RICK’S BLOG

April 2026
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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 as if everyone is watching.

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

First, I know this is ST. PATRICK’S DAY, but this is not a “ST. PATRICK’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, stained-glass windows, and an epic 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 literally “feeling” my age these days of 2021 – especially now that I’m on the “other side of the hill”. Desserts are now replaced with more-friends-than-food at my side, gifts are now the intangible, full moments past and present, decorations are the wrinkles, fat and grey hair that bear witness to all those past intangible, full moments…with thankfulness.

I, for one, 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 126-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, and will been a friend to me, gone the “extra mile” and continues to shock me with His graciousness which I have still to figure out…as little as I have done for Him in return.

To be a Believer & Follower on the “other-side-of-the-hill” is 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. Sure, 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 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 that 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 accept them and enjoy them when they come, but as I now see the valley below, I realize that every part of the hill has something to offer. The path is of 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 OVER the mountaintop 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 that I do not even miss the things I threw out of my pack…and so, am only holding 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, middle age has brought me to the learning stage that tells me how little I need. And also, my joy, my life, my journey is more fulfilling (once again) when I pay attention to the people on the path…and it’s good to have things with you which connect you with them. That it may be something they need is just a part of why those things are necessary. Connection with others is the important thing.

Now that I am closer to valley, I can see that it has a gate.

The journey on the hill has shown me that there is more than one hill, but I couldn’t see that until I got “over-the-hill”. When I was climbing, my thought was that my life would end once I got over the summit…now that I AM over the summit, I’m glad to see that there is still more, and there will be more…especially after I walk through the gate in the garden in the valley.

Thanks to all whose paths cross my path, who walk the path with me, who have carried my pack for me, who have guarded me when I have slept and mended me when I have fallen. 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 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.

William Shakespeare. The words attributed to that name are some of my favorite phrases. I have grown in my appreciation of the plays and sonnets, of the accurate recording of human nature, defined so expertly and beautifully in a language that seems all but lost. I have been honored to perform in and stage direct several Shakespeare plays, and I’ve got to say that simply reading the words do not do them the justice they deserve. The words are written to be heard.

There is almost no one English writer more quoted than Shakespeare, and snippets of lines from his poems and plays have made their way into our vernacular even today; “All the world’s a stage…”, “to be or not to be”, “what’s in a name?…”, “the winter of our discontent”, “such stuff as dreams are made of”, “all that glitters is not gold”, “the course of true love never did run smooth”, “there’s a method in the madness”, “a lean and hungry look”…and so much more!

Shakespeare is quotable and clever. Watching and hearing the plays reminds me that people haven’t changed all that much since the 1500’s, and the best entertainment still rests upon the masters of words. But there is something interesting about Shakespeare; there is very little evidence that he existed OR that he wrote all of those plays!

It’s true, in fact there is on-going discussion as to whether the Shakespeare of history, a shadowy figure with little or no education, was the true author. Several theories have come forward as to WHO might have written and WHY they would use Shakespeare’s name, but we take for granted that William Shakespeare wrote it all. We take it on faith, because there is very little evidence.

Speaking of faith and Shakespeare is one thing but speaking of faith and the person of Jesus Christ is another. There are several books that seek to prove the existence of the human, historical person of Jesus. The historicity of the Gospels themselves give us more personal, biological information about Jesus than we have on most other ancient historic figures. In fact, there is more evidence of Jesus’ existence than there is of Alexander the Great’s existence. But I believe that God wants us to have some room for doubt so that we can exercise our “faith muscles”.

FAITH, as we know, is a gift of God to be exercised and built up through believing. And what is faith? The best definition, I think, is in the scripture itself, “Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.” HEBREWS 11:1. It is by faith that we flip the switch each evening and turn on the lights in our homes. It is by faith that we turn the keys in our cars and expect the engine to start. Faith is a natural thing. It is also by faith that we pray, read, worship and live, and that is good. It tells us that there are some things in this world that we CAN’T explain. There are some things in our lives that we DON’T have control of. And so, though we may not understand it, it is through faith that we live. The more we “exercise” that faith, the greater and more numerous are the daily miracles.

Believe, exercise faith…live miraculously.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
HAMLET, ACT 1, SCENE 5 (THE BARD)

If I attended a wedding and, sitting in the pew listening to the minister, heard and watched him turn to the couple and say, “The most important thing is communication, through the good and the bad, communication with your spouse is the most important thing.”

I would say a silent “Amen”.

But if I then heard and saw the minister continue by handing them a book and saying,
“Here is a biography of your spouse. Whenever you wish to find out what they’re thinking or how they are going to react, simply read this and you’ll know. Everything you need to know about your spouse is right here.”
I would…along with most everyone in the ceremony, wonder at the mental health of said minister. And perhaps THEN someone wouldn’t be so silent. Someone (probably NOT me) might stand and say, “Why don’t they just talk to each other…isn’t THAT a better way to get to know someone; a better way to communicate?” Then, of course, there would be a general hub-bub and the wedding would end in shambles with at least one member of the wedding party, along with the minister, crying and running off.

But seriously, how ridiculous would it be if anyone told me or you that the best way to get to know someone we love, or communicate with someone, is to read about them? Especially when they are there and can be DIRECTLY communicated with. And yet, many Believers & Followers of Jesus do that exact thing.

I just heard someone (a faith-filled Believer & Follower) say they had so many questions and found themselves lost…so they searched the scripture for answers to their very specific questions. Now hear me, this person is by all observances a very wonderful and strong person-of-faith…but part of me wanted to step in and say, “Why don’t you just ASK Him?”

Also hear me when I say, the Scripture is a Holy Book, it is sacred because of its place in our lives as Believers & Followers, it is a great place to find precedent for questions and answers about life. HOWEVER Jesus says in the scripture (and Paul underscores what Jesus says) is that we now have direct access to THE PERSON in this great BIOGRAPHY: God Himself. All questions, all love, all thanks, could be directed PRIMARILY and DIRECTLY to Him.

The argument many Christians give, AGAINST this idea, is that I can’t trust the voice I’m hearing is God’s – when my “filter” is “human” and “sinful”. In other words, how do I know it’s God speaking and not just my own voice or imagination? How do I know I’m not justifying my own agenda and giving God the credit?

The answer? Faith.

The theological argument that says I can’t trust that I’m hearing God speak is one I’d like to try on Moses, Elijah, King David, Joseph, Daniel, Paul…etc. In other words, I’d like to hear from the WRITERS of the scripture about their process in hearing God. Surely these guys were hearing through a human and sinful filter as well...how did they know, or did they, that God was speaking and they weren’t just their own voices?

We, as Believers & Followers, don’t always make use of the Spirit like we should. It is the Spirit, not the Scripture (according to Jesus) who leads us into all Truth. It is through Jesus, not the Scripture, that we have access to the Great Throne.

The Scripture has purpose, it is Holy and Sacred, it is our primary text, as Believers & Followers, regarding who we are and who He is. I also realize that the Spirit of Jesus the King will speak in any way we will listen, and for some that is through the scripture. But that should not be our ONLY way to know God, and should not be an excuse for unexercised faith. It should not be an excuse for NOT praying/speaking directly to the One who leads, teaches, provides, protects and loves us. I know far too many people who would far rather use the scripture as a rule book than actually have a real conversation with God, who is far more merciful and gracious than they are comfortable with. I know far too many people who use the scripture as a “Magic 8-Ball” because it’s easier than trusting their spiritual ears and eyes...because getting to know God in THAT way may compel them to change.

I don’t want to get to that final WEDDING FEAST myself (not sitting in the pew, but standing beside the King) and find that I don’t even recognize His voice, as He holds my hand. I, for one, will put the Spirit’s voice first. I choose to hear Jesus sing, and I want to know His Father…personally.

I miss traveling. I love seeing our beautiful world and the people in it. In fact, as wonderful as all the scenery and cultures I’ve experienced are, it’s the people that are most fascinating. I’m an introvert at heart, and I like to sit in the back and see the whole picture, as wide a field as possible. And when travelling, my favorite thing is find a quiet table, bench, or palm tree…and sit watching 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. That’s ridiculous, of course, as even the most similar are as different as snowflake crystals or sands on the beach – but it’s a fun game. 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. 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. 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 has asked us to do.

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 life observed, and history itself. All human things end, whether individual humans or communities of humans, large and small. Hardly anything symbolizes that truth more than ASH WEDNESDAY.

Where do the ashes we use at Central come from? The ashes we use 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 fourteen years (my Anniversary with you is tomorrow, February 18^th), predate me by two to 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 also holds the representation of at least three generations 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 treat others with kindness, love, patience, and help. The knowledge of the shared destination of all our lives should cause us to live every moment on this earth, in this body, with intention. But does it?

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. 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, and your love, because Jesus asks you to. Also, as different as we all may be, and no matter where we started – we’re all in the same “life” boat.

Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Don’t rush past either.
In doing so, you may also rush past
God’s desire for you to either
EXPERIENCE or BE the miracle.

Here’s a story from a few years ago: I have a friend, let’s call her, “Dawn” (because that’s her name). She and her family don’t live in Anderson, they live in a smaller town in close proximity. She used to come to Anderson only to do her grocery shopping at 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 it’s 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.

One lunchtime, during my college days, I was seated in my favorite corner of my favorite neighborhood café, around the corner from the school, when a friend of mine walked in. She came over to my table, leading another girl I didn’t recognize. My friend introduced Sali and I asked them to sit down. Thus began a “school-year-long” friendship with Sali and our small group of friends.

This was a circle of promising singers, actors, dancers, etc. and Sali was a pianist. My kind-hearted female friend had introduced our little group to Sali because she saw Sali sitting alone those first couple weeks of September and thought she could use a friend.

Sali was quiet, but funny, humble but a piano virtuoso. No one would describe her as a “classic” beauty, but behind her large glasses were large, dark eyes. In her somewhat dull and baggy clothes she had a very gracious way about her. When she wasn’t with us, we guessed she “came from money”. As awkward, socially, as she might have been, she obviously had some good breeding…better breeding than most of us.

The school year went through the seasons. After each recital, or performance, we had the obligatory party and Sali was always a part of it. We liked her, and she liked us. She didn’t speak much, perhaps thinking her English wasn’t great…although it was. We couldn’t tell from her accent where this dark-skinned, dark-haired, girl, was from and any question about her family or background was always met with a tactful change-of-subject.

Then there were the little “gifts”. Each of us experienced, from her, a quiet moment when she would present us with a little token; a scarf for one of the girls, a poetry book, a flower for a teacher…always something thoughtful and unexpected. We were, in that little circle of friends, happy to be around her although, many times, it was difficult to tell she was even there; always quiet, always in the background.

At the end of the year she was, surprisingly, leaving. She had been there only that year, and her family was coming to take her back home, she told us. Then she handed each of us a small invitation, hand-written on simple card-stock, an invitation to a dinner party her parents were having for her before they took her back home with them…they wanted her to invite her “school friends” and she considered us to be her ONLY friends. She informed us that it was formal. We must’ve looked a little shocked. The two of us guys especially. The girls, of course, were thrilled. The other male and I “borrowed” school tuxes.

The address for the party was downtown at a large hotel. We arrived and were, shockingly, ushered to a large banquet hall on one of the upper floors. The doors opened and we walked in, looking very much like we were there for the prom….while everyone else we saw looked like they dressed this way every day.

The place was filled with well-groomed, obviously important, adults. There was a champagne fountain, lots of food, and a string quartet. As we stood there, an elegant woman with a thick accent, and dressed in purple velvet, smiled as she approached us. She asked if we were the school friends she’d heard of. We were, we said. Then she said words I will never forget and still hear ringing in my ears as I write down this story:

“The Shahzadi is over there, she’ll be so happy to see you.”

Yup, that’s what she said: “The Shahzadi…”

With mouths open, we all turned to see where she indicated, and there was Sali, dressed in shimmering blue, her glasses gone, her hair up…and fixed with a small-but-extremely sparkly Eastern-style tiara.

In a flash we all understood, and we were all befuddled. Our friend, Sali, the girl who was reluctant to share about her family or background – just happened to be the “inheriting” daughter of some Sultan (we soon discovered). We met her Dad (the Sultan) and her Mom (Mrs. Sultan), and some of her parents’ friends/dignitaries.

It seems Sali had been given a year of freedom; a year to do what she would like to do, before returning home to marry. She decided to take one school year, studying the piano (an instrument she had played since early childhood) within the context of a “college”…something she wouldn’t have experienced otherwise. She wanted to make some “normal” friends, (‘Couldn’t get more NORMAL than us), and she wanted to experience America. Her aunt lived in Washington State and hosted her there. I know, it sounds like the plot of a Disney film, but there it was.

One of our circle said it best, as we all sat in the corner table with Sali at the end of the evening – like so many nights at our café: “All this time, you were wearing a hidden crown…and we never knew.”

She was a “Princess among us”. Yes, ours was a school of the very wealthy and the very not wealthy, of Americans and International students. But a “Sultana”? Really? We were shocked AND started thinking back on our friendship over the year – wondering if any of us had committed some slight that would end up with us losing our heads. But Sali, with tears and hugs all around thanked us for being her friends, for allowing her to experience “American” college life, and for drawing her into our little circle. Would we have treated her differently had we known?

I started looking at everyone I knew differently after that: “Alright, wh else – are any of the rest of you sultans, or queens, or…?” If Sali, this quiet, shy, funny, warm, giving, awkward, girl was a “Shahzadi” or “Sultana”…then anyone could be anything!

And isn’t that the TRUTH? In the Kingdom we are asked to look upon everyone as if they were wearing “hidden crowns”, to treat all strangers with hospitality in case they are “angels”. (HEBREWS 13:2) We are to look at others as if they were “better” than us. (PHILIPPIANS 2:3-4) I don’t know about you, but it seems to me that many people tend to look at others, and treat them, in just the opposite way. Often we are taught by the WORLD to make sure WE have good self-esteem, that WE know our own self-worth, that WE are to be cared for first.

But God didn’t create the world to work that way. He honors us when WE see the hidden crowns everyone else (the good, the bad, AND the ugly) is wearing; when we treat OTHERS (no matter who) as if THEY, and not we, were royalty deserving of respect and love.

Imagine how different this last year would’ve been if we saw everyone else’s hidden crowns. But let’s not look back, let’s look forward and start seeing those crowns now…that alone, quite possibly, could change the world.

What is it about PIZZA?

I know that I’m not in college, nor am I in my 20s, anymore but PIZZA still seems to be “God’s Perfect Food” (aside from bacon and M&Ms). I just had some with friends the other night and thought once moe: “What IS it about “Pizza”?

At first, I thought it was the compact design. It’s meat (sometimes), cheese, tomato and grains…really, not a bad combination. I LIVED and SURVIVED on PIZZA in college, and not just PIZZA, but PIZZA at 9:00pm, midnight, and sometimes for breakfast. I love pepperoni, but THAT’S not draws me to it. I really have always loved cheese…but even THAT isn’t where the “magic” is, necessarily. How about the crust? Well, it IS a bread product and I always crave more of that – but even THAT isn’t what calls to me.

Then I stepped back and took a look from a distance. I saw that PIZZA isn’t only a food, it is a common denominator for getting together with people…relaxing, visiting, and connecting with friends and family.

When I was a high school student in the 70s pizza parlors were a very popular thing – even in my small-ish hometown. It was during those years I was introduced to not only the “superfood” that would keep me alive in later years, but the entire societal structure of “Pizza”.

There were a group of us who met at a great place I can still see in my minds eye. It wasn’t really about the pizza, although delicious, it was the moment...it was the time together. We would laugh (if you can imagine any friends of mine gathering for laughter…I know, difficult to believe) at the big, highly-glossed wooden tables, to the sounds of “PONG” (remember THAT video game?), “GALAGA”, OR “PACMAN”. In the background, the latest BILLY JOEL or ELTON JOHN single would be playing. And we all knew we would pay for this time away from homework, or studying for a test, the next day.

In college, the pattern continued: friends together actually DOING homework, or meeting after an event, or late, late at night (sometimes working on papers THROUGH the night, and more often than not, cold PIZZA was my breakfast of choice) but always, laugher, love, friendship, work…together, in a community where we got to know each other and became involved in each other’s lives. It wasn’t in class that this happened, it was around…

…a pizza. Its round shape/wheel/hub, connecting all of us…it is more than food, it is “LIVE”.

Isn’t that sort of thing what life is all about?

As strange, as flip, or as funny as it seems, the answer is probably, “YES”. Jesus wants it that way…not PIZZA particularly, but ANYTHING that will get us connecting with each other.

Being a BELIEVER & FOLLOWER (sometimes labeled as, “being a Christian”) requires us to understand that OUR faith journey with Jesus is not ABSTRACT, but ACTION.

It is not CONTEMPLATIVE, but COMMUNITY.

It is not SOLITARY, but SOCIAL.

Our faith is NOT faith unless it is PRACTICED WITH OTHERS.

Why do you think that the most significant lesson about Jesus’ connection and gift to you and me is a meal? Because it’s not supposed to be ONLY between He and you (or me), but with you, me, and others…that’s why it’s called “Communion” (as in, “community”, “commune”, “communist”- OK, maybe THAT’s not the best word…but the other two work well).

PIZZA: It’s a communal food. All great chefs will tell you that there is a difference between “eating” and “dining“. “Eating” gives you nourishment, and can be done alone. “Dining” is an event which transcends the meal itself. “Dining” is an event to be shared between people around you, around a table, perhaps around a pizza.

As Jesus shows us: We are in THIS place and time to realize the only true and eternal “currency” we have is our connection, in love, with one another. If PIZZA will get you to look in the face of another person – to laugh, cry, love and share with them – then Jesus’ words “Love one another” will be realized AND practiced...and HE will be known and loved.

We who BELIEVE & FOLLOW the One God need more “pizza” in our lives…because we need more of each other in our lives, so we can “see” Jesus.

(P.S. – I am not a paid spokesperson for SCAMPY’S ANNEX, simply a happy customer wishing you more, quality, “Pizza Time”)

Because ”RICK’S BLOG” is always written on Wednesdays, and Wednesdays used to be “garbage day” at my old house, and because I’m always the most sensitive to what God is showing me on Wednesday mornings prior to my writing; I have learned a lot about God from taking out the garbage. What does THAT tell you about me?

In any case, as I was wheeling my garbage cans down the driveway to the sidewalk one morning and I saw some garbage sitting on the sidewalk, close to my garbage can. That inner dialogue began almost immediately,

“You should pick that up and put it in your garbage can.”

“But it’s not MY garbage…I don’t even GO to MacDonald’s! It’s the responsibility of the Neanderthal who either threw it out of the car or just dropped it here on their way back.”

”You should pick it up and throw it away AND you should walk around the sidewalk and pick up all the garbage you see and throw it away…since you DO see it.”

“But it’s not MINE.”

“But didn’t YOU just say that if you see it, it’s YOUR responsibility to change it?”

“Yes….but I was preaching to the flock, not to myself. (smiling). Am I really and truly responsible to clean up after others…after people who are thoughtless and tasteless and lazy?”

“You tell me.”

And then I remembered a “Principle of the Kingdom”: we are all here for each other and, yes, it IS my responsibility to clean up after others…just as it’s their responsibility to clean up after me. It is my responsibility to put up with others – as it is their responsibility to put up with me. Each of us will make mistakes, act foolishly, and leave a trail of garbage sometime in our lives. None of us live in a bubble, we are ALL connected. As a citizen of the Kingdom it is my responsibility to provide for others what they cannot or will not provide for themselves, both inside and outside of the confines of “the flock”. If everyone did that job, we’d ALL have someone looking out for us…that’s the ideal design for the world we live in, and it’s up to the Church to reinforce that behavior.

I picked up the empty burger bag, a couple of cigarette boxes, an empty Coke cup and an empty tube of eyeliner (that WAS mine…just kidding). As I did, I realized that God is right…if we only look after ourselves we have a very limited and unfulfilling life…if we only take care of our own lives we live in seclusion and our solitary existence benefits no one…not even ourselves…and it certainly doesn’t promote growth of the Kingdom of God.

We are all connected, whether we like it or not. Sometimes we mourn with each other, and dance, we share more than we understand…and yes, there are moments that call for us to clean up one another’s garbage. No one has penned it better than one of my favorite poets, the priest, John Donne:

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

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