New Years Eve

There was a sundial behind the old Tyson mansion in the woods near my boyhood home in Danville, Illinois. It was placed in a little nook overlooking the lake and had the inscription that can be seen in the picture above. The words were confusing, haunting, and almost scary to me back then. My best friend and I would be chasing butterflies or heading back to work on our hidden fort and I would always stop to look at that old sundial. "Grow old along with me!, I would think, That's stupid...who wants to get old anyway?"...and then I would run on.

Now, as an older man, I understand. The best is coming. The best of life and of love and of all that God and the universe have to send is ready to be received. All that is required is my open hand and open heart.

This is the final curtain call for 2008. We are called to live in this and every day fully. There is no time to wonder about yesterday or to regret our mistakes. This is our fresh moment, unsullied chance and new beginning. We have the opportunity to squeeze out every drop of the moment and let them fall where they may. Some will evaporate and some will be rainbows. It may sound silly but it is true. Live, love, laugh and be happy!

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!'” ~ Robert Browning

Christmas Eve 1914

German and Allied soldiers celebrate the 1914
Christmas truce in No Man's Land - this
photograph was considered subversive
and for many years, was censored

Jim Wallis is the founder and heart of Sojouners in Washington, DC. His writings and work have inspired me for decades now. The voice of reconcilliation and compassion that he offers is a rare gift to us all. The article that he wrote in 2002 entitled "Christmas In The Trenches" is my offering for your reflection this year.

Silent Night, by Stanley Weintraub, is the story of Christmas Eve, 1914, on the World War I battlefield in Flanders. As the German, British, and French troops facing each other were settling in for the night, a young German soldier began to sing "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht." Others joined in. When they had finished, the British and French responded with other Christmas carols.
Eventually, the men from both sides left their trenches and met in the middle. They shook hands, exchanged gifts, and shared pictures of their families. Informal soccer games began in what had been "no-man's-land." And a joint service was held to bury the dead of both sides.

The generals, of course, were not pleased with these events. Men who have come to know each other's names and seen each other's families are much less likely to want to kill each other. War seems to require a nameless, faceless enemy. So, following that magical night the men on both sides spent a few days simply firing aimlessly into the sky. Then the war was back in earnest and continued for three more bloody years. Yet the story of that Christmas Eve lingered - a night when the angels really did sing of peace on earth.

Folksinger John McCutcheon wrote a song about that night in Belgium, titled "Christmas in the Trenches," from the viewpoint of a young British solder. Several poignant verses are:

"The next they sang was 'Stille Nacht,' 'Tis 'Silent Night'," says I.
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore."

My prayer for the new year is for a nation and world where people can come out of their trenches and together sing their hopes for peace. We here at Sojourners will carry on that mission, and we invite you to continue on the journey with us.

Merry Christmas 2008

"I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A Merry Christmas to every-body!”

These are the words of Ebenezer Scrooge given by Charles Dickens in his timeless tale, “A Christmas Carol” published in 1843. I am one of those sentimental, schmaltzy guys who puts on the classic 1951 movie “Scrooge” starring Alastair Sim and watch all by myself so that I can tear up at the end without embarrassment. I do the same with “It’s A Wonderful Life”, “The Cheaters” (re-released this year by Turner by the way), “Miracle on 34th Street” and others. My family tired of my ritual long ago…so part of my viewing alone is to avoid the sighs and grumbles. No problem. They just don’t fall into the category of avid traditionalists like me and I don’t expect them to. Anyway, Scrooge continues to be my favorite without peer. It has long been my Christmas companion (the 1938 version was my first childhood television Scrooge…but it does not compare). The message that comes to me each year with Scrooge is one of conversion to happiness and generosity. It is a message that we are always hungry to hear.

Happiness has come to me in countless Christmas memories this year as well as the promise of making new ones. My friends and family are making plans to gather all over the country. Bonita and I will be visiting our son, Steven and Mary Jane in Memphis and then heading down to Orlando for the Capital One Bowl on New Years Day. My daughter Courtney and Jon are trying to get down to the warm Florida poolside during the holidays. Daughter Kristy announced her engagement this fall. My Danville gang, the JCOS, gathered in November with me and celebrated. David Gross and Patti have stopped by to visit at our rental home in Florida. Come on down y’all. No kidding! I caught up with Ed and Sharon Williams and had a good reminiscence. Ed has the spirit of Grand Dad Jones in every word he speaks. Joan French is having a grand reunion in Peoria to celebrate 80 years. We are all excited about that gathering (“a good time will be had by all”). I have been married for almost 14 years to the love of my life. You just can’t beat it!

Generosity has presented itself in the unselfish work that I have witnessed at Covenant House in Orlando. If you are looking for a way to help kids that are horribly marginalized and troubled…kids that are ignored and forgotten…please send them a few bucks. It will be used well and appreciated greatly. The particulars are Covenant House Orlando, 5931 E Colonial Dr., Orlando, FL 32807, (407) 426-7888. Scrooge was confronted by the Spirit of Christmas Present who exposed two children beneath his cloak “they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy.” It is a good time to be generous, isn’t it?

So, I send my love and the spirit of happiness and generosity to you all. May the joy of Christmas be with us always. Dare I say it? In the words of Tiny Tim…"God bless us every one.”

The 44th President of the United States

The largest percentage of voters since 1908 elected the 44th President of The United States on November 4, 2008. There have been fifty three general elections that have chosen these forty four leaders since 1788. Thirty five of those elections have been held since the December 6, 1865 adoption of the Thirteenth Amendment of The Constitution which officially abolished and continues to prohibit slavery. We have been waiting one hundred and forty three years for the material realization of racial equality in this country represented by the election of a person of color to the highest office in the land. It has been coming. It has been a long time coming. The change that we had been waiting and working for came. It was evidenced by the pride and enthusiasm in my younger daughter’s voice over the phone after she left Grant Park in Chicago last night. It was heralded by an email sent to me from an African American woman and friend in the South Carolina Low Country which said “I am so ELATED AND OVERWHELMED WITH JOY AND PEACE this morning”. It was celebrated by a white business woman who sent me a simple “YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” with a smiley face icon. So this is it. We have all arrived together at this place in history.

It is not a time to sit back and turn the work over to President-elect Barack Obama. We are called to reconciliation with our rivals. We are called to the difficult task of building and actualizing the dream. It means active participation not unlike that collective effort of the “Greatest Generation” during the Great Depression and World War II. We are charged with making hope real.

Can we do it? You know the answer. Yes We Can!

Our Right To Vote

The Final page of the Voting Rights Act, signed by President of The United States Lyndon B. Johnson, the President of the Senate, and the Speaker of the House.

This is one of the most significant times in the history of our country. Today is the day when the struggles for equality and the fullness of the promise of the right to vote and participate in our government come to fruition. Today we will elect a man of color as President or a woman to serve as Vice President. We have come a long way. Six amendments to the United States Constitution, in one way or another, deal with the rights of the people in this country to vote. No other issue commands such attention from our government.

My mother was nine years old when the 19th Amendment was ratified on August 18, 1920. Her mother, my dear and beloved “Noie” was 29 when she and millions of other women voted for the first time. She was denied the chance to vote in the 1912 election between William H. Taft, Woodrow Wilson and Teddy Roosevelt. Then she was denied a part in the 1916 election between Woodrow Wilson and Charles Evans Hughes. Nora Helen Gibbs Baum (“Noie”) did vote in 1920. She cast her first for Warren G. Harding, Republican Candidate for President of The United States. It is widely held that Harding’s landslide in 1920 was in a large part due to the enormous turnout of women at the polls. The reconstituted Republican Party (often pronounced “dead” by the press due to Theodore Roosevelt’s bolting from The GOP to form the Progressive Party) was resurrected. Things had changed forever with the amendment that affirms "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex’.

I was born into a political family and practically grew up in Republican Headquarters. My mother took this right to vote very seriously. She worked hard at every election of any kind for most of her life as did all of her female cousins from Indianola, Illinois. We lived in The Land of Lincoln and, by God, the party of Lincoln was going to win the day. Period. One of her cousins had a husband who was a GOP State Senator. I grew up believing that there was something sacred about voting. It is embedded in me. Never have I missed the opportunity to exercise my franchise. Never. No election is too small and no cause too trivial.

We often forget that The Civil Rights movement was mostly about voting. It was not until President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act on August 6, 1965 that the 15th Amendment was given the teeth it lacked since ratification in 1870. Somewhat less than half of my childhood was spent in Florida. We had a home near Ft. Lauderdale. The experience of living in both the North and the South gave me an interesting view of how the system worked. I was ushered out of a “Colored” bathroom when I was eight years old…naïve to the fact that we were not allowed to pee with people who had a different color of skin. It made me angry. We were not allowed to drink from the same water fountains in the South. Worse than that…few who were really affected could vote to change it. The polls were taxed and tests were administered to limit or eliminate the ability of “colored people” to protest such treatment or elect representatives to do so. Ninety-five percent of African American voters, free for the first time to vote without fear of being turned away, cast ballots for Hubert Humphrey in 1968. This number of new voters might have changed the election in other years. But 1968 was not to be the time. The situation in America was fractured beyond political recognition. Richard M. Nixon would carry the day by convincing Southern voters that he would be a “law and order” president who would keep them safe. He appealed to a “silent majority” which, in The South, meant white people. It was, however, to be different in 1976. Jimmy Carter was elected the 39th President of The United States by the smallest margin since 1916. His slim victory is attributed by many to be due to the turnout of black voters in the deep South. Things had changed forever with the amendment that affirms “The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude”.

The 92nd Congress enacted the 26th Amendment which was then signed by President Nixon on July 1, 1971. People between 18 and 20 who had been doing most of the fighting and dieing in Southeast Asia could finally vote. It was a grand day for us. I voted for my first time on November 7, 1972. The new law didn’t make it in time for an earlier vote for me. There were more presidential candidates on that ballot than I have ever seen. Richard Nixon, George McGovern, George Wallace, Scoop Jackson and a whole herd of others. I will never forget the sense of awe that I experienced. It was a real right of passage. I felt like a real adult for the first time. A full citizen. The vote of young people has been volatile and unreliable. Turnout has been spotty. It was not until this year that college aged people grabbed the reigns of their power to shape the government. They have worked and are voting in record numbers. It does not matter who they are supporting. The important part is that they are engaged in the process. Things had changed forever with the amendment that affirms “The right of citizens of the United States, who are 18 years of age or older, to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of age”.

A young racially mixed man with a funny name and a woodsy woman from Alaska are at center stage today. How can we help but be proud? This is the United States of America. It can only happen here. Voting is sacred. My mother was right about that. Double lines in Greenville, SC at noon on November 4th are one and one half hours long. That has never happened. So go out and do it. You have a responsibility. To borrow a phrase…I’m Fired Up and Ready to Go…(not to tip my hand or anything).

My Most Unforgettable Character

When I was a kid, Readers Digest could always be found in our bathroom (Dad called it The Library). The little magazine book had monthly feature departments, such as "Toward More Picturesque Speech" and "Drama in Real Life." Readers could participate with the submission of humorous and joke fillers as well as a section called "My Most Unforgettable Character". I thought that someday I would write a story about my grandfather or my dad. They were certainly worthy subjects…and still are. I have written of them often. It occurred to me this morning that I have never written about Steve Magin. It surprised me really. He is, in many ways, my most unforgettable character. I would like to share the story with you.

Steve was born on March 13, 1950 in Danville, Illinois. Danville certainly qualified as The American Heartland kind of town. It was surrounded by miles and miles of rich farmland and was the home of burgeoning industries such as a General Motors Foundry. His parents were unusual in that his mother actually worked outside of the house at The VA Hospital. Mr. Magin was an engineer at the local TV station. They were Roman Catholic and their three kids attended Catholic Schools. I lived across the street and down the block from The Magins. We were the same age. It still baffles me that we did not meet until we were eight years old. Even when a new kid named Gary Cox moved in just two doors down from Steve in Second Grade we did not meet. Gary and I both attended Edison Grade School and became fast friends. We watched him over the fence once or twice but never went over to play. There are probably several reasons. They were not Protestants, we went to different schools, our parents were from different social circles with different values. Who knows! The fact is that we did meet. It was a summer day in 1958. My friends and I were playing baseball in The Golden’s side yard as usual when I saw two kids coming down the alley towards us. They just stood there and watched. I don’t know what we might have said, but one of them bent down, picked up a rock and threw it at us. Not all that fair because the alley was covered with rocks and we had no supply. We scattered to a neighbors house and got a bunch of apples while Scott Golden held up the battle. By the time the rock and apple fight was done we were getting called to come home for dinner by inpatient mothers. I was alone the next day when one of the kids came back down the alley. I greeted him by saying “Hi! Where’s your brother?” This was probably more to make certain that the kid I imagined was his brother wasn’t hiding in wait with another barrage of ammunition. He explained that his brother was away at school or something and that the boy from yesterday was a friend of his and not with him right then. It appeared safe so we approached each other, exchanged names and started talking about things that eight year olds talk about. It was the beginning of our life-long friendship that now spans fifty years. What a journey! Steve and I have shared every milestone and mishap. We have been there to listen, laugh and cry with one another. We have been high (in more ways than one) and we have been low. A man named Pavel Florensky said “Friendship love knows a friend not by his outward pose, not by the dress of heroism, but by his smile, by his quiet talk, by his weaknesses, by how he treats people ordinary human life, by how he eats and sleeps". I think that sums up the great gift of our long relationship. I could write volumes about the friendship itself. My intention here, though is to tell you about the unusual character of Steve Magin.

Steve has chosen to live simply. He had every opportunity to embrace The American Dream and live it out to the fullest. He was valedictorian of his private Catholic High School and graduated from The University of Illinois at the top of his class. He was a brilliant mathematician and a talented psychology student. His grasp of statistics made him a natural researcher. He was hired by The United States Department of Defense and became an important procurement officer. Steve was courted by several defense contractors and could have “written his own ticket”. This was not to be. There is a kind of spiritual morality that flows deeply through this guy. It is not the kind of stiff morality that we are used to seeing and hearing. Not the righteous, all knowing religious type that preaches its’ brand of salvation from the pulpit on Sundays or on Christian radio. His lives a peaceful, non-violent, compassionate life that is an observable testimony. Steve has spent and continues to spend his time as a kind of “servant leader’. He believes that all life is sacred and this belief is lived out in everything he does. It is not the work that he did with Educators for Social Responsibility, his peace activism, tax resistance or various “listening projects” that define him. He may be defined by a life lived for others. He has cared for his parents and relatives in long sicknesses. He counsels those who are struggling with every kind of problem imaginable in his beloved North Carolina mountain communities without professional charge. He freely gives his time and ear to anyone who needs him. But even more than all of this…he is better defined by his choice to live in solidarity with those who are impoverished.

Steve Magin has lived in abject poverty for more than a quarter century. He has chosen to do without the material comforts that we have come to believe are necessities. His homes have often been rent free or bartered. They frequently do not have running water, electricity or indoor plumbing. He chops wood for heat and cooking on an old “cook stove”. He labors in the fields, does landscaping, prepares taxes and other odd jobs to supply him with basic food and transportation. He has never owned a car that was worth much more than a couple hundred dollars. This self imposed marginalization allows him to identify with those who do not or cannot access the wealth of our modern society. He also lives like he does to enlighten all of us who know him and all who may encounter him with the wisdom that we do not have to strive for more and more…that we can do with and can enjoy life with less.

I believe that Gandhi is correct in his assertion that “Man becomes great exactly to the degree in which he works for the welfare of his fellow-men”. If this is true, then Steve has attained greatness. He shows us that it is possible to live simply and in service to others which enables us to have the courage to take whatever steps are appropriate to do the same, in some small way, ourselves. This Steve Magin is quite a person and quite a hero. He is my friend. He is my most unforgettable character.

What Makes Life Good?

I was asked by Steven, my terrific step-son, to write a short piece on "what makes life good" for a class that he is taking. Some of the things that I have included are restatements of previous entries. Still...I think they are worth remembering. I love the poem that is included. It was given to me by Alice Richards, a friend of the family. Alice was one of those people who really lived life with gusto. I will never forget her.

What are the things that make life good? My grandfather, Roy Jones, was one who seems to be able to grasp this better than most. He was saying “Life Is Good” as a motto long before it became a slogan. He was able to say it with conviction in the face of great happiness and extreme tragedy in his life. He lost everything that he owned in The Great Depression and lived to see his beloved wife die. A son committed suicide and a daughter struggled and succumbed to TB. A beautiful granddaughter was murdered. Still, he maintained his optimism and love of life. Still he said “Life Is Good!” It is hard for most of us to understand this. How does one maintain such a perspective? I think that it is a matter putting first things first. What really is important? An old man up in the mountains in North Carolina once said to me that he “never saw a U-Haul behind a hearse”. That is true, isn’t it? We put so much emphasis on financial success, the accumulation of possessions, influence and prestige. These, in the long run, mean absolutely nothing. When the scorecard is finally tallied, the only thing that matters is love. Did I love…and was I loved? Were there people who delighted in me and people in whom I was delighted? Did I laugh and celebrate with my loved ones? Did I take time to slow down and appreciate the beauty of everything around me? There was a great little poem called “I’d Pick More Daisies” by Nadine Stair (when she was 85). It goes like this:

If I had my life to live over,

I'd try to make more mistakes next time.

I would relax.

I would limber up.

I would be sillier than I have on this trip.

I would be crazier. I would be less hygienic.

I would take more chances,

I would take more trips.

I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets.

I would burn more gasoline.

I would eat more ice cream and less beans.

I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I am one of those people who lives prophylactically and sensibly and sanely, hour after hour, day after day.

Oh, I have had my moments

And if I had it to do over again, I'd have more of them.

In fact, I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments…one after another instead of living so many years ahead each day. I have been one of those people who never go anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle, a raincoat, and a parachute.

If I had to do it over again,

I would go places and do things.

I'd travel lighter than I have.

If I had my life to live over,

I would start barefooted earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.

I would play hooky more.

I wouldn't make such good grades except by accident.

I would ride on merry-go-rounds.

I'd pick more daisies!

My Dad said that the things we take so seriously today won’t mean a thing in a hundred years. So here’s what sounds good to me. How about a nice glass of wine at sunset on the beach...sitting next to my darling wife…..joined by a couple of great friends…..watching our kids or future grandkids playing in the surf…..flying kites…..with the sounds of some old melody coming from a band in the distance…..getting up to dance a slow one together! Now that’s good. Who loves ya baby?