Sunday, November 11, 2018

Plumerias, Memorials and National Anthems


Beautiful Plumerias
Recently Don and I went to Honolulu, Hawaii for our vacation.  This was his second visit after 50 years; my first.
It is such a beautiful state.

As we picked up our rental car, the customer service person handed me a plumeria flower and showed me how to wear it.  I felt welcomed.  I put it in my hair and  wore it for as long as it lasted.

Despite the heat and the high humidity, I think I left part of my heart in this city of plumeria blossoms, orchids, white-sandy beaches, blue seas and pikake-scented lotions.  Already, Don and I have talked about going back and visiting other islands.  In her exotic island way, she has made me feel welcomed.  One evening we went to the concierge’s desk at the hotel where we stayed.  A lady warmly greeted us .  She looked at Don and me intently.  Don told her we needed help with a visit to the Pearl Harbor Center.  She asked where we were from.  “San Francisco,” Don replied.  Without taking her eyes off us,  she smiled and said, “You look like you belong here.”  I guess the plumeria blossom in my hair didn’t give away that we were tourists.

The following morning we got up early for our visit to the Pearl Harbor Center.  I made sure I had my two Salon Pas patches on the bottom of my feet, prepared to do long walks for the day.
We parked our car a little distant from the Center and got ourselves adequately prepared for this adventure.  Straw hat on, check.  Dark glasses, check. Water bottles, no. Will have to pick those up from the concession stands.  Receipt for the tickets, check.  Now, on to the Center.  As I got out of the car, an intense emotion came over me.  A feeling akin to how I felt on our visit to ground zero in NY shortly after 9/11.  This is hallowed ground.

Don and I got our tickets to the film presentation of the attack on Pearl Harbor.  While waiting for our turn, we were told that we could go over to the museum where there were exhibits and pictures.  We put on our earphones and joined the rest of the folks going in.

The pictures we saw and stories we heard were very close to home for me.  I was born in the Philippines four months before December 7, 1941.  My father was a Chief Petty Officer in the US Navy at the time, serving in a naval station in the Philippines.  I have heard many stories firsthand about the attack and the war days and years that followed.  My father’s base, Sangley Point, was subsequently attacked, too.  My family had told me how my father came home and instructed my mother to get the whole family out of the city.  He then went back to his post.  My mother did as was told not knowing whether we would see my father again.  One day Japanese soldiers came for my father to our now empty home.  In anger, they took our neighbor and killed him instead.  So many of these memories came rushing back to me.

By the time we got to listen to accounts narrated by local Honolulu people, tears had begun to well up in my eyes. My heart felt such an ache.  What a traumatic disruption to ordinary, normal lives. Many young lives of all shades of color, accents, eye shapes, etc. enlisted to defend their country, lives either snatched away by this ugliness called war or forever physically and emotionally changed by its onslaught.  The Pearl Harbor attack film was painful to watch, but we did.

Strangely, as we spent this time of bringing back the past, I kept seeing an image of a young man transposing itself against the backdrop of young men on the battlefield. Colin Kaepernick, a football player from my state of California.  He recently made himself controversial by kneeling on the football field while the Star-Spangled Banner was being played.  Supposedly, this was his protest statement on the injustices in this country against his race.

Beneath this memorial lie 1177 Americans
who paid the ultimate sacrifice for my freedoms.
May I never forget my debt to the past!
We went on the USS Missouri where Emperor Hirohito* of Japan and Generals Wainwright and MacArthur signed the documents of Japan’s surrender.  My father served on ships like this during his time.  I wondered how men could live comfortably for months and months in something like this.

We couldn’t get on board the USS Arizona museum, but we were able to see it from the deck of the USS Missouri.  The museum is built right on top of the sunken USS Arizona which has been the watery grave of 1177 naval personnel.  Their remains have stayed on their ship.  My thoughts go back to Colin Kaepernick.

I wonder what he's thinking about?
His fellow soldiers who didn't make it home?
Through our visit to these memorials, the image of Colin Kaepernick protesting against what he believes to be injustice to his race kept coming back to me.  Is he right in doing this?  He certainly has the freedom to do this.  Many gave their lives to protect this freedom for him and the rest of us.

When I was a young schoolgirl in the Philippines, we were taught that wherever we were, if we heard the national anthem being played or sung, we were to stand at attention. This act paid tribute to our country and her struggles, history, and traditions.  We had big problems in the country - corrupt politicians,
the ever-present poverty and the controlling power of the rich and landed.  We were taught to love our country, warts and all.  Again, I think of Colin Kaepernick.  I wonder if he was ever taught to love his country, warts and all?

*Japanese Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigemitsu signed for Emperor Hirohito

Friday, November 9, 2018

Imago Dei



Charles Bridge, Prague
They were there on the plane, on the train, on the bus.  We found them in the Big Market at the foot of the Green bridge in Pest.  There were lines of them at the Burger King amid the little stalls that sold postcards, Hungarian dolls, magic boxes, candies.  They were on the beautiful bridges that spanned the quiet, gentle, calm Danube.  They were everywhere we were.  They were at the German Reichstag, droves of them, and at the holocaust memorial.  They were at Potsdam Platz.

Then there were some at the Budapest library, at “Connections” in Berlin and in friends’ homes.  Budapest is picturesque beyond words.  Berlin is enigmatic, beautiful but with a checkered past. But neither one compares to the remarkable people we’ve met.


Church group off to Janos Hill, Budapest

Imago Dei!  I may not remember a lot of things my theology professor taught me, but this one really stood out.  He said it often enough that you don’t easily forget it.  Genesis 1:27 “And God created man in His own image.”  He was created with the moral, intellectual and spiritual nature of God, attributes that make him different from the rest of creation.

Don and I often talk of the many men and women who have touched our lives profoundly with their Godly character.  They confirm Genesis 1:27 and what I’ve often heard from my theology professor.  Imago Dei. They’ve left their marks on us, some through lifelong friendships, some through momentary gentle brushes of kindness.  There are those who easily come to mind.   Jared & Marilee Barker, Willard Black – friends, encouragers, mentors for over 50 years or so; then there are those whose names we didn't even know, met them during travels - a young man in his mid-twenties seated next to Don who traded stories with us to while away some of the many hours on the train from Berlin to Budapest. Another young man sitting next to me on the plane patiently explaining our flight route home to San Francisco.

But what do we do with those whose Godlikeness is covered over so hideously by the barnacles grown on them by the difficulties of life or by their poor stewardship of what God gave them? What do I think of the homeless poor I so often see sprawled on some sidewalk in our city street?  Do I feel disdain at the drug addicts who spouted 4-letter words at me as they yelled their anger against the world?  I remember a particular young man who came to me once when I was assigned to the Information desk at the District Attorney's Office.  He had a black eye and showed signs of having been assaulted.  He told me his pimp did that to him, and he wanted to press criminal charges.  I was polite and helpful, but some part of me did not want to deal with him.  Sometimes it is difficult to see Imago Dei in them, but they, too, are created in God’s image.

One whose home is a city sidewalk
Tim Keller asks, “What if we took Imago Dei seriously?”  I ask myself the same question.  It would be like putting on a pair of God’s prescription glasses.

So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. (Genesis 1:27 NIV)


 God saw all that he had made, and it was very good . . . .          (Genesis 1:31 NIV)

Monday, November 5, 2018

A Storied Old Chestnut Tree



A few years ago, while on a short visit to Berlin, Germany, we found this old, spreading chestnut tree in the Citadel, a fortification which was built between the years 1560-1595.  This tree is neighbor to the Julius Tower built in the year 1200 and hence represents the oldest building in the city of Berlin. The entire site is like a fortress thought to be almost impregnable.  At first, the Citadel served as the safe home for kings, princes and other nobility. Over the centuries, however, it was finally dominated by military use. Thus, the Citadel was used in both world wars as a military prison as well as accommodating state reserves.  Due to its incredibly robust and stable construction, the Citadel managed to survive the extensive bombing raids of World War II and sustained no significant damage.

This tree has seen a lot through its hundreds of years of life.  It has many stories to tell.  I wonder if the kings and princes of old who have been tenants of the Citadel ever sat on that bench next to it.  Moreover, what did they talk about?  And how about the war?  What tales would this old tree share with us?  I have learned to like listening to stories, stories told by folks who have seen much of life.  They fascinate me.  (Probably because I am now an old folk myself.)  I wish I had listened to their stories more when I was young. I could have learned a lot and possibly saved myself many mishaps.

At the ripe old age of 3, both my daughter and my son made the declaration that they knew everything.  I think my similar moment came after I got that rolled sheepskin in my hand.   Some measure of modesty kept me from announcing this to the whole world, but much like my 3-year olds, I was misguided.  I thought that my small world thus far, was it, and I knew pretty much about it, after all, I've read books, pass exams and got a college degree.  Then, I got older and older, and older. I found out there were more things I didn’t know than I knew.  The more I knew, the more I realized I knew less.  Most of the learning I needed could not be learned from books or university lectures, but from life and from life lessons that are passed on from generation to generation.  I wish that earlier in my life I had learned the necessity to listen and listen carefully.  As a young person trying to find her spot under the sun, I was preoccupied with many things.  The sad part is I had been surrounded by many stories that I heard but failed to listen to.  Each person who came into my life had stories that I could have learned from.  Unfortunately, I don't think there are courses that teach listening.  There are those that teach public speaking, speechmaking and doing presentations, but none that I know of that teaches one to listen.  The Bible says, "Let the wise hear and increase in learning and the one who understands obtain guidance."  (Proverbs 1:5 ESV)