Infectious authenticity

Coffee Pot Rock, Sedona, Arizona

With my first day of the year just under wraps, a nagging thought pushed me toward my computer. A voice in my head told me: You will do well if you plan something for the year to come. Knowing myself, it sounded like I needed to take charge of my attitudes, and turn them into a blessing.

         Every new year on January 1, most everyone creates a list of promises to work on. Admittedly, my promises are created to easily transform into feelings of guilt when the good intentions falter. My guilt, and not the fulfillment of promises, has an easier start and finish in my everydayness. So, January quickly turns into February, and so on, with acting on promises turns rusty.

         An experience from a few years ago come to mind.

         We had a dear friend who lived in Sedona, Arizona. She invited us frequently to enjoy “God’s country,” as she called it. Mary Schnack passed away in February last year, but apart from professional interests and collaborations, what remains in our memories are many a moment we spent trekking the red-rock trails of Sedona's God’s country.

         Mary lived just under the Coffee Pot Rock landmark, and a short distance from St. John Vianney Church. It was a chance visit, which provided a reflection as I observed an after Christmas service.

         What’s vivid in my memory is the sound of a nearly empty church, its silence broken by hard-hitting steps of a minister walking from the back of the church nave toward the altar. The sound meant he knew his destination.

         Soon my eyes were drawn to the space associated with the language of the steps, revealing a well-worn-out cowboy boots with a hint of jeans showing slightly below his vestments.

         It was not as much what I saw, but what a short, bearded man in his forties shared in his equally short homily. Later, I learned that many a Sedonian refers to him as J-C, and his presence is felt outside the walls of the church. Stories abound making him a fixture in the local lore.

         A memory of what I heard that morning jumped at me on this New Year’s morning. Father J-C told a story about a good-for-nothing seminary mate of his, who phoned him wondering if J-C lives by what he preaches.

         All of a sudden I was confronted by a lot of stuff, the preacher told the congregation.  

         “What pillow do you have under your head? It’s soft, isn’t it? And what’s your duvet like? Warm, right?”

         Whatever else was said next it was set against the importance of being rather than having, all seasoned with personal honesty.

         My nagging thought of this morning is this: Make yourself useful in the lives of those who will cross onto your path in 2013.

         Instead of waiting for someone else to be love I am inviting myself to make the world better by getting out of my shell in order to become more responsive to the disenfranchised and the needy.

         That’s a challenge I am throwing at myself for 2013.

         And if a wish is in order to all who are pushing the borders with me, may your authenticity become infectious!

Celebrating the Gift that keeps on giving

Have you ever met an angel? 
         My grandmother Janina told me a story of an encounter that made me believe in miracles. Now, decades later, stories of old are being turned into my own encounters with good people, many a modern-day angel.

         Grandma’s stories about hospitality were best. Going back in memory, we, as kids, would listen to her vividly describing events that took us back to her own childhood. In her descriptions the small incidents from the “grown-up” world would grow sky-high in the world of children. Sitting at my bedside she would speak about things and happenings that are all too often missing from our fast-paced life of today. With our child-like imagination we could travel into a world where kindness was ever present and it wasn’t difficult to be happy.

         It was wintertime in a small Polish town of Radomsko. Her sister, Maria Stelak*, lived with three children and for them Christmas meant to be celebrated in a traditional Polish fashion: a table full with cuisine typical for the occasion, well festively decorated, and with an abundance of cakes, freshly baked with blue-black poppy seeds, all laced with laughter and wonder.

         On Christmas eve the table was traditionally decorated, with one empty place left for an uninvited guest, a wandering stranger. Year after year Aunt Maria would play being a hostess to someone at this empty table setting ...

         The house was off the beaten tract, right at the edge of a forest. This particular year, instead of guests there was an abundance of snow. The children had their noses glued to frost-covered window glass, waiting for the guests to arrive in the horse-drawn carriages. But, no-one was in sight.

         The evening games were disturbed by a gentle knock on the door. “They are here!” children shouted. When the door opened, the cold weather revealed a stranger. He looked like a beggar.

         Grandma recalled that the stranger was a Jew, his beard white with frost. Under his arm a bundle. His clothes were torn and dirty. A traveler and a stranger, he was least expected on that very night.

         His frozen feet were soon treated to a tin bucket of warm water. Then he ate, like he never saw food before. Soon his face revealed gratitude, which can only adorn a content traveler. He wiped his face and beard off the bread crumps, stood up, bowed, and walked toward the door. In an instant he was gone.

         Hearing the door close, Maria shouted to bid him come back. “We must give him food to take away.”

         “They went outside,” grandma Janina continued. “There was no-one in-sight. Not even footprints in a freshly fallen snow.”

         It all sounded so real. Did she really experience such an awesome encounter?  Later she would tell stories of her other encounters with miracles.

         I keep asking myself, who was the stranger on that Christmas eve in Radomsko? No answer comes, but I am convinced that angels visit good homes.**

         Generosity – a gift that keeps on giving. Christmas is a celebration of the Gift.

         To all my readers - Merry Christmas and a peaceful new year, safe and full of wonder!

        

*Her son, Jerzy Stelak, pseudonym “Kruk,” was a cousin, and a contemporary of my mother, Alina. He was a WWII partisan, often pictured on his horse, and with a group of comrades roaming the central Poland countryside, creating resistance attacks against the German army.

**A Bible text comes to mind: You welcomed me as if I were an angel of God, as if I were Christ Jesus himself. [Gal 4:14 NIV]

A no-nonsense phone call

This is my mom, Alina. “I didn’t realize that my son will be teaching me a lesson today. 
Thank you,” she said.

Family conversations are often hidden from a public view. However, some are worth sharing. This one was special as every one is when I call and talk with my mom, Alina.

But first …

         We learn – if we care to admit it – all the time. The positions we once held change. Views that were once local are becoming global, and micro migrates into macro or vice versa. As long as we continue to recognize that nothing stays the same in an evolving world and culture, as progress requires change, by sitting still we will be left at the station, while the train of life speeds ahead.

         For some of us, the issue persists in how we are managing change and whether we recognize that on a personal and professional level. Our egos may be a major handicap in the midst of the life’s journey.

         Nodding in a direction of honesty, I must admit to occasionally having made a few silent or audible demands in order to be listened to, all based on a particular position I held. 

         I know someone who uses a lot of religious words, as if showcasing his deep spirituality, all in order to protect his position of power.

         But times are gone when a demand to be listened to evolved into an argument – it’s the church speaking, you better obey! The Millennial Generation buys stuff like that, right? It doesn’t cut with me either. I learned.

Now, a phone call

         I love my mother. Alina is 85. Over the last two-three decades our contact has been mostly by phone. An occasional visit gave both of us more terrain to cover in a direct conversation, to spar on a topic or two, and doing it one-on-one. From time to time I would get my mother’s black-and-white convictions, served on a platter of “here I stand and shall not move.” Obviously, I often reciprocated.

         So, a few days ago we talked over the phone. Referring to an issue that arose between her and someone who didn’t quite do what she wanted done nor agree with her, she remarked that she wished people listened to her more.

         “I tell them that I am older. I am a senior and I should be listened to.”

         As I said, she is 85. Hearing her argument I ventured out with a comment I could not refuse to express. “Mom, what sort of argument is this? Just because you are older does not mean that people will accept what you are insisting on if you are talking nonsense,” I said. "And believe me, you do just that at times."

         “Give me a better argument," I continued. "Give me something more than will relate to the issue. Most people already know that you have your years, and I guess they will respect you a priori for the worth of your eight plus decades of knowledge, experience and wisdom.”

         Then, I added that there must be something more substantial for your interlocutor to chew on, a new argument perhaps, rather than something they already see or know. “It doesn’t move them,” I said.

         A few seconds of silence ensued. Then, in an up-beat tone, she responded, “You know what, you are right. I talk nonsense every so often, don’t I? Your dad tells me that I talk to much, anyway.”

         “I didn’t realize that my son will be teaching me a lesson today. Thank you,” she added.

         What followed were the appreciated expressions that only a loving mom could bestow. "I wish you could talk with me more often," she concluded.

We learn, don’t we?

         It was teaching moment for both of us. This time an honest expression of frankness, shared in a loving way hit the target. It was a conversation that actually ignited a reflection of my own. By admitting her flawed reasoning, she was teaching me that age means little for lessons are to be learned.

         I have a son. And I am 64.

         As when he was 12 and blurted out that my shouting at him did not bring about respect in his eyes, there will be more lessons to learn from him. Actually, I am already receiving a few every so often. Even though I may not readily admit to it.   

         Besides, I could talk less, and listen more.

Absent, aloof or engaged? After watching "Seventh-Gay Adventists"

In a tsunami of details and generalities, one has a tendency of setting a few thoughts aside for a moment when we can take a serious pause for reflection. Such was an experience from a few weeks ago.

         Together with Grazyna, we watched a must-see documentary film about the crossroads between faith and sexual identity. Frankly, I didn’t go to see Seventh-Gay Adventists: A Film About Faith on the Margins (SGA) because I was seeking answers, nor because I craved a confirmation of something I already knew. Having a first hand knowledge where my church stands on this “topic of the day,” I went to see it to be a part of a conversation, and naturally, to hear stories.

         I also went to see Seventh-Gay Adventists to engage with the story that lies beyond the cinema.

         Aren’t the best films those that tell stories, especially when they are shot well, directed masterly, and acted convincingly? In SGA you don’t need actors. You are invited into the lives of real people, sharing their experiences about who they are, as they love and believe. You watch ordinary people who have ups and downs like you and me, except that they are living ostracized, left outside the church’s predictable activities.

         In the film you also meet some family members, church goers, respected church leaders and pastors, many going through a transformative journey in how they relate, embrace, and opt for the side of grace. The film’s witness is that Christian belief needn’t to be compromised when you hug your loved one who is gay, perhaps a daughter, a son, a sibling, a grandchild, or close friend.

         The film provides three stories. In effect, what you experience is several more stories, with the main one being a story of our church. The film is important because it deals with the reality of a community that is, like it or not, a part and reflection of society at large. One can give it a church-driven significance and how life is impacted by contemporary culture, but also one recognizes they are people who live in our neighborhoods, and see them as brothers and sisters and not simply being a topic of the day.

         In Seventh-Gay Adventists we meet three couples. Their life experiences unfold in a world many Christians are aware of, yet all too often conscientiously avoid meaningful, civil discourse about it, understand it, or engage with it. A typical conservative Christian approach I was born into taught me to avoid that which was seemingly not a part of my own milieu – whether based on doctrinal beliefs, on one’s cultural or educational background, or shrouded in one’s tradition and family mesh.

         Thoughts abound. How to deal with difficult issues that represent ever-present diversity? Should they be avoided or left for someone else to deal with it?

         The film provides an unfolding experience of believers who, as Prof. Fritz Guy put it, “have to deal with two incurable conditions—you’re Adventist, and you’re gay. And it’s awfully hard to stop being either one of those things.” It also provides a snapshot of what is so often covered by silence.

         The film’s producers, Daneen Akers and Stephen Eyer, offered a spotlight on grace, and did so in a generous, open and reflective manner. They opted for staying away from advocacy. What they offered was a candid probe into a reality of my faith community that cannot be dismissed. What they were challenging – no matter on what side of the debate you are – is to do more listening rather than offering shotgun lectures.

         Partly because of such attitudes, many gay people choose to be left alone. Someone I know well said, “I’m a private person because I treat my sexuality matter-of-factly.” The only time he feels uncomfortable about his sexual orientation, he told me, is when he goes hiking into the mountains “where there are people with no teeth and shotguns.”

         The film was made for everyone. While the answers and change of attitudes are still to come, we do best to seek and find them together, reserving to God what we cannot comprehend this side of heaven. Thus, the film is an invitation to grow in understanding and drawn closer to each other; to live-out a life of grace, compassion, and acceptance - yes, acceptance - no matter what your own position regarding homosexuality may be, and doing it in a mature and transparent way.

         Being silent about the reality of gay orientation is not a solution. Being selective in what we say about contemporary topics in society is what heartburn is made of. Our gay brothers and sisters will not disappear if we remain mum or choose to offer righteous comments about their predicament. We must not forget that we are dealing with people, not concepts, or Bible proof texts. What is apparent here is a reminder of treating all people with respect and with deserved dignity.

         A private screening of the documentary attracted a full house of more than 200, among whom one could recognize a number of top world church leaders and colleagues. A short exchange with pastors from my Sligo Church congregation in Takoma Park, Maryland, offered a poignant moment. They turned up for the showing nearly in full force. In jest, I remarked that it’s OK to attend the showing since our spiritual leaders are also present. One of them replied, that this time it was the pastors who followed the members.

         The showing at the Landmark Bethesda Row Theatre in Bethesda, Maryland, included a bonus of meeting one of the film’s protagonists, Sherri Babcock, and her parents, for a post-showing Q & A section.

         George Babcock, whose name is well etched in the world of Adventist education, shared his experience with Sherri’s coming out. His and Sherri’s mother’s initial reaction to the newly discovered reality was not much different from other such discoveries. What still resonates in my memory is part of his story from a couple of decades ago when two prominent church leaders, upon learning that Babcock’s daughter is a lesbian, asked him to disown her. Through sharing, he took us into a world of anguish and confusion as to whether the same God is being worshipped.

         The film itself does not lobby on behalf of Adventist civil disobedience. It leaves it up to the viewer to reflect on his or her own attitude toward believers who are looking for a place in the church.

         They may not call themselves Seventh-Gay Adventists, but they live among us. They also wish to experience their fellow believers as purveyors of graceful Christianity and messengers of respect.