The Straight and Narrow

"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."  Jesus

My 2013 Nissan Altima came equipped with a navigation system.  I seldom use the system as I prefer to use the GPS on my phone,  I use my phone GPS for work and I'm just more comfortable with it than the one in my car.  Specifically, my phone GPS is much more detailed in the last half mile or so when I need the turn by turn directions the most.

But for the last three years I have purchased and installed the update software for my car's navigation system.  Why do I do that?  Good question.  The reason is that although I don't use it that often, when I do use the navigation system I  want all of the information to be up to date.

On a  five hour trip back home yesterday from my hometown of Enterprise, Alabama, I decided to activate the navigation and see what she had to say.  I can learn a lot about a GPS when I already know where I'm going.  I set the system for Home and let her take charge.  I didn't notice anything much different, but some of her commentary has changed for the better. For example, she not only says "Prepare to turn right" but in a few seconds she adds "Turn right in 1,000 feet."  That's very useful information.  I wish she gave the name of the street like my phone, but it's an improvement. But anytime I took an exit to take care of bodily needs, she protested by saying "Drive straight."  There were several exit ramps that if I had driven straight, my car would be crumpled and I might be dead.  "I appreciate your concern, but I am not going to drive straight."

The quote above from Jesus has become known as "walking the straight and narrow." What did Jesus mean by "narrow the road that leads to life?"  Who knows? Nobody knows for certain what Jesus meant by anything He said.  People can speculate. They can form opinions. They can pretend to know what they're talking about.  But nobody knows for sure.  We not only can't know for certain what He meant by what He said, we also can't always understand why Jesus did the things He did.  Once when  He was hungry, Jesus  reached for  a fig, but according to the account in Mark chapter 11 it was not the season for figs. So He cursed the tree and it died.  Was that a nice thing to do to a tree that was simply doing what it was created to do? Was it the fig tree's fault that it had no figs? On another occasion as recorded in Matthew chapter 14 a woman was begging Jesus for food. He  said to her, "Is it right to take the children's food and give it to the dogs?"  Was that a nice thing for the Son of God to say to a hungry woman?  Was that a nice thing for the son of anyone to say to a  hungry woman?

I think in many cases it's easier to decide what Jesus didn't mean by what He said than to know for sure what He did mean.  I don't think by "narrow road", Jesus meant "narrow minded", an unfortunate trait shared by many of His followers.  The dictionary definition of "narrow minded" is "not willing to listen to or to tolerate other people's views."  Is there any way that Jesus was saying that? Was He saying "Do not be open to learning, growing and to new ideas?" Surely He didn't mean that you should always hang onto  rigid dogma regardless of evidence to the contrary. I have trouble believing that that is what He meant.

What about "Broad is the road that leads to destruction.?" Again, I don't know. Maybe He meant, "Whereas it's not a good thing to hold on forever to the same old opinions and beliefs,  it's very dangerous to have no core beliefs at all". We all need a Divine center, a moral compass. All of our decisions need to be held up against this center  to see it they agree with our basic values. But it's important to remember that we can and should adjust those core values as we learn and grow. The operating system is the brains of our computers, but it is subject to routine and important updates.  It wants to be the best computer possible. Our belief systems are not much different. They need to be constantly updated for our decision-making to be current and effective.

A GPS is a very useful device.  But it would be very unwise to follow its instructions verbatim. You would do so at your own peril. I recently read of a Canadian woman who late at night faithfully followed her GPS down a boat ramp and into frigid waters.  She could have easily drowned, but she was rescued and lived to tell the tale. This afternoon  I took an alternate route because of a tie-up on the interstate. The navigation system protested.  She not only let me know that she was not happy with my new route, but she stayed unhappy for quite some time.  At every other street she told me to turn left or turn right or to make a u-turn. She tried every way possible to get me back to the interstate where I was supposed to be.  Finally, after about five miles she gave in and said "Follow the road."  I let her think that I was following her, but at this point she was following me. I knew the way home.

I have some ideas about why Jesus cursed the fig tree when it was out of season.  I have an opinion on why Jesus told  the woman that the children's food was not for dogs.  I've thought about both of these stories quite a bit. I had to work these harsh words and actions out for myself. In one case I think He was upset (humans get upset from time to time) and in the other He was making a point to those around Him and not to the woman He was speaking to.  Remember that the recorded words of Jesus are devoid of facial expression and body language, both vital parts of  verbal communication. It is also imperative to consider that we're reading what the writer said He said. And these words have been passed down through the centuries to  us. Is there any way that what we're reading is exactly what Jesus said? I doubt it.

So will I buy a navigation system for the next car I purchase?  Probably so. In the first place a GPS comes standard now on most new cars. Also I enjoy the company when I'm traveling by myself.  A GPS isn't perfect, but on most occasions I would be totally lost without it. The words of Jesus may not be perfect, but their guidance has delivered me home time and time again.

Flight Tracker

Since our son and his family live in San Diego now, we find ourselves flying more often than ever.   Flying is not something my wife and I necessarily enjoy doing, it's just a necessary means of transportation when we're traveling 2000 miles from one end of the country to another.  "Someday" we would like to drive to California, but for now we choose to fly. For a number of reasons we usually fly Delta. 

Delta's  on  board screen  has a feature that I enjoy watching called the Flight Tracker.  There are two screens to the service. One screen is a map showing a line from the point to departure to the point of destination. The map has a small jet that's slowly moving on that line over the place of any current location. The major cities I am flying over are plotted on the map.  The other screen shows flight information including time of departure, estimated time of arrival, ground speed, outside temperature and other information. Since the tracker is always running in background, I can pause my movie or my music and refer to it at any time. Besides the fact that the tracker provides useful information, I enjoy just watching the movement of the jet, seeing what city I'm flying over and planning that future road  trip together.

Last night, somewhere over Texas, something got in my head about the tracker. All of us have a Flight Tracker on our lives.  We all have a point of departure and a point of arrival. We have a time of departure and a time of arrival.  Without being able to see our tracker, we know our point and time of departure, but we don't know our point and time of arrival. It occurred to me that our point of departure was a "terminal" (there will be an end to this) and our point of arrival is a "terminal" (the actual end to this).  In the case of the flight last night, the scheduled point of arrival was  a landing strip at the Atlanta airport, In the case of our lives, the scheduled point of arrival is, as far we are concerned,  unknown  

And I thought, if I could see my point and time of departure, would I look?  Would it help to know? Although the temptation would be great, I think that I would choose not to look.  I think I would be content in just knowing, like I already know, that those two points are out there somewhere. "For  your life is hid with God."  Colossians 3:3. The metaphor then is, as the pilot says, "to relax and enjoy the flight."  And, of course, while flying a big part of the enjoyment of the flight is the anticipated arrival, there's no need to dread it. As our twelve year old son said on a flight to Washington, D.C, "It's all part of the adventure."

Delta's history is close to my heart. Delta Airlines, one of the largest airlines in the world, began as the first commercial crop dusting operation in 1925 as the Huff-Daland Dusters in the Louisiana delta. The pilots flew the Huff-Daland Duster to eradicate the boll weevil. By then the boll weevil had already made its way to my hometown of Enterprise, Alabama. To cope with the destruction to their main crop,  local farmers were thriving on growing peanuts instead of cotton. Sessions Peanuts is still a thriving concern in Enterprise. In the middle of the city there now stands the "world-famous Boll Weevil Monument" erected to thank the boll weevil for its role in that economic windfall.  It stands as the only monument in the world erected to glorify a pest. If I was one of the civic leaders I would attach a plaque thanking George Washington Carver for his role in that process, but I have not lived in Enterprise for forty-three years and I have no say in the matter. The attached plaque  thanks the boll weevil and I choose to be content with that recognition. 

So is that history the reason we fly Delta? Not really.  As far as airlines go, Delta is as good as any and better then most. And for the first time in our married lives, we are officially "frequently flyers". In our lives, unless those who promote reincarnation are correct, none of us are frequent flyers. There's one flight. This flight has a point and time of departure and a point and time of arrival. Just like actual flying, we have limited choices for how we spend our time. Unlike flying when all of our choices are in front of our faces, our life choices, though limited, are relatively abundant. Like on the flight,  we can spend most of our time watching television, or we can get out and go places. We can do things, be things and see things. We can enjoy actual experiences instead of viewing countless hours of digital images on a screen. We can do things around town or Delta is ready when we are. 

Repeat the Sounding Joy

My favorite Christmas movie is not It's a  Wonderful Life or White Christmas.  It's not The Christmas Story or Christmas Vacation.  My favorite Christmas movie is The Family Stone.  I have not watched it this season, but I plan to watch it soon. The movie is a family story about people at their best and their worst at Christmastime.

Of all the funny and touching moments for me in the film, there is one scene that gets me every time.  It's like that one scene in The Empire of the Sun when Jim, a young British prisoner of war,  walks up to the Zero on the Japanese airfield and lovingly caresses the airplane, I have never watched the movie without getting at least a lump in my throat during that scene.  In The Family Stone there is a moment when Ben Stone, played by Luke Wilson, is resting on a bed in a cozy corner with his hands behind his head.  He's thinking of "Joy to the World" when he says as if he's never thought about the words before. "Repeat the sounding joy."  And then as if speaking a question he says again "Repeat the sounding joy."  I was struck at the same moment he was struck with how very odd those lyrics are.  What in the world could "repeat the sounding joy" actually mean?  I didn't know then and I don't know now what the words mean.  But like Ben I am awestruck with the beauty of the Christmas poetry.

This  afternoon I turned on the radio to a marvelous arrangement of "The First Noel."  For the first time this Christmas season I was flooded with the "sounding joy." I  was filled with the power and wonder of Christmas.  And I thought,  "What could that mean?   The first noel?"  The song indicates it's about the first Christmas in Bethlehem. A quick search revealed that the Latin "natalis" of the French "noel" means "birthday." The Latin, it turns out,  is also where we also get the word "natal." The song knew what it was saying all along.

Since The Family Stone is a Christmas movie, it should not be a spoiler to tell you that by the end, in spite of some rough patches along the way, it eventually becomes a story  about a family at Christmas being at its best. That's why I like it so much.

My observation is that no matter what is going on in people's lives, their family's lives, and in the lives of their circle of friends, Christmas is a hopeful time.  Christmastime does tend to bring out the best in people.  Perfect strangers say to me, "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" and I return the greeting.  On a recent trip to a family Christmas gathering in  Alabama, as I placed my purchase on the counter, I asked the cashier at the convenience store, "How much are you still enjoying that Christmas music?"  She smiled and said, "Not very much" and then she gave me the coffee. I understand very well how difficult the Christmas season is for so many people, but for most people I think it is indeed a time of "sounding joy."

I spent forty-five years of my life directing church choirs. That means that I spent forty-five Christmases directing church choirs.  That means that I was never able to separate "Christmas" from "the music of Christmas." That phenomenon was not all bad and it was not all good.  But it was mostly good. Part of the reason "The First  Noel" was doing it for me this afternoon is that it reminded me of an anthem by David Schwoebel of that carol. One of the biggest musical challenges down through the years was not "do I have a choir that can sing it?", but "do I have an accompanist who can play it?" I was fortunate enough at this particular church to have two accompanists who could play anything I put in front of them, This incredible arrangement of "The First Noel" was technically difficult for the accompanists and for the choir, but we performed it both flawlessly and artistically. This afternoon as I was enjoying the music on the radio, I could  still feel in my soul and my spirit the antiphonal  musical climax of "born is the King of Israel" as it reverberated through the sanctuary.

Maybe that's what "repeat the sounding joy" means.  Whatever brings you joy during Christmas, repeat it.  Watch your favorite movie, listen to you favorite carol, bake your favorite pie, but by all means do  that thing that brings you the most joy.  And just like they figured out in The Family Stone, forgetting about petty differences and caring about the people around you is the quickest and best way to find joy.  "Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!.  Born is the King of Israel."

The Evening and the Morning

"Watching the sun, watching it come, watching it come up over the rooftops...And it's going to be a day. There is really no way to say no to the morning... And it's going to be a day, there is really nothing left to say but come on morning."  Dan Fogelberg

As much as I enjoy "camping out" and  as many camping trips that I have been on,  I can't remember ever being the one to suggest that we go camping.  As a Boy Scout in Enterprise, Alabama I had no idea we would go camping as often as we did.  I mainly joined Boy Scouts because my best friends were in Troop 99 and they encouraged me to join.   Camp AlaFlo was just a few miles out of town and our scout master took full advantage of it. He not only took our troop there on many weekend camping excursions, but for week long trips in the summer. The highlight of those trips was playing an Indian game Capture the Flag in  the middle of the night. This was a game of stealth and skill played against a neighboring troop. The winner earned the flag hoisted at its camp ground and bragging rights for the duration of the camp. Running through the woods in the dark with only a flashlight at a full gallop was exhilarating to say the least.  I'm sure there were injuries, but I don't recall them.

Our scout master took us on several road trips as well. One of those was to the Shiloh Battlefield near Memphis, Tennessee. There was no Weather Channel in the late fall of 1964. The weather in the "wiregrass" was about all we got on the radio and television.  The temperature was in the 70s when we left Enterprise and in the 20s when we arrived at the park.  I wore all the clothes I took with me all weekend and survived to tell the tale. I was not entirely comfortable but I still remember enjoyable aspects of the two day, twenty-eight mile hike through the battlefield and surrounding forests.

Over the years friends have invited me to go camping to various places.  I'm always eager to go. One of those was an overnight trip to "The Pocket", a place at Pigeon Mountain, Georgia about twenty miles from where I live. We camped by  a creek and the next morning I felt like the gurgling of the mountain stream had washed my soul clean. The two night/three day backpacking experience with another friend was memorable on many different levels. One level was the well-meaning friend who the night before warned me to watch out for copperheads. "They're everywhere", he said. I didn't see any snakes but every step I took was an exercise in caution. The encounter with a tarantula in an outhouse made a lasting impression on me also. Thankfully the impression was only in my mind and nowhere else.

This morning I'm remembering one overnight camping experience in particular. I accompanied this friend to a place on Lookout Mountain, Georgia called "The Rock."  I already had a history with "The Rock" but  the most significant history was still ahead of me when on Tuesday, June 9, 1992 I spent the night there alone.  I would tell you about that night, but that would be "the story of my life."  Remind me to tell you that story sometime. "The Rock" lies right on the edge of Lookout Mountain and affords an incredible view of Chattanooga, Tennessee and distant valleys. It is surrounded by rock walls that offer protection and comfort from the elements. But it gets its name from a huge boulder that you can climb  on and sit in a natural chair with your legs dangling off the mountain. Dangerous?  Not really, if you're careful climbing up and down. But I don't recommend climbing up  when you're there alone at one o'clock in the morning in a fog as thick as pea soup.

My friend and I shared two significant experiences on that trip. One happened on Friday evening and the other on Saturday morning. On Friday evening while tending our fire, we both saw an apparition on a nearby  rock wall. I don't recall which one of us saw it first, but about forty feet from where we sat was the enormous  head of an American Indian warrior.  The features were distinct and the effect was stunning. He was facing away from us across the valley before us. His gaze  was solemn, but not threatening and severe.  It's not correct to call it an "apparition" since the light and the shadows created an actual shape on the rock. Are the presidents at Mt. Rushmore an apparition or are they really there? Aren't they created by nothing more than rock,  light and shadows? On the other hand it's not correct to say our chief was real either. I guess I'll call it a phenomenon that we both shared  Whatever it was, it was certainly memorable for both of us. We had never seen him before that evening and we've never seen him since. It was just one of those things that happens from time to time when you camp at "The Rock". Some consider the place to be sacred ground.

But it's what happened before dawn the  next morning that meant the most to me and I think to my camping buddy as well.  Since there is only room for one on the rock, we sat together on a ledge in the dark waiting on the sunrise.  With the ashes  of our evening fire behind us and the darkness of the valley before us, we sat silently together, and we waited.  With the memory of our Indian friend still fresh on our spirits, the illusion for both of us was that we weren't just waiting for an ordinary sunrise. We were anticipating something more dramatic.  We were not just waiting for the dawn of a new day; we were waiting together for the dawn of creation.  It must have been how God felt just before He said, "Let there be light." The anticipation of the light gave deep meaning to the darkness. Sitting in the darkness at "The Rock" with a friend is exponentially better than sitting there in the darkness alone.

A common myth of a sunrise if you've never seen one is that the first thing you see is the round edge of the sun emerging over the horizon.  The truth is that you are aware of the approaching light even before you even see it. Although you see nothing with your eyes, you sense it in your soul. It doesn't start with a ball of fire, but with a warm glow.

That morning the clouds over the distant horizon began to glow and a slither of light crawled across the distant hills. It was the feeling of something totally new;  It was a feeling of being born again. As the sun finally began to show  itself above the hills, my friend draped his arm around my shoulder and I draped mine around his. We  just sat arm in arm for the duration of the solar event. What was more profound, the drama of dawn of creation or the love I felt for my  friend? Thankfully, I didn't have to choose. Within hours of creating the first light, God created two people to enjoy it with Him. I would guess that God enjoyed the people more than He did the light.

A few years ago while in Enterprise, I drove out to Camp AlaFlo to see what I could see. At first the caretaker seemed somewhat  concerned about security  since campers were there and wasn't all that thrilled with my intrusion. After I told him of my history at the camp he not only changed his tune, but he loaded me in his Gator and took me on the grand tour. It was so good to see the lake where I earned the lifesaving and the mile swim merit badges. I was able to see actual sites where I had camped and slept in cabins as a boy. They were there about as I remembered them. If only I had known back then to pay attention. If only I had known how quickly those times would pass. But I was a kid. There was no way for me to know.

  Have you ever wondered why the first day of creation was "the evening and the morning" and not "the morning and the evening?"  Don't we normally think of a day starting in the morning and ending at night? I sure don't know, but maybe it was so Adam and Eve a few days later could experience the darkness before they experienced the light. I can see them sitting silently together arm in arm in complete darkness. All they had was each other and whatever lay ahead. Although they had no way of knowing for sure, they must have sensed that there was more to look forward to  than the dark. So they sat and they waited. Slowly and effortlessly there was a warm glow against the clouds in the distance.  Then a sliver of light slid across the horizon. The sky was catching on fire. They tingled with excitement as a circle of light appeared before them. That circle grew larger and larger. The garden grew brighter and brighter. And just like that their first day began.

These days "camping" usually involves a vehicle with bedrooms, a kitchen, a restroom and a flat-screen HDTV.  For me it still involves some woods,  a tent and a fire. It's a scout thing. And while those people in their camper are watching Good Morning America, I'm watching an evening and a morning. Either way, there's really nothing left to say but "come on morning".

For the Love of God

"God sometimes you just don't come through. Do you need a woman to take care of you?" Tori Amos

Years ago I read somewhere  "God is either omnipotent or all-loving, but He can't be both"
I had a conversation recently that included, after an explanation of a bad situation,  "God is in control."

Really?

Was God in control when Dylann Roof walked into a church prayer meeting on June 17,2015, opened fire, and killed nine people who were there to share their prayer concerns and to pray for one another? God was in control of that?

Is God in control in Syria?  What began as pro-democracy protests in March of 1011 turned quickly into a full-scale civil war.  It is estimated that over 300,000 Syrians have died in the conflict and over 12 million people have become refugees from the constant bombing. Men, women and children in Aleppo are being executed in their homes and in the street. Tens of thousands of  families have walked away from their homes with no destination and nothing but the clothes on their backs.   God is in control of that?

In the United States of America, every twenty-five minutes a baby is born addicted to drugs. Because the mother chose to use drugs during pregnancy, the baby is born with the same dependency.  The baby had absolutely no choice in the matter. Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS) or withdrawal is a long and painful ordeal for the newborn. Some babies do not survive the process.   The financial cost to the health system is tens of thousands of dollars per baby. God is in control of this?

In court the man said under oath, "I was so drunk I don't know if I hit him or not." But my friend's eleven year old son who had been waiting to cross the road on his bicycle was dead at the hands of this hit and run drunk driver.  The man was convicted of vehicular homicide and driving under the influence, and  has served many years in prison. We console ourselves that he is in Heaven, but this bright and beautiful little boy has  been dead to his mother, his brother and sister for a long, long time. He was my friend too. God was in control  of that?

Just a few weeks ago a blazing inferno rushed through Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The flames were fueled by wind gusts of up to 90 mph. Fourteen people died, over 2500 homes and businesses burned to the ground and more than 17,000 pristine acres were destroyed. It is estimated the cost to rebuild will approach $500 million. Authorities have determined that the wildfires were deliberately set by two teenage boys dropping lighted matches on the parched  ground. God was in control of that?

Should we talk about child sexual abuse and physical abuse?  Should we talk about domestic violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and animal abuse?  God is in control of all of this?

In the beginning God created a beautiful garden, the Garden of Eden. Then he formed two  humans from dust and placed them in this garden.  He told them to feel free to eat of all the fruit thereof except for the fruit from one particular tree, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  Given the choice of all the bounty of the garden, Adam and Eve ate the fruit from that tree.  This tendency has come to be known as "human nature." God then expelled them from the garden.  Did God set it up that way? Was His intention to tempt them to sin to make it possible to punish them?  Is that the kind of deity God is? Is "God's nature" as bad or worse than "human nature"? Or is "human nature" simply a reflection of "God's' nature"? Like Father. Like son?

What do people mean when they say "God is in control"?  They must mean it in some wishful thinking abstract sort of way, because they can't possibly mean it in any literal way. The dictionary definition of "control" is "the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events."If people mean the "influence part", then maybe so. If they mean the "direct people's behavior" part, as I suspect that they do, then God has serious issues.

 Hopefully  the people who say "God is in control"  simply  mean  that "all of this is going to work out some way.  Something good is going to come of this." If that's what people mean when they say "God is in control" then it makes more sense.  If they mean "This happened the way God meant for it to happen" then he has serious theological issues.  I will never accept that everything that happens is because that's the  way God intended for it to happen. People commit horrible, unthinkable atrocities. I don't think God committed any of them. I don't think God burned down Gatlinburg for some good reason.  Can something good come of it? Absolutely. Did God Himself do it? Absolutely not.

So what is God in control of if He in control of anything?  I started this with "either God is omnipotent or He's all-loving". Whereas I can't accept the omnipotent part, I totally accept the all-loving part. When I see the kindness of people toward  total strangers who need their help, I see the love of God.   When I see how people treat children with kindness and tenderness, I  can  believe that there's a  loving God. When I see people treat both domesticated and wild animals with love and  compassion, I see God's love at work.  I see evidence of God's love through the love of people all the time.   Can God love us outside of His love through people?  Of course He can. For centuries mystics have related direct encounters with the Divine. I experienced that love for myself one morning in Ft.. Oglethorpe, Georgia.  God Himself reached through the chasm of separation and loved me.  The experience left me stunned and dumbfounded. My four year old son was with me and he knew Something profound had happened too.  I can't tell you what happened, but I can take you to the place it happened.  Although my observation is that God usually works through human hearts and hands, He isn't restricted to human love to demonstrate His own. In August of 1971 as an eighteen year old young man while leaning against a headstone in a cemetery in Owensboro, Kentucky, Something happened. That's all I can tell you about it, Something significant happened. I was wrapped in love like a blanket not of this world. During a communion service at a Pilgrim Congregationalist church in Edina, Minnesota in January of 1986, Something happened. There were twelve of us and the Celebrant. The twelve. I must have been playing the role of Thomas. I didn't doubt as much after that.

So is God omnipotent?  Absolutely  not.   Is God all-loving? Absolutely. Does God really need a woman to take care of Him? Couldn't hurt. Jesus had at least three Marys in his life, his mother, Mary the sister of Lazarus and Mary Magdalene. A most significant women in my life was my mother, Mary. Mother died on March 1, 2003 but I still sense her presence every day.  If we believe that God and Jesus are One, then God's mother is Mary. Maybe God is Mary. Who knows?

I think God had  a choice, He could have been omnipotent and we would be pawns on his chessboard,or he could give us free will, the power of choice, and He would have to watch the crown of His creation make a mess of things. And while we are doing that, for a distraction  He can sit on His back porch with his telescope and watch the birth and death of trillions of stars. Watching the live birth of supernova, quasars, and black holes must be a Divine experience. Only you can't see a black hole. God, I'm sure, has a special telescope. He can see them. God can do anything, except violate the will of people.

Is God omnipotent in Heaven, the place of eternal joy, rest and peace. The Old Testament records that Satan,an angel of God, "fell from Heaven like lightning." Apparently God didn't kick him out, but he left of his own accord. Maybe he saw an opportunity in the Garden of Eden to thwart God's perfect plan.  Looks like his scheme may have worked. And yet God's perfect plan according to the Apostle Paul is to "wrap everything up in Him, the things on the earth,  above the earth and below the earth." If "everything" is true, then even Satan himself will eventually come back home. These things will probably not "come to pass" for a very long time. Then and only then will God be both all-loving and omnipotent.   Until then we must be content with only His love. And if we accept it, His love is more than enough.

"O come to my heart Lord Jesus. There's room in my heart for Thee."

Did curiosity really kill the cat?

Fear is a natural response.  Our bodies are genetically hard-wired to respond to fear.  The fear center of the brain, the amygdala, stands ready to pump powerful stress hormones into our nervous system to prepare us to fight or to run. The problem is that we feel fearful in a multitude of situations when there is no threat. "There's nothing to fear but fear itself" is often the case.

I recently read that the best antidote to fear is curiosity.  The source said that with fear we react by moving away from the thing we fear and with curiosity we move toward it. I mentioned this idea to someone whose opinion I respect and he said,  "I get that, but  there are many healthy fears. It's well and good to be curious about things, but you don't want to cuddle a rattlesnake."

I understand the dangers of totally ignoring our natural fears, but  I think that we should consider that curiosity as a way of life is much better for our mental health and well-being than fear as a way of life.

Most of us are familiar with the adage "curiosity killed the cat."  This maxim would support my friend's warning.  However, the first time these words were printed they meant something completely different. The original quote is "care killed the cat."  Care being "worry or sorrow." This phrase was written by the playwright Ben Johnson in 1598.  I want to suggest that more people have died from "worry or sorrow" than from curiosity.  I also want to suggest that all but a few of the most curious people in the world would not intentionally walk within striking distance of a poisonous snake.

In a recent case, a man attributes his life to the behavior of  his cat.  One of the stories of escape during the deadly wildfires in Gatlinburg, Tennessee involves a man and his cat. Mark Burger saw evidence of distant fires but never got any sort of alert to warn him. He decided that if it was a problem, somebody would let him know. But his normally docile, easy going cat began acting very erratically, pacing from the front window back to him. As his cat became more and more agitated, he finally got up, walked to the window and saw the flames advancing on his home. He and his cat were among those who were able to escape. When asked if he gave his cat a new toy Burger said, "He doesn't care about toys. He never gets bored because he's so curious about everything around him."

Fear and worry do temporary and sometimes permanent damage to the human body. According to WebMD and other reliable medical sources, constant worry takes a toll on our nervous systems and our bodies.  Our bodies react to worry as a physical threat. Our nervous system doesn't know the difference between an approaching wildfire  and a final exam.  When we worry our brain floods the spinal column and extremities with powerful neurotransmitters.  These hormones are designed by nature to give us the ability to avoid or deal with a dangerous situation, but the body is not designed to cope with these biochemicals being constantly pumped into and stored in the system. The secretions in the stomach alone can cause significant damage to the lining of the stomach and digestive tract.  Bleeding ulcers are a dangerous and sometimes deadly malady.  Many of them are caused by fear and worry .

Besides these physical effects, the mental effects are even more acute.  Chronic worry can lead to depression, despair and even suicide if not dealt with. Short of something that drastic, personal and social relationships are affected.  Then many people self-medicate with alcohol and drugs.  Besides expensive and career-ending DUIs these substances can lead to addiction and broken relationships.

It then is my opinion that "care" has killed many more cats than "curiosity". I'm sure it has happened, but I've never known of a cat being bitten by a poisonous snake.  To be fair, I've never known a cat that worries a lot either.  But you get my point.

I'm writing all this primarily for myself.  For a number of reasons,  I don't watch or read the news very often these days, but when I do my knee-jerk reaction is fear. I'm very concerned for myself, my family and the ones that I love.  I'm concerned for my country and for the world.  I feel threatened. I feel frightened. My body prepares me to fight or to run. But since there's no one to fight and nowhere to run, the pumps just keep pumping.  That's not healthy.  So I figure that if I find a way to replace fear with curiosity, I should be in a state of constant wonderment instead of constant fear. Making this adjustment won't be easy, but it's necessary.

The first pet I loved was Cherry. I was five years old when my mother adopted this black kitten with a white face and white paws.  I named him  Cherry because of his pink nose.  My family loved Cherry as much as I did. Cherry died thirteen years later in a very tragic manner.  He wasn't curious; he was asleep. I thought my father was going to die too. So the lesson for me is "Fine, be curious, but don't go to sleep.  And when necessary, be afraid.  You may need to fight. Keep reading the news and stay awake!"

So maybe we can agree that there's usually nothing to fear but fear itself.  But if  your cat starts acting strange, run!!

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Coffee Meditation

" 'Coffee meditation' is pain free, guilt free and stress free."  David R. Helms

Over nearly forty years I have tried and failed at many forms of "classic meditation."  I'm defining "classic meditation" as meditation techniques extracted from, espoused by and perfected by gurus from India and Zen Buddhists from China. The East  has been imported to the West in a multitude of forms. My observation of and understanding of "classic meditation" involves being physically uncomfortable for great lengths of time at some particular time on any given day.

The thing I've learned about meditation that I believe I understand correctly is that meditation and mindfulness are  not supposed to propel the practitioner into some sort of blissful, transcendental state of consciousness. Years ago  when I meditated from five a.m. to six a.m. every morning,  that is exactly what I thought I was supposed to be doing.  During that time after many hours of contemplating my navel I did twice achieve such a state. In one of them I experienced a sort of "out of the body experience" where my spirit seemed to float up toward the ceiling and look down on me below.  In the other while meditating on the word Yahweh, I had an instantaneous awareness, an implosion of consciousness,  of "Yah/Weh" as "You/We" that transformed the way I thought about God and me. Really God and all of us.  The gist of it was hat just like I can't be me without God, God can't be God without me. How can He be Savior and redeemer without humans to save and redeem? Just like a king can't be a king without a kingdom. God (or whoever) would still be floating around in the void. But those two transcendental states were hardly worth the time, pain, sleep deprivation and loneliness  I endured to achieve them.

Over the years I have read a multitude of books and watched a multitude of videos on meditation and mindfulness.  I thoroughly enjoy reading about it all. I understand that mindfulness does not have to include any sort of spiritual significance. I understand that Zen practice and mindfulness is not a religion.  They can be a religion, but they don't have to be. I understand that meditation at its core primarily involves first my breathing and secondarily my thinking. I totally understand the importance of meditation.  Something that got my attention recently is that science is learning that mindfulness meditation can actually shrink the amygdala, the fear center of our brain. That is a significant benefit.

I recently read Dan Harris' book 10% Happier and I have employed some of his mindfulness techniques into my daily regimen. It was after reading that book and including five minutes of mindfulness meditation in my day that I discovered and affirmed my very own technique of  what I call "coffee meditation."

"Coffee meditation" includes various aspects of "classic meditation" with some radical departures. These differences are so profound that I'm quite sure most people who meditate daily will discount my techniques as worthless. And yet  it's working  for me.

I have spent many "blissful hours" (a relative term) in the corner of my den where I'm sitting.  This is where I read, where I write, where I surf the net, sometimes where I sleep. Here I also listen to music on Spotify and YouTube and watch movies on Netflix and DVDs.  If our home is where we both stay, this corner is where I live. And it's  now where I meditate from time to time. Besides what I can look around and see inside the room, I'm looking through a sliding glass door to the outside world, well the outside world in my immediate field of vision.  But I can see very much  in that field of vision without changing positions. I primarily see trees.  Over the past several weeks, the leaves have turned from green to the all the colors of the spectrum and now have mostly fallen off. So I can now see what they've been hiding from me all this time. In the trees there are birds and squirrels flitting around.  I can see the semi-circle of bricks that used to surround a large tree. We had that tree cut down years ago.  Besides what I see there are the things I remember, like the groundhog who made a home in that semi-circle. My three year old granddaughter misunderstood this animal's name and called it "the grandfather" for several years. I smile every time I think about my granddaughter and her "grandfather."

If "classic meditation" involves sitting so that I'm  physically uncomfortable or at least have become comfortable with discomfort, "coffee meditation" is the opposite. I go upstairs, brew a cup of steaming hot coffee, bring it to my chair and assume the position for meditation.  Jon Kabat Zinn says that you should "sit in a way that honors the body."  I sit like I always sit and I turn and prop up my feet on the arm of the sofa beside me (the place I sometimes sleep). I don't think Zinn would approve of my Zen. To make myself even more comfortable, I put a pillow under my feet so as to not cut off the circulation in my legs. Now in this position I meditate. I'm in a "blissful state" from the beginning.

What happens now changes every time I meditate.  But my unconventional, if not slightly disrespectful, style of meditation employs various aspects of "classic mediation."  I'm aware of my breathing.  I don't count my breaths or breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.  I'm just aware that I'm breathing and I celebrate that fact.  I'm aware of my thinking.  In "classic meditation" one conquers the "monkey brain" in with any number of techniques.  In "coffee meditation" I just let my thinking do whatever it chooses to do.  I neither encourage my "monkey brain" nor try to tame it. I just think like I always think. Employing "classic meditation" I don't attach myself to any thought. I just let it go. But this thinking includes the added benefit of enjoying what I'm looking at through the glass door. When I see a bird, I acknowledge it without building a story around it.  It's a bird. "Hello little bird. Goodbye little bird."

One of the most important things about "coffee meditation" is I do this as much or as little as I choose to.  Sometimes I meditate several times a day, sometimes once a day and often no times a day. When I meditate, sometimes it's for ninety seconds and sometimes it's for thirty or forty minutes. It's whatever I feel like doing.  In my several months of "coffee meditation" I don't have to achieve a transcendental state because I'm in a transcendental state. My mantra to maintain that state is "get more coffee. get more coffee. get more coffee..."

Since I include the writing I do here as  meditation, I log  many more hours to the practice.  This morning besides the usual enjoyment I find in writing, it's raining.  There is a gentle downpour that I hear in the downspouts and as it hits the pavement. I could stop what I'm doing, get a cup of coffee, throw my feet on the arm of the sofa and "meditate", but I'm already meditating.  I'm quite content.

"Mindfulness meditation" in the West has evolved with as many rules and restrictions as "classic meditation" in the East. I'm quite sure that I do not practice "mindfulness" much better than I practice "meditation."  But one thing is happening to me that I think is important. I'm more aware of what's around me.  In conversation I'm more aware of the person standing there and what they are saying to me. I'm not in a hurry as much to conclude that encounter to get to the next one.  I'm more patient in traffic. Where I'm headed is much less important than where I am. I'm slowly overcoming my slavish obsession with "being on time." Whatever it is that I think needs me can happen without me or not  at all. The earth will keep spinning on its axis either way.  I'm more mindful while I'm eating. I'm more mindful when I pull up the covers to go to sleep. I'm more mindful of everything. And isn't that the point? I must be doing something right.

I don't pretend to believe that "coffee meditation" is as beneficial to me as "classic meditation" is for millions of people around the world willing to put in the time and effort of getting good at it.  I applaud their effort. What I do pretend to believe is what Dan Harris proposes  that meditating five minutes a day is much better than none it all.  And what a multitude of benefits one can glean from that practice. So I have turned what worked for him, and became a national best-seller, into something that's working for me.  I don't expect this post to become a national best-seller, but hopefully it might help at least a few find benefit in mindfulness.

A final benefit of "coffee meditation" is that beer works as well or better.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

 Biblical scholars and historians agree that Jesus probably was not born on December 25th.  You certainly will not find this date in the gospel narratives of the birth of Jesus. This date became Christmas primarily because of its proximity to the Winter Solstice and the mid-winter Roman celebration of Saturnalia. The current  theory of the fourth century reasoning is/was if the date was during these solar festivals then  Christmas might be mistaken for a pagan festival and more pagans would celebrate it.

Although the political and religious leaders of the time eventually chose December 25th, they could have chosen any day of the year. Because of that, if we chose to we could celebrate Christmas on any day of the year.

Although I have celebrated my most memorable Christmases with my family and  friends on or around December 25th, the most meaningful Christmas service I have attended was in June of 1982. From the time I  had landed in a career of church music in 1971, my mother had encouraged me to participate in Church Music Week.  This week dedicated to the education and nourishment of Southern Baptist musicians was held annually at the Ridgecrest Baptist Assembly in Black, Mountain, North Carolina. I didn't get around to going for eleven more years. And for reasons I don't remember, I never went again.

I asked two of the youth in my church to accompany me to the event. One of them was home from college for the summer and the other was a student at a local high school. Both of them were already accomplished musicians.

I encountered a major obstacle right out of the gate. I couldn't find an available hotel room within twenty five miles of the conference center. Person after person said, "Sorry we do not have a room available". Feeling much like Joseph and Mary must have felt, after the last of those conversations out of sheer frustration I said, "You would think there would be one room in Black Mountain, North Carolina."  She said, "Ok, I've got a room." Our plan was to go a day early to  see the famous outdoor drama "Unto These Hills" in Cherokee, North Carolina, a play about the plight of the  Cherokee Indian history. When we got there we learned to our amazement and disappointment the season opened the next day. We went to a movie instead, The Shining to be exact. It was quite a visual and emotional turn around from "Unto These Hills."

Of everything on the schedule for the week, the thing that intrigued me the most was to occur on Thursday night, "A Christmas program by John Purifoy." Since I knew that he composed and published Christmas cantatas, I assumed the service would be more or less an infomercial for one of his cantatas. Nothing could have been further from the truth. When the Apollo astronauts experienced their first EarthRise, they had no words for the experience. To turn around and  see the Spaceship Earth no  bigger than the moon, was something none of them could adequately describe. When something equally as profoundly wonderful, beautiful and mystical happens for me, I am as speechless as they were.  But I'll offer a few words.

The theme of the service was "Incarnation." Before that night I knew the term historically and theologically.  I had not known it personally and emotionally. Through Purifoy's music and the words that were spoken that June night, I walked out of the sanctuary feeling that for the first time I understood what it meant that God had been born in Bethlehem of Judea. "The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us." The "getting saved" of my childhood no longer had much to do with my "eternal destiny" and had everything to do with that  sanctified night in June. The night before Christmas began in earnest that night in Black Mountain, North Carolina and continued throughout the elongated Christmas season.

That was over thirty-four years ago.  My wife and I are having dinner tonight with  that college student at one of Chattanooga's finest restaurants. He lives in California with his husband, the love of his life. Since we don't get to see him very often, we're having dinner with him again tomorrow night in one of north Georgia's finest restaurants. Both of us are so excited to see him and to get to spend time with him.  Time with this lifetime friend always involves delicious food, fabulous wine and much, much laughter. I can use some laughter.

My mother died in 2003 because of complications of a rupture of her esophagus. Of all the legacies of love that she left to me, one of the best was her affirmation of my choice to spend my life in church music. She was proud of me from day one. And perhaps the most important part of that legacy was to encourage me to go to Church  Music Week.  For a number of reasons, I am so looking forward to December 24th and 25th with my family.  But thanks to. one incredible evening of music in June of 1982, I have no need to  wait until then to celebrate Christmas. Jesus was not only born in Bethlehem; Jesus was born in me.