The following came to me in an email. I have included the comments by the young doctor and my thoughts on his concerns.
Dear Mr. President:
During my shift in the Emergency Room last night, I had the pleasure of evaluating a patient whose smile revealed an expensive shiny gold tooth, whose body was adorned with a wide assortment of elaborate and costly tattoos, who wore a very expensive brand of tennis shoes, and who chatted on a new cellular telephone equipped with a popular R&B ring tone. While glancing over her patient chart, I happened to notice that her payer status was listed as "Medicaid"!
During my examination of her, the patient informed me that she smokes more than one costly pack of cigarettes every day and somehow still has money to buy pretzels and beer.
And, you and our Congress expect me to pay for this woman's health care? I contend that our nation's "health care crisis" is not the result of a shortage of quality hospitals, doctors or nurses. Rather, it is the result of a "crisis of culture", a culture in which it is perfectly acceptable to spend money on luxuries and vices while refusing to take care of one's self or, heaven forbid, purchase health insurance.
It is a culture based on the irresponsible credo that "I can do whatever I want to because someone else will always take care of me."
Once you fix this "culture crisis" that rewards irresponsibility and dependency, you'll be amazed at how quickly our nation's health care difficulties will disappear.
It is worth the read - but how many others did he work on who don't have all the flashy stuff and would not go to the ER for treatment because they know they are not insured. There must be an "in between" a way to treat people who need health care and maybe a way for them to give back to society for what they get.
Years ago in one of my first sociology classes we talked about giving assistance while requiring something in return. The prof talked about how it is unethical to give with strings - consequently, if I give money to a panhandler (for instance) I no longer tell that person how spend it so if it goes to booze the values of the person remain paramount. As I age, I see that I would like to have strings or accountability attached to some things. But food, shelter, health care, safety are basics. No one should go without - nor should everyone get palatial housing, gourmet meals or expensive and extensive elective surgery/treatment.
As a society, we need to struggle with this. So, I am going to blog this. I will leave the doc's name off.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Dinner for One
When I was young and single, I cooked for one -- when I cooked which was not all that often. Then, when first married, I cooked for two. That was an experience because all I knew how to cook was roast beef, baked potatoes with lots of butter and sour cream and green beans. Eventually, I learned a few other things to cook that were less expensive.
After my divorce, with a small son, I cooked little meals made up of the meats and vegetables I bought from Bell’s Market that was a few blocks from my home. I made just a small salary (not much has changed there!) and the wonderful butchers at the market offered me meat at discount prices if I came on Saturday afternoon when the meat might spoil before Monday because stores were still closed on Sundays in those days. I could feed the two of us on $5 per week! And we ate well - lamb chops, steaks, good cuts of beef and fresh chicken and fresh veggies! Amazing!
In my second marriage, my husband brought five sons and I one, so we had six boys who needed to eat three meals each day. I learned to make menus and follow them to the letter. They were posted on the refrigerator: Monday through Sunday: breakfast, lunch and dinner with snacks. The kids learned that if food was a snack, they could eat it, otherwise, it was part of a meal they would eat during the week. My cooking improved. As we grew into our more married life, we joined AAUW or church dinner groups as my cooking branched out to the more exotic, I became known as a good cook.
Now, six years into widowhood, I rarely cook a meal for myself. Cooking for one is so tiresome. I have a book or two about cooking for one, but some nights I am not home to do that and I skip a meal or eat food that is not interesting. Part of the result of skipping meals or eating on the run is weight gain that could rob me of good health. To help with the weight, I exercise six days each week. And, when exercising alone was not successful at trimming the weight, I rejoined Weight Watchers.
This morning at my 7AM WW meeting, I complained about having to cook for one and how all recipes seem developed for 4 or 6 or 8. I decided that something could change - I could invite people who are tired of cooking for one to come to my home this Friday (the 25), bring a dish to share that they cooked for 3 or 4, and eat with me. We would make new friends, have a different type of supper and get out of a rut.
Sometimes, God-things come in packages that look unusual. Sharing a meal with friends is a Godly thing - Christians celebrate communal eating each time they have communion. We will see how this turns out. I won’t give out my address, but if you are interested in joining this supper gathering let me know by responding my Facebook link. I am bringing tabbouleh and some kind of meat.
After my divorce, with a small son, I cooked little meals made up of the meats and vegetables I bought from Bell’s Market that was a few blocks from my home. I made just a small salary (not much has changed there!) and the wonderful butchers at the market offered me meat at discount prices if I came on Saturday afternoon when the meat might spoil before Monday because stores were still closed on Sundays in those days. I could feed the two of us on $5 per week! And we ate well - lamb chops, steaks, good cuts of beef and fresh chicken and fresh veggies! Amazing!
In my second marriage, my husband brought five sons and I one, so we had six boys who needed to eat three meals each day. I learned to make menus and follow them to the letter. They were posted on the refrigerator: Monday through Sunday: breakfast, lunch and dinner with snacks. The kids learned that if food was a snack, they could eat it, otherwise, it was part of a meal they would eat during the week. My cooking improved. As we grew into our more married life, we joined AAUW or church dinner groups as my cooking branched out to the more exotic, I became known as a good cook.
Now, six years into widowhood, I rarely cook a meal for myself. Cooking for one is so tiresome. I have a book or two about cooking for one, but some nights I am not home to do that and I skip a meal or eat food that is not interesting. Part of the result of skipping meals or eating on the run is weight gain that could rob me of good health. To help with the weight, I exercise six days each week. And, when exercising alone was not successful at trimming the weight, I rejoined Weight Watchers.
This morning at my 7AM WW meeting, I complained about having to cook for one and how all recipes seem developed for 4 or 6 or 8. I decided that something could change - I could invite people who are tired of cooking for one to come to my home this Friday (the 25), bring a dish to share that they cooked for 3 or 4, and eat with me. We would make new friends, have a different type of supper and get out of a rut.
Sometimes, God-things come in packages that look unusual. Sharing a meal with friends is a Godly thing - Christians celebrate communal eating each time they have communion. We will see how this turns out. I won’t give out my address, but if you are interested in joining this supper gathering let me know by responding my Facebook link. I am bringing tabbouleh and some kind of meat.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Gratitude and God
Yesterday morning I drove form my home to Sayre PA to participate in an East Central District (DOC) pulpit exchange. The trip was about an hour and 15 minutes, and it poured all the way. I left home early enough to arrive at the church after making a stop or two to pick up cat food.
I arrived at church and sat through an enjoyable service - my preaching was toward the very end of the worship service. While we sat and listened to music and prayed and communed, the rain changed to the promised snow, coming down as though still rain and making the roads snow-packed, but passable, in short order.
As I drove out of the church parking lot, I asked one family if it would be wiser for me to go home through New York and was told that Pennsylvania Route 6 should still be easily passable at this time in the storm. After driving south on PA Route 220 I turned west onto Route 6 still 40-some miles from home. Still in snow that fell at the rate of about an inch an hour. Roads quickly were snow-packed with no plows out yet.
Early on Route 6, I passed a van that had gone off the road while going west (my side) and seemingly had knocked down an electric pole. Another car had stopped, so I continued going home, aware that the roads must be quite icy for this vehicle - much larger than mine - to end up in a ditch. I kept my speed at about 30, using gears rather than brakes to slow me down when I needed to be traveling slower. There was not much traffic out, but I did not expect much on Sunday morning at 11:30.
When still 35 miles from home, I drove up a hill preparing to go around a curve and down the hill when a car, already around the curve, pulled abreast of me and I could barely see the driver turn on the car lights. I thought I should slow down, perhaps there were deer on the road and I wanted to be going slow enough not to have to use my brakes (I am a Colorado driver and I don’t stop going up a hill or jam on brakes going down). Even as I write this, I get shivers.
As I rounded the curve and started my descent a large pickup - the kind of pickup with four wheels in the back - flipped over and rolled several times, landing on its side. All that went through my mind was that had I not seen that car, had I not slowed down, had I had to jam on brakes to stop, I would have been under that truck when it landed. I stopped, shaken, and saw a pickup that was immediately behind the flipped vehicle empty itself of about six men all dressed in gas-company-red overalls. They ran over to the flipped truck, and helped one man get out.
As I had nothing to offer that was not already available, I did not stay in that place where cars behind me would have crashed into me, but continued on my way. Shaken, I was filled with gratitude and prayers of thanks to God that I was not the vehicle under the one that crashed, and that the one man I saw emerge from the vehicle was apparently unhurt.
Shaken and overwhelmingly thankful, I continued my journey and flashed my lights at all on-coming cars to alert them of the accident, until I was far enough away that flashing would be unproductive.
As I continued west toward home, I saw yet another vehicle off the road, with help already there. Much closer to home, twice I met emergency vehicles with flashing lights probably on the way to help others on the snowy roads, since the vehicles I had passed were too far from Wellsboro to receive help from our borough emergency vehicles.
This snow, the most we have had at one time this year (measuring 16 inches on my back deck) has slowed us all down, and I think has given us yet one more way to help those who are in some kind of need. Out shoveling this morning, I learned that the mystery person who plows my drive, had done so before I tried to shovel a path toward the garage or shovel the walk for our mail carrier who will come later today.
In some way to repay the kindness of the man plowing and many other kindnesses, I look for ways to offer assistance to others. I cannot always help, but I see that many others also make the effort to help. We are community to one another on good days but especially on the more difficult days. We may not all be a Christian community, we may not all think of God, but we do think of “other” and that is a Godly thing.
I arrived at church and sat through an enjoyable service - my preaching was toward the very end of the worship service. While we sat and listened to music and prayed and communed, the rain changed to the promised snow, coming down as though still rain and making the roads snow-packed, but passable, in short order.
As I drove out of the church parking lot, I asked one family if it would be wiser for me to go home through New York and was told that Pennsylvania Route 6 should still be easily passable at this time in the storm. After driving south on PA Route 220 I turned west onto Route 6 still 40-some miles from home. Still in snow that fell at the rate of about an inch an hour. Roads quickly were snow-packed with no plows out yet.
Early on Route 6, I passed a van that had gone off the road while going west (my side) and seemingly had knocked down an electric pole. Another car had stopped, so I continued going home, aware that the roads must be quite icy for this vehicle - much larger than mine - to end up in a ditch. I kept my speed at about 30, using gears rather than brakes to slow me down when I needed to be traveling slower. There was not much traffic out, but I did not expect much on Sunday morning at 11:30.
When still 35 miles from home, I drove up a hill preparing to go around a curve and down the hill when a car, already around the curve, pulled abreast of me and I could barely see the driver turn on the car lights. I thought I should slow down, perhaps there were deer on the road and I wanted to be going slow enough not to have to use my brakes (I am a Colorado driver and I don’t stop going up a hill or jam on brakes going down). Even as I write this, I get shivers.
As I rounded the curve and started my descent a large pickup - the kind of pickup with four wheels in the back - flipped over and rolled several times, landing on its side. All that went through my mind was that had I not seen that car, had I not slowed down, had I had to jam on brakes to stop, I would have been under that truck when it landed. I stopped, shaken, and saw a pickup that was immediately behind the flipped vehicle empty itself of about six men all dressed in gas-company-red overalls. They ran over to the flipped truck, and helped one man get out.
As I had nothing to offer that was not already available, I did not stay in that place where cars behind me would have crashed into me, but continued on my way. Shaken, I was filled with gratitude and prayers of thanks to God that I was not the vehicle under the one that crashed, and that the one man I saw emerge from the vehicle was apparently unhurt.
Shaken and overwhelmingly thankful, I continued my journey and flashed my lights at all on-coming cars to alert them of the accident, until I was far enough away that flashing would be unproductive.
As I continued west toward home, I saw yet another vehicle off the road, with help already there. Much closer to home, twice I met emergency vehicles with flashing lights probably on the way to help others on the snowy roads, since the vehicles I had passed were too far from Wellsboro to receive help from our borough emergency vehicles.
This snow, the most we have had at one time this year (measuring 16 inches on my back deck) has slowed us all down, and I think has given us yet one more way to help those who are in some kind of need. Out shoveling this morning, I learned that the mystery person who plows my drive, had done so before I tried to shovel a path toward the garage or shovel the walk for our mail carrier who will come later today.
In some way to repay the kindness of the man plowing and many other kindnesses, I look for ways to offer assistance to others. I cannot always help, but I see that many others also make the effort to help. We are community to one another on good days but especially on the more difficult days. We may not all be a Christian community, we may not all think of God, but we do think of “other” and that is a Godly thing.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Winter stays in Welsboro
It is Thursday and I am way behind on this blog (and Sunday’s sermon, too). But the sun is shining and the world bright with new snow - a good time for writing.
I was away Monday through late Wednesday at a Disciples Clergy Convocation so getting back offers me a view that was different when I left. Today, I could do snow angels on my front lawn, something this lawn has not seen in years. I live on a street with just two kids - they play outside virtually every day, but mostly in the winter they slide down their hill on a round plastic sled. The frozen water is in keeping with the hose and water fights they had to stay cool last summer. It is nice hearing them laugh for the sheer joy of living - when their parents are out too, the chorus is of four voices laughing.
This family offers an example of what can be in families these years. They bike together in the summer. The boy, who just turned six, has his own bike and helmet and pedals hard to keep up with his dad. Mom generally has the girl, four, riding on the back, though she may be getting old enough to have her own bike this summer. Each of them wears a helmet selected to suit unique personalities.
Biking seems to be in the genes of this family. As a family, they bike to the town square to watch the town band play on alternate Wednesday evenings. They bike to our little downtown and do a bit of shopping - bringing home just what can be carried in baskets. And they bike to visit the (great) grandmother who has recently moved into assisted living just five or six blocks away.
Biking is not just a family affair - the dad goes for extreme biking early some Saturday mornings - waving to me as I head out for the gym -- in my car, I might add. Watching the father go for super workouts as I get into the car for drive to my exercise makes me feel sheepish. Since moving here, I have given up riding my bike because there are too many very steep hills.
There is positive news about my biking riding: I will be riding again as soon as the snow and ice is melted to train for a 15-mile ride. Some friends and I are doing our own triathlon on June 4th. We will swim 300 yards, bike 15 miles and run a 5K. After this feat of endurance, we plan to have lunch together. The triathlon will be fun - but what is more fun is “training” as a group. One morning a week, we swim for 30 minutes (6AM!) and on Saturday mornings when the outside temperature reaches double digits, we walk four miles. I just bought shoe tracks so that I won’t fall on the ice and snow. We are pretty impressed with ourselves as we push up hills and go through the town cemetery pausing only occasionally to read an inscription or two.
As we walk our four miles, sunscreen on, I can see why people call this “God’s Country” because it does have spectacular scenery and views that poke through trees. Many folk from New Jersey (called Flat-landers*) move here so they can always have the view, the clear air and the quiet when they want, and sedate excitement generated by Laurel Festival and Dickens Weekend, national off road car races while still having access to the city for smog, Broadway plays and hotdog vendors.
*PS - Coloradans are called “flat-landers” even though we come from the mountains. Natives are “ridge runners.”
I was away Monday through late Wednesday at a Disciples Clergy Convocation so getting back offers me a view that was different when I left. Today, I could do snow angels on my front lawn, something this lawn has not seen in years. I live on a street with just two kids - they play outside virtually every day, but mostly in the winter they slide down their hill on a round plastic sled. The frozen water is in keeping with the hose and water fights they had to stay cool last summer. It is nice hearing them laugh for the sheer joy of living - when their parents are out too, the chorus is of four voices laughing.
This family offers an example of what can be in families these years. They bike together in the summer. The boy, who just turned six, has his own bike and helmet and pedals hard to keep up with his dad. Mom generally has the girl, four, riding on the back, though she may be getting old enough to have her own bike this summer. Each of them wears a helmet selected to suit unique personalities.
Biking seems to be in the genes of this family. As a family, they bike to the town square to watch the town band play on alternate Wednesday evenings. They bike to our little downtown and do a bit of shopping - bringing home just what can be carried in baskets. And they bike to visit the (great) grandmother who has recently moved into assisted living just five or six blocks away.
Biking is not just a family affair - the dad goes for extreme biking early some Saturday mornings - waving to me as I head out for the gym -- in my car, I might add. Watching the father go for super workouts as I get into the car for drive to my exercise makes me feel sheepish. Since moving here, I have given up riding my bike because there are too many very steep hills.
There is positive news about my biking riding: I will be riding again as soon as the snow and ice is melted to train for a 15-mile ride. Some friends and I are doing our own triathlon on June 4th. We will swim 300 yards, bike 15 miles and run a 5K. After this feat of endurance, we plan to have lunch together. The triathlon will be fun - but what is more fun is “training” as a group. One morning a week, we swim for 30 minutes (6AM!) and on Saturday mornings when the outside temperature reaches double digits, we walk four miles. I just bought shoe tracks so that I won’t fall on the ice and snow. We are pretty impressed with ourselves as we push up hills and go through the town cemetery pausing only occasionally to read an inscription or two.
As we walk our four miles, sunscreen on, I can see why people call this “God’s Country” because it does have spectacular scenery and views that poke through trees. Many folk from New Jersey (called Flat-landers*) move here so they can always have the view, the clear air and the quiet when they want, and sedate excitement generated by Laurel Festival and Dickens Weekend, national off road car races while still having access to the city for smog, Broadway plays and hotdog vendors.
*PS - Coloradans are called “flat-landers” even though we come from the mountains. Natives are “ridge runners.”
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The church as welcoming
Church planting is difficult. Getting a message out that says we are a different kind of church sometimes sends a message that we are so different that people ought to stay away. That difference came home to me recently in a conversation that included this statement: “I know you are trying to build a gay church ... “
I think I stuttered or at the very least was speechless, because I am not trying to build a “gay church” rather, I am trying to raise up a church that welcomes EVERYONE. EVERYONE. EVERYONE. I know that many churches only want certain people. I know that those sitting in the pews who support the church only want certain people.
Long before I was ordained, I was a sociologist and I still think “sociologically.” In early sociology classes we learned that people like to be with people who look like them. For instance, when I enter a room with equal numbers of unknown people, males and females, I generally head straight to the females who are my age and who are standing either alone or in a group of females who are further distinguished by being dressed in similar clothing. That is just where my comfort zone is.
This seeking of like individuals goes on in church as well as in a gathering, which is why 11AM Sunday morning is the most segregated hour of the week. We each attend the church that looks like us. So, when I invite all to worship on Sunday morning and those who come to visit see whites and African-Americans, college professors and unemployed workers, some dressed to the nines while others are wearing less formal clothes, only the very secure and determined will return.
I am having a crisis of church building - perhaps it is a crisis of faith. I always thought God accepted everyone and churches should welcome everyone. But when I learn that if we welcome and accept gays or those with physical and mental handicaps or those with wardrobes from Goodwill, then others are going to stay away, I am saddened and disheartened. At that time, I see no hope for this different, struggling congregation, or for religion in general. This may be the message that Americans who stay away from church are sending.
When I first moved to Mansfield, my new spiritual director told me that if the church plant did not succeed, that I should not think that seeds were not planted. God works in mysterious ways, said he. I hope so. Because we NEED to sit next to each other and learn each from other - our favorite food and our unique ways and our hopes and dreams. Otherwise, we might turn out to be in such disarray that we don’t recognize our brother or sister. Then we should wail, doubled over in grief.
I think I stuttered or at the very least was speechless, because I am not trying to build a “gay church” rather, I am trying to raise up a church that welcomes EVERYONE. EVERYONE. EVERYONE. I know that many churches only want certain people. I know that those sitting in the pews who support the church only want certain people.
Long before I was ordained, I was a sociologist and I still think “sociologically.” In early sociology classes we learned that people like to be with people who look like them. For instance, when I enter a room with equal numbers of unknown people, males and females, I generally head straight to the females who are my age and who are standing either alone or in a group of females who are further distinguished by being dressed in similar clothing. That is just where my comfort zone is.
This seeking of like individuals goes on in church as well as in a gathering, which is why 11AM Sunday morning is the most segregated hour of the week. We each attend the church that looks like us. So, when I invite all to worship on Sunday morning and those who come to visit see whites and African-Americans, college professors and unemployed workers, some dressed to the nines while others are wearing less formal clothes, only the very secure and determined will return.
I am having a crisis of church building - perhaps it is a crisis of faith. I always thought God accepted everyone and churches should welcome everyone. But when I learn that if we welcome and accept gays or those with physical and mental handicaps or those with wardrobes from Goodwill, then others are going to stay away, I am saddened and disheartened. At that time, I see no hope for this different, struggling congregation, or for religion in general. This may be the message that Americans who stay away from church are sending.
When I first moved to Mansfield, my new spiritual director told me that if the church plant did not succeed, that I should not think that seeds were not planted. God works in mysterious ways, said he. I hope so. Because we NEED to sit next to each other and learn each from other - our favorite food and our unique ways and our hopes and dreams. Otherwise, we might turn out to be in such disarray that we don’t recognize our brother or sister. Then we should wail, doubled over in grief.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Be It Resolved ...
Many people who resolved to change their lives on New Year’s Eve/Day have determined it is much too difficult to make those changes. And, it is. It is difficult to stop smoking, to stop eating without thinking, to add exercise that take off pounds and inches we vowed never to have on our sacred bodies. I have had those intentions, too. In my life, the most difficult to keep were those that, today, make me most proud of myself.
Here are a few:
I vowed to exercise on a regular basis and with only a few lapses, have kept that self-promise. The degree of intensity is not as great as it was 30 years ago but I am still keeping on. Thirty-years ago, my husband and I vowed to exercise together. After a few days he stopped, saying that he did not enjoy the exercise. That was the end of his exercise effort.
It was a different New Year’s Day when I decided that I would stop procrastinating and get a career (rather than a job). That career, starting nonprofit organizations, lasted 20 years, though not in the same physical location. The job (teaching as adjunct faculty at University of Colorado in Colorado Springs) was in the same place with changing faces. For much of the 20-year span, I liked the teaching but never felt as though I had what it takes to teach even though my students rated me quite high. The career (the one before this pastoring thing) was right up my alley. Start a program, grow it, watch it flourish and leave it to those better suited to administering.
One day, a June day not a New Year’s day, I resolved to go to seminary. Looking back, I see that this calling combines the things I do best: preach and start new things. I also see that I needed the sometimes painful lessons I learned in the first two parts of my working life to be successful at what I am now doing.
Interesting that it was not a New Year’s resolution that brought me to this God-directed career but a life change that happened when my mother died. I determined that her legacy was for me to take risks. Preaching and unorthodox ministry are risky. What I worry about most - and who would not? - is that I will fail at this. I worry because my vanity would suffer but I worry more because I can’t stand to disappoint God.
How does God deal with those who have been a disappointment? In scripture we learn that God is well-pleased, protective of the people, attentive because help is often sent, and even when the people in the Older Testament forget about the covenant, God remembers and keeps it. Maybe my disappointing God comes under this last: God remembers and keeps the covenant. Even so, I want perfection at this unorthodox ministry and I see that as a person, perfection is beyond my grasp.
My New Year’s resolution for 2011? Don’t worry so much about what God “thinks” and don’t worry about disappointment. The worry would be if I never tried. So far, this year, I have kept this resolution, though it is early times. When I find a grocery line, I stand in it to see what conversation develops. When a door for a dialogue about how I view God and religion opens I take it. And when I worry that God could find someone to do this better, I remember that God has many people who do ministry differently to reach those who are different from those I am called to lead. I think God’s disappointment would come if I did not try. And then, God would understand and love me anyway. How great is that?
Here are a few:
I vowed to exercise on a regular basis and with only a few lapses, have kept that self-promise. The degree of intensity is not as great as it was 30 years ago but I am still keeping on. Thirty-years ago, my husband and I vowed to exercise together. After a few days he stopped, saying that he did not enjoy the exercise. That was the end of his exercise effort.
It was a different New Year’s Day when I decided that I would stop procrastinating and get a career (rather than a job). That career, starting nonprofit organizations, lasted 20 years, though not in the same physical location. The job (teaching as adjunct faculty at University of Colorado in Colorado Springs) was in the same place with changing faces. For much of the 20-year span, I liked the teaching but never felt as though I had what it takes to teach even though my students rated me quite high. The career (the one before this pastoring thing) was right up my alley. Start a program, grow it, watch it flourish and leave it to those better suited to administering.
One day, a June day not a New Year’s day, I resolved to go to seminary. Looking back, I see that this calling combines the things I do best: preach and start new things. I also see that I needed the sometimes painful lessons I learned in the first two parts of my working life to be successful at what I am now doing.
Interesting that it was not a New Year’s resolution that brought me to this God-directed career but a life change that happened when my mother died. I determined that her legacy was for me to take risks. Preaching and unorthodox ministry are risky. What I worry about most - and who would not? - is that I will fail at this. I worry because my vanity would suffer but I worry more because I can’t stand to disappoint God.
How does God deal with those who have been a disappointment? In scripture we learn that God is well-pleased, protective of the people, attentive because help is often sent, and even when the people in the Older Testament forget about the covenant, God remembers and keeps it. Maybe my disappointing God comes under this last: God remembers and keeps the covenant. Even so, I want perfection at this unorthodox ministry and I see that as a person, perfection is beyond my grasp.
My New Year’s resolution for 2011? Don’t worry so much about what God “thinks” and don’t worry about disappointment. The worry would be if I never tried. So far, this year, I have kept this resolution, though it is early times. When I find a grocery line, I stand in it to see what conversation develops. When a door for a dialogue about how I view God and religion opens I take it. And when I worry that God could find someone to do this better, I remember that God has many people who do ministry differently to reach those who are different from those I am called to lead. I think God’s disappointment would come if I did not try. And then, God would understand and love me anyway. How great is that?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
An unsavory topic for a new year
It is the first of the new year - twenty eleven. As I sat watching more television than usual this New Year’s weekend, I was alarmed by a series of commercials that ran over and over. They were sponsored by SPCA and featured many well known actors pleading for financial support for this organization. Watching was terrible and hurtful - just what they wanted me to feel. As I watched, I remembered the years when I was Executive Director for nonprofit organizations that relied on generous donors for the funding to provide services to the poor, the destitute, the homeless, the single mom left to raise her child(ren) with no resources. At the time, I was aware that it is easier to raise money for animals than for humans. The barrage of television “public service announcements” reminded me of the horrifying lot of those who live at the bottom of the social scale - they are below even our animals.
This evening at church (Soul Link Faith Community at 1103 S. Main Street, Mansfield, PA) we begin a three-week series on “human trafficking” - the illegal trade in human beings for the purposes of commercial sexual exploitation or forced labor: a modern-day form of slavery. The United Church of Christ and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) have both been vocal about this issue over the past year. I am late offering it in this area, but beginning this evening, we offer this series on human trafficking. Tonight, we view “Holly” the story of one man’s effort to save one girl. Several people I know will not be with us as we explore this horrible topic as they cannot bear to see the videos or engage in the discussion. Me too. I can’t stand to see the horrible things we humans sometimes do to each other. But I cannot ignore the problem; educating myself and others about it is the first step to making changes.
At Soul Link we think that God asks us to be aware, to be informed and to take whatever action we can. If you live in Mansfield/Wellsboro area, I invite you to attend this series that includes videos and thoughtful discussions. We may never make a difference in the lives of those enslaved but unless we learn, we cannot do anything. The video begins at 7PM in fellowship hall. We will also gather next Wednesday, the 12th of January and conclude on Wednesday, Jan 19th.
This evening at church (Soul Link Faith Community at 1103 S. Main Street, Mansfield, PA) we begin a three-week series on “human trafficking” - the illegal trade in human beings for the purposes of commercial sexual exploitation or forced labor: a modern-day form of slavery. The United Church of Christ and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) have both been vocal about this issue over the past year. I am late offering it in this area, but beginning this evening, we offer this series on human trafficking. Tonight, we view “Holly” the story of one man’s effort to save one girl. Several people I know will not be with us as we explore this horrible topic as they cannot bear to see the videos or engage in the discussion. Me too. I can’t stand to see the horrible things we humans sometimes do to each other. But I cannot ignore the problem; educating myself and others about it is the first step to making changes.
At Soul Link we think that God asks us to be aware, to be informed and to take whatever action we can. If you live in Mansfield/Wellsboro area, I invite you to attend this series that includes videos and thoughtful discussions. We may never make a difference in the lives of those enslaved but unless we learn, we cannot do anything. The video begins at 7PM in fellowship hall. We will also gather next Wednesday, the 12th of January and conclude on Wednesday, Jan 19th.
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