"Basics................................"

McKenna, our only granddaughter, is once again staying with us for a few days. A Sixth Grader and showing all the signs of being about to leave childhood behind, she yet enjoys our company and we are receiving the gift for as long as it is there. Last night, she sat with me, working on her homework together, the Math sheet already finished, a few questions on a Bible assignment all that remained on this occasion. Asked by the book as to what she considered to be God’s purpose for her life, she wrote down “to do things for Him”. Papaw pushed. What did that mean? Was her relationship with Him just a matter of Him “issuing orders”, she just a puppet required to obey? Looking up at me and cocking her head in obvious thought, she added “so others will see Jesus in me”. I spoke my approval and, then, when the next point put to her inquired how she could bring glory to God with her life, prodded once more for some consideration before just “filling in a blank”. To this one she answered “by asking Him to help me with what I do”. Good enough for now. There is no need in preaching her sermons. I just want her faith founded on something deeper than definitive terminology and believe that the journey, itself, will teach her if she first merely learns, not a religion, but His reality available unto her……

"Patriotism................................"

For at least the last twelve years I’ve listened to Beth and her younger sister debate politics, this latest season of “Occupy Wall Street” protests just more fuel for the fire. One loudly reveals her disgust for the Tea Party’s “gun-waving religious fanatics”; the other points to the nationwide arrests of the current dissenters, their behavior anything but “peaceful”. Me? I’m more inclined to factor in, on both sides of the coin, the truth that it’s easy enough, nowadays, to find a news media eager to feed whatever bias you hold on such issues, the focus being on all the negatives. It has been said that the two newly formed forces are mirror images, the conservative radicals seeking less governmental control on a man’s right to make his own fortune and less government “give-away” of money extracted from him in taxes, the common masse seeing “big money” as their enemy and demanding more “freebies” to be supplied by an even bigger national penalty increase on those who have succeeded in acquiring wealth. Who wins that war? I really have no idea. Our Constitution is an amazing legislative contract between the states, created more than two centuries ago, but possessing the same flaw found within the pages of the Holy Bible. It is subject to humanity’s interpretation thereof; and that integral piece of the puzzle tends to blur the whole picture. To me, the real crisis in this country is not one of social status, but one due to our ever increasing loss of His resurrection in our lives; and I find that to be the fault of a Church that long go reduced “truth” to no more than doctrinal dogma…..

"Comm-unity............................."

There were only ten of us, teacher included, filling the ranks last night of Wednesday’s Bible study. There was a bit of a rain outside and our “fall back” time change doesn’t happen until this coming weekend, the darkness maybe another factor for our reduction in number. Truthfully, I, myself, arrived a few minutes late, having missed the last class and especially hungry for this one, but also having sat down in my recliner about six and then waking up with a jolt to realize the clock left me scrambling to get there at all. Yes; I did drive safely making the journey… We are in the Book of James, not one of my favorite reads, the half-brother of Jesus always making me think, for what ever reason, of legality set in cement. It’s not that within its verses one can’t find much good advice concerning the life of a believer, just that the author seems to me a preacher whose theology yet held the Jews distinct and elite. No matter; we all, in my opinion, stagger down the path, hopefully learning as we go, and we, within this class, anyway, are happy in recognizing such fact. Discussion, on this occasion, embraced: what actually happens to us in a “born-again” experience; are we “once in grass, always in grass”; and is sanctification a change in us as we go, a singular event pronounced upon us at some point, or a state into which we step when we occasionally step into a connection with the fullness of His reality within us. Deep stuff. Did we all agree? No. Did any of us have it all “nailed down”? Probably not, or at least not in any sense of absoluteness. We speak, knowing that, even with the Book, we are looking through a veil darkly, each of us from our own perspectives of distance already covered, the Gospel given us at our own particular point of entry, and our own individuality, as well, in having “ears to hear and a spirit thirsty for Him”. We take each other for equals and hope only to come way with a good meal to digest. For me, this is “fellowship”. Chicken dinners in the meeting hall are nice, but not vital……

"Constriction..........................."

Brian McLaren’s “Generous Orthodoxy” is a walk on the wild side for anyone so immersed into their denominational identity that they no longer have ears to hear. He’s, no doubt, one of those whom my old-time holiness heritage warned me about decades ago, fearing any consumption on my part of whatsoever literature other than my Bible would have me backslid before I even knew what had happened. Maybe they were right. Looking around, though, I no longer see anyone at all who still resembles the old crowd. Indeed, time seems to have changed all of us in one way or another… In McLaren’s book, he points to a young snapping turtle that was found by someone in Florida. It was maybe a foot long in size, but, as a hatchling, had somehow acquired a plastic ring around its girth, one of those that white arrangements holding together a six-pack of soda. Growth continued, but with disfigurement, the shell pressured into a figure eight; and that image stuck in my brain at the moment... While I recognize the need for truth to “hold up our pants”, yet if it be no more than a man-made doctrinal noose set in cement, sooner or later we, too, like the turtle, are hindered in maturing, we, too, will die not looking much like the original blueprint. Give me an adjustable belt, His tug on the anchor line, and enough good sense to follow His opinion rather than my own. One thing is for sure: whatever just sits still, if nothing else, usually develops a bad odor over a period of time……

"Slipslidin'.............................................."

At three o’clock each day our room is down to five children with just the teacher and I to take them to their buses. That may not sound like a major operation, but considering four of the kids are prone to temper issues and apt to run if not hand-held, it’s not just a “walk in the park”. My paycheck obligations officially end at three-thirty. If it should happen, however, that their transportation home is late for any reason, there is no alternate plan. I’m just stuck baby-sitting for the duration. Over-time isn’t in the contract. Usually we’re talking no more than five or ten minutes on a daily basis, but “things happen” and this afternoon it was close to four-fifteen before I finally pulled out of the parking lot. Quarter to five before arriving at the house. Dinner at Frisch’s; picked up a few items from Kroger’s; and at quarter past six I was carrying the groceries through the front door. A hot bath, the Wheel and then Jeopardy; but, sorry, Chaz performing the tango on Dancing With the Stars fails to interest me in any way whatsoever. Give me a good book, some pause to think about it all, a good connection with Him. Another hour or so and it’s bedtime anyhow. Life, if one is not careful, is merely a dull, repetitious event, a journey wherein the present is always unbelievable in just how quickly it got here, the length thus far deemed considerable only in retrospect. Nonetheless, most days are just days unless He breathes into them…...

"GPS......................................"

It’s early Monday morning here. I’ve been fighting “a bit of the bug” the last couple of days, fever and chills that make me think it might be some mild form of flu, nothing so serious in its coming and going that aspirin and Ny-Quil hasn’t been able to handle it thus far. Time has passed with my re-examining some Brian McLaren books, he, a well-known leader within what was once known as the “Emerging Church” about a decade ago. From my perspective, the movement seemed to see the ecclesiastical institution, as a whole, dying in all of its traditions, dull in its dogmas, and distant from that which Christ had originally meant to become “the light of the world”. My wording is probably somewhat harsher than what any of them utilized in explaining their departure from the status quo. In giving his own definition of “orthodoxy”, the author denied a “what we think as opposed to what they think” equation thereof, offering, instead, “what God knows, some of which we believe a little, some of which they believe a little, and about which we all have a lot to learn” and then adding that it’s “how we search for a kind of truth you can never fully get into your head, so you seek to get your head (and your heart) into it!” … If the group is yet “up and out there”, it has drifted beyond my radar, operating within its individual slice of the pie. I’ve often wondered if these new, more-modern-version-of-worship amphitheaters weren’t, indeed, birthed out of much of their thinking, so much of what they opined, as far as I’m concerned, worthy of a man’s consideration. Sadly, however, they also appeared to me nothing more than a regenerated clone of that which they hoped to escape, just another religious denomination in the making, good hearts with little understanding that direction has to be determined by the reality of His resurrection rather than our good intent. He, alone, is “the Way, the Truth, and the Life”, a divine, tangible, manifestation given unto us, but always “through the veil” in a stumble as we go……

"Gratitude................................."

About twenty-five years ago, our little congregation opted to start its own school, utilizing in the beginning a well-known program wherein the kids, with guidance, simply studied their way through various subject levels, the books, themselves, being the prime source of instruction. We worked with a volunteer staff, made do with what we had, and had an enrollment of somewhere around sixty students. Today attendance is closer to two hundred, teachers are on salary, either holding a degree or moving toward one, the operation maintained out of it own facility, complete with a large gymnasium and a winning basketball team. Yesterday McKenna and Noah, my two youngest grandchildren, were part of a presentation by the Elementary grades which recognized and gave honor to grandparents who had served this country through military service, a couple of folk dating back to WWII. I was brushing tears from my eyes for nearly the whole hour we were there… In studying the history of this nation, it’s not that I believe it to gave been birthed and founded upon any real representation of Christianity. Men have always been men. The Church has been a mixture of humanity and the Holy Ghost all along. America’s identity, therefore, has not been forged out of some divine blessing, but more like out of divine grace, divine patience, and His willingness to walk with us in spite of our mess. My bond with her flag, then, isn’t some patriotic attachment to principles that too often are abused by people with no understanding that such terms hold little significance if not created out of heartfelt self-sacrifice. I salute, not just stars and stripes, but the lives of those ones who gave themselves, in one way or another, for that which the banner is said to serve. My relationship with it is much like the one I embrace with the standard of my faith displayed on the other side of the sanctuary. Both deeply connect with me, the latter just flown, within, higher up than the first……

"Longevity....................................."

It was cold and wet outside last night, miserable weather about any way one might look at it. Beth and I got a craving for some Sky-Line chili about seven, however, so I geared up and drove south, a stop at Wendy’s for the granddaughter, then right across the street for the coneys. Why, I don’t know, perhaps just the rain, the darkness, and me alone in the car, but I turned on the radio and tuned into a country gospel station. Two quartets later, though, was enough to convince me otherwise. Too many miles down the road. Too much “church” under my belt. Too long learning that people remain people, even in Christ… I write that with no malicious intent. After all, I “are one” and, if the journey has taught me anything, it’s God’s grace, God’s humor, is holding this package together. Fellowship is good; worshipping with others is a vital part of the process; and, yet, somewhere along the way you learn that most of what takes place within the schematics of Christianity is people “being” people. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Better that, in our stumble, we reach for Him than bull-headedly continue in our own determination. A song, nonetheless, is just a song if He is not in it. A sermon, if it doesn’t flow from a deeper well than a man’s own reasoning, is just words. It’s the “connection” that has my focus in the next step; and while it’s “secured in my belly”, the manifestation, thereof, is a matter gained at His discretion and through my willingness to receive it when it comes, a treasure hunt at all times……

"Bonding.................................."

Approaching five in the morning here. My sister-in-law has an appointment for eye surgery at six-thirty. Beth usually drives her wherever, whenever she has such need, but darkness, anymore, is a bit too much for her to navigate. The plan, therefore, is for me to get them to the hospital; then home for me to get my car and fulfill my obligation with school while she, with the sun “up and about”, returns to take them back after the operation. A little lost sleep, but no big deal… The monthly meeting with the men at the mission last night went well. A cold drizzly rain was falling outside, but the “sanctuary” inside still had a few empty seats, not what one might expect in such weather. Mark stepped in with his saxophone between Tony and me, speaking first of personal experience endured the last few weeks and then blowing that horn as if he and it were one in a connection to a divine stream from on high. On either side of that heavenly honey, my compadre and I simply shared with those there the truth of salvation being, not a list of “thou shalt nots”, nor a “free pass through the Pearly Gates” button passed out upon conversion for a fellow to present to St. Pete upon arrival. Christianity is about inviting God into the next step no matter where you are in your journey. The “kingdom” is a “reconnection re-established through Calvary’s Cross, the only question being whether we will use it, abuse it, or lose it by rejecting what is freely offered us in Him. In ending, I took them to the son in the movie who quoted his preacher father in observing that “Eventually all things merge into one; and a river runs through it”. I believe that. I believe we all are born of the same spiritual umbilical cord and spend all our life trying to get back upstream to the One who birthed us……

"Seasons.................................."

I donned a “Tigger” sweat-shirt about six last night and, in spite of an overcast sky, headed down the road toward the park. My hour of exercise, lately, has been neglected too much, the weather changing, other events more important at the time, excuse, excuse, excuse, and the wind, on this occasion, with a bit of a chill to it, making me wonder if perhaps a hoodie might no have been a better choice. Turning in the back entrance where a dirt trail follows the creek, I have about two hundred feet where the trees on either side form a “tunnel” with their branches, much of their foliage already brown, dead, scattered here, there, everywhere. Indeed, as I continue, stepping into the openness, going past the fenced-in area where people can let their dogs run, over the bridge and taking the concrete path south past shelters, picnic tables, playgrounds, and ball field, everywhere before me the view is as if Autumn, herself, has decorated for Halloween. On the return trip an icy dribble begins to fall and a rumble in the heavens interrupts my thoughts, increasing my pace in order to get home before dark. It has been about an hour alone with Him… Prayer, for me, is more an all-day mental relationship wherein I return, at some point, to an oasis, or at least a place of expectancy, a position of hope that therein I might actually “step into the stream” and, for a few moments, know Him in all that He is. Such encounter is the goal before me at all times whether I am kneeling in some secluded location, speaking with someone of His reality in regard to whatsoever, or participating in congregational worship within the sanctuary. Let’s just be truthful, though: Life is mostly a stumble down the path, vision usually a matter of “looking through a glass darkly,” and that means communication needs to be an open connection, not a cell phone kept in my hip pocket for an emergency……

"Schematics............................."

The picture I’ve attempted to share here was discovered by me some years ago in a small antique shop in Lexington. The fellow who framed it for me with plexiglass did so in such a way as to prevent me now from any manner of retrieving it (other than a hammer) and that accounts for the camera’s flash obliterating “The River of Failure”. Whoever sketched this together didn’t miss much in his representation of such theology as I stepped into nearly four decades ago upon “praying through” at about two o’clock in the afternoon of Monday, March of ’72. In the bottom left corner is a sign reading “The Road from Earth to Heaven” with an archway directly before it inviting “Whosoever Will”. To the right is a series of portals labeled with excuses like “wait”, “not tonight”, and “I am good enough”, all leading to “The Pit”. Just above that is “Salvation Station” with two steps, “faith” and “repentance” leading one up to “The Way of the Cross”. From there it’s like a trip through Disneyland, chutes and roller-coaster drops, numerous ways for one to “backslide” or even end up in that stream mentioned above. Along the way it’s possible to “take the easy way out”, stop for a “social glass” of whatever along with a “friendly card game”, and a place for those to gather who “know it all”. Most people look at it and laugh, seeing no more than old-time holiness with its list of legalities and dismissing everything else. Thirty-nine years down the road, I find it an amazing piece of artwork, so much of its theme certainly at least worthy of discussion, a lot of truth contained within its content……

"Troubled............................"

Beth is not so much 24/7 addicted to Fox News anymore, still watching, but somewhat selective and relaxed in her vigil. Most bulletins, therefore, concerning the world around me, come to my attention on a daily basis via the computer. The main screen provided by my Internet Server displays several lead-ins to various items of interest, the bulk of which tends to leave me wondering if Armageddon isn’t, indeed, sitting just over the horizon. Forget the political and economical state of the world. Never mind that “big money” has globalized us into one big happy family that thinks government should put us all on welfare. It’s the moral condition of men everywhere that gives me problems, the Church, herself, maybe “alive and well”, but certainly failing in any real “leavening of the loaf”. It’s nearly nothing lately to read of another man gone berserk, mass murder in a mall, a hair salon, a place of business, children killing their own classmates with guns and pipe bombs. It makes me question why “terrorist” should be so limited in its definition, bringing forth a mental image of an Arab with hatred in his heart, especially after encountering, yesterday, a report of four mentally challenged adults found shackled in a small Philadelphia basement room, malnourished, dirty, fed but once a day, and with only a bucket to relieve themselves. Two of them had endured such conditions for the last ten years, moved from state to state by a middle-aged woman they referred to as “mom”, she and two companions living off the others’ Social Security or disability checks. It can be said, of course that humanity has always known such depravity within its ranks; but, in such frequency, in such volume, in a country where it is not uncommon to find thirty churches or more positioned within a short drive from each other? God shake us and wake us from our slumber……

"Inhalation............................."

Fall Break this year turned into nothing more than a four-day weekend. I’ll take it, though. Long, short, getaways of any kind, nowadays, have been pretty much reduced to zilch; so even a mini-vacation in the sense of “no school till Tuesday” is appreciated. Not that working with the kids is getting old. Just that the old man learned somewhere back there that the moment is what you have. Breathe it in and enjoy it. Let me note, however, that it’s Saturday morning here, my rising from slumber not occurring on this occasion until nine a.m. since I was up last night for nearly two hours. My usual habit of taking one Tylenol P.M. tablet before bedtime had been neglected and about three my eyes opened with much of Richard Rohr’s “Everything Belongs” entertaining my brain. This was my second perusal of the book and I yet find him guilty of failing to provide the Holy Spirit with an identity. I disagree with him when he seemingly sidesteps hell and would love to sit down with him in a discussion about a few other things; but yet find his overall views reflective of my own, a cup of water to a thirsty man stumbling through this present evangelical wilderness. When he expresses the idea that “What is, is okay. What is, is the great teacher”, it may well need more explanation, but meets me right now at this point in my own journey……

"Animation........................."

In as much as “humanity remains humanity” and “people are people”, it should also be made clear that each of us are individuals, each with our own story, our own perception of life as we have found it to be. Like snowflakes, there are not two of us exactly the same in all that we are. When we bring the Holy Bible into that picture, then, while the seed may have been planted within us, if we do not remember that the Creator, Himself, is greater than the Book, greater than any image of Him we have formed for ourselves out of chapter and verse, what is it that we think we possess? Philip Yancey, in looking at the Old Testament, speaks of Moses as rediscovering a fundamental fact about Yahweh seemingly forgotten during the four hundred years of silence: God is a “person”, divinity, to be sure, but reduced by the Jewish nation, as a whole, to a distant, unapproachable, ineffable mystery who showed little concern over what was transpiring here on earth. In reading such claim, however, I look around and wonder if we, the Church, aren’t guilty of replicating the error, either in dismissing the Holy Ghost to a role of anonymity, or else seeing Him as no more than an authority we, ourselves, govern. We embrace the Cross and glory in the Resurrection; we define terms like “faith” and “grace” while offering religious tenets for which we often have no explanation; but fail much too often in a manifested witness of that One said to be alive within us. The Gospel is more than a message. Truth confirms itself……

"Plumbing...................."

My middle daughter drove from Lexington yesterday for an early celebration of my becoming a septuagenarian, taking me to dinner and just spending some quality time with dad. This Sunday my youngest will, herself, step into her forties and I am proud of all three of my girls, the women they have become, their life in service to Him. None are specifically “in ministry”; but all that they are and all that they do is governed by that inner connection acquired when they were young, indeed maintained as the journey has taken them thus far. My Thursday milestone hit me, I guess, and, after writing Jamie a note of gratitude and love, thinking she was returning home, I drove down our road realizing, for all I knew, this could have been our last time together. Tears ran down my face, but they were flowing from a much deeper source than just my eyes; and it occurred to me, in the middle of it all, that this was the same bond held between me and my heavenly Father. Surely He often weeps in concern for me… I’ve been reading a mixture, the last few days, of Philip Yancey and Richard Rohr. The first fellow is one of my favorite authors, not because he has all the answers, but because he speaks from a perspective of exploring that which he admits to not yet possessing. The other is a current one book meal shared by a priest whose individual Roman Catholic theology hits close to my own thinking for most of the volume. Toward the end, however, he has me shaking my head with his view on “sin”, a topic which, in my opinion anyway, must be “quickened” unto us by the Holy Spirit Himself, a “convincing” established between our conscience and His reality within us; but, then, I see “grace” and “faith” much in the same terms. Salvation is not a set of tenets held. It is an “inner umbilical cord” through which He comes to me as I go……

"Moodment......................."

This morning was one of those when my enthusiasm for “another day at school” was a bit low. Driving the expressway, I noted that the sky overhead was almost completely covered with thin grayish-white clouds, so high and so wispy that one could detect the blue beyond. Maybe, just maybe, the sun would eventually break through. More on my mind, though, in taking it all in, was an awareness of my insignificance in lieu of it all. This Thursday I will turn seventy and it could be that such milestone is what really had my mood; but, if so, it’s certainly buried in my subconscious somewhere. More likely merely the disappointment of a Sunday evening worship service where a move of the Holy Ghost deteriorated much too quickly into something else. Whatever. Stepping out of my car in the parking lot, heading for the cafeteria to refill my McDonald’s coffee cup, I began to hum a tune. The classroom awaited me and “Let a great big bowl of Kellogg’s cornflakes start you on your way!”… In telling a friend recently that “life is good even when it isn’t”, there was no intent to share an oxymoron, nor any wish to downplay the truth that sometimes what comes to us in our years of existence can often be seemingly more than we can bear. Rather, what I was trying to express is that which I found in Christ nearly four decades ago: an anchorage that holds me no matter how strong the wind blows, a peace stronger than any fear the enemy brings against me, an assurance of His presence with me in the next step, and the knowledge that He holds it all, big and small, in His hands. I wrote some lyrics long ago that, in one place went like this: “You can tell me that I’m crazy, gone bananas; You can say I’ve popped my cork and flipped my lid; All I know is that I gave my heart to Jesus; And I’ve been singing ever since the day I did!” Yep; well, it works for me……

"Direction................................."

I finished that “memories of the Navy” book this morning before driving to school, reading in its final pages of an old man’s recollection of salmon swimming inland to spawn in the fresh water lakes of Kodiak. Then, motoring down the expressway, I happened to see a lone, wild goose in flight, headed south for the winter. For whatever reason, my thoughts turned to fish in an aquarium, whatever instinct they possess reduced to nothing more than a contentment to “cruise the tank”, and almost at the same time the old Karl Marx analogy of religion being “the opiate of the masse” ran through my mind. It would be wrong of me, I know, to simply throw that latter fellow’s opinion like a blanket over all of Christianity, but it does seem to me that it might well behoove some of us to take pause and examine what we refer to as our “faith”. While only the individual can really judge the fullness of his own assurance in Christ, yet I wonder how many within the Church at large are merely occupying the perimeters of their particular fishbowl theology, oblivious to His inner tug on the reins, any call of the Creator to “come home”. Human nature makes it easy for our being “saved” to become no more than a fellowship we have joined, a doctrinal membership we have signed. There’s a scene at the end of an old Robert Redford movie that is forever etched in my brain, the words spoken by the elderly fellow fly-fishing in some stream pasted into the front of one of my Bibles. "Eventually all things merge into one”, it begins, "and a river runs through it.” I believe that; and find it sad that so few seem to know the flow……

"Location..............................."

Wednesday evening’s Bible study knew only about twelve of us in attendance. The pastor has begun scheduling special guest speakers to preach the sanctuary service for the next couple of months and some of our regulars evidently opted to seek their mid-week portion in that arena. Given such choice, anymore at least, this old man, will almost always head for the classroom and I suppose that vanity plays a part in such decision. In that arena, discussion takes place and people are invited to share; and, while I can well appreciate the truth that God can move in the midst of the masse as well as two or three, can feed my soul through a sermon or someone else’s testimony, yet, there it seems, with less of us we are more able to explore the depths of the journey, the nooks and crannies of what we believe. Humanity, of course, remains humanity in both scenarios. People are people, whether individually examining each other’s perspectives on chapter and verse or gathered together collectively in worship. In the one, however, there is freedom to disagree and to learn from one another; in the other, opinions are not encouraged, the moment more about finding His presence in the middle of whatever’s happening; and, in today’s Pentecost, sometimes that’s hard for me to do……

"Infallible.................................."

I’m re-reading, at the moment, a book by Richard Rohr, the title of which expresses its theme: “Everything Belongs”. The theology within might suggest to some of his being a Universalist, his subject matter pointing to the idea of God existing in all things; but he’s actually a Roman Catholic Franciscan Friar. Personally, I’m not averse to examining either side of that coin. One just has to remember who it is that’s talking to you; and that holds true, in my opinion, even if the author should happen to be Pentecostal. You can miss an awfully lot of good food if the only thing you’ll touch is your own cooking. It might be wise, though, if the chef is Mexican, to give some consideration that the dish is quite apt to be spicy. Religious literature shouldn’t simply be swallowed without chewing. You take it with a grain of salt and sort it out with the Holy Ghost as you go… About a year ago Beth and I followed my grandson’s basketball team, along with a few other carloads of passionate supporters, to a high-school in Ohio, off the beaten track on the north west of Cincinnati. The lead van was utilizing one of those GPS units and when we left the expressway there was little doubt in its ability to get us there. As we continued to wind across a backwoods terrain taking us uphill and down, through three or four little Mayberry burgs that, in the darkness, seemed to possess no more than a handful of houses. The technology, in truth, did finally get us there; but, in leaving, one of the locals directed us a couple of blocks north where the expressway led us home a whole lot quicker than the wilderness road by which we came… Just saying: Most everything (and everybody) has a flaw in it somewhere; and the journey is as good a teacher as I know……

"B-flat........................"

Monday was probably the most stressful of any yet this year. One of the younger children in our unit was gone last week on some sort of trip with his parents, the sudden return to “business as usual” no doubt a rude awakening. What’s more: his dissatisfaction with the situation he found himself in only tended to stir up others in the room and for six and a half hours our space knew no peace, unhappy campers voicing their anger with gusto, often all at the same time. Physical displays, screaming, blubbering – I thought it amusing, having escaped for a few minutes to take one boy to his music class, to find a poster on the teacher’s wall stating: “You can’t make harmony if everybody is singing the same note!” It well applied to the symphony being written upstairs; but, to be truthful, my mind has been chewing on its wording ever since, for I believe it speaks to the Church every bit as much as it does to forming a choir… The term we hear preached from the pulpit is “unity”; and certainly there is a Biblical endorsement for the people of God to seek such condition within the body. How we usually tend to envision achieving that quality, however, is in terms of everyone being in agreement, all of us “cloned” in our thinking, one in our vision. Yet, with the Creator being greater than any definition we attempt to assign Him and humanity being the greatest illustration of diversity ever achieved, the only possible hope we might have of “unity” is through being “blended together”, something that the Apostle Paul refers to as being “tempered together” by the Holy Ghost, a state I find, by the way, to be temporal in so far as we are concerned, a moment possible when and wherever two or three are gathered in His name, but subject to gradual loss once separated from the submersion. Even so, “harmony” has a sweet sound when it happens……

"Clink!!!.........................."

There was only one girl being held within the confinement of the Detention Center yesterday morning and she opted not to attend our worship service for whatever reason. Four rows of young men, however, filled the room, ten or more having been inducted just this past week. One of the guards had pulled me aside as we entered and, without identifying anybody in particular, made it known to me that a number of them were charged with murder. Nice to learn after you’ve already walked through four security doors that swung locked behind you. Her revelation, though, but confirmed the words on my heart to share with them. Mark, my son-in-law with the saxophone, had not been able to go on this occasion, reducing the group to but five of us, more importantly reducing any musical potential we had to a couple songs shared “a capella”, yet the boys, it seemed, were still “one with us” from our time with them last Sunday. One or two, here and there, no doubt had other things on their mind, their feet and their eyes showing you their presence only a matter of being able to escape their cell for a few moments. Nonetheless, the majority, via the same manner of detection, signaled their hunger to receive. That same guard, in fact, would follow us back to the lobby at the main entrance afterwards, speaking to us of two churches who recently just didn’t bother to show up for their slot in the schedule and of some who make these visits merely a “finger-in-your-face” sermon on “going-to-hell-if you-don’t-change-your-ways”. It felt good to hear her say that the kids are always excited to see our group there, discussing for the rest of the day that which we bring to them… You soak it in prayer, sow it in love, and trust the Holy Ghost in the whole affair. He stays long after we are gone. So I believe…..

"Sin..........................................

Early Saturday morning here. Quiet time. I’m stretched out in my recliner with a hot cup of coffee, Bible, books, and a notepad scattered around me, an electric heater taking a bit of the chill off the room. Tomorrow we return to the Youth Detention Center and my thoughts are a mixed bag of building on that which I shared with the kids last week and incorporating into it pieces of a running conversation entertained this week with a friend. The Bible informs us that “there is none righteous; no, not one”, going on in the next verse to suggest that the reason, at least in part, had much to do with our lack of understanding, our humanity and its failure to “seek after God”. Indeed, in the Gospel of John, when the Pharisees question Him about His claim of bringing judgment to a world that is blind, Jesus replies it is a man’s refusal to accept that he exists in such state that, in turn, accounts for his sin. I maintain, therefore, that while the Creator, like us, may well deem some trespasses more serious than others, it is the “root” of the problem that most concerns Him. Be it homosexuality or a lie, murder or calling some fellow a fool, self-imposed rejection of God’s involvement in our affairs is what separates us from what He would extend unto us. What’s more: being “born-again” doesn’t negate our ability to follow our own thinking instead of His tug on the reins. Life “happens”; history “shapes” us; and although “in Christ” we may start anew, we “see” only in as much as He is more than just a doctrine we have learned, a fellowship we have joined, a religion we have donned in His name……