Somewhere in my second or third orbit of the soccer field Saturday afternoon, the above lyrics came back to me out of some memory vault, that particular chorus along with the initial verse of “Holy, Holy, Holy” sung every Sunday morning in that Lutheran church known to me during my childhood years. The program changed somewhat on a weekly basis (the sermon on a different topic and a selected hymn to “fit” the sermon), but the format itself was written in concrete. If I look back at such time in my life with a bit of nostalgia, it isn’t due to that routine having taught me Christ in any form or fashion. In truth, although approaching my seventy-second birthday in October finds me averse to drastic alterations concerning the world around me, a bit of variety, a taste of not always knowing how the day will come to me, is what makes the journey interesting… Father’s Day, this year, was a home-cooked meal at the oldest daughter’s house, husbands and children of both girls who yet live in this neck of the woods all gathering for the occasion. Their cards brought a tear to my eye, hitting me in my heart with their own sentiments going far beyond what Hallmark had inscribed. For whatever reason, my relationship with my own dad had lacked in any vocal recognition of the bond between us and I’ve made sure, as much as possible, to correct that on this side of things. Indeed, I find it much like the message brought to us by our pastor in last night’s service. Building upon Psalm 89’s simple statement “Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound”, he referred to the Pentecostal blessing that occurred in the Upper Room and declared “heaven” now abiding within us, that “rushing mighty wind” in the Book of Acts no longer a force delivered from on high, but coming up out of our inner well, the “audible point of contact” not so much of our ears hearing its onrush as it is that which we, ourselves create in allowing it to emerge in whatsoever manifestation it brought with it. There will be praise, the union, of itself, effecting worship; but the only part we hold in the event is a willingness to surrender ourselves to its possibility. Even so, I think, the parental bond on either end of the spiritual umbilical cord. Deity may not be directly involved in expressing our love for each other, but it does seem to me that His approval rests upon it.; and it’s for sure that both events are enriched when they occur out of spontaneity rather than repetition, a directive requiring everyone’s participation……
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