Some of the internet cranks were cranky about Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood singing John Lennon’s “Imagine” at last week’s funeral service for President Jimmy Carter. While I did not take to social media to express my opinion, I did wonder about the choice of that particular song for the National Cathedral service. “Imagine there’s no heaven/It’s easy if you try/No hell below us/Above us, only sky.” Not exactly sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.

Apparently “Imagine” was sung at the request of the Carter family, it being a favorite of the president. Had it been a more typical funeral service and had I been the officiant, I would have suggested playing a recording of the song at the funeral luncheon in the church basement following the service. But it was a state funeral, and I wasn’t the officiant. I don’t know if there was a luncheon in the cathedral basement following the service.

Anyway, the internet cranks sent me to You Tube to watch parts of the service. Yes, “Imagine” is a silly song and not appropriate for a church funeral. But there’s another thing I noticed: former presidents, like former pastors, don’t always take the worship of the Living God seriously enough.

Early in the Cater funeral, the Armed Forces Chorus sang “Be Still My Soul,” an altogether appropriate hymn for a funeral service, or any worship service.
     Be still, my soul: the hour is hast’ning on
     when we shall be forever with the Lord,
     when disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
     sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
     Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past,
     all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

As they are wont to do, the television cameras frequently scanned the first rows of worshipers, presidents and vice-presidents past and present. And just as I am wont to do, the former presidents and vice-presidents and their spouses don’t always take worship of the Living God very seriously. The screen shot at the head of this post shows former President Clinton and Mrs. Clinton in some sort of conversation during the singing of the hymn. If you watch the clip, you’ll notice that the Clintons are not the only ones whose souls seem not as still as they might be. Distracted in worship seems to be an entirely nonpartisan issue.

Former pastors, like former presidents, may also allow themselves to be distracted by the mundane even in the times set aside for the holy. It’s too easy to chat or to daydream as, amazingly, the prayers of the saints rise to God (Revelation 8:4).

Yes, “Imagine” was an odd, in fact, inappropriate, choice for a Christian funeral service. But the words of “Be Still My Soul” offered much comfort.

The National Cathedral is an Episcopal church, so the funeral ended with those wonderful words of commendation from the Book of Common Prayer:
     Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant James.
     Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold,
     a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.
     Receive him into the arms of your mercy,
     into the blessed rest of everlasting peace,
     and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.

Sheep of his own fold, lambs of his own flock, sinners of his own redeeming. Imagine that.

I am not exceptional.  I don’t mean that in some self-deprecating way.  I mean it in the sense that rules apply, and norms and reasonable expectations are usually met. I am not exceptional, nor should I expect or demand to be exempted from rules, norms, and reasonable expectations.  All around us, however, we see a demand for exemptions and exceptions.  Sometimes it seems as if exceptions don’t just prove the rule, they are the rule.

We Presbyterians like to think of ourselves as “decently and in order” people (1 Corinthians 14:40), but too often church messes are caused by pastors or congregations convinced that their situation is exceptional, that rules and standards apply to others but not to them.

The rules of a Homeowners Association are meant to make life more pleasant for all the folks in the neighborhood, but for too loud music, mis-built fences, or poorly parked cars, some homeowners assert a personal exemption from the agreed-upon rules.  And tough luck to all the neighbors who don’t like it.

Speed limits may be a good idea for most people, but not when we’re late for work, the kids have to get to school, or we don’t want the party to start without us. “Officer, you don’t understand. Can’t you make an exception?” Continue reading →

Recently I was reading a journal article by a scholar I have read and respected over the years. In fact, the article was the transcript of an address he had given just this past October. It was recent. In his address the speaker sought to locate himself and his audience in terms of the issue before them. He asked a series of “who are we?” questions, some with answers provided by thinkers from previous we eras. Then he narrowed his thoughts to himself and his audience. Among the questions he asked was, “Who are we at the beginning of the twenty-first century?”

The premise of his question, “who are we at the beginning of the twenty-first century?”, is about the only point in the paper with which I disagreed. Maybe this past October, but as we have now slipped into 2025, it just doesn’t feel like the beginning of this century. In fact, as the Times Square ball dropped in the final seconds of Tuesday evening, we had come to the end of the first quarter of the twenty-first century. It is not yet mid-game or halftime. However, the end of the first quarter and the beginning of the second just don’t feel like the opening minutes of the game. Maybe Winston Churchill would call it the end of the beginning.

I had already been thinking about the end of the first quarter of the century and the beginning of the second as I read the journal article. Whether you are reading the email or the online version of this piece, you will notice the “25 Years” at the top or on the sidebar of this post. 25 years, a quarter century. It’s going to remain there all year long. Continue reading →

Having reached Day 362 of 2024’s 366 days, it’s probably safe to make some assessments of the year now nearly past.  I’ll go with “a very good year.”  Of course, any assessment of any year is going to be subjective.  Queen Elizabeth famously tagged 1992 as “annus horribilis” – a horrible year – and it was a horrible year for Her Majesty. Three of her four adult children had significant marriage problems and in November a fire caused extensive damage to Windsor Castle.  “1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure,” the Queen said.  I don’t remember all of the details of my 1992, but it’s safe to say I look back on it with a pleasure significantly less diluted than the Queen’s.

And 2024? Sure, there have been some disappointments and sorrows that dilute the pleasure in looking back on the past twelve months, but, subjectively speaking, all in all, it’s been a very good year.

I don’t keep a Journal, but the collection of photos stored on my phone form a pretty good record of the year.  So, what story do those several hundred photos tell other than that I need to edit my albums? The best of the photos fall into four categories.  2024, then, was a year filled with the gift of family, the joy of routine, the continuing call to ministry, and an adventure in Portugal. Continue reading →

The bleak midwinter reflected in our backyard pond

If you invite an astronomer and a meteorologist to your Christmas party, make sure they don’t start talking about the seasons.  It could get ugly.  The astronomer will insist that winter doesn’t start until 4:21 tomorrow morning, and the meteorologist will tell him it began back on December 1.  In our nothing-is-simple world, it turns out that the scientists can’t agree on when the seasons start and end.  So, we have meteorological winter which began this year the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and astronomical winter that won’t begin until early tomorrow morning.

English poet Christina Rossetti wasn’t much concerned about the science of the seasons when she wrote about the bleak midwinter.  Whether it was 25 days or four days into winter, she wrote about that first Christmas long ago and its setting in bleak midwinter. Nor was she concerned about all those articles by the nitpicking scholars purporting to tell us when Christmas “really happened.”  (Likely not December 25, and almost certainly not in the year 1 A.D. – no year zero in our Gregorian calendar.)

Rosetti’s bleak midwinter describes our world in ways the astronomer and the meteorologist may not understand. Her bleak midwinter does not look forward to the inevitability of earlier sunrises and later sunsets.  It anticipates something much better. Continue reading →