Bluegrass Pondering................."

The recent tragedy at the airport in Lexington was first brought to my attention through a phone call Sunday morning. My daughter manages a small restaurant within the terminal and, in tears, spoke to me of both being familiar with the crew and also having just a few hours earlier served breakfast to some who boarded the plane. Having lost my own father unexpectedly, I hesitate to suggest we all “grieve”, but surely we at least are saddened by that hole left in the lives of others. Often there is no real “sense” to be made. We are just left with an unchangeable event that just happened. In this scenario, however, one cannot help but ask “why?” When an experienced pilot takes his craft down an unlit runway that is too short and under repair, I’m wondering why access to that particular avenue had not been better negated and why there was only one air-controller on duty at the time………

Across the river, in Cincinnati, a different kind of tragedy has had our attention over the last week or so. A three-year old autistic boy was reported missing by his foster mother. She had supposedly passed out while taking him for a walk in the park and didn’t know where he went while she was unconscious. As a massive search was begun by firemen, police, and the community at large, she held a press conference pleading for anyone who had seen her to come forth and also begging everyone not to think her evil merely on the basis of her not having given birth to the lad. When the truth was finally determined, it was admitted that she and her husband had taped his hands behind him, locked him in a closet, and then went to visit relatives in southern Kentucky. Upon return, he was dead and hubby simply opted to burn the body before stuffing it into a chimney……….

Governor Fletcher publicly promised measures would be taken to prevent any repeat of what occurred downstate. Somehow that doesn’t say much to me. I realize error happens and correction is the proper next step to take; but why is it that an intersection’s obvious need of a traffic light always goes unheeded until multiple fatalities stain the ground? It isn’t foster parents that trouble me. I know several such couples who have long provided good care for children. What is one to think, however, about the agency that now assures us whoever failed to notice hubby’s past history will be penalized? Is the announcement yesterday by the state of Ohio concerning new legislation in the works that will prevent financial motivation for speedy placement supposed to console us? It comes a little late, to me, and but verifies our ills are not restricted to any one level of society……..

Cruisin' the Library........................"

Tagged. By a friend, no less. I can only promise not to extend the challenge beyond this point and wonder why anyone would be interested in my choice of literature. To be truthful, my memory of books read prior to my conversion is pretty limited. As a teenager, I stopped halfway through a paperback copy of Peyton Place, disgusted that a woman utilized such language, talked in such terms. As a young sailor, Susie Wong held my heart clear up to the last chapter and she stabbed another character. The novel hit the trash and I walked away. “Battle Cry” enticed me to buy one or two more works of Leon Uris during those years; but, mostly, I not only didn’t read, neither did I take much note of the world around me other than what concerned me. Then came Jesus…….

The one book that changed my life, then, would have to be the Bible, for indeed it did over 34 years ago. Conversion came first, however; and, truthfully, prior to salvation, I didn’t know Christ from Santa Claus, didn’t know Calvary from Coney Island. For nearly 10 years, the Word was my solitary intake. Old-time holiness warned us any other material would pollute our thinking. They were probably right. After reading Thomas Merton’s “Palace of Nowhere”, the idea of Pentecost being sole possessor of a “full gospel” went right out the window. Here was a Catholic monk who spoke of getting submerged in God’s presence. The terms may have been different, but there was no doubting his experience…….

There are 5 books I’d want with me on a desert island: The Bible, of course, Tozer’s “Pursuit of God”, Thomas Merton’s “New Seeds of Contemplation”, a collection of sermons by Lloyd Douglas entitled “Living Faith” (not just read more than once, but devoured again and again), and “Show Me God”, a look at science pointing to the Creator by Fred Heeren. Ask me which book I wish I had written, though, and Brian McLauren’s “Generous Orthodoxy” is my pick. My own skills don’t come close to his; but reading it was like discovering my own thoughts put into print. On the other hand, I’d tell you about 75% of what they stock on the shelves anymore should have never been written. Television theology and I don’t “click”…….

Robert Fulghum enjoys first place on my list of non-religious feedings. He came to me via “It Was on Fire When I Laid Down on It” and multiplied from there. He not only makes me laugh, he speaks to my heart. I don’t know of any that’s ever made me cry, but Ogden Mandino came close with “The Christ Commission”. A fictional tale of a fellow allowed to go back in time and talk with Peter, the centurion, and others about the crucifixion, it gave me spiritual goose-bumps. Currently reading: Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s “The Cost of Discipleship” and next on my list will probably be Marjorie Hewitt Suchoci’s “In God’s Presence”. Whose work occupies the biggest amount of space in my collection? Philip Yancey; and not a bad one in the bunch…….

From Where I Sit...................."

Within the last few months, while the number of “hits” on this site have decreased to nearly half the volume recorded prior to summer vacation, there has, at the same time, came to me a couple of invitations to join some sort of on-line, religious discussion group. What that all might indicate is probably debatable. The stats don’t bother me in the sense of requiring an audience, but when people leave, I do find it an indication to take a good look in the mirror. Experience has taught me that if your theology tends to often fall “outside the camp” (and mine often does), people firmly entrenched in a denominational foxhole usually either just want to argue or ignore the subject all together. I take no offense to the latter, try to take no part in the former, but also realize isolation might simply mean you need a breath mint. It doesn’t hurt to check…………

This is a place I utilize to relax and “work out my own salvation” on paper. My views here aren’t necessarily set in concrete. They but represent where I presently stand in my journey, the road both as I understand it and the questions I yet have about it. While some would try to define “spirituality” as a prayer closet connection that has you operating 24/7 in the Holy Ghost, my own thoughts have it closer resembling the incident shared between the Apostle Paul and the Lord on the Damascus Road. It’s not a matter of having conquered the straight path; but being willing to allow His rod and staff lead you in the attempt. Tozer wrote that men, in their search for facts, have “confused truths with truth”; and I agree. It isn’t chapter and verse, inked upon the sacred page, that delivers us, but a supernatural indwelling of the Christ that leads us as we go……….

When Jesus declared Himself unto Thomas as being “I am”, we are prone to examine the triad He utilized in its individual components. In having pronounced ourselves to “believe”, we check off the first item on the list. We have found “the way”. Next we pick up our Bible (some more than others) and begin to cut and paste Scripture until we have the second item before us exactly as our particular group has so ordained. Truth is now packaged as we so perceive it. We have shaped it rather than the other way around; and that leaves us exactly where we started: Life is a matter of how much breath we put into the beast, not fresh wind pumped into our lungs from an inner hook-up with Him. Walking by faith, I’m convinced, is not a matter of our producing some mountain-moving force out of who we are, but being tethered to the reality that He is within us…………….

Day Two............................."

Fifth Graders, on this end of the school term, are an interesting bunch to observe. Humans, I suppose, at any age, are an enigma. It might well be wise to take into consideration that the kids are taking notes on me! It’s fun, though, to learn the individual personalities, watch who pairs off with whom, and then just discover the changes that take place as the year unfolds. They come into this level very much yet children in many ways; but, by next June, they will no longer think of themselves as belonging in that category. Even though the next step may be a bit scary, it’s worth the risk…..

My trio brings their own set of characteristics to the party. The girl has already twice sparked critique from a well-intentioned teacher who’s yet to familiarize herself with Asbergers. Inability to recognize the gravity of the situation at hand was mistaken for a matter of discourtesy. In Music, today, one of the boys didn’t like his seating assignment and adapting to life as it comes is not his strong point. We calmly talked things over, conquered the thorn in his flesh, and moved on. At the end of the day, as I was scribbling a memo to Mom, he told me what a “nice man” he thought me to be…..

With all the “get to know each other” games they’ve been playing, however, you soon begin to put together an “image” of the entire class. One lass likes to annoy her brothers. Another fellow enjoys getting in trouble at home, but not at school. Everybody, of course, loves pizza. My personal pick, however, is the gentleman who seems to be enamored with asking questions, again, and again, and again, and then punctuates each one with an opinion about the subject at hand. I’m seeing a possible career in politics somewhere in his future; but you just never know…..

I’ve been to a reunion or two since 1959. Surely success isn’t measured solely by social position. One of our 98 has been listed for many decades as a fishing guide at one of Kentucky’s vacation spots. He, no doubt, is as happy as any of us, more so than some. We’ve at least one or two whose residence has long been no more than a small jail cell. I’ve never inquired as to what brought them there. It’s all too easy to judge when you’ve never walked a mile in the other guy’s shoes. Better to pray, I believe. For me. For them. For these who have no more than a good toehold on the journey…..

I Looooove This Job!......................"

This is my fifth year in Special-Ed, my third on a regular job walking with these students through Fifth Grade, and today was the first day back. If waiting fifteen minutes to breach three traffic lights this morning because of a stalled vehicle wasn’t enough to get my goat, picture my mood when I found the school parking lot completely bottlenecked. Ten more minutes. Bumper to bumper. Round and round. Until I just got lucky with some departing parent creating a space for my Toyota at just the right moment.

If the departure bell at 3:26 in the afternoon is like pulling a plug and watching over 700 kids empty out the front doors, this event is exactly the opposite scenario. Buses out front are discharging twenty or thirty at a time. Moms and Dads are escorting Susie and Johnny toward the entrance from every direction. Teachers’ aides are directing traffic. Everywhere you look the place is alive. Kindergartners a bit in awe of all the commotion and seasoned vets who have been through it all before.

It’s always a surprise for me. At the end of last year’s term, it appeared possible that but one child would be under my wing this time around; the roster, when I arrived, listed four; and three was the actual count when it all finally settled down. Two of them are diagnosed with Asbergers. The one boy suffers with seizures. Helping them meet what’s expected of them study-wise is not all that hard. Getting them to establish some sort of orderliness in their daily affairs is another thing all together.

At any rate: we’re off! Another class is out of the gate! Here we go again! This is ministry, as far as I’m concerned, just as much as speaking at the Youth Detention Center or sharing with the men down at the rescue mission. No chapter and verse. No hymns. No mention of His name at all. Does it take all that, though, before we’re willing to extend ourselves and what we have of Him into the need before us? Taking the Gospel unto all the world starts with the door in front of us. One step at a time, following His lead.

Computer Training...................."

Picture asking Ben Franklin to turn on the lights and then watching him go outside, secure the key to the kite, and run a few hundred yards before it catches the wind. That image is not all that far from my relationship with this computer. A small Hewlett Packard monitor paired with a rebuilt pc unit given to me by my daughter over five years ago. Even with Windows XP, high-speed, cable internet, the entire scenario is akin to me peddling something held together with band-aids and super-glue to maintain any semblance of continuity. When that same daughter, therefore, offered me both a replacement and her expertise in accomplishing a transfer, her generosity was met with enthusiasm. After more than three hours last night, however, we were at wits end. Not only did the old deny us access to the E-drive and thus all possibility of downloading files, but the new, as it turned out, requires an Ethernet card to be installed if it’s used for anything other than dial-up. Decisions. Decisions………………

Early this morning, though, I would discover the tube of antiquity working as if someone had waved a magic wand over its circuitry. It literally leaped from link to link; and when I questioned Jamie about its sudden vivacity, she reversed the inquiry, wanting to know the last time I had purged the system of accumulated cookies. Cookies? Never, during the entire time this monstrosity has shared its existence with me, have I ever thought of it as an oven! “Once a week, Dad; once a week”, replied my daughter. “You had so much in there, it was busting a gut under the weight of it all.” Showing me the screen to effect the clean-up, she noted it to also be a necessary chore with “files” and “history”; and you know, of course, exactly where MY mind went. I would suspect that there are many of us who would like to be able to eradicate a few of those items on a regular basis. Unfortunately, whether in terms of “Oreo intake” or our record as it stands, we don’t come equipped with a “delete” button………….....

Toady I was reading two different approaches to the subject of “sin”. Tozer, a man whose opinion I usually hold in high regard, suggested it being “liquidated” at the Cross and, if an individual couldn’t get past the struggle, he/she was “morally reprobate”. It could be, of course, that I misinterpreted his view; but I find myself more aligned with the friend who posted on her membership with Alcoholics Anonymous, her eighteen years, now, of sobriety, and her not having attended a meeting in nearly a decade. Speaking of her having to give “testimony” in such scenario, she wondered why we, in the Church, “prize fraudulent answers over real ones, Sunday after Sunday”. Indeed. I know, in my own neck of the woods, the pulpit has often belittled the 12-steppers for admitting to yet being susceptible to the addiction, seeing it as a “lack of faith”. For some reason, they don't seem to find a lack of honesty to be all that big of a deal. One day, however, the “recycle bin” will tell the tale……………

The Balm of Gilead......................"

Whether the recent addition of a third young teenage boy into her “baby-sitting” assignment has anything to do with Beth’s need to get away for a few hours Saturday, I know not; but even with the threat of dark clouds overhead, we drove about an hour down the expressway before turning west and taking the bridge over to Indiana. I’ve long described any and all venture into that state to be much like finding yourself having passed through a time tunnel and emerging at least fifty years ago. Truth is, however: once you escape the influence of Cincinnati on northern Kentucky, take any side road you want and history unfolds before you. Wal-Mart, McDonalds, and the rest of the gang, of course, will pop up as you enter the city limits of anything large enough to attract customers; but, for the most part, it’s not all that hard to find antiquity just as it was so long ago when Dad would load us young’ns up in that jeep he used to have and take us for a ride………..

It was peaceful to park and then walk the streets of Madison. The river’s just a few blocks from the old section and they were advertising something called “Ribberfest”; but, except for a couple of banners hung proclaiming the event, there wasn’t much else giving evidence of anything other than business as usual. When my wife, though, finds nothing worth investigating in this sort of scenario, it’s safe to say that “business” wasn’t offering a whole lot. We even opted to forego the burger menus posted by a handful of sidewalk cafes, stopping, instead, at what appeared to be a unique log cabin restaurant by Butler State Park on the way home. Right. Her turkey came forth smothered under five pounds of melted cheese and she was reduce to munching the fried green tomatoes ordered as an appetizer. If you include my having had to buy her a new top when we first arrived (a coffee accident in the car), you’ve got our excursion in detail..............

Life is not all that complicated; we are. We overload. We get bored with the monotonous routine. We think we know it all. We understand nothing. I take nothing away from the Bible’s claim that the fervent prayer of a righteous man availing much; but find it also true that a simple change of scenery on occasion often “worketh wonders”. Indeed, even a comedy of errors, that in no way resembles what you had originally visualized, can create memories and soothe the soul if you’ve got the right person sharing it with you. It works in personal relationship. It works in community. You just need the right glue to hold it together. While the local church surely ought to be unified, at least to some extent, in its doctrine, dogma isn’t the “tie that binds”. Not in Christ, anyway; for it is the “Christ in us” that overlooks the mistakes and the foolishness that our humanity brings to the table. And no matter where we are, there we are; needing Him, and each other………….

Misnomer.........................."

About seven years ago, a friend approached me with questions about God. It seems a fellow at work had been pressing her. One of those types who have the Bible reduced to an emphatic law giving them and their bunch sole entrance into heaven. My witness to her query covered basics, but must have been lacking in good communication, because she walked away from it with an understanding that she needed no one but the Almighty and herself to work out the details. In a way, of course, that’s true; but it left me feeling like perhaps I had failed her somehow. When, sometime later, she asked about Rick Warren’s best seller, I immediately purchased her a copy, complete with journal, only to learn her appraisal of it compared to my own. In such manner, we have long dialogued about faith and maintained a relationship in the matter; but a recent remark made by her has given me concern. The five-couple car club with whom she and hubby tour the country, it seems, is now her "church”……………….

While I’m certainly not one, these days, to demand membership within any particular segment of what society has done with the Grand Lady, yet I wonder if complete abandonment of those hallowed sanctuaries is the solution. To be honest, part of my “message”, Wednesday evening at the rescue mission, concerned “church” not being defined by a steeple and its congregation. Whenever, wherever two or three are gathered in His name, if He is in their midst, the Body of Christ is constituted! I believe that! And whatever we think we gain by trying to package that product within a notarized list of ecclesiastical tenets to separate us from everybody else out there is beyond me. Indeed, in thinking ourselves to be sole possessors of the kingdom, do we not attempt to usurp His throne? This reasoning, however, can be applied to any gathering we wish to assign membership within the community. It doesn’t take a multitude assembled under a denominational label to get it all wrong……………….

When Jesus announced that upon “this rock” He would build His church, it was not a written profession of our creed to which He referred, but an all-consuming revelation of His identity given us by His Father. If a know-so reality of that declaration isn’t the “tie that binds” us in the assembling of ourselves, all you’ve got is another religious faction. If a pursuit of He who holds our heart is not what brings us to order, then all we’ve accomplished if another meeting of the club. There’s nothing wrong, of course, with the latter. If Christ was in the vicinity, He might well eat pizza or play bingo with us. I’m thinking He’d love to climb into our Corvette and travel with the convoy. The question is whether we have invited Him into the activity. It is He who completes us in every aspect of who we are in Him; and corporate connection can extend to us opportunity for “iron (to) sharpeneth iron”. It works in the business end of the proposition as well as in worship. God’s “boot camp”. Part of the journey…………….

Sustenance......................."

Yesterday was my final training for this year’s school term. We got a bit of an early quit, but were still there for well over seven hours of CPI instruction. That equates to the art of self-defense, or “How To Protect Yourself When the Kid Decides He Wants You For Dinner”. It’s all designed to simply restrain the individual should he present danger to himself or others, safety being the name of the game; but, while that particular objective may hold value, we all know that, in this day and age, litigation is also a major concern. At any rate, I got home about four, ready for a hot shower and some Ben-Gay, knowing Big Bob was picking me up a little after six for our monthly visit to the local rescue mission. What I wasn’t ready for was the phone call from Bob informing me that we would be the only two going. Suddenly my own participation changed from simply providing a song to possibly addressing the group for a few minutes…………

Mind numb. Muscles sore. I began to write down a couple of verses, trying to gather thought; but it was evident to me that my efforts were going nowhere. Too many times I’ve walked down that road before, laying out some sort of format to follow, only to lose both myself and the pews in the delivery of it. No; instead, I closed the Book, leaned back in the recliner, and relaxed in Him. Two hours later, when actual fellowship with the men started, my only “plan” was trusting the Spirit to meet us in our offering. We sang a couple of hymns, as a congregation, with no more than a blend of voices to provide an irregular mixture of tempo and refrain. Then, after prayer, Bob took us for a bit, connecting Hebrews to Joshua via a woman called Rahab. As he spoke of faith not being an object we create of ourselves, but a fruit of what God does within us, I’m not sure he realized how much he was breathing life into this tired old man’s state of affairs………….

Rather than break with a musical offering, I just slid into his saddle as he offered it to me. There’s no way, though, to relate here the “message” as it flowed from me. Part testimony of my entrance into this walk, part recognition of the fact that a confession of “Thou art the Christ” established by the father, Himself, is the real foundation of just who or what is the Church, I reminded them that it is an “overflowing”, a manifestation of such truth, that puts “meat” into any meeting, whether it be in a prayer closet, one-on-One, in the midst of two or three, or within a sanctuary occupied by thousands. And, for a moment there, in a shelter kitchen, a bunch of men, struggling to meet each day as it comes, an average working joe, and a retired railroad clerk found unity in Him. Gender would have made no difference. It’s for sure ethnic background and social status didn’t. Worship came from somewhere within us. We ended with thanks for His goodness…………..

Later I thought of what “should” have been said, lost somehow in my mentality being involved in the delivery. Humanity, of a truth, remains humanity. The well, however, also remains the well, a present source of all that He is when we are willing to admit our need…………

Checkin' My Location.................."

There are six who complete my Youth Detention group, but it’s always a last minute mystery as to just how many of us are able to attend. All make their presence known by handshakes and a bit of conversation beforehand. Only four of us address the kids with a verbal witness attached somehow to the Word. When the speaking agenda is full, as it was yesterday, I usually attempt to work out the details: putting some sort of order to the mixture, trying to make sure everybody gets to give what’s on their heart. There’s still “freedom” there. We all desire and encourage any flow of the Spirit. Yet often I walk away wondering if perhaps we didn’t fall short of what God wanted to accomplish. It’s an easy matter to drift into a rut. You just “fill a pew”, follow procedures, and then go home telling yourself you’ve done all that’s required of you. Ministry becomes a duty, a badge on your sleeve; salvation, a self-assigned checklist of what gets one into heaven……………

When it came time to close, Sunday morning, I knew at least one of the two girls seated along the rear wall of the room would be “in the prayer” with me. Whatever her transgression, she has been there our last three visits and hasn’t failed to display His hand moving in her life. To my right, one of the new arrivals, a young man in an orange sweatshirt, sat there shielding his eyes. Letting your peers see you cry is a sign of weakness. Other than that, a few faces among the bunch in gray gave evidence that some deep thought about their identity was taking place; but, of a truth, both guards would need a prompting as we left the place to awake them from their lethargy. The usual amount of brick-wall, hard-nose, “I’m only here because they make me come” individuals were obviously among us; and to say that the Holy Ghost had “cleaned house”, flooding the sanctuary with an awe of His unmistakable presence, would be overstating the event…………….

I’m familiar, of course, with the Apostle Paul’s theological portrait of some sowing the seed, some watering the ground, and others reaping the harvest. I fully recognize the truth that, just because the Almighty doesn’t shake the mountain every time we gather before it, the lack of visible evidence in our midst doesn’t mean we gathered for naught. It’s not about numbers; it’s not about “spirituality”; and, personally, I believe faith plays a bigger role in our commitment to the journey than it does in hog-tying God to our interpretation of Scripture. That said, however, it yet remains: we are just too prone to fall asleep in the Garden while Jesus is sweating blood not fifty feet from us. Assurance of His presence in my affairs, therefore, cannot rest in my own reasoning, but by a manifestation of its reality in my life. Success isn’t determined by any singular venture into His will, but by a surrender of my will unto His on a regular basis. Often, that’s preceded by a swift kick in my rear……

Language Logistics......................."

Temple Grandin, the architect with Asperger Syndrome, spoke to us in class Wednesday, via video, of the way her mind portrays linguistics rather than processing words as you and I do. Indeed, such method would amaze you. Tranquility equates to cows grazing in a field. Tragedy is represented by boxes of books destroyed in a library fire. If conversation turns to dogs, she doesn’t see a poodle. A “poodle” is a poodle. Therefore it’s necessary for her to somehow visualize those common attributes that MAKE a dog a “dog”. Her system for recognizing “right” from “wrong” amounted to dividing the whole scenario into four units: (a) that which was “really bad”; (b) courtesy issues; (c) illegal, but not “really bad”; and (d) those things considered a “no-no” by society. Why items like speeding and adultery were placed behind some minor infraction like forgetting to thank your hostess for the lovely meal provided is beyond me; but I guess it works for her………….

In contemplating the mechanics of that which gives her access into a literate world with the rest of us, however, it seemed to me that she wasn’t all that different from the rest of us. Indeed, the autistic flair to reduce the world to snapshots may be a bit more complicated than the average person’s mode of communication, but do not we all carry around mental images to define that which we encounter? They appear to have a slide show that puts concrete reasoning to things. Our own visualization runs at a much higher speed and allows us to edit as we go. Which method is better than the other might be debatable; but, coincidentally or not, I spent Thursday in a hospital reading Walker Percy on this very subject. He’s a well-known author of both fiction and non-fiction who has been fascinated for more than twenty years with humanity’s utilization of symbols to transfer thought. What light-bulb goes on in our brain allowing the ability and HOW does it work?..................

His book is quite deep and I’m only a few chapters into it, but already its questions have me seeing things from a Biblical perspective. That’s only indicative, though, of the very message being brought forth. Recognizing the difference it makes when an individual comes into a personal experience with their own interpretation of a particular word, the author points to the danger of our becoming nothing more than what the “planners” think us to be. At the same time, though, he also realizes the necessity of maintaining connection, one with the other, and admits he doesn’t quite comprehend it all. There is something missing. “Man became man”, he says, “by breaking into the daylight of language”; and whether “by good or bad fortune, by pure chance, with the spark jumping the gap because the gap was narrow enough, or by the touch of God”, he concludes that it’s not for him to say. But that “it happened”, this he knows; and “to this day man knows less about WHAT happened than he knows about the back side of the moon.” Me? I wonder if he’s ever read:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God………”

Looking in the Mirror..................."

My job as a Special-Ed Instructional Assistant requires a minimum of twenty-four hours each year attending classes provided to supposedly enhance my abilities. Last Wednesday was the first of four different days I’ve scheduled and was probably one of the better ones I’ve ever complete. This week, the district, itself, has staged a two-day extravaganza of individual presentations and to say I learned a whole lot would require stretching the truth a bit. That doesn’t mean, however, that you can’t pick up a few “nuggets” somewhere during the feeding. Consider, for instance, Jerry and Mary Newport. Both are adults diagnosed as autistic and their stories are incredible. He has a degree in mathematics, but drove a taxi for two decades, not realizing his suicidal despondency was born out anything other than an inability to fit into society. It took a random encounter with Dustin Hoffman in “Rain Man” before he had any clue to the actual truth; and, if his uncanny precision with numbers doesn’t amaze you, examine his wife’s talents. She draws and paints without looking at the canvas, simply allowing her hand to follow its own course; and, in the process, creates beautiful puzzle-like images. In much the same manner she also composes, possessing a “sixth sense” that allows her to stop at anywhere she so desires, skip three or four pages into the work, and then connect it all when she’s “done”. It is the notes, themselves, that she comprehends and doesn’t really realize the finished products sounds like until someone else extends to her that privilege…………….

After sharing with us both a video of this couple and another one narrated by a well-known architect with the same condition, our instructor drew a Bell Curve to illustrate the wide spectrum covered by Autism. With mental retardation stationed to the far end of one side, all us geniuses then positioned on the other end, and the top of the “hump” being where the average folk could be found, she then drew a perpendicular line bisecting the entire picture. This gave her four quadrants into which she placed the entire species of humanity; for, according to her, we ALL display a symptom or two, on occasion, that could be attributed to the disease. What’s more: she names a few and you walk out of there wondering if she isn’t right! Indeed, it seems that what we’re talking about is no more than the brain being “wired” a little differently in some folk. They think in pictures. They navigate in logic. What they say is what they mean; and they marvel that the majority of “us” do not operate likewise. In a way, it’s not hard to wonder if it isn’t, in fact, we “smart guys” who need to have our blueprint rechecked for inaccuracies. Some believe the God that made us all will one day receive us all. Some have it all figured out to a chosen few. I leave it in His hands and try to occupy myself with the idea that He’s still working on me and He’s still working on you. Amidst all the confusion, He remains a truth I attempt to follow, His voice an anchor-line that leads me when all else just doesn’t make. In Him I trust. Me, I’m not so sure about………………….

Just What Emerged......................"

”(When one) attempts to convey something of God’s holy otherness, he tries one earthly simile after another. In the end, he discards them all as inadequate and says apparently wild and senseless things meant to startle the heart into feeling what lies beyond the reaches of the brain”…..Romano Guardini, chaplain to Pope John XXIII

The above quote is taken from my current read: “A Generous Orthodoxy” by Brian McLaren. I’m about two-thirds through the book, but already find my spirit pretty much in tune with the author’s sentiments. My only disappointment is a lack of reference to the Holy Ghost in terms that I deem crucial to the faith. I’m to the point, though, where I wonder if any of us can really comprehend the other guy’s view of the divine experience. It’s for sure dialogue falls far short of any real connection. We know only that which we have encountered along the way and we know it only in our individual understanding of it. Then we’re stuck with a truth penned by C. S. Lewis. “Language”, he said, “can be a window through which one glimpses God, but never a box in which God can be contained.”…………

In that sense, I love reading in the “charismatic/contemplative” chapter where Mr. McLaren describes an incident that took place while visiting a park near his home. Taking in the beauty of God’s creation around him, he suddenly felt a “tinge of fear along with joy” and noted the former as being born out of a sense that his physical being could not contain the latter. Seeing as how he knew no way he could have “shouted loud enough or danced outrageously enough” to express such depths of joy that flooded his soul, he, instead, remained silent and continued slowly moving down the path until the experience ebbed. Holy Ghost to me, with or without tongues. When worship is the essence of all that we are, humanity has finally yielded itself unto the reality of who He is and things get accomplished……………

Why is it, then, that when the agenda is taken to the business end of running the Church, we seldom hear of likewise intervention into our affairs? Is it because the Almighty won’t chair such a meeting or merely a matter of our leaving Him locked in the prayer closet? I’m of the opinion the problem lies in most of us viewing the third member of the Trinity as something other than a Reality; and, as I speak that, I’m well aware that some of us think we, ourselves, have become the Reality! Either way, however, God is left on the fringes while we attempt to run the show. In being challenged to take Christ unto the world, it seems to me that it might well behoove us to first invite Him to sit down on the Board of Trustees! Not as some “whisper” to be channeled through our own reasoning, but as an actuality whose Presence floods the room…………..
.

Deliverance: Part II......................"

With more than three decades in Pentecost, I’m prone to sometimes think I’ve seen it all. That, in no way is meant to suggest my having conquered the inexhaustible, magnanimous mystery of God; but, as far as witnessing the extremes to which men thus far have taken the Gospel, I’ve been around the block a few times. Holy “rolling” is not unfamiliar to me. The origin of the term has occurred in my presence more than once. I’ve sat on the same pew with those who handled snakes, albeit not at the same time they were involved in the activity. And, to be honest, early on in my conversion, my own reaction to an honest touch of the Spirit’s presence would probably not have been considered proper by most. I do not apologize. What kept me within their ranks was the reality of that encounter. Time would teach me worship didn’t require a surrender of good sense. Bible study and hanging in there one day at a time enlightened me in other matters……………..

A.W. Tozer is reported to have once noted: “Personal experience must always be first in real life. Knowledge by acquaintance is always better than knowledge by description; and the first does not presuppose the second. What we have in the Christian doctrine of the Holy Spirit is Deity among us. He is not God’s messenger only-He is God! He is God in contact with His creatures, doing in them and among them a saving and renewing work.” I believe that. I believe it in spite of the fact that so many of us within Christendom claim Him as our source for defining Scripture and then proceed to interpret it differently, one from the other. It’s the humanity in the mix that I hold accountable; and I see myself no less a part of the problem. Our “tools of the trade” are: the Book, the “proof-in-the-pudding”, and the Almighty’s grace given through Calvary, “grace” being but one more name I tend to assign the Holy Ghost rather than an act of forgiveness……………….

My reasoning on the latter is derived from finding salvation to be a continual journey. When terms such as “grace” and “peace” and “wisdom”, and even “healing”, are left within the scope of who He is within me, then there remains that awesome recognition of “what” He is within me. Deliverance, in the sense of any “completeness”, is always in front of me and depends on my mental acceptance of His leadership. Can we be rescued from certain circumstances along the way? Most certainly! It yet is ours, though, to face the wilderness before us with a choice: my road or His? my voice or His? It’s why, as I see it, things such as alcoholism, sexual perversion, and even something as “innocent” as lying, are bears to overcome. Their roots are locked in our brains and our relationship with Him must be more than an educated decision for Christianity. Victory is in our commitment, not in some instantaneous miracle. God can mend a broken arm. He does not transgress our will……………

Deliverance: Part I......................."

Einstein once noted that “The most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it appears to be comprehensible!” That may give take a moment to digest, but I’m of the opinion that most of us within Christendom apply the same reasoning to the Creator of the universe. Hand our ego a Bible and we’re ready to attack the world with our individual definition of what it will take to gain entrance through the Pearly Gates. A theology degree is impressive, but not always all that necessary. Me? I don’t know about “attack”. I’m more of a pacifist who just enjoys comparing my viewpoint with what it looks like from where you’re standing. Matter of fact, at the moment I’m chewing on someone’s theory of it being much better to adjust your experience to the Word rather than the other way around. If both items are vulnerable to my own misinterpretation, why should one be any more important than the other? Seems to me each confirms the other……….

With that for an introduction, then, let me take you back to a little Pentecostal, old-time holiness church I “fell into” back in March of ’72, where “deliverance” was preached as an instantaneous, immediate transformation giving, not only forgiveness for any and all past sins, but also victory over those things which previously had you bound. Having personally struggled with a nicotine habit of more than two packs a day for over ten years and now suddenly discovering if I inhaled one it actually made me nauseous tended to affirm that portion of their doctrinal position. A few months down the road, however, when the addiction attempted to regain its authority in my life, it seemed wise to explore the dogma a bit farther. Even as the reality of the indwelling was made undeniable unto me through other ways than just my conversion, other “mechanics”, the “nit and grit” of what I believe to be truth, would be worked out in the trenches…………

There is a difference, in my opinion, between Scriptural documentation of the Creator’s voice and the Resurrection, Himself, MAKING Himself, a promise unto me. I walk in hope, resting in that which He has already confirmed unto me. The printed page, inspired or not, infallible or not, IS not some volume of magical incantations to be repeated until my steadfast confession of them is responsible for their coming to pass. It is Jesus who is termed the “author and finisher” of my faith; and that makes the Holy Ghost the executor of His last will and testament. Indeed, if I do not find undisputable confirmation via a witness of His presence in any matter, the subject is yet open for further examination as far as I’m concerned; and final judgment of any prophetic claim lies in its absolute fulfillment. God still speaks. God still heals. But heaven knows we’ve surely polluted the waters trying to make things happen of our own accord……………