Improvisational Gratitude

"Paul Duke once said that praise is the "jazz factor" of faith, that praise is love improvising its answer to love. Praise is love improvising its answer to love. When one is learning to play an instrument, one first has to learn the basic fingering and, with some instruments, the discipline of breath control. First pieces of music are relatively uncomplicated, as one learns to transfer the notes that one sees on the score to the breath and the fingers, and ultimately into simple melodies. Over time the melodies may become more complex, requiring more intricate dexterity and coordination. Some musicians become remarkable technicians, learning to play flawlessly and with great passion. And a few of them will discover a capacity to internalize the score, to sense deeply its ebb and flow, and then to float free of that score, improvising as they go... retaining the theme, but enriching it with their own grace....

When I'm at my best, I can improvise such praise. When I'm at my best, even simple daily occurrences can stir such feelings: the laughter of a young child, a sunset full of orange and yellow, a warm bowl of oatmeal on a crisp autumn morning, safe transit through heavy traffic, an unexpected act of kindness, a pedal note on the organ that makes the windows rattle and my heart stir, a disagreement settled and resolved. When I'm at my best, I can improvise praise and gratitude for such moments.

At other times I find my senses dulled by routines, or my conscious thoughts consumed by those things that cause anxiety, by pettiness and envy, by expectation and demand. In those days I do well simply to follow the score. By "the score," I mean the commands of God for faithfulness, for honesty, for treating others with respect, for demonstrating kindness to my neighbor. Sometimes just following the score seems like burden and demand. And in those days improvisational gratitude seems impossible, at least without some help.

There's an old story about a renowned pianist and composer - a grand one who lived at the beginning of the last century - and a lovely thing that happened at the start of one of his concerts. At this particular concert a woman and her young son came to hear the master play. The young boy had only recently begun his piano lessons, and the mother, wishing to encourage his studies, took him to the concert.

The two were seated just prior to the concert, but the mother spotted a dear friend along the aisle a few rows back and went to speak to her, telling the boy to wait in his seat. But, then, what child likes to sit still? And so seizing the moment of opportunity to explore a bit, the boy made his way down the aisle, through an open curtain in a doorway and disappeared.

The houselights dimmed and the mother returned to her seat, discovering as she did that her son was not in his seat. She began frantically to look all around, not paying attention to the curtains opening on stage. But at the laughter of the audience, she looked, and there, seated at the magnificent Steinway on the stage, was her son, haltingly playing the first song he had learned to play: "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

The mother was horrified, and started to get up; but at that same moment the great pianist himself entered from the other side of the stage, putting his finger to his mouth to still the audience. He moved to the piano and whispered in the boy's ear. The boy kept playing, and then the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part to the composition. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obbligato. Together the old master and this young novice transformed an awkward moment into a moment of grace, and as they finished playing, the audience broke forth in thunderous applause.

The truth is the melody of gratitude is not always easy. We sometimes play it haltingly; we are sometimes undone by our own pettiness and insecurities. We may at times feel more like humming dirges of lamentation to ourselves. But by grace, sometimes we hear whispers of remarkable encouragement, whispers to us to keep playing. And as we do, in grace God extends and complements our own best efforts...transforms us in ways we had never dreamed possible. That's grace. And when it touches us maybe then we see something that others, like the other nine, miss. We see that life is a gift, that this day is a gift, and that our life's simple melody is never sung a cappella, never played alone, but is always accompanied, richly, fully. And those who are able to see in such a way cannot simply keep moving down the path they've been traveling, because what stirs in them...seeing what they see...is improvisational gratitude and praise. What stirs in them is pure jazz.

Let the music of gratitude play in us, O God. Let it play. Amen.

[from the sermon, "Improvisational Gratitude" by the Rev. Dr. Robert Dunham.]

A Little Joke at Stewardship Time....

Three boys were talking about their dads and what they did for a living. The first boy says, "My dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a poem and they give him 50 bucks."

The second boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a song and they give him a 100 bucks."

The third boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a sermon and it takes eight people to collect the money."

The Red Velvet Chair

I once went to visit a family who had just returned from out of town. John's dad had died. His father was quite elderly and death was not a surprise. As I stepped inside their home into a spacious foyer, there in the middle of the floor sat a red velvet chair and a few small boxes of keepsakes.

As John took my coat he said, "We just got home and I unloaded the car. This was dad's favorite chair."

John's dad was a man I knew and had the opportunity to visit with on several occasions. He was a man of faith. He worked hard his whole life and was a great husband and father. He had owned a large home and a business. His wife had died ten years earlier and he had spent the last few years in an assisted-living setting and finally, in a nursing home.

As I sat visiting with John and his wife, I thought about the red velvet chair and the few boxes in the foyer. That was what was left. That was all. But, of course, I was wrong; there was so much more. There were the memories. There was faith shared with his family and lived out by being a businessman of integrity. There was the living example of fifty years of faithful marriage and being a great dad to his children.

The size of the pile in the foyer did not matter. It would have made no difference if John would have had to use a semi to haul all of his dad's belongings. It would not have mattered if there had been a house, a cabin and a winter place in a warm climate. When death comes, possessions are not what is important.

I can see John's dad sitting in the red velvet chair. I can see the gentle smile on his face. I can hear the kind and affirming words coming from his mouth.

He knew there was more to life than possessions. He knew the good news of Jesus. He lived the good news. I will remember that and so will John. The red velvet chair might be around for several more years and the contents of a few boxes might be treasured by future generations, but the life lived in Christ is what really matters.

As we prayed it was in thankfulness for a life lived, a life shared and healing for those that would grieve. The red velvet chair was not included.

[Told by Rev. Gary L. Langness]

Descent into the Maelstrom

The fishing between the islands offshore of one particular spot on the Norwegian coastline was especially good, but of all the fisherman in the area, only two brothers ever dared to fish there. For twice every day between the islands and the shore, a horrendous whirlpool some half-mile in diameter would form and suck down every object or living thing that came within several miles of it. People called it “The Great Maelstrom.”

One day these two brothers, sure of perfect weather, set sail to the islands, enjoyed a marvelous catch, and then headed home well before the pool was to form. Suddenly, however, the winds changed, standing them. Before they could row back to the islands a hurricane wind was upon them, tossing them wildly about and snapping their mainsail’s mast.

The younger brother clung to a ring bolt at the front of the boat and the elder brother grabbed an empty barrel that was lashed to the back. They rode this way for some time. Suddenly, as they crested a wave, they saw that their tiny boat was heading straight toward the forming pool. In his terror the elder brother at the back lunged and forced the ring bolt from his brother’s hand. This brother did not contest the other’s fear but went to the back and held on to the water cask.

Finally the inevitable moment came and the tiny ship careened into the whirlpool. The younger brother closed his eyes, said a prayer, and waited for certain death. After a moment however, when death hadn’t come, he opened his eyes to find that the boat had not fallen into the abyss but was hanging on the edge of the pool, riding around and around, going slowly down.

Looking up at the sides of the pool and knowing now that death was inevitable, his fear all but left him. He began to notice with fascination that there were many other objects in the pool - trees, boats, furniture. He began to take interest in the differing speeds with which the objects fell and finally plunged into the swirl. As he watched, a stunning realization was forming in his mind: the lighter, cylindrical objects fell more slowly, while the heavier objects dropped more quickly into the abyss.

This realization set his heart pounding and his mind to racing. He knew that their only hope of surviving was to lash themselves to the empty water cask and throw themselves out of the boat. He motioned to his brother and, using hand signals, explained his plan. But his brother dropped his head and gripped the ring ever harder, choosing the familiarity of his boat over the uncertainty of the waters. At last, resigning him to his fate, the younger brother cut free the water cask, lashed himself to it, and jumped into the cold black wall of the pool.

It was just as he had hoped. His barrel sank but little more while the small boat went steadily down and finally hurtled his poor brother to his death. Soon the pool began to change. The whirl began to slow and the bottom to rise up. It wasn’t long before he found himself again on the surface of the water with the shores of his home in sight.

He was picked up early the next morning by fishermen from his own village. But the fishermen knew him not. For when he had left that morning, his hair had been as black as a raven. When they hauled him in, it was as white as snow.

[from Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, ed. by Elisa Davy Pearman. ISBN: 0-8298-1286-5, p. 77. This story is adapted from “Descent into the Maelstrom” by Edgar Allan Poe. I have enjoyed this book and recommend it for those seeking preaching stories. You can visit the author's website here: http://www.wisdomtales.com/]

Why Didn't You Say So?

It is the power of the witness that all of our lives can be changed as we believe. I am often reminded about the power received when something is properly explained. My wife and I are proud of our children. Our son and daughter have brought tremendous joy to our lives, as well as the unique challenges that young people give to their parents. Our oldest son is a recent graduate of the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Md. I am sure you can tell the parents are extremely proud of this achievement. Yet, we also remember this young man as a rising senior in high school, wanting a car like his friends. Remembering the counsel of our parents, we strived to do something they were unable to offer us. We searched and found a valued friend who sold us an excellent vehicle-a Honda Civic. It would later be called "The Blue Box" because of its color and shape. It was an excellent vehicle-one owner, seven years old, 6,000 miles, and the oil had been changed every month! The owner only drove the car to work and back home. It was an excellent deal and we bought it. Our task was to hide the car until Christmas day when the celebration would be experienced. On that day, all of us were excited. Having anticipated the gift of a car, our son, full of anticipation, slid down the stairs, found the keys, and ran toward the garage. His parents were excited as well. As he opened the door, I do not believe I will ever forget the expression on his face or the words from his mouth. He said, "Is that the car you bought me?" An uneasy silence enveloped us. I explained, "This is an exceptional car-one owner, seven years old, six thousand miles, and the oil changed every month. She only drove the car to work, and it is a steal!" He replied, "I do not like it, and I don't want it, and I want Mom's car."

A wonderful gesture had turned into a big failure. He wanted the vehicle with all the comforts we come now to expect. As a father, I fought back the displeasure of the moment, seeking insight for that time. It is in these moments that we need intervention. Truly, I believe the Holy Spirit enveloped that particular time with gracious understanding. In the midst of the conversation, I heard him ask, "What about me? What about me?" And I reminded him that a yellow school bus stopped at our house each morning, and I invited him to ride it. I shared with him the driver would take him to school and return to bring him home. Suddenly, a different countenance enveloped him. He replied, "Dad, why didn't you explain it that way before? This is an excellent car! One owner. Seven years old. Six -thousand miles. And the oil changed every month!" He continued, "It may not have all the bells and whistles, but I can get plenty of exercise by rolling the windows up and down and manually moving the seats. Dad, if you had explained it this way before, you could have saved us all of this heartache." Oh, the power of an explanation!

[from the sermon "Can I Get a Witness?" by the Reverend Jonathan Holston.]

Radical Welcome

Years ago, the Reagans were entertaining very special guests. The
day before they were to arrive, while preparing the guest room,
Mrs. Reagan laid out some towels with a note saying, "If you use
these I will murder you." The note was meant for her husband,
Ronald Reagan. In the excitement of her guests' arrival, she forgot
to remove the note. After they had come and gone, she discovered
the towels, still in perfect order, as well as the note itself.

Chapter and Verse

I like the story about a rather legalistic Seminary student who wanted to have a scriptural basis for everything he did. He felt he was on solid ground if he could quote Bible book, chapter & verse to okay his actions.

He did all right with that until he began to fall in love with a beautiful college student. He wanted very much to kiss her, but he just couldn’t find a scripture to okay it. So, true to his conscience, he would simply walk her to the dormitory each night, look at her longingly, & then say "Good night."

This went on for several weeks, & all the time he was searching the Bible, trying to find some scripture to okay kissing her good night. But he couldn’t find one, until finally he came across that passage in Romans that says, "Greet each other with a holy kiss." He thought, "At last, I have scriptural authority for kissing her good night."

But to be sure, he went to his hermeneutics professor to check it out. After talking with the professor, he realized that the passage dealt more with a church setting than with a dating situation. So once again he simply didn’t have a passage of scripture to okay kissing his girl good night.

That evening he walked her to the dormitory & once again started to bid her "good night." But as he did, she grabbed him, pulled him toward her, & planted a 10-second kiss right on his lips.

At the end of the kiss, the Seminary student gasped for air, & stammered, "Bible verse, Bible verse." The girl grabbed him a 2nd time, & just before kissing him again, said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."