Thursday, May 29, 2025

A Coach Changes Everything (a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

I was never an athlete.  


Team sports? Just one summer in Little League baseball. That was a disaster: couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pay attention. 

Starting in the 7th Grade, every other school day included 40 minutes of Phys-Ed. In the fall, we played football in PE (didn’t understand the rules, so I was always a Lineman). In the winter, we played basketball (couldn't move and dribble—terrible shooter). On rainy days, we played dodgeball (big and slow, easy target). And in the spring, we played baseball (see above) and/or track and field (not a fan).  

And when it wasn’t those things, we were subjected to something called conditioning. It was the part I hated the most: sit-ups, chin-ups, rope climbs, push-ups, running up and down the bleachers. Imitating sports wasn't so bad: You got knocked down, you got up, you got knocked down again—simple. Exercising just to exercise? That seemed like madness.

Everything changed in my thirties.

I joined a gym and hired a trainer. I actually paid someone to lead me through the very activities I hated for those six years I was forced to take PE. Why do this? Spend two, three nights per week at a gym? 

I had goals. 

There were things I wanted to do—improve my health, lose weight, shape up—and I needed a coach’s insight to ensure I reached those goals. 

In this week's Luke and Acts 1 passages, I found parallels to my gym sessions. When I’m working out, I am focused, in the moment. But my coach is thinking about all of it: what I did before, what I'm doing right now, how that activity, with others he has planned, moves me toward my objectives—and, of course, what's next. 

It's kind of like that for Jesus’ disciples. They are told to expect someone who will serve as teacher and guide, someone who will help them achieve the goals set before them. They didn't know what was coming. But they believed the one who told them a helper would come, and they acted from within that belief.

Even now, when I’m nearing the end of my treadmill time, I start thinking about stopping early. Part of me—the really tired part—suggests I don’t really need to keep at this, that it’s just too hard, that it doesn’t really benefit me. But then, I hear the calm voices of my trainers from over the years encouraging me: "Just a bit more. Almost there. You can do this." 

They knew what I was capable of, knew how much more I could bring to the task, knew how much more would be required of me before I could rest. The Spirit is like that with us. When the going gets hard, we need to listen for that voice deep inside encouraging us to continue on:

"Just a bit more. Almost there. You can do this."



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PHOTO: Adobe Express and Photoshop Express 

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We're getting together Friday mornings at 8:00 for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast.  Join us on Zoom** or in person at the Our Breakfast Place. Great food, great Bible discussions, and great fellowship.   

No sit-ups required.

Blessings,

Steve

 

**Zoom link (Zoom allows you to mute the camera and the microphone if you don’t wish to be seen or heard.)

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89947678414



SCRIPTURES FOR SUNDAY AND THE COMING WEEK

Ascension of the Lord (May 29, 2025)
Acts 1:1-11

Psalm 47 or Psalm 93

Ephesians 1:15-23

Luke 24:44-53



Seventh Sunday of Easter (June 1, 2025)

Acts 16:16-34


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Wednesday, May 21, 2025

Semicolons and Groundhog Day (a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

In the film Groundhog Day,  Phil Connors woke up at least 3,650 mornings to find he was still in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, forced to repeat the same day over and over. Every day was—Groundhog Day!


Whether it’s those 10 years’ worth of days or, as Director Harold Ramis later said, “more like 30 or 40 years” of days, that’s a really long time to be trapped in a repetitive nightmare. 

In his endless holiday repeat, Phil worked his way through various stages. The first few times, he was just confused. Eventually, though, he stole, acted maliciously, exploited those around him, cheated at Jeopardy!, indulged every whim and vice. He even kidnapped Punxsutawney Phil (the groundhog), leading authorities on a high-speed car chase. And then, after who knows how many thousand Groundhog Days, Phil became depressed. He was so depressed at his inability to break free from the shackles of that endless redundancy that he attempted suicide.

Over and over and over. 

That’s where the semicolon comes in. When writers decide it’s time to pause, but aren’t ready to end the sentence, they use a semicolon. It’s a way of letting the reader know “We’re not stopping here. There’s more to come.”

Some who have attempted suicide have had semicolon tattoos inked onto their skin, often at the site of an unsuccessful attempt. They wear that tattoo to send a message that this is not the end, to declare that they have chosen to continue on. They want to make something clear, especially to themselves:

There’s more to come. 

When Jesus met the invalid in this week’s Gospel of John passage, that man needed a semicolon in his life. He was living on the edge—literally, on the edge. He was near the healing waters of the Pool of Bethesda, but not right by the pool. There was no one to help him get to the pool. That distance, small as it was, meant he could never make it to the water in time to be healed. He had been suffering like that for 38 years, waking up every one of those 13,880 days to face the same horrible existence. He faced it alone.

That’s 13,880 times of never being healed, a very long time to be stuck in an endless loop. He had been living with relief just a few feet away. And yet, it might as well had been miles away for all the good it did him. He could not break out of his endless loop. A person would likely become depressed.

Is it any wonder he couldn’t give Jesus a straight answer when asked, "Do you want to be made well?"

That happens to a lot of people. They have lived so long in their struggle, they no longer recognize hope when it appears before them. After so many days, weeks, and years of no relief, their faith has worn thin.

For this man, though, Jesus inserted a semicolon. 

Jesus did not just heal the man. He sent him on his way. The message was clear: The man was not to linger at that location any longer. His situation had changed. He must continue on. After 38 years of endless days, there was, suddenly, more to come. 

There’s hope here for us, too. No matter our circumstance, Jesus brings a semicolon to our lives. We are to continue on. 

There is definitely more to come. 


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PHOTO: Adobe Express and Photoshop Express 

The story of semicolons and suicide: 

A great read “The Sanctifying Silliness of Groundhog Day”: 

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Please join us Friday morning for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We meet online on Zoom** and in person at Our Breakfast Place. It’s a quick hour from 8:00 to 9:00. It includes breakfast we order from the menu, scriptures we read aloud, and unfettered discussion. We say what we think, and we grow from listening to each other. 


And there’s laughing. 


Blessings,

Steve

 

**Zoom link (Zoom allows you to mute the camera and the microphone if you don’t wish to be seen or heard.)

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89947678414



SCRIPTURES FOR SUNDAY AND THE COMING WEEK
Psalm 67
Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5
John 14:23-29 or John 5:1-9
Sixth Sunday of Easter (May 25, 2025)

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Wednesday, May 14, 2025

Mel Brooks and the 15 Commandments (a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

One of my favorite film moments comes from Mel Brooks’ History of the World, Part One. In the scene, Moses comes down from the mountain cradling three stone tablets. As he steps forward to tell the Israelites of the commandments God has sent for them to follow, he says: “The Lord Jehovah has given unto you these 15—“ At this point, a tablet falls and shatters. Moses quickly holds up the remaining two tablets and continues: “Ten! Ten Commandments for all to obey!”


While the scene is funny, it also gets at something that has been on our minds ever since Moses came down the mountain: Was that it? Just the 10? Do you sometimes wish there were more Commandments? Do you believe we would benefit from just a bit more guidance from God? Maybe an 11th Commandment? 

There have been many attempts over the millennia to add that extra layer of direction. 

This is a big part of what Peter smacked up against in this week’s selection from the Book of Acts. After baptizing some non-Jews, effectively including them as followers of Jesus, Peter is “called on the carpet” for breaking several well-known Jewish “laws” in the process. He finds himself in trouble with “circumcised believers,” that is, people who closely follow Jewish codes of conduct and also believe Jesus is the son of God. Peter’s answer? He didn’t choose those non-Jews, God did. 

What those “circumcised believers” had forgotten is this: God makes the rules, and God can amend them or make new ones at any time. In fact, Jesus did this kind of thing quite regularly: “You have heard (fill in the blank), but I say….” 

So. Is there an 11th? Maybe. I think there’s one. But it’s not a commandant for everyone. We find it in this week’s selection from the Gospel of John: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." 

Well, there’s your 11th Commandment. 

It’s only given to followers of Jesus. And, differently from loving our neighbors and loving our enemies (each with its own challenges), this one is just about how believers are to treat each other. Jesus already knew that the “tent” of believers was going to get not only a lot bigger, but also a lot stranger than any of His earliest followers could imagine. He knew they (and we) were going to need that extra commandment.

We tend to love our neighbors and our enemies—at a certain distance. That’s not how it’s supposed to be, but it is the way most of us approach the matter. It’s pretty difficult, though, for us to hold other believers at a distance. We’re all scrunched up in here, together. 

We need that commandment. 

Here’s why: If we believers can learn to really love each other, we can start to learn how to love our neighbors. And if we can get to where we really love our neighbors, up close and personal, we can start the process of learning how to love our enemies. And if we can actively love our enemies—well, there’s no end to that kind of love. 

No more commandments needed. 


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Another Friday gathering of DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. Can you join us? We meet online on Zoom** and in person at Our Breakfast Place. It’s a quick hour from 8:00 to 9:00. Somehow, we cram in tasty food, interesting discussions, a prayer, and some Bible reading. Oh, and we tend to get tickled a lot (not sure what it says about us that we find some of this funny, but there you go).


Blessings,

Steve

 

**Zoom link (Zoom allows you to mute the camera and the microphone if you don’t wish to be seen or heard.)

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89947678414



Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35
Fifth Sunday of Easter (May 18, 2025)
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Wednesday, May 7, 2025

Daniel and the Darkest Valley (a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

 
The first time I saw Daniel, he was in our high school cafeteria, sitting at a table for eight with seven empty chairs. He had lank blond hair hanging over his eyes, wore a wrinkled army jacket, and was hunched over his food tray. His spoon was clinched in his right fist and his fork in his left, both pointed down. The body language was unmistakable: He expected an attack on his food and was prepared to defend it. 

In the movie Mean Girls, the new girl in school is warned on her first foray into the cafeteria: “Beware of The Plastics” (i.e., the mean girls). They were bullies. That was the problem with The Plastics in Mean Girls. The concern wasn’t that they were a clique, but that the alpha Plastic was a sociopath. She used her alpha status to bully everyone else. (“On Wednesdays, we wear pink.”)

What was it like in your high school? Did you have a “mean girls” clique? Were there groups that intentionally excluded people, groups that made exclusion a central part of their structure? We didn’t have a lot of that in my high school. So, I had to wonder: Why was Daniel sitting all alone, poised to injure the next person who reached toward his food?

Daniel had enemies. He had been bullied—a lot. By the time we met, Daniel was already a frightened, combative person. It was Daniel against the world at that point. He was so traumatized, he could no longer tell friend from foe, so victimized that anyone who came near him was suspect. For many, this would be the “darkest valley” referenced in this week’s 23rd Psalm (“the valley of the shadow of death”)—a horrible, hellish existence of hypervigilance, never broken by a moment’s peace. 

The 23rd Psalm sounds pretty pastoral—at first. But then you realize some hard times must have preceded those “green pastures” and “still waters.” There are reasons David needed the Shepherd to restore his soul. Did he write those words while fleeing for his life from King Saul? Perhaps it was earlier when he was playing music and Saul hurled a spear at him. At what point did David finally admit to himself that Saul really was his enemy?

I wish I knew whatever had happened to Daniel. My attempts to befriend him failed. Sadly, my last impression of him was the same as my first: the exact opposite of the 23rd Psalm. 

I sometimes imagine what it would be like for Daniel if God showed up for lunch one day and saved him a place at the table. What if God made him the guest of honor at that meal, one at which he could eat without fear, one at which no bullies had power over him? A lunch so grand, and a peace so abiding, that inviting his enemies to join him would feel like the very right thing to do. 

Today, we still have our mean girls and guys. We’re still excluded from certain tribes, even as adults.

Imagine the relief of having the most powerful being in existence set a feast before you, right where your enemies can see you, right where they can see you and God, together. That’s a powerful image. 

At that point, you would have options. Do you eat and run? After all, those onlookers are still your enemies. Do you eat and smirk? I mean, what can they do to you? Clearly, God is on your side. 

Or, do you invite them to the feast?

Well, God has set a table before us, and it is in the presence of our enemies. 

Now, what do we do with that?


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PHOTO: Adobe Express
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Friday mornings are for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We meet on Zoom** and at Our Breakfast Place. We talk about the Bible while we eat breakfast. Join us at 8:00 for some tasty food, some interesting Bible, and some exhilarating discussion. 


Oh! And we laugh. A lot.


Blessings,

Steve

 

**Zoom link (Zoom allows you to mute the camera and the microphone if you don’t wish to be seen or heard.)

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89947678414



SCRIPTURES FOR SUNDAY AND THE COMING WEEK

Acts 9:36-43
Psalm 23
Revelation 7:9-17
John 10:22-30
Fourth Sunday of Easter (May 11, 2025)
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Friday, May 2, 2025

A Great Big Dose of Ordinary (a Steve Orr Bible reflection)

Each weekday morning of my childhood—thousands of them—started out pretty much the same way. I awoke to the fragrance of coffee and the pooka-pooka sounds of the percolator. Joining that were the sounds and smells of country bacon snapping and crackling in our cast iron skillet. Long before I was awake, Dad had started all of this by lighting the burners on our gas stove. I slept through that initial whoosh of energy. Later there would be eggs, fried (always over medium), and on the best days, bread toasted under the oven’s broiler, dark and crispy around the edges with four yellow bulges where the little chunks of broken butter pats had been dotted.

As anyone can tell you, I am not a morning person. I have to gradually transition from sleep, in stages, gently trading pieces of sleepiness for pieces of wakefulness. I am like a deep-sea diver, slowly ascending from the depths. I will eventually come to the surface. But, oh, I am slow to take hold of the day.

Those fragrances and gentle noises, and thoughts of eggs and toast to come, were an essential lever to get me from horizontal to vertical, especially on school days.

That may be why this week's passage from John 21 is one of my favorites. Reeling from recent events, restless, frustrated and stressed, the Apostles needed—something. One night, still a bit shell-shocked after the death and resurrection of Jesus, Peter declares, "I'm going fishing." The rest of the guys, at loose ends, exhausted from the "not knowing" of whatever is coming next, decide to go with him. That night's fishing doesn't produce a single fish. But that's not really the point of fishing, is it?

When Jesus arrives early the next morning, he changes everything. He helps them catch a great deal of fish, and then says, "Come and eat breakfast." Jesus cooked breakfast for his people. He called them to breakfast. They came and they ate. 

I love the ordinariness of this episode. It reminds me of when God fed Elijah in 1 Kings, strengthening him for the 40-day journey that was still ahead of him and, as a result, for all of his future actions as a prophet of God in this world. God gave him what he needed: a nap and some food. 

For the Apostles, being front and center for the most important events in history was extremely stressful. They needed to go fishing and eat some breakfast. They needed a great big dose of ordinary, and that’s what Jesus gave them.

Sometimes, what we need the most is a simple thing: a nap, some food, a quiet moment, a pat on the back, a hug. To borrow from Stephen Covey, we need to take time to “sharpen the saw.” In case it’s not clear: We’re the saw. 

God doesn't ask of us what we cannot do. It's just that we often fail to perceive our fullest capability. If we will but take it, God provisions us so we can carry out what he has planned. God gets us what we need. 

Come, and eat breakfast.

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PHOTO: Adobe Express

BONUS MATERIAL

Listen to the pooka-pooka in this old time black & whale commercial:

Just for fun: “How To Make Turkish Coffee” 

A deeper dive into the history of coffee: 


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We continue the Easter season Friday at DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. Join us at 8:00 am for an hour of scripture, food, fellowship, and discussion. Laughter is common. We meet on Zoom** and in person at Our Breakfast Place.

Blessings,

Steve

 

**Zoom link (Zoom allows you to mute the camera and the microphone if you don’t wish to be seen or heard.)

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89947678414



SCRIPTURES FOR SUNDAY AND THE COMING WEEK


Acts 9:1-6, (7-20)
Psalm 30
Revelation 5:11-14
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