Bet you haven’t heard of Joseph McGrail-Bateup. He hails from Canberra, Australia, which I’ll bet you also didn’t know, is the capital of Australia. And even if I told you he held a Guiness Book of World Records title, I’ll bet you couldn’t tell me for what. (A lot of bets here for a non-betting man!)

Anyway…Joseph McGrail-Bateup makes his living in the air-conditioning world. He should come to work for Lindstrom, “I love those guys!”  Air conditioning has won him no medals. Turns out he can shout louder than anyone else. He already holds the honorary title of Town Crier in the capital city, but now the record books show no one can cry better, I mean louder, than he. At a record of 122.4 decibels. Think standing right behind a Spirit jet plane taking off. Oh wait, you can’t do that anymore. OK, like cutting down a big tree with your big old honkin’ chainsaw.

He broke the record by crying out the word “Now,” which wasn’t as funny as the previous record holder, a woman who cried out “Quiet” at 121.7.  Bet she’s a librarian. He has tried six times to break the record; he gets hoarse for a week every time he tries. I can’t imagine.

In these articles, I try to write about something that happens in real life, and try to apply it to Scriptures, or look to the Scriptures for guidance on how to think about that occurrence (in contrast to preaching where I try to go from the Scriptures to real life.)  But this one has stumped me because I think the Scriptures, both teach us to be quiet–think “slow to speak” in James chapter 1; or “shout it from the mountaintops” in Isaiah 40. Which is it? What Biblical application do we find from this?

I think volume implies intensity. On Good Friday, we remember that Jesus cried out in a loud voice “It is Finished” when he died. He also cried out in a loud voice for Lazarus to come back from the dead just a few days earlier. The angels in heaven cry out in a loud voice “Holy! Holy! Holy!” There is room for volume in the Bible. In college (a Christian college) one day, a friend of mine was mad at me, and he mailed me an insult. It simply said, “Job 13:5.”  I’ll bet you don’t know what Job 13:5 says off the top of your head. I didn’t either. I had to look it up. It reads: “If only you would be altogether silent! For you, that would be wisdom.”  I chuckled even though he was fuming.

So, what is it? Nobody likes a loudmouth, Lord Joseph (as he’s affectionately known in Canberra) notwithstanding. And “Silence is Golden” as they say in the movies. But there are times to cry out. Like when somebody is headed towards trouble (think a child running into the street.)  Or when singing praises to God–we can’t sing loud enough for that. Saint James, in that verse I alluded to earlier said: “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry. (v.19). There’s something about emotion that matters in this. “Loudmouths” talk at inopportune times and for too many people to hear. A word spoken in anger, regardless of volume, can be destructive. A loud word gets attention, whether good or bad. A good word, on the other hand, can be transformative.

So, let’s choose our words carefully. Now!!!

Says the preacher.

Craig

“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”  Proverbs 25:11 (MEV)

                 We buried my mom on Monday. (I’ve stared at this sentence for a bit – that’s a big statement! You only write that statement once in your lifetime.)  Spending the day with family kind of meant the whole day was a prolonged service with story after story emerging, different facets of my mom emerging from each person. I will treasure the day as a day of closure for sure, but as a rich day of family connection, of personal connection with the past, a clarifying day of family history.

                      At the end of the day, I took my brother and our wives, to a little beach on a little extension of land that protrudes into Tampa Bay from the banks of the Manatee River. It’s a place where my brother has received many a sunset picture but had never been. The stories of the day continued there as we enjoyed a picnic supper in our beach chairs. God put on a wonderful master’s painting class as we watched the colors of the sun change in rapid succession.

As we talked and watched, mullet jumped here and there, but a lone dolphin stole the show, gently patrolling the beachfront, I imagine fishing for the same food that fisherman way out on a sandbar were seeking. The dolphin came from the left, swam past us, and then almost immediately turned around. Some might suggest that was my mom waving goodbye — I don’t think so, I don’t know that I’ve seen that dolphin before, but dolphins passing by there at that time of day happens often. It’s a thing.

But it was a blessing. I was so happy to have it go by so my brother could see it. There’s something wonderful about the big animal passing by so closely and with such grace. I did thank the Lord for blessing us with that image – like my mother, the people of our lives pass by closely and with grace, and as quickly as they come, so they pass. God’s mercies are new every morning (says Lamentations 3), but they must be savored and given thanks for quickly, because they fade quickly, too. Isaiah 90 comes to mind:

Yet you sweep people away in the sleep of death —

they are like the new grass of the morning:

In the morning, it springs up new, but by evening it is dry and withered.

The most significant of the natural signs that evening come in the sunset itself. When there is not a cloud in the sky, the colors change, uniformly, but without much flare. Too many clouds and you can lose the sunset altogether. This evening, many clouds, and different kinds of clouds, enriched the sky. It was a complicated and nuanced canvas that God painted that evening. And full of symbolic meaning for us.

My brother told a wonderful story about a group of kids that came from the US for a missions trip to Costa Rica that my dad and he were helping. At the end of the trip, they took them to the Pacific side of the country, and they watched the sunset. Some pubescent (and not bright) boys loved the sunset so much that they resolved to get up early and watch the sun rise. To their credit, they woke before dawn, sat down at the beach where they had been, waiting for the sun to rise. It started to get bright, they got excited, but they never saw the sun. Until it was visible through the palm trees behind them, that is. You may be laughing, as I was when he told the story. Why?

Because you know that from the beginning of time, until it someday comes to an end, the sunrise is as predictable as the sunset. It happens every day. Without fail. But yes, one in the East and one in the West. And that evening, the evening of the day we buried my mom, the sun set on the life that we knew with her, her presence as regular as the sun’s rising in the morning but not anymore, punctuated by the beautiful sunset. The complexity, and the beauty, of the sunset that evening, and the promise of the sun rising tomorrow (always a symbol of resurrection) put an exclamation point on the day, on my mom’s life, on the grace of God though it all.

Grateful,

Craig

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.

Psalm 113:3 (NIV)

When you walk the same path over and over, you get to know the terrain pretty well. You know where the path dips, or turns, where a downed tree has been left to rot, what street is coming up, etc. Sometimes you notice something for the first time (like the etching of Glades Rd.); even though it’s been there a long time, sometimes you notice something new (and wonder if it had been there all along).

This sign falls under the latter category. When I go for a longer walk, I aim for Delray Oaks Natural Area Park. Delray Oaks doesn’t boast much acreage, doesn’t offer (I was going to say many) any amenities. Off a small parking lot, a paved path meanders into the woods. And that’s it. Oh, and a slender vertical sign about as tall as I am. You can’t read what it says on this page, so I’ll tell you what it says: No pets, no bikes, no collecting, no fires, no camping, no animal feeding, no drones. Could they have not made the sign longer? It doesn’t say no littering. Can you do that? It’s quite a welcome sign, isn’t it? I carried no pet or bike or drone, intended to do none of things it said I couldn’t, but it still felt off-putting. It almost said No Entrance.

I wonder what kind of signs we post for the world to see. In our personal lives do we have a bunch of “no’s” that people have to penetrate before they get to know us? “No, I won’t meet you for lunch. No, I don’t go out much. No, I’m busy with…” Do our personal lives look like the welcome sign at Delray Oaks? What about our spiritual lives? “No, I don’t have time for a Bible Study. No, reading the Scriptures in the morning doesn’t interest me. No, serving at a food kitchen isn’t my thing. No, church is too early, too long, too hard to get dressed for, too…”  And what about our church? “No, we don’t need any help. No, you can’t sit here, or bring that in or…” What are the invisible signs we post at the entrances of our lives? I could probably go on to wonder the same about our professions, neighborhoods, etc.

I really like Delray Oaks Park. It’s an oasis of shaded walkways in an otherwise completely urbanized concrete and asphalt slab. It gets hot on the sidewalks of Congress Avenue, and Delray Oaks feels great to the urban pedestrian.

Likewise, we, as people, have a lot to offer the world. Each one of us has unique gifts to offer the world if we allow the world in. And God has a lot to offer if we say yes to His invitations to know Him and His will better. And our church, my goodness, our church has a lot to offer to any who might test the waters and come in. In each of these cases we need to be careful to not don the Delray Oaks sign but put on God’s “YES!” sign. God’s grace starts with acceptance, a divine “Yes” for any and all.

Do you want to know God better?

Back from the hike,

Craig

For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ.

And so, through him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.

2 Corinthians 1:20 (NIV)

In Coral Gables, FL, where Janice and I lived on two different itinerations of our ministry in the United Methodist Church, the street signs are like “L” shaped cemetery monuments.  One side of the monument has the street name, and on the other side the avenue’s.  Interestingly, during the day these white-washed street markers make it easy to know what town you’re in, if not what street you’re driving on.  We kind of had a love/hate relationship with the things.

The other day, while on a long walk, I found the name of the street etched on the curb.  In very elegant etched letters it said “Glades Rd.”  I won’t tell you what cross street this was to see who might be able to identify the location (or locations – I have looked for a couple of days and not replicated this sighting).

Why did they do that?  Does Boca want to compete with Coral Gables for the most illegible street signs?  Do they want to provide some backup when a hurricane blows down all the street signs? (This doesn’t make sense – if you can’t figure out you’re on Glades, you’re not going to find any smaller streets!) This particular location did not seem central enough to merit that.  Somebody took some time and energy to put this very unpretentious name into the concrete of the gutter.   Why?

I think it almost poetic to inscribe the name of the road on the curb.  Amidst the majestic fountains and signs that serve as markers for neighborhoods around Boca, the street that connects many of them pronounces itself with a certain humility, and at the same time permanency.

And maybe not with poetic flair as much as kindness—it greeted me, the pedestrian, in a way that only those who go slowly can receive it.  I’ve crossed Glades many times, and yet only last Friday did I see it.  Have you ever gone unnoticed?

I think the world is full of what (in the car world at least) are known as Easter eggs.  In the car world this idea points to little design elements that the casual observer would miss, but not the enthusiast.  I don’t want to go through this life as a casual observer, glossing over the finer details that our Creator has planted in His creation for the enthusiast, or “devoted” as we would say in religious parlance.  I want to see the smallest flower or the flower that only blossoms in the canopy of the jungle, or the delicate coral that only fish or those with B/C’s can see. Or the homeless guy that nobody has talked to in a week, or…. the list goes on.  These little gems come in as many forms as the creativeness of God allows.

I think that universally I have noticed these little forms of grace when I am moving slowly, or not at all.  It’s when you stand long enough at the edge of the water that the fish start venturing out.  It’s sitting by the side of the woods long enough that the elk come meandering. (Have you been to Cataloochee?)

And the nuggets of the spiritual life can only be found when we take time to notice.  Or inquire.  It is in prayer time that God speaks.  Too often, we have the music, or the sound track of life, blaring so loudly that we miss the smell of the roses.  We miss the spiritual nudges.  We miss the voice of God.

Take time to listen and to watch this week.  And let me know what you find.  Including the etching on the curb.

Back home,

Craig

“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him.” 

Psalm 62:5 (NIV)

     You learn something new every day. I recently learned (I’m sure you already know this from science class in Middle School) that Mars has polar ice caps. I simply don’t remember learning that somewhere along the way.

So why this, why now? Well, a couple of weeks ago a little spacecraft called Psyche did a loop around Mars to gain momentum as it aims at its eponymous asteroid. As it circled around Mars, at a similar height to the Artemis astronauts circled the moon, it took closeup pictures of the Red Planet. Some of the pictures I saw looked blue – don’t know what that means.

But one of the pictures included a mostly brown spherical picture with a white blob on it. The white blob is ice. Now, as it turns out, we already have close-ups of that picture. It doesn’t look like our polar caps necessarily, but it’s interesting all the same, and well, conjures up some questions in my mind.

Questions like…How did that get there? Why is it still there? Why didn’t they film the movie “The Martian” there? Couldn’t Martians live off of that water? Inquiring minds want to know.

Deeper questions emerge, wonderings about the potential this reality presents. “Potentially” there was life there. Potentially there could be life there. I think potential is all about hope. We see potential in children. We see potential in relationships. We see potential in some business proposition. Any “potential” is a good thing. All good things come from God. So, potential is a gift. Here, on Mars, wherever.

Our polar caps are dynamic. They seem like monolithic desolate wastelands, but they’re not. Certainly, with global warming we see a lot of change in them. But and this is part of the “potential” thought, there is a lot of power under that stillness. In days of old, life was not as immediately evident, and it moved at a slower pace. (What do they call it- “at a glacier pace”?) But what power lies there? Have you seen ice fall from glaciers?

I think of God in that way sometimes. God is huge. And sometimes He doesn’t seem to move. God doesn’t seem to interact with me… (namely answer my prayers!)  But that doesn’t mean that God is not there. It does not mean that God does not move or have power. It just means that His power moves at a different speed than what I want or even perceive. Just as I wonder about the power that is held in reserve there on the caps of Mars, so I wonder about the power of God that I perceive to be inoperative, but maybe isn’t moving, simply because I don’t ask (James 4:2) or because I perceive God to be farther away than those little caps on Mars (Acts 17:27).

Finally, I think I like this new idea of Marcian polar caps because it offers something similar to what I know here, way out there. For example, I’ve been to Meteor Lake in New Mexico. It felt like the Moon, and in fact astronauts trained there many years ago. There are similarities between the Earth and the Moon there which are endearing. And likewise, the Earth and Mars have polar caps (and meteor craters). I see the signature of God in the universe when I see those similarities. I think that’s why I hope they find life elsewhere in the universe – that life will reveal more about God than anything else. Learning about God is the ultimate human endeavor.

Still grounded here on Earth,

Craig

God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him though he is not far from any one of us.

Acts 17:27 (NIV)