might be baloney

On November 20, 2022, the church I grew up in held its last worship service in the Burlington, N C building where it operated for generations.

After careful deliberations and following the protocols established in the discipline of the Methodist church, the congregation at Davis Street Methodist Church voted to shut the church doors on Davis Street near downtown and move to a new location.

Sadly, Davis Street isn’t alone in their actions. Aging congregations, tired buildings, economic instability, and the inability to attract new members are among the challenges congregations face across America.

This downward spiral is in sharp contrast to the growth churches experienced post World War II. At that time, church planters had a “if you build it, they will come,” mentality. Churches were built and people came.

Clearly, the pandemic impacted church operations and attendance. But truthfully, churches were already experiencing difficulties prior to the pandemic. Lots of data is available regarding this significant decline.

The latest Pew Research Center report from September 2022 doesn’t hold much hope for a reversal of this spiral. Churches and their congregations aren’t immune from political division, challenges to their doctrines related to sexual orientation, and a longstanding stubborn resistance to change.

Growing up at Davis Street, I don’t recall political bickering, nor conversations about sexual orientation. However, the “turf and personalities” of a church could collide if an impactful change was proposed.

During my growing up years at Davis Street, the pace of the world was slower. Sundays were quiet. Only essential businesses were open. Unless there was sickness, our family was in church every Sunday.

Today, our pace is entirely different. With many retail businesses open, Sunday is a popular day for shopping.

But there is a busyness impacting families and the choices they make over the course of a weekend. In these over-extended families, church might not be on their top five list of planned activities.

In an article in the Spring 2022 edition of the William and Mary Alumni Magazine, Brian Shallcross, General Manager of the minor league baseball team, the Bowie Baysox, talks about how his organization works to bring people to a game.

When Shallcross started his career, the focus was on “discretionary income,” the extra income a family might have to spend.

Now, Shallcross states the focus is on “discretionary time.” Marketers attempt to figure out how to persuade a family that a baseball game is the best option from the multiple options they consider during a weekend.

For churches attempting to rebuild by focusing on young families, it is critical for pastors, staffs, and congregational leaders to understand “discretionary time.” Churches who acknowledge the impact of “discretionary time” might rethink worship schedules that could be more appealing for young families.

But, I also wonder if congregations become too mired in their own church busyness? Does this church busyness and reliance upon worn practices impair congregational vision? Unfortunately, I believe the answer is yes.

If churches expect to survive this decline, their pastors, staff, and laity must be willing to take risks. Fear of taking risks, failure to implement overdue changes will only ensure more church doors closing.

With this closing of Davis Street, I imagine some significant seismic shifting came from the graves of its founders. Honestly, I admire the congregation for making this difficult decision.

If churches expect to exist beyond the dismal predictions, their leaders and congregations must make some tough decisions.

I believe churches still have a place in our communities.

But their future depends upon their ability to confront the fear of change.

Note from the author: I was honored to have this op-ed piece published in three North Carolina newspapers on Monday, January 23, 2023. The piece appeared in: The Charlotte Observer, Raleigh News & Observer, and the Durham Herald-Sun.

Late in the spring of 2022, I thought my sister-in-law, Abby, who I consider to be a brilliant woman had lost her mind.

Abby was proposing that our families take my 94 year old mother-in-law on a European river cruise. This trip would be a celebration of my mother-in-law’s upcoming birthday in February 2023, number 95.

All I could imagine was a disaster for my mother-in-law—a devastating fall, an unexpected medical emergency. Luckily, by the grace of God, none of my fears became reality.

Perhaps what is even a greater miracle is that I secured a passport in time for the trip. That’s right, my first passport.

My wife, the Commander Supreme, and our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, coached me on the nuances of saying the right words when I had my passport application interview. They were concerned that I might say something foolish, and I would be red-flagged to a no travel list.

I will be forever grateful to Abby for organizing the trip. In that gratefulness is my Commander Supreme too. I know at times during the trip she felt like she was marshaling two children, her mother and me. Yes, we had some moments of intense traveling impatience, but somehow we completed the trip intact.

Would I go again? Yes, but I need a couple of years to recover.

The flight back home was long, really, really long, and the darn flight tracker provided by the airline didn’t work. Boo technology failure.

Airplanes continue to fascinate me, but those long flights really wear on me. And it is clear as mud that airlines care more about pennies than they do about their passengers. Too bad Piedmont isn’t still in business.

Yet, I’m amazed at how many people are working behind the scenes to make all of this happen. Traveling with a 94 year old allowed us to see more of what takes place in the background.

Every place we visited was special. I can’t name a favorite, but I will give lots of credit to the weather. Aside from one rainy day, the weather was October perfect.

For sure, the cathedrals will stay with me. No matter the city, I’ve never seen anything like those cathedrals. The architecture, the art, the details, and the endurance to build them and to continue to maintain these structures is without question remarkable. But today, in their stunning opulence, I wonder how the needs of the people they serve are being met?

Another surprise for me was tobacco smoke. A lot of people in the places we visited are still smokers of cigarettes. It was so prevalent that I kept playing in my brain the Merle Travis and Tex Williams’ song—“Smoke! Smoke! Smoke!(That Cigarette).

I kept thinking about one line from the song: “Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate, I hate to make him wait, but I just gotta have another cigarette.” I guess when their time comes to meet St. Peter, there will be lots of European smokers at the gates of those cathedrals smoking their last cigarette just before their funerals.

But adding to charm of the age of all the places our feet took us were the cobblestones.

I imagine the supplier of cobblestones from Budapest to Passau lives on a remote tropical island faraway from river cruise tourists, cathedrals, and cigarette smoke.

I loved the worn beauty of the cobblestones and their patterns in alleys and public squares. I suspect the cobblestones could tell us many stories about the ups and downs of life.

And, I would be amiss, if I didn’t compliment, Viking, the cruise line, who took care of us.

I’m sure Viking has some imperfect moments, but I can’t say enough about their personnel, the itinerary, the food, and the ship.

Let me put it this way. Viking does everything they can to spoil their guests so that the guests will want to return.

Yes, they did spoil me. And, at some point in this old life of mine, I hope the Commander Supreme and I can return.

Until that day, I will hold the Danube River cruise deep in my aging heart.

Editor, Times-Dispatch:
On Saturday, January 7, 2023, three front-page headlines in the Richmond Times-Dispatch were about public schools.

Sadly, six days into the new year, one of those headlines reported another school shooting.

This one did not fit what has become a predictable pattern of shooter intrusions. Unfortunately, a Newport News first-grader brought a gun to school and shot his classroom teacher.

Regrettably, I’m not surprised.

For too long in America, one of our essential assets—our families— have been quietly eroding.

In an August 2022 report issued by the Annie E. Casey Foundation, “nearly 24 million children live in a single parent family in the United States, or about “one in every three kids across America.”

That instability impacts our neighborhoods, schools, judicial systems, the human infrastructure systems created to assist families—and our future.

Continuing to neglect the erosion of our families will only ensure more tragic headlines.

We can’t legislate our way out of this mess. Nor can the Treasury print enough currency to fix it.

What can we do?

We must value time.

Valuing time means taking the time to listen and learn from our families who are in a battle everyday to survive.

Additionally, that listening must include the overloaded professionals who work in the trenches everyday to support these families.

From that listening and learning, we must commit to the challenging work of breaking the entrenchment of our ineffective systems.

Perhaps you have followed the remarkable recovery of Buffalo Bills’ defensive back Damar Hamlin. After being injured in a game with the Cincinnati Bengals, well-trained medical personnel with urgency and precision saved his life.

Our families in America are in need of the same urgent, resuscitating intervention.

With every second we lose, another heartbreaking headline is developing.

Bill Pike
Henrico

Author’s note: This letter to the editor appeared in the Sunday, January 15, 2023 edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

I knew Tuesday, October 18, 2022 had potential. As we gathered to start our morning tour of Passau, Germany, a beer truck was parked close by. And the person in charge of the truck had several crates of beer stacked up being prepped for delivery.

We enjoyed our tour of Passau, and that enjoyment wasn’t grounded in access to beer. Yes, beer is part of Passau’s community and culture, but the city offers much more.

Again, we had an exceptional tour guide. A young man who covered all the bases and more. He gave us tips about the twelve local breweries, shared insights about church politics, and made a perfect recommendation for the afternoon.

According to the Viking Daily, Passau is known as the “City of Three Rivers.” Swirling around Passau are the Inn, Danube, and Ilz Rivers.

Historically, salt “white gold” made Passau an important trade center. Additionally, local metal smiths gained recognition for high quality knife and sword blades that were stamped with the Passau wolf. Some warriors believed that the wolf stamped on the blade made them invulnerable.

As noted in other stops on this trip, fire had an impact. During the 17th century, the city was hit hard by destructive fires. Gradually, Passau’s Old Town was established with beautiful churches and homes. I had a tough time controlling my desire to constantly take pictures.

In Passau, the city is graced with the stunning St. Stephen’s Cathedral. This cathedral is home to the largest pipe organ outside of the United States.

But, I liked our guide’s honesty in talking a bit about the local churches.

First, like in America, church attendance is in decline. Our guide shared with us that there is a church tax in Germany, and I didn’t quite follow the purpose, but having worked in a church for twelve years I found that interesting.

Additionally, the guide indicated that not paying your church tax could impact your access to a church for a wedding, and possibly employment.

And speaking of weddings and celebrations, our guide made sure that we saw a public beer tap in the square just outside of the Old Town Hall. He told us families gather around the tap after a wedding.

Also in the city is the University of Passau with about 12,000 students. Our guide conveyed that the students were quite helpful to city residents during a recent flooding of the rivers.

At some point, we said goodbye to our guide. We purchased tickets for a midday concert featuring the famous pipe organ, and prior to the performance, we simply wandered in and out of the shops in Old Town.

Some interior renovations are taking place in St. Stephen’s Cathedral, but that didn’t detract from its beauty or the magnificent performance by the organist and the 17,974 pipes, 233 stops, and four carillons.

After the concert, we found our way back to the ship for lunch, and we made plans for the afternoon.

After lunch, more walking around Old Town took place, and we eventually made the walk across the river to begin the hike up to the Veste Oberhaus.

Dating back to 1219, this fortress sits on top of St. Georgsburg mountain which is only 344 feet above the valley floor. Today, the building and grounds are home to a museum, a youth hostel, and a restaurant. The views looking over the routes of the rivers and the city are spectacular. We explored a lot, and then we decided to stop in the restaurant, named the Das Oberhaus.

Das Oberhaus had numerous splendid views of the city from its outside seating platforms. The ladies ordered wine, and Art and I had draft beer from the famous Augustiner Brewery in Munich.

In Germany all brewers must abide by the Munich Purity Decree. The Purity Decree only allows water, hops, and malt in the brewing process. I ordered a dark lager, and it was superb.

We made our way down from the top of St. Georgsburg, and walked back across the Luitpold Bridge.

Continuing to be charmed by the architecture and the cobblestone alley ways winding along shops and homes, we decided to make one more stop for beer. From the alley entrance we entered a restaurant that had an open air patio looking out on to the busy street and the graceful river as a backdrop.

The local brewery Lowenbrau was featured here.

Our server here could not have been more kind and graceful in taking our orders and answering a few questions.

From here, we made the short walk back to the ship.

We met at 6:45 in the dining room for the Captain’s farewell toast, and a final wrap up from our Program Director, Mario.

Dinner was another delicious treat, and I think we all knew we were going to be missing this elegance when we returned to the reality of our stateside homes.

Toward the end of dinner, there was a flurry of activity related to birthdays. Of course, the Viking staff knew this trip for us was in honor of Betsy’s mother and her upcoming February birthday, number 95.

It was tough to say goodbye to our favorite waiters, Mehi and Jazz. Their skills in serving us were impeccable, but speaking for myself, I loved their humor even more.

Earlier in the day, we had learned more about the system for leaving the ship in the morning. We attended to the final details of packing, and made sure our wake up times were all cued up.

Wednesday would be a long day of travel from Frankfurt, Germany back to Dulles in Northern Virginia.

On a recent Saturday morning run, I was just past the intersection of Westham Parkway and Beechwood Drive in my Richmond, Virginia neighborhood.

I noticed two potholes near the double yellow lines. Seemed unusual for potholes to be so close to the center of the road, but there they were.

I’m sure being a road surface is challenging. Vehicle weight, weather whims, and driving habits impact the asphalt.

All it takes is a tiny fissure on the blacktop, and we have the beginning of a pothole.

As I trudged along this familiar route, I thought more about those potholes. I reasoned that a tiny fissure in the life of a human being can quickly become a hollowed hole of never ending struggles.

In our communities, I sense that teachers, preachers, mental health providers, and families are in a struggle. Their morale is battered with a worn weariness that treads upon any chance of hope.

Without question, the pandemic had an impact on public schools, churches, mental health providers, and families.

Attempts to recover from the impact of COVID-19 will take a long time. That prolonged recovery is grounded in this reality: schools, churches, mental health providers, and families were already experiencing difficulties prior to the pandemic.

Personally, I’m not sure how teachers maintain their sanity. They are constantly in the sight lines of politicians who in many instances have no earthly idea of what it takes for a teacher to survive in a classroom. Yet, research bears out that the skills of the classroom teacher are often the pivot point in making a positive difference in the life of a student.

For many years, researchers have documented the decline in church attendance. The latest Pew Research Center report from September 2022 doesn’t hold much hope for a reversal of this spiral. Preachers and their congregations haven’t been immune from political division, challenges to their doctrines related to sexual orientation, and a longstanding stubborn resistance to change.

When it comes to mental health, America is in a crisis, a crisis that our country is reluctant to admit. Sadly, for many Americans, the most reliable means for solving a conflict is to pull out a gun and shoot. How many more lives are we willing to lose courtesy of this mentality? How many lives could have been saved if we were better equipped to provide mental health services to trigger pullers?

Clearly, I’m not an expert, but my career working in our public schools keeps bringing me back to a recurring concern—the erosion of our families.

In an August 2022 report issued by the Annie E. Casey Foundation, “nearly 24 million children live in a single parent family in the United States, or about one in every three kids across America.” During my career, I worked with many successful single parents, but that wasn’t always the norm.

I can only imagine the strain endured by a single parent— working multiple jobs, attempting to support children with food, clothing, health care, and education while housing the family in a rundown motel.

Repairing the two potholes on the road in my neighborhood is simple.

Repairing human potholes is complicated.

How might we start the repair process for our human potholes?

A good starting point is to understand how schools, churches, mental health providers, and nonprofits who work with families are already communicating and collaborating.

In those collaborations, it is important to identify what works, what doesn’t, including the courage to disassemble ineffective practices.

Additionally, the assessment must include a careful analysis of data and trends so that more effective templates of service can be implemented.

Assessing community real estate is essential to the process. How might blighted store fronts, empty school and church buildings be repurposed into housing and community service centers for families?

And there is another critical piece, assessing a community’s human resources. How do we utilize the skills and experiences of people who are active, but retired? How might we retool individuals who are looking for employment that will give back to families in a struggling neighborhood?

But the real question is this: do we understand that potholes are more than a seasonal challenge?

Teachers, preachers, mental health providers, and struggling families experience the reality of their pothole entrenchment everyday.

We are at a crisis point.

Continuing to ignore the needs of our human infrastructure is unacceptable.

On December 14, Virginia’s Governor announced plans for reforming mental health. This is a long overdue starting point.

Yet, I fear these proposals will fall victim to the very predictable potholes of political division on both sides of the aisle. Our political inability to play nice will only continue to hurt people.
As the holiday season rushes by us, weary hearts of people in the battered potholes of life need hope.

Our politicians need to deliver.

What do the Romans, Mozart, and Hitler have in common? The answer, the pretty Austrian city, Linz.

Yes, a long, long time ago, the Romans started a settlement here.

Mozart wrote the “Linz” Symphony and “Linz” Sonata during a three day visit to the city. The house where he stayed and worked is still standing, but there is no tour of the home.

And quietly, our tour guide told us that Adolph Hitler’s family moved here shortly after his birth from an Austrian village near the German border. Hitler spent his childhood in the city, and he considered Linz his home.

Our tour started in Linz’s beautiful, Hauptplatz, the town square. According to the Viking Daily, the square is the largest in Austria. No matter where our tour guide directs our attention, we have lots to see and ponder.

The Town Hall, stately homes, a railway line, the Trinity Column, courtyards, and the beginnings of Old Town capture my interest.

The railway line is in constant use as it quietly arrives and departs in the heart of the square.

But, I’m drawn to the Trinity Column. The statue was designed and constructed to acknowledge a grateful thanks by the people of Linz for being a bit “lucky” with the challenges that surrounded them in their early history. The Column stands in at 66 feet in height, and stone masons worked with white Untersberg marble in its design.

Our tour guide kept us moving. We walked a lot, but thanks to her expertise, we took in this section of the city with great detail and a broad lens. She even took us back in time for a quick view of some Roman ruins. But more importantly, our guide, left us with a plan for the afternoon.

After lunch on the ship, our plan was to revisit Old Town for more exploring, and to take the steepest mountain railway in Europe to Postlingberg hill and a pilgrimage church that dates back to the 18th century.

Thanks to my tour guides, Betsy and Elizabeth, we figure out how to purchase tickets at the Town Hall for the railway ride. Our timing is good for catching a rail car that will take us up 1,768 feet to our destination. There is lots to see as we cross the Danube and work our way up the hill.

In 1898, someone figured out that a rail line up Postlingberg Hill to the Pilgrimage Church was a good idea. They weren’t wrong, the train ride was worth it.

No question, the views looking down over Linz are as predicted— beautiful, and the church isn’t shabby either. We enjoyed our walk around the building and a quick self-guided tour inside. Locals also know the church as the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary.

Gradually, we worked our way to the railway line to catch the train to take us back into Linz. Once across the Danube, we returned to the Old Town area for more exploring of the shops.

As I followed Betsy and Elizabeth around, I wondered if any of our footsteps today would have been paths that Hitler had taken during his childhood. And, I also wondered, how Hitler became such an evil monster.

Additionally, my mental meandering takes me back to World War II. My guess is we probably walked through sections of Linz today that had been heavily bombed. Linz was a constant target as the city was a major hub of activity for the Germans.

In Stephen Ambrose’s book, The Wild Blue, B-24 pilot George McGovern said this about flying over Linz: “It was terrible, hell can’t be any worse than that.”

Upon returning from one bombing mission over Linz in April of 1945, McGovern, in his plane, the Dakota Queen, counted 110 holes in plane’s fuselage and wings. He was amazed that the plane could stay in the air from being hit with all that flak.

Our day walking and exploring Linz had been tension and stress free. This was a significant contrast to what the citizens of Linz experienced during World War II.

Slowly, we made our way back to the ship. Before dinner, we had our first briefing about the upcoming disembarkation. Yes, we had one full day ahead of us before catching a plane back to America.

Dinner was delightful, and the chef and the servers continued to spoil us.

After dinner, we had an extra entertainment treat—the Salzburg Sound of Music Singers. Their performance affirmed why some acknowledge Linz as a leading cultural center in Upper Austria.

If raindrops greeted our tour of Vienna on Saturday, then fog was to be our greeter on Sunday morning, October 16 in Krems, Austria. No matter where my eyes wandered, fog shrouded every view.

Our destination this morning was the Gottweig Abbey, and the ride to the Abbey was pretty, but at times the comments of our guide were hampered by the fog—“if you look over there, no, no sorry, you can’t see it.”

And while the fog was an unwanted intruder, its hovering gray could not conceal the beauty of the Abbey’s buildings, grounds, and artwork.

Construction of the Abbey goes back to the 11th century. Like many cherished buildings, it survived a severe fire in 1580 followed by a devastating complete burn down in 1718. But the emperor at the time saw the value of the site and assigned his architect to reconstruct the Abbey.

The value in this land and buildings was confirmed again in 2001 when UNESCO proclaimed the Abbey as a World Heritage Site.

Today, the Abbey is still full of life. Forty monks provide care for the facility including its vineyards and orchards. The making of wine at the Abbey dates back to 1083.

Our tour wove us around the grounds, through assorted buildings, and a quick peak at the cathedral where a service was taking place with a guest choir.

Yes, the interior designs are stunning including the variety of artwork showcased on wall panels and ceilings. We learned the guardian angels of ceiling frescos stumbled upon a mixture of cheap bread and glue as a good tool for cleaning these beautiful artistic creations.

What I liked about the Abbey is that it still holds an active role in the community. The fertile land encompassing the Abbey is used by the monks to wisely harvest valued timber, row after row of grapes for winemaking, and beautiful orchards full of apricot trees. A thoughtfully designed visitor’s center and gift shop for sampling their agricultural products is a part of our visit.

And one final observation about the Abbey, I sensed a serenity, a calmness up on that hilltop. Something that we could all use a dose of in the hectic pace of our lives.

After the Abbey, we had a short window of time to explore Krems by foot. For myself, if there was one regret about our Danube cruise, it would be that I wish we had more time to spend in Krems.

On this foggy, Sunday morning, Krems was still sleepy. But no matter where we looked, we loved the simple beauty and vistas we discovered. The homes, shops, and churches perched above the river were postcard perfect.

Despite not being able to spend more time in Krems, the afternoon promised to be very special. The ship would be sailing us through the stunning Wachau Valley.

After lunch, we made our way to the top deck of the ship. For almost two hours, we were treated to striking views of castles, towns, vineyards, and churches carved into the landscape on both sides of the Danube.

Our program director pointed out all of the landmarks with historical and cultural significance. Way up on a hilltop, I marveled at how an ancient castle was constructed and continued to endure for all these years.

But in truth, the land, the majestic rolling hills were the stars for me. I particularly loved the terraced vineyards, carefully planted to utilize every foot of this rich terrain.

Those grape vines were now wearing weathered leaves with blended hues of gold and yellow casting stunning images never to be forgotten by me on a perfect October afternoon.

And seeking more perfection of the bounty found in the Wachau Valley, we headed toward the lounge where Chef Mihai would provide instruction for making an Austrian favorite, apple strudel.

We received our usual late afternoon briefing about our next stop, Linz, Austria.

For dinner this evening, the menu featured a taste of Austria, and after dinner we had the opportunity to play the game, Majority Rules.

Today in Virginia, a family is attending a funeral for a loved one. These heartbroken people now belong to the “quiet club.”

The “quiet club” is reserved for families whose loved one died by suicide. Understandably, that quietness is also about the struggle of publicly acknowledging this unexpected and tragic loss.

During that funeral, another person in Virginia is struggling with life. Sadly, unless there is a miraculous intervention, the demon of darkness will record another suicide.

Our family knows the “quiet club.” My wife’s oldest sister died by suicide. This blindsiding tragedy crushed her parents. She left behind a stunned husband and two sons.

Some say suicide is a selfish act. I disagree. Suicide is blindness. An incomprehensible darkness consumes a person. In that darkness, light and hope are absent.

Additionally, I sense people who die from suicide have developed the capacity to mask their internal challenges. Their daily living and employment routines appear normal, but they aren’t.

There is no immunity from suicide.

When I worked in public schools, I remember a family losing their mother, grandparents losing a grandson, and a school losing a secretary. Those are unbearable losses for families. Parents, siblings, spouses, friends try to understand how they failed a loved one. A hovering guilt wrestles in their hearts and souls.

Comprehending all of this isn’t easy. But, I believe these losses are pushing us to recognize an important reality: we can no longer delay becoming better at understanding the causes that lead to dying by suicide.

The need to understand this loss of life can be found in numerous health reports. In 2020, the American Foundation For Suicide Prevention cites the following statistics from the Centers For Disease Control and Prevention:

Suicide was the twelfth leading cause of death

45,979 Americans died from suicide
An estimated 1.2 million Americans attempted suicide

On average there are 130 suicides per day

More recently, in September 2022, the National Vital Statistics System reports the provisional number of suicides in 2021 was 47,646. That is 4% higher than 2020.

No matter where we look in Virginia and America, we have human infrastructure challenges.

We are exceptionally skilled in blasting rockets into outer space, designing driverless vehicles, constructing skyscrapers with every amenity, paying unimaginable salaries to athletes, and yet, we can’t commit to solving our urgent needs in mental health.

In our divided political climate, I wonder, should municipal bond referendums be redesigned to address not only our physical infrastructure needs, but our human infrastructure needs too?

Clearly, neither can be neglected. But, aren’t those infrastructures really linked to each other? Don’t physical infrastructure improvements depend upon employees who are mentally healthy for work?
So how do we move forward?

Perhaps, a good starting point is understanding that suicide is preventable.

Understanding how to prevent suicide depends upon our capacity to listen and learn.
We have lots of data about suicide, but do we know the stories in that data?

Gently, we need to learn the stories from the families who have lost a loved one. What can we learn from their experiences?

More probing must be conducted with individuals who considered suicide. What caused the change not to follow through?

Finally, we can’t ignore our mental health practitioners. Their experiences in the trenches are essential to understanding — what works, what doesn’t work, and what they require to help everyone in need.

Suicide is a crisis.

The “quiet club” is growing.

Today or tomorrow, in whispered words, we will learn about families in our communities who have experienced this tragic and unexpected loss.

Sometimes, those whispered words are countered with a public announcement. On Nov. 3, university leaders at North Carolina State University canceled classes for a “wellness day” as the school lost three students who died by suicide.

Ray Davies is a prolific songwriter. He helped form the British band, The Kinks.

In the song, “Days” he writes: “Thank you for the days, those endless days, those sacred days you gave me. I’m thinking of the days, I won’t forget a single day, believe me.”

Mr. Davies’ heartfelt words might resonate with “quiet club” members.

But, I also know the families who lost loved ones to death by suicide would do anything they could to reclaim those days.

We need to close the “quiet club.”

Closing the “quiet club” requires you, me, we, us not to be quiet about suicide.

We must urgently advocate to be a light for every person lost in the darkness of life.

Pike is retired educator who currently works as the Director of Operations at Trinity United Methodist Church in Henrico County.

Author’s note: Friends, this op-ed piece was published in the December 28, 2022 edition of the Roanoke Times. Thanks to Editor, Mike Allen, for running the piece. If my words resonate with you, I’d simply ask that you share the piece with family, neighbors, co-workers, and friends. Be safe, thanks, Bill Pike

Gray skies and raindrops greeted our shore excursion into Vienna, Austria. The good news— the rain wasn’t coming down in buckets, and the temperature was tolerable.

True to form, our tour guides took control on the ride into the city pointing out landmarks, and prepping us for our walking tour.

My first impression about Vienna is its size. Sources indicate a population close to two million people. Some round that out to 2.9 million in the metropolitan area.

But despite its size, Vienna has all the visual nuggets and history an old North Carolina raised boy could appreciate.

Our first landmark was the Hofburg Palace. The building’s construction started in the 13th century with multiple additions and renovations along the way. Today, the building is the residence and office for the President of Austria.

The exterior architecture is impressive. But, what caught my eye was a domed ceiling in one of the archways.

Later we returned to the Hofburg to the Imperial Treasury to view the crowned jewels. I can only begin to imagine the craftsmanship and the tedious work that went into these creations.

Our guide directed us to St. Stephen’s Cathedral with a word of caution—pickpockets. So before entering the packed church, we all completed a quick assessment of our essential valuables.

The towers of the cathedral have long been a cherished part of the Vienna skyline, and yes, it is ancient—1137 was its groundbreaking. And with lots of old things, there has been lots of wear and tear over the centuries, but even if you aren’t a big fan of church buildings, you must take a gander at the interior.

From the cathedral we walked back into the Stephansplatz square intent on finding one of the many highly recommended coffee cafes that the Viking staff and tour guides had suggested. We found a couple of them, but they were packed and the lines were long.

So, we walked back into the square and found a place who had covered seating outside its entrance.

Now, I’m not a coffee aficionado. When I was a kid, I’d fix a cup of coffee, and add what seemed like a pint of whole milk and at least a pound of sugar, and it tasted pretty good. The aroma of coffee is very tempting, but I’m still a coffee abstainer.

But, at this cafe, my wife and I found something better—Italian hot chocolate with fresh cream. I would go back to Vienna for another slurp of this divine creation. Add to it a perfect piece of apple strudel, and I would die a happy man.

After that nourishment, we did some more exploring, and then we had a meeting of the minds, and we each went in separate directions.

Our daughter, Elizabeth, in college had taken multiple classes in art history, and she wanted to visit the Belvedere. This is where an artist she admires, Gustav Klimt, has his most famous work, The Kiss, on display.

Luckily, Elizabeth had good navigational skills, and we made the long walk to the Belvedere. As you might have guessed, the Belvedere is no dumpy place. In fact, it is a palace, the Upper and the Lower along with the Orangery and the Palace Stables.

Lots and lots of people were at the Belvedere, but it was worth the long walk. The grounds are immense, the buildings, and the art showcased are as Gomer would say, “a sight to behold.”

From the Belvedere, we walked back toward the center of Vienna, and at some point our feet and legs told us to find a taxi ride back to the ship. Luckily, our driver was a native of Vienna, and knew exactly where to take us.

Once back at the ship, I decided to take a short walk along the banks of the Danube. Both sides of the river had nice wide paved paths. I had thought about bringing my running gear, but reasoned that I didn’t have room in my suitcase.

From the ship, I walked up to the next bridge that crossed the river. Along the way, I saw a few swans along the edge of the bank. Fall was changing the color of tree leaves, and a few people were out for a stroll.

Back at the ship, our evening schedule was different. We had our port talk about the plans for Sunday, but there were two excursions taking place tonight: a Mozart and Strauss concert and a Heurigen event. A heurigen takes place at a tavern that showcases wines of Austria. Here the focus is on sampling new wines of the local winemakers.

From our family group of eight, four were going to the concert, and four of us were opting for the normal dinner on the ship. To accommodate these excursions, guests were asked to eat in shifts. Those going on the excursions ate dinner earlier with a 6 p.m. start. Our time for dinner was 7:30.

Since we were traveling with family, we ate all of our meals with family.

But this evening, that template would change.

My wife, our daughter, and my wife’s brother found a table. The four of us sat down, and we had a couple of extra seats.

As we and other guests were getting settled in, a couple walked by our table. In passing, I heard the woman say to herself, I can’t believe there isn’t another table for two set up. She seemed frustrated, and as the couple turned to pass our table again, I stood up, and gently asked if they would like to join our table.

I have no idea what nudged me out of my comfort zone, but the couple graciously accepted the invitation to join us.

Over dinner, we learned about Nikki and John, and they learned about us. Humor cushioned the initial awkward jitters, stories were shared, and for the remainder of the trip we always checked in with each other.

There was an extra bonus as a late night snack on this evening. The chef had prepared a Goulash Soup. Since my biological clock was out of sync, I managed to stay awake for a sample, and I’m glad I did. The soup had a deep paprika color, and its rich broth with bits of beef and potato was yummy.

One thing that has been tucked in the back of mind with this trip has been World War II. In Stephen Ambrose’s book, The Wild Blue, the author wrote about bombing missions that were flown by Army Air Corp pilots and their crews in B-24 bombers.

Vienna because of its refineries and marshaling yards was often a target. Before taking off, crews received very detailed briefings about the weather conditions, the specific target, and what to expect from enemy resistance. For Vienna, the pilots and their navigators were told “to stay well away from St. Stephen’s Cathedral, the Opera House, the palace, and other historic buildings, and schools.” (Page 229, Ambrose Blue Yonder)

I can only imagine the tension, pressure, and fear the crews on those B-24 bombers felt during those missions. And, I have no comprehension what the tension, pressure, and fear felt like to a citizen in Vienna on the ground with bombs falling out of the sky.

Scars from a war are never erased.

But, I’m thankful that evil was confronted, and that Vienna endured.

John Hughes was a gifted filmmaker.

I enjoy his holiday movie, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

The humor makes me laugh. But, the script pushes me to think.

Hughes creates an interesting clash between two travelers. This is a struggle against the odds and each other to get home to their families.

Moments of tension between the travelers is revealing.

Tension has a way of doing this to us.

I think Christmas in its on unique way creates a type of tension.

For Christmas that tension is wrapped in the trappings of the pursuit of perfection and the hope of surviving the madness it creates.

Right now, I’m uncertain that even Christmas can quell the tension in America.

We are divided, fractured like a battered road surface on a cold winter morning.

Deep inside the fissures of our souls that tension is entrenched.

Somehow, someway, we must realize the taut toxicity of this tension isn’t good for us.

In Planes,Trains, and Automobiles, one of the travelers has a quiet moment of self-talk. He considers his multiple imperfections and asks himself—“When am I ever going to wake up?”

I wonder the same about America—when are we ever going to wake up?

Perhaps, the potential to wake up is in our hearts.

Even in the Christmas story, I sense tension was present in the hearts of Mary and Joseph. Despite this strain, their hearts found the way to trust.

Presently, our tension is grounded in lots of things, but mistrust is a key contributor.

Our hearts are long overdue to open up to each other.

Failure to reconstruct our hearts to trust will cause them to snap.

We can’t let that happen.

No, this Christmas we need to give each other a gracious gift—a hopeful, open, trusting heart.

Author’s note: This letter to the editor appeared in the Richmond Times-Dispatch on December 18, 2020. Photo obtained legally.