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).

When the Good Guys Wore White Hats (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

When I was a child, the good guys wore white hats.

For some of you, that’s going to need some explaining. I’m not talking about actual people. These good guys were fictional. The first television set owned by my family arrived in our home in the early 1950’s. It received exactly two channels: NBC and CBS ... and the picture was entirely in black and white. We did not get a color television until the 1960’s ... about the same time as most people.

You may be wondering, at this point, what this has to do with the good guys wearing white hats.

On early TV shows featuring cowboys (and there were quite a few of these), there was a need to easily distinguish the bad guys from the good guys. Almost no one possessed a color television, so those early black and white TV shows used the simplest means of differentiation: white hats versus black hats.

It wasn’t a new approach; the movies had been doing this same thing for several years. Moving the practice to black and white television programs just made sense. That way, whenever there was a shootout between cowboys, the viewer knew exactly which group to root for: the guys in the white hats.

Recalling all those hours of watching Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers and so many others in those good guy roles, it’s easy to think of those days as a simpler time. Was it? Probably not. But it did seem that way. I can’t help but think of Mason Williams singing Cowboy Buckaroo. Listen to it
Here

Sadly, hat colors have not always been so useful in determining which are the bad guys. Hopalong Cassidy wore a black hat, even though he was a good guy. Some bad guys wear no hats, at all. And even when hats have been common, they may well have looked just the same as everyone else’s.

But that hasn’t stopped people from associating hats with bad guys.

In this week’s selection from the Book of Esther, we encounter one of the most heinous characters in all of scripture: Haman. You should read all of Esther (short read) to really get the measure of this guy. “Bad” doesn’t begin to cover it. But if you just want to find out how the story ended, read this week’s selection.

Purim is celebrated to remember the days when Haman almost succeeded in destroying the Jewish people ... and the heroic acts of Esther to thwart his plans. One of the main foods eaten in celebrating Purim is Hamantaschen, a triangular pastry with fillings. Those might be poppy seed, prune, various fruit preserves, chocolate, caramel, etc. (it could be almost anything, even savory concoctions). While just about everyone agrees that they represent the villain Haman, the meaning of the “taschen” part of the name is up for debate. In Hebrew it might refer to Haman’s ears (and the practice of cutting those off prior to hanging!). In German, it might refer to Haman’s pockets (where he stored the money he offered to the King for permission to kill all the Jews).

But there is an old legend —and the most common belief, today— that Haman wore a three-cornered hat ...

No one knows the color.

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PHOTO; The author, with his brand new (black and white) television set! (Circa, early 1950’s)

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 21 (26) (September 30, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29
Psalm 19:7-14
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
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Come join us Friday mornings for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We still meet at 8:00 in the function room of the Waco “Egg and I“ restaurant (the door is down the outside and near the back). We enjoy a wonderful hour, noshing on good food, reading the scriptures, praying, laughing, discussing ... and not necessarily in that order.

Many blessings,
Steve

My Errors Are My Tutors (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

I was a pretty clumsy kid.

My shoulders clipped a lot of door-frames and wall corners. I eventually figured out that I could swing a bit wider than my eyes told me to when coming near these turns and portals. Result? Just about eliminated those shoulder injuries.

I was clumsy in other ways, too; always knocking over some cup of liquid, dropping my fork to the floor, or “tripping over the flowers in the rug.” After a while, I learned how to pick up the front of my shoes when I walked, thus avoiding (mostly) the embarrassment of sprawling before my peers. To overcome the exasperating problem of knocking over fill-in-the-blank liquids, I developed the ability to quickly grab said cup as it was still tilting over (You can ask my wife: I’m really good at this. These days, my almost-spills rarely turn into actual spills.). Sadly, I still manage to send my fork (or other utensil) straight to the floor without warning. Still not sure why, exactly; but I’m starting to think it has to do with sleeves ... still working on this one; check back in a few years).

My point in these ramblings? I am what someone —a kind person, anyway— might call an “experiential learner” ... I make a lot of mistakes.

But I learn from those mistakes. My errors are my tutors.

And that brings me to this week’s James passage. A key point James makes: We don’t ask [God], so we don’t have. And even when we do ask God, we don’t receive because we ask for selfish reasons. Connect this to the exhortation (or is it a promise?) made by Jesus: Ask=get. Seek=find. Knock=access (Matthew 7:7-8).

I can't help but wonder: Is there a wrong way to ask, seek, and a knock? Are we getting this wrong? Are we supposed to rap out a special tattoo to gain entry? Or ... could we be knocking on the wrong portals? Are we supposed to apply orientation and mapping skills when we seek? Or ... are we just looking for stuff in all the wrong places?

James is talking about the problems that keep popping up when we want what belongs to others; bitter envy, selfish ambition, contentiousness, and even murder. He wants believers to understand we have gone about these things backwards. Instead of coveting and then battling to obtain what we desire (which seems to have become a standard behavior), we, instead, need to go to God with our requests. Plus, we need to realize that asking God to give us something that already belongs to someone else is never going to work.

We can apply the correct process (ask God), but still not receive it because we are only asking for selfish reasons. The ask-seek-knock passage culminates in the Golden Rule and is exactly the same context as the James passage.

Turns out: there is a right way and a wrong way to ask, seek, and knock. And we can learn how to do it.

We are to ask, seek, and knock while in the presence of God. That means we are to be praying and listening, being still before God. And, if we ask, seek, and knock while living the Golden Rule —i.e., seeking for others what we wish for ourselves ... just another way of saying, "Love your neighbor as yourself."— we will receive, find, and enter ... as promised.

Our errors can be our tutors.

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Parts of this reflection are borrowed from a reflection that appeared in September 2015 as “Ask, Seek, Knock: Are we Getting This Wrong?”

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 20 (25) (September 23, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.php?id=220

Proverbs 31:10-31
Psalm 1
Jeremiah 11:18-20
Psalm 54
James 3:13 - 4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37
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What are you doing Friday morning? Can you join us at DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast? If you're in the area, make some time to join us at 8:00 at Waco’s “Egg and I” restaurant. We’re usually in the function room (down the outside, near the back). The gathering is an hour like no other. We come away refreshed and fortified.

If you're not in our area, consider starting a group to discuss the scriptures. It's not hard. Ask a few friends, contact a restaurant that will let you order À la carte, and then agree on a day and time. Everybody pays for their own food. We use the Lectionary. It's a convenient organizational structure that we can follow every week, but it is not the only one out there. Find an approach that works for you.

Enjoy the week!
Steve

Us or Them: The Boston Driver’s Handbook (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

Driving in Boston is dangerous.

One of the first things I noticed when I first drove in Boston is just how crazy they all seemed to be. We drivers live (and die) on just how reliably we can anticipate the moves of nearby drivers. We depend on directional signals actually indicating which way a driver will turn. We need to believe a driver in the Left Turn Lane is not, in actuality, going to turn right. And vice versa.

I spent the first several weeks absolutely terrified.

Not so much by their bad driving —though it was truly bad— but more by their unpredictability. I had no idea what they would do next. And yet, I had to enter that fray at least twice every working day.

At some point, I shared this concern with a friend at church ... someone who was also not a “local” ... but who had lived there for several years. After hearing me go on about it for a few minutes, he touched my arm and said, gently, “I can help.” And he then proceeded to share with me the essential bit of wisdom that, in time, gave me the confidence to drive all over the Boston area without undue fear (a little fear was good; just needed it to not be paralyzing fear).

What he shared was this: in the mind of every Boston driver is one thought: “Can I make it.”

Suddenly, it all made a kind of crazy sense. What I soon learned to do was watch, not the cars, but the faces of those nearby drivers. Directional signals? Forget it. Lane location? Meaningless. Where were they looking? That told me everything I needed to know.

What did I learn? This: those Boston drivers were not going to change ... no matter how much I wanted them to change, and no matter how much they needed to change. And this: a lesson about people and imparted wisdom. Sometimes the wisdom is for them ... and sometimes the wisdom is for us. In the case of Boston drivers, I was the one who had to change, and my friend’s wisdom helped me do it.

It’s an important lesson to keep in mind while reading this week’s Lectionary scriptures (all of which are related to wisdom in one way or another). Reading these scriptures, collectively, reminded me of how easy it is to conclude that the wisdom of the scriptures is for “them” ... that is, someone other than us.

Of course, not us ... and certainly not me. None of us wants to think of ourselves as unwise. And yet ... Do you ever read a passage and immediately think of someone (else) who would benefit from adopting that code or mode of conduct? I used to do it all the time. Now, I only do it most of the time. Still some work to do, there. All of this to say: this week's Lectionary selections are about us, for us ... not them. So, I’ve been re-reading the passages with me in mind ... not them.

What it says to me: heed Wisdom's call, and choose to accept the instruction that leads to life.

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To write this reflection, I borrowed a few tiny pieces of a reflection I wrote in September, 2015, titled The Diagonal of Death.

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A hilarious read (and essential should you ever want to drive in Boston) is The Boston Driver’s Handbook. See it here: https://www.amazon.com/Boston-Drivers-Handbook-Streets-Almost/dp/0306813262/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1536798162&sr=8-1&keywords=the+boston+drivers+handbook

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Seventeenth Sunday After Pentecost
Proper 19 (24) (September 16, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=219

Proverbs 1:20-33
Psalm 19
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 116:1-9
James 3:1-12
Mark 8:27-38
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I hope you can join us Friday morning for Lectionary Breakfast. As usual, we gather at 8:00 at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. It's an hour-ish of visiting, reading some scripture, praying, and discussing how it might work out in our own lives.

No one is required to drive in Boston.

Enjoy the week!
Steve