June Bronson was raised by the family matriarch Aunt Martha in a world of
ethics and codes becoming of only the most ladylike of ladies. The book of
etiquette advising the proper way to behave and handle any situation any young
lady would ever encounter. She went to finishing school, fell in love, married
and had two sons. Although her husband was from a bucolic background, he did
all the right things, and treated her as she was expected to be treated.
Settling in Mayfield, he had a great job, made an above average living, and she
was the prototypical housewife of the late fifties, early sixties. Never a hair
out of place, with the ability to handle all types of housework without breaking
a sweat, or her string of pearls, she lived in a world today we celebrate and
look back on fondly. But growing up in that era, I find she was more the norm
than the exception, with one notable exception...she never had any fun, and
raised her two sons by the book. Even if they were boys and not girls. It took
her loving husband, Ward to strike a balance, so they could grow up normally,
and many a cold night was spent on a hot August eve after he intervened. “Do
something Ward,” she would whine when not getting her way. And her gestapo
attitude towards raising children showed. More rules meant more rules to
break. She may be praised today, but one look at June Bronson Cleaver may have
you thinking twice as your Mother of the Year choice.
How many embarrassing situations did she create when common sense should
have dictated otherwise? Making Beaver eat Brussel Sprouts publicly, and making
Wally the first one home on date nights. Her sons would not embarrass the
Bronson heritage she was forced with passing on, and dirt had no place in any
young boys life. Three course meals for every dinner in the dining room,
breakfast the same three course affair but restricted to the kitchen.
Tolerated, not enjoyed. Using the right fork, napkin on lap. “Thank you Mom,
can I have another?” Friends only gaining access to the boys’ room or the
patio, and being treated like 8 year olds through out junior high and into high
school. Beaver would prove to be a handful, but Wally still had hope...until he
got to high school. Girls and cars were suddenly more interesting, and her
whining would escalate. Fast girls and cars were never meant for Bronson
blood.
She couldn’t understand why Wally would want a car? Was he heading towards
juvenile delinquency? She would cut that off, when could he drive it, 24 hours
of his day were spoken for. And when a jalopy shows up for $25, she stands
there in her mink stole ashamed when the neighbors walked by. He is dirty,
greasy, having fun, and the envy of all his friends. And more whining, “Ward
make him sell it.” Ward this, Ward that, and went off pouting when Ward’s
fatherhood skills won out over her Bronson desires. They had been raised right,
now wanted to be normal, and cars and girls were normal then and are now.
Rolling her eyes, pouting, off she would go, pearls and all to her next trained
response. Never enjoying fully all she had, and not knowing what she was
missing. A life of rules, social consciousness, and standing, fun was never
included in all the above. She had wanted girls, or rather Aunt Martha had, and
every visit it was evident two normal boys were tolerated, but not her first
choice. Ward running interference the whole time, boys wanting to be boys, June
wanting Aunt Martha’s way, and never the twain would meet. All would live
happily ever after, but the joy of life was missing. Fun wasn’t permitted, and
living by the book was mandatory, even if it was only a guide.
Today we encounter June Bronson and her attitudes within the church. No
freedom in the spirit, it is all about rules, and legalism. Show me your rules,
I’ll show you a good church. But not a healthy one. Forgiveness is taught, but
never exercised, as she demands perfection. That is the church, and when
someone dares to operate outside of its rules, trouble begins. We see its roots
in the Pharisees, who had a rule for everything. The Bronsons had that same
attitude, hell to pay if you used the wrong fork, talked with the wrong crowd,
or didn’t get your way. The Pharisees were really to be pitied, as although
they thought themselves better, they were slaves to the law, then Jesus came
along. He not only preached freedom, but lived it, and taught it coming from
within, from a changed heart, not a set of rules. That we all sin, but that all
could be forgiven. Even little boys. That religion binds, rules control, and
freedom and fun are allowed, and not just behind closed doors. That any good
Pharisee who was more concerned with their personna, than their souls, even
though they believed after all God had made them special, special enough to not
have to deal with the lower classes, the poor, or the non-Jews could be saved.
Jesus upset them, they wanted his freedom, or wanted it to go away, it was a
threat, so instead tried to do battle with him, forgetting sin will never win
out over grace. They wanted what he had, just not for everyone else. And
without changing, until one Passover weekend changed it all. The spirit had
been set loose, the spiritual captives were set free, and the Messiah had come,
and gone. And would return, allowing them to change, God’s patience being
extended even to the last sinner Pharisee. They thought that by killing him
they had killed the spirit, but the spirit of Jesus is still alive and well
today, calling all, Bronsons and Pharisees to repentance. Extending grace, and
bringing joy to lives. Yet many cling to their old religion, and deny
Jesus.
“Do something Jesus,” they whine when not getting their way. But a
hardness of heart reveals their motives, and all who can see, see what they
can’t. And still Jesus is patient, so that none should perish. It all goes
back to the cross. Where the word became flesh, and the book he is written
about brings life. But only through the spirit, for it takes the spirit to
reveal the mysteries of Christ. Even pretty pictures don’t help, it takes the
spirit. Available through Jesus Christ. Not a set of rules, but the person of
God, personally guiding us. Jesus hanging out with the hookers, bikers, hot
rodders, and welcoming the Bronsons. Yet many choose to follow a matriarch, or
a family patriarch rather than Jesus. They gain the world, but lose their
souls. They lose it all....yet never know it until it is too late.
Where the spirit of the Lord is there is liberty. To be who God has called
you to be. To enjoy life, and have fun, bringing joy to others as you live for
Christ. Bronsons need Jesus too, Ward knew this and his tireless love for his
family showed great rewards. Finishing school may have been a good thing, but
when Jesus said “it is finished,” things changed. Hearts changed. The world
changed. And every Easter we celebrate his return. And look forward to his
final return for us.
As children we remember more the actions of our parents than we do their
words. Same with God. Yet he writes his words on our hearts so they are always
with us. Part of us, part of who we are. In Christ. He forgives, we forgive.
He loves, we love. It always begins with Jesus, and not of ourselves. Looking
back, maybe our parents didn’t do such a bad job, particularly with what they
had to work with. A sign over a man’s desk reminds me. “The true measure of
success is how your children describe you to their friends.” Jesus Christ is
that success, and when he describes us to his father, our father in heaven, he
smiles. But is patient for that last Bronson to arrive. The Cleavers had it
made, June had it all, or thought she had. She had gained the world, Aunt
Martha should have been pleased. If only she had let go and gone with the
spirit guiding her, she would have had joy too. The spirit brings life. Life
has too many rules, which means there are too many rules to break. June should
have known that, but Aunt Martha left out that chapter. Don’t let Jesus out of
your life. His hands were tough and dirty, his spirit meek and mild. His heart
tender for you, some leave it to Beaver, I prefer to leave it to Jesus. Now
about that Eddie Haskell guy...
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com