The Unclad Soul

Oh, America Oh, America. You lay wounded in the blood of your democracy. Beaten by the hands of your own government. Choked by the lawlessness of those sworn to protect your dignity and your existence. Sirens wail in the streets. The emergency is real. The time is critical. But no one comes to carry you to healing. Nothing is done to repair your injuries.  Your citizens. Your people. They cry out. They weep. They protest. They walk in the hot sun holding handmade signs for your support. But their protectors, the men and women with badges, they wield clubs, they unload tear gas and shoot rubber bullets. They push citizens back. They shove them to the ground. They walk over them, left unattended as rubbish in the streets. Justice is trampled with them.  Judges, Administration officials, Congressmen, even the President, talk endlessly about the crisis. They pretend to care. They hold up the Bible. They say we are all in their prayers. They stand beside the Fl...

In my innocence I grew up believing in the goodness of people and all things. My parents and grandparents modeled this in front of me. I saw in them patience. Joy. Human warmth. Integrity. I felt their love and affection. I observed and absorbed their goodness.  I grew up extremely sheltered because of this. My world was small, provincial, full of church life.  I had great school friends. As a teen my buddies were not necessarily honor roll, but they were smart, athletic, and fun to be around. My girlfriends were cute, clever, flirtatious and, yes, honor roll.    Aren’t most girls? In college I wanted to be a broadcast journalist. I loved my speech and radio and TV production classes. But then, after an emotional church service I attended, I believed, as it was described then, that I was being “called into the ministry.” It wasn’t until I had my first rural church as a single, young, naive minister, barely out of college, that I began to understand t...

While on the walking/bike trail this morning, Billy Joel’s “The Piano Man,” began playing through my earbuds. This was one of my late brother Jim’s favorite songs. We often talked about it. So, when it started playing, I raised my index finger to the sky and said, “This one is for you, Jim, wherever you are or aren’t.” Death has always been a mystery to me. Eternal life, the idea of immortality after this life, is something I can’t explain or even comprehend. As a minister, I was, over the years, with many people who were dying and, in some instances, who died in my presence. There is a profound change in the body at death, an emptying of life. The human spirit leaves, you can almost see it happening, and disappears into the inscrutable and is gone forever. Where does that spirit go? I’m not certain. As a Christian, I want to believe our essence, our spirit finds rest somewhere beautiful. But, in spite of those classic Bible verses and the long history of Christiani...

I am fighting pessimism. I do not want to be sour and gloomy and see only all that is wrong in our country and the world. I am trying to not believe we are at the edge of the abyss staring into the darkness. The poet Mary Oliver has written, “My concern for the world is a sorrowful business.” I have that concern as well. I struggle to breathe easier, to lessen the stresses, to find a place beyond the hard realities of this current debacle that is our nation and its defective government. My Facebook friend, Shelley Henderson, shared an astonishing poem from the brilliant Kate Tempest, titled, “Brand New Ancients.” In it, she writes, “In the old days, the myths were the stories we used to explain ourselves But how can we explain the way we hate ourselves? The things we’ve made ourselves into, the way we break ourselves in two, the way we overcomplicate ourselves? We are still permanently trapped somewhere between the heroic and the pitiful.” ...

And in this season we call Christmas and Holidays, Kwanzaa and Hanukkah, Germany’s Saint Nicholas’ Day, and the Philippines’ Giant Lantern Festival, Columbia’s Day of Little Candles, and Toronto’s Cavalcade of Lights, France’s Joyeux Noël, and Russia’s Grandfather Frost, let us find unity, cooperation, friendship. Let us revel in the pretty lights and the decorated trees, the wintry days and the cozy nights, the happy faces and the party fun. Let us feel the grief of the losses of others, the struggling families in an unbalanced economy, the addicted caught in some endless torment, the shamed haunted by a long-ago abuse, the ill unable to enter into the many festivities, the lonely shut off from the busy happy crowds, the prisoners locked in their regrets and dishonor, the mentally infirm whose minds no longer work and whose memories have lost their power. It is a season of birth, of lights, of glory. It is a time to remember the...

The world is yearning. America is yearning. We are yearning. I am yearning. What is this longing in us? What necessary thing is it that we yearn to know or have or experience? Writer, essayist, and editor, Rebecca Solnit, has written: “For many years, I have been moved by the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away. The color of that distance is the color of an emotion, the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not. And the color of where you can never go.” These are beautifully haunting words. Haven’t we seen the distant horizon and felt its pull, its mystery? That distance, as Solnit describes it, “the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not. And the color of where you can never go.” Such powerful thoughts. That “blue at the far edge of what can be seen,” lures us and, perhaps, ta...

I didn’t vote for President Trump but I did try to give him the benefit of the doubt once he was elected. I often held back from any real criticism simply because I thought he might very well shake up our political system in a way that would set it back on some reasonable track, away from the career politicians who have all but demolished it. I was wrong. President Trump continues to demonstrate no real interest in politics. He has no legislative goals other than to make certain existing laws harsher, more punishing. He is not impressed with the Republican leadership in Congress and has so far refused to be cowered by any of them. That, I do find somewhat refreshing. Those guys have ignored the country for far too long, hiding behind pretended concern, while voting and plotting to do nothing about immigration reform, police brutality, the militarization of police, Afghanistan and Iraq, Syria and Yemen, race relations, Israel’s merciless regime, the catastrophic refugee problem...

Note: This is the eulogy I delivered at my brother Jim's funeral, Tuesday, February 28, 2017 In Memoriam Rev. James C. Moody August 7, 1956 – February 24, 2017 Jim loved the movies. There was nothing he enjoyed more than sitting in a dark theater watching a great movie, with a bag of popcorn, a soda, some cheese nachos, a slice of pizza, a hot dog with chili and jalapeños, and a big candy bar. Going to a movie was like a family reunion for him. It was a meal. An event. He didn’t just watch movies, he looked for insights from them, for life lessons that he carried into his ministry, his preaching, and his own living. That’s what movies are supposed to do—teach us, move us, transform us—take us out of our lives for a couple of hours and then put us back in them wiser and more human.  Come to think of it, that is what church is supposed to do, as well. Jim understood that. We had a debate over the movie “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” It’s one of my favorites. Aud...

“Outside the freezing desert night, This other night grows warm, kindling.” ~ Rumi

"I stood willingly and gladly in the characters of everything - other people, trees, clouds. And this is what I learned, that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion - that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart." ~ Mary Oliver, Poet/Essayist

The movie, “Collateral Beauty,” deals with vitally important themes. For me, it fell short in many ways. There were moving moments, to be sure. The all-star cast made good attempts, but they distracted me. I kept seeing them as the movie stars they are and not as real characters in a difficult story. The film centers on an advertising executive, played by Will Smith, who three years earlier lost his young daughter to a fatal illness. His grief has crippled him and he is lost in bitterness and silent rage. He spends his days building colorful, elaborate domino mazes that he then collapses. It’s an obvious metaphor of his life and the shattering of his spirit and soul. He created his ad company on the basis of three imperatives: Time, Love, and Death. These, he told his colleagues and employees, are what connect us to all things fundamental to our well-being. He wanted his ad agency to reflect these themes in all aspects of its work. And yet, in his tormenting loss, he sees thes...

“But a little faith will see you through. What else will do except faith in such a cynical, corrupt time? When the country goes temporarily to the dogs, cats must learn to be circumspect, walk on fences, sleep in trees, and have faith that all this woofing is not the last word. What is the last word, then? Gentleness is everywhere in daily life, a sign that faith rules through ordinary things: through cooking and small talk, through storytelling, making love, fishing, tending animals and sweet corn and flowers, through sports, music and books, raising kids—all the places where the gravy soaks in and grace shines through. Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people.” ~ Garrison Keillor

I am making my way through the AMC Mad Men series. I saw the original series when it first came out almost ten years ago. Now I’m watching it again on Netflix. I knew what I was in for. Since the presidential election I have been trying to better understand myself, others, and my country. The ugly bitterness of the election left me emotionally exhausted, and frankly, disappointed in people in general. I didn’t follow the chaos on Twitter, but Facebook was a primeval jungle of crude squabbling, angry rants, malicious name calling, and endless acts of blocking and unfriending people. Some of them relatives and close friends. So after all of that, I decided to wander into Mad Men, the perfect setting for seeing the absolute worst in human hurt, pettiness, jealously, manipulation and betrayal. I thought that there, I might get some understanding of why, in certain circumstances, we sink, almost unconsciously and hopelessly, into such abysmal and damaging behavior. Don Draper, ...

“Twisting through the thorn-thick underbrush, scratched and exhausted, one turns suddenly to find an unexpected waterfall, not half a mile from the nearest road, a spot so hard to reach that no one comes — a hiding place, a shrine for dragonflies and nesting jays, a sign that there is still one piece of property that won't be owned.” ~ Michael Dana Gioia, Poet

“For one wild, glad moment we snapped the chain that binds us to earth, and joining hands with the winds we felt ourselves divine!” – Helen Keller

I recently spent a day in Oklahoma City with my brother, Jim, who has muscular dystrophy. He fell at home a few weeks ago and had to have surgery. He is now in a rehabilitation center. The doctors and physical therapists are trying to get him to a place where he will have some measure of independence. He will not, however, be able to return home. It’s possible that he could go into assisted living, but more probably, he will have to go to a nursing home and live there. He is facing all of this with a lot of heart and reality. He knows his health has seriously deteriorated and   living   alone is no longer an option for him. But he is also experiencing, understandably, a certain sadness about his situation. I feel sad for him as well. Jim was once a tall, healthy, athletic guy. He played baseball in high school. Was a terrific swimmer. He loved to play golf. In his late 20’s he began to experience a weakness in his arms and legs. As time went by and his symptoms worsen...

I lost a friend last week. Her name was Angi Jenkins. Only 46 years old, her life ended after a lifetime of battling cystic fibrosis. I knew Angi during my years in Hamilton, Texas. She moved to Dallas not long before I did. We reconnected here and then we became Facebook friends. She was often in and out the hospital dealing with serious health issues related to the CF. I dropped in on her unexpectedly one afternoon when she was having to stay at Baylor Hospital for several days. She apologized for not looking her best, but anyone who knew Angi knew it was impossible for her not to look her best. She had a luminous smile, a glowing spirit, and a bighearted presence that simply chased away any of the dark clouds that surrounded her illness. She dealt with her situation with gifted humor, beautiful poise, amazing courage, incredible love and faith. In these past days Saint Paul’s comment in his letter to the Philippians comes to mind: “I thank God every time I think of you....