TEXT
Remarks by Former Senator John Danforth
Published: June 11, 2004
The following is the text of remarks by former Senator John Danforth, the Episcopal minister who officiated over the funeral of former President Reagan, as transcribed by Federal News Service.
REVEREND JOHN DANFORTH: May I speak in the name of one God who created us, who redeemed us, who comforts us. Amen.
This is a service about Ronald Reagan and it is a religious service. We've gathered to celebrate the life of a great president in a church where believers profess their faith. So this is not only about a person, but about faith, and the homily is the place to connect the two.
For President Reagan, the text is obvious. It's from the sermon on the mount. "You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid." It was his favorite theme from his first inaugural address to his final address from the Oval Office. For him, America was the shining city on a hill.
His immediate source was the sermon preached by John Winthrop just read by Justice O'Connor. Winthrop believed that the eyes of the
world would be on America because God had given us a special commission, so it was our duty to shine forth. The Winthrop message became the Reagan message. It rang of optimism and we longed to hear it, especially after the dark years of Vietnam and Watergate.
It was a vision with policy implications. America could not hide its light under a bushel. It could not turn in on itself and hunker down. Isolationism was not an option. Neither was protectionism. We must champion freedom everywhere. We must be the beacon for the world.
What Ronald Reagan asked of America, he gave of himself. The great American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr wrote "The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness." If ever we have known a child of light, it was Ronald Reagan. He was aglow with it. He had no dark side, no scary hidden agenda. What you saw was what you got, and what you saw was that sure sign of inner light, the twinkle in the eye.
He was not consumed by himself. He didn't need to be president to be a complete person. The only thing he really needed was to be with his wife. Mrs. Reagan, you shared him with us, and for that, we will always be grateful.
He shined the light, but not upon himself. Personally modest, he disclaimed the title "the Great Communicator" and claimed only to communicate great things from the heart of a great nation.
He liked to laugh, especially at himself. There was nothing petty or mean-spirited about him. Even his opponents liked him. I recall sitting at a table with President Reagan and Speaker O'Neill, listening to their jokes. It was the opposite of negative politics.
He inspired devotion more than fear. Mike Deaver wrote, "There was something about him that made you want to please him and do your best. This applied to everybody."
It certainly applied to those of us who served in Congress.
His most challenging task came on the day he was shot. He wrote in his diary of struggling for breath and of praying. "I realized I couldn't ask for God's help while at the same time I felt hatred for the mixed-up young man who shot me," he wrote. "Isn't that the meaning of the lost sheep? We are all God's children and therefore equally loved by him. So I began to pray for his soul and that he would find his way back to the fold."
He was a child of light. Now consider the faith we profess in this church. Light shining in darkness is an ancient biblical theme. Genesis tells us that in the beginning, darkness was upon the face of the deep. Some equate this darkness with chaos. And God said let there be light, and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. Creating light in darkness is God's work. You and I know the meaning of darkness. We see it on the evening news -- terror, chaos, war. An enduring image of 9/11 is that on a brilliantly clear day, a cloud of darkness covered lower Manhattan. Darkness is real and it can be terrifying. Sometimes it seems to be everywhere. So the question for us is what do we do when darkness surrounds us?
Saint Paul answered that question. He said we must walk as children of light. President Reagan taught us that this is our mission both as individuals and as a nation.
The faith proclaimed in this church is that when we walk as children of light, darkness cannot prevail. The St. John's Gospel tells us the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it. That's true even of death.
For people of faith, death is no less awful than for anyone else, but the resurrection means that death is not the end. The Bible describes the most terrible moment in these words: "When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon." That was the darkness of Good Friday. It did not prevail. Very early on the first day of the week when the sun had risen, that's the beginning of the Easter story; the light shines, the Lord has risen.
In this service of worship, we celebrate the life of a great president, and we profess the resurrection faith of this church. It is faith in God's victory over darkness. It is faith in the ultimate triumph of light. We believe in this victory every day of our lives. We believe it as individuals, we believe it as a nation. There is no better time to celebrate the triumph of light than in a service for Ronald Reagan.
Amen.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Being Real!
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
A Favorite Passage from " The River Runs Through It"
"Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fisherman in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then, in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters." -Norman Maclean, The River Runs Through It
WORDS
There are words that yearn to be heard, but they have no voice themselves.
Words of concession, contrite words of caring, forgiveness, and compassion.
Is there a heart that will welcome them in like manner?
I would like to believe there is, but I am hesitant to accept such a risk.
Words cannot make their own way; they need a method of delivery.
Words cannot create their own effect; they can only prompt a thought…a response.
Words alone, cannot heal feelings, create anger, or bring unending despair.
But words are powerful when mixed with God’s grace.
Sometimes shared, they can heal a conflicted past, a personal tragedy, or childhood grief.
Or be a verbal act grace, compassion, and forgiveness, comfort, or harmony.
Words, as such, are but faint expressions of our feelings that originate in our minds, are filtered through
past experiences, and pass through our hearts on their way to the intended. Such expressions
can be accepted with love and sincerity, forgiveness and grace, or they can be turned away with
malice, claiming devious intent.
When a love dies, it seems to always die in a way that prevents the words, which clamor for a voice, from
finding the intended for passionate interpretation. It matters not if the heart is hardened, broken, or the intent noble. These words do not get said, and have not a chance to penetrate the darkness. Quite simply, they are destined to become just letters in a row, eventually fading away, while waiting for a whisper, a caring voice, to deliver them to the forgiving heart of a lost love. Eternally in search of a resting place, where they can forever live, in love, comfort, and belonging.
dw 04’
There are words that yearn to be heard, but they have no voice themselves.
Words of concession, contrite words of caring, forgiveness, and compassion.
Is there a heart that will welcome them in like manner?
I would like to believe there is, but I am hesitant to accept such a risk.
Words cannot make their own way; they need a method of delivery.
Words cannot create their own effect; they can only prompt a thought…a response.
Words alone, cannot heal feelings, create anger, or bring unending despair.
But words are powerful when mixed with God’s grace.
Sometimes shared, they can heal a conflicted past, a personal tragedy, or childhood grief.
Or be a verbal act grace, compassion, and forgiveness, comfort, or harmony.
Words, as such, are but faint expressions of our feelings that originate in our minds, are filtered through
past experiences, and pass through our hearts on their way to the intended. Such expressions
can be accepted with love and sincerity, forgiveness and grace, or they can be turned away with
malice, claiming devious intent.
When a love dies, it seems to always die in a way that prevents the words, which clamor for a voice, from
finding the intended for passionate interpretation. It matters not if the heart is hardened, broken, or the intent noble. These words do not get said, and have not a chance to penetrate the darkness. Quite simply, they are destined to become just letters in a row, eventually fading away, while waiting for a whisper, a caring voice, to deliver them to the forgiving heart of a lost love. Eternally in search of a resting place, where they can forever live, in love, comfort, and belonging.
dw 04’
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Canyon Light: Thoughts While Rafting the Grand Canyon
Canyon Light…
I rest in the canyon tonight, taunted by the sounds of a distant rapid…
Tomorrow I will be a conqueror, as my raft pushes back against the will of the water...
Tomorrow I will be a conqueror, as my raft pushes back against the will of the water...
but that is tomorrow…
Tonight I lie on my back, starring at stars… billions of them, scattered with purpose.
I’m in awe of my insignificance; surely I am in a Holy Temple, honored to be His guest.
Gusts of wind stir the tiny grains of sand. I cover my body with a cloth… I do not cover my eyes. I wish not to miss a moment of the display. I am humbled.
I listen to the sounds. I feel the heat against my face. I welcome a cool wind that
makes its way through the canyon. I am thankful for this time, and I think of my children, wishing they were here.
I silently ask forgiveness, feeling unworthy, for I have been given a glimpse of Him through this canyon. I praise His name, for He is God Almighty! He is the creator.
I am thankful to be His child.
Below these canyon walls so steep, I hear His whisper of adoration and receive absolution. I am lifted. Truly I am in His presence. I am honored He allows me entry…
The stars become brighter, silhouetted against the towers of Limestone and rock. The quarter moon makes its way over the rim and reflects against the flowing water.
A quiet wind captures my prayers and moves them down river, to be blown skyward, as an offering of praise!
My eyes grow weary, my body thirsts for sleep. I fight to stay awake, but the battle is lost. I surrender and drift away to enjoin my dreams.
dw 05’
Tonight I lie on my back, starring at stars… billions of them, scattered with purpose.
I’m in awe of my insignificance; surely I am in a Holy Temple, honored to be His guest.
Gusts of wind stir the tiny grains of sand. I cover my body with a cloth… I do not cover my eyes. I wish not to miss a moment of the display. I am humbled.
I listen to the sounds. I feel the heat against my face. I welcome a cool wind that
makes its way through the canyon. I am thankful for this time, and I think of my children, wishing they were here.
I silently ask forgiveness, feeling unworthy, for I have been given a glimpse of Him through this canyon. I praise His name, for He is God Almighty! He is the creator.
I am thankful to be His child.
Below these canyon walls so steep, I hear His whisper of adoration and receive absolution. I am lifted. Truly I am in His presence. I am honored He allows me entry…
The stars become brighter, silhouetted against the towers of Limestone and rock. The quarter moon makes its way over the rim and reflects against the flowing water.
A quiet wind captures my prayers and moves them down river, to be blown skyward, as an offering of praise!
My eyes grow weary, my body thirsts for sleep. I fight to stay awake, but the battle is lost. I surrender and drift away to enjoin my dreams.
dw 05’
Love and Understanding
Black Shoes
I have never thought of myself as a good father. A responsible one…yes: but not a good one. How one judges ones self is determined within the soul, and my soul aches when I think of my mis-steps and bad judgments. To the outsider, I am a great father. I have provided, protected, and loved all three of my children through the good, and the bad. But to me, that is simple responsibility. My job was to make my children feel the security and live out their dreams and avoid times of great distress. Yes… I have partially failed at that and hence, my self-judgment.
This morning, I looked inside my daughter’s room, now void of any order, and used as a storage room. Some time ago she decided to spread her wings and live elsewhere. As I opened the door, amongst the old bed frames, and boxes of trinkets I intend to one day pilfer, were a pair of shoes. Black lace-up dress shoes which are my youngest son’s. As looked at them, I felt an overwhelming sense of love for my son, and yet it was accompanied by a profound sorrow.
My son and I have been going through a rough patch these days. I am told that my late blooming son suffers from much of what his mother suffers…depression and obsessive compulsive disorder. It is an illness that frankly scares me, and one which I do not understand. My patience with all the abnormal behaviors was long ago spent by dealing with his mother through a 14 year marriage, now an ancient memory of 13 years past. After such a run of dysfunction, my well is dry and Mike has had to pay another price, namely my inability to offer compassion, patience, and to care or offer support.
On Sunday, I was fed up with the late times he would climb out of bed, and his lack of desire to help me around the house. Living at home is just my son and I, and since he’s 25, I believe that he needs to pick up the pace and help out with chores, without a formal request from me. As he entered my mothers house for an early Easter feast and celebration, he was apathetic and that was "it" for me! I became short, threw out a couple poorly thought-out remarks, and ended up making an ass of myself, and putting my son into a position that made him feel worse about himself, and hastening his departure.
Later that day, I received a call from his counselor, a woman who had helped me cope with my divorce, and who provided me with many skills over the years, specifically, how to best raise my children as a single dad, as they were stuck with me for most of their lives. When I answered, I was not welcomed with the warm encouraging voice of an admired counselor, but rather a woman who didn’t hold back her chastisement of me, and how I am treating my son. As it turned out, my son had contacted her to tell her that he no longer wanted to attend a counseling session with me, scheduled for the next day. At her recommendation, I was to come alone, as I needed a kick in my rear for my lack of understanding, and my unconscionable behavior.
So on Monday morning, I drove myself to San Clemente to see our counselor and take my medicine. I’m so glad I did. After I vented, I stood and took my flogging, delivered with a kind and compassionate hand. I listened. I listened hard. I believe that the Lord himself had delivered the message, and when I left, had within me a desire to learn more about his illness, and to show him, the patience and love, that had just been shown to me by my counselor.
In the Bible, we are told to “seek counsel”. We are told that the Lord forgives is “7x70”, or as many times as is necessary. I am thankful that I have a great helper, and I can start over again, and that my son loves and forgives me as well. I pray that God allows my impatience to bring to both me and my son a profound healing.
----------------------------------------
So this morning, as I gazed upon that pair of shoes, the Lord spoke to me, and I wilted.
Thoughts of a little boy, who loved nothing more than to play baseball, and go fishing, came flooding back. Thoughts of my son in his best shorts, getting an award for student of the month, sporting a huge smile, and giving me a high five after we took a pictures. I remembered his tears and ear piercing cries for rescue from his mother, and how I couldn’t be there cause I was out of town. As he began high school, how he tried to fit into sports, in church groups, and how he cried out for attention with his actions. He has never held back writing on a card his love and appreciation of me. He has done well with school after several interruptions, and is working hard to finish his degree. And now the battle in which he has chosen to engage, to rid him of issues so that he will be able to live a full and enriched life, free of the trappings of his illness.
He is my son, and in those shoes I see a child, and adolescent, and a man! In them I see a miracle in the making, a rising, a promise offered by God for the both of us. I love my son so much. To show him that love is my new job, and it’s the most important job of my life.
I embrace it and am so thankful for it! I’m thankful to God for the gift of my children, the wise counsel of well trained family therapist, and the power of the Holy Spirit that lives in my son, in me, and that provides a way… a healing if you will, a gift of love and understanding.
dw 09
I have never thought of myself as a good father. A responsible one…yes: but not a good one. How one judges ones self is determined within the soul, and my soul aches when I think of my mis-steps and bad judgments. To the outsider, I am a great father. I have provided, protected, and loved all three of my children through the good, and the bad. But to me, that is simple responsibility. My job was to make my children feel the security and live out their dreams and avoid times of great distress. Yes… I have partially failed at that and hence, my self-judgment.
This morning, I looked inside my daughter’s room, now void of any order, and used as a storage room. Some time ago she decided to spread her wings and live elsewhere. As I opened the door, amongst the old bed frames, and boxes of trinkets I intend to one day pilfer, were a pair of shoes. Black lace-up dress shoes which are my youngest son’s. As looked at them, I felt an overwhelming sense of love for my son, and yet it was accompanied by a profound sorrow.
My son and I have been going through a rough patch these days. I am told that my late blooming son suffers from much of what his mother suffers…depression and obsessive compulsive disorder. It is an illness that frankly scares me, and one which I do not understand. My patience with all the abnormal behaviors was long ago spent by dealing with his mother through a 14 year marriage, now an ancient memory of 13 years past. After such a run of dysfunction, my well is dry and Mike has had to pay another price, namely my inability to offer compassion, patience, and to care or offer support.
On Sunday, I was fed up with the late times he would climb out of bed, and his lack of desire to help me around the house. Living at home is just my son and I, and since he’s 25, I believe that he needs to pick up the pace and help out with chores, without a formal request from me. As he entered my mothers house for an early Easter feast and celebration, he was apathetic and that was "it" for me! I became short, threw out a couple poorly thought-out remarks, and ended up making an ass of myself, and putting my son into a position that made him feel worse about himself, and hastening his departure.
Later that day, I received a call from his counselor, a woman who had helped me cope with my divorce, and who provided me with many skills over the years, specifically, how to best raise my children as a single dad, as they were stuck with me for most of their lives. When I answered, I was not welcomed with the warm encouraging voice of an admired counselor, but rather a woman who didn’t hold back her chastisement of me, and how I am treating my son. As it turned out, my son had contacted her to tell her that he no longer wanted to attend a counseling session with me, scheduled for the next day. At her recommendation, I was to come alone, as I needed a kick in my rear for my lack of understanding, and my unconscionable behavior.
So on Monday morning, I drove myself to San Clemente to see our counselor and take my medicine. I’m so glad I did. After I vented, I stood and took my flogging, delivered with a kind and compassionate hand. I listened. I listened hard. I believe that the Lord himself had delivered the message, and when I left, had within me a desire to learn more about his illness, and to show him, the patience and love, that had just been shown to me by my counselor.
In the Bible, we are told to “seek counsel”. We are told that the Lord forgives is “7x70”, or as many times as is necessary. I am thankful that I have a great helper, and I can start over again, and that my son loves and forgives me as well. I pray that God allows my impatience to bring to both me and my son a profound healing.
----------------------------------------
So this morning, as I gazed upon that pair of shoes, the Lord spoke to me, and I wilted.
Thoughts of a little boy, who loved nothing more than to play baseball, and go fishing, came flooding back. Thoughts of my son in his best shorts, getting an award for student of the month, sporting a huge smile, and giving me a high five after we took a pictures. I remembered his tears and ear piercing cries for rescue from his mother, and how I couldn’t be there cause I was out of town. As he began high school, how he tried to fit into sports, in church groups, and how he cried out for attention with his actions. He has never held back writing on a card his love and appreciation of me. He has done well with school after several interruptions, and is working hard to finish his degree. And now the battle in which he has chosen to engage, to rid him of issues so that he will be able to live a full and enriched life, free of the trappings of his illness.
He is my son, and in those shoes I see a child, and adolescent, and a man! In them I see a miracle in the making, a rising, a promise offered by God for the both of us. I love my son so much. To show him that love is my new job, and it’s the most important job of my life.
I embrace it and am so thankful for it! I’m thankful to God for the gift of my children, the wise counsel of well trained family therapist, and the power of the Holy Spirit that lives in my son, in me, and that provides a way… a healing if you will, a gift of love and understanding.
dw 09
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