Chaz with cases of Embera Bibles
The Embera are one of the main indigenous groups in Panama; some Embera live over the border to the east in Colombia. They are primarily a river people, as opposed to the Kuna who tend to occupy the Atlantic coastal area.
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This morning Kathy and I did a self-guided walk of one of the loveliest old parts of Charleston. Notable places include St. Michael’s Church and its adjoining burial ground. It is open for tourists to wander in and out, even when a service may be underway, as long as you respect what’s going on and don’t disturb the proceedings.
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We left town (Midland) just in time last Sunday. Two days later a big snowstorm brought 8 inches of the white stuff, closing schools and otherwise complicating life and mocking those of us who thought spring had come.
Mind you, we’ve not had balmy weather on our journey through Pensylvania, New Jersey, and now Virginia. The high today will be 46 the forecasters say. And, would you believe, snow tonight and tomorrow? Not 8 inches, however; maybe one or two. That we can probably handle.
Last week I made a hurried trip to Rochester, Minnesota, to visit my sister-in-law Alice and husband Bill. They temporarily made the Mayo Clinic their residence (since the end of last October) so Bill could be prepped for a blood stem cell transplant. I had not seen either of them for too long, so I drove from home to see them.
Little did I know that, although Bill would seem to rally in the days following my visit, things would take a nasty turn last Monday. Whether this was a case of “just in time” or not, I am glad that my sense of need to make the trip trumped any excuses or delays or other business. I did get to see him and talk and pray with him before the completion of his journey here. Early on March 17 Bill died. We mourn his loss. He was a faithful well-formed and informed follower of Jesus and as fine a man as they come. Alice and their daughters Jennifer and Karin and their families are in our prayers.
Share on FacebookKathy and I are fortunate to be in the vicinity of Washington, DC at cherry blossom time. The actual festivities are tomorrow, marking a relationship with Japan that began in 1910 when the Japanese presented a large number of cherry trees which were planted around the Tidal Basin. Continue reading
Share on FacebookMost of my afternoon on March 13 was spent standing and singing. Midland’s Music Society Chorale presented British composer David Fanshawe’s African Sanctus. The composer, who died last summer, explore much of Africa 50 to 60 years ago, recording indigenous music as he went. Subsequently he combined the recordings with his renderings of the several parts of the Latin mass. The result is an unusual experience, taxing singers’ abilities and concentration, but giving the audience a moving category-crashing multimedia immersion in African and European musical cultures.
For many of us vocalists the effort was deeply spiritual. The Kyrie and The Lord’s Prayer are sparingly beautiful and not to be forgotten.
The singers had agreed prior to the concert to dedicate it to the movements for political freedom across North Africa.
Share on FacebookMy intent to write something each day in Lent has gone off the rails. Too much travel has crowded out my literary efforts.
So I repent…again.
Attention of late has been directed to the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, beginning with. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” or as Luke has it, “Blessed are the poor.”
The Beatitudes are often treated as a path to happiness on the comfortable assumption that “blessed” in these instances has to do with a present warm, fuzzy, inner state of bliss. The product in preached form tends toward lessons in faith and patience. Not a bad thing, of course, but not necessarily what Jesus had in mind.
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In my meandering thoughts of yesterday I wondered what I would say upon my arrival in my brother-in-law’s room at the Mayo Clinic. As it turned out, it wasn’t so hard.
After finding a spot in one of the parking structures I called my sister-in-law for directions through the maze that is Mayo. A system of underground tunnels joins all the buildings. They are well marked. It was quite a walk, a half mile or more, but I found Alice. We went immediately to the room on the 9th floor.
The patient looked much better than I had expected. Evidence of cancer drugs and steroids abounded. It must be (I hope anyway) someone’s main job to keep track of all the drugs he gets.
His spirit is very good for all he’s endured. But his body is very weak. His physical therapist is bringing him along, promising soon to get him on his feet again.
Alice treated me to a great lunch at Greek restaurant buried deep in the city beneath the medical complex along with all kinds of other eateries and shops.
My trip was well worth the effort.
Share on FacebookToday I made the first, long leg of the trip from home to Rochester, Minnesota to visit my brother-in-law, a patient at Mayo Clinic. By now he almost qualifies as a permanent resident. He and his wife have been there since October. (See previous post for background.)
Tomorrow I’ll drive the remaining 200 miles to see them. We will talk, of course. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen them. There’s a lot to catch up on about our families. I will get a real medical education regarding all that my brother-in-law has endured and be more impressed than ever with his courage throughout a very long ordeal which is far from over.
Will I bring anything of worth by my visit that I could just as well accomplish with a tweet, a text message, an email, or even a phone call? I remind myself that God did not phone it in when it came to addressing the world’s plight. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” John’s Gospel says.
So I hope my presence in the flesh may say something in itself, and beyond that I ask for grace to say not too much beyond what fits of love, care, and gratitude.
Share on FacebookMy brother-in-law has spent the past six months or so at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota to prepare for, undergo, and recover from a stem-cell transplant to deal with a blood platelet problem. His bone marrow hasn’t done its job. His wife has been there the entire time which has involved testing, waiting, procedures, hoping, waiting, and hoping. You get the picture. The poor man and his wife have been at the end of a yo-yo string for months now.
I have been thinking of making a visit at some point. It’s an awkward place to fly to from where I live. There’s no good, reasonably priced way to do it. Driving is the only real alternative.
It dawned on me yesterday that I have a clear calendar this week. Next week we start on a long (two and a half weeks) driving trip east and south. The time has come to do it. So tomorrow I will drive about 2/3 of the way and have most of a day with them – I haven’t seen either of them for quite some time. A visit is way overdue.
Honesty with myself compels me to confess that I’ve been thinking (and thinking) about doing a lot of other things. Which things? Let me count the ways….
Share on FacebookMost of my afternoon was spent standing and singing. Midland’s Music Society Chorale presented British composer David Fanshawe’s African Sanctus. The composer, who died last summer, explored much of Africa 50 years or so ago, recording indigenous music as he went. Subsequently he combined the recordings with his renderings of the several parts of the Latin mass. The result is an unusual experience, taxing singers’ abilities and concentration, but giving the audience a moving category-crashing multimedia immersion in African and European musical cultures.
For many of us vocalists the effort was deeply spiritual. The Kyrie and The Lord’s Prayer are soaringly beautiful and not to be forgotten.
The singers had agreed prior to the concert to dedicate it to the movements for political freedom across North Africa.
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