Lesson from Johnstown

I've been reading David McCullough's book on the Johnstown Flood. It was one of the greatest natural disasters in America, and over two thousand people died when it struck in 1889. Until I read the book, I didn't realize that the flood was caused by God and the Presbyterians.

For God's part, God sent a lot of rain.

As for the Presbyterians, they were people like Andrew Carnegie, Andrew Mellon, and Henry Clay Frick - wealthy industrialists who made millions on steel and railroads. They built a hunting camp about fifteen miles uphill from Johnstown. When summer came, it was a great place to escape the stress of their mansions in Pittsburgh.

However they didn't pay attention to the quality of the dam that created their fishing lake. They ignored warnings that the dam wasn't safe. After God sent all the rain, and the dam burst, and the flood waters roared down the hill, those rich old Covenanters made token donations to the victims' relief fund. Then they said, "Maybe we should start summering in the Adirondacks. Or in Paris."

As David McCullough reminds us, "There is a danger in assuming that because people are in positions of responsibility they are necessarily behaving responsibility."

The Promise of Winter

One of my treasured books for this time of year is a book of winter reflections by Martin Marty. Commenting on black and white seasonal photos taken by his son, Dr. Marty believes winter is a promising time for spiritual reflection. As he notes,

Winter has its inevitable place in the human condition. Farmers know that in the rhythm of the year and the nature of the soil, there is a reason for fields to lie fallow for a season. So too we know that in the rhythm of the day and the nature of the soul, there are reasons for the pace of our thought and for our spiritual reflection to vary. (The Promise of Winter, p. 7)

The promise of winter, says Dr. Marty, is not an easy or inevitable spring. Rather the promise comes from God who speaks throughout the seasons. Sometimes the heavy snow slows us down, cancels all distractions, and causes us to be more careful with our lives. A good storm can also invite us to catch up with the inward movements of the soul that we've been too busy to notice.

On a snow day I pulled on my boots and took the camera outside. The digital camera that normally sees in color began to catch images in shades of black and white. That seems to be the invitation, not only of winter, but of the spiritual life. We can discover the places within us that have lost their luster, and we can reflect on the situations that beg for a fresh covering.

Meanwhile the snow still falls through no power of our own, and there's something purifying about it. The white blanket covers the grunge of an unkempt backyard. The lumps and dents in an uneven lawn are leveled off. Dull ordinary things suddenly look better than we expected. It's true that a snowfall can present a necessary burden to remove or blow away. But it can also create new forms of beauty.

What do we need most - beauty or burden - as we begin our late winter journey toward the cross?

Keep the faith, and drive carefully out there.

Dancing Fool

So a bunch of us went to Mississippi in October. We were there to help people recover after the hurricane. When we arrived at the volunteer camp, they gave my wife a power drill and they gave me a clipboard. That summarizes our abilities. While she went out to do construction, they sent me to talk to people.

One of the people that I visited was a man whose house was swamped in mud. Jack is a professional musician and he lost everything except his guitar, which he found floating on top of his refrigerator. Fourteen months later, he was still pretty upset about it. Who wouldn't be?

On our last night down there, as a sign of support, we dropped by the little place where he was playing. Within ten seconds, everybody knew who we were. Jack was up there rocking and rolling, and this lady in a red sequin shirt comes up to me. “Is it true you’re a preacher?” Yes, ma’am, I am.

She said, “My daddy was a preacher, and my son is a preacher.” Is that right, ma’am?

She said, “I’ve never danced with a preacher before.” Well, then, maybe we'd better dance.

I looked back at my group, kind of sheepishly. My wife whispered, “Keep your arms down.”

A story from a sermon

from last Sunday's sermon:

There’s this family in a well-to-do neighborhood. Every year Christmas gets out of hand. Oh, they go to church, and look respectable - - but when Christmas comes, they rip open their packages and snarl at one another. The two children bicker over their toys, complain about what they have. One year the mother says, “I’ve had it.” She gets them into the car, even has her husband pull blue jeans over his pajamas, and she drives them downtown to a homeless shelter.

“Come on, let’s go.” She leads them out of the car. They shuffle up to the door. She thinks that she can shake them up by forcing them to volunteer. They arrive just in time for the noon-time meal. People are getting in line to be served; she thinks this couldn’t be better. She leaves the rest of them by the door, and scurries up to ask the director for aprons. Alas, the shelter has too many volunteers that day, and as she turns around, she sees that the man who manages the food line has given cafeteria trays to her children and husband.

She goes to the man at the food line and says, “These three are with me.” He says, “Sorry about that, ma’am” -- and hands her a tray. So the four of them are in line for Christmas dinner, and her husband doesn’t know if she has lost her mind. She doesn’t know what to do; should they break out of line and go home, her impulsive lesson aborted?

Just then, immediately in front of them, there’s a woman in a dirty green coat. She turns around, sees the twelve year old son, and says, “Is this your first time here?” He nods and says, “Uh huh.” She smiles and says, “Don’t worry; it gets easier. If you want, you can sit with me.”

After Christmas dinner which was eaten in the presence of a woman named Emma, the family drove home in silence. Then the twelve year old spoke up, “Does God eat with Emma and those other people?” The parents looked at one another, and the mother said, “Why do you ask?” And he said, “If God eats with all of them, we should go back next Christmas.” She said, “Do you mean, to help out?” And he said, “No, I want to go back there to eat.”

She said later, “You know, I thought I took them down there to teach them a lesson, until all of us had our hearts enlarged.”

Black Friday

It's the day after Thanksgiving. A friend called at 9:00 this morning, wondering if we had been to the mall yet. No, that didn't occur to us.

The Mammon Emporium opened at 4 :00 AM. One place was offering laptop computers for $150 (small print: available only to the first 16 customers, most of whom spent the November night in line).

Meanwhile, news reports are surfacing of would-be consumers slugging it out for the best bargains. People are pushing and shoving in DeKalb, speaking harsh words in Decatur, and nearly freezing if they have camped in the parking lot in Dickson City.

Some describe this as the day on which the whole American economy turns. Perhaps we have a misdirected economy, if not a twisted view of what's important.

The Thanksgiving turkey is barely cold. So much for gratitude. We've downsized it to greed.

Welcome to the Blog

Hello everyone. I'm glad you found this blog, and I hope you return regularly!

This is an online journal of things seen, heard, and pondered. In my work and wanderings, I continue to see the grace of God at work in the world. This journal will mark such sightings, in the hope that all of us will sharpen our spiritual insight and grow in our gratitude to our Creator.

Here's the theme verse: "Yes, everything is for your sake, so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God." (2 Corinthians 4:15)