My Spiritual Journey

November 18, 2018

As is our practice in Sarasota Monthly Meeting (Quakers), occasionally  someone is asked to share their spiritual journey.  Today happened to be the day that I shared mine. Several asked me to write it out for inclusion in the meeting’s Oral History notebook, so here goes…

As many know, I consider myself a recovering Methodist.  When I was ten years old we moved to the Washington DC suburbs and a couple years later my folks bought their first house.  Our minister, Ralph Haugh and his wife, Margaret (Uncle Ralph and Aunt Margaret) came to be our folks’ best friends.  They became godparents to they youngest of we four kids, Margaret.

I really admired “Uncle Ralph” and decided that I wanted to become a minister, just like him.  I then took on a “holier than thou” attitude and was really obnoxious about it.  Applying to and being accepted by North Carolina Wesleyan College, my route to the ministry was all set.  However, my plans came to a screeching halt when I was complimented in front of my American History class by our teacher, David Turner—the man who turned my life around but never knew it.  I had written a term paper entitled, “The Sharecropper in the Depression”, which he said was one of the best he had ever read.  BAM!!!  I then began to consider a major in history with the prospect of eventually becoming a teacher.  My preachy attitude melted away and I knew the ministry wasn’t for me.  In fact, even though I attended church every Sunday in Rocky Mount, NC, I hated the fact of mandatory chapel at Wesleyan every Thursday morning.

The Vietnam War was raging and I got a notice to get my draft physical, the first step in being into the Army.  I figured that, if I had to to to Vietnam, it would be on my terms, not LBJ’s.  I enlisted in the Air Force, married Pam in June 1967, and arrived Tan Son Nhut Air Base in Saigon a couple weeks later.  I hadn’t attended church in a while and saw no reason to start.  Once the Tet Offensive started, all bets were off.  One night we came under attack and, bunking on the top floor of the barracks, I ran down the stairs and turned the corner of the building, seeking cover.  Before I got to the door I saw a dog running hell bent for election, not knowing what was going on or why.  I felt so much empathy for that pitiful dog and began to immediately ask myself what was the use for war and why did it have to happen?  That incident—the most seminal moment in my life—started me on my path toward pacifism.

Upon returning to the States, being discharged, returning to college to finish my degree—in history, of course—and moving to central Wisconsin I never had any thoughts of going to church.  Pam and her folks were not churchgoers, so why should I be one?  We were starting to look into the adoption process and figured we’d have to go through a church affiliated adoption service, so we began researching Protestant religions but none of them came close to reflecting what we believed.  As it turned out, we went through the State of Wisconsin to adopt our son, David.

We moved to Madison, WI in 1980 and still were not churchgoers.  I was content to read the Sunday paper, watch the news programs, and football games.  Then in late 1987 things started to change.  The Isthmus is a small weekly tabloid paper in Madison.  I picked up a copy and on the front page was a full cover of a woman with her eyes closed in a worshipful state, with the headline something like “Quakers in Madison”—a long article about the Madison Friends Meeting.  I read the article with great interest and had Pam do likewise.  The article spoke to me so we decided to attend worship.  Pam, David (age 13) and I attended the first two weeks.  The silent worship did nothing for them, but I was hooked.  

I continued going and became a regular attender for about four years, whereupon I was asked if I would consider being Assistant Clerk for the 

9 AM Meeting for Worship.  I agreed, but when the nominating slate for the upcoming 1992-93 year was presented, one of the elders of the meeting asked why a non-Quaker should be assistant clerk.  A discussion was had and Clerk of the Meeting, Dottie Churchwell, commented that perhaps such might entice me to request membership in Madison Meeting.  Sure enough, about 6-8 months later, I petitioned for membership and was accepted as a member of MMM.  

There were three men (Quaker gurus, as I called them) who had great influence on me—John Anderson and Francis Hole, retired professors at the University of Wisconsin, and Lewy Olfsen, a retired librettist.  The way they carried themselves and the aura of each were so influential on me.  John and Francis are gone, but Lewy is still living in Madison and I take with him once or twice a year.  While at Madison MM, I became much of the liberal thinker and person that I am today.  I learned to appreciate persons for who they are and to stand up more and more for the things I believed were right, be they protesting wars, writing politicos, letters to the editor, and so on.  In real life, I was a casualty claims manager and was probably the most liberal insurance person in the state, if not one of the most liberal in the entire industry.

Upon moving to Bradenton, FL in July 2006 I continued my Quaker ways by attending the Sarasota Friends Meeting (SMM).  Lewy had told me that I should wait for at least a year before transferring my membership to SMM—to make sure it felt right for me.  I immediately dived into the life of SMM by volunteering to serve on the Meetinghouse Committee.  I figured that such would grant me the opportunity to get to know the meeting and how it operated.

As my relationship with SMM grew, I felt it was time to transfer my membership, which I did in 2007.  My spiritual growth continued when I was asked to become Acting Clerk in Fall 2009 while Clerk of the Meeting Rolf Hanson and his family spent the fall term at Pendle Hill.  Way opened and I was eventually asked to take on the role of Clerk of the Meeting.   This was yet another opportunity for spiritual growth, something I relished.  Not realizing it before, but I had become a sort of “go to” person for things the meeting might need, either physically or spiritually.  I am very grateful for the three years spent as Clerk.  

Shortly after the 2017 inauguration of the current occupant of the Oval Office, Clerk Lesley Jacobs instituted Meetings for Healing on Wednesday afternoons at the meetinghouse.  It was during one of these meetings I had a mystical experience.  As we were sitting in silent worship, I felt the presence of someone behind my right shoulder.  I tried to peek behind me without moving my head and being obvious about it, but to no avail.  When Lesley broke the meeting with the usual handshake, I turned around to find no one there.  No one had entered or left the room while we were in worship and I was completely mystified and dumbfounded.  I then realized that I had experienced something I had never experienced before in my life.  

Guru Francis Hole always spoke of the “Divine Companion” that sat on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.  I now know what he felt.  I now have my own Divine Companion that  sits on my right shoulder and lets me know if I do something I shouldn’t have done.  When that happens all I can do is pat myself on the right shoulder in an effort to let him/her know I know I screwed up.  Fortunately for me, those times are getting fewer and farther between.

Muhammad Ali once said, “Service to others is the rent we pay for our place here on Earth.”  That’s what I feel I am doing—paying my rent.  Be it giving rides, financial assistance, spiritual uplifting, comforting, or whatever—I am doing what I can with what I have to offer.  The spiritual reward I get from such far outweighs what I have to give.  I get much more out of what I get than what I give.  To me, that is what life is all about.  Give of yourself to others without thought of what the return will be.

Assault Weapons and the 2nd Amendment

“…the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”  So says the Second Amendment.  It is not as rigid as some would have us believe.  The courts have ruled as much.

No one has the right to own a rocket propelled grenade; a surface to air missile; an operational Army tank; an armed fighter jet; nor even a live hand grenade.  Why then should anyone have the right to own an assault rifle?  

Assault rifles are just that—weapons of war, like those mentioned above.  They are used to assault the enemy during times of war.  They are meant to kill human beings—not to hunt deer; big game; nor anything else of the like.  If one needs an assault rifle to protect their home, they’re either a really bad shot or a really bad person!

A recent Defense Department study showed that since 9/11, 6929 U.S. service personnel have been killed as a result of combat operations.  Since the Sandy Hook massacre in late 2012, roughly 7000 children have been killed by gunfire.  Think about it:  6929 deaths over 16 years and 6 months vs. 7000 deaths over 5 years and 4 months.  When is it going to stop?

Congress has been bought and paid for by the NRA.  It’s time that we the people do something about it.  What we need is a congress that is not beholden to those who make their money off the deaths of others.  They say that all politics is local.  Must we wait for a school shooting here on the Suncoast for it to become political for us?  I think not.  Let’s let our congressmen and senators know we’re not going to take it any more.  While we’re at it, we may as well let the governor know.  Let’s suggest they all reject any financial support from the NRA if they truly care for their constituents.  If they continue to accept NRA money, vote them out or refuse to vote them in.

Listening to My Own Drummer

We all are—or should be—aware of the practice of professional athletes taking a knee during the playing of the national anthem.  A great deal of debate has arisen over these athletes exercising their First Amendment rights.  As a Quaker and as a liberal, I am in full support of anyone’s freedom to express themselves in any reasonable way possible.  If it be the taking of a knee, turning one’s back on a speaker, or remaining seated during the playing of the national anthem, so be it.  I do not view it as disrespecting the flag or veterans.  In the contrary, I view it as their right as an American to make their statement in their own way.

Over the past two years plus at the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner” before any baseball game I have attended—over 200—I have declined to remove my hat.  Early Quakers, from what I know, refused to remove their hats in the presence of the king.  Why, on God’s green earth, should I be required to remove my hat for a piece of cloth?  A friend of mine—a retired Air Force colonel—became quite upset with me and told me that he felt like putting his fist through my face when I first declined to remove my cap or salute the flag.  Over time, his anger cooled and we are now back on good terms.

A few weeks ago I became rather upset with Donald Trump’s caving into both Kim Jung Un and Vladimir Putin.  His giving away the house while getting nothing in return from Kim in return and his taking Putin’s word over those of the U.S. Intelligence Service regarding the meddling in the 2016 by the Russians was the last straw.  At that point I decided that I should no longer stand for the national anthem and the piece of cloth that represents a government led by a person so corrupt and in love with himself and not acting like a leader when such is needed, I just couldn’t stomach it any longer.  At that point, I decided that I could no longer stand during the national anthem.

What started out as a protest has morphed into a spiritual leading for me.  A good friend of mine from the Madison (WI) Friends Meeting remarked on one of my Facebook posts that he doesn't stand for the national anthem.  Considering Chuck’s words and his practice, I have come to the realization that in being true to myself, it is no longer necessary for me to follow the lead of the crowd, standing when they do; saluting when they do; and following their path.  I am blazing my own trail and will go whither it leads me.

Some of my baseball buddies took heated exception to my “statement” and started giving me a bunch of grief.  One of my supposed buddies, Mike Sullivan, really lit into me a couple weeks ago, trying to psychoanalyze me while asserting that he has a Masters degree in psychology.  To be quite honest, I really don’t give a crap about his two PhDs or his three Masters.  He said I was just trying to get attention to myself.  I responded that I’ve been doing that for the past ten seasons the the Bradenton Marauders have been in town, by heckling the opposition teams.

As has been my practice, when a young person is singing “The Star Spangled Banner”, rather than remaining seated I will go behind the grandstand until they have finished.  Last evening I approached my seat with the intention of dropping off my backpack and going behind the grandstand when Mike all of a sudden bellowed out to a woman standing in the aisle that, “This guy doesn’t stand during the national anthem”.  I immediately decided to sit out not only the singing of the anthem but also the striking of the colors by the local Civil Air Patrol cadets who had presented them as part of the opening ceremonies.  Just as the first pitch was being thrown, Sullivan got in my face and started hollering at me about my disrespecting the flag and the veterans who fought for it (he knows that I’m a veteran, but it doesn’t make any difference to him).  He kept hollering at me and berating me, again saying that I was out to draw attention to myself.  I kept my cool and finally, in a very un-Quakerly and calm way said, “Fuck you”.  That really got him wound up and he demanded that I repeat what I had said for the benefit of a couple Marauder officials—Nick, the Head of Stadium Operations; and Craig, the Assistant General Manager.  I obliged him and all I got was a grin from both gentlemen.  Mike, in all his high and mightiness, while still berating me, dropped a shit bomb me, which I immediately asked Nick and Craig if they had heard it.

I kept my cool the entire time—even while inviting Sullivan to “be fruitful and multiply” in so many words.  A couple cops were alongside Nick and Craig in case things got out of hand.  Of course, Mike finally diverted his attention from me to the baseball game and cooled down after a while.  I don’t know what got into him this evening.  Perhaps it was because Big Tom, an Air Force vet who sits behind us and who had been absent for the last home stand, was there.  I guess Mike must have felt he had adequate back-up in Tom.  In any event, we enjoyed watching the game—although not the final score—and commented back and forth to each other about game situations as if nothing had happened.

I can hardly wait for tonight’s game…

Total Disgust

Never in my life have I been so disgusted with the United States government as I have been lately.  The only time prior to this when I have been ashamed was in May 1970 when several Ohio National Guardsmen opened fire, killing and wounding several students at Kent State University.  Even though the act was done by “citizen soldiers”, it was the only time I was ashamed to be in a military (USAF) uniform.

I, along with many Americans, have endured Nixon, Reagan, and the Bushes.  However, when it comes to Donald Trump—whom I refer to as the so-called President—I cannot tolerate.  He is a person on an ego trip who has no concept of concern for others—only for himself.  The fact that this slimy specimen of human protoplasm became president is as baffling as it is unbelievable.  He spoke to the underbelly of American culture, telling them what they wanted to hear while pissing off those who wanted no part of him or Hillary Clinton.  As a result, those who voted for him as well as the many millions who either failed to vote or voted for any other warm body got this prick into the Oval Office.

Events over the past couple weeks have led me to totally renounce the U.S. Government as anything it resembled, even during the Bush II years.  Trump pissed off the other G-8 nations by refusing to sign the accord that was primarily authored by the United States.  He then met with Kim Jung Un in Singapore—a meeting we all  had high hopes for.  The result?  Giving Kim the status he so craved—to be seen as a legitimate national leader.  In addition, Kim got the promise of no more war games with the South Koreans.  What did we get in return?  Zero; Zip; Nada!!!    

What’s next, you ask.  No less than a trade war with our biggest trading partners—Canada, China, Mexico, and Japan.  Thanks to Trump’s executive orders, we are now in a trade war with our traditional trading partners.  Add to this Trump’s backing out of the Iran nuclear deal, we are now seeing rising gasoline prices.  Couple this with the trade war and the sonofabitch will end up ruining the American economy while enriching the pockets of his cronies and big business tycoons.  Gas prices are already on the rise.

The last straw came with Jeff Sessions’ edict that children of illegal immigrants should and must be separated from their parents.  Trump could negate this practice—something which he says he “hates”, but will do nothing other than blame the Democrats for the situation—a bald faced lie!!!  The separating of children from their parents is something reminiscent of what the Germans did to the Jews or, even, what we did to the Japanese Americans and the internment camps to which they were subjected during WWII.

Over the past couple seasons at local baseball games, I have declined to remove my cap during the playing of the National Anthem.  Being a Quaker, my reasoning has been that, since early Friends wooed not remove their hats for the king, why should I remove mine for a piece of cloth?  However, I have now taken that a step further and tonight refused to remove my cap or to even stand for the “Star Spangled Banner”.  Instead, I sat, with my elbows on my knees and my head bowed, looking at the floor below.

Until such time as my government makes me feel good about it, this will be my practice.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am as patriotic as anyone you will ever meet.  However,  patriotism can be expressed in many ways.  This is my way of expressing my sense of patriotism.

Reflections on Father's Day - 2018

This morning in Meeting for Worship, one of the women stood and gave a message, reflecting on Father’s Day and how “God the Father” created us all in his image, saying that we all need to be reflections of God in everything we say and do.

I too had been reflecting, but in different terms.  I kept getting the image of a televangelist ranting and raving, putting his hand up to his ear while looking heavenward and pleading, “What’s that God?  You want me to do what???”  If anything, God does not need to be told to speak up or with more clearly!

I have always been somewhat of a spiritual person—especially for the past 30 years or so.  Having gone to a small Methodist college in the Bible Belt of North Carolina, I found myself force fed religion.  In fact, even in high school I had the preposterous idea that I wanted to be a Methodist minister—a notion, thankfully, I put aside because of a positive comment made to me by my high school history teacher, David Turner.  It was upon leaving college that I realized organized religion was not for me.

Anyway, reflecting on my worshipful reverie this morning, I came to realize that I must work harder on reflecting my inner Light.  In doing so, I would hope to engender the inner Light in others—be they Quakers or not—to be the best they could be. I am often praised by others for my volunteerism, be it for hospice or for personal friends.  Muhammad Ali once said, “Service to others is the rent we pay for our space here on Earth”.  I am paying my rent, and if my rent payments inspire others, then I am much the better person for it, as are they…