31. As Don Dies

“Today [March 19] is the Feast of St. Joseph, the righteous man….We find Mary standing under the cross. Seeing his mother and his beloved disciple, John, Jesus says to his mother, ‘Woman, this is your son.’ (John 19:27). About Joseph there is no word. What happened to him? Did he die?… Joseph was a saint! He lived it all in a great hiddenness. Ignored by the Gospel writers and by the early church, he emerges today as a man trusting in God even when there was hardly anything for him to hold on to.”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 130, 131.

I write this column as I sit by my dying father-in-law, Don Bodamer. Don has been in declining health in the last several months, but has been able to enjoy meals and TV shows with the family until ten days ago when he refused to eat and began staying in bed. We celebrated his 93rd birthday on March 24. Although he joined us at the dining room table and blew out his candles on the banana pudding that Susan had made for him, he was in no mood to celebrate and ate none of the pudding that day. (The next day, he had a nice bowlful, though, which he liked and which made us feel better.)

Since I have known him, for more than forty years, Don was always the pastor’s right-hand man. Don loved to plan, to research, to lay out options so a decision could be made. If the sanctuary needed to be re-roofed, or the kitchen needed a new dishwasher, or a new church sign needed to be installed, the pastor would call Don. This was in the days before the internet. Don would send for mailings of descriptions and prices, would call to speak with sales reps, would collate all the information, make a neat type-written presentation, and give it to the pastor and the session. This freed the pastor to visit the sick, prepare a sermon, head a meeting, and write a newsletter article. 

Once Don got an idea in his head, he was very persistent. This affected things at church, too. Don’s career at Dupont focused on safety, so if there was a safety issue at the church, Don was on it. Was there a tree close enough to the sanctuary that it could fall on the building with a big wind gust? Don was getting bids to have it removed before anyone else even knew there was a potential problem. Were there too many church door keys floating around the community? Don donated Dupont stock to the church that was to be sold and used to replace all locks with top-of-the-line Sledge locks. At times,I imagine that got to be a bother for the pastor and others in leadership, but I’m sure they all knew Don’s heart and knew that he had the best interests of the church in mind.

Don’s major volunteer work at the church was as the leader of the Ramblers. This was the senior adult group that met monthly for meals and trips. Again, Don used his organizational prowess to discover all the sites within a two-hour drive of Nashville that older adults might enjoy, figure an affordable price per person, make reservations, secure transportation, create sign up sheets, and make sure that everything went smoothly on the day’s event. 

When Don retired from Dupont, he became one of the founders of Fun with Science. FWS was a program offered to local schools by retired Dupont employees. Every Thursday for many years, Don and his team did a 45-minute all-school presentation in some school’s gymnasium. The presentation was part magic show and part explaining why this was not magic at all. It’s science and science is fun and wonderful and you ought to think about giving your life to a career in science! It was evangelism, Dupont-style.

I have many other stories and memories and appreciations of Don, of course. But these came to mind as I read Nouwen’s comments about St. Joseph. Most saints are ordinary people who try to express their love for God and church and community through their unique blend of gifts, personality, and character. They do not make the papers or the news features or the gospels. They do what they do not for flash or splash but because there is a need and someone needs to do something. So, the saint steps up. They are not perfect. They can be overbearing because they have a vision and they have a plan and they want it done right (which is their way). Saints can be frustrating. Maybe that’s why a lot of them were martyrs. 

I sit by the bedside of Saint Donald, an imperfect husband, father, brother, employee, and church member. Imperfect, but wanting to help. This side of heaven, that’s all we can ask for.

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27. Making Change

“Why should I ever think or say something that is not love? Why should I ever hold a grudge, feel hared or jealousy, act suspicious? Why not always give and forgive, encourage and empower, give thanks and offer praise? Why not? … Somehow we don’t fully trust that our God is a God of the present and speaks to us where we are. ‘This is the day the Lord has made.’ When the people of Nineveh heard Jonah speak, they turned back to God. Can we listen to the word God has for us today and do the same? This is a very simple but crucial message: Don’t wait for tomorrow to change your heart. This is the favorable time!”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 73, 117.

In my junior high years I read The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. What I remember most was his attempt to better himself in an intentional, methodical way. He drew up a list of virtues and decided to work on them one by one until he was satisfied that he could incarnate those virtues. He explained his detailed plan to work on one of thirteen virtues each week, keeping a chart that he would mark at the end of each day if he remembered a fault he’d committed with that particular virtue. At the end of thirteen weeks, he began the exercise again. I did not try to do as Franklin did, but the record of his attempt had a great effect on me in my adolescent years.  What if we could improve our lives by being intentional in noticing and noting our successes and failures in our ethical and spiritual lives?

I have not thought about Franklin’s book or that practice for many, many years until today’s reading from Henri Nouwen. Nouwen challenges us to change for the better and not to put off changing. “This is the favorable time!”

A few years ago, my peer learning group (PLG) decided to read David G. Benner’s book, The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self-Discovery. We took up Benner’s challenge to focus on an area of personal growth that we would address. Each of us in the PLG pondered our lives based on some self-discovery exercises in the book and prayed about what area of life the Spirit was impressing us to address. I felt that mine was generosity. I’ve always considered it to be a personal strength for a person to be frugal. Benner points out that there is a shadow side to every virtue. As I pondered this, I wondered if my strength of frugality had drifted into being a miserly hoarder. 

I created my plan. I would read Richard Foster’s book, Money, Sex, and Power as well as read/ponder Bible passages that dealt with generosity. My goal was to build the virtue of generosity so that my first instinct was not to hold but to share. My exercise would be to give my hard-earned, well-invested money away. Not all of it, of course. But, more than I normally did. 

This required a discussion with my wife since this money is “ours” not just “mine.” I told Susan that I wanted to become a more generous person, explained my plan and my exercise. Frankly, we were already generous compared to the giving patterns of most Americans. But our typical giving no longer felt “generous” to me. I wanted to be a cheerful, generous giver financially, but also emotionally. This would be a concentrated focus for three months. I would share my findings and failings with the peer learning group at our monthly meeting. Susan liked the plan. 

I should also say, to her credit, that Susan keeps our books and that this plan made no sense financially. My pay had been cut by 20% with the promise that it would be cut by another 20% the next year. We had every reason to keep all we had and, if anything, reduce our donations. But I felt that this was the area of my personal life that God’s Spirit was challenging me to change. So, we decided to trust God, follow what I felt was a God-led plan, and see what happened.

Now, before I share the next part of the plan, let me say to those who are friends of mine in the non-profit world that the exercise I am about to describe ended years ago. I am not currently doing this plan. 

What I decided to do for the three months was to give to anyone who asked and to be more generous than was asked. There was a special need at the church. I asked Susan how much she thought a generous response from us would be. She said fifty dollars. So, I said, “let’s give $150 dollars.” When I got requests from non-profits by mail or email, I gave them a gift that was more than I normally would have given. I did this over and over again and turned no one down.

Richard Foster said that the spiritual need is for a Christian to let money know that it does not have power over us. We have power over it. So the giving away of money was an exercise to strengthen my dependence on God. 

I don’t think I have a love of money. I have a love of security. Money promises security. So does God. In which deity am I putting my trust? 

Image Credits – $100 Ben Franklin: Wikimedia Commons; Calculator – Image by fancycrave1 from Pixabay

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25. Missing Loved Ones

“Absence and presence touch each other. Precisely where we feel most present to each other we experience deeply the absence of those we love. And precisely at moments of great loss we can discover a new sense of closeness and intimacy. This is also what the Eucharist is about. We announce the presence of Christ among us until he comes again! There is both presence and absence, closeness and distance, an experience of at-homeness on the way home. I was struck again by the paradox that loving someone deeply means opening yourself to the pain of his or her absence.”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 114.

Every year near the end of January and near the end of March, I realize that I am feeling down. When I realize that I am in a funk, it takes little reflection to understand why. I miss Mom and Dad. My mom died on January 21, 2015, and my dad died on April 1, 2013.  This year, I’ve been reminded of this regularly through Facebook’s “on this date” feature that takes you to the post you made that day in prior years. For example, today’s was:

“Dad seems to be getting weaker in his breathing. He is receiving ‘comfort care’ so there are no monitors and no vital sign checks. He looks very relaxed. Of course, there is no way to know if he is aware of his situation or our presence, but we treat him as if he is, just in case. At the suggestion of my son, Ben, I read several chapters of the Bible aloud (and loudly) to Dad, including John 14, Romans 8, and Revelation 21-22. Those words helped me and, I believe, helped Dad to prepare for the end of this life. Tomorrow is Easter… and Dad’s 77th birthday.”

I think of Mom and Dad a lot, but especially when the siblings get together. “Mom and Dad would be pleased to know that we all still love each other and love to be with one another,” I think. Then, there are milestones. When my first poem was published, I really wished Mom, who had many songs and poems of her own published, could have known. When we moved into a new house that we had built to our specifications, I wished Dad, who was wheelchair-bound, could have been here to celebrate with us and to use the elevator so he could see each floor. When our first grandchild was born, I wish they could have held their latest great-grandchild.

There is hope that loved ones who have died can somehow know what is going on in our lives. One of my sisters told me that every once in a while, she notices a hummingbird is looking into her house from the kitchen window. Mom loved hummingbirds. So, my sister sees this as a sign that Mom is “just checking in.” Not that Mom was reincarnated as a hummingbird, although that may have been a close second choice to her were there not a Heaven. After my sister told me that, I went home to work in my garden. I heard a loud buzzing above me. I looked up and it was a ruby-throated hummingbird hovering over the green bean plants I was weeding. I had to laugh as I said, “Hey there! Tell Mom everything is good.”

I think this is the paradox that Nouwen has discovered. We are separated from a loved one, yet we sense their presence. In our sorrow, we find ways to celebrate their gain. We mourn their absence even as we celebrate new victories. I suppose that the more persons that you lose, the more real this paradox becomes. 

“Lent is a time to get in touch with our experience of absence, emptiness, unfulfillment, so that in the midst of our overcrowded lives we can remind ourselves that we are still waiting for the One who has promised to fulfill our deepest desires.”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 114.

Image credits: Mom and Dad – me; Hummingbird – Image by YLawrence from Pixabay

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22. Depression

“A difficult day again. I feel lonely, depressed, and unmotivated. Most of the day I have been fiddling around with little things. The same old pain that has been with me for many years and never seems to go completely away…I realize that my busyness is a way to keep my depression at bay, It doesn’t work. I have to pray more. I know that I need to just sit in God’s presence and show God all my darkness. But everything in me rebels against that. Still, I know it is the only way out. A few kind letters gave me a little light. God help me, be with me, console me, and take the cloud away from my heart.”

 Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 101.

Everyone, including me, feels down sometimes. I’ve had some sad situations lately and am anticipating more. In the last few weeks, I have lost to death my last two aunts. I didn’t go to a recent meeting because I did not want to feel the grief at what had been and will never be again for me in that organization. In this early retirement during a pandemic as my wife and I care for her elderly, ailing parents, I grieve not being free to travel, to have people over, to lead workshops and speak for conferences. I am also anticipating grief. My Alzheimer-stricken father-in-law, who has lived with us for the last four years, seems to be nearing the end of his life. My mother-in-law, who is bi-polar, will likely respond to his death in an unpredictable but overwhelming way. These are examples of situational grief or depression that are common to all of us.

I have not experienced clinical depression. I am learning from those who have. One of my friends, Diana Gruver, has written about her experience in her recent book, Companions in the Darkness. I did a video interview with Diana and also reviewed her book. Much of the following is taken from my other blog on the Great Bible Teachers website.

Here is how Diana describes her experience:

“Some people think depression is sadness. But it is deeper than that. The feeling of clearly defined and attributable sadness would be a relief. Instead I am overcome with too much feeling, awash with a vague, gnawing sorrow. I weep and writhe under its weight, and then in a terrifying turn, I feel so much that I feel nothing at all. I am still and numb. I would welcome sadness, for then I would know I am still alive. As it is, I am the walking dead.”

Diana Gruver, Companions in the Darkness: Seven Saints Who Struggled with Depression and Doubt (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2020), 5.

You might think, “that’s not how a Christian should feel.” I am reminded of the hymn, Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed: “At the cross where I first saw the Light and the burden of my soul rolled away. It was there by faith I received my sight, and now I am happy all the day.” 

Is that real faith? Were the disciples “happy all the day?” Or is real faith more like the book of Psalms, one third of which are lamentations?

But again, unhappiness is not quite depression. Depression is a clinical illness. It is tied to our spiritual life, as is every part of our life. Diana says, “we cannot classify depression as a solely spiritual issue, with solely spiritual causes and a solely spiritual cure.” (p.46f.)

Depression, quite naturally, affects our spiritual life. Diana weaves her personal story within the narratives of seven saints. For example, in her chapter on David Brainerd, she writes,

“I can relate to Brainerd’s feelings. I remember the sense of God’s absence, the silence of heaven, the seeming futility of spiritual exercises… If depression affected my relationship with the friends and loved ones I could physically hear and touch, why wouldn’t I expect it to affect my relationship with God, whom I could not physically hear and touch? It didn’t mean he had left or changed, but only that depression’s dark lens affected the way I perceived him and my ability to feel close to him – just as it did to any other relationship… A devoted religious life is not a mental health insurance policy.”

Diana Gruver, Companions in the Darkness: Seven Saints Who Struggled with Depression and Doubt (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2020), 57.

Diana offers practical advice in her book. Pointing to seven heroes of the Christian faith who struggled with depression, she helps us walk with solid Christians who feel not so solid. She also helps us know what not to do, what not to say.

She believes these hero-stories will undermine

“the lies that I am failing, that I am a ‘bad Christian,’ that I should be better than this, or that if only I were more faithful or holy or strong this would not be happening to me. Can you imagine the audacity of applying this principle to the brothers and sisters in this book? Of telling Charles Spurgeon to read his Bible more? Or David Brainerd to pray more? Or Mother Teresa to just choose joy? We regard these people as giants of the faith, as ‘saints,’ yet they still struggled with depression…. Sometimes our brains get sick just as our bodies do. Their lives bear witness to this truth… They are, for me, models of what it looks like to follow Jesus through depression.” 

Diana Gruver, Companions in the Darkness: Seven Saints Who Struggled with Depression and Doubt (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2020), 14f.

File written by Adobe Photoshop? 4.0

You’ll recognize many of the names, but even if you don’t, Diana does a wonderful job explaining who each person was and what they did that made them heroes of the Christian religion: Martin Luther, Hannah Allen, David Brainerd, William Cowper, Charles Spurgeon, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

Each of these persons suffered in ways that were unique to them. Each found different “tools” that helped them find light. Luther resisted solitude and sought ways to “drink, joke, and jest.” Cowper found strength from strong supportive friendships and from poetry. King found release through dark humor, spirituals, and a discovery that while jailed in solitary confinement, “God had been my cellmate.”

I encourage you to get Diana’s book for yourself and for any you know who have depression or who are affected by loved ones who have depression.

And watch the video interview I did with Diana. It is anything but depressing.

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21. What’s in a name?

“My sixty-fourth birthday!…I feel happy on this day. Grateful to God and my family and friends for all the graces that have come to me during these sixty-four years….Deep within myself I feel that something new wants to be born…There is a sense of conclusion and new beginnings…I realize that it will require a lot of discipline to refocus my life. But without such a refocusing I will end up busy, restless, and always looking for human affirmation. It’s time to make a radical choice for solitaire, prayer, and quiet writing. I will need a lot of support to make this happen.”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 94.

There come times in our lives when we know it is time for a radical change. Sometimes, these changes are involuntary. The unexpected loss of a spouse or other loved one. A forced job termination. A crippling accident. At other seasons, there are natural times for transition, such as weddings, graduations, and the move to a new city. In these, we made choices that we knew were going to reshape our lives forever.

I can measure some of my life’s transitions by my first name. I was born Richard Winslow Jordan, but my family called me, “Ricky.” I was Ricky to everyone who knew me until third grade. 

Between second and third grades, my family moved into a new house in a new neighborhood, which meant new teachers and new fellow students. Mrs. Candler was a no-nonsense teacher who did not believe in nicknames. Although I told her my name was Ricky, she insisted that she and everyone else would call me Richard. Our family stayed in that house and school system, so from third to twelfth grades, I was Ricky at home and at church, but I was Richard at school. In my high school years, I had a job at an ice cream shop. I don’t know why, but they never called me by either of those names. There, I was Jordan.

When I graduated from high school, I went to King College, after first looking over the names of the faculty to make sure there were no Dr. Candlers. At King, I was known by Ricky. After college, I went to seminary (again, no Dr. Candlers) and was known by Ricky. As I approached graduation, my field supervisor had several suggestions for me, including that I change my name. 

“No one is going to take a ‘Ricky’ seriously,” he said. I disagreed, noting that other people whose names ended with a -y were taken seriously, such as Billy Graham and Jimmy Carter. But he pointed out that part of my problem was that I looked very young. A youngish-looking appearance combined with a child’s nickname could work against me in gaining a church leadership role.

Wanting to be taken seriously as a professional, I decided to experiment the next year by going by Rick. No one at the South Carolina hospital I would be working at for a year knew me. If I told them I was Rick, they would be none the wiser.

After the hospital position, Susan and I moved to Wilkesboro, NC where she had been offered a job. I made it my job to find a ministry position. For ten months I built a network by attending meetings and taking people to lunch. I had multiple opportunities to preach and to meet with search committees. But nothing opened for me. 

Then came a surprising invitation from the church I had been raised and baptized in, Viewmont Baptist Church in Hickory, NC. After many interviews, negotiations, and votes, I accepted the role of Associate Pastor: Education and Youth. It was strange in some ways. My parents were no longer members of the church, but many of their friends who had been my Sunday School teachers, music leaders, and missions leaders were still there. They knew me as Ricky. I was now going by Rick. After a few years, everyone got adjusted to the new nomenclature. 

After 15 or so years serving in this church, I earned my Doctor of Ministry degree. Although it was the same degree from the same divinity school that my senior pastor (“Dr. Smith”) had, no one made any serious attempt to begin calling me Dr. Jordan. That was fine by me.

A few years later, Antioch Baptist Church in Taylorsville, NC, called me to be their pastor. There, I went by three names – Dr. Jordan, Rick, and Preacher. Four years later, I left Antioch to begin my ministry through the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship of NC. For those 18 years, I went by Rick. Occasionally, I would be called Dr. Jordan, but I normally downplayed the formality. My Ricky and Richard days were long behind me.

In all these transitions, there were challenges of “reinventing” who I was or how I wanted others to perceive me. The evolution of my name is a symptom of my growth from child to distinguished professional. Okay, I haven’t reached that “distinguished” level, yet. I’m not sure a name change would help me at this point. 

However, I do remember one day in high school that we were given instructions to fold our pop-quiz paper length-wise, write our name at the top of the page along with the class period number, and pass it up the row to the front of the class. The person in front of me got my paper then turned around to say, “Oh, I like your name. It sounds distinguished, like an author or something.” I had signed it R. Winslow Jordan. 

Maybe it’s not too late to change my name once more to see if I can get more published and more distinguished.

Image credits: Nametag – https://makebadge.com/help/name-tags/; Jimmy Carter – Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash

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18. Privilege, power, and piety

Christmas Day – “My father and I took a cab to the cathedral (Das Münster). It was packed….The archbishop presided and gave the homily. ‘Does the cathedral help or hinder us in understanding the mystery of Christmas?’ he asked. I was fascinated by the question, since I had just been thinking about the fact that such a hidden and poor event as the birth of Jesus had inspired the creation of such a majestic building and such a rich liturgy….The bishop defended his building, but…I realized that perhaps the cathedral is as much a product of human pride, arrogance, and desire for power, influence, and success as it is of deep faith, piety, adoration, generosity, and the love of God. The Freiburg Münster is one of the best places to see in stone the place where power and piety meet.”

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 72.

Ministers get certain privileges. You could argue that ministers used to get a lot more respect, but I would counter that some of those privileges are not worth having and may even be dangerous to the church and to the community’s spiritual life. For example, in some societies, the church and state are merged. History has proven that this is bad for both. Even when there is not an official merger, being too close is also dangerous for both.

A few years ago, I went on a mission trip to Spain. During some free time, I went to a small museum in Catalan. What stunned me was the display about World War II. Granted, Spain has a complicated history since the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) was a rehearsal for WWII. Many priests died for being faithful to their beliefs or for protesting political powers.

Still, in the museum were pictures of Catholic clergy giving the Nazi salute as they stood side-by-side military leaders. Although WWII ended in 1945, the ramifications of that partnership ripple 77 years later. The Nazis are gone. The Catholic church is still around – but is held in suspicion by most persons in Spain, especially in Catalan. Protestants are not seen in much better light and Baptists are seen as an off-brand cult. The official church supported Nazism. Piety and power met.

James Dunn

In our country, church and state as institutions are to remain separate. James Dunn, the famous church-state separatist, said, “Government often favors religion when it should leave it alone. Churches appeal for state assistance without counting the cost. When government meddles in religion it always has the touch of mud….The best thing government can do for religion is to leave it alone.”

There are crossovers, like Venn diagrams, that make that separation undefined, so there are court rulings to help us be certain that both stay in their respective corners.

Here’s an example of the “Venn diagram” of privilege. American clergy get a nice tax break. It would take another column to go into the specifics. (If you’re truly interested, here is a link to a downloadable 110-page clergy tax return preparation guide for 2021.)  Suffice it to say that when I was making little money as a minister compared to others who had my same four years of college, four years of graduate school, a year of post-graduate work, and then six years of doctoral work, the tax break was something that was a very nice perk provided by Uncle Sam. It is designed to help level the paying field.

Some communities give ministers special privileges. In one county I served in, the cultural expectation was that a local church pastor would attend the visitation receivings and funerals of the family members of their congregational members. It was a small county, 10,000 people, many of whom were related to one another, so I attended a lot of funerals of persons I’d never met in churches I would not normally attend or in funeral homes where I soon came to know nearly every employee. The good news was that the funeral home directors knew to be on the lookout for ministers. Rather than have ministers wait at the back of a receiving line, the funeral directors escorted ministers to the front of the line. That way, we could greet the bereaved, then head home or speak with others. It gave us an option. I liked that privilege. The first several times, I felt guilty about crashing the line, but the locals expected it, so there was no “Hey, buddy, the line forms at the rear” heckling. I quickly got over my first apprehensions.

The line crashing is a privilege of convenience. The tax loophole is a privilege of respect (persons in the military get the same loophole) for those who are highly trained, willingly sacrificial, and who serve the broader community. The honor of standing next to the Führer, or the leader of any government, is a privilege rooted in compromise. To stand there, a minister must forfeit any credentials they have as a prophetic voice.

You can’t salute and point fingers at the same time.

Image Credits: Freiburg Münster – Image by Couleur from Pixabay; Nazi salute – US Holocaust Memorial Museum; James Dunn – BJConline; Funeral – Photo by The Good Funeral Guide on Unsplash

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