Charting a Course to Manhood
I was born into the so-called man’s world of the 50s. Mr. & Mrs. Cleaver, Ozzie and Harriet Nelson, and Father Knows Best (Jim Anderson), showed me the ropes. Even Lassie taught me that the-man-of-the-house had very specific roles to play: provide for the financial needs of the family, administer domestic justice, maintain the family car, stay out of the kitchen, capture mice, kill spiders, and take out the trash. They seemed to suggest that if I lived according to their vision of the world, all would be well. But, none of them warned me their world was dying.
In my early adulthood I recall sitting at Sunday dinner and being stunned by a future sister-in-law. She stated there were no reasons why women could not be anything they wanted. Actually, I think she dragged out the word, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, for emphasis. Absurd, thought I, and I jumped in (as usual) to declare that women were hardly fit to be linemen, policemen, or firemen. Now I wonder how I ever thought such a thing. After taking a verbal beating I was reminded of another brash moment from my early childhood.
Across the street was a jalopy owning family with a large collection of kids. They were pronounced by my mother to be “wild children”. I knew them as, “The Mondays”. It was this clan that first introduced me to the power of women.
One day, as my older cousin and I played, “The Mondays” showed up uninvited. In thrall to my slightly older cousin we chose to defend our turf. He took on one of the younger boys and I challenged the oldest Monday, a girl. She must have been ten and I couldn’t have been more than six. More importantly she was much bigger than me. Details are a bit sketchy but I vividly recall telling her I would have no difficulty beating her up because “boys are stronger than girls.” What came next isn’t clear. 
I vaguely remember the taste of dirt in my mouth and a bloody nose and I suspect these are among the reasons the details are sketchy. More importantly, and to my embarrassment, I did not learn the key lesson of the day; being a man (or a boy) does not afford an individual any special entitlements.
It wasn’t until later (that moment at a Sunday dinner) when I began to suspect I needed to relearn what it really means to be a man. And, frankly, this process is as yet incomplete. I am trying to sort out what it means to be a man and to teach my son the same. My skull isn’t cracked but there are times when my head (and my heart) hurt. I am estranged from the laughably absurd “Father Knows Best” world of my birth. The world of men has become a pandemonium ranging from testosterone driven excesses of “professional” wrestling to emasculated ambiguities. Charting a course requires a difficult to obtain sense of direction.
Once, when crossing the Atlantic Ocean on an aging “tin can” destroyer, our gyrocompass failed. Only the magnetic compass functioned and it was not reliable. Forced to chart our course apart from the fleet we battled storms that stove in bulkheads, swept away deck fittings, and sent our ship reeling from one wave to the next. To find their way a navigator universally relies upon a “point of reference”. A ship is piloted along coastal waters by observing markers like buoys, lights, and landmarks. But when the horizon recedes and the landless expanse of the sea surrounds him, a mariner must look to a more distant point of reference. Likewise a father, to be a man and a teacher of manhood, must look to a new point of reference. For me, that reference is Jesus.
In the disoriented world of men I am drawn to the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus, confounded by a choice to accept impending agony or the plausible doom of humanity, prays, “Let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless, not my will by thy will be done.” It is a moment of existential crisis. It is a moment in which character is immutably defined.
Herman Melville, speaks through a preacher, a self defined “pilot of the living God”. He declares, “And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.”*
Through that lens we may recognize the crucible of the garden for what it is. To be a man, to be a whole person whose integrity remains intact, there can be no choice other than obedience and yet… Yet this does not deny the need to express an alternative hope; a hope that for a greater purpose must be abandoned. This is a dichotomy that is ever with us; to do that which is good or to do that which is best. For most of us the difference is seldom so clear but the difficulty of making the distinction is always upon us.
A true course to manhood crosses oceans of doubt engaging our minds and hearts. The perennial dichotomy of hope, that is the choice between good and best, is the means by which we discover and prove our manhood. Jesus in the garden guides our moral compass to a true North where might is measured by character, virility is a matter of virtue. To teach our sons to be truthful to themselves and to others, to place the welfare of others above their own, to show compassion, and to teach our sons reverent hope; this is how we and they achieve manhood.
*Moby Dick Or The Whale by Herman Melville. Bookbyte Digital Edition ISBN 978-1-61306-039-1
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/
On a whim... 