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This lady was paid $10,000 to have this advertisement tattooed on her forehead. She proudly declared that she did it to "put her kids through school." Um, what school is she sending her kids to?
No, unfortunately, I'm not kidding.
Hey, do you suppose I could get someone to have InteractiveSermon.com tattooed on their forehead for, say, a box of Hot Pockets? Let me know.
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Imagine it. You settle into the pew on a Sunday morning and the music leader begins: "This is your action news reporter, here at the supermarket. There seems to have been a disturbance here. Pardon me sir, did you see what happened?" The drummer clicks a four count and the band kicks into the old Ray Stevens tune, "Oh yes, they call him The Streak! Look at that! Look at that! He likes to show off his physique ..."
Ridiculous, huh? That's probably why you've never heard a sermon on Mark 14:51-52.
It reads: A young man wearing nothing but a linen garment was following Jesus. When they seized him, he fled naked, leaving his garment behind.
How would you preach it? You could use this text to reinforce that lesson your mom instilled in you--you know, to always be wearing clean underwear in case you're in an accident? Well, had this man had his inner-drawers about him... I'm just saying. Or, a youth pastor could use this text to speak to today's teenage boys who are obsessed with wearing their trousers down around their thighs. Should they ever find themselves being seized for the sake of the gospel and needing to run... well, it ain't gonna be pretty! Then again, "nothing but a linen garment"--sounds like a text for a frat-house toga party. Perhaps the best lesson might be on weather-appropriate dress. The man was wearing nothing but a sheet! What was he thinking? It was a cold night. Just a few hours later, Peter was thankful to be able to warm his hands over a fire.
Not surprisingly, most of my study bibles and commentaries are silent on these two verses. Cowards!
The few that braved the passage offered some observations: First, scholars have identified the man as having likely been between 15 and 25. (Told you. Frat party.) Second, many of these scholars believe the young man was Mark. That's not so hard to believe--if I was caught up like this and seen running away naked, I'd probably talk about it in third person, too. Commentators then start to construct a possible scenario--perhaps it was at Mark's parent's home where the disciples had their last supper. Perhaps Mark was already dressed for sleep. Perhaps he had heard of the treachery in the garden, and in his rush to arrive quickly, he headed out "commando."
Examining the verse in context, however, the point seems to be that Jesus wound up alone. Verse 50 tells us that none of His disciples stayed with Him. The weight, then, of verses 51 and 52 suggests, "yes, they wanted so badly to escape, one guy even ran out of his clothing."
Perhaps this is Mark's way of putting his own inadequacy down in writing. We know through historians that Mark felt a special affection for Peter. Mark had recorded Jesus' prediction of Peter's denial (14:27-31). Perhaps Mark saw his own flight as fulfillment enough of Jesus' words, "You will all fall away." Perhaps he felt compelled to include that in the record before he would chronicle Peter's failure a few verses later.
I've never been one to reach for an allegorical interpretation. Perhaps someone would imply here though--when seized, you had better have been grounded enough to avoid having to flee... naked. That sounds like a nice "moral of the story" ending. But I'd say the better lessons to be caught here are of a follower of Christ, his failures, his brokenness, and his being forgiven, restored... and even to be utilized by God in mighty ways. I'll bet it never occurred to him as he was "streaking" away in fear and shame that people like you and me would be reading his gospel account for thousands of years. God is very good that way, no?
So for the second time in as many days, I felt the need to wax poetic. Lord help us all! I'm not sure what it is. I had crawled into bed, picked up my copy of Writer's Digest and planned to read just a couple of articles and turn out the light. The next thing I knew I had journal and pencil in hand. Here's an attempt at prose poetry:
Definitely Not Lavender
Beans. Little things that we take for granted are the accoutrements of my craft. Plywood. Things employed to serve in ways they weren't intended. Pencils. A writer's implement for generations, but replaced by technology--let's face it, not even writers actually write anymore. A candle. Ocean Mist or Fresh Linen, perhaps, but definitely not Lavender. Scars. Emotional hurts, battered feelings and disappointment--the fuel of creativity.
Non-fiction. Truth too important to remain unshared. Memoir. A lifetime of memories that cannot be allowed to fade. Fiction. Tales and stories that draw us away. Historical-fiction. Visits to places we wish we could have seen, and with people we wish we could have met. Short Story. The real measuring stick--is the writer any good at his craft? Poetry. An artist's rendering of what he sees. Lyric. If it's done well people will see themselves in reflection.
First thing in the morning I'll pour a cup of coffee, pull up to the make-shift desk, put a pencil behind my ear and light a candle--Ocean Mist or Fresh Linen, perhaps, but definitely not Lavender. I'll look within. And then, Lord willing...
The truth within me will come out as Non-fiction; Rich memories will overflow into Memoir; Daydreams will take flight as Fiction; Long ago will return in Historical-fiction; If I have any talent at all it will be told in Short Story; If I see in color or sense in texture it will become Poetry; If I can tap my foot to it I'll call it Lyric.
And if I can put the pencil down at the end of the day when it's done--then it's real. I am a writer.
As you know, in August I spent two and a half weeks of waking up each morning in one of my favorite places--alongside my lake in Swannanoa, North Carolina. It's not really my lake. But having vacationed there fourteen out of the last fifteen summers, my heart feels some ownership. This year, like others, I rose a couple of hours earlier than the rest of the family to enjoy some marvelous quiet time with the sunrise, the mist on the water and an an assorted representation of North Carolina's bird population. I studied passages of scripture. I prayed. I thought through many things. And, once again, I came away with a handful of lessons. This year I will endeavor to share some of them here.
Love.
We joined a friend of ours for worship on the first Sunday of our vacation--he's the organist and music director at a fine church in Hickory. As usual, I enjoyed the service. I especially enjoyed the preacher's message. You need to know that is a big deal. Being a preacher, I have a tendency to grade sermons rather than hear them. I've heard this pastor bring several messages over the years. But with the last few, for my thinking, he's gotten better. After the service we had lunch with our friend and I shared that observation. Our friend nodded in agreement, "He's always been a good preacher. But you're right, something changed a few years ago. There came a new humility about him--and the people in the congregation really got the sense that he loved them. It's made a huge difference."
Later that day I was sitting by the pool working on my sunburn. A family arrived at the pool--a father, his young-adult son, a daughter in her late teens, and a younger pre-teen son. The eldest son was wheelchair bound, able to communicate but suffering from violent tremors and lacking control of his limbs. This family claimed a spot on the pool deck to stage their things and were preparing to get in the water. I watched what appeared like choreography--each family member knowing where to position themselves and how to proceed in helping the oldest son descend into the water. It went so smoothly. In no time the young man was comfortably in the water with an inner tube around him and able to enjoy the pool. The choreography continued. Without any discernable discussion on the matter, each in turn spent time attending the young man, freeing the others to swim about, climb out, dive in, or otherwise collect a few moments alone in the water. They functioned like a team. I especially observed the teenage girl and the young boy. The manner of love they had for their older brother was so very visible. I watched as the older boy attempted to splash his youngest sibling, and the younger boy playfully--but carefully--responded. His sister, at one point, was sitting on the side of the pool next to where he was in the water. Sensing the heat and the sun's effect on him, she cupped one hand and gently ran cool water over her brother's head--much to his delight. After a half hour or so the family gathered, and with orchestral-like precision--again, something they had obviously done before--they each took their positions to assist the young man out of the pool and back into his wheel chair. The youngest son flung himself into a few final cannon-balls as his father and sister gathered their things, and then they were off.
Over the next few days I caught glimpses of that family as they camped. One night as I walked by their campsite the younger brother was assisting his older brother as the family were roasting marshmallows. One morning I saw the father and both of his sons returning from the bath house, shower gear and shaving kits in hand. I imagined that, like at the pool, they must have had a gameplan. Much of this family's life required special consideration and care for this one son.
During my morning quiet time I prayerfully reflected on 1 Corinthians 13. If I accomplish all sorts of things, and have not love, it's all noise. That's my paraphrase, of course, but it's right on. And of love, it is patient and it is not self-seeking. Love hopes. Love bears all things. What object lessons I saw in my fellow preacher's humility and in the sacrificial love of that family. When people live this out, it catches the attention of others. Every day since I've returned from North Carolina, I've pled with God--Father teach me love.
...brought to you by the David Crowder Band.
Church Music.
If we've ever talked about my affection for the music of the David Crowder Band, you've heard me mention my appreciation with the flow of their records--seamless story telling and message unfolding. The new album, Church Music, offers more of the same. Much more.
The first thing I noticed was that the seventeen songs on the disc actually play seamlessly--as if they were one very long song. I'm sure they'd all stand alone just fine, but there is something very interesting to me in the way they are fused together. Certain thought went into their arrangement. Of this album it has been said that the band hopes to "prompt listeners to recognize the continual evolvement of music within the church as well as transport them into an awareness that we exist within the very presence of God, therefore allowing Church Music to happen anywhere."
I really like that last line: therefore allowing Church Music to happen anywhere.
The disc begins with an adaptation of the oldest Christian hymn recorded outside of the Bible known to the church, Hail Gladdening Light. The hymn is routinely part of liturgical readings. The next few songs sound to me as if they are sung in the spirit of a call to worship and invocation. You'll have to look at those lyrics and see if you are struck the same way.
Lyrics of the song entitled SMS (Shine) reminded me of my own coming to faith in Christ years ago--not sure why, that's just how it struck me.
The highlight of the disc for me is a three song sweep in the middle: We Are Loved, All Around Me, and How He Loves. I find the connection of those lyrics very moving--not to mention that the performance of How He Loves me is very moving to me.
We are His portion and He is our prize; drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes; if His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking; heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss; and my heart turns violently inside of my chest; I don't have time to maintain these regrets, when I think about the way... that He loves us.
Don't know why but the song Dance reminds me of Crowder's Turkish Delight song that he contributed to the Chronicles of Narnia disc a few years back. Not exactly my music style taste, but fun. Bet it will become my girls' favorite song. I especially love that in the middle of the song there is a little solo/ad-lib break and in the CD jacket it says {Church Music} for that part. I smiled.
The disc ends appropriately with In The End.
DCB takes me on a musical journey. I like it. Not sure it will become my favorite David Crowder disc, but it's a welcome experience along the way.
David Crowder Band: Church Music ~ I'd recommend it.
But...
Every now and then I get a silly idea to try my hand at poetry. Perhaps you remember the last time I tried. This morning as I was sipping my coffee I was reading of the Villanelle--a French form of poetry that is made up of five tercets and a quatrain. What? Yeah, that's what I said, too. So I had to look those words up. Somewhere in the process it hit me that I had heard one of these Villanelle's before. Rodney Dangerfield recited one in the movie Back To School (and now you are seeing just what a Cretan I am, I know fine poetry from a Rodney Dangerfield movie), "Do not go gentle into that good night!"
I even knew of a band once upon a time named Villanelle--I had no idea what that meant at the time. See? I'm cultured. Why, just last night I was listening to Jimmy Buffett. A line from one of his songs stirred me (see if you can find a hint of it in my poem). So here goes my attempt at a 3-cups-of-Sumatra-and-Jimmy-Buffet-inspired Villanelle:
Life is Too Short to be Lived Out in Fear
Life is too short to be lived out in fear
Too precious each breath and experience;
Throw caution to the wind and live life here.
So cautious of others, bar they come near
Opportunities missed to timid self;
Life is too short to be lived out in fear
Weary of places thought out of your sphere
Cultures and climates your own soul deprived;
Throw caution to the wind and live life here.
Sights remain unseen, sounds you never hear
Cast such cruel anxieties to the wind;
Life is too short to be lived out in fear
Risk free life is not living as it appears
Rather to die while living, than live dead;
Throw caution to the wind and live life here.
Vulnerability, a sojourn dear
Created for life in community;
Life is too short to be lived out in fear,
Throw caution to the wind and live life here.
"Holy words, long preserved, for our walk in this world; they resound with God's own heart, O let the ancient words impart."
During the children's sermon yesterday, I shared two old books--a bible that was inscribed as a gift in 1932, and a Psalm and hymnbook that was published in 1838. I have long found leafing through old bibles and hymnals like these a wonderful adventure. Before I tell you about these books, let me take you back in time.
Somewhere around 1975 I was looking through an old family bible on my parents' bookshelf. In the Psalms I found a number of four leaf clovers pressed in the pages. I asked my dad to explain. He said that his grandmother and his mother would look for four leaf clovers each spring, and when they found them they would put them in the family bible for "good luck." Strange superstition.
Consider 1932--the year this old bible was given as a gift. America was in the midst of the Great Depression. Unemployment was at 24% and there were no jobs to be found. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was swept into office in a landslide win over Herbert Hoover. The average wage in America was $1650 a year; the average cost of a home was $6500; you could rent a home for around $18 a month; a gallon of gas went for $.10 and a loaf of bread for $.07. Around America, Tarzan the Ape-man was released in theatres; Al Capone was convicted of tax evasion; the Lindbergh baby was kidnapped; Amelia Earhardt crossed the Atlantic; and Little Richard was born. Around the world, Mahatma Ghandi began a hunger strike in a British jail; there were an estimated 5 million deaths in Russia due to famine; and Adolf Hitler was on the rise toward power in Germany.
Consider 1838--the year this book of Psalms and hymns was published. Martin Van Buren was the President of the United States. Sam Houston was the President of the Republic of Texas. The U.S. Army was directed to relocate 14000 members of the Cherokee Indian nation in what is known as The Trail of Tears; more than 4000 died of illness and disease along the 139 day journey. Sauk Indian Chief Black Hawk died in 1838 (I have an ancestral tie into Chief Black Hawk, so I find that an interesting fact). The first steam-ship Atlantic crossings were happening.
And in those settings--ancient words in these (not so ancient, comparatively speaking) books, brought comfort to people.
The Bible is inscribed: Mabel, from "Dad" and "Mother" Hayes, --1932--
I have no idea who Mabel was. My friends the Hayes family gave me this old book, so I'm guessing Dad and Mother Hayes were relatives of theirs. Perhaps the quotes around Dad and Mother suggest that Mabel was like a daughter to them, rather than their daughter. Mabel appears to have read this bible sparingly. It's pages show little wear from reading. But it appears to have been a treasure trove for her--many keepsakes are tucked in its pages. One is a note mailed to Mabel from Douglas Garner on February 16th, 1946. It references Mabel's having appeared on the silver screen in a newsreel advertisement entitled "An Alpaca Coat and Blue Ski Pants for Lounging." There are a few keepsake style bookmarks and a couple of note cards enclosed in its pages. There is a Valentine card, simply signed with three dozen 'x' marks--meaning kisses, no doubt. And there is a one line note that reads "Come over and see me sometimes" signed "honey bunch." Lastly, there are a couple of four leaf clovers pressed in the pages of 1 Chronicles.
The book of Psalms and hymns has the name Raymond Deshon of Alfred, Maine penciled in its cover. I have no idea who he was. Interestingly, the leather cover has the name Mary Allen embossed on it. Who owned it first? The binding of this book appears to have been hand-stitched. Someone, in more recent years, has put masking tape around it in an attempt to hold it together--even that masking tape appears to pre-date me, however. There are no notes in this book, however it appears to have been used to sing--often. It looks to have had some water damage--at some point it probably fell out of regular use for that reason.
The treasure of these books (and many more that I have like them) is to realize that people bought these books, gave these books, read these books, treasured these books--and that the words of God, and words about God within them, spoke to and comforted the souls of those who possessed them. To me that's pretty cool. To think that this hymn book was probably in someone's hands at the dawn of the Civil War; to think that this bible was in someone's hands during the Great Depression and World War II--truly inspiring to me. I suppose I'm sentimental that way. I wish I knew more of the story behind these books.
Do you have any old bibles around your house? What's in 'em?
At Christ's Church this fall we are delving into an updated expression of our Vision Statement and Core Values as a congregation. Last week we laid a bit of foundation--considering love--without which all the rest is just a cacophony of clanging cymbals.
Tomorrow morning we're going to consider the fact that God has envisioned us and the specific role that He has fashioned us to fill. If you are one of those folks who likes an advance look at the texts we'll consider, give John 17 a read. You might also be blessed to give some thought to Genesis 1:26-31, Psalm 139:13-16, and Ephesians 2:10 as a bit of backdrop.
Don't forget the new opportunities on Sunday mornings this fall. Join me between 8:15 and 9:00AM for a cup of coffee at the Interactive Java Stop. At 9:00AM you can choose between three Bible Study classes, What the Bible is All About, What the Church is All About, and Balanced Living for Women. Of course, I look forward to gathering together with you to worship at 10:30AM.
Investigators have few clues to go on in the death of Rocky the Flying Squirrel. Police responded to Christ's Church at around 4AM on Tuesday morning. A series of motion detectors had set off the building's burglar alarm. A member of the congregation was also summoned to the church to let officers in with a key. That man--who police have labeled "a person of interest" in this case--joined police in a search of the building and is said to have discovered Rocky's body under a heavy table. The accompanying photo of the crime scene demonstrates the body's position. Members of Christ's Church close to the individual involved have suggested the death was an accident.
Members of the animal rights group Friends 'O Fur are doubtful of that explanation. "This church has a history of bloody incidents involving small animals. A former staff member there was nicknamed "The Rodent Ripper" for his many bloody crimes against moles. He once smashed a mole with a snow shovel and tried to say that it was an accident. A snow shovel! Whack! How's that an accident? That man recently moved to Charlotte, North Carolina--and you know what? There has been a sharp rise in unsolved rodent deaths there. But with this case--you tell me--how did those heavy tables accidentally fall on a flying squirrel? Someone pushed them! Someone lured Rocky out into the open and shoved those tables over on him."
Members of the group Sound Off, having heard of this case, suggests a motive. "Evolution. The church has historically dismissed evolution for a perceived lack of evidence--especially where transitioned species are concerned. A flying squirrel--think about it. Those creationists are trying to rid the world of evidence." The activist pointed to the winged torso of the flying squirrel--the outline of which can clearly be seen in the crime scene photo. "That's what caused the murder of this little guy!"
The only statement the church has issued was a general statement of remorse for the family of Rocky squirrel.
Saint Augustine of Hippo: The City of God
A little light reading.
John Steinbeck: Travels with Charley in Search of America: (Centennial Edition)
My friend Ray recommended it.
Eugene H. Peterson: The Pastor: A Memoir
I can tell this will make my all-time list.
The Civil Wars: Barton Hollow
Soul meets bluegrass meets...
Aaron Wood: Aaron Wood
'Discovered' him in Asheville. Tremendous!
Pink: Greatest Hits... So Far!!!
"As one of your own poets hath said..."
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