parables-proverbs-pericopes

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

We’d finished our worship service. It was one of our better Gatherings.

Doug came into the taproom, rolled his wheelchair over to the bar to order a beer. I was across the room at our “communion” table and I noticed he seemed kind of excited. He was having a conversation with this attractive young woman who was sitting at the bar. Who knew where this was leading?!

A few minutes later he came at high speed to join us and said…

“She asked me about Jesus!!!”

There’s a back story.

In my teaching that evening there was a sentence from the Book on my mind. It is found in the first few paragraphs of a letter this guy named Paul wrote to his friends over in Thessalonika. He said “We don’t have to say a thing - your life is the Message!” (That’s from a paraphrase I read a lot called “The Message.”)

All of my life of faith, which pretty much parallels all my life, I have been told to “tell people about Jesus.”

Thing is, that directive was tied inextricably to the notion that to do so you had to tell people how “bad” they are, how condemned they are, how hopeless they are.

Who wants to hear that?

As I “grew up” I came to believe that good news is good news. It isn’t a fearful, escapist, sort of thing.

It is something to be desired. Something folks are seeking even if they never articulate or define the search.

So anyway…

I proposed to The Gathering that evening that I have a vision for a people who don’t tell anyone about Jesus.

Instead, they are asked about Jesus.

Folks observe a life so graciously lived, with such a deep joy, residing in such an abiding hope, manifesting such an undeniable peace, so unspeakably in love, that people see it and come asking how to get some of it.

A people whose reputation not only precedes them, it surrounds them, it inhabits them, it erupts in a depth of existence that it could only spring from eternity.

You don’t have to say a word.

So back to Doug and the attractive woman at the bar.

He was so flustered, so flabbergasted, so amazed at the conversation that he told me it wasn’t a “God wink”. It was a full on, megawatt, penetrating Light. It was such an affirmation that Doug maybe saw in himself what the rest of us see in him. And we have to ask where it came from.

He was so overcome that….

He didn’t even get her number.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Maybe we should all act like strangers.

It was Tuesday morning and I had stopped at the coffee shop for my cuppa to wash down that cinnamon roll.

Too much information.

Anyway.

I arrived at the same time as a couple of folks I’d never met. They were a couple of seconds ahead of me and the fellow (it was a man and woman I soon learned were married) held the door for me, greeted me warmly, and wished me a healthy appetite…or something like that.

Thing is, I could tell by his attire that he might well not like me much if we knew each other better. You know how that is.

But as a stranger he was so kind to me.

I sit out on the patio at the coffee shop. Evidently that is becoming known in our little town. The coffee shop put my photo on their facebook feed and evidently a couple of folks saw it.

This woman I don’t know, had never seen, came by my table and greeted me warmly, said she’d seen my photo, wished me well, and asked my opinion of the cinnamon roll. With little reason she seemed to be kindly disposed toward me.

After I’d eaten and drank and worked a bit on my blog I packed up and went to the Post Office to check the mail.

It was raining and the front parking lot was crowded. I pulled around to the side entrance. After checking the mail I was exiting the building and as I swung the door open a fellow I don’t know was approaching from the outside. I invited him in. He invited me out. We had a friendly back and forth about who was older, needier, and more deserving. We went on our way with a smile on our faces.

That man didn’t know me from Adam. I didn’t know him from Alan. We just knew to be kind, humorous, and encouraging.

It might be good to know less about each other.

It might be good to want to be kind to those we meet.

It might be good to open a door, offer a welcome, show a smile, and let it go.

On the other hand…

A real pro can tackle the folks they know, and that know them, and love them.

We can be amateurs at the coffee shop.

Then it’s time to get serious. And be kind. And be courteous. And be loving.

Even if it isn’t easy.

Even if you know all there is to know and love me anyway.

That’s my bottom line about God.

Where would I be without the pros?

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I don’t know what this is. Maybe a rant, or a lament, or a vent, or self pity.

Of maybe just how it is.

I’m not sure where to jump into this as it is a 50 years long story.

I got a call late one evening (late is relative I understand). The caller was sobbing. Their spouse was cheating and threatening to leave and things were tense and could we meet to talk and maybe pray.

I went. We talked. We prayed. I was thanked for “being there.”

They decided to keep trying, or at least one of them did.

A queer couple became a part of our congregation. They sat together, worshipped together, and were welcome to be themselves…just like everyone else was welcomed to be themselves.

Not too long after, the person who had called me late that night messaged me (no call) to say that her family was leaving the congregation because I didn’t uphold “traditional family values.” Others left with them.

I was sad. I and my wife of several decades were sad. (My wife was also quite mad but we talked through that.)

Not too long after, the one spouse of the departed family left the other for a younger person with whom they married and had children.

And one of the children from the original marriage “came out” as queer and was quite happy to do so.

And the queer couple who had been a part of the worship services broke up…with some bitterness.

Family values are what they are I reckon.

And here’s the deal.

I can’t be the pastor I was called to be without welcoming them all back, should they choose to come around, with open arms and an accepting heart.

Another story.

The church was growing (you know what that means!). The youth group had gotten big and we needed help. But help was hard to come by.

As it happened I was (am) friends with one of the most charismatic, qualified, gifted young people I’d ever met. I contacted this young friend about taking on the “job” and convinced them it was God’s will that we work together. (You can always blame God you know.). The elders approved, somewhat reluctantly.

The issue was that this young minister came with a different color skin.

Almost immediately folks began to depart our fellowship. There was very little openly racist reasoning.

They knew better.

But some didn’t like the “process” we’d followed. Others wanted “better opportunities” for their children.

You get the drift.

And here’s the deal.

I can’t be the pastor I was called to be without welcoming them all back, should they choose to come around, with open arms and an accepting heart.

Another vignette.

That virus came along. You may remember it.

Some folks thought we were all going to die.

We didn’t.

Some folks thought no one was going to die.

Many did.

Some folks thought if we didn’t proceed as if nothing was happening we weren’t faithful to God.

When we didn’t they left.

Some folks thought if we didn’t take every precaution ever proposed we weren’t taking care of “our people.”

When we did our best they left.

It was on the stressful side.

Here’s the deal.

I can’t be the pastor I was called to be without welcoming them all back, should they choose to come around, with open arms and accepting heart.

I used to welcome everyone.

I still do.

With a caveat.

We welcome everyone so long as they welcome everyone.

I was born again to be this way.

And that’s the Pastor I was called to be.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I could hear her shouting it in my ear.

Juliet died last Wednesday. Everyone knew it was coming sooner rather than later. Everyone was shocked when it came.

She was so full of life, so committed to living, so ALIVE…

But this isn’t about that.

At least not just about that.

Over the last couple of years Juliet hand wrote, and freely shared, thousands of encouraging note cards. Literally thousands.

They said things like “you are awesome” and “I love you” and “Jesus is on your side.”

I have seen them on many dashboards, makeup mirrors, office desks, and Facebook timelines.

All of them say something special to me.

But I could hear her shouting this one in my ear.

“Do epic shit.”

A part of me has been wanting to coast.

After all, I am clearly on the downhill side.

When I am living in that “part of me” that is attracted to the rear view mirror I look back on several churches built, several schools established, a few hundred Baptisms, weddings, and funerals….Thousands of sermons preached, about 40 kazillion meetings attended, more than 1,500 of these blogs written….almost 50 missions trips…more “counseling/consoling” sessions than I can recall….a medical clinic built, staffed, and operating….

Epic shit I reckon

But Juliet didn’t shout in my ear about what is past.

It was about what is to be done.

The Lord/Friend I love hasn’t given me permission to clock out.

There will likely be more of all of the above.

(Have I told you about the Hospital?)

And these Gatherings!!

I didn’t figure this level of excitement and enthusiasm would be coming my way again.

But they are all “less epic” than what I am hearing from the Big Whisperer” this morning.

I just read a rant by a fellow who is apparently convinced that if I am not what he is I am doomed to all sorts of calamity - temporal and eternal.

I am not what he is.

Then I read a rant by a woman who is apparently convinced that if I am not what she is I am doomed to all sorts of calamity - temporal and eternal.

I am not what she is.

The “positions” of the aforementioned couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed.

The voice I hear, and must try to follow, is asking something truly epic of me.

“Be what you are and love them as a result.”

This is epic.

I will be needing your prayers.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

We’ve been Gathering on that rusty, leaky, beautiful, joyful, intriguing Barge for seven and a half years now.

We’ve seen a lot of good ones come and go. That’s the way life is and you learn to dance with that rhythm and give it up to your faith.

We’ve seen pandemics, elections, attractions, and distractions. The defections were probably the wise ones. We know we aren’t for everybody. Never thought that was an option.

Through it all we just tried to be faithful to our vision.

A place of welcome.

A place where grace flows freely.

A place of refuge.

A place of challenge to be the loving, kind, caring, generous people we believe we were created to be.

A place where we have done our best to stay away from the dogma, and the judgements, and the rigid theologies, and the institutional constraints that we were not created to be.

A place to love, be loved, and be free.

A place to be like Jesus, if we can, and not much else! (Ain’t that enough?)

There has been a core group who held to our vision even when it was hard.

Even when the core group was the only group to be seen.

It was worth it just to be with them and see their bold affections and feel their lack of fear.

Anyway….

A couple of months ago something started to ferment. I think of it as new wine coming into its prime.

All of sudden that boat was full. It became hard to find a seat.

Late comers were being forced to the front chairs. Horrors!

I’d like to tell you it was a particularly good sermon.

Not.

It might have been the weather.

But that’s been hot, humid, and humbling.

Some would look for a Great Movement of the Holy Spirit with shouts and songs and religious ecstasy.

We’re as bland and low key as ever.

It seems to have somehow been connected with…

A cadre of recovering alcoholics who have become dear to us. They have the sort of humility that goes with their disease paired with the sort of calm strength that goes with healing - and helping others heal. I know. Strange place for these beautiful people to be and perhaps only they could pull it off.

And…

A drift of folks who bring gorgeous gifts of the Spirit and who say they have been looking for this, even if they didn’t know they were looking for this.

And…

Some folks who have been dealing with tragedies and some folks who are living great triumphs who sort of mingle and give meaning to each other.

And, get this…

Especially when the bartender and wait staff found themselves in our midst. It is hard on them. They work until 2 a.m. doing some really hard labor, and listening to some really special stories. The sort of thing that wears you flat dab out. Somehow they get up, get it together, and get down the gang way to lift our spirits at our 9 a.m. Gathering time. Then they turn it around and get back to work at noon.

I have known folks who miss a month of services because they had a hang nail. Not that a hang nail is painless mind you!!

Anyway…

My friend sent this message a few weeks ago. I can’t let it go. It resonates.

“Life has been so hard for the past few years, but you and the amazing people from the gathering have constantly shown me unconditional love and the true, nonjudgmental love of Christ. I have a long way to go to get back in my walk with Christ, but you have been the hands and feet of Jesus by showing me I’m loved and accepted. It’s been so so amazing being a part of a Church full of loving and accepting people. I have no words to describe how welcomed, loved and accepted I have felt. Thank you for all the amazing things you do, but most of all thank you for reminding me we serve a God of love, a God of forgiveness and a God of second chances. I am so blessed to have you as a pastor and I’m so so grateful God put you and Ms Karen in my life. Yall have no idea how much of a blessing you are to me. I hope you have had an amazing day!!!”

I had an amazing day.

And I gave thanks for the bartenders in my life.

The gentle woman who sits before me on Sunday mornings.

And the gentle Savior who has brewed up some new wine.

It’s a lot for an old man to do to not just weep with gladness.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

All I wanted was a hot dog. We have homemade sauerkraut that is to die for. Makes a hot dog a culinary delight…at least to my way of thinking. Less refined people may think otherwise.

I digress.

Thing is, we didn’t have buns. I ask you, who could enjoy a coney, mustard, ketchup, and homemade sauerkraut without a bun?

So The Cutie, sacrificial sort that she is, took off to the nearby Dollar General to get some hot dog buns.

Are you with me so far?

There she stood in the line of two. She was second. The guy in front of her was a little “quirky.”

The Cutie knows quirky as she has laid her head on the pillow next to quirky for 51 years.

The guy had a frozen pizza. And he looked hungry. When he tried to purchase his meal the card was rejected. It was a SNAP card and he “thought there was $17 on it.”

It was an awkward moment.

I know a lot of folks, for reasons that just don’t work for me, will immediately say the fellow didn’t deserve the pizza, or the SNAP card. This without knowing him, his situation, history, or health.

I stop to note that if there was ever anyone who could have fed himself it was Jesus but he made this curious comment “I was hungry and you fed me.”

Anyway, and thankfully…

Not everyone judges first and refuses to ask questions later.

The very young cashier, who was working hard for something close to minimum wage, began to reach for her wallet. Her heart was good but she wasn’t nearly fast enough.

The Cutie is an old pro at being kind, gentle, and generous. She just slipped her debit card in the reader and bought a frozen pizza…and some hot dog buns. She does that sort of thing all the time.

In the process she shifted the whole creation a little nearer the sort of world we, at our house, believe God intended from before there was time to screw it up.

And it made my hot dog even better.

That bun was like the Bread of Heaven come down.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Except that it would be an insult to all canines in all places at all times I would say “It was a real dog.”

You could say I “laid an egg” but it hatched and turned into a ‘turkey that wouldn’t fly.”

Lots of my friends have tried to console me and tell me “it wasn’t that bad.” I know a lot of kind, sweet, loving, redemptive people but…

I know better.

It sucked.

My Dad taught me from an early age (and I’m quite old now) that I shouldn’t make excuses.

Especially when there are none.

There was some sort of constipation between my brain and my tongue. Some wires were loose.

I prayed for a laxative. I tried to bypass the power outage.

Nothing.

It was a bad day. Especially when you are wanting to do a good thing. I’m not in mourning or anything. I had to drive 6 hours afterwards so Jesus and I dealt with the depression.

AND…

At least I didn’t kill anybody.

There is this history book that someone titled Acts of the Apostles. The vast majority of it, overwhelming majority really, is about just one apostle who never met Jesus. Go figure. His name was Paul.

Preacher Paul was holding forth before a church in a town called Troas. It wasn’t far from Corinth but not in Mississippi.

I digress.

Paul got a little long winded that night. As a matter of fact, the history book says he “talked on and on.”

There was a fellow from the youth group there named Eutychus Malone (I made up the last name.). He was sitting in the window, probably to catch a breath of fresh air, but that didn’t work out so well. He got sleepier and sleepier until he went fast asleep.

Eutychus fell from the 3rd story and “was picked up dead.”

Read the 20th chapter of the history book to get the whole story.

But, for the purposes of this blog, the bottom line is that Preacher Paul didn’t stop preaching.

Sometimes you put them to sleep.

Sometimes you do real, albeit unintended, damage.

Nothing you can do but pick up the pieces, or the dead from the youth group, put the package back together or breath a little life into those you put in a coma…Or quit preaching.

I am not ready to quit preaching.

I’ll be back Tuesday night. I will show up next Sunday. I will pray that I will at least conjure up a poodle or something. The news is too Good to keep it quiet.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

She may never know what a powerful life she is living.

I hope she does but it probably wouldn’t phase her or change her one iota.

Three years back, when she was all of four years old, Rachel was diagnosed with leukemia. Leukemia of a particularly threatening sort.

Her parents and grandparents, remarkable stories in themselves, sought out the best medical options. Rachel has spent much of the last three years at MD Anderson Hospital in Houston, TX, a long way from her home in the small town of Rogersville, AL.

But in a very real way she was very much present in that small town.

People raised money, prayed fervently, and came up with all sorts of creative ways to support Rachel and her family.

In the process she was teaching us to give, pray, and support each other.

When we are thinking of Rachel it is almost impossible to engage in the bitter rhetoric that so often characterizes our times.

When we are praying for Rachel we are not listing enemies, or allies, or those we consider indifferent.

When we are plotting goodness on behalf of Rachel and her family there is no room for negative outcomes or hurtful intentions.

We wouldn’t do any of that hurtful stuff in Rachel’s presence now would we?

Rachel has a powerful influence on us.

I hope she knows this but it probably wouldn’t phase her or change her one iota.

In the midst of it all she is just being herself. She is playful, mischievous (in an entertaining way), cheeky, faithful, and full of love.

She matter of factly deals with harsh treatments, regular bone marrow biopsies, separation from her precious siblings, and the near constant whispering of adults.

She has parties with her friends at the hospital, other children undergoing similar challenges, and I don’t know this for sure but I suspect they don’t talk about their troubles…they laugh at whatever life has thrown their way and, without consciously doing so, they just live, love, and lift folks like me who are out here watching.

Rachel got some daunting news this week. Evidently the disease is progressing and the options are narrowing.

No one is “giving up”. We haven’t been robbed of hope.

I hope that on some level Rachel knows what a powerful life she is living.

I hope that on some level she knows how many of us she has changed, and is changing, for the better.

I hope that on some level Rachel knows that if we could we would take her in our arms and remind her of what the one who has already taken her in his arms is saying to her and to all of us…

“Of such as these is the Kingdom of God.”

I love you Rachel. Lots of us love you. And we are learning to love each other. You are doing big!

You know what I mean?

Padre

P.S. Looking at your saucy little self in this photo makes my allergies act up.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

This isn’t a theological, doctrinal, or even (probably…possibly) a spiritual thing.

It is about socks, a holiday that is on the low end of the emotional spectrum, and desperation.

The holiday was “Father’s Day”. It comes around every year and it is observed faithfully. Not like Easter, Passover, Eid, Christmas, Mother’s Day, or even St Patrick’s special observance. But neither is it neglected.

My kids gave me a pair of socks. Not just any socks mind you. They are colorful, well made, comfortable, and….they have photos of my children on them. It was a fun (hilarious really), sweet, memorable gift. I put them on almost immediately and will always wear them with a soft, warm feeling in my heart and on my feet.

It couldn’t have been more perfect for me and my family. You just have to take that for granted.

But they weren’t what I need.

My need is still there and I am desperate.

Desperation: having an extreme desire for something.

I desperately need for my children to know how much I love them.

I am a wordsmith of a sort but I don’t have the words to make them know this.

I give what I can but there is no giving that will adequately cover this feeling.

In less than a month I will be 72 years old and I am terrified that I will run out of time before some miracle makes my love for them known.

The same is true for my grandchildren.

I cheer for them, congratulate them, buy their lemonade, gift them however I can, provide counsel (routinely and probably appropriately ignored), drive countless miles, and put up with their silliness.

But I have a desperate need for them to know how much I love them.

Family? Those I have Baptized, married off, counseled, taught, and learned from? Friends? Acquaintances? Total strangers? Enemies?

Same. In a world where “I don’t care” and “I don’t want to be around them” has become the norm there is something in me that recoils because love won’t allow it. And I am desperate that they know.

The Cutie.

I take walks every morning, usually predawn, and my mind wanders in the most interesting ways. But to think of the Cutie frequently stops me in my tracks, literally, and stuns me as I pray fervently and hope feverishly and need desperately for her to know how much I love her.

It is such a pressing need that desperation now easily defines my days.

What can I do?

What can I say?

How can I live?

For that matter, how can I die?

Come to it, this is getting theological. Maybe, just maybe, to be desperate in this way is to be in the Image of God.

“For God so loved the world…”

You know what I mean?

Padre

P.S. Get you some socks like these.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Those of us who participate in The Gatherings have learned to love the Tip Bucket. For those of us who aren’t familiar…

We don’t “pass the offering plate”. It isn’t part of our spiritual DNA. Somehow, maybe by the Holy Spirit, we have been provided, at no cost, places to meet by very generous hosts. Our leadership team (think musicians, accounting, etc) are so full of grace they give of their time and talents. In other words, we have no “overhead”.

Instead of “overhead” we have a lot of “in the heart.”

So folks who are so led can make gifts via the Tip Bucket. Every penny that comes in goes out as a witness to the Love we have been shown and that we are anxious to show. (There may be a random stamp or something somewhere but that’s all we purchase.)

The Tip Bucket has showered support on dozens of people and needs in our immediate area. It has purchased appliances, handicap accessible vans, medications, housing, food, and fuel. It has provided transportation for far flung medical journeys. It has supported Christian ministry at local universities. There is more but I don’t have the ink to share it all.

The Tip Bucket also has a global impact.

We built a church in the mountains of Haiti, recently completed.

Which brings me to today’s topic.

A little over three years ago we began construction of a medical clinic in a rural area of Haiti. The people there had no recourse for health care and the need is great. The construction was a labor of much prayer and faith. It was largely funded through the Tip Bucket and through the witness of the Tip Bucket.

Thirteen months ago we opened. We didn’t know what to expect and we certainly didn’t know where the resources would come from to operate the facility.

No one could have predicted that we would see upwards of 10,000 patients in the first year.

We opened the doors with a devoted and devout nurse practitioner who was quickly overwhelmed by the demand.

Who could have foreseen that now we would have two full time doctors on staff along with nurses, lab technicians, security personnel, clerks, and more?

How were we to know we would be purchasing thousands of dollars in medications where previously a Tylenol was an unatttainable luxury for the vast majority?

We’ve learned a lot over the past 13 months. Hanamel Clinic is now abut 75% self sufficient financially. The other 25%?

Why the Tip Bucket keeps flipping on the lights even when the darkness is growing most intense.

The photo below is the waiting room at Hanamel Clinic Monday morning, June 2, 2025. It is packed with folks of all ages with a variety of needs.

Little do they know that the healing balm they seek and will receive flowed through the Tip Bucket.

Little did we know.

Someone knew.

I’m not asking for anything. I have no need. I am celebrating the miracle of the Tip Bucket and I pray that your eyes are opened to celebrate too!

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I had been actively practicing it for about five years.

No doubt I would have been better off keeping it to myself.

Sometimes I surprise myself at my “stupid.”

In my teaching yesterday I said it out loud.

“I have been trying to forget all the theology I ever knew.”

Most folks, as is always the case, didn’t even hear me.

But an old friend, with whom I have traveled far and who I respect immensely, was offended.

His counsel - “don’t throw your theology under the bus.”

Because I value his judgment immeasurably, and because I love him dearly, I took this counsel to heart.

I walked an extra mile this morning because I needed to think about a light year further.

The Big Gardener was watering my tomatoes but I hardly noticed the rain.

In the end, I concluded that the best place for old wineskins is under the bus.

Any part of them meant to endure will be unharmed by the wheels.

There is just so much new wine that the container (me and my learned theology) just couldn’t hold it all.

The theology that I had learned paid lip service to unlimited love. But in the application the love inevitably got limited right quickly.

It allowed for grace. But in the application the grace was clearly far from universally accessible.

There was talk of forgiveness and reconciliation and relationships that were beautiful beyond comprehension. But in the application the “hate the sin” narrative held sway and the “hate” part spread with a contagion that stunned me.

I once heard it said that no theology is adequate but it is essential.

I have become quite at peace with the “no theology is adequate” part.

Being a New Creation, for me, means being born again into someone always thirsty for new wine.

And it leaves me convinced that the “new” part will never be exhausted.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Some folks believe God winks.

They tend to see them regularly.

Other folks believe in coincidence.

Or convergences.

They tend to see them regularly.

You can call this what you want.

My friend and example John is having some health issues.

Nothing life threatening but certainly life altering.

That’s a headache no fifth grader needs.

His very devoted and capable parents were taking him to a city in another state, St. Louis if that helps, to meet a pediatric orthopedist and gather information. The trip was upcoming…about two weeks out.

That particular Sunday morning I sort of cornered John and did what Grandfather’s do when they can. (He isn’t my biological Grandchild but I have a strong affection for him and for all fifth graders. I lose interest when they hit middle school. I don’t have enough wisdom, courage, or faith for that. But that’s another story.)

I asked John if he liked tacos. He responded in the affirmative. I then slipped him a twenty and told him to get a taco on his trip.

Then I forgot about the twenty and the taco and just prayed for him and his family.

Anyway…

They made the trip. It takes several hours. Around lunchtime on the journey they were feeling hunger pangs and took an exit off the Interstate to look for an eatery. Now I quote from a message his Mom sent -

“It was fate. We had like ONE option to eat at before an important exit in Jackson, TN and lo and behold it was “Tacos 4 Life” 🤣 “

So I saw a God wink that converged in a coincidental way with a feeling that The Welcome Table was set for an Eternal Banquet.

And the menu includes tacos.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I found it amusing. And a little troubling.

But mostly amusing.

Each evening, before I go to bed, I get my walking clothes ready for the next morning. I get up a couple of hours before The Cutie and if I don’t rummage around for my shoes I’m not as likely to disturb her.

So I was looking for my gray sweat pants.

They are comfortable, warm, and I wear them a good bit on my morning walk.

But I couldn’t find them.

I looked in the drawer where they occasionally reside. I checked the laundry hamper although I didn’t recall putting them there. I checked in the bathroom because I change there every morning.

Nothing.

I gave it some serious thought and finally concluded that I was wearing them.

So there you go.

I know you never do anything this bewildering so I thought you should know that someone like me exists.

It is my fervent prayer that I don’t forget to put on my pants thinking they are already on.

Strangely enough this little episode made me think of something I read in the Book a good bit and think about a whole lot:

So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it.

It is a rewarding thing to look down and know that you are wearing the clothes God picked out for you, gave you freely, and rewards you richly for wearing.

Everyone should be so finely attired.

Maybe if I wear my finery more openly more folks will be.

But this isn’t about that.

At least not just about that.

When I got up this morning, and after I put on my gray sweat pants, I made my coffee and got in my recliner for some prayer time.

It was noisy! There was an impressive thunderstorm going on and the sounds were loud and almost constant.

It was distracting as I thought about a couple of folks getting treatments for cancer today in Houston. And another friend hospitalized in Franklin, TN and needing to know how much he is loved, needed, and valued. Then there is the sweet sister having shoulder surgery in Huntsville this morning. My heart was tender for my colleagues in Haiti who face such overwhelming difficulty with such profound faith. I couldn’t avoid concern for countless thousands of people affected by an earthquake in Myanmar. I felt heartbreak for my country in which we are at an impasse for hope and reconciliation. And I wanted to be mindful, and prayerful, for you in all you face, with all you carry, and how bravely you carry on.

The thunder kept interrupting.

Finally all I knew to do was whisper…

“Help.”

It was as eloquent a prayer as ever got prayed.

At just the right volume.

You know what I mean?

Padre

Check your trousers!

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

(It helps to read through the boring parts to get to the point.)

Dire Straits.

They were a particularly good rock band from the late 1970’s to the mid 1990’s.

I am particularly fond of the song 🎶Walk of Life🎶.

But this isn’t about that…or them.

It is about what people do when the circumstances are dire, difficult, even (apparently) defeating.

I have a superficial relationship to a medical clinic in an impoverished part of an impoverished country.

Indeed, so impoverished that many of the patients would never have medical attention without the clinic.

These folks are in dire straits. A few years ago some folks had a vision to bring some relief and, long story short, got active, built, and staffed the clinic.

Thing is, when you are in dire straits they tend to avalanche.

Folks in this community don’t have access to, nor resources to purchase, prescription medications so we purchase and ship these every six weeks or so.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Neither is there access, or funds to purchase, what we call “over the counter” meds. Things that reduce fever, relieve pain, and bring some comfort.

Last week our lead person at the clinic, Kim, told me they were in dire straits for otc meds and she gave me a list of the needed items.

I simply passed this list along to some friends.

Tommy and Cathy, Lee and Christi, David and Jeannie, Donna and Johnny, Teresa and likely several others unknown to me went shopping and filled the bins. Uncle Dowe and the Women’s Ministry of the church that handles all these logistics pitched in several hundred dollars and did some serious shopping. Things are looking much better for Mitsy and Myra to get things shipped soon.

But it doesn’t stop there.

And this is where I am going in this blog.

I have a friend being treated for aggressive cancer at MD Anderson Hospital way out yonder in Houston, Texas. She is out there alone, except for her dog, facing long days of treatment and long nights of nausea, exhaustion, and nagging thoughts.

I can’t tell you her name or she would cut my tongue out.

What good is a preacher without a tongue?

DON’T ANSWER THAT!!

Anyway…

She is in dire straits.

So what does she do but send me a message that she has purchased and is shipping otc meds to be sent to Haiti.

All this to say that out of dire straits arise deep love and a certain view of life and what’s important that just knocks you on your ass.

I’m dusting off the seat of my britches right now.

And when I get up I am going to be changed, more faithful, more hopeful, more joyful, more loving.

Because there are no straits so dire that a little light won’t help a bit.

Or a lot.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I was listening to “Ripple” this morning.

It’s a song sung sweetly by The Grateful Dead.

The melody is soothing with just the right touch of sadness.

Jerry Garcia put the words, composed by Robert Hunter, to music whilst sitting on a railroad track somewhere.

But this isn’t about that.

At least not just about that.

The first verse of the song is…

🎶 If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine

And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung

Would you hear my voice come through the music

Would you hold it near as it were your own?🎶

The answer to the questions posed in the singing is “maybe.”

But that isn’t the point.

There are truths so beautiful…

There is knowledge so deep…

There is meaning so special…

There is love so pure…

That is has to be sung…or said…or written…even if no one listens or hears.

I’m not totally unaware of the fact that there is some frustration to be experienced when no one listens or hears.

Especially when you are young and vibrant and full of that certainty that just in uttering truth the truth will be known.

Then the day comes when you realize that the hearer, or lack of hearing, doesn’t validate what you offer.

What you offer is who you are and that is validation enough.

This may just be the ultimate statement of how the Divine deals with the Mortal.

And how the Mortal comes to feel the Divine….

And finally hear that what is being said is

So beautiful…

So deep…

So special…

So loving…

That it is there whether or not anyone ever hears it.

So…

🎶Let there be songs, to fill the air.🎶

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

So I got an email from my friend this morning.

Part of the message had to do with “business” and the ways we need to prepare.

The bulk of the message though, in impact if not in volume, was about mourning and grief.

There has been some unpleasantness to confront and some sadness to endure.

There have been tears.

And I got to thinking about those tears.

Sometimes they fall like rain.

Rain can, if heavy enough, and enduring enough, and unmanaged enough, erode things.

I suspect, hell’s bells, I know that tears can do the same.

They can erode relationships.

They can erode well being.

They can erode faith.

And that isn’t the flood we are looking for now is it?

But the rain doesn’t have to be destructive.

Without the rain the garden withers.

If we prepare for the rain it fills our cisterns for the dry seasons.

And with the rain our faith in planting the seed is rewarded.

I can’t dry my friend’s tears.

I probably shouldn’t if I could.

What I can do is trust, pray, hope that they water a garden of faith for a harvest we can’t yet see.

And I can shed a tear with her.

My own garden needs watering too.

“Then your mourning will turn into gladness, you will have joy and dancing instead of sorrow.”

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

A few years ago I had a blog I called “Morning Walk.” It went on, almost daily, for years. There were several thousand posts by the time I retired it.

But this isn’t about that.

I just thought of that because this one came to me on my morning walk.

Confused yet?

I can muddy the water even more.

I digress.

So I didn’t sleep all that well last night. Lots on my mind and my mind has limited carrying capacity to begin with.

Some of my friends are very focused, and vocal, about their fears of fascism and such.

Other friends are threatened by the “deep state” and are exploring the virtues of ivermectin for human consumption.

It all clutters my radar overmuch sometimes.

So anyway….

As I walked in the predawn hours guess what came on my playlist?

Margaritaville!

I don’t know that there has ever been a more singable song with a more relaxed rhythm and a more mindless message.

Just what I needed.

I listen to music on Pandora. But I don’t subscribe. I am willing, usually, to listen to an occasional commercial.

But this morning, just as I was looking for that lost shaker of salt, an enticing, authoritative, voice came to announce the availability of an Artificial Intelligence tool to reduce distraction.

I NEEDED DISTRACTION THE WAY I NEEDED TO BREATHE!

Later today I will analyze, dissect, and debate theology, politics, and domestic decisions (not necessarily in that order.)

I will evaluate my physical health and my financial wellbeing.

I will even make a decision about what to have for lunch.

Not now.

The pressures and pulling and pushing from many directions about many things will be stressful and, quite likely, distressing.

But if I let that stuff overwhelm me, well, “some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know it’s my own damn fault.”

It might just be that I will be wise enough to enjoy “that frozen concoction that helps me hang on.”

I miss Jimmy Buffet.

You know what I mean?

Padre