Professor J's Place

  "Learning to Walk" David Fabricius Aaby I’m learning to walk. As most people who know me know, I fell and broke my knee-cap this summer. When I was healed, and my doctor blessed me and said, “you may go,” I asked him for a referral to physical therapy.  I had recently learned that my knock knees, and the arthritis they created, could be improved through exercise. The doctor said yes, that although it would not take away any deformation, it would strengthen and stabilize my knees. I walk funny.  I’ve always thought I walk funny because my knees are deformed. Come to find out, my knees are deformed because I walk funny. So I am learning to walk. And to stand. And to strengthen muscles that are atrophied. When my therapist first watched me walk, he said I need to start out with my heels when I walk. And he stood me in front of a mirror. “You’re standing on your toes,” he said. “Put your feet down.” Those first days were rough. When you first ...

My last post on this blog was about the death of San Antonio's beloved Fr. Eddie. I learned of Eddie's death the day this photo was taken. I was one of the people being ordained and commissioned to serve my church as elders and deacons. On the far left, you can see my pastor, Kelly Allen . I have put off writing about this day, and the week that followed, for some time, but as I showered and prepared for going to church this morning, these words echoed in my head: "faith, familia, trabajo." I heard them yesterday in a speech by the man I hope is our next VP. (More about that later). Those words are embraced by people of faith everywhere, and they certainly exemplify the life of Kelly Allen. On the Friday following my ordination, Kelly suffered a major stroke. That Sunday, her family released her body from life support, and gave her organs to save other lives. It was fitting that her last act on life was to save others. Greater love has no one. I cannot exp...

Fr. Eddie Bernal  photo, Lisa Krantz Last night, after a day full of worship, fellowship, and happiness, I turned on the 10:00 news to hear that Fr. Eddie Bernal, a beloved priest here in San Antonio, has died.  I wanted to share a story he once told at a SOL center class many years ago. Fr. Eddie was doing some service work with the youth group from his congregation. Afterward, they all went out to IHOP for dinner.  There was a homeless man by the door of the restaurant, and one of the girls in the group engaged the man in conversation. Then, to Fr. Eddie's surprise (and, he admitted, fear), the girl invited the homeless man to eat with them. They all had a good dinner and a good conversation with the homeless man. As they were walking out of the restaurant and the man was walking away, Fr. Eddie called out to him, "We never got your name."  The man turned and said, "Chuy, I'm Chuy." For those of you not from San Antonio, it mi...

I needed to write a statement of faith. Here's what I came up with: I believe in God the creator Who made the sparrow and the hawk-- Who made Enchanted Rock and Grand Canyon-- Who made Life—in its infinite variety. I believe in God the savior Who suffers with and for us. Who teaches. Who heals. I believe in God of the still, small voice Who speaks to me in the woods Who says, "Look," or "Love." I believe in my human frailty -- My sinful nature that causes me to walk away-- And in the God who walks with me and waits for me. I believe in the God who calls us to community-- To service. To love. --------------------------------------------------------- The Pharisees asked him, "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus answered "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second i...

Yesterday I went to church and I saw this in the parking lot. I can think up several different stories for this, but I love it. Other things happened. I saw my friend Lenna sitting across the isle, and went to join her. We chatted for awhile, and then I saw that my former pastor Lib McGregor Simmons was sitting in front of me. That was a nice surprise. Here she is (on the right) with my current pastor Kelly Allen Then, sometime during the sermon, which was about letting go of control as a Sabbath practice, Kelly was talking about letting go of control of your children. Oh yeah, and there's more. Yesterday was the 12th anniversary of my Mother's death.  Talk about letting go of control--or having control wrestled from your clutching hands -- And I looked in front of me and there was Lib. Lib was my pastor at the time of Mama's death. In fact, she came to see us and pray with me in the hospital about a half an hour before Mama died. And she counseled...

I have a wisdom tooth inside my crowded face I have a friend who is a born-again Found his savior's grace I was born before my father And my children before me We are born and born again Like waves of the sea That's the way it's always been That's how I want it to be  Paul Simon I have always loved this song--it's one of my favorites. It combines my love of the romantic era and the concept of the wisdom of children that is lost with age, "I was born before my father and my children before me," with the truth of my own experience, "We are born and born again." This morning--this all souls day--I am hearing this song again.  This morning I clicked on one of those silly Facebook things. It looks at your profile pics over the last few years and picks the most representative profile pictures to show your change over the years. The picture for 2014 was one of my favorite baby pictures. I jokingly said to my friends, what...

When I was an undergraduate, I read an essay by Adrienne Rich about Emily Dickinson. "Vesuvius at Home," the title taken from an ED poem, shattered the image of the shy, strange little woman sitting in her bedroom and hiding away from the world. And I began to read Dickinson. Then I began to study Dickinson. Her syntax, her precise and startling use of words, her understanding of the human mind, of my mind, were sustenance to me. And still, I think that there is no one who touches my heart as much as Dickinson. On this day, the day after the congress released its report on torture, a day when racism and violence and lawlessness seem ever present, a day when I think that perhaps my country has lost its soul, I remember that Dickinson wrote the bulk of her poetry during the years of the civil war; another time when America was paying the price for its original sin.  It seems appropriate to share the best poem about grief I've ever read: After great pain, a forma...