ‘one who laughs’? When she was told by the angel that she was going to have a baby at the age of 90, she laughed.” “That’s right, that’s right!” Sarah chimes in.

“Ethel(in her 80’s), how would you feel if an angel came to you now and told you that you were going to have a baby?” Ethel laughs, as does Sarah, but then the message sinks in, and Ethel’s face goes blank, and all she can say is, “Oh, my!” I feel the same way about Sarah’s life. I’m looking at this diminutive woman who refused to give up on herself and her soul despite crushing pressure. On the way home, I find that I cannot forget her spirit, her tenacity, and the brightness of her eyes. My troubles in life seem very small.

Holy Week is upon us. We know what’s coming—the darkness, the betrayal, the utter aloneness of Jesus, and the cruelty of his death. But we also know it doesn’t end there. God wouldn’t let it, and neither can we. Sarah will carry her horrible memories with her for the rest of her life…but she carries much more. She took what remained after her liberation and became a life-giver, not just biologically through her children, but through her adamant refusal to allow her suffering to compromise her love. Her family will speak of her for generations to come–were it not for her faith, courage and strength of will, they would not be. God is Good. I must always cling to that.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

“The Cost and Joy of…Hope”

Hi, friends,

I don’t remember most of the words of advice from my father—but I remember his example. I can’t recall all of the pep-talks made by my high school coaches, but as a green sophomore I well remember the juniors and seniors who set the pace that I felt compelled to follow. And I remember my spiritual heroes who spoke inspiring words but, most importantly, put their lives on the line during the Civil Rights era. So, I’m always on the look-out for a stirring story to pass on because I know the unusual power of a life lived out of love and dedication.

Robi Damelin** grew up in South Africa and worked actively for co-existence instead of apartheid—a risky stance for a young woman. She then emigrated to Israel, leaving one deeply entrenched difficulty for another. After experiencing the relentless struggle up close, she came to the conclusion that Israel would never become free by force, but only by working out a mutually satisfactory relationship with the Palestinians. A tall order, but one worthy of her life’s energy.

Her son, David, shared her views. Military service in the Israeli army was mandatory—he and his mother discussed his options, and rather than go to jail in protest, he decided to serve as an officer and seek to model the humanitarian values he espoused. But his uniform marked him as a symbol of an occupying army, and on March 3, 2002, he was killed by a Palestinian sniper.

Devastated by grief, Robi chose to continue to work for peace, becoming a spokesperson for “The Parents Circle,” a group of more than 600 Israeli and Palestinian families who have lost an immediate family member to this conflict. She says, “reconciliation isn’t about hugging and eating hummus. It’s about understanding the needs of the other.”

She has since joined another group, “Blood Relations,” through which “The Parents Circle” publicly donated their blood to both Israeli and Palestinian hospitals as a symbolic act of healing. Our blood unites us all. “The pain of David’s death never goes away,” says Robi. “But what do you do with this pain? Do you invest it in revenge, or do you think creatively?”

Robi may not live to see the reconciliation for which she pours out her time and energy. But she’s doing the right thing, the hopeful thing, despite the odds. It isn’t “about her”, and it isn’t about revenge. The talks and negotiations could go on ‘ad infinitum’—but people like Robi have the key.

Your fellow traveler,
Jeff

**Thanks to Lynne Hybels for this story, found in the March, 2012 issue of “Sojourners”.