At Last
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
Something wonderful happened this week. I've been searching, longing, hoping for such a long time; honestly, I sometimes wondered if I would ever find it. But this week I did find it. It had been so long, I was completely caught off guard when it happened.
There I was, riding to work on DART (the Dallas Area Rapid Transit system), and, for a change, not reading anything. I was doing that thing where you just stare out the window, not AT anything, really; just letting whatever slides by paint a moving picture in my brain. You may recall "The Second Rule of Finding Things" says "Don't look. See." I didn't realize it at the time, but I was employing that rule in it's truest sense.
And that's when it happened. Sliding right across my not especially focused vision was . . . A Peet's Coffee! Suddenly I perked up (no pun intended) and really focused. Yes! It really WAS a Peet's; after so many years of living without access to that collections of velvety and robust beverages, I was elated! I first enjoyed a Peet's coffee while in Palo Alto, CA while on our way to Stanford University (and, yes I DO know the way to San Jose). Shortly after that trip, a Peet's opened in my own college town, just a few blocks from our little third-story-walkup-faculty-housing apartment. I was in Heaven!
And then, we moved back to Texas.
Perhaps you are wondering, "Is this some sort of plug for Peet's Coffee?" No, it's not.
It's a plug for hope.
I had all but given up on there ever being a Peet's in Texas. When I first moved back to Texas, I looked forward to introducing my new friends to that tasty brew; but, alas, it was not to be. I searched and searched the Internet for any indication of a Peet's, but found none in Texas. I just kept thinking I was not doing it right. How could there not be a Peet's in Texas? I finally wrote an email to the company and asked them to just tell me where one was. By that time I didn't care, I would drive anywhere in Texas. What I learned was that there HAD been a Peet's in Austin, but that it had closed!
So, for some time now I have been more or less resigned to the situation; not completely giving up, but not actively on alert for one, and certainly no longer searching for one. But that all changed this week. What had become a favorite, but fading, memory, had transformed into a very present reality!
And that's a good way to view this week's lectionary passages. If you read them in the order I have placed them, below, you can experience some of the frustration and longing (from BOTH sides) as the years passed away without the arrival of what had been so long promised.
Take a few minutes and read these passages. Let them sink in before going on.
Psalm 80:1-2, 8-19
Psalm 82
Isaiah 5:1-7
Jeremiah 23:23-29
Luke 12:49-56
And then, when all seems to be at the worst, we arrive at the Hebrews passage.
Hebrews 11:29-12:2
Up to then, God had been expressing some pretty harsh things to his chosen people, first through the prophets and then through Jesus, about how they had not lived up to what had been expected. And the Psalmist was eloquent in expressing the desire of that people to, somehow, reconcile to their God.
It is only after we get to the Hebrew passage that we get it all set in context, and only then do we realize that all along we have been silently hoping for the story to have a good ending. And, finally, our hope, though it had grown small, is rewarded.
If you are in Waco on Friday, join the group at the Olive Branch (River Square on Franklin, near University Parks) at 8:00 for breakfast and more of the above. We had such a great visit last Friday. Wish I could be there every week.
Enjoy!
Steve
P.S. Olive Branch has great coffee, too. I especially love Leah's "Downtown Dark" blend. Missing that!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Gift of Pain
The Gift of Pain
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
Chances are you have never heard of Hansen's Disease; or if you have, you can't quite recall what it was you once knew about it (or maybe you are that rare reader who will think, "Wasn't that on an episode of the X-Files?"). And, if you don't know about Hansen's Disease, then in all likelihood you have never heard of Dr. Paul Brand, the Leonardo da Vinci of the Hansen's Disease universe.
Perhaps you know Hansen's by its other name: leprosy.
That's what this week's lectionary passage in 2 Kings Chapter 5 says afflicted Naaman, an Aramean who commanded the King's army. Now, there's this big controversy over whether what the Bible calls leprosy is always the same as Hansen's, and I certainly don't know; but the recent discovery of a 4,000-year old skeleton has established that Hansen's was present in the area at the time. All I'll say is this: whatever he had, it was serious. The King of Aram sent 750 pounds of silver and 150 pounds of gold with him to Israel in hopes it would purchase a cure for the Naaman's condition . . . that's over $3 million US dollars!!
If Naaman did have Hansen's, then his likely symptoms included white, scaly skin (and it seems to be the obvious symptom described in the passage); and one other very notable symptom: lack of protective sensation. In other words, a significantly diminished sensitivity to pain. Hansen's is a progressive disease; if not treated, every symptom worsens over time. While at first glance an insensitivity to pain might look like a good thing, especially for a warrior, there is a real downside.
What? Wouldn't the absence of pain be a blessing, especially for those suffering from such a terrible disease? It was Dr. Brand who first raised the thought that the observable symptoms of the disease--skin lesions, blindness, crippled limbs, disfigured faces--might be a result of the nerve damage caused by the disease rather than a direct result of the disease. He quickly began documenting lack of pain along with the other symptoms. Over time he drew the attention of the wider medical community to an inescapable conclusion: the lack of pain in these people's lives was causing them harm. They didn't notice when a rock or limb scratched them, and so made no attempt to protect themselves from infection; simple abrasions led to serious problems; a twisted ankle went unnoticed, was never immobilized, and dislocation became permanent; a serious domino effect leading to loss of limbs, facial features, vision.
After first throwing a fit because the Prophet Elisha failed to make enough of a big deal over him, Naaman was eventually convinced by those who cared about him to comply with the Prophet's simple instructions. And, after bathing seven times in the Jordan as instructed, was cured of his leprosy; his skin fully restored.
And, along with his skin, he may also have regained his pain; that quality of life we often wish was not present, but which is really a gift from a loving God; a gift that protects us in a world filled with hidden dangers, injuries that could deepen and cause us great harm if not for the signpost of pain to draw our attention to address them early. It is a gift to the spirit as well as the body.
# # # # # # # #
Dr. Brand wrote several books, three of which were written with Philip Yancey, including PAIN: THE GIFT NOBODY WANTS. In addition, Dr. Brand is also one of the featured subjects of Yancey's book, SOUL SURVIVOR.
If you are in Waco, TX on Friday, join the group for breakfast and more of the above at the Olive Branch restaurant (8:00 a.m. in River Square, on Franklin between 3rd and University Parks).
Blessings,
Steve
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
Chances are you have never heard of Hansen's Disease; or if you have, you can't quite recall what it was you once knew about it (or maybe you are that rare reader who will think, "Wasn't that on an episode of the X-Files?"). And, if you don't know about Hansen's Disease, then in all likelihood you have never heard of Dr. Paul Brand, the Leonardo da Vinci of the Hansen's Disease universe.
Perhaps you know Hansen's by its other name: leprosy.
That's what this week's lectionary passage in 2 Kings Chapter 5 says afflicted Naaman, an Aramean who commanded the King's army. Now, there's this big controversy over whether what the Bible calls leprosy is always the same as Hansen's, and I certainly don't know; but the recent discovery of a 4,000-year old skeleton has established that Hansen's was present in the area at the time. All I'll say is this: whatever he had, it was serious. The King of Aram sent 750 pounds of silver and 150 pounds of gold with him to Israel in hopes it would purchase a cure for the Naaman's condition . . . that's over $3 million US dollars!!
If Naaman did have Hansen's, then his likely symptoms included white, scaly skin (and it seems to be the obvious symptom described in the passage); and one other very notable symptom: lack of protective sensation. In other words, a significantly diminished sensitivity to pain. Hansen's is a progressive disease; if not treated, every symptom worsens over time. While at first glance an insensitivity to pain might look like a good thing, especially for a warrior, there is a real downside.
What? Wouldn't the absence of pain be a blessing, especially for those suffering from such a terrible disease? It was Dr. Brand who first raised the thought that the observable symptoms of the disease--skin lesions, blindness, crippled limbs, disfigured faces--might be a result of the nerve damage caused by the disease rather than a direct result of the disease. He quickly began documenting lack of pain along with the other symptoms. Over time he drew the attention of the wider medical community to an inescapable conclusion: the lack of pain in these people's lives was causing them harm. They didn't notice when a rock or limb scratched them, and so made no attempt to protect themselves from infection; simple abrasions led to serious problems; a twisted ankle went unnoticed, was never immobilized, and dislocation became permanent; a serious domino effect leading to loss of limbs, facial features, vision.
After first throwing a fit because the Prophet Elisha failed to make enough of a big deal over him, Naaman was eventually convinced by those who cared about him to comply with the Prophet's simple instructions. And, after bathing seven times in the Jordan as instructed, was cured of his leprosy; his skin fully restored.
And, along with his skin, he may also have regained his pain; that quality of life we often wish was not present, but which is really a gift from a loving God; a gift that protects us in a world filled with hidden dangers, injuries that could deepen and cause us great harm if not for the signpost of pain to draw our attention to address them early. It is a gift to the spirit as well as the body.
# # # # # # # #
Dr. Brand wrote several books, three of which were written with Philip Yancey, including PAIN: THE GIFT NOBODY WANTS. In addition, Dr. Brand is also one of the featured subjects of Yancey's book, SOUL SURVIVOR.
If you are in Waco, TX on Friday, join the group for breakfast and more of the above at the Olive Branch restaurant (8:00 a.m. in River Square, on Franklin between 3rd and University Parks).
Blessings,
Steve
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Rolling on the River: Fun Times With Fruit (a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
Rolling on the River: Fun Times With Fruit
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I was born and raised in West Kentucky in a town situated at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers, and just a mile north of where these two joined the mighty Mississippi. Those rivers, and the lakes and streams fed by them, play a central role in all my best memories of those times. And they were the location of so many of the fun things I did with my friends; especially my friends Paul, Mike, Bruce, and Bob.
There are so many stories of fun things we did together. Some of them are simple things like double dating (and triple dating, and four-ple dating . . . group activities were not so common in those days, not like today, but the four of us did a lot of things as a group). Sometimes we just hung out at one or the other’s house (usually Bob’s or Bruce’s since they had rooms designed to withstand the rigors of hosting teenage boys). None of us had any money, so we worked the concession stand to get into the football and basketball games. We were a little nerdy, so we joined the Chess Club. When one of us performed in a play or a choir concert, the rest of us took our dates to see the performance. We grew to value our differences, and we had fun whatever we did together.
But mostly, we did things on and around (and between) the rivers. One spring break Bob, Bruce and I spent the week navigating a small boat up the river to the locks at the Kentucky Lake dam and camping along the shores of the Land Between the Lakes (the LBL - Google it). One night we camped on an island in the middle of the lake, made a fire and told ghost stories . . . until we discovered the “island” had been a cemetery before the TVA flooded the area to make the lake. No one slept THAT night ;-)
Paul was always the explorer in our little group; he led us on many an adventure in the LBL. Paul is the one who talked us into crawling through mud tunnels along one side of the lake one winter, explaining later that the reason we had to do it in winter is because the tunnels only exist because the mud is frozen; that come spring they would all collapse! Interspersed among all our adventures were lots of outings on boats, in cars, on bicycles, and on foot. One adventure in particular stands out because it ended with us being chased by moonshiners after we accidentally discovered their still. Fun times.
There are a lot of these stories, and perhaps I’ll tell some more of them in the future. Right now, what I want to tell you is this: When I read in Galatians 5:22-23
“…when we live God’s way, He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.”
When I read that passage, I think of my four friends. When I was a teen and going through the shaping that would produce the person I now am, it is these friends who were the “fruit of the Spirit” to me. In them I saw all those good things, and I bent my will and energies to emulate them in every way I could.
Are there some folks in your life who appear like fruit in an orchard; refreshing, bursting with joy and great personal qualities? Consider that God may have placed them in your life (and you in theirs) to be the catalyst for something good. For the “fruit of the Spirit” is not just a list of qualities printed on a page. It is the living of those qualities in our everyday interactions with one another. I thank God for my friends. Still.
# # # # #
If you are in Waco, Texas on a Friday, join the group at 8:00 a.m. at the Olive Branch for breakfast and some excellent fellowship. I am getting to be with them this week and I am really looking forward to it!
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I was born and raised in West Kentucky in a town situated at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers, and just a mile north of where these two joined the mighty Mississippi. Those rivers, and the lakes and streams fed by them, play a central role in all my best memories of those times. And they were the location of so many of the fun things I did with my friends; especially my friends Paul, Mike, Bruce, and Bob.
There are so many stories of fun things we did together. Some of them are simple things like double dating (and triple dating, and four-ple dating . . . group activities were not so common in those days, not like today, but the four of us did a lot of things as a group). Sometimes we just hung out at one or the other’s house (usually Bob’s or Bruce’s since they had rooms designed to withstand the rigors of hosting teenage boys). None of us had any money, so we worked the concession stand to get into the football and basketball games. We were a little nerdy, so we joined the Chess Club. When one of us performed in a play or a choir concert, the rest of us took our dates to see the performance. We grew to value our differences, and we had fun whatever we did together.
But mostly, we did things on and around (and between) the rivers. One spring break Bob, Bruce and I spent the week navigating a small boat up the river to the locks at the Kentucky Lake dam and camping along the shores of the Land Between the Lakes (the LBL - Google it). One night we camped on an island in the middle of the lake, made a fire and told ghost stories . . . until we discovered the “island” had been a cemetery before the TVA flooded the area to make the lake. No one slept THAT night ;-)
Paul was always the explorer in our little group; he led us on many an adventure in the LBL. Paul is the one who talked us into crawling through mud tunnels along one side of the lake one winter, explaining later that the reason we had to do it in winter is because the tunnels only exist because the mud is frozen; that come spring they would all collapse! Interspersed among all our adventures were lots of outings on boats, in cars, on bicycles, and on foot. One adventure in particular stands out because it ended with us being chased by moonshiners after we accidentally discovered their still. Fun times.
There are a lot of these stories, and perhaps I’ll tell some more of them in the future. Right now, what I want to tell you is this: When I read in Galatians 5:22-23
“…when we live God’s way, He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.”
When I read that passage, I think of my four friends. When I was a teen and going through the shaping that would produce the person I now am, it is these friends who were the “fruit of the Spirit” to me. In them I saw all those good things, and I bent my will and energies to emulate them in every way I could.
Are there some folks in your life who appear like fruit in an orchard; refreshing, bursting with joy and great personal qualities? Consider that God may have placed them in your life (and you in theirs) to be the catalyst for something good. For the “fruit of the Spirit” is not just a list of qualities printed on a page. It is the living of those qualities in our everyday interactions with one another. I thank God for my friends. Still.
# # # # #
If you are in Waco, Texas on a Friday, join the group at 8:00 a.m. at the Olive Branch for breakfast and some excellent fellowship. I am getting to be with them this week and I am really looking forward to it!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Poem on a Bathroom Wall
Poem on a Bathroom Wall
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
One of my favorite restaurants, Algiers, is located in Cambridge, Massachusetts in Brattle Square. Delicious food; and some truly fine coffee. Plus, Algiers was the site of a monthly meeting of friends who enjoy books as much as I do. In other words, a place I visited often. And, every time I was at Algiers, I went to the bathroom before starting the long series of subway rides home.
That’s where I first saw the poem.
home had took me
to where too much time
had locke me in
in my wrong ways
and the fumbles of
a memory, and left me
where I first began
begging: "Christ let loose
these ghosts from my bones."
Men see a lot of things written on bathroom walls; mostly things not repeatable in polite company. And believe me, after a while, guys just stop seeing them. But this caught my attention the very first time I entered that bathroom. Eventually, months later I am sad to report, it finally occurred to me to write it down.
I’ve thought a lot about that poem over the years; wondering what the author meant for the reader to get from it. Eventually, I came to the conclusion the author probably cared not one whit about what the reader would get from the poem. It’s too raw. It was scrawled on a bathroom wall, not published in the New England Journal of Poetry. This guy was hurting. Deeply.
What has been the most puzzling is why the poem kept drawing my attention. I don’t think of myself as having the kind of life that would lead to penning my pain to a bathroom wall. It took a while, but eventually I realized what the draw was: it reads like one of David’s psalms, a lot like the two psalms (42 and 43) in this week’s lectionary readings. When the Psalmist writes, “Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your cataracts; all your waves and your billows have gone over me,” I really feel his exhaustion; his being overwhelmed by the deep waters of life. Like the bathroom poet, David wanted a relief only God could provide.
Sometimes we get into deep water; really deep, deep water. We’re in so deep, the only way we can ever get out is to call on God to cleanse us of even the memories of what led us there.
It has been several years since I finally realized I needed to write down that poem, and almost as long since I came to understand why I needed to write it down. And despite diligent searches, I’ve never been able to locate the author. If I could find him, I would thank him for his reminder that God can be called on in all circumstances, even when, perhaps most especially when, things seem to be at their worst.
# # # # #
If you find yourself in Waco on a Friday, join the group at the Olive Branch for breakfast and Bible at 8:00 a.m. This week’s other readings are: 1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a; Isaiah 65:1-9; Psalm 22:19-28; Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Robin Hoods of the Purple Sage
(Photo by Paula Hartnet)
Robin Hoods of the Purple Sage
(a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)
I watched a lot of television as a child, and, because there was a great need for content, saw a lot of movies on the television (even though we, initially, only received one channel). It didn’t take me long to recognize a recurring plot line in many of the movies and television programs I was exposed to: the rich rancher who covets the land of the little guy (or, just as often, the attractive-widow-with-children) is eventually thwarted by the handsome (and possibly singing) cowboy (who, having soundly defeated the bad guy, settles down to provide “lasting” protection against it ever happening again or, perhaps rides away into the sunset leaving all to wonder “Who was that masked man?”). You would be amazed at how many variations on a theme are possible with just those few building blocks . . . and all in black & white.
Part of the reason I recognized that recurring pattern is that I was exposed to Robin Hood at an even earlier age. I knew all about Robin, Maid Marion, and the Merry Men “stealing from the rich” (something Robin only did to the “bad” rich people, those who accumulated their riches through oppression, excessive taxation, and theft) and “giving to the poor” (since the only reason they were “poor” is that the “bad” rich people made them that way). It is why, at a very early age, I easily understood the caveat in scripture against coveting. How hard is that to understand? If you want something that is not yours, and if you have no legitimate means of it becoming yours, you need to just let go of the idea of possessing it. Simple.
Of course, if you are reading this, you know as well as I do that, despite being simple, it is not always easy to accomplish. We want what we want. Taming that desire to possess can be daunting. Oh that we had a cowboy (singing or otherwise) who would ride in and stop the rich rancher in our heads from coveting our neighbors whatever. Or if we could know, really know, we had the deterrent of a Robin Hood who could be counted on to always deprive us of our ill-gotten gains, perhaps knowing it would keep us from taking what doesn’t really belong to us.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. We’re on the honor system. God will allow us to act as we decide to act, and there will be consequences for our actions . . . the bill may just come much, much later. And we may not be the ones to pay it. In 1st Kings, chapter 21, we see Ahab sulk because a neighbor won’t sell him a vineyard and then allow his wicked wife to engineer the death of that man so Ahab can have the vineyard. We are a bit shocked to find that there is no immediate retribution; no Robin Hood to swash-buckle in and steal it back. Instead Ahab is promised by Elijah that he will, someday, pay the price for what he has done . . . when he dies. The description of the consequence is pretty graphic, so I’ll let you read it yourself. Regardless, the punishment seems remote; it seems to fit the old saying, “justice delayed is justice denied.”
In 2nd Samuel, chapters 11 and 12, we read of David being confronted by the prophet Samuel for engineering the death of a man so David could possess the man’s wife (after David had already impregnated her). Again, we can hardly believe what we are reading. The “evil rich rancher” is the man GOD chose to be King! And where is the singing cowboy? No one acts to stop this man from arranging this heinous crime. Why? Because he is the King, God’s chosen King. He is so powerful, no one dare oppose him, even when he does wrong. In this story, as well as the Ahab story, the principals don’t actually do the foul deed; they each use someone else to make it happen; as if that distance somehow made them less tainted by the foul act. In David’s case, he managed to arrange for the enemy to strike the killing blow. And then, once confronted with his crime, David repents. But the bill comes due (it always does). And David has to watch time after time while others die, and wondering if it is because of his sin. It is a sobering and chilling thought.
And that brings us to Luke, chapter 7. People usually think this is a story about honoring Jesus. And it is, to a certain extent. But there is another story; and it is couched in the question Jesus asks the well-off Pharisee: “Do you see this woman?” That question seems so out of place. How could the Pharisee NOT see the woman? She has been there all through the meal, weeping on Jesus’ feet and then drying them with her hair, anointing his feet with ointment and then kissing them. Seems pretty heard to miss. That simple question harbors a much greater meaning. Jesus wants to know if the man REALLY sees the woman; not with his physical eyes, but with his spiritual eyes.
That is the real problem with all of these key people—Ahab, a consistently evil man; David, a good man who has strayed; and the Pharisee, just a guy with resources who asked Jesus to dinner—they all failed to actually “see” the people before them. They let their desires (or their situations) drive how they regarded others; human beings with just as much value to God as themselves.
And that is our challenge as well. God has charged us to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with Him. WE are the Robin Hoods of the purple sage.
#####
If you are in Waco, Texas on Friday, stop by the Olive Branch (River Square, just down from Ninfa’s, near 5th and University Parks Drive) at 8:00 a.m. for breakfast and some great discussions of this week’s lectionary passages (the other readings this week are Psalm 5:1-8 • Psalm 32 • Galatians 2:15-21 • Luke 7:36-8:3).
Enjoy!
Steve
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Second Rule of Finding Things
The Second Rule of Finding Things . . . (a brief lectionary reflection by Steve Orr -- for Sunday June 6, 2010)
If you read one of my previous lectionary reflections, you may be familiar with my hobby of collecting first rules. I wrote about the "First Rule of Self-defense" (Don't be there) and the "First Rule of the Kitchen" (Before picking something up, know where you're going to set it down). Here's a new one for you: the "First Rule of Promotion" (To get the job, do the job). That could also be called the "First Rule of Employment"; it works for both.
I also wrote about the "First Rule of Finding Things" (Look under something). That one is worth exploring a bit more, but I'll save it for another reflection. This week I want to shift over to one of my very few second rules: the "Second Rule of Finding Things." Perhaps you're wondering why a perfectly good first rule needs a second rule at all. The best way I can explain it is this: some things just can't be found using only the first rule. But that's not the rule's fault! The very best practitioners of the "First Rule of Finding Things" could still not find what was being sought because of a little trick our mind plays on us. Often, we are so focused on what we are seeking, we stop seeing what is right in front of us; and the "harder" we look the less we see. Weird but true.
That leads me to the "Second Rule of Finding Things" (Don't look; see). Sometimes the only way to find something is to stop looking for it and just allow ourselves to see what is before us. While using this approach can often yield up what was sought, the great benefit to using this rule is that it goes a long way toward preventing us from mistaking what is before us for what we are seeking. Sometimes (many would say, "usually") the act of looking for something prevents us from discovering. Another way to think about it is the difference between researching and exploring; the former follows set rules and usually involves a known objective, whereas the latter is far less structured and consists of observing whatever is encountered.
And THAT leads us to 1 Kings 17 where Elijah restores a widow's son to life. It is a story about the great prophet of God that, when Jesus walks among them, everyone in Israel, even children, knows. Right up there with bringing God's fire down on Mt. Carmel, stopping the rain for 3 years, and being whisked off to Heaven in a firey chariot. Plus, there is an expectation that Elijah will return just before the Messiah appears.
So, perhaps we should cut the folks of Nain some slack. Is it such a big problem that they thought he was Elijah returning when they saw Jesus raise to life the dead son of a widow? Luke 7:16 says "they glorified God, saying, 'A great prophet has risen among us!'" When they said that, they were thinking about the return of Elijah.
There's just one problem: they broke the "Second Rule of Finding Things." Because they were SO focused on the return of Elijah, they failed to see what was right in front of them, someone far more important than Elijah.
It's something we might give some thought to ourselves.
If you read one of my previous lectionary reflections, you may be familiar with my hobby of collecting first rules. I wrote about the "First Rule of Self-defense" (Don't be there) and the "First Rule of the Kitchen" (Before picking something up, know where you're going to set it down). Here's a new one for you: the "First Rule of Promotion" (To get the job, do the job). That could also be called the "First Rule of Employment"; it works for both.
I also wrote about the "First Rule of Finding Things" (Look under something). That one is worth exploring a bit more, but I'll save it for another reflection. This week I want to shift over to one of my very few second rules: the "Second Rule of Finding Things." Perhaps you're wondering why a perfectly good first rule needs a second rule at all. The best way I can explain it is this: some things just can't be found using only the first rule. But that's not the rule's fault! The very best practitioners of the "First Rule of Finding Things" could still not find what was being sought because of a little trick our mind plays on us. Often, we are so focused on what we are seeking, we stop seeing what is right in front of us; and the "harder" we look the less we see. Weird but true.
That leads me to the "Second Rule of Finding Things" (Don't look; see). Sometimes the only way to find something is to stop looking for it and just allow ourselves to see what is before us. While using this approach can often yield up what was sought, the great benefit to using this rule is that it goes a long way toward preventing us from mistaking what is before us for what we are seeking. Sometimes (many would say, "usually") the act of looking for something prevents us from discovering. Another way to think about it is the difference between researching and exploring; the former follows set rules and usually involves a known objective, whereas the latter is far less structured and consists of observing whatever is encountered.
And THAT leads us to 1 Kings 17 where Elijah restores a widow's son to life. It is a story about the great prophet of God that, when Jesus walks among them, everyone in Israel, even children, knows. Right up there with bringing God's fire down on Mt. Carmel, stopping the rain for 3 years, and being whisked off to Heaven in a firey chariot. Plus, there is an expectation that Elijah will return just before the Messiah appears.
So, perhaps we should cut the folks of Nain some slack. Is it such a big problem that they thought he was Elijah returning when they saw Jesus raise to life the dead son of a widow? Luke 7:16 says "they glorified God, saying, 'A great prophet has risen among us!'" When they said that, they were thinking about the return of Elijah.
There's just one problem: they broke the "Second Rule of Finding Things." Because they were SO focused on the return of Elijah, they failed to see what was right in front of them, someone far more important than Elijah.
It's something we might give some thought to ourselves.
Friday, September 4, 2009
"The Lineman" (NEW MATERIAL ADDED!!)
(NEW MATERIAL!! This posting includes two sequences of a new fiction piece I'm working on that I am tentatively calling "The Lineman." In it we meet Chez [sounds like fez], learn a little about his present situation, and get introduced to the story. I have now added some new material to the initial sequence, as well as adding a second section -- Steve)
THE LINEMAN
By Steve Orr
Chez Makes a Discovery
Alphonse “Chez” Chesterton was simultaneously enjoying one of the positives of his current employment while dealing with one of its negatives. On the positive side, his new iChip had synced perfectly with his gauntlet despite the fact they were produced two years apart and by different companies (as advertised, he had to admit) and he was currently vibing on a rollicking piece of music being played by a group who’s general popularity had peaked in the previous millennium. But Chez had liked them the first time he had heard them; and now his iChip was loaded with them (as well as with several other bands from that period – who knew I’d ever like this stuff?).
On the negative side, he was also currently climbing a tree out in the back end of nowhere. Nobody cared if he listened to his chip on this job, so he did it all the time; driving from location to location, during analysis & repairs; even when he, on rare occasions, had to actually talk with a client or some other local (hey, they couldn’t tell). The big downside was that he had to do things like he was doing today … finding out why the video feed from this location had gone to snow.
Somewhere in New York City, just off Broadway, was a cozy little restaurant (not really cozy or little, but patrons thought of it that way) with one of those menus that doesn’t list the price of anything (way above my pay grade, that’s for sure). Strategically placed on its walls, so each group of diners had the sense they were dining somewhere else, were large video panels, each with its own separate view of some bucolic scene; sheep grazing in New Zealand, Kobe cattle doing much the same thing in Japan, a relatively empty meadow with occasional breeze riffling through the wildflowers, “Main Street” in a small Texas Panhandle town, the Serengeti Plain, etc. There were more than 70 of these “dining experiences” scattered through “Tableaus,” each with its own collection of groupies.
The ambiance at “Tableaus” (and its above-top-dollar menu) made it a big profit center for FSC, Chez’s employer, and keeping the technology working that produced all that ambiance was Chez’s job. When Chez had come to work for First Solar Corp (FSC; he had to remember to call it FSC … they had switched to letters recently because, they said, people were confusing them with the eco’s) almost five years ago he’d been especially excited about working for them. First, he was already on his third round of living on the dole; if he didn’t come up with a job pretty quick he was going to have to move into a shelter (not the bottom, but you could definitely see it from there). Second, it seemed like someone had tailor-made the job for him; tech (he liked tech; he and tech got along really fine, far better than he and many of the people in his life), world travel (something he had always wanted to do but could never afford), almost complete daily autonomy (he had a boss, but rarely saw or even heard from the woman – “Chez, get it done. Get it done right. Get it done fast. And then move on to the next thing. Keep your log up to date. I’ll contact you if I have any questions.”).
So here he was, high up a tree in the Texas Hill Country (a little too high for comfort); and what does he find? The camera was there, still securely strapped to the tree and facing a meadow that rolled gently down to the Perdenales River. However, the transmitter (the key fail point to the whole shebang in Chez’s estimation … if the scene could not be transmitted to the satellite, no one was going to enjoy it over dinner) was nowhere to be seen. An uninformed observer would not have realized this as quickly as Chez did since the whole operation was encased in a small, flexible weather-proof housing. But Chez knew there would be a small bump on the crown of the housing if the transmitter were in place, and, even from behind and to the side, he could see there was no bump. It was possible, he knew, that the transmitter had somehow come loose within the housing, but the likelihood of this was just about zero. No, the whole situation smacked of human intervention. Someone had fiddled with his tech. Chez did not like that; no-sir-ee. Not. At. All. He would note that in his log. Corporate might need to have a little talk with the folks that this tree was leased from; nobody should be up here messing with FSC property.
In order to see into the housing, Chez needed to swing around so he was facing the clear thermoplastic screen that formed the “front” wall of the housing; the piece that allowed the device inside to “see” the meadow. Ideally, he would look in, see that the transmitter was there, just not connected. If that was the case, he thought the rubbery housing was flexible enough that he could manipulate the transmitter back into place without having to remove the housing, and that would be that. Off in time to drive back in to Austin and grab some supper at Chez Nous. He’d been hooked on French food ever since spending a few days working in Provence last year. Plus, he thought it was kind of funny that, even though they were spelled the same, his name sounded like “fez” while the restaurant’s name sounded like the “sha” in shake. (Those French).
The problem was his safety harness. The harness was prevented from dropping any lower by a limb growing from the opposite side of the tree, and he needed to be just a tad lower to see into the housing. He had tried loosening the harness, but even at its most forgiving it would not allow him to swing around in front of the housing at the right elevation to peek inside. Of course, company safety policy required he do his work in harness; but, he reasoned, this was just one of those situations the policy did not take into account. Besides, it would only take a moment to swing around, look inside, and, he was certain, wiggle to transmitter back into position. He reached around the trunk and flipped the catch on the strap that tethered him to the tree, but left the main belt cinched around his waist. The two lengths of strap now hung from the left and right side of the belt,, respectively.
The limbs were thinner this high up, so Chez tested it before he transferred all of his weight to the limb he would need to stand on so he could do his peering. It gave a little when he pressed down with his foot, but it seemed sturdy enough for his needs. He thought he would be okay if he kept his weight close to the trunk. At times like this he really missed using his spurs (he had an excellent set back in his apartment; Buckingham tree spurs that had somehow followed him home from his stint in the military). After the eco’s got the UN to adopt the Tree Preservation Initiative following the “green wars,” all the countries that still had trees signed on immediately; and those countries that wanted trees eventually signed on when they realized there was no way to get trees without agreeing to abide by the Initiative. Now, no sane person would make a hole in a tree—the fine, alone, would kill you—because you were likely to be sued by the eco’s, or worse. Some of those folk were not entirely rational when it came to the ecosphere.
He reached up and grabbed a much smaller limb that grew from the trunk a few feet directly above the housing. This one had been trimmed back a little so as to not block the view, something the local was required to do from time to time in satisfaction of the lease agreement. Keeping his hand on the upper limb, Chez moved around so he was facing the front of the housing, and then leaned out a little because his eyes were still just a smidge too high to see what he needed to see.
For a few seconds he was disoriented. Something wasn’t right. He was still trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what should actually be inside the housing when, with a loud “crack,” the limb beneath him gave way. Everything seemed to happen all at the same time. He tightened his grip on the limb above, searched left and right for another to grab hold of with his free hand. Then, before he could find another purchase, the upper limb broke from the trunk as well, never having been strong enough to hold his entire weight. As he dropped, one foot hit a lower branch. This resulted in Chez being flipped onto the horizontal, almost perpendicular to the trunk, face to the sky. As he helplessly tilted outward, he saw the jagged end of the upper limb, opposite from where his hand still clutched its leafy extremity, strike the tech housing.
Chez watched as everything at the level of the housing and above disappeared in a loud, bright explosion. He felt the lower limbs smacking his back as he continued to fall, and then, slamming into the ground, knew nothing more.
Chez in Deep
He was really deep this time. Why had he dived so far down? This deep in the Amazon River there was nothing to see; all about him was pitch blackness. And no light. Why would he dive so deep without a light? And no cage. There was nothing between him and everything else that lived down here. He had to surface! Where was the surface? In the all-consuming darkness he started to panic. But then his training kicked in. Inventory: nothing … no, wait. He was breathing, so he must be rigged. Panic would only use up his air faster. He forced himself to take slow, even breaths until he felt himself calm down. His arms … for some reason he could not move his arms very much; and there seemed to be some cords or straps on his left arm. His feet … ahhhh! He began to kick. Yes, there was something limiting his legs as well; but not so much that he couldn’t accomplish scissoring flips with his feet. And in knowing there was something restricting his legs told him where “down” was. Now that he was oriented, he tilted his head back a bit and … there. It wasn’t much, but it would do; a gray smudge where all about everything else was fully black.
Slowly, he moved toward the smudge; coming a bit closer with each little kick. In time he sensed the smudge was growing brighter. He kicked harder, wanting to breach the surface more than he had ever wanted anything. Finally he looked up and saw the smudge had become a disc of light rumpled by the movement of the great river. And then, just before he got to the surface, while still surrounded by the gray-green of the upper waters … that’s when he heard the voice.
“Why aren’t you dead?”
THE LINEMAN
By Steve Orr
Chez Makes a Discovery
Alphonse “Chez” Chesterton was simultaneously enjoying one of the positives of his current employment while dealing with one of its negatives. On the positive side, his new iChip had synced perfectly with his gauntlet despite the fact they were produced two years apart and by different companies (as advertised, he had to admit) and he was currently vibing on a rollicking piece of music being played by a group who’s general popularity had peaked in the previous millennium. But Chez had liked them the first time he had heard them; and now his iChip was loaded with them (as well as with several other bands from that period – who knew I’d ever like this stuff?).
On the negative side, he was also currently climbing a tree out in the back end of nowhere. Nobody cared if he listened to his chip on this job, so he did it all the time; driving from location to location, during analysis & repairs; even when he, on rare occasions, had to actually talk with a client or some other local (hey, they couldn’t tell). The big downside was that he had to do things like he was doing today … finding out why the video feed from this location had gone to snow.
Somewhere in New York City, just off Broadway, was a cozy little restaurant (not really cozy or little, but patrons thought of it that way) with one of those menus that doesn’t list the price of anything (way above my pay grade, that’s for sure). Strategically placed on its walls, so each group of diners had the sense they were dining somewhere else, were large video panels, each with its own separate view of some bucolic scene; sheep grazing in New Zealand, Kobe cattle doing much the same thing in Japan, a relatively empty meadow with occasional breeze riffling through the wildflowers, “Main Street” in a small Texas Panhandle town, the Serengeti Plain, etc. There were more than 70 of these “dining experiences” scattered through “Tableaus,” each with its own collection of groupies.
The ambiance at “Tableaus” (and its above-top-dollar menu) made it a big profit center for FSC, Chez’s employer, and keeping the technology working that produced all that ambiance was Chez’s job. When Chez had come to work for First Solar Corp (FSC; he had to remember to call it FSC … they had switched to letters recently because, they said, people were confusing them with the eco’s) almost five years ago he’d been especially excited about working for them. First, he was already on his third round of living on the dole; if he didn’t come up with a job pretty quick he was going to have to move into a shelter (not the bottom, but you could definitely see it from there). Second, it seemed like someone had tailor-made the job for him; tech (he liked tech; he and tech got along really fine, far better than he and many of the people in his life), world travel (something he had always wanted to do but could never afford), almost complete daily autonomy (he had a boss, but rarely saw or even heard from the woman – “Chez, get it done. Get it done right. Get it done fast. And then move on to the next thing. Keep your log up to date. I’ll contact you if I have any questions.”).
So here he was, high up a tree in the Texas Hill Country (a little too high for comfort); and what does he find? The camera was there, still securely strapped to the tree and facing a meadow that rolled gently down to the Perdenales River. However, the transmitter (the key fail point to the whole shebang in Chez’s estimation … if the scene could not be transmitted to the satellite, no one was going to enjoy it over dinner) was nowhere to be seen. An uninformed observer would not have realized this as quickly as Chez did since the whole operation was encased in a small, flexible weather-proof housing. But Chez knew there would be a small bump on the crown of the housing if the transmitter were in place, and, even from behind and to the side, he could see there was no bump. It was possible, he knew, that the transmitter had somehow come loose within the housing, but the likelihood of this was just about zero. No, the whole situation smacked of human intervention. Someone had fiddled with his tech. Chez did not like that; no-sir-ee. Not. At. All. He would note that in his log. Corporate might need to have a little talk with the folks that this tree was leased from; nobody should be up here messing with FSC property.
In order to see into the housing, Chez needed to swing around so he was facing the clear thermoplastic screen that formed the “front” wall of the housing; the piece that allowed the device inside to “see” the meadow. Ideally, he would look in, see that the transmitter was there, just not connected. If that was the case, he thought the rubbery housing was flexible enough that he could manipulate the transmitter back into place without having to remove the housing, and that would be that. Off in time to drive back in to Austin and grab some supper at Chez Nous. He’d been hooked on French food ever since spending a few days working in Provence last year. Plus, he thought it was kind of funny that, even though they were spelled the same, his name sounded like “fez” while the restaurant’s name sounded like the “sha” in shake. (Those French).
The problem was his safety harness. The harness was prevented from dropping any lower by a limb growing from the opposite side of the tree, and he needed to be just a tad lower to see into the housing. He had tried loosening the harness, but even at its most forgiving it would not allow him to swing around in front of the housing at the right elevation to peek inside. Of course, company safety policy required he do his work in harness; but, he reasoned, this was just one of those situations the policy did not take into account. Besides, it would only take a moment to swing around, look inside, and, he was certain, wiggle to transmitter back into position. He reached around the trunk and flipped the catch on the strap that tethered him to the tree, but left the main belt cinched around his waist. The two lengths of strap now hung from the left and right side of the belt,, respectively.
The limbs were thinner this high up, so Chez tested it before he transferred all of his weight to the limb he would need to stand on so he could do his peering. It gave a little when he pressed down with his foot, but it seemed sturdy enough for his needs. He thought he would be okay if he kept his weight close to the trunk. At times like this he really missed using his spurs (he had an excellent set back in his apartment; Buckingham tree spurs that had somehow followed him home from his stint in the military). After the eco’s got the UN to adopt the Tree Preservation Initiative following the “green wars,” all the countries that still had trees signed on immediately; and those countries that wanted trees eventually signed on when they realized there was no way to get trees without agreeing to abide by the Initiative. Now, no sane person would make a hole in a tree—the fine, alone, would kill you—because you were likely to be sued by the eco’s, or worse. Some of those folk were not entirely rational when it came to the ecosphere.
He reached up and grabbed a much smaller limb that grew from the trunk a few feet directly above the housing. This one had been trimmed back a little so as to not block the view, something the local was required to do from time to time in satisfaction of the lease agreement. Keeping his hand on the upper limb, Chez moved around so he was facing the front of the housing, and then leaned out a little because his eyes were still just a smidge too high to see what he needed to see.
For a few seconds he was disoriented. Something wasn’t right. He was still trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what should actually be inside the housing when, with a loud “crack,” the limb beneath him gave way. Everything seemed to happen all at the same time. He tightened his grip on the limb above, searched left and right for another to grab hold of with his free hand. Then, before he could find another purchase, the upper limb broke from the trunk as well, never having been strong enough to hold his entire weight. As he dropped, one foot hit a lower branch. This resulted in Chez being flipped onto the horizontal, almost perpendicular to the trunk, face to the sky. As he helplessly tilted outward, he saw the jagged end of the upper limb, opposite from where his hand still clutched its leafy extremity, strike the tech housing.
Chez watched as everything at the level of the housing and above disappeared in a loud, bright explosion. He felt the lower limbs smacking his back as he continued to fall, and then, slamming into the ground, knew nothing more.
Chez in Deep
He was really deep this time. Why had he dived so far down? This deep in the Amazon River there was nothing to see; all about him was pitch blackness. And no light. Why would he dive so deep without a light? And no cage. There was nothing between him and everything else that lived down here. He had to surface! Where was the surface? In the all-consuming darkness he started to panic. But then his training kicked in. Inventory: nothing … no, wait. He was breathing, so he must be rigged. Panic would only use up his air faster. He forced himself to take slow, even breaths until he felt himself calm down. His arms … for some reason he could not move his arms very much; and there seemed to be some cords or straps on his left arm. His feet … ahhhh! He began to kick. Yes, there was something limiting his legs as well; but not so much that he couldn’t accomplish scissoring flips with his feet. And in knowing there was something restricting his legs told him where “down” was. Now that he was oriented, he tilted his head back a bit and … there. It wasn’t much, but it would do; a gray smudge where all about everything else was fully black.
Slowly, he moved toward the smudge; coming a bit closer with each little kick. In time he sensed the smudge was growing brighter. He kicked harder, wanting to breach the surface more than he had ever wanted anything. Finally he looked up and saw the smudge had become a disc of light rumpled by the movement of the great river. And then, just before he got to the surface, while still surrounded by the gray-green of the upper waters … that’s when he heard the voice.
“Why aren’t you dead?”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)