Feeling Cratchity

To close out the stewardship fund raising campaign at my church, I delivered the following message to the congregation. The response was well received.

Just last evening, I was visited by a former friend, Jacob Marley. Poor old Marley scared the Dickens out of me. I was visited three times.

The first visitor was the Spirit of Pledges Past. The tale told by this visitor was one that caused me to grumble and groan. For it was true -- I had not shared my talents, and my gift giving was late, because I had forgotten.

The second visitor was the Spirit of Pledges Present. The stewardship fund raising campaign was coming to a close and pledges were falling behind and would not meet the budget goals for 2012. Without receiving additional pledges, the Session will have to lower expectations and will be forced to restructure some of the planned programs. The spirit affirmed that $29,000 more in pledges was needed to meet budget goals.

The third visitor was the Spirit of Pledges Future. Here, I was reminded to pledge for the coming year. Time flies. How could it already be 2012? I knew I wanted to make a difference. I had to change my ways. A nightmare of darkened halls and planned programs, reduced or removed entirely, woke me with a start. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and shivered at these "shadows of what may be."

When I realized all was but a dream, I made my way here to share this tale. For now, my heart is filled with love and joy. I will keep my promise to myself and my pledge to the church. Stewardship with kindness, generosity, and compassion will surely lead us to Vision, Renewal, Ministry, and Service.

"God Bless Us, Every One!"



(Stewardship Finale, St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church, Austin, Texas, December 18, 2011)

Physics, Explained

I try to make it a habit to get to the level of my listeners. When I have conversation, I like to look my discussion partner right in the eye. I learn so much that way.

Just last week, a friend's four year old son was playing with a model of the Millennium Falcon. I sat down with the boy to understand more about his spacecraft. Kadin was explaining the components of the craft, pointing out where the drivers sat and where the door was. I pressed for more information. When I asked about the missing landing gear, Kadin responded, "The landing gear are retracted, so they don't get damaged by travel in space." I was impressed with the answer.

When I asked about the antenna dish, Kadin surprised me with, "That is used to gather signals from other objects, so that navigation in space can be completed more efficiently."

I decided to probe deeper, obviously this child is skilled in conversation. I asked, "So, what do you think about the potential confluence of the Star Wars and Star Trek universes?"

Kadin's expression changed from sincerity to puzzlement to bewilderment. I thought my adult vocabulary had him flummoxed. Rather, Kadin simply said, "That's just not real!"

Why Are You Here?

That is a question that I cannot answer. I would never attempt to do so. On the other hand I can tell you why I am here. It began 23 years ago, when Peggy and I moved to Austin.

I had just left the military to take a job with the University of Texas. We left behind family and friends and arrived, knowing no one. We visited a couple of churches but didn’t find what we were looking for. Peggy found St. Andrew’s in the phone book and on a Saturday morning sent me and our 8 year old son to find it. Sean and I scoured the access lanes of north and southbound IH-35 between Wells Branch and Round Rock. When I finally located St. Andrew’s in a metal warehouse building, I was convinced that some sort of cult was brewing – I mean real churches don’t look like warehouses; do they? Well, we did attend St. Andrew’s the next day and our search was over. Twenty-three years ago, next month, we joined into the full faith and fellowship of St. Andrew’s. We had found home. The rest is history.

I remember a bomb threat, because we dared discuss abortion and women’s rights. I remember a time, when budgets were so tight that we cut the minister’s salary and quit contributing to those needier than ourselves. I remember a church divided over inclusivity. I remember a 15-year old, who had never spoken in public, taking a stand and speaking for justice. I remember the wisdom of many, who are no longer with us.

I have attended weddings and funerals. I have laughed with you and cried with you. I have told stories, and I have listened. I have served meals, carved turkeys, and made gallons of gravy. I served on Session four times. In doing so, I have argued with you and for you. I have driven teens to the beach for clean-ups. I have played volleyball. I have auctioned carved pumpkins. I have attended and taught Sunday school. I have held your babies and given opinions on their future names. I have taken your photographs. I have delivered Christmas gifts to needy families and have been asked, “Are you Santa Claus?”

Now, change all of my “I statements” to “we statements.” Yes, we are all involved. I call that involvement, stewardship. We are learning to do it well. We are taking care of each other, and we have new outlooks on our mission. We are keeping the lights on, salaries paid, and now we discuss how many and where our donations should go. We and our church have become a beacon to many and a thorn to a few. Our continued stewardship is not just a once-a-year request for donations; rather, it is the foundation of our Vision for this church, a Renewal of our faith and our facilities, a Ministry of justice and love for all, and a continuing Service to our community and to the planet.

Why are we here?


(Stewardship Kick-Off, St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church, Austin, Texas, October 23, 2011, by David Rackley)

Our Mr. Rackley -- Annotated Lyrics

He’s an Okie from Muskogee
But without the shame and guilt
He’s a renaissance man
Who’s not afraid to wear a kilt.
He’s the guy the other soldiers
Called the Burger King
Cause singing “Have it Your Way”
Was his favorite thing
Yeah our Mr. Rackley
Is a talented cat.
What does Peggy think about that?

He’s got a winning smile
And he opens with a joke
He’s the master of ceremony
Cause he always goes for broke.
He’s got stories about sailing
He’s a motorcycle mac
He can fricassee a chicken
In an ocean kayak.
Yeah our Mr. Rackley Is a versatile cat.
What does Peggy think about that?

Now some guys are whiny
Self-absorbed and narcissistic
But David’s on the opposite scale
And since we’re being truthful
And completely realistic
Peggy says he is the perfect male!

He can fix your old computer
While he hunts for wild boar
He can ride a bike for hours
Taking pictures of the tour
And then he’ll tell a story
That’s self-deprecating
Cause being very modest
Is another favorite thing
Yeah, our Mr. Rackley
Is a very sweet cat.
What does Peggy think of
(She thinks the world of)
That’s what Peggy thinks about that!

Commissioned by Peggy Rackley in honor of David Rackley’s birthday June 18th, 2011.

Song and lyrics Copyright 2011 Marilyn Rucker

Chicken Legs and Lima Beans

Last evening, February 3rd, was a cold, rainy night in Atlanta. I stepped out from under the awning of my hotel and onto the sidewalk. My destination, Gladys Knight’s Chicken and Waffles, was only three blocks away. The light rain was tolerable. Traffic was fairly heavy, and I found myself dodging the tire-splash from the gutters. By hugging the building exteriors, adjacent to the sidewalk, I was able to keep mostly dry.


In the middle of the second block, a man stepped out of the shadows and blocked my path. He informed me that he needed a hand-out and that the neighborhood was rough. He asked for an unusual amount, $17. Fight-or-flight, the natural reaction that I expected, did not arrive. Rather, I looked the man deep into his eyes, and I saw desperation mixed with sincerity. Perhaps, I am an easy mark; perhaps, I felt compassion; so instead of running away, I chose another tack – I asked the man to join me for dinner. He was taken off-guard by my invitation. I was just as surprised at the words that came out of my mouth. He reminded me that this was a rough neighborhood, told me that he had just been released from prison, having done time for murder, and then he offered to walk me to the restaurant.

The restaurant was less than two blocks from my initial encounter with the panhandler. In that short distance I was reminded repeatedly that this was a rough neighborhood and that the man needed $17. As we approached the restaurant door, I encouraged the man to have dinner with me. Reluctantly, he accepted. We walked in together, and the hostess welcomed us and took us to a booth to be seated. As we settled into the booth, the man’s tough exterior soon melted into gratitude. We ordered drinks – coffee for him, iced tea for me. A waiter handed us menus. A conversation began. I introduced myself and learned that Moses was my new companion. Moses ordered two drumsticks and lima beans. I ordered chicken wings, a cinnamon waffle, fried green tomatoes, and cornbread muffins to share.

While we waited for our meal, I learned more about Moses. We shared that we both had kids. He has a 26-year old daughter in the military. I have a 30-year old son. Moses told me that he had just served a 10-year sentence for killing the man, who had raped his then 14-year old daughter. I sympathized with his action, thinking that I might have reacted in the same way. I felt no fear being with this man; instead, I was glad that I had a dining partner. I told him of my military service and my current occupation. He asked me my age. We learned that there was only a year difference in our ages. I told him about my grandsons. He told me more about his daughter, sad that she was about to deploy to Iran or Afghanistan – he was not sure which. Moses told me stories from his imprisonment. For six years he worked in fields harvesting corn, potatoes, and watermelons. He said it felt like slavery, only more modern. His guards always had guns. Moses went on to say that for the last four years of his sentence, he got smarter in the prison library and did not have to work in the fields.

Our food arrived, and Moses ate like a man that had not eaten well in several days. He was concerned that if he ate too much, he would make himself sick. I said I understood, and told him that he could take any leftovers with him. He smiled. During the meal, Moses commented that it had been a long time since anyone had looked him in the eye and listened. I did listen. In that too short half hour, I realized that my simple gesture was more than an easy escape. It was a connection with another human being. When the meal was over, I paid the tab. Moses reminded me of the rough neighborhood between the restaurant and my hotel, and he offered to walk with me back to the hotel. Together we dodged puddles and tire-splashes. At my hotel we shook hands; I gave Moses $17 for his trouble, wishing him the best. He smiled, looked deep into my eyes and said, “Mr. David, I hope we cross paths, again, in this lifetime. Thank you.”

While I am not sure about the pairing of chicken and waffles, I am sure about the pairing of two people and the simple act of breaking bread together. Moses, wherever you may be, I also hope that our paths may cross, again, in this lifetime.