One way to play “There are Many Ways to Say I Love You” by Fred Rogers on the Ukelele.
PDF of chords and lyrics: There-Are-Many-Ways-To-Say-I-Love-You-Uke-Chords
No one wants to need a blessing.
It offends the self-reliant heart.
But good words have brooded over you
Since the benediction: “It was good.”
And sometimes blessings sound like curses,
When kindness and mercy toll like death.
But may our blessing and our cursing
Reverberate with Love’s own breath.
May you lose the war.
May you lose the game.
May you lose your money.
May you lose your fame.
Perhaps if you’re like me you’ve been drawn into the popular Netflix show Stranger Things. It can be suspenseful at times, but I love the characters at the center of the story. (I got into trouble for recommending it to my spouse who doesn’t like scary shows. I described it as “other-worldly,” which made her think it was going to be like Narnia or Lord of the Rings. But it’s more like Stephen King than J.R.R. Tolkien.)
I don’t think it’s giving too much away (consider this your spoiler alert!) to say the young characters in the series encounter an alternate dimension called the Upside Down. The Upside Down is like a mirror version of our world. It shares the same locations and infrastructure of this world, but is full of decay, darkness, and monsters.
Nearly a year ago, my grandpa Bob Twiton died. Since then my family has been through its share of “firsts” – our first Easter without grandpa, birthdays, anniversaries, and Christmas. I know of several other families who are going through the same journey of grief.
My grandpa was a pastor for over 50 years. It’s remarkable to think of the number of weddings, baptisms, funerals, visits, council meetings, confirmation lessons, and sermons that can happen in a half century. I remember, too, the stories grandpa passed on from his life and ministry.
The days crackle
with sister voices –
simmering sorrow,
roaring courage,
glowing justice.
Unstuff my ears!
Unveil my eyes!
Clay pots
have been
shattered
at our feet.
When Martin Luther began the Protestant Reformation nearly 500 years ago, he compared his work as a reformer to that of a court jester.
In 1520, he wrote to the German nobility and emperor asking for them to take up the work of reform. He said to these powerful leaders, “I shall for the time being become a court jester.” And he compared the hat he wore as a monk to a jester’s cap with bells. Why would Luther pick such a foolish image for himself?
There is a deep humor and profound mischief in the Christian message that is often overlooked.
Part of what makes a joke work is an element of surprise. First, we are given a premise or set-up. For example, “Why did the nose stop going to school?” Then, the punchline takes us in an unexpected direction: “He was tired of getting picked on.” The premise sets up our expectations and the punchline subverts them.
In 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, the Apostle Paul writes: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
How can we rejoice always? Personally, I do not always feel joyful. I don’t know anyone who feels happy 100% of the time. How can we rejoice when children die of starvation or veterans sleep on the street without a home? It sounds impossible.
Since the very beginning, the pursuit of happiness has been a part of our American cultural DNA. At the heart of the Declaration of Independence are the famous words: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
My mom comes from a family of seven kids. Every weekend while she was growing up, her dad would polish the family’s shoes so they would look nice for Sunday worship and for school in the coming week. He would turn on the radio and line the shoes up on newspaper to shine, polish, and brush. My mom says my grandpa would use this time to think about and pray for his kids too. When he would give the shoes back, he would say to each of them, “It was a labor of love.”