If Aesop were a blogger. . . .

Starting from the beginning, Peter told them the whole story.

--Acts 11:4

I was recently given a challenge. A gauntlet was thrown my direction. (Okay, so I challenged myself. But it's my blog. Never forget that! And if you struggle with typical gender images, continue at your own risk.) 

First, several people posted a delightful elephant video on my wall:

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=270442769753174

And then my little brother posted this picture:

And I promptly responded that I felt the urge to write a new fairy tale.

Well, it's more of a fable, but here goes. And Jim-- it's all your fault!

Once, long ago, in a land of ancient baobab trees and fiery sunsets, there lived a family of elephants: a big, strong daddy elephant, a kind and gentle mommy elephant, and a little elephant who just loved to play. And these elephants all lived together in the attic of God’s House.

Now the big, strong daddy elephant had a very important job to do. Whenever someone was in trouble and prayed to the Almighty for strength or courage, the Lord would, in his own perfect time, send the big, strong daddy elephant down from the attic to protect the child in trouble. The big, strong daddy elephant would flap his ears to stir up the wind and raise his trunk and send forth a loud trumpet call—and the person who prayed would be quieted and comforted, remembering the big, strong God he served.

The kind and gentle mommy elephant had an important job, as well. Whenever someone was feeling lonesome or in need of a special touch of love and prayed to the Almighty for comfort or a quiet spirit—or even for enough food to get through the day—the Lord would, in his own perfect time, send the kind and gentle mommy elephant down the attic steps and out in to the world. She would flap her ears gently and whisper love in the souls of those nearby, reminding them that when God walked the earth long, long ago, he taught his children everything they needed to know in order to take care of one another. And the person who prayed would find peace, a tender touch, a warm bowl of soup, remembering that soon someone else might need to be fed.

And the little elephant, who just loved to play, would watch her big, strong daddy elephant and her kind and gentle mommy elephant trundle down those attic steps, go about their flapping and blowing and whispering and come back satisfied, and she would wonder, “What will I ever be able to do to serve God? My ears are so small and my trunk is so short. What kind of prayer could I ever answer? I just love to play!”

And she would snuffle softly and feel sad—but not for long, because soon a dust kitty would blow across the attic, or a rainbow sunbeam would shine through a window, and the little elephant would be so captivated by its beauty, she would grin from floppy ear to floppy ear and be happy again.

“Play!” she would cry, “I just love to play!” And the big, strong daddy elephant and the kind and gentle mommy elephant would smile at one another and nod wisely. Her day will come, they thought. Her day will come. 

And they were right.

One day, a day when the sun rose early and cast a perfect pinkish glow over the ancient land, a child wandered nearby, her heart tired and heavy. She stopped, sat down in the dust and began a familiar chat with the Almighty.

“O Daddy,” she said, “I just don’t know. I don’t know why I feel this way. I have a lovely home, I have food enough to eat and a comfy bed to sleep in. But I just feel—empty. Oh, how I wish I had someone to play with.” And she sat there, in the quiet of the morning, and she prayed.

And the Lord Almighty, who loved his beautiful child best of all (as much as the elephants!), smiled gently. And he beckoned to the little elephant who just loved to play, and said, “Wonderful, joy-filled little elephant, it is time. I have been waiting for just the right time to send you down the attic steps and out into the world. The time has come.” 

And gently, gently, the Lord nudged the little elephant towards the attic steps—but the little elephant missed the step and fell, rumble tumble head-over-teakettle down the steps, and landed with a >foof!< and an >OOF!<  and a big cloud of dust-- right in the startled child’s lap!

At first they just looked at each other. The child blinked, and the elephant snuffled. And then, all at once, the elephant shook her ears, wriggled up her trunk-- and sneezed! That sneeze shook her from the tip of her trunk to the end of her tail, and she tipped over and landed, face first, in the sand. And she blinked with bewilderment at the child, whose wide eyes grew wider still.

And the child said, “Goodness! Gesundheit!”  And they both laughed.

And the little elephant clamored off her lap, tumbled over to a nearby puddle and slurped up a trunkful of water—and without even asking or thinking, she pointed her trunk straight up in the air and blew out every drop of that water. 

And the drops fell, cool, gentle raindrops on the child’s head, and she giggled and smiled and laughed out loud as she was showered with the love of her Daddy.

Of course, that made the little elephant giggle and smile, too—and laugh out loud. And she said, “I just love to play! Do you?”

And the child replied, “I don’t know! I think so! Will you teach me? Show me how!”

And she gently grabbed the baby elephant by the ear, and together they went off to play, giggling and smiling. And every once in awhile, if you listened closely, you would hear one or the other laugh out loud.

And meanwhile, back in the attic, the big, strong daddy elephant and the kind and gentle mommy elephant nodded wisely at one another and smiled.

For God is so good. All the time.

Birds do it.

Sing to the Lord a new song,

    for he has done marvelous things. . . .

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth,

    burst into jubilant song with music; 

make music to the Lord with the harp,

    with the harp and the sound of singing,

with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn—

    shout for joy before the Lord, the King.

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,

  the world, and all who live in it. 

Let the rivers clap their hands,

    let the mountains sing together for joy!

--Psalm 98:1; 4-8

I know it's Lent, and I know we are generally sent in a more somber, self-reflective direction for these forty days. But I cannot get past the fact that as we wander through the darkness, still we see signs of spring. And we hear signs of life being renewed.

So today-- you get music.

One of my professors, also a friend, makes regular pilgrimages to England. The man is an incurable Methodist, and is always seeking to draw fresh inspiration straight from that Methodese well.

He told us one time about making a trip to London and being curious whether or not the Methodist Church in England was still known, as it was in the Wesleys' day, as the "singing church."

So he found someone, a local, and asked where the "singing church" was-- and sure enough, he was given directions to the nearest Methodist congregational meeting house.

I, too, am (United) Methodist, although I would not call myself "incurable." More like a chosen heart space, although sometimes I don't know if I chose it-- or it chose me.

Charles Wesley wrote, by some counts, over 9000 hymns. Many of those hymns had seven or more verses. 

That, friend, is a lot of music. And here is one:

Come O Thou Traveller Unknown

John Wesley referred to himself as a "man of the Book." Arguably, he was so well-read, so curious, so-- hungry that he became a man of many books. 

A man of just about every book he could get his hands on.

Today, United Methodists still see themselves as people of the Book-- or some say, of two books, the second being The Book of Discipline. (Don't get me started.)

But I would offer that we are people of a third book: a hymnal or hymn book or praise book or whatever other music we can get our hands on.

And I would argue that we are in good company to lift our voices in song-- even during Lent.

The Book of Psalms contains 150 psalms covering a veritable plethora of emotions. Beyond Psalms, the Hebrew scriptures contain dozens (at least) of other occasions when Moses, Miriam, Aaron and others offered  words of praise-- or often anguish-- to the Almighty.

To me, The Church is, by definition, a singing church-- whether Methodist or some other ilk. God places joy in our hearts-- and it has to go someplace! So it pours forth from our lips, or leaps forth in wild moments of playful dance.

And-- believe it or not-- the joy doesn't just stop for forty days, just because the calendar says it is Lent.

Reflect? Yes. Remember? Always. Spend time in silence? Absolutely.

But when God gently works God's way into your heart and reminds you that you are God's own beloved-- just because-- and that thought warms your heart and makes you want to sing-- go for it. Let these little children remind you how:

I'm gonna sing!

Maybe this year your Lenten commitment might be to add a little joy to your life-- and share that joy with others, as well. 

Even the rocks will cry out if we keep silent. Even the rocks will cry, "Holy!"

Gracious, joyful Lord, even as we remember the walk to the cross, help us to find joy, deep in our hearts-- but remind us not to keep it buried there. This broken, tired place needs more joy-- and more you. Amen

Perfect Valentine

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, 

“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

--John 21:15

It has been "one of those mornings." I opened up my email, began my daily ritual of quiet and devotional time, and it begins. A theme emerges, a common thread that begs to be written about.

Sunday I led worship for the first time since last summer. My passage was the transfiguration (Luke 9:28-36), and even in preparing that sermon, it was beginning. 

But then this morning, first it's Fr. Richard Rohr, then Gordon Crosby, Sally Dyck, and John Ortberg, George MacLeod-- even the conservative devotional Today in the Word all carried this common theme of unconditional love, of seeing the Imago Dei in each person we meet.

So rather than soldier along on my own, feeling the poke of the sharp stick of conviction that I have work to do in this area-- I decided to see if anyone else needs poking.

Fr. Rohr writes of the experience of the "full body-blow" of God's love, and how we are never the same after such an experience. And he also writes of how we try to love God as we are loved-- but we are incapable of doing so. 

But we are capable of loving one another with a love that can forever change the life of another person, and it may be as simple as affirming their identity as a beloved child of God.

UM Bishop Sally Dyck recounts the experience of Sister Helen Prejean as she worked with a man on death row. 

As she sat with him right before his execution, Sister Helen had no words. What could she possibly say at this moment? Then she heard herself saying, "You are a child of God."

And the inmate replied that he had been called many things, but had never been called a child of God.

Never.

No one had ever looked into the eyes of this man long enough or deep enough to affirm the image of God in this fellow traveller-- until his final hours.

And then there was Crosby writing about unconditional love, and MacLeod's discussion of the mystics who loved the world, not by depriving themselves, but by dedicating themselves to serving the world and relieving the suffering of others.

We just never know, do we? We never know who might need a smile, or a quarter for the parking meter, or a shoulder to lean against. And we never know when we might be the one in need.

Love God, love one another as we are loved by God. Sound familiar?

Jesus asks the toughest-- yet simplest-- questions.

"Who do you say that I am?" 

"Why are you afraid?"

"Do you believe I can heal you?"

"Do you love me?"

Now, I suspect that even the non-seminarians among us have heard that when Jesus asked Peter about love, and when Peter responded, in the Greek it was two different kinds of love. Jesus asked for agape, unconditional love, and the best Peter could offer in return was philao, the love a brother has for his brother (or sister). 

The third time the question is posed, Jesus meets Peter where he is, and rather than asking for Peter's unconditional love, instead Jesus asks Peter if he will love Jesus like a brother. Philao.

And that may be the best we can do. 

But if we can truly love one another as brothers and sisters, it just may be enough.

If we can view one another as members of one Divine family, if we can view one another through the eyes of that Father, and love one another accordingly, and treat one another as we would like to be treated ourselves-- it begins to look more and more like agape and philao are not so far apart, after all.

The final "poke" this week came from John Ortberg, from the final chapter of his book God is Closer than You Think. He offers a six-word prayer that could lead to the transformation of the world. Here it is:

Make up there come down here. 

Kind of a shorter, sweeter version of the way Jesus taught his disciples (us) to pray: "Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

Think about it.

Jesus saw people in need of healing-- and he brought the power of heaven to bear in this world and they were healed.

Jesus saw thousands and thousands of hungry people, and he invoked the grace of God-- and they were fed, their bodies and spirits filled to satisfaction.

Jesus saw his friend Peter step out boldly in faith-- and falter and fall, and as Peter cried out to the Lord, Jesus lifted him from the raging waters and saved him. The seas became calm when the Lord so commanded them.

And oh, my, yes-- it was good. And it is good.

Making up there come down here, one fellow traveller at a time.

Seeing a young mother in line at Wal-Mart come up a few dollars short when trying to buy food for her family-- and offering to make up the difference.

Watching a child lose balance on that new bicycle and take a tumble-- and stopping to offer comfort, reassurance, a tissue-- and love. 

Whispering in the ear of a dying loved one that she, too, is a beloved child of God. 

Lent is upon us. So many people give something up during Lent, whether it's chocolate or cigarettes or television. But this year, I would ask you to consider adding something rather than-- or along with-- giving something up.

If you give up chocolate, calculate how much you would have spent otherwise and donate that amount to a charitable organization such as charity:water or a local food kitchen.

If you give up something that occupies your time, such as television or Facebook, spend a similar amount of time helping sort clothing at a clothing bank. Or spend that time in prayer and contemplation, and allow God to reveal where your hands and heart are needed.

Then stand back and watch up there come down here, right before your eyes.

Lord God, make up there come down here. And please-- show me how I can help. Amen.

* * * * *

Ortberg, John. God is Closer Than You Think. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2005.