The essential Christian "bucket list"…

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Matthew 25

31When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory:

 32And before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats:

 33And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.

 34Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:

 35For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:

 36Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

 37Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

 38When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

 39Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

 40And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

 41Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels:

 42For I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink:

 43I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not.

 44Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?

 45Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.

It's good to doubt your thoughts…

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because one of the great sins of our time is that we have forgotten our mortality, our brokeness and we assume a level of enlightenment we actually don’t possess. If one were to stop and contemplate their own thoughts, their own urges, they may be surprised at how little is wheat and how much is chaff blown in the wind.

One of the things…

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Christianity reminds me of on an almost daily basis is that I was meant to be so much more. I don’t mean that in the “Jesus wants you to be rich, handsome, and skinny” way that seems to be prevalent in so much of American Christian culture. Rather its more about coming to understand the potential of the grace given.

In Christ there are unmeasurable depths of light and goodness and holiness. A thousand miles away from being anywhere close to Christ in my own life I can still see that. Yet its not intimidating. In fact its actually quite hopeful.

I know that in this life there may be only bits and pieces of the unmeasured grace of God that somehow bubble through to the surface of my life. Perhaps the best I will ever be before they bury me is just a small light taking light from the Light. Yet even a small light is still Light. Even a small bit of grace in me is still more than I could have ever been without it.

And some day, every hour a bit closer, the day of knowing in sight what I perceive now in shadows will come. The little light inside, sometimes blown about by the winds of the world, calls me to its Source, to a fullness I see now only as a horizon, to the more that I was called by grace to be.

And I am not afraid.

Sometimes people ask…

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what will you do when and if your sabbatical takes place and you leave St. Elias?

All is not yet clear but I will  first be grateful for my time there. Then I will become the writer I was meant to be. I will practice the music that’s inside of me and hone the craft of Priesthood to a fine edge. I will sleep. I will hold my wife’s hand as often as I can. I will take long drives in the country and work through my prayer ropes. And if there is any time left I will sit on the rocks and watch the St. Croix river go by.

A short rant…

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Please understand, ladies, that the sexual revolution is over and men have won. We have convinced you that being promiscuous is liberating, that being an object is freedom, and we by and large have left you with the consequences while we do what we want. Only when you decide that you want something better and  are willing to stick to your decisions will any of this change.

And men, we may have won but the victory is hollow. We got what we think we wanted, lots of sex without consequence, but behind the posturing there is still a desire for true love that remains unfulfilled no matter how many hook ups you record. You will never find your soul mate in America’s sexual jungle and nothing will change until you decide that you want something more.

Once again…

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the rumors are beginning to fly about, the jockeying for position may have already started and the speculation is well underway. The least desirable aspect of Orthodox Christianity is its potential for byzantine intrigue. We are going to have to give an account of all of this, the time wasted, the people lost, the things left undone and there doesn’t seem to be a prayer rope large enough to meet the need.

It's a kind of passion…

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when you decide to seriously take up the art of playing bass.

Some came to the bass because they were tall and their junior high orchestra needed someone with the height to play the double bass. Others were frustrated guitarists who picked it up because they felt it was at least better then not being on stage with the band. Others sense a kind of novelty, but the novelty wears off after time.

You can see it when they play, and hear it too. One can survive by going through the motions, stay on the root note, keep decent time, and take your bows. You can tell, as well, when a person plays with passion, with the sense of pushing every possible sound out of four strings or knowing just the right time to place a note that changes the whole melody.

And if you are a bassist of passion, even if you are just beginning to play, you become identified with the instrument. Its always with you even when its on the stand at home. In a world of guitarists you are a rarity and people find you. On the street the tall instrument with the four strings always gets the first look.

Perhaps someone will grab your instrument and think they, because they can play guitar or mandolin, can master it. They usually play a few notes from one of their leads and then the realization sets in. The bass, especially the upright, requires strength combined with a delicate touch, a sense of time, and the ability to place notes not just where they can be but where they should be. Slowly they hand the instrument back.

That’s when the respect begins and those who know will understand.

Whirlwind Ministries…

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is tucked inside what appears to be a gym with a kitchen attached. One door in. One door out. One half the room is table and the other half instruments with a pulpit shoehorned in between.

The walls are covered with pictures, trees mostly, and some holy thoughts. Perhaps one day someone said “I know, let’s get the kids to paint the wall” and this is what they got. Yet its all pleasant in a well worn kind of way, like the house of an aunt who never made much money but was still your favorite.

I was to be the bassist in the praise band, using the time up front to practice for a later prison ministry gig,  and because of work I arrived late while the service was in full swing. Quickly unpacking I found my place in the music and began to play. Three chords, lots of repeating, and tons of emotion. The sounds system was loud, so loud that I had trouble at first picking out my bass notes, but it was the volume of passion. While we Orthodox may occasionally mumble a few notes Pentecostals sing from the bottom of their shoes.

Songs done, a sermon was next in the order of business, a young lady skipping from passage to passage, thought to thought, using a whiteboard to help her along. Bibles were open and occasionally someone joined in with a question or comment. I listened, and remembered. This was me, some time ago, the music, the sermon, everything. It’s been a million miles down the road, of course, but I had not forgotten.

Yes, I am a different person now, Orthodox through and through. I was never a good Pentecostal even when I hung around with them. Too much noise. Too many things going on. I could never imagine going back to that world. I love the beautiful stillness and holy peace of Orthodoxy. Yet one thing remains. The love.

Whatever else was going on, good, bad, or otherwise, there was love. Love in the music. Love in a parish with its doors wide open to folks from the local Gospel Mission. Even a love for holy things that jumped from place to place with the sermon. Come in broken, disheveled, lonely, or not quite right for “polite” society and Whirlwind’s heart was ready to expand to fit anyone who walked in.

Whatever else we have we don’t often have that and in their own way Whirlwind may be more Orthodox than we could ever imagine, or be.