"You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather serve one another in love." (Galatians 5:13)
Years ago I can remember flipping through the television stations one night trying to find something worthy of watching - which is getting harder and harder anymore - and was captured by a unique figure on a strange station called EWTN (the Eternal World Television Network) - sounds cool, doesn't it? The show was in black, white, and shades of grey. The man was clearly a Catholic priest or, as I later learned a bishop. He was in full costume - cape draped over his shoulder, beany on top of his head, cross (huge) hanging perfectly square in his chest and somehow the chain catching in the middle as if afraid to fully extend lest the cruciform fall from its grasp and be desecrated. The cumber bun serving to wrap the finished product. Captivating man. One whose presence I have yet to emulate but pray I will. He was speaking to me...and a million other viewers I guess. A commanding voice. Sure of his message. Certain of his audience. Piercing a live audience with his eyes, with his convictions, and they loved him. I wasn't Roman Catholic but I would have been if I had watched him often enough. Persuasive. Holy. In his day he was a vocal proponent against the Nazis and the Communist agenda to destroy the United States from within. Bishop Fulton Sheen (1895-1975) was his name (formally: The Right Reverend Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen, Ph.D., D.D.).
I was reminded of him this morning as I was reading through a book of classic sermons from 1946 for my added devotional material. His is entitled: The Purpose of Life.
If I might indulge the reader with his opening paragraph: "There is no word more often used in our modern world and more often misunderstood than the word freedom. Almost everyone thinks of it as freedom from something, but rarely freedom for something. Men think they are free only because they have no ball and chain on their feet, without ever adverting to why they want to be free. What I am trying to say is there are two kinds of freedom; an external freedom from restraints, and an internal freedom of perfection; a freedom to choose evil and a freedom to do whatever you please, and a freedom to do whatever you ought."
I see the pain of birthing an external freedom in my world at present. Broken storefront windows, looting, murdering, raping, intimidating what used to be good neighborhoods where good folks sat outside on their porches and let their kids play in each others yards. Portland will never be the same. Chicago...New York...St. Louis...no thanks. Those who enter the night to do what comes natural in the night - as those who have no light - are choosing, choosing to be free - free to be evil with no plans for their freedom except to enslave others, to be agents of destruction.
But lest I neglect the state of my own soul, "Am I choosing to do what I ought?"
I watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie with my grandkids this morning. One of the boys at school, the teacher's son, was coerced through the guilt of not measuring up to his parents standards to cheat on his final exams. Another classmate intentionally missed questions so that the other boys would not make fun of him for being so smart. The first boy fessed up and was forgiven. The latter was challenged about cheating as well. "I would never," was his reply. "And yet you have," his father explained. "You have cheated God, your family, your schoolmates, and most importantly yourself by not living up to your potential."
I know he's dead but I feel like Bishop Sheen is staring at me right now. How are you using your freedom, Dan? Are you standing up against the social evils of your day as I did? Is love of God and love of man on your heart? Is the good news on your lips for the lost to hear?
Be free...
To choose what kind...
"While people are saying, 'Peace and safety," destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape." (1st Thessalonians 5:3)
"Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Take delight in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:3-4)
Deb and I were sitting down a few nights ago watching mindless television and the following commercial showed from a Italian source. It immediately caught my attention but I couldn't recognize the voice. At the end, it was the voice of Charlie Chaplain, from 1940.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_9OcI0C3ozc [From Charlie Chaplain, 1940; a self-described "Peace Monger"]
There is something internal in most of us that cries out for peace, for social justice, for a society where all get along. I believe they call this a utopian model. I'm from Indiana and we have an example of this well-intended trial called New Harmony (New Harmony, IN). As one historian put it, "New Harmony was to be a perfect place but was destroyed by the imperfections of man."
It's what I find most perplexing of both the Charlie Chaplain commercial and John Lennon's famous song, "Imagine."
"Imagine there's no heaven...no hell...no country, nothing to kill or die for, no religion to. Imagine all these people living in harmony."
Each of these men were hoping for something - peace. Charlie grew up in abject poverty and his heart's desire was that no child have to endure that abuse. But he placed his faith in imperfect man, in his abilities, in science..."We have the power...to do away with national boundaries, with greed, with hate and intolerance, where science and progress will lead to All men's happiness."
John Lennon had it all - the fame, the fortune, the fans. "Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the great teacher (Eccl. 1:2). It's nice to have these things but in the end they mean nothing if you don't have peace (inner and outer). If mankind would just...
I listen to these men's messages and in my heart I say, "Yes! That's what I'm looking for as well." But the lessons from New Harmony keep ringing in my ears, "A perfect place destroyed by the imperfections of man." It feel hopeless and helpless. And that's a good thing because it allows me to turn to the one who will bring peace, who will bring social justice, who will bring perfect harmony - Jesus.
Imagine that...
"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all of his splendor was not dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow, how much more will he clothe you - O you of little faith." (Matthew 6:28-30)
On the scheduled days that I arrive to church I am greeted with a silent "Hello, Dan. It's going to be a good morning now that you are here." No, its not a quick head down acknowledgment from my secretary with an accompanied queen wave. That's more like..."Ahhhhhh...I've been waiting for you to come in because I need this and this and then there's so and so and you know who...and you're supposed to call...and check your emails..." Actually, she a wonderful secretary and co-worker. But she has a run for her money when I open my door and see my window sill full of blooming African Violets. Maybe some of you flower aficionados knew this but the genus name for this flower is "Saintpaulia."
St. Paulias as I call them collectively and affectionately, not preferring one over the other, greet me like a pet waiting at the door, always grateful for my return - except without the slobber and dander and smell and need to go out. Wow! I never realized how much I like pet flowers. A stick of my finger in their soil to check for moisture and I'm on my way.
I didn't think that I would be able to care for violets. They are a bit temperamental. There were quite a few occasions where I thought I was going to have to officiate a funeral but I realized they were in a growth cycle.
The leaves would be this deep, beautiful, green with a vibrant purple flower or flowers in the center. Then the flower would die and dry up. Then the outer leaves would get a little yellowish brown. I would check the water. Just right. Hmmm. Should I be feeding them? Be patient. Then a few center leaves would sprout. Those deep, beautiful green leaves eventually would extend out to the ends and yet again produce the flower of life.
It was Jesus' point. Don't worry. Things look healthy. They bloom. And then for no reason (to us), things seem to die and dry up. We wonder what we should have, could have, would have done if we had only known how to curtail the difficult events that came our way. But alas, it was not for us to control. Things have cycles. People have cycles. Nations have cycles. And we are hoping...diseases.
I feel like the flower has died in our world. I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I long to do something to change things - to bring back the color, the green, the purple, the joy. But Jesus reminds me that somethings need to die so that they can be resurrected or renewed. There is still life in the plant but it needed a rest, a chance to catch its breath, to gather enough strength to push up and out.
God is doing something. He is in control. And my plants are still saying, "Hello, Dan. Its going to be a good morning now that you are here."
"Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth! Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into His presence with singing!" (Psalm 100:2)
WARNING: The actions of this verse are no longer permissible in the state of California. Cited by Jay Sekulow and the American Center for Law and Justice.
And "no" I am not joking. The governor of California has temporarily "banned" singing in churches for the health and well-being of its citizens.
Shouting and chanting with a few thousand people in mass protest against "who knows what" without masks and shoulder to shoulder is commendable, but Aunt Millie who is 90 and asthmatic, singing "How Great Thou Art" is to be considered a criminal and a threat to the well-being of society because she can't wear a mask.
I get the health concerns but spiritual health is just as important and singing is a major part of our worship. I don't know the governor of California but it makes me wonder if he even understands what worship of God is all about. Singing is vitally important to us as followers of Jesus, and at some point, God's people are going to start graciously saying, "No" to these over-reaching requests that limit our freedom to worship.
Ever since we reopened we understood that the most difficult part of our worship service would be the "singing." Apparently our spit can travel at the speed of light and beyond twelve pews depending on how wet one's whistle is. Therefore, if at all possible, try and wear a mask when singing or make sure you're out of spit casting distance.
I can't sing and wear a mask. I get overheated. It affects my vocal chords. And after prolong use, makes it difficult for me to mentally form sentences that are coherent. And since I have to preach three times on a Sunday morning my options are not to sing, to sing in the front row off to the side where the stain glass window shields me from casting the potential virus (although I'm not sick...or at least I don't think I am...maybe I've been sick for the last four months and haven't known it; scary thought), or lastly, to hum.
I have searched the scriptures in earnest to see where it might say, "Let us hum to the Lord" or "Hum a new song to the Lord." But then again humming a melody is not the same as singing a word or a phrase to God.
Singing is more than words set over musical melody. Singing is an offering of praise. Singing is a form of prayer. Singing is a public proclamation of who God is and our response to what He has done for us through His Son, Jesus. It's hard to do that by just humming. You end up sounding like a bunch of bees (no offense to bees).
I've honestly asked the question, "If I was a lay person and was told that I could not sing in church, would I actually come?" Hey, I can watch PD on Sunday morning in my PJ's with a hot cup of coffee and hot out-of-the oven cinnamon rolls slathered in frosting and butter in my favorite recliner. Why would I come and see the same thing from a distant pew when I can cast the old preacher up on my HD screen and see him close and personal? And...I can sing along to those old hymns without a mask and cover the place with droplets. Why make the effort? It's a real issue and its a real problem for the community of Christ.
The church is called an "assembly" for a reason. When we come together, when we are assembled, we become something greater than ourselves. Individual bricks are individual bricks but arrange them into a pattern and you have a beautiful wall or a beautiful walkway. Singing allows us to blend our voices. It brings a beautiful sound to the heavens that is pleasing to God as the Body of Christ. It is a way of worship that He desires and that He demands.
So in regards to banning singing in houses of worship, I say we call it a weekly riot protesting against sin and wickedness and let it rip (masks if possible).What say ye?
Hmmmm....or should I say, "Hum."
"He went down with them and stood on a level place. A large crowd of his disciples was there and a great number of people from all over Judea, from Jerusalem, and from the coast of Tyre and Sidon, who had come to hear him and be healed of their diseases. Those troubled by evil spirits were cured, and the people all tried to touch him, because power was coming from him and healing them all."
Anyone remember The Untouchables with Robert Stack? Ran from 1959-1963. I used to watch the reruns. Tommy guns. Elliot Ness. Al Capone. Black and white pictures. Nineteen-thirties Chryslers with suicide doors. The good old days of Prohibition and Corruption. Oh, wait a minute...I just described 2020.
In the 1930's Al Capone and his gang were terrorizing Chicago. They had the mayor, the councilmen, and half the police force on the take. Enter Elliot Ness, Oscar Fraley, and a group of hand-picked men of courage, high morality, and incorruptibility, known as "The Untouchables."
I grew up less than an hour from Chicago. My great uncle owned a gas station in Hanna, Indiana where John Dillinger stopped before heading into Chicago to meet "the lady in red" and his fateful end at the hands of these same "G-men." Hence, my interest.
While Chicago had The Untouchables, Jesus had "untouchables" as well. Not the same. More like the description of the lower cast social status in India, also known as "Dalit." While not considered contaminated from birth, the people of Jesus' day acquired some sort of communicable disease that sequestered them from the rest of society. No touching! I used to imagine what that was like. Now I have a slight idea.
No, I don't have Covid. No, my fingers, toes, and nose are not rotting and falling off from Leprosy (Hansen's Disease). But the social effects are, in part, there. The social distancing. The "stay at home" recommendations. No personal contact. No touch!
My heart is saddened to think that I may never be able to extend my hand for a firm shake. That I may never be able to kneel down before someone and hold the hand of a grieving person. That I may never be able to hug a brother or sister in Christ without fear of contracting or giving some invisible enemy. That anointing people with oil will be frowned upon as some perpetuation of the disease.
Thank God for the power of Jesus and the hope of his coming.
When my oldest daughter was a toddler we used to have to tell her over and over when we went to a store, "Don't touch." She would say, "I not. I just looking" - the little liar.
How I long for the "Touchables." Until then I guess I'll just be... looking : - )
Years ago I can remember flipping through the television stations one night trying to find something worthy of watching - which is getting harder and harder anymore - and was captured by a unique figure on a strange station called EWTN (the Eternal World Television Network) - sounds cool, doesn't it? The show was in black, white, and shades of grey. The man was clearly a Catholic priest or, as I later learned a bishop. He was in full costume - cape draped over his shoulder, beany on top of his head, cross (huge) hanging perfectly square in his chest and somehow the chain catching in the middle as if afraid to fully extend lest the cruciform fall from its grasp and be desecrated. The cumber bun serving to wrap the finished product. Captivating man. One whose presence I have yet to emulate but pray I will. He was speaking to me...and a million other viewers I guess. A commanding voice. Sure of his message. Certain of his audience. Piercing a live audience with his eyes, with his convictions, and they loved him. I wasn't Roman Catholic but I would have been if I had watched him often enough. Persuasive. Holy. In his day he was a vocal proponent against the Nazis and the Communist agenda to destroy the United States from within. Bishop Fulton Sheen (1895-1975) was his name (formally: The Right Reverend Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen, Ph.D., D.D.). 
