From Teapots to Billy Graham

Well, I know how to create some "steam." Light a fire of words under a teapot. It seems that some of you out there in the blogosphere have some "heated" opinions about the tea party movement and what it is and what it is not. I will close that "conversation" from my side by saying I still think such "movements" in our culture today are foils against which we can ask what is the nature of community in light of what are "my rights" and what am I willing to offer, give up, share, in order to create the kind of "people" that Jesus calls us to be....so I'll put the teapot on the shelf for a moment and switch to Billy Graham.

How is that for turning down the heat so the steam subsides? Of course there are some people that even get "hot" about dear old Billy. They say in his prime that he was a little too cozy with certain Presidents. Then there are others who may not like his style of Christianity that focuses on the need for an "hour of decision."

But then how many people found out about this Jesus I talk about all the time from the lips of Billy Graham? My style of talking about Jesus is sure not Billy's but you need to know that he is in part responsible for me talking about him...Jesus, not Billy.

This blog is being offered because of the recent newspaper picture of Billy in a wheelchair being ushered into the library named after him. He can't hear anymore and his speech is limited. He said a few words and offered a prayer at the event. He said he was glad that the library named after him was not a "memorial to him" but a place where people could see ways to study about and ponder the one he talked about most of his life...that would be Jesus.

Billy touched my life the night I went with mom and dad to one of his crusades when I was ...O around eight I think. Dad went only to appease my mom because they had a dispute about something to which I was not privy. All I know is that the "peace settlement" for the evening included my father saying he would go to the crusade. That was not like my Sunday-go to early Mass-then get to the golf course father. But he went.

So since they went I had to go. Billy did his usual thing that night. I have no idea what he said. He usually said the same thing with a little variation. It all ended with the "time of decision" and all those people getting up out of their seats and flocking toward the podium. My dad got up. I assumed he was going to the bathroom so I followed him.

He walked by the bathroom and joined the crowd that was standing in front of Billy. "Just as I Am" was filling the room but as I looked up at dad I wondered "just what he was." Here was my rather stoic father crying and looking up. I reached up for his hand but he was somewhere else. He probably held my hand but he was being held by something else.

I went with him to the little "counseling" area where he and I, since I was there with him, were told that we would be receiving materials as a follow up. The "minister" who talked with dad challenged him about his Catholic faith and the way he was living it. I'm not sure that was correct or sensitive or theologically savvy but that's what he did.

Dad returned and was in agony. The next week he informed his priest that he would be joining the Methodist church so that he could be with his family and start anew his "real" spiritual journey. Dad received a letter in a few days telling him that his soul "was in danger of hell-fire." Don't you love the church?

Anyway, dad and I received the promised "materials." I remember answering the questions and sending in the completed work that was returned to me and us with comments.

I went a different path later on. It was not my father's path nor was it in the style of Billy. But as I saw him looking out at me from that wheelchair I spoke a prayer. "Thank you Billy...for being a part of my journey and so many journeys. May this last part of your journey be peaceful and may you know how many people are different because you spoke about the man we both love."

Bless you
jody