Messages from Headquarters

Acts 16:6-15

Easter 6

May 27, 2019

William G. Carter

They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.”When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them. 

We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

When we were kids, my brother and sisters used to play a game called, “Red Light, Green Light.” Anybody ever play that? My brother was “It.” He stood some distance away with his back turned to the rest of us. He would holler, “Green Light,” and the rest of us moved toward him. Abruptly he called out “Red Light,” and turned around. The rest of us had to stop and freeze. If he detected somebody moving, he would send that person back to the beginning.

The game would continue like this, stop and go, go and stop. Our goal was to be the first one to tag him, so that we could become “It.” That’s how the game went on, with starts and stops, for most of the afternoon.

That game comes to mind when I hear this account from the book of Acts. That book is the account of the church on the move. Beginning in Jerusalem, on to Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. According to that map, you and I live “at the end of the earth.” But for all the apparent success and progress of the Gospel that Luke reports, he also notes there were a lot of stops and starts.

Now, you and I know that’s true. Nothing ever travels in a straight line. When the kids get the keys to the car and you ask them to go get some milk, they might make a couple of stops on the way. Once my mother sent me to the supermarket to get some Italian bread for the spaghetti she was cooking up for supper. I returned with the bread…eventually…but I wasn’t hungry for the spaghetti. Maybe it had to do with stopping for a couple of Big Macs on the way.

Every journey has a detour, a turn in the road, an unexpected pothole, to say nothing of starts and stops. These days, I know very few people who retire from the same job that they began forty years before. The former days of putting in your time at one place and staying there for the rest of your career until you get the gold watch and the free trip to the Jersey shore are mostly long gone for most people.

From what they tell me, about 40 percent of college freshman stay with their original major until graduation. Sometimes it is life that interferes. Other times, as it was in my case, you come to your senses and ask, “What was I thinking?” Back in college, when I was bombing out of a calculus-based physics class, I set my books down in a study cubicle of the science library, only to see a quote penciled on the wall. It said, “Never let schooling interfere with your education.” I closed my books and said, “That’s it. Goodbye to pre-med.” Supposedly it was a quote from Mark Twain, but I took it as the Voice of God.

So the apostle Paul thought he had the Gospel all charted out. Ever since he was knocked off his horse on the Road to Damascus, he has been going from one Jewish synagogues to the next to declare, “The Messiah has come, and his name is Jesus.” He had some modest success with this, and a few bumps along the way.

And then something unexpected happened: some people who were not Jewish began to believe in Jesus. This was the first big argument in the church. Jesus was a Jew. His followers were Jews. Paul was a Jew. The strategy was to speak about Jesus to their fellow Jews. And several non-Jews began to believe in Jesus.

It was an enormous problem. The church was convinced Jesus came only for the Jews like them: red light to everybody else. The problem is that God had given a green light where the church expected a red light. Can you believe that God loves more people than we do? That was the first major disturbance in the church.

So while the church tried to make sense of that, Paul decided to hit the road. If God welcomed Gentiles, he would still speak about Jesus to the Jews, but he would speak to the Gentiles too, the non-Jews. He began to make his way across the land that we now call Turkey.

That’s where today’s story gets interesting. They tried to go left, and the Holy Spirit said, “No!” They tried to go right, and the Holy Spirit said, “No!”

What does that mean that the Holy Spirit said, “No”? I’m not sure. Maybe God wrote with a finger in the clouds, “Nope, you can’t go that way.” Or maybe they were praying and studying the scripture, and then had the very clear sense that God had other plans. We can’t say.

I believe if you really think that you know what you’re going to do, and it doesn’t turn out, you basically have two choices. You can ram through anyway, perhaps later admitting you were wrong. Or you can give in, and later declare, “the Holy Spirit said no.”

It’s kind of like when I was a younger lad, and for the first time ever, I fell head over heels in love. That young lady was beautiful. I observed her from a distance, and I wanted to get closer. There was graciousness in her step, and oxygen in her laughter. I was convinced she was the one for me. One day I got up the courage to ask her out for ice cream, and she said yes. A couple days later, I asked if she would like to go for a walk and she agreed. She even took my hand; wow! A week into our romance, I was ready to pop the question.

So I decided to take it to the next level: I asked her to a jazz concert. She said, “I don’t like jazz. I like the music of Cat Stevens.” That was a shock, but I went out and listened to some of her music, thinking I might get into her heart and soul. When I told her, she smiled. So I was bold enough to go and buy two tickets to the jazz concert, because I was sure she wanted to go. No, she said she still didn’t want to go. But I was convinced she was the one. She was so beautiful. I loved being around her.

I fell hard. The night of that concert, I walked beneath her window, pacing back and forth. What should I do? On impulse, I knocked on the door and she opened with a smile. “Are you busy?” I asked. She said, “No.” I said, “Good!” I took her by the hand and said, “Let’s go to the jazz concert.” She went, but by the third song, she was fidgeting. At intermission, she excused herself to the rest room and she didn’t come back.

Since I was twenty years old and full of myself, I didn’t go looking for her. I had spent a lot of money on those tickets. The next day, she left me a message, saying simply, “I don’t think we should see one another anymore.” I was crushed. I mean, it was a really good concert.

When the dust settled, I came to believe the Holy Spirit said “no.” It was very clear, for all kinds of reasons, that sophomore romance had no future.

Ever have a door shut in your face? Ever think you knew the will of God without bothering to listen to God, much less the people around you? That’s what happened to the apostle Paul. Not once, probably more than twice. It was very clear: red light to Asia Minor to the right, red light to Bithynia to the left. So he finds himself in the port city of Troas and doesn’t know what to do.

Tired and frustrated, he goes to sleep. And during the night, while he is sleeping, while he rests from his aggressiveness and his guard is down, he dreams of a man calling out to him, “Come to Macedonia and help us!” That hadn’t been in the plans, but it seemed like an open door, like a green light, like an invitation worth pursuing. So he and his companions hopped on the next ship and that’s how the Gospel landed in Europe, beginning in the country of Macedonia.

Sometimes God says no. Sometimes God says yes. The wise Christian is the one who can tell the difference. The word is discernment. It is a particularly spiritual way of reaching a decision. What’s curious is that discernment is never a forced decision. We don’t decide something and then bulldoze through. Rather, we step back from our own anxiety, we listen to the all sides, we pay attention, we try to perceive what is going on beneath it all.

There is a deeper wisdom from God, a larger will than our own willfulness. Discernment is receiving that wisdom and trusting God will open the way that needs to be opened.

Sometimes God says no. Sometimes God says yes. And sometimes when God says yes, the “yes” comes in a surprising way.

Just imagine rabbi Paul, with his years of Pharisaic training, his love of scripture, his growing love for Christ. He is ready to preach the Gospel whenever and wherever there is an opening. The dream says, “Come to Macedonia,” so he had to be thinking big thoughts when he got to Philippi. It was a “leading city” in the district, and he was there for many days. Surely, he could find a gathering of the faithful in a city like that.

And imagine his surprise when to the river to the place of prayer, and all he finds is a group of women. He’s a rabbi, he’s an old-fashioned Jew. His entire religious training said, “Be cautious about speaking in public with women.”  Yet that’s what God opened up to him - the ladies’ prayer group down by the river. Not what he expected, not what he had planned – but the Holy Spirit had said “no” over here, and “no” over there – and now the Spirit was saying “yes” to a new opportunity in a land where he had never dreamed of going.

That is, not until God planted another kind of dream in his head and his heart.

I think this is a great text for Christian people. It’s a continuing reminder that we are not in charge of our own future. We don’t tell God what kind of blessings we expect; rather we receive the blessings that God provides. And if we are tuned in to the ways of the Holy Spirit, we perceive that they really are blessings. Maybe not what we would have planned, but certainly they are gifts to be unwrapped.

It’s a great text for Christian congregations, especially a church like this one that has been around for a while. It’s easy to put it on autopilot when things are going well, and even easier to coast, drift, or go off course. Part of the task for us is to keep listening to our changing circumstances, to keep paying attention to what God might be doing – and to discern what God might be opening up before us for the ministry that we share.

So that makes it a super text for our elders and deacons. We ordain these people and call on them to give us leadership. We are blessed to have people with skills, but we want more than their skills. They are strong and capable, but we want more than their strength and their capability. We want them to listen for the wisdom of God, to perceive the emerging invitation that the Spirit of Christ is laying before us. We look to them to hear the voice of Christ beckoning us forward – and to challenge us to follow the unfolding will of God.

Today, let’s pray for God to keep speaking, for the Holy Spirit to keep planting dreams in our hearts, and for the Risen Christ to open the way forward, both for our lives and our life together. When all is said and done, we are here to love God and to love all of our neighbors. We do this, not because it’s easy, but because it is the way to the fullness of life. We love God and neighbor, not because it’s a good idea, but because it is God’s idea – and it is the invitation that God keeps setting before us.    

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

A Woman to Remember

Acts 9:36-43

Easter 4

May 12, 2019

William G Carter

Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.

Easter continues. What God did in Jesus, God continues in the people who follow Jesus. That's what Luke trains us to see. In story after story, the power of God that fed the hungry, healed the sick, and chased away demons when Jesus was among us is still operating. God continues to bring the dead back to life. 

Today we hear a resurrection story, but it is more than a resurrection story. It describes a very special woman. This lies close to Luke’s purpose. In a time when the history books didn’t mention women, he gives us their names. In a culture when women were no accepted as witnesses in a legal case, he says three women were the first to report that Jesus is alive again. When the very disciples of Jesus dismiss their report as an “idle tale,” mere chatter, Luke says, “No, what they say is true and they are to be trusted.”

Of the four Gospels, Luke alone tells us that women financed the ministry of Jesus out of their own purses. Apparently, the men were spending the money, but the women were making it. When the Gospel moves beyond Jerusalem into the wider world, it is Luke who introduces us to a businesswoman. Lydia was a merchant in Philippi, and she was wealthy. That would have been an extraordinary story to conservative Jewish men. A merchant, wealthy, no man in sight – nor needed.

Luke wants us to know that women are created in the image of God, just like those who are not women. They have value, they have worth, they have inherent dignity. Maybe that’s why he interrupts his own story of the conversion of St. Paul to tell about the raising of a woman who passed away.

Her name is Tabitha. She lived in the seaside city of Joppa. Her Greek name was Dorcas. So if you ever wondered how one of our women’s Bible study groups is called the Dorcas Circle, here is her story. Dorcas is the Greek world for “gazelle.” So I will call her Tabitha, for that is her given name. And I will honor what Luke honors in telling her story: she is devoted to good works and acts of charity. 

Here was a woman who not one to sit on the edges and watch. She didn't wait to be asked if she could help somebody in need; no, she was on it. Her life was shaped by her kindness.

Luke says two things about her. First, she was running a charity program for the poor in her city. She was proving with her kindness that the world was turned upside-down by Jesus. In the love of God, the poor are remembered. The downtrodden are no longer under foot. God sees them, Christ loves them. The people that love God and Christ love those in need.

That’s how resurrection works. You can’t phone it in from a distance. You don’t offer thoughts and prayers without also offering action. God comes for those who cannot provide for themselves. They are not to be discarded but embraced. This was Tabitha’s ministry. She made the love of God specific for those in need.

The second thing Luke says about her is she is a disciple. It is the only time in the New Testament when the feminine form of the word “disciple” is used. Tabitha’s life is given particular status. There were plenty of women who followed Jesus and served others, but that word “disciple” is now broadened to speak of women. It used to be a word only for men; now it’s for Tabitha, too.   

Tabitha becomes ill and then dies. It is quite a shock in her circle of friends. They gather to grieve and begin to prepare her body for burial. But then, a couple of them remember that the apostle Peter is only about fifteen miles away. So they send for him – they don’t say why. We don’t know what they expect. Do they want him to give the eulogy? Or to console them with a sermon? Nobody says.

It seems a vague invitation until he arrives. Then they show him what Tabitha has been doing. She’s been making clothing, coats and tunics, who other women who have nothing. They were widows, says Luke, code language for those whom the society forgot. They lost their husbands, and in Joppa, that meant they lost their legal status, lost their means of income, to say nothing of losing their lifelong companions. Tabitha had stepped into the gap and provided for them. Now she was gone.

That is the crisis for those women, a crisis that a world of first century men would have otherwise ignored. Peter takes it to heart. As we heard, he clears out the room, gets on his knees to pray, and God gives life back to Tabitha. Nobody else was there to see it, yet they rejoiced when they saw her again. Her kindness would continue. Her good works would go on.

The Bible commentaries don’t have much to say about this story. It’s brief and frequently overlooked. I heard somebody comment once on the story. It was a man. He said, “Compared to the conversion of St. Paul, which is the dramatic story that dominates most of the chapter, you have to wonder why the camera is turned so abruptly to a small account of a woman who made tunics for the widows.” He paused, and added, “Maybe that’s exactly the point.”

Paul, previously named Saul, was murderous and abusive. As Flannery O’Connor once quipped, “The only way to convert that one was to knock him off his high horse.” By contrast, Tabitha was gracious and kind, generous and just, using her skills to provide for others. She was a model for how all people should live, a living disciple of Jesus. She is every bit as worthy of the spotlight, which she would never have shined upon herself.

So I give some thought to this, on a day when we celebrate the gifts of women. There may not be anything flashy here, nothing dramatic, nothing earth-shattering about her work for others – except that it was deeply and profoundly for others. She gave no thought to her own comfort, kept none of her handiwork for herself. When she passed, they called one of the apostles and showed him the clothing she made for all them.

About six months ago, I was sitting with a family as they grieved the passing of the grandmother. “She was a remarkable woman,” they said. I asked what they wanted to remark on…and nobody said much. Could they tell me about her? The family members looked at one another. One of them confessed, “She did so much for all of us, but it was quiet. Behind the scenes. She made sure we were well fed. She patched our blue jeans. She gave us a long hug when we were distraught.” Another one said, “I guess we took her for granted.” Someone else added, “I never noticed how much she got done in a day.”

We sat for a bit of silence. Then I suggested a scripture passage for their reflection. It’s an ancient poem from the last chapter of the book of Proverbs. Some of you may know this one. It begins, “A capable woman, who can find?” Then I shared some of the lines:

She rises while it is still night and provides food for her household …

She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.
She puts her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle.
She opens her hand to the poor, and reaches out her hands to the needy.
She is not afraid for her household when it snows, for all her household are clothed in crimson.
She makes herself coverings; her clothing is fine linen and purple.
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
She looks well to the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness.

They looked at me and said, “That’s her. That’s Grandma.” Today, I would add, “That’s Tabitha. Or Dorcas. Or any number of women who provide for the needs of others without calling any attention to themselves.  That is what is so remarkable about them.

So today we remember some of the women who have revealed the charity of God among us. The list is long. Many of their works of kindness have remained quiet and under the radar. But in affirming them, we affirm the kind of lives God calls us to live.

• I remember Carol. She was wise, artistic, a woman of deep faith.
• I remember Roberta: literate and generous, always bought my daughter a book for the birthday they shared. I still have the letters of encouragement that she wrote to me.
• I remember Pauline: she moved away, but still in touch. She has been energetic, prayerful, and biblically grounded in the promises of God.
• I remember Nadine, the embodiment of Christian hospitality. One time, she threw a dinner party for thirty Hispanic farm workers, just because no one had never done that for them before.
• I remember Betty Ann, mentor for younger women, constant friend, lover of animals.
• I remember Mary Ann, now moved away, who loved this community and worked quietly to help it flourish.
• I remember Betty. She knit over three hundred pairs of mittens for the homeless, people she would never know, yet people worthy of the love of Christ.

These are just a few. If we were to spend this day giving thanks for the women who have shown God’s mercy and grace to the world, it would be a day well spent. And it’s a reminder for us in our celebrity-intoxicated age that you don’t have to be famous to have a true impact on others. In fact, you can make a quiet difference simply for the sake of making a difference, and nobody has to realize it until after you’ve moved on.

Just like Tabitha, Dorcas, the woman they called “the Gazelle.” How surprised she would be to discover that her story is told in the scriptures! And yet, today, she is the woman we remember.

I’ll bet there is a woman you remember. Can you think of a name? Say the name.

Wherever they are, whether here in heaven, how pleased they would be that you remembered them!

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Mourning to Morning

Psalm 30

Easter 3

William G. Carter

I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, and did not let my foes rejoice over me.
O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.
O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name.
For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

As for me, I said in my prosperity, “I shall never be moved.”
By your favor, O Lord, you had established me as a strong mountain;
            you hid your face; I was dismayed.

To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication:
“What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the Pit?
Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?
Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper!”

You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
so that my soul may praise you and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.

Her living room was filled with shadows. The shades were pulled, the curtains were drawn, and no light had entered the room, even though the sun was shining outdoors. There was a solitary lamp on the table with the dim glow of a forty watt bulb. It’s the only light in a room filled with shadows. She looked up and said, “When will I feel better?”

Can you imagine who she is? I haven’t told you anything else about her. Is she bearing a long illness, perhaps recovering from surgery? Perhaps that is why there is little light in the room.

Is she a widow, surrounded by empty tissue boxes, still in the numbness of grief? Maybe it is five months after the funeral and everybody else has gone back to their normal lives, and life for her will never be normal again.

Or is she someone who carries a burden that nobody ever sees. The son who moved away at seventeen is now in jail, the daughter has fallen again into thirty days of rehab, her best friend betrayed her in broad daylight, or some embarrassment puts her on the headlines. It is hard for her to leave the shadows. She wants to know, “When will I feel better?”

The sermon today is for her, because the Psalm is for her. Psalm 30 is filled with joy, but as we get into it, we learn it is hard-earned joy. This ancient poem knows about the reality of trouble, and it doesn’t settle on what kind of trouble it is.

The ancient poet mentions some unnamed enemies. We don’t know who they are. There is a cry for help and a declaration of physical healing, leading the editor of our English Bible to add the line, “Recovery from a Grave Illness.” The poet says, “I was on the verge of death,” sharing some worry about falling into The Pit, a euphemism for “Sheol,” the resting place of the dead. There is also mention of “sackcloth,” the ancient garb of those who were contending with humiliation or grief.

So what’s going on here? The same thing that happens in a lot of the Psalms. The specific details have been sanded away. We have a poem that rings true for anybody who knows how it feels to be in trouble. Woven within each line is the hope that someday life will be better.

Nobody needs to tell us what it’s like to fall into the Pit. The Psalmist knows, and so do the rest of us. This ancient poem is a good reminder for all of us that, on any given Sunday morning, we don’t know the full story of those sitting around us. They might have climbed out of wreckage to get to worship that day. Thank God they are with us.  

The promise of the psalm is that life can be restored, that souls can be lifted up, that healing is possible and enemies will not finally rejoice. It will take a while for anyone to complete that emotional journey, but we do make our way through. And this is the work of God. It is God who heals, God who lifts. Mourning (with a “u”) will lead to morning, the dawn of a new day.

When trouble draws close, it is hard to believe that. For the poet who composed this psalm, it felt like God was angry. He wonders, "Am I being punished? Did I do something wrong?" Is this the kind of God we have, a God who inflicts pain on us?

The questions are real, the emotions are raw, and we have our questions too. Do we belong to God, yes or no? Where is God, anyway? Sometimes the life of faith feels like a game of Holy Hide-and-Seek, and God is nowhere in sight.

But this is where the poet of Psalm 30 gives us a lesson in good Jewish prayer. He says, “You know, God, you won’t get any benefit if I go down to the Pit. If I go back to the dust, that dust isn’t going to praise you. The dirt won’t be able to tell of your reliability.” (30:8-10)

Do you hear what he’s saying? He’s lifting a line from Father Abraham, “Will you wipe out a sinful city if you can find fifty good people there? Ok, how about forty? All right, then, thirty…twenty, or ten? Come on, Lord, you can’t wipe out a few good people if you find them." (Genesis 18:23-33)  Now this is a daring prayer!

Or there’s that good Jewish prayer from Moses. God sees the Israelites made a golden calf to worship, and God is so angry there is fire snorting out of the divine nostrils. God threatens to wipe them out until Moses says, “Wait a second, Lord. You are the Lord who brought your own people out of slavery in Egypt. If you wipe them out, what will the Egyptians say? They will say, ‘Their own God stole our labor force, only to wipe them out in the mountains.’ You can’t do that, God. You have a reputation to maintain.” (Exodus 32:11-14)

I think this might be a pretty good way to pray. We could say, “God, you went to the trouble to get me baptized, and tell everybody that I belong to you. Do you really think it’s a good idea to heap a lot of trouble on me and leave me in despair? Come on, Lord, come and help me." Did you ever imagine we could pray like that? That’s how the psalm teaches us to pray.

There is no reason to remain stuck in the shadows when we have a God who separated the light from the darkness. There is no reason to be insulated or isolated when we need God to help. As for those of us who have been carried through the desert on grace, we should tell the stories of how we came through to the other side.

As somebody said about a support group that helped him, "It has been a safe place to talk honestly about my struggles, hear how others have gotten through them, and pursue the grace and courage to begin over again. If church is not going to be like that, you have to wonder what the big deal is about it.”[1]

The second beatitude of Jesus goes like this: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4). That sounds like his commentary on Psalm 30. He doesn’t say how it is going to happen, nor does he say how long it’s going to take. Yet the promise lingers.

The Psalmist says, “I cried to you for help and you have healed me.” The poet who writes those words is testifying to the saving love of God. He or she doesn’t say how long it took or how it happened, only that it’s true. For those of us who still wait in the shadows, here is the promise of our own personal Easter. It is true, and it is ahead of us. Some of us know that to be true, some of us are anticipating what God promises to do. And we certainly don’t want God to waste all the time and effort that God has already invested in us!

In December 1988, the world almost lost Dave Brubeck. Yes, that Dave Brubeck, the world-famous jazz musician. He was having a serious of heart episodes and under the care of a cardiologist named Lawrence Cohen. Dave kept putting off bypass surgery because of his concert schedule, but the delay wasn’t doing him any favors. Finally Dr. Cohen ordered him to a hospital in Connecticut.

The night before the surgery, Dr. Cohen stopped in to see his world-famous patient. It was 10:30 at night, and the cardiologist walked in to discover Brubeck with music manuscript paper scattered all over his bed. He was writing a piece of music because he couldn’t sleep.  

Dr. Cohen said, “What are you doing? It’s the night before your surgery!” Dave looked up and said, “I'm writing out one of your psalms: What can you do, I Lord? Can the dust praise Thee if you put me down in the pit? And joy will come in the morning.’” Psalm 30.

The next day, the surgery went well. Months later, Dave took Dr. Cohen to the premiere of the piece. It was large scale composition for choir and orchestra called “Joy Comes in the Morning.” Brubeck dedicated the piece to his cardiologist. At one point in the performance, Brubeck began to smirk. Suddenly Dr. Cohen realized why – Dave had created a bass line for the piece from a transcription of his own irregular heart beat. Right in the middle of the performance, both of them laughed out loud.[2]

Laughter is possible – do you believe that? Joy can come – can you believe it? Yes. Our God is an Easter God. God will lift our souls from Sheol and turn our mourning into a fresh new day.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved

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[1] Paraphrased from Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter’s Dictionary (New York: Harper and Row, 1988) 4-5.

[2] From a personal conversation, October 2000. Also reported to Hedrick Smith, http://www.pbs.org/brubeck/theMusic/brubeckRediscovers.htm