Returning an Overdue Book

Jim Griset with a book given to his father in 1919 at his grandmother’s grave

During Christmas break 2005, I visited my favorite thrift store near my in-laws in Southern California. What I discovered was a treasure that meant as much as any gift I’d received beneath the tree.

There on a dusty bookshelf was a slender antique volume entitled “Nearer My God to Thee.” That old hymn reminded me of the Titanic’s tragic voyage. As you may have read, while the famous ship was sinking, the band remained on deck playing that poignant melody.

I opened the fly leaf of the book and noticed a handwritten inscription. The beautiful script acknowledged the 8th birthday of Francis Griset and the date of his birth. July 14, 1911. It was signed by one of Francis’ grandmothers. Because I was already thinking of the Titanic, it struck me that this young boy was born just nine months before the infamous vessel struck an iceberg on April 14, 1912. As I held the book and focused on the personal inscription, I felt as if I had found buried treasure. And to top it off, my find was only 99 cents.

For the past nineteen years that little treasure has been a valued part of my collection of Titanic memorabilia that includes a plastic model of the ship and several books that document the disaster. I have displayed the book as an illustration whenever I have preached one of my favorite sermons: “Spiritual Lessons from a Sinking Ship.” In a newspaper column I wrote three months ago referring to the Titanic, I referenced my antique book including a photo.

Upon my return to the States from three months in Switzerland, I was retrieving a boatload of voicemails on my landline. One message stopped me in my tracks. It was from a man by the name of Jim Griset. His brief message indicated that someone had sent him one of my newspaper columns. He went on to say that it was an article about a book I’d found in a thrift store inscribed to a Francis Griset. In his recorded message he informed me that Francis was his father. I was stunned.

Returning his call, I thanked Jim for reaching out to me. He told me about his dad who had died in 2005. Upon asking more about his father, I discovered that Francis was only nine months old when his twenty-four year old mother died (ironically on the same day the Titanic went down).

Jim told me it was Francis’ maternal grandmother who inscribed the book to him on his eighth birthday. Quite conceivably she gave the boy the book because of what it represented. It’s quite possible the hymn and the book were meaningful to her because of its connection to the Titanic story. After all, she lost her daughter (Francis’ mother) to death on the same day 1,500 lives were lost in the North Atlantic.

In our conversation I was fascinated to learn that Jim’s father and my wife’s parents (although they never met) lived in the same community and both attended Presbyterians churches. I told Jim that my in-laws were career missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators started by William Cameron Townsend. He told me that his dad was actually related to the Townsend family. Another small world connection!

Jim related to me that as his dad grew older, he would often play hymns for his father on the piano. Ironically it was the very piano given to Francis’ mother before he was born by the same grandmother who gave him the book. Jim told me his dad loved it when he played “Nearer My God to Thee.”  What he’d received as a child had taken root deep in his young heart. And for good reason.

As Jim continued to share information about his dad, something else dawned on me. Francis received the book from his grandmother in the summer of 1919 during the Spanish Flu pandemic when people were dying throughout the nation. That beloved hymn must have offered comfort to young Francis just as they had to the grieving woman who had given the book to him.

When Jim and I finished our conversation, it was clear what I had to do. With joy I mailed the book to its rightful owner.

Make America Good Again!

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.

That would indeed
make America good again.

What is Joy?

So how does joy differ from happiness?

It’s that deep internal gladness
inconsistent with the news
that will cause your heart to smile through your tears.
It is not based on what’s happening
that changes with the wind.
Joy is grounded in just knowing God is near.

Joy shows up most unexpected
when you have the right to doubt
that the justice that you’re entitled to will come.
Joy defies what holds you hostage
when emotions rule the day.
Joy is fueled by hope
when all is said and done.

God, Bless America (Revisited)

The Stars and Stripes are remind us of our heritage as a nation

GOD, BLESS AMERICA. Would you please, Lord? But not because we deserve Your blessings. We know we don’t. You’d never guess it though, by the way we sing those words. It almost sounds like we are demanding something from You. Even the man who wrote our country’s unofficial anthem forget to put a comma after the D and before the B. Forgive us, Father, for the cavalier way we so often invoke Your name or attempt to order You around.

LAND THAT I LOVE. It’s true. In spite of the fact that she is far from perfect, we love this country of contrasting contours. Its amber fields of grain that wave in the wind. Its majestic purple mountains that attempt to steal our breath (and succeed most of the time). Its dry desert valleys and orchard-filled plains. Its Great Lakes and Badlands. Its farmlands and cities. Ranch houses and penthouses. From the brownstones of inner cities to the White House in the city named for our first President, we love this land where the seeds of freedom continue to grow 248 years after they were first sown.

STAND BESIDE HER. Because freedom has flourished and produced the fruit of prosperity, ingenuity, world influence and peace, our country at times has cockily articulated its self-sufficiency. But since that tragic Tuesday in September nearly twenty-three years back, she has come to recognize just how vulnerable she really is. Please stand beside her. As she continues to fight terrorism and export justice, the continual cost in dollars and human lives leaves her dizzy and in need of support. Deep within her fractured soul she knows she needs You. Without Your overshadowing Presence, freedom’s fruit will no longer grow for future generations to enjoy.

AND GUIDE HER. Yes, Lord, please guide her. Our beloved nation has never needed a compass like she does today. She is confused, disoriented, at times divided and too-often double-minded. Unsure of what she stands for, she is prone to fall for anything that presents itself as halfway believable. Time was when she looked to Your dictates for direction. Back then the Bible was her road map. The Ten Commandments were her milepost. But bending over backwards in order to be tolerant of every imaginable point of view, she has become a victim of moral vertigo.

THROUGH THE NIGHT. Even though the nightmare of September 11th has passed, the twilight zone of war continues to eclipse the promise of a new day we all long for. The crescent moon in the dark sky overhead reminds us of the religious diversity that is at once foundational to our democracy but also a threat. The chill of fear and death has us nervously praying for the dawn.

WITH THE LIGHT. There are glimpses of light all around us, Father. Candles in churches. Spotlights on flags. A kaleidoscope of colored fireworks exploding overhead. They remind us of the hope that we have in You (and our fellow citizens) when we are engulfed by black storm clouds of political debate or are forced to walk through the valley of death’s dark shadows.

FROM ABOVE. But candles burn out and fireworks are temporary. Even spotlights eventually have to be replaced. Only Your light, O Lord, can dispel the darkness that we most fear. Eternal Son of God, would You be so kind and merciful to focus Your brilliant rays in our direction? With laser-like precision, please penetrate the membrane of apathy and anxiety that blankets our nation and suffocates our joy.

FROM THE MOUNTAINS. From Mt. McKinley to Pike’s Peak, from the Rockies to the Smokies. From the green timbers of Mt. Rainier to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. From Mt. St. Helens in Washington to Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. Lord, may the glory of Your creation in this breathtaking land cause us to lift up our eyes to the hills and, with the psalmist, sing Your praises as we celebrate our freedom and acknowledge our gratitude today.

TO THE PRAIRIES. Windswept, yet fertile. Wheatland and cornfields boasting rich black soil The heartland of our nation, where hardworking people prove that determination irrigated by sweat and tears is all that is needed to grow the American dream. Although the mountain peaks may, at first blush, seem more exotic, we’re grateful for those who model the skill it takes to tame the earth by farming level ground. Reward their efforts, Lord. And would You teach us to be more grateful for all they do and produce on our behalf?

TO THE OCEANS WHITE WITH FOAM. A nonstop surf that dances effortlessly on a stage of undisturbed beaches. A dance in which every move is choreographed by the moon You hung in the sky. East coast, west coast, left coast, right coast. The Atlantic and the Pacific define the borders of the land called brave and free. And that is because we proudly owned a destiny determined by You. A destiny that manifested a pioneer spirit by which new trails were blazed from east to west until we ran out of land. But our white-foamed oceans are more than water boundaries. They are also the waterways immigrants have traveled in search of a better life. Lord, may You continue to bring to our land those who will enrich us by their varied experiences. Bring also those whose poverty we can eliminate by our bounty and Your grace.

GOD, BLESS AMERICA. It is a simple request, Lord. Yet, it is one we humbly ask. It is a prayer we ask with fervent hope. Knowing what we know, we cannot imagine life in this land apart from Your blessing. Our enemies are few, but deadly. Our vulnerability is unmistakable. Our destiny is solely in Your hands.  And so we confess that, unless You bless us, we, in all likelihood, will topple from the pedestal on which we have staked our reputation for nearly a quarter of a millennia. God, would You bless our country? Would You forgive our sin (both personal and national)? Would You heal our land?

MY HOME SWEET HOME. Granted, it is not the only home for those who populate this planet flung into space by Your fingers. But America is our home. She has sheltered us from threat of war and given us a place of belonging. It was in this home You determined we would be born, nursed by moral values, coached in taking our first steps along the open paths of opportunity, coaxed to claim our right to freely speak and encouraged to find our calling in a land where everyone’s voice is heard. Our home sweet home, indeed. And thanks to You, Almighty God, how very sweet it is.

Praying for Peace

A calligraphy by Timothy Botts

The city is peace
is an oxymoron.
Christians, Moslems and Jews
trace their history there
amid cobblestone streets stained with blood.

The sons of Abraham
have fought like brothers
(for centuries)
jealously killing one another
without regard for
innocent lives
or the destiny to which they were called:

To love the LORD your God
with all your heart,
soul, mind and strength
and to love your neighbor as yourself.

May we continue to pray
for the peace of Jerusalem
and Gaza
and the West Bank.

O God of Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob and Jesus,
breathe your breath of shalom
over the graveyard of peace
that dry lifeless bones may live. Amen.