And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter’s shop
People say “Why do you write music?” and I always say “Well, how many of Wesley’s sermons do you know?” And I’ve talked to a lot of good Methodists and they don’t know any of them. Then I say, “Well, how many of Wesley’s hymns do you know?” and most church goers know at least a good solid dozen hymns that Wesley wrote. Most pagans know at least a couple. And I kind of go, that is why I write music and not sermons.
Our first Postmaster General once wrote that nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. I’m sticking with the theme, but picking two different certainties, since Franklin’s two turned out not to be quite as certain as he thought. (See Jesus for the former and our President-elect for the latter.)
My first certainty is from yesterday’s post — there’s bound to come some trouble. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, but there’s bound to come some trouble. That’s not pessimism, that’s just reality — we live in a broken world, and we all eventually step on that brokenness and find ourselves with a (figurative) cut foot.
Thirteen years ago this month, I lost a dear friend. Although seldom a week goes by that I don’t think of him, I haven’t written anything about him since he died. I woke up this morning thinking it was time to change that.
He challenged me in so many areas of my life, it’s difficult to think of them all.
He challenged me theologically, but in very subtle ways. He was very well-read, but did not beat you over the head with what he’d learned, but instead weaved it into his conversations so adroitly that you sometimes didn’t realize the depth of what he said until days or weeks later.