Mice (and other unpleasant things)

I don’t like mice. I know, that’s not very manly of me, but the list is far longer than that! Spending many years in old New England homes where mice are as predictable as black flies, I knew I needed to learn how to deal with seeing mice, dead or alive. For some reason, I thought it would help if I squinted my eyes when bending down to sweep a dead mouse into a dustpan.  Limiting my vision and not looking too closely at the corpse, I thought, made it possible to get close.

I was reminded of this strategy when I was doing my Lenten work. In a season that calls us to draw close to our character defects - those things that scare us or get in the way of our relationship with God and one another - it’s tempting to squint our eyes and not look too close.  Too often, we feel a partial view is preferable to one with eyes wide open.

·      Admitting overt lies is easier than looking close enough to see the ways we bend the truth to make us look better or others feel more comfortable. 

·      Going to church is easier than worshiping God is spirit and truth.

·      Opening our eyes to our visible unfaithfulness is easier than admitting the lust within our hearts.

·      Pledging allegiance to the flag is easier than looking at all the ways our democracy falls short.

·      Sending a check is easier than showing up.

·      Reading (or writing) a devotional is easier than living out one’s faith on a daily basis.

The ways to squint one’s eyes, spiritually, are many. When it comes to matters of the heart, it seems we’re well-practiced at squinting our eyes. Perhaps it’s time to learn how to open our eyes wide and look directly at things that scare us.

Red Shirts

It was just a red shirt. Actually, there were many red shirts, but to see them being worn by famous golfers did more to lift my spirits than I can adequately express. I can’t imagine what they must have meant to the one for whom they were being worn.

For those of you unfamiliar with the golf world, there’s this guy named Tiger Woods and he’s one of the greatest golfers of all time. On Sundays, which is the final round of all tournaments, Tiger always wore a red shirt. In support of Tiger, who was in a terrible car accident last week, many golfers wore red shirts on Sunday. It was a simple gesture of support from fellow competitors, but it spoke volumes to the golf world and anyone else with ears to hear.

For many years now, we have been inundated with the many things that divide us. The effects have been deep and far-reaching. Whether it’s because of our skin color, religious views, sexual orientation, political leanings, or opinions on any issue you can think of, it seems there’s more than enough pluribus to go around, but no unum. 

That changed, if only for a moment, Sunday afternoon. Looking at the golfers in red shirts made me feel as if the flow of the stream had finally changed. It may or may not last, but it was a bit of light during a season that’s seemed particularly dark. 

Perhaps we should all go out and buy a red shirt. Better yet, maybe we should spend the season of Lent renewing our love for one another, looking for what unites us rather than divides us. Who knows, we might even begin to see that we’re all beloved children of God. Everyone. No exceptions.

That would be a welcomed change.

Afterglow

I wanted to skip forward. The song I wanted to hear came after the first, and all it would take would be to push a button to get there, but I didn’t. I listened to the whole clip and found an important lesson in doing so.

Afterglow, by Genesis, is one of my all-time favorite songs. It spoke to me enough when I first heard it to have it played in church before my ordination, and, in many ways, speaks to me now more than ever. But this morning I am enamored by the connection between the two pieces of music because they point to what has been true for my life, and maybe yours as well: The music played first is not the only music to be played. In fact, the song that comes at the end might well have a different beat, a more appealing melody, and more poignant lyrics.

Too often, we think we’re here to play one song. Fortunately, God has an infinite number of songs and we get to perform many in our lives. We sometimes judge the different songs, choose one over the other, but the wonder comes when we let the different songs sit beside one another, when we let the early songs lead to the later ones. 

I once played a lively, some might say frenetic, tune. It had many moving parts and pushed as many people away as it did captivate. It’s a tune I no longer play, or at least I try not to, and I’m tempted to divide it from the one I’m playing now, but something important would be lost if I did. When I listen to the songs together, I can hear a transition and the melody and lyrics that come later are all the more pronounced.

Thanks be to God, the great composer and abundant song-giver.

(Ok, I’ll just say it, I have a man-crush. As a drummer-want-to-be, and a lead-singer-want-to-be, you can see why I love this clip, but my point lies in the transition and in the lyrics that come later.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rme3YsGvwUM

Afterglow (by Genesis)

Like the dust that settles all around me
I must find a new home
The ways and holes that used to give me shelter
Are all as one to me now
But I, I would search everywhere
Just to hear your call
And walk upon stranger roads than this on
In a world I used to know before
I miss you more

Than the sun reflecting off my pillow
Bringing the warmth of new life
And the sounds that echoed all around me
I caught a glimpse of in the night
But now, now I've lost everything
I give to you my soul
The meaning of all that I believed before
Escapes me in this world of none, no thing, no one

And I would search everywhere
Just to hear your call
And walk upon stranger roads than this one
In a world I used to know before
For now I've lost everything
I give to you my soul
The meaning of all that I believed before
Escapes me in this world of none
I miss you more