In the real world (not the kitchen), of course, both are important — the team and the individual.

But in the spiritual world, it may be that sports teams have much less lasting influence than individual musical pursuits for children.

1. The obvious Sunday problem.  A great part of the secularization and disappearance of the Sabbath in suburban culture is the scheduling of team sports on Sundays.  Nothing new here — we all know that.
2. Musical practice re-wire the brain.  Now that’s something new.  Recent studies in brain science indicate that musical practice actually re-wires the brain.  In “Guitar Zero: The New Musician and the Science of Learning,” Gary Marcus writes: “Musical expertise is … ‘deliberate practice,’ a constant sense of self-evaluation, of focusing on one’s weaknesses rather than simply fooling around and playing to one’s strengths.”   The step from musical practice to spiritual practice, while apparent, isn’t guaranteed of course.  But it does create a predisposition.
3. Music imprints a connection to a spiritual community.  Our early childhood experiences are lasting impressions. A child’s remembrance of Sunday can be of shagging flies in left field or singing in the choir.

This isn’t a case against sports.  I drove by Baker Field in West Roxbury the other night — where I played Little League as a kid.  And I could feel the ache of longing for those times playing under the lights on a Friday night, the grass so perfectly green, the bases so perfectly white, the infield so perfectly groomed.

This was on my way to the Green Briar in Brighton to play music.  If I tried to throw a ball from the outfield now, I’d end up in the hospital.  But music has never left.  It’s still the hotwire to God.

I think it is important to remember just how fast the progress on equality has been in this new century.  In 2004, when Massachusetts became the first state to legalize gay marriage, it was a breathtaking moment.  Bold and brave — and, in typical Massachusetts fashion, out there on a ledge, all alone.

Now, just eight years later, the President of the United States has endorsed same-sex marriage.  Since I’ve already used the word breathtaking, I can only say: startling.  Startling good;  yet startling nevertheless.

There will be people, people who’re not bigots but simply trying to make sense of a changing world, who aren’t on board yet.  It doesn’t mean they are homophobic;  they are trying to hold on to a world that is no more.

And then there are people who can’t claim this excuse.

Like the bishop of Rhode Island, Thomas Tobin.  On Wednesday, he called President Obama’s comments “creepy.”

An unfortunate turn of phrase, I would say.  If there is one group of people not entitled to use the word “creepy” in any context, it is Catholic prelates.  When you harbor pedophiles, cover up abuse and blame the victims, you forfeit your option to righteous indignation.  You are in the moral penalty box for however long it takes to earn back the moral suasion you once had.

That won’t be any time soon.  In the meantime, note to Bishop Tobin: creepy.

Some top-of-mind images from Saturday:  Bob Randall, broken ankle and all, keeping the blood drive running; Sheila Lockwood coming back after the spill that took her to the hospital;  George Hazerjian and the clipboard that makes all things possible; the seven versions of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” that we now have on video.

Oh, and we sold the original church key for $2.00. Fortunately, we were able to buy it back!

Can’t remember who said this, but looking at the tents on the side lawn:  “Hmm.  Occupy Norwood.”

The rain was a no-show on Saturday;  not so for the Yellow Shirts.

Sermon on Sunday:  I couldn’t get the ending right.  (I hope you made some sense of it.)  Pastor Lisa and I are preaching without notes because it is more immediate, real, and — ideally —more effective.  Ironically, it actually takes more time to prepare a sermon for preaching without notes.  I’ll write about that at some point.

Sunday evening TV: on “Mad Men,” when Don Draper takes the Beatles’ Revolver album and puts it on the record player (I’ll explain what that is later, kids), and the real Beatles came on.  Startling.  In the New York Times today: first time the Beatles have ever licensed a song for a TV show.

And what better song title:  Tomorrow Never Knows.

I missed the first episode of “The Pitch,” AMC’s updating of Mad Men into a reality show.   But I caught the Waste Management (really, could they possibly serve up a better line?) pitch last night.

Ironically, I knew one of the people on the show.  Paul Cappelli, the Founder of The Ad Store, went to the same high school as I did.  I had lunch with him at the Hard Rock Cafe sometime in the early 90s.  We planned to do some work together, but never did.  My loss.  He seemed like the most human person on the show.

The other agency managed to fit into one room all the things about advertising that make my skin crawl.  They had the dance-on-my-mother’s-grave-to-get-the-account Creative Director, the sycophantic account person, the pompous agency head.

Advertising is Selling: no more, no less.  Is it creative?  Yes, it can be. But it is always creative in the same way that, say, robbing a bank can be creative.

The best campaign?  AMC, by a mile.  They sucked me into watching something I neither wanted or needed to see.

Now that’s advertising.

Photo Credit: Nabeel Hilmy via Compfight

We think of liturgy as the trappings of worship — the prayers, the hymns, the more ritualized part of worship.

But a more ancient (and, I think, deeper) meaning of liturgy is “work of the people.”  The word liturgy is of Greek origin (lēitos, “public” and ergos “working.”)

Yesterday’s service was quite remarkable.  It was a moving and emotional account of the passion and death of Jesus.  And several people came up to me, and I’m sure to Pastor Lisa, after worship and said:  “great service.”

We’re human and it’s tough not to like a compliment but, honestly, we had very little to do with the actual worship yesterday.

Yes, there was preparation.  Pastor Lisa wrote the script.  And I helped Bob Hall, our percussionist, bring in several of the four hundred and three drums he uses.

But the worship?   That was the actors, the choir and the congregation.  I had an unusual view yesterday, off to the side.  I was able to participate in worship, something that almost never happens.  I saw, and felt, the congregation’s attentiveness mix with the actors performance and the choir’s music.  It reminded me why we worship together:  to re-fire each other’s spirits.

I’m sure I speak for Pastor Lisa when I say to all who were in the sanctuary yesterday:

Great service.  Thank you.

I’ve been re-reading The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton this Lent.  The last time I read it, sometime in the 90s, was pre-social media.  Pre-blog, pre-Facebook, pre-Twitter, pre-Pinterest.

What strikes me now is how Merton’s journal anticipates so many of these social media trends.  (Certainly not the only thing he was out in front of.)

His journal is a like a scrapbook of status updates to friends (Facebook), little one-line thoughts (tweets), short essay-like longer entries (blog), and pictures (Pinterest.)  (Merton was an outstanding photographer.

I’d like to start sharing some of my impressions of this journal, a piece of work that could keep any one of us busy for years.

Today’s thought:  Merton didn’t think he had any answers.  (A cautionary tale for those of us who look to him for answers.)

His journal begins on his plane flight to Tokyo.  He writes:

 [I am] at last on my true way after years of waiting and wondering and fooling around.  (sic)

 May I not come back without having settled the great affair.

Well, he does.  In a way.

Photo Credit: Flood G. via Compfight

When I get home on Sunday, I file away my notes — notes I won’t see for another three years. (The lectionary cycle.)

I found two lines in the sermon notes that didn’t make it to the actual sermon.  But I wished had.

One was (an attempt at) humor:

On Jesus showing up in Jerusalem:  Think Kevin Costner in Robin Hood showing up at the arranged marriage of Maid Marian to the Sheriff of Nottingham  — that might put the incongruity of Jesus in Jerusalem in perspective.

The other was a serious point about the cross we’re constructing for Lent:

This is why the cross we have created is so powerful:  we don’t have an established pattern for writing down our fears, our guilts, our despair — so it all flows through unimpeded.

This is raw and true and unfiltered.

Paste those in, if you feel so inclined.

Photo Credit: Louise Leclerc via Compfight

“The abbot told this story of Buddha and Sariputra.  Buddha asked Sariputra:  ‘Do you believe in me?’  Sariputra answered: ‘No.’  But Buddha commended him for this.  He was the favorite disciple because he did not believe in Buddha, only respected him as another, but enlightened, man.”

The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ And they answered him, ‘John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.’ He asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.’ And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

Mark 8. 27-30

The final hymn, “Where Restless Crowds Are Thronging,” is being put on the disabled list.  Just for the record, I don’t pull these hymns out of thin air;  they are used to reinforce, or to work with, some other part of the liturgy.  I tried this at home on the piano and … well, it seemed okay.  In the sanctuary, not so much.

To paraphrase an old Broadway quip,

“I came out humming the paraments.”

On the other hand, the  kids were great.  Singing and rhythm.

Silence before the prayer of Confession and silence before the Pastoral Prayer was long and sweet.

Suggestions?  Comments?