Leaving the East Coast

Today I said goodbye to the Atlantic Ocean. I dip my toes in the cold water on this dreary day and hoped that I might get to come back soon.

It was only last year that we moved to the East Coast. It was a return for me and Nigel knew it. He knew how much I wanted to come back home so that when he was given moving orders he figured out how he could get me home. We weren’t married yet and it would be ages before he proposed but he wanted me move with him. He was determined, so determined that he was going to make sure that I would go.

Dipping my toes in the surf this morning, I couldn’t help but remember Nigel’s excited face illuminated through the magic of my iPhone. He was overseas doing that military thing he does and we were not planning on moving. We had only just begun the “this is forever” talk between the two of us. In an instant, we moved. We settled into the East Coast.

I had high hopes of spending summer hours in the sand under my umbrella reading books as I spent so many days while I was pastoring in Maine. Our home was only an hour from the shore. It seemed like it was possible, like it could happen but it never did. My sister planned my bachelorette party by the ocean and it rained that weekend. We managed to get our toes in the sand but the wind and the rain chased us off the beach sooner than I would have hoped. Same thing happened yesterday. I had planned one last silly night with my cousin in the ridiculousness of Atlantic City with the hopes of spending some time on the beach, but it rained. This time, it rained quite hard.

Tomorrow, after worship is over and some cake is shared, I’ll get in my car headed to the middle of America. Nigel has already settled there and eagerly awaiting my arrival and I’m eager to get there too. It’s been a long summer with too few beach days. It wasn’t the weather. It was me. I didn’t make the time. I made excuses about the traffic and the other things I should be doing. I didn’t allow myself to enjoy this thing that I love so much. Why do I do this to myself?

The beach is a place where my soul is restored. I am calmed by the sound of the waves. The silky pink sand of the East Coast is so familiar after having spent so many summers with my grandparents. It is a place of happy memories. It is place where my family still gathers so that even when I cannot be with them, it is a homecoming. I didn’t enjoy it enough. I wish I had because there is no ocean where I am moving. There may be a lake or two, but there are surely no oceans in the middle of America. I don’t know when we will move back to the East Coast or any coast, but I’d like to think that next time I’ll allow myself to enjoy this place that I love so much.

That Peace Might be Possible on Super Tuesday

I don’t consider myself to be especially patriotic.

I don’t even consider myself to be all that political but I am certainly not patriotic.

I am reminded of this each and every time I put my hand over my heart and rise to sing the National Anthem. I see it in the service women and men around me. When the flag is marched into the room, and they all stand at attention with their hands upon their hearts, they feel something. They are connecting with some greater set of ideals and it means something to them. It means everything to them, but it doesn’t to me.

Each and every time I attend one of these military functions, on the arm of my beloved, I am reminded of how detached I am from that set of ideals that means so much to them. I just happen to sing a different song. It has lyrics written by Lloyd Stone and I sing it with my whole heart.

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
this is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
O hear my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

Mine is a song of peace. There are no bombs bursting in the air or ramparts to watch. There’s just little hope for peace of the country where my heart is and every other part of this world. It may sound naive but I have never stopped believing that peace is possible. I really don’t want to give up on that faith. I can’t give up on that faith. It’s the hope I share with the soldier I love. Peace must be possible.

It’s what we both imagine in the work we’re doing. It’s this hope that keeps us going but I am terrified of what is going to happen to that possibility if Donald Trump becomes the nominee for the Republican Party.

What peace can come from the hatred from his mouth? It is not merely a matter of decency but of respect and it seems that this is a man who demands respect from others but doesn’t have the grace to offer it. He belittles and dehumanizes those without his power and wealth so that he plays politics like it’s a game. He just wants to see what will happen and so he pushes that button and pulls that lever. He pokes at people like they are his own personal playthings. What will that mean for our foreign policy?

Former CIA director Michael Hayden told Bill Maher last week, “I would be incredibly concerned if a President Trump governed in a way that was consistent with the language that candidate Trump expressed during the campaign.” Mr. Hayden went as far as to say that an illegal order would not have to be followed. Maybe so. But, I want Mr. Trump and every candidate to respect our service women and men. This isn’t a question of decency but a reality check about how our foreign policy has impacted the rest of the world. Peace still hasn’t come but maybe that should make us pause for reflection. Rather than continuing to perpetuate the cycle of violence and hate we began so many years ago, let’s reflect on what has happened. Let’s remember the number of soldiers that died. Let’s remember that there were no weapons of mass destruction and that maybe we shouldn’t have invaded. Let’s think about how long we’ve had troops on the ground despite so many promises to bring them all home.

On this particular Super Tuesday, when so many Americans are casting their ballot toward the next presidential election, I don’t want us to give up on working for peace. I’m not a politician but I know that it’s really important to put down the bullhorn and think about what you’re saying. I have to do it every week. I am a pastor. Every week, I step up to the microphone and announce good news. I pray that it doesn’t come from me but comes from God, but I know that’s not always true. And so, I need to step away from the microphone and think about the lives that are impacted with each word that comes out of my mouth. Words matter. History matters.

Let’s learn from the past as we dare to imagine our future. Let’s not just make America better. Let’s make the world better. Let’s remember all of those hopes and ideals that come when the flag marches into the room.

Let’s dare to believe again that peace is possible.