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