In February of 1997, Johnny Carr and I traveled to Moscow to attend the “Russian Premiere” of a children’s musical we had co-written. We were in Moscow for about a week – and were guests of the private school that hosted the premiere. While there, we had the unique experience of staying in the homes of two of the teachers, and also ate authentic Russian “home cooking” in a different home each night.
In addition to feeding us and taking care of our lodging and transportation, the principal planned a sight-seeing excursions for us each day. During that whirlwind week we were able to experience an opera at the world-renowned Bolshoi Theatre, go to a performance at the Moscow State Circus, tour the amazing Tretyakov Art Gallery, attend two church services, go to a craft market, and tour Red Square.
I was not all that excited about going to Red Square. It was very, very cold and I knew we would have to do a lot of walking on ice-covered streets and walks. I expected Red Square to be nothing more than a monument to Communism – cold and bleak, much like the weather. I had grown up seeing TV clips of Russian soldiers marching goose-step in military precision through Red Square past the reviewing stand of Nikita Khrushchev or Leonid Brezhnev. When the driver dropped us off I almost wished we had asked him just to drive around for fifteen minutes or so and then come back and pick us up!
The multi-colored “onion” domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the landscape, which was muted, somewhat, by clouds that hugged the earth, bringing a constant flurry of snow.
When Johnny and I got to the main entrance we had to go through a military checkpoint, with less-than-friendly guards! By the time we got into Red Square the wind chill had to have been several degrees below zero. Johnny mentioned that a man he had met on an earlier trip to Moscow wanted to meet us there and be our “tour guide.” And before long, he came running up, apologizing for being late. Johnny introduced me, and off we went. In addition to speaking English, our guide was also a Christian, so he immediately began sharing things about the rich religious heritage that was a part of Red Square. Pointing to what looked like the main entrance to Red Square, he said, “Don, that is the “Spassky Gate” – and “Spassky” means “Savior.” He shared that when the square was first built it was called “Red Square” because, at the time, the Russian word for “red” also meant “beautiful” or “happy.” And for all of my life I thought the “Red” in Red Square was the “code word” for Communism. He pointed out other markers in the gates and walls that were of spiritual significance.
Before long, we began touring three other lesser-known, but important, cathedrals and were amazed at the beauty and incredible biblical symbolism in each. There were frescoes dating back to the 1500s and multi-level tiers of paintings. Even every square inch on the columns had been painted, and they, too, had spiritual and historical meaning. I sensed God’s presence in these ancient cathedrals. We were indeed on holy ground.
It was in the Assumption Cathedral that I gained a new understanding about the meaning of Christmas. In the narthex of this building there was a large glass case with displays of icons, paintings, and other items of historical significance. One of the first was a beautiful painting of the crucifixion highlighted in gold leaf. However, around this beautiful “icon” was a frame that looked like it was made from barn wood – so unlike any of the other displays. Our guide told us that, according to legend, the wood around that painting came from the manger in which Jesus was born – and had been preserved by Luke, who gives us the most detailed account of that first Christmas night. Since the Russian Orthodox Church was formed in 325, the logistics of passing down wood from the manger would indeed have been possible.
Whether the legend is true or not makes no difference. What is important is the truth that I learned that cold day in Moscow: that Christmas is a frame around the greater picture: the picture of the God’s Son, our Savior, dying on the cross for our sins.
We spend so much time celebrating Christmas – as we should – because without the manger there would be no cross. But may we always remember that Christmas is a simply a “frame” around the rest of the story.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Thursday, August 14, 2008
"Free Fees"
I enjoy reading signs, particularly the ones that are not meant to be funny, but are. A classic example is the one in front of a restaurant/service station that says "Eat here" and below it says "Get gas." I saw another that read "Caution: Water on road during rain." A church sign I like read: "Don't let worry kill you - Let the church help."
However, a sign here in Franklin that I think is paradoxical is in bold letters on the front of a store that people can use for small loans or to get an advance payment on checks. It's the title of this blog: "Free Fees." Now "fees" have to involve a cost, so if there is no cost there is no "fee." I think the sign really should read "No Fees."
Although what someone writes on their sign is not my business, I think our society really likes the word "free." It draws a crowd, it pulls in credit card customers, and plays on the desire to get something for nothing. But most of the time, "free" things are conditional. "Free mp3 players" (for the first 15 customers) or "Free financing (for the first three months) - but even after getting burned, people still go back to the stove.
I think this desire for "free" things has carried over into worship. We want a "free worship" - worship that doesn't cost anything, doesn't make any demands of us, or doesn't require anything other than to just show up!
In Matt Redman's book Facedown, there is a wonderful illustration of this: "In Genesis 22 God told Abraham to journey to the mountain of Moriah and there build an altar to worship Him. But this is no ordinary worship time. God instructs Abraham to take his son Isaac, for he is to be the offering. And though God never intends to let Abraham go through with this, the incident illuminates some important truths about worship. Ironically, one of the main insights comes from the boy Isaac himself. As they reach the appointed place and build an altar there, he says to his father, "The fire and the wood are here...but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?" In other words, "Everything seems like it's in place, but where's the sacrifice?" That's always a key question when it comes to real and meaningful worship.
However, a sign here in Franklin that I think is paradoxical is in bold letters on the front of a store that people can use for small loans or to get an advance payment on checks. It's the title of this blog: "Free Fees." Now "fees" have to involve a cost, so if there is no cost there is no "fee." I think the sign really should read "No Fees."
Although what someone writes on their sign is not my business, I think our society really likes the word "free." It draws a crowd, it pulls in credit card customers, and plays on the desire to get something for nothing. But most of the time, "free" things are conditional. "Free mp3 players" (for the first 15 customers) or "Free financing (for the first three months) - but even after getting burned, people still go back to the stove.
I think this desire for "free" things has carried over into worship. We want a "free worship" - worship that doesn't cost anything, doesn't make any demands of us, or doesn't require anything other than to just show up!
In Matt Redman's book Facedown, there is a wonderful illustration of this: "In Genesis 22 God told Abraham to journey to the mountain of Moriah and there build an altar to worship Him. But this is no ordinary worship time. God instructs Abraham to take his son Isaac, for he is to be the offering. And though God never intends to let Abraham go through with this, the incident illuminates some important truths about worship. Ironically, one of the main insights comes from the boy Isaac himself. As they reach the appointed place and build an altar there, he says to his father, "The fire and the wood are here...but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?" In other words, "Everything seems like it's in place, but where's the sacrifice?" That's always a key question when it comes to real and meaningful worship.
We'd do well in our worship to ask the same question Isaac asked: Where is the sacrifice? Sometimes in our worship meetings the "fire" and the "wood" are there -- in other words, outwardly everything seems to be in place, and we think we're set for "great worship." A skilled music team perhaps - or above-average songs or an enthralling preacher. But something is missing -- where is the sacrifice? What I am suggesting is there must be times in our worship services when we cease to say, "Please give me more," and we start to say, "It's time I gave You more." Moments in which we journey from "Here I am, meet me" -- as wonderful a prayer as that can be -- and move on to complete the integrity of worship by crying, "Here I am; send me."
The only thing truly "free" is the grace of God -- but it surely wasn't free for God. It required the extravagant gift of the life of His Son. We do not deserve "free" grace, but God gives it to all who ask. In return we should live out our gratitude through worship that requires sacrifice -- not just of our money, but of our time, our talents, and our lives. Isaac Watts said it best: "Love so amazing, so divine - Demands my soul, my life, my all."Monday, May 5, 2008
Seasons of Life
Since I celebrated my 60th birthday recently I've been in a somewhat introspective mood.
First of all, I've learned that "60" isn't nearly as old as I thought it was twenty years ago! It's amazing how our perspective about age changes as we get older. Now my definition of "old" is someone over 100! I don't really feel "old," though many of the cards I received implied otherwise! Hey, compared to Methuselah, I'm just a kid!
Second, I feel incredibly blessed to have lived 60 years. My father died when he was 49. My best friend in high school died about three years ago. Within the past month I have gone to funeral visitations for friends whose lives were far too short - a man who had just turned 50 and a woman who was 56. A young man in our church died suddenly last summer at the age of 37. It seems that more and more I hear of young husbands having massive, fatal heart attacks in their 30s, leaving behind grieving wives and young children. I realize that life is precious and fragile , and try to remind myself that each day is a gift from God.
Third, I think back ten years ago to my 50th birthday. Meniere's Disease had come into my life in 1998 like a thief in the night. The life I had known came to a screeching halt as I wrestled with this disease and also wrestled with God. For almost a year I didn't know if life would ever be normal again. In addition to having to deal with the unrelenting nausea, unsteadiness, dizziness, etc., possibly the worst thing was not being able to create, lead, or even listen to music, which was such an important part of my life -- and, in many ways, was my life.
In the midst of this life-storm, I received a call from someone who said that, as she was praying for me that morning, felt God giving her a message for me --- the same message, over and over again. So strong was this "message" that she had no choice but to call me, even though she had never done anything like this before. The "message" she said God was telling her was "I will heal Don, but it will be a slow and progressive -- and it will all be for My glory." I hung on to those words during the nightmare of that year -- and looking back, that is exactly what has happened. Although nothing changed immediately, later on that year I began to see small improvements, and in January of 1999 I was able to return to church and to leading, playing, and writing music.
Like Jacob, the wrestling match with God left me with a limp. The Meniere's is still there, but most of the time it is very much at bay and well-controlled. The constant noise that began in 1998 has never left, but it is more like a quiet hum or white-noise now that I don't even notice when there is ambient sound. Occasionally there are relatively-mild episodes that remind me that the "monster" is still there. But God's slow, progressive healing has given me back my life -- and amazed my doctor. Just last night, someone said that my recovery was a "miracle." Indeed it is!
Looking back, I can see that I learned lessons "in the dark" that I probably could not have learned any other way. After becoming weary of the struggle, I finally relinquished it to God, telling Him that I couldn't believe this was His will for my life, but if it was, to give me grace to accept it. In doing so, I found a sense of peace in the raging storm, and discovered anew that God's grace is indeed sufficient for our every need. Since going through the battle with Meniere's, I have now become an encourager of others who are experiencing this disease, just as other "survivors" encouraged me ten years ago. About once a month I either get an email, a phone call, or have a conversation with someone who needs to know that there is hope. I have also had numerous opportunities to share my testimony at churches, keyboard workshops, and other meetings -- even during a worship service at Church Music Leadership Week at Ridgecrest.
So now I stand on the threshold of another decade of life -- thankful to be alive -- thankful for the good health I have -- thankful for a wonderful wife and family -- and thankful for a God who has been with me and will continue to be with me every step on this journey -- through every season -- of life.
First of all, I've learned that "60" isn't nearly as old as I thought it was twenty years ago! It's amazing how our perspective about age changes as we get older. Now my definition of "old" is someone over 100! I don't really feel "old," though many of the cards I received implied otherwise! Hey, compared to Methuselah, I'm just a kid!
Second, I feel incredibly blessed to have lived 60 years. My father died when he was 49. My best friend in high school died about three years ago. Within the past month I have gone to funeral visitations for friends whose lives were far too short - a man who had just turned 50 and a woman who was 56. A young man in our church died suddenly last summer at the age of 37. It seems that more and more I hear of young husbands having massive, fatal heart attacks in their 30s, leaving behind grieving wives and young children. I realize that life is precious and fragile , and try to remind myself that each day is a gift from God.
Third, I think back ten years ago to my 50th birthday. Meniere's Disease had come into my life in 1998 like a thief in the night. The life I had known came to a screeching halt as I wrestled with this disease and also wrestled with God. For almost a year I didn't know if life would ever be normal again. In addition to having to deal with the unrelenting nausea, unsteadiness, dizziness, etc., possibly the worst thing was not being able to create, lead, or even listen to music, which was such an important part of my life -- and, in many ways, was my life.
In the midst of this life-storm, I received a call from someone who said that, as she was praying for me that morning, felt God giving her a message for me --- the same message, over and over again. So strong was this "message" that she had no choice but to call me, even though she had never done anything like this before. The "message" she said God was telling her was "I will heal Don, but it will be a slow and progressive -- and it will all be for My glory." I hung on to those words during the nightmare of that year -- and looking back, that is exactly what has happened. Although nothing changed immediately, later on that year I began to see small improvements, and in January of 1999 I was able to return to church and to leading, playing, and writing music.
Like Jacob, the wrestling match with God left me with a limp. The Meniere's is still there, but most of the time it is very much at bay and well-controlled. The constant noise that began in 1998 has never left, but it is more like a quiet hum or white-noise now that I don't even notice when there is ambient sound. Occasionally there are relatively-mild episodes that remind me that the "monster" is still there. But God's slow, progressive healing has given me back my life -- and amazed my doctor. Just last night, someone said that my recovery was a "miracle." Indeed it is!
Looking back, I can see that I learned lessons "in the dark" that I probably could not have learned any other way. After becoming weary of the struggle, I finally relinquished it to God, telling Him that I couldn't believe this was His will for my life, but if it was, to give me grace to accept it. In doing so, I found a sense of peace in the raging storm, and discovered anew that God's grace is indeed sufficient for our every need. Since going through the battle with Meniere's, I have now become an encourager of others who are experiencing this disease, just as other "survivors" encouraged me ten years ago. About once a month I either get an email, a phone call, or have a conversation with someone who needs to know that there is hope. I have also had numerous opportunities to share my testimony at churches, keyboard workshops, and other meetings -- even during a worship service at Church Music Leadership Week at Ridgecrest.
So now I stand on the threshold of another decade of life -- thankful to be alive -- thankful for the good health I have -- thankful for a wonderful wife and family -- and thankful for a God who has been with me and will continue to be with me every step on this journey -- through every season -- of life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)