Food For Thought

The Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican
Luke 18:9-14 (New International Version)

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

The Parable of the Phari-sing and the Probably-can
(Loosely based on) Luke 18:9-14 and I Corinthians 13:1

To some who were confident of their own artistic pedigree and overall superiority in things artsy-fartsy, and who looked down on everybody else, a parable was told: “Two men went up to the temple to worship, one an arrogant musician and the other a humble worshiper. The Phari-sing stood up and prayed about himself:

‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—you know, the little people, the “no-counts,” the ones I must endure sitting next to in choir—those of untrained ear, those whose vowels bespeak a dialect formed in southern Kentucky or, perhaps Arkansas, men and women who mistake a Coda for a common illness and a crescendo for a large butter roll—those of squeaky voice, shallow air supply and ill-placed diphthongs—or even like this lowly choir wannabe next-to-me, who sings straight through the repeat signs and believes fine is an editorial comment on his performance thus far.

‘Unlike him, I attend every rehearsal (including the THIRDthursday fellowship meal), have my own music ready and make sure I have scanned any new music or worship materials for repeats, alternate endings, editor’s comments or anything else which might give me a “leg up” when the actual rehearsal begins. I remain properly hydrated throughout the entire rehearsal or worship service, keep my sharpened number two pencil at the ready and vigorously mark my score as directed by the conductor, making sure to press lightly in the unlikely, but occasional, event of his changing his mind (go figure).

‘I stay seated in an “upright and locked position” throughout the duration of the rehearsal (even, and most importantly, during the ritualistic prayer time so as to leave no doubt as to just how upright and Godly I am); I never forget my music and encourage others to do the same by refusing to share my score or, God forbid, my plethora of musical knowledge. I spend approximately one tenth (a time tithe) of my waking hours listening to my choir specials CD, until I am absolutely confident of my part for each upcoming anthem, or until the CD disintegrates in my player, whichever comes first. In conclusion, you must be pretty happy to have me on Your team.’

“But the lowly Probably-can stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘It’s me again, God, HELP!’ I admit it, Lord, I love to sing and I love to worship, but after all these years, I still don’t know the difference between a descant and a dischord, D. S. al fine or day-old linguine, but given enough patience and a supportive, safe environment, I’d like to hang in there and try to make a difference in some small way.

“I tell you that the prayer of the Probably-can was like music to God’s ears, while the ramblings of the Phari-sing were like fingernails on a chalkboard—audible but not very edifying. The moral of the story: Though I [sing] with the tongue of men and of angels, but have not love, I am like a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.”

Food for thought...

-tad

Perspectives on Mom from a Rear-View Mirror

Her children stand and bless her. - Proverbs 31:28

Her name betrayed the period of time and culture she came from…Edna Mae. As names go, I never really cared for it while she was alive, but since her passing, it has taken on a sweetness like few others. Born in 1925, she crammed a lot of life into her 53 years. Married at 18, a mother at 19, a grandmother at 46, her life seems to have been characterized by how much she did simply because she had to do it.

Though she loved her southern roots, she left her family and friends and followed my dad to the bustling metropolis of Yale, South Dakota. Its tallest structure was the water tower. One of my earliest memories of my mom’s life was the piles of laundry that stalked her day after day. Since she lived in the day prior to wrinkle-free anything, every shirt, pair of pants, heck—every handkerchief(!) that my dad needed in his profession had to be washed in a washtub, rung out and hung out to dry, then starched and pressed for every day of the week. Add to that the clothing needs of six kids and her own clothes, and you have just written a full-time job description right there.

And where did this stay-at-home mom work? In various matchbox-sized parsonages, some with indoor plumbing, some without. Air circulation was created by the cross breeze of open windows, or perhaps a ceiling fan; air-conditioning was inconceivable, as were dishwashers, garbage disposals, washers and driers, much less first floor laundries, master bathrooms, carpeting, frost-free refrigerators, Walmarts, online banking, or a myriad of other conveniences the modern-day mother has available to her.

She didn’t have a lot of formal education, but was full of wisdom. She was a tomboy as a child, but as a young woman she became the safe and tender incubator for five boys and one girl, all before her 28^th birthday. In her seventh month of pregnancy with me, she required an emergency appendectomy. From that moment on, I gave up expecting to be her favorite. But she did know me. In a clan of six, I was still on her radar.

She started every one of her children on a musical instrument. I was the only one she never allowed to quit. She taught me my first song, “Whispering Hope”, when I was five. She observed that though, like my siblings, I hated to practice, I seemed to gravitate to the piano to express my soul. She could hardly keep me off it, and eventually I even came to love practicing.

She was not a perfect woman, but I never heard profanity fall from her lips even once. (In retrospect, I wonder where all of those frustrating thoughts got processed.) Regardless, any slips of the tongue on my part were rewarded with a mouth washing—with soap. That practice did little to cleanse the heart, but it did raise a value and leave an impression.

One thing I have come to believe is that mothers are handpicked for us. In many ways, my mom could have been more nurturing, more emotionally connected. But she sought to round me out, helped me to become more socially involved, pressed me into activities, sports, etc. which not only helped me to break free from the typical artist stereotype, but also brought me a lot of fun and a sense of accomplishment.

I remember her helping me transition from Christian elementary school to public junior high. When I came home from a football game with neighborhood kids at age 12, I was stressing over all the profanity I had heard. I went straight to my room and burst into tears. “I’m not going to school with those sinners,” I said. She would have none of it, and basically told me to wake up and smell the decaf. This is the real world, son, and you better get used to it. No one ever died from hearing curse words, so learn to deal with it. While she would never win any touchy-feely awards, it was, “like a word fitly spoken, an apple of gold.” (Proverbs 25:11) And you know what? She was right. I’m still alive.

As a child, I never went without a meal, attended church with unpolished shoes (or missed church for that matter, unless sick at home with a fever), felt unsafe or uncared for. She taught me much about Jesus, encouraged me to sing in the church choir, showed me pictures in a doctor’s book of where babies come from, after I embarrassed her and her pregnant sister by asking, “Why are you just fat in the stomach?”

After the discovery of colon cancer at age 52 and months of failed chemo treatments, she began preparing to die. In anticipation of her death, she wrote her own funeral service, beginning with “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” and ending with “How Great Thou Art.” Thirty one years later, I still miss her, admire her, and look forward to our reunion.

This Sunday’s anthem is especially meaningful to me in anticipation of that day.

For anybody who has ever lost a loved one,

and you feel like you had to let go too soon;

I know it hurts to say good-bye,

but don’t you know it’s just a matter of time

‘til the tears are gonna end; you’ll see them once again.

And in that moment, every knee shall bow,

every tongue confess that He is Lord

and love has come for us all.

In conclusion, I hope each of us can treasure the gift of our own mother this Sunday. Good or bad, treasure or trial, they are the vessel our Creator God used to start us on the journey of a life with Him. When He chose to reveal Himself to us, He selected the safety and security of a mother’s womb for His very own Son. Accepting His handpicked choice for our mother is the very first step toward learning to trust His judgment. When it comes to mothers, Father knows best.

tad

To Please the Father

If you’re a parent, you’ve probably found yourself saying it. If you
ever had a parent, you probably heard it, and maybe more than
once. Do what you’re told. Maybe you can even recall the phrase,
because your father said so. As those contaminated with a
sinful nature, we generally are tempted to react negatively to such
edicts. As those created with a free will, it is almost instinctive to
resist letting someone else be “the boss of us.” But have you ever
thought about how such words, when spoken of/by a benevolent
authority figure, can actually bring comfort, security, even
expectancy?

The writer to the Hebrews wrote in chapter 12 that Jesus, for the joy
set before him, “endured the cross, despising its shame, and [then]
sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” What kept him
focused through all of that torment? How was he able to persevere
in the midst of such grave temptation? We often conclude it was
mainly because of His great love for us. But I would contend that
the gospels also strongly suggest another motivation: He lived to
please His Father.

Consider just the events that transpired from Palm Sunday to his
resurrection. As he made his way through the crowds, even as
he listened to their shouts of ‘Hosanna’, he was aware that these
came from people with all kind of agendas for him. Maybe you can
relate to that part of the journey—the temptation to meet every-
body else’s expectations along the way to following Jesus.
But because He lived to please His Father, it was His Father’s
agenda that held Jesus’ attention. When pressed by unbelieving
Jews as to his true identity, He answered: “I am not of this world...
He who sent me is reliable, and what I have heard from Him I tell
the world. When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will
know that I am the one I claim to be, and that I do nothing on my
own but speak just what the Father has taught me...I always do
what pleases Him.” (John 8: 23-29)

Hundreds of years before that final week, the prophet Isaiah
had already hinted at what was to come. “It was the Lord’s
[Father’s] will to crush him and cause him to suffer, and
though the Lord makes his (Jesus’) life a guilt offering, he
will see his offspring and prolong his days, and the will of the
Lord [Father] will prosper in his hand” (Isaiah 53:10). So, what
might that final memo have looked like?

To: Jesus
From: Your Heavenly Father

Re: Things to accomplish during this week

1) Ride into town on a lowly donkey.
2) Curse a fig tree for not bearing fruit and do it within
earshot of your friends so they get the point.
3) Clear the temple of the money-changers and call the
church – approved merchants a bunch of “robbers.”
4) Continue publicly debating the chief priests, the
teachers of the law, and the church elders, while fully
aware that they are weighing every word, in order to
find some reason to arrest you.
5) Endure the same political posturing with the Phari-
sees, the Herodians, and the Sadducees.
6) Receive a PDA (public display of affection) from a
woman with a “past,” only to have its merits
questioned by none other than Judas Iscariot. His PDA
will follow.
7) Break bread with your best buds and remind them
that the next time you drink wine with them,
EVERYTHING will have changed. Oh, and even
after three years of intense ministry with them, sadly
behold their clueless expressions.
8) Visit the garden of Gethsemane, pray in agony as your
very best buds fall asleep.
9) Get arrested, falsely accused, humiliated, stripped,
beaten, convicted and nailed naked to a tree. (And the
world will call it “Good” Friday.)

But one more thing, Jesus.

10) Because You “humbled yourself and became obedient
to death – even death on a cross”, by week’s end you
will be exalted to the highest place and given “the
name that is above every name, so that at your name,
Jesus, every knee will bow, in heaven and on earth, and
every tongue will confess that you, Jesus, are Lord of
all, to the glory of God the Father.”

So fellow artists and disciples of Jesus, I ask you: With all the
different voices clamoring for your attention, what keeps you
motivated? Whose agenda keeps you focused and fulfilled?
Might each of us find more and more delight in just doing what
pleases our Father simply because He said so. As followers of
Christ, it is the only path to victory and true joy. After all, He
was just doing what He was told.

-tad

Marginalized

Last Sunday our worship community discussed how to create a
safe place for people seeking to pursue ministry in the arts. (In
future articles, we will be looking at some of those character-
istics that make people feel welcome, cared for, and valued.)
In reflecting on that discussion, I realized how important this
quality is, given the culture in which many of us find ourselves.
We can be surrounded by people all day and still feel alone. Or
we might think that because we are in a certain life situation,
have a certain color of skin, or have arrived at a certain age
that we are not fully accepted, but have been moved to the
margins.

Marginalized: We’re all familiar with the concept in today’s
vernacular. It refers to those people or persuasions which are
out of the mainstream, less influential, or even completely
devalued. The dictionary lists, among it’s meanings, “the edge
of something, especially the outer edge or the area close to it;
the part farthest from the center- that part of anything, e.g., a
society or organization, that is least integrated with the center,
least often considered, least typical or most vulnerable.”
In Mark 7:24-37, we are presented with a dynamic encounter
between Jesus and one such person who dared to challenge the
notion that God’s grace be reserved for a select few. The writer
describes it this way: “The woman was a Greek, born in Syr-
ian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her
daughter. “First let the children eat all they want,” he told her,
“for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to
their dogs.” “Yes, Lord,” she replied, “but even the dogs under
the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Talk about chutzpah!
that in this dog-eat-dog world of ours, there will always be
those who are undesirables, inconveniences, even just plain
losers? In this Darwinian approach to the masses, what’s the
big deal when someone less educated, less attractive, perhaps
less spiritual than the mainstream goes under for the third
time?

Well, there is One who thinks that it is a big deal, and as our
Good Shepherd he relentlessly pursues those very kinds of
people. Those people like you and me. I think of the line from
the familiar hymn, “Come Thou Fount” – Jesus sought me
when a stranger, wand’ring from the fold of God. Talk about
your margins! While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. I
wasn’t just a little off-center...I was nearly over the cliff! As
were you. As was everyman.

May it never be an acceptable notion to any of us that we are
outside the margins of God’s love and redemption plan...ever!
And may it be equally intolerable that we would view even one
person we encounter as less than us or unworthy of the touch
of God. As God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, let’s use
margins for writing papers, not classifying people.

-tad

Honor Meaningful Traditions

I can still hear it ringing in my ears—the lyrics of a song from one of my favorite musicals, Fiddler on the Roof. Tradition, tradition! Tradition!, sung by (who else?) the Papa—Tevye. It was a comic and, at the same time, touching cry for keeping life the same, honoring the past and not messing with it, so to speak. What became plain from the song and served as the storyline’s principle conflict, was that what was meaningful to Tevye was not necessarily a universally held view.

For Papa, his role was clear: scramble for a living, say his daily prayers. And, as master of the house, his word was final. After all, it was tradition.

What about Mama? Her assignment? Know how to make a proper home (a quiet, kosher home), raise the family and run the home. Why? So Papa could be free to read the holy books. After all, it’s tradition.

As for the sons, pretty simple stuff: start school early, learn a trade, hope those who pick your bride for you find someone who is easy on the eyes. And for the daughters, the formula couldn’t be simpler: learn to mend and tend and fix while you wait for the bloke that Papa picks.

It all made for a humorous tug of war between two generations, but in the end the tension wasn’t so much about having traditions, but what makes them meaningful?

So it is with the family of faith when we seek to pass on what experiences should be universally treasured, as opposed to what is valued by certain individuals. In some churches, traditions are maintained that were, at one time, valued by the vast majority, but now are recycled simply because “we’ve always done it that way.” Contrast that with the fellowships which never do the same thing the same way twice, simply because of the fear that “if it’s not new, it’s irrelevant.”

Coming from a very traditional, ritualistic even, church background, I understand this concern. There is a commonly held axiom in communication that to the extent that something is familiar, it loses its impact. Said another way, the more we know what’s coming, the less intently or expectantly we receive or anticipate it. I still recall singing portions of the liturgy (the repetitious and routine parts of the worship service) as a child while, at the same time, looking around the room, waving to late-comers, or wondering why I had worn one brown shoe and one black. Imagine the impact of the words, Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, on my heart, while I am simultaneously winking at the cute girl across the aisle. Talk about your multi-tasker!

But let’s not throw the proverbial baby out with the bath water. While Jesus warns us against vain repetition (Matthew 6:7), he does not advocate never repeating anything. Indeed, that is what traditions are: determining those events, occurrences, and corporate experiences which are repeated, whether it is weekly, monthly, annually or otherwise. This is suggested in the Old Testament in the book of Numbers: “Also at your times of rejoicing—your appointed feasts and New Moon festivals—you are to sound the trumpets over your burnt offerings and fellowship offerings, and they will be a memorial for you before your God.” Numbers 10:10 This wasn’t just a Hebrew thing, it was a people of God thing, suggesting that part of trusting God for our future was remembering our past. And part of retaining the identity as a unique work of God’s hand was to replay, occasionally, our unique story.

In watching other faith communities on TV (actually I t-vo them since I am usually indisposed on Sunday mornings), I notice various traditions, not all of which are meaningful to me personally, but which have found value in their local settings. One famous TV church encourages its members to turn and greet each other with the phrase “God loves you, and so do I.” The cynical side of me quickly goes to the bumper sticker I once saw that admitted, perhaps more honestly, “God loves you, and I’m trying.” Another televised megachurch begins its program with everyone holding up their bibles and making a pledge to its authority.

Some churches enshrine everything from passion plays, Christmas musicals, last supper reenactments, foot-washing ceremonies, July 4^th blow-outs, to Boar’s Head festivals (OK, you may have to google it), Easter vigils, or church picnics. Regardless, the point is that honoring meaningful traditions helps keep us, as the transforming people of God, anchored in our spiritual and cultural roots.

If we find, in this contemporary American culture which seems addicted to the new, that nothing we do seems worthy of repeating, then maybe it wasn’t worth doing in the first place. And the day we allow the priority of our fellowship to become the mere perpetuation of empty traditions, we may as well join the cast of Fiddler on the Roof as Tevye’s backup singers.

Dream a dream with me that, in Hope’s future, there will always be those times of the year and commemorations which are part of our DNA as a unique people of God. My question to you, especially those with some history with Hope: could you name a few? If not, let’s begin to create them…together.

-tad

Blend the Generations

True confessions? I’m a big believer in inter-generational

worship. But I’m also a big believer in intergenerational life. I am highly suspicious of the trend in American culture to isolate us into age-appropriate groupings, niches, interest groups and musical styles, and I fear this trait has strongly seeped its way into the church. Truth is, I have served in churches where the worship service was ADULTS ONLY while the kids and youth were farmed off to some other place on campus to experience age-appropriate worship.

My conclusion was that in such an approach, each generation was the loser. Gone was the creative energy and boundary-pushing excitement of the youth, as well as the simple, trusting, and sometimes noisier responses to God of little children. Oh, the services were more orderly, more predictable. z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z. You get the point. Worse, the kids and youth were off somewhere learning to have a fun time with God, but only if it was done in their style and their way. They rarely got to see Mom or Dad lost in the presence of God, with eyes closed or hands upraised. I wondered if Paul might not have been speaking to this kind of trend when he warned in Romans 12, "do not let the world squeeze you into its own mold."

If the value of bringing generations together is to be embraced not only as a nice option but also an actual mandate from God, we must first start with the Owner’s manual—the Word of God. Before it mentions a word about how to pass on the theology and practice of worship, it clearly speaks to

sharing life itself between generations. God, through the prophet Moses, commands His people to "fix these words of Mine in your hearts and minds. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." (Deut. 11:18, 19) To paraphrase James Dobson, our life values are more caught than taught, but, in fact, we need to do both. And, surprisingly, this process is not just the older to the younger. At times it works vice versa (are you listeing, parents and grandparents?).

The apostle Paul wrote to his young protégé, "[Timothy,] command and teach these things. Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity." (1Timothy 4: 11, 12) In other words, Tim—let them, older and younger alike, catch what you have. And don’t stop teaching the truth simply because you lack life experience. What’s the point? We need each other!

When it comes to the specific area of worship and music ministry, again the scriptures give good examples of the heart of God. Let the generations learn along side each other. Consider the reference I used just a few weeks ago in regard to developing skills for leadership. 1 Chronicles 25:6 describes a musical family which was assigned responsibilities for worship leadership, with this interesting emphasis:

"They were all under the direction of their father in the

music in the house of the Lord with cymbals, harps,

and lyres for the service of the house of God.

The number of them along with their brothers, who were trained in singing to the Lord, all were skillful, was 288.

And they cast lots of their duties, small and great,

teacher and pupil alike."

I can think of many of you in our ministry who learned your craft or love of the arts from your parents, some of which still play or sing with you today. Similarly, some of you have had the rare pleasure of watching your own kids and grandkids grow to use their gifts in ministry, perhaps primarily as a result of your example, coaching, or encouragement.

On a personal note, it has not only been a joy for Debby and me to see all three of our children involved in worship ministry on some level, but as they grew in skill and creativity, we have also sought to learn from them. We have discovered what God’s word suggests.

Those with open hearts to God and transferable life experience have much to give to the younger generation. And we as an older generation must come to appreciate the energy, creativity (think about technology alone), and new thing that God is bringing to the church through the young.

Isaiah 42:10 reminds us to Sing unto the Lord a new song, and 43:18,19 says: "Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!" What is implicit in these verses is the need for discernment. Learn how to major in the majors. But know that God is both faithful, consistent and constant, and at the same time dynamic, creative, and even, sometimes, unpredictable.

The Word says that each of us—young and old alike—has been made in the image of God. It also says that all who have called upon the name of the Lord are, in fact, the light of the world. Want a big dream? Then imagine Hope church being known as a place where young and old alike worship together, demonstrate a growing love for each other and an increasing respect for one another’s life view. It definitely is not the way of the world. But it is, I truly believe, the way of the Word. -tad

*THE SNOWMAGEDDON EDITION*

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

I figure if you live up north and have to endure the cold weather anyway, why not at least enjoy some of the thrill of a whitened landscape on occasion? Everything looks more beautiful by contrast- even the dead trees stretching toward the heavens. There are several references to snow in both the Old and New Testament, and most of them are used to describe purity, sinlessness, and brilliance. King David is confident in Psalm 51, that if God washes him through His mercy and forgiveness, he (David)

will be "white as snow." In Isaiah 1:18, God (speaking through the prophet) encourages us to reason with Him: "Though your sings be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow." In Matthew 28:3, the garments of the resurrected Christ are described as "white as snow." True confessions? As one with a blackened heart and far too familiar with sin than I care to admit, a visual reminder of the transforming power of Christ to cleanse me is very encouraging indeed. Also, I am reminded that God’s destiny for me is not to remain so familiar with sin but to be made more like Him! Paul says it like this: "We, who…reflect the Lord’s glory, are being

transformed into this likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord" (2 Cor. 3:18) So I say, "let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" -tad