Stories of my Dad

Dad’s Frugality

The big three bay, bank barn held several thousand bales.   The hay wagon pushed into the center bay. Getting the bales into the side bays from the center bay required use of ropes and pulleys.  Dad was usually the one who pushed the four prongs, called “forks”, into eight bales.  A rope ran from the forks to a combination pulley on a track running the length of the barn at its peak. The other end of the rope from the forks was attached to a tractor supplying the power to pull the bales up to the track and then to one bay or the other.

I was stacking the bales in a nearly full bay. So, while waiting for the next load of bales, I sat on the ten-inch beam that was about 15 feet or so above the hay mow floor.  As the load of bales neared the top of the barn there was a crack and I felt something hit my head.  God was with me in several ways at that moment.  First, when I was hit, I did not fall forward fifteen feet onto the mow floor where there were a number of things dangerous to fall on.  Second, the place where the bolt from the fork assembly hit me—the middle of the top of my head—was less threatening than, say, my eye.  At least the bolt didn’t ruin my good looks.

The fall back onto the bales I remember, but I do not remember climbing down the ladder or walking the hundred or so yards up the hill to the house.  I do remember that as Dad and Mom cut away the hair as the blood flowed from the cut, they discussed whether to take me the fourteen miles to the doctor.  (I don’t know if there were ERs in those days or not–this would have been about 1957.)  As I remember the discussion Dad thought that since I had only a small cut (as you can see from the scar depending on how I part my hair), a trip to the doctor wasn’t necessary.  Then, too, there was hay to be made.  Neighbors or maybe a hired man were helping with the haying.  Mom was worried about my head.  At least since Dad had his way I had an excuse for whatever trouble I got into later—it was due to the hit to my head.

Funny thing is, I do not remember the accident’s aftermath:  Was I embarrassed about having a strange haircut?  Did I have a lot of pain?  How long did I get to read instead of needing to go back to helping with hay making and doing chores?  The outcome apparently was good:  no infection or other problems.

Dad was frugal.  No doctor’s bills and haymaking continued.

 

Dad’s Kindness

Dad was kind to his children.  Once he sent me with our old Case tractor (maybe a DC4) and chain saw to clear out a fence row a mile or so by road from the buildings.  As I remember this tractor, the tires were nearly as high as the driver’s shoulders and seemed higher than the hood of the tractor.  Some of you know that when a tree grows up in a fencerow, the tree often grows around the fence wire.  The wise thing to do is to start the cut above the wire so that you don’t cut into the wire.  Chain saws around 1955 were heavy and I wasn’t full grown.  So I used the manure scoop on the tractor to lift me high enough to notch the approximately twenty-inch-diameter tree.

After notching the tree, I went around to the other side of the tree where the ground was higher to drop the tree.  Just as the cut was finished, I realized the tree was falling toward the tractor.  I hadn’t moved it!

I stood there imagining I could run around the tree, start the tractor and move it, when smack, the tree hit the tractor.  What damage do you think there was?  Surprising little to the tractor.  Only the muffler and the battery were damaged.  On that model, the battery sat just in front of the steering wheel.  What happened was the tree was wish-bone shaped with branches that curved around just right to rest on the high wheels of the tractor.  This protected the tractor’s vital parts.

The greater damage may have done to my sense of well-being. My fears expanded rapidly as I walked the three-quarters of a mile across the pasture and field to the barn to get Dad to help get the tree off the tractor.  I do not remember how we got the tree off the tractor, just that dad did not make a big fuss about the cost of the damage or get mad at me for my mistake.  He was merciful.

 

Working on Sunday

 

Dad was careful not to work on Sunday.  Of course, he took care of the animals on the farm.  That was different.  Some farmers thought haymaking was in the same category and would “make” hay on Sunday; but Dad wouldn’t.  But in the Spring, though, sometimes he would work on Sunday.

We lived off the main road on a gravel road that just past our house and barn became a dirt road that got bad just past our buildings.  With no trees and low ditches the road across the creek and up the hill stayed dry.  Once over the hill there were trees close on both sides of the road and several low spots that stayed wet.  So “Sunday drivers” would zip down the gravel road past our house, over the bridge and up the hill and out of sight on the mud road.  A little later our Sunday dinner or Dad’s nap would be interrupted by a knock at the door and a stranger would inquire about help getting a car out of the mud.

Dad would agree to have dinner interrupted or to give up the nap to help the “Sunday Driver.”  But, giving that help required getting out our tractor.  We had a John Deere A 1937 with a flywheel crank start. (If you have heard the “putt-putt” John Deere, you have heard one of these.) For those who do not know about late 1930s John Deere, the flywheel was a large thick wheel (3” x 14 or 16”) attached to the left side of the tractor.  To start the tractor, one grabbed the wheel with both hands and tried to spin the wheel counter clockwise to get the engine to fire.  On rare occasion in the summertime it might start on the first spin.  Most times it took many attempts and interspersed with adjustments of the choke.  Incidentally, being able to start the JD-A was a test of manhood for a young teen.  But, starting the “A” was not a favorite Sunday activity.  I was 11-14 when these rescues happened (before the road was graveled) and I don’t think I went with Dad on any of the half-mile trips.

Dad may have commented about the emotional and mental qualities of the Sunday Drivers when he returned, but I don’t recall that.  I do remember he refused pay for the rescues. And, I remember that Dad was compassionate enough to work on Sunday even to help foolish “Sunday Drivers”.

 

Ultimate Composting: Our experience with “no-till” gardening

 

Our first attempt at a “no-till” approach to gardening in Virginia came when we arrived for a quick visit to Virginia to complete a purchase agreement on a house in June.  We purchased a sheet of plastic to cover a garden space currently in grass.  When we completed our move in mid-July, we began preparing raised beds to be ready for Fall planting.  Neighbors later told us that the former owners had spent considerable time getting the grass started during a dry period the previous year.  When we expanded the garden, we put down leaves to kill the grass.

At our current residence the grass in the backyard was in good shape.  I worked in a library giving me access to a steady supply of newspapers.  Two convenience stores and a college dining hall produced fifteen to thirty gallons of coffee grounds plus filters per week.  (Some of which was used on another garden.)  Wasteful city residents placed bags of compostables (grass clippings and leaves) at the curb for me to pick up.  (When looking for grass clippings, I watched for clover and dandelions–indicators of no weed spray.)

A fellow worker moved to a farm with a barn housing a quantity of old (5 years plus) hay.  He would drive my pickup with a rack home on Friday and return it Monday full of hay.  (Julia once said we had a yard full of hay and no cow.)  Five or six loads of broken bales of hay with the other organic matter gave us a good start on “ultimate composting”.

All of these ingredients permitted us to enrich the clay ridge we lived on.  The top soil that may have been there was probably gone before the slaves left the area.  Now there are five garden beds of sixty-six feet down to thirty feet of black soil on top of the clay.  The technique we used to improve the soil is similar to what has been called “lasagna” gardening.  The book with this title came out about time we were refining our practice of soil preparation and helped us to systematize our practice.  However, “stew” gardening seemed a better label.  My reasoning?  Mixing the materials as is done in a compost pile helps the microherd.  The microherd have little mouths/teeth and little feet.  Having both nitrogen and carbon mixed together as throughly as possible helps the microherd (bacteria, yeasts and allies) start converting the organic material into soil.  Below is a summary of the procedure which I have used with workshops on this procedure.  We used this procedure with several flower beds and to expand a food pantry garden.  The food pantry garden included patches of wiregrass which provided a constant battle during the 8-10 years of using that patch of ground.

 

________________________

Ultimate Composting a.k.a. “lasagna”/stew gardening or  sheet composting

Why should I sheet compost?

* Enrich the soil in your garden by composting on site

* Superior to bin composting for improving soil

* Save money — purchase less topsoil, humus and peat

* Reduce tax-funded yard waste processing costs

* Protect water quality by increasing the efficiency of water and fertilizer use

What is compost?

* Dark crumbly material like top layer of soil in a forest

* Produced naturally by microbes and compost worms feeding on compost pile materials, including leaves and yard wastes from your own backyard

* A soil amendment that will improve clay or sandy soils

How does composting work?

* Composting is microbe and earthworm management

* ‘Feed’ for compost critters is material rich in carbon–fallen leaves, straw, even newspaper

* Microbes also need a source of nitrogen–green garden trimmings, manure, alfalfa, etc.

What do I need to begin?

* Manure fork or garden fork

* Newspapers soaked in water (if a new garden or if you have lots of weeds)

* Composting materials (dry leaves, garden waste, coffee grounds, peat, straw, hay, other materials)

* May need to add water

How do I begin?

Collect materials including carbon (leaves, wood chips) and nitrogen (grass, coffee grounds, manure)

  • Place 6 or more sheets of wet newspaper overlapped on sod. Cardboard can be used for fall application. (Cardboard is hard to get fully wet and to get to conform to shape of ground so that there are no spaces for weeds/grass to grow around/through.)

Spread up to 1 ft of leaves and grass clippings, shredded, packed down or up to four inches of green wood chips (in dry weather, water each layer.  2 bags leaves to 1 bag grass)

* Mix with nitrogen-rich material:

~1/2 ft or more green garden wastes); OR

~1-2 inches manure; OR

~A scattering of alfalfa meal (rabbit pellets); OR

~a few cups of organic N fertilizer (5-2-2)

[leaves alone will decompose eventually.  I am assuming you want faster breakdown]

* Add a sprinkling of finished/mature compost.

* Water to consistency of wet sponge

*Microbes get full diet quicker if you mix the different materials.

*Some recommend covering the area with porous material–burlap is best–until planting time.  (Google “Interbay” method.)

What stays out?

* Cat litter and dog droppings

* Sick plants

* Pesticide and herbicide treated plants

* Petroleum products

* coal ashes (wood ashes are good)

* Noxious weeds and weed seeds

* Oils, fats, large amounts of dairy products or meat

What about kitchen trimmings?

* Must be covered to avoid smell, insects and attracting animals.

*May introduce seeds—cover with leaves or hay to control sprouting seeds from trimmings

* Contribute valuable micronutrients to the pile

* Reduce organic wastes going to the landfill

* Add any amount on an on-going basis to composting material.

* Dig a hole or trench and put in scraps, cover with at 6″—8″ of leaves, hay, and grass, shredded paper

* Next visit, dig the hole in a different spot or cover with more dry material

 

When may I start planting?

*Best to start sheet composting in summer or fall for the next year.

*You may begin planting immediately–especially plants. Monitor plants to see that the mulch around them does not decompose and let them “high and dry”.

*You will need to put down mature compost or potting soil (soil pockets) to plant small seeds or plants.

For more detail:  https://www.thespruce.com/how-to-make-a-lasagna-garden-2539877

See the book Lasagna Gardening by Lanza (published by Rodale Press)

Also at gardenweb.com there is a lasagna gardening forum.

 

 

 

 

Fear and trembling?: Easter reflections

Should we come in fear and trembling

Our first sisters imitate?

Should we come in doubt and torment

Like disciples look to hide?

Ask for nail scars, finger spear slash?

Wait for ghost to slide through wood?

 

Should we come in cheer and gladness,

New traditions legislate?

Sunrise breakfast at mid-morning

Gowned or sashed in joyful hue.

Flower deck our place of gathering,

Easter lilies, tulips, too?

Four part anthems, special music,

Happy greetings, family gatherings,

Bunnies, eggs, then ham at noon,

Marking Resurrection Day?

 

First disciples still our models,

First experience our guide?

Riding high on giant’s shoulders?

Celebrators’ modern pride?

 

Should we come in fear and trembling,

Law and prophets comtemplate?

Till our hearts begin the burning

Till the bread is broken new?

________________

Got Stones: A collectors story

 

After completing the blog about “God the Rock, On being chips off the old Rock”, I remembered my fascination with another kind of “chips”: stones.  I don’t remember when I started collecting them, but I have been accumulating them for nearly fifty years.  In Southern Michigan, where we lived for eighteen years, soils have an abundance of stones.  The last glacier ground the rocks under tons of ice as it retreating north, smoothing many stones.

IMG_3445
Bread loaf stones

Our farmer friend, Lew Stoll, knew I collected round smooth stones. He had been finding me stones.  Some of them bread-loaf size.  But most of that size went to wife Ruth’s flower garden.  After a few years, stones turned up less frequently in his fields.  I attributed this to three things.  First, perhaps he had plowed up most of them.  Second, his tractors were getting bigger which made seeing the stones harder.  Third, maybe his eyesight was getting poorer.

Gardening brought me into frequent contact with glacial rocks and small stones.  Every spring, due to freezing and thawing, more stones appeared in our Michigan garden.   I made a sifter to remove some them from the garden soil.  The stones were dumped in our unpaved, hundred-foot-long driveway.  Over winter and into the spring stones disappeared into the driveway.   Stones appeared in the garden each year, after disappearing from the drive….  A natural cycle?  I had a notion to spray paint some of the stones we put in the drive to see if they would reappear in the garden.

IMG_3456Many people have contributed stones to our collection.  We wish we would have taken pictures as they were added.  When we moved from Michigan to Virginia I filled a five-gallon bucket with my favorite stones.  As if Virginia needed more stones….

In our travels, we have seen many round and flat smooth stones.  Collecting them has provided us with some challenges (is it legal to pick them up here?) and unusual experiences (is it safe to stop here?)  While visiting Nova Scotia we had collected only a few stones from a sea-shore to put in our luggage.  To save space Julia put one special stone in the toe of a shoe. Going checked through customs, a scanner showed something strange in the shoe.  (This was before 9/11.)  Julia was anxious about what would happen when she opened the suitcase and took out her shoe.  But, the inspector wasn’t interested in stones.

IMG_3444Cedar Valley in central Texas, has quarries with lovely yellow-tan sandstone.   We were looking along the roadside for a sample and debating the wisdom (legality?) of picking up a stone from the berm. We wanted to collect some stones for us and for our friend’s water garden. As we round a curve, there on the road was a head-sized stone, plus another smaller one, probably fallen from the truck we had just pulled off the road to let pass us.  So, being public-minded citizens, we pulled over and saved someone’s vehicle from a damaged tire by removing the rocks from the road—and into our trunk. Further west on that trip, where the sandstone was red, we could not find a roadside that required our clean-up assistance. So, we stopped at a landscaping business.  They only sold stones in three-foot by four-foot bundles.  When we told the owner that we only want one stone, he gave us a dinner-plate-sized “stepping stone” rock which looked a bit like the state of Texas.

In several states, we provided help to road crews by stopping along the highway and finding rocks in danger of sliding toward the roadway. We wanted to remove them before they could be pushed closer to the pavement.  Did the road crew appreciated our help?  Usually no one was coming our way when we picked up the rocks (we checked).  So, our friends got more rocks for around their fish ponds.

Slab Road crosses and dams Dry River above Hinton, Va.  While the River may be Dry in parts of the year, spring rains roil and churn the stones down the mountain and through Rawley Springs to where the Slab slows them and stops some.  The Slab has been deadly in the spring.  Some of our stepping-stones came from Dry River.  During the 1985 flood in the Shenandoah Valley (and West Virginia valleys), the Virginia road commission asked people to pick up rocks and stones which had washed onto roads and bridges by the flood.  We are the beneficiaries of that flood.

IMG_3450Our church group enjoyed a retreat at a restored farmhouse back up a valley on the Virginia/West Virginia border near the town of Bergton. There were several rock piles on the property and a fence row lined with rocks.  Those piles looked to be a good source of “stepping stones” to complete our landscaping project.    Several times we walked around the stone piles but could not find rocks of the right size. Later we wondered if the farmer and family had picked up the bigger stones first.  As time went on, they had picked up all the big ones.  All we could see were the smaller ones added last.  The possibility of snakes and the certainty of hard work stopped us from testing this theory.

IMG_3441Now our granddaughter has begun a collection at her home in Waco, TX.  Some of our stones from Michigan, Virginia and other areas we are passing on to her.

stonesLineLone

ode to a pet rock

Rough times, rubbings,

Sand scoured, wave buffed

Grinding fellow stones.

Hard center

Christ solid;

Smooth, polished rock.

 

On being chips off the Old Rock

On a recent Sunday morning, we sang a chorus calling God a rock.  That surprised me.  I recalled the satisfaction my father expressed at not having to farm around rocks after he moved from Pennsylvania to Iowa.  The deep sandy loam soils of Iowa and Illinois where I grew up yielded few rocks.  Visits to relatives in the east left me wondering why people tried to farm or garden around the rocky interferences common there.  Rocks were what stuck up out of fields making plowing and harvesting difficult.  Later, living in southern Michigan, I often found fist-sized rocks, even some basketball sized rocks ground smooth and round and spit out by the retreating glaciers. They were a nuisance to gardening. I built a sifter to remove the rocks/stones from the garden soil.  I did enjoy collecting round smooth rocks and took a bucket of rocks with me when we moved to Virginia (as if Virginia needed more rocks).  But, calling God a rock, “an impediment to agricultural activity” seemed unworshipful.

I remembered the wise man built his house on the rock and the stories of David hiding in the rock (caves).  Of course, I had read about the Dead Sea Scrolls protected and preserved in “the rock”.  Maybe I was not understanding the Biblical metaphor, rock.

What images does the phrase “God the rock” suggest to you?  A pickup sized chunk of granite with wheels (“buy our truck”, “built like a rock” the ads said)?  Jesus the cornerstone? *  But Jesus said the wise man built his house on the rock, not on a cornerstone.  Can distinguishing between these images expand our perception of God?

A geological map of Palestine, shows the Biblical land to be a jumble of rock between the Mediterranean and the Jordan.  Swampy land between the sea and the hill country on the west and the Jordan River swamps to the east and the shifting sands of the Negev to the south contrasted with the solid rock of the central highlands.  Several commentaries tracing the origin of the Hebrew for “rock”, show it and “mountain” may be interchangeable.

Then I read:

He said: “The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior– from violent men you save me.  2 Samuel 22:2

God, the Rock.  God’s people in Palestine did not think of God as an obstruction to farming and gardening or sign of eroded farmland!

be my rock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me.  Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me. Psalms 31:2, 3

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave more a firm place to stand.        Psalms 40:2

But the LORD has become my fortress, and my God the rock in whom I take refuge.  Psalms 94:22

A place of strength, safety, protection, a “firm place to stand”.

He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.  Psalms 62:2

Permanence and security; a cool place in a hot land:

Each man will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land.  Isaiah 32:2

What God is for us, we are to be for others.

Isaiah encourages us to be a “chip off the Old Rock”:

“Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness and who seek the LORD: Look to the rock from which you were cut and to the quarry from which you were hewn; Isaiah 51:1

They drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ. 

(1 Corinthians 10:4)

To learn what the new nature of the Rock is, we turn to Jesus.  But not only is he our security, refuge, our strength,

As it is written: “See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.” (Romans 9:33; see Isaiah 8:14; 28:16)

When we turn to God,

They did not thirst when he led them through the deserts; he made water flow for them from the rock; he split the rock and water gushed out. (Isaiah 48:21)

He made him ride on the heights of the land and fed him with the fruit of the fields. He nourished him with honey from the rock, and with oil from the flinty crag, (Deuteronomy 32:13)

Nourishment, refreshing water, security, permanence, refuge.  Where do we find these?  In the ROCK.

__________________________

ode to a pet rock

Rough times, rubbings

Sand scoured, wave buffed

Grinding fellow stones

Hard center

Christ solid;

Smooth, polished rock.

 

        *(In an earlier essay I sought to clarify the “cornerstone” image from the world of construction.  I pursued that topic when I came across a definition of cornerstone as “a largely ornamental architectural feature”.  I will post that essay later.)

Ascension Journey: A Lenten alternative

As the time drew near for him to ascend to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. Luke 9:51 NLT

 

Introduction

Lenten materials arrived in my church mailbox.  They included scripture references.  I wondered which New Testament passages would explain Lent.  Not finding any, I started asking questions and doing some research.  The passage above helped me raise questions.

Background

In the late Middle Ages, as sermons began to be given in the common language instead of Latin, the English word lent was adopted for the period before Easter. This word initially simply meant spring (as in German language Lenz and Dutch lente) and derives from the Germanic root for long because in the spring the days visibly lengthen. The original Greek term for the period is tessarakoste, for the “fortieth day” before Easter. This form is preserved for the period in Romance, Slavic and Celtic languages (for example, Spanish cuaresma, Portuguese quaresma, French carême, Italian quaresima).  Depending on the tradition the 40 days are calculated in different ways.  Sundays are skipped in the Roman Catholic tradition because they are “mini-Easters.”  Some have connected the fasting of Lent to an imitation of Jesus time in the wilderness (which would end possibly about the beginning of Lent).  Later, Lent “floated” to connect with “Holy Week” observances.  The roots of Lenten observance are believed by some to extend back nearly to the time of the apostles.   It is interesting to note that observation of Lent became part of expected religious observance after Christianity became the official religion of the empire.

Practice

Traditionally, church guidelines for Lent include prayer, fasting and almsgiving.  In addition, some people feel experiencing suffering during this time is important.  This takes the form of not eating a favorite food, for instance. (!) We know Jesus spent time in meditation and prayer. Luke tells us that he went out to pray “a long time before day”.  Other places we are told of Jesus fasting.  No specific mention of meditation is made but the words of Jesus various places, esp. John 14-17 suggest that times of meditation preceded the talks/prayer. Jesus gave up material goods and comforts even before the days leading to his death.  This is made clear by his words to the prospective follower:  “Birds have nests and rabbits their hole, but the son of man has no where to lay his head.”  I would affirm the blessing of these spiritual disciplines, not just for a period in the spring, but throughout the year.

Questions from my study

The question being asked is what is the nature of what Jesus did during his last days: forty-five to fifty days of Lent or the eighty days to the ascension?  I wondered why in the nearly fifty years that I had been a Christian I had never heard this question.  (I think during the first part of that period we had revivals, rather than Lenten observances.)  An internet search revealed that I could order an “I gave up Jesus for lent” T-shirt but little more.  Since the Mennonite Church emphasizes following Jesus’ example, it seemed appropriate to review the practice of Lent in light of that focus.  Many questions have come to me as I reflected on Jesus activities during his last 45/80 days.  What questions would you ask?

Luke 9:51 marks the beginning of Jesus last days on earth, those associated with Lent, Easter and the Ascension. Some see the transfiguration in Luke 9:28ff as the beginning of this period.  There are very few indicators of time elapsed in these chapters.  The NT writers are fond of the number 40, so it is surprising that Luke does not mention forty days (or 45 if weekends are included) or some time period. (Articles referenced below on the origins of Lent do not refer to Luke 9:51 and what Jesus did during his last days on earth.)

Last days’ activities

What did Jesus do during those last days before his death as he anticipated his ascension?  He clearly had a sense that this was a crucial time in his ministry. How did the pressure of his coming death and ascension influence his activities?  Surely the activities of Luke 9 through Luke 22 arose out of Jesus declaration in his first sermon (Luke 4).   Beyond that, Jesus, I believe, was preparing the way for continuation of kingdom work.  He began a new phase outreach by sending out seventy of his followers (chapter 10) to announce the coming of the kingdom. Once ascended, he would reign and provide intercession for his followers as they lived as they were created to live.  During the last days of his life, didn’t he continue to do what he announced what he would do? What indications are there that he simply prepared for his death? (Of course, he prepared for his death or the manner of his death at Gethsemane.) Just before the ascension declaration in 9:51, Jesus had told the disciples that he was going to Jerusalem where he would be killed and then raised from the dead.  Did he change what he was doing under the threats from religious and political leaders? To what extent is it true that the way he lived led to the cross; to the tomb; from the tomb to his exaltation as King?  Was this why Jesus came, to draw people to God, to establish the Kingdom of Heaven? to be acknowledged as king in the kingdom of God?

Conclusions

Much of the Christian church uses the period before Passion Week to anticipate Jesus death. Jesus, according to Luke, “As the time drew near for him to ascend to heaven, steadfastly set His face to go to Jerusalem.”   The question I am asking:  what does one do about the disconnect?

What does this suggest we should do to honor Jesus last days on earth?  Perhaps we should see the last days as he did.  We should be announcing the kingdom, doing the works of the kingdom, accepting the consequences of kingdom work and recognizing the vindication by God of what has been done through Jesus’ giving himself.   Then, praising God for raising Jesus to his right hand to be our intercessor.  I will be posting a list of readings from Luke 9:51 through Luke 24.  Later I will add scripture from Acts and other sources for the period leading up to the ascension.

The Origins of Lent, MARCH 31, 2014 BY BILLY KANGAS
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/billykangas/2014/03/lent.html#FcsZTBaACGK4XXs5.99

Accessed 1/29/2018

The Early History of Lent, Nicholas V. Russo, 2013 The Center for Christian Ethics at Baylor University, accessed 1/29/2018 through

https://www.baylor.edu/content/services/document.php/193181.pdf

The Beginning of Lent
“Like all Christian holy days and holidays, Lent has changed over the years, but its purpose has always been the same.”  TED OLSEN, Christianity Today, August 8, 2008

Accessed 1/29/2018

_______________________

Martin Luther King, Jr and me

 

or How I discovered the racist within

Diploma in hand, job plans up in the air, I stuck out my thumb to begin my journey from Messiah College to Atlanta, Georgia, for a summer in Mennonite Voluntary Service.  I was also beginning a more important journey:  away from racism.  Rides quickly took me to Frederick, MD, Washington, DC, and then near dusk to Culpeper, VA.  Rides disappeared with the daylight. So, I headed for the Greyhound depot and asked the ticket seller how much I would need to pay for a bus trip to dawn.  The agent said that Knoxville looked promising and near daylight the bus dropped me at the edge of the city for my next free ride to Chattanooga, TN.  From there a big car made quick work of the distance to Atlanta.  My ride deposited me at a phone booth in front of a restaurant.  There I could make a call to check on the cheapest way to Mennonite House, my home for the summer.

The cab driver to whom I gave the Mennonite House address said, “You don’t want to go there!”  Apparently, the police, concluding that they knew the one reason blacks and whites would spend the night in the same residence, had raided the house the previous night.  The restaurant where the cab picked me up made news several weeks later.  Lester Maddox, the owner (and later governor of Georgia), passed out axe handles to white patrons to help him keep non-whites from entering the restaurant.

I fought against racism at an ordinary summer camp with activities of games, crafts, songs and stories.  The difference was that we were the only white males that most of the children had seen who were not police or insurance agents.  We rode a public bus from Mennonite House across town to the camp in a Black ghetto .  One day on the bus, I realized that some of the people were young, some old, some bald, some with lots of hair, some lighter, some darker.  Individuals, not just members of another race.  I was surprised to realize that I was still a racist.  Not completely, of course.  After all, I had come to Atlanta to help deal with the problem of racism and its effects.

The journey begun on that bus continued and continues today, I hope.  During the summer, my heart was reshaped by seeing the “hate stare” at a suburban outdoor theater I attended in a mixed–race group.  Later I sensed the anxiety of a black friend who felt he had to duck down in the back seat as we traveled through rural Georgia to go birding.  Fears about some members of the VS group at Mennonite House traveling to Mississippi were fanned by the news that three civil rights workers were missing.  This was 1964, the summer of “Mississippi Burning” and other hot stuff.

When the VS term was over, the Southern Christian Leadership Council office asked if any of us could work for a week or two. They offered to pay my bus fare back to Pennsylvania, so, I nobly agreed.   I worked in the mail room in a basement room three levels below the offices of the important people above. During breaks from sorting mail and packaging books written by Martin Luther King, Jr., I took time to read some of his books.

Sometimes as I worked an interest–looking man walked by the mail room and up the stairs.  Only some weeks later did I realized that the man I saw was actually Martin Luther King, Jr.  I knew he had an office upstairs.  His hideaway office was near the mail room!  Perhaps I was still seeing people of color, rather than individuals. Perhaps I didn’t expect him to be working next to the mail room.

Even after 50 years, that bus-trip milestone in my journey away from racism surprises me.  My racist mind may have been re–formed by my Christian college experience.  But my diploma, my courses in psychology, sociology, history and social justice had not yet renewed my racist heart.  I remember that experience when I hear of “ethnic cleansing” and race-related violence.  I am reminded how deep-seated prejudice can be.  The journey has continued.  But, I still need to recognize the racist within, in spite of my commitment against racism, and to continue let the love of Jesus renew my heart and mind.

Revised from an essay published October 2001 in the Weaver, a publication of  Weavers Mennonite Church, Harrisonburg, Va.