The Finger of God is Here!

            The year was 1774, and in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the Provincial Congress issued a directive that pastors should observe a day of Thanksgiving on December 15. The colonists of Massachusetts were struggling under the recent passing of the Intolerable Acts, especially the Quartering Act, and were perhaps not in a mood of gratefulness. England was slowly squeezing the life out of the colony, and the long train of usurpations and abuses^[1] foisted upon the patriots were onerous and prohibitive. Something had to change. A sermon of thanksgiving would hardly solve their problems. Still, Reverend Isaac Story, pastor of the Second Church of Marblehead, MA, followed through with the directive given him, and he poured forth from his heart a sermon of gentle remonstrance and pleasant remembering, helping to bring the colonists back to forgotten principles.

            Sermons played a pivotal role in the life of the Mass Bay Colonists. Boorstin writes, “In New England, the sermon was far more than a literary form. It was an institution, perhaps the characteristic institution of Puritanism here. It was the ritual application of theology to community-building and to the tasks and trials of everyday life.”^[2] Story chose that day in December, Psalm 122, for his passage, a song of Ascents. The Psalmist makes mention of Jerusalem, and Story, throughout his sermon of thanksgiving, draws his congregations’ attention to the responsibilities they have of promoting the peace and security of their Jerusalem: the colony. To complete this task, Story instructs the colonists in patriotic servitude, commending them to love God and serve their neighbors. 

            But how should they go about this great calling in 1774, as they suffered under the Intolerable Acts and high taxation? Rev. Story calls them to pray and remember that, as Christians, they are to defend the honor of their God and His house. If they keep this at the forefront of their minds and hearts, they will remember their duty to one another, recalling that they must treat one another with love and justice. After all, “true patriotism necessarily involves in its nature love to God and benevolence to mankind, which are the primary fources of all virtuous actions: and if a person’s zeal for his country doth not flow from such principles, from regard to God, and pure disinterested benevolence to men, it cannot be reckoned truly patriotic….”^[3] Story continues to state that those who do not take their inspiration for patriotism from God and His Word will be weak and fall prey to anything that scares them.

            Reaching back into the annals of antiquity, Rev. Story brings to the minds of his parishioners the history of the Roman Empire. Hic et more Patrie sincerus… Here the love of the country is sincere! He recounts the virtue, intelligence, scholarship, and ingenuity possessed by those leading Rome to glory, and he reminds his listeners that the Romans accomplished this because the love of their country was sincere; they were patriotic! They embraced liberty, their constitution, and the rule of law, and the empire flourished. But when the Romans took their eyes off their patriotism, the empire crumbled.

            What, then, should be the response of the colonists? Story tells them to foster heroes who have their country’s interests at heart and thank the Lord for raising up patriots to defend their liberties and religion, allowing them to be unified in law and spirit, enjoying their rights and free privileges.^[4] And when they recognize this excellent union that they enjoy with one another, they can cry out, “The finger of God is here!”^[5]

            And then, as if in anticipation of what he potentially stirred in the hearts of his congregation, Story cautions them that revolution and parting from England and George III is not the answer. Instead, they must count their blessings, praising God for their forebears who came to the New World, for their families, and remember to repent of their sins and promote the Gospel. Perhaps Story was playing it safe and attempting not to run afoul of the British living in the colony. Nevertheless, his congregation in Marblehead was the largest in New England,^[6]  so it can only be surmised that his call to patriotic duty had a significant effect in 1774, just as it should today. 

            Story encouraged his congregation to call out in wonder and joy over the unique way in which their new country was founded and rejoice in the union of mind and spirit they enjoyed. May Christian American citizens heed his clarion call and exclaim, “The finger of God is here!” acknowledging the powerful and thrilling way in which God called His people to a New World where they could worship Him in freedom and enjoy their God-given rights. 

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^[1] Jefferson, Thomas. The Declaration of Independence.

^[2] Boorstin, Daniel J. The Colonial Experience. New York: Random House. 1958.

^[3] Story, Isaac. The love of our Country Recommended and Enforced : in a Sermon from Psalm CXXII, 7 : Delivered on a day of Public Thansgiving [sic], December 15, 1774. Boston : Printed and sold by John Boyle, 1775. Sabin Americana: Sabin Collection Number, 92275.

^[4] Ibid.

^[5] Ibid. 17.

^[6] “To Thomas Jefferson from Isaac Story, 27 October 1801,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-35-02-0430. [Original source: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, vol. 35, 1 August–30 November 1801, ed. Barbara B. Oberg. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008, pp. 515–517.]

Art as Transport

This year I get to teach AP Art History. I have always incorporated art into any history course I teach, but this year, it’s a whole class dedicated to Art. I’m thrilled. A whole year of looking at Art, talking about Art, hearing my students and their impressions…exploring ideas and best of all, looking for the beauty. And as I have been preparing, a song keeps running through my mind, as if it is the mental soundtrack to my class. It was famous in its day, years before I was born, is associated with the Vietnam Conflict and has been covered by various and sundry performers. What is enchanting about the song is the words, and the music and the fact that no one really knows what it is saying…..but it is enjoyable, just the same. Just like a painting. Art, when it is truly done well, appeals to our hearts, our souls, our minds, helps us come to terms with a previous pain….affecting each of us in a different way. Some perhaps might smile, or cry, weep, laugh, and sometimes, just sometimes, we find a piece of Art that reaches into the very innermost parts of us and transports us to a world we didn’t know we were secretly longing for. I don’t know that this song does all of that for me, but it certainly transports me and reminds me that though none of us truly know what the song is about, Art’s best work is done through it.

Crying “Sanctuary” in the Midst of Interdict

“I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.”  Psalm 122:1 

Many things have been troubling my mind and soul during the last months.  The list is long.  But one bothersome thought keeps rubbing the back of my brain:  Where can I go to cry “Sanctuary”?

Sanctuary.  It’s a Medieval construct, which stretched over 400 years and was upheld by both the Church and the secular government.  More than likely it has its roots in the Levitical “cities of refuge”.  I like how one definition is written:  It was a last resort….for those often under chase by the community.  And there it is, the very thing that has been rubbing against the back of my brain, like a pebble in my shoe…the lack of Sanctuary in our world today.

During the Medieval centuries and into the Early Modern era, the Popes were allowed to place churches and indeed whole countries under something known as “Interdict”.  The most famous case was King John of England.  He irritated the Pope, and didn’t heed the threats, and to get John to heel, Pope Innocent III placed all of England under Interdict.  What does this mean?  Basically the church doors are closed.  There is no worship, no marriages, no burials, no baptisms, no Lord’s Supper….the Church in those days was responsible for all of these activities, both in performance and in recording.  Life as Medieval folk knew it, came to a halt.  They were not amused…with John.  Enter the Magna Carta.  

So, here I sit, 800 years later, longing to cry Sanctuary….save me from the community that is attacking me and my faith, but I find myself under Interdict, only this time, the government and the Church are complicit and I cannot enter my church in order to even raise a cry.

The doors are closed, locked up tight.  No marriages.  No funerals.  No baptisms.  No Worship.  No Lord’s Supper.  Church life, as we know it as Christians, has been halted…..for months.  Some churches have opened, but only in a sterile setting; forbidding nearness, forcing maskings, no chatting…only frigid sterility.  

Then Jesus put out His hand and touched him, saying, “I am willing; be cleansed.” Immediately his leprosy was cleansed.

Our Lord touched the foulest of the foul….without fear.  He healed them.  They ran to Him for sanctuary, and He did not turn them away.  He did the opposite.  He embraced the sick, the oppressed, the demon possessed, the adulterous. Where may we go to be embraced today?  Certainly not the Church….the one place where we should dwell in complete safety.  Instead, our churches have capitulated to the World and are functioning under a self imposed Interdict.  And Why?  

Do we value false virtue over Truth?  Do we value the hollow words of the government over the fulfilling words of Scripture?  Do we fear man, more than we fear Almighty God?  Do we say in one breath that we believe in and trust a Sovereign God and with the next, lean on our own understanding?

Have we forgotten the injunction in Hebrews: “not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.”?

Where are our Spiritual spines?  Why are we cowering, with covered faces and arms wrapped tight against our bodies, shying away from our brothers and sisters?  Truly, what would Jesus do?  Do we see the damage that this behavior is having upon the members of Christ’s body?  Do we see the damage it is doing to ourselves?

Lack of face to face fellowship, is taking its toll on our congregations.  And what do our churches do?  They rattle off a laundry list of regulations we must all adhere to in order to enter the Sanctuary of the Most High.  We are forced further and further under Interdict, while we thirst for the Table, longing to cry out Sanctuary in the midst of a community that is attacking us from all sides.  

Where may I go?  When may I be glad again when they said, let us go into the house of the Lord?

King John’s interdict lasted well over 3 years.    

My soul, my dry, weary, tired out soul longs for sanctuary and awaits the day when I will again be able to leave the dry and weary land, that lacks water and behold my King in his sanctuary, with my brothers and sisters, beholding his power and glory…..because truly, His love is better than life and my lips will glorify Him.

Soul Soothing

“Tender and beautiful fronds of my beloved plane tree, let Fate smile upon you.  May thunder, lightning, and storms never disturb your dear peace, nor may you by blowing winds be profaned.  Never was a shade of any plant dearer and more lovely.”

Ombra mai fu….the famous Largo of Love by Handel.  Many a bride has been carried down the aisle on her bridal day with the longing strains of this aria.  In the opera, Xerxes the king sings this to a plane tree….I know, odd.  The English translation is lovely, but of course it sounds exquisite in Italian.  I’ve always thought that the plane tree was symbolic of a woman, given the imagery, and it is reminiscent of Song of Songs.  Fagioli is one of my most favorite singers of late, and I find myself retreating to this piece of music when the oppression of ugliness in the world around us becomes too great.  Is that tree in Italy?  Argentina?  South Georgia?  The mysterious beauty….the tree embracing him….and it was all a dream.  Reminiscent of Rossetti……

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,  Was but a dream; and now I wake Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, For a dream’s sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree, A weeping willow in a lake; I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt For a dream’s sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;  My silent heart, lie still and break:  Life and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream’s sake.

Their Last Summer?

Years ago, I was a new bride and we had invited friends over for supper.  I was dithering as to whether or not I had cooked and planned enough food.  I called my mum.  She asked me what was on the menu.  I rattled it all off to her and she said, “Sounds like plenty to me.  Afterall, this won’t be their last meal.”  

“This won’t be their last meal.”  It was revelatory to me.  

And as we enter into this summer of 2020, I hear myself breathing out these words of wisdom.

Our anticipated trip to the UK was cancelled.

Our annual sojourn to the refreshing shore of Maine was cancelled.

Our three teens have had their beloved summer camp experience cancelled.

The temptation to moon about our summer plans is attractive.  It is so tempting to say to myself, “We should be in Edinburgh right now.  I should be standing alongside my mum at the graves of my great-grandparents.  No jazz band camp for our trumpeter. No cooling sea breezes for us this summer.  My eldest won’t get to train to be a counselor this summer.  This was their last summer of senior camp. I won’t have that one week of no kids at home this summer.”  And the list goes on.

And then I hear the words:  This won’t be their last meal.  

This summer that awaits us will not be our last summer.  And we need to remember this!

Our children are looking to us, watching, listening, absorbing how we deal with our disappointments.  If you’re like me, you have had these plans created since September and you have fallen asleep dreaming of summer holiday.  Perhaps you have discussed them with your children, maybe they helped come up with ideas for summer…..and now, disappointment.  But this is a great opportunity to teach our children that this won’t be their last meal….their last summer.

Instead of focusing on what has been lost and losing ourselves in melodramatic outbursts of frustration and anger, we need to focus on what we have gained.  We have gained a precious chance to show our children how to be grateful, to appreciate what we have had (and likely will have again), to make the most out of a difficult situation, to put their wants and desires aside and focus on what is important and realize that this won’t be their last summer.  

I see you rolling your eyes and I get it.  But I challenge you to step back from your situation, and put things in perspective.  It’s what I say to my high school history students every day in class:  perspective.  In the great scope of life…..this summer is but a blip.  So, they don’t have their camps, won’t be traveling with the team to Honduras, won’t be going on the mission trip, the week away at Space Camp……instead, you have them EVERY day of the summer.  Perhaps that feels overwhelming and draining.  But I challenge you not to transfer these feelings onto your children, no matter the age.  You are the adult!  It’s great to admit you are disappointed too that favorite things have been denied, but you need to follow that up with a game plan.  It doesn’t have to be a big, glamorous plan.  But you set the tone.

Think of things that you never have the time to do with them.  Today, my crew helped me clean out and organize the garage.  We laughed over shoes that are too small, old drawings, and reminisced about school years past.  Don’t let this fool you.  All 4 of us don’t enjoy this kind of activity.  But you see, tomorrow, they have the hope of new bikes…..bikes to fit their almost adult bodies…..bikes that symbolize new freedoms.  So, they were willing to pitch in and help.  Take them out for ice cream after dinner…..you could put them to bed and then surprise them with a trip to the ice cream place, PJs and all.  Come on, you were a kid once…..think of what you wished your folks would do with you, and now is your time to shine.

The bottom line:  This isn’t their last summer, and it isn’t your last summer.  Make the most of it, enjoy it, and set a good example!

Through his eyes

I always wanted to be an artist.  In my over active imagination I could visualize images of great, intense beauty, but when I put pencil to paper, nothing happened.  Frustrated, I gave up.  Yes, I took the requisite art class in highschool, and yes, managed to eek out a pencil drawing that was of “B” value, but nothing else.  I realized my art talent was in acting, singing, sewing, design…

Now, I have an artist living in my home.  He is 6.5 years old and can “draw me under the table”!  What is especially interesting to me, is that inspite of him not being flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone, he has inherited my intense love of all things art.  I envy his ability to draw from his imagination.  I am amazed at his ability to remember famous pieces of art that we have looked at.  The other day, he was working on an assignment for history, and there, on his sketch pad was a face from “Guernica”.

But with this passion and gift, comes a lot of pain.  It’s hard as an artist to hear the word “no”.  It pains me to tell him “no” when he wants to do his own thing and not follow the instructions.  Frankly, I would rather narrate what he has drawn, than what he was supposed to draw.  Temperance, patience, restraint.

I look forward to seeing the world through his eyes as he grows, and wonder what the Lord has in store for his life.  May he never lose this passion, this magical imagination and desire to creatively express himself.

Love you ever so much, Dear Boy.

From Abuse to Freedom…a lesson for us all

I find myself writing about Molly again.  She amazes me.  I think what amazes me the most is her resilience and her love.

It has become obvious to us that she was severely abused.  She is timid at first around men, and then will warm up.  It is also apparent that she remembers the specific look of those men who abused her.

Over these last months, we have loved on her, played with her, taken her to the mountains, to visit my parents, and even a trip to the shore, where she tentatively tried out the ocean and discovered she really likes it!  It was hard to watch adults hurrying their children away from her, as though she was a pariah, or ferocious beast that would attack.  Many watched in amazement as she frolicked with our children, sweetly caring for them.  I feel protective of her, knowing that her breed has been misrepresented and abused.  The children love her and care for her.  Last week she cut her underbelly on some bamboo.  Two doctors and a nurse brought her inside, put her on Sam’s bed, calmly talking to her and cleaned her wounds.  She can be found sleeping on somebody’s bed every night, and in the morning, she patiently waits for me to wake up.

I have wondered if she would continue to cower when she sees particular kinds of men.

My wondering has been put to rest.  This past Thursday, we had errands to run, and took her to the dog park.  She enjoyed a long romp with her children, and contentedly rode next to me in the car, watching everyone.  We stopped to get an ice cream, and as I opened my window to order, I felt her fur stand on edge, and heard her growl.  I looked to my left, and there was a man.  She didn’t lunge, or do anything foolish, she merely made her presence known.  Later, as we drove through a less than savory part of town, she saw someone else that triggered painful memories for her.  My girl didn’t cower or hide, instead, she stood up and howled away, and I encouraged her…..”Get it out Molly, get it out.  He can’t hurt you anymore.”

If only we humans would realize this truth.  Our abusers, those who teased us, bullied us, molested us, cheated on us, whatever it is that was done against you in harm…..we’re free from them, and there is no need to fear them.  I was always scared of packs of girls growing up; even into college.  Packs of girls represented to me hatred, loathing, sniggering, teasing, abuse.  It wasn’t until I was a teacher that I quit fearing packs of girls.  There was no more need to fear those girls, for I was a teacher, and was in charge, and I began to relax, just like Molly.

To take this even further, the Great Abuser, the one who Abused Eve in the Garden, lying to her, manipulating her, he has been conquered by the One Who Loves, giving us complete freedom from the Great Abuser.  We need not fear, rather, we live in freedom.

Full Circle

I grew up with animals.  It’s safe to say that my animals were my first friends.  As an only child, living on the prairies of South Dakota in a town of 13, life didn’t afford me many human playmates, so I had animals.  There were the sheep:  Fruitloop, Lollipop and Rusty; the cows:  Lucky and Clyde; the horse:  Henry; the cats:  Casey O’Malley the Alley Cat and Jingle Bell, but my favorite was Patty, my dog.  She was a Blue Heeler, with probably some other genes thrown in, but most importantly, she was my dog.  As a wide eyed 4 year old, I watched her give birth to her chubby puppies.  She was my constant companion.

One hot summer day, I sat outside our church on the front steps, reading a book.  Patty came up to me, nuzzling me with her soft nose and whimpering.  I put my arm around her, and felt something sticky and wet.  Blood from a massive gash down her chest covered my fingers.  I couldn’t pick her up, she was too big, so I coaxed her quietly back to the manse so Dad could look at her.  She was so far gone by the time I got her to him, and the vet was 45 minutes away, she was never going to make it.  He did the humane, kind thing, taking her out behind the house, down the valley a bit and shot her.  I can still hear the shot, and I can still see myself, sobbing in my mother’s lap as she tried to comfort me.  We think she cut her underbelly on barbed wire.  My dog was gone.  My sweet, happy friend.

Over the ensuing years, we moved to different states.  I had to give up another dog, and then, on the West Coast we went pet-less for many years, and it hurt.  I quietly envied my friends who had animals, and longed for my own.  Eventually, when I was on my own, I did have a dear little friend named Bertie, and as a newly wed, we had dogs.  Then the children came along, and we parted with the dogs, giving them to homes that needed them more.

Now, a week ago, a dear, sweet little doggie entered our lives and invaded our hearts.  She is about the same size as Patty, has a way of looking at you that is almost human, and is my permanent shadow.  They found her 7 months ago, under a truck, heavily pregnant, emaciated and torn up.  A lovely woman took her in, nursed her back to health, helped her through the delivery of many stillborn puppies, and got her ready for our family.  I feel like things have come full circle for me where Molly is concerned.  I feel a bit like a child with her, and find myself giving her ferociously tight hugs; hugs that she craves.

Molly, you’re a darling dog.

Compulsory Education

I have always loved this painting.  Somewhere, in some box, I have a card with the painting on it.  I suppose it reminded me of my childhood in South Dakota, an only child, trying to find things to do, and oftentimes, reading to her dog.  Today, as I sat on the couch reading, I heard Miriam’s little voice at the other end of the couch.  I looked up, and there she was, her arms around the cat’s neck, reading him a Winnie the Pooh and Piglet story.  Needless to say, this image popped into my head.  I don’t think the cat was highly amused judging from the tense switching of his tail, but he put up with her, as all good pets do.

Getting Past Mordor

I’ve been thinking a lot this week of the imagery from the last of the Tolkein novels:  Frodo and Sam being borne up on the wings of giant birds after they have thrown the ring into the fires of Mordor.  It’s a powerful image.  And it’s an image that aptly fits our lives.  These last two years, long, difficult, trying, wearying, scary, painful years are it seems, coming to an end.  The endless trek to Mordor is coming to a close, and the birds are here to take us to safety; but it’s a safety that you know can be taken at any time.

We are not promised anything in this life, save for suffering.  Our Lord promised us that.  Suffering for Him.  In light of that promise, these last two years have been bittersweet.  His presence, His “realness” has been ever more present in our lives and we have grown.  But He is so good, He knows we are frail, He remembers that we are made from dust, and remembers that He has promised to give us His yoke, which is light.

¹⁹ I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.

²⁰ I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.

²¹ Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

²² Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

²³ They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

²⁴ I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”