Saint Paul's United Church of Christ 401 East Main Street Barrington, Illinois 60010

Hi Bill (Bill Bishop, who will be best man at my wedding),

So wonderful and timely to see you in church today. Thanks for the lift back home, and for listening to my remarkable epiphany.

This is what the Lord has put onto my heart: back to your original idea to stage "events" for membership outreach physically on the grounds of St Paul's, this IS the way to go, if the church council can be sold on the idea of a regularly scheduled, periodic meeting on Sunday afternoons, and the right thing to do is to target other praise band teams in the area, inviting them to put on about 25-30 minute performances, with enough participants to provide about a 3-hour venue (probably open mic is the right way to present it - with the stipulation that each week would be featured performers from various of the local churches) for fellowship, worship, praise, food, coffee, cola, singing, song, and dancing. SOMEBODY has to host the event; it may as well be St Paul's, unless or until someone else steps up to take up the cause (ultimately, a rotating format might be the way to go, if there is enough interest from local churches).

Teen-aged suicide awareness falls quite naturally into this purview (we need to discuss with Paul Tack, who worked many years with my mother at the Jewel Tea Corporation what it is that St. Anne is doing in this regards. To my knowledge, this is the only local church that actively addresses this issue, counseling its children on how to recognize the signs of at-risk-for-suicide youths. To my knowledge this is the only local organization that dares to even whisper the words "teen suicides" in the same breath; the 800-pound gorilla in the living room).

I was so impressed with Jana's acknowledgement of Dark-side Jana today. I had not given her credit for so much self-awareness, although I do believe that if I were to tell her of the five specific instances in which she exposed her evil-spirited bitchy side, and NOT merely to me, she might faint away dead that she had been caught so off guard. But, perhaps, like the recalcitrant child, she recognized that I could be the one to be counted upon for calling her on her bull feathers. I daresay y'all have some boundary issues that make you reluctant to do so, as was discussed at the round table this afternoon.

I'd like you to present the following to Jana and the rest of the leadership crew (star-ship St Paul's UCC, boldly going where no churches have gone before). You'll never get a more sincere, nor more heartfelt, nor better written recommendation than this one (he said, as a statement of fact, which no pride whatsoever; it simply is what it is).

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Saint Paul's United Church of Christ
401 East Main Street
Barrington, Illinois 60010

As kind, generous, non-judgmental, loving, and caring a congregation as you'll ever find, is St. Paul's United Chruch of Christ in Barrington, Illinois. Many of Barrington's foremost and prominent community-serving families have their membership roots grounded here, where Pastor Jana Chwalisz is as a fine a composer and deliverer of sermons as has ever walked the planet. Rene Krupper the very gifted and pragmatic director of music, directs as individually talented a group of musicians as ever you will find, and she uses the various ensembles (Praise Team, Senior Choir, Handbell Choir) in a set rotation so that each ensemble has the opportunity to hear the other two ensembles at least two weeks out of every month.

Although a relatively small congregation (89 families signed pledge offerings for calendar year 2011), their leadership has dared to dream big dreams and will almost undoubtedly grow rapidly over the next five years.

Some of the really nice and things about the Sunday services include:

Large print for the Bulletin;

Their Hymnal is very traditional - they don't update it every 10 years or so, as to the Lutherans, sometimes, or so it seems, for the mere sake of updating the hymnal;

They actively embrace, welcome and nourish gay couples;

They actively embrace, welcome, and nourish peoples of color;

They proudly proclaim the names of the relatives of those who attend that serve in the military;

They proudly fly the American flag;

Each week, as part of the regular devotional service, Pastor Jana asks those assembled to tell of prayers which have been answered, or prayers which are needed for friends / family / loved ones, or even groups of poor and marginalized peoples from all over the globe, and upon collecting all the information, then prays for them leading the congregation in prayer, and then ensures that these people / groups are placed in the following week's church bulletin to ensure at least one more week of on-going prayers for them.

The church had 150 children in their summer vacation Bible school (the word is out - St Paul's does GOOD by your kids);

The elected church council has been dealing with issues few churches see in 100 years these past 12 months and has developed and implemented innovative action plans to deal with the realities of an ongoing (since 1854) but relatively stagnant membership population as thoughtfully, insightfully, and imaginatively creative, willing to learn, willing to grow, willing to change, honest and open as any you will EVER encounter. They also recognize these times of trials and tribulations as an incredible opportunity to sit back and take a very close look at just what it means to be a church; just what the church expects from its pastor; just what the pastor has to offer the church; just what the church needs to do to prosper, GROW, and thrive.

This past year they had to deal with some of the most difficult decisions an established church will ever have to come to grips with and dealt with fundamental questions about just what it was that the church wanted, needed, and expected from its pastoral staff, and what was realistic to ask of said staff. Their response was one that ENRON might well have paid $1,00,000 to a management consulting firm to produce.

If you enter a church service a stranger, you will leave with at least three new and very close, caring friends.

The membership is quite familiar with and sympathetic to the human condition, and they are NOT afraid to tell you when you have done something stupid THAT you have done something stupid, but invariably append, "We love you anyway; we simply had to tell you for your own good because CLEARLY nobody else cares enough about you to tell you these simple (and very obvious) truths."

The UCC is very active in its support to countries around the world. St Paul has sent ministers and congregants to the southern reaches of Mexico where Commandante Marcos and the indigenous Indian peoples are engaged in a struggle to reclaim lands from the wealthies of land-owners for the poor peoples of Southern Mexico.

The church is strongly engaged in local ministries and outreaches to the less fortunate citizens of the area. The church has a sister-church and the two churches engage in joint projects to proclaim and affirm the love of God in their lives.

BEST PART of Sunday worship is the fellowship snacks and coffee afterwards, where virtually every one who attended the service can be found in the fellowship hall sitting or standing, coffee cup in hand, chatting with old friends, or the newest faced visitor (even ones with very bad hair cuts; even ones with hair dyed BLUE!).

I was first drawn to enter the church doors and engage due to the Wednesday afternoon Bible Study (proudly proclaiming “Open to All”), which consisted of lunch, prayer, a round table group of bible-investigators, and another 75-90 minutes of discussion by some VERY knowledgeable ministers (when first I attended one of these, the pastor staff consisted of a Senior Pastor, an Assistant Pastor, and an unpaid Associate Pastor - these three were SO gung ho into the Good Book that they would bring volumes of commentaries on the particular book of the bible being studied and point out matters that might easily escape the eye of one new to Bible study.

I have here only scratched the surface of what this precious gem of a congregation brings bright-shining to a stranger who first enters its doors (all of which but one are locked during the worship service, the better to keep the young Sunday School children safe from those whose intentions are not good) in radiant, loving splendor its church members, and even non-members who regularly attend because once you meet these loving people, they become part of you in a way that is unique. St. Paul's is like a magnet; once you come under its orbit, you are there forever.

Come one; Come all; the words "All Are Welcomed in this Place," were never spoken and written more truer to what is practiced and believed by the denizens of this faith community, and you may rest assured, these words are used on the web page of another protestant church in town, but the senior pastor, the staff, and the congregation DO NOT PUT INTO PRACTICE these words: Citing just two examples, the senior pastor prohibted entrance into the church a 47-year member who had been confirmed there; for over one year, a black woman attended the services and spoke with great length with the then senior pastor (no longer at the local, Barrington church, of her saddness that not once did any member invite her into their homes from coffee, or lunch, and this, she really could not understand, because they all seemed to kind and loving in the Narthex (she also commanded that the senior pastor not tell anyone of what she had told him, and, he quite wrongly to my mind, did as she had requested – sometimes it is far more cruel to be kind; sometimes we must make promises and tell lies we have no intention of keeping).

God Bless You, St Paul's United Church of Christ of Barrington, Illinois - you have been better to me and more caring for me than my own family, than my original Barrington Church where I was at one time or another actively involved in 14 different ministries; more accepting and less judgmental of me than most of my so-called "closest" friends; you fear me not nor do you fear to call me on my stupidity (or pride, or vanity) because you LOVE me enough to risk making me angry, were I not aware that you do these things only out of loving concern, and that your loving concern is well placed and based on the experience of many years of trials and tribulations which virtually every human being will encounter at one time of crisis or another in their lives.

May the peace of the Lord God almighty reside within you, and within your households, and within the lives of all the people and creatures you love, these things I ask, heavenly Father, in the name of your Beloved Son, Jesus the carpenter, fisher, teacher, healer, teller of stories, rabbi, teacher, saviour, if it be Thy Will, AMEN.



With LOVE to you, and ALL You LOVE,
Mark Raymond Ganzer

Prayer for Noah - beloved grand son of my beloved Kathleen

Heavenly Father, please send your Angels to shield and shelter and comfort and defend Noah, who is going through that time of tribulation when every thing is going crazy - he's growing physically, he's growing spiritually, he's growing intellectually, and the world is not at all looking the same as it did but one short year ago. Help him to find HIS community in high school, where he can be nourished and fed and watered, and come to grow into the Noah You had always intended for him to be, and to do so much less painfully than sometimes happens to Your beloved children whose parents and grand parents forget how important it is to constantly remind their children (or grand children, as the case may be) that:

they are perfectly formed in your image,
that they are loved by you with a wondrous love that surpasseth all human understanding,
and that they are good ...
and that all of this shall increase seven fold, even seventy times seven fold,

for You are watching over us all, and even the hairs on our head are numbered. You know us, You know the nether depths and regions of our hearts, and You know the joy, the delight, the gifts we bring to your universe to help cultivate it, to make it better. Please Dear God, help him through these turbulent times to understand that this too shall pass, and that the last shall be first, and that ours is Your kingdom on earth, this we ask in Your name, Dear Lord, if it be Thy will, AMEN.

Further losses

I lost entirely the desire to live and wanted to take my own life, cutting my throat with my Swiss army knife. In this endeavour, I failed miserably, and was made all the more miserable for not being brave enough to take my own life. My alcohol counselor, Ginger Jordan, the former nun who eventually dropped her habit to marry one of her professors, and who related to me the angst felt by the mob hit man (whom she named not) who had to get drunk before he killed those he had been ordered to execute (must have had a pretty steady hand to make such good shots, assuming, perhaps wrongly, that he was a shooter, and assuming even further, against, perhaps wrongly, that he was a he, was entirely unimpressed. Perhaps she had other clients who were far more competent when it came to the taking of their lives.

In point of fact, she was probably a nice enough human being, but, as far as providing any meaningful counseling, she was a worthless cunt, and, coming from me, that is a pretty harsh judgment, because that pussy thing ought to be worth a fortune, to anyone willing to shake the money maker.

Gingah, dahlin', you ought not to divulge such confidences - but, you couldn't help yourself, could you, you just had to let me know, just like the little kid who discovers for the first time the intense pleasure of touching his own penis and goes out and about sharing his self-touched penis for all to see.

Christ, how do such people become therapists? The Rapists? Sick fucks all, themselves, no doubt.

But in my loss of the desire to live
I gained the knowledge that even a life not worth living
Was a life worth keeping, or, far the more likely, I learnt
that the Lord God Almighty loved (and continues to love
in that steadfast way as is repeatedly promised to us) me
enough to send his most powerful archangels to keep open
that crack where still, a little light could get in
and while even though life might not have been worth living
life was worth something, even to me, who was worthless,
ugly, wicked, manipulative, deceitful, perverted, yes,
despite (or maybe even because) of the seeringly deep soul searching
that I have engaged in over the years, especially intensely at times,
depsite all that, I have GAINED the knowledge that I AM,
and ALWAYS WILL BE, a child of the Lord of Love, perfectly formed
in HIS IMAGE, and that I am (and always have been, and always will be)
GGGGGGGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!

A song for my son (the last one - son and song both? quis sais?)

This is one of about four songs / poems I've written for Adam (Son Shine, might be lost forever, but Mike Meyers, a local architect has it in his archives, which he hasn't looked through in 20 years ... sigh)

The inspiration for this was the time between the night Adam called me (well, his mom dialed to tell me Adam wanted to talk with me) to tell me he was not going to continue with his piano lessons. He was crying, fearful / tearful I suspect, because he knew how much I love the piano, and was worried he would disappoint me by wanting to quit. "Oh, no, Adam," I assured him, "I quit piano lessons too. This is the whole point of having raised you, so that you would be able to make these kinds of decisions for yourself."

I was nervous about what he would be like coming over on the weekend, but I needn't have been. He was SO damn happy, had so much fun with Scott, and Nathan (this was in the era B.G. - before Graham became a 1/2 brother and cousin). I was relieved; he had survived.

The sound of your laughter
Lingers long after
Long, after you're gone,
Sustaining me to carry on.

The light from your eyes
Cuts and shines through the darkest night surprise
And points the way
To a bright sun-shiny day.

The sound of your laughter
Lingers long after
Long, after you're gone,
Sustaining me to carry on.

The light from your eyes
Cuts and shines through the darkest night surprise
And points the way
To a bright sun-shiny day.

The sound of your laughter
Lingers long after
Long, after you're gone,
Sustaining me, feeding me, nourishing me, to carry on
Sustaining me to carry on.

The most remarkable thing about the poem / song (and which ever comes first, because the melody was, to the best of my cognitive functioning, an original) is that when I perform it, the length of time is over six and a half minutes. There are not even any vocals until about the two minute, twenty second point. Kind of like a Grateful Dead Jam that ultimately bears much fruit (honey, I love you).

With Love, to all of you reading this, to You, and ALL YOU LOVE - MarKUSS

My saddest loss, I count a greater gain

I was a patient at your facility from 10 November, 2011 through 15 November, 2011.

While I found much of what you have to offer to be sadly lacking (this, be assured, I will address under separate cover), I did follow up on an exercise recommended by the nurse who saw me on 11-11-2011, whose name I can't recall.

The (female) nurse recommended to me that I make a "grief chart" of all that I had lost in my life.

This I did this afternoon, with the most remarkable result occurring, which I would really appreciate if you could share with her, because I suspect your staff does not get a whole lot of positive feed back from clients on the mental health ward (feel free to share it with anyone else you wish to, especially on that ward).

For every loss I recorded, I was blessed with an even greater gain, and to see this, on paper, is truly a revelation.

My sincere thanks to that kind nurse for listening to me well enough to make it worth my while to follow up and complete her recommended exercise. This is, in fact, an incredible revelation which I shall be sharing on several of my blogs, and with my facebook Power of Prayer (an invitation only intercessory prayer) Group.

Sincerely,

Mark Raymond Ganzer


LOSSES:

My dog spot died when I was 10. I cried like a baby for hours. I lost spot, I gained humanity.

My Uncle Jim died when I was 17. I did not cry for 15 years. I lost Jim, I gained the knowledge that my country routinely fights unnecessary wars, that our soldiers have all died in vain in EVERY war we've fought, at least since WWII, and that I must oppose with every fiber of my being all present and future "wars of choice" in which we invariably pick on a helpless nation with natural resources or geopolitical significance to continue our imperialist, murdering, maurading ways.

I lost a number of girl friends that broke up with me - almost invariably, I have gained their friendship and kept their admiration for my gentle kindness and listening ear, and have come to realize that these are gifts that I can give freely, and that I not only ought to, but that I must.

I lost my innocence; I gained a healthy skepticism.

I lost my virginity; I gained an insight into incredibly selfish motivation.

I lost my grand parents; I gained insights into their short comings, and even (for one in particular) mean-spiritedness -- I gained the reinforcement needed to assure that I will not be mean-spirited (which does not mean that I will not raise hackles; truth tellers are rarely appreciated by those of whom the truth is being revealed).

I lost a job which encompassed my identity; I gained a new identity that did not rest on the coat tails of another person, place or thing.

I lost an extremely lucrative career, and gained the knowledge and wisdom to know that it is better to virtually starve doing something you love than to live very well doing something that conflicts in a major way with your ideals, goals, and values.

I lost a house - and lost all of the heart aches such things bring; it never would have been a home - so I gained the ability to be the authentic me and delight in the consequences rather than to be inauthentic, grit my teeth, churn my stomach, and bear it.

I lost the friendship and respect of many people who did not appreciate the various stages of my metamorphisis - I gained the knowledge of the identity of my truest friends, who stuck with me and supported me in my hours of rebellion and soul-searching; I gained back the time I had wasted trying to please those who only saw me as someone with a lot to offer at a cheap price who now will have nothing to do with me.

I lost my entire family (at one time or another) and gained an even larger group of communities into which I am respected and admired, but also called to task for the foolishnesses I still commit.

I lost my son -- but he gave up on me, and thus, having given him the best father I could have been, leave him with those lessons. My job of raising him is long since finished; I have done it well, and he will be able to survive and thrive the rest of his life.

I lost my mother to death - but gained the knowledge that she lives, just elsewhere, in a different form.

I lost access to the church I was confirmed in and a member of for 47 years; I gained 5 churches and one mosque where I am loved, respected, and cherished for my volunteer efforts.

In each and every instance, what I lost was replaced by so much more; by so much more.

Telling the ones you love that you love them, and why

This is one of the four or five most important things we get to do in life. One of my most cherished girl friends from high school and I reaquainted on face book. She apologized to me for "treating me badly" back in high school. Sheesh, I NEVER once thought that, and told her so. She now works counseling unwed mothers, being with them through their pregnancy as they carry it to full term. Some of these young girls have no one else. I'm weeping now just from the joy of having been loved by someone who follows so devoutly in the way as shown and told to us by Jesus of Nazereth - carpenter, fisher, teacher, leader, healer, story-teller, saviour.

 

Hi Donna! I'm sorry to hear that your folks are ailing. They were always so kind and generous to me, always made me feel I was welcomed and loved in their home, an honored guest at the dinner table, and they trusted me to be good to you (showing their extraordinarily excellent judgement of character)!

I doubt I ever shared this with you, but, it is as good as anything I ever wrote. I was saddened when you realized that I was not the boy friend you needed at that time of your life, but looking back, I was looking for something that was more than you were looking to share, which happens so frequently. But my motivation was honorable, and I did adore you so much (and have grown, thanks to this here facebook thingie, to adore you and admire you all the more:

China Doll

Here is evidence that I was once young, romantic, and subject to heartbreak. Didn't even know I still had a copy of this, written in 1969, when I wore a younger man's clothes. Assuredly, I gave away too much of myself - in those days anyway. Has anything changed?

China Doll

I am a China Doll.

Fragile.

Don't breath too hard,

I might fall and shatter.

The little brown-eyed, blond haired,

four year old child holds me

in his fingers (he can squeeze and I

might or might not shatter, probably

not, he's not yet strong, although he is

as a god with the power

of life and death. Unconsciously

he holds me to set me

down gently to play with

another day or to end suddenly

me. and when he does (he will, for he

knows no better) he may laugh,

or he may cry, but he will be

changed and he will remember.

I am a China Doll.

Fragile.

Don't breath to hard,

I might fall and shatter.

You hold me in your heart,

now, at least. You hold me

more than you will ever know.

A China Coll is at first fascinating,

lovable. But a China Doll

is unsure and even having the

power, he can only hold it impotently

until it inevitably changes hands.

You hold me more than you will

ever know. You hold me to set

me down gently to play with

another day or to drop and end suddenly,

me. you know, or at least should know

that China Dolls break and suddenly;

though if not forever, broken, they are changed.

I can be glued together again, and

again, and maybe I'll laugh and

maybe I'll cry, but I will be changed

and I will remember, and

I will break and break and break and break and break and

break and break again until finally,

I jump. Myself. And shatter

into a million lost pieces.

A China doll.

YOU HOLD ME MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW.

This was all about you, and your youngest brother, and, of course, me. But the problem with me was that I invested and placed in your hands too much responsibility for my own autonomy, which is never a good thing.

One of my favorite songs is Kathy's Song, by Simon and Garfunkel. But, the problem with that song, is that the poet has invested too much of his autonomy, too much of his heart, in another human being. That's WAY too much to give away, and way to much to put on some one else's plate. Lord only knows, we have enough of our own life to deal with without having someone dump theirs into our laps.

I've developed a wonderful (albeit long distance) relationship with Kathleen Harris, as amazing a human being as ever I've met (and I've met quite a few amazing ones - in the best sense of "amazing"). I re-worked the Simon and Garfunkel song for her, and for what she gives to me, for what we share, and for what we hold on to of our own. Here goes:

I hear the drizzle of the rain

Like a sweet melody it falls

Soft and warm continuing

Tapping on my roof and walls

And from the safe harbor of my mind

Through the bay window of my eyes

I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets

To L.A. Where my heart lies

My mind is focused, unconfused

Though my thoughts are many miles away

They dream of of when you're asleep

They kiss you when you start your day

And I song I was writing's so soon done

I don't know how you inspire me so

Filling me with God's grace and Love

Always remembering to let me know

And as I watch those drops of rain

Weave their cheery paths and thrive

I know that I am like the rain

When I'm with you I'm most alive

And so you see I have no doubts

All that I once held still holds as true

I stand tall, sharing my beliefs

In the one true God with you

All is inordinately well in my world. I know what I am called to do, and it still leaves me with much time to do much, much more; to learn something new every day; and to rejoice in the simplest of things. I am blessed in so many ways, and you have indeed been one of those blessings.

Warmest regards, deepest gratitude.

Mark

We must always cherish the children in our lives who radiated love, even when we deserved it not

Can it really be 25 years since I first intruded into your family's life, on my birthday, called your dad on the phone because another actuary that we had both worked with said, "You remind me of this other actuary, Bill ######."

Yes, oh ray of light, shining so bright,
Dancing so gracefully all day
Dancing so gracefully all night

I seldom read my e-mails at this addy any more, and so just found this tonight, after an interesting five days in a mental hospital (checked my own self in - anything to get away from my father, at the time, who was being quite the jerk, what with my mom having died and all, he really ought to have offered me parting words other than these: "Who's going to take care of me?" {as I left to wend my way on my own to a mental health clinic, ending up not at the one I sought - transportation still being something of an issue with me - but another one, which got me rested up, my blood pressure down from 195 / 140 to about 140 / 85 and my blood sugars from about 325 to 125 ... my oh my oh my oh my - some bad sugar habits had evolved, my sweet one})

Ah, yes, them; fathers. So often entirely clueless about how to treat their daughters and all too often cavalier by too much with their quips when they should have kept their mouths shut, their tongues tied, and their ears opened and been prepared NEVER to judge .... but, by and large, it is not in their nature.

So, I blog (probably the world's most prolific bloggers, not merely because I run about 19 of the things, but because I post 100's of postings - ugh, horrid syntax - per week, when I'm all a'fire)

MarkGanzersBlog.Blogspot.Com was my first blog.

I tried to kill it, by not posting, and three months later, I was getting over 200 hits a day. I now post international issues there.

MarkGanzersInsanityBlog.Blogspot.Com -- US politics, cultural commentary, media criticism

MarkGanzersWritings.Blogspot.com -- my creative writing

MarkGanzersPhotos.Blogspot.com -- stuff from my extended families

You might be interested.

Or not.

From everything I ever knew about you, you were a bona-fide Genesis I child - perfectly formed in God's own image, and you were good. None of this could have possibly changed. You are now the you you always were going to be, joyous, loving, and yet .... honest, righteous, courageous. And these traits, while all are admirable, and we are taught all are traits we should attempt to attain and hone, these are traits that are virtually never appreciated by, hmm, how shall I say this next word ... assholes?

Too harsh perhaps. Too crude. Not appreciated by those whom ostensibly have power over you - parents, teachers, preachers, cops, bosses, etc, etc.

It terrifies them to be told the truth - most people are ill-suited for what they do - they just fall into it. They are lazy, incompetent, sometimes willfully so, sometimes just mismatched with where their true love of doing is and what they are doing instead is - doing in order to worship at the altar of consumption, at the altar of appearances, at the alter of never criticizing the institution which pays for their daily bread, and their useless toys, and poisonous food, and unhealthy attacks on their intellect and integrity.

But, I speak in generalizations; I speak mythically.

But, because I once knew you, and quite well, because you were always the BEST ANGELA you could be (and you gave this matter more than a little thought - you were kind, caring, sharing, giving, forgiving, nonjudgmental, but oh so brutally honest - as in "the emperor has no clothes" that honesty which the child's eye always sees, and which the child's heart and mind cannot keep silent on -- because the weak are exploited, and this is wrong, and the child always knows right from wrong.

I want you to remember this always:

you made a broken, middle-aged man feel loved
you were a model of what a free spirit this fat, balding,
middle-aged man might become
if only he were to free himself from
the unrewarding job of always trying to please everyone
and in the end pleasing no one,
least of all, his own self

And thus the poet / mystic / wrote: To thine own self be true.

And these words, to me, will always define you.

I am here, as you can see, or

xxxxxxxxxx@yyyyyyyyyy.com (only my most cherished and beloved of friends know of this e-mail)

and still at (847) @@@ - zzzz

And I love to ride the rails on the weekend unlimited rail pass
And thus do I pass through Chicago frequently,
And have come to find many comforting places
And friends who welcome me back again and again

And if you would like me to be your friend (still)
Then I shall be (and I always will)

With Love to you, and ALL You LOVE,
Mark Raymond Ganzer
(VARK)

BARELY MAKING SENSE OF ANY OF IT – based on an idea suggested by Chase Pomerich A MEDITATION RECALING THE STORY OF JOB INTERWOVEN WITH THE BEATITUDES

Some people go through life, cursed, as children, from birth,
With loving, supportive financially comfortable families,
Safe secure households, neighborhoods, and communities,
Wonderful and like-minded family friends who
watch out for these cursed children
And know what limits have been set on them
And promptly act when those boundaries are crossed,
Whether or not crossed intentionally or
crossed accidentally,
And furthermore, they will report these
trespasses to the judge, jury, and executioner
(In most families, these responsibilities are
delegated to and hats worn by mother).

Why cursed at first? Because ultimately, LIFE intervenes,
Circumstances are turned topsy-turvy, and
What was once comfortable and familiar, is ripped away,
As if torn from bone like flesh being devoured
by jackals, hyenas, and zombies.
And, for all appearances, lost and gone forever,
Despite the honorable, dedicated intentions of
father, mother, aunts, uncles,
grand parents, cherished friends, fellow congregants,
business associates, etc, etc, etc.

Loss of employment

the loss of a job – even the loss of a career
(The computer revolution has obsoleted entire industries,
(and those employed therein; These jobs are not returning, ever;
(One must learn to reinvent one's self, perhaps
(Many times, and perhaps at ever shorter intervals of times in between).

Loss of loved ones
Death (suicide being the most brutal form
(to those accursed and left living thereof,
(Something, sadly, was wrong all the long
(We just never saw it coming, until the beloved one is
(Now too far and too long gone to be healed, much less revived.
(Suicide is the second leading cause of death
(of our accursed children, aged 15-24).

(Could it be that being born into what for all appearances
(is a very healthy and Nurturing environment,
(could it be the accursed children are not subsequently prepared to
(Cope with these simple truths: That much of life is about loss –
(That much of life is about failure, and that our bond
(to all of humanity, now, and in All times and at all places
(is that the singular commonality of our experiences is
(Woven together with our losses, and bundled up
(with our failures, and neither loss nor
(Failure is worth the taking of one's own life. We stumble, we fall,
(All of us stumble and fall – We are expected, compelled to,
(and demanded by the Universe to ARISE and CRAWL
(so that we might once again WALK and then RUN;
(So that ultimately we might once again FLY,
(sailing among the heavens, angel-like grace.)

Loss of good health

(Disease knows no socio-economic barriers
(as the revelers in Edgar All Poe's The Mask of Red Death
(would discover: No racial divides, no gender Differentiations.
(The cursed children of doctors too, and maybe even especially,
(Fall victim to the willful, wanton, in plain sight
(secret poisoning of our mother earth
(And their own childrens' weakened immunological systems.
(Cancer the indiscriminate killer; the ultimate
(Eegalitarian Strike Force of Death.
(The addicts' poisons of choice – alcohol, heroin,
coke or a myriad of others, alone, but mostly in combination,
(especially with alcohol, the great mixer.
(Accidents too, frequently random,
(SOMETIMES (and tragically, utterly Foreseeable,
(but – too late. The AIDS virus took so many unaware,
(back in the day when THE VIRUS was but a rumor printed
(about and hinted at solely in the underground gay undergroun press.
(Who could have foreseen that an infected blood transfusion
(Administered to save a life Would ultimately take that life,
(Especially when the potential devastation of the disease
(was assuredly NOT a secret And such consequences
(utterly predictable to the health care communities
(That administered their healing efforts to gay men
(and to intravenous drug users;
(“What? Ask Prez Reagan to worry about those
(damn junkie homos? Fat chance.”)

Loss of innocence
About one of every six women in America has been
the victim of a rape of attempted rape.

Loss of faith in flag and country:
In WWII – troops with head or spinal injuries usually
died on the battlefield.
In Veit Nam – they usually died by the time
they could be flown to Germany.
In Iraq (and Afghanistan, and the other Bannanastans,
most of the brain and spinal injured
can be flown to Germany for medical treatment
and these lives are saved.
BUT, those troops who suffer from such combat injuries,
the parapeliegacs, quadrapeliegacs, and brain-damaged,
the lives of these troops will never be the same.
Their physical lives have been saved, but they now
must make major adjustments
to have anything resembling a “normal” life.

Once upon a time, loved ones prayed that their soldier
might return alive;
Now they pray that their beloved soldier returns alive,
and not have been afflicted by brain or spinal injuries.
They pray too that their beloved soldier will not
become headline news for her torturing of prisoners,
children, women too, That their soldier will not feel
compelled out of a sense of hatred of “the other”
To rape the 14-year old daughter of an Iraqi family,
and then murder hef and heretofore Family,
and then burn their home down in order to
avoid detection, and punishment.

The LOSS OF the sacred, secure, SAFE HOME – father's castle -
the loss of community standing,
The total loss of self-esteem.

The outright theft of assets by trusted financial advisers,
The sudden and (apparently) inexplicable madness
that descends and lingers.
Alzheimer's and dementia too, such are these,
as if the fates had patiently waited,
all the while targeting these cursed children.

At least SOME of these tragic events will ultimately befall
each and everyone of us, And so, cursed are they as children
who are doomed to live for years Understanding only at
the level of intellect, LOSS as grave,
LOSS as tragic, LOSS as unbearable,
as these heretofore already mentioned –
(having mentioned only a few, the numbers are legion) -
Noting only the absence of the presence
of former peers, beloved friends,
who, because of circumstances
Beyond their control, are forced to disperse,
Forced to seek out the poorer quarters
where the ragged people go
And look for the places only the ragged people know.

And yet, Devin, through all these losses
which you have endured
You remained faithful to the one to whom
you made your wedding vows to love, honor, cherish and obey
TILL DEATH YOU DO PART.
For twenty-five years, foregoing your own blossoming career,
BECAUSE You believed in him (far more than he in himself)
to be able to support your family
` All the while so dimly and vaguely aware
that he had begun the soul-stealing

Dance with Thantos before you ever knew him;
that depression and alcoholism
Cast lots for his soul, always ending in no decision,
because who can answer that question:
“Which came first, the addiction or the depression?”
And Thantos spun him every more rapidly, until the room rolled
And he had lost all control, and his soul was up for grabs
(But even in this, he was still a beloved child or God, AND
(You all the long saw all the good in him; all the potential).
And you never cursed your God, nor the fates, nor asked, even,
The most likely question of all: “Why me, Lord?”
THAT, was never about you. That lost cause
had been writ in stone LONG before
the two of you ever knew, that perhaps,
from your union, great things would come
(As indeed, great things have come –
withness Chase; withness Reed; witness you).

And while some would develop, as a means of self defense,
A steel-hard shell around their heart,
a cast iron cage around their soul,
a minefield around their mind,
You only look at people, and see the good in them.
You could have but did not become hard-shelled,
and been forgiven for it, BUT:

You are soft-shelled
You are open-shelled
And because of all this, I give you this gift.
That you might always remember what
I most admire about you

With love to you and ALL YOU LOVE:
A Survivor's Guide to Life – du moi à toi

BLESSED ARE THEY WHO SUFFER YOUNG,
EARLY, AND OFTEN, FOR IN THEIR
YEARS OF ABJECT MISERY,
THEY SHALL KNOW THE JOY OF COMFORTING
THOSE MUCH LESS FORTUNATE THAN THEMSELVES
WHOSE NUMBERS ARE LEGION.

THUS, IN SLUMBER, WE CAN DREAM
OF JOYOUS, CAREFREE, HAPPY DAYS,
OF A KINDLER GENTLER, MORE CHIRST-LIKE EVOLVEMENT
OF HUMANOIDS INTO HUMAN KIND
WE REST AUSSED KNOWING
IN OUR HEARTS, IN OUR GUTS,
THAT ONE DAY THE CHILDREN
OF IRELAND'S PROTESTANTS
AND THE CHILDREN
OF IRELAND'S CATHOLICS WILL
SING, DANCE, LAUGH AND PLAY
WITH ONE ANOTHER,
AS ARE BEGINNING TO SO DO
THE GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT
GRANDCHILDREN OF AMERICAN
SLAVE OWNERS AND
THE GREAT-GREAT GRANDCHILDREN
OF AMERICAN SLAVES,
AS WILL THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS
OF THE PALESTINIANS, TOO,
SING, DANCE, LAUGH AND PLAY WITH
THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE ISRAELI JEWS.


IN'SHA AHLLAH

Transitory


I see the morning sun a-rising
Ever so slowly the sun floats higher
Till it soars.
The blue sky's brilliant background
for fluffy white clouds
that catch and hold the imaginings
of young girls and boys.
And I am happy, very happy
And I sing.

I feel the noon time's sun's
heat upon me
Radiant warmth caressing
Blue sky's morphing to greyish hue
And I am happy, very happy
And I sing.

I hear the crickets chirping
As evening's sun drops down
And the western sky's afire
Amid brilliant purple clouds
Too soon to be extinguished
By the night.
Oh where's the joy
Of this glorious day lost?
In my memory; only in my memory now.

Preserve your memories, boy,
they're the last thing that's left you.

They Come Still They Come

They come still they come
They come still they come

Escape from the monotony
To find what life can really be

They come still they come
They come still they come

Run from a home life failed
From the anchor of life and a larger scale

They come still they come
They come still they come

Live in filth and trash that are real
Leave those whose minds were always sealed

They come still they come
They come still they come

Embrace a life of hunger and disease
Take a trip to put their minds to ease

They come still they come
They come still they come

They knowing only the artificial high
They dropping acid to see God go by
They come still they come
They come still they come

They float through reality in hope to find
What they're really missing calme peace of mind

They come still they come
They come still they come

So if they freak, it's not so bad
Remember the hell that they once had

They come still they come
They come still they come

And if they die, that too's all right
It's easier being dead than to keep up the fight

They come no more
No more they come

My God in heaven above! What in the world leads a teenager (me) to write poems like this? Angst? What in God's holy name is it?

It is, I am QUITE certain, the work of the devil, as little doubts begin to form, as we (teenagers) start to view the world much differently, noting full well, those inconsistencies that are always here.

GUILT (But I have Caused Tears)

Exhausted, depressed,
on the verge of breaking down,
no longer caring, especially for myself,
I reflected: Why am I here?
Could anyone have been created for this meaningless end?
The talents once possessed, are buried now,
laying fallow, with my old ideals, never to be resurrected.

Why? Desires that leave an emptiness encompass me,
desperate sorrow hidden behind mock smiles.
Fear, hidden superficial acts of courage;
Thoughts that can't find express themselves in words;
Joys that hold no meaning. Why?
Have I helped another, or even myself?
No. But I have caused tears;
a waterfall of tears.

Praying for a forgiving God


Alone except for myself
I pull my life's book off its shelf
To see a youth misspent
Aimlessly wasted, I wonder where it went?

Too much time devoted to the trivial
Always was blinded to the meaningful
To late did I open my eyes to see
Through the eyes staring at the empty shell that is me

Defenseless and alone I stand
My fates cast to the winds, drifting out of my hands
The whims of heaven or hell
One day there will toll the bell

Often now I wonder, has my life been worth living?
Oh dear God, please be forgiving.

No longer living in anonymity


No longer living in anonymity
There's six million people nearby
That you do not know.
But if they watch the TV news
They'll learn where you're gonna go.
Invisible once, you can't hide anywhere now.
Your self-inflicted death brings them face to face
Who you once were and why you are not now.

Some put flowers hoping it not too late to reach out to touch you
Or your sorrow, that only you could feel
You were nothing, invisible, until death's hand
Your own hand, cut you down.

Stuff happens

He let you taste his bitter honey
He let you take his sweet wormwood
He left you with a baby in your belly
He left you
To know and feel
The secret silent joyful fears of motherhood.



The Choice, As Almost Always, is Ours

Shall I lose it now?
Shall I give it freely?
I'll only have it once
But I will lose it forever.

हे जुड़े!

Judy Weisgarver and I dated for a couple of wonderful months in 1968. We were in the Madrigal Singers together, and Jim Wagner would give us both a ride home every night. She lived on Station Street while I lived on Grove Avenue.

I can't even remember how it happened, but somehow or another, I got up the courage to ask her to go out with me. We went to The Graduate together, and I wore a sports jacket and tie, trying to look like 18 and not get carded, ROFLMAO!

We also went to Chicago, I think to see Camelot. I remember some guy saing to another guy, "suck my crank," which Judy just LOVED.

We were both cigarette smokers, which gave us something in common to share. She was a senior, and I was a junior. We probably got together because of the musical from the previous fall, Guys and Dolls.

She spent a lot of time over here, and I spent a lot of time at her place. We made out a bunch, and she was a great kisser. She also loved my family, especially my youngest sister, Marianne, who would have been 8-9 years old during the months Judy and I dated.

One night, while we were making out downstairs on the couch, mom called down to say that Judy had to leave. There was a golf tournament for me to get up early for in the morning. I was embarrassed, but she left with no animosity. She really liked kissing me, this I know, because we were doing it forever. I even got bold and she did not resist some of my more experimental advances. It was a lovely time, and I was a very lucky guy.

At one of the golf tournaments, Steve Wagner, also a senior, let it slip that Judy was having a party at her parents' house (they were out of town). I hadn't been invited. I played 9 extra holes of golf. I couldn't fall asleep that night. I caddied on Sunday, deciding to refuse mom's offer for a ride out to Barrington Hills country club, I walked the 3 miles to the course. Ended up caddying 36 holes, doubles. Then I walked over to Judy's best friend Sarah Canby's house. I put poor Sarah on the spot: Why doesn't Judy like me?

It's not that she doesn't like you, she just wants to be with friends from her own class now that it's getting so close to graduation. We smoked some cigarettes (SOME paretns were very tolerant on this issue, back in the day) and listened to Allan Ginsberg's dramatic reading of HOWL.

I went home, exhausted. Remember, it was 3 miles back home also. Judy went to prom with some guy, Rod something-or-another.

My favorite thing we ever did together, was to go fly a kite in early April or late March of '68. It was so cold, and she took my arm and cuddled up close to stay warmer, while we chain-smoked our cigarettes and I valiantly (and eventually) got the damn kite to fly. It is absolutely amazing what being motivated to please a young lady (or any lady) can do for your creativity!

I sat down to the piano that night, and wrote one of my first songs: Where's the Magic? Pure blues:

Where's the magic
Where did it go
I thought I saw it takin; a walk
Outside out the back door

When you hold me in your arms
It is just so plain
That you don't love me any more.

Where's the magic
Where did it go?
Only our shadows are makin' love,
And love left by the back door.

When you hold me in your arms
It's so very plain to feel
That you don't love me any more.

Quite frankly, it was as good as anything I've ever written and put to music. Guess I done been singin' me duh Blooze for mostly all my adult-brained conscience life.

Judy wrote us this letter from Summer Camp, where she was a counselor. It was very thoughtful, and just way cool of her to write.

Thanks, Judy Weisgarver, where ever you may be!



Dear Mark,

I thought that since I had a couple extra minutes I'd write you a little note! I've been meaning to thank you for the birthday card but I really haven't had any time at all. This job that I've got is something else – it's an 18-hr-a-day job- and I'm always totally pooped. I'm in the middle of the second session now – the first session turned out really well but this group isn't quite as enthusiastic as the last. Maybe my hopes were a little too high … but this has turned out to be the most rewarding job I think I'll ever have. When the kids do something right (finally!) then the counselors all feel so good about it! And the scenery up here is another thing – we have a beautiful lake right outside our tent and trees all around. I think this camping life is really getting to me! You wouldn't believe how much I've been smoking. I've had at least a carton since I got here ('cause Sarah and I each bought one carton & they're all gone!) Gene and Carelin aren't going to be too happy about that when I get home but that's the way it goes! A lot of things have changed about me and ever since I left home & have been away from my parents! Hat to see what's gonna happen when I go to school!!

So how's golf been going? I'm sure you've been out a lot and are getting black as a –! I want to hear all about it, OK? Well, I said this was just going to be a “little note” so I guess I'll close now. Say hello to John & MaryAnn & Gay & your mom & dad and anyone else I missed! Write me if you ever get a chance 'cause I really enjoy getting mail while up here in the wilderness!

As Always,
Jude

- - - - - - -

AT THE MOVIES: THE HELP

If you see only one movie in the next 12 months, please, let it be this movie, the stories of black, female, domestics around Jackson, Mississippi during the early 1960's.

The story if driven by Skeeter, a young white lady and recent college graduate, returning home to Jackson, MS, single (never having even had a date - much to her mother's consternation), and ambitious - interviewing (successfully) for a job with the local newspaper. She ends up working for $8 / week, ghost writing a column on house cleaning. Knowing nothing about the topic (a boat she shares with all the white women of the Jackson), she asks Aibiliene, a third-generation housemaid, who at 53 years old has raised 17 children in her care. if she can help her with the house cleaning advice column.

Aibileen, along with her dearest maid friend Minny, eventually discover their voices and ultimately come to trust Skeeter enough to tell her of their stories, and of their feelings, exhibiting the courage to defy the conventions of the early 1960s.

The poignance, compassion, humanity of the domestics, as opposed to the lack of same exhibited by many (most assuredly not all) of the white women, both of Skeeter's generation (early 20-somethings) nad of her mother's generation, tells a beautiful story of how these maids raised their employers' children, always there for them, building them up, comforting when saddened, holding, loving, hugging them, things which their own mothers have not the time, the inclination, or the will to do.

An important story, brilliantly and lovingly told, as Skeeter comes to see how much like chattel the maids are treated, and decides she will write their stories (which she does do and her book is scandalously popular, as the good citizens of Jackson attempt to determine about whom each of the separate stories is written).

DO NOT MISS THIS MOVIE! (OR AT LEAST, READ THE BOOK!)

A humbling beginning

Mark Ganzer The pastor emeritus of Trinity Lutheran Church in Ingleside, IL, related the story of the first service he presided over out of seminary school. Since the pastor he was filling in for had retired, Pastor Dave wanted to make it clear to the congregants that he was NOT the replacement pastor, only a temporary pastor, then he looked up, saw a boarded up window, and said , "I'm temporary - just like that window where there is no payne of glass."

a few seconds ago ·

Mark Ganzer As he greets the parishoners leaving the service, one older later shakes his hand, looks him straight in the eye and says, "You're not a replacement - you are a PAIN." Congregation fell out of the pews with laughter. Must simply LOVE ambiguity.2 seconds ago ·

Timeless traditions - explanations are always found in the Bible (and the Koran)

Words-adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes
Music-Pete Seeger

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

Intersections of the divine with human kind - part 3

"Wind-Up"

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm --
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines --
how do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song
`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Intersections of the divine with human kind - part 2

Old John Joseph was a man with two first names
They left him in the railroad yard when they took away the trains
Only one run a week comes on roaring down that line
So all he's got to worry 'bout is time.

I come by in the evening to hear 'bout where he's been
He says - Come on sit down Kid, where shall I begin?
He starts telling me the stories of the glories of his past
But he always saves the story of his Corey for the last.

And he says - My Corey's coming. No more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like I told you, when she holds you
She enfolds you in her world.

I was quite surprised to find out all the places that he knew
And so I asked the townfolk if his stories were true
They said - Old John was born here, he's lived here all his life
He's never had a woman, let alone a wife.

And very soon you'll find out as you check around
That no one named Corey's ever lived in this town
So I chided the old man 'bout the truth that I had heard
He smiled and said - Reality is only just a word.

I came by one evening but he did not hear my shout
I looked in the window and saw the fire was out
When he would not wake up I forced in the door
And found that Old John Joseph would tell stories no more.

The scene at the graveyard, three of us were there
Me and the gravedigger heard the parson's prayer
He said - We need not grieve for this man,
For we know that God cares!

They put the cold dirt over him and left me on my own
And when at last I looked up I saw I was not alone
Standing there in silence with a shawl around her face
Stood a beautiful young woman
I remember what she said
"Is that John Joseph there?"
I nodded my head yes.
That brought a soft smile to her.
She said "It's time he, he got some rest"
So I said - If you're a relative, he had a peaceful end.
She said - My name is Corey - you can say I'm just a friend.

Corey's coming, no more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like I told you, when she holds you
She enfolds you in her world.

So that's the old man's story, I'm glad you came tonight
A busted down old railroad yard sure makes a lonely sight
You may wonder why a young man would work out here alone
Well the job pays enough to keep some flesh on my bones.

And I confess I get to missing the old man a bit
And there's one other reason I guess I should admit -

Can't you see my Corey's coming, no more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like he told me, when she holds me
She enfolds me in her world.

Intersections of the divine with human kind

Scarlet Ribbons

Scarlet Ribbons

I peeked in to say good-night
And there I heard my child in prayer
"And for me, some scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for my hair"

All our town was closed and shuttered
All the streets were dark and bare
In our town, no scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

Through the night my heart was aching
Just before the dawn was breaking
In our town, no scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

I peeked in and on her bed
In gay profusion lying there
Lovely ribbons, scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

If I live to be a two hundred
I will never know from where
Came those lovely scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

recorded by Harry Belafonte

But let's have a LOT of fun while doing the discovering - let us make a joyful NOISE unto the LORD

Christmas truce

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A cross, left near Ypres in Belgium in 1999, to commemorate the site of the Christmas Truce in 1914. The text reads:

1914 – The Khaki Chum's Christmas Truce – 1999 – 85 Years – Lest We Forget.

The Christmas truce was a series of widespread unofficial ceasefires that took place along the Western Front around Christmas of 1914, during the First World War. Through the week leading up to Christmas, parties of German andBritish soldiers began to exchange seasonal greetings and songs between their trenches; on occasion, the tension was reduced to the point that individuals would walk across to talk to their opposite numbers bearing gifts. OnChristmas Eve and Christmas Day, many soldiers from both sides – as well as, to a lesser degree, from French units – independently ventured into "No man's land", where they mingled, exchanging food and souvenirs. As well as joint burial ceremonies, several meetings ended in carol-singing. Troops from both sides had also been so friendly as to play games of football with one another.^[1]

The truce is seen as a symbolic moment of peace and humanity amidst one of the most violent events of modern history. It was not ubiquitous, however; in some regions of the front, fighting continued throughout the day, whilst in others, little more than an arrangement to recover bodies was made. The following year, a few units again arranged ceasefires with their opponents over Christmas, but to nothing like the widespread extent seen in 1914; this was, in part, due to strongly worded orders from the high commands of both sides prohibiting such fraternisation.

The truces were not unique to the Christmas period, and reflected a growing mood of "live and let live", where infantry units in close proximity to each other would stop overtly aggressive behaviour, and often engage in small-scalefraternisation, engaging in conversation or bartering for cigarettes. In some sectors there would be occasional ceasefires to go between the lines and recover wounded or dead soldiers, whilst in others there would be a tacit agreement not to shoot while men rested, exercised, or worked in full view of the enemy. However, the Christmas truces were particularly significant due to the number of men involved and the level of their participation – even in very peaceful sectors, dozens of men openly congregating in daylight was remarkable.

Contents  [hide] 1 Background 1.1 The approach to Christmas 2 Christmas 1914 3 Later truces 4 French-German truce 5 Public awareness 6 Legacy 6.1 Books 6.2 Film 6.3 Music 6.4 Television 6.5 Monument 7 Notes 8 References 9 Further reading 10 External links

[edit]

Background

The first months of World War I had seen an initial German attack through Belgium into France, which had been repulsed outside Paris by French and British troops at the Battle of the Marne in early September 1914. The Germans fell back to the Aisne valley, where they prepared defensive positions. In the subsequent Battle of the Aisne, the Allied forces were unable to push through the German line, and the fighting quickly degenerated into a static stalemate; neither side was willing to give ground, and both started to develop fortified systems of trenches. To the north, on the right of the German army, there had been no defined front line, and both sides quickly began to try to use this gap to outflank one another; in the ensuing "Race to the Sea", the two sides repeatedly clashed, each trying to push forward and threaten the end of the other's line. After several months of fighting, during which the British forces were withdrawn from the Aisne and sent north into Flanders, the northern flank had developed into a similar stalemate. By November, there was a continuous front line running from the North Sea to the Swiss frontier, occupied on both sides by armies in prepared defensive positions.^[2]

[edit]

The approach to Christmas

In the lead up to Christmas 1914, there were several peace initiatives. The Open Christmas Letter was a public message for peace addressed "To the Women of Germany and Austria", signed by a group of 101 British women suffragists at the end of 1914 as the first Christmas of World War I approached.^[3][4] Pope Benedict XV, on 7 December 1914, had begged for an official truce between the warring governments.^[5] He asked "that the guns may fall silent at least upon the night the angels sang."^[6] This attempt was, though, officially rebuffed.^[7]

[edit]

Christmas 1914

British and German troops meeting in No man's land during the unofficial truce (British troops from the Northumberland Hussars, 7th Division, Bridoux-Rouge Banc Sector)

Though there was no official truce, about 100,000 British and German troops were involved in unofficial cessations of fighting along the length of the Western Front.^[8] The first truce started on Christmas Eve, 24 December 1914, when German troopsbegan decorating the area around their trenches in the region of Ypres, Belgium.^[9]

The Germans began by placing candles on their trenches and on Christmas trees, then continued the celebration by singing Christmas carols. The British responded by singing carols of their own. The two sides continued by shouting Christmas greetings to each other. Soon thereafter, there were excursions across No Man's Land, where small gifts were exchanged, such as food, tobacco and alcohol, and souvenirs such as buttons and hats. The artillery in the region fell silent that night. The truce also allowed a breathing spell where recently fallen soldiers could be brought back behind their lines by burial parties. Joint services were held. The fraternisation was not, however, without its risks; some soldiers were shot by opposing forces. In many sectors, the truce lasted through Christmas night, but it continued until New Year's Day in others.^[7]

Bruce Bairnsfather, who served throughout the war, wrote: "I wouldn't have missed that unique and weird Christmas Day for anything. ... I spotted a German officer, some sort of lieutenant I should think, and being a bit of a collector, I intimated to him that I had taken a fancy to some of his buttons. ... I brought out my wire clippers and, with a few deft snips, removed a couple of his buttons and put them in my pocket. I then gave him two of mine in exchange. ... The last I saw was one of my machine gunners, who was a bit of an amateur hairdresser in civil life, cutting the unnaturally long hair of a docile Boche, who was patiently kneeling on the ground whilst the automatic clippers crept up the back of his neck."^[10]

General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien, commander of the British II Corps, was irate when he heard what was happening, and issued strict orders forbidding friendly communication with the opposing German troops.^[8]

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Later truces

In the following months, there were a few sporadic attempts at truces; a German unit attempted to leave their trenches under a flag of truce on Easter Sunday 1915, but were warned off by the British opposite them, and later in the year, in November, a Saxon unit briefly fraternised with a Liverpool battalion. Come December, there were explicit orders by the Allied commanders to forestall any repeat of the previous Christmas truce. Individual units were encouraged to mount raids and harass the enemy line, whilst communicating with the enemy was discouraged by artillery barrages along the front line throughout the day. The prohibition was not completely effective, however, and a small number of brief truces occurred.^[11]

An eyewitness account of one truce, by Llewelyn Wyn Griffith, recorded that after a night of exchanging carols, dawn on Christmas Day saw a "rush of men from both sides ... [and] a feverish exchange of souvenirs" before the men were quickly called back by their officers, with offers to hold a ceasefire for the day and to play a football match. It came to nothing, however; the brigade commander threatened repercussions for the lack of discipline, and insisted on a resumption of firing in the afternoon.^[12] Another member of Griffith's battalion, Bertie Felstead, later recalled that one man had produced a football, resulting in "a free-for-all; there could have been 50 on each side", before they were ordered back.^[13]

In an adjacent sector, a short truce to bury the dead between the lines led to official repercussions; a company commander, Sir Iain Colquhoun of the Scots Guards, was court-martialled for defying standing orders to the contrary. Whilst he was found guilty and officially reprimanded, this punishment was quickly annulled by General Haig, and Colquhoun remained in his position; the official leniency may perhaps have been because he was related to Herbert Asquith, the Prime Minister.^[14]

In the later years of the war, in December 1916 and 1917, German overtures to the British for truces were recorded without any success.^[15] However, in some French sectors, singing and an exchange of thrown gifts was occasionally recorded, though these may simply have reflected a seasonal extension of the live-and-let-live approach common in the trenches.^[16]

Evidence of a Christmas 1916 truce, previously unknown to historians, has recently come to light. In a letter home, 23-year-old Private Ronald MacKinnon told of a remarkable event that occurred on December 25, 1916, when German and Canadian soldiers reached across the battle lines near Vimy Ridge to share Christmas greetings and trade presents. "Here we are again as the song says," the young soldier wrote. "I had quite a good Xmas considering I was in the front line. Xmas eve was pretty stiff, sentry-go up to the hips in mud of course. ... We had a truce on Xmas Day and our German friends were quite friendly. They came over to see us and we traded bully beef for cigars."

The passage ends with Pte. MacKinnon noting that, "Xmas was 'tray bon', which means very good." MacKinnon was killed shortly afterwards during the Battle of Vimy Ridge.^[17]

In the following years of the war, artillery bombardments were ordered on Christmas Eve to try to ensure that there were no further lulls in the combat. Troops were also rotated through various sectors of the front to prevent them from becoming overly familiar with the enemy. However, situations of deliberate dampening of hostilities also occurred. For example, artillery was fired at precise points, at precise times, to avoid enemy casualties by both sides.^[18]

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French-German truce

Richard Schirrmann, who was in a German regiment holding a position on the Bernhardstein, one of the mountains of the Vosges, wrote an account of events in December 1915: "When the Christmas bells sounded in the villages of the Vosges behind the lines ..... something fantastically unmilitary occurred. German and French troops spontaneously made peace and ceased hostilities; they visited each other through disused trench tunnels, and exchanged wine, cognac and cigarettes for Westphalian black bread, biscuits and ham. This suited them so well that they remained good friends even after Christmas was over." He was separated from the French troops by a narrow No Man's Land and described the landscape as: "Strewn with shattered trees, the ground ploughed up by shellfire, a wilderness of earth, tree-roots and tattered uniforms." Military discipline was soon restored, but Schirrmann pondered over the incident, and whether "thoughtful young people of all countries could be provided with suitable meeting places where they could get to know each other." He went on to found the German Youth Hostel Association in 1919.^[19]

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Public awareness

The events of the truce were not reported for a week, in an unofficial press embargo which was eventually broken by the New York Times on 31 December. The British papers quickly followed, printing numerous first-hand accounts from soldiers in the field, taken from letters home to their families, and editorials on "one of the greatest surprises of a surprising war". By 8 January pictures had made their way to the press, and both the Mirror and Sketch printed front-page photographs of British and German troops mingling and singing between the lines. The tone of the reporting was strongly positive, with the Times endorsing the "lack of malice" felt by both sides and the Mirror regretting that the "absurdity and the tragedy" would begin again.^[20]

Coverage in Germany was more muted, with some newspapers strongly criticising those who had taken part, and no pictures published. In France, meanwhile, the greater level of press censorship ensured that the only word that spread of the truce came from soldiers at the front or first-hand accounts told by wounded men in hospitals.^[21] The press was eventually forced to respond to the growing rumours by reprinting a government notice that fraternising with the enemy constituted treason, and in early January an official statement on the truce was published, claiming it had happened on restricted sectors of the British front, and amounted to little more than an exchange of songs which quickly degenerated into shooting.^[22]

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Legacy

Descendants of Great War veterans, in period uniforms, shake hands at the 2008 unveiling of a memorial to the truce.

The Christmas truce features in many writings, and in popular culture.

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Books

Several full-length books have been written by both British and German authors.

• Stanley Weintraub's 2002 book Silent Night: The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce.
• children's novel The Singing Tree by Kate Seredy features a recollection of the truce^[23]

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Film

• The 1969 British film "Oh! What a Lovely War", a musical telling of the Great War using popular songs and quotes from the period, depicts the truce between German and Scottish soldiers on one section of the front. The cordial exchange ends when British artillery fire commences.
• The truce is dramatised in the 2005 French film Joyeux Noël (English: Merry Christmas), depicted through the eyes of French, Scottish and German soldiers.^[24] The film, written and directed by Christian Carion,^[25] was screened out of competition at the 2005 Cannes Film Festival.^[26]

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Music

• Acoustic rock band from Boston, Massachusetts, Bread and Roses's song "Boxing Day 1914" tells a first-person historical fictional story of a WWI veteran remembering the truce.^[27]
• British folk singer Mike Harding related the story in his song "Christmas 1914",^[28][29]
• American folk singer John McCutcheon in his "Christmas in the Trenches",^[30]
• American country music singer Garth Brooks in the song "Belleau Wood".^[31]
• American country music singer Collin Raye in his song "It Could Happen Again".^[32]
• The truce provided the basis for "All Together Now", a 1990 song by The Farm which has become a football anthem.^[33]
• The video for Paul McCartney's 1983 song "Pipes of Peace" depicted the truce.^[34]
• The music group Celtic Thunder recounted the event in a song called "Christmas 1915".

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Television

• In the Christmas episode entitled "River of Stars" from the Fox series Space: Above and Beyond, Joel Delafuente's character narrates the 1914 Christmas truce. He juxtaposes the event against the fact that over the next three years the war became, what was then, the costliest in human history.^[35][36]
• In the final episode entitled "Goodbyeeee" from the series Blackadder Goes Forth, Tony Robinson's character Baldrick asks the others if they remember the football match from the Christmas truce. Captain Blackadder Rowan Atkinson replies "Remember it - how could I forget it - I was never offside! I could not believe that decision!"

^[37][38]

• In the episode 25 of Warehouse 13 there was an artifact enchanted in the 1914 Christmas truce.^[39]

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Monument

A Christmas truce memorial was unveiled in Frelinghien, France, on 11 November 2008. Also on that day, at the spot where, on Christmas Day 1914, their regimental ancestors came out from their trenches to play football, men from the 1st Battalion, The Royal Welch Fusiliers played a football match with the German Panzergrenadier Battalion 371. The Germans won, 2–1.^[40]

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Notes

1. ^ Eksteins, Modris. The Rites of Spring. 2000. New York, NY: Mariner Books. p. 113.ISBN-13: 978-0395937587'
2. ^ Brown (2005), pp. 13–15
3. ^ Oldfield, Sybil. International Woman Suffrage: November 1914 – September 1916. Taylor & Francis, 2003. ISBN 0-415-25738-7. Volume 2 ofInternational Woman Suffrage: Jus Suffragii, 1913–1920, Sybil Oldfield, ISBN 0-415-25736-0 p. 46.
4. ^ Patterson, David S. The search for negotiated peace: women's activism and citizen diplomacy in World War I. Routledge, 2008. ISBN 0-415-96142-4 p. 52
5. ^ "Demystifying the Christmas Truce", Thomas Löwer, The Heritage of the Great War, retrieved 27 December 2009.
6. ^ "Miracles brighten Christmas", Harrison Daily Times, 24 December 2009.
7. ^ ^a b "Remembering a Victory For Human Kindness – WWI's Puzzling, Poignant Christmas Truce", David Brown, The Washington Post, 25 December 2004.
8. ^ ^a b "The Truce of Christmas, 1914", Thomas Vinciguerra, The New York Times, 25 December 2005.
9. ^ Bridget Harris (27 December 2009). "All Together Now for England". The Epoch Times. Retrieved 7 January 2010.
10. ^ "Bullets & Billets by Bruce Bairnsfather", Project Gutenberg, retrieved 31 December 2009.
11. ^ Weintraub (2001), pp. 194–195
12. ^ Brown (2005) pp. 75–76. The unit in question was the 15th Royal Welch Fusiliers, a battalion of the volunteer New Armies, which were only just arriving in France for the first time in late 1915 and early 1916. It is interesting to note that Griffith mentions Christmas Day was "the first time [he] had seen no-man's land"; his men were, quite possibly, also on their first tour in the front lines this day.
13. ^ "Bertie Felstead The last known survivor of no-man's-land football died on July 22nd, aged 106". The Economist. 2 August 2001.
14. ^ Weintraub (2001), pp. 194–195; Brown (2005) p. 75
15. ^ Weintraub (2001), p. 198
16. ^ Cazals (2005), p. 125
17. ^ http://www.nationalpost.com/news/canada/Vimy+Ridge+letter+evidence+Christmas+Truce/3990693/story.html
18. ^ Axelrod, Robert. 1984. The Evolution of Cooperation. New York: Basic Books.
19. ^ Richard Schirrmann: The first youth hosteller: A biographical sketch by Graham Heath (1962, International Youth Hostel Association, Copenhagen, in English).
20. ^ Weintraub (2001), pp. 179–80. The "greatest surprises" quote is from the South Wales Gazette on 1 January 1915.
21. ^ Weintraub (2001), p. 179
22. ^ Weintraub (2001), pp. 73–75
23. ^ Kate Seredy The Singing TreeISBN978-0140345438
24. ^ Holden, Stephen (3 March 2006). "Joyeux Noel (Merry Christmas) (2005) A Christmas Truce Forged by Germans, French and Scots". New York Times. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
25. ^ "Joyeux Noël (2005)". IMDb. Retrieved November 11, 2009.
26. ^ "Festival de Cannes: Joyeux Noël". festival-cannes.com. Retrieved 2009-12-12.
27. ^ "Bread and Roses live at the Bike Barn in Falmouth, Maine 09/02/04". Internet Archive. Retrieved 19 May 2011.
28. ^ "Mike Harding". Pride of Manchester. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
29. ^ "Christmas 1914". Mike Harding. Archived from the original on August 30, 2007. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
30. ^ Donetta Godsey (4 December 2009). "Kiwanis Club, McCutcheon offer unique gift". The Winfield Daily Courier. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
31. ^ Bill Bell (4 December 2009). "DOIN' IT BY THE BROOKS SURE, GARTH IS FORMULAIC, BUT THIS ALBUM IS SURE TO SEND FANS TO 'SEVENS' HEAVEN". New York Daily News. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
32. ^ "Lyrics – Collin Raye – It Could Happen Again". Country Music Television. 18 October 2009. Retrieved 4 December 2010.
33. ^ Patrick Barkham (8 May 2004). "All Together Now for England". London: The Guardian. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
34. ^ Daphne Lee (12 July 2009). "Monsters in our minds". Malaysia Star. Retrieved 39 March 2010.
35. ^ "The River of Stars Space: Above and Beyond, episode 11 (1.11)". Space: Above and Beyond. 28 Jun 2006. Retrieved 31 December 2009.
36. ^ "River of Stars". Space: Above and Beyond. December 17, 1995. No. 12, season 1.
37. ^ "Plan F: Goodbyeee: Blackadder Goes Forth, episode 6 (4.6)". 2nd Nov 1989.
38. ^ "[F: Goodbyeee]". Blackadder Goes Forth. November 2nd, 1989. No. 6, season 4.
39. ^ "List of Warehouse 13 episodes, episode 25". 7th Dec 2010.
40. ^ "Soldiers take part in commemorative football match", Ministry of Defence, 14 November 2008.

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References

• Brown, Malcolm (2004). 1914: the men who went to war. Sidgwick & Jackson. ISBN 0283073233.
• Brown, Malcolm, ed (2007). Meetings in no man's land: Christmas 1914 and fraternization in the Great War. Constable. ISBN 9781845295134. Originally published in French as Frères des Trancheés, 2005; containing:

• Brown, Malcolm (2005). "The Christmas truce 1914: the British story".
• Cazals, Rémy (2005). "Good neighbours".
• Ferro, Marc (2005). "Russia: fraternization and revolution".
• Mueller, Olaf (2005). "Brother Boche".

• Dunn, Captain J. C. (1994). The war the infantry knew 1914–1919 : a chronicle of service in France and Belgium. London: Abacus. ISBN 0349106355.
• Weintraub, Stanley (2001). Silent night: the story of the World War I Christmas truce. Pocket. ISBN 0684866226.

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Further reading

• Malcolm Brown and Shirley Seaton; Christmas Truce: The Western Front, 1914 (1984), ISBN 978-0-330-39065-1
• Michael Jürgs: Der kleine Frieden im Großen Krieg: Westfront 1914: als Deutsche, Franzosen und Briten gemeinsam Weihnachten feierten. Goldmann, München 2005, ISBN 3-442-15303-4

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External links

• Christmas Truce 1914
• Hellfire Corner — the Christmas Truce
• Letters to The Times from participants in 1914 truce