I awoke this morning thinking about the cool vibe we had onstage for the worship set in church yesterday. I was playing electric and–alongside the normal drums, bass and keys–we added a banjo and a mandolin to compliment the worship leader’s acoustic guitar.

It’s great to work with twenty-somethings because I (a fifty-something) get to crawl into the heads of young musicians to lean how they view the musical world. The cool thing is, there is a back-to-tradition musical trend these days that is very refreshing. The inspiration for the instrumentation yesterday were the Avett Brothers. The musical twist on the normal worship song set was very inspiring for us musicians, and hopefully for the congregation.

With the digital world we are living in, there are advantages and disadvantages. One disadvantage is it’s easy to duplicate real musical instruments through digital sampling ( a great tool in the right hands). The results of creating a digital facsimile of an analog instrument helps various, somewhat unattainable, musical flavors to be instantly available to the the song creator. He or she can roll through a virtual smorgasbord of sounds to access a bagpipe or a penny whistle for a Celtic-styled song, for instance, all triggered through a midi keyboard. Another disadvantage: just anyone can set-up a recording studio these days in one’s bedroom with a computer. The digital opportunities we are blessed with, though, are no substitute for real musicians playing real instruments, and skilled music-makers creating recordings with old-school discipline.

The actual Hammond organ with a Leslie 145 rotating speaker, mic’d in stereo, really created a warm bed for the acoustic instruments to lay in yesterday. The drummer was keen to play with brushes and blasticks to create a rolling rhythm without dominating and overpowering the dynamics. I played my Les Paul with a bit of tremolo and little distortion to add to the low-key vibe. The musical instincts of each musician helped the arrangements to ebb and flow. The knowledge of when to play and when not to play was evident amongst everyone Sunday. The total effect of sensitive, skilled players and singers was, far and away, superior to what any novice may attempt to duplicate with scads of virtual sounds and unlimited tracks at their disposal.

Great music is created by great musicians and singers–and it’s usually advantageous to have those musicians playing together, looking at each other in the same space. For that, there is no substitute. I look forward to many more of these experiences in the future.    

Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, Titanic survivor

Isn’t it interesting that years afterward, our memory still keeps account of things we could have done but failed to do? Like a gnawing toothache, we have a difficult time pushing the pain down and away from our consciousness. Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon went to his death a man pained and haunted by what he could have done.

Sir Cosmo did everything to order, if you look at his well-healed upbringing and social status throughout his life. He married well, joined the right clubs, even won a silver medal in fencing for Great Britain at the 1906 Summer Olympics. His family was well known for producing fine wines. Generally, he was the kind of person any British boy would want to become. But it was during a voyage of the RMS Titanic that added a bit of tarnish to his otherwise glowing reputation.

It seems that on the fateful night of April 14, 1912, his fortune as a first-class passenger became a ticket that whisked him away from the doom which most of the poor steerage passengers met. Cosmo and his wife boarded a lifeboat early in the sinking, taking their personal servants with them. Their lifeboat departed the ship with just twelve or so people aboard, although it could have held thirty or so more. It has been rumored that Cosmo offered bribes for safe passage on the lifeboat.

After watching the ship dive beneath the water, amidst the screams
of the 1,500 people calling for help that they were ignoring, the tactless Lucy, Cosmo’s wife, commented to her secretary, “Where is your beautiful nightdress gone.” Two sailors aboard the boat were heard to say in response, “It’s all right for you, you can get more clothes, but we have lost everything.” Cosmos reportedly gave them money on the spot for their trouble–which would later cause him a life of grief as rumors of a bribe proliferated through the grapevines of their London social circles.

Surviving the incident, Cosmo and Lucy’s marriage would eventually disintegrate, leaving them childless. Cosmo would die of natural causes in 1931, and before her death in 1935, Lucy’s business went bankrupt. It is said that Cosmo held regret to his dying day for the decision made that horrible night.

Rumors are vicious and regret can be amplified when constantly reminded of one’s failure. The pain of failure can stop us in our tracks if we let it. Cosmo may have become a punching bag for family members of those who perished in the Titanic tragedy. It’s easy to blame the Gordons, but what would you or I do in the same circumstance? The best thing we can hope for in the face of challenge is to follow our conscience and to put others first.

This week we remember the crew and passengers of the Titanic during the 100th anniversary of it’s sinking. God bless the memory of those who lost their lives in the frigid waters, and may we learn the lessons taught from that tragic incident so long ago.

The title to this blog isn’t original to me. Its a heart-cry of emotion from a pastor’s wife who, at the point of utter disappointment with all things “church,” decided to leave their place of employment and community.

The story of battle-wounded staff members isn’t unusual, especially in this day of “super church” and high-octane ministry activity. Its one thing for a staff member to leave his/her position, but what about the spouse, the children?

When our family left Mobile in 1997 for North Carolina, we started looking for a new church right away. We hoped to find a small church with a steeple offering a kind-hearted pastor, a small but warm Sunday School class, and a great place to bring the kids for activities during the week. We were disappointed to find that, in spite of the steeples and quaintness, it was impossible to find a suitable church. We ended up partnering with a pastor whom we met within weeks of our arrival. Together we started a new church plant that, thankfully, is still thriving today.

Its so easy to look at small churches and write them off as incapable of meeting the needs of a modern family. We can be so dazzled with bigness that we instantly pass judgement on smaller congregations.

The search for a new church may be in your own backyard, as was our experience this past summer. After leaving a staff position of almost eight years, we were looking to simplify.  Settling back into a routine after a summer of travel and moving my dad to live with us here in Tennessee, we took a chance and visited a small church around the corner. It ended up being the place we kept coming back to; I am now serving there on staff!

This morning Brenda sent me a link to a blog which contained the emotional heart-cry I mentioned earlier. The post is fairly lengthy but a clear window into the heart of a staff person’s spouse and their disappointment with church. Thank God she found a place–a small church–in which her family can find healing and community once again.

You can find her post by clicking here. I pray your Easter was filled with reflection, redemption and joy!

As a resident of Spring Hill, Tennessee, our home is located near a Civil War battlefield. History runs deep here, like roots of an oak tree that anchor into the soil. My great-grandmother was born in Franklin, the county seat of which Spring Hill is a part. Both the Battle of Spring Hill and the Battle of Franklin are stopping points on the trail for Civil War history buffs. As many Americans claim, I had family on both sides of the war. Its an eerie feeling to drive by our local battlefield in Spring Hill and think that hundreds and hundreds of men were strewn out across those grassy knolls, broken, bleeding, suffering and saying their final prayers before meeting their Maker.

Today is a very important day in Civil War history. Exactly 150 years ago on April 6-7, 1862– a couple of hours west of Nashville, on the way to Memphis in Hardin County–Union forces numbering 65,085 and Confederate troops of 44,968 met at at Pittsburg Landing for what is known as the Battle of Shiloh.  The two day engagement produced more than 23,000 casualties and was the bloodiest battle in American history at its time.  Confederate commanders Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston and Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard pounded the Army of the North, but in the end they were no match for  Union commander Maj. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant and his stubborn forces.

Its amazing to think that so many were slaughtered there over two days of fighting. There is a small body of water on the battlefield known as Bloody Pond. Many of the wounded and dying crawled to the edge of the pond for one last gulp of cool water, eventually turning it blood-red. Within the nearly 4,000 acre Shiloh National Military Park is the infamous Hornet’s Nest (so nicknamed for musket balls and shrapnel that filled the air), and the place where mortally-wounded Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston breathed his last.

The carnage at Shiloh most certainly shocked the nation at the time. Ironically, the battle was named for a tiny wooden church on the killing fields called Shiloh Meeting House–which means “House of Peace.”

Two re-enactments are planned in conjunction with the 150th anniversary remembrance, but, out of respect, not on National Park Service grounds. They will involve more than 6,000 participants and more than 100 cannons.

After cutting the front lawn yesterday, I grabbed two fists full of lunch and headed to the backyard patio to devour it. Spring has arrived earlier than usual and my grass-cutting duties always require a cooling off period for me. As I sat with my glass of diet soda, I noticed a tray propped perfectly square and level atop the garden wheelbarrow. Brenda had just cleaned a fresh batch of wool. Sometimes she adds color to the fleece, but this time she left it pure white.

Freshly sheared wool from a sheep has collected everything from the barnyard that will stick to the curly coat. Lanolin, a greasy substance that is naturally generated by the sheep, works its way through the wool, creating a yellowish color that pervades every inch of the animal (helping water to shed easily off it’s back). This concoction of wool and wax is very messy and it smells like a petting zoo. The greatest way to cleanse the fleece, according to wool experts, is to use the dish detergent “Dawn.” It has the properties to dig down into the fibers and release the stubborn wax.  After boiling the dirt and vegetable matter from the fleece of a sheared sheep, it must be laid out to dry in the sun before it can be carded and spun into yarn. Brenda does it all just like in the old days!

I got to thinking about the passage in the Bible from Psalm 51:7 where it says: “Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” Hyssop was used in Biblical times for cleaning. It also had medicinal properties with small blue flowers and aromatic leaves used in perfumery. The process of cleansing our soul is much like a fleece: before we can be knitted or woven into a brand-new item that God can use, we must be scoured, eliminating the dirt and foul odor of sin.

As that beautifully white fleece lay in the noon sun, I am reminded that God cleanses our hearts of sin. Even though the act of cleansing happened when I received Him as my Lord so many years ago, His cleansing work is still active in me. 

Easter is this Sunday, when as the Church we will once again celebrate our risen Savior. Holy Week truly started for me yesterday, as I looked over at that fleece drying on my backyard patio.