The Power of One Word

This week my congregation's pre-school held graduation ceremonies for those who are leaving to attend public school Kindergarten, as well as those students who attended our Kindergarten, and will be attending first grade somewhere else.

Last year at this time I was not in town for the graduation ceremonies.  My husband had been in a car accident in Minnesota, and I was caring for him.  So I looked at the pictures and felt regret as I saw the students who were leaving our school.

This year I made sure I was there.  I got to give the opening prayer, and tell the parents how much I enjoyed being with their children every week in chapel, singing songs and praying and telling stories from the Bible.  But all of the important things happened after I sat back down.

The children marched to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance.  They recited the Pledge of Allegiance and the Lord's Prayer.  They sang one of their chapel songs.  And then, one at a time, they came forward to receive a Bible.  Each Bible contained a note from our congregation.

But that was not all they received.  They also received a Word.

Each student received a special word from their teachers.  The teachers prayed and agonized over each word.  You can tell that they want more than anything for that one word to be the Right Word, to be a True word.  And then, on graduation day, the teachers revealed the Word.  Tenacious.  Spunky.  Compassionate.  Spontaneous.  Energetic.  Inspirational.  Courageous.   Ambitious.  Every word was a gift.  Every word revealed depth.  Every word was one both to embrace and to live into.  Every word revealed teachers who both knew and loved their students.

There was something so powerful about this:  to be given a word, your word.  The word is like a mirror, but it is also a challenge.

Here.  This is who you are.  This is what I see in you.  It is not everything, but it is something.  It is your reflection in my eyes.  It is something you can take with you, and use, and add to.

I loved how the teachers didn't worry about whether the children could understand the word they chose or not.  They said "Tenacious", for example, which might not be a word that most five year olds would understand.  But the words were not just for now:  they were words to grow into.

Every word was different.  But behind each word there was one:  Beloved.  Every single child in that school was beloved.

That's the power of One Word.  It is the word behind it, underneath it, the word Beloved.

It seems to me that this is the power behind all of our words.  It is the word "Beloved" that gives them power.  If we cannot speak the truth in love, then all of our words are worthless.  They can destroy, but they can't create anything.

But with the word "beloved" behind it, One Word can do anything:  it can send us out into the world.

I can't imagine what all of these tenacious, ambitious, wise, energetic, charismatic, courageous, beloved children will do.  Maybe change the world.

Conservative and Liberal Are Both Good Words

I was visiting with a member of my first parish one day many years ago.  He was also a tall, humble man, a retired pastor who had spent all of his ministry serving churches in rural Nebraska and South Dakota.  Now he had come back home to retire.  I remember him stopping in to my office often to chat, to ask me questions about the current state of the Lutheran church.  He was a Norwegian Lutheran, and my background as a child had been with the Swedish American Churches.

"We always thought that the Swedes were more liberal," he said to me that day.  "Liberal?" I asked.  "In what way?  Liturgically?  Morally?  Theologically?  Politically?"

He didn't even bat an eye.  "All those ways," he said, with a sweep of his hand.

Liberal.  Conservative.  We bat those words around a lot these days.  Sometimes when we say them, they sound like accusations, or even like character assassination.  "We always thought that the Swedes were more ... liberal", he said.  "Watch out!  He is pretty... conservative," (as if in warning.) Liberals are permissive.  Conservatives are judgmental.

But I can't help thinking:  At their roots, Conservative and Liberal are both good words.

Think about it:  Conservative means to conserve, to recognize value, not to throw out the old in pursuit of everything new.  I love to go to antique stores, and sometimes I think that the treasures I find have more character than all of the new, cheap stuff I can find in the discount stores.  Does this mean I am conservative?

Teddy Roosevelt, a Republican, started the National Parks system.  It was a conservative initiative, a movement to preserve something of value for future generations.

My conservative congregations in South Dakota did not chase after brand names with big price tags.  They weren't flashy.  They didn't go in for expensive, flavored coffee (at least not while I was living there).  They weren't caught up in the latest fad.

I knew that they didn't like "Liberals", and I heard it bandied about in a scornful way.  But what does the word "Liberal" really mean?  It means -- generous.  "Apply liberally" -- means -- Apply generously.  Use a LOT.  And whatever you think about people you CALL liberals, it would seem to me that being liberal would itself be an attractive thing.  I want to be around generous people -- people who are generous with their time, generous will their good will, generous with their resources.

So the word "liberal" really means generous and the word "conservative" really means to conserve, to save what is of value.  And maybe what those of us who call ourselves liberal or conservative need to ask ourselves is:  are we really being generous?  Are we really preserving what is valuable?  Are we who we say we are?

Liberal and conservative are both good words.

But are we who we say we are?

The Simplest Things

Sometimes I still don't know what to say, even after all these years offering pastoral care in all kinds of situations.  I learned that the daughter of a member of my parish died suddenly this morning; no one knows yet why.  On the phone with him, I felt like a stumbling idiot, saying inane things.

Later on, I went to visit my dad in the nursing home where he lives.  All the roads were under construction, it seemed, and when I got to his area, I didn't find him right away.

He was sitting at a table in the corner, his head down, with a piece of cake and some lemonade in front of him.

I went over and sat across from him and held his hands.  "Hi Dad," I said in a loud voice.  No response.  "I'm here.  It's Diane.  How are you?"

No response.  I bent down and looked him in the eye.  I took both his hands, sang a chorus of 'You are my sunshine,' asked him, "What's black and white and red all over?"  I sang a few words of "Where the blue of the night meets the gold of the day," and told everyone within earshot about how he used to sing his own version of 'The Sheik of Araby' to us when we were little.

The activity director came over and whispered in his ear.  She said he was really good yesterday; she wished someone had been there.  She gave him a little sip of lemonade.  "Sometimes that wakes him up," she said.  She said she thought maybe he was just tired.  "Are you tired, dad?" I asked.

He closed his eyes.

I sang a little more, though, of course, I don't know all of the words.  I asked him if he remembered helping me with my multiplication tables, or teaching me to drive.  I told him he was a good dad.

Then I thought about how the activity director had spoken right into his ear.  I leaned right into his ear and I said, "I love you."

He nodded.

I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before.  The simplest thing.

"I love you, dad," I said, and he nodded and I thought that somehow, when he looked at me, he saw me, and suddenly, he remembered everything.

"What's black and white and read all over?  Is it the newspaper?"

"Oh, yes," he said.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?  To get to the other side?"

Oh yes.

I sang a few words of "Where the blue of the night meets the gold of the day" and he hummed along.  I told him that he was a good dad.  I was glad to be his daughter.  And it seemed like when he looked at me, for a little while, anyway, he remembered everything:  the prayers, the jokes, buttering our toast and riding in the car and going to get Christmas trees in December.

I said I had to leave but I would try to be back soon.

Then I said it again, the only thing I knew to say, right in his ear.

"I love you, dad."

"I love you too."

The simplest thing.

Why didn't I think of it before?

The Letter of James, and Me

I'm considering preaching on the letter of James this weekend.

There's this great imagery about the power of the tongue:  how our words matter, whether we uses our tongues for blessing and cursing.  The author compares the tongue to the rudder of a ship, small but instrumental to the direction the ship is going.

This strikes me as true, in an era when we are drenched in words:  written words, spoken words, words over the internet, words over email, words in political ads, words in advertising, words of persuasion, words of critique.  Blessing and cursing, clarifying and muddying the waters.  What we say to one another, what we say about one another matters.

I'm considering preaching on the letter of James this weekend, because I'm drawn to this particular reading at this particular season, but I have to say:  I have sort of a complicated relationship to this letter, and its teachings.

Perhaps it's because I'm Lutheran, and Luther once called the letter of James "an epistle of straw."  It was not his favorite part of Scripture.  (He wasn't a big fan of The Revelation, either, but that didn't stop him from calling the pope 'the anti-christ.')  If you read parts of James, you can't help but get the feeling that James is responding personally and directly to the apostle Paul in some places, especially in his comments regarding whether one is 'saved by faith'.   (This might say something about my personality, but I find myself wanting to mediate their disagreement, saying, "James, I think you might be misunderstanding what Paul is really saying here."  and "Paul, here is where James is concerned about your point of view.")

Perhaps it's because, much as I find wisdom in James' letter, and as much as agree with him, I also find the mirror he holds up to me, to us, a little too much to bear, sometimes.

So, I love the imagery about the tongue being like the rudder on a ship.

Then I think of James' words, "Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing.  Brothers and sisters, it should not be so."

But it is so.  Brothers and sisters, parents and children, pastors and civil servants, teachers and custodians and neighbors, liberals and conservatives, out of our mouths come blessing and cursing.

It should not be so.  But it is.

Even these many years later, I still remember some family friends who I overheard saying that my sister was "the pretty one."  I know that words have the power to shape our reality, not just describe it.  I remember a tall girl in our school that other children used to taunt and call "daddy long legs."  I didn't speak up; I held my tongue when it could have been a powerful instrument.  And I've said dumb things and mean things to people too.   I'm not just talking about expressing a political opinion that some others disagree with.  I still remember long ago, in one of my fervent religious phases, writing a letter to my aunt and uncle where I said some pretty condescending things about their faith.  I still can't believe that they forgave me.  I guess they love me.

So what should I do with this great insight and wisdom of James?  Certainly understand the power in blessings and cursing, the power in our words to one another to shape reality and not just describe it.

But much as I love James, I also want to hear the word of one who shapes my reality instead of just describing it.

"Let there be light," he said.  "And there was light."

"Your sins are forgiven," he says.

I have a complicated relationship with the letter to James.  He is wise.  But he never says, "Your sins are forgiven."