Hope, bliss, gardens, mutts, life

Wow. The past 3 days I've been fighting a cold but enjoying the most ebullient feelings about our country and our future. "Bliss it was to be alive" is the Wordsworth line making the rounds, warming English-major hearts everywhere. Check out Judith Warner's "Tears to Remember" column (unless you are still weeping for McCain).

This morning at the grocery store, heading for the tea aisle, I nearly ran into Congressman Jim McDermott (D-WA), who looks JUST like he does on TV, with white hair and rosy cheeks. He was radiant, seemingly walking on air, and smiled broadly at my greeting, no doubt more at my Obama button than my mush-mouthed gee-willickers greeting. I was so flustered I read and re-read all the tea boxes, several times over.

He was gone in a flash (the cashier said the congressman joked about not being a good citizen because he forgot his tote bag) before I could ask him for tickets to the inauguration. Apparently tickets are free, and Congress gets a bunch to give away to constituents. Of course, getting to Washington, DC and back is not cheap. Sigh. I'll be at home on January 20th glued to the tube, and be glad I'm not freezing among the hordes on the Mall.

Yes. But I do so hope to get to DC at least once in my life. Our son is studying the Constitution in his 4th grade class, and next summer his school is leading a tour group to DC and Colonial Williamsburg. How I would love for him to go, and for me to go with him! But $2,200 per person is not chump change. (Business has been super slow, but if the stimulus package stimulates, we're on that plane!).

Later this morning I got a phone call from our local paper, asking for my reaction to Prop 2, the city's parks levy that just passed overwhelmingly. It includes $2 million for four community gardens (my bailiwick). Again, alas, I was gee-willickers inarticulate and giddy. I distrust most reporters, having been misquoted a lot, but this guy was really nice, so I found myself extemporizing about the economic, ecological and health benefits of urban food gardening, and recommending we go back to calling them "Victory Gardens" like our grandparents did during the Depression WWII, and in general, enthusing about the "can do" grassroots spirit that drove the Obama campaign and will continue to drive positive community change. And by the way, did you know seed sales are up and organic food sales down? Thank goodness I got another call or we'd still be talking!

The next call was from a dear friend, a former OALCer and very wise soul, who is just as elated about the election results. After catching up, I asked for advice about something that has been weighing on me lately: how should one advise folks to deal with OALCers?

I get emails from people who have found this blog and want advice, either in dealing with a romance, job or school conflict, or other situation that involves Laestadians (usually OALC).

I hesitate to give advice, because (1) the details are always scant, and (2) I'm no expert. So I usually offer vague recommendations (the kind I give to my friends): talk directly, set clear boundaries, model respect for differences.

Is this enough? I asked if I had a duty to learn more, or to call OALC leaders and let them know what I was hearing (even though that would cause more strife to me and my family). Well, I was relieved when he did NOT encourage that, and gave me props for taking the high road. Such as it is. What do you think, readers?

During that phone call, I missed most of Obama's press conference this afternoon. Apparently he was boring, except where he talked about the new First Puppy, saying that he prefers mutts "like me", but they need a hypo-allergenic dog as Malia has allergies. That made me laugh, as it hit home:

Yesterday for his homework, our son had to write a letter to the new president, advocating for an issue. He chose education, and encouraged "more schools" in order to reduce class size, so "teachers and students can have more one-on-one time." He also mentioned, "by the way," that his dog is a great kind of dog.

As a cocker/bichon, Bodhi is a mutt AND hypo-allergenic. As I write this, Bodhi is sleeping beside me, dreaming of chasing squirrels. His paws and tail are twitching. While there are moments I'd be happy to give him away (he gets carsick and he chews on sofa cushions), the Obamas will just have to find their own.

Okay, back to work, everybody!

Odyssey of Hope

The other day at The Secret Garden Bookstore, my daughter tugged on my sleeve. "Mama, look, that book says the Odyssey of Hope and it's about Obama!"

Actually, the title was The Audacity of Hope, but it got me thinking about my own "odyssey of hope" in politics. I guess it began when I left the OALC in 1979, which might be considered political in the sense that I rejected the power of the church over my life. In pursuit of integrity, I felt obligated to act on my convictions. On its 10th anniversary, I marched against Roe V. Wade at the Federal Courthouse in Seattle. (Though persuaded that abortion was wrong, I was appalled at the marchers carrying coffins.)

Then college happened. My next foray into politics was volunteering for the Dukakis campaign in 1988. I will never forget the excitement mixed with dread that I felt while I prepared press packets in the green room before his appearance at the Pike Place Market. It was raining outside and the crowd was swelling to the tens of thousands. There were rumors of a kerfuffle about whether "labor" had supplied the fruit for the bounty display on the speaking platform. Dukakis needed a riser to be seen above the dais. As volunteers buzzed about with walkie-talkies (this was pre cell phones), I busied myself in a quiet room assembling press packets. Dukakis was behind in the polls, but I was hopeful he could still turn things around.

Busy with my task and deep in thought, I didn't notice when Governor Booth Gardner and Mayor Charlie Royer entered. We still had at least 30 minutes before the show. They chatted; I assembled, ignoring them. Eventually they came over and introduced themselves -- as each other, switching names! Apparently they thought I was an out-of-towner and were enjoying an inside joke. When I corrected them, we all laughed. I had never met a politician before, and was a surprised to discover they were so . . . ordinary.

It was an exciting rally. I stood behind the platform with other volunteers, and as Dukakis talked about exporting goods not jobs, I had a friend snap a photo. It is blurry, grainy (predigital) and just the first in a series: Me, with Loser.

Even when I sided with a winner, I felt like I lost. Years later, it was Bill Clinton at Pike Place Market, running for a second term, and I was there on the rope line, shaking his hand (my husband was faintly appalled that I said "Bill" instead of "Mr. President"). But I had mixed feelings for my candidate, which started in skepticism and ended in disgust.

I thought the election was stolen from Gore, and still do. As for Kerry, he was only better than the alternative, and I could never get excited about his candidacy.

This year feels different. Obama is different. I respect him even when I disagree, and while I am always aware that he is a politican, his character inspires confidence.

Yesterday, I joined several dozen others in a windowless, over-heated room at Seattle's Obama headquarters. My job was to call "infrequent voters" in Everett (a suburb north of Seattle) to encourage them to vote. Most of the time I reached answering machines, but when people answered the phone, they were almost unanimous in telling me that they had already voted.

For Obama. (The conversations were brief. They didn't want to chat. They didn't want to volunteer. It was just "already voted, Obama, thanks, bye!")

Across the country, this is happening wherever there is early voting. Today's Washington Post reports that more than twelve million voters have already cast ballots, breaking Democratic by a wide margin.

What's up?

The video says it better than I can.

I just want to say that this phenomenon is much bigger than Obama. And it is why even though I am confident of his victory, I will be back at headquarters tomorrow, reminding people to vote. Because it isn't democracy if you don't participate.

(English major nerdery: the Odyssey is remarkable in that its events depend as much on the choices of women and serfs as those of fighting men.)

A Sermon by Jeremiah Wright

I bet the title got your attention. ;-)

I'm posting this sermon for two reasons, one of which is political, and the other which relates to Laestadianism.

First, the political. By now we've all heard the excerpts from Wright's sermons which caused Obama to finally renouce Wright and his membership at Wright's church. Wright said some things that are pretty much inexcusable in my book, and most books for that matter. You might wonder (and I certainly wondered myself) how Obama could have stayed in his congregation if that kind of stuff was the stuff regularly preached there. Hopefully this sermon helps answer that question. I think it's a great sermon and while it doesn't excuse what Wright has said with such noteriety, it does make the case that Wright is capable of far better theological reflection than what we've all heard on YouTube.

Secondly, the topic of this sermon is "Hope." It was the sermon that inspired Obama's book "The Audacity of Hope," and is a topic relevant to all of us who have had to bear unbearable situations. I think as former Laestadians we of all people can understand what it's like to sit in church and listen to things that we think are crazy. As former Laestadians we also are familiar with the suffering of those who feel trapped and helpless under an oppressive system that we felt helpless to change.

We left, but how do people who feel like they can't leave continue on in their suffering? I think this sermon helps answer that question.

One final note before I leave you to the sermon. Where the "horizontal" and "vertical" dimensions come together; there is the cross.

Hope
Preaching Today published this sermon in 1990.

Several years ago while I was in Richmond, the Lord allowed me to be in that city during the week of the annual convocation at Virginia Union University School of Theology. There I heard the preaching and teaching of Reverend Frederick G. Sampson of Detroit, Michigan. In one of his lectures, Dr. Sampson spoke of a painting I remembered studying in humanities courses back in the late '50s. In Dr. Sampson's powerful description of the picture, he spoke of it being a study in contradictions, because the title and the details on the canvas seem to be in direct opposition.

The painting's title is "Hope." It shows a woman sitting on top of the world, playing a harp. What more enviable position could one ever hope to achieve than being on top of the world with everyone dancing to your music?

As you look closer, the illusion of power gives way to the reality of pain. The world on which this woman sits, our world, is torn by war, destroyed by hate, decimated by despair, and devastated by distrust. The world on which she sits seems on the brink of destruction. Famine ravages millions of inhabitants in one hemisphere, while feasting and gluttony are enjoyed by inhabitants of another hemisphere. This world is a ticking time bomb, with apartheid in one hemisphere and apathy in the other. Scientists tell us there are enough nuclear warheads to wipe out all forms of life except cockroaches. That is the world on which the woman sits in Watt's painting.

Our world cares more about bombs for the enemy than about bread for the hungry. This world is still more concerned about the color of skin than it is about the content of character - a world more finicky about what's on the outside of your head than about the quality of your education or what's inside your head. That is the world on which this woman sits.

You and I think of being on top of the world as being in heaven. When you look at the woman in Watt's painting, you discover this woman is in hell. She is wearing rags. Her tattered clothes look as if the woman herself has come through Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Her head is bandaged, and blood seeps through the bandages. Scars and cuts are visible on her face, her arms, and her legs.

I. Illusion of Power vs. Reality of Pain

A closer look reveals all the harp strings but one are broken or ripped out. Even the instrument has been damaged by what she has been through, and she is the classic example of quiet despair. Yet the artist dares to entitle the painting Hope. The illusion of power-sitting on top of the world - gives way to the reality of pain.

And isn't it that way with many of us? We give the illusion of being in an enviable position on top of the world. Look closer, and our lives reveal the reality of pain too deep for the tongue to tell. For the woman in the painting, what looks like being in heaven is actually an existence in a quiet hell. I've been a pastor for seventeen years. I've seen too many of these cases not to know what I'm talking about. I've seen married couples where the husband has a girlfriend in addition to his wife. It's something nobody talks about. The wife smiles and pretends not to hear the whispers and the gossip. She has the legal papers but knows he would rather try to buy Fort Knox than divorce her. That's a living hell.

I've seen married couples where the wife had discovered that somebody else cares for her as a person and not just as cook, maid jitney service, and call girl all wrapped into one. But there's the scandal: What would folks say? What about the children? That's a living hell.

I've seen divorcees whose dreams have been blown to bits, families broken up beyond repair, and lives somehow slipping through their fingers. They've lost control. That's a living hell.

I've seen college students who give the illusion of being on top of the world - designer clothes, all the sex that they want, all the cocaine or marijuana or drugs, all the trappings of having it all together on the outside-but empty and shallow and hurting and lonely and afraid on the inside. Many times what looks good on the outside-the illusion of being in power, of sitting on top of the world - with a closer look is actually existence in a quiet hell.

That is exactly where Hannah is in 1 Samuel 1 :1-18. Hannah is top dog in this three-way relationship between herself, Elkanah, and Peninnah. Her husband loves Hannah more than he loves his other wife and their children. Elkanah tells Hannah he loves her. A lot of husbands don't do that. He shows Hannah that he loves her, and many husbands never get around to doing that. In fact, it is his attention and devotion to Hannah that causes Peninnah to be so angry and to stay on Hannah's case constantly. Jealous! Jealousy will get hold of you, and you can't let it go because it won't let you go. Peninnah stayed on Hannah, like we say, "as white on rice." She constantly picked at Hannah, making her cry, taking her appetite away.

At first glance Hannah's position seems enviable. She had all the rights and none of the responsibilities - no diapers to change, no beds to sit beside at night, no noses to wipe, nothing else to wipe either, no babies draining you of your milk and demanding feeding. Hannah was top dog. No baby portions to fix at meal times. Her man loved her; everybody knew he loved her. He loved her more than anything or anybody. That's why Peninnah hated her so much.

Now, except for the second-wife bit, which was legal back then, Hannah was sitting on top of the world, until you look closer. When you look closer, what looked like being in heaven was actually existing in a quiet hell.

Hannah had the pain of a bitter woman to contend with, for verse 7 says that nonstop, Peninnah stayed with her. Hannah suffered the pain of living with a bitter woman. And she suffered another pain - the pain of a barren womb. You will remember the story of the widow in 2 Kings 4 who had no child. The story of a woman with no children was a story of deep pathos and despair in biblical days.

Do you remember the story of Sarah and what she did in Genesis 16 because of her barren womb - before the three heavenly visitors stopped by their tent? Do you remember the story of Elizabeth and her husband in Luke I? Back in Bible days, the story of a woman with a barren womb was a story of deep pathos. And Hannah was afflicted with the pain of a bitter woman on the one hand and the pain of a barren womb on the other.

Hannah's world was flawed, flaky. Her garments of respectability were tattered and torn, and her heart was bruised and bleeding from the constant attacks of a jealous woman. The scars and scratches on her psyche are almost visible as you look at this passage, where she cries, refusing to eat anything. Just like the woman in Watt's painting, what looks like being in heaven is actually existence in a quiet hell.

Now I want to share briefly with you about Hannah - the lady and the Lord. While I do so, I want you to be thinking about where you live and your own particular pain predicament. Think about it for a moment.

Dr. Sampson said he wanted to quarrel with the artist for having the gall to name that painting Hope when all he could see in the picture was hell - a quiet desperation. But then Dr. Sampson said he noticed that he had been looking only at the horizontal dimensions and relationships and how this woman was hooked up with that world on which she sat. He had failed to take into account her vertical relationships. He had not looked above her head. And when he looked over her head, he found some small notes of music moving joyfully and playfully toward heaven.

II. The Audacity to Hope

Then, Dr. Sampson began to understand why the artist titled the painting "Hope." In spite of being in a world torn by war, in spite of being on a world destroyed by hate and decimated by distrust, in spite of being on a world where famine and greed are uneasy bed partners, in spite of being on a world where apartheid and apathy feed the fires of racism and hatred, in spite of being on a world where nuclear nightmare draws closer with each second, in spite of being on a ticking time bomb, with her clothes in rags, her body scarred and bruised and bleeding, her harp all but destroyed and with only one string left, she had the audacity to make music and praise God. The vertical dimension balanced out what was going on in the horizontal dimension.

And that is what the audacity to hope will do for you. The apostle Paul said the same thing. "You have troubles? Glory in your trouble. We glory in tribulation." That's the horizontal dimension. We glory in tribulation because, he says, "Tribulation works patience. And patience works experience. And experience works hope. (That's the vertical dimension.) And hope makes us not ashamed." The vertical dimension balances out what is going on in the horizontal dimension. That is the real story here in the first chapter of 1 Samuel. Not the condition of Hannah's body, but the condition of Hannah's soul - her vertical dimension. She had the audacity to keep on hoping and praying when there was no visible sign on the horizontal level that what she was praying for, hoping for, and waiting for would ever be answered in the affirmative.

What Hannah wanted most out of life had been denied to her. Think about that. Yet in spite of that, she kept on hoping. The gloating of Peninnah did not make her bitter. She kept on hoping. When the family made its pilgrimage to the sanctuary at Shiloh, she renewed her petition there, pouring out her heart to God. She may have been barren, but that's a horizontal dimension. She was fertile in her spirit, her vertical dimension. She prayed and she prayed and she prayed and she kept on praying year after year. With no answer, she kept on praying. She prayed so fervently in this passage that Eli thought she had to be drunk. There was no visible sign on the horizontal level to indicate to Hannah that her praying would ever be answered. Yet, she kept on praying.

And Paul said something about that, too. No visible sign? He says, "Hope is what saves us, for we are saved by hope. But hope that is seen is not hope. For what a man sees, why does he have hope for it? But if we hope for that which we see not (no visible sign), then do we with patience wait for it."

That's almost an echo of what the prophet Isaiah said: "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength." The vertical dimension balances out what is going on in the horizontal dimension.

There may not be any visible sign of a change in your individual situation, whatever your private hell is. But that's just the horizontal level. Keep the vertical level intact, like Hannah. You may, like the African slaves, be able to sing, "Over my head I hear music in the air. Over my head I hear music in the air. Over my head I hear music in the air. There must be a God somewhere." Keep the vertical dimension intact like Hannah. Have the audacity to hope for that child of yours. Have the audacity to hope for that home of yours. Have the audacity to hope for that church of yours. Whatever it is you've been praying for, keep on praying, and you may find, like my grandmother sings, "There's a bright side somewhere; there is a bright side somewhere. Don't you rest until you find it, for there is a bright side somewhere."

III. Persistence of Hope

The real lesson Hannah gives us from this chapter - the most important word God would have us hear - is how to hope when the love of God is not plainly evident. It's easy to hope when there are evidences all around of how good God is. But to have the audacity to hope when that love is not evident - you don't know where that somewhere is that my grandmother sang about, or if there will ever be that brighter day - that is a true test of a Hannah-type faith. To take the one string you have left and to have the audacity to hope - make music and praise God on and with whatever it is you've got left, even though you can't see what God is going to do - that's the real word God will have us hear from this passage and from Watt's painting.

There's a true-life illustration that demonstrates the principles portrayed so powerfully in this periscope. And I close with it. My mom and my dad used to sing a song that I've not been able to find in any of the published hymnals. It's an old song out of the black religious tradition called "Thank you, Jesus." It's a very simple song. Some of you have heard it. It's simply goes, "Thank you Jesus. I thank you Jesus. I thank you Jesus. I thank you Lord." To me they always sang that song at the strangest times-when the money got low, or when the food was running out. When I was getting in trouble, they would start singing that song. And I never understood it, because as a child it seemed to me they were thanking God that we didn't have any money, or thanking God that we had no food, or thanking God that I was making a fool out of myself as a kid.

Conclusion: Hope is What Saves Us

But I was only looking at the horizontal level. I did not understand nor could I see back then the vertical hookup that my mother and my father had. I did not know then that they were thanking him in advance for all they dared to hope he would do one day to their son, in their son, and through their son. That's why they prayed. That's why they hoped. That's why they kept on praying with no visible sign on the horizon. And I thank God I had praying parents, because now some thirty-five years later, when I look at what God has done in my life, I understand clearly why Hannah had the audacity to hope. Why my parents had the audacity to hope.

And that's why I say to you, hope is what saves us. Keep on hoping; keep on praying. God does hear and answer prayer. Jeremiah Wright is pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. - 1990 Jeremiah Wright