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October 30, 2013

Cooper’s Mouse and the Train Ride

By Howard Cassidy-Moffatt

(Sorry, folks, a little departure from the usual themes…but this one has been cooking for a long time.)

There was a little boy named Cooper.  He didn’t pick his name, but he thought it was very special indeed.  Cooper’s mom and dad liked to take him places and show him things.  But sometimes, because he was a busy boy (that’s the word his mom and dad used; Cooper thought that they wanted to use another word, but they used “busy”).  Because Cooper was busy, he would like to have a toy or something else to play with on the trip.

One day, Cooper’s mom and dad got ready to take him on a trip on a very big airplane.  They were going to fly very far to see some people who loved them very much.  But Cooper thought that it would be very fun to fly with a mouse.  Now, there was no mouse in Cooper’s house (at least they thought so), so mom and dad had to find one.

Where to find a mouse?  And not just any mouse, but a mouse that would like to fly.  So, they looked.  First they looked at grandma’s house, but grandma had no mouse in her house.  If she’d had a mouse in her house, she would have made grandpa take it away.  There might have been some very, very loud talking about that.

Then they looked under the chair at the doctor’s office.  Cooper knew that there were often things under the chair at the doctor’s office.  One day, he had found some toenails under the chair in the doctor’s office.  Cooper showed his mom the toenails, but she did not seem as excited about them as Cooper was (Cooper sometimes does not understand why mom and dad don’t get excited about the things he finds or he likes as much as he does.  Like the day Cooper told his dad how much fun it would be to mow the lawn after dad got home from work.  Dad thought it was Cooper’s mom’s idea.  There might have been some very, very loud talking after that.)

Then they looked for a mouse at the grocery store.  Cooper wanted to ask the grocery lady if there was a mouse in the store, but mom thought that asking the grocery lady if there was a mouse in the store might not be the best idea.  Cooper’s mom thought Cooper should just look for a mouse while she shopped for snacks for the trip in the big airplane.  So Cooper looked and looked for a mouse in the grocery store.  He was sad when they didn’t find one.  So Cooper said to his mom (while she was paying for the snacks at the checkout line that beeped), “No mouse this time, Momma?”  Cooper’s mom said, “No mouse this time, Cooper.”  The lady behind them at the beeping checkout counter turned a very, very funny color–it was a color Cooper had never seen before.  Later on, Cooper’s mom told him it was “pea soup green.”  Cooper thought that he would probably not want to try pea soup after that.  While Cooper and his mom were leaving the store, the grocery lady and the lady behind them at the beeping checkout counter were talking.  It might have been some very, very loud talking.

Then they looked for a mouse at the gas station.  Cooper’s mom had driven to the gas station to get some gas for the car before they had to drive to the airport to get on the big plane.  While they were at the gas station, Cooper asked his mom if they could go into the gas station store and look for a mouse.  Cooper’s mom said, “Yes.”  So they went inside the store to see if there were any mice.  When they got into the store, Cooper’s mom went up to the cash register man to pay for the gas.  While they were in line, Cooper said, “Mouse, Momma?”  There were lots of people also in the line and they began to look very, very nervous.  The gas station store cash register man looked the most nervous of all.  And he was very quick to say (and kind of loud) that there were, “NO MICE IN THIS STORE!”  He said it so loud that Cooper thought that maybe he had done something wrong, but Cooper’s mom told Cooper that everything was alright and that they would look somewhere else for a mouse.  As they were leaving, Cooper noticed a couple of the people in the line seemed to get that funny pea soup color too.  Cooper was most definitely, positively sure that he did not want to try pea soup.

Then Cooper’s mom said that she had to go to see someone named Michael.  They were driving and, when they got there, Cooper saw that Michael had a really big place with his name on the front in giant letters.  Cooper couldn’t read them yet, but he saw them and his mom told him what they meant.  Cooper thought that it would be great fun to put his name on his house in very big letters.  Cooper’s mom seemed to know what he was thinking and said, “No, Cooper.”  Cooper hears that a lot.

When they got out of the car, Cooper saw that Michael’s place was just another store.  Cooper was a little tired of stores by now.  His mom said that it was just one more store and that they would go home after.  Cooper thought he would be good for his mom in the store and that maybe this might be the place where they would find a mouse.  Cooper began to get very excited about finding a mouse for the big airplane trip!

In the store Cooper sat in one of those big baskets with wheels.  There is a little basket place to put things from the store–sometimes Cooper’s mom tries to have him sit there but she’s mostly given up on that.  Cooper usually sits/stands/bounces/tumbles in the bigger basket part that is more his size.  That’s where Cooper was, in the middle of a really BIG tumble, when he spotted it.  “MOMMA!  A MOUSE!”

Cooper saw the mouse and was very excited; his mom was excited too; but there were other people in the store who did not seem very excited.  One lady (she had that pea soup green look too) dropped her basket and ran away.  Cooper didn’t know that some ladies could run so fast.  He also didn’t know why some ladies wear their pajamas to the store.  The basket the lady dropped fell over and many little jars of beads fell out and there were beads everywhere.  Cooper thought the orange beads were the prettiest.

Cooper pointed and said again, “MOMMA!  A MOUSE!”  And sure enough, there, hanging on one of those little hook things that hold store stuff, was a mouse.  It was in a plastic package and best of all, the mouse had some cheese!  Cooper said, “Mouse, Momma?” and Cooper’s mom, ever so glad to have finally found a mouse for Cooper, said, “Yes, Cooper.”

So Cooper’s mom picked up the mouse and the cheese in their little plastic package and they went to the front of Michael’s store to pay for it.  Cooper held the mouse and the cheese in the package and couldn’t wait to open it up.  In fact, he tried many times to open it up until his mom took the package from him and said, “Not now, Cooper.”  Cooper hears that a lot.

They paid for the mouse and the cheese and got in the car and went home.  When they got home, Cooper’s dad helped him open the package to get the mouse and the cheese.  The cheese was really big with big holes and the mouse could go in and out of the cheese and Cooper was very excited.  Cooper heard his dad talk to his mom and use a word he hadn’t heard before, “slimy,” but that was OK, Cooper was always hearing words he had never heard before.

Sometimes when Cooper heard a new word, his dad would be quick to say, “Don’t say that word, Cooper” (his dad would use the pretend dad mad voice, but he wasn’t really at all, ever).  It made him want to say the word even more, but he usually waited until he was alone or at his mom’s and dad’s friends.  When they were at his mom’s and dad’s friends, he would say the new word really loud.  Cooper’s mom would get a funny look on her face.  Not quite like the pea soup green, but funny.  It made Cooper laugh sometimes.

Anyway, the next day they all got in the car to go to the airplane.  Cooper saw that nearly everything would stick to the mouse and the cheese.  Cooper’s hair stuck to them.  Cooper’s flannel shirt bits stuck to them.  Other things of Cooper’s stuck to them too.  But Cooper’s mom didn’t think those things were very nice and she thought Cooper should leave them out of the story.  But after Cooper’s dad used his pretend dad mad voice, Cooper was sure he saw his mom and dad look at each other in the mirror in the car and laugh.  Cooper’s mom and dad don’t think Cooper sees what they do or say in the mirror, but he does.

They got to the airport, which was big.  And they went inside.  Cooper’s mom told him to put the mouse away in his bag so it wouldn’t get lost in the airport.  Cooper thought the mouse would get lonely.  But then he thought the mouse would just play with the cheese and be OK.  Cooper was so excited about the airplane ride that he almost (but not quite) forgot about the mouse during the whole trip to the faraway place to see the people who loved him very much.

They got to the faraway place after a very long time on the airplane and in a car.  Cooper didn’t know how long but he could tell it was a long time because his mom and dad didn’t seem to be as happy as they were when they got on the plane.  They met someone named Gramps and Granny Laura and they went to their house to stay.  When they got there, Cooper opened some presents and found a favorite one–he called it his keytarcar because it looked like a guitar and a little piano and it made very, very, loud electric noises.  Cooper liked to play and sing and dance with his keytarcar.  Cooper’s dad said to Gramps, “Thanks a lot.”  But he didn’t sound like he meant it; at least not to Cooper.

One day, Cooper was going with everyone on a train to a place called Boston.  Cooper didn’t know what a Boston was, but he thought the train ride sounded fun.  Cooper had never been on a big train before.  He had been on one of those little trains at the mall, but never a big train.  So they went.  Cooper asked if he could take the keytarcar with them.  Gramps said, “Yes,” but Cooper’s dad said, “No,” so they didn’t take it.  Cooper was sad; he was very sad–and a little mad.  Cooper’s mom saw that Cooper was sad and so she said they could bring the mouse!  Cooper said, “Cheese too, Momma?”  And Cooper’s mom said, “Yes, Cooper, cheese too.”  So they brought the mouse and the cheese on the train.  Cooper’s Gramps touched the mouse and the cheese and he used the same new word, “slimy.”

While they were on the train Cooper played and played and played with the mouse and the cheese.  He would look out the window and go from person to person to person to person to person.  And then he would look out the window.  And then he would play with the mouse and the cheese.  One time, the mouse fell on the floor.  Something stuck to the mouse.  Cooper was excited to see what had stuck to the mouse, but his mom wanted to wash the mouse first, so she did.  Then Cooper got the mouse back and he played with the mouse and the mouse fell on the floor.  Cooper’s dad picked up the mouse and gave it back to Cooper and said to be more careful.  Cooper was very good at very, very many things, but careful was not usually one of those things.  He heard that a lot, “Cooper, be more careful.”

Cooper played with the mouse some more and then it fell on the floor.  Cooper’s dad picked up the mouse and gave it to Cooper and said to be more careful.  Cooper heard that a lot.  But Cooper kind of liked this new game and so he played with the mouse some more and then it fell on the floor.  But this time his dad didn’t pick it up!  His dad said he couldn’t see where the mouse went!

Cooper was very upset.  Cooper was crying his very upset cry.  So they all looked and they looked and they looked and they looked but nobody could find the mouse.  Cooper was very upset.  Then, Cooper’s dad thought (he got that funny look on his face when he was thinking).  Sometimes Cooper thought that his dad’s thinking look looked a lot like his dad’s going to the bathroom look but he never told his dad that.

Anyway, Cooper’s dad said to Cooper, “I think the mouse is going for a trip on the train by himself.”  Cooper thought about this for a minute and wondered why the mouse would want to go on a train trip by himself.  Then Cooper thought that his mouse was very special.  Sometimes he heard his mom and dad say that his mouse was special but they said it in a funny way that didn’t seem to be quite what Cooper was thinking.

Cooper thought that a special mouse might want to take a train trip by himself.  But Cooper wondered where the mouse would go.  Cooper’s dad thought about that and said, “Well, maybe the mouse is going to see your cousins in Oklahoma!”  Cooper didn’t know where Oklahoma was but he knew he had cousins there.  He didn’t exactly know what a cousin was, but he knew that he had some.  They were all older than he was.  There was Shelby and Seth and Sophie and Staysha.  Cooper knew that all their names began with the same letter but he didn’t really know his letters as much back then.  And he wondered why, with so many letters (at least he thought there were a lot of letters), his cousins had all used the same letter to start their names.

His cousins had adventures too.  But they were usually with a six-foot tall chipmunk with a one-string ukulele and an 88 key piano playing platypus.  But that is for another story.

Cooper thought that it would be fun for his mouse to go to see his cousins.  Cooper wasn’t as sad anymore.  He was still a little sad because he missed his mouse, but he thought that, if his mouse was anything like him (and the mouse must have been like him because they played so much together), then the mouse would want to go on the train and see other things and people and his cousins and his dad’s stinky sister.  Cooper didn’t know if his dad’s sister was really stinky (and if she was stinky, if she stunk like Cooper did when he was stinky).  Cooper thought that maybe his dad was just being funny.  Cooper couldn’t always tell when his dad was being funny.  Nobody could.

Then Cooper thought maybe he’d have a stinky sister someday.  But he didn’t tell his mom and dad because they sometimes said in the mirror in the car that they didn’t know if they could handle two of him.  Cooper’s mom’s eyes got all big!  But he knew they would.  They loved Cooper so very much and besides, with the mouse gone, Cooper would need someone else to play with.

Cooper hopes to hear more about the mouse someday.  Cooper would like to play with the mouse again.  Maybe he’ll find the mouse in Oklahoma.  If you see the mouse, please tell him to call Cooper and let him know that he’s alright.

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October 29, 2013

Of Decreasing & Increasing

By Howard Cassidy-Moffatt

I wonder if it was hard for John the Baptist (JTB) to watch Jesus’ star rise while his own began to fade.  The Bible accounts seem to indicate that John exhibited unusual graciousness as the crowds began to sway in their allegiance.  “He must become greater; I must become less,” John (the Apostle) records (Chapter 3, verse 30).

Certainly JTB had moments of questioning whether his cousin was the One.  But as time passes, and John finds himself in Herod’s jail, with few prospects of escaping alive, John seems to rest in the transition between him and Jesus.  And, even before his dungeon sojourn, utters perhaps the most succinct statement of discipleship ever.  The old King James put it this way:  “He must increase, but I must decrease.”  Eugene Peterson’s, The Message, “This is His assigned moment to move into the center, while I slip off to the sidelines.”

Translation variations aside, the point seems clear:  there is this moment of recognition when we should grasp that, for the Kingdom to be best served, the world must see more of Jesus and less of us.

I recognize some irony in making this assertion through a blog…a communication medium that seems oriented around “more of me.”  But, hang in there.  Because I am frankly befuddled by this challenge.  It is very hard for me to turn people’s attention toward Jesus without, somehow, drawing some of that attention to myself.  And…I suspect I am not alone in this. 

Doubt it?  Take a closer look at the contemporary (particularly Evangelical) church scene with its conferences featuring the Christian celebrities (another oxymoron candidate?) of the day.  And its concerts…have you noticed the Christian bands named after their leaders or their T-Shirts on sale after the concert?  The shirts usually don’t say, “Jesus, the way and the truth and the life!”  They usually say, somehow, “Look at MY BAND!”

It is, needless to say, very hard to get the focus off of self and on to Jesus.  He must become more; I must become less.  Then there is the tendency many of us have to take this to the other, self-deprecating extreme.  When complimented after a song or a message or a writing or a conference:  “Aw, shucks, Ma’am; just give all the glory to Jesus!”  [I can confess to having given a sincere compliment about someone’s ministry effort, receiving the aforementioned response and thinking, “It wasn’t the Hallelujah Chorus; it was just well done.”]  Sigh.  I know that I very often struggle to walk the line between the glorification of Jesus (He must become more) and the proper placement of self (I must become less).

It’s a conundrum.  Phillip Brooks, a preaching master of the last Century, said that preaching was “communicating truth through personality.”  If that is the case, isn’t much (maybe all) of the Christian experience “singing or serving or leading or picking up the kids for the children’s program through personality?”  And if that is so, how can we do this thing?  He must become greater; I must become less.  And what does that actually mean in the day-to-day of the Christian life?  What does pointing people to Jesus through (my) personality mean?  Where is that line?  And how do we walk it in this Christian life? 

Buy my book and I’ll let you know…just kidding…I don’t have a book.

But I think it might be somewhere in here:  If people need to see more of Jesus and less of me, then I have to see more of Jesus and less of me.  I have to overcome my preoccupation (and really, fascination) with myself.  I can be preoccupied in a self-glorying direction (I am, after all, exceedingly wonderful).  I can also be preoccupied in a self-degrading direction (I am, after all, perfectly terrible).  Maybe it’s in the adjustment with my preoccupations that there is hope.

If I can turn my attention, ever so deliberately, away from me and toward Jesus, then perhaps I will direct others’ attention there as well.  What would my prayers look like if I was less focused on me?  What would my conversations sound like if I was less focused on me?  What would my writing sound like if it was less focused on me?  How better would my songs refer people to the Savior if I was less focused on me?

I know; we hunger for prescription.  “Practical Bible teaching with relevance for your daily life!”  If I provided a prescription, it would undoubtedly sound simplistic, even though perhaps it’s just simple:  More, more about Jesus; less, less about me.   “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” (Lao-Tzu) “unless you trip over the dog and fall when you get up” (Howard).

Multitudinous tomes offer advice on spiritual disciplines–ways to develop habits of mind and heart to enable Christians to focus more on Jesus and less on self.  Many of those volumes are helpful; some are trite (tripe?).  But what if it’s very much simpler than that?

Perhaps just this:  train myself to ask this one very basic question before every ministry, nay, life endeavor:  Where is Jesus in this?  If He’s there (as in, the focus of the effort…I am not denying divine omnipresence), then I should look at and lean into Him.  If He’s not there, I should move along until I find Him.  Then, when people follow my gaze, they will see me looking at Jesus.  And they will be too.

 

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October 23, 2013

The First Post

By Howard Cassidy-Moffatt

Of the making many books (and blogs) there is no end (Ecclesiastes 12:12), so why another and why from me?  I don’t know the answer to either of those questions.  I just feel compelled by some inner urge (trusting that it is not bad pizza) to write in bits and pieces about a little of this and a little of that–mostly about the things that occupy my attention in the Church.  So, here goes.  Tune in if you’d like; tune out if you must.  This one is very personal; they will not all be.

I watched my Mom step from life to life 25 days ago.  She had never thought of herself as remarkable; I had never thought of her as anything but remarkable.  She had it tough as a child and made it through the toughness without becoming hardened.  I’ve heard the stories from my Dad and still am awed by the understated power and overwhelming compassion of the woman, wife, and mother she became.

We shared a common faith in Christ.  I had the privilege of baptizing her (and my wallet).  That sharing is what made it possible for me to watch and listen (mostly from a distance) as she surrendered her earthly body to a most relentless cancer.  I was there the day she slipped away.  

I had arrived two hours before; I prayed with her; read to her from her very used Bible; listened with her and my Dad to her favorite Elvis Presley hymn collection (Elvis may have worn blue suede shoes and warned off hound dogs, but the boy could sing a hymn like few others–when he sang, “How Great Thou Art” there was no doubt about the greatness of God).  I slipped out of the room to make a five minute phone call and when I came back into the room, my Dad said, “I don’t think she’s breathing.”  She wasn’t.

I kept wondering why I didn’t fall apart.  I kept wondering if I was some hard-hearted weird boy who didn’t realize that his Mom had just died.  Why didn’t I cry?  I was sad.  I am still sad.  And I have cried since (the tears sneaking up on me like some stealth grief bomb) but I didn’t cry then. 

It has since hit me:  I didn’t believe she was dead.  This was not the disbelief of denial.  No, this was something deeper:  it was, I think, the disbelief of faith.  It was a disbelief that she was dead because I knew she was really not.  Certainly her body had quit.  Certainly the cancer had finished its ugly ravaging.  But she was not dead.

There are those “Oh, that’s it!” moments in the life of a follower of Jesus Christ.  This was one for me.  “We do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope,” said the Apostle Paul.  We do grieve; we do cry; we do know sadness (I would give anything to be able to have one of my weekly chats with her…to hear her pick up the phone and say, “Hi, honey.”).  But we do not grieve like those who have no hope.

In her last days, wracked with pain, she had cried out to be with Jesus.  Though it sprang from her pain, it was not the cry of the desperate; it was the cry of faith.  To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.  To be separated from my Mom because she has passed away from this life is not to lose her.  She’s taken an earlier flight.  I’ll catch up with her later.  She’s enjoying the rest from her pain and the joy of her Lord.  I can be sad that I am not with her now but I know I will be with her again.

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