The Renovating Reverend

The front door. It wasn’t high on the refinishing priority list, but after the house had been painted and the landscaping had wrapped around from the south to the east, its shabby state had become that much more obvious. The best guess is that the original shellac had turned nearly black somewhere around the time Herbert Hoover was in office, then someone had painted it black during the Kennedy and Nixon eras, with at least two different types of paint—the top coat of which had crackled into millions of spidery cracks a good twenty or more years ago. A sliver of veneer had peeled and broken off from the lower section of the door. There were many digs and dings, and the ornamental scrollwork below the glass was missing a small chunk at the very end. I had to admit it looked rather sad, and wasn’t so sure that refinishing would improve the appearance a whole lot. But that old door with its beveled glass was one of my favorite parts of the house when we first looked it over, so it was well worth some attention.

Doors have a lot of traditions associated with them, completely apart from what sort of building they are attached to. Red doors have long been a sign of welcome to weary travelers. We speak of opportunity metaphorically knocking at the door. Open doors signifying welcome, inclusion, and abundance. Doorways can be places from which we symbolically set out on journeys, leaving what is known in order to step out into the unknown, perhaps leaving the common or profane to travel the path of enlightenment.

Of course, doors can also have negative connotations. They can be figurative and literal obstacles, boundaries past which a certain group of people are not welcome and may not pass, symbols of rejection, hierarchy, or selfishness. Those who enter are the favored elite, while others are not worthy to enter—T here are “sides” to a door. I was surprised, as I thought about this, to have an old Sunday school song come up from the depths of memory. It speaks of one door with two sides. The singer declares “I’m on the inside,” and asks, “On which side are you?” That’s pretty much the whole song. I don’t remember what I thought of it as a kid, but as an adult it sounds less like an invitation to experience the Divine and more like a whiny taunt of “nanner, nanner, nanner!” Not very welcoming or appealing, to say the least.

I’m happy to report that our refinished front door has turned out to be warm and appealing. I stopped short of using something like oxalic acid, which could have removed all traces of the old blackened finish, and, instead, used a black stain to blend and soften its well-used appearance. The result is satiny wood, with a lot of depth, in a warm brownish-black. It says, “Welcome. Come on in.” [Please feel free to experience a contented sigh and warm, fuzzy feelings here!] Although a lot of our home is as welcoming as the beautified door, there is still some of it that is more on the order of a creepy old house, so I had to chuckle, once again, at the contrasts of the renovation-in-progress experience.

The last step in refinishing the door was new weather stripping. As I was tacking it up around the doorframe, I began to consider both the welcome/opportunity and the chosen-sides aspects of doors. Doors certainly can represent a choice, but which side is the “good” side seems to be a tougher thing to determine. C.S. Lewis, the great fantasy writer, literature scholar, and highly respected Christian apologist, did a great job of demonstrating how tricky doorways can be. If I remember correctly, Lewis did this in the seventh and final book of the Chronicles of Narnia.

***Spoiler alert! I’m about to reveal, in part, what happens at the end of the saga!***

In “The Last Battle,” Aslan welcomes many Narnians, humans, and even one Tash-worshipping Calormene warrior, to the home of his father, the Emperor Over the Sea. It is literally Paradise. However, one group of rather grumpy dwarves who have passed through the door to Paradise still believe they are in a dark, smelly stable, during a nighttime battle, which was the last thing they experienced in Narnia. No matter how anyone tries, they are unable to open the grumpy guys’ eyes to where they are. To them, all sorts of good things to eat smell like manure and feel like straw, and they huddle together in a tight group, miserable in the heavenly home of the Creator, miserable on the “right” side of the door. There are additional layers to this part of the story, which all point to the fact that the door, and even the location of Heaven itself, weren’t nearly half as important as what was in the characters’ hearts and minds.

I hope our front door will always remind me that the doorways to fulfillment, peace, and love are within each one of us.

This summer, we participated in our local Community-Supported Agriculture, or CSA, by buying fruit shares. The local farmers provided quite a lot of fantastic blueberries, fewer raspberries than we’d hoped, and, lately, what seems like a ton of apples. I’ve had to learn how to cook with apples, and found a fresh cream apple pie recipe that is incredibly delicious…and possibly addictive.

The apple is obviously plentiful this time of year, and is an old symbol of knowledge and divine wisdom, appropriate to observances of this day, the autumnal equinox. With an equal amount of light and darkness today, it’s a good time to think about the wisdom of balance in our lives. If any part of our lives is off kilter because of unfinished business, deferred decision making, or ignored priorities we can be encouraged to make changes that will get us back in balance again. If this seems like a big challenge, eat some apples…and pray for the wisdom to change what you can and accept what you can’t. Divine wisdom will guide you.

Work inside the house slowed down quite a bit earlier this year, but, with the summer weather, work outdoors picked up momentum. Two of the three visible sides of the house are now fully landscaped. Granted, some of the plants are rather small, but we know what they will look like in three to five years, so we’re keeping the faith, holding onto the vision.

Because people will stop to look at our yard, and will ask the names of the plants, Steve has labelled a number of them. I can guess that some people ask because they’re just curious and want to hear the name of the plant, while others might be gardeners who would consider adding variety to their own landscape. Some people seem rather intimidated by the names of plants, as if learning the entire lexicon of the plant world were a prerequisite to gardening. “Oh,” more than one person has said, “I could never garden because there’s no way I’d remember all the names of things.” On the other hand, I’ve known more than a few master gardeners who are very proud of their command of plant names, especially the more precise, scientific names that are in Latin. This pushes a button for someone I know–and she’s a soil scientist with a PhD. Whenever she hears anyone use the Latin name of a plant to “correct” someone who just used the common name in conversation, she will interject with great sarcastic emotion, “Ahhh, the secret name.” She figures there’s a time and place for scientific categorization of things, but most of the time the more common name for something will suffice in general conversation. There’s no need for intimidation, on either side.

I always encourage people who are thinking of planting some things in their yard not to feel intimidated by terminology or lack of knowledge. The plants don’t care if a child, a master gardener, or a PhD are planting them. There are many plants that will do well with minimal, simple care. You can learn what to plant, where to plant it, and how to take care of it from an experienced friend or someone at the nursery where you will buy the plant. And always remember that even an experienced gardener will lose a plant from time to time — it’s not necessarily a sign of catastrophic neglect and failure, it’s just part of the experience of gardening. It’s part of life.

Recently, our neighborhood association was awarded a grant to purchase oak trees to plant in the parking strips around the neighborhood. These were to replace the many, very old trees that were damaged in a wind storm last year. The homeowners who live where the trees are planted agreed to water them for the first year. One woman marvelled at how all she needed to do was water at the recommended intervals. She said it made her feel so good to know that she could contribute to the beauty and enjoyment of the area simply by watering a tree. And it appears that she’s keeping up her end of the bargain, because the little oak has leafed out nicely and looks great.

No intimidation necessary. Just a little bit of work and a lot of plant enjoyment.

One of the perks of living in an old downtown area is being close to little cafes and shops.  We’re lucky to have a small, old diner downtown that is still going strong.  During the winter, we found ourselves walking over there on most Sundays, the day of the week on which they make biscuits and gravy.  The owner is quite a character.  If two people sit down at a big booth on a busy day, he’ll strongly suggest they move to the counter, to make room for a larger party.  And he’ll holler a warning at patrons about the syrup bottles that can shoot the homemade syrup out at high velocity.  He makes large, orange-colored pancakes that are, apparently, mentioned in travel literature as something not to be missed.  Although you can find all kinds of people in the diner on any given day, folks who are obviously tourists will occasionally show up for the pancake.  Some tourists are from town, and some are from out of town.
 
What makes a tourist?  I’ve traveled the world just enough to confidently form the opinion that there is a big difference between a traveler and a tourist.  Travelers are out to experience a place and, sometimes, participate in local life.  Tourists, wherever they go, seem to be observing a place and its people as though they are completely outside of the tourist’s experience.  For example, last Sunday, a woman and a man sat down at the counter next to us, and proceeded to comment on the place as though none of the rest of us could hear or understand them — it was as if they were sitting at home in front of the TV, commenting on a show.  This lasted until shortly after the cook dished up their order, at which time they settled down and focused on their food, engaging in quiet conversation and watching other patrons come and go.  After we’d packed away our biscuits and gravy, and were walking back home, I couldn’t help but think that, if the couple had continued to hold themselves apart from the environment, they would have completely missed experiencing the place as the regulars do, and it’s likely that they would have been evaluating the food rather than really tasting and enjoying it.
 
You can probably guess where I’m going with this.  I wonder if there are ways in which all of us might be acting like tourists in our everyday lives.  Could we be be missing out on a slice of life because we’re using the tourist strategy to keep ourselves aloof, apart from people and places we’re unfamiliar or uncomfortable with?  Could we be judging people or things without even trying to get to know them, perhaps to, again, keep ourselves at a “safe” distance? The Christian Bible says that perfect love drives away fear, and Jesus of Nazareth is certainly depicted in scripture as a traveler who displayed a fearless love, while encouraging others to follow his example. So many other revered spiritual leaders have done the same. So, in all of our daily travels, may we have the courage and love to move beyond tourism. May we be fully present, participate fully in life, wherever it takes us.

We’ve turned a corner. The work on the house has now reached a point at which we can see that progress is obviously being made, most notably in the front parlor – it is now all finished, complete with curtains, picture rail moulding, artwork hanging from the picture rail moulding…and a Christmas tree. It’s like an oasis of completion in a desert of disorder. However, so much work is still in progress, or has yet to be started. For example, mere inches away from the front parlor oasis of done-ness, the back parlor still features crackled paint on the woodwork, sagging plaster, and peeling wallpaper. Depending on which way you turn, you get a different feeling about the place.

If you’re looking at the outside of the house, you’d get a similar effect. Steve finished painting the house last month. The other day, he put up icicle lights, and set up a few inflatable characters in the yard. A woman who lived in our house in the 40s and 50s stopped by while Steve was hanging the lights, and he invited her in to see the progress we’ve made. She laughed about the various states that different parts of the house are in, both inside and out—that casual passersby would see the outdoor paint job and the decorations, and would never guess there was so much work going on inside.

As we begin the holiday “season of light,” when many hopeful celebrations take place during the darkest time of year, may we remember that what we see with our eyes does not necessarily reflect the full reality of the situation. Keep looking for the light, and, if you see it burning brightly, share your love, hope, and help with others.

Last month, completely unexpected, out of the blue, someone sent me a laundry list of grievances for which I was deemed either forgivable or unforgivable. I was called names that I’ve never been called before, which, for a military veteran in middle age, is saying something! Seriously, though, after re-reading the message, and after a long period of reflection, I realized that this correspondence told me quite a bit about the sender’s life, and about the motivations for writing to me. It set me to thinking about regret, pain, anger, and the nature of forgiveness.

Forgiveness is one of those topics that can be oh-so-difficult to get our heads around. I think that just about everyone, whatever their ethical, spiritual, or religious persuasion, agrees that forgiveness is a good thing, even though we don’t all view forgiveness exactly the same way. However, the questions commonly arise, “How do I forgive?” and “If I forgive someone, doesn’t that make what they did OK?” The best answers that I’ve ever heard to these questions have come from four very different sources.

I don’t remember the name of the speaker I heard back in the early 1990s, or which member of his immediate family was killed by an erratic driver, but I do remember the core message he gave about forgiveness. He was an intense speaker, and his pain and anger were very apparent—he wore them on his sleeve. He said that he viewed forgiveness as a multi-stage process, and that each person would have to determine the stages himself. In his own experience, the first stage was to decide not seek revenge, to not go looking for the man who had been driving the car. Another stage was to leave the man alone if he happened to see him while going about his business, instead of attacking him on sight. As he became comfortable with a stage, he would determine what the next stage would be. He worked through the stages with the understanding that his forgiveness did not let the driver off the hook, but did release himself from pain and anger. If he held onto his pain and rage, he felt that he was actually allowing the driver to steal even more from his life than the driver already had. Forgiveness was about the forgiver letting go, so that he could go on with a life that’s not warped by transgressions, that’s not full of negativity.

The Forgiveness Institute has a great description of what forgiveness is (and isn’t) on their website. For example, they view forgiveness as something that is freely given, even when the other person does not deserve it, and that it is not about excusing the other person, or being superior to the other person. They also make the distinction between forgiveness and reconciliation. http://www.forgiveness-institute.org/html/about_forgiveness.htm

I’ve come to view forgiveness through the lenses of a quote from “The Road Less Traveled,” by M. Scott Peck, and a quote from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Peck said that life is a difficult thing, and that, once we’d come to understand that, life would be a much better experience. The Big Book says that acceptance is the right answer for everything. I see the wisdom of these two statements, because, until we come to accept life as it happens, we’ll be operating from a warped life view, rather than from a realistic view of things. We’ll be so tied up in how we think things should be, that we won’t be able to see them as they really are. Besides, there is nothing I can do to reverse what just happened. I can choose how I will respond to what happened, and I can try to influence what happens afterward, but I can’t reverse the event itself. Why not accept what happened, and move forward with a positive response that’s rooted in my core beliefs? After all, God’s forgiveness, as it was taught to me, really boils down to acceptance, acceptance of me as I am. The old Christian hymn “Just As I Am” was frequently sung in the churches that I grew up in. Whether or not I personally deserve it is not even in God’s forgiveness equation. Knowing everything about me, and accepting me as I am, is God’s radical forgiveness.

So, this leads me to the question, in light of God’s acceptance of me and the self-destructive nature of judgment and resentment, why would I not forgive? Why would I hang onto pain and anger that eat away at my heart and mind? Is the negative energy of resentment really worth what it costs me in my health and relationships with others? If the Creator has forgiven/accepted me, then how in the world could I withhold forgiveness from others? How would I even have the right to withhold forgiveness from myself?

This week, as I continue the never ending process of refinishing woodwork in the house, I’ll be taking a fresh personal inventory, looking for any unforgiven resentments that I hold against myself or others, and asking myself why in the world I’m still holding onto them.

We’ve begun to paint the house. It’s been various shades of green for many years. Most recently, it has been the green color of mint chocolate chip ice cream. We’d rather that it be a different color, so it is now in the process of becoming a chocolate brown, with the trim in beige, and some accents of a rusty red. The porch ceiling is a sky blue, as tradition and practicality dictate (Victorian home owners learned that wasps like to build their nests on white surfaces, but will avoid blue ones). The painting process is going slowly, as we paint whenever we have time and the rain holds off. While we’ve been out in the front yard, we’ve heard favorable comments from passersby. A couple of people have thanked us rather enthusiastically for painting. The other day, however, there was a slightly different experience. Steve had climbed up and stepped onto the porch roof to begin painting the second story. He hadn’t been up there long before a woman who was driving by stopped to yell from her car, “Hey! The green looked better!” Although we’d previously heard nothing but positive comments, this negative comment felt momentarily discouraging…until we just had to laugh about it, because it was so odd and out of the blue. Some of our neighbors have much more astonishing house painting stories that they can recount in vivid detail. One couple actually had angry people knocking on their door after a lavender tinted primer had been applied (and before the final two coats of a light brown were sprayed).

For some reason, this all made me think of the saying that it takes three “atta boys” to equal one “you idiot.” Negative comments can often seem to carry more weight, while positive ones don’t sink in as easily, even when the feedback we receive is overwhelmingly positive. This is yet another reminder for me to watch my words, so I’m paying attention and putting renewed effort into doing just that. And, in that vein, I will offer some encouragement to focus on the “atta boys” in life, and to give as many as possible to others. As Paul of Tarsus wrote in the New Testament book of Ephesians, “Watch the way you talk… Say only what helps, each word a gift.”

May the gifts of graceful words sink deeply into your heart…and may you choose your colors carefully!

Following a very rainy spring and early summer, more rain fell, and unprecedented flooding is now taking place in our area. We’ve been using a shop vac all day, off and on, to keep the water level in our basement as low as possible. With no tile system or sump pump, water has to be removed in a somewhat old fashioned way. Bucket after bucket, the wet stuff just keeps coming as we vac it up. It’s amazing to think that we haven’t had flooding like this since well over a century ago. Some folks are much worse off than we are. Down in the lower-lying parts of town, businesses and homes are taking on water. Steve’s mother was evacuated from her apartment as the water rose. The water plant is now out of commission, there’s very little water pressure, and the water is not safe to drink or bathe in. Toilets can’t even be flushed by the usual method. We were able to purchase drinking water, but we wondered about the other basic necessity…how would we use the toilet? Where would we get the water to flush? Oh, the water from the basement! I never thought I’d be glad to have a watery old basement, but I am, today. Love every back-breaking bucket!

Renovating a house gives a person lots of opportunities to drive to a home improvement or hardware store, so I have plenty of opportunities to encounter fellow drivers who do annoying or dangerous things. On just one trip out to the store, I experienced a person who cut me off, another who rode my bumper for blocks (although I was going faster than the speed limit), one in front of me who suddenly slammed on the brakes for a garage sale (on a busy, four-lane street), and yet another who barreled through a stop sign and nearly hit me. By the time I arrived at the store, I was no longer annoyed—I was just glad that I had escaped injury. I was reminded of the guy who once told me how he was kicking the habit of road rage. He was taught to focus on getting the car and everyone in it safely to the destination. “The focus isn’t on me,” he explained, “but on a purpose, a goal. When I’m driving, I have to realize that it’s not all about me. It’s about my family, about safety, about being responsible for what I do, not for what someone else is doing.”

After the week I’ve had, I think the anti-road-rage strategy might be a really good one for all of us to apply to our everyday lives. I’ve heard and read more enraged name calling and discriminatory comments this week than I have in a long time. It seems we all feel that everything is about us, as individuals, and what we are doing, and how we feel—and we really need to let everyone know we’re unhappy when we don’t get what we want or don’t get what we think is due us. I’m all for setting healthy boundaries, for speaking up and taking care of ourselves, and for having a respectful dialogue with people who don’t believe the same things we do. However, spouting off and putting other people down doesn’t really accomplish anything. It doesn’t encourage the other person to seriously consider our situation or opinion, it doesn’t further spiritual or religious values (like the Golden Rule and loving our neighbor, to name just two), it doesn’t really build us up or help us grow in any way. As I remember the old Baptist ministers saying, it doesn’t “edify.” Name calling and ranting only leaves us looking like people who have very little love and even less self control. It hurts others. And it can raise our blood pressure to unhealthy levels, to boot. So why do we do it? I think we are grasping for a quick way to feel powerful, and we forget that hollering doesn’t give us any power at all to change the situations that concern us.

So how do I think we can counteract this destructive behavior with the anti-road-rage strategy? We can focus on a real purpose, a goal, by getting involved in problem solving or service, right in our own neighborhoods and communities. We can remember that everything isn’t always about us, and that we will always share our space with people who don’t act, look, or believe as we do. We can take responsibility for our actions, rather than focus solely on what someone else is doing. If we put our energy into more positive, cooperative pursuits, we can build community, get rid of some of our frustration, and make real, lasting changes. It might not be easy—for centuries, wise people have said that the way of love is not an easy way—but it will help us arrive at our target destination. We will be closer to living as though we are already in our spiritual home.

Specific examples? People who are for and against abortion can work together on something they do agree about – fostering children who have no parents, running programs for children aging out of foster care, or reforming ineffective adoption processes. People who disagree on particular religious issues can work together to ensure that religious freedom is maintained for everyone, and that no one in their community is treated badly because of their religion. People of all sorts can get involved in groups like Habitat for Humanity or United Way events like a Day of Caring, and work with each other toward the shared goal of building up ourselves and our communities. As we work together, we just might increase our chances of coming to some agreement on the things that aren’t as closely shared.

Philosophy, as an academic study, has not interested me too much over the years, despite my appreciation for the writings of philosophers and humorists (who are often philosophers in disguise). Of the more well-known philosophers, Albert Camus is on my “top 5 favorite” list. Even when his work has an air of frustration or hopelessness, it’s clear that life goes absurdly on, and it is worthwhile for people to work together and attempt to do things that are good and meaningful. Just as we might say the cynic is a deeply wounded romantic, it seems as though the absurdist was actually hopeful at heart, and I think that’s why I liked reading Camus’s work when I was young.

Recently, I happened to run across a quote from Camus that I don’t remember seeing before: “I shall tell you a great secret, my friend. Do not wait for the last judgment. It takes place every day.” To me, this means that all we’ve got is the present moment. We can only live one day at a time, and our actions have consequences today.

To be sure, there are times when we are powerless to influence anything except our own attitude, but even at those times, indeed in all moments, we do have the opportunity to influence life in positive or negative ways. Most ethical and religious systems agree that it is good to help those who don’t have enough to eat, no place to live, or no decent clothing—we are to care about our neighbor’s welfare. Most also agree that we do the work of God in the world, that we are “the hands of God.” No person can prove there will be a judgment day, or reincarnation, or any life after death. Different people from various religions can’t always agree on what is right and wrong. We can, however, learn to love and care for others daily. So, this being the case, why would we wait for some unknown future date on which God will set everything right? Perhaps because relying on a future judgment, or sternly warning others about impending judgment, might excuse us from any responsibility to examine our own lives or to love our neighbor? It’s so much easier to point a finger than to extend a hand.

Our actions have consequences today, and we can do our best to live this day, this moment, in love–or waste the opportunity to love on a game of blame and shame. May we always choose to let the love the Creator gives us flow through us to others. In so doing, we will push away the darkness of judgment, and bring a little bit of heaven to earth.