High Flight - Touch the Face of God

I was thinking about Ronald Reagan for some reason this morning. I was thinking about the unifier and the inspiration he seemed so capable of delivering without forethought.

I recalled the eloquence of the tribute he gave to the pioneers of flight, the seven passengers aboard the Space Shuttle Challenger.

Do you remember the closing where he quoted briefly from the poem “High Flight” penned by a pilot in the Canadian Royal Air Force, John Gillespe Magee?  Ironically, the author died in 1941 at age 19.

I loved the images of this short poem. If read casually, it may seem to be bragging about the things he has done in flight. But on closer examination, it is a call for all of us to slip the surly bonds of Earth, the trod the untrespassed sanctity of space and to touch the face of God.

I went back and watched President Reagan’s tribute on Youtube.

I found a few musical adaptations of this poem. The one I liked the best was written and performed by a bluesy Christian singer, Phil Driscoll.

I invite you to watch these to videos and read the words below.

May we all escape the confining pull of gravity from time to time, and touch the face of God. If that encounter is too far away, find a child and touch their face. It is the next best thing.

"High Flight"

 Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

 And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

 Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth

 of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things

 You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

 High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

 I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung

 My eager craft through footless halls of air.

 Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

 I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.

 Where never lark, or even eagle flew.

 And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

 The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

 Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr

"Fear This"

Have you ever wondered about the scriptures that exhort us to Fear God? I have. In fact, once I was reading a passage in the King James translation of the Bible and then read the same verse in the NIV. I don't remember what verse it was, but I was so impressed that the NIV translated the Hebrew word, hary, (Yirah - Strong's Lexicon #3374) to “awe” rather than “fear”. Obviously, the word “fear” is correct in many cases such as in Genesis 3:10. He said, "I heard the sound of You in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself." (New American Standard- NAS)

But what is the meaning of scriptures that exhort is to fear God ?( Psalms 111:10 The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom: a good understanding have all they that do his commandments: his praise endureth for ever.)  When reading these words, what feelings are evoked; fear and trembling or love and respect… AWE?

Today I was reading from “God in Search of Man” by Abraham Joshua Heschel. Chapter 7 is entitled “Awe”. Heschel does a great job of delineating the various meanings of the yirah. “According to the Bible, the principal religious virtue is yirah. The word has two meanings: fear and awe. There is the man who fears the Lord lest he be punished in his body, family or possessions. Another man fears the Lord because he is afraid of punishment in the life to come. Both types are considered inferior in Jewish tradition. Job, who said, ‘Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him,’ was not motivated in his piety by fear, but rather by awe, the realization of the grandeur of His eternal love.”

What is the other meaning of yirah? It is awe. Heschel states, “Awe is the sense of wonder and humility inspired by the sublime of felt in the presence of mystery… Awe, unlike fear does not make us shrink from the awe-inspiring object, but, on the contrary, draws us near to it. This is why awe is compatible with both love and joy.”

I studied further about the translation of the Hebrew roots in to English. Since I only have access to two translations with Strong reference numbers, I compared the KJV with the New American Standard.  I as surprised to find that for the Strong # 03372, 
Yare', the KJV translates this  word as follows: 
fear 188, 
afraid 78, 
terrible 23, terrible thing 6, dreadful 5, reverence 3, fearful 2, terrible acts 1, miscellaneous 8.

The New American Standard translates the same word as follows: 
afraid 100, 
awesome 21, awesome acts 1, awesome things 4, became afraid 1, became...frightened 2, become frightened 1, cautious 1, dismayed 1, fear 165, fear and awesome 1, feared 36, fearful 1, fearful thing 1, fearfully 1, fearing 5, fears 9, frighten 4, frightened 1, have...fear 1, made me afraid 1, revere 10, revered 3, reverence 3, showed reverence 1, stand in awe 1, terrible 3, terrible things 1, terrifying 2

My point is this: There is more than one way to understand how we are to feel about being in the presence of the Divine. If our lives are full of sin and regret, the thought of being brought before the God can be as it was for Alma. Alma 36:15 Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought to stand in the presence of my God, to be judged of my deeds.

But shortly after feeling the pain of a damned soul, Alma considered the words of his father and suddenly he was changed. 18 Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.

Alma 36:19-21 And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more. 20 And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!

21 Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy.

Fear and Faith

I have heard is said that a man cannot feel fear and faith simultaneously. Marilyn and I had a discussion on this concept and she feels that with faith, one can walk through their fears, holding on to the faith in Christ. The image of Peter walking on the water is apropos. But I think of fear is destructive to faith, consuming the mind with doubt and anxiety. Awe, on the other hand is almost like a precursor to faith. Awe and wonder motivate a man to desire to approach the feet of God in worship and respect.

Upon this Rock and Camp-O-Rama

Upon this rock…

 I reflected today on the “origins” of my testimony. My earliest memory of “feeling the ‘Spirit’” was as a kid attending the Tenney Family Reunions at Camp-O-Rama south of our home in the Prescott National Forest. Nearly every June we met and camped around this non-descript location about 3 miles from home. Each Sunday morning, we woke up early and climbed up this rounded hill littered with huge granite boulders in a practical pile. With lawn chairs, blankets and scriptures in hand, we climbed the hill and shared our life experiences and witnesses of God’s mercy.

 It was unique as the format of the witness was quite distinct from what we practiced at church’s monthly Testimony Meeting. For one, the group was tied by blood, experience and shared history. Second, the concern and love we felt for each person was unquestioned. Third, Tenney’s are well known for the “Mutual Admiration Society” and my admiration for my family really knew no bounds. Aunts, Uncles, Grandma, Mom, Dad, Cousins and Brothers and Sisters one by one would stand and share amazing stories of faith, trial and despair. Then the deliverance would come in one form or another (most likely in the form of an aunt, uncle or Grandma). The power of these meetings was fused with my DNA. I knew that they knew, and by extension, I could say I too knew that God was working in our lives.

 Over the years, many of my cousins have undergone excruciating trials. Some have lost their way on the path of life. I am convinced that at the deepest part of the marrow of their bones, the optimism, hope and faith are still there.

 Years later I returned to Camp-O-Rama and looked around searching for familiar sites. What most shocked me was that the hill was not as steep as I remembered and someone has shrunk the boulders. How did that happen? Perspective is everything. My adult eyes would not allow me to see these boulders the way they did as a child. As I thought about it more, the memories of the stories returned. The stories were BIG too. The despair was real and the deliverance was miraculous. With the inner eye of the adult soul, I began to wonder if my memory was equally distorted about what I heard, felt and experienced at a deep spiritual level. Could it be that over time, I had clung to some distorted image of tender mercies? What there a less miraculous explanation for how things turned out?

  Great questions… It is in my nature to examine, sometimes too critically, what I experience. As I recalled a few of the stories first spoken on the rocks of the family reunion, the Spirit whispered to me that some things don’t need to be examined in the rational, critical way. Skepticism slipped away and my heart throbbed again to recall the feelings of my family childhood.

  Lessons learned… -Everyone needs a “family”. I need a group that values me so highly that I am never in danger of being lost from their love and life. I had such a family upbringing. -Some things need to be accepted as “true” because the fruit is so delicious. I am not enriched by trying to analyze the way God may or may not have worked in my loved ones lives. -It is not enough to set an example, work hard and hope that some of it will rub off. You have to TELL them in the plainest, most authentic way possible. You will never live long enough to fully realize how you can change the life of a loved one.

Thank you Grandma,Aunt Ruth and everyone else

The Language of Prayer

In "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", Huck finds himself in a real dilemma. What is he to do about Jim? As he reflects on his situation, he realizes that there is no easy way out. What follows are these classic lines:

"And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better. So I kneeled down. But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they? It warn't no use to try and hide it from Him. Nor from ME, neither. I knowed very well why they wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't right; it was because I warn't square; it was because I was playing double. I was letting ON to give up sin, but away inside of me I was holding on to the biggest one of all. I was trying to make my mouth SAY I would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can't pray a lie — I found that out."

What Huck found out was that the effectiveness of his prayer was not going to be based on the language employed (thank heavens for Huck!). The essence of effective prayer is real intent. It is based on respect, reverence and faith. But real intent is the key. James 1:5 is familiar to all members of our church. But in the verse that follows we read: But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

And again, we read in Moroni 10 the promise. After reading and pondering, what is the key to unlock revelation? “…if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ..."

I look in vain to see in the formula the use of proper language in prayer. I hear about it from time to time in things I read and sermons I hear. How I wish we spoke Spanish (or even Portuguese - Gary) when it comes to prayer. As a missionary, little time was spent on the "Language of Prayer" even among the poorest of the poor in Chile. Speak to God, your Father, as you would your loving spouse or tender child.

I read a talk by Elder Bruce R. McConkie once about prayer. I remember feeling nonplused after first reading his talk. (I have a habit of reacting that way to some of his material).


But I re-read it in light of tomorrow's lesson and came away with a different feeling.
Rather and reading his "suggestions" on how to avoid vain repetitions (by using his words instead), maybe my challenge is to write some of my deepest and most reverent thoughts that can help me to penetrate the sound barrier and sin barrier, bringing me to the very alter of God, or maybe even to the bosom of my eternal daddy.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Church, used the prescribed language of prayer. I should never use the prayer to divert attention away from God. There, I speak as the voice of all present. But when in my closet, remember that one of the Savior's final pleas was "Abba". He is my daddy too.

Coops to Courts

From Coops to Celestial Courts

When I was about 12 years old, our ward was part of the Flagstaff and later part of the Prescott Arizona Stakes of the church. Like many stakes, we had a welfare project. Ours was a "Poultry Project"or chicken farm. My dad, Boyd Tenney, served on the High Council. He had deep roots in the Prescott area, was a rancher and cattle broker and owned a Purina feed store  This put him in close contact with many people involved in agriculture. He learned of a poultry operation in Chino Valley, AZ that was available. Our Stake purchased the farm and we all had opportunities to make it function.

Maybe it is just my imagination, but it seems that as one of Boyd’s kids, I had more “opportunities” to work at the chicken farm than most. What was that like? It was the filthiest work I have ever done. These coops were about 100 feet long. The work often entailed going in and shoveling the manure, straw, dirt and dust out and putting in fresh straw. The smell of ammonia was so overwhelming that my eyes would burn, my throat would close up and I would feel like I was choking. Sneezing, coughing, teary eyes and back-breaking work – what a joy! Returning home was such a relief. I hated working at the chicken farm. Or did I? There was a feeling, deep inside my chest, beneath the secretions in my airways, that my contribution was worthy. It was the feeling you get when you do something good and necessary that you know others prefer not to do.

Fast forward about 45 years. Recently a few volunteers were recruited to go to the Mesa Temple and assist in cleaning after hours. Marilyn and I volunteered and spent one late Friday evening there. We were asked to clean the upper floors of the temple. Dressed in white, with dust cloths in hand, we went up to the highest courts of the temple and there spent a few hours cleaning, vacuuming, dusting and polishing. It may be more accurate to say that we were in search of a speck of dust to capture and discard. I felt so good when I actually noticed some small thing that needed attention. But to be in these sacred areas, serving, thinking about what the Temple represents was a real joy. No iPods, no music, nothing but silence. That is when my mind returned to my childhood memories of the chicken farm. What a contrast there was! Besides the environment, the opportunity to be in the Temple at all is a sacred privilege in and of itself.
The contrast of these two experiences is very stark. But there are some similarities as well. Service is needed. Volunteers have to step forward. But surely cleaning the House of the Lord is far more worthy an activity that of a filthy chicken coop, right? When I left the chicken farm I was filthy. When I left the temple, I felt more clean and pure than when I entered.

Leviticus has many chapters devoted to what makes us ritually and spiritually impure and what steps are needed to reclaim our purity.  That night I came to some surprising conclusions about service.

1. Willingness:
When given the “opportunity to serve”, what goes through my mind? Do I celebrate the all chances to serve equally? What do I say to myself when volunteers are requested for the chicken coops of life?
2. Why do I serve?
The classic talk given in General Conference by Dallin Oaks in October 1984 lists five possible motives for service. Usually I fall far short of the ultimate motivation – the love of God.
3. Does God have a system of ranking service?
If so, it surely must favor simple, contrite and authentic acts. From the tears and the alabaster box of ointment bathing the feet of the Savior (in the presence of “honored guests”) to the widow’s mite (giving her all in the face of greater contributions from others of their abundance), it seems to me that the Savior prefers the simple, honest and quiet contributions.

The feelings I felt after working with chicken manure was one of worthiness and peace. Did I want to rush back the next day to repeat this experience? No. But still, there was sweet feeling doing something no one else wanted to do. Serving in the temple was one that purified me, leaving me cleaner. But I feel well suited to be a pooper-scooper if only at the gates of the Kingdom.

Dave Welch - a small tribute

Everyone will tell you that they had a “best friend” growing up. Here is a picture of my best friend, Dave Welch. I will make this brief, but I just want to tell you all how much I loved this guy and how, after 33 years it still brings tears to my eyes to think that he died so young.

But it is not about his death that I wish to comment. It is his life that is so memorable. I could post some pretty funny pictures of a nerd right out of the early 70’s. Dave wore the high-water pants, glasses, and was long and gangly. When I was around him, I seemed to lose the very tentative hold I had on my inhibitions. He was so funny that it made me want to be the clown as well.

Dave was the smartest guy in our High School (at least in the class of ’72). I was close in math, but that's all. We were both in football, track, choir, and scouts. We got our Eagle Scout Award the same night. We had the same passions, right up to and including having the same girlfriends. (Yes, sometimes at the same time – not fun). Dave talked me into joining Key Club and then running for a state-wide office. I won. I didn’t have any idea what to do, but I did it anyway). I only ran because he told me to. Returning the favor, I talked him into trying out for All-State Choir. Dave was not a good singer. He was in our choir because he was a great drummer and he was needed for the Vocal Ensemble. When we got to Flagstaff, he performed the solo he had prepared and then had to try to "sight read" some very difficult music. He told me how embarrassing it was for him. We laughed so hard. Later that same day, there was an indoor High School track meet inside the doom at NAU. We had signed up. I threw the shot put and he threw the discus. Not until we and signed in did he discover that they don’t have the discus as an event in an indoor meet. (duh? Not too safe) So he decided to throw the shot put instead. As luck would have it, he followed the state record holder in this event, Bob Breunig. The announcer would stop all events every time it was Breunig’s turn to throw the shot put. After his taking his stance, hyperventilating, skipping, spinning, and emitting a guttural yell, the crowd would all applause. Then Dave stepped into the circle and in his faded orange sweats, he would just step to the front and push the shot put; no glide, no turn, and no yell.

Why are these memories so vivid? I think it is because he and I could laugh at each other. It was so easy for me to be around Dave. But that is not the whole truth.

When I looked at the degree of self-discipline Welch had, I recognized that if I didn’t gain that, I would never amount to much. I had talents that he did not have. In fact, we sort of had a mutual admiration thing going. But I had rules, religion, and family structure to keep me on some sort of a good path. Dave’s parents trusted him to do the right thing and to be responsible. So he did. We had other friends that were using drugs back in those days. I did not, mostly likely because of religious constraints. Dave had an internal guide that led him.

I could write pages about Dave. I must say that our friendship was called “The Brothers Three”. Richard Kenneth Harvey was as much a part of this friendship as Dave or I. Harvey and shared the same faith and many other things. He too was a football player (until his knees gave out), a track star, a singer (he was good enough to make all-state choir) and more. One of our favorite past times was to go through a list of all of the girls in our class and talk about which ones would be a good match for Harvey. If you ever ask me about the trip we took to California at Christmas 1977, you will see me laugh until I cry. What the heck, here is a shortened version. One night Harvey wanted to take the car and get some pop or something. After he Harvey left the motel it seemed that he was gone way too long. I know this may not make any sense, but Welch, Curtis Klofkorn, and I were playing cards and were wondering Harvey was gone so long. We should have been worried. Harvey sometimes did not have the best luck. We start guessing what bad thing could have happened and kept speculating about worse and worse possibilities. When he came through the motel door, he had this look on his face and announced that he had been robbed. There was a moment of silence followed by the three of us bursting out laughing and literally rolling around on the floor repeating that Harvey had been robbed. He was not amused. Maybe you had to be there.

As I remember Dave, the critical role of friends looms large in my life. Thank you, friends, for all you have done for me. If I start a roll call, I will surely omit one of you. You know who you are.

And thanks to all of you friends of Marilyn, Rhett, Sandee, Gary, Angela, Troy, Trevor, and Brandon. I recognize that substantial, even enormous credit that is due to your friends.

Mixed feelings about new book on Washington

One of my favorite biographies of all time is Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow. He is an amazing biographer and I love the way he composes his thoughts. It seemed to me that I was reading prose rather than just plain history.

As anyone who knows me can attest, my favorite subject of history is George Washington. I love and revere this man so much. I am a bit defensive when I hear criticism of him.

One more preliminary point..

I made a promise to myself that I would not not buy another book from Costco until I had read more of the ones I already have.

So much to my surprise when shopping there yesterday, I saw a brand new book, over 800 pages long, written by one of my favorite biographers on my favorite subject. The binding is wonderful and it was just calling me, "Buy me! One more book will not hurt. You are going on a long trip next week. I will be your companion!" It all made sense to me.

Then I opened the jacket and began to read about this volume. I was disturbed at what I read. It seems to be a psycho-biography where a person comes along many years later and peels back the cranium to seen what was going in there... (i.e. Fawn Brody and her biography of Joseph Smith - "No Man Knows My History")

I think I want to be open to all information but prefer to read biographies written by fans of the subject matter, not mere critics. If you want to read a well-written biography of Washington, Joseph Ellis's "His Excellency" will fill the bill.

So what to do?

I decided to download the audiobook and give that a try. The reader is Scott Brick, the same narrator that did Alexander Hamilton. He has a terrific voice.

Stay tuned. Maybe after over 40 hours of listening, I can come back and recommend or not recommend this book.