Flight Paths

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            Every Sunday afternoon I go through those colorful inserts in the Sunday paper and cut out coupons.  We don’t use much processed food beyond condiments and cereals, so I seldom clip the “hundreds of dollars worth” they brag about, but it’s always enough to pay for the paper and pull my shopping trip under budget, sometimes as much as 20%, so it’s well worth the effort.

            I regularly shake my head at a lot of the products I see these days.  Convenience foods have turned us into helpless klutzes in the kitchen.  Even at out of season prices I can buy a large fresh bell pepper and chop it myself into well more than a cupful for about $1, OR I can buy a measly half cup already chopped for $3 and save myself a whopping 2 minutes of chopping time at six times the cost.  Wow, she muttered, unimpressed.

            Then there is the “fun factor.”  For some reason we always need to be entertained.  As I flipped through those coupons last week, I came across a full page ad for a new cereal—“Poppin’ Pebbles,” which, I am told, offer “big berry flavor with a fantastic fizz.”  Evidently these out-fun the snap, crackle, pop of the old Rice Krispies I grew up with, judging by the amazed look on the child model’s face, her hands splayed over her cheeks in wonderment.  Now, I guess, our meals must entertain us before they are worthy to be eaten.

            Don’t think for a minute that this doesn’t reflect our spiritual attitudes.  “I can hardly listen to that man,” a sister told me once of a brother’s teaching ability.  The brother in question had one of the finest Bible minds I ever heard and regularly took a passage I thought I knew inside out and showed me something new in it, usually far deeper than its standard interpretation, one that kept me thinking for days afterward.  So what was the problem?  He didn’t tell jokes, he didn’t share cute stories or warm, fuzzy poetry.  He just talked and you had to do your part and listen.

            Do you think they didn’t have those problems in the first century?  Pagan religion was exciting.  The fire, the spectacle, the pounding rhythms, the garish costumes, not to mention the appeal to sensuality, made it far more appealing to the masses than a quiet service of reverent, joyful a capella singing, prayers, and a simple supper memorializing a sacrifice.

            Some of those long ago brethren must have tried to bring in the fun factor.  When it came to spiritual gifts, they weren’t satisfied unless they could have the flashy ones.  The whole discussion in 1 Corinthians 12 begins with a group who thinks that their gift is the best because of that.  They have to be reminded that they all receive those gifts from the same source “as the Spirit wills” not as they will—it has nothing to do with one being better, or more necessary, than the other, or one brother being more important.

            They wanted to jazz up their services every chance they got, even speaking in tongues when an interpreter was not present.  Paul had to tell them to stop, to “be silent.”  It is not about entertainment and glory, he said, it’s about edification (1 Cor 14:26). 

            What did Paul call these people who wanted flash and show, who wanted entertainment?  In verse 14:20 he says that such behavior is childish.  In 3:1 he calls them carnal and equates that with spiritual immaturity.  Did you notice that breakfast cereal ad I mentioned is directed squarely at children?  It is assumed that when you grow up you don’t need such motivation to do what’s good for you, like eat your whole grains, and God assumes that as spiritual adults we will understand the importance of spiritual things. 

            And what about the friends we try to reach?  Do we pander to their baser instincts and expect to create an appreciation for intense Bible study, an ability to stand up to temptation, and a joyful acceptance of persecution?  When it’s no longer fun all the time, when it’s hard work and sacrifice, will they quit?

            People who want to be entertained are the same ones who want a physical kingdom here on this earth instead of the spiritual one that “is within you,” that is “not of this world.”  They are the ones who want a comedian for a preacher instead of a man of God who will teach the Word of God plainly and simply.  They want a singing group they can tap their toes to instead of songs they can sing from the heart with others who may be just as tone-deaf as they are.  Read the context.  “Singing with the spirit” is not about clapping your hands and stomping your feet to the rhythm.  It’s about teaching and growing spiritually.

            Being a Christian is always joyful, but when I believe that joy is always predicated on entertainment, I am no better than Herod who wanted Jesus to entertain him just hours before his crucifixion.  I am no better than the former pagans who tried to bring flashy rituals into the spiritual body of Christ.  I am no better than a child who needs coddling in order to behave himself. 

            Imagine what might have happened if Jesus had needed to be entertained in order to save us.

For it is a rebellious people, lying children, children that will not hear the law of Jehovah; that say to the seers, See not; and to the prophets, Prophesy not unto us right things, speak unto us smooth things, prophesy deceits…And for this cause God sends them a working of error, that they should believe a lie: that they all might be judged who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.  Isa 30:10,11; 2 Thes 2:11,12.

Dene Ward

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            As winter turned to spring this year, we noticed all the usual signs.  The azaleas spilled white, red, and all shades of pink and purple blooms under every live oak in sight.  The dogwoods made white spotlights in the forests when a sunbeam broke through the gloom.  The robins made brief rest stops on their return migration north, and hummingbirds buzzed our feeder, empty since last October, letting us know they were back and ready to be fed.  Oak pollen sifted down in a yellow powder all over the car.  The temperature and humidity rose as did the gnats, flies, and mosquitoes out of the swamps and bogs.  And Chloe started shedding.

            Magdi always shed individual hairs as she rolls in the grass, as she scratches, as we pet or brush her.  But Chloe sheds in clumps.  Whenever she rose, she left behind wads of red fur on the grass or carport, reminding me of the floor of a beauty salon after a haircut.  Every time we scratched her head, the clumps stuck to our hands and clothes, or floated off with the breeze as if we had blown red dandelion puffs.  Before long she looked like an old sofa with large threadbare patches.  Eventually all her winter coat fell off—everything except a two inch fringe running down her hind legs.  Now she looks like a canine cowgirl wearing chaps.

            But you know what?  She is still Chloe, our one-year-old Australian cattle dog.  She still loves to eat.  She still nips at Magdi’s heels.  She still chases butterflies and grasshoppers, and plays tug-o-war with ropes and rags.  She still has a sweet little face that melts my heart.

            When we become Christians, Paul tells us we should lay aside the old self, Eph 4:22, crucify ourselves, Gal 2:20, and become new creatures, 2 Cor 5:17.  Too many times we do what Chloe did, shed the outer self only.  The inside stays the same.  We still consider ourselves before others, we still give in to every temptation, we still excuse our poor behavior instead of grabbing hold of the power of Christ to really change who we are.  We are still exactly the same person; we just have a new haircut.

            Changing is hard—it does not happen overnight.  But how many of us can examine ourselves honestly today and see a change from that day we claimed to make a commitment?  How long has it been?  Even one year should show a significant change for the better, and how many of us have twenty, thirty, forty years or more under our belts and still make the same mistakes on a regular basis?

            Don’t just sweep some hair off the floor today.  If you haven’t already, start making a real change in yourself.

I beseech you therefore brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  And be not fashioned according to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, Rom 12:1,2.

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            I looked in the pantry the other day for a box of pasta.  Know what I found?  Spaghetti, penne rigate, orzo, linguini, lasagna, shells, and elbow macaroni.  I stood there at least five minutes trying to figure out which one I wanted to use.  Then I needed vinegar.  There was apple cider vinegar, white vinegar, balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, white wine vinegar, red wine vinegar, and homemade rosemary vinegar.  That took even longer. 

            I remember the old days when I had spaghetti and macaroni, apple cider vinegar and all purpose white.  I didn’t have enough money in the grocery budget to play around with anything else.  We still aren’t rich, but we are certainly better off than thirty years ago, and being better off has cost me a lot of time lately, trying to figure out what I want to use when instead of just grabbing the only thing available and throwing it in the pot.

           That made me wonder what this economy and this culture is costing the Lord’s body.  Things may be changing, but we can still worship without fear.  So what do we do?  Since we don’t face actual physical persecution, we find silly things to fight about among ourselves.  Since we have plenty in the coffers due to our more affluent membership, we argue about what to do with it, and often wind up “burying our money” in bank accounts. 

            In the very old days, the brethren were too busy fighting pagan culture and hostile government to fight among themselves.  In the more recent old days, money was hard to come by for everyone so when they got a little they were quick to share it.  I’ve seen that in secular organizations.  I was involved with a local music teacher’s group that regularly emptied its bank account giving to needy students for lessons and school music programs for supplies.  Then we put together a community cookbook, made $1000 in one month and had to practically pry anything past several members who, once they had gotten a taste of financial security, didn’t want to give it up.

            We often say, “Be careful what you wish for.”  When we can read in the scriptures of churches so poor they didn’t have enough themselves but still begged to be a part of the giving, I think I understand why wealth is such a dangerous thing.  When things are so easy for us that we look for petty things to fight about, Satan is using that wealth, that security, that life of ease to tear us apart and make us ineffective at the mission God has set before us. 

            Maybe that’s why persecution is looked at favorably in so many passages.  Maybe that’s why wealth in the New Testament is never pictured as anything but dangerous. 

            I just looked in my pantry again.  I have all-purpose flour, cake flour, bread flour, and whole wheat flour.  Despite my protestations, I am too wealthy. 

            It’s time to go fix dinner.  I don’t know whether to use the basmati rice, the brown rice, or the Arborio rice.  Do you know what to do with the blessings you have?

We want you to know, brothers, about the grace of God that has been given among the churches of Macedonia, for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints-- and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us. 2 Corinthians 8:1-5

Dene Ward

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            I sat on the carport today since the spring breeze is still cool, and relatively dry.  I was working on Proverbs with my trusty bodyguards lying at my feet, tails occasionally swishing sand across the concrete.  When we first moved here, twenty-nine years ago now, it was the quietest place we had ever lived.  No neighbors revving up engines of various kinds, no traffic on the highway, certainly no sirens wailing in the air.  In the past two or three weeks alone, I have heard sirens three times, which is about as many times as I heard them the whole 29 years before.  People are moving here to have what we have, and in the process, destroying it.

            But that morning I was suddenly struck by how quiet it was—not exactly like all those years ago, but close.  I sat still and really listened; half a dozen different birds sounds, chirps, tweets, squawks, caws, shrieks, and crows; wings flapping in the oaks; a June bug buzzing over our heads in the sycamore,  two planes droning overhead, one a jet and the other a single-engine prop; hummingbirds humming and squeaking at the feeder; a semi roaring faintly down the highway to the west beyond the woods, hitting the speed bumps a good half mile away with a rhythmic brrrrump—brrrrump--brump, brump, brump. 

            Even the dogs seemed to realize how quiet things were, and they sat there with me, watching and listening.  Amazing things happen when you sit quietly and just listen.  A limb, evidently weakened by age and a recent wind, suddenly cracked and fell just up the driveway, a little flock of sparrows landed barely two feet off the concrete slab, hopping around on the ground as if totally unaware that a human and two dogs were nearby; a pileated woodpecker suddenly swooped down across the drive and landed on the water oak trunk and began pecking for his lunch; a lizard crept out onto the steps and puffed out his red balloon of a throat when he suddenly realized we were there, and a black and yellow swallowtail butterfly landed on an azalea limb close enough for me to see its spots.

            I have heard that Abraham Lincoln was fond of saying, “Better to be quiet and thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”  I didn’t realize that he was paraphrasing one of the proverbs:  Even a fool when he holds his peace is counted as wise; when he shuts his lips, he is esteemed as prudent, 17:28.  I suppose Lincoln’s version was a bit more colorful, but you get the point.  Amazing things can happen when you keep your mouth shut.  People may actually think you are wise!

            Someone else has also noted that when your mouth is open, your ears stop working, which is just a cute way of saying that when you are talking you can’t listen, and most of us need to do much more listening than talking.  I would guess that the majority of times we find ourselves in hot water it is because we talked when we should have been quiet.  Is there a problem in the home?  At work?  With a neighbor?  Look back in your mind and ‘listen’ to what happened.  Amazing things can happen when you listen.   You will probably see that it all began with a word NOT fitly spoken.  As James said:  Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak and slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not work the righteousness of God, 1:19,20.

            Listening is also a good way to serve others.  Don’t be so quick to give advice unless it is specifically asked for.  Don’t be so quick to take over the conversation with how you handled something similar.  Amazing things can happen when you listen.  By having a sympathetic listener, many people can figure their way out of problems on their own, and they will be so grateful for your “help.” 

            Ahem, men—she doesn’t want you to fix it, she just wants you to listen.  You will become her hero.  Truly amazing things can happen if you just listen.

            And always listen to God.  Too many times we are explaining ourselves to him instead.  Imagine that.  This is God we are talking about and we feel the need to explain something to him?  Listen instead.  Maybe the problem is we don’t want to hear what he has to say to us.  So if you do answer back, listen to that too.  You might realize your error and repent.  

            Amazing things can happen when you sit quietly and listen.

And Moses said, the Lord God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers.  You shall listen to him in whatever he tells you.  And it shall be that every soul who does not listen to that prophet shall be destroyed from the people, Acts 3:22,23.

Dene Ward

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Today’s post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! OR ELSE! Or, in the words of Jesus, “Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.”

Seems to me that we have blunted the meaning of, “REPENT!” with all sorts of rationalizations: “That is just the way I am,” “I am doing the best I can and one’s best is all that God requires,” “Overall, I am walking in the light, I just have this one problem.”

Repent means change. It does not mean doing the thing less often. A thief does not repent by only holding up 1 store a month instead of 1 a day. Overall, our approach denies the “power of godliness” to change one completely.

We have substituted the power of a magic partaking of the Lord’s Supper for repentance. We seem to believe that if we really think really hard about Jesus’ sacrifice while we partake, and pray hard and feel real, real sorry for our failings (lets not use that 3 letter “S” word), then we will be OK. But, then we did that last week, and the week before and…. And we continue in the same sinful habits, maybe less often, “I’m getting better!”

Sounds a lot like 2 Cor 7 doesn’t it, where Paul contrasts it with the godly sorrow that works repentance and calls it a sorrow of the world that leads to death.

One may slip and fall after he repents, may even do so more than once. But, repentance means one stops the wrong behavior. God gives us the power to do so, the power of Christ in us, the hope of Glory. Too often we keep one foot in the pleasures and proclaim, “I am making progress.”

JUST SAY NO. STOP!

OR PERISH.

Keith Ward

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A few weeks ago, Satan finished what he started three years ago and stole my identity.  I have packed up the last of my teaching supplies: sheet music, collections, method books, assignment notebooks, theory books, technique books, concerti, history notebooks, listening labs, computer disk theory games, stickers, rhythm instruments, home made music bingo games, magic slates with grand staffs permanently imprinted on them, even my old textbook How to Teach Piano Successfully.  I have sent them on to a young piano teacher in Ohio, who is just starting out.

            I had a weepy moment or two.  This part of my life—35 years worth plus all those years learning--is definitely over now.  There is no going back; I simply cannot see the music any longer.  But I am happy to know that these things will be put to good use—that other little children will learn with them, and that a young preaching couple will have a bit more coming in to help out with a skimpy income.  But for a moment the large empty space under my piano made me feel invisible. 

            I am no longer the piano and voice teacher in Union County. 

            I no longer open my doors every afternoon to excited little faces, making sure that grubby little hands are washed before touching the keys, but still picking up every ailment my students brought my way, including parvo once, for goodness sake!  It must have been all the hugs. 

            I am no longer playing at weddings half a dozen times a year.  I am no longer meeting with my fellow teachers once or twice a month, serving as association officer or chairman of this committee or that. 

            I no longer take a dozen students to various competitions, crying with them for their losses and cheering for their wins.  I no longer spend hours on themed spring programs, gathering up suitable music, matching it to each student’s personality, then working out the details, including skits and grand finales. 

            I no longer present high school seniors in debut recitals with formals and tuxes, long-stemmed red roses, and a glittery reception afterward. 

            Satan has stolen all of that from me with this disease.

            It could have been a real problem for me.  I could have sunk into a depression difficult to come out of.  Then I remembered my real identity.

            Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us that we should be called the children of God; and we are, 1 John 3:1.

            Listen my beloved brethren did not God choose those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which he promised to those who love him? James 2:4.

            But you are an elect race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, that you may show forth the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light, 1 Pet 2:9.

            He has granted unto us precious and exceeding great promises, that through these you may become partakers of the divine nature, 
2 Pet 1:4.

            The Spirit bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ, if so be that we suffer with him, that we may also be glorified with him, Rom 8:16,17.

            I still have my identity, and so do you.  It’s the one that counts, the one that Satan cannot steal, the one that will last forever.

Dene Ward

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            I learned as a child in the Florida school system that Juan Ponce de Leon was the first Spanish explorer to land here.  No records are available but he was believed to have been born in July, 1474, and traveled with Columbus as a very young man before ultimately setting off on his own.

            He had heard stories about a magical spring that could cure diseases and make you young again, so he began the search, finally sighting land on March 27, 1513.  A few days later he landed; no one is sure the exact date except that it was “late March.”  The land he set foot on somewhere near St. Augustine was so beautiful he called it Florida.  Spring in Florida is beautiful.  I understand why he was impressed.  If he had landed in July, we would have had a much different name.  (What’s the Spanish word for “oven?”)

            We do have a lot of natural springs in Florida—probably half a dozen within 30 miles of where I sit—but none with the magical powers he looked for.  I can find a Fountain of Youth quite easily, though.  I have it laid out right next to me as I type.  The eternal life promised to the faithful may be the most obvious application of that concept, but I can think of yet another.

            As I watch my grandsons play I find myself remembering my own childhood, realizing as an adult how unfettered it was by worry, pain, and sorrow.  I never for a moment wondered where my next meal was coming from.  I never worried about storms, not even hurricanes.  I never worried about bad people doing bad things to me.  I had a Daddy I trusted implicitly.  He would take care of me.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Once when I was still in early grade school, I had a bad dream.  My Daddy came in and sat on the bed next to me, asking me about the dream and then carefully undoing every worry it had evoked in me.  When he finished I could go back to sleep because of his reassurances.  That’s what Daddies do.

            One morning in first grade I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what now.  But my Daddy noticed that I had tears in my eyes when I got out of the car.  As I stood in front of my classroom, waiting for the bell to ring, I looked up and there he was, striding down the sidewalk.  He had parked the car and come looking for me to make sure I was all right.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Daddies provide.  They protect.  They comfort.  Do you want a Fountain of Youth?  Stop worrying about things you cannot fix.  Stop being afraid of things you cannot handle alone.  Stop wondering how you will manage.  Cast your cares on a Father who loves you.  Once again become a little child who has a Daddy who will always be there, always watching out for your needs and taking care of your problems.  If you don’t have that, it’s only because you insist on ignoring His outstretched hand.  You insist on trying to control everything yourself—as if you were the Daddy. 

            Do you begin your prayers, “Father in Heaven?”  Then act like He is your Father.  Trust Him.  Begin this day with a new exuberance, one born because you have surrendered your cares to Him and finally found the Fountain of Youth.

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, Romans 8:14-16.

Dene Ward

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            Once before I gave you a set of short statements from a class I had taught that I called “Gleanings.”  It was well-received so I thought you might enjoy this latest set from the year and a half we studied faith—65 pages covering every single passage in the Bible that used that word.  It has been a while since I learned so much, and I believe we all left it with knowledge that has impacted our daily walks—and isn’t that the purpose of studying God’s Word in the first place?

            First you must understand how this class works--we use the Word of God to determine the truth, NOT what Mama said, what the preacher says, what I’ve always heard, or what I’m comfortable with.  We learn—which means sooner or later we all completely change our minds about something, and ultimately the way we live our lives.  Light bulbs pop on regularly.

            So here is the latest list of “gleanings,” capsule statements that summarized whole lessons.  As usual feel free to use what you like.  Everything here came directly from specific scriptures.

            Faith is inextricably bound with hope.
            Both faith and hope involve full assurance, not just wishing.
            Faith can fluctuate but should be growing so that even today’s down times are higher than those in the past, maybe even higher than yesterday’s up times, and the fluctuation should gradually decrease.
            More faith is required to handle difficult times.
            Faith can completely stop, but it can also be revived.
            Faith is active and visible in a person’s life.
            There are such things as “works of faith.”
            True faith is accompanied by positive character traits like courage, morality, love, and forgiveness.
            Faith is a continuing condition in life, NOT a single instance that occurs early on and that’s that.
            Faith obeys.
            Faith protects.
            Faith is an asset in difficult times, not a burden.
            We live by our faith—spiritual survival, not physical.
            Faith progresses, i.e, it grows and matures.
            Faith fights and overcomes.
            Faith doesn’t expect Heaven in this life.
            Faith does not equal righteousness, but leads to it.
            Faith responds in obedience.
            Faith involves commitment, trust, reliance and acceptance of things we don’t like or understand.
            Our faith is in a Who not a what.
            Faith has less to do with great courageous feats than with an everyday recognition of God and His plan and His promises, and allowing those things to direct every decision, every action, and every word.
            Faith in God is not just about believing that He exists.  True faith is about becoming like Him.
            “O ye of little faith” was always spoken to his closest disciples.  God expects the most from those who claim the greatest faith.
            True faith is a product of humility.
            “Sound” faith in the New Testament is only applied to people who live sound lives.  A sound church, then, has more to do with how its members live from Monday through Saturday than with how it conducts itself on Sunday mornings or how it spends its money.
            Abraham became the father of the faithful only after decades of growing in that faith until finally he surrendered his life and his need for logic in two statements on Mt Moriah:  God is able (Heb 11:19) and God will provide (Gen 22:8).  He trusted God to do what He had promised whether he understood how or not.

            If you have questions about which scriptures these came from, you can contact me on the left sidebar.

Dene Ward

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            The past few mornings I have heard a dove off in the trees just north of the house.  His call is a distinctive one, and obviously the reason for his name.  He sounds so sad, like he is in mourning for someone he lost.  I don’t believe I have ever heard any other type of call from this particular bird or any other birdcall so sad.

            Then this morning he landed on my feeder.  I have seen doves from a distance.  They like to stay close to the ground, and when they fly they have a distinctive sound in their “take-off.”  I know they are doves even though I cannot see them well. 

            When this one came to eat at our free breakfast bar, I was amused.  He has the fattest breast of any bird I have seen yet, which I suppose explains why there is a dove season, and not a cardinal or blue jay or, certainly not, a titmouse season.  But his head is tiny and round.  He waddled down the feeder, taking his time to eat, then look around, then eat some more.  Rather than mournful, this bird looks pretty happy, I thought, almost like a little feathered clown.

            Isn’t that the dichotomy of a Christian?  We mourn for the state of the world, for the state of the people we care about in this world who have not found their way yet, or worse perhaps, those who had found it but lost it again.  We mourn that our Savior had to suffer because of that, and we mourn yet more because of the part we played in that suffering.  Yet for the same reason, we rejoice.  Because of that suffering, we are free, we are saved, we have hope for what would otherwise be unattainable.

            And because of that, when the griefs of life come our way, we still have joy, even while the tears run down our faces.  Tomorrow our smiles will return.  They are permanently etched there while the tears are only temporary; not just joy amid sorrows, but joy overcoming sorrows.  Enough so that when others look our way, they will be surprised at how unaffected we are by the sadness around us, just like I was surprised by the jaunty little mourning dove. 

Being therefore justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom also we have had our access by faith unto this grace wherein we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we also rejoice in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation works steadfastness, and steadfastness approvedness, and approvedness hope; and hope puts not to shame because the love of God has been shed abroad in our hearts through the Holy Spirit which was given unto us, Rom 5:1-5.

Dene Ward

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            One afternoon many years ago we stopped at an Olive Garden restaurant for a late lunch.  It was about 2:30, and it would be our only meal of the day. The place was nearly empty, so we were seated at a nice table and an eager young waitress, her order pad and pen held at the ready, came to serve us.

            “We’ll start with bruschetta,” I said. 
            “Huh?  Oh!  You mean brush-etta.”
            No, I thought.  I meant what I said, “Brrroo-skeht-ta.”

            Now, you must understand that I had been teaching Italian aria and art song for a couple dozen years at that time.  My students regularly stood before judges who marked them down on mispronounced Italian, so I had studied everything I could, constantly referencing an Italian pronunciation guide, and checking with other teachers who had sung opera.  I knew exactly how to pronounce “bruschetta.”

            I had learned some lessons the hard way.  I remember one especially embarrassing and painful occasion at state contest.  I don’t recall the exact word, but somewhere in it was the letter sequence “g-i-a.”  I had the student pronounce that as two syllables:  “jee-ah.” 

            “That’s not quite right,” the judge said, as nicely as she could.  The i turns the g into a j.  After that, it has done its work, and is not pronounced.  The syllable is simply “jah,” not “jee-ah.”

            Since we’re into Italian food at this point, Let me illustrate it this way:  parmagiana reggiano cheese is pronounced “par-ma-jah-nah reh-jah-no,” NOT “par-ma-jee-ah-nah reh-jee-ah-no,” and that chef named “Giada” is “Jah-da,”  NOT “Jee-ah-dah.”  Pay attention sometime when she says her name herself. 

            Now here is my point:  who should I listen to about how to pronounce Italian—a college student moonlighting at a chain restaurant or the voice judge, a woman who has sung on the operatic stage many years longer than that waitress has been alive, singing Italian for hours at a time, and who can even translate it?

            How do you choose whom to listen to?  Who gets your vote for the one to take advice from?  Is it someone your own age who has as little experience as you do?  Is it perhaps someone older, but whose only qualification in your mind is that s/he is “fun” and “cool,” and a whole lot more so than the other old fuddy-duddies?  Is it someone who gives you the answers you want, who makes everything easy, even things that are not and should not be easy? Is it someone who makes you laugh?  Is it someone who speaks in “bumper sticker?”  Or is it someone who has experienced the ups and downs of life and come through it sane and faithful, someone who may not be able to keep an audience’s attention but can tell you from a heart of concern exactly what you need to hear—whether or not it’s what you want to hear?  Most important of all—is it someone who knows the Word of God inside out and has stuck with it even when it made his own life difficult, who tells you what God says, not what he thinks or feels?

            Mispronouncing Italian is no big deal in most of our lives, but mispronouncing the Word of God can cost you your soul.

Listen to advice and accept instruction that you may be wise in your latter end, Prov 19:20.

Dene Ward