February 2018 – PLYMOUTH BLOG

Reading the Obituaries for Lent

Brett YoungerFebruary 25, 2018February 25, 2018

Some Christians stop eating meat. Some give up Facebook. Some read the Psalms. When I was a young minister in Indiana, I began reading the obituaries for Lent. The Paoli News-Republican came out on Tuesday and Friday. A normal edition included two or three obituaries that were written by the newspaper’s staff. No family was ever charged for an obituary.

The writers interviewed the deceased’s family, friends, and ministers to help them express their gratitude for the person’s life. These tributes included sentiments like, “He never met a stranger” and “She laughed every day.” Reading the obituaries reminded me that people are often good and that I need to make my days count.

The obituaries in The New York Times are different from the ones in The Paoli News-Republican. Most of the people in Paoli would balk at paying $263 for the first four lines and $52 per line thereafter with 28 characters per line. Most of the people in my old church would not be able to read the tiny seven point san serif font without a magnifying glass.

But it is Lent, so on Sunday I sat down with my hometown newspaper to look for what matters in that day’s obituaries. Here is what I found—still in alphabetical order:

Lerone Bennett, Jr., 89, wrote Before the Mayflower in which he noted that the first blacks arrived in the colonies in 1619, the year before the Mayflower. He worked to prepare students to live in a multi-racial society.

Leonard Gubar, 81, was a dedicated fan of the Mets, Giants, Rangers and Knicks. He was a nationally ranked Scrabble player and a routine finisher of The New York Times crossword puzzle.

Marvin S. Hans, M.D., 91, was a music lover—especially Frank Sinatra.

Robert B. Hiden, Jr., 84, served as a vestryman and Junior Warden of St. John’s Episcopal Church.

Zita Kremnitzer was born in Berlin, Germany, in 1922. She survived the Holocaust and immigrated to New York in 1947.

Elizabeth Landauer, 80, served as a Girl Scout leader for many years.

Patricia Rashkin, 74, chose a career as a guardian for those unable to fend for themselves—spending more than three decades with the City of New York’s protective services.

William Selden, 70, businessman, philanthropist, sportsman, dog-lover, and innate comedian. He was a long-time supporter of the Guide Dog Foundation for the Blind.

Alan Lewis Stein, 88, founded the not-for-profit affordable housing entity, Bridge Housing. Bridge has participated in the development of more than 17,000 units of housing, providing homes for 42,500 people.

Constance Sultan, 84, worked for 30 years at Mt. Sinai Hospital, where she was the charge nurse in the baby nursery.

Reading the obituaries sounds gloomy, but that has not been my experience. I am glad to be reminded that people are often good. Being encouraged to make my days count feels like preparing for Easter.

Ministers Tired of Praying

Brett YoungerFebruary 20, 2018February 22, 2018

The first picture many of us saw was of a broken-hearted woman with an Ash Wednesday cross on her forehead holding another woman as they cried together. The tragedy in Parkland, Florida, was the eighth school shooting so far this year—and it is February.

Here is what I was sure would happen next. I was going to get an e-mail from the clergy association. The ministers would organize a prayer vigil where we read the names of the victims. We would grieve for the families of those who died. We would read scripture. We would pray for an end to gun violence.

Here is what actually happened. Nothing. No e-mail. Apparently I am not the only one tired of going to prayer vigils. We are in danger of growing numb to these horrors and seeing this as the new normal. We cannot keep feeling the same pain, so one option is to stop feeling it.

But this is the time to work to make it harder to die from gun violence. More than 30 people in our nation are murdered by guns on an average day.

Gun violence is a domestic violence problem. In an average month, 51 women are shot to death by a current or former husband or boyfriend.

Gun violence is a child abuse problem. The number of children and teens killed by guns in one year would fill 126 classrooms of 20 students each.

Gun violence is a mental health problem. There are 21,000 suicides committed using guns each year.

Gun violence is a safety problem. More than 45 people are shot accidentally each day. (Statistics are from faithinpubliclife.org, everytown.org, and childrensdefense.org.)

Gun violence is a faith problem. We have to be broken-hearted by the gun deaths in our country. We cannot pretend we cannot do anything.

We can work to strengthen background checks. Forty percent of the guns sold legally in the United States are bought without a background check. No records are kept. No questions are asked. Criminals buy guns online from unlicensed sellers.

We can insist that background check laws work. Common sense demands we keep guns out of the hands of felons, domestic abusers and those adjudicated as mentally ill. We can regulate guns as closely as we do cars.

We can require locks that make it harder to pull a trigger and lower the number of accidental shootings. We can work to ban the automatic weapons that seem to have no purpose other than mass shootings.

We can disagree on how best to address the epidemic of gun violence, but we cannot disagree on the tragic nature of gun violence. Support courageous politicians. Replace the ones who are not courageous. Speak up for common sense gun laws that make our streets and schools safe. Defend the right of children to live without the risk of being shot.

I keep thinking about the cross imposed with ashes on that mother’s forehead. The sign of the cross calls us to grieve for those who are hurting, confess our apathy, and work for a time when we have no list of victims to read.

God Listens to Lists

Julia RassmannFebruary 13, 2018February 13, 2018

On February 1^st, my daughter called to tell me she was thinking about transferring schools. She’s a freshman in college. The news did not come as a surprise to me so I encouraged her to apply. “Wait,” she said. “First I have to make a list of pros and cons. I’ll text it to you in a few hours.” “Emily, the application is due tomorrow,” I yelled. “Forget the list- just do it!” We hung up on each other.

I have little patience for the thoughtful planning process. I prefer acting, often reacting. For instance, as strict and formal as my upbringing was at home, in school and at church, my daughter’s was intentionally informal. I refused to push manners or dress. I wanted my daughter to understand that it’s not about appearances but what’s on the inside. I didn’t care about her grades. I wanted her to value and love learning. But, most of all, I wanted Emily to know God, God’s unconditional love and grace. I wanted her to have a personal relationship with God. I wanted her to turn to God in times of trouble, in times of joy. I hoped she would get there through prayer; not the rote memorized prayers of my childhood but individual, spontaneous, relevant, daily prayer and I encouraged her as best I could.

I am not good at praying. We’ve been working on prayer in Sunday School. After modeling closing prayers, I started asking for volunteers. Initially, the same child raised his hand every week. He was a natural- a hard act to follow. Finally, in his absence, a different child raised his hand, only to promptly lower it and avert his eyes. “Think of prayer as a sandwich,” I encouraged him. “Dear God” and “Amen” are the bread. All you need is the middle and as long as it’s from your heart, it’s fine.” He still wouldn’t look at me. Thankfully, another child gave it a shot: Dear God, thank you for today. Amen. Short and sweet. Easy and inspirational.

I was certain this would encourage others- and it did! I had to wait a few weeks for my initially frozen second volunteer to raise his hand again, but it was worth the wait. Two weeks ago, he closed our discussion with: Dear God thank you for letting children have Sunday School. Amen. I was so proud and happy. This week, a once reserved girl ended class with: Dear God, thank you for your son, Jesus. Help us listen better to you and Jesus. Amen.

On February 2^nd, I texted my daughter asking if she had submitted her transfer applications. Yes, she replied, because unlike you God was willing to listen to my lists. I probably should have felt hurt or guilty, but I didn’t. I felt good.

Julia

Eating burgers, sinning boldly

Brett YoungerFebruary 6, 2018February 6, 2018

If you are leaving New York to visit Texas, these are socially acceptable comments:

“I could use some warm weather.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing friends.”

“I miss driving more than forty miles an hour.”

“I haven’t seen an armadillo in a long time.”

“I enjoy the jealousy on people’s faces when I say ‘I’m from Brooklyn’.”

This is not a socially acceptable comment:

“I want a Quarter Pounder with fries.”

I know how unsophisticated that makes me sound. After two years in a culinary mecca, a center for gastronomic delights, and the world’s best pizza, I am supposed to be beyond mass produced fast food, but I am not. Mine is not a sophisticated pallet.

This is a difficult confession to make. I know how bad ordering off the dollar menu is. I saw Supersize Me. Finger lickin’ good is not good for me. I can see that the Burger King is creepy. I have read studies that say that if you eat a bacon cheeseburger, you have a 75% chance of a heart attack before you get to the Frosty.

But I live 250 miles from the nearest Cook Out. None of the arguments against driving through a drive-thru—and staring at the menu until the guy behind me starts honking—are enough to keep my mouth from watering with anticipation at driving south on IH-35 knowing there are six fast food places at every exit.

Fast food is democratic. Working people can afford everything that you have to stand in line to order—and you do not have to tip.

There are no surprises. Every Whataburger tastes exactly like the Whataburger you had five years ago at the Whataburger 500 miles away. Why have it your way when you can have it the same way every time?

I do not know how to explain to New Yorkers that fast food fountain drinks are better. Free refills are a right guaranteed somewhere deep in the Constitution. A liter of Coca Cola from Key Food is a pale imitation of a Cherry Coke at Sonic. Anyone who has had the pleasure of eating a meal in their car at a Sonic Drive-in knows there is no better ice in all the world.

No one asks, “Are we dressed well enough?” before going to Dairy Queen. No one worries that their preschoolers might act up at Subway. Children do not get a toy with their meal at Ruth Chris Steak House. There is no playground at Del Frisco’s.

As I sat on the plane heading to Texas I thought about the options: Whataburger’s Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit (sugar and butter make food wonderful); Jack in the Box’s two for $1 tacos, the perfect level of greasiness; KFC’s original recipe anything; the chicken sandwich at Chick-fil-a (the pickle chips are the key); an Oreo blizzard at Dairy Queen (Oreo crumbs are to ice cream what bacon is to everything else).

I ended up thinking inside the bun—a Homestyle burger (an ironic name) and an iced mocha. This is nothing to write home about—but I’m lovin’ it. I know that if they served a McDonald’s iced mocha at Starbucks it would cost twice as much.

When Martin Luther wrote, “Love God and sin boldly” he was not in a fast food restaurant, but he could have been. Luther was calling us to recognize what is important and what is not. There are times when you should order the salad, but sinning without worrying about it too much is, on occasion, good for your soul.

As Lent approaches some of us are deciding whether to give up soft drinks, sugar, or Nacho Cheese Doritos Locos Tacos Supreme. We would do better to give up envy, anger, and greed. We have many things about which we should feel guilty—how little we give to feed hungry people, how quickly we dismiss people who dismiss us, and how much time we spend on our own amusement. Because there is so much about which we should feel guilty, we can feel free—every now and then—to eat curly fries boldly.