Monday Morning Music Ministry

1-24-11

January 23 is this year’s Sanctity of Life Sunday.

So as not to compartmentalize the observance, opponents of abortion point out that the date, each year, is the Sunday that falls closest to the 1973 Supreme Court ruling Roe vs Wade. Therefore an extra reminder is provided of the unsettled, and unsettling, issue in the midst of our body politic: legalized, and frequently taxpayer-subsidized, abortion-on-demand.

It was my privilege, several years ago, to manage an interview with Norma McCorvey, the “Roe” of Roe vs Wade. She is now a born-again Christian, deeply repentant of her role in a major American paradigm shift. She knows at least – let me say “she knows at most,” for God’s grace is the major factor in all we do – that she is forgiven.

We all can be forgiven of all things, and we all should always remember that. In the “abortion debate,” one of the things less useful than a spirit of judgment is a rush to judgment, by proponents of any viewpoint. Something that is admitted by most couples who agree to, or women who undergo, abortions, is that there is no such thing as the absence of guilt. But we should never believe, nor never counsel anyone, that there is no possibility of forgiveness by our own Heavenly Father. And therefore none of us, His children, should withhold mercy to repentant hearts.

So my thoughts are not “holier than thou,” as the saying goes. In fact, I am probably “less holier than thou.” Which is another way of saying that we all fall short of the glory of God. My opinions and convictions, as with so many things where the Holy Spirit has needed to drag me, have changed over the years. Thank God He never gives up on us.

Those who fall least short of His glory, however, are the unborn. Defenseless, unoffending, not able to speak for themselves – but occasionally able to cry before their lives are terminated – babies are sacrificed, not to assorted pagan gods as in ancient cultures, unless those gods are named convenience, avoidance, confusion, selfishness, numbed conscience. The culture and, God help us, the State, call them not human beings, but fetuses, blobs, tissue, and choices. The inherent contradiction is evident when we realize that schools don’t teach “blob control” and phamacists don’t dispense “fetus control pills.”

This week, a Philadelphia abortionist in a public and busy practice (a reported $15,000 a day business) was in the news. He, his wife, and several assistants were charged by a grand jury with eight murders – specifically, a woman and seven babies born alive and killed by scissors severing their spines. There are other charges, such as transmissions of disease and health violations, including a gory clinic, urine and blood stains on waiting-room furniture, and multiple fetuses displayed in jars. “Doctor” Kermit Gosnell is a Black man, to whom – one wishes to believe – the disregard of human life, the arbitrary reclassification of who exactly is human and entitled to what rights, ought to have mattered especially.

Shame on him and the angels of mercy on his paid staff. Blood is, literally, on their hands. On the other hand is, plausibly, society’s hand. Take note: The abortion mill was raided because it was suspected of writing illegal prescriptions for patients. The grand jury report blamed the murders on “lack of oversight.” The charges speculate that the nearly 6000 abortions performed between 2004 and 2008 were never fully investigated because the patients largely were “poor and of color.”

Abortion horrors, unfortunately, are not new. But in our culture, this
indictment tells us the new standards of morality:

The clinic was raided not because of murder and infanticide, but because it was suspected of making money by padding prescriptions.

The crux is not lack of conscience, no: “lack of oversight.”

And these procedures continued, an average of five aborted babies a day (if Gosnell worked on Sundays too) not in dark hiding, but in a street-corner clinic, name on the door and listing in the Yellow Pages, unmolested – not because he hid his activities, but because to inquire too closely was politically incorrect.

There will be tears of “compassion” from lawyers, for the mothers who didn’t want to be mothers (and let us not forget fathers who did not want to become fathers). But somehow, as always these days, not many tears will be shed for the thousands of children who are missing, never given the chance for their faces to appear on milk cartons, much less to have their own names, or graves.

Do we doubt that God “chooses life,” by which construct we all should too? Psalm 36:9 reminds us that God is the One who gives and sustains life. The most devastated forest, after a fire, somehow soon is repopulated by bugs and flies and creatures. The tiniest blade of grass, with no sunshine and little water, eventually will break through a cement walkway.

How, is the question.

Life, is the answer.
.

Not only are babies not “choices,” but our response to questions of life
should not be open to choice, either. Some things, even in America, 2011, cannot be left to standards of convenience or selfishness. Affirm life.

A tender but powerful song by Tommy Walker, sung here in a moving video by the great Paul Baloche, caps the message for this particular day of the Sanctity of Life’s continual observance.

Click: He Knows My Name

1-17-11

The shootings in Tucson should direct us to think about heroes and villains. There is an obsession in America to fill in every space on the template of every event. Of course there were heroes that morning, but the people so called in that horrible scene firmly have rejected the honorific. Also to be rejected is the compulsion of some people instantaneously to invent villains. The shooter was villain enough.

Whether we call them heroic, or wise and courageous, two figures impressed us: an older lady and a young man. Patricia Maisch grabbed the second ammunition magazine. Twenty-year-old Daniel Hernandez rushed toward the gunfire, and rendered aid to Rep Giffords in ways that likely kept her from dying. One prevented more killings; the other saved the wounded.

We all have seeds of heroism in us; and, God help us, possibly cowardly tendencies as well. The moment of crisis cannot be scripted. On the other hand, wisdom and bravery are acquired traits. They can be cultivated, and are more worthy of honor than “mere” heroism… especially in a country where athletes and movie stars routinely are called heroes. The term has become cheap.

I am reminded of William James’s observations during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. He noticed that, in the chaos, a new social order instantly was established. Upper-class bankers, for instance, readily performed menial tasks as they saw the need; conversely, many manual laborers instinctively assumed superior tasks – directing traffic, managing people, assuming responsibilities. None of those acts was merely heroic, they were more: wise, courageous, displaying character. Human nature in the crucible.

I could not escape the thought that the “memorial service” on Wednesday was a stark contrast to the Character Amidst Carnage we all saw Saturday morning. It was a pep rally, with whoops and whistles and chants; not a service. There was more adulation for a celebrity, than grief for the dead, wounded, and survivors.

A pagan ritual with feathers and importuning to Father Sky replaced – not even accompanied – prayers that would have been coherent to 95 per cent of the people, and to their God. Shouts and cheers from the bleachers at inopportune moments were more redolent of rock concerts; and, if he had wanted, the First Celebrity could have stilled the multitudes and returned to the reverent duty at hand.

What we sorely need is fewer theatrics at such events, if, indeed, such events are necessary at all (after all, victims’ churches and families held their own observances). TV spectacles in huge stadiums. Logos created for this service’s hand-outs. T-shirts manufactured for the “memorial service.” Politically correct, and politically hostile, statements to the press. Presidents of universities and of countries asking for “moments of silence.” Silence? Is the word, or the act of, PRAYER radioactive?

That is what we need more of: prayer. Excuse me — Shut up and pray. Simply pray. Where are simple prayers, simple faith, simple services, simple responses, these days?

…’tis a Gift to be simple, after all.

The University of Arizona Orchestra closed the rally with a performance of Simple Gifts, from Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring. Specifically, it was an arrangement of the orchestral score by Copland to Martha Graham’s ballet of that name. As such, it was discordant, both musically and in suitability. The secular music is of two lifelong supporters of Communism and the Communist Party; both virulent secularists; Copland a homosexual crusader — the performance, perhaps fine in some contexts, I simply consider out of place at a “memorial service.” Better, if the words and music pleased, to perform a… simple… version of the original work that not many Americans know.

Simple Things did not have its origin with Copland, nor its fate in countless TV commercials. Simple Things is a hymn of the devout Shaker community, written by Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848. The sect’s Christian faith, like their music and their famous furniture, was simple… and the Shakers themselves may be nearly as extinct as admirable Simplicity in America today.

Complicated, choreographed extravaganzas, with everything figured out for us and arranged in every politically correct detail – and spiritual substance left ‘way behind – is not the type of prize to be sought in a Christian Republic like America once was. ‘Tis a Gift to be simple.

Click: A Gift To Be Simple

A beautiful performance of this American hymn by Alison Kraus and violoncellist Yo-Yo Ma… simple, just the two of them.

1-10-11

That we live in a “throwaway culture” is a cliché. Clichés usually become clichés because they are true. In the 1950s a big topic of discussion in America was  the business concept of Planned Obsolescence – the manufacture of things just shoddy enough so that consumers would get a Buzz from the Bling of the New, until those things fell apart. Next, advertisers helped convince people that replacing those obsolete things was better than fixing them.

The slippery slope was greased. The American culture has moved to Disposable Everything. From appliances needing repair to clothes that need mending, fixing is not just out of fashion, but practically disreputable. Near the bottom of the cultural slide, inevitably, are disposable marriages and disposable kids. Then, abortions, “mercy killings,” and, yes, government-sponsored “death-panel” counseling. Another manifestation is revolving theology – “moral relativism,” a pick-and-choose set of standards that represents Open-Mindedness; that is, minds so open that peoples’ brains fall out.

But some things are right anyway, true anyway, worth it… anyway.

A major denomination whose membership rolls have been shrinking in recent decades (coincident with its Disposable Theology, more and more and more liberal on doctrine) is running a TV commercial campaign, imploring people, “Visit us; you’ll like us.” I suppose they hold nice pot-luck dinners, but for a church to twist its message to be something people “like” to hear, is to bring Planned Obsolescence to religion. Jesus did not go the cross for telling people what they wanted to hear.

He was condemned to the cross because He said things people NEEDED to hear.

Dedicated Christians are swimming upstream these days – to state the situation mildly. We tell the old, old story… and are met by firestorms of opposition from the culture, from the entertainment world, from the music industry, from radio and TV, from Hollywood, from the mainstream media, from the courts, from politicians and bureaucrats… and, too often, from apostate churches.

How do we respond? If we hate compromise on every side, the first thing we should avoid doing is to… compromise.

This week, amateur divers found the wreckage of the USS Revenge. The ship, commanded by Oliver Hazard Perry, was lost in a storm 200 years ago off the coast of Providence. Two years later, in a naval victory on Lake Erie, he uttered the famous words, “We have met the enemy and they are ours!” The motto on his battle flag became, “Don’t Give Up the Ship,” still the U S Navy’s motto.

America needs citizens who say, “Don’t give up the ship,” and Christian Patriots must be in the front of the lines. It can be discouraging to lose battles and see our culture slip away – our heritage rudely transformed – but we must fight anyway.

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love Him. — James 1:12

We might lose some battles, but we fight anyway. We might lose some goals, but we dream anyway. We might lose some allies, but we pray for them anyway. We might lose some denominations, but not the Word of God.

These things might be tough to put into practice, but they are essential to remember. That’s why stirring words and music, a good anthem, is needed today… and here is a nomination. Martina McBride’s classic song is a grassroots battle-hymn, perfect for this moment of crisis in our culture wars.

Click:  I Do It Anyway

1-3-11

The recent lunar eclipse is the last the northern hemisphere will see for a number of years. Its coincidence with the Winter solstice was the first in three centuries. Our New Year’s Day, 1-1-11, is the last such group of numbers until… oh, you get it.

If you think hard enough, EVERY day is the last of this or the first of that.

As Christians, we should see life that way. Every regret or painful memory, for instance, can be filed under “past” because we have forgiveness and a new life offered by Jesus. And no matter what else is going on, TODAY can be the start of amazing things you can do, and God can do through you.

There is a traditional Irish blessing (set to music and beautiful photographs in the link below) that is both appropriate for any day, between friends, as we are; and to think upon this New Year.

It set me thinking about Ireland’s role in Christian history. At one point, in Europe, Rome fell to barbarians, sacked and pillaged. The trappings of “civilization” and Christianity were put to flight. To a great extent, learning and biblical spirituality were pushed westward, until the Atlantic Ocean became a watery end-of-the-road. In Ireland, in isolated monasteries and abbeys, the Bible was copied by hand; faith was kept alive; Christian traditions were nurtured. There were pockets of believers elsewhere, of course, but largely it was a persecuted church. It was the “Dark Ages,” but things were not so dark in those places where the flame of faith was kept glowing.

I have a feeling that the decade we enter this weekend will be characterized as a decade of Christian persecution. It won’t be the last, but there is no reason to think that the attacks on believers we see in the news (and many we don’t), weekly and now daily around the world, will not grow in intensity or ferocity. These happen in Pakistan, North Korea, China, Iraq, Egypt, Russia, Cuba, India… and Western Europe and Canada and the United States.

Erosion of religious liberty, mockery of our Christian heritage, “legal” restrictions on the exercise of our faith and sharing our beliefs – classifying portions of the Bible as “hate speech” is only one of countless examples – confirm that no place in the world is safe from attack. Just as The Son of Man, we believers will have “no place to lay our heads,” spiritually speaking.

When the Irish “saved civilization” and preserved Western Christianity for a season, it was the geographical firewall. Today, in the global community with new media, each one of us – individuals who have received the Great Commission from Jesus Himself – will need to be virtual monasteries unto ourselves: Holding the Word close; keeping the flame of faith alive; nurturing Christian tradition.

I wish you not a path devoid of clouds, nor a life on a bed of roses,
Not that you might never need regret,
nor that you should never feel pain.

No, that is not my wish for you.
My wish for you is:

That you might be brave in times of trial,
when others lay crosses upon your shoulders.
When mountains must be climbed and chasms are to be crossed,
When hope can scarce shine through.
That every gift God gave you might grow with you
and let you give your gift of joy to all who care for you.
That you may always have a Friend who is worth that name,
whom you can trust and who helps you in times of sadness,
Who will defy the storms of daily life at your side.

One more wish I have for you:
That in every hour of joy and pain you may feel God close to you.
This is my wish for you and for all who care for you.
This is my hope for you now and forever.

— anonymous Irish blessing

Click:  The Best Possible New Year’s Wish

The nation – check that: the world – has come through a tough year. Economics; conflicts; persecution including increasing prejudice in the US and deadly attacks on Christians abroad; moral and social decay… well, we survived, but it has been a rough track.

And whether we do something to make the next year better, for ourselves, our nation, and our world, depends, as always, on what we do. The solutions again still spread before us: rededication to God’s Word; working for revival in our nation; a defense and loving propagation of the Gospel to the world.

Can we do it alone? Yes, if we have to. But we don’t have to! Just like New Year’s Eve parties – whether you juggle many invitations, or have received none – we can are assured of being with our Best Friend.

“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” has always been one of my favorite hymns. It speaks not only of profound comfort and insurance against loneliness, but its worlds reminds us what our Friend Jesus OFFERS – taking burdens, being faithful, hearing our prayers, offering strength when we are weak.

Doc Watson, the iconic singer and guitar player, was born in North Carolina almost 90 years ago. He was blinded by an infection when a year old. He got caught up (my characterization) in the folk-song movement, and appeared in coffee houses and folk-music festivals. His son Merle, also a talented guitar player, tragically was killed in a tractor accident some years ago, and Doc considered giving up music. He had a vision, however – remember, he is blind – encouraging him to perform for a purpose. Doc hewed closer to his Carolina roots, including the faith of his people.

Near the end of a concert earlier this year, reported Betty Dotson-Lewis in the Daily Yonder, “Doc told the audience that he wanted to give testimony and hoped that no one would mind. He said that he was a born-again Christian. He said he had been baptized when he was 14 years old but that it was the wrong kind of religion. He had listened to the wrong preaching and was baptized out of fear. He told us that four years ago he was listening to the song Doctor Jesus sung by Randy Travis, and when the chorus came around the third time –

Doctor Jesus, Will you help me?


Make me better, make me whole.

Doctor Jesus, Lord, I need you


To mend my heart, and save my soul.

– Doc Watson said that he prayed the prayer and became a born-again Christian.” Note, at the end of this song, the wrenching emotion that overtakes the grateful child of God. Blind eyes “see,” and cry, with conviction.

In his mid-80s, Doc Watson discovered that you can know ABOUT something, or some One, but not KNOW. A lot of us, over the past year, have known about the offerings of a loving God, and solutions for our problems, but have not always taken them up unto ourselves.

Well, we have a Friend with us who will help us carry on; will lift burdens that impede us; and will share our sorrows, should they come. Just knowing this can make the coming year very different for a lot of people.

What a way to end the year and begin a new one! What a friend!

Click: What a Friend We Have in Jesus

A Music Ministry Special

Christmas week. Even the most spiritual people among us – plausibly, the MOST spiritual among us – easily can be caught up in the THINGS of this week. Touching bases, checking lists, doing this and that, going here and there… all of which is legitimate. All of which we routinely regret, to an extent. All of which we resolve, nest year, to balance with quiet time to reflect on the meaning of Christmas.

At your service, folks. Here is a 2010-style method of slowing your pace, soothing your soul, and communing quietly with, maybe, your family; with God… and with Johann Sebastian Bach.

At the end of this message is a link to a performance of Bach’s immortal CHRISTMAS ORATORIO. We are used to hearing Handel’s “Messiah,” at least several famous portions. No less beautiful, and powerful, and spiritual, is Bach’s “Christmas Oratorio.”

An oratorio is best explained as a religious opera without a stage. Drama based on biblical stories is presented employing overtures and instrumental movements, solos and choruses, and often a narrator – an orator, providing one theory of its name – in the form of a singing narrator who stands apart from the “action.” Oratorios sometimes were performed outside the settings of churches. The most famous composer of Baroque oratorios is Händel, who wrote one German, two Italian, and seventeen English-language oratorios.

The opening of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Jauchzet, Frohlocket!, with timpani drums tuned to different notes, is among the grandest music Bach wrote. And the close of part two, Wir Singen Dir In Deinem Heer, seamlessly combining two previous beautiful melodies, is magical. The Sinfonia, a purely instrumental movement, is sublime. Does it advance the “action”? – No, except to set the mood of the peaceful night in Bethlehem, where the shepherds watched over their flocks.

May I invite the uninitiated to this glorious piece, or to Baroque music in general: Let Bach, and the biblical text, carry you on a spiritual trip. The Bible is quoted; the chorus and soloists take the part of Christmas-week players; and the ancient, beautiful music will touch your soul. Give this time… and it will be a special part of your Christmas.

In this video, Sir John Eliot Gardiner conducts the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists; the setting is the historic Herderkirche in Weimar, Germany, a city where Bach once lived and worked. The Christmas Oratorio originally was performed on six different days, from Christmas to Epiphany. Technically it is six cantatas, a form within the liturgy of which Bach was master.

The small choir… the original ancient instruments… the soloist in the box… the setting of the historic church… bring you close to the music as Bach would have conducted it himself. The first such time was Christmas of 1734.

I am linking you to full-screen downloads of this masterpiece (I daresay many of you will rush to find the DVD version of this to watch on a bigger screen next year!) Of several good versions available on the web, this is the only one with English subtitles; when they don’t appear, it is because singers are repeating passages. ALSO: this is not just “sit back and close your eyes.” Every once in a while a download will end, and a screen will appear with freeze-frame options. Click the largest box, upper right, labeled “Up Next,” or the logically numbered screens in the strip below.  (This will give you a chance to take a break if needed – this is more than two hours long, like “Messiah,” so plan some time! – or, you will see, you will want to repeat a passage whose musical beauty and spiritual power has impressed you!

Take time. Make time. Have a merry, and meaningful, and musical, Christmas!

Click this link: Christmas Oratorio — J S Bach

We tend not to think about all the aspects of Jesus’s life. We think about His ministry, His teaching and parables, His prayers, often enough: or so we should.

But when we think of His life, sometimes we are prejudiced by Sunday-school pamphlets, and greeting cards, and the holiday industries, to compartmentalize the events in His life – to view them as the settings and backgrounds for the really important stuff.

But it is not only surprising, but important to our faith, to think about all the aspects of Jesus’s life. It is very significant, for instance, that He came into the world pretty much as He left it: despised and disregarded; acknowledged for who He was by hardly anyone; a mere handful of people with Him at each event (but His mother, always there); in a borrowed stable at His birth, in a borrowed tomb at His death.

To think about these aspects confronts us with many things. One, at the Christmas season, is this: the simultaneous humility and grandeur of the incarnate God. For there was no “arc” to Jesus’s life, no “career” in the modern sense. He didn’t become flesh and dwell among us to incorporate a ministry, to establish a denomination, to build a business – even a religious, spiritual, faith-based organization as we call things today.

He came to save humanity from its sins, to offer the way to salvation, to redeem creation as the One True Way. Therefore His birth is very similar to His death… and it should cause us to think not just about what He did, but who He was.

Isaiah had prophesied: “…unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” Notice that the “shalls” refer to the triumphant Jesus – still prophetic? – the “is” word referring to a child, to a son. Since Isaiah lived hundreds of years before Jesus, these logically could have been “shalls” too.

That aspect is for us to think about today. No less important than the words of Jesus or His coming reign… is the PERSON of Jesus. We all have had children, or have been children! Of course God wanted us to identify with His incarnate Self in the most powerful – and the most tender – way He could. A baby. A son.

He SHALL be called mighty; He SHALL be our counselor. But right now think of Him as a baby.

Hold Him in your arms. Love Him as He loves you.

Beautiful imagery accompanies a tender new song called “For Unto Us a Child is Born.”

Click:  For Unto Us a Child Is Born

Rick Marschall was on the editorial staff of the “1599 Geneva Bible Restoration Project” (Tolle Lege Press, 2007)

Another early Christmas message. But the best Christmas and Easter and Annunciation and Ascension messages can, and should, be shared every week of the year. Down with pigeon-holing.

There is a powerful song about a heart-wrenching story that was in the news in 2002. Britain’s Independent newspaper reported at the time: “For 30 years, Samir Ibrahim Salman had made his way dutifully to his task as bell ringer and caretaker at the fortress-like stone and wooden church revered by millions as the birthplace of Jesus Christ.”

Salman “crossed Manger Square to get to the church to climb the steps to the fourth-century bell tower as he did every day of the year. “Minutes later, Samir was struck by a bullet in the chest. It was an hour before an ambulance could reach him but by then, he was already dead. The Palestinians claim he was killed by an Israeli – the Israeli army says they did not fire a shot near the church. Samir, who was mentally disabled, may have been unaware of the danger.”

It was a time when Palestinian fighters, running from advancing Israeli troops, took refuge in the church. They and 40 Franciscan brothers, four nuns and approximately 30 Orthodox and Armenian monks were trapped in the basilica complex. There were also disputed claims about damage to the holy site built over the reputed manger where Jesus was born.

This story about hatred, violence, and bloodshed in Jesus’ hometown, perhaps over the spot where He was born, has resonance this Christmastide.

I shared with some friends that I would be writing this message. “Why make a martyr of an Islamic person, especially at this time of year?” some responded. “Why cite a song that talks about ‘Palestine?’” asked others. “That’s provocative!” However, Salman was an Arab, but not Islamic – he was a Palestinian Christian. How many Americans realize that Bethlehem has been governed by a Christian mayor and majority Christian council; and that there is a higher percentage of Christians there than in Israel? Concerning ‘Palestine,’ Bethlehem is not even in Israel but in the West Bank, under the Palestinian Authority with Israel’s full sanction.

But I want us to return again, remembering the Christmas season, to Nativity Square in Bethlehem. Samir Ibrahim Salman lay there alone. He died in the pool of his blood, maybe instantly, maybe slowly… no one was brave enough (or simple enough, as he was) to go out in the open. He had been beloved of the town, and special to the church, because he rang those bells as a volunteer every day of the year for decades, different bells for different occasions, serving Christ and his neighbors.

I do not lament only the hatred that shatters the calm of Bethlehem, or the peace of Jerusalem. Christians today are being slaughtered by the thousands, and driven from Iraq, which the US has “stabilized.” Jeremy Reynalds has written a news story revealing the truth for Assist New Service: http://www.assistnews.net/STORIES/2010/s10120042.htm

And in a brilliant but deeply disturbing report for World Magazine, Mindy Belz provides details of the US military’s (and NATO representatives’) answer to a question about whether persecuted Christians would be protected in Iraq. By us. Their answer was “No.” Under Saddam Hussein, 1.5-million Christians lived in relative security; today, fewer than 400,000 Christians remain in Iraq, many in fear.

Protected by the US? By our military security? “No.” Mindy correctly calls this “extermination by any other name.” http://www.worldmag.com/articles/17400 If American Christians betray Christians in Iraq (and China, and Myanmar, and…) we are not merely ignoring the wrong, or decrying the wrong; we’re on the side of the wrong.

Back to Bethlehem, where God chose to come in human form to reconcile ALL men unto Himself. This holy ground is where God chose to fulfill His promise from ages past, that through Him “all the nations of the earth shall be blessed.”

Who pulled the trigger of the gun that killed the simple Bell Ringer of Bethlehem? To those of us who are ignorant of the issues, who blindly perpetuate stereotypes, who support missions we don’t understand – and don’t support missionaries we ought to – we can shudder at the thought that we might have been closer to the triggerman than to the Bell Ringer that morning.

But as children of God, we have been given the ministry of reconciliation, to be ambassadors to a fallen world – peoples of all faiths, and no faith. Now THERE is a peace treaty! For the little town of Bethlehem, for everywhere.

Click: The Bethlehem Bell Ringer
(words are below)

Rick Marschall

The Bethlehem Bell Ringer
Carl Cleves / the Hottentots

An ancient church in Bethlehem,
A target in a battle of men,
Stands on the ground where Christ was born
Trapped inside the eye of a storm

Soldiers move from door to door
Mortar fire, it’s all-out war.
Army tanks patrol the street,
They treat civilians with conceit

Oh Jesus, please, help Palestine
Turn all that blood back into wine
Oh Turning Wheel, Divine Design
Please bring peace to Palestine

Samir Ibrahim Salman
Fulfills his task the best he can.
Each day at dawn he tolls the bells,
While all around the army shells

He walks across the Manger Square
For thirty years he’s lived near there,
A simple man who spends his time
In quiet prayer at Jesus’ shrine

Upon the roof a sniper aims
His bitter heart with hate inflames
Samir walks slow, his back bent low
And is struck down by the bullet’s blow

For many hours Samir lay there
Bleeding on the Manger Square.
No ambulance permitted near,
And so the bell ringer died here

An ancient church in Bethlehem
The bells of peace won’t chime again
The people now all live in fear
Grieving wails are all you hear

Oh Jesus, please, help Palestine
Turn all that blood back into wine
Oh Turning Wheel, Divine Design
Please bring peace to Palestine.

The Christmas story has become really sanitized.

I mean literally. How many depictions do we see, how often do we think, of the Christ Child in the manger, surrounded by shining angels, kindly shepherds, pretty sheep… and bugs and worms, rotted bits of feed and dung, dirt and moldy straw?

The manger was likely in a rough, dark, musty cave, not in an open-air lean-to that the greeting cards portray.

We can also wonder whether Joseph and Mary were told “no room in the inn!” not only because the city was crowded… but perhaps because innkeepers innkeepers greeted the newlyweds and asked when they were married, and reckoned she had been with child…

Homeless… a mother who was single when she conceived… rejected… forced to the humblest place in the city to be born, farm animals as attendants: the Bible accurately called it a lowly birth.

What has NOT been scrubbed clean from the story is that the Bible called it a lowly birth hundreds of years before it happened, in every particular – these details and many more. Truly this was the Son of God.

But we should not turn to the next pretty greeting card this Christmas season. Linger in that stable, and you will see more. You will see children today born in similar circumstances. Parents in distress. No place to live. Little to eat. Rejected and despised.

When God chose to humble Himself and become flesh, He emptied Himself of His royal nature, and became… middle class? A suburbanite fretting over student loans? Someone managing a household budget and hobbies? OK, those might not be profiles of average Bethlehemites of that time… but they are not profiles of millions of babies born around the world today, either.

God identified with the most basic level of humanity. He meets us at our humblest places, conditions, and realities.

When we think of this unsanitary and unsanitized picture of the Nativity, does it change our attitude toward Jesus, the Incarnate Lord, who came to live with us?

Does it change our attitude toward homeless, rejected, vulnerable, hungry children being born every day?

Does it change our attitude toward our own hearts?

Click: No Place To Lay His Head

It came upon a midnight clear… that is: the moment Thanksgiving Day ended, the Christmas Season formally began. That’s when I was a kid. Now the Christmas decorations in stores are festooned after Halloween, sometimes before that. Pretty soon, Santa Claus will be hunting for Easter eggs and marching in Fourth of July parades.

Nearly everyone decries the “commercialization of Christmas,” and so they should. But in American society it seems like the observance of Christmas itself might disappear before the culture of consumerism does. However, the commercial aspects of the holiday ultimately will harm the celebration of Christ’s birth as much as have the adoption of the pagan-originated date and the traditions of evergreen trees. Not much, unless we let it happen.

About which we say, Hallelujah!

Around us we see another seasonal tradition beginning, and this one we can embrace. In malls and shopping plazas, vocal ensembles and choral societies have been gathering, and, despite the fact that ‘tis the season to be shopping, they break out in the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. The mighty music – and the mightier words – draws the attention of everybody within earshot.

In Philadelphia, the atrium of Macy’s Department Store is home to the largest pipe organ in the United States. Recently, 650 choristers mingled with shoppers until the moment to sing this wonderful music arrived, and the blast-furnace organ notes combined with thousands of voices (for shoppers joined in) – and it was glory indeed.

This has happened elsewhere too. Local organizers can claim that these are field-trips of singing clubs, or activities of an opera society; or publicity events; or class projects; maybe even churches’ outreach. (You will see in this video clip, signs proclaiming the performance a “random act of culture” – a rather secular camouflage.) Yet when all is said and done – or seen and sung – what has happened is the proclamation of the prophecy and birth of mankind’s Savior; of the Incarnation; of the promised reign of the Christ.

To mingle this news, and Handel’s anointed music, with busy shoppers and the preoccupations of a “holiday” season, is brilliant… redeeming the Message, and restoring its place in the midst of our lives, even for a moment; forever, and ever; Hallelujah!

Click:   Hallelujah!

Thanks to Marlene Bagnull of the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference for forwarding the clip linked above ( http://tinyurl.com/26hfmt8 ) from Philly; and to Diane Obbema for sending the clip of another Flash Mob singing the Hallelujah Chorus in a food court ( http://tinyurl.com/25xpqy8 ). There have been other such outbreaks around the country… maybe next year we will all participate in our own communities!

Have you ever called out to God in a moment of crisis? Or, better put, how often have you cried out to God in a moment of crisis?

Of course we have all been there, and it will not change. God, after all, did not promise to keep us from life’s troubles. He just promised to be with us through them.

Christoper Hitchens, in a lengthy profile in Britain’s The Observer newspaper, said, “What can be asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”  (  http://tiny.cc/cgsin ) Hitchens is dying of esophageal cancer, has written an atheist’s apologia against God, and has debated across the continent with the fervent Christian Dinesh D’Souza. None of us can evaluate his emotional wrestling-matches – he evidently was touched by a widespread “Pray for Christopher Hitchens Day” in September – but I shudder to contemplate if he is tempted to cry to God… but is deterred by pride.

If a reliance on God (please: no “higher being”; no “man upstairs” – I mean the God the Bible) is a basic yearning of every person’s soul, then we must admit that pride is a universal stumbling-block to exercising that reliance. How common is the realization that we turn for help… when we need help? The logic of it does not mitigate the embarrassment: “God, it’s me again. Sorry it’s been awhile…”

Too often we pray fervently in times of crises, and pray casually – or not at all – when blessings are flowing. Human nature.

God knows it is human nature. That is why He provided ways to counter that aspect. Communication, constant communication, which He calls prayer. And the testimony of our hearts, which He can read, and knows better than we ourselves do. God seeks communication with us – and half of that is hearing from us. He takes joy in every manner of our turning to Him. And He is grieved when we do not. In Micah 6:3 we have the picture of a God who is offended and hurt when we ignore Him: “O my people, what have I done to you? How have I wearied you? Answer me!”

So. If God receives pleasure when we seek Him and communicate through prayer, and if we generally tend to seek Him and pray only when things go bad… wouldn’t it be in the nature of a loving God to “allow” some “bad” things to buffet us?

I do not believe that He sends sickness or disease on His children – the Lord of the universe is not a child abuser – but for us to see Him as “an ever-present help in times of trouble,” there must be trouble. Following that, He will answer, and help, and communicate what we need to know: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17); “Thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee” (Psalm 9:10).

Is God at work in our lives when crises and problems beset us… if those are the only times when we seek fellowship with Him? Is this good theology? I don’t know. I’m just sayin’…

Here is a heartfelt spiritual song that briefly illustrates the anguished call to God we all experience at times. It is one of the very last songs that a feeble Johnny Cash recorded, but one of the most powerful of messages: “Help Me, Lord.”

Click:   Asking God’s Help

Have a great week. Chat up a storm with your Creator.

Sometimes they get it right. After all the changes, in schools and stores, of Easter observance to Spring break, Christmas to “Winter,” Thanksgiving to “Harvest”; not to mention President’s Day, which blurs the commemoration of ANY president by declaring it for EVERY president… I think it’s appropriate that “Decoration Day” of my youth is now called “Memorial Day.”

And then we had Armistice Day. According to legend, the World War I (the “war to end all wars”) cease-fire was held up until 11:11 on 11-11 to suit President Wilson’s whim. True or not, and not knowing how many extra corpses piled up to hold the schedule, it is characteristic of Wilson. OK, Armistice Day is now Veteran’s Day. Here the wider net of a title IS more appropriate.

An article this week in Assist News Service reviewed a new book by Pastor John MacArthur in which he contends that English-language translators have long mistranslated the word in the New Testament for “slave” as “servant.” http://www.assistnews.net/Stories/2010/s10110027.htm Perhaps translators were squeamish about the negative connotations of slavery, but if humans are described as slaves to sin, surely we can consider ourselves slaves to Christ. Just as surrender to God somehow brings victory, so can slavery to Christ bring freedom.

We need, then, to think of slavery in a new way, spiritually (and in its worldly aspects, too, because slavery still exists in many places). But we also can think of servanthood in a new way, too. Let us not forsake serving Christ, and let us remember that we serve Him by serving others.

Let us think this week, with Veteran’s Day coming, of “those who serve.”

No matter what any of us think of America’s two current wars, or any of the past wars, or any wars in general, it is the serviceman and servicewoman — think of the root word — who do the work that their countrymen are not able or not willing to do. Most servicemen do not hate the enemy: they might be taught to do so, but at most it is the leaders who define that policy. To me, the average serviceman (I am talking of any time, in any culture) does not primarily hate: he loves. The flag. The home soil. The way of life back home. This is a mighty picture of servanthood.

When they become veterans — that is, when they leave the military — it is the nation’s duty to serve THEM. The time, the sacrifices, the families left behind, the wounds and injuries… too often are all forgotten by an ungrateful nation. How many veterans feel that recognition of their service has been relegated to one holiday, in the minds of many?

Perhaps we should think of every day of the year as Veterans’ Day. Then maybe we can set one day apart for even more special thoughts — we could call November 11th “Servants’ Day.”

Here, again, a gospel song with special significance this week:

Click:  Gone Home

This week: Swirling days of Hallowe’en, Elections, and Reformation Day.

They are all, sort of, about the same things; this year anyway; if we regard Hallowe’en from the original perspective all All Saint’s Day.

This will not be a message primarily addressing the elections, although Reform is needed and Reform is driving the enthusiasm. It will not be a message about the perversion of All Hallow’s Eve, although it is a manifestation of the nexus of corrupted beliefs and commercial pollution in our culture. ’nuff said. Neither is my concern the anniversary of the Protestant Reformation — specifically, that is, Reformation Sunday, just observed. Nor the issues surrounding the Catholic Church almost 500 years ago.

For I don’t think the Reformation started with Luther’s nailing 95 Theses to the church door at Wittenberg. Of course its stirrings were in the protests and martyrdom of earlier believers. But in Luther’s case I believe the Reformation started when he made a pilgrimage to Rome.

(Click for a short movie clip) :   Martin Luther in Rome

He realized, clearly, what had been around him in the culture, especially the church culture — growing in intensity, sinking in shame. Perverted doctrine… sex scandals… monetary corruption… a loss of purity. That is when his conscience, and his Bible training, and the Holy Spirit moved him to revulsion.

Again: I am not thinking here of the Church then. I am thinking of the church now. As a Protestant, I know several of its denominations best, so I can address them best; and I am moved to revulsion too.

Perverted doctrine — Churches more concerned with political correctness than the Word of God — and a “pick and choose” theology that makes sinners the author of new dogmas.

Sex scandals — Shame to the clergy, across all Protestant denominations; the Catholic church rocked to its foundations in the US and Europe.

Monetary corruption — When TV preachers plead for “seed offerings” and “faith gifts” and make links between salvation and buying trinkets or “unlocking” the Prosperity Gospel with “love offerings”… how in hell is that different from buying indulgences, kissing rings, and venerating phony relics? Buy your way to heaven! What has changed since Luther’s trip to Rome?

A loss of purity — “Christian” churches today are more concerned with offending sinners than saving them; more concerned with ministering to bodies alone and not souls; more concerned with what unchurched kids, or agnostics, or Jews, or Muslims, or homosexuals, or Oprah, think… than what God thinks.

If Luther were here today, he would have 95 new theses, maybe more, to nail somewhere. Maybe on a lot of churches’ doors. Maybe on the doors of movie theaters. Maybe on TV screens and computer screens. Maybe on the doors of the White House and Congress and the Supreme Court. Maybe on my door, and maybe yours. But the… should WE be the new Martin Luthers?

If there be real reform on Reformation Week — and election week — let it begin with us. And if push-backs come, if persecution follows, let us remember Luther’s astounding words: “Here I stand. I can do no other.”

Music and history: Click   Here I Stand

A little departure — not a “religious” message; but, I hope, a spiritual one!

It is to share a moment with you who are engaged in creativity. Nobody run for the exit, because in a way, we all are so engaged. I thought of this because I was on the phone this afternoon with a friend, and I bollixed up a couple of things having to do with numbers… typical for me, stupid things. Some of us typically mumble things about “right brain, left brain,” but working in the creative arts is not always the same thing as exercising creativity!

Many of my friends are writers or cartoonists, and what I am about to say is common to them, and to musicians and poets and singers and painters and composers and actors and photographers. And public speakers. And counselors. And designers. And decorators. Teachers. Pastors. Charity workers. Those entrusted with law-enforcement. Ministers, by definition. Even accountants (ha) and politicians making claims and taping commercials (ha ha) have to be creative. Certainly mothers and caregivers, a thousand ways every day.

… Actually, you can’t name a human activity where creativity does not come into play. And if you think you have found someone, or some profession… surely that person ASPIRES to write or perform or draw in private time. Or to receive that mysterious, soul-satisfying sustenance from enjoying the works of people who do — which is, just as real, a Bond of Creativity.

All of this is commonplace — banal if it is in fact so universal — except that we don’t always realize it. We don’t appreciate it in others, but anyone who creates some work of art, on any level, bares his or her soul to a world that can reject or ridicule or despise it. Yet we do what we do because we have to. We have to share it; we have to “let it out”; we have to touch someone we probably will never meet. The cliched creator who lives a hermit-like existence is actually the most open and vulnerable of God’s creatures.

Create… creatures… Creator. Here we bring a message full circle. If we fail to appreciate creativity in others, surely a lot of us tend to miss the creativity in ourselves. It is there, it should be encouraged, and, as a principle of life, must be exercised to be healthy and strong. Some people believe that to say that humans “create” anything is blasphemous — that only God can create anything. I think that is true if you are playing word games.

God has given us, among His unique gifts, sparks of creativity. Anything we “create” is therefore an extension of His grace and His glory. J S Bach began every one of his works with the words, “Help me, Jesus,” and ended every work with the words, “To God be ALL the glory.” Nothing we can create is apart from Him.

Illustrating my message is a secular song, not by Bach but by the singer/songwriter Lacy J Dalton. It perfectly catches the creative process — the inchoate passion, the unquenchable dreams, the insane struggles, the breakthroughs; the success that is not always commercial, but measured by the “Aha!” moment in whatever pursuit you choose. Her metaphor is the singer/songwriter (the best art is inescapably self-referential). 16th Avenue, Nashville’s street of dreams where recording studios and performance stages abound, is her metaphor of the world. Oh, she nails it. Aha!

Appreciate your own creativity this week, and that in others. Celebrate it. Exercise it. And remember its source — the One who is reflected and honored in what you do.

Click:  An Anthem to Creativity

This week, the whole world watched the rescue of the miners in Chile, and the whole world was inspired — it could not be otherwise.

I watched through the night; many of us did. Being an old guy, a portion of my amazement was the technology improvised for their rescue, but more, the fact the cameras could broadcast from half a mile under rock; and then, I could watch it in real time 6000 miles away. (Frankly, I was amazed that I could make my TV-remote work that evening, but that’s me)

We have heard a lot about the miners, and will hear a lot more as interviews, books, and movies will surely follow. But I share with you a few random impressions I had:

* 33 miners, 69 days… I am not into Bible codes and biblical numerology, but occasionally God DOES leave spiritual reminders in worldly events (three is the Biblical sign of godly perfection — the Trinity; three days before the Resurrection; etc) to remind us of His workings. That said…

* The miners were resourceful, strong, and organized… but also, it seems almost a man, spiritual. Reportedly half were Catholic and half evangelical or Pentecostal. The Vatican sent missals and Rosaries down the first shaft, when opened; and a Baptist church sent Bibles and hymn books. (Evangelicalism is sweeping the continent. There are more Pentecostals than Catholics, for instance, in neighboring Brazil.) There were frequent services and constant prayers underground.

* Through the night President Sebastian Pinera was seen praying quietly on a bench, not showing off but with head bowed, crossing himself afterward. The first rescuer who descended in the capsule said a prayer and crossed himself before the door was closed.

* Many miners used their first words above ground to thank God. Some fells to their knees immediately — were they collapsing? No, they were in prayer; some held their little Bibles high.

* Several miners donned T-shirts when they were unhooked from the capsule. Family members, too, had been wearing them. On the front they said, “Gracias Senor” — Thank you, Lord. And on the backs was a Bible verse: “To Him be the glory and honor. Because in His hands are the depths of the earth; and the heights of the mountains are His” (Psalm 95:4)

* At least one miner received Christ during the ordeal, and — regarding that number “3” — one miner said that there were really 34 in the mine, because he felt that Jesus was always with them.

* Finally, I remember that one miner said something along these lines: “We faced God down there… and we faced the devil. God won. We reached out and held His hand.”

Holding to God’s unchanging hand… do you know the simple but powerful song with that title? It seems almost written FOR this event we witnessed! Franklin L Eiland, composer of many great hymns, wrote this about 100 years ago (He was grandfather of Cindy Walker, the first female songwriters elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame).

This version is sung by Lindell Cooley, who was Worship Leader at the Brownsville Revival in Pensecola when I went there a couple times a dozen years ago. Today he is pastor of Grace Church in Nashville. Powerful performance, and relevant to the miracles of faith we just witnessed.

Click:  Hold to God’s Unchanging Hand

Have a great week holdin’ on…

10-10-10

A friend, the noted theatrical impresario Charles Putnam Basbas, recently forwarded one of those oft-forwarded internet stories to me. The story of a miracle baby born prematurely, it was not outrageously implausible (not to me anyway; my children were born 10 weeks, five weeks, and eight weeks early around 30 years ago when those factors were dicey; and they had, and have, healthy, robust lives). Yet this story, as full of meaning as of surprises, checked out as true when I pursued “truth or fiction” sites.

Maybe you, too, have read it:

The Smell of Rain

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy from surgery. Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24 weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple’s new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor’s soft words dropped like bombs.

“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” he said, as kindly as he could. “There’s only a 10 per cent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one.”

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.

“No! No!” was all Diana could say. She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.

But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae’s underdeveloped nervous system was essentially “raw,” the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Danae turned two months old. her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

[Five years later] Danae was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing.
As always, Danae was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby, when she suddenly fell silent . Hugging her arms across her chest, little Danae asked, “Do you smell that?”

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.”

Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?”

Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet. It smells like rain.”

Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on his chest.”

Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.

During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

Back to MMMM. As I noted, in recent years, Danae’s story has circulated on the internet. It first was published in Richard L. Scott’s book, Miracles In Our Midst: Stories of Life, Love, Kindness, and Other Miracles (Wessex House). Scott, the former CEO of Columbia Health Systems and currently the Republican candidate for governor of Florida [since elected — ed.], sought out tales of triumph over medical odds. Danae’s story (then titled “Heaven Scent”) is his favorite. That little girl Danae, without knowing it, has inspired many people. An angel, in her own way.

To me, the spiritual “icing on the cake” to this story Charlie forwarded was someone’s legend at the bottom:

ANGELS EXIST, but sometimes, since they don’t all have wings, we call them FRIENDS.

And this summation reminded me of a song with a spiritual message, sung by a secular singer, the great Delbert McClinton (who is great even when Vince Gill and Lee Roy Parnell are not backing him up…) —

Click:  Sending Me Angels (Just Like You)

Good Morning! Good Morning? Some folks these days would not jump to characterize this day, or this week, or “these times,” as “good.” Just about everybody has been affected by the awful economy or the government’s responses that seemingly work to make Bad things Worse.

Several friends have declared bankruptcy; another friend desperately is finding no buyers for her house; my daughter sold hers after three years of lowering the price, drip by drip. The government tells us that the recession ended in June, and I am reminded of a high school teacher who once told me, “statistics don’t lie… but statisticians do.”

Houses underwater — fiscally or literally — or jobs or investments or retirement accounts: things look bleak, and the horizon seems bleaker. God tells us to keep our eyes on things to come; we do count our many blessing, and we try to keep things in perspective. We do so — Christians must!

There was a time about 30 years ago I was in despair, experiencing these types of crises. I knew the Bible verse, “Be anxious for nothing…” but I was anxious about EVERYTHING.

And then God did something interesting. Another verse I knew was Jesus’s reassurance that not a sparrow falls to the ground without our Father’s knowledge; and that we are more precious than sparrows in His sight. But surely I was not feeling it… not really knowing it.

One day in my deepest distress, my morning devotional reading was based on that passage. Sparrows. Later that day, a preacher on Christian radio (background noise till that moment) addressed that parable. Sparrows. That evening, on the car radio, a station played the gospel song, “His Eye Is On the Sparrow.”

OK, the first point is that I got the point. And it encouraged me mightily. But the other point has never left me: God doesn’t just speak to us through His word — sometimes He repeats His message in various ways, over and over, even shouting to us, until we get it!

Oh, Lord, open our ears!

Here is a beautiful version of that comforting old hymn, sung by the wonderful singer of spirituals, Ethel Waters, from am old black-and-white movie. She asks, “Why should I be discouraged…?”

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows!” Matt. 10: 29-31

Click:  His Eye Is On the Sparrow

Who is the person closest to you in life? Quick!

Sort of a trick question, because we should answer “Jesus,” but many of us think of family, spouses, friends; and great relationships should indeed spring to mind.

But Jesus is the answer to that question… even if people don’t feel like putting Him first on the list. Because He is always there, close to us. Closer than a shadow.

George Beverly Shea once told me a story that stuck with me (I can’t claim credit for such a great story with its deeper lesson!). An old farmer was driving his wife to town in their car. The wife looked across to her husband behind the wheel and said, “You know, when we were courting, we used to sit so close together in the front seat!” He looked over at her, and at the space between them, and asked, “Who moved?”

Of course the meaning is that sometimes we feel not as close to God as we used to. Sometimes the zeal of our young faith subsides; sometimes a crisis in our lives affects the intimacy we once had with God; sometimes doubts make God seem distant to us.

… but our cooling faith, our crises, our doubts do not place God at a distance. He will never leave us nor forsake us. Only we can make ourselves feel distant from Him.

So don’t “move” away from God, and then blame it on Him. Neither need we toss Him the wheel of the car, jump in His lap, or check off boxes on a list. Just invite Him: Abide With Me.

The simple words of this simple hymn are basically all He asks of us. Trust and rely on Jesus, feel His presence. And know what the invitation means: Abide means to dwell (the word is related to “abode”), to stay, to continue, to wait patiently, to accept, to endure, to support, to live… within you.

Who moves apart? Never the Lord!

Here is a moving performance of that simple and mighty hymn by one of the world’s most beautiful voices, Hayley Westenra of New Zealand. If you can listen with earphones, treat yourself.

Click:  Abide With Me

I was at a dinner party many years ago, back when my main business was cartooning and I lived in the artist-and-writers colony around Westport, Connecticut. I was talking with the wife of a young cartoonist I had known for a couple year, and mentioned something about my faith and my church.

She stopped me. “You’re a Christian? I didn’t know that!” So was she, and we shared a whole lot. A new level was established in our friendship.

Yet that statement — “I didn’t know you’re a Christian!” — haunted me that night, that week, and still does, years later. God forbid that anyone we know, or someone we meet, has to be told, whether by whispers or by announcement, that we are followers of Christ.

Yes, I know. The subject never came up. Yes, I know, I wasn’t aware she was a Christian either, and likely was a dedicated believer. But, we cannot get away from what I said, and mean literally — God FORBID that people have be told that we are followers of Christ. That decision, one way or another, is totally our own!

Is He our personal savior… or our personal secret?

Looking for music to drive this message home, I decided this week to share with you a poem on this subject. It is “urban poetry.” From my perspective it puts the Hip in the Hop. And amazingly in sync with the convictions I dealt with.

There is an astounding movement in Los Angeles and Lynnwood CA called the Passion For Christ Movement — P4CM. Kids who have been saved from addiction, crime, homosexuality, hypocrisy, are living utterly transformed lives, on fire for Jesus. One aspect of their ministry is a night-spot, a coffee house, called the Lyricist Lounge, where people recite poetry, sing, testify, and share inspiration.

These kids are changing their city… after, very clearly, changing themselves.

Here is Karness Turner reciting his poem on the theme that I recalled this week…

Click:  Does Anybody Know That You’re a Christian?

This week we have guest stars delivering our message… in fact, billions and billions of them.

I invite you to visit the site and photo gallery of the Hubble Space Telescope —  http://hubblesite.org/gallery/album/  Prepare to be amazed, if you have never seen these color photos before… in fact, one is amazed at the thousandth time they are viewed! We are told that many of the “distant stars” we see shining are in reality whole galaxies — that is, shining collections, themselves, of millions of stars and planets.

Amazing Space, how sweet the sights…

Scroll through the photos and let them speak to you about God’s awesome power, His omnipresence. I will tell you one thought that I have:

God Almighty took six days to create the awesome, endless, perfect universe.

However, after lo these many decades… He’s still working on me.

That’s not a wisecrack: that’s good theology. We need to remind ourselves of the gift of free will, and the consciousness of our own rebellion and sinfulness before a perfect and just God. To see pictures like this, and realize our part in God’s creation, is humbling.

And the other thought I have is to be grateful to the depths of my soul for His faithfulness. After all these decades.

…All I have needed Thy hand hath provided; great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter and springtime and harvest; sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

Click a touching version of the great hymn these words are from:

Great Is They Faithfulness

I once heard a prominent preacher in the “emergent church” trash one of my favorite old gospel songs, “I’ll Fly Away.”

“If I could, I would rip that song out of every hymn-book,” he said. He considered it irresponsible and against Christ’s teachings to want to leave this world, when there is so much to do here. So much poverty and injustice to fight… and so on.

That type of analysis is one reason I wish the emergents would become the submergents. Christ admonished us to look up, and wait expectantly for that day. Bible prophecy tells us of no sweeter promise than when we shall meet Him in the air. Yes, God has tasks for us here in this world, but it can be arrogant, not just irresponsible, to suggest that God cannot do things without us. And… there is a danger in putting too must trust in doctrines of works.

The whole Gospel must hold. Comfortable suburban (faddish) teachers who cannot relate to worshipers whose lives have been hard and challenging, those who hope for the Bible’s promised release, those who find comfort — and even perseverance — in songs like “I’ll Fly Away”… pity those teachers, or ignore them. They preach to each other.

Fasten your seat belts, because I’m going to share a very unorthodox (in some neighborhoods, anyway) version of “I’ll Fly Away.” Two decades ago I was writing a three-part biography of rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis, televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, and country singer Mickey Gilley. They are all first cousins, and grew up in Ferriday, Louisiana, attending the same little Assembly of God church.

I learned that for a brief time, Jerry Lee had attended Bible College, in Waxahatchie, Texas. I interviewed a fellow student, Charles Wigley (later a district superintendent of the Assemblies of God) who told me that a few students used to get together and play gospel music… and got in trouble for “juking it up.” Of course Jerry also got invited to leave the school because he used to sneak out at night and go to the Deep Elm section of Houston…

Be that as it may, the jazzed-up style of rock and country and the fervent evangelistic piano playing in Pentecostal churches sometimes straddled an indistinct line. Here is a video of Jerry Lee Lewis and his cousin Mickey Gilley performing “I’ll Fly Away” in what you might consider another installment in our “Doing Church Another Way” series! (Definitely NOT Baroque music)

This is how old it is: it was recorded, I think, the day after Reagan was elected president in 1980 (Jerry Lee throws in a reference to that fact)

To close the circle, see if you think worshipers in a little country church would have felt irresponsible about their faith after joining in with this song. Would you rip this out of a songbook?

Click:  I’ll Fly Away 

Years ago, when my wife had her heart and kidney transplants, the Lord used the circumstance to give our whole family a burden for others in the Heart Failure Unit at Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia. He also graced us with a boldness to pray with those patients who waited… or who received the medical miracles… or whose transplants went awry… or their families in those situations, or, sometimes, times of grief.

There were questions, always questions, and we were laymen with few answers. We often were asked by pastors, even, how we managed to deal with peoples’ confusion and fear and doubt and sorrow and terror and loneliness. Well, it was the same as we dealt with faith and hope and conversions and even healing. It wasn’t us, it was Jesus — all we could do was share Jesus. (“All”? Yes, it was everything we could do).

We frequently sang a gospel song that became many patients’ favorite: Leave It There. Its words include:

If your body suffers pain and your health you can’t regain, And your soul is almost sinking in despair,
Jesus knows the pain you feel, He can save and He can heal; Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

Leave it there, leave it there, Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

After a time I learned the amazing coincidence (?) that the gospel song had been written only a few blocks from Temple University Hospital, where we met for those services! C A Tindley, the son of a slave, educated himself, moved north to Philadelphia, secured a job as janitor of a church… and eventually became its pastor. His large mixed-race flock of 10,000 enjoyed his powerful preaching and his moving hymns for years. (One of his hymns, I’ll Overcome Someday, was transformed with different words and tempo into the Civil Rights anthem We Shall Overcome.) Tindley Temple United Methodist Church was his “home,” and today there is a C A Tindley Boulevard in Philadelphia.

So every time we sang that song in the Heart Failure Unit, we did honor to a man in whose neighborhood we sang, who taught untold multitudes (and still does, through such songs) that we should “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God”… and leave them there at the foot of the cross.

By the way, another coincidence: this Gaither Homecoming video by Lillie Knauls and Babbie Mason is my favorite version. After my father died, in Florida, my sisters and I did not know what to do with furniture, kitchen appliances, household goods, and such, a thousand miles away from where we each lived. I called my pastor, whose sister, I knew, worked in a church nearby in central Florida. Could they find a needy family, perhaps, who could use these things? A few days later I received a phone call from another lady in that church who said she could indeed direct a couple families to the goods, and took down the information. Her name had rung a bell in my head but I thought, “no, it couldn’t be…” But it was. Lillie Knauls! A professional gospel singer, but also on the staff of that church. I was indeed happy to return blessings I had received from her through this performance…

But through it all, the simple message: through all of life’s challenges: don’t fret. Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.

Click:   Leave It There

It comes to our in-boxes with increased frequency: “So-and-so wants to be your friend” on Facebook or some other “social networking” site.

Many of these requests come from friends-of-friends-of-friends… or people we have never met.

Here we are in a society where acquaintances call themselves friends… where strangers want you to officially declare them friends… all without words spoken, hands shaken, or smiles exchanged.

We have forgotten the essence of friendship, but thirst for the qualities it represents.

Jesus told us what true friendship is all about. And He not only defined it, but lived it — embodied it. “No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.” Greater love had no man than He had for us, laying down His life for… His friends.

I have felt guilty lately that my communications with friends have been sporadic. Nothing is so important in life that we should neglect out friends. When we’re too busy for that… we are TOO BUSY.

Today my new grandson, Zachary Alpheus Shaw, was baptized. The church service, hymns, and homily, reminded us all that Jesus is Zach’s friend, and all of ours. Today I also received a heartfelt report from a dear friend, Becky Spencer, who just returned from Africa, where she spent nine days in Mozambique, working alongside Israel Jovo and the Rhandzanani Christian School. Israel takes the Gospel to villages in the bush where they have no other preacher, and he trains other preachers/pastors and their wives. He has a case of recurring malaria, can’t so much as lift his legs, has a high fever, and is in horrible pain. He needs to get to South Africa where trained treatment awaits; he needs healing. Becky reports a downhill spiral just since she was there a few days ago saying her goodbyes.

Baby Zach in his innocence has a Friend; Israel Jovo in his distress needs a Friend. Yet the opposite locution is just as true: little Zach needs a Friend like Jesus — we all do — and the suffering servant Israel Jovo in Mozambique has a Friend indeed.

And the extent to which Christians are friends to each other directly relates to the “amount” of Jesus we invite into our hearts… and share.

Have a good week, friends! [update: Israel Jovo, in Mozambique, has been healed!]

Click:  Friends

How often have we heard the story of the shepherd leaving the 99 sheep to search for the lost one; or the Prodigal Son welcomed by the father with a great feast… and wondered, in our hearts, what it must have felt like among the 99 sheep, or how the faithful son felt: Hey, what about us? Haven’t we been faithful and good all this time? Is this the reward of obedience, of doing good?

The truth is, of course, that Jesus wants us to see the complete story through the eyes of the lost ones, and the sinner. Because that is who we are. If truth be told, those 99 sheep and that faithful older brother in the parables were only “safe” and “good” at those moments. There, but for the grace of God, they too would have strayed or been prodigal.

But the best parts of the parables are what happens when the lost sheep, and the prodigal son (read: you and me!) are found! Feasts, rejoicing, and the JOY of Heaven awaits!

“I tell you that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7).

Christian music should be joyful, and here is a gospel song by Vep Ellis that mirrors the joy awaiting us in Heaven. Performed joyfully by the Vocal Band and Signature Sound at a concert in Louisville. Comedy (and some musical instruction) beforehand… words of hope… and a joyful noise unto the Lord!

Heaven’s Joy Awaits

When we leave this lowland, We will cross the Jordan;

Past the chilly torrent, Heaven’s joy awaits!

Just beyond the blue horizon, Just above the starry sky, starry blue sky.

Far above this land of sorrow, Way above each tear and sigh, every sigh.

Just a few more miles before us, Just a little while to wait, patiently wait.

Soon we’ll sing redemption’s chorus, Heaven’s joy awaits, Heaven awaits.

Heaven’s breeze is blowing, Gently to me calling.

I will soon be going, Through the pearly gates!

Just beyond the blue horizon, Just above the starry sky, starry blue sky.

Far above this land of sorrow, Way above each tear and sigh, every sigh.

Just a few more miles before us, Just a little while to wait, patiently wait.

Soon we’ll sing redemption’s chorus, Heaven’s joy awaits, Heaven awaits.

Click:   Heaven’s Joy Awaits

Easter Week has ended in the US (of course, we should pray that it never ends — its Truth is everlasting), but it is not so everywhere. Orthodox churches celebrate Christ’s resurrection according to other schedules and, I have just learned from my college friend John Siegmund, now a Lutheran pastor in Germany, there is an “Easter Monday” too:

“Thanks so much for your good wishes for a blessed Holy Week. I will be celebrating Holy Thursday with the mass of the Institution of the Lord’s Supper. Immediately following we will strip the altar, removing everything that can be carried but the remaining eucharistic gifts into the sacristy until Easter Vigil. I will climb up to the main cross in our church and give the Lord a black drape which will hang until the preparations for the Easter Vigil.

“Weather permitting, we will hold the Stations of the Cross in our town following the Good Friday service of penance and veneration of the Cross of Christ. On Saturday night we will celebrate the Vigil of Easter followed by Easter breakfast, donated by church members. On Easter Sunday and on Easter Monday we celebrate the glorious resurrection of our LORD and Savior Jesus Christ with a festive liturgy in the morning.

“Easter Monday is still a legal holiday here, although particularly mainline Protestant parishes don’t observe it with a festive service, but, at best, with evening concerts or the like…”

Isn’t there a comfort — beyond the spiritual reality, which is paramount — but isn’t there a comfort in the old traditions, the old hymns, the old fellowships? Indeed, the Old Gospel? There are reasons they all developed, and established themselves, and became beloved and old. Can’t our world and our lives slow down a little bit, so all of the Old — “Good Old” — doesn’t disappear from view?

Enjoy this old-time gospel song. “Ye who are weary, come home…”

Click:  Softly and Tenderly

Happy Monday.. and Happy Holy Week.

“Happy”?

Sure. It was a happy week, back in Jerusalem. Jesus rode into town; if we were there, we probably would have joined the happy throng with our palm-branches. Things turned ugly, the crowd was incited, Jesus was falsely accused. He was tortured, put on the cross, and died. Chances are that we — or at least I — would have been part of that crowd too. In fact, I sort of am, every time I sin.

But it sure was a happy week, after all, because He rose from the dead. He took the sins we commit upon Himself… died the death we deserve… and conquered death so that we might live with Him. I’m happy; are you?

Even Good Friday… etymologists speculate its origin was “God’s Friday”; maybe so. That willing, sacrificial death was Good indeed. Greater love hath no man than this.

Here is possibly the most unique, certainly a most memorable, version of the Easter story you might ever see. A little account of a kid’s Easter pageant. Father and son; death and resurrection; humor and Truth.

It is pianist Anthony Burger a few years ago talking about his five-year-old in an Easter pageant. Ironically, not long after this, Anthony himself died, suddenly, at the keyboard on a gospel-music cruise. His life was a mighty testimony… and so was his little boy’s story.

Click:  We Shall Behold Him

All the Merrys of this season, and the Happys of greetings like the thousands we hear and say, cannot mask that sometimes life is not always merry and happy.

Even Christians, as secure as they can be in their faith, and mindful of God’s many blessings, not only have difficult times and enormous challenges (not warned about in the Bible, but promised to occur)… but also deal with moments of doubt.

To be a follower of Jesus, and admit to these things, does not make you a bad Christian; it just shows that you are… a Christian. We believe, but sometimes doubt things. We trust, yet need His hand to walk forward. We take the risk of trusting like a child…

Those last words are in Bill Gaither’s song I Believe… Help Thou My Unbelief. If you are ever in that fragile spiritual state, or ever have been, or might be sometime, this brief emotional song might minister to you:

Click:  A Hymn for Doubters

A short message about the greatest message ever delivered.

This week’s music is the recent, but already standard, Christmas favorite, Mary Did You Know, sung by its co-writer, Mark Lowry. The lyrics are a profound statement of Christ’s incarnation, in which we are invited to see through the eyes of His mother.

At this concert in Birmingham, Bill Gaither then draws the very proper — the essential — connection between Jesus’s first coming and His second coming. Christmas and Easter should not be two separate celebrations. The same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, He was here among men, and will return for us; the vulnerable baby is also the Great “I Am.”

St Augustine, 1500 years ago, put it this way: “The nature of God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.” And that is Jesus, first born of all creation.

And… He came… for us. As you listen to “Mary, Did You Know,” let me ask: “Do YOU know?”

Click:  Mary, Did You Know

Christmas week approaches, and many of try to brush off news stories that Jesus was born in April or November, according to studies; and we also try to cut through the crowded shops and the gift-sale e-mails… hoping that, by focusing on the simple truths and modest imagery of Jesus’s birth, we can connect with the profundity of the Incarnation — God living amongst us. Coming first as a helpless baby.

Two thousand years later, Hallmark has us thinking that to be born in a manger was some sort of Green bonus, the happy family surrounded by squeaky-clean animal friends and shiny angels. More the truth was that the stable was a step up from a dung-heap. Swaddling clothes were essential, else the baby would have been delivered and lain on musty straw, animal spittle, and bugs.

Think of it: Jesus came into this world rejected and despised, and that is how, as a man, He left it.

Isaiah knew it would happen this way. Eight hundred years earlier, the prophet wrote:

“Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid, as it were, our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”

The rest of Chapter 53, of course, foretells the Easter story. But I think it is significant, too (otherwise God would not have ordered its occurrence and recording) that we remember the challenges to Joseph, the abuse Mary endured, the difficulties of Jesus’s birth… and His entire life. “Despised and rejected of men.”

Yet this “undesirable” was also THE JOY OF MANKIND’S DESIRING. As sinners today, we still esteem Him not sometimes… yet we desire Him, our souls are only complete when He lives within us!

Here is a performance of that ethereally beautiful movement from Bach’s Cantata Number 147, “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” It is sung by the group Celtic Women, in an arrangement that is both touching and revealing of how adaptable Bach’s music is. Here are the words the ensemble sings:

Jesu, joy of man’s desiring,

Holy wisdom, love most bright.

Drawn by Thee, our souls? aspiring,

Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned

With the fire of life impassioned,

Striving still to Truth unknown,

Soaring, dying, ’round Thy throne.

Click: Jesus, Joy of Man’s Desiring

On top of all the holiday busy-ness, this season seems, to me,  exceptionally intrusive. Do you have the same impression in your “space”? You don’t have to be a news junkie or a cable-news addict to be aware of economic hard times, health-care battles, political corruption, intrusive government, a war, another war, global “worming,” terror threats, runaway spending, and probably another war somewhere. And that’s just yesterday. Next week will probably have its new problems.

For friends outside the US, I’m sure there are the same and similar challenges in the news every morning and every evening where you are.

My son Ted is a TV news producer, and I don’t want to take any work off his plate, but…

This is an appropriate time — this is a good season — to remember what the really big news is. Here is a video of the great Russ Taff, singing with his daughter Madi at his side; and backstage with members of the Gaither musical family, a little song about “The Really Big News.”

Family, friends, life’s little pleasures. Stop the presses! Let’s all remember the big stories in our lives.

(And, at this season, the really good news, too. The gifts we will be exchanging began as a commemoration of God’s greatest Gift, Jesus Christ! May we all remember that initial impetus!)

Click: The Really Big News

Sometime in these days before Christmas, likely this very week, you will meet or be with someone with whom you can share something special.

The Christmas season — everything we are surrounded with, and all that is missing in contemporary-style surroundings — can allow the sharing of thoughts to come easier. Or it can make it much harder. Clichés rush to our lips, and can sound like old truths, which they are; or sound like… well, empty clichés.

Here’s a thought: if you think someone has a need in his or her life that can be filled by the spiritual blessings you have experienced, DON’T tell them about your wonderful church.

DON’T tell them about the great music on Sunday mornings.

DON’T tell them about the amazing sermons, even if you have a stack of cassettes.

DON’T tell them about the wild youth group and all the activities.

DON’T tell them about the small group studies, ladies’ fellowships, men’s breakfasts.

DON’T tell them about the neighborhood Bible studies.

DON’T tell them about the outreaches, soup kitchens, and missions programs.

… not first, anyway. Not even second or third. If the person you talk to needs those things, he or she will come to know them, sure enough. If you act like those things are the Main Deal in your faith life… well, you’re revealing that you are a social animal, but sharing nothing about your faith. Or, rather, the Source of your faith.

Tell them about Jesus. That’s all. Tell them the story of Jesus.

The blind poet Frances Crosby (who never wrote a poem until her 40s and wrote 7000 poems and hymns before she died) said it best — and provided a brief script for us, if our own words come hard! — in the song Tell Me the Story of Jesus. Here it is sung at a Gaither Homecoming camp meeting on a warm summer evening in Fairmount, Indiana; followed appropriately by a verse from another beloved hymn, I Love to Tell the Story.

Click:  Tell Me the Story of Jesus

Happy Monday!

This weekend just passed covered the day we celebrate — or should celebrate and commemorate; a good time to re-dedicate — Reformation Day. October 31, anniversary of the day Dr Martin Luther nailed his 95 These to the church door at Wittenberg, Germany.

These 95 points of ”Contention” with policies of the Pope and the establishment Roman Church are regarded as the sparks that ignited the Reformation, and the Protestant movement. There were reformers before Luther – preachers, theologians and Bible translators who were persecuted, tortured, and killed. The English John Wycliffe died a century before Luther was active. Hatred against him, for daring to adapt the Bible to the language of the people, was that his bones were disinterred and burned after his death. The Bohemian reformer Jan Hus was burned at the stake for his reformist beliefs. His last words, tied to the stake, before the flames consumed him, were “in a hundred years, God will raise up a man whose calls for reform can not be suppressed.“

It was 102 year later that Luther nailed his challenges to that church door.
Luther was persecuted, chased, went into hiding, and translated the Bible into the language of his people, the Germans. He sought reform, not revolution, yet revolution occurred: half of Europe caught fire with the belief that faith alone, by God’s grace, actuated salvation; and that people needed no intercessor with God except Christ. He was excommunicated. He married. He preached and wrote lessons… and wrote hymns.
It is my belief that, as we approach the 500th anniversary of the Reformation, the church — at least the Western Church, certainly the American church in virtually all its corners — is in dire need of reformation again.

More than that, we need to look to Martin Luther as a Hero of Conscience. He said when he was called on trial to recant his beliefs and writings,
“Unless I am convinced by proofs from Scriptures or by plain and clear reasons and arguments, I can not and will not retract.
“For it is neither safe nor wise to do anything against conscience.
“Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.“

The time is coming in this contemporary world when Christians have it demanded of them to renounce their faith. That this is already a time of anti-Christian persecution, is abundantly clear. That, daily, believers suffer indignities and are asked to compromise their principles and forced to sublimate their voices, is a reality to committed Christians.

Some days soon Christians will have to suffer no longer in silence, or have the luxury of withdrawing into small groups and communities of believers. The Bible does not merely warn… prophets did not just threaten… but God promised this holy challenge to the saints of God in the End Times.

Can we, like Luther, have the spiritual strength to say:”For it is neither safe nor wise to do anything against conscience. “Here I stand. I can do no other” ?

I have two brief clips for Reformation Day: the first is the powerful “conscience” scene from the 1953 “Luther” movie starring Niall MacGinnis (nominated for an Academy Award).

Here I stand

The second is the “battle hymn of the Reformation” sung a capella by Steve Green. Myself, I can never sing this mighty hymn without choking up. Its final lines describe Luther’s trial… and foreshadow our own:
“Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever!”

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

Have a good week.
Rick Marschall

Last week my daughter Heather, who is expecting her second child, received a shocker. Awakened by a phone call from her doctor, she heard a disturbing possible prognosis after tests on the baby.

I’ll fast-forward and let her note of a couple days ago tell the story:

Hi, family and friends
This week was a weird one…we all got sick, Pat had a deadline at work so was working 15-18 hour days, and on Tuesday we got a call from our Dr. that blood work showed a possibility for our baby to have spina bifida.

Not knowing much about the condition but also realizing that dreams of a healthy baby might not be the case, we were initially worried but as we took time to pray together and on our own we both felt stretches of incredible peace. We’ve been praying since we were married, for any future kids God had planned for us, that in everything He would be glorified. So during this time, we kept reminding ourselves that God was still in charge and if this is what he had planned for this little one and us, that it would be fine.

We went to UofM hospital today to meet with a genetic counselor and have an ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed NOTHING wrong and everything looks perfect: strong heart, spine is in the right shape and position, brain has no abnormalities, and there are no holes in the abdomen. It turns out that sometimes blood work just reveals higher levels of this protein and only 1/2% of those who have this elevated protein level actually go on to have babies with problems.

This has reminded us to continue to pray for our kids and that no matter what happens that God is still God and will give us what He feels is best. Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement this week!

Love,
Pat, Heather, Gabe and Zachary (yep, we found out it’s a boy!! He was proudly doing somersaults!!)

Heather’s testimony is a tale of faith and trust in God. I have been wanting to share the video of Janet Paschal’s conversation with Bill Gaither about her own health challenge — hers was with a cancer diagnosis — and her performance of the beautiful love-song to God, rejoicing in His sovereign care and the supportive love of friends like Gloria: “It Won’t Rain Always.”

Many people who pray, and singers who sing, and preachers who preach, concentrate on the “storms clouds passing,” and “it’s dark, but morning time’s coming!” Those things are true, as symbols and reflections of reality in the life of believers… but so is the line from this song about “dark clouds” — “the Sun that they’ve been hiding has been there all along.”

Have you ever gotten up before a trip… and it’s raining or snowing? You have a miserable ride to the airport, full of delays and dangerous traffic. The flight is delayed because of the rotten weather. The plane finally takes off into the black clouds… and then the blue sky and blinding sun meet you above the clouds.

It’s been there all along!

Click:  It Won’t Rain Always

Merry Monday to all.

I am in the process — yes, it is a process — of writing a biography of Johann Sebastian Bach. Specifically about the role of faith in his life and work. It is a humbling privilege to deal with, and introduce a new generation of readers to, the greatest musical genius the human race has produced. I will say, somewhere in the book, that the music of Bach is hard to explain but easy to understand.

In a similar way Bach, being as intensely devoted to his faith in God and love of Jesus as to his music, used his talent to make the complicated theology of 18th-century Germany nevertheless understandable to the masses. I was struck in my studies, listening to his astonishing “Magnificat” — the prayer of Mary (Luke I) when she learns she has been visited by the Holy Ghost and is with child — how brilliantly he used his talent to explain Gospel truths. In her prayer, Mary says, “henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.” Bach used that verse for the fourth movement of “The Magnificat”… and he might have dwelt on the words, the concepts, of “henceforth” or “me” (as veneration of Mary was a theological issue), or “blessed.”
But he chose to focus on the word “generations,” the phrase “all generations,” and drive home several biblical points. The birth of Jesus became the focal point of creation’s unfolding work: the fulcrum of history. More, all generations to come would look back on Mary and call her blessed. Further, all previous generations looked forward to the birth of the Messiah. And, having isolated that phrase to imbue the Virgin Birth with its spiritual profundity, Bach capped it all by using musical composition to do more than merely quote the Bible verse.

The Latin words for “all generations” is “Omnes Generationes.” In his “Magnificat” Johann Sebastian Bach endows his five-part choir with a cascading multiplicity of that phrase — up the scale and down; women’s statements and men’s responses; from the left (as it were, in the choir loft) and from the right; in repetition and staccato fashion — “all generations,” “all generations,” “all generations,” “all generations.”
Truly, before the short but awesome chorus is finished, listeners have a mental image of the numberless hosts of heaven rejoicing: a mighty cloud of witnesses, to be sure, of the past and of the future.
The brief clip this week has two halves: one, the score of the movement, leading your eye through the multi-part composition — how Bach worked out the concept of future generations blessing Mary. But the second half is a unique piece of speculation by an internet musical-theologian. Along the lines of typology, numerical symbolism, and “Bible codes,” here is speculation that Bach composed this movement to precisely enumerate the generations of Jesus’ ancestry.

Speculation only, but as Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever, we know that saints of previous days indeed looked forward to the Incarnation (“It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in order…” Luke I:3).
Here is Mary’s prayer (“The Magnificat”) as recorded in Luke I: 46-55:
“And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For He hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For He that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is His name. And his mercy is on them that fear Him from generation to generation. He hath showed strength with his arm; He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich He hath sent empty away. He hath helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; As He spoke to our fathers, to Abraham, and to His seed for ever.”

Join the heavenly chorus! Picture countless angels and saints praising the Incarnation:
click All Generations!

Have a great week. Come on Bach now, y’hear?
Rick Marschall

Happy Monday!

I was talking on Sunday with my daughter Emily and her husband Norman McCorkell, both students at the Irish Bible Institute in Dublin, Ireland, and they told me of the blessings they received at a concert Saturday night. The American Christian singer Jason Upton appeared locally — singing, preaching, and worshiping. Emily and Norman and the whole room were touched mightily. Norman asked me what I was planning for today’s MMMM, and I said, “your thoughts from the evening; and Jason’s music.” Here it is!

Good Morning E-mail Community!
When ‘Pop’ asked me to present this week’s mailing of MMMM (Monday Morning Music Ministry), I could not think of anything better than to share of the marvelous evening that I spent with my wife in Dublin. I pray you will be touched as we were.

Jason Upton, live in concert, was our date of choice Saturday night. And he was simply superb!
During his set, Upton talked about many profound things including freedom, child-like faith, and finding rest in God — which is the theme that I’d suggest we consider this morning.

“The most humble thing that we can do for our Lord is to let him write our future,” Jason said. Too often we try to dictate, manipulate, and control our own futures, rather than simply trust in His perfect promises and gentle directions.

When we recall the precious moments leading up to our moments of conversion, we realize that Jesus wasn’t there luring us with a glossy road map of the future or a scintillating theological plan with all the answers. He simply asked us to trust in Him. Or, in His own words, “Follow me.”
Heart first, head second.

So often we get so consumed with the head stuff. The BIG picture, planning for the day that never actually happens, and worrying about questions that ONLY God can answer. Unfortunately, all too often, we forget that we are primarily called to a life of FAITH.
Should I go on?

OK then, let me finish this by illustrating with the perfect concomitant from the book of Genesis:
When we study the creation account in Genesis 2, specifically the seventh day (the day God RESTED), we will find that God does not call the day to an end like the other previous six. Which means that God is still resting. Thus, in God’s presence today, and this morning, we are still guaranteed to find REST.

To conclude then, before our day begins, let us throw off any anxiety that comes from needing to know exactly where we are going and what the “next step” is. Living in a nervous state of worry and angst robs us from the very thing that God wants us to dwell within – HIS PRESENCE, or put another way, His sovereign, wonderful, and everlasting REST!
So WHY worry?

Lastly, no matter what your have planned for this week, stop for just a few minutes and enjoy Jason leading you into God’s rest right now.
Norman McCorkell

Click: In Your Presence

Have a great week!
Rick Marschall

Amidst talk this week of the 9-11 anniversary, and bad economic news, and the health-care “crisis” in the US, I actually wonder whether Americans know what “hard times” are. I have been through some difficult patches, but I cannot say that I have known Hard Times in the sense that every previous generation in history, virtually everywhere in the world, has experienced.

I have been sad, but not in sorrow. I have been in debt, but never destitute. I have had regrets, but never grief. How many of us can share such relatively comfortable testimony? In my case, to whatever extent I rightly judge my insulation, it is largely due to my standing as a Christian – receiving joy that passes understanding — but we also have to credit modern life, in America, with its technology, medicine, and general prosperity.

Hard Times come in America, but somehow all the wars and crises have the lengths of TV mini-series, and if not, the public grows impatient. The public has a sound-bite mentality. We used to face our challenges; but now we are distracted with the modern equivalents of the Romans’ “bread and circuses” — pop entertainment, push-button gratification.

In many ways this indicates that we are not advancing as a culture. I’m not sure we are “going backwards,” either, because that might actually be beneficial. Giuseppi Verdi (yes, the composer otherwise known as Joe Green) once said, Torniamo all’antico: Sara un progresso — “We turn to the past in order to move forward.”

I got thinking of Hard Times in America when I pulled an elegant old volume off my bookshelf. Folk Songs was published in 1860, before the Civil War. This book is leather-bound, all edges gilt, pages as supple as when it was printed, a joy to hold. The “folk songs” of its title refers not to early-day coffee houses, but to poems and songs of the people, in contradistinction to epic verse or heroic sagas; the way the German word Volk refers to the shared-group spirit of the masses.

Many of the titles are charming: “The Age of Wisdom,” “My Child,” “Baby’s Shoes,” “The Flower of Beauty,” “The First Snow-Fall”… However, such sweet titles mask preoccupations with children dying in snow drifts, lovers deserting, husbands lost at sea, fatal illness, mourning for decades, unfaithful friends. No need to guess the themes other titles from the index:”Tommy’s Dead,” “The Murdered Traveller,” and “Ode To a Dead Body.”

It reminded me that people 150 years ago were not gloomy pessimists: they were not. But Hard Times were a part of life, and therefore part of poetry and song. On the frontier, life could be snuffed out in a moment. In the imminent Civil War, roughly every third household was affected by death, maiming, split families, or hideous disruption; yet anti-war movements never gained traction; life went on. Abraham Lincoln almost lost his mind over an unhappy love affair; his wife likely did lose her mind when her favorite son died in the White House. Theodore Roosevelt’s young wife (in childbirth) and mother (of salmonella) died on the same day in the same house. Hard Times.

Also before the Civil War, a composer named Stephen Foster wrote a song called Hard Times. He is barely recalled today, sometimes as a caricature, but he might be America’s greatest composer. He wrote My Old Kentucky Home; I Dream of Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair; Old Black Joe; Carry Me Back to Ol’ Virginia; Way Down Upon the Swanee River / Old Folks At Home; Oh, Susanna; Camptown Races; Beautiful Dreamer … and Hard Times, Come Again No More. This last song has been resurrected lately to a certain repute, or at least utility. In some circles it has become an anthem for charities and lamentation of poverty. Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, even the Squirrel Nut Zippers, have sung it. It has taken on the air of a secular anthem. But in fact, although Stephen Foster did not embed a Gospel message in the lyrics, he had written many hymns in his life, and — if we can turn back our minds to the world of 150 years ago — it is clear that the Hard Times he wrote of were the world’s trials, to be relieved in heaven. It is clear that the “cabin,” and its door, in the song are metaphors.

Here is a memorable video to evoke the reality of life’s Hard Times, the promise heaven holds, and the beauty of Stephen Foster’s music to you. The seven singers are from the amazing project of a few years ago, “The Transatlantic Sessions” — singers and musicians from America (US and Canada), Ireland, and Scotland singing old and new “folkish” songs in a living-room setting.

(By the way, they are, left to right, Rod Paterson, Scotland; Karen Matheson, Scotland — hear her incredible soprano harmony on the left channel; Mary Black, Ireland; Emmylou Harris, US; Rufus Wainwright, his mother Kate McGarrigle, and her sister Anna McGarrigle on the button accordian, all Canadians. The other musicians are fiddler Jay Ungar — he wrote the haunting “Ashokan’s Farewell: tune of the PBS “Civil War” series — and his wife Molly Mason on the bass; and the project’s shepherds Shetland fiddler Aly Bain, and American dobro player Jerry Douglas.)

Listen to the wonderful performance, the amazing music, and the important reminder that we should keep Hard Times in perspective… but also that God provides a joyful relief from life’s disappointments when they come. By and by, they will “come no more.”

The lyrics are printed out under the link:
Click:

Hard Times Come Again No More

Let us pause in life’s pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There’s a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh hard times, come again no more.

While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door;
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh hard times, come again no more.
(Chorus)
There’s a pale drooping maiden who toils her life away,
With a worn heart whose better days are o’er:
Though her voice would be merry, ’tis sighing all the day,
Oh hard times, come again no more.
(Chorus)

A bit of a personal story, prompted by the video to Click, below.

A number of years ago I was working on a book, a three-part biography of rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis; evangelist Jimmy Swaggart; and country-music superstar Mickey Gilley, all first cousins to each other. A friend offered me his unused condo in Montgomery, Texas to get away for research and writing one summer. Since Lewis lived in Mississippi, Swaggart in Louisiana, and Gilley in nearby Pasadena TX, it made geographical sense.

Once settled, I took out the Yellow Pages to chart the location of Assembly of God churches for all the weeks ahead, intent on visiting as many as I could. East Texas was in every way new to me, and I wanted to experience everything I could.

Well, the first one I visited was in Cut and Shoot, Texas. That’s a town’s name; you can look it up. A small, white frame AG church was my first stop that summer… and I never visited another. For one thing — coincidence? — I learned that a member of the tiny congregation was the widow of a man who had pastored the AG church in Ferriday, Louisiana, the small town FOUR HOURS AWAY where, and when, those three cousins grew up in its pews. She knew them all, and their families, and had great stories. Beyond that, the pastor of the church in Cut and Shoot, Charles Wigley, had gone to Bible College with Jerry Lee Lewis and played in a band with him, until Jerry Lee got kicked out. Some more great stories.

But there was more than that kept me there for that summer. In that white-frame church and that tiny congregation, it was, um, obvious in three minutes that I was not from East Texas. Yet I was treated like family as if they had known me three decades. It was the Sunday before July 4th, and a fellow named Dave Gilbert asked me if I’d like to go to his farm for the Fourth where a bunch of people were just going to get together and “do some visitin’.”

On the Fourth I bought the biggest watermelon I could find as my contribution to the pot-luck. Well, there were dozens and dozens of folks. I couldn’t tell which was family and who were friends, because everybody acted like family. When folks from East Texas ask, “How are you?” they really mean it. There were several monstrous barbecue smokers with chimneys, all slow-cooking beef brisket. (Every region brags about its barbecue traditions, but I’ll still fight anyone who doesn’t claim low-heat, slow-smoked, no sauce, East-Texas BBQ the best) There was visitin,’ after all; there were delicious side dishes; there was softball and volleyball and kids dirt-biking; and breaks for sweet tea and spontaneous singing of patriotic songs.

I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, “This is America.”

As the sun set, the same food came out again — smoked brisket galore; all the side dishes; and desserts of all sorts. Better than the first time. Then the Gilberts cleared the porch of their house. People brought instruments out of their cars and trucks. Folks tuned their guitars; some microphones and amps were set up; chairs and blankets dotted the lawn. Dave Gilbert and his brothers, I learned, sang gospel music semi-professionally in the area. Pastor Wigley, later in the summer, opened for Gold City Quartet at a local concert, playing gospel music on the saxophone. But everyone else sang, too; of course in some churches, in some parts of America, you’re just expected to sing solo every once in a while. You’re not expected to — you want to. So into the evening, as the sun went down and the moon came up over those farms and fields, everyone at that picnic sang, together or solo or in duets or quartets. Spontaneously, mostly. Far into the night, exuberantly with smiles, or heartfelt with tears, singing unto the Lord.

I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, “This is Heaven.”

(By the way, not only am I not from East Texas, although it is sort like home now; but I was born in New York City, so you might appreciate just how different, and not merely special, that day was for me.)

Here is a video that very closely captures the music, and the feeling — the fellowship — of that evening. A wooden ranch house, a barbecue picnic just ended, a campfire, and singers spontaneously worshiping, joining in, clapping, and “taking choruses.” There were cameras at this Gaither get-together, but it took this city boy back to that Fourth of JU-lye, finding himself amongst a brand-new family, the greatest barbecue I ever tasted before or since… and the sweetest songs I know.

Click:  The Sweetest Song I Know

Here is a tale about a not-so-happy Saturday I just endured… that got me thinking about current events as microcosms of larger issues in life.

I stupidly opened a blind link from a bogus e-mail address (“cloned” to be similar to that of a friend). Well, dozens of pop-ups popped up. I lost access to all my filters and cleansing software, my internet connection, even my Word files, proposals, unfinished manuscripts, research notes… and I went of my mind.

I pulled out the laptop and Googled everything I could. The pop-ups were phony ads trying to save me from viruses, but was itself a virus. “RansomWare,” it is called, because I was frozen unless I would purchase the program (and even at that, who knows?).

Frantic, I checked in with my new son-in-law in Ireland, a computer wiz. He has a Mac, so (all together now) “never has to deal with such things.” But he Googled too, and checked blogs of other victims, and on the phone and Skype simultaneously, we found a solution that worked. I am now free and clean. Six hours total of angst, three and a half solid hours on the phone with Ireland.

When I recovered, I got to thinking…

It shows how little — that is, not at all — human nature has progressed. People who cause these problems, whether for a little profit or pure malice, are no different than highwaymen hiding behind trees along forest pathways a thousand years ago, or urban pickpockets of Dickens’ time.

It’s the same thing with, say, abortion. Forty million dead babies today since Roe vs Wade — how is this different than “human sacrifice” or babies on pagan altars, in ancient or “primitive” societies? In fact, it might be worse today, in terms of the blackness of our souls. In ancient and primitive societies those people were mistaken, grievously, but at least believed they were serving and appeasing their gods. A murdered baby is still a murdered baby, but in American today, abortion (and so many other sins) are sacrificed to the “gods” of selfishness, greed, laziness, hatred. That’s not progress.

Is there a spiritual lesson? Yes. Human nature has not changed. Human nature won’t change. Human nature can’t change. One of the 700-billion reasons to resent politicians’ assault on freedom and responsibility these days, is that they nurture the lie that human nature is perfectible… and that government can bring perfection about.

Only Jesus can change humans’ nature. And do we despair that the world, without Jesus, is as rotten as it ever was? No… because we are not without Jesus. That’s the plan.

Sometimes this walk seems so dreary, life’s problems seem so challenging. God never said He’d keep us from troubles… just be with us through troubles. A friend wrote the other day, “Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain”!

So, we go through this ol’ life, in the words of this week’s song, “While I’m here I’ll serve Him gladly, and sing Him all my songs”…

… because we know at the end, we’re headed  Home, Where I Belong

I have had the privilege recently of reviewing the manuscript of a novel that might be (ought to be) published in the near future. I won’t give away the ending (or the beginning) (or the middle) (or the title) (or the characters) (or the message)…

… but I’d love to give away one of the subtexts, which is to beware of organized religion.

Speaking for myself, I tend to distrust anything organized, but that’s another matter. Now the world, which looks for any stick with which to beat Christianity, invariably points to religious wars as pro forma warning-labels against spirituality. In truth, however, most “religious” wars have probably been waged using religion only as an excuse.

Moreover, the serious attacks, excesses and atrocities committed in the name of Jesus… do not mean that Jesus would commit them. The world too often forgets that Jesus is the standard, True and Holy. When people scurry around, constructing and construing, blaming and naming, if they fall short of that Standard they dishonor themselves more than they dishonor the Savior.

Before the “amens” roll, it is good to recognize that Christians, also, forget this fact too often. The sad truth — the more important deal than wars and doctrinal arguments (although doctrine is important) — is that the church often fails its mission in direct proportion to the extent it is “organized” religion. Youth pastors who serve (Barna Research says) an average of only 1.5 years — what heartache must that represent? Churches that don’t preach the whole Word. Children abused by priests. Pastors involved in sexual scandals. Judgmentalism. “Open-Mindedness” so open that theologians’ brains fall out. Politics, bureaucracy, and pride on church boards and committees. Is this the church Jesus wanted? — the Bride of Christ awaiting His return?

“What sort of music accompanies this heavy message?” Well, it’s the same message, but a more light-hearted delivery. Hilarious, in fact. But the chorus that Buddy Greene returns to in this living-room get-together is the message for this week, and has been for 2000 years: “Jesus — That’s All!”

You can beware — that is, be wary — of organized religion’s pitfalls by keeping this song in your mental iPod!

Click:  Denomination Blues

Not much to write here this week, because the music we have chosen, and the message that both inspired and flows from it, are delivered beautifully by Sonya Issacs on the clip.

You might know the story of the horrible accident, and the faith of the man who suffered the loss of his family, behind this song.

To me there are several lessons. The role of faith… a faith that can only arise supernaturally by the Holy Ghost. How God can heal through the creativity of music and poetry – and be turned back to praise Him – what mystery! How healing can come from a determination to trust, and even praise, God when the world cries “despair.” Amazing.

In Mr Spafford’s case, these lessons he learned and taught have blessed uncountable millions of people. Yet that was not his intention. He was just having a conversation with God about his family who drowned right where “the sea billows rolled.” How profound this hymn is when we know the circumstances of its creation.

Is it well with your soul?

Click:  It Is Well With My Soul

Spring… a sense that all things are new. Don’t let the pagans fool you into thinking a celebration of life’s “newness” is somehow all “nature” and no God. Many things are new in the Spring – it seems like dead trees come to life; dormant earth turns green again; cloistered souls spread their wings.

“All things new.”

God grants us New Days, not just because His earth spins and the sun inevitably shows up every morning. The promise of a new life is what flows from being Born Again.

When we are born again, it’s not an “other” life; it’s not a “different” life; it’s not a “second” life; it’s a New Life. And it’s not just once that we are Born Again. Oh the mysteries of the Father! When we are born again, we experience the New Life every day.

Experience the New Life! He tells us it is ours to have! We don’t blaspheme God’s name; neither should we blaspheme His promises.

Here’s Janet Paschal with Gaither Homecoming friends, and a room full of joy-filled believers —

Click:  Born Again

I’m not sure I’ve ever known a time when so many people — so many Christian friends — are distressed, hurting, facing challenges, as right now.

Of course it’s the economy. Of course there are political crises. Of course when a culture loses its moorings, the ship is going to be tossed around. And the people in it will be buffeted.

The Bible not only warns about such travail… it assures us its part of the package: raining on the just and unjust; but also that the faithful will experience persecution.

Yet we are not without a Friend, and surely not without hope. A new precious friend, Becky Spencer, has a CD out with a wonderful song of hers, “The Coldest Winter (Always Turns to Spring),” and it got me thinking… spring always follows winter; life replaces death, the sun always shines after the storm. And isn’t the most beautiful Spring the one that follows the hardest Winter? and the most amazing sunny day the kind right after an awful storm has swept through?

There is hope, and even in hard times (not SPARED from hard times, but THROUGH hard times) God’s promises are true. This song sung by Cynthia Clawson reminds us, even further, that even when the storm is at its worst, behind the clouds the Sun is still shining!

Click:  It Won’t Rain Always