What has Jesus to do with us?

A minister decided to leave parish ministry. He ran into trouble, however, when he could not find another job. Finally, in desperation, he took a job at the zoo. It seems the gorilla had died, and since it was a favorite of the children, the zoo officials decided to put someone in a gorilla suit until a suitable replacement could be found. The minister was the newest hire, so he was asked to put on the gorilla suit, hop around the cage, and entertain the kids.

Since he badly needed a job, the minister reluctantly agreed to play the gorilla. To his amazement, he found this to be the best job he’d ever had. People were paying more attention to him now than they ever did when he was preaching. He had all he wanted to eat. He could take a nap in the sun whenever he wanted to. It was all part of the act. He loved it.

One day, as he hopped up and down, he felt so energized that he decided to try the trapeze. He grabbed the bar and began swinging back and forth in wider and wider arcs. Finally, in one great swing, he lost his grip on the bar, flew over the fence, and landed on his back in the next cage. In a semi-conscious state, he looked up and saw a ferocious lion staring at him. Naturally, he forgot he was supposed to be a gorilla and started screaming, “Help! Help!” To which the lion responded, “Shut up you fool. I’m a minister, too.”

During 40 years as a parish priest I was never sent to the zoo…but I may have come close to it a few times!

In the Gospel reading for today, Jesus and his disciples go to Capernaum—Galilee’s ground zero—and enter the synagogue there. A deranged man shouts, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”

Why does Mark tell this story? Two thousand years later it is hard for us to know. A man who is out of his mind is able to recognize Jesus when others apparently cannot appreciate who he is.

Perhaps we should ask ourselves the deranged man’s question: What has Jesus to do with us…with you and with me? What do we need that we don’t already have? Is there something missing?

In the verse to her hit song “Born That Way,” Lady Gaga sings:

“There’s nothing wrong with lovin’ who you are…cause he made you perfect, babe.”

I have no problem with the first part of that. If you know you are loved, accepted, and forgiven, “There’s nothing wrong with lovin’ who you are…”

But are we perfect?

We don’t have to see ourselves in St. Augustine’s doctrine of Original Sin, or Martin Luther’s “total depravity of man”—although my wife, after 57 years of marriage to me and having three sons, might pause over that one!—or the Book of Common Prayer’s “miserable sinners,” to recognize no one is perfect. We all have room for improvement. We all need grace.

Then what has Jesus to do with us? The teachings of Jesus aim at helping us develop our fullest human potential, to be all that we can be.

“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

The path to abundant life is outlined in the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew’s Gospel, a collection of Jesus’ sayings called the “Sermon on the Mount.” On first reading those chapters we may well think that Jesus has “come to destroy us.”

“If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.”

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you...”

“You cannot serve God and wealth.”

That’s strong medicine for what ails the human spirit, isn’t it?

I want to share with you this morning three things from the Sermon on the Mount I believe can lead to a fuller, richer life for us all.

1. Be a Peacemaker.

Blessed are the peacemakers.

Some politicians, pundits, and media people are trying to demonize Iran. Our enemy is not the Iranian people. Our quarrel is with the Iranian government. That is an important distinction.

We should not demonize the Iranian people and talk irresponsibly of war with Iran. War is a crime against humanity.

Did you know there are more than 500,000 Iranians living in the greater Los Angeles area? Most of them have family and friends in Iran.

We need a diplomatic offensive, not a military offensive.

Similarly, we should resist the growing prejudice against Muslim Americans. Muslim Americans are loyal, law-abiding citizens. Only a tiny, lunatic fringe pose a threat. The Department of Homeland Security keeps close watch on them.

Peacemaking begins at home. Last weekend I visited my older brother in Eugene. He is a retired priest, like me. You might think our visit would be all sunshine and light. You’d be wrong.

We did very well until the last day, almost the last hour, of the visit. Then we had a spat. My sister-in-law fled the room. Both my brother and I were unwilling to part like that, so we patched it up.

It is not always possible to heal relationships, but it is important to try.

With whom do you need to be reconciled? Spouse? Child? Brother? Sister? Neighbor? Friend? Co-worker?

2. Look out for what’s right, for ourselves and others.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

Yesterday, at St. Mary’s Cathedral in San Francisco, there was a large gathering of religious leaders calling for the reform of unjust immigration laws in this country. The Roman Catholic Archbishop was there. I’m glad to say our bishop, Marc Andrus, was there, too.

Undocumented immigrants who have lived and worked here for years are being deported. Families are being torn apart. Children born here—legal Americans--are being separated from their parents. It is a nightmare, and it is happening right here in the U.S.A.

We must work for social justice.

We all know there is a growing disparity between rich and poor in America, and between the super rich and all the rest of us. Many people are out of work. They would gladly take a job at the zoo if it were available.

We must not simply vote our selfish interests. As Christians, we cast a proxy vote for Jesus. We need to support those candidates and measures we believe have the best chance of operating for the common good.

Remember the bumper sticker, “What would Jesus do?” That question should be on our minds when you and I enter the voting booth. We need to vote for social justice.

3. Care for one another.

Blessed are the merciful.

At church in Eugene last Sunday, I happened to sit at the end of a pew. A man in a motorized wheelchair parked in the aisle next to me. He seemed in high spirits, smiling and chatting with friends.

He was a man about my age. I introduced myself and asked what he did for a living. He told me he was a counselor and had worked with people like himself who had physical limitations. He had really enjoyed his work, he said.

Here was a man who found fulfillment in helping others. Instead of being focused on his own needs, he had focused on the needs of others. It had brought him the greatest pleasure.

My mother-in-law had a friend who, after she retired, saw a sign at the public library in her town asking for volunteers to teach adults to read. She took up the challenge. This woman told my mother-in-law her greatest joy in life came from helping someone to read road signs, job applications, letters from grandchildren.

On Friday, President Obama spoke to an enthusiastic crowd of students at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. In that speech he said, “We’ve got responsibilities, yes, to ourselves, but also to one another.”

It was great to hear a president of the United States state so clearly the Jesus ethic of neighbor love. We do have a responsibility to one another.

What has Jesus to do with us? He calls us to find our greatest fulfillment in peacemaking, looking out for what’s right for ourselves and others, and caring for one another.

What have you to do with helping create this abundant life for all?

The Rev. Fred Fenton

St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church

Livermore, California

The Fourth Sunday After The Epiphany

The Bishop's Blog: Bishop Charles Jenkins Announces Pending Retirement

The Bishop's Blog: Bishop Charles Jenkins Announces Pending Retirement

I applaud Bishop Jenkins' brave leadership in the most difficult of times. He has been a loving, caring apostle to everyone in the Diocese of Louisiana and beyond. He will be missed by his clergy and staff and by all the people of the Diocese, young and old alike.

We will pray for improvement in his health, for accomplishment of the goals he has set for the last year of his episcopate, and for a retirement rich in the love of family and friends and fishing in the Gulf!

Vol. 1, No. 24

Perry Ledbetter Fenton
as Chief of Police
The Story of The Little Beggar

Prospect Sierra School production of
1001 Nights - April 18, 2008

Obama for America

“At its best, the Obama candidacy is about ending a war—not so much the war in Iraq, which now has a momentum that will propel the occupation into the next decade—but the war within America that has prevailed since Vietnam and that shows dangerous signs of intensifying, a nonviolent civil war that has crippled America at the very time the world needs it most. It is a war about war—and about culture and about religion and about race. And in that war, Obama—and Obama alone—offers the possibility of a truce…

“We may in fact have finally found that bridge to the 21st century that Bill Clinton told us about. Its name is Obama.”

Andrew Sullivan, The Atlantic, December 2007


The Marketing Queen - Does the Church have something to learn
from a woman who knows how to market products?

If “Pomegranate Princess,” the title of a piece in the March 31 New Yorker magazine didn’t grab you, the picture of Lynda Resnick in her opulent Beverly Hills house (“It ain’t home, but it’s much,” she likes to say) surely would. At least, it caught my attention.

I always have been interested in marketing, and Lynda Resnick, as it turns out, knows how to do it. She and her husband have made themselves billionaires by purchasing companies and then improving the marketing end of the business. Stewart Resnick handles the business end; Lynda does the marketing.

For example, the couple bought the Fiji Water Company for 150 million dollars. Lynda changed the bottle’s label from a waterfall to a bright-pink tropical flower and the company slogan from “Taste of Paradise” to “Untouched by man. Until you drink it.” The result? Sales have increased 300%.

It seems to me the Church could pay a lot more attention than it does to marketing. How a product or service is presented can make a big difference.

Lynda Resnick says you have to listen to people. “You don’t have to be a genius. You have to read the pop culture. People magazine is my Bible.” That brought me up short. The only time I read People magazine is when I’m waiting to get a haircut and have forgotten to bring a book with me.

Along with listening and paying attention to pop culture, Lynda believes in brevity. “Keep it simple” is her motto. She dislikes long explanations filled with unnecessary details.

All of this has application for clergy and their congregations. Listening to the culture might mean everything from livelier music at worship to serving better coffee after the service. An emphasis on brevity and simplicity could apply to the sermon and to all written communication from the parish.

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Walnut Creek, a suburban congregation, recently called the Rev. M. Sylvia O. Vásquez as Rector. She appears to know a thing or two about marketing. Sylvia’s personal motto, which appears after her name in email correspondence, is “Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” Sylvia has been listening to young adults, maybe even reading People magazine.

Mission Statements are popular. Every parish has one. The problem is they often read as if a committee wrote them. They can be wordy and pious sounding. St. Paul’s “vision statement” is Deep Roots, Growing Community, Living Faith. That communicates. Lest you think “Living Faith” is only words, I can report (from reading our diocesan paper) that Sylvia took a group of parishioners on a mission trip to help the poor in Honduras. She has been making these trips for years.

At each of my last two parishes we paid good money for a professionally designed logo expressive of the parish theme. All parish publications were coordinated in appearance and used the identifying logo. Congregations need baseball caps, T-shirts, and coffee mugs with the parish logo. This is good marketing practice. The mega church you drive by has all these things, and it’s for a purpose. We don’t have to adopt their lowest common denominator theology and approach to borrow some of their good marketing tools.

In 1975, I read Robert Schuler’s Your Church Has Real Possibilities. The founder of the “Hour of Power” TV program and the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove is a marketing genius. He advises churches to give priority to location, parking, and distinguished architecture. I think of that each time I try to find one of our well-hidden churches and discover a poorly maintained building with unkempt grounds and inadequate parking.

I particularly remember what Schuller wrote about preaching. A billboard beside the freeway has a big picture and just one line of text. So the preacher, he advised, should paint a picture with words and then add a short comment. I think Linda Resnick would agree.


Perry in 1001 Nights

Our talented, eleven-year-old granddaughter took to the stage again playing four parts in a school production of 1001 Nights. I wish you could have joined her parents and Billie and me for the evening performance on Friday, April 18. If the proud grandfather is permitted to say so, Perry was great.

She had many lines and delivered them flawlessly in a clear voice that carried to every corner of the theatre in Prospect Sierra School’s new Performing Arts Center. She also sang, danced, and at one point played drums with the band.

As her father said, Perry’s comedic timing is perfect. That is a gift. The rest can be attributed to her enthusiasm for acting and many hours memorizing lines and attending rehearsals.

Amy Sass and Keith Davis, the directors, are a talented team who know how to get the best out of the kids and to persuade their parents to help with the elaborate stage productions. Our David volunteers as a video photographer for these events. The sets, costumes, lighting, and music are all of professional quality. I have seen many Middle School plays in my day. This one was the best.

Billie and I drove to Berkeley in the afternoon, shopping at Crate and Barrel on Fourth Street and having dinner at Saul’s Deli on Shattuck before Perry’s performance. When the play was over, we stayed to give Perry a hug and congratulate her on another milestone in her acting career. Then we headed home to Concord.


Antiques and Collectables Show

The next day we drove 23 miles north to the Salono County Fairgrounds to attend the 42nd annual Antiques and Collectables Show sponsored by the Golden Gate Historical Bottle Society, which Billie and I joined when we moved back to California. We were greeted by Gary and Darla Antone, our club president and his wife, as we arrived with Brandy to visit the hanger-size showroom filled with antique bottle and collectibles displayed on row after row of tables.

It is not just houses and gasoline that are going up in price these days. Antique bottles that were about $35 just a few years ago are now going for 50-75 dollars. I saw some rare beauties selling for as much as $1800 each. Of course there were crates of bottles marked $2 each, something for every pocket.

I love to look at the displays of old postcards. They are a visual form of history. Vintage autos, hotels long gone, national park scenes before the arrival of RV’s, Victorian bathing beauties covered in long, black, bathing outfits, and wooden churches that must have burned or been replaced years ago. Some postcards have messages that sound surprisingly contemporary: “Sorry I haven’t written, Hilda. We’ve been so busy on this trip!”

This trip is a double-header for us, because the Solano County All Breed Dog Show is usually held at the Fairgrounds on the same day. After leaving the bottle show, we took Brandy to see more dogs in a couple of hours than she normally would see in a year. When she is out with us and sees a dog being walked on the street, she becomes very excited and barks. But the dog show was somehow intimidating. She passed by dogs in crates and dogs on leashes, and watched them being shown in the ring, without making a sound.

One thing we’ve noticed about people who have dogs, they are invariably some of the friendliest people you will meet anywhere. We enjoyed complimenting them on their beautifully groomed and well-behaved animals. We saw just about every breed you can think of, but no Tibetan Spaniels like Brandy. It is still a fairly rare breed, but the little dogs are making their way into peoples’ hearts.
The Bishop’s Visitation

Marc and Sheila Andrus, our new bishop and his wife, made their first visit to St. John’s, Clayton on April 20. Billie and I are members there. Parishioners had worked hard to make the grounds attractive, we had a visiting choir, our two Sunday services were combined in one, and there were baptisms and confirmations. We looked like a going concern.

In my experience, most bishops all but ignore the Bible lessons for the day and concentrate on sharing news of what is happening in the Diocese. They give the impression that everything important is happening somewhere else. Not Marc. He gave a fine sermon on the Gospel lesson, and he spoke straight to our hearts.

Both Marc and Sheila are sincere believers. Their faith comes shining through. The Bishop had tears in his eyes when he told us about a funeral he and a Roman bishop had conducted the day before. The funeral was for an Episcopal priest who died of cancer one year after being called as rector of a parish. The Roman bishop was there because the priest who died had once been a Roman priest and they had been friends.

Before the service began, the Roman bishop told Marc that he would not be able to receive Communion in an Episcopal church and would sit during that part of the Liturgy.
When the time came, Marc went to the station he had been assigned, but there was no priest there to administer the chalice. The Roman bishop stepped forward and the two bishops administered Communion together.

When it was time for the baptisms at St. John’s, Marc called the children of the parish forward so they could “see the action.” He invited them to reach into the font and feel the “Living Water” he had just blessed. Half of the children did so. The others demurred. One little girl backed into her mother to get away!


Off-key reception

The San Francisco Chronicle published this letter from me on Monday, April 21:

Editor – How ironic that the Pope,
“Vicar of Christ,” was greeted at the
airport last week by an armed forces
honor guard and at the White House
with the “Battle Hymn of the Repub-
lic,” sung by a military choir. He re-
sponded with a speech that might have
been given by almost any visiting head
of state. Would Christ remain silent
regarding a nation fighting an unpro-
voked war and authorizing the use of
torture against prisoners?

The REV. FRED FENTON
Concord

Vol 1, No. 23

NEPHEW JON FENTON AND FRED
PLAYING DARTS IN JON'S WORKROOM
Eugene, Oregon - May 27, 2007

Lincoln Brigade Honored

After worshiping at Christ The Lord Episcopal Church in Pinole, where Susan Champion, wife of our rector-elect at St. John’s is vicar, we drove into San Francisco on a beautiful Sunday morning, March 30, to attend the Dedication of a Memorial to Americans who served in the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War.

That war was fought 1936-1939 when Billie and I were very young children, but it was made personal for us when we got to know a veteran of the conflict, John Lockett. John showed up at St. Augustine by-the-Sea in Santa Monica when I was rector there. He came not as an act of faith but in order to find a community where he could do something useful.

His wife had died some years before, and John lived alone. He was legally blind and walked with an identifying white cane. The man loved babies. He soon gravitated to the church nursery where, as Billie liked to say, “He provided a lap for some of our youngest members.” John was a godsend to the nursery workers, who could give him a fussing baby to hold and comfort.

When John became ill and was admitted to the Veterans Hospital in West Los Angeles, young mothers from the church took their babies to visit him in his hospital bed. That was great for John’s morale and no doubt speeded his recovery.

A few of us took turns picking John up at his apartment and driving him to church. I asked him about his experiences in the Lincoln Brigade. John told me he was motivated by stories of fascist oppression and wanted to do what he could to help. Like most of the Americans who served in Spain, he had no military training or experience. He was given a WWI rifle and rudimentary instruction on the voyage to Spain.

During the McCarthy era following WWII, the FBI visited John regularly. It was feared the Americans who fought with the international Lincoln Brigade were either Communists or Communist sympathizers. John said he was neither. He simply wanted to fight against General Franco and the rebel forces, which were backed by Hitler and Mussolini.

John’s wife owned a corset shop on the Third Street Mall. He told me that when she saw the FBI coming, she would send him off so he didn’t have to answer the same, old questions. “How did she know they were FBI agents?” I asked. “Who else,” he replied, “would wear overcoats and felt hats on the Mall?”

San Francisco’s newest public monument is located on the Embarcadero not far from San Francisco’s Ferry Building. Of the 2,800 Americans who fought against Franco’s forces, and lost, there are 39 survivors. Eleven of them were on hand for the ceremony. When Billie and I drove up, a big crowd had gathered and the flag of Spain was flapping in the breeze. A brass band played anthems of the Spanish Civil War, including the Socialist anthem, “The Internationale.”

Mayor Gavin Newsom and the Spanish Ambassador Carlos Westendorp y Cabeza spoke. The ambassador thanked the veterans for risking their lives for his country. George Shultz and his wife Charlotte Shultz, who is Protocol Chief for the City, were there also. When the Mayor acknowledged George Shultz the old Lefties in the crowd booed the former Secretary of State.

The speaker who “stole the show” was ninety-two-year-old Abe Osheroff of Seattle. His voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheeks, he recalled a battle in which 80 of 250 crewmembers died when the ship they were on was torpedoed off the coast of Spain. He thanked San Francisco for erecting the country’s first Lincoln Brigade monument and “for making us immortal.” The applause went on and on while he stood erect, a living monument to a noble cause.

The memorial is 40 feet long and 8 feet high. It is made of 45 onyx panels held together in a steel structure. The translucent stone squares show scenes from the war and faces of soldiers, as well as words about the period from writers like Ernest Hemingway. Designed by Ann Chamberlain and Walter Hood, it cost $400,000. The Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives and Veterans and friends of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade donated the money.

Left out of the speeches that day, and the newspaper articles that followed, was any mention of our government’s treatment of the Lincoln Brigade heroes after they returned to America. I wrote a letter to The San Francisco Chronicle, which was published the following Tuesday.

Editor – At Sunday’s well attended
dedication of the nation’s first me-
morial to Americans who fought in the
Abraham Lincoln Brigade against
fascism in Spain, no mention was
made of our government’s harass-
ment of those heroes when they
returned home.
My wife and I attended the San
Francisco event on behalf of our dear
friend John Lockett, who did not
live to see this long-overdue honor
paid to him and his buddies. This
friend told us the FBI made regular
visits during the 50’s to be sure he
was not engaged in “subversive
activities.”

Rev. FRED FENTON
Concord


Fred’s Birthday
April 5, 2008

Billie and I started the day with a trip to the Pleasant Hill “Y” for our workout. After that, I took one of the cars to the local do-it-yourself car wash. Then we were off to the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco to attend A Kimono Fashion Show in Samsung Hall. The 1:30 p.m. event was sold out because the speaker, Tomita Nobuaki, made a big hit at his first fashion show at the Asian last year. I attended that show (Newsletter, Vol. 1, No. 8) and was anxious to hear him again and for Billie to experience the artist in person.

Mr. Nobuaki is a leading kimono stylist and textile designer known for his high-profile work costuming Japanese movie stars and actors in period dramas. In spite of his need to use an English translator, his personality and showmanship make him an engaging figure. We both enjoyed the gorgeous kimonos he has created, the question and answer periods, and lion dancers he brought with him from the city of Himi in Toyama prefecture, Japan.

Following the show we went to ZUNI café on Market Street for dinner. We had wonderful mushroom soup and the ZUNI’s signature dish, roast chicken. We also indulged in fabulous shoestring fries and a lemon tart for dessert. We made the acquaintance of a lovely family sitting at the next table, a young couple with two sweet little girls.

There were cards and presents waiting for me at home. Granddaughter Sophie sang “Happy Birthday to PawPaw” over the phone. It made my day. Billie wrote on her card, “You are my number ONE favorite person in all the world. I love you so much. Thank you for loving me.” At the bottom of the card, our doggie added “and me too!”--Brandy
Who could ask for anything more?

Billie gave me some books I wanted: The Arden Shakespeare edition of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Robert Fagles new translation of The Aeneid, Adrian Goldsworthy’s monumental biography CAESAR: Life of a Colossus, Deepak Chopra’s The third Jesus, and Alexandra Stoddard’s helpful little book, You Are Your Choices.

I asked Billie to send a check equal to the price of those books to Partners In Health, the Boston charity that supports the work of Dr. Paul Farmer. One of the most inspiring books I have ever read is Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains, a New York Times bestseller about Dr. Farmer’s life and work bringing health to desperately poor people in places like Haiti.

Alameda Point Antique Faire

The next morning, we were up early to meet David and Perry in El Cerrito at 8 a.m. David drove us in his Toyota Prius (what a fun car!) to Alameda to visit the “Alameda Point Antique Faire.”

Alameda, located on an island, is a unique and interesting town with a large stock of Victorian, California bungalow, and Craftsman houses. Billie’s sister Marian once lived in Alameda. Long a military community because of a large Naval base that was located there, it is becoming “gentrified” as people move in to enjoy the mild weather and easy access to San Francisco across the Bay.

This trip was David’s treat in celebration of my birthday. He took us first to Ole’s Waffle Shop for breakfast. It is an Alameda institution, having opened for business in 1927. The place was packed and the food—Yes, I had a waffle—was outrageously good.

The “Antique Faire” is more like a huge swap meet. Acres of parking, a long, winding line of people waiting to pay admission ($5) to get in, and hundreds of vendors who started arriving at 4:30 a.m. to display their goods at row after row of tables. Located on part of the former Naval base, it is one huge open market experience. David and Perry told us that on a hot day walking around can be a miserable experience. We lucked out. The weather was cool. A cloudy sky looked threatening, but it never rained.

Billie and I viewed several displays of old glass. Perry, who has seen our collection of antique bottles, bought us a beautiful, green, hand-blown bottle Billie intends to use to hold oil or vinegar. David found an Art Deco-style floor lamp at a bargain price and brought that home with him. Billie discovered the sheet music for “Bewitched” from Pal Joey, one of our favorite musicals.

A Special Dinner Party

After a few hours rest, we were guests of our friends Rob and Sylvia McCann at a dinner party to honor Rob’s 51st anniversary of ordination to the priesthood. A musician, teacher, and pastor, Rob has offered his gifts in service to others for over half a century. Most recently, he served as interim priest at St. Matthew’s, San Mateo. An acquaintance from that parish assures me he was hugely popular. Sylvia has enriched the man and his ministry in many ways. They make a great team.

The dinner was held in their home at the top of a winding road in Lafayette, a foothill community between Walnut Creek and Orinda. They have just finished some additions to their property, including a handsome, curving brick wall and path around the entrance court. Other guests were Lois Hoy, a retired priest, and her friend Alfred Truesdell. Lois obtained permission for St. Giles’ Episcopal Church, Moraga to meet in the Chapel of St. Mary’s (RC) College and served as the congregation’s first rector.

The six of us enjoyed wine and a delicious dinner prepared by Rob, and shared stories of our experiences in the Church. We also had a lively discussion of politics, with both Clinton and Obama fans offering their views of the Democratic Primary season. This dinner party was the perfect end to a long, eventful day.

Vol. 1, No. 22

Granddaughter Perry Ledbetter Fenton appearing as
Fabian in the Prospect Sierra School Production
Of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night
(Perry is second from the left.)

Billie’s Birthday
March 18, 2008

We began the day by listening to Barack Obama’s address from Philadelphia. It was the best speech on race relations I have ever heard or read. If elected, I believe he could bridge the divide over race, religion, and politics in this country and become one of our greatest American presidents.

Then we were off to the Pleasant Hill “Y” for our daily workout, followed by brunch at Mimi’s Café on Willow Pass Road, in Concord.

Phone calls came from Mark, Marian, David, James, and Marty. On Billie’s 25th birthday, my dad called late at night to ask, “How does it feel to be a quarter of a century old?” We both passed that mark a long time ago, but this year Billie said “74 doesn’t feel much older than 73.”

Billie also received colorful cards, email greetings, sweet notes, and gifts on her birthday. The card I gave her pictured a startled Weimaraner on the cover. Inside it said: “Is that a lot of candles or is your cake on fire?” To which I added, “You are the fire that warms my life.” From the day I met Billie, in the summer of 1953, I have considered myself the luckiest guy in the world.

When I asked what she wanted for her birthday, Billie said, “Send a check to The Smile Train,” which I did. The Smile Train is one of our favorite charities. It is an international organization dedicated to helping millions of children in the world who suffer from cleft lip and palate through free surgery. One of the best-managed, cost-effective charities in America, all non-program expenses are paid for by members of the Board.

In the evening, we had dinner at Tahoe Joe’s Steak house in Pleasant Hill. Our server, whose name was Chrissy, was the most attentive waiter I think we ever had. She kept stopping by our table to see if there was anything we wanted. Brandy, who waited patiently for us in the car, was rewarded with some treats from our meal.

The Glass Castle

I may have been the last person among our family and friends to read Jeannette Walls’ memoir, The Glass Castle. It was on The New York Times bestseller list for over a year. Let me assure you, I enjoyed it no less than the rest of you. It just, well, took me longer to get to it.

“All you have to do is read the first sentence,” Billie had said, “and you won’t be able to put the book down.” She was right, as I discovered when I finally picked it up and read: “I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster.”

It is the true story of a family in which the parents often failed to meet the basic needs of their children for food and housing, but somehow managed to nurture their keen minds and give them something of their own fierce independence.

The father was an alcoholic. The mother was self-indulgent. They couldn’t live together and they couldn’t live apart. The kids were often left to fend for themselves. As my friend Susan Lee Vick says, “It (the book) makes you feel a lot better about your own family!”

Reading The Glass Castle I often laughed out loud and sometimes came close to tears. The author writes in straight, unadorned prose and manages to forgive and maintain affection for her audacious parents. She is someone I would like to meet.

What a movie the book would make! I find myself casting the principal roles. Let’s see, Chris Cooper and Frances McDormand for the parents. They would be perfect. And for the author, Jeannette? Hmm…

***

For my friends who read theology and Bible, I recommend the book I turned to next. It is Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus, by Jonathan Reed. He begins by reviewing the three searches for the historical Jesus, beginning with Schweitzer, going on to the “second search,” form and redaction criticism, and then taking up what he calls “the third search,” moving from an essentially literary exercise to consideration of “the social history and community formation of early Christianity.” It is a fascinating book, with much to offer those who would like to use a wider lens and take in the culture and times in which Jesus lived.

A Rising Star

Our friends Rob and Sylvia McCann gave us their tickets to the San Francisco Symphony’s rehearsal on March 20. It was the Venezuelan conductor Gustavo Dudamel’s debut appearance with the San Francisco orchestra. On the program were Stravinsky’s Firebird and Piano Concerto No. 1 by Rachmaninoff, with the Russian born pianist Kirill Gerstein.

We arrived at Davies Symphony Hall at 8:30 a.m. for coffee and free donuts in the spectacular glass wraparound lobby, where we chatted with Naomi Chamberlain, a friend from St. John’s, Clayton. Everyone was in high anticipation of hearing the ever-popular Firebird and experiencing the orchestra under the direction of Mr. Dudamel. He is currently in his ninth season as Music director of the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela and also Principal Conductor of Sweden’s Gothenburg Symphony.

Entering the 2,743-seat hall at 9 a.m., we were treated to an engaging and informative talk by James M. Keller, the San Francisco Symphony’s program annotator since 2000. A graduate of Oberlin and Yale, he served on the staff of The New Yorker for ten years. He is a knowledgeable musicologist, a great speaker, and very funny. Mr. Keller said the theme of the day was “youth.” The Firebird and Concerto No. 1 were both written at the beginning of the young composers’ careers. In addition, the guest conductor and the guest pianist were both in their late twenties.

Rachmaninoff, we were told, was a spectacular pianist, a composer who performed his own music. He also was a rather aloof person, not easy to know. After they had become famous, Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky found themselves living near each other in Southern California. Stravinsky, a warm, outgoing person, thought he and his wife should invite the Rachmaninoffs to dinner. Rachmaninoff arrived with a pail of honey as a hostess gift.

Stravinsky later remarked that socialization that evening required more effort than it was worth. Rachmaninoff’s “immortal characteristic was his scowl.” Rubinstein, who was there, said the two spent the evening complaining about royalties they had not been paid.

After the orchestra members, dressed informally for the rehearsal, had settled in their places, Gustavo Dudamel entered to warm applause. He was short, with a head of curly, dark hair, and a big, boyish grin. He was easily the most energetic conductor I have ever seen, and at the same time the most graceful in his arm and hand movements. Under his direction, the lavishly orchestrated Firebird was intoxicating. Kirill Gerstein, who won his first international competition at age eleven, was exciting, too. What a time we had, sitting in the McCann’s eleventh row, center seats!

The San Francisco Chronicle headlined “Hottest conductor on the planet dazzles in his Symphony debut” and said Gustavo Dudamel “is a worldwide phenomenon.” Joshua Kosman, the paper’s music critic, described the conductor’s physical movements as follows:

“To watch him on the podium is to see how virtuosically the essence of a musical score can be communicated physically. Dudamel’s rhythmic precision is astonishing, but even more so is his ability to tie structural downbeats together with the connective tissue of melodic phrasing and dynamic contrasts.

“He does it with a full arsenal of physical expressions, a cocked hip, a strikingly balletic left hand—for the rhythmic crashes that show up here and there in The Firebird—a huge top-to-bottom downbeat that resembles nothing so much as a pile driver in action.”

Next year the 27-year-old maestro will become music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The L.A. Phil has hitched its wagon to a star.

The Inner Child

On the Saturday before Easter, I had a chance to re-live childhood memories of coloring eggs. Our granddaughter and her daddy arrived with packets of egg coloring materials. Billie and I spread an oilcloth cover over the glass table on our rear deck, and the four of us sat down to have fun.

When we were children, egg dyes came in a standard packet of primary colors. We could do quite a lot with that, but nothing like the materials of today make possible. There are dyes that produce a wonderful, speckled appearance. With other dyes, you put just a drop of several colors on an egg, and then place it in a plastic pouch and spread the colors in interesting patterns by pressing on the bag. The possibilities are endless.

Perry showed us how to put rubber bands on an egg before dyeing. When the egg is dry the bands are removed to show interesting bands of white eggshell. Billie had boiled three dozen eggs—without any of them cracking—so we had plenty of “canvass” to work with.
We admired each other’s creations, and kept at it until every egg was colored. David produced pretty Easter baskets to carry our handiwork into the house.

Billie prepared a delicious dinner of chicken, a Jello salad, and roasted vegetables. David brought a bottle of Merlot. He and Perry surprised Billie with a birthday cake ablaze with candles. We had a happy time.

The Liveliest Little Church in Town

Easter morning, I drove 22 miles to Brentwood for the 11 o’clock Eucharist at St. Alban’s Church. When you have attended as many different Episcopal churches as I have, it is hard to be surprised by anything you find. This proved to be an exception--in every way.

The 80-year-old congregation worships in an attractive, small, wood-frame building in the old downtown section of Brentwood. The church and grounds have been well maintained. I was there to experience worship with the Rev. Peter Champion, who has been vicar of St. Alban’s for about a year. Peter was recently elected rector of St. John’s, Clayton, where Billie and I are members. He will begin there in May.

After being greeted at the door of the church and handed a service leaflet, I took my seat in the third row of chapel chairs. The chairs must have replaced pews some years ago. Almost immediately, Lois Laza, “greeter” for the day, came and sat next to me. She introduced herself and asked my name. She told me some things about the morning schedule (coffee hour and Easter egg hunt following the service) and did her utmost to make me feel welcome. This has never happened to me before. I was in mufti, so there was no way she could know I was a priest.

Almost as soon as Lois left, the Vicar himself walked up and shook my hand. I was beginning to think they must not have many visitors if each one is greeted this way. As soon as he heard my name, Peter said, “Well, we have a ringer here. My wife, Susan, met you when you spoke at the Cathedral recently.” He said we could chat at the coffee hour following the service.

Not to be outdone by the official greeter and the vicar, the woman sitting in the row ahead of me turned and introduced herself by name. I began to think I was back in the Baptist church!

Next, the Vicar and a woman Deacon came out with vestments over their arms and robed in front of the congregation. I have never seen that. I thought, “Is the sacristy being painted? Do they HAVE a sacristy?”

Five adults now entered the sanctuary and stood behind the altar. There was a man with an electronic guitar, three women singers, one of whom was Lois, who had greeted me, and another woman with a guitar. One of the singers held a tambourine. The music was loud and fast for the entrance song He is Alive! By Jerry Blacklaw. Here is how that song begins:

He is Alive!
He is Alive!

I can see above the clouds,
And I can hear him call my name out loud!

You will NOT find that in the Episcopal hymnal. Despite the surprising lyrics, the fast paced, up-tempo music was exciting, and the singers and congregation joined in with gusto. I added my voice. When you find yourself in the revivalist tent, join with the saved and sing out.

Now Peter Champion stood before the congregation for the opening salutation and response. “The 9 o’clock congregation did great on this,” he said. “I want you to shout it out, and do them one better.” Then he yelled, “Alleluia, Christ is risen.” I thought we did a pretty good job hollering our response, “The Lord is risen again. Alleluia.” It wasn’t good enough for Peter. He thought we could do better. We raised our voices and made the rafters ring with a second try. “Now I want you to shout it so that we can be heard down the street in the park,” Peter said. The third time we made a deafening noise. He smiled his approval.

The assigned reader hadn’t showed up, so Lois read the lessons. She did an excellent job (and what a difference that makes!). The Deacon read the Gospel in a firm, clear voice. Then it was time for the sermon.

This was what I most wanted to hear. Peter did a workmanlike job. He stood in the center aisle and spoke without notes. He began by asking for a show of hands of those who had read the Harry Potter books. Nearly every hand went up. He confessed to being sad to reach the end of volume seven and know there would be no more Harry Potter books. He said he hates to come to the end of a good story.

Wasting no time coming to the point, Peter said we all hate to come to the end of something--the end of health, of a marriage, of a job we need, of living in a house we no longer can afford. Then he said the message of Easter is that the story doesn’t come to an end. He referenced the Gospel for the day, which told of a great earthquake, an angel descending from heaven with news that Jesus had been raised from the dead, and the two Marys meeting Jesus, taking hold of his feet, and worshiping him. (Matthew 28:1-10)

With God there is no end to the story, Peter said. There is always new life, a new beginning. Our job as Christians is to share this good news by standing with others who have come to some crisis in their lives and helping them through it.

I was glad to hear Peter Champion cite something from our world—the Harry Potter books—and speak about the real problems people experience in their lives today. He clearly offered a Gospel response, saying that with God there is no end to the story, but a new beginning.

However, I was disturbed by his adoption in this sermon of the mythological world view of first century writers. He spoke of the great earthquake and the angel descending from heaven as if these were historical events. I also regretted his failure to mention Barack Obama’s celebrated call on Tuesday of Holy Week for a ‘national conversation’ about race in America. That would have fit the Easter theme of a new beginning and new life.

Nevertheless, preaching on Easter, proclaiming life and hope in this tired, old world, is no easy assignment. I gave him more than an average grade.

The Passing of the Peace, as you might expect from my description of how I was greeted, was done with great enthusiasm. It lasted until nearly everyone had greeted everyone else. I was reminded of the way we passed the Peace at the Santa Monica parish during my 23 years there.

A rousing offertory song, Above All, by Lenny LeBlank & Paul Baloche, was accompanied by rhythmic clapping of hands by the congregation and the clergy at the altar. That, however, was calm compared to the exit song, for which a large basket of maracas was brought out so everyone in the congregation who desired to do so could join the musicians in a joyous rendition of Gary Oliver’s Celebrate Jesus:

Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!
Celebrate Jesus, celebrate!

He is risen, He is risen
And He lives for ever more.
He is risen, He is risen.
Come on and celebrate
The resurrection of our Lord!
(Repeat)

By now the joint was really jumping. The Deacon seemed carried away. When she sang out the Prayer book dismissal—“Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit. Alleluia, Alleluia”—she added seven more Alleluias! And we, of course added seven more to our response.

All of this would have seemed to be enough, and more than enough. We had, after all, reached the end of the Prayer Book liturgy. However, in this little church they celebrate birthdays with dancing, and they had given up dancing for Lent.

The Deacon now asked all those who had birthdays since the beginning of Lent to come forward. The musicians began a raucous birthday song the congregation knew by heart, and the birthday people began dancing. There were adults, teens and an eleven-year-old-acolyte, and I must say they did a very good job of it. One teenage boy locked arms with an adult woman and they twirled around in great style.

Never in my wildest dreams…

There was coffee and pastries in abundance at the coffee hour, and soon children came in lugging baskets full of colored eggs they had “hunted” in the side yard. Peter and I chatted for a few minutes. I said I had never experienced such a “lively” church. He told me the style of celebration was established before he came. Hearing that, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Folks seemed to take a genuine interest in me. A man who works for CISCO told me about his travels around the country and introduced me to his wife, a grammar school science teacher. She was great fun and had a lot of interesting things to say about teaching. I could have talked with her all day.

Soon it was time to leave. As I walked to my parked car, a man came running up and breathlessly described the monthly meeting of the men of the church. He told me they have a 6:30 a.m. (!) breakfast on the first Saturday of the month. He was sure I would enjoy it. When I asked about the program, he said, “That’s the best part. We don’t have a program. Just a great breakfast and good conversation.”

When he left, I chuckled and said to myself, “That is the liveliest little church in town.” I thought of all the kids who complain that church is boring. No one would be likely to say that about St. Alban’s. More than anything else, it reminded me of the small, Pentecostal church in one of my favorite movies, The Apostle, starring Robert Duvall.

The worship at St. Alban’s wasn’t my cup of tea, and I could only imagine what a traditional Episcopalian would make of the place, but there was a joyful, celebrative spirit that seemed heartfelt and sincere. To my surprise, I felt almost giddy as I pulled away from the curb and headed the car toward home.

Obama for America

Kris Ingram is an old friend. She is an author, artist, teacher, and licensed preacher in the Episcopal Church. She taught David art at St. John’s Parish Day School in Chula Vista. He says she was the best teacher he ever had. Kris told me to buy RollingStone magazine for March. She said it had Obama’s picture on the cover and an endorsement by Editor and Publisher Jann S. Wenner. Here, in part, is what Mr. Wenner wrote:

“The tides of history are rising higher and faster these days. Read them right and ride them, or be crushed. And then along comes Barack Obama, with the kinds of gifts that appear in politics but once every few generations. There is a sense of dignity, even majesty, about him, and underneath that ease lies a resolute discipline. It’s not just that he is eloquent—with that ability to speak both to you and to speak for you—it’s that he has a quality of thinking and intellectual and emotional honesty that is extraordinary…

“We need to recover the spiritual and moral direction that should describe our country and ourselves. We see this in Obama, and we see the promise he represents to bring factions together, and to achieve again the unity that drives great change and faces difficult, and inconvenient, truths and peril…”

I am reminded of what someone said about FDR, that he had “the perfect temperament” for the job of being President. I believe I see that in Obama.

Richard Thompson Ford is a law professor at Stanford University. This is what he wrote about Obama’s speech on race (The San Francisco Chronicle, March 26, 2008):

“Obama’s speech was the boldest and most direct statement on race relations by a major political figure in more than a generation. His willingness to take the risk of confronting one of America’s most volatile and intractable problems head-on is striking. It gives us sense of how Obama might use his considerable rhetorical skills not just to win elections, but, also to lead and to govern.”