A Palm Sunday Reenactment

I so wish I had taken a picture of him. There he stood on the 2nd step surrounded by a host of other little worshipers waving their arms while singing songs to the top of their tiny lungs. The smaller children had processed in to "Hosanna, Loud Hosanna," waving high their palm branches, probably totally unaware of exactly what they were reenacting. They had lined up neatly on the steps leading up to the platform, smallest to tallest -- and may I just say, every one of them was cute as a button.

Even the little boy who stood in the center.

When I say "stood," I mean exactly that. While the little fellow to his right kept hitting him in his face with his theatrical waves and the little girl on his right did the same, he didn't flinch a muscle except to bat his eyes to keep them from being poked out by the drama going on all around him. I was mesmerized by him, and couldn't help but lean over to one of the children's directors and ask, "Who is that little boy?" She whispered his name to me and said, "We hardly got him to walk down the aisle; much less sing." Bless his heart, those big brown eyes just stared straight ahead.

I've always deemed myself a church girl and with that comes loving to celebrate certain days on the church calendar. One such day being Palm Sunday -- the one we celebrate today. But as a church musician, and since most of us don't gather again until Easter morning, I often find myself in a quandary as to what to play on this particular Sunday. Do I stick with the celebratory "Hosanna!" and "Glory, Laud and Honor!" or do I try to incorporate the darker pieces of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday? This morning I chose the latter and used "Go to Dark Gethsemane" for special music in the middle of the service.

I've thought a lot today about that little boy standing front and center. So stoic. So free of emotion or song. And I've wondered: did he get it? Could a child that young understand what was happening? Could he himself have been reenacting the role of Jesus? That One who entered on the back of a donkey arrayed with fishermen's coats because there was no royal apparel? That One of whom the crowd sang, "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!" as they waved palm branches? That One whose entourage consisted of street people, mentally ill men, questionable women, and inept disciples? Could it be that He alone knew what kind of parade He was in? A parade that was leading Him straight to the cross. And to His death.

Maybe the 2 selections of music were nothing short of appropriate after all. Hosanna and Gethsemane. And maybe, just maybe, that little tyke standing front and center was the only one who really got it. And if not? Well, he certainly played his part well.

Just an ordinary moment...

The Cost of a Super Bowl Ticket

Last Friday evening, we noticed a small pool had formed in the front yard under the poplar tree. Not the kind that says, "Yes! Fresh water! Let's go swimming!" but the kind that says, "Quick, call the plumber!" And call the plumber we did. But due to the weekend, no professional was to show until after lunch on Monday and even then, the problem wouldn't be corrected until the next day. And so we did the only thing we could do: we filled up the bathtub and every empty container we could find that would hold water and turned the rest off at the street.And we continued with the plans for my dinner party on Saturday evening. Yes, it does seem to happen that way, doesn't it?

When someone commented, "How horrible!" I was quick to respond, "Oh, no. This is just a little inconvenience." And I truly meant it. After all, I still HAD water. I poured it out of a bottle to brush my teeth, to wash my face, and take my morning meds. I flushed the toilet with the water retained in the bathtub. I was even given a laundry break! And when we needed to take a bath, my wonderful husband would run outside in the often freezing temperatures, turn the water on, and we'd dash in and out of the showers in record time before he ran back out and turned it off again.

Like I said; just an inconvenience. Not a hardship -- like those in Africa or so many other places on the globe where people really do NOT have water. Or have it in such scarcity that no drop is wasted.

I thought about that as I brushed my teeth those few days. I think about it now as I turn the faucet on. I also think about it as the Super Bowl approaches this evening.

You see, the cost of a single Super Bowl ticket -- as of 3 days ago -- was $5,500 upward. The cost of building a hand-dug well with hand pump that will serve 500 people in Africa? $5,000. OR, for the cost of 25 Bowl tickets one could purchase a "deep bore hole with submersible electric pump and a diesel-powered generator serving 6,000 people."  

(http://www.africanwellfund.org/FAQ.html)

That, my friends, is a lot of water for the price of a football game.

Please don't get me wrong. I'm not here to spoil the evening nor make anyone feel guilty. My husband and I will be tuning in ourselves to watch from our, albeit, free seats. I just know that this year I will be looking at the crowd a little differently. And I do have wonder just what God might be seeing Himself. Or hearing. Will it be cheers or cries?

All for the cost of a Super Bowl ticket.

Just an ordinary moment...

The Coat Closet's Call to Repentance

2015 has found me de-cluttering. Before the year began, I came across an online 365-day plan which would have me clutter free before the end of the year -- in only 15 minutes a day. The entire month of January has found me cleaning out my kitchen. It began with sorting through the now old Christmas cards, throwing away old pot holders, donating multiple cheese slicers, Pyrex and coffee makers ... one drawer or cabinet at the time. And each Saturday finds my husband and me at our local Abba House Thrift Store -- a ministry that supports women and their children.

But before I began disassembling the shamble on the shelves, there was already a portion of my home that was causing me discomfort. My coat closet. It actually started several years ago when I read that the early Christians went so far as to say that if I have two coats, I have stolen from the poor. Surely they drew their conclusions from Luke 3:11 where John the Baptist tells his disciples, "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none." But the writer went on to say that when we give to a beggar, "we should get on our knees and ask for forgiveness because we are returning what was wrongfully stolen from that person." When read, that's a hard one to forget. And I never have.

With the arctic air that found itself pushing down on us southerners, I could no longer pretend I didn't hear the cry of the beggar. It only grew louder as the temperatures plunged lower. And I knew I was a thief. And I needed to beg for forgiveness.

I opened the door to the closet in the hall and what I saw should have appalled anybody. Not 2 coats. Not 5 coats. Not even 10 coats. But a closet jammed smack full of all kinds of different outerwear. Yes, my husband and I were (and are still) quite guilty of robbing from the poor. All we had to do was look in our coat closet.

Actually, there was an assortment. For my husband, there were some vests, some hunting gear and work jackets thrown in the mix of just plain coats. As for me, mine tended to be more "color" oriented. Black, blue (dark and light), tan, brown, green, lavender. There were "Sunday" coats, casual, and one for every possible climate. And surely that black floor length will come back in style some day. 

There was Columbia, Barbour, Chico, London Fog, L.L. Bean -- just to name a few. Each one issuing forth a strong call to repentance. 

Granted, it's not just coats. Basil of Caesarea touched on a number of areas when he wrote, "When someone steals a person's clothes, we call him a thief. Should we not give the same name to one who could clothe the naked and does not? The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to those who need it; the shoes rotting in your closet to the one who has no shoes. The money which you hoard up belongs to the poor."

My coat closet isn't as full as it once was; but it is nowhere near empty either. Might have been easier if John had mentioned how many to give away if we had 30 instead of just 2. But he didn't. All I know is that at this point, there are still a number of people weathering the winter without.

It's quite the call to repentance.

What about you? Got a coat ... or two?

Just an ordinary moment...

Joseph: "Righteous" or Right?

I've been thinking of Joseph lately. And why not? It's Christmas. And whereas his name is mentioned many times over in the Gospel narratives, his voice is never heard. However, I'm sure he had his say when his betrothed came to him and told him she was pregnant -- and he knew beyond of a shadow of a doubt he was not the father. Yes, Joseph. The most underrated, under-celebrated cast member of the entire Christmas story. And yet one of the most powerful in my mind. If you were to ask me this morning which Biblical person I would like to meet when I get to heaven, my answer just might be Joseph, the earthly father of our Lord Jesus.

Honestly, I think I already have an example right now in my husband. I think he may be a lot like Joseph, He's honest. He's real. He's quiet ... doesn't say a lot. He is steady strength. And when God speaks to him, he listens and he does the right thing, even when it's hard. 

That's Joseph. His story tells us that sometimes what seems to be righteous may not always be right.

Hear that again. Sometimes what seems to be righteous may not always be right.

Yeah. That stings me, too.

Joseph had every right under the sun to divorce Mary. He could have publicly shamed her and it would have been within the law. He could have had her stoned, for crying out loud. That would have seemed righteous. But he chose the hard thing and did what was right. He took her as his wife and subjected himself to every kind of gossip and slander that could come from the "righteous" of his day and that would follow him the rest of his life.

Sometimes what seems to be righteous may not always be right. And Joseph chose what was right.

What about you? What about me? Do we choose to be seemingly "righteous" or do we choose to do right. I think of the woman who circled the liquor store with a bottle of wine every night praying the evils therein would be cast out. And I kid you not, the store burned down. But then there's the woman who blessed the owners of the new bar in town every time she drove by, praying that God would enter their hearts. "Righteous" or right.

Then there's the woman who judges her neighbors because they are cohabitating and therefore won't have anything to do with them, while the neighbors on the other side form a relationship. "Righteous" or right?

And what about the woman who is at church every time the doors are open ... and comes home and serves roasted preacher to her family for Sunday dinner because he can't keep his son under control. While another young woman stays at home with her unchurched husband because he just wants a little time with her alone. "Righteous" or right?

And while we're thick into the "Merry Christmas" or "Happy holidays" quibble, do we get mad and hold to our guns that "Jesus is the reason for the season"? Or do we recover the reason and just DO the season?

"Righteous" or right?

Yep. Joseph might not have a voice in the story, but he sure isn't silent. He has a lot to say to each of us.

Just an ordinary moment...

NOT From a Distance

I stood at the kitchen sink stirring the caramel icing to its correct consistency while the under-the-counter radio next to me played the season's songs. Not giving much thought to what was coming through the speakers, I quietly hummed along to the words being sung.

From a distance the world looks blue and green,

and the snow-capped mountains white.

From a distance the ocean meets the stream,

and the eagle takes to flight.

From a distance, there is harmony,

and it echoes through the land.

It's the voice of hope, it's the voice of peace,

it's the voice of every man.

Yes, it was Bette Midler singing Julie Gold's, "From a Distance."Granted, much of the song's popularity coincided with Desert Storm. I get that. You can hear it in the 3rd verse.

And there are no guns, no bombs, and no disease,

no hungry mouths to feed.

And the 5th:

From a distance you look like my friend,

even though we are at war.

From a distance I just cannot comprehend

what all this fighting is for.

I've heard and even sung this popular song for years, but every time it strikes a dissonant chord with me. Whereas the music industry throws darts at its lyrical content, its stiff rhythms and drums, I always cringe when Ms. Midler gets to the chorus. 

God is watching us. God is watching us.

God is watching us from a distance.

I don't know, but that just seems to go against everything we are celebrating during this season of Advent and Christmas. After all, didn't the angel say to Joseph His name was to be Emmanuel? The With-Us God? Indeed, he did.

"Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us" (Matthew 1:23).

To say that God is watching us from a distance undermines the entire Christmas narrative of which this season shouts. The whole Gospel story for that matter. 

"And the Word became flesh and lived AMONG us...." (John 1:14). NOT from a distance.

"[He] emptied himself, ... being born in human likeness..." (Philippians 2:7). NOT from a distance.

And even as Jesus Himself says when praying to His Father just prior to His betrayal and arrest, "I IN them" (John 17:23). NOT from a distance.

In all fairness, Ms. Gold, the writer of the lyrics, says she believes in an immanent and beneficent God and that the song is about the difference between how things appear to be and how they really are.

So, yes, at times it appears that "God is watching us from a distance." But NOTHING, my friends, could be more untrue. Let's celebrate this season in truth: Emmanuel. God is with us!!!

Just an ordinary moment...