Our Unseen Companion

A glance at the calendar on my desk reveals that it is almost time to turn the page to leave the tearful month of January 2021 behind.  Tears have flowed at the sad news of old friends who died too young as a result of Covid 19, from the sad sight of watching our nation’s near miss as home grown terrorists threatened to topple democracy, and while inspired by the words of a young, black poet reminding us of our call to “be light.”  The multicolored words written on the calendar outline the activities of the month now about to pass: mornings spent carting wood for the fire I begin and end each day watching; afternoons putting one foot in front of the other in snowshoes or on the treadmill; a ZOOM meeting here, a hardware store run there, and a last minute opportunity to drive two hours to receive a Covid vaccination. Missing from January’s scribbling is the week I used to spend around a table in Florida swapping insights and stories with a group cherished friends committed to become better preachers.

 I missed the routine of those getaway days which began with an early morning walk on a stretch of a Gulf Coast beach.  With my Homiletical Feast roommate still fast asleep, I quietly stole away, walked out the BridgeWalk Resort’s driveway, crossed the street, and headed to the   beach access between the Moose Club and a beachfront condo complex. Once on the beach I normally headed north toward a huge tree house about half an hour away, where I turned around to retrace my steps.  The sun rose over the mainland behind me as I made my way up the beach.  On the return trip I’d put on my shades as its light began to top the Palm trees.

 The amazing thing about that walk was that it was different every year.  Some years the beach was so narrow I had to climb on the rocks that protect a restaurant patio at high tide to make it by.  Other years the sand was at least 50 yards wide between those rocks and the gentle breakers of the Gulf of Mexico.  Most of the houses, condos, motels, and restaurants remain the same. But here and there an old, squat bungalow was being replaced by a three story beach house built on pilings or a brick pass through garage for those times when the Gulf and the bay behind Anna Maria Island meet during a hurricane. 

Not only was the beach different year to year. It was rarely the same one day to the next. One year on my Monday walk there were no shells to be seen during my three mile round trip.  On Tuesday, the tides and the wind-whipped waves had scalloped the beach and revealed shell beds here and there.  By Thursday, there were vast expanses of shells exposed.  On Friday you could trace the high tide line by the sea grass that lay up and down the beach like a rope line. Some days you wouldn’t see a single boat.  The next there might be a line of fishermen heading out of the cut between Anna Maria Island and Long Boat Key. One day there were Pelicans aplenty, the next none to be seen.  The number of species of birds I encountered is endless.  Over the years I was treated to the sight of Dolphins swimming by.

The beach walk was not a solitary affair.  On Monday, Martin Luther King, Jr.’s holiday, there were little ones out on the beach with parents and grandparents.  There were older couples walking hand in hand. Always there were joggers that pass in both directions, and shell collectors with plastic bags or buckets. Sometimes I would spot the familiar hat or distinctive gait of one of our merry band walking the opposite way.  Because I hit the beach at the same time every morning, there were regulars to greet with a wave or a nod: the old man trudging along with a pair of ski poles; the three ladies who were always gabbing away; the solitary fisherman casting a line into the Gulf.

The look on each face reminded me that each one on the beach had their own stories to tell of how the day before had gone…a fight with a spouse or child, a promotion at work, a fitful night’s sleep, a lovely thank you note from a recent visitor, a close encounter on the Tamiami Trail.  Each one had hopes for what the new day migtt bring…a good report from the doctor, help offered to someone packing up their mother’s things, the arrival of family to visit, the dreaded strategy meeting at work, the weekly card game with the neighbors.  Aware of my own hopes and fears about the day ahead, or what might be going on back in Pennsylvania, the walk became a time to follow the advice of the old hymn and “take it to the Lord in prayer.” My prayer was that I and all my beach companions and Scripture studying mates might greet the day with the assurance that the one welcomed at Christmas as “Immanuel” had been, is, and will continue to be “God-With-Us” here and now, now and always. As I prepare to turn the calendar page to February, that is again my prayer for us all.

                                                                                            JET - January 2021

Wingtips in the Snow 

Walking through the meadow

on a blanket of new fallen snow

it was obvious: 

we were not the first 

to pass this way. 

My dog and I were making our way 

along paths strewn with footprints 

which appeared from nowhere 

and whose trail ended 

just as 

fast. 

Three toed feet moved along 

step by step 

walking straight 

and circling around 

here and there pausing 

to peck at the ground. 

Strange lines in the snow 

surrounded the prints 

evidence of something 

being dragged along 

while feet 

did their stuff. 

A closer look 

at one of the places 

a crow landed 

not so softly 

solved the mystery: 

Left and right 

of the feet 

which left their mark 

were the imprints of wingtips

pressed angel-like into the snow.

                                                                                JET - January 29, 1997

                                                                                    Chillisquaque Creek Farm

 

January 20

   The first January 20 deposited in my memory bank began with three generations of Thyren men, snow shovels in hand, digging out the long driveway leading to the garage. Twenty inches of snow had fallen and drifted leaving eight or nine car lengths to be excavated.  How my grandfather, two months shy of his sixty-ninth birthday got to our house I don’t remember. Maybe he walked; maybe he dug his old two-tone Plymouth out earlier that morning. Either way, still adjusting to life as a widower, and fifteen years from joining his beloved for eternity, he was happy to lend a hand.  At thirty-nine, sixteen years away from his Palm Sunday heart attack, my father hefted the heavy steel shovel that sits beside my fireplace today.  He paused occasionally to lite an unfiltered Camel cigarette.  Seven, almost eight-year-old me completed the trio, using a smaller shovel than my elders. If memory serves, we  made it from the street to the place where the driveway squeezed between our house and the neighbor’s rock garden when my mother called us in for lunch.

   I’m guessing that we were treated to a steaming bowl of Campbell’s Tomato Soup and a grilled
cheese sandwich, but I really don’t remember. What I do recall is that we didn’t sit at the kitchen table. Instead we gathered in the living room using tray tables because it was Inauguration Day. The doors to the black and white Zenith were open, the power was on and the dial was tuned to one of the three networks. On the screen was the scene playing out on the steps of the Capitol Building. Pictured were men in top hats and tails and women wearing fur coats and hats. Each speaker emitted a stream of steam on that frigid winter day. We watched as the hatless young Senator from Massachusetts took the Oath of Office to become the President of the United States. We listened to his Inaugural Address with its memorable call to service: “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.” We watched the orderly, peaceful transfer of power take place before our eyes. Then we went outside and finished shoveling the driveway.

   Inauguration Day has occurred fourteen times since that cold, sunny day in the aftermath of a storm. Sadly, twice in between the appointed day a Vice-President has been called upon to complete the term of his running mate, once due to an assassination, once in response to a resignation in disgrace. In sixty years, eleven men have held our nation’s highest office. Six of them have been Republican. Five have been Democrat. In 2020 both the popular vote and the Electoral College evened the score. However, as January 20th nears the transfer of power has been neither orderly nor peaceful. The legitimacy of a free and fair election has continued to be challenged despite recounts and court rulings that have proved it sound. Urged on by the current office holder, a mob marched to the Capitol on the strength of his pro-mise that “I will be with you,” words which proved empty as he retreated to the guarded sanctuary of the Oval Office to watch the mayhem that led to five deaths and the disruption of the constitutionally mandated verification of the Electoral College votes by a joint session of Congress. Washington D.C. and State Capitols across the land are on high alert, guarded by various law enforcement entities bol-stered by the presence of National Guard Troops. The land my grandfather came to as a young man
and served in the Army in during World War I; the nation for which Dad left behind college days and career dreams in order to join the Navy in World War II; is deeply divided when it should be united to fight off a deadly virus that has taken the lives of nearly 400,000 of our fellow citizens.

   As January 20th approaches, I pray that the day will be memorable for all the right reasons and none of the wrong. Amid threats of further violence based on misinformation, misunderstanding and hate, I pray that the orderly transfer of power will take place without further violence. As the assault on truth continues, I pray for closed minds to be opened as trustworthy voices sort fact from fiction and reveal fanatical conspiracy theories to be baseless. As family ties, collegial bonds, and friendships have been fractured by hurtful and hateful words hurled in anger out loud, on paper, and over the internet, I pray for repentance, forgiveness, restoration and the step by step work of reconciliation that recognizes our common heritage as children of God called to seek the best for all our neighbors as we do for ourselves.

   Psalm 130 is a prayer that speaks for me at a time when words seem to fail me. The only way out of the mess we are in is with the Lord’s help. An honest confession that we have contributed to the crisis in thought, word and deed is part of the process. Recognizing where our only source of help is to be found is required. And then there is hope, not wishful longing for the good old days that never were all that good, but hope in the word of the Lord; hope in the Lord. With January 20th and all the hard work that  lies beyond it in view, I offer Psalm 130 as a guide with one major change noted by the asterisks below.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. 

Lord, hear my voice! 

Let your ear be attentive to the voice of my supplication. 

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, 

Lord, who could stand? 

But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered. 

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, 

and in his word I hope; 

my soul waits for the Lord 

more than those who watch for the morning, 

more than those who watch for the morning. 

O Israel*, hope in the Lord! 

For with the Lord there is steadfast love, 

and with him is great power to redeem. 

It is he who will redeem Israel* from all its iniquities. 

*America

Psalm 130, New Revised Standard Version of the Bible

“That He may Teach us His Ways and that We May Walk in His Paths”

Some of these thoughts originally appeared in a sermon entitled Even When It’s Not Still and Green, prompted by Psalm 23 and a previous national tragedy. I have revisited and revised them in light of the seditious and deadly storming of the Capitol building on January 6, 2021, and our path forward. 

Any illusion we might have about being able to make it through life without some hungry and thirsty passages along treacherous trails is dispelled the central verse of the Psalm 23:

EVEN THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE DARKEST VALLEY, 

I FEAR NO EVIL; FOR YOU ARE WITH ME.”* 

Now, I know most of us learned that verse in another translation: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” but the words really speak about any dark passage. To limit the Psalm to only “death’s dark veil” is unfortunate. There are things worse than death, and we need God beside us when we face them. Sadly, this week’s events brought us both: the darkness of democracy under siege and the death of individuals wreaking havoc or attempting to protect others from it. Sadder still, we’ve been reminded that despite our faith-based pronouncements, there is plenty of evil to fear.

Life is a scary undertaking. There is no formula you can plug in to ensure you’ll get through all your days healthy, whole, and unharmed. You can drive defensively, but that won’t keep every driver in other vehicles awake, alert, in control, or sober. You can eat right, exercise three times a week, sleep eight hours every night, but that’s not going to prevent aging or guarantee you’re never going to have a doc-tor use words like surgery or chemotherapy while reading your chart. You can live in a beautiful setting, send your children to the best schools, provide every opportunity to grow and thrive as citizens who will contribute to family, church and community, and still be shocked and driven to tears when news breaks that someone has done the unthinkable! You can do your civic duty, vote for the candidate of your choice and trust that the electoral process will be respected, and the results of the election accept-ed, but that doesn’t mean others will agree to do the same. You can get on a bus and ride to D.C. to exercise freedom of speech peacefully, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get pushed aside or trampled by others who have decided to leave decency and dignity behind while endangering the lives of others.

EVEN THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE DARKEST VALLEY, 

I FEAR NO EVIL; FOR YOU ARE WITH ME.” 

There are two other things which make Psalm 23 so compelling. The first is that it is all PRESENT TENSE. All the feeding and leading and the restoring are occurring now. It stands as a testimony to what the Lord does. In the mystery of God’s grace, the Lord stands with those who experience the accident and those left behind in its wake; the Lord goes with you when you’re having the biopsy and the treatments. The Lord is with you even when all the doctor’s medicines and all science’s machines can’t get you going again. And when madness erupts leading to horrendous headline news, God is with you, whether you’re the one offering comfort to those in distress, the officer who is beaten and dies in the line of duty, or the parent trying to explain to a child what is playing out on the TV screen instead of their favorite show.

The last compelling element lifted up by the Twenty-third Psalm is its personal language, and the one-to-one relationship spoken about by the one who addresses the shepherd in the intimate terms of the first person. Yes, this is the maker of heaven and earth, but no, this God is not far away and distant, unapproachable and uninvolved in the daily doings one of his children. In one of her meditations, au-thor Anne Lamott writes of beginning a prayer: “I know you’ve got bigger fish to fry, but...” and then she goes on to address God with something that concerns her. That’s a prayer which grows out of rela-tionship...out of a trust slowly developed over years of interaction which discovers and accepts and celebrates the truth of those personal words at the heart of Psalm 23: “For you are with me!”

The events of January 6th came as many of us were marking the end of Christmas, the short season when we celebrate and consider what it means for God to be with us. Now, as we transition what the church calls “Ordinary Time,” we must acknowledge that these are extraordinary times in which there will yet be dark valley days to sadden our hearts. At this point we do well to focus on a key word in that pivotal verse from Psalm 23: “through.” The psalm doesn’t say we are stuck or trapped or doomed to wander forever in the darkest valley. The psalm does speak of trusting God as the Shepherd who walks with us through these perilous times and beyond.

The Shepherd is ready to lead. It is up to us to follow. There are many passages of scripture which describe what such following looks like. It is a lifetime endeavor to take them from the page and live them daily. Here are a couple of places to start:

He has told you, O mortal, what is good; 

and what does the Lord require of you 

but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6.8 

In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; 

for this is the law and the prophets. 

Matthew 7. 12 

Jesus answered, 

‘The first is this ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one; 

you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, 

and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ 

The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 

There is no commandment greater than these. 

Mark 12. 29-31 

Let love be genuine, hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; 

love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. 

Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. 

Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. 

Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. 

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. 

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. 

Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; 

do not claim to be wiser than you are. 

Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. 

If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. 

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; 

for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ 

No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; 

for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ 

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. 

Romans 12. 9-21 

Finally, the prophets Micah (4. 1-4), and Isaiah (2. 2-4) share a vision of what awaits when people put forth the effort to walk behind the Shepherd. May the prayer contained within the vision, be ours here and now, now and always! 

In the days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house 

shall be established as the highest of the mountains, 

and shall be raised above the hills. 

Peoples shall stream to it, and many nations shall come and say: 

“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, 

to the house of the God of Jacob; 

that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” 

For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. 

He shall judge between many peoples, and shall arbitrate between strong nations far away; 

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 all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, 

and no one shall make them afraid; 

for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken. 

Micah 4. 1-4 

*Psalm 23.4
(All quotations of Scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible.
The emphasis bold print is mine.)