The Unclad Soul

When I became a minister years ago, just out of college, I was first licensed, then ordained.  The ordination service, held at the small rural church that I pastored, was something I will always remember. There were guest minsters who spoke, offering good wishes and counsel.  At the close, the ordaining council, made up of ministers, deacons, and laymen, maybe 15 or 20 in all, gathered at the altar where I knelt. Earlier in private, they asked me questions about my faith, how I planned to minister, and what were my beliefs about scripture, theology, and so forth. Afterwards, they met without me present, to decide if I was sufficiently competent and morally worthy of ordination. I wasn’t. No one ever is. But they declared I was anyway.  Later, at the close of the service, one by one, they came to me putting their hands on my head and leaning down to whisper a prayer, a “God bless you,” or a personal word of encouragement.  It was a moving and humbling experience for m...

Years ago, there was a woman in my community that I learned to love. She was in her late 50s, was short and overweight. Uneducated and slow of mind, she lived on small disability payments.  When she was young, various men wandered into her life, using her, getting her pregnant, and then abandoning her. She had several children but all of them had been placed in foster care when they were toddlers by the state. She wasn’t able to parent or take care of them properly.  Mary attended the church where I was the minister. I would often check on her during the week. Sometimes she would ask me to change a lightbulb she couldn’t reach, or explain a bill she had gotten in the mail.   In return, she would bake a loaf of bread and bring it to my wife and me and our baby son. She would walk across town to deliver it. Still, it was always warm and delicious.  Ostracized by most people she lived a quiet life in her tiny house, which she kept clean and welcoming. Knitting and ...

And the day came when the reign ended, wiping away all our sadness, our sins, our sullen moods, and we felt the darkness lift.  We saw others, not as objects, not as enemies, not as opposites, but people, human beings with dreams in their hearts and love in their eyes.  We felt again. We listened. We understood. And it was no longer a battle to live together. The bitterness we had eaten, like rotten fruit that spoiled inside us, we wanted no more.  The mean words, the nasty names, the harsh thoughts, waned in weakness and gave way to something stronger, something solidly kind, something sane, level-headed, and curative.  We laughed again. Stout, robust laughter that made us throw our heads back and suck deep breaths of hilarity until our jaws hurt and tears rolled down our faces.  Our eyes, blurred by the strain of prejudice, anger, resentment, and the stubbornness of our cemented opinions and beliefs, were opened and cleared and we were dazzled by what we saw....

  In the French film, “The Innocents,” based on a true story (subtitles required), a convent of Catholic nuns, helpful to the poor and wounded, has survived     post war Poland. But not without tragic consequences.   As the war was ending Russian soldiers entered the convent and for days brutally raped the nuns both young and old. (This is not seen but recounted) Several of the nuns became pregnant and they were left with unbearable decisions. The events had to be kept secret or else the nuns would be banned from the Church and the convent closed.  When the first victim went into labor, a young Red Cross physician, Mathilde, is secretly brought to the convent.  She is shocked by what she is told happened. And after delivering the first child she says she cannot return. She has orders to treat wounded soldiers in a nearby camp. The convent, she says, will have to bring in a team of doctors.  She is told that was impossible. And so, overcome by the nun’s...

The massive explosion in Beirut, Lebanon, left a horrific scene of physical and human devastation.   Apparently, poor management and lax safety regulations caused the accident.  My heart goes out to the people there. After seeing the videos of the explosion and the terrible aftermath of human loss and injury, it’s hard to imagine how the city will recover.  They were already far into an economic crisis as well as battling Covid-19.  But the human spirit has a way of surviving unbelievable catastrophes. There is something deep in all of us that clings to hope and to an undeniable longing to keep going. Even in the face of enormous loss and suffering.  In Stephen King’s novel, “The Stand,” a story about a deadly virus that destroys 99% of the American population, a character who survives says, “No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the chang...

We are the land of liberty whose Statue’s flame never dims. We crossed the mapless ocean to escape the oppression of Church and government. We wrote a magnificent Constitution. We established laws, instituted a court system, and decreed all men free. We created communities, towns, and cities. We built schools and hospitals and churches. We fought foreign enemies. Helped defeat Nazis, dictators and tyrants. We made the world safer. We have not always been true to our ideals, but we learned and changed and became better. We are Lincoln, Babe Ruth, Martin Luther King, Jr. We are Harriet Tubman, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Maya Angelou. Compassion runs through our veins. We are helpers and healers, and goodness has always been our highest trait. We believe in free and excellent public education, in equal rights, in the value of every person. Though we have not always honored these values, they remain a central part of our identity and we have always strived to fulfill them. ...

I’m taking the night train, all alone, to the blue shores of a far-flung place. Where the water is clear and the air is clean and the dolphins dance in the moonlight. I’ll sit in the sand and wave my hands as the seagulls bring in the sun. And I’ll greet the fish flying in the surf and feel the freedom of their flight. And I’ll tell them I’m jealous of the grace of their fins and the innocence of their lives. I’ll look out far at the floating horizon and think of the dreams unborn, and I’ll wonder if anyone is praying in their home for the daily nightmares to end. I’ll dive in the surge and swim out to sea and drift on the morning breeze, and I’ll know what it’s like to be alive in a deadly time of unease. I’m not running away, well maybe I am, but it’s something I must do. If not In the flesh but just in my mind it’s still a journey I’ll take. And however long it lasts, for a day or for a year, I’ll feel better for the time away. (c) 2020 Timothy Moody