MORGAN'S MOMENT
A gentleman came out of the crowd…
    “Did you ever play football
     at Ravenna Park?”
I admitted some happy years
     playing in cold and rain
     until dark drove us home.
“I heard your name
    and saw you standing up there
    but didn’t remember you so tall.”
I laughed and admitted
    that I was pretty small then
    and did my growing late.
He said “Now I’m smaller
    and you’re taller”
    seemingly amazed.
I’m glad he didn’t remember
    my high school grades
    before my senior year!
Some of us are just late bloomers
    physically mentally spiritually
    while others get a quicker start.
I remembered him as good sized
    he remembered me as small
    and after all it didn’t matter.
— Art Morgan 

BOOK CORNER
“What the Dog Saw,” by Malcolm Gladwell. I’ve read ”Outliers” and “Tipping Point” as well. He challenges common ideas and makes you think. Those who care about the homeless issue must read the chapter on “Million-Dollar Harry.” that offers a solution that tent cities and soup kitchens only perpetuate.
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MOMENT MINISTRIES
– February 9, 2010 –
    A MOMENT MINISTRIES production – Art Morgan
a-morgan@peak.org
SO FAR SO GOOD
The change from print mail to digital email has seemed to go well. Many good responses. We’re still looking for help in improving. Let us know your ideas. It is easy to add new addresses. An occasional address is still not quite correct. Tell us.

ACTIVITIES OF THE MOMENT
Most must know that this has been a busy time for us. Note the three “Night on Broadway” pages. I don’t usually write such personal material, but think maybe it helps others on similar journeys. This mailing includes the
“Second Night on Broadway.” A “Third Night on Broadway” will follow shortly. This has been only my second day home in the last two weeks. Because of my Blackberry I have been able to receive emails and phone calls, but I’m way behind answering many of them.

COMING THURSDAY NIGHT MOMENT
Paul and I will both be in town
Thursday February 18
for our regular Potluck and Moment

NEW BLUE SHEET READERS
If you were ever to come sailing with me it is most likely that I would put your hands on the tiller right away. I like people to know the feeling of steering for themselves.
I feel the same way about religious thinking. You may find me challenging some biblical and religious ideas. You may find me questioning old traditions and authority. I will try to stir you to question and think and grow.
So, welcome to my pages. I don’t plan my subjects. I write what I’m thinking about at the moment. I’ll try to let you keep your hand on the tiller.
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A SECOND NIGHT ON BROADWAY
    I never planned to sing on Broadway, but I did. It was a one night stand.
    We’ve already talked about our first Night on Broadway. It was true drama that in this case was not comedy with a good ending, but tragedy in process. We had bit parts that first time, with two memorable conversations I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. We left the hospital that morning and went home.
     We didn’t know whether we would be back, but a couple of days later we packed up for a return front row engagement in room 1250 of the Swedish Hospital on Broadway in Seattle. “It won’t be long,” we were told. There would be no conversation, no dialogue this time. .
    I’ve thought about the parts we are called on to play in the drama of life. Few of the hundreds driving by on the busy street below had any idea of all the drama being played out within the walls of that hospital. Every doorway and window is a curtain hiding a stage. To enter a hospital room where life is at the edge is to walk off the street on to the stage. If you have ever performed you know that it can be scary.
    Off and on these days I have been remembering that the Christian stories of the gospels actually focus on Jesus’ journey towards death. Christianity seems to be awash in the details of how Jesus came to die, down to the moment when he breathed his last. If you’ve kept up on biblical studies you probably know that the death and dying stories are not first hand reports. Yet, because the writers had seen hundreds of deaths, even some of the thousands of crucifixions in that time, they could say with some certainty what Jesus’ death must have been like.
    As I swabbed my Cousin Bob’s lips and mouth I was doing an ages old act of kindness the gospels say those at the cross offered Jesus as he was dying. We ended up alone in the room. Others may have been praying that he might have a miraculous recovery, but we were praying that he could be released from a body that wasn’t working any more. Interesting how we keep praying prayers that don’t work.
    During our first night on Broadway he told us he was not going to leave the hospital alive. It was much like the Last Supper when anxious friends gathered around Jesus hearing him say that he was soon to die. We didn’t want to hear it.
    When conversation ends, when morphine gives its blessed relief, when breathing grows shallow, we who come to stand watch seek lines for this part of the drama. Over past years beside other beds we have learned to speak to the one who no longer speaks, but who may still hear. We talk of shared memories, of places and events. It is as much for us, I suppose, as for the dying one. I whispered to Bob that Carla (his daughter) told me to say he could go anytime, that they would get along OK
    There is no script for such a time, no assigned parts. That was when I sang on Broadway ─
“Now I lay me down to sleep, angels watching over me, my Lord. I pray the Lord my soul to keep,     angels watching over me…” 
    We hadn’t rehearsed, but I doubt it would have helped if we had. Then we sang the chorus of     “Good night Irene, goodnight…I’ll see you in my dreams.” I’d heard it sung as a benediction one time by “The Three Amigos,” a Christian minister, a Jewish rabbi, and a Muslim teacher. I doubt that it has been sung at such moments very often. It felt right.
    Then Jean began singing “Somewhere over the rainbow…” and as she sang Bob relaxed and simply stopped breathing.
    After the nurse came and verified his death we stayed a few more minutes. Jean added another chorus…”Swing low sweet chariot…” It’s a time when metaphors speak.
    Our “performance” was very quiet, not spilling out into the hall. It was brief because none of our songs was complete. Maybe 2 or 3 minutes. We were not playing the lead here. Just background while the drama concluded. The nurse came in, pulled the curtain, turned off the light. We left the stage to go out on Broadway back to our hotel where it was my job to report the news to my list of people who wanted to know.                                                                                                                         ─ Art Morgan, February 4, 2010