They move through the earth, walking among the hungry ones that can be seen as glowing, waiting for their fires to grow. The burning one is seeking those that are looking to grow, they are just waiting to be on fire and then loop and twist with a solar flare that touches the flames of all creation. All of it.
It is the honor to supply small pieces of kindling to be gently placed upon those coals that have been waiting for a bit of fuel to bring into flame, the passion that smolders within them. A small amount of the spirit is enough to bring the banked coals into heat that can be seen. Then warmth begins to radiate out and is the glory of the risen King. “Light of the world, you came down into darkness. Opened my eyes and let me see.”
It is a treasured gift to give that desired amount of spirit, to be a carrier, akin to a small donkey of older times that has the pieces of kindling to lay upon the beginning fires. To gently walk among them in the night and encourage them to radiate Christ’s light in the darkness of the world.
There is joy within the servant that brings that small amount of encouragement. To bring a handful of truthful fuel that whispers the beauty of Spirit. To tell them that it is good and right to embrace God and speak to him of our hunger to burn with love.
The larger and larger flames begin to grow until the fires radiate love. Laughter and smiles among us all grow and blaze. We are drawn to the place we know that this can occur once more. The hunger is satisfied with tears of joy. This is the reason we are together. “Don’t do what you know to be wrong and love God and your neighbor with this love and you’ll be all right”A.
That donkey carrier, moves along with it’s kindling. Quietly looking for those that the small bundles of fuel will transform fires of life into a galaxie’s swirling arms shouting joy.
There they sit until the next auction. Plates, cups, bowls and saucers. Mahogany furniture and kitchen utensils. Machinery and huge steam powered…things..Barn ventilator caps and do dads and gimcracks and folderall. Gewgaws, and the best one of all, Tchoktchke. The last one comes from Yiddish Tshatshke (or an absolete Polish word, Czaczko.)
You can find them in really nice corner cabinets with glass doors, on top of upright pianos or just scattered about the house, seemingly at random. Placed with a discerning eye or propriety and in need of occasional dusting. Dust the Hummel’s at your own risk
Everyone has their faves and lists for the spouse to browse local second or third hand stores. Why do we do this? Perhaps we are hanging onto an older time, perceived as more a genteel one.
Excepting the black buggies of the Amish, stagecoaches are in that category but cannot be displayed, unless you own a herd of horses and a nice driveway or fence line to park it so it is visible. Old ‘collectible’ vehicles are a bit bulky but store on the property..somewhere.
“That’s an old Edsel! It’s worth a lot of money!” Does it run? “Well.., no but I’m workin’ on it.” The Montana vehicle parking lot sort of thing.
We collect stuff, we built a 20 foot shed and lean to just to store some of it. It was full less than a few months later. Big stuff and shelves for parts for the big stuff. You know the list. That old lawn tractor that just needs a new engine and few tires. The old walk behind snow thrower that needs a carburetor and a little paint. Nostalgic and useful stuff. Sort of.
What else that is old and worth saving? My favorite one that is still used, is the long wrap around bookshelves you can see from the living room, up on the balcony walk around. 3D wallpaper. Books from many centuries ago and great illustrated children’s books. Dr. Suess’ Birthday Bird type of stuff. The best antiques of them all as it is OK and right to handle them. Flip through an old Aristotle or a McDonald and find a page that randomly jumps out at you and then it goes downstairs to be added to the random stack by the big rocking chair.
Lately, the stack has been centered around middle ages literature. Most recently one about St. Ignatious of Loyola (early 16th century). The somewhat forgotten wisdom sears truth into me and Julie about this founder of the Jesuits. Lectio Divina, Interacting with God, Oratio, talk to Him, and my favorite, Contemplato, sit in His presence. Timeless and recently, perfectly timed for these times. With our ceaseless scurry to satisfy the emptiness in us with all the stuff we gather, or, think we must gather, to help us be satisfied and joyful. I need to be reminded that essential wisdom is found in another old book that helps me to contemplato our Creator and His plans to love me and never let me go. Ever. I seem to be the collectible for Him. Made by Him before I was even conceived, before the written history of the universe He knew me and helped form me into the man I am. Created to glorify Him and tell other people about Him and His Love. It’s pretty good. (The other old book is the Bible, its good to have several versions.) Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
“May His face shine upon you and bless you..” Great words that are sung by my favorite singing band from Scotland. Almost every morning as I sit at this desk, awaiting the dawn and looking at my two email accounts (one for business of sorts, the other one more personal) I cry most times when I hear that song. More than I cried when I was at home for lunch and played the moonlight sonata on the piano, In my sisters forbidden room. Just a grade school child, seeking more than words and home alone for my lunch with Casey and Roundhouse Rodney. They were there for me at noon from the rabbit eared TV on the kitchen counter. As you can surmise, music has been my pathway to joy and unity with the creator of it.
What happens then when I hear the thunder in my head, tears roll down and the peace overcomes me, often for hours afterwards? Why me to have this gift of harmony and joy?
“I thought you’d like it” comes the answer. More than I can understand, but yes, I do like it. More pleasing than those first 5 notes of the sonata is the bagpipe chanter and violin of the song, ‘The blessing’
When I then sit in my comfy living room chair and begin to read some Nouwen or Lewis I have a fresh spirit and the words go deeper and once again, I am open to His voice and gentle nudging to look upon the world anew. Julie sits nearby in her comfy chair and once in a while we share out of our thoughts. Clarification is needed at times as our thoughts are a bit lofty and can be confusing to each of us as we are both in different contemplation’s of faith.
If we are on this schedule it is pleasing to look out the big door windows and see the world, sometimes anew. A pheasant and some springtime robins that are hopping around in the newest falling snow, perhaps looking for breakfast with a puzzling look upon their little beaks.
Time to get more coffee and perhaps, build a small fire in the stove nearby. In the kitchen it is a bit warmer from the radiators we put in 30 years ago. It’s not the same as the wood stove however.
Our children are at work now, one overseeing a big machine shop, the eldest managing sound at the large church campus about 65 miles away. Indeed, the blessings from our lord have fallen upon our children and His face has also fallen upon them and blessed them and us with his mighty hand and outstretched arm. I thank Jesus and the Father and there is the blessing to thank Him for and often, speechless with joy I cry. He said that he collects every tear from joy or sorrow in His bottle. Those tears are an for annointing with the gladness that passes all understanding. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator
with much thanks to Steph Mcleod and Celtic worship
It seems like a great idea, perhaps it is. The information age has confused, obfuscated and presented knowledge in compartments of illusion. How do we know which is a conspiracy theory and a conspiracy? How can we be certain of anything that relates to our lives? I usually go up to my communication central and ask for truth. It’s not too hard to find and I have written a column on it. I call it ‘The Cathedral’
A bench, facing a long row of 40 foot tall pine trees. A path goes straight ahead of the bench with other paths parallel to it. High up on a ridge so the pines sway in a gentle breeze and the wind is the backdrop to silence.
This day I was, as usual, shouting a bit and waiting for answers from the owner of this place. He has always been around and helped me plant those trees. He made my son that built the wood bench too. He has many names, my favorite one is a secret to you, not to Him.
As per usual, the reason I came to the sacred place was to get directions, answers and to just complain about things I do not understand. It’s a good place to do that. Aso as usual, the answer I got was a parable of sorts. An answer to a study some friends and I are enjoying about a blind man that was healed of a lifetime of blindness. The story in the Bible is pretty basic in ways and simply states he was blind and now he can see.
Of course the blind man had heard stories too. Words telling him of the wonders of colors. Reds and Blues and Yellows if he could only see their beauty. The words meant nothing but longing to know what they meant. Given sight, most likely 20-20, he saw color and movement and shadows and light. The story tells us nothing about the blind man’s knowledge or study. It just tells us he was blind and now he could see. Everything.
I asked the owner and creator of all things where I was sitting; what does this mean to me?
He told me that there was no great mystery behind the story. The blind man is me and I have studied and analyzed and taken tests on my knowledge of the words I have read about the Man who wrote all the words of life. My Lord wrote them so I could seek His face and touch eternity.
The words promised this but I did not know why I was still seeking His light. Stumbling around, tripping over the worlds roots under my feet. I read more and more and suddenly I was given a gift. The words were guides but they were not what I sought. I listened into the wind up there among the trees. I opened my innermost self and waited for a long time.
He came and told me that this was what I needed to open my eyes and see him in His glory. Everywhere, as much as I could do so. The words said beauty, until my eyes were open I did not know what that word meant. All those words kept me looking for Him. Song of Solomon puts it well. “Tell me if you see Him, I am lovesick”
A deaf man can read music but it again is just words and notes. The sudden sound of a miracle of healing and he hears; “I love you and will never leave you” A whisper that shakes the world.
The blind man has never been the same and you will not be the same either. Thunders and lightnings and a storm all around the Man with eyes of fire will show you what the words say. Intimacy. Embrace Him, whisper back to Him and your secrets will become a pathway and a song sung to you.
Words, they fail me right now. How can I describe the touch from the lover of my soul. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
They were always the best gigs. Weddings. Playing for a wedding was indeed, icing on the cake. The music our band played was very polished and incredible. I was the guitar player and we had a mandolin, stand up bass and our leader was the fiddler. Square dance music from the old days and we also had a caller for the dances. Several of them. We were well known and royalties were coming in a little from the sale of our CD. On our way to small fame and fortune. Years rolled by and the gigs kept coming. We had a reputation and were in demand within a few states drive. It was fun and the energy was very high paced. We loved one another, often rode together. I was known as the rhythm monster as I changed up things from easy swing to double time back up, back and forth and it was fun and it worked.
After a few years, the CD’s sales began to drop off and the royalties faded. Every musician knows these things. If we had done vinyl recordings, we would have made the racks of records that are found in many quality music stores. Also in second hand thrift shops.
Our children were young and the constant travel every weekend took me away from my family. None of the other musicians had children. At my last last gig at the Duluth band shell it was known by the band that it was my last one. Poignant and emotionally charged for us all. We had been together for years and it was time. I was needed at home and that was good and right.
During this time together, at one of our band rehearsals I put forth at our upcoming dance camp that we have a church service on the Sunday. Our leader, the fiddler and his wife quickly refused. I acquiesced. The mandolin player did not stand up for the Sunday morning idea. I was young in the faith and my enthusiasm for our faith was not shared. I knew then, it was an important pivot point for me and my family.
I did let it slide but I think that it was important to make it known It was important to me. The lead fiddlers wife is Jewish and I lightened things up and lightly said, “Well, how about on Saturdays?” Nonetheless, she was not a Messianic Jew and did not consider Jesus as her Messiah. She did not attend Temple either. After the light laughter it was over. No worship service at our Sunday gigs. I would have conducted it myself but our leader did not even consider that. It was offensive to him as his father was a pastor and there was resentment. It happens with some children that get put into believing when they do not.
A short time ago, a similar disappointment occurred to me when a paper I was columnist in told me that I had to stop writing references to Jesus. After over three years with the paper, the new owner decided it was offensive to the readers in NW Wisconsin. His choice and now, my choice. I decided I not comply and was politely fired. Two other columnists who quoted Scripture were let go and I was next on the list. There was disappointment among a lot of readers for these decisions. “What happened to pastor Seth and Sally?” was commonly said. After a while it was accepted by the populace. The paper continues to get thinner. Just a coincidence?
The editor, a good friend, gave me the news of the impending cancellation and approved my way of bowing out of my column but said to me, “I envy your faith” I miss writing every week with them and in my last column just told a false hood that it was too demanding to write a column every week. It felt good and right to quit gently rather than make a fuss that is not constructive to the way I am supposed to live.
Actually, I write a lot, sometimes every day. It was a graceful way to leave. My readers were puzzled and once in a while someone will tell me they miss my column in that local paper. I do too.
At my last concert in Duluth, we were going to play my favorite waltz, ‘ Ashoken Farewell’ by Darrell Angar. The fiddler did not like it when I played along with him, I was not his equal but it was a good duet for me. I went to hook up my fiddle and he instantly began playing, not waiting for me. It was hard for me to know, once again, I was indeed, second fiddle. I did not make any mistakes but in retrospect, I should have accompanied him on guitar. It is easier to play a tender song like that with keys or a guitar in the background.
At Julie’s and my wedding we had four fiddlers stand around her on the alter and we all played a Scandinavian waltz, Helsa Dem Dar Hemma. Kevin McMullin, Bill Hinkley, Mary Dushane and I.
After the Duluth last gig, Kevin asked me “How does it feel to be finished with us?” I answered, “relieved” Not the answer he was expecting as I looked at his face. Now I stay at home more and helped raise our two sons. Home schooling and all the neat books by Dr. Suess and lots of Veggie Tales. It worked, Julie did most of the education work as she has a Masters degree in those sorts of things. At this writing I am now working with my oldest son, Bjorn, as his assistant media director at Eagle Brook Church in Minnesota. My youngest son, Soren. is the drummer in a worship band for the Riders for the Son motorcycle group. Julie is now a Bible study leader with members throughout the world on the internet.
It can be hard to stand for our faith. When I remember that time again with the Ducks, I pray for them. Often. I was replaced with another guitarist, but he was not a rhythm monster. They went on for a while and quietly disbanded. It was not the same for them and I do miss it. There was a lot of love among us.
I went on to play with a few worship bands and led worship at several church gatherings. My family began a house of worship in a local town and we had wonderful times singing, playing and writing songs. It lasted for almost 4 years.
These days, at 80, I have not been playing out anymore. I miss it but am now writing about our Lord; a lot. Almost 400 columns now and also write for my web site. Another newspaper near Lake Superior, The Bottom Line News and Views welcomes my writing. It feels good and right and continues to grow my prayer life. I still play music at home now and then, not ensemble, even learning on the keyboard. That feels good and right too. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator Scribe
Immediately after the illuminating and inspired message from a man before us is an invitation for those in the room to come to the front if they wish for prayer. It was my first assignment to assist, to help those who would know their hunger enough to be bold and come forward.
My first experience at this large church gathering as I came out to a landing high above the room I began to weep, immediately. I was overcome with the hunger I felt from a thousand souls facing forward. Was it my hunger I asked. “Yes it is also their hunger that is now overwhelming you with all men’s hunger.” Like all of us as children when we need bread for our body, we run towards our parents for food but it is first of all we need their love.
I went down the long side stairway to the main floor and did not trip with my worn shoes and soul. I went forward to stand before the huge bass bins (speakers) and faced the room with my friend who knew what to do and knew I was in the right place with him. Still stunned by the voice that told me it was hunger that all of us have. What can I say to them that ask me for prayer? Those words are suddenly given.
A handful of a thousand felt that hunger and came to us to tell them once again, that He loves them, in that moment. They needed to know that He would never leave them when their world grows dark and holds them in His arms and loves them the He way he always does.
The real needs we have for healing and assurance are always known by our eternal Father. His desire is first for us to reach towards His heart and loving presence. The giver of life wants to give us Himself and indeed tell us once again of His love. His Spirit in our hearts is kindled to flame and His tender voice is heard.
The tears flow among them as the hunger for Him brings forth His presence once again, in that moment, He holds us close and fills us with the bread of life. The one thing that we needed, the only thing. It is the wonder of the words, audible at times when we are alone, that indeed say, “It’s OK, I am with you right here, right now.”
Most of us are a bit shy about asking for prayer and just the moving forward to ask another to join in with you is brave surrender. In the past, prayer with others was done by a handful of us behind doors. It started in our pastors office, then we moved to a small room that had a sign on it. Prayer. It’s a declaration of hunger for God to others and the others are most likely just as hungry to join you. After all, Jesus said when two or more of us join together this way, He is among us.
It’s pretty good, Jack Gator
Thanks once again for George MacDonald and Jon Thurlow for truth written and often sung.
It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.
So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.
The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!
I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.
His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.
They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.
It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.
The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.
Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.
I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.
A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe
Our choice, always our choice. Hide from life and truth or go into the secret place and connect with the Truth and seek His presence and listen and speak of our fears.
As in the garden, they were hiding from their fear. Listening to the author of fear. We do this, I do this and must be aware that instead of hiding, I must go to the beautiful place in the garden and talk with Jesus about my trembling self.
Our lives now are filled with anxiety and exhaustion. The world is darkening and death is looming upon the holy land of Israel. It is ramping up our usual lives of the lack of funds and time to do everything we need to do. Everything, including the best things which lie before us that seem out of reach. Life in the garden can be exhausting. Weeding, planting, tending and worry about growth and the elements that seem to conspire against us. We fail to see the wisdom and guidance that shows us every step on that highway of Holiness. Staying steady and trusting all circumstance.
Our lives seem chaotic and opposed by the world. We worry and rush about and exhaust ourselves instead of going into the secret place and listening to the master gardener. We both have a go-to secret place on our land. A small and cozy prayer cabin, overlooking a very small lake near our western property line is Julie’s place. Mine is up on the south hill with rows of large pines. They are in long rows, with a level path down one row. At the beginning of that row is a bench made of green treat wood. My son, Soren, built it for me. I can complain and weep and listen there. Little hard to do when it is filled with snow and below zero though. There is a wood stove in the prayer cabin. A trudge through thick snow which gets blown to the ridge above it. After that, it’s snowshoes for Julie and tough sledding on boots for me. Worth it IF there is a fire already lit! I am lazy and don’t do it if I can sit by the fire in our parlor.
Julie and I decided to go to another secret place that we share on Thursday night. It is a small place of worship on Sundays. We set out a cell phone and put on a live session of intercession from a place we have been. It was a worship set of worship with the Word from iHOPKC and it was calming.
We began to pray for our nation, the war overseas in the Holy land of our Savior Jesus. More fear and voices that say many things. Fear among the lovers of the living God and those that do not. As it grew dark through the windows and our prayer began to ask for the true Life that exposes darkness.
There was a whisper, a presence of movement. We were alone in the room and were not alone. A rustle felt as someone walked by, a puff of air moving close by. We both felt it and our prayers went on for several hours. It was time to go home and speak about these things in the car.
There were more requests for prayer to combat weariness among our friends and leaders in the area. We know the answer to them all. Trust, and pray to the living God. It’s pretty good. Norm
A Powerful word, the most powerful word that exists. A foundation for eternity and a word that cannot be forced or coerced in any way. The Word was with God and the Word was God.
Many people, including myself, realize that that Word has four letters and they are summed up with the clear vision that it is intertwined with creation itself. Indeed the beginning of all things that are and were created. It seemed to me the hardest thing to really understand, these four letters, Word. Indeed, what was this, the first Thing God did? Alone, incomprehensible to me.
Today, those four letters became clearer and more beautiful. Creation indeed. The one thing, the only thing that is needed to complete it all. The one thing I needed to complete my life and give me purpose. For everyone’s purpose to exist and be filled with joy and understanding all things.
All interpretations of these four letters are that the Word was Jesus. How can this be? All of scripture is now referred to as the story of Jesus, the Word. The Bible is the Word and through it all things were created and nothing was created without it.
Only this morning, as I was trying to understand our world and the seeming collapse of it did it make sense. The Word is Love. Jesus indeed was the love, the one thing that cannot be without being given. The Father Himself gave us the most precious of all things, the freedom to choose love itself. Without the choice to love or not is the foundation of all things.
Love, It must be chosen not created by us. The only creation by God was love for He alone, as us all now, could not love without another. Love the Lord your God with all you are, all your strength, power might and spirit. All of it. God’s only begotten Son was love. The incredible Word. Jesus.
After all, the entirety of this Word requires another to love and be loved. What indeed is love?
Both lovers listening, and gazing upon one another with rapture. In the beginning, perfect love, eternal love and sharing everything that is. The wedding vow of eternity as we now become the bride of Christ with this love. He gave His life for us, can we do no less?
As a veteran, I look upon my fellow warriors with love and honor them for the courage they showed to defend this country that is founded on the freedom to love one another. In our country’s constitution, in the beginning is indeed, that all men are created equal. All of us. Able to choose good or evil. At conception and birth, all equal. We can indeed choose to love as we grow. It’s very hard (I know this as you do) but it is a choice. “Life or death, choose now” as Jesus spoke to me so long ago.
This morning as contemplating the beginning of all that started our country it became it bit clearer to me. Our beginning too of our countrys first pact with one another that all men are created equal. Capable of love and being loved. Then and now as differences of opinions, faith or not and appearances become nothing compared to our birth as free men created equal to be lovers of God. We choose to love as in the beginning we were given the freedom to love or not. It is only possbile when we understand the Word.
The hard part, the hardest part is choosing and the best part is having freedom to do so. This is the foundation of our country. Love it or not, we still have the freedom to choose love and eternal life. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
There is something special about Gator’s living room chair. It is very comfortable and with a quilt, precious and defrayed, sleep arrives. A book by Norm’s favorite author is icing on the relaxation dessert. A delightful meal.
A bit earlier at the transition time between afternoon and evening (1700 hours.) Supper, not dinner which is a lunchtime meal. Many debates about these delineations occur. Norm always uses the term dinner pail of old. Something you thus carry to whatever work site you go to. The field or the factory. He is adamant about this!
Home grown cauliflower, rice and squash accompanied by family grown heritage wheat baked into flatbread. A bit of cranberry wine and the Friday Shabbat with candles and a blessing and a toast to the King of the Universe. That is a very old Jewish tradition and now, with a Messianic Daughter-in-law, it is a delightful communion every Friday (not religiously but joyfully) as the family sits around the table. It is more than sufficient to get Norm’s nose out of a book and into the kitchen. When their ‘daughter in love’ is there, she sings the blessing in Hebrew, and we toast the Lord before eating.
The rest of the week can vary from the ‘smash and grab’ style from the fridge to a giant pot of rice and vegetables flavored with Tikka Masala and Bragg’s salty sauce. Food, it brings people together to feast and relax. Perhaps it can explain the lone man, sitting on the counter stool eating breakfast. No one to talk to except the wait staff.
A nice slow breakfast with perhaps a newspaper on the left side of the plate. Like Norm when he is eating his break fast.
Often, it is Norm sitting alone, munching his exquisite designer cinnamon toast and drinking the best coffee he can make. Keeping a close eye on the fire he has lit in the parlor stove. What is it about eating either alone or with loved ones that satisfies? Eating favorite food with what our Lord has given us is pretty good. He made us that way.
There is a similarity with attendance at the ‘church’ of familiarity (or new). The term church refers to the people of the world around us that profess a Christian faith, not a building perse. Names are used from scripture to make it easier to find the buildings and tell others were you go to be in fellowship. You know them, most of them. Of course, being used to Norm’s penchant for oddity he wonders why certain names, scriptural names are not used. The first church of Long suffering perhaps or the church of Self-Control. Norm likes the Church of Fruitfulness.
An expected and surprising fact is that intimacy with our Lord Jesus and intimacy with one another can begin with shared prayer. Norm and Julie, his wife have found great freedom and developing relationships with small groups of people that pray with one another. Many gatherings of worshipers on Sunday do not know each other closely nor pursue it. Praying for one another engenders another level of fulfilling growth with fellow believers.
The size of the congregation seems to not be a factor in the amount of people who join together for prayer during, before or after ‘services’ (an annoying word, services, for Norm. He associates that word with plumbers or oil changes) Praying for the Pastor’s message to go deep and be joyful as well. A good prayer subject for sure.
Julie and Norm find themselves drawn to prayer groups anywhere they go to. In small gatherings and huge ones of ten thousand. The interesting fact is that the number of people who do this intimate activity seems to remain the same no matter the size of worshipers. Around five to ten people are drawn to pray in the time that other people gather. They were a bit anxious when they visited a pleasant and very large church recently. What will it be like?
A revival such as the stadiums filled with Billy Graham speaking? A gathering they went to a few years ago on the National Mall in D.C. In Washington was with small groups of a dozen or so that sang and prayed together in tents on the mall. 50 tents in all. It was huge and it also encouraged small groups all at the same time. A vast majority of people are not drawn to pray in small groups, out loud with one another. It’s familiar to Norm and family. Intimacy with Jesus engenders intimacy with believers. So no matter the size of the ‘congregation’, prayer teams stay the same. Not everyone’s calling. That’s perfectly OK and normal. Hard to have an intimate relationship with new people. Mega churches no longer look intimidating to them. Just the parking lots.
Intimacy with Christ is an easier task with shared prayer however. The world now has a fear of being ‘exposed’ for the weakness’ we all have in our life. With Jesus’ spirit living inside of us we are learning this about ourselves. The hard life and the wounds have actually made it obvious for us. A Lord that knows us because He knew us before we were born. It brings a hunger for Him and His spirit.
As Norm’s favorite author, C.S. Lewis eloquently puts it. “A good life seen at the end. A life that has gone to the Lord’s printer.” A life surrendered to the Son.“I’ve never seen a Son like this before” A .
Indeed. A faithful and perfect Son that created everything that is and was and will be. He offered His life just for me. And you. An ancient myth of god dying and coming to life that is now real as Lewis writes. A fulfillment of the dreams and visions of many men from all time.
Jack gators grace notes 