The Coming Bad Years (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Except for some narrow aisles, every cubic inch of my neighbor's garage was packed. The floor-to-ceiling shelving held such necessities as barrels and boxes of dried foods, bottles of water, vitamins, first aid kits, over-the-counter medicines, camp stoves, cots, and toilet paper.

What brought us to this impromptu garage tour was a question I had asked him just minutes earlier. Glancing over my fence, I had asked, "Hey Dave, why are you plowing up your back yard?" The answer, which in retrospect seemed obvious, was "To plant corn, a grape arbor, and other fruits and vegetables to supplement the dried foods."

You can see, now, how one thing led to another.

Eventually, I got around to asking what this was all about. Dave, a serious guy, a scientist in fact, studied me for a few moments, and then stepped into a corner of the garage. He handed out a well-thumbed paperback copy of Howard Ruff's How to Prosper in the Coming Bad Years. "Here," he said. "You need to read this."

I read it. The book was filled with lots of convincing information supporting Mr. Ruff's contention that we were on the cusp of a global meltdown. Not the end of civilization, exactly, but close enough that we would all want to have our garages filled with survival necessities ... at least until order was restored.

The year was 1982.

As you no doubt have noticed, we're still here. Sure, there were some bad years. Those were followed by some good years. And those were followed by some bad ones. Our local, state, national, and global economies have been up and they've been down, but none of them has been out. Now, I'm not downplaying the very real possibility of economic bad times. I, too, believe in being prepared. I just have a somewhat different definition of "prepared" than my neighbor did.

But he did get something right.

My neighbor was employing the "Joseph Model" of preparedness: store up during the fat years because the lean years are coming. It's the model we use when we add to our savings accounts, when we invest some of our paychecks so we can retire someday, when we lay in a supply of tissues in preparation for allergy season. When you've got it, save some of it. It worked for Joseph and it will work for anyone who can do the same.

Elsewhere in scripture, we learn that for four decades God provided the daily needs of the Israelites, and Manna was the central nutrient. Five days a week, they arose each morning and gathered the coming day's bread, and it had to be eaten that day. On the sixth day, they received a double portion so they could prepare the meals for the Sabbath before sundown.

Then, one day, it came to a full stop.

In this week's Lectionary selection from Joshua, we learn that "The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year" (Joshua 5:12 NRSV). On the very day they no longer had need of it, God's provision of Manna ended. But don't misunderstand this scripture: God's provision did not end, just the provision of Manna. When God brought them into the abundant harvest awaiting them in the Promised Land, there was no longer a need for Manna.

My neighbor was not wrong to stockpile in his attempt to ensure the safety and security of his family. His actions did not indicate a lack of faith. Out of his abundance, he set aside what he thought would be needed. And even though society did not come apart at the seams, Dave's storehouse may have supported his family through a personal crisis. He was being prudent based on the information he had available. Joseph would approve.

God provided the Manna, and God provided the abundance of the Promised Land. We don't always need "miracle food." Usually, we just need to recognize that God is providing and not get too hung up on the source. And if, in abundant times, we set aside some of the abundance to get ready for leaner times ... well, that's in the Bible, too.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 6, 2016)
First reading
Joshua 5:9-12
Psalm
Psalm 32
Second reading
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Gospel
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
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We have abundance every Friday morning at Lectionary Breakfast. Can you carve out an hour to meet with us at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant? We start at 8:00 and spend the next hour enjoying abundant food, abundant fellowship, abundant spiritual food for scripture, and, quite often, an overabundance of laughter.

Enjoy the week!
Steve

A Separate Peace (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

There was this book; A Separate Peace. We read it in the ninth grade. There's a lot I don't recall about the book, but that's not due to memory lapse: I just didn't get it, even then. The story took place in the U.S. during World War II. I seem to recall some guy fell out of a tree and broke his leg, and the main character was named Finny (maybe).

That's about it.

I'm certain, because I remember the concerned look on my teacher's face, that I was supposed to get a lot more out of it than that. I'm pretty sure we were supposed to be profoundly affected by it.

That was not my experience. I just didn't find anything about the book to like. Everyone seemed kind of mean. Or at least that's how I remember it. For whatever reason, I never connected with it.

But I do recall one important thing.

The title had to do with treaties. It goes something like this: a group of allies agree to go to war together, as a unified force, or at least agree to all fight the same enemies. That's part of it. The other part is this: each country making up the allies also agrees to not make "a separate peace" with the enemy forces. In other words, "we're all in it together, and none of us quits until we all agree to quit."

A separate peace sounds like a nice thing, a way to walk away from the battle rather than face the terrible things that are assuredly coming; pain, separation, destruction, and death. But there is a problem with a separate peace that may not be readily apparent. If one of the allied countries decided to make a separate peace with the enemy forces, that would be a betrayal of the other countries in the allied forces. The original commitment made by the betraying country would now be without meaning, and they would likely never be trusted by their former allies, ever again.

That's what's happening in this week's Lectionary selection from Luke 4:1-13. Satan, in the middle of his multi-millennia war with God, has come to Jesus to entice Him into a separate peace. They both know that some hard times are ahead for Jesus; pain, separation, destruction, and death. Satan's "temptations" are all inducements for Jesus to abandon his allegiance to God. To step out of the war.

There are times and places for a separate peace. Truly, sometimes it is better to walk away from the war than to continue, even if we can't convince our allies to do so. But for the "war in heaven" that spilled over onto Earth, our oath of fealty must stand firm. Like Jesus, we must resist whatever draws us away from our commitment to God.

Now is not the time for a separate peace.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=118

Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Psalm 91: 1-2, 9-16
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-14

Here's a link to all the readings for the season of Lent.
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/lections.php?year=C&season=Lent

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We enter the season of Lent preparing for some time of personal reflection. Where do we stand? With God? Are we faithful? Or have we sidelined ourselves from the conflict? Is there something of which we need to repent?

The next six weeks are especially significant in our journey with Jesus through this life. Spend the Friday mornings with us at Lectionary Breakfast. You'll be glad of the fellowship and time in the scriptures. We gather at 8:00 a.m. at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant for an hour like no other.

Blessings,
Steve

The Audience of God (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

We, the audience, had come from all across the United States to hear this choir sing, to see Dr. James Abbington lead, to absorb gospel standards and other pieces of black sacred music, to have our souls refreshed. Before us, high up in the choir area of the church sanctuary, stood a large, combined choir composed of folks from several local churches and from churches as far away as Fort Worth and Dallas; well-dressed men and women; dark suits, white shirts and ties, colorful scarves, long black dresses.

For the second night in a row, Dr. Abbington asked us, the audience, to become part of the show.

For those of us who had attended a far less formal gathering the night before, the announcement was not all that surprising. The previous night, after a full day of speakers and panels, leading scholars presenting and discussing on the state of black sacred music, those same scholars took to the stage. Accomplished musicians, all, they were expected to provide us with an evening of gospel greats.

And we were not disappointed.

As our performers for the evening arranged themselves around dual pianos, Dr. Abbington changed the dynamic. We found ourselves called on to sing.

Us. The audience.

I marveled at this. He seemed so certain we would just do as he said. What made him think we, the audience, would agree to this? Weren't WE supposed to be on the receiving end of all this?

But we did what he told us to do. We belted out "Oh Happy Day," "Marching to Zion," and "Every Praise (is to Our God)." Song after song, we sang. But that was not the end of it. Next, Dr. Abbington started calling people to come to the front to take the solo parts and the leads. In short order, there were more people standing between the lip of the stage and the front row than in the rest of the auditorium.

Now here we were, 24 hours later, and he was doing it again.

I was starting to think this was just a thing he liked to do, the way some rock stars like to tilt the microphone toward the audience so they can chime in on some parts. Maybe this was just his way.

Then he said something that put it all in perspective: "According to Kierkegaard, in church, God is the only audience; we are all participants in the worship."

While I think I have long had a similar understanding of worship, I've never heard it said quite that way: God is the only audience.

He is certainly the only audience that matters.

Moses forgot this. Angered at the bickering Israelites, he struck the rock with his staff to get the water they needed. In doing this, he disobeyed God's instruction to get that the water by speaking to the rock. And he paid the price. Afterwords, GOD said to Moses and Aaron, “Because you didn’t trust me, didn’t treat me with holy reverence in front of the People of Israel, you two aren’t going to lead this company into the land that I am giving them.” (‭Numbers‬ ‭20‬:‭12‬ MSG)

We are not, in fact, the audience. No matter where we sit or stand in the house of meeting, when we act as though we or someone else is the audience, we forget a basic truth about worship.

God is the only audience.
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Selected from a reflection on "Marching to Zion, the Pruit Symposium on Black Sacred Music" [Baylor University, October 2014]
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Something to keep in mind as we start the Advent season.

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu

First Sunday of Advent (November 30, 2014)
Isaiah 64:1-9
Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
Mark 13:24-37