A Week of Passings
During the period of a little over a week, four old friends died. The evening of June 1 our friend, Jim Newpart went home to be with the Lord. We met Jim and Mynra at a home Bible study when we first moved to Franklin in 1977. We were not particularly interested in being part of a Bible study but it was a good way to meet some new friends. That Bible study meet every other Thursday night for several years and we are still friends with most of the original members.
Jim and Myrna had moved with his job (IBM) to a number of cities. When the company wanted him to leave middle Tennessee, they decided to change careers rather than leave. Jim loved to build and over the years they built several new homes, all of which I loved. He not only had good instincts for what would make a house appealing, he had the energy to complete what he started in grand fashion. Jim was one of the neatest people I have ever met. His clothes and hair were always perfect. Myrna used to tell people that he did not even turn over in his sleep lest he wrinkle his pajamas.

I was closest to Jim during those years when we both were active in the same church. Jim was a faithful and effective servant. He had a heart for people and I learned from Jim how to balance keeping my eye on the objective while remaining attentive to the opinions and desires of others. When Cortez Cooper was preparing to start Christ Presbyterian Church, Jim was one of the "Brentwood Seven" that served as the original feasibility committee for the church. Jim and I both liked Vandy basketball, Titans football, and golf. All of these, as well as his warm love for people were stolen these past few years by his illness. Jim, we miss you.

On June 2, my second longest friendship ended. Father Edward Arnold completed his many years of service to Christ and went home. I’ll come back to him in a moment. On June 3 a classmate from Father Ryan, Tommy St. Charles, died. I have not seen him in years but I do remember a number of the funny stunts he pulled in high school. I also remember talking to him a few times at the business he owned. I have a general discomfort with the idea that one of my peers has fulfilled his days on this earth. If God gives me the days, I will experience more of these but I don’t think repetition will make the process any easier.

On June 10 Peggy Southard died after a long fight with cancer. Stu and Peggy served with us as the first leadership group for parents at Christ Presbyterian Academy. We enjoyed getting to know them. Later we were involved in a Bible study with them and I hooked up with Stu through some Christian Leadership Concepts contacts. In recent years they have been part of Strong Tower Church but their impact on Christ Community is still being felt. It was very sad in worship when the announcement was made.

Now back to Fr. Arnold. I first encountered him at St. Joseph’s Church in 1957. He had just been ordained to the priesthood and was appointed assistant pastor. I was in the 4th grade at the time. Several years later, while still at St. Joseph, I had developed a comfortable relationship with him serving as an altar boy and helping with various chores around the school and church. When the new sanctuary and living quarters for the pastors was complete, I was part of a group of students that helped the priests move. There was a box of books Fr. Arnold had that we were not supposed to look at. He told us that they were books on the "banned book list" of the Catholic Church. So what did we do? We looked of course, thinking these were a genre of books that would particularly appeal to 8th grade boys. They weren’t. They proved to be all theology — Martin Luther, John Calvin, etc. Boy, were we ever disappointed.

A few years later I was a student at Father Ryan and had Fr. Arnold one year for Religion and one year for Latin. It was in his class that I learned the saying "I don’t give hard tests. You make take hard tests, but I don’t give them." I use this every year with my students. Fr. Arnold was a very demanding teacher and could make life interesting if you dozed off during class or were misbehaving. He kept a supply of small pieces of chalk in his desk. He could hurl these with the accuracy and velocity of a major league pitcher. You did not want to be on the receiving end of one of these missiles! During my senior year I took my second year of mechanical drawing. Due to my schedule, I took this class by myself as I could not meet during the normal class time. One day Fr. Arnold walked into the room and asked if I would help him with a problem. He was the Chaplin of St. Mary’s Villa at the time. They were building a new chapel on the front side of the campus and he did not like the design of the window behind the altar (which was actually on the front of the building). He wanted me to design a new window. I'm not exactly sure why he did this (although at his funeral mention was made several times of his legendary frugality). I did what he requested and to this day, when I drive by St. Mary’s I take a quick look at the bay window I designed.

Fr. Arnold was pastor of our Lady of the Lake in Hendersonville where we moved after my graduation from college. He gave instructions to Dianne and baptized our first three children. Just a few years after our move to Franklin, he became the pastor of St. Philip’s, where he remained until his death. Since we were not attending St. Philip’s, we only saw him on occasion. When my mom died, her pastor was out of town and Fr. Arnold substituted and handled the funeral. He did the same 2½ years later when my dad died. For him it was not just something he had too do. He was very pastoral and I felt like he was part of the family. In fact, several months before dad died, he had one of those "mini strokes" and was rushed to the hospital. The nursing home had notified Fr. Arnold because he was the catholic pastor the home had on their call list. He met me at the hospital. I needed to talk to someone about heroic measures for my dad. I thought I had everything worked out in my mind but I found I was not nearly as comfortable when the situation was no longer hypothetical. Fr. Arnold sat with me and helped me work through the issue. I ended up where I thought I would but now I was comfortable because an authority I respected affirmed my decision.

For several weeks after our son, Andy, died we had a routine of sitting together and going through the mountain of cards that seemed to arrive each day. One day I found a card in the mail without any stamp or postmark. It turned out to be from Fr. Arnold. He had driven to the house but was overwhelmed by our very steep driveway (by that time he was having severe problems with his hip and walking on level ground was difficult). He had written a wonderful and comforting message on the card and left it in our mail box. A few weeks later he said a mass for Andy and invited us to have breakfast with him afterwards. It was very good time. We hit some of the high spots of those periods when our lives touched.

I attended the funeral mass for Fr. Arnold in a sanctuary that was almost completely full (1,000+). I can say that I was profoundly moved by the service as it broke through my personal thoughts and helped me focus on the heavenly realm. I did not want to leave when the service was over. By human standards, I would not be considered a close friend of Fr. Arnold — but my life was profoundly intertwined with his. I was very sad and I had the feeling that if I did not leave the building, somehow the connection would remain. I am still sad!

Legacy
Not too long ago I was going through a box that contained old documents we hurriedly packed away as we were cleaning out my parents house after it was sold. I thought we had gone through everything at the time. We found the original bill from St. Thomas Hospital for when I was born ($158 — I guess I was worth the expense) and the bill of sale for a 1938 Chevy ($750). My mom and dad were keepers of records — forever. As I was recently looking through the box I found something that I had never seen before. On a piece of cardstock about 3½ inches by 5½ inches was a poem written by my mother in 1928. This would have been when she was a high school student at St Cecilia. The poem is recorded in beautiful printing with the first letter of each line illuminated.

Thanksgiving

Thanks be to God
Here on earth
All join in praising
Not without mirth;
Keep the heart loving
See the bright side;
Give without stinting
In places denied;
Venerate the Giver
In sunshine and sorrow;
Nights may be dark, but
God gives a tomorrow.

— M. L. Hussey
1928

I think the poem is original. I have checked several websites of Thanksgiving poems and have not found anything close. But whether or not it is original it says something very special to me about my mother as a teenager — she knew the God that I know. My childhood was filled with my mother, and my grandmother who lived with us, telling stories about God’s faithfulness. Though I had my period of rebellion as a yong adult, I realize now that in my "wild ways" I never strayed far from this God my mother wrote about. She has been gone from this world for almost 20 years and for her last five or so she was hard to know and love because of the cruel Alzheimer’s which stole her identity away. Yet there is nothing I want more this moment than to put my arms around her and tell her I love her. Thanks Mom for faithfully teaching me about this God who loves us and is such a vital part of our lives!

Sticks and stones may . . . . .
Last week I was called a liberal! I have lived a good number of years thinking such a travesty would never occur. It happened during lunch with two business associates. We were having a pleasant time and the conversation worked its way around to politics. One of my lunch companions launched an attack against "those environmental nutcases" that would have done Ann Coulter proud. I did not comment verbally but did raise my eyebrows at one of his outbursts. He was sitting across the table and noticed my expression. He gave me a hard look, but did not comment.

A little later we were talking about the 2008 elections and the various potential candidates. I have some opinions but could not seem to get an opening to share them. These guys were really serious — serious like the election is next month rather than next year. Since I could not talk, I listened intently and found myself thinking I was watching a program on Fox News. I guess I smiled at the thought and one of my friends thought I was offering some "know-it-all grin." Thinking I was in disagreement with the orthodox positions being expressed, he turned and said, "Well, it looks like we have a liberal at the table with us." I was a little stunned at first. Several years ago I would have angrily launched a defense of my conservative credentials. But I just grinned all the more and enjoyed my salad.

I realize the comment about me being a liberal was made primarily to provoke me into discussion and give me an opportunity to prove my fundamentalist Republican pedigree. I was not angry but I could not identify my feelings at the moment. What did trouble me as I reflected later on the exchange is how typical our lunch table discussion has become. I can’t remember a time in the past year when I was involved in a serious conversation in which the individuals disagreed but were willing to calmly debate the issue. I used to have these all the time. What has happened? I’m not exactly sure but I think it has much to do with the proliferation of talk radio/television which has almost destroyed the concept of "friendly disagreement." Even our everyday conversations are peppered with "sound bites" and "labeling." During the lunch conversation mentioned previously, I, and anything I had to say, was effectively neutralized by the label: liberal.

I am beginning to wonder if we are serious when we say things like "I would like to hear the candidates engage in debate on the issues." I’m not sure we would recognize it if it happened.

Infinitely Alone

Several years ago the elders of our (then) church joined with the pastor during Lent preaching on the words of Christ on the cross. I was assigned the passage "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me" (Matt 27:46). I have seen the movie The Passion of the Christ and left the theater physically exhausted. As I prepared for this sermon, I had much the same experience meditating on the most dreadful part of our Lord's suffering: the separation from the Father. This was the inspiration for the title. Jesus, on the cross, went to a place that Psa 139 tells us does not exist - a place where God is not present. Though thoroughly Irish, the muses have not blessed me with the gift of poetic speech. I tried to come up with words to describe this dereliction that caused Jesus to cry out those terrible words. I finally went to my comfort zone:engineering/science. Following is the best I could muster.

The Weight of Sin
Have you considered recently what sin is? Man is God’s prized creation — made in His image. And yet, one sin — one act of rebellion against God was sufficient to cast this prized creation into a state of eternal damnation. We understand that one single sin is enough to sentence us to hell for eternity. But none of us have committed just one sin. Our sins are countless and each one is worthy of eternal damnation. Are we not most foolish when we imagine trying to satisfy or suffer the punishment for all our sins?

Most of you have heard about what scientists call ‘black holes.’ If their theories are correct, a black hole is a star that has collapsed in on itself and it mass has become so concentrated that the gravitational field will not let light escape. The mass is so concentrated that an object made from this material the size of a child’s marble would weigh 800 million tons. If I could hold that marble in my hand and then let it fall, it would not only pass through the floor but it would quickly pass through the dirt and bedrock as it moves rapidly to the center of the earth. Its gravitational pull would be so great that the Mississippi River and the Smokey Mountains would feel the pull and move towards this place we now gather.

If you could some how weigh my sin on a spiritual scale it would be similar to that marble — and so would yours. Jesus has "bore our sins in His body on the cross, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness; for by His wounds you were healed." 1 Peter 2:24. It is like He has taken these marbles, our sins, strung them together in a necklace, and hung them around his neck. The incredible weight is pulling Him down with such force that it is pulling Him out of the hands of the Father who He loves with an infinite love.

Isaiah 53:5-6
But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities;
The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, And by His scourging we are healed.
6 All of us like sheep have gone astray, Each of us has turned to his own way;
But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all To fall on Him.


The physical suffering of Jesus was horrendous and none of us want to dwell on it for any extended time. But the spiritual suffering of having the Father remove His gaze of blessing was much more painful - more than we can ever imagine. It is this suffering that caused Jesus to sweat blood in the garden - and it is this suffering that purchased our redemption.

Truly this is a Good Friday!

I don't like these things - blogs that is. I have successfully avoided them for years and now I find myself creating my own. I'm thinking slippery slope and "how the mighty have fallen" thoughts. My resistance to blogging is reflected in the name I chose for the blog. That name accurately and fairly describes my attitude. But (rising up on my spiritual pedestal) I am willing to sacrifice for the good of the school. So I take the plunge this 3rd day of April in the year of our Lord 2007.