"The Tie That Binds........................."

The apostle Paul quite obviously had his hands full from the beginning, trying to keep doctrinal purity in the message of Christ. He wrote to the Galatians of his being amazed that they were so soon removed from his teaching unto what he called a “perverted” gospel; and he ended his letter to the Romans with an admonition to “mark” and “avoid” those who caused division and offenses contrary to that which they had received from him. In his initial epistle unto the Corinthian assembly, though, he clearly admitted that he was but a minister by whom they believed, humbly adding that, while some sow and some water, it is God, Himself, who gives increase as time proves each individual plant. Indeed, the whole point of what he brought forth in those few chapters seems to suggest that (a) no man knows it all; and (b) the Holy Ghost, within a man, is the real redemption of our soul; and yet he ends that portion of the epistle by referring to himself as the “father” of these converts and therefore possessing more clout than ten thousand instructors, beseeching them with such words to be “followers of me!”…..

The Monk recently shared a list of ten guidelines to consider when venturing into any serious attempt to interpret the Bible. About two weeks ago I read another fellow’s efforts concerning the same subject, but he was one of those who push the necessity of utilizing the correct hermeneutics, making it sound as if any man who possesses such a tool kit has no need of the Spirit’s aid in solving the enigma therein. Within this latest discovery there is no mention of the “h” term at all, not one reference about inviting Trinity’s Third Member into the process, yet much emphasis on understanding that Savior whom the ecclesiastical body, as a whole, knows and proclaims. “Beware of those out on a limb by themselves”, he says; “Be willing to be challenged, but keep your anchor in the Jesus of the Church.” While I can certainly appreciate the first part of such advice, however, the latter segment leaves me wondering to which he refers, especially since history clearly shows us that the Institution, all along, has continually restructured Christ to their personal tastes, a truth confirmed when he, himself, speaks of our choosing which version to believe…..

I’m not sure who the “older authors” are that he says “rarely understood the value of critical scholarship, but simply used the text to make sermons”, although it’s probably safe to estimate we all are guilty, at one time or another, of operating more in our ego than under the anointing. Indeed, in my own assessment, age has little to do with the matter, other than, hopefully, some wisdom is gained along the way. I freely admit to being pleased to find anyone, young or old, agreeing with my view in some manner, thus verifying that I’m NOT the only nut “out on that limb”; but also concede that, whoever the preacher, there’s also always a doctrinal nugget in there somewhere which tends to divide us. It’s been awhile since my last perusal of Thomas Merton’s “The New Man”. Nonetheless, he has once again richly fed my inner man with the first seven chapters, only to lose me in the eighth by claiming water baptism and other sacramental rituals to be the agencies which bring about change within us. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to “make war” with him or anyone else as to who is right. Paul, Monk, Merton, or Filer can connect in the reality of His promise…..

"Re-enlistment......................"

Before venturing into Special-Education, I had no idea that being a school teacher offered one such mobility, not only in moving from one geographical location to another, but also in ascending or descending grade levels. We’ll be returning in August under the leadership of yet one more new principle, the third to hold that position since I hired on seven years ago. In truth, though, every time we return from summer break, it’s like someone has turned the entire building upside down, emptied it, reconfigured the classroom layout, shuffled the staff, and then put it all back together. Some have found employment elsewhere. New faces replace them. Volume and vacancies necessitate flexibility. Just because your experience thus far has only been working with the little diddles doesn’t mean you won’t be asked to accept an older group of students next time around…..

My other enlightenment has been seeing the parent-teacher relationship from this side of the tale. It’s funny how your perspective can change when you gain knowledge of just how the process works from both positions. When my daughters were coming up through the system, my understanding of the whole affair was based upon my own childhood journey therein. My folks, as far as I can recall, never got involved other than to let me know that any misconduct on my part, pertaining to whatever, would be deemed major felony on the home-front. It was a different world. Nowadays the legalities of anything and everything occurring within those halls are a constant concern, a part of life as we know it in the twenty-first century. Even so, I love my job and was officially notified today of my employment being continued yet another term. Assignment: navigate Fifth Grade with my present charge…..

Did I mention Tuesday is the last day before summer vacation?...

"Beat The Drum Slowly...................."

My father fought in the mountains of Italy during WWII. He never talked about it much and I, only recently, discovered the Army declares him to have been a cook. Such classification does not mean, however, that he saw no combat. He didn’t talk much about his time there, but he did speak of enemy fire having him, more than once, pinned down in a shallow, water-puddled foxhole, freezing weather and no way out until darkness provided way of escape. Dad was one of two men out of a five hundred man regiment who survived without being wounded; but for many years afterward I well knew to be careful waking him up out of a sound sleep. All too often, in his dreams, he was yet on some battlefield fighting for his life. How stupid, then, mind-boggling, that a wrench accidently dropped from the rafters of his workplace should strike him in the head, the concussion later hemorrhaging and taking him from us at the young age of forty…..


The military provided his tombstone, but refused to correct his birth date, stating my mother had printed sixteen, rather than six, on the form. Her error. Her problem. I was eighteen, left college, and spent the next decade serving Uncle Sam, myself, somehow avoiding Viet Nam. My mother would marry again thrice and, strangely enough, two of those men are now buried no more than a hundred feet from Dad’s grave, the third still living but long ago divorced from Mom. I go each Memorial Day, usually walking that entire hillside, trying to locate others, doing what little can be done to ensure the sites remain free of the debris and foliage that nature brings as time passes. On several occasions, my father’s marker, low in the ground, needed mud cleaned from its face and the problem was solved with a thin, concrete block laid beneath the bronze cap. At this point I see no reason, though, to emend the print. Too many miles down the road. Who knows but me?.....

Beth, in switching channels last night, accidently came upon Gary Sinise and the PBS Memorial Service being held in our nation’s capitol. For obvious reasons, such events easily grip my heart, a bond yet between me and all those who defend the basic freedoms represented by our flag. We caught most of the presentation and I was amazed to learn that, with today’s technology, anyone wounded in battle is not all that far from a medical facility where, if they’re still breathing when they get there, there is a ninety-six percent chance of beating death. Many, of course, then face a need for prosthetic limbs. Some return home horribly disfigured in other ways. Life will never be again the same. For them. For those who love them. Nonetheless, tomorrow comes and yesterday is forgotten in just getting through today. History sinks a little deeper into the earth, the lawn mower covers it over with clippings, and only those who were there do not forget.....

"Surrender................................"

“Hope, then, is a gift. Like life, it is a gift from God, total, unexpected, incomprehensible, and undeserved. It springs out of nothingness, completely free; but, to meet it, we have to descend into nothingness; and there we meet hope most perfectly when we are stripped of our own confidence, our own strength, when we almost no longer exist.”-Thomas Merton

It was a poor job concerning my contribution to Wednesday evening’s visit to the rescue mission. Once again I failed to simply speak from the well within this vessel, or so it seemed to me. Just because one doesn’t personally sense the flow, it doesn’t mean what was shared didn’t connect somewhere. My own disappointment, no doubt, came from my having already experienced His presence in what Bob and Tony had brought forth, both of their offerings anointed of Him and a foundation laid for me. If this old man’s portion was dry, though, it took nothing away from what God intended to accomplish there. After prayer and dismissal, my old friend, the Viet Nam war veteran, came to us with news of a medical procedure discovered allowing a surgical attempt, after all these years, to remove a bullet fragment yet lodged within his brain. The four of us linked in seeking His divine presence manifested in a successful operation; but, in truth, it was the fifth man, a young, African-American not all that “grounded” in the Word, who nonetheless introduced life into the circle. You can’t put the Holy Ghost in a box. He shows up, usually, when you least expect Him, and then moves through, seemingly, the least likely candidate……

Thirty-seven years in Pentecost and I think I’ve seen it all. No doubt there was at least a time or two when I, with zealous heart, was more in self than the Spirit. When freedom is given to the gifts, humanity inserts its two cents and, without some wisdom, humility, and willingness to learn, what you end up with is the Corinthian church re-created again and again, over-zealous ego trying to produce the reality of God. It doesn’t work; it’s never quite the same; and, somewhere along the way, the manna begins to spoil and stink. That fact might well be responsible for why so many keep a tight rein on such manifestations or simply reject them altogether. As with the individual, even so with the body: He stands at the door and knocks. Gaining entrance requires our permission. There’s nothing wrong with congregational rejoicing, of course, if we can just remember that the crowd shouting “Hosannah!” on Palm Sunday, shouted something else a few days later. Our emotional state serves a purpose, but makes a lousy foundation. Can there be anything better to build on, though, than “the real deal”, that which confirms the Word, His presence in our midst? I have found that happens most when we decrease, giving it all to Him…..

"Vitamin Pills.........................."

As the school year draws to an end and the days are counted down as if zero’s arrival brings freedom at last, there is an evident, almost tangible, spirit that overtakes all of us, teachers as well as students, within these hallowed halls. Final exams have been conquered and, while we yet attempt to maintain a scholarly schedule, no one’s heart is really in the farce. I understand my autistic charge’s attitude of “who needs this?” as he points to the same answer for eight out of ten queries, then to the other as I finally want the one he’s been giving. I empathize that he’d rather be involved in some chore such as delivering papers room to room or setting up the cafeteria for tomorrow’s lunch group. There’s no way, however, not enough tasks to just continually perform manual labor, however, so I “push”, and I prod, and I bribe, trying to keep him going forward in a pursuit of education. At best, it can be said I keep him busy…..

Thursday afternoon we were returning from having resupplied the pre-school dining area with all the utensils they require. A younger fellow, a Second Grader attached to our unit and who how helps us in that assignment, was with us when I spotted an empty recycle tub sitting where we had meant to retrieve it earlier. My boy, therefore, now collected it and the three of us boarded an elevator to take it back to the upper level. For whatever reason, though, as the apparatus signaled with the normality of the minor jerk that we were rising, I looked down at the wee one and asked if he had ever so gone topside before; and, inserting a humorous moment into what, so often anymore, seems like just seven more hours of work as usual, he smiled up at me with his eyes as much as anything else and replied, “Yes; but next time I would like to invite my girlfriend!” Kids: they make it fun…..

Friday evening my granddaughter was visiting with us. The church school that now all but the boy in Lexington attend was displaying my oldest grandson’ artwork and, rather than stay at home with her Mamaw who had already seen it, Mckenna opted to ride out there with me. About to graduate from Third Grade, she climbed into “The Grape”, my wife’s HHR, and immediately fed a Kidz Bop music disc into the CD player, thankfully keeping the volume low enough for an old man’s ears. For nearly twenty minutes, however, we listened to just two songs, the s-a-a-ame two songs, over and over, the whole way, until I finally shut the engine off in the parking lot. Then, after admiring Cody’s talents, we repeated the trip in reverse, once more bathed in the lyrics of “the s-a-s-a-me two songs”; but, as we finally pulled off the main drag and turned onto our road, just a stone’s throw from the house, she turned to me and noted: “That’s gets quite annoying after a while, doesn’t it?” Grandkids: God’s gift to an old man who’s thankful to have made it this far…..

"Genesis Within................................."

My middle daughter lives in Lexington, a little over an hour drive from here. Not all that far away; and yet far enough that our lives merge mostly via telephone plus a few visits every so often. Holidays, birthdays, etc.; but, in spite of that, we remain close in many ways, our faith in Christ being a major bond. When recent surgery performed on her father-in-law went wrong, bringing him near to death, she called several times for prayer; and while there does appear to be some improvement in his condition, in truth, the battle is still being waged. Early on in this struggle, though, the family found themselves in disagreement concerning what the doctors had advised them to do. Expressing my own wishes to Beth should she, herself, one day face such a decision, I watched her immediately turn to me and announce the only way she would “pull the plug” was if God, Himself, told her to do it. “Bingo!” I said; “You’re right on, Baby!”……..

Michael Spencer, the “Internet Monk”, wrote an article for The Christian Science Monitor that voiced his opinion concerning a “major collapse” of evangelism within the next ten years; and, in listing his reasons for such event, began with the suggestion of our having “fell for the trap of believing in a cause more than a faith”. I’m, no doubt, reading into his statement that which he did not intend, “faith” being a matter of personal definition, but, to me, he has hit the nail on the head as to where the Church, as an ecclesiastical body, has failed in her divine assignment. Indeed, I find it to be true in more ways than one, the word “cause” needing to be examined, as well, especially since he precedes such sentence with what he says is fact, with what I find to be but one more expression of chasing our own understanding. While I agree that many Bible thumpers do little more than arrogantly demand immediate mental conversion to their view of the Book, I wonder: Is it our theology that keeps us alive, or He who adjusts our theology as we go?.......

There’s no degree behind my name and I do not claim any epiphany wherein the Almighty let me gain complete knowledge of all things. If the last thirty-seven years has taught me anything, however, it is that God is, as David once put it, a “living” God and that somehow, for whatever reason, He has chosen to live “in” me. He doesn’t “possess” me, in the sense of my losing who and what I am at any time, but there is this place where “two become one”, an “anointing” that comes, be it in prayer, in witnessing to others, in surprising ways, and yet always so as to let me know whatever is accomplished has His signature, not mine, upon it. One learns to walk in hope, leaning on Him, accepting my humanity without surrendering to it, trusting His promise of fidelity no matter what a mess I make of the journey. Sort, then, the chapters and verses out any way you want; but it all boils down to His rod and staff, His reality, meeting you, renewing you, putting the pieces together, one by one, a relationship under continual construction…….

"Count-down............................"

Five-Five-Four-Two: That’s the number sequence for how many days are left in this current Kenton County school passage. I don’t remember ever being so tired in the journey, so ready for summer vacation. While the one-on-one assignment was nothing new for me, my charge, himself, made it different from others in his demand for constant attention. Fifteen minutes is about the limit of his patience concerning any task and, when higher authority opted to move him back into “group therapy” because his behavior seemed to be improved, my job became a balancing act, little by little his temperament returning to former manifestations of anger. It has been a continual seven hour walk, Monday through Friday, with very few moments away from him, my attendance record unbroken for any reason. Should nothing change, I’m again already committed to another year of the same, he, no doubt, twenty pounds heavier and a bit taller. There has been a relationship developed, at least on my part, and it doesn’t depress me to think about another nine month go with the lad. The anchor holds. It yet seems like where God would have me. A few weeks off and some time on the beach with my wife, however, is sounding pretty nice right now…..

Beth and I watched a movie this afternoon entitled “Last Chance Harvey”. Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson. We missed it in the theaters and have been waiting for the DVD to be released. There’s no subtle plot within the script, no passionate love connection, just simply a tale of two people’s paths crossing at a point in time when they were, to each other, medicine needed. While watching it, I thought about how the human spirit needs that place to “plug in” and find reason, sanity, another mind to hear me in where I am, how I feel. In America, we’re often too busy, too rushed, too distrustful of others, to not only “hear” the other guy, but also ourselves as well. The title of another movie, “Dead Man Walking”, might well be a rather accurate description of most of us at different points in our journey, stretches of the road where, if we didn’t have our spouse or a close friend from whom to draw strength, loneliness and depression would eat us up from the inside out. How much more, then, one’s gratitude in possessing an inner well from which flows living water, a place of promise to which we can turn aside and find hope when all else fails, a source of grace, faith, and peace that, in feeding us, can be channeled through us unto others…..

"Connection........................................"

Sunday evening, following a link, I found myself reading a blog written by the Prior of Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, New York. This particular post spoke of how he had somehow, along the way, became involved in a Buddhist meditation group and how he felt that such experience had not loosened his connection to Christianity or the Episcopal Church, but rather had deepened that love he held for the Christian “mystical tradition”. What aroused my concern was not his search for an experience wherein he might more closely connect with the reality of his faith, but his quite honest confession that he hadn’t been able to do so within the context of what Christ brought to the table. He stated, in fact, that his own ecclesiastical forms of reaching out to God seemed centered on words and it was his contention that they needed to “drop the words, but still find a way to stay centered”. Had he never read those Biblical verses, I wondered, where the Apostle Paul wrote of the Spirit, itself, making intercession for us “with groanings which cannot be uttered”? Where are we, as a whole, in this religious Body founded upon a rock against which “the gate of hell shall not prevail”? Has time and our own vanity simply evolved us into another set of “Phariseutical” clones who know nothing more than what we have been denominationally fed?.....

A young preacher friend of mine recently spoke of being disturbed, not by the shocking number of people reportedly leaving the Church, but by those openly confessing a loss of any belief at all in a God. In googling various approaches to such issue, I discovered the following link to a fellow who asks why and then proposes two reasons for the mass exodus, listing five steps that he feels believers take in their journey down such path. Doubt, he sees not only as normal, but healthy. The problem isn’t in asking questions, but in an upper echelon that needs to rethink its educational program, to relay its theological foundations through critical thinking, to understand that the great commission is for us to make disciples, not simply converts. Quoting Jonathan Edwards, he states we must pray that God will grant a revival of the mind, knowing that without the power of the Holy Spirit, no amount of intellectual persuasion can change an antagonistic heart. I agree; and yet, at the same time, must state that his last point applies to both me and him as well. I’ve known too many in this journey who speak in terms of the supernatural, but merely equate it with: He lives in me; therefore whatever I think or do must be of Him. Truth, however, in as much as I’ve learned it, is a good boot in my rear end from time to time as I stumble from oasis to oasis…..

Now why don’t we just be honest with each other in that, emphasizing the fact that, if Christ didn’t bring to us the means of knowing actual encounter with our Creator, then we don’t possess a whole lot more than any other religious song and dance…..

"Pulling Up To The Pump................"

Calvin Miller, in an intro to an excerpt from another author’s book, wrote: “Philip Roth, in this splendid story from Goodbye, Columbus, points out that all miracles, whether of the Old or New Testament, rest on the same basis of credibility. Miracles require faith and not proof. This is true whether we are speaking of the virgin birth of Jesus or of Moses splitting the Red Sea.” I strongly disagree. Mary may have received the message of her having been chosen as a vessel for the Incarnation, but her assent played no part in the matter other than giving light to the truth of God being honorable. Likewise, that eighty year old prophet may have obeyed the Almighty and lifted the staff in his hand as divinely directed, but make no mistake: what happened was a result of his obedience, not a display of how he, himself, could so divide the waters. Faith is never a “mental grunt” by which we handcuff our Creator into doing what we desire. He, in all that He is, is the miracle; and any time we encounter Him in any way is that which the Bible refers to as “grace”…..

Friday evening, Beth and I drove south for nearly an hour to reach a small country church that a friend of ours now pastors. Thirteen pews, six on the left and seven on the right, seated maybe a hundred people and some folding chairs were positioned in the rear of the sanctuary in order to accommodate the “crowd”. The altar area was not large enough, the lighting not well enough placed to capture what our old assembly’s school drama interpretation team had been asked to share. Nonetheless, with the service entirely given to them, this group of maybe fifteen teenagers took us into worship, not by entertaining us, but by allowing an inner flow of His presence to come forth out of their own well. Our eldest grandson, who will soon become one of next year’s graduating class and who has just recently began to experience the reality of “Christ in me”, at one point simply surrendered his spirit to the witness of the Holy Ghost and, while he never physically went to the floor in prostration, on the inside his whole being bowed before Him…..

Most of these kids have been raised within the teaching of Christianity from birth; and yet in no way does that mean they don’t go through the storms of life like everyone else. What strengthens them and keeps them in their journey is the same connection this old man likes to find from time to time. I’ve learned, of course, to take some things with a grain of salt. There is, I believe, a “sure word of prophesy”, but it’s also true that, with our humanity being a part of the mixture, wisdom speaks of allowing God to prove Himself in all things. Indeed, that’s why, for me, “tongues” is so important. Not the gift which Paul lists in his epistle unto those early Corinthians who had already mastered the art of counterfeiting the real deal; but I speak of that place in prayer where words are no longer necessary because we are one with Him in a spiritual union made manifest via a supernatural outpouring of an inner promise confirmed. It is an anchor point, creating faith and giving renewal to those weary warriors who seek rest at His oasis, a piece of what Calvary purchased for every man…..