You might notice that my sometimes weekly blog has a new heading. Money Talks and First Things have made room for “The Prompter.” It’s a name that needs, as Ricky Ricardo might say, “Some ‘splainin'”. So here goes.
Soren Kierkegaard was a mid-1800’s Danish author, poet, theologian, and existential philosopher. Old Soren’s ideas have influenced modern thought more than most of his ilk and era. But my favorite SK pondering has lately fallen out of favor. Frankly, it has been forgotten, devalued and overthrown at the individualist insistence of modern churches and their worshippers. Yet, I suppose if he felt the need to opine about this way back in 18-something, it might not be an entirely new development. Here it is in a nutshell.
As I went down to the river to pray Studying about that good old way And Who will wear the starry crown Good Lord, show me the way.
I first heard this song as the last track on Gillian Welch’s iconic folk album “Revival.” It’s simplicity of line and lyric resonated with me. I could tell it was reaching deeply into the felt language of conversion, renewal, and the personal clinging to divine hope placed in a holy other. For all the world, I thought I had stumbled onto a track that few had heard and experienced. We roots music folks are susceptible to that given our tastes appeal to a narrow swath of a certain musical vein. (As I have shared before, Lisa does not travel that path; so I saw Kristofferson alone last week and will experience my beloved Lucinda the same way next.) But then came “O Brother Where Art Thou.” In the classic siren scene where Delmar became affiliated, there it was for all to hear. Only this time it was Allison Krauss doing the honors. The visceral experience of the song was no longer reserved for me and my ilk. Turns out it never was.
Fifty-Two Weeks of Jesus has kicked off with a look into “His Early Years.” Truth is, it terms of sheer content, the gospels don’t give us much to look at. If you put any stock in apocryphal writings, you get some fanciful stories of Jesus that don’t paint him in a particularly good light. In our trustworthy accounts of the young Christ, we get him born, blessed, worshipped and hurried off to security in Egypt before Herod’s death made it safe to return to the homeland. His dad the carpenter sets up shop in Nazareth and raises Jesus and the family there.
There is only one story in which Jesus is an active participant; the annual journey to Jerusalem in his twelfth year. Then the Bible goes silent for nearly two decades. (John Prine has some theories about Jesus’ missing years, but like the other narratives I mentioned, I wouldn’t put much stock in them.)
In the last few days, I have had a number of good friends experience the death of a much-loved pet. Their stories brought to mind an article I wrote several years ago right after we had done the same. For these friends, and any anyone else fortunate enough to know this kind of love, I thought I would share it here today.
In my favorite article by the great Southern humorist Lewis Grizzard, he wrote about the passing of his beloved black lab, Catfish. Just days before his own death, Lewis closed the piece with these touching words; “My heart, or what’s left of it, is breaking.” Today, I think I know how just how he felt.
As many of you have heard and seen, the beginning of 2020 at FBC will be marked by welcoming Michael McCarthy into the family as our Director of Church Music. He has already thrilled our souls at this year’s Christmas Eve service and will begin leading us in worship this Sunday.
We are nearing the end of our Advent season and series of “Visitations.” I’m guessing that it is as hard for you to believe as it is for me. Seems like yesterday we were passing out candy on the way to carving up turkeys. It has been a fast and furious season for a lot of us. I know it has for me.
For years I used to lie to my family and tell then that next year the season will be less hectic. Then I finally surrendered to the reality that a minister’s life is life in the fast lane for the last ninety days of any year. That calculation did not take into account 2019’s unexpected extras of a cardiac event and a key staff transition. Yet, I’m still moving into the last leg of the season in good cheer and optimism for the days ahead. Let me share with you some of the reason’s why.
Merry Christmas First family friends! As easy as that is to proclaim to my people, it seems more natural and energetic after our time together Sunday. I want to take a moment to celebrate and appreciate the presentation of “The Christmas Song” by our FBC choir. It was moving to see such a presence in the loft and to hear such beautiful singing bringing such a powerful message. It was the highlight of the season thus far for me. I am especially grateful to our friend Dawne Eubanks who stepped in during our time of transition and made Sunday possible. First Baptist has long had a reputation for excellence in music and worship, and days like Sunday remind us of that. The talent behind the musical offering was a wonderful amalgam of faithful choir members, extra folks committing to the season, gifted young musicians from the St. Pete community, and our own remarkable leadership. This was a portrait of a great Sunday and a recipe for a great future as our best days of impressive praise are still ahead of us.
If all goes right, this blog will go out before the Thanksgiving turkey goes in. I pray it is a special day for you and yours, and that you give focus to the many blessings that can elicit great joy when seen in the light of the One who has provided them for us.
In three decades and change of pastoring, I have taken my place beside hundreds of people going through life’s unexpected intrusions. I’ve had a gift, I think, for helping folks calmly embrace those realities and find God’s peace, strength, and hope while staring down life’s most uninvited uncertainties. So on Halloween Eve, it seemed both odd and normal to be looking up from one of those beds being told what I already knew – I was becoming a full fledged member of the “cardiac event” club. I can honestly and thankfully say that I got in with a much smaller initiation fee than most. After few hours of discomfort, good drugs, diagnostics, and a couple of stents, I felt amazingly well. It was a surprise, having had no family history and low risk factors for such things. But seemingly other factors did prevail. Anyway, I’m getting closer to full strength, and trying to take the kind of advice that I have given so many over the years. Take it easy. Lighten up while you still can. Just find a place and make a stand. Don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy. (Evidently the Eagles spoke words of instruction by way of the morphine and ativan.)
These Ugandan words flow so well off the tongue, even one as white and southern as mine. Simply interpreted, they mean “Peace Now.” Peace; not as the world gives, but that which comes from our Lord and those who represent Him. Now; not delayed or deferred, held back or hoped for. “Amani Sasa, Peace Now.” These are words meant to speak immediate hope to souls who have known so little and need it so desperately. They are the watchwords of a ministry that I am proud to say our people share in.