Odessa Porterfield: In Memoriam

       I seldom use this space for personal or family comments. This week I beg your indulgence to say some things about a dear and beloved lady in my life who died peacefully in her sleep last week. She was my second mother, and I was listed as a foster child in her medical records.

       Odessa had turned 105 in December of last year. I had known her for approximately 62 of those years. She was my nurse and playmate, teacher and mentor, disciplinarian and encourager. There is no element of my early life this godly lady did not touch and mold. She knew and loved my wife. Then, although the miles had begun to separate us by then, she loved and enjoyed our children.

       As a sickly child who spent a lot of time in bed with regular bouts of pneumonia and assorted other respiratory ailments, my mother needed help with the constant care her child needed. With mother's work in the daytime and the night duty for my care, Odessa took care of me for six to eight to ten hours a day. I knew her well and loved her deeply. A major part of my hatred for racism surely traces to my love for this African-American woman of tender heart, joyful spirit, and Christ-like character.

            Typically too frail to play outside as a little boy, Odessa played Lone Ranger and Tonto with me in the house. With the padded arm of a couch for my horse, she and I chased down many a bad guy and brought him to justice!

       We found irony in the fact that our memories are rooted in West Tennessee but our lives have been lived near each other in Michigan for the last six years. Every visit to her daughter Elizabeth's house was special. Her mind stayed sharp, even as her body got weaker. I told her I wished she would try to forget some of the more embarrassing stories about her childhood ward that she seemed to take particular joy in sharing. She would only laugh – and tell another.

She knew my name and those of my brothers. But she never used them. She gave us names only she used of us. Mine was . . . Umm, maybe I should keep that to myself. Yep. I think I will. But that's what she’ll call me the next time I hear her voice. And we will worship together before the throne with a freedom we didn't have back in those pre-Civil Rights days.

       The resurrection will have given back to her everything time, age, and frailty took away – and provide so much more. “And I heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Write this down: Blessed are those who die in the Lord from now on. Yes, says the Spirit, they are blessed indeed, for they will rest from their hard work; for their good deeds follow them!’ ” (Revelation 14:13 NLT).

It Didn’t Change Me

During my travels last weekend, I stayed at a truly elegant hotel. I can’t afford such places and never choose them for myself. But the largesse of friends told me to close my mouth, stop the protest, and enjoy myself. So I did. And the experience was one I will not be able to repeat anytime soon.

Such a nice place has history, of course. Part of the appeal to people who choose to stay there is that they are inhabiting space previously shared by the likes of European royalty, world-famous athletes, and rock superstars. Who knows? The person in a given room may be in the same room once used by a man or woman or family tonight’s overnight guest is occupying.

Let me spare you the expense. It isn’t worth it! When I got up the next morning, I was still just an ordinary citizen; there was no more royal blood in my veins that morning than when I went to bed. Neither did I have an athlete’s body or any sense of being able to hit a baseball out of the park in dead center field. And I certainly couldn’t sing any better. Why, I was just sure that my morning shower would have me singing in such fine form that somebody would be pounding on my door with a multi-million dollar recording contract in hand.

Okay. I’m just kidding. The trip and overnight in elegant surroundings didn’t make me lose my mind. I didn’t expect that occupying hallowed space would transform me into any of those things. Just being in a place once occupied or made distinctive by distinguished souls doesn’t transform anybody.

But you already know that. So what’s the point?

It seems to me that some people think they have a spiritual life just because they come from a certain religious tradition, are church members, or observe regular rituals associated with religion. No more than staying at the famous Adolphus Hotel turned me into Queen Elizabeth II, Babe Ruth, or Bono!

One of the most terrible satanic myths I know comes in forms such as “I am a Christian because I live in America” or “I am saved because I joined the church” or “Only the people in my church are true Christians and will go to heaven.” No more than being a member of a certain group kept King David from adultery or Judas from betraying Jesus or the church leader whose name comes to your mind right now from the moral and criminal behavior that landed him in jail.

The call of the biblical prophets rings true across the millennia:  it is not words, rituals, and claims that prove you are God’s child but family resemblance.

“Anyone who sets himself up as ‘religious’ by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world” (James 1:26-27 MSG).

Mother as Gatekeeper to Conscience

With Mother’s Day still on your mind, let me dare to state the obvious: Children who have the good fortune to interact with their mothers a lot develop healthier consciences. There is even solid scientific research to support what most people have long sensed on this point.

The human conscience is part of the likeness to God that is built into us by our Creator. It is the internal monitor for behavior. It approves or disapproves our actions, gives us assurance to proceed or warns us about dangers ahead. But a person's conscience is like a thermostat. Someone has to set it.

In a study done a decade ago now, toddlers were encouraged to imitate their mothers in such simple actions as playing tea party or tending to a stuffed animal. The researchers indexed the children in terms of their readiness to imitate what they observed. Then, in subsequent sessions, they evaluated those same young children as they were enticed with prizes for games they could win only by cheating or breaking an object that had some value to them.

Here is how the correlation worked: Toddlers who eagerly imitated their mothers were more likely to follow the rules and more likely to exhibit a sense of guilt when they broke something.

I'm not a psychologist, so I can't offer any meaningful analysis of the experiment or how it was conducted. I'm just an ordinary guy who remembers his mother's influence in his life. I have watched my own children interact with their mother. And I have cringed at some of the undisciplined behavior I have seen in kids who seem to feel no guilt or remorse for irresponsible things they do.

The furor over “attachment parenting” explored in this week’s Time magazine article largely misses the point. It isn’t how long a child is breast-fed or put in a sling versus a bouncy seat; it is consistent and nurturing relationships with parents that create security and emotional health.

Maybe the fact that I didn't want my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Whaley, to tell my mother about the words she heard me using on the playground that day is evidence to support what the psychologists have since measured. Maybe all of us who had mothers who invested energy in our moral and spiritual development have thought at times, "I hope my mom never finds out about this!" They forced us to think about our behavior until we internalized some values of our own.

If you are wrestling with a tough ethical dilemma, it might help you to think about your mother for a few minutes – even though Mother’s Day has passed.

            “My child, listen when your father corrects you. Don’t neglect your mother’s instruction” (Proverbs 1:8 NLT).

Better to Ask than Assume

The late Bill Love used to tell the story of a psychiatrist, engineer, and doctor who got lost in the Canadian woods. Stumbling on a trapper’s cabin but getting no response at the door, they went inside for shelter and waited for his return.

In the corner, on a crude platform at waist-high level, was a wood-burning stove. It quickly became not only the focus of interest for their half-frozen bodies but the center of their conversation as well.

The psychiatrist explained the stove’s unusual position as evidence of psychological problems brought on by isolation. The engineer, on the other hand, saw it as an ingenious form of forced-air heating. The physician surmised the poor fellow had arthritis and found it too painful to bend over to fuel his stove.

When the trapper finally arrived, they could not resist asking about the stove whose warmth had saved them. “Simple,” he said. “My stove pipe was too short.”

I wasn’t along for that hunting trip, but I’ve been where those guys were that day. I’ve tried to read someone’s mind. I’ve seen motives that weren’t there. I’ve walked into situations, caught a snippet of what was happening, and made a fool of myself by some badly chosen response. Or I’ve used a perfectly innocent slip of the tongue as my excuse to take offense. I can be a real jerk at times!

On occasion, the victim has been a stranger. At other times, it was a friend from church or colleague at work. Most often, it has been my wife or child.

Communication is a wonderful thing – when it happens. But there are so many barriers. Each of us brings baggage to every situation. Words can be vague or carry very different nuances for people from different backgrounds. Then there are the prejudices and blind spots all of us have.

Lots of confusion could be eliminated and far more progress made this week by following this simple rule: When something isn’t clear, ask. Don’t assume. Don’t guess. Don’t mind-read. Trying swallowing your pride and saying, “I’m not sure I understand. Do you mind explaining that to me?”

This simple strategy could save you embarrassment, time, and money. More important still, it might save one of your life’s most important relationships.

The Value of a Good Laugh

  You know it’s going to be a bad day when . . .

·      Your knees buckle but your belt won’t.

·      You sink your teeth into a juicy steak – and they stay there.

·      You plop down in a rocking chair and can’t make it go.

·      You routinely dim your lights for economics rather than romance.

Does your image of a holy person include a smiling face and laughter? Or is a saint someone with a stern face? Did you ever notice how often the Psalms exhort us to “rejoice in the Lord”? And this is from the Bible: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength” (Proverbs 17:22).

God must have a sense of humor. Did you ever see a giraffe, anteater, or duck-billed platypus? And what about the zebra? Now there’s a good case for God’s willingness to do something just for the fun of it.

One of the most refreshing things in human experience is a belly laugh. Nothing relieves stress so quickly and completely as laughter. If you have children or grandchildren, I guarantee that fifteen minutes in the floor with them tonight will do more to invigorate you from the day’s tensions than whining or having a stiff drink. If you don’t have children, just act silly with someone you care about for a quarter hour. It’ll do you so much good that you’ll make it a habit.

I once heard a fellow lament that most of the Christians he knew had faces as long as mules and looked like they had just bitten into green persimmons. Oh, I hope not! What a poor recommendation of faith to unbelievers. What a terrible misrepresentation of the God who, we say, gives meaning to our lives. Without joy, what is the meaning?

There’s a serious side to humor, all right. What you laugh at tells a lot about your character and self-image. But laughter itself shouldn’t be suspect as a waste of time or a distraction. God shines through when people laugh.

So lighten up. Devote some energy this week to learning to laugh at your life’s comedic twists and turns. After all, you’re not getting out of it alive anyway!

Easter: Light for the Dark Places

 

When I was about ten years old, my mother and father took me to Carlsbad Caverns. I still remember the gigantic stalagmites and stalactites. I can almost feel the cold of being deep inside the earth on a hot summer day in New Mexico. But my most vivid memory is of the moment when our guide had all of us find a place to sit down and – after warning of what was about to happen – turned off all the lights that had been put inside the dark belly of the earth.

I felt like I was tumbling in space. My heart raced. With one hand I grasped the rock ledge on which I was sitting and with the other reached for my dad.

Fortunately, the tour guide didn't allow it to last long. He turned on his flashlight. And it looked as bright as a million candle-power searchlight!

An ordinary flashlight that costs $3.95, complete with batteries, can push back the overwhelming, frightening darkness of the Carlsbad Caverns. A beam that would be hardly noticeable at ground level on a sunny day looked like a laser in deep darkness. As soon as it appeared, my stomach gave up its tumbling sensation. My lunch became stable again.

I could see my parents’ faces in outline again and knew I wasn't alone. I sensed that the single light in our guide's hand heralded the return of the lights which had guided us previously and whose presence we had taken for granted.

When God created Planet Earth to be our home, he came onto a scene that was formless and dark. He pushed back the darkness with light, then set about to bring order to chaos. It takes light for life to survive and thrive.

When Jesus was re-creating the human race and restoring hope to despairing people, he came onto a scene made formless and dark again. This darkness had come by human rebellion against his holy will and humanity's inhumanity to its own. In his birth, teaching, lifestyle, and personal victory over death on Easter morning, he pushed back the darkness with the light of heaven's bright glory. To use John's language, Jesus was the light shining into our darkness; the darkness could not conquer the light he brought.

If you are feeling the head-over-heels sensation that comes of being in the deep darkness, look in his direction. Jesus is still the Light of the World. And it is only in the presence of light that you can live, grow, and flourish.

“I am the light of the world,” he said. “If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life” (John 8:12 NLT).

Dinner at the Agape Restaurant

              A fascinating and thoughtful article in the Wall Street Journal (Feb 18, 2012) laments the “loss of a sense of community” in our culture. I call it fascinating for the simple reason that its author acknowledges that its loss is traceable directly to “the privatization of religious belief that occurred in Europe and the U.S. in the 19^th century” – when faith was booted off the town square of public, communal truth and relegated to the ghetto of private, non-falsifiable personal opinion.

            Alain de Botton, author of the article in question, is an atheist who wants to find a way to recover the spirit of community in a secular world. The one thing he will not suggest is a return to a personal God, authoritative Scripture, or objective behavioral standards. He suggests a path to building a superstructure for community without bothering with the foundation of faith.

            The article is titled “Religion for Everyone” and seems to be a sincere lament over the loneliness that radical individualism has created; when each of us is an island of her own wants, fears, and self-defined values, heady isolation quickly becomes cold seclusion from others – all of whom struggle with their own wants, fears, and self-created values that are in conflict with those of others.

            De Botton has the dual goal of moving people from personal selfishness to harmony and from despair to hope. So he suggests an Agape Restaurant where people could read and reflect on the Book of Agape. (No, I’m not making this up!) All genders, ethnicities, and customary distinctions would sit together; there would be a spirit of acceptance leading to friendship. Readings would allow people to explore all degrees of alienation and pain, fear and regret. The result of an evening there would be compassion, forgiveness, and unity.

            The de Botton agenda intrigues me. Invites me. Encourages me. And I wish our human failure across the centuries had not left him so disillusioned with faith that he cannot see that his quest is doomed to failure. (There’s certainly a lesson here for those of us who love the church to get our act together!)

            No less than Thomas Jefferson produced an edition of the New Testament that omitted the supernatural in order to leave only the moral teachings of Jesus unfettered by faith; but the authority to teach as he did derives from his incomparable divine nature put on exhibit in his occasional miraculous actions. Similarly, our quest for community begins with a common confession of need (sinfulness) and the unity created by receiving and sharing the healing (forgiveness) God offers in Agape Restaurants (churches) that are open to the ultimate Book of Agape (the Bible) that tells a story of Good News worth sharing.

            One follow-up letter to the Journal summed up my view of the article pretty well: “Certainly seems like a lot of trouble just to avoid going to church.”