They Say Everything Old is New Again

“What has been will be again, 

what has been done will be done again; 

There is nothing new under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 1:9

The longer I live the more I believe it to be true. 

Without addressing for now the broader implications this prompt generates, its truth is easily applied to contemporary culture.

Old fashioned names have made a comeback as babies are given names that have not been on a school roster in decades. Though the list of most popular boy names includes the biblical Eli, Noah, Elijah and Isaac, it does not yield Ezekiel in 2015.

 In name association, Ezekiel takes me to my grandfather’s knee where I first heard that old spiritual “Dry Bones” and discovered musical skeletal anatomy. Pappy loved to sing to us about connecting those dry bones, modulating upward in successive keys to get to “Now hear the word of the Lord.”

“Dem Dry Bones” was sung by Rosemary Clooney, The Lennon Sisters and Tennessee Ernie Ford, who also sang “Sixteen Tons” in a bass voice like Pap’s. You don’t have to have watched the Lawrence Welk Show to remember these, but it helps.

So I learned about Ezekiel at a young age with rapt attention and vivid imagery. I read recently something that took me back there.

Before Ezekiel's calling God appeared to him in a vision and Ezekiel saw the glory of God, detailing when and where he saw this vision in Ezekiel 1:1. Ezekiel remembered where he was—precisely.

The writer etched in his mind so that he could draw upon that distinct memory. That intentional practice is important for us. Likewise, raising an Ebenezer is a way of marking a spot to acknowledge something important we must not forget.

I’ve never had a vision of God. I do not doubt that I can happen, it just has never happened to me. One occasion when I distinctly remember seeing an extraordinary sight –a vision, if you will--was while visiting with a dear woman in her home.

 I had known this family friend all my life, and she always had been old. Beautiful, clever, talented, full of grace and dogged determination— and old.  Now she was dying.

As I talked with her by her bedside I became aware of seeing what I can only call a transformation in her face, a subtle change in her countenance. For more than a few moments I beheld her with youthful vigor, a radiant glow. I was struck by an awareness that I was in a sacred space. Perhaps this is what she had looked like decades ago before her face was creased with lines and her upswept white hair framed her dark eyes. She was serene and still her beautiful self.

I tried to take it in not knowing what to make of it. The impression was distinct and ephemeral. We said goodbye for what I expected would be the last time. My mother and I went home. Within the hour the phone rang and I already knew: She was gone. I was at the time writing the words that would be spoken at her service later.

I was also struck with the awareness that there is so much more to this life than we can take in through our senses. I can never forget that time and place of experiencing an unusual sight though I did not speak of it for over ten years. 

When we limit our understanding of reality to that which we can quantify and observe, to those things we can put in boxes and stack neatly, we leave so much untapped. This experience I relate which occurred this very week years ago humbles me and reminds of the tremendous mystery in life.

 I am content to live with a respect for all that I cannot know and with gratitude for all that I do.

Ezekiel, we are told, fed upon God’s word and was sustained by the Spirit of God. That is not merely ancient literature: What sustained Ezekiel will sustain us today.

I want a vision of God's glory. I want to take in the Word of God until it seeps from the pores of our lives, and want to appropriate the Spirit's presence in our lives until God becomes our greatest reality.

The Presence of God becomes the power of God to sustain us—just as He promised.




Writing and remembering....photo from the porch at Upper Rawls at Lake Junaluska, NC. Blue Ridge morning mist cradles the valley train whistle over hot coffee: a trifecta for gifts of peace.

Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.   Psalm 90:2

First Aid by Ear

“What first aid treatment in shock is administered by ear?”

I read these words in Cutting for Stone, expressing Abraham Verghese's lingering question that echoes long after I read it.

The answer is one every first responder needs to know: words of comfort.

Words of comfort speak directly into the heart and soul as first aid for the weary. Words of comfort--like friends who show up with good food-- are welcome anywhere. While reassuring words may not change our circumstances, they remain an audible reminder that we are not alone.

New parents are advised to soothe their newborns with a shushing sound directly into the ear. Whispering with gentle cooing has a role, but not for this practice. No, “Hush, Chile” from the old days will suffice here.  The modern shushing technique must be loud enough to transmit the rushing wind sound over the baby's distress to induce calm and security. It works.

It all goes back to what we know first: That primal, pulsing, whooshing that surrounded the baby before birth continues to bring comfort when applied to soothe.

Hmmm, rushing wind. Pulsing breaths. Something sounds familiar.

The ancient Hebrew word for both spirit and breath is Ruah. "Breathe on me breath of God"..... Y-H-W-H. The sound of many waters. Images flood my mind as I give it line and let it run free.

We encounter God in various ways. I have experienced God's greatest revelation in Jesus Christ, and also I remember God is said to speak in the sound of thunder (Psalm 18 and Psalm 29) and in the sound of rushing waters (Ezekiel 43:2 and Revelation 1:9-19). Some may dismiss the value of these references as simple poetic devices in ancient literature, but I am on the side of the psalmist and prophets: they offer a picture of God's speaking words of comfort administered by ear into the heart of a distressed child.



The holy hush.

God whispers above the cacophony of the world, above the tumult within, to calm and soothe and to remind us that we are always—always – God’s beloved.

Sometimes we may experience a gentle but firm shushing in a new way that gets our attention. We may have occasion to sense a whisper of sorts loudly enough to be felt and heard over the tumult where we live.

When we, like the fretful, inconsolable infant, most need reassurance and redirection, we may experience a fresh resonant Presence that surrounds us even in the midst of our ordinary lives. This caress of the Spirit that never leaves us nor forsakes us reminds me that I never doubted Jesus for a moment, only myself.

We will all have fretful days and fitful nights.

Life casts us into seas of turmoil that challenge our notions about safe harbors and security. Our brushes with crises, whether health, family or financial; marital breakdown; heartache and loss of many kinds all threaten to overtake us and drag us in the undertow. Even when we know to expect such difficulties as a part of life, they can take us by storm and by surprise when they make landfall at our doorstep.

 But it came to me clearly upon waking in the wee hours one morning, this holy hush.

And it came among the promises of the Lord to attend to us even in the night.

“When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watch because You have been my help; therefore in the shadow of Your wings, I will rejoice.” (Psalm 63:6, 7)

“The Lord God has given me the tongue of one who has been taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word the one who is weary. Morning by morning He awakens my ear to hear as the student, as one who is taught.” (Isaiah 50:4)

“…How to sustain with a word the one who is weary.” There it is again: words of comfort.  First aid by ear. 

Each of us is a first responder in someone’s life. We need to know where to turn in times of crisis ourselves and how to initiate first aid for others. To give a warm embrace accompanied by caring words requires no special training or certification. The effect, much like swaddling a newborn to keep arms from flailing in distress, will begin to soothe a frantic soul. 

"The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever" (Isaiah 40:8).

“He strengthens the weary and increases the power of the weak. He renews the strength of those who hope in Him” (Isaiah 40:29-31).

Darrell Creswell's image used with permission.

Peace Rose Offering for Nicholas

Spring: when buds turn to blossoms.We expect that; It is the order of things. But then life happens and turns predictable patterns on end.

Vibrant colors and beauty still surround us, even on the fraying hem of a week that quickly came unraveled by bombings and unexpected events in our nation--and more private grief and loss this weekend among dear friends that the news feeds would never pick up--and we still move forward. We inch toward a new day, "...inch by inch, row by row" in  "Garden Song":  nice and slow.

Sometimes there's no other way.

We press on because we have to, because there is no going back.

Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones
We are made of dreams and bones
Need a place to call my own
'Cause the time is close at hand

Sometimes in the garden of life--somewhere between the dreaming and the coming true--those dreams collide. We face the hard reality of the dry bones portion of life and too many abrupt endings.

While some friends are grieving tonight, others are rejoicing with loved ones, anticipating weddings and births to come in a matter of days, and giving thanks for joys shared today. How can it be that we learn to live well with the point-counterpoint of birth and death, marriage and divorce, joy and sorrow? It is the nature of the rhythm of life, we are told.

We carry these two seemingly-opposite loads of joy and pain as though in invisible twin water urns lashed to ends of a pole on our backs. Sort of a Libra-meets-Gemini as we remember the constellations without attaching any unintended weight to astrology. The two are held in tension always, and we learn to live with the ever-changing contents of the loads we bear.

We  manage pretty well if we can keep life's tempo and stay in step. But when the music stops and we are left standing, or when we falter under the unbearable weight of loss and become set off balance by the load, we unravel quickly.

When we risk coming apart a bit ourselves and opening our hemmed-in lives to share the load of others, we can help bear--even if ever so slightly--the cares of another.

So we roll up our sleeves.

We get on with the business of being a friend, of loving and serving with abandon, of risking becoming disheveled and tear-stained. Because there is no other way to share a heavy load on a long road with many a winding turn.

I believe two truths to be bedrock: God is good, and Life is hard. They do not cancel each other out. They do not render each other null and void by operation of law. They are both true. At the same time.

And it is in giving thanks for the goodness of God, experiencing the Presence of God, in the midst of the searing white-hot edge of life that cuts us to the quick, that we find the grace and strength to move forward. Inch by inch.

God hears and answers those who call out to Him in distress:
“I relieved his shoulder from the burden; his hands were freed from carrying the basket. You called out in distress, and I rescued you; I answered you from the thundercloud.” (Psalm 81:6-7a).

 No distress is too big for God to handle.


Brother, let me be your servant.
Let me be as Christ to you.
Pray that I might have the grace
To let you be my servant, too.

We are pilgrims on a journey.
We are brothers on the road.
We are here to help each other
Walk the mile and bear the load.

I will hold the Christ-light for you
In the night time of your fear.
I will hold my hand out to you;
Speak the peace you long to hear.

I will weep when you are weeping.
When you laugh, I'll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow
Till we've seen this journey through.

When we sing to God in heaven,
We shall find such harmony
Born of all we've known together
Of Christ's love and agony.

Brother, let me be your servant.
Let me be as Christ to you.
Pray that I might have the grace
To let you be my servant, too.



Written by Richard Gillard, 1977, Servant Song

Predictable routines leave little time for unexpected sightings of glory

Was that you, Lord, in the lady with the purple coat?


She wore purple with a red cap shielding her from the rain. Robed in purple she was, topped with crimson: a familiar combination hearkening from the past but hardly a royal appearance today.

She hobbled clutching her cane in her right hand and pushing a three-wheeled cart with her left, wobbling upright with each step with her zipped bag swinging in curious balance as a pendulum from the elbow. She looked right at home leaving the bus station or making her way through an airport terminal, but not here—not crossing Meadowbrook Road on East frontage road at I 55. She held my gaze as I waited at the light.

We say we are watchful, looking for opportunities to serve and to be mindful of your Presence among us, Lord, but are we really? We usually see what we are expecting to see while on our way to work on a busy morning.  Predictable routines leave little time for unexpected sightings of glory.

Then again, you show up at unexpected places. I heard myself ask aloud to no one present, “Was that you, Lord?”

Her gait told me she needed that walking stick. She caught my eye and halted my heart for a moment, but did I stop to pick her up, to see if I could help? No. She was a stranger, and I was on my way to somewhere else.

Aren't we always on the way to somewhere else when you break through our day and beckon for our attention? We need you to make it clear, Lord, if we are to step aside and see a great sight. I have this rule, you see, a rule that I do not pick up strangers. I'm a little bit afraid of taking them into my car for some perfectly good reasons you would understand. But when we need to set aside our closely-held rules, we need you to make it clear, else we just go on about our business, living by our own rules--kind of like I just did today when I saw her brown skin glistening wet and the morning rain on her purple coat.

This mental conversation filled the space of a glimpse, just the time it takes for a light to turn from red to green, but a glimpse is all we have sometimes, is it not?

 Just a brush with glory. 

A brief visitation. 

A few seconds should be enough when we walk closely enough with you to recognize you when you have a task for us, to be your hands and feet in the world today to relieve suffering, to lighten another's load. But we can be so encumbered with our own cares, as I was this morning, that we cannot see another's.

We may miss the message.

We may not see you when you show up at times and places we are not expecting.

And I was strongly impressed with the reminder to look for you in the faces of the hurting, the aged, the lonely. The glimpse turned me inside out. My little morning sadness about other things vanished in a breath--the breath that I took in as I asked aloud, “Was that you, Lord?"

You give us our next breath, and you take it away. You take it away with beauty, nature and music, and you take it away with pain. And in that split second when we inhale silently and take in the sight before us, you remind us you are present.

So, yes, perhaps that was you, Lord, not transfigured at all but mysteriously present nonetheless in the realigning of my thoughts, the shuffling of my priorities so that I might refocus and see more fully all about me.

Later my friend Betty told me of an auto accident at County Line Road where a woman had been walking in the midst of busy traffic. An ambulance’s blue lights held waiting cars at bay while an upturned cart was spinning silently at the edge of the road. I wondered if I had seen her earlier, but I was on my way to somewhere else.

On the way to somewhere else: that’s where much of life happens. Lord, speak to my heart. Interrupt my day with ordinary sights and sounds so that I do not miss an opportunity to serve, to learn.

“To you O Lord, I lift my soul. Show me your paths and teach me to follow; guide me by your truth and instruct me.” Psalm 25: 1, 4.

Morning Has Broken, Like the First Morning...

I will praise you every day; yes, I will praise you forever. Psalm 145:2

Each day offers a new beginning, a chance for living ever more fully into our true selves, by God's grace. Each day presents the opportunity for experiencing the presence of God in a fresh way.

Will we notice it?

Praise the LORD! Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! Psalm 106:1

How Big is Your Boat?

But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things...
(Luke 10:41)

Have you been in that place, the place of busyness, of doing too much and--it seems--none of it well? Ever felt that you might not be able to do all that needs to be done? I have been dwelling in that place lately, not merely passing through in the past few weeks. Though I cast off the label of worrier and do not claim to fret or worry habitually, I acknowledge there are some seasons of life where the mounting needs to be met and concerns to be prayed over cast a huge shadow, dwarfing my limited ability to get the job done. We can easily feel overwhelmed, especially at the peak of the busiest season of the year at work.

What we call the holiday season is really the perfect storm.

This post-holiday let down is a common phenomenon, if that were merely all it is. It happens to everyone. But this is not about holidays at all, as I see it. It is Real Life. Life comes to us as a gentle breeze at times, lifting us and caressing us along the way, and with a storm's fury at others. Part of the rhythmic ebb and flow we can expect.

We must shift gears, adjusting to the demands to be met. And if we are wise, we will adjust our expectations of ourselves. That can be the hardest part.

I've written about jettisoning excess baggage to lighten our load when our boat feels too small to weather the storm. Get rid of non-essentials. Cut out something. As we go into a new year, that admonition rings true again as good advice.

As I am walking alongside a friend with a life-threatening disease, I will not let my whining about busyness and fatigue gain so much as a foothold. I will keep it in check, I promise. But we must be honest wherever we find ourselves, and live authentically out of our present situation--whatever it is. "Do not compare yourself with others. There will always be someone.....[thinner, richer, sicker, better, faster, healthier...]," is an oft-quoted directive that springs to mind here.

That is one thing that needs to go: comparison. It only invites envy or self-pity. Either is toxic to the soul. So, out it goes. My boat is too small to hold anything that feeds the flesh- and soul-eating bacteria of envy or allows for self-absorbed feelings.

If we take only one step toward lightening the load and making life's journey manageable today, may we cast off anything that causes us to look upon others with jealousy or envy because of what they appear to have that we do not. Sounds so simple, doesn't it? We do not think of ourselves as jealous people, I am sure. And that is just what makes envy and covetousness so universal and slippery for us. Just when we say we do not have a problem with something, we just got a problem with it; we set ourselves up for a match with the master of deception. Watch and see how such a practice can weave through our conversations and our actions during the course of a week, allowing us the chance to let it go.

My mother says it often and lives it well: Let it go. It's one of many gems we have learned from her.

No matter the size of our boat, it is sufficient to contain the One who will never leave us nor forsake us in the storm of life. His grace is sufficient when our abilities fail. Thanks be to God!

We may find ourselves in that place of being worried and distracted about many things, as referenced in the scripture above, on multiple occasions. If not for ourselves, we may experience such turmoil alongside others who are weathering tough times.

Storms of discouragement, disease and doubt slam into us at the most unexpected times ravaging our 'boats'.

Financial and relational struggles slash our sails.

High winds and turbulence toss us about leaving us fearful and wounded.

Where is the joy? Where is the peace in all this?

We've heard it said before: Those who try to anchor to position, prestige and power will drift away because those things cannot supply ultimate security and protection. They never have. They may only appear to do so. And how frustrating to see one spend a lifetime navigating the sea of Other People's Opinions only to find it leads nowhere.

...There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her." Luke 10:42

Storms may batter, winds may blow, the sails may be torn, but the anchor holds! We have hope.

Reminds me of an old hymn from my childhood:
"In times like these you need a savior.
In times like these you need an anchor.
Be very sure, Be very sure, Your anchor holds and grips the Solid Rock.

That Rock is Jesus
Yes, He's the one,
That Rock is Jesus
The only one
Be very sure.
Be very sure,
Your anchor holds
And grips the Solid Rock."

Bridge Over Troubled Water

"I'm a worrier," she said frankly. "It's what we do. My mother was a worrier, and I come from a long line of worriers. I don't understand how you can change that."

Does this ring true for you?

Recent conversations with friends remind me that fear and worry bear down on us, young and old. The worry spectrum spans from mild apprehension to anguish; it moves from irritation and vexation all the way to inconsolable distress. One person's experience of mere annoyance will be another's churning misery. At some point we all need help with worry.

Paul Simon's 1970 "Bridge Over Troubled Water" offers a visual image. We don't stop the tumultuous water when we experience life's deluge, but we can use a bridge. Sometimes we can even be a bridge as we accompany another during a hard time.

This song was inspired by a single line from the Negro Spiritual, "Mary, Don't You Weep," about Mary (the Mary and Martha duo of Bethany) pleading with Jesus over the death of her brother Lazarus:

"I'll be your bridge over deep water if you trust in me," is the portion ensconced in Billboard history after Simon and Garfunkel's version hit number one.

A single line can provide a powerful nugget for us to help focus.

Without dismissing the seriousness of one's worries, how can we be encouragers and hold the light up for one another -- and for ourselves -- as we navigate the choppy water?

• When fears sets in, begin by turning that cyclic worry into prayer. Let the things that would take us away from God move us toward God.

• Talk truth to yourself. Even if no one has ever whispered these words into your heart or ears, hear them now: Tell that fear that holds you in its clutches that you are unavailable -- that the One who speaks and all creation listens abides with you, giving power to the faint and strengthening you for the onslaught of worry and anxiety.

• Speak the same truth into anxious moments and doubts. Doing so may not remove the circumstances, but it will change the stranglehold circumstances can have on our lives. From this point, we can breathe.

• Know the importance of living in the present. Stay in the 'now.'
  

Remind yourself: You are a beloved child of God -- one with inadequacies and frailties common to humanity, but a child greatly loved nonetheless.

This understanding does not magically erase the worry-habits that hold some of us captive, nor does it makes us bulletproof for temptations and fears. I think it makes us all the more a target -- a target for the enemy's attack on our faith and commitment to live lives connected to God. But when we live with an increased awareness of God's Presence with us in the present, strengthening us for whatever we endure, we can allow God's Spirit to permeate us with the Peace of God's making which far exceeds any confidence we have from our own accomplishments.

This bridge comes with an invitation from Jesus: "I will be your bridge over deep water if you trust in me." He will make a way for us.



1958 Swan Silvertones version of the Spiritual, "Mary, Don't You Weep"

Living with the Classics

My friend shared an amusing exchange with her college-age son.

"Mom, it must have been so cool to grow up at a time when every song you listened to on the radio was a classic!"

"Well, we didn't know they were classics then; they were just the songs of our times," she replied.

Perhaps those of us of a certain age will go out of this world still listening to classic hits of the 60s and 70s rock era as successive generations appreciate the music of that time. Will the Muzak of the nursing homes still be playing Oldies? Probably so.

This conversation reminded me: it is hard to see a thing for what it can become when we are merely looking at it for what it is. Vision is funny that way.

Similarly, I notice that historical church literature includes the writings and prayers of those who have come to be called "classical women mystics." These women did not start out as anything other than ordinary people who sought to have intimate, meaningful experiences in their relationship with God and to share something about pursuing wholeheartedly new ways of appreciating our majestic and undefinable Creator. They longed to explore the Tremendous Mystery that is God. They were open to seeing and hearing from God in fresh ways. It was in the doing of common, everyday tasks of life that they discovered the sacred: God is present. They tried to share these experiences in writing. Contemporary writers still commend to us the power of awareness in the 'now' in being able to experience God.

How do we see glimpses of God? How do we get a sense of God's communication with us? Do we hunger and thirst to know God? Are we open to receive instruction from the Holy Spirit through a gift of discernment? Prayerfully thinking on these things will place us in a position or posture to experience God, perhaps in a different way.

God's love continues to reach out to us for intimate relationship. Such is the redemptive story of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. As pastor Adrian Rogers frequently said, "It makes all the difference in two worlds." Sometime we focus on the future and neglect the power for living that is Gift in the present.

Some experience mystical moments of divine revelation in the ordinariness of our days when we have deep, inner longings to enter into a closer relationship. Most of us, I would imagine, may never have chart-topping visions or be able to communicate the unexplainable vastness of the majesty of God. We are no less valued or chosen because of the way we experience God's presence. We remember:

"My thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

Each of us, as a believer, is living with the power and promise of the Presence of God. Some of us just do not know it for what it has the potential to become when fully formed, perhaps because we are limiting our experience of God to that which is manageable or comfortable. May God grant insight and vision to see and ears to hear the impressions of God in the everyday, mundane chores of this life.