"Closed-circuit...................."

Our weather here changed drastically Wednesday afternoon, snow and ice making the roads a dangerous situation for about four hours, just enough time for the powers that be to cancel church. No class. What a bummer. By morning, other than the temperature remaining quite frigid, all else was back to normal and, in truth, we were lucky compared to what other parts of the country suffered from the storm. “Limbo-itis” has me, I suppose, this particular week between the holidays long seeming to me like somebody just turns off the clock, the world in slow-motion and me sitting here doing not much more than twiddling my thumbs. We are told in the Bible, in reference to a man’s mouth, that a fountain ought not bring forth at the same place both bitter and sweet; but the Book also recognizes that a man’s humanity flows from the depths of who he is, what he is at any moment, his mood all a matter of how connected he is with that One who is able to heal the waters. Is a new year really a new beginning; or is time merely a flat surface stretched from infinity unto eternity, broken into marked segments for us to maintain some sense of where we’ve been and how much is in front of us? Caught in such scenario, the questions become “Is this all there is? Do I really believe that, beyond my final breath, my existence continues?” The answer, of course, is a personal matter, faith a substance we all individually maintain and its guarantee secure only in as much as that to which we attach it proves it to be. When the woman with the issue of blood caught hold of the hem of His garment, when Peter, suddenly sinking into the water, reached up and caught hold of His hand, however, all doubt, for the moment at least, was gone. Thus, for me anyhow, assurance is not maintained out of chapter and verse, Scripture but a piece of the puzzle, a part of the well, itself, and, indeed, that site put under each person’s responsibility to both visit and insure for themself that it stays in working order. It is, after all, what keeps us as we go……

"Hook-up......................."

With those families in Connecticut yet on my mind and in my prayers, I was approached by a fellow suffering a different kind of separation, looking for answers to his situation. There are, of course, no good explanations for the mystery of man. There is, in my theology at least, no “quick cure” for life as it comes unto us. Does that leave us, then, as believers with nothing to offer the world in terms of Christianity being a source of hope, a promise of peace and strength accessible to us in this present darkness? I really do wonder sometimes when all I hear out of the Church is a demand for “faith”, one side of that coin preaching it as if such possession is a self-produced ability to perform miracles, and the other bunch, while also seeing it an attribute we, ourselves, create, defining it much like an inter-dimensional cord affording us little other than hope of life after death. Seems to me the reality of a supernatural entity, the Third PERSON of the Trinity to which we all confess in our credos, has been squeezed out of existence by both parties, the latter stripping Him of all identity and the first believing they, themselves, have been transformed into His likeness. Truth gets muzzled or misplaced and those in need of substance get, instead, merely chapter and verse with no breath breathed into it. Too easy, I think, to quote the Bible as if it can, alone, produce Christ. Better to claim our own need of submergence into Him, to take the hand of those hurting, admit our own inadequacy, and invite them to walk with us “beyond the veil” in hope of knowing His presence. Somewhere in this we’ve lost, not only the Ark of the Covenant, but the Holy of Holies as well……

"Harmony............................"

Beth and I dined at Don Pablo’s last night, along with some other guests my nephew had invited to attend a special Christmas presentation at his church. Mark is fifty. About ten years ago he and his family left their former assembly, one the young teenage daughter had know her whole life. She had visited this one with a friend, returned to ask her parents to go “just once”, and the three caught a vision of “being part of the kingdom” never previously entertained. I use that last word not in jest, the girl now in her twenties and about to enter into missionary work abroad. This new congregation, to which they not only attached themselves, but also deeply invested themselves as well, is not your usual Sunday worship center. Originally birthed in an abandoned Home Depot, Crossroads now holds a couple of sanctuaries, both resembling a movie theater and the larger of the two possessing a pair of balconies, one above the other. The foyer is vast enough to contain a half dozen coffee islands plus a number of various stations where, last night at least, one could purchase cookies or kettle popcorn. We sat in that first upper level, center stage; and, for about an hour, witnessed the birth of Christ from a new perspective. The message was not changed, in any form or fashion; but the performance, itself, was worthy of any Broadway show, members of the cast surely including a number of professional musicians and dancers. A huge screen behind all the action continually displayed video that enhanced the theme, the individual scenes being brought forth in front of it not your usual “Joseph and Mary dressed in robes and kneeling by the babe in the manger”. This was meant to speak to this generation, to those willing to “bend a bit” concerning a mental image of the occasion formerly held. Characters were costumed to enhance the story, not to reflect the culture as it was. I loved the shepherd, who marched in single file to a rhythm maintained by the pounding of their “staffs” upon the floor, their attire making them look more like “warrior workers” rather than “countrified herdsmen”. A woman dressed in sheer veils of black-purple, joined by a host of small children in similar garments, all holding lanterns to illuminate the darkness, sang a version of “Silent Night” that touched my soul. Indeed, at the end, when the entire group, along with “angels on high”, brought forth “O Come Let Us Adore Him”, this old man was in tears and tongues. Different? It was, in truth, different. It didn’t betray the Gospel’s claim of a virgin birth, however, proclaiming loud and clear “divinity incarnate”. I have no problem with worshipping that statement when and wherever I find it……

"Epistles......................................."

Early Saturday morning, a bit of a chill in the house and I’m sitting in the recliner under a couple of wool blankets with the furnace set to give the two electric heaters a jumpstart for the rest of the day. A cup of hot coffee sits beside me. It’s quiet, a good time to read, pray, and just think in whichever way the Spirit takes me. Sometimes the magnitude of life, in general, overwhelms this old man, the mystery of it all, though, secured by that “anchor-line” restored unto me over forty years ago. I talk with God about my children and my grandchildren, my sister and hers, family my younger brother left behind when he passed, and other relatives of mine whose history gives little evidence of possessing any sort of faith. The latter takes my mind to the Detention Center, those young teens we visit on a bi-monthly schedule, held prisoner, not only by a judicial system, but also by an environment wherein they’ve never known much in the way of hope from the very beginning. How does all that work out, I wonder, when it’s all over and we, as individuals, come before the Judgment Seat of our Creator? Where will the Church stand then? Accountable for but those we’ve managed to “maintain” within our sanctuaries? Does it all, in the end, come down to nothing more than “denominational checkpoints” where our certificate of having adopted certain doctrinal points is verified before entrance is gained? Somehow I fail to see that as the message proclaimed by Christ. As believers, we were meant to be “leaven in the lump”, “Carriers of the Cause”, not “Crusaders of the Covenant”. It is not a religious formula that has been entrusted to me. The Key to the Kingdom is not just an interpretation of chapter and verse, but a resurrection of the Living Word, alive in me and capable, in some strange way, of penetrating others through me. Love, peace, and hope are all elements of this Truth, abiding within and feeding me as I go, yet given me for the purpose of sharing them with all I meet in the journey. In the end, it seems to me at least, it will be as it ever was: an evaluation of each one’s heart and determined by His righteousness, not mine……

"Yoked.............................."

It’s Friday morning here. A light snow has fallen overnight, but not much more than a dusting. Those who make their living off of Mother Nature are predicting we could yet get one to three inches. If it remains in such minimal dosage, though, a White Christmas shouldn’t mean having to shovel a path out to my car before going anywhere. Today begins a two-week vacation from school, yesterday merely seven hours of “Polar Express”, Charlie Brown, and a magic show for the kids. The teacher surprised me with a gift, a small paperback Henri Nouwen book entitled “Life of the Beloved”. I’m already halfway through it. While the author, thus far, has failed to mention the Holy Spirit in any way whatsoever, in writing to one of his friends and inviting the whole world to listen, he breaks down the Eucharist into four terms (Taken, Blessed, Broken, Given) and has me, at the moment, in deep thought. His message, in essence, seems to me “the tie that binds”. An old Navy buddy of mine, one who lives in rural Alabama and reads most of these musings brought forth on this site, recently e-mailed me a column posted by a journalist whose usual genre is sports. The Newtown tragedy, however, moved him to express his grief in a manner wherein he described his own children, three young daughters, specifically the oldest. His prayer for them moved me to the point that I may share it in some way with my own girls when we gather here as a family Monday evening. In a world where we are divided in so many ways, where evil abounds and often little makes sense, His grace not only abides, it provides an anchor of assurance, an umbilical cord of hope. Beautiful Star of Bethlehem, shine on……

"Once Upon a Time.................."

Saturday Beth and I went to see “The Hobbit”. Actually I saw it; she slept through most of it. That fact did not surprise me, her interests being, like any other woman’s, on romance, package it in any form you wish. This was nearly three hours of fairytale minus Pixar, evil versus a band of gnomes, a wizard, and Bilbo Baggins. The only female presence, of any significance throughout the film, was some sort of queen of the elves (who, by the way, in this story are not portrayed as Tinkerbells), this attractive lady standing a good six feet tall, possessing telepathic powers, but definitely not written into the script for the purpose of love being birthed in its plot. Nope; this is a man’s movie; and, for all that, it smacks a little of “roadrunner comedy”, bringing “unbelievable” to another level, and is not much more than a way to make more money off of “Lord of the Rings”. Will I go see the sequel that is sure to follow? Probably. For seven dollars and fifty cents (senior’s cost), it was a good time, for me anyhow… One might wonder how an old man, so avid for truth, for as much explanation as possible concerning faith in Scripture, could be so entertained by the likes of science fiction, myth, and folklore. Beth makes fun of me when I point out discrepancies in television shows or the “chick flicks” we watch together; but, in truth, my irritation is with error, not with fantasy. Likewise, when it comes to theology, I have no problem with people “working out their own salvation”, but do think they ought to be able to at least plausibly define the terms of their credo; and I say that realizing we all come up short in having solved the mystery in its entirety. Such is my point, however. God save those who consider themselves already “arrived”; God give us all hunger and thirst to ever pursue Him “through the veil”; and God give us eyes to understand the journey is individual, each of us in our own relationship. My experience doesn’t have to be duplicated……

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

After posting my last entry, something inside just kept pressing me, eventually sending me back to re-write the ending; and, even then, my words failed to bring forth that which was on my heart. When such tragedy occurs, we all tend to want some sort of explanation, someone or something to accuse; but, in truth, evil seldom makes sense. There are no quick solutions. My pastor, in this morning’s sermon, declared that “The only way to dissipate darkness is to shine a bright light”; and, in essence, his remark is pretty much what I was trying to say. His message would end with a plea for all there to know a faith secure enough to anchor them in the midst of the storm and he had me on my feet, his emphasis close enough to my original remark about losing them “in the pews long before they ever succumb to the world”. We are told in Proverbs that as a man “thinketh in his heart, so is he”; and one might think that deep enough roots for anybody. Jeremiah, however, informs us that “the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked”. Indeed, in another place that prophet notes how “the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walks to direct his steps”. For me, then, it all adds up to even my “faith” not being any guarantee of being “right”. What I have gained in Christ is a resurrected Truth who abides in my “belly”. In Him I trust. To Him I turn. As the old hymn puts it: “How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er”; not merely in the sense of finding Him trustworthy, but also in the sense of His patience with me being more than my stumble down the road. This is what I want for my kids and my grandkids, His reins upon their heart, His light upon their path giving witness enough for others to follow…….