Category: Uncategorized (Page 13 of 23)

Recently I was in a conversation with a friend about living in the present. He said, “Remember, the windshield is larger than the rearview mirror.” While it may be helpful, from time to time, to glance into the past, but dwelling in the past can be harmful. Past mistakes cannot be corrected; we can learn from the past, but cannot repeat it. Nor was the past “the good old days.” Good was there, and is important for building onto. But dwelling in the past detracts from the present.

Cars did not have a windshield as standard equipment until 1904. Even then, for about ten more years windshields were optional. The name “Windshield” seems to describe its function, but that is only part of it. Its critical use is to assure that the driver can see the road ahead clearly enough to drive safely. As cars were able to go faster than ten MPH, wind, dust, bugs, debris, etc. obstructed the driver’s view. So, although wind caused by a speeding car is a huge issue, the driver’s ability to see the road and obstacles ahead comes first.

Which brings me to the point at hand; the windshield is larger than the rearview mirror—for a reason. It provides that wide, unobstructed view of the road ahead. The rearview mirror is for seeing the road behind; although it is not entirely essential; it is important—even though, to an extent, in an emergency one could drive a vehicle with a limited rear view. One certainly could not accomplish any journey safely by only looking in the rearview mirror.

I find it less less helpful looking back on the past than looking circumspect at the present, which could also help prepare for the future. When I taught Driver Safety for AARP, part of the curriculum included emphasis on “situation awareness;” know what is going on around you with a sense of readiness for what is, or could be happening. Although it did entail glancing into the rearview mirror, the focus was on the present situation.

Jesus counseled both. Do not dwell on the past. He said, dwelling on the past renders one unworthy of the Kingdom of God. Such distraction wastes valuable time and energy. Jesus focused on the Present. In reality, the past is gone and cannot be re-lived. Without any hint of contradiction, Jesus also urged his followers to look at the present and assess the future. “Count the cost” he said, not to discourage a worthy venture, but to gain a realistic assessment of the venture or enterprise facing you.

The Apostle Paul was adamant about not clinging to the past, but pressing on; much lay ahead of him; in a word, the best is yet to come. This driving force not only beckoned him, but also powered him in mission. Brother Lawrence, that monastery cook from the 17th century learned to live joyfully in the present. He was often consulted for guidance. He wrote, “Let us thus think often that our only business in this life is to please GOD, that perhaps all besides is but folly and vanity.”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

While writing this week’s adventure, my weekly installment of “Pearson Farm Peach Box” arrived, wafting the smell of peaches warm in the sun. Last year I began subscribing to receive the box-a-week throughout peach season. For me, it is part nostalgia, and part love of wonderful Georgia peaches.

At the beginning of this peach season a friend and I visited Al Pearson in Fort Valley, GA. When Al was ten years old I was a student pastor at his church, Hebron Methodist. Al is now an immensely successful peach grower-shipper—albeit simi-retired. He is a fountain of knowledge of not only Pearson Peach Farm, but also the heritage from which he benefits. Al delightfully regaled us with family, community, and peach farming tales. He even admitted to having been a little squirmy in church services back then. Al’s stories reminded me of the story of Joshua, telling his people how important memory of important passages of life is.

My primary interest—well, maybe some of which was homemade peach ice cream and seeing Al’s microchip controlled peach packing operation—was especially the old Hebron Methodist Church adjacent to the Pearson Farm. The church closed long ago, as members died, moved away, and times changed. Al and the Pearson family obtained the building in tact, and over the years its use varied. The family felt deep attachment to that church; so they “washed its face, combed its hair,” you might say and put it to community use. It has hosted piano recitals, concerts, weddings, receptions, corporation meetings, and training events.

If you live in Georgia, your vehicle license plate bears the moniker, “Peach State.” However as a peach producing state, Georgia does not hold the top spot—only third place; but hold on, there is a legitimate reason Georgia remains the “Peach State.” South Carolina, our beloved next door neighbor, and arch rival in football, hails as number two, behind California. The departments of agriculture in both Georgia and South Carolina are in agreement that Georgia rightfully retains the “Peach State” title.

Here’s why: The title stems (Pardon the pun!) not from who grows the most peaches—California retains that title (well, it does unless the horrific drought going on in the entire state parches their peach crops). But I digress. Georgia owns the title because of its role in uniquely turning out new varieties of peaches through hybridization. For decades people driving through Georgia found highway signs dotted the highways —from the ridiculous to the sublime—hawking delicious tree-ripened peaches; even kids with their little peach stands and hand painted signs stood along roadside among peach packing houses,

Having grown up on a farm, I recall that when God created a garden; God told humanity to farm it. Common vernacular holds that Eve violated God’s command, took an apple, ate from it and gave it to Adam—causing the downfall of us all. Not so. Eve did not bite or offer an apple to Adam—nor any fruit. God did not forbid them to avoid certain fruit; God commanded only—do not eat from that “Tree.” I take from this passage that all good things were created by God for our tending use, and enjoyment. Apparently even the “forbidden tree” was not evil. God only forbade us to violating God’s command.

Peaches, of course are not mentioned in the Bible. It is clear, however, that all humankind is charged with responsible stewardship of the land and the fruits of the land. Taking the long way around to say, that Georgia remaining the “Peach State” verifies responsible farming and multiplying not only the varieties of peaches, but also the expansive efforts to feed the world.

In a later Fridayswithwillis, I will tell about how miracles have emerged from ABAC (Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College), a few miles further South on I-75/U.S. 441; grasses were developed there to grow in arid climates in the world—-helping farming to be fruitful. By the time you read this, peaches from my Pearson Farm Peach Box will be ripe enough for me to enjoy that luscious fruit! (Upon arrival at my door, it usually takes a couple of days for full ripening)—this variety ships—peaches in tact—a result of what God called humanity to do, “…farm this land.” ©Copyright 2022

There is a story about a city dweller and a backpacker walking along a busy city street. The backpacker stopped and said, “Did you hear that?” The city dweller said, “No. What?” “A cricket,” said the backpacker. “How did you hear a cricket amid all this traffic noise?” asked the city dweller. They continued down the street picking up on their previous conversation. Secretly, the backpacker slipped out a quarter, letting it rattle onto the sidewalk. Suddenly the city dweller turned and looked for the coin.

I am not always in touch with my surroundings. However, it is a joy to be awakened out of mental meanderings by bird song, or other sounds of nature. Sometimes I sit on my deck hearing—and watching birds. Some of the birds are readily recognized by their distinctive call; a mourning dove, a hoot owl, the chirp of a redbird. Occasionally a chipmunk, or a squirrel scoots by. Last night as I drove home, a little brown bunny rabbit was sitting in the middle of my lawn. Later Jennifer, my daughter, found a small family of bunnies frolicking down by the fence—as only bunnies can! The fascinating part of this is that my house is in Metro Atlanta, in a neighborhood right next to a very busy street. Yes, sometimes the traffic drowns out the sounds of nature. But what I listen for is the community of nature surrounding me.

When I go hiking, although noise of commerce is sometimes a bother, I discover that it is important to focus on my surroundings; even there I find the gurgle of nearby South Fork Peachtree Creek, or the rustle of river canes. A blue Heron, making no noise, stands as if posing for Backcountry magazine . My grandfather often took us grandchildren on walks through woodland on his farm; he could find delicate purple-blossomed wild violets, and in the stream, ground puppies (Salamanders to the benighted among you).

I often hike with a friend, who readily recognizes flowers, leaves, and shrubs by name. Frequently I take pictures. We abide by the Boy Scout rule, “Leave no Trace;” take only pictures and memories. Such a habit leaves a heritage of joy and beauty for others who may go along this way. I think that someday, I’ll write about the legendary Johnny Appleseed. The words inJoni Mitchell’s song Big Yellow Taxi are not only haunting, but also foreboding:

So they paved paradise
Put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique and a swingin’ night spot

Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone
They paved paradise put up a parking lot

I try not to become a “Holier-than-thou” nature lover. Preserving nature has a symbiotic flavor to it, as it should. The Genesis version of the Creation story not only describes created nature, but also assigns responsibility for its care and preservation to us humans.

The wonder of Psalm 8 always captivates me with its magnificence of nature. It calls to us human beings to see, enjoy, appreciate, and enhance the handiwork of God. It is unfortunate that the term “Tree Hugger” became inserted into such conversations as this. It is a pejorative term, meant to disparage sincere environmentalists. To be sure, there are those who go to radical or extreme measures to make their point. But tending God’s magnificent creation is the responsibility of all humanity.

Just as we listen to what we are attuned to, so also we pay attention to what matters to us. Compared to the Universe, the Earth is a tiny habitat. It is the only habitat we will have. It is ours to care for, tend, and enjoy. I think I can hear God saying, “Ok, you children! Clean up that mess, or you won’t get any dinner!”

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

This is not about a particular person; it is about discovery. I often find myself dismayed for not having paid more attention to the subject of an obituary. Thoughts like, “I could have been a better friend to…” “He and I had so much in common…” Or, “If I had known this about him, I could have introduced him to…,it would have meant a world to both.”

Almost everytime I read an obituary of someone I knew, the obituary reveals a multi-faceted person; often, as it turns out, I didn’t know the person, really. Times like these can lead to good self-evaluation exercises. It gives you a chance to question your relationships; how you reach out to people, or how you respond to those who reach out to you.

Typically, I only turn to obituaries when I learn of the death of someone I knew. Some people say they read obituaries daily— to make sure their name isn’t there! 😮 they say in jest. But this isn’t about someone dying; it’s about someone living. Not anyone in particular; maybe a friend, or an acquaintance, or a member of your church or club.

Some Psychologists and other writers suggest that for an exercise in self discovery, write your own obituary; not the real one. The exercise is to help you reflect on your values; what and who you cherish. What you say “No” to; in itself is something of a definition of your character. This exercise in writing your obituary is not a venture into the macabre. It is one way to get something of a perspective on your life, or how you view your life. As joni Mitchell sang, “You don’t know what you’ve got, till it’s gone…”

At the risk of stretching the point I think of Psalm 8; David wrote, When I look up at your skies, at what your fingers made, the moon and the stars that you set firmly in place—what are human beings that you think about them; what are human beings that you pay attention to them? Writing your obituary could offer some perspective on your life; how you reflect on the worth of your life. If you happen to be “down” on yourself, Psalm 8 can offer positive reflection.

It is not stretching it to pay attention to the teachings of Jesus. He put great worth in God’s creation of human beings. On one occasion he said we are worth more than a sparrow. Two sparrows sold for a farthing —which means one sparrow was worth 1/8 of a penny—and not one sparrow falls to the earth without God caring about it. That kinda puts your value way up there!

The Apostle Paul gives sound advice for the focus of your obituary (though that was not his point); Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance, but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of the faith that God has given to you all. He calls on you to claim what God has given you so that you may be a benefit to others. Most of us want to leave a legacy; how much more important it is to leave a living legacy. Paige, my late wife, wanted to leave her living legacy in this way; she called it her “Ethical Will.” ( So you don’t have to scroll all the way down the “Archive” the text is below).

Paige’s Ethical Will

I, Paige Moore, being of sound mind, desire to leave to generations to come, my Ethical Will. I desire you, my reader, to know that…

…The love of my life, Willis Moore, my partner in marriage, attracted to each other since Georgia Teachers College days, find one lifetime not long enough.

…God’s gift of teaching to me was intended to serve Him in mission,

…The precious children of my youth, my legacy, are the pride of my latter years.

…My devotion to my church is the evidence of my faith.

…The cultivation of friends bears witness to His words: “As you have done it to the least of these you have done it unto me.”

…My present suffering is small cost to see my Master face-to-face.

…The children of my children, my grandchildren, are my true inheritance.

…My treasure, above all things, is Jesus my Lord and Savior.

…When I leave this life, I take nothing with me.  What I leave behind is of no monetary value. My legacy is the life I have poured into others, following my Master’s admonition.  I have done it to the least of these, thereby doing it unto Him.

Spoken by Paige Moore on this 20^th day of August 1918 and recorded by Willis Moore.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

This summer, fourteen years ago a litter of Pembroke Welsh Corgis was born. I know that because our two, Dixie and Bailie were in that litter. Molly was also in that litter. Molly was beautiful! Molly was special. Molly was nearly blind. As a human being, she would have required a red and white walking cane. But happily, fortune smiled on Molly. She adopted her humans the Wiederholts, and no one could have loved Molly better than did Lydia.

My granddaughter, Katie and Lydia were on the same Soccer team. We saw Molly or heard about her at practice or games, usually getting updates on Molly; how she was navigating her yard, the house, and essentials of living. I always enjoyed hearing about the antics the little furball displayed. It was uncanny how she navigated her world sightlessly. It seemed that nothing held Molly back. So you can imagine my, and the Wiederholts’ sadness when Molly crossed the Rainbow Bridge recently. She had lived a good, long, life leaving many happy memories.

Some people insist that dogs will go to heaven. We think of heaven as perfect; would heaven be perfect without dogs? I do not have an answer to the heaven question. But I do know that life on earth would have a huge hole of sadness without our canine friends—many would add feline friends as well. I cannot argue the point.

It may be a stretch to imply that St. Francis of Assisi believed our furry friends would be in heaven. But, a focus of his ministry was a the natural environment, and animals that inhabit it. St. Francis started the first “Live Nativity,” offered by many churches today during the Christmas season. The “Blessing of the Animals,” is held on  feast day of 4 October. Some churches still carry forward the “Blessing of the Animals.” Also, St. Francis also wrote the hymn, All Creatures of our God and King.

Some cultures deify certain of God’s creatures, birds, elephants, and while not deified, the snake was a symbol of healing in the Book of Numbers. During the Israelites’ forty-year march, many began dying. God designated the Snake for healing. Moses was directed to forge a large bronze snake, and put it high on a pole; those who gazed upon it would be healed. The caduceus, the ubiquitous medical symbol, displays a snake coiled around a staff; although some think it derives from the biblical episode with Moses; actually, it does not. It is derived from Greek mythology; a serpent-entwined rod wielded by the Greek god Asclepius.

When Noah was given instructions from God, to build the Ark–so he and his family would be saved from the great flood—the instructions were to save the animals To ensure that each species would be saved, he was to include a male and female of each. So, it can be easily reasoned that God cared greatly for the animals as well as for humanity.

I am not attempting to proof-text animals into Heaven. I’m simply recognizing the fullness our furry friends bring to our lives. Beyond that joy is an astonishing array of assistance they bring. Service animals are widely used in a multitude of needs; such as Seeing-eye Dogs, Emotional Support animals, and Companion animals, to name a few. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) opened not only doors for, but also awareness to, the multitude of opportunities for animals to become vital assistance for the health and mobility of human beings.

Any loss tends to wound; loss of a pet leaves a hole in your heart. However, that hole can be transformed into a memento of memory from your happy times together, You cherish the loyalty and love that was returned—-a wonderful legacy lingers. Rest In Peace, dear Molly, you brought much happiness to us humans.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

I am as astonished as thrilled that last week when a pilot had a medical emergency, a “passenger” was able to land the 6-seater Cessna 208 single engine aircraft–it was spontaneous teamwork with the non-pilot passenger, an Air Traffic Controller, and a Flight Instructor. All three–acted with rapt attention, cool-headed planning and guidance for this success. It was a near-perfect landing and there was no casualty! None. Zero. Zilch!

In an interview later on the Today Show, the non-pilot-guy, told the story of how he felt managing this crisis; the word “miracle” came up several times in the interview. Not to take away from his story, but equally incredible is how two Air Traffic Controllers were able to “teach” flight training and guidance on the fly; This to a person with no knowledge of or experience in an airplane. And. They could only see a radar screen position of the plane. They even quickly made a printout of the control panel of that specific airplane; that way they could tell him what and where to look, push, pull or hold. A WOW moment came when he needed to land at a higher than normal speed with—for a few seconds radio silence and “no flaps” at—130 knots—you pilots probably had a jaw dropping moment at that command.

The non-pilot made statement that stands out for me; “I knew there was no other choice but I had to land this airplane.” Miracles were mentioned. But also there was knowledge, helpers, confidence (often called courage), trust, and sheer determination. I do not diminish the miraculous synchronous knowledge and efforts that brought about that safe landing.

In a sense we all are airborne. Without chasing the metaphor too far, think about it. Somewhat like the unlikely pilot, we all cruise along day-to-day. We have a general idea of how life is going, with little insight into how to navigate it. Most of the time we do fairly well. Then there explodes a —a health, financial, family, neighborhood, or wider— crisis; somehow, miraculously, usually we survive. Sometimes we may seem to have the spotlight of the hero, or paragon of the circumstances.

In a measure, such an accolade may appropriate. However, in truth, no one stands alone. As  Sir Isaac Newton, said, we all stand “…on the shoulders of (others),” and are surrounded by a community of strength. To be sure, we do not live in an iconic community of perfection, but we cannot discount our connectedness.

The words of We Are The World written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie…are appropriate here….There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
Oh, and it’s time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all

The writer of the Book of Hebrews pointed out we are surrounded by a great Cloud of Witnesses. We reminder that whatever we do or wherever we are we are not alone. Harking back to that non-pilot and the miraculous landing, even he, being interviewed, acknowledged that he did not do so alone. In the movie Carosel there’s the song, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” It is a reminder that in times of difficulty, hope is strong:

Walk on through the wind. Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart, And you’ll never walk alone. .

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

A few weeks ago I sat at my computer keyboard; it was time to write fridayswithwillis.com. I found myself stymied. I couldn’t write; It was not the stereotypic “Writer’s Block.” I wrote the following paragraph;

Today I am in deep conversation with God; my prayer is for a friend facing a crisis tomorrow; having suffered a gross injustice for years, the day bodes fearful. Those years cannot be regained. My heart is heavy right now and I may need to take a break from this Blog; I will turn to the reassuring words of the Psalmist; “Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5 NKJV. I will return to this keyboard soon, but for now, I will pray—and also ask a couple of friends to “pray for my young friend.”

Anyhow, that day I did call on a couple of my intimate friends who know both how to hold confidence and to enter into substantial prayer. (They did promise to pray). I asked them, knowing that answers to prayer; 1) do not always come quickly, and 2) do not always produce expected results, and 3) can be “No,” or “Not yet.” But as The psalmist said, “Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.”

I am happy to report that joy did show up. Answers to prayer may be simply an open window, as is this one. We do not know what the future holds, but we do ….”know who holds the future.” I am immensely grateful for my faithful pray-ers who kept their promise. We keep in touch. They know how things are so far. More important is the reality that true friendship showed up. On time. In good measure.

That Cimmerian state no longer lingers, and I can now bring hope to that story. The genesis of my friend’s circumstances did have a germ of wrong-headedness; it became a convoluted, pathway—no, there was no pathway; what developed was a labyrinth of both accidental interruption and, as Hamlet said, plagued by “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” By the time I discovered the morass, it had become swallowed by administrative indifference, entangled in an overloaded, archaic system. There was nothing I, personally, could do but pray and hope.

This story may be either a compass, or reassurance for your own journey. When you have a heavy heart, go to your trusted friend. Cast off your pride. Pour out your heart. Be willing to say, “Please help. Prayer is needed here.” Jesus taught this way for guidance and help. Be assured that no matter how discouraged you may be, trusted friends are the ones who will be powerful support, keeping you from becoming discouraged.

The Apostle Paul probably had as much (or more) reason to become discouraged as anyone. With great confidence he called on those close to him. He was not weighed down with disappointment or, sadness—for he knew from hard experience, “Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.” (Emphasis added); ©Copyright, Wills H. Moore 2022

Who in the world would oppose Mother’s day!? Anna Jarvis did. Yep. She’s the one that started the whole thing. What Jarvis thought would be a sweet time of celebration in her Methodist Church—families together, celebrating their mothers; but—it turned into a monster she fought the rest of her life. The problem? After Mother’s Day became a national holiday in 1914, it was hijacked by commercial interests; florists, confectioners, greeting card companies, and miscellaneous merchants (such as automobile dealers!) jumped onto the juggernaut. Jarvis spent the rest of her life fighting her ill-fated vision with lawsuits, lectures, and labor-intensive personal opposition to—Mother’s Day. I understand her concern.

In my days as a pastor, I was often conflicted about Mother’s Day Sunday. Let me be clear; there is nothing in the Bible about Mother’s Day. It is not a religious holiday. No Christian tradition mentions it. Mother’s Day is a secular phenomenon of the 20th Century. And—Jesus, at least on a few occasions, actually seemed to spurn his own mother. His warmest, most compassionate comment concerning his mother was from his cross. He asked his most trustworthy disciple, John, to take care of Mary, his own mother.

My pastoral conundrum about Mother’s Day, beyond its lack of religious significance, has to do with its social/psychological impact. In every congregation there were—mothers who had lost a baby at birth, had recently come from the funeral of a child, who were barren mothers whose fruitless efforts for conception yielded nothing, children whose mothers had abandoned them, or severely abused them,—and on it goes. You can understand how any of those might feel, as the sermon subjected them to a saccharine “Mother’s Day” message. So, my conundrum, having no scriptural basis for Mother’s Day, amplified my concern about causing emotional pain. Somehow, I managed to survive (barely) my pulpit positions without resorting to doubletalk.

Mother’s Day is not the only celebration hijacked by commercial interests; Halloween (yes, its core is from religion), Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, to some degree, Passover, and Hanukkah, to mention a few. And, non religious holidays, like Thanksgiving Day, New Year’s Day, and Independence Day, suffer a similar fate. All of the above have virtually become automated teller machines for the $$$$ game.

Full disclosure; I appreciate, and I celebrate, Mother’s Day. It is a sweet, family time for me. Even though my mother died decades ago, and the mother of my children died over two years ago. Mothers matter. My grandchildren love their mother! We celebrated and will continue to celebrate the day, the memory, and the joy of, Mother’s Day.

So where does all this leave us? This piece is not an attack on Mother’s Day. It is simply something of an alert. Celebrate Mother’s Day intentionally. Elaborate, expensive gifts are not only unnecessary, they are beside the point. I have often visited church members—especially in healthcare and senior living facilities; too often I have found a clutter of useless glittery gifts, which are basically in the way and poor substitutes for loving presence (not presents!); a personal visit, meaningful phone calls, or other direct expressions of love and care would be genuine expressions of love.

Unfortunately, the Genie cannot be put back into the bottle; the hinges of Pandora’s box are broken; it remains open. Which leaves us to avoid, where can—or want to—the commercial coup of your celebration. You can choose to inject personal love and meaning into your celebration.

Maybe your mother is gone, or lives far away on the day—so you can’t make a personal visit; you probably know a mother who will be lonely or forgotten on the day. Reach out to her in a compassionate way. On a related matter, as a compassionate friend, be understanding of those for whom the mention of motherhood is a trigger for sadness or grief. I think Anna Jarvis would likely smile on this way of celebrating Mother’s Day—it was, for the record, her original intent. ©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022

The hit rock song, Satisfaction (“I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”), written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, was first recorded in 1965. Only illegal versions were available for years because cultural buffers considered it too sexually suggestive. It lay mostly dormant thru many of the Boomers’ years. 1965 was a time immersed in angst; Boomers were caught in a lingering Cold War,(44 years —March 12, 1947 – December 26, 1991), the Vietnam War was raging, and Culture shock was hitting from all angles.

However, in 1995 the song found a home —Generation X was another matter; Mick Jagger re-emerged, planting a permanent earworm in the ears of Generation X; bleating out “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”—in his loud, ubiquitous voice through the myriad media means—the song took root. The turbulence of the time —as well as a less restrictive censorship—provided fertile soil, nourishing its popularity.

Satisfaction. The Media ramped up their hawking of illusive promises— “Buy This and you will be safe/happy/secure,” yet leaving “—no satisfaction”

The lyrics accurately described the milieu: “I can’t get no satisfaction
Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try
I can’t get no…” (full disclosure—this is actually the way this verse‘s lyrics end )

When I’m driving in my car
When a man come on the radio
He’s telling me more and more
About some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination.“

Arthur Brooks, writing in The Atlantic, said “Satisfaction‘s longevity”…has a lot to do with the truth it speaks…”Satisfaction,” he went on to say, “is the greatest paradox of human life.” First there is a crave, and perhaps for a time, it seems we receive it; maybe in a vapor of a moment we experience it. And then, “Poof” it is gone! As Mick Jagger’s words die out we still hear (and likely experience its vacuity)”…’Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I try I can’t get no, …’ Satisfaction~”

Maybe this is our problem—maybe our flaw—we try (and try and try) too hard. Ponder this; What would my life be like if I turned this around? Stop grasping (I don’t mean dishonestly, or greedly) to make everything right and perfect, and fixed all the time? How about this? When talking with a friend, I listen. Really listen for the subtext, drinking in the ambience of the moment; hear a subtle inner voice echoing, “I hear you! You matter to me.” Or while walking in the park (or pasture), instead of checking my timepiece or Smartphone, I open my ears and listen; maybe the natural world around is trying to speak to me.

I don’t know. I’m not a philosopher—I’m barely a theologian. But I get the point. The mad race toward satisfaction is a hot, dry, inert journey, not unlike the struggle of Sisyphus from Greek mythology—a virtually vacuous effort. I think Jesus said it as accurately as it is succinct: Come to me, all of you who are weary and over-burdened, and I will give you rest! I say this is the paragon of satisfaction! Copyright, Willis H. Moore 2022 ©

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(Written Easter Sunday, 2022) Today, in Easter Sunday worship, our pastor gave a prayer request for Tom, one of our long-time members—a leader for many years, is in the hospital—again. As our Pastor was making the announcement, I heard a little voice in back of the sanctuary. I was deeply moved; Thinking about aged Tom, and the little child’s voice, it occurred to me, “Here we have a legacy of the Church nearing the end of his life. In this same service, a voice of the church’s future arising. Tom will not live to see this little one attend youth meetings, summer youth work-teams, attend Camp Glisson, or hear this little one speak of her faith on Youth Sunday. The Church is alive”!

Then as Sylvia Bell reported on plans for the capital funds campaign, I heard little voices out on the church lawn; as Sylvia reported goals to renovate the youth and children’s facilities broadening the reach of the preschool for additional children; again I thought, “Tom will not be around to see these little children experience Vacation Bible Schools, and provide dynamic leadership in the church….the Church is alive.” Those little voices thrilled my heart.

Some years ago, at Lake Junaluska, NC., a big gun preacher was imported from another region to preach; About three sentences into his sermon, down front a baby cried. He stopped his sermon, and started again—his same three opening, memorized, sentences. The baby still cried. He stopped again, and directed the mother to take the baby out—it was pouring rain. A great chill fell over the crowd as that mother stood up and took her baby out through the rain.

What if Samuel Wesley had scolded little John for running up and down the stairs while his father was praying—and had turned little John against the Church? What if Dwight L. Moody ’s father had punished little Dwight severely for disturbing him while he wrote sermons, and turned him against the church?

When Jesus’ followers tried to turn little children away He said, “Bring the children to me!” Today, I am thrilled that these little voices added texture, spice, and delight to our Easter worship service. You can’t plan this stuff! Praise God, in Christ Jesus! He is Risen.!He is Risen Indeed! Copyright 2022 Willis H. Moore

(Note: I learned later that Tom died later that day, Easter Sunday, April 17, 2022; his legacy lives on!)