Fifty Summers Ago and One Big Shark!

You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”              --Chief Brody, from the 1975 film “Jaws”

Welcome to this, the first day of summer, June 20^th.  The day in the northern hemisphere when the earth’s tilt towards the sun is greatest, and when the arc of our sun moving across the sky is at its highest and longest. Counting today we have 95 days of summer left, three months, and three days. You could also argue the unofficial start of summer was actually Memorial Day and its unofficial end will be Labor Day, but let’s not quibble about the calendar.

Summer is absolutely here. It has arrived. Thank you God! Thank you Mother Earth! Thank you globe for finally changing your attitude and angle for these cherished few months.

But I’d like to propose that we also mark this day as one that forever changed the way that movies are made and seen and enjoyed by us.  One day when a film debuted that was so scary, so suspenseful and so intense, that some folks still won’t swim in the ocean because of this celluloid tale.

Happy “Jaws” day!

Fifty years ago, on June 20^th, 1975, the movie “Jaws” was released in more than 400 theaters in the United States.  And summer, at least summer at the movies, was never the same again. “Jaws” was the first true summer blockbuster, a film that took a bite out of the myth that no one goes to the movies in the warm summer months.  “Jaws” proved that given the right film, summer was a great time to release widely popular and widely profitable movies.

The summer “Jaws” came out I was 14 years old and just beginning my love affair with cinema. For $1.75 ($10.50 in today’s dollars) I could go to my local “Cinema 1 to Infinity” (14 screens actually) and for two blessed hours leave behind my awkward and sometimes very lonely adolescent life. It was my escape into reel life. Into movies that took me away, dropped me into some amazing or exotic or compelling fictional setting. In the case of “Jaws” I traveled to the  island of Amity. There a twenty-five-foot, three-ton great white shark terrorized the people of that place, and yes, the people in the movie theater too.

That summer I went to see “Jaws” five times and so was born one of my favorite summer pastimes. To go to as many movies as I can in the hot and humid days of June, July, and August.  To step out of the heat into the cool of a darkened theater, a tub of popcorn, slathered in butter, resting on my lap, and a large diet Coke in hand, in a cup covered with chilly drops of condensation. Then comes the scenes of coming attractions, even more movies for me to see! Finally, the main show. A superhero movie. A horror flick.  A rom com. An odd art house film. It doesn’t matter. I am omnivorous in my cinema outings.

To me, summer means movies. And I pray and hope that you have some summer love too, like me and my films.

Maybe it’s a summer sport or a summer hobby or a summer place or a summer ritual or a summer activity that warms your heart and celebrates these few months of abandon and cherished idleness and joy.  Most of us as adults can’t embrace an endless summer like we did as kids, but we can have our own special kind of fun these precious days.

So, return to a favorite ice cream stand and let that sweet concoction treat your tongue to a taste sensation. Return to an old ballpark and watch as folks “PLAY BALL!” on a muggy night.  Return to the same grey shingled cottage you visited as a child, and squish the sand in between your toes, and take a deep breath. Return to whomever, wherever, whatever feeds your summer soul.

Or…go to the movies! I’ll be in the fourth-row center, and there is always room for one more.

Happy summer!

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

        

     

  

Fifty Summers Ago and One Big Shark!

"You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”  --Chief Brody, from the 1975 film “Jaws”

Welcome to this, the first day of summer, June 20^th.  The day in the northern hemisphere when the earth’s tilt towards the sun is greatest, and when the arc of our sun moving across the sky is at its highest and longest. Counting today we have 95 days of summer left, three months, and three days. You could also argue the unofficial start of summer was actually Memorial Day and its unofficial end will be Labor Day, but let’s not quibble about the calendar.

Summer is absolutely here. It has arrived. Thank you God! Thank you Mother Earth! Thank you globe for finally changing your attitude and angle for these cherished few months.

But I’d like to propose that we also mark this day as one that forever changed the way that movies are made and seen and enjoyed by us.  One day when a film debuted that was so scary, so suspenseful and so intense, that some folks still won’t swim in the ocean because of this celluloid tale.

Happy “Jaws” day!

Fifty years ago, on June 20^th, 1975, the movie “Jaws” was released in more than 400 theaters in the United States.  And summer, at least summer at the movies, was never the same again. “Jaws” was the first true summer blockbuster, a film that took a bite out of the myth that no one goes to the movies in the warm summer months.  “Jaws” proved that given the right film, summer was a great time to release widely popular and widely profitable movies.

The summer “Jaws” came out I was 14 years old and just beginning my love affair with cinema. For $1.75 ($10.50 in today’s dollars) I could go to my local “Cinema 1 to Infinity” (14 screens actually) and for two blessed hours leave behind my awkward and sometimes very lonely adolescent life. It was my escape into reel life. Into movies that took me away, dropped me into some amazing or exotic or compelling fictional setting. In the case of “Jaws” I traveled to the  island of Amity. There a twenty-five-foot, three-ton great white shark terrorized the people of that place, and yes, the people in the movie theater too.

That summer I went to see “Jaws” five times and so was born one of my favorite summer pastimes. To go to as many movies as I can in the hot and humid days of June, July, and August.  To step out of the heat into the cool of a darkened theater, a tub of popcorn, slathered in butter, resting on my lap, and a large diet Coke in hand, in a cup covered with chilly drops of condensation. Then comes the scenes of coming attractions, even more movies for me to see! Finally, the main show. A superhero movie. A horror flick.  A rom com. An odd art house film. It doesn’t matter. I am omnivorous in my cinema outings.

To me, summer means movies. And I pray and hope that you have some summer love too, like me and my films.

Maybe it’s a summer sport or a summer hobby or a summer place or a summer ritual or a summer activity that warms your heart and celebrates these few months of abandon and cherished idleness and joy.  Most of us as adults can’t embrace an endless summer like we did as kids, but we can have our own special kind of fun these precious days.

So, return to a favorite ice cream stand and let that sweet concoction treat your tongue to a taste sensation. Return to an old ballpark and watch as folks “PLAY BALL!” on a muggy night.  Return to the same grey shingled cottage you visited as a child, and squish the sand in between your toes, and take a deep breath. Return to whomever, wherever, whatever feeds your summer soul.

Or…go to the movies! I’ll be in the fourth-row center, and there is always room for one more.

Happy summer!

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

        

     

  

Don't Give Up the Flag. Don't Give Up the Fight.

All of us ... should remember that no amount of flag-waving, pledging allegiance, or fervent singing of the national anthem is evidence that we are patriotic in the real sense of the word. ...[this]…is not the real measure of a man's patriotism.  --Eleanor Roosevelt

I’m an American flag kind of guy. I know that might sound corny, but that’s who I am and reflects a core belief of mine. The flag still means something and stands for timeless ideals and profound values.  

The flag I fly hangs from a flagpole attached to the front of my garage. On a breezy day, it flaps in the wind, sometimes opening up to its fullness, with its thirteen alternating red and white stripes for the original colonies, and a square in the upper left corner, deep blue background, with fifty white stars, one for each state.     

I fly it on and around Memorial Day, July 4^th, and Veterans Day. I fly it on election days too. My flag stands not just for support of our country but dissent too. That’s why I flew my flag upside down last November, post-election, to show my distress at the outcome and fear for the future of the country I love.

And yes, I always stand up with hand over heart at baseball games, cap off, as “The Star-Spangled Banner” plays and I sing the words, sometimes embarrassing my seat mate. I own the forty-eight star flag my father received as a gift from the men on a Navy ship that transported him home from service in the Korean War. Dad was rushing to return back to Boston to attend the funeral of his father who’d died very suddenly of a heart attack. Dad didn’t make it on time. That flag is very precious to me.

The flag’s meaning comes from what virtues it symbolizes. Service to country. Sacrifice for a cause greater than oneself. “Our flag was still there!” the national anthem proclaims. When our forebears fought against kings and tyrants, they refused to give in to tyranny.

The flag means very different things to different people.  Some even burn the flag in protest. That right to do so is actually protected free speech under the law . As Supreme Court Justice William Brennan wrote for the majority in the 1989 case Texas v. Johnson, “We do not consecrate the flag by punishing its desecration, for in doing so, we dilute the freedom this cherished emblem represents.”

We enjoy freedom so expansive that controversial, and unpopular speech is protected. The flag symbolizes that America is a nation of laws, based in the U.S. Constitution. We are not supposed to be a nation ruled by a Capitol storming mob or by any President who might suppose that he is the law unto himself. Laws must finally trump unchecked wannabee kings.

I pray and hope in 2025 that this cornerstone of democracy can still survive.

The flag belongs to every single American, no one left out. It belongs to those protesting the actions of United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in Los Angeles. It belongs to the police at those protests and National Guard women and men too. The flag belongs to the tens of thousands of Americans who will protest on June 14^th, in “No Kings” rallies across the United States. Even when the full rights symbolized in the flag were and still are denied to many people in the United States, still, it was and is their flag too.

Democracy declares the flag can’t be denied to anyone who calls our nation home.

There will be those who try to limit the flag’s “ownership” to their political party, narrow exclusive ideology, or only to those they judge as “true Americans.”  But such rhetoric is always false, the bellicose blustering of some power-hungry despot and his followers. Some wear a flag lapel pin and then use it as some kind of public posing, not so much to actually be patriotic but instead to practice what I’d call performative patriotism.  Anybody can chant “USA! USA!” and wrap themselves (sometimes literally) in the flag but real patriotism?

It is seen in what we do and how we live as Americans. Do we contribute to the common good? Pay our fair share of taxes? Volunteer in the community and for the military? Do we care for neighbors who struggle to care for themselves? To me those actions show real patriotism.

I will continue to fly the flag in all times, no matter who is in the Oval Office or in control of Congress. Politicians come and go, rise, and fall, but the flag, since 1777, has stayed and for that I am very thankful.

So, on this June 14^th, Flag Day, maybe each of us can consider, if but for a moment, what the flag means to us and what we can do to make our country a more just, merciful, and truly free land.

With no kings and no tyrants.  

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

      

  

   

What Is a Human Life Worth? To Some, Not Much.

“Yet what greater defeat could we suffer than to come to resemble the forces we oppose in their disrespect for human dignity?”  ― the late Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg

What is the worth of one human being? One solitary soul? Or one high school kid from Milford, Massachusetts?

Chemically speaking, if the elements of my body like sodium, calcium or carbon were somehow able to be harvested, according to a June 2024 estimate by Anne Marie Helminstine, Pd. D. I’m worth about $4.50.

Is that really what you or I are ultimately worth, less than the cost of a Starbucks Vente?

Another measure of my human worth could be determined by lost wages in the event of my negligent death. If I had died at 29, my careers’ start, a jury might calculate money lost to my loved ones as a little over $2 million.

That is much more but can one life really be calculated as being about dollars and cents?

Last Saturday black masked, camouflaged and gun toting agents of  U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) descended upon a vehicle full of teenagers on their way to volleyball practice.  They were members of a team at Milford High School, a town not far from where I write and live. Milford is known for its vibrant immigrant population and eighteen-year-old junior Marcelo Gomes Da Silva was driving his dad’s car that day.

How much is Marcelo’s one life worth?

Not very much, at least according to the brutal actions of ICE, who arrested the young man and brought him to a detention facility (let’s just call it a prison, ok?) where he is still being held. Then in a bizarre twist, Patricia Hyde, field director of ICE’s Enforcement and Removal Operations in Boston, said they were actually looking to arrest Marcelo’s dad, João Paulo Gomes Pereira.

Both son and father are undocumented, according to ICE and family friends.

But does that really provide any moral justification for their treatment as apparently “less than” human beings, “worth” much less than you or me, because, you see, they don’t have citizenship papers. No papers, no human worth, not really. No papers and Uncle Sam can snatch you off the streets, from your home or place of work, and now even from your school or church.

Son and father are not known criminals, or wanted by law enforcement, so they would seem to pose no threat to you or I or the community.  But in these dark days of the new administration’s crusade to rid the United States of anyone who is not a true blue American, anything goes. 

Did you hear about the 4-year-old U.S. citizen, suffering from cancer, who was forced to end his treatments here in the U.S. so he could be deported to Honduras with his undocumented mother? I guess he’s not worth that much either.

My faith tells me that our ultimate worth as human beings comes from being created by a loving God, who makes each of us in the divine image.  We are all children of God before any other title or label or condition.  I’m not claiming that the challenge of illegal immigration should just be ignored, no.

I am suggesting that there must, MUST, be a better way, a more dignified, merciful, systematic, transparent, and just way for our country to treat people like Marcelo.  He is a good young man, according to classmates and teachers alike, a dedicated student athlete, active in his church, trying to realize the promise of his young life. But now that is gone.             

What is a human being worth? A solitary soul like Marcelo?

Marcelo is absolutely worthy and worth it as a child of God, as are all guests from other nations who live among us. May God help them. May God help us to recognize their worth as human beings, our neighbors, and fellow children of God.

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

   

They Did Their Part for America. Could We? Will We?

"In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds meaning, such as the meaning of sacrifice.”  --Victor Frankl, "Man's Search for Meaning”

It’s the first and only time I ever saw my late father cry. 

Like many men of his generation, the so-called “silent generation” my dad was not one for big emotions, or public displays of feelings. But one night, when I was home on college break and both of us shared the family room, I flipped through the TV channels and came upon an old World War II movie, 1944’s “The Fighting Sullivans” and so we settled in to watch.

And then we had our hearts broken by that true wartime story.

The “Fighting Sullivans” were the Sullivan brothers, five siblings who hailed from Waterloo, Iowa.  In January of 1942, George, Francis, Joseph, Madison and Albert, the sons of Thomas and Aleta Sullivan, signed up or re-upped, to serve in the United States Navy. It was a little more than a month after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Patriotism and the commitment to serve your country had captured the hearts of the nation. 

The Sullivans enlisted with one stipulation: that they be allowed to serve together on the same ship. The Navy had a policy against such groupings, but it was not always enforced and so they were assigned to the U.S.S. Juneau, a light cruiser. On November 13, 1942, during the battle of Guadalcanal in the South Pacific, the Juneau was struck by two enemy torpedoes, exploding, and then sinking the ship.

Six-hundred and eighty-seven men died. Ten survived. The Sullivan brothers all perished.

In my home I have several framed original World War II propaganda posters, which hung from 1941 to 1945, in factories, town halls, post offices, train stations and other public settings. The United States government used those placards to try and inspire the citizenry to do their part and support the war effort. 

The poster I most cherish depicts those five brothers, posing shoulder to shoulder, dressed in Navy garb, smiling the smiles of optimistic youth. Above them is a line of blue stars, symbols that families hung in their windows to denote that members of a household had died in battle. Underneath the photo is this challenge: “…the five Sullivan brothers, ‘missing in action’ off the Solomons” and then in bold print below, “THEY DID THEIR PART.”

They did their part.

That poster reminds me that there have been times in our nation’s history when the greatest of sacrifices was asked of American citizens, like the Sullivans. There was a time when millions of Americans laid aside their own wants and needs, gave up the normalcy of everyday life, to serve. There was a time when our nation was led by a President, who in word and deed, called forth the best in people to do one’s part. Not just as soldiers, but as civilians working in wartime factories. Participating in wartime drives to collect scrap metal. Growing a victory garden. Buying a war bond. 

So, so many actually did their part.

Which makes me wonder…in 2025, could we do our part in such a national effort? Do we as Americans still have the civic DNA to embrace the responsibilities each of us have as citizens? Could we sacrifice to defend the values we’ve claimed as American, what many of us still believe in as Americans?

Freedom. Duty. Honor. Service. Courage. Selflessness

I so want to believe there is still the spirit of the Sullivans in our nation, the spirit of all who served and sacrificed before. Yes, we as a nation sometimes fail to live up to the highest of our national aspirations. We fall short of our ideals.  But we still must have those aspirational values and virtues to stretch towards. 

My faith certainly teaches me that sacrifice and service are at the heart of any life we dare to call a “good life.” As Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

And yet, are we more focused on what we can get as citizens or what we can give in support of the greater good? Are we kind towards Americans of all ideologies, colors and faiths or do we see some as “not really American?” Are we generous in our welcome to native and foreigners alike, or do we wish to just shut the door? Are we led by politicians who respect the military? Or are we led by some who mock military service while never even having served themselves?

My God: I pray, and I hope on this Memorial Day weekend and beyond, that we can still do our part, each of us, collectively too. Do our part: as neighbors, Americans, and heirs of this land we call home.   

They did their part. Now we must learn again how to do the same.

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

                        

To Teachers Who Inspire Us: Thank You. THANK YOU!!!!

“Education is not the filling of a pail but the lighting of a fire.” –William Butler Yeats

I am who I am, in large part, because of the teachers I’ve had in this life.

We are who we are because someone took the time to instruct us in the ways of knowledge and in the ways of living.

Think of it. Good teachers make us soar. Good teachers remind us that we are so much more than we might imagine at any given moment, especially in times of doubt and insecurity. Good teachers bring out gifts and talents we might not have known we possessed.

Yes…the best teachers stay with us, long after we’ve left their classrooms.

So, I’m grateful for Professor Beck in graduate school, he of the sonorous voice and imposing countenance, teacher of Old Testament for more than thirty years when I met him. He gave me the confidence to believe I could be a pastor and serve God’s people. Mr. Mehegan, an Irishman with a wicked wit, taught political science to me in the 10^th grade. He lit a flame within my heart for public service, gave me passion for understanding how government works. That when it works well, the people thrive. When the government works poorly, it can crush a nation’s soul.

I’ll never forget Sister Anne in parochial grade school…well, I can’t really remember what she taught me. But her simple kindness and patience made me feel safe. She accepted me for me. Even when I insisted on coloring outside of the lines. Even when I tried to draw true to life illustrations of Adam and Eve…she always exuded God’s grace and care.

Who are the teachers that still go with you today? Whose voices still echo in your memory? Whose lessons still continue to inspire you?

This is the season that we celebrate teaching and education, as our children and teens and young adults graduate, move up, move on, some with sheepskins in hand, ready to take on the world.  Ready to discover who God made them to be. But to get there? They needed dedicated teachers.

Maybe the greatest gift of teaching and learning is that it never has to stop.  If we look, if we listen, if we learn, we’ll find teachers to teach us right into the days of growing older, teachers so good that they can teach an old dog, even teach this old dog, new tricks.

At the age of 50 I joined a local adult choir here in eastern Massachusetts, having never, ever sung in a formal or organized group. You see, I was scared to warble out any notes in public. I feared I’d be way off key. That I’d drive away my fellow basses and baritones. But I was determined to sing and know the joy of making music in community. Fourteen years later, choir is still one of the most life-giving and fun parts of my life. Because of my fellow choristers, yes.

But also because of another great teacher I need to thank.

Our choir’s conductor, Ethan, makes me want to sing, to sing well, to sing with energy, and to sing my heart out.  He’s the kind of teacher that brings out the best in all of the people he instructs.  He challenges us to not just sing the easy or obvious stuff, but to also sing the tough stuff too, the songs that confound us but ultimately make our notes soar, maybe even all the way up to heaven. 

In my faith tradition, Jesus is known by many names and titles but the one I affirm and believe the most is that of “Rabboni;” rabbi in Hebrew, meaning teacher.  Yes, teachers, the ones we never ever forget, they always somehow find a way to lift us up, to inspire us to be so much more than we might think possible. Great teachers somehow embody the transcendent.   

So, in the days ahead, let’s all thank the teachers in our lives, the ones past and present.  We are who we are this day because they taught us the way.    

Thank you Ethan. Thank you to all of the teachers in my life.

I am who I am because of you.

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

     

Is Nothing Sacred? In These Strange Times, Who Knows?

“We just buried our beloved Pope Francis and the cardinals are about to enter a solemn conclave to elect a new successor of St. Peter. Do not mock us.” 

 -- New York State Catholic Conference of Bishops

Is nothing sacred?

One of the distinctions theology and religion draws in viewing the world is between the sacred and the profane. Between that which is holy and beautiful and divine and that which is base, indecent, and disrespectful.  When we try our best to live in the presence of the sacred, we recognize the inherent worth of all that is made by God.

To live aware of the sacred teaches humans to move through this life honoring the dignity of all, declaring that all humans matter, in large part, because each of us is created in the image of God. But to live aware of or even in the thrall of the profane teaches humans to, instead, move through this life uncaring, even mocking humans and the human condition. Living within a profane worldview encourages humans to believe that some children of God are in fact, unworthy, less than, and therefore easy to treat with contempt, disrespect, and even hatred.

The sacred or the profane? It’s an ethical and spiritual choice we make every day. Will we choose to look up at the stars in the heavens with awe or instead, will we spend our time down in the mud on the earth, viewing life with cynical derision?  Mocking even, that which is clearly holy and sacred?

When the President chose recently to post an AI generated image of himself as if he were the pope and did so within days of Pope Francis’ death, it made me think, “Now that’s profane.” But not really surprising, given that when asked by a reporter who he thought should be the new pope, he, of course, replied, “Me.”

Funny, huh? A laugh riot!

Of course, folks in the President’s camp were quick to defend him, rationalizing his mean-spirited behavior and middle school humor by essentially saying, “Hey—can’t you take a joke? He was only kidding.” But the damage was already done and the “Insulter in Chief” had once again demonstrated that either he is completely tone deaf and lacks any mercy when it comes to the feelings of other people, institutions, and beliefs or (and this is even scarier), he actually believes that he would make a good pope.

As a person of faith, as one who grew up in the Roman Catholic tradition, I get why so many Catholics were hurt and insulted by this mocking of a holy office and in a larger sense, of a holy faith and people.  Though I left the Catholic Church for another faith tradition many years ago, I remember still, how much the pope was and still is held in high esteem and love by his followers.  How that office of Saint Peter, in place on earth for more than 2,000 years, is held as sacred, and not just by Catholics but by millions of other Christians, millions in other faiths, even by many of no faith.

And yet, one who wields more power, perhaps, than almost any other secular or religious office on earth…that person intentionally chose to put down, to deride, and to ridicule someone who embodies for so many, goodness, and the spirit of God on earth. And that just breaks my heart, so disappoints me. I’m sad not just for my Catholic friends and family members, but for any of us who hope and expect so much more out of the President of the United States.  And that goes for whoever sits in the Oval Office: Democrat or Republican, Catholic or Protestant or Jew or Muslim. You see, some of us who love our country still actually believe in the human virtues of simple decency, honor, respect, and care.  And we expect our leaders to embody these essential moral ideals for living.

But I guess that is just too much for us to hope for in these strange days that we are living in. Days when the line between the sacred and the profane seems to be up for grabs, perhaps even being erased, removed, or obliterated, and all for a bad joke.  

Is nothing sacred?                

The sacred still matters in this world. I believe with all my heart that there are still sacred ideas, sacred beliefs, and sacred institutions that try their best to reflect the goodness of God on earth, like the pope just deceased, Francis, and the newly elected, Pope Leo. Religion does not always succeed as it should and yet, I thank God, that faith keeps trying to keep the faith. And people keep trying to respect the sacred.

Do not mock us, Mr. President. Do not mock us.

(The views expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect the views of the people and church I serve nor the United Church of Christ.)

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

 

 

 

 

   

    

       

In Life's Marathon, Always Cheer For Your Fellow Runners!

“Therefore…let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us….” –Hebrews 12:1

It’s my new April tradition, a personal way for me to mark the unofficial start of spring in this part of God’s Creation. On Patriots Day in the morning, I mount my bicycle that’s sat so forlorn in the garage all winter, clip in, and then pedal my way to Route 135 in Natick so I can watch and cheer on runners in the Boston Marathon.  This year it was my very first ride of the season and my very first ride on the new hip I received last October.  No matter what my physical condition is each April, after all those snowy and cold days, I always wonder and worry if my body still works. If I can still make it up that first hill out of Sherborn and into Natick. 

But climb and conquer it I must, because I had a job to do along with tens of thousands of other spectators: to cheer on people we’d never met and may never, ever see again.  To applaud with joy as strangers ran by, ordinary folks who did something extraordinary. They ran 26.2 miles, and almost all of them were also running to raise funds for charity.

They ran for Boston Medical Center and care for the poor and indigent. For the Dana Farber Institute, so that no one gets turned away from world class cancer care.  Folks ran for the Women’s Lunch Place, a Boston shelter dedicated to helping women experiencing homelessness, hunger, and poverty.  Two members of the church I serve, Kevin and his daughter Emily, ran for a respite center and a group that empowers girls in sports. Thousands of women and men, seniors, and teens, of all colors, all backgrounds, ran for others, through the sleepy suburbs of Metrowest to the blacktop avenues of downtown in the city.  Last year runners raised $71.9 million for charity.

They deserved to be lauded, to be applauded, to be encouraged as they took some 55,000 steps and strides on their way to the finish line.  And I think all the folks who lined the route last Monday and cheered loud, cheered until they were hoarse (those women in the “scream tunnel” by Wellesley College!); they deserve a pat on the back too.  What kind of people show up to encourage total strangers, anonymous, unknown neighbors? What kind of people hand out extra waters, and even beer, and play music for the runners, hold up handmade signs, and shout out, “You can do it! GO!”?         

I’m biased but the people who did such things are, I think, just good people, doing what they could in their own small ways, to bring some encouragement, some hope, and some support into this rough and tumble world.  They were being kind, something that can seem so countercultural these days when we are being led by a person in the Oval Office who seems intent on being as mean, as nasty, as vengeful, and as cruel as he possibly can be, while his supporters cheer him on as he tears down people and values and institutions with glee.  That’s the complete opposite of what happened at this past Monday’s marathon.   

It doesn’t take a religious scholar or theologian to know that the essence of all faiths, the best versions of religion, always puts love and respect at the forefront of faith in practice.  Last time I checked the Ten Commandments there was no “Thou shalt be a jerk, especially to the hurting and innocent” or “Thou shalt work to humiliate anyone you perceive as an opponent.”  It may feel like in these strange and frightening times we are living in, that some folks are actually trying to change moral law or just ignore it, and that is happening.  But there are still some of us who remember and try our best to practice, in humility, the golden rule taught to us in houses of faith and around the dinner table.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  And for good measure, this as well:  love God, love neighbor, and love yourself. Will the world change overnight because a bunch of Bostonians and Bay Staters took the time to cheer on those crazy folks who actually had the stamina and will to run 26.2 miles? Probably not.

But I think it is a good start to remembering that when we are a nation and people of mutual care and encouragement, we always cheer one another on. We each try our best to live good lives in the deepest sense. And that best life, at least for me, always involves living for others, and not just self alone.

May our God of perseverance give us the commitment to run the race before us and to run with kindness and compassion. That is a marathon I’d love to run!       

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.