In my Labor Day Sunday sermon, I noted that our Jewish siblings begin their High Holy Days with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, on Labor Day Monday. 

 

Columbus rabbis Elka Abrahamson and Misha Zinkow describe these “High Holidays” (also called “The Days of Awe”) as the time when “we reflect on the way we have failed to live up to the best that is in us, when and how we have missed the mark [but when we are] dedicated to the work of spiritual preparation for the sacred work of personal repair,” culminating on September 16 this year with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement—at-one-ment with the Holy.

Their remarks got me thinking about experiences of atonement—of repair—I’ve had for having greatly missed the mark or for others for whom I’ve been the “mark” they missed. On the latter, I also mentioned in my sermon how I’ve come to think of Jesus as “brother,” really as older guide on the path of becoming fully human, and how my older brothers failed that when I was young, mercilessly teasing me, or worse, my next older brother mercilessly beating on me when no parent was around. 

My oldest brother later taught me how to drive, an act of great atonement for me, and much later in life guided me on voyages into the Rocky Mountains as I followed my spiritual practice. And my next older brother came through, particularly, before and following my recent knee replacement surgery, suggesting what medical equipment supplies I’d need to have in the house when I came home, and later, simply how to fill water bottles with ice to stock the ice machine for reducing swelling rather than continually buying big bags of ice. That’s the guidance I needed and wanted.

I mentioned in the sermon how my father often would provide the laugh track for my brothers’ teasing. And left out how he could get being tired, overworked, and not particularly fond of noisy children or simple errors. I wrote: “A mistake like spilling milk could result in a verbal tongue lashing by my overworked, underslept dad, so I knew well what it meant to “cry over spilled milk.” 

But what I also did not add was this experience of atonement from and with my dad: Although I must say that after some outburst such as this over something relatively minor that I caught the brunt of, my dad would come to my room, where I probably had run crying, and apologize—I suspect at the behest of my mother, but show up he did—and he’d say something like, “I’m sorry, that’s just your old man, ignore him.” And actually, just that small amount of reparation was always good for my young soul.

And there was the most significant moment of atonement and forgiveness I received from my dad, which was shortly after I finally got my driver’s license in high school. I took my girlfriend to a drive-in, pulled out the wrong way, hit a pole, and put a big round dent in our family car. Now, my dad loved his cars and spent more time washing and waxing his car on a weekend than he spent, well, talking with me in a whole week. So, I pretty much thought my life had ended. So, when I admitted it to him after he got home from his railroad engineer job that night, I expected fireworks but got this instead: “Well, that happens to all of us.” He might as well have pulled out the fatted calf and said, “we’re going to celebrate, for my son was lost, and now he is found.” That’s how forgiven I felt.

There have been, thank God, many instances of atonement from all three of my children over the years, having divorced their mother and leaving the family when they were still young, and living 350 miles away for most of their young lives, still my biggest area of regret and remorse. Ostensibly leaving a marriage that I felt was stifling my spiritual leanings and longings, I know now how much more my own immaturity and self-centeredness, and just plain fear of intimacy were involved.

But an atonement with my kids’ mother was symbolized when, after my daughter, Katie, asked me to baptize her new baby, her mother asked if I wouldn’t also baptize her son from her remarriage. I credit all of their persistence in allowing me continual connection and re-entry into their lives through the years.

And this knee surgery has been the latest “days of awe”—of loving atonement—from my children. Both daughters traveled out here several times from the Chicago area with children and families for the first few weeks of surgery and recovery. And my son, with his own four children, but being a fitness guru, gave me advice on physical activity and healing when I injured the hamstring of my “good” leg during an overconfident initial couple of weeks.

I have been very blessed with acts of forgiveness toward me through the years. What “at-one-ment” experiences have provided you with awe at the loving nature of reality?

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