BOO !!

      What scares (frightens) you?

     Tomorrow is Halloween. Boo! Are you frightened? It is an occasion whose 'meaning' and 'observance' have shifted greatly over the years.  The current 'fears' that mark the  date  derive from  some ominous realities . . . such as persons who put razor blades and other hurtful  substances in the candy given to "Trick or Treat -er's" and real vandalism that masquerades as 'pranks'.  In my youth (which was not, as some allege, the time when dinosaurs roamed the earth), the extent of mischief about which I had knowledge (please, not necessarily the same as participation) included activities such as marking windows with bars of dry soap or overturning outdoor privies.  And there are vague memories of  Halloween 'carnivals' in the school's gymnasium.  Pretty tame stuff.


     Some Halloween historians trace the origins to Samhain, an ancient Celtic celebration that marked the end of the harvest season and onset of Winter and a time when it was    presumed that the distance between the worlds of the living and the dead was thin.  

    Others claim a distinctive Christian origin for the occasion. It was the Eve (evening) before All Saints Day or All Hallowed Eve . . . a time for remembering the Saints, martyrs, and other beloved dead.  Try saying "All Hallowed's Eve" as rapidly as possible several times and what does the sound resemble?

    Perhaps it was but a short step from observances focused on the dead to 'scary stuff'.  Perhaps you have heard the ancient Scottish prayer: 
    "From Ghoulies and Ghosties,
      Long-leggitie Beasties,
      And things that go Bump in the night,
      Good Lord, deliver us."

In our sophisticated era, we don't believe in 'ghoulies and ghosties' and such, do we?  Probably no one reading these words has had an encounter with a real-life 'long-leggitie beastie'.  So, why has this prayer lingered and been recalled for centuries?   Beyond a certain lilt in the prose, I suspect that it has reminded many of their own internal ghosties such as the unknown and things we cannot control, as well as specific fears.

   There is a distinction between  'fears' and 'worries'(aka 'anxieties'). Fears are real or potentially so; anxieties are 'might be's' or 'what if's'.  "Do not walk down the middle of the interstate, there are speeding automobiles there" . . . the probability of being hit is high.   "What if you leave your house?  There are cars outside and one might hit you" is a stretch. Whether spoken or not, 'what if?' is a strong indicator of anxiety. 

   Perhaps only an incorrigible Pollyanna would deny that there are real dangers in the world . Among some obvious candidates : Ebola, ISIS, influenza, bankruptcy, war zones, cancer, unemployment,bullies, deranged persons with weapons, automobile accidents . . .  'Bad things' do happen. . . to 'good' and 'bad' people alike.  A certain prudence or caution is necessary and appropriate.  It is an entirely different matter when those  get ramped up far  out of proportion, whether by someone's   deliberately manipulating our  frailties for whatever motivation or by our own 'hot buttons'.

    So, whether we are opening our door to 'Trick or Treat' or opening our awareness of our 'ghoulies and ghosties', 
maybe this ancient prayer will have  contemporary relevance for us.
  
    Satchel

  

     

    

ON NOT LEARNING BY DEGREES . . .

        Several years ago,  a minister showed me the small library he had  acquired when a student at Duke University Divinity School.
He then boasted that he had not reread nor considered any of them useful since.  He implied that he had his degree and his education and did not want to be bothered with further learning.

      In the past two posts, I have made references to Joan Chittister's The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully.  This book of  reflections on various issues associated with aging has stimulated several personal 'inventories' recently.  Reading her comments on "Learning" reminded me of the above mentioned minister who apparently felt that he had learned all he needed to know.  By contrast, she noted as a "danger" the assumption that with the completion of high school or college "we have completed our preparation for life.  The problem with degrees", she added, "is that they wear out quickly or prepare us for only one small area of life, at best." [p. 95]

    Illustrative, perhaps, was the good-natured lampooning of an instructor at a geriatric conference that I attended over  a dozen years ago.  Gil (not his name) was a physician who lectured on physiological changes brought on by aging.  In our 'Fun Night' skit at the end of the two-week course, one of the students playing our teacher groused that "half of today's knowledge was unknown at the time I received my degree; a quarter of what I learned I have forgotten, and another quarter has been superseded by new discoveries.  Consequently, I know nothing !"

    There is an outworn adage to the effect that "you can't teach an old dog new tricks".  The obvious conclusion in human terms is that mental acuity diminishes with accumulated birthdays.  The antidote to the error in the adage is that "an old dog can learn new tricks, provided two conditions: The old dog has 'half a brain' and the old dog wants to learn new tricks.  Ms Chittister again: "Neurological research now confirms that old brains are indeed physically smaller, but no less intellectually  competent than younger ones.  And in some ways, in terms of reflection and creativity, they are even better, if for no other reason than that they have a lot of experience to add to intellectual acuity."  [p. 96]

     Not to be flippant about the tragedies of various forms of dementia,  most 'old dogs' have the capacity to learn those 'new tricks'.  It seems that the keeping the 'want to' alive and fed that is crucial, for as Ms Chittister observed "ongoing learning saves the aging from becoming more  fossilized than transformed.  The problem with aging is not age, it is petrification, rigidity of soul, inflexibility.  Only ideas keep ideas flowing.  When we close our minds to what is new, simply because we decide not to bother with it, we close our minds to our responsibility to ourselves --and to others-- to keep on growing." [p. 98]

     Since my mid-20's, I have remained grateful for the influence of the Reverend William Jenkins, a then 89 year old retiree, who would  borrow my texts or supplementary readings and upon returning them would inquire , "What do you think Paul Tillich meant  by such and such ?"

   While the topic probably will not be some point in Tillich's  theology, like Mr. Jenkins, there is still a lot that I want to know.

    What kind of 'new tricks' do you want to learn?

        Satchel

FUNERALS

      Recently my wife and I attended two funerals. One was for the husband of one of her former colleagues; the other, a friend from a church where I had been minister for nine years and whom my wife had known all her life. Their services reflected that each of the deceased was a "good man", a kind person, a person of strong religious faith and practice. Other similarities -- both were older men with strong family ties, both had a love of Bluegrass music that  was  expressed in their respective funerals.  The ministers conveyed both the dignity and the humanity of the departed.

     In the years that I was a parish minister, I conducted many funerals.  Occasionally I was asked  whether it were more difficult doing that for someone with whom I felt close or for someone whom I knew only marginally, if at all.  Having done all of those, I replied that there is no 'easy answer' . . . each presenting its own challenges and opportunities.

     In 1963, Jessica Mitford wrote The American Way of Death, a critique of many of the practices of the 'funeral industry', as well as   some of the customs surrounding death and funerals.  Over the course of my life, I have noticed several changes in customs, as well as several constants. . . at least among my own cultural cohort. Among the 'constants' has been the custom of friends and neighbors bringing in lots of food for the family and their guests.  Floral tributes have likewise continued as a mainstay though now many families request that instead of flowers,  memorials be directed to specified charities or causes.  Cremation followed by a Memorial Service also seems to be becoming a more common practice.

   Gratefully, the custom of bringing the body back to the residence and there being persons to 'sit up with the dead' through the night has being largely replaced by the 'Wake' or 'Visitation', usually at the Funeral Home on the evening prior to the service.  Even that can sometimes feel oppressive.  Sometimes a family will 'receive friends' for a specified time just before the actual funeral. At the wake we attended, a full fifty minutes passed between our arrival in line and actually reaching the family, such was the outpouring. 

     Also, largely gone is the practice of having an open casket during the service, frequently accompanied by loud wailings.  A friend told me of his uncle's funeral in another state :  the first of three ministers recognized that he had a captive audience and launched into a 'come to Jesus tirade' that lasted 20-30 minutes.  The second speaker, not to be outdone, duplicated that performance.  When the third man began his comments, the daughter of the deceased stood and directed him to 'shut up and sit down', whereupon, my friend related, the funeral "came to a screeching halt".

   It is difficult, of course, to speak of 'funerals' without also speaking of 'death', few persons' favorite conversation topic.
The French writer, La Bruyere, wrote that "we hope to grow old, yet we fear old age.  We are willing to live and afraid to die."  Somewhere on my office shelf is the book, The Denial of Death.
I haven't yet read it.  Woody Allen perhaps caught the sentiment of many when he quipped something to the effect, 'I don't fear death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.'

    Joan Chittister whose writings on aging I have found helpful, sagely observed that "I have no idea what the moment will be like. I only know that I will be alone. . . . It is the moment of absolute surrender. . . . But not until I have sucked every minute out of life I can."  For persons of religious faith, she further noted, "whatever our questions about God, about Life, about the End, we have a certain confidence in our lack of confidence in the unknown.  We are not sure who God is, of course, but we are confidently sure of who or what God is not." ("Faith", in The Gift of Years, p. 212)
I just realized that I am writing this on the 22nd Anniversary of my dad's death.  Beginning in his mid-40's, Dad had been a representative of Metropolitan Life Insurance Company.  A man of quiet faith, he told me in his later years, "I have delivered too many death benefit checks to families to deny the certainty of death.  I do not fear it but I am not walking out to greet it."

     These reflections then have arisen primarily from having attended Lynn and Odell's funerals.  The music gave strong affirmation of their faith.  In Lynn's service,  Come, Angel Band, sung by the minister and two other men bespoke his bedrock belief.

    As a musician, Odell  had for many years  "made music" with several groups and individuals.  I had primarily known him as the Bassist in the Maple Springs Strings, our church's home-grown talented musicians.  His son, Stan, is a world-class banjoist, having once played with Bluegrass legend, Bill Monroe.  Stan's wife, Julie, is a classically trained artist as well. (Appropriately, it was Odell who had first introduced them several years ago.) They and their friends sang what I had known as Odell's 'signature song',  Not Afraid to Close My Eyes and Die.  At the conclusion of the service, the minister invited any musician in the congregation who had ever played or sung with Odell to come to the podium, whereupon they offered the classic, Will the Circle Be Unbroken.  Never have I heard Stan play with such energy, force, conviction.  While at no point was the grief of loss denied,  my dear friend, Billy, summarized the proceedings as we were exiting the church: "That's the way it should be . . . a celebration."

   RIP,  Lynn and Odell.

       Satchel