“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…”

Over a banquet of delicious food, that would be consumed in a fraction of the time it took to prepare, I remember the time my mother began to say Grace for our Thanksgiving feast.  Making the traditional Roman Catholic sign of the cross, starting with the right hand at the forehead, instead of saying, “Bless us O Lord, and these Thy gifts…” she began with, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

This was different.

Instead of the predictable rote pronouncement over the meal, which, in truth, may not have garnered full and rapt attention, we got the opening for a confessional encounter with a Priest!  This was going to be great!  Within nano-seconds, the delirium of an emotional cranberry sauce was being set before us, and all we had to do was wait for a further serving!

Sensing the Eldorado of admissions might be forthcoming, everyone furtively leaned slightly forward in a most careful silence so as not to disturb the current stream of consciousness and therefore miss what might be coming next.  Forget the turkey, this was an appetizer no one wanted to pass by.  The mind still boggles at the potential possibilities.

Unfortunately however, mom caught herself mid-sentence.  Thus, we were left hanging as the more predictable blessing was spoken over the turnip and sweet potatoes.  Darn.

Even so, the lesson lingers.  Gathered amidst hotly contested election results, football games on TV, and rich gravy set upon the table, reality reminds us that we have all sinned and have something to confess.  Interesting as they might be, these confessions need not be broadcast to family or guests invited to partake in our feast.

But we do carry them in our hearts.

Therefore, knowing we have a Savior, well before the Christmas rush to commemorate His arrival, we eminently frail humans have enormous reason to give heartfelt appreciation.  This gratitude runs far deeper than what we happen to have.  It’s totally based in knowing who, and Whose, we are.

Imperfect as we must be, the Scriptures declare that, “Here and now, we are God’s Children.”

Yes.  Even with skinned knees, dirty clothes, bad habits and spotty records, that Divine designation can be stained and soiled, but it can never be taken away.  Ever.

For that eternal fact, infused within and yet superseding all proximate circumstances, we can truly give thanks.

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An Open Letter to our President-elect

Dear Mr. President-elect,

May you have great success!

In full disclosure, I did not vote for you.

I wrote in for Bernie Sanders.  I thought he and his supporters had long been poorly treated by the DNC.

My sympathies are not in favor of the “Not My President” style of protesting.  You won an electoral landslide, and you are my soon to be inaugurated President.

My family and I, along with all Americans are depending on you.

Personally, I think you can do a great job, and we all need you to.  I have faith that you will.

However, in truth, let me express a lingering bias.

Your remarks about Senator John McCain and President George W. Bush were not your finest hour, or our nation’s.

I’ve seen President Bush working under duress, from a very close vantage point, and his level of strength and integrity are well worth affirming across any party lines or partisan view.

Your past remarks about a lot of people weren’t the best either.

Truthfully, I believe one of your strong points, among many, is the fact that you say what you actually think, and you also listen, so that your thinking may constantly evolve.

This is a tremendous attribute.

That said, may I humbly make a suggestion?

At some point, before your Inauguration, I think it would be a great thing to acknowledge the gift of your being able to speak freely.  That’s a good thing, for sure.

It might also go a long way to say that in the heat of campaigning, and for other reasons, some of what you have said could rightly be received as being quite hurtful.

Recommit yourself to the wonderful approach and pledge to seek the best for America, while being gracious enough to revisit some comments for retraction or clarification.

Not only will that make you an even better President-elect, it will help make America as great as we all want her to be.

Respectfully,

Rev. Bill Keane

 

 

 

 

 

When the towers fell, we all stood up… together.

Here is the final excerpt from today’s sermon made as a commentary on the current Doomsday scenarios being bandied about by some who seem to have forgotten that elections mean having those who prevail and those who don’t, holding respect, in freedom, that wins the day for all of us.  I wrote the poem about 15 years ago, as we were nearing Thanksgiving and the Christmas Season.

FOR THOSE IN THEIR LATE TEENS AND EARLY 20’S WHO THINK THE SKY FALLING, KEEP IN MIND, NOT SO LONG AGO, MUCH MORE CAME DOWN, AND WE ALL STOOD UP, TOGETHER.

THIS PAST WEEK IN PREPARING MY SERMON, I CAME ACROSS SOMETHING, BY ACCIDENT, THAT I WROTE AND RENDERED HERE IN THIS PULPIT 15 YEARS AGO.  WE WERE NEAR THANKSGIVING, ABOUT TO ENTER THE CHRISTMAS SEASON.  THE CONTEXT IS FROM 9/11, BUT IF YOU DON’T MIND, I’D LIKE TO SHARE IT TODAY, BECAUSE I THINK WE HAVE WONDERFUL CHARACTER IN AMERICA, BUT VERY SHORT MEMORIES.

RECALLING THE STORY ABOUT WHO-VILLE AND THE GRINCH, I WANT TO RESTATE SOMETHING CALLED  “OSAMA THE BINCH”.

Every U down in Uville liked U.S. a lot,
But the Binch, who lived Far East of Uville, did not.
The Binch hated U.S! the whole U.S. way!
Now don’t ask me why, for nobody can say,

It could be his theology was somehow not right.
Or the sun from the desert had beaten too bright
But I think the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But, whatever the reason, his heart or bad sermon,
He stood facing Uville, the part that was urban.
“They’re doing their business,” he snarled from his perch.
“They’re raising their families! They’re going to church!

They’re leading the world, and their freedom is thriving, I must keep the S’s and U’s from surviving!”
Tomorrow, he knew, all the U’s and the S’s,
Would put on their pants and their shirts and their dresses,

They’d go to their offices, playgrounds and schools,
And abide by their U and S values and rules,
And then they’d do something he liked least of all,
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,

Would stand all united, each U and each S,
And they’d sing Uville’s anthem, “God bless us! God bless!”
All around their Twin Towers of Uville, they’d stand,
and their voices would drown every sound in the land.

“I must stop that singing,” Binch said with a smirk,
And he had an idea–an idea that might work!
The Binch stole U airplanes in U morning hours,
And crashed them right into the Uville Twin Towers.

“They’ll wake to disaster!” he snickered, so sour,
“And how can they sing when they can’t find a tower?”
The Binch cocked his ear as they woke from their sleeping, All set to enjoy their U-wailing and weeping,

Instead he heard something that started quite low,
And it built up quite slow, AND it started to grow–
the Binch heard the most unpredictable thing…
And he couldn’t believe it–they started to sing!

He stared down at U-ville, not trusting his eyes,
What he saw was a shocking, disgusting surprise!
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any towers at all!

He hadn’t stopped U-Ville from singing! It sung!
For down deep in the hearts of the old and the young,
Those Twin Towers were standing, called Hope and called Pride,
And you can’t smash the towers we hold deep inside.

So we circle the sites where our heroes did fall,
With a hand in each hand of the tall and the small,
And we mourn for our losses while knowing we’ll cope,
For we still have inside that U-Pride and U-Hope.

For America means a bit more than tall towers,
It means more than wealth or political powers,
It’s more than our enemies ever could guess,
So may God bless America! GOD Bless us! God bless!

All Trumped Up

People voted, populism was tempered by regionalism, and Donald Trump won the electoral votes necessary to be called the President-elect.

I know many who voted for him.

They are not bigots, racists, misogynists, or ignorami.  They are decent people who exercised their right to mark ballots and pull levers.

In a free country, these things happen.

I have no respect for those, in the face of defeat, who are now spitting in the well of our country’s future.

Donald Trump is my President.

I will give him the chance to reach out and be everyone’s Commander-in-Chief.

Personally, I believe Mr. Trump has the potential to be a great President.  He likes to win, and I believe he really wants to be seen as successful, and not by a few.

At this writing, barely two days after the election, Mexico and Canada have already indicated their willingness to take a new look at NAFTA.

Gee, I wonder how that happened…