Blog Archives - Page 12 of 26 - From a Rocky Hillside

June 12, 2022June 12, 2022

All are in need of forgiveness: the seemingly righteous and the obvious sinner

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
June 12, 2022
Luke 7:36-50

At the beginning of worship:

The first great end of the Presbyterian Church is “the proclamation of the gospel for the salvation of humankind.”^[1] In other words, we’re to bring people into a relationship with Jesus Christ for he is the way to salvation.^[2] By teaching and sharing Jesus’ story, we participate with God’s work through the Holy Spirit to help people know Jesus. Everyone needs to understand God’s love for the world as demonstration in the sending of a Son, our Savior and Lord.^[3]

Think about your role. How can you help people know Jesus? One way is by inviting them to church or to a church function like a Bible study or a fellowship event. We need to get to know people. We should show people that we’re a pretty good bunch of people and that, like Jesus, we’ll accept them and not be judgmental. For we know Jesus accepted us, faults, and all, as he has called us to repentance and offered his grace. Jesus is gracious to us; we’re to be gracious to others.

Before the reading of scripture

Today we’re beginning a trip through the middle of Luke’s gospel. In these passages, I will highlight why it is important for people to experience Jesus and our responsibility to bring this about.

Our text is Luke 7:36-50.

After Scripture

Everlast, “What’s It’s Like”

While I’m not a big rap fan, one rapper I sometimes listen to is Everlast. A “white” rapper, he’s a good musician. Carlos Santana demands such. I became aware of Everlast through music he made with Santana.^[4] Like most rappers, his lyrics contain explicit language. But they also contain a message. If you cleaned up the words, his song, “What’s It’s Like” could be an appropriate hymn to go with today’s text.

We’re all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change.
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange.
He asks a man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes.
“Get a job, you [blankly] slob” is all he replies.

Then comes the chorus. This should make us think:

God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
‘Cause then you really might now what it’s like to sing the blues
Then you really might know what it’s like…^[5]

This song continues with the story of a pregnant teenager, a drug addict, and other down and out examples. We also hear the abuse they receive. But what would Jesus say? What would Jesus do?

How would Jesus treat someone who’s down and out?

Our passage today provides a hint at what our Savior might say to the person down and out. The text makes it clear, the sinful woman who busts into the party isn’t appreciated by anyone but Jesus.

But maybe turn-around is fair play. After all, this is the second dinner party in Luke’s gospel where Jesus finds himself being judged. The first, thrown by Levi, had a bunch of tax collectors. And the pharisees, witnessing this, complain to Jesus’ disciples, wanting to know why Jesus eats and drinks with tax collectors and sinners.^[6]

Why is Jesus in the home of a Pharisee?

And now Jesus is in the home of a pharisee. We might wonder why Jesus would go to a pharisee’s home. After all, he had a lot of problems with tax pharisees. But it appears Jesus likes Simon. Besides to be in fellowship with one group and not the other, while you’re teaching about love, would show prejudice.^[7]

When we set out to right the world, we’re always in danger of just sticking with those who think like us or look like us. And then, our focus becomes myopic. We see the faults of others, and not of ourselves and those like us. Self-righteousness leads us down the wrong path, as we see with Simon. So yes, Jesus eats with those labeled by society as sinners. But Jesus also eats with those seen as righteous. And, knowing their hearts, he knows both need grace.

This is an important message. Don’t ever think anyone doesn’t need to know about Jesus and his love and grace. We shouldn’t set those who seem to be righteous on a pedestal nor should we look down on those whose faults are so visible to everyone. We don’t know people’s hearts.

Why did Simon invite Jesus

I wonder why Simon invited Jesus to dinner. Simon, with what we’re told in the text, doesn’t seem to be setting Jesus up for entrapment.^[8]That happens with others pharisees and in other places in the gospels,^[9]but Simon appears genuinely interested in Jesus. He even refers to Jesus as a teacher, or rabbi, a title of honor in the day. “Maybe Jesus is a prophet,” Simon thinks. “After all, it’s been centuries since Israel had a prophet.”^[10] I expect Simon feels blessed to be able to spend some quality time with Jesus, getting to know this interesting teacher who has become somewhat of a celebrity.

While I don’t think Simon was out to entrap Jesus, I do think he had certain expectations of him as a guest in his home.

Simon’s home invaded

Simon may have wondered if his luck had run out when a woman, a known sinner, interrupts his cozy meal with Jesus and a few of his friends.

Now, let me say something about the woman’s sinfulness. It doesn’t say in the text that she was a prostitute, but throughout the centuries, that’s been her cast. The loose hair and the expensive bottle of perfume seem dead giveaways. But that’s reading into the text our own values. Unmarried women were not expected to wear their hair up and the alabaster jar, for all we know, may have been an inheritance. Furthermore, Luke doesn’t really address prostitution.^[11] The only thing we can be certain of is that she was publicly known as a sinner.

The persistent woman

The woman’s perseverance reminds me of a tiny enthusiastic flea who can worry an entire dog. She’s determined. She forces herself in someone else’s home and positions herself by the guest of honor. Look at the active verbs that indicate her determination: she learned where Jesus was at, she brought ointment, she stood behind his feet, she weptwhile she washed and wiped, kissed, and anointed his feet.^[12] Eight strong verbs illustrate her determination.

The woman’s grit rubs Simon the wrong way. All the while, Jesus remains calm as she washes his feet using only her tears. She dries them with her hair, kisses them, and anoints them with ointment. After a lot of walking around Galilee, I’m sure Jesus appreciated such care. But Simon now thinks Jesus is a fraud. A prophet would know better and shoo away such a sinful woman.

Jesus responds publicly to Simon’s private thoughts

Yet, Simon keeps his thoughts to himself. Jesus, knowing Simon’s thoughts, responds with a parable. To put this parable in modern day terms, two individuals owed the bank money. One owed a five thousand dollars and the other a hundred thousand dollars. The text uses the terms 50 and 500 denarii. A denarii was the rate of pay for a day laborer, which is how I came up with my equivalents in today’s dollars.

The bank forgives both loans. Fat chance, we say, but remember this a parable, a story told as an example, not an actual incident. Bankers weren’t any more forgiving in the first century than today.

But for illustration, the banker writes off the debt of both. Jesus asks Simon which individual loved the banker the most. Simon answers, the one forgiven the most.

This sets the stage for Jesus to compare the woman with Simon. Simon, whom we assumed had little for which to be forgiven, didn’t perform any acts of adoration upon Jesus. However, this nameless sinful woman worships him with expensive ointments and her own tears. She shows hospitality beyond that which Simon has shown. “Your sins are forgiven,” Jesus says. “Your faith has saved you; you can go in peace.”

Jesus’ forgiving sin

The folks sitting around the table are amazed by Jesus’ words. After all, only God can forgive sins, they think. And they’re right, but they just don’t yet know Jesus’ identity.

Interestingly, our text leaves us hanging. The question of forgiving sins is not addressed in this text. Nor do we know if Simon became a follower of Jesus. Maybe he did. We can only hope. After all, another pharisee, one who appears to have been even more self-righteous than Simon, meets Jesus on the Damarcus Road and becomes the greatest Christian missionary ever.^[13]

Lessons from the text

What might we learn from this text? How about this: everyone needs grace. This includes the sinful woman and the honored pharisee. One may be forgiven a little, the other a lot, but both stand in need of forgiveness.

As Christians, we’re in the forgiveness business. This is why Jesus set up the church: to show grace. Which leads me to a second truth from the text. Never belittle the sinful who seek forgiveness. Instead, we’re to be like the angels who rejoices when even one sinner repents.^[14]

May our community of faith be known to be gentle and caring, like Jesus. Amen

^[1] Presbyterian Church, USA, Book of Order (2017-2019), F-1.0304.

^[2] John 14:6.

^[3] John 3:16.

^[4] Everlast and Santana “Put Your Lights On” was released in 1999 and won a Grammy as the Best Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals at the 42^nd Annual Grammy Awards.

^[5] Everlast, “What It’s Like,” on the album Whitey Ford Sings the Blues (1998).

^[6] Luke 5:29-30. See James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Luke (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2015), 226.

^[7] Fred B. Craddock, Luke, Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1990), 104.

^[8] Edwards, 226; Craddock, 104.

^[9] Examples: Matthew 12:38f, 15:1f, 16:1f, 19:3, 22:15f; Mark 7:5, 8:11f, 10:2f, 12:13f; Luke 6:7f, 14:1f; John 1:24f.

^[10] I’m speaking of a prophet who left writings behind for John the Baptist was a prophet (Matthew 14:5). The last prophet to leave behind writings was Malachi, whose ministry was after Israel returned from Babylonian exile.

^[11] Luke’s sole mention of prostitute is 15:30 (Prodigal Son). For more discussion on why we shouldn’t immediately consider her a prostitute, see Edwards, 227-229. Norval Geldenhuys’ considers her a prostitute in his commentary. See The Gospel of Luke NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983 reprint), 236 note 4.

^[12] Edwards, 228.

^[13] Edwards, 231.

^[14] Luke 15:10.

It’s a foggy morning that that doesn’t keep the birds from singing. May our hearts be as joyful.

June 7, 2022July 31, 2022

Remembering Professor von Waldow

“You have a great opportunity here,” Professor Eberhard von Waldow said on the opening day of class. “You get to learn the language of God in a German accent.” And then, pointing the stick he always brought into class at me, he continued, “And you even get to learn it with a Southern accent.”

“Was that how they spoke in Judea?” I asked sarcastically. He grinned and continued telling us about the richness of the Hebrew language and how the New Testament was just an appendix to the Old.

This was in the fall of 1987. There were seven of us in the class and we sat around a long oak table in a conference room at Pittsburgh Seminary. All of us were nervous. With his Prussian roots, von Waldow had a reputation for being verbally abusive to the unprepared. But I signed up for his class because I knew it would be small. I would receive individual attention. In addition, the fear of having him humiliate you was enough to make sure I would do the required work. Throughout the academic year, until May, we met in that classroom. Sadly, today, I remember more of his stories than I do about the language.

As a young man, “Waldo,” as some of us called him behind his back (in person you always addressed him as either Professor or Doctor) had been a tank commander in the German army. Most of the time he spent on the Eastern Front, fighting the Russians. Wounded in 1944, he returned to Germany to recuperate. He ended the war on the Western front. With a rag-tag army of kids and old men, his orders were to to help stop the advance of the Allies. Realizing the absurdity of this, he surrendered to the British.

After the war, he became a pacifist and finished his university studies. Like his father before him, he became a Lutheran pastor and scholar. He would teach at Pittsburgh for over thirty years. Living in a neighbor that had many Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, he had to confront his past. He made friends among the Jewish people. In November 1988, on the 50^th anniversary of Kristallnacht, an event in which violence against the Jews broke out across Germany, he spoke in a local synagogue.

I couldn’t attend his Kristallnacht talk because I was serving First Presbyterian Church of Virginia City, Nevada as a student pastor at the time. However, we occasionally corresponded and he sent me his manuscript (which, over the years, I’ve lost). In it, he describes being in the school at the time when fire fighters stood back and let Jewish synagogues and businesses burn. His father became upset about what was happening. His father would be twice arrested by the Gestapo, but it was a Russian soldier killed him at the end of the war. In his later years, Von Waldow wanted it known that there were Germans who hated all that the Third Reich stood for. Sadly, as a young man out of high school, he had no choice but to report to duty when drafted.

Eberhard von Waldow occasionally told stories about the war. As an academic, his methodology was steeped in German higher criticism, which many condemn for discounting miracles and divine providence. When asked about his position on miracles, von Waldow told about riding in a tank that had a 500 bomb detonate on the top of the tank’s turret. “I said, “ah, shit” and then couldn’t hear for a few weeks. “But I survived,” he continued. “Some might say it was Krupp armor that saved me, but I know better. Had that bomb landed elsewhere except on the very top of the turret, I wouldn’t be here.”

One day, I wore a pink shirt to class. We were learning about Hebrew vowel points and how certain ones would soften a letter. As a teacher, Von Waldow was quick to come up with illustrations. He pointed to my shirt and said, “Look, Jeff put this white shirt in the wash with a red one and now he has a pink shirt.” I’m sure his conservative Prussian background meant he couldn’t understand a man wearing pink.

Another time, I made some kind of quip about the German composer Wagner. I knew von Waldow was a classical music lover and a big supporter of public radio, but this didn’t get me any extra points. He went off on a tangent about Wagner. The Third Reich had adopted the music of Wagner and he’d heard enough of this music during the war that he never wanted to hear it again. Now, I wonder if the music might have caused him post-traumatic stress.

The room in which we met had a life-sized portrait of a faculty member from either late in the 19^th or early 20^th century. Oddly, because this wasn’t really a Presbyterian thing, the guy in the portrait wore a clergy collar. One day, out of the blue, von Waldow came into class and began to berate this portrait for wearing a collar. At this time, several of the Lutheran students at the seminary were wearing collars when they preached or worked in church positions. But von Waldow was too conservative for collars. As a Southerner, I sympathized with von Waldow. Collars were too formal for me. I’ve never worn one.

Around campus, everyone knew that von Waldow was working on his magus opus, a commentary on the prophet Jeremiah. I took a survey class of Hebrew prophets, taught by Dr. Donald Gowan, another Old Testament professor and prolific author. At the opening of each lecture on a different prophet, Gowan provided a list of commentaries he recommended. The day he lectured on Jeremiah, he confessed he had problems with every commentary available at the time. Then, this man whom I had never heard say anything bad about anyone, said, “When my colleague Eberhard publishes his commentary, I’ll have one to recommend.” He paused and then in almost a whisper continued, “Of course, we’ll all be dead by then.” Sadly, von Waldow never finished his commentary and most of his published writings available today are in German.

In my second year of seminary, at the time I was studying Hebrew, there was campus debate over how frequently to have communion in chapel. Things became comically heated. As a semi-Calvinist, who leaned toward Zwingli, I found this debate to be fodder for satire. But the seminary President became concern and decided it should be discussed. He called for a community townhall. Faculty were ordered to attend. While von Waldow wasn’t happy about it, he followed orders.

The day after the long campus meeting, von Waldow marched into Hebrew class, dropped his books on the table, and launched into a tirade about the spectacle.

“That meeting yesterday was the damnest thing I’ve seen.” Then, contradicting himself, he continued, drawing on his war experiences. “I haven’t seen anything like that since the war. Imagine having a 25-ton tank stuck? We had one buried in mud up to the top of the tracks. You’ve never seen such a mess. But we had the Russians shooting at us and had to do something pretty damn fast. The was the only difference between that meeting yesterday and the war was the shooting. We needed someone shooting to have forced a decision so we could all go home.”

Eberhard von Waldow would continue to teach at the seminary for a few years after I graduated. He died in 2007 at the age of 83. I’m glad to have known him and while I moved theologically away from his higher Biblical criticism as the only way to approach scripture, I am indebted to his teaching. I probably learned as much about preaching in his Hebrew exegesis class as I did in homiletics. I am also in debt to his story, for it could have gone another way. A man of war became a man of peace. I wish he was here to discuss what’s going on in Ukraine, for there was a time in the 1940s, when he commanded 12 tanks across that terrain.

Looking back, it’s interesting that von Waldow wasn’t the only faculty member to have served in the German army. Dr. Mauser, our dean, served for a brief period in the German army and I should at some point write about my experiences with him.

Professor von Walton from clips.substack.com

While the memories above are from me, I found these articles on the internet to be useful and insightful:

Bill Steigerward, “The Nazi Take Commander who became an American Peacenik” (this article originally appeared in Pittsburgh newspaper in June, 1994).

Mark J. Englund-Kriger, “In Memory of Professor Eberhard von Waldow”. A blog post from January 8, 2008.

A letter in Horizons in Biblical Theology. January 1993, this letter was written at the time of von Waldow’s retirement.

Obituary, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, December 19, 2007

June 1, 2022June 1, 2022

Gardener Spirituality and Olmstead the Gardner: Book Reviews

Hannah Anderson, Humble Roots: How Humility Grounds and Nourishes Your Soul

(Chicago: Moody Publishing, 2016), 206 pages.

I heard Anderson at the HopeWords Writers Conference I attended in April in Bluefield West Virginia. Another speaker referred this book of hers for its ability to create a sense of place, which is why I chose it as the first of hers to read. Anderson lives with her family on a small farm near Roanoke, Virginia. This book consists of eleven essays that draw on the natural world, especially the rhythms of agriculture. Among the topics Anderson explores include: planting seeds, cultivating grapes and apples, raising honey, appreciating vine-ripe tomatoes, the role of pollinators, and dealing with thorns and thistles.

In each of these essays, Anderson also explores aspects of our lives and our faith. Some of the themes she explores include having enough and being blessed, trusting God, remaining humble, spiritual maturity, and being an image bearer. Each essay comes back to being humble, a topic she addresses throughout the book. Humility is a challenge for if we think we can accomplish it by ourselves, we have already lost the battle. Just thinking we can overcome pride is prideful. We must depend on God even for our humility, yet we can see how it works through the natural rhythm of life that surrounds us.

A few favorite quotes:

“Fascinating, while humans were made to rule over the earth, we were also made from the earth. And perhaps even more significantly, we only came alive by God’s Spirit. Without God’s breath in us, we are nothing but a pile of dirt.” (page 65)

When we use fear to persuade a person to decide ‘before it’s too late,’ we make God like a cosmic bully who is just waiting for the opportunity to strike them down.” (page 112)

“The problem with privilege is that we rarely see our own. Because we only know our own experience, we rarely recognize how much we have been given and how much those gifts have smoothed our way.” (page 142)

I would recommend this book to anyone interested in living a worthwhile life, especially those who are interested in our role in the world.

Others books that I reviewed of authors at the conference:

Makoto Fujimara, Art & Theology

Malcolm Guite, In Every Corner Sing

I still have books to read by Winn Collier and am finishing up a collection of essays by Lewis Brogdon.

Justin Martin (Richard Ferrone, narrator), Genius of Place: The Life of Frederick Law Olmstead

(2010, Audible, 2014, 18 hours and 48 minutes).

Olmstead, A Man of Accomplishments

Frederick Law Olmstead led an incredible life. He started out as a surveyor, then went to sea, traveling from the east coast to China, then with the health of his father became a farmer, a traveling correspondent before entering the new field of landscape architecture with his work on designing New York’s Central Park. While he would continue in this field the rest of his life, he took time out to run the United States Sanitary Commission (a Red Cross forerunner) during the American Civil War and later operated a gold mine in California. While in California, he became enthralled with Yosemite and lobbied for the sight to be saved for future generations years before John Muir. His travels in the American South changed his mind on slavery and his books on these travels were probably second to Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin in building abolitionist support. Because of this writing popularity in Great Britain, he’s partly credited with keeping England out of the American Civil War.

Influence on Landscape Design

But what Frederick Law Olmstead is mostly known for is his landscape designs. He felt parks should be for the people and that they should help our emotional state by allowing city dwellers an opportunity to be in nature. Many of his parks and estates still exist and he influenced generations of landscapers who followed him. Not only does he have Central Park (which he designed with Calvert Vaux) to claim, but Brooklyn’s Prospect Park along with parks in Boston, Chicago, Buffalo, Rochester, and a host of other cities. He influenced park designs in San Francisco and other places. With his work in Buffalo, he helped preserve Niagara Falls (sadly, he came upon this a little late, but it appears it was more of a tourist trap in the 19^thCentury than today). His landscape ideas shaped Chicago’s 1893 World’s Fair and he designed the landscape for the grounds of the Biltmore House near Asheville, North Carolina. The later also helped establish forestry as a scientific study in America.

Failure in his early life

In a way, Olmstead’s early life was full of failure. Thankfully, he had a wealthy father who helped his son out on many occasions, such as buying farms for him and sending him on fact-finding journeys through Europe. These trips helped prepare Olmstead for his career. His life also had its share of sorry, including his brother’s early death and the deaths of friends. He would later marry Mary, his brother’s wife, and adopt their children. Mary would also give birth to several children, two who died young. His adopted brother’s son, John, and his own natural son, Frederick Law Olmstead, Jr, would continue their father’s role as premier landscape architect through the first half of the 20^th Century.

Olmstead was always interested in words and would often look for the right word for a project. Many words we use today came from Olmstead and his associates. His first park in Boston was a marshy area in which he named “the Boston Fens.” Fen is an old English word for marsh and lives on now in baseball with “Fenway Park.”

Sadly, Olmstead began suffering from some sort of dementia after the Chicago World’s Fair and the creation of Biltmore. He would spend his last years in an institution and died in 1903.

My recommendation

I have been aware of his name for some time. I knew of his work for the Chicago’s World’s Fair from Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City. I also knew he designed the Biltmore and Central Park. I had some ideas of his additional work through Nick Offerman’s book, Gumption. He led an amazing life, using his influence to save Yosemite, helping to end slavery, and providing a framework for what would become the American Red Cross. I recommend this book!

May 24, 2022May 25, 2022

Rebuilding in Kentucky

On the evening of December 10^th, a storm system produced terrible tornadoes in mid-America. The storm began in Arkansas and moved northeast into Missouri and Kentucky. By Sunday morning, when the clouds cleared and the sun rose, a destructive path, at places a mile wide and over 250 miles long, remained. 89 people dead and nearly 700 injured. 74 of these deaths occurred in Kentucky, 13 in Dawson Springs where nearly 60% of the structures in the town were beyond repair. Just east of the town, the tornado swept an empty coal train, including its engines, off the tracks. It is unusual for a storm to strike so late in the year and to remain on the ground for so long. This storm will go down in history.

A few days after the storm, Libby Wilcox asked about us doing a mission trip to help those who had lost so much.

On Sunday, May 15^th, after worship, a group of us from Bluemont and Mayberry, two of the rock churches along the Blue Ridge Parkway, headed to Kentucky to volunteer to work. The heavy clean-up was over. Now, where there used to be homes, one can only see the outline of foundations. Those participating in the work group included Libby, Fred and Ann Tanner, Shep Nance, Danny Miller, and me. In addition, we collected towels and sheets to give given to families who had lost everything. Before we left that Sunday, someone gave Libby money to buy our lunches on the drive to Kentucky. People are generous.

We traveled to Madisonville, where we stayed at First Presbyterian Church while volunteering to help rebuild in Dawson Springs. Before the pandemic, First Presbyterian hosted the “Great Banquet,” a three-day spirituality retreat similar to Cursillo or Walk to Emmaus. With COVID, they suspended the retreats. After the storm that struck just south of Madisonville, they decided to utilize their retreat space for outside groups working to help rebuild. The church was a wonderful host, with not only bunk rooms, but shower rooms and a full-sized kitchen. Not only did they feed us on Wednesday night, but they also had an ice cream chest which was open and available when we came back from the worksites.

Having been on several such trips, I have learned that each one is different. One must be flexible. Our first day was spent at a home which was on the north edge of Dawson Springs. While the home wasn’t destroyed, it required major renovation. Just south of this house, destruction was total. Looking across the valley, where there had once been homes, it was now empty except for a few rebuilding projects.

On Monday, we rewired a basement (which had been partly destroyed by the storm and required metal posts every few feet long the foundation, that held the house to the ground). Several of us rewired while others helped clean up upstairs behind a Methodist team that was working at the site.

Our remaining four days were spent working on a new home a mile north of Dawson Springs. This house replaced one that was totally destroyed. It was for an older woman, and her new home was built next to her daughter’s house. An Amish group framed and roofed two “tiny houses.” Placed together, making a “T”, one section consisted of the kitchen and living area, the other section the bedrooms and a bathroom. We completed the wiring (we were officially working under an electrical contractor, who was responsible and would do the final connections to the panel box). In addition to running wires, we installed insulation and put in blocking so that the next group could commence installing drywall.

With the home owner (left to right: Danny, Libby, Homeowner, Shep, Me, Ann, Fred)

While we made our lunch each day. On Tuesday, we even celebrated Ann’s birthday with chocolate cake and ice cream. Then, starting Thursday, the chef from Operation Blessings, treated us to lunch. This group related to the 700 Club in Virginia Beach, supplied the supplies for the house we worked on. Interestingly, Nechama, a Jewish group, donated their tool trailer. We couldn’t believe the amount of food the Operation Blessings chef provided(Spaghetti and meatball or meatball sandwiches and cookies on Thursday. Barbecue chicken, macaroni salad and brownies on Friday). With the church’s ice cream, this was probably the first mission trip ever where, despite the heat and sweat, we gained weight.

Chef fixing us spaghetti and meatball sandwiches

After five days of work, we cleaned up and a group of us went out to Greens Steakhouse in Madisonville. This was a delightful restaurant in an old part of town. We sat upstairs in a balcony, overlooking a piano, where a local musician supplied background music. On Saturday morning, we headed back to the Blue Ridge. The work in Kentucky will take years! It was good to see so many different groups including Habitat for Humanity, Mennonites, Amish, Methodists, Baptist, Jewish involved in rebuilding.

May 18, 2022May 11, 2022

Where is Home?

Billy Beasley, Home (Abbeyville, SC: Moonshine Press, 2022), 234 pages.

Things just don’t seem to go Trent Mullins way. Never able to please his father, he has stopped trying. Two different women have broken his heart (and one of them twice). Depression has set in. To break out of the depression, without pills, Trent finishes up his business in Wrightsville Beach and leaves everyone behind, including his high school age son, and heads to Brunswick, Georgia. Most people don’t even know where he’s at, except Jackson, one of his friends. In Brunswick, he manages a small marina and lives in a small, isolated house out by the water. His landlords are a black couple who run a restaurant in Dylan Town. Then the call comes. Trent learns his father is dying. He heads back to Wilmington where he’s forced to face and make peace with his past. But where is Trent’s home? Where is our home?

Billy Beasley weaves a good story. Like his other stories, this one is set mostly around Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach, a place where I lived from age 9 to 24. The other setting, along the Georgia Coast, is a place I lived for six and a half years. And even though Dylan Town isn’t a real place, there are similar towns along the Georgia coastal plain. All one must do to find them is to gets off Interstate 95 and travel the backwoods roads lined with live oaks draped in Spanish moss.

This is Beasley’s fourth book and I’ve read them all. This is also the third book I reviewed in this blog. The others I’ve reviewed here include The Girl in the River and The Preacher’s Letter. In addition to exploring family themes, like his other books, this one also explores friendships across racial lines. Without being preachy, Beasley also interjects his faith into the story. My only criticism of the book is that Beasley spends a little too much time telling us what is going on in Trent’s mind. Showing instead of telling us what he’s thinking would have strengthened parts of the book.

Two weeks ago, when I was in Wilmington for Williston’s 9^th Grade Center 50^th Anniversary project, I was also able to attend Beasley’s book release party at Noni Bacca winery the next afternoon. I was glad to go as I caught with another friend from high school that I haven’t seen since graduation. I have known Billy since the fourth grade and generally, when I’m in town, we’ll meet up for coffee or a beer.

Billy signing a copy of his book for Wayne, another classmate of ours from Williston and Hoggard days

May 10, 2022May 11, 2022

A Solo Paddle to Cape Lookout

I rolled over a few minutes before 5:30 AM and glanced at the sky. The stars are beginning to disappear, but bright above the eastern horizon were Jupiter and Venus, separating from their conjunction a few days earlier. Although I wasn’t planning on it, I dozed off and woke at 6 AM. Not wanting to miss the sunrise, I jumped up, quickly dressed, and trotted across the island to the ocean side. I’d missed a sunset the evening before as cumulonimbus clouds covered the horizon. After dark, these clouds produced a spectacular lightning show on the horizon. Thankfully, the storms stayed well inland.

As I crossed the dunes, the sun appeared. It was a beautiful start to a lovely day.

I had paddled over to Cape Lookout from Harker’s Island the day before. I started paddling approximately two hours after high tide, assuming I would ride the falling tide out through Barden’s Inlet. I wasn’t counting on 18 mile-an-hour winds out of the Southwest. The wind in my face made for a tough paddle. As the wind was against the tide, it created a chop on the water. The paddle across took two hours, twice as long as I thought it would take to make the 4.5 miles paddle. My plan had been to camp on the beach side, but the wind was high enough that I found a nice place a few hundred yards south of the lighthouse. After walking around the lighthouse grounds, I fixed dinner at sat watching the night fall as several sailboats along with a Coast Guard cutter and a trawler moored for the night in the safety of Lookout Blight. As the skies darken, I could see lightning in the clouds to the west, but the sky above was clear and full of stars. Shortly after dark, crawled into my bivy tent. I was tired and ready for rest. Sleep came quickly. I woke up a couple of times, looking up at the summer stars as Scopious and Sagittarius climbed higher in the southern sky.

After my early morning walk out to the beach to catch the sunrise, I came back to my camp and fixed breakfast (oatmeal and perked coffee). I enjoyed a pot of coffee, as I began to read Billy Beasley’s newest book, Home.

Enjoying coffee and a book from my camp chair

After packing up my gear and pulling my kayak beyond the dunes so it was not too noticeable, I set off on a hike. While I have been to Lookout many times, including camping in the woods north of the Lighthouse, I have never explored the island. Those late fall trips, which were always with others, main purpose was to fish. This time, I wanted to walk around the cape.

Stuffing a water bottle and some food into a pack, I headed south along the inlet side of the island. Along the way I saw pieces of old ships that had floundered in these waters. I passed a number of old fishing shacks as I made my way to the village that once contained a Life Saving Station (where those in attendance would take surf boats out to save the crew of ships floundering in the offshore shoals). Later, the Coast Guard maintained a station here, and during the Second World War, the army stationed troops here and built machine gun bunkers as well as maintained artillery capable of firing upon enemy submarines offshore. They even had a landing strip and kept planes that were used to spot submarines in the shallow water

Old Life Saving and Coast Guard buildings

I walked through the wooded areas which are covered with pines. I found the trees odd for a maritime forest, as they generally consist of more hardwoods like live oaks. But a historical interpretation sign indicated that the pines were planted between the 1940s and 70s. My first stop was at the jetty, a rock wall jutting out into the ocean to control erosion and to keep the inlet from closing in. I stopped for lunch, and then took off my shoes as I planned to walk back in the sand along the water.

From there, I headed toward the cape. Along the way, I picked up several old balloons to properly dispose. I wish people realized the danger of letting helium balloons go as they often end up in the ocean where large fish see them as jelly fish. Thinking they are getting a snack; they eat the balloon and die.

At the cape, there were a many people who had backed up their trucks and were fishing. These trucks would have been hauled over on a ferry to the north end of the island and then driven south to the cape. I only saw one fish caught, a small shark. I continued walking north, along the ocean, toward the distant light house.

After walking probably 8 or 9 miles, I got in my kayak and paddled over the Shackleford Banks, a barrier island that runs east to west. I hoped to see some of the wild horses on the island as I paddled around it. The tide had just started coming in and the waters were very shallow. I final found several horses on Morgan Island, but to the reach them involved walking my kayak in inches of water, as I was on the shallow side of these islands behind Shackleford. I arrived back at Harker’s Island at 7:30 PM. I quickly loaded my gear into the car and stowed the boat on the roof rack. By 8 PM, I was off to find something to eat on the mainland. Later, as I tired, I stopped at a hotel in Kinston, breaking up the drive back to the mountains.

May 5, 2022May 6, 2022

Williston, 50 Years Later

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been away the past week. During this time, I did several things I’ll write about, the first being a project I’ve been associated with for the past few years. The next day, I attended a friend’s book reveal, and then spent a few days paddling out to and camping on Cape Lookout. I’ll write about the other two things later.

Between the 7th and 8th Grade

Excitement filled the air as the 1970-71 school year ended. I had just finished the 8^th Grade at Roland Grice Junior High. In an art class, I had drawn with color pencils a large portrait of Yogi Bear and had friends to sign it. Next year, we’d rule as 9^th graders. But things were changing in ways we did not realize. While we had no way of knowing at the time, this was our last day at Roland Grice.

During our summer break, a court decision forced the complete integration of schools. Those students at Roland Grice who lived north of Oleander Drive would attend D. C. Virgo, which had been the former African American Junior High, which was one of the county’s two “9^th Grade Centers.” Those of us who lived south of Oleander would attend Williston, the former black high school. Interestingly, D. C. Virgo was the principal at Williston that made it celebrated school during the time of segregation. In 1968, after the opening of Hoggard High School, Williston was converted to a Junior High. Now, it would be the county’s other 9^th Grade Center. The goal was to have all schools to reflect the county’s racial make-up which, in 1971, was roughly 70% white and 30% African American.

9th Grade

It was late in the summer that we learned of the changes. That September, I took the bus to Roland Grice and from there transferred to another bus for the ride to Williston. This was a scary time. Since 1968 and the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., Wilmington had its share of riots and racial unrest. New private schools such as Cape Fear Academy and Wilmington Christian Academy popped up in response to the forced integration. However, most of us continued in public school.

The 1971-72 school year would be one of the most memorable years in my life, not because of what I learned in the classroom, but what I learned about life and people. We were a part of great experiment, which while it contained personal disappointments, was necessary for the well-being our society. Sadly, I didn’t get to finish out my year at Roland Grice, but greater good is that the unequal segregated system of schools needed to be undone. Those of us who attended Williston, at least those willing to open our eyes, saw first-hand how unfair the old system had been.

50th Anniversary Project

One of the panels with quotes from the 4 of us (from left: Cliff, Sadie, me, Wayne)

At a class reunion a few years ago, I found myself discussing our year at Williston with several students. As we were coming up on our 50^th anniversary, it seemed that we should do something. As the first students to experience busing, at least for historical purposes, we should preserve some our memories and perhaps even take another step or two toward healing the racial divisions that have divided this country for too long.

Cliff, a classmate who was also the son of the school superintendent for the county in 1971-72, be talking. We reached out and talk to others, creating a group of students from across the racial spectrum. We started a Facebook page, which revealed how our experience, 50 years later, still contains extremes. There were those who thought the year was wonderful. One black woman recalled it was the first time in school she was given a new textbook. Before, her schools issued “hand-me-down” books from schools that was most white. And then there are the few who hated everything about Williston and still carry a grudge.

We searched for a way to memorialize our year at Williston. Thanks to another of our classmates, LuAnn, who had graduated with a master’s degree in public history from University of North Carolina at Wilmington, we were connected to this department. Three graduate students of the program began to collect oral histories and created a series of interpretive panels about the experience of integration in Wilmington.

Last Friday, the UNCW students presented their work. The panels will be displayed at Williston, which today is a middle school. The oral histories will be available for future scholars through the UNCW library. At the presentation, I learned that busing was no longer being done in New Hanover County and that at present, Williston’s student population consists of 80% minority. I wondered if our sacrifices were in vain.

Presentation at UNCW (students: Conner, Jack, Heather.
Faculty: Dr. Jennifer LeZotte. & Dr. Tara White)

The students titled their project, “Not Done Yet: School Integration in Wilmington, NC, 1968-Beyond.” Click on the link to learn more.

I am thankful for this project. Not only does it add to the historical body of material available on integration in America, it also allowed me to catch up with old friends and to make some new ones.

My Other Williston Writings:

Williston’s 1971 “Snowfall”

Ms. Gooden

Mark Brown

April 22, 2022April 22, 2022

Books on Poetry and Writing and a Poem

Mark Jarman, Dailiness: Essays on Poetry

(Philadelphia: Paul Dry Books, 2020), 177 pages.

I became acquainted with Jarman’s poetry through poems published in the Reformed Journal. Dailiness consists of a series of long essays on various aspects of poetry. Originally, I thought I would use this as evening reading, but the essays were too long and deep for that. I found myself falling asleep. They required more attention, so I began to read them in the morning with better success. Not only do these essays need to be read, but they also need to be pondered. As they are independent of each other, I recommend reading one per sitting. In each essay, Jarman muses about aspects of poetry as he reflects on a concept (like dailiness) while engaging in a conversation with poems throughout the ages.

After opening with a reflection of the epic Gilgamesh, the author explores the role of metaphor and repetition in poetry. He insists on the need for one to write daily with two essays (dailiness) and devotes essays to poetry as devotion and as part of the religious life. Here, he attempts to save the George Herbert (the parson poet) from critiques of T. S. Eliot and Samuel Johnson. However, to Herbert’s credit, Coolridge appreciated his poetry and Simone Weil credits one of his poems for her Christian conversion. Jarman (as with Malcolm Guite who I review below) explores the work of Seamus Heaney. I found his concluding essay on the pronoun “Something” inspiring. Reading this essay after church on Palm Sunday, which lead me to write the poem below.

I liked the book but would only recommend it to those serious about poetry. In a good way I found myself often looking up words (not in a dictionary, but with google on my phone). Like many books I read this one provided me with another book to check out, John Drury, Music at Midnight: The Life and Poetry of George Herbert (University of Chicago, 2014).

Now here is my poem:

Palm Sunday 2022

Something is happening and will happen this week.
Something so dark and terrible we can barely comprehend over the noise of this day
filled with excitement and expectation
as the Messiah rides into Jerusalem to the cheers of the crowd.
For evil lurks behind these walls and in the minds of those in power,
and soon, the expectation of the crowd will melt into the excitement of a spectacle
as the innocence one dies and the guilty go free.

Something is happening and will happen this week.
Something so wonderful and hopeful we can barely comprehend over the noise of this day
filled with excitement and expectation
as the Messiah rides into Jerusalem to the cheers of the crowd.
For the goodness of God prevails over evil and in the deep darkness of the week,
on the stillness of the morning of the third day a light will burst from a tomb
as the innocent one rises and the guilty pardoned.

-Jeff Garrison, April 10, 2022

Malcolm Guite, In Every Corner Sing: A Poet’s Corner Collection

(Norwich, UK: Canterbury Press, 2018), 196 pages.

I had not read Guite when I heard him speak at the HopeWords Writing Conference in Bluefield earlier this month. While there, I purchased and had him sign this collection of his columns which appeared in Church Times, a British magazine. Each article is about 500 words or two to two and a half pages in length. Although English, Guite spent part of his years growing up in Canada. As I read this book, I enjoyed getting to know him better. Each article draws on poetry, from ancient to modern poets including a few from his own hand.

In them, he muses about poetry and the natural world. We learn of a man who enjoys many things, from smoking a pipe to walking his dogs. We also learn of his deep faith in Christ, his delight at the natural world, and how we are connected to those who came before us. Most of these essays have a nice twist at the end. In one story, he marvels at an old bridge as he canoes “Willow” on a river through the bridge. The last two arches in the bridge are “new.” They were rebuilt after having been destroyed Cromwell’s era (17^th Century) to prevent an army from taking a town. After flirting with the bridge, the poetry of Tennyson and Eliot, he ends marveling at the bridge God has built through Christ that cannot be destroyed.

This was a perfect wind-down book for the evening as I could read through four or five of the seventy-three columns, before closing the book, turning out the light, and going to bed.

Peter Yang, The Art of Writing: Four Principles for Great Writing that Everyone Needs to Know

(TCK Publishing, 2019), 89 pages.

Yang distills the writing process into four principles: Economy, Transparency, Variety, and Harmony. And, with homage to “economy”, he does this in 89 pages. A lot of people could benefit from these principles to help clarify their thoughts on paper. This is the value of this small volume. While this may not be on par with William Zinsser’s On Writing Well, few people will wade through Zinsser’s more detailed prose. What Yang provides are simple ideas, each backed up with a couple of stories and examples. For the person just wanting to learn some basic techniques to make their writing appeal to more audiences, The Art of Writing would be a good place to begin. Disclaimer: I received this book in exchange for an honest review of the work.

April 13, 2022April 13, 2022

Easter Sunrise Services

Much of this blog post had been originally published as an article in The Skinnie published in March 2018. This version has been slightly edited and altered.

Easter Sunday 1982, Old Salem, North Carolina

The wake-up call came at 4:30 AM Sunday morning. I am staying at a hotel right across from Old Salem in present-day Winston Salem. Washing the sleep out of my eyes, I hear the music playing from the street down below. It was been warm when I left home in eastern North Carolina, but a cold snap descended on Saturday. I dress as warmly as possible, pulling on multiple layers. I realize I don’t even have gloves with me.

By 5 AM, I am outside the hotel, walking with strangers, heading to Home Moravian Church. On most street corners, we pass brass quartets playing Easter music, calling people to come. By the time I reached the church, thousands had gathered, waiting in front of the steps of the sanctuary. A cold wind blows and the dark sky spits snow. In the distance, we hear the brass playing. We shuffle around trying to stay warm and waited. The anticipation of the crowd is high as we have all gathered to participate in the second oldest Easter sunrise service in North America. The honor for the oldest sunrise tradition belongs to the Moravians of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, who began holding such services in 1754.

It was still dark when a light comes on inside the church foyer. Then massive wooden doors fly open. The pastor steps out on to the porch. He raises his arms and shouts, “Christ is Risen!” We respond, “He is Risen Indeed!” The Pastor and his assistants step out of the church, and we follow them down Church Street to God’s Acre, the community’s cemetery. God’s Acre is many acres, large enough to hold the thousands who have gathered. We pack in and wait as the sky becomes lighter gray. A few stray flakes of snow still fall.

Then it starts. All those brass quartets unite, and they march in from behind us playing Easter hymns. As they move to the front, we stand and began to sing. The ministers pray and read scripture. The pastor offers a brief message about the hope of the resurrection. Somewhere behind the gray clouds, the sun rises. A new day begins. The benediction is pronounced and we head our separate ways.

Arriving back in the hotel, I stop by the restaurant for breakfast. The place is packed with those coming back from the service. The poor lone waitress is running around trying to serve everyone. Most of us just want hot coffee and are willing to wait to eat as we warm up. She apologizes and says the management had forgotten that it’s Easter Sunday and hadn’t scheduled anyone else to work the shift. Several of us help out, taking turns making and serving coffee as she takes and delivers our orders.

History of the Sunrise Service

The Moravians of Old Salem have been celebrating Easter Sunrise at God’s Acre since 1772, picking up on a practice that begin in Europe in 1732. In the town of Hernhut, which is now in the Czech Republic, the young men of the church gathered in the cemetery during the night and waited for dawn by singing hymns of the faith. The services are simple with hymns, prayers, scripture, and a brief message that is all done to the glory of God. The sunrise service is now an established tradition within the Moravian Church and one that has been adopted by many other Christian denominations.

Of course, those Moravian young men were not the first to be up at sunrise on Easter. That distinction goes to the women described in the gospels who headed out before sunrise to anoint Jesus body before the tomb was sealed. They were shocked to find the grave open and Jesus’ body missing. As the events of that day unfold, they learn of his resurrection, an event that gives hope to Christians to this day.

Easter Sunday, 1975, Wilmington, North Carolina

I first attended an Easter sunrise service as a high school student. It was held in a cemetery off Greenville Sound, east of Wilmington, North Carolina. Unlike the year I was at Old Salem, the skies were clear. And just as the sun broke over the horizon, its rays reflecting off the water and bring warmth to the marsh grass, several ducks took the skies, their calls and the flapping of their wings drowning out the voice of the preacher. Even they celebrated the new day. In the years before seminary, I would attend many such services at a variety of locations. The message was always the same. Christ has risen!

Easter Sunday 1989, Virginia City, Nevada

Mount Davidson from Boot Hill at sunrise

For obvious reasons, sunrise services seem to be more popular in the American South, but as a seminary student pastor, I brought the tradition to Virginia City, Nevada. There, we gathered on “Boot Hill” on a cold morning. The temperature was in the mid-20s and the wind was blowing hard over Sun Mountain. But we witnessed a glorious sunrise, the rays racing up Six Mile Canyon. Afterwards, we enjoyed coffee and warm pastries back at the church.

Easter Sunday 1991, Ellicottville, New York

In my first call to a church in Ellicottville, New York, a community known for skiing, we partnered with Holiday Valley, the local ski resort, to host the service on a deck outside a clubhouse. It was even colder than at Virginia City, but we dressed appropriately, wearing ski bids and parkers. Nicky, a young woman volunteered to provide music on a keyboard. We started with a song and were going to close with the traditional hymn, “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” As we began to sing, Nicky missed note after note. I looked over to see what was wrong. The keyboard had frosted over between hymns and her fingers were sticking to the keys. Afterwards, with hot drinks and donuts inside the lodge, we had a laugh over the situation. The next year, she brought a blanket to lay over the keyboard.

Easter Sunday 2020, Skidaway Island, Georgia

When I accepted the called to the Presbyterian Church on Skidaway Island, I saw the perfect opportunity to hold an Easter Sunrise Service in a park next to the marina on the north end of the Island. Starting in 2015, we began holding services. The first year, we had maybe 50 in attendance. It was beautiful as the sun rose over the marsh and the Wilmington River.

In 2016, a heavy rainstorm was ensuing, so about 30 who came out made their way to the church’s fellowship hall where held the service. Afterwards, Thom, a member of the church volunteered to video tape a sunrise in which we could use inside just in case of rain. Over the next several years, we had beautiful weather and our number grew to nearly 200 worshippers.

Then, in 2020, everything shut down because of COVID. The park had been closed and churches were not meeting inside. We decided to to record a sunrise service that involved just a few of us, all maintaining safe distance. After a live stream Maundy Thursday Service (which only had a camera operator, my associate, the organist, a soloist, and myself), we set up a green screen in the sanctuary to record. While the organist played in the background, we all did our parts, stepping in front of the green screen to be recorded. This allowed Thom’s sunrise to play behind us and it appeared as if we were at the marina.

The most precious moment in the service came when Gene, the soloist, sang “Jesus Christ, is Risen Today.” On the tape, the sun rose as birds took to air. A seagull, on the tape, flew toward the camera then turned back and flew out over the water. On the recording, this bird appeared to fly right through Gene’s head. We laughed and laughed and decided not to cut it out. “That alone is worth the price of admission,” Gene said.

Sunrise at Landings Harbor Marina, overlooking the Wilmington River

We uploaded the sunrise service to YouTube and set it to go live on Easter Sunday morning. That Easter, we all slept in.

Sunrise 2022, Bluemont Church

Bluemont Church
Blue Ridge Parkway Milepost #192

This year, there will be a sunrise service at Bluemont Presbyterian Church, located along the parkway at milepost #191. The service is outside so you may want to bring a lawn chair and a blanket. The service will begin at 6:45 AM. Afterwards, coffee and a light breakfast will be hosted in the fellowship hall. We hope you will join us.

Other Holy Week Services along the Blue Ridge Parkway

Mayberry Church
Blue Ridge Parkway Milepost #180

April 14 Maundy Thursday communion
Mayberry Church at 6 PM

April 15 Good Friday Service
Bluemont Church at noon

April 17 Worship at Mayberry at 9 AM
Worship at Bluemont at 10:30 AM

April 6, 2022April 10, 2022

HopeWords Writers’ Conference

Bluefield, West Virginia

I traveled to Bluefield last Friday to attend the HopeWords Writers’ Conference. I had never been to Bluefield, although I often taken the West Virginia turnpike, I-77, through West Virginia. The turnpike bypasses Bluefield by about ten miles to the north. Known for coal and trains, the Norfolk Southern yard takes up much of the flat land along the valley. The railroad’s shops to maintain engines and cars are on the west side of the tracks and in the middle of the yard, a large coal tipple rises like a village steeple in an English town. There are still a few long coal trains running through the city, but I’m sure not as many as in previous decades with the decline of coal.

The commercial district of Bluefield rises to the east of the tracks, rising up the hill with each road that parallels the tracks gaining more elevation. Like many cities, the downtown suffered greatly over the last few decades. Decay can be seen everywhere. Old houses and abandon buildings became havens for illicit drug use. Many elegant homes that once overlooked the city fell into ruin. Their iron fences and gates rusted and the concrete steps leading up from the street below broken. Thankfully, in recent years there has been an attempt to bring back the downtown. Buildings and homes have been renovated. There are trendy restaurants and funky museums. The old West Virginia hotel is being converted to apartments. Amid this revival is the Granada Theater. Built in 1928, the theater stood abandoned for years. But after a community effort, it has been restored to its previous grandeur and reopened this year. What better place for a writer’s conference focusing on hope?

Bluefield may not be the most likely place for a writer’s conference, but several years ago, Travis Lowe, a city resident, had an idea. Travis, at the time a local pastor, admits he had never been to a writer’s conference but felt that Bluefield was an ideal place for a conference that talked about hope. From this dream, HopeWords was born. This is the fourth conference held, and the first I’ve attended. Kicking off the conference was an hour of wonderful jazz music on Friday evening.

Makoto Fujimura

Drawing me to the conference was the Japanese/American artist and author Makoto Fujimura. Last year, I read his book Art and Faith: A Theology of Making and reviewed it in my blog in early in January. He gave a masterful presentation on Friday evening. As he started, he joked how he drove 8 hours from his home Princeton, NJ only to find himself back in Princeton (West Virginia).

Fujimura spoke of art rising out of the brokenness of our lives and world. While we prefer “good news,” he noted that we live in a world that is filled with bad news—hate and fear. But our art and writing can bring healing. He drew on the lives of Herman Melville, Vincent Van Gogh, Emily Dickerson along with the Japanese art known as Kintsugi, to show how beauty can come out of tragedy. Then he moved to the story of Jesus’ resurrection, suggesting that God is the real Kintsugi Master. He closed with the benediction that is found at the end of his book, Art and Faith, a part of which I’ve copied below:

May we steward well that the Creator King has given us, and accept God’s invitation to sanctify our imagination and creativity, even as we labor hard on this side of eternity.

On Saturday morning, Fujimara was joined by his wife, an attorney in New York. The two of them spoke of their hopeful work within the brothels of India, teaching art to the children and trying to help them find a way out of such improvised lifestyle. During his morning talk, Fujimura mentioned how his conversion to Christianity came through reading William Blake’s epic poem, “Jerusalem.” I found that interesting!

Hannah Anderson

The first speaker on Saturday morning was Hannah Anderson, who lives with her family in Roanoke, Virginia. Hannah is the author of four books, and I have a copy of Humble Roots on order as I did not get to the table to purchase this book before they were sold out. Having grown up in a part of Pennsylvania abandoned by industry, she said she feels right at home in Bluefield.

Anderson spoke of bringing the natural world into our writing, not as a prop or a setting, but as a part of the story. Nature and creation, she said, is telling a story. Nature provides the best example of “showing and not telling.” Nature reveals. Drawing on Psalm 19 and the writing of Annie Dillard, she linked nature back to God in both its glory and terror. “Nature is hopeful and darker than we image,” she said. She concluded with three points about nature in writing:

Show, don’t tell. Get out of the way.
Partner with nature. Remember that nature is a metaphor only from our perspective.
Trust the story nature tells. Jesus used nature in parables not only because he lived in an agrarian world but because such stories are true.

Winn Collier

Our next speaker, Winn Collier, recently published the authorized biography of Eugene Peterson and directs the Peterson Center at Western Theological Seminary in Holland, Michigan. I received Peterson’s biography as a Christmas present but have not yet read it. I told him this when he signed my book. He laughed and handing the book back said that now I’ll have to read it.

Soft spoken but profound, Collier began discussing the poetry of Genesis 1 and moving to John 1. Collier commended poetry for helping us understand ourselves, God, and the world I which we live. But we must not forget that God spoke first (although he also quoted Rabbi Abraham Hessel, “God begins where words end”). God, at creation, choose to use words. And God always calls first. This also ties into the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ, where holiness and humanity go together. While we don’t do “sacred writing,” our writing becomes sacred when it responds to a God who calls us first.

Calling for bold and fresh words, Collier drew on the work of two authors. The late Jim Harrison (whom I have read and wrote the novella which became the movie “Legends of the Fall”) and the late Brian Doyle (whom I haven’t read, but now have his last book, One Long River of Songs, on my TBR list).

One Thin Dime Museum and Gary Bowlings House of Art

One of the presenters had cancelled, with allowed us to have a longer period for lunch. While there were restaurants nearby, the conference also provided bag lunches. I decided to go the bag lunch option and then use the rest of the time to explore a local history museum (One Thin Dime Museum) and an artist colony (Gary Bowlings House of Art) in the old school three blocks away from the theater. The art was modern, funky, gothic and made more delightful by Gary Bowling welcoming everyone who stopped in to visit.

S. D. Smith

After the lunch break, the conference resumed with Travis Lowe humorously interviewing S. D. Smith. Smith is a West Virginia author from Beckley, who writes fantasy for a young audience. While I haven’t read him, it appears his books are filled with characters like rabbits with swords. Much of the conversation skirted around having children read fairytales. Smith defends the darkness in such stories. After all, they know the world is evil. But the fairytale doesn’t just scare the child with the dragon, but gives them hope in the likes of St. George who slays the dragon. “Write with evil and enemies,” he said, but “also where there is hope.”

Lewis Brogdon

Lewis Brogdon a Bluefield native, spoke on “Writing After a Struggle with God.” Brogdon is African American and an Old Testament scholar. He drew heavily on the writings of Walter Brueggmann, another Old Testament scholar who labelled the term “prophetic imagination” to describe the role of the Biblical prophets who “conjured and proposed different futures.” Recalling the works of Habakkuk and Jonah, along with the New Testament story of the Good Samaritan, he reminded us that our job as writers is not to look away from needs. It was the Samaritan, not the priest or Levite, who saw a need and did something about it.

“The pandemic exposed deep problems we have in the world that we have tried to cover up,” Brogdon said. “God is giving us an opportunity to do better.” He went on to insist that when we fail to show compassion, we lose our humanity. “The pandemic displays our “callous disregard for human life in America,” he said. Brogdon encouraged us to listen to the experiences of others, especially those living poverty. Listening to such stories will help us deepen our faith, for God works in such tensions in society.

Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” was the example Brogdon used of how writing can help us see. While the answers to the problems are not always easy, “the gospel does not call us to do nothing. We can’t fix the world, but we can make it a better place.” Brodgon then moved to the spiritual of Black preaching, which has generally been described as “pastoral, priestly, and prophetic.” He proposed a new model that moves from moral imagination to moral courage to moral intelligence. Then he asked, “what would it mean to write and inspire, to nurture and deepen imagination, courage, and intelligence in our readers?”

As he drew his remarks to a close, Brogdon offered several writing prompts for our journals (he also humorously suggested that anyone who doesn’t keep a journal should just get up and leave, as they don’t belong in a writer’s conference). First is a question to he asked in a recent piece he wrote on in an article titled, “America on the Blink: Musings on Race, Politics, and Religion:” “Is America endangered in losing its soul.”
Brogdon other questions were more general:

What are you struggling with personally (especially that which intersects with a broken world)?
What keeps you up at night, or wakes you up?
What bothers you to the point that you can’t look away?
What issues are you passionate about?
Where have you experienced pain?
What understanding have we gained about the pain in others which can help us tell the truth about racist and sexist things we once laughed about. In the last, he confessed personally about the jokes on homosexuality that used to be regularly laughed over within African American congregation.

Malcom Guite

Our last speaker was Malcom Guite, a British theologian, Anglican priest, and a poet.

Guite began his talk with a humorous “minor exorcism,” he which he dispelled any demons who challenge us not to write or read poetry. Then, he moved into his presentation on poetry which he centered around a poem titled “The Rain Stick,” by the late Irish poet (and his friend) Seamus Heaney. While using pieces of this poem to make his points, Guite used a real a rain stick (a dead piece of cactus with seeds inside that when tipped over makes the sound of rain) to illustrate what he was saying. Woven into this talk was a discussion about his study of chemistry and his challenge to the scientific demand that one only writes in the 3^rd person.

Guite drew on Jesus’ saying about its easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich person to get to heaven. Dismissing ideas to this saying such as there was a “needle gate into the city, he suggested that the poetic answer is the paradox. He linked Jesus’ “eye of a needle” with Heaney’s use of the term “ear of a raindrop.” In these small things, God can be encountered and experienced.

Guite speaking & holding his rain stick under his left arm
(I’m sitting in the balcony)

My favorite quote from Guite: “Sometimes we receive packages that says on the outside, “Contents may have settled in shipping. Sometimes I think our churches need to have these warnings on our outside walls.” Then he turned over the rain stick in his hand, and we once again heard the sound!

Future HopeWords

Next year’s HopeWords Writers’ Conference is scheduled for March 24-25, 2023. Won’t you join me? This year, the conference price was only $95, plus the price of a hotel room (I stayed in Princeton, West Virginia, where there are more hotels along I-77). Registration for 2023 opened today (April 9). Check it out here!