If you don't get anything else out of this . . .

My preacher has two sentences he often uses in sermons.

The first is, "Shake your head yes, no, or maybe, it'll go faster" after asking a question of the audience. 

The second is, "If you don't get anything else out of this sermon today, I want you to get this."

The first sentence usually gets a chuckle out of me. 

The second sentence, to me, is a signal to "listen up!" because I'm about to hear a main point.

Has this been any other year, last night we would have had our Christmas Eve service.  We would have sung along with our praise team, listened to our preacher's take on Christmas, and then ended with a rendition of "Silent Night" as each congregation member held a lit candle.  

2020 has not been any other year.

I had wondered if we would do an in-person Christmas Eve service this year, and a couple of weeks ago, I got my answer:  No. Instead, we would do a virtual service, as we did for so many months this year, from March until November (and as we still offer for those who don't feel comfortable or safe coming to an in-person service right now.)  

When the plans for the virtual service were announced, we were told, don't worry, we are still going to do our candles!  

So last night, Christmas Eve, at 5 p.m., with the rain falling outside mixed with either a bit of sleet or snow and the temperature hovering in the 30's, we pulled up our chairs to our dining room table, in front of my PC, and we watched as, thanks to the talents of our tech team and our praise team, and thanks to several families from our church, we listened as we celebrated Christmas in song and story.  

Members of our praise team, standing six feet apart, sang; members of our church (both kids and grownups) read portions of the Christmas story. 

And our preacher spoke. 

Since, for the past couple of years, Christmas has now become a debate about what Mary did or did not know, our preacher tackled the song "Mary, Did You Know?" and said that no, she didn't.  The angel Gabriel did tell her, "you will have a son and he will be the Messiah."  She knew that.  

She didn't know that she and her husband would have to flee for their lives, as refugees do today; that perhaps, when they returned to Nazareth, their family would probably be the subject of rumors and gossip ("Son of God? Really?"), and that she, herself, would wonder at least once if her eldest son was out of his mind.

She didn't know that a crowd that welcomed him with "Hosanna!" on Palm Sunday would scream "Crucify him!" mere days later. 

And she didn't know that death would not have the final word; that resurrection would.  

But, our preacher pointed out, Mary knew the faithfulness of God.  Mary was a Jewish girl who would have known of a prophesied Messiah.  She would have known the story of the Exodus, the story of Joshua, of David, of Solomon, of the exile to Babylon and the return home of the exiles.  

Over and over, she would have heard how God took care of his people. 

Mary may not have known the future, but she knew the past faithfulness of God . . . and although my preacher didn't say these words, I thought of the sentence, "If you don't get anything else out of this, get this."  

We have suffered through a long, difficult, weary year; a year of so much loss, so much suffering, so much anger, so much exhaustion, so much isolation. No one on earth has been unaffected. 

Personally, while I have lost no one to COVID, nor have I lost a job, I also have struggled this year with the effects of isolation, with the fallout of COVID and of the racial unrest in the US and the US presidential election and its aftermath.  I've adjusted to a spouse now working at home and dealt with a son doing digital learning through the computer.  I've asked questions about God, about faith, and I still have more questions than answers at times.

But I cannot get away from what Mary couldn't get away from, either:  That although neither of us know the future, we know the past faithfulness of God. 

God has not always done what I want Him to do when I want Him to do it. I don't understand why he does not directly intervene to stop COVID, stop the evil of racism, open the eyes of people so that they can see truth, make it obvious who can be trusted and who cannot be. 

But I still believe that God is faithful. I still believe that God cares, that He became human for a time to show us that yes, He does love us; yes, He was willing to become one of us to tell us, yes, I suffered when I was tempted so I can help those who are being tempted. He was willing to die for our sins because He wanted a relationship with us.  

Last night, at the end of our service, we were told to get our candles and light them, while a recording of our praise team singing "Silent Night" played over videos of candles.  

My family took three candles and lit them. And we watched the computer screen as we sang "Silent Night", a homage to a virgin mother and child, a story of shepherds quaking and glories streaming, and of a Son of God that is "love's pure light".  

If you don't get anything else out of this, get this;

Even through a computer screen, in this year of masks and social distancing, of Zoom, of an increasing "us vs. them mentality" . . . there is a God who is still faithful, a God who still cares about his people, a God who loves them.  

Just as a young girl named Mary did, I count on my past experiences with God's faithfulness to believe that He will see me through an uncertain future.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

That’s Doctor Biden --and Doctor Engineer -- to You, Sir!

In a conversation held probably in the late 1940’s or very early 1950’s, a teacher informed a mother that her youngest son “would never amount to anything.”

Today, that youngest son is the proud owner of a doctorate in engineering. 

He’s traveled all over the world, worked for the Honeywell Corporation, and taught at a large university. 

He is one of a handful of people in the country that knows what he knows.

He put in the hard work to earn the title “Doctor” of engineering.

But, according to the author of an recent op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal, [note: you may need a subscription in order to read] he has no right to call himself “doctor”.

Why? 

Because he hasn’t delivered a baby.

That is the opinion of one Joseph Epstein, author and former lecturer at Northwestern University.  

The thrust of his opinion piece was to suggest, nay urge, soon-to-be First Lady Jill Biden to drop the “Dr.” from her name. 

Dr. Jill Biden holds an Ed.D.  She teaches at the community college level.  Her students refer to her as “Dr. B.” She plans to continue teaching once her husband takes office as President. 

For whatever reason, Epstein took it upon himself to tell her:  “Madame First Lady — Mrs. Biden — Jill — kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is not an unimportant matter.  Any chance you might drop the ‘Dr.’ before your name?”  

He goes on to say that “Dr.” “sounds and feels fraudulent” and also “a touch comic”. 

He disparages her dissertation title, “Student Retention at the Community College Level: Meeting Students’ Needs”.  Apparently, he’s not familiar with the usual titles of dissertations, which do not run along the lines of “Fifty Shades of Gray” or “Gone With the Wind” or “The Bluest Eye”. 

He states that he taught at Northwestern University for 30 years without a doctorate or advanced degree. 

Then, he goes on to lament about the “relaxation of standards in university education” and also about the decline in the “prestige of honorary doctorates”.  

He concludes by ordering Jill Biden to “please consider stowing [your title] at least in public, at least for now. Forget the small thrill of being Dr. Jill, and settle for the larger thrill of living for the next four years in the best public housing in the world as First Lady Jill Biden.”

So let’s see:  a man with only a B.A. who taught English at the university level for 30 years, who has not lectured at Northwestern since 2003, who does not even know Jill Biden, thinks he has the authority to tell her to drop a title from her name that she has honestly earned through hard work?  

I guess that means that since only those who have delivered children can call themselves “Dr.,” that means, first of all, that all teachers should forthwith refer to themselves as “Mr.” or “Ms.” or [first name]. 

Second of all, since not all doctors are OB/GYNs and therefore, not all doctors deliver babies, I guess psychiatrists, psychologists, neurologists, and most surgeons should forthwith drop the “doctor” from their names as well.  

The blowback from this article has been swift and punitive. Northwestern immediately stated that they did not agree with Epstein's opinion, and Northwestern's English department has removed Epstein's profile from its website. And if you Google "Joseph Epstein op-ed", you'll find a smattering of articles from NPR, Psychology Today, Chicago Tribune, and others roundly condemning the piece as "misogynistic" and "out of touch".

Dr. Jill Biden became an Ed.D. after 15 years of hard work while raising a family and supporting a husband.  I've gone to school while being a wife and mother, and it is not easy.  (Unlike Dr. Biden, I did not finish.  I attempted court reporting school, and due to a number of factors, had to stop.) 

Part of the reason for the blowback has been the tone of the article. Epstein referred to Dr. Biden as "kiddo" and told her to "forget the small thrill of being Dr. Jill" (did he intend to be a poet with that phrase?) and enjoy the "larger thrill" of being First Lady. This from a man who has never held public office and definitely will never be a First Lady. 

I've also seen the question asked:  Would such an article have been written about a man? Let's think about it:  When a woman becomes President, if she's married to a man who holds a doctorate and who is not a medical doctor, would he be ordered to "forthwith drop the doc" and enjoy the next four years as First Husband, or First Man, or whatever he will be called?

Somehow, I doubt it. 

Dr. Jill Biden earned her degree through hard work, stress, and figurative -- if not literal -- blood, sweat, and tears. (While I doubt the blood part, the sweat and the tears are probably true.)  When one has earned a degree, one has earned the right to use the title conferred by that degree.  When you receive a diploma, part of the wording on that diploma includes "all the rights and privileges thereof", including the right to use the title conferred upon you.

Oh, the man I referred to at the beginning of this article?

The son whose mother was told he'd never amount to anything?

The one who holds a doctorate in engineering?

Who traveled all over the world and taught at a university and worked for Honeywell?

Know how I know about all that?

He's my uncle.

I will proudly introduce him as Doctor Jerry Sergent, Ph.D.

In other words, Mr. Epstein, that's Doctor engineer to you!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

A bleak, colorful winter

I've been reading headlines predicting a bleak winter.  This is mainly due to COVID spikes and flu season coming upon us and the possibility of a "twindemic" of COVID and flu. 

A contentious election that some still want to contest isn't helping.

And election season is still not over in my state of Georgia, where voting will soon start for two Senate seats. My son recently said that the campaign ads were like a war.  He's not wrong. 

No one's mental health is good right now. 

I've thought about this "bleak winter" and I've come up with one antidote.

Color.

So recently, I fired the first shot in my one-woman war against this bleak winter.

I went to Walmart on Black Friday and bought an ugly Christmas sweater.

It's colorful, decorated with Christmasy decorations, and has a bunch of bells on it that jingle when you move.

Obnoxiously perfect, right?

Well, I think I will need to cut the bells off, because I want to wear this to church and constantly having bells jingle whenever you move is a little bit too obnoxious. 

2020 has been a long year.  It's been a bleak year. And winter is coming (nod to Game of Thrones).

One person may not be able to do much. But if I can bring some color to this bleak winter, I think it's a start.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.