Ah! Ha!

I was attracted to a commercial for Turner Broadcasting "The Closer." The star of this series was relating how in every good drama there is an "Ah! Ha!" moment. That moment when everything comes together. It is a moment of clarity. An instant when everything makes sense. I realize that she is talking about fiction. I know that it is only a Television Show. However, is this not also true of a good novel, a good story that is well told?

This moment occurs in a good crime drama or any mystery it is when all the clues, like pieces of a puzzle fit together to form uniform picture of the entire event. It has been said that a picture is "worth a thousand words." Is it possible for "a thousand" well placed or phrased "words" to paint a picture? These word pictures so well drawn that they convey these mental images. Images so bold as to be seared into our minds for eternity like Icon's on a computer screen. When we double click upon the Icon there is an immediate recall of story the image represents.

Then it came to me like a flash of lightening. Should there not be such an "Ah! Ha!" moment in the sermon? When the "Greatest Story Ever Told" is retold and the grandest drama ever written unfolds. When the most profound mystery is revealed for every ear to hear and every eye to see. Why would there not be a picture so bold, beautiful and breath taking that we all cry out in wonder and awe, "Ah! Ha!" May be we have "ears but do not hear," or have "eyes but do not see?" Or may be it is something else altogether.

Could it be that something is lost in the telling which has nothing to do with the story itself? I have heard and preached more sermons than I care to remember. Many are good stand up comedy routines. Some are more like reciting of a concordance with scriptures quotations strung together to fit the speakers agenda. Others would make good after dinner or motivational speeches. A sermon should be something more and even something different. It must be more than what the listeners want it to be, a message that is what we think it is. While it is communication it must be much more. It must produce transformation. It must contain an authentic word from God.

There must be a moment when we hear the voice of God. A wondrous moment when we experience the Spirit of God in such a profound manner that we will forever be changed. That glorious "Ah! Ha!" moment when his story becomes our story and we can never look at the world or its inhabitant's the same again.

This might require some serious reevaluation of preaching by both preachers and those who are preachee's (I know I just invented a new word, forgive me).

Just some things to think about along the way. "Ah! Ha!" I hope I will see you a little farther down the road.

Bob

"A Christmas Story"

A Radical Retelling of the Christmas Story?

Let me be so bold as to begin by suggesting that the story we are so use to telling this time of year may not reflect an accurate reading of the scripture. We remake Jesus in our own image so that we often end up with a “blond blue-eyed baby boy.” We are not alone in this every culture recast Jesus into their own image. Rather than being transformed into his image humans tend to recreate Jesus in their own image. Is it possible that we are guilty of reading scripture our cultural and sociological “rose colored glasses?”

The Christmas story has become so sanitized and purified that one must wonder it those who first heard it would even recognize it as the same story they heard and retold repeatedly. It is a magnificent story, which is from its earliest days orally handed down from one believer to another. However, what if we have become familiar with the story that we have missed something? What if the story has become so commercialized, culturalized and categorized that it has lost something in the retelling? Could it be that the story has lost its edge? Is it possible that most people fail to see the relevance of this story to their all too real life?

Have we scrubbed squeaky clean the story and sanitized it to the point that we have removed the scandal? For it is the scandal, I would suggest, that was and is at the heart of the story. The Nativity scenes, so popular everywhere today, presents Mary with an angelic look, a serene smile and an appearance seemingly completely at peace. How real is that? She just gave birth to a full term baby without anesthesia. To say nothing of the journey she has just undertaken under the most primitive of circumstances. The hay that is the baby’s mattress looks more like tinsel just bought in modern Christmas store. It looks nothing like the hay that was soaked in urine, mud and manure from the stable in which he was born. His bed was a feed trough not a cradle or something that looks more like a child’s safety seat than something that animals would have been eating from only a short time before his birth.

They may have been ancient people but they knew where babies came from. Joseph knew this and he knew that the child was not his. Matthew tells us that because he was a righteous man he had decided to put her away. He was within his rights as the fiancé of Mary to do this. However, he was a good man so he wanted to do it privately in order not to shame her. He is the only one who is privy to the words of the angel, “the child is from the Holy Spirit.” If that is going to be your story, you had better have tough skin and be prepared for most people to not believe your story. We need to remember that only a few people in this entire story are privy to the message of the angels.

Not only could Joseph count but also so could all his neighbors. How many of us have smiled to ourselves at the nine-pound babies born two months or more early. We snicker to ourselves and at least think, “that’s a good story.” One can only imagine how many times Jesus must have heard the insults hurled at him, or spoken to his back. Words such as, “there he goes that b……. son of the carpenter.” Could this be implied in the local people's statement, "is this not the carpenter's son?" We dare not remove the scandal from the retelling. He was born in Scandal.

Joseph was a carpenter. He had a trade. He was skilled as an artisan. He was probably what we would consider lower middle class. However, one must remember that the baby was not born in his hometown but in a strange town considerable distance from family and friends. The census required Joseph and his nine months pregnant wife to travel to a place far from hearth and home. Luke records for us this and includes this one line that speaks volumes about his life, “there was no room in the Inn.” He was born in a stable not an Inn or a house. He was born into abject poverty. His birth announced and welcomed by the lowing of cattle, bleating of sheep and clucking of chickens not by the palace full of servants or heralds of the king. Again, we must remember that only a select few and those of us who read the story today know the words the angels spoke. It is in Poverty and not in a Palace that the newborn King is welcomed.

Not long after his birth, the angel tells Joseph and Mary to flee to Egypt because Herod wants to kill the child. The volatile and vindictive ruler is angry and he strikes out at the helpless children. All males two years and under are killed in Herod’s feeble attempt to hold on to his power. In a cruel and violent exercise of power as Matthew records for us the quotation from the Old Testament, that tells us “Rachael is weeping for her children….” In addition, the fulfillment of the scripture that says, “out of Egypt I have called my son.” One can only imagine what that next Christmas must have been like for the mothers weeping for their children. Jesus was born into a world of Violence and a Violent world.

One must wonder if the story might not have a broader appeal and impact if we shared with the world this story of Scandal, Poverty and Violence. To a world filled with Scandal, Poverty and Violence, this could be a truly transforming story. This is no sanitized, sterilized story for a perfect world. This is a story that must be told in all of its brutal realism. Real people must come to know the real love of the Savior. “For unto us today a Savior is born, Christ the Lord.”

1. Born in Midst of Scandal.
2. Born in Abject Poverty.
3. Born in a World and Time of Violence.

This does not sound much like "Joy to the World!" "Silent Night!' or "Peace on Earth." But, then those are just lines from Christmas songs that present an idyllic view of the Christmas story.

Just some things to think about along the way. I will see you on down the road.

Bob

"On Any Given Sunday"

Some Not So Random Thoughts On Church Attendance!

In a recent sermon by Dr. Randy Harris, he shared with us some sobering numbers. Most of us have heard and some of us have even quoted the statistics for regular church attendance in the Untied States. Preachers are fond of reminding us of these numbers to prove that America is a "Christian Nation." Since religion is all about feeling good church members leave worship feeling good about themselves because we are winning the war. I am not sure which war it is that we are winning. The war against evil, liberalism, the pagan hords at the gates or what ever the current righteous war might be.

The numbers are often quoted at between 40 and 45% (dependent again upon who is quoting the numbers) of the population of the United States. That sounds like we are winning the war. It sounds like we are truly missional. These numbers, which are so frequently quoted, were derived simply by asking people if they attended church regularly. Of course we all know that people would not lie about a matter as important as church attendance. It is somewhat like calling someone in the middle of the night and asking them, "did I wake you up?" People would not actually lie and say "no," would they?

What the researchers have discovered is quite interesting. Their results were similar to those election officials found when they asked people if they voted in the last election. The numbers they discovered were somewhat inflated, to put is mildly. When people were asked if they voted the number who said they voted was always higher than the numbers the records actually recorded. Someone offered the intriguing proposition, “what if it is just possible that this same phenomenon is true of church attendance.” Someone (I am not sure who) suggested, “why not count attendance” rather than asking if they attended. What an interesting approach, just count the numbers.

What they found when they actually counted the numbers was that the 45% number we were all using was nowhere near correct. The actual number is about 17.5% of the population of the United States attends church regularly. The steady decline is projected to continue into the future so that by the year 2050 that number will be about 10%. If in fact Dr. Harris is correct (and I have no reason to doubt him) and these numbers are accurate then we should be alarmed by this trend. “On any given Sunday” (not simply the title to a bad movie) over 80% of the population of the United States chooses not to attend service with a local body of Christ.

First, I would suggest that the United States like Europe before it is rapidly becoming a post-Christian culture. Second, I would offer the suggestion that we (all of those who profess Jesus Christ as Savior) are failing miserably in the mission that Jesus has given into our hands. Third, I would simply ask a question of us. Have we (the church) become irrelevant, inconsequential and ultimately unimportant to the world in which we live? To ask these questions is not suggest that I have the answer to the dilemma that confronts us. It is simply an attempt to sound an alarm and seek to open a dialogue on a subject about which I care deeply.

Just some things to think about alone the way. I will be seeing you down the road.
Bob

Eleventh Hour, Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month

This next Sunday, November 11, 2007 is Veteran’s Day and since I am a veteran, I felt compelled and thought it appropriate to post something on the subject. I know that many churches will take time to honor and recognize our veterans. In the November 8, 2007 issue of the Dallas Morning News there was an article about the number of veterans who were homeless. It caught my attention so I thought that I might share some of the information with you.

The article stated that 1 in 4 homeless in this country are veterans. In 2006 nearly a half a million veterans spent some time homeless. There are 50,000 in California alone, the most of any state. The lowest state was Vermont with 30. In Texas less than one percent of Texas, veterans were homeless in 2005 according to the Veterans Administration.

It is not only older veterans or the often stereotyped Vietnam veterans, who are homeless there is a growing number from the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Veterans Administration has identified 1500 homeless Veterans from current wars. “Over all 45% of participants of VA’s homeless programs have a diagnosable mental illness and more than 3 out of 4 have substance abuse problems, while 35 % have both.” The VA spends $265 million annually on homeless-specific programs and about $1.5 billion for all health care cost for homeless veterans.

The eleventh hour, the eleventh day of the eleventh month was set aside as Armistice Day (later renamed Veterans Day) following World War I (the “war to end all wars” as it was called). We now know that the designation “to end all wars” was an overly optimistic view of the future of mankind. The simple fact that one would refer to it, as the First World War is proof of this point, since if there is first then there must be at least a second. The Treaty of Versailles (the peace treaty that ended this war) itself led to bitterness and hatred, which in fact contributed to the next world war. “Wars and rumors of wars” have existed since the beginning of human history. Current wars are frequently a result of or continuation of a previous one.

We honor and memorialize our fallen veterans, as I believe we should. Yet, what of the survivors? The ones who must deal with “survivor’s guilt, “post traumatic stress” and substance abuse as well as addiction. What, if anything, do we owe these men and women? More important for me, how should the Christian community respond to this segment of our society (the homeless in general and veterans in specific)?

As a veteran I am thankful for the public recognition in our assemblies. Which is much better than the public humiliation many of my brothers endured during the Vietnam era. However, as a veteran, the article referenced above and the current condition of so many of my “brother’s in arms” troubles me. I am, however, even more troubled by the seeming lack of attention by Christendom in general to such a large number of “lost and troubled souls.” I do not only mean veterans.

I do not want to appear judgmental, because I know that even “a cup of cold water” given in the name of Jesus is a blessing and will be rewarded. We design, promote and implement church programs to collect food on Thanksgiving and give gifts baskets at Christmas. Yet, I wonder what about the other ten months of the year?

It seems to me that if we really wanted to be more like Jesus. Then maybe we should be investing more of our time and money in those whom society marginalizes. What are we doing the other 300 days of the year? I realize that there is a limit to what we can do. I recognize that we cannot help everyone. I would urge us not to use what we cannot do as an excuse not to do what we can. I cannot help but wonder what it says about the Christian community when we spend most of our resources (time, money and effort) on ourselves to the neglect of the “down trodden and oppressed.”

I imagine a Jesus who would be visiting the homeless. I picture a Christ who would be reaching out to the outcast, castaways and cast offs of our culture. I am sure that I could be wrong but, as I read the Gospels that is the Jesus I see. Is this not what it really means to be a Cruciform Community? When we reach down to the broken, are we not then truly that Transformed and Therapeutic Tribe of Abraham? Do our actions reflect the Redemptive, Radical and Real Reign of God (kingdom of God) in our hearts?

This year on Veteran’s Day (the eleventh hour, the eleventh day of the eleventh month), I will as usual reflect upon my fallen brothers, and I will not forget the survivors. It is my desire that we would also seek ways to invest some time and resources in the survivors and especially those who exist on the “ragged edge” of life.

Just some things to think about along the way. See you all a little farther on down the road.

Bob

"Bowling for Life Skills"

Henri Nouwen the Author, Lecturer and Teacher left Harvard to become a priest at Daybreak, a L'Arche community near Toronto. It is a community of 150 severely handicapped people and 50 assistants. The first thing they asked him to do was help Adam with his morning routine. Nouwen says,

Adam, a twenty-four-old was not able to talk, nor was he able to walk. Adam was not able to dress or undress himself. Even though he followed me with his eyes,it was difficult to know for sure whether or not he actually knew me. He was limited by a body that was misshapen, and he suffered form frequent epileptic seizures. God was speaking to me in a new way through this broken man. Little by little,I discovered affection in myself and came to believe that Adam and I belonged together. To put it simply, Adam silently spoke to me about God and God's friendship in a concrete way. First, he taught me that being is more important than doing, that God wants me to be with him and not do all sorts of things to prove I'm valuable. My life had been doing, doing, doing. I'm a driven person, wanting to do thousands and thousands of things so that I can show-somehow, finally-that I'm worth while. People had said, "Henri, you're okay." but now, here with Adam, I heard, "I don't care what you do, as long as you will be with me." It wasn't easy just to be with Adam. It isn't easy simply to be with a person and not do much. Adam taught me something else: the heart is more important than the mind. When you've come from an academic culture, that's hard to learn. Thinking with the mind, having arguments, discussing, writing, doing-that's what a human being is....When the physical, emotional, intellectual, or moral life commands all the attention, we are in danger of forgetting the primacy of the heart.

On Wednesday afternoon the Middle School Principal called me. I was momentarily taken back by her request. She said, "Bob, would you be interested in going bowling with the "Life Skill" class on Thursday? I surprised myself with how quickly I replied saying, "I would be happy to go with them." I am familiar with these students because I have worked the Special Olympics Basketball skills contest our school had hosted for the last 4 years.

After I hung up the phone I began to think about what I had just volunteered to do. I must admit that I felt some fear and apprehension about what the next day would bring. I couldn't help but wonder what "Life Skills" I might learn that next day.

Promptly at 8:15 two teacher's aids, myself and five Middle School boys loaded up our little yellow school bus and set out on what would be about a two hour journey to Dallas and bowling. One student fell asleep immediately, one just sat and smiled, two sat together and pestered each other, and one(Austin) talked non-stop the entire time. One question Austin asked me stuck with me. He said, "did you preach for a real church?" The immediate non-thinking response was yes. However, I have given his question serious consideration since that time and after further reflection wonder if I might not want to change my answer. The answer, I suppose, depends upon how you define real.

Upon our arrival I set out to help the boys find their teams and bowling lanes. This was a Special Olympics competition and each lane had two high school student volunteers to assist the athletes. As I left my last student at his lane, a young Downs Syndrome boy in a Frisco school T-shirt and holding his teachers hand waved to me. I waved back and smiled. He released his teachers hand and running toward me put his arms around me and hugged me. His teacher shrugged her shoulders and smiled and mouthed the words, "don't ask me." I recalled a line from the movie Forrest Gump. Forrest says, "I am not a smart man, but I know what love is!"

After the Awards Ceremonies one of my students(Lonnie) said, "I want to sit with you on the way home." These two events made my day much brighter. I received much more from this experience than I gave. It occurs to me that maybe this was what Henri Nouwen was trying to say. Sometimes thinking(being smart) gets in the way of the heart (experiencing love). I did not have to do anything, just let him hug me. It has been said that the great thing about a hug is that when you give one, you get one. I did not do anything I was just there.

"Bowling for Life Skills!" Here are a few "Life Skills" I gained:

You don't have to do anything, just be there.

The heart is more important than the mind.

Being real is better than being right.

Love trumps everything.

Just some things to think about along the way. Hope to see you on the road.

Bob

The quote above was taken from pages 44 & 45 Spiritual Direction "Wisdom for the Long walk of faith." Henri Nouwen with Michael J. Christensen and Rebecca J. Laird.

“MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?”

I once read an article that described the garden of Gethsemane as a crossroad where the humanity and divinity of Jesus meet. It is more than a crossroads it is an intersection where these two ingredients in the character and nature of Jesus collide. It was here surrounded by living things, in a place of life, tranquility and serenity that Jesus was forced to face his greatest battle. He must face this struggle, agony, distress and despair alone. I can think of no place where the words of that old hymn are as true as here. “He has to walk that lonesome valley. He has to walk it by himself. No body else can walk it for him. He has to walk it, by himself.” It is here in a garden on the mount of Olives through which the brook Kidron flows, that the world will change and never be the same again.

The die was cast for Rome when in 49 BC Caesar and his Army crossed the Rubicon river. The Senate and other remnants of the Roman Republic were changed forever. Rome becomes an Empire and the world will cringe in fear and fall before its awesome power.

So too, will all nations, people and human history tremble before the power and presence of the king of kings who will cross the brook Kidron (“every knee will bow”)! The die is cast as he asserts in the final words of his prayer, “not my will but yours be done!” He must cross Kidron and he must change the world forever (“your will be done!”). It is with despair, distress and great difficulty that Jesus navigates this dangerous intersection only to face a more torturous juncture in time and space only a few short hours in his own future.

It is an ugly foreboding future filled with hours of torture, humiliation, depravity, degradation, desertion and death. In what is perilously close to his final breath he cries out in tortured agony, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” The pain in his body and soul as well as the question on his lips must have pierced his father’s heart like a million fiery arrows. It is a cry that shook the gates of heaven and shattered the gates of hell. The thunderous voice a shout that echoes through the corridors of time. His words sweeping history aside and crushing sin in there wake, not for an instant but from eternity past to eternity yet future. This is followed by his solitary shout of victory (“It is finished!”). This is a scream, which issues forth from the very core of his being, from the essence of this God/Man.

No call for Elijah was this, but something more guttural, more basic like the song of a helpless soul in a hopeless situation. In the darkness that covered the earth when the sun’s warmth and brightness should have ruled the day. Mark says he cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” Aramaic words that Mark translates for us as, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It is in truth, a quote from Psalm 22:1 and the fact that it is on the lips of Jesus at this time makes a poignant statement about of his everyman-ness. He is the God man, yet he is every man. He shares in the divine nature. He posses’ human nature, it does not posses him. He is God! He is Me! The Psalmist cry, Jesus’ cry and my cry in the pit of despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” We all share a common sense of forsakenness and helplessness, but we also share a common answer from God.

Our common cry in the unnatural darkness is answered with God’s symphony in two parts. The first is when the earth and all that we know is shaken, shattered and scattered in to a million tiny pieces. Dust in the wind, the seeds of change that were sown upon the winds of renewal (the temple curtain ripped from top to bottom). The second is when the morning Sun with its warmth and glory bursting forth over mount Zion on victory Sunday. In that glorious moment when hells dungeons burst open, when the shackles of death are shattered like glass and the chains of sin fall like stars from the sky and burn to ash as they fall harmlessly upon the earth. All that was is washed away by the tears of God. The lightning flashes, the thunder crashes and the cleansing rains begins to fall. The rain that flows down the cheeks of God, a cleansing flood that will make everything new.

In that unbelievably majestic, magnificent moment of renewal, we sing with voices ringing in four-part harmony salvations song (“redeemed how I love to proclaim it, redeemed by the blood of the lamb”). Holy words as if written by the finger of God, and etched upon the pliable, moldable hearts of those who believe. These are the hearts of the delivered, faithful, grace filled and obedient children of the living God. It is God’s own answer to our tortured cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Here we assemble at the foot of the cross where all men are equals. Here we gathered around the table together. We come together in the presence of our partners in faith and prostrate ourselves before the Great I AM. Here we experience anew the heavenly and eternal answer to our soulful cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Here we no longer know forsakenness but, now we know forgiveness from and fellowship with El, Elohim, El shaddai, Yahweh-jireh (which means the Lord will provide), the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of the living not the dead, Yahweh the eternal I AM.

Here we kneel together. Here we worship and praise him. Here we share a sacred moment. Here we lift up empty holy hands and open contrite hearts. Here no one stands alone. Here no one need walk the valley by him or her self. Here we are church. Here we assemble. Here we sing and shout. Here we pray. “Abba Father, father!” O’ Lord! God! Here we are! Accept O’ God our humble sacrifice of praise. Fill us O’ Lord! With your Holy Spirit. Use us Merciful One for your glory in this fallen and broken world. Here we are in your presence!

Just some things to think about along the way!

Bob

"Time Conscious"

The city begins to shake itself awake as the first rays of the morning sun slowly creeps over the Palatine hills and reflect off the Bronze and Marble statues of its mighty conquerors that line the city streets. The servants are as always the first to hustle and scurry about their morning task. They lay out the togas with gold embroidery and in a variety of colors for their masters and prepare for the sumptuous meals that await those of the elite equestrian order. The stark contrast of these two groups stands as a mute reminder of the obvious discrepancy between the two classes that make up this ancient classic culture.

Meanwhile, deep in the bowels of this ancient city, built upon the myth of Castor and Pollux and as a tribute to their strength and power, is another world. It is a world unseen by the masses and one, which rarely if ever comes to the minds of those who dwell above. Yet, there is cloistered away deep in the foreboding dwelling, in the dreary, dark and dank catacombs another class citizens who occupy another world beneath the streets of noble Rome.

Here beneath the hustle and bustle of city we discover a small but committed group huddled in the dim flickering light of olive oil lamps and well used candles, chanting and singing. Many are slaves, most are women yet they have come to this secret, secluded place to break bread (the staff of life), to share in common (have fellowship) with those of like faith and hear the story (the greatest story ever told) retold. Those humble souls present are reliving through the enduring presence of The Son, and Savior, what has become each ones own story.

Surely someone in the group spoke up and reminded Paul, Peter, Clement or whoever was telling the story to make it brief because in the Coliseum above them the games were about to begin. Everyone knows how important it is to beat the pagan rush. Our favorite gladiator’s are playing at noon and we would not want to miss any of the action. We would not want to miss the introductions; we wait anxiously for our hero’s to take the field. Helmets gleaming in the sun and muscles bulging as, Gaius Gluteus Maximus with his two brothers, Medius and Minimus, Flavius Pectoralus Major and the ever-illuminating Aurora Borealis, “get ready to rumble,” against the Lions, Tigers, Bears, Giants, Titans and even other wild beast of air and sea.

It must be all right occasionally to sacrifice genuine fellowship for obsessive fanaticism. You know what they say, “when in Rome” or is that “Romo." Most certainly, God understands how important it is for us to be true “fans?” He knows how much we need our own time to engage in these leisure activities, doesn’t he? Being time conscious must be a virtue that God would applaud. Surely, he knows how important our own time is to each of us and wants us to guard and protect it so that no one or nothing can intrude upon our precious time.

Undoubtedly, God is very time conscious, or maybe not.


Just some things to think about along the way…if you have time!

Bob

"A SACRED MOMENT"

I am concerned, alarmed would be too strong of a word, that we are losing a sense of the sacred. The Christian Church has only been given two rites or rituals (Baptism and Communion). These are both sacred events that point to the same thing (the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus). It should be noted that one is something that is done to us and the other is done by us. Both are participation in the divine drama of salvation, the saving action of God. In these we become participants of divine grace.

Our familiarity with each of these sacred acts often leads us to debate them rather than practice them. The New Testament church accepted these and practice them as part of their living faith. They joined in as participants in the living history of God's transforming and transcendent act of salvation. That is why the language of baptism and communion is inclusive language. You find words like united with and clothed with for baptism. The language of communion is share and participate. How is it that matters that are intended to draw people together have become so divisive?

These are, beyond doubt sacred acts in the truest sense of the word. Sacred, sacrifice and sacrament come into English from Latin. The Latin sacra means holy, consecrated and sacred. The communion as a sacrament points to a consecrated event or person ("do this in remembrance of me..."). The communion as sacrifice is a reenactment of the sin offering presented by God and to God (the crucifixion of Jesus). These same points can be made for baptism.

We invest a lot of time and effort in debating the why and how of baptism. This is not something that the New Testament writers did (debating the issue). They simply said to do it and the people willingly participated. They also present it in the Epistles as something that members of the body had already done in the past ("as many of you as have been" or "were" this is the language of the scripture reflected as a past event and a present reality). We present ourselves to God as "living sacrifices holy and acceptable to God..." The consecrated life a living sacrament honoring God.

These are sacred events and actions. Let us focus on the sacredness of the moment. Share in this holy event by honoring the transcendent and transforming God. We remember the mercy of God who acted for us and who is active in us during these sacred moments and beyond.

Just some things to think about along the way!

Bob

"My Empire of Dirt"

"I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel..." These troubling, biting words issue forth from an old man dressed in black, with gnarled hands, a face cracked and creased by decades of sorrow and struggle, and that raspy, gravelly tired but strong voice. A voice that seems to roll like thunder through the valley of trial, which echos off of the jagged granite walls of the mountain of pain. Yet, it is those piercing knowing eyes that warn you he knows more than the words he is singing. One could lose himself in those sad eyes and immediately know beyond a doubt the Singer has lived its message. "I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel..."

Have I become so calloused that I no longer fell the pain and sorrow around me? Or is it just that I have become "comfortably numb?" Do I see Issiah or Nick? Do I feel Shelia's struggle with MS? What about the brothers and sisters who are unemployed or underemployed? The hurt and pain of a rebellious child or a family member battling addiction? Do I look the other way when I see battered women and abused children? What about the plight of young parents trying with all their strength to rear their children in an increasingly hostile world? Maybe I needed to be reminded and forced to, "I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel!"

In the chorus of the song the following line, "you can have it all, my empire of dirt..." drives the point of my disconnectedness to the plight of others home. I fear I have become so busy building castles of stone with ramparts of diamonds and streets of gold, that I have forgotten that all these things are simply dirt? I have become obsessed with constructing emerald cities with spires that touch the heavens and whose entrances are gates of pearl and yet have neglected, "the tired, poor, the huddled masses, yearning to breath free..." I think I have come to a place where I must say, "Here I am, turn the page..."

Yes, this is what I believe, "you can have it all, my empire of dirt."

Just some things to think about along the way!!!

Bob

"Livin In Laodicea!"

The title is loosely taken from a line in a Steve Camp song. The line goes like this, "I've been living in Laodicea..." It seemed somewhat applicable to my life right now. Laodicea, one of the seven churches of Asia addressed in Revelation. It is a church that nauseated the King of Kings. A literal rendering of the phrase "spit you out of my mouth" is "I will vomit you out of my mouth." I am not real sure but I believe that my life of late would give Jesus more than just the dry heaves. The thought of my failures turning his stomach makes me deathly ill.

I find that I have taken up residence in the kingdom of apathy. And I have even become one of its leading citizens. As the mayor of Apathy my quest is do just enough to get by. One should never go the extra mile unless others are watching or perhaps the newspapers and media are recording their actions. It has been said that the opposite of love is not hate but apathy. If this is true then I have become the emperor of Apathy, the king of lukewarm.

How simple it has become to make alliances with the surrounding nations on the continent of mediocrity. Negotiating treaties that laud the virtues of compromise and concession. I have become an expert at giving up and giving in. Just call me Chamberlain, Prime Minister of the land where appeasement has become the coin of the realm. I have become a shinning example of the old adage, "the only thing needed for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." I wonder if one who does nothing could still be considered a good man? Would a good man really do nothing in the face of pain, suffering and lost souls? I am reminded that Jesus, "went about doing good." I should be troubled by that reminder. Here I am a mediocre man ruling a mediocre land making treaties with a mediocre band of lukewarm vagabonds. Miserable wretches who are more than happy to simply exist on the crumbling the continent of mediocrity, rather than truly living.

An alien resident of a barren and desolated planet whose surface is marred by hot dusty winds of compromise and storms of despair that ionize the atmosphere of this alien world. In the midst of this hostile environment I have become much too comfortable. This tepid world devoid of moral and ethical structure, this modern Sodom, is beginning to feel too much like home. Livin' in Laodicea I have become an arrogant individual who believes himself rich and in need of nothing, but who is in reality a hopeless street urchin, a miserable vagrant begging soup. A troubled soul in need of redemption.

It is half past time for leavin' Laodicea. "I'm going home on the mornin' train.."
Leavin' Laodicea.

Just some things to think about along the way.

Bob

What words would I use?

I have frequently pondered the meaning of a catch phrase used, and in my opinion over used, in our present society. I hear people using it in a myriad of circumstances. From a professional athlete in an interview with ESPN or Fox sports, to Sale's trainers. People whose job it is to communicate with others.

Are ready for it? Well ready of not here it comes. "It is what it is." My questions are , "what is it?" And "what else could it be?"

When you are talking is the price of that car or what interest rate they are giving. We are told, "it is what it is." The Athlete is asked about the progress he is making in re-negotiating his contract and his relationship with his coach, other players and management and he replies, "It is what it is."

I don't know about you but that answer leaves me a little empty, kind of like eating rice cakes. My first response is to shout, "of course it is what it is." It couldn't be what it is not, could it?


It seems that maybe just maybe, we have mastered the art of talking without saying anything. I suppose this post could be a prime example of this statement. With all all due apologies to the poet, it could be "much a do about nothing?" Yet I still don't know what it is.

Words have the power to create or destroy. Words have the ability to hurt or to heal. Words can be used to unite or divide. What power do these word have?

If words have meaning then what is the meaning of these words?

Consider these words:

I love you. You are my life. Great work. You're special. I do! I Will! I believe in you. "You are so beautiful to me!" "Thanks for the memories." "I will remember you." "I am praying for you."

"It is what it is!"

Just some things to think about on the way!

Bob

A Special Day

Sunday's are always special days for those who call upon the name of Jesus. This next Sunday is one of those unique occasions when June 17th falls on a Sunday. June 17th is on this occasion, both Father's day and my wedding Anniversary. Since my birthday also fall in this month, at least two of my favorite events fall in the month of June. At this stage of my life birthdays are not something to which I look forward with great anticipation.

The decision to marry my soul mate was the best decision of my life. Our wedding anniversary is the first reason June 17th will be a great day. The privilege of being the father of three great children is the second reason June 17th this year will be a great day. The second would not be possible if it were not for the first.

I know that it is possible to have children and not be married. However, it is not possible to have the children I have without the wife I have. The woman who has shared my life for 29 years would not have had my children if we were not married. I know that this is not the way it's done in Hollywood but we don't live in Hollywood. Nor do we share the values of most of those who live in Hollywood.

My wife is a godly woman, who has been and continues to be the spiritual anchor for our family. I cannot imagine my life without her. I wouldn't want to live with out her. Her love gives me breath. Her love gives me wings. Her love is life. Every day with her is a blessing. Sunday is a special day.

This Sunday is a reminder and just one more reason to say thank you God (as if I should need a reason or reminder) for Nelma. Thank you for this beautiful woman you brought into my life. Thank you for this special partner who has blessed my life for more than 29 years.

Thank you Nelma for our three special children, Jamin, Jana and Jordan. They are God's gift to us. They have chosen to live godly lives. I see Jesus living in them and that is because of their mother's influence and teaching. Sunday will be a special day.

Father's day and my Anniversary- life don't get any better than this!

Bob

The Rhythm's of Worship.

It occurred to me today that there is a harmony to worship. Many cords vibrating at different speeds to create a symphony of praise. Like four part harmony in perfect pitch the voices praise the God who inhabits their praise. It is not a discordant sound that reaches the anthropomorphic ears of the great I AM but rather the serene sound of a heart attuned to the heart of God.

How I long for this depth of worship. Oh, to experience this magnitude of praise which is a melody conveying the majesty and mystery of God, our abba father. The simple, soulful sounds of a solitary soul, seeking the elusive note to that eternal song. Then having found that sympathetic vibration to join in the chorus singing as only those born of God are able to sing.

Do we see the song, supplication, supper, sacrifice and sermon all as individual rhythm's of the same song? Each voice unique, yet tuned by the Spirit to a single cord. A blending of sounds but each speaking the same message. The song, supplication, supper, sacrifice and sermon harmoniously blending into the Christological, crescendo of the Cross gently caressing the ears of God. This is the chorus of a grateful creation responding to its lover and creator.

The soulful rhythm's of worship.

Just some things to think about along the way.

Bob

"Pretty in Pink" and a walk on the "Dark Side"

Nelma answered the phone this morning,not an unusual event in itself. It was a phone call from my mother. Usually a happy occasion because my mother is 80 years old and it is always good to hear her voice. As Nelma brought the phone up stairs to me she said, "mother says, she has some bad news to tell you." As all of you, I am sure are painfully aware, this is not the way one would like to start any conversation with their mother or anyone else.

Through her sobs and tears she ultimately gave me the "bad news." She informed me that my sister just found out that she has breast cancer. They had just received the biopsy result and were going to the doctor to discuss treatment options. Treatment options seems like such an innocuous phrase doesn't it? Yet, we all know that it usually means surgery, radiation, chemo-therapy or a combination of these. What is it about those three small words "you have cancer" that strike fear into our hearts? I have heard those words before but never about my sister, my only sister.

I remember sitting in the doctor's office with Nelma as her father received those three ominous words, "you have cancer." It was a bitter pill to swallow when I sat with my own father and heard the doctor say, "you have cancer." I have shared this moment with more families than I can recall throughout the years. Some were survivors others were not. Some survived for years only to hear "the cancer has returned." These words seem to have a life all there own that needs no specific context to make them real. They are dreaded, dark, oppressive and frightening. They exist in a world all there own. Why can't I shake the foreboding feeling that these three little words conjure in my mind?

As I ponder my own attitude about the pink baseball bats on mother's day. Or as I reflect obsessively on the pink ribbons and the walk for the cure. I recognize all of these things raise an awareness of breast cancer, yet it seldom seems real until it affects us personally. It is easy for us to smile and think, "What a good thing that they are doing." They are involved in such a noble cause. I can't help but think, I would like to walk for my sister. But is that only because now it it real?

However, is it only when it strikes a family member that we suddenly become more aware and engaged? Still I have walked through this dark valley with countless other families and dear friends. I can't even recall how many hospital waiting rooms or even how many funerals through the years. I still see so many of the faces. I recall both agony and serenity on so many faces. I wonder what does it say about me and what does it all mean?

The broader truth is that we are waging a battle, a life and death struggle, and it is not in "a galaxy far far away." It is right here in our own little cosmos, this microcosm, our own third rock from the sun. It is not only cancer, it Alzheimer's, MS, Lou Gehrig's disease, depression, diabetes and heart disease. Faithful warriors waging the battle of their life often in a lost cause, yet they battle on day after day. Would I have such courage in the face of decay?

We have friends who have family members suffering with Alzheimer's. Everyday is a life and death struggle. It is difficult to watch this disease take its toll on a loved one day after day. Someone who is alive but not really living. Always hoping for that one good day, you know the one I mean, when they recognize who you are, when you are known by someone who should know you so well.

I have shared far too many memories like this with friends, family and those of my fellowship. Why do I have so many memories like this? What am I to do with the memories?

All my life I seem to be battling the "dark side."

Just somethings to think about along the way.

Bob

When the Rooster Crows!

In modern American culture most people we know do not greet the dawn with the crowing of a rooster. The closest most of us come is a novelty alarm clock or the ring tones on our cell phone. I actually know two people who have a crowing rooster as their ring tone. something that is a novelty to us however, was common place for the people of Jesus's time. It was quite familiar to me for most of my early life. Even though it is not a part of our everyday life most of us are aware of this unique experience through books, television or the movies. We are not so far removed that we cannot imagine what it would be like to greet the day with a rooster's crow.

Let me share a couple interesting observations by Fredrick Buechner. They are both regarding a sermon preached by Dr. Robert MacFarlane about knowing who Jesus is. The first is more an observation about preaching in general and the second is about a specific sermon on the denial of Jesus by Peter.

Buechner says, "One particular sermon I will always remember though I cannot be sure that is exactly the sermon he preached because of course it is the sermons we preach to ourselves around the preacher's sermons that are the ones that we hear most powerfully." It has been my experience that this statement is an accurate assessment of preaching. We all take what the preacher says and preach our own sermon.

He next speaks about the sermon on Peter's denial. The back story on Peter's denial if you remember, is that Jesus has foretold Peter's denial. Peter is now warming himself by the enemy's fire. When questioned by the servant of the high priest, Peter replies, "I do not even know who he is." At that moment the prediction of Jesus unfolds and Peter in sorrow recalls.

In an instant, like the thunder's crash the prince of the barnyard struts to his roof top perch. He stretches his walking stick neck, throws back his red crowned head, his sharp beak juts forth toward heaven and he calls to awaken the morning sun. The rooster crows! He sings loud and clear, the trumpet call a sound of warning and alarm. The rooster crows! In that moment Peter sorrowfully remembers the prediction of Jesus. What seemed to be inconceivable only hours before now is only too real. He has denied his Lord. The rooster crowed!

It was Peter's denial but it was something more. It was both denial and truth. It is a reoccurring theme in the gospels. The disciples of Jesus frequently speculate on who Jesus might be. It is true for Peter, true for the disciples in general and it is true of me. I must confess that I frequently don't know who he is. He always seems to just beyond my grasp. I catch a glimpse of him from behind. He is a shadow on the edge of my vision. On those rare occasions when I stretch out my hand to grab hold, only to touch the hem of his garment. For all my desire to know him he continues to elude me.

Buechner says, "We can love him, we can learn from him, but we can only come to know him by following him- by searching for him in his church, in his gospel and in each other." We are seekers, searchers reaching out to that which is beyond us and yet is a part of us. We are in him and he is in us. Each Sunday, with each breaking of bread, in every sip of juice, with each act of worship and service we come to know him.

I hear the rooster crow,

My tears and fears so cold.

My denial, "this man I do not know,"

Suddenly the rooster crows!

Basking in the light so bold,

The wonder of dawns healing glow.

"More about Jesus would I know,

More of his grace to others show,"

Weeping, I hear the rooster crows.

Who is this Jesus I do not know?

Whose death I now behold.

His body, the pain untold,

We listen, for the rooster's crow.

I long for resurrection to unfold,

Remember not the rooster's crow.

But only Jesus, let me know.

Just somethings to think about along the way.

Bob

"You are God and I am Not!"

As I prepared to exit my car a couple of days ago I heard the following single phrase of a song, "you are God and I am not." At first blush I thought "this is the most absurdly obvious statement I have ever heard." I admit that this is a knee jerk reaction. I also know that I sometimes over-react to things. I realize that it is just a song, or to be more accurate a simple phrase from a song. I attempt to exercise caution and avoid making too much out of song lyrics. I have often counseled others to be cautious of the same thing. Yet, I still believe that there is some truth in my immediate reaction. It is or at least it should be obvious to everyone that "I am not God!"

I don't know any more words to the song. I did not hear any more of the song. I don't know what the title of the song might be. As you can see there is a lot I don't know about this song. I have reflected on this phrase for the last several days. I have given it enough time to simmer. To be completely honest I have stewed over it for what I am sure amounts to more hours than was necessary and may be even healthy. As we all know some things get better with age and other things simply begin to smell. Which of these might be true concerning my thoughts and comments I don't know. I am certain that others will be better judges of this than I am. You be the judge.

The fact that not only have others made this statement, but I have been known to make this obvious statement myself hints at a potential spiritual conundrum. The thought must have at least crossed my mind at some point. I must have considered that in some way or fashion I am "the master of my own destiny and the captain of my own fate." I must have heard the whispers somewhere in the deepest recesses of my being that this was a possibility. Hidden away in that secret place, that dark corner of my existence, the place that I am reluctant to expose to the light, the thought must have occurred to me that I am in control of my life and circumstances.

For some reason I feel the urge to remind myself that "I am not God!" It is not enough to simply remind myself of this fact but also to vocalize the words. I need, for some reason, to hear these words fall like rain from my own lips. I let them wash over me like a flood. They surround me and engulf me as I am immersed in the reality of the this simple yet profound truth, "You are God and I am not!"

What do you think?

Absurdly Obvious?
Simply Profound?
Necessary Reminder?
Verbal Confession?

Just somethings to think about along the way.

Bob

Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, "Bob's World"

I sit upon the ash heap of my own making and scrape the sores of my own failures with shards of broken dreams. I mourn the death of innocence. Through it all I will attempt to maintain my integrity. I am compelled to wrestle with the questions of why. I eagerly await the coming of my companions who will bring comfort. I long for their insight and wisdom. Come my beloved and join me in my quest.

We sit upon the ground, as the Poet said, "and speak of the death of kings." We warm our bodies, hearts and souls by the fire of God's holy love and stare in wonder into its flickering embers. We all wait for someone to come and share our pain or our joy. Each friend sharing their heart and their insight. Genuine concerns, real and honest. In the midst of it all, it is their presence that is longed for and their nearness that is desired. Come let us reason together and explore the life and reality we share.

Have you ever puzzled over the way we (church people) boldly proclaim that we can see God working among us when good things happen? Does it mean that God is not working among us when bad things happen? Of course to me the real question is how do you define a good or bad thing? The very language implies inclusion or exclusion depending upon one's situation or circumstance.

Have you ever felt that our churchey (my word) language is a bit hollow or inadequate? We rejoice and praise God when someone finds a job or a sick loved one gets well. We shout and praise because God is good to us and our loved ones. It is right and good to rejoice with those who rejoice. Is this a good thing? How do you determining what is good or bad?

What if the person sitting next to us in the pew lost their job or did not find a job. What if their loved one did not recover. What if their parent or child did not come home from the hospital. What if despite all their prayers they are still unemployed or a loved one dies. Does this mean that God is not working in their lives? It is right and good for us to weep with those who weep. Is this a good thing? Again how do you determine what is good or bad?

How do we both weep and rejoice at the same time? Is it even possible to address these seemingly diametrically opposed realities at the same time? Yet they are realities for those sitting in our pews on "any given Sunday". If we address the joy or sorrow of one group does the other group feel neglected, empty or un-important? How do we become more sensitive to the uniqueness of each individual in the body? How do we become more inclusive of all our fellow travelers on this journey of faith?

I would suggest to you we are much better at rejoicing with those who rejoice than we are at weeping with those who weep. It is just much easier, more upbeat and positive to lift our hands in praise than to mourn. We like the song that reminds us that "He will turn our mourning into dancing." Well may be we are not comfortable with the "dancing" part but you know what I mean. Westernized religion is not really comfortable with a "wailing wall," we are much more comfortable with a "celebration or praise center."

Here I sit a sinner waiting upon God. I wait upon my friends, because "I will get by with a little help from my friends...."

Just some things to think about along the way....

Bob

A Long Time Gone Or Welcome Back?

I realize that this is my first post in several months. I have been "A Long Time Gone." I have had a lot of things on my mind, but I am not sure I want to share them with the world. I am not sure that you want me to share them with you. So, I have kept them all inside until I couldn't hold back the raging flood that must burst forth and rush onward toward the sea of my ultimate reality. To attempt to hold back the torrent would be futile, self-destructive and unproductive. Then again I am not sure why I am concerned because futility, self-destructiveness and lack of productivity is the story of my life.

I have devoted most of my adult life to serving God and my fellow man. As a minister for more than 25 years I have been blessed by the opportunity to walk through the "valley of shadow" and climb the mountain of joy with God's chosen people. However, these opportunities have often been more unproductive and self-destructive than I would have liked. I have never been able to keep other people's emotional struggles and dilemmas at arm's length. I get to deeply involved and it leaves scars.

I have shared my life with a wonderful woman who is my soul mate as well as an indispensable partner in ministry. Yet my self-destructive behavior has often led us into emotional, physical and financial hardship. This wonderful, gracious and loving lady has stood beside me and supported me through it all. She is my angel of mercy and at times a warrior coming to my defense. She is a lioness, all be it a petite one.

Our three children now adults themselves, all have a heart for God and are servants of their fellow man. How this happened is a mystery to me. When you consider the number of times we moved during their formative years and how often we they were forced to start over in a new place. My futility as a parent is only matched by my insecurity. It is God who has made this possible, in spite of all my short comings.

We have have lived at or below the poverty level for all of our life. The so-called "American dream" has seemingly eluded my grasp. Mandatory retirement age is rushing toward me at warp factor 9 (for all you Star Trek fans) and I have no retirement account. It is difficult to plan for retirement when it takes everything you make just to survive. I was told by an elder in one church that we should apply for food stamps. Maybe it was pride that prevented me from doing so I am uncertain about this matter. I did not feel this was a good image for the church. This is just my opinion on this matter but I believe it says something negative about the generosity or lack there of by the church.

One reaches an age where your services are no longer desired. This is in spite of all the years of service, advanced education and annual workshops and seminars attended. So I question what is the purpose of my life, what have I accomplished and at times where is God in all of this? I am a 57 year old unemployed man with a post-graduate education, a quarter of a century of experience and no immediate prospects. In a country and from a religious tradition where we are told to work hard, get a good education and promote yourself and you will be successful, you will achieve the "American dream."

This writing is not intended to be an exercise in self-pity. I hope it is an honest self appraisal. I am trying to live it the best way I know how without blame envy or self-pity. Sometimes I just feel the need to honestly express myself. "What's it all about Alfie?" "I Still haven't found what I am looking for." "Knock, Knock, Knockin on Heaven's Door." "They call it Stormy Monday." and It's "Sunday Morning Coming Down." There is a song for every occasion it would seem.....

Welcome to Bob's world.

This is my life.

This is my reality.

At this point you are probably glad that I have been "A Long Time Gone."

Just something to think about along the way.

Bob

When Worlds Collide

One of my favorite preachers is Fred Craddock. I was privileged a few years ago to attend a preaching seminar where he was the featured speaker. He is a master story teller, which he says he learned from his father. He said, "Preaching is more than boiling water, it is making soup." He adds the ingredients of vivid characters and imaginative words to create a feast that satisfies the deepest hunger. One should create in the story a sense of anticipation that has the audience hanging on every word and longing for the next.

He calls his style of preaching "Overhearing the Gospel." His thesis is that we often encounter the Gospel message in the events of daily life. There is a connection between our stories and those that occur around us and the Gospel story. We can discover the word and the presence of God in the little slices of life all around us. He encourages all of us to be keen observers of the human condition.

It is at this intersection that God's word and our lives collide. There amidst the din and confusion in the collision's aftermath, is the junction where the stories of our lives and the story of the life giver converge. The epicenter of the this seismic collision is our daily lives. The magnitude of the eruption varies with the intensity of the spasms. Sometimes bursting forth soot, lava and ash, then at other times carrying precious diamonds from the earths core to the surface. These rare jewels are forged in the unfathomable heat of the earth's core. Tempered with water and ice as they are spouted forth from the belly of the beast. Some days are diamonds others are coal. A glory to behold are these rare gems. His story becomes our story and we reflect his glory along our "sacred journey."

When these two worlds collide we find ourselves navigating through a debris field filled with God's truth. In the little snippets of everyday life the divine drama of salvation is being played out. Sometimes these truths explode into our field of vision. They flash with the intensity of a Super Nova, blinding us with wonder. Yet, at other times they fizzles like a sparkler on the forth of July. The keys for us are observing and listening for and to the word of God as he reveals himself in and through our daily lives.

Frederick Buechner describes this as "Listening to your life." He reminds us that the Gospel is "bad news" before it is "good news." The bad news is that I have failed God. The good news is that God has not failed me. If God is speaking to us today, and we believe that He is, then He is speaking both in and with our lives, "our foot steps are sacred journey's." Buechner says,

" He speaks not just through the sounds we hear, of course, but through the harmonies and disharmonies and counterpoint of all that happens."

He continues,

"But I choose to believe that he speaks nonetheless, and the reason that his words are impossible to capture in human language is of course that they are ultimately always incarnate words. They are words fleshed out in the everydayness no less than in the cries of our own experience." As I read these words I realize that the question is not if God speaks or even ultimately how God speaks but whether we are listening for God to speak and observing his "Incarnate words" in our present "sacred Journey's."

I like the term "everydayness" because it reminds me that if we are listening we may hear God speaking in our rush,even in our hurried and speeding lives. The fact that we recognize that we are rushed and that it concerns us is evidence that we are listening. Could it be that our concern about our rushed lives is a response to hearing God speak in and through our lives? Is it possible that the deeper our concern the more sensitive we are to the presence and whispers of God in our lives?

Just somethings to think about along the way.

Bob

Things Remembered

The holidays were a time of reflection and a time for me to take a short hiatus from writing. Yesterday I heard a song by the group Alabama entitled "High Cotton." It is a song about growing up in rural Alabama. But the similarities between their experience and the days of my youth in Rural Oklahoma are simply amazing.

The song resurrected memories I thought were long dead and buried. It is amazing how something so simple can conjure images that have been dormant for decades, hidden securely away in the dark recesses of my mind. It is not a simple magician's trick that I so readily remember the humble circumstances of my youth. These are events that are vividly stamped upon my soul.

The first image was of an old four room shack with cracks in the walls wide enough to throw a cat through. A wood stove for heat. In the winter there was always a quilting frames hanging from the ceiling. Sleeping to the soothing sound of the gentle rain drops falling on our tin roof. Drawing water from the well for drinking, cooking and bathing. We didn't have indoor plumbing. The entire family would take their turn bathing in a number 3 wash tub on Saturday night with water heated on the stove. As I recall, we never knew we were poor until Mr. Johnson's "Great Society" informed us that we were living well below the poverty line. We always talked about helping the poor and we gave to those in need. But since we did not consider ourselves poor we never thought about needing help. I guess we were simply to poor to know that we were poor.

I remember milking the cows, feeding chickens, hogs and the cattle. We butchered hogs after the first freeze of the winter. There was always a garden to be planted in the spring. We gathered poke salad and other wild greens that grew close to the barn. There were, what seemed to me at the time, these massive Blackberry vines. We picked the bounty from the vines that left your hands and arms scratched from the thorns and hands stained from over ripe berries. We canned Blackberry jelly but best of all was when Momma would make a Blackberry cobbler for Sunday dinner.

Sunday dinner was a treat. I remember meals being a special time for our family. But Sunday dinner was something we looked forward to all week, beans cornbread or biscuits, fried chicken, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and gravy followed by piping hot Blackberry cobbler. Sometimes we would have the preacher over for Sunday dinner. Company for Sunday dinner was always a welcomed change since we lived so far out in the country that visitors were rare. When you live more than 10 miles from the nearest paved road not many people just drop by.

On Sunday morning the whole family would load up in the old station wagon for the trip into town for church. We always dressed in our Sunday best. The boys in clean jeans and white or dress shirts, Momma and sister in their dresses. Shirts and dresses were often homemade. Momma would sew them from nice material that had once been either feed or flour sacks. Daddy would dress up in his blue Sunday dress overalls and white shirt.

I find myself amazed(even though i shouldn't) at how important Sunday's were to our humble existence. Driving 15 to 20 miles to church was a way of life me back then. Maybe that's why I think nothing of driving 20 miles to church even to this day.

I am fascinated by how much more complicated life has become as I have entered the last quarter of my life and as I prepare to shuffle off this "mortal coil." But I am also reminded of the things that are important to me in this life. These are attitudes and characteristics ingrained in me and which come from these early formative years. At the end of the day or near the end of my life here is what I find important:

Faith, Family and Fellowship.

What do you think?

Just somethings to think about along the way.

Bob