The following is a link to an episode on Greg’s YouTube channel that was recorded a year ago. It is a sample of what is available five days a week. Once you click on the link, you can SUBSCRIBE to the video version of My Rhymes and Reasons. If you subscribe, you will receive notification of each new episode. https://youtu.be/KfkAJVdPTz4?si=NPGumG_xdNi1yFiA
Am I the only one who approaches this month of giving thanks grateful that the campaign season is over? I’m guessing not. The multitude of ads has been maddening. The content of the candidates’ commercials has been controversial. The name calling and character attacks has been juvenile. Regardless of what network you choose for your daily diet of news, what’s been served up the past several months has been anything but nourishing. In spite of the outcome of this week’s election, our United States of America will be anything but.
I am reminded of the words of a first century carpenter-turned-rabbi who said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Although Abraham Lincoln used that famous line in one of his memorable campaign speeches, it was Jesus of Nazareth who coined the expression. What is true for a family or a congregation of the faithful is also true for a nation. A nation divided is terminally ill.
As I reflect on Jesus’ teaching and values, I’m convinced that the antidote to alienation is understanding, forgiveness and compassion. Divisions are healed as we love our neighbors to the degree we love ourselves and to the degree we treat them the way we desire to be treated. How we engage or distance ourselves from those who see life differently than we do has lasting ramifications. Our ongoing attitude and actions toward our political rivals will impact us as well as them. Active animosity can poison the well of friendship within a family, in a faith community or in a work environment.
In her bestselling book “A Team of Rivals” presidential biographer Doris Kearns Goodwin chronicles how Abraham Lincoln chose men who had run against him in his 1860 campaign to serve in his cabinet. The book focuses on our sixteenth president’s mostly successful attempts to reconcile conflicting personalities and political factions on the path to abolition and victory in the American Civil War.
Acknowledging conflict and conflicting views rather than ignoring them, Lincoln proactively engaged the divisions and challenges he faced. He recognized to what degree cooperation depended on him and then made choices accordingly. Our country’s most popular president was no doubt familiar what Saint Paul wrote to the first century Christians in Rome: If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. (Romans 12:18)
As a man of the cloth who resists addressing political issues from the pulpit, I have come to the conclusion that the results of this year’s election will not thwart the sovereign plan of the Almighty. And in the broad scheme of human history, the individual the Electoral College will select will not matter as much as we might think. A look back at presidents over nearly two-hundred-and-fifty years will bear that out.
Granted, the person who will inhabit the White House for the next four years may or may not be the person whose candidacy you supported. The fact that they will lead from that residence is obviously significant. That person will influence the future direction of our republic. Their personal values and worldview will determine what is prioritized and what is put on the back burner.
All the same it is my personal belief that the person who is about to move into the White House matters less than the individuals who currently live in your house. Our nation’s future ultimately depends on the character qualities being shaped and practiced by you and your family in your neighborhood and in your community. Who you are, how you think, what you say, how you act and how you react will have a far more lasting impact on our nation than the temporary inhabitants of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
You matter more than you may think. As we have been reminded in recent weeks, your vote matters. It is your voice in a democratic republic. But even after all the votes have been tabulated, the fabric of your friendship, faith and compassion is what clothes the future of the nation we love regardless of who is our president.
What our country needs is a return to good old fashion values
“Make America good again!” Great would be nice, but good is what’s needed now!
We are a divided country where kindness is trumped by hate, where decency is undermined by disrespect and where what is true is often overshadowed by what is not.
Those on the right and those on the left would do well to center their hopes and dreams on a future where the freedom to hold differing opinions matters more than legislating our own. Where agreeing to disagree is viewed as a strength not as a weakness and where unity in the midst of diversity is valued more than unanimity.
This is the doll Greg’s mother bought him the day JFK was assassinated
On November 22, 1963 I was a sixth grader in room 19 at Liberty Elementary School in Marysville. It was my favorite grade of elementary school. That was mostly the case because Mr. Thacker was the first male teacher I’d had. Because he was a man and because he was only about 16 years older than I was, I related to him very well.
I can’t recall what Mr. Thacker was teaching about that morning, but I do remember that I had a case of the hiccups. I walked to the back of the classroom to get a drink of water. It was while I was stooping to reach the water fountain attached to the sink that the voice of our principal came over the intercom. Miss Ebert informed us that President Kennedy was dead. Within the hour classes were dismissed and we were sent home.
That Friday afternoon began the longest weekend in my memory to that point. Regular television programming was interrupted by somber music. Everything appeared to be happening around me in slow motion. For an eleven-year-old, it was surreal.
Since my pastor-father was out of town on a speaking assignment, my mom took us out to a fast-food restaurant. Afterwards we stopped at a variety store. I begged her to be able to buy a JFK doll that I’d seen before. The twelve-inch figure was seated in a wooden rocking chair. When you wound the key beneath the chair (much like the key to a music box) the chair would rock back and forth playing “Happy Days are Here Again.” In spite of my young age, I knew it would be a collectable item someday. But even more than that, it was a keepsake of someone I greatly admired. I loved President Kennedy even more than I loved Mr. Thacker (and I liked him a lot). Let me explain.
When John Kennedy was running for President in 1960, I celebrated my eighth birthday. One of the gifts I’d requested was a paperback book that I’d seen at our local grocery story. I was impressed with JFK’s good looks. He was young. I was impressed by his sense of humor and his strong Bostonian accent. Since my folks were diehard Republicans, they weren’t inclined to honor my wishes. But when my birthday rolled around, I was delighted to receive what I’d asked for.
After Kennedy was elected and began holding press conferences, I watched on our black and white TV set. I would often stand in front of the bathroom mirror and pretend I was the President talking to the media. I practiced talking like him. My version of “Ask not what your country can do for you…” sounded very much like him. When I would visit my dad at his church office after school, I stood at the pulpit impersonating my hero with an adlib speech.
So Kennedy’s sudden unexpected death impacted me greatly. I was stunned. The day after he was killed, I designed a make-shift protest sign (JFK Why?) and taped it to my blue Schwinn bicycle. I pedaled up and down 3rd street expressing my anger and sorrow.
On Sunday morning I dressed for church. While my brother and I waited for our mom to get ready, we watched the television set in the family room. Since there was no regular programming, what we saw was live coverage of the suspected assassin of President Kennedy being transferred from the Dallas police station. As we watched, we saw Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald in front of the attending officers and reporters covering the scene. It was unreal. Later, after returning from church, we learned Oswald had died from his injuries.
Losing a childhood hero as an eleven-year-old kid opened my eyes to the fact that evil inhabits our world and that things happen all around us all the time that change the course of history. The killing of a beloved President would be the first of other assassinations of public figures within the next half dozen years. I realized life is precious and even the most powerful are not immune from tragedy. It is a life lesson that I continue to embrace as a seventy-one-year-old.
My Rhymes and Reasons 