An Autumn Drive

It's parent weekend for our university, and it couldn't be a prettier time for families to visit.
I noticed, on the way home from helping to host a luncheon for the visiting parents and their children, that the world was looking particularly beautiful, with the light pouring through the red and yellow leaves.
So, in honor of parent weekend, I dropped by my own parents' house and took them out for a drive around our valley to do some "leaf-peeping."
The pond at Pioneer Park was particularly lovely. The couple across the pond seemed to have eyes only for each other in the midst of all that golden glory.
It seemed like everywhere you looked, there was another tree giving off its last burst of flame before dropping its leaves for winter.
Around the Pioneer Park gazebo, though, not much was happening. Fall seems to move with a progressive creep around here, and some of the big old trees haven't yet gotten the message.
Saint Patrick's was glowing in the last light of the Sabbath hours. And thus ended another week.

Hymnal Grief

I attended a church in southern California last weekend. As I sat there, well-distracted by my grandkids, other thoughts flitted through my head. I remembered sitting in this church twenty years ago when the pews and carpet were a livid green and there was no such thing as an ever-flowing waterfall up front. I remembered how packed the pews were--it was in the days when "celebration worship" was new and people poured in the doors to get a taste of this fresh format. I remembered sitting jammed up next to a European guy I really liked and marinating in the effluvia (don't you love that word?) of his strong, tangy body odor, and pondering whether or not I liked that. I sort of did.

And then, as I sat there idly preparing to fold a paper bird to entertain the Grands, the shock of a new realization hit me. There were no hymnal racks and no hymnals! None! The backs of the pews held only some modest holders for guest registrations, tithe envelopes, and pencils. But nary a hymnal in sight. The huge projection screens up front had made them obsolete.

Stepdaughter #1 suggested that the hymnal racks might be under the seats. I peered around and found that there was indeed the occasional rack hiding underneath us. But they still held no hymnals.

And so I folded my paper bird with no hard surface to work on. And as I pulled on its tail to flap its wings for our squirrely little girl and boy, I thought about my sense of sadness at losing words and notes on paper, of not having those precious verses to page through during a service, and of lyrics that symbolically appear and then just as quickly disappear as our corporate worship today hungrily seeks novelty over familiarity.

The Wisdom of Solomon

When we went to pick up our numbers for the marathon this past weekend, I noticed this court house in downtown Portland. I was thinking that there would be some comfort to the idea that judgment was being meted out with the wisdom of Solomon, whether you were prosecuting or defending. Rarely are situations as clear-cut as we would like them to be when a judgment is called for. None of us is truly up to it, no matter how wise or fair or gracious we would fondly imagine ourselves to be.

And thus I think it behooves us to be very cautious about our own judgments of others who must, because of their positions or responsibilities, make judgments.

The True Work of Grace in Us

Flowers in Skagway, AlaskaFrom Preaching by Fred. B Craddock (p. 25):

"Grace is not an embarrassed tolerance that smiles at evil or stares at the ground before injustice. Grace is the presence of a God who sends rain upon the good and evil and who is kind even to the ungrateful and selfish. The true work of grace in us is to make us gracious also."

That means graciousness from you and me toward everyone, even those who are rude, mean, dishonest, critical, annoying, lazy, disorganized, cranky or unlovely in any way. Theoretically, it works. Try interacting with one of those people, face-to-face, and being gracious. And then you just have to shake your head in wonder at how on earth God does it.

My favorite song to listen to these days is one I found recently by Michelle Tumes, called "Outrageous Grace." Every time I listen to it, it puts a lump in my throat and lifts my soul. The lyrics go thus:

There’s a lot of pain but a lot more healing.
There’s a lot of trouble but a lot more peace.
There’s a lot of hate but a lot more loving.
There’s a lot of sin but a lot more grace.

Chorus:
Oh, outrageous grace! Oh, outrageous grace;
Love unfurled by heaven’s hand.
Oh, outrageous grace! Oh outrageous grace;
Through my Jesus I can stand.

There’s a lot of fear but a lot more freedom.
There’s a lot of darkness but a lot more light.
There’s a lot of cloud but a lot more vision.
There’s a lot of perishing but a lot more life.

Bridge:
There’s an enemy
That seeks to kill what it can’t control.
It twists and turns
Making mountains out of molehills.
But I will call on my Lord
Who is worthy of praise;
I run to Him and I am saved.