A political prediction…

Just a wild guess in an arena that I often read about but seldom prognosticate. The recent information that someone in the administration has been offering jobs to two opponents of administration selected candidates to get them to drop out of the race will play out this way. Former President Clinton, who is alleged to have offered one of the positions, will make a public statement, with deep empathy, admitting his role. His wife, now Secretary of State, will soon after resign due to her “sadness” over the failed promise of the Obama administration. She gets the credibility of being a voice of good government even in the face of her own party, the foreign policy cred that comes with being Secretary of State, and two years distance between her resignation and the next election. He, that is former President Clinton, is none the worse for wear because he already is tainted but people still like him and expect nothing higher of him AND gets to payback his wife with the best gift of all, power, in trade for how many anonymous women X still remain.

Or maybe I should just take off my tin foil hat. Who knows? But that many of you will be thinking, “It could be…” shows how far things have slid down the chute.

I've been reading…

as I begin a process of rediscovering the Liturgy and among the first things I’m seeing, again, is how much our worship is a catechism, embodying and teaching the Faith. Far from mindless ritual for its own sake there is meaning in each action, more motion than other forms of Christian worship to be sure but none of it wasted.  Then it occurs to me.

How much do the people who are worshiping, priests led by a Priest, understand this? When confronted with the stripped down efficiency of most American Christian worship, something that promises to get them from wherever they are to some mystical “there” in 45 minutes or less how can people who have no idea what they are doing explain, understand, and more importantly embrace the Liturgy? Saying that we do this because we do this doesn’t seem to be the answer.

And why do we insist, in some Orthodox circles, that this complex, beautiful, and meaningful Liturgy who’s nuances, even its core, are in need of deliberate explanation be done outside of the common language? As I begin to read and learn myself what I should be teaching others that one thing has jumped out at me, the wisdom of putting the Liturgy in the language of the people. If they do not understand all the subtlety of action they can, at least, if they hear the words understand something, something that helps them participate and be the people of God doing the work particular to that calling.

So many questions but questions are where answers are born.

On this Memorial Day…

weekend may God grant rest to all who have died in and through war and as we commemorate these sacrifices let us strive to our utmost to honor them by our commitment to pray and work for the peace of the world.

It is the Sunday of All Saints…

the day in the year when those many who were not, or could not for the sake of the numbers be celebrated. It is good there are too many, Saints that is, more than the days even when stacked on top of each other. It is a sign of God’s grace to realize that far from being extraordinarily rare there is a bounty of holy people to assist our lives and imaginations, to call us to something higher and to hear our struggling calls for their help.

It is a truth as well, perhaps even a higher one, that is expressed in the timing of the Feast in the Orthodox Churches. It is the week after Pentecost and the link reminds us it is the grace of the Holy Spirit that gives us what we need to fulfill the saintly call on our lives. I think sometimes we think of Orthodox Saints as people of extraordinary effort or dedication, and that is true only to the extent that we don’t disconnect them from the power, the grace, the source of what they did, the Holy Spirit.

After years of spending time in and around the charismatic movements of Protestant life I have many examples of people saying “This or that things…” usually an emotional state or a sign is the mark of the presence of the Holy Spirit.  Yet the true mark of the presence of Pentecost in any person, as in the Saints,  is the hunger for God and a life of virtue. People claim there is revival when they fall down on the church floor or sing in a mystical language but Orthodoxy seems to teach that virtue, everyday holiness, faithfulness in moments, comes first and then, as God wills, other signs. After all which is more important, five minutes of singing in tongues or a lifetime consecrated to God?

This was a relief to me, a freedom to know that I wasn’t expected to be anything but faithful or do anything but orient my life to God. It didn’t have to be splashy or appear miraculous or even holy by whatever definition that term is used,  just one foot in front of another, the greatest sign of them all. It is truthful to say that I am more, on this week of Pentecost, truly charismatic in Orthodoxy that I ever was in the myriad parishes, groups, and studies I wandered through on the way.

Just so you know…

All the hubbub and violence about depictions of Mohamed has a varied basis in history. Follow this link to see a large number of representations of Mohamed through the centuries that were made by Islamic people themselves.

Having a standing 15 minutes of fame…

every Tuesday at Junior’s in River Falls, Wisconsin I’ve gotten to know audiences and understand why KISS did what it has done for what, thirty years now.

Getting an audience’s attention is hard. Being good isn’t good enough. It helps but why were the Bay City Rollers famous and a thousand people who played better in their sleep still working the Dirt Circuit? Audiences are fickle, easily distracted, easily bored, and always looking for a limit to be pushed. It’s not the words, not the tune, not the talent, but the show that matters. Adam Lambert pushed a man’s face into his crotch and finally got the attention, but what’s next?

No, I’m not going to play bass and spit blood all over the stage. I plan to keep my clothes on, the profanities off, and do a show my mother could attend. That probably dooms me to little things here and there with audiences talking and eating while we play. That’s okay because I’ve come to an understanding.

Human audiences will always be what they are, but the audience of heaven is what matters most. I sometimes stand in front of crowds that could care less but when I stand in worship I am standing in the presence of One who accepts whatever feeble song I can muster with a love rooted not in the show but in the character of the Listener. There is a tyranny in being on the stage, there is none standing at the altar.

Amazing what a bar and grill can teach you.

I was invited to play…

a gig at a local prison with a small group of folks. Mostly praise music, perhaps a few other tunes. I accepted, not just to release my inner Johnny Cash but music for God is, as it has been said, a prayer prayed twice.

Yet my bass isn’t coming with me. Just can’t bring it. They’d have to open the body up to check for contraband and the strings, well I get that part. A bass string would be a formidable weapon in the wrong hands. What’s more it could be cut into small pieces and used as a needle for a prison tattoo. I have to admit I didn’t even think about that. Attach the wire to an electric shaver head, dip it in ink and let the back and forth motion pound it into the skin.

Kudos, I guess, for resourcefulness to the people behind bars and a certain sense of gratitude on my part for living a fairly sheltered life…

May 9th…

Long my imprisoned spirit lay
Fast held in sin and nature’s night
Thine eye diffused a quickening ray
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light
My chains fell off, my heart was free
I rose went forth, and followed thee…

30 years ago today I was arrested and began to be free.

Soli Deo Gloria.

It's a little past midnight…

and I’m thinking about my brother now gone from this world, can it be, for nearly four years? The little boy who shared a room with me. The handsome football captain. The father. The friend. The smile and a thousand images still inside me.

What I see in bread and wine transformed he sees face to face. What I envision only with the eyes of faith is as tangible to him as the recliner on which I am sitting. I know someone, not simply a Saint from times past but someone who breathed my air, who has seen Jesus, who sees Him as routinely as I see the people at work. Someone who lives in unclouded communion. Someone with no sleepless nights, in fact no night at all.

Time rushes on. The world is crazier than usual these days. People’s hearts, my heart, can grow faint. I wonder, in my own selfish way, why God is waiting even as I understand that time is mercy for both me and the world. Yet what must it be like to rest, not for a few fleeting hours but beyond time, beyond care, beyond everything that claws at us even as we seek to ascend?

For now I am here in time. I bear its marks. I seek as best I can to redeem the moments I have been given. There is joy here. There is love here. There is happiness here. Yet how wonderful it must be to know these things with undimmed perception, in whole and not in part!

Some day. Until then my times are in God’s hands.