humility and gratitude embrace...

The Lord works in mysterious ways, God's wonders to behold. Sometimes I have to be reminded of that - especially trusting that something sacred is happening beyond the obvious and way beyond my control. Chelsea Steinauer-Scudder, author of Mother, Creature, Kin: What We Learn From Nature's Mothers in a Time of Unraveling, notes that:

Sacred as that which pulls us beyond the bounds of our individual selves, envelops us within mystery, and gives us a glimpse into the vast, entwined, eternal network of living beings that we are in relationship with.

On and off for 40+ years, I've been reminded of this when someone says to me after Sunday worship: "That message REALLY helped me today, pastor. Thank you." That is always nice to hear. But when my message was only modestly delivered - or worse, when I think it was a train wreck, no matter how hard I tried to do otherwise - not only am I immediately humbled, but mystically awakened to the way the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for human words. (Romans 8:6) I've loved quoting St. Bob Dylan over the years when he snarled, "Something's going on all around you and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?" (Ballad of a Thin Man) And then it happens to me, and I don't hear it as a cynical snarl, but more like an invitation to rest and trust God's grace is bigger than anything I can control or even comprehend.

Our band, All of Us, played Methuselah in Pittsfield, MA, last night with some of our beloved friends. It was an uneven show. Our shared songs - with Sean and Deb and later with Wendy and Elaine - worked pretty well as they are always gracious and gifted. And a number of our rock and soul songs shook the house, too. But there were a few genuine clunkers that not only took me by surprise but left me a bit frustrated. It's happened before, of course, and will occur again. For some reason, I wanted last night to be special. Maybe my expectations got in the way - that's been known to throw me off balance before - and I'm aware there was only a limited time for rehearsal, too. But given the grief and angst that dampens life in these barely United States of America these days, I yearned to share a balm in Gilded. As I drove home in the cold, dark, early winter night, however, I was feeling blue. Not bereft or despondent, just tender and sad. The night air seemed to affirm the gig's ambiguity. (Photo credit: Lee Everitt)

When I woke up this morning, after re-editing this week's sermon about holding sorrow and celebration together as part of an integrated whole, not only did I get two beautiful emails of encouragement from friends that had joined us last night; but one included a tender rendition of a sweet song by Lowell George and the other not only a jazz reworking of "Bless be the Ties That Bind" but a request for our set list so that he might learn a few of our songs and add some addition harmonies. Truly, "something is going on all around me, and I don't know what it is, do I, Mr. Jones?"

It is wonderfully humbling to be confronted with truths I've been preaching for decades, but apparently still don't fully practice myself. As one note said: Your passion is infectious! All I can say is thank you - and thanks be to God.