Meghan Bunn--A Starbust of Hope

   

“Starburst—Something that looks like rays of light streaming out from the center.”—Miriam Webster definition.

When I first met Meghan Bunn, then age ten, she was awaiting surgery to remove what would later be diagnosed as medulloblastoma.   That brain tumor, plus other spots on her spine, would qualify her for numerous rounds of some pretty potent chemotherapy over the coming year.

On that pre-surgical visit I asked her what her favorite candy was.   In no time, I was in the gift shop hunting for and finding Starburst candies.  I rushed back to her room saying, “If it’s o.k. with your parents, you can have one now, but save the rest for when you are able to eat after the surgery.”

An experienced chaplain had once told me that one way to communicate hope to a child facing surgery is to say, with confidence, “the candy will be here waiting for you.”

What I never expected was how this child would become a “starburst” of hope for a church, a community, and for other children and families experiencing illnesses like hers.

It has been about a year and a half since that surgery.  I have had the joy of seeing Meghan return to Church, sometimes with casts from broken bones weakened from the chemo, a scarf for her bald head, and a smile broad as a shooting star!

She has been featured on numerous television and radio programs, in newspapers, at community events, and honored by her favorite team, the N.C. State Wolfpack

She has so impacted her friends that one friend asked that in lieu of gifts for her birthday party, that donations be made to Meghan’s medical fund.

Church members prayerfully followed every one of her crises and recoveries, crying with her pain, then celebrating her recovery.

Her family welcomed the birth of another sister during the course of her chemo (Meghan now is older sister to three beautiful girls).  Those little sisters certainly have a star to look up to.

And most people in Granville County now know Meghan’s name and when they speak it, they speak with more hope and with a lot of pride.

I don’t see Meghan and her family since I no longer am their interim pastor.  But it delights me to see her smiling face on Facebook, and to read about her from time to time in the media. I always feel more hopeful when I see her photo.

I think I now know why Meghan’s favorite candy is Starburst!   That’s pretty much who she is, “something that looks like rays of light streaming out from the center”!

 

 

Questioning an Attack on Syria

As the last of four children I had to learn early in life that pacifism was not always a bad thing.  As the skinniest kid in my class, I also learned that it might be wiser and safer to outsmart my opponents, make friends with bullies, and sometimes walk the other way when I saw danger. I am aware, also, that sometimes bullies do need confrontation and sometimes I might have to defend myself physically. 

At Sunday School, I learned about some sayings of Jesus.  I knew that turning the other cheek was a virtue, that loving my enemies was not an option, and that going the extra mile was something I ought to be willing to do when necessary.

My understanding of the ways of Jesus confound me today.

Atrocities of war are all around us.  Today I see images of children suffering and dying in Syria from chemical warfare.  As gruesome and revolting as these are, I still have to wonder if bombing  Syria would only add to the misery. I wonder who to trust in deciding who had these weapons.  I  also wonder where the concern is for children who are starving, who are homeless here and around the world, or who are victims of domestic violence and abuse in many places.   Where is the outrage about how violence affects children in the streets of Kiev, or the homeless boys and girls in Ecuador, or the girls and boys who are trafficked for illicit sex to our own country?

Yes, I am outraged by the exploitation of innocent victims, many of them children, in Syria, and Afghanistan, and Iraq, and wherever there is violence.   But I cannot for the life of me see how bombing more sites and the “collateral” damage, i.e. death of innocent children (which we may not hear reported in our news media for some time) will help bring about the peace and safety we seek for all our children.

The bombing and airstrikes may occur soon.  And perhaps there will be some positive result that I cannot imagine.  I will happily eat my words and change my opinion.   I know the arguments:  “Someone had to stand up to Hitler and force his hand….someone had to put Idi Amin out of power…someone had to stand up to slavery in the U.S. and stop it…” And those arguments are just.  And I am glad for the final results of all those noble efforts to confront evil, tragic as the loss of innocent life may have been in most of those cases.

John F. Kennedy’s undelivered speech in Dallas, Texas, contained these words: “We are the watchmen on the walls of freedom.  We ask, therefore, that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility; that we may achieve in our time and for all time, the ancient vision of peace on earth, good will to men.   That must always be our goal, and the righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength.”

It is becoming increasingly difficult for us to be the watchmen on the walls of freedom in every corner of the world.   We should expose every crack in that wall and every damage to it.  The question is how do we restore every wall?  And how do we enable others to do that when we cannot?   Can we be the watchmen, but not always the repairmen?

Is the attack on Syria really a punishment of another dictator, or an introduction of more troubles for innocent citizens?  Is this the way toward peace, or an ill fated trip to save the reputation of the United States?       

 

 

           

 

Out of the Balcony; Back in the Pulpit (for a while)

August 26, 2013

At Church yesterday several people asked me if I would give up my “Balcony” blog now that I am an interim pastor again.   I’ve thought about it, but decided I would continue blogging, knowing that I will rejoin the balcony gang again in a few months.

Besides, there are a few things I am resolved to speak about which I have learned in the balcony of Church:

1.       There are hungry people around us.  I have just written my councilman, mayor, and chief of police noting that I disagree with the city ordinance in Raleigh which requires a permit to feed the hungry.   That’s right!   My councilman wrote back that he has asked the city manager for a report on this ordinance .  Also, WRAL is giving coverage to an attempt by Raleigh Police to prevent  LOVE WINS MINISTRIES from distributing biscuits to hungry people in Moore Square last Saturday.   As a balcony person at FBC Raleigh, I had the opportunity some time ago to distribute  biscuits at the same place, but didn’t realize I could be arrested for it!  Sometimes you need to get out of the balcony and talk to your mayor and councilman, maybe just invite them to come with you to distribute biscuits to the hungry.

2.      I am resolved to let everyone know, on this first day and each day of the school year, that we need to support our public schools, teachers, and students.  North Carolina ranks 48^th in per student spending and 48^th in average teacher pay.   The Governor has signed legislation to cut the budget for education resulting in fewer teachers.  Our children and their education are important enough for us to do something.  I can’t stay in the balcony on this one. Ignorance is a moral issue.   And there appears to be plenty of that in our state legislature and governor’s mansion right now.  We don’t need more ignorance in our schools.

3.      Finally, I guess I feel I need to say something about what the Church is and what it needs to be doing.   Perhaps we need to open the doors wider and raise our voices louder in defiance of a culture which tells us that Church and Christians, specifically, are the problem.   We can be the problem in so much as we don’t speak to the problems of injustice, basic rights, and unless we follow the example of Jesus who fed the poor, reached out to include the social outcasts, and confronted the establishment when they were hurting people rather than helping people.

Well, I’ve gone to preaching.   Good-bye balcony for a while.  Hello pulpit.

           

 

 

 

Back Porch Winners and Losers

I am still sore about losing the Back Porch of the Year Award three years ago.  The local newspaper asked for photos of our back porches.  Their leisure section editors would select the best back porch and feature it in the newspaper.

I had sent in my photo of my porch highlighting an old oak rocking chair I had refinished sitting next to a milk can from my in-laws’ dairy farm.  All of it was against a Carolina blue porch wall that coordinated with a floral print rocker cushion that Aunt Cille had made decades ago.  For good measure I had placed a glass of iced tea on the table next to my rocker.   Who could resist such a beautiful back porch setting?

Evidently the editors, whom I deducted by the photo of the winning entry, were looking for something of a New York City Fifth Avenue terrace rather than a Raleigh back porch.   They rejected my down home porch with its screen door that I had carefully designed to be like that of my youth, i.e. banging as the rusted spring pulled it closed after a squeaky opening. Perhaps they didn’t like my naturally aged wooden floor or the table scavenged from an old church Sunday School room  and painted blue by my daughter when she was fourteen and enduring a summer of discontent at having to move to a new city and state .

 Or perhaps they didn’t like the natural clay pots of shamrock and Jerusalem cactus, or the fact that I had painted the milk can the color of a ripe August plum, or that I displayed the sea shells my grandkids and I found at Oak Island the summer before.

As I said, I’m still sore about losing the contest.  I really think the winner was a never-at-home traveling executive who took a photo of his air conditioned, enclosed porch (from what I could tell of the photo in the paper.)  With its vases and crystal it looked like a living room to me! I suppose I should be more gracious about losing.  I should give the editors/judges some slack.   How could someone born in New York City as recently as a couple decades ago really appreciate a back porch?   Can they hear the crickets chirping at night on that winning porch?   Can they catch a glimpse of the curious raccoon come up to investigate on their high rise terrace?  Can they allow their grandkids to drip homemade ice cream all over the Italian marble floor?  Can they let a screen door bang closed and evoke the feeling of 1955 in North Carolina?  They can’t help it, I suppose.  They just aren’t old enough to know better.

I’ve decided not to feel bad about losing the contest.  My back porch is a winner and no Better Living -House and Garden- Southern Living- News and Observer editors from NYC can convince me otherwise. 

And if they ever visit my porch and don’t like it… well… “ just don’t let the screen door hit y’all on the way out, please.”

Retire the Green Weenie

It’s time to retire the Green Weenie.  I’m not talking about the New York mayoral campaign, but about the use of old and dangerous church vans and buses.

I was in the balcony yesterday when the minister reminded the congregation to pray for the associate pastor for youth and the senior class youth who were on a trip. 

This morning I heard of a Church van accident in Indiana which claimed the lives of several people.  Such news seems to happen more frequently these days, or perhaps my years in church work have taught me to be more attentive when such accidents occur.

As a youth minister decades ago, I drove a church bus called the Green Weenie.   It was old, badly maintained, yet we would pack on thirty teens for a trip of two hundred miles to the youth camp at the beach.  Traffic was not as bad then, still the old bus did not need lots of traffic or speed to pose a danger.  With a youth minister (me) who had hurriedly studied for a chauffeur’s license, we would take off with a prayer and few worries about the dangers involved in driving a bus badly maintained and with an inexperienced driver.

As pastor over many years since driving the Green Weenie, I have encouraged churches to get rid of old vans and buses, even new ones, which usually sit in a church parking lot for months at a time.  Some are used for local trips, but the long trips on interstate highways once or twice a year test the limits of a church committee’s ability to adequately maintain a safe vehicle.

Many churches think it is a bargain when Aunt Lucille gives the Church money designated for a van, or when another Church hands over their Green Weenie to a smaller church.   Fact is, these are not bargains.   A reliable rental agency can provide the buses or vans with insurance and safety features which could save lives. In most cases rentals save money in the long run.

Yes, I’ll pray for the church youth who go on trips on the church vans emblazoned with the name of the Church and often with a message like “Go with God.” Too often, that’s exactly what can happen.  Just like our bodies that we can tattoo with “Jesus loves me,” we must realize we are not immune to illness or accidents because of our faith.  What we can do is sell the Green Weenie and be responsible in how we send our kids to summer camps and retreats.  It’s just the right thing to do.

 

Remember But Move On

My  brother is the genius of my family of origin.  He retired early after a successful business career and has used his retirement years, now a decade long, in publishing four books, learning to paint, and visiting with and enjoying his children and grandchildren.  

All four of his books, two of them novels and two family histories, reflect upon times past.  In one he says he has discovered “time travel,” that ability we all have to look back and remember events of the past, bringing them to life again in writing, story- telling,  and even painting.

What I appreciate about my brother is that he visits the past, but does not get stuck there.  He continues to enjoy the present, spending time with family and enjoying the gifts of today.  If he worries about tomorrow he doesn’t tell me (although knowing our family genes I suspect he is prone to worry). If he regrets the past, it is not obvious in his writings which delight in the wit and laughter at growing up and growing older.

I thought of my brother as I was out of the balcony of First Baptist Raleigh on Sunday.  I did some time traveling back with a visit to two churches where I was pastor.  The first visit was a day trip to Roanoke where Betsy and I visited with the current pastor at Calvary Baptist Church and sat in her office which still looked so much the way it did when I was there.  Old memories came to mind and I was tempted to tell stories of the past, but disciplined myself to focus on the present and enjoy the conversation about what’s happening now with her and with the Church.

On Sunday morning Betsy and I worshiped at Greystone Church in Raleigh, seeing old and dear friends and remembering good times past.  At the same time, the sermon reminded us of today’s pressing issues and challenges.  I “time traveled” to the past as I studied each stone in the building and little architectural details, all of which had stories where I could get stuck.  My remembrances kept being interrupted by the fine sermon which called us to relevance in sharing hospitality and understanding its implications now.  Then, on Sunday evening we attended a youth concert where we saw members of  Oxford Baptist Church where I recently completed an interim.  It was good to remember our wonderful times together, but to realize, as I chatted with their new pastor, that times are changing.  He’s the same age as my son!

Tonight I’ll travel back to Raleigh First Baptist Church.   There I will stay all night, not in the balcony, but as host to families who are without homes.   FBC Raleigh hosts the Interfaith Hospitality Network one week a year.  They need persons to practice hospitality with these families who are in hard times.   I am glad I did not spend all my time just remembering the past yesterday at Greystone Church.  The pastor reminded me of the precious value of practicing radical hospitality.  Tonight I’ll get to do that from six in the evening until six in the morning, in the present reality of persons who are homeless and need to remember their stories and find reason to hope for better stories in the future. 

 

 

 

Words to Regret: "Honey, Let's Go See the Lone Ranger"

When my wife and I go a movie, it’s usually a true blockbuster.  After several months anticipation, we went to see “The Lone Ranger” last night.  I had read no reviews but felt this was going to be the movie of the year.  “Let’s get there early, honey, since I don’t want to fight the mob and sit on the front row, or even worse miss the seven o’clock showing.”

We arrived at the parking lot fifteen minutes early, still later than I had wished.  Amazingly, there were only three other cars in the theater lot.  I wondered if there had been a power outage from the thunderstorms in the area.  We paid for our tickets, senior discount duly given, and proceeded to our theater.  Preparing for the two hour and twenty minute film, I had stuffed the pockets of my cargo pants with granola bars, crackers, and some candies (who can afford concession prices on a retiree’s budget?).   I guess that’s why I felt my cargo pants slipping downward, requiring me to stop and ponder the situation.  Meanwhile, my wife talked the concessionaire into two, four ounce complementary waters while I carefully cinched in my belt to correct the cargo pant malfunction.

For ten minutes we sat alone in the theater awaiting the movie of the year.   Soon we were joined by three other couples, all who appeared our age or even old enough to remember The Lone Ranger’s 1932 radio debut.

I suppose you can tell that a movie is really long, or the viewers really old,  when fifty percent of the audience have to leave for a bathroom break during the viewing.  I’m not saying which of us had to make the trek to the bathroom, but my wife did fill me in on the part I missed:  “,…three train wrecks, a mine explosion, and a cannibalistic scene of some kind.”   But that’s o.k.  What I did not want to miss was the Lone Ranger on Silver shouting “Hi-YO Silver Away!” as the horse reared up.   It finally happened about four or five hours into the film (O.K. it just seemed like that).  Then came the only memorable line of the movie as Tonto exhorts his masked companion (Spoiler alert):  “Don’t ever say that again!”

Betsy and I laughed at ourselves.  O.K., actually my wife laughed at me.  But in the midst of a miserable movie, we had a pretty good time.  We remembered times past, we cringed at the horror scenes, we marveled at the animation, we chuckled at the sight of four baby boomer couples immersed in the nostalgia of the Lone Ranger altered by the age of computer technology, and we celebrated the fact that we didn’t have to sit on the front row to watch the film.

This morning I picked up the News and Observer to read a review entitled:  “Ranger Flop Likely to Make Disney More Cautious.” I wished I had read the review before going to the movie, but then I would have missed the great evening we spent together laughing and conversing while waiting to hear the Lone Ranger shout “Hi-YO Silver Away”!