It will be interesting to see if there  is any “moral” fallout from the Volkswagen scandal. So far, the attention has been on hurt feelings, denial of complicity by the CEO who abruptly resigned, plummeting stock value in the company and the understandable “how is this going to affect ME” reactions. But there ARE moral as well as ethical implications that I surely hope will be  discussed… perhaps starting here… and perhaps starting with you…

In Honor of International Day of Prayers for Peace, Rev. Dwight Lee Wolter of the Congregational Church of Patchogue has challenged his congregation to a one round boxing match on September 28th at 7pm. If you win, you donate $25 to the local domestic violence shelter. If I win, I will take 10% off your funeral expenses.

Not every act of aggression is violence. Muhammad Ali is an artist, not a thug. And I am a saint for risking my life in a boxing ring against women and men half my age and twice as strong with all proceeds going to a shelter for women and children victims of domestic violence.

My father was a Golden Gloves boxer and career military officer. He was a mean and violent man. I am not. What I am is… well… I am the Greatest!

Come have a go at me. And good luck. You’ll need it!

Call 631-475-1235 for details.

I left my hotel room in Hartford, Connecticut and had a great Chicken & Waffles dinner just in time to return to my hotel room to watch the Republican primary debates and get sick to my stomach when the fists started flying from the first moments. We have penalties for false advertising. We have a ratings system for films. Isn’t there some moderator, audience member(s) or agency that will confront obscene thoughts and accusations other than the eventual demise (hopefully) of the candidate  that sink in the quicksand of their own making?

Even the truthful source of the quote, “the first casualty of war is truth” is adamantly disputed. Trump could blame Obama for not being able to nail jello to a wall and people would rally to his defense.

I know this is a rant, of sorts, and not a particularly good one at that. But more shall follow… once I figure-out how jello and chicken & waffles entered into my thoughts of politics.

Nicotine is an incredibly powerful drug. I am smoke-free for 33 years now. I was in a play 10 years ago and the director decided he wanted my character to smoke a cigarette. I told him I no longer smoke. He said I didn’t have to inhale. I told him that without sounding too “dramatic” ~ I would rather leave the play. He relented. Congrats to my friend who is 100 days free of addiction-and-death inducing cigarette manufacturers and marketers!

Like Mark Twain said: Quitting smoking is easy… I  should know… I have done it a hundred times.

What  finally, finally made the difference to me was feeling manipulated by Madison Avenue advertising and marketing firms with highly-paid executives and creative teams whose schemes I was not equipped to stand up against. Feeling like a pawn in some legalized drug dealer’s game incensed me! I became willing to suffer a very painful physical and psychological  period of prolonged withdrawal (followed by a brownie-eating binge that passed after two days).

Kicking nicotine addiction was literally the hardest battle I have ever fought. But it was also the one most worth it.

This post is inspired by a friend who is celebrating her 100th day without nicotine.

Can you tell the difference between canned soup and homemade soup? The difference is, in part, the love (or lack of it) that goes into creation of the soup. Even vegetarians know of the alleged therapeutic value of homemade chicken soul to “cure” the common cold. The therapeutic value of homemade soup “proves” that the attitude we have toward our work change the results of our work. If you see your job (from making soup to driving a truck) as a labor of love, then love will be a part of the result. And a job done with love will often result in a more loving worker.

But many people dislike their jobs (duh!). The writer of Ecclesiastes said with exasperation,“Utterly meaningless! Everything meaningless!… My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor… I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun…” Many people feel the answer to hating your job is to get a new one. Perhaps. Another option is to look first for sacredness and vitality in your present occupation. Truck drivers, waiters, surgeons, carpenters, makers of soup ~ all can be doing God’s work. The Apostle Paul was a tent-maker. Jesus was a carpenter. Albert Schweitzer was a physician. You may be a stay-at-home Mom. All of these “jobs” may rewards you spiritually, if not financially. The writer, Goethe, states, “It is not doing the thing which we like to do, but liking to do the thing which we have to do, that makes the difference.”

People often feel “stuck” for years  in a job that pays okay but is not spiritually rewarding. They stay for pretty obvious reasons, such as feeding the kids and having access to health insurance. But even in such circumstances, a good bottom line and beginning point with which to begin each work day is asking, “How may I be useful? What will make me feel spiritually rewarded? What am I willing to do to assure that my contributions will my labor beneficial to others?”

But no job needs to be completely unfulfilling if you cultivate a spiritual perspective on all that you do. Whatever you do for a job can be part of fulfilling a ministry. Many people I know have searched diligently for meaning and spirituality in such things as digging ditches. So they cultivated a fulfilling service in volunteering as such “ministry” as hospital volunteer, hospice worker, advocate for homeless persons, and answering phones at a domestic violence hotline. A good starting place for each day is asking, “How may I be of use? What am I willing to do to make my life more spiritually rewarding? What am I willing to do to make the world a slightly better place as a result of my having been here?” Happy Labor of Love Day!

Dwight Lee Wolter  is the pastor of the Congregational Church of Patchogue on Long Island, New York.

The Blessings of a Public School Education

VEGETARIANS: CLOSE YOUR EYES NOW!:

Tonight, In Madrid, I ate suckling pig at the oldest restaurant in the world: Botin. It first opened its doors in 1725 and had been in continuous operation at the same site ever since. I opted for a three course dinner that began with gazpacho (cold soup), suckling pig with roasted potatoes, bread, sangria or mineral water, and ice cream or gelato for dessert. Nothing fancy, just delicious and excellent. The present oven, at work since 1868, burns evergreen oak that has a unique flavor that has made Castilian roasted meats highly esteemed all over the world.

VEGETARIANS: YOU MAY OPEN YOUR EYES NOW!

It is midnight in Spain and I am tired so all I will write about today is GELATO. There is a great store on the Rambles in Barcelona that serves “natural” (read: no artificial flavors or colors, etc.) gelato. This afternoon I ordered a scoop with two flavors: black cherry and the other was Ethiopian chocolate (cherries and chocolate go amazingly well together). The dark chocolate was the “core” of the cone… the centerpiece. Then they build “petals” around the center so the final product looks like a blooming flower on a homemade waffle cone. THEN, later at night I went back! This time I ordered lemon and the other flavor was lime/basil. It was amazing. It was made of fresh limes and fresh basil that tasted as strong and fresh as if I had just picked it from my garden back home in New York. Ah… “sweet dreams are made of this” (thanks for the lyric, Annie Lennox). And thanks for the gelato, Barcelona!

After spending this Monday morning at The Castle in Barcelona, high on a mountain overlooking the city and harbor and having found some peace there ~ and after having a deep, spiritual experience while praying in the Sagrada Familia church; I was not in the mood tonight for the throngs of people who parade up and down The Rambles (a famous promenade) every night. I was feeling out of place and lonely and when I begin to feel any sense of insecurity I often lapse into negative comments made to myself about how superficial people can be and on and on.

But then I looked up and saw a small sign, in Spanish, of course, telling of the entrance to a church. Without thought I veered left and entered the sanctuary and… my spirits were immediately lifted by two simultaneous sensations; the sweet smell of frankincense from earlier in the morning, and the sound of sweet classical, acoustic, Spanish guitar.

A young man sat alone on a chair directly in front of a canopy over a statue of Mary cradling infant Jesus in her arms and unknowingly, I assume, he was cradling his guitar in a similar fashion. The ancient church was lit by candles and the acoustics were remarkably good. The fifty or so people offered complete attention to the performer. I felt like I was in God’s living room. The concert was in progress when I entered and I was only able to experience three songs. But it was enough. Three chords would have accomplished the transformation.

I returned to the streets that were exactly as boisterous as before. But something had changed in me from just fifteen minutes earlier. All I wanted was for people to en-joy themselves. I realized that I had received what I was looking for even though I didn’t know I was looking for it: God. There is God on the Rambles in Barcelona; there is God in Charleston, South Carolina; there is God in a young guitarist revealing his gift to us; there is God in a simple, village priest welcoming and comforting the souls gathered in his church.

In my loneliness I was offered company. In my sense of desolation I was offered plenty. My emptiness was filled. My sense of purpose was restored. Just when I needed God most, God showed up. Or, perhaps, just when I needed God most, I showed up. It seems that God is always trying to lead me down alleyways that veer off the beaten path. If I would only listen… if I would only listen and heed.