Rushing Forward Backwards

It’s been years since I last rode a train, but I recall one odd feature—some of the seats faced to the rear. Looking out the window I saw scenery flash by, a cow, a barn, a stand of trees. But I only saw each thing after the train had already passed it.

My reading in Soren Kierkegaard’s diary brought my train ride to mind when the theologian said, “Life must be lived forward, but understood backwards”.

Yesterday I spent hanging around with my son Johnny who drove down from Maryland for the holiday and for his sister’s wedding. I had not spent time with Johnny for years and we caught up on news and ideas as we talked all day. I found him to be a wise young man filled with insights and discernment as he demonstrated so much understanding of things that went on in the past.

I had forgotten many of the things that came up in our conversation especially when he drew me out about my own accomplishments in life. I knew I’d done stuff in the past, but somehow in the present, I tend to discount it. For instance, it was not till long in the evening that I remembered to mention that portions of my books have been translated into eleven languages. I knew that has happened but I discounted it as of little importance till Johnny asked about it.

Life must be lived forward but understood backwards.

If my keeping a journal for 35+ years has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me that I do not understand what is going on in my own life. Things I thought important one day, fizzle the next; things and people I wrote off as trivial, assumed major parts in my life—but like the cow, barn and trees I saw from the train, I only see that afterwards.

I think the Scripture hints that sometimes we do not know we have done the will of God till after we have done it. For instance, Paul told Timothy, “Some men's sins are open beforehand, going before to judgment; and some men they follow after .Likewise also the good works of some are manifest beforehand; and they that are otherwise cannot be hid”.

And the author of Hebrews said, “Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompense of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise”.

God calls on us to remember the former things. To look at what happened. At what we were. At what we wanted. At how we loved. At where we goofed—then turn around and move forward.

That’s the meaning of repentance—not wallowing in despair over past sin, but turning away from darkness towards the Light. If we continue to walk in darkness, that darkness is caused by our own shadow as we face away from the Light of Christ. If we turn around and move toward Him, can we see our shadow or any darkness at all?

Readers of the London Telegraph newspaper travel all over the world. Many of them snap photos of unusual signs seen in their travels and sent them to the newspaper where they get published about once a week at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/picturegalleries/signlanguage/ . Here’s one posted recently:

Makes perfect sense to me.

Know of a better definition of repentance?

We’ve all shown our behind at one time or another. Now it’s time to turn back.

As the Prophet Ezekiel wrote, “As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live.

“Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die?”

My mother said I was a breech birth; I came into the world ass backwards from the word GO.

That may explain a lot of things.

Warships, Ferryboats, and Divine Guidance

Now that the Christmas holiday is over, I’m almost, but not quite, ready to go back to work writing that book about knowing and following God’s will.

I’ve worked on that book off and on for years and I’d hoped to finish my first draft back in November, but I had to put it on the back burner while Ginny and I celebrated our anniversary, then Thanksgiving, family birthdays, and Christmas kicked in and I’ve delayed going back to work.

Now, our youngest daughter is getting married on January first and I just got an e-mail asking that I pick up 35 rental chairs and deliver them to the wedding venue. That should tie up my logistics for about three more days. But after the wedding, God willing, I can get back to thinking about divine guidance.

Meanwhile, thoughts of warships and ferryboats nudge my thinking.

The fishing village of Mayport lies at the mouth of the St. Johns River about a dozen miles east of my home. From the time of the first European settlers in the 1500s, the mouth of the St. Johns has been regarded as strategic importance. The French build Fort Caroline there to keep the Spanish out of the river. The Spanish killed the French settlers and took over the mouth of the river. The English under General Oglethorpe pushed the Spanish back and established Fort George opposite Mayport.

During the Civil War, Confederate forces established forts at Yellow Bluff and at St. Johns Bluff to protect the river from yankee invaders—who took over both batteries and control of shipping in the river.

Eventually the federal government established the Mayport Naval Base, homeport for carrier groups where the USS Kennedy and the USS Saratoga each carried enough weaponry to destroy whole continents. Now, plans are in the works to expand the base to make it capable of supporting nuclear aircraft carriers and their accompanying battle groups.

Crossing back and forth between Fort George Island and the landing in Mayport is a ferry service connecting the two sections of US Highway A1A on the north and south banks of the river.. The name of the ferryboat is the Buccaneer –A1A down the Florida coast is known as the Buccaneer Trail.

What does all that have to do with divine guidance?

In the midst of holiday activities I’ve been reading bits and pieces in the 1845 diary of Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard; Something he said sparked my thinking about Mayport.

Kierkegaard observed that the captain of a ferry boat knows exactly where he is going. He sails from Landing A to Landing B and back again. While variations in current, weather, and river traffic influence his movement, by and large, he travels a straight path from here to there.

In contrast, the captain of a warship does not get his orders till he is already on the high seas. He leaves port and takes up station somewhere in mid ocean. There he patrols that general area till he receives orders to proceed to such and such a place to attack or defend a specific target.

Kierkegaard says that we Christians are more like warships than ferryboats.

In general our orders are to “occupy till I come” so we range in our general assigned area till other orders come down from High Command. We seldom go straight back and forth between landings like ferryboats; but sometimes we do range around on the open ocean as though we had no purpose, no specific destination. We appear to be cruising aimlessly.

Not so.

Kierkegaard said, “What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain understanding must precede action”.

I’m finding that thought helpful, because to be honest, I feel as though I’m just floundering around out here in deep water.

Maybe that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Stones and Locks

The stone is sinking.

Christmas Eve I went to the cemetery to take my annual beating by my own memories.

I found my grandmother’s grave in good shape—for a grave that is. But the tombstone over my father and mother’s grave is sinking below ground level. Next week I’ll call the cemetery office to see how much it will cost to have it raised and leveled again.

I don’t know why I put myself through this ordeal every year. Just something I do. Must love guilt trips, I suppose.

The above cartoon, by David Farley at the site of Dr. Fun, speaks to me. I identify with it because most of my adult live I have worked alone on most holidays—as a long-distance truck driver, in the newsroom, at the old folks’ home, as a caregiver for terminally ill patients—all occupations needing individual attention by one man alone. God bless the poor bastards working alone as Christmas music plays over the company’s automated intercom system.

On a happier note, for this afternoon (Dec. 25^th) I’m all prepared, physically at least, for my annual patriarchal devotional talk at the family get-together. I’ve constructed all my silly little visuals for the talk. The kids asked that I do my “Ugliest Virgin” demonstration again this year.

Essentially my presentation is a one-man Christmas pageant in which I play all parts, including the Virgin—hence the title, The Ugliest Virgin. The high point comes when I demonstrate how to diaper a teddy bear amid clouds of baby powder.

After that tomfoolery, God willing, my serious focus this afternoon will turn to stones and locks:

God was locked out of Bethlehem’s inn; He came into our world anyhow, born in the inn’s parking garage.

He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not.

But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:

Which were born , not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

That’s Christmas.

After Jesus rose from the dead the disciples had locked themselves securely in a safe-room fearing the same enemies who crucified Him. Jesus walked through the locked door into that room and spoke with Thomas:

The other disciples therefore said unto Thomas, “We have seen the Lord”.

But he said unto them, “Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe”.

And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them: then came Jesus, the doors being shut , and stood in the midst, and said , “Peace be unto you”.

Then saith He to Thomas, “Reach hither thy finger, and behold My hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into My side: and be not faithless, but believing”.

And Thomas answered and said unto Him, “My Lord and my God”.

Jesus saith unto him, “Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen , and yet have believed”.

Of course, eight days before this, Jesus had already walked out of His sealed tomb. He could walk through locked doors and a sealed tomb because God is more solid than flimsy physical things like stone or locked doors. Our physical world is vapor compared to the substantial presence of God—think of yourself walking through the bathroom stream of your shower. The angel had rolled the tombstone away to let the women and disciples into the tomb to see it was empty, not to let Jesus out.

That’s Easter.

The third locked door of Christmas is a little different; it is the door of the human heart. God does not kick the door and stomp on in. He knocks on our locked door to gain entrance. He respects our wishes in the matter.

In the last book of the Bible Jesus says, “Behold , I stand at the door, and knock : if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me”.

That’s salvation.

If we refuse to open the door, He remains outside.

You can let Him in—it is your heart, after all—to your own eternal delight.

Or you can keep Him locked out—it is your heart, after all—to your own eternal regret.

Well, I wrote the above this morning… my presentation went ok.

The downside is that afterwards I learned that my daughter Eve had prepared a presentation she intended to give—but I hogged the show and she did not get to give the one she’d prepared. Bummer. I feel really bad about that; I’ve had that sort of thing happen to me and I know it hurts.

Johnny drove down from Maryland to celebrate with the rest of the family; great to see him again.

Patricia called. We will not see her and Clint till the day of the wedding next week.

Ginny gave me a pack of pipe cleaners for Christmas, much needed, and I gave her a calendar.

Somebody had a laptop at the party and everyone passed it around to read my blog entry for yesterday and got a laugh.

Oh yes, some of the kids made a video on that Ugly Virgin talk and are fixing it up to go on U-Tube; I’ll post a link if they do.

A Dirty Old Man’s Erotic Christmas Dream

All I know is that on Christmas Eve about midnight while I sat in the living room putting new batteries in my digital camera for Christmas photos, I heard this scratching sound in the chimney.

When I looked up, there she was crawling out of the fireplace. She wore a red teddy lined with white fur. It gaped at the front showing quite a lot of her.

Startled, I said, “Are you San… “

“His daughter,” she said. “I’m helping out this year”.

“Want some milk and cookies”?.

“No thanks,” she said. “I just flew in from Germany, my last stop in Europe. Now, I start here in Florida and work my way north. So, what do you want for Christmas? You have been a good boy, haven’t you John”?

She laughed as she said that.

Of course, I noticed that it wasn’t her round little belly that shook as she laughed.

Nice. Very nice.

She noticed my glance. “Naughty. Naughty,” she said.

“What is it that you want for Christmas?” she asked again.

Embolden, I said, “That fur-lined underwear you have on is mighty attractive. Think I might have it”?

Slipping a teasing finger under one spaghetti strap on her shoulder, she said, “So, you’d like my fur-lined undergarment? I’ve just left Castle Marksburg in Germany. And there I picked up a little something that’s just right for you”.

Quick as a flash, she went straight to her work. I saw that she certainly filled her stockings, but she said, “What a jerk”.

She whipped out a cloth something from deep in her bag, threw it around my shoulders, and strapped me in so tight I could hardly move.

“It’s a hair-shirt for repentance, straight from Castle Marksburg’s medieval torture chamber,” she said. “How’s that for fur-lined underwear, John? You dirty old man you”!

And laying her finger aside of her nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney she rose.

And I heard her exclaim, err she drove out of sight, “Not even in your dreams, Cowart. Not even in your dreams”.

I prickle. I itch.

Did you know that a hair-shirt does not have a zipper?

How do I get out of this thing?

A Christmas Reading

Now this is how Jesus the Messiah was born:

His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant by the Holy Spirit.

Joseph, her fiancé, being a just man, decided to break the engagement quietly, so as not to disgrace her publicly. As he considered this, he fell asleep, and an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream.

"Joseph, son of David," the angel said, "Do not be afraid to go ahead with your marriage to Mary. For the child within her has been conceived by the Holy Spirit. And she will have a Son, and you are to name Him Jesus, ^{Jesus means "The LORD saves."">}for He will save His people from their sins."

All of this happened to fulfill the Lord's message through His prophet: "Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a Son, and He will be called Immanuel (meaning, God is with us)."

When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord commanded. He brought Mary home to be his wife, but she remained a virgin until her Son was born.

And Joseph named Him Jesus.

— Matthew 1:18-25 New Living Bible

What are your Christmas plans?

In 1947...

Last night Ginny and I warped presents.

Since I had about a hundred dollars to spend and 13 people I wanted to give gifts to, I did most of my shopping at a thrift store.

Shopping exhausts me. I gave out and had to stop—that reminded me of something that happened to my grandmother…

Back in 1947, my grandmother—her name was Matilda, but everyone called her Mam—went Christmas shopping at Cohen Brother’s, then Jacksonville’s finest department store.

The St. James Building, constructed by architect Henry Klutho, now houses Jacksonville’s City Hall, but back in 1947, Cohen’s occupied the building. The department store was famous for it’s animated Christmas windows and people made special trips downtown just to see their displays. Their candy shop offered chocolate-covered strawberries the size of coffee mugs! They had a bookstore which carried archaeology books. Ladies’ toiletries. Crystal. China. Mink stoles. A tea room. Cohen’s was a complete mall in one store…

And it even featured Jacksonville’s first escalator!

What a thrill.

So Mam had $50 for her Christmas shopping. That was big bucks back in those days, Fifty Dollars was.. She planned to shop in style at Cohen Brothers. She planed to buy presents for me and my brother, David. For my parents. For her sister, Grace, and her brother, Waverly. And for their children.

Mam wore her finest—stockings, heels, hat and gloves—back in those days a lady dressed to go shopping at Cohens. Gloves were mandatory for shoppers of Mam’s generation.

It was a hot December day in Florida. Temperature in the high 80s.

Mam rode the bus downtown to Hemming Park, in those days the bus terminal right across the street from Cohen’s.

She walked over to admire the animated display windows.

Did she ride the escalator up?

I don’t remember.

But Mam fainted inside the store.

Remember she was an old lady back then; she must have been at least 40.

But she fainted on the floor. The floorwalker called an ambulance. The medics checked her out. Just overheated.

They charged her $50 and put her in a taxi home.

Without a single present.

All her money spent.

As a seven-year-old kid, I didn’t understand why she was so upset.

Now I do.

OK. Now it’s time for a few more of those great David Farley Christmas cartoons from the site of Dr. Fun:

David Farley's Christmas Cartoons

Ever in quest of fine cartoons which reflect my own sense of refinement and good taste, I recently chanced upon the site of Dr. Fun and browsed through his archives to select a few examples of superior art which capture the true spirit of Christmas—or something.

Since I have nothing worthwhile saying at the moment, I hope to run a couple of David Farley’s cartoons this week:

I Knew Nothing About John Freeman Young

Last Sunday Ginny and I drove to Jacksonville Florida’s Old City Cemetery to visit the grave of John Freeman Young. Although I’d never even heard of the man before last week, I felt our visit made for an appropriate outing in this Christmas season.

Here’s a photo of Ginny at Young’s grave; notice the Christmas ornaments on the wreath:

Earlier in the week, while listening to a radio morning traffic report, I chanced to hear announcer Arthur Crofton say something about Young. That comment sparked my interest, so I did a bit of research and even read a biography of the man.

I’ve written two books about the history of my hometown so I was particularly surprised that I knew nothing about Young and his relationship with Christmas before.

In the late 1800s John Freeman Young served as the Episcopal Bishop of Florida. But that’s not his most notable accomplishment.

I think it odd that his biography tells about his labors as bishop but does not even mention the single aspect of his work that gained world-wide notoriety.

As an accomplished linguist proficient in several languages he translated a song from its original German into English. It’s a song you already know most of the words to—at least the first couple of verses. And I’ll bet that you and I will both be singing it within the next couple of days.

By translating the German-language "Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!" into the English as "Silent Night, Holy Night" John Young made a lasting Christmas gift to English-speaking people around the world. He published the song in 1859.

Here is a copy of the 1859 text of the first three verses—the ones you are likely to know—of his translation:

Yes, the man who translated Silent Night into English ministered right here in Jacksonville. And the wreaths placed on his grave in the Old City Cemetery each Christmas contain musical instruments as ornaments.

While most of us know those first three verses by heart—Silent Night is one of the most familiar hymns in the world—the last verses contain a deeper message in the song:

4. Silent Night, Holy Night
Here at last, healing light
From the heavenly kingdom sent,
Abundant grace for our intent.
Jesus, salvation for all.
Jesus, salvation for all.

5. Silent Night! Holy Night"
Sleeps the world in peace tonight.
God sends his Son to earth below
A Child from whom all blessings flow
Jesus, embraces mankind.
Jesus, embraces mankind.

6. Silent Night, Holy Night
Mindful of mankind's plight
The Lord in Heav'n on high decreed
From earthly woes we would be freed
Jesus, God's promise for peace.
Jesus, God's promise for peace.

Silent Night, a poem by Josheph Mohr, had been set to music and first sung on December 24, 1818, in St. Nicholas Church, Oberndorf, Austria. John Freeman Young heard the hymn and his English translation became one of the most popular and familiar of all English hymns.

A pdf copy of Bishop Young’s biography, Soldier And Servant, by Edgar Pennington can be read at http://www.archive.org/stream/johnfreemanyoung00penn#page/n3/mode/2up .

While Pennington’s 1939 biography contains much of interest to the Jacksonville history buff, it does not mention Young’s translation of Silent Night. In fact, while the biography dwells on the bishop’s church work, I felt disappointed that its diary excerpts contain little about his spiritual life.

Young, a native of Maine, began his ministry in Jacksonville in 1845, but moved to New York as the Civil War approached. Up north, he served at Trinity Church, Wall Street. It was while there he translated Silent Night among other hymns. After the war, in 1867, he returned to Jacksonville as bishop.

Tough. A yankee Episcopalian bishop in the war-torn South. One dilemma Young found was that unscrupulous yankee carpetbaggers had come to Jacksonville and taken advantage of recently freed slaves. These businessmen cheated the blacks out of real estate property and possessions. They even discouraged blacks from worship. One of the things Bishop Young did was to established several churches, such as St. Phillip’s, Jacksonville, as churches that welcomed blacks.

Bishop Young did that sort of thing all over the state. One of the more interesting portions of his diary tells how he spend three days and nights alone in a row boat, pushing it through shallow waters with a long pole, in order to visit congregations in a flooded area.

The war devastated Florida and the horrors of reconstruction left churches destitute.

Besides being a musician and linguist, Bishop Young, held an interest in architecture. He instituted the construction of a hallmark style of Florida church architecture known as Carpenter Gothic. Inexpensive local wood was used to form these distinctive church buildings, some of which survive to this day. Here is a photo of a typical example:

Bishop Young died of pneumonia in 1885. He was buried in Jacksonville’s Old City Cemetery. He is honored by a stained glass church window. The window gives no indication that he had anything to do with the famous hymn.

Nevertheless, I felt this Christmas season was an appropriate time to visit his grave:

Sleep in Heavenly peace, Bishop Young. Sleep in Heavenly peace.