Go for the Cream!

Is there no end to bad songs?

Over the years we have been handed hundreds of CDs, lyric sheets, and music and lyrics on music staff paper.  Out of those I can count on two hands the gems—songs of quality that deserved to be heard and sung.  The reason for such a slim outcome is the very reason every Christian college should offer at least a serious class and hopefully a major in songwriting, since our faith has always been carried on the wings of a song.

Why bad songs are bad and good songs are good is a topic that demands much more than this blog.  But at least I must say what my mother often said: “Cream rises to the top.”  I knew what this meant because my grandfather had two or three cows that he milked by hand.  He poured the fresh milk into what he called a separator.  It was a tall milk container sort of shaped like a huge metal vase.  The opening was wide then narrowed to a waistline that held a round white filter.  When the filtering milk can was full, the milk was left to set for a few hours.  The cream content of the milk would rise to the top, most of which was then dipped off to churn butter. The rest was mixed with the remaining milk and put in the “ice box” for us to drink.

I find myself wishing there were a filtered separator through which worship leaders would pour the endless committee-written songs that are being milked by worship publishers from their writing rooms of eager young would-be songwriters.

How I wish that these young writers with such good hearts could spend time reading great literature and studying the poetry and music that has lived through season after season of musical fads and evolving popular rhythm feels.  How we need for these great hearts to spend time being schooled by the scripture and internalizing the spiritual metaphors that should teach us all how to navigate the obstacle courses of our own lives.

What makes me saddest of all is that our language is so rich with possibilities, the well of spiritual experience so deep, and minds and souls of aspiring writers are such a potential resource that none of us as followers of the Master should be satisfied to nurture our souls on the skimmed milk of weak phrases and four popular chords just because there is so much of it.

Great songs, great literature, and great art all take layer after layer of deep study, life experiences (both hard and beautiful), and skillful discipline.  There is always room for creative innovation that plows new ground and uses new media of expression.  But the quality should get better and better because we have such a great history to build upon—a deep history to teach us.  The times demand it!

Art of faith should be (and historically has been) the greatest art of all, because we are writing and singing about the God of all time and space, the source of all life and creativity.  Our subjects are inexhaustible and our pursuit of ways to express the depth and breadth and height of our personal experiences with God should drive us to find unique and fresh ways to tell the great Story ever told.

Let’s not settle for bland and mediocre reconstituted dried skim milk.  Let go for the cream!

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Tasting Summer

For the tastes of summer I give thanks:
for swollen red tomatoes that explode their wonder into my mouth,
for berries and peaches, pears and apples,
and all the fruits of the harvest orchards and berry patches,

 I clap my hands with glee like a child.

For color and textures in such wild variety
that they make a circus of the summer table,
and make every meal a glorious celebration,
I thank You.

For pies and cobblers, salads and compotes,
for all the ordinary creativity this bounty inspires,
I thank You.

For recipes passed down that tie our tasting parties
to all the generations who have gone before
and join the hands in my kitchen to the hands
in the kitchens of Michigan and Indiana,
Missouri and Tennessee,
Italy and Germany,
Ireland and England,
I thank You.

I dance my turn in the jig or reel or clog or hoedown
around our well-worn table.

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What Good Are Love Songs?

Ezekiel must have been an amazing speaker. He warned, he told stories, he reminded people in colorful terms of their history with God.  He called out wicked leaders and exposed corruption in high places.  He predicted the very collapse of the country God had chosen for them and with which he had blessed them.

 He drew great crowds!  The people said, “You’ve got to go hear Ezekiel!  He is such a passionate communicator!  He’s incredible to watch and hear.”  But when all was said and sung, they went home entertained and stimulated, but nothing really changed.

 Ezekiel fell on his face before God for some answers, and God spoke to him giving him even more things to say to the people, things so dire that it tore Ezekiel’s heart out to have to preach them.  Then God said this to Ezekiel: 

 As for you, son of man, your countrymen are talking together about you by the walls and at the doors of the houses, saying to each other, ‘Come, and hear the message that has come from the Lord.’  My people come to you to listen to your words, but they do not put them into practice.  With their mouths they express devotion, but their hearts are greedy for unjust gain. Indeed, to them you are nothing more than one who sings love songs with a beautiful voice and plays an instrument well, for they hear your words, but do not put them into practice. When all this comes true—and it surely will—then they will know that a prophet has been among them. (Ezekiel 33:30-33 NIV)

What God wants is for his creation to not only listen but turn. He woos; he gives a land flowing with milk and honey.  He longs for His children to bask in His love, feast from his amazing supply, love each other, and dwell in His sweet peace.  He longs for us to reflect and spill out mercy to others, joy in His presence, and rest from our frantic and empty pursuit of pseudo-living.  He promises that if we follow the “decrees that give life,” we will surely live.

There is still time to turn.  There is still time to do more than enjoy the music and the poetry. There’s time to internalize the message and let the music draw us into the dance God intended life to be. 

Once there were prophets, but we wouldn’t hear them.
Once there were wonders; we wouldn’t believe.
Fire and manna once rained down from heaven;
Great mighty winds once parted the seas.

When we were blindest, God sent his vision;
When we were deaf, He spoke and we heard.
The Light of the World walked through our darkness—
Jehovah, Himself, the Incarnate Word.

But what good are love songs, if they don’t make us lovers?
Why be an eagle that won’t spread its wings?
Why write our hearts out?  We’re not moved by the passion,
And if love songs don’t change us, then why do we sing?          

Lyric: Gloria Gaither©Hanna Street Music (BMI)
Woody Wright Wouldhewrite Music(ASCAP)

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Our Priest–Forever!

Under the old arrangement, there had to be many priests, so that when the old ones died off, the system could be carried on by others who took their places. But Jesus lives forever and continues to be a Priest so that no one else is needed.  He is able to save completely all who come to God through him.  Since he will live forever, he will always be there to remind God that he has paid for their sins with his blood. (Heb 7:23-24)

It’s life we’re after.  Oh, yes, to be rescued from the disastrously inevitable results of our unregenerate choices is a surprising and precious gift of His one-of-a-kind, once-and-for-all death.  By it we are saved from an ultimate never-ending death with its horrible process.

But for what?  We are saved, stripped of death and enduring pain to live!  The point of it all is to live, and live free, dancing when no one is looking, singing when no one hears, joyful when there’s no party, or no other people around for that matter.  Living without fear, living with abandon, carefree as a child and twice as loving, forgiving, kind, unselfish – in short, living without all the actions and attitudes, choices and thought patterns that cause us and others pain--this is our goal.  When a gift makes us clean, clear down to the core of our being, that is being saved “to the uttermost.”  And that’s what His dying – and living – is for.

So, we can always face tomorrow and live intensely, impassionedly, bravely, joyously, and peacefully because He lives—our priest, our advocate lives!

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Awards, Trophies, and Life

There are awards—and then there are rewards.  Plaques and trophies are given freely these days for all kinds or reasons.  Sometimes they are given for true excellence in one field or another—sports, journalism, music, entertainment, and scientific discovery.  Sometimes they are given just to encourage a kid along in 4-H, spelling, academic achievement, or a school sport.

But last week an award was given for excellent living.  Oh, it was a sports award, too.  But Carl Erskine was given the National Baseball Hall of Fame Buck O’Neil Lifetime Achievement Award for “his extraordinary efforts to enhance baseball’s positive impact on society.” This was only the sixth time this award has been given, but in our opinion it was long overdue for Carl.

Now 96, Carl wasn’t up to traveling to receive this award in person.  But maybe it says even more that his and Betty’s family was there to receive it.  Their son Gary represented them in receiving the award, saying, “It is the thrill of a lifetime to accept this award for my dad.”

Who more than a man’s family is qualified to give testimony to the authenticity of a person who spent his life not only “broadening the game’s appeal and whose character, integrity, and dignity epitomizes the intension of the award but also exemplifies those qualities in the many years off the field.”

Ted Green, documentarian for the Erskine film The Best We’ve Got*, described Erskine as “the 96-year-old guy with the 12-year-old eyes,” eyes that, I might add, dance whenever he’s telling baseball stories or playing his harmonica.  It was Ted who videotaped (in Carl’s and Betty’s home) Carl’s characteristically humble response to receiving the award: “For just a skinny kid from Anderson, Indiana, it was quite a journey to be on the big stage with the superstars of the day.... They were all Hall of Famers.  I don’t know where I fit in there, but I was glad to be there.”

A few weeks before the award, Bill, Woody Wright, and Buddy Greene went over to see Carl and Betty.  Buddy went in the front door playing “Basin Street Blues” on his harmonica; without a word Carl answered by picking up the harmonica he keeps on the table by his chair, and joining Buddy in the tune.  Greeting enough!  And that harmonica has opened many-a-door for Carl to break down barriers and forge friendships over now six decades since he left baseball.

Famous for being one of the Boys of Summer, Erskine played with legends like Duke Snider, Jackie Robinson, Peewee Reese, and Roy Campanella as a stand out pitcher for the Brooklyn and LA Dodgers, racking up 122 wins and two World Series championships.  He threw 14 shutouts and played in 11 games during five World Series. His baseball accomplishments go on and on.

But for Bill and me and the people of Madison County, Indiana, the real honors go to a long life well-lived. After baseball Carl and Betty returned to their home town of Anderson, where he coached at Anderson College for twelve years, winning four conference championships.  And that was just the beginning of “wins” nobody knew to applaud at the time. Faithful to their church, charter members and lifelong supporters of Fellowship of Christian Athletes, contributing to dozens of projects and endeavors to enrich their wide community, Carl and Betty consistently began to help give sinew to the frame of their home town and state by encouraging, supporting, and always “showing up for work” in daily ways.  

For Bill and me perhaps the greatest story of all is the love affair between Carl and Betty.  Just as Carl’s baseball career was beginning to draw attention, he married his high school sweetheart.  For her, “I do” meant being a consistent, steady force to a man, who would move a lot in the baseball life, and be there to hold things together when he was away from wherever home was over the years.

Their son Gary put it this way: “During Dad’s playing days, we always followed him.  We moved to Vero Beach during spring training and on to Brooklyn or Los Angeles during the season and back to Anderson in the off season.”   

During that time, they had two more little boys, and Betty made a home for them wherever home was.  A third child, their little Susan, came along just when Carl’s career was at its peak in 1955.  It was when Susan was four that Carl retired from baseball, and they had their fourth baby Jimmy, who had Downs syndrome. At a time when it was assumed that Downs children would be institutionalized, Carl and Betty said, “No, he’s our son, and he will go home with us.” From that time on, the Erskines committed not only to making Jimmy a part of their family, but a part of the community and the world.   They started the Indiana chapter of Special Olympics and became lifelong advocates for people, especially children, with disabilities by helping to create the Hopewell Center in Indiana.  Because of their making our area more aware, our community cheered Jimmy on in the Special Olympics and became proud to greet him all the years he worked at Appleby’s.  Everyone knew Jimmy!

The beautiful love affair between Carl and Betty was an example to Bill and me of what real love and romance is all about. A few weeks ago, we took our dog Windsor and went over to visit Carl and Betty.  Bill wanted to show them the video cuts the Vocal Band had filmed singing to their wives the collection of love songs they had recorded.  Carl and Betty watched and at times sang along.  When they got to the song “You Are So Beautiful to Me”, Carl looked over at Bill and me and pointed to Betty and smiled.  That said it all after 76 years of marriage.  She said he thought she was still beautiful because he was looking at her through grandpa eyes.  But all of us know they are both beautiful in the eyes of everyone who knows them.  And this beauty is--like the two of them—the real deal!

*The Best We’ve Got” Documentary can be viewed on many platforms

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Christmas in July

I grew up in Michigan in the home of two parents who ministered to people in three communities.  Besides pastoring, writing, and speaking, our family did a lot of fishing in the lakes that dot that beautiful state.  My sweet father seemed to never tire of dragging soggy row boats in and out of Michigan lakes so my mother could fish until it was too dark to see a bobber.

My sister and I learned early to bait our own hooks and take our own catches off the hook. We also were pros at catching night crawlers at night with a good flashlight and quick action that yielded a coffee can full of bait for the next adventure.  Evelyn and I also knew to take our place in the fish-cleaning assembly line our family formed to turn our catch into the flour and cornmeal fried delicacy we then ate late at night after our day on the lake.

My mother was the fishing expert and addict.  I used to think the waters glimmered and the fish cowered when mother showed up.  I also knew to take a good book when mother “went fishin’” because if the bluegills and catfish started biting, there would be no time limit set on our expedition.

Over the years I have come to realize how much a person is shaped by the environment in which one develops. Both Bill and I grew up with a strong sense of place and have been driven to create a place that would shape and define our own children.  We have always wanted to make our place a home our kids and their kids could come home to.  And even when they were far away, they would carry home in their DNA.

I have lived now in Indiana for five decades, much longer than the time I called Michigan “home”.  I have learned to love Indiana and its vast “oceans” of corn and soybeans, wheat and grasses.  I love the smell and beauty of freshly plowed soil and newly mown hay. Yet I still have fresh water “seas” in my veins, and my soul quickens at the sent of the breeze blowing over a fresh water lake surrounded by pines and birches.

So imagine my surprise and delight when for Christmas Bill gave me a week in Michigan to do whatever I wanted!  All winter and spring I have been planning this trip, choosing places I most wanted to absorb that would be “pure Michigan” to me.  I wanted to choose places, too, that would let Bill truly experience the essence of Michigan.

Because my family could never afford a hotel of any kind, especially one on any of the Great Lakes, I chose to drive the south to north border of the state, hugging Lake Michigan on highway 31.  I chose to spend four days on the northwest side of the “mitten” and three days on the very Dutch and Norwegian southwest shore.

In Petoskey (famous for the fossil-formed stones that wash up on the Petoskey beaches), we enjoyed the historical Bay View Inn on Lake Michigan and made day trips from there to the enchanting town of Glen Harbor near the Sleeping Bear Dunes, visiting galleries full of the creations of the artists inspired by the breathtaking environment.  We ate dinner every evening where we could see (and smell) Lake Michigan.  We had our fill of lake perch, prepared exactly like my mother did, dusted with a simple mix of flour and corn meal, salt and pepper and pan fried. 

The last three days we spent in Holland, and like the name implies, this area has a strong Dutch influence, from the Windmill Island and Dutch Reformed Churches, to the greatest Tulip Festival this side of, well, Holland, where sometime in May color reigns with acres of tulips of every variety.

This time of year, however, fruit is everywhere!  In the Petoskey-Traverse City area, it’s cherries—huge sweet black bing cherries and red sour cherries—to buy and to pick.  Cherries everywhere!  Cherry pies, cherry jam, cherry scones and muffins, cherries to eat fresh like candy.

In Holland it’s blueberry season. There are acres of blueberry fields where families can pick-your-own blueberries.  And when blueberry season is over, it will be peaches, then apples. The sandy acidic soil of Michigan is perfect for all kinds of fruit and also for pines, birches, dogwoods, hydrangeas, and azaleas.  Flowers, too, love this soil and bloom from home gardens, planters, and window boxes.

My sweet lover drove around a thousand miles to give me Michigan. When we were headed  home, we went through the little town where I grew up, past the church my parents pastored on the St. Joe River, where the youth group speared carp and fished for trout.  We had our last dinner at Bill’s favorite Michigan restaurant,  Win Schuler’s In Marshall, famous for prime rib and crocks of cheese spread.

When we got home, the corn had grown a foot, and the Madison County 4-H Fair was about to begin.  We got on our old dilapidated golf cart and took our dog Windsor for a ride to check on the pines and birches Bill has planted around our creek for the last 50 years to give me a feel and smell of Michigan. Home again.  And again.

Michigan

To live between the Lakes,
To always have the awareness
That we are safely held
By great bodies of water—
No August can be so dry,
No summer so hot
As to erase the knowing
That there is water enough.
The sign says NO SALT—NO SHARKS
Great bodies of fresh water
Fed by deep springs—
We live aware that there is water enough
For my parched soul
Water enough.

--GLG 7/2023

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Going Home

Bill and I had been away from home about a week, holding services in a church in eastern Tennessee.  Our little Suzanne had been as patient as a one-year-old could be.  Finally, the last night, we said good-bye to our friends and packed our bags and boxes into our station wagon.  I shook hands with the last of the people in the church lobby, then headed for the Sunday school room we had used as a dressing room to put Suzanne’s pajamas on her and jump into my jeans for the long drive home from Tennessee to Indiana.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Suzanne asked, “Where are we going now, Mommy?”  Children of traveling parents ask that question a lot.

“Home, sweetheart,” Bill answered.  “We’re going home.”

She clapped her hands and made up a song.   “Going home.  We’re going home,” she sang until she finally fell asleep.

As we drove away from the city lights and onto the highway, I remembered how safe I felt as a child in the warm cocoon of our family car--heading home.  My parents traveled often to conventions and other ministerial meetings.  We were gone so often that my mother bought me an extra set of schoolbooks so I could keep up my work.  There was something so comforting about finally leaving the place we’d been visiting to head home where we belonged.

Bill must have been thinking about something very similar. “I remember when I was a kid, Mom and Dad would take us to Nashville to the Ryman Auditorium for the all-night singings,” he mused.  “I’d beg and beg until Dad would finally agree to make the trip.  He’d say, ‘We’ll go, but you better stay in the seat for every bit of that singing.’ I think he was sorry he ever said that when, at one in the morning, I was still there listening to the very last song!  And yet I remember how happy I felt when Dad would put his arm around my shoulder and say, “Come on: let’s go home, and we’d pile into the car and head for the farm in Indiana.  I was so full of music and dreams about someday singing like that that I wouldn’t stop talking for miles.”

Suzanne had given us an idea for a new song, and her little tune kept going through our minds.  Children who have to travel as much as ours did seldom beg to go someplace.  Instead, they beg to stay home.  Home is the sweetest place of all.  They know; they’ve been everywhere else! 

In a way we’re all children of a traveling family.  We’ve seen some nice places.  We’ve stayed in some nice houses.  We’ve had some memorable experiences and met some great people.  But we really don’t live in those places. 

And sometimes the miles get long and the attractions--no matter how exciting--get to be just another county fair.  No matter how much we sleep, we don’t ever seem to be at rest.  No matter how sweet the fellowship or how pleasant the hospitality, we don’t ever seem to really belong.

But one of these days our Father will scoop us up in His strong arms and we will hear Him say those sweet and comforting words, “Come on, my child.  We’re going home.”

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Our World in Turmoil

The world is in turmoil.
Bewilderment and confusion at the deepest level
     fulfill the ancient prediction
        black will be white—
           wrong will be right.

Absolute truths have been made relative . . .
Even the Golden Rule has been tarnished—altered to read:
     “Do to others what You think they would do to You
         if they had the chance.”

Goodness seems to always have an angle.
Manipulate-your-way-to-the-top lessons begin in daycare.
Theology is twisted to create more loopholes—
     true righteousness is the object of scorn,
        even in ecclesiastical circles.

The questions children ask are answered with cynicism.
Innocence is destroyed before it can have a chance to root
     and sprout into virtue.

Build an ark, Lord.
Call some crazy Noah for our day.
Find with Your perfect vision someone who will saw wood
     (when it has never rained) to build a great ship.
Rescue a remnant of trust—
     a fragment of faith.

And, Lord, if even the jackass was invited
to bring a mate and start anew,
        could You choose—could You use me?

From SIMPLE PRAYERS
©2006 Gloria Gaither

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Free To Be Grateful

I was born three months after Pearl Harbor was bombed.  I remember (barely) rationing of certain materials and food stuffs, gas, and metals.  I can recall my mother’s friends talking about “the war effort” and “rolling bandages”.

I grew up with a cousin (born in the same month as I) whose father, my father’s only brother, was wounded in action in New Guinea and was given a “purple heart.”  At four years old I wasn’t sure why the real heart he had wasn’t good enough, but my family spoke about it like it was an honor to have the purple one.  When he came home to claim his little daughter from my grandmother and grandfather who were caring for her, he brought a new wife who was the army nurse that had tended to his wounds in the army hospital.  As it turned out, she was from Mississippi and had the only real southern accent in our family.

My uncle finished his education in literature and theater with a civil defense loan and taught in the Chicago area until he retired.  He and his army nurse wife had four more children.   Phoebe, the cousin who was like a sister, kept in touch until she died, and Jeannie, one of the other four children, came to spend the day with me when we were singing at Willow Creek Church.

My father never served in the military, but became a wonderful pastor who with my artist/writer mother built strong congregations in Michigan.  Both of them had a passion for people and instilled in my sister and me a love for God’s kingdom the world over.

One of Bill’s earliest memories is of his sixth Christmas Eve, when, at his family’s Christmas gathering, word came that his Aunt Lillie’s handsome son Glen had been killed in Germany only a few days after he had been deployed.  This bright young man was engaged to a lovely girl and had hoped to go into the ministry of the Nazarene Church where he had been active in the youth group. 

From then on for years, there was certain sadness for Bill about Christmas Eve, and the Gaither family celebration.   Maybe that is why we tried to make new memories with our children on Christmas morning.

Like most families, ours has been affected by the loss or injury of one of our own who served in the defense of our country.  For Aunt Lillie the fracture to her soul caused by losing a son never fully healed, though she lived to be in her nineties.    And my family was changed forever by “the war”.  Many men and women who have experienced the horror of war carry deep wounds.  Scar tissue of the spirit finally forms, and life goes on.  But nothing is ever quite the same.  There are emotional sacrifices that go on long after “Johnny comes marching home”.

The freedom that we treasure in America is unique in all the world.   Many of us will travel this fourth of July week to gather and celebrate our country and remember the sacrifice each of our families has made back over the years to help freedom keep ringing.   Let’s use these freedoms—rare in the world—to do good things.

We are free to help others,
free to assemble,
free to be generous,
free to pray,
free to learn,
free to criticize and question.

Let us always be aware that freedom is not free.  It has come at great cost, a price that should cause us to live aware and grateful.   And may we never misuse this precious freedom or use it as a license to take away someone else’s freedom. 

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More Information

We thought we needed more information.
We thought that we would make better decisions
if we knew more.
The apple offered control of our lives . . .
of other lives.
If we just had the apple, our own personal apple,
no one, not even God, could tell us what to do.
So we got the information;
we drove at breakneck speed through the information highway.
We raced through the orchard making a network of brickyards
between apple trees.
Now we have information.
We sit so immobilized by so much information
that we can no longer make choices—
We have no way to weigh so much information.
Dazed and intoxicated by the glut, we are paralyzed to act,
to feel, to move.
The apple juice drips from our chins
as we stare blankly at images of each other,
images we can manipulate and alter on the screen.
Oh, Lord, we have too much information!
And we have lost—with our innocence
our wisdom,
our outrage,
our delight, 
our Eden.

From SIMPLE PRAYERS
©2006 Gloria Gaither

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Peace, Rest, and Joy

If I read the gospels correctly, the marks of the followers of Jesus should be peace, rest, and joy.  This peace is not fragile like the so-called peace the world gives.  This is a peace that is not the victim of the unpredictable circumstances of life.  It is a peace that settles the troubled heart and calms anxiety, even in the midst of chaos. And the rest that Jesus promised is a rest we can know even when we are working, because we don’t plow through this world alone. The heavy lifting is what Jesus came to do.  As we learn from Him more and more about what God is like and discover His amazing intentions for us, long term, we come to trust what He is up to in our lives and trust the process life uses to get us there.

Each of these qualities of life (peace, rest, and joy) is a result, not a cause.  Looking at life from this end, as Bill and I now can, we have begun to recognize some of the beautiful teachings of our Lord that result in a life of peace, rest, and joy. We have had to learn these principles He taught by making a lot of mistakes and hitting a few walls.  God’s love really does take “all things” and weave them into the fabric of “good” when we have a heart for God,  He gently teaches us bit by bit the things that lead to a life of peace, rest, and joy—eventually.

Over coffee one morning recently, we made a list of ten things we have come to recognize as God’s best paths to rest, peace and joy. We all learn the words on this list, but to live ourselves into actually making them a part of who we are—well, that doesn’t happen overnight. You can probably add to this list the things you, too, wish you had known from the beginning, but can probably only learn by experience.

INTEGRITY: Be real, be honest, be transparent, be true.  The word integrity comes from integrated.  I must ask myself: when someone looks at me, do they see the same person from every angle.  My mother used to say that a person of integrity is “all wool and a yard wide.”  She was a seamstress and loved fine fabrics.  She especially liked a fabric that was woven from pure natural fibers—all linen, all cotton, all silk, all wool.  This meant that the long fibers had been combed smooth and woven tightly both ways—the warp (the fibers that ran lengthways) and the woof (the fibers that ran crossways), woven so consistently that the resulting garment would hold its shape through wear and washings over time.  It was beautiful on both sides.  In life, the people with integrity are honest, transparent, and not only tell the truth, but are true. Integrity means that in every circumstance of life all areas of life are integrated into one person.  Integrity means that no time needs to be wasted “covering your tail.”

PASSION:  When the world seems to suck the energy from our work, can we keep our passion for our calling?  The world is dying for want of passion.  If we can keep focused on the things that last forever, God will renew the passion for our purpose.  We eventually learn that our inner life and our outer life have to be in balance.  Someone has rightly said, “The thing that will most likely destroy your ministry will be ministry itself.”  When our “on stage” life in any vocation becomes our real life, we’re in trouble.

PERSPECTIVE:  In any situation, take a step back and allow the issue at hand to take its rightful place in the grand scheme of things.  Know and read enough history to learn to not allow today’s one present situation or incident to hide the big picture.  You can eclipse the moon with a dime, if you hold the dime close enough to your eye. Learn to ask yourself, “In the light of eternity, how much importance will this have?”  I like to tell myself, “Think forever.”

COMPASSION:  Don’t allow yourself to be encased in a comfort cocoon.  God always shoves us out of our comfort zones.  Be awake to what people around us are experiencing:  pain, loss, tragedy, disappointments, reversals, successes, breakthroughs—in our families, our communities, our area, our world.  This demands more than a donation; it demands involvement.  Listen.  Care. Respond. Let our hearts be broken by the things that break the heart of God, but also really rejoice with those who rejoice!

STEWARDSHIP:  We are all called, whether we have little or much, to use well and wisely whatever resources we have—physically, spiritually, intellectually, financially, emotionally.

GENEROUSITY:  Live outward.  Relationships—marriage, friendships, parenting, sibling relationships, worship—are not barter.  Give without strings attached, but with wisdom, to affect change and help to lift others higher toward healthy relationships.  Let’s commit to leave others who are in our lives better because of their relationship with us.

PERSERVERENCE:  Don’t give up, Don’t quit.  Remember Who is in the harness of life with us.  We are not alone, and though the world is not our kingdom, God so loved the world that He gave Himself for it.  He made it.  He loved it.  He redeemed it.  See the big picture; think “forever”.  Don’t give up on the world or yourself. 

EXPECTANCY:  Our dear friend and mentor, Ann Smith, has taught us to start each day with expectancy, not expectations. If we start today with expectations, we will almost certainly be disappointed.  But if we live with expectancy, we will always be surprised and amazed at what obstacles God moves and what wonders He brings.  Recognize the miracles we trip over every day, praying for miracles.

GRATITUDE:  I’m not sure whether to start with gratitude or end with it.  Maybe both.  No matter what, if we’re awake and alive, “thank you” is always a good place to start.  And end.  Learn to notice.  Fill our hearts with gratitude.  Make a “grateful list”—not of just things, but people, relationships, kindnesses, gifts of encouragement, beauty, conveniences, tender gestures. Be thankful for our minds and health, for sights, sounds, smells, tastes, textures....

CONTENTMENT:  The Apostle Paul said it best: “I have learned in whatever state I find myself, therewith to be content.”  Rest contentedly knowing that you are known, you are loved, you are real, and you matter. 

Peace and rest come from these ten qualities at work in every day.  Peace and rest are the inevitable result.  These are what our Father intends for us.  Seeing us have them brings Him—and us—great JOY!

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Singing Over You

One of my morning devotional readings is from Sarah Young’s book of prayers Jesus Listens.  One of the attached Bible readings for the day was from the not-so-read book of Zephaniah.  Since I am not fond of taking scripture verses out of context, I read the whole chapter, then decided to read all three chapters of this short prophecy.  Toward the end of the book was the verse often quoted by musicians and worship leaders, “The Lord God...will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zeph. 3:17)

What I rediscovered, of course, was Zephaniah’s rant about what happens to stubborn, self-absorbed, compromised so-called people of God who buy into the wicked culture around them and think they’re too cool for God.  The prophet describes a searing destruction and a spiritual burn-over caused by the scorching “jealousy” of a God who will not play footsies with other gods or share affections with lesser powers.

But after this raging prophecy comes this: 

I will leave in your midst
A meek and humble people,
And they shall trust in the name of the Lord.
The remnant of Israel shall do no more unrighteousness
And speak no more lies
Nor shall a deceitful tongue be found in their mouths:
For they shall feed their flocks and lie down,
And no one shall make them afraid.

Evidently, fear is the result of all the bad behaviors of a disobedient and perverse culture.  Well, that makes sense.  Evil choices breed violation, molestation, disregard for boundaries, arrogance, and the-law-doesn’t-apply-to-me power plays.  The result of these are lawlessness and crime.  Fear—fear is the natural resulting spirt of the age.

Sound familiar? Today’s counselors are constantly talking about fear—fear-based teaching, fear-based parenting, fear-based choices.

“But the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” Fear of the Lord.  This is a freeing fear.  This fear means the awe that one feels in the presence of true greatness.  The fear of the Lord brings peace because the only Higher Power is given control to put things in perfect order, within and without. Our feuding conflicts are quieted.  This is the only war won by surrender.  A “meek and humble people” will breathe a sigh of relief.  Joy restored.  Free at last!  Praise God Almighty, we’re free at last! 

Only now will the God-fearing remnant, that has endured through it all, hear the blessing the prophet predicted.

Sing, O daughter of Zion!
Shout, O Israel!
Be glad and rejoice with all your heart....
You shall see disaster no more....
Do not fear;
Zion, let not your heart be weak.
The Lord your God is in your midst,
The Mighty One will save.
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.
(Zeph. 3:14-17)                                                

“And the angel said, fear not, for I bring to you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people, for unto you (in you) is born this day... a Savior who is Christ the Lord....Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.”

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The Really Big News

Our Alexandria Times Tribune comes only once a week.  It sort of takes that long for the news to pile up enough to warrant an edition.  The Tribune reports the obituaries of people who have lived here maybe all of their lives, or at least enough of their lives to earn the title of being “from here”.

Photo by Valarie Jerrils

In our paper there are all the latest wins and losses of the Tiger’s basketball, baseball, tennis, volleyball, wrestling teams.  Many of the last names of jr. high and high school athletes are the same family names Bill and I knew when we taught high school English when we first met. Bill’s family on both sides are “from here”. 

The Tribune also runs four or five columns by local writers who cover town history, life lessons from sports, and observations of human and natural behaviors. Sometimes there are comments of economic and political developments in our local and state governments.

But I want to talk to you about the front page.  A recent lead story is about a man who lives on the street on the way to the high school.  Every three weeks or so he puts a new sign in his yard, giving a short message and a Bible verse.  He says he does this because he knows how many challenges come to kids these days, and he feels called to point them to the Word of God.  When he was in his formattable years there were two convocation speakers whose stories lodged in his heat and eventually let him to trust the God who they said changed their directions. 

Another front-page story was celebrating a woman who is retiring after fifty years of service to a Senior Health and Living facility.  The story said that after 30 years as an aide, she moved to laundry and was outstanding because of the care she gave to her job, including “matching outfits to hang together in order to save closet space and make life a bit easier” for the residents.  She told how the staff at the facility had become like family that because of that she hated to leave.

Our town gives what we call a “Samaritan’s Heart” award to honor “heroes who perform extraordinary deeds and are bright lights in the community.”  This issue celebrated Pete Sayre who, among many other services to our town, was the favorite bus driver when our kids were in public school. 

The other two front page features were the ribbon cutting for the summer opening of the B & K Root Beer Stand under new management, and the approval by the school corporation to give our Superintendent the go-ahead on a bond sale to do much needed renovations of the school gymnasium and other projects on our school campuses.

When I hear talk show politicians refer to the wide belly of our country as the “fly-over zone”  and belittle the intelligence of the heartland for its faith and naivety, I think to myself than one could do far worse than to live in and espouse the values of a community where the front page story is of woman who was revered  for fifty years of service because she cared enough to sort pieces of laundry so someone with limited mobility could access them, because, after all, life is more than a job and community is a word bigger than living in the same subdivision—gated or not.

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Super Bloom

After several drought years, California has been deluged with rain adding up to one of the wettest winters on record.  The rainfall has filled the empty reservoirs and swollen the creeks and rivers.  The parched hillsides and canyons that sweltered last summer and sent fire warnings throughout the state are now dazzling eyes with vibrant green.

Wonder of wonders!  The arid desert areas and the thirsty hills have burst into glorious bloom.  Color everywhere!  Following the rains, vivid yellows, poppy oranges, blues, and purples are turning the barren browns into vistas of blossoms, causing traffic to stop on the freeways so drivers can snap cell-phone pictures of the swaths of outrageous color.

Who knew?  Under the wasteland of drought, deep beneath the char of grassfires, lay seeds.  Seeds everywhere—poppy seeds, mustard, goldfield, and phlox seeds have turned into carpets of color.  This amazing season of super bloom can even be seen from satellites that are sending back images to immortalize this fleeting wonder.

Warnings are being sent now asking tourists not to strike out through the fields and hillsides and trample the flowers before they have a chance to run their course and deposit their seeds onto ground that will hopefully hold them through other dry spells.

Ah, to know the seeds are there.  To know that in the barren places and in desert lands there are seeds.  To see proof that no matter how dry the days, how long the drought, there are seeds. To see with our own eyes that even through the fires, seeds remain, and come spring rains, the desert will flower.  The streams of mercy and the reservoirs of grace will fill with life-giving water once more, and the “desert will blossom like a rose”!

Today watching the aerial photos of California in bloom, my soul is saying, “Yes!”  The rains will come.  The thirsty places will flourish again. The seeds are just waiting for the rain.

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What’s It All About, Emilie?

Photo by Ashley Garrett

Bill and I flew to New York last week to see our daughter’s amazing performance in the play about one of the first female physicist whose life work was to disprove Newton’s Laws of Physics and prove the formula that would be used later by other scientists, including Einstein, as the basis for the theory of relativity.

Emilie:  Le Marquise du Chatelet Defends Her Life Tonight by Lauren Gunderson* is a powerful, humorous, and emotional telling of the Marquise’s story by Emilie herself, now three centuries after she died in childbirth before her work was finished and before she received the credit she deserved. 

Photo by Sam Rothermel

In the play, the tensions with which this 18th century woman lived in order to be a mathematician and researcher makes her, now looking back, puzzle over two great forces of her life:  love and science.  These tensions informed many of her choices both positive and negative.

For Bill and me, the power of story and the depth of our daughter’s performance left us both proud and drained.  The conclusive monologues by Emilie were for us reminiscent of both the speeches of the Stage Manager and Emily in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town (which Bill and I directed together when we taught high school English) and the conclusions Solomon came to in the final chapter of Ecclesiastes.

Both Emily in Our Town and Emilie le Marquise du Chatelet died in childbirth long before their work was done.  Both struggled with leaving relationships, as well as life itself, unfinished.  Both had revelations about the meaning of life when they looked back at their choices and priorities.

For these two women (one in the 18th century, one in the early 20th century) there was so much that ended before its time.  They both had to come to grips with the questions:  What is eternal?  What lasts?  Did I matter and what defines mattering?  What do I hold to when all else fails?

Emilie La Marquis says at the end:

            All we have is the moment of having
And the hope that we knew something real....

Emily in Our Town ends her conclusion with another question: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”  And maybe this is the question that is as near to an answer as we get—no answers, but better, deeper questions to which (as the poet Rannier Marie Rilke suggested) we are willing to live ourselves into the answers.

Solomon’s Temple

As for Solomon, unlike these two women, his life was not cut short.  He didn’t struggle for publication or options for his days.  He had it all, did it all, indulged himself in every way.  He built it all and enjoyed power, wealth, possessions, accumulation, and prestige.  As for reputation, he was crowned the wisest man who ever lived.  Yet his conclusion for all this was, “Meaningless! Meaningless!  Everything is meaningless!” Looking back with regret on his long life of striving, he declared that the thing he should have known in the beginning was this:

Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man;
For God will bring every deed unto judgement, including every hidden thing whether it is good or evil.

So, what is the takeaway for us?  Maybe it is to live our lives and to teach our children to live each day recognizing what is eternal in each moment—in big things (what makes them big?) and in little things (by whose assessment?). Will it last?  “... And when time has surrendered, and earth is no more...” what then?

In our waking and in our sleeping, in our working and our playing, in community and in solitude, in our aspirations and in any accomplishment, ask God to show us what is real and what is earnest, and then to give ourselves away for what will outlast time itself.

* Copyright © 2010 by Lauren Gunderson
Directed by Kathy Gail MacGowan
Through April 30, 2023
The Flea Theater
20 Thomas Street, NY, NY

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Come Home with Us

As we walk through the milestone moments of Holy Week, trying once more to realize these events in real time and with the wisdom of hindsight, we see so many connections the friends of Jesus must have missed at the time. 

This year my attention focused on the days after the resurrection, the ways Jesus visited His followers to make them (and us) certain that, indeed, He was alive and to bring them a strong hope that He would be with them to the end of measured time.

The more I reread the accounts of these days as told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and of the walk Jesus took with the two on the road to Emmaus, the more convinced I am that the two were most likely a married couple, both of whom were very close to Jesus.  Luke’s account names one of them Cleopus, a name scholars say had more than one spelling. Like us after a life-changing event (think 9/11 or the assassination of John Kennedy or Martin Luther King) these two were going over and over the details of Jesus’s crucifixion and the events leading up to it.

While they are intent on their discussion, Jesus joins them on the road.  They didn’t see Him coming; He was suddenly just there.  They noticed Him when He asked what they were talking about.  Cleopus said, ”How could you have missed what the whole area is talking about—the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth who many believe was the Messiah?”

Jesus enters the discussion, and as the two recall each event of the last several days, Jesus begins connecting the dots for them from the writings of the prophets and the Psalms and the things the two tell Him that Jesus has said over the time they had been with Him.  The two were so moved by what Jesus was connecting for them that it was evidently an ah-ha moment for them both.

Who was this other person?  I believe it was “the wife of Clopus” (Cleopus), the “other Mary” referred to as being with the women at the tomb the morning of the resurrection.  (Matt. 28:1) In Luke’s account at the tomb were Mary Magdalene, Johanna, Mary the mother of James “with the others” who then ran to tell the disciples that Jesus was alive.

Weren’t Cleopas and his wife Mary two who would have known the details of the story from different perspectives? It was certainly “Mary the wife of Cleopas” who stood with Jesus’s mother, His mother’s sister, and Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross.  It was they who heard the exchange between Jesus and John when Jesus asked Mary to look to John as if he were her son and John to treat Mary as he would his own mother.

When the two and Jesus came to the fork in the Emmaus road, Jesus seemed to be going on when the two turned toward their home.  They begged him not to leave them, but to come home with them for supper and, since it was toward evening, spend the night.

 The conversation must have been so rich after that.  How their “hearts burned within them” as it does when someone opens our eyes to some brand-new insight. How deep the revelations of the last few hours with Him had been! 

But then this guest that they had invited to eat with them, spend the night with them, stood at their table and like he was the host and they were the guests, took the bread and broke it.  In that moment a sense of déjà vu came over them.  They had seen this before, this breaking of the bread with these hands.  They suddenly recognized Him for who He was.  And just like He had appeared on the road, he slipped away from them and was gone.

What was the conversation after that?  Did they recall the time Judas (not Iscariot) had asked Jesus when he was going to reveal Himself to the world at large so he could get a bigger following without risking so much? And Jesus’s answer that he would reveal Himself only to those who loved Him.  Love first; get revelations after?  And how these two had loved Him! Did the revelations of this night come because they had loved Him so?  One thing was certain—He was alive and being with Him made them more alive than they’d ever been.

There would be no easy way of loving this Jesus.  It would demand everything.  There would be no playing it safe.  It might be dangerous.  But it would also be magnificent like these last few hours had been.  Whatever the cost, they would follow Him.

It Takes Us All to Tell the Story

It was a borrowed room. Who prepared the Passover dinner? We don’t know.  We do know it was the Day of Unleavened Bread on which the Passover lambs had to be sacrificed to atone for the sins of each family.  So many lambs.  So much blood. We know that Jesus had asked Peter to go to the entrance to the city and there would be a man carrying a jar of water.  “Meet up with him,” Jesus had instructed, “and follow him.  When he enters a house, tell the owner of the house that the teacher asks where the guest room is where he may eat the Passover meal with his disciples.”  The owner, then, would show Peter a large upper story room, all furnished where Peter could make preparations.

We also know that Jesus began the evening by washing his disciples’ feet, something that servants usually did for guests that had walk the dusty roads in the sandals of the day.  Peter had objected to this, since the disciples viewed Jesus as their master teacher. But Jesus had said that if Peter didn’t let him serve him, he would have no place in the Kingdom of God. Evidently, the others didn’t resist.  Was it because they understood that they, too, must be servants, or was it because they wanted to ensure that they would have status in what they perceived to be a new earthly kingdom?

We assume that the actual meal followed the traditional ritual that Jewish families had observed since that night Moses helped the children of Israel escape from Egyptian bondage. There were probably four sections of the meal, representing the four expressions of redemption God made to Moses (Exodus 6:2-8): I will take you out, I will deliver you, I will redeem you (buy you back), and I will acquire you (make you my own). With each part of the meal, there was a cup of wine poured to celebrate that completed promise.

Traditionally, there was a fifth cup of wine that referred to an uncompleted promise.  It was called Elijah’s cup, and it sat throughout the meal or was poured last, but was never touched. There was also an empty seat at the table for Elijah, for the belief was that Elijah would return and announce that the Messiah had come.  Some call the fifth cup the cup of sorrows.  We do know that Jesus broke the bread (unleavened bread in remembrance of the haste the bread had to be prepared so the Israelites could flee quickly). He passed the unleavened bread to his disciples and said “Take this and eat.  It is my body that is broken for you.”

I believe that it was, then, Elijah’s cup that Jesus picked up.  I can just hear those nice Jewish boys suck air, for they would have been slapped if they had touched this cup at their families’ Passover meal.  But it was what Jesus said to them that night that makes me believe it was this cup that He picked up now, the cup of sorrows, Elijah’s cup, for Jesus said, “This is my blood that is shed for you.  Share this with me and drink all of it, that your joy may be full.”

Didn’t he say that they would grieve and be filled with sorrow, but that the grieving would turn to joy?  Didn’t he compare this sorrow to the excruciating pain of childbirth—that it would be temporary and necessary so that there would follow a great joy, a joy that would be permanent like the joy of delivering a perfect new baby?

Talk about a cup of sorrow!  He would drink this cup to the dregs in just a few hours in the Garden of Gethsemane where He would see in it all the sins from Eden to Gethsemane and from Gethsemane to the end of time. It would be such a deep, life-threatening labor, this awareness of what was in the cup, that his human body systems were not adequate for this awareness, and his cells would hemorrhage. Yet, he would drink it, all of it.  And, yes, so that our joy might be full.

These last moments with the Master were so packed with dots to connect, things to remember, words to comprehend that we are still unpacking them.  Like witnesses to an accident or viewers at a happening, each of the disciples afterward remembered and reported different specifics as each wrote their own account later. It took them all to give us an inkling, yet the half has never yet been told.

To Judas, Jesus said, “Hurry up and do what you are going to do.”  And to impetuous Peter he said, “You will deny me three times before the rooster announces tomorrow’s dawn.” Aw, but then Jesus follows that sad prediction with these amazing words of mercy: “But let not your heart be troubled.  You believe in God, believe also in me.... I go to prepare a place for you and if I go, ... I will come again and receive you unto myself that where I am you will be also.”

As the events of that last night unfolded, the urgency of Jesus’s words became more and more intense.  Like a parent running down the driveway as their child leaves with the packed U-Haul headed out for college and the rest of their lives, calling after her, “Drive carefully, and don’t forget, you can always call home....”, so Jesus piles on the instructions and warnings, reminding his own of their experiences together and trying to make them understand what is coming, though they have no experiences, yet, to help them comprehend what the future has in store.

And do we? Even now in the aftermath of the crucifixion and the resurrection, the appearances and the ascension, we still stand looking skyward, not sure what we have experienced these last two and a half millennia. Can we hear the voice saying to us why do you stand here gazing into heaven? This same Jesus who ascended from you will one day come again. Stop gawking in amazement and go! Serve as He served. Forgive as He forgave. Love as He loved. Go and be what He is. Just BE!

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Spring Thaw

Something is stirring that I can’t see.  The days are still mostly gray.  The wind that seems to howl through the pines still darken the spirit after the long weeks of winter.  Sometimes the cold rain freezes to sleet and then changes to snow flurries still into March.

But something is stirring in the depths.  I can feel it, this stirring at the core of things, as if the solid ice deep in the dirt is loosening its hold, and the roots of trees are stretching and yawning like a baby awakening from a nap, reaching tiny fingers out to grasp something yet unseen.

Deep below the frozen creek the springs are becoming insistent to urge their way upward.  Fall leaves, frozen to the underside of the ice, are peeling loose to move downstream below the glassy surface.

And something is stirring inside of me.  My spirit is restless to break through the depression of the gray winter and the pessimism of the times to something new, a hope that will not be denied.

Hope will rise!  It always does, because hope is not always “whispering”.  It is also persistent, insistent and powerful.  It is as tough as nails in the face of setbacks.  Something there is that will not accept defeat. Under the ice of discouragement, the push of the current of hope flows to the sea of God’s grace.  Deep below the frozen surface of pessimism, the living roots of faith are expanding, pushing outward to secure the underpinnings of a growth that, above ground on the dark branches, reaches for the sky in fresh blossoms of certainty.

We are living in perilous times.   When has history ever played it safe?  We mark history by the crises faced in every decade and all over the world. But it has always been the household of faith that has taken in the world’s lost and broken, the “wretched refuse of its teeming shores”.  For those with deep springs of commitment, crisis is simply a call to action.

Yes, the ground is thawing.  The green shoots are pushing through to the surface.  In spite of everything winter threatened, the trees are budding, and the underground springs are bringing fresh currents to sluggish streams.  Life wins!  It always does.  God promised:

                           While the earth remains,
                           Seedtime and harvest,
                           Cold and heat
                           Summer and winter,
                           And day and night
                           Shall not cease.

And Jesus said, “...I have come that they may have life, and have it more abundantly.”  Yes!

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The Gift of Dandelions

Dandelions dotted my childhood. When the long Michigan winter began to admit defeat, there were dandelions, spreading their leaves like fingers, flat and broad, across the greening grass with their tiny fists of buds in the middle.  Their first spring appearance was signal for my mother to grab a plastic bucket and a long-bladed kitchen knife and hit for the yard and meadow to harvest those tender plants and buds for our first batch of dandelion greens.

I went along beside her to take the piles of uprooted plants and put them in her bucket.  When it was full and pressed down, we went to the kitchen to trim away any extra root or yellowed leaves, then plunge the greens into a sink full of cold water and vigorously swish away any soil and sand.   The greens then went to a drainer while mother filled the sink one more time and added a generous handful of salt to dislodge from the leaves any snails or insects that have survived the first wash. 

While the greens drained from the final bath, mother fried a pound of bacon until it was crispy, draining it, too, on some paper towel to cool.  Next, she poured most of the bacon grease into a coffee can, then began wilting the greens, one skillet full at a time, until all the greens were wilted.  Meanwhile, she mixed in a small bowl, apple cider vinegar, a bit of sugar, and a few dashes of salt to pour over the greens, then kept them warm on the stove until she was ready to serve this delicacy; she put them in her prettiest bowl and crumbled the crisp bacon on top.  There was not another treat like this--the first taste of spring!

As the season progressed, the yard was punctuated with the bright yellow blossoms of dandelions.  I couldn’t resist picking handfuls of them to present to mother as a bouquet.  She always made over them like they were a prize from the most fashionable florist and put them in her prettiest bud vases to display the kitchen window.

Later in the summer, when our family went walking in the field or the woods behind my grandparent’s farmhouse, we would pick the tall dandelions, blow the feathery seed tops to the wind, then sit down in the tall grass and make necklaces, belts, or crowns out of the long stems. I learned to thread the small end of the stem into the tube of the big end, then link in the next circle until the chain was long enough to go around our waists or our heads.

When our own children came along, I passed these joyful rituals along to them, then delighted later to celebrate dandelions with their children. 

To this day my eyes dance when I see the first dandelion in the spring, and suspect that these underestimated flowers are why yellow has remained to this day my favorite color.  And for me, enjoying dandelions is a great metaphor for celebrating the common things, making do with what we have, and paying attention to the glory of every season of the year--and of life.

And maybe soon we could just invite some friends over for a dinner of pulled pork and dandelion greens!

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The Prophet Speaks

Biblical prophets are not soothsayers who sit around divining the future and decrying our inevitable demise.  True prophets are gifted with an intense sensitivity to the tone of the age and are called by God to alert those who are obvious to where their personal and national choices are taking them.  The hope of a godly prophet is to convince the culture of its destructive direction and to persuade the people to reverse direction and return to God, a God of mercy and forgiveness, and thus avoid a calamitous destination.

 With our own culture in such a chaotic time, it seems this might be a good time to reread the biblical books of prophecy and listen to the principles of wisdom and warning God gave those prophets in similar times.

In the time of Isaiah, as now, people wanted the blessings of God without living up to the conditions on which those blessings rested.  Isaiah passionately believes he has this word from God: the trappings of religiosity are not what delights God, and they will not do!  The form, the liturgy, is supposed to be a symbol of a real communication with God and a reckless abandonment to his purpose.  Without the lived-out reality, the symbolic liturgy is empty, hypocritical, and obnoxious to God.

What follows, then, is a series of “if” clauses, conditions on which the benefits of a Godly life depend.  Isaiah wants us to know that the joy and deep contentment, prosperity and growth, are all a reality, but are dependent our being truly God’s people in this world. In our present vernacular this is what Isaiah in chapter 58 says:

This is a message shouted over a megaphone to get your attention.  You come to God and ask for His guidance and support.  You tell Him how you’ve fasted, gone to growth groups, and attended church.  “Haven’t you noticed, God, how religious we’ve been?” you say.  Yet while you go without food, you do whatever you please, exploit your employees, bicker and fight with your associates, and take no long-term responsibility for the relationships in your life. 

Do you think there is no correlation between the acts of  worship and the life you lead? I’ll tell you what acts of worship get my attention:

• to get involved and do something about the injustices done to those who have no clout in this world

• to care when people are trapped and oppressed, abused and exploited

• to open your home to hungry kids and share your resources with the needy

• to do something about street people, the homeless, the unemployed, the destitute, and those left with no place to go

• to care not just about those far away or those who are one step removed from you, but to take serious responsibility for your own family, immediate and extended, those long-term relationships that wear on you and never go away

If your devotions include these kinds of involvement, then I will break in on your life in amazing ways, the light of insight and inspiration will flood your days, and you yourself will begin to experience wholeness.  Your integrity will speak for itself and precede you everywhere you go, and the very glory of the Lord will guard you from attacks behind your back.

If you refuse to “use” people, destroy others with malicious gossip, or tear them down with harsh judgments and criticism; if you will spend yourself to feed the hungry and risk your own security to challenge the oppressors of this world, then your light will rise in the darkness and shine like the sun at noon – and you won’t even realize how it’s happened.  You will find descending on you a tremendous sense of confidence; you will know without striving to know that God is in charge, looking out for you all the time, and constantly “up to something” in the regularness of your days.  Without seeking “results,” results will just come like plants “just happen” from seeds in a well-cared-for garden and like water “just happens” when you dig deep enough to hit a fresh water spring.

A lot of the damage that has been done to the trust and confidence outsiders have in “religious people” will be repaired by your straight living, honest dealings, and true no-strings-attached commitment. Many a disillusioned person will learn to believe again because of you. If you take seriously my ancient mandate to sanctify a special time solely for spiritual input; if you’ll guard a time to truly reverence and listen to Me – a day set aside every week – that doesn’t get nickeled and dimed away by your own interests and obligations, then you will find to your utter amazement an incredible sense of joy more satisfying by far than the synthetic “fun” people pursue so frantically.

Finally, you will find that you have, as God promised, “possessed the land” instead of the land possessing you, and you will indeed find it to be a “land flowing with milk and honey.” You shall suddenly realize, “I have come home, and I am contented in every way!”

There is no arguing with this. I said it, and I am God.

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