Note: This story is based on an article by Dr. John Hood “Local Tie to Classic song ‘I Wonder As I Wander’ in the newspaper Cherokee Scout, published December 27, 2023.

John Jacob Niles born 1892 in Kentucky got his first job in the Burroughs Adding Machine Company in 1910, selling the hand-cranked novelty to customers. With an ear for music, he was always engaged in his hobby of discovering folk songs that he heard. World War I broke out in Europe during the year 1917, and Niles enlisted in the US Army Air Services and fought in France where he was wounded. He began his study of music there and upon returning to the States, he enrolled at the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music and became a singer on stage and radio.

His hobby, his passion, of seeking old folk songs led him to take several trips in the Southern Appalachian Mountains. One such trip in the summer of 1933 led him to Murphy, the county seat of Cherokee County, NC (my home county). While there, a drama was unfolding as a poor family (surname Morgan), camped on the town square for some time and police, in response to complaints, insisted that they leave. Being revivalists, Preacher Morgan stated that he lacked the money to feed and clothe his family, nor could he afford the gas to drive his ramshackle vehicle out of town. So, what happened next? A little platform had been attached to their car, and a girl, Annie Morgan, stepped out and began to sing. Niles states that her clothes were unbelievably dirty and ragged, and she needed a good bath. Her ash-blond hair hung in long skeins. Yet, she was beautiful, and she could sing. She smiled as she sang, singing a single line of a song.

Niles quickly jotted down the notes and gave the girl seven quarters and she repeated the fragments of the song seven times. Now, Niles had the raw materials for what he believed to be an old ballad from Scotland. In the morning the Morgan family was gone…to where, nobody knows. But John Jacob Niles was mesmerized by the haunting notes sang by the girl.

Ninety years ago on December 19, 1933, after hearing the notes earlier that summer from little Annie Morgan, John Jacob Niles was at the John C. Campbell Folk School that straddles both Cherokee and Clay Counties, North Carolina. He sang:

I wonder as I wander out under the sky

How Jesus the Saviour came for to die

For poor on’ry people like you and I

I wonder as I wander out under the sky 

There’s a mystery here regarding the word “on ‘ry” because some people add another “r” and it becomes “or’ n ‘ry” and phonetically it sounds like “ordinary”. Which is it? “On ‘ry” could mean “ornery” or “cantankerous”. However, an old northern English or Scotch pronunciation of “ordinary” was “or ‘n ‘ry” in everyday dialect, the word may have sounded like “or ‘ry.” However, Niles needed two syllables, not three to fit the tune. In the North Carolina mountains, largely settled by the Scotch-Irish, it seems as if “on ry” was said with a sense of pride in being ordinary folks and it was said of those persons perceived as being arrogant or stubborn or hard-headed.

When Annie Morgan sang for Niles that summer, just after the police had asked them to move, can’t you see her express amazement that God would become flesh in Jesus so that ‘poor on ‘ry people” (ornery) people like her family would find redemption?

I can! 

I wonder as I wander…in awe…..about this marvelous grace!

Along with the normal work-related things in January, I am also doing some music writing/composing. One thing I strive for, in the music I am writing, is to “establish a pattern” (drawing the listener’s ear into a comfort zone) and then break that pattern (keeping the listener’s ear interested and wanting more). Breaking the pattern is sometimes good (getting the listener to notice things) and sometimes it isn’t (causing confusion and leaving the listener lost). Too much “pattern” and the listener stops listening. Too much breaking of the pattern and the listener is frustrated…and stops listening. 

It’s sometimes that way with life. We all have our “favorite burner” on the stove, our “favorite seat” in church, or “favorite side of the sanctuary to sit in”.  We have patterns and habits that we have established for ourselves, and sometimes we go through those patterns mindlessly unless something changes. The danger of “religion” is the setting of patterns without the “breaking” of patterns every-once-in-a-while. Tradition/Ritual/Patterns are comforting. They can also lull us to mindless action. 

In that context, I’m noticing my mind waking up a bit this month. I’m having to establish new patterns (or break the usual ones, depending on how you see it) as I work in a different place, eat in different places than usual, and even worship in a different place, (one where I am a visitor and not the Pastor). Every once in a while I need to be jolted out of the pattern I have set, so that I see things differently.

This last Sunday was away from Central and at my Florida congregation. I didn’t arrive early to open doors, turn on lights, and pray a “Prayer Circle” around the sanctuary (as is my habit/pattern every other Sunday morning). No, this Sunday I arrived just in time to hear the Prelude. Usually (for some unknown reason locked in my DNA) I will sit in the back of the left section of any theatre, church service, or gathering. Again, I’m not sure why, but I’ve always done that. THIS Sunday I thought to myself, “my right eye is half blind, and I have hearing loss in my right ear – so why am I sitting on the left…I should sit on the right.” There were also no openings in the back of the sanctuary, where I would’ve preferred, so I sat in the middle of the room.

A remarkable, and simple, thing happened – I saw and heard more than I usually would. Now, I can hear you say “Of course you did, your left eye and ear can see and hear better than your right.” But I had never thought of that, I had simply done what I always do, despite the fact it made less sense.

And there is a lesson in life as well as composing. Break the pattern for a reason, don’t just break a pattern for the sake of change. When I stopped and THOUGHT about my usual method of “choosing where I would sit in a sanctuary” I realized that part of what I did didn’t fit with who I am NOW. Suddenly I saw and heard from a different angle, literally. And it was better.

“Old habits die hard.” As Benjamin Franklin penned (although the phrase may have been older than him). And sometimes habits, as comfortable as they are, keep us from seeing and hearing things as we should.

There is a danger in too much of the usual pattern as much as there is a danger with too much change. There needs to be a balance. Just as a composer needs to capture the ear with a balance of “pattern” and “breaking of pattern” to keep the listener progressing through the song – our lives need a good balance of “pattern” and “surprise”.

Jesus had “habits”; He rose early to get away from it all and seek quiet time with His Father. He taught in “patterns” so the disciples and the people would listen and be comfortable. But He also left Himself open to every moment and person that presented themselves to Him – never allowing His established “routine/pattern” take precedent over “the moment”. Remember, it was when He was on His way to raise Jairus’ daughter that the woman touched the fringe of His prayer shawl – that was the “breaking of a pattern” for both her AND Him.

There are some patterns we need to establish; not only finding time with God alone, but directing ALL of our inner dialogue/thoughts to Him. We should establish a regularity of giving; ourselves, our time, our gifts, and yes, our money. But like Jesus, we need to be aware that the comfort of our established habits and patterns can lull us into mindlessness, and we should be open at all times for what the Spirit presents us with – “…every moment has its time, every person has their place…”

And so for me, at least here in Florida, I am now sitting on the right-hand side of the sanctuary – basking in a more clear-sighted view, and a fuller sound that comes from “changing a pattern” every-once-in-a-while.

“Should old acquaintance be forgot since the Days of Old Long time ago” is one translation in English of the Scottish lyrics penned by poet Robert Burns of Scotland. The poem depicts a couple of men, likely childhood friends, meeting together in a pub after years of being distant. This gap in their relationship is not intentional, rather, it is because, for each of them, life has taken them on their own path. Perhaps a chance encounter at a pub, they desire to chat with each other. So, each orders a drink and each “takes a cup of kindness for auld lang syne,” with memories of the days of long ago. One senses the emotion of joy in re-uniting, but the stronger emotion is one of wistful regret because of the years when “old acquaintances were forgotten.”

In August 2017, I was back in my hometown of Andrews, North Carolina because the total eclipse of the sun was centered directly over the small town. People came from everywhere, including some from foreign countries. The main street of town was closed, and vendors, bounce houses, kiddie rides, food kiosks, etc. lined the streets. When wandering around, by chance, I heard someone call my name. It was an old high school classmate, and she and I hugged. Both of us had just bought a cold drink, and the conversation went as one would expect…” I haven’t seen you in ages! (What a delight!) …. ”Do you have a family?”…”where are you living now?” …what have you been doing (i.e., what profession or career have you been engaged?”). 

All too quickly, by the time we had sipped our drinks down, she had to get back to the booth in which she was a volunteer and I needed to find my wandering family. I have a distinct memory, after we parted, of recalling this old poem of Robert Burns entitled “Auld Lang Syne.” Before the day was out, I had met 4 or 5 of my old classmates (out of a class of 74 people) and delight was experienced in meeting them, but the wistful thoughts of “Old Acquaintances of Long Ago” came to my mind unbidden.

“Auld Lang Syne” speaks volumes about “chronos” (Greek) time; that is, the measurement of time in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years, etc. One minister, in a sermon I heard, said “time keeps everything from happening at once.” Because time exists, we have a lifespan, time to rear a family, time to earn a living, time to rest, time to engage in hobbies, time to worship, time to form friendships, time to pursue our dreams (and in so doing, some relationships slide into “old acquaintances), etc. As relentless as the tide breaks against the shore, time, too, is relentless, stopping for no one.

With “chronos” time passing so methodically (tick-tock, tick-tock, etc.), if the truth be told, it is not time itself that shapes our lives, but the choices that we make at various points in time. Case in point: at the close of my senior year in college, I applied for one of the eleven scholarships to for a two-year master’s degree for teaching the deaf, I got a letter saying that I was the 12th in line, and if any of the eleven persons who got the scholarships were to drop out, I would be the next selection. Then, I got an offer from the high school in which I did my student teaching to take a position with them for the next fall. The Social Services department of my home county asked if I would consider a job with them. A letter came saying that I had been accepted at the Southeastern Seminary. I chose to attend the Seminary and the choice I made at that point in time has shaped my life and my career. Without that choice, odds are high that my path may have never crossed with Central Christian Church of Anderson, IN. In “Auld Lang Syne” the two men meeting in a pub after “all these years apart”, were men who made choices at various points in their lives, and in time, their relationship became merely that of an “auld acquaintance.”

Over the years Auld Lang Syne has become the song that welcomes the new year when the ball falls at midnight on Times Square as December 31 becomes January 1st. However, the emphasis of this song is not on time gone by and renewal of old times and relationships.

A cup of kindness yet says it all. Kindness toward old friends and acquaintances, and kindness toward oneself. 2024 will be a year in which a cup of kindness should be served in every home, in every community gathering, every national institution, every international summit… 

And Jesus took the cup (of kindness) and blessed it, declaring that sin is forgiven.

A BLOG by pastor Ken Rickett

Luke 2:15-18

And it came to pass after the angels had returned to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go into Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told to them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 

When my brother and I were old enough (about 12 years old or so) and brave enough to venture into the mountain forests behind our house, we must have walked a considerable distance following a creek flowing from the peaks of the mountains along an old gravel road beside the creek. It was early December and through the bare,

leafless trees, we spied an old cabin through the trees. Summoning our bravest efforts, we walked to the cabin and then looked inside it as the front door had fallen off. Parts of the roof revealed the sky above as some wood shingles had fallen off of this one-room abode and the remaining three or four pieces of furniture were unsalvageable. There was never any electricity to that cabin and a single fireplace spoke of the only source of winter heat. Once home, we told our grandmother what we had discovered, only to quickly realize that she knew all about that cabin. And naturally, a story or two awaited the eager ears of my brother and me. 

My grandmother began, “There was an older man who lived alone in that cabin; his wife had died relatively young and he was determined to stay in his ‘home’ in spite of the effort of his grown offspring to entice him to live with them as these children now lived out of town.”

So, for several years, at Christmastime, my grandmother would send her children, mostly teenagers at that time, to his cabin a couple of days before Christmas with food, candies, and a gift or two that he could use. One year, after these things were delivered to the old man at the cabin, my grandmother’s children were going to search for a Christmas tree in the woods, and therefore they had a hatchet with them.

After the items were delivered, the old man stepped outside the cabin, and just a few yards away was a perfectly shaped holly tree about 6 feet high, and absolutely loaded with red berries (holly trees are native to the southern mountains). My mother (the youngest of the children) commented on the holly tree, saying, ‘that would make an interesting Christmas tree. Before anyone else realized what was going on, the old man grabbed the hatchet out of the hands of my uncle (my mother’s brother) and swiftly cut down the holly tree in one swipe at the base of the tree. When told that he should not have cut down his pretty tree, the old man said,
“Take it, consider it a gift from me to you.”
And then my grandmother continued, “They came home with this lovely holly tree and its red berries, and we all decided that no other decorations were needed, and we all felt that it was indeed our favorite Christmas tree ever!”

A holly Christmas tree! How odd and unusual!

For centuries at Christmastime both homes and churches decked the halls with boughs of holly. Thorny holly leaves, according to legend, symbolized the crown of thorns placed around Jesus’ head while he was crucified on the cross. The red berries represent the blood that flowed from the pierced side of Jesus. In Germany the holly tree is known as “Christ’ Thorn” but with a caveat: in the spring, the tiny, white blooms of the holly tree symbolize purity and wholeness.

Being evergreen, the holly leaves boldly points to eternal life, the hope that Christians share in expectation and faith that we, too, shall be raised in a resurrection as was Jesus and be united with Him for eternity. Ancient Celtics had the practice of placing thorny holly leaves and branches all around their doors and windows so the thorns would capture any evil spirits trying to enter the house. Incredibly, the Celtics believed the woodland fairies would find shelter from the cold by hiding among the stiffer, evergreen holly leaves; hence, holly is also associated with hospitality and welcome to the stranger.

AH! These Celtic practices speak of the sentiment that I have always attached to Christmas. Through Jesus I live in a safe haven, and in a place where strangers are welcome! That speaks to the joy that this one solitary life, Jesus, crucified and resurrected, brings to my heart and soul! 

And so a truth remains: in spite of all the lovely Christmases we remember, they seem to blend in with all the others but. . . occasionally there is a narrative, a story, that once again stirs the imagination with Christmas wonder and awe!

A holly Christmas tree! Can you imagine that?

Well, the tree is finally up, all my “gigs” but two have happened, some snacks have been snarfed…and I am finally, mid-December, able to think about Christmas. Now I’ve actually had Christmas music playing in my car since Halloween, and on my PC and iPhone (and on “ALEXA”) which has helped to helped to put me in the mood, when I have the time to sit and listen…music, and specifically, the music of Christmas is for me a wonderful tradition!

Oh, how the years have changed; where I used to pull out the LPs in the back of the shelf, now I “download” it all from that mysterious “cloud” out there.  But listening to the music, while enjoying decorations and wassail, takes me back to the years that Mom & Dad would pull out the old Christmas LP’s.

The first “album” I ever purchased was the FIRESTONE CHRISTMAS ALBUM WITH JULIE ANDREWS (remember those? One quarter with a fill-up?).  I saved my quarter and begged Dad to fill up at TEXACO (against his principles, as a Richfield Oil man).  For me, Christmas is not Christmas unless I’m listening to Julie belt out those Christmas songs with the London Symphony Orchestra, and arrangements by Andre Previn.  They ARE STILL beautiful recordings, but it’s the memories that the music recalls, more than anything else, the “tradition” that puts me in the Christmas mood.

Memories and traditions are strong motivators.  In churches, it’s memories of days-gone-by that sometimes determine how people feel about certain times, seasons, and events in the Church.  It’s the way a song reminds us of a moment in time, in the past, that makes us want to hear it again and again during worship. And it’s the memory of the “way we’ve always done it” that keeps people from accepting change also.

And yet, the rule of life is, everything changes…except God. Ministry and church work is a good example of that.  We sang out of a hymnal until some young guy named Bill Gaither started writing songs for us to sing…that weren’t IN our hymnal. (Of course, he’s been around long enough now that he IS in the hymnal).  How about the Pastor’s office?  I remember visiting the office of Pastor Bill, my Pastor when I was growing up in my hometown church.  Every wall of that office was a floor to ceiling shelf, filled with Bibles, commentaries, sermons, old and new.  His office was filled with two typewriters, a mimeograph machine, a couple of phones, etc.  You reached him by stopping by or calling the church office.  Today, most of our communication is by text, phone calls, etc.…which can, miraculously, be done anytime from anywhere.  I also have a wall filled with books, but can’t remember the last time I cracked one open, because MY office isn’t defined by the room in the church building, MY office is now my LAPTOP, my iPad and my iPhone…on those “devices” I have more than 15 Bible translations, 30 Commentaries, and various dictionaries, maps, etc. Wherever those electronic devices are, there is my office – and conversely, wherever I am, my office is with me.  I miss the tradition, but I love the convenience and efficiency.

I spent some time this year listening to those Julie Andrews recordings, and asking myself, “Do I love these songs because of the memories, because I still see myself pulling that LP out of its case and placing it on the HiFi…or because the music is beautiful in itself?”  The answer surprised me: “I love them FOR the memories AND because they are beautiful songs in themselves…I love that recording for BOTH reasons. 

And so, is tradition good? Or is it bad? 

Sometimes God wants us to re-visit our traditions just to affirm that they are GOOD traditions…AND sometimes He wants us to accept change, not just because it’s different and new, but because it might be what is needed at the time…to see HIM in a new way.  WE change, HE doesn’t.

I see “tradition” as comfort, but only when it doesn’t get in the way of learning, progress, and growth.  In worship, we use tradition to gain strength in the present, but when we start placing “tradition” in front of “relationship” then we have moved from “Christianity” to “Religion”, from “Relationship” to “Ritual” – and those are priorities out of whack.

I’ve always been a lover of tradition.  I love the songs JULIE ANDREWS sings on this, still my favorite Christmas album.  Now, I listen to the same songs I played on my “HiFi” on my iPhone, the “tradition” of the LP and it’s colorful “TEXACO” cover is gone, but the core of what started that tradition is still around…the music.

I LOVE our traditions at CENTRAL CHRISTIAN, but I earnestly, and humbly, pray that I will never let my “favorite things” get in the way of God’s agenda, His truth, and the relationship we have with or without any “religious tradition”.

Now…I hear Julie Andrew’s voice calling to me…I wish you and all you love a very Merry Christmas!

I am so looking forward to OPENING NIGHT tonight (at THE ALLEY THEATRE) of “A CHRISTMAS CAROL”.  This year, I’m playing the role of “Ebenezer Scrooge”, and my granddaughter, Harper, is playing the role of “Tiny Tim”. I mean, how could it get any better!?

Now, unfortunately, I’m feeling a bit more like Scrooge this season, than I am Cratchit.  The grinding busy-ness of the season, being kind in the face of a few downright mean, or foolish, people, the aging of my body (which does NOT enjoy the cold), and my voice going in and out at will…bah! Humbug! And yet, no matter what kind of season I’m having, Dickens uses his words to reach into my heart and soul to communicate the best of all messages to the “child still hiding inside” this old shell of mine.

The great question of the story for me is how can Scrooge, with all the resources his world can offer, completely miss the “joy” – while Tim Cratchit, sick, poor and facing a certain and early death, seems to not only understand, but “embodies” the “joy”?   

And what is that “joy of Christmas”?

In the story, maybe it’s easier to see what the “JOY of Christmas” is NOT.  When watching Scrooge, one realizes JOY does not come from wealth, or power.  Scrooge has an abundance of both and neither has given him JOY.  You can also see that “memories of Christmas”, though fond and perhaps filled with warmth, love and kindness, are more often a reminder that Christmastime now does not fulfill the memories of what it used to be.  For Scrooge, his past memories of Christmas only filled him with despair at all he had lost or cast aside.

So, what is “The JOY of Christmas”?  At its core, it is the knowledge that our Great God cared enough to love us, and connect to us, through such elaborate and sacrificial means as placing His own Son in this “God-forsaken” world. His Son then “put on our skin”, felt our pain, walked our path – so that we would see God for who He truly is, and trust Him, and follow Him.  We no longer need to fear the grave, we no longer are victims of our circumstance, we are no longer prisoners of our past, our present or our future.

Tim Cratchit “embodies” that idea: Despite our circumstances, Christmas and its JOY transcends everything.  “Life” is not totally defined by this time and place, but lives beyond this time and place. “Life” is not defined solely by heartbeat and breath.  And “JOY is greater than the sum of our surroundings, our memories, and our hopes.  

What finally makes Scrooge happy, what fills him with a joy that sets him dancing?  GIVING, not just his money, but his time, his presence, his heart.  Because Christmas Joy is “outside” of ourselves, we find the physical manifestation of that joy is also outside of ourselves.

Isn’t that just like God?  We must GIVE to GAIN.  The percentages will always remain the same, in the Kingdom of God; the more joy you give, the more joy you receive, whether it’s smiles, time, talent, cash or love.

“I have come that you might have life…
…and have it more abundantly”! JOHN 10:10 

“And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one!” CHARLES DICKENS, “A CHRISTMAS CAROL”

Ahhh, Christmas Parties; one of the best things about the season, and after a “year of drought” they are somewhat back!  Any excuse to get together with friends simply to…” get together”.  Alright, there’s the food and drink, and that’s nice too, but really, how often do we take the time simply to BE with our friends?  Not often enough, it seems.

I always look forward to a few get-togethers during the season; various hosts and various types of parties and dinners, and various “gigs”.  In each case, through the years, I was invited and accepted the invitation.  It was simple.  I didn’t have to fill out a form, join a club, recite an incantation, it was simply an invitation from a friend.  Some parties I’ve attended have been popular and sometimes people have worked hard at getting invitations.  Some parties have been quiet, improvised, and spontaneous, some elaborate and well-planned months in advance.  But in all cases the people who attended were asked by the host and accepted the invitation.  They were invited because the host wanted them there.  They were invited because they were family. They attended because they accepted the invitation.

The chaos and tension between denominations and between believers is often about the discussion as to who is a part of the Kingdom of God, and who, exactly, will “go to heaven”.  It is often a contentious debate which requires PERSON A to do what they are commanded NOT to do (according to the scripture), and that is to pronounce judgment about PERSON B’s heart and behavior.  It is, for some, the bottom-line discussion which separates the sacred from the profane.  If PERSON A feels that PERSON B doesn’t fulfill the requirements (as PERSON A sees it) it doesn’t matter how good and fine PERSON B is, they are obviously NOT “going to Heaven” so do not deserve the love of other self-identified Christians.

Now, I’m not talking about harmful and destructive behavior, I’m talking about theological differences, or people “seeing God from a different angle”.  I’m talking about people who read the same Bible but come to different conclusions than another.  To pass judgment on those types of things requires a knowledge that no human has: the ability to read hearts.  All of this requires an authority that is not given to humans: the authority to judge, which is God’s place alone.

And yet it is so simple.  Who is a part of the Kingdom?  Who will be allowed to walk on the streets of gold?  God’s friends, who are given the invitation and accept.  It requires one to be a friend of God, not necessarily a friend of yours or mine.  It requires one to accept the invitation, given by God, not necessarily given by you or me.

It does NOT require one to decide about attending, based on who else will be there.

There IS going to be a party.  WHO will be there?  Those who are friends of God, those who have been invited by God…those who have accepted the invitation.  This season, let us assume that ALL have been invited; sinners, seekers, and saints…and treat them accordingly.  

After all, there are probably some guests at “the party” who may be surprised to see that YOU are attending as well. 

A BLOG by Pastor Ken Rickett

“I understand.” No matter how these two words are expressed, their power is unique and empowering when shared with sincerity and compassion. “I understand.” No two words are more resented than when uttered by a knucklehead who has no inkling of the depths of one’s hurt and pain or when callously said as if to say, “let’s change the subject.”

“I understand.” Sometimes these words are said to say, “I get it.” In Geometry class, more than once I asked a second time for an explanation before I could say, “I understand.”

“I understand.” Sometimes these words are not said aloud, but they reflect the ability of an intuitive person to “just know” what is going on without having to be told. For example, a husband and wife are friends with another couple, and they get together several times a year, but one day the news comes that their married friends have separated. The wife is shocked and in disbelief, but the husband, an intuitive person, says, “Honey, where have you been? I knew this split was coming several months ago!”

“I understand.” “Or I don’t understand!” Hard-of-hearing folks grasp a few words (but not all words) but their minds process those words in a way that they make sense and they say to themselves, “I understand” and respond after that nanosecond pause while they process what they heard. Or they tell themselves, “I don’t understand” and respond by saying “I didn’t catch that!” As a person who lives in this hard of hearing world, we often evaluate in our minds, not whether we actually heard what was said, but whether we UNDERSTOOD what was said. Only then can we respond without embarrassment.

“I understand.” When it comes to very recent history, there is no such thing as having a full understanding of all the dynamics and forces that are driving our culture, our society and our government. My great uncle, Dr. J. Winston Pearce, several years ago after his retirement as a seminary professor, wrote the history of Campbell University, located in Buies Creek, NC where he decided to live after retirement. When he was writing the book back in the 1970s, I visited him over a weekend. He was telling me about composing that book, and he said, “In my contract with the University to write this book, I insisted that a clause be included that stated that I could not be held accountable for any interpretation or summary of the recent history of the University.” When I asked, “Why?” His response was one that I should have known since I held a degree in history, namely, “recent history is too fluid, and too many factors that are influencing the decisions of the university or its student body may not be identified for some time.” Sometimes, it is wise to recognize limits to our ability to fully understand modern dynamics!

Sometimes we yearn to declare “I understand” but we are bewildered! Case in point: the decline of membership and activity in congregations across most denominations or Christian groups. All the data and possibilities that could give us some insight is the subject for another time. It is one thing to identify various factors at play in this decline, but more importantly, the question “how do we reverse this pattern?” still begs for an answer. Understanding all the dynamics that has driven this decline in church membership and activity does not imply that immediate solutions are viable and relevant. To understand does not always point to the means by which obstacles are overcome. But the Church of Jesus Christ is a Spiritual Body, and the Spirit moves and acts in mysterious ways.

“I understand.” Have you ever heard these words. “God’s salvation is so simple that even a child can understand it?” Is it true? A child may understand the simple acceptance of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior as a profession of faith, but there is no way a child understands the struggles and difficulties that lie ahead.

When it comes to matters of faith, we are “overstating it” when we say, “I understand…my faith!” AH! Our God is constantly revealing Self, and in spiritual growth, we sometimes get to the point where we say, “I used to think, (this or that) but I have come to a deeper understanding!” I served four different churches as a summer Youth Director working with teenagers while I was in college and the seminary. Some of these teens were struggling…not with school…they were struggling because some of them were coping with parental divorce, or the death of a grandparent, or the impact of a careless few seconds while driving a car, or the news of a terminal illness to some family member or another church member.

For the first time in their lives, they were asking questions about the “Goodness of God” or “How come God allows bad things to happen to someone who tries to do the right thing?” or “What happens after death?” Like many parents, the Church was “overprotective” of its youth, and at times, as a summer Youth

Director, I was told that “teens need to be taught right from wrong, but also they must enjoy life.” Being naive, I mostly agreed, which I regret. Now, I know better. Children need to sing “Jesus Loves Me” but teenagers know all too well that life’s experiences require a much, much, much, broader and deeper grasp of God’s Love. Either they get a more solid theology as teenagers (namely, the

understanding of the Person and Nature of God as revealed in Jesus Christ through the Holy Spirit) or we will experience a Church much like today’s…in which our God is too small to deal with the vast range of human experiences in their earthly life.

“I understand” When it comes to GOD, it is not so much WHAT we now understand about GOD, it is whether we understand that GOD wants us to learn much, much more about GOD’S presence and activity in this ol’ world!

It was a THANKGSIVING MEAL that I first remember my mother saying the words, “You need to try a little of everything that I put on your plate.” Those words were translated by me into, “There is going to be some weird food today, much of which you won’t want to eat.”

Let me set this up. Usually, we had a THANKGSGIVING meal in our home, my earliest memories are of our “A” House (government alphabet homes in a government-built town) where grandpa would travel in from the neighboring town he lived in just a couple of hours away, and my “grandma & grandpa” (really my grandmother’s sister and husband) who lived in town and were ancient, living in a smaller house in the next town, and sometimes people from church (usually also ancient, in my eyes) who had no family in town.  Mom cooked for days, turning into a demonic version of Martha Stewart.

I was familiar with everything on the table, usually: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, some sweet potatoes, homemade rolls, green bean casserole, a cranberry dish of some sort (either gelled or in a salad) peas and pearl onions, cornbread, lettuce salad, and a variety of pies – all homemade.  Me, and my stomach, were not only familiar with, but looked forward to, this feast every year…and the leftovers that we fed on for days afterward.

The year I’m speaking of, however, was different.  THIS year it was different, however.  There was a new family at church, the dad was a new scientist working where mom worked, and their family was from the south. My mom, who was from the south as well, was looking forward to having a THANKSGIVING she didn’t have to cook for, AND looking forward to some dishes she hadn’t had for a while.

Then, on THANSGIVING DAY, my mother spoke those words to me and I was filled with dread in anticipation of the horrors that awaited: strange vegetables, probably not turkey but some odd southern animal, like possum – dishes that were unidentifiable, etc.

We arrived in time to see the turkey (thank heaven!) being carved. There was another family I knew there, and another one I didn’t know so well (strangers…ugh!).  We sat down at the table after standing around the table to pray. (At home we ALWAYS prayed right after sitting down, what kind of pagan ritual was this…STANDING!?…oh no, the terror was beginning).

Mom sat to my left and therefore received the food before me – which gave her the “power” to place food on MY plate before I had a chance to simply pass over things.

Turkey, stuffing, and potatoes.  Although the dressing had something in it (chestnuts, I discovered later) I had never seen before…all was well…so far.  Then came another dressing made from a base ingredient called “grits”, then what looked like little Barbie doll-sized cabbages. There were beans (Beans…!?) that were called, “black-eyed”…and tasted like they had, indeed, been beaten up.  There was cornbread (I can deal with that).  There was a weird Jello they called “aspic” – it had VEGETABLES in it…VEGETABLES! Egad!

When the “bowls of horror” had ceased going ‘round, mom leaned over to me again and said, “Take a bite of EVERYTHING on your plate or you’ll hear from me when we get home.”  To which I replied, “Why do I have to eat stuff I don’t like?” To which she replied,

“Because we are here at the invitation of the host who made something for everyone. You don’t know whether you’ll like it or not till you’ve tried it, and even if you don’t like it…you’re not the only one at the table.” 

I’ve always said, “Everything I know about worship and church, I learned from my mom.”

Here we are, in a day and age where “personal service” and “customized service” are the bywords of commerce.  Say something out loud in the privacy of your home, regarding something you’re possibly interested in purchasing, and it will immediately pop up every time you turn on your phone, pad, or laptop…seducing you to purchase.

And somehow, that attitude has entered the Church. Many are under the false notion that “worship service” is the same as “personal service” as if the word “service”, whenever related to spiritual matters, refers to us and not God…how WE are served. It’s reflected in our conversation and comments about worship and church: “I’m looking for a church that serves me.” “I’m looking for a church…where I can be fed.”  “I left because it didn’t meet my needs”…and so on.

These all may be legitimate excuses and comments; however, I think it’s always good to be reminded about our priorities. Even when things are going well, when people DO have their priorities in line (as it seems in our own congregation at Central), even when things are done the correct way…we remind ourselves about the priorities so we stay on the right path, which we are currently on.

Some things my mother reminds us, when it comes to the work of the church, and worship specifically are:

FIRST: JESUS is the host, not us. We are the guests.
SECOND: At the event will be familiar and non-familiar faces. The guests there all have their own stories, come from different places, with different packs to carry, with different journeys to travel, with different preferences – but we are connected by the same thing: THE HOST. JESUS has invited us. JESUS has prepared the event. JESUS presents what HE believes is best for all. (codicil: if every leader involved is doing what THEY are supposed to be doing as well)

And sometimes, even in a heavenly place like Central, we will share together in an experience that is not necessarily customized for us, personally, for an important reason:

Christianity is not a “solo event” it is a “community event”.  Christianity is not academic, it is action, it is shared and practiced on those around us….and…to quote Marge Vale (still the greatest theologian I’ve ever met): 

“You try everything, and share everything…because we are here at the invitation of the HOST who made something for everyone. You don’t know whether you’ll like it or not till you’ve tried it, and even if you don’t like it…you’re not the only one at the table.”

Give thanks for THE TABLE, provided by THE HOST…for all of us.

In 2013 my parents passed away within months of each other.  Being an only child (which was wonderful, by the way) I had the task of going through things when my mom passed, and I moved my Dad back here with me to Indiana for the few months prior to his passing.

I had the singular joy (sarcasm emoji here) of going through photos, documents, memories, and deciding what to take with me and what to sell in the “Estate Sale” (a pretentious word for items contained in a rented range house).  Most things were items I had grown up with, things that brought back some good memories, things I had forgotten about, things I hadn’t realized my folks had saved, things that carried good and true memories of the wonderful life I had with my parents.

When I finally got to Mom & Dad’s personal things; wallets, stuff they kept in the top drawer of their bedroom dresser, etc. I discovered things I didn’t know about.  There were the wedding rings and wallet photos, etc. but there were other surprising things.

In context: both of my parents worked for the U.S. Government, in a town that was owned and run by the government until 1960 when it became the independent town of Richland, Washington.  Dad was an Army MP at Camp Hanford, the guardians of “Area 300” which held the secret “Button Factory” (that’s what the public was told) which made plutonium buttons for “the bomb”.  My mother, after graduating from business school, was hired as a secretary for the government-sub-contracted, General Electric Company, and then the Atomic Energy Commission (eventually re-named the D.O.E.).  I tell you all of this because I knew they began their lives together working for secret things, in a secret town.

So, I wasn’t surprised to find my dad’s army dog tags among the personal items, but I was surprised to find that Mom had dog tags also…issued to her, not because she was married to Dad, but because she worked for the government, sometimes in secret, to ensure the safety of the U.S. during the cold war.

Dog tags’ purpose is to identify the “wearer” when they become a casualty of war.  To wear a dog tag means that you have committed to “give over your life” and you wear that commitment around your neck.

Also, in my mom’s wallet, was the ragged card she had carried around since 1950.  It is the government-issue directive to any agents of the government, post-war and during the cold war.  It is printed bullet point directions for surviving an atomic attack, an artillery attack, and a chemical attack.  One was to carry it with them all the time…just in case.  In each scenario the last bullet point said, “Continue with your mission.”

I recently ran across these dog tags again.  I thought about the commitment my mom & dad made – which they really never spoke about to me – to live out to the point of death for service to their country.  Would I be willing to do the same, to “put on the dog tags” making a commitment to not only live, but die, for something?

And yet…

That is exactly how Jesus describes the type of LIFE and LOVE offered to us, and expected from us, when we agree to live in the Kingdom. 

“No one has greater love (agape) than this, that someone would lay down (tithemi) his life (psyche) for his friends.” John 15:13

This too-familiar verse speaks exactly to this concept.  I say “too familiar” because we sometimes misinterpret, or assume, its meaning from having heard it so often.   AGAPE is the “love that is given despite feeling”.  It is, in effect, “love by choice” to those who cannot or will not love back.  TITHEMI is translated to “lay down”, but also means “to present” or “to commit”.  But the key word here is PSYCHE, which is simply translated to the English, “life”.  This isn’t the “full life in Jesus”. That word is ZOE.  It isn’t our “physical” life/body, that word is BIOS.  No, this word could be translated as “life force/mind/heart/soul”; OR everything that a person truly is.

In other words, the verse may be more accurately translated to: “No one chooses a greater love toward others than this, that they live out their entire lives, even to the point of pouring it out completely in death, for their friends, neighbors, circles of influence.”

It’s about choosing to “put on the dog tags”; committing to not ONLY die physically, but to SERVE while living.  To “put on the dog tags” is to say good-bye to one’s physical life even before death.  It is a commitment to serve the “country” of THE KINGDOM OF GOD.

There is no half-way.  To BELIEVE Jesus is the Son of God, who died, rose, and is coming back…but not FOLLOW Him, is not much of a commitment.  To FOLLOW Him, ignorant of the price, or unwilling to “put on the dog tags” is something that Jesus Himself teaches against many times – “count the cost” He says again and again.  And so we must BOTH BELIEVE AND FOLLOW if we are to have any life at all.

Mom & Dad’s dog tags contain their identities, their birthdates…and their “religion” (so they could be buried appropriately, when their bodies were found…after they “completed their missions”). 

MY prayer is that my “friends” will know…without having to SEE my dog tags…that I am committed to “live out my very life-force, to the point of physical death” for them.  If I must advertise it, I’m not doing it very well.

What about you?  Are you willing to put on the dog tags?