The man appeals to the worst instincts
but a woman called him out on it, and,
guess what, another woman said the

woman who called out the man is
appealing to the worst instincts. And
so goes the political show…and soon

it, very well, may be gone: gone the
progress for the LGBT community,
gone the progress of minorities gain-

ed after hundreds of years of oppress-
ion, gone the progress for women
gained after decades and decades of

struggle, gone the progress of im-
migrants who came for family to the
land flowing with milk and honey but

who came illegally because they didn’t
have the time and money to get in the
discriminatively, prohibitively legal

way, gone the middle class, the bed-
rock of a viable, economic system,
gone the poor into death and oblivion,

gone this group and that group and
your group and then only the one
percent of one percent will be left

and then they, too, will disappear
because there will be nobody to
purchase the stuff that made them

rich and when all are gone, the
beleaguered earth will sprout a
beautiful, new, green leaf.

We three watched the geyser
shooting out of the broken
sprinkle head. “There’s an
accidental fountain.” I in-

troduced myself to the couple
approximately my age, saying,
“You are from Minnesota; last
year, another couple from

Minnesota wintering here told
me that you (looking at the man)
are a football legend there.”
“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Michigan.” Then making a
football connection, “Actually,
the home town of a quarterback
for a professional football

team.” “Yes, a fine Christ-
ian man. I’m active in the
Fellowship of Christian Athletes
and he is very involved. Yes, a

fine, young Christian.” The
hairs on my neck stood. The
legend asked me in what denom-
ination I was a minister.

“Three — the Reformed Church
in America, then the Presbyterian
Church (USA) and I retired from
the United Church of Christ.” He

nodded affirmatively at the
mention of the first one and
just stared at me as I named
the second one and had perhaps

a bit of a frown at the last
one. Even though I am an elderly,
white man, I just knew in that
moment that when the time came,

he would turn me in to the
authorities.

“Pull the condo off the market,”
she said, “ Don’t leave. We’re

like family here.” Really? Family?
Perhaps “like” is the operative

word there. We are like family;
we’re not family, blood family.

Maybe better than blood; we
don’t get in each other’s hair as

much. We’re not irked as much.
We don’t see so much unfavorable

about ourselves in others as we do
with family — the weak chin, the

gaping mouth, the dull stare, the
propensity to make fun of others

and the inability to take a joke
about one’s self. “Lord, I’m not

like that, am I,” he asks him-
self with a shutter. Well, maybe

all those things are there, but
we don’t get involved enough to

see them. We are like family,
but thankfully not so much,

“thankfully” being the operative
word here.

One of the worst places for sharing germs: Sunday worship.
Hypothetical: You watch a volunteer server at coffee hour pick the
donuts out of the box with his bare hands and place them
on the serving platter.
Would you then eat one of the donuts? No?
Why, then, would you shake that person’s hand?
Why would you pass the peace at church by shaking hands?
Those people coughed into their right hand before
you shook it.
Those people picked their nose with their right
hand before you shook it.
Those people picked a piece of breakfast bacon out of
their teeth with their right hand before
you shook it.
Those people went to the bathroom and didn’t
wash their hands before worship.
Those people didn’t get a flu shot.
Why are you just staring in disgust at the
fingered donuts on the serving platter?
Why don’t we all just do fist bumps
and eat donuts no one else has touched?
Try giving a fist bump during the
passing of the peace.
People will look at you as if you
think they just picked up a donut
and put it back on the platter,
licked their fingers and then
offered you their hand and maybe
they will during coffee
hour following worship.
Then what will you do? Pray?

The man read three different meditations written by three different people at three different times but arriving on his computer at approximately the same time.

One dealt with God as the beginning and the end and that all time was within the goodness of that providence.

The second dealt with the importance of seizing the moment — the opportune
time to reflect God’s gracious, eternal time.

The third dealt with the past, the present, the future all being within the goodness of now.

The man then walked is dog and took out the garbage. At the dumpster, his neighbor, who was dropping off his garbage, petted the man’s dog and told the man that he was getting along pretty well after having to put down his dog and that he’s thinking about getting another dog from the pound but he wants to be sure he would love the next dog as much as the last. He said he is trying to seize the moment, live in the moment and appreciate life as it comes, to appreciate things for themselves now and not just miss them so much when they are gone.

The man said, “Have a good day,” and then met another neighbor who was walking his dog. The dogs did as dogs do and the neighbor said, rhetorically, “Wouldn’t it be nice to live life in the now like our dogs?”

The maintenance manager, who joined the two men and their dogs, chimed in and
said he saw a new movie about dogs and how each dog one gets, no matter how different they seem from each other, is a reincarnation of the previous dog.

Then he said that all he knew was that his dogs were all different and that the only thing they had in common what that they were all really stupid. The three had a good laugh. Then the manager said, “Well, it is now time for me to get to work.”

The men parted company, the man’s dog did his business, the man picked up the poop in a poop bag and deposited it in the dumpster. The dog looked at the man as if to say, “Can we go home now? It’s time for me to eat.”

In one split second, one nano-second
his fear and apprehension left. He
simply had read the words Alpha and

Omega. How long would it last? How
long does kairos last, that which has
no beginning and end, just the eternity

of the moment? Now, given chronos, into
which he just emerged, in one split
second, one nano-second, some serenity

was already fading away. And so it is —
the give and take, the harmonizing,
unifying, the heavenly, devilish play

between kairos and chronos, between
Alpha and Omega, between past, future
and, of course, all of it here right

now as Godric asked, “Am I daft, or
is it true there’s no such thing as
hours past and other hours still to

pass, but all of them instead are all at
once and never gone? Is there no time
lost that ever was? Is there no time yet

to come that’s not here now?”* He looked
up from the pad of paper and putting the
pen down wondered where the time had gone.

*from Godric by Frederick Buechner

It is dark inside the body;
there is no light beneath
the skin, but it doesn’t
stop anything from working
properly. I certainly could-
n’t work in the dark; I
would have to have lots of
light to see what I was
doing but apparently (which
means something akin to
seeing — “Middle English,
from Anglo-French apparant,
from Latin apparent-, apparens,
present participle of apparēre
to appear. First Known Use:
14th century.” I use it because
I have to use images of
illumination to explain
what can’t be seen — like
God, for instance) in God
there is no darkness at all.
So, I’m thinking to myself,
when scripture and the creed
use that cryptic imagery of
Jesus descending into hell,
he could see everything and
bring light to those in
darkness. Nice metaphor.

Breaking news, breaking news, 
break-
	ing news;
there are those 
	who think the news delivered 
on stations 
owned by corporations
is bro-
		ken;
not so with  
news ars publica, 
where the news is
served up yolk unbroke 
like a good egg served 
sunny side up, 
over easy 
or hard boiled -- never 
break-
	ing, 
never bro-
	ken 
and never a
yolk 
all 
	over 
		the place 
and running 
down 
your 
face.

I read a poem by an Anglo, Black, Creole
Native American, bi-sexual woman who lived
through the turn of the nineteenth century
into the twentieth — for such a woman,
a time more treacherous than sublime —
she was so very much ahead
of her time.

A poet, essayist, novelist, journalist,
intellectual, political activist
addressing issues of all those
folks running through her blood-line,
she was so very much ahead
of her time.

War, racism, prejudice, women’s
rights, sexuality — all subjects
to be addressed, discussed, deplored,
championed, nothing ignored —
she was so very much ahead
of her time.

So sad to say, if she had lived in this
twenty-first century political clime,
she still would be very much ahead
of her time.

Spirit shoots down
through the rough-hewn
wood so dull
all the way
to the place of the skull
and leaps upward
into and through
the cross beam
reaching the farthest
stretches of lands
embracing all in
Jesus’ wounded hands
then shooting
up into the embrace
of Eternal Grace
and through
that twisted, tortured
God-forsaken form
violence is forever shorn
and God’s Realm of mercy,
peace and justice
is born.