Then there are the window candles.  We didn’t do this until we moved to Kenbridge, but it’s become one of our favorite decorations – candles in the window, symbolically inviting the Holy Family to find shelter here:  “There may not be room in the inn, but I have room for you!”  Every tucked-away electrical outlet finds its annual purpose, and our windows shine with welcoming light throughout the night.  I can see and feel their warmth as I’m coming home in the evening, or during my morning walk before the sun rises.

There are times, though, when the light gets out of hand.  What is warm and welcoming outside becomes an uncomfortable burden inside.  Like when we notice the bright new addition to our monthly power bill.  Or when we have to make an unexpected trip to the store to get those tiny (but expensive) light bulbs.  Or when it’s time to leave for a trip, and we have to find all those tucked-away outlets again to unplug the lights.  For someone like me, who sometimes has a hard time falling asleep, the extra bright lights in our normally-darkened bedroom windows make it difficult to tune out the world.  For someone like Tanya, who loves a clean and tidy house, the extra lights at nighttime take away one of the merits of nighttime – the short-lived illusion that everything’s as tidy as it should be.

Sometimes it’s enough to make you want to pull the plugs on the things!

We welcome the warm glow of the Light of Christ at Christmas time.  How special this season is, how nostalgic and moving!  But when it comes to letting the Light of Christ into our lives – into all the parts of our lives – things get a little more complicated.  And why?  Because the light that started off as a warm glow from the darkness of a stable, became an almost unbearable brilliance from the darkness of a tomb.

The light can be costly at times, asking us to give things up.  In some strange way, the Light requires that we keep opening doors and windows into new and painful areas.  Like a floodlight, that Light finds its way into even the darkest rooms of our hearts, and shows us things we’d rather not be reminded of.  Sometimes its brightness keeps us awake, spurring us to thought or action at times we’d rather be resting.

“There may not be room in the inn, but I have room for you!” we say.  “Once Christmas is over, though, you’ll need to leave – or at least you’ll need to move into the back bedroom before you get too bright.”

But no matter the cost, the Light heals and frees us, the Light makes us whole.

Oh Jesus, Light of the World, bring your Light into my heart this day.  Let the Light find me out, in spite of myself.  Let it show me the things that need fixing, remind me that things are not as tidy as they should be, spur me to action at times when I’d rather be resting.  And let its brightness consume all the darkness that is in me, until all that’s left is the Light.

©2010 Notes From Jon. All Rights Reserved.

I walked down the aisle of the church in costume, talking to each of the children and blessing them, then I asked them to go out and tell everyone what they’ve learned during the week.  Quick, simple… but very effective.  I told one of the adults afterward, “The way you guys build up to Jesus’ appearance all week long, you could have practically anyone walk down the aisle in a robe and they’d be enthralled.”

I’m sure you’d hear many well-justified jokes about someone asking ME to play Jesus – most of them would come from me.  And it didn’t help the folks at Thrift’s Chapel that I was bald this year… we had to add an extra piece of costume to make up for that.

And there’s more irony.  Because Jesus’ appearance is such a secret, and they don’t want the kids to see the actor ahead of time, I have to park in the grass behind the church and come in quietly.  “Behold, I stand at the back door and sneak in…”

Joking aside, tonight’s experience was very moving for me, because I really got to see the view from Jesus’ sandals.  Those kids had been looking forward to meeting Jesus all week, and when I “interrupted” their gathering in the middle of a song, you could have heard a pin drop.  All the adults had one of those knowing looks, like when someone comes into the party dressed up as Santa Claus.  But not the children.  It was touching to see them looking up at me – some smiling, some awestruck, some afraid, some staring in wonder…

They all wanted to reach out and touch me, and when one little boy reached out with his left hand, I realized he was missing the end of his right arm.  My heart ached to have the power of Jesus for just one moment, to make his body whole.

I thought, “What must it have been like for Jesus, to go from place to place, meeting new people every day?  Most of them wanted something from him – a healing, a miracle, a loaf of bread, some new tidbit of wisdom, the spark for a rebellion… The list was never-ending.  They pressed on him in such crowds that at times he had to go out into a boat to talk to them (or just to get away to the other side of the lake), corner himself in a house, or let his disciples clear the way through crowded streets so he could get from one place to another.  Everyone wanted something from Jesus, and his compassion drove him to try to meet those needs as often as he could – even when it drove him to exhaustion.

How refreshing it must have been, then, when the children wanted to come to Jesus.  They had no agenda – they only knew that Jesus loved them and listened to them patiently.  They didn’t look at him with impatience or skepticism – simply joy and wonder.  They didn’t crowd up against him to get what they wanted – but to get to know this wonderful man who knelt down to talk to them, who laughed with them and hugged them.

Now I imagine, as his disciples pushed the children away, because there were so many more “pressing” needs, Jesus’ voice calls out angrily and almost desperately: “Let them come, and don’t keep them away!”

No wonder he said we had to become like children to enter the Kingdom.

©2010 Notes From Jon. All Rights Reserved.

A little more than a year ago, I heard on the news that a Beeson grad in Virginia was murdered.  I checked, and sure enough, she had graduated with me.  Nancy Copin was a Christian Church (Disciples) pastor in our area while she was in seminary, and we had a common link to the Mexico trip we both loved taking every summer.  I had hoped to contact her, since she was close by, about going to Mexico with us sometime.  But on Ash Wednesday last year, she didn’t show up at church for a special service.  Church members found her in the parsonage – she had been murdered, apparently in a failed robbery attempt.

There’s a part of me – and I imagine there’s a part of you, too – that wonders, “how could God let this happen?”  These were two very sensitive and compassionate friends, servants of God much better qualified and suited to ministry than I will ever be.  Their absences have left a hole that cannot be filled, and like most everyone, I have to wonder what their deaths might have accomplished – if anything.

I may never know, this side of heaven.  But their examples of service and faith remind me of the many things I learned from them, and I am surely better for having counted them as friends for a part of my life.

©2010 Notes From Jon. All Rights Reserved.

If you don’t know Alan, this won’t mean a thing to you, and you can wait for the next post.  This is my tribute to a good friend who loved music, loved his church, and loved being a Baptist. 

“A Missing Voice”
A Eulogy for Alan Roper
Friday, May 23, 2008

What to say about Alan?  I can only imagine how many of you are there now, missing him as much as I do.  And just like you, I know the struggles that Alan faced these last few months – and while I miss him, I am also very glad that he is free from pain, and whole once again.  And I have no doubt he’s already found his seat in the bass section of the heavenly choir, and is furiously fanning to keep himself cool!

Any of you who have sung in a choir – or any of you who have taken the time to listen to one – can appreciate the subtle art that choral singing is.  And to be a good choral musician takes several important skills.

The first, you might think, is a voice.  But that’s not true: to sing in a choir takes more than just a good voice – in fact, I’ve known some really good choral singers who didn’t have a beautiful “solo” voice.  No, the most important thing you need to sing in a choir is a trained and sensitive ear.  You have to be able to listen carefully to everyone around you, both the ones singing your part and the ones singing other parts.

Second, using that ear, you have to learn how to blend in with the group.  It takes a fine balance – if you sing too loudly, people hear YOU instead of the GROUP, and that’s not the point.  If you sing too softly, you might as well not be up there at all!

Third, you also have to know your part so well that you can “march to your own beat” even while listening to the other parts.  Some choral pieces have so many confusing parts that you practically have to have your part memorized so that you can pick your part out in the chaos!

Finally, a good choral musician can be a leader.  Not everyone in a choir is a perfect musician – it takes everyone to make the choir sing.  But there are certain singers who are “leaders.”  The “leaders” sing their part strongly and confidently – not so loud that they stick out, but in such a way that the “leaners” can hear them and join their strength.  The “leaders” know the whole piece, and they can see the “big picture.”  They can lend a confident note when the group is dragging or rushing ahead.  Their voices are the glue that holds a choir together.  A good choral leader can sing in such a way that you hardly notice that he or she is there – but you know without a doubt when they’re not.

I had the pleasure of meeting Alan when I first came to Crosscreek back in 1999, and he was that kind of “leader” in my choir during the whole time I was minister of music here.  In fact, on the slim Sundays, he was my entire bass section sometimes!  Alan had a good solo voice, and willingly sang solos for the worship services.  But he was really at home singing in a group.  When he was part of the section, he was truly the “leader,” knowing his part (often memorized, probably so he could have a hand free to fan) and singing it flawlessly and confidently so the others could follow.  If he was the only one singing his part, Alan was a perfect choral musician even then – he could make his voice blend with the others in such a way that if you weren’t looking, you’d think there were several people singing with him.

He was at home up there, in his seat in the choir, and he was consistent.  There were a few rehearsals and services when I’d only have one or two singers – and without fail, Alan was always one of those singers.  He was always present – always on the back row – and always prepared.  If he was absent, everyone noticed.

As I’ve thought back over my memories of Alan in the last few days, I realized that Alan was this kind of “leader” in more than just the choir.  He was that kind of leader in the church and in our lives as well.  He wasn’t the kind of leader that was always out front, capturing your attention and giving directions.  No, we need those kinds of leaders – but we also need leaders who can listen quietly and sensitively.  We need leaders who know where they fit in the group, who know what their part is, and who can confidently remind us of what’s important.  Alan was that kind of leader.

First, like a choral musician with a sensitive ear, Alan was in tune with those around him.  He was sensitive, caring and thoughtful.  He was always thinking of others when he did something, and in his quiet way, he often knew what was needed before anyone else did.  Many times, I’d come to rehearsal or the service to find that things had already been prepared – water had been set out, coffee had been made, music had been straightened and put in folders.  He’d often ask me if there was anything he could do to help me get ready – and he’d have it done before I could give it a second thought.  He frequently invited Tanya and me to concerts or other musical events that were going on around town.  And almost every time I let him know about a performance I was doing, he would be there giving his support.

I’m not at all surprised to hear how well he left things in order.  When I spoke to him on the phone the last few times, we talked about death, sickness and faith.  And he’d tell me he was ready – ready for heaven, and ready here on earth to leave things behind in good shape.  He was thinking about how he could make his passing easiest on those he loved.

Second, like a good choral musician with a careful voice, Alan knew how to “blend in.”  Alan was quiet, and even awkward sometimes – he’d come and stand at the door of my office and… well, just stand there.  He’d have this look that made me think he wanted to say something, and I’d ask him what was up.  He’d always say, “oh, nothing!”  And then he’d keep standing there.  He just enjoyed being around people – and was one of those rare people who didn’t mind not having to say something.  He hardly ever drew attention to himself – but you always knew when he was there.  And you always missed him when he wasn’t.

Third, like a good choral musician, Alan knew his part and how he fit into the group.  And he didn’t mind if he was the only one singing his “part!”  He was just so distinctive and unique – he had his own ways and his own tastes, and it didn’t matter if you liked them or not.

Crosscreek is a casual church, anyway.  But you could always tell the informal mood by looking at Alan.  Don’t get me wrong – he’d wear a tie when he needed to.  But his favorite Sunday outfit – at least when I was there – was a pair of shorts and a CBF polo.  If it was 20 degrees outside?  Shorts and a CBF polo, and he’d insist he wasn’t cold.  If it was 100 degrees outside?  Shorts and a CBF polo, and a CBF fan in one hand.

I remember when the PT Cruiser first became popular, and Alan wanted one so badly.  He was still driving around his early-90’s white Honda Accord with the “1ACCORD” license plate on the back that he thought was so clever.  He’d come to my office with a brochure, or show me some website that gave a review of the Cruiser.  I told him several times that I didn’t like the looks of one, and that I thought he’d be better off in an SUV or something equally ridiculous.  But it didn’t matter.  Alan kept on dreaming of his PT Cruiser.  Finally, though, he ended up buying a brand new Accord… I guess he just loved that license plate too much.

He loved spicy food!   I like to have a little spice in my food, but Alan liked REALLY spicy food.  Alan was my thermometer – if he ever said, “hmm, that’s a little spicy,” I knew to stay away.  You couldn’t find him at a church meal without a bottle of Tabasco or some other concoction nearby.  And he’d go through half a bottle in a meal.  He usually sat by me at church meals, and he’d always offer me some hot sauce with a grin – and I’d always politely refuse.  One day I let him prepare a bowl of chili for me… I never did THAT again.

Alan certainly knew his part, and he sang it for all he was worth!

Finally, like a good choral musician, Alan also saw the “big picture,” and gave us confidence and reminded us of what was important.  When he found something he cared about, he was passionate and driven to do whatever he could to support it.

He loved his church – Crosscreek was his main passion, and he was here just about every time the doors opened.  He had his opinions on church business – and if he didn’t stand up in a meeting, you’d always hear him making sure people understood his viewpoints before and afterwards.  He looked out carefully for what was best for the church, and had careful opinions about worship and music in particular.  Some of the times I’ve seen Alan the maddest, was in his arguments with Bob Holt over the placement of the candles, paraments, and offering plates in the sanctuary!

He gave blood religiously, until the Red Cross told him he couldn’t give anymore because of a condition he had.  Even then, on blood bank Sundays, Alan would wear one of the many t-shirts he’d gotten for giving in the past.  He knew how important it was to give blood, and always got on my case when I didn’t give.

I mentioned his CBF polo shirt, and that reminds me of something else that was important to Alan.  He supported CBF with everything he was – from attending meetings to wearing advertisements.  When I was at Crosscreek – and probably long before and after – he was the unofficial CBF “mascot,” and you could always count on him to be up on the latest Baptist news.  Even after I left, I found Alan’s comments and presence on several moderate Baptist blogs and websites.  When I moved to Kenbridge, I knew I’d always see Alan at least once a year – at national Assembly.  I found myself scanning the crowds for his red forehead bobbing along toward me.

Alan, you will be greatly missed.  Your voice is absent in the bass section, and your confident, quiet, and unique presence is absent among our family.  I thank God for you – for your musicianship, for your leadership, and for your friendship.  And most of all, I thank God that I’ll be able to sing beside you in the bass section again one day.  Save me a seat – and I’ll be sure to bring a fan.

©2010 Notes From Jon. All Rights Reserved.

There’s a stack of books in my office – many of you have one, I’m sure – that contains all the books I’ve bought and really feel like I need to read. I have three different stacks, actually, arranged in different inconspicuous places in the office. Some are books I’ve stumbled upon as I’ve browsed bookstores, magazines, or blogs. Many are books that others have recommended to me. I look at these stacks of books with a mixture of eagerness, frustration, and anxiety. Several of them have been sitting there for more than a year.

So, what will happen if I don’t get that book about postmodern theology read? Well, I might not be caught up on postmodern theology. But I don’t think the book is going to bite me. I’ll get around to it one day.

I have two reasons for reading the books that I do. First, my work is so “mind-intensive” that when I get a chance to read, I like to read about something OTHER than what I think about all day long. I recognize that I’m an obsessive person, and I know it’s dangerous for me to allow my life to be consumed by anything – no matter how noble. I’m a pastor, yes. But I’m also a father, a husband, and a reader of good books. I’m sure many of you can identify with this reasoning!

Second, maybe it’s because of my “artsy” side, but I find God tucked in-between the pages of these books… sometimes, I find him there more clearly than I do in “real life!” Anyone who writes a story, who can make it a good story, is obviously putting themselves in to the story, too. You can learn a lot about an author from the kinds of things they put into a book. And I enjoy seeing how other people see God.

I’m a “story-based” kind of person. Any of you who have heard or read one of my sermons can figure that out. I love a good story. And sometimes I even find fodder for preaching and theology.

So, with that said, I encourage you to take a look at the “Now Reading” portion of the sidebar and see what I’m into. I’ve recently posted reviews of The Chosen by Chaim Potok, and The Seduction of Water by Carol Goodman. I’d also love to hear about the kinds of books YOU read, and why…

©2010 Notes From Jon. All Rights Reserved.