"Greensburg and Gratitude"
A sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman for New Member Sunday
June 14, 2009
READINGS ANCIENT AND MODERN:
Our first reading is from the Jewish scriptures, the First
Book of Kings:
And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent
the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but
the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake;
but the LORD was not in the earthquake:
And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire:
and after the fire a still small voice.
And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, 'What are you
doing here?'
Our second reading is the definition of the Synchronicity, as
offered by Wikipedia:
"Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which
are causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner.
In order to count as synchronicity, the events should be unlikely
to occur together by chance." Our minister would add that a
similar definition might be applied to the word, Grace.
SERMON:
To begin is to express my joy at being back with you, to thank
you for the opportunity of a life-time - to ride my bicycle across
the continent from Carlsbad, CA to Bowers Beach, DE - a sabbatical
odyssey that leaves even me mystified. And I was the one who was
there! I want to thank all of you for your warm and encouraging
wishes; there were times when I relied heavily upon them.
And I want to thank those of you who sponsored the journey with
your contributions to Toni's Kitchen. (For those of you who were
still hoping you might be able to contribute, or for some of you
skeptics who were waiting to see if I'd make it back, there are
still donor forms available in the Narthex or on the home page of
the congregation's website.)
And finally, I want to thank you all for the wonderfully warm welcome
that I've received since getting back home. You have allowed me
to feel appreciated and that is such an enormous and gracious gift
for you to give me. I am so very grateful.
Many of you have been asking what might have been the best part
of the trip. The truth is that there were many bests. The best shower
was at a campground in Taos, NM. The best meal was a community pot
luck supper with some friends we'd just met, who were part of the
German Brethren of the Anna Baptist Church in Sawyer, KS. The best
bike shop, and they were all excellent, was in Prescott, AZ. The
best day's ride was 120 miles, made possible by a tailwind that
wouldn't quit. The best long distance Physical Therapist was our
own Todd Edelson, who treated me for several days by phone after
my fall. The best state for courteous drivers was Maryland. The
most beautiful state was a toss-up for me between New Mexico and
West Virginia. And the list goes on.
There are many stories that will come out of my experiences in
the time to come. But I have to say that there is one story that
was most significant. And I was aware that it was, even as it unfolded.
So, it was on Saturday morning, May 2nd; we were grinding our way
across the Kansas prairie. It was gray and overcast, as we rode
in and out of headwinds and light rain. We weren't soaked to the
bone or freezing or anything like that, as we had been on some earlier
occasions. But we were wet and not so terribly thrilled with the
weather. So we stopped for a cup of coffee at a gas station in Mullinsville.
The gas station in rural America has kind of taken on the function
of the general store and town café of yesteryear.
We were sitting at a table, sipping our coffee, and talking with
a woman who was there waiting to meet with some friends. We really
had no idea of where we were. "You're about 10 miles west of
Greensburg," she said.
"Greensburg, KS," I asked? Isn't that where that horrible
tornado went through a while back, destroying just about everything?"
"Yeah," she said. "I used to live in Greensburg,
but I haven't been able to bring myself to going back ever since
the storm. They've been doing really well there, though. They're
rebuilding the town and making it all ecological and green and everything."
"Wow," I said. "I didn't know we'd be going through
Greensburg!" I told her that I'd used a story that I'd heard
about that storm as a sermon illustration. There was a woman who
had lost some wedding rings and then found them a few days later.
"It was an amazing story," I told her.
"Yeah, I think I heard about that," she said.
It's not often that you use a story from halfway across the continent,
someplace you've never been, and then later on, as your life unfolds,
you find yourself minutes away from being in that same place! By
then the rain had stopped. We got back on our bikes. And then -
blink - we were in Greensburg. As it was, it just happened to be
the second anniversary of that storm. Maybe some you remember the
story I told here back on May 20, 2007:
(Adapted from the sermon, "To Be Determined," delivered
on May 20, 2007) A devastating tornado ripped through the small
town leveling just about everything standing, destroying nearly
everything that was there. It killed nine people. Over the next
several days, National Public Radio interviewed several survivors.
The most amazing interview was with a woman who was interviewed
in her yard with her two sons. They were sifting through the rubble
of her totally demolished home, looking for some meaningful items
that had been lost. Among the lost items were two diamond rings.
One, over 100 years old, had belonged to her mother; the other was
her own engagement ring. She expressed her hope that they'd be found
along with some of the other things. She also talked a bit about
what it had been like to be in the storm, more with amazement in
her voice than anything else.
The interviewer was rather astonished by her consistently upbeat
responses. He asked, "How can you be so positive after losing
your entire house and a lifetime of memories?"
"Oh," she said. "During the storm I was scared to
death. I prayed to God that, if I survived, I promised to do no
whining. So here I am and I intend to keep that promise."
Each of the NPR interviews ended in much the same way as this one.
The reporter said, "Mrs. Hargadine, thank you for taking the
time to talk with us during such a moment as this. Good luck finding
those rings."
"Not at all," she said. "Thanks for asking. Thank
you for caring enough to be concerned." Some of the other folks
interviewed added, "Thank all your listeners for keeping us
in their prayers." By the way, there was a follow up story
a couple of days later and both rings were found!
The truth is that the storm in Greensburg did not really destroy
most everything that was there. There was a lot of destruction,
but a good many jewels were uncovered by the storm as well.
And so on May 2nd when we rode into town, amidst the hubbub of
the two-year commemoration of the storm, what we witnessed included
not only cleanly bulldozed lots where buildings, houses and businesses
had once stood, but all kinds of new structures with obvious use
of solar and wind generated power. There was lots of ongoing construction,
still in progress. The energy of the town and its people was palpable
to anyone passing through.
We went to the "Greensburg Green Town Center," where
we met all kinds of people who were working to bring new life into
the town, and we heard all kinds of stories. And with each one I'd
ask about the woman I'd talked about in the sermon illustration.
I couldn't remember the name of the family or all of the exact details.
Just that the rings had been lost and then they'd been found, and
that at the heart of the story there had been this implacable sense
of gratitude and hope. I figured, small town, who knows? Maybe someone
would know the family I was talking about. A young man who worked
at the center said, "I did hear that story and maybe a couple
of others a lot like it." But he couldn't remember any names
specifically.
In passing, we were told about the newly rebuilt John Deere dealership
where they were, that day, commemorating the second anniversary
of the storm along with their grand opening. "It's a free barbecue
lunch will all kinds of stuff going on. You should stop by, have
something to eat and meet a bunch of good people."
We hopped on our bikes and rode to the huge new dealership at the
edge of town where the mas-sive gathering of well over 1,500 people
was taking place. Within a few minutes, Bill Slezak and I were in
the food line, heading toward - what looked like and later proved
to be - a totally excellent barbecue feast. We did meet lots of
good folks in line, including Kurt and Ann Brew-baker from the Church
of the German Brethren that I mentioned earlier. I'll save their
story for another time. Each time we met someone new, I'd mention
the story about the woman and the rings.
With our plates filled to overflowing, we found space to sit at
a table along with three generations of a family that was clearly
headed by its matriarch, Jolene. She, along with her husband, Max,
welcomed us to join them like we were part of the family. You might
want to remember at this point just how Bill and I, and by this
point we were joined by our 3rd rider, Kriss Wells, you might want
to remember must have looked to this room full of very rural Midwesterners.
We were there in our brightly colored biking shirts with our spandex
shorts that looked as though they might have been spray painted
on. To top that off, I was wearing a headband fashioned from a bandanna,
in order to keep my long hair out of my eyes!
Just the same, Jolene, Max and family took us in like we were some
of their own. We talked a bit about the bike trip but we talked
a lot about the storm - where they were, how they got through it,
how their home did not. We talked about how they had put their lives
back together, how much they appreciated one another… and of
course, how grateful they were. Jolene loved to laugh and there
was lots of laughter in the telling at that table. It was wonderful.
When I got around to asking if they knew the family from the story
about the rings, Jolene said, "Well sure, that's Steve Burke
you're talking about. Oh look, there's Steve now." She pointed
to a guy carrying a plate of food just a few feet away. She jumped
up, ran over to Steve, took him by the arm, explained our presence
to him I imagine, brought him over to the table and sat him down,
right across from me. "This is your guy," she said. "This
is Steve Burke and it was his wife's and her mother's wedding rings
that got lost."
So I got to sit and have lunch with Steve for about the next half
hour. He told me the story of how their house had been leveled and
how the rings had been lost; how, days later, their teen-aged son
had found one of the rings, and then how the two of them had searched
the same area until the other was found; how he swore his son to
secrecy; how that night at supper he asked his wife to close her
eyes, while he slipped the wedding ring on her finger saying, "With
this ring, I thee wed."
"Oh, Charlie" he said. "She just started crying.
You wouldn't believe it."
"Steve," I said, blowing my nose and wiping my eyes,
"I can't stop crying just hearing about it." He was moved
to learn that I'd used the story here, and that it had touched a
number of you.
Jolene and Max and everyone rejoined the conversation as I shared
with them how their story had played out in the press, especially
on National Public Radio. "What came through most clearly,"
I said, "was your relentless sense of hope and how it seemed
to be based in your ability to experience gratitude even during
such an incredible time of loss."
"We're so glad that's what people heard," they all agreed.
And that's when Steve Burke's eyes began to well up with tears.
"You can't imagine what it's like to have lost everything
that you owned," he said. "It's just gone and you're devastated.
You think about those poor folks down in New Orleans, who were abandoned.
But then all kinds of folks came to town - to help out and to hear
us tell our stories. And it's so clear that they care. And then
you can't help but to feel, deep in your heart, so very grateful.
You've got nothing, and still people care. That's something to be
grateful for…and it gives you hope."
It wouldn't have mattered to me if we'd left Greensburg and came
home that same afternoon. The trip had been made for me - wholly
and holy - sitting there at that table, basking in the bounty that
had been laid out for me. It was a very precious gift.
Eventually, Steve had to go off to talk with some other folks.
A while later, we hugged and said goodbye to Jolene, Max and their
tribe. Probably less than 2 ½ hours after we'd leaned them
up against the sign in the front of the dealership, we got back
on our bikes. We started pedaling east towards Pratt, our destination
for the day, about 40 miles up the road.
It didn't matter that the family name, Hargadine, in the story
I'd remembered from two years ago was different from Steve Burke's.
It turns out that the same experience was one that might have been
shared by as many as four families in town. What mattered was that
this was Greensburg's story. And in truth, it is a story that belongs
to all of us. It was given to us by Emma Faye Hargadine and Steve
Burke, by Jolene and Max and all the people of Greensburg.
To me, this is a story that was given to us by the Spirit of Life
that holds us in being; from which we emerge and back into which
we return; the Spirit of Life in which we are found, and then at
times lost, and we pray found again; the Spirit of Life by which
we are blessed with riches so great we can't even count them, and
fooled by riches so insignificant that we can't even recognize the
smallness of their value, sometimes until it has been stripped away,
leaving the truer riches to shine back up to us from somewhere in
the mud.
This story of Greensburg, this story of humanity, of gratitude
and hope is our story, given to us by the Spirit of Life; not once,
but twice; not just from far away, but from right up close, at a
communion table where we are all held in one humanity - here on
this earth, with the potential to live and to love, to be grateful
and to have hope. I've got to think that, as stories from my journey
go, it really doesn't get any better than this.
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