What a lovely service this morning at First Presbyterian in Carbondale. Pastor Meg discussed something that is at the crux of dissatisfaction in many churches. Many congregants feel unseen. This malady is not just in churches; it is in life. When I was the manager of the housekeeping department, which had 400 people, I had an open-door policy for everyone in the organization. No appointment necessary, if I were in the office, you could walk in, and we would talk. Student staff, as well as full-time often needed someone to listen. I heard of many illnesses and domestic issues, as well as being someone who took the time to care. Many friends cried, as did I on occasion. We live in a people-packed, lonely world.

University Chancellor Jo Ann Argersinger projected to everyone that they were vital to the success of SIUC. Not by rote, but by compassion and a refreshing genuineness. She walked into the middle of a field being mowed by a Grounds Worker and shook their hand and visited with them. Soon, we understood that Jo Ann saw us and recognized our value. No longer was it us and them; it was a team with a compassionate leader.

At times, the story of Christ does not capture people’s hearts because they do not see it reaching them. We see Jesus in the love and acknowledgment of us and where we live. I want to follow you, Christ, if you showed me him by seeing me and hearing me. Throughout my life, I have been compelled to go where I was wanted. ‘I do not care how much you know until I know how much you care about me.’

Millions follow the current President because they believe he cares about them. Perhaps we should blow the dust off the books of theology and practice, visiting the lepers, the blind, and the homeless. We church folks wonder why our churches do not fill up with our dynamic message of Christ. We go where we are wanted. We go where we feel seen and a part of the mission. We seek eyes that see us.

‘I attended church this morning at First Presbyterian,’ Chet said. ‘The pastor greeted me warmly, and her genuineness was overwhelming,’ Chet noted. ‘I knew I was not a face in the crowd, she was interested in me as a person,’ Chet continued. ‘It has been some time since someone was interested in me for who I am,’ Chet observed. ‘I felt seen as many members of the congregation shook my hand and looked me in the eyes, they saw me as a unique individual,’ Chet laughed for joy. ‘The eyes say much more than words convey,’ Chet said softly. ‘The people reminded me of Jesus and all that I read about him; they loved me for who I am,’ Chet said with a tear in his eye.

‘Another day of hot grass mowing and no one seems to care about my contributions,’ Grounds Worker Albert thought as he wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I have seen many Chancellors go into the Stone Center to meet with the University President and then come out without ever looking my way, although I wave often at them,’ GW Albert mused. ‘Who is that little woman walking through the field in her high heels?’ GW Albert asked. ‘She is smiling from ear to ear, and she indicates that she wants to speak with me,’ GW Albert noted with dismay. ‘I have not met a nicer person she wanted to know about my job and asked about my family. She told me how vital to the success of SIUC I was,’ GW Albert said with a tear in his eyes. ‘She invited me to Anthony Hall to visit with her in her office,’ Albert laughed for joy.

The air feels wet. Air you can wear. The temperature will not fall much and will return to its former glory in the morning. No thoughts of snow this evening. This is an evening for sitting on the porch and swapping stories, drinking lemonade, and fanning with the funeral home fan. In my halcyon days, everyone had a funeral home fan. Not many had air conditioners. When a business had air conditioning, they advertised the rare cool fact on their sign. A big smiling snow figure blowing cold air from his mouth. Most of us depended on our funeral home fans. In those innocent times, we never really got away from the outdoors. All the windows in the house were open the doors were open as we had screen doors in rural America. We were a community living in each other’s lives night and day. We heard the TVs and often followed the television show our neighbor was watching. There was the occasional argument as tempers flared in the heat. There was reconciliation. Interesting in our sanitized General Audience world.

The frogs are practicing the scales. The evening performance of the Bullfrog Quartet is soon. Seven geese are in the yard near the Brooks Pond. They have that summer air about them, languid and peaceful. They do not have a care in the world, although one stands sentry post. He has a stance of determination. He does not move while his friends graze. Another goose walked toward the Sentry rapidly and spread his wings. The sentry got the idea and moved forward. I think they may have second billing for the nightly Brooks Pond Concert.

We spoke of fame and fortune in the 1960s. We did not know any rich folks, but thought it must be nice. If we had discretionary money, we might have a Coca-Cola. Santa Claus liked Coke as there were pictures of him drinking one around Christmas. The Vietnam War was terrible. Cousin Billy was drafted, as was Danny Dorris, cousin Brenda’s husband.

The white cat chases the Great White Heron. The Herron flies a few feet away, and the contest continues.

The Bullfrog Quartet is ready. In the audience are folks from the 1960s. They have joined the Old Man at Brooks Pond for a Saturday concert.

The runners were at the Woods this morning. They are ready for June to arrive. We have lived in the New House for over 25 years. It seems like yesterday. Folks are fishing at the pond. Their voices are exuberant. We love water. The clouds promise Storm. The peel of thunder and the brilliance of lightning. Storm is a fact of life in Southern Illinois. I have never known life without it. So it goes with our journey. Storm is part of the deal.

We sail on mirror water until we do not. I often told MJ that we should enjoy each year as it may be the best of our our lives. Earl often ran from Storm. He instructed me to grab Cheetah and run for the car. Earl being an adult and a lineman for the county I assumed he must know best. Upon reflection I am not sure. We drove in one of Earl’s vintage cars as Cheetah a Chiwahwa sat in the back. I was suddenly her friend on Storm Patrol. Earl rolled down his drivers side window and gazed into the dark sky. I knew he must be seeing something that I did not. Finally we returned home. We had evaded Storm again.

Storm seeks us in many avenues. It searches our weak points our fears and phobias. We want to be aligned with God’s cause if only we knew what it was. There is a ready supply of people who tell us they are authorized to speak for God in his absence. We think they must know what they are talking about with their irrational exuberence. Follow Me they say and I will make you fishers of men. How did they gain this elite position. Did it come to them in the night? Did they go to Theology School? Can they see through the Storm like Earl? Did they wake up and conclude God wanted them to preach? The Storm rages on.

We seek him here we seek him there we seek him everywhere. Perhaps prayer and rationale thinking are the key.

‘That was a bad storm last night’ Billy B said. ‘I thought I was going to have to go for the ditch but it was full of water,’Billy B continued. ‘I have been searching for a Preacher who is not afraid to disagree with the politically powerful,’ Bill B noted. ‘A Preacher who speaks Christ’s words regarding the stranger in our land the poor and those with no voice,’ Billy B said with tears in his eyes. ‘Someone who seeks neither fame or power,’ Billy B whispered. ‘Chet told me of a Preacher in the Woods who speaks to a small group of people,’ Bill B explained. ‘You do not see him on TV nor read of him on Facebook,’ Billy B offered. ‘His words are prohibited by the President and the elite in power,’ Billy B said softly.

‘He is timeless, ‘Jane said. ‘He speaks with no fear or favor all are welcome,’ Jane continued. ‘The Preacher speaks of the Poor of the Land,’ Jane said. ‘He eats honeysuckel and wild berries and sleeps on a stone pillow,’ Jane said with a faint smile. ‘His ministry has flown under the radar but is spreading by word of mouth, Jane continued. ‘Those who help him wear the clothes of the bluecollar worker and have little money,’ Jane noted. ‘He said the other day that in him father’s house are many mansions but I saw no evidence of such a claim. ‘The Preacher told us to hide with him from the Storm as soon all will be revealed,’ Jane smiled. ‘Treat your neighbor as you want to be treated don’t listen to false prophets and love each other,’ Jane said.

‘I have not heard a lounder crack of thunder,’Chet exclaimed! ‘The lightning lit up the night sky like it was noon,’ Chet continued. ‘On Wall Street in Manhattan people are dancig around the golden bull in a manic state,’ Chet noted. ‘The Stockmarket keeps rising people are rich beyond their wildest dreams,’ Chet said. They have erected a golden statue of President Trump and many are falling on their knees to worship it,’Chet cried.

June is an exciting month. School is out. Lazy days of exploration and fun. The air smells sweeter the breeze feels magical. A time to solve a mystery. We may have so much fun and get involved in an intricate riddle that we will not return to regular time in the fall.

‘It was a long school year,’ Jane said. ‘I did not know second grade would be so hard,’ Jane continued. ‘Equations are killer,’ Jane laughed. ‘The deeper I got into them, the more mysterious they became, Jane noted. ‘At times I would be so lost it became difficult to return to the non-mathematics universe,’ Jane sighed. ‘Equations explaining concepts of the universe that are beyond our comprehension,’ the Physicist tells us. ‘I am ready for a trip to Pounds Hollow, Jane proclaimed.

‘The water looks especially inviting today,’ Chet beamed. ‘I can see the bottom and all that is on the lake floor,’ Chet marveled. ‘There is Mr Creature’s home,’ Chet observed. ‘Look, my home is in the deep water, and Dad is waving and grinning,’ Chet said with wonder. ‘It seems that Pounds Hollow has been transformed by something magical,’ Chet observed. ‘I think we must dive in and go under to see if our eyes are deceiving us,’ Chet suggested.

‘Greeting my friends,’ AE said. ‘I have been waiting for you to arrive,’ AE continued. ‘Welcome to the mystery of time,’ AE said with a puff on his pipe. ‘Here we all exist at the same time in the waters of Time,’ AE winked. ‘Yesterday, today and tomorrow are here for your enjoyment,’ AE laughed. ‘You guys understand the Theory of Relativity,’ AE noted. ‘What you are seeing is the visual explanation of the mathematical equation,’ AE said as he pushed back his great shock of white hair. ‘Across the pond is your school, and you are currently in mathematics class,’ AE laughed. ‘Your adventures and the mysteries you will solve this summer are unparalleled,’ AE proclaimed.

‘Oh my goodness, where did I go?’ Jane said with a nervous laugh.

‘Today is the last day of school, and you just finished your last equation for the year,’ Chet smiled.

A lovely summer day in late spring. A squirrel was frolicking in the Woods. He was enjoying the warm weather. MJ and I had a quick trip to Paducah yesterday. We saw our friend Jay. Jay is a wonderful man. I feel uplifted each time I am with him. We have collected several of Char’s paintings throughout this century. They are mesmerizing and a good place to spend an afternoon contemplating.

I thought about something I told a former Chancellor many years ago. I told her that success at SIU means living in the Grey. Everything is not black and white, although those who believe they are on a mission from God think so. Our brains are capable of holding more than one opinion at a time. Indeed, much of our current state of affairs results from holding fast to beliefs when they are based on myth and fable. This affects both liberals and conservatives. Albert Einstein did not come up with the theory of relativity by being close-minded. Churches do not flourish by being closed to new ideas. Nationalism does not have to be White Nationalism.

If you are accepting of all people, your mind and heart are open to new and different customs. When we think of those who are suffering, we first must accept that they are human like us. To be a lover of war, you have to marginalize those with whom you are at war. We are raised with a steady diet of rhetoric of going to war to preserve peace. Our political leaders proclaim that we are bringing peace to hurting people as we slaughter thousands of them.

The Grey Zone is where life is. Affording understanding of humans with a different opinion than you have. The person who is confident that they have all of the answers to life’s persistent questions is a narcissist. As a group, we are not all good humans or bad humans; we are humans and members of the same tribe. Communication with open ears and an open brain is the key to living in the Grey Zone.

Hateful words breed violence. Lying to people is not a badge of honor. Our ethos of violence as the means to have people love us is false. Bombing women and children in their homes in their beds is horrendous. However, we do not hear this on the nightly news. When I was a boy watching the Evening News with Walter Cronkite, the number of dead American soldiers was given for the day each evening. Also, the number of North Vietnamese was given. The Vietnamese number was much greater than the American number. Over 50 thousand Americans lost their lives in Vietnam. At the conclusion of the war, we fled to the top of a hotel as helicopters picked us up. We did not achieve our supposedly noble objective. American soldiers were catcalled and berated. Senator John McCain spent 6 years as a prisoner of war. We fought and died because President Johnson a Democrat did not want to lose face. The father of significant Civil Rights legislation sent American soldiers to war for the sake of his ego.

So it goes. We need to engage in the less flashy but positive communication with each other.

Our form of government is based on compromise or the Grey Zone. There is only one method of passing legislation, Compromise. Culure Wars have nothing to do with government. If a person is transgender or Gay or atheist is irrelevant to the 300 million of us in the United States. Humanity has always been a coat of many colors. We are more alike than we are different. Understanding is what we need. Compassion is what we need. Empathy is a required element to living in the Grey Zone.

It has always been so, but of late more. Faith and political leaders tell us one thing, while another is before our eyes. An intriguing concept is …

Do You Believe Your Lying Eyes

It has always been so, but of late more. Faith and political leaders tell us one thing, while another is before our eyes. An intriguing concept is that if you are a Christian, you will become rich. Of course, the price of admission is giving the preacher a lot of money…give until it hurts. Now, a church always has members of its congregation who are doing well financially, and many poor of the land. The poor of the land are giving their little hearts out and doing without, and remain poor and poorer since they gave their grocery money. The preacher is doing much better, thank you, as God has blessed him/her with an influx of cash. The pervasive message of give more, with the more being over and above 10%, is pounding like a drum in the ears of the cheerful poor giver as they become destitute. There is a prosperity doctrine, but the riches flow upward rather than downward. Folks continue this illegible prescription because they want to be rich. They settled that God has blessed their pastor with the horn of plenty as a sign of his divine calling. Their plight is not to reason why. They must do or die.

Politicians are notorious for saying one thing and doing another. As a rule, they attempt to keep their lies consistent and not deny what they have said publicly and filmed saying it. The term ” fake news “has reached a crescendo of popularity. President Trump created the moniker and uses it daily. His followers and supplicants use it daily. Similar to the preacher who tells you that you will be rich if you send him money, and your eyes and ears reveal this is not true, so it is with what Trump tells us. All that is required is to go to the videotape for the exact account of reversal after reversal in real time. When we subcontract our eyes and ears to a political or religious leader, we lose.

If it seems too good to be true, it is. A good admonishment is to be a checker of fruit. A good tree brings forth good fruit, and a bad tree brings forth bad fruit. First impressions are often correct. The conundrum is that people who want to be at the front of the pack are often narcissistic. Folks who have wonderful abilities and think deeply are often introverted. We look for the spectacle. We want to see John Wayne ride in on his horse and whoop ass and take names. We want someone to tell us what we want to hear. If the leader does that, he or she is wise and gifted. If they tell us the truth, we wonder why we are believing our lying eyes.

My typical response when I was in trouble as a child was, ‘Not Me’ or ‘I Don’t Know,’ when it came to who had committed the offense. Certainly, I was not the guilty party. I spent my time doing good for others. I countenanced no mean thoughts. I obeyed the rules of Neva J. The time I hit Pauly on his head with the butt of a toy gun and a goose egg must have been the stress of a four-year-old. On another occasion, I took Neva J’s red lipstick and drew all over the restroom walls while she was gone. She was unhappy with my art.

Not Me and I Don’t Know are alive today. Over my 26 years as a manager/administrator at Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale, I encountered their antics on many occassions. When work was undone or in need of improvement, the two inventors lurked in the corner shadows.

Our leaders rely on “Not Me” and “I Don’t Know” daily. ‘It is the Democrats’ fault, they say. The Democrats say it is the Republicans’ doing. It has become increasingly difficult to live in our time with skyrocketing fuel prices and inflation. Not my problem, President Trump says as he returns to talking about the White House Ballroom or a slush fund for the January 6 insurrectionists.

‘Not My Problem’ is a cousin to ‘Not Me’ and ‘I Don’t Know’. ‘Not My Problem ‘ is pervasive in today’s pass-the-buck world. ‘Let George do it,’ we say. ‘I did not cause the homeless girl to be in the condition she finds herself, we say as we pour another glass of Merlot. ‘Politics is politics, it has always been so,’ We say. ‘People need a little tough love or a freshly opened container of ‘Whoop Ass,’ We laugh as we cut the ribeye on Memorial Day.

This morning, the butterfly came to visit. She flew closely for some time, and I prepared my camera. She was orange with black spots. She came to my hand and was prepared to stay there. I wondered what I had done to obtain such an honor. Perhaps it was my cologne, which is named Angel. She was one Angel attracted to another Angel.

Butterflies fascinate me. So elegant and sublime. A fragile creature of beauty. A creation of God representing him well.

So it is with we humans. We are intricately and majestically fashioned. Each of us is unique. We usually walk rather than fly. Yet we are meant to soar with the eagles. We thrash about looking for our mission in life. My Butterfly knew her mission. She is here to lift the spirit of the downtrodden. She is here to bring peace. She was here to be a friend to the Old Man.

The simplest things are the most profound. Communion with nature, communion with each other. A simple occurrence that reveals faith and the cosmos in its happening. We want to hear the timpani of the clanging cymbals. The Earth should move toward us. The powerful elite must place their stamp of approval on us. Yet the Butterfly says it all.

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and I have miles to go before I sleep.’ Robert Frost

Fine clothes dry rot. Mansions crumble.
The heady joy of career success is a memory as life proceeds. My colleague often said that we struggle and strive, and yet none of us gets out of this world alive.

The sky was dark on the day of chaos. People ran in all directions. The President said to trust him. He had the answers. Yet he seemed to not understand the suffering in the world. He noted that he was not worried about affordability. Herman Wouk wrote the
Winds Of War. The winds of war blow about us constantly. Everyone is afraid of what is coming. Irrationality is distressing. Hope is needed. The Butterfly is needed.

I was speaking with someone on the phone a few days ago and he asked me how old I was. When I responded I was going on 69 he exclamied ‘Oh my God I did not know you were that old.’ He later said we must see each other soon as we do not have much time. So it goes as the clock ticks. I have heard you are as old as you feel. Another good saying is age is just a number. The power of positive thinking, indeed. A friend asked me some time ago if I felt old. I considered that what I felt was not particulary relevant to the question. Life for we happy humans is grounded in physical reality.

We chase the Dream. A gifted speaker convinces us of a better world in a bottle. Thinking rich makes you rich is only part of the puzzle. Work is usually involved. Success is incremental.

Faith is not a job with good benefits and a health plan. It is a journey on rainy and sunny days and dark nights of the soul. Faith is shoes that fit comfortably and a multicolored cloak that is both cool in the summer and warm in the winter. The clothing of faith is becoming in youth and old age. Versatile yet durable.

Reality is not an address that you choose whether or not to live at. Today you can see powerful people who have constructed their own Private Reality. They gather accolates and supplicants to assist them in their pursuit of Nirvanna. We poor folks on the outside looking in watch in dismay and incredulity at the seemingly obvious antics of the victims of Elite Grifters. When you are becoming poorer while the Great Leader increasingly adds to his wealth something is wrong.

Dreams are fun intriguing and mysterious. Especially if when they are your dreams. You own them they are yours and no one else. Reflect on them and their meaning. Work toward their fullfillment. Dreams are the coal that fuels the fire that turns the wheels rolling down the track. No one has to sell you a dream you have your own.