Tiny Snowflakes… finally!
Snow falling finally. Not the pretty flakes, but tiny frozen dandruff. Here in deep southern New Hampshire we’ve had March weather since October 31st. I suppose I should suppress it but I keep thinking there should lyrics for this that are sung to the melody of Don Ho’s “Tiny Bubbles”.
Tiny snowflakes (tiny snowflakes)
In the breeze (in the breeze). . .
A New Project?
One of my daughters suggested I should write non-fiction. She says she likes the way I write about people I know. A book of vignettes, she said, would suit my style. 
Pondering this I realize that most of the people I write about are dead. I somehow doubt that many will happily seek membership in my list. But what if I did that? When people recognize themselves in fiction it is one thing but when they recognize themselves elsewhere it’s another. Maybe the stories are not so much about ‘them’ as they are about what ‘they’ mean to me. I wonder how others deal with this and I am not thinking of the political crop of “kiss and tell” exploitation. Surely there are others whose story of their on life really consists of intersections with others. Ordinary people whose ordinary paths cross and through the alchemy of chance extraordinary moments of hope and grace are achieved. Yeah, maybe I will do just that. Besides, if I keep writing about hope and grace people may assume it must be fiction after all.
Character Under Construction
Understanding Cub Scouting is more than mastering jargon; To understand Cub Scouting is to understand its goal.
The goal of Cub Scouting is character development. Does that seem vague to you? How about this, “Character can be defined as the collection of core values by an individual that leads to moral commitment and action.” As a leader of young boys we are each challenged to help our scouts identify, embrace, and experience core values. Each meeting, activity, or challenge should be measured against the core values of scouting. What are the values?
As a Boy Scout many of us learned that a scout is: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent. Even today I can recite the Scout Law. More importantly, I find myself looking into the mirror and asking whether what I propose to do is consistent with these qualities of character.
For Cub Scouts the points of the Scout Law are reworded and described as the Twelve Core Values but their meaning is the same.
Citizenship, Compassion, Courage, Faith, Health and Fitness, Honesty, Perseverance, Positive Attitude, Resourcefulness, Respect, and Responsibility. If leading young boys to adopt these core values as their own is our goal, then how do we do that?
The oft repeated dictum, “Scouting is a game with a purpose”, serves as a key to understanding the “how” of character development. Our meetings, awards, games, even silly skits must serve a greater purpose. Everything we do should move us closer to our goal. That’s why it is not enough to ensure the boys have fun; It is up to us to infuse the fun with purpose. What does it look like when we are working toward our goal?
Imagine a time when boys will perform a skit at a pack meeting. We approach them with this challenge by providing some examples and ask them to choose. If you can think back to similar circumstances in your son’s den you can probably hear the racket they make as some jump up and down volunteering to be “the star” of the skit. Perhaps a couple of others are hanging back hoping to be anything but “the star”. This is where the factor of age plays heavily into the “how” of character development. We could simply appoint each boy to a role. Or, if the boys are older, we could challenge them to decide among themselves. Imagine this is a younger group. Instead of simply assigning roles you might engage the boys in a discussion. Ask yourself, which of the core values has greatest relevance here? Is it Compassion? What about Citizenship? Perhaps the real question is what is your role as a leader?
As a leader you are the pivotal figure in the Cub Scout method. Each den has its own chemistry and needs. Preparation for the meeting is for more than finding a fun activity. It is all about understanding your scouts and their needs. Of course the first thing that comes into my mind is how on earth can I prepare?
The answer is that we are all leaders in the life of our Cub Scouts. Perhaps you are a den leader, perhaps you are an unsung parent who shows up faithfully week after week. It doesn’t matter, we are all leaders. What each of us needs is a pattern, a model to follow when preparing for or participating in a den meeting. So, what is that model?
It is called the “Character Connection”. Throughout each scout’s handbook are activities that include requirements identified as such. The task of the leader is to help a scout to “Know, Commit, Do”. It is this pattern that can and should permeate all of out planning. Actually, its pretty cool that we, as leaders, can learn the methods of character development from their handbook. What is the practical meaning and application of these terms?
To know means to possess knowledge. “What does it mean to tell the truth? What is an example of this? Can you think of someone who is famous for telling the truth?” Whether we are speaking of honesty, a positive attitude, or respect the scout needs to have knowledge of what “it” is.
To commit is to be motivated. Sometimes our motivation is shallow. It is not well rooted and subject to flee. Imagine a young person being frightened of the consequences for an action they took. Would he find it easier (less frightening) to deny responsibility? “I didn’t do it.” must be wired into human DNA! Yet we aspire for our youth to grow, to develop character such that their motivation is strong and, when it counts most, we can count on their commitment to the core values.
No amount of knowledge or commitment is ever sufficient for the development of character. Unless we provide a laboratory where their character can be tested and strengthened they will find themselves inadequately prepared for “the real world”. To do, is the final member of the set of which the Character Connection is made. The young scout absolutely must have opportunities to succeed or fail and from both to derive real character.
If we relegate the Character Connection to a few agenda items along the path from Tiger to Wolf, etc. we miss the key ingredient. Today, as I consider the challenges facing our community, I am proud of adults whose character is self evident. The campaigns of this scouting year to restore dignity to Pelham’s Veterans Memorial Park and to rescue our High School’s accreditation from probation are evidence that our scouts are lead by parents whose character is strong. So, what is this note all about? It is about the need for all, not some, to step up. Show character, inspire character, and provide opportunities for character to grow.
A Friend Remembered
Ann Fearon was my friend. She was friend to my family, to my late wife, and to our girls. To be on the receiving end of her friendship was not to be taken lightly. Her’s was the truest of friendships and she exercised her prerogatives to the fullest. Not too long ago I was reminded of my debt to her. I preached a sermon during the absence of our pastor and afterwards I was complemented for my diction. I was told that my diction (not my content?) was ‘remarkable’. It is to Ann’s fault or credit that I propel each syllable of a word from my mouth. She once told me, “It just won’t do. You can’t say ‘moun’n’. The word is ‘moun-tain’”. So I enunciated, I perfected my elocution and I attacked every syllable of each word with an earnest ferocity such that the alleged perfection ascribed to me belongs to Ann.
Ann was quick to advise me. At times I thought she was too quick to judgement but time has proved her right far more often than wrong. (Frankly, Ann could make me gasp.) I suppose this makes her sound judgmental. Perhaps to some she seemed so but not to me. Maybe that’s because she wrapped even the sharpest things in a laugh. For Ann, laughter was less than a weapon and more of a defense. The world was always a bit brighter when she was around and God knows that our family in general needed all the brightness we could get. And, yes, I know that laughter can carry a hidden weapon far and hard and speedily into the heart. But when it came to Ann it seemed to me that only the inflated ego had much to fear. She was, as they say, a character.
When I told Ann I was planning to remarry she was concerned that I should be sure to have more children. Only Ann would ever be so bold. But her counsel was sound when she, as a surrogate parent, indicated her approval of my choice. Lucy and I have not brought any children into the world but we have in our care a fine boy who, like so many others, became very attached to “Miss Ann”. So, Ann would inspect me, shoe shine (she always approved). 
Were my cuffs completely buttoned? (She could not abide a partial job). Was I ‘peeking’ when leading public prayer from the pulpit? (She tattled to me of colleague whose practice was to fiddle with his notes during the benediction on TV.) And, most importantly, didn’t I surely know where the best crab could be caught and didn’t I have the decency to take her, Beth, and the girls there?
Do you know that until her health failed she kept me up to date on so many of my former parishioners. Thanks to Ann, I have prayed without fanfare knowing that God is far better at bearing them up than a noisy/nosey note from me could ever be. She sometime wondered that I did not make the rounds when visiting the region and I explained that I thought little of ministers who did not know how to ‘move on’. Ann seemed to accept that but she ensured that the former congregation was not forgotten to me. Thanks to Ann I have prayed when I heard of their afflictions, considered their grief as my own when they suffered loss. And, thanks to Ann, I celebrated when their news was a joy.
When we moved to Port Wentworth I knew little of the history of that place. It lacked the fine verandahs that line private gardens of old Savannah. It was blocked from any scenic views of the river by pulp mill, sugar refinery, and shipyard. The single most significant non-industrial structure in town was the conglomeration of buildings known collectively as ‘the projects’. What drew us there was not the beauty of the place but the call of God; what kept us there were people of character, people like Ann.
That’s what I most remember and cherish; I remember her character. She was not simply “a character” she had character; She defined character. These days I spend much of my time working with scouting. I talk with my boys about character and how a scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. By my count Ann Fearon had that kind of character. Could Ann be trusted? Was she loyal and helpful? Was she perfect? Ann was being perfected as are we all.
Someone once wrote that a pastor needs four kinds of friends. One type the writer described was “the disturber’. Deuteronomy 32:11 describes an eagle whose chore is to disturb her eaglets and compel them to take to the air. She disturbs the soft down that lines the nest and exposes the broken fragments of bones and thorns, and in the discomfort of her young she prepares them. “Like an eagle that stirs up its nest and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them on its pinions.” Ann was the friend who was unafraid to make things “a bit pointy”. She was determined to challenge me. When we left that place she warned me, and I think there was a tear in her eye, “Don’t leave the ministry, you will lose your faith.” I have not left the ministry though it has a shape far different than the one I imagined it might have these eighteen years later. But, no, I have not left the ministry Ann.
So for those who knew her and to those who may well wish they had I offer these words:
Into an un-ending future, to a time beyond time where the God of Eternity reigns is our Ann gone. To the Everlasting God whose kingdom knows no end, to the Savior whose blood was spilt for the least worthy among us, to the Spirit whose fiery breath purges our souls of contempt I give thanks. Ah Great God, in your house, at your table, in Your presence there sit an ever growing number of those whom we love. In your timeless mansion keep a setting at the table for us and keep in our hearts the reminders of their tenderness and your grace.
I think even now, if I listen, I hear the echoes of her laughter and the quiet giggle of another old friend.
It is the certainty of their peace that helps us bear the longing that fills our hearts in their absence.
Amen
Note: The image of the Savannah Wildlife Refuge is from a Flickr photo stream: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dizzygirl/
Under Used Talent: Absent Without Leave
Sitting in church while the words of the gospel lesson wafted about something clobbered me on the head; the under used talent. Momentarily stunned into a moment of reflection I wondered, how often have I sat glumly listening as someone else preached? Even now, days after that Sunday, I find myself retracing events that led from my tenure as senior minister of a large church to the moment when, as a ubiquitous presence in the pew, I was struck by a word flitting about the sanctuary.
When I retired from ministry I was weary. I needed rest. My need for an extended respite was due, at least in part, to choices I made. After all, I took upon myself more than I should have. Now, in retrospect, this is self-evident. I rarely, if ever took vacation. I preached two different sermons every week, conducted two other worship services, and attended to the pastoral needs of a pretty good sized congregation. And there was more. At the time, though, it seemed I had no choice. The end began just after Thanksgiving a number of years ago.
My wife died on a Saturday. It was unexpected. She was gone from us only hours after I called the church officers to inform them I would be late returning from our annual holiday. The aftermath was jumbled. From her parents home I clumsily began making funeral arrangements while struggling with how I could comfort our children. I had not rehearsed what I would do “if or when something happened” and I felt eerily disconnected as though I were talking of and tending to the needs of someone else. I conducted her funeral on Tuesday. Time seemed to accelerate. On Friday of that same week I conducted another funeral. This was for a member who had been a friend to my family during my wife’s illness. Again time skidded and a few days later I preached another funeral. The deceased was the son-in-law of another good friend.
In any season so many funerals so close together would have taken a toll but, as Christmas approached, I felt especially bleak. My young children clustered around me and, I suppose, their proximity alone kept me afloat. As the year turned there were more stresses and little relief. I felt estranged from myself and, whether it came as a shock or a relief to my congregation I cannot say, I retired in July at the ripe old age of 41. I had no prospects for work. In the course of one weekend, I remarried (a scandalous act in the minds of many), retired, and moved what was left of my family from the coastal Georgia to New England; a distance of little over a thousand miles by road and by cultural measure a distance of galactic proportions.
I needed a rest but how much; how long; from what? Here I am years later, pondering the past when, more to the point, I should be perplexed by the future. I am transfixed by a word; I am confronted with an under used talent. The sermon had not even begun when my typical Sunday reverie was interrupted. The intrusion reminded me of something. The gospel can break in on its own. I have learned this from my own, too frequent, bouts of homiletical mediocrity. Many times, despite my ineptitude, the gospel launched an incursion into someone’s life. Its message is not always constrained by the skill of the messenger.
How I got ‘here’ has value but only in so far has it contributes meaningfully to what happens next. When I consider the future I feel I am squeezed between two mutually exclusive realities. On the one hand I ‘am’ a preacher. Perhaps one with some talent? On the other hand, I have no pulpit. In the first place, Jeremiah’s words reveal my own existential crisis, “But if I say, ‘I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in” New International Version (©1984) In the second place I am filled with self loathing for the jealousy that I wish to deny but must in honesty confess.
Since then I have been greatly blessed to a degree and in ways I do not deserve. Every day I wake to a home filled with people I love and who, in turn love me. I am stunned by the good fortune that I have a job that permits me to care for them. I discover some measure of purpose as a leader of cub scouts. I do not discount that these are all good things but, well, I owe and am capable of much more. And it is a whispering realization that has broken into into an uproar today.
Oh the nuisance a word can cause. I wish to be the un-afflicted comfortable pew warmer but the the gospel won’t let me go. That this nuisance is not ‘good news’ for me does not mean that, in the end, my torment might not be the source of good news for others. So be it. I relinquish the cherished goal of letting my small talent lie fallow. Though the return that may be earned is diminished from small to trivial through years of neglect, I do here with commit myself to speak – or write- and in so doing to preach.
‘This is what the LORD says: See, I am setting before you the way of life and the way of death’.
Amen
On a whim... 