RICK’S BLOG

April 2024
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One day, when I was out for a neighborhood walk, I noticed two boys and an adult walking along the street. One of the young boys had a bike which he was “walking” behind the other young boy, who was slightly ahead. The boy with the bike accidently (as it looked to me) ran into the boy who was walking, just a bump, nothing major. Immediately the boy in front turned around and without so much as a word hit the other boy in the shoulder. The boy with the bike threw it down and started to pound on the other boy…the adult immediately jumped in and broke up what had started. Now I don’t know the “back story” I only know what I saw…but these boys were young, very young, and I wondered at what age we all learn to hit back when we are hurt. Because it IS a “learned” behavior…and not the way we were created…and not the way of the Kingdom we “Followers” call Home.

At whatever age we’ve learned to hit back harder, or repay an equal amount of pain, we also learn to apply that principle to every part of our lives. We learn the subtle ways of “getting back” or “getting even” and call it “fairness”. We learn it, and we practice it. It becomes a part of our politics: whatever happened to simply stating your platform and being polite, without attacking your opponent? It becomes war: how long have countries fought, simply stating that they are paying back for the attack on them? It all seems so natural…after all, I have the right to defend myself, don’t I? I have the right to say that if you hurt me, you deserve pain also…isn’t that the case?

Some people who identify as “Christian” do the same thing, without a second thought, even though “fighting back”, “getting even”, “causing pain”, “an eye-for-an-eye” is completely, irrevocably, and undeniably against ALL that Jesus, the King, teaches in that black book they hold up while screaming curses at those who are different than them.

When our soldiers across the sea are killed, mutilated, their bodies dragged through the streets…I am not surprised, I am horrified that any human could do that to another, but am not surprised. That is the kind of behavior I expect from the ignorant and ungodly. I would hope that is never the kind of behavior any American citizen would engage in…but I know that I’m wishing for something that is probably not to be.

However, we who follow Jesus (and if you’re going to call yourself a “follower of Jesus” you actually DO need to “follow Jesus”…otherwise, you’re just a “fan”) should be behaving in a manner that HE teaches us. No matter what country we live in, no matter if our bodies live in the USA or somewhere else, we are citizens of the KINGDOM OF GOD, and we simply don’t behave that way.
Not because we haven’t been hurt, we have.
Not because we haven’t been slandered, we have.
Not because we haven’t been humiliated, we have.
But because we simply don’t behave that way…no matter what they do to us. The minute we hit them back, we become them, we ignore our citizenship in the Kingdom, and we cause God grief.

If we are going to “follow” Jesus, then we have no other choice but to do as He commands: walk the extra mile, turn the other cheek, love (LOVE) our enemies and pray for them…and be IN the world…but, unlike “them”, not OF the world.

My prayer is that there will come a time, soon, when others will know we are Christians by our love, and not just because our Facebook status says so.

On June 26, 1483 King Richard III became the King of England…only to die in a battle over that same throne some 2 years later, ending the famous “War of the Roses” and ushering in the house of Tudor for the next 117 years.

Richard’s hastily-dug grave was only discovered 5 years ago. Archeologists discovered the floor and some foundation of a Medieval church in Leiscester (under a parking lot) and there was the small grave of one of the most controversial rulers in history of Great Britain. The last king to die in battle, Richard had assumed the throne in controversy and survived one prior revolt…but the Tudor family succeeded in the next. After being killed, he was stripped, bound, his body “humiliated” and put on display for 3 days…then dumped.

Such is life. We scramble for honor, money, power, acceptance, respect and love…all of which are transient and deceptive. Fame and power are fickle, as public acclaim is as well. And yet all of us seem to have the desire for power, for respect, acceptance and love…do we learn?

Jesus knew exactly how to handle this part of humanity. Don’t deny it, every human is hungry for all these things, they are a natural part of our created selves. Unfortunately, like children, we believe that WE have all of the information necessary to satisfy our cravings with “food” we see around us. Like a hungry child may not be able to reason that his or her body is in need of a specific thing whose nutritional value will encourage growth, we also only know that we are hungry. A child may think that eating ice cream will satisfy the hunger as well as a boneless chicken filet…so why not eat ice cream? We seek power and think that working our way to the top of the food chain, in whatever business we are in, will satisfy that hunger. Jesus knows that hunger, He placed it there at the dawn of creation…it isn’t a bad thing, just a misguided thing. As certain “anti-nutritious” foods will only cause the body to keep craving, causing an addiction, so will constant searching for that which does not truly satisfy will cause a vicious cycle of brokenness, envy, jealousy, bitterness and death.

Power? We are heirs to the Kingdom of God, royalty. All that we see is within our grasp.
Money? A simple mind could tell you the “love of money” isn’t just the “root of all evil” but also a substitute for a deeper need…since many who have all the money any one person could possibly crave…are not happy, and crave MORE.
Fame? When one tries to please everyone around, they instantly become a slave to all of them…and people will choose arbitrarily who to follow and “worship” at any given time, based on their own cravings. The King of the Universe thinks you are the most beautiful, precious and important of all his creations…He holds your tomorrow and your todays…He is the ONLY person worth pleasing.

King Richard’s life, short reign, bloody death, and forgotten grave, is a lesson to everyone about the realities of human life. What we seek, to satisfy a created hunger and thirst, is usually unsatisfactory…God and God alone quenches the thirst for honor, money, power, acceptance, respect and love.

“…your Father knows what you need, stop worrying. Aggressively seek FIRST for the Kingdom, and all of the rest will fall into place…” (MT 6:32-33)

Let us at least begin to put life into perspective.

We thirst, we hunger. God holds the Bread of Life, and the Living Water…satisfaction can be found nowhere else. Period.

It’s difficult to believe tht 51 years ago (July 20th) Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, the first to do so? I remember where I was, I was staring at our black and white TV, trying to discern the hazy and somewhat confusing image, while listening intently as Neil Armstrong spoke the famous words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

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

What happened? What happened to imagination?

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

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

Again: “You stop dreaming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.”

Usually, during this last holiday weekend, I perform with the Indianapolis Jazz Orchestra (the “big band” I’ve been singing with since 2000) one July, at a private event in a beautiful retirement community in Indianapolis 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, grand-kids, 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…like we did this last Sunday morning during our outdoor worship. 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 grand-kids. 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…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 may have an impact on someone else that you could never imagine.

Central Christian Church and THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH (DISCIPLES OF CHRIST) has a story…and our histories, 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. The story of God is the story of His people and their journey with (or without) Him…and it 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.

A few years ago I traveled back to my hometown in The Tri-Cities, Washington to bury my father’s ashes. I wasn’t feeling like my best self. Suddenly, with my Mom gone as well, and being an only child, I felt like the “last survivor.” I questioned my life, my worth, my “self” – I was depressed.

While there, I got to visit my former High School, thanks to some gracious teachers, I got a tour; walking around familiar halls and passages, remembering things I had long forgotten. It was a new school when I attended, it didn’t look so new now.

I walked around feeling old, which didn’t help with the current opinion of myself at the time, getting a little more depressed with each corner, looking at the children who wandered the halls and wondering if I ever looked that young.

I turned into the familiar MUSIC BUILDING and walked into a new hall that led to the familiar CHORUS ROOM, where I spent many hours. A girl I assumed was a student, was looking at a painting on the large wall. I turned also to look and to my amazement, it was a song I wrote, “SCARLET & GOLD”.

Because the school had been new when I attended, there were some things the building and school didn’t have when we started attending. Each graduating class would “gift” something back to the school – and at that time, the gifts were things not included in the original building budget. My class, the class of ’76 gave an electronic scoreboard for the gym. The next class commissioned me, already a songwriter, for an ALMA MATER, which the school didn’t have yet. There on the wall was my song.

I started feeling a little better about myself as I looked at the wall painting of my lyrics and melody.

The girl turned to me and said (since she saw I was a visitorl) “This is our ALMA MATER.”
“Thanks, yes, I saw that,” I replied, “but there’s a mistake in that part of the lyric.” I said as I pointed down to the lower part of the painting where the error was.
“Really?” she asked (with a look that said, “Who do YOU think you are?”) “How do YOU know?”
I said, indicating the name on my VISITOR BADGE and my name on the wall,
“I wrote it.”

Her expression was what I would have if I had suddenly run into Abraham Lincoln; pleasantly shocked, but mostly because I thought he had been dead for quite some time.

Then she whispered reverentially, “Really?”
“Sure enough.” I said.
“Well I suppose you ought to know. Wow, we sing this all the time and would’ve never thought I would have met, or talked to, the writer! That makes a lot of difference; knowing the writer and not just the song.”

Then, she said, “I’m still not sure that’s a mistake.” Pointing to the lyric we were looking at. She then smiled, gave a little wave, and books in arms, moved on.

What?!

She was standing beside the writer, who pointed out the lyric and the mistake…THE WRITER, ME…who remembers hand-writing the song, who has sung the song, who KNOWS (if anyone would) what is wrong and what is right with the song. I wasn’t at all angry, just stunned. At that moment, she felt her OPINION carried the same weight as my “TRUTH”.

I’ve told this story before, in a BLOG, but the last time I told it I left out her final comment because it wasn’t part of the lesson…however, recently this memory has returned to me WITH her “last line”. I’m seeing, and reading, SO MANY people who also believe their OPINIONS (non-credentialed) carry as much weight as easily verified facts and truth.

It’s like saying, “Since I disagree with this it must not be true.”

I suppose this is where our current time and place has gotten to…but God has been dealing with this for all time. I thank Him for HIS patience and mercy. A recent conversation with yet another person voicing a “non-credentialed” opinion about a “credentialed truth” made the frustration-futile-anger level in me to rise…and then I heard the quiet, calm, voice of the Spirit.

The Spirit of Jesus took me back to the very beginning of today’s story – the part where my OPINION of myself was low. That whole time, when I was low, THE SPIRIT was trying to break through. In every corner of that trip the SPIRIT was showing me how loved I was by my parents, friends, family, and community – showing me that my life mattered…I, of course, didn’t want to listen…my opinion of myself was standing in the front.

Then THE SPIRIT said, “My FACT carries more weight than YOUR OPINION…especially when it comes to your view of yourself.”

I find when it comes to self-knowledge, self-identity, and self-esteem, humans sabotage their lives. We forget that GOD creates by “fiat” – He speaks it, and it is made. He speaks and IT IS so. He speaks and when He says, “You are MY child. You are loved. You are worth dying for. You are the greatest creation I have made.” those words aren’t His opinions, they are fact. They are truth. And our OPINIONS do not carry the same weight against His facts, and His TRUTH.

It’s not an easy lesson to learn, especially during these times, we are tested every moment of every day. But if no one says it to you today…listen to the SPIRIT of TRUTH:
You are God’s child.
You are loved.
You are worth dying for.
You are the greatest creation He has made.”

AND, your non-credentialed opinion doesn’t have the weight to stand against His facts & truth.

I started off the day with my daily “fix” of coffee…but today, over ice!

I have little rituals that I enjoy, depending on the day, including my coffee. I also have some readings that I enjoy starting off the day with. I read some from a book called, “A Year With C.S. Lewis” (one of my favorite Christian writers). I also have a devotional book called, “A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Other Servants”…that helps guide me through a worship time of prayer for myself, my family and all of you.

But one of the more fascinating daily readings I enjoy (while still sipping my coffee) is a gift someone gave me, a book called “The Intellectual Devotional”. Now don’t assume that my friend thinks I’m intellectual, in fact, this book is supposed to help you BE more intellectual. It’s a great book, each day is differently themed with information about HISTORY (Mondays), LITERATURE (Tuesdays), VISUAL ARTS (Wednesdays), SCIENCE (Thursdays), MUSIC (Fridays), PHILOSOPHY (Saturdays) and RELIGION (naturally, Sundays).

Today I read a page about the Italian painter, Botticelli’s painting, “The Birth of Venus” which I saw in person at the Uffizzi Gallery in Florence, Italy a few years ago.

Botticelli loved beauty, as you can well imagine. His belief was that ALL things came from God, including some pagan beliefs. His paintings sometimes drew from Scripture AND Roman Mythology because he saw all things beautiful as coming from the throne of the Creator; he had no trouble reconciling both things together. Somewhat late in life, Botticelli fell under the influence of a very charismatic monk named Savonarolla who believed that all “luxury” items of the Renaissance (paintings, sculptures, etc. that had no PRACTICAL value) were pulling people away from God (he also played a large role in the recent mini-series I’ve enjoyed: THE BORGIAS). He encouraged citizens to burn their paintings and luxury tapestries, books of poetry and other things that HE considered worthless because they were merely beautiful. From this act comes a term we are still using today, “the bonfire of the vanities”. Botticelli also took some of his originals; drawings, paintings, etc and threw them into the bonfire as well.

It struck me while reading this, and because of the incredible beauty in our church building, that there is some sense in the pursuit of “beauty for beauty’s sake”. I believe that our Father IS the creator of beauty, and investing in something that points you to the True Creator and helps you see God and Yourself in the True Light, is well worth the investment.

When I walked through the Uffizzi in Italy, I was transported to a place that was “higher” than when I entered. I was inspired to be a better “artist” and creator myself, when I saw the historic works…I was, in short, given a greater glimpse of God.

There was another historic place outside, in the plaza of the Uffizzi…it held more meaning for me. It was a bronze plaque, set in the stone of the street, marking the place where the monk, Savonarolla was burned at the stake…when the people had enough of him. A sad ending to the life of perhaps a great man; driven by an obsession that probably started out as a good idea. Art should never REPLACE God, but should remind us of all that is “Good, Beautiful & True”.

I asked God to provide me with everything I need today…and this message was what my soul needed to hear. I continued to seek the Lord and found Him in an unexpected place. I continue to knock on the door today…that God will open and lead me to another great adventure.

I am still my Father’s son. I carry so many parts of his personality that it’s impossible to escape his influence, even if I wanted to. My Dad knew no stranger, he was a “friend of the world”…this served him well in the US Army and the US Postal Service where he was a mail carrier. His letter-carrier days remind me of one of his odd quirks: he hadn’t always been quick with names, but he never forgot an address. I can remember times when he and I would be out and we’d run into someone who knew Dad and they’d say hi and chat. As that person moved on I’d ask Dad who it was and, more often than not, he would remember address but not their name. No matter, it was the “label” he couldn’t remember, not the person.

My parents were both lovers of music and I received the “art-gene” from both, but it is my father who sang, with a rich and deep baritone-bass voice that I can still hear, in my mind’s ear, singing in gospel quartets or as I would accompany him singing, “The Palms” on Palm Sunday at church. A great appreciator of marches, my Dad could listen to any and all marches and identify them by name because he’d played so many of them in the Army Marching Band…sometimes I’ll listen to John Phillip Sousa as I’m going to sleep (odd, but true)….and can identify by name most every JPS march I hear.

If I’m with my Dad’s family it is obvious in looks and mannerisms that I belong to the “clan”…of course, the same can be said when I’m with Mom’s family as well…hmmmm…I’m not adopted after all!

None of us can escape our family heritage, we carry with us what was given to us. It is the same with our Heavenly Father: we can deny it, we can run away from it, we can refuse to believe it…but the bottom line is we are our Father’s children and we carry His breath (“I will pour my spirit/breath on all people”), His features (“let us create humans in our image…”) and His name (“I will call you My own…”).

Some people have problems with this “father-image” thing because THEIR fathers were nothing to brag about…fortunately for many, like me, making the jump from “earthly father” to “Heavenly Father” isn’t all that long a trip. But for those who are still seeking for a “good” and “faithful” father, our Heavenly Father IS the REAL and TRUE Father, by which all other fathers are merely poor reflections. He is quick to train, quick to give wisdom, quick to protect and quick to love. All of His witnesses, the scripture, nature, the congregation, the spirit, His Son, will testify to His “Fatherly” care and love.

On this Fathers’ Day without him here, I remember my Dad. Whatever you may do to honor or love your earthly father, be sure to take some time to acknowledge the reality of your Heavenly Father and His thumb-print on your own life. Each of us has something to teach the other about God, because we are ALL created in His image and we ALL carry bits of His personality with us…celebrate that truth and you will truly be free to be who you are.

Mrs. G. has become one of my favorite teachers, in memory. I was seven or eight-years-old when I stepped into her class, at Jason Lee Elementary, she stole my “creative” heart. Everything we did that year woke my inner artist with the methods she used to teach. We wrote and bound books (I have two of them) to read to the First Graders, helping them to read. We made pottery, made butter, made bread, made bricks, learned how to weave, all this to while learning the early history of the Americas, and we wrote, produced, and performed plays that illustrated everything from math, to spelling, to English.

She was, and that class was, very formative for me…obviously building and discovering what are now so many parts of my life.

One day we took a “field trip”, one of my first. We traveled as a class to the “big kids school” (the Junior High School) to see a play. This was one of my first, up close. It was probably only as good as it could be; costumes and set were probably rudimentary…but for me, at that moment in time, it was an incredible and magic moment. After the show I went backstage and stood craning my neck to see all the backstage magic: sets, lights, props. One of the actors came up to me, a girl who played a princess (as I recall), and I asked her a million questions about the stage-craft…really more interested in the everything BEFORE the acting, at that point. Somewhere during the conversation she asked if I had come with a class of other kids. It was only then that I realized I had wandered off by myself backstage. I immediately panicked, knowing they would leave without me; the long walk back to school, the scolding from Mrs. G and worse, from my parents…or the ultimate…I’d be sent to the Principal!

I turned to quickly escape and there was Mrs G. She looked upset, but bent down and gave me a hug. She said she was worried and left the other kids on the bus to go ahead as she searched for me through the school, she took me back to the school in her car.

We spoke of it again, many, many years later when she and her husband ended up attending the church my parents attended. I was an adult, working as an actor, songwriter, church musician…pretty much all skills that were based in what I learned in her class, when I visited my folks and their congregation. I was grown, married, with kids by this point. It was a very happy reunion; she hadn’t changed a bit in my eyes. She had saved a couple of my books and gave them to me, and I asked her if she remembered that day at the Junior High Play. She said she did, that I was her “little lost sheep”. I then begged her to admit that I was her favorite pupil in all these years.

She said, “You are ALL my favorites…but at that time, YOU were the one in trouble, so I focused on you.”

“What man among you, who has 100 sheep and loses one of them, does not leave the 99 in the open field and go after the lost one until he finds it? When he has found it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders, and coming home, he calls his friends and neighbors together, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, because I have found my lost sheep!’ I tell you, in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous people who don’t need repentance.”
LUKE 15:4-7

Jesus’ shepherd loved ALL the sheep, but at that place and time there was ONE who needed his attention.

Mrs. G loved ALL her students, but at that place and time the person who needed her undivided attention was me. My life mattered to her, like the sheep matters to the shepherd. And that has made a great difference in my life.

(reposted June of each year, in honor of Michael)

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

I first met him when, as a very young singer, was making my professional debut in opera and he was assigned to me, by the company, as my “coach”; leading me in the method of singing the small role that I had. We became fast friends.

He was much older than he looked, (we almost looked the same age) and so seemed like a “wunderkind”: a brilliant man with a quick wit and energy that made the rest of us look like slackers…and I do a lot of stuff. When he learned that I was getting my degree in Music Composition he insisted on hearing every piece I wrote and came to each performance of my new works at the college I attended. He would analyze each piece, not to judge or criticize, but to ask questions about my choices of phrases, keys, motives, themes and construction…all without ever SEEING the music on paper…just from what he had heard, once. He made me think about my own compositions in ways I had never thought…He listened.

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

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

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

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

As we continued to talk, she said that he was embarrassed. He didn’t want me, his one and only Christian friend, to know that he was “sick”. He was afraid that I would judge, that I would condemn…and most importantly, think that I would leave. Ironic, since he’s the one that did the leaving.

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

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

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

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

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

Central Christian Church could, and should, be known as the people who love like no one else, accepting those with whom we agree and share our life-goals, as well as those we don’t. We can, and will, be the ones who others see and say, “If being a CHRISTIAN means being like those people at Central, then count me in…when I was hungry, they fed me, when I was thirsty they gave me something to drink…when I had AIDS and was dying, they cared and loved me without judgment or superiority.”

Each June (Pride Month) my heart remembers what my head may forget: that Michael is as unworthy as all of us to receive God’s love…and yet God loves Him, and loves us all.

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

We can and should be God’s people; people who love others as Jesus loves them – people who remember that Jesus unconditionally loved us…BEFORE we loved Him.

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