“How can I do that? My hands are full with the lines of the net I just cast, Andrew. Haul it in yourself.”
“Must I do everything?”
“No. Just haul your own net in.”
Sigh. “Just give me one hand, Simon. This one’s heavy. First mine, then yours.”
Sigh. “All right then… Got my lines together. Here’s my hand. Give the call to pull.”
“Pull! Now pull again! OK, move your hand along; I’ve got it steady… PULL!”
“Well, you weren’t kidding. That’s a heavy net.”
“Thanks, Simon. Let’s do yours.”
“All right. Oh, look.”
“Look where?”
“Behind you, Andrew. There’s that Jesus coming back.”
“Did he leave?”
“I thought he did. He went down the Jordan, where that fellow John’s been preaching. I didn’t think that he’d be back.”
“He’s always been a funny one. Half a foot on earth and half in heaven.”
“Yeah. But here he comes.”
“It’ll be good to see him.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, here’s my hand. Let’s get your net hauled in, my brother.”
“Maybe Jesus will be impressed how good we are at catching fish.”
A dialogue based on Matthew 4:12-23, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany.
The image is The Calling of Saint Peter and Saint Andrew (Vocation de Saint Pierre et Saint André) by James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.56_PS1.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195832.
2019 began in modified delight. Both Brendan and Rebekah had been with me for Christmas in Hawai’i, but Brendan flew back to Boston and the Starbucks counter on December 29. Bekah, on a student’s holiday schedule, stayed until January 14 before flying back to cat and classes at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. I wish my son had been able to stay longer, but it was a delightful way to begin the year. Bekah and I were able to sing together at Church of the Holy Cross and also for Pu’ula Church’s ‘Aha Mele.
I welcomed a number of visitors this year, some as special guests of the church and others as friends (and one or two as both). They included David Vasquez-Levy, President of the Pacific School of Religion; my seminary classmate John Madsen-Bibeau; my Uncle John and Aunt Lana Simonds; Tracy Barnowe of the Hawai’i Conference staff; Connecticut Conference Minister Kent Siladi; former Silver Lake Conference Center A-Team Coordinator Jesse Huhn; friend and colleague Liz Miller with her spouse Beth Scanlon; Hawai’i Conference Minister candidate David Popham (he preached at Holy Cross as Conference Minister toward the year’s end); and dear college friends Polly Goldman and Bruce Feist.
I did some traveling, too. It was a General Synod year, and the editors at United Church News asked me to join the news team for the denomination’s national gathering again. I wrote stories and took photos for both the national coverage and the Hawai’i Conference. Or to put it another way: I wrote a thing.
Synod is also a UCC family reunion, so I got to see lots of friends and even family. Rebekah attended as a delegate for UCC Disabilities Ministries and led a workshop with proud poppa in attendance. It became a story, of course, that father and daughter met in Milwaukee, halfway between their homes.
With Synod over, I took a week to visit the East Coast, which wasn’t enough time. I shuttled from Brendan’s home in Boston to my brother Christopher’s in New Haven to Paul Bryant-Smith’s in Norwalk to Rebekah’s apartment in New York. Paul and I enjoyed playing a Boys in Hats concert in Danbury, including some participation from Bekah and with Brendan at the camera.
That was my only formal concert performance for the year. In May, however, the Faith Hui held a dinner to give thanks for all the work we had done together during the 2018 eruption. I sang for a fair amount of that event, including an original song in recognition of the crisis. Much later in the year, I was astonished to receive a certificate of thanks from the state Senate for my small part in doing that work during the disaster.
The summer set another crisis in sharp relief: the dispute over appropriate use of Mauna Kea, sacred to some Hawaiians and bearing or symbolizing sacredness to others in different ways. At the request of Connie Larkman at United Church News, I put on my reporter hat again and wrote “Conflict of souls around Hawai’i’s sacred mountain.” The story fails to describe fully the depth of emotion around the issues. The dispute revealed existing fractures in the community that we had been accustomed to discount or ignore. Kia’i blocked the access road for months in numbers from less than a hundred to over 3,000. Everyone was determined.
I spent the fall trying to help my congregation build resilience in stress and deepen their listening skills. At some point, the particular question of the Thirty Meter Telescope will be settled, though I doubt it will be to everyone’s satisfaction. We will still need to live with one another in the community. We will need skills to do it.
We lost some very special people in our congregation over the year. Blanche, Karl, Millie, and Anita just at year’s end. All Saints’ Sunday in October was very poingnant.
I did quite a lot of other writing this year. I edited and contributed to a Church of the Holy Cross Lenten devotional Open the Heart. On my blog, I continued to write a poem/prayer each week based on the lectionary texts. As Advent approached, we repeated An Advent of Giving, with new devotionals by yours truly.
I took a lot of pictures of sunrises in 2019, in great part because I took morning walks for several months before some mole removals led me to take a break that, um, hasn’t ended yet. My hope is that the symbol of sunrise dominates 2020: new beginnings. Light. Hope.
In the manger of Bethlehem, the infant sleeps. On the Judean hillsides, the shepherds seek their flock. Which of the parents dozes? The father? The mother? Neither one? Both? Love made flesh, power made weak, Majesty made lowly, will soon awake in tears, Seeking the warmth of skin and blood and milk.
Let that infant grow within our hearts. Let that love take form within our purpose. Let that mercy take shape in what we make. Let that peace enfold those we embrace. Let that grace shine forth just like that star: Let the work of Christmas begin in me. Let the work of Christmas begin in us.
A poem inspired in part by Luke 2 and in part by “The Work of Christmas” Howard Thurman. This poem was written for the Christmas Eve meditation of December 24, 2019, at Church of the Holy Cross UCC, Hilo, Hawai’i.
“He promised me the Son of God, the angel did,” she murmured to the sweating, focused midwife. “Promise anything they will,” she answered, not noticing her charge had spoken with an angel. “Now push!” she cried. “And push again!” For in the cries of birth what angel could be heard?
At length the growls and the gasping cease, though night remains unblessed by silence. No. “The Savior has good lungs,” the watching Joseph notes and winces at his piercing tones, distressed by all this labor and this hunger and this cold, now swiftly stifled at the weary Mary’s breast.
“The angel promised me a Savior,” now she sighs as Son of God tries once and twice and squalls, frustrated, not to grasp the nourishment he seeks. She gasps, adjusts the infant’s head by order of the midwife, sighs. At last. The slurping sounds distract her as the midwife mops away.
“Angels, now,” the midwife sighs. “There’s all too few of them.” She gazes at the wincing man, wonders if this “angel” hides a demon, decides to take the mother’s word. “Come, angel. Pile up the straw behind your wife. He’ll nurse much better once her back is straighter.” “I’m not an angel,” says the man, redundantly. She knows.
“He promised me the Son of God.” Now Mary’s eyes arrest the midwife’s gaze. “Of course he did, my love,” she coos, finishes the cleaning, readjusts her gown. “They’re all the Child of God, you know, and this one is for you.” “Oh, no,” the mother says, as flatly as a waveless sea. “This One is for us all.”
A meager coin in hand, the midwife steps into the night. Another one convinced their baby is the Promised One, she thinks. What sorrow for his mother if he follows that drear road! She draws aside to let a band of grimy men pass by. One asks about a baby in a manger, “So the angel said.” She watches as they turn into the stable. Now: she wonders.
A poem based on Luke 2:1-20, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year A, Christmas Eve.
I doubt that anyone mistakes me for a fan of the current President of the United States or his policies. I reviewed a list of his priorities as he entered office and considered three of them to be actively evil:
his proposed ban on Muslims entering the U.S.,
the income tax cuts that would (and have) disproportionately benefit the wealthy, and
the border wall with associated measures.
I had not imagined children taken from their parents. I had not imagined entire families imprisoned. I had not imagined the cold refusal to welcome refugees.
To my mind, family separations in and of themselves constitute grounds for impeachment. The practice removed children from their parents because the parents would be imprisoned without bail while awaiting a hearing for an offense that was most likely a misdemeanor. The directive to deny reasonable bail flies in the face of Constitutional protections. Incarcerated parents around the United States know where their children are, but these parents were denied that basic information. It’s clear from the government’s failure to reunite these families that they had not made any plans to do so. The loss of one’s children sounds an awful lot like cruel and unusual punishment to me.
Further, the President who gave these orders corrupted the enforcement agencies who carried it out. They had to do the work of cruelty. They still carry on the work of cruelty, only now the parents and children share the same prisons. It is monumentally unjust and a horrific abuse of power to require unjust acts of someone. We have seen it happen before.
I have been ready for his impeachment for some time. I have been impatient for it for some time. And yes, I find the articles passed last night to be adequate grounds for impeachment and removal from office.
The event finds me solemn and sorrowing. Although this is only the fourth time Congress has debated articles of impeachment, three of them have happened in my lifetime. I do not welcome Presidential misconduct. I do not welcome abuses of government power. I cannot greet even their exposure and impeachment with enthusiasm. At best, I feel a solemn satisfaction, not that “justice will prevail” (I read too much history and theology to be assured of that), but that, for a moment, a sign has been posted. “These acts, even of a President, will not be permitted.”
I wish I had more comfort to offer. I wish I felt more comfort. Some voices speak of loyalty, and some speak of violence. Some voices speak their fears. A few voices speak their hope. Would that the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., were here to speak of a dream…
Well, here is mine (it was David’s first), and I suspect it is similar to the prayers of incarcerated children:
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!
