The Monster Words (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

"Monsters, stay out of this room!
You have no business here.
N0 monsters under the bed!
You can't fit under there.
No monsters hiding in the closet!
It's too small in there.
No monsters outside of the windows!
You can't hold on out there.
No vampires, no werewolves, no things that bite.
You have no business here.
Nothing will touch you, or hurt you, all this night.
You have no business here."

-------- Stephen King's Cujo


The "monster words" are what Vic (the father) chants at bedtime so Tad (his very young son) will stop worrying about the monsters he believes are in his closet. It's a loving thing for a father to do.

If he believes the evil is not real.

When Vic needs to go on a business trip, he writes the incantation down on a piece of paper so Donna (the mother) can read it to Tad while Vic is gone. Eventually, Tad begins carrying the folded piece of paper in his pocket. He touches it whenever he feels afraid. Doing that gives him a little relief.

Of course, being a Stephen King novel, Cujo delivers a lot for Tad to fear. And I don't think I'm giving anything away when I tell you that the "monster words" are not wholly successful as the talisman against evil Tad wants them to be.

The same is true for us.

In Jacqueline Bussie's book, Outlaw Christian: Finding Authentic Faith by Breaking the Rules, she plows right into our tendency to use our own "monster words" to shield us from the harsh realities of our lives. Sure, there are times of joy and wonderment. But there are also times when things are so bad we wish we could "explain away evil and suffering with a theo-magical slight of hand."

When faced with betrayal, suffering, fear, terror, and death (ours or anyone else's), we armor ourselves with the "marshmallow armor" of religious platitudes, pious clichés, scriptures taken out of context, misquoted and/or misapplied theology: our monster words. We draw temporary (and truly unsatisfactory) relief from just having them near; being able to speak them into any terrible event.

When asked for whom her book was written, Bussie said, "If you are a person who has ever loved someone, lost them, and then heard the hidden question why blacksmith your heart so hard it felt like your ears bled, this book was written with you at heart."

If you are struggling with such hard things, then you may find some (true) relief in knowing that others are, too. Whether we can admit it or not, we all struggle with realigning our old ways of thinking with the dynamic new ways we are called to by Jesus.

Witness the "circumcised believers" in this week's Lectionary selection from Acts. They cannot seem to move past the requirements of the Law. After Peter returns from preaching to and baptizing Cornelius and his household (none of whom were Jewish), these "circumcised believers" interrogate Peter, saying, "Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?!"

You can read the story, yourself, and you should. The point is well made by Peter, and it's one we need to roll forward into our own faith-walk: when God points us in another direction, we can faithfully move in that direction. We are not enslaved to the old ways just because they are the comfort zone. In fact, if there's an ultimate point to the Book of Acts, it is that God is doing something new, something true and authentic, something that does not hide from the bad parts of life.

In real life, we are rarely removed from the hard bits. We must go through them. We don't need "monster words" on which to rely. We have the Holy Spirit and the promise that, regardless of how bad it gets, God is in it with us.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fifth Sunday of Easter (April 24, 2016)
First reading
Acts 11:1-18
Psalm
Psalm 148
Second reading
Revelation 21:1-6
Gospel
John 13:31-35
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Join us Friday mornings? We still meet at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. Lectionary Breakfast starts at 8:00 and is an hour when a lot of truth is spoken.

Enjoy the week!
Steve

My Treasures

My Treasures
By Steve Orr

"My treasures do not ching together or glitter. They gleam in the sun, and neigh in the night." Arabian proverb

I never owned a horse. Which, in all probability, is a good thing. While I had pets (well ... dogs) as a child, I was never that kid who begged his parents for a pet, promising to feed and care for it. Don't get me wrong, I loved my dogs. We got along well. And they knew I was the soft touch of the family. I have a lot of stories about my dogs (like the one where my dachshund slept under the covers of my bed in the winter, keeping my feet warm in a bedroom that had no heat), but they will have to wait for another time. This piece is not about dogs. It's about horses.

So, even though I never owned one, growing up in Kentucky, I was raised with a deep appreciation of horses. Frankly, it was almost unavoidable. Countless times I walked the eight long blocks to the fairgrounds to watch the trotters and their sulkies somehow simultaneously careen and float around that dirt track. All across the counties of West Kentucky, horses could constantly be seen serving on working farms. And it was a rare month when the Junkman didn't ply the alleyway behind our house with his great horse-drawn wagon. Horses were everywhere.

I think I know where my appreciation for horses began. And, of course, it was because of a girl. My first crush (and more, to be honest) was on a girl who lived across 21st Street and around the corner on Harrison. I still remember the first time I saw her; first grade, Andrew Jackson Elementary School; massive smit-down. That crush (or whatever it really was) lasted for many years, long past the point where either of us could have done anything about it. But that, too, is a story for another time. Today is about horses.

It was pretty difficult to not know she loved horses. She wore horse jewelry. Instead of a poodle skirt, hers had a horse on it. The first time I visited her house, I saw she had a model horse on a shelf in her room; it served as one of the book ends for several fiction books involving horses. Because of my feelings for her, I decided to get interested in horses.

The fiscal realities being what they were, neither of us was going to have an actual horse, but we could both enjoy fictional horses. And that's how I came to read Walter Farley's Black Stallion novels, along with other equestrian stories and at least one non-fiction book about Man-O-War. Long before I ever read Stephen King's phrase "fall through the hole in the page," I was doing it. When young Alec Ramsay held on for dear life as the Black raced across desert sands, I was there, clinging to that great back, thrilling to the danger and to the stunning power of the Black Stallion. I loved that fictional world of horses. I heartily recommend those books to you parents for your children . . . and you can sneak a read, too :-)

A wise person once said, "The difference between theory and reality is this: in theory, they're the same; in reality, they're not." In fiction, that girl and I would have ended up spending our lives together, and horses would almost certainly been a part of it. But the reality is that our lives took different paths. I moved to Texas and started a new life. I met the real girl of my dreams, got married, became a father, father-in-law, grandfather.

The reality of horses is not the same, either. Actual horses must be fed, and housed, and cleaned, and cleaned up after (there's a reason one of the labors of Hercules was mucking out the stables). If they are a show horse or a race horse, they have to be exercised. They have to see the vet from time to time; there can be sizable health-related expenses. And, of course, horses are bred.

And here, I believe, is the really dangerous part. A foal, one who is sweet and gentle, can win your heart from one beat to the next. And if, as one of my Texas friends did, you decide, based on that sweet and gentle foal, to keep breeding "babies," there is no going back. Not for your heart. You're in. All they way in.

And so today I write about my Texas friend who did that; who, after getting that first sweet foal in May of 1989, decided along with her sister to breed and raise horses. It has not always been an easy road for them. In fact, it has often been very hard, indeed. And today will be one of the hardest. Today, after almost 23 years of love given and love returned, they lost that first foal.

Sometimes I hear people say something like, "Well, of course it is sad, but it's not the same as losing a person." I guess I would have to admit some intellectual reality to the statement. But our hearts don't usually follow our intellect, do they? Really, how can half a love be any kind of love at all? We love our animals. And it is not unusual at all for us to grieve when they're gone. They lived in our hearts, after all.

Bryn Dar Farm's first foal is gone.
Rest in peace, Dyfan (May 14, 1989 - April 16, 2012)

"My treasures do not ching together or glitter. They gleam in the sun, and neigh in the night."

I Was A Teenage Pharisee!

“I Was a Teen-Age Pharisee!!” (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr for the Liturgy of the Palms)

In the fall of my 7th grade year in school, I ran for Student Council.  I lost.  I did that again in the 8th Grade.  And the 9th.  Annnnnd, the 10th.  But the 11th grade was a very special year for me.  Oh, I lost my run for the Student Council that fall, too.  And to the same guy I always lost to: Bobby King (not his real name).   But something new happened that year.  That spring, I became a viable candidate for Student Council President because Bobby King was not allowed to run.  The faculty and the Principal decided he was over-committed; and since he was unwilling to give up anything, they denied him his request to be a candidate for the Presidency.  Finally, I felt, I was going to get mine.  I had scoped the only other person allowed to run, and I knew I could beat him. I was finally going to get elected, and not only that, but elected to the highest office.  I felt excited, happy … assured.

The day finally came.  The polls would open immediately following the candidate’s speeches in the auditorium  And if I had had any concern, it vanished after we finished our speeches to the student body.  The other candidate spoke first.  I spoke second.  Based on the applause, I clearly had the upper hand. 

Then it happened.  The Principal asked if there were any nominations from the floor.  And for the first time that anyone could remember, someone was nominated from the floor.  A fellow popped out from the side stage and uttered the very words I feared: “I nominate Bobby King!”  For his part, Bobby was seated in the very last row, the very highest point on the floor of the auditorium.  He stood and slowly walked down the sloping aisle toward the front.  As he passed each row of students, they rose to their feet, cheering and applauding loudly.  By the time he mounted the stage it was obvious to everyone that he would be the winner.

I was crushed … and angry.  I felt everything I had worked for had been stolen from me; not just for that election, but for all the years I had been trying.  With each rising row of student, shouting their accolades and praise for their chosen leader, my envy and jealousy rose.  And rose.  And rose.  His triumphal procession to the front made me so angry.  More than anything else in the world, I wished him gone.  Instead, I was forced to just watch as it all fell apart before my eyes. 

That is what the Pharisees felt when they watched Jesus descend from the Mount of Olives in a triumphal procession toward Jerusalem (It's in this week's Lectionary passage of Matthew 21:1-11, but is more fully described at Luke 19:28-48).  They felt it all belonged to them; and they could not abide the thought someone else would take their place; that someone else would have all that power.  

Not pretty; not then, not when I was in high school, and not now.  Do we, like the Pharisees, want to keep hold of the power?  Are we trying even now to push Jesus from the lordship of our lives?  Or do we embrace “the stone that the builders rejected” (Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29) as the cornerstone of our lives.