An Unexpected Epistle

As part of my Lenten discipline, I’ve been cleaning things out around the house. There’s a practical side to it, of course, and it was Bryna who suggested it. Frankly, her “encouragement” preceded Lent by some weeks and had nothing to do with a holy season in the Church year. But as I thought about it, I’ve come to embrace the idea of lightening the material load and there’s a spiritual aspect to this as well. Stripping away some of the stuff you accumulate over the years is freeing. So I’m trying to do a little work every day.

Not surprisingly, I got stuck on books. Some of these things I’ve been hauling around the country since college. I mean, you never know when you might need to brush up on the tobacco culture of the antebellum South. Anyway, I was sorting through some books when I came across a slim volume without any markings on the spine titled Siloama: The Church of the Healing Spring. Published by the Hawaiian Board of Missions in 1948, it was part of a series of books meant to capture “The story of certain almost forgotten Protestant churches.”

This particular book tells the story of the Protestant church in Siloama on the island of Molokai. Many people know the story of how the island became a leper colony in the 1800’s and of the heroic and faithful ministry of Father Damien who died on the island of the disease. What people don’t know is that there was a Protestant church on the island that predated Father Damien’s ministry.

Anyway, I have this book because my great-grandfather on my father’s side, the Rev. Norman Schenck, was a Congregationalist missionary who lived out his life in Hawaii. He served as General Secretary of the Board of Hawaiian Missions. I don’t know too much about him other than what’s been passed down by my family — that he was a beloved figure who was dedicated, passionate, and effective in his vocation.

But what truly amazed me was an old type-written letter I found tucked inside the book. Dated December 14, 1941, it was a pastoral letter sent to the Japanese congregations under his care in the immediate aftermath of the bombing at Pearl Harbor. It astounded me.

I thought I’d retype and share this unexpected epistle.  Here it is:

Statement by Norman C. Schenck read to the congregations
of Makiki and Nuuanu Churches — Sunday, Dec. 14, 1941

To the Pastor, Members and Friends of the ———- Church:

As General Secretary of the Board of the Hawaiian Evangelical Association it is my privilege and honor to bring you this morning, – Christian greetings.

All of us in the Hawaiin Islands are now under a strange and new order of things for our beloved Islands of Paradise.

We are, through no choice of our own, in a state of war.

The implications of this state of war were dramatically revealed to us on Sunday, December 7, 1941 when an attack was made upon our Islands. This caused immediate loss of life in the personnel of our armed forces and among our fellow residents. As a result, martial law has been declared.

All of us have spent this past week in one form of activity or another, seeking to do our part along the lines required by the emergency which faces us.

Every resident of our Islands is under a dual obligation.

First, he must do his part in the great program of national defense. This is not only a duty. It is a privilege. Hawaii is our home. Every Christian citizen will rise up to defend his home with all the courage and devotion of which he is capable. Already the calm and efficient manner in which our people of many racial ancestries have done this, has been commended by those in charge of our public and private welfare. Let us continue to work together with calm and patient and determined purpose.

Second, there is need for all of us to keep up the high levels of morale among our people. This deals with the sources by which men and women live. It is vital to our physical, moral and spiritual health.

In this realm, the Christian Church has  solemn responsibility.

I speak to you this morning not as a Japanese church, – but as a Christian church. We are “one in Christ Jesus.” We are bound together in love, – not to be divided by hatred.

The Christian Church is not afraid of suffering. Its only fear is disloyalty on the part of any Christian to our Lord and Master. And, of course, loyalty to Christ inspires loyalty to each other and to the government under which we live.

May I, therefore, urge upon the pastor and the members of this congregation to minister in every way to the spiritual needs of people and to intensify the Christian work of calling in the homes, of providing for the children and youth, and of holding high the Christian standard of conduct in thought, word and deed.

The Christian Church is needed for moral defense. It is also needed for light in a darkened world.

May God be with you, and with your spirits.

The Rev. Norman C. Schenck

I am the 1.37%

It’s not everyday that you write a book. Well, unless you’re James Patterson and you have a staff of 50 writers working for you. Alas, I have a staff of one. 

You may not be aware that I recently wrote a book. Technically I co-authored it with a bunch of other people. And technically I only wrote 1.37% of it. But I was proud enough of it to give my free author’s copy to my mother for a (no-cost-to-me-but-it-looked-like-I-spent-at-least-$15) Christmas gift.

Walking With God Day By Day is a series of 365 brief meditations for the whole year. I wrote five of them which means that if you’d like me to personally sign your copy I can only, in good faith, write 1.37% of my name. In the spirit of giving, I guess I could round up and give you the whole “T.” (At the bottom of this post you’ll find one of the five).

Even though the New Year has already begun, you don’t have to feel bad about getting a late start since my first meditation doesn’t appear until sometime in March. In fact, the publisher has offered readers of Clergy Family Confidential a 25% discount! Yes, my archnemesis, Scott Gunn, at Forward Movement has extended this generous offer. Act now and he’ll throw in a gratuitous blog post about the book as well.

Seriously,  if you click on the book title link above and enter code AUTH25 you’ll get a 25% discount on the printed book. You can also use the code if you call to place your order at 800-543-1813. There’s one trick on the website according to Scott, “Alas, our antediluvian website won’t show the discount right when they order, but we’ll take it off when we process the order.”

It’s also available for Kindle and Nook. No discount but it’s already cheap there.

There are a number of great authors who participated in this project including Lent Madness “Celebrity Bloggers” Heidi Shott and Penny Nash (stay tuned for Lent Madness 2012). Scott wrote a few reflections as did a bunch of talented writers I’ve never heard of (I’m sure the feeling is mutual).

If you do order it, I know you’ll enjoy it and get a lot out of it. And if not, complain to Scott.

Brush with Royalty
I once had a brush with royalty. When I was in high school, my family took a trip to London and we hit all the usual hotspots: the Tower of London, Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral. Toward the end of the day, we ended up in the famous Tate Gallery. At some point I wandered off by myself, and when I turned around I came face-to-face with…the Queen Mum.

I’m not much of a royal-watcher, but even I couldn’t miss this one. There she was, in all her glory, wearing a bright purple dress with matching shoes and handbag. She was short but dignified and quite, well, old. While she was at least ninety-something at that point, she still made a striking impression. And there she was, close enough that I could have reached out and touched her were it not for the large bodyguard with his hand inside his sport jacket, ready to blow anyone away who even looked at her funny.

While keeping tabs on the British monarchy may be good fun, there is, of course, only one King. And when we reflect upon Christ the King, our earthly notions of kingship must be suspended. Jesus isn’t about the trappings of earthly monarchs—he was born in a stable, not a palace; he had a group of nomadic followers, not a royal court; he had “nowhere to lay his head,” not a royal bed chamber. It’s a different kind of kingship and a different kind of kingdom. And yet, as the Son of God, Jesus is the only king in the history of kingship who could authentically lay claim to Divine Right. —Tim Schenck

Act Now

Welcome to Cyber-Monday. You can buy my book “What Size Are God’s Shoes: Kids, Chaos, and the Spiritual Life” for practically nothing on Amazon today. Click here and it’s yours for $10.20. It makes a GREAT Christmas gift for every parent on your list. Grandparents too. And godparents. And anyone who’s ever had a parent. Or been a child.

The illustration on the cover even has me wearing a Santa hat (for reasons I’ve never understood). So it even looks like the perfect Christmas gift. People will think you scoured the millions of books on Amazon until you came up with the singularly ideal present. Just for them.

Act now and I understand Amazon will throw in a set of Ginsu knives when you purchase my book. Just enter the following coupon code: “clevercleaver.”

Help make all my Christmas dreams come true. Buy my book and help me realize the 3 cent profit I make on each one that is sold. Then one day I will be able to buy that cup of coffee I’ve always dreamed about. I will lift it high and toast each one of you while trying not to spill hot coffee on my laptop.

Chasing Cheever

John Cheever

Churches make great claims about famous people who sat in their pews. Scour East Coast Episcopal churches and you’ll find all sorts of plaques: “John Hancock Worshipped Here” or “Washington Irving’s Pew” or “Oprah Appeared on the Secretary’s Television.” We’re proud of our history and the era when anybody who was anybody or anybody who wanted to be anybody was an Episcopalian. Plus we have a great affinity for bronze plaques.

Everyone knows that George Washington slept in nearly every house from the Mid-Atlantic to New England. No word if he slept in any pews of our churches during particularly uninspiring sermons.

At my own parish, All Saints’, Briarcliff Manor, we’ve had a few brushes with royalty. Brooke Astor lived across the street for many years in her Holly Hill estate and worshipped at All Saints’ for a number of years. At some point she got mad at one of my predecessors and left to attend another nearby Episcopal church. Or at least that’s one theory. It may have had to do with the incorporation of the modern language rite or her dislike for female priests. I’m not sure — but by the time I came to All Saints’ that ship had sailed.

The other famous parishioner was the writer John Cheever. He’s been in the news recently because of a new comprehensive biography by Blake Bailey titled Cheever: A Life. One of our parishioners, Bob Minzesheimer, who also happens to be the book reviewer for USA Today, forwarded me some quotes from Bailey’s book.

Cheever was confirmed at All Saints’ in 1955 and the church “met his basic requirements: it used the Cranmer prayer book and was less than ten minutes away, and (as Susan Cheever pointed out) its altar was ‘sufficiently simple so that it [didn’t] remind him of a gift shop.’ Also the eight 0’clock service was sermon-free so he could have twenty-three minutes of relative peace each week.'”

Cheever apparently didn’t have much love for the church’s long-time rector, Bill Arnold. According to the book, Cheever “once told his son Ben that it didn’t matter if the minister was a jackass — though there were times, plainly, when it did. ‘I will not go to church,’ Cheever recorded one Good Friday, ‘because Bill will insist upon giving a sermon and I will not have the latitude or intelligence to overlook its repetitiousness, grammatical errors and stupidity.'” Ouch!

Finally, Bailey says of Cheever’s faith, “Not one to proselytize, her rarely mentioned his faith except at odd moments when visited by the same happiness that had moved him to become a communicant in the first place: ‘There has to be someone you thank for the party.'”

Not a bad sentiment. Though I may have to consider screening any writers and/or essayists out of my parish. Myself excluded of course.