Memorial Day musings

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, Canadian physician

I never met my great-grandfather Salter. He was from Liverpool, and a scoundrel. But that's a story for another day. He served in the Royal Army, we know in India and perhaps in Afghanistan as well. He is buried in Old Tennent Cemetery, in New Jersey. And every year, the Boy Scouts put a flag (of the US, not the UK) on his grave on Memorial Day weekend. There are flags at his son's grave, and at that of his granddaughter's husband (my dad), along with countless other graves of those who served, at that and countless other cemeteries around this country and around the world. Some, like my dad, grandfather, and great-grandfather, who came home, lived, loved, and grew old. Some who came home, tortured by their injuries or memories, unable to love or forgive themselves or others until they were taken home by God. Some, like the young man whose name I can never remember until I'm there, who rests near the corner across the lane to the right of Neff Chapel, who did not come home alive; his headstone tells the story: his name, dates of birth and death, and the simple "Died in France." I never knew him or his family members, yet I check on his grave every time I go home.

In 1989 I was in Germany. My friends and I found ourselves at a memorial to the German war dead. Sobering, because of the realization that they - "the enemy" - mourn their dead just as we do. Not surprised that they mourn, mind you. But sobering to come to a place where they are free to mourn those that they loved that fought, willingly or not, for their country. I say willingly or not, because in WWI one of my grandfather's duties was to guard German Prisoners of War. He spoke of the day that one of the POW's, who spoke some English, asked him if he wanted to fight. Pop-Pop looked at him, and said, "No, did you?" to which the POW responded with a shake of his head and said "No, not at all." My grandfather always got quiet around then. He hadn't wanted to go to war (another story for another day), but had, just as this German soldier had, to do his duty for his country.

Let us not forget that Memorial Day weekend is not just the unofficial start of summer, or an extra day off from work, or a day of beach or park or picnic, or a day to snag some really good bargains at the mall. Let us remember that Memorial Day - Remembrance Day - is a day to remember those who served. I'm not saying don't have fun. I'm going to a picnic Monday evening; Hal will be speaking at a local observance of the day first. So as you go about your weekend, remember those who made it possible. Remember those who came before. Remember those, on both sides of any conflict, who are mourning those that they lost.

As for me, Lt. Col. McCrae, I will catch the torch. I will bear it high. I will not break faith.

Making Root Beer out of Lemons

When I was doing my Clinical Pastoral Education at Shadyside Hospital in Pittsburgh, I had a patient I'll just call J to respect their privacy.

J had cancer. J had been a nurse, and knew that the normal outcome of their particular strain of cancer was death. They had tried several experimental drugs, but the treatments had little effect.

J's parents had died, only sibling had 2 children and lived several hours away so visited rarely, and J's "significant other" had ended their relationship. J was, shall I say, slightly bitter. I don't fault J for that. J felt as though they were alone in the world.

One day while I was speaking with J, they remarked, "You know, if one more person tells me 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade,' I'm gonna slug them. 'Cause I think I'm doing a pretty good job of making root beer." I didn't respond verbally, but I did raise my eyebrows at J. J closed their eyes, and said, "Well, that's my problem. I'm trying to make root beer out of lemons, and I should be making lemonade." After talking about it for a little while, and letting J come to terms with things, I asked J if I could use this story as sermon material sometime, and they approved.

Because aren't we all like that sometimes? We get into a situation - sometimes life-threatening, like J's cancer, sometimes just annoying. We take what we have at our disposal - but instead of using what is available to help us, we do the wrong thing with the right resources, then wonder why things aren't getting better.

Sometimes the situation is not going to improve - J died of the cancer a few months after this conversation. But J's attitude toward facing impending death without the support system of family or "significant other" changed. J's bitterness never left completely, but it was tempered with the realization that being miserable wasn't helping, and some of the bitterness at being alone dissipated , as J got out of the room to interact with other patients on the ward more often.

Sometimes, though, the change to making lemonade instead of root beer (or simply letting the lemons rot, unused at all) changes the situation we are in, and allows us to improve things. Unhappy with your job? Find a way to change the things at the job that make you unhappy, or find a new job, or a totally new career path.

Caution: don't try to make others make lemonade with your lemons. Unhappy in your relationships? Change yourself - they are YOUR lemons, not the other person's. Don't tell someone that they need to do this or be that for you to be happy - happy is a choice you make for yourself, as is bitterness.

And just so you know, I have a glass of root beer (with a shot of lemon juice) every year on J's birthday, because it happens to be the same date as mine.

Food and Place Dreams

I have been dreaming lately of specific places and specific foods. Don't do that often. And they are the last dreams of the morning, so I remember them well. The first was this past Monday, dreaming of the Dog & Duck in Mt. Pleasant, SC. When I worked for Maersk Line, we occasionally brought food in for the staff. At one point, when they went from a 1-hour lunch to a 1/2 hour lunch, we were bringing in food quite regularly, so that people could "buy out" without having to get nailed in the traffic on Long Point Road, and Dog & Duck was one of the places we'd bring in food from. I grew to love their Belle Hall sandwich (http://www.dogandduckfamilypubs.com/index.html

Snakes are Stress-Reducing?

Today on msn.com, I read an INTERESTING article about different methods of stress-reduction. I would link it, but it's already gone. One of those ways was, and I do not lie, having a snake massage. Yes, that's right. Lie partially unclothed while non-venomous snakes of various sizes and weights crawl over your body. The problem, the article said, was that the snakes are not trained to target specific muscles.

No, I think the problem is that THERE WOULD BE SNAKES CRAWLING ON MY BODY! I don't care if they are venomous or not, THEY ARE SNAKES!!! What, are they kidding me???

Now, I readily admit that when I was a teenager I wanted a python. I was prepared to raise the mice and rats to feed it. I thought it would be cool. The problem was the cost. My mom told me that I could not afford a snake. I told her that I had researched it - that I could afford the snake, the aquarium and "fixins" for inside and on top, the cages to raise first mice, then rats as the snake got bigger... But them Mom told me no, I could not afford to have a snake - because it would mean having my own apartment and there was no way I was in a position, at that age, to sign a lease, let alone afford the rent and utilities. *sigh* Mom won out. I was bummed at the time, but as I look back...WAS I NUTS??? The answer is, perhaps, yes, I was. Blame it on teenage hormones.

So what am I trying to get at here? Just to let you all know - if I ever tell you I'm stressed - please, please, please - do not invite me for a snake massage. Please. Thank you.

Easter Signs and Wonders

Around this time of year, probably around 12 years ago, I went to a local grocery store in my hometown which is now out of business. I was a little perturbed at the difference in 2 signs in the window, but did my shopping and then went to my car. Then I went back to the store and asked to see the manager. Why? What were the two signs? Well, one was a picture of a leg of lamb on a plate, with a goblet with a Star of David, and read, "We would like to wish all of our Jewish friends a Happy Passover." The other one was a picture of 3 bunnies in some flowers, and read, "Happy Easter. Closed Easter Sunday."

This was before I was a pastor, and probably before I was in seminary. I was annoyed. I wrote a pointed letter to the corporate office (because I knew it was not the store manager's fault - he only put up the signs that corporate sent him). I told them that I was offended because one referred to their Jewish friends, with a symbol of Judaism, while the other did not mention the word Christian, or friends, or have a symbol of Christianity for what is the most important holiday for Christians - rather, it had a picture of 3 rabbits - a pagan symbol for fertility. Had they pictured chocolate bunnies (something that could have been purchased at the store), or a plate with a slice of ham and a goblet with a cross, or referred to Christianity, I would not have taken any offense at all. And, I asked them to please not tell me that they had 3 bunnies to symbolize the Trinity. I got a letter back from them, apologizing for the offense, they didn't mean to offend, and they would never do it again. Their December signs, and their signs the following Passover/Easter season were much more equitable in the recognition of the HOLIdays of Judaism and Christianity being HOLY days.

As I started writing this, I was eating a Peep. Why do I tell you this? To let you know that I don't have great heartburn with chocolate bunnies, Peeps, jelly beans, or egg hunts at Easter. As a matter of fact, when I get done writing this, I'm going here: www.shop.oldmonmouthcandies.com
to see if I am still able to order their jelly beans this year.They have wonderful candy shows in their warehouse this time of year and at Christmastime, and I miss going. It was a big treat for us to go during Lent to choose what candies we would get after Easter. And we never got to sample any until Easter Day(that is, not until we were old enough to go buy our own). For a child (and a teenager...and an adult) it was a place of glorious smells, colors, and anticipation.

Do we anticipate Easter itself though? The first disciples were terrified. Jesus was dead and buried. It's easy for us to look backwards and tell them to come out of hiding, not to worry, it'll all be ok. But they didn't have the advantage of our perspective. One had betrayed him, another denied him. They either witnessed or heard about Jesus' arrest in the garden. They may have been in the crowd that chose Barabbas for release. They saw him crucified - if they had dared be in that crowd. He was dead, gone.

We, though, have the perspective of time. We know that death lost. Our Lord won. I wonder, though, if we have forgotten what we know. Have we looked the other way while our Holy day is becoming a secular holiday? Have we focused more on the hidden eggs than the risen Lord? Have we paid more attention to the chocolate and the pretty dresses than to the resurrection and triumph of Jesus Christ?

Let us use these last few weeks of Lent - ok, let us use these last days of our lives whether it be tomorrow or a hundred years from now - to focus on the reality of Easter. Jesus is not dead, He is risen!

The comfort of the trains

I did not grow up near trains. I never heard the lullaby of the train whistle or the engine or the wheels on the tracks growing up.

The last three places where I have lived, though, I've learned to love the sounds of the trains going by. It started in Summerville, SC. Through the woods at night, I would hear the trains at bedtime. The whistles were my clock. They did not come through often, but they came through on schedule, every night. And the second time I heard the whistle, I was ready to let myself go to sleep.

We lived closer to the tracks in Nebraska. Not close enough for the windows or dishes to rattle, but close enough to hear the train all the time. The town we lived in was on the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad, and we had 60-80 trains go through a day. Driving across town became frustrating at times, especially when they closed the viaduct for repairs and we no longer had a way to go over the tracks. But again, the sounds of the trains became a comfort, a normalcy.

We now live in Meyersdale, PA, which is on the main line of the Chessie system. We are a block and a half from the tracks. When we first got here, I was a little concerned, as the trains mainly come through at night. And the whistles are LOUD, being less than 2 blocks away. But, again, it became a lullaby. It's odd at night to lie in bed and not hear the train come through. It's been muted, since the church put new windows in the parsonage. I know that this summer it will again be loud...and I look forward to it. Oh, yes, sometimes I will wake up when a particularly long blast is sounded. But sometimes it just becomes a part of whatever I'm dreaming.

Government (Waste) Spending

Today in the mail we got an envelope from the U.S. Department of Commerce. I'm sure you did, too - if not, you will soon. Inside was a letter. To resident. Telling us that in one week we'd get our Census form in the mail. There was one line, in 5 other languages, on the bottom.

First - HOW FREAKING MUCH DID IT COST TO SEND THIS OUT?????? To everyone in the country?????

Second - why only 5 languages? And why was only one line translated? Who chose which 5 languages? And frankly, how can they determine the languages, since we're supposed to only have to answer how many people live in the house, we're not supposed to have to answer any other questions, like ethnicity or ancestral background. Tell that to the people that sent out the last Census. I was not happy that we were one of the houses chosen to do "the long form" (read "the entirely too intrusive, many of the answers which they were seeking being none of their darned business, form")

I know, tell you how I really feel.

Mind you, this reminds me of other government waste. I worked for the Department of Defense in my early adulthood. When I left, I cashed in my retirement so that I could pay for my first 2 years of college. So, first, I received a letter telling me how much money I would receive. Then I received a letter telling me that I would receive a check. Then I received a check. Then I received a letter making sure I had gotten the check, and what to do if I had not. The problem was, when I cashed it in, it was figured wrong. SO, I got a letter telling me that the calculations were wrong, and that I would receive a letter telling me the correct amount. Then I got a letter telling me the correct amount - they owed me SIXTY-FOUR CENTS. Then I got a check for 64 cents. Then, I got a letter making sure I had gotten the 64 cent check, and what to do if I had not. All the additional mailings cost, I'm sure, a bit more than the 64 stinking cents. I could have lived without it.

So...why do we put up with this wastefulness?

Hal says he'll miss me while I'm in solitary confinement for posting this. I'll miss him too.