What's in a name?

 

In the end, it matters who knows your name, and why.

What’s in a name?

The famous line from William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” suggests that names can be arbitrary and do not affect the essence of a person. As Juliet says, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

My family has done a lot of talking about names recently, with the birth of a second son to my second son. Some suggestions are serious, of course, and many are not – like my constant suggestion that the next female baby should be named “Ramona Henrietta,” which is as close to a feminine version of my name as I could come up with (but which I’d never actually want to see anyone burdened with).

I was named for my grandfather, which means I am “the second.” That caused confusion when I was a kid because people would say, “Oh, you’re junior.” No, I’m not a “junior” because I wasn’t named for my father (my oldest brother was, with a name that his line has carried on to the fourth, at least). I am “the second” because of the generational gap in names.

Will there be a third? Part of me would be flattered; another part would not want to burden a child with the name “Ray,” which I never particularly liked. I have always thought there were so many better names. Plus, when I was young and we’d take these long vacations which required driving through numerous small towns (the interstate system was not fully developed yet), it seemed the only time I ever saw my name was “Ray’s Barber Shop,” and it every small town from my home in East Point, Ga., to California had a “Ray’s Barber Shop.” When people would talk about the meaning of their names, I’d say “Ray” means “small town barber.”

But with apologies to Juliet (and Mr. Shakespeare), I do think there is something important about a name.

My family can trace its roots to a ship that landed in Philadelphia in 1734, from Germany. The colonial family’s story was written about in a book called “The Story of an Old Farm,’’ which was used at one time as a textbook for colonial life in the Lehigh Valley and Delaware River area of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. It’s actually a rather boring book, but I did use it one time in a history class at the University of Georgia, and the professor was fascinated enough by the story and detail to give me an “A,” brag about it in front of the class, and suggest the book should be republished.

I found a summary of the book that says, “The book is considered one of the best historical accounts of New Jersey in colonial and Revolutionary times, praised for its detailed depiction of social life and historical events. It is available for free download from the Library of Congress and digitized copies can be accessed via the Internet Archive.” It also has a genealogy section that documents the name changes over time, from Moelich to Malick to Mellick to Melick.

More than you – or anyone – wanted to know, I’m sure.

But when my kids were younger and would go off somewhere without me or their mother, I’d tell them one thing: Remember what your name is. The idea was that everything they did reflected on the family name. Not just on them, or me, but on hundreds of years of this families’ reputation.

I don’t say that because family name has any great significance as far as the world is concerned. But I wanted them to have a sense of who they are, where they come from, that every day they are writing their own story. I think knowing your family history – good or bad (and there is plenty of both in my family history) – gives you a sense of place, of belonging, an anchor that can be lost in today’s transient world.

It’s incredible to me that God wanted to be known by his creation. And how do you get to know someone unless you know their name?

“Then Moses asked God, ‘If I go to the Israelites and say to them: The God of your fathers has sent me to you, and they ask me, ‘What is His name?’ what should I tell them? God replied to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: I AM has sent me to you.” God also said to Moses, “Say this to the Israelites: Yahweh, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you. This is My name forever; this is how I am to be remembered in every generation.” (Genesis 3).

Science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke wrote a short story called “The Nine Billion Names of God,’’ which I read back in the 1970s and had enough of an impact on me that I still think of it after all these years. (Basically, a group of Tibetan monks seek to list all the names of God, of which they believe there are nine billion, and when the task is completed, the universe ceases to exist).

But God says it’s not that complicated. He gives Himself the name “I AM,’’ and goes on to say He’s to be called “Yahweh.”

Or rather, we know from Hebrew Scripture that God gives his names as YHWH, the closest English equivalents to the Hebrew letters, since ancient Hebrew did not have vowels. That’s where we get idea that the name is Yahweh (pronounced yä-wā).

There are a lot of other names which refer to God. Moses calls God “Elohim” and “Adonai.” There are a lot of other names used, but they really aren’t “names” so much as they are titles, and absolutely appropriate to be used when referring to God.

I was thinking about names when reading from the book of Matthew, when Joseph is considering what to do after his fiancé, Mary, turned up “with child.” An angel comes to him and says, essentially, the child will have two names: Jesus and Immanuel (or Emmanuel).

“Jesus” was a common name at the time (the Old Testament equivalent of Joshua) and means “The Lord saves.” “Immanuel” was not so common, from an Old Testament (Isaiah) prophecy, and means “God with us.”

It occurred to me that when I see Jesus’ names, I’m reminded that He is both a historical man that bore a common name, and He is the Son of God, with a name above all names. Both of those names reveal His identity.

In keeping with the common name “Jesus,” his birth – Jesus’ coming to earth - was witnessed by only a few people: Mary, Joseph, and maybe a couple shepherds. His leaving earth – what we call the ascension – was witnessed by only a slightly larger group, the 11 remaining apostles.

But when Jesus comes back, as over 1,500 passages in the Old Testament and an estimated one out of every 25 verses in the New Testament say, it will be in all His Glory, as Immanuel, as the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince Peace, Light of the World. Jesus will set up His kingdom and “The Lord will be king over the whole earth” (Zechariah 14:9).

What’s in a name? Philippians 2:9-10 states, “Therefore God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name above all names, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.”

What about your name? Revelation 20 says, “If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.” This will be the set of names of those who will live with God forever in heaven.

At that point, your name is going to be - as a friend of mine who is a master of understatement once said - “kind of a big deal.”

Jesus didn’t go by Immanuel in his life on earth. But he is truly Immanuel, “God with us.” Isaiah told us to watch for Immanuel, the virgin-born Son of God. He will save us. He will reconcile people to God. He will restore creation to its original beauty.

We call Him Jesus. But He is also “God with us,” Immanuel. It’s a name that is the difference between life and death.

“Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom. or the strong man boasts in his strength. or the rich man boast in his riches. But let the one that boasts boast in this: that he knows Me, the living God.” (Jeremiah 9:23-24).

We know His Name.

Whom Shall I Fear? (Thoughts on 9-11)

 

September 11 has always been a special day for my family. It is my father’s birthday.

And so I was with him on September 11, 2001. I remember standing with him, staring at the TV, watching the images from New York as the two planes flew into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. We stood side-by-side in my living room, not speaking, just watching – amazed, shocked, horrified, afraid of what we were seeing.

It occurred to me as we stood there if what I was feeling was something like he felt on December 7, 1941 – the attack on Pearl Harbor that took the United States into an active participant of World War II. They didn’t have CNN back then, so there was no 24-hour visual coverage of what was going on. But as the news reports spread, the country was shocked, saddened, angered – many of the same feelings the rest of us had on 9/11.

My father and mother were both veterans of World War II. He spent the war on a sub chaser, and it wasn’t until much later when I read about the history of submarine warfare by the Germans along the East Coast and especially in the Caribbean that I realized just how dangerous his job really was.

I doubt any Americans who were alive on what we now call 9/11 that have no memory of the events. At the time, we didn’t know if indeed it was the beginning of another World War. We didn’t know if it was just the first of multiple attacks – and it turned out it was. The crash of Flight 97 into the West side of the Pentagon resulted in the fourth-highest number of ground fatalities in plane crash history, while the brave travelers on United Flight 93 found out what was going on and rebelled against their captors and crashed the plane into a Pennsylvania field.

There are so many stories of bravery, many of which were not as well known at the time but continue to be told.

The story of Lt. Heather “Lucky” Penney and Lt. Col. Marc Sasseville, of the D.C. Air National Guard’s 121st Fighter Squadron at Joint Base Andrews, is amazing in that they were ordered to intercept and destroy Flight 93 before it could reach Washington D.C. There was no time to arm those two fighters with weapons, so both pilots were committed to crashing into the plane – Sasseville said he would hit the cockpit, Penney the tail – knowing it was a suicide mission. The actions of the passengers on board that flight means Sasseville and Penny did not have to take action, but that they were prepared to do so should never be forgotten.

There are so many more.

For me, there was another story from that day, far more personal beyond the fact that it was my father’s birthday.

As I watched what was happening in New York City from my TV screen, I will be honest: I thought to myself, “I’m glad I live in Birmingham, Alabama. That would never happen here.”

And no sooner had that thought crossed my mind that a thought – I can’t say voice, but I have no doubt that it was from God, the Holy Spirit, however you want to say it – said, “Ah! So you base your security on where you live and not on me?”

Americans used to think we had a natural protection of two huge oceans on either side of the continent that acted as a barrier to any invasion of forces that meant us harm. We found out on 9/11 that was no longer the case.

I seemed to think that my distance from places like New York and Washington D.C., cities that seemed like prime targets for those evil forces, somehow would protect me.

But then, I was covering the Olympics in Atlanta in 1996 and had just walked out the far side of Olympic Park when a bomb went off, killing one immediately and injuring 111 others. As a child, I was taught what to do in case of a nuclear attack and was shown these concentric circles of potential target areas and discovered where I lived was indeed within one of those circles.

I have been in venues that were closed due to bomb threats and taught how to handle mail that could contain anthrax or other material sent to do harm.

All that is to say, we’ve all been exposed to more potential harm than we probably think about.

It may sound silly, but that message I heard within my head (or heart?) was a profound realization for me. God has never spoken to me from a burning voice or from a cloud or in any audible way that I recognized (other than perhaps the advice of a friend), God tends to teach me things in simple ways, and this was one of those.

That moment, that message is one I have never forgotten.

And when I think of that moment, I think of Psalms 46, that begins,

“God is our refuge and strength,

an ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake with their surging….”

On that day, 25 years ago, it hit me that if I believe God is indeed my refuge, the source of my security, then it doesn’t matter where I am or where I go. We are all vulnerable. For the vast majority of us, we just don’t know from what.

But God does. So – as the Bible says in Psalms 27 – whom shall I fear?

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

Don't like the 10 Commandments? Work on these

 

There’s been a lot of talk about the Ten Commandments and whether it should be required that a copy be posted in public school classrooms. By my quick research, four states – Texas, Louisiana, Alabama and Arkansas – have passed laws required public schools to display the Ten Commandments.

Alabama, which has a long history of battles over the Ten Commandments, mandates public schools display the Ten Commandments in fifth through 12 grades “where U.S. history is taught,’’ as well as common areas “subject to the availability of donations for posters or framed documents.” That’s an interesting caveat, don’t you think?

Louisiana’s House Bill 71 requires poster-size displays in classrooms, emphasizing the historical significance of the Ten Commandments in American law and education. That fits within the historical context of this country, where for the first couple hundred years or so of public education, the Ten Commandments were commonly displayed or taught as part of moral or civic education, as opposed to explicit religious instruction.

Frankly, I don’t want public school teachers engaged in religious instruction. But I do see the value of using the Ten Commandment in public schools as a historical basis for law, particularly in Western Civilization and the United States in particular. It’s nearly impossible to separate the two, such was the Judea-Christian influence on our leaders (whether they were actually “Christians” or not).

However, I also understand the objection. It’s impossible to separate the Ten Commandments from the faith which produced them, simply because even if you say they were authored by Moses, you have to say Moses believed he was given these words by God.

As a Christian, if I were in a majority Muslim or Hindu or Rastafarian or Zen culture, I would prefer not to have texts from those faiths posted for my child to see every day, even if they were strictly used in a historical context (I would have no problem with them being taught in a historical context; in fact, in my 1970s public school our English teacher did include texts from other religions, as well as the Bible, for purposes of styles of literature).

Still, there have been things taught to my children by teachers and professors that I disagree with – at least, disagree with the interpretation given by those teachers that often have nothing to do with religion – and it has led to good discussions with my kids. Such discussions should be part of raising children and teaching them what I believe to be important, ultimately allowing them to decide for themselves.

I also believe Christians are no longer under the law, that Jesus fulfilled the law and we come to God by faith, not by our attempts to keep the law. For me, as I read the Bible, I see plenty of other “commandments” that I would like to see emphasized.

But while saying that, it's interesting to note that the New Testament, or New Covenant as it’s sometimes called, include some commands that are tougher than the original Law of Moses. It’s not just don’t commit adultery, it’s don’t lust; it’s not enough to just not murder, we’re told not to hate.

It seems Jesus was more interested in our internal thoughts and desires, knowing that those are what led to most of our significant outward action.

The New Testament doesn’t free us from commands. They don’t sound quite as harsh, but they are just as tough. Things like “Do not let your hearts be troubled” or “Be completely humble and gentle” and ‘’be self-controlled” and “rejoice in the Lord always.” We don’t necessarily think of worrying or not being gentle or failing to rejoice in the Lord as sins, but these are things we’re “told” (which sounds gentler than “commanded”) to do.

I admit I don’t treat being joyful as a Biblical command. But nobody argues with Jesus’ command to “love one another.” Why do we so casually read through commands to be joyful as if these are somehow just suggestions or good ideas? Paul says it multiple times – “Further, my brothers and sisters, rejoice in the Lord!” (Philippians 3:1); “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4); and another of one of those short verses, “Rejoice always.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16).

Actually, Paul gives us another “10 Commandments” in 1 Thessalonians that I number this way:

1. Comfort and edify one another (1 Thessalonians 5:11)

2. Respect all leaders (verses 12-13)

3. Warn the unruly, comfort the fainthearted, uphold the week, be patient with one another (verse 14)

4. Treat everyone with kindness (verse 15)

5. Rejoice always (verse 16)

6. Pray without ceasing (verse 17)

7. Give thanks (verse 18)

8. Do not quench the Spirit (verse 19)

9. Test all teachings (verse 20-21)

10. Avoid evil (verse 22).

I’m commanded to do these things, even if we don’t like to think of them as “commandments.”

These things don’t come naturally to me. I have to remind myself. I need to, as it says in Deuteronomy 6, “… talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise up.” These “commands” aren’t for just when I feel like it, or for special occasions; they are supposed to be part of every moment of my life.

It takes energy. And there are days when I don’t feel particularly joyful.

But then, just because there are clouds in the sky doesn’t mean the sun isn’t shining behind them.

These don’t seem to be suggestions. I need to quit thinking of them as such.

I was listening to some old old contemporary Christian music, by Andre Crouch. He has a song which says, “Somebody told me about the joy they have. Somebody told me that in their sorry, they could be glad. Then they told me they were blind but now they see. I didn’t think it could be until it happened to me.

“You won’t believe that it’s true until it happens to you.”

Talk to God; He really does want to hear from you

 

I was talking to my dog the other day when she told me …

Wait. The first part of that sentence is ok. According to a quick Google search, “One estimate from the Institute for Environmental Research and Education suggests at least 80% of people talk to their pets, including dogs, across age, gender, and socioeconomic groups. More specific surveys of U.S. pet owners find that 55% of cat and dog owners have regular conversations with their pets, while a 2024 survey of 1,500 American pet owners reported that 84% of respondents regularly talk to their pets like fellow humans.”

Talking to my dog is one thing. But “she told me” … that’s a something else.

The idea of having a conversation with animals has captivated humans for centuries. You remember Hugh Lofting’s 1920 story about Dr. Doolittle, a physician who could speak animal languages? It’s been turned into movies and TV shows and musicals.

More realistically, remember the gorilla Koko, who achieved quite a bit of fame back in the 1980s for being taught sign language? Koko was said to a have had a vocabulary of around 1,000 words, using an adaptation of the American Sign Language (ASL). But there was a lot of controversy over just how much Koko actually was able to communicate and how much was a trained reflex to her handler. Koko apparently could communicate at a very basic level, which is remarkable; unfortunately, much of whether she actually “communicated” was doubted because her handlers and trainers were the ones interpreting what Koko “said.”

I grew up on stories of talking animals. It’s politically incorrect now, but I was read and later read for myself the Br’er Rabbit stories as a child, the story of a clever rabbit who was a notorious trickster, out-smarting a variety of others by his wits rather than muscle.

I am a dog lover. I talk to my dog as if she understands what I’m saying. And indeed, my dog is trained well enough to understand words like “heel” and “sit” and “shake” and “down” and “place” and “go get your toy” and even “wait.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t understand “words;” rather she recognizes sounds that she has been trained to respond to in a certain way that brings a reward. But she really does seem to want to please, to figure out what I’m trying to tell her. Sometimes she’ll even go through a series of responses to see if what she is doing is what I’m asking of her.

I was thinking about this as I was trying to communicate with God.

In my faith, we call it “prayer,’’ and a 2023-24 Religious Landscape Study said 44% of U.S. adults report praying every day (a number that is on the decline). A 2024 Barna Research report said that 84% of U.S. adults have prayed at least once in the past week.

Apparently, a lot of us feel this urge to talk to God, even if it’s that simple cry of “Help me, God!” when we’re in trouble (basically what we call “foxhole prayers”).

It seems only natural. The Genesis creation story essentially says God created man to have someone to communicate with, that before sin entered the world, God regularly walked and talked with Adam as a friend. Nothing seemed more natural for Adam than for God to show up and say, “How’s it going?” and for Adam to tell God about what he’d been doing, and for God to listen and respond, since it takes two to communicate.

I can hear Adam seeing God and saying, “I saw the most amazing creature today. What is it?” To which God would reply something like, “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? You tell me. Give it a name.”

But since what we call “the Fall” – when Adam and Eve decided they could do something outside of God’s parameters – God has been increasingly remote, and it’s become easier to wonder if He’s listening, if He’s even there.

Some people make fun of prayer. But then, many of those same people make decisions for their lives based on cultural trends, media reporting, instinct, hormones, superstition, horoscopes, listening to “experts” … seeking guidance from somewhere.

I admit I struggle with prayer. I wonder what to say, and if it really makes any difference. But then, Jesus prayed. And for me, in its simplest form, that’s reason enough. If I’m trying to be like Jesus, then I need to pray like Jesus (so I pray, but whether I actually pray like Jesus – probably not).

Sometimes I feel guilty for asking God for so much. Then I think about the famous “Lord’s Prayer,” when Jesus’ followers asked him to teach them to pray. It’s really a list of asking for things – give me food, forgive me when I screw up, protect me from evil. So maybe those quick “Help me, Jesus!” prayers that so many of us say without thinking are not that far from being what’s expected.

I wonder if, in many ways, in trying to communicate with God we’re not like Koko, or our dogs, trying hard to please our teacher/master/owner. Sometimes we don’t have a clue what is expected of us in a specific situation, but that doesn’t stop us from trying both to figure out what God is saying and how to communicate in a way that elicits some response from God.

There are all types of prayers and, I believe, a place for all of them: for formal prayers, for communal prayers, for written prayers, for spontaneous prayers. We know from reading the Bible that we can be formal or casual with God. We can be awed by Him, but in the next minute be angry with Him. We can thank Him for giving us what we have and then ask Him for things we don’t. It can feel like we’re really communicating one day, then within 24 hours wonder if He’s even listening at all.

But then, isn’t that how we communicate with friends? With the people closest to us?

Isn’t that probably the way God and Adam communicated in the beginning?

There is a classic book called “The Practice of the Presence of God,’’ by Brother Lawrence, a French monk who lived in the 1600s. It’s a short book, simply written. It is primarily about Brother Lawrence’s “practicing the presence of God” (as the title suggests) daily, while washing dishes or sweeping or walking or just going about his daily life.

Brother Lawrence writes “We must try to converse with God in little ways while we do our work; not in memorized prayers, not trying to recite previously formed thoughts. Rather, we should purely and simply reveal our hearts as the words come to us. … Talk to Him often; forget Him a seldom as possible.”

Sometimes I realize I’m not sincere when I pray. Often, I wonder if I’m doing it right. But I think the very fact that I recognize those things - I believe God wants my authentic self more than the idealized version I have of myself. So I keep talking.

It’s complicated. There are all kinds of reasons to wonder why we pray, if we can actually “change God’s mind” or if there is a gray area in God’s will where he allows us to intervene or if in reality (as I was taught years ago) we pray until God changes our mind into conformity with his.

There is a lot of research that shows real benefits of prayer, on mental, emotional, and even some physical health outcomes. Studies indicate prayer can reduce anxiety, depression, and stress by lowering cortisol levels and promoting relaxation, greater emotional regulation, resilience against depression, and a stronger sense of purpose.

More than anything, I find myself just talking to God. Maybe to God I’m on a level of Koko, or my dog (as smart as she is!), except He does understand me. I’m amazed that the God of the Universe wants to have a relationship with me.

And with you.

And more than anything, I want to keep the lines of communication open.

Jazz and predestination vs. free will

 

Do you remember the first album you bought?

Maybe the better question is, do you even remember record albums?

Music has always been a big part of my life. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in the family living room, listening to music on the big Zenith stereo console - basically a piece of furniture that oriented the entire room. My mother loved music, and one of the first LP (long playing) albums I remember was her recording of George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.”

The first album I remember buying for myself was Blood, Sweat, and Tears, the one with the song “Spinning Wheel.” I tended to go for those bands that were more than guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. I liked horn sections, maybe a by-product of listening to so much Gershwin when I was younger, or the Big Band music my father listened to on the radio in his truck.

Listening to an album back then was an event in itself. You gently placed the vinyl record on the turntable, set the needle on the first groove, then sat on the floor in front of the speakers and studied the album cover and what were called liner notes while listening to the music.

Liner notes were writing found on the back or inside cover of the album or, later, the sleeve that protected the vinyl record. They might include a message from the band, something about how the record came to be, and then usually a list of each song including who played on each recording. There would always be studio musicians who weren’t part of the formal band, but who played specific parts of the recording, and if you studied enough liner notes, as I did, you began to see certain musicians who played on multiple recordings, whose names became as familiar to me after a while as the actual band members.

That’s where I learned to look for musicians like Steve Lukather, Carol Kaye, Hal Blaine, Dick Dale, Dave Sanborn, Richard Tee, Leon Russell, Donald “Duck” Dunn, Wynton Marsalis – those are just some of the many names that, after a time, I felt I could recognize their style regardless of the record. Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band played on a ton of records that were not Springsteen.

Muscle Shoals, as Lynyrd Skynyrd sang, had the “Swampers,” a bunch of white, Alabama-bred country musicians who played country, rock, R&B, soul – anything and everything. They were on something like 75 gold and platinum hits and brought musicians from all over the world to record in this studio on north Alabama.

More than a few went on to have successful careers as headliners. Grover Washington Jr. – I developed an affinity for jazz – was one of those great stories. He was scheduled to back up saxophonist Hank Crawford on a studio recording session, but for some reason Crawford didn’t make it and the producers had Washington Jr. step up and take the spotlight. Washington went on to be a star in jazz and R&B in the 1970s-1990s.

In the late 1970s, a friend and I went to see Rickie Lee Jones at this club in Buckhead (Atlanta, Ga.). Jones was popular at the time with her song “Chuck E.’s in Love.” But when we got there, we realized David Sanborn was playing in her band, and we were more excited to see him than Rickie Lee. We were big Sanborn fans, who was so distinctive you could pick up his saxophone style on any number of records, until he became so copied that a generation of saxophonists were sounding like Sanborn derivatives.

The Rickie Lee Jones concert demonstrated that you might buy the tickets for the headliner but the people in the supporting roles, the backing musicians, were as important to the quality of the song as the lead.

I thought of this the other day when reading the Apostle Paul’s writing in 1 Corinthians 12, “For just as the body is one and has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body …” and “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I do not need you.’ Nor can the head say to the feet, ‘I do not need you.’ On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” He goes on with this idea, saying “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.”

In a sense, being a Christian is like being in a band. There are many parts to the music – vocals, lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass, drums, keyboards, horns – and depending on the song, their individual part may be big or small. I remember a percussionist with Spyro Gyra who played a number of instruments, from conga to triangle, and was fun to watch because of the way he seemed to scramble from one instrument to the next within the context of a single song. You wouldn’t pay to see him front a band, but his contribution to the music (as well as the live show) was undeniable.

I really like this analogy in the context of jazz, or at least of a live performance, where no song is played exactly the same way twice. Everyone knows the melody and the rhythm, but there is usually space for a featured musician to add notes or runs or riffs that weren’t written into the original score. One person may have the featured instrument, playing what he’s led to play, but the rest are basically staying within the music as written, holding everything together

Jazz is one way I resolve the theological issue of predestination vs. free will or foreknowledge. In live jazz – the best way to hear it – everyone is playing the same song and knows how it starts, where it’s going, how it’s going to end. But along the way, individual musicians have freedom to experiment, to try different notes that hopefully contribute to the overall sound. But still, that individual freedom is curtailed somewhat within the limits of the song they are playing. The overall song is predestination; the individual experimentation is free will. God wrote the music, so He knows where it’s going and how it’s going to end, even as He takes great delight in the individual talents displayed within the structure of the song.

A casual listener may not realize how important the bass player is, or what the percussionist adds to a song (“More cowbell” as the famous Saturday Night Live skit goes), and at times certain individuals may not be playing at all, sitting back while other musicians take over.

To Paul’s point, in the church we all have a part to play. Some are more obvious than others. Sometimes, as in music, the part we play might change. If it’s your turn to solo, you do so; but at the same time, if it’s your turn to rest – a very important part of any musical score – you have to do that as well, because if you decided to just jump in and play whenever you wanted, the whole song would be ruined.

We won’t all be Dave Sanborn, adding something so distinctive everyone notices even when we’re supposed to be in the background. We can’t all have our picture on the cover of the album. That doesn’t make us any less important, because certainly the person that wrote the music, that envisioned the total sound, appreciates how important each part is to – in the case of music – winning that Grammy.

But, as Paul writes, “God has placed the parts … every one of them, just as He wanted them to be, so there are many parts, but one body.” (I Corinthians 12:12).

So, learn your music. Hone your craft. Know that even if you never get to be the headliner, the producer – God – knows the part He has written just for you and applauds every note you hit that adds to the heavenly sound of His music.

Is the 'Scarlet letter' is now the 'scarlet video'?

 

His father found his “stash.”

Now “stash” can mean a lot of things, depending on where you live and the time period. In this case, it was the late 1960s, in a pretty conservative suburb of Atlanta, and the ‘stash’ belonged to a 6^th or 7^th grader who lived down the street.

His ‘stash’ was a Playboy magazine (as racy as anything we knew existed back then) that my buddy had gotten somehow, and a deck of playing cards that featured pictures of nude or semi-nude women. This was hot stuff among a bunch of church-going boys back in those simpler, pre-internet, pre-cable TV days.

But he’d hidden this stash in the drop ceiling of his basement, which seemed ingenious to us but in fact turned out to be a rather poor hiding place. Drop ceilings were drop ceilings because they allowed easy access to the plumbing and ducts and electrical stuff that ran beneath the main floor of the house, and when someone went to check or fix or change a light – well, that’s how this kids’ father found his stash.

Honestly, I wasn’t good enough friends with this kid that he’d let me actually see this treasure, but I heard about it from other guys in the neighborhood who said they’d seen it and, I will admit, I was curious.

The point is, I remember this guys’ father finding this stash of what we’d now probably call “soft porn” (if even that), although it was pretty hardcore to us innocent kids of the 1960s. And getting caught by your dad in something like this was a definite “oh, nooooo” moment. When we heard his dad had found his stuff, we were all afraid for him, imagining what our own parents would do to us in the same situation.

What his dad did was one of the most incredible acts of fathering I have ever seen. I’ll get back to that.

I thought about this the other day after reading a story about “crowdsourced shaming.” It’s a phrase for people getting caught on camera doing things they shouldn’t be doing. You know, like that couple at the Coldplay concert that got caught on the kiss cam. It was obvious by their nervous reaction that something was amiss. People being what they are, searches were done and it turned out these two people worked at the same company, were married to other people, and were having an affair.

Just a week or so ago, a couple was filmed kissing on a bench in New York’s Central Park. When they saw the guy filming them, they became nervous and asked him to stop. He didn’t, and soon posted the video online. Within a few hours, internet sleuths figured out these two were partners in a New York law firm; one of whom was married to someone else. The video got more than 2 million views on TikTok before being deleted, and stories were written about it.

According to this article I read, there are people with their cell phone cameras who go looking for this stuff. People who look like they could be having an affair are common targets, as are public drunks, people whose clothes reveal too much (either intentionally or not), and people who find themselves in embarrassing situations. These videos are then broadcast over TikTok or whatever social media is popular, and the subjects of these videos find themselves in for a public flogging.

From the article: “These days, stepping out your front door in the morning means you no longer have any legal right to stop someone from shoving a camera in your face—something self-described “free speech auditors” on TikTok and other platforms will be quick to remind you. The “auditors” make their content by conspicuously filming people in public, which they have a legal right to do, in hopes of eliciting angry responses that can be uploaded to YouTube or clipped on TikTok for the benefit of people who like watching public freak-outs. If the response goes viral, they can make some money ruining lives, too.

“And they aren’t looking for good people doing nice things because that’s not good content. The cameras matter only when you cheat on your wife, argue with her in public, or have a meltdown in a Target. When you do, the iPhone will be there, filming as the comments flow in. If you’re lucky, all the commentators will do is laugh at you. At worst, they’ll track you down, doxx you, and ruin your life…”

Do these people being filmed deserve it? It’s easy to say if they were doing something wrong and chose to do it in public, they got what they deserved. It used to be called public shaming, and it’s nothing new. Ever read The Scarlet Letter?

These days, once you’re caught you may be subject to the eternal ‘scarlet video,’ that will remain out there no matter what you do to apologize and make amends.

That’s the difference. It’s one thing to be shamed in front of your community, family and friends and people you sat beside in church on Sunday; to be publicly held accountable for violating the generally accepted moral standard of the community where you live (however hypocritical those expectations may have been).

It’s another thing to be shamed by millions of people around the world that don’t know you, who aren’t part of your community, who are simply taking great pleasure at the failing and embarrassment and humiliation of someone they have never met and likely never will. This turns it into something like a blood sport. It’s a spectacle, purely for entertainment purposes – and profit for whoever shot the video and uploaded it first.

Its people being thrilled by watching the life of a total stranger come apart and feeling somehow superior, I guess, because these people “get what they deserve.”

My mother used to tell me, “Be sure your sins will find you out.” This comes from Numbers 32, where Moses is talking to the tribes of Reuben and Gad, who have decided to stay on the opposite side of the Jordan River rather than go with the rest of Israel and conquer Canaan. Moses tells them that they can do that, but if they fail to come to the aid of their brothers when needed, they would be sinning against the Lord. “But if you fail to do this, you will be sinning against the LORD; and you may be sure that your sin will find you out,” Moses tells them.

On the other hand, we’re told to be careful sitting in judgement of people. To the crowd who wanted to stone the woman caught in adultery, Jesus says, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” (John 8:7). And in Matthew 7:1 Jesus says, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”

There is a lot about what Jesus says that doesn’t mean exactly what many people want it to mean; it’s not “You don’t have the right to tell me I’m wrong.” Later in the same chapter, Jesus essentially tells us that we are expected to judge what is right from wrong, and call out wrong when we see it. There are just as many verses on how to appropriately judge the actions we see.

But we’re also told to love our neighbors, which means, I think, that we’re not to take joy in calling out the sins of others. We’re not to delight in their failings. We’re called to love those people, and as Jesus said to the woman caught in adultery, tell them “Go and sin no more.” We have to recognize what sin is, and encourage people – and remind ourselves – to stop sinning. But also allow them to get on with their lives.

That brings me back to my friend’s father. When he discovered his son’s stash of magazines and playing cards, hidden in that basement ceiling, we all expected there to be a whipping that would leave our buddy’s backside black and blue, with a potential grounding that lasted until well into high school.

But the father didn’t get mad (at least, not when he spoke to his son). He didn’t threaten. He didn’t punish.

He just told his son, “Son, if you’re going to look at stuff like this, then leave it out in the open. Because if you’re trying to hide it, you know you’re ashamed, which means you know it’s wrong.”

It was an incredible piece of fathering. At that time, in our community, in our culture, the kid couldn’t have been more embarrassed. He knew it was something to hide. And he wasn’t about to have that stuff out in the open where his mother or sisters could see it. He knew instinctively there was something illicit about these pictures. And part of the thrill of having this stuff was the secrecy.

There were a lot of ways this story could have gone. But this father knew his son well enough that he had a pretty good idea of what his son would do. And his son did: he got rid of the stuff. Threw it away. The son was ashamed.

His father didn’t publicly humiliate him. I don’t know if he even told the mother (he probably did, but she never acknowledged it as far as I know). He simply made the son see that he knew what he was doing was wrong, and since it was wrong, he shouldn’t continue doing it. Simple as that.

That, to me, is correcting someone in the right way. With love. Just between the two of you, if possible.

The Bible says we are “always to be gentle toward everyone” (Titus 3:2). We are to gently confront people caught in sin (Galatians 6:1). We are, above all, to speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15).

And not take delight in another man’s failing, but to be happy when he’s been redeemed.

Sometimes it hurts; healing usually does

 

My legs were asleep.

A common enough occurrence. Sometimes when I’m sitting, I lean forward and put my elbows on my thighs, to read or watch something. I don’t have to stay in that position for long, and when I straighten back up, I can tell my legs are numb.

Then when I try to stand up, it almost feels as if I can’t. It feels week. It aches. It takes a minute to get the feeling back in my leg. It hurts.

I used to think this was from cutting off circulation to my leg. But since I have access to a world of information on my phone, I looked it up. Turns out, it’s something called “positional paresthesia.” According to the first article I found (I didn’t think it was worth in-depth research), “Leg sleep,” the common term for positional paresthesia, happens when there is sustained pressure on a nerve that disrupts it’s “feeling,’’ or signaling.

What’s really creepy – and maybe this has happened to you (please tell me it has, and that it’s not just me!) – is waking up in the middle of the night and feeling this thing under my pillow that feels like a rubber hand, only to realize it’s mine, and it’s so “asleep” that I have no feeling in it, and when I touch it it’s like finding a fake hand made out of rubber under my pillow.

The feeling doesn’t last long. As soon as the pressure is released, the nerves start tingling and burning as they come back to life. In the case of a hand, I shake it and shake it to get past this “awakening” until it finally feels like my hand again. But it’s a weird feeling, as I said; it’s uncomfortable. It can actually be painful as the nerves come back to life.

Really, all that’s happening is my body is healing itself. When you think about it, any kind of healing usually hurts. There is a reason the doctors give you pain medicine after surgery. Those morphine pumps after major surgery are sometimes the only relief you get in the immediate after-effect of some operation that puts your body in a position to heal. Because healing hurts.

The Gospel of Jesus can be like that. It should change your life, and change is rarely easy. Learning to live the way Jesus wants us to, the way the Bible says to live, the way we were created to live, is very often against how we want to live, how we’ve lived most of our life, sometimes even how we like to live.

And why shouldn’t it be uncomfortable? We’ve tried to live without God for so long that when we finally decide to follow Jesus and His teaching, it is an adjustment. You may find that things you used to do without thinking, suddenly you find yourself thinking about before you either do them again or decide not to do them. Your friends may wonder why suddenly you’re not joining in with them in things you’ve always done, and when you explain why you would rather not do it they make fun of you, or at least wonder how long this ‘fad’ will last.

Just like the nerves coming back to life in my leg, when I realize I need to live the way the Bible says I was created to live, it can feel awkward. It’s sometimes hard to make a stand, to take the first few steps.

In the Christian faith, we call conversion being “saved.” We’ll even ask the question, “have you been saved?” “Tell me about when you were saved.”

I am told the name “Jesus” means “God saves.” In the birth story of Jesus, in both Matthew and Luke, it says “You shall call his name ‘Jesus,’ for he will save his people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:21).

Sometimes I think I use this word “saved,” particularly in a church context, way too casually. The word ‘salvation’ – another of those religious terms we throw around – means “preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss.” It’s the word the Jewish historian Josephus used to refer to the deliverance of the Israelites from their slavery in Egypt.

In my faith, ‘salvation’ or being saved means I believe I have been delivered from the fear of death and the penalty for my wrong-doing (sin).

That’s really amazing. We’re literally being brought from death to life. In fact, we no longer have to fear death, because – as the old spiritual says – “ain’t no grave gonna keep my body down.”

I don’t fully understand all the intricacies of how it works. But I believe in it. I can look at my life and see how it has changed me, from the way I once was to the way I am. Not that I have achieved perfection. The Apostle Paul says in Philippians 3, “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” If Paul, late in his life, says he’s not obtained perfection, then I know I’m certainly not there.

There is a great example of this change in the New Testament.

In the list of the men Jesus called to be his 12 disciples, (Mark 3) included in the 12 were “James son of Zebedee and his brother John (to them he gave the name Boanerges, which means “sons of thunder”).” That could possibly mean that Zebedee was a man of temper, but I think it more probably means that James and John were hot-headed, easily provoked.

The best example may be in Luke 9, where it says Jesus “sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?”

That sounds like “sons of thunder” to me. “They don’t accept us? Let us call down fire and show these people a thing or two about who they’re dealing with here!” A very human reaction.

The passage goes on to say “But Jesus turned and rebuked them.”

Jesus rebuked them. That had to hurt. It wasn’t the first time Jesus had to call them out. It seems they were a bit slow to learn, and the learning was sometimes painful.

But Jesus didn’t used their mistakes to exclude them from discipleship. Today we might have shunned them. “Hey, watch out for James and John. They may go off on somebody at a moment’s notice. We better keep them away from the crowds.”

Jesus simply understood James and John needed more training. And their transformation was evident.

James became the first of the 12 disciples to be martyred (Acts 12:2). But his brother, John - by the end of his life John was known not as “Son of Thunder” but “the apostle of love,’’ referencing love in his Gospel and first letter more than any other New Testament writer. That’s a far cry from wanting to call down fire from heaven to destroy an entire village.

Our world says “People don’t change.”

But when people follow Jesus, Jesus changes them.

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it feels like we’re going against our very nature (which we are). Sometimes people refuse to believe it’s real. Sometimes it doesn’t seem “fair,’’ and we make excuses for the way we behave saying, “That’s just how God made me.”

But no, God made you and me to be perfect. He loved us enough to let us make our own choices, knowing full well those choices could lead to all kinds of pain and suffering, but also knowing – I believe, and I could be wrong – that for love to be real, it can’t be coerced.

If we did not have the ability to reject God, then neither would we have the ability to truly love Him. Some theologians go so far as to say that human freedom is the highest good and that even God will not violate it. Genuine love and genuine good can only exist in a world where there is an opportunity for genuine rejection and genuine evil.

That’s a discussion for another day, for people far smarter than I.

All I know is, when people follow Jesus, Jesus changes them.

Even if it hurts.