Onward into the mystery...

We are off to visit with a friend who has journeyed to spend two days with us at the end of our sabbatical. It will be a lovely reunion - we'll feast, toast one another and take in some Quebecois jazz - for this friendship is a taste of God's love. This morning Fr. Richard Rohr posted a reflection about Teilhard de Chardin that included the following:

In the words of Franciscan Sister and scientist Ilia Delio, "Christ is the purpose of this universe, and as exemplar of creation, [Christ is] the model of what is intended for this universe, that is, union and transformation in God. . . . Because the universe has a 'plan,' we can speak of the evolution of this plan as the unfolding of Christ in the universe, who is 'the mystery hidden from the beginning' (Ephesians 3:9)." 

Two quick thoughts:  first, authentic Christianity does not demand that everyone become a Christian; just that we share the love of God made known to us in Christ from the core of our being. In doing this, the body of Christ becomes flesh in our generation and the heart of God's mystery is revealed. Second, in Christ's life, death and resurrection we see God's plan for the world: compassion and renewal. Again, the more compassion and hope become flesh, the more the core of creation is realized within and among us. 

Few things rival the love, affection and respect between beloved friends - except maybe making music with such friends.  Onward into the mystery.

Small choices...

Like the rest of Montreal, today is an ultra-slow day for us: lots of sleep, modest walk in the park

with Lucie and soon a quiet exploration of a new part of the city. We have never spent any time in the Westmount neighborhood, once a distinct city for wealthy Anglophones, that was eventually incorporated into Montreal in 2002. Now the former summer cottages of the wealthy are full-time residences for 20,000 mostly English-speaking Quebecers. There is a stunning overlook to take in the whole city, a bird sanctuary within the neighborhood's boundaries as well as a number of upscale art gallaries.

We have five more Sundays in this grand place - and this reality is helping us make careful choices about how we spend the remainder of our time. This morning at breakfast I was reading an essay from The Jewish Forward about a child in a Jewish-Christian family who wants to become a Christian (after returning from Christian summer camp) but still wants to participate in his bar mitzvah ceremony. Three different commentators responded to this challenge in a "debate" format that has had me pondering the importance of our choices all day long. One writer, Harold Berman, observed that before this couple could help their son make a choice, they had to be clear about their own priorities as parents - especially when it comes to claiming a religious/ spiritual identity. "You will reap what you sow. But first you need to know just what you wish to sow" before that harvest can take place. His advice was clear: until you as parents make a choice, you cannot help your child.

The second commentator, Susan Katz Miller, counsels patience when it comes to helping a child of an inter-faith marriage make a choice: don't force or rush into anything. Her experience, as a child of an inter-faith marriage and now a parent in an inter-faith relationship is instructive: artificial deadlines enforced on interfaith children do not strengthen their searching for a spiritual identity.  She also advises the couple to not only be clear about their own tradition's teachings but those of their partners, too: this could be an excellent time for everyone to go deeper if no one feels pushed to choose before the time is right.

And third, Scott Perlo, offers this gem: "There is this blessing - not often noticed... (in the prayer service) that shows up right before the Shema and goes: 'Blessed are You, God, who chooses the people Israel with love.'"

I think most people would think of this as a prayer about the Jewish people, about the story we tell ourselves about our chosenness. But when I look at it, especially in the context (of this debate) what I see is a description of the power of making choices. To choose is Divine. (check it out
@ http://forward.com/opinion/spirituality/318520/you-need-to-figure-out-your-priorities-first/)

His wisdom  resonates with my own heart: the defining characteristic of contemporary spirituality is ambiguity. In a post-modern realm that is suspicious of all meta-narratives, no one feels empowered to claim truth when it comes to religious or moral matters. The upside of this is a tender openness to the hard questions of real life; the downside is the avoidance of making hard choices when the moment to stand and deliver arrives. When it comes to raising children and fostering spiritual integrity, fearing and avoiding hard choices can be as destructive as rigid fundamentalism. The paradox of religion is that spiritually informed choices accept that limits go with the blessings. When we embrace the constraints and limits of faith we nourish gravitas and wisdom for commitment is how depth is constructed. To choose is divine.

I have come of age in a North American culture that says it celebrates change and choice but

 
actually honors conformity. As a child of the United States I have been taught  that my life should always be happy, that my choices should lead to consuming and that my time should be spent pursuing pleasure. My world has been shaped by confusing consumer choice with moral formation. Most of the rest of the world does not grow up with such narrow and naive perspectives. They know, as one of my friends recently wrote, that life is hard - agonizingly harsh more often than not - so choices are critical. And we are called not only to choose how to respond to our own pain, but to learn a way of transforming our pain into discernment so that we don't deepen the pain of life for others.  Again it would seem that to choose is Divine.

Last week, as we headed downtown on a rainy evening, we got into a cab whose driver was a 29 year old Muslim man from Lebanon. Once we stumbled through our French to discover that we could both speak English, we had a lively, respectful and informed conversation about enlightened and authentic religious education. He noted that far too many Westerners know nothing about their own ethical heritage and even less about Islam. Over the course of 25 minutes he referenced St. Paul as well as the Qu'ran and Torah in a wise and insightful way. Here was a contemporary soul making clear, moral choices to accept the limits of religion as the way to greater wisdom and compassion. 

Tonight, as we walked Lucie to the park for her evening rituals, an old French woman - with a stunning garden - waved me down and wanted to share something with us. We have seen her almost every day over the past three months sitting on her fron porch next to a small icon of the Theotokos. Because Lucie is so often so nervous getting to the park, we haven't made an effort to do anything more that greet her as we hurry by. This evening, after we exchanged Quebecois salutations, she called out, "Madame... s'il vou plait?" I took the leash and Dianne stepped forward as this old soul handed us one of her home grown 14" cucumbers. "Bonne soiree" she smiled and waved as we walked home touched by her humble generosity.

Small things - ordinary choices - simple ways of translating the ethical truths of our respective religions into little acts of kindness that matter, yes? Over and over this summer, I have experienced little blessings like these  just when I needed them the most. They are, for me, part of the confirmation I have been wrestling with over the past two years as I seek to nourish a spirituality of tenderness. One of my working guidelines is Psalm 131.

O Lord, my heart is not proud;
My eyes are not raised in haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
with things that are too high for me.
But I have quieted and stilled my soul,
like a weaned child on its mother's breast;
so my soul is quited within me.
O Israel, trust in the Lord,
from this time forth for evermore.

(credit photos:  Dianne De Mott)

Bonne journee...

This week our beloved Brooklyn family was in town to enjoy a stunning time in Montreal. Louie has been here three years running: once en utero, once during the Jazz Festival last year and now for a whole week taking in all the great kiddie parks throughout the city. Not only did we get to visit and play with him, but we got to hang with his dear parents, too. Here are a few of my favorite pix:

Both sides at once...

Part of the challenge for me during this sabbatical has been coming to terms with a new/old

way of living into my faith for these later days of my life. Today would have been my father's 84 birthday, so I am keenly aware of my own mortality. Perhaps evermore-so given a few long afternoons of playing with my beloved grandson, Louie, as his parents visit us in Montreal. When I watch my daughters and their chosen loved ones build lives of integrity and joy, when Di and I sit and talk about how we want to live and share love in whatever time remains, my heart turns to the Psalms of Israel - and, as has been my want recently, to the old King James Version of the texts.

Psalm 8 is one favorite: 

O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heavens. Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:

All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field;

The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.

O Lord our Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth!

And Psalm 90 comes close behind:

 Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men  For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.  For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.  Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath.  So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

Here is both the promise and the actuality of real life: the possibilities as well as the hard-nosed realities and it is always one together. I think of Harry Chapin's song, "Circles" as well as Joni Mitchell's "Clouds."

We have discerned a few clues about how we will live in different ways when we return - not the practicalities as yet - just the promise. So there is clearly more reality yet to be revealed. But one of the new blessings I have embraced for my faith is this: I trust the old wisdom in ways that are deeper than logic. The wisdom/mystical traditions of most religions point to joy, grace and peace within the pain of our experiences. And their unanimity is persuasive to me.  A few days a young stranger on Facebook decided to pick a theological argument with me about the brutality and stupidity of religion. I rarely take such bait any more for a variety of reasons, but his passion reminded me of my own certainties when I was a young man. He hails from the Richard Dawkins school of limited thinking about religion - you know, where a one-dimensional, ugly fundamentalist straw man is created and then named the totality of religion - making faith very easy to hate.

I simply shared with him that I hate such stupid and vulgar religions, too. And yet, there is a love greater than our wisdom and deeper than time. And if he listens to his heart, maybe he can find this love when his life is ready for it. I think of how James Carroll has recently restated the core of faith for those of us in the Christian tradition. As I sit with it, it continues to resonate with me:

Jesus, the Jew from Nazareth, is a living expression of the inexpressible God. He is the Christ, Son of Man, according to the Scriptures. He is present to the world the way meaning is present in the word. Just as a word points not ot itself, but to its meaning, so Jesus Christ, Son of God, points to One whom he calls Father. In that way, as one of us, he is the Word of God, whose Meaning comes clear. The Unknowable One, therefore, can be known. Because God is not an enemy, but a friend, we need not be afraid. Because God completes what God begins, death is not the end, but a beginning, wholly undefined. Because God is faithful, creation has a purpose, and its name is history. Imitators of Jesus Christ, we want mainly to be kind and true, taking heart from our dear companions on the way. And we say with those who go before, and who come after: Amen. So may it be.

As Carroll has observed before, the heart of this statement is ortho-praxis - right living - rather than ortho-doxy - right belief. He testifies to what I have experienced: the way of compassion brings us closer to the soul of God than hours in prayer or theological study. And when we have tasted the love that is of the Lord, then we seek words and prayers to both help us comprehend what is incomprehensible and share our limited insights with those we love.

As I write I am aware that Joni Mitchell is slowly recovering from a recent stroke that has changed her forever. I am aware that all around me people are hurting, afraid and wounded. I am also aware that woven throughout the pain is a joy that is equally true. I have only been given this day to honor both the suffering and the celebrations. "So we say with those who go before, and those who come after, amen. So may it be."

It was 49 years ago today...

There is NO question: I am a hardcore Beatles fan. I experienced my personal Pentecost when I saw them on Ed Sullivan, I ached in the flesh until I got my first guitar and I find that their music continues to resonate with my soul all these years later. I can't get enough of their second release in the US on Capitol - The Beatles' Second Album - which is a total mess but so hot and wild. I knew my life had changed in new ways upon listening to Sgt. Pepper that summer afternoon when I first brought it home on June 1, 1967. But truth be told, my two favorite Beatles' album are Rubber Soul and Revolver. And if I had to pick one album to spend the rest of my life with it would be Revolver.

It was released in 1966 on this day 49 years ago:  August 5. Someone said that Rubber Soul was a pot album while Revolver was an effort fueled by acid. No question whatsoever! And yet this record has everything: it is experimental and totally pop, caustic and comforting, rock and roll being reborn in the studio and social commentary being re-imagined in the minds of four musical geniuses (plus Sir. George Martin.) There is George Harrison's best Indian-world music song, stunning electric guitar work, a baroque string quartet, Motown horns, Harrison's swirling guitar riff played through Leslie speakers, McCartney's heart breaking love songs and Lennon's wild ass psychedelic paranoia. 

The prelude to this fest, of course, was the single: Paperback Writer/Rain. 


And then, throughout the summer of 1966, they Beatles released other tracks from Revolver to build momentum. Just listen to the play list from the UK album  and you'll have to agree that this was a monster:

+ Taxman
+ Eleanor Rigby
+ I'm Only Sleeping
+ Love You Too
+ Here, There and Everywhere
+ Yellow Submarine
+ She Said, She Said
+ Good Day Sunshine
+ And Your Bird Can Sing
+ For No One
+ Doctor Robert
+ I Want to Tell You
+ Got to Get You into My Life
+ Tomorrow Never Knows

My all time favorite from this winning effort - and it is an excruciating call for this old man - remains: And Your Bird Can Sing. I love everything about this song - and hope to play it live some day before I leave this realm.

When my daughters were young we used to play "name that tune" by dropping the record needle on a song and seeing if they could name the artist and song. They became damn good music critics - and big Beatles fans, too. So, on this grand day of remembering, it seems right that we're off to babysit Lou who hasn't quite grasped the word "grand dad" yet and calls me something that sounds an awful lot like one of Revolver's backwards tapes.

Who knows...

One of the sobering truths about our wonderful sabbatical is that it will come to an end in about 35 days. One of the anticipated blessings that we've experienced is a re-connection as a couple - we renewed our vows after 20 years - and have simply celebrated the ordinary joys of having time to rest, love, speak, think and value one another without any of the pressures of our former histories. It has been an earthy, tender time for love that I will not release easily.That means there are three recurring thoughts about our return that keep running through my prayers:

+ First, I am going to have to restructure both my use of time and my expectations - to say nothing of what takes place at church - upon our return home. At this stage in my life, seeing way too many loved ones slip away well before their time, I am no longer willing or able to miss spending significant time with those I cherish the most. And I have no idea what that means in practical terms nor do I know what that means for ministry. I just know it is true. About a week ago I had a dream in which I was helping our band set up for an important gig. It was an outdoor concert in a beautiful environment. And, from a distance, the set-up looked stunning. But upon closer inspection the place was trashed:  garbage all over the stage, electrical cords in a tangle and more. So before we ever got to play a note I found myself wailing (in the dream) "I'm not going to clean up this mess all by myself anymore." Hmmmm... kind of interesting, yes? 

+ Second, as I have noted at other times, I have discerned a focusing of my interests over the years and during this sabbatical that focus has become even clearer: the creative arts celebrated in pursuit of compassion and justice, nourishing the inward journey so that grace is strengthened in individuals and our congregation, radical interfaith solidarity, and using our historic facilities for beauty, hope and love.There are young entrepreneurs in our town who are building businesses that not only serve our community, but do so in ways that are fun and just. They know all about fair/direct trade business, they know how to read the demographics and make them turn a profit, and they do so with such personal integrity that everyone feels healthier being a part of their effort. It really is time for our congregation to let go of our old habits and work in collaboration with local artists, artisans, entrepreneurs whatever their background. Because, these are the people who are bringing healing to our city.

Two readings from the Hebrew prophets come to mind: 

1) Jeremiah 29:7 - Seek the welfare of the city where I have placed you in exile and pray to the Lord on its behalf for in its welfare will be your welfare.  

And 2) Isaiah 65 - 

I will rejoice in Jerusalem,
    and delight in my people;
no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it,
    or the cry of distress.
No more shall there be in it
    an infant that lives but a few days,
    or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;
for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,
    and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed.
They shall build houses and inhabit them;
    they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
They shall not build and another inhabit;
    they shall not plant and another eat;
for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,
    and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
They shall not labor in vain,
    or bear children for calamity;
for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord—
    and their descendants as well.
Before they call I will answer,
    while they are yet speaking I will hear.
The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,
    the lion shall eat straw like the ox;
    but the serpent—its food shall be dust!
They shall not hurt or destroy
    on all my holy mountain,
says the Lord.

+ And third, all this work linking music to pray must remain part of my daily spiritual

discipline. I need to practice for the well-being of my soul to say nothing of practicing so that we can play some of the great jazz tunes for others. There have been times when I have let the culture's disdain of the arts - or even the demands of the congregation - pull me away from my own spiritual disciplines in music. But after four glorious months, I'm not going to give this up easily! So, every day there has got to be time for taking this deeper -  personally, professionally and within the life of our shared ministry - and I have no idea what that might look like. So part of me wants to be anxious about this unknown future. But there's nothing good to come of such foolishness. 

So, we're going to head out to a local jam session tonight - hopefully to be joined by our daughter after she gets the baby to bed - and simply enjoy another stunning, cool day in this grand place.  Next week a good friend will be in for a few days and then our other daughter and her husband, too. Tomorrow we'll play with our grandson - perhaps babysit for this momma and poppa in the evening - and continue to let all of this simmer and ripen.

happy birthday Jerry...

Today is the late Jerry Garcia's birthday: August 1, 1942. He died on an overdose of heroin while at a rehab center in California in August 1995.  I was 15 when I got their first album, a self-titled menagerie of rock, blues and psychedelia that kept me hoppin' the whole summer. I faithfully purchased - and devoured - 10 of their 20 next albums, too favoring the live ones more than all the rest. For part of a summer, I found myself following the Dead from NYC to Washington, DC and then on to Watkins Glen as a mini-deadhead. And when my young family lived in San Francisco in the mid 70s, fate would have it that we would live just three blocks from the fabled Grateful Dead House on Ashbury Street.

More than many, the Dead were truly "an American band." They mixed country with blues, pop with jazz, wild improvisation with increasingly sweet harmonies. They shared a sense of hope and optimism with their fans that spanned 50 years of performing. Like the Stones with the blues, the Dead introduced a variety of Americana musical forms to a young, white audience including jug band tunes, free jazz and hard core country. They also wrote the book on musical risk taking for my generation with their extended jams that became one part prayer, one part bacchanalia and one part soul adventure. Sometimes the result was ecstatic but it could also go south and become a disaster, too.

Five songs have continued to hold meaning for me from the archives of the Dead: 

+ The Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion from their debut album in 1967. Can you dig that title? WTF? It is just a fun paean to hippie chicks during the Summer of Love who captured the heart and soul of being playful and beautiful and lost to the joyous music of those early days. It was the first song on their first album and I must have played it 100 times that first summer.

See that girl, barefootin' along,

Whistlin' and singin', she's a carryin' on.
There's laughing in her eyes, dancing in her feet,
She's a neon-light diamond and she can live on the street.

Hey hey, hey, come right away
Come and join the party every day.

Well everybody's dancin' in a ring around the sun
Nobody's finished, we ain't even begun.
So take off your shoes, child, and take off your hat.
Try on your wings and find out where it's at.

+ "Cosmic Charlie" from the 1968 third album Aoxomoxoa. I love everything about this song: the slow, bluesy-rock and roll introduction, the laid back shuffle of the main song, the lyrics and the total vibe of sitting back and letting the groove do all the work. 

Cosmic Charley how do you do?

Truckin' in style along the avenue
Dumdeedumdee doodley doo
Go on home, your mama's calling you…

I just wonder if you shouldn't feel
less concern about the deep unreal
The very first word is : How do you do?
The last: go home, your mama's callin you

+ "Bertha" opens the Dead's second live album from 1971 -  Skull and Cross Bones - and sets the stage for an incredible ride. I fell in love with a girl to this album and it haunted our first summer together. Later, when I was campaigning for the school board in Cleveland, I used to blast this in my Jeep rushing from one gig to another to give me the juice to overcome my stage fright. Just a rockin' ass song with a guitar break to die for. 


+ "He's Gone" from Europe '72 continues to be a lament I hear over and over in my head. Originally written about drummer Mickey Hart's father, the Dead's first manager, but soon took on the quality of homage to the Dead's blues man, Pigpen, as this song aches and weeps and owns the hard reality of death in a way that is sweet while being oh so honest. I think I wore out my first copy of this album playing this song (and almost everything else, too.)

Rat in a drain ditch caught on a limb

You know better but I know him
Like I told you, what I said
Steal your face right off you head

Now he's Gone, Lord he's gone
Like a steam locomotive
rolling down the track
He's gone, He's gone
And nothing's gonna bring him back
He's gone

+ And then there is "Sugaree" - best heard live - but from Garcia's solo album of the same name in 1972. When they did this at Watkins Glenn - with thousands of loving fans singing along with the chorus - I was lifted outside myself. It, too, is bluesy but with a hip gospel sound as well. I know, another slow shuffle, but that's the way it goes. I could have included "Truckin'" or "Box of Rain" or even the accoustic take on "On the Road Again" here. I love Bobby Weir's sound on the Chuck Berry classic, "Around and Around" too  as well as "Ripple" but "Sugaree" is where we need to bring Jerry's birthday celebration to a close.  Thanks for the blessings.

Loving me some Stevie...

Today I am thinking about - and loving - Stevie Wonder. He is another of my favorite musical geniuses. And while I don't always enjoy some of his slower and/or more sentimental tunes, I love me some Stevie Wonder groove and soul - and like the Dovells used to wail: "I can't sit down" when those songs start to play!
This morning started with what I think is Dr. Wonder's most amazing love song: "As" (a song I thought was entitled, "Always!") It comes from one of his master works, "Songs in the Key of Life" in 1976 and is simultaneously beautiful, sexy, funky and inspirational. This cat was able to bring together soul, R n B, rock, jazz and gospel in ways we're still celebrating. He is one of my heroes - an agent of God's love, joy, peace and justice in the flesh - who made it clear that while music won't change the world - it can touch the heart. And when our hearts our changed, our minds and bodies can follow. And THAT makes all the difference in the world.

As around the sun the earth knows she's revolving 
And the rosebuds know to bloom in early May 
Just as hate knows love's the cure 
You can rest your mind assure 
That I'll be loving you always 
As now can't reveal the mystery of tomorrow 
But in passing will grow older every day 
Just as all is born is new 
Do know what I say is true 
That I'll be loving you always 

Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky---ALWAYS 
Until the ocean covers every mountain high---ALWAYS 
Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea---ALWAYS 
Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream 
There are three other Stevie Wonder songs that rock my world. Next comes "Superstition" that just may be the most perfect song in creation: you can't help but shake your booty to the groove Stevie lays down and you can't help be moved by the passion of his singing and the content of his lyric. This comes from the 1973 masterpiece, "Innervisions," that just rocked my world.

Very superstitious, writings on the wall, 

Very superstitious, ladders bout' to fall,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass,
Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past.
When you believe in things that you don't understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain't the way.

Very superstitious, wash your face and hands,
Rid me of the problem, do all that you can,
Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin' strong,
You don't want to save me, sad is my song.
When you believe in things that you don't understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain't the way, yeh, yeh

Next there is "Signed, Sealed and Delivered" from June 1970. In a mix tape I made while courting my wife, Dianne, I included this song  because it is so honest, so sexy AND so much fun. What do you think?

Like a fool I went and stayed too long

Now I'm wondering if your love's still strong
Oo baby, here I am, signed
Sealed delivered, I'm yours

Then that time I went and said goodbye
Now I'm back and not ashamed to cry
Oo baby, here I am, signed
Sealed delivered, I'm yours

Here I am baby

Oh, you've got the future in your hand
(Signed, sealed delivered, I'm yours)
Here I am baby
Oh, you've got the future in your hand

(Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours)

I've done a lot of foolish things
That I really didn't mean
Hey, hey, yea, yea, didn't I, oh baby

Seen a lot of things in this old world

When I touched them they did nothing, girl
Oo baby, here I am, signed
Sealed delivered, I'm yours, oh I'm yours

So dig this - with Mr. President singing along with the master!

I could go on and on - Uptight, Mistra Knowitall as well as everything on Innervisions and Songs in the Key of Life - but I'll wrap it up with the closing tune from "Talking Book" from 1973: "I Believe When I Fall in Love (It Will Be Forever.)" Those of you who enjoyed the movie "High Fidelity" may recall this as the closing song with the credits. My connection is listening to it over and over as a young man and getting lost in the promise of romance.  I still am moved to tears at the ecstatic closing...

Shattered dreams, worthless years

Here am I encased inside a hollow shell
Life began, then was done
Now I stare into a cold and empty well

So many sounds that meet our ears
The sights our eyes behold
Will open up our merging hearts
And feed our empty souls

I believe when I fall in love
With you it will be forever
I believe when I fall in love
This time it will be forever

Without despair we will share
And the joys of caring will not be replaced
What has been will never end
And the strength we have will never be erased

When the truth of love is planted firm
It won't be hard to find
And words of love I speak to you
Will echo in your mind

Ok, so I'm a funky romantic. Last night Dianne and I renewed our wedding vows after 20 years and exchanged new rings. What do you want from a guy whose favorite Scripture in the reworking of St. Paul's insight in I Corinthians 13: 

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled.

When I was an infant at my mother’s breast, I gurgled and cooed like any infant. When I grew up, I left those infant ways for good. We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.