Monday Morning Music Ministry

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

7-25-11

“Where sin abounds, grace abounds even more.”

The horrific events in Oslo this week are different from similar atrocities, perhaps in severity and maybe in scope, than others in the news. These bizarre acts of violence occur with more frequency, but are inevitable in a decaying world culture where Jesus is less welcome all the time.

No doubt the news media and the “world system” will cite the gunman’s claims to Christianity as proof of this or that – not his own imbalance, but (watch, here it comes) something inherently wrong with Christianity. If he indeed includes “Christian” as one of his secret identities, it reminds me of Abe Lincoln’s characterization of an opponent’s tortured use of phrasing, that a “chestnut horse” bears no resemblance to a “horse chestnut.”

Norway, like other Scandinavian countries, indeed much of Europe and now North America, recently makes the news for episodes of anti-Christian persecution. This year alone, a Norwegian evangelist was arrested for evangelizing Norwegians during Independence Day and Pride parades. The prominent preacher Petar Keseljevic was careful not to block traffic or obstruct pedestrians; but sharing the gospel, louder than a whisper, on street corners, is an offense.

Earlier this year, a refugee from North Ossetia was deported from Norway. The region will be remembered as the site where a school in Beslan was invaded by Islamic militants, and ultimately hundreds died in the systematic hostage shootings and the storming of the school. The young lady, known as Maria Amelie, is Eastern Orthodox and was in Norway without papers. Unlike many illegal Muslims, she was deported, despite having learned the language, pursued an education, and written a book. Illegally Norwegian was a best-seller, and last year a major news magazine named her Norwegian Woman of the Year.

So illegal immigration, citizens’ rights, and social tensions have been rising throughout Europe. Norway is a small country. Back when I was writing comics, I was told that some of the comic books where they appeared sold 250,000 copies in the Norwegian market, which did not overly impress me until I realized that the country’s population was about 4-million. A good percentage.

A bad percentage, however, is “religious adherence.” About 20 per cent of Norwegians claim that religious faith plays an important role in their lives – a lower ratio (with its neighbors Sweden, Denmark, and Estonia) than any countries in the world. Only about two percent of the population attends church regularly.

Yet a remarkable group of Norwegians has been countering those trends. They gather as the Oslo Gospel Choir. They sing their own songs and gospel songs of the American church. They look like a blonde Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. The leader, Tore Aas, assembled the singers from house churches and local fellowships about 20 years ago. The group performs locally, across Europe, and has been to America. They have released many albums and videos. Andrae Crouch and Albertina Walker have performed with the choir, and Princess Märtha Louise of Norway has sung solo with them on two Christmas albums.

Recent appearances in Switzerland and the Netherlands were before huge conclaves of Pentecostals, and were televised widely. Gospel? Huge? Tours? Sales? Audiences? Europe? Is there something new under the sun? – something stirring?

Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you. You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men. You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.

So Matthew 5:12-14 reminds us. And we should be reminded that Oslo, the city called Christiana a century ago, where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded, and identified with things like the Oslo Accords, is more than that bundle of associations; and cannot now be defined by the violent acts of a lone madman. It might be coming into the light; something new under the Midnight Sun. To a growing number of people around the world who are mightily blessed, Norway is becoming known as the home of that great Oslo Gospel Choir. Seeds can take root anywhere, even the rocky coasts of Norway.

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Here is a video of the Choir singing the classic God Will Make a Way in Oslo.

Click: God Will Make a Way

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

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

5-9-11

The Bible never intended that Mothers Day be so close to Easter, there having been no Hallmark Cards or ProFlowers 2000 years ago. But as long as Easter is not diminished, anything that reminds us all of the special role of mothers cannot be bad.

Easter even provides special connections for us to think about. So does Christmas, the birth of Jesus, the Son of Mary. But at Easter His closest friends denied Him… but His mother did not. The foot of the cross was mostly empty except for scoffers and Roman guards… and His mother. Even (in theology whose reasoning we hear but whose blinding love we cannot quite comprehend), for a few hours even God in Heaven forsook Jesus so that the wrath for sin could be transferred from us to Him… but His mother did not forsake him.

As a man I can only guess about the love and emotions that are present in the bonds that a mother feels toward the child she bears. I know how great “second best” is – the bond that exists between child beholding mother.

No such relationship is typical, and no mother is ordinary, so if I share a couple of things for a moment here, I do not claim to speak for anybody. In fact, I invite anybody to think upon how their relationships with their Moms were different, not similar. They have to be different, because every mom is special; and all moms are exceptional.

We hear about Soccer Moms. Mine I call a Fifties Mom. She grew up in the Depression, in a family that struggled. She married after the War. In the ‘50s our family moved to the suburbs. Cookie cutter? Sort of. Many times I have gotten together with people my age, and before long we talk like we are sociologists: “Dysfunctional.” Family tensions. Parents who smoked and drank and partied, sometimes too much. Couples who fell into the required stereotypes of the era.

All that was true in our house. Regrets, I’ve had a few… and caused a few. In other words, life happens. Did the moms who survived the Depression and never knew whether their fiancés would return home from war… did they indulge their children too much? The question is, for me, whether I would have done so too. But shame on me for the years I ragged on Mom for drinking and smoking (even, yes, shame on her for no longer being the Mom I knew when my kids were young, because of the drinking) – but shame on me for not sufficiently remembering so much else. We can all dig deep and come up with similar:

I was reared in church. Every “life question” I had, my father would generally say, “you’ll figure it out,” but my mother would generally try to explain it in terms of Jesus. Not always logical, but I got the point. When I get emotional singing hymns, I think it’s because my mother did. If I choke up when the flag passes by, it’s because she did. I remember, when we didn’t have enough dinner for seconds all around, she never took another helping for herself. When it snowed and I had a paper route, she drove me around house to house. She never failed to ask, when I was away at college, what church I was going to, and if we could read from the same devotional every night, even when she knew I had put the Bible aside for awhile.

These are not clichés, or empty Hallmark sentiments. They are a fraction of the woven emotional fabric between a Christian mother and son.

I’ll tell you how empty these memories are not. At the end of her life, Mom was placed in a Hospice program. Hospice is meant to make dying easier, not to heal you. She was in a hospital bed at home, insensible, about 60 pounds, displaying several of the “signs of impending death” that the brochure told us to watch for. A couple chips of ice is all she ingested for several days. Then one night – I was sleeping at the other end of the living room – she stirred and mumbled. Eventually, more. In the next few days she was praying, reciting Bible verses, and signing hymn choruses.

… all in her sleep, or coma state, or whatever it was. She grew strong. She lived another year. We had a great Thanksgiving dinner, where she ate solid food, talked and joked. She walked around the house, with a walker, but all for the Hospice workers to say, “This is one of those stories we can’t explain…” Best of all, my kids met their clean, sober, “real” grandmother after all.

Strangest (?) of all, by the way, for all the Sunday School lessons and church choirs and youth groups in her life… after she “recovered,” as I just recounted, she could not recite a fraction of the things she did when she was reaching out for that bonus year from a coma. Couldn’t do it. Didn’t know how she did.

The Bible talks about “hiding things in our heart.” We do that, or we allow the Holy Spirit to. If you are a mother and do so, there is no way that you are not planting things in your children’s hearts too at the same time.

“Fifties Moms.” Like in the old TV sitcoms. Well… we all kind of liked those old TV sitcoms, didn’t we? And we miss those days. Maybe the black-and-white culture wasn’t so bad.

All that “stuff,” those stereotypes about Dysfunctional Families? Maybe that was the “fruit” (not speaking biblically in this sense) that some family trees bore. But fruit drops from trees, and shrivels, and dies. Maybe we should look, on Mothers Day, not so much at the fruit, but at the seeds our Moms were so determined to plant.

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Here is a song about my Mom, whom I miss every day. When Cynthia Clawson sang it, she didn’t know she was singing about my mom, and maybe yours too, but she was:

Click: My Mother’s Faith

5-2-11

Since nothing about David Wilkerson’s life was normal (like the rest of us would mean “conventional” or “predictable”) it probably is appropriate that his death was not normal either. Enough people die every week from highway collisions with big tractor trailers, but this man spent years going into into drug hangouts and gang hideouts, and preached on street corners of violent neighborhoods, and had bodyguards as he established urban churches, and never was harmed. A car crash in rural Texas seems an ironic way to die.

David was shy of his 80th birthday when he was killed on April 27. It is possible that some Americans, even some Christians, have forgotten his name. If that is true, it is not just: his works have been branded on the American culture, all for the good. He was a founder of Teen Challenge, the youth counseling and substance-abuse recovery program that has an 80 per cent success rate versus scratch in secular programs. There are now almost 1200 Teen Challenge centers around the world. He wrote the book The Cross and the Switchblade, about his inner-city ministry among gangs. It was a best-seller, and the movie starring Pat Boone and Eric Estrada has gone on to be one of the most-watched motion pictures of all time. Nicky Cruz, the former gang leader at the center of the book, has established his own far-flung ministry, as have countless other people touched by David.

Not everyone, of course, whose lives were transformed through David’s service are Christian celebrities today. Most of them merely live cleaned-up, straightened-out, redeemed, and productive lives, if you can use the word “merely” about momentous changes in the lives of drunks, drug addicts, prostitutes, and everyday sinners like us all. David was a founder of Times Square Church, right in the center of Manhattan and “at the crossroads of the world.” And Times Square Church, with the Salvation Army, has hosted “Prayer in the Square” events –- 15,000+ people gathering annually in Times Square to sing, praise Jesus, and pray for city, nation, and world.

A remarkable life. I did not know David Wilkerson, but have a couple connections that led me to realize a spiritual lesson when I heard of his death. I once edited the autobiography of the widow of Hobart Grazier, professor and early leader of Valley Forge Christian College. She was the mother of a friend, and I was amused that the amateur writer’s manuscript made big deals of minor events, and treated more interesting matters casually. Like when Grazier, a Pennsylvania minister, took his family to Springfield MO, to his denomination’s headquarters. At the last minute a young local guy asked to ride along; after the trip he became involved in ministry. I read the passage, which contained no other information about the fellow other than his name, and I asked my friend, “Bev, is your mom writing about THAT David Wilkerson?”

She was. Now, God would have led David in some way, somehow, some time, to ministry, I suppose; but I was reminded of the verse in Ecclesiastes: “Time and chance happeneth to them all.” The New Living Translation has it: “It is all decided by chance, by being in the right place at the right time.”

A couple years later, my son and I attended a technology show in New York with a couple of friends and their sons on a Sunday afternoon. With the morning free, we wanted to worship at Times Square Church. Despite the fact that it is housed in a cavernous, elegant old Broadway theater (the former Mark Hellinger Theatre), it was filled to capacity. We were invited to check out the overflow-rooms with their TV screens. Also SRO, out into the hallways. Imagine -– a Pentecostal church in midtown Manhattan, this crowded. But in a back stairwell, we encountered David Wilkerson, on his way to open the service. One of my friends had never met him, but introduced himself. He was a graduate of Oral Roberts University, and his father, Michael Cardone, had endowed buildings there and at Evangel College in Springfield, the place where David had hitched a ride so many years earlier. In several minutes we had seats -– better than front-row seats, right behind the pulpit, facing the “house.”

I tell this story to remind readers that when you have no juice, choose your friends carefully. No, seriously, it is to explain the vantage-point we had: looking out over thousands of worshipers in the audience and in tier after tier of balconies. The service was as Pentecostal as you might expect at a small Southern church, or in the Upper Room in the Book of Acts. But the astonishing aspect I was privileged to see was the composition of the congregation. Kids in T-shirts and homeless people overdue for baths and shaves -– side-by-side with upscale society women and suburban men in expensive suits. Every age, every color, every accent. Serious in worship, ecstatic in prayer. All as one, as in the Upper Room, or, indeed, as Heaven will be. All under the inspiring preaching of David Wilkerson. “Hard preaching”: none of this “gentle message” to coax people in and afraid to give offense.

Times Square Church began, I think in 2007, to hold “Prayer in the Square” events. A video summary can be clicked on below. A similar video clip has gone viral, showing Muslims on their knees in prayer in uptown Manhattan, e-forwarded with the message that this is a weekly event that clogs traffic. But that, in fact, is an occasional celebration, not regular; with fewer participants -– in other words, the report is exaggerated. But how many of us have seen the annual Wilkerson prayer session in Times Square itself, 15,000-strong? TV, radio, newspapers, internet -– where are you?

This astonishing event is but one of the many, many ministries for which David Wilkerson was responsible. But he was also a prophet of God, an old-fashioned, Old-Testament prophet. Wikipedia lists some of the prophecies David made in his 1973 book The Vision.

Worldwide recession caused by economic confusion:

“An economic recession that’s going to affect the life style of every wage-earner in the world. The world economists are going to be at loss to explain what’s happening. It’s going to start in Europe, spread to Japan and finally to the United States.”

“There will be a move toward a worldwide, unified monetary system. The US dollar will be hit bad and it will take years for it to recover.”

Nature having labor pains:

“There will be major earthquakes… Floods, hurricanes and tornadoes will increase in frequency.”

“A new kind of cosmic storm appearing as a raging fire in the sky leaving a kind of vapor trail.”

A flood of filth and a baptism of dirt in America:

“Topless women will appear on television, followed by full nudity…. Sex and the occult will be mixed.”

“There will be an acceptance of homosexuality, and the church will even say that it is a God-given gift.”

A persecution madness against truly Spirit-filled Christians who love Jesus Christ:

“There will arise a world church consisting of a union between liberal ecumenical Protestants and the Roman Catholic Church, using Christ in name only.”

“There will be a hate-Christ movement.”

“Homosexual and lesbian ministers will be ordained and this will be heralded as a new breed of pioneer.”

“There will be a spiritual awakening behind the Iron and Bamboo Curtains.”

So, the legacy of David Wilkerson is not only countless lives that have been helped, but also countless lives that have been warned.

I titled this message after the parlor-game Six Degrees of Separation (how, with the right friends-of-friends, most of us can know anyone). Mrs Grazier and Mr Cardone gave me near-associations with David Wilkerson. Well, the day I heard about his death, I read a sports column about the New York Mets catcher Mike Nickeas: “He is teammates with Jason Isringhausen, who played with Bobby Bonilla, who played with Carlton Fisk, who played with Carl Yastrzemski, who played with Jackie Jensen, who played with Joe DiMaggio, who played with Lou Gehrig, who was Babe Ruth’s teammate.” Connections.

And I transferred the thought to David Wilkerson. Let’s see: David Wilkerson knew Jesus… And that’s it. He was an obedient servant, a doer of the Word and not a hearer only. He surely had a special anointing, but we all can know Jesus just as intimately. The Holy Spirit makes special endowments, but we may all seek, and receive, spiritual gifts. What do we do with them? That answer -– David Wilkerson’s example -– might be his greatest legacy.

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Click: David Wilkerson’s “Prayer in the Square”

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.

2-14-11

One of the only constant aspects of this old world is… Change. That is not irony; it is history. And it is not our dreaded fate; it is our lot to make of it what we will.

Two weeks ago we speculated, here, about the implausible, if not unthinkable – entrenched Arab leaders resigning and fleeing with their lives. But it has happened, and it might happen yet again. Hundreds of thousands of angry protestors, and their first act (after all-night jubilation on the streets)… was returning to Liberation Square in Cairo with brooms and garbage bags. Go figure. The predictable, in this new world, is the Unpredictable.

It is the case in America, too, down to the personal level. In a land of plenty, there is want; in the world’s most powerful economy, there is unemployment and insecurity. But the new security is not Insecurity – it does not have to be that way. And it is not a case merely of deciding to reclaim our personal destiny in the face of so many of life’s new challenges. It is a case of remembering that God is not only in control of our destiny – our careers, our families, our lives – but that He is our destiny. Our destination.

The singer Lynda Randle has pointed to the perils of accepting Jesus as Savior without making Him Lord. Two different things, each requiring a response from us. The first aspect affects our eternal destiny; the second can influence our everyday destiny, day by day, in this old world.

Mother Teresa put it another way: “God has not called us to be successful… He calls us to be obedient.”

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The songwriter Charles D Tillman popularized great Gospel songs like Old Time Religion, Life’s Railway to Heaven, and I Am a Poor, Wayfaring Stranger. Another of his classics is the song When I Get To the End of the Way, which beautifully reflects the message today. Its words are profound.

Here are the lyrics, after which you can click on a great version sung by Lynda Randle, sister of Michael Tait (of dcTalk and currently lead singer of The Newsboys).

When I Get To the End Of the Way

He loves me too well to forsake me,
Or give me a trial too much;
All His people have been dearly purchased,
And Satan can never claim such.
By and by I shall see Him and praise Him,
In the city of unending day;
And the toils of the road will seem nothing,
When I get to the end of the way.

Click: When I Get To the End Of the Way

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.
.

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

1-10-11

That we live in a “throwaway culture” is a cliché. Clichés usually become clichés because they are true. In the 1950s a big topic of discussion in America was  the business concept of Planned Obsolescence – the manufacture of things just shoddy enough so that consumers would get a Buzz from the Bling of the New, until those things fell apart. Next, advertisers helped convince people that replacing those obsolete things was better than fixing them.

The slippery slope was greased. The American culture has moved to Disposable Everything. From appliances needing repair to clothes that need mending, fixing is not just out of fashion, but practically disreputable. Near the bottom of the cultural slide, inevitably, are disposable marriages and disposable kids. Then, abortions, “mercy killings,” and, yes, government-sponsored “death-panel” counseling. Another manifestation is revolving theology – “moral relativism,” a pick-and-choose set of standards that represents Open-Mindedness; that is, minds so open that peoples’ brains fall out.

But some things are right anyway, true anyway, worth it… anyway.

A major denomination whose membership rolls have been shrinking in recent decades (coincident with its Disposable Theology, more and more and more liberal on doctrine) is running a TV commercial campaign, imploring people, “Visit us; you’ll like us.” I suppose they hold nice pot-luck dinners, but for a church to twist its message to be something people “like” to hear, is to bring Planned Obsolescence to religion. Jesus did not go the cross for telling people what they wanted to hear.

He was condemned to the cross because He said things people NEEDED to hear.

Dedicated Christians are swimming upstream these days – to state the situation mildly. We tell the old, old story… and are met by firestorms of opposition from the culture, from the entertainment world, from the music industry, from radio and TV, from Hollywood, from the mainstream media, from the courts, from politicians and bureaucrats… and, too often, from apostate churches.

How do we respond? If we hate compromise on every side, the first thing we should avoid doing is to… compromise.

This week, amateur divers found the wreckage of the USS Revenge. The ship, commanded by Oliver Hazard Perry, was lost in a storm 200 years ago off the coast of Providence. Two years later, in a naval victory on Lake Erie, he uttered the famous words, “We have met the enemy and they are ours!” The motto on his battle flag became, “Don’t Give Up the Ship,” still the U S Navy’s motto.

America needs citizens who say, “Don’t give up the ship,” and Christian Patriots must be in the front of the lines. It can be discouraging to lose battles and see our culture slip away – our heritage rudely transformed – but we must fight anyway.

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love Him. — James 1:12

We might lose some battles, but we fight anyway. We might lose some goals, but we dream anyway. We might lose some allies, but we pray for them anyway. We might lose some denominations, but not the Word of God.

These things might be tough to put into practice, but they are essential to remember. That’s why stirring words and music, a good anthem, is needed today… and here is a nomination. Martina McBride’s classic song is a grassroots battle-hymn, perfect for this moment of crisis in our culture wars.

Click:  I Do It Anyway

1-3-11

The recent lunar eclipse is the last the northern hemisphere will see for a number of years. Its coincidence with the Winter solstice was the first in three centuries. Our New Year’s Day, 1-1-11, is the last such group of numbers until… oh, you get it.

If you think hard enough, EVERY day is the last of this or the first of that.

As Christians, we should see life that way. Every regret or painful memory, for instance, can be filed under “past” because we have forgiveness and a new life offered by Jesus. And no matter what else is going on, TODAY can be the start of amazing things you can do, and God can do through you.

There is a traditional Irish blessing (set to music and beautiful photographs in the link below) that is both appropriate for any day, between friends, as we are; and to think upon this New Year.

It set me thinking about Ireland’s role in Christian history. At one point, in Europe, Rome fell to barbarians, sacked and pillaged. The trappings of “civilization” and Christianity were put to flight. To a great extent, learning and biblical spirituality were pushed westward, until the Atlantic Ocean became a watery end-of-the-road. In Ireland, in isolated monasteries and abbeys, the Bible was copied by hand; faith was kept alive; Christian traditions were nurtured. There were pockets of believers elsewhere, of course, but largely it was a persecuted church. It was the “Dark Ages,” but things were not so dark in those places where the flame of faith was kept glowing.

I have a feeling that the decade we enter this weekend will be characterized as a decade of Christian persecution. It won’t be the last, but there is no reason to think that the attacks on believers we see in the news (and many we don’t), weekly and now daily around the world, will not grow in intensity or ferocity. These happen in Pakistan, North Korea, China, Iraq, Egypt, Russia, Cuba, India… and Western Europe and Canada and the United States.

Erosion of religious liberty, mockery of our Christian heritage, “legal” restrictions on the exercise of our faith and sharing our beliefs – classifying portions of the Bible as “hate speech” is only one of countless examples – confirm that no place in the world is safe from attack. Just as The Son of Man, we believers will have “no place to lay our heads,” spiritually speaking.

When the Irish “saved civilization” and preserved Western Christianity for a season, it was the geographical firewall. Today, in the global community with new media, each one of us – individuals who have received the Great Commission from Jesus Himself – will need to be virtual monasteries unto ourselves: Holding the Word close; keeping the flame of faith alive; nurturing Christian tradition.

I wish you not a path devoid of clouds, nor a life on a bed of roses,
Not that you might never need regret,
nor that you should never feel pain.

No, that is not my wish for you.
My wish for you is:

That you might be brave in times of trial,
when others lay crosses upon your shoulders.
When mountains must be climbed and chasms are to be crossed,
When hope can scarce shine through.
That every gift God gave you might grow with you
and let you give your gift of joy to all who care for you.
That you may always have a Friend who is worth that name,
whom you can trust and who helps you in times of sadness,
Who will defy the storms of daily life at your side.

One more wish I have for you:
That in every hour of joy and pain you may feel God close to you.
This is my wish for you and for all who care for you.
This is my hope for you now and forever.

— anonymous Irish blessing

Click:  The Best Possible New Year’s Wish

The nation – check that: the world – has come through a tough year. Economics; conflicts; persecution including increasing prejudice in the US and deadly attacks on Christians abroad; moral and social decay… well, we survived, but it has been a rough track.

And whether we do something to make the next year better, for ourselves, our nation, and our world, depends, as always, on what we do. The solutions again still spread before us: rededication to God’s Word; working for revival in our nation; a defense and loving propagation of the Gospel to the world.

Can we do it alone? Yes, if we have to. But we don’t have to! Just like New Year’s Eve parties – whether you juggle many invitations, or have received none – we can are assured of being with our Best Friend.

“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” has always been one of my favorite hymns. It speaks not only of profound comfort and insurance against loneliness, but its worlds reminds us what our Friend Jesus OFFERS – taking burdens, being faithful, hearing our prayers, offering strength when we are weak.

Doc Watson, the iconic singer and guitar player, was born in North Carolina almost 90 years ago. He was blinded by an infection when a year old. He got caught up (my characterization) in the folk-song movement, and appeared in coffee houses and folk-music festivals. His son Merle, also a talented guitar player, tragically was killed in a tractor accident some years ago, and Doc considered giving up music. He had a vision, however – remember, he is blind – encouraging him to perform for a purpose. Doc hewed closer to his Carolina roots, including the faith of his people.

Near the end of a concert earlier this year, reported Betty Dotson-Lewis in the Daily Yonder, “Doc told the audience that he wanted to give testimony and hoped that no one would mind. He said that he was a born-again Christian. He said he had been baptized when he was 14 years old but that it was the wrong kind of religion. He had listened to the wrong preaching and was baptized out of fear. He told us that four years ago he was listening to the song Doctor Jesus sung by Randy Travis, and when the chorus came around the third time –

Doctor Jesus, Will you help me?


Make me better, make me whole.

Doctor Jesus, Lord, I need you


To mend my heart, and save my soul.

– Doc Watson said that he prayed the prayer and became a born-again Christian.” Note, at the end of this song, the wrenching emotion that overtakes the grateful child of God. Blind eyes “see,” and cry, with conviction.

In his mid-80s, Doc Watson discovered that you can know ABOUT something, or some One, but not KNOW. A lot of us, over the past year, have known about the offerings of a loving God, and solutions for our problems, but have not always taken them up unto ourselves.

Well, we have a Friend with us who will help us carry on; will lift burdens that impede us; and will share our sorrows, should they come. Just knowing this can make the coming year very different for a lot of people.

What a way to end the year and begin a new one! What a friend!

Click: What a Friend We Have in Jesus

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.

This week, the whole world watched the rescue of the miners in Chile, and the whole world was inspired — it could not be otherwise.

I watched through the night; many of us did. Being an old guy, a portion of my amazement was the technology improvised for their rescue, but more, the fact the cameras could broadcast from half a mile under rock; and then, I could watch it in real time 6000 miles away. (Frankly, I was amazed that I could make my TV-remote work that evening, but that’s me)

We have heard a lot about the miners, and will hear a lot more as interviews, books, and movies will surely follow. But I share with you a few random impressions I had:

* 33 miners, 69 days… I am not into Bible codes and biblical numerology, but occasionally God DOES leave spiritual reminders in worldly events (three is the Biblical sign of godly perfection — the Trinity; three days before the Resurrection; etc) to remind us of His workings. That said…

* The miners were resourceful, strong, and organized… but also, it seems almost a man, spiritual. Reportedly half were Catholic and half evangelical or Pentecostal. The Vatican sent missals and Rosaries down the first shaft, when opened; and a Baptist church sent Bibles and hymn books. (Evangelicalism is sweeping the continent. There are more Pentecostals than Catholics, for instance, in neighboring Brazil.) There were frequent services and constant prayers underground.

* Through the night President Sebastian Pinera was seen praying quietly on a bench, not showing off but with head bowed, crossing himself afterward. The first rescuer who descended in the capsule said a prayer and crossed himself before the door was closed.

* Many miners used their first words above ground to thank God. Some fells to their knees immediately — were they collapsing? No, they were in prayer; some held their little Bibles high.

* Several miners donned T-shirts when they were unhooked from the capsule. Family members, too, had been wearing them. On the front they said, “Gracias Senor” — Thank you, Lord. And on the backs was a Bible verse: “To Him be the glory and honor. Because in His hands are the depths of the earth; and the heights of the mountains are His” (Psalm 95:4)

* At least one miner received Christ during the ordeal, and — regarding that number “3” — one miner said that there were really 34 in the mine, because he felt that Jesus was always with them.

* Finally, I remember that one miner said something along these lines: “We faced God down there… and we faced the devil. God won. We reached out and held His hand.”

Holding to God’s unchanging hand… do you know the simple but powerful song with that title? It seems almost written FOR this event we witnessed! Franklin L Eiland, composer of many great hymns, wrote this about 100 years ago (He was grandfather of Cindy Walker, the first female songwriters elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame).

This version is sung by Lindell Cooley, who was Worship Leader at the Brownsville Revival in Pensecola when I went there a couple times a dozen years ago. Today he is pastor of Grace Church in Nashville. Powerful performance, and relevant to the miracles of faith we just witnessed.

Click:  Hold to God’s Unchanging Hand

Have a great week holdin’ on…

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)

Good Morning! Good Morning? Some folks these days would not jump to characterize this day, or this week, or “these times,” as “good.” Just about everybody has been affected by the awful economy or the government’s responses that seemingly work to make Bad things Worse.

Several friends have declared bankruptcy; another friend desperately is finding no buyers for her house; my daughter sold hers after three years of lowering the price, drip by drip. The government tells us that the recession ended in June, and I am reminded of a high school teacher who once told me, “statistics don’t lie… but statisticians do.”

Houses underwater — fiscally or literally — or jobs or investments or retirement accounts: things look bleak, and the horizon seems bleaker. God tells us to keep our eyes on things to come; we do count our many blessing, and we try to keep things in perspective. We do so — Christians must!

There was a time about 30 years ago I was in despair, experiencing these types of crises. I knew the Bible verse, “Be anxious for nothing…” but I was anxious about EVERYTHING.

And then God did something interesting. Another verse I knew was Jesus’s reassurance that not a sparrow falls to the ground without our Father’s knowledge; and that we are more precious than sparrows in His sight. But surely I was not feeling it… not really knowing it.

One day in my deepest distress, my morning devotional reading was based on that passage. Sparrows. Later that day, a preacher on Christian radio (background noise till that moment) addressed that parable. Sparrows. That evening, on the car radio, a station played the gospel song, “His Eye Is On the Sparrow.”

OK, the first point is that I got the point. And it encouraged me mightily. But the other point has never left me: God doesn’t just speak to us through His word — sometimes He repeats His message in various ways, over and over, even shouting to us, until we get it!

Oh, Lord, open our ears!

Here is a beautiful version of that comforting old hymn, sung by the wonderful singer of spirituals, Ethel Waters, from am old black-and-white movie. She asks, “Why should I be discouraged…?”

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows!” Matt. 10: 29-31

Click:  His Eye Is On the Sparrow

I once heard a prominent preacher in the “emergent church” trash one of my favorite old gospel songs, “I’ll Fly Away.”

“If I could, I would rip that song out of every hymn-book,” he said. He considered it irresponsible and against Christ’s teachings to want to leave this world, when there is so much to do here. So much poverty and injustice to fight… and so on.

That type of analysis is one reason I wish the emergents would become the submergents. Christ admonished us to look up, and wait expectantly for that day. Bible prophecy tells us of no sweeter promise than when we shall meet Him in the air. Yes, God has tasks for us here in this world, but it can be arrogant, not just irresponsible, to suggest that God cannot do things without us. And… there is a danger in putting too must trust in doctrines of works.

The whole Gospel must hold. Comfortable suburban (faddish) teachers who cannot relate to worshipers whose lives have been hard and challenging, those who hope for the Bible’s promised release, those who find comfort — and even perseverance — in songs like “I’ll Fly Away”… pity those teachers, or ignore them. They preach to each other.

Fasten your seat belts, because I’m going to share a very unorthodox (in some neighborhoods, anyway) version of “I’ll Fly Away.” Two decades ago I was writing a three-part biography of rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis, televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, and country singer Mickey Gilley. They are all first cousins, and grew up in Ferriday, Louisiana, attending the same little Assembly of God church.

I learned that for a brief time, Jerry Lee had attended Bible College, in Waxahatchie, Texas. I interviewed a fellow student, Charles Wigley (later a district superintendent of the Assemblies of God) who told me that a few students used to get together and play gospel music… and got in trouble for “juking it up.” Of course Jerry also got invited to leave the school because he used to sneak out at night and go to the Deep Elm section of Houston…

Be that as it may, the jazzed-up style of rock and country and the fervent evangelistic piano playing in Pentecostal churches sometimes straddled an indistinct line. Here is a video of Jerry Lee Lewis and his cousin Mickey Gilley performing “I’ll Fly Away” in what you might consider another installment in our “Doing Church Another Way” series! (Definitely NOT Baroque music)

This is how old it is: it was recorded, I think, the day after Reagan was elected president in 1980 (Jerry Lee throws in a reference to that fact)

To close the circle, see if you think worshipers in a little country church would have felt irresponsible about their faith after joining in with this song. Would you rip this out of a songbook?

Click:  I’ll Fly Away 

Years ago, when my wife had her heart and kidney transplants, the Lord used the circumstance to give our whole family a burden for others in the Heart Failure Unit at Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia. He also graced us with a boldness to pray with those patients who waited… or who received the medical miracles… or whose transplants went awry… or their families in those situations, or, sometimes, times of grief.

There were questions, always questions, and we were laymen with few answers. We often were asked by pastors, even, how we managed to deal with peoples’ confusion and fear and doubt and sorrow and terror and loneliness. Well, it was the same as we dealt with faith and hope and conversions and even healing. It wasn’t us, it was Jesus — all we could do was share Jesus. (“All”? Yes, it was everything we could do).

We frequently sang a gospel song that became many patients’ favorite: Leave It There. Its words include:

If your body suffers pain and your health you can’t regain, And your soul is almost sinking in despair,
Jesus knows the pain you feel, He can save and He can heal; Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

Leave it there, leave it there, Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

After a time I learned the amazing coincidence (?) that the gospel song had been written only a few blocks from Temple University Hospital, where we met for those services! C A Tindley, the son of a slave, educated himself, moved north to Philadelphia, secured a job as janitor of a church… and eventually became its pastor. His large mixed-race flock of 10,000 enjoyed his powerful preaching and his moving hymns for years. (One of his hymns, I’ll Overcome Someday, was transformed with different words and tempo into the Civil Rights anthem We Shall Overcome.) Tindley Temple United Methodist Church was his “home,” and today there is a C A Tindley Boulevard in Philadelphia.

So every time we sang that song in the Heart Failure Unit, we did honor to a man in whose neighborhood we sang, who taught untold multitudes (and still does, through such songs) that we should “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God”… and leave them there at the foot of the cross.

By the way, another coincidence: this Gaither Homecoming video by Lillie Knauls and Babbie Mason is my favorite version. After my father died, in Florida, my sisters and I did not know what to do with furniture, kitchen appliances, household goods, and such, a thousand miles away from where we each lived. I called my pastor, whose sister, I knew, worked in a church nearby in central Florida. Could they find a needy family, perhaps, who could use these things? A few days later I received a phone call from another lady in that church who said she could indeed direct a couple families to the goods, and took down the information. Her name had rung a bell in my head but I thought, “no, it couldn’t be…” But it was. Lillie Knauls! A professional gospel singer, but also on the staff of that church. I was indeed happy to return blessings I had received from her through this performance…

But through it all, the simple message: through all of life’s challenges: don’t fret. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

Click:   Leave It There

It comes to our in-boxes with increased frequency: “So-and-so wants to be your friend” on Facebook or some other “social networking” site.

Many of these requests come from friends-of-friends-of-friends… or people we have never met.

Here we are in a society where acquaintances call themselves friends… where strangers want you to officially declare them friends… all without words spoken, hands shaken, or smiles exchanged.

We have forgotten the essence of friendship, but thirst for the qualities it represents.

Jesus told us what true friendship is all about. And He not only defined it, but lived it — embodied it. “No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.” Greater love had no man than He had for us, laying down His life for… His friends.

I have felt guilty lately that my communications with friends have been sporadic. Nothing is so important in life that we should neglect out friends. When we’re too busy for that… we are TOO BUSY.

Today my new grandson, Zachary Alpheus Shaw, was baptized. The church service, hymns, and homily, reminded us all that Jesus is Zach’s friend, and all of ours. Today I also received a heartfelt report from a dear friend, Becky Spencer, who just returned from Africa, where she spent nine days in Mozambique, working alongside Israel Jovo and the Rhandzanani Christian School. Israel takes the Gospel to villages in the bush where they have no other preacher, and he trains other preachers/pastors and their wives. He has a case of recurring malaria, can’t so much as lift his legs, has a high fever, and is in horrible pain. He needs to get to South Africa where trained treatment awaits; he needs healing. Becky reports a downhill spiral just since she was there a few days ago saying her goodbyes.

Baby Zach in his innocence has a Friend; Israel Jovo in his distress needs a Friend. Yet the opposite locution is just as true: little Zach needs a Friend like Jesus — we all do — and the suffering servant Israel Jovo in Mozambique has a Friend indeed.

And the extent to which Christians are friends to each other directly relates to the “amount” of Jesus we invite into our hearts… and share.

Have a good week, friends! [update: Israel Jovo, in Mozambique, has been healed!]

Click:  Friends

How often have we heard the story of the shepherd leaving the 99 sheep to search for the lost one; or the Prodigal Son welcomed by the father with a great feast… and wondered, in our hearts, what it must have felt like among the 99 sheep, or how the faithful son felt: Hey, what about us? Haven’t we been faithful and good all this time? Is this the reward of obedience, of doing good?

The truth is, of course, that Jesus wants us to see the complete story through the eyes of the lost ones, and the sinner. Because that is who we are. If truth be told, those 99 sheep and that faithful older brother in the parables were only “safe” and “good” at those moments. There, but for the grace of God, they too would have strayed or been prodigal.

But the best parts of the parables are what happens when the lost sheep, and the prodigal son (read: you and me!) are found! Feasts, rejoicing, and the JOY of Heaven awaits!

“I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7).

Christian music should be joyful, and here is a gospel song by Vep Ellis that mirrors the joy awaiting us in Heaven. Performed joyfully by the Vocal Band and Signature Sound at a concert in Louisville. Comedy (and some musical instruction) beforehand… words of hope… and a joyful noise unto the Lord!

Heaven’s Joy Awaits

When we leave this lowland, We will cross the Jordan;

Past the chilly torrent, Heaven’s joy awaits!

Just beyond the blue horizon, Just above the starry sky, starry blue sky.

Far above this land of sorrow, Way above each tear and sigh, every sigh.

Just a few more miles before us, Just a little while to wait, patiently wait.

Soon we’ll sing redemption’s chorus, Heaven’s joy awaits, Heaven awaits.

Heaven’s breeze is blowing, Gently to me calling.

I will soon be going, Through the pearly gates!

Just beyond the blue horizon, Just above the starry sky, starry blue sky.

Far above this land of sorrow, Way above each tear and sigh, every sigh.

Just a few more miles before us, Just a little while to wait, patiently wait.

Soon we’ll sing redemption’s chorus, Heaven’s joy awaits, Heaven awaits.

Click:   Heaven’s Joy Awaits

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

Christmas week approaches, and many of try to brush off news stories that Jesus was born in April or November, according to studies; and we also try to cut through the crowded shops and the gift-sale e-mails… hoping that, by focusing on the simple truths and modest imagery of Jesus’s birth, we can connect with the profundity of the Incarnation — God living amongst us. Coming first as a helpless baby.

Two thousand years later, Hallmark has us thinking that to be born in a manger was some sort of Green bonus, the happy family surrounded by squeaky-clean animal friends and shiny angels. More the truth was that the stable was a step up from a dung-heap. Swaddling clothes were essential, else the baby would have been delivered and lain on musty straw, animal spittle, and bugs.

Think of it: Jesus came into this world rejected and despised, and that is how, as a man, He left it.

Isaiah knew it would happen this way. Eight hundred years earlier, the prophet wrote:

“Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid, as it were, our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”

The rest of Chapter 53, of course, foretells the Easter story. But I think it is significant, too (otherwise God would not have ordered its occurrence and recording) that we remember the challenges to Joseph, the abuse Mary endured, the difficulties of Jesus’s birth… and His entire life. “Despised and rejected of men.”

Yet this “undesirable” was also THE JOY OF MANKIND’S DESIRING. As sinners today, we still esteem Him not sometimes… yet we desire Him, our souls are only complete when He lives within us!

Here is a performance of that ethereally beautiful movement from Bach’s Cantata Number 147, “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” It is sung by the group Celtic Women, in an arrangement that is both touching and revealing of how adaptable Bach’s music is. Here are the words the ensemble sings:

Jesu, joy of man’s desiring,

Holy wisdom, love most bright.

Drawn by Thee, our souls? aspiring,

Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned

With the fire of life impassioned,

Striving still to Truth unknown,

Soaring, dying, ’round Thy throne.

Click: Jesus, Joy of Man’s Desiring

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

A bit of a personal story, prompted by the video to Click, below.

A number of years ago I was working on a book, a three-part biography of rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis; evangelist Jimmy Swaggart; and country-music superstar Mickey Gilley, all first cousins to each other. A friend offered me his unused condo in Montgomery, Texas to get away for research and writing one summer. Since Lewis lived in Mississippi, Swaggart in Louisiana, and Gilley in nearby Pasadena TX, it made geographical sense.

Once settled, I took out the Yellow Pages to chart the location of Assembly of God churches for all the weeks ahead, intent on visiting as many as I could. East Texas was in every way new to me, and I wanted to experience everything I could.

Well, the first one I visited was in Cut and Shoot, Texas. That’s a town’s name; you can look it up. A small, white frame AG church was my first stop that summer… and I never visited another. For one thing — coincidence? — I learned that a member of the tiny congregation was the widow of a man who had pastored the AG church in Ferriday, Louisiana, the small town FOUR HOURS AWAY where, and when, those three cousins grew up in its pews. She knew them all, and their families, and had great stories. Beyond that, the pastor of the church in Cut and Shoot, Charles Wigley, had gone to Bible College with Jerry Lee Lewis and played in a band with him, until Jerry Lee got kicked out. Some more great stories.

But there was more than that kept me there for that summer. In that white-frame church and that tiny congregation, it was, um, obvious in three minutes that I was not from East Texas. Yet I was treated like family as if they had known me three decades. It was the Sunday before July 4th, and a fellow named Dave Gilbert asked me if I’d like to go to his farm for the Fourth where a bunch of people were just going to get together and “do some visitin’.”

On the Fourth I bought the biggest watermelon I could find as my contribution to the pot-luck. Well, there were dozens and dozens of folks. I couldn’t tell which was family and who were friends, because everybody acted like family. When folks from East Texas ask, “How are you?” they really mean it. There were several monstrous barbecue smokers with chimneys, all slow-cooking beef brisket. (Every region brags about its barbecue traditions, but I’ll still fight anyone who doesn’t claim low-heat, slow-smoked, no sauce, East-Texas BBQ the best) There was visitin,’ after all; there were delicious side dishes; there was softball and volleyball and kids dirt-biking; and breaks for sweet tea and spontaneous singing of patriotic songs.

I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, “This is America.”

As the sun set, the same food came out again — smoked brisket galore; all the side dishes; and desserts of all sorts. Better than the first time. Then the Gilberts cleared the porch of their house. People brought instruments out of their cars and trucks. Folks tuned their guitars; some microphones and amps were set up; chairs and blankets dotted the lawn. Dave Gilbert and his brothers, I learned, sang gospel music semi-professionally in the area. Pastor Wigley, later in the summer, opened for Gold City Quartet at a local concert, playing gospel music on the saxophone. But everyone else sang, too; of course in some churches, in some parts of America, you’re just expected to sing solo every once in a while. You’re not expected to — you want to. So into the evening, as the sun went down and the moon came up over those farms and fields, everyone at that picnic sang, together or solo or in duets or quartets. Spontaneously, mostly. Far into the night, exuberantly with smiles, or heartfelt with tears, singing unto the Lord.

I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, “This is Heaven.”

(By the way, not only am I not from East Texas, although it is sort like home now; but I was born in New York City, so you might appreciate just how different, and not merely special, that day was for me.)

Here is a video that very closely captures the music, and the feeling — the fellowship — of that evening. A wooden ranch house, a barbecue picnic just ended, a campfire, and singers spontaneously worshiping, joining in, clapping, and “taking choruses.” There were cameras at this Gaither get-together, but it took this city boy back to that Fourth of JU-lye, finding himself amongst a brand-new family, the greatest barbecue I ever tasted before or since… and the sweetest songs I know.

Click:  The Sweetest Song I Know

Here is a tale about a not-so-happy Saturday I just endured… that got me thinking about current events as microcosms of larger issues in life.

I stupidly opened a blind link from a bogus e-mail address (“cloned” to be similar to that of a friend). Well, dozens of pop-ups popped up. I lost access to all my filters and cleansing software, my internet connection, even my Word files, proposals, unfinished manuscripts, research notes… and I went of my mind.

I pulled out the laptop and Googled everything I could. The pop-ups were phony ads trying to save me from viruses, but was itself a virus. “RansomWare,” it is called, because I was frozen unless I would purchase the program (and even at that, who knows?).

Frantic, I checked in with my new son-in-law in Ireland, a computer wiz. He has a Mac, so (all together now) “never has to deal with such things.” But he Googled too, and checked blogs of other victims, and on the phone and Skype simultaneously, we found a solution that worked. I am now free and clean. Six hours total of angst, three and a half solid hours on the phone with Ireland.

When I recovered, I got to thinking…

It shows how little — that is, not at all — human nature has progressed. People who cause these problems, whether for a little profit or pure malice, are no different than highwaymen hiding behind trees along forest pathways a thousand years ago, or urban pickpockets of Dickens’ time.

It’s the same thing with, say, abortion. Forty million dead babies today since Roe vs Wade — how is this different than “human sacrifice” or babies on pagan altars, in ancient or “primitive” societies? In fact, it might be worse today, in terms of the blackness of our souls. In ancient and primitive societies those people were mistaken, grievously, but at least believed they were serving and appeasing their gods. A murdered baby is still a murdered baby, but in American today, abortion (and so many other sins) are sacrificed to the “gods” of selfishness, greed, laziness, hatred. That’s not progress.

Is there a spiritual lesson? Yes. Human nature has not changed. Human nature won’t change. Human nature can’t change. One of the 700-billion reasons to resent politicians’ assault on freedom and responsibility these days, is that they nurture the lie that human nature is perfectible… and that government can bring perfection about.

Only Jesus can change humans’ nature. And do we despair that the world, without Jesus, is as rotten as it ever was? No… because we are not without Jesus. That’s the plan.

Sometimes this walk seems so dreary, life’s problems seem so challenging. God never said He’d keep us from troubles… just be with us through troubles. A friend wrote the other day, “Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain”!

So, we go through this ol’ life, in the words of this week’s song, “While I’m here I’ll serve Him gladly, and sing Him all my songs”…

… because we know at the end, we’re headed  Home, Where I Belong

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

I’m not sure I’ve ever known a time when so many people — so many Christian friends — are distressed, hurting, facing challenges, as right now.

Of course it’s the economy. Of course there are political crises. Of course when a culture loses its moorings, the ship is going to be tossed around. And the people in it will be buffeted.

The Bible not only warns about such travail… it assures us its part of the package: raining on the just and unjust; but also that the faithful will experience persecution.

Yet we are not without a Friend, and surely not without hope. A new precious friend, Becky Spencer, has a CD out with a wonderful song of hers, “The Coldest Winter (Always Turns to Spring),” and it got me thinking… spring always follows winter; life replaces death, the sun always shines after the storm. And isn’t the most beautiful Spring the one that follows the hardest Winter? and the most amazing sunny day the kind right after an awful storm has swept through?

There is hope, and even in hard times (not SPARED from hard times, but THROUGH hard times) God’s promises are true. This song sung by Cynthia Clawson reminds us, even further, that even when the storm is at its worst, behind the clouds the Sun is still shining!

Click:  It Won’t Rain Always