United Methodism

THE LAST APPLE

November 2015

Autumn sharpens one’s imagination. Days are filled with transition. The weather teases — do we chance leaving the tomatoes on the vine one more day? Was it frost last night, or nearly frost? When will the leaves turn? Will they be mostly golden or red or brown this year? Day to day, transition comes, sometimes slowly and sometimes in a burst. Some things end, some things anticipate a spring.

This year, again, I have been planing bulbs (300 of them in the last week). Tulips, daffodils, allium. I know better, especially setting those tulips in bed for the winter, as the deer find them irresistible in the spring. I foolishly calculate that if 100 bulbs are set this fall, maybe 50 will survive, especially if I spred some deer repellent nearby next spring. Okay, so sign me up as an eternal optimist! Still, there is something compelling about autumn. A thinking person and/or a person of faith will see this as a time for hope… or, so I tell myself.

Each fall I think of the haunting passage written by E. B. White who described his wife Katherine, as she aged, still kneeling each fall to plant bulbs. He wrote: “As the years went by and age overtook her, there was something comical in her bedraggled appearance… her studied absorption in the implausible notion that there would be another spring, oblivious to the ending of her own days, which she knew perfectly well was near at hand, sitting there with her detailed chart under those dark skies in the dying October, calmly plotting the resurrection.” [Forward in Katherine S. White, Onward and Upward in the Garden, Boston: Beacon Press, 2002.]

I’m with Kathrine White — calmly plotting the resurrection, indeed. As I plant bulbs and trees I am aware that I may or may not be around to enjoy them 15 or 20 years hence — but my prayer is that someone will benefit and thereby be reminded of the beauty and promise found in these autumn days.

This year I also planted trees — decorative plum, pear and magnolia. They stand all along the driveway. And there were three apple and two cherry trees planted last spring. I find I have to protect them all from the deer, who like to munch on the apple or cherry tree leaves or, in the case of the other trees, the bucks will come and scar the trunks during rutting season.

We lost the old apple tree in the front yard this fall. A friend who knows about such things tells me the tree was approaching its 100th year… but we watched as it slowly faded in health over the past three years. Someone, a century or so ago planted this apple tree; perhaps, like me, hoping it would be appreciated by another in a distant future. This fall the time had come; we had to cut that tree down. Sad, as the old apple tree in the front of the house was one of the features we loved when we bought the place three years ago.

In mid-September, walking past the tree, I noticed one last apple hanging up among the few branches still clinging to life. (For those of you wondering, I took a cutting off that branch, in the hope I might plant it next spring — yes, my hope springs eternal!) The tree is now down, the wood cleared and stump ground up. That last apple — tart and memorable — has now been eaten and enjoyed. In my imagination, that last apple lingers, remaining for me as an autumn metaphor.

As my seventieth birthday approaches on the cusp of a New Year, I still think of myself as young. I do this even when I am sometimes offered the “senior discount.” And this without my even asking! More and more often, when speaking of friends, I add the words “of blessed memory” upon mentioning their names. Time passes, life’s autumn season arrives. Thankfully it does not mean that imagination disappears.

It is not only friends who have passed on. I find institutions and organizational cultures are often “of blessed memory.” Some gifts of courage and quality of thought I saw in the life of others seem to have evaporated in recent decades. I confess to grieving the loss of courage and imagination among many who lead my denomination, the United Methodist Church.

It is strange to go to denominational gatherings and realize that there is little appetite or awareness of the need to speak prophetically on matters of justice. In this early autumn season of my life, when I look at Indiana United Methodism at least, it is easy to feel like I am one of the last apples.

(Thankfully there are a few other ‘last apples’ around, but too few. Hopefully we are not the “bad apples” as some now seeking to reform United Methodism seem prone to suggest. Please know that I am all too aware of the inadequacies that were abundant in earlier generations. I remember the bigotries and peevishness of some laity, clergy and denominational leaders — I remember these well. I also remember courageous bishops and pastors who spoke prophetically about racism, war and peace, sexism and economic injustice.)

Today, few wise and clarion voices are speaking. The denomination is knotted up a homophobic dystrophy. There is silence. Or worse, we find a continuation of bigotry and exclusion toward gay and lesbian folks, lay and clergy. There is more — there is too often silence regarding issues of economic injustice or environmental destruction. In May 2016, the denomination will join in another General Conference — signs are not encouraging. In Indiana, I find so-called United Methodists have little in common with those who provided a place for the prophetic tradition over the past century.

Maybe the old tree has been removed, chopped down, and I missed the felling of it. Maybe. There is an old saying the “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I wonder. Sometimes I look around and think the whole orchard has been moved or chopped down. What was once Methodism has become something wholly different. Perhaps this new orchard is one of persimmons or crab apples. I am surprised by the way a pathetic, poorly articulated and distorted Calvinism (dividing the world into the “saved and the fallen” with no hope for transformation or renewal) has replaced the Wesleyan vision of redemption and perfect love.

Even so, I can’t stop kneeling and planting the bulbs — and trees — of the future. I will still try to take cuttings from the old tree and see if these can be brought to life — and perhaps appreciated by someone 100 years from now. Maybe I am not among the last apples after all.

Hands of the Strong: Lamp Post Literalists.

Amid the twists and turns of everyday life, I have been reflecting on the “recipes for a significant life” offered in our culture these days. If you are like me, you long for certitude — for the right idea, the perfect politician, the road to true happiness. And, if you are like me, you are tempted to believe there is a shortcut to such significance and joy.

Such hunger for certainty and clarity is, I have come to believe, the seedbed of fundamentalism. Before your ask, yes, I believe fundamentalism is a shared human dilemma — make that a shared human flaw. Fundamentalists can be clothed in many garbs. Yes, there is “Islamic Fundamentalism” and also “Christian Fundamentalism,” “Jewish Fundamentalism,” “Hindu Fundamentalism,” or, even, “Atheistic Fundamentalism.” We can too easily, in our search for the simple answer, turn to criticize persons of other faith traditions. I have come to believe that we must first speak clearly to persons, tempted to fundamentalism, in our own tradition.

William Sloan Coffin, of blessed memory, put it this way: “Some Christians use the scriptures like a drunk uses a lamp post — more for support than for illumination.” Bill Coffin was at the time pastor of Riverside Church in New York City. He spoke of the human temptation to selectively use scriptures, or our faith, as a prop for our own shallowness, even our weaknesses. Coffin suggested that we ALL are tempted to be “selective literalists,” — each of us eager to find the easy way forward, the simple formula, the one confirmation for what we already believe.

This desire for the one formula, the simple rule, is too much at play in shaping our politics and our religious life. It is astonishing, for example, that the mission of the United Methodist Church has been diverted, and in my view almost lost, by a focus on homosexuality. This is based on 5 or 6 verses of scripture that are literally (and in my view wrongly) applied to our day. How long will our mission and message be held captive to such sad smallness of vision? In Indiana, we recently saw how this selective literalism of these scriptures was employed to pass legislation that would allow for discrimination against LGBT persons.

In our nation’s life, selective literalistic interpretation of the second amendment to the constitution has led us to a foolish worship of fire arms. Such interpretations ignore any emphasis on “a well regulated militia.” The “right to bear arms” is the predicate, not the subject, of this amendment. As a result of this selective interpretation, we live in a nation where persons too easily trade in guns (even assault weapons) without background checks or any proof of competency. This flawed literalism has lead to neighborhoods too often like war zones — places where our children’s lives are under daily threat.

What then shall we do? Columnist David Brooks’ new book The Road to Character is helpful. Brooks suggests that the development of character requires humility, discipline, perspective and practice. He notes that we too easily substitute our narcissistic desires for the gift of mature faith and the richness of the life well-lived. He speaks of the dangers of smug superficiality — this, too frequently, reinforced by our fundamentalist instincts. Finding strength and significance in our personal lives and in our national conversation will require a broader imagination and the admitting that we still have things to learn — that we are vulnerable to the siren songs of selfishness and narcissism.

The path to being spiritually healthy people, living emotionally substantial lives and sustaining healthy communities requires something more, something deeper. Brooks speaks of dimensions of faith beyond our desire for personal validation or easy certainties. He points to a better way forward offered by thousands, great and small. He notes that in every community there are persons who are little recognized, yet seem to radiate the gift of faith as they relate to others. And he notes several of the great thinkers and actors of faith. Folks like St. Augustine offer a richer way forward, shaped by an understanding that we are all children of God, easily tempted to forget our place and to focus on our selective biases.

In my best moments, I am able to read the scriptures in a more holistic way and see there the deeper trend lines of God’s activity in human history. There is a larger narrative at play than my self interest. I see that for faith to be vibrant and meaning-filled will require attention to many dimensions and not my desire to exclude or simplify. It will require head, heart and hands. (See the sermon at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SgvnUrT7tk.)

The poet Marianne Moore calls for us to live beyond the “insolence and triviality” around us and to become “literalists of the imagination.” She suggests that we explore “imaginary gardens with real toads in them.” So speaks the poet — and the columnist — and this pastor who seeks to keep learning. I too often get focused on the real toads and miss the larger vision of the garden. You?