…and so, the Republic of these United States of America is transitioning once again.  Whenever (and I should say wherever) I vote I always remember the first election that I took part in; the polls being located across the street from my dorm on campus.  It was a monumental moment for me, like driving by myself for the first time, or graduating…etc.

I thank God that I live in a country where I HAVE THE RIGHT to cast my ballot freely, where I can complain about the leaders…AND where I can write a letter to King Charles, apologizing for that “tea incident” and asking him to take us back (this is usually toward the end of a campaign year, when I can’t stand yet another political ad).

I know that some of you are elated, and some disappointed in the results of this year’s elections…and some are surprised.  But personalities, methods and political belief, aside, our responsibility as BELIEVERS & FOLLOWERS is primarily to THE KINGDOM OF GOD (where our first allegiance lies).  This country and “THIS PRESENT AGE” are both temporary – our Citizenship in the Kingdom is eternal.

I’m easy-going to a certain point, I don’t have much trouble with anything and tend to like everyone and see all sides of a situation…sometimes that’s not a good thing, but most of the time it’s a good trait to have.  I’m thankful my father (Tom Vale, who knew no stranger) left that trait to me.  In that light, maybe it’s easier for me to say, whoever sits in the Mayor’s Office, the Senate or House Chairs, or the Oval Office…I will always respect the office and wish them the best (after all, it’s only to MY benefit if they make wise and worthwhile choices).

Paul, in his letter to the Roman Church, says, “Everyone must submit to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist are instituted by God.” (13:1) …in fact, ROMANS 13:1-7 is a good bunch of verses to read whenever you think of our leaders and the church.

I’ve been in the Ministry/Leadership for over 40 years and I know how difficult “leadership” is…and how fickle it is.  Maybe for that reason there is something that I have done for every President and Mayor, newly-elected, since I’ve been involved in ministry…I write them a personal letter and promise to pray for them, and their families, regularly.  I don’t agree or disagree with their reasoning or political beliefs, for me, that’s beside the point…and, ultimately, doesn’t matter to me since this isn’t really my “home”.  I only promise to lift them up in prayer on a regular basis.  Just a note; for all those letters, there are only a handful of leaders (representing both parties) who have written me back…I’m not politically minded, but I’ve NEVER forgotten which leaders took the time to respond.

As BELIEVERS & FOLLOWERS we have the responsibility to “honor those to whom honor is due” and to “respect those to whom we owe respect” …AND as free Americans we have the duty to let our leaders know what we think, how else can they lead?

And here are some points to consider, for all of us this post-election day.

FOR THOSE WHO VOTED FOR THE WINNING CANDIDATE:
The scripture is clear; pray, pray, pray for your leaders.  (I TIMOTHY 2:1-4) If you pray that God’s voice will be heard in their hearts, that they will be surrounded by wise counsel, that they will ALWAYS act according to what they believe is in the best interest of this land and not by selfish motive, and pray that their families will be safe and secure…that is the best gift that you can give.  When a leader makes a choice that you wouldn’t necessarily choose, trust God to be great enough to listen to YOUR prayer and answer YOUR prayer for the Leader-in-question and know that God holds this country, as all countries, in His hand and will answer if called upon. 

FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T VOTE FOR THE WINNING CANDIDATE:
The scripture is clear; pray, pray, pray for your leaders.  (I TIMOTHY 2:1-4) If you pray that God’s voice will be heard in their hearts, that they will be surrounded by wise counsel, that they will ALWAYS act according to what they believe is in the best interest of this land and not by selfish motive, and pray that their families will be safe and secure…that is the best gift that you can give.  When a leader makes a choice that you wouldn’t necessarily choose, trust God to be great enough to listen to YOUR prayer and answer YOUR prayer for the Leader-in-question and know that God holds this country, as all countries, in His hand and will answer if called upon. 

FOR THOSE WHO WEREN’T SOLD ON EITHER CANDIDATE:
The scripture is clear; pray, pray, pray for your leaders.  (I TIMOTHY 2:1-4) If you pray that God’s voice will be heard in their hearts, that they will be surrounded by wise counsel, that they will ALWAYS act according to what they believe is in the best interest of this land and not by selfish motive, and pray that their families will be safe and secure…that is the best gift that you can give.  When a leader makes a choice that you wouldn’t necessarily choose, trust God to be great enough to listen to YOUR prayer and answer YOUR prayer for the Leader-in-question and know that God holds this country, as all countries, in His hand and will answer if called upon.

Again, I thank God for a place where we can choose our leaders…and come January, I’ll be sending a letter out to our new leaders…and a short while later, I may be sending another letter to King Charles.

God bless you all; citizens of the Kingdom of God, temporarily sojourning in this place and time.

Among my many experiences were four summers during my college and seminary years in which I served as a summer youth minister. Each summer was spent in a different congregation, three summers in North Carolina and one summer in West Virginia. It was a good thing that I had four short, ten-week summers as youth minister to deal with my naiveness about the nature of ministry and the humanity of church people! Whew! What a learning curve!

Picture this! The H is a brand-new fellowship building with a modern kitchen. The — is the church cemetery, and the C is the Church building with the sanctuary and Sunday School rooms.

H —- C

The girls, perhaps 25 or 30 of them, were having an all-night party at H, the new fellowship Hall. Twas a warm June night…

About midnight several boys—under my guidance—and very quietly…went into the cemetery with several candles. Using a lit candle, we “boys” softened the bottom of several unlit candles and put them on top of several tombstones. The softened candles quickly stuck and stayed upright on the cold marble gravestones. A couple of the boys stayed in the cemetery while me and several others quietly opened the sanctuary windows in the church (C) . Then I turned on the church PA system on full volume. One boy sneaked out to the cemetery to tell the two guys there to light the candles. My partners in crime…some of the boys…made ghost sounds in the microphone at the pulpit, and those loud, screeching sounds floated out the open sanctuary windows and over the cemetery….and through the few open windows in the fellowship House (H), the girls heard the creepy sounds and looked out the windows…and saw a number of candles burning atop of several graves.

O, my! The blood-curling screams that emerged from the clueless girls….!

My only saving grace in this whole experience is that I had the foresight to tip off one of the female chaperones who was with the girls that ghostly evening. But I did not expect that it would take her several minutes to get the girls’ attention and calm them down.

As you might expect, eventually several of the girls came out and walked through the cemetery. One girl, both laughing and yet crying, pointed to a gravestone with a burning candle and exclaimed, “That’s my grandparents’ graves!” And she remembered them! Right then and there I knew that I should have paid attention to the dates on the tombstones and used only those gravestones of persons whom those girls would not have actually known and remembered.

Believe me! The next Sunday the news of the “ghostly night” was well circulated, and many adults seemed to enjoy the boldness of the prank. Very, very nervously I apologized to the family of the girl whose grandparents’ graves were “lit up.” I was lucky…they laughed and said that those grandparents had a sense of humor…but I was under no illusion….it could have been a quick end to any hopes that I had of becoming a minister someday!

This being the time of the year in which the Church recognizes ALL SAINTS DAY (November 1st) or ALL SAINTS SUNDAY (the Sunday closest to Nov. 1st), I thought of the prank that I described above, and once again I felt the relief that this girl’s family was so gracious and remembered the sense of humor of their loved ones. Or perhaps they meant that their loved ones were looking down from above with humor at the seriousness we attach to death when the life yet to be (zoe) is far beyond whatever we can imagine.

And I recall the story of Jesus who raised Lazarus from the dead. And Lazarus’

reaction as he arose from the dead? I have to believe that Lazarus laughed. He did not laugh at the absurdity of death. No Way! Lazarus laughed because he had been to the “other side” and as laughing because he once feared death, but had no reason to do so!

God’s gift of life (zoe) is incredible! All Saints Day? Well, it is not a day about our loss of a dear one, it is a day of celebrating God’s gift of life (zoe) to our loved ones! Amen!

Some time ago I stood at the grave of a friend at Anderson Memorial Park, close to I-69.  It was a brisk, early fall, day; clear, sunny, a bit chilly and beautiful.  At the end of my prayer for the family, I looked over the heads of those there to the tops of the trees in the park.  They were already starting to change color.  Just the tops, as if a giant paint brush had just barely swept over the trees in that area.  I remembered then I was told, for some reason, the trees in Memorial Park often turn first.  No one is sure why.  Maybe it’s the cool breeze that seems to be present there, maybe it’s the type of trees that grow there.  For whatever reason, there it was: an orange-topped tree reminding me, as I listened to the bugle and stood in a cemetery, that it is often through stress, cold, “change of season”, and yes – death, that our true colors are revealed.

In winter, it takes a lot of energy for a tree to keep leaves green (making chlorophyll) AND on the tree.  Lack of sunshine and water during the cold months prods the tree to “make some choices” about what to keep and what to let go.  As the green pigment dissipates, other colors are suddenly revealed, before the leaf drops of completely…some say these are the tree’s TRUE COLORS. 

I’ll speak only for myself now.  I believe that we, like trees, are going to show our “true colors” when our seasons change, when stress/winter comes, when the things that have supported our life are suddenly, or little-by-little, gone – we become who we truly are.

There, in Memorial Park, it was easy to compare a life that had been housed in a fragile body to that of a tree that had been green all summer – but now, with the passing of body that LIFE was its real self because the body had died. 

I’m thinking about what I learn and teach as an Advocate for God.  The Spirit, the words of Jesus, and the example of those wise men and women who have taught and written over the centuries are all saying, “to gain your life, you must lose it” and “to find yourself, you must die to self”.  These are difficult lessons to understand, much less practice – but I think they are necessary.  I believe there is so much of us that has been put on us since birth in this world, and so much struggle to maintain the shell of our bodies which surround our souls, that it is difficult for us to see what our Father originally designed us to be; our “true colors”. 

Jesus talks a lot about “giving up” to “gain”.  But what a person “gives up” isn’t theirs to begin with, and when Jesus compares our lives (and His) to a seed that must die in the ground to become a tree – isn’t that the entire purpose of the seed?  Isn’t it our purpose to be the essence of who we are designed to be, and not all the insecurities, influences, self-motivated injuries, and world expectations we seem to collect and cover ourselves with?

What is MY “chlorophyll”?  It is my ego.  Ego isn’t always bad, it’s just not truly who I am…it is self-identity (which is false), a paradigm built up by what I’ve experienced (which is inaccurate) and a persona built by the voices of those around me and THEIR expectations of me (which is deceptive).  If I could get rid of all that, would my “true colors” – the colors I was painted when created – be revealed?

I think the answer is, “yes”.  We see it whenever a friend is at the “end of their rope”.  Suddenly some things just don’t matter anymore.  I see it on sick beds, I see it when someone has experienced a sudden and tragic loss.  I see it when everything is lost: house, home, finances, love…it seems that when stress (cold) and lack of vision (sunshine) are combined with a new chapter of life (season) a person’s TRUE COLORS are revealed.  Sometimes the colors aren’t so pretty.  Sometimes they are – it’s what we call “character”.

How then do I live?  I’ve found that each week and day I should assess what I cling to.  Is it a “thing” (souvenirs and knick-knacks that hold memories), a “belief” (a philosophy or teaching that may not be exactly true or healthy – OR WORSE, something that keeps me from re-examining what I believe is true), a “person” (I need all the friends I can get, and I want to be able to act-in-love to everyone – but to surround myself with, and listen to, certain people is like taking poison a little at a time – you know it’s true)?  Next, I remind myself that my worth is only defined by the fact that God loves me and calls me by name.

Yes, I have work to do.  Yes, I have things I probably need to hold on to – but these are the things, beliefs, and persons that help me let go; the outside influences that encourage me to be the original, immortal being God first imagined and designed

I don’t know exactly who that person is right now, but I’m learning.  The reason I assess and practice all this NOW is because I’d rather not wait until I come to the end of my rope to let go.  I’d rather not be hit with the cold wind and lack of sun that reveal my true colors.

As you can tell, I was a philosophy minor in college.  But I truly believe that most of what we do for Jesus is “peel back” and “uncover” and “let go”.  I believe our true selves, like the autumn colors in Anderson, start at the top, at the head and heart, and gradually reveal themselves throughout our entire beings – when we “die to self.” 

Maybe the trees in Memorial Park turn first because in that place God wants to remind us something.  My friend, whose grave I stood beside as I listened to “Taps”, is in that forever home now.  He is seeing what, I like to believe, is the New Earth as it was originally designed and created.  And maybe it’s just me, but I think the trees in there are gold, orange and red…I think he sees that place as Eternal Autumn…

…because I believe everything, and everyone shows their true colors there.

It’s that time of year again, when I think about this poem: 

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then the time a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded,

and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock…”

Mom used to quote this poem, by local Hoosier James Whitcomb Riley, to me when I was young.  I never dreamed that I’d live in Riley’s part of the country and experience the color of his words in this poem.   Not only that, but I’m kind of surprised that many people here in Anderson don’t know that he lived here (yes, here in Anderson) and was a reporter/writer for the ANDERSON DEMOCRAT (the 1877 Anderson newspaper).  He was despondent over the fact that he could not get his poems published.  And so, this unknown poet wrote a poem, entitled “LEONAINIE” and signed it with the letters E.A.P.  A reporter from a rival newspaper in Kokomo linked the poem to POE and it was immediately and widely circulated.  This proved Riley’s point that only famous, published writers EVER got published, and those with just as much talent, but of no fame NEVER got published.  Riley announced the hoax after much national acclaim for “LEONAINIE” and was promptly fired by the ANDERSON DEMOCRAT, not because of the hoax, but because the Kokomo paper got all the notoriety that Anderson thought it deserved.  Someone, however, noticed the brilliance of Riley’s writing style, and gave him a chance…the rest is history.

Things have a way of working out…and although James Whitcomb Riley gave no claim to being a believer or follower of Christ, this story does remind me that “all things work for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose.”

When I look at the journey Central Christian Church took to get to the place we are now, I am astounded.  I have no doubts that I “love the Lord and am called according to His purpose.”, but sometimes, in the middle of dark times, and frustrating times (as was the case with James W. Riley) when one KNOWS that they’re not doing what they were MADE to do…God seems somewhat distant. 

I’m here to tell you that God has better things in mind for you then you could possibly realize, His plans are always perfect, His dreams are bigger than YOUR dreams, and it’s always darkest just before sunrise.

James Whitcomb Riley made his own plans to gain fame, to achieve the recognition that he thought he deserved.  Sometimes I think like that also and rely on my own limited wisdom to move forward.  But in the Kingdom of God, we should always realize that God has ALL the answers where we have few, God sees ALL things where we see but a little, God’s plan is perfect for EVERYONE involved, not just us.

So today…as you experience the “frost on the pumpkin”, think of Anderson’s own James Whitcomb Riley (who, it is said, visited Central Christian Church with a local friend) and remember that you have a destiny, God knows your gifts, let HIM decide when the world should notice…and it will be perfect for everyone!

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 unworthy 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 walked 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 any person, based on a first impression.  I cannot make choices based on an uncomfortable or painful moment. He also taught me that irritating people aren’t what they seem…and we never know anyone’s “backstory” …

…there are many people who are “porcupine people” – spikey and lonely, because they are afraid to get close and determined to keep you away.

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

A BLOG BY PASTOR KEN RICKETT

One of the joys of the so-called “golden years” is the recall of childhood memories. That being said, it is usually true (for me, anyway) that childhood recollections are often triggered by something said, observed, or something experienced. If the truth be told, “senior citizens” expend vast energies trying to live and cope with the present or impending future possibilities (medical, financial, family issues), and therefore, specific childhood memories are “jogged” by some comment or activity.

Recently, while visiting my college roommate who lives in the mountains of North Carolina, I was relaxing when he grabbed several plastic grocery bags and said, “come with me.” We walked uphill to the house where his parents used to live, then we were under the canopy of a huge chestnut tree. On the ground lay quite a few empty chestnut burrs, and the ground was literally dotted with chestnuts awaiting harvest–either by humans or wildlife. Looking up at the magnificently-sized tree, it was obvious that the majority of burrs had not yet opened. However, the number of chestnuts on

the ground seemed so numerous that it was mind-boggling that the tree had thousands of chestnuts yet to be released by Mother Nature’s ripening processes. Handing me the plastic bags, my roommate pointed to the ground, and said, “get all you want.”

Bending my back and picking up chestnuts by the handfuls, I soon gathered three or four bags full of chestnuts. It would have been much easier to sit on the ground, and scoot here and there to pick up the plentiful brown nuts. But, if one has ever gathered chestnuts, the prickly burrs can easily penetrate the skin sometimes leaving festering sores! I was grateful to be wearing thick-soled tennis shoes! When moving around, picking up the chestnuts, I made no sudden moves; I did not want to fall on the burrs! This marvelous experience caused childhood memories to gush into my conscious mind as I eagerly grabbed the chestnuts within reach.

“Back in the day” as the saying goes, I remembered how grocery stores in those mountains sold chestnuts in the twilight month of September’s fading summer, and the delight of my brother and I as our grandmother brought home from shopping a bag of chestnuts for our after-school treat. We often sat in the swing on the front porch, hulling chestnuts and chomping on their yellow meat. An occasional “wormy chestnut” was tossed out into the yard. Our grandmother had an old wood cookstove, and several times

throughout my childhood, after building a fire in the stove and waiting for the oven to get hot, she would then put a panful of chestnuts in oven, occasionally stirring them, until they were roasted. Now, that’s a mouth-watering treat for those who like to eat chestnuts!

Chestnuts a’roasting! Yes, those were the days, my friend! Had it not been for the sultry, dry days of September, those chestnuts would have been put into an old timey popcorn popper and roasted over a blazing flame in the living room fireplace!

Today we enjoy singing, at Christmastime, a song that mentions “roasting chestnuts over an open fire” …and therefore, we sometimes get the impression that roasting chestnuts is a yuletide treat! But the reality, my friend, is that roasting chestnuts is rooted in the early fall season when September’s goldenrod is yellow with blooms!  However, just as we roast salted and buttered pecans at Christmas, we also preserve chestnuts until Christmas for roasting. So, upon arrival back home in Indiana, our bags of chestnuts were placed in the freezer until some chilly December night when we can roast them over an open fire outdoors…and memories will once again, come to mind…

Recent experiences, whether routine or surprising events, whether happy or sad, often trigger memories. Memories invite one to relive a certain day or time in their lives. We relish the memories that are positive, happy, engaging…and in a real sense, we are remembering God’s blessings.  While some memories are painful or embarrassing or unsettling, the truth is that we may often cherish the ways in which we moved on from those days…with God’s help.

Back in the NC mountains, I grew up in a small town in which my family had connections with an African American family, one of whom was Mary Alice Miller, a poet, who wrote wistfully, but aptly. She captured the power of memory in these words:

“A Simpler, Sweeter Time
A simpler, sweeter time
And I want to go back again
To feel the love
That we felt then…”

She was as colorful a person as you would like to meet; my first piano teacher, Mrs. Beardsley.  With a smoker’s cough, low voice, and a pink living room (I especially remember the AMAZING aluminum Christmas tree with pink ornaments and rotating color wheel…this was the ’60’s) and a love for music, piano and her students that was unsurpassed.

When I first began taking lessons, the summer of my Kindergarten year, she would sit at a chair beside the piano bench.  Her manner never frightened or intimidated me, as she exhibited a free-spirited kind of love toward me and all her students in her manner.  Although I’m probably still suffering the effects of second-hand smoke, and scarred by the tales she told of motorcycle-riding through California, and tales of she and her husband when they were young (which was, I have to admit, difficult to imagine…seeing the arthritically-crippled fingers and joints as I sat beside her at the piano) what has followed me through the years is her love, and the type of wisdom that a good teacher passes on; wisdom that goes deeper than the specifics of the lesson itself.

Although there are many stories and illustrations of care, teaching, music and love that I could tell (and have told), for the sake of today I am remembering the times I was learning specific pieces that she herself had played.  There was one, particular, Mozart piano piece that I was learning.  There was a certain passage which was exceptionally difficult, it seemed that week after week it never got any better.  Mrs. Beardsley, frustrated by her crooked, arthritic fingers and inability to adequately show me the fingering and technique used to play the passage, rose from her rose-pink Lazy-Boy (where she had moved in later years) and made her way to a hall closet where there were piles and piles of music, HER music books, from HER lessons as a child.  All the music was catalogued by composer, and she quickly found “our” piece and brought it over.  She sat now beside me and placed her old copy of the piece at the piano.  Written in two hands, one; the fine pencil marks of HER teacher, and one the more childish writing of HER, as a child pianist, were notes, remarks, fingerings and exercises used for this piece.

And then she spoke the lesson I speak to you: “After playing this for so long, I’d forgotten how difficult it had been to learn.  A good teacher needs to remember being a student.”

The Spirit teaches us, through the Scripture and life, that Jesus isn’t interested in remembering our sins.  (And just as a side-note here, remember that in English we have the one word, “sin”, but the Greeks had seven; everything from “forgetting”, “aiming-but-missing” to “out-and-out rebellion against God”…and all those different words are translated into our one word, “sin”).  Once we recognize, and ask forgiveness for, our debts, our mistakes, our defiance…Jesus is good to forgive AND forget.  But my belief is that WE should NEVER forget our mistakes, our bad choices, our sin.

Why?  Because, as Mrs. Beardsley taught me, and is now teaching you, “A good teacher needs to remember being a student.”  A forgiven Believer & Follower needs to remember when they weren’t a Believer and/or a Follower…or else they forget to feel for others and start down the slippery slope of “us and them” mentality.

If a care-giver forgets what it is like to be sick or incapacitated, their care becomes theoretical and academic.  If a minister forgets that he or she wasn’t always a minister, they cease being relevant, to say nothing of empathetic.  All of us who Believe & Follow have the tendency to become narrow in our acceptance, and judgmental in our attitudes…that is obvious in everything we read and observe. Our narrow and judgmental attitudes come when we forget where our journey began.

When we, as Believers & Followers, forget that we used to NOT be Believers & Followers and the only reason we are now is because of who GOD is, and not because of who WE are…then we have no hope of ever reaching any other heart, of sharing any other burden, of holding any other hand in love.  When we lose EMPATHY, we cannot give SYMPATHY…when we forget our own struggle, we lose to tools needed to help anyone else in theirs.

And then we cease loving God…because the way we love HIM is by loving each other.  We could all afford to repeat again and again…”remember that you are dust”…not so much to remind us of our mortality, but to remind us that we were are ARE all “students” as well as “teachers”…the journey that someone else is on may be one we have already travelled, or visa versa.

My thanks, again, to Mrs. Beardsley and her legacy…none of us may ever know the wide circles our influence will travel.  Let us continue to learn, to love, to feel the pain and longing of others as if it were our own.

It’s no secret one of my favorite places to hang out after a rehearsal, performance, church, or to write and work (while eating and drinking) is SCAMPY’S ANNEX.  For those of you not from around Anderson, Indiana, SCAMPY’S is a local, family-owned “pizza/pub” with a rich and generous history.  It’s a local “watering hole” and a great place to eat, drink, meet people and have a great time…owned and operated by some pretty cool people.

I’m there quite a bit, on average, twice a week or more, during the theatre season.  I love the staff, they’re like family now, and I always see some other patron I know. When I lived alone, I used to retreat there to work and eat by myself. I liked being out of the house eating something I didn’t need to make, and I enjoyed the chatter around the place while I worked (the quantity of sermons written there, over the years, is astounding). Whenever I’m there, whether with friends or alone, I sit down and “exhale”.  It is usually the end of the day, and I whisper a “thank you” to the Spirit. It has become a place that is comfortable, hospitable, and familiar.  

Against the back wall of the room is a JUKEBOX.  Now, I say JUKEBOX, and that is “technically” what it is, but JUKEBOXES have changed even since I was young. (SIDE NOTE, WORD NERD ALERT: This is an interesting word: “juke” is Gullah – creole dialect – for “bawdy”, as in “juke/jook joint”, a “jukebox” was a nickel slot music box for playing music so one could dance at the “juke joint” – it would be a stretch to call SCAMPY’S a “juke joint”, however)  This JUKEBOX doesn’t require you to stand in front of it and push buttons, unless you want to.  It doesn’t even require change – you can use APPLE PAY or your credit card (handy).  But the awesome thing is the JUKEBOX APP, for my iPHONE, which connects me to the JUKEBOX, from wherever I am…over the internet.  I put money in the APP on my phone, select the music (from a vast catalogue of virtually every style), and the JUKEBOX plays my song.

So, imagine this scenario: there I was, the JUKEBOX and APP were new, and it was my first time using it.  I go to the APP on my phone, choose the JUKEBOX I’d like to activate (There it is: SCAMPY’S), and I begin to choose some music which will then mysteriously play throughout the room, and no one will know who has chosen the songs. I chose my first, inaugural, song to be played on the new-fangled JUKEBOX – “STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN” which I thought was appropriate, both as a patron and minister.  It didn’t play.  I waited, waited, waited…still nothing.  So, I told myself I had done the whole process wrong.  I lost a little bit of change, but “purchased” another play of “STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN”…still nothing, even though my phone was saying the first song I ordered was already playing.  So, I thought, “third time’s a charm” and set it to play once more.

AFTER I had hit the button to play a THIRD TIME, on my phone, I noticed there were TWO listings for SCAMPY’S: there was the listing for SCAMPY’S ANNEX (where I was enjoying my pizza in silence) and a listing for SCAMPY’S (the full bar next door, part of the same place) – and suddenly dawn broke over my head – they had another JUKEBOX in the bar…WHICH MY PHONE WAS CONNECTED TO.  That’s right, while I was sitting in the silence of SCAMPY’S ANNEX, the bar patrons next door were enjoying THREE ROUNDS of one of the longest songs in history: back-to-back performances of, “STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN”! 

Now, I’m sure that was more than irritating for them, though I didn’t go over and check.  To this day I’m not sure anyone understands what happened. 

That experience, however, started me on a journey to “alter the mood of my fellow patrons in the ANNEX” with music.  I’ve walked in where various families, groups or couples are quietly talking over their meals when all of the sudden an energetic song that I’ve stealthily placed in the JUKEBOX queue fills the room.  I like to guess, as an observer of human nature, what kind of songs would “speak” to the people present – though I don’t personally know them. It’s amazing to see the power of music to change the mood and sound of a room.  People become filled with energy: the sounds are not just louder (probably trying to be heard over the music) but also filled with laughter and a little more energy.

 I’m not making this up, the power of music to alter the essence of a place and person is like seeing the change when a light it turned on in darkness, or a smile appears on a face, or someone you love walks into the room.

While I’ve had fun choosing music at SCAMPY’S, the Spirit takes advantage of that time, once again, to teach.  Though music is a more powerful example, I have seen how a small thing makes big changes.  How a kind word shifts an entire day for someone, how a smile to a stranger, will change the way they walk as they pass, and how a “thank you” to a server is the “icing on the cake” for someone who may feel transparent to the many customers they have served that day.

Jesus is right.  We are, or I should say we have the choice to be, “the salt of the earth”.  Connecting to Jesus is achieved by our connection to each other, and visa versa.  When we “do unto others” we “do unto Him”.  The person who makes others laugh, who lifts others up with their words, who smiles, who thanks…who gives, is a person who connects us with each other, and connects us with God.

Our spiritual ancestors understood that God’s commands (mitzvot) were centered around creating connections with each other and forming or maintaining community, with the understanding that God is loved when we love each other.

If you have a regular time, or place, to exhale and give a little “thanks”, also take the time to “turn on the music” in someone’s life.  It doesn’t take a special skill, “you ARE the salt of the earth”, you don’t need the JUKEBOX APP on your phone.  All you need to do is remember what it was like when Jesus Himself, or through someone else, turned the music on for you – and do that: smile, thank, embrace, give, and love.

“Money spent on a JUKEBOX is never a wasted investment.”
Famous quotes by RICK VALE 

“Above all, put on love — the perfect bond of unity. And let the peace of the Messiah, to which you were also called in one body, control your hearts. Be thankful. Let the message about the Messiah dwell richly among you, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, and singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”
COLOSSIANS 3:14-17

YOU are the SALT OF THE EARTH, THE LIGHT,
and THE JUKEBOX of the world.

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

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

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

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

However, we who follow Jesus (and if you’re going to call yourself a “follower of Jesus” you actually DO need to “follow Jesus”…otherwise, you’re just a “fan”) should be behaving in a manner that HE teaches us.  No matter what country we live in, no matter if our bodies live in the USA or somewhere else, we are citizens of the KINGDOM OF GOD, and we simply don’t behave that way.

We are well-behaved:

NOT because we’ve never been hurt…we have been.
NOT because we’ve never been slandered…we have been.
NOT because we’ve never been humiliated…we have been…

…but because that’s simply NOT who we are. The minute we hit them back, we become them, we ignore our citizenship in the Kingdom, and we cause God grief.  

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

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

24601: That is the number the prison gives to identify the man known as Jean Valjean, the protagonist in the book and musical, LES MISERABLES. 24601.  The number is not only given for identification, but also is thrown in the face of a man who carries a name, a family, a history…so that the penal system can remind him that he is “less than a man”…he is only a number.

That is what is what “the world” does best…it reduces humanity.  The world takes the fullness of life and reminds all of us that we are only a statistic, just a number in a vast sea of like numbers.

Depending on which circle one walks in, they are either one voice-type in a choir, a checking account number, an address, a blonde, a catholic, a poor person, a wacko.  The world will constantly reduce us to the least common denominator.  The world will do what is easiest, most efficient…and most degrading.

I remember the day I flew to Washington State with a medium-sized wooden box containing the ashes of my father.  Those ashes were all that was left of his body, after the world had its way…that, and a series of forms, two bags of odds and ends, and a few clothes.  This is what the world thought of him.  That is what the world thinks of you and me.  We may bask in greatness and popularity, or sulk in our inability to gain what we think we are worth…but either way, the world doesn’t care.  Don’t kid yourself, the world, as God Himself has said, is a prostitute who may flatter and tempt…but in the end you’re nothing more to her than a loaf of bread…if even that.

That’s what the world, with its popularity contests, worship of youthful beauty, and elevation of wealth and power above all things does to us.  However, the world does not define what LIFE is.  God defines LIFE.  And HE does the opposite of what the world does; instead of reducing humanity, God elevates, enhances, and fills humanity.

The scripture reminds us that God has elevated us, crowned us, claims us as children, and pronounces us heirs to the universe.  “Life” is not defined by the things that are left when our breath takes flight.  “Life” IS that breath, the very breath that was given us the day we first cried.  “Life” as God sees it, is something that not only lives forever, but is MORE real after we rid ourselves of these bodies and this world.  God does not see my father or mother as “ashes in a box”, but as individual, golden, perennial diamonds.  He knows them as Marge & Tom, the children for whom He would do anything, reach any depth, and fly across the universe to rescue.

We who Believe & Follow The Way are the bearers of THIS torch: that the world will flatter us, tempt us, beat us and try to kill us…but God is “not of this world” and this Age will be cleaned to make way for the next; an Age with homes for each of His children.  An Age ruled by the King who put on our skin so that we might trust Him, believe Him and follow Him…from the manger to the cross and through the tomb back to the Garden.

The only things from this Age that we will see in the next are each other.  Don’t let the world reduce you and define you…and more importantly, don’t be a part of the world’s conspiracy by reducing another person to something less than they are – our relationship to one another is the only true currency we take with us to The-Age-To-Come.  How we love them here and now, in this age, defines our love for God. So, let’s do for each other what God does for us: ELEVATE each other with words of praise, ENHANCE each other by sharing their gifts and giving them of ours, and FILL each other with acts of love that are unconditional.

“To love another person is to see the face of God.”
VICTOR HUGO, author of LES MISERABLES

“Dear friends, let us love one another, because love is from God,
and everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.”
I JOHN 4:7