Posts Tagged With: Christmas

God Come Down: A Christmas Day Reflection

 

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Trouble by Eugene C Scott

 

King David was, as usual, in trouble. Somebody or something was after him. Swords, spears, poison, royal duplicity. Or doubts and devils of the internal kind. Not so different from me, or you I suspect. On any given day we need God now and in force.

“Part your heavens, Lord, and come down; touch the mountains, so that they smoke. Send forth lightning and scatter the enemy,” David prayed. (Psalm 144:5-6)

How often have you felt like that? God, come down!

Christmas is an answer to that prayer.

Sort of.

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Red Tree in White by Eugene C Scott

 

Because no matter how many flashing lights we string and drums we bang, in the birth of Christ there were no smoking mountains and lightning bolts.

That’s not to say Jesus’ birth was not marked by the monumental. There hung a star, sung an angel choir. Those, however, were mere messengers. The birth itself was the miracle.

I remember the births of my children. Each was profound and transformational. With each I stood trembling as if thunder had crashed, wondering at the miracle of being a part of God’s creation.

Thirty some-odd years later, I put the two stories together, the birth of Jesus and the birth of my children. God came down like this?

There was no thunder and lightning, outside my overwhelmed heart. They were  beautiful, red and wrinkled and pointy-headed. They looked old, as if they’d travelled from eternity. They were fragile and tiny, skin translucent, as near death as life. Vulnerable. Needy.

15433778_10154502976454823_4068332343685572051_nThere’s a modern painting of Joseph and Mary after the birth of Jesus. It is so real and earthy. Dirt and stone but no smoke and lightning. The parents slouch on the ground, leaning against a rock wall with sandaled feet forward. Their eyes are closed in tired disbelief. Mary, slumped on Joseph’s shoulder, holds Jesus, swaddled, fragile, just like my children: vulnerable, needy.

The Lord came down, answering our many prayers, but in the most unpretentious, unpredicted, unexpected way.

Why? Why not come as David prayed?

The answer, in part, is at the heart of the Incarnation.

In coming, my children did not claim my allegiance through show of force, but captured it with a smile or cry. They did not force me to kneel down to change their diapers or raspberry their bare tummies, but I knelt to serve, love, and be near them. They did not demand service and sacrifice, they needed it and I found my greatest joy in making sure they were dry and safe and well fed. I served them gladly. They did not demand love but they grew it in me and drew it from me.

This is why Jesus came not with thunder and lightning but with dimples and folds.

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Dimples and Folds by Eugene C Scott

This is why he came a mere six pounds and nineteen inches rather than six-foot four two-fifty.

 

The God who needs nothing, especially our puny selves, came down as a needy babe so we could bow down, love, serve, and draw near.

As Frederich Buechner writes, “The Word become flesh. Ultimate Mystery born with a skull you could crush one-handed. Incarnation. It is not tame. It is not touching. It is not beautiful. It is uninhabitable terror. It is unthinkable darkness riven with unbearable light. Agonized laboring led to it, vast upheavals of intergalactic space/time split apart, a wrenching and tearing of the very sinews of reality itself. You can only cover your eyes and shudder before it, before this: ‘God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God . . . who for us and for our salvation,’ as the Nicene Creed puts it, ‘came down from heaven.’”

Yes, we should cover our eyes and shudder as if lightning struck. And sometimes I do. But Omnipotence joined in impotence so that we need not run and hide. We desire nothing less than a mountain shaking miracle for all to see. But what we needed was altogether different. We needed the miracle of God come down to be with us so that as he grew so would our love for him.

And one more miracle. God did not come down only that angel announced day. He does it now and forever. “I will be with you till the end of the age.” May this Christmas be the beginning or renewal of your journey with God. After all, he came down in answer to your prayer.

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Welcome! Photo by Eugene C Scott

 

Categories: Art, Bible, Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, Faith, God, God Sightings, Jesus, Living Spiritually, miracles, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

When Christmas Reality Exceeds Your Christmas Expectaions

Steve FossettA few years ago, just before Christmas, Dee Dee and I had the honor of sharing a table at a fundraiser for the Beaver Creek Religious Foundation with Steve Fossett and his wife.  Price of admission for Dee Dee and I: praying the blessing for the meal.

I had recently read “The Spirit of St. Louis,” Charles Lindbergh’s account detailing his 1927 solo, non-stop flight across the Atlantic.  Fossett had recently completed his own record-breaking, solo, unmotorized balloon circumnavigation of the globe.  It was an invitation of a lifetime.  I was champing at the bit to hear his story.  Fossett was only too willing to comply.

Finally, near the end of the dinner, Fossett came in for a landing and I asked, “Did you encounter God in any way while you were up there alone?”

Fossett’s face went blank.  He stammered something about the flight being just a record for him.  Like the many Boy Scout badges he had earned in younger years.  I was embarrassed to have asked and disappointed in how un-romantically he viewed his accomplishment.

Another Invitation

On the night Jesus was born the angels came to a group of shepherds with an invitation of a lifetime.  “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you, he is Christ [the One you have been waiting for] the Lord. . . . You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

What?  A baby in a horse trough?  What’s so great about that?  I wonder if they experienced similar disappointment to mine?  The Messiah was foretold to be the ultimate king, born of David, Israel’s greatest king.  The solution to all their problems.  They were soon to learn Jesus was much more than their expectations.

And so it is.  Somehow God mingles our meager Christmas expectations with much greater heaven-hope.  In “The Weight of Glory” C. S. Lewis wrote, “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Christmas is so much more than ribbons, bows, eggnog, Santa, and mistletoe.  It’s an open, down-to-earth invitation of a lifetime.  What will we settle for this Christmas? A tie and slippers?  While God sings, Come celebrate, experience, worship Immanuel, I Am with you.

May this Christmas be nothing you ever hoped or imagined.

Eugene

Categories: adventure, Art, Christianity, church, Eugene C. Scott, Faith, Gilcrease, God, God Sightings, Jesus, Living Spiritually, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Advent: What Are You Waiting For?

Advent Reflection

Christmas Lights Reflected in Water and Moss by Eugene C. Scott

Advent is the word that describes an attitude of anticipation and waiting, recognizing two seemingly competing truths.

Advent is the beginning of a period of time: the four weeks and Sundays before the Christ Mass.  Christians have celebrated Advent for multiply centuries to celebrate that Jesus, a baby born in a manger, brought salvation and heaven down to earth.  The Kingdom is here now.

Advent is also a recognition that, just as we wait to open presents and feast on Christmas Day, we also still wait for the reality of Jesus’ salvation and Kingdom to come fully.

My friend Chloe Hawker wrote a poem, more like a modern prayer, expressing this idea.  Enjoy!

Late December Morning

“Portrait of a late December morning
etched in glass and ice
the air so still that your breath hangs in a frozen fog
suspended until the ringing of the cathedral bells shatter it
and it falls to the ground tinkling like crystals
a December morning so cold
that your nose loses feeling before you even have a chance to cross your threshold
the wind glitters in the trees
collecting crushed leaves like forgotten memories and swirling them around in the
still freeze that wraps itself around the old churches
time stops here
waiting
breath suspended
for the next moment that the world starts to turn again
and breaks itself out of this
December eternity
this December moment
in the late morning
when frost covers the earth in a thin layer of incredulity
and reality forgets itself
as it watches the stars spin about
and the impossible become slowly possible
in the thinning of the veil between worlds that December always brings
you never know what you’ll see this time of year
what you’ll hear
nothing is certain
December whispers that it’s the month of death
but it lies
December is month of waiting
hanging
suspended
outstretched millimeters from touching flesh
mouth open
breathing into what could be a kiss
in one interminable moment
of silence
as the world refuses to turn
refuses to advance to that next moment when
eternity will break into this dimension
shattering all our illusions so instead
the world
waits”

Photo by John Moyer

Photo by John Moyer

Categories: Art, authenticity, Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, God Sightings, Living Spiritually, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , | 5 Comments

C.S. Lewis and Mr. T Speak Out on the Same Topic

Clive Staples Lewis

Clive Staples Lewis

“Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery. But it can be used the wrong way round. It can be used for a kind of blackmailing. Those who choose misery can hold joy up to ransom, by pity.”
C.S. Lewis ~ The Great Divorce

“I pity the fool.”

Mr. T

Categories: Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, God Sightings, Living Spiritually, Meaning, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

To See the Stars: A True Christmas Story of a Dying Boy’s Final Wish

By Eugene C. Scott

The following is a fictionalized version of a true story I read in one of the Denver newspapers when I was a boy.

He was just an electrician, blue-collar, working class. Other men were teachers, doctors, lawyers, important. Making big decisions in the world. He just ran wire in houses, attached outlets, lights, switches. And he fixed things. Toasters, mixers, that kind of stuff. He was good at it.

But he couldn’t fix this. Each night when he returned from work, he kissed his wife and asked, “How is he today?” This night, tears in her eyes, hands on her apron, she shook her head. He wrung his big calloused hands, feeling helpless.

Down the hall in his bedroom their nine-year-old son, now barely a wrinkle under the sheets, had grown too ill to even get out of bed. Cancer. The doctor said he may not even make it to Christmas, two weeks away. The electrician prayed as he entered his son’s room, “God, let me help my boy.”

The room was dark despite the drapes on the lone window being wide open. Outside dusk fell on Denver. The electrician switched on the light. His son started in his bed.

“Don’t, please,” his son whispered. “I want to see the stars.” The boy had always loved the stars and talked of becoming an astronaut and being the first to land on the moon. Not now. The electrician looked at his son’s skelatal face and flicked the light back off. He turned and wiped away his tears. He had moved the boy’s bed to the center of the room facing the window so the boy might catch a glimpse of those stars. It’s all he could do for him and hope shone in the boy’s eyes, when he caught sight of just one star.

Now the boy could not see well enough even for that. The father sat next to his son, helpless, praying.

A few nights later driving down out of the foothills, the lights of Denver, Queen City of the Plains, shown below him like stars. He pulled over and wept. “God, give my son one more glimpse of the stars, please.”

He started his truck and pulled back onto the road. The city lights danced below. Then it came. An idea.

The next day after work he asked his boss if he could take home some of the scraps and leftovers from the job. For his son. That night again his son asked, “Are the stars out?”

“Not yet.” After supper, the father descended into his workshop in the basement.

“Come to bed. What are you doing down there?” his wife called down, late.

“You’ll see. Go to bed,” he answered. Every night Christmas drew closer. And every night he worked harder.

Finally on Christmas Eve, as he prepared for work, there was a new spring in his step and the tiredness that usually fell on his shoulders lifted. He kissed his wife.

“I’ll be home early tonight.”

When he came home he visited his son. Sitting there next to the bed he wiggled in his chair like a child. After the boy fell back to sleep,  he drew the drapes closed on the window. Then he went to the garage and drug out a ladder. And trudging through the snow, he leaned it against the bare tree outside his son’s window. Then he retrieved his project from the basement. As he climbed up and down the ladder his wife looked out the back door but never asked. It took him until after dark but soon all was set–just as he had imagined. He took his wife by the hand and crept into his son’s room. The electrician’s heart beat like a drum in his chest.

“Son, son,” he said , shaking his boy gently. “Look!” And just then he drew open the drapes.

The boy opened his eyes and followed his father’s gaze to the tree outside his window. “The stars,” he gasped. “So close.” A smile lit his gray face. “The stars!”

From that night, Christmas Eve, until his son closed his eyes for the final time, bright, white stars of hope–big enough for the boy to see–shone just outside the boy’s window.

The father, just an electrician, had made the stars come out. And they still shine today. For those stars were lights the electrician father strung together in his basement and hung in the bare branches of a tree to give his son a final Christmas gift. Those stars are the lights we string on houses and trees from coast to coast during the Christmas season.

Christmas lights then are more than decorations; they are advertisements of a father’s love. And of a Father’s love.

Our heavenly Father sent us a Light of hope too. Several thousand years ago a Jewish writer named Isaiah wrote, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” He was writing about the coming of Jesus. The first Christmas Light lifted up on a rugged tree. “I am the light of the world,” Jesus said. May the light and peace and hope of Jesus Christ illuminate your coming and going today, tomorrow and forevermore.

Eugene C. Scott proudly lives in Denver, where this story took place and he hangs lights on his house every year. He loves stories, fictional and non and is writing a novel. But isn’t everyone. He also co-pastors The Neighborhood Church which will celebrate the birth of Jesus with a Christmas Eve service at 5:30pm. Go to tnc3.org for more info.

Categories: Art, authenticity, bible conversation, care, Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, God Sightings, Jesus, miracles, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Christmas: What Are You Looking Forward To?

Even during cheery holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas, death has a way of reminding us it’s still hanging around. Such as when my wife’s Aunt Maxine called a few days before Thanksgiving.

“Dori, this is Max. I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday.” Aunt Maxine’s shaky 90 year-old voice quavered on our voice mail. “Call me when you get back. . . . Bye.”

Dee Dee’s mom, Dori, passed away twenty-two years ago, on November 19, 1989, the day before she turned 67.

Aunt Maxine, Doris’ older sister, has Alzheimer’s. It’s remarkable then that she remembered Doris’ birthday and phone number (which may be the best reason not to transfer your departed parents’ number to your own land-line). We’ve now had several calls from Aunt Maxine, even after we went to visit her in the nursing home. We had to tell her–again–that she is the only one left. All of her siblings have passed.

She didn’t cry this time.

During our visit to the nursing home Aunt Maxine said, “I’ve reached a dead-end.” Dee Dee and I looked at her, aching for her. Then Maxine said, “I don’t have anything left to look forward to.”

How do you tell a woman who can no longer hear well and who can’t remember what she just said–much less what you said–that there may be Something to look forward to?

Talking about such things is difficult under normal circumstances. When death is near more so.

I once had a friend, Dean, who had terminal cancer. One night–late–I met Dean and his wife, Diana, at the hospital. His wife was looking for one final treatment, one last shred of hope. Dean had been a state champion weight lifter, tough, self-made. Now he was but a gray shadow. Dying.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told her. “All we can do now is manage his pain.” We cried. The doctor stood while we prayed and then touching Dean’s shoulder, left. We wheeled Dean out of the hospital. But we couldn’t get him back in his tall four-wheel drive truck. So I loaded him into my Oldsmobile to take him home.

Driving down the dark highway Dean said, “Eugene, I’m dying. How can I know I’m going to heaven?” The car radio was off. Bright car lights approached on the other side of the road. Dean breathed painfully. I waited. Prayed.

“Dean, this cancer is terrible but it’s not God’s punishment.” He lifted his head and glanced at me, a slight smile on his gaunt face.

“I haven’t always been a very good man. I got divorced. I don’t always treat my kids right. Worse.”

“Yeah, I know. God knows too. That’s what all that stuff on the Cross was about: forgiveness, grace. You love God don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus loved you first. When the time comes, he’ll be glad to see you.”

Dean fell silent after that. His breathing grew labored. The car groaned under a heavy silence. Finally I couldn’t hear him breathe anymore. I kept glancing across the car trying to see him whenever a car passed, yellow light sliding over Dean’s naked head. His eyes were closed and he didn’t move. We exited the highway and his head lolled. He slumped against the car door. His hand dropped onto the seat.

Oh God, he’s dead, I thought. He’s died right in my car. Did I say enough?

I pulled into his long dirt driveway. Diana was already there, standing small next to Dean’s tricked-out truck, my wife, Dee Dee beside her. Diana shaded her eyes against the car lights. I pulled up and stopped distant from her. What if he’s dead and she opens the door and he falls out. That would be horrible. Diana approached and my heart raced. Please . . .

Dean sat, sagging and empty faced. God . . . Diana grabbed the door handle. Please . . . Dean’s body shifted. God. Suddenly Dean lifted his head and he said, “Are we home?” Dean looked out the window and then at me and blinking said, “Thanks, Eugene.” A weak smile. “I’m ready now.”

We grieved and celebrated Dean’s other home-going shortly after that strange night. He had Something to look forward to.  

I wanted to tell Aunt Maxine I believe there is something–or Someone–to look forward to. And she could believe that too. I wasn’t able to. So I prayed God would have a conversation with her. Speak through her muddled brain straight to her soul. Maybe she would be able to hear Him. Maybe as Christmas begins to take place around her, a song, a verse, a picture of a manger will remind her Who was born so long ago. Who she has to look forward to.

Maybe next time we visit Aunt Maxine God will make it so we can help her see that, though death is still hanging around, it does not have the final word.

Eugene C. Scott  doesn’t always write about such serious, difficult subjects. Sometimes he writes about silly, difficult subjects. Eugene co-pastors the Neighborhood Church which is preparing to celebrate Christmas through an Advent series called “The Gift of Christmas Presence.”

Categories: bible conversation, Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, Faith, God Sightings, Jesus, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Is Black Friday our Non-fiction “Hunger Games”?

By Eugene C. Scott

The recent near riots on “Black Friday” prove once again truth is at least as twisted as fiction.

In her Young Adult novel “The Hunger Games,” Suzanne Collins invented a science fiction world in which television is used to manipulate and control people (Far fetched, I know). Through fiction, Collins explores the power and danger of a self-serving media in control of information.

Panem is a country where the wealthy province called the Capitol rules the other eleven districts through media promoted fear and manipulation. The height of this manipulation are the yearly nationally televised “Hunger Games.” These Games are simultaneously revered, hated, loved, and feared by the population of Panem. The Games consist of the ruling elite choosing one 12-18 year-old boy and girl from each district who must then enter a fantastic, futuristic arena created by the Capitol and there fight to the death. The sole survivor is then further manipulated for the Capitol’s purposes. Omniscient TV cameras promote and exploit every bloody detail and death of the Games.

In a previous blog I asked the question, “What if ‘The Hunger Games’ Were True?” The media hype before Black Friday and the simultaneous delight and shock over people trampling, pummeling, and pepper spraying each other during Black Friday suggests in an eerie way they are.

Lest you think I’m overreacting, notice how the media promotes the Black Friday shopping frenzy and then in the name of ratings run clip after clip of the hysteria they helped cause. These alarming newscasts are then surrounded by commercials for the very products we have been sent out to beat each other up to purchase. Worse yet, during Christmas most news hours will contain one story–or more–decrying the state of our economy and not so subtle pleas for us to save the economy by buying more. Again, this “news” story will be sponsored by products we can’t live without. Try sitting  down in front of your TV this Christmas season and count how many “news” stories are really nothing more than commercials.

Our media may be more subtle and less overtly evil than in Panem. Yet, Collins says she got the idea for “The Hunger Games” in part from TV. She was channel surfing between a reality show and war footage late one night. She says, “I was really tired, and the lines between these stories started to blur in a very unsettling way.”

Blurred and unsettling indeed. And our blurring of reality is destructive in more ways than people punching each other over “Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3.”

Our free fall into rampant consumerism is not just the fault of the media, however. Most often we are willingly duped. We want to need the latest 60 inch flat screen iPod. At its core Collins’ “Hunger Games” is about complacency, about uncritically believing what you see and hear on TV, what those in control of information tell you. We have been told and many (most?) have come to believe we are defined by what we purchase. And we need to buy these things that define us on Black Friday, or at least before Christmas.

It’s ironic that we have transformed Christmas–of all holidays–into the main engine behind this consumerist lie. Because the truth of Christmas is the death knell to consumerism. The truth of Christmas is that God came to be among us, born as a naked baby who owned nothing and yet had everything to give. And God did this not because of our purchasing power. But because in our need–products can’t fill–God still loved us.

Collins’ novel does not point to this ultimate truth. But it certainly pushes us to strive for more than the game we are being sold on the big screen.

Last year Eugene C. Scott bought himself a really expensive Christmas present. It was cool but did not satisfy or define him. This year he will happily settle for much less. Eugene pastors the Neighborhood Church which is preparing for Christmas through an Advent series called “The Gift of Christmas Presence.”

Categories: Bible, bible conversation, Books, Christianity, Eugene C. Scott, God, God Sightings, Jesus, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

How Isolation Kills and Intimacy Gives Life

By Eugene C. Scott

Isolation

The Illinois sky was painful, gray, close, oppressive. The few of us standing on the hill in the cemetery were all tucked into our coats and scarves against the winter wind. He, the man we were gathered around, was tucked against that same wind–against life–into a nondescript coffin.

I was a young associate pastor in a large Presbyterian church and had been asked to preside at the man’s funeral. I hadn’t known the man. He was homeless and had been hit and killed by a train. The few others at the graveside, dark suited men from the mortuary, a newspaper reporter wishing he were elsewhere, the policemen who had found the man’s body, workers from the homeless shelter, and the grieving train engineer, didn’t know the man either. Nor did anyone know if the man had stepped in front of the train accidentally or on purpose. It mattered to the engineer.

Funerals are always heart  breaking. I remember each one I’ve officiated. But I’ve carried that particular  funeral and that man in my heart for twenty years.

At all of the other funerals there was always someone who could speak for and about the person who had passed. Even the very old, who have outlived their friends and family, often have a doctor or nurse who witnessed their last moments. Presiding over these memories is painful but beautiful too.

This day I read the man’s bare-bones obituary, recited the 23 Psalm, offered a prayer, stood in cold silence for a moment, grieved in a strange, disconnected way and then turned and left the man in the hands of God and the gravediggers.

No one should be that unknown.

Yet many of us in modern culture, especially in America, , and not just the homeless, live isolated lives, unknown to ourselves and others. I recently heard someone say we Americans are people of the box. We live in boxes, travel in boxes, and work or learn in boxes within a bigger box. Shared knowledge and experiences are rare. Each of us has his or her own earbuds plugged into a personalized playlist. And it’s costing us.

In 2003 thirty-three researchers from various fields published a report called “Hardwired to Connect” in which they wrote, “We are witnessing high and rising rates of depression, anxiety, attention deficit, conduct disorders, thoughts of suicide, and other serious mental, emotional, and behavioral problems among U.S. children and adolescents.” Further the report states, “In large measure, what’s causing this crisis of American childhood is a lack of connectedness. We mean two kinds of connectedness — close connections to other people, and deep connections to moral and spiritual meaning.” Hardwired to Connect is not merely opinion but a combination of various empirical studies that show how and why humans need to know and be known by others.

Science aside, most of us intuitively know we need each other. Starbucks has not taken over the coffee shop world because they serve the best coffee. Starbucks’ genius was offering Americans a place to connect, if only briefly and outwardly. Mark Zuckerberg too made a mint providing people with a way to connect. Yet we need deeper connections than these two famous entrepreneurs capitalized on.

I was recently interviewed as a character witness for a long-time friend. A few minutes into the interview, I realized the FBI agent was professionally sprinkling into the conversation questions that would confirm whether I truly knew my friend.

“What do his children do?” he asked as if he didn’t already know.

“Has he ever travelled out of the country?”

Each question drew up a different memory from our thirty-four years of friendship. Pictures of being at each others’ weddings, of ski trips, fights, the births of our children, tragedies, successes, meals, illnesses, vacations, funerals, you name it, they flooded into my head.

Finally the FBI agent asked, “Is he patriotic? Does he love his country?”

More memories. To my chagrin tears rose to my eyes and my chin quivered. I was crying in front of a FBI agent.

Patriotic? My friend has served in the military all the time I’ve known him. Love his country? He volunteered to serve in Iraq for a year despite the fact his age would have kept him from having to do so. His son fought in Bagdad as a Marine. Patriotic? Are you kidding me?

But those memories aren’t the ones that brought on the embarrassing tears.

After my mother passed away in 2003, I inherited the United States flag that had draped my father’s coffin years before. That year, for Christmas, my wife Dee Dee gave me a wooden triangular case to display the flag in. One night we had a group of friends over, including my patriotic friend and his wife and son. They noticed my father’s flag was folded improperly and asked my permission to refold it. My friend and his son stood apart–the flag between them–and using sharp, precise military moves refolded the flag, handed it to me, and saluted. I wept that day too.

This was not playing army. This was father and son honoring a son and a lost father. This was an intimate gift coming from a long friendship. My friend knew me.

Sitting across from that FBI agent I cried because in a world of isolation I knew my friend well enough to pass the test and he knew me that well too. And neither of us would face life or death unknown like that unfortunate homeless man.

Eugene C. Scott writes the GodSighings blog.  Eugene co-pastors The Neighborhood Church in Littleton, CO.

Categories: authenticity, belonging, Bible, bible conversation, care, Community, Eugene C. Scott, friends, God, God Sightings, happiness, Jesus, loneliness, love., priorities, together, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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