Here, Spot

I can tell you what I wore on Easter Sunday in 1972. It’s not that my memory is so good; it’s that the photo I have is so bad. Although I’ve blocked it out in my mind, apparently white suits were in vogue that year. I’ve got a white coat, white pants…uh…white shoes and a white belt. And what would go well with that? A hot pink shirt and a pink and white tie. If my ears had been a bit larger, I could have gotten a job at the mall as the Easter Bunny, no costume necessary.
I’m smiling in the photo. I guess I thought I looked pretty snappy. But here’s the thing: a white suit on me is just asking for trouble. I have a real problem staying spotless. That’s probably why no one has ever mistaken me for Barry Gibb. Or the Saturday-Night-Fever-era John Travolta. Or Gandhi. Ten minutes after donning a sparkling white outfit, I will lean against a muddy car or spill soda or sit in gum. And it only takes one spot to make me look foolish in white. Good thing I wasn’t a bride.
On Easter, we always wore our best clothes to church. Ladies would wear hats. Little girls would have flowery dresses and white gloves. And I wore a white suit on the only day when I could perhaps make it work.
Because on Easter, everything is beautiful. After all, what could be dirtier than a grave? What could be grimier than a stone tomb? Yet out of a grave burst a clean white Light, bright enough to make all the spots and stains disappear. Jesus…now HE could handle a white robe. Nobody’s ever mistaken me for Him, either…but I’m workin’ on it. Not by wearing a white suit anymore. But just by standing in the light.
He is risen. And I am spotless.

Alien

I’m not from your world. I’m from a place where there were no blue M&Ms…but we had tan ones. I’m from a time when a Mr. Potato Head toy required a real potato. In my world, a “King Size Coke” was a whopping 12 ounces…and that was the biggest bottle you could buy. A man would come to our house before daylight and leave fresh milk on the porch. There were three channels on television, and you had to actually get off the couch to change from one channel to another. The movie theater only had one screen…but the movie changed every two or three days. And once the movie had played your town, you would never have another chance to see it again. In the place I come from, you could write a check that didn’t even have your name pre-printed on it.
It wasn’t all good in that world. Children would run outside and dash through the white cloud of DDT when the truck came around spraying for mosquitoes. There were bomb shelters in backyards. There was lead paint and asbestos and polio and measles and iron lungs and people smoked everywhere. I am from another world.
Don’t get me wrong, though; I’m no anti-technology Luddite. I like having my remote control and my computer with wireless internet and my dvd collection. I’m just saying that things have changed, that’s all.
And that’s what we call “progress.” Hardly anything is the same as it was when I was a kid…or when my great-grandfather was a kid. I can only think of one thing that hasn’t changed: the love and grace and forgiveness of God. There’s been no progress in that field for, oh, two thousand years or so. None has been needed.
It’s good to know that Somebody got it right the first time.

Finding the groove…

I learned to play guitar by sitting on my bed with a Mel Bay chord book and a book of Hank Williams songs. A couple of years later, I taught myself how to play the piano so I could accompany myself when I sang. I practiced many hours on each instrument—not out of a sense of duty, but because I loved making music. It was a hobby, an artistic outlet…and a solitary endeavor. For 25 years or so, I was a one-man band. When four-track recorders became affordable, I began to make my own recordings, overdubbing myself playing bass, guitar, keyboards, strings.
When I came to Riverbend, Carlton Dillard eventually asked me to play synthesizer on Sundays and I discovered something: I didn’t know how to play in a band. All the years of playing alone had made me too self-sufficient. I wasn’t good at staying on the beat when someone else was playing. I tended to play too much, instead of finding my space within the sound of a whole band. I had to learn to listen better, to lay back when needed, to try to find spaces that needed filling. But I also experienced a new joy that could only be found in a group setting.
We stress community a lot here at Riverbend. It never occurred to me until this week that our church is saying, “Join the band. You’ve been playing alone for a long time. Come see what it’s like to be part of something bigger.” The skills and experiences you’ve had…they are invaluable. But the main value comes in giving them away, in sharing them with a larger group. Just like in music, there will be times when you’ll need to lay back, to sit out a few bars and let the band carry you. And there will be times when you will soar to places you never dreamed of, inspired and fueled by the group behind you. Come on, sit in with us. We will make beautiful music together.