YOU ARE NOT ALONE

I heard this poem at our Veteran’s Day program this year. It was reprinted in our local paper.

It Is The Soldier

It is the Soldier, not the minister

Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet

Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer

Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer

Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician

Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,

Who serves beneath the flag,

And whose coffin is draped by the flag,

Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

--Charles Michael Province, U.S. Army

As a minister who prays regularly for our military and who is part of a group that reaches out to military families and their friends, I was saddened by this poem. The author seems so lonely...by which I mean, all alone. He sets himself and his fellow soldiers as islands without support or community. He creates a world of Us vs. Them, in a world that I believe needs a whole lot more WE. 

I wonder if  all our military feel so alone? I hope not. I hope that they realize that there are, scattered all around them, people who care a great deal about who they are, what they are doing, and what they have been through. Sometimes we don’t have the words or means to express that in just the right way...but we really do care. I don’t mean “just ministers” care...I mean that I hear throughout our community a great outpouring of concern for our military and their families. Folks just don’t always know what to do.

We recently held a workshop on that topic at our church. The workshop was called: The Spiritual Journey Home from War. It was sponsored by the Brookfield Institute. We had a nice cross section of people attend. 

One of the big things the veterans who were present told us we could do to be supportive was: to “be sincere in your gratitude.” They were not interested in tossed off cliches or political platitudes. The warriors who joined us said that what they really appreciated was knowing that their service was appreciated. Was acknowledged as being difficult. Was witnessed as something that meant something to those of us who were back here, on the home front. The people we met confessed that they did not fully understand all that they were called to do, but it was somehow reassuring to have it acknowledged as having happened. That it was not forgotten.

I have written a response to the poem that was read at this year’s Veteran’s Day program. I use the same title as the original author, because quite frankly, it IS the soldier who is our focal point. It IS the soldier who we gather around and seek to support and owe so much of our lives to...BUT...those soldiers are not alone. They do not operate in a vacuum. I hope that my poem will let them know, that they operate in a world that loves them; in a nation that does care about their well being; in all of the mixed up ways that we express that, including prayers for peace.

IT IS THE SOLDIER

It is the minister, who offers care to the families of the soldier who is at war; 

 who prays for the soldier’s well being while they are away and welcomes the soldier home and offers hope and healing for the wounds that have been accrued while serving the nation.

It is the reporter who records the perils faced in the field.

Who holds the cause being fought for to the light,

in black and white and gray,

so that we do not forget

the powder and sand smudged faces of those making sacrifices on our behalf.

It is the campus organizer who gathers voices in protest against squandering the lives and talents of our armed forces; who cries out for better services when they come home and who reminds us of the ideals our military are fighting for.

It is the politician who must weigh the cost of each soldier’s life lost...or injured...or otherwise forgotten at war by a public that is easily distracted by personal need.

It is the nation, putting our hands to our hearts as we see a flag and remembering with quiet awe

the sacrifices that have been made by our military to protect and preserve

the freedoms that flag represents.

It is the tears of those who mourn our fallen,

cradled in their coffins,

beneath carefully creased blankets of stars and stripes.

It is the great paradox of those whose passions are great,

living together,

soldier and civilian,

in community, 

supporting one another,

that allows us to be one nation, under God.

--Rev. Todd Farnsworth, minister

LOOK AT ME

I recently directed a pretty big show in and for our community. The cast was about 40 people, including a choir. And there was a tech crew of 4. And refreshments. And programs. And...well, it was a pretty big deal. The good news is, folks seemed to like it. A lot. The reviews I got ranged from: “I saw it 5 times and cried 5 times.” to “I really liked the way the contemporary music cued the audience to what was coming next.” to “Do you realize what a gift you’ve given to this community?” I even got a standing ovation during worship!


What was strange was that each time someone would throw an accolade my way, I would feel my soul shrinking into a small ball. I would bow my head. I would cover my eyes. I would try to hide.

Weird.

It was not a case of “not believing” what people were saying. I knew I had worked hard. I knew that the cast and crew had really risen to the challenge in a remarkable way. I knew that the kind words folks were sharing with me were sincere...and true. Nonetheless, I felt a need to hide.
I was talking to my therapist about this today and as we explored the feeling I realized that I have had to hide a lot in my life. Not so much as an adult, but as a kid...it was a survival thing. I had to hide from an out of control adult. I had to hide my feelings. I had to hide my shame. When someone was looking for me, or at me, the robot from “Lost in Space” would shout into my brain, “WARNING! WARNING! WARNING, WILL ROBINSON!” which was odd because that is not my name. I would bolt (either physically or emotionally) and hide...or at least, try to hide.

While that works pretty good for a kid who is living in terror, it is a strange way to order one’s adult life.

As I thought about my behavior I got to thinking about Jesus. He was a pretty out and about kind of guy for most of his ministry. He didn’t shy away from people who wanted to thank him. He didn’t duck when somebody called his name from a crowd. He would turn and look them in the eyes. He would listen to what they had to say. He would respond in the moment (maybe give them a ‘high five’ or a hug) and then he would move on to whatever he was doing next.

After being beaten, crucified, and resurrected, Jesus was a little bit cagier. He was a bit more selective about how long he stuck around and visited with people. One minute he was there...the next he was gone. I don’t think he was hiding, but maybe he was remembering the hurt he'd experienced from folks he had wanted to trust. Maybe he wondered about who he could count on.  Maybe it was hard for him to be seen. Maybe that robot was waving its arms in Jesus’ brain, too.

Eventually, Jesus got comfortable enough to be with everyone...all the time. His Spirit lives in our communities and in our lives. He smiles at us and plays with us and cries with us. I believe that he looks us in the eyes, again. Somehow, he figured out that not everyone is out to hurt him...neither is everyone out to thank him. He discovered a way to be present and still protect himself. 

I don’t think that I am going to become a spirit in the near future, but I do think that I can live spiritually in the present. I can use my senses to advise me of folks who are sincerely offering a constructive word. I can accept and maybe even come to embrace with pride their thoughtfulness when they take the time to look at something I have done. I do not need to hide from them. I am an adult. Neither do I need to hide from people who are offering me a “destructive” comment or observation. I can acknowledge where they are coming from, and look them in the eyes, and agree to disagree.

I think this is going to take some practice. I ask for your patience as I come out of hiding. This is a hard thing to ask, but I’m gonna go for it anyway: Please look at me...it’ll help me grow.

SWISS CHEESE

This week my brain is like swiss cheese. No, not especially holy...but very holey. It reminds me of the popular show from the 80’s, Quantum Leap. The main character “Sam” would jump from time to time, and body to body, each episode having to figure out who he was, when he was, and what he was doing there. I think my wife liked it because she had a crush on the actor Scott Bakula. I liked it because of the way each show resolved the weekly dilemma.



The conceit of the show was that the trauma of “leaping” from time to time and body to body made the main characters brain like “swiss cheese.” There were gaps in memory. There were gaps in how relationships worked. There were gaps in how his body worked! Those gaps gave “Sam” the wiggle room to discover interesting things about himself as he tried to help his “host” figure out his (or her! very risky for the 80’s...) life situation.



Last week’s snow storm, and the trauma that went with it, made my brain turn into swiss cheese.



Names of familiar faces are lost to me. I begin driving somewhere and have to turn around because I’ve gone in the wrong direction. I am having a difficult time verbalizing my thoughts. Typing is a little easier, but even here I have to stop every so often to re read what I’ve written, so that I can figure out what I am trying to say. It is frustrating, and funny, and crazy. I recognize it as the stuff of having lived through an extraordinary experience...so I am patient with myself. I am also patient with folks around me, because I can see that they are struggling, too. They are groping for objects that aren’t there. They are flinching at innocent sounds and wandering in their conversations like a cow drunk on whiskey. I’m pretty sure their brains have become holey like mine. Some of them report having trouble sleeping. Some of them say that is difficult to concentrate at work. It’s all swiss to me. 


The good news is, that with time, and stability, the holes begin to fill in. The warmth of familiarity melts the cheese like a sandwich on the grill. The sweet and salty aroma of the toast awakens our memory to the things we’ve temporarily forgotten, and the stickiness of the whole business begins to pull us back together. We heal.



I believe that God is somewhere in the midst of those holes in my head right now. I believe that God is the one who is turning up the heat so that the cheese will begin to warm and soften and fill in the blanks. I believe that somehow, God is gently molding me back to myself; helping me figure things out; giving me the wiggle room to put "things" back in order. I’m not sure exactly how God does it, but I do know that when it happens, it is a holy kind of thing. I feel awakened and alive and aware, again. My senses are more attuned to the stimulus around me. God's done it before when other storms have raged through my life. It's pretty neat how the holy happens when I let her do her thing. I feel more whole...which certainly sounds like the kind of work my God is about...at least, that's a leap I'm willing to take.

TREADMILL: PART 2

I love to dance. My wife and I can go for 2-3, maybe even 4 hours at a wedding reception. We kick up our heels, spin, laugh, sweat...make fools out of ourselves. It's a lot of fun. We usually come home from these sessions exhausted and happy.

I posted in an earlier blog ( TREADMILL ) about my struggle on the treadmill. Today I tried again. I started early in the morning before I had time to work up too much anxiety about it. I got on and started the music. Breathe, Todd. Breathe. I prayed for God to move the past out of my way with a bulldozer so that I could just enjoy myself, or at the very least, not feel shame from the exercise. As I walked, I could feel my blood pressure rise. I could feel my heart beating faster. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. I kept on praying, "C'mon God...we can do this. This doesn't have to be terrible. There must be sometime when I get all worked up that doesn't feel awful to me. Help me to think of this like...like when I'm dancing with Martha!"

I smiled. I saw us whooping it up in our nice clothes. We were hot, and sweaty, and laughing and singing and swaying and...it was ok. And when a slow song came on I held Martha close and we joked about sticking together (ewwww). And I kept on walking. Song after song.  I even sang a little. It felt pretty good.

Somehow in my talking with God a shift happened. My anxiety diminished. A boulder moved. I was rocked and rolled. Perhaps that's how the boulder got moved away on Easter morning. Maybe Jesus said, "C'mon God...we can do this. This doesn't have to be terrible."

I wonder what kinds of shifts happen in your life when you talk with God? I wonder how the Spirit uses those conversations to leverage change that brings about wholeness?

It's been 3 hours since I was back on the treadmill. Still feeling pretty good. No shame. Kind of feels like Easter morning.
--todd

SMIRKERS

Have you ever met someone who clearly didn't care for you? They may not know you. They may never have had a face to face conversation with you, but when they do, it's like a stink bomb has been set off during worship. Their smile is strained. It pulls at the sides of their mouth and creates on their face: a smirk.

smirk  (smûrk)

intr.v. smirked, smirk·ing, smirks

To smile in an affected, often offensively self-satisfied manner.

n.

An affected, often offensively self-satisfied smile.

 The "smirker" looks at you like they can't believe you're wasting their air. They may politely answer your questions and respond to your statements...but there won't be any depth happening. Your conversation with them will be forced to dwell near the surface as if it is gasping for air. Any attempt to move closer will result in a polite diversionary tactic and a "goodbye."

I imagine that Jesus experienced that awkward interaction on a daily basis. Perhaps the folks who disliked him didn't even try to hide their discomfort. The Bible describes the outright, hostile mocking, of this guy who was just trying to offer compassion, hope, and healing to everyone he met.

I have a few of those smirkers in my life. When they see me coming they either hide, avoid making eye contact with me, ignore me if there is someone else with me, or smirk. That's what they do when I catch them off guard. They curl up their lips like the Grinch overlooking Who-ville with a dastardly idea. It drives me nuts. It sometimes leaves me feeling sad...or hurt.

Jesus smiled back at the smirkers. He looked past their discomforted dead eyes and embraced them with humor, or a challenge, or a direct question regarding their behavior. He did not let the "smirk" keep him from his mission. He did not let the "smirk" deny him the opportunity to share some Good News with the folks who, for whatever reason, did not feel comfortable in his presence. He let that be their issue, and he held steady with his issues.

I'm going to try and deal with the "smirkers" in my life more like Jesus did. I'm going to stop avoiding them for the sake of my own comfort, and just go up to them (even if it means hopping over a few chairs to catch them), and say, "hello." I'm going to engage them on my terms and say what I need to say. Who knows, maybe I'll catch them on a good day. Maybe the Spirit will be moving between us and they'll actually listen to something I have to say. Maybe I'll be able to figure out where their discomfort comes from. Maybe we'll get to dive a little deeper for my persistence.

Maybe they'll just get better at hiding from me when they see me coming.

--todd