Hail And Farewell

2004

When you read this, my body elements have been returned to the earth of our lovely planet. My spirit, if I have a spirit, may or may not experience a destination or state of consciousness which will be a surprise. I doubt it, but who knows?

I am lucky to have lived so long. Much was learned as I lived the life of Unitarian Universalist minister. But also, I learned much about living and persons at the iron foundry, the construction of Quonset Naval Air Station and the Hingham shipyard. These were jobs where amid noise, dust, grime, heat, and cold where so many men and women worked loyally at difficult tasks.

On the Musings mailing list, I have both a general and particular good memory of everyone of you. You represent fine qualities of living and I am fortunate to have known you.

I still have hope for the human venture; that there will come a day when there is peace on earth and for all people something to live on and a faith to live by.

Carl Westman
October 4, 1911 – October 14, 2004

Labor Day – 2004

September 6, 2004

In Florida this year, Labor Day is not a day for picnics, ball games, or family visits. Hurricane Frances has paralyzed this peninsula State. Damage is in the billions. Thousands are living in shelters.

I am particularly conscious of the real meaning of Labor Day. I have been a labor union member. Labor Day celebrates working men and women, and the gains they have achieved in working conditions and wages. Furthermore, it is a day to emphasize the work ways that still need improvement.

Why am I now particularly conscious of the meaning of this day? Because working men and women have sustained those of us who need much help to stay alive. Here at the Beneva Park Club, the auxiliary generator is functioning, providing not only light and air conditioning, but also power for the oxygen machines, making it unnecessary for those of us who have a constant need for oxygen to run to emergency and portable tanks and canisters.

More particularly, we “inmates” are thankful for the staff who came through difficult and sometimes dangerous conditions of rain, wind, and flooded streets to get here and serve us. All public transportation was canceled.

Lydia was here to make my bed at 7:45 a.m. Teri and Jacui were dispensing pills and giving shots as usual. There was enough kitchen staff to make our usual and plentiful breakfasts. The young women waiting on tables were as always their polite and competent selves.

Workers of the world and at the Beneva Park Club, we thank you and salute you.

In AS YOU LIKE IT, Shakespeare has Corin the shepherd say,

“Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s
happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my
harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
graze and my lambs suck.”

(Act III, Sc. ii)

Man Versus Machine

February 2004

As the major league ball players, managers and coaches make their annual journey to Florida (the Grapefruit League) or Arizona (the Cactus League), I mused about Warren Spahn, the left-handed pitcher who died November 24, 2003, aged 82. No other lefty won as many games in major league history.

Spring training reminded me of an experiment tried about 1960 or 1961 by a major league club, I think it was the Dodgers. They had a pitching machine constructed to pitch batting practice to allow coaches who pitched batting practice to be free for other duties.

Placed on the pitchers’ mound, it could consistently throw strikes, and the velocity could be varied. The pitching machine was called “The Warren Spahn”, who was the top left-hander in baseball for 21 seasons and noted for his control.

Now here is the “kicker” –

The Warren Spahn pitching machine wore out after a couple of spring training sessions, but Warren Spahn himself was still pitching in the major leagues. The man outlasted the machine by 19 or 20 years.

Spahn was 44 years old when he retired. He came to the majors with the Braves when that team was still in Boston. The Boston Braves were never as popular as the Boston Red Sox, but there was a good program the Braves had when I was a boy. They sponsored the “Knot Hole Gang”, where boys and girls could be admitted to the right field bleachers to see a game for twenty-five cents. With Boston’s good urban transit system, it was easy to get to Braves Field on Commonwealth Avenue. I went several times in the 1920s.

Like other athletes, Spahn’s career was put on hold during World War II. He experienced the Battle of the Bulge and the seizure of the bridge at Remagen. Spahn was commissioned as a Lieutenant on the battlefield. He also received the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart. Only one other Hall-of-Famer was awarded the Purple Heart, Hoyt Wilhelm.

Spahn was pitching for the Boston Braves in 1948 when the Braves won the National League pennant. Also on the pitching staff was Johnny Sain, a premier right-hander. A sports editor, late in that season, 1948, wanted Spahn and Sain to pitch all the remaining games and he composed a short poem:

“First we’ll use Spahn, then we’ll use Sain.
Then an off day followed by rain.
Back will come Spahn, followed by Sain.
And followed, we hope, by two days of rain.”

The version I remember is

“Spahn and Sain
And two days of rain.”

Warren Spahn was the best left handed pitcher in the history of baseball in the opinion of many, including me. 20 seasons with the Braves – 8 in Boston and 12 in Milwaukee, and a final season with the Mets and Giants.

All baseball nuts are fond of statistics. So let some figures illustrate why Spahn was the best lefty:

He won 363 games and lost 245
He won 20 games in one season 13 times
Pitched 382 complete games in 665 starts
Pitched 5243 innings, a record for left-handers
Pitched 63 shutouts, National League record for lefties
14 times an All Star

Stan Musial, the Cardinal slugger said, when Spahn at age 42 pitched a 20 win season, “I don’t think Spahn will ever get into the Hall of Fame; he’ll never stop pitching.”

Spahn was elected to the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility.

Last August, the Atlanta Braves dedicated a statue honoring Warren Spahn – a 9 foot high bronze sculpture depicting Spahn in the motion of his famous high leg kick. Spahn, in a wheel chair, attended the celebration.

In baseball today with the coming exposure of the use of illegal substances to enhance strength. Pitchers going 5 innings to be replaced by the set-up man and then the relief pitcher, the “closer”. Players hopping from team to team for more millions of dollars. We need more Warren Spahns. By the way, the designated hitter rule in the American League, so the weak-hitting pitcher never comes to bat? Warren Spahn had a career hitting average of .363.

He served our country unselfishly. It would be a big plus for the game today for young players to imitate his character and courage, his continuous attention to physical conditioning and his love of the game.

The Warren Spahn Pitching Machine wore out in a couple of years, but Warren Spahn, the living man, pitched 21 seasons in the major leagues.

Did Shakespeare anticipate Warren Spahn? Rosaline, in LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST (Act IV, Sc. i), says:

“Thou canst not hit it, hit, hit it
Thou canst not hit it, my good man.”

The Gang Of Four (Now Just One)

February 5, 2004

When I moved to the Beneva Park Club, July 2000, I was assigned to a dining room table where three other men sat, Hugh C., Fred D., and Bob B.

Late last year in my 2003 Musings, I wrote about Bob B., who chose to die with dignity by neither eating nor drinking.

Hugh C. died January 22 this year. As you read his obituary, you can understand that his was a remarkable life.

He didn’t say very much about the years in the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp. He was one of 25% who survived that ordeal. He did say once that rat wasn’t so bad fried in a little palm oil. When he was liberated by the British Army, he said, that the surviving prisoners were given permission to beat up their Japanese guards. But, he commented, none of us wanted any of that.

He always called me “Padre” and quizzed me about the sermon when I went to church. Actually he would ask, “What was the text?” I attempted to recall the gist of the sermon and frequently he would agree with what my minister said.

Hugh had a remarkable memory. He knew by heart and could recite countless poems. I believe he memorized everything Kipling wrote; he could recite all the great speeches in the Shakespeare canon. He knew the words to most of the popular songs of the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s.

He loved humor. By copying my e-mail, I shared with him many of the jokes and satire I received, most of it from my son John.

Hugh had a strong feeling for the hungry, homeless, and sick people of the world. He could never understand how we could spend so much on armaments and so little, relatively, for the needy children and adults of this country and world. I feel the same way.

Hugh chose to die by not eating. When he had to come to the table in a wheel chair and needed help to open paper packets of sugar and to lift the lids of creamers, he said, just a few weeks ago, “I don’t want to live this way; and I won’t.” His mind was clear up to the last. When I visited him in his room, he asked, “Padre, I don’t remember your first name.” I told him.

Fred D. was the fourth member at our table. Fred was moved to a nursing home recently and died there. He was ninety-nine years old. He would have been one hundred years old [on] October 2, 2004.

Three times a day at meals our conversations included a wide range of topics (Hugh never came to breakfast). We discussed politics, current events, international and national issues, religion, sex, poetry, song, food service, Beneva Park policies, personal reminiscences, humor. Hugh, Bob, and I were Democrats and criticized the Bush administration including the Iraq war. We were convinced that his whole approach to leading our nation was outrageous.

Fred D. was not impressed by any political party. He thought our whole cultural, political and economic system was dominated by greed. He believed that the wealth of the country should be spread around. He said more than once that nobody should have more than five hundred thousand dollars.

Fred never married. He was one of 10 children born in Greenport, Long Island. His father was a blacksmith who labored hard to provide for his large family. Frequently Fred said, “I never wanted to go through that.” He also said often enough that his mother did not believe in a Hell in the after life. To her, Fred said Hell was life on earth.

Fred used prostitutes for his “sexual release” as he termed it. On his numerous travels he told us in a new city he always went to the library first and then to the brothel. One prostitute somewhere in north Africa he particularly liked because she was the sole support of an ailing husband. To Fred that was most commendable.

He was astonishingly informed and well-read considering he never went to high school. He loved to play with the language, particularly when a word had several meanings.

He had other different notions. For example, he thought banana skins were food that should be eaten, not thrown away (However, he always peeled his banana at breakfast). At a time when the forest fires were raging in the West, he opined that forest fires would not happen or be much less destructive if the unemployed persons were hired to clear all the dead wood and underbrush in the forests. He thought this debris could be carted out and used for fuel in certain stoves and furnaces, thus reducing our need for fossil fuels. He also believed that a family could be sustained on three acres of ground if they planted, fertilized, tilled and harvested wisely. He said that he had had that experience when he had a house and three acres on the East Coast of Florida.

Fred joined the U. S. Marine Corp in the early twenties. After that hitch, he became a hobo. He had many stories of the hobo life. He informed us that guards were less likely to kick hobos off freight trains if the train was heading for some place that needed low-wage labor. He worked crops in California, forestry in Alaska and temporary jobs in Texas and other places.

Fred had no religious affiliation or convictions he ever said. He did say that he had had to listen to countless sermons; in Christian missions when he was a hobo and needed a meal. He listened to some of our table talk about religion. Bob B. was an atheist, insistently so. Hugh was the son of Methodist missionaries, and I, of course, a Unitarian Universalist. So there was considerable talk about beliefs, doctrines, rituals; [they were] frequently quizzing me about Unitarian Universalist belief.

A few months ago, the Gideon Society was giving to every resident here copies of their abbreviated version of the King James Version of the Bible. A copy was left for me in my room when I was not there.

But Fred was in his room when the Gideon representative came. Fred told us that he said to the Gideon man, “I don’t want it; I don’t bother with that stuff; I’m a Unitarian.”

When World War II loomed, Fred enlisted in the U. S. Navy. He served on a battleship and also a sub-chaser.

In between his hobo days and two hitches in the military, he had worked as a tinsmith and became very competent in the metal working trade. He said the engineers liked him because he could read blueprints. After the war he went to school for further metalwork training. When he finished that training, he was offered a job as an instructor. He chose instead to go to Guam where the U.S. was fortifying that island as part of the Cold War.

He apparently did very well, particularly in training unskilled workers from the Philippines. He respected them, saying how hard they worked and how well they responded to orders and instructions.

He had saved enough money for two trips around the world. Prior to all the trouble in the first war against Iraq, Fred said with a twinkle in he eye that he had been in Baghdad. Then after an appropriate pause, said the airplane had landed there to fix a tire. “We didn’t leave the airport.”

So I miss Bob, Hugh and Fred. I am not sure many others do because some of the off-color jokes and raucous laughter we shared may have been overheard by staid ladies at nearby tables.

“Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel.”
(Polonius, HAMLET)

To Begin A New Year

January 1, 2004

Don, our Sarasota Unitarian Universalist minister, told a story in his December 21, 2003 sermon which keeps recurring in my consciousness. Why? Because it is an inspirational story at the highest human level. Here’s how it goes:

An eight-year-old girl has a serious, possibly fatal illness and needs a blood transfusion. She has a rare type of blood, and a matching donor cannot be found. Then it is discovered that her six-year-old brother has the same rare type blood.

So the boy’s parents sit down with him and explain how his blood is needed for a transfusion in his sister which might help to make her well. The boy listens and doesn’t reply immediately. He says he wants to think it over.

Th next day he tells his parents he is willing to give blood. The doctor wants the boy to understand the process and puts two cots side by side. Then he draws a half-pint of blood from the boy and tells him to watch as the syringe transfers the blood into his sister’s vein.

Very soon her color improves and she looks better, obviously responding to the transfusion.

The doctor says to the boy, “See how you are helping your sister get well. Aren’t you glad you gave your blood?” “Yes, I am,” replied the boy. Then he asks the doctor, “How soon do I die?”

Wicca And Fanatics

November 1, 2003

Yesterday was Halloween. Here at the Beneva Park Club the halls and nurses station were adorned with jack-o’-lanterns, spider webs, witches hats and other decorations appropriate for Halloween.

Nan and Diane, two of our nurses, wore bizarre costumes with startling make-up. They provided good entertainment for all of us who live routine, unexciting lives, and sometimes need palliatives for cabin fever.

The same day in the newspaper, an account appeared of a local fundamentalist Christian church which does not permit their children and adult members to participate in any Halloween activities. They denounced all Halloween activities as “Satan worship.”

Halloween is not, emphatically not, Satan worship. For many of us, Satan is a creature of the imagination of people who need a supernatural being to embody evil and be held responsible for it. They want their God to always be just, benevolent, and loving.

I can remember in my youthful days when Halloween exhibited much more rowdy behavior than today. A garden gate could lifted off its pin hinge and lugged a few blocks away. A lot of unpaid work, but the occasion seemed to justify it. Small, wooden thread spools could be carefully notched on both round ends with a jackknife. Winding string around the spool, then spinning the notched spool against a window made a most satisfying clatter. Windows of autos and homes could be soaped up. There are many memories.

Then Halloween evolved into “Trick or Treat” where children, escorted by mothers, went door to door, getting contributions into their shopping bags of candy, gum, coins, apples and I don’t what else. This is still a custom.

Then as the United Nations became organized, a new Halloween effort appeared: soliciting coins for UNICEF, The United Nations Childrens’ Emergency Fund. A most worthy practice which I advocated in the churches I served. It was also a way to make our children aware of the dire needs of children in other parts of our world; and to address such needs. “Trick or Treat for UNICEF.”

To label Halloween fun as “Satan worship” is ignorant nonsense. Furthermore, such beliefs, including persecution of “witches” is an historic disgrace to the Christian faith.

How many persons, women for the most part, have died excruciating deaths because of that Biblical sentence found in Exodus 22, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”?

In Brian Monahan’s scholarly HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, his chapter, “God’s Charnel House,” details the repulsive witch-hunt mania which lasted for about 200 years, beginning in 1484. The historian estimated the number of alleged witches hanged, drowned or burned alive to be in excess of one hundred thousand persons. Protestants as well as Catholics were equally zealous in pursuing this fanatical murderous crusade. One almost unspeakable horror was perpetrated by the Bishop of Würzburg in 1627. Burned at the stake for alleged witchcraft were eleven adult victims. But they were outnumbered by six small girls and eleven boys. Next time you see children getting on or off the school bus, imagine six girls and eleven boys being burned to death for alleged witchcraft. That is almost too horrible to contemplate even from a distance of 376 years.

Thus, I cannot consider with any equanimity those fundamentalist Christians of today who label innocent Halloween fun as “worship of Satan.” Who can predict how such fanatics will act out their irrational ignorance?

Persecutions for alleged witchcraft did migrate to America. An alleged witch was hanged in Connecticut in 1647. We are all familiar with the witch trials in Salem. Nineteen were hanged and one pressed to death. Playwright Arthur Miller made that terrible scene the center of his famous play, THE CRUCIBLE. Later in the season the Asolo is staging this play.

Witches exist today. Their organization is WICCA. But their purpose is benign and their activities helpful. If my information is correct, they gather in Covens of 13 persons. Their main characteristic is to embrace the wonders of Nature and to hold fitting rituals that will help them feel at one with Nature.

Rest in Peace

September 18, 2003

Robert B. died two days ago. He was one of my first friends when I moved to the Beneva Park Club, July 1, 2002. I was assigned to a dining room table where Bob sat with two others who also have become friends. When one eats three meals a day, nearly every day, with the same men, one inevitably gets to know much about them. Bob was the youngest by about ten years of the four of us.

Bob B., a very complex man, had a varied and interesting career.

Born of a farm family in Iowa, he also owned a farm in Maryland. He knew much about agriculture and was appreciative and sensitive to the needs of farmers and their contribution to us all. On his apartment door was a bold-lettered sign, “NO FARMS, NO FOOD.”

Within fifteen minutes of the time I first met him, he informed me, somewhat militantly, that he was an atheist. Not only did this appear in conversations at meal, again and again, but also his obit in the local newspaper printed the words, “He was an atheist.” I am sure that he left specific instructions to his family to include that in his obituary. He felt some connectedness with me, a Unitarian Universalist, because his mother attended one of our churches in Washington, D.C.

He was a navy veteran, having served as a Lieutenant in the submarine service. Fred D., another tablemate, had served on a sub-chaser. Fred told me that he and Bob had discussed battle tactics, sub-chaser versus submarine.

Bob was also employed by the National Institute of Health as a research scientist. One of his projects was recording the sexual and mating habits of monkeys (I don’t know which breed). It was never made clear to me why the N.I.H. needed and authorized this unusual research. Bob knew the Latin names of all of the primates.

In politics, Bob was an ardent and articulate Democrat. I’m sure one of his regrets is not having lived long enough to vote for the Democrat nominee in the 2004 election.

He relished good food. He was quick to criticize the servings at Beneva Park Club if the soup or the entree did not live up to his expectations. “That’s not French onion soup,, where’s the cheese?” is a complaint I heard many times. He had favorite eating-out places – a particular Chinese restaurant, a seafood restaurant that would serve oysters in the shell. He spoke of eating a dozen more than once. On one occasion he told us he ate three dozen! Perhaps he did; I have no reason to doubt it.

On our table, he kept a particular supply of food not available from the kitchen. On a “lazy Susan” which was his own, there were condiments and other items not supplied by the kitchen. There were particular kinds of liquid sugar substitutes; at least two varieties of mustard, chili sauce, pickled watermelon, marinated mushrooms, a large jar of peanut butter, jars of jams and jellies. Now that these are no longer taking up so much space in the center of the table, we have much more space to eat our meals.

He had somewhat of an obsession with women. He frequently talked of his large supply of pornographic videos. Conversations with him became somewhat raunchy, ending up “below the equator”, which was a favorite euphemism of his. He would ask the waitresses if he could lean his head on their bosoms.

But in my view this somewhat unpleasant aspect of his personality was far out-weighed by his constant devotion to his wife, L. She is in an advanced stage of Alzheimers in the nursing wing which is an adjunct to the Beneva Park Club.

Bob had to use a motorized wheel chair. He had a skillful way of holding L.’s wheelchair with one hand and driving his motorized vehicle with the other. Nearly every day he took her riding around the grounds and corridors. Each wore a bright red beret which had some common memory for them. Bob was never sure whether she had some faint recognition of him or some memory of the songs he sang to her. His devotion never flagged.

A few weeks ago Bob was diagnosed with a throat tumor. His difficulty swallowing was increased by the radiation treatments to which he was exposed. Soon after, a feeding tube had to be used and he was moved to the nursing wing.

A couple of weeks ago, or so, he made the decision never again to eat food or have anything to drink. When I went to see him, he was calm and serene. He did not regret the decision. In about ten days, he died peacefully. I am glad that I knew him.

In THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA (Act III, Sc. i), Shakespeare has Valentine say,

“And why not death, rather than living torment.”

An Underemphasized Reason

July 29, 2003

Many of us who believe in the wall of separation between church and state are convinced that if that wall is breached, both individual and associational freedom will suffer. There are churches and religious denominations who seek advantages – getting money from the national budget, imposing particular religious beliefs on public school education, for example. This attitude of “only we have the truth” is illustrated by a quotation from THE FIRST AMERICAN, by H. W. Brands (p.789). Commenting on the fact that some people in England felt possessed of all truths, the apt quotation is, “The only difference between our churches in their opinions, etc., – the Church of Rome is infallible and the Church of England is never in the wrong.”

This attitude, not confined to the churches above, illustrates the necessity of the wall of separation between church and state.

There is another cogent reason: churches and other religious institutions must be free from governmental control and political inroads on religious freedom. This underemphasized reason is highlighted by the following quote in its entirety from the July-August 2003 issue of “Church and State”:

“Atheist Pastor May Keep State Job in Denmark:

“A Danish pastor sparked an uproar recently when he announced that he does not believe in God, but he still may be able to keep his state-paid job.

“The Rev. Thorkild Grosbøll, a Lutheran minister, reportedly said, ‘There is no heavenly God, there is no eternal life, there is no resurrection.’

“Grosbøll was suspended from his pastoral duties June 3 by the bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, but his future in the ministry has not yet been determined. In Denmark, the final decision over whether Grosbøll should be defrocked falls to the Danish Government’s Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs. Under Denmark’s constitution, Lutheran priests are employed by the state and cannot be dismissed by bishops.

“Some 85% of Danes belong to the state-supported Lutheran Church, but only 5 percent of the country’s 5.3 million people attend services regularly.”

I believe strongly that the Lutheran Church should have the right and power to establish standards for the ordaining of its clergy and the right to defrock and dismiss those clergy who violate their rules and standards.

I am an equally strong advocate for the same rule for our Unitarian Universalist clergy, as well as for all denominations and religious associations.

That the Danish government has the constitutional power to employ and dismiss Lutheran priests is a powerful reason not to chip away at the wall of separation between church and state, that, praise be, exists in the United States.

Why? And Why Not?

July 10, 2003

One of my boyhood friends was Billy Hogan. Billy and his family lived on Ferry Street, not far from my Oliver Street home. When Billy grew up, he became involved in Everett politics. When still a young man, he was elected to city office, becoming Alderman William Hogan.

Billy’s family was just one of the Irish families who became politically active in the Boston area as well as the city of Boston. There was “Honey Fitz”, mayor of Boston and father of Rose. Rose Fitzgerald married Joseph Kennedy, generating the politically powerful Kennedys. JFK, Robert, Ted, just to mention a few who have been described as “America’s political royalty” by one author.

Then there was Congressman McCormack who became Speaker of the House of Representatives. His brother, “Knocko” McCormack ran a saloon in South Boston (“Southey”) where, it was said, one must go to in order to solicit political favors.

Just to cite a few additional names will be reminders of how potent politically were the Boston Irish: James Michael Curley, Maurice Tobin. From nearby Boston, Tip O’Neill, Senator David I. Walsh, William Cardinal O’Connell, Richard Cardinal Cushing.

Many of their Irish forbears were immigrants escaping from the terrible potato blight in Ireland, 1845-1850.

As A. N. Wilson tellingly describes in THE VICTORIANS, most of the Irish were poor. The estates, great and smaller, were owned by the English aristocracy. The food for the peasant Irish was potatoes. That was practically the only food for the Irish people. A man might eat 11 or 12 pounds of potatoes a day. Two million acres were planted with potatoes.

When the blight ruined potato crops, the absentee British landlords did nothing to help. Some were growing corn on their estates,but exported it for profit rather than sharing to prevent mass starvation.

Large numbers of the Irish poor emigrated to the United States and Canada, enduring wretched conditions on the passage and settlement in a new country. To quote A. N. Wilson, there is “the eternally shaming statistic of 1.1 million deaths by starvation in Ireland between 1845 and 1850.”

Two quotations cited by Wilson (p. 83) recognized the inhumane position taken by those absentee, wealthy English aristocrats who owned so much of the land in Ireland.

Philosopher Benjamin Jowett: “I have always felt a certain horror of political economists, since I heard one of them say that the famine in Ireland in 1848 would not kill more than a million people and that would scarcely be enough to do much good.”

Sidney Smith: “The moment the very name of Ireland is mentioned, the English seem to bid adieu to common feeling, common prudence and common sense, and to act with the barbarity of tyrants and the fatuity of idiots.”

WHY? Why do human beings act with such cruelty? We know that the situation described is not unique. The 20th century experienced the Holocaust where 6 million Jews were slaughtered by the Nazis and their allies.

But there was not enough shock and revulsion in that awful genocide to persuade humankind to abandon such killings. The New York Times, June 7, printed this summary of current horrors:

Congo: Since 1999, an intensifying civil war has left an estimated 3.3 million people dead and displaced tens of thousands....

Somalia: 1988-94 ... 50,000 dead

Angola: 1975-2002 – Civil war left and estimated 400,000 people dead and displaced an undetermined number....

Sierra Leone: 1991-2002 – Civil war left tens of thousands dead and 2 million displaced....

Ivory Coast: Since 2002, thousands have been killed and 1 million displaced....

Rwanda: Since early 1990s ... more than a half-million dead and 4 million displaced....

Ethiopia and Eritrea: 1998-2000 ... tens of thousands dead, 650,000 displaced....

Mozambique: 1977-1992 – Civil war left an estimated 800,000 dead....

Africa is not the only continent where such genocidal killings have occurred. When the dictatorship in Argentina was recently overthrown, it was disclosed that as many as 30,000 had “disappeared.” We will never know how many Soviet people died at the hands of Lenin and Stalin, but it has been estimated in the millions.

Is it possible to generate internationally and worldwide the helpfulness and concern that exists among neighbors and families as I described in the prior Musing, “Friends.”

I don’t know. The United Nations could organize peacekeeping forces that could mitigate considerably these genocidal events. But that can never happen until the United States takes the lead, and is willing to yield some sovereignty to international courts of justice. Furthermore, by assuming a front-role in funding international peacekeeping. A small percentage of the Pentagon budget would accomplish wonders in peacemaking.

The peoples of the world compete in the Olympic Games without killing each other. Is it too far-fetched to believe that the example of the Olympic torch could light up the world and seriously address hunger, sickness, boundaries, finance, trade, human rights?

If some solution is not adopted, the human venture is doomed to failure.

Friends

June 19, 2003

In THE TEMPEST (Act V, Sc. i), Miranda, who has been reared without human contact other than her father, Prospero, and who, following the shipwreck, falls in love with Ferdinand, declares:

“O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
That has such people in’t.”

Prospero, whose experience has been of betrayal by friends and associates, responds cynically,

“’Tis new to thee.”

When we consider genocides, the lying and distortions of governments, greed for oil or fame, surely Prospero was correct. When one looks at politics, financial swindles, some CEOs whose greed is beyond sensible comprehension, how can we dispute Prospero?

And yet, I had an experience last week that strengthened my faith that there are “goodly creatures.”

I was in the home of the Newtons in Hubbard, Oregon, where my daughter, Janet, is suffering from the effects of A.L.S. She cannot talk, swallow, or walk. Thus she is dependent not only on the alert, loving, devoted care of her husband, Ron, and her daughter, Christina, and son Ian, but also from at least a dozen women friends in the area who care enough to help so Ron can get a little relief and tend somewhat to his law practice. Other members of our extended family – sister, brothers, sisters-in-law, others have traveled to Oregon to help in all ways possible.

In addition, Janet depends on certain life-sustaining equipment, powered by electricity. Ron came to my room about 2 a.m. to provide me with a flashlight. The power was out. He went out seeking the cause of the outage. Down the road he came upon a utility crew replacing a pole which had been rammed by a colliding pick-up truck.

When Ron explained how much the power was needed, one of the crew said he had a generator on the truck; and would follow Ron home and leave the generator there until power was restored.

The power was soon restored, but Ron realized that they needed a generator as a stand-by if other power outages occurred. So he called Jim, a friend, who knew something about generators to find out what features were important, what makes were superior, how much generators cost and other details.

Jim replied that he had an extra generator and would bring it over. Within a half-hour, Jim delivered the generator fully fueled and ready for instant use if the need should arise.

I met Jim and his wife, Marion, who is one of the dozen women ready to help Janet as the need arises.

O. Henry once wrote a pungent short story, “Friends in San Rosario,” but friends in Hubbard/Canby are real, not fictional. Miranda was correct,

“O brave new world
That has such people in’t.”

I intend to write next about the many terrible happenings of man’s inhumanity to man, but Miranda experienced “goodly creatures” and so do we.

THANKS BE.

War Is Always Catastrophe

April 30, 2003

This remark is attributed to Kofi Annan, Secretary General of the United Nations. The relatively low number of casualties in the war with Iraq experienced by the forces of the UK and USA without doubt is a smaller number than many predicted. The number of civilian casualties, children and adults who died or were maimed by the bombing and military actions may never be known. Lest we be cajoled into thinking that war is not so terrible, a few reminders may be sobering.

In a review of THE FIRST DAY ON THE SOMME, by Martin Middlebrook, we are reminded that July 1, 1916 is the bloodiest day in Britain’s history. World War I was largely trench warfare, and, often enough, the trenches of Allies and Germans were only hundreds of yards apart. The British soldiers attacked, advancing toward the German trentches. At the end of that day, the British had more than 57,000 casualties. 20,000 men were dead and three out of four officers had been killed or wounded. All for an attempt to reach German trenches, some less than 200 yards away. Can any words effectively describe such a day?

In HAMLET, Act IV, Sc. iv, the Norweigian captain says to Hamlet and others:

“We go to gain a little patch of ground
That has in it no profit but the name.”

That was the pattern of trench warfare in World War I. You will find that vividly documented in Barbara Tuchman’s THE GUNS OF AUGUST.

There was slaughter on the oceans, too. Most of us are familiar with the sinking of the passenger liner Lusitania by a German U-boat; 1,200 persons [lost] their lives. Because many of them were Americans, this sinking was the event that brought the United States into World War I.

On January 1, 1945, there was another sinking that had a loss of more than 9,000 persons, the worst maritime disaster in history. The German cruise liner, Wilhelm Gustoff was torpedoed in the freezing waters of the Baltic Sea.

On board were 1,000 German U-boat sailors on their way to Kiel to serve aboard submarines. Also there were 370 women of the Naval Auxiliary. But most of the people who died were civilians trying to escape from the advancing Soviet forces. (I read this information in a book review in the “New Yorker” discussing the book CRAB WALK by Gunter Grass.)

In World War II, most killings were of civilians. One need only name cities to stimulate that recollection: London, Coventry, Dresden, Berlin, Leningrad, Hiroshima, Nagasaki – many others.

Unsuccessfully I have been trying to locate an article with a forecasting of the next World War. The essence of the article was that with the advance of science in devising and delivering new weapons there will be no need to send our uniformed men and women anywhere to engage in combat. The weapons will be “smart” missiles, unmanned “drone” bombers and other unmanned aircraft, all skillfully directed to their targets by their inboard computers, satellites and other devilish ways to destroy people.

If that scenario is a real possibility, then the only deaths will be civilians – millions of them. Other than similar retaliations by the “enemy”, our soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen will be safe at home. But is that much consolation? General William Sherman was more correct than he knew when he proclaimed, “War is Hell.”

Some person unknown to me made the observation that the certain proof that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the Universe is that no one has bothered to make contact with us.

Apatheism

April 15, 2003

“Apatheism” is a word coined by Jonathan Rauch. In an article in “The Atlantic Monthly”, May 2003, he defines apatheism as “a disinclination to care all that much about one’s own religion, and an even stronger disinclination to care about other people’s.”

I am 100% in agreement with 50% of his definition of this new word. I do care much about my own religion. But as with Rauch, I have a strong “disinclination to care about other people’s.” To paraphrase Thomas Jefferson, I don’t care if any fellow-inhabitant on this wonder-full planet Earth believes in one God, three, twenty or none, if he/she does no harm to others.

Jonathan Rauch also points out that more and more persons seem to agree with him. He cites a survey which indicates that “the proportion of people who say they never go to church or synagogue has tripled since 1972 to 33% in 2000.”

I’m reminded of a verse my colleague, Keith Munson, cited in a sermon recently:

If one drop of rain
The sidewalk doth besmirch
It’s far too wet
To go to church.

If you conclude that, as a career professional in religion, this trend disturbs me, you are wrong. The “true believer” in a particular religion has too often been so fanatical about belief that they have prayed to their God and often preyed violently on others.

In Judeo-Christian history alone, there have been such notorious persecution, wars and suffering in the name of particular religion: the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Thirty Years War, the Puritans who came to this land to secure religious freedom for themselves and to deny it to others, the KKK and its violent hatred of Catholics and Jews, the terrible Holocaust of recent memory. There are many other examples.

James Russell Lowell, who lived in the 19th century and more known for his poetry, once wrote, “Toward no crime have men shown themselves so cold-blooded cruel as in punishing differences of belief.”

So two cheers for “apatheism.” This attitude toward religions will not ruin our nation in spite of the money-begging appeals of some intolerant TV evangelists.

There was a healthy, hopeful contrast in the book, LONGITUDES AND ATTITUDES by Thomas L. Friedman (p. 309). Attending Parents’ night at his daughter’s school, in Washington in the gym with a large American flag, a Noah’s ark of black, white and Hispanic singing “God Bless America,” Friedman choked back tears, saying to himself, “Here is the whole story right here, E. Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One ... Natalie’s school and the World Trade Center have a lot in common – both are temples of America’s civic religion. Our civic religion is built on the faith that anyone can aspire to come to our shores, become a member of this American nation, work hard, and make of him- or herself whatever he or she wants. The economic strength of America derives from millions of individuals doing just that, and the military might of America derives from the ability of all these different individuals to come together into a fist when these bedrock values are threatened.”

So Be It.

Introduction To Musings XIV

Holiday Greetings
November – December 2003

May the holidays be a time of rest, renewal, and inspiration for you and your loved ones. These greetings recognize how central to our lives are our families. May health and happiness prevail among those you hold dear.

For our family this has been a traumatic year. Daughter Janet Newton died after a doomed struggle with A.L.S. (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, the Lou Gehrig disease). She fought valiantly and her courage and spirit were, and are, a continuing inspiration to us all. Her husband, Ron, daughter Christina, and son, Ian were wholly devoted to caring for her during this tragic period. Other members of the family traveled from California, Arizona, Maryland, Massachusetts, and other far places to help in her care. Janet is free of suffering now, but her life of love and caring will always be our precious memories.

Daughter Marjorie had mastectomy surgery earlier in the year. All indications are that the surgery and post-surgical chemo-therapy have been successful. Marj embraced this serious matter with courage and optimism with the total support of her husband, Dale.

Mildred Swanson, my first wife, and mother of Marj, John, Janet, and Bill suffered a tragic loss. Her husband, Roger Swanson died suddenly of a heart attack in Reading, Massachusetts, on the day before Janet’s Memorial Service. This sad event required much time, travel, and effort by John, Marj and Bill to help straighten out matters dealing with the disposition of much goods in order to have the Swanson house ready for sale and other matters concerning the estate. Mildred now lives in an assisted living facility in San Francisco.

Son Bill Westman had knee surgery in mid-November to repair torn ligaments which happened when he was playing tennis. He will deal with rehab and expects full recovery.

The dark days of this year were lightened by the arrival of another great-grandchild. Dylan Hunter Roseberry was born November 3, in University Hospital, Albuquerque, New Mexico. The happy parents are Maria and David Roseberry. Grandma Alicia reports that the baby is a strawberry blonde with blue eyes and very handsome.

So life and death have been very much a part of our extended family this year. That is the nature of human existence. If we did not care about others, there would be no deep grief nor real happiness.

My own health seems relatively stable, although I am quite aware that I am in decline. After all, I have been on this planet since 1911.

Happy Holidays,
Carl

The Human Side Of The Holidays

December 3, 2000
Venice

Years ago I read that when jazz musician Benny Goodman was talking with a woman at a party, someone dropped a champagne glass. At the sound of the shattering glass, the woman asked, “What was that?”

Goodman answered, “C Sharp.” We humans are like that – we respond according to our interests. To some the sound would have been startling, creating anxieties about a stained rug or someone drinking too much wine. Others might be amused at the awkward accident happening to somebody else. To Benny Goodman, the sound meant C Sharp.

Today is the first Sunday of the Christian Advent season, when Christian believers begin their preparation to celebrate the virgin birth of their Savior, Jesus, in a manger in Bethlehem. From different points of view, the Christmas holidays also bring out differing reactions and unlike interpretations. Unitarian Universalists many times have mixed feelings about Christmas. Some hear “C sharp”; some hear breaking glass. But the person who denies the power of feeling at Christmas season has never listened either to his fellow-liberals or acknowledged his own emotions.

We try to accommodate in various ways, sometimes sensitively, sometimes rationalizing, sometimes naively. An old friend remarked that Unitarian Universalists never mention Christmas without also referring to Hanukkah. I suppose we do that for several reasons: to recognize the wideness of the cultural patterns we celebrate in December; to included the liberation celebration of Hanukkah, which has been a part of the heritage of many of our families; to create an atmosphere for the cultural universality of December rituals – concerts, charitable giving, both personal and commercialized, and swinging parties.

There is no single origin of our mid-Winter celebrations. One flowing spring is seldom the only source of a mighty river. Other brooks and streams feed into it. We need remember the many sources of Winter celebration – not only Christmas and Hanukkah, but also many others, including in recent years, Kwanzaa.

India may be at least one of the sources of Western culture. The roots of Western cultural origins may have beginnings in the Indus Valley, as well as the Tigris-Euphrates basin and Egypt. There are other sources, including the Roman, Teutonic, and Scandinavian.

Thousands of years before the birth of Jesus, the people of India were devoted to the god, Vishnu. Even today, Vishnu may have more followers than any other Hindu god. Originally, he was a Sun god. As the Brahmanic religion developed, Vishnu became the principal god to whom sacrifice was made. In the Hindu trinity, he is the second member who assumes human form. There are differences between Hindu and Christian mythology. Vishnu was incarnated many times, sometimes as animal, sometimes as man. We should note that what we call the “messianic tradition” was a continuing hope in Hinduism. One day, Vishnu would reappear, he would cleanse the earth from sin, remove the shadows and bring about the reign of justice and truth.

Some of us have roots in the Scandinavian peninsula. The traditions of the Norsemen tell the stories of the great celebrations on the occasion of the Winter Solstice. The feast was known as Jul and honored the divine birth of Freyer.

Zoroaster, who lived six or seven centuries before Jesus, was the founder of the religion that bears his name, Zoroastrianism. This prophet of Persian religion taught that there was a struggle constantly between good and evil. Mythology and legend accumulated after his time on earth. Followers declared that Zoroaster was born of a virgin, was visited by adoring Magi; in infancy[, he] was saved from a powerful enemy. In other myths, the life of Zoroaster paralleled the Gospel stories about Jesus.

About the birth of Buddha, there also grew a miraculous mythology, although he had taught ethics and rejected the gods. Years after his death, he was transformed into what in life he had rejected, a god. Parallels with the Christian stories are found also in the mythology that accumulated around Confucius, who lived about the same period as Buddha, about the sixth century, B.C.E.

Many cultures, many historic periods, many religions have contributed to our Christmas. If that’s all there was to it – a package of myth and legend, tied with the ribbons of strange customs and superstitious rites of numerous early religions, held before us in order to encourage the spending of money, not to speak of exhausting us physically, we could recommend that Christmas be ignored. If the complex patterns of ancient Christmas myth and legend were all there was to it, we could protest that promoting the celebration of Christmas strengthened belief in the unreasonable and unwholesome doctrine of inherited sin. Furthermore, we could protest with justification that adoration and praise of a virgin mother placed an unnecessary and inhuman stigma on natural love between man and woman and the children born to them.

But that’s not all there is to it. There may be considerable dilution of feeling in placing other customs in conscious juxtaposition with Christmas and Hanukkah, because we may not be able to have our cake and eat it too, as far as the deepest and most poignant sentiments of Christmas are concerned.

When we turn to the universality of the Winter feast, when we ring the changes on the likenesses of Christian, Buddhist, Persian, Chinese, and Scandinavian myths, there may be a real question as to whether we just want an excuse for a party, or feel a reluctance to be too different, whereas for the convinced Christian believer, Christmas is Christ’s Mass, and the Mass celebrates the unique and once-and-for-all supernatural atoning sacrifice of God in Christ for all humankind. But I know no Unitarian Universalists who celebrate Christmas for that theological reason.

We like the carols with lovely melodies, with wistful words, whose theology we ignore. An old friend in a church I served many years ago used to say around the Christmas season, “What we won’t say, we sing.” We tend to convey by our attitudes that inasmuch as many faiths have saviors, we will taste them all, like a wine-tasting party.

Do we celebrate because the old pre-Christian tides of anciently imbedded feelings surface when the Winter Solstice arrives? Or, in spite of our rejection of Christian theology, are we still sufficiently conditioned by the Christian centuries to want to celebrate Christ’s birth – and then explain it away to rid ourselves of any intellectual discomfort we might feel? The Christian Christmas stories and music are deeply moving even to an agnostic or atheist.

When one gets right down to cases, there is no more reason to celebrate the Winter Solstice than the theological Christ’s Mass. The early pre-scientific peoples believed the change from darkness to increasing light was the gift of the gods, who were unpredictable in their bounty. We have learned that the changing seasons and measurable variations of day and night are astronomically precise, predictable as planet Earth moves in its rotating, plotted orbit around our sun-star. There is perhaps even less reason for annual re-creation of the feasts of Anglo-Saxons, Teutons, and Scandinavians than there is for our Christmas worship, even though the pagan wassailing, tree worship, and slightly scandalous parties seem in truth to bring a more enthusiastic response in our day than the incarnation theology.

We do not wrestle seriously with these considerations because feelings prevail, hardly less so among self-classified rationalists and agnostics than with anybody else. Feelings will prevail because we will respond to the aroma and sight of evergreen and candle, the excitement of being busy for others, the sounds of Adeste Fideles and Handel’s MESSIAH, the abundance of sentiment, the image of Jul log (not in FL?) and the warmth of human affection.

On Ash Wednesday, the ashes used in most Roman Catholic churches, traditionally, are secured by burning the palms used the previous year on Palm Sunday. In a few countries, Scandinavian, I believe, the ashes, the visible sign of repentance, were the ashes of the Jul log burned the previous Christmas. Were these penitential customs an awareness that the Christmas dreams of peace and goodwill were not realized because of what we humans are and the ways we think and behave?

But in this season, can there not be moments when new content may replace both the superstitions of pre-history and theologies we can no longer believe? Yes! I believe so.

We celebrate the wonder of life in its lovely realization – the wanted, new baby in the manger of the poor. The story of the baby Jesus stirs us deeply because his is a universal story of parents who experience the shattering, mysterious compound of love, danger, fear, and hope, blended with the fact of pain, the surprise of human sacrifice, and the wonder of human growth.

We celebrate the creation of new human life. Do you remember Stephen Vincent Benet’s poem, “Nightmare for Future Reference”? It was written at the height of the Cold War, but we are still under threat with at least 7 or 8 nations possessing nuclear weapons, and who knows how many have biological death weapons in their secret laboratories? Benet’s poem goes:

“That was the second year of the Third World War
The one between us and Them....”

The poet goes on with laconic but sobering words in the framework of a father speaking to his son:

“The lab chief was no longer permitted guinea pigs for experiments and the statistical curve of the birth rate was in a steep and terrifying slide:

I didn’t ask them,
Not even your mother – she was strange those days –
But, two weeks later, I was back in the lines
And somebody sent me a paper –
Encouragement for the troops and all of that –
All about the fall of Their birth rate on Their side.
I guess you know, now. There was still a day when we fought
And the next day, the women knew. I don’t know how they knew,
But they smashed every government in the world
Like a heap of broken china within two days:
And we’d stopped firing by then. And we looked at each other –
Well, I’ve told you now. They tell you now at eighteen.
There’s no use to tell before.
Do you understand?
That’s why we have the Ritual of the Earth,
The Day of Sorrow, the other ceremonies.
Oh, yes, at first people hated the animals
Because they still bred, but we’ve gotten over that.
You can call it a virus, of course, if you like the word,
But we haven’t been able to find it. Not yet. No
It isn’t as if it had happened all at once.
There were a few children born in the last six months
Before the end of the war, so there’s still some hope,
But they’re almost grown. That’s the trouble
They’re almost grown.
Well, we had a long run. That’s something. At first they thought
There might be a nation somewhere – a savage tribe.
But we were all in it, even the Eskimos.
And we keep the toys in the stores and coloring books,
And people marry and plan and the rest of it,
But you see, there aren’t any children. They aren’t being born.”

Some psychologists interpret the image of a child in a dream as indicating the beginning of new life in a patient. New Life! We know that to define human beginnings as the fertilization of ovum by sperm is to describe, not explain. The emergence of living form, the growth of limb, mind, emotion – all these are/wonderful for diagnostic words. Everyone who has ever held a young baby knows that.

At this season, carol, candle, creche, and evergreen remind us with gladness that children are still being born. What theologically is called the “incarnation” is an all-human occasion for renewing the feeling of glad mystery that life forces are still with us, “the light that lighteth every one that cometh into the world.” No particularized theology may monopolize that full joy and deep wonder.

We celebrate another universal feeling. Church historian Hans Lietzmann helped put this in historical and cultural perspective (A HISTORY OF THE EARLY CHURCH (Vol II, p. 166 – 168). The Roman poet Virgil (79 B.C.E. – 14 B.C.E.) had predicted a time when a savior, coming to the world as a divine child, would erase sin and usher in a golden age. Many Romans thought that Caesar Augustus was that divine incarnation. For centuries to follow, all Caesars were deified. The Age of Augustus was extolled as one which brought better fortune and lessening misery as the Pax Romana brought universal peace. Temples of Peace, dedicated to Rome and Augustus, were built in city after city. Wrote Lietzmann, “A community of feeling passed over the boundaries of the provinces and the differences of race, and created the vitally necessary ideology of the Roman Empire.” So it is today – there is a community of feeling which is all too brief. There are World War I legends of soldiers climbing from the trenches and meeting as friends in Christmas battlefield truce. Personnel executives have told me how difficult it is to discharge persons at Christmas. We are more generous, not only with family, but also to worthy causes and needy persons. Christmas is an incarnation briefly of the dreams of all peoples of the world as it might be, when there would be peace on earth and goodwill to all. We do not need the psychologist to tell us that the babe in the manger or the crib room of the hospital is a sign of hope, for on him/her we project our deepest yearnings, the purer dreams of a human society where the symbols of religion will represent the reality of peace and the full recognition everywhere of the dignity of every person. Dr. Edmund Sinnot (THE BRIDGE OF LIFE) wrote, “Man’s objective now is not to make superior individuals reproduce themselves more efficiently, but to make individuals superior. Greatness will not be the result of evolution, but of aspiration.” (p. 124)

Consider four lines from W. H. Auden’s poem, “In Memory of W. B. Yeats”,

“Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.”

Because humankind has a dream, still persuade us to rejoice. There will come a time, in a couple of weeks, when the long night ebbs and more light shines on the babes of the world. When that illumination moves silently, transforming shadow to light, then something in our bones, our blood, our cultural heritage cries out that no matter how dismal the prospect for human redemption, no matter how formidable the portents of disaster, in spite of the blows with which we have been struck, there is a spirit of creation abroad in the world which calls us to protect the innocent, to warm our homes with light and love; and reverently embrace the cosmic mystery, which, I believe, underlies all the matter, energy, and value structures of this universe, this planet, our home.

Centuries before the Christian era began, long before the liberation struggles of the Maccabeans formed the Hanukkah celebration, the Greek dramatist Euripides had words for this occasion in the concluding prayer chorus of IPHIGENIA IN TAURUS, (p. 89):

“O great in our dull world of clay,
And great in heaven’s undying gleam,
Pallas, thy bidding we obey:
And bless thee, for mine ears have heard
The joy and wonder of a word
Beyond my dream, beyond my dream.”

That is the aspiration for the human side of the holidays – we hear the joy and wonder of a word and a world beyond our dreams, because the fulfillment of hopes depends upon the quality of our aspirations and upon our persistence in making real what has been ideal.

[Editor's Note: This sermon appeared at the end of the final (2004) bundle of musings, but was dated as being from the year 2000.]

A Fresh Angle On A Word

November 25, 2002

The 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians in the scriptures are probably the most familiar passages to most persons in the hundreds of varieties Christian beliefs and sects. The King James Version (1611) begins:

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”

The Oxford Annotated Bible (Revised 1952) begins:

“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.”

“Charity” in the King James Version and “love” in the Revised and other modern versions are translations of the same Greek word, AGAPE.

The change of translation is based on the modern use of of “charity” to indicate alms-giving or the help the more affluent give to the poor. “Love” is currently believed to be a more accurate and more comprehensive rendering of AGAPE. Some scholars believe that when Paul was writing to his friends at Corinth, he was writing of the “love of God” for His human creations, and, consequently, what persons should believe and act toward their fellow men and women.

A modern Bible scholar, John Dominic Crossan, in EXCAVATING JESUS, a book he co-authored, writes, “We Christians translate the New Testament word AGAPE as love, meaning charity or alms-giving. Better to translate it as ‘to share.’”

The nuance of the word, “share” spoke to me this week as Thanksgiving arrives on Thursday. The table will be heaped with roast turkey and tasty vegetables, along with tangy cranberry sauce, topped with rich desserts.

But not everywhere in the world, because millions will be hungry and children starving. I will be remembering a saying of many years ago, the source forgotten, “If we all ate at one table, no one would be allowed to go hungry.” That metaphor represents what The Man from La Mancha sang, “to dream the impossible dream.” Also from the lyrics of that song, “to fight the unbeatable foe.” Fred, 98 year old tablemate at meals, would consider human greed the unbeatable foe. To overcome that foe is a mammoth task.

Yet if we continue to dream the impossible dream where all children are fed; and support efforts to achieve it, perhaps tomorrow there will be fewer hungry persons than today; and next year, fewer hungry persons than this year. And every year after that.

Crossan’s suggestion would make that opening verse of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians read, “If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but do not share, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” A challenging perspective?

John Dominic Crossan makes an accompanying and excellent point, though not all would agree. He wrote that the underlying prophetic ethical demand is justice, both in the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament) and Christian scriptures (New Testament). The most illustrative example I can think of at the moment is Micah, Ch. 4, verses 3 – 4:

“He shall judge between many peoples,
and shall decide for strong nations afar off;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
and none shall make them afraid.”

To conclude with Shakespeare, where Pompey says in ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, Act II, Sc. i)

“If the great gods be just, they shall assist
the deeds of the justest men.”

Such are my dreams this Thanksgiving week.

Untitled

November 9, 2002

“I am beholden to you
For your sweet music, this last night.
I do Protest my ears were never better fed
With such delightful pleasing harmony.”

So Shakespeare has Simonides say in PERICLES (Act II, Sc. v). That was my experience also last night when the Gulf Coast Symphony and the 100 voice Key Chorale presented Beethoven’s Symphony #9 – the Choral Symphony (Sara sings with the Key Chorale).

With Leif Bjarland conducting with complete vigorous command of the orchestra, chorus and soloists, I was transported to realms of mystery and exaltation. I am no musician; I cannot read music (some of you know the probable cause of such ignorance). But I am deeply moved by music, more frequently by the three “Bs” – Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, but also by a wide variety from Louis Armstrong to operatic choruses; and, yes, even the “golden oldies,” Glen Miller, e.g., and an occasional polka. Writing this has put an end to the “dry spell” in these musings, the cause of which I know.

I have been informed that Beethoven’s 9th is particularly difficult for choristers. Margery Dearden writes in the program notes [that] “Beethoven makes superhuman demands of his singer, carrying the sopranos into the stratosphere, and almost seems to abandon them up there....”

Beethoven held high the ideal, the hope, of human brotherhood ... found in Schiller’s “Ode to Joy,” the text for his superb musical paean to that dream of the human family.

The first verse reads:

“Joy, thou source of light immortal,
Daughter of Elysium,
Touched with fire to the portal
Of thy radiant shrine we come.
Thy pure magic frees all other
Held in custom’s rigid rings.
Men throughout the world are brothers
In the haven of thy wings.”

In our world of 2002, where the war drums beat, where hate is a spreading virus, and suspicion prevails, to hear the 9th, the “Choral”, is to take heart again that we will not wipe out our human family in a stupid, heedless Armageddon.

A Moving Story

July 1, 2002

This is my second full day of residence at the Beneva Park Club, an assisted living facility.

I’m very grateful for Sara’s important help in planning the best use of limited space, her muscle power along with her grandson, Ian, in moving things around, and removing items from Jefferson Center. Ian, with today’s young man’s knowledge of computers, sorted out the maze of wires, hooked up my Dell, the TV, and the VCR.

Earlier in the month, son John spent much time and energy removing and storing items and getting me ready to move.

Temporarily I’m quartered in #124, while my permanent room, #119 is awaiting the arrival of a replacement air conditioner. All my books and many other items are stored in another room on this floor. It makes no sense to shelve them only to repack them when I am moved to #119, which I hope will be within two weeks.

I am comfortable. The food is institutional, but good. Breakfast is the best meal. It is partially that I have little taste or strong desire for meat dishes. The courtesy of the serving staff is A-one. The whole staff – office, nursing, cleaning, housekeeping, as well as dining room personnel, not only do their tasks efficiently, but also their cheerful, helpful attitudes make for a pleasant day. Just consider one item – my bed is made every day. That is just one convenience that I have not enjoyed for years.

I was assigned a seat in the dining room with three men. If I wished, I could ask for a change of seating. I don’t think I will. I am interested in their life stories, although constant repetition sometimes makes me wonder if the events were real or are augmented by creative imagination.

Fred, 97 years old, is the oldest man in the Beneva Park Club. He has been a marine, sheet metal worker, world traveler and hobo. He seems to take most pride in his adventures as a hobo. He seems well-read. He summed this quality up by saying whenever he arrived in a new city he always went to the library first before going to the brothel.

Bob, the youngest of our quartet is only 84 years old. Within 10 minutes of meeting him, he forcefully asserted he was an atheist. He was an officer on a submarine during World War II. Later he worked for the Department of Agriculture. His work there had something to do with the mating habits of primates – monkeys, chimps, etc. I do not understand why such research was a part of the function of the Department of Agriculture. When I see my son, Bill, perhaps he can enlighten me. Anyway, Bob knows the Latin names of all the primates and readily trots out that knowledge.

Hugh, who is a year or two older than I am, is also an interesting person. He was born and reared in India where his parents wtiere Christian missionaries. Hugh, I gather, was a teacher in Asia. In World War II when Japan conquered Singapore, Hugh became a prisoner of war for three and a half years. He only hints at the agonies he must have experienced. He did remark that rats were not bad eating. “Tastes something like chicken when fried in a little palm oil.” Hugh addresses me as “Padre.”

I am pleased that my first friends here are Fred, Bob, and Hugh. However, already one woman stopped me in the hallway and asked, “How can you stand those three characters?” I assured her that I was enjoying my meals with them. She looked at me skeptically and moved on. I had the temptation to quote Shakespeare to her where in TWELFTH NIGHT, Toby says to the clown, “Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?” I resisted the temptation to cite that famous quote, fortunately for me.

So went the first two days of my living here. If they are any harbinger of days to come, I will not be bored or have time hang heavy on my hands.

Wealth More Precious Than Jewels: A Parable

April 15, 2002

A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did without hesitation.

The traveler left rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime.

A few days later, he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me this stone.”

Sometimes it’s not the wealth you have but what’s inside you that others need.

Although noble in intent, this parable has flaws. Suppose the traveler was addicted to cocaine, and would pawn the gem for money for a number of “fixes?” Suppose the traveler was “on the lam” from an indictment on criminal charges and the gem could provide funds for travel to a country where there was no extradition treaty with the U.S.? But such suppositions are nitpicking. I should value the parable for its story of unhesitating, unquestioning generosity.

The traveler rejoiced in his unearned good fortune. It is not for me to criticize the benefits that a little or a lot of money can provide. To denigrate or condemn affluence, just because it is affluence, is for persons more radical than I am. One of the abuses of wealth occurs when it is the only dimension of one’s appraisal of self.

In the parable the traveler discovered that more valuable than the precious stone was an understanding of the generosity of the wise woman. The actions of many people in all times and places are motivated by greed, envy, or self-justification. Because of the prevalence of such traits, we are surprised, sometimes, to discover generosity without expectations of “paybacks” in one way or another. But there are such wise persons, women and men. We can be glad of that.

Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son illustrates the same truth more vividly in its non-judgmental love of parent for child. Some commentators have suggested that the proper title for this parable is “The Forgiving Father” not “The Prodigal Son.”

Was the older son justified in complaining? Many persons would say “yes.” The father recognized the older son’s complaints, but replied:

“Son, you are always with me and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to make merry and be glad for this your brother was dead, and is alive, he was lost and is found.”

Notice that the father did not refer to the prodigal as “my younger son,” but rather, “your brother.” A subtle point, perhaps, but telling. I am not naïve and I am aware there are families where brother cannot tolerate brother. The primal myth of Cain and Abel illuminates the malicious dysfunction that can happen among siblings. But generosity and joy prevail when a prodigal conies to himself and comes home. Family celebrations of such redemptions are a unique experience of happiness in human affairs.

A Unique Experience

January 7, 2002

Jefferson Center, where I live, has 201 apartments and more than 200 people live here. There are some couples but most of us live alone.

Every year there is a recognition luncheon for those residents who are 90 years old or older. As I now qualify for this group, I was included in those being honored at a luncheon today.

There are at present 12 residents who are 90 or older. Being one of the 12 is a unique experience for me.

At today’s luncheon, five of us being honored sat together. I was the only male. One of the 12 is at a rehab facility. I don't know why the other six were absent. Other Jefferson residents sat at other tables.

We were entertained by a family singing group whose repertoire, outside of “Jingle Bells,” was entirely Christian gospel which was appreciated, apparently, by most of those present. I personally would have preferred some secular music, but I kept a straight face and applauded politely.

The leader of the group, the mother, talked proudly about her seven children. They all have biblical names ending in “h”. With her today, and doing some singing and movements to music, were Sarah, Josiah, and Zachariah, about 7, 8, and 10 years old, respectively.

We were then served a nice lunch of sandwiches cut in triangles, potato chips and grapes. (Nobody asked me why I didn’t touch the grapes.) Dessert was a delicious cake with ice cream.

Of the five of us 90-plus sitting together, the most remarkable person was the oldest. Mildred Flick is 98; walks with considerably more vigor than I and the others can; has good vision – she does put on reading glasses; her mind is alert and “with it”; and told us she takes no medications. How about that!!!

Sitting next to me was Malva, a friend who is one of the better bridge players in Jefferson. She gets around on a battery-powered wheel chair. She is one year older than I am. We have played many hands of bridge. This we have enjoyed, particularly when we are partners, because our bidding gives us some idea of the shape of the partner’s hand. With some other players at Jefferson, this is a complete mystery.

Becoming qualified for this “exclusive” club of 90s-plus was a pleasant occasion. It would be nice to be around for next year's recognition luncheon.

Introduction To Musings XIII

December 2002

HOLIDAY GREETINGS

As the Solstice draws near, which has sparked several religious traditions, 1 wish everyone much happiness, warm memories, and wonder-full moments.

This year has been traumatic and dramatic for me and my large family. We were shocked and grieved that daughter, Janet Newton in Oregon, was diagnosed with A.L.S. (the Lou Gehrig disease), for which there is no known cure. She has endured much pain and suffering. Her husband, Ron, is constantly at her side with love and hope. Their children, Christina and Ian have been strong and loving. Other members of the family and friends have rallied around.

As we have experienced these tragic days and months, I have found meaning in the anonymous saying, “Love can break your heart; but it’s worth it.” I won’t try to elaborate that, but if you reflect on that saying long enough, you will catch the profound meaning.

This year has been dramatic for me, too. I made the decision to move to an “Assisted Living Facility.” I am content that I made the decision myself. No one had to make it for me.

In my sixth month here at the Beneva Park Club, I know that my move was a proper one at this time of my life.

Although costs have risen beyond my anticipation, the staff is competent, friendly, and caring. Living here is a good experience.

There are fewer Musings than other years. I am a bit pessimistic about political and international issues.

This has resulted in fewer judgments, perhaps, than in other years. However the events of this year have caused me to think upon some words of Reinhold Niebuhr (from “The Irony of American History”).

I did not appreciate Niebuhr when he was alive. He could make “Liberals” quite uncomfortable. But I have thought much about the following quotation, particularly in discouraging hours:

“Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness.”

This is deep wisdom, particularly to one in the declining years.

I sign off with unbounded affection to you and yours,
Carl

The Reformation – and Martin Luther

October 28, 2001
Venice

Rewrite of
October 26, 1958, Akron
Also: Rochester 10/29/61, Revised 10/25/64

This is Reformation Sunday, marking the birthday of the Protestant Church and the revolt from Roman Catholicism. Next Wednesday marks the four hundred and eighty-fourth anniversary of the day Martin Luther tacked the 95 theses to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral. The religious, political, economic, and social changes effected by the Protestant Reformation represent [some] of the most important, if not the most important, changes in the history of the Western world. I would like to discuss the leading person of the Reformation, one of the most controversial persons in history, Martin Luther. He was a saint, sinner, vulgarian, or anti-Semitic bigot, depending on the point of view from which he is seen. His followers hailed him as a true prophet of the Lord. Roman Catholics called him a child of the devil and accused him of demolishing Christianity. The agrarian reformers of that turbulent sixteenth century said he was the toady, tool, and supporter of the feudal lords and princes. Religious radicals, Carlstadt and Muenster, for example, compared him to Moses, who led the way out of captivity in Egypt, but then deserted his followers, leaving them to perish in the wilderness. Those who have looked at this personal life with critical eye have thought him to be a coarse libertine who broke with his Roman Catholic tradition so that he might marry a nun and rear children in sin and vulgarity. The critics submit Luther’s own writings, TABLE TALK, as evidence of his degraded personality.

This we know, the history of the world was altered because Martin Luther lived. In abolishing the authority of the Pope, Martin Luther established the freedom of the Christian. When this principle became established, the administration of the religious institution became the responsibility of the parish, a congregation of lay people. Martin Luther did not anticipate, and actually opposed, some of the consequences of the Reformation he spearheaded. The principle of the authority of the lay congregation had extreme political as well as religious effects. The self-administration of religion pointed the way to worldly self-government as well. Therefore, it is of particular importance to the liberal groups whose guiding principle of freedom is the most uninhibited, to try to understand Martin Luther. This presentation divides into

1) the setting,
2) the Augustinian priest,
3) the reformer and supporter of princes, and
4) the man, Martin Luther.

Although Martin Luther is the most notable figure of the Reformation, he was not born when the Reformation began. To know the Reformation, we need to understand that the Renaissance, the revival of learning, the recovery of the ancient Greek belief in the worth of the humans, had been in progress for at least two centuries. Petrarch and Boccaccio had notably advanced Humanist studies. The Medici family, also of Florence, had been the greatest patrons of art, sculpture, literature, and philosophy that the European world had known. Under their patronage, Michelangelo, DaVinci, Mirandola, Raphael and others had created arts and letters that still summon our wonder at their genius. In 1453, the world’s greatest cultural center, Constantinople, had fallen to the Turks. The scholars there who had preserved the manuscripts and art objects of Hellenism fled to Italy and other parts of Europe. 12 Universities were founded in Germany between 1409 and 1506.

Not only did the Renaissance signal the revival of arts and learning, but a most important political movement was beginning to make its strong eddies felt in the ebb and flow of the Holy Roman Empire. Although Germany lagged somewhat, England, France and Spain had assumed form as nations. The mass of people had no share in the political rewards or freedoms, although they were the objects of the most severe hardships and sufferings. Their unquestioned place was serfdom.

The Roman Catholic was the authoritarian church. There was no toleration of heresy, but the seeds that were to bear fruit in Luther’s time had already been sown. John Wyclif of England, opposed to the wealth of the church and clerical interference in all walks of life, believed that the Bible should be the possession of the people and had translated the scriptures into English. Wyclif was executed for heresy, his ashes scattered on Thames, but neither his convictions nor his bravery were forgotten. 1373 marked the birth of John Hus, a Bohemian priest, who was influenced by Wyclif’s teachings and Hus preached an evangelical doctrine which was anathema to the Roman Catholic church. John Hus avowed publicly that the head of the Church was Christ, not the Pope. The unprincipled church gave him safe conduct to the Council of Constance, but broke faith and burned him at the stake, July 6, 1415, but neither was his memory forgotten nor his principles rejected by his followers. In 1498, the austere monk of Florence, Savonarola denounced the Pope. After a succession of temporary triumphs and then humiliating defeat, Savonarola was burned at the stake. But even as smoke and smell from the burning flesh and faggots were dispersed to the winds, so the knowledge of his revolt became widely perceived by later reformers, including Martin Luther, who was but a fifteen-year-old student when Savonarola was executed.

Something else had happened which was to make the world different than it had ever been before. Moveable type printing had been invented – the peoples of the world would not only become more literate, but the printed word was to bring them the wisdom of scripture in their own language, and they read the protesting pamphlets of the reformers.

In this seething caldron of social change, a baby boy was born to a peasant miner, Hans Luther and his wife, Marguerite, in 1483. November 10 was St. Martin’s day, and the infant was named Martin after the patron saint. Martin’s parents were peasants, but Hans Luther was not content to accept the poverty and misery of the miner’s lot. By individual effort he labored to make his lot better and his family more comfortable and privileged. In these beginning times of individualism, his efforts brought some rewards. Martin was able to go to school and University to be prepared for the practice of law, which was his father’s wish for his eldest son.

The schools at that time were organized, administered, and taught by the Church and its various orders. Martin’s early schooling was directed by the Brethren of the Common Life, an order dedicated to education. Then, in the University, he was influenced by the Augustinian order. Under the strong influence of the monks, together with his personality, which was unusually sensitive to supernaturalism and mystery, along with his fine mind, which was capable of wrestling with the intricate language of philosophy and theology, Martin Luther found his hopes turning toward the Church and away from the Law. Although Hans Luther was deeply religious, his wish that Martin be a Doctor of Law was so strong that when Martin announced that he was to become an Augustinian monk, his father was deeply hurt. Years were to pass before he really forgave the son who was frustrating the parent’s deepest wish.

After a farewell party, Martin’s friends escorted him to the Augustinian cloister at Erfurt on the 17th of July 1505. He entered its gates there to endure the privation of the order and to know the religious joy of humbling his passions, following the tedious routine of prayer and study, eventually, when ordained to know the mystery or celebrating the Mass, in which the wafer and wine became the body and blood of Christ.

As a monk, Martin Luther was conscientious to a degree we would believe to be unnatural. He fasted for days at a time, went night after night without sleep so that he might devote himself to prayer unceasingly (and in so doing permanently injured his health). He whipped himself to subdue the desires of the flesh. Although he was a model of holiness to his brother monks, his personal anxiety increased. He became increasingly morbid. Luther, a child of his times, feared the devil and believed the arts of witchcraft could have a dreadful effect on him. The iron discipline of the Augustine order had the natural effect of subduing his outward expressions of feeling and intensifying the inward fires of human passions.

Following his ordination as a priest, he turned to teaching at the University and soon became a most popular teacher. His large following of students was drawn for several reasons. His peasant inheritance gave him the common touch, plain talk, and natural illustration which reached the core of subjects. To a lesser degree than monks of more aristocratic background, was he bound to narrow conventions and traditional formulas. Following his master’s degree, he earned the degree of Doctor of Theology, a scholastic honor rare in those days.

His talents and drive soon won greater recognition. When only 31 years old, in 1515, he was appointed District-Vicar of the Augustinian order. Thus, in addition to his devotional duties as a monk, his university responsibilities as a teacher of philosophy, he had the additional duty of administrative responsibility, superintending the 10 Augustinian monasteries in his district.

This devout Augustinian monk was obsessed not only with neurotic fears for his salvation, but also he was upset by dishonesty and corruption readily discovered in the church of that day, which was dominated by the Renaissance Popes, who had a high degree of sensitivity to artistic beauty and an insensitive attitude toward personal and organizational corruption.

Martin Luther and another monk made a pilgrimage to Rome. He had hopes that this would be a high experience in his life, but [it] resulted in considerable disillusion. In Rome he could not help observing the corruption, hypocrisy, and political knavery of the hierarchy. The irreverence of the priesthood shocked this simple, devout German peasant priest. It is said that while climbing the sacred stairs on his knees, that Paul’s words to the Romans fixed themselves in Luther’s brain, “the just shall live by faith.” He realized that acts of piety like climbing stairs on his knees were of little effect. The extent to which the Rome visit influenced his revolt, we do not know. Perhaps it was a small but significant episode in his life.

The real spark of the Reformation was ignited when the Roman hierarchy decided that in order to build magnificent St. Peter’s Basilica, much money had to be raised. So the sale of indulgences was authorized. The doctrine was that by their purity the saints had built up a bank account (so to speak) of piety, on which the sinful could draw to lessen their years in Purgatory. So, Tetzel, a monk went through the countryside urging the peasants to buy indulgences so that their dead relatives might be released from Purgatory sooner. It is said that Pope Leo X, who was the son of Lorenzo de Medici, said cynically about the response of the believing peasants, “This story of Jesus has helped us a lot.”

On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther tacked a manuscript to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral. 95 propositions for debate were listed. Luther questioned the indulgences with a series of logical propositions, the most telling of which proposed that if the Pope had the power to release souls from Purgatory, then he should do so at once, not for money, but out of the spirit of love and charity.

Although years were to elapse between the nailing of the theses to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral and the actual formation of the Reformed Church, that date is historically looked upon as the birthday of Protestantism.

Luther’s theses were formal statements, but his vernacular comment was, “God will not tolerate this flea market.”

News of the opposition of this Augustinian monk to the plans of the hierarchy soon reached Rome, and action followed. There were years of ecclesiastical maneuvering. Luther refused to recant. He had a famous debate with John Eck and undoubtedly would have been executed except for a new historical tide. Nationalism was dawning; and the feudal lords and princes of Germany were very much opposed to the Roman Church drawing off large sums of money from the homeland for St. Peter’s or any other foreign enterprise.

Luther began to write and his statements pointed unquestionably to strong differences with the Church at Rome. He proposed the priesthood of all believers, and that there were only two sacraments authorized by scripture: baptism and the Lord’s Supper. These statements were heretical, unquestionably, and Luther was summoned to appear before the Diet of Worms (“Here I stand”). Luther was excommunicated, and would have been seized, except Frederick, elector of Saxony, had him spirited away to Wartburg Castle. But the printing press was pounding out Luther’s writings, [which] were distributed widely, and the people responded. When Luther emerged from Wartburg, he found himself organizing a Reformed Church.

Then occurred one of the more puzzling aspects of Luther’s strange character: The impetus to religious freedom had other consequences. The peasants revolted against the landlords and princes. It was somewhat natural, but unexpected that they should seek to throw off political and economic oppression when the way to religious freedom had been pointed out. From our perspective we know this is one of the glories of religious freedom – other benefits to humankind are natural consequences. But Luther proved to be the the toady, the tool, the supporter of the princes. Neither the implications of religious freedom nor love for the peasant people from which he sprang mitigated the severity of his condemnation of the Peasants’ Revolt. To the aristocratic Lords and Princes, Luther offered these words of encouragement, “Hearken dear Lords... Let him who can stab, strike, and strangle... These are such times that a prince can go to heaven more easily by spilling blood than others through prayer.”

The peasants were crushed, murdered, tortured, starved.

Luther was not a tolerant man. Even admitting that like all persons, he was a child of his own age, we find it difficult to reconcile this devout man who professed the Lordship of the gentle Christ with the Luther who was savage not only with the Peasants’ War, but also had a bigoted hatred of Jews, and was unremitting in his urgings to destroy and persecute them.

Luther could not get along with other reformers. He refused to shake hands with Zwingli, because the latter would not accept Luther’s interpretation of the Lord’s Supper.

But Martin Luther was not only an Augustinian priest, a reformer of strange and devious as well as noble ways, he was also a man. When the reformers were celebrating freedom from the Roman Catholic church, the monasteries and convents were opened, the monks and nuns sought marriage and Christian homes, sometimes marrying each other. Catherine von Bora was a nun jilted by a suitor shortly after her release from the convent. Martin Luther tried to be a marriage broker for her and find a suitable husband. However, when it was reported to him that Catherine von Bora would marry only Dr. Amsdorf or Dr. Luther, he investigated further, he checked it out, with the result shortly after, Martin Luther and ex-nun Catherine von Bora were married. They established their home in the Augustinian cloister where Luther formerly had led the monastic life.

Theirs was a busy home with much affection, the ex-nun soon became “my Katie” to Luther. Not only were children born to them, but also they were hospitable and generous to the homeless. At one time not less than eleven orphans shared their home and table. The reminiscences of this home life are found in Luther’s TABLE TALK, remarkable for the insight it gives into the personality of this father. He was gentle, but at times objectionably vulgar and rude.

When illness or the plague struck, as it did frequently in those days, the hand of death entered the home. Of the children, Elizabeth died in infancy. When little Hans was ill, Martin Luther composed and to comfort him sang the famous childrens’ Christmas carol, “Away in a Manger”. Hans and Paul lived to maturity. Marguerite lived to girlhood, but in a agonizing time of trial for the busy parents, she died of illness. In the grief of that occasion, Luther formed the tune and words of his greatest hymn, “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” [CJW note: based on Psalm 46]

This aging father had innumerable organization details of the reformed church. He was called to settle disputes between princes. His health, never good since his monastic days, grew worse. After a winter journey under difficult conditions, he died after attempting to resolve a conflict between two Lords.

What shall we say of this man? He was a leading reformer. He was a reactionary who was unbelievably harsh with his fellow peasants. He was intolerant. He was an anti-Semite. He was coarse and vulgar. But also, he was a great preacher and scholar. He translated the Bible into German, giving the people the Scripture. His courage sparked the Reformation, giving birth to the numerous free Christian groups, among which in later years our own was to be numbered. He was the Reformation’s greatest hymn writer. Albert Schweitzer, who had a doctorate in music as well as doctorates in medicine and theology, remarked that the only person who really understood Martin Luther was Johann Sebastian Bach. He was a kind and loving but financially embarrassed father. He was a teacher who won the respect of his students.

But the most affectionate and most human epitaph that the Reformer earned was written by the ex-nun who became his wife and the mother of their children. A month after his death, Catherine von Bora Luther, writing to her sister, Christina, said, “Who would not be sorrowful and mourn for so noble a man as my dear Lord, who served not only one city or land, but the whole world? Truly I am so distressed that I cannot tell my sorrow to anyone. If I had a principality or an empire, it would never have cost me so much pain to lose them as I have now that our Lord God has taken from me, and not from me only, but from the whole world, this dear and precious man.”

Religion must be not only in a person’s heart as an inward loyalty to that which he or she believes true and righteous, convictions must become known in the world. And no reformation is ever complete until justice is accomplished and the world of persons ruled by all persons, because equally they are entitled to the human dignity and worth which should be the birthright of all souls. Those who are devoted to such religious values will discover in their own experience that the cause of reform is never jaded, its goals ever re-defined.

Not because we would endorse the theology of Luther’s greatest hymn, but because a tribute to him is fitting on this 484th anniversary of Protestantism, may we join in singing #104, “A Mighty Fortress is our God.”

Celebration

October 8, 2001

October 3rd to 7th were some of the most meaningful days of my life. My family came great distances to celebrate my 90th birthday, October 4.

The festivities began October 3rd with dinner at Sara’s. Bill, Alicia and Erik had arrived earlier. Alicia, after finding the necessary pans, baked a sumptuous birthday cake.

Arriving at various times:

From Brasilia – Bill, Alicia, Erik
From California – Marj, Dale, Mark, Martin, Lauren
From Tennessee – Carl A.
From Virginia – Kathy, Ken, Erica, Alex, Ralph, Marie and her friend, David
From Maryland – Shawn
From Oregon – Janet, Ron, Christina, Ian
From South Carolina – Michael
From Atlantic Beach, Florida – John, Renee, Kevin, Andrea, Troy, Kyle, Serena

[My] birthday, October 4, was celebrated at the large house Marj and Dale had rented on Longboat Key. Delicious barbecued food, a champagne toast to the old man, delightful inter-relationships as family members enjoyed each other’s company.

Members of the family did all the planning. I did not have to do anything but be there and enjoy. And enjoy I did.

One consequence of old age is one shrinks in height. But even before my two inch loss, grandsons Michael, Carl, Ian, Ralph would have towered over me – all of them well over six feet tall. And all the other males were taller than I am except for the great-grandchildren.

Then on Friday, October 5, was the open house at the Sarasota Unitarian Universalist church. The courtesy of the church in providing the most appropriate South Wing was much appreciated. I was placed in a chair where people could come and greet me – and the estimate is that over 150 people came, most of them from the Sarasota membership, but also friends from Lakeland, Winter Haven, Tampa, Port Charlotte.

The family, with Sara’s help, did all the planning. I understand John and Ron had to make two additional food and wine “runs.” I was overwhelmed by the affectionate warmth of the occasions. I can only echo Cardinal Wolsey in HENRY VIII (Act II) where he says:

“For your great graces
Heap’d upon me, poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, ....”

I am very grateful that I was the catalyst for a wonderful family reunion. In addition, I received a deluge of greeting cards.

Let me go on record right now – after this carnival of joys, hugs, memories, hopes, gifts, great food, fine wine, when I reach “the undiscover’d country from whose bourn, no traveler returns,” when I have “bought the farm,” or other euphemism for the inevitable hand of death, no memorial or funeral service is at all necessary. Wherever you happen to be. Open a bottle of bubbly or other favorite beverage and talk old times. If you wish, there are two favorite readings you can meditate on. The first is Shakespeare, of course, from THE TEMPEST, where Prospero tells Ferdinand (Act IV, Sc. i)

“These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

The second meditative piece is from the writings of Bertrand Russell:

“An individual human existence should be like a river – small at first, narrowly confined within its banks, and rushing passionately past boulders and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the bank recedes, and the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue.”

Hallelujah and salutations.