What's The Good Word?

I still like listening to stories.  One of the positive aspects of my countless miles of commuting is listening to audio books.  I can’t even keep track of how many books I have listened over the last twelve months. The list includes murder mysteries, intrigue, autobiographies, fiction and non-fiction.  I love those sonorous voices cast to read these stories and the way they interpret dialog. Coming to the end of a novel is like saying good-bye to a friend. It is even more so when there is a voice attached to the story.

Mrs. Geezer, as some may know, is an elementary librarian.  Reading stories to children in primary grades requires a special knack.  She would never admit to being an actress but to capture the attention of 5 to 8-year olds requires a bit of theatrics.  Such a model helps a young reader become expressive in reading aloud rather than sounding robotic.  When I was in first grade Mrs. Bauman told my mother that I was an expressive reader—a portent of things to come, perhaps.

Words are precious.  I love how wordsmiths extract the richness of words for others to share.  When one can create a phrase that becomes memorable, it is priceless.  Likewise, when we are bombarded by words they become cheap and empty.  Maybe it is because I am an “I” on the Myers-Briggs scale, but I get uncomfortable around yakkers—those people who should wear a large button that says, “Help, I’m talking and I can’t shut up!”

This is why the reading of scripture within public worship is important to me.  It is also important that lay people read the lessons.  It is vital that we demonstrate each week that “liturgy” literally is “the work of the people.” Reading from the Old Testament and from the Epistles certainly is work.  It is not like reading the front page of the newspaper.  It requires thought and it requires practice.  Before Sunday worship the reader should know who is speaking in the lesson.  Is it Isaiah speaking for himself or is it Isaiah’s prophecy from God?  What’s going on in the Apostle Paul’s life that he should speak this way?  I want to be like a temperamental movie director shouting at the starlet, “What’s your motivation?  What’s your motivation?”  But, I want to keep my job.

I wish we could make the time we spend reading the Word in worship to be a special event and an encounter with the living God.  In my current site the reader comes to the reading desk and reads from a disposable piece of paper. (What does that tell us about the Word of God?)  The lesson is printed in the worship folder as another source.  Then, the text is also projected onto a screen next to the reader all in block print, not allowing for Hebrew poetry.  One can guess where the eyes of worshipers are focused—everything but the reader. We have just endured a volley of words that were supposed to be godly.  When the reader finishes the lesson and announces, “The Word of the Lord,” maybe the congregation’s response should be, “In a way.”

In my ideal setting I would have the All-Star team of readers from my 35 year of ministry. They would know if the speaker was Aaron or Zerubbabel.  They would have a sense of context behind the lesson.  They would have a sense of drama.  Instead of more projected print competing with the reader, there would be artwork projected illustrating the reading from artists of yore and from what the 2^nd grade class drew when they studied the lesson.  The Word of God would be given honor and be surrounded in beauty and holiness.

But this earthly kingdom is not ideal.  We are in the church militant and await the church triumphant.  There will be those readers who tell us that Jesus is for both the Jews and the Genitals.  They will list those present at Pentecost as visitors from Rome, both Jews and prostitutes.  They will offer a reading from the Epistle to the Collisions or Paul’s letter to the Philippines.  We will chuckle but in faith we will turn our ears to the truth that is given to the people of God.  Amid all the challenges to our treasure chest of words that become malapropos and verbal flubs we remember Isaiah’s prophecy from God, “My word does not return to me empty.”

Freeze, Mister! You're busted.

I wonder what would happen if somebody died and made me a member of the Fashion Police.  I do not imagine myself as a male fashionista  (or would it be, “fashionisto?).  Once I saw a guy on Main Street wearing black wing tips, black socks, plaid shorts and a multi-colored tank top and I thought to myself, “I want to be that guy.”  I do have a pretty good sense of color, however, and I wear black clergy shirts because black is more slimming.

There are some things as a male Fashion Police officer that attract my attentions.  Mind you, I am only a rookie.  I am not ready to investigate the Wal-Martians.  That is the email that a friend send someone with those bizarre individuals spotted at Wal-Mart.  We don’t want to look at them but there is a macabre sense that forces us to scroll through those pictures.  There are not enough latex gloves in the world for the Fashion Police to investigate those fashion offenders.  I certainly am not prepared to bust any of those perpetrators.  (Did I actually use the word “bust” to describe the Wal-Martians.)

We male Fashion Police still have our task cut out for us.  There are not as many sagging delinquents but still there have been sightings of young men with their pants hanging half-staff and their boxers in full sight.  Some of those gentlemen got the word from some dudes with street cred that this fashion statement originated in prison exercise yards.  They learned that in prison it advertises er, umm, dare I say, availability and preference.  That might be enough for those guys to start wearing their pants like Urkel.  (Remember him?)  We Fashion Police just sit back and say, “Wait until those young bucks hit middle-age and their bellies naturally push down their pants and their butts have flattened out and can’t prevent those britches from falling around their ankles.  It’s karma.

I think there is something in the Fashion Code about basketball shorts.  I thought those things were called shorts because they were short.  My sister wore something like that in the 60’s.  Then, they were called culottes.  If some guy ever trips on the hem of his basketball shorts maybe the Fashion Police will start flashing our badges and writing citations.

One final sighting that the Fashion Police might place under suspicion is the t-shirt under the t-shirt. Isn’t that redundant?  I can understand a rash guard or an athletic shirt or a tank top under a t-shirt perhaps but I simply cannot understand the double t-shirt look.  Being the macho sort of guy that I am, that look would not be comfortable.  A little chest hair can show.  Biceps do not have to be big and rippling.  The ratty, white t-shirt worn under another t-shirt just does not complement the ensemble.

Gentlemen, it’s time to “cowboy up.”  Don’t let those hoity-toity fashion couture dictators like Kohl’s,  JCPenney and Sears push you around.  Go to Farm and Fleet for your wardrobe like you want to.  Rip the sleeves off if it makes you feel better.  Button only the buttons you want to button.  Make a statement.  Be yourself!

Let the Fashion Police say about you, “Move along, folks.  There’s nothing to see here.”