Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, is one of the world’s spectacularly beautiful places. For people who love mountain scenery like I do, the area is one of those “takes your breath away” places. A dam now controls the natural lake, covering about 50 square miles with stunning mountain scenes. Interstate 90 passes along the lake's northern shore and goes through the city of Coeur d’Alene, a city of about 50,000 residents with a wide range of tourist services and activities. Our church has a camp on the lake's southeast shore, near Harrison. The politics of the region are complex. For decades, the remote areas of north Idaho have attracted people with extreme political viewpoints. It is clear, however, that people of all different political perspectives are attracted to the region's natural beauty.

Stories are coming out of Coeur d’Alene this morning about a terrible shooting that occurred yesterday. Details are sketchy, and I don’t have any inside information about what happened, but firefighters responded to a fire at Canfield Mountain in the early afternoon. When they arrived and began to set up to attack the blaze, a sniper started shooting at them. Three were transported to the hospital. Two perished from their wounds. Because of the gunman, crews had to be pulled back from the fire as law enforcement officers were brought into the area. An armored vehicle was used to provide cover from officers receiving fire. An intense gun battle followed. By the end of the evening, a tactical response team discovered the body of a man with a firearm nearby.

The incident adds one more story of shooters armed with high-powered weapons aiming at innocent victims. According to Wikipedia, there have been 169 mass shooting incidents in the U.S. this year, with 216 people killed and 643 wounded. The Coeur d’Alene incident may not make that list, as a mass shooting is defined as an attack where four or more people, excluding the perpetrator(s), are shot in a single location at roughly the same time.

I don’t need to know the details, however, to know that what happened involved a human being with a human brain that forged a plan to target other humans. We humans are pretty proud of our brains. Our brains make up about 2% of our body weight. They are larger than most other animals, except elephants and whales. Anthropologists credit the development of the human brain with the ability to form communities, survive extreme conditions, and become dominant creatures on this planet. Greater intelligence has been associated with greater success in life. Humans frequently assume we are better than other creatures because we are smarter.

The prevalence of human-on-human violence, however, raises the question of whether or not our brains make for a better life. Discoveries about the communication and coordination of activities of other species of animals and insects raise questions about whether our large brains make us superior to other creatures. We may be too smart for our own good. Maybe human intelligence isn’t as great as we think it is.

Several authors have written about a concept known as the beekeeper’s dilemma. I have been pondering this question recently. It is time to start harvesting honey from the hives I tend, and spending time with the bees is always an amazing experience for me. This week, I have been reading Christina Baldwin’s 2024 novel, The Beekeeper’s Question, set during World War II, so I have been reflecting on the idea. The beekeeper’s dilemma is: “If humans are so smart, why can’t we learn to live and work together as effectively as honeybees?”

One obvious answer is that bees operate in a society of females. Male bees have only one function and are not major players in the rest of the life of the hive. We observe, as beekeepers, the industriousness and coordination of female bees. The answer is less than satisfying, however. Women in leadership positions have made poor decisions. Governments with women in charge have not proven inherently more peaceful than those headed by men. Although men are much more likely to perpetrate violence, there are rare cases where women have committed mass shootings. A 15-year-old female shot and killed two people and injured six more last December at a school in Wisconsin.

Justin Gregg, a senior researcher with the Dolphin Communication Project, has written a book suggesting that human intelligence is a big problem for humans and life on Earth. Published in 2022, “If Nietzsche Were a Narwhal” gives multiple examples of how human thinking has caused significant environmental problems, led to more mass extinction in a short time than asteroid strikes, and threatened the long-term survival of humans on this planet. He says that people often ask if humans are more intelligent than dolphins. He responds that it might be bad if dolphins were as intelligent as humans. Maybe human intelligence isn’t all that great. “At least,” he writes, “human intelligence isn’t the thing we should be comparing other animals’ way of thinking against.”

From a philosophical viewpoint, the idea that our way of thinking causes trouble is an ancient concept. Saint Augustine refined and promoted the idea of original sin. He posited that being born human made one a source of evil and needing redemption. Philosophers and theologians have argued the concept for centuries. While I am not convinced that humans are inherently evil, it is clear that we are capable of tremendous destruction to other species, to other humans, and ourselves. And that capability comes, in large part, from our mental capacity and ability to imagine.

A bee’s brain is tiny compared to a human brain. It contains about a million neurons and complex synaptic connections that produce sophisticated cognitive abilities. A human brain contains approximately 86 billion neurons. Comparing them, however, is meaningless. We don’t know whether bees experience joy. It makes no sense to say that we are happier because of the size of our brains. We are different from bees, dolphins, and other creatures that display intelligence. That difference can make us more destructive. It also may make us more capable of discovering solutions to the challenges of our time.

Only time will tell whether we are as smart as we think.

I may have had a sip or taste of coffee as a child, but I don’t remember it. Coffee was an adult beverage and not offered to children in our home. Neither of my parents drank alcohol, so coffee was the only beverage in our house that was restricted. My first conscious memory of drinking coffee was one fall when my father and I were hunting. We had packed sandwiches for our lunch, and he brought his thermos of coffee. I often had a canteen of water, but didn’t have it that day. The lunchbox that we used had space for two thermoses. One was full, the other empty. Dad took the cups from both thermoses and poured coffee into them as we ate our sandwiches. He offered one to me and I drank. I didn’t particularly like the flavor, but I enjoyed being treated like an adult.

After that experience, I would occasionally have a cup of coffee when sharing a coffee break with other employees when working in my father’s shop. However, I still didn’t consider myself a coffee drinker and often preferred other beverages.

Going to college was an opportunity to change my lifestyle in several ways. Before attending college, I had read myself to sleep for years. I kept books by my bed, and I would read for a while when I crawled into bed. I often woke up later with my glasses on and my face in a book. In college, I found myself getting sleepy when trying to read material for classes. I had to give up the practice of reading in bed. I would go to the library or sit at my desk to read assignments for class. I also started drinking coffee. The boost from the caffeine helped me focus on my studies. Before long, I acquired a percolator for my dorm room and was making coffee, roughly imitating how my mother made coffee at home, a relatively weak beverage.

After seminary we moved to a small town in North Dakota. Folks from the community gathered in the local city cafe for coffee each morning, and I began to join them. It was a good place to get a feel for the community and keep up with what was on the minds of the people I served. When we made pastoral calls, people didn’t ask whether or not we wanted coffee. They just served us. My wife, who had not previously drunk coffee, started to accept the beverage and began drinking it at home. During those years, I became a bit more interested in coffee. I purchased a grinder and bought specialty coffees from a shop when I traveled to the city. I started to make my coffee a lot stronger than what was served in homes and cafes where we lived.

Specialty coffee shops were beginning to appear in cities. The first Starbucks opened in Pike Place in Seattle when I was a college student, but I knew little of coffee culture. When we moved to Idaho, we moved to a larger city (Boise), and our conference office was located in Portland, Oregon, and we began to visit that city fairly regularly. Starbucks shops started to appear in more and more places across the Northwest. Despite the high prices, I occasionally indulged in coffee from them and other vendors that began opening shops. I had a friend who was an artist who received a commission to paint murals in Starbucks shops, and I made it a point to visit shops that featured his artwork.

While living in Boise, I acquired an espresso machine and learned to craft coffee beverages at home. I bought beans from coffee shops and developed preferences for various blends and roasts. Susan and I created a practice of going out for coffee and conversation on Mondays, which were our day off from work.

When we moved to Rapid City, our choices of where to go for coffee were limited. I began to tell my friends that the best cup of espresso in town was in my kitchen. The trend of specialty coffee shops with high prices continued to grow, and soon, there were several such shops in Rapid City. Over the 25 years we lived there, coffee shops and kiosks were springing up at a rapid pace.

A couple of years before we moved from Rapid City, I was diagnosed with irregular heartbeats. My doctor noticed extra beats and ordered a few tests. Since caffeine can contribute to such a condition, I decided to stop drinking coffee. Initially, I continued to make espresso drinks with decaffeinated coffee. Over time, I explored various tea beverages, including decaffeinated chai. I started to bend my own spices for chai. After I stopped drinking coffee, Susan had her own experience with irregular heart rhythm and also stopped consuming caffeine. We still have an espresso machine in our kitchen and I made beverages for family and friends and steamed milk for tea lattes for myself.

I am not as strict about avoiding caffeine as I used to be. An ablation procedure has addressed my heart rhythm, and I will occasionally have a cup of coffee. I still enjoy the aroma and taste, and I still pay attention to coffee shops.

When we moved to Birch Bay, our village had no coffee shops. The nearest one was four miles away, in a plaza next to the Interstate highway. Living near our son’s home, we began going out for coffee with him occasionally, so I discovered several coffee shops in the area.

Now, almost five years after moving into this house, there are three coffee shops in Birch Bay. The latest ribbon-cutting ceremony was yesterday and is within easy walking distance of our house. The farthest is a ten-minute bike ride from home. I don’t frequent coffee shops enough to make a difference to their business, but I am curious about how many coffee shops our village needs. I expect all three to do well this summer, but I don’t think there is enough business in the winter to support all three.

I have visions of coffee shops proliferating until every other storefront on every mainstream is a coffee shop. With the price of specialty coffees topping $7 per cup in shops while the cost of making the same beverage at home is pennies, I wonder how there can be enough customers to support the shops we have.

Meanwhile, I’ve been paying attention to how much counter space the espresso machine consumes in our kitchen, and wondering how much longer before we realize we don’t need it anymore.

Buying the house where we now live was a significant change for us. When we decided that a move would be part of our retirement, we had different criteria for a house than had been the case a quarter of a century earlier when we purchased a family home in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We wanted to downsize a bit. We were just two people and did not need the space we had when raising teenagers. While we had enjoyed our half-acre lot in South Dakota, I was ready to have less grass to mow.
Furthermore, land prices here in northwest Washington are much higher than in South Dakota, so we had to be realistic about what we could afford. There is a housing shortage in our area, and we had to learn a new way of shopping and making the big decision about a home. The first couple of homes in which we had interest sold while we were trying to decide whether or not to make an offer. The house we bought was on the market for less than two weeks, with multiple potential buyers making offers exceeding the asking price. We worked with an astute realtor who helped us make an offer the day the house went on the market. We got lucky to find a home inspector who did a preliminary inspection right away, so we could waive the inspection from our offer. The price was a guess for us, but it has turned out to be a good deal. Home prices have continued to soar, and we were able to lock in a very favorable mortgage rate.

Our small yard was a compromise for us. We wished for more space for a vegetable garden. So far, I haven’t minded switching from a yard that took two hours to mow to one that I can mow in 20 minutes. And we have a very productive cherry tree that yields an excellent harvest each year. The cherries are ripe now, and we pick a couple of gallons daily. Last year, we froze over 50 pounds of cherries, and it looks like we will have a banner harvest this year, too.

From our perspective, one of the drawbacks to this house is that the neighbors are very close. Our house faces the street to the south with a front lawn barely larger than our driveway. The neighbors to the east and west are close enough that there isn’t room to drive a car between the houses. Our backyard is a bit bigger, but the view out of our patio door is of a six-foot privacy fence that separates us from the neighbor to the north. We’ve spoken to that neighbor, but don’t know them well. One feature of their yard is a row of Arborvitae right next to the fence. The trees are all dead. They were dead when we moved into our house more than four years ago. We assumed they would remove the dead plants and perhaps plant something else, but the dead trees remain one of the visual features of looking out of our house. Last year, they dug up their lawn and planted new grass, and we were hopeful that their landscaping would include removing the dead Arborvitae, but so far it has not.

I have joked that I should use our paint sprayer to paint our side of the dead plants green to improve our view. That idea is impractical, so we’ve worked at improving the view in other ways. I painted the fence. We put hooks for hanging plants and fill those baskets with annuals that give a stash of color. I built raised beds beside the fence where we grow herbs, vegetables, and flowers. At the back of those beds, I plant sunflowers each year. We always had sunflowers in South Dakota. I had to plant them inside our fenced vegetable garden to keep the deer from eating them before they bloomed, but the plants were well-suited to the climate. I told people that I planted sunflowers each year because I couldn’t afford a Van Gogh. The joke is partly true.

I was very successful with my sunflowers the first couple of summers in this house. They grew taller than the fence and produced giant heads. Their bright yellow blossoms distracted from the dead Arborvitae on the other side of the fence. However, last year, fewer of the seeds I planted germinated, and I transplanted established sunflowers from the nursery. I doubled the number of seeds this year because of last year’s problems. I have no sunflowers. The beds are producing other plants. We’ve got healthy tomatoes on the vine. We have herbs and annual flowers growing, but no sunflowers. Although those beds are not the main dahlia beds in our yard, I did plant a few tubers there, and only one produced a plant.

I discussed the lack of sunflowers with our daughter-in-law, a very successful gardener, yesterday as we were all picking peas in her yard. She theorized that slugs had gotten into my beds and eaten the sunflower seeds. It is possible. We do have slugs in our yard. However, I’ve put copper around our raised beds and thought it kept the slugs at bay. I have also applied a " Sluggo " product to keep them away. I’ve never seen a slug inside the raised beds. Whatever the reason, we have no sunflowers. Our yard is beautiful and makes us happy, but we don’t have any Van Gogh going, which is disappointing. Since I don’t have the artistic ability to paint sunflowers on the dead Arborvitae, I will likely visit the nursery to purchase at least a few sunflower plants.

I’ve gotten used to the view of the dead Arborvitae. I hardly notice them any more. I’ve learned to train my attention on the beautiful cherry tree, the hanging baskets and the thriving tomato plants. I have beds closer to our deck that will produce dahlia blossoms from now through September. And, in a few weeks, I plan to have at least a few sunflowers. Nursery plants are expensive, but a lot less than purchasing a Van Gough.

The work of Howard Gardner has influenced my thinking and teaching. Gardner is best known for the theory of multiple intelligences. Before the development of the theory, educators often thought of intelligence as a single general ability. Standardized tests were designed to measure a person’s intelligence and assign a numerical score called the Intelligence Quotient (IQ). The tests were designed to evaluate problem-solving, logical reasoning, memory, and speed of processing information. One of the problems with the tests is that they are based on verbal and linguistic skills. People who excel at reading and writing and learn through reading and writing tend to score higher on standardized intelligence tests.

Gardner proposed that verbal-linguistic intelligence is just one of eight primary intelligences. In addition to the ability to use words effectively and understand language structure, Gardner posited seven additional intelligences: logical-mathematical, spatial, musical, body-kinesthetic, interpersonal, and intrapersonal. When I first studied Gardner’s work, it made sense. I have a brother who was diagnosed as dyslexic. He struggled to learn to read and had to work very hard to earn grades in a traditional educational system. However, he was brilliant at hunting, fishing, and finding his way. His spatial intelligence far exceeded my own. Our daughter struggled with math in her early school years, but could dance to complex rhythms from an early age.

Studying Gardner’s theory taught me to write teaching plans and lessons that appealed to different intelligences. Applying the theory to curriculum design enabled us to produce resources for faith formation that engaged a wide range of learners. Even though I am retired, I occasionally write curriculum pieces for various projects and keep Gardner’s theories in mind when preparing lessons for others.

With the recent attention given to large language models, sometimes called artificial intelligence (AI), I have been thinking about multiple intelligence theory. With AI built into some of the software I use, I want to understand how it works. So far, I have not used AI tools to generate text. I’m writing this journal entry word by word based on my thinking. However, I use a grammar checker that presents me with choices about particular language patterns. I’ve found the program helpful when I write essays, but I do not use it when writing poems and prayers, as I think it is weighted to the patterns of the written word, but it is less helpful when creating oral language.

AI programs are based mainly on linguistic intelligence. Although they use logical-mathematical intelligence to analyze relationships, they function well as calculators but are less helpful in creating formulas for real-world problem solving. Some content creators are experimenting with AI tools for musical composition, but their results have not rivaled human music writing at this point. AI is less helpful for counselors who are focusing on human relationships and effective interactions between people. Human emotions are complex for AI tools at this point.

I have been interested in reading about developers of AI tools developing algorithms based on bee behavior. As a tender of bees, I read articles about bees. AI developers are interested in bee brains partly because they are tiny compared to human brains. A bee brain has a million neurons, compared to a human brain with more than 86 million. However, bees are brilliant and capable, given the size of their brains. They can maintain accurate spatial awareness within seven miles of the hive, traveling back and forth to a single blossom with complete accuracy. They can learn as many as 300 jobs in a lifetime, from nursing brood to dealing with dead bees' bodies, creating cells, foraging, capping cells, caring for the queen, and guarding the hive. They can switch jobs quickly depending on the needs of the colony.

However, there is increasing evidence that bees’ memories don’t work like human memories. DNA evidence shows that bees can change their DNA depending on their jobs. Bees are genetically different when serving as foragers than when capping honey cells in the hive. Evidence shows that they process some information, such as the odors of specific pheromones, without processing the information through their brains. While researchers can develop algorithms for specific bee behaviors and then reverse-engineer silicon computer chips to control robots, they have yet to build the capacity to make robots that can quickly change functions and jobs. Robots also lack bees’ abilities to pass on information. While AI can enable a driverless car to “learn” a route and get from one place to another with accuracy, so far, that same computer cannot deliver a baby if a passenger goes into labor while riding. Bees, however, can switch from navigating to tending and hatching bees as the colony requires.

Bees are not the only creatures whose brains function significantly differently from human brains. Octopuses are considered to be very intelligent animals. They can solve puzzles, open jars, and use tools. Like bees, they can alter their genetics. Octopi can change their genetic material by editing RNA to produce proteins best suited to temperature variations. And, like bees, their brains are not contained only in their heads. Octopus nervous systems extend into the arms, containing thousands of touch and taste sensors through their suction cups. Their brains can process information from these neurons without going through a central brain in their heads. This allows each arm to function independently. It also produces a different understanding of the world than humans perceive.

Despite the capacity of computers to process large amounts of information and their capacity to process language with increasing accuracy, actual intelligence is more complex than an algorithm. Furthermore, human intelligence is not the only intelligence operating in our universe. While AI can expand human productivity in some arenas, I don’t expect it to replace human thinking. Regular readers of my journal know how quirky my brain is when it comes to selecting a subject for an entry. I don’t expect my computer to be able to learn to make journal entries without me.

As far as I know, cougar and mountain lion are interchangeable. For whatever reason, we called the large cats mountain lions when I was growing up. I tend to be loyal to local terms when speaking of natural phenomena. I want to claim my Western heritage and Montana upbringing. This is especially true now that I am in my seventies and much of Montana is owned by wealthy people from out of state who have bought ranches as personal retreats. In the area where I grew up, as many as half a dozen or more properties that used to be working ranches have been acquired by rich out-of-state people who build multi-million-dollar mansions on the property in which they do not live year-round. The properties function as hunting lodges or retreat cabins and are among multiple properties with homes owned by these millionaires. The current Governor of Montana and one of its US Senators are not long-term residents of the state. They did not grow up there, and I suspect have not often spent winters in the state. For those who grew up among the working ranches and historic properties of Montana, they will always be outsiders. Senator Steve Dains grew up in Montana, but he is sponsor of a bill to sell of public lands in the state that will allow the rich folk to prevent locals from accessing land that has been shared for more than a century.

I am not uneducated. The animals we call buffalo are American Bison, not buffalo at all. But buffalo is the local name for the animals, and the one I prefer to use. I know that if you hear someone pronounce “coyote” kai-OH-tee, they are not from Montana, North Dakota, or South Dakota, where the locals pronounce it kai-YOTE. University of South Dakota sports fans know how to pronounce their team mascot, and it doesn’t have three syllables.

I prefer to refer to the elusive mountain cats as mountain lions, even though I know that others use the term cougar. Depending on where they are found, they are also called puma, catamount, and panther.

One of the places where I ride my bike regularly is across a large area of buffer land owned by British Petroleum. The buffer land surrounds the largest oil refinery in Washington, which is located within sight of our home. The refinery’s principal output is jet fuel, which is supplied to the International airports at Vancouver, BC, Seattle, WA, and Portland, OR. The refinery also produces diesel, gasoline, and propane. Crude oil, primarily from Alaska’s North Slope, arrives by tanker, and refined products leave by train and truck.

The refinery allows public access to the buffer zones for walking, biking, and hunting. My favorite trail across their property is a paved trail that extends a mile south of Grandview Road to a lookout with a great view of Lummi Island and other San Juan Islands. The trail then extends for a little over a mile east to a parking area where it connects to another trail that skirts the south side of the refinery and connects to Kickerville Road. It is about 4 miles from my home to the beginning of the trail, so if I ride from home, ride the trail, and return on different roads, I can make an eight to ten-mile loop, depending on which roads I take going to and from the BP property.

At the trails' entrances, signs warn of possible encounters with wild animals. There is information on bears and cougars on the signs. (Their choice of words, not mine.) The signs get my attention because mountain lions and bicycles are a dangerous mix. Mountain Lions see moving objects in two categories: prey and threat. Bicycles fall into the prey category. They move quickly, and the lions give chase. There are numerous stories from Colorado, California, and other areas of mountain lions chasing cyclists and causing severe injuries and death. Mountain lions can leap over a 12-foot fence from a sitting position, pounce more than 20 feet at a run, and in a sprint can go 45 mph. No one will outrun a mountain lion on a bicycle, even an electric one like I ride.

However, there hasn’t been a mountain lion sighting in our county since I’ve lived here, and the only ones that would be in the open grasslands of the BP buffer zone would be transient cats heading elsewhere. Still, I am careful to bike only in the daytime and prefer to do so when others are on the trail. The area is a wonderful place for people to allow their dogs to roam off leash, and I always feel a bit safer when there are dogs in the area that would provide ample warning should a mountain lion appear.

I’ve only seen a mountain lion in the wild twice. The first time was when I was a teen and riding with my uncle in the mountains near Libby, Montana. The second was early morning as I drove through the Black Hills in South Dakota. Both times, the glimpse was fleeting as the big cat ran across the road and disappeared into the forest. Both times, there was no mistaking the animal. I was struck by how long their tails are.

There is a possibility of a mountain lion sighting in our area because there are numerous cats in the mountains north of the border. The Canadian Cascades provide a rugged and remote habitat for the cats. They have made the local news because there have been several sightings of mountain lions in the Whistler-Blackcomb ski area this spring. Two cats have been seen chasing, stalking, and being close to hikers and mountain bikers.

As soon as the snow melts from the ski runs, Whistler-Blackcomb becomes a destination for mountain bikers who can ride to the tops of the mountains on ski lifts and descend on their bikes on the winding trails through beautiful mountain scenery. However, mountain lion sightings have closed all of the bike trails in the area until wildlife conservation officers can decide what to do about the mountain lions. It is theorized that they are young cats exploring new territory. Mountain lion cubs are pushed out of the den and away from their families in their second year and must establish their hunting grounds. Usually, they settle far from the resorts with all their human activities. These cats will likely leave the area within weeks.

In the meantime, if you bike in the area, know that some creatures see you as prey.

Before a Zoom meeting earlier this week, we visited informally while waiting for some of our group to join. Most of the participants in the meeting live in the Eastern Time Zone. The meeting is at 7 pm in their area, while it begins at 4 pm in my time zone. Several of the participants live in New England states, and a small cluster lives in Pennsylvania. The pre-meeting conversation this week was about the weather. One participant reported that it was 97 degrees and that overnight lows were expected to remain above 80. Most of the others said it was above 90 degrees in their location. Someone asked me if we were sweltering. I said I felt guilty after hearing of the heat in other places. It was 67 degrees when the meeting started, and we have been seeing overnight lows in the 50s. It is a wonderful time of the year when it comes to the weather for us. With the long days, our solar panels produce lots of energy, and our house needs neither heat nor air conditioning. We can open the windows and air out the house without worrying about it becoming too hot or cold. Our power bill is fun to read, as our consumption is reported in kilowatt-hours while our solar system exports megawatt-hours. With net metering, we use the grid as our power backup system, so we have net exports for the year, meaning that our only electricity bill is the fee for the meter.

We are very fortunate when it comes to the weather. To the west of us, Vancouver Island is a large land mass with mountains that shield us from the most significant Pacific storms. Because of the land's shape and the flow of ocean currents, the Salish Sea water flows from south to north, bringing warmer water temperatures. The big weather adjustment for us when we moved here is the widely variable humidity. Lots of moisture in the air can affect how temperatures feel. The weather application on my phone displays the measured temperature and reports a “feels like” temperature. Humidity is a strange phenomenon because we have lived most of our lives in dry places. When temperatures are below 70 degrees, humidity makes it feel slightly cooler. When the temperature goes above 70, high humidity makes it feel warmer. When we lived in South Dakota, I knew I didn’t need a jacket once the outside temperature reached 50 degrees. Here I reach for a sweatshirt when it is below 60. I think the change is more than just my getting older.

The humidity stayed high all day yesterday. The fog just couldn’t lift from the offshore islands. While we enjoyed a mostly sunny day, we couldn’t see the nearby islands in the sea due to the fog. Mists prevented us from seeing the mountains, too. I’m learning to refine my definition of a sunny day. While I have lived most of my life where a sunny day meant cloudless skies, here we call it sunny whenever there are no clouds between us and the sun, regardless of how many clouds can be seen. We occasionally get cloudless days, but they are rare compared to the other places we have called home.

Meanwhile, dozens of people have been hospitalized for heat-related illnesses due to the major heat wave that covers most of eastern North America. The mayor of Paterson, New Jersey, declared a state of emergency when more than 150 people fell ill at an outdoor graduation ceremony. An outdoor concert in Washington, DC sent six people to the hospital for heat exhaustion. Heat warnings stretch across the Midwest and up and down the East Coast. Our daughter in South Carolina is expecting at least a week of daytime temperatures above 100 degrees. Coastal areas are also experiencing high humidity, which exacerbates the health risks for those who cannot find shelter. Higher-than-normal overnight temperatures significantly increase the health risks for many.

We have had conversations with new neighbors who have moved to our area because of their experiences living in warmer places. One moved from Arizona and another from Texas, citing hot weather as the reason for their move. As global warming results in more extreme temperatures, our area could see significant numbers of climate refugees seeking to live in places with desirable weather.

Hot weather forces many people indoors, and air conditioning consumes a lot of energy. Energy companies on the East Coast have issued requests for customers to conserve power. Blackouts and brownouts are possible in several areas because of the high demand for energy to keep the air conditioners running.

My father-in-law, who grew up on a North Dakota farm, used to quip, “It’s a good thing we have the weather. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.” He was astute at conversing with others and getting to know them from how they spoke of the weather. You can quickly discover whether a person works outdoors or has a desk job from how they talk about the weather. A conversation about the weather will generally reveal whether or not your conversation partner is a gardener. I was often surprised by how much my father-in-law knew about others from a brief conversation that to me was about something superficial, namely, the weather.

The weather is not superficial. It is central to how we live our lives. I sometimes laugh when I open our front hall closet. Tucked into the back of the closet is severe cold gear. I’ve got a pair of insulated coveralls and a parka back there that really aren’t needed where we now live. I needed those items too many times in our previous home for me to be ready to get rid of them, however. I’ve found a couple of occasions to put them on since moving, but when I do, I’m usually shedding layers within minutes of going outdoors.

I’ll keep talking about the weather with folks and learning to read their responses. Most of the time, I’ll keep fairly quiet because talking about our weather can easily sound like bragging when others experience more severe conditions. Besides, I don’t want too many people to want to move here. It already feels crowded to me.

If you are a regular reader of my journal, you already know that I’m not completely accurate in typing and that I sometimes employ run-on sentences. You know that my journal entries are far from mistake-free. It is an excellent example of me when the document I’m writing has not been edited. None of my journal entries are read by another or edited before I post them. You’re getting the raw, unfiltered Ted. And it is sometimes awkward and sometimes a bit challenging to read.

It would be better if it was edited before it is published.

Unedited documents, however, are becoming the rule and not the exception. Increasingly we read documents that have not been read and proofed by a human editor. I use a spell checker when I am writing and it does catch some mistakes. It also makes a few. For example, when I want to use the word “too” it will auto correct to “to.” Then it will highlight the auto corrected “to” because it should be “too.” If auto correct worked a bit more slowly, the problem wouldn’t happen as often. I really know when to use “too” and when to use “to.”

So far I have resisted using a grammar corrector. The software called “Grammarly” is probably the most popular among the circle of writers with whom I have the most contact. The problem is that I spent a lot of time and energy learning grammar and teaching myself to write cogent sentences and I pride myself on my ability to write and speak clearly. I also have worked most of my career developing a particular storytelling style for both writing and speaking. i am well aware that written language and spoken language are different. I have invested many hours honing my skills and I think my human evaluations are superior to what even the best of algorithms can produce.

Having said that, I am not the world’s strongest proofreader. Proofreading requires a disciplined skill of reading exactly what is written without allowing your brain to correct for meaning. My wife is a very skilled proofreader. She is the one in our office who is continually being asked to proof documents before we send them out. She is good at catching errors and correcting mistakes.

But she has been out of the office for nearly a month now. I’m sure that more mistakes have crept into our printed documents because of her absence, but I’m trying very hard to get better at proofing documents. This morning I will have to proofread the weekly worship bulletin before it is posted to the web and printed for worship.

I have tried several different approaches. I’ve tried reading out loud and slowly, thinking that the discipline forces me to read more accurately and to focus on each word. I’ve tried reading the entire document backwards, which is good for catching spelling errors, but worthless when proofing for grammar or meaning. I’ve tried reading page by page, then going back through the document page by page in backwards page order. That seems to be the most successful technique for me, but it is very time consuming.

When I began my service in this congregation, I inherited a secretary who was very accurate in her work. She was good at catching mistakes in grammar and spelling, but we would occasionally have a discussion about meaning. Sometimes I bend grammar rules to convey a particular meaning or mood. She wanted to correct such. We learned to work together very well. I also inherited a former English teacher who sat in the back row of the sanctuary and checked every week’s bulletin for mistakes. She even brought a red pen to mark the bulletin and gave it to me as she left the sanctuary if there were any mistakes. Most weeks she could find at least one. It got to be a kind of silent competition between us. I’d try to produce a perfect document and she’d try to find mistakes. Once I made it for an entire month without a single correction from her. Then I learned that she had been sick and not on top of her game. I always wondered if there were mistakes that got by her because she wasn’t feeling her best.

Of course the church isn’t about perfection. We know that we are not capable of perfection. We’re in the business of forgiveness. Being humble enough to admit mistakes is a skill that every pastor needs to develop very carefully. It can be critical to being able to move forward. The days of the old “Herr Pastor” who was always in charge and definitely above the congregation served are past. Our people want and expect human leadership. When we use our mistakes to point towards God and the differences between God and ourselves we can lead people to a deeper understanding and appreciation of our faith. But it can be hard to admit mistakes, especially when we are passionate about our subject, which is often the case for a pastor.

From time to time I will get out notes form a sermon that I delivered a while ago. Because our readings go in a three-year cycle, I’m often reading sermons from 3, 6, or 9 years ago. Once in a while I’ll even bring up one that is older than that. The process is very humbling. I discover all kinds of things that I said back then that i wouldn’t say now. I sometimes even wonder how the congregation put up with my immature rantings. Then again, it isn’t just the pastor who is in the business of forgiveness. The church is pretty skilled at that task, too.

One task that I may undertake in retirement is choosing a few of the essays from my journal and drawing them together into an edited volume. I’m pretty sure that the task will be another lesson in humility. Things that I thought were pretty good at the time, probably seem less so after a few years.

Then again, I might never get around to doing it. After all, I’ve got a bulletin to proofread this morning and more documents to edit soon.

Copyright (c) 2019 by Ted E. Huffman. I wrote this. If you would like to share it, please direct your friends to my web site. If you'd like permission to copy, please send me an email. Thanks!

In the Bible, chapter 8 of 1 Samuel is the story of Israel demanding a king. In that story, Samuel prays to God, and God advises Samuel that such a demand is a rejection of God. A human king is a rejection of God’s authority. God tells Samuel to warn the people about kings. Samuel warns the people of Israel:

“These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots, and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers, cooks, and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves and the best of your cattle and donkeys and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And on that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves, but the Lord will not answer you on that day.” (1 Samuel 8:11-18)
The people don’t listen and continue to demand a king. And everything that God predicted through Samuel came to pass. Both Chronicles and Kings report how Solomon decided to build a temple for God and a palace for himself. He conscripts laborers from the people. He took half of the immigrants living in Israel and forced them to labor. He ordered the temple to be built of massive cedar beams and for precious metals to be used. The nails alone cost fifty shekels of gold. He had carved figures covered in gold. He had the entire inner sanctuary overlaid with pure gold. Chains were made with pure gold, and the altar was overlaid with gold. If you read the descriptions in 1 Kings and 2 Chronicles, the word “gold” is used over and over again.

The wealth of the temple and residence was part of Israel's downfall, as reported in the books of the prophets. Because so much wealth was concentrated in one place, Israel became vulnerable to attack. Isaiah describes the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple. Israel's wealth was taken along with many of its people, who were spread out across Babylon in exile.

Even though the people demanded a king, the kings weren’t good for Israel.

It should come as no surprise that many people of faith who know Biblical history have participated in “No Kings” rallies. The current president of the U.S.'s wildly evident gold obsession provokes easy comparisons with the descriptions of Solomon’s temple and residence.

Just like the descriptions of the temple, each time the president uses the word “gold,” people cringe. In an executive order issued in May, he said, "My Administration is committed to restoring a gold standard for science to ensure that federally funded research is transparent, rigorous, and impactful, and that Federal decisions are informed by the most credible, reliable, and impartial scientific evidence available.”

The way that order has played out is for vast amounts of funding to be withdrawn from science and research. The administration has cut the workforce at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, terminated over $1 billion in funding of the National Institutes of Health, cut over $6 billion in NASA funding, battled universities and cut billions of dollars for research, and put decades of scientific research in jeopardy by deleting data sets collected by satellites. The so-called “gold standard” seems to be aimed directly at environmental science and diversity, equity, and inclusion. Researchers filing out grant requests now must answer questions such as “Can you confirm this is not a climate or ‘environmental justice’ project or include such elements?” and “Can you confirm that this is no DEI project or DEI elements of the project?” Not only is it clear that the administration is targeting solid science, but it is also evident that they haven’t hired people skilled in using language to design their questions.

The administration’s “gold standard” for science is an apparent attempt to stifle research and innovation. Because so much science is conducted in international arenas, other countries are moving to take up some of the slack, and that includes hiring some of the most educated and capable scientists away from the US. The brain drain has already begun, and the US's position as a leader in international science research has slipped dramatically in just a few months.

Biblical history teaches that consolidating power and wealth creates injustice, and a government that ignores or perverts justice cannot long succeed.

As a result, it is impossible for preachers and scholars in this generation to avoid politics. It isn’t that religion has strayed from its normal boundaries. Politics has entered churches and other religious institutions. The prophets of the Bible were not popular in their day, and faithful religious leaders may not be popular today. God cannot be silenced, even when people refuse to listen.

Scientific method and research were born out of religious faith. The observation of creation led to systems of organizing information. Churches and other religious institutions supported and funded research, founded institutions of education, and supported science. Harvard University, target of the current administration, was founded by the church I served during my career. Attacks on science attempt to change the nature of truth, but reality intervenes. Truth is not subject to political whims.

Students of the bible find many warnings in the orders being issued by the administration. Faithful people will be wise to listen.

It seemed like the world was in chaos. The United States had officially signed the Paris Peace Accords, ending roughly two decades of involvement in the war in Vietnam. Although the United States Congress never officially declared war, US combat troops were directly involved. Over 58,000 US troops had died. Estimates of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians killed range from just under a million to 3 million. Cambodians and Laotians also died in large numbers. The end of the war ended the draft for US men, though the system remained in place with men required to register and Congress reserving the power to resume the draft if needed. The transition to an all-volunteer army was rocky, in part due to the unpopularity of the Vietnam War in the United States. Returning soldiers were often ignored, treated with disrespect, and did not receive the ongoing support and service they needed. Unemployment and homelessness among veterans began to rise.

U.S. politics were in upheaval, and the Nixon Administration was embroiled in controversy. Vice President Spiro Agnew was being investigated for criminal charges, including conspiracy, bribery, extortion, and tax fraud. This was the beginning of the administration's unraveling, which resulted in the Vice President's resignation and, a couple of years later, the only resignation of a sitting US President in our nation’s history.

The stock market crashed, and the U.S. slid into a severe recession. During the Arab-Israeli War, Arab members of the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) imposed an embargo on the United States in retaliation for the U.S. backing of the Israeli military. The embargo sparked an energy crisis in the U.S. Gas stations ran out of fuel. Long lines and high prices affected the distribution of goods and curtailed tourism.

We were college students preparing to enter our senior year and intending to go on to graduate school. I had decided to remain in our college town that summer instead of going home to work for my father. It was harder than I thought it would be to find a summer job. I considered driving an ice cream truck, but that was risky with no guaranteed hourly wage. We knew we would be forced to borrow money to stay in college and that we would need to have high grades to earn graduate school fellowships and follow our educational dreams.

There had been serious conversations with my parents and with hers about the timing of our wedding. At first, the parents favored waiting until we graduated from college, but we were not inclined to wait. We had decided to marry and saw no reason for delay. Although our college did not have housing for married students, we obtained jobs as janitors in an office building on campus. The building had previously served as a dormitory and had a small efficiency apartment for the resident manager. We were allowed to stay in the apartment in exchange for providing janitorial services. The apartment had been remodeled and downsized in the conversion to offices. It consisted of a kitchen, a bathroom, and what had formerly been the living room. A hide-a-bed sofa was unfolded each evening for a place to sleep.

Having not found a job by the end of the school year, I got temporary employment guiding a visiting church youth group in the mountains. It was a year of significant snowfall, and their planned backpack trip had to be modified due to snow in the high country. It was also a banner year for ticks, and I became proficient at removing them from campers getting their first taste of the Montana mountains.

Finally, at the last minute, through a friend of a friend, I was hired to work at a large bakery. My first day of work was delayed for one week so I could get married. The wedding was on a Friday evening, and I reported to work on Tuesday morning. We stayed two nights at her parents’ cabin for a honeymoon.

There were a lot of details we hadn’t worked out. Our study was also our bedroom. We had only one typewriter, and college papers had to be typed. I was a morning person, and she was a night owl. She proofread my papers for spelling and grammar. I typed hers from her handwritten copies. We had almost no spending money. We signed loans to cover part of our tuition and fees, and counted our available cash before grocery shopping. We had discussed having children, but weren’t ready to start a family. We didn’t have investments or savings. We assumed we could obtain married student housing in graduate school, but we had only begun applying, and the schools we were applying to were a long way away. We expected to move to Boston, Chicago, or Berkeley, but had no plan for making the move.

We were in love and we were happy. Getting married was the right thing at the right time for us. It turned out that we were right. Five years later, we graduated from the seminary and obtained our first full-time jobs after several part-time jobs and student apartments. Our move to the parsonage was our sixth in our married life. Moving wasn’t all that complex. We had a few boxes of dishes and kitchen items, one small desk, a typewriter, a sewing machine, a couple of guitars, and several boxes of books.

Today marks 52 years, and we are still in love and happy. Over the years, we have officiated at a lot of weddings, both as individual officiants and as a clergy couple. Most of the couples whose marriages we celebrated were older than we were at our wedding. Some have had all kinds of details worked out. They have established careers, financial security, and own their own home. Some have had children before their wedding. Not every couple does things in the same order as we did. We’d been married seven years before children, twelve before we got our first mortgage and became homeowners.

But we have been blessed with deep joy. We have shared our careers and worked together. We have made a few more moves and accumulated furniture and many other possessions. We still have a lot of books. She still proofreads my writing, though I haven’t typed a document for her in years.

The world is still in chaos. The U.S. has been involved in military strikes against an Arab country backing Israel. The economy is far from stable with a trade war, rising costs, and energy instability. The world is facing a global climate crisis. Some think it is not a good time to make long-term plans and commitments. No one is asking my opinion these days, but if asked, I urge young couples to make the commitment. Not every couple has been as fortunate in marriage as we have, but the rewards of taking a risk for love have made it worth it for us.

It turned out to be the best choice of our lives.

At the turn of the 20th century, the United States had significant generational wealth. As the nation neared its sesquicentennial, several industries produced enough wealth for individuals to pass on wealth to their children. Those heirs invested part of that wealth in luxury and recreation. The heirs of the Johnson & Johnson pharmaceutical company had wealth to invest in the early 1920s. They commissioned William H. Hand, Jr., to design a private yacht capable of transatlantic racing. Hand’s design became a two-masted gaff topsail schooner built by the Hodgdon Brothers Shipyard in East Boothbay, Maine, launched in 1924. The wooden boat was 160 feet long with 127 feet on deck. It displaced 147 tons and sported a mainmast that was 127 feet tall with its topmast attached. It could fly 7000 square feet of sail, propelling the ship to a hull speed of 13.4 knots (15.42 mph). That may not seem fast by today’s standards, but it was sufficient to make the Zodiac a serious contender in the King’s Cup Race across the Atlantic to Spain in 1928. For the race, she flew a jib and staysail off the front of the foremast, with the gaffed foresail behind. The massive mainsail, also with a gaff, was raised from the taller mainmast. Those sails were topped with a set of four topsails, which were borrowed for the race.

The Johnson & Johnson heirs didn’t keep Zodiac very long. In 1929, the ship was sold to Arthur J. Nesbitt of Montreal. He renamed the schooner Airdeane, and she was docked in Nova Scotia to cruise the coasts of Labrador and the Canadian Maritimes. Two years later, she was donated to the Grenfell Mission to provide medical and educational services in Labrador and Northern Newfoundland.

The great depression once again forced the sail of the ship. She was purchased by the San Francisco Bar Pilots, restored, and served as a pilot schooner for nearly 40 years, bearing the name California. Those years were good to the huge wooden ship as she was constantly maintained and regularly sailed. In 1972, she retired as the last American pilot schooner.

Fortunately for us, and for hundreds of other people who appreciate historic sailing vessels, the schooner was acquired by a group of shipwrights and sailors who brought her to Washington and undertook a complete restoration, replacing wood as necessary, sanding and painting her hull, replacing her teak deck, varnishing her masts, gaffs and brightwork. They polished the brass and eventually obtained a new suit of sails. She was added to the National Register of Historic Places ten years later. Since restoration, which included restoring her original name, Zodiac, she has served as a charter vessel from her homeport in Bellingham, Washington. She carries the tallest mainmast and largest mainsail on the west coast of the United States.

As Zodiac neared her 100th birthday, Susan and I were privileged to share a stateroom for a three-day cruise as part of our 50th wedding anniversary celebration. We joined the ship's crew, raising the sails, sharing onboard duties, learning navigation, and taking turns on watch. An excellent chef served us three meals daily while cruising around the San Juan Islands in the Salish Sea. It was a trip of a lifetime for us.

Sometimes life gives you an encore, and last evening, as part of our 52nd wedding anniversary celebration, we went on a three-hour sunset cruise on a Zodiac, complete with a salmon dinner. In contrast to our original cruise, the winds were favorable, and we were able to raise sails and cruise without the assistance of the engine last night. We worked the lines with the crew and were delighted to stay on deck except for the time we ducked below to get our dinner.

A dinner cruise was a different experience from our three-day cruise. Zodiac can accommodate 49 passengers for a day sail, but only carries 26 for overnight cruises. The larger number of people made the ship a bit more crowded, but the sails went up and down quickly with all the extra hands to handle the lines. Unlike our first cruise, I only helped raise the mainsail and took advantage of my age to sit and watch as the other sails rose. It made for a very relaxed evening.

As the captain expertly backed the ship into her slip at the Bellingham Cruise Terminal, we relaxed, sitting on a deck box, savoring our experience as the sun set behind the clouds. We were in no rush to leave. It was a glorious evening.

I’ve not yet felt the desire to travel aboard one of the giant floating hotel cruise ships that carry tourists around the seas. I have no desire to own a yacht. But I am charmed by a century-old sailing vessel. I love seeing her heading across Bellingham Bay toward the San Juans. I feel grateful for the historians and shipwrights who have worked to keep her legacy alive. I am awed by the power of the wind to move such a large ship across the water with such quiet grace. And, when the opportunity presents itself, I feel especially blessed to be invited aboard, even if just for a few hours. I have no idea how much pleasure Zodiac gave to her first wealthy owners. Perhaps they felt the exhilaration and joy of sailing, which I felt when I stepped aboard. Maybe they found time to lie on the deck and look up into the flowing canvas. Perhaps they spotted their reflection in polished brainwork and turned the latches of her beautiful portlight windows. I hope their joy was complete when they sailed. However it was for them, I am grateful that Zodiac went on to serve as a mission boat, a pilot boat, and now a floating history museum. I am grateful that I’ve been allowed to join her crew a couple of times.

Something tells me I’ll be coming back.

I watch YouTube videos of segments of late-night talk shows from time to time. I’m pretty inconsistent. Earlier this year, I went a couple of months without watching them. I get bored with the repetition. The shows have staffs of professional writers and work hard to come up with material that is fresh, but they operate in a narrow range of humor. Political jokes seem to top the list. There are days when I’m simply tired of politics. I don’t intend to ignore politics entirely. I get my share of it from reading news stories. I listen to public radio and CBC. I check the headlines on several news sites. Sometimes, however, the news seems so heavy and troubling. Right now is a time when I am pulling back a bit. With Israel and Iran lobbing missiles at each other and the U.S. administration referring to Israel’s actions as what “we” have done, it seems like the world is teetering on the edge of massive warfare that will produce millions of innocent victims. China has been increasing shipments to Iran, and the US is supplying Israel. That seems like a dangerous recipe for violence to expand rapidly into global conflict.

So sometimes, I pull back and consume less news. An easy way to cut back is to simply not watch the clips from the late-night shows. I don’t watch all the shows, so clips from the monologues and skits are easy to miss.

However, I was recently charmed by a clip that was part of Jimmy Kimmel Live. The setup for a skit on the program was a video of Makenzie Gill, a kindergarten teacher at Ecole St. John Paul II School in Medicine Hat, Alberta, sitting in a chair with her students lined up behind her. They approached her and greeted her one by one with “Hi Miss Gill!” Without looking, she identified every student, including a pair of identical twins, by their voices. The clip charmed me because I know it wasn’t faked. I’ve known many teachers who have formed deep connections with their students. It is nearing the end of the school year in Alberta, which means Miss Gill has been working with the same nineteen students for nine months and has had time to get to know their personalities. She is, however, exceptional. It would be easy to make a mistake with nineteen students. Twins know they can occasionally fool people very close to them.

The skit that followed on the Jimmy Kimmel show was clumsy, and I didn’t think it was very interesting, but I went back to watch the kindergarten teacher identify her students a second time. The children were really enjoying the exercise. When Miss Gill got their name right, several exclaimed “Yes!” in an excited tone of voice. They have a very special relationship with their teacher. In a world with so many virtual experiences, so many threats to young people, and so much violence, it is heartwarming to witness the warmth of genuine human connection.

I celebrate Miss Gill and the thousands of other dedicated teachers who give of themselves to nurture children. As a parent and a grandparent, I am deeply aware of how much we need the help of other adults who care for the children we love. Every child in the world deserves teachers like Miss Gill. Sadly, too many children never get the opportunity to attend school. Their lives are interrupted by violence and disruption.

Too many children in our country are the victims of poverty. Too many do not have safe homes. Too many don’t get a chance to be with the same teacher for an entire school year because their families are forced to move. Dedicated teachers never get to know their students like Miss Gill because their attendance is so irregular. There are students in the elementary school attended by our grandchildren who missed more than a third of the days of the last school year. That’s more than a third of the opportunity to know and be known by their teachers. That’s more than a third of the chance to learn. They can’t keep up with their peers in math, reading, and writing.

Many are quick to blame parents for poor attendance. Parents' choices are a factor, but there are a lot of other causes of poor attendance. School districts, facing underfunding, negotiate time off for teachers in place of pay raises. That means that there are many partial school days. If the school is open one minute more than half of the day, the district can receive state funding for that day. The irregular schedule is a huge problem for parents working outside the home. Childcare is nearly impossible. Parents are often unavailable on half days, and having the child take the whole day off to be with relatives or friends becomes easier. The unpredictability of the school schedule contributes to lowered attendance rates.

There are plenty of other challenges for students and parents. In our county, ICE agents seized five parents last week alone. They are not criminals. A visa violation is a civil offense, not even a misdemeanor, but under the current administration, it can result in detention without due process. Families are torn apart. Individuals are deported, leaving their families behind. Raids and seizures have taken place at schools and have been witnessed by children.

In the U.S., approximately 1 in 5 school-aged children don’t have enough food for an active, healthy life. Food is a human right. Hungry children are not a choice; it is a policy failure. We have the resources to adequately feed all of the children in our country. Cutting food assistance programs to fund tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy is a moral failure.

I can list many other challenges faced by children in our society. But for a moment, I allowed myself to delight in the joy of one kindergarten teacher and her 19 students. Way to go, Miss Gill!

Steve Jobs is said to have adopted his signature dress of blue jeans and a black mock turtleneck because he didn’t want to waste time or energy thinking about what to wear. Adopting a uniform allowed him to dress each day without thinking about it. He didn’t have to make decisions about which shirt or which pants. He didn’t have to think about what goes with what. I read this about him when he was still alive. However, I met him face to face one time. I officiated at a wedding he attended as a friend of the bride and groom. He wasn’t dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans. He was wearing a suit and a tie. I don’t know if this meeting was before he adopted his uniform or if there were occasions when he broke from the usual and thought about what to wear.

After he died in 2011, I tried imitating his style for a while. However, I could not afford the expensive brand of mock turtlenecks he wore, so I found a less costly substitute. I frequently wore a sports coat over the mock turtleneck when I felt occasions demanded a bit more formality. I never got to the point of dressing that way every day. I still wear dress slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie on Sundays.

I like dressing up. When I was in college and graduate school, I sometimes put on a dress shirt and tie just because it made me feel good. That was a long time ago. In those days, professors wore ties to lectures, and teachers in elementary and secondary schools wore ties to work.

In the early days of my career, my clothes varied quite a bit. I wore T-shirts and jeans when leading youth camps and rallies. I wore dress clothes and ties when I was working in the church office and leading worship. Most of the time, when I dressed up, I wore white shirts. Later in my career, I switched to colored shirts even on Sundays and eventually stopped wearing ties on weekdays. However, I wore ties on Sundays and when I officiated at funerals and weddings throughout my career.

Near the end of my career, a friend died of pancreatic cancer. He was an attorney who loved clothes. After his death, his widow set up racks of his clothing in her living room and invited a group of his friends to come and take some of his clothes. I was nearly the same size as him. The only alteration needed was to shorten the pants' legs. I ended up getting several suits, dress shirts, and other clothes from him.

Then I retired. At the point where I owned the most suits I had ever owned, I retired. Not only did I retire, but I moved to the Pacific Northwest, where people don’t dress up. I wear dress shirts and ties to church and am the only person in the room wearing a tie. In a conversation with our lead pastor, she commented that an occasional sports coat was fine, but a suit took things too far. I decided to ignore her advice on how to dress. Some weeks I feel like wearing a suit, and so I do. I wore a beautiful gray wool suit last Sunday and felt good. Before my friend’s widow gave me some of his clothes, I had never had money to buy Brooks Brothers dress shirts or a Hart Schaffner Marx suit. I feel pretty good wearing that suit. I had worn it when we celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. I bought a new tie for that occasion, and I wore that tie last week to church on my birthday. I was the only one in church wearing a tie and the only one wearing a suit. Maybe I’m a rebel who dresses in a countercultural fashion.

I don’t seem to dress like the locals for everyday activities. After needing a couple of procedures to remove squamous cell carcinoma, I am no longer comfortable wearing short pants or short-sleeved shirts. I have several lightweight shirts that offer sun protection. These are sold as fishing shirts, but I frequently wear them as everyday shirts. And, as a man in my seventies, I favor cargo pants even though I don’t have things to put in all those pockets.

Yesterday, it was cool when I was riding my bike, so I put on a sweatshirt over my regular shirt. I also wear a bright reflective vest when riding my bike. I want to be seen by those driving cars. As I rode, I looked at other people walking in our village. We have a lot of tourists and retired people living here, so I’m sure that many of the people I saw were not heading to work, though casual work dress is the preferred work dress around here anyway. One gentleman I passed while biking was walking on the path wearing a winter parka, zipped up to his chin. Under the parka he was wearing short pants and sandals with no socks. I wouldn’t have made that fashion choice if I were cold. I’d go for socks and shoes. Then again, I don’t own a pair of sandals, and as someone who doesn’t wear shorts, my legs are pretty white, probably not a sight to be displayed in public. I also saw a woman wearing a long black coat and boots underneath. She looked like she expected it to start snowing any minute. She was waiting at the bus stop, talking to another woman dressed all in black.

I’m 72 and still can’t figure out what to wear. I have, however, decided there is no point in trying to fit in. I just get dressed and don’t worry about what others might think. And, based on my observations, many other folks don’t seem to care what others think of how they dress.

I started down the path of behavioral health before becoming a parish minister. I interned at the Wholistic Health Care Center of Hinsdale, Illinois, during the last year of my seminary career. I served as a pastoral counselor in a team that included physicians and nurses in a clinic that sought to treat medical and psychological issues together as part of an integrated approach. I was working toward my certification in the American Academy of Marriage and Family Counselors, and Pastoral Counseling was the focus of my doctoral paper. However, Dr. Granger Westberg, national chair of the Wholistic Health Care Centers, advised me that I would not yet have all the necessary qualifications upon graduation from the seminary. He urged me to get three or four years of pastoral experience before focusing on health care ministry as my career direction. I took his advice. I began serving as a pastor alongside my wife, a seminary graduate. We were ordained to the ministry. And I never looked back. The pastoral ministry fit my personality, skills, and energies well. I fell in love with the work and the people I was serving. It turned out to be the right decision for me.

I brought with me to the pastoral ministry skills and knowledge that I had acquired during my time in the Wholistic Health Care Centers. Although I referred persons needing specialized psychiatric care, I offered counsel to many parishioners. I became a suicide first responder and worked in the field of suicide prevention. I helped law enforcement officers deal with people who were suffering from acute mental health crises.

One of the classes I took in preparation for my work in counseling was an introduction to psychotropic medications. The course presented a broad introduction to both prescription and recreational drugs that were in everyday use at the time. I learned about the categories of drugs and some of their use. That class, however, was many years ago, and research has gone much farther. The range of available medications and their uses is far more vast and complicated than those I studied. I am not an expert, and I have not kept up.

I suspect, however, that I recognize the symptoms of drug use a bit more than the average person. I have read a lot of obituaries where the person died of suicide or drug overdose, and have learned to catch the code words that are used to hide the whole story. There is a lot of stigma attached to psychological disorders and death by suicide in our society, and people are motivated to cover up those issues.

One of the challenges that might be called a failure of our society is that we are not good at speaking directly about drug use and abuse. We tend to ignore and cover up issues that cause other problems by focusing our attention on those problems. When a person is homeless, we tend to blame rather than understand. Addiction can be a significant factor in many social issues, including homelessness, public disruptions, and violence. However, emergency treatment for acute mental health issues, including addiction, is difficult and expensive to obtain and is denied for many people.

Periodically, we get glimpses into issues of drug use and abuse, addiction, and a variety of other problems when a famous person becomes incapacitated or dies as a result of drug use. The death of Matthew Perry from an overdose has resulted in criminal charges. According to recent news releases, one of the doctors who supplied Perry with Ketamine will plead guilty in an attempt to reduce a possible 40-year sentence for his role in the death. It is an engaging public story in the light of public disclosures about the use and abuse of the same drug by Elon Musk, who has admitted to using not only Ketamine, but also psychedelic mushrooms and MDMA, also known as ecstasy. He also used the weight loss drug Ozempic, which can interact with other medications, especially hallucinogenic substances.

When people who are not famous or rich struggle with ketamine addiction, their loved ones might notice changes in behavior or physical symptoms, but they most often overlook these symptoms. Neglecting responsibilities sometimes is a presenting factor. However, a financial crisis is one of the significant indicators for family members. Ketamine is an expensive drug to maintain, and those addicted tend to place obtaining the drug over other financial obligations. Criminal activity to obtain funds for drug use is a common problem. Those symptoms can be overlooked for extended periods for the rich and powerful.

Perry and Musk aren’t the only high-profile individuals whose lives are altered by drug use. For the most part, the public is left to speculate because drug use and abuse in high-powered circles aren’t often reported.

As an observer, I wonder if there is more to the story when a famous person is admitted to the hospital for an uncommon reason. The CNN report that Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noel was hospitalized for an allergic reaction yesterday caught my attention. Allergic reactions are usually to something. I doubt that her reaction was to a bee sting or pollen. It seems unlikely that she reacted to trying a new or unusual food. While I am not in a position to make a diagnosis, and she is entitled to some privacy about her health, her position in an administration that has a reputation for excessive drug use raises my eyebrows. Fortunately, she is receiving the treatment she needs.

Long days with lots of travel might make one turn to certain drugs to assist with alertness. Amphetamines work to make a person alert. They also boost confidence and energy in the short term. Those using those drugs become talkative, restless, and excited. Feelings of power and superiority are commonly associated with the use of that category of drugs. It would not surprise me if the allergy involved an accidental drug overdose.

However, it is unlikely that we will get the whole story. She may or may not have been using stimulants, and having to be rushed to the emergency room might have stemmed from a vast variety of health issues. Part of the reason we don’t know is that in our society, frank and honest talk about drug use and abuse is rare. It remains a hidden issue for most of the people who abuse drugs, especially those who are rich and powerful. We could hope that a brush with mortality might motivate someone to honesty and public disclosure, but I won’t be holding my breath. We’re likely to remain in the dark. It is a common experience for me. I often have found myself dealing with people without having the information on what makes them behave the way they do, and without a complete understanding of their problems and attempts at self-medication.

I wish the secretary health and hope she receives the treatment she needs. However, as we have found in other cases, doctors are not above simply prescribing more drugs to deal with the problems faced by their high-profile patients.

For the past six months or so, I have been working on a manuscript. I am nearing the completion of the eighth draft of the document, working my way through the comments made by a team of twelve readers who have helped me see some of the changes I want to make before the document is published. I don’t want to reveal too much about the project, but it originates in my daily journal entries. I’ve been thinking for several years about publishing a collection of essays by selecting some of the better entries in my journal and drawing them together into a collection. However, when I attempted to do so, I found the challenge of compiling a collection of these random essays into a coherent volume was beyond my ability. Instead, I took a few essays and began to add more. The result is a collection of essays, poems, and prayers, most of which have not been a part of my daily journals. As I work through successive drafts and improve the collection, I rewrite and add new elements. It has been a challenging and fun project.

The general theme of the manuscript is an examination of our relationship with Creation. I am not a scientist, analyst, or activist, though I appreciate their contributions to addressing the current climate crisis and helping us understand our need to act and make changes. I have written from a pastoral perspective, offering my observations, poems, and prayers to inspire hope.

As a part of this process, one of my friends who has read the manuscript commented that I keep returning to mystery. Unlike a mystery novel, however, I love the mystery unsolved and go on to another. Lots of mysteries, no solutions. The observation is accurate. I take it a bit farther: I appreciate and celebrate the mystery of the universe. I further argue that what I understand of scientists is that they are drawn to mystery and learn to accept and live with unanswered questions. Here are a few examples of mystery from what I have read of science.

The makeup of the universe is a mystery. While scientists have learned a great deal about the elements that make up the stars, planets, and galaxies, the visible aspects of the universe are only about five percent of what we know about the universe. The vast majority of the universe is dark matter and dark energy. The universe has invisible substances and forces that do not give off light but have mass enough to exert gravitational pull. This pull holds galaxies together. Without dark matter, our solar system, the Milky Way, would fly off in all directions. At the same time, dark energy speeds up the universe's expansion by counteracting the forces of gravity. Scientists can see the effects of dark energy, but don’t fully understand how it works. When scientists talk of dark matter or energy, “dark” means “We don’t know.” Many scientists devote their lives to exploring these substances and powers without coming to conclusions. Their encounter with the unknown drives further exploration, but not complete understanding. I see this as a love of mystery.

The scale of the known universe is so large. There are hundreds of billions of stars in our galaxy and hundreds of billions of galaxies out there. There are planets going around many, if not most, of the stars. There are trillions of planets. It is within the range of possibility that life might exist on other planets. We do not know, however, what form life might take in different parts of the universe. We do not even know if life exists other than that on Earth. The search for life in other parts of the universe is ongoing, and we don’t know if we are alone or if there are other life forms out there. It remains a mystery.

The connections between chemistry and biology are deeply mysterious. For all of my life, scientists have conducted what is known as the Miller-Urey experiment. The experiment combines methane, hydrogen, and ammonia in water, sealing the container and exposing it to electric shocks. It is an attempt at creating life from chemicals. The experiment has produced amino acids, which are seen as the building blocks of life, but so far, none of the experiments have made a life form. If theorists are correct, it took billions of years for the elements on Earth to interact in ways that produced life. The origins of life remain a mystery.

We have awareness of self and others. We are curious about the world and formulate questions. We observe and conclude from our observations. We have developed language to communicate what we have observed. We call this consciousness. We are aware of being alive and can reflect on our being. Scientists understand that consciousness is related to millions of neurons firing in our brains, interacting with chemical reactions that allow us to form thoughts and translate thoughts into language. However, exactly how these electrochemical reactions take place remains a mystery. How is it that we have a sense of identity? How can we recall memories of our past? What makes us curious? How do emotions of fear, love, and anger work? When we reflect further, we wonder how much consciousness, as experienced by humans, extends to other animals. Other animals have brains. Other animals are capable of communication. Are they self-aware? Are they curious? Scientists don’t have a consistent definition of consciousness. It remains a mystery.

There are many, many more mysteries in science. What happened before the Big Bang? What went bang in the first place? Is there a unifying theory that brings together all human knowledge and understanding? Is it possible to travel backwards in time? Will the universe end, or does it go on forever?

Science is filled with mystery. Seeking solutions attracts generations of scientists who advance our understanding. However, each new bit of understanding reveals more mystery. The words I can write don’t involve solving mysteries. They do, however, express my appreciation for mystery. It continues to be an engaging adventure.

We have a wall clock that we received as a gift many years ago. A couple of AA batteries power it and will go an amazing amount of time between battery replacements. The current batteries have been in it for over five years, and I don’t know how long they will last. When our house is very quiet, without the sounds of conversation, the furnace, and other appliances, I can hear the steady tick of the clock from my desk, even though the clock is in another room. The mechanism in the clock makes the sound every second, tick, tick, tick.

I am excited, however, about the sounds of other clocks. Our two antique clocks have been in the shop for cleaning and are ready for us to pick them up. The clock shop is closed today, and we aren’t sure which day we will drive down to the ship to pick them up, but I’m eager to have them back in our home. Both clocks have been in the family for three generations. I don’t know their full stories, as they came from my wife’s side of the family, but they are beloved objects in our home. The older of the two is a mantle clock with two weights, one to power the clock, the other for the chime. Technically, the clock doesn’t have a chime but a mechanical hammer that strikes a spring. It needs to be wound every day. Winding the clock is an evening ritual in our home. A key is used to crank the weights back to their position at the top of the clock, from which they drop bit by bit until they reach the bottom 24 hours later.

The other clock is a wall clock. I can remember that clock in the home of my wife’s grandparents. It will run for a week on each winding. It has springs for the mechanism and the striker. It takes a bit of finesse to know how highly to wind it. It is also very picky about being level. I keep a small bubble level in the clock to check it each time I wind it.

Winding clocks is a relic of the past. As the battery-operated clock demonstrates, powering a timepiece takes very little energy. Furthermore, there are a lot of clocks in our house that don’t require attention. The clocks on our stove and microwave declare the time in bright LED displays and only need attention when the power has been off. We have watches that have rechargeable batteries. We place them on their chargers in the evening, and when we put them on in the morning, they have enough energy to display for our waking hours. They are a concession of recent years. We got these watches after experiencing heart rhythm problems. They have heartbeat monitors that alert us to arrhythmia. Before obtaining these watches, we wore watches powered by batteries with accurate quartz movements that would run for more than a year before needing a battery replacement.

I haven’t developed the habit that I’ve noticed in most people younger than me. They use their phones as their primary clocks. They pull out their phones like a train conductor consulting a pocket watch to check the time. I’ve been wearing a watch for 60 years or so. Holding up my left wrist is so automatic that I don’t think of consulting my phone to tell the time.

From time to time, we talk about our antique clocks. We received them at different times as generations passed in our family. When they were offered to us, we accepted them with joy and with them the responsibility of having them cleaned and adjusted when needed. Finding a technician who can properly service antique clocks gets harder each year. Getting to the clock shop where our clocks are being serviced is a 45-minute drive one way. The shop is so busy that you have to make reservations to bring the clocks to the shop and wait months for the work to be completed. The shop owner has a younger apprentice so that the skills may be passed down to another generation.

However, we wonder what will happen to our clocks when we no longer need them. It’s hard to imagine either of our children wanting them. Our grandchildren are too young to know what they might want in their homes, but antique clocks that have to be wound probably aren’t high on their list of desired furnishings. I assume that clocks like ours will eventually become museum pieces, though there probably are more old clocks around than museums need.

For now, however, I am not worrying about what happens to the clocks years from now. I’m just excited to have them come home. It will probably take me a few days to get used to them, developing a routine to make sure that they are properly wound at the right times, adjusting them for accuracy, and adjusting myself to the sounds they make. Soon, however, their ticking and chiming will once again become part of the sounds of our home to calm our spirits and reassure us that we are in the right place. I don’t mind the sound of the battery clock in the other room, but I will be grateful for a bit louder timepieces. All of those clock sounds are absent from the homes of our children. It will be interesting to see whether or not the clock sounds will make it difficult for grandchildren to sleep when they visit. I suspect they will quickly adjust to the sounds. They already know that grandma and grandpa’s house sounds different from their homes.

Johnny Cash wrote a song about his grandfather’s clock. The lyrics to that song speak of a clock too big for a shelf that stood on the floor. Our old clocks aren’t that big, and they had been running for a lifetime before we were born, so they don’t match the lyrics to the song. And, unlike the clock in the song, I hope that when our time has ended, someone in a new generation might find pleasure in their sound and in the process of winding them.

Yesterday morning, I was taking a walk in our neighborhood. As I walked by one house, I saw a young man getting into his vehicle in front of the house. Suddenly, a toddler opened the house's front door, leaving the storm door behind him ajar, which allowed a young chocolate lab puppy to rush through. The puppy headed out into the yard, where I greeted it and petted it as the mother appeared on the porch, holding a crying baby in her right arm as she grabbed the toddler by the shoulder to prevent him from stepping off the concrete porch, while calling to the puppy at the same time. After a few seconds, and an encouraging push from me, the dog returned to the porch where she ushered it into the house and got the door shut. I thought, “She’s going to have a much busier day than I.”

As I continued my walk, I thought, “They need a collar or harness for that dog. It will be three years old before she has two hands free at the same time to grab it.” I even thought about going to an online pet store, ordering and paying for a collar, and having it shipped addressed to “our neighbor” at their address. I decided against that gesture, not knowing the exact size or preferred color, and knowing the puppy would go through several collars as it grows.

It has been a long time since we had a toddler and an infant in our house, but I remember how much work that phase of our lives was. Fortunately, we were sharing a single full-time job then, so we had time for childcare and flexibility to hand off household and childcare chores. In addition, our children were welcome in our workplace. We didn’t need to hire childcare when we led worship. Our congregations had plenty of grandmothers and grandfathers who cared for our children while we took care of preaching and sacraments. I remember gently asking one parishioner not to reward our daughter by taking her out of the service for cookies when she fussed. She had learned the art of getting to the fellowship hour refreshments ahead of the congregation. Our kids grew up knowing how to get in the front of the line when food was being served.

Another thing I remember about that phase of our lives is that I was often tired. I remember wishing that I could sneak a nap. I still joke that our son quickly learned to sleep through the night when he was young, but our daughter slept through the night once when she was 5. That is a significant exaggeration, but I often was up with her in the middle of the night and struggled to push myself out of bed when I would have preferred to roll over and go back to sleep.

Our experiences were sufficient to bring a smile of recognition to my face at the young mother trying to care for an infant, a toddler, and a puppy all at once while her husband headed off to work or an errand or wherever it was he was going. It also made me glad that we live close enough to our son and his family to offer a bit of help occasionally. They have a toddler, two elementary school children, and a teen heading to high school in the fall. And their puppy is a Newfoundland dog, which is a gentle giant. She weighs over 100 pounds. Although her temperament is gentle and she loves affection and cuddling, she is big enough to poke her nose into any food on the table and knock over anything on the floor, including children.

Yesterday, our son told me a story about his youngest, who was wide awake at 4:30 am, and when his father came in to ask him to be quiet, he was bursting with a joke he had to share. He is just learning the concept of jokes, and his jokes are generally a lot funnier to him than they are to the rest of us. His joke went something like this: “Look! Strawberry. Look! Nerf gun. Nerf gun go BANG! Strawberry go messy! HA HA HA!” The joke was sufficient to draw a laugh from Dad, but the repetition threatened to wake the rest of the family with the need for the BANG to be loud, despite Nerf guns not making a loud sound. He had to carry the toddler downstairs to move his wakeful enthusiasm away from the bedrooms in their house. Later in the day, the young one had a nap when he got tired, but Dad never got time for a nap with other responsibilities.

One of the deep joys of Father’s Day for me is my delight at watching our son as a father. He is a good father who genuinely enjoys being with his family and caring for his children. He has also developed the skill of taking a five-minute nap while lying in the middle of the floor or out on the lawn when he knows others are around who will keep the children safe. It is a skill I used to possess and one I can remember my father practicing. I learned much about being a father from my dad, and I hope I passed on some of those qualities to our son.

We are very fortunate to have a son-in-law who is also a wonderful father. They have only one child. Whenever we are all together, I witness the deep bond between him and our grandson. I can also see how much he genuinely enjoys being a father.

A few days ago, I was asked, “What do you want for Father’s Day?” I’m very fortunate and not in need of gifts. The best part of Father’s Day is our children and grandchildren. I will get what I want: family gathered around our table. I wish our daughter and her family could be with us, but I don’t begrudge that they are with our grandson’s other grandma and grandpa this weekend.

Happy Father’s Day. I hope the day allows you to remember good fathers and witness some of the joy of the bond between fathers and children.

Some days, I am learning to be more patient. Patience wasn’t my long suit when I was younger. I was eager to make things happen and didn’t like waiting. Patience is a luxury of being retired. My deadlines are softer now than they once were. Tomorrow will work fine if I don’t get the lawn mowed today. I still set goals for myself, but I’m quicker to adjust my schedule and grant myself a bit of grace.

I noticed the difference this week when I had a medical appointment. I remember years ago when I was sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office and read a sign that asked those waiting for more than 45 minutes to inform the attendant at the desk. The sign irritated me because when I made my appointment, I was told that the appointment would be cancelled if I was late. It seemed unfair to me that the doctor would not wait if I were late, but that I should accept a minimum of a 45-minute wait for the doctor. Was my time not as valuable as that of the doctor?

Somewhere, I decided to shift my attitude. There is no point in being annoyed with the pace of a medical practice. I am not in a position to move their policies. Rather than focus on my irritation, I have decided to take those moments of waiting as a gift. I have often wanted more time for quiet contemplation. I have a list of prayer concerns worthy of my attention. As a bonus, I have discovered that sitting quietly and waiting patiently results in lower blood pressure when I do get into the exam room.

Learning that bit of patience is paying off because I spend a lot more time in the waiting rooms of medical practices these days. When I was younger, I went to the doctor once a year, more often than many of my peers. I had a third-class medical certificate for flying that required an annual medical exam, including a vision test. I had a yearly visit to the ophthalmologist to ensure my eyeglass prescription was correct, followed a month or so later with my annual physical. I also saw the dentist about once a year. I have added a few more doctors to my list these days, and I see them more often. Medicare pays for an annual wellness visit that replaces my yearly physical. A few bouts with squamous cell skin cancer mean I see a dermatologist twice a year. My dentist recommends having my teeth cleaned twice a year. I still have to have my eyes examined. I have a cardiologist and a urologist. All those health care professionals result in quite a bit of time sitting in waiting rooms.

I have noticed that I’m less impatient when traffic slows. When there is a train at one of the crossings on my way to town, I put the car in park, roll down the window, and breathe fresh air. I can’t control the trains or the number of cars that back up at the crossing, so there is no point in getting uptight. It seems like a simple concept, but it took me years to learn not to be irritated when waiting for others.

I stood in line at a local coffee shop a few days ago. The shop I prefer is a small business and often understaffed. There are chain coffee shops where things move more quickly, and a production line fills orders rapidly. This shop doesn’t have a drive-through window. If you want a cup of coffee, you must go inside and wait for the single attendant to serve whoever got there before you. When it is your time, you place your order and receive your coffee when it is ready. On that day, three or four customers were ahead of me, and I allowed my mind to wander as I stood there. A young man got in line behind me and soon mumbled about the slow service. After listening to him grumble, I turned around and said, “I think you’re in more of a hurry than I am today. Why don’t you go ahead of me?” He thanked me and we switched places. I was pretty proud of myself for having figured out how to avoid having to listen to his complaints. I doubt I would have done the same thing years ago when I was younger.

My time is not more or less valuable than that of another person. We all have things we want to do and places to go. Many things are beyond our control. Sometimes, we simply have to wait. The difference that we have control over is our attitude. In a fast-paced world with many demands on our attention, we still have choices about how we respond to times when we must wait.

Another discovery of this phase of my life is that it is fun to watch other people. I’ve always enjoyed watching people and trying to imagine their lives. As I look at them, I speculate about how families are configured and the relationship between strangers. It is pretty easy to watch folks these days because most of them have their attention focused on their phones, which means they don’t notice that I find them more entertaining than whatever is happening on my phone. I know how to check my messages and emails on my phone, but I can let some messages sit for a while. I don’t need to respond the second I receive a message, and I don’t need to be constantly checking for new messages.

I can still be frustrated with unnecessary waiting and the inefficiency of some service providers. There are times when I don’t enjoy waiting. However, I think I am getting a bit better, and when I feel frustrated, I try to tell myself I still need more practice and that now is a good time for that practice.

If I live long enough, I might become a patient person.

Like many others, I pay attention to the news headlines. I know the frightening possibilities of global war posed by expansionist policies. Preemptive strikes on Iran have followed Israel’s relentless attacks and seizure of property in Gaza. U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, who has demonstrated his inability to observe standard security procedures, has acknowledged “contingency” plans to take Greenland by force and other plans for the invasion of Panama.

I have read articles about the tragedy of the London-bound Air India Boeing 787 that crashed on takeoff in Ahmedabad, killing 241 people, with a single survivor, and sending dozens of medical students to the hospital when it came down in a residential neighborhood.

I have been paying attention to the illegal and unnecessary deployment of the National Guard and Marines to respond to a small eruption of violence during protests in Los Angeles. I can see how the administration is trying to use the events to distract attention from its attempts to increase costs and decrease services to 99% of Americans to partially fund a tax cut for the wealthiest 1% while increasing the national debt beyond reason.

I have watched the administration’s abandonment of its promise to depart violent criminals, raiding schools, service centers, parking lots, farms, and food processing plants, detaining and deporting people with no criminal records, dividing children from parents, and couples from each other. I have witnessed the irrational attempts at mass deportations without due process.

I have read the Declaration of Independence’s list of grievances against the King and recognize those grievances in the behavior of the current US president.

I buy groceries and have seen empty shelves caused by supply chain issues. I purchase fuel for my vehicles and pay attention to the cost, and know that yesterday’s attack on Iran will drive up the world price of oil.

However, there are other realities in this world. I choose to pay attention to them as well.

The blue herons in the rookery near our home do not base their behavior on the short attention span of the news cycle. They are busy feeding chicks and preparing them to fledge. They must catch as many fish as possible to maintain the protein necessary for a generation's successful passing. The herons use the long daylight hours here in the north to catch mackerel and other small fish in the tidal zones. When the tide is out, we watch dozens of the large birds stand in the shallow surf seeking the tiny fish in the shallow water. As the tide comes in, the birds move closer to the beach, choosing places with just the right water depth for fishing success. When the tide is entirely in, they move into the tidal regions of the creeks that run into the sea.

By watching the behavior of the herons, I have learned that they fly at different altitudes depending on the sea state. When the tide is in and the sea is calm, they fly higher in the sky. They will land and perch on bridge railings and tree branches that stretch over the water. When the tide is out, they fly close to the water's surface, ready to splash down suddenly.

I don’t know if the eagles imitate the heron’s behavior or vice versa, but when the herons fly high, the eagles are perched in the tree tops. When the herons are standing in the shallow water in the tidal flats, the eagles will land on the sand bars to eat their catch.

I have lived a thousand miles from the shore of the sea most of my life. I am a newcomer to this coastal place and am not an expert in the behavior of birds or fish. Although I intend to learn how to harvest food from the sea, I have yet to gain the skills of clam digging, crab trapping, and oyster catching that locals possess. So far, I do my fishing at a local market on the Lummi Reservation, where indigenous fishers use sustainable practices passed down since time immemorial and exercise hard-won treaty rights to earn their living.

I have been honing my observation skills in my retirement years. I have tried to pay attention to the birds. I have watched the seagulls flying their clams to drop them on hard pavement to access the tasty contents. I have listened to them squabble as one seeks to take advantage of the bounty discovered by another. I watch the oystercatchers working the sand flats when the tide is out and the cormorants diving in the harbor.

While humans have an immense impact on our planet, as demonstrated by global warming, drought patterns, major storms of increasing intensity, habitat destruction, and loss of diversity, other creatures continue to adapt and illustrate the resiliency of creation. When dams are breached and habitat is restored, the salmon quickly return to spawn, and the ocean mammals rapidly learn to follow. Despite air and water pollution and the encroachment of coastal development, the fish and birds continue to raise young and populate their places in the ecosystem.

We live in a world of incredible complexity and chaos caused by human greed and overconsumption. We are facing government and sustainability crises resulting from our own choices and the choices of others. Human overpopulation threatens our capacity to survive as a species. The news cycle darts from crisis to crisis without a discernible pattern. Meanwhile, the herons raise their chicks, flying from the sea to the trees and back again. The eagles hatch high in the trees and learn to fish and hunt from their parents in a cycle that has been going on since before humans came to this place. Indigenous fishers go to sea as their grandfathers have since time immemorial. Life has amazing resiliency and adaptability.

As an added bonus, the herons are teaching me the power of patience. There are moments when entering the fray and witnessing to the truth in the face of injustice are important. There are other moments when quiet patience and persistent prayer provide paths to peace. I will continue to pay attention to other humans. I will continue to love, care, and act. But I will also spend time watching the herons. I still have much to learn from them.

This is the last week of school before summer vacation for our grandchildren near us. Our grandson in South Carolina has a different schedule. He has been on vacation for a couple of weeks, and he returns to school in the fall earlier than our grandchildren here in Washington. Our oldest grandchild turned 14 in February. His age brings me memories of my teen years. The summer I turned 14 was the first summer I had a job away from home. I worked for my uncle and cousin on their farms for a few weeks that year, preparing for and working the harvest. I had been paid for jobs in my father’s business in the years before that, and I had earned money mowing lawns and delivering newspapers, but at 14, there were a few weeks when I worked full-time. I stayed at the ranch, and each morning after breakfast, I went to work and worked through the day until dinner. We didn’t count hours. I was paid by the day. I drove a tractor cultivating weeds in their dryland farming operation. They raised wheat in strips, keeping the ground between strips fallow so the ground would retain moisture for the next year when the strips would be reversed and last year’s wheat fields lay fallow, and this year’s fallow fields were planted. The practice has since changed with different crop rotations and no-till farming practices. Then, when the barley and wheat were ripe, everyone on the farm worked in the harvest until the grain was in the bins. Harvest days were long.

We got everything greased, fueled, and ready to cut as soon as the dew was off the grain and the moisture was right. We’d usually get to the field by 7 am and be running by 8. Then the combines would run until dark, between 8 and 9 pm. Meals were brought to us in the field, and we’d eat in shifts to keep the combines and trucks running. I usually drove a field haul truck. The combines emptied into my truck on the go, without stopping. That meant matching the combine speed and keeping the distance between the truck and combine just right. When my truck was full, I drove to the bins and emptied it into an elevator that took the grain to the top of the bins. Then I returned to the field. We usually ran two trucks per combine. My cousin and uncle worked together in harvest, generally two combines and three or four trucks, depending on how far the field was from the bins.

It has been nearly 60 years, and I don’t remember the job as a burden. I can remember being tired. When I returned to the farmhouse, I was often first in line for the shower because I was the youngest. I could shower and be asleep in bed in less than 15 minutes. I did that job two summers before moving on to other summer jobs. The fun thing about my summer farm jobs was that I got paid after harvest, just like the rest of the family. That meant I had no money all summer, though all my food and housing expenses were covered. Then, after harvest, I got a single check for the entire summer. From a 14- or 15-year-old perspective, I was instantly rich. The check went into my bank account, but I made a few purchases before school started in the fall.

Our 14-year-old grandson got his first bank account this year, depositing his paycheck for a week of serving as a page in the state House of Representatives. Of course, times have changed. I had a passbook that I took to the bank to withdraw cash, usually $5 or $10 at a time. I made about the same amount in a summer as he made in a week. And he doesn’t have a passbook. He has a plastic debit card that he can use to make purchases. He has very specific rules about purchases, and the use of the card is closely monitored by his parents, who can access his bank records online. This is necessary because the card enables him to make online purchases. I couldn’t have imagined such when I was his age.

He does not have a summer job, so his income is limited. He will get a few days’ pay when the hay is cut. Last summer was his first summer bucking bales. He’s still too short to toss bales onto the trailer, so his job is driving the pickup pulling the trailer around the field from bale to bale while older teens toss and stack the bales. When they get to the barn, he climbs up and stacks bales in the lift with the others, and takes his turn feeding bales onto the elevator from the trailer.

Like him, I wasn’t yet old enough for a driver’s license, so my driving was confined to the field and the road between the fields and the farmyard. He’s not yet driven on a road. That’ll come in a couple of years. However, I could ride my bike nearly everywhere I wanted. Our grandchildren’s farm is on a busy road. They are limited to the farmyard or need an adult with a vehicle to drive their bikes to town or trails where they can ride.

I’m back to my teenage level of activity on my bike. I live where I can bike nearly anywhere I want to go in a 20-mile radius from our house. I have to avoid the roads with no shoulder where the traffic goes fast. I ride to the farm, but it is 2.7 miles when I drive. Taking the back roads on my bike, it is 7.2 miles to the farm. I am retired, so I ride my bike to the farm several times weekly. Other days, I ride along the beach or to the grocery store or other places. It reminds me of the summers before I started working on the farm. I’m back to not having a summer job, so I get to ride my bike every day. Freedom is sweet.

I was lucky. I had jobs I enjoyed for all of my life. I didn’t mind going to work. Still, it is kind of sweet to get up, eat my breakfast, and go for a bike ride. Some days I ride for 20 or 30 miles before breakfast. It’s my choice. Life is good.

Fifty years ago, I started working at Mimanagish, a summer camp in Montana, following my first year of graduate theological education. The previous school year had been intense. I had been successful in my undergraduate studies. I was confident in my academic abilities, but the challenges of graduate school were significantly different than those I had encountered in my earlier educational career. It is no longer that way, but back then, theological education involved living in community and pursuing academic studies. Our seminary required students to reside on campus. Our first three classes were intensives. Instead of taking multiple classes simultaneously, we began with classes we pursued full-time, taking one at a time. The classes involved significant reading, structured conversations inviting us to pursue deep meanings, and visits to churches, agencies, and retreat centers outside the seminary. Those of us who entered the seminary in the fall of 1974 formed a cohort of colleagues. We quickly got to know each other well and bonded over our learning experiences. In addition to gaining our degrees, we formed lifelong friendships.

Among the colleagues we met in those first intensives is Rev. Dr. Tony Floyd, who served congregations in Australia before being appointed Uniting Church National Director of Multicultural and Cross-cultural Ministry. His ministry involved developing and strengthening connections with migrant and Indigenous Australians. The seminary required us to live in seminary housing, so we also got to know Tony’s family. His wife and two children were part of meals shared, conversations pursued into the evening hours, and outings. They traveled to Montana with us twice during our seminary careers. Because we served our careers on two continents, we have only seen each other face to face infrequently over the decades. However, we have remained steadfast friends and colleagues.

Tony returned to the United States and visited us in each home we lived in since completing our seminary educations. In 1995, he and his wife Shirley helped us move from Idaho to South Dakota during one of his long service leaves. In 2006, we took our family to Australia and traveled with Tony and his family.

When we get together, whether in person, by telephone, or in an Internet video conference, we can pick up the conversation as if we had not been separated. The trust that we have developed and nurtured over the decades means that we immediately feel free to say what is most important to us. We have been present for each other through times of grief and loss, celebration, and change and adjustment.

Our relationship with Tony and his family has taught me a great deal about transcendence. Christian community takes place over great distances and long periods. We are connected with deep bonds, not limited to any single time or place. Our abiding faith in resurrection enables us to feel a deep connection with those who served before we were born, with those we have known who have died, and with those who will come after us. We are all part of a community that transcends time and location.

In Greek, the language of the Christian scriptures, there are two essential concepts of time. Chronos refers to chronological time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years. It flows in a consistent direction and has a specific order of events. Kairos signifies the “right time” or the “appointed season” where God is revealed. The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) all report an experience in which the disciples witnessed Jesus conversing with Elijah and Moses, biblical prophets who lived and died before their time. The descriptions point to an experience beyond words and an experience in which the chronological sequence of time seemed out of order. This is just one example of Kairos time.

Writing about Kairos is a challenge because our experiences are rooted in chronology. We look back at our lives and experience a narrative in which events occurred in a specific order. We want to tell the story with a beginning, middle, and end. When theologians write of Kairos, their narratives cannot follow the same logical outline. The order of events and experiences is not always the same. We try to create order. As students, we were all required to write a systematic theology that put our faith into a logical pattern. Some students were better at this task than others. I struggled with the challenge and have never been satisfied with my results. My faith defies a consistent outline. Holding my mother’s hand as she lay dying is as present in my life today as it was fifteen years ago. Many conversations in my life are ongoing. We may take a break, but the conversation continues. I can pick up my phone or turn on a video conferencing application on my computer and instantly pick up conversations with friends. This doesn’t mean that chronological time is suspended. We are all growing older. The number of days left in our lives is finite. The clocks in Tony’s home are 17 hours ahead of the clocks in my home. We cannot ignore those realities.

It is equally valid that we cannot ignore Kairos. Ross Snyder, the teacher who led our first intensive as theology students, has become a part of who we are. Part of what Tony and I have in common is that some of the same teachers have shaped us. We use common phrases and bits of coded language that we learned from Ross. When Tony and I talk, Ross is a part of every conversation, even though Ross died decades ago. Because we have read and discussed the same books, some authors are present in our discussions. When we speak of the prophetic imagination, Walter Brueggemann enters our dialogue. We have lived our lives immersed in the same sacred texts that connect us not only with each other but also with faithful people of generations past and generations yet to come.

If you are a regular reader of my journal posts, you have already experienced a bit of Kairos energy. I repeat myself, I tell the same stories over and over. I imagine the future and then imagine it differently. I have topics to which I return repeatedly, but some entries come out of the blue. I don't know where to begin when I try to organize my journals. Twenty years of essays is a disorganized jumble. Although my archives are organized by date, they don’t flow in the order I wrote them.

I have dear friends who want to unpack meanings and solve mysteries. I prefer to allow the mystery to remain. They are capable of telling a story in chronological order. Whenever I try, I find I have failed to tell the whole story.

I have a vague memory of some Sunday School lessons from my childhood. I was only six years old when the Evangelical and Reformed Church joined in union with the Congregational Christian Church to form the United Church of Christ. I was ten years old when the “new” curriculum began to appear. One of the first tasks of the newly formed denomination was to produce a comprehensive set of graded Sunday School curricula. The curricula featured a guide to preschool education titled “3s in the Christian Community,” hard-backed books for elementary children, soft-bound take-home books, music books, and more. However, the memory to which I am referring is of a set of Sunday School lessons that were presented before that new curriculum was produced. Since I can remember the comic book style lessons, I believe the David C. Cook company produced the curriculum. I remember that it was a set of lessons featuring biblical heroes. Noah built a boat and rounded up a pair of every animal on earth. Moses was presented as a larger-than-life leader of the people who dared to stand up to Pharaoh. David was a nearly superhuman character who brought down the giant Goliath with a slingshot and a stone. Elijah defeated 450 Baal prophets on Mount Carmel by magically producing fire. Daniel faced the lion’s den unarmed and prevailed. I suppose there were New Testament heroes in the curriculum, but I don’t remember them. I wonder if the material presented female biblical heroes such as Esther, Ruth, and Deborah. I can’t remember any.

Over the years, as a teacher and writer of curricula for Christian education and faith formation, I have written lessons about biblical heroes. One series published by the Christian Church, Disciples of Christ, was called the Storyteller Series, and I wrote lessons featuring Eli, Samuel, and others.

The problem with teaching children about biblical heroes is that it is too easy to focus attention on human strength, cunning, leadership, and wisdom. While those qualities are to be celebrated, the core of faith formation must be God. God, not Noah, provided salvation for the earth's creatures. God made a covenant promise never to destroy the world again. It was God who led Israel out of slavery in Egypt, not Moses. It was God who allowed Israel to prevail over the Philistine Army, not David. It was God who guided and protected Elijah. It was God who gave Esther the courage to save her people. God blessed Ruth’s commitment to her mother-in-law and provided a future for her people. It was God who granted wisdom to Deborah. If our goal is to enable faith formation in those we teach, we must remember where that faith must be focused.

I believe that this has real-world consequences in our time. I am in conversation with a lot of Christians in these particularly troubled times. People of faith are wrestling with their genuine desire to avoid anti-semitism and their willingness to feed and protect innocent children and families in Gaza. People of faith feel called by that faith to stand with immigrants who are being rounded up and detained without due process. They are angry at the illegal and immoral abuse of power demonstrated by a lawless president and the abdication of responsibility by Senators and congresspersons. I’ve read and heard several sermons calling for Christians to rise, participate in protests, and engage in civil disobedience.

I agree that now is the time for Christians to act on their faith. I believe in Christian social action. I have preached and written about the need to speak up in defense of God’s creation, against the injustices of pollution, and against the consequences of global warming. I believe Christians have a solid example in the actions of brave preachers and leaders of the Civil Rights movement.

However, I worry that some of my faithful colleagues have missed an essential part of that action. When armed National Guard troops confront those engaging in protest, when the president illegally orders military to stand against the people, the temptation is to fall into the trap of increased violence. At this critical juncture in American History, nonviolent action is most needed. Despite the administration’s attempts to ramp up violence in search of made-for-television video clips for Fox News, lasting change will not come through violence. The few protesters who have lit fires and thrown rocks are playing into the hands of the media manipulators. They are giving the president exactly what he wants to deflect the news cycle away from the news of his active participation with Jeffrey Epstein in the sexual abuse of minors and the enslavement of women.

More importantly, sustained action over a long period of time will be demanded of us. The current waves of injustice and oppression sweeping across our land could persist for a long time. Those who seek freedom for all will need strength for the long haul. To sustain that strength, one must have firm faith in God and an understanding that, despite how it now seems, justice will prevail, and peace is possible.

We must be firmly rooted in the faith that God can bring about the required change. Of course, we need to stand with God and be open to the movement of the Spirit. We are not called to be passive in the face of injustice and authoritarianism. But we must understand that we cannot prevail by ourselves. If we place our faith in our abilities, we will fail. Suppose we forget that God could sort out the human folly of the Tower of Babel, or forget that God could guide the survival of Israel through defeat and exile, or forget that God could bring about resurrection in the face of the cross. In that case, we might convince ourselves that it falls to us to bring salvation to our people.

God will provide the leaders we need in this critical time. We are called to faith that God is still in charge of this world. That faith will give us the resilience and strength for the difficult times that lie ahead.

Tributes to Walter Brueggemann continue to pour in. His death last week caused a ripple among the authors and websites that I read. Reading some of the obituaries and blog posts that attempt to summarize his life has been interesting. Writers are filled with respect and admiration for the contributions of Brueggemann, the most influential biblical scholar of our time. Several have referred to his book, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy, as his magnum opus. Forbes in their blog post called the 777-page book his magna opera. You have to be a student of Latin to catch their subtle distinction. Magna opera is the plural of magnum opus. Both refer to a significant work of art, music, or literature. The references to magnum opus attempt to choose a single work as the most important. I see no reason to do so when it comes to Brueggemann.

First of all, choosing just one is a huge task. His output was staggering. The bibliography of all of his published books is 20 pages long and includes 120 titles. While many authors struggle over their first book, Walter published three in 1968, the year of his first published book. Despite his dizzying literary output during his active career, he accelerated publication after he retired. Roughly half of his books were published post-retirement. While many scholars aspire to three or four books throughout a successful career, he published fourteen in his 90th and 91st years. Given that prolific output, choosing one and calling it the most significant is impossible.

Brueggemann’s biographer, Conrad Kanagy, chose to reflect one of his books in the title of the biography, which is titled “Walter Brueggemann’s Prophetic Imagination.” I agree that Walter’s book, The Prophetic Imagination, is among his most important contributions to biblical scholarship and the art of preaching. Initially published in 1978, the year I was ordained, it has remained in publication with a second edition in 2001 and a 40th anniversary edition in 2018. It seems to me to be a critically relevant book for contemporary preachers, especially in the light of the rise of authoritarianism in the United States and the pseudo-Christian claims of Project 2025.

Personally, as important as his theological works are, I have been touched by his essays as much as his scholarly books. His essay “The Costly Loss of Lament” should be required reading, and discussion of it should be a part of the theological education of every pastor. It is life-changing and would be church-changing if more pastors took it seriously. It appears in the book “The Psalms and the Life of Faith,” a collection of essays edited by his brother-in-law, Patrick Miller.

Equally impactful on my life as a pastor and my work with the church are several collections of prayers. A small volume to which I frequently turn is titled “Prayers for a Privileged People.” His prayer of Illumination addresses God in a powerful, poetic fashion:

Truth-telling, wind-blowing, life-giving spirit —
we present ourselves now
for our instruction and guidance;
breathe your truth among us,
breathe your truth of deep Friday loss,
your truth of awesome Sunday joy.

Walter understood the power of poetry and often referred to the biblical prophets as poets. Even though he could produce a huge amount of literature and write challenging and complex theological tomes, he kept a deep appreciation for the economy of language and the power of a few words to make a difference. When the times demand speaking truth to power, it is the poets who have the words most needed. Indeed, we live in such times. Brueggemann was aware of the excesses of empire and the injustices of unequal distribution of wealth and power. He challenged pastors to rise to the task of prophetic preaching. He was a preacher’s preacher, influential in the pulpit and deeply engaging when he spoke. He had a quick wit and appreciated a good joke. His gravely laugh was a gift to all who heard his voice. Each time I heard him speak, I returned with a renewed dedication to my life’s work. Unlike Brueggemann, I have not produced literary output. I am currently in the midst of the struggle of producing a single book. The focus of my life’s work was oral language. I have been a preacher and sought to interpret the scriptures with congregations in ways that inspire others to express their faith in service.

Biographer Conrad Kanagy once told me in conversation that he asked Walter about multiple drafts and the process of rewriting. Walter responded that he didn’t rewrite any of his books. He produced a draft and went on to the next one. That report staggered me. On deeper reflection, however, I realized it is exactly what I do with my journal entries. I write an essay each day and move on to the next. I have tried several times to edit collections of the essays, but I doubt that I could ever do so because when I read what I have previously written, I am seized by the urge to make corrections and changes. The book I am working on is in its 7th draft on my computer, and I know that only the publication deadline will stop me from wanting to make changes. I might never finish the project if I left it to my own schedule.

While books are powerful and Walter’s books will continue to inspire and challenge ministers for generations to come, I think that in the end, his books, as wonderful as and meaningful as they are, are not the most important legacy left behind by Walter Brueggemann. More than an author, Walter was a teacher. He has inspired generations of preachers. One of my colleagues and mentors once confessed that he temporarily misplaced the Bible he had used as a student in Brueggemann’s classes. When the book was buried among other books in a move, he continued to preach, but did not deliver a single sermon on an Old Testament text until the missing bible was found. He felt he could not preach without the notes he had taken in class. I’m not enslaved by notes taken, but I know I can’t preach without recognizing the influence of Brueggemann on my choice of words.

Walter has died from this life as we all one day will. But his presence is very real in the words of countless preachers whose lives he touched. Their sermons, however, are not his true legacy. The true legacy is in the actions of the congregations inspired by those sermons.

I spend my days immersed in words. I write essays. I read books. I speak with family and friends. I write letters. I send email messages. I read the news. I read stories to my grandchildren. My career was fashioned out of words. Before I was ordained, I had to earn degrees that required reading and writing. I wrote an ordination paper and presented it to an ecclesiastical council. I answered questions about that paper and defended it in front of the assembly of clergy and laypersons. The congregations I served first met me through a professional profile document, which contained words about me, my theology, and my experience. Being called to serve involved interviews where questions were asked and answered using words. When I was presented to congregations, I preached sermons as a way of being introduced to them. Words have continually surrounded my life.

I love language. I enjoy learning new words and concepts. I have made a practice of learning the distinction between oral and written language and have worked hard at mastering both forms and employing the distinction to improve communication. When ministering to those in crisis, I have used words to convey my concern and support. Words also provide me with a means of recreation. I enjoy jokes, puns, and word puzzles.

I have trusted colleagues with whom I exchange documents for review and comment. I have a manuscript being read by a team of twelve trusted colleagues who have been making suggestions and helping me refine and revise the work. One group member and I have been exchanging written materials for years. We have edited each other’s professional writing. We have worked together on projects and co-authored papers. We have developed patterns and shortcuts to speed our communication. We send each other feedback and frequently suggest different words and ways to say things.

I have been accused of spending too much time in my head by those who distinguish between the head as the part of the body responsible for intellectual ideas and the heart as the part of the body that expresses emotions. While it is true that I do invest significant time in scholarly pursuits, I do so with passion. My thinking is not without emotion. And I use words to express my feelings. The distinction between heart and head is one that I can understand, but it is not a helpful distinction for me. I see emotion and intellect as inextricably intertwined. They are forever together. One does not dwell in one without also experiencing the other. We think about how we feel and are emotional about our ideas.

Each year, however, I come face-to-face with one of the beloved stories of our people that illustrates the limits of language. The story demonstrates the power of relationships to transcend language. The reading from the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles for Pentecost tells the story of the gathering of the disciples that took place 50 days after the death and resurrection of Jesus. The story is relatively brief. The disciples were gathered together when suddenly they heard a sound like the rush of a violent wind. The experience was beyond the power of words to convey. The text reports that “divided tongues, as of fire,” came to rest on each person. Then they were able to speak other languages. The story lists the many people who speak different languages who were present. It does not report a common language, although it is likely that many present were multilingual. The earliest versions of the story appear in Greek, a regional language spoken by many who also spoke various dialects.

The text is challenging to read out loud because of the list of people with different native languages: “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs.” Those present were “amazed and perplexed.”

The story is often cited by Pentecostal Christians as an example of “speaking in tongues,” or glossolalia. Individuals utter sounds that appear to be in a language that they don’t understand. Believers see this phenomenon as a sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit. Research suggests that it is a learned behavior. This practice, however, does not appear to be the same as that referred to in the Pentecost story. In that story, the words are both spoken and understood. They communicate a common meaning. That is different from a series of random sounds that mimic words.

Pentecost is the celebration of the power of communication and the acknowledgement that a powerful religious message can be communicated in ways that reach beyond language. When I claim to be immersed in words, those words are all in the same language. I will occasionally use a word from another language and attempt to define it in English. I have had enough experiences with those who are native speakers of other languages to understand that some ideas and concepts do not translate well. Sometimes a single word in Hebrew, for example, can prompt many words in translation into English. One word in one language can be translated into several words in another. Understanding requires reaching beyond language to the truth that language seeks to express.

I’ve studied the story of Pentecost many times. I’ve preached dozens of sermons about it. But I do not fully understand what happened on that day. It is clear from the words, both in Greek and English, that the writer struggled to express an experience that couldn’t be fully captured in words. In the end, the words convey part of the experience but are not the entire experience. The words, however, are what have remained. There are no first-person witnesses left. We come into contact with that experience through the power of words. We listen to the story. We speak of its meaning. We struggle to understand.

Coming to the same story every year is a delightful opportunity to imagine new ways to understand the old words. This process of layering meaning upon meaning over many years leads to a deep connection with those who gathered long ago. We share a common meaning that reaches beyond language and beyond time.

If you went for a walk in our neighborhood yesterday and didn’t know about our community, you might have thought some Halloween was happening in the springtime. Several houses in our subdivision are decorated with orange and black balloons. However, if you looked closer, you’d discover that among the balloons are banners wishing high school graduates congratulations and good luck. The school colors of Blaine High School are orange and black, and yesterday was high school graduation.

This is graduation weekend in our county. Our county has 13 high schools, and graduation ceremonies began on Thursday and continue through today. In addition to Blaine, where we live, Ferndale, where our son and his family live, Lynden, and Nooksack schools had graduations yesterday. Today, the three high schools in Bellingham hold their ceremonies.

There was a time when we would have several high school graduation announcements on our refrigerator with invitations to parties honoring graduates. Some weekends during our active careers, we would go from party to party, spending a few minutes at each to offer our congratulations and leave a card before heading off to the next one. Our lives are less hectic now that we have retired. We still receive several announcements, but some of them are from Rapid City. We have only one graduation party to attend this year. We’ll probably linger and visit with the family more than when we had more parties to attend.

We’re in for a different round of graduations in the future. Our oldest grandchild enters high school this fall. The high schools here are four-year schools so that he will be a member of the class of 2029. After him, we have four more grandchildren. The youngest is not yet in school, so we’ll attend graduation ceremonies and parties for over a dozen years.

I didn’t graduate from high school. I began college in an early admissions program that allowed students to enter after they had completed their junior year. Several years later, I was listed on my high school records as a high school dropout. After graduating as valedictorian of my college class and earning my doctorate before age 25, I was told that my status at my high school had been changed to transfer student. I never checked. My high school status never seemed to come up in my further education. When I enrolled in a degree program at the University of Wyoming as an adult, I had to petition to avoid having to retake the Graduate Record Exam. They never asked me about my high school graduation. It never came up in any job interviews during my career, either.

I have attended only one high school reunion. It was an all-school reunion, and I spent more time with my sister’s age group than my own. I know several members of what would have been my graduating class, and I’ve kept up with a few of them on Facebook, but I haven’t been attracted to any of the events, which have become regular since we passed 50 years after graduation. The small group that gathers each year seems to have a good time, and their activities are subdued. I might enjoy catching up with old friends, but I’m not much of a reunion kind of person. This spring, I received an email asking whether I wanted to remain on the list and noted that I had not purchased a reunion mug or T-shirt. I do not need more mugs or T-shirts, but I opted to stay on the email list.

When I write graduation cards for those completing their high school education, this presents a dilemma. I want to be honest and sincere. I can’t use some of the phrases that I suspect others might write. I don’t want to name their high school years as “the best of their lives.” High school wasn’t the best years of my life, and I hope that today’s graduates find more meaning, success, and goodness in the years to come. I want to offer congratulations. They have accomplished significant work, and high school graduation is a milestone. What I like best about talking with high school graduates is asking about what comes next for them.

The graduate attending our party today plans to attend Colorado School of Mines in the fall. He has a scholarship for running, and he is interested in engineering. I have a tiny connection to that college. When we lived in Rapid City, I was a friend of a friend of the School of Mines Football coach and led team devotions for them a couple of times. In 2019, when my wife was in the hospital, I received a card signed by every member of the football team, which was touching at the time. I didn’t know them all that well, but somehow we had connected through the devotions I had offered.

A college professor friend of mine published a book in 2019 titled “What’s the Point of College: Seeking Purpose in an Age of Reform.” It is an essential book when colleges and universities are under attack by the current administration. Those attacks seem aimed at destruction rather than reform. Written before this year’s inauguration, my friend’s book looks at public education policy and underlying ethical considerations. He makes a strong case for ensuring that America’s colleges remain places for intellectual inquiry and serious reflection. It is an integral part of the broader conversation our society needs to continue as we seek to repair the damage done by contemporary attacks on higher education.

Amidst all this turmoil, brilliant and promising students are completing their high school careers and considering college education. I see enormous promise in these students, but fear for their futures. Education is not a priority for policymakers in
Washington, DC. These students are worthy of our support. Rather than heading to reunions and reflecting on my past, I hope to continue to find the energy to invest in the current generation of students and encourage them to pursue their educations beyond high school.

For all the saints who from their labors rest,
who to the world their steadfast faith confessed,
your name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

Teachers enter our lives through classroom experiences. Their methods vary, but what they share in common is their physical presence. They speak, listen, share, and nurture their students in classrooms.

Some teachers enter our lives through the words they have written. Their books become texts for our understanding. Their presence is known from their ability to share wisdom through their writing. These teachers can reach beyond the limits of space and time and teach those they have not met face to face.

I have been blessed in this life with both types of teachers, and a few have touched me in both ways.

One of our time's most influential Bible teachers was first known to me through the passion and dedication of the students with whom he had shared a classroom. He taught at Eden Theological Seminary from 1961 to 1986 and at Columbia Theological Seminary from 1986 to 2003. He was William Marcellus McPheeters Professor Emeritus of Old Testament at Columbia Seminary. He was an ordained minister of the United Church of Christ. I did not attend Eden or Columbia. But my colleagues who did study in the classroom under him were unfailingly passionate about his wisdom, insight, and faithfulness to biblical scholarship.

I also knew Walter through his writing. He is the author of more than 100 books. “The Prophetic Imagination” is among the most influential books on my biblical scholarship and preaching. Beyond his scholarly books, I have also been deeply touched by the collections of his prayers that have been published. He wrote prayers for each class he taught and kept those prayers among his papers. In retirement, several collections of those prayers have been published, and I have found them deeply meaningful for personal devotion and use in my teaching and worship leadership.

I also had the good fortune of meeting Walter at United Church of Christ events. His speeches to the General Synod are among the most impactful I have ever heard. His workshops challenged and strengthened me as a preacher and teacher. To charges, both delivered to rooms full of pastors, came to me as personal challenges to which I have tried to be faithful. The first is to go beyond the lectionary to read and preach the entire Bible. Instead of limiting worship to the small portions of scripture offered by the lectionary, dare to read extended portions of scripture both personally and out loud. The second challenge was to write a prayer for each class I taught. He was specific. “Don’t wing a prayer. Don’t extemporize. Don’t reach for an old prayer. Write a fresh, new, and careful prayer for each class.” Both pieces of advice have been essential to my preaching and teaching.

You were their rock, their refuge, and their might:
you, Christ, the hope that put their fears to flight;
‘mid gloom and doubt, you were their one true light.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

Walter was born in Tilden, Nebraska, in 1933. His father was a German Evangelical pastor serving the Evangelical and Reformed Church. He is a graduate of Elmhurst College and Eden Theological Seminary. He earned doctoral degrees from Union Theological Seminary and St. Louis University. His scholarly style has been characterized as rhetorical criticism. Words matter. He took every word of the Bible seriously and pondered its meaning and relationship to other words in the Bible and contemporary culture. His respect for language made him a powerful speaker, allowing him to appeal to liberals and conservatives alike. He was one of the few ministers of the United Church of Christ who was a sought-after preacher in fundamentalist congregations.

Walter is survived by his wife, Tia, sons James and John, and their families.

Still may your people, faithful, true, and bold,
live as the saints who nobly fought of old,
and share with them a glorious crown of gold.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

More recently, I have come to know and love Walter through the powerful biography of Conrad Kanagy, “Walter Brueggemann’s Prophetic Imagination: A Theological Biography,” published by Fortress Press. Conrad is my editor at Santos Books and the leader of a writer’s group in which I am active. The process of writing the biography transformed Conrad’s life, and he shares that transformation with grace and generosity in his teaching and leadership. He speaks of being able to “go into the basement” of Walter’s life with him to discover the teachers who most influenced him, the books that shaped his career, and the theological insights that were revealed to him over years of teaching, dozens upon dozens of books written, and a lifetime of service in classroom, church, and the world.

Ringed by this cloud of witnessed divine,
we feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
yet in you love our faithful lives entwine.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

As far as we know, Walter’s transition from this life to eternity was peaceful. After several weeks of receiving hospice care and a period of living on the edge of consciousness, he slipped from this life yesterday. News traveled quickly among the family of students, preachers, teachers, and admirers surrounding him. I received a text from a colleague, and promptly, my inbox filled with reflections and prayers of others. While there is sadness and grief, there is also deep gratitude and celebration of a well-lived life. I am grateful to have lived in the generation of his students and heard him speak. His wry wit and his gravely voice come back to me each time I reach for a collection of his prayers, which is frequent. I went to his prayers yesterday, but couldn’t choose a single one. I soon found myself in another place I had shared with him over the years, the hymnal. William How’s hymn, based on Hebrews 12, continues to minister to God’s faithful.

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
then hearts are brave again, and faith grows strong.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

Thank you, Walter, for your witness and teaching. Indeed, our faith grows strong.

What would you do if you received a notice that you could no longer live in your home and had two weeks to pack up and move out? What if that notice was accompanied by a two-week notice that you would lose your job? Or consider another possibility? What if you had two weeks to move, and those two weeks were when you were studying for your final examinations to earn your high school diploma?

Without other options, I would turn to family to see if I could find temporary housing, though the idea is in the range of fantasy for me. I’ve never had to plan a move in just two weeks.

The short notice is the reality for 270 students aged 16-24 in Sedro-Woolley, Washington. They were living and learning at Cascades Job Corps. The center provided free education and vocational training for low-income youth. Without warning, the Trump administration has ordered the shutdown of all Job Corps centers nationwide. All Students have been ordered to leave. All staff will be out of work by the end of the month. The initial order for all students to leave by Friday, June 6, was extended to June 13 - one more week to determine where to go and what comes next.

According to Kendra Watson, director of Cascades Job Corps, 55 students have nowhere to go. Some of them came to the center after leaving dangerous home situations.

Technically, the centers' staff have been ordered to stop work, but dedicated staff continue to try to find places for the students to go. They also had to secure vouchers so students could take planned GED tests through the local school district. Some students have made trips to the Department of Social and Health Services to apply for food stamps. The community has offered some support, but the suddenness of the closure and the impact of 55 youth and young adults suddenly homeless are beyond the resources of the small town.

Moving will mean that some students will miss their opportunity to take their GED tests. Many are forced to return to their families in other states, and it is uncertain whether or not they will miss their opportunity to earn their high school diploma.

Job Corps is a program that was begun in 1964 under the administration of Lyndon Johnson. It was a program based on earlier job programs directed at older youth and young adults to give them the training in academics and life skills to become productive members of society. The program is not inexpensive. Providing housing, food, GED classes, and job training costs money. It is, however, an investment in the future. The program is a fraction of the cost of maintaining prisons. While not all job corps members would end up in prison, many have credited the program with keeping them from dealing drugs and engaging in other criminal behavior.

Making changes and adjusting programs is not the aim of this administration, however. The goal seems to be to shut down government programs. Across the US, between 30,000 and 40,000 students will be displaced by the program next week. The Department of Labor has called the closures a “phased pause in operations.” The Job Corps Transparency, released by the administration in April, projected a $213 million deficit this year, with an average graduation rate for students at 38.6%. Like many other numbers and figures cited by the administration, the numbers appear fictional. They are not based on actual operating budgets or educational records. A lawsuit was filed on Tuesday by Job Corps contractors to block the closure of the program, which is making its way through the courts, but that process is too slow for the 55 students who will be homeless in Skagit County next Friday. It is too slow for the tens of thousands of other students nationwide who have depended on the program for assistance with launching their lives.

Governance involves more than deconstruction. Since the inauguration, the administration has demonstrated that it does not require knowledge or skill to destroy programs. Coming up with solutions requires much more than destruction, however. Real people are affected by the destruction. The Job Corps was created to address a real problem. Too many students were dropping out of high school. They were on the streets without skills and access to vocational training. The answer was a program that is far from perfect. There have been expenses that were higher than projected. There have been students who failed in the program. Some young adults reached the maximum age for the program and had to leave without a GED certificate and without job prospects. Closing the program does not address any of those problems.

Once the program has been shut down, the cost of restarting any program becomes very high quickly. Buildings that are not maintained deteriorate. The students performed much of the building maintenance in the Job Corps camps. The administration has not announced any plan for the campuses that have served the program. Many of them are located in beautiful, remote settings with unique structures that do not have other uses. Staff who are laid off are forced to seek other employment. The cost of recruiting and training new staff will exceed the money a temporary closure could save.

Inhuman cruelty on a massive scale, without any plan to address the problems the program was designed to address, is beyond irresponsible. It represents governmental officials' failure to perform their duties. Whatever degree of failure that was a part of the Job Corps program pales in comparison to the massive failures of the current administration to perform the work of governance.

The budget bill that is currently stalled in the US Senate does not provide any meaningful programs for US citizens. Tax cuts for the rich do not address the needs of the people. The proposal is to fund those tax cuts with increased borrowing. Like the closing of Job Corps camps, the administration plans to pass on as many problems as possible to future administrations while enriching a few people at the top. It is not government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Let us pray that it has not perished from this earth.

One day last week, we were walking down the street. Our community often has a lot of pedestrians and bicycle riders, especially when the weather is good. Most of the town is a golf cart zone with a 25-mph speed limit because people use golf carts to get around town. A business on a downtown corner rents carts to tourists to cruise around town. We don’t have a golf cart and don’t need one, but we walk daily, and in areas without sidewalks, we walk on the edge of the street. As we prepared to cross the street that afternoon, a car slowed and stopped to allow us to cross. We waved at the driver, and as he went by after we crossed, he yelled out the window, “You two are so cute!” The driver was young. I’m not good at estimating ages, but I’m sure he was a teenager. It was a delightful moment for us. Some days, we encounter drivers who won’t stop for crossing pedestrians. We must be careful on that stretch of road because there is no sidewalk, and the street has a hill and a curve. People tend to speed down the hill. There is one school bus we know the driver will not slow down or pull over to give pedestrians room. When we hear it coming, we step off the street into the weeds to wait for it to pass. For the most part, locals are more likely to speed than tourists. People on vacation often are willing to go a bit slower and be more patient. When I ride my bike around town, I sometimes pay attention to the license plates on the cars driven by people who seem less likely to slow down and show some courtesy.

Our pleasant experience with the young driver starkly contrasts with the experiences teachers have reported to us. They tell us that since the pandemic, students have become much ruder, self-centered, and lacking basic manners. The CBC show “The Current” recently quoted an Ontario teacher saying, “Manners have gone out the door” in classrooms. Disruptive behavior, such as texting, talking out of turn, interrupting, and yelling, is a daily occurrence in many classrooms. Teachers who remember when middle and high school students could resolve conflicts now have to intervene because similarly aged students can’t seem to manage their behavior. It isn’t just that the students are rude to adults. They are disrespectful to each other.

The decrease in uncivil behavior is related to the pandemic. Many students spent large blocks of time at home alone, sitting behind screens. They could do whatever they wanted. They didn’t focus their attention in the same way that they had in the classroom before the pandemic. Since returning to school, they have failed basic self-regulation tasks. Students are aware of the change in their behavior. A recent study from Brock University polled students from the ages of 9 to 14. When asked whether they ever engaged in rude or disruptive behavior, they were far more likely to respond positively than when a similar study was conducted in the fall of 2019.

How students behave in school can indicate how they will act as they grow up and move out of school into the wider society. It isn’t just students who are showing uncivil and anti-social behavior. Studies show that adults also have become less likely to display good manners, treat each other with respect, and selfishness.

I am not a researcher and don’t keep up with the data, but it seems to me that it isn’t just the pandemic that causes anti-social behavior. The rapid rise of personal technology is a contributing factor. People use their devices to isolate themselves in settings where they normally would be forced to interact. It is common for people to be scrolling through their smartphones while at the table in a restaurant, sitting in a concert, or at church, and in other settings where they used to talk to each other. When I ride my bike, I try to be very courteous to pedestrians, but there are many times when they are startled by my bike bell because they are wearing earphones and engaging with their devices. I am amazed at how many people are so disconnected from their environment that they are unaware of a bicycle on the path.

It should be common sense that using a smart device while driving distracts attention from the basic tasks of controlling the car. It isn’t just a problem with texting while driving. Newer cars are equipped with smart screens that divert the driver's attention from keeping their attention on the road and what is happening outside the vehicle.

As has often been the case, dedicated teachers are rising to the challenge of disruptive classroom behavior. They are learning techniques to teach students the basics of civil behavior. Setting standards and enforcing rules is part of their practice. They also must continually point out how disruptive behaviors affect others. Many of the rude students are not intentionally trying to cause harm. They are unaware of how their behavior affects others. In addition to teaching the content of their classes, teachers have to teach skills that children should have learned in preschool and kindergarten. The failure to learn basic manners and civil behavior is not just a product of the pandemic and technology. It is also the result of parents shifting more and more responsibility from the home to the school. Lessons that should be taught at home are not being taught.

A couple of septuagenarians walking down the street probably aren’t that interesting to most teens. Maybe it was how we dressed or that we often hold hands. Maybe we reminded the teen driver of his grandparents. Whatever the reason, at least one teen displayed excellent manners and thoughtful behavior. His attention was on the task of driving and on what was happening around him. I hope others, young and old, will see his behavior and follow his example.

According to information from the White House and from the U.S. Customs and Border Protection, increased scrutiny of those crossing the border from Canada to the US is being imposed as protection from deadly substances coming into the US from Canada. In February, the US President issued an executive order “Imposing Duties to Address the Flow of Illicit Drugs Across Our Northern Border.” When administration officials speak of dangerous substances, they often talk of fentanyl. They do not give any information on how successful increased border security and the imposition of tariffs have been in reducing drugs entering the US. It is unclear why there has been such an emphasis on the Canadian border when it comes to fentanyl. Data indicates that only 0.2% of seizures of fentanyl occur at the Canadian border. The vast majority of fentanyl entering the US comes from Mexico. While some fentanyl is trafficked from the US to Canada, available data indicate that the amount is substantially less than the flow from the US to Canada.

Meanwhile, another hazardous substance flows from Canada to the US without any limits imposed by Customs and Border Protection. It is causing dangerous conditions for vast swaths of the US Midwest. It has been found to cause early death and respiratory issues, especially among seniors, young children, pregnant women, people who work outdoors, and people with chronic health conditions, such as cancer, diabetes, lung or heart conditions, and mental illness.

It is impossible to stop this threatening flow by increasing border security, limiting traffic at border crossings, or assigning additional personnel to border crossings.

Over the next few days, northwestern Wisconsin, eastern Nebraska, northeastern North Dakota, and most of Minnesota will be affected. The Minnesota Pollution Control Agency has issued an air quality alert for the entire state. The threat pouring over the border is wildfire smoke. A cold front is moving southeast, bringing with it smoke from fires in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and Ontario.

The threat is even greater than smoke. Ash plumes from Canadian wildfires have been drifting over the Upper Midwest, and sunset hues are orange and pink. The public has been advised to avoid physical activity outdoors. Those in high-risk groups, including those with lung and heart disease, seniors, and young children, should remain indoors. Exposure to wildfire smoke can worsen pre-existing asthma and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and can cause premature mortality.

Citizens are further warned of mild ashfall and reduced visibility. Ash fall can make highways slippery, and reduced visibility can lead to increased accidents.

Politicians can argue about the effectiveness of isolationist policies, but they cannot change the simple fact that we live in a global community. We share many parts of this world with others, irrespective of international boundaries and border protections. Air quality is affected by global emissions in all countries. Countries with the lowest individual carbon footprints often suffer the ill effects of pollution more severely than countries with the highest emissions.

The US Customs and Border Protection Agency could take actions to decrease carbon emissions and the risk of catastrophic wildfires. Secretary of Homeland Security Kris Noem's single trip aboard the Gulfstream G5 emits at least 3.6 metric tons of CO2. Combining trips and decreasing appearances for press purposes could significantly impact global air pollution.

I don’t expect to see a reduction in the secretary’s travel. If the budget bill now before the US Senate passes, a new $50 million jet will be in store for the US Coast Guard, providing executive travel for the secretary. Apparently, the new airplane will be exempt from the “buy America” provisions of the Biden Administration, as although Gulfstream is a US Company, they import Rolls-Royce turbofan engines manufactured in Dahlewitz, Germany, to power the proposed Gulfstream G-550.

Despite the current administration's protectionist rhetoric, it isn’t just air that we share with the rest of the world. We are part of a world economy. Goods and services are exchanged worldwide, with Americans consuming more items produced in other countries than are exported. This creates trade deficits, which seem to be the target of presidential social media posts without a significant understanding of either the cause or the effects of such deficits.

Meanwhile, the bill before the US Senate will create actual debt that exceeds our country's previous budget. The debt proposed will require decades to repay. In addition, the current trade war has created economic instability, resulting in a downgrade of the US credit ratings. This means that the cost of borrowing is going up.

Wildfires are part of the natural environment, and wildfires have raged across many areas of the world since before the current era. However, the size and intensity of wildfires have been steadily increasing in recent years, driven in part by human-caused global warming. Wildfires have a significant carbon impact. Burning vegetation and other organic matter releases CO2 and other greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. According to NASA, extreme forest fires in 2023 released about 640 metric tons of carbon, or about the same as 175 trips by the Secretary of Homeland Security.

Specific data about the homeland security secretary's travel is not available, but she has engaged in multiple visits to foreign countries in addition to extensive domestic travel.

However, none of the debates in Washington look to ease discomfort and danger for those downwind of the wildfires. Experts predict intense wildfires will continue throughout the summer and early autumn. Smoky skies are in store for the Upper Midwest and other parts of the United States at least through October. The smoke poses a far greater danger to the health and well-being of US citizens than the consumption of illegal drugs.

Speaking of drug use, the country may be slightly safer now that Elon Musk has ended his service to the administration. According to reports in the Guardian, the Nation, and the New York Times, Musk's use of Ketamine, Ambien, Mushrooms, and other hallucinogens had a significant effect on his performance. There is no report from the U.S. Customs and Border Protection on increased inspections of his bags when he travels. An inspection of the luggage of a former South Dakota Governor, the next time she enters the US from a foreign trip, might also yield interesting results.

We purchased a house in the Black Hills of South Dakota thirty years ago. The house we chose had a built-in dishwasher, but that was the only major kitchen appliance that the previous owner left. With a limited budget, we headed to an appliance store. We found a “scratch and dent” kitchen range with an easy-to-clean glass cooktop. We decided to spend a little more on a refrigerator with the latest refrigerant, which is considered safer for the environment than freon. The refrigerator had a new feature: a dispenser in the door for cold water and ice. Owning an ice maker was a delight for us. We could have cubes or crushed ice any time we wanted. The design of that particular appliance was a freezer and a refrigerator that were side by side. The ice maker was in the freezer door. It worked without problem for the 25 years we lived in that house.

When we purchased our home here in Washington, we bought a refrigerator with the house. It also had an ice maker and cold water dispenser. However, it was designed with a freezer drawer at the bottom and the ice maker in the refrigerator's door. It took up quite a bit of space in the appliance, but it worked when we purchased it. However, the design meant that the refrigerator used more electricity to make ice in the door while maintaining an above-freezing temperature in the rest of the compartment. What we couldn’t see on that shiny, seemingly new appliance was that on the back of the machine was an electronic valve that controlled the water going into the ice dispenser. It was behind a metal access panel that got cold. Humidity from the air condensed on that panel and caused it and the components it housed to rust, leading to the failure of the switch. I learned to disassemble the components and replace the switch, but corrosion on the wiring harness and other components finally rendered the unit beyond repair.

We reverted to a practice that we had done for much of our lives. We made ice with ice cube trays. It required little labor, and we had ice when we wanted it. It turned out, however, that the ice maker wasn’t the only part of the appliance that was prone to failure. The electronics that regulated temperature in the refrigerator began to fail. We ended up replacing it even though it had lasted less than half the lifespan of our previous refrigerator. We were overwhelmed by the number of appliance choices when shopping for a new refrigerator. We tried to avoid some of the problems of our previous one. We selected one with an ice maker in the freezer compartment, separate from the water dispenser. It does not have a dispenser in the door. We open the freezer and access the ice with a scoop. So far, it has worked flawlessly.

Continual and convenient access to ice has become a part of our lives. I heard on a CBC documentary that in North America alone, we use over 360 billion pounds of ice annually. That is a lot of ice! When we go to the seafood market, the clerk fills a bag with ice and puts our fish on top for the trip home. We purchase blocks of ice from a corner store to keep our food fresh in a cooler when we go to the beach or camping. We are used to having ice available whenever we want it.

Easy access to ice has only been part of our culture for a couple of centuries. In the early 1800s, cutting huge blocks of ice out of frozen lakes in the winter took considerable effort. The ice was packed in straw in underground chambers that lasted through the summer. Some businesses cut and stored the ice. Homeowners could subscribe to a service that delivered ice to them regularly. The ice blocks were put into insulated boxes for food storage. Access to ice allowed for breweries to operate year-round. Fruits and vegetables could be transported long distances. The use of ice for the storage and transportation of apples made the fruit available over an extended season for a larger group of people. Even those with limited financial means could afford apples year-round. The phrase “As American as apple pie” originates from the widespread use of ice for fruit transportation.

The invention of mobile refrigeration units mounted on semi-vans has revolutionized the transportation of fresh produce. We have become accustomed to having access to fresh fruits and vegetables year-round. Even though we complain about the difference between the tomatoes we purchase and those we grow in our garden, we continue to buy ones shipped in while we wait for our plants to produce.

Movie theaters began the practice of placing huge ice blocks in front of fans to create a cool space for audiences during summer showings. When commercial air conditioning became available, theaters were among the first public buildings to install the service. People flocked to theaters to escape the summer heat. A popular term from the days of ice blocks and fans continues to be used. When popular shows filled large theaters, the fans had to work harder, and the ice melted more quickly. Such a popular film was called a “blockbuster” because of the increased rate of ice melting.

We take many modern conveniences for granted, from access to fresh fruit and vegetables to comfortable seating in theaters. We forget that these were not always a part of people’s lives. I am used to having ice in my water whenever I want it. I enjoy having an ice maker in my home. Even though I complain about appliances that don’t last and some other inconveniences, I’m not ready to return to ice boxes and worry if my food will stay fresh on hot summer days. Those days are coming, and I can sit in air-conditioned comfort with a glass of iced tea whenever I feel like it. We have it easy compared to those who lived hundreds of years ago.

I am learning to refer to myself as retired. When I first retired in 2020, I wasn’t fond of the term. Part of me wished I had continued working for a couple more years. When I got the opportunity to return to work in 2021 for two years, it was appreciated, and I embraced the work with joy. When I retired from that term of service, I was more prepared to retire, and after a couple more years, I feel like I’m settling into the routine.

There are, however, some things that don’t just go away with retirement. For more than four decades, the rhythm of my life revolved around the seasons of the church year. Worship planning and preaching were part of each week, except vacations and sabbaticals, and those were planned around the celebrations of the church year. The school year shaped our children’s lives, but they knew that family vacations would wait until after Pentecost. They understood Advent and Christmas because Advent was very busy in the church's life, but once Christmas came, the schedule of activities had more room for recreation.

While it doesn’t mean an adjustment in my schedule or a change in my work, today is the last Sunday of Easter. Pentecost is next Sunday. I don’t spend much time anticipating Sunday services these days. I can arrive at the church without knowing the day’s scripture reading. But years of experience have left me with many Sundays when I think of the texts that would shape worship were I still a working preacher. Today is one of those Sundays. Year C is the third year of the lectionary cycle, and the Revised Common Lectionary substitutes readings from the Acts of the Apostles for Eastertide, so the first reading for today in churches that follow the lectionary and use all four readings is the story of Paul and Silas in jail and the earthquake that released them. It appears in Acts 16. I’m pretty sure that if I were preaching this week, I’d focus on that text. It would be a difficult choice that I have made many times because the Gospel for the day is from John 17. It is the resurrected Christ’s prayer for the disciples, which includes the motto of the United Church of Christ, “that they all may be one.”

Both texts are wonderful and have the power to inspire many sermons.

The basic story of the Acts text is that Paul and Silas are traveling when they encounter a slave woman who brought her owners money by making predictions, and she began to follow them, crying out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God.” Acts reports that Paul became annoyed and ordered the spirit to leave her. This left her without her previous powers and her owners without the income she had produced. They brought charges against Paul and Silas, who were arrested, beaten, and thrown in jail in shackles. In the night, while they were praying and singing, an earthquake shook the prison to its foundations, the doors sprang open, and the chains were unfastened. The jailer, realizing what had happened, feared that all the prisoners had escaped and that he would be punished. He drew his sword intending to kill himself, but was interrupted by Paul calling out that they were all still there. The story continues with the jailer converting to Christianity and being baptized with his family by Paul and Silas.

People often hear that story and focus on the miracle of an earthquake that frees prisoners without injuries. It is a fantastic story. Like many biblical texts, many details are missing, but there is a connection between the prayers and the earthquake. Such a connection seems unlikely. Over the years, millions have prayed amid earthquakes that have continued to wreak havoc, including many deaths. People are still discovering bodies in the rubble after the April earthquake in Turkey. Just yesterday, a magnitude 6.2 earthquake shook Southwest Africa, and another struck off the coast of Hokkaido, Japan. The earthquake in the Acts story, however, was quite different. It was restricted to the jail facility and was quite specific in its effects. Doors were opened. Chains were released. Prisoners were set free.

As a preacher, however, I would be careful to point out the second miracle of the story. Paul was able to prevent the suicide of the jailer. As someone who has arrived at the scene of suicides too late for prevention many times in my life, I know the devastation of that trauma for loved ones and friends. I also have had the good fortune of using my training to intervene with individuals experiencing suicidal ideation and have witnessed them choose life. It is, without doubt, a miracle when death is averted.

The miracles of the bible do not change the laws of physics or the realities of human life. We do not become immortal. Every human being comes to the point of death. Those whose loved one is rescued from the edge of suicide will one day be parted from that loved one by death. We cannot avoid loss and grief. We can, however, celebrate the gift of life when a suicide is averted. Each day is a gift following such a crisis.

The reading from Acts for today ends with the report that “he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God.” Through whatever circumstances, a brush with death became just a brush, and life prevailed. Everyone - the entire household - was able to share in the joy of the triumph of life. Were I preaching on the text, I would emphasize that Paul had a role in saving that life by calling out loudly. Sometimes, speaking up is what is needed to save a life. Sometimes it is all that is required.

One of the text's lessons is that we all have the power to speak up. We can ask a friend or loved one, “Are you OK?” We can remind them how much they are loved and that they don’t have to face depression alone. We can offer to be with them. May the story inspire us to speak up.