The Perfect Lectionary Reflection

The Perfect Lectionary Reflection

(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I had the PERFECT Lectionary reflection for this week's passages.  Just perfect.  But, I can't find it.  I wrote the piece several years ago to pair with Isaiah 55:10-11.  Now, if I could just locate it, I would have the perfect little story to underscore God's message in the Isaiah passage.  But, alas, that is not to be.

Isn't that just the thing?  You have the perfect thought, the perfect word, the perfect idea, the perfect story to illustrate something from scripture; the VERY thing that will just make that passage spring to life for the reader; that little boost the scripture needs to settle deep into the heart of the reader where it will take root and produce spiritual fruit a hundredfold or more ... and you just can't quite produce it at the right moment.  SO frustrating.  

Nothing for it, though.  I guess THIS week God's word will have to get by without my support ;-)

"For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it."
--Isaiah 55:10-11

LECTIONARY READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 10 (15) (July 10, 2011)
Genesis 25:19-34
Psalm 119:105-112
Isaiah 55:10-13
Psalm 65:(1-8), 9-13
Romans 8:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

If you are in Waco Friday morning, join our group for breakfast and more of the foregoing at Cafe Cappuccino (8:00 a.m. - downtown on 6th near the Courthouse).

Enjoy!
Steve

Friending Ashley Judd

(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Lately, Facebook has been suggesting I become friends with Ashley Judd.  

It pops up on the right hand side of the screen under "People You May Know." Ashley Judd ... with that little +1 symbol and the "Add Friend" link beneath her name.  The first time it happened I, naively I now realize, clicked on the link.  Facebook quickly displayed a message informing me that Ashley couldn't be friends with me because she already has too many friends.  I don't know this for certain, but I sensed it was a comment made snidely.  As if the word, "dimwit" were invisably appended to the end of the message.

(Stop that. I could, TOO, be friends with Ashley Judd!)

I know why it's there.  It's because Facebook's algorithm thingy recognized we are both from Kentucky.  So, of COURSE we might know each other.  That right there, that kind of "thinking," is why I haven't lost a minute of sleep worrying about artificially intelligent robots taking over the earth.  They've got a LONG way to go.  In any event, I had learned my lesson.  So now when I see it lurking over there on the right, I just ignore it.  

It's too bad, really, because I think I really COULD share some stories with Ashley that, being from Kentucky, would resonate for her.  I could tell her about Paul and Mike, about Carolyn and Ginny Ann, about Bob and Robin, Bruce and Bonnye; about the great times we all had exploring the Land Between the Lakes, spelunking, picking apples to earn spending money, writing poetry, climbing on the monkey bars, playing on the train tracks, driving through the 19th Hole, playing ball on a makeshift mowed-out diamond, being in school plays and musicals, canoeing Kentucky Lake, holding hands, and, yes, skipping stones.  

Great memories of growing up in west Kentucky.  Even the bad parts don't look so bad after half a century.  Yes, I think Ashley would recognize some of that.  And would welcome a friendship that helps her to recall her own growing-up times.

"Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. --Matthew 10:40

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This week's Lectionary readings
Genesis 22:1-14
Psalm 13
Jeremiah 28:5-9
Psalm 89:1-4, 15-18
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42

If you are in Waco Friday, join us at Cafe Cappuccino for some great food and a fine time talking about this week's passages (8:00 a.m. On 6th, near the Courthouse).

At War With Dad - DDay Special Edition

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 ordinance 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.]

Mind Your Head, Watch Your Step

At last, we were on our way! This was a journey of firsts for us: first time to go to Alaska; first time to take a cruise; first time to be this far from shore without an airplane! ;-) It was one of those times in life where every moment seems to hold a special view, or thought, or experience.

So, what with all that excitement going on, perhaps you will pardon me for reading a lot of meaning into the signs that suddenly loomed up before us as we took a turn around the ship's deck. There on the wall, just to the left of a doorway leading to the ship's interior were two neatly lettered signs, one just above the other. On the first were the words: "MIND YOUR HEAD." And just below it, the second read: "WATCH YOUR STEP."

I was transfixed. It felt as if God had reached down and placed those signs just there for me to read. Yes, I was on vacation, but that didn't mean the complexities of my life had disappeared with the rapidly receding Seattle skyline. I had a lot on my mind; chief of which was the recent realization that I might have to return to a profession for which I thought the need had long ago ended; the possibility I might need to resurrect skill sets I thought would never be needed again.

The appearance of those signs---despite the fact that, in subsequent days, I encountered identical signs at every entrance to the interior---just seemed providential. The thoughts printed there pierced to the heart of my worries, calming me. Yes, those thoughts are just good advice to folks perambulating about on a boat that is subject to the uncertainties of the sea. But I think you will agree they can be usefully applied to our non-seagoing lives as well.

So, aboard ship, I minded my head and watched my step. But I carried those instructions with me when I returned to the real world; referencing them often over the following months and years. I find them reflected in one of today's lectionary passages: "Turn all your anxiety over to God because he cares for you. Keep your mind clear, and be alert." 1 Peter 5:7-8a

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The lectionary readings for the coming week
Acts 1:6-14
Psalm 68:1-10, 32-35
1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

Join us if you are in Waco on Friday. We meet at Cafe Cappuccino (on 6th, near the Courthouse) at 8:00 a.m. Good food and an interesting discussion with fabulous people ;-)

Enjoy!
Steve

Walking Dead

Walking Dead (a brief Lectionary Reflection by Steve Orr)

Having had empty tombs on my mind of late, I am reminded of something that occurred my senior year in high school.  That spring two friends and I went on a camping trip...  

It was no longer full dark, but the sun had yet to rise as we set out that Monday morning in a small skiff.  We launched from where our main street, Broadway, met the water ... right at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers.

Our little boat sat very low in the water; laden with the three of us, plus the food, clothing, and camping gear we were going to need that week.  We motored away from the concrete apron, slipped between Owens Island and the shore, and soon ducked south onto the Tennessee River.  Along about noon that first day, we locked through the Dam into Kentucky Lake, an enormous reservoir stretching southward through western Kentucky and onward into western Tennessee.  

These reflections are supposed to be brief; so, instead of burdening you with our day-by-day itinerary, let me just say that it was every boy's dream trip.  We spent the week camping, boating, fishing, exploring, swapping tales around campfires ... all of it pegged to a two position clock: sunrise, sunset.  Very Tom and Huck.

Our second day we decided to explore one of the islands that dotted the lake.  We packed up our gear and headed out to what the map said was Cherokee Island.  We found a narrow stretch of beach on one side, grounded our boat, and did a little reconnaissance.  A short walk from the beach we found a wide spot in a circle of trees that would serve quite well as a campsite.  We anchored the boat to a tree near the water and hauled our gear inland.  We had the camp set up and the evening meal sputtering in the frying pan in short order.  Night closed in quickly.

After the meal, Bruce (our Boy Scout) announced he had to respond to "nature's call."  He grabbed a flashlight and trotted off into the dark.  As we cleaned up, we listened to the sounds of his retreating steps.  Suddenly there was a loud "thump" followed by the sound of Bruce yelling "wo-oh-oh!"  We each grabbed lights and ran in the direction we had seen him go.  We saw there was a path and followed it.  As we rounded a curve we pulled up short before a large, oddly shaped rock.  We could hear Bruce mumbling something from the other side of the rock.  So, stepping off the path and walking around the rock, we found Bruce lying on his back, his head tilted back, looking up at the rock.  On it was carved the name "Goheen" (the word he kept mumbling over and over).

Then the world did that strange little 90 degree turn it sometimes does, and all of a sudden we realized the "rock" was actually a gravestone, that Bruce had flipped over it as he rounded the curve, and that he was at that point lying on a grave!  Bob and I realized this at the same time, but he also had the presence of mind to shine his light around.  What we saw was shocking.  We were surrounded by a collection of gravestones, vaults, and concrete sarcophagi; all in a seriously deteriorated state.  The stones were tilted in various directions, the vaults were broken open, and the sarcophagi lids appeared to have been tossed aside.

As you might expect, we three got little sleep that night.  

The next afternoon (we got a late start, having found we were able to get some sleep once the sun rose), we packed up and left the island behind as we headed to the Ranger Station with a LOT of questions.  

We learned that the islands in the lake had all been hilltop cemeteries prior to the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) damming up the river to create the lake; that while the TVA paid for the relocation of bodies, many families abandoned the gravestones, vaults, etc., because they could not personally afford to have them moved.  The result was what we experienced ... empty graves, empty vaults, empty tombs.

There is something especially unnerving about empty tombs.  Even when you are not standing right by them, you know they are out there ... empty.  You can't help but wonder where the occupant went.  And you can't really relax until you get that question answered.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday of Easter (May 1, 2011)
Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

If you are in Waco Friday morning, join the crew for breakfast and discussion at 8:00 a.m. at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6, near the Courthouse).

Enjoy!
Steve

Lumber Management

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Lumber Management (a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr for the Liturgy of the Passion)

As we move toward the end of this season of Lent, I am reminded of my sojourn in lumber management...

But before we go there, you need to know how I feel about my woodworking skills.  Like most of you, there are some things in this life that I am very proud to claim.  Mostly, they're very personal things: those rare times when, even though I feared the personal repercussions, I gutted up and stood by a friend; my service to my country; that Mrs. Cooper wrote in my yearbook that I was a balance-wheel; that I can still make my wife laugh out loud.  And right up there with these is carpentry.     

There was a time when people paid me to build things out of wood.  I did a lot of things to pay for college; some of which, looking back, seem too bizarre to be believed.  Carpentry was one of the best.  All of my carpentry memories are good ones.  What joy to start out with some wood and some tools, and then end up with something sturdy, beautiful, useful, or all three.  And even though that's not something you really forget how to do, like many things in this life, life itself can move it to the sidelines.  

So, imagine my thrill when, recently, I met a man who told me he was part of a group who, working with Habitat for Humanity, build wheelchair ramps for those in need.  I was immediately drawn to this charitable enterprise.  I quickly told him of my carpentry experience and asked if he thought I could join them in their service.  He smiled and, reflecting on what I had told him, said, "We could use you in lumber management."  The next opportunity was coming up that weekend.

When that Saturday morning arrived, I was excited to get started.  As I drove my car through the cool gray of the early morning, I kept checking the map to be sure I was headed in the right direction.  We were to meet in a part of town with which I was unfamiliar.  There was a little bit of trepidation on my part---I only knew one of these men, and him not so well---but the trepidation was far outweighed by the excitement I felt at being able to resurrect some skill sets which I truly loved. 

The opportunity to once again use my carpentry skills was such a big draw, I almost wouldn't have cared what we were going to build. The fact that our objective was to construct a wheelchair ramp for the home of an elderly person was, as they say, icing on the cake.  Don't get me wrong; I was very pleased I would be able to apply my skills to such a worthy cause. It felt right. 

We all stood around for a while.  I learned we were waiting for the leader to arrive.  I introduced myself to everyone while continuing to watch for my new friend.  Eventually, he showed up and came over to greet me.  I asked him if I should get my tools from the car, but he assured me the crew had everything I would need.  Soon everyone was present and we were ready to begin.  Then, while some of the men walked toward the saw horses and power tools, my new friend steered me in the other direction ... toward a sizable pile of lumber where I joined four other men.

Without preamble he explained to us that the lumber was grouped by thickness and width, but that the lengths would be cut to fit; that our job was to bring to the "power saw guy" whatever piece of lumber he requested, and then to hold it while the cuts were made.  Lumber management.

I took my friend aside and explained how disappointed I was to not be actually building something.  In response, he gently and patiently explained to me how the cow ate the cabbage.  The roles for this enterprise had long ago been decided; the people vetted for their appropriateness to the task to which they had been assigned.  What was now needed were some folks who were willing to do the non-glamorous work of hauling lumber and holding it steady so the others could fulfill their assignments.  If we all did our part, we would end the day with a sturdy and useful wheelchair ramp for a person who really needed one to get in and out of their home.

It was a truly humbling moment.

I learned a lot that day, both about lumber management and about doing the work one is called to do.  When the jobs we are assigned to do seem beneath us, it rankles.  Especially when we KNOW we are being WAY underutilized; when we know there is so much more we COULD do, could give.  It feels wasteful.  And yet, sometimes, God asks of us only a simple thing.  Sometimes, while all about us others seem to have very important things to do, what is required of us, like Simon of Cyrene in Matthew 27:32, is to haul some wood for them.  

Lumber management. 

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK

Liturgy of the Passion (April 17, 2011)
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14-27:66 or Matthew 27:11-54

If you are in Waco on Friday morning, join us at 8:00 a.m. at Cafe Cappuccino for breakfast and a chance to discuss this week's Lectionary passages.  

I'm going.  See you there?

Steve

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.