Sounds of Hope

Two weeks ago I said I was going to start writing… well, didn’t do too good on that one.  At least not yet!  I suppose if you have nothing to say, you shouldn’t say it. I think I’ve heard that before.   Now I’m a pastor.  I’ve been a pastor before but only “sort of.”  By most accounts pastoring a small group in a coffee shop doesn’t really count.  I’ve been pastoral in many ways but without a church.  Just that person people come to with their needs and concerns.  The one with a shoulder people could cry on and find support.   Prone to self-reflections and doubts, I wonder if I am really prepared.  I have the education.  I have the desire.  I have the heart.  Most importantly, I have the “call.”  Now I have somewhat of a stamp of approval from a large denomination.  The church I pastor has a wonderful history, beautiful people, and meets in a lovely white church with a steeple that lights up at night...

Saturday morning after cereal out of a box while watching Popeye, Dudley Do-Right, Yogi, Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Bugs Bunny, I’d go to the kitchen.   Under the sink were the dust clothes to be used for my weekly chore of dusting.   I must have been in the First Grade at PS94 when my mother and father told me it was time to work.   I was part of the family and my contribution was necessary.   No more free handouts of money for candy.   I had to earn my money. Every week I would move the white elephant planter, the amber vase, the candy dish with candy for company only, and the furniture scarves to complete my job of dusting.   For my labor, I received 50 ¢ .   Candy bars were only 5 ¢, for that same 5 ¢ I could get three long pretzel rods or a candy necklace, some wax lips or even a box of candy cigarettes.   If I chose the latter I’d have to consume them all before I got home.   Sugary candy cigarettes were forbidden.  I might end up ...

Christmas isn’t Christmas without Salvation Army bell-ringers and red kettles. When I was a child in Brooklyn, those bell-ringers were usually Salvation Army (SA) officers in full uniform. Sometimes there was a small brass ensemble playing Christmas carols rather than a simple bell. They were usually outside of the Woolworths on Fifth Avenue BROOKLYN (not Manhattan). I knew the Captain of the local Salvation Army Corps. Like most everything we associated with in the neighborhood, she was Norwegian. My first memory of the leader of the local corps was walking with my father and coming across a street meeting in progress. Street meetings had a little music, a short sermon, an invitation to receive Christ right there or to the local church. When I was five or six, I first met Captain Johnson. It might have been Lieutenant Johnson then but mostly I remember her as Captain. While we were not Salvationists, my father loved to go to different churches when there was a se...