A Peace Not of This World

“Where is peace to be found? The answer is surprising but it is clear: in weakness. Few people are telling us this truth, but there is peace to be found in our own weakness, in those places of our hearts where we feel most broken, most insecure, most in agony, most afraid. Why there? Because in our weakness our familiar ways of controlling or manipulating our world are being stripped away and we are forced from doing anything much, and relying on our self-sufficiency. Right there where we are most vulnerable, the peace that is not of this world is mysteriously hidden.”
Finding My Way Home: Pathways to Life and the Spirit  Henri J.M. Nouwen

If we are ever to find peace, it will be "peace that is not of this world."  Every year during the holidays we hear or sing, "Let there be peace on earth" hoping against hope that this will be the year. The truth is, there will never be "peace of earth". The only way we could  honestly claim "peace on earth" would be when there is no conflict whatsoever within nations, between nations, within families and between all people everywhere.  Until the end of the world, that is not going to happen. If we're waiting for peace on earth to find peace within, we're going to be waiting for a long time.

So we're back to "peace that is not of this world."  Even  if this is possible, and I think that it is, we will only  enjoy this state from time to time in spurts of awareness.  It is unreasonable to think that we're going to reach Nirvana and stay there in a perpetual state of being.  I can think of a few times that I experienced "peace that is not of this world."  One afternoon in the summer of 1971  I sat against a headstone in a cemetery in Owensboro, Kentucky.  I was taking a break from the rigors of door to door sales.  While I was sitting there this "peace not of this world" found me.  I had never felt so good in my life.  In that moment I had no problems and the problems of the world seemed to vanish.  I remained in this blissful state for nearly an hour until I got up to resume knocking on doors. And to some extent I stayed in that state for the rest of the day.

Another time I experienced this peace was the morning in 1981 my son was born.  My wife had been in labor for more than 30 hours. I was coming off a one week sleep-deprived mission trip with the youth of my church so we were both exhausted.  Obviously, my exhaustion paled in comparison to hers. I don't want to suggest that our fatigue was equal. As he was being  born, even with Lamaze and Gentle Birth training, I was not prepared for what I saw.  As he was emerging from the birth canal, my son was a bluish/purple color and I wondered if he was alive. After he was born and after the token pat on the butt, he started crying.  My tears flowed and my relief was immense. I thought my heart was going to explode. After my wife held our son for a few minutes, the nurse handed him to me.  Holding this newborn baby who carried my name and my DNA was about more than I could comprehend. The room became a holy place. The Bible speaks of "angels unaware"; this room was filled with angels very much aware. The nurses had prepared a warm bath for our baby.  I gently lowered him into the water as he quietly searched my face and blinked with awareness.  Like the experience in Kentucky a few years before, never had I felt as at peace with the world than in those moments.  Later when I started calling people, that peace turned into exuberance as I exclaimed to my family and friends, "I have a son!"

Nouwen says that "peace is to be found...in those places of our heart where we feel most broken, most insecure...most afraid" because we are forced to not rely on our self-sufficiency. I have little idea what he means by that. But in my case, sitting in a cemetery and a few years later standing in a maternity ward, there may be a connection between death and birth. There may be a mystical something in common with both experiences. "The peace that is not of this world is mysteriously hidden."

So were my experiences peace in the world or peace not of this world? They were some of both. Neither were out of the body experiences. I was very much in the body. And yet in both cases I was in the presence of Something not of this world. As much as I would love for there to be peace on earth this Christmas, for now I'll be content to know that absolute peace is possible. "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin in me."

Phaedrus

This article contains several spoilers to the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig.  If you intend to read the book  you might not want to read this.  On the other hand this information might could jump start your understanding of a deeply complex narrative. More than 10 million copies have been sold. Most of us who have read it have read it more than once. I’ve read it four times. Just because you haven’t read it doesn’t mean the book’s not worth reading and it doesn’t mean that you’re a worthless reader.  It just means you’ve never read it and may not care to.

The Phaedrus was a book written by Plato around 360BC.  I’ve never read that book.  That Phaedrus is not who Phaedrus is to me.  My “Phaedrus” is the fictional creation of Robert Pirsig in his book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance published in 1974. “Phaedrus” is also a very real emotional ghost in my own life.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has been called “fictional autobiography”.  But  the events of the 17- day motorcycle trip were essentially true and the four people who made the trip were very real. Besides the author, his son and two friends made the trip from  Minnesota to California, well except the friends bailed out in Montana.  I didn’t understand just how real Chris was and had become to me until I picked up a 10^th anniversary copy over 30 years ago. I was in a bookstore in Nashville, Tennessee when the book virtually jumped off the shelf into my hands.  I opened to the preface and read that Chris had been murdered. I came unglued, I had to go to the restroom to cry and to collect myself. Twelve year old Chris had been the glue that held his father together and who made the trip possible for all of them. Now Chris Pirsig was dead. He died on November 17,1979 at the age of twenty two. Years later Pirsig would say “I kept living more out of  habit than anything.” Robert, the author, died on April 24, 2017 at the age of 88.

Robert Pirsig was mentally ill.  He suffered with a variety of mental and emotional problems.  Those problems become apparent in his book. He not only recalled his mental illness before treatment, but became progressively ill on the trip. The reader learns that Pirsig had entered  treatment in a mental hospital several years before the motorcycle trip.  Furthermore, you learn that he had undergone several shock treatments while he was there. After he was released from the hospital and started getting better Phaedrus came into being. Phaedrus was the part of Pirsig before the treatment.  The ECT had taken a toll so Phaedrus appeared in random times and places. He felt Phaedrus’ presence before he figured out why.

Yesterday my wife and I were traveling home from a fun and meaningful family Christmas gathering in Montgomery, Alabama  and visits with two sets of lifetime friends in Birmingham. We were on I-459 in Birmingham approaching the interchange with I-59 north when he showed up. Phaedrus’ company is unmistakable. Although I had nothing on my mind but good memories and positive expectations, I suddenly felt that poignant mixture of hope and sadness. More sadness than hope.  As I traveled up I-59 north toward Chattanooga, I contemplated my emotional plight and I understood I was feeling the shadow of a multitude of trips up  that highway between 1979 and 1983. Phaedrus remembers so many things that I have long forgotten. Phaedrus is not evil, but he doesn't always have good intent.  35 years ago was both a wonderful and horrible time.  Those trips north always involved love and fun from Enterprise or Jasper in my rear-view mirror and dread through my windshield. Looking back,  I really had nothing to dread;  it’s just what I chose to feel. And my emotional system was happy to accommodate.  

Yesterday afternoon I thanked Phaedrus for the memory and then  told him to go away.  I may have chosen to feel down and out 35 years ago, but I had way too much to look forward to yesterday. Between hope and sadness, I chose hope.  Pirsig also had to make a decision.  In a dramatic showdown on a mountain top and again in California he had to decide if he was going to give in to Phaedrus or continue the trip with Chris.  He chose his son.  They completed the trip together. 

There's a term in psychology called emotional intelligence.  I have not always been emotionally intelligent, but I think I'm getting there.  Like yesterday in Birmingham, Alabama I can't control where and when Phaedrus will show up, but I can control what I do with his company.  "Be gone!", Jesus said. And he was.

Eventually I'll read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance again.  Each time I read it I not only understand the book so much better, but I understand myself so much better. The title page states that the book is "an inquiry into values."  Being reminded of what really matters is a lesson I never get tired of learning. I don't ride motorcycles, but I can read.

Connections

“As you prepare to travel out in the world, remember it will always feel smaller with a little kindness. Because we know the most important connections we make aren't between places, they're between people.” Delta Airlines

I’ve only been out of the country twice.  During the summer of 1975 I traveled internationally on a college choir trip.  Our main destination was a performance in Stockholm, but we also traveled and sang in Zurich, Oslo, Copenhagen and London.  Visiting that many countries in thirteen days was quite an undertaking.  The musical highlight for me was singing in an ancient cathedral outside of Stockholm. Our choir had rehearsed and memorized German double motets in our practice room in Birmingham, Alabama.  The two choirs sing antiphonally. But then in that setting in Sweden, we divided across the chasm of the cathedral. In that split chancel choir loft we sang those marvelous double motets where they were created to be sung. I sneaked a peak at the tourists below me who were transfixed by the beauty of the music as it echoed from wall to wall and ceiling to floor.  I was transfixed as well. I’m affected as I think about it now.

Then in April of 2003 my wife and I spent a week in Santiago with our son who was there on a college mission adventure. The highlight of that trip for me was a day trip to Vina del Mar.  That place was the most beautiful ocean side setting I had ever visited. On a gloriously beautiful day,  I witnessed the Pacific there in all its  majesty and splendor as the afternoon sun danced across the water and the breaking waves.

Delta suggests that the world is made smaller with kindness, and that is so true. But I would say that jets have a lot to do with that too. I’m about a 90 mile drive to Atlanta and then about a 20 hour flight to nearly anywhere in the world.  Delta’s ready when I am, but I’m just not ready.  You might say that I’m a domestic kind of a guy.  Most of my life revolves around northwest Georgia and the greater Chattanooga area. I drive to Alabama and Indiana quite often to visit family and friends.  I travel less often to Florida, Texas, Missouri and Arkansas. And again, these places aren't about places, but about people. About twice a year we let Delta take us to California to visit our son, daughter-in-law and her family.  Yes, in spite of local opinions to the contrary, California is part of the United States and is a domestic flight from Atlanta. So there you have it. Except for occasional vacation destinations, Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, California, Alabama, Indiana, Texas, Missouri and Arkansas are pretty much where I “travel out in the world.” The fjords of Norway without a doubt displayed the most incredible beauty I’ve ever witnessed.  But every afternoon the sun sets over Lookout Mountain and I only need to walk out my front door to see it.  The marvelous Cloudland Canyon is about a thirty minute drive from where I sit. The hiking trails and cascading waterfalls draw hundreds of thousands of hikers and spectators from all over the country to this state park every year. Fall Creek Falls State Park is about an hour northwest of here.  It's as beautiful as it sounds.

Delta is right that the connections between people are more important than the connections between places, but for me to see those people Delta’s connections are very important.  When I step off the plane from Chattanooga  into the terminal in Atlanta, I want to look at the digital board and see a flight, a gate and a time of departure. And I hope and pray it all matches what’s on my itinerary.

Delta Airlines ends its welcome video with “Thank you for letting us be a part of your journey.” My journey. That always catches me a bit off guard.  I just think of it as a flight and Delta thinks of it as a journey. I think the next time my wife walks to the mailbox and back I’m going to ask, “How was your journey?”  And she’ll look at me and say, “Looks like we got some bills. Airmail."

The Truth about Santa Claus

“Life, too, is like that. You live it forward, but you understand it backward.”  Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

I’ve heard many people say that one of the greatest benefits of aging is the accumulated experience.  Experience, though, is a double-edged sword.  We can accumulate bad experiences just as much as good experiences. As I think about it, it’s not the “experience” that we accumulate, but the memory of the experience.  And we are the ones who choose how to remember it

.

At my age I have accumulated much experience and  have vivid memories of those experiences.  Though most of my memories are good and healthy and pleasant, some of them are not.  Some of the experiences though that happened decades ago are fresh in my memory. And the problem with that is although I have forgiven myself for any grief I may have caused, I still remember doing what I did and saying what I said. How do I ever get ahead of that?

From 1973 through 1976 I was a music student at Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. Simultaneous with those studies I was the part-time Minister of Music and Youth at a church in Jasper.  Jasper was about 50 miles northwest of Birmingham up Highway 78. I made that hour drive two, sometimes three or four times a week. Although it was both time-consuming and demanding, I enjoyed that job very much.  Part of my responsibility during the worship service was to sing a solo before the sermon. I don’t remember if it was required or that I just expected it of myself.  Either way, I sang a solo every Sunday morning.  When the dean of my music school sang a solo, he always told a short story; so I did the same.  For reasons that failed me then and fail me now, in front of 250 men, women, boys and girls of all ages, I told the story of the Christmas when I found out for sure there was no Santa Claus. How is it that now, forty three years later, I’m still thinking about it?  And it still embarrasses me if I let it. I just don't let it. 

The Christmases of my childhood were magical.  Members of four families gathered on Christmas Eve at my maternal grandmother’s house in Enterprise.  We ate cake, cookies and boiled custard. My great aunt accompanied carols. My aunt showed movies on her eight millimeter projector for the eight cousins.  About twenty of us enjoyed a grand time together.  Santa in our tradition not only went to every house in the world that night, but he went twice. At about 10:30 pm he rang a bell to tell boys and girls it was time to go to bed so that he could come back and bring the presents. On one fateful Christmas Eve when I suspected there was no Santa I asked my aunt if I could ring the bell.  To my  consternation and dismay, she retrieved the bell, handed it to me and said, “Just be sure and stay close to the house so that they can’t see you.”  My heart sank. Christmas as I knew it was over.

I found no joy in ringing that bell. Furthermore, as a card-carrying young adult, I got to stay up and help assemble the Santa presents for the young cousins. When I woke up on Christmas day, everything was exactly as we had left it late on Christmas Eve. Santa came, but he was me.

I have absolutely no idea why I chose to tell that story on that fateful December morning at the New Prospect Baptist Church in Jasper, Alabama.  I have consoled myself that most of the children weren’t listening to me or that the parents were able to explain it away.  I also  console myself that those children are now in their 50s and I'm quite sure would have figured it all out by now with or without my story.

So how do we get beyond the pain and embarrassment of these blunders?  We forgive ourselves for sure, but the best way is to learn to laugh. I see these people from time to time and they inevitably recount my story,  I'll see two of them this coming weekend. No doubt they'll bring this up. And as they laugh, I'll laugh. No foul,. No harm. 

That very Santa bell is now in our possession. And on Christmas Eve I get it out, ring and remember. There is so much love and goodness to recall from 309 W. College Avenue, Enterprise, Alabama.  And I laugh and laugh and laugh.

Anxious For Nothing

"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7 New King James Version

Most translations and interpretations of this Bible verse suggest that the writer is saying  something like, “Don’t be anxious for anything…”  But what if the writer is saying “Go ahead and be anxious all you want, but just know that you’re ‘anxious for nothing’.  The thing you’re anxious about may or may not ever happen, but your anxiety isn’t going to change anything. All of your distress, if for hours, days, weeks, months or years will come to nothing. You wasted all of that stress and energy that could have been used for positive and pleasant purposes.”

The truth is we now know your anxiety changes plenty of things.  It changes your blood pressure.  It changes the lining of your stomach.   Your anxiety about possible future outcomes changes your ability to concentrate on the very real things that are right in front of your face. Your anxiety rewires your entire nervous system. All of the biochemicals in your brain that respond to your bidding and determine your mood and your health are affected. Anxiety changes a lot of things; it just doesn’t do anything to change the thing you’re concerned about.

Another part of these verses that I find absolutely fascinating and useful is “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.”  Part of the reason most of us suffer with chronic anxiety is because we think too much.  And we think we can think our way out of anxiety and into a peaceful frame of mind The truth is if we want to have a peaceful frame of mind, then we have to allow God’s peace to bypass our thinking and take up residence in our hearts.  And as those words of the verse continue, this process will guard our hearts and minds.

Z

So if being an anxiety ball is A and being completely at peace is Z , how do you get from A to Z? That is an excellent question with a multitude of answers.  This is something everyone has to figure out for him or herself.  Some people pray and  meditate as suggested in the verse. Other people practice yoga.  Many people do something active like sports or exercise.  For some that exercise is nothing more than a brisk walk. But even a casual stroll through the woods can work wonders for the nervous system. In other situations, it's well worth the time and money to seek the support of a trained counselor.You have to find what works for you. And once you find it, do it as often as possible.

Last thing. The New Testament writer says when you pray, pray with "thanksgiving".  Gratitude is one of the most powerful forces available.  Being thankful can create a virtual transformation of your disposition. It has been said that while you are  feeling  grateful, you can’t feel anything else.  Gratitude crowds out all other emotions. Thanksgiving shouldn't be just a Thursday in November for family and feasting, but should become a way of life. With these simple changes, instead of being anxious for nothing, you can begin living for something.

Happy Holidays !

“He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.”  Unknown

“The Holidays” are here ready or not. For some of us, we’re ready. For others of us, we’re not.

It’s not that we don’t mostly enjoy Thanksgiving and Christmas, the two major occasions that for most of us are celebrated this time of year;  it’s not that we don’t understand the importance of time with our friends and family; it’s not that we don’t enjoy an occasional concert or church service; it’s not that we don’t like exchanging presents with our families.  In moderation we respect, appreciate and enjoy all of that. It’s just that this time of year, at the front end of “the holidays”, it can hit us in the face ALL AT ONCE.  And when that happens it can be quite overwhelming. Event by event it’s not too difficult but when taken as a whole the holidays can be  daunting. When we think about the driving, at times in cold and nasty weather, the decorating, the shopping, the wrapping of gifts , the entertaining family and friends,  the preparation and serving of food, the eating too much, the dieting to lose what we’ve gained; the taking down the tree and decorations and putting everything away, it can all be hard to swallow. Even online shopping can be stressful at times. 

The truth is, none of this is the fault of “the holidays”; it's our own fault. We not only do not have to do everything at once, we  don't even  have to think about doing everything at once. Nothing says that we have to do all of the above. Although it would not be realistic to suggest that we could do none of the above, we certainly don’t have to do any of it.  It’s just that at the front end it can all be overwhelming.

Several years ago after a significant car accident, I was having a difficult time driving.  I had had several car accidents in my life. But it was the random nature of this accident and how this large car came out of nowhere to hit me and total my car that so thoroughly shook me up. I literally didn't see it coming.  Less than two weeks after the accident, I found myself driving in San Francisco in a rented minivan.  I was struggling with it to say the least.  Later in the week at a  friend’s house near Santa Rosa, my friend sensing my distress, took  me to a book store and bought for me the book, Full Catastrophe Living. The title says it all. Reading the book didn’t cure me of all my angst, but it made a huge difference.  So even now as I’m thinking about “the holidays”, I’m thinking about that book. The author admonishes us to celebrate the whole catastrophe! So just let “the holidays” play out a day at a time.  When it’s time to decorate—decorate.  When it’s time to travel—travel.  When it’s time to go to church –go to church.  When it's time to shop--shop. When it’s time to eat too much—eat too much. But just remember that it takes a lot longer to take it off than it does to put it on. When it’s time to take down all the decorations and put them all away then take down the decorations and put them all away.  You don’t have to do it all at once. It’s not, for example,  time to take down the decorations; most of us haven’t even put them up!

Thanksgiving is in the books and it was, for us, one of the best Thanksgivings ever. So all that’s left to do is Christmas.  Ho! Ho! Ho!.  Starting right now I plan to let it play out, to watch it play out.  But not just to watch, but to engage and participate in every way possible.  That’s the least I can do for my family, my friends and for myself. If we take it a day and an occasion at a time, it can really be "Happy Holidays" for all of us (and, of course, "Merry Christmas", if you prefer).

A Visit from an Old Friend

“But we’ve got lots of water, cool, clear refreshing water.  Just drink our living water; it will make you  free.”   From the album Our Front Porch by Ralph Carmichael and the Young People. Circa 1974.

I’ve told you several times about the listening “room” (closet) that I employed and enjoyed at the Enterprise State Junior College.  I’ve told you how besides assigned listening, I spent countless hours dropping the needle on a myriad of composers many of whom I discovered for myself.  As a reminder, there were three turntables and three sets of stereo headphones and a large shelf of albums. I was able to help myself to any of the records on the shelf for as long as I cared to listen.

But I’ve never told you about the listening “situation” at my senior college,  Samford University.  In the basement of the library was a music library.  There were shelves upon shelves of music related books and textbooks. In  the back of the room were listening stations much like at the junior college. I again could help myself to those records.  I don’t remember a lot about that other than the equipment was there and I was there from time to time.  I seldom  did any extracurricular listening because for those three years when I wasn’t in class, I was in the practice room, the library or rehearsals with the A Cappella Choir. Samford had a thing called Jan Term  which was classes in January.  For J-term you took only one class.  You were in that class most of the day for four weeks and at the end of the term you earned whatever semester credits were applicable for that class.  I earned entire semester credits in January in all three of  my years at Samford. Besides the music school listening area for music students, Samford offered a listening area for the entire student body.  Only it was a little strange. This listening “room” in the student  center was actually the student center itself.  Along the wall in the entrance to the student center were three female phone inputs for headphone jacks and three comfortable chairs.  To listen to any particular album, you had to ask the student clerk, who was in a small room with a window, to play that album.  You signed your name with student ID and s/he handed you a set of headphones. You then plugged in the phones, sat down in the chair and enjoyed your music.  I don’t remember there being any sort of catalog in that check out room. You just had to know what you wanted to listen to, tell the clerk and hope s/he had the album in his library. At the end of the session, you returned the headphones and he crossed your name off the list.

Although I was earning a Bachelor of Music Education and was singing and studying “serious music”, there was one album I listened to over and over in the student center. It was an album of Christian  contemporary music called Our Front Porch: New Sounds of the 70s by Ralph Carmichael and the Young People.  This album wasn’t just “new sounds of the 70s”, it was new sounds period.  “Christian contemporary”, which has exploded in the last twenty years, was in its infancy then. The music was groundbreaking in its scope and style.

Last night   I thought to do something that I’d never thought about doing.  I searched “Our Front Porch” on YouTube. The entire album popped up. I enjoyed listening to it last night and I’m enjoying listening to it now. I’m reminded why I liked it so much; it’s fresh, clean, positive and encouraging.  In 1975 as a struggling music student I found encouragement anywhere I could find it.  I still find encouragement anywhere I can find it. Encouragement isn't in short supply, but sometimes you have to look for it.

There is a young lady in my "sphere of influence" who has a unique request for Christmas. She has asked her parents for a turntable. And she's asked the rest of us to give her an album.  But here's the thing,  she doesn't want her favorite albums; she wants us to give her our favorite albums. I found a box of albums that I have not looked through in years since I have not had a turn table for thirty years. I looked through the albums one by one to find one or two that she might enjoy.  I was totally surprised with the last album in the stack, Our Front Porch by Ralph Carmichael. I had forgotten I ever owned it. So is that one I'll give her?  I doubt it. Not because I'm reluctant to part with it. Just because it meant so much to me doesn't mean it would mean anything to her. Besides she hears something like it every Sunday at church. I'm leaning toward Fogelberg, and Simon and Garfunkel. I'm sure she'll flip over that.

An Extraordinary Day at the Waffle House

“In my most secure moments I still can’t believe

I’m spending those moments with you.

And the ground I am walking, the air that I breathe

Are shared at those moments with you.

In the songs I’ve been singing quite often a phrase

Comes close to the feeling of you.

But I never suspected that one of those days

The wish of the song would come true.”  Everything that Touches You, The Association, 1968.

It is not unusual for a song to create in me an immediate feeling of ecstasy and joy.  It is more unusual for me to already be in that state of mind when a song matches that feeling perfectly. Such was the case earlier today with The Association’s song "Everything that Touches You".

In the fall of 2005, at the age of 52, I entered the Dalton State College  to pursue a business degree.  During the years I was in music school, I always thought it was odd to be studying music at an undergraduate and graduate level instead of business or science or medicine or law or anything more academic. I excelled in music school, but I always felt like I should be doing something else. The itch to do so never left me. So  in 2005 I scratched that itch.  Halfway between my house and the school is a Waffle House near Tunnel Hill, Georgia.  That Waffle House became my study hall. My reasoning was that I could go to the library to study and have to walk to the student center to get coffee.  Or I could take up residence at the Waffle House where I could study with a bottomless cup of coffee.  So that’s what I did. For four years I spent from one to three hours there nearly every day on my way to classes or to an exam. It worked really well for me and for the server too.  I was always very generous in my appreciation of the time, space and effort.

As way led to way after graduation in 2009, I now work for a company that’s a stone’s throw from that Waffle House.  I go there quite often. I appreciate all the servers there, but there is one who  was there back in my college days so I’m especially glad to see her.  And she always welcomes me by name with a friendly smile and greeting.And whichever server sees me come in has my iced tea at my favorite booth before I can sit down. I went to lunch there today.

For over ten years my wife has worked part-time for a drug store that’s just down the road from my office and this Waffle House.  She was working there today.  After I’d ordered my food and while I was drinking my tea and surfing the net, the phone in my hand rang.  I saw it was my wife.  When I told her where I was, she told me that she had gotten off early and would stop by and visit with me.  That changed the whole tone of my lunch experience.  I had been planning to catch up on the world situation and check Auburn football but now I had a much better reason to be there. My wife was coming to join me.  We’ve been married over 42 years, but it's still a thrill to be surprised with time together like this.

When my wife showed up, my server-friend welcomed her with a friendly smile and greeting.  It felt like a homecoming of sorts. I finished my sandwich as my wife finished her coffee.

After my wife left for home and I left for work, I was experiencing that “goodness of it all” feeling that I get from time to time when the clockworks of the universe seem to click in place.   I just felt good all over.. I tuned my  radio to XM channel 32 and “Everything that Touches You” began to play.  The music was like a soundtrack for what I was seeing and feeling. I just couldn't imagine things being any better.

That experience was several hours ago.  As I drove by the Waffle House on my way home from work, I noticed that it looked no different than any Waffle House.  Just looking at it, there was nothing particularly special about it. It looked like an ordinary Waffle House. As I think about the serendipitous  rendezvous with my wife, it was one of thousands of such get-togethers. I really don’t remember what all we talked about. And to be honest, listening to it just now, "Everything that Touches You" sounds like an ordinary 60s song. But none of this makes the experience less significant; it just makes my emotions less significant. Not every experience needs to be transcendent to be meaningful.

After consuming the delicious dinner prepared by my wife, it's hard to think I'll ever be hungry again.  But tomorrow around noon I"ll probably be looking for somewhere to eat. Wouldn't it be nice to find somewhere extraordinary to eat? Well, maybe. But I'll probably just go to the Waffle House.

Is there a there, there?

"Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight." from An American  Tail 

During every election cycle some phrase takes on a life of its own and is repeated ad nauseum.  Back in 2012 somebody said, “At the end of the day” and it caught like wildfire.  I couldn’t watch any news or listen to it on the radio without hearing “At the end of the day.”  The best I could figure hearing it over and over in context, it  meant about the same thing as “when the dust settles” or “when all is said and done.” But what they all said was, “At the end of the day.” 

During the 2016 election cycle another phrase caught fire.  I didn’t hear this one as often as “at the end of the day” but I heard it quite a lot.  Somebody said, “Is there a there, there?” and then everybody said it.  Again in context it seemed to mean “I can’t tell you for sure that there’s anything to this story, but I’ll tell you just in case.  There may or may not be a there, there.”  Whether any of those saying it knew it, they were all quoting from a book published in 1937 by Gertrude Stein.  In her autobiography “Everybody’s Autobiography” she tells the story of going back to Oakland, California to see her home place after being gone for decades. When she got there instead of her farm house and seventeen acres of farmland, there was a commercial development.  Out of nostalgia and sadness she said in her book, “There’s no there, there.” 

When you think about it, there’s no “there” anywhere.  Everything is “here.”  Where I sit I’m “here” and you’re “there”. But where you sit, you’re “here” and I'm "there".  But I’m telling you, I just checked and I’m right “here”.   I had a dramatic lesson in location in June of 1975. Until that trip I had never been in a “foreign country.”  And there I was in Zurich, Switzerland.  I was “there” in a foreign country.  The problem came when I got turned around in downtown  Zurich.  I spoke no Swiss and the people I talked to spoke no English.  Nobody was able to give me directions and I had a choir bus to catch in twenty minutes.  I was in the twilight zone. The thing that quickly became painfully clear was that I was not in a “foreign country.”  I was a foreigner in their home.  They all knew exactly where they were and understood each other perfectly well. I was the one who didn't belong.

Astrophysicists will also tell you that you are “here”.  They say that since nowhere is the center of universe then anywhere and everywhere is the center of the universe.  Imagine that you have an enormous map the size of the universe on your wall and there’s one of those arrows that says “You are here.” And when you move, the arrow moves with you.  When American Indians perform those tribal circular dances, they are celebrating that they have become the center of the universe.  The universe is bowing to them. The dance doesn’t just represent the center of the universe, it is the actual center of the universe. There is in fact a there, there. But for them, it's here.

Maybe it's neither here nor there, but at the end of the day we all say things we think are original when we're just quoting somebody else. And I'll tell  you this. If you get lost in Zurich, find a policeman. He can  speak a little English.  Besides you aren't very lost after all. Your hotel is less than three blocks away and you won't miss your bus. And somewhere far, far away your grandmother is patting your shoulder and saying "There, there. That wasn't  so bad, was it?"

Proficiency

I am not all that competitive in most things. But I am very competitive in one thing.  I'm competitive in academics. No I'm not back in college and have no desire to be, but if I did go back to school I'm quite sure that I would be as competitive as ever.  When I was in school  I wasn't competitive with other students; I was competitive with myself, and with the grade book. If it was an exam, I wanted to  make an A.  If it was a term paper or a report, I wanted to make an A.  If it was a final grade, I wanted to make an A. I didn't always make straight As but it was through no lack of trying. 

A downside of that ability to make those As is that when I was finished with that course, I was finished.  I then moved on to the next course and its particular academic challenges.  Consequently, there are many things I learned how to do that I wish I had kept current. One of those things is a keyboard proficiency I learned in graduate school. The requirements in this class included being able to play all  major and minor scales with both hands with the correct fingering up and down two octaves. Although I acquired this ability forty years  ago and lost it fairly soon thereafter, I think about it every time I play my keyboard. It would help me so much with my keyboard ability if I could practice these scales, if my finger memory included this ability. 

This ability may not seem too impressive until you understand what was involved.  It may not seem too impressive even if you do understand.  But here goes...

To demonstrate the difficulty of the exercise I am going to explain the fingering of the C major scale. This one is the easiest of all the major and minor scales to play.  What makes the minor scales particularly hard to manage is that some of them do not include the same notes going down the scale as going up.  In other words you have to know the rules of those scales before you can play them correctly.   What I am going to explain you can do on the piano or on the kitchen table if you don't own a piano.  It's much easier to do on a piano, but not impossible on the kitchen table.  With the right hand place the thumb on middle C. Play C,D,E and then turn the thumb under and play F,G,A,B,C.  Only here's the thing, the exercise is to play these scales up and down two octaves. So in order to proceed to the next octave at C you turn the thumb under and play C,D,E, turn the thumb under at F  again and play F,G,A,B,C.  Now you're coming down. Play B,A ,G, F and turn  the middle finger over at E, D, C. On the last octave turn the 4th finger over on B and play B,AG,F turn the middle finger at E,D,C and you're done. This is the right hand and I'm not going to bother you with the left. Just know that the fingering is completely different than with the right hand. And since you are playing them simultaneously, you're turning your thumbs and fingers at different times. This is similar to the skill of rubbing your stomach and  patting your head at the same time.

If you learned how to play these scales, even though you couldn't make an A, you could impress your friends.  But they would be much more impressed, and  it would take you far less time to learn, to juggle three or four  plates. And keeping multiple plates in the air is a skill you can use every day.

The Best Way to Get Somewhere

"Don't just make good time, but make time good."  Unknown

In order to get to where you want to go, you have to know where you want to go.  You have to have a destination.  This though is a matter of choice and preference.  Instead of a definite place on the globe you want to reach, your destination might be the journey itself.  In the case of a definite place, you may have a definite time you want to get there.  The destination is the  thing and the  journey is just a means of getting there. In this case you will usually find the shortest route to take and travel as fast as possible. If the speed limit is 70 mph, you may drive 75 or 80. You may pass go and you may collect $200, but you might not remember much about Park Place and Boardwalk. When you travel, instead of stopping to eat something good and nutritious, you grab fast food and eat it in the car as you continue to travel toward your destination.

To  illustrate the difference in the destination-is-the-thing or the journey-is-the-thing, I'm going to reference hikers on the Appalachian Trail.  You might think given the serenity and stunning beauty of the trail, all hikers take their time and their cameras to savor every minute. After all, this is the world- renowned Appalachian Trail.  Why wouldn't you enjoy every minute and take in every vista? But this is not necessarily the case.  Some AT hikers are known as speed hikers.  Their purpose in hiking the trail is to break the last speed record. And some of them, not all of them, cut corners to accomplish their goal. The journey which takes most people months, they accomplish in weeks. The only thru hiker I have known personally, hiked the AT with his fiance.  They had a reputation for being the slowest hikers on the trail.  They followed every pig trail and enjoyed every overlook.  It seems to me that this method of hiking is far superior  to speed hiking, but again it all depends on your destination and your goal. When Joseph Campbell said "Follow your bliss", he didn't attempt to define "bliss". He left that to each of us.

Another thing about your destination, you have to know when you're on the wrong road.  If you're  on the wrong road and don't find the right road, you will never get to where you intend to go.  I can illustrate this with something that happened a few years ago.  I took the up ramp off of I-75 north at exit 345 to Ringgold, Georgia. About 30 yards up the ramp, I met a car coming down the ramp the wrong way. I instinctively pulled my truck across the ramp  to block her entry to the wrong side of the interstate. When I got out of my truck and walked to her car, her radio was blaring so loudly that I could hardly talk over it.  But she talked loud enough for me to know that she was not happy with the obstacle I had put in her path.  She exclaimed, "I'm tryin' to git to Dalton!" I tried to explain to her what she was doing and that she would be putting her life and other lives in danger if she proceeded. When I convinced her that she needed to turn around and take the next ramp, she asked if she could take highway 41 to Dalton.  I told her to turn around and at the stop sign to turn left on 41. I told her that this highway would take her to Dalton just as quickly as the interstate.  She turned around and at the stop sign turned right toward Ringgold, the opposite direction from her destination.  When she was on the wrong ramp, she was at least going the right direction, but she probably would not have gotten very far toward Dalton.  Even the right direction can be deadly if you're on the wrong road.

Old habits die slowly. Most of our working lives my wife and I have both worked two jobs through the week. My church work obligated us for Sundays as well.  When we got in the car for a road trip, time was of the essence. We drove as fast as reasonably possible and cut every corner of time to get to our destination (nearly always family). Things are much different now.  In semi-retirement both of us work a short work week and I am  no longer in ministry. Wherever there is, we have plenty of time to get there. But when we get in the car to go somewhere (nearly always family), we're still in a hurry. However, we recently stopped for lunch. We parked the car and actually sat down in a restaurant to eat.  About an hour later we resumed our trip. And when we arrived at our destination no one seemed to think that we were late. Our goal is to gravitate from the destination-is-the-thing to the journey-is-the-thing or at least a combination of the two.

My friend and his fiance on the AT were brutally murdered  near Duncannon, Pennsylvania at the halfway point of the trail.  It's a good thing that the journey meant much more to them than the destination. The journey was all they had.  They reached their unscheduled and unexpected final destination  hundreds of miles before the place where they had planned.

After hurrying through everything our whole lives and we're finally standing at the Pearly Gates, St. Peter will say, "There was no need for you to hurry to meet me; I've got forever."

Nah Duh !!

The first time I recall hearing the sarcastic phrase "nah duh"  was when my first cousin said it to me.  He wasn't making fun  of me but of something some one else said. After that I started hearing it from other people from time to time. And sometimes it was aimed at me.

There's a "nah duh" statement I  have heard many,  many times over the years while watching football. I heard it just the other day. During both college and NFL games the announcer makes a comment which deserves nothing but "nah duh" as a response.  The team is driving and is now inside the opponent's thirty yard line.  And then  he says, "They would rather get a touchdown here than settle for a field goal."  Nah duh!!  Can you think of a situation in any football game regardless of the score or who's got the ball when a coach and a team had rather have a field goal than a touchdown?  Would there be a situation where it would be to a team's advantage to get three points instead of six, seven or eight? Would it be much different if during a major league baseball game the announcer said, "He would much rather hit a home run here than  settle for a single".  Maybe it's just me, but all of  that seems obnoxiously obvious to me.

But my new favorite "nah duh" moment happened last weekend on a trip to Greensburg, Indiana to visit our granddaughter and watch her play basketball.  So you think it's going to be something somebody said about the game. Nope. It's something that happened on the way to  Indiana.  We got to a place on the trip that we needed gas and I needed to use the restroom.  We took  an exit that looked promising. We wanted to find a gas station conveniently located to accomplish both needs. At the top of the ramp we couldn't see a station either direction.  But we were sitting directly across the street from a Costco.  Since we're members we decided just to go  there.  It took a minute to figure out how to get in the parking lot.  When we did, it was a very large lot and a very large store. We made a quick pass around the store and didn't see the pumps. Meanwhile my need was growing in intensity.  So my wife said, "I'll just park here. You go to the restroom and ask somebody where the pumps are so that I don't have to  drive around looking for them."  "Sounds like a plan."  The nice man  at the door didn't know me, but he knew that card in my hand so he invited me in. The restroom was exactly where it is in our Costco so I found it easily.  As I was leaving I found an employee standing near a register.  I asked, "Excuse me, can you tell me where the gas pumps are located?"   And I swear on my grandmother's chicken and dumplins she said, "They're outside." Nah duh !!!. I thought they might be in the meat department or in frozen foods.  Or I guess they're with the tires to keep automotive all together. When I recovered I asked, "Anywhere in particular?"  She said, "Just go out and go to the right and you'll see them at the end of the parking lot."  And I told her thank you and walked out.

I guess I owe an apology to all those football announcers.  I can see how helpful it is to remind the coaches, players and fans that a field goal is as good as a touchdown in some situations. I mean it's not like you can roll over all those extra points to the next game.

We were both about thirteen years old when my cousin said "Nah duh" to  me that first time.  A few weeks ago he was part of a beach house cousin gathering that we participated in.  It was so good to spend that quality time with my Helms cousins and their spouses. And after being around him for several days, this cousin didn't say "nah duh" to me a single time. But I didn't ask for it either.

Tender-Loving Kindness

If TLC is a wonderful thing, then TLK is even more wonderful. I was recently a recipient of tender-loving kindness. .

It started as a routine blood test last April. Of all things my doctor called me at home the next night  to express his concern.  He told me that he was ordering a scan to confirm his suspicions about my thyroid and parathyroid function. That scan was the first of a dozen  scans and tests to determine what was wrong with my thyroid and parathyroid, and what needed to be done to correct the problem. Through the process a large tumor was discovered on my thyroid and suspected abnormalities on my parathyroid.  And surgery was scheduled.  It would be a total thyroidectomy and partial parathyroidectomy. The ENT surgeon gave me some unlikely but possible bad outcomes.  Those outcomes included, but were not limited to, the inability to speak and the inability to breathe without a tracheotomy ever again  There was also the outside chance that the tumor would be malignant. The surgery was more than an appendectomy and less than  open-heart surgery, but it was serious surgery.  I entered the hospital two weeks ago.  The surgery took a little more than four hours.

I don’t remember all of the particulars of the medical procedures over the past several weeks. I don’t remember all  of the reasons  certain things were done.  What I do remember is how kind people were to me. Besides the loving-kindness of family and close friends, there was the kindness of strangers.  There was the kindness of doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, lab technicians and others. These people went above and beyond to be helpful and to make me as comfortable as possible through the process.  A number of work-related people expressed their concern. But I especially appreciate my family and friends who through calls and texts stayed in constant contact with my wife and me to check on me and inquire of my welfare. We lost count of the number of people, including people willing to drive great distances, who offered to sit with her through the surgery. I lost count of the number of people  who checked on us before, during and after the surgery to be sure that  I was doing okay.

I’m very thankful that I can speak.  And that I can breathe.  I’m deeply grateful that the tumor was benign.  So much could have gone wrong that didn’t go wrong.  My surgeon, who had been both professional and kind through the entire weeks-long process, had assured me that he was not going to let anything bad happen to me.  And he didn’t. I have a permanent scar below my Adam's apple, but that is certainly something I can live with. 

Many of you know  me and many of you do not.  If you know me, maybe you too would have liked to have expressed your love and concern.  But you had no way of knowing till now what was going on.  But what we both  know is that there are people around us who desperately need to know that somebody cares about them, that we care about them.  I plan to be that person more than I ever have been.  Who knew that a text, call or visit could mean so much.  I got a text just a few minutes ago from one of those "work-related" people who hoped to see me at a business function coming up soon. And I assured her that she will. That was a kind thing to do.  

I will eventually forget about the particulars of the medical process, but I will never forget the kindness of strangers and friends. Tender-loving care. Tender-loving kindness.  "And now  faith, hope and kindness abide. But the greatest of these is kindness." .

An Eagle Scout

“ 'When in doubt, write,'an English teacher drummed into me long ago. Why is this so important? Because you are changing…and there is nothing more fascinating than to closely observe the process of change and deepening, and how we respond to that quicksilver phenomenon. Bear in mind what the humble humorist James Thurber said when asked why he wrote: “'I don’t know what I think until I read what I have to say'."

-Philip Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage

Most of what I write and post here are stories of redemption. This one is not. After more than 50 years this story is still raw and unresolved. Maybe in the writing I will find peace and mercy. I hope so.

I had several good friends growing up and one of them invited me to go to Boy Scouts with him.  So I went.  Within a few weeks I joined Troop 99 and was assigned to the Rattler Patrol with my friend.

The rankings in Boy Scouts are Tenderfoot, Second Class, First Class, Star, Life and Eagle.  On weekend and two  week summer camps I wasted no time advancing through the ranks. By the end of my second year I had earned the status of Life Scout.  And then I did all the work and earned all the merit badges to become Eagle.  All I lacked was my service project and I was making plans to begin that process.

I adored and respected Devon my patrol leader.  He was firm and demanding with his expectations for us, but he was also kind and gracious.  He made sure we had what we needed to become successful. It was a “when I grow up I want to be just like you” situation.

I gained a reputation on our camping trips as the campfire starter.  I gathered wood and kindling from the nearby woods.  I stacked the wood like Lincoln Logs so that with no accelerant and the strike of one match within minutes we had a roaring fire. “Be Prepared” was not only my motto but was becoming my lifestyle.  Besides working my way up the designation ladder, toward the end of my second year I became the assistant patrol leader.  That position was perfect for me.  I had some leadership responsibility but I mostly worked beside Devon to make each scout successful. Then something happened that changed my life. Devon quit scouts and I became the patrol leader. I was apprehensive about the new position and knew that I had been over promoted.  I would not read of The Peter Principle for years, but it certainly applied to me then.

The time came for the first weekend camping trip to Camp Alaflo with me as the patrol leader. I decided as a change from normal camp food I would do something special and prepare one of my favorite foods, fried shrimp. So with my tent, sleeping bag, and clothing I took along a cooker, cooking oil and frozen shrimp.  What could go wrong?

After we arrived at the camp ground and got settled in, I took my patrol on a hike.  After we  had hiked an hour or so, one of our campers stepped on a yellow jacket's nest and got stung several times. So we headed back to camp.  When we got there our scout master was waiting for us. I wondered what I had done wrong.  He took one of our patrol members aside and gently told him that his little brother had been killed and that someone would give him a ride home. It was ridiculous to think any of that was my fault but it felt that way. I was a very sensitive young boy.  Everything got in and I let everything out.

That evening after my fire died to low flames and hot coals, I hung the cooker on  a tripod above the fire. I added the oil and the shrimp.  Everything was going fine until somebody bumped the cooker and spilled it into the  fire.  The burning oil made its way across the ground and into my tent.  The tent was spared but not my sleeping bag.  That night and the next I slept on the ground.

When we got home I did two things. I put all my scout clothes in a drawer and I never went back.  No one called me. My scout master didn’t call. Nobody called. Weeks turned into months turned into years until I was too old to complete the process of becoming Eagle Scout.  As close as I got I’ve never been introduced as Eagle Scout because I never became one.

Now as I read what I wrote, this is what I figured out. I was just a kid. None of that was my fault. The yellow jackets, the death and the fire were not my fault. If it was my fault then I forgive myself and I forgive my scout master too. I'm sure that he felt I quit for my own good reasons. I also realize that whereas I never became an Eagle Scout, I became a lot of other things. Not becoming an Eagle Scout does not define me.  For that matter none  of my other accomplishments define me either. But if you want to refer to my most proud accomplishment, call me grandfather. That’s a designation that goes to the very core of my being. But even that relationship doesn't define me. 

If the Universe gives me the chance to do it all again, will I stay in scouts and complete my Eagle? I don't think so. If I change that, maybe I never become a husband.   If I change that, then maybe I never become a father and a grandfather. If I change that then maybe I'm not sitting in my den pecking away on Blogspot and you aren't reading these words. And that would be a shame because "I don't know what I think until I read what I have to say." Writing about it helps me to see everything In a Different Light. 

God, God, God

“God is not a Christian, God is not a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist. All of those are human systems which human beings have created to try to help us walk into the mystery of God. I honor my tradition, I walk through my tradition, but I don’t think my tradition defines God, I think it only points me to God.” -John Shelby Spong, Walking into the Mystery of God

I don’t talk much about God.  I have a lifetime of experience of relating to God. I have read the Bible through. I have read dozens of books over the years on matters pertaining to God which have influenced me and affected my thinking. I have attended several thousand church services and have listened to several thousand sermons all pertaining to some aspect of God. But I don’t pretend to know God.  But the main reason I seldom mention God is that there are approximately 7.6 billion different opinions on who God is, how we relate to God and how God relates to us.  If I start talking to you about God, it’s your God you are thinking about and not mine. Let’s say that you and I are standing side by side at the  edge of the Grand Canyon.  The view is nearly exactly the same for each of us. But each of us will experience the moment in ways that are unique to ourselves. The canyon, like God, is an unfathomable mystery. What the Grand Canyon means to an archaeologist is completely different than what it means to me. I’m enjoying the macrocosm while she is pondering the microcosm. But it’s the same canyon.

Right about now you’re saying, “Then I don’t understand your analogy. On the one hand you seem to be suggesting that we shouldn’t talk about God because there could be some confusion, but it’s okay to talk about the Grand Canyon which is also incomprehensible.” You make an excellent point, but here’s the difference.  Referencing the quote above, “I don’t think my tradition defines God.”  Millions of people define God through the lens of their  own traditions.  Not only do Christians see God as a Christian, but I think Baptists see God as a Baptist.  Pentecostals see God as a Pentecostal.  Lutherans see God as a Lutheran, Disciples of Christ see God as Disciples of Christ, etc.   So if I’m a Lutheran and you are a Baptist, you think I’m talking about your God, but I’m talking about mine.  If we’re talking about the Grand Canyon, we pretty much have the same place in mind.

I spent the summer of 1973 in and around Eatontown,  New Jersey.  I was a summer missionary through the Home Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention.  I turned twenty  that summer and the experience ended up being a pivotal time in my life, in my relationship with God, with others and with myself. My missionary partner that summer was a young lady named Anne. Anne was from Virginia.  I don’t know if all Virginians had her accent, but she had an edge to her voice.  It could grate on you if you let it.  One morning teaching a Bible  School of elementary students at the Monmouth Baptist Church,  she was waxing eloquently about God. But it came out “Geeyahd”.  About the 20^th time she said “Geeyahd” an exasperated 3^rd grader shouted, “God, God, God.  All you ever talk about is God!!” Anne paused a second, looked at her, looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and continued her lesson. In  July Anne had to go home for two weeks after the sudden  and unexpected death of her brother. I was so glad to see her when she got back.  And I didn’t care how she said “God”.

The quote above says that we create our theological systems “to help us walk  into the mystery of God.” I would like it better if it said, “walk into the Mystery” and let it go at that.  Wouldn’t that be something if during the sideline interview with the head coach after the big game he said, “I thank the Mystery for  this win.  We wouldn't have won the game without  It”.

I've had the privilege of seeing the Grand Canyon three times.  The first time, at the south rim, I was there only long enough to take it in for a few minutes.  The next time I was at the south rim again and stayed there for several days. The last time, at the north rim, I was only there for two days. But something broke in our four wheeler and my brother and I were stranded at the rim for over three hours.We had  nothing better to do than to hike along the rim, talk, laugh and take pictures.  But after spending all that time there on both rims, about the most I can do is point at it and say, "There's the Grand Canyon."

I heard a story about a twelve year old boy who was at the Grand  Canyon with his family  As they stood there he spoke into the chasm and to no one in particular, "Something happened here." So maybe when it comes to knowing God,  the best we can do is place the palm of our hand over our own beating heart and say, "Something happened here."

I Think It's Going to Rain Today

Human kindness is overflowing and I think it’s going to rain today. “I Think It’s Going to Rain Today”, Randy Newman

In August of 1973 I transferred as a junior to Samford University from my junior college, the Enterprise State Junior College in Enterprise, Alabama. Samford is a liberal arts college in Birmingham. I  had been accepted to a choir before I was accepted to Samford.  But very soon I was accepted to Samford.  This choir had an annual fall choir camp at Shocco Spings Baptist Assembly in Talladega, Alabama the weekend before classes started. A search committee from the New Prospect Baptist Church in Jasper, Alabama drove to Talladega to interview a student to become a part-time minister of music at their church. He wasn’t interested so they talked to me. The next day, a Sunday, I was in their pulpit as the prospective minister of music. I was actually at the New Prospect Baptist Church before I took my first class at Samford.

Jasper at that time was about an hour’s drive northwest of Birmingham.  Accepting that position was an immense commitment of time and energy.

The first week of school the dean  of the school music talked me from a church music degree to a music education degree. This degree was a five year degree instead of the usual four year degree.  This meant that I would have three more years of college to graduate with this degree and earn a teacher’s certificate to teach in Alabama. For three years including “Jan term” I took a full load.  My normal load was about eighteen semester hours.  This was semester hours and not quarter hours. When I wasn’t in class or in the library I was in the practice room. It was a grueling schedule.

After a few months the church bought a mobile home for me to live in on weekends.  On  Friday afternoon I would drive to Jasper to participate in my other life. In the fall I hosted a “fifth quarter huddle” for the youth after the football game. On Saturday morning I would  wash cars to raise money for our annual youth mission tour. And Saturday afternoon I would participate in bus ministry visitation. Most Saturday evenings I could call my own. Sunday included Sunday School and church, and youth choir rehearsal that afternoon and church. There was a family that took me in. A mother, a father and two teenage girls. Often I would spend time with them after church before driving back to Birmingham. I caught up with my dorm roommate and fell exhausted in my bed. On Monday morning it all started again.  On Wednesdays I would drive to Jasper where I directed three children’s choirs and the adult choir. I got back to school between 9:30 and 10:00pm.

The summer of 1974 a beautiful coed visited the New Prospect Baptist Church. She lived in Jasper and was also a student at Samford.  I had heard of her and knew that she had joined my choir at school. I had not only checked her out, but I learned that she had shown up to check me out. What started as a ride share became a friendship and became a life together.

It must have been a really good day at the church.  That night driving to pick up my girlfriend on Highway 78 East I was filled to overflowing. I don’t know when my heart had been so full of where I had been and where I was going.  I had the radio in my Mercury Capri tuned to KZ106 in Birmingham. I was listening to a live concert of I wasn’t sure who.  The introduction started to a song that would touch me, change me and become a part of the fabric of my soul. If I had been “all full up”, as my future father-in-law would say, I was now overflowing with beauty and gratitude. When the song was over the only lyrics I could remember were “Human  kindness is overflowing and I think it’s going to rain today.” Monday morning I called the station quoting those words to see if the DJ knew the song. He did not.  For five years I looked for that song and never found it.

That girlfriend had now been my wife for four years.  One night I decided to watch a movie I had bought called Beaches starring Bette Midler. My wife had already gone to bed. Deep into the movie, as soon as the introduction started, I knew the song. I was filled with tears, wonderment and gratitude that I had finally found the song.  The next morning I excitingly said, “You’ll never believe what I found last night.” And with God as my witness she said, “You found your song.” Yes, I had found my song. Or more accurately, my song had found me.

I’m still in constant touch with that couple in Jasper who are now well into their eighties.  It’s so good to reminisce and laugh about days gone by and talk about our families and our friends.  At our age we discuss more than a little bit about our health. I dread that phone call, but it’s inevitable. “Human kindness is overflowing and I think it’s going to rain today.”

Things could have ended better at the New Prospect Baptist Church. But I have visited the church and even led the music several times since then.  Sometimes life is most meaningful in the broken places. I would take nothing for my four years at that church. I have thought many times that the church became a frame that has expanded with my life. I am always inside that frame.

“Bright before me the signs implore me, help the needy and show them the way. Human kindness is overflowing and I think it’s going to rain today.”

Worship at 11

My work requires for me to drive around.  As I drive around in the buckle of the Bible Belt, I pass a lot of churches. A LOT of churches.  The first thing I notice are the messages these churches display on their portable signs. I chuckle at most. The next thing I notice are the times for their various services.  Although there is some variety, especially with contemporary churches, most signs advertise “Worship 11:00 am”.  The thing that strikes me is just how many churches of a multitude of denominations will be having their Sunday service at the same time.  The Southern Baptists, CBF Baptists, Independent Baptists, Primitive Baptists, Presbyterians, United Methodists, Methodist Episcopal, Unitarians, Disciples of Christ, Episcopalians, Church of the Nazarene and a multitude of others will be in “worship” at the same time.

Worship is a very personal thing. The dictionary definition is “The feeling or expression and adoration for a Deity.”  The synonyms include “reverence, veneration, adoration and exaltation.” No doubt many people are stirred during their respective church services

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But what if you’re the Deity being worshiped? Do you adjust Your presence to each congregation at its particular system of beliefs and preferences? And no matter how bad the music and the sermon, are You obligated to attend and to participate?  And of the thousands of services going on simultaneously, how do You keep it all unscrambled?  The Methodists are singing “Peace, peace wonderful peace” while the Southern Baptists are singing “Onward Christian soldiers marching as to war.”  Which do You listen to? Then of course in the next time zone, You’ve got it to do all again. 

Over the years I’ve had many meaningful experiences with my Deity. Some of these experiences happened in church. Most of them did not.  But regardless of where and when these things happened, can I call it worship? There was that experience at Union University in Jackson, Tennessee during the Centrifuge youth weekend. I was touched so deeply, I put my head down and sobbed uncontrollably. But was that the worship of a Deity or was I just emotionally moved to my core? Is there a difference? As powerful as it was, it did not fit the definition of worship. What about that time I was sitting with friends overlooking a vast valley near Stockholm, Sweden.  I was filled to overflowing with the beauty and wonder of the moment.  But was that worship? By definition I have only worshiped once in my life. On June 28,1981 my Deity met a group of us one Sunday afternoon in a chapel at a 4H camp in Weston, W. Virginia. Our experience was intoxicating and simultaneous.  He “filled the temple” as surely as He did for the Israelites in Jerusalem—“reverence, veneration, adoration and exaltation.” There was even an agnostic among us who was as affected as any of us.

My question is are we being presumptuous to advertise “Worship at 11”? From my many years of spending thousands of hours in church between 11 and 12:30, my experience is that what happens is singing, praying and listening to sermons. But worship?  I guess truth in advertising would be “Church Service at 11”.

Some churches have gotten clever with things like,  "Worship at 10:59."  This not only gives God the opportunity to show up earlier, but the Baptists get a jump on  the Methodists to the Cracker Barrel.

Will you join me for a cup of Te?

“Something is mysteriously brought into existence

Long before Heaven or Earth are made

It is silent and shapeless,

It is always present, endlessly in motion

From it like a mother every living thing has come.

I do not know what to call it.

So I call it Tao.”  Lao Tzu

“In the beginning was the Word. 

And the Word was with God.

And the Word was God.”   John 1:1

“At this moment, what is it you seek?

Nirvana is right here before you.

Pure land is right  here.” From Song of Zazen by Master Hakuin (1685-1768)

Tao (pronounced Dow) is not a religion.  You can’t convert to Taoism.  You can study to understand Taoism and to benefit from the philosophy, but you can’t pretend to understand it. It is said of the Tao that if you can define it then it’s not the Tao. And before you think that Taoism or any “Eastern thought” is strange, look at the first verse in the gospel of John.   Read it slowly and deliberately. And read it literally.  What could the writer of John possibly mean by that?  The Word was God?

In Taoist thought and practice Te (tay) means the real you, your authentic self.  Volumes have been written about Te so I’m just going to leave it at that.  Te is you. You are born with Te.  Very quickly your self is blended with the people around you. You learn to react to their reactions to you. But what starts off as delightful baby-parent play quickly becomes a matter of survival. You associate their approval of you with your very existence.   Most of us grow out of this dependence over the years, but some  of us  continue to desperately need the approval of others to feel secure and whole.  We still think this approval is necessary for our survival. Our salvation then is Te, becoming our true selves again, that self we were born with.

The most difficult part of finding Te is that we allow the people around us to dictate our priorities.  Instead of doing the things that we value, that we find pleasure in, we spend our time living the values of the people around us.  We try to live up to everyone else’s expectations. We aren’t living our own  lives, but the lives of other people. You may think you have no choice about it. You have the job you have, you live with the partner you live with, you have the friends you have, etc. Although any of these elements can be changed, that may not be necessary. The good news is that Te is very possible right where you are. It’s not necessarily these people and circumstances that need to change; it’s you who needs to change.

This morning I was stewing on  the same things that I have been stewing about the last couple of weeks. These two things had all but robbed me of my personal joy. One was a personal issue and the other was an issue with my car.  You would think the personal issue would matter the most, but it was the combination that was interfering with my peace of mind. But this morning on my way to work the answer to my frustration came full grown in my head—“These things will work out how they work out and when they work out. There is nothing you can do about either.  All you can do is wait.” And today  I have given either situation little thought.

Over twenty five years ago my wife and I were at our church on a Sunday night.  There was nothing remarkable about the service.  It was a generic, routine Sunday night Baptist church service. Our pastor, an excellent preacher, was preaching an ordinary sermon,. He was talking about the manna in the wilderness when something happened to my wife.  She was immediately transformed.  I could almost say transfigured. She left that church a much different person than the person  who had entered that building less than an  hour earlier.  Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. Since she was a baptized Christian, instead of saying she was “saved”, we’ve called it her “new metaphor.”

But sometimes you do need a new job.  And sometimes you need a new partner.   And maybe you need to find some new friends. Our problem is that most of us live our lives like we think it’s a dry run, like we’re going to get another chance. Maybe we will get another chance, but what if this is it?  What would you do differently tomorrow if you thought this is it?

The “Word” in John 1:1 is generally translated “Logos” and “Logos” is generally translated “Jesus Christ.”  Now it’s beginning to make more sense. "In the beginning was Jesus..." In many Chinese Bibles “Word” is translated “Tao.’  “In the beginning was the Tao and the Tao was with God and the Tao was God”.  Okay, now it’s getting weird.

Finding Te is difficult, but not impossible.  It takes determination and practice to find your true self. If you can’t practice at work, then practice at home. If you can’t practice at home then practice on  the golf course or at Chick fil A with a good friend.  Find Te however and wherever you can.  Let Te find a foothold and then let Te expand into your whole life. And how do you know if you are finding Te?  Because you’ll feel better. You’ll feel a lot better. And the people around you will notice something different about you too. Now instead of seeking approval, you will seek communion and companionship. Nothing is different, but everything is different.

Thanks for joining me. It means a lot to me. Do you take cream or sugar with your Te?