“Where are we, guys?”

At church orchestra rehearsals, I ask that question with alarming frequency. Keeping track of all the measures you’re not supposed to play can be more difficult than actually playing. I often joke, "If a piece ain't in 4/4 or 3/4 time, I'm not responsible for counting."

Muddying the musical waters is the fact that songwriting has evolved in recent times. There's no shortage of codas (confusing notations that direct you to play some—but not all—of a section of music). Plus, you now often encounter a pre-chorus, second chorus, post-chorus, turn, alternate ending, and on it goes.

Playing the French horn, as I attempt to do, comes with its own set of dangers. You might easily overshoot a high note and end up with a cracked tone (known in our circles as a clam or clinker). And even in the unlikely event you hit the right note, it’s shockingly easy to play the thing out of tune.

But there we were on Sunday—the orchestra regulars—rehearsing before the service. In one arrangement we worked on, the French horn part was particularly exposed. Meaning everyone would hear the mess if I messed up. Which I did.

But only when the actual Sunday service began did I look at that music with fresh eyes. It wasn't handed to me with a caveat—"You better play this perfectly or you're out!" It was given to me with a measure of faith that I would give it my best (which I did)—and that this would be enough.

Our conductor had assigned me the part not because I was somehow worthy or had earned it. He simply wanted it played. In a sense, that music was my assignment, my contribution to the song.

Maybe—like a lot of us—you struggle with performance-based issues: “I gotta do this right or I’m not worthy.”  How freeing to know that God isn’t demanding we play our part perfectly.

He expects us to give it our best, but at the same time (to borrow another analogy from David) God remembers that “we are but dust.” He’s not in the business of clobbering any of His followers with his conductor’s baton.

If you’re a perform-aholic who feels like you never perform well enough, God invites you to something better. Just wait for His downbeat and follow His tempo. Do your best, and then leave the rest with Him, knowing "He remembers our frame, that we are but dust."

Contrary to the TV commercials, America does not run on Dunkin'. Increasingly, it runs on bashin', as in bashing our political (or any other) opponents. Skepticism and snarkiness are now the aging parents of a toxicity no one could have imagined ten years ago.

Example. The very day we read about former Vice President Dick Cheney’s death, I saw a fellow train commuter’s phone flashing the headline, “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”  And to think decency used to draw the line. Apparently, we’re now celebrating death, folks.

Of course, the boulevard of beastliness is a two-way street. Conservatives rarely miss an opportunity to bash the “Dumbacrats.” Just this week, I saw a caption underneath President Biden’s photo describing him as “the most vile excuse for a politician in the history of the United States.” And on it goes.

We’ve become a nation plagued with an insatiable desire to categorize—and then demonize—our opponents. If we can merely label someone a “godless lib” or a “MAGA idiot,” we can then smugly associate them with all kinds of extreme beliefs and nasty assumptions. Naturally, we link them with the worst of their kind—and (oddly) feel no shame in stripping others of their individuality. 

But every person has a story. And when we deny them that story, we deny them their personhood. Ultimately, this bloodsport becomes nothing less than a license for character assassination.

To quote James, “These things ought not so to be.”

I'm not dismissing the fact that significant differences do exist. Nor am I advocating that when any political party—Republican or Democrat—takes an anti-God stance, we should look the other way.

But our culture is not our standard. Christ is. History records that He walked the paths of a politically charged era and did so with holiness, not snarkiness. Surely, He saw and felt injustice, extortion, and government oppression. No doubt these all pained Him.

But Jesus knew that back of it all was sin—on all sides, in all people. And He never let politics or culture distract him from His laser lock on lost people. This, then, is our model—holiness, not snarkiness. 

In the end, hell will be full of sinners from both political parties. So, let’s stop leaning on labels and start loving on people. Let’s look past their politics to their person.

Everybody needs Jesus. Do they see Him in you?

“But sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defense to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, but with gentleness and respect.”

1 Peter 3:15

Image by chiplanay from Pixabay

When you are six, learning to whistle is a big deal. When you are six, learning to snap your fingers is also a big deal. And may I remind you that when you are six, losing your first tooth is definitely a big deal?

So it was that we received spirited updates on all these major life events from Emma, who is indeed six years old. As we listened in person or on FaceTime, we heard her snaps grow louder and her whistle less airy. We watched as her tooth grew wigglier and wigglier.

But on FaceTime—or any time—nothing was wigglier than Emma herself. She bopped, blinked, and bounced in a blur. Keeping her inside the phone's camera frame was not possible. "Now you see her, now you don't" comes to mind.

Emma's eight-year-old sister, Ava, observed all of these shenanigans. Being much more of a cut-to-the-chase kid, her capacity for these antics had maxed out. One famous FaceTime conversation found Emma in the middle of her ants-in-the-pants performance when Ava blurted, "Will ya just stand there and talk?!"

We shared a good laugh, and while Emma did not settle down, a question settled on me: Does God ever feel that way about us?

Does He ever watch us crushing our jobs, rushing our lives, and want to say, "Hey, you! Will ya just stand there and talk?!"

But we're "busy," you see. Busy about too many things that won't matter six weeks from now, let alone six months or six years. And these things that don't ultimately matter keep us from the only things that do. Like prayer.

The King of kings and Lord of lords desires an audience with you. Every. Single. Day. With check-ins throughout the day!

Hey, you! Will ya just stand there (or kneel there) and talk?!

Seek the Lord and his strength; seek his presence continually!

- I Chronicles 16:11

Photo by Karoline Lewis on Unsplash

We waited at the counter—but nobody seemed to notice.

At a certain fast food Mexican chain (no names here, but their logo might feature a purple bell), we attempted to pay for our lunch. Mind you, we’d already placed our order at the kiosk, so as not to “trouble” any of the workers with—well, customers.

We might still be there waiting were it not for a crew member who stepped out of the restroom and saw us stranded at the counter. She took pity on us, then took cash from us.

We’ve had the same “you-folks-at-the-counter-don’t-exist” experience at a certain golden arched place and other “quick serve” restaurants. Maybe you have, too.

It doesn’t seem to matter whether you’ve committed the unpardonable sin of failing to order at the kiosk. The simple fact that you’re standing at the counter makes you invisible and—dare I add, undesirable—to the average “server.”

I understand the need to prioritize drive-through customers. But this campaign of coldness toward folks that stop in rather drive through is just odd. These restaurants pretend to welcome customers but prefer just to sell food—quite apart from any interaction with any customer. Ever.

Question: Is that how we treat guests at church? “Absolutely not!” you say. “We’ve got a welcoming team in the parking lot, a welcoming team at the doors and….” I hear you. But I’m asking YOU about YOUR attitude.

Are our churches just selling spiritual food, or are we—every one of us—interacting with every guest we see? Are we cocooned with comfortable friends—or are we actively seeking to engage a stranger?

I admit to struggling here. Sometimes, I’m friendly and outgoing. Other times, I ignore newer folks like they’re standing at the counter at a fast-food place. But…

You’re a server.

I’m a server.

Let’s be very careful that we don’t treat guests as if they’re invisible or undesirable.

“Do not neglect hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Hebrews 13:2

Got clobbered by a Scripture verse this week.

Proverbs 8:13 proclaims, “To fear the Lord is to hate evil.” I’m guessing your reaction is like mine was—initially. With a dismissive yawn, you’re saying, “No problem there. I definitely hate evil.”

Not so fast.

What about the evil of profanity in the TV programs we stream?

What about the evil of sensuality in the movies we pay good money to see?

What about the evil in the books we read?

And what about the blogs and social media voices we champion whose words spew a literary napalm over our political foes?

What about the evil (it can only be called that) which hardens our hearts to the plight of the poor, the disenfranchised, the folks who don’t vote like we do. Do we hate that evil?

Isn't it true we tolerate—and often celebrate—the voices of snarky politicians who think like we think? Yet harsh words are never holy words.  

Could you honestly say you’re never greedy? Isn’t it true that we are often consumed with wanting just a little more money, just a little more recognition, just a little more sex? A bigger house. A bigger diamond. A bigger SUV. The Bible calls this preoccupation of ours idolatry (Colossians 3:5). And God hates the evil of idolatry.

The hard truth is, if we don’t truly hate evil, we merely dislike it. And there’s a vast gulf between the two.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Besides, the inventory of my own evil demands a humility best expressed in silent confession.

Lord God of heaven,

Deliver us from evil—especially the evil we don’t even know we harbor inside.

In Christ’s holy name,

Amen!