11/28/2003
Cars And The Circle of Life
Number Eleven
As far as most males are concerned, life with a car is circular.
For the boy up through the mid-teens, until the time when he gets his first one, a car is a passionate dream that says a lot of things, but what it says loudest is, "I am liberty. I will take you where you want to go, whenever you want to go, and I will bring you home from there whenever you want to come home."
With the arrival of the first car owned by the boy, after a time of celebration and excess, brief or long depending on the generosity of the teenager's parents, the car settles in as a longtime, expensive necessity. It then begins to say, "I will take you to work every day so you can get the money to make the payments on me, to insure me against accidents, to buy me gas and oil, and oh, incidentally, to support your family, educate your children and get you ready for a comfortable retirement."
Sometime after retirement the circle is completed and the car says once more, "I am liberty. I will take you where you want to go, whenever you want to go, and I will bring you home from there whenever you want to come home." For many it adds an additional word; “I am getting older, as you are, drive me slow and easy if you want me to last as long as you do.” Over time the voice fades and fear of its total loss becomes the sum of all fears. Giving up the car keys is seen as one of the last steps down the slippery slope into the box in the ground where we all end up eventually.
A man once came in to Ace Hardware with a wad of keys. He asked me to make a complete set of copies but to make the Thunderbird car key wrong so it would not work. His father was in a retirement home. The old Thunderbird was there with him, but his son had the keys. Dad was demanding the son bring the keys down. The son and the institution agreed that Dad was a menace on the road and the institution was committed to keeping Dad out of the car. The son figured giving Dad the keys would keep him happy with just the possibility of going somewhere on his own. The faulty key would keep Dad from actually getting on the road if he escaped the clutches of the retirement home and made it to the Thunderbird.
He never came back and told me how it worked, but it illustrates the agonies of giving up driving in old age. We worried about Our Dad for about 4 years before he finally quit driving. It is only God's mercy he didn't kill himself or some else during that time.
Growing old really ain’t for sissies – Akuna Matata!
As far as most males are concerned, life with a car is circular.
For the boy up through the mid-teens, until the time when he gets his first one, a car is a passionate dream that says a lot of things, but what it says loudest is, "I am liberty. I will take you where you want to go, whenever you want to go, and I will bring you home from there whenever you want to come home."
With the arrival of the first car owned by the boy, after a time of celebration and excess, brief or long depending on the generosity of the teenager's parents, the car settles in as a longtime, expensive necessity. It then begins to say, "I will take you to work every day so you can get the money to make the payments on me, to insure me against accidents, to buy me gas and oil, and oh, incidentally, to support your family, educate your children and get you ready for a comfortable retirement."
Sometime after retirement the circle is completed and the car says once more, "I am liberty. I will take you where you want to go, whenever you want to go, and I will bring you home from there whenever you want to come home." For many it adds an additional word; “I am getting older, as you are, drive me slow and easy if you want me to last as long as you do.” Over time the voice fades and fear of its total loss becomes the sum of all fears. Giving up the car keys is seen as one of the last steps down the slippery slope into the box in the ground where we all end up eventually.
A man once came in to Ace Hardware with a wad of keys. He asked me to make a complete set of copies but to make the Thunderbird car key wrong so it would not work. His father was in a retirement home. The old Thunderbird was there with him, but his son had the keys. Dad was demanding the son bring the keys down. The son and the institution agreed that Dad was a menace on the road and the institution was committed to keeping Dad out of the car. The son figured giving Dad the keys would keep him happy with just the possibility of going somewhere on his own. The faulty key would keep Dad from actually getting on the road if he escaped the clutches of the retirement home and made it to the Thunderbird.
He never came back and told me how it worked, but it illustrates the agonies of giving up driving in old age. We worried about Our Dad for about 4 years before he finally quit driving. It is only God's mercy he didn't kill himself or some else during that time.
Growing old really ain’t for sissies – Akuna Matata!
11/25/2003
A Poem of Thanks
Number Ten
MORNING PRAYER
Thank you Lord
For oatmeal
And craisins
And brown sugar
And milk,
For micro wave
And kitchen
And home
Where no one yet
Is trying to kill us because
We love music,
Teach our daughters to read,
And refuse the burkah and the beard.
Thank you Lord!
Jerry Sweers
11.24.03
MORNING PRAYER
Thank you Lord
For oatmeal
And craisins
And brown sugar
And milk,
For micro wave
And kitchen
And home
Where no one yet
Is trying to kill us because
We love music,
Teach our daughters to read,
And refuse the burkah and the beard.
Thank you Lord!
Jerry Sweers
11.24.03
11/22/2003
Two Laws
Number Nine
Murphy's Law and Sweers' Law
11.22.03
Most people have heard of Murphy’s Law:
"IF ANYTHING CAN GO WRONG IT WILL."
Few people know where it came from. This information comes from George E. Nichols of the NASA Jet Propulsion Lab, who was there when it was first identified.
“It was discovered at Edwards Air force base, Muroc California, during Air Force Project MX981. This was Col. J.P. Stapp’s experimental crash research testing on the track at North Base. The work was being accomplished by Northrop Aircraft, under contract from the Aero Medical Lab at Wright Field. I (Nichols) was Northrop’s project manager.
The Law’s namesake was Capt. Ed Murphy, a development engineer from Wright Field aircraft Lab. Frustration with a strap transducer which was malfunctioning due to an error in wiring the strain gage bridges caused him to remark – ‘If there is any way to do it wrong, he will’ – referring to the technician who had wired the bridges at the Lab. I assigned Murphy’s Law to the statement and the associated variations.
A couple of weeks after the ‘naming’ Col. Stapp indicated, at a press conference, that our fine safety record during a several years of simulated crash force testing was the result of a firm belief in Murphy’s Law, and our consistent effort to deny the inevitable. The widespread reference to the Law in manufacturer’s ads within only a few months was fantastic – and Murphy’s Law was off and running wild.”
Murphy’s Law was not passed by anyone, it was discovered. Since it happened to be discovered in a context of national interest and in connection with a major aerospace company, it became widely known quickly. There are many other such laws, not so well known.
When we speak of laws there are at least two different kinds:
--Statutory civil laws: These are laws passed by a proper civil authority -- SPEED LIMIT, 25 MPH.
--Laws of Nature: These are realities that are discovered. They may be very specific and scientifically verifiable, like the Law of Gravity, or they may be more general and ambiguous in their workings, like Murphy’s Law. Men do not make these laws, nor can men change them, they just are.
As the Christmas shopping season begins to heat up, the lines we must wait in will grow longer and longer. Unless, of course, you do all your shopping by mail and totally eschew your local retail merchants. As you stand in the next long line you might wish to ponder another of the Laws of Nature:
Sweers’ Universal Law Of Lines
“THE FAST LINE BECOMES THE SLOW LINE AT THE MOMENT YOU COMMIT TO IT.”
This law is true in any store that has multiple checkout lanes; it is also true on any road that has more than one lane each way.
It is beautifully simple. I “discovered” it after many years of picking the wrong line or lane.
There is a corollary to Sweers’ Law:
“THE MORE TIME YOU SPEND TRYING TO PICK THE FAST LINE, THE SLOWER THE ONE YOU PICK WILL BECOME WHEN YOU HAVE COMMITTED TO IT.”
Sweers’ Law is not widely known, but it is almost universally experienced. I have never mentioned it to anyone who has not said, “You know, you are right…it has been the same for me.”
Murphy's Law and Sweers' Law
11.22.03
Most people have heard of Murphy’s Law:
"IF ANYTHING CAN GO WRONG IT WILL."
Few people know where it came from. This information comes from George E. Nichols of the NASA Jet Propulsion Lab, who was there when it was first identified.
“It was discovered at Edwards Air force base, Muroc California, during Air Force Project MX981. This was Col. J.P. Stapp’s experimental crash research testing on the track at North Base. The work was being accomplished by Northrop Aircraft, under contract from the Aero Medical Lab at Wright Field. I (Nichols) was Northrop’s project manager.
The Law’s namesake was Capt. Ed Murphy, a development engineer from Wright Field aircraft Lab. Frustration with a strap transducer which was malfunctioning due to an error in wiring the strain gage bridges caused him to remark – ‘If there is any way to do it wrong, he will’ – referring to the technician who had wired the bridges at the Lab. I assigned Murphy’s Law to the statement and the associated variations.
A couple of weeks after the ‘naming’ Col. Stapp indicated, at a press conference, that our fine safety record during a several years of simulated crash force testing was the result of a firm belief in Murphy’s Law, and our consistent effort to deny the inevitable. The widespread reference to the Law in manufacturer’s ads within only a few months was fantastic – and Murphy’s Law was off and running wild.”
Murphy’s Law was not passed by anyone, it was discovered. Since it happened to be discovered in a context of national interest and in connection with a major aerospace company, it became widely known quickly. There are many other such laws, not so well known.
When we speak of laws there are at least two different kinds:
--Statutory civil laws: These are laws passed by a proper civil authority -- SPEED LIMIT, 25 MPH.
--Laws of Nature: These are realities that are discovered. They may be very specific and scientifically verifiable, like the Law of Gravity, or they may be more general and ambiguous in their workings, like Murphy’s Law. Men do not make these laws, nor can men change them, they just are.
As the Christmas shopping season begins to heat up, the lines we must wait in will grow longer and longer. Unless, of course, you do all your shopping by mail and totally eschew your local retail merchants. As you stand in the next long line you might wish to ponder another of the Laws of Nature:
Sweers’ Universal Law Of Lines
“THE FAST LINE BECOMES THE SLOW LINE AT THE MOMENT YOU COMMIT TO IT.”
This law is true in any store that has multiple checkout lanes; it is also true on any road that has more than one lane each way.
It is beautifully simple. I “discovered” it after many years of picking the wrong line or lane.
There is a corollary to Sweers’ Law:
“THE MORE TIME YOU SPEND TRYING TO PICK THE FAST LINE, THE SLOWER THE ONE YOU PICK WILL BECOME WHEN YOU HAVE COMMITTED TO IT.”
Sweers’ Law is not widely known, but it is almost universally experienced. I have never mentioned it to anyone who has not said, “You know, you are right…it has been the same for me.”
11/20/2003
The Metaphorical Contract
Number Eight
On the writing of poems
When my eldest daughter was in high school she took an independent study class at the local Junior College. The students had advisors but were free to pick a project and pursue it. My child decided to write and print a small book of poems – a kind of mini-biography in verse.
She launched into it with great enthusiasm. Her output was staggering, like an explosion in a thesaurus factory! She asked me for advice as she went along and my main task that term was to help her distill this mass of things down into manageable chunks and to make them internally consistent.
She had a great way with metaphors and similes, but she regularly broke the metaphoric contract. If you talk about “The ship of state,” everything you say must be equally applicable to both a ship and the state. You may mention the captain, the voyage, the wheelhouse, but if you bring in an airplane or a king, you are in trouble. I tried to get her to read the best book ever written on poetry (How Does A Poem Mean? By John Ciardi) but she was a young lady in much too big a hurry to stop for a 400 page book with a lot of other people’s poems in it.
One day she showed me a nice little poem that not only mixed her metaphors but jumped to simile now and then as well. I tried to explain to her what was going on and she tried to rewrite it several times, but it just wasn’t working. Finally I rewrote it two ways, once with consistent metaphor and once with consistent simile. Here are those poems.
For Glyndon:
Two ways to write your poem, while
keeping the metaphoric contract.
TURTLE THOUGHTS
Once
We sought together
The friendly ooze
And soaked the sun
Upon a weathered stump.
Lilies floated, all serene...
Dragons stitched the bluest skies.
Now Winter's here,
Those mem'ries flicker low
Across my sleeping brain...
Did this all come from one small cloud
Followed by a summer rain?
CHANGELING
Once
My thoughts
Were all of us.
Like a turtle
On a log
Who only feels the heat
Until a small boy comes
With net, on silent, sneakered feet--
I only felt of you and us
Until I spied
Your small deceit.
As the turtle,
Once bare escaped,
Keeps watch on bank and tree,
My heart is wary now
As I think of you and me.
2/72
016
This all was about real life. She married the guy and they have lived happily ever after (more or less) since 1973.
On the writing of poems
When my eldest daughter was in high school she took an independent study class at the local Junior College. The students had advisors but were free to pick a project and pursue it. My child decided to write and print a small book of poems – a kind of mini-biography in verse.
She launched into it with great enthusiasm. Her output was staggering, like an explosion in a thesaurus factory! She asked me for advice as she went along and my main task that term was to help her distill this mass of things down into manageable chunks and to make them internally consistent.
She had a great way with metaphors and similes, but she regularly broke the metaphoric contract. If you talk about “The ship of state,” everything you say must be equally applicable to both a ship and the state. You may mention the captain, the voyage, the wheelhouse, but if you bring in an airplane or a king, you are in trouble. I tried to get her to read the best book ever written on poetry (How Does A Poem Mean? By John Ciardi) but she was a young lady in much too big a hurry to stop for a 400 page book with a lot of other people’s poems in it.
One day she showed me a nice little poem that not only mixed her metaphors but jumped to simile now and then as well. I tried to explain to her what was going on and she tried to rewrite it several times, but it just wasn’t working. Finally I rewrote it two ways, once with consistent metaphor and once with consistent simile. Here are those poems.
For Glyndon:
Two ways to write your poem, while
keeping the metaphoric contract.
TURTLE THOUGHTS
Once
We sought together
The friendly ooze
And soaked the sun
Upon a weathered stump.
Lilies floated, all serene...
Dragons stitched the bluest skies.
Now Winter's here,
Those mem'ries flicker low
Across my sleeping brain...
Did this all come from one small cloud
Followed by a summer rain?
CHANGELING
Once
My thoughts
Were all of us.
Like a turtle
On a log
Who only feels the heat
Until a small boy comes
With net, on silent, sneakered feet--
I only felt of you and us
Until I spied
Your small deceit.
As the turtle,
Once bare escaped,
Keeps watch on bank and tree,
My heart is wary now
As I think of you and me.
2/72
016
This all was about real life. She married the guy and they have lived happily ever after (more or less) since 1973.
A Death In The Family
Number 7
On death and dying
As we have been reflecting on Uncle Andy’s promotion to Glory and waiting for word on the arrangements for the funeral I have been reminded of the fact that the future continues to shrink every day for all of us. For Andy it narrowed down to weeks, then days, then hours and finally minutes. The end of that shrinking was a point.
In a way it is the complement of the "Big Bang" they think began things. As the universe exploded from a singularity, so every life shrinks down to a singularity. I make no comment on the big bang theory except to say that it seems to make some sense as a general description of what happened when God said, “Let there be…” and everything that is exploded, from nothing, into form.
But in the life of believers this final point is not the end - passing through death is like another explosion in which the true future expands rapidly into ages of ages without end. The same is true of the unbeliever but the experiencing of those endless ages will be sadly different. If I were an unbeliever I would fervently hope (and probably pray, since practical atheists are seldom totally rational – as Oriana Fallaci said, “I am an atheist, thank God.”) that my end would be annihilation. And what kind of life would this be like if that were its best hope?
Andy's 7th Day Adventism taught him about “soul sleep.” He died expecting to go into a sort of suspended animation that would be his state until the last trumpet. There is no sound Biblical case to be made for this but the Biblical data for any explanation of the intermediate state is pretty thin. Clearly the Apostle Paul preferred to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5.1-8). When he died he expected to depart and be with Christ (Philippians 1.23). On the surface it would appear that Paul expected no gaps - when he closed his eyes in death and departed his earthly house, he would open them in the presence of the Lord. The New Testament teaches that we will all get our new habitation (our resurrection bodies) at the same time, so there is a mystery that the Adventists try to explain with soul sleep. Traditional orthodoxy admits there is mystery here and they leave the details open for further light - maybe not until they experience death and find out for sure.
This poem was written at the time of Uncle Andy’s death.
UNCLE ANDY
“And he showed me a pure river of water of life,
clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God
and of the Lamb.” Revelation 22.1
The dark ring slowly closes
Around his flickering fire.
The coals are slowly growing cold
Like all of life's desire.
Outside the shrinking ring of light
Lupine eyes are glowing bright.
The smoky souls of ancient trees
First burn his eyes then usher in
Troops of dancing memories
Of things that were and other things
That might have been.
Time flees away before his eyes,
That day by day are growing dim.
Words move too fast for his slow ears.
His sleep is troubled by a host of fears.
And so he prays by night and day
And sings the Psalms that make it clear
In Jesus' fold he need not fear.
Just when the future's narrowed
To a point, and darkness seems complete,
He steps across and sees the Son
And worships at His piercéd feet
And shouts with joy for all things new
That faith has always held are true.
He walks the streets of gold like glass
While endless ages slowly pass
And time, though passing, never presses
For He who made him always blesses.
Jerry Sweers
8.2003
On death and dying
As we have been reflecting on Uncle Andy’s promotion to Glory and waiting for word on the arrangements for the funeral I have been reminded of the fact that the future continues to shrink every day for all of us. For Andy it narrowed down to weeks, then days, then hours and finally minutes. The end of that shrinking was a point.
In a way it is the complement of the "Big Bang" they think began things. As the universe exploded from a singularity, so every life shrinks down to a singularity. I make no comment on the big bang theory except to say that it seems to make some sense as a general description of what happened when God said, “Let there be…” and everything that is exploded, from nothing, into form.
But in the life of believers this final point is not the end - passing through death is like another explosion in which the true future expands rapidly into ages of ages without end. The same is true of the unbeliever but the experiencing of those endless ages will be sadly different. If I were an unbeliever I would fervently hope (and probably pray, since practical atheists are seldom totally rational – as Oriana Fallaci said, “I am an atheist, thank God.”) that my end would be annihilation. And what kind of life would this be like if that were its best hope?
Andy's 7th Day Adventism taught him about “soul sleep.” He died expecting to go into a sort of suspended animation that would be his state until the last trumpet. There is no sound Biblical case to be made for this but the Biblical data for any explanation of the intermediate state is pretty thin. Clearly the Apostle Paul preferred to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5.1-8). When he died he expected to depart and be with Christ (Philippians 1.23). On the surface it would appear that Paul expected no gaps - when he closed his eyes in death and departed his earthly house, he would open them in the presence of the Lord. The New Testament teaches that we will all get our new habitation (our resurrection bodies) at the same time, so there is a mystery that the Adventists try to explain with soul sleep. Traditional orthodoxy admits there is mystery here and they leave the details open for further light - maybe not until they experience death and find out for sure.
This poem was written at the time of Uncle Andy’s death.
UNCLE ANDY
“And he showed me a pure river of water of life,
clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God
and of the Lamb.” Revelation 22.1
The dark ring slowly closes
Around his flickering fire.
The coals are slowly growing cold
Like all of life's desire.
Outside the shrinking ring of light
Lupine eyes are glowing bright.
The smoky souls of ancient trees
First burn his eyes then usher in
Troops of dancing memories
Of things that were and other things
That might have been.
Time flees away before his eyes,
That day by day are growing dim.
Words move too fast for his slow ears.
His sleep is troubled by a host of fears.
And so he prays by night and day
And sings the Psalms that make it clear
In Jesus' fold he need not fear.
Just when the future's narrowed
To a point, and darkness seems complete,
He steps across and sees the Son
And worships at His piercéd feet
And shouts with joy for all things new
That faith has always held are true.
He walks the streets of gold like glass
While endless ages slowly pass
And time, though passing, never presses
For He who made him always blesses.
Jerry Sweers
8.2003
Sunday Songs
Number 6
A letter to the Music Director at our local church
Having worshipped here at the 8:30 service over a year now I feel it is time to take word processor in hand and provide a little feedback.
I will begin on a positive note by saying you appear to be a servant who is sincere in his service to the Lord and the Lord's people, with considerable musical gifts, and with a humility that is rare among those found in your position. Nothing that follows is intended to reflect negatively on your honorable intentions, your character, your theology, or your gifts.
Next, I will confess my biases. I recognize that music is controversial in the church because it is largely a matter of personal taste cultural experience. Early on with our five children we learned to make a clear distinction between the music they played that "we just plain didn't like," especially blasting at full volume from their bedrooms, and the music we objected to on Biblical grounds. The former we just didn't want to hear, the later we forbid them to buy or listen to and explained why, often in some detail. We have found over the years there is little difference between the sacred and the secular as far as these categories are concerned. This is probably due to the fact that Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) has closely followed the trends of contemporary secular music, attempting to sanctify them with different words and different intentions (more or less).
My personal tastes are suggested by some of the names that come to mind when I think about these things:
Rachmaninov, Beethoven, Bach, Faure, Handel
Peterson, Wesley, Newton, Watts,
Robert Shaw, Neil Diamond, Nana Mouskouri, The Kingston Trio
Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson,
James Galway, Kenny G, George Winston
Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti
Les Miserables, Man of La Mancha, Fiddler on the Roof
The first thing this list suggests is that I grew up in the late 40's and early 50’s. I am 69 years old and much of my musical taste goes back to those years. I make no apologies for that. For me, The Kingston Trio still beats The Sick Puppies hands down. I have consistently avoided Contemporary Christian Artists - ask me for some names and the only ones I could dredge up, except maybe Mahalia Jackson, would be the ones who got into moral or ethical trouble and made the news.
So, with these things as a context, let us proceed with a year's observations of the music at the 8:30 service.
THE OVERALL GENERAL IMPRESSION
We come to worship. We come hopefully, enthusiastically, and optimistically. We harbor no critical spirit as far as we can tell. The essence of worship is the offering of honor, praise and adoration to God. The music usually does not enable us in our praise - rather it assaults us, it overcomes us with its volume and its beat. It turns us into beige spectators at a colorful performance. All too often the more elderly worshippers stand overlong on trembling legs and aching feet, being slowly driven up the wall, as the leader and the band soar into 4th or 5th or even 7th heaven on the wings of a line or two of a contemporary Christian chorus. On Saturday night the high school kids drive by on the street behind us with their windows open and their big bass speakers so loud they rattle the pictures on our walls. Too often Sunday morning is little different.
THE SONGS
Many of the songs selected have two basic shortcomings - their tunes and their content. The tunes often seem written for a soloist with a strong voice and musical training. The content is often thin and repetitious. I think of two we sang one morning recently, both went round and round and round and eventually faded out. Imagine had a tune unsuited to it and never seemed to end. I will lift up my eyes had two lines: I will lift up my eyes to the hills - My help is coming. In addition to going round and round and round it also was a misinterpretation of Psalm 121 - Whence cometh my help is a question, not an answer.
Sometimes the gross discontinuity between the message of the words and the message of the music cries out for comment. Karl Van Dyke literally had to shout out the words of Get Back to the Basics to be heard over the slam-bang taped accompaniment. One of the basics is musical accompaniment for worship that knows its proper place.
Occasionally we sing a traditional hymn and sometimes the accompaniment is even reduced to a subdued piano keyboard. This is nice but all too rare. These infrequent nods to the traditionalist elderly carry a price to be paid though. One can almost feel the silent Band building up steam and raring to cut loose on the next song. Sometimes the Band can't wait. Once we sang On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand. It was truly an oldie but it was deeply embedded in a knockdown, drag-out, full-blast in-your-face session with drum and the keyboard solos between the verses. More recently we sang Hallelujah, Thine The Glory - the bass was so powerful it vibrated the pew back in front of us.
Perhaps there may be a time and a place for this kind of treatment - I remember our singing I'll Fly Away with The Potter's Clay leading the parade one morning and I made a note to have it sung at my funeral that way. I would like to do it again because I like The Potter’s Clay group and I like the song, which is traditional. But I don't think this sort of thing usually qualifies as "balance" between the traditional and contemporary sensitivities of the worshippers.
Perhaps much of this has to do with personal taste and the reality that old dogs avoid new tricks whenever possible. But I believe there is something fundamental here that ought to be discussed. It is more than just a superficial matter of personal taste. The change from traditional Christian Music to contemporary Christian music is more than just bringing things up to date. It seems to be a paradigm shift - and not a good one. It seems to be a dumbing down to the lowest common denominator in a quest for attention, fame and the money that goes with it.
Given a choice between the following two songs,
All that is Good,
All that is Right;
All that is Truth,
Justice and Light;
All that is Pure,
Holy indeed,
All that is You
Is all that I need.
Or
Behold the Lamb, Behold the Lamb,
Slain from the foundation of the world.
For sinners crucified, O holy sacrifice,
Behold the Lamb.
Crown Him, crown Him, worthy is the Lamb.
Praise Him, Praise Him, Heaven and earth resound.
I will take Dottie Rambo on the right over Twila Paris on the left for worship every time. There is only a nine-year difference between the time of the composition of these two songs, but at least a millennium between their words and attitudes and outlooks. In one Jesus Christ is the eternal Lamb of God, our Prophet, Priest and King. In the other he is The Great Meeter of Needs. And this Paris song is one that has found its way into hymnbooks, so it is one of the better examples of the genre.
Let's compare the contemporary and traditional songs.
THE TYPICAL CONTEMPORARY SONG
-It is circular - it has no real beginning or end. It just starts out and goes round and round until the leader decides to finish.
-It often almost disappears when sung a cappella.
-The music often overwhelms the words. The dominant impression is the beat. The tunes are not only not familiar; they are sometimes hard to sing. Perhaps this is the result of the composer stretching to rise above the crowd - trying to be different.
-The words may be about God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, but somehow, in the singing it always seems to be about ME - it is feelings overcoming facts. God-words are fondled and stroked and emoted in what seems often to approach vain repetition, or other less-seemly personal indulgences. The thinness of the content is covered up by the thickness of the accompaniment and the weight of repetition.
-The central focus is usually ME, MY, MINE.
-The song is not an oblation - it is a performance.
THE TYPICAL TRADITIONAL SONG
-The song is linear. It begins somewhere. It proceeds along a discernable line. And it arrives somewhere. It says something. It has a kind of substance that sticks in the mind and the heart.
-It can be sung a cappella.
-The music supports, enhances, enriches words but does not take over become the whole show. The music knows its proper place and stays in it.
-The content is heavily objective fact, minimally subjective feelings. Crown Him with Many Crowns or All Hail The Power of Jesus' Name certainly involve feelings but these feelings are inspired by the facts of who God is and what He has done, not by the overwhelming presence of MY NEEDS, MY DESIRES, MY FEELINGS, ETC., ETC. The feelings are in the worshippers, not in the words.
-The focus is on Him, not on Me. I am clearly present in Amazing Grace but there is never a question of Whom it is about or what its purpose is.
-The song is an act of our worship, not the product a group's performance. I suppose the Band could make a case that it is worshiping when it plays, but we don't come to observe The Band worship, we come to worship as participants, in spirit and in truth.
It is not simply a matter of old versus new. Occasionally a contemporary Christian song rises above the genre. I think of We Will Dance, by David Ruis. We sang it just before David preached on "Ten Reasons Why I'm Looking Forward To Heaven." When we sang it I said to my wife, "We could just sing that again and forget the sermon." After David finished his ten reasons, I said to my wife, "I was right." There was more substance in the song than in the message. This is rare with David's preaching, and even more rare in contemporary Christian music.
THE END OF THE MATTER
I have waxed too long and not very eloquently and it is time to finish. What do I expect, what do I want? Well, I really have no right to expect or want anything, but I will venture a couple of modest suggestions:
1. Turn down the volume. The fact that the first service is half full is no reason to have the sound levels set for the second service crowd. Are there no volume controls on the amplifiers that will let you match the level to the number of people there to absorb the sound and sing the songs?
2. Raise the bar in your selection process. Look for those contemporary choruses that have enough content to not require mind-numbing volume and endless repetition to get their point across? This would no doubt severely limit your choices but it might result in our singing the better ones often enough so they become familiar.
3. Use more traditional songs without trying to turn them into contemporary songs with the beat and the amplifiers.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I would love to discuss it with you at your convenience.
(It appears, as the months have gone by that he did read it and did take my advice, although he never said so to me or cared to discuss it. This last Sunday Karl Van Dyke sang "Get Back To The Basics" again, this time with the taped accompaniment turned way down to its appropriate place - we could actually understand the words)
This letter was accompanied by some interesting graphics, which things I have not yet figured out how to get into this blog. I will send them to you by email in MS Word if you ask. cmudgeon@earthlink.net
A letter to the Music Director at our local church
Having worshipped here at the 8:30 service over a year now I feel it is time to take word processor in hand and provide a little feedback.
I will begin on a positive note by saying you appear to be a servant who is sincere in his service to the Lord and the Lord's people, with considerable musical gifts, and with a humility that is rare among those found in your position. Nothing that follows is intended to reflect negatively on your honorable intentions, your character, your theology, or your gifts.
Next, I will confess my biases. I recognize that music is controversial in the church because it is largely a matter of personal taste cultural experience. Early on with our five children we learned to make a clear distinction between the music they played that "we just plain didn't like," especially blasting at full volume from their bedrooms, and the music we objected to on Biblical grounds. The former we just didn't want to hear, the later we forbid them to buy or listen to and explained why, often in some detail. We have found over the years there is little difference between the sacred and the secular as far as these categories are concerned. This is probably due to the fact that Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) has closely followed the trends of contemporary secular music, attempting to sanctify them with different words and different intentions (more or less).
My personal tastes are suggested by some of the names that come to mind when I think about these things:
Rachmaninov, Beethoven, Bach, Faure, Handel
Peterson, Wesley, Newton, Watts,
Robert Shaw, Neil Diamond, Nana Mouskouri, The Kingston Trio
Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson,
James Galway, Kenny G, George Winston
Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti
Les Miserables, Man of La Mancha, Fiddler on the Roof
The first thing this list suggests is that I grew up in the late 40's and early 50’s. I am 69 years old and much of my musical taste goes back to those years. I make no apologies for that. For me, The Kingston Trio still beats The Sick Puppies hands down. I have consistently avoided Contemporary Christian Artists - ask me for some names and the only ones I could dredge up, except maybe Mahalia Jackson, would be the ones who got into moral or ethical trouble and made the news.
So, with these things as a context, let us proceed with a year's observations of the music at the 8:30 service.
THE OVERALL GENERAL IMPRESSION
We come to worship. We come hopefully, enthusiastically, and optimistically. We harbor no critical spirit as far as we can tell. The essence of worship is the offering of honor, praise and adoration to God. The music usually does not enable us in our praise - rather it assaults us, it overcomes us with its volume and its beat. It turns us into beige spectators at a colorful performance. All too often the more elderly worshippers stand overlong on trembling legs and aching feet, being slowly driven up the wall, as the leader and the band soar into 4th or 5th or even 7th heaven on the wings of a line or two of a contemporary Christian chorus. On Saturday night the high school kids drive by on the street behind us with their windows open and their big bass speakers so loud they rattle the pictures on our walls. Too often Sunday morning is little different.
THE SONGS
Many of the songs selected have two basic shortcomings - their tunes and their content. The tunes often seem written for a soloist with a strong voice and musical training. The content is often thin and repetitious. I think of two we sang one morning recently, both went round and round and round and eventually faded out. Imagine had a tune unsuited to it and never seemed to end. I will lift up my eyes had two lines: I will lift up my eyes to the hills - My help is coming. In addition to going round and round and round it also was a misinterpretation of Psalm 121 - Whence cometh my help is a question, not an answer.
Sometimes the gross discontinuity between the message of the words and the message of the music cries out for comment. Karl Van Dyke literally had to shout out the words of Get Back to the Basics to be heard over the slam-bang taped accompaniment. One of the basics is musical accompaniment for worship that knows its proper place.
Occasionally we sing a traditional hymn and sometimes the accompaniment is even reduced to a subdued piano keyboard. This is nice but all too rare. These infrequent nods to the traditionalist elderly carry a price to be paid though. One can almost feel the silent Band building up steam and raring to cut loose on the next song. Sometimes the Band can't wait. Once we sang On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand. It was truly an oldie but it was deeply embedded in a knockdown, drag-out, full-blast in-your-face session with drum and the keyboard solos between the verses. More recently we sang Hallelujah, Thine The Glory - the bass was so powerful it vibrated the pew back in front of us.
Perhaps there may be a time and a place for this kind of treatment - I remember our singing I'll Fly Away with The Potter's Clay leading the parade one morning and I made a note to have it sung at my funeral that way. I would like to do it again because I like The Potter’s Clay group and I like the song, which is traditional. But I don't think this sort of thing usually qualifies as "balance" between the traditional and contemporary sensitivities of the worshippers.
Perhaps much of this has to do with personal taste and the reality that old dogs avoid new tricks whenever possible. But I believe there is something fundamental here that ought to be discussed. It is more than just a superficial matter of personal taste. The change from traditional Christian Music to contemporary Christian music is more than just bringing things up to date. It seems to be a paradigm shift - and not a good one. It seems to be a dumbing down to the lowest common denominator in a quest for attention, fame and the money that goes with it.
Given a choice between the following two songs,
All that is Good,
All that is Right;
All that is Truth,
Justice and Light;
All that is Pure,
Holy indeed,
All that is You
Is all that I need.
Or
Behold the Lamb, Behold the Lamb,
Slain from the foundation of the world.
For sinners crucified, O holy sacrifice,
Behold the Lamb.
Crown Him, crown Him, worthy is the Lamb.
Praise Him, Praise Him, Heaven and earth resound.
I will take Dottie Rambo on the right over Twila Paris on the left for worship every time. There is only a nine-year difference between the time of the composition of these two songs, but at least a millennium between their words and attitudes and outlooks. In one Jesus Christ is the eternal Lamb of God, our Prophet, Priest and King. In the other he is The Great Meeter of Needs. And this Paris song is one that has found its way into hymnbooks, so it is one of the better examples of the genre.
Let's compare the contemporary and traditional songs.
THE TYPICAL CONTEMPORARY SONG
-It is circular - it has no real beginning or end. It just starts out and goes round and round until the leader decides to finish.
-It often almost disappears when sung a cappella.
-The music often overwhelms the words. The dominant impression is the beat. The tunes are not only not familiar; they are sometimes hard to sing. Perhaps this is the result of the composer stretching to rise above the crowd - trying to be different.
-The words may be about God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, but somehow, in the singing it always seems to be about ME - it is feelings overcoming facts. God-words are fondled and stroked and emoted in what seems often to approach vain repetition, or other less-seemly personal indulgences. The thinness of the content is covered up by the thickness of the accompaniment and the weight of repetition.
-The central focus is usually ME, MY, MINE.
-The song is not an oblation - it is a performance.
THE TYPICAL TRADITIONAL SONG
-The song is linear. It begins somewhere. It proceeds along a discernable line. And it arrives somewhere. It says something. It has a kind of substance that sticks in the mind and the heart.
-It can be sung a cappella.
-The music supports, enhances, enriches words but does not take over become the whole show. The music knows its proper place and stays in it.
-The content is heavily objective fact, minimally subjective feelings. Crown Him with Many Crowns or All Hail The Power of Jesus' Name certainly involve feelings but these feelings are inspired by the facts of who God is and what He has done, not by the overwhelming presence of MY NEEDS, MY DESIRES, MY FEELINGS, ETC., ETC. The feelings are in the worshippers, not in the words.
-The focus is on Him, not on Me. I am clearly present in Amazing Grace but there is never a question of Whom it is about or what its purpose is.
-The song is an act of our worship, not the product a group's performance. I suppose the Band could make a case that it is worshiping when it plays, but we don't come to observe The Band worship, we come to worship as participants, in spirit and in truth.
It is not simply a matter of old versus new. Occasionally a contemporary Christian song rises above the genre. I think of We Will Dance, by David Ruis. We sang it just before David preached on "Ten Reasons Why I'm Looking Forward To Heaven." When we sang it I said to my wife, "We could just sing that again and forget the sermon." After David finished his ten reasons, I said to my wife, "I was right." There was more substance in the song than in the message. This is rare with David's preaching, and even more rare in contemporary Christian music.
THE END OF THE MATTER
I have waxed too long and not very eloquently and it is time to finish. What do I expect, what do I want? Well, I really have no right to expect or want anything, but I will venture a couple of modest suggestions:
1. Turn down the volume. The fact that the first service is half full is no reason to have the sound levels set for the second service crowd. Are there no volume controls on the amplifiers that will let you match the level to the number of people there to absorb the sound and sing the songs?
2. Raise the bar in your selection process. Look for those contemporary choruses that have enough content to not require mind-numbing volume and endless repetition to get their point across? This would no doubt severely limit your choices but it might result in our singing the better ones often enough so they become familiar.
3. Use more traditional songs without trying to turn them into contemporary songs with the beat and the amplifiers.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I would love to discuss it with you at your convenience.
(It appears, as the months have gone by that he did read it and did take my advice, although he never said so to me or cared to discuss it. This last Sunday Karl Van Dyke sang "Get Back To The Basics" again, this time with the taped accompaniment turned way down to its appropriate place - we could actually understand the words)
This letter was accompanied by some interesting graphics, which things I have not yet figured out how to get into this blog. I will send them to you by email in MS Word if you ask. cmudgeon@earthlink.net
Selah!
Number Five
Stop and think it over
If you have ever read the Psalms in the more traditional translations of the Bible you may recall coming across the word “Selah.” If you read through all the Psalms you would have encountered the word 71 times. The only other place you will find the word is three times in the prayer of the prophet Habakkuk’s prayer in the third chapter of his prophecy. He an excitable man and is praying about hard times to come on Judah and the enemies of Judah.
The Hebrew word “selah” is “A term of unknown meaning, probably of musical significance…” It is related to the word for highway, and is translated “lift up, exalt.” A long time ago I heard an old preacher define say, “Selah means ‘Stop and think it over.’” In 40 years I have never heard a better translation.
I have been thinking for a long time about a website. Some months ago I asked my son, who has designed some websites, to think with me. He is a graphics designer in the movie business. Except for the titles animation, he produces about everything a movie needs that can be designed and generated on a computer.
After giving it some thought, and no doubt in consideration of my marginal literacy in these things, he sent me a sample Blog and asked if it might not work for me. It rang a bell and the rest is history. At this point I have stopped to think it over. I feel I have come quite a ways in a short time.
Going forward from here are several things I would like to do, as I am able.
-I want to get a title index for the postings on the home page and in the archives.
-I want to be able to put in a picture or graphic now and then.
One or both of these things may require that I learn enough html to modify the template although Blogger is working on a new version of the tool that might save me the trouble.
Just one more thing; I have quite a backlog in my mind of things I want to say here. Every day new ones, relating more to the past than the present, pop up. I will try not to bury you but if they come to fast for you, just pass them up. You will never get more than one a day, usually less.
Stop and think it over
If you have ever read the Psalms in the more traditional translations of the Bible you may recall coming across the word “Selah.” If you read through all the Psalms you would have encountered the word 71 times. The only other place you will find the word is three times in the prayer of the prophet Habakkuk’s prayer in the third chapter of his prophecy. He an excitable man and is praying about hard times to come on Judah and the enemies of Judah.
The Hebrew word “selah” is “A term of unknown meaning, probably of musical significance…” It is related to the word for highway, and is translated “lift up, exalt.” A long time ago I heard an old preacher define say, “Selah means ‘Stop and think it over.’” In 40 years I have never heard a better translation.
I have been thinking for a long time about a website. Some months ago I asked my son, who has designed some websites, to think with me. He is a graphics designer in the movie business. Except for the titles animation, he produces about everything a movie needs that can be designed and generated on a computer.
After giving it some thought, and no doubt in consideration of my marginal literacy in these things, he sent me a sample Blog and asked if it might not work for me. It rang a bell and the rest is history. At this point I have stopped to think it over. I feel I have come quite a ways in a short time.
Going forward from here are several things I would like to do, as I am able.
-I want to get a title index for the postings on the home page and in the archives.
-I want to be able to put in a picture or graphic now and then.
One or both of these things may require that I learn enough html to modify the template although Blogger is working on a new version of the tool that might save me the trouble.
Just one more thing; I have quite a backlog in my mind of things I want to say here. Every day new ones, relating more to the past than the present, pop up. I will try not to bury you but if they come to fast for you, just pass them up. You will never get more than one a day, usually less.
What ever happened to words?
Number Four
Commentary for Herald-Leader (not printed)
Take ethics, for example. Ethics used to be the discipline that dealt with what is good and bad, with moral duty and obligation. Recently I observed, with a roomful of medical students, a panel discussion on "The Ethics of Abortion." The organizer wanted a nice, friendly, philosophical discussion in which no one would get excited, upset, or have his or her feelings hurt. Dead babies, traumatized mothers, irresponsible fathers, informed consent, personal responsibility, and moral absolutes were ruled out of order by definition. The two-hour session succeeded--no heat was generated, and no light either--bad luck for the medical students wondering how they would deal with the issue in their real lives.
Or take the word values, as in family values. Once upon a time, family values were principles to learn and live by. They were not subject to modification at the whim of an individual. The other day syndicated columnist Deborah Mathis urged her readers, "Let's debate family values issue fairly this time around." Deborah wants a discussion based on yearning, tolerance, sympathy, income redistribution, understanding, mercy, pleasantness, conscience, and reflection. By definition, Deborah would rule out moral absolutes, personal accountability, sacrifice, commitment, and any other idea that might possibly cause some citizen to suffer irretrievable diminution of self-esteem. Deborah's debate might be interesting, but it can never, without the things she leaves out, repair the damage that has been done to the family in recent years.
Or take the word modesty. Modesty is "propriety in dress, speech or conduct." Modesty is the reason there are separate restrooms for men and women in public places. Once modesty was considered a virtue. It is now a social liability.
Recently a reporter on National Public Radio was rehearsing the latest in the continuing saga of President Clinton, the Congress, and the Courts in their struggle over Gays in the military. Near the end she observed that what was keeping them all from a speedy, happy solution was the attitude of the troops in the trenches. This attitude was exemplified in a live quote from a sailor who said he just "didn't feel comfortable" living in a communal barracks and sharing communal showers with homosexual men. The reporter called his "feeling" a "fear." So modesty is now fear, which is now always called "homophobia" in the liberal media.
The source of all this slippage is not hard to find. In the culture war currently raging across America, the high ground is semantic. "Right and wrong" have been replaced by "Right for you and right for me." Words have always been used to tell lies, but today words have become lies. We have seen Orwell's Newspeak come to full flower--the clock strikes thirteen and we hardly notice. Generally, liberal humanism has taken this high ground through its control of the media but liberals and conservatives alike have become victims of this semantic sickness. Whether it's Reagan's "peace-keeper missile" or Clinton's "investment in the future," words are what the speaker says they are as long as the speaker has the means to say them often enough and loud enough to enough people.
The bad news is that those who win by changing the rules during the game find themselves with a hollow victory. We may have outcome-based education in our schools, but it will be a long time before we have outcome-based basketball. Perhaps, in the end, it will be something like the simple clarity of athletics that saves us from ourselves, that forces us to recognize that feelings are not knowledge, that opinions are not truth and that all sincere opinions are not really equal. This might even point the way back to words that mean something, whether we like it or not.
Commentary for Herald-Leader (not printed)
Take ethics, for example. Ethics used to be the discipline that dealt with what is good and bad, with moral duty and obligation. Recently I observed, with a roomful of medical students, a panel discussion on "The Ethics of Abortion." The organizer wanted a nice, friendly, philosophical discussion in which no one would get excited, upset, or have his or her feelings hurt. Dead babies, traumatized mothers, irresponsible fathers, informed consent, personal responsibility, and moral absolutes were ruled out of order by definition. The two-hour session succeeded--no heat was generated, and no light either--bad luck for the medical students wondering how they would deal with the issue in their real lives.
Or take the word values, as in family values. Once upon a time, family values were principles to learn and live by. They were not subject to modification at the whim of an individual. The other day syndicated columnist Deborah Mathis urged her readers, "Let's debate family values issue fairly this time around." Deborah wants a discussion based on yearning, tolerance, sympathy, income redistribution, understanding, mercy, pleasantness, conscience, and reflection. By definition, Deborah would rule out moral absolutes, personal accountability, sacrifice, commitment, and any other idea that might possibly cause some citizen to suffer irretrievable diminution of self-esteem. Deborah's debate might be interesting, but it can never, without the things she leaves out, repair the damage that has been done to the family in recent years.
Or take the word modesty. Modesty is "propriety in dress, speech or conduct." Modesty is the reason there are separate restrooms for men and women in public places. Once modesty was considered a virtue. It is now a social liability.
Recently a reporter on National Public Radio was rehearsing the latest in the continuing saga of President Clinton, the Congress, and the Courts in their struggle over Gays in the military. Near the end she observed that what was keeping them all from a speedy, happy solution was the attitude of the troops in the trenches. This attitude was exemplified in a live quote from a sailor who said he just "didn't feel comfortable" living in a communal barracks and sharing communal showers with homosexual men. The reporter called his "feeling" a "fear." So modesty is now fear, which is now always called "homophobia" in the liberal media.
The source of all this slippage is not hard to find. In the culture war currently raging across America, the high ground is semantic. "Right and wrong" have been replaced by "Right for you and right for me." Words have always been used to tell lies, but today words have become lies. We have seen Orwell's Newspeak come to full flower--the clock strikes thirteen and we hardly notice. Generally, liberal humanism has taken this high ground through its control of the media but liberals and conservatives alike have become victims of this semantic sickness. Whether it's Reagan's "peace-keeper missile" or Clinton's "investment in the future," words are what the speaker says they are as long as the speaker has the means to say them often enough and loud enough to enough people.
The bad news is that those who win by changing the rules during the game find themselves with a hollow victory. We may have outcome-based education in our schools, but it will be a long time before we have outcome-based basketball. Perhaps, in the end, it will be something like the simple clarity of athletics that saves us from ourselves, that forces us to recognize that feelings are not knowledge, that opinions are not truth and that all sincere opinions are not really equal. This might even point the way back to words that mean something, whether we like it or not.
Number Three
On The Road Again
When a man and a wife are young they are full ideas on places to go and things to do. As their lives fill up with duties, responsibilities, commitments, and often children, their desire to travel usually stays but the options narrow down. They may take a vacation now and then but the duties, responsibilities and commitments wait, "like a mendicant at the gate" for their return. About then they begin to say to each other, "When we retire we will go when we please, where we please, and stay as long as we please."
And then they retire. A few find they have the time, the money, the health and the common desire to do all those things they talked about over the years. In some cases the hardworking stay-at-home mother is raring to go but the hardworking breadwinner who has been "going" for 40 years just wants to sit and put his feet up. In most cases they compromise and manage to enjoy.
At the other extreme are the brave souls who sell the house, buy an RV or a big boat and hit the road. A few of these love it and do fine. It appears that many don't. Some end up selling the RV or boat for a big loss and buying back the old house at a higher price. If they are lucky, no one has to go back to work to pay the bills.
Most of us are somewhere in the middle. We find our resources are moderate, we still have duties and commitments, and frankly, we don't have that old urge to go anytime, to anywhere, and stay as long as we want. The extent of our wanderlust is limited to a day or two one-way in the car or a few hours, preferably non-stop, in a plane.
Whatever your age and travel experience, this poem probably is one you can relate to.
ON THE ROAD
In a suitcase packed
For more than two weeks
There are always a few bad dreams.
In the dark of the night
On a mattress that creaks
Come troubling, diresome themes.
You are driving a car
That doesn't go far
Before something critical shirks,
Or in Stygian gloom
You're seeking a room
With a toilet that actually works.
Or you wait in long lines
to pay immense fines
To nasty bureaucrats,
Or you visit a house
With nary a mouse
Then discover its forty-five cats,
While all night long
To a siren song
The brown girls dance on the beach,
And every stroke
Turns into smoke
That eddies
Just out of reach.
In a suitcase packed
For more than two weeks
There are always a few bad dreams.
In the dark of the night
On a mattress that creaks
Come troubling, diresome themes.
Jerry Sweers
10/84
041
On The Road Again
When a man and a wife are young they are full ideas on places to go and things to do. As their lives fill up with duties, responsibilities, commitments, and often children, their desire to travel usually stays but the options narrow down. They may take a vacation now and then but the duties, responsibilities and commitments wait, "like a mendicant at the gate" for their return. About then they begin to say to each other, "When we retire we will go when we please, where we please, and stay as long as we please."
And then they retire. A few find they have the time, the money, the health and the common desire to do all those things they talked about over the years. In some cases the hardworking stay-at-home mother is raring to go but the hardworking breadwinner who has been "going" for 40 years just wants to sit and put his feet up. In most cases they compromise and manage to enjoy.
At the other extreme are the brave souls who sell the house, buy an RV or a big boat and hit the road. A few of these love it and do fine. It appears that many don't. Some end up selling the RV or boat for a big loss and buying back the old house at a higher price. If they are lucky, no one has to go back to work to pay the bills.
Most of us are somewhere in the middle. We find our resources are moderate, we still have duties and commitments, and frankly, we don't have that old urge to go anytime, to anywhere, and stay as long as we want. The extent of our wanderlust is limited to a day or two one-way in the car or a few hours, preferably non-stop, in a plane.
Whatever your age and travel experience, this poem probably is one you can relate to.
ON THE ROAD
In a suitcase packed
For more than two weeks
There are always a few bad dreams.
In the dark of the night
On a mattress that creaks
Come troubling, diresome themes.
You are driving a car
That doesn't go far
Before something critical shirks,
Or in Stygian gloom
You're seeking a room
With a toilet that actually works.
Or you wait in long lines
to pay immense fines
To nasty bureaucrats,
Or you visit a house
With nary a mouse
Then discover its forty-five cats,
While all night long
To a siren song
The brown girls dance on the beach,
And every stroke
Turns into smoke
That eddies
Just out of reach.
In a suitcase packed
For more than two weeks
There are always a few bad dreams.
In the dark of the night
On a mattress that creaks
Come troubling, diresome themes.
Jerry Sweers
10/84
041
Driving Miss Daisy Crazy
Number Two
A Primer For New Lexington Drivers
It was about 9:30 on Saturday morning. I was headed south on South Broadway. As I crossed Lane Allen the big car in front of me slowed, as if to enter the McDonalds driveway. The car edged past the entrance and stopped dead in the right lane. There were cars moving past me in the inside lane so I stopped too, and watched.
The driver was hunched over, attending to something on the front seat. Finally the door opened, a lady got out. She walked slowly around the front of her car to the newspaper box on the sidewalk. After checking the front page through the glass she put her quarters in the slot, drew out a paper, took another careful look at the front page, and walked slowly back to her car.
Having recently come from Southern California, where the traffic is fast, furious and frantic, but usually predictable, I knew right then that Lexington was something very special in the automotive travel department. My subsequent 7 years as a pilgrim on the circle way have abundantly proved the truth of that early impression. In the spirit of Bluegrass hospitality, I have prepared a few simple rules to make the transition to this unique driving environment easier and safer.
Rule One: If four cars have gone through the intersection on red, you must stop. Law enforcement in Lexington is death on running red lights. Cars one, two, three, and four, may get through on the red, but car 5 is one too many.
Rule Two: Do not turn left against traffic on a green arrow while putting on your eye shadow and talking on your cell phone unless you have a passenger who will watch for cars #5 in all directions. It is not uncommon for a numerically challenged driver to lose count and speed through the red, thinking he is only number four.
Rule Three: Do not stop for more than five minutes on the on ramp to a limited access road. If you can’t find an acceptable gap in the traffic in five minutes, you probably should stay off the freeways.
Rule four: Beware of turn signals. Few drivers use them. Of those who do use turn signals, less than half use them in a way that allows you to predict what they will do. There is one exception - see rule five.
Rule five: If you feel the need to nap while driving, use the limited access portions of Circle 4 where you will not be interrupted by cross streets and traffic signals. Be considerate - do your napping in the inner loop so that people actually going somewhere can get past in the fast lane. If you do your napping at less than 15 miles per hour, use your flashers. If you can’t find the flasher switch, either turn signal will do to let people know you do not wish to be disturbed.
General rule: Whenever you encounter a situation not covered in one to the above rules, remember the rule of 4 D’s: Almost every driver you encounter will fall into one of four categories: The Dozing, The Dazed, The Disoriented, or The Demented. The first three somehow seem to move at a snail’s pace through life in their automobiles with absolutely no awareness of what is going on around them beyond the limits of the interiors of their cars. The fourth is just the opposite, moving at warp speed as if there actually were nothing going on around them. Given this environment, new drivers should drive so defensively that they will usually just stay home.
1999
A Primer For New Lexington Drivers
It was about 9:30 on Saturday morning. I was headed south on South Broadway. As I crossed Lane Allen the big car in front of me slowed, as if to enter the McDonalds driveway. The car edged past the entrance and stopped dead in the right lane. There were cars moving past me in the inside lane so I stopped too, and watched.
The driver was hunched over, attending to something on the front seat. Finally the door opened, a lady got out. She walked slowly around the front of her car to the newspaper box on the sidewalk. After checking the front page through the glass she put her quarters in the slot, drew out a paper, took another careful look at the front page, and walked slowly back to her car.
Having recently come from Southern California, where the traffic is fast, furious and frantic, but usually predictable, I knew right then that Lexington was something very special in the automotive travel department. My subsequent 7 years as a pilgrim on the circle way have abundantly proved the truth of that early impression. In the spirit of Bluegrass hospitality, I have prepared a few simple rules to make the transition to this unique driving environment easier and safer.
Rule One: If four cars have gone through the intersection on red, you must stop. Law enforcement in Lexington is death on running red lights. Cars one, two, three, and four, may get through on the red, but car 5 is one too many.
Rule Two: Do not turn left against traffic on a green arrow while putting on your eye shadow and talking on your cell phone unless you have a passenger who will watch for cars #5 in all directions. It is not uncommon for a numerically challenged driver to lose count and speed through the red, thinking he is only number four.
Rule Three: Do not stop for more than five minutes on the on ramp to a limited access road. If you can’t find an acceptable gap in the traffic in five minutes, you probably should stay off the freeways.
Rule four: Beware of turn signals. Few drivers use them. Of those who do use turn signals, less than half use them in a way that allows you to predict what they will do. There is one exception - see rule five.
Rule five: If you feel the need to nap while driving, use the limited access portions of Circle 4 where you will not be interrupted by cross streets and traffic signals. Be considerate - do your napping in the inner loop so that people actually going somewhere can get past in the fast lane. If you do your napping at less than 15 miles per hour, use your flashers. If you can’t find the flasher switch, either turn signal will do to let people know you do not wish to be disturbed.
General rule: Whenever you encounter a situation not covered in one to the above rules, remember the rule of 4 D’s: Almost every driver you encounter will fall into one of four categories: The Dozing, The Dazed, The Disoriented, or The Demented. The first three somehow seem to move at a snail’s pace through life in their automobiles with absolutely no awareness of what is going on around them beyond the limits of the interiors of their cars. The fourth is just the opposite, moving at warp speed as if there actually were nothing going on around them. Given this environment, new drivers should drive so defensively that they will usually just stay home.
1999
In The Beginning
Number One
My wife's father is 97 and counting. He has been fond of saying, "Old age ain't for sissies." He picked this up from a tee shirt. Whenever his wife, having been an English teacher, heard him say it, she winced and corrected him with one of her disapproving glances. Those glances were legendary. Our children were sure she could see around corners at least a hundred yards.
Actually, usage out-ran the slow certainties of the 1920s and "ain't" was firmly settled in the dictionary by the time she died. It was an unusual statement for Dad since he is a very articulate, highly literate man who never has whined, never complained, and never been overtly pessimistic - even though he has had his share of things one might complain about.
He loves poetry and has memorized much; he still can recite many lines from the things that impressed him years ago. But I doubt he has memorized any Dylan Thomas, nor would he take Thomas' advice to his father:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
But I am not like my Father-in-law in that respect. I know where I am going, as he does, and look forward to eternity in the presence of the Creator, but I expect to burn and rage a little as I go. I have lived long enough and seen enough of the world to qualify as a curmudgeon. Political Correctness is doing its best to stomp out the curmudgeons of the world, especially “Curmudgensis Americanus Bibliophilias,” but that makes them even more needed, to "keep the rest of us cockeyed optimists honest," as Jon Winokur would say.
Had Dad been born later, and been intimate with the word-processor and the Internet, I suspect he would have had more to say as he got older. As it is, he is such a good and gentle resident of the Johnson Medical Center that he would not want to bother the staff to help him, even if he set his pajamas on fire.
If I last as long as he has, I don't think I will be as retiring. I plan to post here some of my thoughts and opinions as a pilgrim in the way. I trust there are still some miles to go before I sleep but you never know. I am already close to my "threescore and ten." In the meantime, I have things to say and will say them here from time to time. They may be rants, they may be reflections, they may be poems, they may be remembrances and they most certainly will be the letters to the editor of our local liberal rag, which are no longer being printed. I hope some will be interesting, maybe even helpful to others on the journey.
What are expressed in these pages are my opinions. You are welcome to agree or disagree. I would be happy to hear your thinking in either case. But be warned, I do not believe the current wisdom taught in our public school systems and promoted by the elites of our culture. I do not believe that "feelings are knowledge - opinions are truth - and all sincerely held opinions are equal." That is world class hogwash spouted by fools who make man the center, the beginning and the end of all things. I believe God is there, that He has spoken, and that His creatures had better pay close attention to what He has said.
My wife's father is 97 and counting. He has been fond of saying, "Old age ain't for sissies." He picked this up from a tee shirt. Whenever his wife, having been an English teacher, heard him say it, she winced and corrected him with one of her disapproving glances. Those glances were legendary. Our children were sure she could see around corners at least a hundred yards.
Actually, usage out-ran the slow certainties of the 1920s and "ain't" was firmly settled in the dictionary by the time she died. It was an unusual statement for Dad since he is a very articulate, highly literate man who never has whined, never complained, and never been overtly pessimistic - even though he has had his share of things one might complain about.
He loves poetry and has memorized much; he still can recite many lines from the things that impressed him years ago. But I doubt he has memorized any Dylan Thomas, nor would he take Thomas' advice to his father:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
But I am not like my Father-in-law in that respect. I know where I am going, as he does, and look forward to eternity in the presence of the Creator, but I expect to burn and rage a little as I go. I have lived long enough and seen enough of the world to qualify as a curmudgeon. Political Correctness is doing its best to stomp out the curmudgeons of the world, especially “Curmudgensis Americanus Bibliophilias,” but that makes them even more needed, to "keep the rest of us cockeyed optimists honest," as Jon Winokur would say.
Had Dad been born later, and been intimate with the word-processor and the Internet, I suspect he would have had more to say as he got older. As it is, he is such a good and gentle resident of the Johnson Medical Center that he would not want to bother the staff to help him, even if he set his pajamas on fire.
If I last as long as he has, I don't think I will be as retiring. I plan to post here some of my thoughts and opinions as a pilgrim in the way. I trust there are still some miles to go before I sleep but you never know. I am already close to my "threescore and ten." In the meantime, I have things to say and will say them here from time to time. They may be rants, they may be reflections, they may be poems, they may be remembrances and they most certainly will be the letters to the editor of our local liberal rag, which are no longer being printed. I hope some will be interesting, maybe even helpful to others on the journey.
What are expressed in these pages are my opinions. You are welcome to agree or disagree. I would be happy to hear your thinking in either case. But be warned, I do not believe the current wisdom taught in our public school systems and promoted by the elites of our culture. I do not believe that "feelings are knowledge - opinions are truth - and all sincerely held opinions are equal." That is world class hogwash spouted by fools who make man the center, the beginning and the end of all things. I believe God is there, that He has spoken, and that His creatures had better pay close attention to what He has said.
