DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT [church] HISTORY
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
This week I passed a coworker in the hallway who had a smudge in the middle of his brow; a sizable dirty patch right smack in the center of his forehead. I actually got as far as thinking about bringing it to his attention when I remembered: oh yes, Ash Wednesday.
While I know, intellectually, about such things, I didn't grow up with much of a church calendar. In fact, I was grown before I actually heard someone say the words, "church calendar." I was raised to believe in Jesus, but our church calendar took a break somewhere along about the death of the Apostle Paul, and didn't start up again until sometime in the late 19th century. As odd as that may sound to many of you, I never even questioned it.
We weren't sequestered from the world, but none of the adults in my life connected such dates as Easter and Christmas to an official calendar of the "church year" (another term I have only recently begun to hear). Most of my understanding of these things came after I was married and had become a father. Before then, Advent was a word vaguely connected to the Christmas season somehow; Epiphany meant something like the kind of discovery that leads to shouting "Eureka!"; I thought Lent was something that your mother brushed off your clothes. I was a grandfather before I learned that the 12 days of Christmas START on Christmas Day!
In case you're feeling sorry for my having grown up in a life absent from such knowledge; don't. The simplicity of our beliefs fostered a life wonderfully absent of complication, and led to a faith uncluttered; neither of which I would ever trade. In my life, Ordinary time was just that, peacefully ordinary.
Yes, I know all of these things serve a purpose, that people who practice them draw spiritual strength and comfort from them, that having a church calendar helps people focus their belief in positive ways. However, and I cant stress this enough, while many find them useful, none of them are required.
And that's my point: in the priorities of our spiritual journey, such things must come lower. They must support the main parts of our journey or they become simply a palliative distraction. Am I advocating doing away with them? Of course not. If they serve you on your journey, as they do for many, then practice and observe them. All I ask is that you place the following, and their like, higher on your list.
"But he's already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women. It's quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don't take yourself too seriously-take God seriously." (Micah 6:8 MSG)
"Religion that pleases God the Father must be pure and spotless. You must help needy orphans and widows and not let this world make you evil." (James 1:27 CEV)
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-40 NIV84)
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
First Sunday in Lent (February 26, 2012)
Genesis 9:8-17
Psalm 25:1-10
1 Peter 3:18-22
Mark 1:9-15
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Best Laid Plans (Burns Day Edition)
It's Burns Day, when people the world over gather to celebrate the life and writings of the gret mon ;-)
Even though I didn't know this when I wrote this piece, it seems like today is the day to post it. Enjoy, Steve
Best Laid Plans (a slightly longer than usual Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
"The best laid schemes of mice and men go oft astray" says the Robert Burns quote, and my experience certainly agrees. It hasn't put me off scheming, completely, but there ARE times I wonder why I bother. You plan, organize, time-manage, equip, assemble, deploy, and, in some case, accessorize; not to mention hurry, fret, placate, rearrange, orient, and clock-watch (which is different than time-manage ... really). But, it just doesn't QUITE work out. To paraphrase Field Marshall Moltke: "No plan survives actual contact with the enemy."
In case this sounds defeatist, let me stop you right now. Moltke was just warming up his argument that strategizing for battle must ALWAYS include contingency planning; the consideration of every possible iteration.
And Burns was apologizing to a mouse.
No, I don't think either of these men would want their thoughts misconstrued. Moltke, in brief, was saying "fret not;" rather, plan WELL, all the time recognizing you just cannot anticipate everything. Have enough contingencies that you can be creative in your response when the inevitable breakdown occurs. In fact, he not-so-famously also said, "Strategy is a system of expedients."
And Burns recognized the fact that disappointment (and disappointment is, perhaps, putting it too mildly for some of us) often accompanies the realization that our plans are not unfolding as we intended them. Burns is sorry that his plowing has destroyed the mouse's home, but he a little envious that the mouse can focus only on the present, while he is subject to worry about both the past and future.
I've had good reason to reflect on the philosophies of these two men, recently. I had a scheme go astray, a plan expire in the face of reality. I had made careful arrangements for a successful appointment with my new trainer. Having set the appointment later in the evening, I still left work shortly after five to ensure I had plenty of margin in travel time. And, despite the torrential downpour that slowed traffic and made driving difficult, I still made it to the gym in plenty of time. I had already carefully packed my gym bag so I wouldn't have any last minute concerns about essential clothing, lock for the locker, shampoo, etc. I even packed a pen to use in capturing my workout plan for future reference.
There was, however, one little thing.
I arrived timely, I met my trainer, we agreed on a rendezvous point on the gym floor, and I headed off to the locker room to change. I selected a locker, started changing, set my bag into the locker, and slipped the lock into the hasp ... except, it wouldn't GO into the hasp. I focused on the situation. Perhaps something was blocking? Maybe I was coming at it from an angle?
No. It was, of course, the unanticipated thing; in fact, the almost unanticipatable thing: the diameter of the lock's shackle was just THIS much too wide to fit through the hasp. My first reaction: WHAT?! Then, I had one of those little moments where you tell yourself not to panic, to apply some logic. Of COURSE my lock would work. I just needed to find a different hasp; something was wrong with this one, the odd narrow opening.
Nope. I tried my lock on every available locker. No luck. Somehow, the shackle of my ordinary Master Lock was just a few microns too thick, and no amount of calm logic was going to change that.
These things happen to us, don't they? Frankly, all the planning in the world can't prevent them. Yes, we can and should make plans. But we need to be ready to "roll with the punch" because the punch is going to come. We WILL have to make a course correction, to put it in nautical terms. And beyond the "what" of that creative response is something perhaps even more important: the "how."
We are free to choose any solution that satisfies us. We could just throw up our hands and leave. Let's face it: if you don't feel angry at the unfolding events, the other go-to choice is self-blame and then surrender. And speaking of anger, we can, as my Great Aunt Vera used to say, "throw a hissy fit." It's emotionally gratifying and, conveniently, usually shifts the blame from ourselves to someone else. Most of us think all our options lie on a continuum between these two poles: surrender or strike out at someone else; flight or fight. Most people don't care to consider another response, to step outside the usual. And freedom allows them to leave it at that.
But, as 1 Corinthians 8 says, "God does care when you use your freedom carelessly," especially as it affects those who may not be as strong of will or certainty as we are. And how are we to know who is "strong enough" to not be impacted by our choices, actions, statements?
As for me, well, there was no solution from Burns. I'm old enough not to fret in disappointing situations ... at least, those that don't threaten my ego ;-) And while I had already applied Moltke's strategic approach to planning the night, now seemed to be the moment for some of his creative response to the inevitable. So, I went back out and made new arrangements with my trainer. We will meet another night.
In the meantime, I will buy a different lock.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (January 29, 2012)
Deuteronomy 18:15-2
Psalm 111
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Mark 1:21-28
Join us at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse) if you are in Waco Friday morning. Good food and great discussion of this week's Lectionary passages.
Blessings,
Steve
Sent from my iPad
Even though I didn't know this when I wrote this piece, it seems like today is the day to post it. Enjoy, Steve
Best Laid Plans (a slightly longer than usual Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
"The best laid schemes of mice and men go oft astray" says the Robert Burns quote, and my experience certainly agrees. It hasn't put me off scheming, completely, but there ARE times I wonder why I bother. You plan, organize, time-manage, equip, assemble, deploy, and, in some case, accessorize; not to mention hurry, fret, placate, rearrange, orient, and clock-watch (which is different than time-manage ... really). But, it just doesn't QUITE work out. To paraphrase Field Marshall Moltke: "No plan survives actual contact with the enemy."
In case this sounds defeatist, let me stop you right now. Moltke was just warming up his argument that strategizing for battle must ALWAYS include contingency planning; the consideration of every possible iteration.
And Burns was apologizing to a mouse.
No, I don't think either of these men would want their thoughts misconstrued. Moltke, in brief, was saying "fret not;" rather, plan WELL, all the time recognizing you just cannot anticipate everything. Have enough contingencies that you can be creative in your response when the inevitable breakdown occurs. In fact, he not-so-famously also said, "Strategy is a system of expedients."
And Burns recognized the fact that disappointment (and disappointment is, perhaps, putting it too mildly for some of us) often accompanies the realization that our plans are not unfolding as we intended them. Burns is sorry that his plowing has destroyed the mouse's home, but he a little envious that the mouse can focus only on the present, while he is subject to worry about both the past and future.
I've had good reason to reflect on the philosophies of these two men, recently. I had a scheme go astray, a plan expire in the face of reality. I had made careful arrangements for a successful appointment with my new trainer. Having set the appointment later in the evening, I still left work shortly after five to ensure I had plenty of margin in travel time. And, despite the torrential downpour that slowed traffic and made driving difficult, I still made it to the gym in plenty of time. I had already carefully packed my gym bag so I wouldn't have any last minute concerns about essential clothing, lock for the locker, shampoo, etc. I even packed a pen to use in capturing my workout plan for future reference.
There was, however, one little thing.
I arrived timely, I met my trainer, we agreed on a rendezvous point on the gym floor, and I headed off to the locker room to change. I selected a locker, started changing, set my bag into the locker, and slipped the lock into the hasp ... except, it wouldn't GO into the hasp. I focused on the situation. Perhaps something was blocking? Maybe I was coming at it from an angle?
No. It was, of course, the unanticipated thing; in fact, the almost unanticipatable thing: the diameter of the lock's shackle was just THIS much too wide to fit through the hasp. My first reaction: WHAT?! Then, I had one of those little moments where you tell yourself not to panic, to apply some logic. Of COURSE my lock would work. I just needed to find a different hasp; something was wrong with this one, the odd narrow opening.
Nope. I tried my lock on every available locker. No luck. Somehow, the shackle of my ordinary Master Lock was just a few microns too thick, and no amount of calm logic was going to change that.
These things happen to us, don't they? Frankly, all the planning in the world can't prevent them. Yes, we can and should make plans. But we need to be ready to "roll with the punch" because the punch is going to come. We WILL have to make a course correction, to put it in nautical terms. And beyond the "what" of that creative response is something perhaps even more important: the "how."
We are free to choose any solution that satisfies us. We could just throw up our hands and leave. Let's face it: if you don't feel angry at the unfolding events, the other go-to choice is self-blame and then surrender. And speaking of anger, we can, as my Great Aunt Vera used to say, "throw a hissy fit." It's emotionally gratifying and, conveniently, usually shifts the blame from ourselves to someone else. Most of us think all our options lie on a continuum between these two poles: surrender or strike out at someone else; flight or fight. Most people don't care to consider another response, to step outside the usual. And freedom allows them to leave it at that.
But, as 1 Corinthians 8 says, "God does care when you use your freedom carelessly," especially as it affects those who may not be as strong of will or certainty as we are. And how are we to know who is "strong enough" to not be impacted by our choices, actions, statements?
As for me, well, there was no solution from Burns. I'm old enough not to fret in disappointing situations ... at least, those that don't threaten my ego ;-) And while I had already applied Moltke's strategic approach to planning the night, now seemed to be the moment for some of his creative response to the inevitable. So, I went back out and made new arrangements with my trainer. We will meet another night.
In the meantime, I will buy a different lock.
###################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (January 29, 2012)
Deuteronomy 18:15-2
Psalm 111
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Mark 1:21-28
Join us at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse) if you are in Waco Friday morning. Good food and great discussion of this week's Lectionary passages.
Blessings,
Steve
Sent from my iPad
Friday, January 20, 2012
Passing Away
Passing Away (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I have never been very good at endings.
I remember reading a comment one author made about his craftwork where he indicated he thought he wrote good beginnings and great middles, but that he had trouble with endings. Man! Do I get that! When I am in the flow of it; when my characters are doing interesting things, going interesting places, speaking interesting dialog ... it is SO hard to shut the door on that.
But it is not just in the realm of writing that I have this challenge. I hate to come to the end of the books I'm reading. Orson Scott Card, opining on the craft of writing, claimed the sad ending is not the opposite of the happy ending. He reserved that dishonor for the unsatisfying ending. And I agree.
I am coming to an ending of something that has given me great joy for several years, and I am very reluctant to be done. Some years ago I decided to read all of Ed McBain's 87th Precinct novels, in order. Just so you have the picture: he wrote almost 60 of these, starting in 1956 and continuing until just a few years ago (I think he published his last in 2008). This was a tall order.
Since I wanted to read them in order, I needed to start with books first published in the mid-1950's. So, part of the fun was the hunt! My family can testify that I have haunted every used book store in my path, be it in Seattle or San Diego, Boston or Kennebunk, Sitka or Quebec, Texas or DC. And, yes, I even made a point of going to 84 Charing Cross Road when I was in London. You never know where you will find that next book. And, little by little, I did find them.
Over the years, I have been with these fictional people through good times and bad. I have watched them become parents and struggled along with them as they attempted to raise their kids they best way they knew how. I was there when some of them met harm in service to the greater good, and was saddened when some of them didn't recover. [Little plug here: If you ever enjoyed an episode of Hill Street Blues, Law & Order, or NYPD Blue, you may want to take a look at these. All of those trace their roots right back to the 87th Precinct.]
But now, after all these years, I have come to the very last book. I had to skip this one, initially. I found and read the two on either side of it, but I could never locate this particular one (it came out in 1976). Oh, I could have ordered a hardcopy from one of those websites, but that was not part of the game at the time. Now, because ALL of them have become available on Kindle, I am going to read it electronically.
And I am reluctant to start. But I am going to start. And I am going to read it. Partly because I just can't stand to not know what happened. But it is also partly due to the fact that I have learned something important about endings: they aren't really endings.
They are transition points.
True; this particular thing is ending, but it leads to something else. That is the reality. What we have to do is stop looking at endings like they are stopping points, find a way to see where they lead. Because there is always a "next." There's a reason graduation is called "Commencement." It says in 1st Corinthians: "the present form of this world is passing away." And that is true. But it is only part of the truth.
There is something else coming to replace it.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday after the Epiphany (January 22, 2012)
Jonah 3:1-5, 10
Psalm 62:5-12
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Mark 1:14-20
I have never been very good at endings.
I remember reading a comment one author made about his craftwork where he indicated he thought he wrote good beginnings and great middles, but that he had trouble with endings. Man! Do I get that! When I am in the flow of it; when my characters are doing interesting things, going interesting places, speaking interesting dialog ... it is SO hard to shut the door on that.
But it is not just in the realm of writing that I have this challenge. I hate to come to the end of the books I'm reading. Orson Scott Card, opining on the craft of writing, claimed the sad ending is not the opposite of the happy ending. He reserved that dishonor for the unsatisfying ending. And I agree.
I am coming to an ending of something that has given me great joy for several years, and I am very reluctant to be done. Some years ago I decided to read all of Ed McBain's 87th Precinct novels, in order. Just so you have the picture: he wrote almost 60 of these, starting in 1956 and continuing until just a few years ago (I think he published his last in 2008). This was a tall order.
Since I wanted to read them in order, I needed to start with books first published in the mid-1950's. So, part of the fun was the hunt! My family can testify that I have haunted every used book store in my path, be it in Seattle or San Diego, Boston or Kennebunk, Sitka or Quebec, Texas or DC. And, yes, I even made a point of going to 84 Charing Cross Road when I was in London. You never know where you will find that next book. And, little by little, I did find them.
Over the years, I have been with these fictional people through good times and bad. I have watched them become parents and struggled along with them as they attempted to raise their kids they best way they knew how. I was there when some of them met harm in service to the greater good, and was saddened when some of them didn't recover. [Little plug here: If you ever enjoyed an episode of Hill Street Blues, Law & Order, or NYPD Blue, you may want to take a look at these. All of those trace their roots right back to the 87th Precinct.]
But now, after all these years, I have come to the very last book. I had to skip this one, initially. I found and read the two on either side of it, but I could never locate this particular one (it came out in 1976). Oh, I could have ordered a hardcopy from one of those websites, but that was not part of the game at the time. Now, because ALL of them have become available on Kindle, I am going to read it electronically.
And I am reluctant to start. But I am going to start. And I am going to read it. Partly because I just can't stand to not know what happened. But it is also partly due to the fact that I have learned something important about endings: they aren't really endings.
They are transition points.
True; this particular thing is ending, but it leads to something else. That is the reality. What we have to do is stop looking at endings like they are stopping points, find a way to see where they lead. Because there is always a "next." There's a reason graduation is called "Commencement." It says in 1st Corinthians: "the present form of this world is passing away." And that is true. But it is only part of the truth.
There is something else coming to replace it.
##########################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday after the Epiphany (January 22, 2012)
Jonah 3:1-5, 10
Psalm 62:5-12
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Mark 1:14-20
Friday, January 13, 2012
Jumping the Green
Jumping the Green
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
My Dad was unable to teach me to drive. I say unable; but perhaps "unwilling" is a better description of the matter.
This was way back in the dark ages, before schools included Drivers' Ed in the curriculum. Driving was not considered a very complicated process, so instruction was left to "a responsible adult driver" to accomplish. On top of that, we could not obtain a learner's permit until one month before our 16th birthday. Do that math any way you want: it comes down to having to learn to drive in 30 days.
When the magical day arrived, Dad drove me to the courthouse so I could get my permit. In Kentucky, this required interacting with some pretty scary-looking State Police officers. I was asked how I had come there that day. I couldn't seem to find my voice, so I just pointed to my Dad. I was issued a driver's handbook along with an admonition to not operate a vehicle, alone, until after I had obtained my license.
My younger sister had already learned to operate Dad's VW Beatle (a manual transmission) on some farmland near our home. It was an unending source of glee for her, and embarrassment for Dad, that I could not master the "stick." So, I had to learn to drive in Mom's Barracuda (an automatic transmission). On our first (and only) outing (taken on country roads to limit exposures to other vehicles), Dad spent most of the drive clinging to the passenger door and hissing through his teeth. While he never spoke to me about it, apparently my every action frightened him. Because when we got home, he told Mom she would have to teach me. I was not sad about that development. Who can think with a hisser in the car?
Since Mom's Barracuda was blue with white interior (my high school colors!), I was happy ... several less things to have to think about, and a little bit of cool in case any of my friends saw me. After a few more country road outings, Mom decided I was ready for the surface streets in our town. Much of this is a blur, but I clearly recall one incident from that month. We stopped at a red light, my first. Mom looked over at me and said, "Don't go when it turns green. Give it a second."
I remember thinking that was an odd thing to say. I had read my driver's handbook. I knew we were supposed to stop on red and go on green ... yellow is still up for debate ;-) In fact, not only was it expected, it was my right. When the light is green, I have the right of way. But, being the dutiful son, and having no desire to be cast off to some other relative for the balance of my training, I obeyed her. Imagine my shock when, shortly after the light turned green, a car ran the red light, cutting straight through the space we would have occupied if I had asserted my rights!
I learned a lesson that day, and not only one about driving. I call it "jumping the green," those actions we take simply because we can. They are allowed, so we do them. But, as was so stunningly demonstrated to me that day late in my 15th year, such actions may not always be the wisest.
Something to think about.
"Just because something is technically legal doesn't mean that it's spiritually appropriate." (1 Corinthians 6:12 MSG)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday after the Epiphany (January 15, 2012)
1 Samuel 3:1-10, (11-20)
Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18
1 Corinthians 6:12-20
John 1:43-51
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Wild Bunch (a slightly different Christmas story)
Photo courtesy of middle-east-pictures.com
MANY OF YOU HAVE REQUESTED THIS BE REPOSTED FROM LAST YEAR. HAPPY TO DO SO. ENJOY.
(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. They were not allowed to provide testimony in a criminal investigation. 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.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Relative Hospitality
Relative Hospitality
(a brief Lectionary reflection at Advent by Steve Orr)
When I was young, vacations usually went something like this. We kids would be awakened sometime in the night or very early morning (all I can recall is that it was dark and I was sleepy). Our parents would herd us into (or perhaps carry us to) the back of the station wagon where we would find a pallet of blankets nestled in among the luggage. Once we hit those blankets, that's the last we knew until well past sunup.
Depending on how our family was doing with money at the time, and just as often on my dad's mood, we might or might not stop to eat at a roadside diner. It was quite common for them to have packed several bologna sandwiches, potato salad, and Jello into Tupperware containers (lids carefully placed and burped to ensure freshness) so we would not have to stop for meals.
We might be headed to Florida, Tennessee, Louisiana, or Michigan; we might stop to see things along the way or Dad might be so focused we would have to beg him to make bathroom stops; but one thing was certain: there was always a relative at the other end of our journey.
We stayed with family. That was our way. There might be a guest room for the adults; but even if not, there were always places for us to stay (maybe a foldout couch or a trundle bed, maybe in a den or basement-cum-family room), even if only on the ever-handy pallet of blankets on the floor. There was always room for visitors. I was a married man before I took a family vacation that did not involve staying with relatives at some point in the vacation.
For most of us, it is still the same, today. We call it hospitality, but with family it is almost a given. Family tends to take care of family. When they're in town, they stay with us.
So, with the foregoing in mind, I have to wonder: why were Joseph and Mary looking for an inn? Why weren't they staying with family? We have this mental picture of the two of them: Mary astride a donkey, Joseph holding the rope, both looking forlorn as the Innkeeper informs them there is no room (perhaps due to the influx of people in town to register for the Emperor's census).
That picture is unlikely.
First, Bethlehem is only five miles outside Jerusalem. It's a long walk, but it is unlikely there was a need in Bethlehem for what we think of as an "inn." While there were open-air enclosures along the major trade routes where travelers could stop for the night, don't think "Inn of the Prancing Pony"; more like "biker bar." Not the kind of place a respectable Jewish man would take his pregnant fiancé for the night.
No, the word we usually translate as "inn" is better translated as "guest room," something every Jewish home had (even the poorest of one-room homes had a partitioned area where guests could bed down for the night).
The other matter is the fact that scripture says, "While they were there, the time came for her baby to be born." It's not that they showed up in Bethlehem only to be shuttled to a nearby barn just in time for Jesus to be born. They were already in town, probably staying with some of Joseph's relatives, but they were not welcome into one of the family guest rooms (unmarried? pregnant? perceived to be adulterous? ... you fill in the reason).
But someone finally decides that even though the couple has, apparently, broken some pretty serious Jewish laws, such a pregnant girl can't be forced to stay out in the open. So, taking pity, they put the couple in the cave with the animals. It's protected from the weather, and, perhaps just as importantly, from the prying eyes of the neighbors.
It's not a pretty story, but it is much more consistent with having the unsavory shepherds (those low men) show up to be the human heralds of the Messiah. Low key, low station, low people. A fitting birth scenario for the kind of king who would someday ride into the capital city on the back of a donkey rather than a warhorse and then usher in a new kingdom by ignobly dying on a cross.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2011)
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Luke 1:46b-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26
Romans 16:25-27
Luke 1:26-38
(a brief Lectionary reflection at Advent by Steve Orr)
When I was young, vacations usually went something like this. We kids would be awakened sometime in the night or very early morning (all I can recall is that it was dark and I was sleepy). Our parents would herd us into (or perhaps carry us to) the back of the station wagon where we would find a pallet of blankets nestled in among the luggage. Once we hit those blankets, that's the last we knew until well past sunup.
Depending on how our family was doing with money at the time, and just as often on my dad's mood, we might or might not stop to eat at a roadside diner. It was quite common for them to have packed several bologna sandwiches, potato salad, and Jello into Tupperware containers (lids carefully placed and burped to ensure freshness) so we would not have to stop for meals.
We might be headed to Florida, Tennessee, Louisiana, or Michigan; we might stop to see things along the way or Dad might be so focused we would have to beg him to make bathroom stops; but one thing was certain: there was always a relative at the other end of our journey.
We stayed with family. That was our way. There might be a guest room for the adults; but even if not, there were always places for us to stay (maybe a foldout couch or a trundle bed, maybe in a den or basement-cum-family room), even if only on the ever-handy pallet of blankets on the floor. There was always room for visitors. I was a married man before I took a family vacation that did not involve staying with relatives at some point in the vacation.
For most of us, it is still the same, today. We call it hospitality, but with family it is almost a given. Family tends to take care of family. When they're in town, they stay with us.
So, with the foregoing in mind, I have to wonder: why were Joseph and Mary looking for an inn? Why weren't they staying with family? We have this mental picture of the two of them: Mary astride a donkey, Joseph holding the rope, both looking forlorn as the Innkeeper informs them there is no room (perhaps due to the influx of people in town to register for the Emperor's census).
That picture is unlikely.
First, Bethlehem is only five miles outside Jerusalem. It's a long walk, but it is unlikely there was a need in Bethlehem for what we think of as an "inn." While there were open-air enclosures along the major trade routes where travelers could stop for the night, don't think "Inn of the Prancing Pony"; more like "biker bar." Not the kind of place a respectable Jewish man would take his pregnant fiancé for the night.
No, the word we usually translate as "inn" is better translated as "guest room," something every Jewish home had (even the poorest of one-room homes had a partitioned area where guests could bed down for the night).
The other matter is the fact that scripture says, "While they were there, the time came for her baby to be born." It's not that they showed up in Bethlehem only to be shuttled to a nearby barn just in time for Jesus to be born. They were already in town, probably staying with some of Joseph's relatives, but they were not welcome into one of the family guest rooms (unmarried? pregnant? perceived to be adulterous? ... you fill in the reason).
But someone finally decides that even though the couple has, apparently, broken some pretty serious Jewish laws, such a pregnant girl can't be forced to stay out in the open. So, taking pity, they put the couple in the cave with the animals. It's protected from the weather, and, perhaps just as importantly, from the prying eyes of the neighbors.
It's not a pretty story, but it is much more consistent with having the unsavory shepherds (those low men) show up to be the human heralds of the Messiah. Low key, low station, low people. A fitting birth scenario for the kind of king who would someday ride into the capital city on the back of a donkey rather than a warhorse and then usher in a new kingdom by ignobly dying on a cross.
#####################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2011)
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Luke 1:46b-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26
Romans 16:25-27
Luke 1:26-38
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Not Quite What I Was Planning
Not Quite What I Was Planning
(a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I've been rereading "Not Quite What I Was Planning," that wonderful little book of six-word memoirs edited and published by Smith Magazine. These short summaries range from the ridiculous ("I was a Michael Jackson impersonator.") to the sublime ("Learning disability, MIT. Never give up."), from the humorous ("Catholic girl. Jersey. It's all true.") to the heart-breaking (Hemingway's famous six-word story: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."), and just about every thought in between.
This little tome is packed with such bon mots as comedian Tracey Morgan's self-descriptive phrase ("At the end of normal street" ) and Janelle Brown's confession ("My second grade teacher was right."). There is bathos ("We were our own Springer episode.") and there is pathos ("I still make coffee for two."). There are commentaries on life ("It's like forever, only much shorter.") and on its absurdities ("Time to start over again, again.").
It is one of those little books that, every few months, just seems to call to me; and I find I can't resist taking another dip. I always find one I missed (or, at this age, may just have forgotten), and I always come away from the experience somehow bettered, happier with my life as it is.
After reading this week's Lectionary passages, I wondered if we might wish for some of those phrases as personal memoirs; something like: "Sowed in tears, reaped with joy" or "Gave a garland instead of ashes." Perhaps "Came to testify to the light" or "Gives thanks in all circumstances; still." Or consider "Filled the hungry with good things" or "My spirit rejoices; God my savior."
"What would you write," he asked?
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2011)
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Psalm 126 or Luke 1:46b-55
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28
As usual, if you are in Waco on Friday morning, you are invited to join us at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown, near the Courthouse, on 6th) at 8:00 for breakfast and some fun with scriptures ;-)
(a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I've been rereading "Not Quite What I Was Planning," that wonderful little book of six-word memoirs edited and published by Smith Magazine. These short summaries range from the ridiculous ("I was a Michael Jackson impersonator.") to the sublime ("Learning disability, MIT. Never give up."), from the humorous ("Catholic girl. Jersey. It's all true.") to the heart-breaking (Hemingway's famous six-word story: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."), and just about every thought in between.
This little tome is packed with such bon mots as comedian Tracey Morgan's self-descriptive phrase ("At the end of normal street" ) and Janelle Brown's confession ("My second grade teacher was right."). There is bathos ("We were our own Springer episode.") and there is pathos ("I still make coffee for two."). There are commentaries on life ("It's like forever, only much shorter.") and on its absurdities ("Time to start over again, again.").
It is one of those little books that, every few months, just seems to call to me; and I find I can't resist taking another dip. I always find one I missed (or, at this age, may just have forgotten), and I always come away from the experience somehow bettered, happier with my life as it is.
After reading this week's Lectionary passages, I wondered if we might wish for some of those phrases as personal memoirs; something like: "Sowed in tears, reaped with joy" or "Gave a garland instead of ashes." Perhaps "Came to testify to the light" or "Gives thanks in all circumstances; still." Or consider "Filled the hungry with good things" or "My spirit rejoices; God my savior."
"What would you write," he asked?
################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2011)
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Psalm 126 or Luke 1:46b-55
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28
As usual, if you are in Waco on Friday morning, you are invited to join us at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown, near the Courthouse, on 6th) at 8:00 for breakfast and some fun with scriptures ;-)
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