Revising X-Mas

“Thus, taking a body like our own, because all our bodies were liable to the corruption of death, He surrendered His body to death instead of all, and offered it to the Father. This He did out of sheer love for us, so that in His death all might die, and the law of death thereby be abolished because, having fulfilled in His body that for which it was appointed, it was thereafter voided of its power for men.”

Athanasius – On the Incarnation of the Word (2.8)

This has been a difficult holiday season for many. 300,000 + Americans lost to COVID -19 with more dying every day due in part to the Trump administration neglect, malfeasance, incompetence and politicization of the pandemic, MAGA media disinformation and genuine human stupidity that prefers conspiracies over common sense. The changes in work, school and family, from isolation to unemployment have meant this year’s holidays will be much different than years before. In addition, catastrophic fires in Oregon and California and hurricane damage in the south have added to the pain and misery.

With the shorter days and lack of sunshine, I usually feel like Scrooge this time of year but even more so with the loss of 98% of our family’s possessions in the Almeda fire on Sept. 8th, realizing that we are starting from scratch when it comes to decorating for the holidays. No tree, no ornaments, no family momentos from Christmases past. No big deal that ordering from Walmart can’t fix besides the family heirlooms. However, it reminded me of my discomfort with the holiday and the idea about revising Christmas. No, I’m not a Puritan who wants to ban the holiday like was done in New England in colonial days. Maybe Dec. 25th should be renamed (Super Solstice? Mid-Winter Mania? suggestions?) and an alternative date established to recognize the true significance of the birth of Jesus which is his incarnation. This way shoppers and vendors could have their fun and profits for Dec. 25th and believers could contemplate the true meaning of Christ “born for us” with out all the other accompanying pandemonium (after all, Orthodox Christians have been celebrating the Feast of the Nativity in January for centuries without any vituperation from the MAGA media).

The reason I suggest this change is not because I’ve been reading too many Chick comics. It simply doesn’t take long to notice that all the myriad traditions I have kept & enjoyed over the years as well as most Americans (such as colored lights, flocked trees, ornaments, inflatable nativities, reindeer and the jolly old guy in red) that make up the collective, cultural menagerie have little to do with the profound implications of the incarnation. And this year especially we need the incarnation –  how God’s mercy, promises, goodness and compassion meet the stark reality of humankind’s suffering, poverty, cruelty, brokenness, sorrow, disease and death.

It’s just an idea. That way we could still have fun with the presents and eggnog, corporations & retailers would make their profits and we could let the good news that brings great joy sink deep, deep into our heart and soul.

May our world know more of the peace of Emmanuel, “God with us.”

Navigating the conflagration

Our nation faces multiple perils, akin to a battered car, low on gas, with wobbly tires, weak headlights, steering down a pothole filled road. On the right is the blazing, growing conflagration of MAGA, white- vigilante-militia-supremacy, fanned by a rudderless alt-right media. On the left, are the crumbling guardrails of constitutional authority, the slippery mud of the cult of personality. Ahead is thick fog of a “stolen” election and imperiled transition. Behind is the growing tsunami of a criminally mismanaged, deadly pandemic and an approaching, expanding funnel cloud of unpayable deficits and inequity.

Worst of all, behind the wheel, is a temper-tantrum, toddler, throwing a fit of self-pity.

It’s time for the adults to take the wheel.

“Out in the eye of the storm, the friends of God suffer no permanent harm.”

(Mark Heard -“The Eye of the Storm” 1990)

I drove through the devastated communities of Phoenix and Talent, Oregon again. There seems little rhyme or reason to the destructive path of the Almeda fire. Car washes, doctor offices, stores, restaurants, food vans, mobile homes and half a million-dollar homes were leveled. I returned to our former home and dug through more of the debris, with a mask, gloves, rake and shovel, courtesy of the Red Cross. I found a few more pieces of china, faded but whole, and a nativity piece I have had since a child. Amazing, that such delicate pieces survived the flames and collapse of a 2-story house.

“What do people get for all the toil and anxious striving with which they labor under the sun?”  (Eccles. 2:22)

I remember the houses that lined the street since I walked it a few times a week. They were expensive, ($400,00+) and some of them still have the burned-out shells of cars on the lot. I have no idea what the interiors were like, but many were nicely landscaped and well taken care of. So much money invested, so much saved, so much spent, and now gone, worthless except for scrap. It seems wasted and meaningless. People toil, sweat, worry and even are willing to kill to defend their property but in the end, it is not ours to keep. Our possessions are not eternal, nor are we mortals. All returns to dust, if not now, then later. In the end, all I have to treasure is that “the loving-kindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting” (Psalm 103:14-17).

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Cor. 4:18)

While it may sound like I have been reading too much Ecclesiastes, I have really been pondering how much stuff I have dragged around with me for so many years, feeling the loss and dislocation of a fire and now considering what it means with the years I have left. I know I am not alone and many others are experiencing the same, most in more dire circumstances. Writing is one way I try to cope. At a minimum, I plan on the days remaining not being about acquiring more stuff.

To Ashes

On Tuesday, September 8, 2020 around 11:45 AM, working remotely at home, I went downstairs and looking out the windows, and noticed clouds of brown smoke billowing north of the house our family rented in Talent, OR. Checking for news on-line, I learned of a fire burning outside of Ashland. Given that our area was already on alert for high winds and super dry from drought, I started to monitor what was happening. Information was hard to find, but when I heard multiple sirens, I knew it was not good, especially when later in the afternoon, helicopters and planes started flying overhead dropping water and retardant at what I assumed was the far side of the I-5.

I told my kids what was happening and to pack some supplies just in case we were evacuated. Over the next 3-4 hours, I watched as neighbors packed up and drove off, even though there had been no official notice. I figured the fire was able to be contained and so packed for an overnight away just in case. I signed up for emergency notifications for my phone. Black and grey billowing clouds grew closer to the south and the east. Around 4 PM, I told my girls to load up the car and a few minutes later I heard someone going around pounding on doors and telling people to leave. We hurried to the car and drove to Talent Avenue and joined the line trying to get out of town. When we got to Colver Road, a Sheriff’s deputy directed us to HWY 99 south since the road north was closed. Since we had driven in a circle, I drove back to our house and picked up my CPAP machine and headed out again. I noticed some kids on bikes riding around the streets and people walking down the street as if nothing were happened. By the time we got back to HWY 99, a water plane flew extremely low over one of the fields on fire. Once again, we joined the traffic and turned to get on 1-5, noticing the flames reaching the apartments closer to I-5 and the gas stations and rest area near the freeway entrance. From there we joined a smoky procession to Ashland and found a hotel room. My wife, at work in Medford was eventually told to evacuate and having nowhere to go went to Grant’s Pass with a co-worker for an anxious night since she could not make it to us south to Ashland.

When I heard that the planes dropping water and retardant had stopped for the night, I knew that our home at 260 Rockfellow Place was gone. By then the fire had moved on to Phoenix and was threatening the Medford area. Information about what was happening was scarce. My wife was able to join use the next day, our total possessions, 2 automobiles, a couple of small bags of clothes and belongings, thankfully our important identification documents were with us and of course some computers and cell phones. Plus, my one pair of underwear. What I thought would be overnight turned out to be permanent. Why hadn’t I grabbed more clothes? Why hadn’t I grabbed my computer or the bills? Why hadn’t I slowed down and packed better?

Gone were my 6 guitars, including the classical acoustic I learned to play on when I was 15, a 40-year-old Martin D-35 and a black Gibson Les Paul Custom. Gone were my family notes I used for genealogy, my grandfathers framed prints from Scotland, my wife’s photos of her mother who died less than a year ago, our diplomas and paperwork for our job certifications. Gone were my 250 plus books, the chalice and goblets from my grandparents, our wedding china, and pictures and artwork from when our kids were growing up. Gone were my great-grandfather’s pocket New Testament which he carried with him in the Salvation Army and my seminary papers, sermon notes, dream journals and news clippings.

Much of what we lost may be with out value or meaning to anyone else, but they were markers and identifiers of who we are and where we came from. It is not the dollar value since these are irreplaceable but the physical anchor for our memories. Now they are stored in our heads and hearts, except for what I had saved before by digitizing over the years.

I have only given you my experience. However, what is being called the “Almeda fire” burned over 3, 200 acres over a 15-mile swath of the Rogue valley. 3 people died, over 2, 357 residential structures were destroyed, and and at least 3, 000 people have been displaced and in need of assistance and permanent housing in an area with few affordable rentals. All this in the midst of Covid-19.

3 weeks later, my sleep is fair, I am functioning adequately, and we have (thankfully) been able to find a new place to live. At times I feel sad, mad, depressed, displaced or like I want to hide, run away or cry. My sympathetic system is more on alert and vigilant to risk and danger, my reactions and frustrations sometimes stronger than I want or expect. We visited our home site and found a few mementos (one picture below) but mostly broken and burnt remnants buried in ash. We are still trying to find our mail. We have been blessed by co-workers and acquaintances, comforted by family from afar, thankful for what we do have which is life and each other.

I have neither time nor inclination to offer a theodicy or explanation about why this happened. I am not interested in hearing it from others. Maybe another time. For now, we grieve, along with many in our area, along with the scores of others around the world who have experienced loss and far worse. Sometimes, I can glimpse a different way of living with each other on this planet that is more just, more equitable, more peaceful and more life-giving than what we have seen so far. May it be so.

For Your Reading Pleasure…

I am happy to announce that I have published a small collection of some of my writings. “The View from Right Field – Thoughts on God, Life & the Stuff in Between” is a collection of stories and essays that range from reflections on the church and spiritual life to rural America and journeys overseas as well as 2 short stories that delve into the mystery of lost Spanish gold and the tumult of the Reformation era.

You can read on-line or download for free from Smashbooks. fair & courteous feedback appreciated!

P.S. – Right field is not right wing!

“Hominem te Momento”

What’s so terrifying about a pandemic?

The unknowable – the uncontrollable – the unpredictable – the uncertainty – subvert my sense (and our shared cultural belief) of mastery over my future, my sense of control over my fate, my desire to be without need of others, without dependence on the actions of others – and  that sickness, health, death are a matter of my choice (and what I should have done –  diet, exercise, washing hands) and not the random, vagaries of a sneeze, a cough, an expelled droplet of virus infected fluid.

A virus pandemic is a “memento mori,” a reminder we are from dust and ultimately not the masters of life or death, whispering in our ear “Remember you are only a man.”