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Reflections by the Pond – May 14, 2012

Few things lighten the heart or brighten the aspect more than the songs of spring. After the death-like stillness of winter—a period in which even the few remaining songs are rarely heard from behind shuttered windows—the fulsome chorus of spring is something that reinvigorates the soul.

This time of year we are typically greeted in the parking lot of our church by the heart-lifting song of the meadowlark, especially loud and vibrant in the quiet Sunday morning air. And now, even though there may still be a chill to the pre-dawn air, we happily leave open a window or two so that we might be awakened by the joyous arias and choruses of our early rising, avian neighbors. There is no finer way to greet the new day than by their robust songs of praise.

For that is what they are. Oh, yes, it is true that in a temporal sense the feathered melodies have more to do with finding a mate, calling back a wayward mate, and chatting with each other, nest-to-nest, over the fence. But anything that lifts the soul skyward—anything that illumines or magnifies one's vision of holy splendor—must surely have found its origin in heaven...

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Reflections by the Pond – April 30, 2012

Back in the very early 1970s, back when television screens were rounded, back when no one had ever heard of cell phones and the internet was still but a gleam in Al Gore's eye, I paid an afternoon visit to the small apartment of our navy band's lead trombone player. Though we played the same instrument, he was considerably older, a college graduate, and a far better musician than I.

It was not long after our band had returned from our all-expenses-paid pleasure cruise in the waters off the coast of Vietnam. During our ports of call in Japan, the Philippines, and Hong Kong most of us had taken advantage of the rock bottom Navy Exchange prices for cameras and stereo gear.

Our lead trombone player had purchased a stereo system overseas—turntable, amplifier and speakers—which was splayed across the carpeted floor of his diminutive apartment when I arrived. As he sat there on the floor studying the back of the record jacket of the classical recording that was spinning on the turntable, I remarked about the low volume of his stereo. Was he just being polite to the others in his apartment building?

No, was his reply, he preferred the low volume. I found it ironic, at the time, that one would spend the money for a new, powerful amplifier and large speakers, only to keep the volume so low. Whether because of my youth or my tastes—probably both—I preferred to turn up the volume: I didn't want to listen for music, but listen to it. Indeed, my preference was and still is to feel music vibrating every atom in my body—to experience it...

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Reflections by the Pond – April 16, 2012

They were perfect. Utterly pristine. No deformities, no blemishes, no mental or emotional weaknesses. They were without sin. No dishonesty, no guile, no craftiness or secret motives. They were clean before their Maker, and thus free to enjoy His company. Their life was one of unfettered bliss. No worries. No anxieties. No fear.

The man and woman understood who they were—and what they were not. They understood that the Maker was God—and that they were not. Their relationship with Him was based on trust and honesty: they trusted Him, and He was honest with them. Everything was open and free.

But one day the man and woman chose not to believe God. They chose, instead, to believe a lie put forth by a stranger...

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Reflections by the Pond – April 2, 2012

This writer, as is usual around this time of year, originally set out to write something profound, inspiring, and reasonably unique for the occasion of Easter. Different angles, fresh perspectives, all ultimately discarded. Discarded because the Spirit of the Lord was whispering (a la Thoreau) "Simplicity!"

Let us, therefore, not clutter the remembrance with creativity or profundity, but let us, instead, set everything else aside and just come before the cross and the empty tomb. Let us reduce out the noise to focus our thoughts and devotion on the two irreplaceable scenes that define our faith...

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Reflections by the Pond – March 19, 2012

Satan is one of the characters in my play, The Surrender. To be sure, it is a small role—and then, only the voice. But it comes at a pivotal moment in the story: Christ's temptation in the wilderness.

Along with directing the inaugural performance of this play, I also took the role of Satan, delivering the lines into a microphone from the front pew. In that production I gave Satan a menacing, gravelly, other-worldly voice, having great fun with the over-the-top interpretation.

It was great fun—and dead wrong.