As they say, always read the fine print. Of course, page eight in the MAN HANDBOOK (all males receive the MAN HANDBOOK at age 18) says in the third paragraph, “Never ask for directions and never, never, never read the fine print. You are a man. Act like it!” Advice that has served me well these last many years. I put this in so that you female types can understand the following story.

          ‘Routine’ is also in the MAN HANDBOOK. In fact, in the revised edition (1988) it has its own chapter. Routine is something men follow religiously. It is part of who we are. Life is easier when we are in a routine. My morning routine includes, among other things, shaving my face and brushing my teeth. These are not ‘fun’ things. They are not things I do to make myself look better. They are routine. To do away with one or the other would be to break routine and breaking routine affects your whole day.

          Three months ago, it was time to buy a new tooth brush. I take my suits to the dry cleaners in Marion. (Believe it or not, neither Wabash nor North Manchester seems to have a dry cleaner. Noordman’s bakery has a service. You can drop your dry cleaning off and a truck from a cleaner in Ft. Wayne comes on Tuesday and picks up all the dry cleaning and then returns it all the following Tuesday. I hate to wait a week. I might need a suit before that. So, I go to Marion.) While in Marion, I stopped at their Wal-Mart to pick up a few things, including a tooth brush. That was probably my first mistake. Should have followed routine and bought the tooth brush in Wabash.

          All my routine requires in a tooth brush is…..a tooth brush. I don’t want one with the Avengers on it, I don’t want one that brushes my teeth for me, I don’t want one that has the fresh scent of lavender. I want one with stiff bristles and a slightly stiff handle. That’s it. So, as I walked down that aisle, I barely slowed down as I made my selection.

          (Also, in the MAN HANDBOOK, there is a section for shopping. Unless you are looking for tools or fishing equipment, you do not shop. You simply buy what you need. There is an option offered, though. You may shop if it is something for your girlfriend or wife.)

          For these past three months, the tooth brush has served me fairly well. Actually, it’s time is almost up. Another trip to Wal-Mart will soon be in order. Maybe sooner that I think.

          Last week I was brushing my teeth and thinking over the day to come when suddenly it happened. The first hint that my routine was changing was that my hand started to buzz. No other way to explain it. My right hand is somewhat plagued with arthritis, but it never caused my hand to buzz. Then, the sound began to pierce my preoccupied brain. A buzzing sound. Not high pitched, more like a big bee. Then the buzzing sensation began to be felt in my teeth. WHAT??? I staggered back against the wall.

           I pulled the tooth brush out of my mouth and stared at my wrist. Back in 1982 I broke that wrist for the second time and had surgery (which didn’t work well) to repair it. My first thought was that they left something in that wrist that just now activated. Seriously, I kid you not. I thought they left something in my wrist 37 years ago and now, while I was brushing my teeth, it turned on. Now I could feel the vibration. I thought, ‘have I ever heard of anyone’s arthritis suddenly coming on and vibrating?’ Pretty easy answer. No! Then I noticed that the head of the tooth brush was blurry. Again, I kid you not, my brain made a left turn. I have had serious problems with my eyes. The thought slammed into my mind, ‘MY BRAIN IS BUZZING AND IT IS MAKING MY EYES CRAZY!’

          I looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were huge. I was foaming at the mouth (I was, after all, brushing my teeth). I looked startled and, actually, a little demented. But the person I was looking at was clear. It wasn’t my eyes. I blinked several times. Then it occurred to me that it was the tooth brush that was buzzing. I put it down. My hand ceased to buzz, but the tooth brush was moving on the sink. MY TOOTH BRUSH IS POSSESSED!!!

          No, that probably wasn’t it. The bristles were blurred. The head of the tooth brush was vibrating. I picked it back up. It was a regular tooth brush in appearance. Why was it vibrating?

          For the first time in three months I noticed two raised places on the handle. I may have noticed before but would have assumed they were decoration. I pushed the top one and nothing happened. I pushed the bottom one and the vibration stopped. I pushed the top one and it started again. Not the up and down motion of an electric brush. Just the buzzing.

          Of course, by this time I had thrown the packaging away. I assumed that it had said something about massaging the gums while brushing or something, but why? Relaxed gums? All I want out of my gums is no pain.

          I am going in the next week or two to get a new brush. I will go to the Wabash Wal-Mart. I don’t need some kind of weird thing they sell in Marion. And I will read the fine print this time. That is one very disturbing tooth brush.

          Now, of course, you are wondering how I am going to work this into a wonderful, theological message. Well, not this week. This week is just to be careful what you buy. Use your head. And remember; SOMETIMES IT IS OK TO NOT FOLLOW THE HANDBOOK.

          As a side note, there is going to be a change next week (probably). Urbana Yoke Parish is launching a new, easy to use web page. Up to this point, for the people in the church, I have been posting on the prayer chain that the blogs are out and supplying the links to the two blogs. Those of you from outside the church who read the blogs just have them filed in your FAVORITES file. Nothing will change for you. But for those of you who depend on the links I send, starting next week (once the page has been launched) I will give you the link to the new church web page. There you will see the connection to the blogs. While you are there, you will be able to see all the other things the web page has to offer. Mary Earle has spent a good deal of time and effort constructing this page, so you know it will be interesting. And it will be extremely easy to use. As you explore your way through it, you might even come across a picture of yourself. Mary is also the principle photographer and she loves to be sneaky. I will also post the link to the web page at the end of my blog each week for those of you who get to the blogs through your FAVORITES file. Mary’s blog and my blog will both be there and there will be a new blog. This one will be more along the lines of a devotional. We will start it once a week and see what happens.

You all have a good weekend and a great week.

          It makes me cringe when I hear someone say some one or some act is racist. Are we really so far removed in our thinking that we have forgotten what racism really is? Or is anyone who thinks differently than we do simply a racist?

          I went to college in the mid 1970s in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Beautiful city. Really, to me, the jewel of the South. Chattanooga has changed a lot since I went to school there. If it had not, I would never go back.

          In January 1975, when I arrived, the city was one of the most racist places in the country. I went to a Christian college, but two of my professors were members of the KKK. When I got there, we had three black men in the student body and one black woman. Two of the black men played on te basketball team. When the season ended, those two were expelled because they had been seen talking to a white female student. She was also expelled. The black woman was expelled a week later for some reason or another. I don’t think I ever knew why, but I am fairly sure that whatever it was, a white woman would not have been kicked out. The other black man was from Nairobi and was the result of a missionary sent from our school. He made it to the end of the semester and never came back. Nothing was ever said or done about this even though one of the basketball players filed a lawsuit. The lawsuit had to be worked out in Chattanooga, and it was Chattanooga in 1975. No black man was going to win a lawsuit against a white school.

          However, I am pleased to say that Chattanooga has changed greatly, as all things do. In 1975 the city was a part of ‘the solid South.’ The South was completely racist and completely Democrat. Now, except for the really big cities, the South is not so racist and mostly Republican. Different place.

          But I learned a lesson in Chattanooga in 1975. I lived in a dorm a half mile from the campus. As an unmarried, first year student I was not allowed to have a car. So I, and my roommates, walked to school. It was only a half mile. But, a block from our dorm, and along the most direct path to the campus, was a large church specifically for African Americans. There was no law that it was a ‘black’ church, at least I don’t think there was, anyway, but it was understood. If you were a student, you were forbidden to walk past the church. We were told that it could be dangerous for us white men. To me, this was stupid. It was the quickest route. To keep from walking past it meant going a block out of my way. They were on a demerit system at the school and you could get 15 demerits for walking past the church. 100 demerits and you were out of school. In my ignorance of all the rules at the school, I had collected 90 demerits on the first day of classes, and none of them had anything to do with that church. So, while I thought the rule of not being allowed to walk past the church was idiotic, I obeyed simply to stay in school.

          One Sunday morning I was late for church. We had to attend the campus church and students had to sign in. Missing church got you 10 demerits. I was late because I had spent most of the night before in the library. (90 demerits on the first day would indicate I was not real bright, but I was trying. Hence, the late night at the library.) I was exhausted and had slept late. I worked 30 hours a week and was always studying, so I was always tired. I was rushing around trying to get ready and I decided I could save some precious time by going past the African American church. I probably would not get caught going by the church on Sunday morning, so I chanced it.

          When I got to the church, though, I stopped on the sidewalk outside the church. The windows were open to let in some sort of breeze and I could hear the singing inside. It wasn’t so much that it was beautiful singing. With my tin ear, I wouldn’t know the difference anyway. But it was ‘shake the walls down’ singing! I would swear that the walls were moving like the building was breathing. It didn’t sound like anyone was holding back. Everyone was singing at the top of their lungs, all accompanied by an out of tune piano that was being beaten like a drum. I stood outside and felt my spirit soar. I listened to about four songs and then the man in the pulpit leading the music saw me through the window, grinned and motioned me in. I took a couple of steps, then stopped. I had to get to the campus church. I just grinned and waved back and broke into a run. At the campus church I found someone with a sign-in clipboard (they were putting them away and I was to late). I pleaded my case and he relented, only giving me 7 demerits. It was a close thing. But it gave me an interest in the old negro Spirituals.

          One thing I found out is that white folks cannot sing a negro Spiritual. Oh, we can sing them, I guess, but we cannot understand them. We are several generations past slavery, but Christian African American are like the Jewish people. They teach their young the old stories. There is a passion we just cannot have. When you understand the symbolism in their words, many that come from the slavery days, you can understand the meaning. But the feeling is just not there for us. For instance, the story of Moses and leading the Hebrews out of Egypt has special meaning for blacks. These songs, created during slavery days, tell them to keep hope. They would one day come out of slavery to the Promised Land (Heaven). They see their hope in these songs. Of course, the songs we sing in church also have our hope in them, but we have a hard time feeling it. Standing outside that church, I saw people weeping inside. Rarely do we weep at a song. And that is a shame.

          A song you have probably heard, but read the words now and relate it to the life of a slave.

Go Down Moses

1.    When Israel was in Egypt's land, let my people go;
oppressed so hard they could not stand, let my people go.
Refrain:
Go down, (go down) Moses, (Moses), way down in Egypt's land;
tell old Pharaoh to let my people go!

2. "Thus saith the Lord," bold Moses said, let my people go;
"if not, I'll smite your first-born dead," let my people go.
(Refrain)

3. No more shall they in bondage toil, let my people go;
let them come out with Egypt's spoil, let my people go.
(Refrain)

4. We need not always weep and mourn, let my people go;
and wear those slavery chains forlorn, let my people go.
(Refrain)

5. Come, Moses, you will not get lost, let my people go;
stretch out your rod and come across, let my people go.
(Refrain)

6. As Israel stood by the water's side, let my people go;
at God's command it did divide, let my people go.
(Refrain)

7. When they had reached the other shore, let my people go;
they sang a song of triumph o'er, let my people go.
(Refrain)

8. O Moses, the cloud shall cleave the way, let my people go;
a fire by night, a shade by day, let my people go.
(Refrain)

9. Your foes shall not before you stand, let my people go;
and you'll possess fair Canaan's land, let my people go.
(Refrain)

10. This world's a wilderness of woe, let my people go;
O let us on to Canaan go, let my people go.
(Refrain)

11. O let us all from bondage flee, let my people go;
and let us all in Christ be free, let my people go.

Carries a different meaning when you are thinking differently.

          I know. Most African Americans today have lost that intense feeling. Society says that it is foolish for anyone to believe that ‘myth.’ Religion has become politized and everything has to be politically correct. The old songs are foolishness.

But back in mid-May of 1975, on a hot morning in the South. A large band of black people gathered in a church with no air conditioning to sing and praise and pray and preach. They knew that the school on whose property their church bordered despised them. And on that hot day a young white man, in a three piece suit and very short hair (and who obviously belonged to that school that despised them) stood outside listening to them raise the rafters. And when that white man’s presence was discovered, he was invited in to worship with them.

It is to bad politics has intervened. Politics is where racism resides in America today. But in Christianity is joy and freedom.

It was great music. After that great music I am sure it was great preaching.

This world's a wilderness of woe, let my people go;
O let us on to Canaan go, let my people go.