"An Inner Reality..........................."

Community Bus trips are always fun for me. Whether the actual excursion is to a local bowling alley or just shopping at K-Mart, the journey there is filled with musical renditions of most anything one might name. From “I Put the Penny in the Gumdrop” to one boy’s imitation of Elvis, we do it all. I say “we”. Mostly it’s the old man and the kids. The women are usually discussing important things like who shops where and what’s on sale. This last Thursday, though, having just finished all thirty-two verses of “Hole in the Ground”, I turned to hear them sharing their opinions about church as it is in America. All were agreed: Doctrinal differences mattered not; and judgment belonged to a God who looked upon the heart. “Yup,” I observed, sticking my own two cents into the matter; “the only question is if we presently want a religion or a relationship.”………….

Sometimes I wonder if people really comprehend the message. Christ was never so much about the Pearly Gates as He was about the here and now. He did, indeed, point to a Kingdom of Heaven, but preached a kingdom of God to be established within men through a belief in Him. In two thousand years, though, we’ve certainly laid a broad spectrum as to just exactly what that phrase means. For some it seems to represent bold authority, themselves translated into devil-chasing, disease-curing emissaries of the Almighty. To others it’s merely a matter of being that vessel through which good works are accomplished. Clothe and feed the poor. Make love, not war. Is it not possible, however, for both of these scenarios to be practiced without one’s throne being totally surrendered unto the reins of the Holy Ghost? To walk by one’s head, and not your belly?................

My pastor preached yesterday once again on “vision”, his words dry and not giving nourishment to an old man previously burnt by such declaration. Yet, little by little, it became clear this fellow was not talking “bigger barns”. His heart was to become Christ unto the community around us. Message ended, he began to confess, speaking of repeatedly watching a rummy cross the rear of our property to get to a liquor store. Obviously an employee of the nearby racetrack. “What a loser!” he thought to himself; “Those are YOUR bottles I’m picking up out there!” Then the Spirit; and with his voice now reflecting the tears in his eyes, he began to vow to next time join the man in his journey, not to bombard him with the Book, but to share whatever Christ would give. Thirty minutes of no more than words. Now the well overflowed and we, as one, swam in the River………….

"Thinking It Over.................."

Arriving at school this morning, I learned that not only had the other two assistants phoned in ill, but the teacher in charge had been suddenly required to attend an important meeting. Each position had been filled. There would be four of us to cover the situation; but the only person familiar with the routine was me. Right. Mostly I’m there strictly for any heavy-duty navigating, i.e. keeping a close watch on the autistic boy. Other than that, I have little knowledge of the business end of the affair. Nonetheless, trusting in the fact that we still had the woman in charge of the younger unit, I accepted the assignment as given and, at about 9:30, found myself with nine women and eighteen Special-Ed children on a bus tour around Greater Cincinnati Airport. At one point we dismounted and boarded a small replica of an airplane. No small task since one not-so-small boy is restricted to a motorized wheelchair and had to be carried up the flight of metal stairs; and afterwards, of course, maneuvered back down in the same manner. Add the two afflicted with cerebral palsy who also demand assistance, include our second stop: the terminal’s fire station, and what you’ve got by the time we motored away to lunch is one tired, hungry, old man…………

Frisches was our intended destination. The best laid plans of mice and well-meaning elementary officials, however, do not always come to pass. Having taken time and precaution to outfit our charges with coupons and money enough for dessert, no one, in all the confusion, had pre-notified the restaurant of our intent to dine there. Now, in the middle of lunch hour, there was no room in the inn. Someone suggested Chinese, and suddenly there we were, the whole kit and caboodle of us, stuffed into one side of a busy buffet style enterprise trying to cross a language barrier concerning our bill. Ten dollars out of my own pocket for my meal, wolfed down in between assistance-required bathroom visits, disciplinary measures administered to the three kids behind me, and an incident where the young boy directly across from me upchucked on his plate. It was 2:30 when we finally once more entered the bus loop and disembarked, nearly 3:00 when we attempted to gather experience learned onto paper, 3:20 when the daily ritual of making sure everybody somehow finds their proper way home began. My official “shift” ends at 3:25, but it’s a rare occasion for my Toyota to leave the parking lot before 3:45………….

They pay me for six and work me closer to seven. I’m expected to enter weekly grades on both behavior adjustments and academic progress; but, taking into account snow days, holidays, special events, and the frequent need to altar the schedule for administrative purposes, the ability to obtain sufficient data isn’t always there. I’m also assigned a thirty minute lunch hour and a ten minute break, but it’s not unusual to find both shared with one or more of our students due to a shortage of personnel on any given day. I have moments of exasperation when lessons conquered yesterday are forgotten overnight, and question myself when, no matter how many ways I try to open their understanding, my attempts are marked only by their concern that I might be mad at them. In truth, though, in giving this job all I’ve got, my one beef lies with upper level politics having no more integrity than to dishonor my contract because I supposedly failed to check the right computer box on my two thousand dollar flex-spending allowance. It’s not in me to walk away. I love what I’m doing. Hopefully, this matter will eventually be resolved…………..

"A Photogenic Gospel..................."

A friend of mine recently wrote about most of us holding an image of Jesus as being a “blue-eyed, blond-haired good shepherd in flowing white robe, holding a cute lamb, with children gathered admiringly round His feet”. I freely admit to having that particular picture stamped on my brain; but it’s certainly not the one that occupies my thoughts on most days. About twenty years ago, I dreamed of Golgotha’s Crucified being led into the very depths of hell until, in utter darkness, He turned His face joyfully upward to be filled once again with the Holy Ghost. Just a night vision? Only a few days later, a fellow who knew nothing about my experience handed me a copy of “The Laughing Christ” and there, before me, was an exact duplication of Christ as I had witnessed Him…………..

Does either of the above scenarios, though, completely define the Gospel for me? Is my view of the Lord isolated and chained to one or the other? No more so, I think, than the Word, itself. My faith certainly isn’t restricted by any one particular verse of Scripture; and, likewise, I do not totally navigate by any individual artist’s personal representation of Biblical event. Truth, for me, is a continual adjustment, forged as I go, the journey teaching me as much as anything else. Some painting may indeed capture doctrine as I perceive it to be, but theology has to embrace the whole Book, not just my fancy. I stumble; I learn; and I try to follow the Holy Ghost. My own humanity is enough reason to consider and correct my thinking. As a matter of fact, my “thinking” is usually the problem………….

We all, I suppose, have our own idea of what it means to be “saved” and most anybody who claims to be a believer is familiar with Ephesians’ declaration of it being accomplished “by grace”. There are a few other ways, though, mentioned in both the Old and New Testaments; and my favorite is one of two that are found within the pages of Paul’s epistle to the Romans. “If, while we were yet enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of His Son”, it reads; “much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by His life.” I take that quite literally, for so it has proven itself unto me. I don’t always remember to walk by my belly, rather than my head, but all the more reason I remain convinced. Peace. Wisdom. Understanding. These come, not out of any genius on my part, but an inner well where He abides……………..

 

I'm trying to figure out host to insert a picture above my profile. Instead, it ended up here and I figured why waste all the effort. This is me with the three youngest grandkids: Caleb, McKenna, & Noah. With a little luck, maybe the old man can better hit what he's aiming at sometime before next September......

Interrogatives........................."

This last Arctic blast that hit much of the country has northern Kentucky encased in ice. We’re halfway through February and haven’t really had much of a winter, so it’s hard to complain; but when electricity is eliminated from one’s status quo nowadays, it doesn’t take long to find yourself hurting. My family’s only power problem has been navigating the two city blocks to the main road. The street is more like an elongated, rectangular skating rink, buried under a few inches of frozen water, but those who know are predicting warmer temperatures this coming week with rain foreseen for Thursday. Whether or not that might produce flooding has not yet been discussed. Last night, though, as the sun was sinking, the wife and I were treated to a divine “Disney spectacle” as we drove to the mall. The horizontal angle of light, beamed directly at us, turned the trees on either side of the expressway into a magical wonderland; and we watched in awe as nature’s created prism sparkled beyond belief……….

It was brilliant and it was breath-taking; yet its beauty in no way erased all else from my mind. Earlier that day the news announced the death of a nine year-old girl. Enjoying a day off from school, she had been walking her dog in the snow when one of these same, heavy, ice-laden tree branches had dropped from on high, striking her dead. Where is wonder in that report? As enchanting a picture as this crystal forest presented unto me, it still remains that behind the glitter lay life as it comes to us. One does not know what the day may hold; the rain falls on the just and the unjust; and, while thanking God for our many blessings might be altogether good and proper, there also exists reason enough to question Him about those things we fail to understand. Prayer is not about fancy words formed in our head, framed by our mouth, and then offered unto a deity who views us “from a distance”. Indeed, all that’s required of us for two-way communication is honesty and a hunger to fall into the flow……….

Singularity................."

In the opening moments of “Flags of Our Fathers”, one old WWII veteran is talking to another, younger man and, in speaking of the atrocities that occur in such conflict, he suggests that the human mind has need to find meaning for it all. It doesn’t have to be held together by deep theology. Indeed, the revelation acquired can be negative as well as positive; and, to prove his point, he refers to a photo taken during the Viet Nam era where a South Viet Nam officer is shown callously firing a bullet through a prisoner’s head. It immediately changed public opinion here at home, stirring national discontent with our involvement in that conflict. In like manner, though, years earlier, a picture of American soldiers raising our colors above the island of Iwo Jima produced exactly the opposite effect. Coincidental? Ordained? Whatever the answer to that question, it yet seems to me that, while both incidents may have independently established unity toward a certain goal, the only real truth gained from either is the unpredictability of the matter. History records the road taken, but people determine their own path…………

That last statement is just as valid in terms of the Christian experience as it is with the world at large. Some, of course, would argue our possession of a divinely inspired roadmap eliminates all error, factoring into such reasoning, in one way or another, an indwelling of the Holy Spirit who gives unto them correct interpretation. It makes sense. After all, Jesus did say that this Third Member of the Trinity would testify of Him, serving as a guide unto us in all things. Yet, if our past stands as reliable evidence of just how well that fact unifies us in whom and what we are as the Body of Christ, surely the snapshot obtained indicates a flaw somewhere in the system; and, if we are willing to admit to that supposition, rather than simply rest in the obvious “We’ve met the enemy and they is us!”, perhaps it would help if we better examined this fellow we claim as our compass. I’m of the opinion that all too often we follow the crowd, not the Ghost, and mostly because we resemble the bunch that stood before Mount Sinai and trembled. Easier to reduce His Presence to mere definition and then go our own way………..

I realize that, as an ecclesiastical community, we have doctrinally stretched the matter until, at one end the Comforter is but an un-noticed partner in our affairs; and, at the other, He is the manifestation we attach to what we call “freedom”. If, however, He indeed be Deity, then whether an individual representation of the Godhead or but the voice of Yahweh, the mind of Christ, doesn’t He deserve more than a term that we toss around to explain our actions? He is not necessarily my good works or my anointed preaching just because I’m loud and emotional. He is not some level I have reached that sets me apart from others, but more like a level-“er” Who sends me to the mass. And if I’m going to utilize His identity as a confirmed source for any counsel I give, then let me also be just as quick to find myself to have been mistaken when it fails. If we, as the Church, are ever to know unity, it will not come through our independent deciphering of the Word, our supposed, similar view of Jesus as the Messiah. Calvary’s blood bought us a common renewed lifeline with our Father; and in that Reality, alone, are we made one………...

Metamorphosis.................."

I have a friend over in Diaryland, discovered in my blogging genesis and who remains a favorite read of mine. Her January 31st post was entitled “You Plus Good Thinking”; but, other than the first paragraph, just about all of it was an article written by an anonymous author concerning an “awakening”. I shared the link with several people, finding its message speaking to anybody who has traveled down life’s road for any fair amount of distance. Who among us hasn’t known wounds? Heartache? A sense of failure? We may be individual in our identity, but we’re also quite common in those things which we allow to define us. Words such as these can serve to give us hope. The question is whether they go deeper than in one ear and out the other……….

This Sunday evening was the second installment of a new series of monthly lessons my church has undertaken. Four different themes meant to provide a better understanding of what being a member of the Body of Christ involves have been formulated into separate booklets; and, for about three hours, we sit and “fill in the blanks”. It’s not my idea of gaining any real understanding. There are references to Biblical chapter and verse out to the right of whatever answers you have scribbled, via the teacher’s enlightenment, establishing a self-study course once you’ve finished; but I’m betting few actually go home and travel that path. Indeed, in my opinion, all we achieve with this sort of study is but building another replica of the doctrinal totem............

There are, I admit, no degrees behind my name. Nonetheless, it seems to me that any change in who we are is only accomplished in two ways. One method is by what I’ll refer to as revelation. Something happens and our eyes are opened. It doesn’t dictate that we have correctly or even fully learned a truth; but, of a truth, we don’t see things as we did previously. Thus the second avenue: we grow as we go; and if, somewhere along the way, we are fortunate enough to come to the conclusions presented in the above link, how good it is if we realize at the same time we’re not smart enough to go it alone. We need His rod and His staff, the gentle tug of our soul connected to Him by the Holy Ghost. ………..

Calculating One's Cognizance............."

When an Alberta clipper dumped six inches of snow over our neck of the woods, the powers that be opted to give us the next day off from school. Sitting in a recliner beside a cozy gas fire Wednesday afternoon, then, I thumbed through an old Time magazine reading letters to the editor. One addressing a previous article on “How The Brain Rewires Itself” caught my interest. One simple google took me to the original piece of literature where I learned that scientists now believe this cranial command post to be the essence of all that we are. Tests supposedly prove it has the ability to change its structure and function in response to experience, usurping idles areas of its existence in order to accomplish the task at hand. Indeed, it appears, by their deductions, that our consciousness, the executive “I”, is no more than an illusion created by this singular mass of cells in charge of our nervous system…………..

They haven’t yet, of course, (as the author put it) completely “exorcised the ghost from the machine”. Even as they voice that latter conclusion above, why we are given, in any form, an “identity” with which to reason about some things, while other operations such as heartbeat and respiration are left within its control, remains under investigation. They, on one hand declare us not to be free moral agents, responsible for our choices; and then, on the other, consider us mentally able to recognize faulty information generated by our neurological unit. I marvel, therefore, at their claims of having surgically cured epilepsy by creating two distinct inner personalities, but hesitate to swallow it all hook, line, and sinker. These are, after all, the same people who took Terri Schiavo off life support and now claim to have absolute evidence that, despite coma, there is activity yet taking place within those deep recesses of who we are as individuals……………

Don’t get me wrong. I fully understand it is human to err, even with a couple of degrees behind your name. I also appreciate continued delving into the mysteries of what makes us tick. Last week I sat in a Fifth Grade science class and, as the teacher discussed cells being the basic building blocks of our existence, wonder, myself, if perhaps these little, microscopic boogers didn’t possess an intelligence of their own. In coming together to form tissue and then extending that into complicated anatomical systems co-existing in a singular packages capable of any number of activities, they’ve certainly got me duly impressed. My admiration, however, rests in the One Who gave divine design to the whole kit ‘n caboodle; and swimming in the soup has never decreased my faith in the Chef. He remains the origin of any exploration, having already proven Himself unto me too many times along the way……………..

Tossing It Around............................"

Our Sunday School lesson, yesterday, focused on “falling and getting back up again”. To begin with, none of us had any problem in admitting that sort of scenario was definitely a part of the Christian journey. Who is it among us, after all, that hasn’t stumbled? In the old church, they simply put it in terms of each failure being represented by a marker; and, then, each time you planted one, you just determined to go a little farther before planting another somewhere down the road. It made sense to me, except that, at the same time, sin was also preached as being conquered in a true believer’s life. Any reconciling of the two ideas was left for the individual to work out for himself; and, eventually, I concluded that “sin shall not have dominion over you” merely means the Cross was permanently established in my heart to work out the details as they occur. Guilt. Grace. Meet at Golgotha…………..

Which only brings up yet another point of doctrine delivered unto us in those days of yore: Why confess to a priest when Christ brings unto us direct communication with the Father? I readily admit to having never understood that one, myself, even though I recognize value in being there for one another. Alcoholics Anonymous and other like groups have proven that to be true. And yet, “church-wise”, when our teacher took us into a discussion, Sunday, on James’ admonition to share our faults, we all quickly found ourselves in accord. Too many bad experiences along the way labeled it “risky business”. You had better be sure just how well you could trust that person to whom you elected to “spill your guts. Too often things spoken in private were then leaked from the pulpit. Yet what Catholic can’t step into that booth with complete confidence in the guy on the other side of that window?................

As noted in the comments pertaining to my last post, I find that we each “speak out of our own experience” and final judgment will be “of the heart.” God sitting there on His throne with a score-sheet on how well we’ve managed to decipher the enigma of it all isn’t how I picture that event. Neither do I think differences of opinion are weapons of war. In my own Sunday School teaching days, I operated by three rules of procedure: (1) Keep the class on topic unless the Holy Ghost elected to take us elsewhere; (2) Keep everybody from getting into a fight; and (3) Stir up interest enough that people would go home, get into both their Bibles and their prayer closets to determine issues for themselves. Christ didn’t come just to give us a message, but to reinstitute a relationship that Adam lost in the Garden. Call it what you want, but don’t neglect it. His promise. Your peace in the midst of chaos………..

Parsing the Paraclete..................."

One of the blessings of Blogdom has been the opportunity for conversation with people, not only from all across this country, but also such places as Canada, England, Australia, and Singapore. Within the scope of where my writing tends to travel, though, and giving recognition that, eventually, it comes down to repeating yourself one way or the other, it’s understandable that not all connections last forever. There is, however, a fellow who lives just across the Ohio and only about twenty minutes from me who, in spite of his Catholic heritage and my Pentecostal roots, has remained faithful to exploring the Gospel with me almost since my entrance into this arena. In fact, early yesterday morning we sat at a table in Bob Evans and discussed over a hot cup of coffee how so often it is no more than feeble linguistics that punctuates our perspectives…………

Mother Teresa, in her “No Greater Love”, excites my soul as she defines prayer in terms of Christ “in” me. “This is what we have to learn right from the beginning”, she says; “to listen to the voice of God in our heart”; and when, “in the silence of the heart God speaks, then, from the fullness of our hearts, our mouth will have to speak”, for “it is full of God, full of love, full of compassion, (and) full of faith.” You can’t get much closer to the truth than that; and yet, while she points to a circuitry where we are but a vessel through which God extends Himself unto every man, not once does she address that flow in terms of it being the Third Person of the Trinity. Does that take anything away from all that she was able to accomplish for Him in her lifetime? In no way. Only that I fail to understand why her language excludes all reference…………

Then, again, I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit that my own denomination has long labeled emotional displays, up to and including running around the sanctuary at full tilt, as being “in” the Holy Ghost. While I find nothing wrong with being demonstrative in worship as long as it is “buried in Him”, if all it accomplishes is the desire to do it again next Sunday, the nun, I think, has a better grasp of what it’s all about. Not that any of us fully conquer truth. He, alone, fulfills that in its entirety; and we can do no more than follow. Totally surrendered. Hearts hungry to know the nudge of His staff, the sound of His voice. But there IS a reality to that latter that Jesus, Himself, put title to and called “the Comforter”. Ought we to do any less? The Father gave us the Son. The Son gave us the Spirit. Let us bow down before all three and learn of Him.................

Surprised By His Memory.................."

He was eleven years old when I first met him. In those days, Beth and I were doing our best to raise three girls; but a burr hair cut and an accent that immediately informed you he was born in the hills of southern Kentucky quickly captured our heart. His mother had recently died and the new woman in his father’s life wanted no kids in hers. So Gus, three brothers, and a sister were all abandoned to a Pentecostal orphanage; and, in the legality of it all, while his father would never permit adoption, being “farmed out” to others over the summer was another matter. He soon became a familiar face to our congregation, a blessing shared between a few of us, and eventually was even able to attend our church school. Shoes and a few pairs of denims along the way. I took him to the movies once to see “Time Bandits”. He grew, married, now has a daughter and a son of his own; and every so often I look up to pay the cashier at Bob Evans or some fast food drive-through only to discover some phantom has already taken care of it………

When a mutual friend passed away last September after several years of battling breast cancer, her five children were likewise individually scattered from pillar to post by both parent’s wishes. It’s a long, sad story; and the arrangements, for many reasons, achieved little success. Then, out of the shadows, stepped Gus, opening his home to as many of them as would accept his offer. I saw him and the boys last evening. My oldest daughter invited me to utilize the old church’s walking track and there, down below, the four of them were playing basketball. When I walked down, he walked over, and the two of us began to talk. You just never know. My intrusion into his existence all those years ago had been minimal, in my opinion. He kept reminding me of small words of advice and encouragement, a “sermon” once preached at a chapel service. I never had a son. Never thought myself worthy to even tackle that one. But I’m proud of Gus. His dad, by the way, moved by his son’s forgiveness, came to Christ awhile back…………

Focus.................................."

Lucy: “I’m thinking of starting some new hobbies.”

Charlie: “That’s a good idea, Lucy. The people who get most out of life are those who really try to accomplish something.”

Lucy: “ACCOMPLISH something? I thought we were just supposed to keep busy!”


The above dialogue is taken from one of Charles Schultz’s cartoon strips, the first, in fact, utilized to illustrate the literary content of a book I own called: “The Gospel According to Peanuts”. This particular serving is paired with comments in the author’s preface where he admits having a desire, after his work was published, to “leave the elementary doctrines of Christ and go on to maturity”. What checked such urge, however, was his being persuaded that “the religious situation in the United States today demands from all a much harder and more rigid examination of the foundations of the Christian faith, before we go much higher in building the modern-day theological Tower of Babel we seem so determined to embark in.” I recommend the read, agree with the accusation, but beg to differ with the cure. What I’d really like, though, is to be able to sit down with the writer and pick his brain. Maybe I’m missing what he is trying to say………..

Mother Teresa, in the second chapter of her book, notes: “What we need is to love without getting tired. Through the continuous input of small drops of oil. What are these drops of oil? They are the small things of daily life: faithfulness, small words of kindness, a thought for others, our way of being silent, of looking, of speaking, and of acting. Do not look for Jesus away from yourselves. He is not out there. He is in you. Keep your lamp burning and you will recognize Him.” All this after telling us in her initial entry that prayer is not prayer until the Spirit comes up out of our well to join us in it! Has she changed her strategy when it comes to going about the Lord’s business? Is it simply a matter of staying “busy”; and, in recognition of our good service, He automatically inserts Himself into our affairs? Or does it remain that our first priority is a daily refilling of that One who IS our oil? It seems to me that only in Him do we find fulfillment………..

It was Soren Kierkegaard who thought boredom to be the root of all evil. While there may be some truth to that train of thought, I’m more inclined to believe who we are and what we do springs more out of where we HAVE our roots for any length of time. And if my sixty-five years have taught me anything, it can probably be reduced to this: (1) That man who has no regrets has, no doubt, forgotten where he’s been; (2) Anybody who makes the future more important than the moment has lost sight of where they’re going; and (3) The greatest asset a person can possess is a connection with the One who holds it all in His hands. When you stumble in the going and err off course, that latter enables a gentle tug on the reins. It’s just too easy to get foggy vision, caught up in your own excitement and determination, only to discover somewhere down the road you’re following your own heart, not His. I’ve been there; done that. Let me know His voice, not just the Book………..