Author Archives: dwightleewolter

MY FAVORITE (AT THE MOMENT) ADVENT SONG

I love “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” It is a beautiful and haunting song of yearning, longing, and hoping from a return from exile. Historically, it is about Israel hoping for a return from exile imposed on them by the conquering Assyrians. But, for me, being stuck (temporarily) in the early part of the 21st Century ~ it can mean hope for a return from the exile of addiction, racism, domestic violence, illness, shame, alienation and estrangement. It is hope for a return from the alienation of Ferguson and Staten Island. I hope and long for restoration, wholeness and peace within and between us. And that song brings me, strangely, great sadness and comfort at the same time. “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…”

God Save Us from Mediocre Christmas Music

Imagine going out on a cold, winter night to see a talented musician perform and discovering that the only thing she or he will be playing is, “She wore an itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow, polka dot bikini” and “Kum Ba Ya.”

Well, the holiday equivalent of that just might happen tonight on a radio show (90.1 FM or streaming live at http://www.wusb.fm between 6pm and 8pm EST). I am one of the guests. The concept is great: get a handful of talented Long Island folk and rock musicians (of which there are many) and they will perform live holiday music in the studio. So far so good. But on the closed-group Facebook message discussion, the DJ asked the musicians what they will perform. Here is a list of some of the entries:

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
Santa Baby
Frosty the Snowman
Jingle Bells
Marshmallow World
Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas
Rock Around the Clock
All I Want for Christmas is You

Excuse me, but, any other time of the year other than Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanza, et. al. there musicians would never dream of playing mediocre, musical garbagio like this. I mean, here we are at a time when one faith tradition, Christianity, says that this is the time of the birth of the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Son of God, the Advent of Hope coming to us after a few thousand years of waiting for finally being saved from oppression at the hands of occupiers and we are prepared to respond with Marshmallow World. And… we are in the season of Chanukah for Jews and Kwanza for many African-Americans and we are so moved we will perform Santa Baby.

Dear God! Save us from mediocre Christmas music! And save us from ourselves when ~ no matter what we believe and whether or not we participate in a faith tradition ~ all we can muster from the depths of our souls is Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas.

Bah! Humbug! But not to Christmas. Bah! Humbug! to the watering~down of our thick and hearty soup of the soul. May our music allow those with malls stuck in their minds to be transformed by minstrels and troubadours who are awake and aware of their role of bringing hope to the lost and lonely ones who are still waiting for release from spiritual captivity at the hands of the occupiers of our hearts and souls. “O come, O come Emmanuel.., O come, Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by your Advent here; and drive away the shades of night, and pierce the clouds and bring us light…”

Protest is a Democratic Symptom of Perceived Injustice

Many comments in the national network news posts about the grand jury deciding not to indict the cop who strangled a man to death on Staten Island in New York are deeply disturbing. Many are overtly racist. Many others are blatantly rageful. Some are simply infused with New York style indignant and sultry attitudes. But, so far, they have been non-violent.

New York commuters on the streets and in places such as Grand Central Station do not like to be messed with ~ ever ~ but especially during the holiday season when NYC is even more crowded and hectic than usual. But ~ YOO-HOO ~ what did you expect would happen? A national, spontaneous bake sale?

What we don’t deal with will eventually deal with us. What we don’t face will eventually stare us down. We do not get to cherry-pick our problems and the exact, convenient time when the fruit of our cultivation ripens. But we do get to choose whether to gather the harvest, even of our bruised and bitter fruit of perceived racism and injustice, and survey the bounty we have allowed to grow on our land. Before we disclaim and deny the reported bad taste left in people’s mouths; we must first imagine or experience the taste of it from those who feel they have been force-fed. And then, hopefully, we can eventually learn how to move on. https://www.facebook.com/dwight.wolter#

INDIFFERENCE IS AN ACT OF WAR DECLARED ON THE POOR

December 2nd is Giving Tuesday. I look forward to the day when we don’t have a #GivingTuesday because any day without giving would be unimaginable. It is on the eve of Giving Tuesday that I dared myself to essentially write a re-post before GivingTuesday falls out of people’s memories like pennies out of a hole in their pocket. I look forward to the day when pouring an ice bucket over your head or engaging in tacky tournaments like a three-legged, blindfolded nun sack race or inviting children to see the skeleton of a former pastor in the church bell tower are not necessary in exchange for a donation to feed hungry people. I’m tired of the antics of entertainment as the trade-off for compassion.

I look forward to the day when people realize that churches with soup kitchens are not feeding their poor ~ but are feeding our poor ~ because the poor are as much a part of our community as are the wealthy. I look forward to the day when people no longer assume that those in need of a hot meal are necessarily homeless, addicted and/or mentally ill. I look forward to the day when we realize that we can live without a haircut or new shoes, but we cannot live without food, and there is no limit to what people, including me, will do or endure to feed themselves and their families. I look forward to the day when I don’t have to tell you what a bummer it is to be hungry during the holidays.

I look forward to the day when every arts organization, street festival, publicly-funded theater and other public and private organizations and institutions include and promote benevolence in their programs and activities. People rarely walk down the street with a can of soup in their pocket with no place to put it. But if asked to bring an article of non-perishable food in exchange for $1 off the ticket price to a show; experience tells me that people often, very often arrive with much more donation than was requested. But they should be notified, asked and thanked.

There. I feel better. Now please seek thy checkbook and send a donation to your local food pantry or soup kitchen. If you choose this one, send your tax-deductible donation to The Congregational Church of Patchogue, 95 East Main Street, Patchogue, NY 11772.

Spiritual Flu Shot

An expression of gratitude is like a spiritual flu shot. It triggers our spiritual immune system and increases the likelihood of us not falling prey to the nasty viruses of grumpiness, complacency and resentment that are going around! Just like you can’t have the flu and not have the flu at the same time ~ it is impossible to be deeply resentful and deeply grateful at the same time. So go ahead and get inoculated with the gratitude vaccine. It is free, available everywhere, and the only known side effect is love. Happy Thanksgiving!

Pastor sets self on fire – than accepts ice bucket challenge to raise money for hunger program

I look forward to the day when pouring an ice bucket over your head or engaging in tacky tournaments like a three-legged, blindfolded nun sack race or inviting children to see the skeleton of a former pastor in the church bell tower are not necessary in exchange for a donation to feed hungry people.

I look forward to the day when people realize that churches with soup kitchens are not feeding their poor ~ but are feeding our poor ~ because the poor are as much a part of our community as are the wealthy. I look forward to the day when people no longer assume that those in need of a hot meal are necessarily homeless, addicted and/or mentally ill. I look forward to the day when we realize that we can live without a haircut or new shoes, but we cannot live without food, and there is no limit to what people, including me, will do or endure to feed themselves and their families. I look forward to the day when I don’t have to tell you what a bummer it is to be hungry during the holidays.

I look forward to the day when every arts organization, street festival, publicly-funded theater and other public and private organizations and institutions include and promote benevolence in their programs and activities. People rarely walk down the street with a can of soup in their pocket with no place to put it. But if asked to bring an article of non-perishable food in exchange for $1 off the ticket price to a show; experience tells me that people often, very often arrive with much more donation than was requested. But they should be notified, asked and thanked.

Some may say that I am a chaser after dramatic headlines when I say, “Pastor Sets Self on Fire Then Accepts Ice Bucket Challenge to Raise Money for Hunger Program.” Okay. I plead guilty. There. I feel better. Now please seek thy checkbook and send a donation to your local food pantry or soup kitchen. If you choose this one, send your tax-deductible donation to The Congregational Church of Patchogue, 95 East Main Street, Patchogue, NY 11772.

I went to speak to about death

I went to speak to about death to people confined to a nursing home but ended-up speaking about life and the eternity of the human spirit. I told them they are all saints and called them by name: Saint Audrey, Saint Bob, Saint Betty, Saint Bert. They giggled. I did not. I was serious. By what other name than “saint” could I call these persons who have kept on loving the world when the world did not reciprocate; who kept on giving when the gratitude for having done so was nil; who kept on sacrificing even when they felt forsaken or ignored by their family, friends or country. These gritty, gentle, adult-diaper-clad saints carry my faith and hope for me when I stumble in puddles (oceans?) of doubt, anger and fatigue. Every time I bring a church service to these tuck-aways who are sequestered from society for the “crimes” of age, illness and presumed uselessness ~ I leave buoyed by the living waters of their humble and awesome love. Life is weird. God is good. And I am grateful for my aged friends and teachers.

Musings on Ebola & the Taliban

Don’t Let  Ebola and the Taliban put the kabosh on selfless acts of loving kindness

“Nice guys come in last” was touted as a vital lesson and repeated, almost like a mantra, in my childhood home. As an adult the belief morphed into a belief that all elected leaders will eventually betray you when the whim strikes and, therefore, loyalty to them is not warranted was touted under the mantra of, “To thine own self be true.” It is possible to be true to yourself by being true to others, but that  position seems hard to defend when it costs you your life.

This past week, Thomas Eric Duncan, Continue reading →