I had almost talked myself out of visiting him. Had I stayed with my original plan, I would have missed the blessing. Sometimes I feel that visiting my parishioners who are residents in local long-term care facilities is not the most productive use of my time. After all, I’ve reasoned, some of them don’t remember …
In an interview years ago with Johnny Cash, syndicated columnist, Cal Thomas, asked Cash an intriguing question. While it wasn’t the last question Thomas asked Cash, it came near the end of the interview. Thomas asked Cash if he could be anyone in the world for one day, who would it be. Cash thought for a moment and wanted clarification, “Just one day, right?” “Yes,” Thomas affirmed, “just one day.” Then Cash started describing a retired 78-year old farmer named Hoy Jones. “He does nothing but sit on the front porch and wave at people. I’d like to do that. I’d like to be Hoy Jones for one day,” Cash said. “Who was it that said, ‘Let me live in a house beside the road and be a friend to man?’” Cash rhetorically asked, and then concluded, “Well, that’s what I’d like to do if I had only one day. I’d take it.” For one day, I’d like to be a Cistercian monk at the Abby of Gethsemani, near Bardstown, Kentucky. “The monastery,” as I call it, is one of my favorite places in all the world. If I could be a monk for just one day, in Cash’s own words, “I’d take it.” I thought about that the other day when I was again visiting that place of prayer, solitude, and retreat. My oldest son, Dave, was home for Thanksgiving. “Anything in particular you want to do while you’re here?” I nonchalantly asked him while we were standing in the kitchen, sipping a second cup of coffee. “Yes,” he said without hesitation, “I was hoping to spend some quality time with my dad,” referring to me, of course. “Okay,” I said, “Whatcha you want to do?” He wanted to go to the Abby of Gethsemani. I should have known. His older sister makes the same request whenever she’s home. But this time, I was behind on my work and stressed; regardless of what happens during the week, come Sunday morning, the preacher better be prepared. “Okay, I hear you,” I told the little pesky voice inside my head that kept saying, “You don’t have time, get back to work.” Which was all the more reason I knew we should go; sometimes the best preparation comes away from the study, in open spaces where the cobwebs of the mind can be cleared. And even more important: how often does a dad get to spend time with his son who lives away and actually wants to be with his dad? So, we prayed with the monks as they chanted the Psalms, listened as they read Scripture, and joined them in their prayers of intercession. After a vigorous hike in the woods (a prayer walk) near Gethsemani, we returned to the …
Several years ago, I taught a class on Spiritual Formation at a university. As part of that class, I required the students to keep what I called, a Thankful Journal. I wanted them to find at least one thing every day for which they were thankful and write something about it. It was an effort to incorporate an attitude of gratitude into their lives. I challenged them to give thanks for the people and things they commonly ignored. When I gave the students that assignment, they—most in their first year of college—looked at me like I was from another planet. So, I tried to bring the project into their world. When I asked how many of them lived in one of the college dormitories, a majority of raised hands indicated they did. “Have you noticed the person, the custodian, who cleans your dorm hall?” I asked. The class was silent. “Do you know his/her name?” Not one student did. “Can anyone tell me anything about that person?” Again, blank stares from the students. “Have you ever stopped to thank that person?” None had. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, for after all, they had been on campus no more than a week. But they got the point: we tend to overlook that which isn’t important to us. And what gets ignored, gets forgotten. And never thanked. This Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, make an attempt, amidst getting that meal ready, cleaning up after guests, and posing for the annual family picture, to give thanks for a few of those things we don’t see because they’ve been forgotten, things we take for granted. I read about a grade school teacher who asked her students to list what they believed were the Seven Wonders of the World. A few minutes later, they turned in their answers. The teacher listed the answers in order of what the students thought were the most popular. The list went like this: The Great Pyramids, The Grand Canyon, The Great Wall of China, The Panama Canal, The Taj Mahal, The Empire State Building, St. Peter’s Basilica. Then the teacher noticed one little girl who had failed to turn in her assignment; she was still struggling with it. So, the teacher went to her directly and asked her what she had put down for her answer. “There are so many wonders,” she said, “I just can’t decide.” …
I hung up the phone, having told one of my adult children not to get hopeful: Trump didn’t have a chance; the TV commentator my daughter had just heard was merely trying to make it look interesting so people would stay tuned to their network, I told her. Minutes later, I advised another one of …
I watched my dad take his last breath; he died October 25, at 8:46 p.m. Dad died like he lived, in the presence of God, surrounded by his family. God and family were foremost in his life. We gathered around him, prayed, and told him what a wonderful man he had been to us, his …