Jesus Takes This Walk With Me

The Road to Emmaus, my turn to speak this morning, with my sermon titled Taking a Walk With Jesus. (yeah, I know not the most creative titling, but it was clear and to the point. I'll do better next time, promise.) I greatly appreciate the Gospel of Luke, how the author included so many different people, teachings, healings, workings of God within the lives of people that desperately needed hope.

When I am preparing a sermon I always find at least a full page of questions after interacting with the Scripture: the hows, whys, wheres, they are frequently easy to answer (or find or research). The questions with the answers, those are like checking off my list. Yet once the sermon-ating process (yeah, yeah, this is Merriam Webster's territory, word fusion - you understand what I mean, you do it too, I know it.) is rolling, its not the answered questions that shape the whole body of my sermon, it has to include some of these unasnwered ones, too. I cannot answer every single question, these probing little fissures of curiosity and inquisition.

A few of them remain, linked together within this passage, they remain for me tonight, trivial, non-inflammatory, non-theologically based; there is no foundational doctrine which will be affected by the answers or the withholding of such. But they make me smile just to think about it - Question: Did the disciples recognize Jesus when He broke the bread because He always did the same thing with a loaf before He broke it? Like flipped it around, spinning it in His fingers? Does He smell its aroma to make sure its fresh? Turn it over as if an inspection, thank the provider for their artistry in baking? Did He save the heel for Himself (my favorite part, and if I was doing the breaking, I would try to find a way to maneuver it to be on my plate.) and ask for some schmear and lox? Did He even eat any or was the breaking - the habit these disciples had witnessed over and over again - was it the habitual behavior they recognized? Or was the recognition based upon God' release of the Holy Spirit to realize whose presence had encouraged them so deeply?

Luke always find a way to bring a good word, a solid word, and Emmaus brings a poignant insight to Jesus who continues to teach, again and again, the Suffering Servant is the fulfillment of the Prophets and our spiritual walk will include questions, discouragement and uncertainty. As believers we can reach out and draw the importance of truth, the Holy Spirit reminds us we never walk alone.

Jesus Takes This Walk With Me


Every step, in rhythm
I step out to the day;
Jesus takes this walk with me
No waiting, no delay.

Sometimes this walk is rapid,
Full of things to do,
People, places, circumstances -
A schedule to get through.

Still, Jesus takes this walk with me,
Not critical of the pace,
But simply, truly reminding me
“Life is not a race.”

Sometimes this stride is slackened,
With questions yet to ask,
“What will happen?” “How can it be?”
“Am I really up to this task?”

Still Jesus takes this walk with me,
Not demanding or distraught;
Jesus keeps this pace as well,
Hears the queries I have brought.

My questions, rants and ravings
Are not too much for Him;
Jesus hears my heart, completely,
And then fills it to the brim.

His answers in conversation
Always show He knows me best;
I cannot see the future
Or know all about my quest.

Still, He gives me deep encouragement
When things seem so unknown;
Jesus takes this walk with me,
I am never, ever alone.

jsi

As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus acted as if he were going on farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”…They returned to Jerusalem at once, and told what had happened to them on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread. Luke 24:28-35

Special Bag-o-Faces

Three of four horns are here, as the Maestro's baton is engaged in the downbeat, as the last horn is coming down the walkway. A rich, lush, warm sound is given in Rimsy-Korsakov's Legend of the Invisible City. We horns stick together, bringing a heroic melody (i.e. theme from The Magnificent Seven), or a rich fully fleshed chord (i.e. Tchaikovsky or Wagner), with cuivre (The Rite of Spring)or legato (Beethoven IV), ranging throughout our 4 1/2 octave range. As a section, the horns bring a wide range of colors, volumes and timbres and for nearly every concert, we get the chance to play our face off. Rarely do we sit without an excerpt or a long tone to play.

"Did you bring your face tonight?" horn 2 asks me, as we share an eye-rolling glance of understanding, knowing the different faces you need to play the horn. You've got your high face, solo face, blastissimo face, oompah face, circular breathing face, staccato face, legato face. And then you've got your 4th horn face - low face, or better known as Basement Face. You gotta make sure you bring your special Bag-o-Faces for a performance or rehearsal. There are so many things asked of the horn section, and you may need to reach into this Bag-o-Faces to survive the performance. But when you wear the Basement face, you are dealing with a different animal altogether. You need an unhinged jaw with a rock solid slightly jutted lower jaw to create these loud, longheld pedal notes. You need to tongue differently, anticipating a downbeat. You need to tune differently, compensating for the physics component that a note that low will almost always and forever be - SHARP.

Although the french horn is made out of brass, we are more akin to the wind section - with the flutes, clarinets, bassoon, oboe. It is within the wind section the horn is in its glory (and power, and beauty and strength and stamina - oh can you tell I love the horn). You do not find horns sitting within the brass section - with trombones and trumpets and tubas. To do so would divorce us from the true power we bring. No, we find ourselves with the reeds at the heart of the orchestra, beating plainly the movement of the melody and its direction.

"Did you bring your face tonight?"

It is here at the heart of orchestra practice a few nights ago that I sit in a seat I have rarely filled, this basement beauty of solid tonic provision for each and every single chord. I, who have spent nearly my entire musical life existing above the staff, in the stratosphere in the high horn (and excelling at it) find my long-recessed fright, it had yet to come true in my lifetime until April 2007...

...Jessie Irwin, 4th horn.

"Did you bring your face tonight?"

Four horns in a typical section (some Mahler and Wagner has 8-10 horns - glory!), and each fulfilling a special purpose. Its not as simple as 1 good player and three next in line of talent and skill or years of tenure. To the contrary, it is more organized and strategic than that. 1st and 3rd horns - high horns. 2nd and 4th horns - low horns. 1st - generally most solos, 3rd to double many aspects (where I have spent nearly 85% of my time). 2nd duet accompaniment (finding me 12% of the time) with 1st horn in soloistic passages.

And then there's 4th horn.

Long pedal notes, lower than many trombone parts, sounding as is a Bomber pilot has approached overhead and is hovering before it drops is bombs and vamooses. Holding notes for 36-60 beats over 8-12 measures. Punctuating through the orchestra with the timpani, announcing the bass rhythms, bringing the tonic to most chords with the bassoons steadily there and the flute airily delivering their flighty melody.

'Did you bring your face tonight?"

Those pedal tones take 4 times the amount of air, because your aperture (lip shape) is so large to play these basement beauties, and usually they are in a solo manner so they must be substantial and loud. Enough of them in a row has me seeing spots and the room slightly tilting, my head spinning from the feeling of having received and expelled and received and expelled so much oxygen so quickly, over and over. Its quite a rush. I could use a bellows from a blacksmith for one chord, which Mr. Maestro insists on slowly rallentando to fade to nothing. Fade to nothing is exactly what I feel is happening to me, as my lungs are screaming for another gasp of life-bringing breath as my eyes loose their focus and begin to fade to black. Don't slow down for effect, Maestro, or I'm gonna give the audience an effect that is unexpected as someone needs to revive my lifeless body, crumpled in heap on the floor, clutching my Holton masterpiece securely to my lips.

We are playing our Russian concert, lots of Rimsy-Korsakov, with Scheherazade and Flight of the Bumble Bee and Mlada Dance Variations and a few more. The Toledo Ballet Company will perform with us, exquisite. Its exciting, rich romantic music which evokes deep passion and feeling. Russian music would be nowhere without long, gorgeous string cadenzas and the richness of the horn. We are so excited and fulfilled to be able to play the variety of this concert, even if the fillings in my head feel slightly looser from the velocity of volume required to announce my pedal B natural.

So, as I reach into this familiar Bag-o-Faces for Basement face, it strikes me poignant, "How many faces will I wear/have I worn this week?"

Happy face I get to prepare and teach a lesson plan for Venice Elementary, Mrs. W. 3rd grade class and stay with them all day long!

Kissey Face Today, Dave and my 16th wedding anniversary, though is full of responsibilities can still include some devoted time together

Stinking mad face Needing to escort the front desk librarian to the stack which holds the book they claim I still have checked out and helping them know that this fine of $17.35 is inaccurate, null and void, pointless.

Satisfied face Reception of an apology and direct correction of an error which has prevented me from being able to borrow any books for a week

Cheese face I am the one who takes about 95% of the pictures in our family, and it became sorely obvious three days ago that there was hardly any evidence that my husband had a wife or his children had a mother. Before Dave wrote away to the convent for a governess, we all decided to let everyone take a few pictures of mom.

Frostbite face Though the temperature hasn't reached above 48 degrees, we had a full week of baseball practice.

Face of Surprise When the richest man in town arrives at church on Sunday and stays, with his friend, for the whole service and has spiritual insights following the service on your sermon and Bible study points.

Mortified face When three days later I am able to understand that a church visit was, instead of a method of active and personal encouragement, actually a form of penance for the awful decision he helped solidify that we had be unaware of yet.

High road, composed face Keeping my conversation civil as someone who had recklessly insulted both Dave and I in a public fashion last week attempts to make amends (in their own It's-no-fault-of-mine demeanor). Apology sort of given from this community leader, yet decidely accepted, but it will take a longtime before there is enough trust built to even consider them close enough to try to do it again.

Tear stained face This week brought the worst reality yet, more correction from this community for the void of integrity the previous officer exhibited. Absolute removal of huge amounts of desperately needed funding, delivered in a letter (cowardly) instead of in person ( the least they could do). The only people getting punished in this whole matter have been us, and I feel battered and bruised, inside and out, from the whole experience.

Sleepy face I haven't slept a whole night through in 3 weeks

Face of PEACE NEOSA has the 24/7 prayer opportunity through the end of April and I took the 2-3 a.m. hour for its entirety. If I won't be asleep, I can be very specific about the time I spend. This early morning prayer vigil has frequently lasted longer than an hour, bringing grace and peace to tumultuous days. Unaware of the deep level of opposition we would meet for days on end, I signed up for this prayer opportunity unaware what I would be praying about. My answer came plainly and God has been strengthening and encouraging.

My special Bag-o-Faces, all of them neatly stacked right in there next to Basement face. Who knew there would be so many, and so many remaining in there not highlighted? I may need to wash these all before resting with my handy-dandy Sudoku volume tonight...a girl has to look her best you know.

Embrace and enjoy your evening!

Prayer in the Laundryroom

I sit here quietly, appreciating the presence of home, as the washing machine spins its burgeoning load and the dryer tumbles its load with freshness and warmth. The aromas of Tide with Febreze and Ultra Downy bring a calming and collected spirit to me. Thank you Lord, for the opportunity to have enough clothing that each one has their size which fits, with shoes to wear for school, play and church. Thank you for providing a chance, a grateful chance, to be able to wash and repair these clothes, so they will last 6 months or longer if necessary. Thank you for fresh clean water, appliances and electricity - I am so blessed to be a servant for my family, and I do this all for you.

I very much appreciate the task of doing the laundry - it is a job which offers so much completion and reward, by seeing messy, smelly, dirty mountains separated by color and textile, washed, dried, folded meeting my eyes with mountains of straight, organized piles. One for each person, their piles await their next trip upstairs"...and don't forget to put them away, not cast them in the closet willy nilly." (I've never met Mr. Willy Nilly, but in my opinion, he's a messy lad who can never find his left shoe or his homework because he is careless with his articles and possessions, dropping them wherever he deems fit to be released.) Thank you Lord, for providing my family a place to call home - your provision is tremendous and full. Thank you, Lord, for an opportunity to teach my children (and husband - oh brother) of the blessing which comes with having a home which has a place for everything. When everything is in its place, they are findable, dependable, retrievable, containable, manageable. Help me Lord, when I encountner the messy parts of life that I don't not snap or over-react, but grab my handy-dandy tiara and become the Queen of Clean to be a servant in these tasks of cleanliness and organization. Help me Lord to be loving, caring, gentle and patient when I serve You as I serve them.

As I retract the dryer load, my youngest daughter K. just happened by - since it was pj time, and her pjs were in this dryer load, I saved her a trip by having them ready for her. And she recognized one of the simplest yet deepest pleasures of life - soft, clean warm clothes straight from the dryer. The toasty feeling doesn't last forever, but you never forget being wrapped in supreme warmth and coziness as when you pull them on and feel surrounded by the toasty hug. Thank you Lord for simple pleasures which can easily be shared, which remind us of how deeply blessed we are.

The laundry is a sign of a trip well spent. We have been away since Monday lunch, traveling to New York and returning. It was a trip which started because I needed to be at THQ for the Holiness Symposium, whose guest speaker this year was Rev. Dr. Samuel Vassel - exceptional! (It will need to be a future blog - good words from the Good Word) But it evolved into so much more because of several factors: one being I haven't purchased a uniform since our Commissioning in 1997. These two uniforms I have been wearing have lasted more than a decade, been worn through training, and have looked not very perky lately. I wash my skirts (and Dave's uniform pants) in the washing machine, line dry and then iron, and I use a home dryer dry cleaning kit for our tunics. It is a very frugal way to take care of these uniforms, and they have lasted so long. It helps that I made a maternity uniform and used that for all it was worth for three of our four children, so my uniforms did get a reprieve for a bit, but needless to say, they have seen the rough side of the war and could use another to help pass around the duty. So a visit to Trade was important for both Dave and I. When Dave lost 120 pounds he got one uniform last year to fit, and had the others tailored down, but they could only be brought in so much without losing their integrity and styling. So he needed a fitting, something which cannot be done from a distance. I need a uniform, Dave needs a uniform, and...the kids have Spring break during the same week I need to travel to New York. Throw in the whipped cream and maraschino cherry on top - K.'s 7th birthday in the middle of it all - and you have all the makings of a Road Trip. Thank you Lord for the possibility to accomplish many tasks with one condensed time of travel and dedicated service. Thank you for every safe mile traveled, for the conversations of faith on the way with other Christian brothers and sisters. Thank you for the power of encouragement , as a cool drink of water for a thirsty soul, when Your Word is read and studied and shared.

These are some pictures from our day in NYC- oh I do love New York in the springtime. In NW OH we left behind a terrible snow dump (we only got 4 inches but some parts of Cleveland got 41 inches - augh!) But here in the sun, and 49 degrees, there are spring flowers a bloom.

On K's birthday we woke early and had a birthday waffle breakfast (Is she really 7, can it be true?) and started our day. We brought the kids in across the George Washington Bridge and down Riverside Dr. Every year we pass through New York at least once, sometimes three times, and decided long ago that The Big Apple is too much to bite all at once - it must be savored by many small, deliberate bites. Last years included Ellis Island, the Staten Island Ferry, the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. This summer (August) will include the Intrepid Museum, The New York Library, Carnegie Hall and the American Museum of Natural History . This trip included Ground Zero, Central Park, Rockefeller Center, Saint Patrick's Cathedral and then a separate trip, boys and girls. At noon after sharing a kosher hot dog (kids) and sushi( me) - just love NY: you just can't find that level of variety in such a close vicinity in NW OH - the girls and I leave Dave and the boys as they go to The Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center and we venture to the American Girl Place for a show and afternoon tea. The boys hit Central Park, a few specialty stores (Nintendo, NBA), a real live NY cab ride and then passed their afternoon with the American Museum of Natural History. (I'm rather jealous - the Museum is exquisite, did I really pass it up?) Me and the girls, and their American Girl dolls Molly and Emily get a hairstyle for their dolls, a new outfit for them, see a great show about The Circle of Friends and share tea and scones.

By the time the boys joined us again around 5:30, we had all had a terrific day, ready to go back and just swim.

Thank you Lord, for the chance to spend real time with the ones I love so dearly and share a safe time of learning and sharing. Thank you for my familiarity with this large city which has such depth of culture and need, enough that I can share what I know and still learn again and again. Thank you Lord, for Your presence, for Your provision, for Your beauty and splendor. Thank you that all these dirty, rumpled, stained clothing, this luggage disarrayed and worn, is able to be cleaned so readily, yet the memory of where we have traveled to will remain.

Slowly, but surely

Sitting quietly in the afternoon, my work gloves resting at my feet, I am directly underneath the middle window sill of the chapel getting the best light. Sunlight pouring in from these south facing panes, lightly tinted from the variance of color each pane contains – some amber, some blues, rose and tangerine mixed in. The prism of the window has refracted one sunbeam into a straight rainbow line and I am glad to see him, greeting him to my worship sanctuary. “Why, hello Mr. Roy G. Biv, it is a pleasure to have you with me this afternoon” having been introduced to him in kindergarten by name. Yet I had met him so much earlier, just never been formally introduced, how the placement of red, orange and yellow will always be the same, will always be delineated in refracted light identically every time…ROY. A friend he has been to me, I do so appreciate a cool, calm, collected, consistent spirit. Always showing up after the rain, summer, spring fall or winter, I am confident I have witnessed a rainbow in every season, uncertain which has ever been the most spectacular – how can you choose a favorite when considering God’s beauty? Mr. Roy G. Biv always keeps his colors in the same ordering, one next to the others; I can rely on him being there under conditions I expect. He occupies his place on the carpeted floor stretching the length of the chapel, diminishing his intensity of hue as he moves farther from the window. Exquisite.

Appreciating a fully sunny, spring day, I had taken advantage of the spring weather (it was 74 degrees on Tuesday) to tackle a necessary and waiting job – the weeds in the front portion of one of our corps. They have grown especially well, too well in fact, and the weather has been just sloppy enough for just long enough for me to have delayed this task. Most Tuesdays, Dave and I have a “Muscle Day”, one which has in its agenda the physical labor which needs to be done. Morning or afternoon (sometimes it’s been an all day event, but not very often) is a laser-beam specific push to get some big job done. Ministry is not exclusive to Sunday pulpits or library study, paperwork columns or statistical sheets, miles to travel or committee to adjourn, meals to cook or visitation with tea, little one’s sticky fingers or elderly rheumatic hands. Ministry frequently includes heavy moving, cleaning, lifting, painting, constructing, polishing, hauling, burning, throwing away, and disassembling. This is a fact I say, with my hand up.

These past 10 days have included four “Muscle Days” (chalk it up to spring cleaning, eh?) and my hands have taken a beating. Each job has been achievable enough, and I have worn gloves every time, but still there is pain in every one of my phalanges, metacarpals, thenal and hypothenal muscles, tendons, ligaments and opposable thumbs. My hands hurt, which is why I have placed myself beneath this window sill for its prevalent light. Tweezers in my right hand and magnifying glass balanced precariously upon my knee, I am seeking for fragments to remove. Fiberglass remnants. Thorns. Remainders of thistle. Metal shavings.

All of these have traveled through my work gloves from these different jobs, not felt at the time, but they remained in place from the activity several days before. No amount of lotion was helping: my skin wasn’t dry or raw; it was covered with this tiny, minuscule fragments of toughness. The only way to relieve the pain was to remove the pain-makers.
So slowly, but surely, I was removing these splinters my hands feeling slightly better already. There are no infections or injuries, swelling or scratches. These tiny pin-pricks of pain will cease screaming their protest. These hands would be fine in no time.
Slowly but surely, the natural passage of time has allowed the sun to move in the sky, casting its sunbeams of gentle light from one window to the next, my rainbow dissipating but in its place a substantial shadow of our Lenten Cross.
My heart resonates with its intensity:
Jesus felt pain, deep intense pain, suffering as a sacrifice on a cross of execution.
Jesus carried His mission, without interruption from beginning to end, without an interruption to remove the painful reminders and careless attacks upon Himself and His Father. His mission remained, no matter how painful:
: To cleanse His Father’s house
: To seek and save the lost
: To be Water of Life, the Sacred Vine, Bread of Life, the Door, and the Gate
: To be an ultimate, ever-given sacrifice for sin.





Slowly, but surely, I find myself kneeling at the base of this Cross, the faint fragrance of opened lily pods gracing the air I breathe, in and out so serenely. So emphatically.
Just above a whisper, the prayer of my heart,

Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus

I surrender my life to Your blood. Make me holy, keep me holy. I want Your holiness.

Therefore, when Christ came into the world, he said, “Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, O God, but a body You prepared for me; with burnt offerings and sin offerings You were not pleased.” Then Christ said, “Here I am – it is written about me in the scroll – I have come to do Your will, O God.” And by that will, we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once and for all. Hebrews 10:5-7; 10