...when they call me "Father." It's doesn't happen that often, so that when it does it's still a bit of a surprise; but it happens often enough now that I'm kind of learning to like the sound of it. Father, Brother, Sister...such familiar, familial language in an attempt to capture and express a profound commitment to a very special kind of relationship...although mostly I suspect it just happens out of childhood habit, an unforgotten token of reverence and respect.
Much more rarely am I addressed as "rabbi," although in many ways that is a title I would much more proudly embrace. I honestly don't feel like I'm smart enough to be a real rabbi, although now that I'm into my third decade as a UU minister and with a PhD in hand, I'm starting to feel like maybe I could sit in the same room and listen attentively. The Hebrew alone would kill me, although I suppose If I'd been raised with it, it would be different. And no doubt I romanticize the role, just as I'm sure many people romanticize my job: a room full of books, and a life not only devoted to scholarship, but a lifestyle of Devotion AND Scholarship -- and study itself as a form of devotion, or even prayer. I'm drawn as well to the idea of a true Sabbath, with no work of any kind...not even to light a fire. How different from the "Day of Football" so many Americans observe on Sundays in this season, with its associated gambling, drinking and snacking, and hours squandered in front of a television.
Brother & Sister have so many other connotations: the monastic life, or an hermetic one; or perhaps simply participation in an "unprogramed" silent Quaker-style meeting. What does it say about me that the kinds of religious life that appeal to me most (besides the one I've already chosen for myself) are ones that would put me out of a job? Can't explain it, and don't want to try.
In any event, HERE is an amusing little something that I found on another site, filled out for myself and posted over at The Eclectic Cleric, which was my original blog when I first got started doing all this back in 2006. Wasn't all that sure of what I was doing way back then, and I'm still not all that sure now. But since then I've started and stopped perhaps a dozen blogs, including ones for my mom's memorial service and an archive of my letters from Denmark, sermon-blogs for Nantucket, Carlisle, and here at First Parish, a pick-up basketball blog (Obi Wannabe Kobe) which I described as "Old School reflections on the Meaning of Life, Popular Culture, and the Essential Wisdom of Pick-Up Basketball," and of course now this cancer blog, which has accumulated both more readers and more posts than any of the others in so much shorter a time. But I guess there's nothing like a real human interest aspect to gather attention. And this blog certainly has both....
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
A Red Christmas Cardinal
From time to time I need to remind myself that I don't really need to publish an entire dissertation here each time I post; that sometimes it's enough just to make a quick observation and pass on. For example, lovely service yesterday for the first Sunday in Advent: a comfortably full house, a frisky spirit, fantastic music, and a guest speaker too, Karen Foley, who we invited in at the last minute because people were worried after last weekend about whether or not I was going to be physically up to preaching yesterday. As it turned out, I was feeling fine, and am now looking forward to next Sunday with eager anticipation. Meanwhile, yesterday I helped lead the rest of the service (and especially the Announcements, Candlesharing, and Offertory), while Karen carried the more liturgical/"spiritual" elements (the prayer, lesson and message...plus invocation and benediction) and contributed yet another voice to the expanding chorus of colleagues who have come forward to support me during my illness
I also received a very nice gift yesterday, inspired by a sermon I preached a year ago. Here's the manuscript LINK -- see if you can figure out what the gift might have been....
I also received a very nice gift yesterday, inspired by a sermon I preached a year ago. Here's the manuscript LINK -- see if you can figure out what the gift might have been....
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Food, Family, Football II
Well, Oregon State's Rose Bowl aspirations are not to be satisfied -- or at least not by their own hand. The Ducks came into the Heart of the Valley and gave the poor Beavs a 65-38 spanking right there in their own back yard. Ouch! The Beavers can still play in Pasadena on New Year's Day if UCLA manages to upset USC next week, but odds are that the Beavers will be playing in El Paso's Sun Bowl next month, USC will meet Penn State in the Rose Bowl, and Oregon is probably now bowl-bound as well, although I haven't the slightest idea where.
But enough sports. It was great to see my family for the holiday, to share that special holiday meal and even to share the four hours in the Verizon store on what I thought would be a 45 minute errand. But I finally think I have all my phone and internet problems resolved...at least for now...assuming I can find the time on Monday to do all the actual software installation and synchronization. But I will. No Worries.
And for those of you who missed it yesterday, here is the bird's-eye view of Husky Stadium and (more accurately) Union Bay where the boats raft out on game day starting from the small marina on the left-hand side of the photograph.
But enough sports. It was great to see my family for the holiday, to share that special holiday meal and even to share the four hours in the Verizon store on what I thought would be a 45 minute errand. But I finally think I have all my phone and internet problems resolved...at least for now...assuming I can find the time on Monday to do all the actual software installation and synchronization. But I will. No Worries.
And for those of you who missed it yesterday, here is the bird's-eye view of Husky Stadium and (more accurately) Union Bay where the boats raft out on game day starting from the small marina on the left-hand side of the photograph.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Food, Family, Football
[Earlier this week, I posted this comment to a friend's much more popular (and therefore more widely read) blog, "Beauty Tips for Ministers:]
...[my family and]...I have been going “holiday lite” (as opposed to Holiday Lights!) for years. I’m bothered by how the individual holidays have lost their religious distinctiveness, and instead become kind of a stinky amalgam of shopping, consumption, gluttony, overindulgence, and other such nonsense. An annual Holiday letter, two or three gettogethers with friends and family, and the traditional Xmas/UU holiday services such as I find them: here a Cider & Cornbread Communion, an annnual pageant (created by Vincent Silliman, a former minister of this church, and now in its 80th+ year), a candlelight service, and an annual New Year’s burning of regrets. In years past I’ve bought food baskets for my relatives, buts, but may do something different this year reflecting my disease.
The one thing I miss is a good annual Holiday football rivalry! Whether it’s been Harvard - Yale,or the Ducks and the Beavers, or the Cougars and the Dawgs, for me Thanksgiving in particular has traditionally been about food, family, and football…a trinity deeply grounded (if you read up on these things) in the historical evolution of the holiday itself.
Comment by The Eclectic Cleric — November 26, 2008 #
Last week's "Apple Cup" did little to feed the hunger. Apparently this was only the fifth time anywhere that two college football teams with a combination of 20 losses have met since the formation of the NCAA, and the fact that it took overtime for the two teams to settle the result (since neither seemed capable of losing it outright in just four quarters) simply seemed like "par for the course." And the Seahawks v. Cowboys Thanksgiving Day showdown wasn't much help in taking the edge off either. But at least I could tell it was a football game going on, which was some comfort.
The best thing about Washington football has always been the opportunity to "tailgate on the poop-deck," which is to say take your boat to Portage Bay, raft on to the huge FLEET of boats that assemble there on game day, then make your way across the raft at gametime and enjoy. Hell, now that I think about it, I wonder whether you even have to ATTEND - just join the raft, enjoy the party, and then when the games starts put on the radio and go down in the cabin and write. Something to think about, in the HIGHLY unlikely possibility that I ever move back to Seattle, am living on a boat, still serving a church, and decide to become a local Husky football fan again. I mean, once you were actually PART of the raft, it would be awfully hard to get you out again...
THE Game last Saturday, which featured Harvard's 10-0 domination of Yale (on what I believe was the 125th iteration of their competition) was apparently respectable enough. But still, it had none of the makings of the classic 1968 game featured in a recent documentary on the subject, where a til-then undefeated home team (Harvard) came from way behind to score two touchdowns and two two-point conversions, which eventually lead to the headlines: "Harvard Beats Yale 29-29" and "Old Schools Tie." And don't get me wrong. I really enjoy Ivy League football, and if I could have simply disciplined myself to get my sermons written before Saturday I would have bought season tickets and enjoyed EVERY game the Crimson played (Hoop too. Probably even Women's Hoop.). But now it's a little late for that.
The real problem with IVY league sports (not that it's really a "problem") is that very few of those kids have ever really played on a field like this. This is Ratliff Stadium in Odessa Texas, home of the Permian Panthers MOJO and scene of the book, film and (presumably) television series "Friday Night Lights." Below is the empty parking lot as you see it in the daytime, just to give you a little different sense of the place. A lot of these Texas Schoolboy Football teams could blow undefeated through the Ivy League without breaking a sweat (OK, they would sweat. That is, perspire.).
I recently saw an interesting article by a former Harvard student who was talking about how difficult it is to get in to Harvard (in terms of the competitive admissions ratio, at least), and wonder what was he going to do with his life now that he had already accomplished the most difficult thing the most difficult thing in it at the age of nineteen...only to discover that admission to Harvard merely opened the door to all SORTS of other interesting and even more difficult challenges.
But many of these West Texas High School football players really HAVE seen the best years of their lives by the time they turn nineteen. That was the whole point of the book (Friday Night Lights) -- how do you BACK to being an oil roughneck after you've been worshipped like a God?
At least this year's Oregon/Oregon State game (I can't bear calling it "the Civil War." Maybe "Warfare on the Willamette?") has some meaning. The Beavers are undefeated this year at home, and if they can beat the Ducks there in Corvallis they will be going to the Rose Bowl for the first time in a long time (1965: Michigan 34, Oregon St 7). If they don't, then USC is playing in Pasadena (yawn. just another home game), and both the Ducks and the Beavers are bargaining for bowl bids somewhere else. So sorry Mike Belotti -- I'm pulling this year for the kids from the Heart of the Valley. And since I have degrees from both schools, I can't be wrong in that either. I know it's been a long time for the Ducks too (1995: Penn St 38, Oregon 20). But at least that's more recently than New Years Day, 1920, which was the year Harvard handed the Ducks their tailfeathers, 7-6.
...[my family and]...I have been going “holiday lite” (as opposed to Holiday Lights!) for years. I’m bothered by how the individual holidays have lost their religious distinctiveness, and instead become kind of a stinky amalgam of shopping, consumption, gluttony, overindulgence, and other such nonsense. An annual Holiday letter, two or three gettogethers with friends and family, and the traditional Xmas/UU holiday services such as I find them: here a Cider & Cornbread Communion, an annnual pageant (created by Vincent Silliman, a former minister of this church, and now in its 80th+ year), a candlelight service, and an annual New Year’s burning of regrets. In years past I’ve bought food baskets for my relatives, buts, but may do something different this year reflecting my disease.
The one thing I miss is a good annual Holiday football rivalry! Whether it’s been Harvard - Yale,or the Ducks and the Beavers, or the Cougars and the Dawgs, for me Thanksgiving in particular has traditionally been about food, family, and football…a trinity deeply grounded (if you read up on these things) in the historical evolution of the holiday itself.
Comment by The Eclectic Cleric — November 26, 2008 #
Last week's "Apple Cup" did little to feed the hunger. Apparently this was only the fifth time anywhere that two college football teams with a combination of 20 losses have met since the formation of the NCAA, and the fact that it took overtime for the two teams to settle the result (since neither seemed capable of losing it outright in just four quarters) simply seemed like "par for the course." And the Seahawks v. Cowboys Thanksgiving Day showdown wasn't much help in taking the edge off either. But at least I could tell it was a football game going on, which was some comfort.
The best thing about Washington football has always been the opportunity to "tailgate on the poop-deck," which is to say take your boat to Portage Bay, raft on to the huge FLEET of boats that assemble there on game day, then make your way across the raft at gametime and enjoy. Hell, now that I think about it, I wonder whether you even have to ATTEND - just join the raft, enjoy the party, and then when the games starts put on the radio and go down in the cabin and write. Something to think about, in the HIGHLY unlikely possibility that I ever move back to Seattle, am living on a boat, still serving a church, and decide to become a local Husky football fan again. I mean, once you were actually PART of the raft, it would be awfully hard to get you out again...
THE Game last Saturday, which featured Harvard's 10-0 domination of Yale (on what I believe was the 125th iteration of their competition) was apparently respectable enough. But still, it had none of the makings of the classic 1968 game featured in a recent documentary on the subject, where a til-then undefeated home team (Harvard) came from way behind to score two touchdowns and two two-point conversions, which eventually lead to the headlines: "Harvard Beats Yale 29-29" and "Old Schools Tie." And don't get me wrong. I really enjoy Ivy League football, and if I could have simply disciplined myself to get my sermons written before Saturday I would have bought season tickets and enjoyed EVERY game the Crimson played (Hoop too. Probably even Women's Hoop.). But now it's a little late for that.
The real problem with IVY league sports (not that it's really a "problem") is that very few of those kids have ever really played on a field like this. This is Ratliff Stadium in Odessa Texas, home of the Permian Panthers MOJO and scene of the book, film and (presumably) television series "Friday Night Lights." Below is the empty parking lot as you see it in the daytime, just to give you a little different sense of the place. A lot of these Texas Schoolboy Football teams could blow undefeated through the Ivy League without breaking a sweat (OK, they would sweat. That is, perspire.).
I recently saw an interesting article by a former Harvard student who was talking about how difficult it is to get in to Harvard (in terms of the competitive admissions ratio, at least), and wonder what was he going to do with his life now that he had already accomplished the most difficult thing the most difficult thing in it at the age of nineteen...only to discover that admission to Harvard merely opened the door to all SORTS of other interesting and even more difficult challenges.
But many of these West Texas High School football players really HAVE seen the best years of their lives by the time they turn nineteen. That was the whole point of the book (Friday Night Lights) -- how do you BACK to being an oil roughneck after you've been worshipped like a God?
At least this year's Oregon/Oregon State game (I can't bear calling it "the Civil War." Maybe "Warfare on the Willamette?") has some meaning. The Beavers are undefeated this year at home, and if they can beat the Ducks there in Corvallis they will be going to the Rose Bowl for the first time in a long time (1965: Michigan 34, Oregon St 7). If they don't, then USC is playing in Pasadena (yawn. just another home game), and both the Ducks and the Beavers are bargaining for bowl bids somewhere else. So sorry Mike Belotti -- I'm pulling this year for the kids from the Heart of the Valley. And since I have degrees from both schools, I can't be wrong in that either. I know it's been a long time for the Ducks too (1995: Penn St 38, Oregon 20). But at least that's more recently than New Years Day, 1920, which was the year Harvard handed the Ducks their tailfeathers, 7-6.
Vintage Gas (from the UK)
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I'm not sure whether this guy is trying to tell her that her money's no good here, or that she needs a ration coupon before he'll fill her tank, but until I found the Germans he seemed like a strong candidate for the other Gas Post. Of course, the dialog doesn't really come across in translation. Just what would the German for "fill-in" BE anyway, and would the homonym still work? One would probably have to make up an entirely new word, which would change the joke. (Just like the image did anyway, although it also helped me find it. Still: "Ich will Ihren Benzinmeister sein?" I don't think so....)These other photos are also all from the UK, only current times. Just in case you happen to be living overseas, and want to enjoy a little meaningless recreational driving, as so many of us STILL do here in the States....
A filling station in Wales, with two great vintage gas pumps right out front.
This vintage pump is located in Cornwall. Just what is a "Gig Club" anyway? Anything to do with small boats?
This Filling Station is in North Yorkshire. You can almost see the Scottish influence, in the location of the American-style "Picnic table" around the corner to the left as you exit the shop to return to the motorway....
Happy Motoring, Everyone!
GAS SPOTTED FOR UNDER TWO DOLLARS IN PORTLAND MAINE
"Good Morning! Welcome to The Filling Station. My name's Phil, and I'll be your fill-in today. Fill 'er up?"
Thursday, November 27, 2008
My Haunted Home
And it's starting to happen, just as I always knew it would. I can hear her rustling dogtags tags as though she were right in the next room, shaking her collar. Or hear what seems to be her heavy breathing as she sleeps, and sometimes I even think that I've just caught a gimpse of her in the corner of my eye as I'm entering or leaving a room. And ALWAYS my left eye, it seems; never the other.
Sometimes I just wake up in the middle of the night, and feel her presence nearby.
And for thirteen years it always was....
And then, of course, two months ago now we finally had to say goodbye. She waits for me now at the foot of the Rainbow Bridge, and someday sooner or later we shall join each other there, and once again be united in the Spirit as we cross over together into whatever awaits us next.
Does that sound too conventional? Almost naive and childish, like pie in the sky when we die? A boy and his dog, frolicking again on a sundrenched meadow, running and playing fetch on an endless summer day, and feeling young and happy and alive again....
Or maybe it's a beach, and the muddy tideflats of a place like Camano Island? A boy and his dog in the bathtub, watching the dirt stream off of her and leaving me only with a pouting, but clean-smelling pooch with shampooed, fluffy fur and dog-tired from her romp?
What does it matter? I am so thankful for those years, and if that's the most comforting measure of eternity I can summon up, why should I criticize or judge it?
Instead I thank God for the great gift of this animal. As I have written here before, I am a better person now as a result of my relationship with this dog, and my decision to bring her into my life and care for her. To feed her, shelter her, groom her and take her to and from the vet: to be her "master" (or perhaps, more accurately, the leader of the "pack"), no matter how childlike it may seem.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
a note on the photo -- this picture was taken in 2001 while I was on my way from Nantucket to my first Thanksgiving with my brother in Connecticut. It was seven years ago, ten weeks after 9/11....half a lifetime for Parker, as well as the year my nephew was born. How much water has flown under the bridge since then....
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