Civility

Civility

I am almost at the point of unplugging from social media. What was originally intended to bring people together through the miracle of modern technology has become the sounding board for an outpouring of uncivilized behavior. It is not the divergence of opinion that aggravates me as much as the manner in which it is presented.

Not since the days of the Vietnam War has our country been so polarized. This election cycle, a truly American phenomenon, is destined to go down in the history books as one of the worst examples of a democratic republic at work. Not because of who ran for elected office but by the base behavior of the candidates as well as the voters.

Civility went out the window and an uglier side of humankind took center stage. Webster defines civility as an act or utterance that is a customary show of good manners. It is interesting to note that in that same definition the archaic meaning of the word meant training in the humanities; that part of education which teaches us that how to be civilized human beings.

Political correctness is morphing into a deluge of individual rights based upon, for the most part, ignorance and personal preference. What a sad state of affairs has come upon us as a nation. The table of common discourse has been abandoned for a  worldwide web of unceasing narrow mindedness. It is hard to find a public discussion that doesn't erode into name calling or four letter words. A  harsh appraisal of our public behavior? I think not.

Maybe a few words of wisdom from the Bible will help temper our strong convictions and wagging tongues. “Kind words are like honey, sweet to the soul and healthy for the body…. Don't be quick to fly off the handle. Anger boomerangs. You can spot a fool by the lumps on his head.”

Oh! I thought those lumps on my head were enlarged smart cells.

Hot Seat

Hot Seat

We arrived in Aguascalientes, Mexico on a hot, dusty afternoon after a long flight from the States. I was traveling with two other pastors to minister at several local churches in the area. This was not our first trip to Aguascalientes. Over the years, a strong relationship had developed between sister churches in Mexico and our network of church back home.

We checked into the Best Western motel and were assigned a room. After unpacking, one of the pastor’s opening the bathroom door yelled as he saw the walls splattered with blood. It was obvious we couldn't stay in that room. The front desk gave us another room, one without all the gore.

By now I needed to use the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I began to feel a little warm. I thought maybe I was tired and was in need of a nap. I began to sweat thinking I was coming down with the flu or something worse. Finally, I was so warm and nauseous that I had to get up. As I stood up my hand brushed the porcelain toilet; it was hot to the touch. What the heck was going on?

I called for my friends to come into the bathroom and check out the toilet. We soon discovered that whoever did the plumbing hooked up the hot water line instead of the cold water line to the toilet. Although I did not scald myself, I had a big red ring on my rear end; a reminder that one cannot be too careful when traveling outside the country.

I scratched my head trying to find a Bible quote to leave with you with but none comes to mind. Just a travel trip that if you ever find yourself in Aguas at the Best Western make sure you check out the plumbing before sitting on the throne!

Crash and Burn

Crash and Burn

As I remember it was a cold Sunday morning in late January. Since I was no longer pastoring a church, there was no need to hurry to get there. Judy and I were scheduled to leave later in the day for a pastor and wives retreat sponsored by a friend of mine. We were looking forward to getting out of the house and spending some time with other pastor couples.

As I walked into the bathroom something out of the blue struck me, not physically but in my gut. I fell to my knees and struggled to breathe. I crawled over to the toilet feeling like I was going to vomit. My head was spinning, my body started to convulse and the dry heaves came. I knew it wasn’t the flu. Judy came running and calling out to me wondering what happened.

After about an hour of hugging the porcelain, I crawled back into bed and curled up into a ball. I heard myself moaning and feeling like I was having an out of body experience. Judy laid hands on me and started praying. I felt like I was going to die. I fell asleep only to wake up a short time later feeling worse.

Not knowing what else to do, Judy called our son Tim asking him to come over to our house because something terrible was happening to Dad. Setting a land speed record, Tim came and started praying for me. Immediately the intense pressure lifted from me. I could hardly move or speak but whatever it was lifted.

Later that afternoon I called the pastor who was hosting the retreat and told him that we would not be coming. I told him what had happened to me that morning. To my surprise he shared a similar experience he had some years before. He was at the airport ready to board a flight overseas when the attack came. He couldn't get on the plane, cancelled the trip and had someone come and take him home.

It took almost a week for me to recover from that experience. Some say it was a panic attack. Others told me I had a demonic attack. All I know is that I didn't want to ever experience it again. The Psalmist in the Bible says it right: “if you hold on to me for dear life, says God, I'll get you out of any trouble. I'll give you the best care if you'll only get to know and trust me. Call me and I'll answer…I'll rescue you.” Amen!

Overweight

Overweight

I was standing in line at the Kenya Airlines check-in counter at the Moi International Airport in Mombasa, Kenya East Africa. It was 5am local time. Our group arrived an hour early so as not to miss the connecting flight to Nairobi. We stood in the oppressive tropical heat before sunrise ready to be checked in.

The Kenyans learned well from the British during the colonial days. When it came to government regulations, they were sticklers. Every document had to be in precise order and every regulation had to be followed scrupulously. By the time I boarded the plane I had numerous stampings in my passport book.

Things started going wrong when the ticket agent told me that my return reservation was not in the computer system. After some discussion in broken English and Swahili, I produced my printed reservation documentation. When this was not enough to convince the agent, I asked if I could come behind the counter and help her find my reservation on the computer. In spite of my limited airline computer skills, we found my reservation.

Next, when asked by the agent to place my carry on suitcase on the scale, I was told it was overweight. In all my travels, I never had an overweight bag. When I asked what I should do, the agent said to lighten the bag. So, while she was printing out my boarding pass, I put my bag on the floor, took out some dirty clothes, closed the bag and placed it back on the scale. I was told I was now within the weight limit. So I took the bag off the scale onto the floor and put the dirty clothes back in, grabbed my boarding pass and headed for the gate. No questions asked.

My traveling companions were dumbfounded. They didn't pass up the opportunity to warn me that if the plane crashed on the way to Nairobi, my overweight bag would be the fault. Tongue in cheek, I quoted to them this Bible passage from the Book of Proverbs: “A just balance and scales belong to the Lord. All the weight of the bag are His concern.” By the way, the plane made it safely to Nairobi.

Monastery

Monastery

No I haven't forsaken all and run off to a monastery. I confess there are times when that quiet, secluded life has an appeal. Actually I did find myself in a monastery one summer. It was a long time ago and as you may guess there is a story attached.

When I entered the seminary, there was some question as to my academic ability. Since I fell far short of being an honor student and graduated near the bottom of my high school class, the administration mandated that I attend summer school to beef up on the Latin language and religious discipline. In those days, Latin was the language of the church and therefore my need to be proficient.

On a warm June day, while the rest of the academic world was enjoying summer vacation, I entered the Benedictine Monastery at Benet Lake, Wisconsin. Along with a dozen seminary students I attended an accelerated language class. Classes were in the morning with a lunch break and then more class time. The intricacies of Ecclesiastical Latin with its multitude of noun declensions, verb conjunctions and inflections became my daily challenge.

However, what intrigued me was the life style of the monks. The daily regime of prayer, work and study brought a rhythm into my life that I had never experienced. The simplicity and beauty of a measured life began its work on me. Even the daily struggle with Latin became more palatable. Before I knew it I was ready to sign up to become a monk!

Nearing the end of summer school, I called my dad and told him that I was not coming home. I said that I decided that being a Benedictine monk was my future.

I was not ready for his response. It went something like this: “No son of mine is going to spend his life in a monastery. You get your butt back here or I am coming down there and dragging you home.”

I am reminded of these words from the Book of Proverbs: “ A wise youth accepts his father’s rebuke. It is a wonderful heritage to have an honest father.” Thanks Dad for having kept me on track!