Merry Shibboleth !

shib-bo-leth: a custom, principle, or belief distinguishing a particular class or group of people, especially a long-standing one regarded as outmoded or no longer important

For the record, there are a multitude of sacred and secular festivals celebrated world-wide from November through January.  There are dozens of Christian celebrations during December alone that are not specifically considered "Christmas." These festivities include St. Nicholas Day, St. Lucia's Day, Anastasia of Sirmium, St. Stephen's Day and others.

For several years it has been in vogue to castigate those who choose to welcome one another  with "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas".  The prevailing assumption from the religious center- right seems to be , "If you want to honor the birth of Jesus and the real meaning of the season, you will say 'Merry Christmas'.  If you want to be politically correct so as not to offend those who choose not to celebrate the real meaning of Christmas,then say 'Happy Holidays'. You just need to know that saying 'Happy Holidays' is a slap in the face to the baby Jesus, Santa, the Elf on the Shelf and everything else we hold sacred this time of year."

One of the strangest stories in all of scripture is found in Judges chapter 12.  The story went something like this:  The Ephraimites and the Gileadites were brothers, were kindred tribes of Israel with a common enemy the Ammonites. At least the Ammonites weren't brothers, they were more like first cousins.  Be that as it may, they didn't like the Ammonites.  As this chapter begins the Ephraimites are very angry that the Gileadites went to war against the Ammonites without their help.  They were so mad about it they threatened to destroy the Gileadites. The Gileadites took exception to this and said, "We asked for your help but you didn't help us, but for threatening us we are going to destroy you! And you called us ugly names!" So they attacked them. They then controlled the fords across the Jordan river.  The Ephraimites trying to escape back home had to cross at those fords.  Now this is when the story gets very bizarre.  Because of their dialect, the Ephraimites couldn't pronounce the "sh" syllable, it only came out "s".  So as a test of who's who when the escaping Ephraimites tried to disguise themselves as Gileadites to get back home, they were asked to say "shibboleth."  When it came out "sibboleth" the Gileadites immediately killed them.  The Bible says that the Gileadites killed 42,000 Ephraimites that day. Brothers killing brothers over who got to kill their cousins. It was a great victory.


At Christmastime aren't we all basically doing the same things?  We go shopping to buy gifts to exchange. We go to the homes of family and friends to eat good food, drink good drink and to wish each other well.  We go into houses of worship to celebrate the meaning of the season in our own unique ways with the people we love the most.  We tell again the stories that have been passed down for generations because they mean so much. We read the myths of the season to our children."Twas the night before Christmas..." We tell our children stories that contain no shred of truth simply because it's Christmas.

As we greet each other through this marvelous time, some of us say "Merry Christmas!" For some, including many Christians, who want to cast a larger net that includes the masses who are also celebrating, they say "Happy Holidays!"  It's semantics really.  We are  really all saying the same thing. No one that I know who says "Happy Holidays" is trying to exclude anyone who says "Merry Christmas." They are just aware of the fact that there is much more going on from November to January that Christmas doesn't include. The Christian saying "Happy Holidays" would prefer to include rather than take the chance to exclude. Being politically correct can sometimes be a good thing.

But I will say this.  If you are checking out at the mall and the clerk says, "Say 'Merry Shibboleth'".  Just to be safe, I would say " Merry Shibboleth."

Have a Meaningful Christmas

"And this is what the Lord says, 'A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping; Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted because they are no more." Jeremiah 31:15, Matthew 2:18

The words from Jeremiah are embedded in ancient Jewish history.  The writer of the gospel of Matthew quotes it for another reason.  When  King Herod learned that "the King of Israel" was born in Bethlehem, he ordered the death of all children ages two and under in that city. Thankfully for the Christmas story and the story of redemption, Mary and Joseph had already escaped with their newborn son.  But that first Christmas for hundreds was a horrible time.  You can only imagine that the annual remembrance was one of deep sadness and sorrow, and not one of celebration.

Christmas is not an easy time for millions of people.  The super  joy aspect of the music and festivities can have the opposite effect on some.  Instead of being a time of fun and feasting, it is a time of heartache and gloom.

Obviously if someone has just lost a child, as those mothers in Bethlehem did, then celebrating Christmas would be rather difficult.  But there are many much less dramatic reasons for having a difficult time during the holidays.  The list of reasons would be as long as the list of those suffering. My suggestion then for those people is to change "Have a Merry Christmas" to "Have a Meaningful Christmas".  If parties don't help, then don't go to them.  If the music in the mall makes you nuts then don't go to the mall.  If all the stress of cooking and shopping, is getting you down, then do less cooking and shopping. Find the things that make Christmas meaningful for you and spend your time doing those things. Isolate the things that get you down, and try to avoid them. I realize there are certain realities of responsibilities and obligations, but keep them to a minimum and avoid, as much as possible, the situations that drain your energy and your joy.

Many churches now offer  a Blue Christmas Service.  These services are for these people I'm talking about. The services include candlelight readings and comforting songs and hymns. The service is designed   for serenity and solace instead of cheerfulness and joy. Many churches have this service to coincide with the Winter Solstice, the darkest day of the year. A Blue Christmas Service may sound depressing to some, but if you're depressed already it's an opportunity to connect with kindred spirits and caring people in an organized way. Antidepressants only help those who need them.

So if "Merry Christmas" is a bit of a stretch, work on having a "Meaningful Christmas."  Reduce your expectations both for yourself and the season.  And remember that from that very first Christmas you are not alone in your distress.  Find the people who can help and let them help.  Light a candle. Say a prayer. Sing a song. Just because you can't have a Merry Christmas doesn't mean you can't have Christmas.

Christmas is Born with Love

"Love came down at Christmas
Love all lovely, love divine
Love was born at Christmas
Star and angels gave the sign".  Christina Rossetti, 1885

At Christmas there is an explosion of brotherly love.  At Christmas people are more kindhearted and generous.  At Christmas people are more understanding and forgiving.  During Christmas we reach out to perfect strangers to care for them and to help them. Does this phenomenon say something about Christmas or something about us?

The most love I have felt in my life happened at five different occasions, only one of them at Christmas.  Well one of them was a Christmas service, but it was in June.

1.In October of 1976 my bride said to me "For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health." I had heard those vows repeated a multitude of times. But I had never heard them repeated to my face. It was difficult for me to continue.

2.In June of 1982 I fulfilled a lifetime ambition of attending Church Music Week at the Ridgecrest Baptist Assembly, Black Mountain, North Carolina. The week's itinerary included a service on Thursday evening called "Incarnation."  Although I was a big fan of John Purifoy who was to lead the service,  I  assumed the service was to sell Christmas cantatas and was very skeptical about the whole thing. I was very wrong. I left that service a changed man. For the first time in my life I felt that I understood the meaning of Incarnation--the Word made flesh. The music of John Purifoy and the service touched me in ways that I had never been touched before. It was June. But it was Christmas.

3.In July of 1981 my son was born.  When the nurse handed him to me,  I held him and then lowered him into a warm bath.  When he looked up at me and blinked his eyes I could hardly contain the love I felt for him. That afternoon when I left the hospital I called everybody I could think of "I have a son!!!"

4.In November of 1991 I got hit by a car as a pedestrian.  Although it was a very close call, I was relatively unhurt. Two nights later I was having trouble sleeping so I went downstairs and laid on the couch,  To relax I put on some Christmas music, a CD of the Choir and Orchestra of Clare College Cambridge, England conducted by John Rutter. When the music cycled to Quelle est cette odeur agreable? (Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing?) something happened. It is the nature of mystical experiences that there are no words to describe the experience.  Was it an "out of the body experience"? Was it a "near-death experience"?  The experience was so immediate and so powerful that I got up and set the CD to loop that particular song.  This "other-worldly" experience then continued for several hours. The love I felt from my visitations was not of this world. Or was it? My transcendental state ended with the morning light.

5. In February 2008 my granddaughter was born. That way I felt when my son was born? Multiply it exponentially! Is a human being capable of more love than that for a grandchild? My chest was much too small to contain my affection. It still is.

What do all of these experiences have in common?  They all are a birth. A birth of a new marriage. The birth of Jesus at Bethlehem. The birth of my son. The birth of a life snatched from death. And the birth of my granddaughter. But is that it?  I don't think so.  The thing all of these things have in common is that they all happened to me.  I'm the one who experienced those things, who felt those things.  Those feelings were in me. They always were.

Those feelings are still in me.  Just like that service at Ridgecrest, I don't have to wait for December 25th to experience the love of Christmas.  I don't have to wait for someone to be born or a near-death experience for my heart to melt with love.  All those things I feel and do at Christmas, I  can do them anytime.  And if and when I  do, I  feel the same way I feel at Christmas.  Is it "Love was born at Christmas" or Christmas is born with love?

The entire time I've been writing this I looped Quelle est cette odeur agreable?   As incredible an experience as it was in 1991, I was not trying to achieve an out of the body experience. I am very content to remain in this body.  Those feelings were never out of the body; they were completely within my body. But I did want to be reminded of how fragile my life is, of how marvelous relationships are and just how beautiful Christmas music can be.  I wanted to remember those births and how I felt during each one of them. I wanted to remember that the love that was born on those days can be born again and again.. And if that happens, Christmas can be born on any day.

Christmas Happiness--Thank you Joe!

"Taste and sensory immersion foster happy occasions. Happiness goes beyond satisfaction, and it must be measured through the unfolding of the unexpected, of wonder and memorable occasions."

I always document the origin of my quotes.  I do it for two reasons.  One is that from a research and literary standpoint it's the right thing to do.  The other is so that you can explore that source for yourself if you care to know more about it. In this case I am not going to reveal this source just yet.

At first glance I thought the author had gotten the first sentence backwards.  Shouldn't it read "Happy occasions foster taste and sensory immersion" ?  Regarding a Christmas party, for example, wouldn't the occasion itself allow the opportunity for the taste and sensory experience?  Then I read it again--"Taste and sensory immersion foster happy occasions."  Ah hah !"  It is those sensory experiences that make  the occasion happy.  We go to those parties not to just be in good company, but to enjoy the food and beverages that the host and hostess offer. Imbibing is not just an afterthought of the party, something to do while we're together, it is the main course.

But the next sentence particularly interested me, especially for the Christmas season--"Happiness goes beyond satisfaction, and it must be measured through the unfolding of the unexpected, of wonder of memorable occasions."  If the story of Christmas is nothing else, it is the story of the "unfolding of the unexpected", and of "wonder."   Mary never expected to become pregnant.  Joseph never expected to have to deal with being an unwed father.  Mary and Joseph didn't expect to need to travel to Bethlehem.  They didn't expect to have nowhere to sleep, nowhere to bear her child. The didn't expect to  stay in a stable, the home to the innkeeper's animals.  How could they have expected their guests-- the shepherds and the wise men?  How could they have expected the wise men to bring them delightful and expensive gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh? How in this world or the next could they have expected for their newborn son to be the King of Israel, the Son of God? The entire story is the story of the unexpected. A story of "wonder".

But the story of Christmas doesn't stop there, does it?  This story includes the story of our stories.  Our own Christmas stories are unique and full of "memorable occasions.".   No matter where Christmas finds me each year, I can never forget and should never forget those Christmases at my grandmother's house with my immediate family, my aunts and uncles and cousins.  We all slept in the same house !  Well until we overflowed to my great aunt's house across the street. My brother, my sister and I along with all our cousins woke early to see what Santa had brought. And we were never disappointed.  But that celebration didn't start there.  All of this family had already gathered one month prior to decorate the ten foot tree in the living room.  I can hardly begin to describe the "taste and sensory immersion" of that occasion.  Boiled custard, coconut cake, butter cake, chocolate cake, pound cake, pecan pie, Christmas cookies, rum balls, coffee, tea, egg nog, and so much more.  I've never thought about it till now.  That "sensory immersion" was a significant part of those celebrations.As a child I thought  it was all a prelude to the presents on Christmas Day, but I understand now that even as a young child this "sensory immersion" was all part of its meaning and significance.

But that was forty years ago.  I have experienced forty more Christmases in a myriad of places since then.  They all have become of part of the fabric of my celebration. "Memorable occasions" yield "happiness."

Many times when I read a news article, at the end of the article are links to other articles.  This one caught my eye --Coffee Culture: Thoughts and Paradigms. A few initial thoughts sparked by the Global Coffee Forum.   This forum was a part of International Coffee Day sponsored by the International Coffee Organization.  The quote I referenced for this article is about coffee! Now go back and plug coffee into this equation--"Taste and sensory immersion foster happy occasions."  So now you don't have to wait for a party, you can experience a little happiness anytime you wish. "Do you take cream and sugar?"

Have you ever wondered where "a cup of Joe" came from? When U.S. Navy Secretary Josephus Daniels banned alcohol from Navy ships, the sailors grudgingly called their beer substitute "a cup of Joe." (Urban Dictionary).

Did you notice there was no beer or wine at our tree decorating?  Like I said, it was at my grandmother's house.

The Unpardonable Sin

"They  err who think that Santa Claus enters through the chimney. He enters through the heart." Charles W. Howard

Over the years much has been said and written about "the unpardonable sin."  Since Christians preach and believe that God is a God of mercy and forgiveness, regardless of the offense, this sin must be something unspeakable.   For much of my life I bought into the theology of my childhood.  This way of believing included that when we die we stand naked before an angry God and are accountable for our lives--"death and the judgment".   "Death and the judgment" is an awful thing.  So you certainly don't want "the unpardonable sin" on your resume when you  face the Almighty to be judged.

What I did was unpardonable.  Every Christmas I have to face it. I have to think about it. I have to relive it. I have to regret it. I have to hold it up in front of my face and deal with it.  It was a heinous and horrible offense. And the worst part of it is that one day I'll have to face the judgment!

We all do the things we do for the reasons we do them.  As a church soloist somewhere I had picked up the idea that I was supposed to tell a short and meaningful story before I sang.

In early December 1973 as I stood to sing a solo at my church in Jasper, Alabama, as was customary, I told a personal story about a Christmas at my grandmother's house in Enterprise, Alabama.  Keep in mind that the congregation, just like most church congregations , included young children.  Young impressionable children.  Young believing children.  Young trusting children.  Young listening children. It also included parents and grandparents of those children who propagated certain myths and legends to those children at Christmastime.

Forty two years have past since this horrible moment and I've tried over the years, but to no avail, to block it completely from my thoughts. But some things are so terrible you can never forget.  During this awful, horrible, thoughtless and yes "unpardonable" moment, I told the congregation including young impressionable children. Young believing children. Young trusting children, Young listening children and their parents and grandparents, I told them for reasons I have long forgotten--.about the Christmas I found out for sure there was no Santa Claus.

How in Heaven's name can I  get forgiveness for that !?!

Over the years as I have run into people who were there that fateful morning, they still laugh about it. To this day I don't see the humor in it.  I have to face this music year after year.  And I am going to be answerable to an angry God!   Can you imagine what He's going to say to me on that Great and Terrible Day?  " David, you actually told those children, those young impressionable children, that there was no Santa Claus?".  "Yes sir (gulp) I did."  Long pause (as my life flashes before me)  "Then I think a lifetime of torment is long enough,  Enter into the gates of Heaven.  But there are children here so be careful what you say about Christmas.  And I'll put in a good word for you to good Old Saint Nick! He and I are very close. Very close.  He's a jolly ole fellow and he'll cut you some slack."

I have long since forgiven my childhood church for teaching me so many untruths about the nature of God and for constantly dangling me over the pit of hell.  Thankfully over the  years a much kinder, gentler Being has replaced the angry and wrathful god of my childhood. It must not have occurred to our parents that when those evangelists, who came twice a year, spewed their venom,  the congregation included young children. Young impressionable children, Young believing children. Young trusting children. Young listening children. Either we should have been playing games in the fellowship hall, or those men should have never been given the pulpit.  But people do the things they do for the reasons they do them. In spite of the damage they caused, none of them committed an unpardonable sin.

If we get another chance to do it all again, I'm going to tell that congregation, including those children, about all the marvelous Christmases with my family at my grandmother's house. And I'll leave it at that.  But I won't be singing Santa Claus is coming to town.  Those children just don't need to hear all that stuff about "better watch out I'm telling you why". Whatever their Christmas includes, it shouldn't include the wrath and judgment of Old Saint Nick. Well heck, maybe they don't even think of it that way.

I think I can leave it alone now.  Come to think of it, it is pretty funny.  I'm sure it was cleared up that very day at lunch all over town. It was never an unpardonable offense.  If there is an "unpardonable sin", I don't think it was that.

"Children I've got very good news for you, Good children.  Bad children.  All children. This year, like every other year,  Santa Claus is coming to town!"

The Ghost of Christmas Past

It is unfortunate that we so often define events and activities as either "sacred" or "secular".   Sacred  involves God, the  Bible, the church, etc.  The secular then is everything else. The American Indians, and I imagine aboriginal tribes throughout history, did not make this distinction.  To the Indian everything is sacred.  Everything is done in "a sacred manner." The Indian saw all of creation as a reflection of the Divine.   There is nothing that they experienced with the five senses that was outside of the sphere of the sacred and the spiritual. In their dances the circle they made didn't  just represent the center of the universe, but actually became the center of the universe. Although it's more difficult for them, this sacred manner is  still true for many Indians today.

There is a celebration during December that most Christians either know nothing about or  just choose to ignore .  That celebration is the Winter Solstice.  It's strange that pagans lay claim to this annual event more so than the adherents of any organized religion.  Pagans very often choose not to celebrate Christmas because it is either too religious or too commercialized.  In either case Christmas is just not something that they want to celebrate.. On the other hand these "pagans" sense the astounding significance of this solstice and participate in world-wide celebrations.  For centuries before Christ  the solstice was  a time for much feasting and exchanging of gifts. Adornments during the feast over centuries included a Yule log, and holly and ivy. And they sang carols! During the feasting many people expressed forgiveness and shared their food with peasants.

The irony of what's pagan and what's not is that the Winter Solstice is how December 25th came to be in the first place. It's certainly, according to those who know these things, not the day Jesus was born.  Many church leaders thought if they set the date of Christmas  near the solstice then perhaps many pagans would abandon their ways and celebrate with the Christians. Another irony is  that many Christians choose not to celebrate Christmas because they consider it to be pagan in its origin.  And they would be right in that assumption.

So to recap, pagans have celebrated the Winter Solstice for centuries. Christians borrowed the dates and many of the celebrations and called it Christmas.  Most pagans don't celebrate Christmas. Most Christians don't celebrate the solstice.  Many Christians consider Christmas to be pagan and don't celebrate anything at all in December. So you might say that to most pagans Christmas is meaningless and the Winter Solstice is sacred. To most Christians, Christmas is sacred and the solstice is pagan. The solstice has been celebrated for hundreds of years. Christmas didn't become a recognized  holiday until the mid-1800s.

This year the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere will be at 11:49 ET on Monday, December 21st. This moment is simultaneously the Summer Solstice in the Southern Hemisphere.  Therein is the mystery.  The Winter Solstice is the exact moment that the North Pole is tilted furthest from the sun. This is the darkest day of the year in our hemisphere. In the next instant the North Pole is tilting back toward the sun.  The mystery of that moment, and thus all the fuss about it, is how do you quantify that moment?  In the same instant the pole is furthest away and then moving back toward the sun.  There is no instrument that can measure that moment.  It's like Schrodinger's cat, it's both going and coming at the same time. That measure of time is infinitely small. If you found the smallest time measurement possible, it would be less than that. To extend the mystery even further, the exact opposite is happening in the Southern Hemisphere at the exact same moment.

So am I going to have a feast on the night of the 21st?  Since it's between the feasts of Thanksgiving and Christmas, no I won't.  Then how do I plan to celebrate?  Unless I fall asleep, which is entirely possible,  I plan to walk outside with a lighted candle. Then I plan to blow the candle out at precisely 11:49 pm.  Or I could light the candle at precisely 11:49 pm. Either way I will be saying, "Something incredible is happening under my feet right now.There is a disturbance in the Force and I'm paying attention." I will be celebrating with millions who share that moment world-wide..

What I'm asking then of myself and of you is  that we simply become solstice aware.  I'm not asking you to jettison Christmas. Let's just  notice and acknowledge the fact that something of a cosmic nature will happen on the night of December 21st that is important to a lot of people.  This earth that we call home is hurtling through outer space and  will make  an imperceptible but significant shift. If not in awe, then we can at least just be aware.

The Mayan Indians had three men climb a 50 foot pole. While one beat a drum, the other two tied a rope around one foot and jumped. It they landed on their feet then the sun god was pleased and the days would get longer.  In the first place I have the feeling the days got longer anyway.  But in any case I'll stick with lighting a candle with both feet on the ground.

When Reindeer Fly

If you have been keeping up, you know that I do not believe that the Bible is literally true. As such many people  have said that I don't believe the Bible.  That is not true.  I do believe the Bible. There is a world of difference in saying "I don't believe the Bible is literally true" and saying "I don't believe the Bible is true." This is not an argument about the Bible, it's about the glory of Christmas.

Bear with me here. I end up saying, "Yes it's true!  It's all true!"  I just get there in a round-a-bout way.

As a believer in all things Christmas,  I don't think anything is more beautiful than the birth narrative in  Luke Chapter 2.  "And it came to pass in those days" begins a magnificent  and other-worldly story of Mary and Joseph's journey to Bethlehem. The miracle of their newborn son in a stable.  The visitations of angels and shepherds. The story is marvelous and magical.  Is it true?  Of course it's true.  This story is the engine that powers all of Christmas world-wide.  There is no secular and sacred at Christmastime. It's all sacred.  Saint Nicholas :::::::> Sinterklaas:::::::::::>  Santa Claus. There's no escape!

Years ago I was enjoying a very secular science fiction book. The heroes of the book at the time were orbiting a planet in some distant star system of a far away galaxy.  I was there with them in this "galaxy far, far away".  I about fell over when one of those characters referring to some cosmic event  said to the other, "But all that changed at Bethlehem."

But right out of the gate there are technical problems with the story.  Whereas Luke 2 reports that Jesus was born when Quirinius was governor of Syria,  Matthew 2 reports that Jesus was born during the reign of Herod the Great.  Historians tell us that Herod the Great died in 4BC.  That means that Jesus was born four years "before Christ."  Historians also tell us that Quirinus ruled Syria during 6AD.  So according to the account Jesus was born six years after "the birth of Christ."  Besides the discrepancy, either time creates a  huge problem with the calendar. And the story.

Matthew is the only gospel writer who mentions the Magi from the East.  The Magi as you know found the Christ child by following a star that settled over the manger.  A star over the manger?  A star, any star in any star system, is a blazing inferno.  Our star, which is 93 million miles away, is hot enough to send you to the hospital if you stay out unprotected for several hours in the heat of a summer day. You may say, well thousands of sailors navigated by the north star without getting burned.  I'm just saying that the narrative says that the star "stopped over the place where the child was."  That's what the Bible says happened.

So is my point to say "This Christmas don't believe any of it" ?  God forbid!! My point is exactly the opposite.  I'm saying "This Christmas believe all of it!"  Suspend your disbelief and bask in the glory of the Lord!   Over 30 years ago, just when I was about to throw the truth of the Bible out with the literal bathwater, I discovered the writings of Joseph Campbell.  After reading The Power of Myth, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, The Masks of God (four volumes), The Inner Reaches of Outer Space and other of his works, I, for the first time, understood the power of stories in our lives. Including Bible stories.  "Myth" doesn't mean that the story is not true. "Myth" means that the story IS true. All of a sudden all the stories of the Bible that I could no longer accept as "literally true" , became true in ways that they had never before been true. The "myth" of the birth of Jesus is one of the most powerful and life-changing stories in the world culture.  What would Christmas be without the star, the angels, the shepherd, the wise men, the animals standing in awe around the baby in the manger?  "The first Noel, the angel did say was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay. Noel! Noel! Noel Noel!  Born is the King of Israel ! They look-ed up and saw a star shining in the east beyond them far. And to the earth it gave great light and so it continued both day and night. Noel ! Noel! Noel! Noel!  Born is the King of Israel."

These astonishing carols that we sing year after year tell a story that needs to be told. A story that must be told.    My scientific mind may shout"Stars don't do that!" but my Joseph Campbell   drenched brain  screams back, "Oh yes, at Christmas they do. At Christmas anything is possible.  At Christmas everything is possible!"

You say "What about 'peace on earth, goodwill to men' , is that possible?  Find a baby, any baby, borrow a baby if you need to.  Rock the baby in a quiet room in front of a crackling fire.  Then hold the baby asleep in your arms. Yes, it's possible.

Albert Einstein spent the last forty years of his life in a futile attempt of finding the principal, the formula, that unifies all of physics. Most call it his "string theory."  He spent that time also in the futile attempt at finding a way  to world peace. He thought that peace could only be achieved by having a single world government.  I say forget a government's path to peace. That will probably never happen. Instead  find peace one sleeping baby at a time.  Starting with that baby in Bethlehem.

"Then let us all with one accord sing praises to our heavenly Lord. Noel! Noel! Noel!  Noel!  Born is the King of Israel."

Help with the Holidays

"I believe in all that has never been spoken.

I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing  you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea."      Rainer Maria Rilke

Calling the Thanksgiving and Christmas season "the holidays" was always a cruel irony  for me.  During my nearly 40 years of music ministry, November through Christmas was the busiest, most stressful, and most emotionally difficult time of the year.  The last four years not so much since I was only responsible for the music of one adult choir.  But the Christmas of 1983 was one of the most challenging.

That year, like many years before, I was responsible for children's music, youth choir music and adult choir music.  That particular year I not only supervised two younger children's choirs, but I rehearsed and  directed the older children's choir, the youth choir and the adult choir.  All three of them were doing major Christmas productions. Also our Hanging of the Greens service was a big deal involving all five choirs and a handbell choir that I directed.  Musically during December there was a lot going on that I was responsible for.

This year, since I have retired from vocation music ministry, I have experienced a strange mix of emotions.  Before now, the early Christmas decorations and Christmas music in the mall would send chills up my spine.  The Muzac may have been "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year", but all it meant to me was that the clock was ticking on the Christmas music.  All that the Christmas cheer was saying to me was, "You're running out of time".  This year my hypothalamus, the reptilian brain, ignites with the fight or flight response before my frontal lobe processes that I have absolutely no performance responsibilities. My only obligations for Christmas '15 involve family and friends. Thankfully, the stimulus- response "holiday" fright lasts less than a second..

It was unfortunate that all those years I missed out on much of the seasonal celebration for focusing only on what was my responsibility. Or what I thought was my responsibility. The worst part of my delusion was that I not only felt responsible for the Christmas productions, somewhere in my psyche was the thought that I was responsible for everyone's Christmas. As goes the music so goes their Christmas.

In 1983 during early December I was in really terrible emotional shape.  Back then, on a good day, depression was just below the surface. On a bad day, it could get pretty bad.  That afternoon I was sitting in the back door of our unfinished basement with my feet out the door and my head in my hands. At that moment what I had bitten off for Christmas seemed like much more than I was going to be able to chew.  All of a sudden my two year old son was standing beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder.  Having no good reason to know what I was thinking and feeling,  he hugged me and said, "Daddy, Jesus loves you and he'll take you to Christmas." Imagine that.  This One that we celebrate will take you to His celebration.  He's planning the party. All you have to do is show up.

I would like to tell you that I gave up all my Christmas stress that afternoon.  I would like to tell you that the message to me that came, as far as I was  concerned, from Gabriel through my son cured me from my magnificent obsession with my own importance. I would like to tell you that my over- inflated Christmas ego was immediately shrunk to a reasonable size.  But I still had the same hypothalamus. I still had the same gut reaction to the same stimuli.  But that year and every year since then I took into the season the realization that Christmas would happen with or without me. That  Christmas has its own beauty and power.  That the Baby who caused all the fuss in the first place would somehow Himself  take me to Christmas.  That Christmas joy takes care of itself.

"May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back".  One of the largest and most powerful hydroelectric dams in the country is less than fifteen miles from where I sit.  Those mighty turbines do nothing to turn but to be available.  The water supplies 100% of the energy to spin the turbines and generate hundreds of gigawatts of power. The entire process is effortless on the water's part as well. It just flows downhill.  All I have to  do is plug in the lamp and turn the switch. I have come to imagine Christmas being like that potential and kinetic energy.  The power of one Christmas world-wide is beyond comprehension.  You can't stop it if you try. What I can add to it, regardless of its scope, is a drop in the ocean. An important drop for those I love the most, but just a drop.

Now because of additional holiday travels and  my winter driving angst, I've got to learn to deal with "Let it snow!  Let it snow! Let it snow!"

Preoccupation

pre-oc-cu-py: to engross the mind in thoughts to the exclusion of other thoughts

I have been accused for most of my life of being "absentminded." One of the dictionary definitions of "absentminded" is "showing a habitually inattentive disposition".  The truth is that absentminded people are very attentive people.  They just aren't, in that moment, attentive to you. They are attentive to something else.

For example:   You and I are having a conversation about beer. Beer is not only something I enjoy drinking from time to time, I enjoy talking about drinking it as well. I'm interested in what you have to say and I'm engaged in the dialogue.  But all of a sudden at ten times  the speed of light I start thinking about a funny story my first cousin told me several years ago about my teetotaler dad and a can of beer.   But as you continue to talk about your favorite  beer you  notice my eyes glaze over or obtain a far-away look.  You think that I am no longer interested in the conversation. You may even think I'm very rude. I'm not rude; I'm inspired.  Your words inspired me to go to another time and another place.  My mind is far from "absent".  It's just present in another place. Give me a second and I'll be back with you.  I didn't mean to wander off. I really couldn't help it. It's partially your fault.

My mind wanders.  The image I have of my own mind's function is that of a lighthouse.  There is a beam of light inside of my head that is constantly searching.  Millions of times per second it goes around and around and then locks on a thought.  That lock may last for several minutes, hours or even days, or it may lock for only a piece of second and move to something else. This modus operandi of my brain can be a  problem.  I developed this habit as a child.  I'm always thinking about something. So many times I've wished that I could, from time to time, remove my head from my neck and place it to the side for a little while.  The brain would keep on thinking, but those thoughts wouldn't be bothering me. Just for a little while. And when I go to sleep at night, the adventure has just begun. Ah thinking!  My best friend. My worst enemy.

Since removing my head is not a viable option, I have developed other methods of dealing with the problem. of random and  scattered thoughts.  All of these techniques involve time alone. I gain my energy from being by myself and not from being in a crowd of people.  A crowd of people drains my energy. If I do not find a way to renew my personal power, I can grow very grumpy and very agitated. Being alone for me isn't selfish. It's necessary.

The techniques I have employed most often over the years to center my thoughts are reading, listening to music, photography and writing.  I have read volumes of books and literature. I've read works of fiction and non-fiction.  I have read the classics. I've read biographies, I've read autobiographies. I've read American history from the European  settlers' point of view and the American Indians' point of view. I'm more of an Indian than a cowboy.   I've read world history. I've read philosophy and inspirational books.  I've read the Bible through and through. I've read the Book of Mormon (most of it). I've read much of the I Ching.  I've read books on physics and quantum mechanics. Books about photography. Books about writing.  Books about books. I never tire of reading about our solar system, galaxy and the universe. I've read hundreds of books and tens of thousands of pages. Books provide an unending source of energy and inspiration.

I could write volumes about listening to music.  They call music "arrangements".  Music rearranges the molecules of my brain in ways that provide calm and personal peace. Millions find calm in the bottom of a bottle (glass and plastic), I find it with my brain inside my Bose noise-canceling headphones. And I've never had a hangover from music. Tinnitus yes. Hangover no. I experience this retreat some part of nearly every day.

Photography is a relationship of a person, a camera, and light.  The camera sees things in sharp focus (a little pun).  My Canon camera sees so much more than I can see.  But it can't see by itself.  The camera needs my help. It needs me to set the aperture, the shutter speed, the ISO, the metering and the white balance. Do I want aperture priority or shutter priority? Once I do all that, point the camera toward the subject and press the shutter release, the camera does the rest. It creates a world of surprise and beauty. With my camera in my hand I'm as focused (get it?) as can be.  For that matter the biggest part of most of my photos are out of focus. Bokeh.  A camera is a dialogue with available light. When I'm walking through the woods with a camera, I am thinking of little else.

Writing is perhaps my most effective tool in centering.  When I write I start with a thought( no surprise there). This morning I'm thinking about how I think and how I deal with how I think. And I start writing about it.  It takes all my concentration to write. I not only have to find the right words to convey what I'm thinking and feeling, but I have to pay attention to  diction, grammar and punctuation. As I write I'm constantly aware of the fact that the words will be read.  I want my reader to understand as well as possible what I'm trying to say.  All of that requires my total concentration for several minutes or sometimes hours. I am seldom more present in the moment than when I'm writing. You tell me that you enjoy my writing, but I write much more for me than I do for you. However, I find  great pleasure in the fact that my bliss can sometimes be yours as well.

I started writing this over two hours ago. During that time  I've thought of very little but writing. Oh and the soundtrack from The Bridge of Spies by Thomas Newman has provided focus and inspiration. The music rearranges my thoughts as I arrange the words. But to be honest I'm tired of writing. I think I'll find my camera.

Cheap Advice--Dealing with Mistakes

"Writing has always been my therapy, a mode for me to work through my problems and neuroses by crystallizing them in a way that makes sense for me".  Zeba Blay,  The Huffington Post

This cheap advice I'm offering wasn't cheap for me.  I had to pay for it.  But it's cheap for you. Your only expense is the time to read it and the energy to consider how it might apply to you.  And why am I willing to give away this advice?  One is that I enjoy helping people and, two, as I relate these thoughts to you, I'm working through it again.

I hate making mistakes.  I try to never make mistakes.  But recently I made a mistake. And I felt really bad about it.  It was not illegal. It was not immoral.  It was not unethical.  It was not all that costly, but it was a mistake and I don't make mistakes.  And somebody got really upset with me.  

Even after restitution had been made with the person involved, I still felt bad about it. The feeling of remorse and embarrassment continued to the point that I decided to talk to my counselor.

He told me two things. He said, "David, you function at a very high level.  Much is required of you and you deliver on those expectations over and over again.  But no matter how hard you try to be perfect, you're not.  You are going to eventually drop the ball.  You are eventually going to screw up.  The reason for that is that you are human being. Human beings screw up." And then he told me a personal story.  Personal stories with him are rare. He very seldom relates something from his  own  life and experience. But in this case, for this dialogue, he did.  Without disclosing  anything specific he told me, he too did something dumb. Like my mistake, it wasn't illegal,  it wasn't immoral, it wasn't unethical, yet it was  a potentially costly oversight on his part. It could have been a personal disaster.  It could have cost him dearly. When he told me what happened, I could sense just how upset he was about it at the time. I knew that what he did mattered to him and made him feel like, at least temporarily, a total klutz.  This man, my counselor, has a PhD in Clinical Psychology and years of experience. But he was telling me about one of the worst blunders of his career.

As the clock on my 55 minute session continued to tick, I knew why he told me that story. He was saying, "David, I know you trust me. I know you think highly of me. I know you respect me. But guess what?  Sometimes I screw up too! We all eventually screw up!. No matter how many degrees we've earned. No matter how good our intentions, we  eventually mess up. Welcome to the human situation! Oh, and by the way, things usually work out ok."

We then discussed that there are consequences for mistakes, but that those consequences for good and honest people can usually be contained. Not always, but usually. And this was the case for both of us. No permanent damage in either case. Things got fixed.

So what's my cheap advice? My advice is when you mess up, make whatever apologies and restitution is necessary and forget about it. Stop feeling bad about it.  No amount of feeling bad will change the fact that it happened. And obviously no amount of feeling bad will help you to feel any better.  You will feel bad right up to the moment you don't.

 If you keep feeling bad or embarrassed and don't want to feel that way,  then maybe you should consider paying for professional help like I did. But I can't believe that the advice you have to pay for will be much better than what my counselor and I are offering.  To recap my cheap advice, here is my six step remedy for mistake angst: 1.Recognize the human condition, i.e. humans make mistakes.  2. Recognize that you are a  human being. 3. Therefore, you make mistakes. 4. Do whatever is reasonably within your ability to make it right.  If the offended party can't accept that, then that is now their problem and not yours. You've done all you can do. 6. Forget about it. Think about something else.

I don't know if you feel any  better, but I sure do.

The Book of My Life in Five Short Chapters

"How did it  go so fast you'll say as we are looking back.
And then we'll understand that we held gold dust in our hands."  Tori Amos

Chapter Five (continued) The Golden Years

The awful truth (as in awe and wonder) is that I may not be entering my "golden years", I may be entering my "golden months" or "golden days" or "golden hours." God knows.  Because of the realities of life and death, because of the realities of cell division, the circulatory system, lane changes, ballistics and aerodynamics, I have become acutely aware of the brevity of existence. I wake up thankful every day to be alive. I go to sleep grateful for having been given another day. But I hope to be entering my "golden years." Because of a significant amount of planning from years ago the "golden years" are a possibility for us. But when the book of my life is written, if these words are, in fact, the remnant of my golden hours, I will have died content. This spot where I sit is my happy spot. Thanks to Toshiba, Intel, Microsoft, our electricity provider,  our cable provider,  Facebook, Netflix, Spotify and Bose, I have a portal to the world. No ticket or passport required. And this world has a portal to me. I'm in this portal now.  I explore this world hour after blissful hour, day after day. But I can't write this chapter because this chapter hasn't happened yet. Someone else will have to finish Chapter Five.

Chapter One: Enterprise, Alabama

I spent the first nineteen years of my life in Enterprise, Alabama.  In 1953 I was born at Gibson Hospital.  In August of 1973 I left town in my grandfather's Oldsmobile to move to Birmingham, Alabama. Well that's where I thought I was moving. Looking back,  I was moving just north of there to Jasper. The nineteen years between 1953 and 1973 could, in so many ways, be "the story of my life." If my life had ended that August of 1973, I would have lived a full and vibrant existence.  It would have included my family and extended family.  It would have included so many childhood friends. It would have included an elementary school, a junior high, a high school and a junior college. It would have included two churches, my family's church and first church where I was the music director. There is not enough space in this short book to begin to line out my lifetime in Enterprise. It was indeed a wonderful life.

Chapter Two: The New Prospect Baptist Church

As I said, I left home to move to Birmingham. There I transferred as a junior from my junior college to Samford University.  In June of 1976 I graduated with a five year double major of music education. But in retrospect, it was that part-time job I accepted that shaped my life in more dramatic ways than school itself. I actually drove to Jasper, fifty miles north of Birmingham, and led the music at the New Prospect Baptist Church the weekend before I started classes at Samford. As a student I was on campus through the week and maintained eighteen semester hours, but in many significant ways I lived in Jasper. After church one Sunday night before I drove back to school, I met a girl.

Chapter Three:Seminary

Several months later I asked that girl from Jasper, Alabama to marry me. We both graduated in June of 1976 and got married in October.. In August we moved together to Louisville, Kentucky where I enrolled at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. Although I did serve as music director of a church and that relationship was important, it was the seminary education that was most remarkable part of those two years. Musically and academically I excelled in every way possible. I found my wings. Besides the educational and performance opportunities at school, I performed twice with the Louisville Symphony and Opera Association.  That kid from Enterprise did himself proud. And my grandmothers in Enterprise were proud too.

Chapter Four: The Years 1979 to the Present

And then in May of 1979, we left Louisville and  moved to Rossville, Georgia. And six years later we moved five miles down the road to Ringgold. These years are not just a book, they would be volumes of books. Four different churches. A hospital where my wife worked. Several different jobs. Another college degree.  Another hospital where my wife works.  Back in '81, a son--he rolled over. he's walking. he's talking. school, baseball, basketball, band, girlfriends.graduation. Another graduation. Another graduation.   He gave us a granddaughter. Which made me a grandfather. No words.  And then there are grandchildren to whom we are not related. Well, at least their is no trail of DNA. Home. Work. Church. Home. Books.Friends. Restaurants. Home. Alabama. Concerts. Books. Friends. Florida. Movies. Restaurants. Family. Arkansas. Work. Home. Books.  Alabama. Church. Movies. Indiana. Work. Books. Concerts. Missouri. Church. Family. Restaurants. Home. Indiana. Friends.Home.  Indiana. Family. Indiana. Work. California(we didn't see that one coming). If these words, starting with "Home", were links, then you could read a remarkable story. You would find remarkable people doing remarkable things. There are no ordinary people or ordinary places in this story.  They are all remarkable.  And in the center of this story you will find me.  And that's remarkable. Because I'm so ordinary.  I'm from a small town in southeast Alabama famous only for its statue to  an ordinary bug--a boll weevil. In 1920 a group of men in Macon, Georgia started the first commercial crop dusting company. They formed the company for one reason--to eradicate the boll weevil in the Mississippi delta. They knew it as the Huff Daland Dusters. We know it as Delta Airlines. That's remarkable.

Chapter Five

In  just the past two weeks. there has been a terrorist bombing of a Russian airliner, suicide bombings in Beirut and a terrorist attack in Paris. Not to mention thousands of other lives lost to senseless killings here and around the world. And now the military retaliation has begun. Who started it and who's retaliating? Cain killed his brother over an argument about meat and potatoes. This has been going on a long, long time. How can I be so selfish tonight to be thinking about the significance of my own  life? How can I be so insensitive to the realities of the world to say that that  life is good? That any life is good?  In light of all the killing and horrors, to say that my story even matters? To say that any story matters.

This is where I live. There is no where else to live. Interstellar travel is still some years away. But if the movie is any indication, we take our problems with us to outer space.  Human nature, for better or for worse, doesn't change.

I have a granddaughter.  This is where she lives. She has no where else to go. Am I supposed to tell her to run for cover, hide under a rock and to not come out until the killings stop? Should I tell her the truth? That the killings will never stop?  When she writes the story of her life, I certainly hope that Chapter One is simply "Greensburg, Indiana" (she probably won't remember W. Lafayette).

We are entering our "golden years". I've never known why retirement was called that--Golden Years.  Don't you have as many problems in retirement as during any other time of your life?  Just because you're not working as much, does that somehow mean every day is full of magic and wonder?  Does that somehow make all your emotional, mental and relational issues just go away? Not that, relatively speaking, we have all that many.

The "golden years"? It took a song by Tori Amos and an elementary school basketball game in Greensburg, Indiana for me to understand.

They are all golden years.

Once Saved. Always Saved

Several years ago I spent the night with a friend. An acquaintance of his was there also. My friend's house had a small kitchen area with a small round table.  If you wanted to eat, it was the only place to sit. The other guest was already seated at the table when I walked over with my Cheerios and milk.  It was about 7:30 in the morning and I hadn't even had my first cup of coffee.

I was hardly seated when with not as much as "good morning" he looked at me  and asked, "Do you believe in 'once saved always saved'?"  My theology being what it was and my mind working the way it did, at least 10,000 responses flashed through my head in less than a second. Response 8,456 would have been "No." Response 8,457 would have been "Yes."But that's not what I said. Response #1 involved re-framing the question. There was no way for me to answer the question if we didn't agree on the question.  Responses 2 through 684 involved the realization that the two of us would never agree on the question.

I knew what he was asking.  He was asking the question that had been posed to me since I was a young child in a Southern Baptist church in south Alabama. I heard it quite often from the pulpit, especially when the hell-fire and brimstone evangelists rolled into town twice a year: "There are only two kinds of people in the world" they shouted, "those that are saved and those who are lost.  The saved will enjoy an eternity in Heaven with Jesus.  The lost will be tormented in a Devil's Hell for all eternity."  Or another way they were fond of expressing it, "The lost will 'split hell wide open'! " Even as a kid I imagined grabbing my right knee and splashing into hell with a can-opener, But it still was not a place I wanted to go.

This belief then led to the question "Once you are saved ( not bound for hell but bound for Heaven), can you be lost again (bound for hell)? Tens of thousands of good churches  split on this issue.  And thousands of new churches were formed upon the foundation of which way they fell. So I can assume that my breakfast mate's question was this, "Once you are saved and bound for Heaven, can you then somehow through sin or apostasy become lost and go to hell?"  So as I stated, I wish I had just said, "Yes" and let him talk.  After all he was not the least bit interested in my answer to his question; he only wanted to tell me the gospel truth about "eternal destiny."

So instead of answering his question I went with Response #1, to re-frame the question.  I said something like, "First of all I don't think of 'saved' and 'lost' as being about eternal destiny.  I think of being 'saved' as the quality of my life today.  So 'yes' I believe you can be 'saved' and 'lost' several times a day.  If I am living in forgiveness, grace, love, gratitude and spiritual abundance then I am being saved. If I am living my life with worry, regret, self-punishment, anger, unforgiveness and emotional distress then I am being lost. In this regard, I can be 'saved' one minute and 'lost' the next over and over again on any given day."

I really don't remember any more of our conversation.  I was much more concerned about my Cheerios getting soggy than his answer to my response. I do remember that he really didn't know what to say and that we spent the remainder of our breakfast in uncomfortable silence.

Why do I have all this on my mind this morning? My job involves inspecting people's crawl spaces under their house.  This week as I was crawling back through the crawl door into the light of day, the next door neighbor spoke to me.  He was working in his flower garden and I approached him and talked across his chain link fence.  He wanted to know about my knee pads so we chatted about that a few minutes.  He then asked, "If you died today do you know where you will spend eternity?"  My theology is much more liberal than it was seven years ago, and my brain runs even  faster.  So nearly 100,000 responses flashed in my  head. Response #65,892 was "Yes." So I went with that.  "Yes I do",  I said. Apparently unsatisfied with that response or more than likely a pre-prepared follow up he asked "Would that be in Heaven or hell?"  Staying on course I said, "Heaven."  Still not satisfied he asked, "And what do you base that on?" At this point I was officially annoyed and just wanted out of the conversation as quickly as possible.  I found him, his theology and line of questioning to be rude and invasive. Of the nearly 6 million responses I considered for this question, I simply gave him what he was looking for. I said, "When I was 10 years old I invited Jesus in my heart. He came into my heart and that's where he is today. That's how I know I'm going to Heaven." To my surprise, he had no further questions. And I bid him good day and walked away.

I'm constantly amazed by the legions of people who dismiss and devalue their own lives to only give credence to what happens when they die.  If there is a Heaven that is certainly where I want to end up. If there is a hell then I certainly have no desire to roast like a marshmallow for all eternity.  But I try to live my life in such a way that it doesn't matter if either place exists.  If I don't enjoy all the resources of grace here on Earth, what makes me think I'll enjoy them any more in Heaven? If the here and now is not satisfying and enjoyable, then why would I think the amenities of Heaven will be any better? If I don't develop the capacity to experience at least occasional bliss while on Earth, is it reasonable to think I will be only blissful for all eternity? I would think dirt and grass to be more comfortable than streets of gold.  I think I would find harp music to be interesting for an hour or so.  Mansions have never appealed to me much. But a cabin in the woods by a mountain stream sounds very nice.  And angel choirs?  "Ok, fine, I like choirs. But is that 'Rock and Roll Heaven' really here? I've heard they have a helluva band."

And all those relatives you'll spend forever with, if you don't enjoy their company now, why would you enjoy it then? Are  all those annoyances suddenly forgiven and forgotten when you walk through the Pearly Gates?

But I digress.  Do I believe in 'once saved. always saved?"  "No, I do not. I definitely do not".

Making the Grade

Throughout my school days I never particularly enjoyed studying for tests and taking tests, but I usually did really well on them. And I took hundreds of them.

Although I was an A-B student from grade school through graduate school, my proudest grade was a C.  As a freshman when I looked at the curriculum for Bachelor of Business Administration, I saw calculus during my senior year.   For three years calculus loomed on the horizon. Reading that catalog it looked like and felt like a formidable obstacle to obtaining my degree. But I had three years to worry about that.

My senior year arrived. I had passed nearly all my courses with flying colors, but now I was staring calculus right in the face. My college  had a math lab where tutors were available from 8am to 8pm to help the students.  I lived in that lab. I spent countless hours with assignments and exam preparation.  When the final exam arrived, I was barely hanging onto a C.  The final wasn't easy. I had studied for days and I gave it my best shot, but I just didn't know.  There were functions on that final I had never seen. I didn't leave the room with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Just before Christmas I booted up my semester grades. Amongst the As and Bs I  saw a C!!   A solid C!!  I was ecstatic.  It was one of the best Christmas gifts ever. Calculus was in my rear view mirror.  Four months later, at the age of 57, I walked the stage to receive my degree. Cum Laude.

But my proudest test grade was at another college for a different degree.  On my way to a Bachelor of Music Education in 1976, I had to pass several different music theory courses. Each one was harder than the previous class.  Music theory is basically the function of notes and chords in tonal Western music. When you're listening to tonal "Classical" music, if you freeze the music at any point, the notes make musical sense both horizontally and vertically. When you look at the vertical chord created by the horizontal melodies and harmonies, there is a mathematical name for each chord.  The names include both words and numbers.  Not just any words and numbers, but the right  words and numbers. These numbers are specific to that chord. Within the music, however, there are certain "non-harmonic tones" that don't belong to a certain chord. They belong to the composition, just not to the chord.

One of my favorite types of music is the fugue.  The fugue is highly complex and profoundly beautiful. The  composition involves the same melody entering part by part as the music evolves. Layer upon layer of a single melody are woven into a  magical musical masterpiece. Because of the nature and the structure of a fugue, it creates a  myriad of non-harmonic tones.  Just like there is a name for each chord, there is a name for each of these tones--passing tones, leading tones, neighboring tones, anticipations, suspensions, etc. You know which is which by its proximity to the chord, the way it approaches and leaves the chord.

 In this particular advanced theory class the exam was to name each of those tones.  The professor simply copied a page of a Bach fugue and circled the non-harmonic tones. All we had to do was name them.  Most of the class failed the exam.  Several passed with a C. A few made a B.  And one or two students made an A.   I made 100!  I named 100% of the tones correctly.  That was forty years ago and I'm still pumped about it. It was a very proud academic moment for me.

Last evening I was listening to a fugue from J.S. Bach's Mass in B Minor.  I was enjoying the music, but I was thinking about that test.  I'm sure those students who failed that exam passed the course, earned their degree and have led rewarding and productive music careers.  But I can't imagine that any of them enjoy listening to a fugue any more than I. The whole is certainly beautiful, but the sum of its parts is quite remarkable as well.

Calculus is the  mathematical study of change.  And that's about all I remember about it.

Gold Dust

"Sights and sounds

pull  me back down

     another year

I was here

I was here

how did it go so 

fast

you'll say as we are looking back

and then we'll understand

we held gold dust in our hands
in our hands"

    from Gold Dust, Tori Amos

I will preface these words with this--I would not change one thing about my life. My significant relationships mean more to me than I could ever say. With that said...

I wrote recently of the powerful emotional effect while listening to music of the 60s on Sirius/XM.  Is what I feel wonder or regret? Wonder is a good thing. Regret is not. The biggest problem with regret is that it's an emotion that leaves you totally without any means of changing anything. No matter how much you might wish that something had been different, it wasn't different. It happened the way it happened.  You can certainly change how you think about the event, but you can't change anything of the event itself.

Those emotions have now been profoundly complicated. I was invited to join a memories group on Facebook,  Memories of Enterprise, Alabama. My hometown. So I joined. At first the moderator posted historical photos of the city from the 1800s and early 1900s as the city was founded. THese photos include those of the dedication of the world famous Boll Weevil Monument in 1919, a monument that defines the identity of the town.

Over a period of weeks those photos became more and more recent. More and more personal. He started posting photos from my  school years. The emotional whiplash was intense. If the music of the 60s dragged me back 50 years, the photos cruelly froze moments of time.   A lot of moments of time. Photos of my schools and classrooms. College Street Elementary School. Enterprise Junior  High School that I watched burn to the ground. Enterprise High School that got blown away by a tornado. .Photos of my classmates. Photos of me with my classmates.  Photos of my teachers. Photos of my band marching in The Festival of States. It's an aerial photo but I'm somewhere in that picture blasting my trombone. For five years that was my band. Heck, my senior year I was president of that band! Photos of  my friends. Photos of girlfriends. Photos of girls I wanted to be my girlfriend. Photos of girls that  I knew liked me, but who I never gave the time of day. I could have. Maybe I should have. But I didn't.

Looking at the photos of those young men and women in my class reminded me of how much unfinished business I had left there.  This experience for me is completely different than going to a class reunion. At the reunion it's the grown up version of the person I'm reminiscing with.  These photos are the then version of all of us--frozen and forever unchanging.  That unfinished business? What can I do about any of it?  Absolutely nothing.  What can I feel about it?  A world of things. Anything I choose to feel. And it doesn't feel all that good.

The lesson for me --As tempting as it is to try to go back to Neverland, it's a Sirene's song. Gold dust is a byproduct of machining gold. Pure gold. Why should I settle for the gold  dust of wishful thinking when I can have the solid gold of reality?  After graduating from the junior college, I left Enterprise,  Alabama in 1973 at age twenty. That was forty-two years ago.  Do I really think the 60s have anything for me? Anything at all? Did I leave something there that I should have brought with me?

I live in Georgia with my wife of thirty-nine years. She wasn't a high school sweetheart. She was my college sweetheart. She was  from another time and another place. Strange thing though, I not only have our shared history from the beginning of our time together, but she shares my collective history from before our time. "Enterprise" belongs to her too. She went with me to those reunions. Although she didn't meet those girls in the photos, she met real living, breathing human beings. She laughed along with some of those "girls" I never gave the time of day.  Guess what?  They didn't care. Believe it or not, they've had a pretty good life without me. Joke's on me.

When I watch a good movie, I don't just watch it, the movie watches me. I recently watched  a movie on Netflix that I had never heard of. The movie is  Hector and the Search for Happiness.  Hector leaves his job and Clara the woman he loves to travel the world to find happiness. He also left to find Agnes, a woman he used to love. And thinks he may still love.  When he finds Agnes after traveling the world, he finds her very married and with three children. As he struggles with his unfinished business and tries to tell her how he feels, she says, "Hector, I don't know who you think you're in love with, but it's not me."  He goes home. He goes home to his work and to Clara. And he's happy.

For the most part, in spite of the punch it packs, I have enjoyed listening to 60s music.  Seeing all those old photos?  Not so much. But starting today I'm listening to Classical music for a while. It was all composed long before my time. And I've left that Facebook group. "Sights and sounds pull me back down another year." I think from now on I'll go forward.

What is your MRFH?

"Behind the mask of summer sun,
the green rush of spring,
the peace of winter’s silence,
and autumn’s fiery crown
there are only moments strung together".  Arlene Gay Levine

What is your MRFH?  Your MRFH is not only important, it may be the most significant measurement in your life.   If you have a high MRFH, then you will probably live a life of dissatisfaction and frustration.  If your MRFH is low then you stand a very good chance of living a rich and fulfilling life.

The most difficult thing about your MRFH is not living it, but finding it.  The problem with any MRFH is that it differs from person to person.  It is not one size fits all. The number is different for everyone.  So you can't compare your MRFH to someone else's to determine if your number is right.  The only way to determine if your number is right is if it's right for you. If your H is eluding you then you haven't found the right number.

It is very difficult, but not impossible, to have a high MRFH and achieve fulfillment.  Jesus spoke about this to the rich, young ruler and the eye of the needle thing.  This however would require near unlimited resources.  And even with the resources the H would elude you if it was not tied to your own core values.  And with any MRFH, it is a certainty  that these values would need to have little or nothing to do with those resources. On the other hand someone with a low MRFH can be fulfilled regardless of their resources.  It is possible, and even probable, that with a very low MRFH  you will experience most, if not all, of the things that matter most to you. Isn't that  the most important  R for H?

So if you find that you are not H, instead of thinking that you need to have more and to be more, just lower the M.R. With a very realistic and low Minimum Requirement For Happiness, you may be surprised how happy you become.

He ain't heavy. He's my brother.

"It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother"  The Hollies, 1969


It is very common for American Christians to express concern for those Christians around the world who are being ostracized and otherwise persecuted for their beliefs.  These persecutions are very real and sometimes very deadly.  I do not want to minimize the fact that multitudes of people are persecuted and even killed because of their Christian beliefs.

To be completely fair though, I think we need to show concern for  those of other faiths who are persecuted by Christians for their beliefs or are harassed for having no religious convictions at all. This type of discrimination and abuse is just as prevalent in the United States as anywhere else in the world.

One of the most horrible persecutions at the hand of Christians happened in the early 11th century. Hundreds of thousands of European soldiers under the banner of the cross, massacred thousands of Jews, Turks and other "infidels" in the name of Jesus Christ. The soldiers were promised by the church that all of their sins would be forgiven and that they would inherit a prominent place in the eternal kingdom of God.  Does that sound familiar?

About 400 years later came The Spanish Inquisition.  During the next 300 years there was an organized and deliberate effort to purge all of Spain of non-Christians.  Spain was supposed to literally become a "Christian nation."The property and businesses of hundreds of thousands of "heretics" were confiscated and several thousand people were executed for not converting to Christianity. In the 16th Century, during the Protestant Reformation, Christian on Christian persecution was a common occurrence.

By now you're saying, "Well that was hundreds of years ago in distant parts of the earth. What does that have to do with any of us living in the United States today?  Christians in America aren't like that." Although the examples I will reference do not involve torture and death, they do, in my opinion, involve oppression by Christians of non-Christians.

Look no further than Topeka, Kansas and the Westboro Baptist Church.  Before you tell me that they are not really Christians, go to their website and read it for yourself. Right under the link for their "Picket Schedule"  is the link for their "Confessions of Faith".  If you open those links you will find several historical confessions of faith that are 100% quotes from the Bible.  They base their "God Hates Fags" protests and vitriol on their understanding of the Bible.  Who am I and who are you to suggest that they are not Christians?  Regardless of whether or not you accept this church as a Christian church, they base  their bigotry and hatred on the Bible and they protest under the banner of the cross of Christ. No matter who you and I think they are, they certainly think that they are Christians.

To call this "persecution" would be a little strong, but it is another example of confessing Christians imposing their will on people of other faiths. The Oklahoma City courthouse  has been under siege by non-Christian groups for years because of  a prominent monument of the Ten Commandments. The Christian argument has been something like "America was founded on the Bible, i.e. Christian values. Therefore it is appropriate for this cornerstone of American values to be prominently displayed at a court of law." The counter argument has been "America was founded on the Constitution and not on the Bible. The first amendment of the Constitution expressly forbids the establishment of any official religion. Granted it forbids the impediment  of the practice of religion, but the Constitution of the United States forbids government sanctioned religion of any kind including the Christian religion." When  The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster had all but won the right to erect their monument beside the Ten Commandments, the monument was removed in the dark of night.  But the story doesn't end there. Just last week a group of cowboy Christians from Topeka, Texas arrived on horseback to present their monument of the Ten Commandments to the governor of Oklahoma.  God bless America!

So what's my point?  My point is that over centuries and even today Christians aren't the only people who are persecuted for their religion.  Furthermore, over the centuries and today Christians have done their share of the persecuting.

All major world religions hold at least a couple of things in common.  First, at their core they teach human compassion and kindness. "While we're on the way to there, why not share?" may not be a direct quote from the Bible or the Qur'an, but both of these holy books contain that principle.  But also at the core are doctrines and statements of faith which can be used as tools and weapons.  According to the more zealous devotees of every religion, those who do not obey a strict interpretation of these commandments are subject to judgment and punishment in this life and the next. Sometimes that punishment can be martyrdom. These believers are more than happy to help their Supreme Being exact that penalty. The members of the Westboro Baptist Church do not define Christians, just as suicide bombers do not define Islam.

Jesus said, "My yoke is easy. My burden is light."  The Hollies sang "and the load doesn't weigh me down at all." Jesus also said, "You will know the truth and the truth will set you free."  I say, giving up judgment of other peoples' beliefs will be one of  most freeing thing you'll ever do. Yes, "It's a long, long road," but there is enough room on it for all of us.

Salvation is Created

Music has a way of searching out parts of my soul and psyche that I have long forgotten existed.  I have been a subscriber to Sirius/XM radio for over two years and I enjoy listening nearly every day.  I have become so spoiled to no commercials that it's difficult for me to listen to commercial radio at all. I have had 70s, 80s, and 90s music programmed in from the beginning.  But only two weeks ago did it dawn on me to program 60s music. I have no idea why it took two years for this to occur to me.  For my entire adult life I have thought that 70s music defined me.  I thought Dan Fogelberg, James Taylor, Carole King, Carly Simon,  Don McLean, America, Bread and so many others were the musicians who wrote and sang the most significant songs that carry my own story.  I was wrong.

The music of the 60s has opened passages in my subconscious  that have been closed for decades. The songs have dragged my emotions through a time warp of passionate proportions. How does it make me feel?  Some of the songs make me  feel really good. I mean a good that I can't comprehend intellectually. I would try to tell you if I knew. But I don't know!  But it's like Conrad's counselor in Ordinary People told him "Not all feelings feel good." I'm certainly feeling that too. When the crucible of one's adolescence is in play,  you can't control how it's going to feel.  You just go with it.

There is a phenomenon though that I finally had to stop and look at.  The songs that affect me most deeply, for better or for worse, were recorded in 1968. So I took a closer look at 1968.  In 1968 I was fifteen years old living with my family in  Enterprise, Alabama. I had a mother and a father,  a brother and a sister. We had a dog and a cat. I was surrounded by extended family, by provisions and sustenance, and by love. I had some really good friends. I was doing very well as a sophomore at the Enterprise High School. I was to become an award-winning band member with my trombone. Although I thought I had problems at the time, looking back, in so many ways, I had it made.

My girl friend was two years older than me. You've heard "Once you move past holding hands, you can never go back."  We never in two years moved past holding hands. A little strange maybe, but it worked for us.  I cared about her a lot and she cared for me. But because of that age difference  and other issues that come between two people, the friendship fizzled.  Just as well.  We both moved on to better things. I'll just leave the autobiography at that.

I did a little research about what was going on in our country in 1968. On January 31 the North Vietnamese launched the Tet offensive. This offensive, involving over 70,000 North Vietnamese solders, took the war from the forests to the cities. It changed the course of the war. On March 31 LBJ announced plans to limit the war in Vietnam, but very little changed.  On April 4th Martin Luther King, Jr.  was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. On May 3rd the US and N. Vietnamese agree to peace talks. But all they did was talk.  On June 4th Robert Kennedy was assassinated. On October 31, LBJ announced  a halt to all bombing. but the senseless war and the killing continued. Student demonstrations, which would become massive and deadly, were just heating up.  "All we are saying is give peace a chance" was to be more than a popular song; it became the anthem of the anti-Vietnam movement.

With all the horror and tragedy of 1968 I thought "Why does this music make me feel so good?  Why, in spite of the sometimes painful aspects of the evoked memories, are my triggered emotions full of goodness and hope? Was I that insensitive to the world around me?"  So I read on...

On December 21st, 1968 NASA launched Apollo 8 atop a Saturn V rocket, the most powerful rocket of its kind.  That rocket propelled Frank Borman, James Lovell and William Anders into space.  On December 24th these three astronauts became the first humans to orbit the moon. But much more significant than the orbit itself, they sent  back to us the first photos of Earth from space. For the first time in human history we all witnessed the iconic "Earthrise." This created a paradigm shift for all of mankind and for all time.  On Christmas Eve, 1968 "Peace on Earth and goodwill to men"  if not a real possibility, became a necessity. Our blue planet wasn't that big after all.

When they returned to spaceship Earth, the astronauts received hundreds of cards, letters and telegrams celebrating their incredible journey and contribution to mankind.  One telegram stood out more than all the others. It simply read, "You saved 1968."

I'm sure that soon enough I am going to have my fill of music from the 1960s.  The music of Dan Fogelberg, my favorite 70s singer,  will forever be a touchstone for me.  Nothing will ever change that. That night in Chattanooga, the last time I saw him before he died,  when he gave his band a break, Fogelberg remained on stage.  Under the quiet blue lights, he placed his hands on the keyboard and touched the piano with a single chord. I knew in that instant he was about to sing my favorite of his,"To the Morning."  And he did.

Ah music!   What can I say about  what music means to me?  If there were words to describe it, then we wouldn't need the music.

Lost and Found

I've read that Daniel Boone never forgot a path he walked or discovered.  If  he had spent any time on a path, he could always find his way back to it. More importantly, he could find his way back from it.

I am the total opposite of that.  I have absolutely no sense of direction. If my GPS says to head north on highway 67 instead of to turn right or left, I have to stop and use the compass on my phone to know which direction to go.  Early or late in the day when our major star is low in the sky, I can figure it out pretty well.  Other than that I need the help of a compass.

One of my  former jobs involved  calling on people in their homes. Usually I made these calls during normal business hours or early evening, but sometimes I found myself in homes rather late.  Many years before GPS,  leaving late from a home on Signal Mountain, Tennessee, I got lost trying to find my way out of a large subdivision. I was so turned around I couldn't even find my way back to their house to ask directions. And I wasn't going to knock on a stranger's door at that  late hour. So I drove around in circles (rectangles) until I found the entrance.

I have a symbiotic relationship with my GPS. Technically, symbiosis involves two living organisms. But I find the pleasant female voice of my GPS to be real enough. Her presence is comforting and reassuring all along the way.  Part of the symbiosis is that as much as she helps me, there are times when I have to help her help me. Although she is usually incredibly accurate, there are times she completely fails me.  Once when she said "you have arrived at your destination" I was beside a large cemetery.  GPS humor I guess. Sometimes too I know better than she which way I'm going.  She will protest for a mile or so telling me to make a u-turn. Then once she realizes I'm serious about my direction, she will recalculate the route.

My father, too, was one of those people who if he had been there once, he always knew how to find the place again. He may have used a map the first trip, but he never had to use it again. I wish I had inherited that ability from him, but that's one ability of many that he took with him when he died.

I would like to think that if my life depended on it, such as was the case with Daniel Boone and early pioneers, that I would have developed a better sense of direction.  As it is I'm very thankful that my directions are seldom a matter of life and death, and that my GPS provides me with constant help. I remember how excited I was when Telstar was launched into space on July 10, 1962.  But could that nine year old boy have had an inkling of why he was so excited? Back then I only had to find my way back and forth from Elmore's Dime Store. As a kid,  I also enjoyed Lost in Space, But God forbid I try to find my way home from there.