Meditations On an Obscure Verse

No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground.
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.

You don't recognize that Christmas carol? That doesn't surprise me. This is the third verse of "Joy to the World." Unless you've sung the song from a hymnal every Christmas for three or more decades, you may not be familiar with this verse.

We sang this song last Sunday in church, and when we got to this verse, for some reason, I didn't gloss over it as I have in other years. I actually tried to figure out what the heck this is talking about.

No more let sins and sorrows grow . . .

First of all, I had to figure out who the songwriter was talking to here. Is he asking God to do this? Or telling us, the listener to do it? Seeing how two lines later, he speaks of God in the third person ("he"), I'm assuming he's not speaking to God in the second person here; I'm assuming he's speaking to us. YOU stop letting sin and sorrows grow.

Where do sins and sorrows grow? He could be talking about them growing in the world around us -- about dealing with the effects of the fall in our world. But as I wrote earlier, I think we are much too focused on sin in others; we need to focus more on the sin in ourselves. That's where sins and sorrows grow: in our own hearts.

And the songwriter is telling us that we can stop those sins and sorrows from growing. It is within our power. (At least it is now that Christ has come to liberate us from our bondage to those sins and sorrows.)

Nor thorns infest the ground? That seems to be a reference to the curse after the fall (the curse also mentioned in the last line of this verse). "Cursed is the ground because of you . . . it will produce thorns and thistles because of you . . ."  Because you've chosen to reject the authority of God, because you chose to become your own god, God's blessing no longer falls on the work of your hands. Your labors will increase and often be fruitless.

And again -- if I'm correct that the songwriter is speaking to us here -- he is saying that we can stop this now. Thorns don't have to infest our ground. Our strivings in life don't have to be meaningless and fruitless anymore.

Why? How?

He comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.

Wherever the curse is found, wherever its effects are seen -- which is over the whole earth -- the blessings of God can now flow. That blessing that we removed from us after the fall is now back. And why is it back?

Because he -- JESUS -- came to make that happen.

He came to fix what we screwed up at the fall. From the minute he was conceived as a little zygote in Mary's womb, his entire purpose for being in human form was the fixing of that screw-up.

I think the reason this verse jumped out at me this year was because I am quite conscious of the fact that I am allowing certain sins and sorrows to grow in my heart. I know they're wrong. I've weeded them out in the past. But right now, for whatever inexcusable reason, I'm permitting them to be there. And the image of them as a plant is important. Because it reminds me that the weeds of sin and sorrow in my life that I don't pull up are not innocuous. They "take root". They multiply and spread. Like the weeds in my garden and yard, if you don't pull them when they are tiny, those roots grow deep and wide, and their removal now requires major disruption of the lovely ground around them.

But they can be pulled. They are not sovereign in the garden of my heart. All because Jesus came. And His blessings now flow.

And heaven and nature sing!!!!

Saturday Night

Christmas 2013 just ended for me last Saturday night when my husband took me to see "Wicked" at the Majestic Theater. No, I had never seen "Wicked". Yes, that's kind of weird for someone as into theater as I am.

The evening started out with dinner. Since I picked the show, I let hubby pick the place to eat, and he chose a Mexican spot in Alamo Heights. And here's where our homebody tendencies show: we didn't build into our evening's schedule a 30-40 minute wait for a dinner table. Forty minutes? And then waiting to be served? Not happening -- so Mexican was out. We had Five Guys. Which I think I probably liked better. Mmm . . . Five Guys.

And it was a good thing we didn't try to make the Mexican place work, because as it was, we barely got there in time for the curtain to rise. Downtown traffic in San Antonio on a Saturday night? Unbelievable. We spent a full twenty minutes driving one block down Houston street. Luckily, I knew where a parking garage was and we turned off Houston, praying there was still room inside. There was -- at the very top. So we parked and hustled our well-dressed booties down the elevator and down crowded Houston street to the Majestic Theater.

Ah, the Majestic Theater! Beautiful. Just beautiful. Maybe one of the most beautiful theaters I've been in. Of course, I couldn't see much from our seats: the absolute top row of the balcony (the only seats left by a few days before Christmas when I received the gift from my husband). But I took a good look around at intermission. Bee-yoo-tiful.

And even that top row was a relatively pleasant experience. We had top row balcony seats for "Les Mis" in Philly one year, and my husband had to leave at intermission. The seats were so tightly packed in and it was so hot that high up that he was absolutely miserable. We had some nice cool air blowing on us at the top of the Majestic.

The show was fabulous. The theater was packed. And of course, one of the disadvantages of being in the top row balcony of a packed theater is being behind everyone else trying to leave when the show is over. But even then, the crowd moved along pretty efficiently, spilling us all back out onto Houston street.

Which was STILL crowded. And loud. Not until we saw some folks wearing ridiculous green hats did it occur to me that this was St. Patrick's Day weekend and maybe that accounted for the huge crowds. Of course, we've never been in downtown SA this late on a Saturday night, so maybe this is typical weekend stuff.

But if so, remind us to never go downtown that late on a Saturday night. The traffic!  Holy cow!!  It took us over an hour to move the eight blocks or so to get out of downtown and onto the highway. We sat . . . and sat . . . and sat . . .

. . . and watched people going into clubs. I've never been to a "club" on a Saturday night. I'm not sure I've been to a "club" at all, actually. I looked at these people dressed to the nines, a few already stumbling a bit, heard the music blaring, saw the flashing bright lights, and I thought, "There is nothing appealing about that scene to me at all." Nothing. I have an old high school friend who has played at clubs -- I might enjoy listening to his band sometime. But other than that, clubbing looks hellish to me from the outside.

Is this because I'm an old fart? Maybe. But I think even as a young fart, I would have chosen a quiet evening at home over that.

But young fart or old, I'll fight the crowded, noisy streets for a great night of theater. At least once in a while. Definitely worth it.

Thoughts While Listening to the Christmas Music Station in the Car

- Who doesn't like Karen Carpenter's voice? Such a sweet, natural, pleasing tone. And we only hear it in December.

- "Mr. Grinch" = linguistic brilliance that could only have been written by Dr. Suess. And brilliantly performed.

- I know I should be okay with artists doing the traditional songs and giving them their own personal flare -- I mean, some of these interpretations are great, and they become the new classics.  But some are really awful. And most are hopelessly forgettable. I most get annoyed when they do a classic ("Let It Snow", anyone?) and don't make it their own -- when their version is orchestrated and paced and everything just like everyone else's.  They apparently think that their fabulous voice and their minor melody changes here and there make it better than what's been done before and worth the audience's time to listen to. Yeesh.

- And speaking of . . . I don't ever quite get over the sound of Hall & Oates singing "Sleigh Bells". It's just . . . odd to me.

- Now, there are a few artists that get it right. James Taylor on "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."  Whitney Houston on "Do You Hear What I Hear." (Oh, Whitney . . . seriously, the lady had pipes.)

- I know how many people love "Christmastime is Here", the Charlie Brown song. I don't. The vocals make me cringe. Call me Grinch. Your heart's a dead tomato squashed with moldy purple spots . . .

- My favorite this year (and for a few years now): "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  This is the one Christmas song right now that completely transports me, that I get totally lost in. I'm air-guitarring, air-pianoing, pounding out the drums on the steering wheel . . . I'm downright dangerous. I asked for the CD for Christmas so I can enjoy it in the safety of my own living room at home.

- Fascinating the many, many different styles of music we listen to during the holiday season that we would never deign to listen to in, say, July.

- I'm noticing something interesting this year: I find myself rather bored by the traditional mid-20th century crooners and their classics (Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Bing -- you know, with the cheesy sounding choir in the background). But when Harry Connick Jr. does the same song in the same style, I'm enthralled. And I usually don't even know I'm listening to Harry Connick Jr. until the song's over. If I had the musical knowledge, I'd try to analyze exactly what it is he does differently that appeals to me. Gotta love Harry.

- I have yet to hear "O Holy Night" anywhere this year. I love that song.

- One of these years, I'm going to have to pick what I think are the definitive versions of each Christmas song and make my own personal Christmas CD. And to my surprise, I think one of those definitive versions would be Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You". The first time I think I heard that song was many years ago, during a morning newscast when they were showing her live giving a concert to troops overseas. She was singing with passion and gusto and blowing it away, and I was just flat out impressed.

- And for the umpteenth year in a row, I find my favorite Christmas hymn is "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing". The whole song. All the unfamiliar verses, too. Glorious in sound and glorious in sense. Just glorious.

Except when some uber-hip modern poser who has no sense at all of the meaning of the words just butchers it trying to "make it their own". Step away from the microphone, buddy.

Singing the Meaty Stuff

The other day, after practicing the hymns I needed to play for BSF, I turned around to find my husband sitting in the study listening. Just listening. That was cool. So I opened the hymnal again -- my good old Baptist Hymnal from my childhood church -- and just starting playing through it. It had been a long time since we'd heard some of these hymns.

Hubby and I like the traditional hymns. We were hoping to find a church here that would sing them instead of -- or in a good combination with -- the contemporary "praise songs". Problem is, such churches only attract old people, and they don't have good youth groups for our girls. And a good youth group is important right now.

But as I said, we really like the traditional old hymns. "The Church's One Foundation." "At Calvary." "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing." "Immortal, Invisible."  "How Great Thou Art."

We noted, though, that "How Great Thou Art" isn't that old. It was written sometime in the 50s. So, to my parents, it was like "Pass It On" or something (that's an old 70s hymn classic, for those who didn't grow up all churchy like me).  (By the way, we have a family story about the song "I'd Rather Have Jesus", which was a new song during WW2 that my father learned in the navy in the Pacific . . . but that's a story for another day.)

That means that when Elvis sang "How Great Thou Art" on his album in the late 60s, it was not an old hymn; it was a relatively new one. That would kind of be like Mariah Carey putting out an album titled "Shout to the Lord" and getting a Grammy for the title track. Weird.

Back to our hymn-fest in our study . . . we wondered aloud why the old hymns are so good and so much better than most current praise songs. However, the fact that I was skipping half or more of the songs in the hymnal kind of answered our question: they weren't all good. Some of them we never sang. Some we sang and still enjoy just for sentimental reasons, but they're actually pretty mediocre. But the true classics that we sing over and over again and have sung for decades -- even centuries -- are classics because they've been vetted. 

Probably, at the time "Amazing Grace" was written, it was one of a slew of brand new hymns being sung in the church -- some good, some mediocre, some pretty awful probably, but a couple shining brightly as truly Spirit-inspired. And the mediocre faded away. The inspired lived on to be sung today.

One of the things I think makes the classic hymns live on is that they appeal not only to the soul but to the mind; they have good theology. There's a lot of fluff in the praise songs we belt out each Sunday these days. But the old hymns are meaty. Sometimes, I'll get a verse in my head and just end up mulling over it all day long.  Here's a common culprit:

Oh, to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be.
Let thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love.
Here's my heart, Lord; take and seal it -- seal it for thy courts above.

Prone to wander . . . bind my heart to you . . . I'm so indebted to grace . . . amen to all that . . .

I wish there was a "hymn" channel in the music section of my cable listings. I'd be there every day.

Stage Fright

I've performed on stage in some capacity for most of my life, and stage fright has rarely been an issue for me -- nothing beyond general nervousness that ends up just getting the blood pumping in your brain. The only handful of real debilitating stage fright episodes I've had came later, in relatively recent years.

The first was during auditions for "Godspell" in 2006. They asked for volunteers to go first during the singing part of the tryout. I shrugged and stepped up there -- no big deal.  Until the music started and I looked at everyone staring at me, and suddenly, the muscles in my gut froze and I couldn't get any air. And of course, my brain partially shut down at the same time. I don't know what I sounded like, but I muddled through enough to have them listen to me again later when I was calmer. I was ultimately assigned a couple solos, so they were gracious to me.

The next time was when the dance ministry coordinator at Hope Church talked me into dancing a solo in a service. In theory, I was a little nervous but fine with this idea. Until I went to the church during the week before my performance day to practice on the "stage" floor. I suddenly found myself hyperventilating, stiffening up, my brain completely shutting down. I'd never experienced anything like that before and I panicked -- which, of course, made it all worse. A second practice day elicited the same results, and when Sunday morning came, I genuinely feared that I would totally fall apart up there in front of everyone. I didn't, but I was quite aware that the Spirit was doing this through me because I was completely incapable at that point.

Episode three was yesterday. When a couple weeks ago my BSF class had to sing our opening songs a cappella because nobody answered the call for an accompanist, I decided this was ridiculous and volunteered. It had been 15 years or so since I'd accompanied anything, but it was no-brainer stuff to me . . . or so I thought.  When I got the music the day before lesson day and started practicing, it started up again: the brain freeze, the fingers stiffening, one slip of the hand to the wrong spot and I was lost and couldn't get it back again. I debated calling her back and saying, sorry, maybe next time when I have more time to practice. But I muddled my way through, and it turned out just fine last night.

What I've been considering after this recent episode is why now? After so many years, why all of a sudden has stage fright cropped up into my experience?  Some things these episodes had in common: they all involved skills I had down pretty solid, but had not shared publicly with anyone for a long time (or in the case of the dancing, ever). They also all came after a significant point in my life as a "performer" -- a point I can't identify by time or place but by when I realized I'd passed it.

I was doing a monologue at Hope where I was a street person -- one I had to take on at the last minute with only a couple days of preparation. As I was trying on various scrungy clothes pieces, trying to get the right filthy look, it suddenly occurred to me: ten years ago, it would have KILLED me to go on stage looking this ugly. Ten years ago, my performances were about me looking good. I would never have said that -- I certainly didn't think in my heart that it was so -- but it was. Something had changed now. I actually had people after that street person skit tell me they didn't even know it was me up there. And that was perfect. My concern now was not about what they thought of me; my concern was now that God speak truth to them through me, that I become invisible, in a sense, and the message shine brightly.

And not until then did the Enemy attack me with the stage fright, which always feels more external to me than internal, weirdly enough. I remember hearing once that when the Enemy seems to be working overtime to get you, you must be on the right track. I guess there's some comfort in that. Even more comfort in God's record for speaking to his people more powerfully through my stage fright than any other time. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

The Mega-Church Experience

The church search -- one of my least favorite things about moving.

Yesterday, we visited Cornerstone Church, the 20,000-member mega-church here in San Antonio pastored by John Hagee.  Now, I don't know a lot about Hagee, other than he's a well-known conservative pastor with a television ministry that reaches world-wide and who stirs up a lot of controversy on occasion.  I googled him Saturday night and, of course, found a lot of criticism of his lifestyle and teaching and so forth, but I really tried to go with an open mind.  After all, my eldest daughter is going this fall to Cornerstone Christian School, founded by Hagee, so I probably should know something about the man and his church.

So, some observations:

- The music was pretty fabulous.  I mean, just look at the picture of this choir!  It was like an old-fashioned southern revival.  Not all of it was the style of music I'd prefer -- a couple numbers were like the caricature of a cheesy TV preacher's worship service.  But much of it was big and bold and great.  And the congregation sang with enthusiasm, also.

- But then, this congregation would be enthusiastic no matter what, I imagine.  It was a rather charismatic group -- lots of hands in the air, amen-ing and hallelujah-ing.  A new experience for my daughters.

- And I will say, this was perhaps the most racially integrated congregation I've ever been in.  And THAT was an awesome thing.

- I didn't notice this until Hagee started preaching, but there were two men standing on the floor on either side of him facing the congregation the whole time.  Security guards.  Wow.  So, has Hagee said stuff that makes him worry for his personal safety when he's up in public like this?  Have they just had issues with that big of a crowd and they learned they need people there prepared to handle the unexpected?  I'd love to hear the story behind that.

- I couldn't argue against much of anything Hagee said during the service (although he toed awfully close to the Prosperity Gospel line at one point).  In fact, his sermon was an amen-worthy flat-out gospel presentation, for the most part.  But his manner . . . I couldn't help but think that I should have had my two actors who played the character of Evangelist in my productions of "Pilgrim's Progress" watch videos of him for inspiration.  The epitome of over-the-top cheesy TV evangelist style.  Content: fine.  Delivery: not for me.

- He had an invitation at the end (of course) and about a hundred people came forward.  And this is where I got troubled, strangely enough.  Everyone else in the building was amen-ing and hallelujah-ing over the crowd gathered at the front.  I was praying, Lord, please let these decisions all be sincere.  I'm so conscious anymore of how people can be emotionally manipulated into saying the right words, raising their hand, getting dunked in the baptismal tank (they have a baptismal service there every Sunday night and these people were being invited to come back for that) . . . and in the end, it was all just lip-service.  These people think they just signed on for some fire insurance to save them from hell and now they can go back to their lives as usual.  I pray to God that wasn't what was happening in this crowd.  Unfortunately, I'm pessimistic about this stuff anymore.

All in all, an experience I'm glad we had.  But I don't anticipate making this my church family.

However, when their Christmas pageant rolls around in December, I am there.

Thoughts While Watching the Municipal Band Concert on my Anniversary

The Grandview Park Bandshell.  Lots of folks sitting
behind us and to either side of us.

- This is a PERFECT night for an outdoor concert!  It's the last concert of the year, and I bet it's the first concert they've had this summer where the temperature was under 90.  So glad hubby suggested this.

- A mother is sitting on a blanket right by us with the most adorable little baby.  Probably just under a year old.  Almost makes me miss the baby years . . . or look forward to the grandma years.

- I'm looking at the program -- I don't recognize a single song until the "Ultimate Patriotic Sing-along" at the end. Hmm.  Maybe I'll recognize them when I hear them.

- A couple just rode up in front of us on their bikes.  They lay their bikes down, got out their folding chairs, and the woman took off her shoes.  She's walking around in the grass in her socks.  I'm not sure why that seems odd to me.

- And speaking of that grass, it is so dead.  I'm grateful tonight for our sprinkler system, or we'd be trying to sell our house in the near future with a dead, brown lawn.

- I still don't know any of the music. It's all good music, but I don't know it.  And that baby is still dang adorable.

- I love this bandshell.  Everytime I'm here, I think about how awesome it would be to go to a Shakespeare in the Park production here.  Or to be in one.  A couple summers ago, I was in a Shakespeare in the Park evening in the Rose Garden, right behind this bandshell.  That was cool.  This would be cooler.

- Some poor lady behind us is having a coughing fit that won't quit.  I hope she's okay.  I wonder if I need to offer her a mint or something.

- My knees hurt.  I must be getting old if I can't sit through an hour long concert without my knees hurting.



The results of drought in Iowa.

- Aha -- a medley of movie music.  I know most of these.

- The host, Dave Madsen, told a Sven and Olie joke.  I think he tells at least one at every concert.  Until these concerts, I'd never heard a Sven and Olie joke outside of Lindsborg.

- The fountains spouting out of the front of the stage are very soothing.  A fen shui thing, I guess.  Maybe we need to invest in one of those little inside fountain things.  And oh my gosh, this baby is too adorable to stand!!!

- The Ultimate Patriotic Sing-Along ends with "God Bless the U.S.A.".  One image always pops into my head when I hear this song.  The gulf war started the last day of the first semester of my first year of teaching.  The next day was a teacher work day.  Everybody was listening to their radios, watching TVs, talking about the war while we finished our grades and got them in.  I vividly remember walking into a fellow teacher's quiet, empty room where she was sitting at her desk with the radio on beside her.  This song was playing.  And she was crying.  It's hard not to cry when I hear this song.

- And the concert's over.  This is a darn good group of musicians for a volunteer municipal band in a not-terribly-big city.  An enjoyable evening . . . a nice way to celebrate 23 years of marriage.

Little Messes, Big Blessings

I have a new song I'm loving.

"This is the Stuff" by Francesca Battistelli.  It's on a CD my youngest got for her birthday.  Oh, how many days have I felt like this!! 

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed.

My little mess.  My messes never seem little when I'm sitting in the middle of them.  And unfortunately, my blessings don't always seem that big, either.  How does our perspective get so screwed up?

I passed along a quote on FB a while back: The purpose of Christianity is not to avoid difficulty, but to produce a character adequate to meet it when it comes. It does not make life easy; rather it tries to make us great enough for life.  (James L. Christensen)

Now there's a life-changing thought -- for me anyway.  It has echoed in my mind for a few weeks now.  God is not that interested in changing the world to make my life more comfortable or easy.  He is interested in changing me so I am able to handle the world around me -- and change it, when need be.

This is the stuff you use
To break me of impatience
Conquer my frustrations.

James said that we should consider it "pure joy" when we face trials, because trials produce endurance, and endurance matures and completes us.  Amen.  Grow me up, Lord.

My God Dances

When I think of you, I see you dancing -- you're dancing
When I think of you, I hear you singing for me . . .

So sings the African Children's Choir with Michael W. Smith on a CD in my car. The first time I heard the song, I thought it odd to think of someone dancing and singing for me. Maybe they do that in Africa, I considered. Around these parts, people don't dance and sing to show their emotions.

Then the chorus came and I realized these lyrics are not directed to another person, they're directed to Yahweh -- God. How about that! Now, honestly -- how many of you, when you think of God, imagine him singing and dancing? How many of you have ever, even once, pictured God singing and dancing? Seriously, take a moment: what does his singing voice sound like? Tenor, baritone or bass? Operatic, lyrical, or gruff rocker style? Does he dance with stiff form or shake his body with wild abandon?

Back when we lived in Springfield, Missouri, I went to a drama ministry conference in Branson, and part of the package was attending a show there . . . the name of which escapes me, but it was an elaborate and fabulous production of the life of Jesus. The guy who played Jesus had previously performed in the same production in Texas for several years, so he had done this show about a thousand times. He was one of those men who, if you saw him walking down the street, would make you do a double-take -- he just LOOKS like Jesus, at least how we picture him today.

It was a great show and he was a great actor, but the thing that affected me the most about his performance was the personality of the Jesus he portrayed. When he saw his disciples again after the resurrection, he ran to them, and grabbed them in a big hug -- none of this feathery, ethereal, see-through angel-like apparition we see in the movies. He was a real man, with real passion and a real love for these, his best friends on earth.

And during one scene (I believe it was the water to wine wedding scene), he joined the crowd in a traditional dance. It was amazing, seeing the Lord of Creation holding hands with random people, swinging around in a circle, smiling and laughing heartily, and dancing. Why don't we ever imagine God dancing?

How shallow and patchy is our acquaintance with God. And how pitiful that we are satisfied with that when our main purpose for being here is to know him, glorify him, and enjoy him forever.

CONSTANCY, Please!

I may very well have bitten off more than I can chew with adding music to the spring play for the homeschoolers.

I have three kids who play trumpet, trombone and saxophone, respectively, so I thought I'd put them together for a little Dixieland-style interlude in one song. Fun, yes? So, I gave the trumpet the melody, wrote a bass line for the trombone, and was kind of hoping my sax-man could improvise. We got together yesterday to try to piece something together.

I quickly realized something was wrong -- they didn't even sound like they were playing in the same key. So I asked them to each play a G . . . and they all played different notes. What the heck . . . ? So I grabbed another kid's guitar and plunked around with each kid playing his own G alone. Turns out a G on the trombone is an F on the trumpet and a B-flat on the saxophone. What the heck . . . ?!?

At home, I queried my trumpet-playing husband about this phenomenon. "Oh, yeah," he said, "The trumpet is a B-flat instrument." As in, "Duh".

No! This is not a "Duh". This is a "What kind of idiot came up with this?" A G is a different sound on different instruments? Why?? It's just a name given to a specific tone -- why would you give the same tone different names? That's like giving a banana each to three different kids, and telling one, "That's yellow," telling the second, "That's red," and telling the third, "That's blue." What good could this accomplish in the world? How does this promote communication and mutual understanding?

I assume there's a reason for this bizarre business, but I can't begin to imagine what it is. A G should be a G should be a G. A G should be a universal constant. But apparently it is not. Apparently, it is only a G relative to its producer. And my world is now that much more complicated.