Reflections by the Pond

#539: The Homespun of the Sincere, part one

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Reflections by the Pond – February 20, 2012

After this manner therefore pray ye...

At a funeral for an old friend, some time ago, the pastor leading the simple memorial service had everyone in attendance sing the hymn How Great Thou Art, verses one and four.

The singing of the hymn was a sad, anemic chorus, muttered more than sung, a distracted, otherwise-engaged rendition that barely reached the low, tiled ceiling of the funeral home—let alone the throne of heaven. The gathering of homemakers, business people, retired folks, and the farmers seated behind us sang with the conviction of damp moss growing on the bark of a dead oak tree.

Later, near the end of the service, the pastor led us all in reciting a familiar passage of Scripture. This chorus was only slightly more robust; perhaps it is easier to speak, than to carry a tune. Most knew the words, and they were delivered with typical I-can-do-this force. Yet here again there was a sad poverty of conviction, the syllables spilling from the lips by rote: unfeeling, uninspired, insipid.

Both the hymn and the Scripture consisted of words directed upward to God, yet the words spoken were mumbled into the chest, as if the people uttering them were embarrassed by their sound...

#538: In Remembrance of Me

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Reflections by the Pond – February 13, 2012

"You shall tell your son on that day, saying, 'It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.' And it shall be when your son asks you in time to come, saying, 'What is this?' then you shall say to him, 'With a powerful hand the Lord brought us out of Egypt, from the house of slavery.'"
Exodus 13:8,14

The talking I heard, during the taking of the Communion bread Sunday last, broke my concentration to the point that I reluctantly opened my eyes to see who it was. When I looked, I saw two boys, each holding between their fingers the Communion bread, chatting away with each other as if they were Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn lazing about a fishing hole, chatting about the fine weather and the best worms to use for bait.

The picture of their disassociation from the holy moment cut into me like a knife...

#537: Paying a Heavy Price

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Reflections by the Pond – February 6, 2012

For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison.
2 Corinthians 4:17

Even old hands who should know better are singing the praises of our mild winter weather. "How do ya like this weather we've been havin'!" They rhetorically exclaim. "Isn't this beautiful weather?" They swoon with delight, their eyes sparkling with unfrozen rapture.

Let us set aside the fact that this writer actually (some might say, strangely) enjoys the cold weather and the more typical winter vistas of beautiful white snow. Let us set aside considerations of preference, taste, aesthetics, and convenience as we focus on more pragmatic matters...

#536: Faces

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Reflections by the Pond – January 30, 2012

Odd, the process of strangers becoming familiar acquaintances, then, perhaps later, becoming friends. One steps into a roomful of strangers for the first time; each face is a mask representing an unknown: no background, no common history, no point of reference. Just a face, perhaps a voice and a handshake. A greeting is proffered, but is it real? Does it give voice to genuine interest, or is it just another perfunctory recitation?

Who are these people? What do they believe, what do they stand for? What are their names, and to whom do they belong? What do they do, how are they dressed during the other days of the week? What are their lives like when they have removed their good clothes, when they have removed their Sunday face...

#535: Revelation

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Reflections by the Pond – January 23, 2012

Though we are homebodies at heart, Linda and I recently stepped out of our normal routine to visit a number of different friends in their homes. And in each case the home we were in revealed what was important to its owners. I do not speak here of right or wrong, good or bad; simply priorities—those things each family deems important to them.

For example, in one home there were a number of modern televisions prominent. By contrast, in another home we saw only one television, but the walls of practically every room in that house—including the bathroom—were decorated with oil or watercolor paintings. Two homes were filled with...

#534: Decide

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Reflections by the Pond – January 16, 2012

He was an old man, sick, tethered to oxygen, coughing up blood. But still working. The last completed film he directed was entitled The Dead. In his final days he was in and out of hospitals, each time he was thought to be at death's door.

John Huston was a brilliant director and screenplay writer (The Maltese Falcon, The African Queen, The Kremlin Letter) and accomplished actor (The Wind and the Lion, The Bible, Chinatown). He was charming, entertaining, intelligent, and could spin a good yarn. He was also an unapologetic womanizer, a drunk, utterly self-centered, brutally callous toward his many wives and mistresses, and someone who loved to play vicious, cruel jokes on others.

During his last stay in a hospital, when he believed himself to be close to death, he was visited by Zoe Sallis—never his wife, but mother of Huston's son, Danny...

#533: Looking Back

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Reflections by the Pond – January 9, 2012

When my soul is in the dumps,
I rehearse everything I know of you.
Psalm 42:6 The Message

In a more logical world the first day of the year would come around March 15, or April 1. New Year's Day—that special day combining nostalgic retrospection for the year just ended with eager anticipation for the year just beginning—seems wasted on a day still mired (at least in this part of the world) in cold air, gray skies, and a frozen landscape. How much better it would be if the new year began on a fresh, sunshine-filled day of spring flowers bursting forth to bring new life, new color to a gray world...

#532: Lord of the Unexpected

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Reflections by the Pond – January 2, 2012

By all rights and everything that is holy I should be gazing out onto land blanketed by a foot of snow. It is January, after all, and here in the Midlands, where all storm systems meet, this is typically the coldest part of the coldest season of the year. The temperature outside should be a breath-sucking, back-snapping level of frigidity sufficient to drive the hardiest farmer or bricklayer into long johns, an insulated suit, and facial hair. The vista should be knee-deep white. I should gaze out my window across a sparkling, crystalline blanket of powder to the frozen pond, and beyond into the cotton-shrouded woods where the deer and turkeys and squirrels reveal themselves against the contrasting backdrop.

Why, then, do I gaze out upon a desert of brown and straw colored grass to a depleted pond thawing around the edges...

#531: Spirit Sight

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Reflections by the Pond – December 26, 2011

And there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; and this man was righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel; and the Holy Spirit was upon him.
Luke 2:25

Day after day he was surrounded by the most religious, the most pious men in all Judaism. Rabbis, priests, members of the Pharisaic and Sadducean parties, scribes, devout laymen—all were in residence in the temple courts, all claimed a singular understanding of God's written word, including the ancient prophecies that spoke of Messiah.

Then a shoot will spring from the stem of Jesse,
And a branch from his roots will bear fruit.
Isaiah 11:1

#530: They Need a Savior: A Sufficient Sacrifice

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Reflections by the Pond – December 19, 2011

He had never been down to earth before, but now that he had been sent, Harry was determined to make the best of it. He was determined to get along.

If the truth be known, Harry had never been terribly impressed by the human species; he had always considered them a most inconvenient, unsightly bunch. But ever since The Son had gone down to be born and live amongst them, Harry had acquired a new level of interest in the inhabitants of earth.

Harry had been set down in the hill country of Lower Galilee, directly west of the lower tip of the Sea of Galilee, the great fresh water lake around which lay the cities of Capernaum, Gennesaret, and Tiberias.

Almost immediately his feet began to ache. The road was hard-packed soil, and on this day it seemed to the angel that it may as well have been forged iron beneath him. Each step on the compacted earth jarred his bones. Meanwhile the gravity of the globe worked against him. Harry was unaccustomed to these physical constraints...

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