[The Lessons this week are Exodus 17: 1-17, Romans 5: 1-11, and John 4: 5-42.]
Today’s story about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well is so rich with meaning that to truly do it justice would take the work of many hours! You will be pleased to hear that, in keeping with the Lenten theme of resisting temptation, I will resist the temptation to do just that! Even in the relatively brief time we have today, there is a lot we can get from this story.
First, Jesus has gone to Samaria. On several occasions, we learn that there is enmity between the Jews and the Samaritans, but we don’t normally hear why that is. So, some background.
It wasn’t always that way. In 586 B.C.E., King Nebuchadnezzer of Babylon humiliated the Israelites by defeating them in battle, destroying Solomon’s temple, and dragging the leadership of Judea off to Babylon as captives. There they would live as exiles for many years.
Even after the return from Babylon and the rebuilding of the temple, the sting of this defeat hurt. A reason for it had to be found. People tried to explain why God had allowed this to happen. Scapegoats had to be found.
Some like Ezra and Nehemiah blamed those men of Israel who had married foreign women and demanded that the men immediately divorce their wives, transferring Israel’s shame to them. Many, especially in Samaria, refused and were attacked. Thus began the enmity between Judeans and Samaritans, which was centuries old by the time a young Jewish rabbi sat by Jacob’s well. As an aside, another distinction is that the Jews believed that God had to be worshipped in the temple in Jerusalem while the Samaritans worshipped on Mount Gerizim.
A Samaritan woman (we never learn her name!) comes to the well at noon, in the heat of the day. Normally, the women of a village would do this hard task early in the morning or in the cool of the evening and they would do it together so their fellowship would break the drudgery of the task.
A woman who does this alone, in the heat of the day, has a reason. She is an outcast, the subject of scorn by the other women of the village, and the midday sun is better than the stares of the other women. So, she goes at noon, when she can be alone.
But this day, she isn’t. Jesus is sitting there and he is tired and thirsty. Jesus is thirsty because he is fully human, just as we are. One point to take from the story is that, when we are thirsty, or hungry, or tired, or in pain—even to the point of death, Jesus knows and understands how we feel, because he has been there and felt the same way. His humanity connects him to us.
Jesus speaks to the woman. In that culture, Jews didn’t converse with Samaritans and men did not speak to women unless they were related or they had some other type of business in mind. You can imagine the thoughts in the woman’s mind when this Jewish man speaks to her and understand her discomfort. But Jesus doesn’t treat her as she has been, an outcast among outcasts. He treats her as an equal and doesn’t treat her past as a cause for shame. This is another point to take from this story—Jesus reaches out to the outcasts of society.
You might also notice that Jesus didn’t bring up that the woman lived with a man who was not her husband in order to condemn her. He didn’t say that her status as an outcast was her fault as a sinner. He didn’t, as some ministers of today would do, make sure that he pointed out just how shameful her behavior was and insist that she be kept from the center of Christian community. Instead, he treated her with respect, love, and grace, and she was transformed.
This woman, who had accepted the verdict of her villagers that she was a source of shame, felt strong enough to demand (“Sir, give me this water”) living water from Jesus. She sees that she needs this living water—a water of the spirit—to satisfy her spiritual thirst in her broken life. She runs into the village, leaving her water jug—a precious possession—behind, for she no longer needs it. This outcast woman goes into the center of the village to tell them to “come and see” Jesus and they listen! And they believe! All because of her willingness to talk to the stranger at the well. In many ways, she is the first evangelist!
What transformed this Samaritan woman can transform us and our world today, if we but let it. Jesus sets aside the score-keeping of this world and, by treating us all as if all were forgiven, makes forgiveness possible—even for us.
How do we get this living water? We know how we ought to live and we know that we fall short. We know enough to recognize the gap between who we ought to be and who we really are. These weeks of Lent give us the chance to narrow this gap and let the living water transform us as it did that woman at Jacob’s well almost 2,000 years ago.
A few years ago, people posed the question, “What would Jesus do?” Let me turn that around. Jesus is sitting before us, tired and thirsty. He asks us to give him a drink. Are we ready to talk to him? Are we ready to reveal our causes for shame to him? The question is, “What would we do?”
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
A Sad Story
My daughter and her husband are both soft hearted when it comes to animals. (She didn't stand a chance, both her parents are that way.) Her border collie and his cat are their substitute children.
Last week, they noticed that a cat started coming up to their house. It was an apparent stray and they gave it some food. (Not a criticism, I've done that, too.) It became clear from her comments to me that they had been adopted. The cat might wander off some, but kept coming back to the only place it was receiving food, water, and affection. They were cautious and kept it outside until they could get it checked. It slept on the hood of whichever car was in the carport and she e-mailed a funny picture of the cat on the roof of her car.
The other night, she took "Sam" to the vet. When she popped up on Windows Messenger, I said "You're back home!" (they had been staying away from the house while a prospective buyer looked at it) and she replied, "Yeah, but the cat isn't."
The vet had found she had feline AIDS and feline leukemia. Her immune system was almost completely gone and she had respiratory and eyes infections and was very weak. They agreed that the only thing to do was have her put to sleep, which was done.
I told her that we were proud of both of them. I think from her attitude around humans, that Sam was a former pet who had been dumped, possibly when someone found out about her condition. I told her that they had comforted this cat in her final days, protected their own cat by taking precautions, and then released her from her suffering. They had protected the helpless. I reminded her of the famous question of a few years ago, "WWJD?" I told her, "what you two did." They protected the helpless. They took the risk of loving that cat, and gained the opportunity to do the right thing. Despite the hurt, which is real, they can take pride in that.
I guess mom and dad didn't do too badly...
Last week, they noticed that a cat started coming up to their house. It was an apparent stray and they gave it some food. (Not a criticism, I've done that, too.) It became clear from her comments to me that they had been adopted. The cat might wander off some, but kept coming back to the only place it was receiving food, water, and affection. They were cautious and kept it outside until they could get it checked. It slept on the hood of whichever car was in the carport and she e-mailed a funny picture of the cat on the roof of her car.
The other night, she took "Sam" to the vet. When she popped up on Windows Messenger, I said "You're back home!" (they had been staying away from the house while a prospective buyer looked at it) and she replied, "Yeah, but the cat isn't."
The vet had found she had feline AIDS and feline leukemia. Her immune system was almost completely gone and she had respiratory and eyes infections and was very weak. They agreed that the only thing to do was have her put to sleep, which was done.
I told her that we were proud of both of them. I think from her attitude around humans, that Sam was a former pet who had been dumped, possibly when someone found out about her condition. I told her that they had comforted this cat in her final days, protected their own cat by taking precautions, and then released her from her suffering. They had protected the helpless. I reminded her of the famous question of a few years ago, "WWJD?" I told her, "what you two did." They protected the helpless. They took the risk of loving that cat, and gained the opportunity to do the right thing. Despite the hurt, which is real, they can take pride in that.
I guess mom and dad didn't do too badly...
Customer Service Challenges redux
On the evening of February 4, I posted my less than fulfilling experience in tracking down my son's lost xBox. Although that pales in personal significance when compared with my father's death the next day, the story did continue.
When I returned from Illinois, I also returned to the attack. On February 11, I called again. Interestingly enough, my call was routed immediately to a new menu which took my straight to a human being! Apparently, Microsoft can code certain phone numbers so that calls from them bypass the normal menu system. Matt, no relation to my son-in-law (I presume) said that an order to ship a replacement had been generated and I could check back on Friday to get the tracking number. On, Friday, February 15, Karen said that it would be shipped either that day or Tuesday (Monday was a holiday) and I could get the FedEx tracking number then.
On Tuesday, February 19, they called me to give me the tracking number! It was delivered yesterday and sits in my son's room for him to come back from college. At last! (I hope it works...)
When I returned from Illinois, I also returned to the attack. On February 11, I called again. Interestingly enough, my call was routed immediately to a new menu which took my straight to a human being! Apparently, Microsoft can code certain phone numbers so that calls from them bypass the normal menu system. Matt, no relation to my son-in-law (I presume) said that an order to ship a replacement had been generated and I could check back on Friday to get the tracking number. On, Friday, February 15, Karen said that it would be shipped either that day or Tuesday (Monday was a holiday) and I could get the FedEx tracking number then.
On Tuesday, February 19, they called me to give me the tracking number! It was delivered yesterday and sits in my son's room for him to come back from college. At last! (I hope it works...)
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Second Sunday in Lent: Trust in God
[This is what I delivered at today's service. The lessons were Genesis 12: 1-4a, Romans 4: 1-5, 13-17, and John 3: 1-17.]
Our readings of the last two weeks and today have had specific themes. Two weeks ago, we heard about the Transfiguration, when the divinity of Jesus was made manifest upon the mountaintop. Last week, we heard about temptation, when Adam yielded to the temptation to disobey God, while Jesus did not. Today, we hear of trust—trust in God’s promise.
In this short excerpt from Genesis, Abraham (as we know him) is told by God to leave his home and his family and his country (Mesopotamia) and go to a new land (Canaan) where God “will make of you a great nation”. Now, I have moved eight times in my life (that’s moving from state to state, not across town) and that’s always an unsettling experience. I’ve always had a certain feeling of jumping into the unknown, even though the people are always of the same country, speak the same language as I do (more or less!), and especially in my move here, had a great deal of ability to learn about my soon-to-be home.
Now, consider what God is asking of Abraham. In an era, about 2,000 to 1,700 BC (or about 4,000 years ago) when men were defined by where they came from and lived, who their tribe and family were, God says pack up and move with your wife Sarah and nephew Lot to a new country! Put another way, God calls Abraham to follow him to a new country. God promises new life to those who hear, trust, and follow him.
What does Abraham do? He doesn’t argue or try to bargain with God. He answers God’s call. He trusts that God will keep His promise. As Paul says in the letter to the Romans, God’s promise that Abraham would be the founder of a great nation wasn’t based on the law or rights or a bargain, it was based on faith—on trust. In fact, Abraham’s significance for all three main religions arising in the Middle East can’t be overstated. He is considered the spiritual father of the Jews, Christians, and Moslems. When he paid tribute to the late King Hussein of Jordan in 1999, the then-prime minister of Israel, Benjamin Netanyahu, spoke of “all the children of Abraham.”
We move forward about two thousand years to the time of Jesus. A Pharisee named Nicodemus comes to see Jesus at night. He is attracted by what Jesus says and does, but something holds him back. He is confused when Jesus tells him, “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” The Greek word anothen that John uses here can be translated in several ways, “born from above”, “born again,” or “born anew.” Also, we often mistake the phase “kingdom of God” with heaven. When Jesus uses the phrases “Kingdom of God” or “Kingdom of Heaven”, he is referring to a condition or a time on earth when God’s will is done and where God’s justice is carried out. What Jesus is saying is that we can not be in that wondrous place without our spirits being reborn through the Holy Spirit.
And that occurs in Baptism. As we say in the blessing of the water, “Through it [water] we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” So, if someone asks you if you have been “born again” or if you are a “born-again Christian”, the true answer is yes, even though they probably have a different meaning in mind. Actually, to be a baptized member of the Body of Christ is by definition to be “born again.”
How do we know that God keeps his promises? If we say “know” in the rational post-Enlightenment sense of “something based upon proof”, we don’t. Like Abraham, we trust in God. People who trust in God are saved, because God does not want condemnation, but salvation. We trust that God is there, even, perhaps especially, when we are close to despair.
That trust is what keeps us going, keeps us seeking the Easter at the end of Lent, even after a diagnosis of a dreadful disease or the collapse of a cherished relationship. We know that there is something better ahead.
Last weekend, when I was in Illinois for my father’s funeral, our sadness at parting was mixed with trust and hope. We trust in God’s promise of everlasting life and have hope that, in a wonderful way and place that we can’t comprehend, we will be reunited in God’s good time. I can’t prove this with scientific evidence, but I know with all my heart that this is true, for our God is definitively good and his promises are never empty.
Every day, people are faced with painful events—serious illness, failure of a relationship, loss of a loved one. There is no promise that God’s will is always done here or that we will have an easy, painless path. But when we conclude our Lenten journey at the foot of the cross on Good Friday and we hear Jesus’ despairing cry, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”, we will see that God always keeps His promises. Lent isn’t simply a time to “bewail our manifold sins and wickednesses”. It is a time to engage our new life in Christ more deeply, a time to trust and risk. Paul spoke of “calling into existence things which do not exist”. Lent is the time for listening for that call in our lives. And we can learn to trust Him.
Our readings of the last two weeks and today have had specific themes. Two weeks ago, we heard about the Transfiguration, when the divinity of Jesus was made manifest upon the mountaintop. Last week, we heard about temptation, when Adam yielded to the temptation to disobey God, while Jesus did not. Today, we hear of trust—trust in God’s promise.
In this short excerpt from Genesis, Abraham (as we know him) is told by God to leave his home and his family and his country (Mesopotamia) and go to a new land (Canaan) where God “will make of you a great nation”. Now, I have moved eight times in my life (that’s moving from state to state, not across town) and that’s always an unsettling experience. I’ve always had a certain feeling of jumping into the unknown, even though the people are always of the same country, speak the same language as I do (more or less!), and especially in my move here, had a great deal of ability to learn about my soon-to-be home.
Now, consider what God is asking of Abraham. In an era, about 2,000 to 1,700 BC (or about 4,000 years ago) when men were defined by where they came from and lived, who their tribe and family were, God says pack up and move with your wife Sarah and nephew Lot to a new country! Put another way, God calls Abraham to follow him to a new country. God promises new life to those who hear, trust, and follow him.
What does Abraham do? He doesn’t argue or try to bargain with God. He answers God’s call. He trusts that God will keep His promise. As Paul says in the letter to the Romans, God’s promise that Abraham would be the founder of a great nation wasn’t based on the law or rights or a bargain, it was based on faith—on trust. In fact, Abraham’s significance for all three main religions arising in the Middle East can’t be overstated. He is considered the spiritual father of the Jews, Christians, and Moslems. When he paid tribute to the late King Hussein of Jordan in 1999, the then-prime minister of Israel, Benjamin Netanyahu, spoke of “all the children of Abraham.”
We move forward about two thousand years to the time of Jesus. A Pharisee named Nicodemus comes to see Jesus at night. He is attracted by what Jesus says and does, but something holds him back. He is confused when Jesus tells him, “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” The Greek word anothen that John uses here can be translated in several ways, “born from above”, “born again,” or “born anew.” Also, we often mistake the phase “kingdom of God” with heaven. When Jesus uses the phrases “Kingdom of God” or “Kingdom of Heaven”, he is referring to a condition or a time on earth when God’s will is done and where God’s justice is carried out. What Jesus is saying is that we can not be in that wondrous place without our spirits being reborn through the Holy Spirit.
And that occurs in Baptism. As we say in the blessing of the water, “Through it [water] we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” So, if someone asks you if you have been “born again” or if you are a “born-again Christian”, the true answer is yes, even though they probably have a different meaning in mind. Actually, to be a baptized member of the Body of Christ is by definition to be “born again.”
How do we know that God keeps his promises? If we say “know” in the rational post-Enlightenment sense of “something based upon proof”, we don’t. Like Abraham, we trust in God. People who trust in God are saved, because God does not want condemnation, but salvation. We trust that God is there, even, perhaps especially, when we are close to despair.
That trust is what keeps us going, keeps us seeking the Easter at the end of Lent, even after a diagnosis of a dreadful disease or the collapse of a cherished relationship. We know that there is something better ahead.
Last weekend, when I was in Illinois for my father’s funeral, our sadness at parting was mixed with trust and hope. We trust in God’s promise of everlasting life and have hope that, in a wonderful way and place that we can’t comprehend, we will be reunited in God’s good time. I can’t prove this with scientific evidence, but I know with all my heart that this is true, for our God is definitively good and his promises are never empty.
Every day, people are faced with painful events—serious illness, failure of a relationship, loss of a loved one. There is no promise that God’s will is always done here or that we will have an easy, painless path. But when we conclude our Lenten journey at the foot of the cross on Good Friday and we hear Jesus’ despairing cry, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”, we will see that God always keeps His promises. Lent isn’t simply a time to “bewail our manifold sins and wickednesses”. It is a time to engage our new life in Christ more deeply, a time to trust and risk. Paul spoke of “calling into existence things which do not exist”. Lent is the time for listening for that call in our lives. And we can learn to trust Him.
Friday, February 15, 2008
A long week...
If anyone is reading this, I hope they understand my absence since the day my father died. (That's still hard to type...)
On Friday, I began the long trip from Perry to Springfield, Illinois, where my father lived. My wife had to drive me 15 miles to Warner Robins to catch the 7:30 a.m. shuttle bus to the Atlanta airport. After a change of buses in Macon, I arrived in Atlanta after a two-hour ride. Next came a 33-seat American Connection flight to St. Louis for another two hours. Finally, I had to rent a car to go the remaining 100.6 (according to AAA) miles to Springfield. I drove up to the house I last lived in during the '70s about 4:30 p.m. Central time. Late February afternoons in central Illinois have one particular characteristic: COLD! (Especially when you've avoided them for about 30 years.) Adding to the poignancy of this trip was that this day would have been my father's 87th birthday. In fact, the birthday card I had put in the mail the day before he died was sitting on my stepmother's desk.
The house seemed strange without my father. I could think of only a short period in 1977 when my parents and sister (Aimee) were out of town for a bit when he hadn't been there. Some people came by, a friend of my stepmother, a high school friend of my sister... At one point I might have thought being alone at such a time was a good idea, but they provided comfort and friendship. My stepmother was unfamiliar with some of the items for my dad's uniform, since she had never seen him wear it. My sister and looked everywhere and while I could find his navigator wings and missile badge, his ribbons were nowhere to be found. Shirley suggested that I could put the wings and badge on his uniform at the church, but that was a bit too much and I said I'd let the funeral home people do it. And so to bed in a house much altered from when I lived in it and in a room that had been my sister's. (My old room was now Shirley's dressing room.)
Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, but not unbearably so. I rode with Shirley to her church, Central Baptist Church in downtown Springfield, across from the Governor's Mansion. The church was well arranged with my father's casket flanked by flowers from family and friends, airports in Illinois that he had worked with in his State job, and even from St. Christopher's in Perry (!). There was a display of his honors along with pictures of Dad and Shirley at their wedding in 1987, of a young Lt Davison from the '40s, and a painting of the church in Podington, England, near his WWII base.
The most difficult part for me was the open casket. I'm not a fan of open caskets. The technicians had done their job well and he looked better than when I saw him last summer, but he didn't look alive. Some spark was missing and I found it hard to look at what was left of the man who had been such a vital part of the first 52 years of my life.
Receiving friends, former co-workers, family members was emotionally easier but physically harder. Standing in place for two hours is difficult and by the end, my back and legs were very painful. I knew almost none of the people I was introduced to, in large part because of my 30-year absence from Springfield. I knew Aimee's friend Kim (the high-school friend mentioned above), who also had attended her husband's aunt's wedding. Coming here too showed how much she cares for my sister and I appreciated at least one familiar face. Many of Aimee's in-laws were there, but I had seen few of them since her wedding in 1991. I was struck by the near-reverence in which his former co-workers held him, one young woman even was saddened that she had only the chance to work for him for two weeks before his illness struck him down.
The service was well done. Although I missed some of the structure and ritual of the Episcopal Burial Office, the theology of the minister's message was well-expressed in a way that expressed his caring for our family. (In fact, all that Dr. Mills and his church did was tremendously helpful.) The eulogy was given by a retired Federal judge who had been one of Dad's friends. He discussed my father's WWII service, even reading Dad's description of one of his bombing missions. He described the many admirable qualities of my Dad's character and closed by saluting the flag-draped casket.
I escorted Shirley behind the casket as it was taken down the aisle to the "vestibule" (we would call it the "narthex") where the military honors would be rendered. I have seen them before and even assisted in a burial office at my church, but this was different. This was my father. The honors were performed movingly by an inter-service group of volunteers made up of veterans from the Springfield area. I stood at attention, even though I wore a suit, during the folding of the flag, the rifle volley and placed my hand over my heart during Taps. And then it was done.
A few thoughts at this point... I wore my suit because my uniform had mildewed and was not suitable for wear at such a ceremony. I would have felt my father's disappointment in me. But as I stood at the head of his casket, I did wish that I had been able to wear it that final time.
Also, while I can't fault the veterans' honor guard in any way, I was deeply disappointed that an Air Force honor guard from Scott AFB near St. Louis wasn't available. In fact, I was disappointed in the apparent lack of interest from the Casualty Affairs office at Scott when I contacted them. I plan to find out from my base's office whether this is now SOP for the death of retirees. If it is, while I understand the strain war and budget cuts have caused, something is horribly wrong if we place a low priority on honoring those who served before us. I may pursue that for a bit.
Finally, there were few truly dry eyes after the honors were completed, even among the younger people. My sister told me later that one of them expressed amazement at all my father had done. That is a reason why honoring them should be such a high priority and if we forget that, we are the losers, not those we should be honoring.
At the house, a catering had set out food for a gathering of family and close friends and neighbors. Again, I knew few of the people there, but it was a pleasant opportunity to unwind a bit from the emotions of the day.
Sunday morning dawned cold, gray, and very windy--10 degrees with a wind chill of -16. I had packed the night before so I could start the 100.6 mile trip to the St. Louis airport by 8, which I did. There was little traffic and I made good time. By the time I got to the St. Louis airport, the clouds had blown away, but the cold was still bone-chilling. That flight to Atlanta passed very quickly, the 1 hour 50 minute flight shortened to an hour and 15 minutes by the strong NW winds. We surprised the ground crew at Atlanta, who had to get someone to come operate the ramp so we could get off the plane. The temperature was in the 60s with a cooling wind, a relief after the midwest's reminder of why I moved south after high school. The bus ride to Warner Robins was uneventful and I was back home a mere 60 hours after I had left.
I told Shirley Saturday night that our parting from Dad was a grief we would always feel. When you first feel it, the pain is sharp and poignant and you wonder how you can go on. You do, though, because you must, and over time you become more accustomed to the loss and pain and you realize that the story of your life is not over yet. I do believe the parting caused by death is only temporary and in God's good time we will be reunited in a way and place we can't truly imagine.
Au revoir, Dad... We'll meet again someday.
On Friday, I began the long trip from Perry to Springfield, Illinois, where my father lived. My wife had to drive me 15 miles to Warner Robins to catch the 7:30 a.m. shuttle bus to the Atlanta airport. After a change of buses in Macon, I arrived in Atlanta after a two-hour ride. Next came a 33-seat American Connection flight to St. Louis for another two hours. Finally, I had to rent a car to go the remaining 100.6 (according to AAA) miles to Springfield. I drove up to the house I last lived in during the '70s about 4:30 p.m. Central time. Late February afternoons in central Illinois have one particular characteristic: COLD! (Especially when you've avoided them for about 30 years.) Adding to the poignancy of this trip was that this day would have been my father's 87th birthday. In fact, the birthday card I had put in the mail the day before he died was sitting on my stepmother's desk.
The house seemed strange without my father. I could think of only a short period in 1977 when my parents and sister (Aimee) were out of town for a bit when he hadn't been there. Some people came by, a friend of my stepmother, a high school friend of my sister... At one point I might have thought being alone at such a time was a good idea, but they provided comfort and friendship. My stepmother was unfamiliar with some of the items for my dad's uniform, since she had never seen him wear it. My sister and looked everywhere and while I could find his navigator wings and missile badge, his ribbons were nowhere to be found. Shirley suggested that I could put the wings and badge on his uniform at the church, but that was a bit too much and I said I'd let the funeral home people do it. And so to bed in a house much altered from when I lived in it and in a room that had been my sister's. (My old room was now Shirley's dressing room.)
Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, but not unbearably so. I rode with Shirley to her church, Central Baptist Church in downtown Springfield, across from the Governor's Mansion. The church was well arranged with my father's casket flanked by flowers from family and friends, airports in Illinois that he had worked with in his State job, and even from St. Christopher's in Perry (!). There was a display of his honors along with pictures of Dad and Shirley at their wedding in 1987, of a young Lt Davison from the '40s, and a painting of the church in Podington, England, near his WWII base.
The most difficult part for me was the open casket. I'm not a fan of open caskets. The technicians had done their job well and he looked better than when I saw him last summer, but he didn't look alive. Some spark was missing and I found it hard to look at what was left of the man who had been such a vital part of the first 52 years of my life.
Receiving friends, former co-workers, family members was emotionally easier but physically harder. Standing in place for two hours is difficult and by the end, my back and legs were very painful. I knew almost none of the people I was introduced to, in large part because of my 30-year absence from Springfield. I knew Aimee's friend Kim (the high-school friend mentioned above), who also had attended her husband's aunt's wedding. Coming here too showed how much she cares for my sister and I appreciated at least one familiar face. Many of Aimee's in-laws were there, but I had seen few of them since her wedding in 1991. I was struck by the near-reverence in which his former co-workers held him, one young woman even was saddened that she had only the chance to work for him for two weeks before his illness struck him down.
The service was well done. Although I missed some of the structure and ritual of the Episcopal Burial Office, the theology of the minister's message was well-expressed in a way that expressed his caring for our family. (In fact, all that Dr. Mills and his church did was tremendously helpful.) The eulogy was given by a retired Federal judge who had been one of Dad's friends. He discussed my father's WWII service, even reading Dad's description of one of his bombing missions. He described the many admirable qualities of my Dad's character and closed by saluting the flag-draped casket.
I escorted Shirley behind the casket as it was taken down the aisle to the "vestibule" (we would call it the "narthex") where the military honors would be rendered. I have seen them before and even assisted in a burial office at my church, but this was different. This was my father. The honors were performed movingly by an inter-service group of volunteers made up of veterans from the Springfield area. I stood at attention, even though I wore a suit, during the folding of the flag, the rifle volley and placed my hand over my heart during Taps. And then it was done.
A few thoughts at this point... I wore my suit because my uniform had mildewed and was not suitable for wear at such a ceremony. I would have felt my father's disappointment in me. But as I stood at the head of his casket, I did wish that I had been able to wear it that final time.
Also, while I can't fault the veterans' honor guard in any way, I was deeply disappointed that an Air Force honor guard from Scott AFB near St. Louis wasn't available. In fact, I was disappointed in the apparent lack of interest from the Casualty Affairs office at Scott when I contacted them. I plan to find out from my base's office whether this is now SOP for the death of retirees. If it is, while I understand the strain war and budget cuts have caused, something is horribly wrong if we place a low priority on honoring those who served before us. I may pursue that for a bit.
Finally, there were few truly dry eyes after the honors were completed, even among the younger people. My sister told me later that one of them expressed amazement at all my father had done. That is a reason why honoring them should be such a high priority and if we forget that, we are the losers, not those we should be honoring.
At the house, a catering had set out food for a gathering of family and close friends and neighbors. Again, I knew few of the people there, but it was a pleasant opportunity to unwind a bit from the emotions of the day.
Sunday morning dawned cold, gray, and very windy--10 degrees with a wind chill of -16. I had packed the night before so I could start the 100.6 mile trip to the St. Louis airport by 8, which I did. There was little traffic and I made good time. By the time I got to the St. Louis airport, the clouds had blown away, but the cold was still bone-chilling. That flight to Atlanta passed very quickly, the 1 hour 50 minute flight shortened to an hour and 15 minutes by the strong NW winds. We surprised the ground crew at Atlanta, who had to get someone to come operate the ramp so we could get off the plane. The temperature was in the 60s with a cooling wind, a relief after the midwest's reminder of why I moved south after high school. The bus ride to Warner Robins was uneventful and I was back home a mere 60 hours after I had left.
I told Shirley Saturday night that our parting from Dad was a grief we would always feel. When you first feel it, the pain is sharp and poignant and you wonder how you can go on. You do, though, because you must, and over time you become more accustomed to the loss and pain and you realize that the story of your life is not over yet. I do believe the parting caused by death is only temporary and in God's good time we will be reunited in a way and place we can't truly imagine.
Au revoir, Dad... We'll meet again someday.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Ralph S. Davison (Feb. 8, 1921-Feb. 5, 2008)
Today, a little after lunch, I got one of those phone calls that you never want to get. My stepmother called in tears to tell that my father had just collapsed at home and that the paramedics were there and said he had no heart activity.
Until about 2 years ago, I thought my dad would outlive me. At 85, he worked full time for the State of Illinois and wasn't that interested in retiring. He and my stepmother traveled a bit and he sounded quite vigorous. Then, in March, 2006, a tornado struck their part of Springfield, Illinois. While their house wasn't damaged, they were without power for several days and the basement got flooded. After several days in a cold, wet, powerless house, he developed pneumonia and he never could shake it. He would come in and out of the hospital and lost a lot of weight, down to about 130 pounds.
Last summer, I drove up to Illinois for the first time in 16 years (they had seen us in Texas and Georgia, where we lived) because I felt that I needed to get up there. While I was shocked by the frailty of his appearance, he was in fact stronger than I expected, doing things around the house. Throughout, his mind was clear. I really didn't get the feeling when I left that I wouldn't see him again.
But, he seemed to steadily decline, going back in the hospital and finally came home a couple of weeks ago. I talked to him last Thursday evening. He didn't really want to talk because he said he was so tired. Although he sounded very weak, I didn't really think this was the last time I would speak to him. Yesterday, I even mailed him a birthday card.
I have a mixture of emotions. I'm sad for several reasons. Since my mother died 23 years ago, the last link to my first years is gone. Although we got together rarely, we had frequently spoken frequently. He was proud that his grandson was interested in attending his alma mater, Georgia Tech. He was concerned as his granddaughter adjusted to married life. He was disappointed not to be able to attend my retirement from the Air Force Reserve last year, but enjoyed seeing the pictures I brought him. He knew I loved him and I knew he loved me.
I feel relief that his suffering and sickness are over and I am reminded that healing can mean release and not always curing. He now can be reunited with those who went before him, his parents, his sisters, my mother, and many more... and he now waits patiently for my stepmother and eventually my sister and me.
I now have a painful (final?) trip to Illinois in the next few days. I guess you could say that the sombreness of my mood matches Lent, which begins tomorrow.
Until about 2 years ago, I thought my dad would outlive me. At 85, he worked full time for the State of Illinois and wasn't that interested in retiring. He and my stepmother traveled a bit and he sounded quite vigorous. Then, in March, 2006, a tornado struck their part of Springfield, Illinois. While their house wasn't damaged, they were without power for several days and the basement got flooded. After several days in a cold, wet, powerless house, he developed pneumonia and he never could shake it. He would come in and out of the hospital and lost a lot of weight, down to about 130 pounds.
Last summer, I drove up to Illinois for the first time in 16 years (they had seen us in Texas and Georgia, where we lived) because I felt that I needed to get up there. While I was shocked by the frailty of his appearance, he was in fact stronger than I expected, doing things around the house. Throughout, his mind was clear. I really didn't get the feeling when I left that I wouldn't see him again.
But, he seemed to steadily decline, going back in the hospital and finally came home a couple of weeks ago. I talked to him last Thursday evening. He didn't really want to talk because he said he was so tired. Although he sounded very weak, I didn't really think this was the last time I would speak to him. Yesterday, I even mailed him a birthday card.
I have a mixture of emotions. I'm sad for several reasons. Since my mother died 23 years ago, the last link to my first years is gone. Although we got together rarely, we had frequently spoken frequently. He was proud that his grandson was interested in attending his alma mater, Georgia Tech. He was concerned as his granddaughter adjusted to married life. He was disappointed not to be able to attend my retirement from the Air Force Reserve last year, but enjoyed seeing the pictures I brought him. He knew I loved him and I knew he loved me.
I feel relief that his suffering and sickness are over and I am reminded that healing can mean release and not always curing. He now can be reunited with those who went before him, his parents, his sisters, my mother, and many more... and he now waits patiently for my stepmother and eventually my sister and me.
I now have a painful (final?) trip to Illinois in the next few days. I guess you could say that the sombreness of my mood matches Lent, which begins tomorrow.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Customer Service Challenges
Last year, my college-age son saved up money and bought himself a Xbox 360 game console from Microsoft. Like apparently a large number of the things, his crashed and burned during the warranty period.
In mid-December, called Microsoft--no problem, we'll send a free shipping box so you can send it back to us. We shipped it off on Dec 15, should have it back fixed in 2-3 weeks. Sure...
In late December, I started calling their toll-free number. Computer voice: "Your repair ticket has been created and repairs should be completed within 10 to 15 business days." No way to talk to a human, an increasing condition of American business' customer service system. I found their e-mail address: "The information you seek must be provided by a customer service representative. You should call them at ..." My reply: How do I get to talk to a human to get that information? "The information you seek must be provided by a customer service representative. You should call them at ..."
Mid-January: I slip up and push a combination of numbers that leads to a human (I'm sure that'll be reworked to prevent it from happening again!) Apparently our Xbox never arrived. But, not to worry, since they chose the shipper, its their fault and they'll send a replacement within a week if I but fax a copy of the receipt the shipper gave me! Done and we wait! and wait... and wait...
I remembered the back door path to a human. (But first a recording: "Your repair ticket has been created and repairs should be completed within 10 to 15 business days.") On my second call, I talk to "Bev" (always get names; they may even be real ones). "I'm in the billing department, you need to talk to the hardware department." "What's their number?" "I can't give it out." Then don't complain that I call billing! But they can't give me any information because of a software upgrade problem! This is Microsoft.. they must use Vista...
An hour later, talk with Marina. They did receive the fax but they're waiting for my shipping address from customer service. "But you have my address in front of you." But it must come from this other department. Can I talk to a supervisor? Transfer to "Max", but after a 10-minute hold, I'm disconnected!
Try again... talk to "Helen" in billing, transferred to "Meg" in hardware. "I don't know if we got your fax." "'Marina' already told me that you did." "Oh, yes, there it is!" Hold on a minute...
And again... talk to "Trixie" and transferred to "Edward". "Don't you worry about a thing! You need to give us more time and be patient." No, I don't, why don't I call the state consumer affairs division tomorrow, elected officials love to fuss about Microsoft. Why don't you let me talk to a supervisor. "Toni" this time... "We need to give the shipping information from customer service, give us a few more days." What happened since January 18? "Don't know, [don't really care], I undestand how you are frustrated..." No, you don't, you just think you do! "I promise you'll get a call from "Max" or "Elyce" in 3 to 5 days." Fine, I'll expect to spend next Monday night on the phone. "I meant business days!" Okay, Monday night then if I don't hear from them.
A little bit of ethics here. Why have your customer service people make promises you have no thought of carrying out? No good reason comes to mind, just the desire to squeeze every last penny out of today's transaction, who cares if he never comes back again, it's just a stupid customer! I hope the employees are comfortable with what they say...
I had originally planned to post nice thoughts about a baptism we had at church yesterday, not this! Oh well... tomorrow is our pancake supper. No racing with pancakes, besides according to The Times, the historic race in Ripon, England, has been cancelled because of liability fears. Don't believe me? See for yourself! Sigh... happy Shrove Tuesday or Mardi Gras to all!
In mid-December, called Microsoft--no problem, we'll send a free shipping box so you can send it back to us. We shipped it off on Dec 15, should have it back fixed in 2-3 weeks. Sure...
In late December, I started calling their toll-free number. Computer voice: "Your repair ticket has been created and repairs should be completed within 10 to 15 business days." No way to talk to a human, an increasing condition of American business' customer service system. I found their e-mail address: "The information you seek must be provided by a customer service representative. You should call them at ..." My reply: How do I get to talk to a human to get that information? "The information you seek must be provided by a customer service representative. You should call them at ..."
Mid-January: I slip up and push a combination of numbers that leads to a human (I'm sure that'll be reworked to prevent it from happening again!) Apparently our Xbox never arrived. But, not to worry, since they chose the shipper, its their fault and they'll send a replacement within a week if I but fax a copy of the receipt the shipper gave me! Done and we wait! and wait... and wait...
I remembered the back door path to a human. (But first a recording: "Your repair ticket has been created and repairs should be completed within 10 to 15 business days.") On my second call, I talk to "Bev" (always get names; they may even be real ones). "I'm in the billing department, you need to talk to the hardware department." "What's their number?" "I can't give it out." Then don't complain that I call billing! But they can't give me any information because of a software upgrade problem! This is Microsoft.. they must use Vista...
An hour later, talk with Marina. They did receive the fax but they're waiting for my shipping address from customer service. "But you have my address in front of you." But it must come from this other department. Can I talk to a supervisor? Transfer to "Max", but after a 10-minute hold, I'm disconnected!
Try again... talk to "Helen" in billing, transferred to "Meg" in hardware. "I don't know if we got your fax." "'Marina' already told me that you did." "Oh, yes, there it is!" Hold on a minute...
And again... talk to "Trixie" and transferred to "Edward". "Don't you worry about a thing! You need to give us more time and be patient." No, I don't, why don't I call the state consumer affairs division tomorrow, elected officials love to fuss about Microsoft. Why don't you let me talk to a supervisor. "Toni" this time... "We need to give the shipping information from customer service, give us a few more days." What happened since January 18? "Don't know, [don't really care], I undestand how you are frustrated..." No, you don't, you just think you do! "I promise you'll get a call from "Max" or "Elyce" in 3 to 5 days." Fine, I'll expect to spend next Monday night on the phone. "I meant business days!" Okay, Monday night then if I don't hear from them.
A little bit of ethics here. Why have your customer service people make promises you have no thought of carrying out? No good reason comes to mind, just the desire to squeeze every last penny out of today's transaction, who cares if he never comes back again, it's just a stupid customer! I hope the employees are comfortable with what they say...
I had originally planned to post nice thoughts about a baptism we had at church yesterday, not this! Oh well... tomorrow is our pancake supper. No racing with pancakes, besides according to The Times, the historic race in Ripon, England, has been cancelled because of liability fears. Don't believe me? See for yourself! Sigh... happy Shrove Tuesday or Mardi Gras to all!
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