Burning Bones and the Big Bad (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

So what is the "big bad"?

In the old tales, it is the knight, that stalwart of special training and skill, who sorties out against the dragons. But the dragons are not the "big bad." In graphic novels, it is the Dark Knight, and those like him, who stands between us and those who would prey on us. But neither are these predators the "big bad."

On television, it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer and her "scooby gang" who fought our fears-personified and made us fervently hope those things stayed firmly in the realm of fiction. But even they of the sharp teeth, as frightening as such might be, are not the "big bad."

For the answer, let's look at this week's Lectionary scriptures; they're packed full of the big bad. Here's what we find:

The big bad is the realization that you and your child are not going to survive, when even those you thought were your friends seek to harm you, when your family shuns you. It is knowing, now that your family and friends have turned against you, that no one stands with you; it the inescapable death by dehydration when there is no longer any water; it is the drowning when the mighty waters rise above you. It is the sure knowledge that no knight, whatever his or her stripe, can save you from what is to come. It is when the realization dawns that all is lost, the moment when clarity shows us there is no escape, that ...

... we need to remember ... there is another.

If we have been waiting for just the right time, there is no more margin for waiting. It is the day of your trouble. Call on The Lord. In this week's Jeremiah passage, he declares that if he tries to withhold the message of God, it becomes like "a burning fire shut up in his bones," a fire he cannot hold in. That message, the one so hot he cannot contain it, is that God continues to care about us, cares enough to "deliver the life of the needy from the hands of the evildoers."

There was a time when death was the big bad ---the biggest bad--- the true inescapable fate. But that time has ended. That bone-burning message eventually took human form, and it was the sacrifice of Jesus that turned what was once an inescapable prison into a mere way-station.

And that is why, today, we can have confidence that the "big bad" can never overcome the "big good."

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 7 (12) (June 25, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Genesis 21:8-21
Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17
Jeremiah 20:7-13
Psalm 69:7-10, (11-15), 16-18
Romans 6:1b-11
Matthew 10:24-39
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Lectionary Breakfast continues to meet Friday mornings at 8:00 at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. Please join us for an hour that will leave though energized and ready for the coming week.

Blessings,
Steve

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Photo credit: St. George and the Dragon by Notke Britannica.com

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A very different version of this reflection appeared three years ago as "The Big Bad."

Snow in June?! (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

It almost snowed, today. In June.

We've been vacationing, via our favorite cruise line, along the eastern coast of Canada. Montreal, Quebec City, Prince Edward Island, and Sydney (Cape Breton, Nova Scotia). Our future ports of call include Halifax, Bar Harbor, Maine and Boston, Mass.

I carefully checked today's weather before leaving the ship ---61 degrees Fahrenheit, high clouds, some sun, and dry--- A jacket would be sufficient. No umbrella needed.

All went well in the morning; but as the afternoon settled in, we saw the clouds darkening and dropping low. The temps dropped with them. We decided to walk back to the ship and soon found ourselves struggling against a stiff, cold wind.


And a chilling mist.

Approaching the ship, conditions worsened. Locals we encountered told us they had just heard there might be snow on the way. In June. None of them appeared the least bit surprised.

I am not a winter person.

It's not much of a confession to anyone who knows me. I've written elsewhere about my experiences in multiple Boston winters ... all 18 of them. Cars that wouldn't start, constantly falling down on slick surfaces, impassable roads, power outages, being late to ... well, everything; never, ever getting warm enough. And, worst of all, at least for me, that overwhelming claustrophobic sensation that it would never end.

If you don't live far enough north, you don't know about new snowfall in April, or that the spring snows fall on top of snow that has been on the ground since January. And you don't realize that the snow may still be on the ground come May.

But.

Summer in New England, and the few weeks that bookend either side of it, is a lovely time. Very Robert Frost. So, when winter does finally end, everyone feels an uplift in spirit; joy fills every heart. A kind of collective amnesia overtakes, clouding the harsher memories of winter.

So, deep in the winter, people think of the spring to come, of the green grass, flowers, and the planting of gardens. They think of the warm days of summer and the coming, though still far off, harvest.

They have hope.

For they know that every inch of snow piled upon the ground throughout the winter is actually stored water, just waiting for spring to release it. Water that brings life to the land, the plants, the animals, and all of us humans who could not survive without it.

The Romans passage in this week's Lectionary selections talks about a "hope that does not disappoint." Such hope is more than just a wish; it's a confidence that good will come. The passage asserts that by enduring our sufferings, we will gain character, the kind of character that can hope, unreservedly, in the belief that our faith is not misplaced.

As our ship headed out to sea, the port already toy-sized, the lowering clouds began to break apart. Patches of sun-drenched cerulean blue began to appear. Within ten minutes of leaving the shore behind, I could stand on the deck without a jacket ... and not a cloud in sight.

Regardless of their length or severity, we must not let bouts of bad weather ---our sufferings--- distract us from the hope that does not disappoint. Our faith is our storehouse of that hope. And it will see us through our winters.

Even really brief ones.

Even in June.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 6 (11) (June 18, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Genesis 18:1-15, (21:1-7)
Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
Exodus 19:2-8a
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8, (9-23)

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We have a hope that does not disappoint. Join us Friday mornings for Lectionary Breakfast at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. We meet at 8:00 for an hour that feeds us, both physically and spiritually, and from which we draw hope for the days ahead.

Enjoy the coming week!
Steve

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A somewhat different version of this Lectionary reflection appeared just over three years ago as: "Winter Is Coming."

Rocky Creek Revisited (a Steve Orr Lectionary Reflection

Much has been written about Sam Houston.

His stamp on public life and on the political side of our nation cannot be overstated. He was a member of the House of Representatives, a Governor of the State of Tennessee, and a military leader in the War of 1812 . . . and that was before he moved to Texas. He went on to be a leader in the Texas revolution, serve as the 1st and 3rd President of the Republic of Texas, shepherded the treaty that later joined Texas to the United States, was a US Senator from Texas, and for a second time, served as a Governor; this time in Texas (making him the only person in US history to serve as governor of two states!).

Much has also been written about his dissolute youth, his wild adult years; drunkenness, womanizing, and brawling. Of these times, Houston admitted that his years as a young man were "wild and impetuous, but ...spotted by no crime."

Still, people with different standards might have seen it differently. After all, though he vigorously opposed Texas secession during the Civil War (and lost his governorship because of it), he also was a slave owner.

So much has been dedicated to these two aspects of his life, the tawdry and the masterful, it is sometimes overlooked that this man's life had a spiritual side, too. From an early age, Sam was exposed to religion; his family having roots in Presbyterianism. But his personal interest wasn't sparked until he encountered the Native American (Cherokee) religion and their belief that the spirit dwelt in the trees, rocks, air, and streams. This was quite a contrast to his upbringing. Eventually, though, Sam was drawn back to christian beliefs and sought baptism.

He was turned down. Twice.

We will likely never know why those Tennessee Pastors refused Sam, but the impact was clear. He moved away from any real belief in what organized christian religion was teaching. Though, to be fair, it must be noted that when Sam moved to Texas, he was baptized into the Catholic Church. However, this was because Mexican Dictator Santa Anna required everyone to practice that one religion. No one could own land in Texas without joining the Catholic Church. No other church was tolerated.

What happened to change all of this, to move Sam from being just a nominal Catholic to the point that he would, again, consider true conversions?

A person.

When Sam announced to his friends and colleagues that he planned to marry 21-year old Margaret Lea, a woman 26 years his junior, there was frank and open skepticism. One opined the marriage would not last more than 6 months. But Margaret and Sam proved them all wrong; they were married 23 years, until Sam's death.

Margaret's impact on Sam's life was deep and broad. He became a tea-totaler, not even having alcohol for guests. They produced and raised eight children. And, under her discipleship, Sam slowly began to move in the direction of The Lord. While away from home in Washington, DC, he began attending the E Street Baptist church. Still, it was after Sam moved his family to Independence, Texas so his daughters could attend Baylor University (one of the few admitting women at the time) that he seriously considered conversion.

Finally, on November 19, 1854, over 14 years after wedding Margaret, Sam was baptized in Independence's Little Rocky Creek. As was usual in those early years, the University President also served as the Pastor of Independence Baptist Church; the two institutions being located within sight of each other. The Rev. Rufus Burleson baptized Sam that day in his role of Pastor.

What made the difference was not the presence of Baylor University, or of its President as Pastor of the church, as good as all that might have been. What made the difference was the calm, considerate, constant teaching of Margaret, the example she set for Sam as wife and mother, and her own faith in The Lord. It took 14 years of her life, and many, many more of Sam's to arrive at that juncture.

Now, over 150 years later, the church is still there, as is the creek. Adults are still baptized there. One can only hope they are being discipled by folks who, like Margaret, will take whatever time is needed; who will approach the process in the order set forth in this week's Matthew passage.

Disciple, baptize, teach them the commands and to obey them. And, finally, help them know that Jesus will be with them always ... even to the end.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Trinity Sunday (June 11, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Genesis 1:1-2:4a
Psalm 8
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
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Join us Friday morning at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant from 8 to 9 for Lectionary Breakfast. There's plenty of good food, plenty of good fellowship, and all the scripture you will ever need :-)

There's plenty of time . . .

Enjoy the week!

Steve
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A slightly different version of this reflection was published three years ago in 2014 as "The Long, Long Road to Little Rocky Creek."

Choctaw Ridge Revisited (a Steve Orr Lectionary Reflection)

The first time I heard "Ode to Billy Joe," I was hot and sweaty.
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You can listen to it here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOr60MxIvvE
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It was sweltering in West Kentucky that mid-summer day in 1967. I had just come in from mowing lawns, an activity my father encouraged during the summers, both to ensure I wasn't asking him for money and to teach me "the value of hard work."

As soon as I cleared the door, I sank onto a kitchen chair and let the air conditioning wash over me. I was the very definition of "hot and sweaty." My t-shirt was soaked with perspiration, and, because I had tried one too many times to dry them on that shirt, my glasses were smeared. I grabbed a dish towel from one of the three little swing arms near the kitchen sink and cleared the sweat and grass clippings from my glasses. Then, happy to realize that I was the only one at home, I quickly turned on the radio, and ...

Bobbie Gentry's throaty voice and basic guitar strums flowed gently into the room. It was a simple tale, a kind of ballad, so filled with words it was almost spoken. And, yet . . .

It was electric.

"Ode to Billy Joe," rendered as a lunchtime conversation between members of a southern family, went on to be a number-one hit in the U.S. and was a big seller internationally. It generated eight Grammy nominations. Today, it is ranked among the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

Many have described it as "southern gothic," and perhaps it is. Something about it struck a chord all across the globe, and continues to capture the attention and interest of people 50 years later. But what I heard that day was something only a Southerner could hear:

Us.

There, for the first time in my experience, was a song that sounded like we did; that sounded EXACTLY like conversations at OUR dinner table. I was captivated by the stunning familiarity of it. More than any other thing I had heard, it captured the language and cadence of the life I was a part of. When Bobbie Gentry sang, "It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day," my mind overflowed with the sights and sounds of the South, the part of the world that was my home. Each new verse said to me: this is important; this is about something that matters.

Yes, it is just a song. I know that. But, oh, the impact of hearing my world, described in my language. Wow.

Now, imagine what it must have been like for those gathered at Pentecost ... to suddenly hear the Gospel in their own language. In this week's Lectionary selection from Acts Chapter 2, many were away from their home countries, "visiting Jerusalem for the holidays," so to speak. Each language has its own cadences and rhythms, distinct because they reflect the very history and culture of a people. Imagine the impact that would have, to hear idioms and nuances that were special to them.

And here before them was something entirely new ... but delivered to them in the comfort of their own tongue.

It must have been electric.

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It's been three years since I wrote about feeling electrified the first time I heard "Ode to Billy Joe" ... about the impacts of hearing a new story, told in an interesting way, but in the stunning familiarity of my "mother tongue." It was a pivotal moment in my life, and one I hope you won't mind me reposting (slightly revised).

Welcome to June,
Steve

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Day of Pentecost (June 4, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=47

Acts 2:1-21
Numbers 11:24-30
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
1 Corinthians 12:3b-13
John 20:19-23
John 7:37-39

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Can you be with us Friday morning? Lectionary Breakfast starts at 8:00 and finishes about 9:00 (or sooner if you need to leave ... but you'll find it's more fun to stay :-)

We're still at the Waco "Egg and I" on Franklin and New Road. Come and enjoy good food, friendly people, laughter, and time in the scriptures.

And for these hot, southern days, it's air conditioned!

Blessings,
Steve