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Tag Archives: Serendipity

Odd Things @ Death: The Dove that Didn’t Know Where to Go, or Did It?

14 Thursday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Death

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events, Serendipity, Synchronicity

Luna mothAs a participant in church youth activities and outings, Cary was one of those young men who was always athletic, good-natured, cooperative, and congenial. When he graduated from high school and enlisted in the Army, following in the military footsteps of his relatives, we sent him off with every expectation that he would succeed and serve admirably. Toward the end of his basic training we received the terrible news that he had killed himself, alone in his barracks, when everyone else was away on leave.  Family and friends were devastated. As his pastor officiating at his funeral I also was at a loss to speak much more than our affection and appreciation for the Cary we knew and to pray that God heal his and our broken hearts.

People took part in the funeral with the open emotions and incredulity that come with a largely young adult crowd. Even those of us who were much older could only register our questions and grief. Tears and comforting hugs passed abundantly. The crowd moved to the cemetery in old Aspen Grove, where the trees provided graveside shade on a sunny afternoon, on the edge of a slope into a sheltered valley.

The family had chosen a symbol that seemed fitting of the idea of the spirit’s release into the heavens—a white dove, actually a homing pigeon, freed at the end of the graveside committal service to fly away. Only the bird, once freed, made a circle and came right back to the casket to perch. A little polite waving had no effect on the bird. We proceeded, of course, to complete the actions at the cemetery, accommodating the presence of the white dove.

Family and friends returned to the grave in the following days, only to find the dove nearby or at the marker. “What does this mean?” they asked each other, until presumably the owner of the pigeon came to claim his bird and take him home. Not believing that everything necessarily has a meaning, I deferred to others’ answers. Still, I heard people say often enough that Cary did not really want to leave us and needed to find a way to let us know.

The Mystery Buttons Behind the Pulpit Chair at Zion Church

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Church

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

self-portrait

At Zion Church, along the wooden reredos behind the pulpit chair are four ivory push buttons. They are aligned so that the pastor can reach down and press them when wanting something to be done. Probably most people do not pay close enough attention to notice them. When I was pastor there, during worship, when I wanted something to be done, I toyed with the idea of pushing them just to see what might happen. Maybe a bell or a buzzer or a small shock for someone who just fell asleep? 

Maybe someone from Zion who is still alive might remember when these buttons were still being used and what they were used for. I inquired of two other former pastors but they didn’t know what those buttons did either. Sometime they fell into disuse. Today I do not know what legions of helpers or angels might be called if Pastor Brice pressed those buttons when in need 

I have stolen into the sanctuary when no one was around, and pressed them, one at a time, and two or three together, but nothing happened that I could see. But no worship service was happening at the time. Could they have been disconnected, I wonder? Perhaps they fell into disuse when the first pagers and later cell phones became available. Perhaps pastors or worship leaders pressed them and nothing happened. That would indeed be discouraging if they were truly in need. 

What could occur in worship that would require such emergency intervention, you ask? When Jeanne Tyler, former pastor at Keokuk, was preaching several years ago, she evoked the image of dancing the tango with God. If suddenly many of our worshipers started to dance the tango, we might not be able to handle it. I would have wanted some help. The tango, as an image of holy covenant, is indeed “too close for comfort.” I would have known that I had entirely lost control and everything was up for grabs. Buttons to the rescue!  

There are lesser catastrophic expectations that might summon our desire to press for help. I lost count of the times when I realized that everything that I had prepared for a Sunday service had missed the mark. Rather than make fumbling efforts to change and adapt as I went, it would be wonderful if I could just press the button. When all of the other events of worship had reduced the time that I used to hope I could preach something that I was convinced was needed, the button might have gotten someone else to stop talking and let me have the floor or the pulpit. It could tell the ushers to stand with the offering plates at the door instead of passing them down the pews. It could tell Janice to play a hymn four times faster than normal. It could bring the Holy Spirit in the nick of time. 

Or are those buttons just among the many things that worked for a while and then were abandoned? Things that were tried instead of prayer and preparation? Things like we still try, “to make worship more meaningful?” So we won’t be able to let our fingers do the walking? Maybe we’ll just have to pray after all? Guess so.

My Start at Chicago Theological Seminary

12 Tuesday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Events, Learning from mistakes, People

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A License to Preach, events, Serendipity

Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com

I was moving to Chicago’s Hyde Park near the University of Chicago campus, driving a small rental truck with our apartment’s furnishings. The direct route from the Stevenson Expressway to Woodlawn Avenue was Garfield Boulevard, and I had been driving on that boulevard for about three blocks when I saw the flashing lights of a police car behind me. I pulled over to the curb right away.

“Where are you going?” the officer asked.

“Woodlawn Avenue south of 57th on the UC campus,” I answered, with trepidation. What I did not need at this time was a traffic ticket that I had no money to pay.  “Did I do something wrong, officer?”

“It’s illegal to drive a truck on a Chicago boulevard,” he answered. “May I see your license?” As I pulled my license out of my pocket, he asked me, “Are you a student or a teacher?”

“I’m a student in seminary and a pastor,” I answered, as I showed him my driver’s license.”

“Excuse me, Father,” he answered as he crossed himself. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you how to get there.” He handed my license back to me, walked back to his car, turned off the lights, and pulled in front of me, waiting for me to drive the truck into the traffic lane and follow. At the next corner we took a right turn, and then a left, following a street that ran parallel to Garfield until we reached the Midway. He waved me forward, and I pulled up beside him. He yelled, “God bless you in your studies, and remember not to drive your truck on a boulevard.”

“Thank you,” I yelled back, but I did not add, “God bless you, too, my son,” although I wanted to.

What is a parable?

12 Tuesday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Words

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

3 Owls  Maybe the answer is obvious, but whenever people say “obvious,” some investigation may be in order. Start with “A parable is a short and simple story that represents a message about values.” Short? As short as a couple of sentences or as long as a few hundred words. Simple? Usually simple means easy to understand or uncomplicated, but here there is a difficulty. On the surface a parable sounds simple enough, but when it comes to what it means, it gets more complicated. Maybe we should scratch out “simple,” though the story itself should at least sound straightforward.

A parable’s representation of something else is metaphorical, but not allegorical. In an allegory each part of the story, or each key part of the story is a symbol for something else, which it should resemble in some important aspect. A parable may sometimes become an allegory, when the teller of the tale decides to interpret its elements as symbols for something specific. Jesus’s parable of the sower and the soils (Mark 4) becomes an allegory when the soils become symbols for several specific kinds of human responses, like deafness, apostasy, fickleness, weakness, conflicted values, and faithfulness, and the sower becomes the preacher of the gospel. In its original telling, as a parable, the story merely suggests a comparison. It is more or less obvious to the listener how amazing it is that a bountiful harvest usually follows the scattering and waste of much of the seed. Many parables have been interpreted allegorically. The allegorical method of interpretation dominated the early centuries of the Christian church. In the same centuries rabbis continued to teach with parables, leaving the interpretation to the imagination and consternation of their listeners.

The interpretation of parables does sometimes lead to frustration and other times to inspiration, to disturbance and to comfort, to puzzlement and to satisfaction. If it leads nowhere, it is not a parable. If it answers its own questions, and leaves no sense of incompleteness for us to think about, it is probably not a parable. If the analogy is too perfect, and we see a meaning immediately that is exact, it is unlike the parables of those teachers who used parables so well, like Jesus of Nazareth or the Baal Shem Tov.

What about the values that parables suggest? Is there a limit to the kinds of values that can be espoused in the parable form? While I may favor humane and compassionate suggestions over cruel and selfish ones, parables can be moving expressions of all of the attitudes people rank as important.

Where will we find parables? That is what I’d like to know. I’m looking for them In nature or human interactions, in memories or imagination, in dreams or lived moments that make an impact, everywhere that my attention is grabbed and something is discovered.

As far as how the parables I find may be used, I must leave that up to the listener. Have fun with them. Make a sermon out of them. Let them suggest experiences when you have discovered your own parables. Carry on.

The Hunger Simulation at a church conference

09 Saturday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Events, Learning from mistakes, People

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com

In 1974 a concern for food deficits and hunger swept through the church and the nation. Famine in the Sahel and the rediscovery of large pockets of hungry people in the United States moved many people to take part in study groups, organizing, advocacy, and simulations. Simulations? In order to identify with hungry people, those of us who were not usually hungry had to remind ourselves what hunger felt like.

I attended my first Illinois Conference of the United Church of Christ Annual Meeting at Dekalb, Illinois, in June of 1974. I had attended many conferences, many annual conferences of the United Methodist Church, but this was my first UCC Annual Conference. I did not know what to expect. My ignorance went so far as to include what my registration fee covered. It seemed like a lot of money to me at the time. I assumed it covered the costs of the meeting itself, housing, and meals. It was the latter item that revealed that I had assumed too much. The cost of meals was not included.

I did not have much money in those days, living paycheck to paycheck and paying off education loans. I had a family of a wife and two small children who needed cash more than I did, so I had about five dollars in my pocket and a gas credit card for the travel. What else would I need?

The conference meeting lasted about four days, and my loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter had stretched about as far as I could make it stretch. I had access to plenty of water. I also had a conference dinner to look forward to, with a ticket that was prepaid in my registration fee. I felt very happy that the fee had at least covered that one meal. The dinner itself was elaborately set up in a grand ballroom with white tablecloths, napkins, glassware, and tableware, no plastic or paper in sight.

The servers had specific instructions that began with the serving of about ten people out of a hundred with hors d’oeurves. Then came the salads which were served randomly to about fifty out of a hundred, including of course those who had already been served. Meanwhile the grumbling had begun from those who had not yet been served. The servers just continued their quiet compliance with their directives. As a newcomer I did not yet have a voice, but I was in tune with the times and catching on to what was happening.  When the main course arrived, about seventy people out of a hundred had full plates with meat, potatoes, vegetables, and bread rolls. The rest got small plates of rice. In front of me sat a small plate of rice.

The dessert that followed the main course came to about thirty out of a hundred. The grumbling increased in volume and anger, and the faces of those who had received and eaten the extra food looked appropriately humble. Everyone scarfed down what was set in front of them. No one within my view was sharing anything that they received, although I learned afterward that some tables had several sharers when the dessert arrived. By the next business session, facing an angry audience, the planners of the simulation extended their apologies and promised not to surprise the attendees with such an ill-conceived plan again.

The rice that I ate was probably the best rice I have ever eaten, and the portion, though small, satisfied my hunger. I could return home with a clear conscience to a place where I had enough to eat.

The Impressive Nighthawk

08 Friday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Nature

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Serendipity

snow geese migration near St Elmo IL, Dave Moody 2What bird is more impressive than the nighthawk as it dive bombs to catch an insect and makes that victorious booming buzz with its feathers when it reverses direction upward again? All you see of it is a dark flash of long, pointed wings or a silhouette high in the sky.

Other realities about the bird are less impressive. It is neither a hawk nor nocturnal, so its common name is inappropriate. Nor does it nest as other birds do but the female lays her eggs on the ground, logs, or rooftop gravel. Here is another case of a bird that does not live up to its billing.

The name may be wrong but the power dive is still impressive. Sometimes the bird is called the “nightjar” and this name captures the fact that a single bird can capture and contain up to 500 mosquitoes in an evening’s work. That makes it my friend, regardless of its mistaken etymology and lack of a decent place to lay its head. After all other people have accomplished much without a place to lay their heads.

We continue our journeys, laying our heads in various odd places. Some places live up to expectations and some do not. Visiting old friends and celebrating their accomplishments does. We visit other churches and often find people who believe in essentials unity, in nonessentials diversity and in all things diversity, or better yet, love. We investigate places where some of our ancestors sojourned in their quest for religious freedom, economic prosperity, or peace at last. Often they had to move on, and we do too.

When we travel there are always lots of incongruities, plenty of disillusionments, and many expectations met and exceeded in any life fully lived. But even if we do not fully live up to our names, if we can catch 500 mosquitoes in one evening and do impressive power dives we must be considered successful.

Starting a list of the odd things that happen around death

05 Tuesday May 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Death, Events

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A License to Preach, Serendipity, Synchronicity

Luna mothA colleague told me about his uncle who was killed in the Battle of the Bulge during World War II. He went to visit the military cemetery in Belgium where his uncle’s body was buried along with thousands of other casualties from that battle. He entered the memorial chapel where the book is kept that records the names of all the soldiers buried there, with the locations of the graves. He approached the book. It was already open to the page with the name of his uncle, out of thousands of names, and no one there to open the book for him.

A friend’s grandfather died at the ripe age of 95. He had lived at his own home and tended his own garden until a short final hospitalization. She had lived nearby and helped him in his garden. The day of the funeral they went back to his house for a family gathering, and near the front door there was a fresh rose blooming on an old plant, but the rose showed a new combination of red and white, his favorite rose colors, on a plant that before had only produced reds.

I had spent several hours of the day at the bedside of a dear and faithful member of the church, knowing that her time was growing short. She had no family left, and her aged peers could not remain at her side. I also needed a break and took a few minutes for something to eat, and returned as quickly as I could. When I approached the door to her room, I heard lovely symphonic music coming from inside. At least I thought it was coming from inside, though no player or radio had been there before. I supposed a thoughtful nurse had brought one in, to provide the soothing sounds that sometimes calm the sufferer. When I opened the door, walked into the room and stood at her bedside, I saw that she had died, her face finally serene after her struggles with pain. Then I noted that the music had stopped; the room was utterly quiet. There was no player or radio there, and there was no music coming from outside either.

When there were No Deer Left in Central Illinois

28 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Farm, Nature

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events, Serendipity

pair of deer in snow

Twenty-one years old and the only deer I had seen were in a zoo and one early morning when I was sleeping with some other guys on the cabin porch at Morgan-Monroe State Forest in Indiana, and a doe came out of the mist to investigate the snores, or something.

Then, according to my father, deer began to show up at dusk at the edge of the woods on the Buck farm, which he leased from the Buck family (hence the name we used). Therefore, every time we visited, we took an evening break to drive the five miles to the Buck farm to see the deer. Although we must have made that trip two dozen times, and my father assured us that he often saw deer emerge from the woods while he was working there in the evening, we never saw the deer.

Then one night, after dark, when I was driving home alone from my summer job, at the speed limit, just a few miles from the farm, a buck deer appeared at the edge of the road in front of me. I didn’t count points on the antlers. A vision of collision appeared before me, and the deer moved into the road in front of me and leaped over the hood of my car, clearing the car completely, leaving me breathless and amazed.

It was worth the wait.

The unexpected guest at the cat bowl

27 Monday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Events, Farm, People

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Serendipity

Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.comWhen visiting the farm, I tried to fit into the family routines and help out with chores as we always did, making our visit less work for our parents, and giving us more leisure time together. This included weeding and harvesting from the gardens, chopping weeds from the soybeans, mowing the yards, painting whatever needed painting, washing dishes, and feeding the animals. The cats were fed at the back door. They fed themselves part of the time of course. Why else have cats except to reduce the rodent population? To keep the cats from wandering away, we had to provide a basic menu of some of their favorite items—mostly table scraps.

One evening I volunteered to take the cat’s portions out to their food bowl. My mother cautioned me that there might be someone else there to greet me, but not to worry, that animal would be happy just to fit in with the rest of the cats. I wondered what animal she might be talking about. They always had some raccoons and opossums nearby, and a neighborhood dog would sometimes come, so that is what I expected to see.

I turned on the light and stepped out the back door to see the circle of cats around the feeding bowl, noting that one cat had an unusual coloring—black with a white stripe down its back. The skunk’s face looked up at me, among the other hungry feline faces, with a friendly dare in its eyes, “Feed me or else.” With some trepidation I tried to act quite casually, and put the food into the bowl carefully, so as not to offend any of them by slopping too much onto their beautiful fur coats. The skunk pretended not to notice that I was new to the task, and helped itself to its share with the rest of the cats, while I slowly and courteously backed through the door, like any proper hired servant.

Running for the spite of it

25 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Running

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Serendipity

IMG_0002

I never enjoyed running. Walking was a pleasure. Running was a chore. I hadn’t learned to pace myself. I only knew how to run as fast as I could until soon I was out of breath and hurting. When my cardiologist said that I needed to engage in aerobic exercise for 45 minutes almost every day, I took his judgment as a painful life sentence.

If he hadn’t presented it as a choice between life and death, I wouldn’t have taken the challenge seriously. If the heart pain, palpitations, and the other symptoms had not convinced me that I was dying, I would not have undertaken the agony of learning how to run. As it was, running was painful, forcing me to depend on nitroglycerin for relief and face my mortality every time I exercised. The first steps were to alternate running and walking for short distances, learn how to run slower and walk faster, breathe more deeply and concentrate more on exhaling then inhaling, keep moving even when I felt I must stop, and fight for consciousness when I was blacking out. Of course the weather did not allow running every day. Fortunately aerobic exercise tapes and videos had become popular and provided a workout equally as miserable. As the months passed my endurance grew with the distance that I covered. I always exceeded the target heart rate. At times I was so dizzy that I could barely stay upright.  Especially during the heat of summer, Dr. John reminded me that electrolytes  go out of balance with profuse sweating, and that helped to explain the nausea and vomiting that I frequently experienced.

I continued to run and exercise, enjoying an occasional day off. Nonetheless the benefits of running were accumulating, with growing endurance, breath control, pain control, and the pleasure of getting the workout done. I did not know the meaning of a “runner’s high,” but I did know the feeling of accomplishment.  As the emotional stresses of everyday work also continued, the physical exercise provided the outlet that I had lacked, and the daily break that often put events and relationships in perspective. Running was as good as prayer. Running was prayer, since I had to pray as I ran, using phrases like “run and not grow weary, walk and not faint,” just to keep running, even when I did grow weary and faint.

Thirty-two years later, with many difficult events in between, I am still running. My heart is still beating, not so well sometimes but usually without long episodes of uncertainty. My angina is stable most of the time. Aspirin and nitroglycerin are still the best medicines ever discovered. And I do not enjoy running. I run in order to live.

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