Wild Turkey

"Wild Turkey" can lead to some spirited conversation. You can begin the conversation with your ABC's or at least at the store with the same name. But I'm not talking about "brown water" that comes in a bottle. I more or less have in mind the wild turkeys I've seen lately out and about. They are the ones who you will not see on our tables at Thanksgiving. They know nothing of the holiday and would be in mourning for their tame relatives if they got wind of such a thing.

For me Thanksgiving makes me pause and remember. Somehow every thanksgiving I fall down a rabbit hole and pass Alice and the Mad Hatter as I turn left down a winding pathway of memories.

I remember going to Betsy's Lutheran church the night before Thanksgiving and singing, "Let All Things Now Living." I loved that song for some reason. It was not in the Methodist hymnal so when I "grew up" I would steal it and print the words so my congregation could sing it. It is now in the Methodist Hymnal supplement for which I am of course "thankful."

The next day we would all cram ourselves into probably the smallest house of all the extending family dwellings. Reason was not the operative norm. This is where "the family" gathered and that was it. Maw Maw Lee's house was in the country next to the Christmas tree farm where we always hiked after lunch in the hopeless effort to "walk off" what we had just consumed.

And of course gluttony was the sin of the day. I can still taste some of the casseroles and the desserts. There was one uncle who would always disappear for a while and come back from his car a little happier than when he went out. He evidently found another kind of "wild turkey" to help him get through the holiday season.

I can't find those casseroles anymore. The house belongs to someone else. A good number of the people I remember are gone to the place not made with hands eternal in the heavens. We are trying to create new traditions but you can't go back home again....at least in some ways...I suppose we are not supposed to.

Our youngest child was born on one of those Thanksgiving mornings. She messed everything up that day. I never got a taste of one of those casseroles. At 11:17 we had a 10lb 2oz turkey named Amanda. I've always kidded her about that. She now laughs. She did not use to.

On another Thanksgiving evening my mother did her usual second feast for us in the evening. We had a grand old time. She read an essay written by our oldest daughter who was then a "I'm not paying attention to most anyone but me...and no longer want to go to grannies house cause my friends are everything...type of teenager." The essay was about "the person who influenced me the most in life." The words were about my mother. They told of "Grannie breakfasts" and times of singing "Fly Little Blue Bird." The message was of a woman who made that little girl feel like a queen and who saved pantie hose "eggs" to put toys in for her even when my mother did not need any more pantie hose."

My mother cried...said, "I thought you had forgotten"...hugged that not so distant adolescent...and then later that night while reading a book simply bowed her head and died. When I got the phone call from my father saying that, "She was gone," I looked over at Betsy and said, "Well I'm thankful that at least we had a going away party without knowing we were having it." She was only 67. I had other questions for her. I think of her often, especially on Thanksgiving.

So Thanksgiving is "loaded" with memories. I'm thankful for most of them. What about you? Close your eyes this Thanksgiving and smile. Pull out from your flock of wild turkeys a special memory then turn toward the present and create one for the future.

Blessings
jody

Killing off the King to Have a Baby

The Christian year ends in a rather strange way. On the last Sunday of what is called "ordinary time" time takes a not so ordinary twist. All of the scripture readings have to do with Jesus dying. The one I picked this year has Jesus standing all beaten up and bleeding before Pilate. Pilate asks Jesus if he is in fact a king.

Jesus says something like, "Well that's what you must think." Pilate has no use for this guy who is making him work on a holiday and replies, "Look idiot I'm not a Jew...I kill Jews for a living and you better start showing some respect for your superiors."

Jesus' reply, which you have to read between the lines is, "Whatever." He then offers Pilate something that Pilate would never quite get. "Look Mr. King of Rome, my kingdom is something you would not understand anyway. My kingdom will be around when you are dust."

Pilate then finds some hand sanitizer and washes his hands of this poor soul thus showing Jesus once and for all who is really king. Of course we now know that there is no First Church of Pontius Pilate but there seem to be plenty of places around that have King Jesus at least on their signs out front.

But as soon as we kill of Jesus at the end of the year it is time to have the first day of the year that begins the Christian New Year. We call it Advent. We have the death and the birth right up next to each other. What gives?

It seems that for the Christian we need to be reminded about what kind of king that God sends in a manger. Actually the manger is not as far removed from the cross as one might at first think. There was the death of a dream that night that Mary was told there was "no room." After all she was promised by none other than an angel that she would be the mother of the new king of the world. What kind of king would be forced to be born in a barn.

So we face the death of expectations as we start the New Year. Advent is a season to be told, "ready...set....stop." This is no countdown for the shopping days left until the credit card statements come. For the Christian there is the speed-bump that jars us to a stop if we take it too fast.

Stop....you have a king that gets crucified by the world. Stop...you are to be servants of a servant king. Stop...the world can be different if you serve a different kind of king...the kind of king who rules with a shepherd's staff and who wears a crown of thorns.

This Sunday, as I have done in many years before, I will place a chair in the chancel area of my church, place the processional cross behind the chair, put a crown of thorns over the cross beam of that cross, lean a shepherd's staff on the cross....and invite my people to come kneel and say "thank you" to this servant king.

We face the death before we hear the soft cry of the baby. It is the reason we can say "thank you" to a God who is willing to come suffer with us and promise us a new day beyond our suffering. Shades of Christmas are present even as a wounded Jesus looks at another king and says, "My kingdom is not of this world.....but it will make a world of difference."

Before Mary has her baby we are reminded that things in the new kingdom will be upside down in order to set things right side up....Happy soon to be New Year...
jody

For All the Saints

I last wrote about going to my 45th High School reunion and the request for me to do a "memorial service" for those in our class who "are no longer with us." It was an interesting evening. Wow, those people got old somehow.

We looked at a power-point slide show of "the ghosts of High School Past" as we ate our food and chewed on memories. My old girlfriend was there and I spoke briefly with her despite my dear wife's accusation that I flirted with her at our last reunion. I figure we are owed a few reflections from the past. After all she was the first to break my heart. Yes, she fell for an older guy while on a beach trip. She ended up marrying the guy but all I remember is the deep ache that was new to me.

The ache started somewhere below my stomach and came up around my windpipe, then seeped into my chest. It was a strange feeling. I did not know someone could do that to someone else. I had only played with feelings until that point. What was this sensation that felt like a roller coaster going down and not coming up?

So how do "you" describe a broken heart. Anyway I lived even though I thought for a while I would not. Sure we all can laugh now about those first love downdrafts but it sure was not funny then. So all that rushed by as I listened to her tell stories of her grandchildren.

But back to the "saints." Yes I conducted a brief memorial time for those names that were below the pictures that were mounted on a board in front of us. The pictures were from the High School Annual. The all looked so young and so hopeful and now they were memories. They were gone from our midst. It was a somber moment in the swirl of laughter and surprise at how we have changed. So I'll share with you the poem I wrote to read to my classmates. It is based on that reflection I shared with you earlier where many of us gathered just before graduation and sang a song of both hope and desire: "Climb Every Mountain."

I share it with you for those of you who read these words and have climbed your mountains and discovered your valleys....

The Mountain Climbers

We sang of mountains
That could be conquered
And with our knapsacks full of
Hope we set out...
Maps and charts were not needed
For at first we were
Full of hope
That needed only time

But soon we found that mountains
Have valleys between
Their rugged peaks so
We stopped our separate
Marches and joined
Hands with another or many
For in our days
Of youth we dared
Not ask about
the fear of mountain climbing

So today we gather to smile
even about the tears
For remembrance is our tool
That we strike into the side
Of this- yet another peak
That we call "reunion"

And as we stand beside this
Slope of a past whose
Story is much bigger than
The simple song we sang
We step into a sacred silence
As we hold in our hearts
The names of those climbers
Who are beyond the
Range of our gathering
But
Who are not lost to the
One who made all mountains
And who transverses all valleys

Hold on to them
O God who listens so well
To songs of youth
But who knows how quickly
Hope can be swallowed up
As pilgrims on the way
Discover their need
For ropes and charts and
You

So we hear their names and
Speak them tenderly
From yet another mountain
That we climb this day
Hear them O God of all
Knowing...and complete
Their lives that are
So sacred to you...

jody

Climb Every Mountain

We sang "Climb Every Mountain" and swayed back and forth in our melody. Then we set out to climb those mountains. We had no idea how many valleys there would be. You don't ask about valleys when you are 18 and full of hope.

Now those singers will gather next weekend for our 45th High School reunion. The mountain climbing song was a last minute idea for our senior class day play. We sang it and then headed for various mountain ranges.

At the reunion they always want me to read the names of those who have climbed their last mountain and are now in that "place not made with hands but eternal in the heavens." Of course there are always more names at each reunion. There was Vietnam that took some of us and then came traffic accidents and those various diseases and infirmities that no one thought would catch up to those idealistic mountain climbers.

After a few words and the reading of names we'll play some beach music and shag a bit. We will not sing the mountain climbing song. It was only for one shining moment anyway. We'll shag and offer a toast to those who have crossed over. Old romances will be remembered and maybe even a strange embrace will take place.

We've encountered a lot of mountains and valleys since our chorus 45 years ago. We've learned to sing the "blues" too. The text I used last Sunday reminds me of the distance from the peaks to the valleys. A group of people gathered one cloudy afternoon much longer ago than a few years and tried to sing but found it hard:
...."By the waters of Babylon we hung up our harps for our captives required of us songs...'Sing one of your holy songs now that you're up the creek without a paddle'...but How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?" (Psalm 137)

Maybe I knew my reunion was coming up or maybe it was one of my teacher's comments that led me to write a blues song based on the Psalm. Mrs. Messiemer put on my report card, "If Jody does not quit showing off he'll never amount to anything."

So I'll close my nostalgia with the song I sang in the sermon as I spoke of the need to sing the spiritual blues when we are sad. I dawned my sun glasses and with some piano blues notes in the background I sang "The Babylon Blues"....here goes:

"Been thrown in the River
They call Babylon
Been stripped down to my soul
Seems my God is gone

Ain't singing no sweet songs
No hymns coming from me
Done tossed my harmonica
Out to the sea

I'm crying in exile
This land seems so strange
My captors done told me
Things ain't gonna change

I've got the Babylon...Babylon...Babylon blues....o yeah....

Climb every mountain...forge every stream (walk through every valley too) follow every rainbow till you find your dream....(even if some teacher tells you to shut up)

jody

Honesty in Exile

So this week I've been preparing a lesson on the book of Revelation for a class I'm teaching and working with the scripture text for this Sunday's sermon, which is Psalm 137. On one hand I'm dealing with the "mark of the beast" and the four horseman of the apocalypse and on the other hand there are the words, "we hung up our lyres because we would not sing one of the songs of Zion" for our captors who mocked us with such a request.

Both Revelation and Psalm 137 are cries from "exile." The folks to whom the Revelation is written are in a type of exile. They think Jesus is coming back any moment and hopefully will take them out of the evil world that seems to be becoming more evil every day. John tells them to hold on because "the time is not yet." He does affirm that it is exile indeed and that it is going to get worse before it gets better. It is not the news the people really want to hear.

In the middle of it all God is still in charge, believe it or not...and some do not. Beasts with horns and horses with riders who spread destruction all over the place are rampant. In the middle of the "tribulation" and mess is a wounded lamb who reminds the hurting people that they are not alone and that the lamb knows and feels what it means to lose. The lamb announces that the victory's been won but the war seems to be still raging. (For those of you without the 3-D glasses the "lamb" is Jesus.)

A vision of heaven is thrown in to make sure that those who lose know that "no more tears" is not just a baby shampoo but is a promise for those who hang in there. It is the good news in the midst of the bad news.

Psalm 137 goes along with all this because it is the Bible's version of "the blues." It goes something like, "My God seems to have left me and I ain't gonna sing one of those happy songs from the past." Like those lines from David Wilcox's song, "Levi Blues;"..."I was doing my laundry baby/I thought I'd do my new jeans too/Yeah, I was doing my laundry/I threw my new jeans in too/And when the spin and rinse was over/Every single thing in there was BLUE...

The people find themselves captive in Babylonian exile and in the spin cycle. God seems gone so after the rinse phase they hang up their harps. They also feel like laundry that has been hung out to dry...and blue on top of that.

So from Psalms to Revelation the people of God are called to "Make a joyful noise"...and when necessary to "sing the blues." How "do" you sing the Lord's song when you are blue and are in exile? Well...you sing the blues.

God always listens....maybe especially to the blues.
bless you
jody

The Holy Spirit and Horton the Elephant

I think I frightened the church staff the other day when I did the worship opening time at our weekly staff meeting. I told them that as I was preparing what I was going to say, Horton the Elephant spoke to me.

Ok I admit I've been feeling a bit stressed lately. As I told our daughters when they were teenagers and trying to grow up fast, "You might want to slow down. This grown-up thing is not all it's cranked up to be." That day before staff meeting I was a little tired of the grown up world. It is a world full of meetings and budgets and reoccurring problems. As the "leader-CEO-Main Guy-Head of the Team-Sr. Pastor" a lot of the list comes my way.

So I told my befuddled staff that this week I was tired of some of it. I was tired of some of the negative stuff I had heard of late. I was weary from my work even though much of it is still very worthwhile and after all it is "God's work." But I took this moment because I also told them that I thought maybe Jesus was giving me a "pass" to do so for a brief moment.

I had been working on what to say the upcoming Sunday on Children's Sabbath. I was working with that text where Jesus reaches over and pulls up a small child and places her on his knee and says to a bunch of "grown-up" disciples who were having trouble getting along and arguing over who was top dog; "Look at this child. Come as child and you'll finally get the idea of what this new Kingdom I keep talking about is like."

So that morning before yet another "meeting" I noticed a small statue of Horton the Elephant starring at me. I must have used it for some children's thing I did years ago and one of the support staff found it when she was helping me "organize" my office. Horton seemed to whisper something to me.

Horton the elephant heard "a small sound but there was no one around." That small sound was the cry of a Who and he decided that it was "some sort of creature of very small size, too small to be seen by elephant eyes." But Horton knew he had to respond because "after all...a person's a person no matter how small."

Remember that the third "person" of that very grown-up doctrine we call "the Trinity" is the person of the Holy Spirit. So it was on an early morning a few days ago the "still small voice" of that spirit spoke to me in the form of Horton.

"Listen," it said, "to that small voice within your busy world...You are my child...that's all you need to be right now...the grown-up world will wait for a moment....just be my child right now."

Jesus told stories about sheep and coins that got lost in the busy world. He often said that his kingdom was like tiny seeds or small bits of leaven. "The kingdom of God comes in small ways" he reminded his grown-up disciples. "Come as a child."

So this week I was blessed by the parable of Horton the Elephant who reminded me of the small child who never grew up that lives in me...that small child that is not supposed to grow up. It is the child who reminds me to stop, look, and listen. Once in a while the fast paced world can wait...wait for me and you to "come as a child."

I need to sit on Jesus' knee occasionally and remember. Giving to others in his name is wonderful and yes tiring at times so the whisper that came this week from a blue Elephant who listened to a small voice was a wonderful spirit filled reminder.

Bless you
jody

The Far Country

I talked with a prodigal recently. He was "home" now and pretty grateful but he shared with me how he actually missed the "far country..." that is before the pig-pen stuff.

A preaching professor told me a few years ago to be careful using the image "prodigal" and assuming that young people knew what you mean. He said young people were no longer familiar with stereotypical biblical images because they had not read the bible and did not grow up hearing such things as, "You're going to end up my prodigal."

So for those of you who are "young" I'm referring to the story of the prodigal son that is in Luke. Luke is in the bible. If you don't have a bible you are welcome to steal one from the next motel you find yourself in. The Gideons actually want people to steal them. By the way the Gideons are people who "push" bibles.

What am doing? Young people aren't reading this...are you? Anyway the prodigal I talked with was longing to go back and visit the far country. He missed the excitement and told me that the "good life" was not as full as he had hoped it would be.

He was feeling really guilty about all this and perhaps that is why he was telling me the story. He had been viewing travel posters of the far country...in his head of course...and he longed just for a quick trip back to some of the places where he discovered some really wild stuff before he got lost and had to "come to himself."

"I never thought I would want to go back," he said. What he realized was that he left part of "himself" in the far country and he could not really find it at home.

Have you ever been to the "far country?" A lot of people who have not been there quickly judge those who have. It is one reason maybe people leave the certainty of home.

I wonder if the father in the original story had ever "strayed" when he was young? Maybe that is one reason he ran down the road to grab hold of his "stinky" prodigal child.

I told the prodigal that he probably needed to "stay home" but that it was okay to share the memories and longings with me. The one who originally told the story told it to portray how "his father" was like the father in the story. So I put my hand on this "prodigal's" head and I blessed him and his wondering thoughts. He will of course go unnamed but I blessed him in the name of the one who knows his name and who loves him like a father.

If you are in the far country when you read this...try to go home. If you're the "elder brother" loosen up and try to understand prodigals. If you're a parent of a prodigal pray for patience and remember life is messy and nobody is exempt from longings that lead to pig-pens. And if you don't have a bible...steal one or something...It's a good story worth reading.

jody