Stumbling in Endor

Columbus, Mississippi, is a haunted place. The Civil War never made it to this booming merchant-cotton town with a river and railroad, so plenty of hauntable places still stand. The ghosts have yet to be displaced by an urban landscape or suburban sprawl.

Calloway Hall on the campus of the Mississippi University for Women is the forlorn home of Mary, a civil war nurse, who hung herself in despair from the bell tower. During the War, Calloway Hall was a hospital for wounded soldiers from the North and South, so she probably is not the only ghost. When her beloved died in the hospital, she ascended to the bell and ended her days in the mortal coil. Still, in the dorm rooms beneath the bell, the co-eds can hear her body thump against the bell when it rings, and she takes a lot of rides on the elevator to the vacant fifth floor. By most accounts, she’s magnanimous to the residents.



Nellie haunts Errolton, an antebellum mansion downtown, but she mostly just etches her name in a particular window of the house to lay claim to her digs. White Arches hosts the soul of a lass who died after contracting pneumonia after spending a misty night on the front porch during a party to celebrate her engagement. Waverly, of course, is the most famous, by dint of marketing. There remains at least one ghost of a little girl who will call out on the grounds and who leaves the bed clothes disturbed in empty rooms when she takes a nap.



The most terrible and least documented is the specter on Three-Legged Lady Road, so named for the specter herself. She is known to attack the cars of those who would venture to the little church out there and dare to put it in park. With this ghost, I have had personal transactions or with her colleagues.

I also had personal transactions with the ghost who lived in our house on 4th Street, a tudor house with an unfinished and beautifully accessible cellar and attack. The ghost never approached me in the cellar where I kept my chemistry set, but it did call my name in the attic. I was playing “war” with a group of boys in fourth or fifth grade when an adult male voice said in my ear, “Jeffrey.” I stopped among the hollering, plotting boys to see who called and asked if anyone else heard something, and Billy Robbins said that he heard someone say my name. The next occupants of the house, a family named Dollar, got the brunt of that haunting. Their poor mother went just about crazy with the footsteps in the attic in the middle of the night and the blasted attic light that would turn on when they were away from the house. When we lived in that house, there were about four house fires within two or three blocks of the house in a year, although I do not think that the ghosts were necessarily involved.

A friend of ours from church, C.C., rented a house with some friends on the north side. A poltergeist named Jefferson terrorized those young girls during their sojourn in his old house. Among his taunts, he would turn off or turn down their music, scratching the needle off their vinyl records. He would suggest that they stop playing piano by touching their shoulders. He would fill the house with his cigar smoke. He would make the toilet paper fly off the roll. Last, he appeared to them, the top part of his torso drifting the house or appearing at the foot of their bed. He was not hospitable. Apparently, they found in research that paralysis or amputation required his use of a wheelchair in life, and he shot himself in the stomach, as I recall. They fled after he appeared over them in the nighttime; lease be damned. C.C., by the way, never believed in ghosts and is a rational, smart, educated, devout woman.

I know of more alleged interactions with the not yet departed, but these are the accounts in which I have the most confidence.

I also have struggled a great deal in adulthood with Halloween, even more now that we have kids. The struggle is common: is this revelry harmless or harmful given the imagery and tales associated with the day? I’m all for revelry, mind you, but the imagery and tales do begin to run up against Christian faith. Even so, I’m all for mocking Death. Where is its sting, after all?



Here’s the rub in my mind. It’s all just good fun if it’s just imaginary. What could be the big deal for flirting with something wholly fantastic? We read, watch and love Harry Potter. I am conversant with the Force. I am a big fan of Samwise Gamgee and Galdalf the Grey.

In Halloween, however, we find a good deal of focus on ghosts, kind and unkind, witches and magic. I believe that magic exists in many forms, including love, grace and miracle, but the Good Book contemplates and condemns another sort as well. All the witches I’ve known seem to believe in themselves. Above, I demonstrated some commerce with the ghosts, too. Thus, Halloween bothers me, because I do not believe it is a flirtation with fantasy.



What to do? Let us honor and trip with the Dead for a night; we’re all on our way home anyway. By all means, let us disguise ourselves for revelry and fun, so long as we do not neglect our souls in the process. Let us please be careful not to worship anything other than God accidentally along the way. Let us eat candy and speculate on the mysteries of this funny life.

Obamagasmic

The Newsweek Gaggle has a very interesting notion regarding Clinton and Obama.

My next thought is that Hillary should run with him if she really wants to win, but then I remember why I think she'll lose. She's just too polarizing. Policy and brains aside, everyone thinks they know her, and most think that she's a coniving, driven biznatch. Even so, those might be good Presidential qualities.

Will I vote for her if she's the Democratic nominee? I have decided that I will vote for whomever the Dems nominate. (That is, unless McCain is the Republican, in which case I may vote for him again, but don't think he's enough a party man to get the nod.) The party alignment must change in 2008 or the GOP will hasten the demise of the Republic. What's more, my Democratic vote will not register on the Alabama landscape, unless Obama does do his thing with black voters......

This ought to be fun.

Damascus Road

Yea, I was born unto a nation with twelve tribes. Among our chosen people in the rich land, an inheritance is imparted from mother to son, from father to daughter, and the hate-blood flows among the feuding tribes. The tribe of my birth is an ancient race, long wielding dominion over the rest in days long past, a tribe of scarlet red descending from its high place, the Capstone. Its lords and lore echo their bawdy songs, giving honor to the yellow bird and unstoppable moon cycles; hark to the past glory and ascend again to the high place! My tribe’s arch enemy resides in tents and barns on the Plain where they mingle the song of the eagle and the mouth of the tiger to nefarious ends. Indeed as iron sharpens iron, so does the Capstone tribe rake against the beguiled Plain tribe.

Yet, I was reared in a foreign land, a rebellious land full of growling dogs. In the shadow of the weary Dog’s lair did I come of age, and its minions befriended me. My forefathers shuddered at my dalliance with the Dog’s adherents and rather would have me keep company with the Aged Soldiers to the north, if any. Even so, the Canine tribe was a defeated people, living in angst beneath the Aged Gentry who once warred against the rest. The Aged Soldiers established themselves in the ancient Grove and oversaw the land of cotton, despite the Dog’s toil and oppression. On the blue moon, the Dog could rise up against the Aged but rarely remained in their lofty presence. The Aged had little regard for the other tribes, and their pride put me off. My affection grew for the Dog tribe, but still I would not forsake the Capstone tribe of my birth. My blood ran scarlet, and I harked to the yellow bird, the crimson flow and the mighty trunked-beast. I worshiped at the Capstone and was pleased.

For a season, I sojourned in the most remote land, among the Pig People. The were the youngest tribe, accepted in our national charity when their old nation crumbled in corruption and despair. The Pig People did not speak our language and are unclean, and despite their fierce howls and nasty teeth, I could not the Pig People love. The live in squalor among the Lizard people and the Swamp tribe, the brutal, uncivilized hoards.

In a season of wandering, far from the Capstone, having visited among the Dog tribe, having feasted in the Aged Grove, having roamed with the Pig People, I received the highest calling of our nation. The Athenian tribe issued to me a writ to encamp on their High Hill under the Ancient Oak, to study among their wise men, to breathe the free and lofty air of erudition and nobility. The Athenian tribe is the least in number among our nation, and its people have no land beyond their High Hill and Ancient Oak. The Athenians call to the high-minded, the principled and honored among the nation to join, learn and govern the rest. With humble exhilaration did I answer the writ of invitation, proceeded through the Rites of Spring and took my place among the Athenians, on the High Hill, beneath the Ancient Oak, to prepare for a life of learning and glory. The Athenians do not often fare well on the field of battle but guide the nation in righteousness, truth and the path of brilliance, not unlike the storied Levites of scripture.

One bright, oppressive day, the tribe of my birth, the Capstone, clad in gleaming armor, did take the field on the High Hill to assault the men of the Ancient Oak, to challenge the scholars in a game of brutality. This conflagration tortured my heart and rent it assunder. Thus, in that moment did I apprehend the truth, a man may not well serve two tribes. A fork appeared in my life-path, and the tribes demanded of me, choose one now, because you cannot bear the weight of duality. The Capstone tribe, the tribe of my birth and forefathers brook no transgression. The Athenian tribe, the tribe of my calling, stood smugly to await my decision; could I forsake the hate-blood for the blessing of fresh air on the High Hill and Ancient Oak? In that moment, I hollered the incantation, “Vandyvandyohhhellyeah!.” Thus, did I renounce the tribe of my birth, and did the Capstone tribe disinherit me. Thus, did the Athenians install me on the High Hill for the length of my years in the shade of the Ancient Oak.

The Athenians adorned me in black and gold, and I set aside the scarlet sash of my boyhood. The writ of invitation was satisfied, and the Sea Baron was pleased.

Alas, having matriculated on the High Hill and fulfilled my studies at the feet of the law givers, the law makers, I descended to the Athenian valleys, to venture into the nation and minister among the tribes. On the first journey through the mountains of Smoke, did a fair lady approach me quietly. She hailed from the Mountain Tribe, a numerous, boisterous, bellicose people, yet the lady inspired a serene, sublime beauty to all whom she met. Her warrior’s spirit rose against injustice, but her compassion poured to those in oppression and chains. She served among a warlike people and loved them yet, even as she disdained their bloodlust. She and I loved one another and pronounced vows among the baptismal waters of the Hill near the River.

She, the Mountain Girl, and I, the Athenian, gathered each other in arms and set forth to minister and multiply among the tribes.

Lo! A cataclysm awaits! On the Third Sabbath Day of the Tenth Month the Capstone tribe rallied its warriors to assault the Mountain tribe. Yes, for this long age, the Mountain tribe and the Capstone wage endless wars. The hate-blood rises deep and fiery over the River and floods men’s souls with brooding and fear. Yonder massed my kinfolk, the tribe of by birth, the proud Capstone column. Nigh to my bosom rested my Mountain Girl who pined for her tribe on the Hill near the River. Betwixt the cacophonic armies I stood, the Athenian, torn in two between the love of family and the love of woman. Star-crossed, I knelt before my mother and father and bid them farewell, for I would not forsake the love of my Mountain Girl and her tribe, with banners raised, the color of the rising sun.

I gird myself with black and gold, incanting the explosive yawp of knowledge and nobility, adorned with the orange sash of my Mountain Girl’s people, to stand among a foreign people, in devotion to my calling and my love. I would bear the loyalty of two tribes. Beneath the Ancient, I learned long-suffering and love and would devote my years to the invitation of the High Hill and the devotion to my Mountain Girl and her people.

On this day, the battle is joined. The Orange Mountain tribe riding roughshod over the Capstone’s faded glory, as they pay homage to the hoary, grizzled lords of old. Behold, as well, the ascending Athenians joining the fray against the Coastal Chicken tribe, led on the filed by a Wicked Lord, his visor thrown, his dreams dashed on the High Hill.

UGA-ly

But we'll take it.

Go 'Dores!

Central Dallas Ministries

Recently, my wife posted the piece below. Today we are keeping our word and making a donation to CDM for this worthy cause. We do not live in Dallas, but we are learning how to minister to our own community by James's work there. He is proclaiming a dire need and hoping that the Lord's church will respond to their prayers for support.

Please give.

Also, I am asking Greg Kendall-Ball, Mark Elrod, James Wiser, and Mike the Eyeguy, to add this call for support to their blogs this week so that their massive readership can respond.

Peace.

***


Larry James is asking people of faith to be involved in his ministry to the people of Dallas. JRB and I read his blog and are convicted by his words. Our contribution to this effort will come after October 1st.

Please read this post and then read on in his blog.

Step up to this challenge.

Grace

This morning, on my way out the door, my daughter said for the very first time, unprompted, "I love you, Daddy."


Those are deeply magical words, my friends.


I love you, too, little girl.

FU Soccer!

Canadian Soccer Sensation Paces Faulkner, Leads Nation.

Stay tuned. She's a freshman.

Further Up and Further In

Our great friend Richardson writes a great piece on non-violence and Christ’s teaching and examples. I am not a pacifist, but I sense that I’m being taught to be one. Jeff’s piece joins a chorus singing to my spirit these days, and the Amish this week have been mighty witnesses. I commend his post to you.

(Be warned, however, that he and I are kindred and both speak and write far too lengthily. Set aside some time.)

Here are excerpts from my comments to his post:

What an extraordinary observation that God seems unconcerned about the injustice throughout the world. I have been reading Isaiah this month and am stunned once again by the vehemence of His condemnation and wrath on the corrupt nations. This is macro damnation, and so far only Chap. 12 provides much solace.

Also, in Ecclesiastes, we see the Spirit of Wisdom acknowledging that the world is corrupt, violent and unjust, always has been and always will be. The message is pretty bleak with only two ideas which are not vain, first, walk with God, second, take care of each other. The Teacher does not aspire to social or moral reform and abandons the idea before even considering its worth.

Jesus said that we will always have the poor with us, then directs us unequivocally to care for them. Jesus did not charge the church to eradicate poverty but to take care of the poor. Jesus seems awfully disinterested in redeeming a systemic landscape but terribly interested in redeeming hearts within it. Paul didn't tell the Centurion to leave the army, to overthrow Rome or to rise politically, but he did teach him to follow Christ.

I saw a sign this week at a Catholic church that read, "God is pro-life," and I almost laughed thinking, "Go read Isaiah! Plenty of indiscriminate death there!"

So what are we to learn? God has a very, very different view of death and life than we, even Christians, do. God has a very different view of suffering than we do. God has a very different view of injustice than we do.

Now, this is not to say that God revels in death, suffering and injustice. Indeed, he condemns it and weeps. Rather, God is saving us from our falleness for His Kingdom, not this kingdom. He demands of his followers love, hope and joy in the face of death, service to the suffering and advocacy for justice. We will not achieve whole justice here, ever, we can be sure, but He nonetheless would have us model Him and seek His will for His Kingdom: justice, mercy and humility.

God spares none of us from pain, spares none of us from death and spares none of us from mourning. These are universal to the human experience, and we cannot undo them. Instead, He promises love, mercy, grace, forgiveness, hope, joy and peace, in Him and His Kingdom, and nowhere else.

Lewis's "The Great Divorce" and "The Last Battle" both give us an inspired picture of God's point of view. After death, if we even notice it, these things which consumed us, which we feared and loathed, for which we craved and pined, will wash away. We will see this life as He sees it now, only birth pains, only our gestation before we begin to live.

Further up and further in!

Cold Water

This week I enjoyed the graceful blessing of meeting with the leadership and staff at the Equal Justice Initiative of Alabama. These are smart people expending their careers in the service of poor people and in reforming America’s catastrophic system of mass incarceration.

I was discussing this organization with a beloved Alabama native, and I explained that EJI invites law students from schools like Stanford, NYU and Harvard for externships and fellowships after graduation. The Alabamian grimaced and made the classic Wallacian response, “I hate it when they come down here thinking they’re going to save us. They’re just as segregated as we ever were. I’d like to see them clean up their own back doors before they try to save ours.”

To which I, also a native Alabamian, rashly replied, “If it weren’t for liberal Yankees, we’d still be under Jim Crow.”

We went no further down than path to hellfire, but I tried to redeem the exchange by explaining that I was primarily excited about my law students being in commerce with those from top flight schools.

The historical debate aside and with sympathy for my cohort’s impulse, the exchange raises an intense issue that stumbles on pride.

In our religious tradition, we often have been loath to participate with those from other denominations or with those from the world because of fear that our money or time might be used for “unscriptural” purposes or that our participation might be some implicit approval of their alleged false doctrine or worldly ways.

In the South, middle-class white people often resent activists from elsewhere taking up the cudgels for our poor (or black) people, because we sense some hypocrisy or because their presence illuminates our own awful failures.

Jesus spoke to it. His disciples once confronted him with accusations that other folks were healing and preaching in his name, who, in their gall, had no previous association with their merry band. Jesus said, “Do not stop him. No one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad against me, for whoever is not against us is for us. I tell you the truth, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to Christ will certainly not lose his reward.” Mark 9:39-41.

He also said, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance in the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. . . . I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” Matt. 25:34-36, 40.

Yes, even liberal Yankees.

More Baseball: Declaration

Having no rooting interest in the playoffs but suffering from a compulsion to choose sides and compete, I hereby declare my teams for the 2006 playoffs:

Los Angeles Dodgers. On the occasion of a little sister at Pepperdine.

Detroit Tigers. On the occasion of a Fella ministering in the Motor City.

LA beats Detroit in the Series.

Sweet Caroline

Friday night, I watched my first ballgame at Fenway Park. I did not know if the Red Sox were playing but wanted at least to lay eyes on America's Most Beloved Ballpark. As it turns out, the Red Sox are 11 games out of first in the AL East, so ticketholders were literally in line to unload their tickets at face value. The home team beat the Orioles, and this Southern boy was freezing by the end the game. Temperature at gametime was 58 degrees, in September! For Dixie climes, that's nearly unimaginable cold.

So before the game starts, I'm talking to my jealous dad on the phone, when an old guy comes up the aisle wearing a sweatshirt that makes me smile. I yell out, "ROLL TIDE!," and the gent turns toward me as if we were long lost brothers on alien shores. Turns out this proud Alabama fan lives a mile from us and was sitting in my section with a Florida fan. Bet they had fun.

Go Red Sox! You won me over. Just in time for another 80 years of futility, but welcome to my world.