Midlife Meditation

1990: the remodel of the front staircase nearly complete, my father rests from his labors. You don't know Elam. Please don't be hurt by that statement. I don't know if anyone ever truly knew my father. Despite being deeply, sincerely compassionate, he was a thoroughly private man, only sharing his feelings when he believed it was vital to communicate a matter of extreme importance. Some of that was, I think, cultural: the grandson of Swedish immigrants, I suspect lagom , Swedish reticence, ran deep within him. Another part of it was generational: prior to the 1960s, men were not raised to be publicly emotional, and people in general valued their privacy to an extent later generations would consider harmful. Finally, as much as he enjoyed conversation, I think my father was more introvert than extrovert. He worked best in a quiet space, by himself, and never complained about alone time. I know from personal experience that introverted pastors have a very hard ...

The Rev. Willie B. Smith, 1928-2014 What a man he was. John Schwiebert introduced me to Willie Smith in September, 2000. I'd been living at the Peace House for two months at that point, nursing my wounds over losing both a marriage and a career, unsure what direction to take in the days ahead. John knew that, apart from being a minister, I was a musician; in fact, my last six months as a pastor had been spent in music ministry, directing a choir and playing the piano when I wasn't engaged in other tasks. John knew that Willie Smith was looking for a pianist for The Church of the Good Shepherd, an independent African-American congregation he had founded six years before. I had an affinity for black worship and needed some income, so I agreed to meet with Willie, and was soon spending my Sunday mornings at his church. Willie Smith was a striking man, tall, handsome, energetic, and utterly confident in the truth of what he had to say. He had served in the Air Force ...

It was my third funeral in six months. I attended my first funeral in 1987. I was the preacher. I was 26, and I had never been to a funeral in my life; now a member of the church of which I was student pastor had passed away, and I had to preside at her service. This being southern Illinois, it was an open casket service. It was a macabre experience, and I was extremely nervous going in, but apparently I acquitted myself well. Over the course of the next thirteen years, I performed many more funerals, some of them for parishioners I knew well, but most for strangers with only a tenuous connection to the church I was serving at the time. I became adept at preparing for these services, interviewing the family, selecting hymns, preaching a sermon that was personalized, comforting, and inspiring, setting just the right tone for the liturgy. I believe this was the most effective part of my ministry. And then it stopped. In January 2000, I walked away from ministry, with the help of a...

Obnoxious and disliked. I'm no historian. My collegiate study of history was limited to the overly specific history of western music. In grad school, it was the history of education; and in seminary, it was church history. The last general history course I took was in high school. And yet I am intrigued by the way in which themes work themselves out through history. I've enjoyed every Ken Burns documentary I ever watched, and a good historical drama can really hold my interest. Throw in some catchy songs and dynamic performances, and BAM! I'm hooked. With that established, I hereby nominate William Daniels for the honor of best musical portrayal of a historical character for embodying John Adams in 1776. I first saw it on TV on the Bicentennial Independence Day, 1976, and he had me. Most of the songs in 1776 are forgettable, with unfortunate lyrics and mediocre melodies. But whatever he's singing or saying, William Daniels sells himself in this role as few actor...