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.

Nestled in the southern Blue Ridge mountains of western North Carolina is Cowee Valley in Macon County. Like most valleys, it has gentle slopes which are pastures for grazing livestock. Scattered farmhouses dot the landscape surrounded by towering mountain peaks. One does not see anything that makes the Cowee Valley distinct from any other valley. Yet, visitors flock there, almost year-round. My family has made numerous day trips there…for good reason! Gurgling streams flow through the downward contour of the Cowee Valley, and within and around those water courses lie a variety of gemstones!

Cowee Valley is nicknamed the “Gemstone Capital of the World.” While the quality of rubies and sapphires can be exceptional, there has been no industrial mining after several failed attempts. The so-called “mother lode” has never been found that will a supply suitable quantity. Garnets, rubies, peridot, amethyst, citrine, topaz and kyanite can be found here as well as sapphires and staurolite. Amateur miners come from anywhere and everywhere to try their luck at mining!

Stories abound! Not about people getting rich by finding a large gemstone of great quality, but rather stories that bring a grin to the face! In the 1960s, young children preferred playing in the nearby creek. Since their parents had told them that they would be looking for “pretty rocks’ when they went to Cowee Valley, the children became bored and began playing in the nearby creek. One child, playing in the creek, came running to his mother, saying, “I found a pretty rock!” and gave his mother a red stone. When the family prepared to leave, they asked an employee of the mine to look at their findings and tell them the type of stones and what, if anything, the stones could be worth. So the little child’s stone was shown to the guy. . . .and to this day that stone is the most valuable ruby found! It was worth about a quarter of a million dollars! Let me assure you that any stones that you might find with some value—which are likely to be small–usually have to be cut, faceted, polished and mounted first…at a cost!

Over the years my family has found two- or three-gallon containers of stones. Only then a few small stones of enough quality that we paid to have cut and made into jewelry, most of these gemstones that we found are practically worthless because of a multitude of fractures or poor quality.

When mining, one obtains a bucket of dirt and places some of the contents in a wooden frame box 12 “by 8” (or similar) about 3 inches high with a wire mesh on the bottom. This box of dirt is placed in a long sluice with flowing water. Dirt is washed away, leaving plain ol’ rocks and pebbles, and maybe some gemstones.

My family always went to the mines on sunny days as sunlight will pass through or reflect on gemstones like garnet, peridot, ruby, amethyst, citrine, etc.. However, some stones such as sapphires which do not reflect light can be recognized by its natural eight-sided shape. Sapphires can be found in a wide range of colors and sometimes interlaced by other colors caused by trace amounts of other metals such as iron.

Spurred by our hopes of finding gemstones, we endured the hard work of mining, the constant repetition of washing box after box of dirt in the sluice, standing all day long in the hot sun, piling up the useless rock that we discarded, and trying to keep an eye on

what our kids were finding (or not finding), mining was tedious work, and we did not even have to use an old-timey pick! But we were determined to mine! Gathered along the long sluice with flowing water for washing buckets of dirt would be several families, most of them with children old enough and patient enough to seek gemstones. All day long, excited children and adults would cry out loud, “look at what I found!” with such excitement and enthusiasm! And soon, other miners would add their excited voices as they held up a stone that they hoped would be a “good” stone. And our voices would occasionally join the chorus.

All of us are miners seeking gemstones. The gemstones we seek are not always rock. Did you know that going grocery shopping is a form of mining as we pick and choose among a variety of brands? Buying or trading cars is a mining experience! Whew! Mining is hard work!

When one prepares and trains for a career in a chosen field, one is mining, seeking certification and then employment in that field. Della and I once attended a marriage enrichment seminar sponsored by the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in a quest to improve our communications and behaviors in search of a richer and more rewarding marriage relationship. In fact, I wrote an article for THE DISCIPLE magazine about that seminar entitled: “Mining for Rubies!” 

All of us are miners! Anytime any of us seek advice from a trusted friend or a professional, we are mining for the gemstones of quality that may enhance our lives and our relationships. Today, we “mine” the internet often to look for data and solutions or to twiddle away the stress of the day..

All of us are miners or prospectors. Miners are seekers. The Scripture admonishes us to “seek the Lord while He may be found.” But we have got to understand that we cannot merely find God, we must also know God. And a-mining we go because we cannot become content with a courtesy handshake with God! The more about God

that we mine, the more our own lives can be transformed. The more we discover about God (The Gemstone), the greater our joy in cutting and polishing that Gemstone! All through my life, I have made new discoveries about God, and sometimes, when I cut and polish those gemstones, I am acutely aware that I am giving up a fractured or older, immature, mistaken view of God that I once held.

One of my concerns as a minister retiring in 2017 was that I would not be able to find a congregation in which I would be challenged to keep mining THE GEMSTONE. I feared that I would lose my desire to attend church because I am a miner, and I need to learn and to grow. Here, at Central Christian Church, Sunday after Sunday Pastor Rick’s sermons both delight and challenge me! Again and again, I find myself “mining” and having to “cut” a new facet showing a part of God that I did not know, and again and again, I find myself having to “polish” my image of God as I glean new or deeper insights which enriches my relationship to God. 

Are you a miner? After all, we are to seek God while He may be found….and grow in wisdom and stature……

Here’s a story from a few years ago: I have a friend, let’s call her, “Dawn”.  She and her family don’t live in this town (Anderson, Indiana), they live in a smaller town in close proximity.  She used to come to Anderson only to do her grocery shopping at our PAYLESS.  So, if she wants to find anywhere else in Anderson, as happened a few weeks ago, she asks…

“How do you get there, from PAYLESS?”,

…because THAT is her point of reference; her “portal” to all the other wonderfulness that is Anderson.

It is a funny story and we all laughed about it…AND I told her that I’d be using it in an upcoming blog…because, what she is finding now that she travels to Anderson for other reasons (like attending a CHURCH FILLED WITH AWESOMENESS), she relies less and less on her “first frame of reference” and sees the relationship of places and neighborhoods within the town.   Some of those places are actually easier to find and reach if you don’t start from the parking lot at PAYLESS. 

There is nothing wrong with having a point of reference.  Without it, Dawn would not have seen or found quite a lot…but now her mind-map is expanded, she has a clearer idea of the layout.  Her point of reference is always there, and may help her in the future, but she is less reliant upon it…as a portal to the rest of the world of Andersonland, it has served its primary purpose…and now it has a secondary one: to be there when she needs help discovering something new and can’t find it using the other places she has discovered.

I know you’re all wondering where this is going, and what possible life lesson I learned from this.  Well, there are probably many, but the one that keeps coming back to me is that PAYLESS is (for Dawn) to Anderson, what ritual is to relationship (for Believers & Followers).

When I was in college and running out of classes that I HAD to take, and looking for classes I needed, to fulfill credit obligations…I found a fascinating class: “RITUAL FOR ARTISTS”.  This class, taught by a psychologist and musicologist, was all about the human need for ritual, and the places it serves us well.  When I’m talking “ritual” I’m not necessarily talking about spiritual ritual, I’m talking about what we do as individuals and in groups that form a “comfort level” of sameness for us.  For instance, most of us do the same things in the morning, to get ready for the day, in the same order as we have done them for years…with additions of pill-taking (for those of us grown-ups) and care items for others, it pretty much stays the same.

And what about “pew-sitting”? I know for a fact that most of the people reading this, who attend Central (and probably any other church) sit in the same place, approximately, every Sunday…these are individual and corporate rituals.  Rituals are comforting because they are something we control, and because they don’t change…but they are not, at least in the church, anything more than a “portal” and “point of reference” for the greater things. 

The positive point about a worship service that offers something new every week is “interest”, but when the liturgy (definition: a form or formulary according to which public religious worship, especially Christian worship, is conducted”) is taken away, people become so tense and uncomfortable that the new thing is often seen as something not of “interest” but of “danger”.

“Ritual” in the worship of God, is a doorway that leads us to a place where we can seek out what we need.  As we find ourselves more and more comfortable with the places we’ve found, the new knowledge of God and how that connects each of us together…we find that our “point of reference” changes, and ritual (which is always there) becomes less and less important…or more precisely, becomes exactly what it should be.

The problem lies when the only place we go is PAYLESS.  In other words, many churches rely so much on ritual that IT becomes the destination, not just the point of reference.  Don’t be fooled, this happens in high and low churches.  This even happens in churches that don’t believe they have ANY ritual.  I grew up in a congregation that believed “ritual” to be a bad word…but we had our own ritual in worship, and people learned quickly how important it was, if it was ever strayed from:  Pre-Service Music, Opening Prayer, Opening Hymn, Special Music, Pastor’s Prayer, Sermon, Closing Song, Altar Response, Postlude…in that order, every Sunday of my life growing up!  It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I hope that I learned to look beyond the ritual and find the relationship with God.

Rituals – point of references – and portals are something all of us need.  For those who attend worship, the rituals of Central Christian Church give us comfort, like a big front door, or a fire in the fireplace…but we are not defined by our rituals. All of them; the times and places of songs, scriptures, prayers, thoughts, communion, are only the points-of-reference to a greater thing, to more knowledge, to a larger community. They are doorways to the heart of God.  Hopefully, we ALL take the journey from RITUAL to RELATIONSHIP.

A philosophy I follow says this, which I believe is Truth from God:

When one does away with God, one is left with goodness.
When one does away with goodness, one is left with morality.
When one does away with morality, one is left with ritual.
Ritual is the husk of true faith, and the beginning of chaos.
Therefore, God concerns Himself with the depths
and not the surface,
with the fruit,
and not the flower.

Thanks to Dawn, for her unwitting lesson in finding God’s heart;
from RITUAL to RELATIONSHIP… 

…and all from the unlikely place of the PAYLESS parking lot in Anderson, Indiana.

In May, in the year 1889 (10 years prior to the construction of our current sanctuary, and the year construction began on my Brown-Delaware house) one of my “heroes” passed away.  His name is familiar enough that most American and British citizens would recognize it at once…and smile.  But let me tell you a little about him, before I tell you his name.

As a Quaker, he was genuine, as a businessman, successful…and as a philanthropist, generous.  As a Quaker, his beliefs didn’t allow him to enter a University or pursue a career in medicine or law…and a military career was obviously out of the question.  He turned to business and philanthropy.

His love of animals moved him to form THE ANIMALS FRIEND SOCIETY, which then become the ROYAL SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS; the fore-runner of the American branch of the same.

What most people know of this man has nothing to do with his service to animals.  He is, like all of us, multifaceted. Which reminds me once again…

…everyone has a story.  Everyone has influence far beyond their time in this place.  None of us can predict what effect we will have on others we may never see.  

And so we have a responsibility.  Jesus reminds us that every little thing we do, every smile, frown…every word (bad, good, flippant or thoughtful) matters.  The famous and rich are not any different than the unknown and poor in this way.  Each of us has a circle of influence; friends, family, acquaintances, enemies…and they have circles, and so on, and so on.  And GOD holds us responsible for the people He has placed around us. 

This is the miraculous way the world was created to work: when we follow through with our responsibilities to each other, WE are happier.  Jesus knows what He’s doing by connecting our love for each other with our love for Him and our own sense of well-being and joy.

ONE life influences MANY lives, AND we are on this earth for a short time.  Those two facts alone should remind us to enjoy every moment, by loving each other and by knowing that EVERYTHING we do will influence others. We are happy when we understand our reason for living.  

Being famous or well-known, or wealthy, seems to have no bearing on influence of quality.  After all, when was the last time your life was altered simply by holding a new-born, visiting someone in their last days, or simply being there?  You see, even in those times we have influence.

I’ll bet my “hero” DID have some inkling THE ANIMAL FRIEND SOCIETY would have far-reaching implications…but I doubt that he, also a proprietor of a small confection business in England, had any idea the emulsification process he developed to make solid chocolate (thus creating the modern chocolate bar) would make the name of John CADBURY, famous.

You see, we still cannot foresee what the future holds, or the choreography of the great dance that God sets in place; what we may think has influence on others may in fact pass quickly away.  That random smile, kindness, or worse, that harsh word or decision based on bad judgement, may reach beyond our lifetimes.

So, with that next CADBURY EGG, or chocolate bar, remember that our joy, our happiness, our full life, is dependent upon the little things that connect us to each other.  Every word out of our mouths, every action from our hearts, has the potential to last far beyond our passing…

…and has the power to change more lives than we could reach in our own lifetimes.

Jesus says it best, “let your light shine.”

One of the best things about bacon (and my other addictions: popcorn, Fritos, and crackers) is salt.  You can keep your sugar…even chocolate does not have the same appeal as bacon, popcorn, taco chips, mixed nuts…and anything else like that.

I like salt.  And although I’m trying to be very careful about exactly how much salt I ingest, since I’m of “that age”, I still like it.  And when I was researching about the properties of salt, etc found this very interesting fact:  Salt has its own flavor, technically, HOWEVER it is known for “jump-starting” our taste buds, opening them up to accept MORE flavor, causing us to want MORE food.

Now I’ve been enlightened even more about Jesus’ words, “You are the SALT of the earth.”  Not only is salt a preservative and flavoring but it actually causes those tasting it to want MORE.  When we are truly the SALT OF THE EARTH we cause those around us to want more of what we have: life, light, peace, love.  And, as Jesus also says, when “salt has lost its flavor” (by sitting around being unused) then it is good for nothing but to make roads with.  Old salt kills, so if it is spread on grass or growth it will kill it, a great way to make paths and roads, back in the day.

It’s not used so much today, but SALT used to be one of the main preservatives of foods that otherwise wouldn’t last too long.  The fish from the Galilee used to be salted and shipped to Rome, where it was used as soldiers’ food while they conquered the world.

Another obvious lesson from this “physical metaphor” of this “spiritual truth” is that TOO MUCH salt doesn’t make the food taste better.  That’s a lesson in discretion, kindness, and benevolence.  How many times has the “good news” of Jesus been ruined because it’s been forced down someone’s throat, as opposed to “sprinkled with care” in JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNTS to make life flavorful?

SALT – the flavor-enhancer/attractor and preservative.

And so…if your “salt” is being poured out of the shaker each time you have any connection with those around you, they are getting a “taste” of the full life that you have from God.  It’s available to them as well.  However, if you keep it to yourself it not only becomes useless it actually becomes poison.  To not share the life and light of God is actually bad for YOU and those around you.

When Jesus said to His disciples, and the thousands of others sitting on the mountain, listening to Him teach, “All of you are the salt of the earth” He was speaking precisely of these attributes…it is a created attribute: we have the ability to make people hungry for Jesus, we have the ability to preserve TRUE life as first given to us by Him.

Years ago, when I was leading a high-school-aged group of worship singers, one of our singers was singing “We are salty, we are salty…”, mishearing the actual lyric, “We exalt Thee, we exalt Thee.”  Of course, having never actually used the word, “exalt”, they weren’t certain what it meant – but knew we were the “salt of the earth” so “we are salty” made more sense.  I have always remembered that with a smile, every time I’ve sung that song in worship…it makes sense.

All this reminds me of one of my favorite scriptures, a rare picture of the love of God compared to flavor:
PSALM 34:8 “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.”

In my office at church I have a wall filed with crosses.  Some are big, some are small, some metal and some wood.  Some are hand-made, others a little more industrial.

When I moved into my office (2007) I had five crosses that I wanted to display, but that was too few to really know what to do with…so I went to a local craft/décor store, where there was a sale on “wall décor” (including crosses) and got the idea for a “wall of crosses” from their display…the beauty was in the way each item was a cross, but each significantly individual and unique…I purchased another five crosses to add to my collection.

Soon after, my Dad sent me two crosses that he had carved upon the occasion of me stepping into the pulpit at Central, I received a couple of “gift crosses” upon my installation and since then have received several more from weddings, etc.  I’ve also started collecting a cross when I travel, if I see an interesting one.  All that to say, my wall now is covered a bit and I’ll need to start moving crosses around to the next wall.  It looks like I’m trying to keep vampires out of the office, at this point.

As I write, I can look up and directly at the “cross wall” and see some beautiful crosses, some crosses that have a meaning because of who gave them, or where I purchased them…but they all have an “intrinsic” value because of their own beauty.

On one hand…The cross: an implement of torturous death.  Even the symbol of a cross could strike a deep and unfathomable fear in the people of Jesus’ day.  This method of execution was devised as to cause as much suffering as possible, while displaying the suffering as a warning to anyone else who might think of crossing the Roman government of the time.  The cross: a symbol, not only of state-sanctioned death, but state-sanctioned inhuman, horrific, torture. It is a symbol that Believers and Followers since have stared at daily without, perhaps, knowing the implications of such a symbol, or feeling the depth of terror that symbol would strike in all of our Believing and Following forebears.  To think that such a symbol would be carved with such love, worn as jewelry, and decorating a Pastor’s wall is almost morbidly-idiotic.

On the other hand God, the “Spiritual Rumplestiltskin”, as I like to call Him sometimes (He “turns straw into gold”) has taken the cross and actually re-created it as a thing of beauty, goodness and truth.  The mere fact that this instrument of torture and death, used on His own Son, has become a symbol for a beautiful gift of freedom and love is also unfathomable.  God, who takes the chaos and makes order, takes garbage and makes jewels, takes the broken things and makes them new…God, who currently is restoring the entire world to newness and prepping it for the Age to Come has done a wonderful thing with this cross.

We often hear, “Everything happens for a reason.”  Which (and I hate to burst anyone’s bubble), is not an accurate quote of scripture. Bad things are generally not something that God plans.  In fact the “reason” much, if not all, of the bad things in the world happen because we’re stupid and make BAD choices. THAT’s the “reason”.  What God does is take the bad and make it good.  God takes the tangle that we’ve created, and at our request, creates a tapestry.

Wasn’t the evilness of the cross part of God’s “plan”? The sacrifice that needed to be made by His Son was necessary.  Were the evil plans and thoughts of those who eventually led Jesus through the streets and to Golgotha all a part of God’s will?  Of course not, and neither were any of those people involved mere robots or puppets without a choice. God knew, because He exists “out of time”.  He could see what was GOING to happen (from our perspective of time) before it actually happened to us, and the evil became beautiful.  It is God to make “all things new”.  It is in His nature (and ours, for that matter) to “re-create”.

And so, I display my wall of crosses proudly.  This evil thing, this wicked idea to make another human suffer the pain and humility of inhuman death has been turned, as all things that are imperfect, wicked, twisted and evil will also turn.

When I look at my wall now, I try to remember the “journey” this cross made, from something designed to torture and kill, to something that is (for me, at least) a gate to the garden.

PALM SUNDAY.  I have some wonderful memories associated with this day and time.  My Dad was the choir director at my home church, for several years, and Palm Sunday evening was often the performance of the annual CHOIR CANTATA (usually one by John W. Peterson…for all of you folks who remember his standards from church choir repertoire in the 1950s & ’60s).  Also, Mom was the resident playwright and director for some truly awesome church productions, complete with soldiers, disciples and angels.  As an only child, I was usually involved in all of that, just because if Mom & Dad were at the church, so was I.  Later, when I was writing music, Palm Sunday and Holy Week became the times when some of my own music was performed at worship…some of those pieces are still some of my personal favorites.

Then, of course, my all-time favorite PALM SUNDAY was more than three decades ago when my oldest son, Cameron, was born (I think that was the only time in my life I’ve missed a Palm Sunday Worship Service). 

It may be just me, but growing up in a church family and experiencing Palm Sunday processionals as a child, just as the weather was warming up, enjoying the “dramatic” and “musical” events…it was (and still is) like Christmas in that no matter what else is going on in the world, this is a time set aside for celebration.

One particular Palm Sunday, during my college days in Seattle when my irreverence during serious occasions was maturing, was quite amusing.  During our worship we began with a processional from the back; first the choir (I was a tenor, in the back row), children with palm branches, and then the Pastoral Staff who were all participating in the worship leading.  Most of the staff at the time (I was the Office Manager at this point) were young, and then there was a more mature woman on staff as well, as our professional Church Counselor.  We all took our places and the service began.  The Senior Pastor stepped to the pulpit and addressed the full sanctuary with words of greeting and led in a responsive reading (the usual, from the Gospels, recounting the Jerusalem processional).

Suddenly, jumping from her seat next to the song leader, our Counseling Pastor, during a calm part of the reading, quickly moved to the center of the platform and started, what seemed like, an odd sort of tap dance (on the carpet).  Everything stopped.  We stared, during what seemed like hours, trying to figure out if she was having some sort of Pentecostal moment (surely not), or spasm, (a very fun and rhythmic one, if that was it) or just what.  When suddenly a small girl in the front of the sanctuary jumped up and yelled excitedly, “A dance!” as she started clapping and “dancing” along with our Associate Pastor.

 Well, by that time, the confused congregation (especially those of us in the choir and close to the front) weren’t certain about what to do.  By that time our female Associate had stopped “dancing” and was watching the little girl.  She then moved down the couple of steps to the girl, took her hands and started to dance with her.  The pianist began to play the song we had just sung and some clapping began.  We began to get caught up in this strange, impromptu dance party, in the middle of what had been a carefully-planned worship service.

The whole thing lasted only a moment.  When the song ended everyone clapped, and our Associate moved to the pulpit to explain that one of the candles had lit a palm frond end on fire and a little ember had floated down to the carpet where it began to burn.  Our vigilant Associate was the only one who noticed.  Thereby, she jumped from her seat, scurried to the burning carpet and began stomping it out with her high-heeled feet.  It wasn’t apoplexy or the Holy Spirit…it was a small fire…which looked to us like a dance from a person for whom dancing wasn’t a part of her perceived nature.

But for that moment a misunderstood action turned into a spontaneous dance party and the agenda was set aside.

Two-thousand years ago, Jesus could have stopped the procession on the way to Jerusalem and given everyone a lesson in WHY He was entering Jerusalem, and WHAT He was going to do. But, for the crowds at least, He let it go, He let them celebrate.  They were misinterpreting what was going on, but Jesus didn’t stop the praise, and knew it was futile to try.  He also understood there is a time for everything, present circumstances don’t override expressions of joy.

In THE Kingdom, at least, there is ALWAYS a reason to dance.

That is, I guess, what the pageantry, music and drama of PALM SUNDAY and HOLY WEEK are for me.  No matter what else is going on in the world, and much of the world around us is in chaos, because of who HE is, and because of WHAT is certain and sure in our future…it IS appropriate to interrupt the agenda and dance.

So…dance, like everyone is watching.

Two-hundred-and-thirty years ago, the woman christened Maria Antonia Josephina Johanna, known by her family and friends simply as Antonia, and known by the world as Marie Antoinette, was beheaded in France for crimes against the state. 

During her short trial she was accused of (among other things) taking money from the French treasury and sending it to her home country of Austria, of orchestrating murder, of hosting orgiastic sexual parties at Versailles, and of incest with her own son.  Even at the time most people did not believe many of these accusations and she replied in defense to none, except the accusation of incest: she passionately asked how any mother could accept this accusation without crying out, and it is said that she, at that moment, gained the sympathy of those women in the court.

But it was too late for her, the damage had been done.  And this woman, just shy of 38-years-old, was already labeled, judged, and condemned…before the trial began.  Those in authority simply didn’t like her and one stray tidbit of gossip from the court led to an elaboration, which led to a larger story, and so on and so on.  Even today most people, when hearing her name, assume that the quote, “Let them eat cake.” (supposedly her response when told the people had no bread) is fact, when there is no actual corroboration.

Marie Antoinette and her husband, King Louis XVI,  were (to say the least) disconnected from those they were bound to serve and rule – but such was the world at that time, and the same could be said for some monarchs then, and some governments now.

The actual records, letters, and notes from those who surrounded the Queen at the time of the revolution, paint a picture of her.  She seemed to be a young, frivolous, and extremely kind wife who refused to leave her husband, even when it was safe to do so and evacuation plans had been made.  They tell of a woman who, in the face of vicious attacks upon her very moral fiber, refused to stay hidden but continued what limited “royal contact” she had with the people –  like public mass on Sundays and walking through the streets of the markets with her children.

Her children, it is said, were her primary concern.  She was the first Queen of France on record to have personally supervised and taught her own children.  As much as has been said and painted about her lavish lifestyle, hair, jewels and clothes, she downsized the “costume of the court” so much so that the courtiers themselves rebelled at having to dress so “simply”.

She was a woman who seems to have stayed true to herself.  Her last words were “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, je ne l’ai pas fait exprès.”(“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to do that.”) spoken when she accidentally stepped on the foot of the executioner before placing her head in the guillotine.

Except for the knowledge she was a firm Catholic to the end, I have no insight into her principles of “Belief & Following” Jesus.  However, to see her remain upright while insults, stories, and lies of all kinds were thrown at her face, is to see a thing of gracious breeding & beauty.

The natural, or I should say the world’s, tendency is to defend every slap and verbal punch made in our direction.  Christians, in particular, seem to have forgotten what Jesus said about, “turning the other cheek” (which doesn’t have to do with physical injury, but injury of reputation) and “letting it go.”  No, on the contrary, many people who label themselves Christian” enjoy letting everyone know how and who hurt and offended them.  

JESUS stood in the face of lies and false testimony and remained silent: His presence alone was the answer his “judges” needed to see.  He didn’t argue, He simply stood, He stated who He was, verbally AND silently, and let it go at that.

It is every Follower & Believer’s goal, I believe, to act and behave according to who they ARE and not according to how they are treated.  This world needs those who are consistent in their integral behavior, in their goodness, and NOT those who spend their time in offensive attacks back to their attacker, or the constant arguing about how much better people they are than everyone else. We stand, as the scripture says, like trees rooted deep by the water, we may bend, but we don’t break.  We hopefully use kind words to turn away anger, at least that’s the goal.

We love others because that’s who we are supposed to be: the ones who love.  We don’t love our enemies (or friends) because they love us back.  We tell the truth because the Truth is in us, and not just because the truth happens to make us look good…because many times it doesn’t.  We lift each other up, not because we hope to be lifted up by others, but because we already have been lifted up by our Father in Heaven.

I’m sure that Marie Antoinette had some good training to help her survive and keep her head (pardon the pun) during the difficult times.  But we know that breeding and training only go so far, it is the Breath of God, surging through our spiritual lungs that gives us the power to be who we are not by our own strength.

In the face of shallow praise and heartless insult, stand, a Restored and loved Child of the One True God, and thus show the world what faith is.

a BLOG by Pastor Ken Rickett

From the time I was around 10 years old and all through my teenage years I would go with my uncle and his family to camp atop Hooper Bald, a 5,482-foot mountain that literally had no trees growing there. Except for abundant grass cover on the bald, the only other plant found in occasional clumps were wild huckleberries which ripened in late August. We would camp sometimes over the weekend but more often than not, our trek to the mountaintop lasted a week in which we lived out of tents and toted buckets of water from just over the side of the bald where several mountain streams and creeks first bubbled out of the ground.

And indeed, it was a trek to get atop the peak. Washed out logging roads that were built in the 1920s was the only way to get there by jeep or a high truck because the rocks and gullies meant slow traveling, rocking back and forth and being jarred with each dip.

The driver had to keep full attention on the road because it was critical that he steer just right to avoid ripping out the exhaust pipes or oil pan on the vehicle. Sometimes the younger ones would walk because it was quicker to get to the top by walking the last three miles. Talk about speed bumps…nothing like an old logging road!

Hooper Bald has a unique distinction of being the last free range for grazing cattle in America—not the wild American West. When I was camping there as a teenager, one reason we did so was not only to pick huckleberries in season but to find our cattle amid the several groups of cattle there and leave a salt block. Each spring several people would take their herd up and each fall they would take the herd back into their valley homes. The federal government closed the area to free range in the 1970s. What a history! A thrill indeed to care for cattle on America’s last free range!

Many times, when wandering around the grassy top (about a mile or so long and several hundred feet wide) I have gone to a rock ledge, not a very large one, but it was truly straight down for several hundred feet. One peculiarity about this rock is the carving on it that reads “PREDARMS CASADA SEPT 1615”. Over the years tourists, not realizing what a treasure that rock has become, have defaced it a bit. Old timers remember seeing this carving in the early days of the settlement of western North Carolina. Talk about a mystery. The date of Sept 1615 causes quite a stir with its puzzlement. First, the pilgrims did not land at Plymouth Rock until 1620. Second, the native American Indians would not know any European languages. What other language would use letters very, very similar to the English alphabet?

Hmmmm! I have studied Greek and Hebrew…and oh, yeah, I took Spanish in high school and college. Bingo!

Could that inscription be Spanish? Oops! Is that possible? 

Well, in 1540, Hernando de Soto led about 550 men from Spain on a search for gold. They traveled northward to the center of present-day North Carolina and then turned west, and actually traveled through the mountains near my hometown. Little did they know that they actually walked near the Cowee Valley which is now called the The Gem Capital of the World for its rubies, sapphires, garnets, amethyst, etc. It is said that de Soto got into a battle with the Indians near present day Knoxville, and half of the Spanish men were wounded, and a few were killed. Did a rogue group leave de Soto?

If so, we are talking 1615, not 1540-1542. If that were true, then some 3 three generations would have survived somehow. There are no Indian tales of white skinned people living on the hills of Carolina, Georgia, or Tennessee back in that era. And Hernando de Soto and his surviving men returned to Spain after trekking all the way into

Texas, but Spanish ships sailed in the Caribbean Sea and Spanish encampments along the Gulf Coast are known to have existed. But the Spanish did not create a permanent settlement.

In those days…O, I almost forgot! In 1567 another Spanish leader Prado also explored what is now the southern United States. Again, no settlement was lasting. Did some of Prado’s men wander off and survive a few years before disappearing without a trace?

Adding to the mystery is the Spanish word CASADA which refers to wedding, or wedding celebration. The word derives from the verb CASAR meaning “to marry, wed.” Did a wedding take place atop this high mountain amid Indian territory in September 1615? If so, who, from Europe, would have been there in 1615?

As much as I would like to know the answers to this intriguing mystery, I am content to let it remain just that–a mystery!

The scriptures testify that God is never fully known, but God constantly reveals God’s nature and being to humankind. God is mysterious in many manifestations and God works in mysterious ways. If God can be fully known, then why would anyone spend a

lifetime seeking to know God and God’s will? If God reveals the loving and merciful nature and being in Jesus Christ, His Son, and grants that Son all authority in heaven and earth, including the authority to bestow eternal life upon the faithful, then surely, we marvel at this gift that we hope to receive. The loving and merciful God revealed in Jesus Christ is too magnificent to fully comprehend. In a mysterious moment, in the twinkling of an eye, we shall be transformed into an eternal body.

And as confident as we may be that we are led by the Holy Spirit, the presence of God and Christ with us in everyday life, we can be greatly surprised when we sense that God’s Spirit is leading us into a new way of thinking or living life. The work of the Holy Spirit among us is quite mysterious, but we seek to discern the Spirit’s calling.

Perhaps the Church Universal as we know it today needs to become more content with the mysteries of God who is known to us through the Son, and present with us through the Holy Spirit. After all, it is only when we acknowledge the mysteries of God, that we can become humble, seeking, searching, yearning, serving. . . . . .

There is something to be said for allowing mysteries to remain….even with rock carvings atop a high mountain.