A Funeral Message…

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The details of her life will come later, later in this service, later in the days and months ahead when you pause and think of her. It’ll be something you hear. Something you see. A quiet wind when you stand alone that brings back a memory.  Any, all, or more of will bring Ruth and the stories her life created back to you. Cherish them, even if they are sometimes sad. They are the echoes of a life, the sweet pain of a love whose object, for now, has been taken away. In this way she lives with everyone who remembers.

But even for the most famous among us that’s temporary. Some people have been adored by millions while they lived but still managed to, for the most part, fade away as time moved on after their passing. In time, sadly, most of us will be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, the stories of our life passing away as those who remember also pass. People always seem to want whatever is new and death quickly becomes old news.

In my Eastern Orthodox Christian tradition we observe the passing of the ones we love with “May their memory be eternal.” Yet how can this be? Even with the greatest exertions of human memory we all will fade from history as our bodies fade into the earth from which we were created.

Some people, rich people, powerful people, notorious people seek to solve this by building great monuments to themselves. The world is filled with objects where great amounts of time, labor, and riches were expended simply to tell history “I was here, I was here”.  Mostly such things end up being as silent as their builders, a thing standing alone while the rest of the world goes by.

No, when the people in my parish say “May their memory be eternal” they are talking about the only One with the capability of perpetual reminiscence, God. We wish that those who are departed from us will always be alive and present with God so that even if our frail minds lose track of whom they are, what they are, still everything holy, good, and right about them, and they themselves, will be secure with God.

You see God cares very little about buildings bearing our names, works of art with our signature, how people addressed us, how bright our star was shining when we lived. All of that is temporary, a gift at best, often a hindrance in our pursuit of what really matters, and always eclipsed by the light, the brightness, the glory of eternity and eternity’s God.

Rather its faith, kindness, love, humility, generosity, caring, purity, the things that are the best of our humanity and the closest we humans can draw in likeness to God that endure. An act of true charity matters more than a whole wing of a university with our name on it. A cup of cold water, Jesus tells us, given to a thirsty soul in his name lives on in heaven. A heart that stores its treasure above is a heart that has wisely deposited it’s riches safely and forever.

Life is short, even if you live to a hundred it’s just a blip in eons of existence. We’re reminded about that now as we come to remember and celebrate Ruth. Mother, grandmother, wife, friend, possessed of such a sweet smile and a haven for animals without a home. These are all sweet things, things worth remembering, worth emulating. They are, like all the higher and better things, a memory, a reality that exists well beyond these short lives of ours because they, and the people who have given themselves to them, are in the hands of the Almighty. 

What really matters? Jesus tells us it’s not the whims, the urges, the emotions of a moment, the gifts, the goodies, the titles, or where our office ends up. All of that and more, and each of us, can and will be replaced. As the old cross stitch on the wall says “Only one life will soon be passed. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

Remember that as you gather here. Remember things eternal. Live as if this is your last day because one day you’ll be right. If your dear Ruth has given you any good advice, pointed you in any good direction, called to mind those things that matter and last, demonstrated her faith, or lived any good example, celebrate her life by following.

Someday, our Christian tradition tells us, all these things, the meaningless things, the things that make us sad, everything that batters us as we make our way through, even death itself, will be overcome through Jesus Christ. This death, this moment, what we are going through is calls not just the stories of a life lived and the sadness of a passing to us, but also that hope. Direct your lives towards that day and all will be well even as all is well for the lady from Indiana whose memory is now eternal in the presence of God.

 

A Little Music Humor…

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Hymn from My Childhood…

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Jesus! I am resting, resting
In the joy of what Thou art;
I am finding out the greatness
Of Thy loving heart.

Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee,
And Thy beauty fills my soul,
For, by Thy transforming power,
Thou hast made me whole.

Oh, how great Thy loving kindness,
Vaster, broader than the sea:
Oh, how marvelous Thy goodness,
Lavished all on me!

Yes, I rest in Thee, Beloved,
Know what wealth of grace is Thine,
Know Thy certainty of promise,
And have made it mine.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,
I behold Thee as Thou art,
And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,
Satisfies my heart,

Satisfies its deepest longings,
Meets, supplies its every need,
Compasseth me round with blessings,
Thine is love indeed.

Ever lift Thy face upon me,
As I work and wait for Thee;
Resting ‘neath Thy smile, Lord Jesus,
Earth’s dark shadows flee.

Brightness of my Father’s glory,
Sunshine of my Father’s face,
Keep me ever trusting, resting,
Fill me with Thy grace.

source: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/

Playing Music…

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in front of people is easy. There’s energy. There’s the emotion of the moment. There’s light and sound and people who will be watching you for only a small period of time. After all the set ups and the sound checks its almost a relief to start playing.

Playing in a studio is brutal. The songs are parts and not wholes so there’s nobody to cover your mistakes. There’s no audience for energy, just people looking at you and your music, exposed, naked, with everything on tape so there’s nowhere to hide. On stage its a few hours, tops, and you’re done. In the studio it can be days. Every bad moment from the week finds its way inside. All of it is about hurry up and wait. What’s merely annoying in lighter moments becomes odious in the confines of a studio. Then, when everything is done you need to do it all over again. Because you can. Be cause you’re driven by perfection or afraid of humiliation.

I was in the studio today from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.. Enough said.

Please Understand…

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that a hundred years from now you will be a skull, a plaything for archaeologists along with whatever else may be left. No one will remember you and even if somehow you became extraordinarily famous in life virtually no one will think about you. Your home, if it still exists, will belong to someone else. So will all your money. At best someone may have a picture. Your job? Forget about it. Your soul will remain but basically nothing else.

Now that you know this you can either fall into despair or be more free than you’ve ever been in your life.

Perhaps true…

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There’s a lot of stir…

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about potential new laws regarding the use of copyrighted, musical, and intellectual property on-line. I don’t know all the details but I do know this.

Music is work. The songs that people like to hear don’t show up by magic, they’re the products of weeks and month of work, of practice, and polishing a product to perfection. People only see or hear the finished product when it comes to music and they have no idea how long it takes and the effort involved to make it all happen. They also don’t know that a musician or group supports not just themselves but a whole group of people who depend on this product for their livelihood as well. From the owners of small coffee shops to the truck drivers on tour to the folks who sell concessions, all of them make a living off from the band.

So when you record music you didn’t pay for you’re really stealing, not just from a performer you think is rich (and by the way the vast majority of them make less than you do) but everyone else who counts on the income from the music to make a living. After all only about a dollar or less of every CD sold goes to the performer(s), the rest feeds a whole lot of mouths along the way.

So perhaps you can see why musicians, anyway, are trying to find a way to protect their own creations, a way to make somewhat of a living in a world where they work hard and people take what they make for a nickel on the dollar while the Googles of the world make billions.

If you don’t like the government snooping around the internet for illegal use and sale of copyrighted material and artistic creations there is one way to stop this and it’s just being honest. Pay for what you record online. Use only reputable download sites that at least try to assure that artists get something in return for their work. And no matter how much your friends ask just say no when they want your music, which took the artists and performers time and effort, for free.

If you don’t, don’t be surprised if the producers of art try to find a way to get the government to protect them from those who steal their work or barring that for them to just say “Forget it” and leave the world to its silence.

After the show…

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they call your name. Once, twice, three times and you’re done. Somebody else takes your place.

Outside the wind is cold. The band moves out into the night. The audience heads in from the cold after a last cigarette. It’s not much. A cot and a few feet of space. No privacy really. If someone snores everyone knows. The chapel where the show had been turns into a large bedroom faster than the band can get its gear into the parking lot.

But its warm and tonight the wind is cold. They say its going to get below zero and they call your name, once, twice, three times. If you don’t respond you lose your place. There’s always another person without a place to go, another body in need of a bed. Jesus said that the poor would always be with us and this mission never closes, never has to post a “vacancy” sign, never runs short of lost men needing to be found.

In the end there were five left and three spaces. The names were placed in a bucket and two were left out in the cold. There was nothing that could be done. There are thousands of fancy hotel beds but only a few places for the men with long hair who live in the alleys during the day and sleep in missions during the night.

Right now I’m home. The show is over. My gear is all safely inside. I’ll be in bed shortly. Somewhere out there are two men and probably more, the ones whose names weren’t picked, trying to find a place to keep alive as the wind rolls in from the northwest and the temperature sinks.

Lord have mercy.

 

Lublin…

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There is an Orthodox Church in Lublin, Wisconsin, population a lot less than five hundred, and its been there for over a century. A small building, but well maintained, with a cemetery next to it (how can I get a spot?) and a parsonage with a church hall in the basement. You can see it in this blog’s header.

And its beautiful, not just for the way its been kept up over the years but also because of the kind of people who will to keep such a parish going in an out-of-the-way place. Inside and out there is a serene beauty, simple not fancy yet real to the perceptive.

People think, sometimes, that the best Orthodox churches are the ones with magnificent buildings, six figure plus budgets, and every possible group or service to be desired. Perhaps. Yet I think there’s something wonderful about a small group of people who, given opportunities to close the doors or move on to so-called bigger and better things, believe enough in their faith and their place to stay.

Year after year they dust and clean and mow the lawn and give what they can to have a traveling Priest visit every so often. There’s really no one to pass the responsibilities off on. The choir director, unpaid, finally retired at 85, and some of the men come early on Sunday morning to open up the church and get the heat going. When God calls you home you don’t have to travel far, just across the driveway to the grassy field with the three bar crosses.

I’ve preached before hundreds, really, but Holy Assumption Church in Lublin, Wisconsin, at the edge of the forest and miles from the main road has stuck with me somehow. There is something there or perhaps something that it evoked in me that was deep and special and holy.

I may never get back there again. They may not last much longer but I hope they do. There would be a distinct hole in the world where they used to be. We need little churches with their faith, their love, their constancy over time and the will to be a parish even if worldly “success” passes them by. We need little churches out in the country to stand sentinel over their towns. We need to keep a humble simplicity in our collective lives, a simplicity more beautiful than any gold fixture. There’s a world of lessons in places like Holy Assumption for all of us and if such places pass away we’ll be the less.

There’s more to write, but now this is enough. Until then my mind is still looking east, past the altar, through the stained glass, and somewhere beyond the woods in Lublin.