Half Full, Half Empty

Listening to NPR recently between my morning mall-walk and the office, there was a feature piece about outlooks on life, posing the question “are you a glass half-full or glass half-empty person?” The guest expert talked about observable and not-as-obvious characteristics of both life perspectives, health effects each tends to produce, career advancement and related earning power, and even life expectancy.

My heritage and DNA definitely slants toward the half-empty. I love my father but, bless his heart, he has lived 90 years looking at the underside of nearly everything. From a hundred paces, he has always been able to spot the risk and danger of nearly any action or situation and act accordingly to mitigate every one of them. Admittedly, such served him -- and us -- well in many cases. For instance, when I was very young, he and I built some fairly sizable pieces of furniture but he never had a power saw because he “couldn’t afford to lose a finger.” We were a single income family of six and he was a jeweler/watch repairman. The loss or even damage to a finger would severely impede his ability to make a living. Good thinking, Dad! And thanks! On cold winter nights, we turned off all the heat in our drafty little country house so awful things wouldn’t happen as we slept warmed by gas heat. He was ingenious at figuring out safeguards against all manner of things that could go wrong and in nearly every case they worked and apparently diverted disaster.

Unfortunately though, his careful, creative caution as a young man has, over the years, gradually morphed into preoccupation with impending doom as an old man to the point that his glass is no longer half empty but done dry. For a couple of years his total focus by day and by night is on what he can no longer do so he misses relative enjoyment of what is still within his capability. To say he is miserable -- sharing it liberally with his four offspring – is an understatement.

As already suggested, this apple did fall far from that tree although through the years there have been a couple occasions when people have called out my default gloomful outlook admonishing me to approach life differently. The one that made so deep an impression that I’ve never forgotten it was my seminary piano teacher – or more accurately, the substitute teacher standing in for my assigned teacher who was on sabbatical that year.

It was the year for my senior recital so the pressure was on both of us. Rhealene the sub was short of stature, a sweet, gentle never-married gal, and a highly competent musician. Not long into the fall semester I must have shown up in her studio “poor me-ing” about something or some such. When I finally wound down, she delivered a most powerful lesson the essence of which was that Christians of all people have the most reason to be positive, that the outlook we project in life presents our witness of faith and that a hope-filled outlook is part of what the Apostle Paul would call our reasonable service. Obviously I’ve never forgotten her powerful words although along with the hymn writer occasionally “days of darkness still come o’er me.”

Luckily, my Mom was also half of my lineage – the brighter half. But even greater than that, after nearly forty-five years of marriage, I seem to have inherited more Honey than DNA from either parent. That gal Honey was at least a half-fuller -- mostly-full may be more accurate. Honey was adaptable to nearly any situation, believed that people and things would be and would get better; she was quick to forgive and offer second chances because she took delight in people.

The NPR expert indicated that for some, becoming a half-full person is a learned attitude, that it has to be practiced until it becomes one’s default. She concluded with two simple things a person can do at the end every day to begin moving toward with a half-full attitude:

1. Write down what you did to be kind, to make life better for someone else. 

2. Make a list of things you have to be grateful for.

Ah, now I better understand why Honey’s glass was so full all the way to the bitter end – she had spent considerable time over sixty-three years making life better for others and was absolutely filled with gratitude even in life’s low places. Hopefully, a good dose of that has rubbed off on me and for that I am grateful.

If on this Ground Hog Day you have already given up on your New Year’s resolution(s) to lose ten pounds and/or get more exercise you might try daily logging your acts of kindness and listing objects of gratitude. I haven’t been actually logging and listing but I am consciously looking for and looking at.

One sure-fire way to improve your outlook is to live into this nearly two hundred year old hymn:

When morning guilds the skies, my heart awaking cries,
     may Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer to Jesus I repair;
     may Jesus Christ be praised!

(My favorite stanza)

The night becomes as day when from the heart we say,
     may Jesus Christ be praised!
The powers of darkness fear when this sweet song they hear,
     may Jesus Christ be praised!

Ye realms of humankind in this your concord find:
     may Jesus Christ be praised!
Let all the earth around ring joyous with the sound:
     may Jesus Christ be praised!

In heaven’s eternal bliss the loveliest strain is this,
     may Jesus Christ be praised!
Let earth, and sea, and sky from depth to height reply,
     may Jesus Christ be praised!

Words – Katholisches Gesangbuch, 1882

This is one of the hymns I have committed to memory and every time, EVERY time I repeat it, my soul is refreshed and my gaze is lifted.

- Mark

Goodness and Mercy Shall Follow

I've been waiting to tell this story for nearly two weeks, but now that Sunday is over, I can. As mentioned in an earlier post or two, for more than two years I have served as chair of our church's Bicentennial Celebration Steering Committee which doesn't happen until 2020. (It takes more time for some of us to get things done than others.)

Early on, we came up with a prop to help our church leadership -- mainly deacons, decision-makers, and gate-keepers -- begin to wrap their minds around two hundred years in order to grasp the significance of the occasion, determine what level of Celebration they expected, and thus would support administratively and financially. The simple prop consisted of a narrow and thin plank of plywood, sixty inches in length, well-sized for demonstration in a committee meeting room, Sunday School department, or even a deacons meeting in Fellowship Hall. Into the plank we drilled holes to place flags as we identified significant events in our almost two-century history -- a sort of visible time-line. And people seemed to "get it."

Our pastor decided the entire congregation should see the presentation and invited us to deliver it in "big church" which we did this past Sunday, some two hundred Sundays before the end of year 2020. The problem though, was our meeting room sized prop would be underwhelming in our some 1500-seat sanctuary; a serious upscale was necessary. 

Last fall I mentioned to Wilburn, church Property Committee chair, that I needed a large rough-sawn timber from one of our older buildings. He said it would not be any problem, that they were preparing to renovate the fourth floor of our chapel building -- a 1927 model. They would be removing the floor down to the joists and would cut out a section of floor joist for our purposes and replace it with a new one. In a few weeks Wilburn reported back all the joists were smooth-planed and thus probably not what I had in mind. He was right! He went on to suggest that perhaps there would be something suitable toward the top of our iconic steeple that sits on the corner of 7th and Broadway and that he would talk to the renovation crew foreman about helping me scout and "acquire" it. 

Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went -- no timber -- and knowing our presentation was slated for January 22, I was getting nervous. Not just any lift could snake into the opening at the base of the steeple, so more delay. Five days into the new year, I told Wilburn that I would come to the church "next Tuesday morning (1/10) after Bible study, meet the foreman with the lift and go up into the steeple myself" to see if there was anything we could use. Foreman Brandon met me there and hoisted me to the hatch door at the bottom of the enclosed part of the steeple. 

There are three or four levels inside that structure, each accessed by a sturdy, well-preserved ladder permanently secured top and bottom. Wilburn had told me, if nothing else, Brandon could take one of those ladders apart and we could use one of the vertical stretchers as our timber. I led the way up the series of ladders to about the third level where I spotted a timber that appeared to be a vertical brace tying in the west and south walls of that 1886 structure. My tape measure three inches thick, six inches wide, eight feet long. Holy smoke, that's almost exactly what I need if we can just get it loose and get it down. Bumping it with the heel of my hand -- what? The bloomin' thing wasn't attached to anything; it was just lying there. I shouted to Brandon on the level below me -- "Found it!" I was so excited. Finally, after these many weeks, we have our timber! We are home free!

We carefully eased it down two or three flights of ladder, onto the lift, and finally to the ground. That timber was beautiful in the full light of day and just what we needed. I carried it into the sanctuary placing it on a couple of flower pedestals, adjusting the height with hymnals to ascertain how tall to build the permanent supports. I loaded it in the back of my SUV and made a couple of stops -- one to order a foot long piece of Plexiglas to match the timber's profile and another to my cabinetmaking friend to make a single carefully placed cut in one end. Sharing the punchline of my project with those two vendors, both were as excited about it as I was. 

Later that afternoon our daughter Weslee called; I shared that story and my excitement about finally having located suitable timber for our presentation. Her immediate response was "that thing was just up there waiting for you, Dad! God was saying 'I've got this!" Her comment stopped me in my tracks. In all my excitement finding, extricating, measuring, sizing, and running around, the thought that God's hand could have been a part of this provision never even crossed my mind. I'm not ready to say that God placed that rough-sawn timber high in that tower and has protected it since 1886 until this day and for this purpose, nor am I ready to say that He didn't. It will always be a mystery and I'm okay with that. Maybe I'll remember to ask Him about it when I get there. 

Here's a hymn about far weightier matters than an eight-foot rough-sawn timber in a historic church steeple, but it does express God's care and provision for us in all of life and beyond. It is based on Psalm 23. 

The King of love my Shepherd is, 
     whose goodness faileth never;
     I nothing lack if I am His
     and He is mine forever. 

Where streams of living water flows, 
     my ransomed soul He leadeth,
     and, where the verdant pastures grow,
     with food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish, oft I strayed, 
     but yet in love He sought me, 
     and on His shoulders gently laid,
     and home, rejoicing, brought me. 

In death's dark vale I fear no ill
     with Thee, dear Lord, beside me;
     Thy rod and staff my comfort still, 
     Thy cross before to guide me.

And so through all the length of days
     Thy goodness faileth never:
     good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
     within Thy house forever.

Words -- Henry W. Baker, 1868

If you care to see how we used the timber, see the photo or video below. 

- Mark

Serendipities

Morning mall-walking continues and becomes more and more serendipitous.

A couple weeks ago in the “Lost Cajun” installment of this blog, I mentioned Boompa, my late father-in-law. Early on, walking Cool Springs Mall I noticed an older gentleman also lapping the place every morning. Walking behind him, his gait and speed, his height, both bowed knees that created the same slight limp, and even his cap reminded me mightily of Boompa. I wish those of you who knew Boompa could observe Robert walk every morning – you wouldn’t believe the similarity either. 

Robert’s photo makes him look taller than my father-in-law, but my new friend is only a little slimmer – they were likely the same size at Robert’s age of 71. Boompa claimed walking on concrete floors in his grocery stores all those years took its toll on his knees causing his slight limp. Today I caught up with Robert and in conversation asked him what kind of work he did while in the workforce. You guessed it – Kroger, 42 years. The take-away here – if you want bad knees and to walk with a slight limp, spend a whole career working in a grocery store.

Robert asked about my line of work, and when I told him First Baptist Church downtown, it turns out he plays saxophone and for a while played in a band that rehearsed weekly in our church basement with Bill York, FBC’s security chief. Small world.

Today Robert and I were walking the lower level of the mall and when it was time for me to go to the office, I said a few parting words to him and hopped on the escalator to the top level where I had parked. Rounding the corner I overtook a new-to-me walker and howdied as I went by. In a half-dozen or so paces he shouted my way –

“Didn’t you used to be at First Baptist Church?”  

Turning around “I did!  I’m Mark Edwards. Tell me who you are.”

“Bill Long. I’m Gina’s father.”

I lock-stepped with him a few minutes of visitation and then headed to the parking lot amazed at what had just happened. The funny part about that is a few weeks ago when I wrote about the poofy-haired walker – Suzanne – Gina commented “My Dad is also an early morning Cool Springs Mall walker.  Sometimes I join him when I’m in town, so if you see a girl yawning, with bed hair trying to keep up with her Dad…that’s me!”

I’m not making this stuff up; I’m enjoying it…but beginning to wonder some about the recent connections I’m discovering and making. 

I’m noticing that since Honey died nearly two years ago, I seem to see different things and see things differently. Perhaps my gaze is wider or vision clearer; I’m looking more intently or intentionally. Good things – people and situations – seem to be showing up unexpectedly and more often; maybe I’m living with a greater sense of expectancy; so far, it’s interesting and down-right delightful.  Soon after Honey died my brother Randy made a comment to the effect that the “next chapter” for me may be the best yet. I also remember my long-time friend Rita commenting a few years following her husband’s death that she didn’t know if she’d ever be happy again, but she genuinely was. I still see and feel a big hole in my heart every day, but life nearing two years later is good. 

These serendipities mall-walking and elsewhere bring to mind an old hymn I love as did Honey. She always wanted me to play it at night after putting her to bed – “it’s happy and calming.” The hymn has appeared in various hymnals since 1779 when it was written. The fact that it has been paired with various tunes could indicate the search is ongoing for the right tune.  Perhaps the tune I penned – JONATHAN (named for my eldest grandson) – included in the Celebrating Grace Hymnal will end the search…or not.

Sometimes a light surprises the child of God who sings;

   it is the Lord who rises with healing in His wings.

When comforts are declining He grants the soul again

   a season of clear shining to cheer it after rain.

In hold contemplation we sweetly then pursue

   the theme of God’s salvation and find it ever new;

   set free from present sorrows, we cheerfully can say,

   “Let the unknown tomorrow bring with it what it may.”

It can bring with it nothing but He will bear us through;

Who gives the lilies clothing will clothe His people, too’

beneath the spreading heavens no creature but is fed;

and He who feeds the ravens will give His children bread.

Though vine nor fig tree neither expected fruit should bear,

though all the field should wither, nor flocks nor herds be there;

yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice,

for while in Him confiding, I cannot but rejoice.

                Words – William Cowper, 1179

I can say for sure that in the last couple of years I have been “in Him confiding” more and that “I cannot but rejoice.” Thank you, Lord.

- Mark

A People Parable

Following seminary, the first pastor with whom I worked was Dr. James Carter -- more than a prince of person and the absolute best pastor for a minister of music practicing his craft for the first time. He was not a musician at all, even struggled to sing, "Happy Birthday," but he knew the difference between cheesy church music and that which had depth; he preferred the latter. His weekly column in the church newsletter and the title of one of his several books was, People Parables. The man could spot a sermonette in a people experience better and quicker than anyone I've ever known. I happened on a people parable today. 

The best thing I've done this past month -- second only to having my kids, grandkids, and brother Randy at my house most of four days AND experiencing some wonderful Christmas music thanks to FBC Nashville and Brentwood UMC -- is beginning to walk Cool Springs Mall in the mornings before heading to the office. I don't give a hoot about the stores and shops, but walking indoors surely beats the winter weather. The very best thing about it, though, is the people -- the fellow walkers and mall caretakers. 

 Today I met one of the caretakers, the gentleman who sees to the indoor and outdoor plants in the place. I had seen and spoken to him in passing for a few weeks, but he seemed like the kind of person who might be fun to know better. 

 "I see you messing with all these plants around here. What all are you doing to them?"

"I get the paper and trash out that people put there. I water them on Thursday, and every three months I spray and wipe down the leaves with a mixture of water and oil to clean them and help them shine."

"Wow, that's a lot of work, but I can't help but notice how nice they all look. How many are there?"

"Inside there are 95, and outside there are 25, so 120 in all."

"I've watched you and it seems like you are pretty gentle handling each one."

"Yeah, they all look alike but they're not."

There was no doubt he was Italian, even before he told me his name -- Angelo. "I'm imported!," he proclaimed. Angelo has been in this country since he was 18, and said you can't really change "my voice" -- meaning his speech pattern and accent -- after about age 12. "But being here a long time, sometimes I can speak like you. I learned it on the street."

"Well, you speak my language much better than I speak yours. I admire you and anyone else who comes to our country and learns our language... since my wife died nearly two years ago, I have a hard time managing eight or ten plants scattered around the house. I think I water them too much."

"I'll be back over here in about twenty minutes. I'll show you how I water them."

We connected back again and now with his watering cart, he took great care showing me his routine and how to gauge a plant's moisture. 

We talked some more and then we both resumed our morning routine. But I'll be on the lookout for him and we may even become mall friends. 

Walking away reflecting on the encounter it occurred to me -- Angelo tends to each plant in his care just as God tends to all "120 of us," giving each of us exactly what we need -- individually. To any other god, we might all "look alike" as Angelo said; but not so to God -- He knows and calls us by name and "all we have needed [God's] hand hath provided." Thanks be to God!

In a few minutes, another delightful thought showed up. My mission at the mall is to walk, but it's hard to get one's walk done when one stops to visit with the people. That's WHAT HONEY DID all those years at the Tennessee Baptist Convention every Tuesday delivering the paper he office produced on Mondays. Lonnie, her boss and dear friend, jokingly (and lovingly) call it her "hall ministry," and that it was. It was her very favorite "task". 

 Here's the first stanza of what may have been Honey's favorite hymn in the God, the Sustainer section of the Celebrating Grace Hymnal.

Day by day and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my trials here;

trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear. 

He whose heart is kind beyond all measure give unto each day what He deems best -

lovingly, it's part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest. 

Words - Caroline V. Sandell-Berg, 1866. 

May each of us encounter an "Angelo" soon. 

- Mark

Making Sense of the Hymnal: Mary and Joseph

Besides baby Jesus, His mom gets most of the press in the Christmas story and perhaps rightly so. For a long time, though, I've thought the birth of Jesus was as much a step of faith for Joseph as it was for Mary. Though not knowing exactly how she conceived, Mary believed the angel Gabriel and was completely confident that the Holy Spirit had fathered her baby. Joseph's faith walk had an additional step -- believing his wife-to-be AND the angel who later appeared to him. Mary has a baby growing in her womb while Joseph's probable task was to keep explaining the unbelievable though blessed situation to people in his circle and beyond. Mary carried the evidence; all Joseph possessed was others' word. 

Through the years, hymn writers and carol crafters have melded sparse biblical record and poetic imagination to tell the ancient story. But as already suggested, there is relatively much biblical record about Mary compared with very little of Joseph. In the Celebrating Grace Hymnal, there is a four-item Mary section that includes, "My Soul Proclaims with Wonder," and "Tell Out, My Soul," both based on Luke 1:46-55 -- Mary's song in response to Gabriel's announcement to her. Between those two versions of the Magnificat is the actual scripture passage and the hymn, "Young Mary Lived in Nazareth;" the latter moves the story forward including Mary's visit to Elizabeth, a brief mention of Joseph, and the journey to Bethlehem where Jesus was born. 

But a subtle thing occurs a few hymnal pages later. On the left side of the spread appears, "Gentle Mary Laid Her Child," but facing it on the right side is an entire hymn centering on Joseph. That occurrence is not accidental nor is it coincidental that their tonal centers are closely related, meaning the two hymns could be sung in worship seamlessly, one following the other. 

Although the Joseph hymn, "The Hands That First Held Mary's Child," is mostly author imagination its message is completely plausible and seems to capture some of the weight Joseph bore and the worship he experienced in his journey of faith. Walk alongside this Christmas giant for a spell. 

The hands that first held Mary's child

were hard from working wood, 

from boards they sawed and planed and filed

and splinters they withstood.

This day they gripped no tool of steel, 

they drove no iron nail, 

but cradled from the head to heel

our Lord, new-born and frail. 

When Joseph marveled at the size

of that small breathing frame, 

and gazed upon those bright new eyes

and spoke the infant's name, 

the angel's words he once had dreamed

poured down from heaven's height, 

and like the host of stars that beamed

blessed earth with welcome light. 

"This child shall be Emmanuel, 

not God upon the throne, 

but God with us, Emmanuel,

as close as blood and bone."

The tiny form in Joseph's palms

confirmed what he had heard, 

and from his heart rose hymns and psalms

for heaven's human word.

The tools that Joseph laid aside

a mob would later lift

and use with anger, fear, and pride

to crucify God's gift. 

Let us, O Lord, not only hold

the child who's born today, 

but charged with faith may we be bold

to follow in His way.

Words by Thomas H. Troeger © 1985 Oxford University Press

We've gotten used to the idea that Mary -- likely a teenager at the time -- was special and, though only a common person, accepted God's call to participate uniquely in the Kingdom. But this hymn helps me see that Joseph, even more"under the radar" and unlikely than we've thought of Mary, was trusted of God and also was faithful to God to be and do a unique thing. I believe it took them both to bring the Prince of Peace safely into the world. 

And if God trusted these two, do you think perhaps He also calls and trusts you and me to do our individual part in delivering His peace to our world? I do. 

- Mark

The Lost Cajun

I seem to happen onto some of the most interesting people on airplanes. Friday night embarking on a flight to Charlotte, NC, for a Saturday morning rehearsal in High Point for a Sunday Celebrating Grace Hymnal dedication, a friendly gentleman a little younger than I took the aisle seat on my row where I was seated next to the window. (I sleep better next to the window on the right side.) Waiting for the rest of the cabin to load, we made a bit of small talk and somehow it came up that he was originally from Louisiana though he now lives in Colorado. The colorful logo on his polo-type shirt read, "The Lost Cajun."

"What's The Lost Cajun?"

"It's a chain of restaurants a buddy and I started six years ago after my wife died. I've been here today checking on our Hendersonville store. My wife and I operated a fishing camp near New Orleans where I was raised until Katrina, Rita, Ike, Gustav, and then the oil spill. We had enough of that so we moved to Colorado, where she later died." 

"My wife also died a year and a half ago. No fun, is it!"

"No, I was paralyzed for months. Are you dating yet?"

"Naw, not even on my radar. You?"

"I'm almost there. But, when you've had the best for 32 years..."

"I know what you mean; Honey and I were married almost 45 years."

For the next hour, we -- mostly he -- talked about our common experience of losing our spouses to cancer, faith, do's and don't's of operating a restaurant, hymnody which we both prefer, etc. 

"Griff" is 61 years old and admits to only an 8th grade education. He has eleven stores in four states and is looking to have 100 within the next decade. 

"When we go to scout out a possible location, we don't force anything. If something doesn't feel right about a deal, we always walk away; perhaps it will work out later. If a prospective franchisee doesn't share our culture of high values, we don't do business. There are no shortcuts to the way we do business, treat customers, or fix food."

From there, he went into specifics of selecting a spot, demographics, traffic patterns, etc., etc. -- all very interesting even to me the musician. 

"How do you know all that stuff, where did you learn it?"

Leaning across the empty seat between us as if to tell me a secret, he said, "I'll tell you what, most of it is plain ol' common sense. People do some of the craziest things that get them into trouble simply because they don't use good common sense. Employees, for example -- they'll make or break you. I hire good, more qualified people who share my values to do most of the upper level work, and I mainly train local employees -- they call me the Culture Consultant. I spend a week training all of the locals to do their job our way, but in a wholesome environment where, 'please, thank you, and you're welcome' are expressed at every level all day long. We've been able to make a difference in young people's lives by insisting on high standards like that. Parents have come to me and thanked me for teaching their kids how to work, be responsible, courteous, and have high standards. I've made a fair amount of money, but I've always given half of it away."

Although I don't know much about him, I'm still impressed with Griff. In many ways, he reminds me of Boompa -- Honey's adoptive father -- who was about Griff's current age when I started showing up around the West house. (Boompa died three months shy of 104.) Boompa's education ended at the 7th grade, but he, too, was a hard worker, had and lived out high standards, without fanfare loved Jesus, made a fair amount of money in the grocery business, quietly gave a lot of it away -- money and groceries -- making people better in his daily life and routine. 

Griff and Boompa seem to be good agents of "peace on earth, good will to men" about which we sing and hopefully think this time of every year. Those guys -- both giants -- remind me most of Joseph in the Christmas story who I plan to talk about here next week. 

In the meantime, here are a couple of stanzas of rather new Advent hymn in the Celebrating Grace Hymnal that I doubt Griff or Boompa ever heard but certainly live(d) by. 

Christians, all, your Lord is coming, calling you to serve in deed.

See the ones who hurt and suffer, hear their cry and act with speed.

Set all selfish ways behind you, purge your heart of sinful greed.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ in you will meet their need.

Christians, all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand. 

Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands. 

Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.

 

Words – Jim Miller, 1993 © 1995 Chalice Press

Although Griff had run out of business cards to give me, I plan to try to track him down in the days ahead. But first, a bowl of real Cajun gumbo up in Hendersonville seems to be calling my name. 

-- Mark

People, Look East

Advent began Sunday and already the songs and services of the season are a blessing. The Youth Choirs – almost 200 teenagers – annual Advent Concert at Brentwood UMC was beautiful and what they do and sing is quite remarkable. And then the Service of Remembrance and Hope downtown at Nashville’s First Baptist Church has always been meaningful to me but, of course, more so since Honey died in 2015.

One delightful Advent hymn I learned while helping build the Celebrating Grace Hymnal is “People, Look East.” It is a fresh, joy-filled text alerting people of earth, furrows in the field, and angels in the air to do their respective things to make ready because “Love – meaning Jesus – the Guest, the Rose, and the Lord is on the way.” The hymn is set to a bright French folk melody that sort of dances off the page.

For ages, east has been symbolic of hope, of new life, of resurrection. In the creation story, God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden. The prophet Ezekiel talks about the east gate of the Temple where the glory of God hovered over them. The magi saw His star in the east, and east is the root word for our word “Easter.”

The sanctuary at FBC, Nashville is a majestic, resonant room, not well-suited for every kind of music, but the absolute best for congregations and choirs to sing. The room itself is part of what kept Honey and me there thirty Christmases in a row. “People, Look East” was not written for our church, but the hymn’s title, if not also its imagery, has something to say to that congregation. You see, to the west of the sanctuary and to the backs of most of the congregation is not only the setting sun, but also the historic Customs House where bankruptcy court is conducted – both suggesting the down side of life. To the south of our campus is the huge and encroaching Music City Center (and soon-to- be three high-rise hotels) housing nearly every form of commerce imaginable, none of which ultimately satisfies anyone’s soul. To our north and across bustling Broadway are the central business district, the state capitol, and entertainment hub which also come up short in life’s matters that really matter.

But in the midst of it all the congregation sits in worship facing east, right into the magnificent resurrection window at the base of which is the baptismal pool – itself a symbol of new life, rebirth, and eternal hope. The massive window is the most abstract of the set of nine. It not only invites the worshiper to face east but also to look up, following the facets of blue, red, and green glass to the Easter lily-like white at the very top, opening upward toward the heavens.

Sanctuary at First Baptist Church, Nashville, Tennessee

It is not coincidental that many churches face east and rightly so. But it seems to be more intentional and dramatic in this place.

People, look east, the time is near

of the crowning of the year.

Make your house fair as you are able,

trim the hearth and set the table.

People look east and sing today:

Love, the Guest is on the way.

Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare, 

one more seed is planted there.

Give up your strength the seed to nourish,

that in course the flower may flourish.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the Rose, is on the way.

Angels, announce with shouts of mirth

Christ who brings new life to earth.

Set every peak and valley humming

with the word, the Lord is coming.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the Lord, is on the way.

People, Look East - words by Eleanor Farjeon (1928)
© 1960 David Higham Associates., LTD. 

If you are not familiar with this hymn, follow this link and listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbfKd5u8gmI

May this Advent season be a time to begin to “look east and sing today: Love, the Lord, is on the way.”

- Mark

Thanksgiving Itself is a Gift from God

What’s in your wallet?

At the beginning of a traditional week given to travel,

a holiday,

family time,

a long weekend,

and good food,

I wonder what is dominating most of our thinking.

Politics, perhaps… still?

Christmas shopping and decorations?

College football, possibly?

Work?

School, maybe?

Family issues?

Health concerns?

Money problems?

A broken or imperiled relationship?

Some of the above?

All of the above?

None of the above?

What’s in your wallet?

What is the currency you dig deeply to retrieve when things get tough?

What cache do you call upon when the cost of life exceeds your ready resources?

What do you reach for when you feel you can’t continue?

What is the backup you grip when things get out of hand and… crazy… nuts?

All of us have an arsenal of human resources we can easily access to protect our own interests. 

Fear, anger,

entitlement, despair,

calling out and blaming others,

noisy complaining, silent brooding,

score keeping, grudge holding,

cynicism, bitterness.

It’s human nature to panic when we hit a wall. It’s perfectly natural to assess fault to others and readily judge them guilty, careless, stupid, clueless, unfeeling, unlovable, unteachable, impossible, intolerable.

What’s in your wallet?

If our wallets were more filled with gratitude -- real gratitude, not to be confused with the occasional “returning thanks” and “blessings” we fumble and stutter to produce around holidays, in church, or before a Lion’s Club luncheon -- we would not only be traveling much lighter, but we would all be much richer. If our wallets could be loaded to the seams with ordinary gratitude, we would discover a strength for today and a bright hope for tomorrow exceeding all imagination.

What’s in your wallet?

You know what’s really amazing? Even the gratitude itself will have to be a gift from God. We, of our own resources and personal strength, do not have the power on our own to manufacture even one grain or milligram of gratitude.

Thanksgiving itself is a gift from God.

What’s in your wallet?

Gratitude?

If so, give thanks to God, because God is the Only One Who can provide it.

And living it out to the fullest will take the rest of your life, and then some.

‐ Randy Edwards

A New Book of Psalms

Our Tuesday morning Bible Study group recently began a rather new book, Making Sense of the Bible, penned by Adam Hamilton, a Methodist pastor in Kansas City. Already the early stanzas dealing with the nature of scripture -- Biblical geography, timeline, writers of the Old Testament, when and why they wrote, and which books did and didn’t make into the Old Testament -- are turning on lights within me that a faith-based college degree in religious education and a pair of seminary degrees (in music of course) failed to do. In no way do I fully credit those institutions nor my junior college Bible teacher with those failures. My upbringing left a deep impression that critical Biblical scholarship somehow debunked the authority and power of Holy Writ. Growing up, a steady stream of revival preachers leaning toward “the Bible says it, I believe, and that settles it” left its mark also. But in my heart of hearts those slants didn’t seem to ring completely true even back then and the theological environment amidst which I’ve lived most of my adult life hasn’t done much to change my misimpression. I’m not blaming that either. I should have investigated further my hunch. 

The fact is, much of the Bible began as oral tradition, told and retold over generations rather than scripted by the finger of God or transcribed verbatim from the voice of God. Imperfect people eventually put the old stories in writing and later on, other mere mortals decided which of those writings made the cut and which ones would not be included in the manuscript as we know it today. But none of the above diminishes or dilutes the message of love or grace or power or judgement of God conveyed in scripture. Personally, it elevates the sacred text and makes me want to read more of it – it now makes more sense. I feel more connected to it and inspired by it realizing that God has trusted His eternal kingdom work to His people, people not unlike you and me. And God still does. 

I have performed as preacher exactly once in my life -- at a Celebrating Grace Hymnal dedication several years ago. (Since no additional invitations have come, methinks word has gotten around.) Preparing that single Sunday wonder, it occurred to me that God did not cease his revelation when the Bible came into being, that some of God’s more recent revelation can be found in other places -- for me, most readily within hymns scripted by other inspired writers. 

Those of you who followed our Notes From Susie Facebook page while Susie (aka Honey) was sick and those who have read the Notes From Susie book know how she and I drew on the depths of hymnody during her illness as have I since her death a year and half ago. Most of those hymns came from the Celebrating Grace Hymnal that I was privileged to help build. That book and those hymns were like discovering a new book of Psalms. Adam Hamilton reminds us that many of the biblical Psalms were written in the wake of the destruction of Jerusalem, during and after the Exile, encouraging the people to rebuild their lives and temple after great national turmoil and hardship. In like manner, those hymns were like psalms to Honey and me during our extended journey.

Occasionally in this space for the next little bit and in the spirit of Adam Hamilton, I’m going to try my hand at “making sense of the hymnal.” There’s a lot of Bible in the hymns…there is also inspiration…and more recent revelation. Perhaps we will mine some new and remember some other. 

This morning I’m reminded of a line from “Break Thou the Bread of Life,” a hundred and fifty year old hymn about the Bible -- “beyond the sacred page, I seek Thee, Lord.” 

And another – “singing His praises all the day long.”

- Mark

Boy, We Didn’t See That One Coming, Did We?

Boy, we didn't see that one coming, did we? We thought the election would be closer and I suppose the popular vote indicates that it was. 

BUT the historic election is over -- mercifully -- and we have a new President-Elect who needs and deserves our prayers and support. It is a little scary, but also offers a modicum of excitement that things will be different. Speaker Paul Ryan said of Mr. Trump: "He saw something that the rest of us didn't." That's encouraging. I sure want my President to see more than I. It's a tough job, his.

I shared this hymn in the previous post. In the Celebrating Grace Hymnal it is included in the Commemorations section - mostly intended for church dedications and anniversaries. But I encourage us all to consider it again as a call and resolve to sorely needed unity in our divided country.

In unity we lift our song

of grateful adoration, 

for brothers brave and sisters strong,

what cause for celebration.

For those whose faithfulness

has kept us through distress, 

who've share with us our plight, 

who've held us in the night, 

the blessed congregation.

For stories told and told again

to every generation, 

to give us strength in time of pain,

to give us consolation.

Our spirits to revive

to keep our dreams alive, 

when we are far from home

and evil seasons come; 

how firm is our foundation.

For God our way, our bread, our rest,

of all these gifts the Giver. 

Our strength, our guide, our nurturing breast

whose hand will yet deliver.

Who keeps us till the day

when night shall pass away, 

when hate and fear are gone

and all our work is done, 

and we shall sing forever.

In Unity We Lift Our Song – words Ken Medema, 1985

The long campaign was ugly and the rhetoric poisonous, but Jesus' command to us remains to be salt and light in our world no matter the circumstance. Let us remember that it is "with deeds of love and mercy the heavenly kingdom comes."

- Mark