Lawrence Webb, August 31, 1934-August 31, 2016

No.  This is not an obituary.

But as I write this on my 82nd birthday, I'm reminded of the oft-told story of "Life in the Hyphen."  A man visiting a cemetery noticed the hyphen between the date of birth and the date of death on each headstone and started wondering what went on in the lives of these people between the time they were born and the time they died: What did they do during the Hyphen?

I started thinking about other marks I could use to punctuate my life.

! The Exclamation Point marks times of excitement, and I've had my share.  In retrospect, one of the most exciting days of my life came on July 17, 1965, when Pansy and I stood at the altar in a church in Charlotte, North Carolina, and pledged our lives to each other, "from now on! Other exciting times include April 7, 1969, and August 22, 1972, birth dates for our sons, Russell and Jonathan, respectively!  I could add exciting times when we've traveled to London! Paris! Madrid! Rome! Yellowstone! the Grand Canyon! and on and on and on and on and on!  And on!

? The Question Mark also has made its appearance many times in my 82 years: How am I going to pay for my college tuition now that I've committed my life to the ministry? Answer: One step at a time?  Why did Randall, one of our premature twin sons, die after 13 days? I'm still waiting for a good answer.  What am I going to do with all my time when I retire?  Dumb question. Plenty. Teach the Baraca Radio Sunday School Class from First Baptist Church every week.  Minister in retirement homes each month.  Direct plays in community theatre. Serve on volunteer boards: Anderson-Oconee Council on Aging (now Senior Solutions), Project Challenge Playhouse; Literacy Association, ACLU Upstate Chapter; Upstate Chapter of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, Cooperative Baptist Fellowship Coordinating Council, Friends of the Library, Lifelong Learning Institute at Anderson University, Foothills Writers Guild.  Write books.

, The Lowly Comma symbolizes a pause.  Pansy says I need to add a few more of those after all those activities I listed with the Question Mark.  Point well made and, I hope, well taken, as I have left several of those to other people.

. The Period serves a useful purpose, but I'm not ready to use it yet because it indicates a stop.  I've made various stops along the way, such as graduating from high school, college, seminary, and graduate school; and leaving various jobs in church and denomination and higher education.  But none of these has been a complete stop.

The Cedilla looks a lot like a comma, but when it is attached to a letter, it gives a special pronunciation, such as in “Façade,” making it fuh-sod instead of fack-ade.

Every writer or speaker likes to give special twists to his or her presentation from time to time, such as making this to-do about diacritical marking.

The Tilde gives a special emphasis in Spanish, as in mañana.  But my Spanish is limited to trying to say huevos rancheros in Mexican restaurants.  So I won’t go there.

‽ The Interrobang, a late-born child in the punctuation family, combines the Exclamation Mark and the Question Mark: The adrenaline pumps, as I’m not sure what to make of a situation.  Will Trump or Clinton win the presidency, and what difference will it make either way, and where is Bernie now that we need him‽

; The Semicolon shows up when I feel I must say much; I have many more things I need to tell you; things just keep coming to my mind; I don’t know where to stop.  Life goes on; things get so exciting; never a dull moment; I don’t know where to stop.

'The Apostrophe usually indicates something has been left out.  The story has it that Robert Frost was asked what promises he felt he had to keep before he could sleep (in his poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening").  The poet replied, "If I had wanted you to know, I would have told you.”  At this point, you don’t feel I’ve left anything out.

: The Colon comes into play when there’s more to be said: Life is not over.  Another Baraca broadcast to prepare for.  Other Communion services at retirement centers. Other Lifelong Learning classes to teach. Other books on my Bucket List.

Blasphemy on the Net

“The choice should be easy for Christians. It's Trump ... or it's the end of America.”

That statement is the blasphemous punchline from a long rant that rates the current Republican presidential candidate with Almighty God.  

Here is my non-partisan response to the article a friend forwarded to me.  The forward did not identify the original author.

I cannot put my Christian hope in any politician — Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton or anyone else.  I don’t believe God is relying on either of them, or the people they eliminated in the primaries, in order to “save America.”

The writer says, “God is about miracles.“  

Then he adds, “I believe Trump is our miracle.”

He quotes a familiar verse from the Hebrew prophet Isaiah: 

"Even the youths shall faint and be weary, And the young men shall utterly fall,  But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up   with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:30-31).

But in quoting this verse, the writer equates Donald Trump with the Lord.

“It’s almost like God created this verse for Donald Trump and this moment in history.”

Instead of the Lord renewing strength, this writer says, “Trump renews our strength. .  .  . With Trump we mount up with wings like eagles. With Trump as our leader there is nothing we can't do. .  .  .  Trump inspires us. Trump gives us hope. Trump gives us confidence in victory. Trump gives us just a touch of arrogance. Maybe God understands that's exactly what we need right at this late stage to save America.”

This is outright heresy.  The writer finds Trump a fitting substitute for the Lord.  

This attitude toward Mr. Trump is as misguided as a prayer a pastor out in Davenport, Iowa, prayed on October 11, 2008, at a John McCain rally. I have heard the prayer on video on the Internet. In the prayer, the pastor actually told God twice that God’s reputation was at stake if He let Barack Obama win.   Here is his prayer:

“Our God, we want to honor You today as the Sovereign Lord of this universe.  You tell us in Your Word that You raise up leaders and You pull them down.  So we know that You are in charge of everything that’s going to happen between now and November.  

“And Lord, we just appeal to You for this event.  We want to ask Your blessings on our time together today. Please energize Senator McCain as he seeks to share his vision and what he thinks we need to do for the problems we face in this country. And Lord, help us to be good listeners, ready to hear what he has to share.

"I would also add, Lord, that your reputation is involved in all that happens between now and November, because there are millions of people around this world praying to their God -- whether it's Hindu, Buddha, Allah -- that his opponent wins for a variety of reasons. 

“And, Lord, I pray that you would guard your own reputation, because they’re going to think that their god is bigger than you, if that happens. So I pray that you would step forward and honor your own name in all that happens between now and Election Day.

"Oh Lord, we just commit this time to you, move among us, make your presence very well felt as we are gathered here today in Jesus's name I pray. Amen.” 

You can find this prayer on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5g0d3_KE5js.  The minister was Arnold Conrad, former pastor of Grace Evangelical Free Church in Davenport.

Questions come to my mind as I think of this current writer’s confidence in Donald Trump, the same questions that come to mind regarding Pastor Conrad’s prayer on behalf of John McCain and against Barack Obama:

What will it tell us about the power of Almighty God if Donald Trump does not win?  More to the point: Looking back to 2008, what does it tell us about the power of Almighty God when we realize John McCain did not win but Barack Obama did win?  What has come of God’s reputation?  What do those people of other religions think about God?  Is He a Has-Been?  Has God forsaken this country?

The outcome of the 2008 election says much more about the presumption of Pastor Conrad than it says about the reputation of the Eternal God.

The current article also reeks of presumption as the writer links “American exceptionalism, capitalism and Judeo-Christian values,” as if these are divinely interconnected.  The will of God is not synonymous with any country on the face of the earth. Various systems of government and finance come and go, while the Creator and Sustainer of the universe remains supreme.

I had most of the stars knocked out of my eyes many years ago regarding politicians as saviors.

I don’t believe God will put either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton in office.  I don’t believe God put Barack Obama in office or George W. Bush or Bill Clinton or George H. W. Bush or Ronald Reagan or Jimmy Carter or Gerald Ford or Richard Nixon or Lyndon Johnson or John Kennedy or Dwight D. Eisenhower or Harry Truman or Franklin D. Roosevelt or on as far back as you wish to trace it.  

I don’t believe God favors or supports any political party.  God is not a Republican .  .  .  or a Democrat.

The email praising Donald Trump is wrong-headed.  As I said, I have no more confidence in Mrs. Clinton than I do in Mr. Trump as our spiritual deliverer.  That’s just not what a political office is about.  To put our trust in any man or woman in that way is to put that person right up there next to God.  I cannot do that.

In the Wake of Orlando

I sent the following letter to some Muslim friends, whom I have gotten to know in recent months, after learning some details of the mass slaughter in Orlando:

Dear Ahmed, Mustafa, and Imam Omar,

I believe most residents of the United States are deeply grieved today over the mass murder of the young people in Orlando, and I know each of you is deeply grieved that Omar Mateen committed the murders in the name of Islam.  I know, too, that it is as unfair to blame all Muslims for Mateen’s actions as it is to blame all professing Christians for acts of violence by irresponsible people who claim the name of Jesus.

As a longtime happily married heterosexual, I cannot fully understand homosexuality or alternative sexual orientations, but I have no right under the U. S. Constitution or — more significantly — under God to take the life of any person, for whatever perceived wrongdoing he or she may have committed.  I try not to judge any man, woman, or child.  I try to leave judgment to God the Merciful.  But I can find no justification for the horrific deeds done by Mr. Mateen.  His actions should sadden all thinking people, especially all of us who claim a religious motivation in life.

In your Ramadan reflection, you no doubt will find occasion to think further and sorrow deeply about this tragedy that transcends religion, race, gender, ethnic background, political persuasion, or sexual orientation.  I join you in sorrowing over the profanation of your holy month by this action in the name of Islam.

Our U. S. President John F. Kennedy, when he visited the Berlin Wall in 1963, said, “Ich bin ein Berliner (I am a citizen of Berlin).”  As a Christian, I hope I am not trespassing on your faith if I paraphrase President Kennedy and say, “Today I am a Muslim.”

I must acknowledge, I have no ongoing association or friendship with any Muslims, but, in the wake of this tragedy, I would welcome the opportunity to sit down in fellowship with any or all of you, to know you better and perhaps build small bridges between our respective faiths and various nationalities.

In the love of God,
Lawrence Webb

DSG Syndrome

     I am afflicted by a malady that sometimes makes it difficult to live a mere 19 miles from the reputed Sports Capital of the World.

     My Daddy was an avid sports fan. He listened to baseball and football on the radio and then later watched on television.  He passed along his sports interest to my three brothers: Lee Roy, Leonard, and Lew.  But something short-circuited with me, his second son.

     Though I have consulted neither my General Medical Practitioner nor an Athletic Trainer for a scientific diagnosis, I have studied the evidence and determined on my own that I was born with  a Defective Sports Gene, commonly known in athletic circles as DSG Syndrome.

     In our growing-up years, my sisters and brothers and I spent the fall months in the cotton fields of West Texas instead of in the halls of learning.  So, Lee Roy, my older brother, and Leonard, my younger brother, did not "come out for football," although they longed for the chance.

     By the time Lew entered the world, Leonard (the baby of the family until then) was nearly thirteen.  So, for all practical purposes, Lew grew an only child.  He did play high school football, with Daddy's enthusiastic support.

     My active interest in sports withered and died in grade school when I realized I would always be the last chosen at recess when two jock-to-be types chose sides for the prevailing seasonal sport.

     I went to football games in high school and college and in my early years in the "real world." Then I woke up one day and realized I went because it seemed expected -- the thing to do.

     It's been thirty-five years since I've been in a stadium.  

     The last game I went to, Pansy and our boys and I lived in Waco, Texas, and I went to a Baylor game with my dear older brother-in-law Jeff who had an extra ticket. 

     I don't know who won. I don't remember the Bears' opponents.  My only clear memory  of the afternoon is the moment when I stood with Baylor fans as they sang "That Good Old Baylor Line" and stretched out their arms with their fingers curled to represent Bear claws.

     These days, as orange athletic supporters go ga-ga over bowl games and trips to Phoenix, I'm sure I'm missing something.  But I have no idea what it is.  Or maybe I do.

     I've often heard it said that football is a religion.  I've often said "Amen" to that.  But now I have proof positive:

     Coach Swinney will soon be canonized Saint Dabo as he gives glory to God for his win over the Oklahoma boys.  I'm not sure where this leaves the coach from the Southwest.  Is he less than favored in the eyes of the Almighty because his boys lost?  Is Dab more holy than his 2015 competitor as God gave "us" the victory?

     After the Orange Bowl, a fan told me, "I'm on a spiritual high after that game!" I looked my friend in the eye and scratched my head as I asked, "Really?"  He probably thought my head-scratching was a sign of dandruff.

     Then there was the sports writer's Facebook post, quoting from the "love chapter," First Corinthians 13, in tribute to The Coach with God's Blessing.

     Does God give wins to His (or Her) favored teams?

     Does God give a good care about which team of rowdies scores more points?

     Will the coach and the guys up the road in Tigertown be better Christians after a winning season?

     Will they be even better Christians when they are crowned National Champions?

     Will "we" be better Christians because "we" won?

     

     Many of my friends -- or former friends -- are sadly shaking their heads .  .  . if they've read this far:  Poor Lawrence.  We knew he'd flipped.  We just didn't realize the extent of his DSG Syndrome.   

What Will It Matter That I Have Lived?

What can I do to make any difference that I have lived thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, or ninety years on Planet Earth?

“All you can do is face the world with quiet grace and hope you make a sliver of difference.”

Brian Doyle wrote those words in the Sojourners magazine regarding raising your children, maintaining a happy marriage, and doing your job well.

Doyle wrote the reflective article for the January 2016 issue, the time of year we associate with looking forward and simultaneously looking backward, after the fashion of the two-faced Roman god Janus.

To hope for the future, you must believe “being a very good you matters somehow,” the editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland in Oregon wrote.

Another urgent belief, according to Doyle, is “that trying to be an honest  and tender parent” will have reverberations among your descendants for centuries to come.

Still another point in Doyle’s credo is that people beyond your range of knowledge will benefit as you do “your chosen work with creativity and diligence.”

Through all your good work, however, you likely will never get proper credit or be properly understood, except by Jesus, whom Doyle calls “the Arab Jew.” He realized good had gone out of Him the instant a sick woman dared to touch the hem of His garment. Few of us have such perception.

Doyle says realizing our limits should bring humility, knowing “we are all broken and small and brief.” But, while acknowledging our limits, we need also to know, where there is love, “there is everything else.”

Salenthiel C. Kirk, summed up this message in his 1912 song, “Our Best”:

Wait not for men to laud, heed not their slight;

Winning the smile of God brings its delight!

Aiding the good and true ne’er goes unblest,

All that we think or do, be it the best.  

Every work for Jesus will be blest, 

But He asks from everyone his best.  

Our talents may be few, these may be small,

But unto Him is due our best, our all.

Happy New Year!

As the world sixteen years ago anticipated the end of the 1900s and the coming of 2000, novelist John Updike wrote a story about two young couples who planned a memorable evening to welcome the new decade, the new century, and the new millennium.

One of the husbands had made reservations at an upscale restaurant, guaranteeing their table with his credit card. They got together at one of their houses in the suburbs for drinks and reminiscences before beginning the quest to “ring out the old, ring in the new.”

After several rounds of drinks, with both wives and one husband feeling dizzy headed, they agreed they made a wise move when the other husband had agreed to be the designated driver.

Light traffic on the freeway. They should easily get to the restaurant by nine.  Have time for a leisurely meal. Perhaps a little dancing and more drinks before the floor show begins.

Looking forward to ending the old year in fine fashion, they went down the exit ramp and onto the surface streets.  They saw few cars on first few blocks, but when they turned onto a major four-lane street, traffic moved at the proverbial snail’s pace.  

Not to worry.  Plenty of time. Only a couple more miles to the restaurant. Table’s reserved.  Paid for.  But then:

Traffic slowed to a crawl.  Then stopped all together.  A multi-car accident blocked the entire road.  Ambulances.  Fire Trucks. Police.

Minutes turned to hours.  They were so close, they actually could see their restaurant across the median.  Just a couple of blocks away.

Midnight came and went.  1999 left them.  They welcomed the first ninety minutes of the new decade, the new century, the new millennium in the car, irate, swearing, sweaty, tipsy. 

Updike was a faithful Christian and churchman and successful novelist and poet whose stories often quietly offer morals.  They don’t hit you in the face with preaching.  He leaves it to the reader to ferret them out.

Beyond Bobby Burns’s  obvious “The best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley,” we can look deeper:

Some might say, “If they hadn’t stayed around the house getting drunk, they probably would have been ahead of the wreck.”  And that may be true.

On a still deeper level, even sober and clear-headed, the foursome probably loaded more weight on that one evening than most evenings could bear — even this “night of nights” as one decade, one century, and one millennium pass with the striking of midnight. The new day, week, month, year, decade, century, and millennium likely will look strangely like the ones they left behind.

As we sing “Auld Lang Syne,” toast to our friends, and make high-flung resolutions, we may benefit from the reminder of the writer of Psalm 90:

The years of our life are threescore and ten,

or even by reason of strength fourscore;

yet their span is but toil and trouble;

they are soon gone, and we fly away. .  .  .

So teach us to number our days

that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Home for Christmas

The call to come home is as old as the human race. In the holiday season, that voice reverberates through the echo chambers of our souls.

Early in life, I learned I was expected to be home for Christmas. So I was with my parents every Christmas for 34 years. In those 34 years, I had graduated from high school, college, and seminary; I had worked full-time as a minister, college professor and writer-editor; I had taken unto myself a wife; I had lived in Kentucky, South Carolina and Georgia.

Even after I became a father, for as long as my parents were alive, a strong inner voice silently yelled, “Let’s go to Texas!”  Sometimes that call still comes, though Daddy and Mother and some of our siblings have gone to that Eternal Home.

When Johnny Mathis gives out with “I’ll be home for Christmas; you can count on me,” in my mind’s eye and in my heart of hearts, I am once again part of a happy throng of six brothers and sisters, spouses, and children, overflowing one of the modest houses or apartments Mother and Daddy called home over the years.

I have missed a great deal over the decades by not being around my brothers and sisters and their spouses and oncoming generations. Now, our sons have followed my example as they live and work, far from their parents: Russell in New York and Jonathan in Chicago. They have their own individual patterns for the holidays, and I say, “God bless them for it.”

People often ask, “Don’t you wish your sons would come home for Christmas?” I usually just smile or grimace, but I think to myself: “I would love to see them, but they are at home. They’re away from us, but they have their homes in Chicago and New York.  They have their lives. They have their responsibilities. It isn’t easy to travel long distances, especially with children.”

In “The House of Christmas,” G. K. Chesterton described the call to come home this way:

For men are homesick in their homes, 

        And strangers under the sun,

And they lay their heads in a foreign land 

        Whenever the day is done.

Those lines suggest that every human being is away from home.

The Christmas story is about One who left his Father’s home, who was born in a manger, who in adulthood had no place to lay his head, who was buried in someone else’s tomb, who identified his family as larger than his mother and birth brothers and sisters, 

a family “born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will  of man, but of God” (John 1:13).

So, whether we are with our human families this Christmas or spending the time alone, we need to listen for the call of God, welcoming us to the warmth of his family. Jesus came to earth to call all his brothers and sisters back to his Father’s house.