What to Say?

Almost every Sunday (at least during the weeks of Pentecost) we sing As The Grains of Wheat

As the grains of wheat once scattered on the hill

 were gathered into one to become our bread;

So may all your people from all the ends of earth

be gathered into one in you.

 

It's a lovely tune, but the words are lovelier still...and quite profound. They are particularly relevant in these days of cultural wars around the globe, in our own country, within Christianity, between denominations, and amidst individual churches.

 

I'm concerned with one aspect of the culture war as it relates to faith, specifically the Christian faith: to borrow from Justin Lee's, Torn, I'm concerned about Rescuing the Gospel from the Gay vs. Christian debate. I saw a thought-provoking post on Facebook, it was just what I'd been thinking. It said something like, Perhaps God made gay Christians to test His followers, to see if they would obey His command to love one another.

 

That's what I think about when I sing, so may all your people from all the ends of earth be gathered into one in you. I think about scriptures that tell us we are one in Christ. I reflect on Galatians 3:27-29 for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.  There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.  If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.

 

Love one another is a command to those who claim Jesus as Lord and Savior. There is no distinction, no caveat that says you only have to love those who believe and act just like you do. Rather, speaking to Christians, the Bible clearly says, love one another...meaning all fellow believers.  That's not an option, and it's not an invitation to judge or pass judgment on who is or isn't a Christian. We're to leave the judging of others to God, and live our own lives in obedience. 

 

I'm trying to do that, and I'll admit it's easier said than done. I want to pass judgment on all who limit the grace of Jesus to only those who live and sin as they do. I'm working at not judging others who sin differently than I do. Because that's what it boils down to.  

 

I'm a believer and follower of Jesus. So are my Mennonite neighbors. I don't dress like them or live my life like they do, but they accept me as a fellow Christian. And I return that favor, because I love them. I don't prefer to follow their practices, and I don't need them to follow mine. We both believe in one God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. We believe in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried...

 

Or to put it more succinctly -- here are the words to the song Lord I Lift Your Name on High:

You came from heaven to earth to show the way

From the earth to the cross my debt to pay

From the cross to the grave, from the grave to the sky

Lord I lift your name on high.



 



But back to the creed: I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen

 

Anyone and everyone who believes the words to the Apostle's Creed is my brother, sister, loved one in Christ. How they dress, how they live, who they love, what denomination they belong to or doctrine they ascribe to is of no concern to me. It's between them and God, who judges all people rightly, because He alone sees the heart.

 

Whew, what a relief. I don't have to judge others. God's got it covered. I just have to love. And that's what I needed to work through. That's what I wanted to say -- for my own benefit.

All God's people...may the peace of Christ be with us, with them, and also with you.

 

Hummingbirds

Zzzzzzzzzz, zzzzzzzzt, zzzzzzzzt! It sounds like a wasp on steroids, but no, it's a hummingbird, one of the regular visitors to our front porch. Tiny creatures swoop in to sip nectar from the feeder even while we sit not 4 feet away on our porch swing. No fear...on either of our parts, which is not to say there isn't a startle factor, usually on my part.

Tom calls them the kids. They are demanding like two year olds. If their juice runs low they'll flit right up to Tom and hover beak to nose, letting him know about it. Talk about in your face! And even when the feeder is filled up some little critters are not eager to share. Apparently there's a pecking order. One vigilant ruby throated bird stands guard to chase away others who dare sneak in for a sip. I think he's trying to tell us we need another feeder or two.

To describe a hummingbird is an exercise in dichotomy -- they've got split personalities. Delicate yet bold, lovely but demanding, tiny, and by their diminutive size you'd assume, gentle, but no, they are really quite aggressive. We get a kick out of them. And it seems they are very smart. First thing this spring a hummingbird was buzzing me when I was out back. Odd. Later in the day when Tom was on the porch swing one of the little fellows zoomed in and hovered right at Tom's chest (might have been the red shirt) and then went up and perched on the metal bracket that held the feeder the previous summer. He repeated the motion, never touching Tom, but poking the air as if to say,

"Hello, I'm back. How about you go make some juice."

 

                                                                         "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about!"

 

And when we aren't feeding Tom's little tykes, their heavenly Father provides.

 

 

He's always watching out for them -- and us. Consider the birds and the lilies...

 

Luke 12:22-32

²² And He said to His disciples, “For this reason I say to you, do not worry about your life, as to what you will eat; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. ²³ For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. ²⁴ Consider the ravens (and hummingbirds), for they neither sow nor reap; they have no storeroom nor barn, and yet God feeds them; how much more valuable you are than the birds! ²⁵ And which of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life’s span? ²⁶ If then you cannot do even a very little thing, why do you worry about other matters? ²⁷ Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. ²⁸ But if God so clothes the grass in the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more will He clothe you? You men of little faith! ²⁹ And do not seek what you will eat and what you will drink, and do not keep worrying. ³⁰ For all these things the nations of the world eagerly seek; but your Father knows that you need these things. ³¹ But seek His kingdom, and these things will be added to you. ³² Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom. 

 

Good Morning World!

French Creek at Sunrise
(I missed it, I was sleeping.)

Okay, so it's not morning any more, but for me and other not-so-much morning people, close enough. I've always wanted to be a morning person and a writer. I want to be a writer who gets up in the morning and writes! Though it eludes me, I hold on to hope...I just came across this quote and I'm loving it. Perhaps it's the magic key.
"If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting. I wake early and hear my morning voices leaping around in my head like jumping beans. I get out of bed to trap them before they escape." - Ray Bradbury

Finally -- here is the solution, the answer to my life long quest to be a morning person! All I have to do is stuff myself full of all those wonderful things by day and by night, and then boom -- I'm gonna be bounding out of bed in the morning to write prolific poignant prose, maybe even some poetry.

Will I head to the computer to capture all the brilliant thoughts jumping around in my mind before my morning coffee? No, I'll put the coffee on first, and swim, and do a little devotional of some sort, and shower and dress. While I'm at it I'll scrub the tub and gather laundry. If it's been a week or so I'll quick change the sheets on the bed. Oh, and I'll do my hair, which only takes five or so minutes, but if I let it dry on its own it gets wild and unruly. The phone will ring and I'll answer it and chat for a bit too long, but really, relationships with friends are part of my soul food, so that counts. By the time I've got the washing machine running -- mid-morning now -- I'll realize I'm starving. Make a quick bowl of oatmeal, check email, drip a second cup of coffee and call (another) friend, because who wants to sip coffee all alone? While on the phone I can empty the dishwasher, take a peek at Facebook and make a couple of moves on Words with Friends, switch washer to dryer and throw in another load.

Now where was I? Oh yes, on my way to write. I'll just fold those clean clothes, pick out some cards for overdue thank you notes and upcoming birthdays. I'm not going to write and send them, just put them on the table with unsorted mail to take care of later, making a mental note to buy a few belated cards, and fix a sandwich for lunch. With the mail, cards and folded clothes there's no room at the kitchen table for my laptop, lunch and cup of tea, so I'll move to the family room, fold a blanket, straighten the throw pillows and settle in to eat and -- to write.

Now what was it I was going to write about? It was something really good, I know it was really good, worthwhile, important -- but what was it? Good grief, I'll grab a book to replenish the muse, which I know full well will lead to nodding off -- but just for a quick power nap.

"Quick" is my recurring theme. And no matter how quick I do things the day keeps moving along and time gets away.  I really wanted to stuff my head and my life with poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, and all that jazz. And then I wanted write about it, but time ran out...today. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. Maybe I'll get up to see the sunrise.

We Are Family

It's good to belong. It's healthy to be part of something bigger than yourself and even your immediate kin (you know, the ones who live under your roof or did at one time). And when you leave that family, your father and mother and cling to your spouse, and start your own little fam...before you know it they are off, leaving and cleaving and the group keeps growing.

The Extended Henning Family

 

In all our silliness!

The Cousins Reunion, as we call it in the Henning family is a fairly new gathering. Our first reunion, here at "the farm" was originally planned to be an 80th birthday party for the patriarch of the Henning clan, my father-in-law, Bill Henning. Sadly, he passed away in April of 2001. Still, we went ahead with a gather on his birth date in August of 2001 and the Cousins reunion was born. So our reunion is 12 years old! Gosh, Bill would have been 92 this year. I'm sure he's delighted to have inspired this special family time, just wish he could have been part of it.

 

***

 

The Bruce Clan

 

The Bruce clan is larger because we have an extra generation, and that generation were many, and they had bunches of kids, who had bunches of kids. (This is my dad's family, which is nothing, numbers-wise, compared to my mom's. Between the two, I have over 50 first cousins -- 52 on a quick count, which doesn't include cousins-in-law.) 

 

The only cross-overs between pix are Tom, me, two of our boys, and one of their our girls. Wait, not me, I was taking the picture.

 

We are family. And we do it big. (But I made the pictures too big and cut people off...here's a redo.)

Rainbows and Other Signs of Hope

Testimonies like the one in italics below touch my heart. Touch isn't really the right word, pain would be more accurate. I know young people like the one who penned the words below -- beautiful, delightful, sweet, kind, strong, smart, wise-beyond-their-years young people. Dear human beings who are Christians and lovers of God. I'm talking about Christians who have had to come to grips with who God made them to be. The text below was written in reference to Mary Lambert's song, "She Keeps Me Warm".

"This was the song  that was so important, my God. I wanted to write a chorus that was poignant and honest; genuine. I really tried to not be gay at points in my life, but I was (and am) at a point where I refuse to apologize about my identity. I am not sorry about my gayness. I am not sorry I’m a Christian, either, though that’s far less persecuted than my gayness, which is ironically, instigated by the Christian community. “Not crying on Sundays” was a huge lyric for me to write. I cried and cried in church for a year, believing that I was going to Hell, trying to reconcile “the demons”. At some point, it became absurd."

I realize there are some brands of Christianity that would keep this dear person, these dear people in that absurd place, crying every Sunday -- and most of the week as well. Some of you reading this would defend your stance saying it's better to be miserable and cry all through this life than to burn in hell for eternity. You'll claim it's only because you love gay people that you persecute them, hoping to push them to repentance. You forget, it's God's kindness that leads to repentance. It's by grace we are saved, not because of anything good that we've done, but by His grace.

I've come to know quite a few Christian people who are gay. I've met some of the young people interviewed on a DVD entitled "Through My Eyes". They tell their stories, many of them heart-wrenching stories of lonely journeys, coming to realize they weren't like all the other girls or boys. Denying as long as possible their sexual orientation. Knowing that accepting it and coming out would rock the world of everyone who loved them, they kept their secret. They tried changing, tried dating opposite sex, tried and prayed to get straight. All to no avail. So they mustered their courage and went to a best friend, a sibling, a parent, and told their secret. The results varied widely and wildly. Some best friends turned their backs, some siblings turned them in -- telling on them as if they were still children, some parents fell apart, cried, screamed, denounced, sent away. Others stood by their children offering them not support and acceptance, but help. "We can help you change. There's an organization that guarantees success. Together, with them, we'll pray away the gay for you."

But that organization, Exodus, International, is closing up shop. This is a convoluted sign of hope for the LGBT community, but a sign just the same. Exodus leadership realized the error of its ways, confessed they did more damage than good, even called their ministry a "hurtful echo chamber of condemnation." The false hope they offered to gays led innocent people to acts of desperation when they weren't healed. One of three things typically happened after a round of reorientation therapy. 1. Under pressure and with lots of discipline some people felt and claimed a change took place. 2. Lacking what it took to claim a healing touch from God, disillusioned gays walked away from faith. 3. Others who couldn't find God's healing, deduced they weren't good enough -- not worthy of a healing, not worthy of God's love. They took their own lives.

Beautiful people, delightful, sweet, kind, smart, Christian people, lovers of God. But they took their own lives. I would have too. 

Only those in category #1 were success stories -- each a poster child for sexual reorientation therapy. Many of them married opposite sex people and began families. Sadly, most of those found their "change" temporary. The result when one or both partners could no longer keep up the charade, a divided, divorced, broken family.

Meanwhile, conservative churches, the ex-gay ministries, and hopeful loved ones continued to rally for change. They were happy for anyone who gave it the old college try! Never mind the frustration, the hurt and sadness. Never mind the devastated spouse, child or children left in the wake. And I can't help but wonder, who was there to pick up the pieces? (In their defense, Exodus dropped the slogan "Change is Possible" a few years ago, and in January 2012 the president of Exodus International, Alan Chambers, admitted that 99.9% of conversion therapy participants don't experience any change to their sexuality. A year and a half after that statement, June 2013, the ministry announced its closing.)

And now, July 2013 the Pope, the Roman Catholic Pope, Pope Francis, has taken a step, made a conciliatory speech that could change the tone of how the Catholic church views and responds to gay people. It's a glimmer of hope, just a glimmer, but still, a sign -- of hope.

We're fearfully and wonderfully made by a Creator, our Father God, who so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish (burn in hell), but have eternal life (go to heaven). God did not send Jesus to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.…

 For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.

Psalm 139:13-14

Water Therapy.

It happened just like I thought it would. The second reunion is upon us and I didn't do reporting of the previous one justice, nevermind posting some of the delightful daily events in between. I could have posted some lovely wildlife and nature pictures Tom captured. I could have told of dear friends stopping by, a baby's first dip in Betsy's pool, little ones learning to blow bubbles, put face and head under water...and finally, after a fashion...swim! It's a thrill for me every time.

I could have written about kiddos growing more confident, learning to dive, doing tricks -- shouting "Betsy, watch this! Watch me! Look what I can do!  Count how long I stay under!" Do they ever outgrow the need to be noticed and applauded? I hope not.

But there's plenty of quiet time at the pool too. Tom does laps in the morning. I hear his strong stroke and steady kick in my sleep and make a decision to join him or go back to dreamland. Usually I -- unconsciously -- choose the latter, happy to do laps at a more reasonable hour. Several times a week, a friend or two will join me for a gentle water workout and girl-talk. Sometimes we solve the world's problems. If we have any troubles of our own, real or imagined, we solve each other's problems. And,  -- completely unsolicited -- we, only occasionally, just between us, work at solving other people's problems.

One thing we always agree on, no matter your mood, your troubles, the stress that momentarily weighs you down, it all dissipates in the pool. Worries, concerns, aggravations lap away. Off they go through the filter, cleansed and replaced with healthier thoughts; restoring the bather. A session of water therapy restores, refreshes, regenerates!

Speaking of which, I better go get me some of that. Today is the Henning Cousins Reunion -- am I ready? Should I panic? Yes, I mean, NO.  Gosh it's already getting late in the morning, but I think there's time for a swim.

Family Reunion (Part 3)

Descendants of Ruth and Archie Bruce came from far and wide -- gracing us with their presence on Saturday, July 6th. The Johnstown, PA contingent traveled a little more than 3 hours to get here. Others came from Pittsburgh, Latrobe, Drums, Philadelphia, West Sunbury, Erie and State College, PA. Then there were the Ohioans, some from Cleveland, others, Cuyahoga Falls. But if we gave a prize for the family member(s) that traveled the farthest, Kathy, Bernard, and Audrey Couprie would win, hands down. They come across the ocean from Paris, France.

It was a grand day -- the weather cooperated, we had fabulous foods thanks to everyone who contributed, and as always, the best part was the company. What a great family we have!

 

 

 

Sisters, sisters, there were never more devoted sisters!

 

The youngest reunion attendee -- 8 months, maybe -- and his adorable mama.

 

 

 

The eldest member of the family -- beautiful and still spry at 90!