Blind Man Healed, Starts Job Hunt (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I have always been one of those people who wants to know what came next. When I would arrive at the end of a story, book, or movie I would find myself trying to sort out what kinds of things would happen in the future. Do the good guys stay the winners, or does the evil empire "strike back"? Would it REALLY be "happily ever after"? Things have changed. Will the characters relate to one another the way they did earlier in the story? In the case of fiction, you're going to need a sequel (or at least some fanfic) to find out those answers. In the case of history, unless we discover more records, we can't know. Still, that doesn't keep me from wondering.
I did this last week when we read about Jesus healing the man who had been born blind and had been a beggar all his life. I can't help but wonder if he, now no longer visually challenged, had to start a job hunt. Begging was no longer going to work as a means of generating revenue. Had he been living with his parents all that time? Probably. That might continue for a while, but he was probably going to eventually have to move. On and on. Change after change. However it turned out, you can bet his life was no longer the same as it was.
Lazarus ratchets this up several notches. How do you live your life after you return from four days of being dead? Do you catch your loved ones staring at you? Is there a will to contest? Are you even a legal person anymore? Of course there is the initial uproar and excitement, but what happens after that? A week later? A month?
Do you just resume your former life? I think not. And I think there is a lesson here for us, as well. We may not be healed of our infirmities, may not be raised from the dead to walk back into town and reunite with our friends and families in this world. But we can have a life-changing encounter with God. Sure, you can TRY to return to your former life; but when you emerge from an encounter with God, you are not going to be the same. You are really no longer the person you were. You can't be.
So maybe we all need to be asking that question. What comes next?
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fifth Sunday in Lent (April 10, 2011)
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Blink
"Blink" (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I found myself chuckling while reading John Chapter 9, one of this week's Lectionary passages.
Now, if you did what I think you did, you jumped out and read the passage ... and are no doubt wondering if I have lost my mind. How could it be, you might be pondering, that I would think a story about a blind man is humorous? What could possibly be funny about a man who was born blind? A story about a man who, now an adult, has spent his entire life in actual darkness; how is that funny? What's so humorous about a man who was ostracized all of those years because it was commonly believed people with disabilities had brought the situation upon themselves? You're right. There is nothing funny about any of that.
What IS funny to me is how everyone ELSE acts after Jesus restores the man's sight (Jesus rubs mud in his eyes and sends him off to wash in Siloam's fountain). And the reason I find it funny is this: Several decades ago, I married into a family that includes several people with visual challenges. Over the years they have been gracious enough to teach me this key lesson: blind people are just like everyone else; they just also have a visual challenge to deal with. I know blind people who would, upon reading this story in John Chapter 9, be chuckling and shaking their heads; identifying with their fellow "blink". They would readily recognize the words and actions of the sighted people in this story as similar treatment to which they have been subjected.
When blind people socialize, it is common to share stories about the stupid things sighted people do and say upon encountering people who are visually challenged. For example: asking if the blind person knows sign language. The only reason a blind person would need to know sign language is if they were also deaf (like Helen Keller). Among the more vexing is a person who acts as if the blind person cannot speak for himself, and/or, similarly, referencing them in the third person as if they were not actually present.
I was lucky to be present on some occasions when Uncle JQ (a wonderful man who was both blind and a hilarious raconteur) told this tale of a cross-country airplane trip. The stewardess (they weren't called "flight attendant" until later) came by to take orders for alcoholic beverages. JQ was in the center seat. After taking orders of the two men seated to either side of him, she asked the man sitting on JQ's left, someone JQ did not know and had never even spoken with, if JQ would like some juice. To which JQ replied (and he would already be cackling with joy at this point as he related the tale to us), "No, I would NOT like a juice. *I* would like a scotch on the rocks!"
Something like that is happening in verses 8-33. The people are talking about the formerly blind man as if he is not present. They are debating whether THIS man is the same man who used to sit out here and beg. Back and forth, back and forth. And the entire time, the man keeps saying, "I am the man!" But no one is listening.
After the local folk finally decide to hear him, they switch to interrogating him about the process of his miracle. Isn't that just like people? Standing before them is a miracle; and instead of rejoicing that the man's sight has been restored, they want to pick the thing to pieces. Finally, after squeezing all the details out of him, they ask him to point them to where Jesus is. In other words, "If you're so special that someone restored your sight, point him out!" The scripture records the man replying, "I don't know." But you can bet he was thinking something like, "Hello-o! Blind guy! How could I tell you where he is? *I* didn't see him!"
Later, when the Pharisees are grilling him about the miracle (and not believing what they are hearing), they turn to his parents(!) for confirmation, as if he were a child. Imagine being these parents and having to say, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age.(!) He will speak for himself."
The final chuckle, which has everything to do with lack of vision and nothing to do with lack of sight, comes when the former blind man says, astonished, "You (the religious leaders of Israel) do not know where he (Jesus) comes from, and yet he opened my eyes!" Blind people have learned through experience that sighted people will often say and do some pretty asinine things to and around blind people. They've also learned that, sometimes, you just gotta laugh about it.
#################################
This week's passages are all about vision, light and dark, seeing correctly. I especially liked Ist Samuel 6:7 and Ephesians 5:8-10.
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday in Lent (April 3, 2011)
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41
I found myself chuckling while reading John Chapter 9, one of this week's Lectionary passages.
Now, if you did what I think you did, you jumped out and read the passage ... and are no doubt wondering if I have lost my mind. How could it be, you might be pondering, that I would think a story about a blind man is humorous? What could possibly be funny about a man who was born blind? A story about a man who, now an adult, has spent his entire life in actual darkness; how is that funny? What's so humorous about a man who was ostracized all of those years because it was commonly believed people with disabilities had brought the situation upon themselves? You're right. There is nothing funny about any of that.
What IS funny to me is how everyone ELSE acts after Jesus restores the man's sight (Jesus rubs mud in his eyes and sends him off to wash in Siloam's fountain). And the reason I find it funny is this: Several decades ago, I married into a family that includes several people with visual challenges. Over the years they have been gracious enough to teach me this key lesson: blind people are just like everyone else; they just also have a visual challenge to deal with. I know blind people who would, upon reading this story in John Chapter 9, be chuckling and shaking their heads; identifying with their fellow "blink". They would readily recognize the words and actions of the sighted people in this story as similar treatment to which they have been subjected.
When blind people socialize, it is common to share stories about the stupid things sighted people do and say upon encountering people who are visually challenged. For example: asking if the blind person knows sign language. The only reason a blind person would need to know sign language is if they were also deaf (like Helen Keller). Among the more vexing is a person who acts as if the blind person cannot speak for himself, and/or, similarly, referencing them in the third person as if they were not actually present.
I was lucky to be present on some occasions when Uncle JQ (a wonderful man who was both blind and a hilarious raconteur) told this tale of a cross-country airplane trip. The stewardess (they weren't called "flight attendant" until later) came by to take orders for alcoholic beverages. JQ was in the center seat. After taking orders of the two men seated to either side of him, she asked the man sitting on JQ's left, someone JQ did not know and had never even spoken with, if JQ would like some juice. To which JQ replied (and he would already be cackling with joy at this point as he related the tale to us), "No, I would NOT like a juice. *I* would like a scotch on the rocks!"
Something like that is happening in verses 8-33. The people are talking about the formerly blind man as if he is not present. They are debating whether THIS man is the same man who used to sit out here and beg. Back and forth, back and forth. And the entire time, the man keeps saying, "I am the man!" But no one is listening.
After the local folk finally decide to hear him, they switch to interrogating him about the process of his miracle. Isn't that just like people? Standing before them is a miracle; and instead of rejoicing that the man's sight has been restored, they want to pick the thing to pieces. Finally, after squeezing all the details out of him, they ask him to point them to where Jesus is. In other words, "If you're so special that someone restored your sight, point him out!" The scripture records the man replying, "I don't know." But you can bet he was thinking something like, "Hello-o! Blind guy! How could I tell you where he is? *I* didn't see him!"
Later, when the Pharisees are grilling him about the miracle (and not believing what they are hearing), they turn to his parents(!) for confirmation, as if he were a child. Imagine being these parents and having to say, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age.(!) He will speak for himself."
The final chuckle, which has everything to do with lack of vision and nothing to do with lack of sight, comes when the former blind man says, astonished, "You (the religious leaders of Israel) do not know where he (Jesus) comes from, and yet he opened my eyes!" Blind people have learned through experience that sighted people will often say and do some pretty asinine things to and around blind people. They've also learned that, sometimes, you just gotta laugh about it.
#################################
This week's passages are all about vision, light and dark, seeing correctly. I especially liked Ist Samuel 6:7 and Ephesians 5:8-10.
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday in Lent (April 3, 2011)
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41
Sunday, March 20, 2011
"Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever."
(Photo courtesy of pdphoto.org)
In the movie, THE REPLACEMENTS, while urging his offensive squad to give their all for one last game, substitute Quarterback Shane Falco says, “Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever.” While I might like to contend with Mr. Falco about his first and third assertions at some future point, I have (blessedly) had almost no experience with physical scars, and thus have no basis to know how attractive they are to chicks. And, while I think I now know a little bit about spiritual scars, I have no way of knowing whether chicks dig them or not. What I do know about spiritual scars is that they are all but invisible to people who don’t have any.
Does the future butterfly feel pain while it is forming (re-forming?) in its chrysalis? That is an answer I would like to know. With us humans, when God is shaping (or re-shaping) us, there is usually a good deal of pain. When the caterpillar moves along its entombed journey to its new life, does it sleep a deep, painless sleep; or does it struggle against the process; resisting, holding back? When God is pulling the skin away from the little pilgrim’s body to use in creating its wings, does it feel pain? I do know that we hold back, resisting the process of becoming.
And, another challenge to our personal reformations, we are not good at recognizing the process in ourselves or others. As a youth, the older, wiser, “solid” people I met (and somewhat idolized), those whose discipleship of Jesus appeared effortless, seemed to my limited experience to just BE that way. Process was not a concept I thought much about. And when I would read some author claiming that “real” change is “forged in pain” or some similar allusion, I usually thought, ungraciously I now see, that this person must be deficient in some way. Else, why have to go through the pain? Obviously (so my youthful thoughts went), God could easily change those who would just yield to his loving touch; only the truly recalcitrant would have to be wrenched into shape. Since then, experience has taught me much.
My experience has been that, as God shapes (wrenches, pounds, slams, stretches, flattens, crams) me, I begin to perceive a tiny bit more of the process, in myself and in others. I have been shocked lately to realize—after all these years of thinking I was on the potter’s wheel, being spun by God into a vessel of significance—that I am still just a lump of clay being “thrown.” God has just been loosening me up, making me more malleable for the real work ahead. Here I thought, based on the pounding I’ve taken so far, that I was on my way to being a God-shaped vessel, destined for spiritual service of some importance; having completely forgotten that the truly delicate work of spiritual shaping can only be done with the most malleable of materials.
So, when I observe the delicate beauty of the butterfly, when I find myself thinking “WOW!” about the glory of God’s handiwork in that creature, I have to remind myself that the little pilgrim got like that the hard way. In fact, there really is no other way. If a butterfly is to have wings—and how to be one without them?—then it must, somewhat like Eustace in Lewis’ VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER, have its skin pulled away from its body; without that skin there can be no wings.
And, if I am to become what God has in mind for me, I must transit the process, whatever it is, however challenging it may seem at the time. But, unlike the caterpillar-cum-butterfly, I do not have to take this journey alone. There are others. And … I am, finally, beginning to recognize them.
Praise God.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Real Me
I think I have mentioned elsewhere that I was shy when I was young; not the "aw shucks" kind of shy; the "oh-please-let-me-fade-into-this-wall" kind of shy. It was in the 7th grade that I decided to do something about this problem. I undertook this endeavor as a subset of a larger enterprise. I had finally come to the conclusion that I was going to have to take the reins of my life because, apparently, no one else was going to. Everyone in my life seemed pretty busy, too busy to provide any guidance to me. And so, I began to make decisions for myself.
One set of those decisions were related to my realization that, somehow, I had to overcome my debilitating shyness. It was my observation that most people seemed to be able to hold conversations, be comfortable in groups, and have friends. Wanting that for myself, I started making changes. They were painful. Over the next few years I joined student organizations so I would be forced into social situations, took a Speech class (that was awful), auditioned for and acted in school plays (more nerve-wracking than the Speech class, but of blessedly shorter duration). I even signed up to run for Student Council Representative. I believe I may hold the record for most consecutive unsuccessful runs for SC Rep (grades 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11).
One thing I did that was not a part of this campaign to overcome my shyness was join the student newspaper. I decided I wanted to write; so I took a journalism course and helped lay out the paper. Becoming a writer was a long-term goal, and I didn't allow myself to apply any pressure toward it's accomplishment. However, it was while working on the student newspaper that my name became known to my peers. And I discovered something new about me: I really LIKED being known. Unexpected, unplanned; I began in earnest my slow climb out of my shyness because I liked that people knew the me that was a writer for the school paper. I had a long way to go, but it was a start.
Being known. It's important. My young self was almost overcome by that first whiff of being known. Very heady stuff.
One of the many interesting things one learns by reading the Bible is that there are several names for God, different ways that He is known; names such as Yahweh or Jehovah ("God who preserves what he creates") and El Shaddai ("God Almighty"). The writers of the books record the names revealed to His people and they record the names His people ascribed to Him. This latter group are usually combination names, such as Jehovah Jireh ("My God will provide").
My all time favorite, though, was not ascribed to God by one of the writers; in fact, it was not even given Him by someone of power, stature, or position. The name appears only once, in Genesis Chapter 16, and it is spoken by an Egyptian slave. I immediately thought of his story when I read the Genesis 12:1-4 passage in this week's Lectionary readings.
There is so much that is interesting about this story. Abram's wife, Sarai, is old; well past the fertile years. There is no earthly basis for her to believe she will be able to become pregnant or, even if so, that she could successfully carry the child to term. Having lost faith in God's promise that she would become a mother in her own right, she "gives" her slave, Hagar, to Abram as a second wife. She reasons "The Lord has not given me any children. Sleep with my slave, and if she has a child, it will be mine." For his part, we're not sure what Abram was thinking. Maybe he really believed THIS arrangement was how God was going to make him "a great nation". Whatever his thoughts, in short order Hagar becomes pregnant and, also in short order, proud (that she is carrying THE HEIR) and hateful to Sarai.
I doubt anyone will be shocked to learn that Sarai retaliated; nor that Hagar soon ran away. And it is while she is on the run that she has an encounter with God. Hagar is not what you would call a sympathetic character. True, her situation stems from another person's lack of faith, and from the acts of a person who views Hagar as having value in only whatever ways Hagar proves useful. It's not a story through which runs the milk of human kindness. Frankly, I was pretty surprised when God took an interest in her. Yet, He did. And in a profound way. As a result of this encounter, Hagar thinks, “Have I really seen God and lived to tell about it?” So from then on she called him, “The God Who Sees Me.”
She NAMES God!
I used to be in awe of this passage for that reason alone. But as time went on, and I continued to return to this story, I became more enamored of the question: WHY did Hagar name Him "The God Who Sees Me"? For the longest time, I held the belief that Hagar, being a slave, saw herself as someone who was NOT seen by others; that is, not valued enough by others to REALLY see the real Hagar. Thankfully, with the passage of years, God has rescued me from that errancy.
Now I know the truth: we ALL have a need to be known. And I, for one, am very happy to know that God "sees me"; to have confidence that He sees my good intentions along with my failed executions, sees my belief while helping my unbelief, sees my selfish desires as well as my attempts to store up the right kinds of treasures. The real me. The person I am ... and the person I aspire to become.
#################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday in Lent (March 20, 2011)
Genesis 12:1-4a
Psalm 121
Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17 or Matthew 17:1-9
If you're in Waco this Friday morning, join us at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse) for a tasty breakfast and more of the above.
Enjoy!
Steve
One set of those decisions were related to my realization that, somehow, I had to overcome my debilitating shyness. It was my observation that most people seemed to be able to hold conversations, be comfortable in groups, and have friends. Wanting that for myself, I started making changes. They were painful. Over the next few years I joined student organizations so I would be forced into social situations, took a Speech class (that was awful), auditioned for and acted in school plays (more nerve-wracking than the Speech class, but of blessedly shorter duration). I even signed up to run for Student Council Representative. I believe I may hold the record for most consecutive unsuccessful runs for SC Rep (grades 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11).
One thing I did that was not a part of this campaign to overcome my shyness was join the student newspaper. I decided I wanted to write; so I took a journalism course and helped lay out the paper. Becoming a writer was a long-term goal, and I didn't allow myself to apply any pressure toward it's accomplishment. However, it was while working on the student newspaper that my name became known to my peers. And I discovered something new about me: I really LIKED being known. Unexpected, unplanned; I began in earnest my slow climb out of my shyness because I liked that people knew the me that was a writer for the school paper. I had a long way to go, but it was a start.
Being known. It's important. My young self was almost overcome by that first whiff of being known. Very heady stuff.
One of the many interesting things one learns by reading the Bible is that there are several names for God, different ways that He is known; names such as Yahweh or Jehovah ("God who preserves what he creates") and El Shaddai ("God Almighty"). The writers of the books record the names revealed to His people and they record the names His people ascribed to Him. This latter group are usually combination names, such as Jehovah Jireh ("My God will provide").
My all time favorite, though, was not ascribed to God by one of the writers; in fact, it was not even given Him by someone of power, stature, or position. The name appears only once, in Genesis Chapter 16, and it is spoken by an Egyptian slave. I immediately thought of his story when I read the Genesis 12:1-4 passage in this week's Lectionary readings.
There is so much that is interesting about this story. Abram's wife, Sarai, is old; well past the fertile years. There is no earthly basis for her to believe she will be able to become pregnant or, even if so, that she could successfully carry the child to term. Having lost faith in God's promise that she would become a mother in her own right, she "gives" her slave, Hagar, to Abram as a second wife. She reasons "The Lord has not given me any children. Sleep with my slave, and if she has a child, it will be mine." For his part, we're not sure what Abram was thinking. Maybe he really believed THIS arrangement was how God was going to make him "a great nation". Whatever his thoughts, in short order Hagar becomes pregnant and, also in short order, proud (that she is carrying THE HEIR) and hateful to Sarai.
I doubt anyone will be shocked to learn that Sarai retaliated; nor that Hagar soon ran away. And it is while she is on the run that she has an encounter with God. Hagar is not what you would call a sympathetic character. True, her situation stems from another person's lack of faith, and from the acts of a person who views Hagar as having value in only whatever ways Hagar proves useful. It's not a story through which runs the milk of human kindness. Frankly, I was pretty surprised when God took an interest in her. Yet, He did. And in a profound way. As a result of this encounter, Hagar thinks, “Have I really seen God and lived to tell about it?” So from then on she called him, “The God Who Sees Me.”
She NAMES God!
I used to be in awe of this passage for that reason alone. But as time went on, and I continued to return to this story, I became more enamored of the question: WHY did Hagar name Him "The God Who Sees Me"? For the longest time, I held the belief that Hagar, being a slave, saw herself as someone who was NOT seen by others; that is, not valued enough by others to REALLY see the real Hagar. Thankfully, with the passage of years, God has rescued me from that errancy.
Now I know the truth: we ALL have a need to be known. And I, for one, am very happy to know that God "sees me"; to have confidence that He sees my good intentions along with my failed executions, sees my belief while helping my unbelief, sees my selfish desires as well as my attempts to store up the right kinds of treasures. The real me. The person I am ... and the person I aspire to become.
#################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday in Lent (March 20, 2011)
Genesis 12:1-4a
Psalm 121
Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17 or Matthew 17:1-9
If you're in Waco this Friday morning, join us at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse) for a tasty breakfast and more of the above.
Enjoy!
Steve
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A Two-edged Sword (a Reflection for Valentine's Day)
A Two-edged Sword (a brief Valentine's reflection by Steve Orr)
"Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding;
In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths."
Proverbs 3:5-6
The Bible says the word of the Lord is sharper than any two-edged sword. When I was in college, something happened that gave me a very real and personal understanding of just what those two edges could do. That was when the Proverbs passage above led to the end of one relationship and to the beginning of another.
When I was a Junior I started asking out, and was soon dating exclusively, a beautiful young woman who was also smart and sweet. And while she seemed a bit shier than those I had previously dated, I really enjoyed going out with her. And, as these things happen, we became a couple.
One day, my girlfriend gave me a block of wood decorated with that passage from Proverbs. This oblong piece of wood was about a half inch thick at it's thickest, tapering to an edge, all round, that was maybe an eighth of an inch. I would guess it was about six inches in length and maybe four in width. All of that is a guess from a long ago memory. What I know for sure is this: its message really struck me. Strange as it may seem to some, that was the first time I had ever seen it. At that point, I had been attending church and Sunday School for a couple decades. How was it that something so fundamental to our relationship with God had never before come to my attention? You would think I might have, at the very least, heard it in a sermon.
The impact those two verses had on my life was profound. I thought about that scripture quite a lot. Its message worked its way into my every decision from that point forward, including, maybe most especially, my relationships. I started praying about which courses I would take, which professors I would follow, which church I would attend. I found myself thinking about my friendships in light of that scripture, and about the people who were being influences in my life, and about those I was influencing.
Some changes came about as a result. I stopped some pursuits and processes, and I ended some relationships (quietly, without fanfare; I just stopped spending time with some people). I strongly doubt anyone knew about this. It was a very private process for me. On the other hand, I continued many, but with a different perspective, a different set of reasons for extending my involvement.
Looking back from the perspective of a few decades, I now see that it was inevitable I would eventually bring my love life before the Lord, as well. Consequently, as I pondered a possible future with my girlfriend, I came to realize that, however good my intentions had been, I had not sought God's guidance when I entered into that relationship. I agonized over this for many weeks, but in the end could find no way to continue. I knew it would hurt her, but I also came to know it had to end. Finally, with great reluctance, I broke up with her.
I was not happy, but I was committed to trying to approach my relationships a different way, a prayerful way. I plunged into work and school, immersing myself so I would not dwell on the hurt I had caused; telling myself it was for the best, and trying to trust God that this would somehow lead to good for both of us.
Two months went by; which, in college time, with all it's activity, can seem like decades. Then one day, I met a woman by whom I was truly smitten. This time, though, I spent much time in prayer before proceeding; not wanting to jump forward into a relationship based solely on my own desires. To borrow from another piece of scripture, I watched and prayed. Eventually I asked her out.
So what happened? The woman I broke with met a wonderful man, a man who matches her love of the Lord. They have children and grandchildren, and a great life together; all of which may not have happened had I insisted on having my own way all those years ago.
And the woman I asked out a few months later?
We recently celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary.
Great scripture!
"Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding;
In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths."
Proverbs 3:5-6
The Bible says the word of the Lord is sharper than any two-edged sword. When I was in college, something happened that gave me a very real and personal understanding of just what those two edges could do. That was when the Proverbs passage above led to the end of one relationship and to the beginning of another.
When I was a Junior I started asking out, and was soon dating exclusively, a beautiful young woman who was also smart and sweet. And while she seemed a bit shier than those I had previously dated, I really enjoyed going out with her. And, as these things happen, we became a couple.
One day, my girlfriend gave me a block of wood decorated with that passage from Proverbs. This oblong piece of wood was about a half inch thick at it's thickest, tapering to an edge, all round, that was maybe an eighth of an inch. I would guess it was about six inches in length and maybe four in width. All of that is a guess from a long ago memory. What I know for sure is this: its message really struck me. Strange as it may seem to some, that was the first time I had ever seen it. At that point, I had been attending church and Sunday School for a couple decades. How was it that something so fundamental to our relationship with God had never before come to my attention? You would think I might have, at the very least, heard it in a sermon.
The impact those two verses had on my life was profound. I thought about that scripture quite a lot. Its message worked its way into my every decision from that point forward, including, maybe most especially, my relationships. I started praying about which courses I would take, which professors I would follow, which church I would attend. I found myself thinking about my friendships in light of that scripture, and about the people who were being influences in my life, and about those I was influencing.
Some changes came about as a result. I stopped some pursuits and processes, and I ended some relationships (quietly, without fanfare; I just stopped spending time with some people). I strongly doubt anyone knew about this. It was a very private process for me. On the other hand, I continued many, but with a different perspective, a different set of reasons for extending my involvement.
Looking back from the perspective of a few decades, I now see that it was inevitable I would eventually bring my love life before the Lord, as well. Consequently, as I pondered a possible future with my girlfriend, I came to realize that, however good my intentions had been, I had not sought God's guidance when I entered into that relationship. I agonized over this for many weeks, but in the end could find no way to continue. I knew it would hurt her, but I also came to know it had to end. Finally, with great reluctance, I broke up with her.
I was not happy, but I was committed to trying to approach my relationships a different way, a prayerful way. I plunged into work and school, immersing myself so I would not dwell on the hurt I had caused; telling myself it was for the best, and trying to trust God that this would somehow lead to good for both of us.
Two months went by; which, in college time, with all it's activity, can seem like decades. Then one day, I met a woman by whom I was truly smitten. This time, though, I spent much time in prayer before proceeding; not wanting to jump forward into a relationship based solely on my own desires. To borrow from another piece of scripture, I watched and prayed. Eventually I asked her out.
So what happened? The woman I broke with met a wonderful man, a man who matches her love of the Lord. They have children and grandchildren, and a great life together; all of which may not have happened had I insisted on having my own way all those years ago.
And the woman I asked out a few months later?
We recently celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary.
Great scripture!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Wild Bunch (a slightly different Christmas story)
Photo courtesy of middle-east-pictures.com
(A brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr for Christmas Eve)
On the surface, "The Wild Bunch" sounds like a pretty interesting movie: an aging group of “old west” outlaws has trouble adjusting to the very modern world of 1913. From that premise we could build almost any kind of movie; a comedy, a love story, a heroic epic; maybe even a heart-warming Christmas tale. But that premise is not the whole of it.
When Roger Ebert reviewed the movie back in the summer of 1969, he called it "the most violent movie ever made," a movie in which "there are no heroes; just some bad people we know killing some bad people we don't know." And if that doesn't give you pause, let me add my own caution: even though some mainstream movies may have matched the violence of this film in recent years, the cruelty depicted in it is still truly disturbing all these decades later. While we could spend a lot of time engaging in the ongoing debate about the value of the film (it is considered by many to be one of the top ten westerns of all time), that's not why I raised the topic here.
I want us to consider the wild bunch, themselves.
Here is a group of men who are hard; who spend a lot of their time out in the badlands, sleeping rough, living rough. They look rough, and they smell bad. Not the kind of folk most of us would choose to spend any time with at all. For any reason. We immediately mistrust them. There is something about the look of them that makes us want to turn and go the other way. Not someone you would wish to have join the family, and if they were already in the family, well, we would want to send them as far away as we could possibly arrange.
In short, a lot like the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night . . . on THAT night.
What?!
Oh, yes. Scholars tell us that at the time of Jesus' birth, shepherding was a despised trade, comprised of despised people. They were considered thieves; in fact, people were strongly discouraged from purchasing milk or wool from shepherds because it was widely assumed they had come by those goods dishonestly. Loving fathers refused to teach their sons the trade.
Wow. That really changes how we see the events of that night of nights. Picture it with me. These low men are out in the fields with the sheep. Some are sleeping. Sheep don’t smell any better at night than in the day; and they don’t smell any better when asleep. But these men have grown accustomed to the smell. In fact, the men smell exactly the same as the sheep. Those who are keeping watch are alert to the sounds of the night; more concerned for their own lives than for the lives of the sheep.
Suddenly: an angel just APPEARS out of nowhere! Right there in the middle of them! Glory and light shine all about. The shepherds’ first thought: RUN! But the angel, who knows they are afraid (and probably should be) calms them down. He gives them the message about the Messiah being born in the nearby town and describes how they will recognize him. And if that was not enough, suddenly, there are even MORE angels surrounding them; an army of them, shouting in unison “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to people who please Him!”
Then, just as suddenly as they appeared: they are just not there.
After all that, what would you do? The shepherds did just what I think any of us would do (after we got over the shock); they went to investigate.
Now picture THIS scene: Mary and Joseph (surrounded by livestock, having wrapped their newborn son in cloths and placed him in the feed trough because, well, there is just NO WHERE ELSE) hear a noise. At first, it is unidentifiable; but soon, they recognize it as the many voices of excited people; and the sound appears to be rushing toward them. In short order, the little stable is crammed full of shepherds; not exactly the kind of people parents would want near their newborn. And the smell, already bad, only gets worse. There is a lot of pushing and shoving; finally the whole crowd tells the tale; talking over each other, each one trying to tell it.
Then, like many have over the ensuing millennia, the shepherds took to the streets to tell what they had seen and heard that night. And---maybe for the first time ever---people stopped to listen to them; these hard, low men; these thieves. And the people marveled at what they heard.
###
Our own wild bunch is going to meet (unofficially) for breakfast this Friday (12/24/2010) at Kim’s. It is very easy to spot on the corner of 26th and Waco Drive. The traditional time is 8:00 a.m., but the Orr’s and Hamerly’s are aiming for around 7:30 . . . What? Why, yes, we ARE bringing Luke ;-)
Hope to see you there!
Readings for the Coming Week
Isaiah 9:2-7; 52:7-10; 62:6-12
Psalm 96; 97; 98
Titus 2:11-14; 3:4-7; Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)
Luke 2:1-14, (15-20); John 1:1-14
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
DDay Special Edition - At War With Dad
A memoir by Steve Orr.
THIS IS A REPOST FROM AN EARLIER DATE. IT APPEARS TODAY TO HONOR ALL WHO HAVE SERVED, OR NOW SERVE, OUR COUNTRY IN MILITARY ENDEAVORS.
The argument had been going on for the better part of an hour. Actually, Dad didn't think it was much of an argument considering his Sergeant was doing almost all of the talking. The Captain of the boat handled his side of the argument with looks and shrugs. Dad couldn't hear them, but based on the fury he saw on his Sergeant's face, it seemed like it must be pretty important.
But Dad didn't really care what they were arguing about. In true army fashion, they had been rushed to the disembarkation point, only to find they had to wait over 24 hours before they could board the boat. Then, once on board, he and his crew of two having secured their 40mm Bofors gun, the excitement of finally DOING something was cut short by the journey itself. The crossing had been rough. Most of the men on the boat were seasick, Dad included. And for the last hour, he had watched his Sergeant alternate between puking over the side of the boat and yelling at the salty old Brit who was piloting them across the Channel.
It was June 6, 1944. D-Day. They were on their way to Normandy, France.
Dad knew very little about the plans for that day; only that when they finally did reach shore, they were supposed to hitch their gun to a deuce-and-a-half truck which would transport it, and the three of them, to the place where they would start shooting at things with it. And as a recently promoted Corporal, he knew more than most.
The landing, when it finally came, happened swifty, and not at all as had been described. When the ramp slapped onto beach, everyone on the boat saw the same thing: nothing . . . no other soldiers, no equipment, and most importantly to Dad, no deuce-and-a-half. So, at the urging of the Sergeant, several of the soldiers helped Dad and his crew wrestle the wheeled gun off the boat and across part of the beach until they reached a point where the resistance of the sand could no longer be overcome by human efforts. They were stuck midway between water's edge and the firmer ground that bordered the beach. Nothing was going to move that gun one more inch until a truck could could be found to pull it.
That's when Dad learned the topic of his Sergeant's one-sided argument: he had been trying to convince their civilian pilot they were headed in the wrong direction, but to no avail. The result? They were on the wrong beach.
So, while Sarge and the rest of the soldiers left to reconnect with the larger body of the invading force, Dad and crew had to stay and protect their gun. Which didn't seem like such a bad thing, until the ordnance starting falling all about them. Their gun was cradled in a wheeled structure, or carriage. It didn't provide much cover, but it was the best they were going to find. So they dived under it, dug a shallow trench in the sand and, as Dad put it, "hunkered down." All throughout that day they "hugged the sand" under that gun, praying the random explosions would not find them.
Eventually, the day came to an end, and with it an end to the shelling. It was only later that Dad learned the old pilot's mistake had spared them the horrors, and likely instant death, they would have encountered at their intended destination: Omaha Beach. If you've ever seen the opening sequence to the movie, "Saving Private Ryan," then you have some idea of what they were spared.
[The above is a selection from a longer piece I am writing about the few things my Dad told me of his service during World War II.]
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