LEAVES OF GRASS

Back in high school we read short excerpts from Whitman—about the Spider, and the Astronomer, and Captain, O Captain. I have quoted Whitman in sermons throughout the years. I remember one summer when we camped in Indiana in September in a lonely State Park, seeing no one, but hearing gun shots, that I sat by the camp fire and read large swaths of Leaves, trying to put Walt in some theological or philosophical camp.

A few months ago I decided to make Leaves of Grass my bathroom reading and read straight through the 466 page edition I have. After each flush I had a little more understanding of Walt’s celebration of all things fecund and feculent.

I can report that theologically he is a pantheist: God is everything, and everything is God. Thus,eternal life is Nature’s immortal, ongoing life to which we contribute at our death.

Perhaps the one word to sum up Whitman’s perspective and feeling is Embrace. He embraced everything and everyone. He saw America/Democracy as the coming together of the great differences in a divine Unity.

Leaves of Grass is about the journey of the soul toward communion with God—which means communion with All. His sensuous writing of the body and all things material is an affirmation of the world ‘as is.’ (Is this the inspiration for Galway Kinnell’s little poem that has the sentence: “Whatever what is is is what I want.”?) For Whitman soul and body are inseparable, and are part of the Big Soul.

Written before, during, and after the Civil War, Leaves seems in part to be Doctor Walt’s prescription for healing the brokenness of this land. As a nurse during the war, Whitman personally placed his healing hands on wounded and dying soldiers, sharing their grief and acting as companion on their journey through bloody hell. Whitman’s poetry is also a vision of healing and wholeness that Democracy offers as it accepts the great diversity of humankind.

The Poet is always on the road, and invites us to join his journey toward acceptance and celebration of Life. There is something deeply spiritual about this book. The radical embrace of grace pervades.

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poem -- last day in June

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LAST DAY OF JUNE

I sleep late, get up

and fix a cup of coffee—

dark roast French we bought

at Trader Joe’s.

Pedro will not paint the bathroom

ceiling today as expected, my wife tells me.

It will be in the 90s again today.

Ninety is normal now.

Cup of coffee in one hand,

book of poetry in the other,

I sit down to read.

It’s a good day to read poems

about snow.

I turn to “The Snowstorm” by

                        Ralph Waldo Emerson.

            …the whited air

            …the frolic architecture of the snow

Then I turn to “Snow-Flakes” by

                        Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

            …Silent, and soft, and slow

               Descends the snow

            …The troubled sky reveals

               The grief it feels.

Then to a contemporary—Joseph Stroud,

who divides his time between Santa Cruz

and a cabin in the Sierra Nevadas.

His poem is called “Manna.”

                                    …whatever

     blessing each flake of snow is the hint of, I am

     grateful…

                        …I hold out my arms,

     palms up, I know it is impossible to hold

     for long what we love of the world…

Another searing day in Birmingham,

but my Southern soul is cool and bluesy,

prepared to face the fey day.

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CARRY ME HOME

I just finished three books: Carry Me Home, by Diane McWhorter; Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman; Saved in Hope, by Pope Benedict XVI.

McWhorter’s book (570 pages of text) moved me and inspired me. A native of Birmingham, she tells the story of the Civil Rights Movement, focusing on what happened in Birmingham in 1963, but also putting that year in the context of the earlier Movement in Alabama. This big book read like a novel to me. Even though I knew the story in its general outline, I couldn’t wait to see what came next because McWhorter tells it in such detail, having interviewed dozens of people who were there or knew those involved, as well as studying FBI reports, police memoranda, and many other sources. She seems to have overheard every conversation behind the scenes that maneuvered the events on both sides of that intense struggle. What also makes her story intriguing is that some of the characters involved were related to her. Her own father’s role is a mystery she hunts down with passion.

Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth (after whom the airport in B’ham is named) became a new hero for me as I learned more about his courageous and tenacious part in this story. The role of Communists in the Civil Rights Movement in Birmingham also intrigued me (as it did Herbert Hoover).

Politics and religion—the two most emotional and controversial areas of life--come together in this book. Bull Connor, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, George Wallace, and many other cast members play out this drama with such meanness and faith and pragmatism and idealism that the story of human dignity and freedom takes on flesh and bone, as well as compassion and wildness.

I reflected on how the sermons and writings of Martin Luther King have guided me through my journey of faith; and how little I have done to actually stand up for the rights of others, even though I have talked and preached about it for years. The only ‘march’ I was ever involved in was in Fort Wayne—a NARAL rally—at which I was asked to speak for the Pro Choice movement. 

When Martin Luther King marched down the street in front of the Baptist Church I grew up in, my parents would not allow me to go and watch, because they were afraid violence might break out. I did participate once in a demonstration to end the Iraq War, a demonstration that took place in downtown Dayton. But all in all I’ve been a slacker compared to the brave Blacks in Birmingham.

Now that I live here in B’ham I feel more connected to the history of those courageous men, women and children (the Children’s March was a determining factor in the 1963 struggle). I now walk down the streets where demonstrations took place, and drive by places where the KKK met to plan bombings, and I feel the spirits of those who fought for and against human dignity.

I thank God for this sacred place where I now live: ‘sacred’ because it is here that Goodness defeated Evil through the agency of faithful ministers and ordinary people.

(next blog will be about Leaves of Grass)

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Swans

I took this photo at Montreat, North Carolina on the grounds of the Montreat Conference Center. There is a certain symmetry in the reflection in the lake. The swans are 'necking'? When one of them sings, it's over.

Opinions

I think Obama is wrong about Afganistan. This ‘war’ is like Vietnam in that it is unwinnable and is draining our resources at home. We could spend that two billion dollars a day on teachers and Medicare and infrastructure, etc. The Taliban will be there no matter how much we spend and how many soldiers we keep there. Let it go. Let it go!

The economic problems we have in the U.S. and that Greece faces and Ireland, etc, etc, are the result of First World Countries’ citizens expectation of an affluent life style as a right. We think we should all have big TVs and gas-guzzling vehicles and all the newest electronic gadgets, and our kids should have anything they want—and we spend more than we take in, and wonder why there isn’t enough money to go ‘round. And we expect our government to solve every problem we have while lowering our taxes. We are delusional. When I was growing up in the Baptist church the preachers preached against ‘materialism.’ Well, that’s the sin that has gotten us in this situation. We now call it consumerism. And we are being consumed by our consumption. With our focus on material comfort and entertainment and our lack of sharing with the needy (both individually and systemically), we are digging our own economic graves. We have to get real. Material stuff is smothering us, and dissolving our values. It’s enough to make Jesus puke.

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IKEA, etc

On Thursday Pat and I drove to Atlanta, first to IKEA, then to Trader Joe’s. At IKEA we picked out book cases and a reading chair for our new house. They will be shipped to the construction company warehouse. We also chose handles and knobs for the kitchen and bathroom cabinets. The book cases were so heavy (boxed up) that I had to have help getting them onto the cart. Then, I pushed and pushed and couldn’t get the cart to move until a store employee helped me get it started. But the front wheels wouldn’t stay straight. Finally Pat and I turned the cart backwards and pulled from the front to get it to move. Veins must have been bulging from my head and neck as I tugged. For the first time I found a fault with IKEA. We’ve been to the Atlanta store before, and the one just north of Cincinnati, and we’ve had very good experiences shopping with them. But I felt abandoned with this heavy load. A woman customer tried to help us move the damn cart, but with no success. Finally we found an employee to help us get to the checkout line, after which Pat and I tugged and tugged to get the thing to the shipping counter. The thin woman helping us there thought she could push the cart into her lane after we paid, but found out that she couldn’t budge it, and said, to us, “I’ll get some guy to come and get this.” My shirt was wet from sweating, and I was put out. I don’t like to drive in Atlanta; too much traffic to deal with. But I finally relaxed a little and was fascinated by the variety of architectural styles shown off in the many tall buildings. We went to Trader Joe’s on Peach Tree and enjoyed the spacious store at that location. (We had been to the other two in Atlanta before.) I noticed that Trader Joe’s pleasantness is partly the good-natured employees, but also the colorful and inviting packaging of every food and beverage item. Somebody in that organization has a knack for designing pictures and words and images that make you smile and feel good about the products. Trader Joe’s is a happy place that sells good food. On the way home we stopped at a Cracker Barrel and had breakfast. Pat had her usual biskits* and gravy and grits (with sugar on them—shhh, don’t tell the Southerners); and I had French toast and eggs and bacon. I was dead tired when we got home at 11 p.m.  

Norfolk, VA. 

We had some friends who moved to Virginia many years ago. We went to visit, and they wanted to take us to Norfolk. Barbara said it was because Steve liked (A Baptist minister) like to say the word. As you may know, it is correctly pronounced as Norfuck. Ever since then I have wondered about Baptists in Virginia, especially those who live in Norfuck.

*I’ve decided to spell some words incorrectly just because it’s interesting. I was recently reading letters written by Hemingway and discovered that he intentionally spelled many words according to his idiosyncratic wishes. So, I thought, if that Ernest can do, so can this Ernest. (Ernest is my first name.)

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The Liberal Way of Jesus

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Is Jesus the Only Way?

Jesus said he was the only Way

to come to the Father.

(Not GO TO the Father.)

I believe Jesus IS the Way,

but not in the same way

that some Christians believe.

In fact, it’s my opinion that

the way some Christians

talk about Jesus being the way

actually gets in the way

of following Jesus.

The way some Christians make Jesus exclusive

is way, way, far away from

the way Jesus lived and taught.

His whole ministry was an inclusive one.

The way he lived, the way he welcomed

all kinds of people,

weighs heavily upon my understanding

of the Truth and the Life he embodies.

We should do away with the narrow

interpretation of John 14.6.

Like everywhere else in John’s gospel,

Jesus was taken literally and had to

correct his listeners.

Thomas said, “How can we know the way?”

Thomas took him literally, as if Jesus was

speaking of an actual road on the highway

or a path through the desert—something

that can be placed on a map.

Jesus said, “No, Thomas, you misunderstand.

I AM the Way.”

By “I am” Jesus didn’t mean a doctrine

or a theology or a belief.

He meant ‘a way of life’ that Jesus

himself embodied.

It is the Way of Inclusion.

Earlier in John’s gospel

Jesus said that the shepherd had

‘other sheep’; that is,

God is more inclusive than you think.

And there is no way that Jesus is going

to lose even one of his sheep.

The Way to ‘come to’ God

is the inclusive love of Jesus.

It is the welcoming Way.

It is not the way of doctrine

or the way of a belief system.

It is the way of love.

The way to interpret John 14.6

is through the lens of the life of Jesus.

The untouchables and outcasts that

others excluded from the table,

Jesus included.

That’s the Way.

That is the Way to communion with God.

That is the Truth about God.

That is the Life that comes from joining

God’s wild mercy.

Are conservative, exclusive Christians

right about John 14.6?

No way!

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A Poem

SONNET ATTEMPT

For some time I’ve had a goal—

To try my hand at writing a sonnet.

The stress of this striving has taken its toll,

But I’ve finally gotten on it.

I wasn’t sure I could work the rhymes;

That doesn’t come naturally to me.

I’ve started and stopped many a time

With pedantic feet as you can see.

An architect once said Form should follow Function.

And I know it’s not necessary to have a rhyming scheme.

But being a Presbyterian, who has to have unction,

I’m trying to be on Shakespeare’s team.

Well, I’ve almost reached my goal of composing a sonnet.

Look! Here I go—I’ve done it! I’ve done it!

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