The Third Commandment

The Third Commandment to Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy was drilled into me-from about the time I was 10 days old. In my family the rule was “In church every Sunday.” No excuses.: I am sure that some Sundays we even carried germs to that assembly when we probably should have stayed home. But the ritual was demanded. Get those shoes polished. Put on your Sunday best. Get you hair slicked down with hair oil. Get your nickel for the offering basket. Be in church.

And a good habit that was (and is. Every Sunday I get time for reflection, for praise, prayer, instructions. In my later years the highlight for Sunday worship has become the weekly Eucharist,. When I kneel each Sunday morning and get the elements of bread and wine, my slate is wiped clean. My soul is renewed. My total being gets new strength for the days ahead.

But there was an important element of the Third Commandment which was not stressed in my early life. Nor did I heed it very well for much of my adult life. The commandment certainly does include the direction to “get your Sabbath rest.” I was lousy at that. I often worked as hard or harder on the Sabbath than on the other days of the week. In general, I failed to get appropriate rest. To my regret I even thought I was being extra virtuous by NOT taking a day off, by not taking my allocated vacation days. I was wrong.

Certainly one of the key elements of observing the Sabbath is remembering that God rested on the Sabbath. We need to take our Sabbath rest-.I need to remember the little sticker my wife Jane has on our refrigerator door. “Fret Not ! It is vain that you rise up early and go late to rest. For God gives sleep to his beloved.”

I am working on doing a better  of heeding this important Third Commandment.

The Second Commandment

The Second Commandment; Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.

When I was in about the second grade my mother made me take some strong lye-

filled homemade soap and wash  out my mouth until it really foamed ! She had heard me use the expression “son-of-a gun”. This , to her was cursing. So it is not too likely that I would break the Second Commandment with expressions like “God damn you” or “Go to hell!” And I guess that focusing on that kind of misuse of God’s name or even  questioning “omg” in texting is really not the most serious aspect of what God is here forbidding.

It gets much closer to home when people of my Christian faith act and speak in ways that seem to be in every way contradictory to the command to speak kindly, pray, share words of love and comfort in the Lord’s name.

Bit what disturbs me most about the current world scene is to hear people make statements or do acts “in the Lord’s name” which are entirely contradictory to anything that the Lord would ever approve of. I am thinking of using God’s name to deny women and children their rights, to kill  and torture in God’s name, to start wars or commit acts of terror in God’s name.  It will take more than a few bars of home-made soap to stop these horrors, so I will just use my very small voice to call for a halt to these abominations aand to pledge myself to using God’s name to call upon God for forgiveness and hope.

The First Commandment

The First Commandment “Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”

(I am currently team-teaching a series on the Ten Commandments and have decided to share a few thoughts on each of them here in my blog.)

A stir was created in the media last week when it was announced that a flashy new billboard was being erected along a major freeway in San Diego. The message: “Atheism-A  personal relationship with reality”. The local sign is merely the latest evidence of a growing effort among some atheists to promote their particular belief (to which they certainly have every right here in America.)

This public advocacy is also in line with latest studies which show that atheism in America is growing at a significant rate, something like 1% of the US population per year so that now more than 5% of American citizens self-identify as atheist.

That atheism is now a more commonly accepted belief is even evident in the Retirement Community in which I live. Our community has an active organization called Atheists Anonymous. However, in the contrast to Alcoholics Anonymous which assists people to overcome their alcoholism, this organization features speakers who promote atheism and other presenters who point to perceived weaknesses and evils of organized religions and deistic belief systems.

In contrast to atheism is the continued belief many in multitudes of gods. I always recall a weeks-long negotiation that I carried on while building a Lutheran School in Hong Kong some nearly 50 years ago. A sacred stone idol was on the property on which we were to build and when we put a fence around our construction site we blocked access to that god. This greatly disturbed those for whom worship at that stone was vital. We negotiated a mutually satisfying solution (but that is a story for another day.)

The term “idol” and the worship of idols is very much alive in the USA, especially also noticeable in this week of Super Bowl. It is very obvious that American idols include sports figures and entertainment idols like Beyonce and Bieber at whose feet millions get into a worshipful frenzy. Of course, even some Christians have been found to make church leaders like charismatic preachers and other church leaders into idols.

My concept of God surely keeps changing and I continue to learn from my AA friends that “there is only one God – and it’s not me!” The God whom I cannot fathom becomes ever more unknowable in God’s “otherness”. God’s being is beyond names, attributes, and finite descriptions. And then I contradict that by still asserting that the God I worship chose to dwell among us, empty Himself and even die and be resurrected.

So while listening to and taking seriously my growing number f atheist acquaintances and friends I end up with my simple and yet profound statement of faith: “I believe in God.”

Rituals

I was surprised to feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. That seldom, if ever, happens when I am watching television. But it happened last Monday while I was observing the inauguration of the USA president. My tears were not related to the politics of the day. Rather they flowed because of my emotions being caught up in the ritual. I was moved by the singing of the ancient American classics like “America , The Beautiful” and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”. My eyes joined the poet as he verbally toured us from the redwood forests to the lobster traps of Maine. The waving of handkerchiefs by the thousands. The peaceful passing of the torch. Yes, the ritual stirred up patriotic  feelings aroused by Zion Lutheran School picnics in Walburg, Texas to hot dogs at the American Consulate in Hong Kong. All it took was the ritual to lead to remembrance, pride and petitions.

That’s what rites and rituals do. And that is why each of us must play our part in preserving them. Keep those family rituals alive. Recreate those birthday party rituals with birthday cake loaded with candles, and home-make chicken salad sandwiches and ice cream.  Some are silly like singing  a crazy version of the O Tannenbaum Story told with a new twist each Christmas Eve. Others are formal like the prayers and blessings of late night family devotions.

Lovers of all ages need to keep the rituals alive, the time and way we kiss, the gifts we exchange, the looks we sneak, the special touches.

Those of us who are spiritual know that all faiths have rituals around births and deaths and new beginnings. In my church The Holy Eucharist and Baptism are absolutely essential.

And so, too, our country is well served by all those wonderful rites around inauguration. Regardless of our political persuasion we reflect as the oath of office is taken, as the National Anthem is sung, as the pledges are made, the prayers spoken. the military parade…

Rituals connect us to the past, ground us in the present and propel us into the future.

Lazy Saturday

I an having a lazy Saturday. Got up late, ate a leisurely breakfast, took my walk, watched golf, replied to emails. Nothing scheduled for this evening. This is a new experience in my life and I am enjoying it.

Saturdays were big when I was a young kid. My father was a teaching minister in a rural Lutheran church and school. We lived in the “teacherage” - ala “parsonage”. There were a couple acres of land that went with that. So there were gardens to weed, what seemed like acres of grass to be mown with the hand mower, corn to be  husked for the chickens and cows and manure to be piled up

  

While I was doing this my dad was “up at church”. He cleaned the church, posted the hymn numbers, practiced the pipe organ and prepared the Bible Class he taught every Sunday for decades.

I felt like a had a role in helping dad in his ministry. My job was to polish shoes, especially his. They were always patent leather black. They had to be able to give off a reflection from the buffed shine. I loved getting them ready for him.

In my high school days I attended Concordia Academy, a boys only ministry prep school. We had classes until noon on Saturday. During football season we ran directly from class to the University of Texas football stadium. For 25 cents each we could sit in the end zone and cheer on the Longhorns. In my four years there twice I had a date. They were nice - and led to nothing exciting.

Saturdays at college were wonderful. Sports and dates, especially the three years with Jane who is now my wife. If I had set enough pins in the bowling alley to have a bit of cash we would take the El to the Chicago loop and see a movie. Always (except for one 1:30 a.m. permit per semester) required to have her checked in to her women’s dorm, by 11:00 with the house mother waiting to make sure our good-night embrace did not last too long or ever dare to end in a kiss witnessed by another person.

Then came 50 years of teaching, administering, raising kids, traveling the world. Saturdays were always full.

But now I have passed my 85^th birthday and I am keeping my vow (most of the time) to be retired. Today I am doing that. I wonder if it will be true for me that on this Saturday I will be ready for bed at around 9:00 pm.

Tough and Tender

My colleague Marlene gets it. For years she was principal of a large urban school, Queens Lutheran in New York. She served so well that she was named a National Distinguished Elementary School Principal and honored for that at the White House. She knew how to be tough.

One day as the kids were being released at the end of the school day she heard that the older kids were being confronted outside the school by a drug dealer. It took her about one New York minute to get to him. “You get out of here – now! And don’t ever return!” But the dealer was not so easily rebuffed! “Lady, this is a public street. Now you let me alone or I will break your leg!” Marlene got into his face and replied “ You can break not only my legs, but every bone in my body and you will not get to my kids!

Now get your ass out of here before I call my friend Bob at the Precinct Police Office just down the street.” The dope pusher left and was not seen again around Queen’s

Lutheran School. Marlene’s toughness paid off.

Some years Later when Marlene was at her desk in Manhattan as Executive Director of The Lutheran Schools Association of New York tears were streaming down her face and she had to avert her eyes. She was looking right down Columbus Avenue all the way to where she looked in unbelief and horror as the Twin Towers crumbled on 9-11. It was then that her tenderness took over.

Marlene with great assistance from John Scibilia and others at Lutheran Disaster Response moved in to help the victims and their families. Marlene’s special concern was for kids in Lutheran schools of New York. At least 60 of them, preschoolers through high school had lost a parent or grandparent in that disaster. Marlene was at the funerals; she was there to comfort children. She was there to hug teachers. She was there to cradle in her arms those who had lost love ones. She was there to embrace the little ones who came running to put their arms around her legs whenever they heard an airplane come in for a landing. She was tender. Her tenderness moved her to action. Funds were raised so that the tuition of those kids who had lost parents or grandparents were guaranteed Lutheran school tuition up to the time of their graduation. To this day her tears flow when she goes to the Twin Towers Memorial Fountain and lets her fingers scroll over the names of those who had kids in Lutheran schools.

Tough and Tender. That’s the paradigm for what it takes to be a successful urban school principal or teacher. I see it especially in the Lutheran schools of New York and Milwaukee. Those teachers and principals are tough. They hold their kids and their parents accountable. No excuses for homework not finished. No excuses for not showing up at assigned parent-teacher conferences. No excuses for using street language on the school campus. Those teachers and principals are tough.

And they are tender. They love those kids, hug them when they are afraid, pray with them when they feel hopeless, tutor them when they have academic problems and pat them on the back when they succeed.

That’s the way Marlene does it and that is the way kids who attend Lutheran urban schools still experience it. That is how I hope to live: Tough and Tender!

Shave and a Haircut-2 Bits

I had not thought of that old expression for a long time-and was surprised that having said it the melody immediately started running through my mind. All of that led me to these very profound memories about haircuts. As I grew up I doubt if I ever sat in a barber’s chair until I got a haircut for my church confirmation ritual when I was I was thirteen.

My father cut my hair and I have good memories of that. He did it out in the back yard next to the wash house. That is where my mother washed all the clothes generated by us 9 kids, all without running water, but with a washing machine and an old style hand turned clothes wringer. I liked for dad to cut my hair, especially during football season. I have these warm feelings of father-son togetherness listening to the radio accounts of the University of Texas Longhorn football games. In the early years they had a great running back by the name of Jack Crane. Later there was Bobby Layne who competed against Doak Walker of SMU. Somehow or other listening to them as dad cut my hair was such a bonding experience that I feel a great warmth just recalling it.

When dad did finally take me to a barbershop it was in Jarrell and the barber was Mr. Kalmbach whose son later married my sister. My guess is that the cost was probably no more than 2 bits, which is 25 cents.

Then I recall my haircuts in Hong Kong. That was a treat. In those days of the mid 1950”s labor was very cheap and I could get that haircut, shampoo and shave all for under US$1.00. But what I remember most was my first experience of having someone shampoo my hair and with that went a long very satisfying massage of the scalp. I remember that it felt so good I decided that it must be sinful for me to enjoy it so much. Those Hong Kong shops were always very clean. A couple summers ago I went to a back alley barber shop in Shenzhen China. My theory is they wanted to show that they were very busy because there was a massive collection of hair that virtually covered the floor of the entire shop!

Now my haircut is by a different barber each time. But they all have a common characteristic. They are the wives or partners of Marines stationed at nearby Camp Pendleton. It seems like the average time for shampoo and haircut is about 8 minutes and it costs what still seems to me be an astronomical price of $20.00. Even so, I tip rather generously because I support our military families and these small tips may help just a little.

There is an often recounted haircut story in our family. When my now deceased brother Harold was in high school at Concordia, Austin, Texas, a boarding school he came home one weekend with a dramatic Mohawk. My Mother whose value system included a very firm “in church every Sunday” mantra, made an exception. She told Harold that there was no way a son of hers would show up at Zion Lutheran Church with that ungodly haircut and she ordered him to stay home. So once again another of mom’s great living principles, namely. “what will people think!” prevailed.

But now I must run get that haircut