Walking Dead

Walking Dead (a brief Lectionary Reflection by Steve Orr)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!
Steve

Lumber Management

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a truly humbling moment.

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

Lumber management. 

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK

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

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

I'm going.  See you there?

Steve

I Was A Teenage Pharisee!

“I Was a Teen-Age Pharisee!!” (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr for the Liturgy of the Palms)

In the fall of my 7th grade year in school, I ran for Student Council.  I lost.  I did that again in the 8th Grade.  And the 9th.  Annnnnd, the 10th.  But the 11th grade was a very special year for me.  Oh, I lost my run for the Student Council that fall, too.  And to the same guy I always lost to: Bobby King (not his real name).   But something new happened that year.  That spring, I became a viable candidate for Student Council President because Bobby King was not allowed to run.  The faculty and the Principal decided he was over-committed; and since he was unwilling to give up anything, they denied him his request to be a candidate for the Presidency.  Finally, I felt, I was going to get mine.  I had scoped the only other person allowed to run, and I knew I could beat him. I was finally going to get elected, and not only that, but elected to the highest office.  I felt excited, happy … assured.

The day finally came.  The polls would open immediately following the candidate’s speeches in the auditorium  And if I had had any concern, it vanished after we finished our speeches to the student body.  The other candidate spoke first.  I spoke second.  Based on the applause, I clearly had the upper hand. 

Then it happened.  The Principal asked if there were any nominations from the floor.  And for the first time that anyone could remember, someone was nominated from the floor.  A fellow popped out from the side stage and uttered the very words I feared: “I nominate Bobby King!”  For his part, Bobby was seated in the very last row, the very highest point on the floor of the auditorium.  He stood and slowly walked down the sloping aisle toward the front.  As he passed each row of students, they rose to their feet, cheering and applauding loudly.  By the time he mounted the stage it was obvious to everyone that he would be the winner.

I was crushed … and angry.  I felt everything I had worked for had been stolen from me; not just for that election, but for all the years I had been trying.  With each rising row of student, shouting their accolades and praise for their chosen leader, my envy and jealousy rose.  And rose.  And rose.  His triumphal procession to the front made me so angry.  More than anything else in the world, I wished him gone.  Instead, I was forced to just watch as it all fell apart before my eyes. 

That is what the Pharisees felt when they watched Jesus descend from the Mount of Olives in a triumphal procession toward Jerusalem (It's in this week's Lectionary passage of Matthew 21:1-11, but is more fully described at Luke 19:28-48).  They felt it all belonged to them; and they could not abide the thought someone else would take their place; that someone else would have all that power.  

Not pretty; not then, not when I was in high school, and not now.  Do we, like the Pharisees, want to keep hold of the power?  Are we trying even now to push Jesus from the lordship of our lives?  Or do we embrace “the stone that the builders rejected” (Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29) as the cornerstone of our lives.  

Blind Man Healed, Starts Job Hunt

Blind Man Healed, Starts Job Hunt (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I have always been one of those people who wants to know what came next.  When I would arrive at the end of a story, book, or movie I would find myself trying to sort out what kinds of things would happen in the future.  Do the good guys stay the winners, or does the evil empire "strike back"?  Would it REALLY be "happily ever after"?  Things have changed.  Will the characters relate to one another the way they did earlier in the story?  In the case of fiction, you're going to need a sequel (or at least some fanfic) to find out those answers.  In the case of history,  unless we discover more records, we can't know.  Still, that doesn't keep me from wondering.

I did this last week when we read about Jesus healing the man who had been born blind and had been a beggar all his life.  I can't help but wonder if he, now no longer visually challenged, had to start a job hunt.  Begging was no longer going to work as a means of generating revenue.  Had he been living with his parents all that time?  Probably.  That might continue for a while, but he was probably going to eventually have to move.  On and on.  Change after change.  However it turned out, you can bet his life was no longer the same as it was.

Lazarus ratchets this up several notches.  How do you live your life after you return from four days of being dead?  Do you catch your loved ones staring at you?  Is there a will to contest?  Are you even a legal person anymore?  Of course there is the initial uproar and excitement, but what happens after that?  A week later?  A month?

Do you just resume your former life?   I think not.  And I think there is a lesson here for us, as well.  We may not be healed of our infirmities, may not be raised from the dead to walk back into town and reunite with our friends and families in this world.  But we can have a life-changing encounter with God.  Sure, you can TRY to return to your former life; but when you emerge from an encounter with God, you are not going to be the same.  You are really no longer the person you were.  You can't be.  

So maybe we all need to be asking that question.  What comes next?

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fifth Sunday in Lent (April 10, 2011)
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

Blink

"Blink" (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I found myself chuckling while reading John Chapter 9, one of this week's Lectionary passages.

Now, if you did what I think you did, you jumped out and read the passage ... and are no doubt wondering if I have lost my mind. How could it be, you might be pondering, that I would think a story about a blind man is humorous? What could possibly be funny about a man who was born blind? A story about a man who, now an adult, has spent his entire life in actual darkness; how is that funny? What's so humorous about a man who was ostracized all of those years because it was commonly believed people with disabilities had brought the situation upon themselves? You're right. There is nothing funny about any of that.

What IS funny to me is how everyone ELSE acts after Jesus restores the man's sight (Jesus rubs mud in his eyes and sends him off to wash in Siloam's fountain). And the reason I find it funny is this: Several decades ago, I married into a family that includes several people with visual challenges. Over the years they have been gracious enough to teach me this key lesson: blind people are just like everyone else; they just also have a visual challenge to deal with. I know blind people who would, upon reading this story in John Chapter 9, be chuckling and shaking their heads; identifying with their fellow "blink". They would readily recognize the words and actions of the sighted people in this story as similar treatment to which they have been subjected.

When blind people socialize, it is common to share stories about the stupid things sighted people do and say upon encountering people who are visually challenged. For example: asking if the blind person knows sign language. The only reason a blind person would need to know sign language is if they were also deaf (like Helen Keller). Among the more vexing is a person who acts as if the blind person cannot speak for himself, and/or, similarly, referencing them in the third person as if they were not actually present.

I was lucky to be present on some occasions when Uncle JQ (a wonderful man who was both blind and a hilarious raconteur) told this tale of a cross-country airplane trip. The stewardess (they weren't called "flight attendant" until later) came by to take orders for alcoholic beverages. JQ was in the center seat. After taking orders of the two men seated to either side of him, she asked the man sitting on JQ's left, someone JQ did not know and had never even spoken with, if JQ would like some juice. To which JQ replied (and he would already be cackling with joy at this point as he related the tale to us), "No, I would NOT like a juice. *I* would like a scotch on the rocks!"

Something like that is happening in verses 8-33. The people are talking about the formerly blind man as if he is not present. They are debating whether THIS man is the same man who used to sit out here and beg. Back and forth, back and forth. And the entire time, the man keeps saying, "I am the man!" But no one is listening.

After the local folk finally decide to hear him, they switch to interrogating him about the process of his miracle. Isn't that just like people? Standing before them is a miracle; and instead of rejoicing that the man's sight has been restored, they want to pick the thing to pieces. Finally, after squeezing all the details out of him, they ask him to point them to where Jesus is. In other words, "If you're so special that someone restored your sight, point him out!" The scripture records the man replying, "I don't know." But you can bet he was thinking something like, "Hello-o! Blind guy! How could I tell you where he is? *I* didn't see him!"

Later, when the Pharisees are grilling him about the miracle (and not believing what they are hearing), they turn to his parents(!) for confirmation, as if he were a child. Imagine being these parents and having to say, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age.(!) He will speak for himself."

The final chuckle, which has everything to do with lack of vision and nothing to do with lack of sight, comes when the former blind man says, astonished, "You (the religious leaders of Israel) do not know where he (Jesus) comes from, and yet he opened my eyes!" Blind people have learned through experience that sighted people will often say and do some pretty asinine things to and around blind people. They've also learned that, sometimes, you just gotta laugh about it.

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This week's passages are all about vision, light and dark, seeing correctly. I especially liked Ist Samuel 6:7 and Ephesians 5:8-10.

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday in Lent (April 3, 2011)
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

"Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever."

(Photo courtesy of pdphoto.org)

In the movie, THE REPLACEMENTS, while urging his offensive squad to give their all for one last game, substitute Quarterback Shane Falco says, “Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever.” While I might like to contend with Mr. Falco about his first and third assertions at some future point, I have (blessedly) had almost no experience with physical scars, and thus have no basis to know how attractive they are to chicks. And, while I think I now know a little bit about spiritual scars, I have no way of knowing whether chicks dig them or not. What I do know about spiritual scars is that they are all but invisible to people who don’t have any.

Does the future butterfly feel pain while it is forming (re-forming?) in its chrysalis? That is an answer I would like to know. With us humans, when God is shaping (or re-shaping) us, there is usually a good deal of pain. When the caterpillar moves along its entombed journey to its new life, does it sleep a deep, painless sleep; or does it struggle against the process; resisting, holding back? When God is pulling the skin away from the little pilgrim’s body to use in creating its wings, does it feel pain? I do know that we hold back, resisting the process of becoming.

And, another challenge to our personal reformations, we are not good at recognizing the process in ourselves or others. As a youth, the older, wiser, “solid” people I met (and somewhat idolized), those whose discipleship of Jesus appeared effortless, seemed to my limited experience to just BE that way. Process was not a concept I thought much about. And when I would read some author claiming that “real” change is “forged in pain” or some similar allusion, I usually thought, ungraciously I now see, that this person must be deficient in some way. Else, why have to go through the pain? Obviously (so my youthful thoughts went), God could easily change those who would just yield to his loving touch; only the truly recalcitrant would have to be wrenched into shape. Since then, experience has taught me much.

My experience has been that, as God shapes (wrenches, pounds, slams, stretches, flattens, crams) me, I begin to perceive a tiny bit more of the process, in myself and in others. I have been shocked lately to realize—after all these years of thinking I was on the potter’s wheel, being spun by God into a vessel of significance—that I am still just a lump of clay being “thrown.” God has just been loosening me up, making me more malleable for the real work ahead. Here I thought, based on the pounding I’ve taken so far, that I was on my way to being a God-shaped vessel, destined for spiritual service of some importance; having completely forgotten that the truly delicate work of spiritual shaping can only be done with the most malleable of materials.

So, when I observe the delicate beauty of the butterfly, when I find myself thinking “WOW!” about the glory of God’s handiwork in that creature, I have to remind myself that the little pilgrim got like that the hard way. In fact, there really is no other way. If a butterfly is to have wings—and how to be one without them?—then it must, somewhat like Eustace in Lewis’ VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER, have its skin pulled away from its body; without that skin there can be no wings.

And, if I am to become what God has in mind for me, I must transit the process, whatever it is, however challenging it may seem at the time. But, unlike the caterpillar-cum-butterfly, I do not have to take this journey alone. There are others. And … I am, finally, beginning to recognize them.

Praise God.

The Real Me

I think I have mentioned elsewhere that I was shy when I was young; not the "aw shucks" kind of shy; the "oh-please-let-me-fade-into-this-wall" kind of shy.  It was in the 7th grade that I decided to do something about this problem.  I undertook this endeavor as a subset of a larger enterprise.  I had finally come to the conclusion that I was going to have to take the reins of my life because, apparently, no one else was going to.  Everyone in my life seemed pretty busy, too busy to provide any guidance to me.  And so, I began to make decisions for myself.

One set of those decisions were related to my realization that, somehow, I had to overcome my debilitating shyness.  It was my observation that most people seemed to be able to hold conversations, be comfortable in groups, and have friends.  Wanting that for myself, I started making changes.  They were painful.  Over the next few years I joined student organizations so I would be forced into social situations, took a Speech class (that was awful), auditioned for and acted in school plays (more nerve-wracking than the Speech class, but of blessedly shorter duration). I even signed up to run for Student Council Representative.  I believe I may hold the record for most consecutive unsuccessful runs for SC Rep (grades 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11).

One thing I did that was not a part of this campaign to overcome my shyness was join the student newspaper.  I decided I wanted to write; so I took a journalism course and helped lay out the paper.  Becoming a writer was a long-term goal, and I didn't allow myself to apply any pressure toward it's accomplishment.  However, it was while working on the student newspaper that my name became known to my peers.  And I discovered something new about me: I really LIKED being known.  Unexpected, unplanned; I began in earnest my slow climb out of my shyness because I liked that people knew the me that was a writer for the school paper.  I had a long way to go, but it was a start.

Being known.  It's important.  My young self was almost overcome by that first whiff of being known.  Very heady stuff. 

One of the many interesting things one learns by reading the Bible is that there are several names for God, different ways that He is known; names such as Yahweh or Jehovah ("God who preserves what he creates") and El Shaddai ("God Almighty").  The writers of the books record the names revealed to His people and they record the names His people ascribed to Him.  This latter group are usually combination names, such as Jehovah Jireh ("My God will provide").  

My all time favorite, though, was not ascribed to God by one of the writers; in fact, it was not even given Him by someone of power, stature, or position.  The name appears only once, in Genesis Chapter 16, and it is spoken by an Egyptian slave.  I immediately thought of his story when I read the Genesis 12:1-4 passage in this week's Lectionary readings.

There is so much that is interesting about this story.  Abram's wife, Sarai, is old; well past the fertile years.  There is no earthly basis for her to believe she will be able to become pregnant or, even if so, that she could successfully carry the child to term.  Having lost faith in God's promise that she would become a mother in her own right, she "gives" her slave, Hagar, to Abram as a second wife.  She reasons "The Lord has not given me any children.  Sleep with my slave, and if she has a child, it will be mine."  For his part, we're not sure what Abram was thinking.  Maybe he really believed THIS arrangement was how God was going to make him "a great nation".  Whatever his thoughts, in short order Hagar becomes pregnant and, also in short order, proud (that she is carrying THE HEIR) and hateful to Sarai.  

I doubt anyone will be shocked to learn that Sarai retaliated; nor that Hagar soon ran away.  And it is while she is on the run that she has an encounter with God.  Hagar is not what you would call a sympathetic character.  True, her situation stems from another person's lack of faith, and from the acts of a person who views Hagar as having value in only whatever ways Hagar proves useful.  It's not a story through which runs the milk of human kindness.  Frankly, I was pretty surprised when God took an interest in her.  Yet, He did.  And in a profound way.  As a result of this encounter, Hagar thinks, “Have I really seen God and lived to tell about it?”  So from then on she called him, “The God Who Sees Me.”

She NAMES God!

I used to be in awe of this passage for that reason alone.  But as time went on, and I continued to return to this story, I became more enamored of the question: WHY did Hagar name Him "The God Who Sees Me"?  For the longest time, I held the belief that Hagar, being a slave, saw herself as someone who was NOT seen by others; that is, not valued enough by others to REALLY see the real Hagar.  Thankfully, with the passage of years, God has rescued me from that errancy.

Now I know the truth: we ALL have a need to be known.  And I, for one, am very happy to know that God "sees me"; to have confidence that He sees my good intentions along with my failed executions, sees my belief while helping my unbelief, sees my selfish desires as well as my attempts to store up the right kinds of treasures.  The real me.  The person I am ... and the person I aspire to become.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday in Lent (March 20, 2011)
Genesis 12:1-4a
Psalm 121
Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17 or Matthew 17:1-9

If you're in Waco this Friday morning, join us at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse) for a tasty breakfast and more of the above.

Enjoy!
Steve