RICK’S BLOG

May 2024
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By request, I am recounting the story of “FERN SUNDAY” (an unofficial observance of my own; the Sunday before Palm Sunday – last Sunday, in fact.)

First, I know this is April 1^st, but this is not an “April Fool’s Day” story…it’s simply another “colorful” event I remember from my strange life; something to bring a smile and maybe provoke a thought or two during these weird times. It’s a story of rebellion, of “church politics” and the seed of tradition…and it is set during LENT.

When I was a Freshman and Sophomore in college I had my first actual “church job” that didn’t involve my home church. I was hired by a very wealthy congregation to be one of four section leader/soloists for their aging choir. This was the first congregation I belonged to that was not the church of my family, nor was it the denomination I had grown up with. It was a very enlightening (in a good way) experience for me, and my own formation as a Believer & Follower.

Being one of the few “young” people (read: anyone under 50) at this large and established congregation I gravitated to the other few who were close in age…one was another paid member of the choir, and one was his girlfriend who also attended. We would gather after worship and chat/mock/chill in the mammoth, two-story, parlor behind the chancel area.

This church building was beautiful. A former synagogue/temple, it had been “redeemed” as a Christian worship space with magnificent carvings, paintings, windows and a stellar pipe organ. The choir sat in the back balcony with the organist, and so could observe everything. The worship was traditional to the extreme and well done, but a little stiff and stodgy. The people were older, much older, than us, but warm, gracious and very, very thankful for any youngsters that were in attendance, so we always got lots of love and food.

The congregation eased into LENT, a church observance I had NEVER experienced, so I paid attention to every fascinating detail of the “traditional mainline protestant” observance.

First off, the sanctuary was always filled with the most impressively large floral decorations I had ever seen in a sanctuary. The first Sunday I sang in worship I had assumed there had been a wedding in the sanctuary the Saturday before, there was SO MUCH “flora” tucked into every conceivable place…but no, I quickly found out there was a “flower lady” who took great care each Saturday to deck the sanctuary like the Garden of Eden. She had a well-known floral shop and used her buying power to procure everything we saw. I honestly don’t know if she donated or charged the church, but I DO know she was a “force to be reckoned with” as she was in the choir, and also dictated which color stoles the choir wore on which Sunday. She appeared to be the “Martha Stewart” of the congregation.

In any case, LENT arrived, suddenly and shockingly. The sanctuary was stripped of greenery AND flowers. I stood amazed at how large the sanctuary actually was when there wasn’t a forest taking up much of the space. Dark purple decked the pulpit, the lectern, the windows and the walls…but even with all of that, the place was “bare Lenten bones”.

The Flower Lady was not a fan of LENT. She complained, starting on Ash Wednesday and continuing throughout the 40-day observance, about the “sad music”, the “dull sermons”, and especially the “lack of beauty” (read: “flowers”). The “youngsters” (me, and the other chosen few) for whom this congregation was new, appreciated the humor of her probably more than the saints who had been attending since the founding of America. So, when she wasn’t amused, they weren’t either.

It seems that finally, on the Sunday before PALM SUNDAY, she’d had it. We walked into the sanctuary (the choir was one of the first there each Sunday) to what looked like the bar at the local “Holiday Inn” (not that I ever was ever THERE, but I’d seen pictures): it was wood, brass and ferns, ferns, ferns…everywhere.

Yes, it seems, without permission, she had taken it upon herself to ease the congregation back into the woodland glade that was the usual setting for us in the sanctuary. The fact there were suddenly ferns in the sanctuary did not sit well with the Minister, the Board, or the other woman, who understood fully how LENT may be ruined for everyone if it wasn’t “plain and bare” up to PALM SUNDAY. It began what turned into a yearly struggle (so I’m told, since I moved to Seattle the next year…but kept in touch.)

Oh, I didn’t tell you another important fact…her name was, appropriately, “Fern”.

And so, for me at least, the Sunday before PALM SUNDAY has always been “FERN SUNDAY”. Here at CCC we have (well, I have) carried on that tradition and placed ferns out, to make sure we’re not all too shocked to worship on PALM SUNDAY when the palms are put out.

I don’t advocate stirring up trouble in church, especially by stamping on people’s traditions (unless moved to do so by the Spirit). I also don’t advocate one person’s tastes and traditions over the traditions and tastes of the “community” (unless you’re the Pastor, then you can do whatever you want…just kidding). But what amazes me most about this story is…that I’m telling it. We put out ferns each Sunday before PALM SUNDAY…and all because of a woman who wouldn’t remember me from Adam, if she is still alive, which I doubt. But here I am, changed, calling the Sunday before Palm Sunday “Fern Sunday” because of her, and something she did.

It reminds me of the power all of us have to affect the lives around us, for better or worse. Every word we say, every action we take, is heard and observed…and in some cases, is absorbed. Words are power, actions speak louder than words, and people are still the greatest influencers of other people.

Fern only impressed this great story on me, her actions and words are not something I aspire to…and, in a way, she taught me how NOT to speak or behave around others. But there are many other people whose words may have been fewer, and actions smaller) who have influenced me even more:

The sixth-grade kid who watched my fourth-grade play and told me I needed to be on stage…
…I remembered that.

The shoe salesmen who sold me my first pair of “big boy” shoes, and called me “tiger”…
…I remember that.

The first person who looked me in the eye and said, “I love you.”

And I will always remember the five people who greeted me that first Sunday I stepped through the doors of Central Christian Church in June of 2006.

The Spirit is changing the community of faith during this season, almost as if we were all in a cocoon. I, for one, believe we will emerge with a new appreciation of each other’s smile and voice. As we learn, during this time, what is truly important, I hope we hear the Scripture’s words about the effect we have on one another – through our words, our prayers, and our love.

I am, by nature, an introvert. It seems strange to people who know me well, but like many performers, teachers, and ministers, I need and love alone time in my “cave”…but lately, THIS is a little too much.

“Social (or “Physical” may be a better word) Distancing” is a mixed blessing for those of us who are happy cocooning at home. People like me like the “cave” for a while, but sooner or later it gets old, even for us, even for this short period of time (so far).

I am thankful that I have a comfortable home stocked with food, and things to do…I know there are many who aren’t so fortunate. I am thankful I’m not alone, many are. I’m thankful I have “a tribe”: people in the church, or people in the theatre, who surround me with their creativity, pictures, laughter…all “virtual” but still there…many people have no “tribe” or support. I am thankful that during this time of changed routine, collapsing businesses, and unknown futures I am a child of the one who understands the “now” and knows the “later”. Many others have no such hope.

However, in my thankfulness, the “cave” has become sometimes darker.

Some people suffer from clinical or circumstantial depression…for them, this time becomes steadily more claustrophobic, and dark. I find that even “life events”, good and bad, take on a new “blue-tinged” dark light these days…because I’m so cloistered away. So far, during this time of isolation I have (along with many others) : received sad news, lost some money, unintentionally hurt someone, forgotten a loved-one’s special date, forgotten to call, made mistakes – and though these things should be taken seriously, they are the usual “bumps in the road of life” for all of us, every week. BUT NOW all those things are magnified, amplified, and sensationalized because somehow in the isolated darkness of “the cave” those things seem bigger and louder than usual.

For me, and others, the “cave” that has always been the safe place, the nest, the cocoon, has the possibility to become a deep, dark, trap.

The Psalmist seems to mention this effect: “Out of the depths I cry to You, O LORD!” (130:1) is what he says at the beginning of the song. This is, at times, a time of darkness for many…because being alone, listening to one’s own thoughts, and separated from those we love (and even those we barely like) reminds us how much we need each other.

What does the Spirit teach us about these times? I only speak for myself, but my answer came in another small event that appeared larger because of the times: someone contacted me to perform a wedding in September.

Normally, although a fun and joyful event, it would involve me saying “that would be fun, I’d be happy to do it, let me check my calendar” but THIS time, it was as if somewhere outside “the cave” someone set off fireworks. A light came on, and just like a candle in a completely dark room, I was gobsmacked at how much light a single candle can bring, how much distance one can see, and how much perspective it gives to everything else.

God is right; Light is greater than darkness.

I believe these times are…weird. For me, at this moment at least, that’s all they are, weird. I pray it doesn’t get worse than that in our home. For many, however, these times are beyond weird; they are devastating, harmful, desperate, and dark. Those people are a “cave” that is NOT a place of comfort and seclusion, but a dark hole they cannot see, or crawl, out of.

During our “LENT OF SOLITUDE” it is, frankly, not about ME nor is it about YOU, it’s about US…perhaps more than any other recent time. What can I do? What can YOU do, as a member of the Advance Team of the Kingdom of God. I believe what we should do is…share light.

We all have our gifts, but the Light of God is reflected in as many different ways as there are people: music, art, personality…laughter!

It’s time to make sure we are all cared for, first physically, and then we should GIVE LIGHT in every way possible.

“You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket, but rather on a lampstand, and it gives light for all who are in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before everyone, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” MATTHEW 5:14-16

And to paraphrase ESTHER 4:14, “…who knows but that you have come here for such a time as this?”

Shine your light.

I was in my car, on my way to Indianapolis. I was in the right-hand lane (going the speed limit…really!) and a car drove past me, pulled in front of me and slowed down. It was obvious, from my vantage point, that the driver of the car ahead of me was busy on his smartphone, texting. I wasn’t really in a hurry, but did at least want to go the speed limit, so eventually I signaled and moved to the left lane. This action apparently jarred the driver from his text conversation and made him upset as, to my amusement, he sped up the minute I was beside him so that I could not get around him. I didn’t care, as I didn’t need to be in the right lane for a while. After a few minutes he slowed down, abruptly passed behind me to the turn lane coming up on my left, honked and gave me a “sign” (and it wasn’t the sign of the cross). I was a bit confused as to his anger with ME, but not enough to care. I was more humored than anything else.

Oh, did I mention that he had an ichtus (sign of the fish) on his bumper?

I assumed the car was purchased by the current driver at a used car lot.

And once again the words of a friend came to me, “If your car has a bumper sticker about heaven, you probably shouldn’t drive like hell.”

That quote is far-reaching implications for any of us who identify as Believers & Followers of Jesus. If we are going to put our identity out there, we should probably BE what we advertise. After all, I don’t expect to find SKITTLES in an M&M bag. If M&Ms are advertised on the packaging, they had better be M&Ms inside.

Now we all do some things, as Believers & Followers, that some other Believers & Followers would call “unchristian.” Example: as an actor I have been called upon to play characters that are NOT Believers & Followers. One of those times, I had to carry (not smoke) a fake cigarette through most of the production. A dear saint wrote a kind note to me, making her case that she thought it was inappropriate for a minister to carry a cigarette. I, of course, disagreed…on several levels (1. a minister WASN’T carrying the cigarette, the character was, 2. I know several spirit-filled ministers who smoke, and 3. if you’re offended by THAT, then I could tell you a few other things about me that might make your hair curl…etc.) but what I actually said was that I was sorry she was offended and hoped that my carrying a fake cigarette around, as an actor, didn’t shatter her faith. And I realized that in this large community we call the Kingdom of God, social norms, geographic boundaries and tradition often define what some might think is “Christians behaving badly” while another group doesn’t see an issue.

At the core of the community should be the unity of the FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT, no matter what we wear, how we cut (or don’t cut) our hair, how we worship, when we worship…etc. A person ADVERTISING they are a Believer & Follower, either by carrying around a Bible, wearing a big cross, or even putting a bumper fish on their car need to at least PRACTICE (if not perfect) love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control (GALATIANS 5:22-23). These things, and not anything else, are the mark of those who believe Jesus is the Son of God and follow Him as sheep follow a shepherd. If one is not willing to at least attempt to practice these things, then they shouldn’t advertise they are something they are not.

I say “attempt to practice” because many of us are not there yet. However, the practice and attempt are obvious in people who DO practice and attempt to be who they claim.

Those who are obviously (by their lack of “fruit”) not who they profess to be give a bad name to those who ARE, because the world tends to paint all Believers & Followers with the same broad brush, and God gets a bad reputation. The FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT; the evidence of a Believer & Follower’s roots, plays out in large and small ways, sometimes those ways are how we DRIVE, how we treat people we don’t HAVE to be nice to, how we tip, how we serve.

Jesus called this sort of false advertising “whitewashed tombs” (MATTHEW 23:27), a far more colorful description even than “If your car has a bumper sticker about heaven, you probably shouldn’t drive like hell.”

Even better is to make sure that one’s fruit of the Spirit is so self-evident that a bumper fish isn’t necessary.

Drive safely. Advertise accurately. Produce fruit.

I was a small boy who could barely read when my mother began instilling in my little brain the idea of memorizing things: phone numbers, addresses, scripture, poems. She was an advocate of memorizing long passages of prose; speeches and monologues, a passion she got from her mother, the teacher.

Also, my grandmother (who passed before I was born) was, as someone who lived through the wars, convinced the scripture would someday be taken out of the hands of the faithful and should be memorized as much as possible. She herself could recite at least 4 books of the Bible, in scorching King James English (so mom said.)

As was often the case, being the child of the “Church script writer”, I was “cast” as the child with the longest (and I’m sure, the most dramatic) monologues and Bible verses to recite. I was at my hometown church one day when mom and dad were there doing something else, and I decided to go to the sanctuary and see how scary it was to stand up on the platform and deliver to the rows of empty, blonde wood, pews. I started the walk up to the front from the back when someone popped their head up from below one of the pews. It was Mr. Reiboldt, the father of some of my friends at church, he was fixing something in one of the pews…he smiled and said “Hi”. He then asked what I was doing and I told him I was going to practice my “monologue”. He then asked me a question that confused me because I had never heard the term before.

“Do you know it by heart?”

It’s funny how some things stick with you. I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old and yet, I can see the pews, see his 40-year-old face, hear his voice and see the surprise on his face when learning I had never heard that term before. He explained that having something memorized was often referred to as, “knowing it by heart.” That could refer to things like what I was learning and delivering…but also to things, truths, that need to be “kept in our heart.”

“Do you know that your mom and dad love you?”
“Yes.”
“THAT is something you know by heart.”
“Do you know that we all love you?”
“Yes.”
“Keep that in your heart.”
“Do you know that God loves you?”
“Yes.”
“Then, there are the most important things you can know…by heart.”

Again, if an angel had broken through the walls, stood beside Mr. Reiboldt with a flaming sword held high I couldn’t have been more impressed (for more than 50 years or so) with that moment in time than I was…it has stayed with me.

The term comes from the Greeks, who had no separation, in their culture and philosophy, between logic and emotion, considering the organ of the heart to be the seat of knowledge. To “know something by heart” was to remember in the deepest part of you, and COMMIT to remember it.

Currently, I am performing some Shakespeare. I don’t have a large role, but it IS significant: I’m one of the storytellers. I have 3 monologues. They are stunningly beautiful and crafted as only a brilliant writer can craft: using language as a painter uses brushes and oil, and as a sculptor uses chisels, hammers, and polishing cloths. They are also difficult for a 61-year-old mind to remember…but I am DRIVEN to remember them because they also contain “truth”…and I want to commit them “to heart.”

What do YOU know by heart?

Jesus is constantly reminding us that there are some things we know by heart that we shouldn’t: worry, past indiscretions He has forgiven, the times someone else hurt us, as examples. We may not WANT to commit those things to our hearts, but we do, and we memorize every hurt and say it, play it, over and over again. Jesus reminds us that the things we keep in our hearts tell everyone (including Himself) what we truly “treasure”. (MATTHEW 6:21)

YET, as humans we are prone to forget the GOOD things, the beautiful things, the true things…and the writer, Paul, reminds us to actually to commit those things to heart. (PHILIPPIANS 4:8). God asks that we remember what He has done for us, so as to STRENGTHEN us. Psychologists teach that training the mind to remember good events, strong events, actually CHANGES the way our mind works (as the opposite does, as well). People who learn by heart to say the bad things in their lives over and over again will change…you and I have seen it happen, and experience those kind of people every day. Those that remember when God delivered, when God loved, when God provided, also change…you and I see a few of them every day as well.

What do YOU know by heart?

Choose carefully what you learn, what you memorize, and what you know by heart. It will change you…change isn’t bad, change is life. But whether you change for the better or worse is up to you.

“Go to your bosom; knock there and ask your heart what it doth know.” SHAKESPEARE

“Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God.” ROMANS 12:2

(reprinted from June 2019)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may be surprised what God has tailored for you.

I love to travel, as you all know, and am travelling as I write this BLOG today: this ASH WEDNESDAY. I love seeing our beautiful world and the people in it. In fact, as wonderful as all the scenery and cultures are, it’s the people that are most fascinating to me.

I’m an introvert at heart, and when I’m “not in charge or on stage” I like to sit in the back and see the whole picture. When travelling, my favorite thing to do is find a quiet table, a bench, or a palm tree…and sit to watch people.

We are a fascinating species; all types, all personalities, and yet similar. I, jokingly, like to say that God only has a few “molds” He uses in building us; and so He uses some over and over. For instance, I ALWAYS see people “I know” in the most unique places. They aren’t really the people I know back home, but they sure look and act like them. In these few short days, while in another country, I’ve already seen David Priest, Diana Huntoon, and Jacqueline Sokol. Now, it’s not them, but they all look like someone made from the same mold.

Of course that’s ridiculous, we are as different as individual snowflake crystals or individual sands on the beach…but it’s a fun game. In truth, we humans are as diverse as we are similar. I watch young parents with children. Children seem to be the same throughout the world. I watch older couples, helping each other navigate the tours, the shops, and the uneven the walkways. And then there are the wealthy, the elegant, the plain, and the boisterous. I see the friendly, and the not-so-friendly, the grumpy, and the funny. It’s always a wonderful collection of sameness & difference.

On this day, ASH WEDNESDAY, I am thinking of the ashes, Palm Sunday, people, and the journey each of us together. Our bodies move toward an end, while our souls grow and finally break through. Where our souls travel, when free of these bodies, is taken on faith according to what each of us believe. We all have an idea as to what will happen when the soul breaks free, and we argue with each other about it…wasting time that could be used to connect to each other, as Jesus asked.

But, as for our bodies, we should all KNOW what is going to happen. And not just bodies, but our lands, our homes, our countries, and our kingdoms. It’s not just faith and religion that teach us about this cycle of beginnings and endings…it’s history itself. All human things end, whether individual humans or communities of humans, large and small. And hardly anything symbolizes that truth than ASH WEDNESDAY.

Where do our ashes come from? The ashes we at Central use for Ash Wednesday are the ashes of the palms used the prior Palm Sunday; mixed with olive oil which is infused with frankincense and myrrh. Once the palms are burned, ground down and mixed, they are preserved. In fact, at Central, the ashes I’ve used for thirteen years, predate me by three ministers at least. I have only added some ashes, but they are combined with ashes from Palm Sundays past. The alabaster jar that holds Central’s ashes holds the representation of at least two decades of parishioners, pastors, elders, deacons, and stories here in the heart of the heartland…and now, it’s all ash.

The palms that symbolize the crowds in Jerusalem wishing for and welcoming what they imagined was an “earthly” kingdom, are now dust…reminding us that the “earthly” kingdom is not what our King came to inaugurate…HIS Kingdom is “not from, or of, this world”. HIS Kingdom doesn’t turn to ash. But our kingdoms, our countries, our homes, and our bodies…do.

We are all headed in that direction. No matter our diversity, no matter our likeness, we all travel to that location. That knowledge alone should cause us to be kinder, more loving, more patient, and more helpful, to each other. It should cause us to live every moment on this earth, in this body, with intention. Does it?

All this isn’t really bad news, it’s the way of life as physical life was created to be…but “Life” (with a capital L) isn’t defined by things that turn to ash. “Life”, according to what I believe and teach, transcends nations, communities, and human bodies. I believe our souls will land in new bodies that don’t turn to ash, in a land that always remains green, lush, diverse and colorful…like the immortal souls that will inhabit it with our King, Jesus.

My time at Central, in Anderson, and on this earth will one day be represented in the palms I have burned and mixed with ashes from times before, and pastors who have served and moved on, along with their parishioners…but my soul has already started packing for another trip. The Kingdom of MY King has already been created.

So take the ashes and remember: we are all on the same physical journey, and it might be your responsibility to show (without words, but with action) someone else the way to “the lifeboat.” On the way, offer your hand, your smile, your love because Jesus asks you to do that…and because, as different as we all may be, and no matter where we started…we’re all in the same boat.

I used to be a percussionist, in Middle School/High School, and played a multitude of percussion instruments in both orchestra and band. Percussion is fascinating, and for anyone with a background in piano, has a relatively smooth learning-curve. The one thing I didn’t do too much, as a percussionist, was march in a band. In fact, I have really only one memory of marching with my High School band in one of the local rodeo parades (where I grew up, rodeos were popular) and I played what’s called “triples”; three larger drums worn, by strap around the neck and shoulders, in the front. Because of the size and where the drums were, one cannot see the ground while marching…and we were behind several horses…enough said. I didn’t march again.

I made many percussion friends along the way and a few have gone on to greater things as percussionists. One friend of mine continues to play in studios in Los Angeles and has been heard in the soundtracks of many well-known films. Another has become a Percussion Professor back east. One of my friends received a scholarship, out of High School, to attend school in the Midwest, where marching bands are king!

This friend, Chris, ended his freshman year as first chair in the percussion and drum section of the school and was in high demand throughout the state, even at his young age. On one occasion, another university (one of their rivals) called him with a request. It seems they wanted him to perform with them during a televised half-time show coming up in the next month. Here was the deal: he would learn the music on his own and in “seated” rehearsals with the band. However, because of the secretive nature of the program, and the intense rivalry between marching bands at the time, they wanted to keep him out of “marching practice” and simply give him his marching “formula” to learn on his own and with a “coach” – another drummer who marched beside him. He would, then, learn and memorize his steps without any concept of the rest of the band and where THEY were marching, so that the configuration could remain a secret…all he knew was HIS part, but not how it fit with the rest.

The day came, he was given a uniform and met one final time with the band. He was instructed to remain on his course. He played, he performed, his family watched on television…the half-time production was remarkable. He was also asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement, good for 10 years…because the university was a bit embarrassed for needing to ask him to play…considering he was from their rival school. Only his family knew, and he told the story years later.

He said that he amazingly learned a valuable lesson about doing what needed to be done, even when the whole picture wasn’t available to him. He knew he was an integral part of the whole but was not aware of what the rest of the body of players were doing. He said that in later years, when HE became a teacher, he used that technique to teach the importance of group dynamics, organization, the power of many, and the responsibility of concise leadership.

We talk about the BODY OF CHRIST in the church community, and we speak of our own and others’ Spiritual gifts and talents. But our human side really isn’t happy without knowing exactly HOW WE fit in and WHAT EVERYONE ELSE is doing…we not only want to see the final production, we not only want to know the outcome, we believe we have the right to know because, after all, isn’t it about us?

This story is just about a marching band, not about the Kingdom, or is it? Could we say any more to our King than what Mary said to Gabriel, “Let it be…according to His word.” or “Whatever the King asks, I’ll do.” or like Isaiah, “Here I am, send me.”

Maybe it’s just because we are Americans. Maybe it is because logic has replaced mystery. Or maybe it’s because we just don’t trust that God knows what He’s doing.

BELIEVING & FOLLOWING Jesus is a heart & mind choice each person makes individually, but once the decision is made, it is action (not academic), it is practice (not theory), and it is communal (not individual). We are the DRUMLINE in an entire band of others who march in the same direction and play the same song. It only works well if every does what the Drum Major/Director asks…without worrying what everyone else is doing.

Upon the rare occasion of “organizing” in my home, I ran across a photo album from my one and only trip to ITALY. As is often the case, the organization play was replaced by a trip down memory lane and very little was organized. This small photo album is filled with photos from the trip I took with family and friends. It was a vacation by which all vacations since are measured, because the destination and company were stellar.

I travelled in memory, through the photos, and once again felt the warm sun, listened to the music, tasted the wine, and remembered things I had forgotten in the few short years since that trip. It was a great diversion from “organizing”.

As I looked and remembered, however, I thought of a specific moment in time during the trip, when I stood on a rise looking out over Tuscan fields (much LIKE the photo posted here), 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, the scripture tells us about God. That is truth, or at least one side of it. The Scripture tells us about God, and so does His creation and His children. His Spirit in us, is also a witness to the personality of God. But all of 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 it 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 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 tells us some of who God is. The Spirit shares with us knowledge as we need it, nature is a portion of what God has created. Our own hearts and 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 where others may not.

It is a lifelong task, and we have eternity to make it happen.

On this day in 2017 we, at Central, lost our friend and sister, Cheryl Calder – as she passed into her new, eternal, and fabulous life. I wrote this a day or two following, and it bears repeating, because…you never know.

In the late ’70s and early ’80s I was a student at CORNISH COLLEGE OF THE ARTS in Seattle. I spent my time studying, performing and being a “college student”. I loved Seattle, and still do. As a child of the “east side” of Washington State, where the flat, dusty, earth is scattered with with sage brush or field upon field of wheat, I enjoyed the change: mountains, water and huge trees. The drizzle, and the sometimes grey skies, didn’t bother me in the least.

Part of what I loved was the culture. It seemed that every corner had a cafe, a store, a gallery, a theatre. I lived for at least 2 and almost 3 years as an actor, with that as my primary job; there were so many theatres to work in. It was in Seattle that I first started working in the church. I walked in to the church I attended and asked if there was anything I could volunteer to do during the day, since most of my work was at night.

“Sure,” the Pastor said, “aren’t you a designer? Could you take over our Newsletter design and layout?”

“Of course.” I said

“Watch out though,” he said, “once you start working at a church it sucks you in and you could end up working full time.”

You never know.

There were days that I would take a bit of a long walk from my apartment on Capital Hill and go to the Market, up from the harbor of Puget Sound. You’ve seen pictures of the Market, called PIKE PLACE, (where they “throw the fish”) it was a great place at the “heart” of the city. There happened to be a little coffee shop there. When I first visited, they only sold whole bean coffee that they roasted right there, and you took it home to brew. Eventually this little shop started selling cups of their roasted coffee and espresso that you could drink right there. I remember the day my friend, who worked there, said they were opening a new store on the east side of town, across the lake. I was really surprised. Is this kind of thing really so popular that you’d risk opening another store? I hoped it would do well. The shop was called, STARBUCKS.

You never know.

Another place I used to haunt was a classic bookstore, several blocks south of my school and apartment, but not downtown. This was not only heaven-on-earth for readers like me, but they also sold coffee and soup, home-made breads and such…you could both EAT and READ – WOW! Sitting and reading was encouraged as much as purchasing. I would travel to the ELLIOTT BAY BOOKSTORE often enough that I started seeing familiar faces: another college student there, an older man here…pretty soon we are greeting each other and having anonymous small talk.

Jump ahead some 15 years and I’m in Anderson, Indiana. Once again I’ve sought out a little coffee shop where they didn’t mind if you sat and drank coffee while working, in the early morning. It was a small shop close to the University. Pretty soon the same thing happened and I started seeing the same faces, becoming familiar, as we all happened to stop by at the same time.

An older lady and one I assumed was her daughter came by, and as I looked up at them seated across the room, I realized I had seen the younger woman before. It took me awhile, but then she laughed and I realized, remarkably, that she was one of the “regulars” at THE ELLIOTT BAY BOOKSTORE. I walked over, apoligized and asked if she was from Seattle. She said she HAD been there when her husband was taking classes – some of them at the CORNISH COLLEGE, had I heard of it? I told her that I recognized here and her animatedly-shocked face immediately lit up and she said she recognized me also. We started chattering away about all things Seattle. We saw each other time and again and said “hi” there at BIXBY’S.

Several years later I was a manager at the same coffee shop: a new owner, and a new name: BRANDON’S. I had also started attending a new church, Central Christian where, lo-and-behold, this woman attended…her name was Cheryl Calder. We became, and remained, fast friends. She had A lifetime of history in Anderson, and at Central Christian. She had gone through the good and bad of life with her blood family and church family there. When I became the Pastor I hired her to be our Secretary, partially because she knew everyone and knew everything that was happening all over town…but mostly because she was dedicated to God, and totally loyal to me and the church.

She was, and is, a part of the very stone that defines the building, the laughter and love that breathes through the halls there…the rest is history.

Small things become big things. A smile can turn a day. A voice can change the world…or at least your world.

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Do not brush away either.
In doing so, you may brush away God’s wish for you
To either enjoy, or be the miracle…

…you never know.

He walked in through the doors from the narthex of the church, where I had just started working as Music Director, and he looked grumpier than usual.

“Oh, good.” I thought, sarcastically.

I looked up from the piano where I was arranging my pages of music before the service that day. I had not been with this congregation very long and was just beginning to put names with faces, and dispositions. This man’s disposition, face and name was a combination I learned quickly. He was never happy about anything. From the building’s roof to sugar cream pie, he had a opinion, and it wasn’t a good one.

My bad habit of labeling a person (and in some cases then writing them off as someone not worthy of my time…forgive me, Father) had quickly labeled this guy as someone to avoid, someone whose opinion I guessed with every decision I made, whether he was present or not. And so, he crippled me. For every fifty or so people who thought I was wonderful, there would always be him. It was his review, imagined or otherwise, that judged me.

And here he walked, down the aisle, quite possibly to let me know of another disappointment he had in me.

In a moment of weakness, and displaying a rare attribute of “agape” (love actions, despite how one feels), I said: “Hey, how’s it going?”

“The day could’ve started better.” Was his succinct, grim, reply.

OK, here we go.

“I have two identical-looking tubes in the medicine cabinet,” he continued, as my thoughts tried to imagine where he was going with this, “one of them is hemorrhoid cream, the other is Polygrip…I’ll leave the story right there.”

At this point I had an epiphany: this guy was funny (which meant he was intelligent), and suddenly I saw him in a different light. It happened in a millisecond, but it happened.

He passed me, on his way to take care of something (it turned out to be a leaky baptistery) and as he passed he said one more thing.

“You’re doin’ good…don’t let the b*&%+ds get you down.” (as it says in the Scripture…somewhere, I’m sure)

That was one of three compliments (assuming THAT was a compliment) he ever directed toward me, always in private. I have remembered it all these years. He and I also shared some memorably irreverent moments during board meetings, when we sat in the back, side-by-side.

He taught me that I cannot judge the moment or my choices based on one-out-of-one-hundred people. I cannot base my choices on the reaction it will have on someone who wouldn’t like ANYTHING I do. He also taught me that irritating people aren’t what they seem…

…they are often “lonely porcupines”, afraid to get close and determined to keep you away.

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Do not brush away either.
In doing so, you may brush away God’s wish for you
To either enjoy, or be the miracle.

THIS is PATIENCE.

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