During my college years, in Seattle, I played the piano and sang – somewhat frequently – to try and make a living while going to class.  I had some “regular gigs” (playing for some ballet classes and playing in the Executive Dining Room of the Rainier Tower every week) AND every-once-in-a-while a special party or wedding.  As payment for one event, I did at the historic Olympic Four Seasons in downtown Seattle I went a little “above and beyond” and did some extra playing for the hotel itself on a night when I was there to play for a party – the hotel gave me a dinner for two at their famed Georgian Room.

Now keep in mind that I was barely 21, had only really experienced anything as elegant and elite as The Georgian Room because I was a sometime performer in places like that, meaning: I entered through the back door or kitchen, did my gig and left the same way – not mingling with the guests NOR eating the food NOR drinking the wine.  So, this free dinner was not only going to be a new adventure, but also something that otherwise would’ve cost me the monetary equivalent of tuition for one semester at my school; a little out of my range.

I asked a girl friend (as opposed to a girlfriend) to join me.  She eagerly agreed.  She was a performer/student herself and shared the same world as I; dining mostly on ramen noodles, pizza, popcorn, etc.  This was going to be spectacular…we didn’t eat for two days, in preparation.

I picked her up and, being a girl, she looked perfect for the occasion: chic, but not TOO dressy.  I wore my best white button-down, nice linen khakis, freshly shined brown oxfords…plus (did I say I was younger) I didn’t need AS MUCH HELP looking good as I do now.  I imagined we would turn heads as we, much like Eliza Doolittle at the ball, walked into the Georgian Room.

I admit, I had some expectations (based mostly on the movies and television shows I watched) about what I would experience in such a fancy place; snooty staff, food names I couldn’t pronounce, a lot of “raw” things I wouldn’t want in my stomach…etc.  But the one thing I wasn’t expecting happened at the door to the restaurant when I said we had reservations.

The Maître d’, (and he really was THE perfect definition of a gentleman) smiled and asked if I had a jacket, since jackets were required in the room.  I had never heard of such a thing.  Shocked, embarrassed and thinking of some extravagant story I could talk about my jacket being stolen right outside as I saved myself and my date from certain death just before entering the restaurant…mostly I remember no response, except “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

The Maître ‘d gave me a sincere and truly reassuring smile and said not to worry, several gentlemen who dined there regularly kept jackets in the cloak room just off the Maître d’s station.  He sized me up and brought out a green jacket which he helped me slip on.  First, it was perhaps the most comfortable jacket I’d ever worn…perfect fit, and whatever the cut and fabric were I now judge every jacket I’ve worn since by that one.  Second, from that time on we were never treated by him or the staff as if we didn’t belong in that place and time.

Although the jacket wasn’t mine, it fit better than anything I one at the time, and I felt oddly comfortable as we were seated by a large, beautiful window, under a chandelier.  Our server couldn’t have been more engaging, welcoming and helpful…pointing out some things we would really like and encouraging us to try some new things…since our dinner was “on the house”.  It was that “night of the green jacket” that I found out crudité just means “raw veggies” and vichyssoise is just cold potato soup…among other things.

By the end of the evening we were laughing, comfortable, surprised, satisfied, …and filled with memories that I still have some 40 years later…I’m assuming it was probably less memorable for my “date”, but who knows?

When we left, the Maître d, after asking how our evening was, removed my jacket and asked my name.  I told him, he took out a form and found a number on the page that corresponded with a discreetly-placed number sewn in the inside of the jacket and wrote my name beside it – under the other few names beside that number.

“There”, he said, “when you return, your jacket will be here.”

I learned some things that night, as my Father (in His undeniably supernatural AND natural way) taught me not to make assumptions about anyone or anything, that trying new things (like new foods and new destinations) stretches and invigorates the mind and body.  He taught me that some people have a gift of making others feel good about themselves, and I wanted to find out how to cultivate that gift.

But most of what I learned had to do with “putting on” something I didn’t think of as “mine” and learning that most often, we don’t see ourselves as others see us, we don’t imagine that some experiences, gifts, blessings, are for us…when, in fact, they fit us perfectly.

I know that’s true with Gifts of the Spirit.  I know that it is much easier to see another person’s giftedness than our own.  That’s why I’ve always thought “Spiritual Gift Assessment” tests should not be taken by the person trying to discover their own gifts but by someone else, who knows them well. I know that some people would never see themselves in a certain “jacket” because it is so out of their usual or out of their self-defined comfort zone…only then to have a friend, mentor, or someone they love, tell them the “jacket” truly fits…they should wear it, even if only for a short time and place.

The lessons of THE GREEN JACKET stayed with me.  There are times I’ve found myself in a place or time where I’m sure I don’t fit…then, remarkably, comfortingly, someone speaks with the inspiration of the Spirit and says, “Why don’t you just try it on.”

The “green jacket” may represent a change in life, a place in your congregation or family, or what some call a “special anointing” for a specific time or place.  Whatever your jacket is, I say to you: “Why don’t you just try it on.”

You might be surprised what God has tailored for you.

I am so blessed and happy to live in a country in which it is relatively easy to be a Believer & Follower of Jesus the King.  I am thankful every day, as a Pastor, that I do not face the persecution and unfathomable struggles that many of my brothers and sisters throughout the world face daily.  We all are truly blessed, in the United States, to be allowed to worship, or not, as WE individually choose.

We, as a nation, have rarely had to face what other Believers & Followers around the world face, as tension between the church and the government.  Throughout the world, both governments and “non-Christians” will resent the fact that a Believer & Follower’s allegiance is FIRST given to God, and THEN to the nation.  Here in the U.S.A., although it has turned to a more politicized moniker, having the “Christian” label also gives some influence in the greatest circles of power, or at least a relative comfort level within those circles.  The same CANNOT be said for many countries outside of the U.S.A.

Does that make the U.S.A. a “Christian” country?

Although for some reason, many believe that this nation is a “new Israel” – type, the nation of the USA is no more “Christian” (according to the definition of Jesus gives us) than any other country in the world.  There is also the flawed belief there were MORE Christians in political leadership at the dawn of this nation than there are now. But all anyone needs is to read a little history and find the percentage was about the same as it is now.  Also, the “Christian behavior” of  some of those leaders would make our hair curl.  However, history also tells us there WAS an eager tolerance, in that time, to allow the people of this new country to choose where, when, how, or not to worship (unlike the countries from which our colonists came, where religion was forced upon the populace). 

Was this nation founded on Christian principals?

It would seem so, at least as many would define “Christianity” and interpret scriptures then and now.  But looking at the way some have historically used their faith to justify slavery and aggressive war against other nations, one wonders what the difference is between patriotism and faith.  Again, Tzarist Russia (as an example) and Nazi Germany (as another) would have claimed, and in fact DID claim, that theirs were “Christian nations”: their concepts about government and “who was in and who was out” were argued using the scripture AND they belied God blessed their efforts and was “on their side”.

This belief in a “Christian United States” has, unfortunately, given some Believers & Followers pause.  Some laws enacted by this so-called “Christian” country are not what some of us Believers & Followers would ever call “Christian”. These decisions about marriage, about life before birth, about death, etc. are reminders that this country is simply that…a country. It is not a nation set aside from any other nation, by God, for special “anointing”.  It is a DOMAIN (“an area of territory owned or controlled by a ruler or government”). But within this DOMAIN are people who are part of a DOMINION (“sovereignty or control”) This DOMINION transcends borders, languages, skin color, economic divides, DOMAINS, and human definition. The U.S.A. contains citizens of this DOMINION within her DOMAIN…just like every other country in the world. 

As God’s children and a part of His DOMINION, we understand that our allegiance to Him dictates that we pray for, but not worship, our respective countries/Domains and their leaders.  We realize that our leaders and lawmakers will do things we agree with and some things we don’t agree with.  We will agree and disagree with our own faith families as well.  As children of God, we also see that God and God alone will define what Life is, what Marriage is, what Love is, and who has residency in His Kingdom…many of us would be surprised at His decisions about precisely those things. 

Even in the Kingdom, the searching and re-searching of the scripture may lead YOU to define God and other things in ways which might be different from the way I see God.  How then can we expect our nation to always agree with what we individually define as “Christian”?

The laws of this country/domain and the laws of Gods DOMINION may at times connect, intersect, run parallel or conflict.  That is the reality of life in This Present Age.  We are promised however, that following The Day of the Lord, in the Age-To-Come, there will be no boundaries, no war, no strangers.  There will be ONE King, ONE law of love, and ONE peace.  We’re not there yet, but we will be soon…and for now we should practice not looking shocked at who else is sitting at God’s table (and not being offended when they are shocked to see US sitting there.)

We, as Believers and Followers of the One True God, manifested in Jesus the King, have one agenda: to KNOW God.  We have a PRIMARY allegiance: to the Almighty Father and His Only Son…and we have one command from Him to follow: LOVE ONE ANOTHER AS I HAVE LOVED YOU. PERIOD.

I love this country, where we celebrate the freedom to worship as we please, we define our faith as we please, we agree or disagree with our country’s leaders as we please.  God help me to remember the millions that don’t have this freedom…and help me love the ones who have not chosen the ultimate freedom that comes from knowing God and His Son.

America! America! May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness, And every gain divine!
(Katherine Bates)

The kingdom of the world has become
The Kingdom of our Lord and of His Anointed King,
and HE will reign forever and ever!
(Revelation 11:15)

When people think of my “home state”, Washington, (especially those NOT from Washington) more than likely the iconic image of tall evergreen trees, mountains, the Puget Sound and the bustle of Seattle are the first things that come to mind.  However, I grew up on the other side of the state, the east side, east of the cascade mountain range that traps clouds and separates the lush green coastal forest from the fertile high plateau that covers the rest of the state.  Where I grew up is dry, filled with sage brush and low-lying, wind-blown bluffs (or what some Hoosiers call, “mountains”).  So, you see, to define Washington as “Seattle” is a little one-sided…Seattle is one city, a small part of a state, which is twice the size as Indiana.

When I used to travel to Washington to visit my now-deceased parents, it always took a little time to adjust to the inevitable fact that we all had aged.  One time I arrived, my Dad was standing in the airport as I walked right up to him…he didn’t recognize me until I spoke.  As for them, I had a certain picture in my mind as to who my parents were and what they looked like…that picture in my mind didn’t change at the same rate they did…so there was always a period of adjustment for me, at each visit, to realize that they were the same people.  They were still the fine, deeply faithed, salt-of-the-earth characters they had always been…but more.  To have only known them in their 40’s or 50’s would be the same as meeting them in their 80’s…they were more than they were then, and (as they would admit) a little less.  In the same way, I, even as their son, didn’t really know them wholly…I didn’t know them like their congregation knew them, or like their friends knew them, or the young couple of neighbors who would come over every-once-in-a-while and fix, visit, keep in touch.

STATES and PEOPLE are simple concepts compared to God, they are finite entities compared to the infinite, they are “local” compared to omnipresent…so why do any of us arrogantly claim to have exclusive, and total, knowledge of Him?

Is the majestic Mt. Rainier the definition of Washington State, or the life of a retired Postman the definition of Tom Vale?  Of course not, but those definitions are sometimes the limit of person’s perception and knowledge.  YOU may see the Space Needle as Washington and I see the Columbia River…we are BOTH wrong if we think those things totally define the great state.  You may have known my mother as a good cook and known her as my mom…we are BOTH right, yet neither of those things really and truly define her.

God is beyond human definition, and to complicate matters even more, He deals with each of us individually, specifically and without prejudice.  To the blind who came to Jesus, He is the Healer…although He healed one through touch alone and another by spitting in the dirt and putting mud in his eye.  They both saw a different part of Jesus, but to divide the believers by claiming that Jesus ONLY heals through mud or ONLY heals through touch is to make God smaller than He is and to deny His greatness.

Unfortunately, much of the time THE CHURCH appears to make God “small”: one congregation claiming that the God who does “this or that” is the ONLY God, and any other definition is heresy.  If people and places are complex enough that one-hundred people might describe an individual one-hundred ways, then isn’t it just possible all of us only have a glimpse of what we try so desperately to define?  AND when we do try to define God, it is often NOT so that we will KNOW God (our one purpose on this earth) but so that we can claim to be RIGHT.  In doing so, we offend our Heavenly Father.

But the best part is this: when we open minds and hearts to the possibility that someone else might have discovered a part of God we have not seen, the hunger and thirst to know Him and be known by Him grows.  We are satisfied and stretched at the same time.  To narrow the personality of God is to narrow life to only the “possible”.  To judge another person according to their perception of how God works is to dismember the ONE Body of Christ.

There is one body and one Spirit – just as you were called to one hope when you were called – one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.  EPHESIANS 4:4-6

In celebration of The Fourth, I like to watch “patriotic” movies, like “PATRIOT” or “INDEPENDENCE DAY” (OK…that one’s really about aliens, but it’s still a good movie).  One of my favorite movies was on TV the other day; “NATIONAL TREASURE”.  In this movie, the minor point that stuck out to me was how our Founding Fathers were, in fact, traitors…at the time they rebelled against the established government.  At the end of the “Declaration of Independence” they pledged each other their “lives, fortunes and sacred honor.”  Most of the signers lost all three of those things before the end of the Revolution.

But the point was that to pursue what they knew to be the truth, they had to buck the establishment.  Like Martin Luther, who said that the church was wrong (according to how HE read the Bible) and had been wrong for hundreds of years.  He was a monk, and he MARRIED A NUN!  You can imagine what the church thought of Him!  Good grief…even Mary (mother of Jesus) was an un-wed mother!  That’s truly bucking the system.  The Church itself has stated that there is one thing all the saints have in common; they said “no” to the established church, they bucked the system.  They called the truth the truth, no matter what the status quo was and how long it had been established.

 What I learn from this is we (or maybe I should just speak for myself) need to be true to what I believe IS TRUTH, no matter how long the “establishment” has said something else.  I need to be strong enough to pledge my “life, fortune and sacred honor” to that which I believe is true, even when it flies in the face of what my contemporaries may believe.  I’ve done that. I’ve lost much. It’s not fun, but God is the final judge, and it is to HIM that I truly owe my life, fortune and sacred honor…as we all do.

As a Pastor, I pray for courage to be bold in speaking what I believe to be the Truth.  And the congregation needs to be free to speak boldly about the Truth as well, and so I encourage that, in all realms of our lives.

As citizens of the Kingdom of God, our PRIMARY allegiance should not be to the establishment, nor should it be to the State, but to Him and to the Truth.  It is truth, not the establishment that gives us freedom!

“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free…if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed!” – And to that Truth, and to the Kingdom, I will pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor…will you?

It’s difficult to believe that 55 years ago (July 20th) Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, the first to do so?  I remember where I was, I was staring at our black and white TV, trying to discern the hazy and somewhat confusing image, while listening intently as Neil Armstrong spoke the famous words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

That was a great time to be a kid, our heroes were astronauts and the “sky was the limit” …literally.  I had astronaut action-figures, there were a plethora of science-fiction shows on TV which took the imagination to the limit of believability, and what could be imagined seemed to be possible.

What happened?  What happened to imagination?

Years ago, every once-in-a-while I’d be asked to come into a Gifted Classroom of kids and teach songwriting.  I had a teacher-friend who taught an accelerated humanities-type program for Elementary Age children of every age, I would come by for a day and have the children, each hour, write a song together (leading them somewhat along) that we would write down and sing (and record).  What was interesting to observe was the children who were under Third Grade had no trouble writing lyrics with fantastic themes, creating scenarios and creatures that didn’t exist, and putting things that DID exist into impossible situations.  Once we started dealing with kids older than that, they only wanted to write about what was possible, and things they had seen or heard before…what happened?

Many of you know that I travelled to the Soviet Union (back when it WAS the Soviet Union) and spent a good month getting to know the folks who hosted me and observing life in Communist Russia.  It was eye-opening, startling, and not at all what I expected.  One morning, over tea with a friend I’d met there, I told him that in Moscow at least, I hardly saw a smile…except from the children.  He said something very enlightening, he said, “That’s because they think that anything is possible…you see, once you get to be 9 or 10 your life and work are planned out for you, it’s a sort of caste system, and once you realize what the rest of your life is going to be you stop dreaming.”

Again: “You stop dreaming.”

As a sidenote I must tell you that his dream was to move to the United States, marry an American girl and get his green card…then work in a bank and get rich.  He accomplished, after the “second revolution”, every one of those goals.

Neil Armstrong walked on the moon because somewhere, at some point, one person imagined that it was possible.  Someone had a large dream, an “Impossible Dream”.  Someone checked back in with their God-given imagination.  Someone said, “I believe THAT’S possible.”

Imagination and dreaming are God-given gifts.  When we only see what is possible (with us) our prayers become litanies of grief and whining…not shared dreams between a child and a Parent.  When we see what is only possible with us, then we disrespect the God who says, “With humans it is impossible, but with God ALL things are possible.” (MATT 19:26) AND “…ask in faith without doubting.  For the doubter is like the surging sea, driven and tossed by the wind.” (JAMES 1:6) AND “…your old will dream dreams and your young will see visions.” (JOEL 2:28)

God wants you and me to think “outside the box” in all things…why?  Because when we tap into the impossible, we tap into God.  When we see miracles and expect them, we truly become His children.  When we stop saying “that’s impossible” and start saying, “why not?” then we start living the ABUNDANT LIFE.

A man in a space suit walking on the moon is nothing compared to the great things that could be accomplished if we knew that “With God, nothing is impossible.”

Don’t stop dreaming.  That one step into the impossible, with God, could be the giant step for humankind that we all need. 

Because ”THE BLOG” is always written on Wednesdays, and Wednesdays used to be “garbage day” at my old house, and because I’m always the most sensitive to what God is showing me on Wednesday mornings prior to my writing; I have learned a lot about God from taking out the garbage. What does THAT tell you about me? In any case, as I was wheeling my garbage cans down the driveway to the sidewalk one morning and I saw some garbage sitting on the sidewalk, close to my garbage can. That inner dialogue began almost immediately:

​“You should pick that up and put it in your garbage can.”

“But it’s not MY garbage…I don’t even GO to MacDonald’s! It’s the responsibility of the Neanderthal who either threw it out of the car or just dropped it here on their way back.”

”You should pick it up and throw it away AND you should walk around the sidewalk and pick up all the garbage you see and throw it away…since you DO see it.”

“But it’s not MINE.”

“But didn’t YOU just say that if you see it, it’s YOUR responsibility to change it?”

“Yes…. but I was preaching to the flock, not to myself. (smiling). Am I really and truly responsible to clean up after others…after people who are thoughtless and tasteless and lazy?”

“You tell me.”

And then I remembered a “Principle of the Kingdom”: we are all here for each other and, yes, it IS my responsibility to clean up after others…just as it’s their responsibility to clean up after me.  It is my responsibility to put up with others – as it is their responsibility to put up with me.  Each of us will make mistakes, act foolishly, and leave a trail of garbage sometime in our lives.  None of us live in a bubble, we are ALL connected.  As a citizen of the Kingdom, it is my responsibility to provide for others what they cannot or will not provide for themselves, both inside and outside of the confines of “the flock”. If everyone did that job, we’d ALL have someone looking out for us…that’s the ideal design for the world we live in, and it’s up to the Church to reinforce that behavior.

I picked up the empty burger bag, a couple of cigarette boxes, an empty Coke cup and an empty tube of eyeliner (that WAS mine…just kidding). As I did, I realized that God is right…if we only look after ourselves, we have a very limited and unfulfilling life…if we only take care of our own lives we live in seclusion and our solitary existence benefits no one…not even ourselves…and it certainly doesn’t promote growth of the Kingdom of God.

We are all connected, whether we like it or not. Sometimes we mourn with each other, and dance, we share more than we understand…and yes, there are moments that call for us to clean up one another’s garbage. No one has penned it better than one of my favorite poets, the priest, John Donne:

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

PHILIPPIANS 2:1-4
If then there is any encouragement in Christ, if any consolation of love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any affection and mercy, fulfill my joy by thinking the same way, having the same love, sharing the same feelings, focusing on one goal. Do nothing out of rivalry or conceit, but in humility consider others as more important than yourselves. Everyone should look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others.

It was a tragic story, to begin with.  He was a young father, in construction.  He was a high school jock who hadn’t lost his physical peak with age.  His home was filled with his young wife and three small children: girls.  He loved his family and his life was full of simple pleasures.  I didn’t exactly know him, but his parents were members of my congregation.

He lived each day following a pattern that wasn’t a rut, but was predictable: he rose early, went to work and came home.  But there was one feature about him that seemed incongruous to the rest of him.  He loved Broadway musicals, especially FIDDLER ON THE ROOF.  And so, each day, he would return from a long day of hard labor, greet his kids, kiss his wife, put on an LP of some Broadway soundtrack, more often than not, “IF I WERE A RICH MAN” (his favorite of favorites) from “FIDDLER ON THE ROOF”. Then, he would lay down on the couch and fall asleep till dinner.

One day he did all that, laid down, and never got back up.

Like I said, it was tragic.  But even in this case…well.

The church organist and I were the same age, young.  We lacked the maturity of experience to let inappropriate moments of humor pass through our minds to be nibbled on later.  If the plate was put in front of us, we ate it…or worked hard to not let it tempt us (usually without success).  We were the musicians at the church and therefore were asked to be the musicians at the funeral.  The service was not at our church, but at a small, older, funeral home out-of-town.  This was the type of place where the organ and singer were behind a screen at the back of the platform.  We could see out, but no one could see in and see us.

Most of the service requested was standard fare.  However, the family insisted on my singing his favorite song.  You guessed it: “IF I WERE A RICH MAN”.

Picture the cast: a minister prone to appreciate the off-kilter humor of human nature, two twenty-somethings who had a difficult time taking anything seriously, a grieving family, an old funeral home…it’s a gold mine.

The actual performance was more difficult than I imagined when we simply practicing.  First off, the mood alone was wrong.  This was a funeral, not a cabaret.  We had to find that musical performance balance between appropriate while still being true to a song THAT WASN’T WRITTEN FOR A FUNERAL.  So, the organist and I KNEW we couldn’t perform it “full-boar”, as if at the Schubert Theatre.  The logistics alone were impossible.  We were tucked in a room large enough for a Hammond B3 and a singer.  There wasn’t enough room there (as my dear Aunt Eva would say) to “cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth”.  So my friend, the organist, had to play the familiar, “boom-chuck-chuck, boom-chuck” accompaniment (on a Hammond B3, better known for blues, rock and gospel, than show tunes), and I had to read over her shoulder because there wasn’t room for a music stand.  The microphone was fixed to the wall, NOT the wall the organ was on.  The organ was to my left, the mic was to my right.  The melody I knew, the words…not so much.  So I had to look to my left, get as many words in my mind as possible while directing my voice to the mic on my right.  All the while, actually looking at (through the screen) the congregation.

The time came.  Just on the other side of the screen, a mere two feet in front of us, were the chairs for the minister and anyone else speaking at the service, backs to us.  Our Pastor had just finished his remarks, telling the story and meaning of this song to the departed.  He sat down.  She started playing.  I started singing.

It was all going well.  And then the surreal moment hit my friend playing the organ.  By the movement of her back, I could tell she was beginning to chuckle to herself.  Her past history indicated she wouldn’t be able to stop.  It got worse.  This may not be true for you, but for me (and obviously her) if you have to laugh silently, laugh-tears start up.  I was doing fine, but suddenly she was silently laughing and tearing up.  She couldn’t see the music, she turned a page too early, I lost the words.  Then I started.  I couldn’t control it.  This was perhaps the most ridiculous thing (at that point in my life) that had ever happened to me.  I started to sing and couldn’t.  I didn’t know what the words were so I just sang (when I could) “dai-dai-dai…”.  My inner Tevye had left the building.  In a frantic effort to stop the madness I reached over to point to the END OF THE SONG, and ended up 1) accidentally hitting her in the jaw, and 2) falling over a stack of music.

Our Pastor, true to his nature, had his head bowed the whole time.  When we finished in glorious fashion, he rose and gave the longed-for benediction.  It was over.

Well, not quite.

In an effort to sneak out as quickly as possible, we entered the side room where the family had gathered, before getting into the coach and ride to the cemetery.  In horror, I saw the departed’s mother and wife approach us.  They hugged me.  They said how moved they both were at my rendition of RICH MAN, and so touched that I “broke down during the last verse”…it meant so much to them that I was moved as well.

Well, of course.  They couldn’t SEE what was going on, they could only hear it.

I don’t know what you can get out of this story, but several lessons come to me:
FIRST: The young father was truly a “rich man”. The world may have considered him to be just another working man of the masses, but his life was full and rich

SECOND: The SPIRIT can work through absolutely even the most ridiculous of weaknesses to do THE SPIRIT’S work.

And so, once again we are assured:
“…all things work together for those/with those, who love God and are called according to his purpose…” (ROMANS 8:28)
and
“…the Lord works in mysterious ways…” (not Scripture, but appropriate)

…and finally,

“…in our weakness, He is our strength.” (II CORINTHIANS 12:9)

Each June I think about my friend, Michael.  Michael was a conductor, chorus master, lecturer, author, musicologist, accompanist, and my vocal coach when I performed opera.  He was also, more importantly, my friend.

I first met him when, as a very young singer, was making my professional debut in opera and he was assigned to me, by the company, as my “coach”.  He led me in the style of singing the small role that I had.  Despite our age difference, we immediately became fast friends.  He was much older than he looked, (we almost looked the same age) and so seemed like a “wunderkind”: a brilliant man with a quick wit and energy that made the rest of us look like slackers…and I’ve never been accused of being a “slacker”.

When he learned that I was getting my degree in Music Composition he insisted on hearing every piece I wrote and coming to each performance of my new works at the college I attended.  He would analyze each piece, not to judge or criticize, but to ask questions about my choices of phrases, keys, motives, themes and construction…all without ever SEEING the music on paper…just from what he had heard, once.  He made me think about my own compositions in ways I had never thought…He listened.  

He introduced me to his musical love, Richard Wagner.  He knew more about the composer than anyone I had ever met and was writing a book on his favorite composer…a commissioned work (a publisher paid him an advance to write it…that’s how good he was).

Mike and I would get together regularly, maybe once or twice a month, to eat, drink, and talk about music…both his and mine.  He would always have his calendar handy so that he could write down when my next concert was.  We continued to work together at the Opera Company.  And when Seattle Opera commissioned ME to compose a small touring opera for their company, I dedicated it to him…and he accompanied the opera on one of the three Pacific Northwest tours.

One day I called and left a message for him.  He never returned the call.  I called a couple more times over the next few weeks…until at last a female voice answered.  It was a mutual theatre friend of ours.  As I was obviously startled at her voice on his phone, in his apartment, she said, “Rick, didn’t you hear?  Michael is very sick, you know…SICK. He’s been in the hospital for the past three weeks.”

The way she emphasized the word, “sick” was the code back in the ‘80’s, in Seattle, for someone who had AIDS.  I was stunned.  Frankly, I’d forgotten he was a part of the LGBTQ (or what we just used to call, “gay”, community there.  What stunned me was that he didn’t share his illness with me, and we were good friends.

As we continued to talk, she said that he was embarrassed.  He didn’t want me, a “Christian friend”, to know that he was “sick”.  He was afraid that I would judge and that I would condemn…and most importantly, that I would leave.  Ironic, since because of HIS choice not to share this information with me I, in effect, DID abandon him when I could’ve been there.

I attended his funeral a few weeks later.  It was a doubly sad affair, for me, at least.  To this day I feel like I had no closure.  And I was angry.  Not at him, but at the notion that he believed any Christian would be filled with judgment and hate for him: one of the nicest, kindest, most generous people I had ever met…to this day.

I’m older now…maybe not wiser.  I am, in many ways, more cynical and bitter.  I understand that Jesus tells us, who Believe & Follow Him, that the world and sometimes the Church will “hate” us.  But what really hurts is to think the “world” would hate any “Christian” because many believe “Christians” themselves are filled with hate.  That’s not what Jesus teaches, on the contrary: we are to love our “brothers and sisters” (fellow followers) AND our enemies…I don’t do math, but I’m pretty sure that covers everyone.  So how could Michael think that I, whom he knew well, would judge him, would hate him, would abandon him?  Not because of anything I did, I hope, but perhaps because of what some other “Christian” had done to him, all in God’s name.

I stood on one side of that story long ago…now I stand in both worlds and see both sides.  There are those “Christians” whose FIRST response will always be reminding us of God’s judgment; careful to let us all know that if Jesus isn’t here in the flesh to judge the living and the dead, they will be happy to take up that job.  AND there are “Christians” who believe Jesus’ command to love is “conditional”.

But thankfully, though it’s sometimes difficult to see, there are those who understand that to know a person’s heart, read a person’s mind, and judge a person’s story is something that God and God alone has the power, and the responsibility, to do.  Our job is simple: love them all and let JESUS sort it out in the end.

I think about what would’ve happened with Michael had the reputation of “Christians” in the ‘80s been as the most caring and loving, the most compassionate and least judgmental of all humanity.  I try to bring closure to his death by imagining him telling me everything and me just hugging him in response…because he was my friend, and because Jesus is my King.

Central Christian Church in Anderson, Indiana could, and should, be known as the people who love like no one else.  We are the people who choose to treat everyone with love: those with whom we agree, and those with whom we don’t agree.  Then we stand aside and let the Spirit do the work of the Spirit.

We can, and WILL, be those who others see and say, “If being a CHRISTIAN means being like those people at Central, then count me in…when I was hungry, they fed me, when I was thirsty, they gave me something to drink…when I had AIDS and was dying, they cared for me, and loved me, without judgment or superiority.”

Each June (PRIDE MONTH) my heart remembers what my head may forget: that Michael is as unworthy as all of us to receive God’s love…and yet God loves Him as He loves us all. God loves us not because of who WE are, but because of who HE is.

If we belong to Jesus, how then should we live?

We are GOD’S people. Jesus is our KING. Our primary allegiance is to THE KINGDOM OF GOD.  With Jesus “breath of the Spirit” breathing through us, we can be people who love others as Jesus loves them – people who remember Jesus loved us, UNCONDITIONALLY, before we ever loved Him.

In the last few days I have had the remarkable pleasure, and privilege, to be in Rome and see the almost 2000-year-old Colosseum, the Roman Forum and the Arch of Titus. I stood where Paul discussed the new philosophy of THE WAY in the Athenian Agora. I walked through vast and empty villas, theatres, restaurants, and markets where, in 79 AD, 26,000 lives were snuffed out by Vesuvius (2000 in Pompeii alone). I saw the green-blue Mediterranean as I looked down on the caldera from high above in windy Santorini, Greece. I stood silent in the house where Mary, Jesus’ mother, lived out the end of her days, I watched a lone figure place flowers on the grave of John, Jesus’ cousin who took Mary into his home. And I walked the ancient, marble streets of Ephesus (where, once again, the memory of Paul came to mind…he visited there, lived for 3 years there, and confronted paganism there) to the theatre (which could accommodate 10% of the population: 24,000) where the great argument between the leaders of THE WAY and the worshippers of ARTEMIS took place.

All this in around 14 days. And you know what I felt? Aside from grateful, privileged, and awed…I felt overwhelmingly insignificant.

Insignificant.

I was, in every one of those moments, only a drop of water in the great turquoise sea of time. I was flooded by the thought of all the feet that had walked the ancient streets of Rome, Pompeii, Athens, and Ephesus. I was stunned…knowing that I have heard of these cities all my life, I had quoted from the great men and women who lived then and there. I stood where Julius Caesar was assassinated, not only thinking about that event, but also how it was significant enough to be captured in great artists, like Vincenzo Camuccini (“The Assassination of Julius Caesar”) and writers, like Shakespeare (“Julius Caesar”).

And when I stood at the grave of my favorite of the gospel writers, John, I felt that he was not only more “real”, but a friend.

And again, I felt, in all that great history…insignificant.

“INSIGNIFICANT” (Merriam-Webster): lacking weight, position, or influence…not worth considering…unimportant. 

Did all the great people whose shadows are left in these places of rich history feel the same way? After all, they were just people, like me. Did any of them think their words or actions would not only be spoken of thousands of years later, but that these places, given weight by their presence, would become almost sacred to the millions who visit daily? Probably not.

I could stand still in the unseen corner of this all, saying to myself, “No matter how great I imagine that I am, I’m not worth considering…in light of all the world’s greatness and history.

That is a harsh, but not necessarily a bad, lesson. We all are, after all, members of a collective, a community. OUR God reminds us (through Paul, especially) that each of us is unique, with talents and gifts to offer to the community…for the benefit of the community. I AM insignificant when set next to the entire Community of Faith. It’s not ever just about me.

The wave of history and greatness I experienced (not even mentioning the food, the art, the music, the people along the way) taught me some good, very good, lessons about life.

We cannot live with what I would call the “Intention of Significant Destiny” or, in other words, living so that one-thousand years from now people will know who we are and call us “great.” Our Teacher/King tells us that it is always about “today”, loving others today, trusting His Father today, living the “embarrassingly extravagant life (zoe)” today! “Don’t worry about tomorrow…” He says, when it comes to wondering how we will survive…but also in the greater sense: the purpose of our lives is not to write ourselves as the leading role in the story of history…but to concentrate on leading a life that serves the people of today. 

And if my God says, “You are significant to me.” That is enough. Human history often forgets, often confuses, often polishes, the actual “truth (aletheia)” of the moment…time muddies, it infrequently clarifies. But the King of Universe, and the author of time’s story, believes in me…sometimes more than I believe in Him. 

My significance, I realized…standing at the top of a peak in Santorini, in Mary’s house and John’s tomb in Ephesus, at the Roman Colosseum, in the Athenian Agora, and in the “tomb” of Pompeii…is based entirely upon what my Creator believes about me…whether I FEEL it or not.  As for the rest…

…time will tell.

When my parents passed away in 2013, I had a lot of boxes, furniture, and “memories on film” to go through.  “Memories on film”/photos.  In this new world of digital photos stored in a chip the size of a thumbnail, it is overwhelming to go through the thousands of “hard-copy” photos kept for generations and say, ”What should I keep?  Which ones DON’T I have?  What will mean something to MY children?” and “They’re only photos…is it worth the trouble and money to keep them?”

I had to set a standard, a formula, for deciding what to keep:

1. If the photo doesn’t have a PERSON in it I’m not keeping it. (Sorry, Mom, all those photos from the thousands upon thousands of road trips to historic markers around the country are now “dust in the wind”)
2. If I already have a copy…the photo is toast.
3. If I don’t know who the people are and Mom didn’t write their names on the back…they’re gone.
4. If I know who the people in the photos are, but don’t care…they’re trashed.
5. If they are embarrassing photos of me, they are treated as if they never existed. (Editing history is a wonderful thing.)

Of course, as the Estate Sale coordinator reminded me, “almost everything is worth something to someone”.  So, I found myself in the strange, ironic and “sermon-illustrative” position of removing photos from frames and preserving the frames for sale, eliminating the photos, or keeping them (according to the above-mentioned criteria), BECAUSE, as important as our images are, they are sometimes worth nothing to anyone but us.

The frames that surround us can be traded, bought, and sold.

As I’ve been on a trip this last week, taking photos to remind me of place, people, and moments – I stopped and thought about the fact that I can’t sell photos that carry thoughts and deep memories. They are, in some cases, all I have left of a life that lived and walked next to me.  But the frames, THEY were worth something to someone else, and would frame other photos and other memories…people would purchase those.

And so, LESSONS I have learned from “FRAMES”:

1. A person who would choose your photo over your frame is a friend worth your investment.
2. To many people, it is not your essence they are attracted to, it is your frame: your trappings, your accumulations, your “setting” without your frame, some people may not even recognize your photo, and those are people you can do without.
3. A frame can also be looked at as walls of love that can be passed on to others when the image is gone to a “new frame.”
4. The frame is the paradigm through which people see us. Different people/paradigms, different frames. Though I am the same, I am not seen the same way by all the people that know me. None of THEM know me completely. Only my Heavenly Father knows me completely, “trans-frame”, and as much as we’d love to know our Heavenly Father, we only know HIM through the frame we have fit HIS image into, carved, created and defined by our limited life experience.

It is an arrogant and misinformed assumption to believe that someone else would see God through the same “frame” as we do.  It is also arrogant and misinformed to believe that if that person DOESN’T see God the same way as we do, THEY are wrong. It could be possible that the image is the same, but the frame is different.

In the end, I thank my Heavenly Father that I grew up in this place, had wonderful parents, friends and family to surround and teach me – people who helped create my “frame”.  But LIFE moves forward, one frame is exchanged for another, and that is a good thing.  One day ALL frames will be removed, and only our image/essence and God’s image/essence will live. Paradigms will shift once and for all, pretense will end, and Truth will be the Word of the day.

For now, we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face.
Now I know in part, but then I will know fully,
as I am fully known.
Now these three remain:
faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.

I CORINTHIANS 13:12-13