Monday Morning Music Ministry

10-24-11

All of the Bible is inspired, and useful for teaching, pointing out error, correcting each other in love, and training for a life that has God’s approval, as it says in Timothy 3:16.

Yet (as with “3:16” verses!) every once awhile in Scripture, you come across a verse that has special meaning, or a personal application, or multiple layers of implications for us.

I consider Psalm 46:10 to be one of those verses – Be still, and know that I am God.

I invite you to break that one sentence of God into parts. Each part will open a door of His presence, His will, His peace. Taken together, they are greater than the sum of its parts.

Perhaps you can meditate on each of its parts, one on each day of the coming week. Every phrase has uncountable lessons for us:

Be.

Be still and know that I am God.
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Be inspired! The song with this message is performed by Nicol Sponberg of Selah: the immortal hymn Be Still My Soul. This version has an echo of What a Friend We Have in Jesus, of which we become aware when we meditate upon this gentle but powerful verse from the Psalms.

Click: Be Still My Soul

10-10-11

Steve Jobs died this week. For many years to come, the assessments of his remarkable career will scroll down the screens of our lives. In fact they will be innumerable as his inventions and innovations. For he did not teach people how to speak, but he taught how to communicate in new ways. And how to compose, to organize, to perceive, to create, to share… to dream in new ways. He simultaneously enabled people to realize the existence of new horizons, and believe they actually could reach them. At the same time he developed of array of devices that drive people into “virtual” monastic cocoons.

Things he did in the tech world were not only innovations in concept or manufacture: they were seeds planted, sure to grow and grow… perhaps even in ways that America’s Dreamer-in-Chief would never have dreamed.

But another reason he will be written about with increasing avidity is the simple reason that, ultimately, very little was known during his lifetime about his lifetime. He was very private, which is refreshing in this celebrity-addicted culture. What do we know of the man apart from Apple, the iColossus catalog, Pixar? It is reported that Jobs was adopted, and that his natural father, an immigrant from Syria named Abdulfattah Jandali, never was able to receive responses from Jobs after reaching out by many letters and e-mails. Turning from the preceding to the following generation, Jobs fathered an illegitimate daughter whose paternity he denied for years, even swearing in court that he was infertile. He eventually acknowledged being his daughter’s father.

We know that he was a college drop-out. We know that he married Laurene Powell in a Buddhist ceremony at Yosemite. We know that they had three children. Some people are drawn to the fact – in this economy such things have relevance – that Apple did not start or subsist on government handouts and bailouts. We hear that he left at least four years’ worth of new ideas and agenda items as a part of his legacy. But we also hear that he was a workplace monster, employed police-state tactics (on his staff, not the competition), and not only outsourced from the US to China, but that Apple’s exclusive factories in China were disgraceful, overcrowded sweatshops.

Speaking personally – and I love everything in the App Store – two impressive things about Steve Jobs’ life (personal, not professional) are that when he was fired from his own company in its “down” days, he persevered, believed in his visions – in himself – to the extent that he not only roared back, but roared back at the helm of his own, former, company. Further, at least from meager accounts, it seems that in nervous start-up days, periods of risky experimentation, good times, public skepticism, several setbacks, triumphs, wild adulation, harsh criticism… his wife and children always believed in him. Sycophants, stockholders, nor investors cannot replace such a thing. Without it, a man fights insecurity, emotional emasculation, and uncountable stumbling blocks in life. Jobs evidently was blessed in ways that were not apparent to the public.

Perhaps it was that precious gift that led to reports we have of Steve Jobs’ last days. The writer Walter Isaacson was chosen by Jobs to write a biography, knowing his days were numbered. And from what that book will tell, a priority of Jobs’ last weeks was to draw a few friends, but especially his wife and children, around his deathbed.

Isaacson quotes Jobs in his last meeting: “I wanted my kids to know me. I wasn’t always there for them, and I wanted them to know why and to understand what I did.”

And a friend, Dr Dean Omish, quoted one of their last conversations to The New York Times: “Steve made choices. I asked him if he was glad that he had kids, and he said, ‘It’s 10,000 times better than anything I’ve ever done’.”

Would billions of MAC users and iPhone, iPad, iTunes users (and on and on); would they exchange their toys and tools for the chance that Steve Jobs could have been closer to his kids, that he could have “been there” more often? It is an artificial alternative: it’s not a choice anyone has to make, but it sets us to thinking. It set him to thinking in his last hours. There were choices he made.

We come into the world naked, and we leave just about the same way. “Accomplishments” and resume aside, we just have our family on one side of the line, and eternity on the other. I don’t know the state of Steve Jobs’ soul. If biographers and friends write 100 books, I still would not know: that was between him and the Supreme Friend we can know, Jesus. Surely during his 56 years Steve Jobs had that choice presented to him.

Neither do we know the answer to a question that ought to challenge us. When he said, “I want my kids to know me,” and having kids was “10,000 times better than anything I’ve ever done,” were those the satisfied words of a man writing the codes of his last earthly chapters? Or an anguished cry of a smart man who could program everything except his own peace?

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This video is a tender song about that last but most important question we will have to answer. It is not the old hymn of the familiar title, but a recent song with an age-old challenge… and a tender invitation.

Click: Tenderly Calling

8-8-11

Life happens. As they say. How do we respond? Sometimes we see through a glass darkly. Sometimes we proceed in blind faith. Sometimes we pray to discern God’s will. Sometimes we meditate upon His Word.

My idea is that God does not always hand us multiple-choice quizzes. Sometimes we can do all these things together. They are not mutually exclusive.

Some of my recent meditations are perfectly reflected in the lyrics of a country song from a few years ago:

The Mystery of the Wonders You Perform

Oh Lord, you know that I’m not one to bother you with little things,
And you and I have never been too close.
But we’ve always been on speaking terms, I’ve watched your way of doing things,
And tried to understand you more than most.

No, I haven’t gone to church the way I ought to,
But I always thought you knew in my own way I worshipped you.
While even your own children doubt, and fail to understand
The simple way you go about the things you do.

I’ve seen the doubt upon the face
Of loved ones, as they sadly placed a wreath of flowers on a tiny grave,
And wondered why a child is brought into the world
To only live a little while and die, you could have saved.

But I believe that in your eyes this little child was something special
And you wanted it to be with you, no doubt;
So with outstretched arms you beckoned, so simple, that I reckoned
They can’t understand the way you worked it out.

Once I saw a young man growing till he neared the age of knowing,
Then I watched as something happened to his mind.
No doctor could correct it, it was just as I suspected,
And I marveled at your way of being kind.

They tried everything in vain, and I was there when they explained
To the family, how he slipped into a trance.
I guess you looked into the future, watched him turn his back upon you,
Loving him so much you couldn’t take the chance!

It took a lot of love to die for sinners such as I,
And I guess that’s why you’ve never given up on me.
You understood when some denied you, even when they crucified you,
Knowing all these things were meant to be.

The stable’s such a simple thing, no wonder there were few who came
To see a king the night that you were born.
And I’d ask one favor if I can, help me to better understand
The mystery of the wonders You perform,

The mystery of the wonders You perform.

Writer: Jerry Chesnut, copyright 1970.

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Please listen to the moving performance, and watch the tender pictures. And meditate.

Click: The Mystery of the Wonders You Perform

7-18-11

My daughter Heather does something that, frankly, startled me the first time I saw it. When she was young she started talking to God.

I don’t mean praying, she did that too. I don’t mean talking about God, she did that too. When she was alone, puttering around her room or walking through the yard, she would talk to God. Like she would talk to friend… which He is. Like He was there… which He was, and always is. Small talk, thoughts, even things to laugh about. Life.

She didn’t “hear voices.” God was her friend, and she talked to Him as a friend would.

I think the contemporary church has lost a lot of the traditional reverence for God that once was commonplace. But at the other end of the spectrum – and, remember, God is a spectrum as wide as the east is from the west – I think we have also lost some of the intimacy that God offers us, and desires with us.

“Friendship with Jesus, fellowship divine! Oh, what blessed sweet communion – Jesus is a friend of mine!” goes the gospel song.

Too many times we see prayer as a fire-extinguisher, behind glass to be broken, and used at times of crisis. Or, we remember to pray especially when we have praise, or to give thanks… that is at the other end of the spectrum, too. But God is jealous, I believe, of the “middle” in our lives. He wants us to talk to Him not only during troubles or joy, but in between, at all times.

“Jealous”? Yes, I believe that. God desires to hear from us, continually, in all circumstances; to commune with us. I have often reminded myself (maybe not often enough) that if I turn most often to God when things are going bad, maybe it’s within God’s nature to send some “things going bad” my way. I don’t believe that is the case with sickness or disease, no, but there are many things we think are trouble at the time, and might indeed be difficult, but when we look back at them, we see that we drew closer to God or learned wisdom. Or prayed more.

Better to keep that communication going, and maybe God won’t need to rattle our cages as often! Is that faulty theology? It has been true in my life, and for my life. How about you?

Don’t be a stranger. Your Friend is close by, and He’s all ears.

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A song on this theme is Dottie Rambo’s I Just Came to Talk with You, Lord, I believe one of the last songs written by this gifted singer/songwriter before her death in 2008. It is emotionally performed by Sheri Easter.

Click: I Just Came to Talk With You, Lord

6-27-11

Casual thoughts about random memories have brought me to a new way to see Jesus.

I was talking with a friend recently about travel memories. Many of my trips to Europe have been intertwined with music. I have made a couple trips specifically to attend music festivals, so that’s a gimme. There were a couple of examples where, travel-weary, I stumbled on concerts being offered of favorite pieces. Those performances – one in the little Alpine village of Berchtesgaden, one in an ancient cathedral in Paris – were amazing medicine at the time, and amazing memories still. Mozart in Salzburg. If you know Mozart’s music, your jealousy can officially start now.

Except as music touches our souls, these were not specifically spiritual moments. And Travel is a creature unto itself, as travel junkies know. In my conversation, memories of great meals, great wines, and great friends also were shared.

But one memory has symbolized a truth; that is, once I heard something in a new way, and it made me see things in a new way. A hotel where I stay in Rome is near the Basilica of Saint Paul “Outside the Walls,” so called because it traditionally is regarded as where St Paul was buried after martyrdom, and its location was outside what used to be the system of walled defenses. I visit that church, with its courtyard beneath a giant mosaic of Christ on His throne, brilliantly reflecting tiles of real gold on sunny days.

Inside, once, I was deep in prayer and I gradually was conscious of music – not organ music; there was no service. It was voices, young voices, and a guitar; it was language I didn’t know, but the song was a praise and worship tune from the US, I did know quite well. The soft music echoed through the huge basilica. Was I hearing angels?

I let my eyes adjust, and saw that it was a group of school children, seated in several pews, and their leader playing the guitar. I later learned they were from South America. A Christian group, felt led to break out in song, worshiping in quite an appropriate place.

This could be one more travel tale, or a music connection. But I have realized a greater lesson. I was from one continent, on another continent, encountering this group from a third continent. I spoke English; they spoke Spanish; we were in Italy. We were strangers. Yet a worship song, no matter the words or tune but because of the One being worshiped, made me feel as close as family.

A few moments earlier I had been deep in prayer in a special setting. I probably would not have thought I could possibly feel closer to Jesus. Well, I did, instantly, when those kids softly started singing… and it wasn’t just their voices, or that He suddenly showed up. He was always there. He is always there, and here. We always can try to see Him a little better.

There are a million ways to do this. When you see things in threes – traffic lights, for instance – be reminded of the Trinity and thank God for His Holy Spirit. We have already talked about Father’s Day, and the thought we should have about our Heavenly Father. And so on.

But then I thought of something that might not be accurate theology, but is a pretty good road map for my “walk.” It is also in the category of Jesus always being around us, and how we can look or listen a little better to find Him. Jesus, at the Last Supper, took the bread and wine and, speaking symbolically in my view, referred to them as His Body and Blood, “broken for us and shed for us.” He then shared the meal.

Is it possible that Jesus did not only mean, “when you gather in a religious service once a week or once a month, and consecrate the elements, do this in remembrance of Me”? But might He also have meant, “As oft as you eat something like bread or drink something, let them be reminders that I broke my body for you, and I shed my blood for you.”

I try to keep to that! And many other reminders during every day, who Jesus is; and what He has done; and how close He is. Try that yourself! Even casual thoughts and random memories will take on new meanings. Where’s Jesus? You’ll see.

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Here is another, and random, example of cross-cultural spiritual kinship. The Boy’s Choir of Sofia, Bulgaria, singing the the rousing “Gloria!” by Vivaldi.

Click: Gloria!

6-20-11

Theodore Roosevelt, about whom I currently am writing a biography, began his own autobiography – the story of a crowded life and successful careers – with the sentence “My father was the best man I ever knew.”

Surely, no man could desire a better epitaph. Such an assessment by one’s children is worth more to one’s soul than material success or inventories of accumulations. Even the plaudits of peers or hoped-for “posterity” are fickle and, in the end, worthless. Fathers who have earned the loving respect of children do not need such things; and without the sincere regard of one’s children, other things seem meaningless.

These are universal truths. It matters little whether you meditate on them from the perspective of being a father or being a son or daughter; whether your father has passed on or is still with you. I believe I can say without fear of contradiction that if you are reading this, you have a father. And let’s say that you cannot quite quote Theodore Roosevelt about your own dad, think for a second about words attributed to Mark Twain: “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to be around him. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

There is, in the Bible, a concept called the “Scarlet Thread of Redemption,” where the person, and the work, of Christ, is seen in countless prophecies, references, allusions, allegories, types, numerologies, before His coming, apart from His immediate incarnation. So it is – or should be – with our families, and our fathers. We cannot be free of examples and influences, words and advice. We cannot even escape what every generation of human history but our own has believed in: bloodlines, tendencies, inherited talents. “We are our fathers’ children” is meant to convey the inevitable patrimonies we inherit.

In the rare and sorry cases where fathers are not the role models we wish for – like some Dickens characters – it is still wise for us to learn and know about our families’ pasts. For correction, for reproach, as curatives. In my own case, I can state a variation on TR’s tribute: my own father was the best friend I ever had. Every project I do, I wonder how he would like it; every week, I start to reach for the phone to share something he would find interesting. But he has been gone for more than a dozen years.

But this is not about my father, or me as a father; or your father; or – stick with me – even on Father’s Day, any mortal fathers. God did not put any qualifiers on the Commandment. “Honor your father and your mother.” Nothing about “if” this or that; or “after” they have proven themselves. Think of another famous Father in the Bible – remember when God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac: a father should sacrifice his son??? God intervened, of course, when Abraham showed his obedience, and then our minds rush forward – along the Golden Thread of Fatherhood – and realize that we had a picture of our Heavenly Father willing to sacrifice for the sake of history’s children, all of us, uncountable numbers except to Him, “for He so loved the world.”

As good a man, as good a friend, as we have in this world; or try ourselves to be, or ever hope to be, is nothing compared to the love of Father God. In this regard, every day of the year should be FATHER’S Day. And at the end of our days, if our children can say (doubly paraphrasing), “Well done, good and faithful father,” then we are blessed indeed.

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I have chosen a memorable and beautiful song, “Going Home,” to illustrate this message. It has been a Negro spiritual, hymn, and folk song; its tune is taken from, of all things, Antonin Dvorak’s 9th Symphony (which, in turn, had relied on American folk melodies). Clearly, it sings of death… but in the context of that precious tradition I spoke of, of family-generations not being separate things, but close parts. One day we shall not only share eternal life, but be reunited with mother and father who, the song says, “are waiting there; expecting us.” The performance is by the astonishingly impressive London boys’ choir called Libera. This will move you.

Click: Going Home

5-23-11

Well, the Rapture has come and gone, or at least Harold Camping’s itinerary for it. The news media took late and casual notice of it -– significantly, not with any focus on peoples’ last-minute confrontation with their own sinfulness, but an opportunity to paint Christians as kooks. Mr Camping is nothing if not sincere, and since there were no Kool-Aid packets in Family Radio International’s shopping cart (that is, no financial scam; maybe just bad mathematics, addressing biblical numerology) life goes on.

Or… has anyone considered whether Heaven held a rapture and nobody came? How many of us ARE worthy to meet the Lord in the air?

The question sounds half-kidding, but is totally serious. I believe the reason that the Bible is so ambiguous about all the questions regarding the Second Coming of Jesus, the End of Time, the Rapture, the End of the Age, the Great Tribulation, the advent of the Millennial Reign of Christ… is to keep us on our spiritual toes.

We should rejoice, as the angels would, for all the souls that would be “scared straight” by the possible end of the world, a week from tomorrow (or whenever). But for every one of those people I have a feeling there would be ten thousand others calculating a “Get Out of Judgment, Free” pass they can hold until five minutes to Rapture, if it is so knowable, and is well-advertised by spiritual guides like Brother Camping. I don’t claim to know God’s mind when He intends that such things are… unknowable. But I am sort of an expert on human nature, being a human and someone far too often displaying the less admirable traits of same. I am pretty sure that if the Rapture were on peoples’ to-do list of a date certain, it would be a disincentive, not an encouragement, to get right with God immediately. Most people would eat, drink, and be merry until it got too close for comfort.

I believe it is consistent with God’s will to cite a Bible verse that Brother Camping evidently overlooked. People think that we cannot know “when Jesus will return” and the saints of the ages shall be separated from the sinners. But it is there in every version of the Bible, and provides both long-term advice for our behavior, and immediate warnings about our standing with Christ; that is, our salvation.

Here it is, no billboards or radio marathons: I Thessalonians 5:2 — The day of the Lord so comes as a thief in the night. Another way God stated it: Matthew 24:44 — Be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.

There we have it: You want to know when Jesus will return? Answer: When we least expect it.

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Here is a song about that day – that moment, the twinkling of an eye, whenever it might be. BE READY!!! A humble Christian gathering in Zambia, singing an old American gospel song.

Click: When We All Get to Heaven

4-18-11

The Lenten Season draws to a close. Through 40 days and 40 nights, I have been trying to think of this traditional observance in non-traditional ways. We can do that – for instance by identifying with what Jesus “took up” in His sacrifice, as well as what He “gave up” by His sacrifice – and be faithful to scripture.

But on Palm Sunday, when I think of Jesus entering the gates of Jerusalem, I come, myself, to a dead end of this exercise. There are not too many fresh ways to see those events. We know that He entered in humble and even seemingly absurd ways, like riding a donkey, in fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies, verse after verse after verse.

We know that one reason Jesus was hailed by crowds was because some people hoped he would be a revolutionary leader to overthrow the Romans. Frankly, He had been preaching for three and a half years, so most people would have known that Jesus was an unlikely guerilla fighter, few of whom storm a city on a donkey. No, the exuberant reception probably was due more to buzz about this man who walked on water; created wine and lunches from nothing; healed the blind, the deaf, and the crippled; and raised people from the dead. The grumblers in the crowd knew – and resented – that He also was wiser than they about the law, and that He claimed in fact to be the fulfillment of the Law.

We know all that. And there are not many ways to bring new interpretations to the events of Palm Sunday.

…except if we try to imagine ourselves to be the people on the Jerusalem streets, waving palms and laying them before Jesus in honor. And if we can try to go BACK in time 2000 years, let us also imagine ourselves a few days later also, as this same Man we cheer is now in shackles, under sentence of death.

Palms, and an old robe or two, whatever the local traditions of honor, were the cheapest things possible to lay down before Jesus. So were shouts, even hewing to the literal meaning of “Hosanna” and references to the Messiah. “Talk is cheap.” If we really wanted to honor Jesus, if we really believed He was the promised Messiah, the proof was not showing up at a party-like parade, but acting like we believed it, later in the week. And we scattered. A few of us denied even knowing Him. Some of us even demanded that He be put to death. And enough of us joined in, laughing at Him, spitting on Him.

Palm Sunday, in those lights, seem like a cruel joke. Must it not have seemed so to Jesus? It’s not like the fans who were at the gates showed up at Pilate’s, defending their Savior, losing the Barabbas-vote by a slim margin. Those former fans were not there; or if they were there, their real beliefs finally were on display.

Are the people who were waving palms, and shouting for their Messiah – their “personal savior” – different than we are? What makes them different? What makes us different? It can’t be that WE know how the story ended: prophetic details were clear enough to those people. And Jesus claimed, and repeatedly proved, who He was, right to their faces.

No, Palm Sunday is one of the most difficult times of the year for believers. Not only for what was about to happen to Jesus, physically; but perhaps for what has NOT yet happened to our hearts, spiritually.

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Click: Hosanna

4-4-11

Another Lenten contemplation.

A recently released book is raising dust in Christian circles. Frankly, the controversy probably is bigger than the book itself, but so it goes. Love Wins by Rob Bell presents the argument that most people, or all people, will eventually be redeemed from hell, if there is a hell, because Jesus’s death was an atonement for all of creation. Eventually, in this life or sometime in Eternity, souls will be persuaded to accept Him.

I believe I have summarized the book properly. One of the author’s tenets is that God is so loving, it seems impossible that He would let people go to hell.

If I have not properly summarized the book, then I have properly summarized dozens of very similar heresies and distortions of scripture from the past 2000 years. In brief, there is a theological proposition called Universalism, generally meaning that everyone since Calvary has been or will be “saved” from punishment – from the penalty of sin and rebellion against God. And maybe even retroactively, before Calvary. Some call it Universalism. I call it Wishful Thinking.

The Lenten season is useful to believers as we contemplate the implications of our sins, our need for salvation, the concept of Jesus’ substitutionary death, the triumph of His overcoming the grave, and the meaning of His ascension to Heaven. The truth of it all.

Another new book attracts attention: Megashift. Author James Rutz presents data to claim that the fastest-growing religion on earth is… Christianity. Counterintuitive to some of us. We sense that Christianity is declining in America and Europe. It is. We are aware that Christians are being persecuted with increasing ferocity in other parts of the world. They are. (This is partly a reaction to Christianity’s growth; and it partly inspires Christianity’s spread) We observe that “mainstream” denominations are shrinking. They are. (The rising tide of believers is mostly independent, Bible-believing, First-Century types; “New Apostolics” is Rutz’s label.)

I believe I have accurately summarized that book’s documentation. These two books illustrate the irony, or at least the evolution, of Christianity today. Many people from predominantly Muslim and Buddhist and Hindu and animist lands, and even from demonic traditions… are now on-fire Christians. These new believers send more missionaries, year after year, to the “Christian West” because of perceived spiritual needs! And traditional white-bread, culturally elite, and intellectually pretentious “Christ-followers” and “communitarians” and “emergents” (they can’t seem to say “Christian” for some reason)… no longer “get it.”

“It” is the way of the cross, the plan of salvation. We all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Our self-inflicted unrighteousness, which denies us entry to the presence of a holy God, has a provision. We cannot earn it, but Christ offered it: believe in Him and accept His loving assumption of our sins and guilt; and we will be reconciled to God.

Is that hard? It depends upon our response. Are there details about it that we don’t understand? Of course; we are not God. Do we deserve this crazy, illogical, outrageous, unspeakable “pass” against a lifetime of spiritual shortcomings and rebellion?

Of course not. That’s called Love.

That is the love that wins. By God’s grace, He provided a way. If there is no need for repentance, the Bible lies; no element of forgiveness, then Jesus suffered foolishly; no salvation decision, the cross is ridiculed. If mankind will go to Heaven en masse just because we all have pulses, the Easter story is a joke. There would be no reason ever again to sing Amazing Grace.

I will advance a theory of my own, and I hope I properly am consistent with scripture: Jesus was a man who suffered like no other; but as God incarnate, He had the ability to focus His thoughts as He was on the cross. And with all the torments and betrayals, all the billions of people who did live and will live in history, when He was on the cross, I was on His mind. And so were you.

When He looked down, He looked – through eyes encrusted with blood, but also through the years and through many generations in many places – into the individual faces of you and me.

Why in world (literally) would the Son of God endure all this, and offer all this? So that we might accept – believe, confess, and be transformed. Salvation is free, but not cheap, as many have said. Neither should it intentionally be cheapened, not in this Lenten season, or ever.

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Click: You Were On His Mind

3-28-11

Let us think more about Lent. The 40 days are here to to prepare people — to prepare ourselves — for the meaning wrapped up in the “Easter Story.” In fact we should think on those things all year, and we do, but Lenten observances provide spiritual power-boosts.

The ancient contemplation of the Stations of the Cross, even reenacting Jesus’ walk, is something I have done, and enriches one’s faith. Deeply.

But before Christ’s betrayal and arrest… He was still Jesus, the Son of Man who walked amongst us. What I mean is this: if it is efficacious to contemplate the Cross and Resurrection outside of Lent’s parameters, so is it helpful to our belief if we remember the everyday ministry of Jesus, even during Lent.

For instance, Jesus walked on water, on the Sea of Galilee. This is recorded in Scripture, and we should know therefore that God intends a message for us. At the very least, this is one of the miracles that Jesus performed to confirm His divinity — for the sake of His disciples, and of unbelievers in the area, and for the sake of us today.

Alert: I do not pretend to any learned theology here. This is just spiritual speculation. But, to me, miracles like healing and raising from the dead and feeding multitudes were for the immediate benefit of those who were touched, as well providing as larger lessons. Miracles like walking on water and calming troubled seas might be more in the category of “Who say you that I am? Here’s a hint…”

If so, take that a step further. How often is Peter the disciple called out to trust Jesus, to act on the dare of faith? And how often does Peter — impetuous, presumptuous, boastful Peter — fail in the moment? He sinks into the water; he denies knowing Jesus at crunch time. (And how many of us identify more with Peter than with other disciples…? I do.)

Jesus did tell the disciples that many more, even “greater,” miracles would they do, that the Holy Ghost would come to be Christ-in-us. Now, I have seen miracles, I have witnessed healings, I know that Jesus’ words are true. Yet we cannot fail to confront the fact that when Peter looked down and sank into the water, Jesus did not turn to any of the other disciples and say, “Now, ye of greater faith…” after which they all strolled on the surface of the Sea. And we don’t see it today; I haven’t.

Insecure Christians are afraid that people will conclude that Jesus’ promises might not be true. But I believe the real lesson of such miracle-stories, up through the Lenten season to the greatest miracle of all, is not that Jesus was only teasing and therefore not God, but that… people are human. And all that this fact implies.

Peter sank because he looked down, when he should have kept his eyes upon Jesus. And I just have the feeling that if we could perform many of the miracles that Jesus did, we all would start trusting in ourselves, and stop looking at the Christ. I hate to admit it, but I know that I would.

When Christ lives in us, we are empowered to look to Him more than to ourselves… and that is the essence of the spiritual battle. We are better equipped, ironically, in order to be less self-reliant.

Less of us, more of Him. Walking on water… we can view it as one of the unique spiritual paths Jesus took, in effect, on the way to Jerusalem to give His life for us. Was Jesus holding out a spiritual means of taking a shortcut in the Galilean neighborhood? Hardly; of course not. Was He providing an astounding illustration that He is God, so we might more easily trust Him without any reservation in our hearts?

If that reaches our souls, during Lent or any time — if we poor sinners can understand and act on that — truly, that would be a miracle right there.

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Click: On the Sea of Galilee

This Gospel song was written by the Carter Family and is performed simply and compellingly by Emmylou Harris and the amazing harmonies of the young Peasall Sisters. The images — Jesus walking on water; Jesus reaching out to you and me; the Sea of Galilee — are from the excellent Beanscot Channel on YouTube.

3-14-11

The events of recent days should persuade even the most cynical and least alarmist among us that we are in fact living in a “page-turning,” if not “chapter-ending,” moment of world history. Endemic economic troubles, from budget crises to virtual national bankruptcies; street protests resulting in governments’ instability and regime changes across the world; devastating earthquakes and tsunamis in Japan, with incalculable tolls in terms of life, infrastructure, and health, there and elsewhere… we are indeed on the cusp of a new world.

The old order changeth, yielding place to the new;
And God fulfills Himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Many of the changes we see, such as the overthrow of dictatorships, are harbingers of hope. But many other changes clearly suggest the contrary – the unleashing of anti-Christian persecution; long-term economic downturns; serious challenges to health and recovery in Japan. Human beings often hope for change, but when it brings insecurity and misery we are constrained from embracing the New without praying for wisdom, and discerning God’s hand.

We have entered the season of Lent. Is there a temptation to avoid looking inward and commemorate an event 2000 years old, when we feel the need to watch and wait upon events that, instead, are exploding in our midst?

The opposite should be our reaction. And the coming observance of Easter is splendid timing.

As with the woman who anointed Jesus with precious oils, disasters and troubles of the world we will always have with us. But we serve God’s purposes when we honor Him by drawing closer in communion, when we enter into His suffering that He endured to identify with our suffering (o sweet mystery), when we contemplate the Passion of His sacrifice, death, and resurrection. We will make the world a better place by achieving these things ourselves… and sharing them with the world.

It is a custom to “give something up” for Lent. I am going to suggest to you something different from chocolate and sitcoms. Give up two hours of your life this week, in advance of the Easter season. Set aside the time, shut out possible distractions, and prepare for an exposition of Christ’s suffering and death that will touch your soul. You will do your understanding of Christ’s sacrifice and your devotion to the Cross a favor to watch the video you can click to, below.

Johann Sebastian Bach’s setting of the “Passion” story (Jesus’s intense emotions and sacrificial suffering) is one of the great works, not only of church music or the Baroque period, but of human creativity. Based on Matthew chapters 27 and 28, the St Matthew Passion was in the form of a once-common performance vehicle, the “musical passion.” Christian composers, as early as the eighth century, but mainly in the 16th-18th centuries, wrote Passions to be different from other church music. Passions used large ensembles, sometimes two choirs, orchestras, and organs. They were dramatic presentations, with “narrators” and singers. Sometimes they were performed outside churches, and sometimes in costumes and with dramatic action.

In Bach’s version, he declined costumes but achieved great drama. In the version you can download below you will see a spare performance stage, singers in simple suits or dresses. There are no props; it is not in a cathedral. But you will notice great meaning in the changing placement of the singers; the colors that light the performance stage; and the lighted Cross that floats above the performers – changing colors, morphing from dark to light to dark. This video – made in 1971, and conducted by the legendary Bach interpreter Karl Richter – is an immense work of art in itself.

You will be grateful that the text, translated to English, is on the screen. When subtitles do not appear, it is because singers are repeating phrases. This impactful video allows you to appreciate the myriad of subtleties Bach used to emphasize the story of the Passion, behind the lyrics and tunes. Take note of the highlighting of meaningful words, by orchestral emphasis. Notice that solo voices have keyboard accompaniment; Jesus has keyboard and strings… except for His stark, solo cry “Why hast Thou forsaken me?” Notice the music (instrumentation and style of play) reflecting singers’ hope, sorrow, or desperation. Notice the musical (and the camera’s) emphasis on words like “Barabbas!” and “kill Him!” and “crucify!” Notice Bach’s use of musical devices – pulsating rhythms for tension, short bursts by the flutes to suggest tears, upward modulation when hope is displayed. Note the repetition of musical themes (popular church tunes) by the choruses to unify the narrative themes. This is a monumental work of art.

The St Matthew Passion was considered by Bach to be his most significant work. It was first performed in Leipzig at the St-Thomas Church in 1727, and many Holy Weeks thereafter; he frequently revised it. His autograph score shows loving attention, written in red or brown inks according to the biblical and dramatic libretto sources, and employing calligraphy in careful Gothic or Latin letters. He preserved it as an heirloom.

As Baroque music and Bach’s genius temporarily was out of fashion after his death in 1750, the Passion was never performed again until 102 years after its debut. Felix Mendelssohn had discovered it, conducted a condensed version in Berlin… and the Bach Revival, which has never stopped since, commenced. Mendelssohn, a Jew converted to Christianity, found his Lutheran faith much inspired by Bach’s work.

Other famous Passions of our time include the play in Oberammergau, a small Bavarian town of two thousand inhabitants, half of whom stage and act in the seven-hour re-creation of Holy Week events. The play has been produced every 10 years since 1634 when the town, threatened by the bubonic plague, collectively prayed for mercy and vowed to share with the world this portion of the gospel story if they were spared. In Drumheller, Alberta, Canada, every July the Canadian Badlands Passion Play is presented in a thirty-acre canyon bowl that forms a natural amphitheater. And of course many people watched the recent movie The Passion of the Christ.

None can be more powerful than Bach’s version. If you are unfamiliar with, or dislike, “classical music,” this will not kill you. If the hairstyles or once-cool eyeglasses of 1971’s performers look squirrely, just imagine how we would look to them; or how a magical capture of the actual 1727 debut would look to us. Or how the original suffering and death of Jesus, nearly 2000 years ago, would have seemed if we were there…

… ah! That is the art of J S Bach. This performance of the “Passion of Jesus Christ as recorded by St Matthew,” does bring us back to the amazing, profound, and significant events of our Savior’s willing sacrifice for us. It is real.

A better understanding of what He did for our sake will make us better stewards to minister to the world – especially in these horrible times – for His sake.

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Click: The St Matthew Passion — Johann Sebastian Bach

This will be a complete performance, in many segments of various lengths; a total of about two hours. Each segment will automatically move to the next. If you desire a full-screen (and one does not automattically pop up), click only this icon, once, at the beginning: the “joint arrows” that point right and down; that, when your cursor hovers over it, is called EXPAND. Click that for a full screen of the video. It is from the amazing YouTube channel of SoliDeoGloria.

The conductor and musical director of Munich Bach ensembles, as noted, is the great Karl Richter. (The members of the instrumental and vocal ensembles are more numerous than in Bach’s more intimate times. The accessible profundity is akin to Bach’s, however, without doubt) Soloists are Peter Schreier as narrator; Walter Berry, bass; Julia Hanari, contralto; and Helen Donath, soprano. You will notice, of course, that this a Lenten subject; it will bring you right through the Crucifiction.

The quotation above is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Passing of King Arthur” from Idylls of the King.

1-24-11

January 23 is this year’s Sanctity of Life Sunday.

So as not to compartmentalize the observance, opponents of abortion point out that the date, each year, is the Sunday that falls closest to the 1973 Supreme Court ruling Roe vs Wade. Therefore an extra reminder is provided of the unsettled, and unsettling, issue in the midst of our body politic: legalized, and frequently taxpayer-subsidized, abortion-on-demand.

It was my privilege, several years ago, to manage an interview with Norma McCorvey, the “Roe” of Roe vs Wade. She is now a born-again Christian, deeply repentant of her role in a major American paradigm shift. She knows at least – let me say “she knows at most,” for God’s grace is the major factor in all we do – that she is forgiven.

We all can be forgiven of all things, and we all should always remember that. In the “abortion debate,” one of the things less useful than a spirit of judgment is a rush to judgment, by proponents of any viewpoint. Something that is admitted by most couples who agree to, or women who undergo, abortions, is that there is no such thing as the absence of guilt. But we should never believe, nor never counsel anyone, that there is no possibility of forgiveness by our own Heavenly Father. And therefore none of us, His children, should withhold mercy to repentant hearts.

So my thoughts are not “holier than thou,” as the saying goes. In fact, I am probably “less holier than thou.” Which is another way of saying that we all fall short of the glory of God. My opinions and convictions, as with so many things where the Holy Spirit has needed to drag me, have changed over the years. Thank God He never gives up on us.

Those who fall least short of His glory, however, are the unborn. Defenseless, unoffending, not able to speak for themselves – but occasionally able to cry before their lives are terminated – babies are sacrificed, not to assorted pagan gods as in ancient cultures, unless those gods are named convenience, avoidance, confusion, selfishness, numbed conscience. The culture and, God help us, the State, call them not human beings, but fetuses, blobs, tissue, and choices. The inherent contradiction is evident when we realize that schools don’t teach “blob control” and phamacists don’t dispense “fetus control pills.”

This week, a Philadelphia abortionist in a public and busy practice (a reported $15,000 a day business) was in the news. He, his wife, and several assistants were charged by a grand jury with eight murders – specifically, a woman and seven babies born alive and killed by scissors severing their spines. There are other charges, such as transmissions of disease and health violations, including a gory clinic, urine and blood stains on waiting-room furniture, and multiple fetuses displayed in jars. “Doctor” Kermit Gosnell is a Black man, to whom – one wishes to believe – the disregard of human life, the arbitrary reclassification of who exactly is human and entitled to what rights, ought to have mattered especially.

Shame on him and the angels of mercy on his paid staff. Blood is, literally, on their hands. On the other hand is, plausibly, society’s hand. Take note: The abortion mill was raided because it was suspected of writing illegal prescriptions for patients. The grand jury report blamed the murders on “lack of oversight.” The charges speculate that the nearly 6000 abortions performed between 2004 and 2008 were never fully investigated because the patients largely were “poor and of color.”

Abortion horrors, unfortunately, are not new. But in our culture, this
indictment tells us the new standards of morality:

The clinic was raided not because of murder and infanticide, but because it was suspected of making money by padding prescriptions.

The crux is not lack of conscience, no: “lack of oversight.”

And these procedures continued, an average of five aborted babies a day (if Gosnell worked on Sundays too) not in dark hiding, but in a street-corner clinic, name on the door and listing in the Yellow Pages, unmolested – not because he hid his activities, but because to inquire too closely was politically incorrect.

There will be tears of “compassion” from lawyers, for the mothers who didn’t want to be mothers (and let us not forget fathers who did not want to become fathers). But somehow, as always these days, not many tears will be shed for the thousands of children who are missing, never given the chance for their faces to appear on milk cartons, much less to have their own names, or graves.

Do we doubt that God “chooses life,” by which construct we all should too? Psalm 36:9 reminds us that God is the One who gives and sustains life. The most devastated forest, after a fire, somehow soon is repopulated by bugs and flies and creatures. The tiniest blade of grass, with no sunshine and little water, eventually will break through a cement walkway.

How, is the question.

Life, is the answer.
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Not only are babies not “choices,” but our response to questions of life
should not be open to choice, either. Some things, even in America, 2011, cannot be left to standards of convenience or selfishness. Affirm life.

A tender but powerful song by Tommy Walker, sung here in a moving video by the great Paul Baloche, caps the message for this particular day of the Sanctity of Life’s continual observance.

Click: He Knows My Name

1-17-11

The shootings in Tucson should direct us to think about heroes and villains. There is an obsession in America to fill in every space on the template of every event. Of course there were heroes that morning, but the people so called in that horrible scene firmly have rejected the honorific. Also to be rejected is the compulsion of some people instantaneously to invent villains. The shooter was villain enough.

Whether we call them heroic, or wise and courageous, two figures impressed us: an older lady and a young man. Patricia Maisch grabbed the second ammunition magazine. Twenty-year-old Daniel Hernandez rushed toward the gunfire, and rendered aid to Rep Giffords in ways that likely kept her from dying. One prevented more killings; the other saved the wounded.

We all have seeds of heroism in us; and, God help us, possibly cowardly tendencies as well. The moment of crisis cannot be scripted. On the other hand, wisdom and bravery are acquired traits. They can be cultivated, and are more worthy of honor than “mere” heroism… especially in a country where athletes and movie stars routinely are called heroes. The term has become cheap.

I am reminded of William James’s observations during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. He noticed that, in the chaos, a new social order instantly was established. Upper-class bankers, for instance, readily performed menial tasks as they saw the need; conversely, many manual laborers instinctively assumed superior tasks – directing traffic, managing people, assuming responsibilities. None of those acts was merely heroic, they were more: wise, courageous, displaying character. Human nature in the crucible.

I could not escape the thought that the “memorial service” on Wednesday was a stark contrast to the Character Amidst Carnage we all saw Saturday morning. It was a pep rally, with whoops and whistles and chants; not a service. There was more adulation for a celebrity, than grief for the dead, wounded, and survivors.

A pagan ritual with feathers and importuning to Father Sky replaced – not even accompanied – prayers that would have been coherent to 95 per cent of the people, and to their God. Shouts and cheers from the bleachers at inopportune moments were more redolent of rock concerts; and, if he had wanted, the First Celebrity could have stilled the multitudes and returned to the reverent duty at hand.

What we sorely need is fewer theatrics at such events, if, indeed, such events are necessary at all (after all, victims’ churches and families held their own observances). TV spectacles in huge stadiums. Logos created for this service’s hand-outs. T-shirts manufactured for the “memorial service.” Politically correct, and politically hostile, statements to the press. Presidents of universities and of countries asking for “moments of silence.” Silence? Is the word, or the act of, PRAYER radioactive?

That is what we need more of: prayer. Excuse me — Shut up and pray. Simply pray. Where are simple prayers, simple faith, simple services, simple responses, these days?

…’tis a Gift to be simple, after all.

The University of Arizona Orchestra closed the rally with a performance of Simple Gifts, from Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring. Specifically, it was an arrangement of the orchestral score by Copland to Martha Graham’s ballet of that name. As such, it was discordant, both musically and in suitability. The secular music is of two lifelong supporters of Communism and the Communist Party; both virulent secularists; Copland a homosexual crusader — the performance, perhaps fine in some contexts, I simply consider out of place at a “memorial service.” Better, if the words and music pleased, to perform a… simple… version of the original work that not many Americans know.

Simple Things did not have its origin with Copland, nor its fate in countless TV commercials. Simple Things is a hymn of the devout Shaker community, written by Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848. The sect’s Christian faith, like their music and their famous furniture, was simple… and the Shakers themselves may be nearly as extinct as admirable Simplicity in America today.

Complicated, choreographed extravaganzas, with everything figured out for us and arranged in every politically correct detail – and spiritual substance left ‘way behind – is not the type of prize to be sought in a Christian Republic like America once was. ‘Tis a Gift to be simple.

Click: A Gift To Be Simple

A beautiful performance of this American hymn by Alison Kraus and violoncellist Yo-Yo Ma… simple, just the two of them.

A Music Ministry Special

Christmas week. Even the most spiritual people among us – plausibly, the MOST spiritual among us – easily can be caught up in the THINGS of this week. Touching bases, checking lists, doing this and that, going here and there… all of which is legitimate. All of which we routinely regret, to an extent. All of which we resolve, nest year, to balance with quiet time to reflect on the meaning of Christmas.

At your service, folks. Here is a 2010-style method of slowing your pace, soothing your soul, and communing quietly with, maybe, your family; with God… and with Johann Sebastian Bach.

At the end of this message is a link to a performance of Bach’s immortal CHRISTMAS ORATORIO. We are used to hearing Handel’s “Messiah,” at least several famous portions. No less beautiful, and powerful, and spiritual, is Bach’s “Christmas Oratorio.”

An oratorio is best explained as a religious opera without a stage. Drama based on biblical stories is presented employing overtures and instrumental movements, solos and choruses, and often a narrator – an orator, providing one theory of its name – in the form of a singing narrator who stands apart from the “action.” Oratorios sometimes were performed outside the settings of churches. The most famous composer of Baroque oratorios is Händel, who wrote one German, two Italian, and seventeen English-language oratorios.

The opening of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Jauchzet, Frohlocket!, with timpani drums tuned to different notes, is among the grandest music Bach wrote. And the close of part two, Wir Singen Dir In Deinem Heer, seamlessly combining two previous beautiful melodies, is magical. The Sinfonia, a purely instrumental movement, is sublime. Does it advance the “action”? – No, except to set the mood of the peaceful night in Bethlehem, where the shepherds watched over their flocks.

May I invite the uninitiated to this glorious piece, or to Baroque music in general: Let Bach, and the biblical text, carry you on a spiritual trip. The Bible is quoted; the chorus and soloists take the part of Christmas-week players; and the ancient, beautiful music will touch your soul. Give this time… and it will be a special part of your Christmas.

In this video, Sir John Eliot Gardiner conducts the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists; the setting is the historic Herderkirche in Weimar, Germany, a city where Bach once lived and worked. The Christmas Oratorio originally was performed on six different days, from Christmas to Epiphany. Technically it is six cantatas, a form within the liturgy of which Bach was master.

The small choir… the original ancient instruments… the soloist in the box… the setting of the historic church… bring you close to the music as Bach would have conducted it himself. The first such time was Christmas of 1734.

I am linking you to full-screen downloads of this masterpiece (I daresay many of you will rush to find the DVD version of this to watch on a bigger screen next year!) Of several good versions available on the web, this is the only one with English subtitles; when they don’t appear, it is because singers are repeating passages. ALSO: this is not just “sit back and close your eyes.” Every once in a while a download will end, and a screen will appear with freeze-frame options. Click the largest box, upper right, labeled “Up Next,” or the logically numbered screens in the strip below.  (This will give you a chance to take a break if needed – this is more than two hours long, like “Messiah,” so plan some time! – or, you will see, you will want to repeat a passage whose musical beauty and spiritual power has impressed you!

Take time. Make time. Have a merry, and meaningful, and musical, Christmas!

Click this link: Christmas Oratorio — J S Bach

The Christmas story has become really sanitized.

I mean literally. How many depictions do we see, how often do we think, of the Christ Child in the manger, surrounded by shining angels, kindly shepherds, pretty sheep… and bugs and worms, rotted bits of feed and dung, dirt and moldy straw?

The manger was likely in a rough, dark, musty cave, not in an open-air lean-to that the greeting cards portray.

We can also wonder whether Joseph and Mary were told “no room in the inn!” not only because the city was crowded… but perhaps because innkeepers innkeepers greeted the newlyweds and asked when they were married, and reckoned she had been with child…

Homeless… a mother who was single when she conceived… rejected… forced to the humblest place in the city to be born, farm animals as attendants: the Bible accurately called it a lowly birth.

What has NOT been scrubbed clean from the story is that the Bible called it a lowly birth hundreds of years before it happened, in every particular – these details and many more. Truly this was the Son of God.

But we should not turn to the next pretty greeting card this Christmas season. Linger in that stable, and you will see more. You will see children today born in similar circumstances. Parents in distress. No place to live. Little to eat. Rejected and despised.

When God chose to humble Himself and become flesh, He emptied Himself of His royal nature, and became… middle class? A suburbanite fretting over student loans? Someone managing a household budget and hobbies? OK, those might not be profiles of average Bethlehemites of that time… but they are not profiles of millions of babies born around the world today, either.

God identified with the most basic level of humanity. He meets us at our humblest places, conditions, and realities.

When we think of this unsanitary and unsanitized picture of the Nativity, does it change our attitude toward Jesus, the Incarnate Lord, who came to live with us?

Does it change our attitude toward homeless, rejected, vulnerable, hungry children being born every day?

Does it change our attitude toward our own hearts?

Click: No Place To Lay His Head

Have you ever called out to God in a moment of crisis? Or, better put, how often have you cried out to God in a moment of crisis?

Of course we have all been there, and it will not change. God, after all, did not promise to keep us from life’s troubles. He just promised to be with us through them.

Christoper Hitchens, in a lengthy profile in Britain’s The Observer newspaper, said, “What can be asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”  (  http://tiny.cc/cgsin ) Hitchens is dying of esophageal cancer, has written an atheist’s apologia against God, and has debated across the continent with the fervent Christian Dinesh D’Souza. None of us can evaluate his emotional wrestling-matches – he evidently was touched by a widespread “Pray for Christopher Hitchens Day” in September – but I shudder to contemplate if he is tempted to cry to God… but is deterred by pride.

If a reliance on God (please: no “higher being”; no “man upstairs” – I mean the God the Bible) is a basic yearning of every person’s soul, then we must admit that pride is a universal stumbling-block to exercising that reliance. How common is the realization that we turn for help… when we need help? The logic of it does not mitigate the embarrassment: “God, it’s me again. Sorry it’s been awhile…”

Too often we pray fervently in times of crises, and pray casually – or not at all – when blessings are flowing. Human nature.

God knows it is human nature. That is why He provided ways to counter that aspect. Communication, constant communication, which He calls prayer. And the testimony of our hearts, which He can read, and knows better than we ourselves do. God seeks communication with us – and half of that is hearing from us. He takes joy in every manner of our turning to Him. And He is grieved when we do not. In Micah 6:3 we have the picture of a God who is offended and hurt when we ignore Him: “O my people, what have I done to you? How have I wearied you? Answer me!”

So. If God receives pleasure when we seek Him and communicate through prayer, and if we generally tend to seek Him and pray only when things go bad… wouldn’t it be in the nature of a loving God to “allow” some “bad” things to buffet us?

I do not believe that He sends sickness or disease on His children – the Lord of the universe is not a child abuser – but for us to see Him as “an ever-present help in times of trouble,” there must be trouble. Following that, He will answer, and help, and communicate what we need to know: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17); “Thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee” (Psalm 9:10).

Is God at work in our lives when crises and problems beset us… if those are the only times when we seek fellowship with Him? Is this good theology? I don’t know. I’m just sayin’…

Here is a heartfelt spiritual song that briefly illustrates the anguished call to God we all experience at times. It is one of the very last songs that a feeble Johnny Cash recorded, but one of the most powerful of messages: “Help Me, Lord.”

Click:   Asking God’s Help

Have a great week. Chat up a storm with your Creator.

A little departure — not a “religious” message; but, I hope, a spiritual one!

It is to share a moment with you who are engaged in creativity. Nobody run for the exit, because in a way, we all are so engaged. I thought of this because I was on the phone this afternoon with a friend, and I bollixed up a couple of things having to do with numbers… typical for me, stupid things. Some of us typically mumble things about “right brain, left brain,” but working in the creative arts is not always the same thing as exercising creativity!

Many of my friends are writers or cartoonists, and what I am about to say is common to them, and to musicians and poets and singers and painters and composers and actors and photographers. And public speakers. And counselors. And designers. And decorators. Teachers. Pastors. Charity workers. Those entrusted with law-enforcement. Ministers, by definition. Even accountants (ha) and politicians making claims and taping commercials (ha ha) have to be creative. Certainly mothers and caregivers, a thousand ways every day.

… Actually, you can’t name a human activity where creativity does not come into play. And if you think you have found someone, or some profession… surely that person ASPIRES to write or perform or draw in private time. Or to receive that mysterious, soul-satisfying sustenance from enjoying the works of people who do — which is, just as real, a Bond of Creativity.

All of this is commonplace — banal if it is in fact so universal — except that we don’t always realize it. We don’t appreciate it in others, but anyone who creates some work of art, on any level, bares his or her soul to a world that can reject or ridicule or despise it. Yet we do what we do because we have to. We have to share it; we have to “let it out”; we have to touch someone we probably will never meet. The cliched creator who lives a hermit-like existence is actually the most open and vulnerable of God’s creatures.

Create… creatures… Creator. Here we bring a message full circle. If we fail to appreciate creativity in others, surely a lot of us tend to miss the creativity in ourselves. It is there, it should be encouraged, and, as a principle of life, must be exercised to be healthy and strong. Some people believe that to say that humans “create” anything is blasphemous — that only God can create anything. I think that is true if you are playing word games.

God has given us, among His unique gifts, sparks of creativity. Anything we “create” is therefore an extension of His grace and His glory. J S Bach began every one of his works with the words, “Help me, Jesus,” and ended every work with the words, “To God be ALL the glory.” Nothing we can create is apart from Him.

Illustrating my message is a secular song, not by Bach but by the singer/songwriter Lacy J Dalton. It perfectly catches the creative process — the inchoate passion, the unquenchable dreams, the insane struggles, the breakthroughs; the success that is not always commercial, but measured by the “Aha!” moment in whatever pursuit you choose. Her metaphor is the singer/songwriter (the best art is inescapably self-referential). 16th Avenue, Nashville’s street of dreams where recording studios and performance stages abound, is her metaphor of the world. Oh, she nails it. Aha!

Appreciate your own creativity this week, and that in others. Celebrate it. Exercise it. And remember its source — the One who is reflected and honored in what you do.

Click:  An Anthem to Creativity

10-10-10

A friend, the noted theatrical impresario Charles Putnam Basbas, recently forwarded one of those oft-forwarded internet stories to me. The story of a miracle baby born prematurely, it was not outrageously implausible (not to me anyway; my children were born 10 weeks, five weeks, and eight weeks early around 30 years ago when those factors were dicey; and they had, and have, healthy, robust lives). Yet this story, as full of meaning as of surprises, checked out as true when I pursued “truth or fiction” sites.

Maybe you, too, have read it:

The Smell of Rain

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy from surgery. Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24 weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple’s new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor’s soft words dropped like bombs.

“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” he said, as kindly as he could. “There’s only a 10 per cent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one.”

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.

“No! No!” was all Diana could say. She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.

But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae’s underdeveloped nervous system was essentially “raw,” the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Danae turned two months old. her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

[Five years later] Danae was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing.
As always, Danae was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby, when she suddenly fell silent . Hugging her arms across her chest, little Danae asked, “Do you smell that?”

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.”

Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?”

Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet. It smells like rain.”

Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on his chest.”

Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.

During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

Back to MMMM. As I noted, in recent years, Danae’s story has circulated on the internet. It first was published in Richard L. Scott’s book, Miracles In Our Midst: Stories of Life, Love, Kindness, and Other Miracles (Wessex House). Scott, the former CEO of Columbia Health Systems and currently the Republican candidate for governor of Florida [since elected — ed.], sought out tales of triumph over medical odds. Danae’s story (then titled “Heaven Scent”) is his favorite. That little girl Danae, without knowing it, has inspired many people. An angel, in her own way.

To me, the spiritual “icing on the cake” to this story Charlie forwarded was someone’s legend at the bottom:

ANGELS EXIST, but sometimes, since they don’t all have wings, we call them FRIENDS.

And this summation reminded me of a song with a spiritual message, sung by a secular singer, the great Delbert McClinton (who is great even when Vince Gill and Lee Roy Parnell are not backing him up…) —

Click:  Sending Me Angels (Just Like You)

This week we have guest stars delivering our message… in fact, billions and billions of them.

I invite you to visit the site and photo gallery of the Hubble Space Telescope —  http://hubblesite.org/gallery/album/  Prepare to be amazed, if you have never seen these color photos before… in fact, one is amazed at the thousandth time they are viewed! We are told that many of the “distant stars” we see shining are in reality whole galaxies — that is, shining collections, themselves, of millions of stars and planets.

Amazing Space, how sweet the sights…

Scroll through the photos and let them speak to you about God’s awesome power, His omnipresence. I will tell you one thought that I have:

God Almighty took six days to create the awesome, endless, perfect universe.

However, after lo these many decades… He’s still working on me.

That’s not a wisecrack: that’s good theology. We need to remind ourselves of the gift of free will, and the consciousness of our own rebellion and sinfulness before a perfect and just God. To see pictures like this, and realize our part in God’s creation, is humbling.

And the other thought I have is to be grateful to the depths of my soul for His faithfulness. After all these decades.

…All I have needed Thy hand hath provided; great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter and springtime and harvest; sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

Click a touching version of the great hymn these words are from:

Great Is They Faithfulness

Easter Week has ended in the US (of course, we should pray that it never ends — its Truth is everlasting), but it is not so everywhere. Orthodox churches celebrate Christ’s resurrection according to other schedules and, I have just learned from my college friend John Siegmund, now a Lutheran pastor in Germany, there is an “Easter Monday” too:

“Thanks so much for your good wishes for a blessed Holy Week. I will be celebrating Holy Thursday with the mass of the Institution of the Lord’s Supper. Immediately following we will strip the altar, removing everything that can be carried but the remaining eucharistic gifts into the sacristy until Easter Vigil. I will climb up to the main cross in our church and give the Lord a black drape which will hang until the preparations for the Easter Vigil.

“Weather permitting, we will hold the Stations of the Cross in our town following the Good Friday service of penance and veneration of the Cross of Christ. On Saturday night we will celebrate the Vigil of Easter followed by Easter breakfast, donated by church members. On Easter Sunday and on Easter Monday we celebrate the glorious resurrection of our LORD and Savior Jesus Christ with a festive liturgy in the morning.

“Easter Monday is still a legal holiday here, although particularly mainline Protestant parishes don’t observe it with a festive service, but, at best, with evening concerts or the like…”

Isn’t there a comfort — beyond the spiritual reality, which is paramount — but isn’t there a comfort in the old traditions, the old hymns, the old fellowships? Indeed, the Old Gospel? There are reasons they all developed, and established themselves, and became beloved and old. Can’t our world and our lives slow down a little bit, so all of the Old — “Good Old” — doesn’t disappear from view?

Enjoy this old-time gospel song. “Ye who are weary, come home…”

Click:  Softly and Tenderly

Happy Monday.. and Happy Holy Week.

“Happy”?

Sure. It was a happy week, back in Jerusalem. Jesus rode into town; if we were there, we probably would have joined the happy throng with our palm-branches. Things turned ugly, the crowd was incited, Jesus was falsely accused. He was tortured, put on the cross, and died. Chances are that we — or at least I — would have been part of that crowd too. In fact, I sort of am, every time I sin.

But it sure was a happy week, after all, because He rose from the dead. He took the sins we commit upon Himself… died the death we deserve… and conquered death so that we might live with Him. I’m happy; are you?

Even Good Friday… etymologists speculate its origin was “God’s Friday”; maybe so. That willing, sacrificial death was Good indeed. Greater love hath no man than this.

Here is possibly the most unique, certainly a most memorable, version of the Easter story you might ever see. A little account of a kid’s Easter pageant. Father and son; death and resurrection; humor and Truth.

It is pianist Anthony Burger a few years ago talking about his five-year-old in an Easter pageant. Ironically, not long after this, Anthony himself died, suddenly, at the keyboard on a gospel-music cruise. His life was a mighty testimony… and so was his little boy’s story.

Click:  We Shall Behold Him

All the Merrys of this season, and the Happys of greetings like the thousands we hear and say, cannot mask that sometimes life is not always merry and happy.

Even Christians, as secure as they can be in their faith, and mindful of God’s many blessings, not only have difficult times and enormous challenges (not warned about in the Bible, but promised to occur)… but also deal with moments of doubt.

To be a follower of Jesus, and admit to these things, does not make you a bad Christian; it just shows that you are… a Christian. We believe, but sometimes doubt things. We trust, yet need His hand to walk forward. We take the risk of trusting like a child…

Those last words are in Bill Gaither’s song I Believe… Help Thou My Unbelief. If you are ever in that fragile spiritual state, or ever have been, or might be sometime, this brief emotional song might minister to you:

Click:  A Hymn for Doubters

A short message about the greatest message ever delivered.

This week’s music is the recent, but already standard, Christmas favorite, Mary Did You Know, sung by its co-writer, Mark Lowry. The lyrics are a profound statement of Christ’s incarnation, in which we are invited to see through the eyes of His mother.

At this concert in Birmingham, Bill Gaither then draws the very proper — the essential — connection between Jesus’s first coming and His second coming. Christmas and Easter should not be two separate celebrations. The same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, He was here among men, and will return for us; the vulnerable baby is also the Great “I Am.”

St Augustine, 1500 years ago, put it this way: “The nature of God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.” And that is Jesus, first born of all creation.

And… He came… for us. As you listen to “Mary, Did You Know,” let me ask: “Do YOU know?”

Click:  Mary, Did You Know

On top of all the holiday busy-ness, this season seems, to me,  exceptionally intrusive. Do you have the same impression in your “space”? You don’t have to be a news junkie or a cable-news addict to be aware of economic hard times, health-care battles, political corruption, intrusive government, a war, another war, global “worming,” terror threats, runaway spending, and probably another war somewhere. And that’s just yesterday. Next week will probably have its new problems.

For friends outside the US, I’m sure there are the same and similar challenges in the news every morning and every evening where you are.

My son Ted is a TV news producer, and I don’t want to take any work off his plate, but…

This is an appropriate time — this is a good season — to remember what the really big news is. Here is a video of the great Russ Taff, singing with his daughter Madi at his side; and backstage with members of the Gaither musical family, a little song about “The Really Big News.”

Family, friends, life’s little pleasures. Stop the presses! Let’s all remember the big stories in our lives.

(And, at this season, the really good news, too. The gifts we will be exchanging began as a commemoration of God’s greatest Gift, Jesus Christ! May we all remember that initial impetus!)

Click: The Really Big News

Sometime in these days before Christmas, likely this very week, you will meet or be with someone with whom you can share something special.

The Christmas season — everything we are surrounded with, and all that is missing in contemporary-style surroundings — can allow the sharing of thoughts to come easier. Or it can make it much harder. Clichés rush to our lips, and can sound like old truths, which they are; or sound like… well, empty clichés.

Here’s a thought: if you think someone has a need in his or her life that can be filled by the spiritual blessings you have experienced, DON’T tell them about your wonderful church.

DON’T tell them about the great music on Sunday mornings.

DON’T tell them about the amazing sermons, even if you have a stack of cassettes.

DON’T tell them about the wild youth group and all the activities.

DON’T tell them about the small group studies, ladies’ fellowships, men’s breakfasts.

DON’T tell them about the neighborhood Bible studies.

DON’T tell them about the outreaches, soup kitchens, and missions programs.

… not first, anyway. Not even second or third. If the person you talk to needs those things, he or she will come to know them, sure enough. If you act like those things are the Main Deal in your faith life… well, you’re revealing that you are a social animal, but sharing nothing about your faith. Or, rather, the Source of your faith.

Tell them about Jesus. That’s all. Tell them the story of Jesus.

The blind poet Frances Crosby (who never wrote a poem until her 40s and wrote 7000 poems and hymns before she died) said it best — and provided a brief script for us, if our own words come hard! — in the song Tell Me the Story of Jesus. Here it is sung at a Gaither Homecoming camp meeting on a warm summer evening in Fairmount, Indiana; followed appropriately by a verse from another beloved hymn, I Love to Tell the Story.

Click:  Tell Me the Story of Jesus

Last week my daughter Heather, who is expecting her second child, received a shocker. Awakened by a phone call from her doctor, she heard a disturbing possible prognosis after tests on the baby.

I’ll fast-forward and let her note of a couple days ago tell the story:

Hi, family and friends
This week was a weird one…we all got sick, Pat had a deadline at work so was working 15-18 hour days, and on Tuesday we got a call from our Dr. that blood work showed a possibility for our baby to have spina bifida.

Not knowing much about the condition but also realizing that dreams of a healthy baby might not be the case, we were initially worried but as we took time to pray together and on our own we both felt stretches of incredible peace. We’ve been praying since we were married, for any future kids God had planned for us, that in everything He would be glorified. So during this time, we kept reminding ourselves that God was still in charge and if this is what he had planned for this little one and us, that it would be fine.

We went to UofM hospital today to meet with a genetic counselor and have an ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed NOTHING wrong and everything looks perfect: strong heart, spine is in the right shape and position, brain has no abnormalities, and there are no holes in the abdomen. It turns out that sometimes blood work just reveals higher levels of this protein and only 1/2% of those who have this elevated protein level actually go on to have babies with problems.

This has reminded us to continue to pray for our kids and that no matter what happens that God is still God and will give us what He feels is best. Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement this week!

Love,
Pat, Heather, Gabe and Zachary (yep, we found out it’s a boy!! He was proudly doing somersaults!!)

Heather’s testimony is a tale of faith and trust in God. I have been wanting to share the video of Janet Paschal’s conversation with Bill Gaither about her own health challenge — hers was with a cancer diagnosis — and her performance of the beautiful love-song to God, rejoicing in His sovereign care and the supportive love of friends like Gloria: “It Won’t Rain Always.”

Many people who pray, and singers who sing, and preachers who preach, concentrate on the “storms clouds passing,” and “it’s dark, but morning time’s coming!” Those things are true, as symbols and reflections of reality in the life of believers… but so is the line from this song about “dark clouds” — “the Sun that they’ve been hiding has been there all along.”

Have you ever gotten up before a trip… and it’s raining or snowing? You have a miserable ride to the airport, full of delays and dangerous traffic. The flight is delayed because of the rotten weather. The plane finally takes off into the black clouds… and then the blue sky and blinding sun meet you above the clouds.

It’s been there all along!

Click:  It Won’t Rain Always

Not much to write here this week, because the music we have chosen, and the message that both inspired and flows from it, are delivered beautifully by Sonya Issacs on the clip.

You might know the story of the horrible accident, and the faith of the man who suffered the loss of his family, behind this song.

To me there are several lessons. The role of faith… a faith that can only arise supernaturally by the Holy Ghost. How God can heal through the creativity of music and poetry – and be turned back to praise Him – what mystery! How healing can come from a determination to trust, and even praise, God when the world cries “despair.” Amazing.

In Mr Spafford’s case, these lessons he learned and taught have blessed uncountable millions of people. Yet that was not his intention. He was just having a conversation with God about his family who drowned right where “the sea billows rolled.” How profound this hymn is when we know the circumstances of its creation.

Is it well with your soul?

Click:  It Is Well With My Soul