On the Third Day of Christmas...

...my True Love gave to me: three french hens?

Faith. Cluck.

Hope. Cluck.

Love. Cluck.

This was our memory verse last week: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13)

There's another option with three gifts in the mix: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Today the ornament was the True Vine, and the girls read the verse and devotion during worship with our church today. They even remembered the scripture tonight. Wow.

Oh - and after lunch we read my favorite chapter of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, where we learn about the identity and something of the nature of Aslan. Safe? No, but he's good.

Remind you of anyone?

On the Second Day of Christmas...

...my True Love gave to me: two turtledoves. Some say those doves are directly representative of the doves that Joseph and Mary offered at the Temple after Jesus' birth. Some say they represent the Old and New Testaments. Perhaps it is both. Law and grace are both evident in the life of Christ at every turn. He came to fulfill the Law, so how fitting that this smallest of sacrifices was made so soon after his coming.

Tonight we also hung the Door ornament on the tree, remembering that Jesus is the Gate (or Door) for the sheep (see John 10).

I missed the chance to read Narnia because of a rehearsal, but my youngest daughter didn't want to read it without me because it's my favorite chapter: What Happened After Dinner

So tomorrow I have much to look forward to!

'Twas the 1st Day of Christmas...

...and we hung the Immanuel ornament on the tree.

...and we remembered that a partridge shelters its young under its wings, just as God shelters us under his.

...and we listened as Linus shared the true meaning of Christmas with Charlie Brown.

...and we read that Mr. Beaver heard that Aslan is on the the move.

I love these twelve days, for although every day is Christmas (is Easter, is Pentecost, etc.), these days we celebrate the incarnation: the virgin birth (virgin conception, no less), the skies above humble shepherds filled with herald angels, the obedience of noble Joseph and blessed Mary, the humility of the Word made flesh who made his dwelling among us.

It's Gotcha Day!

Five years ago today my oldest daughter finally came home.

A 2 year wait had turned into 4 1/2 years because of changing laws. Whenever we considered giving up we were overwhelmed with sadness. It felt like death. Our youngest daughter was born in 2003, and blessed us beyond explanation, but still we missed her sister - whom we had never met, yet had loved for so long.

Then we got the news: "Your time has finally come." A few pictures were smuggled out of an orphanage and sent to us via email.
Six weeks later, the three Lewises who lived in Tennessee traveled to meet the fourth Lewis. We lived in an orphanage together for two weeks and became a family.











Then we had to part.

It was The Saddest Day.

Another 10 weeks passed before we were at last reunited, met at the airport by 45 friends - including this ad hoc welcoming committee of kids adopted from the same country years earlier.

So today Betsy will bring home an ice-cream cake (Gotcha Day tradition) and we will look at pictures and video and tell the story - full of joy, gratitude, and hope.

Speak correctly->think correctly->live correctly.

Fellowship ≠ food eaten at a function listed in the church newsletter.

Worship ≠ the musical portion of a Sunday morning gathering.

Church ≠ a building for Christians to fellowship and worship in.

...and heaven is NOT where your soul goes to be with Jesus and Grandma to live happily ever after.

Where do we get this stuff? Does anyone share my frustration?

I caught a glimpse...

That's what L.C. Sutton said as he began his message during the Together For Lincoln celebration.

We caught a glimpse of what unity in Christ looks like with 1,000 people from 13 different churches building wheelchair ramps, visiting the aged, picking up trash, painting playground equipment and doing scores of other things - together.

We caught a glimpse of the worship before God's throne as 1,000 believers joined together in song and prayer. Catholics, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Pentecostals, Methodists, and others praised God as Christians only - and at least for one night we caught a glimpse.

For my part, I was privileged to serve with an amazing bunch of singers, musicians and technicians. Thanks to Tom Sowers and his crew from Lincoln Christian College for putting together this video. The soundtrack you hear was recorded live.

Now that I have heard, I am responsible

My new favorite album starts off with little fanfare: a piano chord, then an intimately recorded vocal confession:

"Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet toward home; a land that I've never seen. I am changing: less and less asleep; made of different stuff than when I began"

The song is dramatic in it stark frankness - expressing the hopeful struggle of a journey down a narrow path, culminating in the redemptive reckoning of the re-creation:

"When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees, when time and space are through, I'll be found in you."

People often ask me about new music, but I rarely have a favorable opinion of any. Brooke Fraser is the latest of a small cadre of artists whose music I find satisfying on a variety of levels. I won't bore you with a lot of biographical information, but she writes surprisingly deep and insightful lyrics for a 24-year-old newlywed. The melodies are generally memorable (most songs have multiple hooks) and joined with well-crafted song structures.

She demonstrates uncommon vocal prowess - on par with Sarah McLachlan and Paula Cole and certainly drawing from their styles, while not derivative of either. On "Love, Where is Your Fire," she has been compared by other reviewers to Nora Jones. I disagree - it's a song you could certainly imagine being sung by Miss Jones, but Fraser's vocal power is wielded more overtly.

Another standout tune is "C. S. Lewis Song," which thankfully doesn't quote its title in the lyrics, but, instead, offers a reflection upon the author's musings (most likely God in the Dock):
"If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy,
I can only conclude that I was not made for here."
The composition, arrangement and production of this one, in particular, wouldn't be out of place on the new Cold Play effort or most post-Acthung! U2.

The title track, "Albertine" was written in response to her visit to Rwanda. Unabashedly orthopraxic lyrics [Look that up - seriously. If you're reading this you'll find it a handy word to have in your inventory.] and an astounding vocal performance are coupled in a synergistic package. "Now that I have seen, I am responsible - faith without deeds is dead," is her simple refrain.

The album ends with the austere "Hymn" - a prayer focused on what should be every disciple's goal with respect to their Master: seeking His face and imploring Him for transforming power until "I only dwell in Thee."

So there you have it - a short take on what could be a much longer and more effusive review. If you're frustrated with the artistic and theological poverty marking most "Christian music," give Brooke Fraser a fair chance to restore your hope - in more ways than one.

Scripture Reading in Christian Worship? How Unusual...

Yesterday I was asked if I was intentionally incorporating more scripture readings into the worship services I plan. I was almost dumbfounded - especially considering who it was that asked me - but I quickly discerned his discouragement regarding the disheartening lack of public reading of scripture.

(Pardon my excessive alliteration, but allow it to serve as a transition to another observation we made independently of each other.)

We have exchanged the Word of God for cute (and often over-alliterated) self-help lectures (albeit ones with scriptural proof texts). A few months ago I queried a class of about 25 non-traditional Bible college students as to whether or not they publicly read scripture on the previous Sunday (sermon prooftexting notwithstanding) and four raised their hands. FOUR! The use of the Bible in public worship is in a serious state of neglect!

I would also add that we have exchanged the praise, adoration, and thanksgiving - all full of humility and contrition - of Biblical worship for a few songs that suit our personal tastes and make us feel good about being God's people (or, more aptly, one of Jesus' friends). But back to my original rant...

I recently led worship services at a state prison, a nursing home, and a family weekend at a church camp. After each of these I received positive comments about the use of scripture in public worship. It seemed like a brand new idea to some; it seemed like a long - and regrettably - discarded memory to others. Shame on us that it should fall into either category.

The Church has been written into God's narrative. How will we know who we are, where we came from, where we're going, and what we should do now if we neglect his written Word? There is power in the Word - beyond what we know and beyond what we are willing to believe. Without it, can we even hope to better know and lovingly obey the Living Word?

Well?

...and that's a long time.

Tonight my youngest daughter said, "You're the greatest dad ever, and I'll always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always love you."

Then she whispered, "and that's a long time."

I hope she remembers that when she's 14.

Compassionate Worship

My wife, who is usually a late service kind of girl, came to our early worship service last Sunday. So, after I had finished leading the songs at the beginning I found her--in the very back--and sat down next to her. Immediately in front of us I noticed an acquaintance and her husband. He comes from an ancient, liturgical and very universal Christian tradition, and I wondered what our worship gathering looked like through his eyes.

This was all conjecture of course - but the first big question I came to was this: How much understanding do those of us who meet together at JSCC every week have regarding the various elements of our communal worship?

The second big question I came away with flows from the last two words of the first: In our communal worship are we still more concerned about our individual preferences than about the adoration of God, proclamation of his truth, re-enactment of his redemptive story, and submission to his will?

You can probably venture an accurate guess about my short answers to those questions.

So, we must continually and prudently teach about the preeminent themes of Christian worship at various levels. We must consistently enact worship practices that glorify God and edify the Body of Christ.

I even dare to suggest that we step outside of the "me & Jesus" perspective that dominates our culture. Bear with me here - this is something so ingrained in many of us that we're afraid to question it.

Let's assume for a moment that those who plan and lead congregational worship are conscientious, knowledgeable, skilled, and maybe even called. They may - depending on the theme of the text, leading of the Spirit, tradition of that movement or denomination, and the specific history of the local body - employ a variety of elements and techniques to facilitate worship and equip his saints. If those choices do not entirely match up with your preferences, what do you do?

Do you complain that the songs are not contemporary enough? Do you complain that we don't use enough "proper church music"? Do you write an anonymous and sarcastic note to complain that the sound system was too loud? Do you grouse to members of your small group about the way we celebrated the Lord's Supper last week? Are you uncomfortable when we read prayers of confession in unison?

Or do you recognize that these - and other - expressions of worship are perhaps valuable and edifying to someone else?

Maybe the 78-year-old widow exalts God most highly when we sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness." Maybe the recovering addict finds transformational power in the words "This is the Body of Christ, broken for you." Maybe the young couple who just lost a child finds strength through their tears as they sing "my heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name" with tightened throats.

May our worship be filled with compassion, because the Lord is merciful and Christ's Church is a living testimony to his great love.

Good Old Memories...

...was my mom's favorite phrase these last few years, so that's what I'm calling this video of her life.

It's by no means complete, but it's not the worst thing I could have done.

Ultra Piano-book Wipes

My youngest daughter - who started piano lessons last week - showed me a "book" that she made to represent her ultimate invention: Ultimate Piano-book Wipes.

"It's toilet paper that looks like a piano book," she explained.

"Hmmm," I said, "Is that so you can study piano while you're going potty?"

"Yeah!" (giggle giggle)

I'm glad she's taking her music study seriously.

It's a small world, after all...

Yesterday morning after our first church service an older gentleman introduced himself to me. He had seen my mom's obituary, and told me he worked for Pioneer Seed Corn during World War Two--and his boss was Red Lewis.

He wondered if my dad was the same Red Lewis that he worked for sixty-five years ago. Turns out it was. Like many of my Dad's old acquaintances, he had no idea his name was Charles. He remembers my folks being good friends with his Uncle "Casey" and Aunt Berniece. (I, for the first time, found out that Casey's name was Lance.)

So what's this have to do with anything?

Not much, I suppose...

...except it points to the way we're all connected more than we realize. What I do--and, of more fundamental importance, who I am--matters.

Same goes for you, too. How do you want your mom, or husband, or kids treated? Well? How are you treating me and mine?

Again, to up the fundamental importance aspect: How has God treated you? Are you loved much? Or forgiven little? What does your life say about the way you understand mercy and grace and truth?

These aren't questions that have quick or simple answers for most of us. They do, however, reward the one who seeks them.

Faith Like a Child

Last night our tender-hearted daughter prayed, "Please be able to find Grandma under the ground and take her to heaven and make her heart beat again."

Wow. She believes in the Resurrection. So do I. How about you? Have you pondered the implications of being raised from the dead?

I have--but not enough.

One day I shall die (should the Lord not tarry...) and one day I shall be raised from the dead. Just like Jesus. Wow.

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"*

Forgive me, God, for over-intellectualizing my faith. May I embrace the profound mystery that is your gospel. May I believe in things that I can't explain.



*John 11:25-26 NIV

Eulogy for a Generation

It’s hard not to sound trite, but I sense that this is the end of an era.

My mom died Sunday evening—on what would have been her 66^th wedding anniversary. (Dad passed away in 1997.) She had been in either the hospital or nursing home since February 6^th—her 84^th birthday. I’m 42, exactly half the number of years that she was here with us.

As I call old friends and family members to give them the news, it is starkly apparent how many are already gone. It is a blessing to me to have grown up in the presence of the Greatest Generation. Perhaps I didn’t count it as such when I was a kid, but I learned about life and living from people who grew up without electricity, endured the Great Depression and survived World War Two. I beheld the bonds of friendship and faith that transcended place and time. I learned patience and respect as I visited retirement centers, nursing homes, and funeral parlors.

I was struck with awe, admiration and horror as I heard balding and graying farmers, custodians and restaurant managers relate stories of their youth. In my mind they were transfigured into a wiry young sailor enduring kamikaze attacks off Okinawa, a terrified 18-year-old Marine witnessing the annihilation of his friends on Iwo Jima, and a wide-eyed radio operator following General Patton across Europe.

These stories were the exception, of course. They were usually only shared after much nagging, a fair amount of bourbon, or on one’s deathbed. Mostly I heard about the good times in the midst of challenge and opportunity: about two years in the Civilian Conservation Corps building roads and cabins; about running off with your best friends to St. Louis to get married because it was faster and cheaper; about a full tank of gas, dinner at Steak ‘n’ Shake, and a double-feature for less than $5; about a chance to make better money raising hogs several counties north.

So now my cousins (who are all grandparents) and former babysitters have inherited the legacy of simple yet resourceful people who endured hardship with determination. What challenges and opportunities await us I cannot predict. I am skeptical that we will measure up to the standard our vanishing benefactors set—yet I remain hopeful: Hopeful that somewhere, deep down where it counts, we possess a little bit of the stern stuff of our parents. I remain hopeful, too, that we can accept with humble faith the circumstances that the Sovereign One has orchestrated, and that we will seek his guidance and strength as we work out our parts.

13x13

Today is my 13th wedding anniversary. Could it really be that long?

Betsy says it must be, because her flair board is pretty full from all the things we've done.

So here, in no particular order, are 13 pictures of places we've been.

More and Different Surreality

Last night I left a friend in charge of choir practice and headed downtown. (She's a fantastic choir director. Me? As far as choir directors go, I'm a pretty good guitarist...)

I had been invited to be part of the Prayer and Worship Team for a project called Together for Lincoln--a one day service project involving about 20 churches. On the last Sunday in September, our church will briefly meet around the Table, then we'll leave to build wheelchair ramps, replace shingles, install storm-windows, visit the sick and lonely, etc. That evening many churches will come together to worship at the local college chapel.

The goal is NOT for this to be a one time deal, but to be a catalyst for ongoing service--a chance for inward looking churches to start seeing each other and the desperately needy world around us: A loving effort to serve in Christ's name without any sectarian marketing campaigns.

Count me in.

The surreality? I found myself writing prayers with a nun, a Catholic laywoman, and the preaching minister from what we Jeff Street folks call the Downtown Church.

If you'd told me three years ago I'd be doing this sort of thing, I'd've thought you were wacky. Not that I would have thought it was a bad idea--it's just been a long time since I've seen this kind of non-jealous, non-threatened ecumenicalism. As a matter of fact, I've never seen this broad of a spirit of co-operation: Catholics and Protestants; mainliners and storefronters.

So I'm encouraged--and I hope you are, too.

Surreality

I went to visit my mom today and take care of some legal stuff. When I got to the hospital I was told, "The doctor was just in. She's all ready to go."

"Go? Today? With me?" I thought

"OK," said I.

So, as of 5:30 tonight, my mom is residing in the best rehab place I could find in Lincoln, Illinois. My girls got there just as we arrived, so the blow was softened by a bevy of fuzzy pink hugs and kisses. Mom seemed pretty OK with it. We'll see how she's doing tomorrow.

Me - I'm toast. Toasted matzo, even.

"But I Know Who She Is"

Last Wednesday my mom turned 84 and was admitted to the hospital - her mobility about gone. The stress of traveling back and forth to see her (100 miles each way) and trying to keep the rest of plates spinning is really starting to wear on me.

I found great encouragement tonight in an unlikely place - McDonald's. First, my girls were ecstatic to be with their mom and dad in their favorite restaurant. Second, an acquaintance came up to me while I was standing in line to order and gave me $20 and said "Dinner's on me." Third, and most significantly, we struck up a conversation with a gentleman in his early 80's.

He told us that yesterday was his 55th wedding anniversary, but his bride - who suffered from Alzheimer's - had died three years ago. He spent the last several years feeding her and attending to every other need, even though she had no idea who he was.

A friend scoffed at his devotion, asking, "Why do you keep going to visit her and taking care of her every day? She doesn't even know who you are."

"But I know who she is," he replied.

That's what it's about - this thing we flippantly, misguidedly call love. That devotion is much like the Savior's. We didn't even know who he was, but he knew us - and expressed his devotion in the most matchless way.

If Bob Dylan were a better singer ...

...and guitarist AND wrote from a Christ-centered worldview he'd be Bill Mallonee.

Check out this link for some really great music. Some of the best ones are FREE! (Summershine and Blister Soul - if you don't mind downloading them one song at a time.)

Blister Soul and Audible Sigh are two of my all-time favorite albums EVER.