So, there was this guy, an instrument maker in Florence (where I am currently sojourning) with the great name of Bartolomeo Cristofori di Francesco.  Anyway, somewhere around 1700 Bart decided it would be nice to have a keyboard instrument that played both softly and loudly.  The instruments of his day could only play (by virtue of their construction) at one dynamic level.  So, he invented what came to be known as THE PIANO!  Woohoo…another one of my many “art heroes” from Florence.

I’ve been playing the piano since I was 2 years old and so, it is like an “extra limb” to me.  The more I play, the more I love it.  When I was a piano student, while other parents asked, cajoled, and commanded, their kids to practice, mine begged me to stop.  Playing the piano, like singing, is “air” to me. 

I sat down at my in home piano a couple of months ago and found myself shocked at how “out of tune” it was.  OK, time to call the piano tuner. I was immediately struck by the fact that I was playing songs I ALWAYS play on my piano…same piano, same player, same songs…but the TUNING makes all the difference.  What I experienced as the difference between the tuned and un-tuned piano might be called, in our “doctrinal world”, an illustration of sanctification and spiritual discipline.

THE SONG…the song, of course, is the Message: God’s word through us.  This message is true, is written down to be “performed” for others, a message that doesn’t come from the “player” but from the composer.

THE PERFORMER…is the Spirit of God in Jesus.  The TRUE “performer” is perfect, every muscle and tendon exactly honed for producing the best possible result from any instrument.  The “PERFORMER” is well-acquainted with the SONG and therefore knows how to interpret it…so far so good, right?

THE PIANO…that is ME and YOU.  When the SONG is perfect and the PERFORMER is perfect, then the PERFORMANCE should be perfect…but much depends on the instrument.   Every professional instrumentalist will tell you that the differences between a good instrument and a great instrument are numerous and can make or break a performance.

God doesn’t expect us to WRITE the song, BE the song, or even PERFORM the song…but He does hope we will TUNE ourselves FOR the song.  

He doesn’t expect us to make up His message of Good News…nor even have the strength to give that message to others (that is the Spirit’s job, in us…we just have to BE THERE) … but, if we are TUNED instruments the MESSAGE (SONG) will be clearer, cleaner, for those who need to HEAR the song as God intended.

How do we, as “instruments of God” get out-of-tune?  Circumstances change, “weather” changes.  Instruments fall apart when not played, or get worn by being played in a wrong way.  Tuning requires constant listening.  Tuning requires constant awareness (of the room, the weather…etc.) and tuning is something that never ceases.  One doesn’t tune an instrument once and then never again.  No, it is a constant necessity.  No matter how fine the instrument is, it requires a constant touch, adjustment, cleaning.

For us, this is sanctification: the act of becoming (through discipline of prayer, meditation, learning, fellowship, worship, exercise of giving…etc.) a well-tuned instrument for the SONG and the PERFORMER to play upon.

I can hardly write this without including St. Francis’ famous prayer,
which is a much more beautiful way of stating what I have so crudely tried to do:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.

Well, I sit writing this BLOG in my favorite city in the world, Florence (Firenze), in the Tuscany region of Italy. It’s been years since I’ve been here and, not surprisingly, things don’t change too quickly here.  But this time I’m staying longer this time, concentrating on the heartbeat of this city specifically: the home of the Italian Renaissance, the place where the piano(forte) was invented, where DaVinci, Michelangelo, and Dante called home…along with countless other artists and writers.

I travelled here often, in memory, through the photos I took from the last time I was here, and once again felt the warm sun, listened to the music, tasted the wine, and remembered things I had forgotten since that trip.  It is always a great diversion.

As I looked through those photos and dreamed of this trip, I thought of a specific moment in time, when I stood on a rise looking out over Tuscan fields, gazing at a village and church on the horizon, vineyards, and orchards between.  It was sunset, and I said to myself: “No photo, painting or story does justice to this place, no matter how beautiful they may be.  None of those things can match the moment of actually seeing this with one’s own eyes.”

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something. 

It’s the same with people.  It’s the same with God. We are taught (and I believe) that the scripture tells us about God.  I believe that is true, at least one side of the truth.  The Scripture does tell us about God, but so does His creation, and so do His children.  His Spirit in us is also a witness to the personality of God.  But all those things share ABOUT God, none of those things are a substitute for KNOWING God.

To know ABOUT God is not the same as KNOWING God.  After all, lots of people know about God, and that knowledge doesn’t seem to change them in the least.  The people who have been changed, who live a full life, who walk with peace inside and out, who seem to pour out “springs of living water” are people who don’t just KNOW ABOUT God, but they are people who KNOW God.

The process of getting to know God is like getting to know anyone else.  We find out about our family and friends by spending time with them, getting to understand their likes and dislikes, catering to them, supporting them, and staying in contact with them.  We don’t maintain relationships with our loved ones by reading about them.  

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something.

Jesus’ wish is that we know Him, not just know about Him.  He wants us to spend time talking and listening to Him.  He wants us to love Him by loving each other.  He wants us to look for Him everywhere, to turn to Him all the time, to be with Him forever.  That’s going to take more than just reading the scripture and calling it good.  We’re going to have to trust the Spirit of God to lead us into places that we wouldn’t ordinarily go.  We’re going to need to trust in our own God-given common sense and ability to trust His Spirit in us when it comes to situations that are not mentioned in the scripture.  We are going to have to KNOW that God is real, despite the fact that His personhood is not defined by OUR understanding of what a “person” should be, in fact it’s just the opposite: our personhood is defined by the fact that we are created in HIS image and not visa versa.

There is a difference between “knowing about” something and “knowing” something.

I have some wonderful memories and photos of Tuscany, but none of them ARE Tuscany.  The images are representations of a small portion of that place.  The SCRIPTURE shows us part of who God is. The SPIRIT shares with us knowledge as we need it. NATURE is a portion of what God has created, and OUR OWN HEARTS & MINDS contain a touch of His personality.   

But to KNOW God requires regarding Him as the friend He wishes to be.  It requires spending time with Him in the everyday things, trusting the Spirit in us to believe Him when we hear Him and see Him, even when others may not. 

It is a lifelong task, and we have a never-ending lifetime to make it happen. 

Usually, during this holiday weekend, I perform with the Indianapolis Jazz Orchestra (the “big band” I’ve been singing with since 2000) as we performed last night a THE JAZZ KITCHEN in Indy.

But one July, something special happened.  It was a private event in a beautiful retirement community in Indianapolis where we played all the songs we play every year at this time: Glenn Miller, George M. Cohan, John Philip Sousa, etc.  There was ice cream, grandkids, lemonade, and fireworks.  And of course, one of the highlights is to play the Military Service songs and have any audience members who served to stand at their song.  It was a good, all-American, kind of evening.

As I left, walking through the crowd, arranging their chairs for the fireworks, a man stopped me by touching my arm.  He was surrounded by his kids and grandkids.  He pulled me aside and thanked me for the music and asked if I had served in the military (my short hair).  I said that I hadn’t, but that I was the son of an Army Veteran.  Then he asked, “Where did he serve, and did he tell you what he did, and share stories?”
“Well, yes,” I said, “He was a peace-time Vet in Germany and Korea…and he told me quite a few things.”
Then he asked me a question that I wasn’t expecting: “Have you told YOUR children?” He asked. “Because” he said, “It’s important to keep telling the stories.”
He continued just for a short time, before his family led him away, obviously thinking that he had taken too much of my time.  But before he let me go, he said, “We need to remember…and we need to tell our children…and they need to tell theirs.”

I walked to my car wrapping my head around this conversation that took less than a couple of minutes, probably…as it affected me.

“We need to remember, and we need to tell.”

In this time and place, with renewed questions about truth in the news media, is it possible that families and generations become the care-takers of history…as it always used to be?  Is there, or should there be, a responsibility to tell our stories to each generation so that they remember?

Yesterday I listened to an historian on the radio.  He was saying how important it is to remember the story of the United States, because we are “losing our core”, as he put it.  He referenced a relatively new tradition in an African nation, where they get together in their neighborhoods, celebrating their National Day.  Along with the dancing, singing, fireworks, etc.  They “give their testimonies” (tell their stories). These are stories of their own personal survival through the genocide that rocked their people.  These are first-hand stories, and the people who tell them say they are afraid their children and grand-children will forget, grow apathetic and entitled.

A very wise tradition, in my opinion…because it’s true: generations forget.

The Spirit encourages the “telling of one’s story”.  It used to be that the Church carried that tradition out.  In MY home church, Sunday night was a time when the Pastor would regularly ask if anyone had a “testimony”, and someone would stand and tell about a recent “God Moment” they had.  Those times were far more effective on my young mind than reading the Bible…I KNEW these people, I trusted them.  Age and experience has taught me that everyone sees their stories through their own filters, much like today’s blurring of NEWS and COMMENTARY, but I’m not sure that’s all together a bad thing.

The power of someone’s story is evident at Central Christian, when some of our Elders tell THEIR stories during our annual observation of LENT…it is one of our most moving seasons of the year.

Of course, the stories related to a nation’s history, such as the beginnings of the United States, need to be repeated.  God’s people in the Old Testament told their history and made each generation learn it LITERALLY word-for-word, so that it did not get changed or edited with every telling.  The oral tradition of the Jewish people is legendarily accurate.

EVERYONE has a story.  Have you ever believed you have a responsibility to pass it on?  Remember that as mundane as you may believe your own life is, it surely has an impact on others, in ways you could never imagine.

Central Christian Church and THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH (DISCIPLES OF CHRIST) has a story. Our history stories, or “core” (the reason our church began) needs to be continually remembered.

The story of America is the story of how, who, and why we were ever formed.  That needs to be remembered honestly and repeated loudly to those in power, and to the citizens of this nation.  AND the story of God is the story of His people and their journey with (or without) Him…and IT ALSO needs to be repeated loudly and constantly to His children.

Your story; why you were created, your journey with and without God, needs to be repeated…loudly…regularly…and given freely to each generation…we have a responsibility to remember and tell. 

Beethoven is not one of my favorite composers.  I don’t dislike his music, it’s just not my favorite…but oddly, he IS one of my favorite people, aside from his music.  I learned quite a bit about him in college, we spent an entire semester researching, learning, getting to know old Ludwig.  I also found out so much more about him in a book by Russel Martin in 2001: “BEETHOVEN’S HAIR” (highly recommended if you haven’t read it…here is the link for ordering it on AMAZON: Beethoven’s Hair: An Extraordinary Historical Odyssey and a Scientific Mystery Solved: Martin, Russell: 9780767903516: Amazon.com: Books)

But one interesting “Beethoven thing” happened in college.  I attended a small art conservatory on a hill in Seattle, filled with the greatest combination of people, art, and nightlife.  There was an older man who was seen frequently around the school neighborhood.  His hair reminded me of photos of Einstein, he wore a trench coat, always.  He carried around a portfolio, which I later saw filled with handwritten music manuscripts.  He appeared to have a “girl-friend”, about his age (late 50s?…it’s hard for me to remember now because when I was 21 everyone older than me seemed to be ancient) who would pretend to meet him for the first time at a bus stop (we witnessed this often) and they would strike up a conversation as if they had never met.

In any case, one morning I walked into the front door of the school and into the office…to see him bending over the copy machine making copies of the hand-written music in his well-used satchel.  The secretary noted the look on my face and pulled me outside the door.

“Have you not met Ludwig?”
“That guy’s name is Ludwig?  No, I haven’t.”
“We don’t know what his actual name is, but he believes he is Ludwig Beethoven.  He comes in and the President of the school has authorized him to use the copy machine whenever he wants to copy his music.”
“He thinks he’s Beethoven.”
“Yup.” 

She was right…he did, and everyone just went along.  Partly proven by an event that happened just the next week.

The school had a small choral ensemble, and we were prepping a performance of a Beethoven piece, “CHRIST ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES” (SIDE NOTE: our Chancel Choir has sung the “HALLELUJAH” from that work) and our conductor informed us, at rehearsal that day, that a special guest would be coming into class that day to “give us notes” on performing (wait for it) HIS piece…guess who?!

I was REALLY looking forward to this.

He walked in the door and everyone stood. That’s right EVERYONE stood.  Our conductor welcomed him, introduced him, and gave him the floor.

Graciously, warmly, and lucidly, “Ludwig” smiled, began informing us of his “vision” for the piece, finishing by opening up the time for questions, while reminding us to speak up…since he was going deaf.  

Shockingly, our conductor asked the first question, and “Ludwig” answered astutely. I have to say, everyone “played along”, our conductor never indicated in any way that he didn’t believe this man wasn’t Beethoven.  And as for “Ludwig”, I think the actual Beethoven would’ve approved of his answers and demeanor.

Were we cruel or loving to “Ludwig”?

I ask that, as a BELIEVER & FOLLOWER, to see what you think?  Because we, in the chorale, propagated his “untruth”.  We played into his “delirium”.  We pandered to his “illusion”.  Was that appropriate and fine?  As far as I know I was the only person in the room who identified as “Christian”, but I have to say: I was SO impressed by the love shown to this man…and must add that moment to all the times I have learned more about Christian behavior from non-Christians than from people who identify as “Christian”.

What I learned was: “Truth” (in the life of a BELIEVER & FOLLOWER) should always be defined through the filter of love.  Was it more important to make sure he understood he was not who he thought he was OR important to make a “relationship connection” with him?

I have acquaintances (who identify as “Christian”) who believe we should’ve prayed over him and his mental healing.  I have acquaintances (who identify as “Christian”) who would’ve at least believed we shouldn’t call him “Ludwig” (because that’s not really his name) or continued to let him use the copy machine because that’s not really “loving him”…it’s only helping him continue to live a “lie”.

That is a sad truth for me because I don’t think Jesus said, “the facts shall set you free.” I think He said, “the Truth will set you free”, and Jesus (“the Way, THE TRUTH, and the Life”) repeats the same command over and over, to the point of His death: “love one another”.

And this is TRUTH: Relationships are the only currency you can take with you.
TRUTH: “consider others greater than yourself…”
TRUTH: no matter whom HE (“Ludwig”) identified as, MY business was, and is, to show him kindness, an act of love. 

And MY business was to know that whatever was going on in his brain was NONE of MY business.

I learned the truth about acceptance of others, no matter what, without compromising Jesus who lives in me…from people who took him for who he said he was.

“Ludwig” reminded us that day that “CHRIST ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES” was not a “concert piece” but a sacred one.  That it should be treated and sung as a sacred work: it was not about RELIGION (he told us), it was about the person of JESUS.  That person who, on the Mount of Olives, cared more about us then Himself.

 “Sing,” Ludwig said, “as if you owe Him your life.”

I never did actually learn his real name, but that year I heard again the lesson that LOVE is the greatest thing, and THE TRUTH certainly does set you free…and I learned it from a broken vessel…just like me. 

His Hebrew name was Saul, and his Greek name was Paul.  I’ve been reading his letters in the scripture for as long as I can remember.  My relationship with him is complicated.  I can’t really blame him.  Part of the frustration I have with Saul/Paul is that every letter of his is partial, and fragmented.  We have his answers to questions we don’t have a record of.  He also didn’t write his letters with the intent of writing scripture.  He spoke to specific people at specific times and places, and although the principles behind and through everything he wrote can have application to us…the times are different and so are the problems.  In the end, though, people haven’t changed all that much.

The other day I was reading about the beginning of Paul’s life and his miraculous encounter with Jesus and subsequent change of heart.  I saw something I hadn’t paid attention to before.  His work; seeking out the “People of the Way” within the synagogues, and brutally overseeing their banishment, torture, and even deaths, was all because of his radical beliefs.  He was doing it in the name of God and the Church.

On this day, as I read the story of Paul (at this point called, “Saul”) on the road to Damascus, doing the work of the Church (the heads of the Church commissioned him specifically) when he is blinded by a light, falls to the ground and hears the voice of Jesus,

“Saul, why are you persecuting ME?”

For all the times I have read this story it really never sunk in that Saul/Paul was persecuting those called Christians, according to HIS (Saul’s) reading of the scripture, the belief of HIS (Saul’s) heart AND with the full teaching and authority of the Church, which was persecuting their very reason for existence: JESUS.

So, even today, can the Church and Jesus be at odds? 

Many people in this place and time have left the organized Church.  Ask them why.  The polls clearly show that many leave because they are tired of the dogma, the judgmental attitudes, the outdated liturgy, the over-produced “Broadway-style” presentation called “worship”, OR overly symbolic, outdated, tradition that has no relevance to them.

However, many of those who have left the Church still feel as though they have become hyper-spiritually sensitive.  It’s not God they’ve left, it’s the Church, because the Church doesn’t seem to represent the God they understand speaking to them.  There is the other camp, those who say they grow weary of “Church-bashing” because after all the Church is the “Body of Christ” and you can’t have Jesus without the Church (the Groom without the Bride).

Personally, and those of you who worship with me know this, I am somewhere in the middle. My “passion” (to use an over-used term) is for the restoration of the Church.  I grieve for the “lost” also but, as Paul himself states, there is NO EXCUSE for not recognizing God where He is.  Most of the “lost” are looking for a Home, a place where they find people who love them, and accept them and their belief. Home should be the Community of Faith, where Jesus sits in the big chair.  There, people who are seeking a home find unconditional love from the community.  When they question why people love them, they are introduced to the Head of the community.  But if the Church doesn’t have it together to begin with, then “the lost” are up a creek called “you-know-what”, without a paddle.

So, once again, can the Church and Jesus be at odds?

Of course it can!  I picture tonsils (yes, tonsils).  Tonsils are placed by God at the gateway to our physical bodies to protect against the onset of viruses and germs.  Sometimes they get so overrun with poison that they not only can’t protect the body, and they turn against, and poison, the body – and then have to be removed. So it is with any group of people who organize themselves according to their like beliefs and preferences and call themselves a “church”.  They, and we, run the risk of turning from the very thing that should guard and protect the way to Restoration, and become “poison” itself.

Yes, the Church has always been built of human stones, humanity is imperfect, and the scriptures continue to tell us that the Church won’t be perfect until the Day of the Lord and the Age-to-Come. But is THAT an excuse to just let it go?  Far from it!  The world is filled with Believers & Followers doing the wrong thing because they are listening to themselves rather than to Jesus.  They follow their own logic based on a limited idea of God’s plan and behave according to what they believe the right thing is, thus creating God in their image: the big mistake of the Church leaders during the time Jesus walked in our flesh.

As soon as we individually (or the Church, corporately) rely on our own self-will, stubborn reliance on dogma, or reluctance to open our minds to the “living and active” scripture-beyond-the-page, we will fail as the Body of Jesus the King.  It is faithful, sincere, humbling, and desperate, adherence to the heartbeat, voice, and hand of Jesus that brings us to the purity that is His own community of faith.

The Church’s own Road to Damascus will happen when a congregation treats the scripture like a book of charms, treats tradition like Truth, and behaves as if Jesus was their own “metaphysical Santa Claus”.

It will happen when a congregation seeks out the “thing” THEY label as “sin” while overlooking their own transgression against God and miss the very Light of God in EVERY breathing soul.

It will happen when a community of faith believes they are the ONLY community of faith and behave accordingly.

There will be a day, and already has been for many a congregation, when the Light will blind, and the voice will say, “Church, Church, why do you persecute Me?”

Can the Church and Jesus be at odds?  Yes.

Can the Church be restored?  Yes, and the Church will be restored, either by the choice of true Believers & Followers, or by a crisis. When the Church blindly puts Jesus behind the human construct of religion a crisis is sure to come.

The Good News is, we have the power to make the choice, with the Spirit (who leads us into ALL TRUTH)…and so, we can avoid being blinded… 

…ironically, by simply opening our eyes to The Light. 

The older I get (and I just marked one more journey around the sun a few weeks ago) the more I notice (irritatingly) how many mirrors we have in our home.  In my “travels” around the condo, I am horrified to realize how many mirrors we have…in every room!

Mirrors aren’t my friend, at the best of times, and now it seems they are everywhere…lying to me.

Why do I say the mirror is “lying”?  

I look in the mirror expecting to “see” and I can’t…I now have to “lean in” to shave!  The GOOD SIDE of that is, just like a filter on a camera, some things look better, prettier, at a distance, or they are “blurred up” a bit.  YOU all look FANTASTIC!  Christmas lights are a wonder, etc.  But on the flip side, the mirror is telling me that I’m losing my eyesight to glaucoma…well, to be honest, the Eye Doctor is telling me that as well.  But no matter WHAT the mirror says, I see perfectly…I KNOW that in my mind, and always will…even when they drag me, screaming obscenities, from the BMV.

I look in the mirror, expecting to see ME and instead I see my dad…or my grandpa!  The GOOD SIDE of that is I think about my great Dad, I hear his voice, I remember some great times, and I miss him, and mourn him, in a healthy way…on the flip side, I know that I’m NOT as old as my dad, nor will I ever be.  No matter WHAT the mirror says, I AM 27 years old, and always will be.  I’m not my dad, I’m his son.

I look in the mirror and expect to see someone I know, someone who lives inside my head…but I often see a stranger.  The mirror lies…that’s not me.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and see an awkward kid who wasn’t good at sports, only moderately doing well in school, unpopular and introverted…the mirror lies, that is no longer “me”.

Sometimes I look and see a failure…the mirror lies.

Sometimes I see a broken man…the mirror lies.

Unfortunately, what I’ve learned through a life of performing and recording is this: in this world, unedited mirrors, cameras, and recordings don’t lie, when it comes to what the world sees.  They are brutal, they are raw, they are ruthless. They are also flat and shallow reflections, looking only on the outside of a person.  They only see a shell.  They also have the ability to trigger lies that we tell ourselves and lies that the rest of the world has told us.

What I’ve learned as a Believer & Follower is: it’s important that one uses the CORRECT mirror, held by the RIGHT person.

There is one “mirror” that matters in my life, and it’s not one of the 3.5 million that are in my condo…it is my reflection in Jesus’ eyes.  What is seen in this world, on this “physical plane”, is not who I really am…it’s not what is “real” in His eyes…the mirrors here really DO lie about who I truly am.

I am who my God says I am.

And He says:
– I’m whole, not broken
– successful, not a failure
– confident, not awkward
– not a stranger, but HIS child: known, understood, accepted, & loved.

What HE sees, matters.  He sees is my “forever self”, my “real self”, the “diamond hidden within the stone”.   However, in a way, one of the “lies” I mentioned above is actually a TRUTH:  If I choose to let let it be so, if I choose to let Him love me and lead me…

…I can be, am, and always will be, a reflection of my “Father.”

“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.”
I CORINTHIANS 13:12

A BLOG by Pastor Ken Rickett 

John 5: 1-9
Some time later came one of the Jewish feast days and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. There is in Jerusalem, near the Sheep-Gate, a pool surrounded by five arches, which has the Hebrew name of Bethzatha. Under these arches a great many sick people were in the habit of lying; some of them were blind, some lame, and some had withered limbs. (They used to wait there for the “moving of water”, for at certain times an angel used to come down into the pool and disturb the water, and then the first person who stepped into the water after the disturbance would be healed of whatever he was

suffering from.) One particular had been there ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there on his back–knowing he had been like that for a long time–he said to him,
“Do you want to get well again?”

“Sir,” replied the sick man, “I just haven’t got anybody to put me into the pool when the water is all stirred up. While I am trying to get there somebody else gets down into it first.”

“Get up,” said Jesus, “pick up your bed and walk!”

At once the man recovered, picked up his bed and walked.

—J B Phillips The New Testament in Modern English

In 1982 Dennis Jones and I co-authored a 212-page history of First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Richlands, NC, as a part of the congregation’s centennial celebration. It was not an easy undertaking. You see, 47 years of board and congregational minutes were missing! How in the world did we fill in this huge gap? Writing this book was every bit as difficult as we feared and yet far easier than we could have ever hoped. Difficult because we struggled at first to get written, documented data. Difficult because only a few older members were still living who were active in the church in the early years of the missing minutes. Difficult because a few families

had left the congregation in the late 1960s and formed an independent congregation; thus, a loving, generous spirit in telling that story was absolutely essential. And easy because we discovered that a resource or two turned out to be a gold mine of considerable information.

How DID we fill this gap? First of all, Charles Crossfield Ware (1886-1974) was General Secretary (now called Regional Minister) of the North Carolina congregations in the Christian Church (D.O.C.) from 1915-1952. A historian and prolific writer and gatherer of data from congregations, Ware wrote books about Disciples  congregations and articles (such as editing the NC Christian, a monthly newsletter, very similar to the Indiana Christian), filing letters and notes of historical interest, etc., proved to be invaluable. Ware had included in the newsletter such items as dates of baptism and the names of those baptized, significant events in the life of various congregations including Richlands congregation, the installation and resignations/retirements of ministers across the Region, and ordinations of new ministers, some of whom were from the Richlands church. After Charles C. Ware retired in 1952, he spent the next two decades building up a Discipliana collection of NC congregations that is now housed at Barton College at Wilson, NC.

Secondly, members within the church (or their parents) had saved newspaper articles about church events with the dates written on them, or they had an old bulletin or two, or they had old pictures of a Sunday School class or a CWF or CMF meeting or event. Since the church building had been built several decades earlier, older pictures showed some of the decor of the fellowship hall or sanctuary or classrooms. In short, the missing 47 years were filled by resources from people! AND filled with an incredible number of stories about the mission and activities of the church during those years of missing minutes. From Charles Ware to the Regional Minister Charles Dietze who was serving at the time of the writing of this book, the present and former members, even some of the townspeople shared their stories, and their emotions, and their joy.

How are the missing gaps filled in our lives? Every one of us has surely “missed out” on something! Having lost my parents when I was young, I was reared by maternal grandparents and deeply loved, filling the gap. The wider families of my mother and father filled the gap. And when I was grown, they were able to “let me go” and fulfill my own dreams and hopes through college, seminary, career, and certainly my own family. The people in my home church filled the gap. They recognized my gifts and abilities. They offered tons of encouragement. They gave me some leadership roles such as a committee membership and teaching a Sunday School class. Thus people filled the gap! They always do. And I benefited from their ministry of care and nurture. And I was encouraged to minister by helping others to fill in the gaps!

The Gospel is Good News because the power of God fills missing gaps! A man waited for 38 years beside the pool of Bethsaida to be healed of his crippled legs. It was said that the first person in the pool after it bubbled up (which was occasional) would be healed; but because the crippled man could not move quickly, someone else beat him into the pool. He persisted in hope. Then one day Jesus came and that which was missing was restored. Jesus ministered to the man with a deep need.

In a real sense the ministry of Jesus was spent “filling the missing gaps” in the lives of people. From the days in which Jesus called the twelve to “follow me,” Jesus seemed to be driven to fill in the missing gaps in people’s lives, and for his three year ministry, the 12 disciples were trained for the mission of filling “missing gaps.” Such, however, was a mission that would not be grasped until after the resurrection and ascension of Jesus. And then, wow, did the disciples preach, teach, heal, and guide as they filled the missing gaps!

In the Book of Acts, telling of the beginning and early years of the Church, Phillip meets an Ethiopian eunuch who has not heard the story of God’s salvation in Jesus Christ, crucified and resurrected and present through the Holy Spirit. There was a missing gap here and Phillip told the story. In fact, in many places in scripture, this story of Jesus was told and people became followers because there was a missing gap in their lives. Crowds followed Jesus because they sensed that Jesus could fill an emptiness, a gap in life. This “gap” can be best described as having “a yearning for the Holy and Merciful God.” In his condemnation of the religious elites of his day, Jesus was saying to them, “You say you know God and His way, but you are missing something. . .you are missing the deepest part of God. . .and that deepest part is God’s mercy and love.” 

Run that thinking out. Christianity grows because people have chosen to follow Jesus, and in so doing, they fill the missing gaps in their lives with the presence of the Living Christ as revealed through the Holy Spirit. AND we minister to each other as Christians in an effort to fill missing gaps—gaps not due to unbelief, but gaps due to the pain and anguish and imperfections of life. . . or gaps that yearn to be filled with more teachings that enable us to see the magnificence and majesty of a faithful life.. . or gaps the need to be filled with the sheer, raw joy of “being there” for a person in pain, whether it be emotional or physical pain.

Of course, the 47 years of history at that church in which I co-authored its history was NOT missing. It was there. Dennis Jones and I realized that there were thousands of other stories that we did not hear about or read about- – -stories of how the faithful people of that congregation filled the gaps of each other and the community and world. You see, missing minutes of board meetings is not the same as the mission of the congregation—which was never missing. If the truth be told, we live our lives with a sense of “something missing.” And it is amazing how our faith and our oneness as a people of God continually fill the missing gaps as we seek, learn, fellowship and worship together. And yes, we live our lives unaware that something may be missing, and this is when a brother or sister shares something with us in love. As a minister for 43 years, there were a few situations and circumstances in which I was unaware of something missing, but no one dared to share it with me. (Most of the time, I heard my mistakes shouted from the rooftops). Boy, do I ever wish that people would have told me, “Ken, so-and-so took what you said/did or didn’t say/didn’t do in a wrong way” OR “I don’t think the Bible Study class got your intended point” or “I don’t think the board grasped the significance of what you were explaining.” Jesus did not talk about “wholeness” aimlessly; but rather Jesus lifted up “wholeness” as a spiritual blessing that comes to those whose “missing gaps” are filled. Ministry is “filling the gaps.”

Maybe the Church of the 21st Century can best understand its calling, its role, its ministry as “filling in the gaps.” Sounds like an empowering image to me! 

Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s something else, but lately I’ve been obsessively fantasizing, and even had dreams about, going back and starting over…beginning with my Freshman Year in High School.  Like I said, I’m not sure what prompted this thought process, but I’ve been imagining what it would be like to know everything I know now, including my life as it has played out, and return into my 14-year-old body with my 65-year-old mind AND know my future, as it played out once.

Think of the confidence, wisdom, and knowledge that would come from the years of experience that wasn’t there when I actually WAS in High School.

I’ve imagined the differences and how much better I’d play out my life because of my knowledge and experience now:

• My friendship with God would be much improved, and my confidence in His love and sacrifice for ME would be stronger…which would affect everything, and every choice…and chisel my identity.
• I would give my parents a break.  I wasn’t a bad kid, but I sure would appreciate them more.  I’d love my Mom more, I’d build things with Dad.  I’d “help”.
• I’d love my friends more, and adjust my life to make them happy. Having no siblings (which I would NOT change) I counted on my friends too much, without allowing them the ability to count on me.  As I’ve aged I have realized that “relationships are EVERYTHING”.
• I would do less “church” stuff and more “school” stuff. I realize now that I allowed my home church to “sequester” me, when Jesus really would’ve had me BE the church myself: to my friends, “salt” and “light”, if you will…as opposed to using the church as a “club” of “haves” and viewing those outside of my church as the “have-nots”. I know, a weird thing for a Preacher to say, but I would’ve gone to church less, and gone to football games and dances more.  At the same time, I would cultivate my personal doctrine, practice my faith and recognize Jesus when I see Him, personally.
• I would’ve found one adult, who wasn’t a parent, to trust and open up to. I wanted to be honest about what I felt, and who I was, with someone who was old enough to listen and wise enough to know they didn’t need to fix it…just so that SOMEONE would know me and hear me talk it out.
• I would start lifting weights at 14, and not stop…wow, I’d look good by this point!  But I’d also not shy away from eating the great junk food that crowds into a teenager’s life.
• I would learn more instruments and read more books.
• I would buy the same first car. (1972 Plymouth Duster, Army Green…slant six, four-on-the-floor).
• I would’ve used more hair product, grown it longer…and worn my puka shells in my Senior Picture, despite my mom’s warning that it “would make my Senior look too dated, years from then”
• I would fall in love more and allow my heart to break more. I now know that love is everything and heartbreaks heal. (“It is better to have loved and lost….” and all that) 

  …and then I got to:
  

• I would make different choices…

And that’s where the epiphany happened.

Different choices would mean different consequences, which would lead to different paths, which would lead to a different future and lead to a different “me”.

Of course.

The choices I was thinking of were things like I wouldn’t have jumped into that parking lot fight, to help a buddy, in college (where I walked away bloody and should’ve gone to the campus doctor, but was afraid to because the fight was about something less than legal and we would’ve ALL been suspended) …or… I shouldn’t have hooked up with my friend, Mitch, who led me and some others into a world where we were constantly dodging “the law”.  I wouldn’t have chosen the first college I attended, but rather spent all my years at the college I graduated from…

…I would’ve chosen to be honest about myself and lived my life for God alone to judge.

HOWEVER, it is precisely through (not BECAUSE) of those choices that I am where I am today…which is a GOOD place.

 It was THROUGH my choice of colleges that I not only gained much needed “transition-from-home-to-my-own-life” education, but where I discovered God in other denominations, other people, and other ways, and made lifetime friends.  It was precisely BECAUSE of my first school that I landed an acceptance into the Music Institute from which I graduated.

IN FACT, looking at my entire life, even my poor choices (ones that led me to disaster, failure, or at the least, bumpy roads) brought me…

…here, on the other side of the journey, where there is knowledge to be gained, beauty to be appreciated and love to express.

The Spirit never abandoned me, always protected me, and always turned my “straw to gold”.  There are many, many parts of my life I would not wish on anyone, and decisions I would hope no one else would make…but the place I am NOW is a destination I would wish for everyone.   And the Spirit of God has used every person, every moment, and the consequence of every good and bad decision…to get me here and now.

And so, though there are things I wish I knew then, and confidence, knowledge and wisdom I wish I had…the blessings I have received, the life that I have, I would not trade for all the bacon in North Carolina…or all the bourbon in Tennessee.

Again, I say what the Spirit teaches:

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Don’t brush aside either.
Or you may also brush aside
God’s wish for you to either
ENJOY or BE a miracle.

 It was 43 years ago this week (May 18^th, to be exact and hard to believe) that Mount St. Helens erupted.  It was a Sunday, early in the morning, I was living in Seattle.  What I remember is that I heard a sound outside my house, like someone had thrown a big ball up against the wall – it was loud enough that I looked out the window.  But the mountain was far enough away that I wouldn’t have seen anything.  The wind was blowing east and the mountain was some hours south of Seattle, so it wasn’t until we were in church that we heard about the eruption.  Later in the day, during an outdoor bar-b-que, a few of us guys got up on the roof of the house (which was on a hill) and looked with binoculars at the ash cloud in the distance.  But we were somewhat unaffected by it all.

My parents, some 4 hours east, were at church. My Mom was a greeter that day, standing at the door and watching a dark cloud in the distance grow larger and larger with every hour.  When the announcement was broadcast that the mountain had erupted and the cloud that all of eastern Washington was seeing was an ash cloud, church was cancelled, and people were told to go home.  No one really knew what the cloud contained; something poisonous?  Something dangerous?  And so, to avoid panic, people were sent home. They had a totally different experience than we did in Seattle.

Then there was the woman with her two kids, travelling close to the mountain in their station wagon when the mountain blew.  Suddenly, she said, the sky was black and all around her was chaos: trees were being stripped of their limbs, lakes were evaporating.  She made her kids lie down in the car and drove as fast as she could, but finally couldn’t see where she was going, and then her tires melted, and she was stuck.  Her mind shut down, unable to comprehend what was happening.  Her children were terrorized by the event, and her reaction.

She spoke from her home, weeks later, after returning from the hospital where she was treated for shock.  You see, to HER it seemed as if the world had ended.  Everywhere she looked, everything she saw was black, desolate and alien.  She saw no living creatures but herself and her children. She had no idea if the devastation had consumed the entire world or not.  That experience made her lose her mind a little.  When she and her children were discovered a few hours after she pulled over on the back road she was travelling, she was incoherent, her children were panic-stricken and in shock. She was brought around when she was shown photos of her home and city still intact; when she was shown that the eruption, though massive, didn’t destroy the world.  Even though, from her perspective, the world was destroyed. 

That’s what I took away from the story.  From her perspective the entire world (or, at least, her world) was destroyed.  It was only when care-givers understood HER perspective that they could break through and help her.

We all have trauma; we all have to deal with devastation in our own lives at times.  Sometimes we fail to get the support we need because others around aren’t feeling the same effects of that trauma, as we are.  This should be a lesson to us.  As Jesus dealt with each living being according to THEIR need and THEIR perspective…so should we be able to “put ourselves in their place” and therefore help to bring them out.  Just because you or I may not react in the same way to the same predicament doesn’t mean that another’s pain is less important.  Sometimes we reject the call to care because we don’t think that person is really “that bad off”.

On May 18, 1980 I was barely affected by the “blast”, as we called it.  While just a few miles away a woman and her children thought their world was gone.

Every day we walk next to someone whose world is collapsing and every day we are reminded, by God, that the way to His heart is to love our neighbor.  Today, this week, watch for, reach out to, and love the ones that God sends our way.

Another “trip around the sun” is coming up: a landmark trip…yes, I have entered MEDICARELAND…and I am literally “feeling” my age.  Now that I’m officially on the “other side of the hill” birthday gifts are intangible moments, birthday decorations are the wrinkles and grey hair that bear witness to many of those past, intangible and full moments…and I am filled with gratitude.

I am happy to know that I am reaching the point where I have lived longer than I will live in the future years (unless I live to be 130-years-old).  Having never been fearful of death, I don’t, at this point, have any desire to live longer than I should…and in fact, am happier to be the age I am than at any other time in my life.

God HAS been, IS now, and WILL be a friend to me, He has gone the “extra mile” for me, and continues to shock me with His graciousness …as little as I have done for Him in return. To be a BELIEVER & FOLLOWER on the “other-side-of-the-hill” means, at times, to look back, to observe God and oneself from a distance, and continue to learn.

I climbed up the hill, aiming to reach the summit quickly…by travelling straight for it. In my rush to reach the pinnacle (to “grow up”) I missed some beautiful sights.  Sure, I had the strength then to grab an outcropping of rock when I needed to and pull myself up.  Yes, I could look back at the sunset of each day and see what I had accomplished.  Of course, it’s good to have goals, make a plan and work the plan, but along the way I MAY have passed up times I didn’t need to move so quickly.  In my effort to go, go, go…I might have missed the goal completely sometimes.  God’s request that I love Him is played out by loving those He has placed in my path – and, unfortunately, sometimes the path was more important than those who took up space on the path.

I find, now that I’m on the other side going down instead of up, I “zigzag” (partially to keep from falling down!)  Now the path is just as steep, but I am going down, not up.  I’ve learned, there is more to be seen and experienced by not racing down the hill.  And the truth is, I’ll reach the bottom when the time is right. Till then, I should enjoy the path and the people on it – not going straight down but covering the entire width of the hill and all it has to offer.

When I climbed UP, my goal was the summit. Searching for a “mountain-top” experience was often the goal of my younger self.  Now I realize that those experiences happen, are serendipitous and not always a result of planning. I’ve learned to accept them and enjoy them when they come.  Now I see the valley below and realize that every part of THE HILL has something to offer.  The path is God’s creation, He has gone ahead of me, and it is cleared and made especially for me. Who am I to deviate from His map?  Getting PAST the summit is the actual goal…partially because the air is so thin at the top, no one could stay there for long.

As my younger self ascended the hill, I had no choice but to empty my pack of things that were too heavy. Now that I am over the summit, I’m finding I do not even miss the things I threw out of my pack – and so, I only hold on to the things that might be helpful to someone else along the way.  I tend to be a hoarder, in part because the things I collect around me have meaning and are memory-holders.  But, in truth, my age has brought me to the stage telling me how little I need.  Also, my joy, my life, my journey, is more fulfilling (once again) when I pay attention to the people and places on the path – it’s good to have things with you that connect you with those people and places.  Connection with others is the important thing.

Now that I am closer to valley, I can see “a gate” at the bottom of the hill. I’ve always known “the gate” was there, but now (like everyone on this journey of life) I SEE it more clearly. Truthfully, I can see that the path contains a series of hills, of summits and valleys, but I didn’t enjoy the wisdom of that until I got “over-THE-hill”.  And as I had been climbing up, my thought was that my life would end once I got TO the summit…but now that I am OVER the summit, I’m glad to see that there is still more, and there will be more, forever more (“The road goes ever on…” J.R.R. Tolkien) – especially once I walk THROUGH “the gate” to the garden…in the valley.

I am thankful to everyone whose paths have crossed mine, who are walking the path with me, who sometimes carry my pack for me, who guard me when I sleep, and mend me when I fall.  To the ones who travel with me, by blood or by choice, I am who I am because of you and your love.  And to The Great Shepherd who leads and asks me to follow: I am just beginning to make out the melody You’ve been singing, and look forward to a continuing journey filled with many more years on this path, and unfathomable moments beyond the gate.