Steam Heat! (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

It could be cold in that algebra class!

Mrs. Maguire could not abide attention-drift from anyone. To make certain we paid attention, she opened the windows. Winters in our little river city could be harsh. When the cold temps combined with the wind off our two rivers: bone-chilling.

What saved us were the radiators.

Lined up just below the windows was a row of steam-heat radiators blasting hot air into that classroom. You could still feel the cold air slicing in, but the radiators kept radiating enough heat to offset the worst of it.

A radiator —or “radiant” as they are called in some places— draws its heat from a central source. Without the right energy coursing through them, they could not radiate the heat we needed to offset the cold. In fact, if not connected to that source, those radiators would be just so much cold metal.

In this week’s selection from Psalm 34, the Psalmist says, "Those who look to Him are radiant....” (‭NIV‬‬) A person can be a radiant, too; a conduit for energy outflow. It certainly was true of Moses. He spent so much time in God's presence that he glowed from the exposure. He became a radiant.

We, too, are called to do as Moses. In the NRSV, that same verse reads as a command: “Look to him, and be radiant....”

Those radiants kept us warm that winter in Mrs. Maguire's classroom, but only because they were connected to the source, the generator of all that steam heat. What about us? Are we radiants? Do we spend so much time in the presence of the Lord that others cannot help but experience God's warmth and glow?

Look to Him, and be radiant.
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PHOTO: www.dreamstime.com
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A version of this reflection appeared in October 2015 as Radiant.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 25 (30) (October 28, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22)
Jeremiah 31:7-9
Psalm 126
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52
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Fall is such a busy time. I hope you can make time to come to DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast on Friday morning. We gather at 8:00 for an hour of fellowship, scripture reading, discussion, prayer; plus a few laughs along the way. Join us at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant for a sure fire way to ensure you have a great week.

Enjoy!
Steve

Lincoln’s So-Called Cow (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I'd rather see than be one.

I grew up hearing my Dad quote that poem. Even as a small child, a purple cow seemed unlikely. Later, I heard of another unlikely cow.

The tale goes something like this: Abraham Lincoln and Steven Douglas —candidates for the same U.S. Senate seat— were debating. At one point, Lincoln thought Douglas was intentionally misinterpreting Lincoln's words so he could win over the audience.

Lincoln asks Douglas, "How many legs has a cow?"

Douglas replies, "Four, of course.”

Lincoln agrees, and then asks, "Now suppose you call the cow's tail a leg; how many legs would the cow have?"

Douglas replies, "Why, five, of course.”

"Now, that's where you're wrong," said Lincoln. "Calling a cow's tail a leg doesn't make it a leg."

This tale may or may not be a true. There are different versions out there, not all of which involved Lincoln, and not all of which involved a cow.

Still, the story makes a valid point. Just because someone says something is so doesn't necessarily make it so. Likewise, just because someone claims to be quoting from the Bible doesn't mean they are. And, even if they are honestly attempting to quote scripture, it doesn’t mean that they are doing so accurately. Finally, even if someone is accurately quoting scripture, it doesn't mean that they are applying it correctly.

That leads me to Psalm 91 in this week’s Lectionary scriptures. Satan famously quotes from Psalm 91 while attempting to subjugate Jesus in the wilderness:

Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. "If you are the Son of God," he said, "throw yourself down. For it is written: "'He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.'" Jesus answered him, "It is also written: 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’" (Matthew 4:5-7 NIV)

The next time someone throws Scripture at you, particularly if they’re trying to get you to do what they want, pause a moment and recall Satan's misuse of Psalm 91. Sadly, people do twist others' words to their own purpose. If that happens, we must react wisely.

Remember Lincoln's cow.

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A version of this reflection appeared in October 2012 as Lincoln’s Cow.
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Purple Cow poem: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purple_Cow
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PHOTO (and an interesting article about “Purple Cow Marketing”): https://www.authormedia.com/are-you-a-purple-cow/

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 24 (29) (October 21, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Job 38:1-7, (34-41)
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
Isaiah 53:4-12
Psalm 91:9-16
Hebrews 5:1-10
Mark 10:35-45
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We would love for you to join us Friday morning for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We meet at 8:00 at the Waco “Egg and I” restaurant. We have a prayer, we read and discuss scripture from the week's Lectionary passages, and we eat some tasty food.

Did I mention the laughing?

Enjoy the week!
Steve

The Old Man and His Groceries (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

It was a closed campus. All we could do was watch as the old man trudged along the sidewalk opposite our junior high school.

Tall, thin, not-recently-shaven; he wore one of those sleeveless undershirts with the scoop neck, a pair of grey, shapeless pants that had been washed too often, leather shoes that had seen better days, no socks. He was carrying a low-sided cardboard box with three half-gallons of milk and a loaf of bread in it.

That’s not the right word. He was laden with that low-sided box and its content. From his slow, wobbly gate, anyone could see he had more than his ancient limbs could handle. Each step was a struggle. I could see the thin, ropey muscles of his arms starkly etched against the parchment of his skin.

To say the old man struggled would be to use too light a word. “Struggled,” “wrestled,” “fought”; we’ve managed somehow to leech the weight and power out of these words. All that’s left me, that truly describes these events, is “battle.” That day I witnessed a man battle against his own body with all the ferocity of a soldier charging the enemy amid a barrage of weapons fire. He gave it his all with each wavering step, knees slightly bent against the weight of his burden, determination painted in rivulets of sweat coursing down his face.

I don’t think any of us was shocked when the first milk carton tumbled.

It all seemed to move in some sort of horror-film-slow-motion; the corner of the box buckling just a little, the milk carton starting to tip over the edge, the old man reactively tugging everything up, causing the falling carton to start a slow end-over-end spin as it floated out of the box and toward the sidewalk. We watched that carton of milk … oh … so … slowly … somersault toward the sidewalk. Kurosawa and Peckinpah could have taken lessons.

It hit with a slapping sound we all could hear.

And … nothing happened. The carton landed on its bottom, with no apparent damage. Everyone breathed. The moment of horror had passed. The relief that flooded though us was so strong, so palpable. Everything was A-O-K.

Then, as we were just beginning to think of returning to our previous activities, the old man knelt to pick up the errant milk carton … and the second carton began its tumble from the box.

Stephen King fans will recognize this as a “Cujo” moment, that instant when —the good guys having finally won the day and realizing they have somehow survived; a moment of abject and profound relief— evil surges back for another bite! Long before I ever read Stephen King, long before I ever saw one of those just-can’t-kill-the-bad-guy movies, I experienced this horror.

Right then I knew. Deep in the inmost place of my being I was forced to recognize truth: he was not going to make it. I wanted him to make it, but I had already concluded he just could not do it. How does a man who has difficulty just walking pick up a carton of milk without dropping the rest of his load?

This time the top of the carton struck the concrete sidewalk. Milk spewed in every direction. Milk splattered his feet, his legs, his shirt; droplets dotted face.

But, back then we were a resolute lot, especially people of his generation. He soldiered on. He had lived through some of the more trying times of history; World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, Korea. Even my generation had been taught what to do in a situation like this: no crying over spilt milk.

And he didn’t cry. He passed his hand over his face, wiping away the few droplets of milk there. He reached for the first, upright milk carton, placed it back in the box, and then slowly, carefully managed to raise himself back to a standing position without further crisis.

He resumed his slow, unsteady shuffle; not looking back at his failure, leaving it behind him in the way we had all been taught. In all this time, he had not taken as much as 15 steps. Now, he resumed putting one foot before the other, wobbly but resolute.

One step.

Two.

Three.

I’m not sure what actually happened. Maybe the first milk carton had sustained some damage when it landed upright on the sidewalk and had sprung a slow leak. Maybe all of his efforts had just exhausted the man. Whatever the cause, whether liquid-weakened cardboard or life-weakened sinews, on his sixth step away from the milk spill the box caved in the middle.

It happened very fast. The two sides of the box flipped up to meet each other in the middle. The bread and surviving milk cartons flew forward from the old man’s grasp. And he did grasp, at all of it. He actually got one hand on one of the cartons, but it slipped right through.

In a flash, chaos.

Before him on the sidewalk were two burst milk cartons; a loaf of bread split open and sopping wet with milk, one of the cartons having landed directly on it before spilling and soaking the loaf. And then … then, while grasping the folded and useless piece of cardboard … then the old man cried.

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I wasn’t there when Job nearly crumpled under the weight of the troubles Satan piled on him. I wasn’t there when the Psalmist prophesied the crucifixion of Jesus in Psalm 22. But I was there when that old man was alone in his struggle, tried so hard, but lost it all, anyway. Watching him struggle gave me a sense of the isolation suffered by both Job and Jesus ... the crushing sense that God had abandoned them in the time of their greatest need.

Job thought God was the source of his misery, and he just wanted it all to end. He believed he could successfully plead his case if could just come before God ... if only God could be found. The Psalmist foresaw Jesus suffering at the hands of Roman Soldiers, tapped into the moment when Jesus felt so abandoned by God He cried out, “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Not only was God aware of Job’s trials, hearing every word his servant Job spoke as he suffered ... God had to hear His own son shout out His overwhelming sense of abandonment as he died in pain. In those moments when you feel isolated, abandoned, disregarded, uncared for; unable to find God ... hold on to this: even though you feel utterly alone in your suffering, God is there, has been there all along.

You are not alone.
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The story of the old man is selected from a memoir entitled Incident at 10th and Clark. You can read the full memoir at www.steveorr.blogspot.com.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 23 (28) (October 14, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Psalm 22:1-15
Amos 5:6-7, 10-15
Psalm 90:12-17
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31
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DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast meets each Friday morning at the Waco “Egg and I.” Our time of scripture, discussion, prayer, food, and (surprisingly) fun starts at 8:00. That hour flies by. Join us.

Blessings!
Steve

The Stage Manager (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

It was one of those moments you remember for the rest of your life.

In the life of a musical, there are many, many milestones. Under the leadership of the Director, the actors must learn their lines, where to go when, to become their characters. The Choreographer must teach the moves to all who will dance. The Choral Director must ensure that all who will sing know the music and lyrics. The orchestra must learn to play every song and instrumental piece. Over the course of many rehearsals, these are all honed into a (hopefully) well-oiled machine ... a vibrant piece of art that will entertain and enthrall the audience.

But, of course, there’s more: the somewhat hidden parts.

For weeks on end, the various stage crews build everything that must appear onstage; the walls, doorways, buildings, platforms, etc. Others dedicate their time and talents to costuming, lighting, sound, marketing, ticket sales ... on and on. In my theatre days, we didn’t have the phrase, “It takes a village.” But that’s what it takes.

At the moment of change —the moment that would stay with me for the rest of my life— we had finally come to Dress Rehearsal; the night before Opening Night; the night before the public would actually appear to serve as the final arbiters of all our work. As Stage Manager, it was my job (I thought) to ensure we were ready. As I surveyed the various personnel under my direct charge, I saw that all were diligently performing their tasks; from lighting and sound preparation, to the last minute checks of a large house that had to move about the stage on large (concealed) wheels, to those assigned to ensure the actors were located properly for their entrances to upcoming scenes.

It was at that moment the Director approached me and asked the question I was expecting: “Are you ready?” He had asked that question before, and I had always answered honestly, even if the answer was not always that we were 100% ready. Complete honesty was the only way that relationship could work. That night, though, I could happily, say, “Yes. We are ready.”

He looked me in the eye, saw that I was certain, and then spoke the words that would mean so much to my young life (and all the years to follow). “Good. Then, the show is yours.”

He had never said anything like that, before.

In my head, I was thinking something like, “How can it be my show? This is his show!” I’m not sure exactly what words I said in response, but I got across that I didn’t understand. He smiled and explained. The Director was going to be sitting in the audience for the performance; as, in fact, were all the other directors, designers, teachers ... all those who had worked so heard to hone this into art. None of them would be on the stage for the performance. None of them would be backstage. Whatever we delivered to the audience from this point forward, it was entirely up to us.

From this point forward, I was in charge.

Though I hadn’t been consciously aware of it, I was one of those pieces that had been honed over the preceding weeks and months. He had been preparing me for this moment, the moment when I would be fully in charge of whatever we brought to that audience.

No one had ever said anything even remotely like that to me in my entire life. No one had ever placed me in charge of anything. The impact on me was ... transformative. And, even though there were many ups and downs over the next few nights —and, indeed, over the rest of my life— that moment, and all it meant, remained with me. It has been a reservoir of confidence to draw on in good times and bad.

I had been elevated ... by the only person with the power and authority to do so: The Director.

I immediately recalled this moment when reading this week’s selection from the Letter to the Hebrews. It is what the Hebrew writer was explaining about Jesus. God, the only person with the power and authority to do so, elevated Jesus to be “the heir of all things,” to inherit a name above any angel, to be the one who “sustains all things by His powerful word,” to sit down “at the right hand of the Majesty on high.”

And how did that happen? Jesus obeyed.

He obeyed God in all He did throughout His three decades on this planet ... including, most importantly, to willingly become the ”pioneer” of our salvation through suffering and death. Because of his unfailing obedience, Jesus now speaks for God.

It’s His show.

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PHOTO: https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth864976/

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 22 (27) (October 7, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Job 1:1, 2:1-10
Psalm 26
Genesis 2:18-24
Psalm 8
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
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Join us Friday morning for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We still meet at 8:00 at the Waco “Egg and I” restaurant for an interesting hour of scripture, discussion, prayer, laughter, and food. We would love for you to be there with us (If you don’t see us, ask the hostess).