The Monk’s Story

A monastery had fallen on hard times. It was once part of a great order which, as a result of religious persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, lost all its branches. It was decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the mother house: the abbot and four others, all of whom were over seventy. Clearly it was a dying order.

Deep in the woods surrounding the monastery was a little hut that the rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a heritage. One day, it occurred to the abbot to visit the hermitage to see if the rabbi could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The rabbi welcomed the abbot and commiserated. “I know how hard it is,” he said, “the spirit has gone out of people. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” So the old rabbi and the abbot wept together and read parts of the Torah and spoke quietly of deep things.

The time came when the Abbot had to leave. They embraced. “it has been wonderful being with you,” said the Abbot, “but I have failed in my purpose for coming. Have you no piece of advice that might save the monastery?” “No. I am sorry,” the Rabbi responded. “I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”

When the other monks heard the Rabbi’s words, they wondered what possible significance they might have. “The Messiah is one of us? One of us, here, at the monastery? Do you suppose he meant the Abbot? Of course, -- it must be the Abbot, who has been our leader for so long. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas, who is such a holy man. Or could he have meant Brother Elrod, who is so crotchety? But then Elrod is so very wise. Surely, he could not have meant Brother Phillip – he’s so passive. But then, magically, he’s always there when you need him. Of course he didn’t mean me – yet supposing he did? Oh, Lord, not me! I couldn’t mean that much to you, could I?”

As they contemplated in this matter, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect, on the off chance that one of them might be the Messiah. And on the off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.

Because the forest where the monastery was situated was beautiful, people occasionally came to visit, perhaps picnic or to wander along the old paths, most of which lead to the dilapidated chapel. These visitors sensed the aura, permeating the atmosphere. The visitors began to come more frequently, bringing friends, and their friends brought friends. Some of the younger men who came to the forest began to engage in conversation with the monks. After a while, one asked of he could join then another and another. Within a few years, the monastery became once again a thriving order, and – thanks to the Rabbi’s gift – the vibrant, authentic community of light and love for each other and others had blossomed.

Adapted from The Art of Possibility, Benjamin Zander

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of the kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinners--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbor, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ were the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.

from The Weight of Glory, by C.S. Lewis...

Perhaps as we think about the birth of our savior Jesus and how he came to earth so ordinary we might also look upon everyone we meet as unique as the creator intended.

The way of Law or Grace

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood…

begins Robert Frost’s famous poem, a favorite of mine: two roads, a choice to make.

…Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

And so ends the poem and I want to believe that I have taken the more difficult of the two: the path of grace rather than the law. I’ve come to realize by experience that one can have the Spirit of God (grace) or legalism (the Law) but never both. As one can only be on one path at a time you can never be living by grace and the law.

The path of law is smooth, broad and well traveled. The path of grace is narrow and there are some places that are not comfortable to the step.

It is harder to forgive, than it is to judge. Judgments are the stones that pave the path of the law, giving a sure foundation to all heavy loads. The path of forgiveness is a tangled way not clearly marked, but the flowers along this path are fragrant to the smell.

The pathway of grace is illuminated by the soft light of love. The love offered to the hurting, broken and lowly of this earth, a light that comes from giving love to those who never repay but with the demand of more. Easier to travel is the neon lined route of the law. Harsh neon that falsely makes the dark appear to be day. Powered by hate the light burns away the soft layers of natural light.

All is not bleak on the trail of grace for those along the way are known for their inclusion and help offered to all the weary travelers met along the way. A merry rag-tagged band of brothers are we. The way of law is a interstate, of fast moving sedans with only seats for a chosen few. Diesel fuming buses filled with those who think alike, sitting up straight, looking at the countryside through dark tinted windows.

Road-weary pilgrims along the path of grace know that it is harder to engage, than it is to ignore, harder to share, than it is to hold, harder to accept, than it is to reject, harder to welcome, than it is to walk away. Many started out on the Highway of Law but it just didn’t seem right and we have returned retracing our steps humbled. But we are refreshed by streams of living water bubbling up along this path. Tall trees shade our way and a cool breeze of the Spirit’s wind is at our back.

It is harder to live in grace, than it is to live in the law.

…Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Dancing in the Dark

Dancing in the moonlight the young man turned bent low and then spun quickly gracefully athletic. His joyous laughter pierced the still and silence of the night.

Approaching him along the shoreline a tall muscular three pieced suited gentleman, walking briskly, his steps in measured strides, his arms keeping time like a mechanical metronome.


The very proper and correct man broke his pace at the sight of the dancing, prancing silhouette in the moonlight. With hands firmly on hips and his suit jacket bulging at his chest he glared at the dancer. Not until he allowed his sight to adjust to the shadowing twilight did he see that the ritual dance had a purpose.

The dancer was picking up stranded starfish left behind by the receding tide to soon be baked up the rising of the sun. The starfish of many colors littered the beach as far as the eye could see.

Without hiding his contempt the watcher chided condescendingly, “What are you doing? What difference can saving a few starfish possibly make?”

Smiling with the innocence of a child the dancer sang while whirling but one more stranded starfish back into the deep. “It certainly makes a difference to this one!”

How are we as followers of Jesus the Christ to measure success? Are we to calculate by the multitudes, business models, and the lenses of modernity. Can a life spent in only making a difference to one be counted as a success?

Absent from the story are the familiar qualifications of success and measurements of progress. All that mattered was the dance and the “one” of the moment.

My point and purpose is not to attack large successful ministries nor to hold them up for examination but simplt to propose that the importance of the one is close to the heart of God. And those dancing in the dark may not be so out of step.

I have met some wary dancers – perhaps am one myself – who feel abandoned and diminished only due to their dancing the steps that the Spirit of God has put into their hearts. Their crime: caring more for the “one” than the organizational goals.

So, dancers in the dark, keep dancing even if only for the one. Keep dancing for if you slow down and lose the rhythm you may find your unique personality being trimmed to fit someone else’s mass-produced frame.

Post script:

Today I learned that one of the “ones” I hoped to throw to the deep was not thrown far enough and is trapped in the shallows with the heat of the full sun now bearing down.

J, may you find deep water and rest for your soul.

For when you feel powerless

We prayed earnestly that God would bless out land and would confound the machinations of the children of darkness. There had been so many moments in the past, during the dark days of apartheid’s vicious awfulness, when we had preached,” This is God’s world and God is in charge!”

Sometimes when evil seemed to be on the rampage and about to overwhelm goodness, one held onto this article of faith by the skin of one’s teeth. It was a kind of theological whistling in the dark and one was frequently tempted to whisper in God’s ear, “For goodness sake, why don’t you make it more obvious you are in charge!”

No Future Without Forgiveness
Desmond Tutu (page 4)

Tales From a Mis-Spent Youth

Today I leaned that it was Zappa tribute day.
Frank Vincent Zappa (December 21, 1940 – December 4, 1993 was an American composer, musician, and film director. In a career spanning more than 30 years, Zappa established himself as a prolific and highly distinctive composer, electric guitar player and band leader. He worked in almost every musical genre and wrote music for rock bands, jazz ensembles, synthesizers and symphony orchestra, as well as Musique concrète works constructed from pre-recorded, synthesized or sampled sources. In addition to his music recordings, he created feature-length and short films, music videos, and album covers.
Although he only occasionally achieved major commercial success, he maintained a highly productive career that encompassed composing, recording, touring, producing and merchandising his own and others' music. Zappa self-produced almost every one of the more than sixty albums he released with the Mothers of Invention or as a solo artist. He received multiple Grammy nominations and won for Best Rock Instrumental Performance in 1988 for the album Jazz from Hell
Politically, Zappa was a self-proclaimed "practical conservative", an avowed supporter of capitalism and independent business. He was also a strident critic of mainstream education and organized religion Zappa was a forthright and passionate advocate for freedom of speech and the abolition of censorship, and his work embodied his skeptical view of established political processes and structures. Although many assumed that he, like many musicians, used drugs, Zappa strongly opposed recreational drug use.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_zappa

And here is his classic “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” complete with a clever animation.

Giving an “A”

This is a start to a poor confession, as I am about to justify my actions, by inferring they came from Ken Blanchard. At a conference several years ago Ken Blanchard illustrated some point or another, and challenged, inspired, shocked me into action by affirming a deep-seated belief I held in just a few minutes of dialogue.

And what could he have possibly have said? Ken spoke of how he taught his business courses at Cornell University. You see on the first day of class Blanchard would hand out the final exam. Not to take, but for the purpose of informing the students what they would be required to know in advance.

The result was two-fold. Everyone gets an “A”; or at least they do if they use the exam in preparation and learn the answers. My understanding is that Blanchard is often in hot-water with other professors in his department. The other more important outcome…the students with the anxiety of “will this be tested” out of the way could actually learn something and begin to actively participate in the class discussions.

I took his practice to heart and during the last five years of my teaching middle-school geography and history basically gave the tests out ahead of time. I accomplished this by emailing a PowerPoint program consisting of 50 – 70 questions in an interactive format complete with background photos of the place, person, or event being quizzed.

Anyone who wanted to ace the exam simply needed to review the questions as many times as they needed. With that out of the way we were free to actually learn and enjoy our subject matter.

Oh, and if your wondering if I too got in hot water I nee to mention that I was also the headmaster of the school. So I was covered, if you know what I mean.

Actually, I think this was a very Christ-like thing to do. In Sunday school as I remember we were told to be like Jesus in everything we did. Or at least that is how I remember it. OK, I’m over reaching but stick with me.

Hasn’t God through Jesus given all of us an “A” already? It’s called grace. We have nothing to prove no test to pass; we are already given a passing grade. This does not mean we can live as we please any more than my students could.

But how about giving an A to everyone you meet. Face it, many if not all the people I’ve come into contact with make you prove your worth before you are accepted.

As I understand the culture several of Jesus followers, had been passed over by other rabbis, they were not deemed the best of the best. Jesus comes along and gives them an A to start with and they turned the world upside down. How about Matthew, Jesus gave him an A. The A was freeing and Matthew gave back to the people what he had extorted. Read through the encounters Jesus had in the gospels with the lens of giving an A. It’s sort of what he was about.

Who's the Illegal Immigrant, Pilgrim? (by Randy Woodley)

Rev. Randy Woodley is a Keetoowah Cherokee Indian teacher, lecturer, poet, activist, pastor he wrote the following at God’s Politics. Thought it was worth the read

There seems to be much concern lately over the people being referred to as "illegal immigrants." Let's define our terms: "Immigrant" - somebody who has come to a country and settled there. "Illegal" - forbidden by law. Concern about illegal immigrants has a familiar ring to us Native Americans. We have been empathizing with those concerns for over half a millennium.
Let's see ...Were the first immigrants to America illegal? By every definition - yes! But perhaps if they had a good reason it makes their trespass less offensive. What of their motives? The stated intent of some of the earliest European settlers in America was first to establish military superiority over the inhabitants and then "civilize" them by assimilating them into their form of government and converting them to a foreign religion. Such was the case in the earliest American colonies: From the First Charter of Virginia, April 10, 1606..."[we] may in time bring the Infidels and Savages, living in those parts, to human Civility, and to a settled and quiet Government."

And talk about attitude ... they even came expecting us to learn their language. For example, I always thought, if you come to Cherokee country, you should speak Cherokee.

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