This Aging Generation of Giants

At church Sunday morning we had some time left over at the end of the service, so our pastor opened the floor for people to share what God had done in their lives this past week. *cricket, cricket* One man finally stood and shared a story about making a difference in peoples' lives. *cricket, cricket* Another man, my guess is somewhere in his 80s, stood up toward the back of the church. Like an Old Testament prophet, he pointed his finger at the congregation and, in no uncertain terms but in a completely honorable way, called us out. The sermon had been on the rapture and this gentleman declared that while he can't know for certain, only God can, that he very much doubted that the church would be empty should the rapture occur in that moment. He told us to humble ourselves at the altar (something our pastor had emphasized during the last worship song...and no one came forward), to get right with God, because someday it will be too late.

He didn't yell, he didn't thump a Bible, he wasn't passing judgment. In fact, the only reason he was pointing is because he was just so passionate about the salvation offered through Jesus Christ. And quite honestly, if we were all a little more passionate about that our worlds might change. Each one of us has our own little world peopled with friends, co-workers, neighbors, relatives, people we like, people who aggravate us, people in lines ahead and behind us, people who wait on us, people we wait on...and if we were truly passionate about salvation, those little worlds would start to change.

I think the old timers knew that. They lived and served out of their passion for Christ and that's why people like me sit here and write this blog. As this gentleman spoke, I sat up on stage behind my keyboard and my eyes started filling with tears. I was thanking God for giving our church a man brave enough and bold enough and passionate about God enough to speak the truth. And I went over the mental photographs in my mind of other old-timers that are bold enough to serve, to speak, to pray.

My grandmother's church used to be filled with these kinds of people. Perhaps that is an exaggeration but childhood memories are vague and the characters are often larger than life. But it seemed to me then that there were spiritual giants in that church. Not Rick Warren, Max Lucado, or Joel Olsteen giants. Humble, quiet giants. Giants that teach Sunday school every week, change diapers every week, teach little ones new songs about Jesus every week. Giants that make snacks for Vacation Bible School and fill in at a moment's notice. Giants that get down on their knees every single week, if not every single day, and pray for revival to begin and to begin there. Giants that send cards, make phone calls, and drop-in on the lonely and hurting. Giants that read their Bibles every morning and every evening, even when their aging eyes have to strain to see the words. Giants that feel about hymns the way I do about praise choruses. Giants that have done service unto the Lord that only He knows about.

My grandparents are such giants. My grandmother served outwardly--teaching Sunday school, always keeping a couple lessons in her back pocket that she could teach at a moment's notice, she formed choirs for children, teens, and ladies, she participated in the Ladies' Missionary Society, she made snacks and volunteered for Vacation Bible School, she could even fill in playing the piano on a Sunday morning. My grandfather served more privately. He reminds me of John Walton. Working hard, putting God and family first, giving generously both to the Lord and to those in need. Hard work, generosity, faithfulness. As far as I know he never once served in front of the congregation, but he was and is a servant of the Lord all the same. They've prayed together nearly every night since their marriage on September 27, 1939. They shared each other's burdens, and brought them together to the Lord.

Those of us that are blessed and honored enough to have known some of these spiritual giants should be taking notes. That generation based their lives on the Bible. My grandmother has entire chapters of the Bible memorized, and now that she struggles to be able to read her Bible, she misses it. There's an empty void in her day that used to be filled with scripture reading. She tries, and some days its easier than others, but her poor old eyes don't let her see the Words she's always leaned on. I fear that our generation, and especially the next, are Bible illiterate. We insist that it's too hard, we don't have the right translation, we don't have the time. Explain to me how women who had to pump their own water, make fires to cook, bake bread, churn butter, sew & mend their clothes, do all the washing (dishes, clothes, housework) by hand, had time to read their Bibles? Let alone serve in their church community.

Honestly, I think it's shameful that we hide behind our work or class schedules, our 'me time', our phones and computers and insist that we're too busy. What will happen when this aged generation dies? Who will lead? Who will speak truth? Who will know the truth? As that generation fades away, one by one, we need to pick up their legacy. They, after all, inherited it from the generation before them. Our faith, our traditions, our passion, our servitude has been passed on from one generation to the next for centuries. Let us not be the ones to throw it away out of ignorance, selfishness, or pride. It is hard sometimes to make it a priority--it was for them, too--and the Bible can be hard to read. But those are lousy excuses for not keeping the faith, and if this aging generation had just given up when they were busy or when it was hard...where would you be? I shudder to think where I would be without their humble serving and faithful guidance.

I write this as much for myself as anyone who might chance to read it. That is always the case with this blog. I must take time to lecture myself a bit, to dish out a bit of my own advice to take. I must train myself, with the Spirit's guidance and help, to be faithful to pray, to read my Bible and to serve the Lord. These are both the commandments of God and the legacy being left behind.

Dressed Up and Geeked Out

So Les Mis was everything I wanted it to be. I'm sure you were all wondering after my previous post of geeking out. There were several changes to the show, most of them so minuscule the average fan wouldn't probably notice. But I found myself noting several alterations--Fantine bites her attacker instead of scratching him, Marius would like to close Eponine's wounds instead of heal them, there are no chairs or tables on the stage when Marius singes 'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables'. For serious. But...I knew all this coming in. I knew that they had changed it. Which is why I originally was passionately against such a thing, declaring I would never go to see anything different. I tend to be a bit dramatic.

But I am glad that I saw it. The digitized backdrops--mostly illustrations lifted from the book--were good to see. The pace of the show was much quicker which I have mixed feelings about. I felt that the emotional build was diminished because of the shorter orchestrations. And an entire verse of Gavroche's 'Little People' was cut!

Though despite my small complaints and observations, I have to admit, I was in heaven. There is something about the theatre that gets me completely spellbound. I've been this way since I was a child. Arguably I am this way because I had these experiences as a child.

I first saw 'The Phantom of the Opera' around age 8 or 9. I was so scared at after the chandelier dropped that I sat on my dad's lap for the entire first act. He took me to see 'West Side Story' around the same time, and as we left the theatre, my dad asked me if I cried. I admitted quietly that I hadn't but that I had wanted to. It was soon after these experiences that I saw 'Les Mis' for the first time (as my other post details), and on the same trip 'Guys and Dolls'. My parents took us to as many cultural things as they could--mostly museums. But my dad often took me to see musicals; it didn't matter if it was at the high school or one of the nearby universities or up to Playhouse square--if there was a good show playing, we went to see it.

This tapered off in middle school. The last time I saw 'Les Mis' was in 8th or 9th grade. Which was the last time I went to the theatre until I college, I think. At any rate...there is something about the entire thing that I absolutely love. I was bitten by the bug as a little girl and I've had it ever since. I hope to pass it on to my children. An adoration of the stage.

There's just something magical about a solid cast and an iconic show. I appreciate the continuity with the past that only a live performance can bring. Theatre has been passed down across the ages. I relish the experience of a live performance--their energy and mine and those around me creating the ambiance, adding to the performance, shaping the experience. And this particular show for me is an old friend. Expecting every twist and turn, I soaked in the artistry and passion. I devoured every detail. I was spellbound, as I've always been with the magic of the stage.

After the show I got my picture taken with Mme Thenardier
as part of a fundraiser for Broadway Cares.

Curtis has agreed to take me to another show next year. I think he realizes there's no getting out of this now--two years in a row is enough to start a tradition. And while he didn't really like Les Mis (other than the part when they shot the guns), I think he appreciates the experience. Or at least that's how much he loves me. He'll endure even Les Mis for me because he knows just how much I love it. And he'll go to another show because he knows I will get all dressed up and geeked out over it. And I love that part of it just about as much as the show itself. I'm a theatre geek, that's all there is to it!

~*~*~Believe~*~*~

I used to live life with a voracious appetite for living. I was once told--it must be exhausting to be you. I used to crave making the most of each day. Doing as much as I can with as much passion as I can and as much joy as I can. It was exhausting, but in a really good way. But somewhere along the line I got jaded and cynical, and the passion fizzled away to nothingness. Now life is just a daily grind, and most of the time I ponder how I got here. I feel so disconnected from the way things should be.

I used to indulge in the simplicities of childhood. When a friend once asked how old I feel inside I readily replied 6 or 7. Stressed out? Bust out of the coloring books and crayons. Frustrated? Mash up some play-doh. Bored? Blow some bubbles. Fly a kite. Sing a song. That is actually how my favorite word became 'believe'. I wanted to believe in everything. Now, I don't mean everything. I mean believing in Santa Claus, Fairies, and that stuffed animals and doll babies become real if you love them. Believe that animals can talk at midnight on Christmas Eve. Believe in magic, in possibilities, in dreams. By embracing the impossible, the world comes alive with color and wonder. That's why children see endless possibilities, and adults can't get anything done. They have a belief system that allows them to believe in the fantastical. That's why I love the word 'believe'. It speaks to all of that. The wonder of it all.

But the impossible that I believe in, truly believe in, is the biggest impossibility of all. And it is the only one that can give me a sustainable source of passion and joy. This is the impossibility of a God revoking His God-given rights. The Creator. The Omniscient-Omnipotent-Omnipresent becoming flesh, becoming contained in a body with aches, pains, and limitations. It's impossible to suggest. It seems fantastical, but that's what I believe.

And even more impossible is the wonder of the Cross. What kind of God allows Himself to be taken prisoner, questioned, beaten, flogged, spat upon, mocked, stripped naked, and nailed to beams of wood for all to see His shame? There is no God in all of mythology that would do such a thing...but this is what I believe.

Perhaps it is the love of God that is the most wonder-ful. I can't quite wrap my mind around such love, but when I get close I feel over-whelmed by it. It seems unreal--a love so passionate, so determined, so good as to move heaven and earth to be with me for now and always and forever. As far as I know there is no other religion or belief system that claims such a wondrous thing. A God that loves His creation, His people so much that He came up with a way to remove their sin. Not with thunder and lightening, not with endless tasks and works, but with self-sacrifice. He gave Himself so that I might live and know His love. Impossible.

This is the word the White Witch murmurs upon Aslan's appearance after His Resurrection. Impossible. But I believe it. More assuredly than I believe in Santa and Fairies and all that other stuff. Those things are silly and fun, keeping me grounded in youthfulness, in the joy of childhood, in the simplicity of childhood. But what I believe in Jesus Christ keeps me grounded in eternity, and should keep me rooted and established in love--in joy.

And it's this joy that I'm missing. I've lost the wonder of the Cross. The extraordinary has become ordinary. The impossible has become commonplace. The unfathomable has become familiar. And with that all the passion has fizzled out, like throwing water on a flame.

I'm called to live life abundantly--that's why He came. Eternity doesn't begin in the grave, it begins with grace. And to live any other way is to squander what I've been given. To walk around with a somber face and melancholy is to extinguish the flame of wonder. Sometimes a misguided sense of religion and righteousness makes me want to be serious and all-knowing about my Savior, but this isn't right. The resurrection shouldn't produce a serious, well-measured amount of thanksgiving but uncontainable joy in celebrating the impossible becoming possible.

My favorite scene in the book The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is just after Aslan has come back from death and the Stone Table has been cracked. Lucy and Susan are in awe, speechless, overjoyed. And after Aslan briefly explains how it is possible (deeper magic from before the dawn of time) there is wild celebration. He is just as exuberant as Susan and Lucy. But they don't just watch Him revel in what He's done, they join with Him in the celebration. Aslan plays with the girls, chasing them, throwing them up in the air, as a father might with his daughters.

It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind.

He romps, he plays, he rejoices in being alive....and he invites Susan and Lucy to join with him. And I am extended the same invitation from our Aslan. I can play and rejoice, dance and celebrate with Jesus. I am invited to believe in the impossible and when I truly believe I have no choice but to celebrate. My world comes alive with color and wonder.

Now, I know that not every day can be a wild dance--life can be immensely hard some days. But I have to think that maybe it should be. What I mean is perhaps that's what we were designed for. Because of our fallen state and our fallen world things will get in the way, suffering happens, stress happens and gets in the way of the exuberant celebration. But we were made for celebrating, for rejoicing, for dancing. And I think if I can keep that in the middle of my beliefs I can find a way to live life with enthusiasm. Even in the hard days there is still a moment to embrace the impossible. Maybe the hard days are the ones when I need to impossible the most.  After all, Susan and Lucy had just lost all hope...Peter, John, and Mary had lost all hope...but then in an impossible, wondrous, fantastical moment the impossible was broken and made possible.

I think this is the beginning of that appetite for living--taking of the Bread of Life. From the Cross comes all color and wonder to bring my world alive. And from God--the creator of all things good, including passion and abundant life--can come the wellspring of enthusiasm for living life as I was created to. I was made for the wild dance, I was made to live my life in color, I was made to live life exhaustingly.