Lenten Thoughts #3

Last night my book group discussed Chris Cleave's novel Little Bee, the story of a Nigerian girl caught in the strife caused when oil is discovered under her village.  The story is told from two points of view:  Little Bee, the 14 year old heroine forced to flee the violence of the oil wars ravaging her home; and Sarah, the self-centered English journalist whose life becomes intertwined with Little Bee's one fateful afternoon.

It's a novel worth reading for many reasons, so I won't spoil it.

Our discussion included the uncomfortableness we all feel when we come face to face with our comfort, with our privilege.  Which is, of course, borne on the broken backs of girls like Little Bee.  So here we were, this group of book-loving middle-aged women associated one way or another with the university.  This group--I know, having been a member for 20 years--gives.  These are generous-spirited women who volunteer, organize, teach, donate, walk, run, care.  One line of discussion involved helping AIDS orphans; another looked at the environmental issues associated with oil; a third dealt with food, simply eating and eating simply.  We talked about migrant labor, illegal immigration, fair trade coffee.  All in the comfort of a palatial home in one of the most expensive neighborhoods, to which we all drove in reliable, often luxury vehicles.  You get the point, no need to belabor the obvious.  We are good women, liberal with money and kindness, aware of our plenty and possessed of the deep desire to help others.

And yet.

I am tempted to quote Jesus about always having the poor with us, or to point out that Jesus mingled with rich, poor, Roman, Jew, political, apolitical, oppressed, oppressor.  These things are true.  And yet.

I am uneasy posting this, because I don't mean or want to offend anyone.  We really do try to do right, we who read things entitled "Lenten Thoughts #3," we who help AIDS orphans and buy locally roasted fair trade coffee and grow our own herbs.  I wouldn't accuse us of complacency.

And yet.

We must strive to take on the "baddies."  The oil companies who finance wide-scale violence and corruption.  The government insiders who wheel and deal so that our luxury can be maintained.  And yes, I'm going to say it, the utility companies that kill our sons through negligence.

Lenten Thoughts #2

I promised to work on that preachy thing, so today's entry is a simple story that shows God's sense of humor.  Out of the mouths of babes, to the ears of listening adults:

The kids were playing Follow the Leader, with three year old Joey in charge.  Every child marched dutifully behind,  doing whatever Joey did.  He'd raise his fists, they'd raise theirs; he'd skip, they'd skip; he'd whoop, they'd whoop.  Only being kids, they got bored.  Quickly.  One by one, the other children dropped out to follow other pursuits, but Joey marched happily along--until he realized that no one was behind him anymore.  Furious, red in the face, hands on hips, the three year old leader confronted his backslid flock: "Hey, what happened to you people?  You messed up all the following!"

This is actually a true story, not a churchy anecdote from a canned sermon.  The teacher was Donna Carloss Williams, a university professor now who at the time worked in a preschool.  The child's adult-style announcement struck her as hilarious and wise.

I once bought a bottle of wine with the brand name "Herding Cats."

Do you suppose that's how Jesus felt with his disciples?  With us?

[Thanks to Pastor Keith Williams of Eaton United Methodist Church for sharing Donna's story.]

Lenten Thoughts #1

It is Lent, that season of the liturgical year when we are to reflect, repent, retreat into a private God-space.  This year I intend to post a few times a week throughout Lent, with the hope that writing Lenten Thoughts By the Number will help me to center.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, a special day in my view for many reasons, the most important of which is that my father, Bert Odell Bishop, died on Ash Wednesday in 2009.  He actually died on 2/25/09, but it was Ash Wednesday, and that matters.

So, Daddy and Lent.  Well, he was raised Baptist in a little southern Illinois church.  Lent wasn't especially important to Daddy, due largely to the fact that he was born in 1917, making him 12 when the Depression hit.  For southern Illinois, as for much of the South, "Somebody told us Wall Street fell/But we were so poor, we couldn't tell" (Alabama's "Song of the South").  Going without, sacrificing, was so much a part of life he didn't need a special reminder from on high.  Daddy later completed a Master's degree, with work toward a Ph.D., but at 13 he had to drop out of school to work.  Sacrifice.  Doing without.  Just part of life, shrug it off and move on.  The early experience in Daddy's view exempted him from the practice of giving something up for Lent.

When I was little, I saw Ash Wednesday as belonging to the Catholics.  Now, many United Methodist churches offer Ash Wednesday services, but I don't remember them in my youth.  Lent, however, we did.  The altar vestments were purple, the mood penitent.  We sang hymns like "O Sacred Head Now Wounded," words from the Latin, music by Bach.  Impressive, even without a pipe organ.

Juxtaposing my dad's life with Lent is likely interesting only to me, but it does help me to reflect on sacrifice.  The 40 days are modeled after Jesus' time in the wilderness, when he resisted temptation while sacrificing comfort.  For most of us, that translates to giving up something we like, coffee or cigarettes or beer or chocolate.  Or maybe we add on something, like reading from classic theologians, or increasing our time in prayer--or writing more regular blog entries.  A little artificial, perhaps, but still the act of reflective, penitent souls.

Daddy didn't do Lent, but he did life.  Jesus calls us to do both.

This first of the series reads a bit preachy.  I promise not to do much of that!