Easter and Beyond

Time is still flying! Easter comes and goes. The solemnity of the event – the days of Holy Week and the attention and sharp focus on the reality that Christ really did live, really did walk the earth as a human while still wholly Divine, that He was brutalized and still offered no resistance – is real but passes quickly.

We watched the film “The Passion of the Christ” days before Easter. I was going to play a guitar instrumental version of the old hymn “O Sacred Head Now Wounded” during the service at church and planned to pull together some short video clips from the movie to show. I’d forgotten the graphic depiction of the punishment meant for me - inflicted upon Him. Before this movie came out, I met Jim Caviezel who played the part of Jesus. He showed me an early trailer from the movie on his MacBook. I was speechless. The consensus among those who made the movie, it was said, was that the real punishment was far worse than they could ever show on a movie screen.

And I ask “How could that be possible?”

It’s no wonder that we came up with the Easter Bunny. All soft and cute. So far removed from the blood and reality of innocent sacrifice that makes little, if any, logical sense to those who’ve never tasted. Easier to eat chocolate filled with marshmallow cream than to humble oneself and accept the Sacrifice – to take of His flesh and blood to wash away my sin and guilt.

Our church was packed on Easter for all the services. There were overflow rooms with video feeds to accommodate the latecomers – groggy from parties the night before – overwhelmed with cocoa hangovers. I hear the comments every year from the regulars that point out the masses that only show up on Christmas and Easter. And I think, “Hey, better then than never.” And you never know which particular Christmas or Easter their hearts will be especially open and ready to know the Truth – to feast on the bounty of Christ. We can hope, can’t we?

I was backstage (for lack of a better term) waiting to sing an old song that was on my third album. Songwriter Phil McHugh wrote “Love Found A Way” back in the early 80s. I heard it at a songwriter showcase that year at Gospel Music Week. It was a chance for writers to play unrecorded songs for a small audience of artists and record execs. When I heard the song, I leaned forward to a friend and cast my vote to cut it myself. I hadn’t thought of it until the week before Easter and decided it would be perfect. Different from other Easter Sundays where I had lots for which to be responsible, lots to do, this Easter, I simply sang one song in three services. I waited each time and simply thanked God that I had this opportunity to use what He has given me. There is peace in gratitude.

Speaking of Gospel Music Week, I was there last week for a couple of days. Mostly to present a Milestone Award to Sandi Patty for her thirty years in Gospel music. I arrived on Wednesday before the Dove Awards the next day. To say that GMA Week was different from years past would be an understatement.

In years past – and I’ve been going to GMA Week, off and on, for 29 years myself – the convention center would be buzzing, navigating the lobby at the Renaissance Hotel downtown Nashville would be a challenge, having a meaningful conversation uninterrupted – impossible, seeing lots and lots of old friends and coveys of new bands and new artists decked out in the coolest clothes with questionable hair would be very entertaining. Questionable hair?? Who am I to question anyone’s hair?? Have you seen some of those old albums? Don’t know what I was thinking.

This year, the lobby of the hotel was quiet, few radio stations sent teams to interview artists, few record companies put on lavish lunches and showcases of their lead horse artists. I don’t know if it’s the economy, or just what has nailed down the lid on this institution called GMA Week but there’s change in the air.

The business of music has radically changed. The way people listen, the way people buy has changed forever. There was a seminar held last week that was called “The Death of the CD.” Maybe these drastic changes are forcing everyone to re-evaluate how they do business – radio, sales, marketing – ministry.

But I’ll tell you, while we have to grow (change) or die, there are always those who will forge ahead, utilizing the tools before us in this new century, bent on telling the Story, focused on singing the Word. My feeling is that when we’re faithful to the call, God will take care of the details. We still have to pay attention to the work and to the details, but God looks at the heart and the motives and blesses and grants favor as He wishes. The Apostle said “Forgetting what lies behind, I press on . . .” So I press on.

The Dove Awards were fun. Saw lots of old friends and made some new ones. There were lots of smiles and some tears. Life has broadsided some families, taken children, brought trial and heartache. But people can be incredibly resilient and strong in the middle of it all. While it’s hard to sing and praise Him through trouble, He is faithful anyway.

In years past, when the award show ended, artists, fans, record company folks would scatter all around Nashville. Some would end up in restaurants rented for the night for private celebrations. Others wound up in decorated hotel ballrooms with catered feasts and live bands. One year at the Word festivities, there was even a dance floor which mildly shook and disturbed my Baptist sensibilities just a little. I’ve since recovered and reformed. My feet have been seen tapping every once in a while.

After the show ended this year, it seemed like everyone just went their own way. Some loaded on buses and took off for the next night’s concert destination. Others that call Nashville home, simply went home to sleeping children, happy to be in their own beds for another night.

All is well.

Well, maybe not. But it will be. God is in ultimate control. He seats kings and rulers. He breathes life into us, warms us with the sun, waters the earth as He sees fit. Supplies our need if not always our want. This fragile planet full of fragile mortals is in His hand.

I’m learning to love Him, not so much for what He has done, but for who He is.

Love to you all.

Wayne

The Worth of One.

I watched a film last night called “The Endurance.” I’d read the book by the same title several years back. For some reason, I was on a run of reading about ships of all kinds from whalers to expeditions to “The Perfect Storm.”

I’ve always been sort of a water person. For several years, I owned a fishing boat and enjoyed being on the water even if the fish weren’t biting. They (you know who “they” are) told me that the two best days of a boat owner’s life are the day you buy it and the day you sell it. The day I sold it was a good day but also a little sad. Ultimately, it spent most of it’s life, near the end, sitting in my garage – batteries drying up and dying, gaskets and rubber molding cracking, dust covering it’s beautiful red and black paint.

This thing was fast. It looked fast sitting still in the water. There was a two hundred horsepower outboard on the back that was happy going 70 miles per hour or idling at a crawl but not much in between. I tried to pull my kids on skis once not realizing that 45 mph made the motor groan as it didn’t get the boat up out of the water where it could run as it was made to run - and that was a little too fast for teenagers skiing. Man, when they fell, they skipped like rocks on glassy water. It was really hysterica….I mean, it was horrible to watch.

I can spend hours sitting near the ocean, the gulf or, like yesterday, Lake Livingston near Houston. I don’t consider it wasted time.

In 1914, Sir Earnest Shackleton set off on an expedition with the goal of crossing Antarctica. The crew of 27 men were lured into this dramatic and exciting prospect by an ad that read:

__________________

MEN WANTED
FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY
SMALL WAGES. BITTER COLD.
LONG MONTHS OF COMPLETE DARKNESS
CONSTANT DANGER
SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL
HONOUR AND RECOGNITION
IN CASE OF SUCCESS
______________

OK…Where do I sign, Ernie?

Early in their journey, the ship, The Endurance, was stranded in an inescapable ice pack. What followed was a battle for survival. As the ship was hopelessly wedged into the ice, the crew settled in for the 7 month wait for winter to pass.

At the coffee place the other day, you know the one, I was a little bothered when they told me it would take 3 or 4 minutes for them to brew some fresh decaf. THREE OR FOUR MINUTES!! OUTRAGEOUS!

Seven months? And that was without the complete assurance that all would be well after the thaw. I can’t go into the details of how these men coped with this dilemma but would recommend that you watch this movie. It’s inspiring. You might not book that vacation trip to Antarctica, but it is inspiring.

Ultimately, the crew and it’s leadership abandoned all hope of accomplishing their goal of crossing the continent. Now, the target was survival. Their leader, Sir Ernest, carefully monitored the morale of his men, instituted strict standards of rationing food and supplies and made decisions almost completely without emotion. His attitude was, “This is the hand we’re dealt.”

On one particular night, while the entire crew was camped on an ice pack, a crack developed and one man, sleeping bag and all, went into the frigid water. Knowing that within minutes he’d be dead, Shackleton pulled him out and saved his life. While the survivor was thankful and glad to be alive, his only regret was that his store of tobacco was now at the bottom of the sea.

When supplies were passed out, knowing that their only hope was to trek the ice back to civilization, lots were drawn for the limited number of fur sleeping bags. To the crews quiet amazement, Shackleton and the others in leadership all drew the wool sleeping bags, leaving the warmer fur bags for the crew.

Ernest Shackleton put himself at great risk to make sure every single one of his party got home. When, in the final weeks, Shackleton and a small portion of the party made their way in a 20 foot boat to try and find help, leaving 8 men on Elephant Island, the odds seemed insurmountable. When they finally procured a large enough ship and crew to return to the island to rescue the remaining men, they approached and saw that all 8 were still alive. They had been waiting for ten weeks to be rescued - not even knowing if their captain and comrades had survived the trip for help in one of the most dangerous oceans on the planet.

These were not necessarily important men. They were, to some degree, misfits and hardened sailors looking for adventure. Leaving home and family for, what turned out to be, almost two years, wouldn’t be an option for just anyone.

They did not know fame or glory or wealth. What did they contribute to the betterment of the world?

Yet, when all seemed lost, Shackleton risked everything to save them . . . all of them . . . every single one of them. After abandoning his dream to cross Antarctica, the thing that drove him, more than anything else, was his desire to return his men to their homes and families.

Such regard for life. Such value in every soul. Even those that seemed to be simply ordinary.

Easter is coming.

The inexplicable sacrifice of the Lamb of God, the Only Son, for, not only the gifted, the special, the noble and upright, but for the ordinary, the typical, the fallen, the hopeless.

God, finding value in every single one of us . . . in you. You were worth the search. You were worth dying for.

Not just a sacrifice of a mere mortal. The Blood of an Innocent shed for the forgiveness of sin.

Mine . . . yours.

“Thank you.”


Wayne

A friend invited me to join him and another at the Big 12 Basketball tournament this past weekend. At first, I thought, “Nah” but then reconsidered. I haven’t been out of town since the day in January when all the fun started at the hospital so I guess I was a little apprehensive about traveling. Close to home has been comfortable and familiar and safe.

It was a short flight to Oklahoma City on Thursday and I took a cab to the Ford Center where the men’s games were being played. Honestly, I’m not much of a March Madness kind of guy. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the level of passion in the fans of college basketball, and I guess if the round ballers from Louisiana Tech University were in the hunt for a berth at the NCAA Tournament, I might be a little more interested. But hey, it was a guys getaway weekend.

There was a game in progress when I arrived and we watched two more after that. I had asked Jim, before deciding to go, what it would be like. “Overeating” he replied. Not food – over indulging on college basketball.

I have to say I loved it. Out of all the games we watched, there was only one blowout and all the rest were really close. The most intense was between Oklahoma University and Oklahoma State. Of course, the place was packed with fans from both places and to say they were loud would be an understatement. It came down to the wire with the underdog OSU Cowboys going on to the next round.

The only personal tie I had to any school represented was to Baylor University. My youngest son Adam is an alum as is my wife. So the Bears were the pick. Again, I’ve not followed Baylor basketball at all, but in this setting, it was a lot of fun. By the way, Baylor won their way through the brackets to be in the finals only to be beaten by Missouri. No one, from what I hear, expected them to go that far. Baylor had to be on a real high after beating the mighty Texas Longhorns. I think everybody in the room, except for Longhorn fans, wanted Baylor to win. David and Goliath kind of thing, you know.

The one thing that makes college basketball so electric and draws so much interest from so many has to be the passion all around it. These young men play like they’re dying - like there’s no tomorrow. As much as I appreciate the skill it takes to play in the pro ranks of any sport, I’ve grown a little weary of the going-through-the-paces-now-pay-me attitude of many professional athletes. For a lot of these college players – most of whom won’t go on to play pro – these will be some of their finest moments. Few of them will work or play in venues where eighteen thousand people cheer their every move.

Another thing I couldn’t help but notice was that the fans were, for the most part, very civil toward one another. Alcohol sales were suspended during the entire event so maybe that helped everyone keep their heads. Mostly, there was good natured ribbing and posturing for school pride. Sitting beside me at one game was a husband and wife – one a grad from OU and the other a OSU alum. When OSU beat the favored OU team, the husband asked his wife how she was gonna get home. Hee Hee.



Every school had it’s pep band there to make a little noise and inspire their team with music. I know you can’t see it in this picture, but in the bottom corner of the band stand, there are three girls playing piccolo. In a room of thousands of cheering fans, a section of trumpets, trombones, a few tubas, and a drum set, these three played their piccolos as if they were center stage. Says something about teamwork to me. No, the contribution you make might not seem to make much of a difference. No, you might not even be able to hear it but take enough elements out of the whole that you can’t audibly distinguish and something is just missing. Everybody has a part to play.

And now let’s take the offering.

On Friday, Roy and I went to the Cowboy Museum and Hall of Fame. Roy’s dad was a real, working cowboy as were some other members of his family. He really wanted to see the museum so I went along. Like the tournament, I didn’t know how much I’d be interested in a cowboy museum.

Fascinating.

I think most of us blow things off that we’re not “into” and miss a lot as a result. Being too cool for school make you feel hip and edgy? We’re all real impressed.
Get over yourself. I’m talking to you!

OK I’m talking to me, too.

Here are some pics from the museum. What’s Honest Abe doing here? Fact is, he opened the door for the development of the Western United States with some of his presidential power.

The statue, “The End of the Trail” is the original that has been reproduced so many times in much smaller scale. It stands in the entrance of the museum.


The Duke. Enough said.

There were displays of all kinds that made me feel like (and almost wish I were) a kid again. You know, when someone would ask you, “Son, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Back in the day when the first answer that popped into your head was cowboy or fireman or astronaut.

Some of the sweetest memories I have of my father were of Sunday nights at home after church. My mom and brother stayed and had choir practice before I was old enough to join, so Dad and I went home and made BBQ beef sandwiches from the lunch leftovers. Dad had a homemade sauce recipe that just killed. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Once, he and I talked about bottling it. Taking into account the ingredients, we figured it would cost about $9 a bottle – and this was in 1963!

Anyway, we’d make up a batch of chopped BBQ and sit down to watch Bonanza on TV – just me and Dad. Still a great memory of a day when I dreamed, even if for a short time, of being a cowboy. They made it look so cool. I’m sure it had it’s down side and probably wasn’t as neat and tidy as the Ponderosa looked to be. Dreams of being a cowboy quickly faded into dreams of baseball stardom then on to something else.

When do dreams stop? Is there a predetermined age when you’re not allowed to dream anymore? Of course not. Dream on. Time’s flying.

Wayne

OK… I’m coming clean.

There is a Seinfeld episode where Jerry and friends find themselves in a police station somewhere in the city. Kramer has a friend who’s a sketch artist and before George will go on a blind date (being arranged by Kramer) he wants to see some likeness of the woman of the hour (but with these characters, it’s really more like the woman of the half hour). Jerry, usually uninterested in anything that’s not about him, finds his mind and his eyes wandering until he spots an attractive blonde in uniform. They make small talk and the subject goes to the polygraph machine. The female sergeant makes a comment about the famous people they’ve had on the machine – “A certain member of the cast of Melrose Place. Do you watch the show?” “No – never watch it” says Jerry. For some reason, she wants to put him on the polygraph. “I think you’re lying – I think you watch it” she says.

I watch American Idol.

Not all the time but I do watch it. I know, I know, I’d come off much more hip and mysterious if I said I’d never seen it but it’s fascinating because it’s one of the most popular shows on television. That alone should make me suspicious but something like twenty-five to thirty million people watch every episode. Mind boggling – or as one of the judges said last night, “I’m mind-boggled.”

But I have to tell you it’s becoming more and more difficult to watch. The commercials alone would be enough to make me never turn the thing on if it weren’t for DVR. We usually start watching about fifteen minutes after the show starts, but more and more often, we catch up to real time in no time. Then it’s just painful.

The assortment of talent this season is above average and I’m intrigued at the song choices they make, the keys they choose to sing in, the dance steps (wow, a lot of them have to be Baptist, ‘cause the dancing is, well, it ain’t pretty and I should know!), the things they say during the interviews, etc.

These kids have to be shell-shocked to be living in relative obscurity (a couple of them are sixteen . . . and they’re some of the better singers on the show) then suddenly pushed onto a stage in front of hundreds in the live audience and millions watching on TV.

The promise of fame and fortune is a strong magnet.

I saw a piece on Van Morrison on CBS Sunday Morning this past week. Yes, I recorded it and watched it later. Yes, I was at church while it played live. OK? Anyhoo, Van Morrison is 63 years old, has sold seventy million albums, has done, almost, an album a year over his 40 year career. He’s reluctant to do interviews but is promoting a new album that was cut live at Madison Square Garden. Actually, it is a re-recording of one of his earliest works. When asked if there was anything good about fame, he replied, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Come on Van. I like the whole semi-reclusive bit and I appreciate the shadowy artistic struggle persona and all but your fame has been pretty good to you and frankly, at 63 you can still bring it! You might want to say “Thank You” to Somebody! Maybe he does. I hate it when I jump to conclusions about people I don’t even know. He does reflect a spiritual side in some of his music so let’s hope the best, believe the best and pray that Van knows from where his gift and his blessings flow.

So do you think that any of the Idol contestants don’t want their shot? Of course they want their shot just like you do and just like I do. They’re young and have their whole lives before them. There are behind the scenes stories about these good looking kids – some are single parents (already?), others starving artists trying to make a statement. There’s one guy named Danny that obviously has a church music background (hey, he might even know the words to Watercolor Ponies or something). Last night, one of the judges commented on Danny’s joy. Hmm. Ya think?

When the contestants pick the wrong song, as happens so often, things don’t go well. I think more often, they pick the wrong key. I know when I’m sitting alone with the guitar or piano, writing something new or getting ready to lead worship, the key that feels comfortable in private is just too low for the platform. Adrenaline kicks in and most of us need to pitch things a little higher to communicate the passion and put the edge on the voice. This happens all the time on Idol. Just a thought.

And some of the songs don’t need to be touched by these relative newbies. If nothing else, it should make them and all of us appreciate the musicality, if not the lifestyle, of the original performer. Last night, they sang songs of Michael Jackson. Some great pop songs but otherwise, “No comment.”

Be wise and careful, I would say. And raise the key one step!

******

“OK mister, is there anything remotely spiritual about any of this?”

Oh, I think there’re spiritual elements to most everything. I can’t help but pull for the underdog but appreciate the greater talent. That’s a primal spiritual struggle right there. I can’t help but be a little sad that our culture praises and elevates someone yet unproven with little more to offer than cool clothes, a good voice and a firm resolve to face down Simon Cowell. But maybe they’re deeper and made of bigger stuff and just need the chance to show it. Things so unimportant and insignificant are made to seem so important and so significant. I suppose this contest is significant to those in the running because it could change their lives, the lives of their families. I just pray it will be a change for the better, for the more honorable, the more noble.

And I pray that I’ll live this day pleasing to God wherever I go and whatever I do. You too?

By the way, the picture at the top is of a house in our neighborhood. Unbelievable. Clark Griswald eat your heart out. I took it a Christmas and, well, with all that's happened since, I just forgot to share it with you. How'd ya like to be this guy's neighbor??