Monday Morning Music Ministry

9-18-23

There have been a few small denominations that discouraged music in worship, just as there were sects that outlawed sex. For similar reasons those groups seemed to perish, disappear… and are missed by few.

Music is a part of humans’ souls. Mysterious in its way because not everybody has the talent to create tunes… or perform well… yet we all respond to music. Those who “can’t carry a tune” (and some people cannot) still enjoy listening. The most hardened people find their hearts softened when they hear a familiar melody. Songs are composed to win lovers and to send boys to war; to bond and to bind; to remember… and, by diversion, to heal and forget.

I am not aware of a survey, but I figure that 95 per cent of songs are love songs. Tennessee Ernie Ford once was asked why he sang so many Gospel songs and not more love songs, and he answered, “Gospel songs are the greatest love songs of all.”

Instrumental music is, to me, the most mysterious, and profound, of all music… all of all the arts. Abstract, yet specific in intent. And musical notation is a language all its own – a universal language. Composers who begin their work with blank staves… and finish with “sounds” that can move us literally and also move us to tears and smiles… perform a kind of miracle.

Johann Sebastian Bach took those blank pages, and before beginning to compose any work, wrote “Jesus, help me” at the top of the first page. When the composition was finished, he wrote “Thanks be to God” on the last page, acknowledging his source and strength of inspiration.

Quirky denominations aside, all cultures, in their social and religious practices, have relied on musical expression. The Bible overflows with descriptions, and endorsements, of joyful music. In Genesis 4 Jubal is identified as the ancestor of “all those who play the lyre and pipe.” Elsewhere, Elisha commanded, “Get me a musician,” wherewith a blessing was delivered. David, the “Sweet Singer of Israel,” ministered to Saul by playing music at night, much as Bach’s Goldberg Variations were composed to soothe those who sought rest.

Martin Luther, the great reformer and preacher, was also a composer (for instance of A Mighty Fortress Is Our God) and he defended music in church: “The devil does not need all the good tunes to himself!”

Some of the most important American historians are those who have studied and recorded (including literally) the folklore and folk music of the American past. I was privileged to know (and play music with, even past his 100^th birthday!) the legendary Wade Mainer, whose banjo-picking style influenced Earl Scruggs years before the Bluegrass Sound was born. To hear his stories of rural North Carolina, and hear the songs he and his wife Julia (whose stage name back in the day was Hillbilly Lilly) sang together was like walking through history.

A friend recently reminded me of the excellent book and movie Songcatcher, about those who kept those musical traditions alive. One of the characters mused about the “thread” of a favorite song, perhaps “a touchstone with the past – a remembrance of all the singers who had ever kept a story alive on the strength of their music, and that singing the ballad was a chance to join that chain of voices stretching all the way back to across the ocean to the place where the families began.”

Yes, music hath charms. It is the case, of course, with mighty hymns as well as humble folk tunes. May I provide an example?

Here is a video of a performance of the hymn Nearer, My God, to Thee, which was composed in 1841. Its meaningful words were set to music by several people through the years, including Sir Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan fame). Its words were on the lips of President William McKinley as he died of an assassin’s bullet – imagine an American president today having this as his last thought? – and by legend, as The Titanic sank, Theodore Roosevelt’s former military aide Archie Butt directed the ship’s musicians to play it.

In this video, André Rieu conducts his Johann Strauss Orchestra, plus 400 brass players and a hundred singers in a performance of Nearer, My God, to Thee. The audience of thousands is a mixed, international group in an open square in Maastricht – and the hymn is performed without words, the singers chanting. Does the audience miss the significance? Not counted by the emotions, and tears, on listeners’ faces!

To hear this hymn, even once, impresses the powerful words on one’s mind, carried by the music. And the reverence of this elaborate performance… confirms the Power of Music.

In words written in 1697 in William Congreve’s play The Mourning Bride, “Musick hath Charms to soothe the savage Breast, To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.” And it can lift souls, and carry us somehow Heavenward too:

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee! E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to thee; Nearer to thee!

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be Nearer, my God, to thee; Nearer to thee!

There let the way appear, steps unto heaven; All that thou sendest me, in mercy given;
Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to thee; Nearer to thee!

As Bach, “the Fifth Evangelist,” said, “With devotional music, God is always present in His grace.”

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Click: Nearer My God To Thee

7-24-23

Last week’s metaphorical garden walk evoked great response. Among the characteristics of pretty and seemingly fragile flowers are, frequently, a tenacity that can inspire us to persevere against life’s onslaughts.

Perhaps the most opposite of objects to a fragile flower that we can think of in nature is a mountain. A giant rock, a monolith, an “immovable object.” Oh, yeah?

When I was a young teenager I visited Italy. I was interested, who isn’t, in Renaissance art, and I was grateful to be able to visit the legendary marble quarries of Carrara. It is an area where primeval formations during the creation of the world caused a wide swath of mountains to be composed of marble. Marble has unique properties – it is a rock (metamorphic carbonate), to be sure, hard and heavy, but at the same time malleable and in some conditions, a virginal pure white.

Michelangelo coveted the marble from Carrara and Seravezza for his planned façade of San Lorenzo in Florence. Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici and Pope Leo X indulged him, but Michelangelo knew his marble, having sculpted the supernal “David” and “Pieta” several years earlier. He was so intent on moving that marble of Carrara to that city of Florence – hundreds of miles down the Mediterranean coast, thence east into the boot, through Pisa to Florence – that he put aside painting and sculpting and architecture to oversee the “quarrying” of marble and moving gargantuan slabs down the sea and across lands. He became like Leonardo during those many months, inventing rigs and carts and boats and bridges.

Allora. Yes, to get to my point. I was fascinated, as a teenaged tourist, to learn how giant pieces of marble were secured – separated from the mountains that held them. Dynamite existed at the time, and primitive explosions might have been tried… but were not. Many workers with sledgehammers? No. Beasts of burden strapped with great ropes affixed to peaks and outcroppings? Not at all.

The giant chunks of marble were instead separated from the mountains by mere modest slivers of wood.

Wedges. It is a property of some stone, especially marble, that it can crack under pressure (hmmm… like many people do, but that is not my message!). Small cracks were found, or made, in the great marble monoliths, and Michelangelo, studying and planning properly, had narrow wooden wedges tapped into those cracks. Then water was applied to the wood, which expanded slightly from the moisture.

On the next day, after the engorged wood had, unlikely as it seems, pushed the marble monolith apart ever so slightly, other wedges were tapped in – a little larger in size, and soaked again.

This process was repeated, day after day, until (again with forethought and examination for the planned “capture” of the marble that was figured to break free) eventually the marble broke free. Making sure the chunks of rock were “caught,” not to crash down, they were lowered, then to make their serpentine way to Florence. No easy tricks themselves… but compared to the separating and securing of tons of precious marble from a massive mountain?

Now, I made reference to people cracking under pressure. Surely that is a simile if not a metaphor. But the real lesson – a valuable and quite appropriate lesson to learn – is similar to that provided by tenacious little flowers! Can you picture what I described in the quarry-process? “Moving mountains”… The power of planning, patience, and persistence… Being content with slow but steady results… Accomplishing a seemingly impossible task… and using seemingly absurd ideas and tools in order to succeed greatly.

May I suggest further: as beautiful as those snow-white chucks of a mountain were, they still were only pieces of rock. But in a master’s hand (and in the Master’s Hand) they became stunning façades of cathedrals; and lifelike statues of Moses and David; and of Mary holding her crucified Son. Living, breathing, miracles can emerge from cold stone. “The rocks cry out!”

Finally, before we forget the mountain itself: We think of Sisyphus, his impossible task being to push an impossible rock up an impossible mountain. We recall Moses smiting the rock. We remember God’s promise that with prayer and in faith we can move the metaphorical mountains that stand in our way. We remember hymns like A Mighty Fortress and Rock of Ages – that God is our refuge and strength.

But we remember too the fissures in mighty rocks and mountains. Remember how Michelangelo utilized the cracks – the “clefts” – that certainly play their own roles.

When we need it, as God assured us in His Word, those rocks can provide refuges too. He provides safe havens when we need protection from the world, even for a spell. Mountainous rocks can provide hiding places from the world’s attacks and storms, where we may regain strength and courage.

What promises! Move those mountains… and, when needed, find those safe places where God invites you to pray “Hide Thou Me.”

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Since we shared much here about Michelangelo, I would like to close with lines he wrote toward the end of his life:

Neither painting nor sculpture will be able any longer to calm my soul, now turned toward that Divine love that opened His arms on the cross to take us in.

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Click: Hide Thou Me

7-17-23

I never have taken the trouble, either when choosing classes in college, or casually consulting the Google gods, to know the actual definition of a weed.

Occasionally in my life I have owned properties large and inviting enough to grow gardens, and I have attempted their cultivation. That is, until realizing that… I have a “black thumb.” I have a friend, an ex-pat from England, who has the natural British ladies’ gift for planning, planting, growing enormous Technicolor and fragrant flower gardens with pathways, benches, little oases. Whidbey Island, now North Carolina: wherever she lives, gorgeous flowers grow and thrive.

It might not be only a British thing. Another friend is American-born, and lived some years in the Netherlands – oh yes: a nation synonymous with floral splendor – and returned to the US and to a second career as a floral and garden consultant. In any event, this gift is not a Marschall thing.

My disinclination, or deadly thrall, might have originated in fifth grade, when a teacher asked me to use “horticulture” in a sentence. A budding (ha) wise guy, I innocently declared, “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.” Compounding my personal War Of the Roses, the afternoon I spent in the Principal’s Office was, ironically, next to a large vase of flowers.

Anyway, my working definition of a weed is, simply, an unattractive or inconvenient flower. That works for me. This theory does not prevent me from being fascinated rather than put off by the middle ground (literally) between beautiful flowers and pesky weeds: Wildflowers.

With all due respect to British garden-architects and those who make living rooms and lobbies resplendent with colorful and fragrant arrangements, “Mother Nature” (I choose to regard her as Mrs God) can outdo them all.

• When I lived near deserts in the American Southwest, I marveled at the times – maybe only one day every year or two – when the slightest rain-shower “made the desert come alive.” Then, those barren landscapes miraculously bloom with carpets of strange and brilliantly colored flowers.
• In the same mysterious ways, nature’s ambassadors – random breezes, hungry insects, and wandering birds – carry seeds and pollen far and wide. They cause pretty wildflowers to grow in unexpected places like highway medians and roofs of urban apartment buildings.
• One of the miracles of wildflowers is their resilience, matching their beauty. Seeds found on millennia-old ancient fabrics or in Egyptian tombs will still sprout and bloom when watered.
• Delicate wildflowers, counter-intuitively, are as hardy as they are beautiful. Seemingly fragile flowers, no matter how tiny, grow in inhospitable places – between barren rocks, in cracks of city sidewalks, sometimes sideways out of brick walls.

I believe that God has not only chosen to array His creation – that is, His gift to us, a beautiful world – in blankets of colorful, often surprising, beauty and fragrance, but He desires that we see lessons: a larger purpose.

Some people look at flowers that struggle, plants that die, wintertimes that leave trees and plants barren, as signs of a hostile universe; death is at every turn. But for every Winter there is a Spring. Every seed will sprout. Every desert will bloom. In a version of the “glass half-empty or half-full” paradigm – another proposition I never understood – we can know the answer to the question, “which prevails in the cycle: death or life?”

We know that Life prevails. Jesus – “the Rose of Sharon, the fairest of ten thousand flowers” – proved that.

This truth represents more than a nice metaphorical garden to walk through, or a bouquet we can put on our table. It is a promise. It confirms life and the renewal of life. It allows us to view life optimistically. What we may grieve over today; what we cannot see for a season; what we might cling to, despairing of any results or answers… are like seeds.

Seeds will sprout, in their own time and with patience and cultivation. And they will bloom. And bless. As flowers, they will produce more pollen and seeds. Life goes on… beautifully. And when it appears most fragile, we are reminded that life is real, life is earnest; life is determined, life is triumphant.

In my naïve folk-wisdom, I see those vagabond reminders of life triumphant, wildflowers, as floral counterparts to another of God’s colorful promises, the rainbow.

I listed some strange and hostile environments where wildflowers “take root.” But people are wildflowers too. Wild flowers. We know them; we should be them, in some form we can choose. At one time in history it was common that children left their homes in their early teens, sometimes losing all subsequent contact with their families. But they took root, blooming, blessing.

The histories of races and peoples can be traced today through the evidence of seeds and plants that were carried and cultivated in migrations of centuries past. The Virgin Mary, it is estimated, left her parents to be with Joseph when she was barely 14. My daughter moved to Northern Ireland almost 20 years ago, and is thriving faraway with her husband, children, and a wonderful career.

Be willing to be a wildflower seed. Eagerly await where God’s breezes and the flights of His birds and bees may carry you.

“Be fruitful and multiply”? Also take root, bloom, and be a fragrant and beautiful flower – not one of life’s weeds – to be blessed, and to be a blessing, where you find yourself. Wild flowers don’t care where they grow.

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Click: Wildflowers

5-22-23

If you live in a city, you can see the moon and a few stars in the night sky. In suburbs on clear nights you can find Venus and Mars and maybe the famous constellations. In the Great Plains or on ocean cruises, look up at the night sky and you will never lose your wonderment at the blanket of planets and stars, twinkling like sparkles on a pretty date’s dress and shoes. If you are fortunate to have beheld the Milky Way, you know it more resembles a magical, glowing ribbon than a band of individual stars.

The James Webb Space Telescope is treating us to pictures of billions of stars; galaxies previously unknown; “events” in space calculated to have happened billions of light-years ago (or away, take your pick of terminology) – that actually might have “burned out” by now, despite their images traveling 187,000 miles per second and only coming close to our view now.

Whether you believe the universe is 6000 years old or sixty-skillion years old, your hair may start hurting now over such thoughts.

Speaking of stars. And hair. I got a chuckle this week from a review of a book called Observer by a “scientist,” Robert Lanza, co-written with a science-fiction writer. Not really a review; rather, a collection of quotations and self-congratulations on Lanza’s own website.

Breathless endorsements suggest that the authors have kissed the Face of Truth in their construction of themes – like the serious-sounding quantum-physics hoodoo – basically, that our thoughts can influence the physical universe. An MSNBC “Science Editor” claims that “special relativity and quantum mechanics have provided solid grounding for the idea that the act of observation has an effect on external phenomena.” (Why doesn’t he “visualize” better ratings? …but I digress.)

A few years ago Dr Jim Garlow and I co-authored The Secret Revealed in which book we took the New Age best-seller The Secret to task. Besides peeling back its absurd claims and century-old rostrums, we applied logic on one hand, and a little detective work on the other. For instance, the author’s blatant misquoting of supposed experts in “thinking and realization” like Winston Churchill. She quoted Martin Luther King, and we reached out to his niece Alveda who denied that Dr King ever meant, or said, the things attributed to him in that book.

Yet The Secret “spoke” to a million itching ears, promoted on Oprah and elsewhere. And today its author is working on a sequel, and, surprise, endorses Observer as a book of substantial import. She is cited as a “#1 New York Times bestselling author,” not a fabulist, but she says that Lanza “has taken the gigantic step of incorporating his ideas into a science fiction novel…. Often-complex concepts are illuminated through a riveting and moving story.” She claims that Lanza’s previous work has “backed up everything I knew to be true on a spiritual level…. It is the leading-edge scientists such as Dr. Robert Lanza who will help take humanity out of the dark ages and into a new world.”

The authors say about themselves that “if life and consciousness are really central to everything else, then countless puzzling anomalies in science enjoy immediate clarification…. The simplest [?] explanation is that the laws and conditions of the universe allow for the observer because the observer generates them.”

Obviously this book and its proponents and its promotion do precisely what the contemporary world does – blurring lines between science and fiction; intelligence and “Artificial Intelligence”; and truth and lies. The phrase I used above, “itching ears,” is from the Bible, about people who crave unreality. A country-music song title captured the impulse well: “Lie To Me.”

The extensive review and promotion, just as with The Secret and myriad other manifestations of today’s culture, addresses the most serious matters and questions about reality – existence; the physical universe; our roles in life – but never utters one word about God.

How we got here… why we are here… who created the billions of stars… who created, well, us? Forget science fiction or this book specifically: those questions, and their answer, are seldom addressed seriously any more in media, in schoolrooms, in education… sadly, less and less in churches. Hint: The answer is God.

Authors and movie-makers and Oprah can speculate – and even believe – all their nonsense all they want, but I am still thrilled by quotations from another Book:

When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars that You have ordained, what are mortals, that You should be mindful of them; mere human beings, that You should seek them out?

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father seeing. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than sparrows!

I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart and appointed you as my spokesmen to the world.

No two snowflakes are alike. We cannot survey the uncountable stars. We contemplate the numbers of grains of sand on the earth’s shores. And yet the Creator of all this, of the universe seen and unseen, has created us too… and knows everything about us.

More than that: He cares more about you and me than about everything else in His creation. That’s what He tells us. Is someone like Him going to lie? He cannot.

No fiction in His Book.

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Click: His Eye Is On the Sparrow

8-29-22

Many physicists and indeed many average folk are agog over the first images from the James Webb Telescope. I personally have almost exhausted my supply of agogs, and I am not even sure what an agog is.

In fact, the more that the newest of humankind’s massive, far-flung telescopic cameras shows us… the more it does not show us. Quickly I explain: the pictures reveal more stars – indeed more galaxies and nebulae – than we knew existed. (“We,” meaning everyone from early humans Ug and Glug looking up at the night skies and scratching their heads, to egghead professors only months ago.)

But at the same time, scientists mix their astonishment and excited discoveries with questions. There are not only new pin-points on charts of the heavens, but anomalies, contradictions, challenges. More questions than answers? Maybe.

It is all galvanic, of course. I find it satisfying to see Americans revive a little bit of the amazement that spread across the land during those early space shots. What I do not see is what I am experiencing: the translation of these staggering mysteries – their scope, their extent, their significance – to increased confirmations of belief in God. Further proof, we might say.

The Creator God. In ancient tongues, among many names ascribed to God, Elohim.

The statistics and explanations, inadequate as they are, rekindle thoughts from the Ug-and-Glug stage of my own sentience.

• We have a new, seemingly tangible, awareness of how big the Universe is. But do we? What is beyond the farthest we can see? Where does it end? Can it end? What is on the “other side” of the end?
• We are told that the old estimate of the Universe having a sextillion planets might be a modest estimate (one sextillion is even larger than the latest inflation numbers). How, really, did the planets all form?
• We have measurements of the “farthest” galaxies – the newest discovery estimated at 13.5-billion light-years from earth. A light-year is the distance that light travels in one year; that is 186,000 miles per second or 5.88-trillion miles a year. If correct, that’s 13.5-billion x 5.88-trillion. Years. You do the arithmetic; my brain hurts. These are scientists’ numbers. How old is old?

You might see where I am sidling. It amuses me to hear scientists talk about the Big Bang (often omitting that is the Big Bang Theory) and I wonder why their brains don’t get cramps, as they invent and rely on elaborate denials of a Creator God. Certainly it is the case that the increasingly erudite explanations of the Big Bang increasingly resemble the first chapters of the Book of Genesis. Hmmm… The Webb’s snapshots incite in me, too, more questions. At random:

• If there was a “moment” of the Big Bang, Who or what caused it… and what was “there” previously? And for how long back in time?
• In every other aspect of life, something that has been created had a creator. Why does the scientific mafia think that life, itself, is the exception?
• Every one of the sextillion (give or take a skillion) planets in the perceived Universe is spherical (or generally so: oblate spheroids, given isostatic adjustments). Why? Friction? No, there nearly is no matter in empty space that would wear them down. “Gravity” is the agreed-upon culprit.

We have “theories” of Relativity and Evolution; and “laws” of Gravity… but I do not need the “what” of Gravity explained as much as the “why.” With virtual shrugs of shoulders, scientists call Gravity an “invisible force.” As a former Editor at Marvel Comics, I confess that this sounds more like the Silver Surfer than Albert Einstein.

Yes, Einstein postulated that Gravity pulls on light as well as mass. That’s the “meta” explanation; the “micro” evidence is the moon pulling on mighty oceans. Gravity pulls “downward,” essentially inward, which explains planets being spheres (but not why we have never observed an evolving “new” planet still in the shape of, say, SpongeBob SquarePants); but my brain hurts again. We still don’t know the How of all this. Or Why.

And that’s Okay.

The Big Bang Theory initially sounded silly to me; now it is discussed with gravity (sorry) by professors. The latest quest – to formulate a “Theory of Everything,” I kid you not – sounds sillier.

And yet the skeptics challenge us: “Because you can’t explain something you just say, ‘Oh, it’s God’.” (My friend Gary Adams has reminded me that Dr Frank Turek calls this the “God in the Gaps” argument.)

My response: Yes, pretty often. Now that we understand that, let’s move on.

My further response: “You folks, when you can’t explain something that generations of people have trusted, but challenges your ways of thinking… when your “accepted facts” of science are disproven, overturned, or superseded in the face of factors like architectural and anatomical discoveries… when things you dismissed as legends are revealed as actual history… you just say, ‘Oh, those are anything but God’.”

My final response: The Creator God, Elohim, has revealed Himself in uncountable ways. His fingerprints are on all of animate and inanimate creation. He has redeemed you through the Blood of His Son Jesus Christ, telling you that you are the most precious of His creations – including bright stars and colorful planets. With those photos from an outer-space telescope, He chooses to remind us of His sovereignty and majesty. I know these things because I see them; because He told us; and because I personally have been blessed by that Creator God. His Son, you see, is my best friend. And He reassured us: “If it were not so, I would have told you.”

We don’t need a “Theory of Everything” when the Bible already provides us the Answer to Everything.

I close with a quatrain I memorized as a kid, from the Rubaiyat, but that expresses my message here:

All the saints and sages who have discussed

Of the two worlds so learnedly are thrust

Like foolish prophets forth;

Their words to scorn are scattered; their mouths are stopped with dust.

It’s a big universe, after all. But there’s no place like Home.

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An old Gospel song with a spoken reference to God flinging the stars across Creation:

Video Click: When All God’s Singers Get Home

1-31-22

A guest message by my dear friend Leah Morgan.

When God did his best work, which admirers still paint and photograph to this day, it was summed up in these words – God said. God saw. God separated.

Over and over, for six days, He repeated these actions. He said, He saw, He separated. The separating was part of the process necessary for success and optimum function.

He separated light from darkness.
He separated the waters of the heavens from the waters of the earth.
He separated dry ground and land from waters and seas.
He separated day from night.
He separated birds in the sky from beasts in the sea.
He separated work from rest.

And He built within His creation the power of reproduction. Seeds that will produce the kinds of plants and trees from which they came (Genesis 1:11). A chance for the cycle of life to continue.

And finally, God created the perfect counterpoint to man, and He crafted woman. More separation, as part of the perfect union. He separated Adam from his rib. He took something away to bring him something better. Then, God spoke to the couple about more separation. This union of turning two into one, God explains, is why a man separates from his parents (Genesis 2:24).

As if God said, “If a man is going to enjoy an ideal union with his wife, he needs to mimic My pattern of creation. Say; see; then separate. Say it. Speak up! Your words have power! Take the authority I’ve placed in your tongue. Then take a moment to sit back and look at what you’ve spoken to life. Enjoy it and appreciate it. Then… get out. Leave your parents. Your mom’s patterns, your dad’s habits, your family’s hang-ups. Separate. You will never live in a Garden that thrives if you’re not willing to separate from your parents. They no longer have dominion over you. If they do, then darkness and light, day and night, sky and sea have no boundaries. There’s a reason the sea needs to stay out of your back yard, and the night needs to get out of the afternoon sky. It’s the same reason your parents’ needs were relegated to their own homes with their own opinions.”

Seeds will produce the kinds of plants and trees from which they came (Genesis 1:11). Sometimes, newly married seeds decide they don’t want to produce the fighting and temper tantrums and insecurities and manipulation of the plants and trees from which they came. They want a Garden built on trust and peace and kind words. They’d rather laugh and be silly than throw cruel insults around.

To newlyweds and longtime married couples: Garden it up! Say; see; and separate.

And then get naked. And stay naked. That’s Bible-talk for good marriage. Now the man and his wife were both naked, but they felt no shame.

God gave Adam and Eve the best chance for happiness when He created them without pockets. No place to hide anything. They were naked. And not embarrassed.

Our relationships begin to disintegrate when we start sewing pockets, places to hide things. We hide our past. Our spending. Our habits. Our wounds. Our hurt feelings. Men feel they can’t acknowledge having their feelings hurt; they can’t be naked about their feelings. That would make them… what? An Eve? So they hide that pain. Stuff their pockets full and make more pockets when they run out of room for all that they need to hide. But with the hiding comes the shame. And with the shame comes wide, wide gulfs of separation.

We are meant to be naked. Hiding nothing. Marriage is the place we keep it all out in the open. We don’t stuff our feelings, we don’t keep quiet about our opinions, we don’t tiptoe around bad moods. We don’t hide purchases and credit cards. We are naked and hide nothing. That’s the Garden ideal. A safe place for being real and honest and imperfect and beautiful and fun.

The Garden withers and good fruit begins to rot when we begin to dress up God’s ideal. He keeps it simple. True. Plain. Honest. No pretense. No sneaking around. No covering up. Owning it all. The knobby knees, the wobbly gait, and the imperfections. There is freedom in coming clean.

It is how God engages in relationship with us, written in Hebrews 4: 12,13: The WORD OF GOD is alive and powerful (SAY). It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow (SEPARATE). It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God. Everything is naked and exposed before His eyes, and He is the one to whom we are accountable (SEE).

Our relationship with Jesus is healed in the Garden when we come out of hiding and stop being ashamed to be naked and seen by our Creator. I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. Remain in me and I will remain in you (John 15:1,2,4).

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Follow Leah’s beautiful, powerful, and inspired thoughts at leahcmorgan.com

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Click: When He Calls, I’ll Fly Away/I’ll Fly Away

11-15-21

Charles Dickens opened his book A Tale of Two Cities with the famous words, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” William Wordsworth assayed societies’ turmoils and wrote, in The Prelude, “Bliss was it, in that dawn, to be alive; but to be young was very heaven!” And the author of Ecclesiastes, probably Solomon, wrote “There is nothing new under the sun,” less philosophical than Dickens; and more fatalistic than Wordsworth.

We live in times now that are fraught with turmoil. From major power struggles around the world, “wars and rumors of wars” – to acrimony in Washington and even echoes of hatred and destruction in unlikely settings of school-board meetings and downtown neighborhoods.

Do we live today in such a zone of a dichotomy? – are these the “best of times”? Well, things are generally more prosperous than in the past; literacy has increased; medicines and procedures are saving lives. These things are mostly true in our country and around the world. We have sent humans to the moon and maybe, soon, to Mars.

Signs of progress are all around us.

But what word should we apply to other “signs of the times”? – unrest around the world; revanchist empires; slavery and human trafficking; genocide and abuse; religious and political repression; increased drug use; divorces, suicides, and homelessness; broken homes… REgress? Surely not progress.

Humankind needs a different yardstick, or a different dictionary – or a different value system – when science concocts ways to protect and prolong life… and develops means to end life before birth, and with the elderly, in advance of natural death. Governments seek life elsewhere in the universe, yet encourage the snuffing of lives in the womb. Or deny that a heartbeat in the baby is life.

And so forth. “Vanity, vanity; all is vanity,” Solomon continued in his indictment. “Meaningless.”

If we – humankind; not merely our immediate neighbors – ever are to redeem our species, what we call Civilization, it will require a revolution (or counter-revolution, actually) of our souls, our standards, our values. Values: what is valuable to us?

This week I was corresponding with friend Nicole LeBlanc, a gifted pianist, who issued challenges for people to list favorite works of Beethoven in several musical genres. Next came thoughts of the reasons for our affections; and then of the interpreters of his works. I have internalized such questions, the reason why I have several recordings each of all the works of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. We respond to differences in instrumentation, tempi, dynamics, interpretation.

How can we listen to the musical miracle that was Bach, or be moved to tears by works of Mozart – who first composed at age five, and wrote supernal melodies as easily as other men perspire – and think that the world has progressed beyond them?

Such thoughts returned me, from a different route than beholding the spread of nihilism, to a consideration of “progress.”

Question: Which scenario leads to greater enjoyment, richer appreciation, more satisfaction to your soul and mind: hearing Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony (or insert any great work of art) only once in your life as often was the case in centuries past; or having access to DVDs and videos by the dozens, and listening to the music several times a year, for years and years? It is a challenging question, with implications.

In fact, in the question we can substitute any work of art, fine wine, or travel adventure. Does saturation equate with increased enjoyment, intellectual enrichment… progress?

I am a free-enterprise capitalist, and I endorse democracy (like Churchill, I suppose: democracy is the worst form of government unless you consider the rest. I suppose.) Yet since I recognize that human nature is corrupt, I regret civil architectonics such as capitalism and democracy that let humankind work its will. Eventually they must produce harm.

Potential great artists and composers spend their careers designing advertisements and writing commercial jingles to seduce our better judgments. Their works will remain in the culture about long as the fortunes they accumulate producing the ephemeral material. Ah! Some might say that daVinci and Michelangelo also spent their lives and their talents on commercials, too – advertisements for God, commissions for the church. Is it any different?

Yes, is the answer; yes.

We return to the question of standards and value-systems. It is worthwhile to devote your life to an ideal; a noble truth. It is the proper calling of humanity to praise God for the gifts He has given us… to return those gifts, in my view. We advance humankind by recognizing what is true, what is noble, what is right, what is pure, what is lovely, what is admirable. We should think about such things.

These things that are excellent and praiseworthy, and not selfish or short-sighted, these things will save the earth and benefit our fellow creatures. This is progress.

Finally, I return to “creativity.” In so many ways we are like the animals, but… we have the spark of creativity. And that is why it is a shame to waste it on the promotion of transitory things. We are to be “imitators of Christ,” Thomas à Kempis urged, writing of spiritual ways.

I wrote here recently that we actually cannot create anything, as God has created all, and this is a finite world: maybe we can only rearrange. Yet, in what we call creativity, we can in a way imitate God. A solemn privilege! We can imagine, we can dream, we can explain. We can take blank paper, white canvases, and rough chunks of stone… and bring forth works of art and beauty and understanding. We can not, and need not all be Beethovens. But we must, all of us, dream and “create.”

We too can touch souls, and change hearts. To appreciate other artists, and to translate God’s profound messages and love for others through our works – and not to cheapen our talents, throw them away, or use them for selfish and hurtful ends here in the 21st century – now, that would be progress.

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Surprise! You might be expecting a passage of Baroque music or a great poem. But I am going to share a country song, one that expertly captures the essence of creativity – from loneliness to sacrifice to devotion to resonance. We can all relate! The Christian songwriter sings of the iconic 16th Avenue in Nashville, home to studios, publishing offices, and dreams. The songwriters around him relate, too, by their expressions.

Click: 16th Avenue

1-18-21

Can we imagine a day, or a time, when things will be “back to normal”?

“Normality” has been the mantra of politicians and pundits, and the dream of friends and family, in this year of plagues, riots, political crises and much else. Warren Harding ran for president in 1920 – after a traumatic World War, an unprecedented influenza epidemic that killed more than our soldiers’ death tolls, an economic crisis, and a raft of Communist and labor violence – his promise: “A Return to Normalcy.”

America wanted reassurance, and even accepted invented words in pursuit. What America got, with Harding, was the Roaring Twenties with Prohibition, gangsters, an Administration riven by scandals, and the president’s mysterious death.

Meaning? We wish, and learn (not really) that wishes seldom come true. We pray, and expect God to check the boxes on our prayer list. God doesn’t work like that, no matter how much we ignore history or God’s ways.

Of course my context here is the recent panorama of disruption in our national life. We have all been affected, and, uniquely, not one soul in a positive way. Yet to know what these crises will mean, what changes might come in our national life, requires “time and chance,” which happeneth to all – a historical perspective. Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem “IF,” … Meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two imposters just the same.

In Ecclesiastes we are told that “there is nothing new under the sun,” and we humans need that reminder, because we tend to think that our problems are unique… that we are the first generation to face certain challenges… that old rules are irrelevant when we want to solve our new crises.

In II Corinthians 4:17-18 we have God’s perspective on… perspective; Now vs Long-term. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.

I am not dismissing the crisis of the old order, or the new order. I think we are at a deflection-point, and America’s survival is in jeopardy. The continent will still be here; houses and highways and weddings and babies will never cease being a part of everyday life. But the United States might cease to be united; the government might govern differently.

The social fabric is ripping.

We here in this country can, and do, argue about taxes and rules, foreign policy and domestic justice. Our disputes sound important, and often are important. But far more important – more dispositive of who we are as a people – are questions of our national integrity. Our character. Our morality.

The visitor from France Alexis de Tocqueville “got it” almost 200 years ago when he observed that “America will cease to be great when it ceases to be good.”

In that regard, we recognize that there has not been a straight line in manners and morals over the millennia regarding monogamous marriage, infant sacrifice, slavery, the role of women, personal freedom and liberty, democracy, even monotheism until the Revealed God revealed Himself fully. “Progress” is defined by the codification of “humane” standards about such things.

Yet abortion is an act that mostly has been regarded through history as anathema at all times and in all places, by whole societies and by individual women. Its sanction, and its approval, have always been exceptions. Mostly it is regarded as something to be discouraged because of the implicit recognition that it is horrible, contrary to human impulses.

Until our generation.

We all know the arguments, many emotional and many persuasive, about the burdens of unplanned births. Many justifications for “terminating a pregnancy” – or “killing the baby,” take your pick – are economic and social. But in history’s richest and purportedly happiest culture, these reasons are hollow. Some years ago I interviewed Norma McCorvey, the “Roe” of Roe vs Wade, who had regretted her manipulation, reversed her views, and became a Christian. Pro-Life. Before she died, this victim of manipulation reportedly was contrite about her contrition, a one-woman tornado of contradictions.

Her testimony confirmed my views, but did not change them. That happened earlier; for a long time I was indifferent to the issue, and saw it as more a matter of convenience than morality. I even took that point of view in public, and now am conscious of blood on my hands.

But one does not have to trade Pragmatism for Christianity to realize that abortion is murder.

I offer this on Celebration of Life week, Sanctity of Life Sunday.

A lot of the world preceded the US, or closely followed us, in the legalization of abortion. We are among the few human-rights garden spots like North Korea and China that allow late-term abortions, killing babies otherwise viable outside the womb.

The mists must part. Are we doomed to suffer the proper dissolution of a society no longer dedicated to savoring life? Why do we buy the lie that “true” women must support abortion – a “litmus test” for votes or employment. It is a Big Lie that women are pro-choice and men want disposable women and babies, belied by the profile of marchers at Pro-Life rallies. Mostly women. And men who are passionately against abortion.

If you don’t like being a woman who is “wired” to bear babies, don’t conceive. You cannot reverse nature. A lot of times it stinks to be a man too, but whatever. People have intimidated the culture to an extent; but they cannot reverse nature. They can tinker with the plumbing, but we still are men and women. Period (no pun intended).

Therefore, abortion, as a litmus-test, is a symbol. It is the result, not a cause, of America having become a Culture of Death. Our current challenges will seem small in the long run.

And when we have become desensitized to death, we have become desensitized to life. There are ramifications beyond “correcting a mistake” 60-million times over.

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Click: Slumber My Darling – YouTube

12-7-20

I watched a documentary on TV this morning. It was about Black Holes, and Worm Holes, and the Age of the Universe, and the Big Bang. I chuckled often, and I learned a lot. It was not, however, a comedy show; and despite what I learned I would probably fail the exam prepared by the three experts.

For an hour the experts on Zoom guessed as often as they asserted, and confessed to the ifs and what ifs. There were many shrugged shoulders, and a lot of confused giggles. So I giggled too. They spoke of “changed hypotheses,” even some of Einstein’s. Of course, black holes and the Big bang theory were not even in textbooks a century ago… and might not be, a century from now. These things, I learned.

What interested me, but did not surprise me, was that during an entire hour without commercials not one of the three scientists / experts / metaphysicians (whose domains are reputedly first things and origins) once mentioned God. Or Creation, Or the Bible. Not even as “one of those crazy beliefs,” or even “what people used to think.”

Such lovers of self – that is, reliant on their own wisdom – are the ultimate Deniers in this age when “denial” of any form is a virtual criminal offense. To ignore even a passing nod to the belief system of swaths of humanity over millennia is not an upward step toward enlightenment, but a descent toward baser ignorance. (By the way, this Big Bang idea sounds suspiciously like the first chapter of Genesis, sanitized of the Creator’s Name, doesn’t it?)

The natural questions were not asked, and I think never answered: What was there the moment before the Big Bang? If there is an End or an Outer Limit to the Universe… what is one foot beyond it? If there is creation, there ought to be a creator; so who or what made the Big Bang go bang?

If I don’t have metaphysical answers to these questions, they would claim that citing “God” is crutch of convenience.

OK. I plead guilty. Supporting my belief – my faith in such things – is the Word of God. I believe in Jesus as God Incarnate, and He stated His firm belief in Genesis and all such biblical accounts. Good enough for me; better than good, in fact.

And so forth. In such discussions as on TV, God is not a last resort of the ignorant. He is the source of knowledge and wisdom about First Things.

If I knew the answer to such matters as discussed – and way before my head starts to hurt – I would be God. He is; He knows; and He disposes.

In the meantime, if pinheads who chatter about Black Holes and Worm Holes and Big Bangs can accuse us People of the Book of being superstitious and ignorant seekers of fairy tales… I invite them, every time they say, “my best guess is…” or “current theories suggest…” or “scientists now believe…” to put on dunce caps and sit in the corner until the next round of guessing games.

As I said, I am extremely and honestly interested in scientific discussions and speculation, and even archaeological discoveries. It is, for instance, astonishing to see how many figures and cities and events in biblical history so recently dismissed as “legends” have been confirmed by artifacts and even entire buried cities!

Another “first thing” should be an attitude of humility when it comes to… well, when it comes to the things of God. We might get though life a little better if we trust Him in all ways and in all things, from everyday setbacks to election defeats, to choose two matters at random.

Even if doing so can make our heads hurt a little, we must remember that God does not require of us that we understand everything, but that we trust Him and obey everything.

And as Matthew Harrison Brady said, “I might not know about the ages of rocks, but I do know the Rock of Ages!”

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Double click the video to make full screen after your start it!

2-24-20

We humans – not me, but most of the rest of you – are inventing and innovating to the point where I wonder whether we are near the time when anything we can imagine will be developed, named, and available next week through Amazon Prime. Probably out-of-date the month afterward; but counterfeited by the Chinese next year.

I know that there are new microscopes that can see between the particles that orbit around atoms, those little atoms. And telescopes that can see hundreds of thousands of light-years away from us. All of this bemuses me, because I have questions in the face of such advancements like, Why can’t I see the fine print on my large-screen TV when commercials for medicines and lawyers flash by?

Well, I am not a scientist. Nor am I a theologian, but that doesn’t keep me from thinking about God and the things of God.

In fact, maybe it is a good thing that I am not a theologian, because those God-thinkers sometimes act like they have it all figured out. Since I don’t have it all figured out, I keep thinking about God and the things of God. Which is a good place to be.

Sometimes I feel like I live a little north of hell and a little south of Heaven, like most of us do at present. In the same way, knowing that I live somewhere between atoms and in a galaxy far, far away keeps me in perspective.

Thinking too much, or too hard, about such things can make one’s brain hurt. The real lesson in humankind’s inventions and discoveries is that we learn that there always is more, and more, and more that we don’t know. That is axiomatic, perhaps, but when we contemplate how much we don’t know – that is the beginning of wisdom.

To be tempted to think humankind can be close to solving all the mysteries of atoms and galaxies, is a self-swindling delusion. We might discover whether neutrons taste like vanilla, or whether distant planets have the internet… but can we ever know how many atoms are in, say, a piece of wood? Or how many galaxies there are? – astronomers vaguely estimate “millions,” but, then, each galaxy might have millions of stars and planets in them. And atoms!

But God knows these things.

Are they important facts? I suppose they are, to Him. Knowing the numbers of hairs on our heads, which the Bible imputes, is simple in comparison, hey.

To me, the most amazing aspect of God in a discussion like this is the astonishing variety of His ways. The abundance and assortment of His wonders.

For instance (thanks, scientists, for determining the truth of the following things!) –

There are no two snowflakes alike. Linus thought he captured two, but they melted. No, seriously, no two snowy doppelgangers have ever been found. And – now that those microscopes work so well – they are not all different, but each one is incredible, beautiful, symmetrically constructed. Every last one of the gazillions in every snowstorm.

No two cloud formations are alike. A heavenly display every day!

No field of flowers, even of the same variety, looks like another; nor the way one looked last week, or will look next week. Thank you, God!

No duplicated faces in the world… no smile is the same… every baby’s laugh is different – different every day; different than other babies’.

Let’s go one step further, thinking about the “uncountable” aspects of God. They are, in fact, reflections. Our God is a God of infinite variety. His universe is interesting and beautiful and compelling because He is interesting and beautiful and compelling.

Many are His ways. Uncountable, in fact.

If it were not so He would have told us. The gods and objects of veneration in other religions are statues and carvings and pictures and idols. Our God is of infinite variety because He lives with each of us, every day in every way. He is there every moment we need Him (and, by the way, also when we think we don’t). He came to earth and dwelt among us; He lives in our hearts.

Atoms, galaxies, water-into-wine, are nothing. He could change your life and everything you hold dear. He did it for me; that’s how I know. And the love of God is greater far than tongue or pen can ever tell. It goes beyond the highest star, and reaches to the lowest hell.

These facts can make your brain hurt… but can make your heart glow.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts (Isaiah 55:8,9).

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Click: The Love of God

11-11-19

Many essays, and many of our own thoughts, remind us of how special we are, we human beings. Haven’t you read this, thought this – we are the only species (virtually) that laughs… or reasons… or still likes Barry Manilow… there are a hundred emotional distinctives.

Some of these thoughts are logic-based, deduced by observation. Some are theological: we have no Biblical teachings that birds or bugs can have a consciousness of sin, nor know the gift of Salvation. But God loves us, specially.

Indeed we are, we people, special in the eyes of God. He sent His (special) Son to die for us and take on Himself the punishment we deserve as creatures with the special attribute of free will.

I would like us for a moment to think about how special we are not, sometimes and in some regards.

One way in which we are common creatures with each other, no matter our social status or sex or race or age… is that we all need a Savior. One of the ways we are alike in the eyes of God.

I am thinking beyond that, however; beyond the clichés. It is more common than we tend to think, in nature, that a “family instinct” dominates behavior. Yes, we know there are strays, and herds, and seemingly impossible ways animals can discriminate and recognize… but why are we amazed, time after time seeing news stories and viral videos, at mother dogs who successfully seek out their young; penguins who nurture the right chick of theirs among a thousand wandering rubber-stamped little ones; bees that fly miles, sometimes hundreds of miles, to their home-hives?

How about the occasions of a creature of one species that protects and nurtures the vulnerable young-one of another species? Odd! But is it so rare? We hear of these things every week. Begin to see what I mean.

The family – knowing, feeling, building, protecting – is not one of those aspects that sets humans apart from animate creation. It is something that makes us part of God’s creation. And God Himself.

This primal instinct, an essential attribute of our heavenly Father, is something we should savor. We are part of His universe, not in a New Age sense, but in how He has wired us as parts of the family of God.

Family: Bonds. Traditions. Loyalties. Affections. Care. Receiving and Bequeathing. Respecting.

Loving.

The more we let contemporary life, and our rotting culture, drive family members apart, the less we respect God and His plan for our lives and well-being. In many ways we should not celebrate individualism or “independence,” when it leads to being cold and aloof, separated from fundamental and naturally healthy familial attachments. Oh! and those cursed cell phones are wedges!

When family attachments, tribal associations, and cultural traditions are erased, something has to fill such holes in our lives. These days, it is secular theories and governmental paternalism. Disaster.

We sense these things in uncountable ways every day… or, we should be aware of them. I have been in the news in little ways recently, and I have heard from friends sometimes the first time since high school or college. We always recognize that we are still friends, but, no problem, merely have not spoken in a while – do you know that feeling? I have a friend, Mark Dittmar, who writes a wonderful daily blog, “Spiritual Nuggets” at mdittmar65@yahoo.com , and we have not actually spoken in a year or so. But he prays for me every Thursday. I am aware of this and do the same for him. That is a family-thing that Children of God do.

Appreciating the simple fact of the Family of God – with all of His creation, not only family reunions – puts our hearts and minds where God would have us. It is where are already, if we would only realize it. We are part of the Family of God.

Start noticing, appreciating, and celebrating this fact. Act on it in your everyday life. You might as well prepare, because Heaven itself will be like a great family reunion, better than summer picnics. You will be hugged by the Savior; you will hug all your family members, so many you never knew you had.

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Click: Getting Used To the Family of God

3-12-18

I’m going to revisit a couple places I have been to recently; and shared here. One is a place of memories, and imprints my soul. The other is physical, also soul-stirring.

I have written about Billy Graham’s effect on the world during the near-century of his ministry. People in my family were transformed from nominal Christianity to an on-fire commitment to be new creatures in Christ; and those changes spread to other family members, to friends and neighbors, to children, nieces, nephews, and godchildren. Billy Graham touched millions.

I was part of a planned PBS documentary, ultimately never finished, about American religious music. At one point, however, the crew traveled to Billy Graham’s Conference center, the Cove in North Carolina (where his funeral was held and seen on TV). Dr Graham’s Parkinson’s Disease kept him from granting an interview, but we did meet Joni Earecksen, who was there on a retreat with her mother; and Crusade leader Cliff Barrows; and “America’s Gospel Singer,” George Beverly Shea, who had been with Dr Graham since the mid-1940s.

Switch to another re-visit. Last week I wrote about visiting Colorado and taking a few days to luxuriate in God’s majesty. The excitement of a writer’s conference and historic Denver was followed by trips to the thin air and magnificent vistas of Breckenridge and Vail.

Snow-capped mountains (not quite enough snow for the skiiers) and deep valleys; profound silences and distant, circling eagles; deep blue skies and blinding white snow; the mysteries of Creation.

On other trips to this high “corner” of the world, every May in Estes Park – and will be, this year, too – I am on the faculty of another Christian Writers Conference, conducted by Write His Answer Ministries. Many years, some of us spend the “day after” decompressing and enjoying fellowship, up, up, up, even higher than the grand YMCA Conference Camp.

Above the tree line, past where pine trees alone grow, to mountaintops where the only “vegetation” is the green covering on rocks, lichens – not a moss, but nature’s strange hybrid of algae and fungus, no two tiny of which are alike. Signs warn against stepping on lichens, because they take two centuries to regenerate. Those mountaintops, when we reach them, are as other-worldly as the lichens. Frigid air but definitely shirt-sleeve conditions; snow that other signs claim might be 100 years old; and views of seemingly bottomless gorges and… even high peaks above.

One year several of us stood on a cliff, taking it all in, occasionally whispering that a fly-speck below might have been a mountain sheep or a giant hawk….

And someone of us started humming the old hymn, “This Is My Father’s World.” Then the words. We all joined in, singing softly. I can tell you that when the air is cold but the sun is bright, tears do not freeze quickly as they run down your cheeks.

These two memories gently collided this week in my mind… because that hymn was one of George Beverly Shea’s signature hymns, such to millions around the world. This week it came to mind again, appreciating that song and that God whose world it is.

But another thought collided, too. Prompted by missions newsletters from a friend in Africa… letters from friends, several, with family deaths and news of cancer diagnoses… flying into Detroit and driving home past Flint, Michigan… I was reminded that life’s mountains only rise in magnificence when contrasted with the valleys below. Life’s valleys are often dark, frequently dangerous, and always reminders of “the pictures from life’s other side.”

The uncountable souls who suffer from disease and despair; persecution and oppression; violence and assault… the countries where people are herded from their homes and where starvation is their lot… where they suffer for their consciences and cannot be free… where the shuttered homes of Detroit and the slums of Flint would be palaces to many desperate people…

these people? these conditions? these places?

THEY are parts of our Father’s world, too.

God would have us praise Him, and be forever grateful for the beauty of His creation, surely. But we cannot believe that He would forgive us – we cannot allow ourselves to forget the fact – that there are other parts of God’s world, too.

And a funny thing occurred to me on that mountaintop: we cannot move mountains or create such scenes as in the Rockies or Alps. But we CAN change slums and build neighborhoods. We can watch for eagles and sheep as they hunt for food, but we can actually feed our own neighbors.

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Click: This Is My Father’s World