...music just works

So has the church, in liturgy and song,

in faith and love, through centuries of wrong,

borne witness to the truth in every tongue:

Alleluia!

---Fred Pratt Green, 1972

I will admit it…I’m partial. I believe that the most enduring, penetrating, impacting method of teaching any truth is music. Sit through a PTA meeting where the third graders sing a rousing rendition of the fifty states and capitals. Listen while your child learns the multiplication tables to the beat of an uptempo rap. For sealing in the memory, music…just…works.

Southern trees bear strange fruit. The answer is blowin’ in the wind. Brother, brother, there’s far too many of you dyin’. Imagine all the people. Fight the power. Stop, hey, what’s that sound? The revolution will be live. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot. I’m everyday people. People get ready, there’s a train a-comin’. I am woman, hear me roar. We are the world. We gon’ be alright. That’s just the way it is. And I’ll rise up, I’ll rise like the day. This is my fight song. We shall overcome. For gathering around a common cause, and rallying when your flame burns low, music…just…works.

In the history of the church, music has always played a prominent part of worship and transmitting theology. The apostle Paul quotes a first century hymn in his letter to the Philippian church. Believers have always sung the songs of faith, and so participated in the liturgy, or work of the church. I often say that most of us keep in our memories some  Scripture, but many hymns and songs of faith. If we are retaining most of our theology through hymns and spiritual songs, we would be wise to make sure the songs we sing in worship include the great truths of the faith. For strengthening our faith, and the bonds of community, music…just…works.

Jesus spent his last night with his disciples weaving a web of music around their hearts, sealing in their memories the image of a singing Savior. Thanks be to a God Who sings.

...while supplies last

God pours the Holy Spirit on all those who believe,

on women, men, and children who would God’s grace receive.

That Spirit knows no limit, bestowing life and power.

The church, formed and reforming, responds in every hour.

---Jane Parker Huber, 1981

*while supplies last. Surely these words were designed to strike fear in the hearts of every red-blooded human on the face of the earth. If you might run out of something, I need one. Who am I kidding?...I probably need two. And if there is a countdown clock in the corner of the QVC screen or the Instagram ad (check your generation), those beads of sweat, and a sudden desire for previously unknown (but now totally life-giving) goods pop out all over.

Is there a better marketing principle discovered than the principle of scarcity? It stands to reason that if something is in short supply, only the real winners will end up possessing it. The rest of us? The waited-too-late, didn’t-pay-attention, stayed-in-on-Black-Friday, don’t-queue-up-for-Ticketmaster-at-midnight, wasn’t-tuned-in-to-the-faint-ache-of-longing-that-was-emptiness ones? Oh, yeah…the losers? Well, we’re gonna lose. That’s the way of the world, baby. Winners and losers—get used to it.

But on Pentecost, the rules go out the window. It’s not that winners and losers switch places, though Jesus used to talk about that scenario sometimes. No, at Pentecost, the only loser is the principle of scarcity. Here in this gathering of believers, inquisitive onlookers, and straight-up gawkers, the Spirit breathed a new sort of energy on God’s love story. And for once, it seemed, there were no losers, and there was no FOMO (fear of missing out). This Spirit was like the wind, or fire, and didn’t have to be measured or conserved. There was plenty for everyone, and more.

Still is. Still is.

...making it to Monday

Mother's Day. It can't have snuck up on you, or me. The sweet, tear-jerking commercials; the handmade cards smelling of Elmer's glue and crayon; the preschool 'teas' and musical programs with dress-up clothes and tissue-paper and pipe-cleaner flowers; the bouquets in every store, and cards that never quite say what you intend, but fit the envelope just fine.

While for lots of us Mother's Day is a lovely time of sharing with our own children, or celebrating the love of our mothers for us, for some folks this day is among the toughest on the calendar. While others celebrate, these seek out solitude and separation, counting down the hours to sundown.

Some of these may be children of mothers who were never 'moms' --- those who would not, or could not, love their children; those who withheld human kindness or approval from children starving for it; those who abused the trust placed in them as mothers by hurting their children. How lonely it must be, to try being sold on the idea of a Mother's Day for a mother who wants nothing more from you than your absence.

Then there are women who mourn for children who are not. Women who carried life in them, only to grieve a too-early goodbye, never getting to celebrate birthdays, 'first days', Christmases with children hoped-for and dreamt. Women who struggle with fertility, hope with each turn of the calendar page that this might be the month. Women left with holes in lives and hearts when illness, accident, violence walk in the door and beloved children no longer do. Sometimes Mother's Day means getting through the day.

Then there are the ongoing struggles of motherhood that can complicate the feelings around general 'happiness'. Mothers who wait for their children's busy lives to settle down enough to include them. Mothers who find themselves lifelong advocates for their children in a variety of settings. Mothers who find themselves navigating with their children the deep waters of the health care system or the mental health system; mothers who become over-familiar with the tangled web of the juvenile justice system, or consistently stand in the gap in the halls and classrooms of school systems designed around the 'typical' student. Sometimes putting one foot in front of the other takes precedence over a Hallmark-driven remembrance.

For some of these folks, they hold onto what they can. When it comes to Mother's Day, they are just making it to Monday.                                               

—from Mother’s Day 2013

...practice makes permanent

In the bread of life here given, we become what we receive.

In the cup of love here offered, affirm what we believe.

In the word of God proclaimed here, the good news of truth is heard.

In the telling of the stories, be open to God’s word.

---James Chepponis, 2002

Been there. Done that. I admit it. I am the first to make the jaded comment, or, on choking it back, to think it. This again? Or maybe, like Yogi Berra, It’s like deja-vu, all over again. And it’s kind of true.

Each time we gather and take communion, there is a familiarity to the elements, a sense of ritual in the setting. If I’m not careful, I can coast through the serving of the elements, the doing this in remembrance, on autopilot. If I am not present in the moment and attending to the story of my friend Jesus’ sacrificial love for me, a high holy moment can be, instead, just another holy snack pack and some pretty mumbling.

And those Bible stories? For heaven’s sake, I’ve been coming to church now for, well, for a long time. I have heard them all. Twice. What good does it do me, really, to be here with you, listening to the stories again? To sit and listen to the same old words and phrases over and over, till they are so burned into my soul that I could tell them myself? To know them so well that the words spring, unbidden, to my mind at unlikely times during the week? What good are a bunch of stories?

I have to be careful. I wouldn’t want to mix up being transformed with being done. Because being transformed? That could take a lifetime.

...glory to glory

Finish then Thy new creation, pure and spotless let us be;

Let us see Thy great salvation perfectly restored in Thee:

Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place,

Till we cast our crowns before Thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

Restored and finished. Charles Wesley, in the mid-1700’s, used these words to envision the fulfillment of God’s dream for humanity. With a love that surpasses any other concept of love, God continues to “create” us, to draw us toward purity, rendering out anything that blurs our essential essence. This verse is an encouragement to me, as I often feel God must not quite be done with me yet! With each new day, God’s love transforms us, glory to glory, allowing each of us to become more of who we were always meant to be. What a God we worship, Whose creation is not limited to a one-time act, but happens over and over to create and re-create us as whole, complex, and complete!

It’s enough to lose ourselves in wonder, love, and praise….

...filling in the blank

We will work with each other, we will work side by side.

And we’ll guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.

And they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

---Peter Scholtes, 1966

“They’ll know we are Christians by our _________.” There it was, all dressed up, bold-faced, meme-style, on my Facebook feed the other day. The folk hymn companion of “Pass It On” from the heart hymnal of my youth, sent out as a poll QOTD (question of the day) for any and all comers to fill-in-the-blank. And they did. Oh, they did.

Now, some folks knew the answer was supposed to be Jesus…and answered with “love”. But there are large portions of society who are not aware of what (we hope) marks Christianity. Some folks’ experience with people who wear the label has been judgmental, dismissive, condescending, even cruel. I cannot dismiss or deny their experience, because it is theirs…and because it has occasionally been mine.

But. I can labor and live to counteract that impression. I can love the world, and the people in it, with my whole heart. I can work to make this world better reflect the kingdom of heaven, where the Prince of Peace reigns and the dignity and pride of every person are uplifted. I can walk the world gently, and consider what it means to lay down my life for the sake of ‘the other’. I can let my breath be thanks.

You can, too. And they’ll know we are Christians. You know. By our love.

...laying things down

Be yours the Master’s purpose to seek and save the lost,

to ransom those in bondage, to dare nor count the cost;

to love and lift the lowly, to heed the prisoner’s groan,

to take up others’ burdens and bear them as your own.

---Henry Lyle Lambdin, 1969

To follow Christ. To take on our Master’s purpose. To lay aside whatever privilege life has accorded us; and to take on, as our own, the troubles and the sufferings of this hurting world. And every day the sun comes up in our modern times, this world is filled with suffering, troubles, injustices, and outrage and betrayal both ancient and modern. And the fire leaves us all burned. In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

And I must recognize I have privilege to lay aside, if I want to get down to the business of bearing others’ burdens. And if you are reading this, you most likely have privilege to lay aside, too. If we want to follow Jesus, we have to be in the business of laying things down.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself….And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient….(Phil. 2:5-8)

This is the full measure of faith. To lay down, and to pick up, for the sake of our human family. To walk in the way of Jesus. 

...a scarred savior

Crown him the Lord of love! Behold His hands and side,

Rich wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified;

no angels in the sky can fully bear the sight,

but downward bend their burning eyes at mysteries so bright.

---Matthew Bridges, 1851

There is a country song that includes the line, “…you ain’t lived till you got scars.” I think there is a lot of truth in the statement. My daughter Abby’s knee will always show the scars of a childhood fall from the “high monkey bars” and a couple of inelegant adolescent stair descents. Sarah’s forehead will always have a Harry Potter-esque ‘lightning bolt’ mark to remind her of the hutch at the bottom of the stairs at Grandma’s in Columbus. Any mom will tell of scars related to birthing, then raising, children --- scars both physical and emotional. Life takes its toll on us all.

And life took its toll on Jesus. When I read this hymn, I am struck by the thought that the Jesus glorified in heaven, present with the angels, still bears the scars of a real life. The kinds of scars we all carry--of injury and discouragement, of betrayal and disappointment, of rejection and indifference—if we walk the world long enough, earnestly enough. No air-brushed, cleaned-up, sanitized version of Jesus reigns in heaven. The Lord of love, mystery of mysteries, still bears the marks of his sacrifice on his glorified body.

You ain’t lived till you got scars.

...who baked the bread?

Who Baked the Bread?

Katherine Dale Makus

Who baked the bread

That Jesus blessed

And broke, and shared

That Passover supper, when he said,

"This is my body

Broken for you"?

Who made the wine,

When he passed the cup,

Saying, "This is my blood,

The blood of the covenant,

Shed for you and for many.

The fruit of the vine

I shall not taste again

Until I taste it new

In the Kingdom of God"?

Who made the wine?

Was it a woman who tended the vine,

Pressed the grapes, and made the wine;

Who planted the field, threshed the wheat,

And baked the bread for others to eat?

And afterwards, did a woman come

To clear the cup; to mop,

Perhaps, a single careless drop

Of wine, of God's blood shed;

To gather every scattered crumb

Of broken body, broken bread?

Did a woman, coming to clean the room,

Find grace in the fragments left behind,

As women, later, would come to find

An angel and an empty tomb?

Source: Daughters of Sarah (Mar-Apr 1988)

...un-scorned

From Olivet they followed among the joyful crowd,

the victor palm branch waving, with singing clear and loud.

The Lord of earth and heaven rode on in lowly state,

nor scorned that little children should on his bidding wait.

---Jennette Threlfall, 1873

It is always a heartwarming picture when Jesus and children get together. My little Bible, given to me June 26, 1968 by “Mother and Daddy”, is covered in a suh-weet colored depiction of Jesus blessing the little children. Everyone from tots to tweens is gathered 'round Jesus, shepherded by two lovely, young-looking mom-type ladies. Just looking at it now makes me warm inside. Jesus valued children.

And why not? Our society claims to value its children, perhaps more than almost anyone else. We spend hundreds of millions of dollars feeding, clothing, entertaining, educating, doctoring, bracing, and equipping our children. There are exceptions, and there are glaring holes in our protection of children as a society, and we bear the open wounds of our failures with each new disaster. But with our words, and in our best moments, “the children are our future” (with thanks to Whitney Houston).

But this attitude toward children is a modern development. In Jesus’ time, children were disregarded, valued only for the worth of their labor or future labor to their families. They were insignificant, and having a religious leader elevate them by his attention was actually embarrassing for Jesus’ disciples. I wonder, if this story were to take place in modern times, who would the children be? What group or groups of people are disregarded and marginalized in today’s society? Who is left out of the caring circle by us, Jesus’ disciples? Whose presence would Jesus scorn not? Whose presence should we, Jesus’ disciples, scorn not?

...whom heavens cannot contain

Surely in temples made with hands, God the Most High is not dwelling;

high above earth his temple stands, all earthly temples excelling.

Yet he whom heavens cannot contain chose in his people’s hearts to reign,

built in our bodies his temple.

---Nicolai F.S. Grundtvig, 1837

When my kiddos were small, I was astounded at how awful their jokes were. Anybody else? Show of hands? I mean, I was hilarious. I just kind of assumed they would at least be able to string together a few one-liners. But, yeah. Nothing. In the years since, two things have happened. One, thank heaven, they’ve gotten a lot funnier. And two, I’ve realized that successful joke-telling is a higher order thinking skill—babies aren’t just born with the perfect punch line (not just my babies, either—nobody’s kids are any good at jokes for at least a couple of years!).

One of the simplest-sounding jokes, and the hardest to catch the mechanics of, is the knock-knock joke. One of my kids’ favorite ‘knock-knock jokes’ went something like this: “Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Hahahaha, got you! It’s nobody!” See? It was hard to be me for a while there.

Just like in my kids’ non-joke, the ‘temple made with hands’ of this week’s hymn text would have its knock go unanswered. As majestic, as monumental, as awe-inspiring as some of these temples are, God has not chosen to take any of them for a dwelling-place. So expansive the heavens cannot contain God, the Creator of the cosmos has chosen instead the hearts of God’s people for a place of abiding.

So, truly, God is in the world, in the hearts of the beloved. God is in our busy-ness and in our leisure, in our serving and in our growing. And, when two or three are met together, in temples made of hands, God is in the temple, in the midst of the people as they worship.

Knock knock…

...held like sea water

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me is the current of his love,

leading onward, leading homeward to that glorious rest above.

---Samuel Trevor Francis, 1898

Many of us are familiar with President John Kennedy’s quote concerning his deep passion for the sea – “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.” Kennedy was famously at home in the frigid waters of his beloved Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, where in times of health and illness the water seemed life-giving and restorative.

The man I saw most in love with the sea was my father. Each summer we would camp (you read that right --- camping at the beach in the summer!) for a week or so, in the heat and humidity. And I would watch my professor father with the perpetual farmer tan float for hours on his back in the briny Gulf water, not paddling, not kicking, not moving at all. He’d tell my brother and me, “This salty water will hold you up. You just have to relax and lie back.” It was a matter of trust, and giving up the need to control the water that supported you.

You know, I never got as good at it as my dad; I never could float for hours, relaxed and committed to the water’s ability to hold me. But for a minute or two, here and there, it sometimes worked. I sometimes let go. And when I trusted that the sea was more capable than I, more powerful than I, more boundless than I’d ever be to meet my need to be held up --- for that moment, I was free.

Oh, to trust that I would be held up like that.

...complex and simple

Jesus calls us o’er the tumult of our life’s wild restless sea:

day by day his sweet voice soundeth, saying “Christian, follow me!”

---Cecil F. Alexander, 1852

It had been one of those weeks. In one of those months. In one of those seasons. In one of those years. Never quite getting well. Never quite getting the ‘to do’ list ‘to done’. Never quite getting caught up. Never quite feeling ready for…whatever comes next. Never quite feeling worthy of the trust placed in me, or the tasks required of me.

And then I stop. I breathe out, and in. And I notice how myopic my vision has grown, how inward-focused my hearing. With my focus drawn to my inner chaos, my shortcomings, my insufficiency--my attention must by definition be focused on…me.

And so I stop. I breathe out, and in. And I lift my gaze. And I focus my hearing. Out, in. There it is. The gentle leading, the focusing guidance. Follow me. Just that. Out, in. Complex and simple. Follow me. Lift the gaze. Focus the hearing. Out, in.

Follow me.

...pass-through gifts

I then shall live as one who’s learned compassion;

I’ve been so loved that I’ll risk loving too.

I know how fear builds walls instead of bridges;

I dare to see another’s point of view.

And when relationships demand commitment,

then I’ll be there to care and follow through.

---Gloria Gaither, 1981

Pat Benatar sang it, and there are times I almost believe it.

            Love is a battlefield.

There are so many ways to get burned. To get let down. To fall short. To do the hurting. To walk away. To run.

Thank God. No, really…thank God, for being our teacher in love, as in all things. Because we learn compassion from the creator of compassion. Because we pattern commitment from our model of steadfast love. Because we have watched our brother-Savior tear down the walls of fear that divide, we’ve heard stories of bridges of understanding spanning deep chasms. We have read the stories, too, of God’s love offered to an indifferent world, and of the patience and kindness offered even in the face of that indifference.

Fear whispers, “There are so many ways for love to go wrong.”

Thank God for the pass-through gifts of such compassion and understanding

...out of our huts

Strengthened by this glimpse of glory, fearful lest our faith decline,

We, like Peter, find it tempting to remain and build a shrine.

But true worship gives us courage to proclaim what we profess,

That our daily lives may prove us people of the God we bless.

---Carl P. Daw, 1988

We look, in these days, for worship that ‘wows’ us, worship that impresses, that astounds. We want to be fed, enraptured, thunderstruck. We want to wish to stay forever, to keep coming back for more, to never ‘let this feeling end’. We want ‘this’, always.

We want, in some strange way, to build a hut, to pull God in through the doorway, to hide away this glittering holiness, this shimmering lightness, all for us, for all time.

But see here. Worship is no glittering destination, no rapturous ‘fix’ for the faithful. Worship, rather, is challenging, inspiring, transformative. And, once transformed, a worshiping people are a working people, compelled by our transformation to lift up what is fallen, to bind up what is broken, to lighten what is burdensome, to reconcile what is torn. 

Out of the huts with us. It is time to let transformation do its work. To live as people of God.

...to risk life

O Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee;

I give Thee back the life I owe, that in Thine ocean depths

its flow may richer, fuller be.

---George Matheson, 1882

It’s hard to believe. Someone comes to you and says “Give up your riches to me. Blindly trust that I will take them and increase them.” And if this were an email solicitation, or a risky stock market offering, or a trench-coated fellow on a busy street corner, we know we’d be foolish to go along. No one wants to be scammed like that.

However, this is what God calls us to do. Here the hymnist imagines God as the personification of Love, a love that seeks us and pursues us, wraps us up and embraces us. This love calls to us, “Trust me. Turn over your life, which you may consider rich, full, and precious. In the depths of my life, your life becomes rich indeed. Entrust your life to me to achieve depth and meaning. You can rest here from your striving; here you are loved.”

This is a risk we can take, must take, if we are to live lives of meaning. Oh, to be found in the ocean of God’s love!

...of mercy and might

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!

God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

---Reginald Heber, 1826

I will admit it. I have always been a bit put off by descriptions of God as powerful. It seems in this world that being powerful is an invitation to mistreat or take advantage of the weak and poor. For every “good King Wenceslas”, there are hundreds of “Ivan the Terribles”. Power seems so intoxicating, and so easy to abuse. So my vision of a powerful, almighty God is colored by the lens of the world in which I live, and the one I read about in history books. Reginald Heber, in the mid-1800’s, caught the essence of God’s power with one short phrase: “merciful and mighty.”

In a world where might is often used to man-handle and menace, and strength to strong-arm and subdue, we the faithful shine a light on a God who stands in contrast to those faulty human ideals. We worship a God who is strong and tender, who is limitless and approachable, who is Law and Love.

Merciful and mighty, God, we worship you.

...losing our grip on the good news

You call us, Christ, to gather the people of the earth.

We cannot fish for only those lives we think have worth.

We spread your net of gospel across the water’s face,

our boat a common shelter for all found by your grace.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1991

Tell a good enough story, you never know who might show up!

Picture this. You’ve got this great product, and you want to get the word out. But. You want to practice a little targeted-demographic marketing. You only want to attract a certain kind of clientele. So you shape your message, subliminally almost, choose your media carefully, vet your messengers---all in the hope of building the kind of customer base you have in mind. Great plan.

But something goes awry. Maybe there are leaks in your marketing. Maybe your media shifts at the last minute. But the story gets out---wide. And people have been waiting for this. The---crowd---goes---wild! Everybody wants in on what you are offering. That exclusive demographic? Fugeddaboudit. You have just lost your grip on your brand.

Sometimes good news is like that. It goes where it wants, not where we plan. Thank God. Because, friends, our plans are never as grand as God’s. Our vision is never as long as God’s. And our reach is never as broad as God’s. So, although letting go of the marketing plan can be a little scary (‘The Spirit is on the loose!’ says a friend of mine gleefully, only half-joking), trusting God’s story to do its work in the world and welcoming all who come is a pretty good plan all on its own!

Let’s see who shows up!

...tearing down our fences

*this writing was tapped into being in the year 2008, but seemed timely when I stumbled across it.
-laca.

So brothers, sisters, praise his name who died to set us free

From sin, division, hate and shame, from spite and enmity!

In Christ there is no east or west --- he breaks all barriers down;

By Christ redeemed, by Christ possessed, in Christ we live as one.

“Good fences make good neighbors,” says the New England neighbor in Robert Frost’s Mending Wall. And probably at some time in all of our lives, we may have been tempted to quote him; when the neighbor’s grass reaches knee-high, when the next-door yard is full of tiny plastic ride-on toys and lots of screaming toddlers falling off them, maybe when your neighbor gardens in a bikini that would have been close-fitting several years and pounds) back. We even like the idea of fences and walls to keep certain groups of folks separated from others; them, and us.

In this text we sing that Christ came to break barriers, to minimize what separates us, to set us free from the things that hold us back from unity. And there is something a little scary about tearing down fences, something a little out-of-control about ending our human-constructed divisions. Jesus says we’ll just have to trust him for that. “Something there is,” Robert Frost said, “that doesn’t love a wall.”

Here’s to a tear-down, coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

...us and them

In Christ there is no east or west --- he breaks all barriers down;

By Christ redeemed, by Christ possessed, in Christ we live as one.

---Michael Perry, c.1979

US and THEM.

 In all the conflicts in the history of the world, there have only been two sides. Sharks and Jets, cats and dogs, Auburn and Alabama, Protestants and Catholics, Democrats and Republicans --- us…and them.

If we believe, really believe in Christ’s power to break down barriers, us and them is no more. It has no place in our world, or in our vocabularies. The same Christ that redeems us, that buys us back from the world; the same Christ that possesses us, directing our thoughts and actions; that same Christ destroys the walls we build between us and them.

In Christ we live as one.