“Just take those old records off the shelf. I sit and listen to ‘em by myself. Today’s music ain’t got the same soul. I like that old time rock ‘n roll”…In such manner Bob Seger interrupted our Sunday school class this past weekend. I had forgotten the cell phone was yet attached to my belt. The wife, who had not felt well earlier, was trying to now connect with me for dinner; and, to tell the truth, her timing was perfect. The lesson being taught was no more than facts and figures concerning the history of the Bible, a “listen and learn” presentation that left no room for discussion. To each his own, I suppose; but, to me, an adult study group is about sharing opinions without going to war. If, in preventing the latter, you have to reduce it to an Algebra book with the equations already conquered, you still don’t have Christ in the midst, only one man’s doctrinal slice of the Pi…………
In response to my inquiry, that nostalgic theater friend of mine shared with me a bit of how his wife abandoned her acting career to enter into her present position within the Church. It seems a Walter Bruggerman lecture she once attended stirred the coals of a fire long burning inside her via her music ministry and, answering His tug on her heart, she now teaches others how to achieve a deeper relationship with God, leading them into an immersion in the Spirit through song. She’ll certainly get nothing other than agreement from me regarding that. As a body, we need to learn the communion available unto us and, indeed, worship appears to be the one spot where it’s easy for us to accomplish it. Give us a few worship verses of “How Great Thou Art” and we can relax, falling into a flow of His presence. Ask us to share our Biblical view why such connection takes place, however, and humanity begins to surface……
My pastor expresses the phenomenon in terms of “We leak!”; but, while there’s no doubt a lot to be said for his theory, I’m inclined to think Solomon’s observation says it much better: “Vanity. Vanity. All is vanity”. We’re just so “stuck in our head” that we’re not about to surrender ourselves unto our “belly” for anything longer than page sixty-two in the hymnal and even then it all depends on what else occupies our mind at the moment. Our need for “peace-makers” is a given, and for much more purpose than simply taking us through the weekly service. If what we gain in the sanctuary is not enough to restrain us in our co-existence with others, nor to escape us in a witness of Him unto others, then I really wonder whether our theology is of our own making or His. Especially when it appears unable to survive the transition from pew to a few gathered in His name……
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Rear Vision........................................."
A computer friend of mine, in his younger days, enjoyed performing in live theater. Actually, it was his passion; and recently, in fact, he posted a film clip of a television interview he once earned via such talent. I know him merely from a few e-mails we’ve shared along the way, an almost daily visit to his blog site, and a book published awhile back filled with newspaper columns he’s written; so I’m not sure how much credibility that gives me in saying that the young fellow in the video didn’t synchronize with the perception held in my mind of who he is now……
It had nothing to do with seeing him garbed in the fashion of the late 70s, early 80s. No; I’m not talking about his outer appearance at all. Who is there among us that, in looking back three decades, wouldn’t have a smile on our face revisiting the styles once thought to be “in”? Seems to me I remember burning a couple of pictures of me in a leisure suit and, while I am surely no “handsome Harry”, I’ve often wondered what my wife found attractive in a 145 pound, bow-legged sailor. The years, in my opinion, have been good to this old man. Grey hair beats no hair at all……
I’ve always said, though, that the “guy inside” is one of the reasons I believe an eternal existence is part of the package. This body may not be able to achieve what it once did, but within the framework of this flesh yet lives a sixteen year-old wanting to play some basketball. The video, however, set me thinking. While the “spirit” of youth still abides, that doesn’t mean it didn’t gain a bit of wisdom in the journey. Lessons learned. Hurts survived. We all “evolve” as we go. And in this age of looking back to hear, as well as see, ourselves, the change is discernable……
What’s important, it seems to me, is allowing Him access to the process……
It had nothing to do with seeing him garbed in the fashion of the late 70s, early 80s. No; I’m not talking about his outer appearance at all. Who is there among us that, in looking back three decades, wouldn’t have a smile on our face revisiting the styles once thought to be “in”? Seems to me I remember burning a couple of pictures of me in a leisure suit and, while I am surely no “handsome Harry”, I’ve often wondered what my wife found attractive in a 145 pound, bow-legged sailor. The years, in my opinion, have been good to this old man. Grey hair beats no hair at all……
I’ve always said, though, that the “guy inside” is one of the reasons I believe an eternal existence is part of the package. This body may not be able to achieve what it once did, but within the framework of this flesh yet lives a sixteen year-old wanting to play some basketball. The video, however, set me thinking. While the “spirit” of youth still abides, that doesn’t mean it didn’t gain a bit of wisdom in the journey. Lessons learned. Hurts survived. We all “evolve” as we go. And in this age of looking back to hear, as well as see, ourselves, the change is discernable……
What’s important, it seems to me, is allowing Him access to the process……
Saturday, September 22, 2007
"Trinity Unplugged................."
With a book of his sermons and also an autobiography already devoured, I next purchased a devotional described as “daily meditations with Frederick Buechner”. Much of its contents, I’ve since discovered, is taken from fiction and fails me in any real feeding of my soul; but scattered here and there as I go are nuggets well worth the journey taken, particularly April’s embrace of Easter. There the author speaks of the resurrection as being no metaphor, but the power of God; and then, just a few paragraphs later, adds to such declaration that what had convinced the people of His rising from the dead was not the absence of a corpse, but the truth of His living presence manifested in their midst. Strong words; and yet followed by his opinion that many present-day “believers” often frequent church out of no more than a void they wish filled with the reality of such promise…...
Those ten minutes shared Wednesday evening with the men at the rescue mission were not completely filled with song. Drawing from Bob’s delivery, I noted that a few loaves of bread and some fish may have indeed been utilized to provide lunch for more than a thousand, but the Holy Ghost was later given to an entire world as the meal to end all meals! The world, however, for the most part, has been content to simply leave Jesus nailed to the Cross where, even as with the brazen serpent in the wilderness, men worship their individual, doctrinal definitions taken from the Word. Chapter and verse, cut and pasted to the tree, may shape the idol; but man, himself, is the only one breathing life into it. If Christianity is to know revival, it must, without forgetting the price that was paid, once again embrace His grace as power set into motion at Golgotha, but enforced via His Spirit within us……
Those ten minutes shared Wednesday evening with the men at the rescue mission were not completely filled with song. Drawing from Bob’s delivery, I noted that a few loaves of bread and some fish may have indeed been utilized to provide lunch for more than a thousand, but the Holy Ghost was later given to an entire world as the meal to end all meals! The world, however, for the most part, has been content to simply leave Jesus nailed to the Cross where, even as with the brazen serpent in the wilderness, men worship their individual, doctrinal definitions taken from the Word. Chapter and verse, cut and pasted to the tree, may shape the idol; but man, himself, is the only one breathing life into it. If Christianity is to know revival, it must, without forgetting the price that was paid, once again embrace His grace as power set into motion at Golgotha, but enforced via His Spirit within us……
Thursday, September 20, 2007
"Deep Wells................................."
I awoke early yesterday morning. Within the normal fringe of such occurrence. No alarm clock ever necessary. I had been dreaming one of those senseless film-clips that last no more than several seconds, putting you in the middle of some situation with no real connection to life as it is and then leaving you, once sleep is abandoned, examining the mystery of it all. In this one, my wife and I were both “present-age”, yet were trying to tie together the loose ends of taking our “kids” to somewhere in Florida and dealing with my emotional aversion to driving separate cars. A nephew was standing there, for whatever reason, watching us as I reached to embrace Beth, kiss her passionately, and then opened my eyes to greet the day. From what inner creative closet the imagery came is beyond me……
Last night was our monthly worship meeting with the men at the rescue mission and, on our way there, Bob and I had both talked about how physically drained we were. Stress, I suppose. As much as I enjoy working with these Special-Ed kids, our group, this year, is a handful and most afternoons I come home in need of a nap. With both of us feeling, then, as if we possessed little to share on this occasion, we arrived, shook a few hands, and trusted Him for “church”. The big guy led several hymns and along the way found a flow that carried over into honest exhortation on God’s ability to feed the multitudes with next to nothing. Tony waded into those waters and spoke on one’s “worth” being determined by our Maker, not the world around us. That left us with but ten minutes left and me to somehow utilize it so as to take us into prayer……
This old man has never had the vocal range to be classified a “singer”. Nonetheless, I long ago learned that ministry, in almost any capacity, has little to do with our talents and everything to do with how much we invited Him into the task at hand. Instead of speaking, I turned my CD player on to provide the soundtrack, and began to literally “rest” in the words I brought forth. “There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Emanuel’s veins; and sinners plunged beneath the flood, lose all their guilty stains…. The dying thief, upon the cross, rejoiced to see that day; and so may I, more vile than he, wash all my sins away”. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t the song. Suddenly it was as if the Holy Ghost possessed that room, a river that connected heart to heart, each of us, one to the other. And I had no doubts concerning its source......
Last night was our monthly worship meeting with the men at the rescue mission and, on our way there, Bob and I had both talked about how physically drained we were. Stress, I suppose. As much as I enjoy working with these Special-Ed kids, our group, this year, is a handful and most afternoons I come home in need of a nap. With both of us feeling, then, as if we possessed little to share on this occasion, we arrived, shook a few hands, and trusted Him for “church”. The big guy led several hymns and along the way found a flow that carried over into honest exhortation on God’s ability to feed the multitudes with next to nothing. Tony waded into those waters and spoke on one’s “worth” being determined by our Maker, not the world around us. That left us with but ten minutes left and me to somehow utilize it so as to take us into prayer……
This old man has never had the vocal range to be classified a “singer”. Nonetheless, I long ago learned that ministry, in almost any capacity, has little to do with our talents and everything to do with how much we invited Him into the task at hand. Instead of speaking, I turned my CD player on to provide the soundtrack, and began to literally “rest” in the words I brought forth. “There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Emanuel’s veins; and sinners plunged beneath the flood, lose all their guilty stains…. The dying thief, upon the cross, rejoiced to see that day; and so may I, more vile than he, wash all my sins away”. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t the song. Suddenly it was as if the Holy Ghost possessed that room, a river that connected heart to heart, each of us, one to the other. And I had no doubts concerning its source......
Monday, September 17, 2007
"Memories..............................."
I was recently reading an eighty year-old, retired journalist’s childhood memories of growing up in a small New York City Jewish neighborhood. It was Chaim Potok who awakened me to the truth that, like Christianity, Judaism divides itself into a number of various sects, each with its own religious standards; so it was no surprise to discover that, back in the 1920s, there were five different congregations existing on 169th, just around the corner from his apartment house and within the space of one block. No great shock, either, to learn his return nearly six decades later would reveal all were now boarded up, no longer in use. None, that is, but the synagogue his family had attended. It still served as an ecclesiastical institute, but with one slight change. The name over the door now proclaimed: “Iglesia Pentacostal”……
As one re-birthed into a “holiness” version of that latter faith, my sharing of his experience is not intended to convey humor, nor to suggest some sort of “victory” achieved via such shift in the building’s worship community. My own journey long ago taught me that, by now, for all I know, there’s a good chance a mosque could be established in the very same spot; so the story holds no significance, for me, as to what particular group holds the fort at any one point along the way. It just shows me another slice of life as it is, was, and shall always be: ever-flowing, with all that it is-in a state of constant metamorphosis, so that no segment can be embraced for more than it is at the moment. Portraits captured in mental snapshots that fade as we go. Blink; and the composition has already repositioned itself……
“The thing that has been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done.” So spoke Solomon, declaring there to be “no new thing under the sun”. He intended the latter, I suppose, in the sense that humanity would always be humanity and that what God had set into motion would continue until God declared it otherwise. The stage is built; the story put into endless repetition; the actors and the scenery entering and leaving on a timely basis. There is no “going back”. We get one shot at appreciating Uncle Fred, one brief encounter with each element of our existence. Our kids become adults. The old drive-in movie theater is torn down and replaced with a huge mall complex. He, alone, is eternal. In Him, then, and in Him, alone, I want to take my next step. History, however sweet, remains history……
As one re-birthed into a “holiness” version of that latter faith, my sharing of his experience is not intended to convey humor, nor to suggest some sort of “victory” achieved via such shift in the building’s worship community. My own journey long ago taught me that, by now, for all I know, there’s a good chance a mosque could be established in the very same spot; so the story holds no significance, for me, as to what particular group holds the fort at any one point along the way. It just shows me another slice of life as it is, was, and shall always be: ever-flowing, with all that it is-in a state of constant metamorphosis, so that no segment can be embraced for more than it is at the moment. Portraits captured in mental snapshots that fade as we go. Blink; and the composition has already repositioned itself……
“The thing that has been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done.” So spoke Solomon, declaring there to be “no new thing under the sun”. He intended the latter, I suppose, in the sense that humanity would always be humanity and that what God had set into motion would continue until God declared it otherwise. The stage is built; the story put into endless repetition; the actors and the scenery entering and leaving on a timely basis. There is no “going back”. We get one shot at appreciating Uncle Fred, one brief encounter with each element of our existence. Our kids become adults. The old drive-in movie theater is torn down and replaced with a huge mall complex. He, alone, is eternal. In Him, then, and in Him, alone, I want to take my next step. History, however sweet, remains history……
Friday, September 14, 2007
"Snicker, Snicker............................"
My recent rambling on Buttrick’s statement about the coronation of Christ taking place again and again in every believer’s heart via “confession, tears, and laughter”, as often happens, turned a corner somewhere along the way and reached a different destination than originally intended. The word “confession”, for me, doesn’t necessarily signify a wrongful act having taken place, but could be no more than surrendering unto God the truth that we don’t know what to do about a certain situation. In the same manner, then, “laughter” might be humor shared between heaven and earth, the Almighty sometimes simply amused with the facts as they are, our “predicament” a matter that simply gives evidence of life not always being cut and dried. Indeed, I found myself in such a place this past Wednesday…...
Working in public education affords me, as did the railroad, the availability to access the Internet should the need arise. Mostly that amounts to googling information about some question raised in class, although I do admit to occasionally spot-checking this site for comments. The principal’s “warning” of her possessing a “sniffer”, however, gave me reason this year to avoid the computer altogether; and I did so until recently the school nurse mentioned she might like to visit that more “modern” church service everyone’s talking about in Cincinnati. Assured by the teacher of such technology that the “spy” equipment merely was sensitive to certain words, a protection against people logging onto what they shouldn’t, I sat down, searched out the congregational site, and clicked. Suddenly, there on my screen in nearly 3” font was: LOVE! SEX!.....
It seems the current six-week series being presented at this particular place of worship deals with God’s perspective on the subject. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Even Paul addressed the issue. He just didn’t post billboards all around town advertising his sermon and I’d be willing to bet he didn’t mail Timothy a flyer stuck in the middle of some bit of communication between them, either. If my reaction and response on this occasion had been caught on video tape, it would have made good material for one of those television programs that feature shock as comedy. I nearly fell off my chair in an attempt to quickly escape my predicament. The school office thought it quite funny the next day when I explained it with a printout; but I’m thinking, seated in Heaven at the right hand of His Father, Jesus enjoyed it all no less……
Working in public education affords me, as did the railroad, the availability to access the Internet should the need arise. Mostly that amounts to googling information about some question raised in class, although I do admit to occasionally spot-checking this site for comments. The principal’s “warning” of her possessing a “sniffer”, however, gave me reason this year to avoid the computer altogether; and I did so until recently the school nurse mentioned she might like to visit that more “modern” church service everyone’s talking about in Cincinnati. Assured by the teacher of such technology that the “spy” equipment merely was sensitive to certain words, a protection against people logging onto what they shouldn’t, I sat down, searched out the congregational site, and clicked. Suddenly, there on my screen in nearly 3” font was: LOVE! SEX!.....
It seems the current six-week series being presented at this particular place of worship deals with God’s perspective on the subject. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Even Paul addressed the issue. He just didn’t post billboards all around town advertising his sermon and I’d be willing to bet he didn’t mail Timothy a flyer stuck in the middle of some bit of communication between them, either. If my reaction and response on this occasion had been caught on video tape, it would have made good material for one of those television programs that feature shock as comedy. I nearly fell off my chair in an attempt to quickly escape my predicament. The school office thought it quite funny the next day when I explained it with a printout; but I’m thinking, seated in Heaven at the right hand of His Father, Jesus enjoyed it all no less……
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
"Mixture................................."
Anyone who has frequented my continued mental drain, at this site, by now must wonder if religious theme is the only subject fueling my brain. In truth, it is indeed where I live on a daily basis and have done so for over thirty-five years, but that doesn’t make me a saint. Possibly a nerd, in the sense that I realize most people don’t tend to fall so deeply into Biblical matters; however, if my interests appear to suggest that there is no “fun”, no humor in my life, it couldn’t be farther from where I live……
Frederick Buechner, in once of his autobiographies, refers to the following as being an eye-opening point once preached to him by George Buttrick. Though Jesus refused the crown offered Him by the devil in the wilderness, He “is king nonetheless because again and again He is crowned in the heart of the people who believe in Him; and that inward coronation takes place among confession, and tears, and great laughter.” Such has certainly been accurate in my own experience on all three accounts……
“How does that last portion, laughter,” one may well ask, “fit into an attempt to walk with the Almighty on a 24/7 basis?” Primarily: in not forgetting that humanity remains part of the process, within my own efforts as well as the world as I encounter it. Christianity, as I see it, anyhow, isn’t becoming some starchy, holier-than-thou bit of religiosity, but a reciprocal agreement to share the journey, a handshake completed between heaven and earth, then extended unto whomsoever will……
Christ wasn’t so much concerned with hallowed halls and the letter of the law as He was with mingling among the mass with His Father’s message; and He accomplished that not so much through chapter and verse as via compassion and truth. His gospel wasn’t some rigid, doctrinal credo, but the giving of Himself surrendered unto a flow of the Holy Ghost. In such manner, He fished not only for men, but with men, sitting down to dinner with friends and enjoying the breaking of bread together……
I find it no struggle, then, to relax in such communion, to live in a blend of the above trio without focusing on any as an individual obsession. Life is in Him and is received whether the day brings but more evidence of my own imperfections or witness of His ability to work all things through me. It’s not only fun teaching these Spec-Ed school kids; it’s also a great privilege. Socializing with others requires nothing of me than to simply be myself, allowing His presence to provide its own testimony......
It works for me……
Frederick Buechner, in once of his autobiographies, refers to the following as being an eye-opening point once preached to him by George Buttrick. Though Jesus refused the crown offered Him by the devil in the wilderness, He “is king nonetheless because again and again He is crowned in the heart of the people who believe in Him; and that inward coronation takes place among confession, and tears, and great laughter.” Such has certainly been accurate in my own experience on all three accounts……
“How does that last portion, laughter,” one may well ask, “fit into an attempt to walk with the Almighty on a 24/7 basis?” Primarily: in not forgetting that humanity remains part of the process, within my own efforts as well as the world as I encounter it. Christianity, as I see it, anyhow, isn’t becoming some starchy, holier-than-thou bit of religiosity, but a reciprocal agreement to share the journey, a handshake completed between heaven and earth, then extended unto whomsoever will……
Christ wasn’t so much concerned with hallowed halls and the letter of the law as He was with mingling among the mass with His Father’s message; and He accomplished that not so much through chapter and verse as via compassion and truth. His gospel wasn’t some rigid, doctrinal credo, but the giving of Himself surrendered unto a flow of the Holy Ghost. In such manner, He fished not only for men, but with men, sitting down to dinner with friends and enjoying the breaking of bread together……
I find it no struggle, then, to relax in such communion, to live in a blend of the above trio without focusing on any as an individual obsession. Life is in Him and is received whether the day brings but more evidence of my own imperfections or witness of His ability to work all things through me. It’s not only fun teaching these Spec-Ed school kids; it’s also a great privilege. Socializing with others requires nothing of me than to simply be myself, allowing His presence to provide its own testimony......
It works for me……
Monday, September 10, 2007
"Amazing, Not Amusing........................"
My pastor preached on “stones” this morning, five smooth stones, suggesting that if we’re of a mind to throw stones, why not throw them at the enemy. David, of course, needed just the one to defeat Goliath; but, then, that just happened to be the only giant he faced on that particular occasion. We, on the other hand, meet them almost daily. So, assigning each of the missiles its own identity, the shepherd of our flock began with “grace”, proposed it to be capable of conquering any and all shame, fear, condemnation, and religiosity that would attempt to destroy our faith, and then positioned it, not behind us somewhere gaining us entrance into the kingdom, but carried with us, ever able to accomplish that for which it was intended. My only disappointment was in his neglect to recognize it as an assurance breathed into us by a resurrected Savior, rather than a definition given to a tenet that we, ourselves create……
Here, in northern Kentucky, this summer has made history. We haven’t known such heat combined with so little rain in well over a century. Everywhere one looks, yards are nearly nothing more than a brown blanket of dead grass. I’ve not mowed anything but scattered, persistent weeds since the middle of July. Yet when the pups awoke me early Sunday, we stepped outside to discover a world wet from an overnight drizzle and the lawn giving at least an appearance of life, hints of green emerging from depths I’d long ago surrendered unto the grave. Even so: our own existence. Whether one refers to the physical or spiritual side of our being, men were not made to survive without water. We may be able to endure the desert, walk through the wilderness, but only if the oasis is there to renew us as we go. Home-brewed, doctrinal moonshine may nourish our ego, but gives little sense of security when its truth is founded in our own reasoning……
If Christ, Himself, really “spanned the gulf” at Golgotha, why do we continue to insist on building our own bridge out of chapter and verse?......
Here, in northern Kentucky, this summer has made history. We haven’t known such heat combined with so little rain in well over a century. Everywhere one looks, yards are nearly nothing more than a brown blanket of dead grass. I’ve not mowed anything but scattered, persistent weeds since the middle of July. Yet when the pups awoke me early Sunday, we stepped outside to discover a world wet from an overnight drizzle and the lawn giving at least an appearance of life, hints of green emerging from depths I’d long ago surrendered unto the grave. Even so: our own existence. Whether one refers to the physical or spiritual side of our being, men were not made to survive without water. We may be able to endure the desert, walk through the wilderness, but only if the oasis is there to renew us as we go. Home-brewed, doctrinal moonshine may nourish our ego, but gives little sense of security when its truth is founded in our own reasoning……
If Christ, Himself, really “spanned the gulf” at Golgotha, why do we continue to insist on building our own bridge out of chapter and verse?......
Thursday, September 06, 2007
"Perspectives............................"
He sat there at the table in the cafeteria, his lunch finished and too much spare time on his hands. Teaching his buddy a thing or two, he slipped either end of the small straw provided with the plastic utensils over the outer-most tines of his fork; and now, in possession of what appeared to be electrical tazers, the two sat there and sparred with each other until dismissed to the hall. I’ve known him since his pre-school playground days, assisting him on the swing and striking up a friendship in the process. Presently a Fifth Grader, he continues to pop up here and there, ever the continual good-natured clown and not a thing like his older brother with whom I shared a homeroom experience last year. Genetics, in so far as our individual physical make-up, make sense to me. The color of our hair. The shape of our nose. What, though, predisposes us in psychological matters?.......
I watched one of the Third Grade boys in our unit the other day when, for but a few moments, we had the entire rear playground area all to ourselves. This lad is non-verbal, will both hit and bite as a means to express his discontent, but has never attacked any of the other children while sharing the recreational equipment and each afternoon will just sit quietly in front of the school awaiting the arrival of his bus. In the solitude we enjoyed on this occasion, however, he simply took a turn on each of the various slides and then walked over to the series of six empty swings to methodically sit in each one, push off for a round trip, out and back, dismount, and move to the next one. All the way down to the far end; then all the way back. What, I wondered, had so directed his mental approach for a brief encounter with fun? If DNA determines our physical characteristics, from what is our spiritual side rendered?......
Last night my pastor put his neck on the block, opening up our mid-week service to field any questions the group might have concerning the church or his personal view on Biblical issues. We went from water baptism to homosexuality’s origins to blasphemy of the Holy Ghost, all within the space of about forty minutes and, in my opinion, about as well as any group might accomplish the task without starting World War III. Nonetheless, the evening wasn’t without casualties. While tempers may not have surfaced during the meeting, I discovered afterwards that at least one had been offended by the diagnosis given to the middle category, the subject, in his mind anyway, being non-negotiable; and although this fellow’s thinking usually comes close to reflecting my own, the emotional charge in his voice told me this wasn’t a good time to express my own satisfaction with what was brought forth…..
I watched one of the Third Grade boys in our unit the other day when, for but a few moments, we had the entire rear playground area all to ourselves. This lad is non-verbal, will both hit and bite as a means to express his discontent, but has never attacked any of the other children while sharing the recreational equipment and each afternoon will just sit quietly in front of the school awaiting the arrival of his bus. In the solitude we enjoyed on this occasion, however, he simply took a turn on each of the various slides and then walked over to the series of six empty swings to methodically sit in each one, push off for a round trip, out and back, dismount, and move to the next one. All the way down to the far end; then all the way back. What, I wondered, had so directed his mental approach for a brief encounter with fun? If DNA determines our physical characteristics, from what is our spiritual side rendered?......
Last night my pastor put his neck on the block, opening up our mid-week service to field any questions the group might have concerning the church or his personal view on Biblical issues. We went from water baptism to homosexuality’s origins to blasphemy of the Holy Ghost, all within the space of about forty minutes and, in my opinion, about as well as any group might accomplish the task without starting World War III. Nonetheless, the evening wasn’t without casualties. While tempers may not have surfaced during the meeting, I discovered afterwards that at least one had been offended by the diagnosis given to the middle category, the subject, in his mind anyway, being non-negotiable; and although this fellow’s thinking usually comes close to reflecting my own, the emotional charge in his voice told me this wasn’t a good time to express my own satisfaction with what was brought forth…..
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
"Check Points..........................."
Our Sunday school lesson this weekend was built around a couple of verses in Philippians where the apostle Paul admonishes believers to both “shine like stars” and “work out your own salvation”. Somehow that evolved into a discussion on just where this country’s present sense of moral ethics exists and where it will be ten years from now if things don’t change. It did get a bit quiet, however, when I queried as to what my wife’s old-time-holiness mother might think if she arose from the grave to examine the lives of those in the room. Society's values, ater all, as determined by any one generation, have always eroded in the eyes of those evaluating progress......
It’s just “the nature of the beast” on both sides of the issue, as far as I’m concerned. To be sure, there has ever been that which is reflective of our baser character. While rules may, indeed, extend unto us a bit of control in the matter, it is also true they are as indicative of our self-righteousness as they are of our inner darkness; and even when a group of people can somehow manage, like the Amish, to preserve their culture, it doesn’t mean standards have completely eradicated their humanity. If our rules extend unto us some control, it is just as true that they are as indicative of our “self”-righteousness as they are our inner darkness. Transformation is a matter of surrendering ourselves unto Him on a day by day stumble down the straight path……
It’s just “the nature of the beast” on both sides of the issue, as far as I’m concerned. To be sure, there has ever been that which is reflective of our baser character. While rules may, indeed, extend unto us a bit of control in the matter, it is also true they are as indicative of our self-righteousness as they are of our inner darkness; and even when a group of people can somehow manage, like the Amish, to preserve their culture, it doesn’t mean standards have completely eradicated their humanity. If our rules extend unto us some control, it is just as true that they are as indicative of our “self”-righteousness as they are our inner darkness. Transformation is a matter of surrendering ourselves unto Him on a day by day stumble down the straight path……
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
"Post-script............................."
“The darkness of a church, on the other hand, is that very often there are no such moments, so that all the beauty seems artificial and theatrical and, instead of testifying to the presence of God among us, testifies to nothing so much as God’s absence, not only in this place, but also in ourselves.…If we forget that we are waiting, if we come to believe that the best we have found of God here in these shadows is the best there is, if we come to believe that the most God wants of us is to be religious the way we are religious in a church, then we have lost touch with the living depths of our faith”............ F. Buechner, Secrets in the Dark
Sunday afternoon allowed me the relaxation of finishing the above volume. It’s already settled in my mind to seek out yet another of his offerings, as I can honestly say I’ve not been so well fed by anyone else in a long time. His manner with the Word isn’t with some pretense of his having solved its mysteries and now possessing truth as his personal sword to swing. Rather he speaks from his heart, out of his own experience, and seemingly invites the reader (in spite of dialogue being virtually impossible) to join in the conversation. I found myself seated with him in his study, lost in thought, almost other-worldly to the sounds of life around us, and swimming in those waters that connect us with the Creator. I stood beside him, not only in the pulpit as he shared such contemplation, but also in the world as he wrestled his conscience concerning the voice of God’s judgment in men’s affairs. Refreshing, for me, to find, amongst all that’s out there, a man yet motivated by more than his perception of the Word, a man willing to admit he doesn’t have all the answers…..
Sunday afternoon allowed me the relaxation of finishing the above volume. It’s already settled in my mind to seek out yet another of his offerings, as I can honestly say I’ve not been so well fed by anyone else in a long time. His manner with the Word isn’t with some pretense of his having solved its mysteries and now possessing truth as his personal sword to swing. Rather he speaks from his heart, out of his own experience, and seemingly invites the reader (in spite of dialogue being virtually impossible) to join in the conversation. I found myself seated with him in his study, lost in thought, almost other-worldly to the sounds of life around us, and swimming in those waters that connect us with the Creator. I stood beside him, not only in the pulpit as he shared such contemplation, but also in the world as he wrestled his conscience concerning the voice of God’s judgment in men’s affairs. Refreshing, for me, to find, amongst all that’s out there, a man yet motivated by more than his perception of the Word, a man willing to admit he doesn’t have all the answers…..
Sunday, September 02, 2007
"Wrestling With A Grizzly..........................."
The cocker-spaniel “pup” awoke me right on schedule this morning, never mind that Saturdays afford me the freedom to “sleep” a little longer than usual. Having catered to her needs, however, and, thankfully, having just micro-waved myself a cup of hot coffee to help me transition into the reality of another day begun, I had just settled in the recliner to enjoy the next chapter of Frederick Buechner’s “Secrets in the Dark”, when our electricity suddenly ceased to exist. It only took a quick check of the other homes in our neighborhood, of course, to assure me such problem wasn’t an isolated issue concerning my house, so I simply drew open the curtains, positioned myself so as to catch the ever increasing supply of light that dawn brought to the situation, and had nearly completed my reading when the utility company once again reconnected me with life as we in this country have come to expect it. Ironically, with the power now restored, the next item on the agenda was the constant drone of the water pump alerting me to the fact that our cistern was dry and in need of a refilling. As my niece once put it: Sometimes you eat the bear; sometimes the bear eats you; and sometimes he isn’t even hungry!…..
It would require our disassembling that particular piece of machinery and priming it with the very commodity it was built to conduce; but, once we had the vacuum inside negated, flow was regained and my house was again capable of meeting my demands for habitation. In truth, the operation was not all that different from one that I seek to be regularly accomplished with the spiritual framework of my own existence. Was it only circumstance that my current perusal of Buechner should find him speaking of a time in his younger years when the attempt to write a novel just wasn’t “coming up out of the well”. He had not yet learned, in his words, “the importance of letting the empty place inside me open up”. Indeed. Even as our physical welfare is contingent upon an organ being able to efficiently circulate blood throughout our body by taking it in and pushing it out, so also does our inner man desperately need the same sort of movement of the Holy Ghost if we are to maintain a healthy spiritual life. So forget the bear. He’s just part of the journey. He happens. Experiencing the reality of God, however, as a resurrection the bear can’t conquer can be had if we’re but willing to surrender ourselves to the task……
It would require our disassembling that particular piece of machinery and priming it with the very commodity it was built to conduce; but, once we had the vacuum inside negated, flow was regained and my house was again capable of meeting my demands for habitation. In truth, the operation was not all that different from one that I seek to be regularly accomplished with the spiritual framework of my own existence. Was it only circumstance that my current perusal of Buechner should find him speaking of a time in his younger years when the attempt to write a novel just wasn’t “coming up out of the well”. He had not yet learned, in his words, “the importance of letting the empty place inside me open up”. Indeed. Even as our physical welfare is contingent upon an organ being able to efficiently circulate blood throughout our body by taking it in and pushing it out, so also does our inner man desperately need the same sort of movement of the Holy Ghost if we are to maintain a healthy spiritual life. So forget the bear. He’s just part of the journey. He happens. Experiencing the reality of God, however, as a resurrection the bear can’t conquer can be had if we’re but willing to surrender ourselves to the task……
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