Shining Spirit

Early in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is accused of being crazy. He is doing strange and bizarre things. No one in their sound mind would act like this young man. For instance: he ate meals with people of very poor social status. This aggravated the social purists. He told people they were forgiven. That made the religious leaders furious. They thought they were the only ones who could forgive sins. He started gathering disciples, committed followers, and that infuriated the political authorities who looked at him as a threat. And he embarrassed his own family, so they said: “He’s crazy.” Imagine that! His own family, hearing of his activities, declared him “out of his mind” and started a journey to “take charge of him.” Were they really going to force him to come home where they could watch him and make him “behave”? Imagine the disappointment Jesus felt when he was told that his family was standing outside, waiting for him to come out so they could force him to conform.

But the work of God in this young man was not to insist on conformity. It was to invite commitment. Conformity dulls the senses. Commitment ignites the imagination. Conformity is safe. Commitment, particularly in regard to the Good News that Jesus described and lived, forces decisions that often require sacrifice and self-denial. Then and now it is easy to conform. Just blend in, perform on cue, don’t ask questions, don’t stand out. The goal of conformity is survival. The joy of commitment to his “craziness” is salvation. Maybe his family was right. He was “out of his mind.” He preferred to live from his heart. As should we who claim to follow him.

Want to know how to make a rather common, unattractive pathway into a delightful experience? Fill the air with song! Forget the excuses. Yes, you can sing. Maybe you shouldn’t audition for a role in Phantom Of The Opera, but you can sing. If you really have a complex about your singing ability, hum.

Uninhibited singing, on or off key, is a way to put a little spring in your step and a good thought in your mind. Caution: stay away from funerial songs. Those will take you straight to the first bench, and then the walk’s done. No, try some of those old hymns of the church, the ones you know by heart. Songs like Holy, Holy, Holy or For The Beauty Of The Earth or Joy To The World. You know the tunes, and even if you don’t remember the words, you can make up some. Imagine this: you are walking along the path and you’re singing All Hail The Power Of Jesus’ Name and you meet someone walking toward you and you tip your hat and give them a friendly greeting and you keep on singing. See, that felt good, didn’t it. Believe me, the world needs a song or two.

So, sit down right now and think of a song, a hymn, that you know…the tune, if not the words…put on your walking shoes and hit the road. Let the world know you’re here, challenge the birds’ songs, surprise the people you pass, wave to the ones who look at you like you’re strange. Some folks seem to be afraid of joy, but you’re not because the joy you carry and express is the presence of the Spirit of the God who made you and lives within you. You ARE strange…not better than or superior to…but different because of the way you see the world and live out your life. Like Christ, the Song within you wants to be set free into the world. Take heart. Have courage.

This world needs a song today. You’re it.

I’ve never seen wind, but I know it exists.
It laughs in the grasses along the beach
and tosses the froth of rolling waves
and rattles my window to sing me to sleep.

I’ve never seen love but I know it is real.
It fills the tears that run down my cheek
and soothes the pain when you touch my hand
and brings me joy when my world is a mess.

I’ve never seen God but I know God lives.
Not as a man on a cosmic throne
but a Presence that offers options and choice
that sings in my heart and creates in my mind.

I’ve never seen me, though I’ve looked all around.
The mirror reveals a shape and a form
but deep within the fiber and bone
is a child who dances to the mockingbird’s song.

Prayer For The Day:

Lord, today help me see the things I usually don’t see, things of
substance and beauty. Turn on the light in my imagination
before the one in my reasoning. Pull back the curtain of my
shallow reality and show me again the deep gladness of
being alive, awake and surprised by awe.
Amen

Yesterday, on the spur of a quick moment, I decided to leave the bike in the storage room and go for a walk instead. So, about 6 a.m. I stepped onto the asphalt of The Loop, a 137 mile biking-walking path that circles the entire city of Tucson. No, I’m not about to tell you that I walked the whole way, only two, but in that two-mile jaunt I discovered something I knew as a child. Touching the earth can be a moving experience.

For the first mile or so, I stayed on the asphalt. It is recently laid on the ground, so it’s bright and shiny with plenty of yellow lines to mark lanes and turns. Signs give directions and milage to the next significant point. It was quite pleasant, until… Everything changed when the landscape flattened out and the bare, raw earth appeared on both sides. Uneven, rocky in places, the earth was quite a shambles compared to the manicured beauty of the asphalt track. On impulse, I stepped off the track and onto a magic carpet. I was hooked with the first step. I think it was the sound, the crunch of boot on gravel. No, it must have been the ups and downs of the not-so-smooth ground. No, it was the little blue wildflowers unseen from the pathway. No, it was the result of stepping off the “expected” and onto a kind of unknown. With each crunchy step, the earth said good morning and welcome and how are you today and enjoy your walk. I really like the ground better than the path. It is alive and gracious…and talkative.

Created by God and labeled as “Good!” the planet lives and breathes just like us. It produces our food and provides all the resources we need to live happily ever after. There are a dozen very good reasons to treat the earth with respect and gentleness, the obvious being that we can’t live without it. When you walk today, whether to a destination or just for recreational fun, step off the paved predictable and listen to that marvelous sound of life touching life. The earth is your best friend, and mine, too. Thanks be to God for this little grain of sand we call home. It’s the best we have, so let’s treat it like a member of the family. It is exactly that.

If I were to ask: “Will you dance with me?”
since today is anniversary number sixty-three,
just how agreeable would you be
to dancing with a bald, old man like me?

When I look back, do you know what I see?
A path we’ve forged, you and me,
as we grew together and learned how to be
a wife, a husband, then parents of three.

I don’t think I’d change any days in our past.
We knew from the start we would make this last.
Of course, we’ve been supported by a wonderful cast
of friends and family and people we’ve known,

and it’s no secret that we’ve been shown
examples of patience as we have grown
into the beautiful person you are today
and the old bald guy who forgets to say:
Thank you, my love, for each lovely day
that you have created along the way.

Now, if I were to ask: Will you dance with me?
since it is anniversary number sixty-three,
would you join me as we honor our past,
but, please, my love, don’t dance too fast.

(In celebration of our marriage vows sixty-three years ago today.)

"Well, Stanley, what do you think about the new guy?
He sits up there all by himself.  Never looks back this way. 
He's an odd bird."
"Oh, I don't know.  He seems like a pleasant sort.  Maybe he's
just shy.  He only flew in last Tuesday."
"Well, I think there's something suspicious here.  Doesn't speak.
Prefers to sit by himself.  Apparently likes to eat alone; he's 
never joined the flock for afternoon snacks.  I flapped my
wing at him yesterday and he looked the other way.  
Yeah, there's something suspicious here."
"Listen, Clyde, don't go making up "maybe" stories
about the bird.  You can do more damage than good that way."
"Damage!  I'm not going to damage the bird.  But, I am going to
tell him that our flock is known for its friendliness and that
if he doesn't shape-up, he can go roost somewhere else."
"And that's being friendly, Clyde?  You have a strange
definition of 'friendly.'  Maybe he's just lonely.  You know, 
new place, new flock, new routines.  Let's give him
a friendly squawk, maybe invite him to go
fishing with us, offer him a spot here on our limb."
"I don't know, Stanley.  We'd have to give up our prime
places right here on this limb.  We'd have to move over
to make room for this...stranger."
"Now you've got it, Clyde!  We move over, eventually
he joins us, and, just like that, he's not a stranger anymore.
By the way, do you remember when Homer and I made room
for you when you flew in?"
"Yeah, I do.  Lonely, huh?  You think that's why he's like he is?
I guess being lonely can make you do strange things."
"Right again, Clyde.  Sometimes 'strange' just means 'different'." 

The scene looked something like this: Jesus is standing in an open area not far from a lake. Around him his disciples gather and surrounding this little group are hundreds and hundreds of people from all the villages and towns nearby. This is the end of the feeding 5,000 people story in Matthew’s Gospel. People are up and milling around as Jesus huddles with his friends. From the hum of many voices in conversation, one voice catches your attention, not because it is louder than the rest, but because there is passion and a sense of urgency. The one voice rises above the others: “I’m not asking you to do this. I am telling you to get into that boat, cross the lake and I will meet you on the other side. I will remain here for a little while.” But his friends were worried that the crowd might demand more of Jesus and because Jesus is tired from all the healing activity and because he has just learned of John the Baptizer’s murder by order of the Roman political establishment.

Jesus just wants to be alone, deeply alone with his Father. Once more the disciples say they want to stay and help Jesus through this tiring time. “No,” he responds to their unanimous declaration. “No, I insist that you use that boat and leave this place.” It’s not a request, it’s an order. The urgency heard in his insistence is because he knows that he needs to be alone with Yahweh. Too much pressure at the moment. Too much confusion. Too many uncertainties.

That describes us, too, doesn’t it? When times get very tense, everything insists on being a priority, we get tired, a little confused. What to do? Run from the chaos? Pretend it’s not real? Ignore it and maybe it will go away. No, hear the words in your heart. “I insist that you come sit with me in the quiet. Put down your bag of worries and fears, then sit down with me in the quiet. Let’s talk.”

Very good advice. Don’t rationalize your way out of it. Don’t make excuses? Don’t pretend you’ve got it under control. Just do what the Spirit tell you. A quiet place. No people around. Sit down with God and speak truth. Then listen with your brain and your heart. I’m not suggesting. I insist.