The first thing we did when we were born is cry. Flowing tears and screaming fears betray our sense of panic and sudden disconnection. But our cries were heard, and that made all the difference. We were heard, held and swaddled, caressed and kissed, and fed, and calmed with lullaby songs. Our cries gave way to comfort because we were loved.

We’ve cried many times since then. Sometimes our cries were inspired by joy. Other times they bore the liquid fruit of our pain. Sometimes they were heard, and sometimes not. When our cries are heard it makes all the difference.

The arc of the Biblical story has a lot to do with the crying and tears of both kinds - screams of agony and shouts of joy. It features Israelite slaves in Egypt crying out in desperation under the abusive power of a merciless Empire. Yet their cries are heard by the God of The Exodus. Moses is called and comes to help. “Let my people go!” is the truth declared to Power. The Red Sea is crossed, the wilderness is wandered, the commandments are given, the land is promised. The new found Freedom of the Exodus leads the people to joyful dancing, and singing the song of Miriam - the one about “the horse and rider”of the Empire being “thrown into the sea!”

Yet, the Biblical Story and history itself, testifies that Empires have often been the cause of our tears. From the time that Cain - the land Owner, murders his brother, Abel - the Wandering Shepherd, God has been hearing our blood cry out from the ground. God heard the tears of the little boys killed by Pharaoh, and later by Herod (the so called “Great”). God hears our “wailing and lamentation” of “Rachel,” who symbolizes all Mothers, “weeping for her children, and refusing to be consoled, because they are no more.”

Even today, our own American Empire feels the same need to threaten, and often to cause “wailing and lamentation” in order to protect its own power. What else can we make of public statements like, “We’ll bomb them into the stone age”, or “A whole civilization will die tonight”? What else can we conclude about the brutal, and likely illegal, immigration enforcement policies we’ve chosen to employ over the past year or so? The ones that have resulted in many deaths, including those of American citizens. The ones we have seen and heard with our own eyes and ears.

In the Gospel stories, Jesus is often seen walking with others when someone cries and begs for his help. His disciples tend push the crying ones away, saying something to the effect of - “shut up! And stop disrupting the parade.” But Jesus mirrors the God of the Exodus by hearing them, helping them, healing them. And as the story develops, the eyes of prophetic imagination sees the God of the Exodus living with the peoples, because they belong to God, and God belongs to them. Then God is seen wiping their tears and calling an end to death, mourning, pain and crying. The Peace of Shalom restored again.

Whether you believe in God or not, you likely believe in the “godliness” of Mercy and Compassion and Justice. The godliness which hears the pains and fears of others, and as our mothers did for us, you wish to come and care, hold and help and heal so that tears are wiped, grief is shared and fear is held at bay by love.

And that makes all the difference.

I have told stories my whole life. Many of them begin with the words, “Did I ever tell you about…?” Sometimes family members respond to this question with eye rolls and cleansing breaths, followed by an exasperated, “YES!!!”

“I’m so glad to hear that”, I say. “Because one day I’m going to die, and you’ll all come together for my funeral. You’ll see my body in the casket, and notice the flowers and cards. You’ll sit quietly, observing the expression on my face, or the veins on the backs of my hands. You’ll stay silent for what seems like a long while. And then one of you will break the silence by asking, “Did he ever tell you about….?” And you’ll all smile or laugh and say, “Yes!”

That, I hope, is how our light still shines after we die.

It takes about 8 minutes and 20 seconds for the Sun’s light to reach Earth. The light of faraway stars reaches us long after they’ve died. I wonder if that’s also true of the light and wisdom generated by our own lives, or the lives of the people we love. My experience with what I’ve learned from my parents, coaches, teachers and now patients - AFTER they’ve died - tells me this is true. Their wisdom arrives long after they’re gone, but just in time for when I’m ready to hear it, or see it, or finally understand it.

So let your light shine freely today and know that tomorrow others will benefit from its wisdom. And smile, as they remember you.

Once I saw a sign that read, “Spellers of the World UNTIE!” It was funny, but also rang so true for me, because I reverse letters and numbers all the time.

A few years ago, I was watching YouTube videos with a friend, and reading their titles out loud. For some reason, the word “elegant” became “eggplant”, “now” became “own”, “gateway” became “getaway”, and “sexist” became “sexiest” (which may have been some kind of Freudian thing. Who knows?)

At first these seemed like the funny mistakes we make while texting because autocorrect has changed our original word. That day, “Autocorrect” was seated to my left calling out my errors as I read. It was good natured fun, until something struck a nerve, and I suddenly became quiet. Tears formed in my eyes, and when I tried to speak, I began to sob.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”, they asked with an apology and listening ear.

“No.” I said. “They were already hurt and something you said touched them.”

I described for them, how I felt like a little boy in school again, where I originally learned to never read out loud. And where I consciously gave up on reading, and compensated by finding other ways to be informed. Listening was one of those ways. Hiding it was another.

I think the tears were really about childhood pains long hidden away, and needing to be acknowledged and mourned. They reflect the loneliness of believing that I’m the only one who can’t do this, and the shame of feeling like there’s something wrong with me, and the fear of being humiliated if others find out. It’s exhausting.

No one talked about reading disabilities in those days. They just said, “You learn how to read by reading.” Of course you do, but like most things in life, it’s just not that simple or straight forward.

What seems universal to me is that everyone has experienced wounds and pains in childhood and beyond, even those of us in the healing professions. Henri Nouwen calls us “Wounded Healers” and says that “In our own woundedness, we can become a source of life for others.”

The source of my woundedness taught me how to listen. The presence of my friend taught me how life-giving compassionate listening can feel. And that gives me hope and a sense of wellbeing for today.

Wishing You Peace Now and Always,

Joe

It felt more like a Death than a Divorce. Memories and tears flowed when I came home, or walked from room to room, cooked, or ate, or went to bed alone. The house seemed empty, quiet, and lonely. Very lonely.

So much to do. Closets to pack, house to clean, stuff to store or bring to the thrift store. And then to move to a new place. And after that, to somehow move on.

Grieving felt like death. You were gone now, in another place, and I had no access to you, except through memories of the past and imaginary conversations. Without a present I couldn’t imagine a future. Just more of the same - no emails, no texts, no calls, no cards. No nothing.

My wedding ring became the headstone over the grave of our marriage. I finally removed it from my finger once it no longer pictured the life we shared. The circle was broken.

So I wore it on a chain around my neck to share space with the cross of Jesus that my mother gave me long ago. There, it hung hidden from view, except when I showered or changed clothes, or held it to my chest in bed at night.

My ring became my place to mourn. A safe place to drain my tears, to help heaving become breathing again, to calm myself, and then walk away. Until tomorrow. I visited my ring as often as I needed, until I didn’t need it so much, or in the same way anymore. Then I felt able to place it in its original box, which I keep in a drawer with pictures and other things that make me smile.

Our Shared Life made an indelible mark upon me. A deep impression, like the one that my ring pressed into my finger, which has filled and smoothed a bit over the years, but remains clearly visible to my trained eye.

Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself doing or saying something that I learned from you. No day passes without grateful thoughts that make me smile or even laugh. Little by little I’m growing into Me-Myself, whom I never would have known without You-Yourself.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the first Day of Lent. Lent is a time when we reflect, repent and renew our relationship with one another, and with God. It’s a time when we turn around, or turn back to find our way home. A time when we change the patterns that cause us to drift away from our True Selves. A time when we reflect on who we are and why we’re alive. A calendarized time for us to return to our true home in God - where we are truly loved and known, totally accepted and embraced, fully forgiven and healed.

Ash Wednesday is an invitation, not an accusation. It’s a relief, not a threat. It’s a day we reflect on passages like this one from the prophet Joel. (2:12-13)

“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.”

“Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”

It begins with the words, “Yet even now,” which sounds like another way of saying, “It’s not too late to change.” It’s not too late to “return” home. Just come. Bring your tears, your disappointments, your sorrows, your grief. Bring Your Self, Your True Self.

Home is a safe place. A place of Grace and Mercy, Patience and Love. God holds no grudges. Home is a place of Embrace and Acceptance, Welcome and Forgiveness. In one word - Home is a place of “Healing.” Returning Home is returning to Health.

As I reflected on the Joel passage, with its call for me to return home, I couldn’t help thinking of Jesus’ story of The Prodigal Son. The youngest son of his father had wandered far from home, far from his father, and far from his prior way of being in the world. In that far-off place, he experiences what we might call, “hitting bottom”, after trying more and more “of what doesn’t work.” So he decides to head home, rehearsing his apology all the way there.

Meanwhile his father spends his days gazing at the horizon, hoping against hope that his boy would return. One day he sees him coming in the distance, and runs toward him. Brushing aside his son’s apology, he hugs and kisses him and throws a big party to help him feel at home. The same home as before, only now imbued with newness and hope.

The other day, my spiritual director ended our time together with a saying about the Ash Wednesday. He said, “The dirt smeared on your forehead is fertile soil for the seeds of growth you’ll plant during your journey through Lent.”

As we go into the world today, to work or whatever, May we have our own experience of newness and hope. May we feel at home with ourselves, with the world and with our own understanding of God. And May we plant the seeds of growth that come our way into the ashes of life so that they become for us a place of Healing and Well-Being.

Peace,

Joe

One of the wisest sayings I’ve ever heard was said to me by elderly man with Alzheimer’s Disease. We used to read children’s stories together and I’d encourage him to act out the scenes. The story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears was a favorite of ours. Especially the - “Whose-Been-Sleeping-In-My-Bed?” part.

One day he told me, “What you can do, you can do. What you can’t, you can’t.”

I was stunned by the elegant wisdom of his words. And I wondered if they had been his own strategy for coping with the persistent downward changes he felt as his dementia progressed.

They Remind Me of the famous, “Serenity Prayer,” which asks for:

The Serenity to Accept the things we cannot change,

The Courage to Change the things we can, and

The Wisdom to Know the difference.

Change can be painful, especially if it catches us by surprise. Sudden changes sometimes make me angry, and I hate when that happens. But what I hate is not change itself, but changes that disrupt my plans, or expectations for my day, or my year, or my forever.

I hate the kinds of changes that do not ask my permission before coming into my life. The kinds that I cannot control. The changes that I cannot change, no matter how much courage I pray for. They are what they are, and they don’t care what I think about them.

My problem is not with change; it’s with control. I love to be in control of things, even if control is an illusion. I want a life that is well-ordered and reliable. Ambiguity makes me nervous, and I don’t trust mystery at all. I want to know what to expect, so I know who I’m supposed to be today.

Does any of that sound familiar?

My friend, Jeff says, “Expectations are premeditated resentments.” Ouch. That hurts a little, because I know it’s true. Yet, I don’t think he means that we should have no expectations. That doesn’t seem possible to me, or even desirable. What I think he means is that we need to be aware of our expectations and to enjoy them as long as they’re healthy. But to also hold them loosely, and not be overly attached to them. Expectations are like a first draft that we know we’ll need to edit along the way.

Another elderly man told me, “The only thing that doesn’t change is change.” In other words, Change is to be expected, whether we like it or not.

Spiritual writer, James Finley tells a story about his well-known mentor, Thomas Merton. He says that when Merton asked him how things are going and he said, “Terrible.” Merton would say, “Don’t worry, things will get better.” And when he told Merton that things are “Great!” Merton said, “Don’t worry, they’ll get worse.” That’s just the way things go.

This seems universally true. Buddhists teach us about, “The Five Remembrances.” Five statements about the impermanence of things. About how – We are by nature those who grow old, those who get ill, and those who die. They acknowledge how change eventually leads to separation from all that we love or hold dear. And for better or worse, they teach us that the rewards or consequences of our actions are the ground we stand upon in changing times.

Thank God that we can act.

Thank God that we can still do what we can do, even if we can’t do what we used to.

Maybe today, we can still do what we can, to do something good for someone else.

Peace,

Joe

Peace has been an unconscious theme for me since childhood. In 7th grade I got into trouble when I wore a large "Peace” medallion to school. It was the first bit of jewelry I’d ever owned. Yet, for some reason my place of learning felt that I should not wear it there.

In college I had a Christmas Card made from a personal photo. When the card company offered a selection of greetings to go with it, I chose, “Peace on Earth,” which seemed so obvious to me.

Years later, as a Pastor in New York City, the main theme of my work was Peacemaking, which meant cultivating and nurturing, “God’s Peace for All People.”

Last month I shared that I am a part of Sacred Heart Parish in Camden, NJ and how I’ve felt drawn to the painting above, which features eight famous leaders whose lives were devoted to Peace. They were Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Baptist and Hindu. Five men, three women, two Saints, and four Nobel Peace Prize recipients.

Five members of this group of eight were Assassinated. Why is it that humans can so often feel threatened when others work for Peace. Why would we feel the need to put a stop to it. Is peace that dangerous? Or, is it just inconvenient?

What strikes me today about this painting is that the “eight faces of peace” are not pictured alone. Children of various ages are also there, including a baby who may not even be born yet, as she seems to be sleeping in a womb shaped bed. Another viewer told me that the baby looks like she’s dreaming the rest of the scene, which rings true for me.

When I first noticed the children, I asked, “What are kids doing in this picture?” Looking closer I realized that they’re doing what all children do, if given a chance. They’re playing. And dreaming.

Giving the Future a Chance to Play is yet another reason Why Peace Must Be Made.

After that I had another awakening about this. I noticed a faceless area in the lower right portion of the frame. “Why the blank space?’ I thought. “It seems so unbalanced and feels unfinished.” Bingo!

Maybe the vacuum is intentional. Maybe it’s there to draw our focus to something that’s missing. Perhaps it’s inviting us to imagine our own faces filling that void. Perhaps it’s calling us to join the legacy of those who came before us. So that we too will pray, ponder and work for Peace in our own lives, and nation, and world.

How else will the future play, and learn the skills that Make Peace Possible?

So I’m impressed when people tell me, in calm and confident tones, that they are not haunted by past mistakes, not even when their own end-of-life is looming nearer than ever. It’s not that they’ve made no mistakes, or don’t wish that they had done things differently than they did - they are human after all. It’s that they’ve somehow come to terms with the things they’ve thought, or said, or done, for which they’ve later felt sorry.

What I sense from them is a wonderful ability to look honestly at their past, to face their mistakes, to make amends where possible, and to forgive their younger selves and reality for being what they were. And then to move on.

That’s the kind of wisdom I hear from ordinary people. It’s the wisdom I wish for my own life too.

James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

Desmond Tutu expresses similar ideas in his book, “No Future Without Forgiveness.”

And what does coffee have to do with this?

Each morning I pour hot water over freshly ground coffee settled in a paper filter. The water extracts the goodness of the coffee with its subtle notes of flavor, while the filter catches the gritty sludge of bitterness, so that the brew passes cleanly into my cup.

And I say, “Ahhhhh, yes! The sweet beverage of the gods!”

Maybe facing the gritty sludge and bitterness of our regrets really does allow for change. Maybe the sins of our past can be filtered out of our present, while the lessons they offer pave the way for forgiveness and a better future. Maybe this sort of reflection is also true and useful for people like us. Perhaps for cultures, systems and societies, too. And for wherever and whenever the gritty sludge and bitterness of personal and corporate regrets are intentionally faced and eventually forgiven.

I first came to Sacred Heart Church in Camden, NJ to hear a famous speaker and local artists talk about art and spirituality. It was a beautiful gathering of people and the first time I ever saw the painting in the image above.

At one point, I gazed across the room at the people and the painting mounted above them, and I began to cry. Perhaps the painting drew my tears, or the diverse group of kindred spirits beneath it. Whichever it was, that painting has intrigued me ever since and I stare at it every time I’m there.

It holds Eight Faces of Peace – men and women from all over the world, four are Catholic, one is Jewish, one Muslim, one Baptist, and one Hindu - all of them united in the cause of Peace. They are Katherine Drexel, Mahatma Gandhi, Dorothy Day, Mother Theresa, Oscar Romero, Anwar Sadat, Yitzhak Rabin, and Martin Luther King Jr.

This New Year, I find myself wanting to follow their examples now, more than ever. Recent years have taught me how damned angry I can become with the violent direction that our world and our country have taken. It’s nothing new, really. The world has been a violent place since before Cain killed Abel. But it frightens me that so much anger can be stirred within me as I witness injustice escalating at a startling pace.

I know that Anger over injustice is not a bad thing. Neither is Outrage. They are appropriate responses to when people are treated unjustly. The Exodus story in the Bible pictures this well. It says that God hears the “Outcry”of the Israelite slaves in Egypt. And it uses a cluster of Hebrew words within the context of that story to hold layers of meaning for readers like us. These layers include: Anguish, Protest, and Outrage. God hears their anguish, outrage and protest, and God hears ours too. For God, “Protest” is another word for Prayer.

So, what frightens me about my anger and outrage? My fear is not so much at anger and outrage in and of themselves, but at the danger of my Outrage becoming Out-and-Out Rage. Losing control of my emotions scares because I am committed to Peace and Peacemaking, which means I am committed to Nonviolence, and Nonviolent Resistance. Wait! I may have just stumbled upon the solution to my problem.

Despite feeling startled by my anger, I have a clear hope! I have hope in my Desire for and Commitment to Peace, which outgrows my inner anger, with its vulnerability to temptations like violence and hatred. I have hope in my Desire and Commitment to be at Peace within myself and to be an agent of Peace within my world. My Desire and Commitment to Peace are clear signs to me that God is at work within me, and that God’s work of Peace within Peacemakers will genuinely prevail for the Good of the World.

I Believe it! I Pray for It! And I Give Myself to Participate in cultivating God’s Dream of Peace in our world!

Or, as Isaiah called it, “The Peaceable Kingdom”, where the Creation embodies the Shalom of the Creator. (Isa. 11:1-9)

May it be so! May it be soon! May it be Now!

Amen.

Ever play that game where someone says a word and you say the first word that comes to mind? So if I say, “Day” you may say “Night”, or I say “Life” and you say, “Long.” What if I say, “Invalid”?

I read that word in a memoir about the author’s “life-shattering diagnosis.” One that erased his dreams for the future, and his ability to work before his work was finished. Without these driving him, he says, “I became an invalid.”

The thought of identifying myself with a word that means * In-Valid * stuns me, and moves me to ponder and unpack the baggage laden synonyms it carries. “Invalid” means “Nothing” and “Empty.” It’s “Unacceptable”, “Not Good Enough,” and “Invalidated,” like an expired driver’s license or food that’s been on the shelf too long.

Most people probably wouldn’t use ‘invalid’ or its synonyms to frame their life. At least not consciously. They would chose words closer at hand.

When I asked one man what “Hospice” means to him, he said it means, “I’m Finished.” Then we gently pondered the question, “Are you finished, or finishing?” - and the big difference that makes.

Countless people with serious illness replace “invalid” with “Burden.” “I don’t want to “Be a Burden to my family,” they say. This brave admission can help families share feelings in reassuring ways that transform “tedious burdens” into “Labors of Love.”

Before she knew of her dementia, my Mom was very aware that her body and mind were changing in ways that made her feel, “Useless.” Told that she would soon be completely dependent, she asked what I thought about it.

“Mom,” I said, “do you remember when we were little and you fed us, bathed us, clothed us, and taught us to do those things?”

“Yes.” She said.

“Now, you’re going to teach us to slow down and take care of you, and we’re going to become better people for it.”

“Cool,” she said.

Hearing the meaning of code words for “invalid” can help us reframe experiences, validate feelings and reduce false beliefs about our lives or the lives of anyone else being, “In-Valid.”

No one is In-Valid. Whether they come from the South or North, the Coastlands or the Heartland, All People Everywhere are Valid. No matter the color of their skin, nor the the language they speak, nor their country of origin - All People hold Inherent Validity, Inalienable Rights, and a Dignity that cannot be Revoked.

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Peace of Mind has been important to me for a long time. That doesn’t mean that I always experience a sustained inner peace. In fact, I don’t. It seems that wanting peace and having peace are two different things. Wanting peace seems straight forward. Having Peace, well, that’s another story, because experiencing peace takes work. We must give ourselves to it, moment by moment, day after day.

Richard Rohr teaches that Making Peace with reality means “forgiving reality for being what it is.” It means accepting the imperfect, messy and often disappointing nature of life. It means letting go of resistance, judgment, and the need for things to be different. And instead find wholeness by embracing the present moment, including its brokenness - as a path to deeper connection and spiritual growth.

As a Healthcare Chaplain in Hospitals and Hospice, I’ve noticed myself and others hoping to find Peace by trying to change unchangeable things. The result is usually the opposite of anything we would want to call, “Peace.” But, it may be the only first step we have toward knowing whether a situation is changeable or not. We need to know the Truth to Make Peace with Reality. Why? Because even after someone in authority tells us that a situation is unchangeable, we still feel the need to kick the tires on that car, just to make sure.

I’ve been in many meetings to support patient’s, families, and medical providers when “Bad News” needs to be delivered. When someone hears their doctor say that they have a terminal illness and there is nothing else that can be done for them, the starkness of that news turns their world upside down. They may feel overwhelmed and unsure of what it all means. And they may feel a desperate need to take decisive action to find a way through. “There must be something we can do.”

And why not? We humans have a strong will to live, and we usually won’t give up on life so easily. We just know, or hope, or hope against hope that the doctors are wrong; as we search for or try yet another test, or medical intervention, or holistic treatment.

Another example of our strong will to live is seen in the reaction of people in Minneapolis, Minnesota to raids conducted by ICE, and the killing of Renee Nicole Goode. For them, and for many Americans, these raids feel more like an invasion than law enforcement. They appear overly aggressive, cruel, unprofessional, unjust and likely illegal. And for the people who live there, the presence of ICE is a threat to the Life of their community. A Life that they are not willing to give up without a fight.

Some people may say that those struggling for life, or refusing to comply with their medical, political, or personal reality, are “in denial.” And they are partly right. I say, “partly” because denial is often seen, at this point as, as something unreasonable or unnatural. It’s not. It’s part of a larger process where denial is a normal part of coming to acceptance. For these people it seems easy to accept someone else’s stark reality. But when it’s their turn to face Bad News, they too will discover the struggle.

That’s why we have to be patient with people suffering loss, and let go of our superficial judgements and disingenuous opinions about reality. Because one day we’ll be the ones struggling with life threatening illness, economic loss, or chaotic ICE raids in our neighborhoods. We’ll be the ones who refuse to give up on life so easily. We’ll be the ones who refuse to comply with end of life, or end of life as we know it, until we are absolutely sure that the end is really near.

Only when we know that so called, “unchangeable things” are actually unchangeable, can we be at peace with accepting their outcome. And so, we’ll need to be patient with ourselves too, and realize that coping is a process, not a reaction. Trying to change unchangeable things is an early part of that process. One we all need to go through in order to make peace with uncomfortable realities, and to accept things as they are rather than as we want them to be.

With life and death realities, it means grieving the loss of the future we had hoped for, imagined and anticipated. With political realities, it means grieving the impending loss of Freedom, or Democracy, or Due Process, and many other things that make life meaningful for Americans and for others who see America as a place of hope for a better future for them and their family.

I’ll end with this - the opening lines of the famous Serenity Prayer, written by Reinhold Niebuhr in the early 1940s.

God, Grant Me -

The Serenity to Accept the Things I Cannot Change,

The Courage to Change the Things I Can, and

The Wisdom to Know The Difference.

Amen.

I think of myself as a Spiritual Pilgrim. Someone who is finding his way through life as one does while on a pilgrimage, or a multi-day hike through the mountains. I have a general sense of direction, yet there is much about what lies ahead that I do not know. There are Unforeseen Challenges and Unexpected Gifts of Grace that will come together as an integrated set, which forms the meaning of the word, Wonder.

I am a Wanderer by nature, a Pilgrim moving slowly along the Wonder-filled Path of Discovery. My journey is not about certainty, or having everything figured out and under control, nor having a tightly worded, concise an answer for every question. No. My journey is more about exploring the questions I have about life, and simply trusting that everything will be ok in the end.

When I was 6 or 7 years old, I remember going to a beach with my family to a place called Shelter Cove along the Barnegat Bay in New Jersey. While my sisters got swim lessons at the water’s edge, I opted to float out into the deep on a borrowed inner tube. After a short while, I felt an irresistible urge to paddle toward the horizon, which meant moving farther and farther away from the beach, and my parents.

I wondered: “What’s it like out there?” and felt the gravitational pull of curiosity drawing me toward discovery and away from the status quo. There I was, in my own world. Until, that is, the spell was broken by the sound of an outboard motorboat manned by a lifeguard and my father who was there to reel me in and bring me back to “safety.”

I have mixed feelings about that moment today. On the one hand, I know and appreciate what my father did to protect me. I might have done the same thing. On the other hand, I wish that moment had included affirmations of my curiosity, and sense of wonder and adventure. Instead, I came away from it feeling like I had done something wrong by taking a risk.

I wish I had been taught that safety and risk are partners in a healthy life, not opponents. That safety should not always be my top priority when making decisions. After all, “risk” is not another word for “unsafe”. Safety is a factor, but Exploration is the goal. Yes, exploration may come with risks, but risks can be managed, and fears can be integrated so that our exploration of life can be pursued with confidence.

As one who was a Pastor for almost 30 years, I tended to get interested in new ways of looking at old Bible passages and how they relate to us today. Sometimes my journey led me to read the Bible from different perspectives, and to see Other Religions differently too. I gained new understandings of things like Heaven and Hell, the rights of LGBTQ people, Gender Equality, and other things that aroused concern from my parishioners and superiors, because I was moving into places that felt Unknown or Unsafe to them. Sometimes their concern caused them to question my faithfulness to the mission of Jesus. Sometimes they feared I was on a slippery slope of theological ruin.

For a long time, when I sensed their fear or concern, I would walk my ideas back a bit, to places where they might feel more comfortable. But inwardly, I continued my pursuit toward the spiritual horizon and felt the gravitational pull of curiosity drawing me toward discovery and away from their status quo.

Gradually I came to the realization that I needed to find another way to express my pastoral calling and gifts. I knew that I could no longer remain where I was, because to do so would mean, I could no longer be myself. And for me, doing that would be unfaithful to the God who Made me, Loves me, and Accepts me just the way I am.

So, I spoke with my District Superintendent about my journey. I told him that “I needed another place in God’s vineyard to serve.” I told him that I appreciated the years I served with our denomination and that our fellowship is like “my spiritual family of origin.” I told him that “I love my family of origin!.…I just don’t want to live with them anymore.” And he laughed, because that’s how we all feel when we know it’s time to leave our parents’ home to become our adult selves.

That was one of the most empowering moments of my life. I no longer had to walk things back to feel safe. I could finally be my adult self without feeling ashamed. I could appreciate all that I had learned while I was with them, and confidently hold on to the values that still hold meaning for me. Yet, I could also let go of the things that I no longer believe, or that no longer serve me well. And yet, I could still appreciate even those things, because they once played an important role in my life, and I would not have grown to the place of letting them go, without them.

So, my dear friends, Here’s to our Spiritual Pursuit toward the Horizon. Here’s to embracing the Gravitation Pull of Curiosity, which draws us toward Discovery and away from the Status Quo. And here’s to Life’s Empowering Moments when we Become our Adult Selves and know in our hearts that Everything will be OK.

Near the end of each December our culture pauses to remember those we’ve lost this year. Some TV programs devote time to feature the life and work of celebrities who died during the past 12 months.

Reflecting upon the lives of those who have died is an important part of our transition into each New Year. Maybe that’s why there are so many religious and cultural holidays that fall near the end of the year. Despite their unique origins, common threads of meaning emerge from them all. Things like Faith, Hope and Resilience, symbolized by Light in the darkness.

Yet there can be no Happy New Year without an intentional consistent focus on each New Day. Although, we generally tend to place more emphasis on Years than we do Days, we know that years cannot exist without days, and the tiny moments that make them.

As a young Pastor, I sometimes used my day off to walk in the woods or visit a historical site. One day, I was walking through a colonial era cemetery in Bridgeton NJ. There I noticing many graves of people who died in their 20s and 30s. And I was shocked by the number tiny graves I saw marked with headstones carved in the shape of little lambs. These were for children.

As I walked along, I read many of the inscriptions on their headstones. Their epitaphs were different than what I’m used to seeing. After the dates of a persons Birth and Death, they add something special that I’ve never forgotten. They say:

“Lived” (or “Aged”) “25 Years 4 Months 8 Days”

“I guess when you live only 25 years, the days must become really important,” I thought. And they are important. It’s supply and demand. The fewer the number of days you have, the more valuable each becomes.

Back then, my own death seemed far off, and the number of days too many to count. But the older I get, the more keenly aware I am that my days are numbered. That one day I will really die. And that day is closer now than ever before. On the one hand, that thought sends a shiver down my spine. On the other hand, it imbues each day with greater meaning and value, and proclaims to my heart, “NOW is the time!”

“NOW is the time to pursue what’s on your heart! NOW is the time to follow your calling!”

“Today is the Day that God has made! Rejoice and be Glad in it! (Psalm 118:24)

In that grave yard, so many years ago, I remembered a small piece of Psalms 139 in the Hebrew Bible. It goes like this:

“In your book were written/ all the days that were formed for me/ when none of them as yet existed.” (Psalms 139:16)

It’s important to note that this is relational poetry. It is not trying to prove that God has pre-planned ever event and circumstance of our lives. These are the words of a Poet expressing the Meaningfulness of his Life, and the Wonder of being Alive!

It’s about faithfulness, not fate. It’s about the Hope that God will remain present Day-in and Day-out, no matter what. For me, it means that God knows the possibilities. God knows the faith that prods me forward, and the fears that hold me back. And God honors both faith and fear with loving presence and encouragement.

God gives me control of the choices I make as I try to participate with my understanding of Divine Will. And God does not punish me for my inefficient or ineffective choices along the way. Rather, God integrates them into the Day-By-Day work of spiritual growth, maturity and transformation.

That’s why Today is so important. And why, Now is the Time.

Wishing you Grace and Peace and a Happy New Year,

Joe

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I’ve heard it said that,

“Statements put us in a State, but Questions set us in a Quest.”

For me the question, “What do you want to do with the rest of your life?”, helps me to articulate a clear set of priorities and direction for the future.

When my son-in-law asked me that question over ten years ago, I didn’t even have to think about it. “Three things!” I said.

“I want to be with people when it counts, I want to write about what matters most, and I want to hike as long as I can.”

The answer came from my heart, not my head. I just knew what to say. Maybe I’ve always known, but lacked the confidence to say it out loud.

Whatever it was, I knew that these are the things that make me come alive. They move me, through places and spaces where I discover who I am and what I’m made of, where I’m going and what helps me go there.

They also open my eyes to the things that hold me back.

What Ian didn’t know when he asked that question, was that I had already committed to leaving my Pastoral role in a local church, so I could pursue a career in Clinical Pastoral Care as a Healthcare and Hospice Chaplain. I had already applied for training and would later be hired by a local Hospice Organization, with whom I still work today.

Over the years I’ve put a lot of energy into “Being with people when it counts,” and into “Hiking as long as I can.” I was a minister for nearly 30 years and have practiced Chaplaincy for almost a decade. And I’ve hiked over 2,500 miles since Ian popped the question way back when.

Writing was like my middle child, who now needs more attention than ever. I’ve felt her calling to me for most of my adult life, and I’ve worked hard to develop my voice, but not so hard at putting my voice out there, so people like you can hear me.

I write Personal Essays that are the Reflections of my own Spiritual Pilgrimage. I draw inspiration from my life experience and various careers as a Pastor, Chaplain, and Hiker.

My reflections are about faith and doubt, personal growth, and other things that help me find my way along Life’s zigzagged, up & down, two-steps-forward-one-step-back Path.

I’ve learned that everything on this Path belongs. Bright vistas, dark valleys, sunshine and rain. All of it forms the substance of what we need - or at least what I need - to find my way in life. Joys and Sorrows, Hopes and Fears, Gifts and Gaffs, Sweet Spots and Blind Spots are the ingredients that nurture self awareness, growth and becoming. Always Becoming.

And now I’m here with you. And I’m so glad that you are here with me. I hope that you enjoy my posts. And I look forward to us Finding Our Way Together.

And one more thing. What do You Want to Do with the rest of Your Life?

Wishing you Grace and Peace along the way.

Joe

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Growing up I noticed my father had an unconscious Christmas tradition: to hang our Christmas lights on the coldest day of the year. Oh, the joy! Ugh! I too had a tradition for Christmas week: to organize indoor games of hide ‘n seek with my siblings, as a clever way of finding hidden gifts.

I guess every family has their own traditions and unique ways of celebrating whatever holidays they observe. In my experience, the way we observe special occasions can develop and change over time – either from one generation to another, or within the span of a single life. How we understand what a day means matures as we age. So, for me “Reloading Christmas” is about finding new meanings in old stories or traditions. It’s about seeing them more fully or more deeply than I had before.

As I read the Christmas stories today, they reflect a diverse cast of characters, and a context not unlike our own. They feature young and old, rich and poor, men and women, citizens, aliens and refugees, those in power and those oppressed by that power. They include politics and religion, privilege and prejudice, the joy surrounding the birth of a child, and the horror and heartache of children and other innocents terrorized or murdered in the name of national security, which grows out of the personal insecurities of a powerful leader.

The world of the 1st Christmas was one where some people’s lives mattered more than others, where the privileged were heard while the poor went unheeded. Yet it was also a world where those who mattered least to the powerful mattered most to the Almighty. The One who hears their cries and sees their pain, now gives them hope through visions of angels announcing Good News. Zechariah’s prayers are heard, Mary’s lowly life is seen and favored, and old Simeon is so happy that he declares that he can now die in peace!

For the world of this Christmas, I hope for a new way of being. One that hears and sees the “least of these.” One that acknowledges the Dignity and Divinity they embody. One that nurtures the Peace they desire and deserve.

In Hospice we know that all of us will one day take our turn as “the least of these,” and that’s why we do what we do. And, why reloading, reimagining, refreshing and retelling our cherished stories is so important. Because they remind us of the deeper significance of our humanity, and of what it means for us to be alive in this world today.

Wishing you Peace and Joy and every Good as you celebrate your own Holy Days this year!

Joe DeSantis

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