chappelltemple

It wasn’t exactly the response anyone was expecting.  But when the woman from Angola asked through her translator if she could sing her answer to a question, nobody was about to tell her “no.” And so she began, first in Portuguese, then in her native language, and finally in yet another tribal dialect: Obrigado, Senhor, Aleluia! In turn, the smiles around the table echoed her sentiment: “Thank you, Lord, Alleluia!”

What’s more, in that brief moment I witnessed a wonderful picture of just how magnificent being a part of a truly global church can be. For though the ministry settings of the thirteen or so of us within the small group could not have been more varied–from a rural village in Angola, to a suburb in Switzerland, as well as a seminary classroom in Zimbabwe, and another in Dallas, and to congregations across the country, including a very special one in “the sweetest place on Earth” (Sugar Land, Texas, of course), there was clearly a commonality in our cause, namely, how might we get about the task of making disciples of Jesus that can actually change the world for the better?

Ironically enough, however, the real collision of worlds here in Portland is not between the delegates from around the globe at our once-every-four-years gathering as a denomination. For those kinds of differences–linguistic or cultural–we can largely handle, thanks to a team of translators who are rendering the renderings into nine or so languages each day, as well as to the concerted efforts of many to be culturally sensitive at all times.  And so far, at least, we’ve likewise been able to bridge the theological and political divides between the delegates, though we’ve not really engaged some of the more hot button issues yet.

The greater disconnect, however, is between all of us church folks–no matter where we might live–and the surprisingly large street population of homeless youths and adults all around this beautiful city, as well as the many here who may be well-off but are yet far-off when it comes to the Christian faith. For it is obvious that those folks are not only unimpressed by all of our ecclesial pomp and circumstance, but they’re probably thinking that we are the ones who actually need help, at least in getting in touch with the real world around us.

Oh, our marketing signs are everywhere, and truth be told they are good ones. For they center around the theme of what we can do when we are united, as the first word in our denominational name would infer. But to most of the folks who were stranded by a metro train that broke down–one ironically enough plastered with our new slogan,”United we help millions…what’s next?”–the symbolism of the police tape across its doors which read “Out of Service” was almost prophetic.  For when we are not genuinely “in service” to others, we have no real witness to bring to them either.

Thankfully the transit authorities were on the scene, rerouting buses and trying to get everyone around the bottleneck that shut down much of the whole system. To a person, in fact, the transit folks could not have been more courteous, kind or helpful, even in the face of a few commuters who were clearly upset by the delays in getting back home.

I found myself imagining, however, just what a difference we too could make if we took the approach of the transit personnel, not only staying calm and helpful when confronted with angry neighbors but actually becoming proactive in seeking out those who might need assistance with whatever burdens of life they may be bearing.

In fact you don’t even need Rosetta Stone to talk to those who may live in the world beyond our church doors. We just have to speak–or sing–the good news to them and then back it up with our tangible care and love.

Shakespeare made it famous, of course, when he suggested that a soothsayer called out the warning to Julius Caesar in the year 44 B.C. But the term itself actually went back centuries before either Shakespeare or Caesar. For 700 years before Julius reformed the calendar during his reign–modestly naming it for himself and adding ten days along with an additional leap day every four years–the earliest way of reckoning time in the Roman world was likely fashioned by King Romulus in 753 B.C. who used the moon in order to count down the seasons.

Ten months constituted that original Roman year, beginning with one called Martius, dedicated, of course, to the Roman god of war, Mars. Specific dates were then expressed in relation to the lunar phase of the month using three markers: Kalends which came with the first phase or new moon, Nones, denoting the first quarter moon which usually fell on either the fifth or seventh day of the month, and Ides, which marked the full moon, falling either on the 13th or 15th day. The Ides of March was initially thus simply the first full moon of a new year, or March 15.

Romans knew how to party, of course, and so the day was generally celebrated down on the banks of the Tiber River with food, wine, and music. And in the era before the Empire in Rome, the Ides also marked the beginning of a new political year in which the two annually-elected consuls took office as the leaders of the duly constituted Republic.

Not long after changing the calendar, however, Julius Caesar also decided to change his own terms of office, becoming the Dictator Perpetuus, or “dictator for life.” And it was that monarchial grasp for power that led a group of Roman senators to try to take their Republic back (some might have said, “Make Rome Great Again”) by stabbing Julius Caesar to death at a meeting of the Senate itself on March 15, 44 B.C.

It’s said that he was stabbed some 23 times, in fact, by over sixty conspirators, but apparently only one of the wounds proved to be the fatal one, giving Caesar ample time to register his shock at the betrayal of even his friend Brute. And so forever after, that soothsayer’s warning has linked the day with the deed: “Beware the Ides of March.”

Fortunately the Ides this year will only see more partisan primaries, which may presage a political upheaval of sorts in the coming months, but will hopefully not plunge us in the kind of turmoil that the assassination of Caesar did in Rome long ago. It’s a timely reminder, though, that when it comes to power that the “consent of the governed” should involve far more than simply lip service in the stump speeches of our candidates.

After all, if you think the Ides of March is scary, just wait until we get to the 15th of April and it’s not the IDES but the IRS we have to worry about.

She grew up singing with her sisters, her strong alto voice easily settling upon the natural harmonies that complemented the sweet sound of her four siblings as they visited from church to church in the central Texas countryside. But even after marrying and moving away from her family, singing continued to be an integral part of her faith, especially in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

Her favorite secular song was clearly “Silver Bells,” and though she never actually met Bing Crosby… or traipsed along snow-crunched city sidewalks…it didn’t stop her from doing a duet with him whenever it played on the radio… “Ring-a-ling (ring-a-ling), hear them ring (ting-a-ling), soon it will be Christmas Day.”

When it came to carols, however, there was one song that similarly made her seasonal hit list every year. For within the Methodist hymnal published in 1905 that she grew up with was a new melody composed by the gifted Wesleyan University professor who was charged with assembling that songbook to be used by churches across the country both big and small, from New York to Nacogdoches.

Based upon a poem by the novelist Josiah Holland written for an 1874 Sunday School Journal, Karl Harrington fashioned a tune around each phrase, merging both words and music as a melody quickly came to life:

“There’s a song in the air! There’s a star in the sky! There’s a mother’s deep prayer and a baby’s low cry! And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing, for the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!”

To be sure, the song sounds a little schmaltzy today, and I halfway expect an announcer to precede it with the words, “This is an all-skate.”   But if I close my eyes and listen hard, I can still hear my mother’s alto voice gliding effortlessly over the melody line:

“We rejoice in the light and we echo the song, that comes down through the night from the heavenly throng.”

And whatever your personal tastes or musical style may be, in the words of Josiah Strong, that “song from afar” really has swept over the world.

So let “the beautiful sing” indeed! No doubt my mom will be harmonizing with you in heaven.

Recently one of the leaders of our annual conference shared with me her reluctance to take an action regarding a friend because of her fear of the “future precedent” it would set for the group she chairs. And while I consider her to be a sister in Christ, as well as a genuinely sincere individual, I can’t help but think that she is sincerely wrong in this instance. For irrespective of the particulars of this case, underlying the argument she made is a fundamental misunderstanding of what precedence is all about.

To be sure, in certain civil settings the word can refer to an entire system of jurisprudence that is based upon earlier judicial decisions rather than statutory laws. But that definition of the term is a rather narrow one, not really applicable at all to most of us whose decisions are clearly not legally binding actions for all the ages to come, even in our own lives.

The dictionary therefore will tell you that a precedent is more often simply an earlier event or action that can be regarded as an example or guide to be considered in subsequent similar or analogous circumstances. It is part of what lies behind what some have called the Seven Last Words of the Church, namely, “We’ve never done it that way before,” an odd idea indeed for any who believe in new life.

Expressed more positively, it is also why we eternally optimistic Methodists so very often have a “first annual” event in our churches, believing that when we have done something once it is now a cherished tradition of the faith long before we know if it worked at all. For clearly we believe in honoring the status quo, even when it may not be all that honorable to begin with!

Within the life of faith, however, precedence is never so much about the future as it should be about the past. That is to say, we don’t so much set precedents as we may simply use them. When we don’t know exactly what to do in any particular circumstance, for instance, it can indeed be helpful to look back and see how the people of God, particularly those whose stories are told in the scriptures, handled similar challenges in the past.

When it comes to making decisions in the present, however, it is simply silly to suggest that our own wisdom is so infallible that no one in future years should ever even question it. For the truth is that God’s people in every age have the responsibility to prayerfully think out whatever question is before them and then collectively arrive at an understanding as to how to move forward, guided by scripture, the witness of the church throughout the ages, and common sense.

Equally significant, when the fear of setting future precedents takes precedence itself over actually dealing with individuals on their own basis then we’ve let the spirit of the law overwhelm the greater law of love that we are called to follow.

The truth is that as Psalm 139 expresses it, we are all “fearfully and wonderfully made” by God, even though some of us are clearly more fearful than wonderful. In dealing with others, thus, we should be careful not to let our anxiety over setting precedents override our responsibility to truly look at each person individually, judging their case independently of others.

For indeed, just imagine the positive precedent we might set if we actually did that.