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 →

“It ruined Christmas for me,” my friend used to say of a long ago and very sad event in her life. It had happened right before Christmas, and not only was Christmas sad the year it happened, she made sure it was sad every year, for decades, afterwards. Sharing Christmas sorrow with all around became her mission in life. Oh, she’d show up, a gloomy presence, at Christmas parties, and soon enough you’d hear her telling some unsuspecting guest about that Christmas past that ruined every Christmas present – and was sure to ruin every Christmas yet to come.

The thing is, though, you can’t ruin Christmas. You can misunderstand it. You can choose misery over joy, but you can’t ruin it. My gloomy friend could not ruin Christmas, as much as she tried, any more than Ebenezer Scrooge could ruin Bob Cratchit’s Christmas, as much as he tried.

It was never hard for me to resist my friend’s attempts to ruin Christmas. I like Christmas in its many manifestations. I can get picky about the historical and biblical accuracy of those Christmas card scenes with a star over the very European stable and the Three (!) Wisemen there on bended knee. I tend to think “not so” when we sing about no crying the little Lord Jesus made.  But I don’t need to let it ruin my Christmas. Continue reading →