Thursday, October 29, 2009

Obstacles: Keeping the Main Thing the Main Thing (Part I)

There's nothing like a good Bible Study to stir the pen. Okay, the keyboard.

I'll keep this short, but first a little housekeeping:
  1. This writing is not about bashing your religion.
  2. This writing is not about bashing your denomination.
  3. This writing is not about bashing you.
  4. If you take offense, well, I'll finish this item 4 later . . .
I'm sure you know the story of the woman who always cut a head of cabbage in half, cooked one half and discarded the other, because that's they way her mother did it, and that's the way her mother's mother did it. It turns out that her grandmother did it that way because her pot could only hold half a head of cabbage.

Alright, it might have not been a head of cabbage, but surely you see the message here: Oftentimes we do things out of tradition. At least that's the word that is frequently tossed about as the salve to heal all frustrations spawned by the never-ending question: Why? Why? Why this way and not that? Why?

Earlier this year while conducting a choir rehearsal this exchange took place:

Andrea: You know folks, I only see you a couple of times a year and we have a limited time to prepare for worship, so would you hold down the excess talk so we can get through this?

Male choir member: Well, you know, we have our traditions.

Andrea: Yes, and your traditions might take you straight to hell.

As a child I wondered why we do some of the things we do, especially among our church congregations and in our houses of worship. Why must we wear white on first Sunday? Why must someone plop that little doily thing on my head while I'm playing the communion service? What do you mean I have to cover my head? What do you think that stuff that grows out of my scalp is for? (Not intentionally, but since I tend to move around a bit when playing the piano, that little doily thing often landed on the floor.)

And just a few years ago, my best friend said to me: I'd love to come to your Christmas concert but I just have on a plain dress. My reply: Well, I'm sure you'll fit in just fine. Why was this little exchange so weird to me? As usual, I'm glad you asked. Until recently I suffered tremendously with insomnia, sometimes going for three or four days without real sleep. I decided to try a change of venue and checked into a downtown hotel for a couple of nights. (Checking into hometown hotels was nothing new for me. I did the same thing while in seminary when I had writer's block.) After checking out of the Crowne Plaza, I drove straight down Main Street, and as I approached my Place of worship, and it being Sunday and all, I had a tremendous yearning to attend the 8:30 worship service as I normally do. I parked my Jeep in the usual spot, and approached the side entrance, tentatively, just as our Minister of Music arrived. He greeted me with his normal gigantic smile, eyes twinkling, teeth flashing, and greeted me: hey girl! Come on in here! What was so unusual about that? Girl was sporting a warmup suit and athletic shoes.

The really cool thing is that no one who spoke to me that day gave any indication that I grossed them out because of my attire. They looked at me -- not my togs.

Now, before I dwell on clothing and the reader thinks it's just about fashion, let's move on. Since I promised to keep this short, I'll have to deem this writing Part I, and will end with this:

Traditions aren't all they're cracked up to be, according to Paul in the second chapter of Galatians.

News flash: Not only is it not about tradition, it's not about the rituals. And it's not even about the religion. But it's all about the relationship.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Welcome to South Main Baptist Church

Title: Welcome to South Main Baptist Church
Link: http://www.smbc.org/

A couple of months ago I was reminded of why I chose to become a member of a particular congregation. We sometimes refer to ourselves as the family of God in this place. This place is our campus -- where we meet for worship, to learn, to fellowship, and to celebrate weddings and new babies and souls gone on with beautiful memorial services that celebrate life. We dedicate babies and commit to supporting their nurture, growth and development. We baptize new believers. We pray with an for each other and others. We encourage and commission missionaries who go near and far to spread the Gospel of Jesus. We have fun and food -- fun for the entire family and food that is consistently good.


About 11 years ago I started going to worship at the 8:30 service at that place when I still held leadership positions in music ministry. That was my hour of worship, unencumbered by worry or wondering -- whether "she" would properly execute her solo, or if "he" would be on time, or whether the drummer would be too loud -- too fast -- too slow -- or too much. Some percussionists don't understand that they are most often accompanists for the accompanists (primary instruments [piano and organ]), who are accompanying the real messengers -- the singers. In that hour I was free to commune with God and His family in that place.


It turned out that the family of God in that place are really nice folks. They not only speak to strangers, but do so with a smile, a firm handshake, a pat on the arm or shoulder or back, a real greeting, a there's a seat up there -- it's a little closer -- do you want to come up? kind of invitation. The kinds of smiles, handshakes and invitations that say we're really glad you're here. While I am pitiful about remembering names, there were faces that had become familiar to me, and to whom mine had become familiar as well. Okay, you're probably asking how do you know your face became familiar to them? Well, it's like this: miss a couple of Sundays and then go back. The welcome to South Main greetings are tossed in favor of it's so good to see you again.


When I left music ministry in 2003 I visited a few churches closer to my home, but on that first Sunday in April 2003 I went back to that place where I had been welcomed so frequently. I have been there since. I cannot say unequivocally that there is no other place like it because I have not been to all of God's places. What I can say is there is none other that I know. Yes, ourplace is a nice campus that's well cared for. But what makes our place special is not the campus layout or the buildings, but the family.


So what happened? I'll spare you the gory details. After having written this, the unpleasant incident is no longer remembered. And I continue to visit my place, commune with my family, have a little dinner, then prayer, Bible study and choir rehearsal. That incident is nothing more than an inconsequential blink on the spectrum of eternity.


So, why revise and repost this blog today? Well, I'm glad you asked. I was out of town this past Sunday, and I just visited our website and looked at the Sunday worship guide. I missed being at our place and thought of it as I arrived at the airport about the time I should be taking my seat in the choir loft. What I now know is that I missed some really special stuff: our former pastor returned to the pulpit to share a message, the hymns that were sung are among my most favorite, and a truly brilliant pianist played an arrangement of Amazing Grace. He and his beautiful family will be greatly missed, but I'm sure they know there will always be room for them in our place.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Like a Bad Penny: Sarcoidosis Update Part II

Sarcoidosis manifests itself in many different ways. For me, although it was found in my lungs and my left eye, my problems are most often bone, joint and muscle related. For a pianist, even a middle-of-the-road, fair-to-midlin', just-a-hair-to-the-right-of mediocre one like me, it is a really big deal. Let me veer off the road for a moment:

Before being diagnosed in 1996, one Sunday afternoon, in fit of rebellion, I decided to go for a walk in the park. No big deal, right? Not for me. I spent hours walking every week. At least I had until the first week of April '96. Oh -- that "no big deal" question -- yes, a big deal. When one is dragging the right side of one's body and is in indescribable pain, a walk in the park is a bit problematic at the least. The park was only four houses away at the dead end of Lawnhaven -- about 300 feet. I made it to the edge of the park and could go no further; so I sat down on the curb and waited for "M" to figure I've been gone long enough and he should come and look for me. In my anger at not being in control, my confusion in not knowing why, and the very pain itself, I cried. No, I bawled. And, finally regaining control of my blubbering and tears, I prayed: Lord, I don't know what's happening to me, but if you just let me play [piano], I'll be okay.

It's like this: I figured I could get along without my left foot, and an eye, and if necessary, perhaps being too weak to walk. But I needed my hands, and I needed to have use of my right foot, even if it was almost as big as a football. Because I needed to play the piano. For the 18 months or so that I could do practically nothing, I could play piano. I may have had to go to a hospital on Sunday afternoon, but on Sunday morning I sat at "my" grand piano at the church where I served, and played the entire worship service. I may have conducted choir rehearsal with everyone singing a capella but on Sunday morning I played. Sometimes my back and arms were ripped to shreds by surgeons' scalpels -- or so I envisioned, but even then I could play.

So why am I remembering such an awful, but wonderful thing today? I really love these easy questions. I don't have to haw and stammer like a politician; I can simply answer. Let me get back on the road and tell you my answer, which has two parts:

First, I have to play this evening. A few weeks ago before my condition worsened, I was asked to play this evening at 6:30. I've had a pity party today about not feeling well. A friend called me this morning and asked how I was, and I said I'm down to about 30%. In retrospect, that's 29% more than many folks with whom we share this so-called orphan disease. How dare I indulge in a woe-is-me session on a fine Friday afternoon with 45 percent humidity and a 77-degree temperature in HOUSTON TEXAS????!!! That means I can go outside!!! Hellooooooo patio! I'm reminded of that song that ends:

Wait a minute, it stopped raining
Guys are swimming, guys are sailing
Playing baseball, gee that's better
Mother, father, kindly disregard this letter

Alright, I'm going out to the patio right now.

Second, this is an opportunity for me to remind readers -- again -- yes, again -- about the upcoming Sarcoidosis walk-a-thon. And yes, I'm going to post the link again.

Alright, I said this was a two-part answer, but let me leave you with this "part third:"

Like many chronic conditions, Sarcoidosis not only robs one of vitality of the body, but can zap the psyche as well. Sometimes until one utters (or writes) those sentiments of dread, one is totally oblivious of being unable to see the forest for the trees. Such is the case here, in which my temporary amnesia blotted from my mind the fact that the God to whom I prayed 13-1/2 years ago is the same God who had sustained me from my premature birth when few thought I would survive, and all the 42 years prior to that mid-1996 diagnosis, who has been with me through every illness, car accident (especially the one where I knew I was going to die [yeah, okay, what do I know?]), the birth of my Sweet Pea, and everything else, is the same God, the One and Only, the Great I Am, who will be with me this evening when I sit at a piano on a campus in a house of worship, consecrated for use by His people to His glory, to praise Him, and to grow His Kingdom. As my pastor Steve would say: Well? What about you? And for this blog, he might ask: On whom will you relyto get you through your next challenge? This day? The rest of your life?



Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Like a Bad Penny: Sarcoidosis Update

I am out of remission. That in itself is nothing new. Since being declared "symptom free" of Sarcoidosis in January 1998, I have regularly phased in and out of remission every year. Talk about showing up like a bad penny, it never really goes away. This time, however, is different. The pain is just a hair on the wrong side of unbearable, and my legs have become undependable. I'm trying to decide if I need to buy a walking stick (I went so long without using mine that I gave away both).

This past Sunday I stopped at the H.E.B. on Westheimer @ Fountainview. Prudence prevailed over my being self-conscience, so I used a mart cart, which I drove through the checkout and onto the parking lot next to my Jeep. A woman who appeared to be of sufficient age to be my mother (for the record, I am 55) offered to help me with my one bag in the parking lot of H.E.B. on Westheimer @ Fountain View!!! While it was really sweet of her to offer, that made me wonder am I really moving that poorly? Still, I am more fortunate than many who live with this so-called "orphan" disease.

So, why am I bringing this up again? I could get argumentative and ask would you say that if the subject was some other, more popular disease? Instead, I'll just reply thusly: Simple. There are some events coming up to highlight Sarcoidosis and raise funds to support related research, and I want to share them with you. So here they are ---

Janine Sarcoidosis Outreach Foundation will be a guest on KPFT 90.1 FM Radio's October 18, 2009, Panafrican Journal program at 8:05 p.m. KPFT is a media sponsor of the Janine Sarcoidosis Outreach Foundation.

On Wednesday, October 21, 2009, the honorary guest for the Janine Sarcoidosis Outreach Foundation's 5th Annual Walk for a Cure, Dr. Marc A Judson of the University South Carolina Medical Center's Sarcoidosis Clinic, will be a guest on KPFT 90.1's Connect the Dots Program, from 3:30 to 3:45 pm. (Note to the fabulous Texas Medical Center: how about a Sarcoidosis clinic for Houston?)

On October 14, 2009, the Houston Texas Sarcoidosis Support Group will be audience members for the live taping of of KHOU 11 TV's Great Day Houston program with Debra Duncan.

October 24, 2009, the 5th Annual Sarcoidosis Walk for a Cause and Cure will take place in Houston Texas. There will be a special appearance by the awesome jazz saxophonist, Rachella Parks, who has had three hip replacements due to Sarcoidosis complications. You can get more information about the walk by clicking here: http://www.jsof.org/events.html

I invite you to tune in to learn more about Sarcoidosis, and for those of you who can, participate in the "walk" -- something that I had hoped to do this year. If the walk took place today I could not. But -- there's always tomorrow.

Tomorrow might be better.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Some of Him in Each of Us

Today I played for a funeral. It was a nice celebration of a man whom I met just a few years ago. Most of the time I spent with him was in family settings at his home and the home of others of his family. We shared little one-on-one time. Actually, I can remember only one such time during which we spoke of shared passions: love of family, technology, music and the Lord.


The "service" began at 11:00 this morning with an hour for visitation prior to that. As is my custom, I arrived at 10:00 and began playing without interruption until the procession of clergy and family at 11:00. I mention this part (about my playing) with intent. Normally when I play piano for an extended period of time, my surroundings become a blur. When not playing in private, part of me manages to remain mindful that I am treading on someone else's space and maintain a modicum of alertness. This morning I was aware of the movement of folks up and down the aisle and occasionally a few passed by to speak to me. (I'm really not fond of conversing while playing, but one has to be polite, so I speak, or nod, or make some kind of gesture in response.)


Now, imagine. There I sit, moving seamlessly (well, most of the time seamlessly) from one hymn or gospel song to the next. In my mind I hear those songs being sung, and the end of one tends to lead me into the beginning of another. Those who know me well know that despite the hundreds of songs I have learned in the past 50 years or so, I tend to draw on songs I learned in my childhood first, and the preponderance of those are hymns. I good hymn suits me just fine. Oh -- you say you don't know any hymns that are good? Then perhaps you don't know ANY. Before I get of track, I'm making a note to revisit that "hymn" issue. Anyway, in the midst of my playing and responding to an occasional greeting, I am accosted by a woman whose visage was most unpleasant. Actually, there was something spiritually maligned about her -- something I was loathe to deal with. She introduced herself using ALL THREE of her names: I'm A-B-C. Okay, I'm Andrea Hoxie. She then made a point to inform me of her position. My thought: Do I really care? I'll let you answer that. My only response to her was that my presence had been requested, and I continued to play. Needless to say, at the first opportunity she "got me" but good. At least, she probably thinks she did. While her interrupting my acoustic piano with some electronically enhanced stuff caused me to stop playing to avoid the dissonant clash of instruments, it reminded me of one reason why I quit music ministry, which I shall save for another blog. So, what does that have to do with SOME OF HIM IN EACH OF US? Keep reading, and I'll tell you.


During the funeral service, several of the Decedent's co-workers, friends and family spoke. This gave me more insight to this man whom I had known only a few years. I learned quite a bit which made me appreciate him all the more. Was he a saint? Absolutely not! As none of us is. And while nice things were said about him, there was no attempt to canonize him. (Why we tend to canonize the departed is something I have never understood, and having played for at least a thousand funerals [no exaggeration], it's something folks tend to do; but I'll save that for another time.) And I learned that he was at peace with what he knew was the end of this little finite period we call life.


As I sat through the eulogy, this is what stayed with me: God has put Himself (I'll not quibble over the gender issue or try to be poilitically correct here -- I mean HIMself -- refer to Him however you want in your own blog) in each of us. Whether we let Him out is entirely up to each of us. Ms. Three Names who made it a point to treat me with hostility, although I had been invited into her "home" by her "family," chose to cast the spotlight on herself. When we are seeking opportunities to be seen, we are so full of ourselves that we are choking out God like weeds in a field of lilies. (Okay, test: who are we --- the weeds or the lilies?) Rather than show a little grace and welcome me to her space, she was gruff and territorial. (Perhaps I should invite her to my home -- South Main Baptist -- so that she can experience examples of real warmth and welcoming --- perhaps.) On the other hand, the Decedent, whose life we celebrated today, reminded me that God in us will work through us, if we let Him.


So, here's my thought: there is Go[o]d in the worst of us and evil in the best of us, and if we ever get ourselves out of His way, His love will come through us and reach others.


Have you ever considered the many ways we can reach others? It might start with a smile, a gesture, an open door, a note, a word of encouragement. We don't have to be Billy Graham clones to make a difference in the lives of folks whose paths we cross -- sometimes daily.


Leaving you now, with this question: If each of us would get out of God's way, and allow His love to flow through us in even small ways to others, can you imagine the pandemic change in humankind?


Each one who knows Him, reach one. It's not a new concept, but from where I sit it has yet to go viral.