In February, US Supreme Court Associate Justice Antonin Scalia died. One of the things that came up in all the news stories afterwards was his close friendship with fellow justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. The irony was that you had a close friendship between possibly the most conservative justice and one of the most liberal, and it was a friendship based on mutual respect, not just mutual interests, compatible personalities, or whatever. They fought on opposite sides for their views, but remained friends. Some people found that hard to fathom and though it was mentioned in news reports, the great controversy over his replacement completely overshadowed what may be a very important topic for today.
I'd say that one of the most dangerous tendencies in the current American political and cultural climate is a loss of mutual respect for those that we may disagree with. Watching the process for the party nominations for presidential candidates over the last few months has been eye-opening to say the least. There are many things that have happened that I would never have imagined for our nation. The fact that we have differences and that sometimes those differences may be over very important issues and may produce emotional responses has always been true. But, our nation was founded on what united us more than what divided us. Today, the tendency is to label opponents, not just as 'wrong' but as 'bad,' 'stupid,' 'failures,' etc.
Government is an institution and institutions, even very conservative and traditional ones, are living entities because, no matter how they are structured and organized they are, they are made up of living beings. People are always growing and changing and our culture is always changing. Every generation has been influenced not only by the generation before, but by the historical events that occur around them. As people change, as culture changes, so do the institutions. But, recently we may be undergoing some fundamental changes at a more rapid rate than ever before.
The United States was from the beginning a revolutionary experiment. There had been democracies before. There had been many revolutions before but most just changed from one bad situation to another one, from one despot to a different one. However, this one was set off in a different direction from the beginning.
Christians like to believe that our nation was founded on Christian principles, and that is true to some extent, but there was also a mixture of humanist and Enlightenment principles. The fact is that most of our founding fathers were not Christian as we Evangelicals would define them. The most popular belief at the time was Deism, the belief that there was a god who created the universe, but that this god was not personal and not involved in the universe. It was more like he created a machine and then stood back to watch it work. Many would have been atheists if they could have imagined a way that this universe could have existed without a god.
Certainly that was not true of all. Washington espoused Christianity, though he was not very active in the church. John Adams was a devout Christian and Alexander Hamilton was also a Christian. But, most of the famous names that we know of were not. We have all heard of Jefferson's 'Bible' in which he cut out what he didn't like and just kept some of the moralistic principles.
Our Constitution was written in the midst of this tension between different worldviews and the conflicts of the different personalities of those involved. But, it's important to note that our forefathers very pointedly didn't want "democracy" in the sense that many people think nowadays. The rebellion was against despotism and not for democracy. They most feared a distant power in control where they had no say nor recourse. But, even more, they feared any person or institution having too much power. The initial Articles of Confederation went too far in giving a national government too little power. The Constitution that replaced it is an ingenious document that made us a true nation, but still built in strong provisions that placed great limits on that power.
What we sometimes ignore is the fact that they didn't set up a pure democracy. They didn't set up a system where everyone could vote. In most states, only male property owners could vote. They feared the rule of the masses almost as much as the rule of a king. Jefferson famously wrote, "I have ever observed that a choice by the people themselves is not generally distinguished for its wisdom." As time has passed, we've become more and more "democratic" but that's not the principle that they started from. That's why we have a Senate and a House of Representatives, both with different rules and giving States different representation. That's why the President isn't directly elected, but is chosen by an Electoral College. That's why the judiciary is appointed and not elected, and why they serve for life.
They didn't just fear a government that was too powerful. They also feared letting any one person, or any one group or party have too much power. They purposely didn't set up an efficient government. They were afraid of too much efficiency because it put too much power into the hands of whoever was in charge at the time. I remember my high school Civics teacher talking about checks and balances and that I never fully grasped what she was talking about. They feared a strong man taking over and being able to do too much. They were liberals in their day, who were also conservatives in that they desired to set up a conservative system of government--not conservative in the sense of today's party politics, but conservative in the sense of making it hard to change the system and hard to get some things done. Making it too easy to make major changes brings with it the risk of losing our system of government by all of the people and going back to some form of despotism.
We often miss this point. Our founding fathers didn't believe in true majority rule. The majority never had full power. They wanted to force our leaders to compromise. Now, many politicians are complaining about this (and not just the conservatives), and many people are looking for someone who can "get things done" and who is not a "politician." Compromise has become a dirty word, a sign of weakness and even a lack of moral standards.
The lessons of our Constitution has been overlooked in so many nations that have set up democracies, only to see them degenerate into democratic facades of one-party-states or presidents-for-life. We've seen some examples of that even in the last few years when leaders felt that a majority vote meant that they could ignore the 49%. Democracy is fragile and stands only when there is a mass of trust in both people and the system, a willingness to compromise, and a commitment to the legal process. When any of those start to fall, we risk losing it all.
We've forgotten what really made America great. It's not capitalism. It's not our great research institutions. It's not our great manufacturing ability. It's not our culture of creativity and the lack of class barriers that close off some people because of their background so that anyone can make it. It's not even great leaders, at least not what some people think of as great leaders. In fact, some of these things that we believe are not as true as we might wish (for instance, we aren't as 'class-free' as we like to think). These are important in their own way, but they are results of something else.
I believe that what made America great is that we were given a system of government that forced compromise. No one could get anything done simply because they got elected to a position. They needed to get others on board, and sometimes that even meant at least some of the 'opposition.' We weren't a nation of a majority that rules, tolerating the rest who could live among us if they cooperated. It was a nation united, for the benefit of all. We have forgotten the motto--e pluribus unum ("out of many, one")--on our seal, adopted by an act of congress in 1782.
Compromise is not bad, not weak, and not a lack of commitment or moral standards. It's a respect for the system, and commitment to inclusion, a recognition no one, no group, and no movement is always right. It's a recognition that even those who may be "wrong" in our eyes, are people who deserve respect and deserve space to live their lives according to those beliefs as long as they don't impinge on the rights of others. Certainly there are limits to what we can allow people to do, and laws define those limits, but there are also limits to what the law could limit. But freedom, inclusiveness, and mutual respect are the foundation of the Nation and the Constitution that we love and that so many have given their lives for.
The desire to look for a strong man to get things done, to overthrow the establishment, to look for purity, is a danger to our system. The desire for making our government more efficient (I'm not talking money, but in getting things done and making quick changes) is a fundamental change from the views of the founders. But, more than that, the demonization of opposition and the dividing line between parties, beliefs, those who aren't like us raises the possibility of us losing the freedoms that we all have taken as unassailable.
We need to remember what really made America great, and it's not what is being espoused by so many today. We have been made strong by being inclusive, by adapting to change, by accepting others and their beliefs even when we disagree. That's what has given us the greatness that we hold dear, the leadership that we've had in so many areas around the world. It's made us leaders in the world's economy, in science, in medicine, in business, in research, and in world influence. Certainly there are other great countries with greatness in all of those areas, but America has dominated that last century. Let's keep America great.
Showing posts with label hero. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hero. Show all posts
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Memories--the things that shape us, teach us, and call back to us over time
Memories are one of the great things about being human. It's not the same as just remembering. Memories are not just about facts, about something that we saw or experienced. In fact, memories may very well depart from the actual facts.
Memories are things that we remember that have meaning and the focus is on the meaning that we ascribe, not the event. Some memories are joyful, and some are quite painful, but they are all very important. We can remember without it being a memory, just as we can sometimes have memories that are only loosely based on what really happened.
Memories are distinct from remembering. We don't just remember a place when we see it again or a person when we see them again. We remember what happened there or with that person. We don't just remember what happened, we remember what we felt. We don't just remember what we felt, we assign meaning and significance and that makes it a memory. We relive, we enjoy, we feel again, but more than that, it becomes a part of us. It shapes who we are, and it continues to reshape us as we come back to it.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my father's death and it's appropriate to think back on him and his life. There are many memories that come up in my mind and I will share one here.
I remember one morning when we woke up to a deep snowfall of more than a foot (I think I remember hearing 18 inches). Yes, those things occasionally happen in Alabama. I don't remember how old I was, but I believe it was my early teens or maybe preteens, and I know it was before I got my drivers license. I had heard that it was going to snow and I woke up the next morning to a beautiful landscape that I had never seen before. I wanted to get out in it. But, I remember that my dad was gone. Having grown up in Michigan, a foot of snow was no problem for him and he had driven away very early that morning.
Mom said that he had gone to the church. It was Saturday, and even as a child, I remember thinking that that was strange because it wasn't Sunday. But, I also remember that her face didn't look quite normal. I asked why he had gone to the church, but she wouldn't say. She just said, "He'll be back soon." Even kids know that there are times when you don't want to ask more questions. It was obvious that this was one of those times. My granny Maggie was also doing things around the house with her head down and not speaking. Something made me feel uneasy, but the snow was calling and there was excitement in the air.
My dad soon returned with a big smile and both parents joined us outside in the snow. We had great fun and I didn't think anymore about the morning. Whatever was bothering them earlier was completely gone and I soon forgot about it. Only later that day did I find out what it was.
But, to understand it, there are a few other things that need explanation. My father was one of a group of families who started a new church when I was quite young. At that time, to have a church, you had to have a building and they bought a piece of land and built a building. They didn't have any denominational funding, but had some help from the mother church. Nonetheless, funds were limited. My dad cut up some paper grocery bags (for those under 30, grocery stores didn't ask paper of plastic, because paper was all they offered) and, using a carpenters straight edge, drew up plans for the building. I don't remember seeing them, but I'm sure they weren't the detailed drawings that most builders work from. But, they couldn't afford an architect and couldn't hire a builder. They did most of the work themselves. After work, the men went directly to the 'church' under construction and started work. The wives brought supper and the kids later. We did our homework sitting on stacks of materials and then helped sweep up the sawdust before leaving to go home for baths and bed. I was around 2nd or 3rd grade then, but I still remember those evenings playing with other kids and helping the grownups when we were all 'working on the church together.'
Yes, that's not what we normally mean by 'working on the church' or 'building the church' today, and I'd agree that the focus shouldn't be on a building and maybe even, in some cases, a building isn't even necessary. But, on the other hand, they weren't just building a building. They were building a community, a fellowship of believers. I don't know if they realized that at the time, but I do know that my dad talked to me about it later when I was doing a report in Bible College. He said that if he had to do it again, he would likely do a lot of things different, but that even if they had the money to do so, he wouldn't hire a builder, that the experience of working together on something that required a significant commitment of time together was a crucial part of the strength of the church in those early years. It gave them a bond of trust and community that they couldn't have bought.
But, that has nothing to do with a snowstorm, so let me get back to that. You see, there were, I think, only 5 or 6 families involved, but they were looking ahead with great dreams. They wanted room for at least 250 -300 people to worship together. That requires a wide span without pillars to hold up the roof. My dad, with my mom's brother Uncle Floyd, had already built our house and then Uncle Floyd's house, but none of that comes close to any kind of span that the church building would need. That was their only real building experience. My dad drew up the plans for the trusses also on those grocery bags and he did so without Google, an engineering degree, or a Trusses for Dummies book.
And, that's what I didn't really understand that day. Snow is heavy and it builds up on a roof. And, the south is not really used to that kind of problem. That night, after our day of playing in the snow, a warm supper, and an hour or so of TV, Mom asked her usual question, "Well, how about a piece of cake or pie before we go to bed." She and Dad and Granny Maggie sat on the couch with their cake and coffee and I sat at the table in the other room with mine (no coffee, though, and kids were not allowed to eat in the den). And that's when I found out. I heard them talking in the other room.
When the church was complete, my dad was talking to an engineer and when he found that my Dad had built a church and had designed the trusses himself without any experience in designing trusses, he was astonished. He scoffed and told my dad that there was no way that he'd have been able to know how to do that right. He predicted that they'd soon see the roof sagging, that it wouldn't stand up to any load, and would collapse in a few years. Over the years, my Dad had been watching for any sagging, standing on a ladder and sighting down the ceiling, and climbing into the attic occasionally to look. I didn't know about that at the time.
But, that evening I heard him telling my Mom that he could finally rest easily. We had had the heaviest snowfall that we could probably ever expect and it was the heavy 'wet' snow. He had driven to the church that morning half expecting to see the roof collapsed, but it was still there. He had sighted along the ceiling and there was no sagging. He had climbed into the attic to check and everything was as firm as ever. He mentioned the engineer and he felt some pride (well-deserved, I think). I didn't quite understand much then, but I did remember feeling proud that my dad was smarter than that old engineer.
Later I found out the details that I've share with you above. Later, when I was studying basic engineering courses in university, I understood just how big of a feat that actually was. My dad hadn't finished 10th grade. His dad had died when he was 6 and his mom had struggled to raise a family during the Great Depression. My dad dropped out of school to work and then to join the Navy in World War 2.
I'm a great proponent of education, especially in today's increasingly complex world. I'd push anyone to go as far as they can go. But, no one should assume that one has to have a degree to have knowledge. I've seen people who have several degrees and with high grade averages whom I would not trust in their field of study.
And, I'm still proud of my Dad, if you haven't already noticed that by now. That's one of my memories and one that I've often come back to. It shaped my thinking. I don't assume that a formal education is any guarantee of success. I've learned the wisdom of listening to experts, but still evaluating their advice for myself. I've learned that I should not let others look down on me for any lack of formal training in some area and feel inferior. I've learned that I should also not do that to others either, and not assume that, if they don't have a degree or a lot of experience in some area, that their contribution to the discussion should be discounted.
And, I've learned that, even though I have 'learned' these things, I still forget them at times. I can still feel inferior in the company of experts, can still be afraid to contribute to things that are outside my area of expertise, and I can still dismiss others' ideas because, "What do they know?" The memory is to give me a reminder, to shake up my thinking again and again.
And, that's what memories are for. They are reminders that take us back to lessons over and over. I'm thankful for memories. I hope I can keep learning.
Oh, and that building is still there. The last time I was there, I remember looking carefully at the roof ridge line and when I entered, I looked carefully at the ceiling. It's been more than 50 years now, and it's still strong as ever.
Memories are things that we remember that have meaning and the focus is on the meaning that we ascribe, not the event. Some memories are joyful, and some are quite painful, but they are all very important. We can remember without it being a memory, just as we can sometimes have memories that are only loosely based on what really happened.
Memories are distinct from remembering. We don't just remember a place when we see it again or a person when we see them again. We remember what happened there or with that person. We don't just remember what happened, we remember what we felt. We don't just remember what we felt, we assign meaning and significance and that makes it a memory. We relive, we enjoy, we feel again, but more than that, it becomes a part of us. It shapes who we are, and it continues to reshape us as we come back to it.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my father's death and it's appropriate to think back on him and his life. There are many memories that come up in my mind and I will share one here.
I remember one morning when we woke up to a deep snowfall of more than a foot (I think I remember hearing 18 inches). Yes, those things occasionally happen in Alabama. I don't remember how old I was, but I believe it was my early teens or maybe preteens, and I know it was before I got my drivers license. I had heard that it was going to snow and I woke up the next morning to a beautiful landscape that I had never seen before. I wanted to get out in it. But, I remember that my dad was gone. Having grown up in Michigan, a foot of snow was no problem for him and he had driven away very early that morning.
Mom said that he had gone to the church. It was Saturday, and even as a child, I remember thinking that that was strange because it wasn't Sunday. But, I also remember that her face didn't look quite normal. I asked why he had gone to the church, but she wouldn't say. She just said, "He'll be back soon." Even kids know that there are times when you don't want to ask more questions. It was obvious that this was one of those times. My granny Maggie was also doing things around the house with her head down and not speaking. Something made me feel uneasy, but the snow was calling and there was excitement in the air.
My dad soon returned with a big smile and both parents joined us outside in the snow. We had great fun and I didn't think anymore about the morning. Whatever was bothering them earlier was completely gone and I soon forgot about it. Only later that day did I find out what it was.
But, to understand it, there are a few other things that need explanation. My father was one of a group of families who started a new church when I was quite young. At that time, to have a church, you had to have a building and they bought a piece of land and built a building. They didn't have any denominational funding, but had some help from the mother church. Nonetheless, funds were limited. My dad cut up some paper grocery bags (for those under 30, grocery stores didn't ask paper of plastic, because paper was all they offered) and, using a carpenters straight edge, drew up plans for the building. I don't remember seeing them, but I'm sure they weren't the detailed drawings that most builders work from. But, they couldn't afford an architect and couldn't hire a builder. They did most of the work themselves. After work, the men went directly to the 'church' under construction and started work. The wives brought supper and the kids later. We did our homework sitting on stacks of materials and then helped sweep up the sawdust before leaving to go home for baths and bed. I was around 2nd or 3rd grade then, but I still remember those evenings playing with other kids and helping the grownups when we were all 'working on the church together.'
Yes, that's not what we normally mean by 'working on the church' or 'building the church' today, and I'd agree that the focus shouldn't be on a building and maybe even, in some cases, a building isn't even necessary. But, on the other hand, they weren't just building a building. They were building a community, a fellowship of believers. I don't know if they realized that at the time, but I do know that my dad talked to me about it later when I was doing a report in Bible College. He said that if he had to do it again, he would likely do a lot of things different, but that even if they had the money to do so, he wouldn't hire a builder, that the experience of working together on something that required a significant commitment of time together was a crucial part of the strength of the church in those early years. It gave them a bond of trust and community that they couldn't have bought.
But, that has nothing to do with a snowstorm, so let me get back to that. You see, there were, I think, only 5 or 6 families involved, but they were looking ahead with great dreams. They wanted room for at least 250 -300 people to worship together. That requires a wide span without pillars to hold up the roof. My dad, with my mom's brother Uncle Floyd, had already built our house and then Uncle Floyd's house, but none of that comes close to any kind of span that the church building would need. That was their only real building experience. My dad drew up the plans for the trusses also on those grocery bags and he did so without Google, an engineering degree, or a Trusses for Dummies book.
And, that's what I didn't really understand that day. Snow is heavy and it builds up on a roof. And, the south is not really used to that kind of problem. That night, after our day of playing in the snow, a warm supper, and an hour or so of TV, Mom asked her usual question, "Well, how about a piece of cake or pie before we go to bed." She and Dad and Granny Maggie sat on the couch with their cake and coffee and I sat at the table in the other room with mine (no coffee, though, and kids were not allowed to eat in the den). And that's when I found out. I heard them talking in the other room.
When the church was complete, my dad was talking to an engineer and when he found that my Dad had built a church and had designed the trusses himself without any experience in designing trusses, he was astonished. He scoffed and told my dad that there was no way that he'd have been able to know how to do that right. He predicted that they'd soon see the roof sagging, that it wouldn't stand up to any load, and would collapse in a few years. Over the years, my Dad had been watching for any sagging, standing on a ladder and sighting down the ceiling, and climbing into the attic occasionally to look. I didn't know about that at the time.
But, that evening I heard him telling my Mom that he could finally rest easily. We had had the heaviest snowfall that we could probably ever expect and it was the heavy 'wet' snow. He had driven to the church that morning half expecting to see the roof collapsed, but it was still there. He had sighted along the ceiling and there was no sagging. He had climbed into the attic to check and everything was as firm as ever. He mentioned the engineer and he felt some pride (well-deserved, I think). I didn't quite understand much then, but I did remember feeling proud that my dad was smarter than that old engineer.
Later I found out the details that I've share with you above. Later, when I was studying basic engineering courses in university, I understood just how big of a feat that actually was. My dad hadn't finished 10th grade. His dad had died when he was 6 and his mom had struggled to raise a family during the Great Depression. My dad dropped out of school to work and then to join the Navy in World War 2.
I'm a great proponent of education, especially in today's increasingly complex world. I'd push anyone to go as far as they can go. But, no one should assume that one has to have a degree to have knowledge. I've seen people who have several degrees and with high grade averages whom I would not trust in their field of study.
And, I'm still proud of my Dad, if you haven't already noticed that by now. That's one of my memories and one that I've often come back to. It shaped my thinking. I don't assume that a formal education is any guarantee of success. I've learned the wisdom of listening to experts, but still evaluating their advice for myself. I've learned that I should not let others look down on me for any lack of formal training in some area and feel inferior. I've learned that I should also not do that to others either, and not assume that, if they don't have a degree or a lot of experience in some area, that their contribution to the discussion should be discounted.
And, I've learned that, even though I have 'learned' these things, I still forget them at times. I can still feel inferior in the company of experts, can still be afraid to contribute to things that are outside my area of expertise, and I can still dismiss others' ideas because, "What do they know?" The memory is to give me a reminder, to shake up my thinking again and again.
And, that's what memories are for. They are reminders that take us back to lessons over and over. I'm thankful for memories. I hope I can keep learning.
Oh, and that building is still there. The last time I was there, I remember looking carefully at the roof ridge line and when I entered, I looked carefully at the ceiling. It's been more than 50 years now, and it's still strong as ever.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
On Behalf of the President of the United States of America
My father was in the Navy steaming towards the Pacific battle zone for his first term of duty when the Atomic Bombs were dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki which precipitated the end of World War II. He never saw combat, but he had signed up voluntarily as a 17 year old to go and serve his country. He was willing to lay his life on the line for it.
Last week at his burial a representative handed us a flag neatly folded into a triangle. As he presented it to us he said that he did so "on behalf of the President of the United States of America." It struck me at the time how that sounded. It was touching and full of meaning, but at the same time, I'm quite sure that President Obama had no idea that my father had died and that someone was speaking and giving out a flag on his behalf except to the extent that he knew that it happened regularly at funerals for veterans. He's the President of the United States, still the most powerful nation in the World and with lots of business on his plate every day. There is no way he could possibly handle all the affairs of the Executive branch of government alone and he relies on a lot of people with delegated authority to act in his name. That is just the way it has to be. I would not expect him to know about my father who served a short stint in the Navy long before the President was born and who never saw any combat.
Which makes it all the more amazing that God knew William Jasper Franklin completely and intimately, even better than my dad knew himself and, according to the Bible, is presenting him with a Crown of Glory. It's mind boggling to think that the God of the universe knows him as well as everyone else on this globe, not just as a name, but personally, intimately. Of course, anything less and he would not be omniscient, he wouldn't be God. Still it's something so wonderful that I can't imagine what it means.
For God so loved the world.... That's easy to say when the world is just an abstract collective noun. But, when you know every single individual and can still say that you love so much that you give your son to die for each one of those people, that puts things in a new light. He knows me. He knows all that I think and do. He knows about things that I hope no one else knows about. He knew about them even before there was me. Yet, he still loves me and he put his life where his mouth is. And he knows every other person on this globe in the same way--everyone I have ever met, will meet, or never will meet. He knows them intimately.
What does that have to do with the church and with missions? You tell me. I think I know, but I'd like to hear more. I know that it speaks to where my heart should be. And, when I speak of the Gospel, the good news of God's love, I am offering a gift on behalf of the God of the Universe--not a flag but the possibility of crown of glory. Everyone that I meet, including those who I would rather not have met, has the potential of becoming a creature glorious in God's sight.
Last week at his burial a representative handed us a flag neatly folded into a triangle. As he presented it to us he said that he did so "on behalf of the President of the United States of America." It struck me at the time how that sounded. It was touching and full of meaning, but at the same time, I'm quite sure that President Obama had no idea that my father had died and that someone was speaking and giving out a flag on his behalf except to the extent that he knew that it happened regularly at funerals for veterans. He's the President of the United States, still the most powerful nation in the World and with lots of business on his plate every day. There is no way he could possibly handle all the affairs of the Executive branch of government alone and he relies on a lot of people with delegated authority to act in his name. That is just the way it has to be. I would not expect him to know about my father who served a short stint in the Navy long before the President was born and who never saw any combat.
Which makes it all the more amazing that God knew William Jasper Franklin completely and intimately, even better than my dad knew himself and, according to the Bible, is presenting him with a Crown of Glory. It's mind boggling to think that the God of the universe knows him as well as everyone else on this globe, not just as a name, but personally, intimately. Of course, anything less and he would not be omniscient, he wouldn't be God. Still it's something so wonderful that I can't imagine what it means.
For God so loved the world.... That's easy to say when the world is just an abstract collective noun. But, when you know every single individual and can still say that you love so much that you give your son to die for each one of those people, that puts things in a new light. He knows me. He knows all that I think and do. He knows about things that I hope no one else knows about. He knew about them even before there was me. Yet, he still loves me and he put his life where his mouth is. And he knows every other person on this globe in the same way--everyone I have ever met, will meet, or never will meet. He knows them intimately.
What does that have to do with the church and with missions? You tell me. I think I know, but I'd like to hear more. I know that it speaks to where my heart should be. And, when I speak of the Gospel, the good news of God's love, I am offering a gift on behalf of the God of the Universe--not a flag but the possibility of crown of glory. Everyone that I meet, including those who I would rather not have met, has the potential of becoming a creature glorious in God's sight.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A Hero's Welcome (updated)
Probably just about every 5 year old thinks that their father is a hero. You don't even have to be a really great father for them to think you're wonderful at that age. Later that begins to change as the boy grows and discovers his father's weaknesses and as he begins to develop his own identity.
Just a couple of days ago, my father passed away, and I still thought he was a hero. I've been a part of a men's breakfast study group for the past year, and a couple of recent studies focused on fatherhood. As other men described their fathers, I realized again just how blessed I have been. There were very many times when I disagreed with him, when I didn't want to hear what he thought, and when I thought that he was old fashioned and even a bit naive, but I always thought of him as a hero to me. And, as time when on, I even found that he was right most of those times when I had gone my own way. But, I'm talking about heroes, not being right. What was it that made him a hero?
One was that he truly, unconditionally, unashamedly, relentlessly loved his wife--my mother. Note that I didn't just say that he was "in love." He loved her. There is a difference. It was active, not just a feeling. As my brother said yesterday, there were many people who thought that he was so wonderful because of how he took care of my mother the last 2 years of her life when she because so difficult and demanding due to her deteriorating health. In reality, he didn't just take care of her for 2 years; it was 58 years." She was 16 years old when they married and had already had a very difficult life--life threatening bouts with scarlet fever twice, abandoned by her father before she turned 6 and forced to live with relatives (along with her mother and brother), and with a very low self esteem. He made her finish high school, taught her to do all kinds of things, and told her every day how beautiful she was and how wonderful she was, and how much he loved her. And, he lived it daily, too. I have never had to wonder at the meaning when Paul tells husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church. I only had to wonder why it seemed so easy to him.
He was a gracious man. He was a man, a man's man, a hard worker, a fisherman, a hunter, a mechanic, an electrician, a carpenter--in fact he could do almost anything and I said that not only when I was 5 years old, but again as a 16 year old, a 25 year old, all the way down to today. But, he was also the most forgiving many I have ever known--and that includes not just offenses against himself as we usually think of when we think of forgiveness, but also stupid mistakes made by people like his oldest son (I only have one brother, younger than me), like when I forgot that the bolts that hold the brake drums on were reverse threaded. I was checking the brakes and kept trying to break that "stubborn" bolt free until I finally twisted the head off, leaving the bolt still in there. That happened just as he walked out the door. I stood up and tried to keep him from seeing what I had done, to buy a little time. I thought I was so stupid and that he would surely have to remind me of that. I thought there was no solution now that I'd twisted it off. He said, "You do remember that those bolts are reversed threaded?--you have to turn them the other direction from normal bolts.". "Yes, sir, I remember." He paused just a moment and then said, "Did you remember in time?" "Uh, uhh, No, sir. (How did he know?)" He just smiled and said, "Well, that's easy to forget. It's not a problem. We'll just drill out the center with a bit that's barely smaller than the bolt, and then we can twist out the remaining thin pieces. Let's go ahead and go to the parts store and buy a replacement bolt and a drill bit." What a simple solution? How was he so smart? But, more than that, why didn't he take the chance to remind me of how stupid a mistake I had made? I knew my Daddy loved me.
He was shafted on a number of occasions by numerous people, and turned the other cheek. He didn't do it in a sissy way. He did it as a man who had nothing to prove, but even more, a man who knew that Jesus required it. I learned that this was not just an idealistic saying of Jesus. There were men (at least one man--my dad) who took it seriously and lived it. So, why was it so hard for me to do so? I'm still asking myself that question.
And, yes, he loved me and was not afraid to say it or act on it. I didn't find out until after high school that that was not the norm, that every Dad didn't do that. He told me every morning at breakfast and as he left for work, and every day when he came home and every night as we went to bed. He hugged me anytime one of us was leaving, any time something good happened, and often for no reason at all. He told me he was proud of me, even when I dropped out of Little League because I still couldn't hit that ball and got so bored in right field that I would start counting the bugs at my feet so that I'd miss the ball going by (and he was an avid baseball fan, especially the Tigers, so that was a big deal). Once I brought I guy home from college for the weekend and to my great embarrassment when I drove up to the carport, he came to the car and gave me a big bear hug when I got out. Right in front of my friend! I know I turned red and I don't think I hugged him back. And, on Sunday evening when we left to go back, he did it again and even said that he loved me. It did make me feel good, but I didn't want to admit that I was glad because I wondered what my friend would think, but as we were driving back to Auburn, my friend said, "You know, you are a lucky guy to have parents like that. They love each other and they love you. I don't remember my dad ever giving me a hug or saying he loves me. I'd give anything for that." And, I started feeling really lucky as I thought of what that must be like for this friend. I learned a lot from that, not just about love, but about being willing to do what is good without being afraid of what others might think.
As a teen, I began to be very disillusioned with the church and thought that once I got to be able to make my own decisions, I'd just quit going. It bothered me that in church, the "sinners" were all outside--drunkards, adulterers, etc., but those inside were the "righteous." But, "inside" I didn't see the kind of person that Jesus described and felt that no one was truly seeking that. They came to church and said that they believed, but at school on Monday, they were just like everyone else. I had decided that it was all tradition, or just a social network, and that no one really believed it. Well, except for my parents, but if they were the only ones, then they (in my mind) must be pretty naive. Fortunately, I met another guy, just a little older than me, who also believed, and I discovered that there were others. But, it came back to my parents because I got to see them 24 hours, and I knew it wasn't a front. That's when I decided to really go for it and make a commitment to Christianity.
I said he was a hunter, but though he sometimes brought home squirrels or birds, he never brought home a deer, even though he sometimes went deer hunting. I thought he was a bad shot (it never occurred to me that squirrels and birds were even smaller).eHe took me squirrel hunting a few times, but I couldn't sit still long enough to let the squirrels come close enough for us. He didn't take me deer hunting until I was in high school, but on that first hunt, we came upon a beautiful buck with a large rack. He motioned me to be still and quiet as he raised the gun, pointed it at the deer, took aim, and then...nothing. He just stayed there for a few minutes looking through the scope until the deer walked away. He put the gun down, looked at me and said, "Well, we got one. Wasn't he beautiful? And such a rack?" I looked a bit puzzled. "What do you mean by saying we 'got' one?" "We did. I got him in my sights, I kept him there. He walked away on his own, not because we scared him away. That's good enough for now. We aren't hungry. We have plenty to eat. A deer is too beautiful to shoot when you don't need the food. We hunted him and we won, beating out his animal instincts and survival skills. But, that doesn't mean we have to kill." I had a hard time with that one, but it stuck with me. You can "win" without taking the trophy, because you don't have to "prove" that you won. Such self-confidence. He didn't need a rack of antlers on the wall to make him feel good about himself. He was content in just himself knowing that he was competent and successful. So, why do I so often need to prove myself before others, go for the kill, seek the praise of others? I'm still working on that one also.
When we were leaving for Taiwan, he told me that he loved me and that he hated to see me go because he was going to miss me and he knew that if I went, I'd stay there. He knew what he was giving up, but he told me also that he was proud that we were going and that he wouldn't want to see us doing anything else in the world. He tried to be calm because my mom was a basket case the day we left, but he was crying when he hugged me goodbye. When our children were born, I know he and mom were both torn and they wanted desperately to have the grandkids near them like everyone else. As their health deteriorated, it got harder. We thought of coming back. The last time I left, he was crying more than I've seen him before and for the first time he said to me, "Billy, I don't want you to go. It's been so good to have you here with me again, and I'm so lonely." I looked at him, not sure what to say, but he quickly added, "But, I know without any doubt that you are exactly where God wants you, and with that, I don't want you to stay either. But, I'll miss you."
He was a believer, not just a proclaimer. He didn't just talk, he acted. but He was and is my hero. He is, other than Christ himself, what I wish I could be. I so badly wanted to get here before he died, not to tell him this. You see, I've already told him before, although his response was something like, "Of course you think I'm great. I'm your father. But, I'm no better than anyone else. You're just prejudiced toward me." He really thought that he was just "normal" and I couldn't convince him otherwise, but I know. And, the more I see of the world around me--and even more importantly, the more I know of myself--the more I know that he was not normal. He was my hero and always will be.
People keep saying that he is happy now that he is back with his beloved wife Auvlene, and that is certainly true. This last year was very difficult for him. But, I think we think that way because we are limited by our human thinking and feelings. I believe that even more joy to him is that he is with his Lord and he is rejoicing in that, while glad to have Auvlene by his side. You see, I think that on Sunday morning, he received a hero's welcome into the presence of God. I'd like to say that he deserved it, but again, that's just in comparison to most people. What he got was grace, but that was what he practice with others. When will I learn to be like that?
Just a couple of days ago, my father passed away, and I still thought he was a hero. I've been a part of a men's breakfast study group for the past year, and a couple of recent studies focused on fatherhood. As other men described their fathers, I realized again just how blessed I have been. There were very many times when I disagreed with him, when I didn't want to hear what he thought, and when I thought that he was old fashioned and even a bit naive, but I always thought of him as a hero to me. And, as time when on, I even found that he was right most of those times when I had gone my own way. But, I'm talking about heroes, not being right. What was it that made him a hero?
He was a gracious man. He was a man, a man's man, a hard worker, a fisherman, a hunter, a mechanic, an electrician, a carpenter--in fact he could do almost anything and I said that not only when I was 5 years old, but again as a 16 year old, a 25 year old, all the way down to today. But, he was also the most forgiving many I have ever known--and that includes not just offenses against himself as we usually think of when we think of forgiveness, but also stupid mistakes made by people like his oldest son (I only have one brother, younger than me), like when I forgot that the bolts that hold the brake drums on were reverse threaded. I was checking the brakes and kept trying to break that "stubborn" bolt free until I finally twisted the head off, leaving the bolt still in there. That happened just as he walked out the door. I stood up and tried to keep him from seeing what I had done, to buy a little time. I thought I was so stupid and that he would surely have to remind me of that. I thought there was no solution now that I'd twisted it off. He said, "You do remember that those bolts are reversed threaded?--you have to turn them the other direction from normal bolts.". "Yes, sir, I remember." He paused just a moment and then said, "Did you remember in time?" "Uh, uhh, No, sir. (How did he know?)" He just smiled and said, "Well, that's easy to forget. It's not a problem. We'll just drill out the center with a bit that's barely smaller than the bolt, and then we can twist out the remaining thin pieces. Let's go ahead and go to the parts store and buy a replacement bolt and a drill bit." What a simple solution? How was he so smart? But, more than that, why didn't he take the chance to remind me of how stupid a mistake I had made? I knew my Daddy loved me.
He was shafted on a number of occasions by numerous people, and turned the other cheek. He didn't do it in a sissy way. He did it as a man who had nothing to prove, but even more, a man who knew that Jesus required it. I learned that this was not just an idealistic saying of Jesus. There were men (at least one man--my dad) who took it seriously and lived it. So, why was it so hard for me to do so? I'm still asking myself that question.
And, yes, he loved me and was not afraid to say it or act on it. I didn't find out until after high school that that was not the norm, that every Dad didn't do that. He told me every morning at breakfast and as he left for work, and every day when he came home and every night as we went to bed. He hugged me anytime one of us was leaving, any time something good happened, and often for no reason at all. He told me he was proud of me, even when I dropped out of Little League because I still couldn't hit that ball and got so bored in right field that I would start counting the bugs at my feet so that I'd miss the ball going by (and he was an avid baseball fan, especially the Tigers, so that was a big deal). Once I brought I guy home from college for the weekend and to my great embarrassment when I drove up to the carport, he came to the car and gave me a big bear hug when I got out. Right in front of my friend! I know I turned red and I don't think I hugged him back. And, on Sunday evening when we left to go back, he did it again and even said that he loved me. It did make me feel good, but I didn't want to admit that I was glad because I wondered what my friend would think, but as we were driving back to Auburn, my friend said, "You know, you are a lucky guy to have parents like that. They love each other and they love you. I don't remember my dad ever giving me a hug or saying he loves me. I'd give anything for that." And, I started feeling really lucky as I thought of what that must be like for this friend. I learned a lot from that, not just about love, but about being willing to do what is good without being afraid of what others might think.
As a teen, I began to be very disillusioned with the church and thought that once I got to be able to make my own decisions, I'd just quit going. It bothered me that in church, the "sinners" were all outside--drunkards, adulterers, etc., but those inside were the "righteous." But, "inside" I didn't see the kind of person that Jesus described and felt that no one was truly seeking that. They came to church and said that they believed, but at school on Monday, they were just like everyone else. I had decided that it was all tradition, or just a social network, and that no one really believed it. Well, except for my parents, but if they were the only ones, then they (in my mind) must be pretty naive. Fortunately, I met another guy, just a little older than me, who also believed, and I discovered that there were others. But, it came back to my parents because I got to see them 24 hours, and I knew it wasn't a front. That's when I decided to really go for it and make a commitment to Christianity.
I said he was a hunter, but though he sometimes brought home squirrels or birds, he never brought home a deer, even though he sometimes went deer hunting. I thought he was a bad shot (it never occurred to me that squirrels and birds were even smaller).eHe took me squirrel hunting a few times, but I couldn't sit still long enough to let the squirrels come close enough for us. He didn't take me deer hunting until I was in high school, but on that first hunt, we came upon a beautiful buck with a large rack. He motioned me to be still and quiet as he raised the gun, pointed it at the deer, took aim, and then...nothing. He just stayed there for a few minutes looking through the scope until the deer walked away. He put the gun down, looked at me and said, "Well, we got one. Wasn't he beautiful? And such a rack?" I looked a bit puzzled. "What do you mean by saying we 'got' one?" "We did. I got him in my sights, I kept him there. He walked away on his own, not because we scared him away. That's good enough for now. We aren't hungry. We have plenty to eat. A deer is too beautiful to shoot when you don't need the food. We hunted him and we won, beating out his animal instincts and survival skills. But, that doesn't mean we have to kill." I had a hard time with that one, but it stuck with me. You can "win" without taking the trophy, because you don't have to "prove" that you won. Such self-confidence. He didn't need a rack of antlers on the wall to make him feel good about himself. He was content in just himself knowing that he was competent and successful. So, why do I so often need to prove myself before others, go for the kill, seek the praise of others? I'm still working on that one also.
When we were leaving for Taiwan, he told me that he loved me and that he hated to see me go because he was going to miss me and he knew that if I went, I'd stay there. He knew what he was giving up, but he told me also that he was proud that we were going and that he wouldn't want to see us doing anything else in the world. He tried to be calm because my mom was a basket case the day we left, but he was crying when he hugged me goodbye. When our children were born, I know he and mom were both torn and they wanted desperately to have the grandkids near them like everyone else. As their health deteriorated, it got harder. We thought of coming back. The last time I left, he was crying more than I've seen him before and for the first time he said to me, "Billy, I don't want you to go. It's been so good to have you here with me again, and I'm so lonely." I looked at him, not sure what to say, but he quickly added, "But, I know without any doubt that you are exactly where God wants you, and with that, I don't want you to stay either. But, I'll miss you."
He was a believer, not just a proclaimer. He didn't just talk, he acted. but He was and is my hero. He is, other than Christ himself, what I wish I could be. I so badly wanted to get here before he died, not to tell him this. You see, I've already told him before, although his response was something like, "Of course you think I'm great. I'm your father. But, I'm no better than anyone else. You're just prejudiced toward me." He really thought that he was just "normal" and I couldn't convince him otherwise, but I know. And, the more I see of the world around me--and even more importantly, the more I know of myself--the more I know that he was not normal. He was my hero and always will be.
People keep saying that he is happy now that he is back with his beloved wife Auvlene, and that is certainly true. This last year was very difficult for him. But, I think we think that way because we are limited by our human thinking and feelings. I believe that even more joy to him is that he is with his Lord and he is rejoicing in that, while glad to have Auvlene by his side. You see, I think that on Sunday morning, he received a hero's welcome into the presence of God. I'd like to say that he deserved it, but again, that's just in comparison to most people. What he got was grace, but that was what he practice with others. When will I learn to be like that?
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