In celebration of The Fourth, I like to watch “patriotic” movies, like “PATRIOT” or “INDEPENDENCE DAY” (OK…that one’s really about aliens, but it’s still a good movie).  One of my favorite movies was on TV the other day; “NATIONAL TREASURE”.  In this movie, the minor point that stuck out to me was how our Founding Fathers were, in fact, traitors…at the time they rebelled against the established government.  At the end of the “Declaration of Independence” they pledged each other their “lives, fortunes and sacred honor.”  Most of the signers lost all three of those things before the end of the Revolution.

But the point was that to pursue what they knew to be the truth, they had to buck the establishment.  Like Martin Luther, who said that the church was wrong (according to how HE read the Bible) and had been wrong for hundreds of years.  He was a monk, and he MARRIED A NUN!  You can imagine what the church thought of Him!  Good grief…even Mary (mother of Jesus) was an un-wed mother!  That’s truly bucking the system.  The Church itself has stated that there is one thing all the saints have in common; they said “no” to the established church, they bucked the system.  They called the truth the truth, no matter what the status quo was and how long it had been established.

 What I learn from this is we (or maybe I should just speak for myself) need to be true to what I believe IS TRUTH, no matter how long the “establishment” has said something else.  I need to be strong enough to pledge my “life, fortune and sacred honor” to that which I believe is true, even when it flies in the face of what my contemporaries may believe.  I’ve done that. I’ve lost much. It’s not fun, but God is the final judge, and it is to HIM that I truly owe my life, fortune and sacred honor…as we all do.

As a Pastor, I pray for courage to be bold in speaking what I believe to be the Truth.  And the congregation needs to be free to speak boldly about the Truth as well, and so I encourage that, in all realms of our lives.

As citizens of the Kingdom of God, our PRIMARY allegiance should not be to the establishment, nor should it be to the State, but to Him and to the Truth.  It is truth, not the establishment that gives us freedom!

“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free…if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed!” – And to that Truth, and to the Kingdom, I will pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor…will you?

It’s difficult to believe that 55 years ago (July 20th) Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, the first to do so?  I remember where I was, I was staring at our black and white TV, trying to discern the hazy and somewhat confusing image, while listening intently as Neil Armstrong spoke the famous words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

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

What happened?  What happened to imagination?

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

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

Again: “You stop dreaming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because ”THE 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. 

PHILIPPIANS 2:1-4
If then there is any encouragement in Christ, if any consolation of love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any affection and mercy, fulfill my joy by thinking the same way, having the same love, sharing the same feelings, focusing on one goal. Do nothing out of rivalry or conceit, but in humility consider others as more important than yourselves. Everyone should look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others.

It was a tragic story, to begin with.  He was a young father, in construction.  He was a high school jock who hadn’t lost his physical peak with age.  His home was filled with his young wife and three small children: girls.  He loved his family and his life was full of simple pleasures.  I didn’t exactly know him, but his parents were members of my congregation.

He lived each day following a pattern that wasn’t a rut, but was predictable: he rose early, went to work and came home.  But there was one feature about him that seemed incongruous to the rest of him.  He loved Broadway musicals, especially FIDDLER ON THE ROOF.  And so, each day, he would return from a long day of hard labor, greet his kids, kiss his wife, put on an LP of some Broadway soundtrack, more often than not, “IF I WERE A RICH MAN” (his favorite of favorites) from “FIDDLER ON THE ROOF”. Then, he would lay down on the couch and fall asleep till dinner.

One day he did all that, laid down, and never got back up.

Like I said, it was tragic.  But even in this case…well.

The church organist and I were the same age, young.  We lacked the maturity of experience to let inappropriate moments of humor pass through our minds to be nibbled on later.  If the plate was put in front of us, we ate it…or worked hard to not let it tempt us (usually without success).  We were the musicians at the church and therefore were asked to be the musicians at the funeral.  The service was not at our church, but at a small, older, funeral home out-of-town.  This was the type of place where the organ and singer were behind a screen at the back of the platform.  We could see out, but no one could see in and see us.

Most of the service requested was standard fare.  However, the family insisted on my singing his favorite song.  You guessed it: “IF I WERE A RICH MAN”.

Picture the cast: a minister prone to appreciate the off-kilter humor of human nature, two twenty-somethings who had a difficult time taking anything seriously, a grieving family, an old funeral home…it’s a gold mine.

The actual performance was more difficult than I imagined when we simply practicing.  First off, the mood alone was wrong.  This was a funeral, not a cabaret.  We had to find that musical performance balance between appropriate while still being true to a song THAT WASN’T WRITTEN FOR A FUNERAL.  So, the organist and I KNEW we couldn’t perform it “full-boar”, as if at the Schubert Theatre.  The logistics alone were impossible.  We were tucked in a room large enough for a Hammond B3 and a singer.  There wasn’t enough room there (as my dear Aunt Eva would say) to “cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth”.  So my friend, the organist, had to play the familiar, “boom-chuck-chuck, boom-chuck” accompaniment (on a Hammond B3, better known for blues, rock and gospel, than show tunes), and I had to read over her shoulder because there wasn’t room for a music stand.  The microphone was fixed to the wall, NOT the wall the organ was on.  The organ was to my left, the mic was to my right.  The melody I knew, the words…not so much.  So I had to look to my left, get as many words in my mind as possible while directing my voice to the mic on my right.  All the while, actually looking at (through the screen) the congregation.

The time came.  Just on the other side of the screen, a mere two feet in front of us, were the chairs for the minister and anyone else speaking at the service, backs to us.  Our Pastor had just finished his remarks, telling the story and meaning of this song to the departed.  He sat down.  She started playing.  I started singing.

It was all going well.  And then the surreal moment hit my friend playing the organ.  By the movement of her back, I could tell she was beginning to chuckle to herself.  Her past history indicated she wouldn’t be able to stop.  It got worse.  This may not be true for you, but for me (and obviously her) if you have to laugh silently, laugh-tears start up.  I was doing fine, but suddenly she was silently laughing and tearing up.  She couldn’t see the music, she turned a page too early, I lost the words.  Then I started.  I couldn’t control it.  This was perhaps the most ridiculous thing (at that point in my life) that had ever happened to me.  I started to sing and couldn’t.  I didn’t know what the words were so I just sang (when I could) “dai-dai-dai…”.  My inner Tevye had left the building.  In a frantic effort to stop the madness I reached over to point to the END OF THE SONG, and ended up 1) accidentally hitting her in the jaw, and 2) falling over a stack of music.

Our Pastor, true to his nature, had his head bowed the whole time.  When we finished in glorious fashion, he rose and gave the longed-for benediction.  It was over.

Well, not quite.

In an effort to sneak out as quickly as possible, we entered the side room where the family had gathered, before getting into the coach and ride to the cemetery.  In horror, I saw the departed’s mother and wife approach us.  They hugged me.  They said how moved they both were at my rendition of RICH MAN, and so touched that I “broke down during the last verse”…it meant so much to them that I was moved as well.

Well, of course.  They couldn’t SEE what was going on, they could only hear it.

I don’t know what you can get out of this story, but several lessons come to me:
FIRST: The young father was truly a “rich man”. The world may have considered him to be just another working man of the masses, but his life was full and rich

SECOND: The SPIRIT can work through absolutely even the most ridiculous of weaknesses to do THE SPIRIT’S work.

And so, once again we are assured:
“…all things work together for those/with those, who love God and are called according to his purpose…” (ROMANS 8:28)
and
“…the Lord works in mysterious ways…” (not Scripture, but appropriate)

…and finally,

“…in our weakness, He is our strength.” (II CORINTHIANS 12:9)

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

I first met him when, as a very young singer, was making my professional debut in opera and he was assigned to me, by the company, as my “coach”.  He led me in the style of singing the small role that I had.  Despite our age difference, we immediately became fast friends.  He was much older than he looked, (we almost looked the same age) and so seemed like a “wunderkind”: a brilliant man with a quick wit and energy that made the rest of us look like slackers…and I’ve never been accused of being a “slacker”.

When he learned that I was getting my degree in Music Composition he insisted on hearing every piece I wrote and coming to each performance of my new works at the college I attended.  He would analyze each piece, not to judge or criticize, but to ask questions about my choices of phrases, keys, motives, themes and construction…all without ever SEEING the music on paper…just from what he had heard, once.  He made me think about my own compositions in ways I had never thought…He listened.  

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

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

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

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

As we continued to talk, she said that he was embarrassed.  He didn’t want me, a “Christian friend”, to know that he was “sick”.  He was afraid that I would judge and that I would condemn…and most importantly, that I would leave.  Ironic, since because of HIS choice not to share this information with me I, in effect, DID abandon him when I could’ve been there.

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

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

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

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

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

Central Christian Church in Anderson, Indiana could, and should, be known as the people who love like no one else.  We are the people who choose to treat everyone with love: those with whom we agree, and those with whom we don’t agree.  Then we stand aside and let the Spirit do the work of the Spirit.

We can, and WILL, be those who others see and say, “If being a CHRISTIAN means being like those people at Central, then count me in…when I was hungry, they fed me, when I was thirsty, they gave me something to drink…when I had AIDS and was dying, they cared for me, and loved me, without judgment or superiority.”

Each June (PRIDE MONTH) my heart remembers what my head may forget: that Michael is as unworthy as all of us to receive God’s love…and yet God loves Him as He loves us all. God loves us not because of who WE are, but because of who HE is.

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

We are GOD’S people. Jesus is our KING. Our primary allegiance is to THE KINGDOM OF GOD.  With Jesus “breath of the Spirit” breathing through us, we can be people who love others as Jesus loves them – people who remember Jesus loved us, UNCONDITIONALLY, before we ever loved Him.

In the last few days I have had the remarkable pleasure, and privilege, to be in Rome and see the almost 2000-year-old Colosseum, the Roman Forum and the Arch of Titus. I stood where Paul discussed the new philosophy of THE WAY in the Athenian Agora. I walked through vast and empty villas, theatres, restaurants, and markets where, in 79 AD, 26,000 lives were snuffed out by Vesuvius (2000 in Pompeii alone). I saw the green-blue Mediterranean as I looked down on the caldera from high above in windy Santorini, Greece. I stood silent in the house where Mary, Jesus’ mother, lived out the end of her days, I watched a lone figure place flowers on the grave of John, Jesus’ cousin who took Mary into his home. And I walked the ancient, marble streets of Ephesus (where, once again, the memory of Paul came to mind…he visited there, lived for 3 years there, and confronted paganism there) to the theatre (which could accommodate 10% of the population: 24,000) where the great argument between the leaders of THE WAY and the worshippers of ARTEMIS took place.

All this in around 14 days. And you know what I felt? Aside from grateful, privileged, and awed…I felt overwhelmingly insignificant.

Insignificant.

I was, in every one of those moments, only a drop of water in the great turquoise sea of time. I was flooded by the thought of all the feet that had walked the ancient streets of Rome, Pompeii, Athens, and Ephesus. I was stunned…knowing that I have heard of these cities all my life, I had quoted from the great men and women who lived then and there. I stood where Julius Caesar was assassinated, not only thinking about that event, but also how it was significant enough to be captured in great artists, like Vincenzo Camuccini (“The Assassination of Julius Caesar”) and writers, like Shakespeare (“Julius Caesar”).

And when I stood at the grave of my favorite of the gospel writers, John, I felt that he was not only more “real”, but a friend.

And again, I felt, in all that great history…insignificant.

“INSIGNIFICANT” (Merriam-Webster): lacking weight, position, or influence…not worth considering…unimportant. 

Did all the great people whose shadows are left in these places of rich history feel the same way? After all, they were just people, like me. Did any of them think their words or actions would not only be spoken of thousands of years later, but that these places, given weight by their presence, would become almost sacred to the millions who visit daily? Probably not.

I could stand still in the unseen corner of this all, saying to myself, “No matter how great I imagine that I am, I’m not worth considering…in light of all the world’s greatness and history.

That is a harsh, but not necessarily a bad, lesson. We all are, after all, members of a collective, a community. OUR God reminds us (through Paul, especially) that each of us is unique, with talents and gifts to offer to the community…for the benefit of the community. I AM insignificant when set next to the entire Community of Faith. It’s not ever just about me.

The wave of history and greatness I experienced (not even mentioning the food, the art, the music, the people along the way) taught me some good, very good, lessons about life.

We cannot live with what I would call the “Intention of Significant Destiny” or, in other words, living so that one-thousand years from now people will know who we are and call us “great.” Our Teacher/King tells us that it is always about “today”, loving others today, trusting His Father today, living the “embarrassingly extravagant life (zoe)” today! “Don’t worry about tomorrow…” He says, when it comes to wondering how we will survive…but also in the greater sense: the purpose of our lives is not to write ourselves as the leading role in the story of history…but to concentrate on leading a life that serves the people of today. 

And if my God says, “You are significant to me.” That is enough. Human history often forgets, often confuses, often polishes, the actual “truth (aletheia)” of the moment…time muddies, it infrequently clarifies. But the King of Universe, and the author of time’s story, believes in me…sometimes more than I believe in Him. 

My significance, I realized…standing at the top of a peak in Santorini, in Mary’s house and John’s tomb in Ephesus, at the Roman Colosseum, in the Athenian Agora, and in the “tomb” of Pompeii…is based entirely upon what my Creator believes about me…whether I FEEL it or not.  As for the rest…

…time will tell.

When my parents passed away in 2013, I had a lot of boxes, furniture, and “memories on film” to go through.  “Memories on film”/photos.  In this new world of digital photos stored in a chip the size of a thumbnail, it is overwhelming to go through the thousands of “hard-copy” photos kept for generations and say, ”What should I keep?  Which ones DON’T I have?  What will mean something to MY children?” and “They’re only photos…is it worth the trouble and money to keep them?”

I had to set a standard, a formula, for deciding what to keep:

1. If the photo doesn’t have a PERSON in it I’m not keeping it. (Sorry, Mom, all those photos from the thousands upon thousands of road trips to historic markers around the country are now “dust in the wind”)
2. If I already have a copy…the photo is toast.
3. If I don’t know who the people are and Mom didn’t write their names on the back…they’re gone.
4. If I know who the people in the photos are, but don’t care…they’re trashed.
5. If they are embarrassing photos of me, they are treated as if they never existed. (Editing history is a wonderful thing.)

Of course, as the Estate Sale coordinator reminded me, “almost everything is worth something to someone”.  So, I found myself in the strange, ironic and “sermon-illustrative” position of removing photos from frames and preserving the frames for sale, eliminating the photos, or keeping them (according to the above-mentioned criteria), BECAUSE, as important as our images are, they are sometimes worth nothing to anyone but us.

The frames that surround us can be traded, bought, and sold.

As I’ve been on a trip this last week, taking photos to remind me of place, people, and moments – I stopped and thought about the fact that I can’t sell photos that carry thoughts and deep memories. They are, in some cases, all I have left of a life that lived and walked next to me.  But the frames, THEY were worth something to someone else, and would frame other photos and other memories…people would purchase those.

And so, LESSONS I have learned from “FRAMES”:

1. A person who would choose your photo over your frame is a friend worth your investment.
2. To many people, it is not your essence they are attracted to, it is your frame: your trappings, your accumulations, your “setting” without your frame, some people may not even recognize your photo, and those are people you can do without.
3. A frame can also be looked at as walls of love that can be passed on to others when the image is gone to a “new frame.”
4. The frame is the paradigm through which people see us. Different people/paradigms, different frames. Though I am the same, I am not seen the same way by all the people that know me. None of THEM know me completely. Only my Heavenly Father knows me completely, “trans-frame”, and as much as we’d love to know our Heavenly Father, we only know HIM through the frame we have fit HIS image into, carved, created and defined by our limited life experience.

It is an arrogant and misinformed assumption to believe that someone else would see God through the same “frame” as we do.  It is also arrogant and misinformed to believe that if that person DOESN’T see God the same way as we do, THEY are wrong. It could be possible that the image is the same, but the frame is different.

In the end, I thank my Heavenly Father that I grew up in this place, had wonderful parents, friends and family to surround and teach me – people who helped create my “frame”.  But LIFE moves forward, one frame is exchanged for another, and that is a good thing.  One day ALL frames will be removed, and only our image/essence and God’s image/essence will live. Paradigms will shift once and for all, pretense will end, and Truth will be the Word of the day.

For now, we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face.
Now I know in part, but then I will know fully,
as I am fully known.
Now these three remain:
faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.

I CORINTHIANS 13:12-13

When I travel, which I love to do and am doing now, I am constantly surrounded by the beautiful tapestry of life: on all sides, families and children.  As I age, I have a “love/hate” relationship with crowds.  I like to watch people, especially from other cultures, all together, vacationing: multiple languages, ages…I find that entertaining.  On the other hand, especially the older I get, I am not a fan of crowds.  I still like to be around people, but more and more I like to be on the outside looking in, rather than the middle.

My favorite pastime is observing and learning from human nature, and so, as in any vacation, I found a spot where I could sit and observe.  I love watching people interact, I love multiple cultures together in one place (family and friend dynamics don’t seem to change with the culture or language) and I ALWAYS find: if you’re searching for God to speak to you, He will. 

I sat and watched, on a crowded boulevard, as literally hundreds of families, couples, singles passed by shops and cafes.  Some were families, some couples, some singles, some groups of teens or groups of men, groups of women.  I could hear English, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, some Russian, and some German (or Dutch?)…in any case it was a beautiful sight…from a distance.

The children are especially fun to watch, and parenting, even within one ethnic group and/or age, is always a source of conversation. In this case, there were lots of kids.  I began watching one small boy in particular.  He was small, maybe 4 or 5 years old.  He was Italian (I recognized, though could not translate, the language).  He was seemingly alone…that’s why I kept an eye on him – to see if any parent or sibling was nearby.  He had been distracted by a very colorful car and was looking in to see if he could get inside.

Suddenly, as if realizing he was in a sea of strangers, some 6 people deep, he stopped and looked around – turning quickly one way and then the other – as his face turned from joy to panic.  I could see from his face he was about to cry, feeling what HE wouldn’t have been able to label, but I could – abandonment.

He shouted at the top of his little lungs, “Papa!”  Again and again, turning, looking, eyes wide with a little fear.  It all happened in an instant, but probably seemed like ages to him.

Then, the tall young father, who had been standing some 2 feet away, his back turned, turned around and their eyes locked.  The little boy stepped to him, and the man easily lifted him up, kissed him and said one of the few Italian phrases I could translate: “Sono qui.” (“I am here.”).

In a flash, and with yet another thankful prayer to the Spirit, I saw a “life picture” of mine, which has played over and over:

I pull away.

I am surrounded by the crowd of strangers.

I feel danger.

I feel abandoned.

I cry out…

…only to find that God has never left my side.

He lifts me up, kisses me and says, “I am here.”

This season of life, both mine and ours (in this time and place) I need to remember that I may pull away, but HE never does.  As close as a hand, a hug…and a kiss…is my Jesus. 

Another “trip around the sun” is coming up: and I am continually “feeling” my age.  Now that I’m officially on the “other side of the hill” birthday gifts are intangible moments, birthday decorations are the wrinkles and grey hair that bear witness to many of those past, intangible and full moments…and I am filled with gratitude.

I am happy to know that I am reaching the point where I have lived longer than I will live in the future years (unless I live to be 132 years old).  Having never been fearful of death, I don’t, at this point, have any desire to live longer than I should…and in fact, am happier to be the age I am than at any other time in my life.

God HAS been, IS now, and WILL be a friend to me, He has gone the “extra mile” for me and continues to shock me with His graciousness …as little as I have done for Him in return. To be a BELIEVER & FOLLOWER on the “other-side-of-the-hill” means, at times, to look back, to observe God and oneself from a distance, and continue to learn.

I climbed up the hill, aiming to reach the summit quickly…by travelling straight for it. In my rush to reach the pinnacle (to “grow up”) I missed some beautiful sights.  Sure, I had the strength then to grab an outcropping of rock when I needed to and pull myself up.  Yes, I could look back at the sunset of each day and see what I had accomplished.  Of course, it’s good to have goals, make a plan, and work the plan, but along the way I MAY have passed up times I didn’t need to move so quickly.  In my effort to go, go, go…I might have missed the goal completely sometimes.  God’s request that I love Him is played out by loving those He has placed in my path – and, unfortunately, sometimes the path was more important than those who took up space on the path.

I find, now that I’m on the other side going down instead of up, I “zigzag” (partially to keep from falling down!)  Now the path is just as steep, but I am going down, not up.  I’ve learned, there is more to be seen and experienced by not racing down the hill.  And the truth is, I’ll reach the bottom when the time is right. Till then, I should enjoy the path and the people on it – not going straight down but covering the entire width of the hill and all it has to offer.

When I climbed UP, my goal was the summit. Searching for a “mountain-top” experience was often the goal of my younger self.  Now I realize that those experiences happen, are serendipitous and not always a result of planning. I’ve learned to accept them and enjoy them when they come.  Now I see the valley below and realize that every part of THE HILL has something to offer.  The path is God’s creation, He has gone ahead of me, and it is cleared and made especially for me. Who am I to deviate from His map?  Getting PAST the summit is the actual goal…partially because the air is so thin at the top, no one could stay there for long.

As my younger self ascended the hill, I had no choice but to empty my pack of things that were too heavy. Now that I am over the summit, I’m finding I do not even miss the things I threw out of my pack – and so, I only hold on to the things that might be helpful to someone else along the way.  I tend to be a hoarder, in part because the things I collect around me have meaning and are memory-holders.  But, in truth, my age has brought me to the stage telling me how little I need.  Also, my joy, my life, my journey, is more fulfilling (once again) when I pay attention to the people and places on the path – it’s good to have things with you that connect you with those people and places.  Connection with others is the important thing.

Now that I am closer to valley, I can see “a gate” at the bottom of the hill. I’ve always known “the gate” was there, but now (like everyone on this journey of life) I SEE it more clearly. Truthfully, I can see that the path contains a series of hills, of summits and valleys, but I didn’t enjoy the wisdom of that until I got “over-the-hill”.  And as I had been climbing up, my thought was that my life would end once I got TO the summit…but now that I am OVER the summit, I’m glad to see that there is still more, and there will be more, forever more (“The road goes ever on…” J.R.R. Tolkien) – especially once I walk THROUGH “the gate” to the garden…in the valley.

I am thankful to everyone whose paths have crossed mine, who are walking the path with me, who sometimes carry my pack for me, who guard me when I sleep, and mend me when I fall.  To the ones who travel with me, by blood or by choice, I am who I am because of you and your love.  And to The Great Shepherd who leads and asks me to follow, I say: I am just beginning to make out the melody You’ve been singing, and I look forward to a continuing journey filled with many more years on this path, and unfathomable moments beyond the gate. 

A BLOG by Rick Vale

“I don’t believe in God anymore,” I overheard her say to a friend on the phone, while we were both in line at KROGER, “I just know too many hypocrites.” 

I was so happy to have a theme for my BLOG that I didn’t turn around and say, “So if you saw a man walking on the streets of Anderson with bad hair, would you stop believing in barbers, too?” 

Seriously, when John Hinckley tried to assassinate President Reagan, in an effort to appease the actress Jodi Foster, did anyone blame JODI FOSTER?  I know it’s difficult, because for many people Christians are the only reflection of God they see – but please, let’s not blame God for some (not all) of His followers.

This overheard conversation was on the heels of another that I was a part of, just days before, where an acquaintance stated that they had stopped going to their church, after 2019/2020, because they don’t like the new Pastor.  That all may be true, and his Pastor may indeed be a moron…but is worship/faith/congregational life about the Pastor…or the sanctuary…or the hypocrites…or the worship style?

On the other hand, is WORSHIP/CHURCH-GOING and BELIEF something we sigh and shoulder, like medicine, or in-laws, or spin class?  Absolutely not.  Belief/ Worship should unlock doors, unclip wings, open windows…and, in short, set us free!

Unfortunately, Belief and Worship are so strongly tied to individual paradigms, preferences, history and deep-seated emotion that it is difficult to separate all of that from what Worship actually requires.

You and I have songs which suddenly stir up memories and cause us to feel secure, safe, loved…and we want to hear that song in worship (for some it’s AMAZING GRACE and others, LORD, I LIFT YOUR NAME ON HIGH)…it’s what makes worship wonderful for us.  However, does my pew-mate, who doesn’t have MY history or sentiment, feel the same way?  Of course not.  My world does not necessarily define THEIR world.

One congregation, where I ministered, had an extraordinarily great Sacred Dance team: professional and beautiful.  Sitting on the same pew, experiencing the same worship moment of dance, one parishioner said that she had a problem with dance in the sanctuary because dance was “of the devil”, as she had been taught.  In the same pew was a deaf worshipper who said that she was always thrilled when we had dance because it was the ONE part of worship that didn’t need to be “interpreted” for her.  

The woman who didn’t enjoy the dance realized the truth that dance isn’t “of the devil”, but her paradigm and history with dance colored her perception of it in worship, it was generational and based on childhood experience and teaching.  The non-hearing worshiper, who had no other experience in church, had no such preconceptions.  The first lady wasn’t going to leave the church or stop worshiping because she didn’t enjoy the dance, and the second wasn’t defining ALL of worship by her emotional tie to dance, and limited personal experience of worship…I think BOTH were wise in their decisions. 

I like hamburgers (I got that from my dad), and I mourn that red meat no longer likes me.  But, in the day, I preferred BURGER KING over McDONALDS, when it came to burger prep.  On the other hand, McDONALDS had BURGER KING beat when it came to milk shakes and fries (in MY opinion).  BOTH franchises sell burgers, but the rest is up to personal preference, or what “speaks to me” (shakes and fries DO speak to me).

I prefer worship like ours at Central, with scripture, prayer, hymns from the hymnal, communion, pipe organ and some good tradition.  Somewhere in town, however, is a church that doesn’t own any hymnals, the Pastor might read one scripture and the songs go on, one after another, for 30-45 minutes…after that the Pastor preaches for an hour…and the congregation LOVES it.  Both congregations worship (that’s the burger), but one congregation prefers their worship (burger) with ketchup and the other with mayo.  Is one correct and the other wrong?  No.  If one is unhappy with their worship, should they cease believing?  No.  Should they find a worship pattern that speaks to them?  Yes.  As long as they’re serving burgers¸ then it’s just a matter of finding the way one likes it prepared.

When a worshiper sits in worship unhappy and tense because they don’t like the songs, the pastor, the “style” …should they stop believing in worship?  Of course not…what they don’t like isn’t “worship”, it’s the peripherals.

When a person labeling themselves as “Christian” treats another human being in a manner that would make Jesus wanna slap ‘em upside the head…should we stop believing in God?  Of course not, the problem isn’t God, it’s the Follower.

At the heart of “Belief” AND “Worship” are the same elements: Spirit & Truth / Heart & Mind.  Everything else is flexible.  Everything else is commentary.  Everything else is a “condiment.”

JOHN 4:7-26
A woman of Samaria came to draw water.
“Give Me a drink,” Jesus said to her,
for His disciples had gone into town to buy food.
“How is it that You, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?” she asked Him.
For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.
Jesus answered, “If you knew the gift of God, and who is saying to you,
‘Give Me a drink,’ you would ask Him,
and He would give you living water.”
“Sir,” said the woman, “You don’t even have a bucket, and the well is deep. So where do You get this ‘living water’? You aren’t greater than our father Jacob, are You? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and livestock.”
Jesus said, “Everyone who drinks from this water will get thirsty again. But whoever drinks from the water that I will give him will never get thirsty again — ever! In fact, the water I will give him will become a well , of water springing up within him for eternal life.”
“Sir,” the woman said to Him, “give me this water so I won’t get thirsty
and come here to draw water.”
“Go call your husband,” He told her, “and come back here.”
“I don’t have a husband,” she answered.
“You have correctly said, ‘I don’t have a husband,’” Jesus said. “For you’ve had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true.”
“Sir,” the woman replied, “I see that You are a prophet. Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, yet you Jews say that
the place to worship is in Jerusalem.”
Jesus told her, “Believe Me, woman, an hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know. We worship what we do know because salvation is from the Jews. But an hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth. Yes, the Father wants such people to worship Him. God is spirit,
and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.”
The woman said to Him, “I know that Messiah, is coming” (who is called Christ).
“When He comes, He will explain everything to us.”
“I am He,” Jesus told her, “The One speaking to you.”