Memorial Day

Old Warrior

Richard Proctor “D-Day Warrior”

There he stands framed between two lampposts to his yard. He has just finished cutting the lawn of his lovely brick cottage in Roanoke, Virginia and it is Memorial Day. He is in his 80’s. He must be because he is a “D-Day Warrior.”

On June 6, 1944 Richard Proctor was merely a teen ager when he faced the realities that are often spewed forth from the darkest parts of the unredeemed human soul that sweeps all into its maws: the moral and the immoral, the compassionate and the pathological, the good and the evil.

It is difficult to believe that this smiling neighbor of my son and his family once rode the crest of the surf up onto Omaha Beach where the U.S. Forces lost 2200 men. They faced personnel mines, artillery shell explosions, rifle and machine gun fire. They all coped with terror, bodily incontinence, retching and unimaginable sorrows. They braved the withering fire and watched their friends die, fall wounded in the bullet pocked sand or vaporize on either side of them as they advanced forward into cannon fire. In the end, the bodies of their companions were lying about as if they had been forced through some giant wood shredder.

Richard Proctor was one of the survivors of D-Day with his own personal story for which I did not unduly probe. I just shook his hand and thanked him for his service knowing it was best to let such memories lie where they have been put to rest. However, let us say this. The slaughter of that day was so great, the wounds so horrific and the personal trauma so huge with everyone on that beach that it would take a heroic character just to stroll up those sands even after the initial danger had passed.

As a practical commentary we can add that D-Day was just the beginning of the end of killing. That carnage, civilian and military, corrupted the very streets which tourists mildly walk today in Britain and Europe. Much of the killing on and by both sides uncovered the darkest part of human nature.

It is easy to forget the potential evil that lurks in the heart of man. How easy it is to fall into the trap of believing people are basically good and evil is merely the absence of good. History has shown us as have the lives of Christ and the martyred saints that nothing is neutral regarding the motivations, habits and intentions of man.
All things whether it be freedom, possessions, spirituality, morality or economics require eternal vigilance because someone, somewhere sometime will rise up to assert a darker motive. We need memorial days to remember heroes who stood in the gap when evil came flooding into the human maelstrom. We need to take pauses to remember.
The gift of life itself is maintained by eternal vigilance and the sacrifice of many who make the pleasures which we enjoy possible. It is an ungrateful soul who can let vicarious sacrifice go unnoticed. After all, “No one has greater love than the one who gives his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

***

There were some who were mere survivors as if that is an adequate commentary on a walk through Hell. In their case, survival was a testament of the human spirit and the unnamed players working backstage.

Both survivors and players bring the connection of justice to the human drama.

Now, once again, innocence can reach out with hope while touching the horrible markers by the human path that say, “Not this way!” Will the remembrance make a difference? That is what a memory is for.

***

A Friend at the Brink

One of my most constant and loyal friends for the last 32 years is Leslie Carleton Raiford known to Jan and I as “Carleton.” He and his wife Kitty, who just made the passage to her heavenly Father’s side, became friends when they came to our newly formed United Methodist Church in Vienna, VA. Over the years, we have shared many joys and tears. Both of them are closer than brother and sister. Neither time, distance nor other changes has made that friendship less. To speak of one of them is to speak of both because that is the way they are linked in our hearts.

On June 6, 1944, Carleton was a very young man, newly married, and a paratrooper with the 101st Airborne. His new wife, Kitty, waited at home and bore her part of the world struggle as Carleton was flying the dark English Channel in into France. On June 6 she slept in innocent ignorance as he lumbered forward in the air in stoic silence.

When big moment came Carleton was one of several thousand who hurled his body out of a DC-3 into the unknown zone of Normandy. His group landed miles off course in a marsh near Ste. Mer Eglise. They did not know where they were yet their mission was to secure four exits across the marshland near the coast including causeways and bridges. They were the uncertain human beachhead preparing the way for the invading US 4th Infantry Division at Utah beach. Even though their landing was confused and dangerous they ambled, ran and thrust into the hedgerows infested with an enemy as fearful and trigger happy as they.

Over the years I made many efforts to ferret information from my friend regarding his adventures. I know he was there three years. He fought over a large part of Europe. He was even at the Battle of the Bulge. However, the most I have been able to get from his memory bank were some pithy accounts of his last days in that war.

Once, He told me briefly how he watched a good friend was killed at his post. He told me how he, himself, was wounded by shrapnel after dodging bullets from dogged machine gun fire. And, he told me several very human and humorous episodes including the time a buddy of his tried to get a chicken for the pot by chasing it with a machine gun. In every case, Carleton’s stories were short and sweet on events and always absent of histrionics.

As I have reflected on this good friend’s story and nature I have come to appreciate his uniqueness. In fact, I believe his war experience contributed to his character development in a backhanded way. Briefly, this man who had experienced fear, horror, pain and deprivation seemed to come out of all that with good humor. He has an ability to really enjoy the present, a deep appreciation of relationships and friendship, a basic enthusiasm for ordinary life and responsiveness to new adventures. All of this is better explained to me by the fact that in his late years, after he came to Christ, he seemed to hone these qualities to a fine art form.

When I pray for my friend I give thanks for him. He demonstrates that one does not have to grow bitter because of the traumas through which they have lived. In fact, they can seize the moment and find purpose in them. In fact, such traumas have only helped make Leslie Carleton Raiford a better person. It even made him a grateful person. As a result, this ordinary man has touched many people for the good.

Thank you, good friend. You show us how to cross the Channel!

***

Beach glass glimmers in a bottle on my windowsill -
treasures gleaned from the wet, washed shore.
de

***

C.S. Lewis has said it well when he wrote “…Vicariousness is the very idiom of the reality He (God) has created.” He then goes on to say of Jesus that because of this “…His death can become ours.” We hasten to add that His resurrection life may become ours, also!

 

Words

Tickles

Some people use words to disclose
and
others employ them to dispose.
I like to think of them
as
gerbils under our shirts.

Miss Adie

Miss Adie

They called her Miss out of respect, I supposed. Or, was it perhaps because there was always a question of why she lived with a man who was old enough to be her father until his death? In the old south the term “Miss” was often applied to women who had been single on a long term basis whether widowed or otherwise. I never really found out why she was Miss Adie but I did hear the gossip.

There was talk about town that this little lady had a crusty past. They said she had men friends before the old man – a lot of them. I could never verify, nor did I want to, but it was talk heavy with inference. When I knew her she was too wizened to even believe she had ever been young.

I met Miss Adie when I was a young pastor substitute at the Methodist Wednesday night prayer meeting. She was always there as she was in her pew on Sunday morning. She sat in the far back, on the left side on Wednesdays and the far right side on Sundays. She viewed her world and her Bible through thick lenses and peculiar slants and tips of the head when reading. Otherwise she looked you straight in the eye with huge magnified blue/gray orbs.

Miss Adie’s walk to church from home was an epic journey. Her house was poised on the side of the hill as if from it the weathered unpainted mass were about to tumble. Though she lived about a half mile from the church she had to walk down a half block on Stumps Hill, (a nine to ten degree slope) to even begin the journey from her home.

When she reached the bottom of the hill the street began a gentler slope of six degrees climbing up to the top of Main Street for about three long blocks north and to the left at Fifth Street where the church was ensconced. It took her about thirty minutes to shuffle that distance at terrapin speed. She was offered rides many times but she always preferred to walk. It was her constitutional she replied.

My conversations with Miss Adie were always brief discussions under the entrance light just outside the church basement prayer room. I listened mostly and inquired briefly. But she never talked about herself. She always talked about how she loved Jesus, the Bible the church and the pastor. Almost every Wednesday night she would give me a handwritten copy of a new poem she had written.

I wish I knew more of Miss Adie, however, I think she is probably better left where many people are left in my memory. She was there for a time and has become indelibly etched in my conscience as one of the many persons who decorate the periphery of my life. Such persons are easy to miss but bear the pungent odor of a tiny flower plucked from the roadside which delights, surprises and decorates our lives. That is her legacy to me and is tucked away in my heart as are the passionate little spiritual ditties she gave me. These remind me there is always more than what meets the eye in the people around us.

Editor: Yes, Virginia, her name has been changed to stop the spread of vicious rumor

THE RIGHT TOUCH

The Right Touch

A Christian missionary who ran a free clinic in a poor neighborhood of a third world country was surprised one day to discover that the lines in front of his clinic were longer than those in front of the new and more modern governmental clinic down the street. He determined to watch on a daily basis to see if this situation continued. It did. He honestly found it very difficult to understand how people would prefer his dingy little mission to the bright, well equipped one up the street.

Finally, one day he asked a regular patient why he came to the mission. “Why do you come here instead of going to the government clinic? Their lines are shorter, the facility is brighter, more modern and well equipped.”

The patient was surprisingly direct. He said, “The treatment we get here is about the same as what we get up the street. However, here the touch is different. “

Having heard this account many years ago I have had a long time to reflect upon it. While I believe there are probably other differences between those who do a job vs. those who pursue their vocations as a ministry I cannot quibble with this simple statement. When Christians serve others the touch is different because the motivations are different. First, they see such a service as a means of glorifying Christ. Second, they see those to whom they minister not in biological terms but as having the impress of the image of God within them. Third, they believe they are to serve the world as they would serve Christ. All other motivations of service pale in comparison to these motivations in actual practice.

A few weeks ago a young woman who ministers to struggling young people in trouble shared her ministry at our church. This young woman serves with the barest minimum of financial support. She does it because she believes this is what God sends her to do.

She shared in general on the circumstances of the young people to whom she ministers. She told of some of the challenges they face. She spoke of the abuses they endure. She told about their prayers, the faith they exhibit and their joy in finding love in community. As she spoke, the tears began to flow both from her and from the congregation. Sharing the warmth of the moment with them I heard the still small voice within say, “Ah…this is real…this is what it is all about…basic compassion and the sincere gift of self.” This young woman, whom I know has had amazingly challenging physical struggles herself, has tapped the power of God’s presence and life.

General society is very critical of Christians. Sometimes they have valid reasons for being critical. However, from where I have lived in the last 60 + years among Christians the story is different.

I find that Christian people set the pace for the most admirable people in the world. They are compassionate, giving and reverent about life, about people and our Creator. Christians are likewise generally intelligent, creative, thoughtful and give of their time and resources generously. They are people of both head and heart. It is not rare to experience the spontaneous and genuine outburst of sincere tears and serendipitous joy as I have served among them.

It is plain to me that Christians I have known have been the most natural, forgiving and open people I have ever known. Their charities and efforts have a long history of universally impacting the world and every culture for the enhancement of the human race. This is more than can be said for many, if any, single groups of people.

From community to community Christians are mixed and diverse. However, there is one chord that binds them together. That chord is the Spirit of Christ.

Over the years I have I have lived among all types of Christians and non Christians. Furthermore, I have some very likable, intelligent and cultured friends who are non-Christians. However, I prefer the company of the most uncomplicated believer. It is always a gift to me to sit among Christians who openly live and express their faith even when I can see their foibles. They are simply people who, like me, who understand their need for mercy and grace. Why wouldn’t I feel this way? After all, they are my true family.

Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. I Peter 3:10

Easter Thoughts

The Morning Star  

O Star of the morning, you have served the night. Rise now to your zenith in the day and guide the commerce of the world.  Bring comforting beam to the lost, grant hope to the suffering and needy, delight yourself in children at play as lambs that kick the clouds and grant light to those who slither from shadow to shadow.  Stand with us as we watch the rhythms of the seasons slide by like an eagle on its swing.  Hover over us, O Star.  Wait with us for the birth, the rising up of the humble – those who, like you, desire the company of seekers tracking over the sands, the mounds of time undulating like the wave beam on a scope of man.  O Star, you were never desired more than now.  Amen

***  

Beauty is never created.  It is noticed and imitated.

***

We often look at pieces of art, literature and artifacts of civilizations with the intent of learning something about the persons who created them.  We do this because we passionately believe that people impart some information about themselves in what they create.

Is it not reasonable to say, therefore, that God created the world to say he is a God of resurrection and restoration.  Can we not determine that He is deeply committed to life and renewal?  Do we not see in His works that the earth speaks of a creator who will not take death as the last word?  Do we not look into our own hearts and see a yearning for love, peace, justice and righteousness that cannot be explained apart from the divine impartation?  Can we not see that our own lives are a reflection of a divine mind – even the stamp of His image?

“For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities – His eternal Power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.  For although they knew God, they neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.”  Romans 1:20-21

***

Through the Veil  

The Sun shines through the black barren branches, a filigree like a veil more space than threads to let the light through. On the other side of the copse is a world as real and its light illumines the place where we stand. Such was the way of the star, lightning splitting the clouds, the Wind of the Spirit, that invaded our world to shine upon a stable, center upon a post and fill our monkish chambers.

***   It is very unlikely that the Christian faith is an invented religion. The testimonies of the story, which are many, would uphold this.  Furthermore, no one with any reason would imagine a God who would pay such a price as the incarnation and a crucifixion as a pathway to redemption.    Humans, inventing a religion, would invent one which would essentially deny man’s proclivity to sin.  Then they would raise up centers of education, distribute goods evenly, kill off the aberrant, clone a super race, silence the praise of God and validate to obsessive levels man’ inherent goodness. In short, they would invent a costless state of grace proclaiming a God who is nearly equal and a race that is inherently like Him.

***   Who is Ready for God ?   Who is ready for God? Who can stand in the full blaze of his presence? Who is ready for the light not broken into a thousand rainbows?  Who can stand the sound of His voice or even endure a whisper? Where can we go?  What shadow can hide us from Him? When all is said and done we will face Him, even embrace Him, merge our spiritual worship  with His Spirit as a mere  breath exhaled into a fathomless atmosphere while drawing upon him for the very song we sing. It is a good thing he has a human face.  It is better he has a name and it is a wonder that we can call Him deliverer, our friend,  who is closer than hands and feet. 

***

All hope depends upon the guarantee of a happy ending.  Therefore, I am a realist. It is real to hope.  It is real to live each day expectantly.  It is real to fight for that in which you believe.  It is real to be disappointed when hope is deferred.  It is real to believe that someday, somehow the deepest ache in our hearts will find satisfaction. Therefore, those who stop hoping stop being realists, enter the hinder lands of despair and become burdens upon the realists who hope.  Even when one among us loses hope they declare loudly that they were once real enough to have believed.  They were once real enough to have been disappointed. Hope is not only a rabbit on the track but also the imprint of the divine in the hound that makes it run.                                     Derrel E. Emmerson

Love and Immortality

It has been shown that we perish emotionally and spiritually for the lack of qualitative love. There is an irrefutable link between our need for love and our desire for immortality. 
Why do we seek to achieve, to advance beyond our peers, to seek recognition and honor among others?  It is our inherent need for love; of being found admirable; of finding worth in the evaluation of other people.  This translates into our equal need to be remembered as we are noticed; to be admired as we seek to do something that will insure we will be long remembered; to create a legacy that others will know we have been here.
 In the long run we know that if life is to have any meaning it must be lived in such a way that we will be noticed. It is the very recognition of us by others that gives us a sense of significance not only in our present lives but in the future.  If we are not noticed for our good deeds there is a perverted inclination to be noticed for our evil ones.  This explains the behavior of the serial killer. 
 No human, even those with notoriety, wants to go down to the grave without having lived “significantly.”  Few will admit they do not want to live forever.  If they do, they still long for some significance in the memory of those who will follow which is a form of immortality.
The human spirit unusually beautiful when we think of human achievement.  We admire it because there is something superlative about the human spirit in comparison to all other life as we know it.  The very longing of humans to be transcendent is recognition of this and the reason we seek love and admiration.  Jews, Christians and even the Greek philosophers wrestled with this and generally recognized that we have the image of God stamped in our natures (imago Dei) or at least are like the “gods.”
Moderns may have no liking for this type of discussion but they are nevertheless caught with either facing it or blatantly ignoring it as they seek love and significance in their lives.   Honesty demands that we either admit our proclivity for immortality or stop our talk about what is good, fair, just, and beautiful.  Such discussions are simply the effect of our looking for something that is beyond or immortal.
 

Autumn Flight

Soaring Down
 

The glory of God sparkles in

things that soar – like leaves

 leaping from a tree in Autumn. 

Fledglings in space, they

 lean out and

stretch to test the wind.

 

 I saw a whole flock of them loose
their grip on frail perches to

 fling themselves into

the air flapping,
 lofting,
sinking,

spinning and

boogying in the sun –

a  flurry of foil shimmering
in vagrant patches of sun.
 

They did not go downward  like
the quarry slave at night. 
 

They rose and fell and

rose again making the

flight down

as flight up

into a simple settled state.  

 

At last they lit upon the moss,

a hoard of crackle Grackles,  melting

into the scented earth to

await resurrection through the trunk,
the bud,
the flower
and the greening again.
 

Nothing falls that is not lifted up.
 Nothing melts into oblivion. 
 

Everywhere the message of

 springing is writ so
 we will seize the glory of
 the present moment and

shine in the sun while it is light.

 
This is the way of all flying things and
all things fly that rise in gases,
 in sap,
 like fluids that
flow downward only
 to be lifted to fall in
endless rhythm. 
 

This is the splendor written in

the cycle,

 the circling down,

the rising up,
 the greening,
 the color going,
and the endless spiral of

dying and becoming.

All things defy the clutch of  gravity
 but are never bound because

 there is wonder in the way of things.

It is glory to come down and then go up. 

 

This glory dazzles.

Practicing Stillness

There is a well circulated story of a group of explorers who hired porters to take their supplies into the interior of an African country.  The pace and progress of their journey was murder­ous.  After several days the explorers came to a place on the trail and discovered that the porters were sitting on their burdens and could not be coaxed to move.  An animated negotiation ensued.  The explorers used every argument and enticement at their disposal.  The porters protested that they could not move because the pace had gone so rapidly that they had outdis­tanced their souls.  They would only move, they said, when their souls caught up with them.  

***     

There are occasions our pursuit of goals and the pace of activity depletes us of perspective and energy.  At such time the emphasis upon “doing” negates the impor­tance of “being.”  Doing and being, progress and process, and action and reflection are dynamic tensions in our lives.  They must be balanced if we are to “gain the whole world” without “losing our souls.”  We must learn how to take responsibility for not only what we do for God but how well we reach worthy goals.  Qualitative results must not be sacrificed for quantitative pursuit.  Message can easily be voided by method.

***

People are like high maintenance machines and require as much fine tuning for their journey to the “stars” as do space vehicles.  Spiritual development should never be taken for granted.  It requires the utmost of attention.
 

***

When we fail to seek God it is comforting to know He seeks us and that even our seeking of Him that He is seeking us.

 ***

If we do not practice stillness in our lives, we will be robbed of our liberty and led by the most confident piper on the scene.

***

Stillness is not reading a good book or even active praying.  It is a condition of quiet of body and soul until the still soft voice of God is impressed upon our consciences and minds.

***

God often does not get our attention until we are ruffled and disturbed.  When we grow disturbed enough we give up trying to find our answers.  It is there that we quiet ourselves and ask God the right questions.

.

Generosity

It is a high form of generosity to allow others to give to you.  In doing so you enable them to experience the joy of giving which is always enhancing.  Controlling people often do not allow others to give freely to them.  If they must yield to the giving act they usually have to tell the person what they may give.

Generous people are those people who do what they do unconditionally even receiving.

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