“Try to fill your soul with Christ so as not to have it empty. Your soul is like a cistern full of water. If you channel the water to the flowers, that is, to the virtues, you will experience true joy and all the thorns of evil will wither away. But if you channel the water to the weeds, these will grow and choke you and all the flowers will wither.”
Author: Fr. John Chagnon
I've Been Gone…
for a while and not of my own choice.
In the week before this my heart began thumping, not in the anxiety attack style but more like I had been running for days uphill. At times it would stop, then it would start again. Finally Sunday brought me to the doctor, embarrassed to think it was just about nerves, pride wounded a bit, and I was attached to an EKG. The doctor returned with a reasonably somber face and said “You need to get to the hospital immediately your heart is in atrial fibrilation.”
I arrived at the emergency room at United Hospital and they already knew I was coming. Shirt off. Vitals taken. Hooked up to a new EKG. Nurses and doctors in and out. Atrial fibrilation, apparently, gets you to the front of the line at ER. Then we waited. More people came in and out. My heart popped in and out of sinus (normal) rhythm. They were going to discharge me, then not.
Its an electrical thing with me. As I stayed in the hospital my heart was x-rayed, ultra-sounded, blood work was done, and no cause was found. I have a perfectly normal, undamaged heart except for the fact that the top part and the bottom part can’t seem to find a way to get into sync. Though it seems weird there’s no danger to it, apparently I can live the rest of my life with it and just make sure that my blood stays thin and I’ll be okay.
But it hasn’t stopped yet. The hope is that my heart will set itself back into a normal rhythm but to date it hasn’t. Medicine keeps it from going too fast, two aspirins keep the blood from clotting (the only real danger from prolonged a fib is that pooled blood in the atrium may develop clots) and when my heart rate was stabilized I was sent home.
So what now?
Well now is rest and now is staying at home to get my strength back. Exertion is a problem and stairs wipe me out. Work is out of the question this week and I have lots of time to think, ponder, pray, and watch westerns on TV. There are a lot of questions about what the future will bring. I don’t want to be an old man until its absolutely necessary.
Yet it happened, for no known reason but it still did. I’ve been amazed at how many people were praying for me, the people that stopped in, and by the love of my wife. I hope some day, by the grace of God, to be healed, to have a heart that returns to its normal rhythm but for now I’m like a bird trying out new wings, flapping them a bit more and more to see what happens. Stand up. Walk. Stretch a bit. Let’s see what my ticker can take. Eat like a rabbit and sleep whenever the urge is present.
I have no idea what will happen next. The doctors have told me that this is not life threatening, but it is life changing. I have no intention of cursing God and dying as Job was advised to do. I have a thorn in the flesh that I presume was allowed to help me draw close to God. In some ways I am more alive than when I went into the hospital.
So we’ll see. Everything, including my life, is in God’s hands. Just remember me in your prayers because if nothing else I want to make it to church this Sunday.
Epitaph for a Band…
From the time I was a child I loved music and loved making it happen. I performed for people in grade school and in all the turbulent years between then and grad school music was my companion. I survived high school largely because the music rooms were always open and welcoming when the lunch room wasn’t. In those days I believe God listened to my music and not my prayers because my music was real. I dreamed of being a performer, played in church when I could because I was the Pastor, and thought through it all that maybe, perhaps, my time would come.
It did, in the form of the local jams and one person who stepped out and formed a group with me. The local jams opened up to me almost magically. They were places where I could hone my skills, be challenged, be affirmed, and find people to make music with for the sheer love of doing it. Bassists need people, we give other musicians a foundation and they give us wings. In the jams I found out that I could not only survive but thrive, not simply muddle along but excel. And then there was Ross.
Ross was in his middle 60’s when we first met at the jams. His songs were eclectic, interesting, things not always heard but still worth listening to. He had the blues and I, with my double bass, had the rhythm. Quiet, spiritual, laid back, and funny he was, and is, easy to make music with, a mellow bastion of sanity in a music world full of pathological egos. We started playing together, Cajun songs, mining songs, folk songs, reggae songs, whatever suited our fancy. Then we traveled. Open mics, coffee shops, farmer’s markets, on the streets in Stillwater. People liked us. In a folk music world full of artists with morbid obsessions we were a dance band. As I said to one person “Ross and I have baggage, we just don’t sing about it.”
And people would join us, friends filling in at shows or coming up on stage during open mics. There was the two of us and whoever dropped in. Sometimes I would be on stage taking it all in and think to myself “This is really happening, this is really happening.” When the shows were done we’d practice at Ross’ house on a porch overlooking a pond, our only audience his two dogs who’d curl up on a chair and listen while we worked out the details.
Later we added Tilden, a talented mandolinist and guitarist and a generally good egg. We became regulars at a few coffee shops and made the kind get up and dance at the St. Paul Farmer’s Market. Finally, in the last few months, Collette, quiet and soulful with a passionate voice. Of course we were busy, we had lives, but those moments carved out with the band were special.
Yet things, all things and all people, grow old and tired. Ross needed to rest and be what he wants to be, a great soul playing music with friends. Tilden and I have other projects. Collette, I don’t know but there’s a place for her and I’d like to think that someday we’ll be listed in her biography as a place she got her start. The ending caught us, in some ways, by surprise but I think down in our heart we may have known all along. Right now all I can see is that special kind of happy sadness that comes when something of joy runs its natural course.
So here’s to Shoulder to the Plow, the little group where my lifelong dream of playing music for people finally came true, the little group that made people tap their toes while they sipped their coffee, the little group whose heart will always be on Ross back porch. Thank you for everything. Yes, of course we’ll bump in to each other somewhere, somehow because music makes us friends and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
And now on to whatever is next, all things being on God’s good hands.
A Good Thought…
‘ We must always remember that we are not condemned for the multitude of our evils, but because we do not want to repent and learn. And those who have sinned must not despair. Let that never be.’
Found a Gun…
a little more than two houses up in the alley. .38 with a snub nose. Loaded. St. Paul Police now have it. Welcome to the neighborhood.
Wisdom…
Are we all sinners because of the sin of Adam? Does the stain of sin pass from one generation to another? Does every man, woman, and child on this earth stand condemned by God unless they hear and believe in Jesus Christ? To most people this sounds utterly unreasonable and unjust; and indeed it is. To anyone who believes that God loves His creation, and especially loves humanity, it is inconceivable that He should condemn people through no fault of their own. The very idea than an innocent child deserves eternal punishment is monstrous.
Yet it is utterly reasonable that we are made good through the goodness of Christ. Although the sin of one person cannot condemn humanity, the radiant love of one man can transform humanity—and is doing so. God waits for our hearts to open to His grace; He waits for an opportunity to reveal to each of us His truth. Then when we are ready, He ensures that we hear about Christ and about his Gospel; and we find ourselves faced with a choice, which will affect the entire course of life and death—whether to embrace the words of Jesus Christ or to reject them.
If we deliberately reject the Gospel, even when we fully understand it, then we condemn ourselves; if we embrace it, we shall ourselves be embraced by God in heaven.
St. John Chrysostom
We Need Dozens of These…
homes as a way to put shoe leather on our pro-life commitments. A new one, by the way, is being prepared in the Chicago area. Minneapolis – St. Paul next? That would be a very positive step.
A Funeral Message…
The details of her life will come later, later in this service, later in the days and months ahead when you pause and think of her. It’ll be something you hear. Something you see. A quiet wind when you stand alone that brings back a memory. Any, all, or more of will bring Ruth and the stories her life created back to you. Cherish them, even if they are sometimes sad. They are the echoes of a life, the sweet pain of a love whose object, for now, has been taken away. In this way she lives with everyone who remembers.
But even for the most famous among us that’s temporary. Some people have been adored by millions while they lived but still managed to, for the most part, fade away as time moved on after their passing. In time, sadly, most of us will be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, the stories of our life passing away as those who remember also pass. People always seem to want whatever is new and death quickly becomes old news.
In my Eastern Orthodox Christian tradition we observe the passing of the ones we love with “May their memory be eternal.” Yet how can this be? Even with the greatest exertions of human memory we all will fade from history as our bodies fade into the earth from which we were created.
Some people, rich people, powerful people, notorious people seek to solve this by building great monuments to themselves. The world is filled with objects where great amounts of time, labor, and riches were expended simply to tell history “I was here, I was here”. Mostly such things end up being as silent as their builders, a thing standing alone while the rest of the world goes by.
No, when the people in my parish say “May their memory be eternal” they are talking about the only One with the capability of perpetual reminiscence, God. We wish that those who are departed from us will always be alive and present with God so that even if our frail minds lose track of whom they are, what they are, still everything holy, good, and right about them, and they themselves, will be secure with God.
You see God cares very little about buildings bearing our names, works of art with our signature, how people addressed us, how bright our star was shining when we lived. All of that is temporary, a gift at best, often a hindrance in our pursuit of what really matters, and always eclipsed by the light, the brightness, the glory of eternity and eternity’s God.
Rather its faith, kindness, love, humility, generosity, caring, purity, the things that are the best of our humanity and the closest we humans can draw in likeness to God that endure. An act of true charity matters more than a whole wing of a university with our name on it. A cup of cold water, Jesus tells us, given to a thirsty soul in his name lives on in heaven. A heart that stores its treasure above is a heart that has wisely deposited it’s riches safely and forever.
Life is short, even if you live to a hundred it’s just a blip in eons of existence. We’re reminded about that now as we come to remember and celebrate Ruth. Mother, grandmother, wife, friend, possessed of such a sweet smile and a haven for animals without a home. These are all sweet things, things worth remembering, worth emulating. They are, like all the higher and better things, a memory, a reality that exists well beyond these short lives of ours because they, and the people who have given themselves to them, are in the hands of the Almighty.
What really matters? Jesus tells us it’s not the whims, the urges, the emotions of a moment, the gifts, the goodies, the titles, or where our office ends up. All of that and more, and each of us, can and will be replaced. As the old cross stitch on the wall says “Only one life will soon be passed. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”
Remember that as you gather here. Remember things eternal. Live as if this is your last day because one day you’ll be right. If your dear Ruth has given you any good advice, pointed you in any good direction, called to mind those things that matter and last, demonstrated her faith, or lived any good example, celebrate her life by following.
Someday, our Christian tradition tells us, all these things, the meaningless things, the things that make us sad, everything that batters us as we make our way through, even death itself, will be overcome through Jesus Christ. This death, this moment, what we are going through is calls not just the stories of a life lived and the sadness of a passing to us, but also that hope. Direct your lives towards that day and all will be well even as all is well for the lady from Indiana whose memory is now eternal in the presence of God.
Tired of the Two Party System?
Here’s an interesting alternative. What do you think?

