In shock, still processing,
Giving thanks for the life and love and faith and witness of Robina Winbush … for her vision of what the Church could be and her work to help us live into that vision …for her commitment and work for justice.
Grieving with Robina’s family, friends, colleagues in the Office of the General Assembly and the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and ecumenical and interfaith partners.
Grateful to have been Robina’s colleague and to have learned from her and to have been guided and shaped by her.
We come from dust; we return to dust.
And in between … Robina Winbush made such a difference.
Thanks be to God.
Category Archives: Friends
In between
Are you from Pittsburgh?
“Excuse me. Are you from Pittsburgh?” the woman spoke gently.
“Lenore is,” Charles replied.
“We heard you talking about Pittsburgh,” the woman said, gesturing to the radiant, bald, younger woman with whom she shared the table.
Of course they heard us. It’s New York. Restaurants put tables pretty much on top of one another.
Lenore had come from Pittsburgh to New York. She arranged to meet Charles and me to talk about the Presbyterian Church’s Freedom Rising Initiative to address the impact of racism on African-American men.
We met at the TGI Friday’s in Penn Station. Charles’ son is playing in one of the New Jersey state basketball championship semifinal games tonight. This location made it easy for him to join us and then to get home for the game.
We talked about the work being done by the Presbytery of Pittsburgh and by the Presbytery of New York City. We explored how the presbyteries might support one another and partner for effective ministry.
Our conversation touched on the city of Pittsburgh. Lenore lived there almost all her life; Charles had recently been there for a meeting; part of my childhood was spent on Neville Island.
After a fruitful conversation, and when we finished our meal, Charles stood to leave for his son’s basketball game. That’s when the woman stood, took the half step needed to cross the aisle in the restaurant and spoke.
“My daughter Erin goes to school outside Pittsburgh,” she informed us. We smiled at Erin who sat with her back to the wall. Erin smiled at us. It appeared she was returning to Pittsburgh. She had her suitcase with her.
“We heard you praying,” the woman stated. “Erin has cancer. We were wondering. Would you pray with her?”
We would. We did.
Lenore and I stood beside Charles. Erin and her mother stood. We joined hands and prayed.
We prayed for Erin. For healing. For strength. For courage. For grace.
We prayed for Erin’s mother and family. For Erin’s friends. For the medical personnel who care for her.
When we finished, we realized we had blocked the aisle. We moved so others who had waited patiently, at least outwardly, could get by.
A woman stepped around us toward the exit. Our eyes locked for a moment. She must have been allergic to something in the restaurant because moisture rimmed her eyes, a little bit leaking out of one corner.
The restaurant’s host came from the other direction. He had been a tad grumpy when we asked for more napkins. Now a grin stretched from ear to ear. “Thank you,” he said. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
Erin and her mother thanked us. Hugs and smiles were shared.
We are made from dust. And to the dust we will all return. But until we do, moments of grace will find us. Thanks be to God.
New York, New York
7 March 2019
Filed under Food, Friends, Lent, Presbytery of New York City
After – Albuquerque 1996
After the prayers had been said
and the motions had been made;
after the rulings had been dispensed
and the speeches had been delivered;
after the instructions had been given
and the buttons had been pushed;
after the votes had been tallied
and the results announced;
after the passion
and the decent order;
after . . .
. . . the assembly sat in quiet contemplation,
pondering who had won
and who had lost,
considering what was gained
and what the cost.
My heart sundered the silence,
breaking, softly breaking,
for those, who by official action,
had been denied their full humanity,
and, whose gifts, but that same official action,
had been rejected.
A tear slid down my check,
coming to rest in tangled whiskers.
A single tear
shed for those beloved of God
who the vote would exclude
and for those
who out of fear
or prejudice
or lack of love
or for whatever reason
sought to shut doors –
and build walls –
and keep out –
and settle once and for all;
and in so doing
lost an opportunity
to join in
God’s amazing,
welcoming,
including,
affirming,
door-opening,
wall-smashing,
never-ending
love.
This was written after the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)’s 208th General Assembly (1996). That assembly met in Albuquerque, New Mexico and took action to recommend a change the church’s constitution that would ban LGBTQ individuals from serving in ordained offices. I attended that assembly as an observer. As the United Methodist Church meets to wrestle with similar questions, I remembered this piece and choose to share it.
Filed under Current Events, Family, Friends, Human Rights, Poem, Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)
Eeyore Knights of Valor
Not alone, we stand together,
for alone one could not stand.
Not alone, we stand together,
soul to soul and hand in hand.
Not alone, we stand together,
aching hearts, but spirits strong.
Watching, waiting, working,
when others turn away;
seeing, hearing, feeling,
what others would avoid.
Not alone, we stand together,
wounded,
surely wounded,
sorely wounded,
wounded all, yet still we stand.
Not alone, we stand together,
laughing, weeping,
bound by hope
and filled with love.
Not alone we stand together,
for alone we could not stand.
26 July 2001
Colorado National Monument, Fruita, CO and Orem, UT
revised 15 February 2019
Manhattan, New York
with thanks to Diana Cheifetz
Filed under Friends, National Park, New York, Poem
Wonderful people, great conversations
The Rev. Stanley Chimeysa from Malawi is visiting New York. I had the privilege to take him on visits with some amazing people.
It was a good day.
I lit a candle
I lit a candle last night in memory of Ruling Elder Cynthia Bolbach.
The First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone held a service of healing and wholeness (Blue Christmas, sometimes called a Longest Night service) last nights. Participants were invited to light candles to symbolize our prayers. I lit candles for family, friends, pets of friends, and people around the world.
And then I remembered. Six years. Yesterday made it six years since the death of Ruling Elder Cynthia Bolbach. Six years ago, as she was dying, I stood in her honor. Last night I lit a candle in her memory.
Six years The vagaries of time make it feel like yesterday and like a lifetime ago, all in the same moment. The wonder of the Communion of Saints allows me to feel her presence. Thanks be to God.
Ruling Elder Cynthia Bolbach, moderator of the 219th General Assembly (2010) of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) died on 12-12-12 in the afternoon. This post was written on that day at a time before I knew of her death. Thanks be to God for her life! Alleluia. Amen.
Here are reflections from friends and colleagues on her life and death.
I did something today I have never done before.
I stood in silence for five minutes.
I am not big on pomp and circumstance and formality. A South African friend once observed that I can be a bit “cheeky” to those in authority. For some reason everyone who has heard that assessment has agreed with it. Go figure.
I stood in silence today for five minutes in honor of Cindy Bolbach.
The tradition in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) is to stand when the General Assembly moderator of enters the room. Almost every moderator in my memory has encouraged people not to do so. Most of the time most of them meant it. Yet the tradition persists – in honor of the person and even more so in respect of the office. And while it is not my favorite thing, I take part.
Today, without being asked, without being prompted, I chose to stand in silence for five minutes in honor of Cindy Bolbach – moderator of the 219th General Assembly (2010).
I watched her election from the back of the auditorium in Minneapolis. My son Sean and I leaned against the wall.
A period of questions and answers precedes the voting. Commissioners (the folks with the votes) pose questions and the individuals standing (we’re Presbyterian, we don’t run) respond. The questions deal with theology, issues before the church, and issues in the world.
At one point, a question was posed along the lines of: “What would happen to the church, if you were not elected and one of the other candidates were?”
One by one the candidates offered replies praising the others and noting that the church did not depend on their election. Then Cindy Bolbach stepped to the mike. I do not remember her exact words, but the essence was:
There will be utter chaos.
The Assembly erupted in laughter. Sean turned to me and said, “She just won, didn’t she?”
The Assembly still had to vote. It took several ballots, but Cindy did win. And I believe her sparkling humor that bristles with wisdom played a key role.
I stood in silence today for five minutes in honor of Cindy Bolbach.
Cindy is a woman of incredible faith, deep love, amazing grace, and an incredible wit. She lives daily her commitment to Christ, to the Church, to the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) , to all people, and to God’s world. She mixes simplicity and profound sincerity with a capability to navigate complexity and controversy. I am privileged to know her. The Church (in all its manifestations) is blessed by her presence.
For most of this year, Cindy has struggled against cancer. The struggle cut short her ability to attend events but it never dampened her spirits (at least in public). She wore a fedora to the 220th General Assembly (2012) and she wore it well.
This morning came the news that Cindy has entered hospice care. And I stood for five minutes in her honor.
But in the silence it came to me that another way – a better way – to honor Cindy Bolbach – is to give thanks to God for Cindy – to entrust Cindy to God’s merciful care – to pray for her without ceasing – then to get back about the business of ministry. I am pretty sure that is what she would want. So it is what I have done.
When Cindy returns to the dust, as we all will someday do, I will shed more tears. But I will also proclaim “Alleluia.”
When Cindy returns to the dust, as we all will someday do, there will be utter chaos. But in the chaos there will be love and there will be grace and there will be God. And all will be well for Cindy. And all will be well for us. Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
See you along the Trail.
A moment from yesterday I am thankful for
The closest I have ever come to seeing an actual opera. I went to support Rutgers Presbyterian Church and my friend, Robert Williams, who participated in the talk back after the performance. The performance and Robert were both awesome.
Traci Smith, author of Faithful Families: Creating Sacred Moments at Home has provided a gift of the November 2018 Gratitude Every Day calendar. I am using it as an opportuity to revisit photos and post them as they speak to gratitude.
