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Join Us Backstage!

For the theater-goer, the intermissions between scenes in a three-act stage play are some of the most suspenseful moments of the entire night. The curtain comes down on a scene full of turmoil and unresolved tension, on characters in crisis and distress, and on a story coming to a climax. As you sit in the dim half-light, surrounded by the hushed, excited chatter of the audience, you hear the stagehands hard at work behind the curtain. Props are being wheeled in and out, actors and actresses are scurrying to find their marks, and the director is whispering the script in the wings. When the curtain goes back up, what setting will you find for the final scene? What characters will be center stage? What kind of score will be struck up from the orchestra pit? One can hardly wait!

In the great stage play of history, there was no intermission more important or suspenseful than that provided between the Old and New Testaments. As the curtain came down on the Israelites rebuilding the walls in Jerusalem, the Lord was wheeling out the great Assyrian, Egyptian, and Babylonian empires and wheeling in the Greek and the Roman. A great and seismic scene change was underway, the world being outfitted with an entirely new setting. A cast of new characters were being positioned center stage. As the house lights went back down and the spot light put on the Savior of the world and the dawn of His kingdom here on Earth, the final act became the story of the Church. Right now, we’re offering an opportunity for everyone to take a tour backstage during this intermission. Professor Jere Vincent is teaching a class on Sunday mornings entitled Early Church History. Using videos, pictures, and vivid description, Jere is resetting the stage for us and opening our eyes to the amazing work the Lord did in preparing the world for the establishment of Christ’s kingdom. Please consider joining us Sundays at 8:30am in room #208, upstairs in the Family Life Center for this excellent look behind the curtain. Hot coffee and a delicious home-baked treat will also be served! Don’t miss it!

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What Falls in My Yard

The beautiful sugar maple standing tall in the dooryard of your house is yours.  Its sap, its shade, its bark and branches, its trunk and treetop view; they’re all yours.  What’s also all yours is every lovely little leaf turned golden yellow and candy apple red that the wind shakes loose every autumn.  What becomes of all those leaves anyway?  Surely they don’t all fall in your yard.

I spent a good bit of time this weekend raking up in front and behind the house.  As I was making piles and wrangling tarps, the thought entered my mind: “I wonder how many of the leaves I’m laboring over fell from neighbor’s trees and I wonder how many of my leaves are making work for my neighbors?”  I thought about it some and concluded that there’s no telling exactly.  But I’m sure the number isn’t none.  Everyone in our neighborhood shares a little of their fallen foliage with everyone else.  It would be nearly impossible and more than a little silly for me to traipse up and down the street endeavoring to collect all my wayward leaves.  And I certainly wouldn’t expect the Joneses to come over and claim their runaways from out of my shrubs and fence lines.  The burden of autumn is just a collective one I suppose.  This is kind of how it is in a church family.  No matter the season, we all have troubles and trials that we are dealing with.  Most of these are burdens that we alone must bear.  But like the wind, the Spirit will often direct some of my troubles to your dooryard to share with me and some or yours to mine.  The burden of the world, for the church, is a collective one I suppose.  And I love the Lord for it.  “Joint heirs with Jesus as we travel this sod, for I’m part of the family, the family of God!”

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What the Bell Tolls in Texas

There’s a twelfth century tale that goes something like this. A particularly pious and devout Buddhist monk was alone in his humble home one dark and snowy evening when he was visited by a thief. The monk, sitting upon the floor, was so lost in a transcendental trance that he didn’t notice when the robber barged in. Seeing his advantage, the thief took hold of the golden buddha that sat in front of the worshipful monk and placed it in his sack. The holy man still did not stir and, it being such a cold night, the robber moved to take one of the two warm robes that the monk was wearing. As he lifted the top garment from the old cleric’s shoulders, the monk suddenly awoke and sped after the thief who ran out into the night. After a short chase, the monk caught the man.  Instead of demanding a return of his things, the monk promptly took off his other robe and offered it to the thief. “The Tibetan winter is long and cold and a man in your line of work will need plenty of warm clothing.” The robber replied in disbelief, “Have you gone mad, old monk?  You are more crazy than holy!” The monk responded with a question. “Suppose I was out in the cold and on my right hand there were two mittens and on my left there was none. My right hand was warm but my left was aching from the frosty cold. What should I do?” Without hesitation, the thief answered “Remove one from the right and place it on the left, of course.” As the monk draped the robe over the robber, he said “You see, that is what I am doing this night. I am you and you are me. We are all part of the same body.”

Now it might not be as Zen as all that, but on a hillside in Galilee, Jesus taught his disciples a similar way to live: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” This wonderful rule is often lauded for its power in preventing people from doing awful things to one another. One would steal from another but does not want anything stolen from him. One would curse another but does not want to be cursed himself. One would cheat on another but does not want to be cheated on. Now, this is all very well and good and can certainly be effective, but I imagine Jesus wanted this admonition to be something more than a choke collar. Perhaps we should be more affirmative in our understanding of the Golden Rule; more shall and less shall not. Perhaps we ought to listen because we want to be listened to. Perhaps we ought to reach out because we like being sought out ourselves. Maybe we ought to love because we want to be loved.

Of all the evil that emanates from a mass shooting, one of the most dastardly deeds is done to our society. These sorts of things have an isolating, atomizing effect on our communities. A jaded eye has us see everyone and everything the way that Satan would. While these days certainly call for diligence and a zeal to protect those dearest to us, we must not grow even more indifferent to the neighbors and strangers among us. We must offer more of ourselves to everyone we meet. As the great poet Donne had it: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” It seems the bell in Texas has tolled for us.

 

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