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Thankful for Each Other

After a storm, there are reasons to grieve and reasons to be thankful.

Last month Hurricane Sandy left entire communities devastated, destroyed homes and shorelines, sparked fires in some homes and left many more in the cold for weeks into November.  A great many – some of whom were on the edge to begin with – are still suffering.

There are far too many reasons to grieve.

Yet it is often at times like these that neighbors discover one another and people help each other with the basic needs of life.  The divisions of ideology, which seemed so important only days before, mean little when placed against the basic needs of survival.  People help one another.  Sometimes we do it through religious communities, sometimes through charities and sometimes through government assistance – but very often it’s far simpler than that.  People see other people struggling, and offer what help they can.  Communities come together.

Thanksgiving always brings these kinds of thoughts to my mind, because essentially it is  a day about community – families sharing a meal together, volunteers at food banks and soup kitchens making sure that the poorest among us can enjoy a good meal, friends invited to each others’ Thanksgiving tables.  There are no gifts and few decorations – just a quiet meal shared with others.

That’s what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving Day – people who help one another when there is need, and who reach out to neighbors in community.  What a better world it would be if we all remembered to be thankful, first and foremost, for each other.

Big Bill Broonzy said that Joe Turner Blues was the oldest blues song he knew, but the story remains as current today as it ever was.  It tells of a man whose giving saved many a poor family after the floods came – and of a community who turned toward each other in thanksgiving.

Veterans Day

It’s Veterans Day.

This afternoon I had conversations with veterans from three generations of war.  A World War II veteran talked with me about the pain so many veterans experienced after Vietnam, when they came home to be treated like criminals – as if the soldiers who fought the war were the ones who caused it.  “I notice that there’s been a change since Vietnam,” he said.  “People seem to treat veterans better today.”  I said I hoped that pacifists like myself had learned to honor the soldiers, even as we worked against the war.  As another veteran put it to me today, it is important “to honor the difference between the war and the warrior.” Most soldiers, sailors, airmen and airwomen pray for nothing more than peace.

Still, too often in the United States we still fail our veterans – not out of cruelty, but out of neglect.  We ignore the real health problems that are the aftereffects of war.  We fail to provide adequate mental health care, and employment support.  We ignore their families too often.  Somehow we can’t seem to bring ourselves to sacrifice for the people who have sacrificed for us.

I don’t think it’s that people don’t care – but somehow we have been sold on the idea that wars are things that take place in distant lands, conducted by remote control.  We tend to forget they are fought by people who must suffer the effects of what they have seen and been asked to do.

Peter LaFarge wrote “The Ballad of Ira Hayes” about a World War II hero, a native American who died drunk and all but forgotten, during the Vietnam era – and nobody performed it better than Townes Van Zandt.

During the 1980s, I got to see Arlo Guthrie perform this song, not long after it had been written.  I think it’s time to bring it back.

Responsible Theology

Recent comments by Indiana Senate candidate Richard Mourdock that pregnancy resulting from rape is “something that God intended to happen” once again has me thinking about starting The Society for Responsible Theology.

I’m not arguing with his position on abortion, although I disagree with it whole heartedly, and would gladly argue it at other times.  What concerns me here is Mr. Mourdock’s reason for his position – the idea that God intended the pregnancy to happen.  This strikes me as a very strong statement about the nature of God, and a theology that is at best brutal and at worst shallow, inconsistent and arrogant.

There are many kinds of theology in the world, and a diversity of religious beliefs – some liberal, some more conservative – that I have great respect for.  There are responsible theologies in every religious tradition.  These theologies are internally consistent, recognize and respond to the reality of human suffering, and accept human limitations.  Most importantly, they do not presume to know the mind of God.

In other words, we cannot know what is supposed to happen.  Even if we believe in a personal God who is involved in human affairs, we cannot know what God intends.  The only exception is a theology which presumes that all things which happen are part of a Divine Plan.  I call such a theology brutal because it affirms a God who is ultimately responsible for all of the evil and suffering in the world.  If all things are part of God’s plan, then that includes not only the pregnancy but the rape itself.  It is impossible to say with both certainty and integrity that the pregnancy was something God wanted to happen, but not the rape.

This is exactly what Mr. Mourdock argued in the hours following the Indiana debate.  “Are you trying to suggest somehow that God preordained rape?  No I don’t think that,” he said.  That puts Richard Mourdock in the position of deciding what it is that God intends and what it is God doesn’t intend, and that is highly irresponsible.  No human individual should be in the position of deciding what it is that God does and doesn’t want.

There are many pathways of the spirit.  Some of them, like my own, are Humanistic and liberal; others are conservative.  Some are theistic; others are not.  Most fall entirely outside the Western tradition.  But within almost every faith, there are strains of theology which deal substantively with the deep questions of life, and others which simply prop up the believer’s own opinions and biases.  The responsible theologian approaches deep questions with deep humility.

To be fair, Richard Mourdock is not a theologian, nor does he pretend to be one.  Perhaps that is the most persuasive argument yet that matters of public policy should be determined by better criteria than “what God intends.”

Passing the Music

Last weekend, at the tender age of five, my son was one of the featured performers at a folk festival workshop.  The workshop was “Families That Sing Together,” and when we asked him if he wanted to sing anything with us, he answered without hesitation, “I’ll sing ‘Freight Train.'”  So for a group of about fifty dyed in the wool folkies, with me playing guitar, my son sang the sweetest version of “Freight Train” you ever heard.  He had learned the song from an old Libba Cotten album, so he knew it cold, the way it was written:

Freight train, freight train
Run so fast
Freight train, freight train
Run so fast
Please don’t tell what train I’m on
They won’t know what route I’ve gone.

It was a poignant moment for me, the more so because this is a festival I had been attending since I was his age and younger.  With his grandma singing with us, three generations of our family joined together in that workshop.

What we are doing is, in a sense, not that different from what many families do.  Every family has its own traditions.  It could be a certain kind of cooking,  art, sports or politics.  We pass them down not through insisting on lessons, or through a system of careful education, but by doing things together, enjoying being together while we are doing them, and taking delight in seeing someone new learn a piece of what we love.

The rest of the weekend, my son ran around with the other kids, playing games, but with music all around, under every tree and in every corner – just like his father and his uncle used to do when we were his age.  With all the excitement of the game, I wondered if he’d forgotten all about the singing, but he asked me that night to read him Elizabeth’s Song, a wonderful children’s book by Michael Wenberg about how Elizabeth Cotten wrote “Freight Train” when she was a little girl.  He listened intently, eyes wide.   The book ends with the song, and I sang it to him quietly, huddled with him in the cabin’s upper bunk.   He smiled and listened, his eyes growing smaller, until, at the very end of the song, he fell fast asleep.

It was a moment I will treasure for the rest of my life.

In a post yesterday I mentioned Henry Spaulding, a blues man who sang in St. Louis in the 1920s. Spaulding only recorded two songs in his life, and this is one of them. It remains one of my favorite recordings of all time.

What is this Blog?

The creek of life goes winding on
Wandering by
And bears forever its course upon
A song and the sigh

– Henry Lawson

I’ve always loved Henry Lawson’s poem.  Somehow it brings together song and spirit, art and ordinary life. That’s what I try to do as a musician, and it’s part of what I try to do in ministry.

Spirit, after all, is far more broad than religion. Listen to a 1929 blues recording of Henry Spaulding or a Fred Cockerham banjo solo, and you’ll know what I mean. Open a book of poetry, or the sacred writings of just about any religion, and you will find unique and precious revelations of humanity.

These musings are my small attempt to bring these things together, honoring life, song, justice and the human experience.  Some posts may be writings I’ve used elsewhere, others will be wholly new.  It’s all a grand experiment, and I don’t know how things will evolve, but I’m excited by the possibilities.  I invite you into conversation and community.

 

 

A Song of Life

We live and breathe a sacred song of life.

Sometimes the song is an art form, a melody played on steel strings and wooden sound boxes, given to the world with all the hope and feeling inside us.  When we let go of performance and give ourselves completely to the music, we breathe in the sacred and breathe out peacefulness.

For some, the song is a way of being with people.  Its harmonies are in layers of relationship, the kindness with which we greet those around us.  The layers are often complex, but the substance is simple – a deep love for humanity, an understanding of the beauty in imperfection, and a willingness to continue the song, even when faced with moments of unexpected improvisation.

At times, the song is an anthem, sung with voices or spirits, in lyric or prose, for peace, for freedom, for equality.  We raise our voices and lift our hands because we cannot bear to keep silent in the face of injustice, violence or cruelty.  To do so would be to profane the sacred melody, and to allow the dissonance of hatred and war to drown out the great mass of people whose song is in their work for goodness.  This kind of song is sometimes made with our very bodies, and some have given it their lives, but more often we give it our hearts.  It is always a song of hope.

And then there are the quiet moments, in between the great crashing movements – a meal shared with a friend, a hug given by a child, the contemplation of a painting, a deep and abiding appreciation for the unbounded beauty of earth.  These are the love songs, and each one is a prayer.

Some of us are musicians, and some not, but it doesn’t matter.  Whether or not you have ever lifted you voice in melody and lyric, you are a singer of life.  In all your living and your loving, may you give back the song the world has given you.
(excerpt from The Song and the Sigh, ©2010 by Dan Schatz)

Song – The Song and the Sigh

(words by Henry Lawson; music © 1995 by Dan Schatz)

from The Song and the Sigh, ©2010 by Dan Schatz)