6/4 THIRTY YEARS LATER

The Chinese Government does not want to acknowledge the Tiananmen Massacre and the only reference one can find on the Chinese internet is under the designation 6/4 which stands for June 6, l989, just 30 years ago. As I read the articles and look again at the photos my heart sinks and my total being recalls the feelings, sights, and sounds of that event.

I recall the incredible FEELING of hope that was alive in the Square those days. Every student we spoke to had the hope of more democracy, more freedom and greater prosperity.  Yet, in the midst of that hope which we shared we also had feelings of TREPIDATION. We knew that China was authoritarian, afraid of its own people and determined not to lose absolute power. Those feelings were quickly justified. On our return to the Peking University campus in the afternoon our bus was stopped. Citizens had heard he army was moving in and shooting to kill any civilians trying to stop them, even shooting and killing people on balconies who were observing the tragedy. The citizens wanted all buses (including the one we were in) to block the military entrance. We were forced to stop in an intersection. Sons John and Tim and I quickly got out and walked back to the campus. Not many hours later we were surrounded by students showing us the nametags of their killed comrades. They confronted us with pleas to contact the US government to intervene and stop the killings. Our hearts overflowed with sadness at the lives of old and young wiped out.

So many SIGHTS come back (without even needing the aid of photos). I can still see the goddess of democracy statue erected in the Square confronting the huge image of Mao Tze Tung just across Chang An Ave. I see the elderly woman brought to the Square in a wheelbarrow by her grandson because he wanted her to get a view of democracy coming to her country. Then I see all the destruction of the day after, the burned busses, the destroyed buildings, and the not-seeing of things we knew were there, bodies hanging from light posts.

I hear the SOUNDS. I hear the sounds coming over the loud speakers that the students had put in place, being careful not to interfere with the official sound system under the control of the authorities. I hear the sounds of exited students talking to son John in Mandarin and to Tim and me in broken English assuring us that for the first time in history China was going to have a peaceful revolution because under no circumstances imaginable would the students resort to violence. Hours later I hear the sounds of students speaking through their devastation and tears recalling classmates lying dead on street or in the morgue. And after more than 48 torturous hours of non-communication I hear Jane’s voice on a long distance call when, with the help of a young Chinese gentleman I finally manage to get through and who then refused to take my financial tip as a reward.

Now 30 years later I REFLECT. Dung Chou Peng who ordered his military to shoot and kill innocent civilians did have some (partially) redeeming actions. He opened up the economy, developing, for example, Shenchen just across the border from Hong Kong which is now exceeding Hong Kong in the volume of its exports. He took some of the manufacturing from very inefficient government run companies and allowed some aspects of capitalism to flourish. Now Premier Xi is again being extremely authoritarian, is removing freedoms, persecuting and killing Christians and Muslims and is engaged in fierce competition with the USA president.

Yet I end with HOPE and the positive belief that the eternal human drive for freedom will eventually be heard and recognized. I am convinced that China will replace the USA as the greatest world power of the 21st Century and I have the belief that it will be a force for good in the world, that the USA and China will not enter into a war against each other and that for many the dream of a more positive future for more people around the world will yet come true.

(See previous blogs: June 5, 2009: “Hope” and “Hope Shattered”.)

Organ Recita

I live in a senior retirement community. Small groups form in the dining room, around the coffee table or just casually in the corridors. One thing is the same: Wherever two or three are gathered an organ recital will be sure to happen. It may begin simply with “My hearing is bad so be sure to speak up.” Within minutes all body organs will get their attention. Soon there will be early excuses to leave from the group because of incontinence and kidney weakness. Then the stories of lumps in the breasts of women and removal of the prostate from the men. It takes about 20 minutes to cover all the organs and then the recital moves to allergies. The list will include allergies to foods, to clothes, to smells, to an endless list of things tangible and intangible. It is important to go into details about how the stomach or the skin or the nose reacts. Unless something suddenly intervenes, the concert can last up to an hour. Efforts to change the subject to something important like baseball scores, the food in the common dining area, or trips taken are all sure to fail. Organ recitals must take precedent. So sit back and listen and resist the impulse to add your own encore!

Afghan Family: Success and Challenges

It is now eight years since my family has been involved with a specific Afghan family which has come as refugees to the USA. The long complicated story includes our late son David learning of the eldest female named Shamayel through Survivors of Torture, International. David provided this young woman a place to live, helped her register for school, and get her extended set of siblings all here to San Diego, etc. etc., etc.

It is a remarkable story of achievement. Shamayel learned enough English to attend and then graduate from junior college and get admitted to UCSD. She has one more year to get her degree. Her eldest brother works at Subway, drives Uber and Lyft and is a full-time student in junior college. The next, a female, works at McDonald’s, is a student in Continuing Ed. and just got her certification to be a child care provider (all of this while suffering post-traumatic stress syndrome from abuse while a refuge. The next young man helps Shamayel with family etc. and also works at a bakery and drives for Amazon. The next one just went on his own, works at a bakery and is also in pre-college classes. The younger sister will graduate from high school next month and the youngest was recently told to just skip the 7th grade and move to 8th grade and is a sought -after young soccer star. Shamayel has just received her USA citizenship and hopes next month to get her much-prized USA passport. On top of that she was named the top achiever in a major competition with Soroptimists and even went to Tokyo to receive her $25,000.00 award as the top winner of their Live Your Dream award

And I cannot tell all this wonderful news without acknowledging all my family and friends at Calvary Lutheran Church and other places who have been generous beyond words with all kinds of support including funds, furniture, automobiles etc.

Given all of the above it would seem there would be nothing but celebration and a big “let’s keep on doing it.” True - and there continue to be challenges.

America and Pakistan have lots of different ways of dealing with every-day life issues. For example: paying attention to time. We are still working on the American concept that days of the month often have strict time limits. Thus Shamayel has missed classes at school because she did not register on time. She has failed to get rentals because she applied too late. She has missed scholarship awards because she filed late (Just this morning I received a request to write a recommendation for a scholarship. Deadline for this is “ later today!”  After arriving late for doctor appointments et sim she is now also working hard to get that in America 1030 does not mean “any time after 11:00.”

We also have not solved the question, “What is your name? The name she uses for rent contracts is different from the one she uses as a student. I have no idea what name she will put on her American passport. I say her family name is Shamayel Ameri. Then I get a request for a reference and her name is Shamail Nikzad

She was almost denied the opportunity to go to Japan because the date of her birth as shown on her passport did not match her date of birth on her American green card. Of course this is partly explained by the fact that she left Pakistan in an emergency situation and brought no “official papers” with her. Also, when her sibs arrived here (also without papers as they were in “leave tonight and flee situation” the American official here gave them all an estimated year of birth and assigned them all a January 1 of that year as their official birth date.

Just yesterday I was frustrated with myself and others. I asked whether the younger sister who is a senior in high school had been granted admission to any university for next year.  I knew that she had applied at many of them. I was told, “Oh we just got the news that ALL of her college applications were denied because she had never taken and therefore never listed any SAT scores! How can that happen after 4 years in American high schools! And how could I not have asked her “Mansoora, how did you do on your PSAT and or SAT?”

The demands on Shamayel’s life are overwhelming: caring for 6 siblings, going to school, getting citizenship-and now another “cousin” family arrived from Afghanistan with no means of support and lots of health issues and they turn to Shamayel to assist her with all this. So I stress to Shamayel that for her own sense of control and priorities she really needs some regular things like a “To Do List” or a budget or some kind of filing system. To date I have gone 0 for 3 on these!

Yet do not let these take away the big lesson: America is still a land of opportunity. Migrants who come to us from places like Afghanistan work incredibly hard, faithfully, and honestly to make it on their own. Every single member of this family is determined to be a good citizen n of the USA and of the world and to pay back ten-fold and more all that has been invested in them.

Say It: "I love you and so does God."

Say it: “I love you. So Does God.”

One thing I have been absolutely sure of all my life is that my Mother loved me. She certainly demonstrated that day after day, year after year. I was number three out of the nine children that she bore. It is impossible to count the number of loads of laundry she did, all before the days of automatic washers or dryers. Each of us kids took our turn at having the measles, whooping cough, mumps, and red-eye. I grew up during the great depression and even dad’s salary of $60.00 a month was not always paid so she scrimped as she made us our daily portion of potatoes and gravy. And I will never forget her sound advice given to me when I was frustrated with our meager diet. She always said, “If you are hungry then jelly bread tastes good.” But three words I did not hear from her were “Melvin, I love you.”

Maybe there was something in our German heritage that frowned upon expressions of endearment. Maybe it had not been the custom in her childhood. I just know that it was not part of my growing-up memories to hear those words. So it is not surprising that when I was in my late thirties and our family was going through some stressful times that I first recall her saying to me “Melvin, I love you.” And it was wonderful to hear those words even if I had never doubted that truth.

Then ten years later we had concluded a difficult talk in which I revealed that I was resigning a significant position in The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod and was transferring to another Lutheran body that she said to me “Mel, I love you and so does God “.

I guess the fact that I remember that incident today, decades later, proves how important they were to me. And they have been helpful to me in passing on to others. I have learned the lesson that at the appropriate time I can assure another that I love them by saying those simple words “I love you.”

To add the expression “And so does God’ is sometimes a vitally important addition. I think one must guard against using that phrase too flippantly or too casually as if it were be just an everyday casual expression. But at the right moment and said with genuine conviction those four added words carry very special significance to the hearer.  I know I have been told by others, “No one has ever before told me that they loved me and so does God.”

One of the pledges of Christian baptism is that the baptized say that they will “Proclaim God’s love in Christ through word and deed”. One of the simplest and yet most profound way to do that is to simply and honestly say to another, “ I love you. And so does God.”

Walking Wet

The baptism of an infant at my church recently was especially meaningful to me. The baby had two siblings who had joined the baptismal group around the baptismal font. When it came time for the actual baptism the pastor asked the two little ones (about 3 and 5 years of age) to join in and to also sprinkle a bit of water on the head of their little sister as the pastor pronounced the words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of The Holy Spirit.” Then he took the infant in his arms and marched down the center aisle of the sanctuary. The beaming baby, still wet from the water seemed angelic  .It deeply touched me as I reflected that she was my sister in Christ. I tried to imagine the life that lay before her and the many joys and blessings she could bring to others. Her “Walking Wet” touched me deeply.

In my reverie I recalled another baptism now more that 50 Years ago. It was an Easter service at Concordia Lutheran Church in Hong Kong. We baptized 200 students from the school of which I was principal. This was very significant. We enrolled around 2000 students in that kdg-grade 12 school. New enrolees numbered only about 5% Christian. So to add 200 or more baptized students to our enrolment meant a great deal. I wondered how they would make a difference. How would their classmates know that these friends were now baptized? I urged them to “Walk Wet.” Just be what you are, a beloved child of God. Be honest in your schoolwork. Treat teachers and others with respect and kindness. Don’t cheat. Use no bad language Tell no dirty jokes. Tell others you love them. Remember to pray. Attend worship. Be pleased to tell others that you are baptized. Just “Walk Wet “

Now these many years after that event I find myself in a very different environment, a Retirement Community of some 900 residents. And I ask myself, ”How many of the people here know me? Of those who do know me how many know that I am a baptized Christian? How do I “Walk Wet?” What words have I spoken, what actions have I taken, what behaviors have I demonstrated? How empathetically have I listened? Of course, I realize I could do more things or say more words to “proclaim the love of God in Christ” but I am also grateful that in some small and big ways I am faithful to the baptismal call as day by day I try to simply to  “Walk Wet.”

Let Your Ears Do the Talking

I have been asked to share a brief reflection at my church’s Lenten supper next Wednesday. The topic is the charge given to the newly baptized to “Proclaim God’s love in Christ in word and deed.” When I saw that first word “PROCLAIM” I immediately realized that “proclaim” is not a welcome word to most people. It is not at all unusual to have people say that they are quite uncomfortable with making any public speech. . And an order with the word  “proclaim” is likely to result in an initial response ,“Not me! I am not a proclaimer!”

I am grateful that I learned long ago that sometimes our most powerful way to show God’s love is by initially not proclaiming anything. Rather it is to just listen. That is why I truly believe that often the best way to proclaim God’ s love is to” Let Your Ears Do the Talking”

The power (yes, the ministry) of attending, of hearing, of active listening is sometimes the very best way of showing both human and divine love.

I recently did a little private experiment here at the retirement community at which my wife Jane and I live. I decided to either begin or insert into a conversation something about myself. It could be some experience I have had, some sharing of a previous encounter, an opinion about some current event or recalling a feeling I have been having. Then I would see if the person I was with would in any way follow-up on what I said. In the last 10 times I have done that not once has the person really followed up on my lead. Instead the person(s) talked about their experience, their insight or thought. In one recent case both Jane and I tried at least 3 times to move the conversation to a piece of our life. In every case the other just went right back to their own train of thought!

I am sure that there are times when I too failed to be a good listener. I do, however, place a high value on the importance of listening. For some reason or other I recall an experience of some 40 years ago. I was on a plane to Omaha Nebraska. I had a speech to give and was going over my notes not paying much attention to the woman seated to my left. However, I could not fail but notice that she was upset. So I began with just a brief comment or “door-opener“ as to whether she was afraid of flying. With just this little opening she began to speak, at first reluctantly, and then as I just listened she let it all come out. She was worried, fearful, guilty, ashamed and more. She told me she was returning to the small town from which she had moved. She was returning there to see her father. She had to tell her father of her failed marriage and impending divorce. He would be upset-in fact-very upset because in addition to caring for his daughter he was the pastor -of a Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod congregation! I gave no advice, shared no comparable experience, and did not speak of my position. I just listened. By the time we reached our destination she had become composed. She asked if we could just have a brief prayer together just before we disembarked. I was grateful that I (at least on this one occasion Let My Ears Do the Talking.)

And it is helpful for me to recall that it is our Heavenly Parent who often proclaims God’s love by just listening to me and the millions of others who speak with God in prayer every day.

Growing Up Racist

On Dr. Martin Luther King Memorial weekend this year I led an Adult Class at my church on the topic of racism. It once again caused me to confront the racism with which I grew up. I think it was unconscious and reflected the attitudes of all my acquaintances around me. In some ways it was not vicious or overtly destructive but it was there and it was wrong.

Of course, I never went to school with a black person, never worshipped with one, never played with or against one or knew a black person by name until I was in high school.

An early memory is that we knew of one black family that lived about 5 miles away close to the small town of Weir. The word was out that if anyone from that family came to the local Walburg Mercantile Store they had to be carefully watched, as they were sure to shop lift if they weren’t monitored every minute. The mother of that family must have had a reason for her own actions toward us. I recall that as we sat in the back of a truck and drove by their home the mother had her children pull their pants down, turn their backs to us and expose their rear ends directly at us.

I also interacted a bit with a few black people when we visited at my Grandpa Kieschnick’s farm. He had several black families living on his property. Some of them had been slaves or the children of slaves. I remember Grandpa as demonstrating benign benevolence. They paid no rent. Grandpa helped them out with their medical costs and paid them cash for work done on the farm. I know that when it was dinnertime Grandma K always fed them a meal she herself prepared. It was good solid food; however it was not as choice as what we had at our table and the black people had to eat it at a table out on the porch, not with us.

All of this was in the context of very prevalent state and federal laws intended to preserve the superiority and purity of the white race. In 1930, for example, Alabama still had a law prohibiting white and black people to even play checkers or dominoes together. Another state law forbade blacks and whites to ride in the same boat or go fishing together. All railroads had to provide separate cars for black and for white people. All public restrooms were designated either “White” or “Colored”.  White baseball or other sports teams were not allowed to compete against black teams and no team could have blacks and whites on the same team.

I had never known of a black person who went to college or held a professional position like an attorney or medical doctor.

I had my eyes dramatically opened with an incident when I was a high school sophomore-in 1943. I was at worship at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Austin. A black serviceman who was a U.S. Air Force 1^st Lieutenant entered the church with his black wife. They took their seat in the middle of the church. Very quickly two ushers came to them and asked them to leave. When I saw this my inner voice screamed, “This is not right!”

Also during this time I worked at Wukash Brothers Café on the main drag next to the University of Texas. If any black person came to order a meal or even an ice cream cone they were asked to receive it “in the back-next to the alley”. This again offended me, especially since I was working with a black gentle man dishwasher who was always kind, faithful, hard working and nice to me, a silly teen-ager.

I am grateful that slowly I saw the errors of my ways and hopefully no longer practice racism. But I must confess that, as much s I hate it, there are still occasions where some of those old prejudices and misconceptions creep into some level of my consciousness. I ask God and my black brothers and sisters to forgive me. And I earnestly seek to now always be open to all people regardless of creed. color, or nationality and firmly and gratefully acknowledge that we are all equally created in the image of God.