Monday Morning Music Ministry

Mary, you are a little teenage girl. Can you believe that it was an angel who talked to you, or was that a mad dream?

You find yourself pregnant, even without a husband… even without a man. How can this be? And if so, what will your family say? What will Joseph, your intended, say? You wonder these things.

You know your scriptures. You know that God promised to send the Messiah in the form of a humble baby, born of a virgin. But… you? You know these things, but can you believe God has chosen you?

You are asking: “Me? Blessed among women? Of all generations?” You humbly fall to your knees and weep. Yes, you are blessed. But you know scripture well enough to know that your baby will grow to heal, and teach, and love, and… be rejected of men. Be persecuted, tortured, despised, and die. Why? Because he loved.

Mary, can you know?

I think you do know, because you know what the scriptures foretold; you heard from angels.

You know that when your baby’s ministry is finished – after you give birth in a lowly place, after your baby grows in wisdom, sinless, even does mighty miracles – you will be helpless as you watch him suffer and die. At the moment when a mother should protect her son, you will be unable.

On that day in the future, you will be in a small group at the foot of a cross, and maybe the only friend or family member who has remained loyal.

Because you are a mother. Because you listened to an angel. Because you know scripture. Mary, can you know that at that moment your baby Jesus will look down into your eyes and say, “Mother, behold your son”?

Can you know these things?

All these events – prophesied in great detail 700 years earlier in the Book of Isaiah, or looking forward to the end of days – Mary knew. And if she did not… she believed; she trusted; and she was obedient.

You and I should bring such gifts, ourselves – belief and trust and obedience – to the Babe in the manger.

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The amazing song Mary, Did You Know is here performed by its writer, Mark Lowry, and its composer Buddy Greene.

Click: Mary, Did You Know

12-16-19

This title does not refer to the interesting traditions and separate observances, including dates, of the various Eastern and Orthodox rites. But I always reflect during Advent about the “other” aspects of the Christmas holiday that most of us in Western civilization, the familiar European and American Christmas, have come to know.

I am frequently tempted to think, with some sadness, that we have been hijacked by Coca Cola ads and Hallmark cards. They are only problems when they take our eyes from Christ – not just the plastic one in manger sets – but the warm and memories and, we hope, spiritual prompts cannot be bad.

We cannot disdain Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup as comfort food, but we can have regrets when it keeps us from enjoying grandma’s homemade soup and the genuine thing.

So At Christmas, as I will share, it is interesting and maybe beneficial to remember “counter-intuitive” things.

For instance, many of us have mental images of snowy villages and evergreens at Christmastide. But we know that Jesus was born, most probably, in the Spring. And in a part of the world where pine trees do not grow. However, Jesus was born.

Yes, Jesus was born, and that is the reason for the season, to coin a phrase. For most of Christendom’s 2000 years, Christmas was a very minor holiday. Odd? Maybe. To make very broad generalizations, and theological essentials aside, Christmas is a bundle of coincidences – prophesies fulfilled. Good Friday, more prophecies fulfilled, and the self-sacrifice of the Willing Servant. Easter, the greatest of the Christ’s miracles. Ascension Day, ultimate proof of Jesus’ Divinity, rising to the right hand of the Father.

Stick with me: my point is not to ignore the Virgin Birth or the uncountable other parts of the Incarnation. But the ancient church placed more emphasis on the later parts of Jesus’ story, not to denigrate His birth, but, perhaps, to apply more reverence to His ministry, His suffering, His atonement, His death, His resurrection, and His ascension. And that cannot be bad, at all, if we must choose focus.

I think that the best Christmas carols, therefore, are ones that remind us the holiest aspects of the Birth and Incarnation. It summons the artistry and talents of poets and composers to do so.

One of the very oldest surviving Christmas carols, maybe the oldest, is the Wexford carol. In Celtic, Carúl Loch Garman. It can be traced to County Wexford in Ireland, and that is the surest thing about its origin. It was recorded about a century ago; written down about a century before that, its lines seemed to have existed in the 1600s and 1700s, and its Celtic tune, maybe a thousand years ago. Perhaps… like all good legends.

It has blessed people, from little villages and small chapels, to cathedrals and on CDs. But its ancient flavor is haunting. True and beautiful. Just as its core, the Christmas story itself, should be to us – true, and beautiful.

Good people all, this Christmas time, Consider well and bear in mind / What our good God for us has done / In sending his beloved son

With Mary holy we should pray, / To God with love this Christmas Day/ In Bethlehem upon that morn, / There was a blessed Messiah born.

The night before that happy tide, / The noble Virgin and her guide / Were long time seeking up and down / To find a lodging in the town.

But mark how all things came to pass / From every door repelled, alas, / As was foretold, their refuge all / Was but a humble ox’s stall.

Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep / Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep / To whom God’s angels did appear / Which put the shepherds in great fear.

Prepare and go, the angels said / To Bethlehem, be not afraid /
For there you’ll find, this happy morn / A princely babe, sweet Jesus, born.

With thankful heart and joyful mind / The shepherds went the babe to find / And as God’s angel had foretold / They did our Savior Christ behold.

Within a manger he was laid / And by his side the virgin maid /
Attending on the Lord of Life / Who came on earth to end all strife.

There were three wise men from afar / Directed by a glorious star / And on they wandered night and day / Until they came where Jesus lay.

And when they came unto that place / Where our beloved Messiah lay /
They humbly cast them at his feet / With gifts of gold and incense sweet.

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Click: The Wexford Carol

12-9-19

I have been blessed to be in some of the world’s great places of worship. I mean Christian churches, mostly – cavernous cathedrals; ancient basilicas; rough-hewn Gothic, grand Renaissance, and gaudy Baroque; story-telling tapestries, stunning mosaics, stained glass windows that are miracles of art. Many small side-chapels, or the seemingly endless nave and chancel and ambulatory expanses themselves, crossed by mighty transepts.

They inspire awe, and wonder, and worship because they were designed to do just that.

A profound experience of mine was in France almost 20 years ago. Near Angoulême it was, in the Charentes. I was taken as a guest to the Abbaye of St-Marie de Maumont, I think it was, a Benedictine abbey of sisters devoted to worship, prayer, service, and outreach. Mostly, however, it is what a Protestant American expected of a monastery or nunnery – an ancient site of worship; silence and reverence; modesty, sisters in cowls going about their business. And that business was, indeed, largely prayer – almost constant prayer, private and public – and worship in song.

My friend sped that evening along narrow rural roads between Bordeaux and Angoulême, on winding roads without lights on a moonless evenings… perhaps I was already in a prayerful mood. In truth I was not at all prepared. In an old candle-lit chapel, the sisters sang worship, hymns, and liturgy for four hours; in Latin, French, and Old French. Words I seldom recognized but did understand. Free to sit – observe – in the pews, what is left for the visitor? To worship. Pray. Reflect.

In this setting, enveloped by all that heritage, the sense of God’s presence, and His manifestation in the art and lives of that place; the essence of what it means to surrender and serve; to dig deep into self and reach high unto God; to feel – and be – a million miles from the world’s distractions… that is the kind of worship and contemplation, allowing the purest of Christ-centered meditation, that we seldom know in contemporary life.

I was visited, during those four hours, by past sins. I knew afresh the forgiveness of God. I met again my Savior Jesus. I was lost in the forests of a forgotten corner of Christendom, yet felt at home as if in Heaven, already.

There were no steeples, no mighty organs, no golden chalices. On the other hand – speaking as an American evangelical – there were no drums and electric guitars; no words projected on a screen; no clapping; no Starbucks in the lobby; no announcements of Holy Jazzercize on Tuesday night.

There were perhaps 60 souls there that evening, but, really, one heart beating. As I cried and as I laughed in my pew, I realized something about Christianity in the centuries since the Early Church – past the Age of Cathedrals – to our Age of Praise and Worship shows.

God touches us – or, perhaps differently said, we feel better able to touch Him – when worship experiences are at variance with the worlds we inhabit. In the “Dark” Ages, when poverty and disease were common, Christians devoted every ounce of their talents, ambitions, and resources into building astonishing cathedrals that reached up, up, up to Heaven and sought to reflect His glory.

In our day, when our multi-media world bombards us with every sensation; when celebrities have replaced heroes and sinners are elevated over saints; when the consumer culture insists on telling us what to like abd what to hate, what to believe and what not to believe… maybe people need to reject the hype by simply getting lost in Christian glitz and entertainment.

Holy bling is not my cup of tea. But, then, even tea is not my cup of tea.

Perhaps our souls need to find God by realizing that He is different than we are, and our worlds. And He speaks to us in different ways, at different times, in different places. I have heard something like that somewhere.

I just wish that people in our time can discover what used to be profound in the earlier phases of human history. “Get thee to a nunnery”? I have heard that, somewhere, too. All of us should at least taste of those experiences. After all, they were what eventually brought civilization to where we are now.

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Click: Chant

Some things that occurred to me during Thanksgiving week, and things that happened to happen, as things do, that had me thinking about ordinary things in a new way.

I called the local homeless shelter in nearby Flint – as close to a soup kitchen as we can have these days; run by a ministry, like an old-fashioned revival mission – to ask if they needed a volunteer to serve, prep meals, or clean up on Thanksgiving. “No thanks,” a man said with a chuckle. “If you want to come by and help… it would be to help eat all the food we’re going to have.”

He explained that volunteers often are needed at many times during the year (duly noted) but on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, they have more offers of volunteer help than they can accommodate. “I’m sorry.”

He said he was sorry. A turn of phrase, but I know what was behind that. “There is a season, turn, turn,” goes the famous passage from Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3.

In King Solomon’s words, or the folk song based on them, it does not say that there is a time to pity… although we know that we should have charitable impulses. It does not say that there is a time to “ignore,” of course: when things come our way but do not “go” our way, that is when it is our time to address them. That is what’s called Life. In Biblical perspective, lives well lived.

If we serve the poor, we should do so not out of pity, but out of love.

If (like my friend Becky Spencer and her Grand Staff Swaziland outreaches) (I will call friends I admire to my mind here) we work in overseas missions, it is not because it is easy or glamorous, but because it is right.

If spouses, children, or parents care for sick family members, the world might remark about burdens, but we know – only as we can know – that somehow such service is a blessing, not a burden.

My sister had a daughter with severe cerebral palsy, cared for her, and went through very hard times before losing Liza… but says she never could know the depth or precious quality of love except for the “crisis.”

My wife endured diabetes, heart attacks, kidney failure, strokes, cancer, amputations, and heart and kidney transplants… but never felt sorry for herself. She said till the end that she would not choose to go through it all again, but would not change it for the world. From the increased faith and reliance on God, she asked how she could be sorry for that?

Jesus, on the cross, was not sorry for Himself, but for the thieves on the crosses to the left and right. And He even forgave those who persecuted Him and hung Him out to die – for “they knew not what they did.”

The singer Bradley Walker, whose muscular dystrophy has consigned him to a wheelchair all his life, does not complain but asks sympathy rather for the family of his songwriting partner Tim Johnson who died at a young age. And the singer Rory Feek who lost his wife Joey, after she gave birth to their Down Syndrome daughter Indie – neither Joey nor Rory nor anyone who knows them feels sorry for them.

“Sorry.” It is a strange concept, stranger the more we contemplate. When we say we feel sorry for someone, it is really a form of sanitary self-pity? We will miss them, for instance?

It has been said – and it is a good lesson in perspective – that we are more fortunate than the angels. How? We can almost feel sorry for them, because as sinners seeking forgiveness, accepting Christ, and knowing the glory of salvation – we can sing, and angels simply cannot sing, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me!” In a way, I feel sorry for them. “I once was lost, but now I’m found!”

So let us go forth – yes, on days that are not Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter – and serve others and serve God, not out of obligation or pity or sorrow (the root-word of “sorry”) but out of a willing heart, love, and joy.

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Click: I Feel Sorry For Them