Remembering Charles

He is still very much with us.  His verbiage, gestures and facial expressions are as much a part of us as they were of him. He was gregarious, gracious and generous -- giving me the most precious gift, other than salvation through Jesus the Christ, I have ever received --- my Sweet Pea.  And he gave of himself to others -- while teaching social studies, fulfilling assistant principal duties, doing music ministry at the same church for 35 years, giving to others in need (even those who later bit the hand with which he had literally fed them), and even while in "rehab" at Memorial Hermann TIRR, ministering to and encouraging others.  

I remember speaking of Charles to my good friend and mentor to a point where I apologized for "going on and on," to which he replied "why are you apologizing?  It is a good thing that he is remembered.  Think of all the people who aren't!"  And so, on this his birthday, I still remember this amazing man, who remained my good friend until he departed this life.  Happy birthday, Charles.E. Richards, II.  Even while we miss you, we are happy for you.

A New Christmas Tradition

Note:  I previously posted this on Facebook after receiving it via email.  After seeing my first 2011 Christmas commercial on network television yesterday evening, and receiving my first "Black Friday" ad via email this morning, I decided to post it here.  It is not my writing and I have not edited it in any way.  It is worth repeating and worth sharing, but that's just my opinion; you may think otherwise.  Here it is:

Christmas 2011 -- Birth of a New Tradition
As the holidays approach, the giant Asian factories are kicking into high gear to provide Americans with monstrous piles of cheaply produced goods -- merchandise that has been produced at the expense of American labor.

This year will be different. This year Americans will give the gift of genuine concern for other Americans. There is no longer an excuse that, at gift giving time, nothing can be found that is produced by American hands.

Yes there is!

It's time to think outside the box, people. Who says a gift needs to fit in a shirt box, wrapped in Chinese produced wrapping paper?

Everyone -- yes EVERYONE gets their hair cut. How about gift certificates from your local American hair salon or barber? Gym membership? It's appropriate for all ages who are thinking about some health improvement. Who wouldn't appreciate getting their car detailed? Small, American owned detail shops and car washes would love to sell you a gift certificate or a book of gift certificates..

Are you one of those extravagant givers who think nothing of plonking down the Benjamins on a Chinese made flat-screen?

Perhaps that grateful gift receiver would like his driveway sealed, or lawn mowed for the summer, or driveway plowed all winter, or games at the local golf course.

There are a bazillion owner-run restaurants -- all offering gift certificates. And, if your intended isn't the fancy eatery sort, what about a half dozen breakfasts at the local breakfast joint.

Remember, folks this isn't about big National chains -- this is about supporting your home town Americans with their financial lives on the line to keep their doors open.
How many people couldn't use an oil change for their car, truck or motorcycle, done at a shop run by the American working guy?

Thinking about a heartfelt gift for mom? Mom would LOVE the services of a local cleaning lady for a day.

My computer could use a tune-up, and I KNOW I can find some young guy who is struggling to get his repair business up and running.

OK, you were looking for something more personal. Local crafts people spin their own wool and knit them into scarves. They make jewelry, and pottery and beautiful wooden boxes.

Plan your holiday outings at local, owner operated restaurants and leave your server a nice tip. And, how about going out to see a play or ballet at your hometown theatre.
Musicians need love too, so find a venue showcasing local bands.

Honestly, people, do you REALLY need to buy another ten thousand Chinese lights for the house? When you buy a five dollar string of light, about fifty cents stays in the community. If you have those kinds of bucks to burn, leave the mailman, trash guy or babysitter a nice BIG tip.

You see, Christmas is no longer about draining American pockets so that China can build another glittering city. Christmas is now about caring about US, encouraging American small businesses to keep plugging away to follow their dreams. And, when we care about other Americans, we care about our communities, and the benefits come back to us in ways we couldn't imagine.

THIS is the new American Christmas tradition.

Coming Out of the Closet: What Does This Mean?

Recently I was queried about the meaning of this blog.  Why do you call it that?


This writer would like to think that folks have different perspectives of the same verbiage.  Perhaps this is a mistake; so here is the short version (yes, I can do short) of why my blog is entitled Coming Out of the Closet -- Keeping it Real.

During the 2008 campaign preceding the general election, there was a keen awareness of the racially charged atmosphere regarding the man who was eventually elected POTUS.  When the opposing party's presidential candidate chose a person who spewed more thinly veiled hatred and vitriol, and further who reminded me of several incompetent and incapable persons under whom I worked in my early adult years, I started writing.  Writing is a therapeutic way of throwing punches and strategically placed kicks to knock one's foe out and remain a free woman.  Publishing on the web is akin to throwing open one's windows and shouting, in this case, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore.

Because my friends are a diverse mix of races, cultures, political persuasions, and sexual orientations, I often keep my personal philosophies and political opinions to myself.  So --- Coming Out of the Closet is my way of baring parts of myself that heretofore have been secreted away; Keeping it Real is just that:  my truth -- not THE truth necessarily -- but truth as I see it.

So there:  I am out of the closet, and I what write and publish in this blog is the real stuff that comes from my heart and mind.

What to Do After a Wreck

I. PREFACE


A. Do You Know What it Is like to Wear Many Hats?   


For most, our lives are an entanglement of titles, roles, labels, tasks, obligations and responsibilities, each of which command some modicum of our time and attention.  For most who work, there is but one job; sometimes two; rarer, but still a reality, sometimes more.  This writer does not have a job per se.  She works in the confines of her office, the first floor of her town  home, doing any number of things:  sometimes editing, researching or writing for lawyers; sometimes preparing to make presentations about Medicare and other senior issues; sometimes helping contentious folks wade through and resolve their conflicts; sometimes restoring a damaged computer, the victim of a virus; sometimes teaching a class to process servers (or wannabes); sometimes helping folks insure their property.  The list could go on, but probably should have been stopped a sometime or two ago.  The point is this:  Andrea wears LOTS of hats.   Keep this in mind as she continues.


B. Which Hat to Wear?


In the process of getting dressed, do you sometimes contemplate which hat is the right hat?  If rain is forecast, perhaps something water proof would be the way to go; or if it’s cold, a nice wool felt would be better.   And if you’re playing tennis, a cap or visor.  Would a woman wear a baseball cap for worship, or one of those meaningless froo-froo things I saw last week at a sorority tea be a better choice?   In other words, wear the hat that suits the purpose, conditions and occasion.  Remember this also.  


C. Writing Can Be Wonderfully Rewarding and Wonderfully Wearying – Simultaneously


This writer will never be an Ayn Rand or an Alex Hailey, or a Robert Ludlum.  Still, this writer finds it therapeutic to record her thoughts, draining though the activity is.  Writing is a little like labor.  Every complete thought that is developed is a contraction.  The closer the contractions come together, the more intense the labor, and, the closer to the reward, a baby, a new life, a completed work.  Whether writing for a lawyer, a preacher, a teacher, or this little blog, writing is labor.  Yep – keep this in mind.


D. So, What if You Don the Wrong Hat?


Well, if it’s raining and one is sporting a nice wool fedora, things will probably not be as one would want.  Similarly, if writing, say, a motion for summary judgment for a breach of contract lawsuit, one would not go tipping around research for a trial in probate court.  Not on point.  So, what if the subject is – well, sensational, controversial, offensive, egregious, shameful, disgraceful to a family of faith, and – well — you get the picture.  And the answer is:  well, it depends.  


E. One More Thing 


A little more than a quarter century ago (yesterday for me, ancient history for some), a young woman had a business alliance with a man of the cloth.  They marketed their services and products to churches.  One day, the man suggested to the woman that they engage in certain acts, to which the woman replied, You know we can’t do anything like that; we’re not married, to which the man responded, It’s okay; we’re under grace.  The woman stood her ground.  Nothing happened.  Some time later, the woman suffered food poisoning after visiting the wrong Chinese buffet.  Bedridden, it was all she could do to make her way to the porcelain god, to which she gave up offerings frequently.  Her best friend was with her.  When that man came, saying that he would sit with the woman for a while, the best friend left to do errands.  When they were alone, the man proceeded to do to the woman what she previously refused.  She was so weak, she could not protect herself or stop him.  When finished, the man said You act like you didn’t like it.


The woman never told anyone.  She assumed no one would believe her accusations against this well-known and highly regarded man of the cloth.


By now you’re asking What does that have to do with anything?  Well, bear with me; this is not easy; it is labor.


II. INTRODUCTION


After viewing an excerpt from a video, apparently a sermon by a nationally known (if not internationally known, but what’s a few hundred million more people, or a billion or two?) pastor, I confess my knee-jerk reaction was to delve into the mess.  I knew nothing of the details of the underlying sordid mess, the accusations of four (I believe that is the number) young men against another widely known pastor.  In fact, when the news first surfaced months ago, I refused to devote any brain cells to the story.  I ignored broadcast news, internet news, Facebook comments and Twitter Tweets.  And I refused to discuss it, even after one person made several attempts, all unsuccessful, to draw me into dialogue.  Nope.  Not me.  I’m not going there.  And suddenly, here I am on a lazy Saturday afternoon, recovering from a wonderful morning, first with my mom, The Boss, then with former church members (at a visitation for one who has graduated to a better life), then a group of my Fabulous Family of God at South Main Baptist, then with my Sweet Pea, and I view this video – a lame attempt to analogize the alleged abuse of youths at the hands of a spiritual and community leader as a wreck – and I am now hot to trot.


Off I go, donning my paralegal hat, pumped as if preparing for a trial.  Newspapers.  Yahoo.  Binging.   Googling.  Trying to get the gist of what happened (as if I could via the Internet) – and then the light came on:


Me: Wait a minute!  What are you doing?  What  - do - you - THINK - you - are - doing? 


Me: I dunno.  


Me. Well, if you DUNNO, just stop it!  Take that silly hat off!


Me: Oh, I have on the WRONG hat???  Sorry  :(


Me: Well, you should be.   Just stop, dang-it!


III. THE RIGHT HAT


For this, there is no right hat.  However, there is a right posture  – that of  standing naked before God.  He knows each of us in more detail than any of us want to be known.  Before you stop reading because I’m not jumping on the bandwagon to hang the other pastor in effigy (alongside the one who perpetrated the mess in the first place), stay with me a little while longer.  I must first remind myself that I am not the one to cast judgment.  Frankly, I’m too busy trying to keep my own closet door shut.  Just because the title of my blog is “Coming Out of the Closet – Keeping it Real,” does not mean I intend to leave the closet door open.  


IV. IT’S NOT JUST ABOUT THE WRECK


This is not to judge either of these fellas – the one who, according to the other, had a wreck – or the other, with all of his education and eloquence, could not do anything better than chide folks:  I can't believe that people would leave their preacher because he had a wreck.  It is a problem that EL had a wreck.  The even bigger problem is what happened after the wreck.  


A.   David Had a Wreck


You remember that Bible story – how David took Bathsheba, the wife of his faithful soldier, Uriah?  How David had Uriah positioned in battled to assure he would be killed?  How Nathan had to tell David about his hit-and-run?  Yes.  David had a wreck.  And when Nathan confronted David about his wreck, what did he do?   Did he put on his royal robes and crown and sit on his throne?  No.  He prostrated himself before God and confessed:


Psalm 51:1-13 (KJV)-------------------------------


Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.


Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.


For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.


Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.


Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.


Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.


Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.


Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.


Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.


Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.


Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.


Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.


Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.


B. But That Was Way Back in Bible Days.  


So, you need something more contemporary?  How about this:


A requirement of one of my seminary courses was to read a book that was based on the true, twentieth-century story of a well-known man who was much sought after, and actively engaged in speaking and teaching all of the country.  When his obsession with pornography was revealed, he confessed his wrongdoing to his wife, discontinued all public appearances, and sought counseling.  It was recognized that this man had some healing to do, personally, spiritually and in his relationships.  Notice that relationships is plural.  He not only hurt himself and his wife, but his children, other family members, friends, colleagues, fellow members of the clergy, and let us not forget his God.  There is no “Band-aid” for this kind of rift.   The process for him to return to “public” life was a couple of years, not a couple of days or weeks.  


C. Was There a Wreck?


Well, according to CD, is friend HAD A WRECK.  A logical deduction is that his friend, EL, fell off the straight and narrow path and into a ditch.  Without belaboring the nasty details, CD sounded as if he was speaking of EL’s guilt –  culpability – liability – whatever the heck else one might label it.  Now, folks, we all have committed acts, or left something undone, that provoked most justly God’s wrath and indignation against us.  All of us have had wrecks.  Sometimes we caused them, and sometimes we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  (See paragraph I.E,  “One More Thing” above.)  And sometimes both parties were at fault, but let us not digress to issues of contributory negligence.  For purposes of this now-too-long note (sorry, it’s the preacher in me), let us just say that EL caused the wreck.  


D. So, What Should Happen after EL‘s Wreck?


There must be an assessment of damages.  If EL had a wreck, something is misaligned, crumpled, dented, chipped, cracked, smashed or otherwise not as it should be.  He needs to be restored to serviceable condition.  He needs to be put back where he belongs.  And when one causes a wreck, one must pay the deductible.  That might set EL back a few months — or years.  Even though he settled with his complainants in mediation and paid some damages, those damages were paid to the complainant.  He still has to deal with his own damages – and pay the deductible.  Yes, as all other believers, EL has insurance, and the premiums may have been paid by Jesus the Christ, but just as EL would most likely counsel one of his congregation to take some time off – for healing and restoration – EL should do likewise – and more.  That is paying the deductible.   


E. If the Bus Is “Broke Down” from a Wreck, Hail a Taxi


CD chides folks who “left their preacher” because he had a wreck.  Has CD considered that folks would rather not trust a damaged vehicle?   Now, we all have our issues, but we still have to be able to function in our assignments.  How can a shepherd function in his assignment if he has been abusing the sheep?  


Recently, at the window of a drive-thru, I became frustrated when I made a simple inquiry:


Q. What kind of orange juice do you have?
A. Orange.
Q. Well, who makes it?
A. Is orange juice.
Q. Well, what brand is it?
A. Orange.


There was an obvious inability to articulate the answer to my query in English.  In my frustration I backed out of the drive-thru lane, and thinking I had cleared the curb, threw the car in “drive” and proceeded forward, only to go over the curb.  Well, I had a wreck.  I rigged the bumper with two very long cable ties and went home.  However, the very next morning, I was at Apollo Paint & Body (http://www.apollopaintandbody.com [these are simply the nicest auto service  folks I have ever encountered]) to have the damage appraised and repaired.  Sure, I could have left the bumper dangling from the cable ties, but the vehicle would not be restored to how it was before the wreck – nor would it have been in better condition.  In fact, over time, with driving the uneven streets of Houston, the damage to the bumper would have worsened.


So, I would ask CD:  If you were riding in EL’s vehicle and he had a wreck, sustaining significant damage to the body, frame, tires, wheels, windows and steering  wheel, would you jump back in the car and continue riding that road with EL, or would you hail a taxi?  Or catch a bus?  Or call someone else with a car?  Or hitchhike?


V. MEDIATION MAY BE A WIN-WIN, BUT IT CAN CAST A CLOUD OF SERIOUS DOUBT


The dreaded “L” word.  Everyone wants to sue somebody.  What makes them come forward?  Is it about justice?  Equity?  Greed?  Revenge?  Just asking.  Why now did these young men come forward?  Why did EL swear to fight the lawsuit and then settle at mediation?   Was he speaking from a perceived position of strength when he vowed to fight?  Why did he change his mind?


Even though my specialty is civil trial law, I believe that most lawsuits should never have been filed in the first place.  I am very fond of mediation, though it has devolved to a good-old-boy cottage industry and mediators like me rarely get appointed to mediate lawsuits, unless, of course, one of their good-old boys is a judge or lawyer.  They toss some wet-noodle (I really want to say “limp-#!#?” but that would not be appropriate) notion about non-lawyers not being well-versed in legal issues and theories.  Tell that to the lawyers for whom I write!   What hogwash!  Okay, I’ve said it; I dare you to prove me wrong.  [rant paused to continue this note].


The deal is this with mediation:  the Plaintiffs go in speculating about what they’re going to walk away with, as if they deserve something simply because they filed the suit, and the Defendants (at least the ones who know they are liable – they’ve caused a wreck) go in with the intent of giving up only what is absolutely necessary to make the Plaintiffs go away.  There is persuasion on each side, especially for volatile subject matter as the instant case.  There's not supposed to be persuasion per se, but just trust me on that.  And there is the airing of dirty (vile, filthy, whatever you want to say here) laundry, some of which is probably so befouled it should be taken out a burned – despite any imposed burn bans due to drought.


For the culpable defendant, it comes down to which will hurt worse:  settling now or the risk of losing at trial?  Is it less painful for CD to toss a perception of his friend’s liability to the world, while his friend pays off his accusers?  Does the world, then, assume that EL was in the wrong?  


VI. ABOVE THE LAW?


Sometimes folks think they can do whatever they want; they are beyond rules and above the law.  Or, worse, no one would dare accuse me!  Right.  Tell that to John Edwards.  Jim & Tammy Bakker.  Arnold Schwartzenegger.  Jimmy Swaggert.  Bill Clinton.  Tiger Woods and lots of other folks.  Tell that to the guy in paragraph I-E above.  Just because he got by in this life does not mean he will get away with it in the next.  Perhaps he will make it to one of the many rooms in the Savior’s mansion, but rather than an upgrade he will be relegated to the basement.  That simply is not our call.


But, come on, Pastors, yes, we fall down and we get up.  But while we’re down we get dirty.  Sometimes we tear (or lose) our pants, scrape our knees, break a leg, sprain an ankle, bump our heads, get a concussion.  Sometimes we need a little Neosporin and one of those cool Band-Aids that, if you’re a member of the paler nation, blends right into your skin and can barely be detected.  Sometimes we just need to run to one of those 24-hour emergency centers and get our ankle wrapped.  And sometimes we need major surgery, a couple of months at TIRR (a great place), and then outpatient rehabilitation before returning to work PART-TIME.


VII. THERE IS BUT ONE GOD


Having a wreck is something to which we are all susceptible.  What matters is what we do after the wreck.  Do we pretend that all is well?  As if we are not injured?  Or damaged?  After a wreck should one ascend the throne of his pulpit as if he is Almighty God, Father of our Lord, Jesus the Christ, Maker of all things and Judge of all men???   I think not.  There is but one God.  When one assumes the posture of unblemished perfection by not tending to one’s wounds and repairing the damage one sustains in a wreck, the message one sends is “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.”   While folks should not try to assess the damage – that is between the wrecker and his Maker – folks should avoid the damaged vehicle until it is back where it belongs – or better.

14 June 1998

Today is 6 June 2011.  The title of this little piece --- 13 years ago --- is the date on a letter written to the person who is still, unfortunately, supposed to be my Congressional representative.  I just happened on this little letter when I was doing a search of archives for stuff related to Sarcoidosis.  It is galling, even 13 years later, that no response was ever received to this little note.  Here it is, unedited:

Dear Congresswoman Lee:

About six months ago I completed and returned to your office a form to facilitate your assistance with my obtaining disability benefits from Social Security.  Since then, I have had a hearing before an administrative judge (in mid-March).  Around that time someone from your office called me (according to my caller ID device), but left no message.  When I attempted to ascertain who it may have been, I believe I was given the name of Ms. Hubbard in your Acres Home office.  The one time she spoke with me she informed me that I was not on the voter registration rolls.  This happens not to be true, as I am listed on the voter registration rolls as Andrea Hoxie Richards, which was my name before I married in 1996.  Not only am I a registered voter, but I seldom miss fulfilling my duty to vote.  Still, this should mean nothing as my residence is in your district, and I am therefore one of your constituents and entitled to request your assistance.  As of the writing of this letter I have heard nothing from your office, even after I spoke with one of your former employees who advised me that she sent Ms. Hubbard e-mail asking her to contact me regarding my request for your assistance.

Recently I received an unfavorable decision from Administrative Law Judge Clifford A. Leinberger, a very coarse, crude and intimidating (or so he attempted to be) man.  According to Judge Leinberger, I have never been disabled over the past two years – even when I could not do anything at all for myself – when my husband had to literally take me out of bed and into the bathroom – when I could not walk because my feet were three times their normal size – when I had insufficient stamina to raise a brush to my hair.  

I cannot help but wonder what kind of system we have when I have worked all of my adult life and have had my earnings literally taken away from me to contribute to a system that seems to support everyone except the people who support it  – and have no representation besides.

Perhaps now, folks who read this will understand (1) the gagging noise I make when I hear the Congresswoman's name; (2) why I had to fight the temptation to overrun her in my Jeep as she stood in the middle of Pannell Street, across from Pleasant Hill Baptist Church, on the evening of African Warrior Bud Johnson's wake (I miss sparring with Bud); and (3) why I pray fervently for some competent person to run against her and for folks to take their heads out of the sand (or wherever they are) and vote against her.  Of course, she has been busy:  stumping for the late Robert Byrd (God rest his soul), canonizing Michael Jackson (God rest his soul as well), and schmoozing President Obama after backing Mrs. Clinton.  

On this subject, I believe I have said enough.

Evocations: Random Thoughts From Daryl's Robinson's Senior Recital

DO YOU LIKE WINE?  


I do, even though I know very little about wines:  the varieties and origins of grapes, which ones are right for which foods (other than the basic white for chicken and fish and red for beef -- after that I'm lost), which ones come in contact with the grape skins longer (other than this seems to be a trait of the really dark reds), and other bits of minutiae of which genuine wine aficionados make subjects of serious conversations, blogs, newsletters, magazine articles, and perhaps even a livelihood or two -- or more.  I drink red wine occasionally because my doctor suggested it is beneficial for my health; however, I really don't care for red wine, at least not the ones I have purchased so far.  Still, I drink it for the purpose heretofore stated.  What I do like are Riesling and Gewurtztraminer.  They are light and sweet, and feel heavenly going down.  Unfortunately, I rarely enjoy either, since I save most of my imbibing moments for the medicinal crap of the red once or twice a week -- and turning into a wino or a lush is not on my to-do list.  The bottom line is if I like the taste, nothing else matters -- whether the wine is a Burgundy or Beaujolais, Grenache or Gewurtztraminer, 1927 or 2007.  When it comes to wine, two things matter to this writer:  1) The taste; and  2) Its effect when  trickling over her taste buds and down her esophagus.  What else matters -- or should matter?  To her, nothing; it's just wine. 


DO YOU LIKE VISUAL ART?


I suppose I do.  Well – yes.  Asking about styles would be a waste.  Whether the small, thin brush strokes of Monet’s impressionism, the molten-like movement of Dali’s surrealistic clocks, the over-analyzed smile of da Vinci’s  Renaissance icon – Mona Lisa, the outlandish non-art pop art of Andy Warhol, or the three-dimensional wonders and wackiness of the Cullen Sculpture Garden at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, visual art for this writer is simple: 1) she examines it; 2) messages, filtered as they go, are sent to her brain; 3) a verdict is rendered.  As to the verdict, there are three possibilities: 1) Like it; 2) Hate it; 3) No comment.  Visual art.   Simple.


Digressing for just a moment:  Even as this is written, however, the writer has a special fondness for John Palmer’s art that transcends her usual mundane, pedestrian attitude toward this type of creativity.  Mr. Palmer’s works are charged with a special energy that incites and excites the writer in a peculiar way.  Not until John Palmer has this writer ever aspired to own an original work of visual art.  And the John Palmer effect is a great lead into a favorite of favorites – 


DO YOU LIKE MUSIC?


I do.  I more than like music.  I love music.  After Jesus, music is God’s all-time greatest gift.  It is a medium that breaks down barriers, soothes the soul in so many states of dis-ease, disarray and despair, and brings people together even when languages may keep them apart.  Music has texture, meaning, eroticism, message, expression, connotation, denotation, mood, structure, fluidity, sanctity and more.   


While my fondness of the grape and the visual arts are limited, my love for music is beyond – what?  Well, beyond.  And my affinity for various music styles touches many points on the spectrum.  Favorites can be found among most except rap and heavy metal, which, to this writer, are neither musical nor artistic, but rather bastardizing throwbacks to some dark hole of uncivilization.  


There are forms of music, and genres of music within forms.  The music world is kind of like God's creation subjected to taxonomic ranks – class, order, family, genus and species.  In the music realm folks toss around labels like gospel, sacred, classical, jazz and pop, which are very broad categories – families – within which are genera, and species.


Recently a young man was heard saying, in effect, that everything that could be done in music had already been accomplished.  Heresy!  Sacrilege!  What the young man failed to realize is that the dead end he envisions as music is indicative of his limited imagination.  The saving grace is that since our thoughts differ, as do our inhibitions (or lack thereof), our self-imposed limits are the only obstacles that keep music, and most other things, from expanding in scope and creativity.


The good thing is that even if our abilities to compose, arrange and perform music are limited to certain instruments and styles, our listening ears and minds allow us to appreciate stuff far beyond our abilities.   As a classically trained pianist who learned to compose within certain parameters, I often debate myself when a creative stroke takes me outside the box of those “rules for writing music with proper structure.”  Boo – hiss.  The galling thing is when I hear beyond-the-barriers music fraught with exquisite dissonance and think “hmpf – that’s really great,” I also wonder, "now -- why can't I do that?"  And since the breadth of my pianistic abilities was restricted by inadequate rehabilitation of broken bones and mangled muscles after a near-fatal car crash, this writer has learned to be content with her performance limitations, and yet find much joy in experiencing the gifts of others, like Daryl Robinson at his senior recital.


Daryl has been a subject of more than one blog on this site.  This old woman is simply taken with this talented young man who is a personable as he is polished and professional.  The music Daryl played was the stuff of professionals, not a student trying to fulfill requirements for an undergraduate degree.  Daryl’s program was a mix of styles, influencing evocations of such broad extremes as to send one on an emotional overload.  Aside from the mesmerizing conglomeration of sounds that made one think either 1) there is really an orchestra up there; or 2) Daryl evidently has four hands and four feet, this is how Daryl’s music touched my soul (not necessarily in this order):


Image: The betrayal, humiliation, trial, suffering, mockery, crucifixion, death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ.  Since this imagery has been treated in great detail in a previous, but recent writing, nothing more will be said here, other than it was so powerful that this writer’s body actually shuddered with sorrow -- then joy.


Image: A glade, a clearing in a wooded area with a quiet running stream of water.  A “no worries” place of calm, peace and rest.  A safe place.  A place near the heart of God.  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. . . . Blessed assurance.   It is well with my soul.  I am content.


Image:   I have wings.  And I can fly.  I am standing on that new-fangled skywalk at the Grand Canyon -- you know the one  -- with the transparent floor.   I levitate upward, and take off, soaring through the canyon.  Wow!


Image: A quite moment between a wife who entreats her husband.  The two, despite a rift between them, are destined to be together – forever:  


What I want to do with you
Is picnic in the park
I'll pack a basket of your favorite treats
Lots for you to eat
The finest, freshest, sweetest
Most luscious fruit you could ever have
A pair of firm, ripe, sweet melons
With the tartest, tastiest stems
Waiting for your lips
The biggest, blackest sweetest cherry
(It's juices ooze unceasingly at first bite)
Nestled in a pair large warm buns
Waiting for your hands
To test their freshness, 
Served on a bed of fresh cut grass
In the deepest recesses of my garden
A more fitting place to feast than a park
A place where you can go
Cast away all care
A place where the two of us
Our thirsts can quench, desires fulfill
Our love share
A place where no one else can
Come between our souls,
Nor invade our minds
Or untangle our beings
A place where I'll belong to you always.
So open the gate of my garden
And take a stroll once more
No thought of unpleasant happenings
Of times gone on before
Since you left my garden
I've kept it just for you
So come back to take what's yours
None else can have it -- just you




HAVE YOU GONE MAD?


I think not.  This writing is merely a picture of the gift one received in the presence of a brilliant organist while at his best, doing what he loves. 


Mr. Robinson offered in 60 minutes, works that, despite spanning scores and scores and scores of years, many would lump into one class of music: classical.   Forget the family, genera and species – just classical.  Few would go beyond that, just as this writer does not distinguish the grapes for Beaujolais from the grapes for Bordeaux.  Again, few would go beyond classical, just as this writer, while being able to distinguish between Monet and da Vinci, has an appreciation for both but is not thrilled by either.  That is why wine does it for some and visual art does it for others.  John Palmer excepting -- his stuff is electric.  


And that is why music does it for me.  It is the absolutely finest drug and has no harmful side effects.  It is a great therapist and is not limited to a 50-minute hour (“50" is not a typo -- 50 minutes equals one hour of therapy).  It is an ever-extending bridge between the gap of strained relationships.  It is a fine way to connect with the Almighty.  And Daryl Robinson is a masterful deliverer of the drug, the bridge and a way to Him who sits on the throne.  Sometimes, when a word of prayer cannot be uttered, a melody can be hummed.  Sometimes when thoughts are so muddled, one cannot be concisely framed, but a passage of music will serve to re-center and refocus.  And sometimes, when the mind is gone, music can bring it back, if just for a while, and with it, much joy.  


God bless Daryl, a magical, masterful, music maker.  Be in his hands, his feet and his heart.  Always.  Amen.

Recovering From Worship???

Today is Good Friday.  For Believers we’re talking about something super special – the day we commemorate the passion and crucifixion of our Lord and Savior.  But, first, let’s back up to yesterday – Maundy Thursday – the day Believers commemorate the last supper.  


This writer cares not for the technobabble about how the dates for Holy Week and Resurrection Day change from one year to the next, just as this writer gives no thought to December 25 not being the Savior’s birthday.  None of these issues negate the beliefs of those of my ilk:  that He was born of an immaculate conception, He walked the earth, He suffered and died, and He was resurrected.  What is of significance that we remember.  In fact whenever we worship, we should be reminded.  So, how does that work?  Well, let’s talk about it.


Back to yesterday, Maundy Thursday.  It was a typical April day in Houston, Texas, in a word, hot.   It is the time of year when my beloved sun because one of my worst enemies, causing the manifestation of Sarcoidosis-related issues – like not being able to breathe, reddening and blistering facial skin (not easy for this Chocolate Bunny, but it actually turns red), and a total draining of every bit of energy in my body. Yet, it is Holy Week.  And despite the climate, Holy Week calls for daily treks to the Westmoreland Chapel on the campus South Main Baptist Church for worship at noon, and, if one is so inclined thereafter, a nice lunch served in the shade of our Chafin Educational Building (we have an absolutely awesome kitchen staff – okay – that’s a plug, but true).


The noon worship on Maundy Thursday focused on the text found in verses 53 through 65 of the 14th chapter of Mark, and Pastor Steve’s question:  Who killed Jesus?   (If one recalls Mel Gibson’s movie The Passion, one might also recall the clamor at that time about just that question: Who killed Jesus?   One might also recall the close-up of various hands nailing Jesus to the cross, among them being the hands of Mr. Gibson.)  And toward the end of the message, Pastor Steve began answering the question by calling the roll: Jews killed Jesus – not all Jews but Caiaphas and the chief priests, the teachers of the law, the Sanhedrin that were assembled that night – a kangaroo court in Caiaphas’s home; and the Romans – not all Romans but those who handed Him over to Pontius Pilot; and, theologically, God the Father, who sent His Son into the world for just this purpose; and Jesus, who allowed Himself to be killed.  And, of course, there are more – many, many more: our sins killed Jesus.  I killed Jesus.  You killed Jesus.  And so it goes, folks: we all had a hand in nailing Him to the tree.  Wow.  Folks who only want “feel-good” church would have left unfulfilled and very much disappointed rather than convicted – and convinced that the only way we will stop killing Jesus is to become more like Him.


The day of worship continued Maundy Thursday evening, with the most somber worship time of any at South Main – the Service of Shadows – the time when we reflect on the betrayal, arrest, desertion, trial, scourging, crucifixion and death of the Only Faultless One to ever walk the earth.  Amidst voices pouring out words in haunting melodies and lush harmonies, words that salve and soothe one’s soul, our Ragan C. read from The Word, the scriptures that so vividly paint the picture that tells the story of how we all participated in nailing Him to the tree.  By the end of worship, there is silence and darkness – how the world was left then after they/we had killed Him – and words fittingly descriptive, even today, of lives that are without His light.  Wow.


And Holy Week continued today.  Yet, another trek to the Westmoreland Chapel for noon worship, a Silent Service – an intentional, deliberate means of focusing the worshiper, once more, on the sacrifice of our Savior.  


This service is comprised of a series of scriptures, each followed by a song played by our resident prodigy, organist Daryl Robinson.  Daryl is a favorite of this writer.  His musicianship is beyond comparison, going far beyond the mastery of his performance abilities, but technical knowledge as well.  What had not been realized until today, was Daryl’s tremendous gift of marrying scripture to music.   Thoughtfully choosing* familiar texts and melodies, as well as works that may not be known to many of us at all, Mr. Robinson took worshipers on a journey, from Christ’s condemnation, to the Via Dolorosa, to Golgotha, to the tomb.   Complementing the words of the chosen music, were the music arrangements themselves, employing harmonies, progressions and nuances that added more texture and brilliance to the pictures the Scriptures and lyrics painted.


Feel the moment of condemnation, knowing that what lay ahead was even worse than what had already transpired: 

Christ, who saves us by His cross,

And no sin committed

(J.S. Bach).   

Feel the weight of the cross beneath a battered and emaciated body.  

Must Jesus bear the cross alone

and all the world go free?  

(George N. Allen/Thomas Shepherd).  

See Simon of Cyrene carry the cross for Him.  

Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; 

learn of Christ to bear the cross.  

(Richard Redhead/James Montgomery). 

Feel the agony of the women who wailed for Jesus.  
There is a balm in Gilead 
to heal the sin sick soul 
(Negro Spiritual).  


Feel the nakedness of His body as the soldiers divided His clothing:   

A purple robe, a crown of thorn, 

a reed in His right hand, 

Before the soldiers’ spite and scorn 

I see my Savior stand.  

(David Wilson/Timothy Dudley-Smith).  

See the nails being driven into His hands and feet, but if like this writer, just try to avoid imagining the added pain they caused:  

God, give us each our own death, 

the dying that proeeds from each of our lives.  

(Camil van Huise/Rilke) 

Feel the darkness creeping into the world as He breathed His last breath:

Grim death, with cruel rigor, 

hath robbed Thee of Thy life; 

Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, 

Thy strength in this sad strife 

(Brahms/Bernard of Clairvaux).  

See them take His body from the cross:

When I survey the wondrous cross

on which the Prince of glory died.  

(Edward Miller/Isaac Watts).  

See Joseph wrap Him in a linen cloth and lay Him in a tomb hewn out of rock:

Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?  

Oh!  Sometimes it causes me to tremble.  

(Negro Spiritual).

As worshipers left the chapel in silence, words and music remained alive.  Just off the sidewalk, leaning against the accessible parking pillar under a tree (that must be older than any building on the campus), providing protective shade while God wrapped his arms around me in a light breeze that tempered the afternoon heat preventing pulmonary discomfort, the words and the music washed over me again, leaving images of the 24-hour period that began at noon on Maundy Thursday, and a thought: how awesome it is to live on this side of the resurrection, to be able to look back and see that whole picture.  Kevin Sinclair, our minister to youth, spoke as he passed by, asking if he could be of assistance.  Oh, I’m just recovering from worship.  Sometimes it takes me a while.  He gave me an understanding nod, and left me to continue me reverie.


Finally collecting myself, I drove away with another thought – a question: how does one recover from worship?   In retrospect, that just seems odd.  To recover – meaning to bring back or get back to normal – totally negates the purpose of worship.   Quite often, a prayer in worship at South Main includes the plea that we be transformed so that we will be less of what we used to be and more of what we ought to be through Christ Jesus.  And so, folks, recovering from worship is just not the desired thing to do.  To leave worship the same as one came is to spend an hour (or two, or however many) going through some ritual, reading words, singing songs, joining in prayers, and listening to sermons, that are no more than water off a duck’s back.  So why bother?


And so, rather than recover from worship, perhaps I should have told Kevin, I’m still renewing through worship:


Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is – his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12:2, NIV).  Perhaps with a little more renewing and transforming, we would kill Jesus less often.


Out of the most agonizing time of the first century A.D. was born the grace we experience today. Because of that, even in silent worship, there are conviction and comfort; veil-lifting and vindication; peace and promise; enlightenment and edification, and hopefully, a desire for renewal and transformation.




_______________________
*All right, thoughtfully choosing is conjecture on my part; still, this writer is sure it took more than a few minutes while nursing his favorite Starbuck’s beverage, for Mr. Robinson to well devise a worship service that so wonderfully reflects the gravity and majesty of the moment.

Defining Sin for a Contemporary Culture

First, I freely admit that this is not an original title.  I ran across this phrase earlier this evening as I perused my Facebook home page, trying to catch up on what is happening with my FB friends.  There was the usual stuff:  a new picture of my grand-nephew, P.H., a happy child of a fantastic mom; a rehashed obituary of the Pillsbury Dough Boy which still makes me laugh aloud [I refuse to use LOL -- oops -- I just did :( ]; an update from a musician acquaintance who writes often of sports (much better than getting it via television news) and church-related issues (sometimes funny, sometimes serious, generally thought-provoking); a couple of Friend Requests; more messages to which to respond than I really want to; you get the gist.  Amidst those common tidbits was a post that dealt with one of the most controversial issues of the day with LIKES and COMMENTS that followed.  Among those comments was a phrase regarding how we should define sin for a contemporary culture.   That phrase has so haunted me that I have revisited that blurb several times now.  It conjures up thoughts of recent discussions in my Sunday School class and Wednesday Bible studies at South Main Baptist Church (plug for SMBC).


Second, I also admit that this writing may offend others, including folks who may, loosely or sincerely, use the term friend in relation to me.  My hope, however, is that as I respect their rights to believe as they wish, they will respect mine, and perhaps this is a point on which we may have to just agree to disagree.


Third, I freely admit that I am a sinner.  I know guilt.  And shame.  Therefore, I judge no one; I condemn no one.  Judgment and condemnation of others are simply not in my purview.  It is enough for me that each morning and evening I can look in a mirror while brushing teeth and be grateful that God has  given me another day for work on my own human failings.  With that said, I freely admit, however, that some behaviors I simply hate:  lying, stealing, killing -- you know -- the stuff of the Ten Commandments (which is also foundational stuff for our laws).  Then there are also infractions like smoking, wearing fragrances ad nauseam, driving with a phone plastered to the side of one's face, and other behaviors that are a lot more than mere annoyances.  


Okay, on their faces, the also infractions are not normally construed as sins; yet, they have the potential to cause irreparable harm to the body, and not just the body of the smoker, fragrance wearer, or telephone-talking driver, but others around them as well, and even death.   For those who suffer with medical conditions caused through no fault of their own, to be subjected to the exacerbating effects of tobaccos and perfumes by people who put their rights to so engage themselves above all else is, to those who so suffer, a threat to their well-being.  They think of terms like assault and attempted murder.   Trust me; I know this to be true, and often have to work at stifling deep-seated anger and frustration, and the urge to kill them before they kill me.  And statistics show that folks who drive while engaging in telephone conversations are more likely to be involved in vehicular crashes resulting in debilitating, life-change injuries, or death.


So much for the prefatory.  The rest is pretty short, though not simple, and starts with a question.  How does one define sin for a contemporary culture?
Short answer:  I don't have a clue.  I never gave a thought to sin evolving as mankind devolved.  


Next question:  Well, why not?
Well, how about this question in lieu of an answer:  What makes one think that because the world has changed in technology, temperament and tolerance, that what was sin 4,000 or 3,000 or 2,000 years ago is different today?  


Well, there are schools of thought that condone killing under certain circumstances.  
Well, that may be true, and even while God gave the Word to the Israelites Thou shalt not kill, He also instructed them to kill all the people in the lands they were to occupy.  It seems then, that there is killing, and then there is Killing.


And what about the scripture that says God "hardened" Pharaoh's heart?  
Well, the Book does say that (Exodus 9:12).  Does how the Creator uses His creation give the created license to act contrary to His instructions?  I think not.  This passage has often troubled me.  Why would God harden Pharaoh's heart in such a way that ultimately led to Pharaoh's death?  And on several occasions I have had to remind myself that God can use anyone or anything He wants to, in any way He wants to.  In that regard I sometimes envision this scenario -- and while I cannot prove it was the way it happened, you cannot prove it did not:  


After losing his son to the plague that befell all of the first-born in Egypt who were not protected, Pharaoh  allowed the Israelites to leave, and in anger (and probably a lot of other negative emotions), pursued them until he, along with his followers, were consumed by the Red Sea.  The aftermath:  Pharaoh ascends to heaven and is welcomed by the Almighty for a job well done.*     


As I said, I cannot prove it, but neither can you disprove it.  Just admit it is something to consider (or not) and let's move along.*


And what is this DEVOLVING business?  
Well, I'm glad you asked.  A simple definition of devolve is to pass on or delegate to another.  In the context of this little blog, mankind is ever devolving.  The more knowledgeable and advanced we become, the more we shirk our responsibilities and commitments, passing them on into the ether where they become the responsibilities and commitments of some unknown force or entity as we continue to live in a foggy La-La Land, making excuses for our actions or lack thereof, buying into every frenzied trend of entertainment, including every gadget imaginable, 99.99999999% of which are made in other countries, providing jobs to others while 99.9999999% of corporate America embraces downsizing, rightsizing, cutbacks, layoffs and outsourcing, and any other gimmick one can envision, in the end making our country a slave to the rest of the world.  (Sorry about the outburst; I'll have to save that for another time.)


So what does all that have to do with devolving -- and sin?
Such great questions you ask!  Devolving and sin really go hand in glove.  While in a state of devolution, one succumbs to any compulsion to say and do anything one chooses without regard to the rights of others or the Way of the Almighty.  As Pastor Steve (www.smbc.org) might say, We live in God's world but not in God's Way.  And when one chooses to live his own way, justifying whatever one says and does according to one's situation or circumstances, or the thorn in one's flesh,** one shuts the door on the Father's grace which is sufficient for those who believe.  


Well, you really didn't answer the question and you definitely did not define sin for a contemporary culture.
True, and frankly, who can?  Still, without judging or condemning any, loving all through Christ Jesus while hating the thoughts, words and deeds that are not of the Father's Way, I do commend all to Him, whose grace is sufficient for all, for His power is made perfect in weakness, even so-called contemporary ones.  


The bottom line is this:  
The advent of situational ethics did not rewrite the Bible; rather it just gave us something through which to ride our chariots when looking for a loophole.  What the loophole does not account for, however, is the love that will make a parent suffer through disciplining, and even confinement in prison, of a child for the child's sake; or one not taking a life because one is not the giver of life.


Lying is still lying.  Killing is still killing.  Adultery is still adultery.  Stealing is stealing, even though in our contemporary ilk stealing has all kinds of labels -- misappropriation and embezzlement, for instance.  Covetousness -- well it's still that too, so if it's not yours, forget about it.  


For this writer, who often drafts documents for others with revisions so numerous that they end with the year, month, day and time (for example, 2011 0325 2219 means the 25th day of March 2011, 10:19 p.m.), there are no revisions to sin.  The 2000 AD version is  the 2000 BC version.  


So, dear ones, give yourself a break.  All of that energy devoted to establishing some new benchmark for sin by today's standards might best be expended with the Father, Who is strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.  I dare you to try Him, even in your contemporary situation.  His faithfulness was great whenever the book of Lamentations (3:23) was written, and, trust me on this, it's pretty great today, 2011 0327 2252.


To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy -- to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore!  Amen. (Jude 24-25).


Praying that you lean and not stumble . . .










__________________
*A note to Bible scholars:  This is my blog; these are my thoughts.  Let's leave it at that.
**⁶ Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say, ⁷ or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. ⁸ Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. ⁹ But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Corinthians 12:6-9 NIV)