Alluring Lyrics

“So, Terry, I have a question.”

Giving his new student friend a short tour of the city, Terry had pulled into the parking lot of a place of worship. The sign out front read Believers Church.

“Sure, Ahmed, what’s your question”, Terry responded.

“Well, this is Believers Church”, Ahmed began. “So, is there also a ‘Non-believers’ church?”

Cross-cultural work often means coming upon unforeseen (and amusing at times) conversation starters. Smiling, Terry praised his friend’s deductive skills in Logic.

Once on a week-day, I invited a student who hailed from the Mediterranean region, to accompany me to a funeral service.

Muhammed and I had been meeting weekly for English conversation sessions. On this date the timing collided with my planned visit to the memorial service of a friend who had passed. Unacquainted with Christian funeral services Muhammed, readily accepted my invitation as a new cultural experience.

The service was simple yet moving with congregational singing included. The lyrics of one particular piece caught Muhammed’s attention.

Crossing the church parking lot afterwards, I asked his thoughts of the service. He replied in a sincere tone.

“I enjoyed it”, he said, adding, “I especially liked that one song.”

Noting the music piece, I told myself to get a digital copy off to him. He beat me to it!

Searching online, Muhammad was soon listening to renditions presented by a range of artists. Reflecting afresh on the themes highlighted in the song, I smiled a thank you to heaven. Through lines immersed in gentle rhythm, the gospel of Christ* was getting heralded.

“He came from heaven to earth to show the way; from the earth to the cross my debt to pay; from the cross to the grave; from the grave to the sky. Lord, I lift your name on high”.

©2024 Jerry Lout                                                                                *1 Corinthians 15:3-4

A Sure Hope

The mourners dispersed. The flower-dotted cemetery reverted to its earlier stillness. Thelma almost whispered her words.

What is it, Dovie? This Presence. It’s inside me. . in gentle waves. What is this goodness and this . .safety I feel?

Thelma’s question hung in the air. The shadow of a Canary Island Palm stretched across the lawn before them.

She was hungry for answers. This utter absence of her earlier grief astonished her. She hoped that the extraordinary calm would somehow remain. Yet she feared it may take flight. Could she carry on?

Dovie, will this peace, or the source of it, be near again if I (she corrected herself) when I need it?   

More questions. She had many and voiced most of them to Dovie over coming weeks.

Dovie was not a person of complicated notions or grand explanations. She waited. As she sensed a thought forming that brought clarity she pondered it, then offered a response. Otherwise she remained still. Prayerful.

The God that Dovie came to know and to love was real. And he was the giver of the Book. She knew that answers for questions that actually mattered were linked to the precious book. The pages of her own Bible showed uncommon signs of wear. It attested to truth. And to God’s presence.

“All I know, Thelma, is Jesus is real. It’s him. He’s the presence.”  Her words were simple, uncomplicated. Dovie responded in this way it seemed every time. Always highlighting Jesus.

How do I get him. . have him in my life, Dovie? Can I? I don’t want to be without the hope. I need Jesus. 

“Just say that to him, dear. Give him your heart. Surrender to him your whole life. Let him begin to take over. He’s listening. He doesn’t turn anybody away.”

Thelma yielded. As much as she knew how to. Shortly afterward Clyde kneeled, giving himself over to God’s care. Both of them were ready. They sensed it keenly. They needed God’s presence.

They were comforted too, that he understood the pain of releasing a son to the grave. Neither understood a lot of their salvation. They didn’t worry themselves over it. They just believed, and trusted.

Clyde and Thelma entered a new kind of life. Striding forward in faith, limping at times. In love. And hope.

Cross-Image-e1429587418410-300x169 (2)

 

 

 

©2015 Jerry Lout