Jesus calls us, o'er the tumult ... Christian saying follow me

On my first business trip to Australia some thirty-five years ago, the admiral of the last Navy base I had served before retiring called me and asked if I would take a package down to an Australian naval officer we both knew. John was at sea the day I arrived in Australia, so his wife kindly met me at the airport, drove me round for a bit of sightseeing, and delivered me to my lodgings. It was a Sunday morning, and on the drive we saw flocks of people with baskets roaming hillsides on the outskirts of town. John's wife said they were picking mushrooms, a common weekend outing. I never had the knowledge or courage to pick wild mushrooms, but if you will eat them I will pick them.

At that time I was under contract with the Australian Department of Defence, to conduct seminars for their DoD officials and defence industry executives in Canberra, Sydney, Adelaide, Brisbane and Melbourne about how to do business with the U.S. DoD and American defense industry companies. On that visit, I got to know several Australian military officers and was invited to social functions at officers‘ clubs after hours. A couple of things come to mind from that.

One is that I seemed to have been a sponge at absorbing their English. One evening after having been Down Under a month or so in Oz as they like to call it, at an Australian officers’ club happy hour in Sydney, a naval officer in a group with whom I had been conversing suddenly asked me, “Weren’t we at the naval college together?” I said, “No, I’m American.” He looked at me stunned and said, “American? You’re not American. You don’t have an American accent, you’re as Australian as I am.”

That was my first hint that I might be able to have a second career as a spy. Linda confirmed it the day I arrived back home in Pennsylvania when she said, "I can't understand you, you have an Australian accent."

The other thing I was thinking about yesterday noon after church, sitting on the outside back screen porch watching the rain, with a glass of wine and my once-a-year little plate of crackers, butter and tiny wedge of blue Stilton, my favorite cheese. It was at one of those Australian navy officers’ club dinners that I learned about butter when you order a plate of assorted cheeses and breads in place of a sweet dessert. I was horrified: spreading butter on bread before cheese seemed like the ultimate invitation for a stroke and heart attack. But that's the way it always came to the table; because without the butter, the cheese falls off your bread or cracker.

As our 10:30 family service at Holy Nativity ended yesterday morning, my heart was so wrapped in singing our closing hymn “Jesus calls us, o’er the tumult” to the right tune, "saying, Christian, follow me" that I walked right by Christian. He squirmed loose from his mom, darted up the center aisle to the Altar and round behind. Grandfather Tom followed Christian and scooped him up just as he headed toward the vesting room in the back. How was that song again, was it

"saying, Christian, follow me"

"Christian saying, Follow me" --

Holding Christian was the perfect end to a worship service itself perfect not only because of singing an old favorite hymn to the old favorite tune, but also because the rector not I had preached the sermon about the rich man and his manager who acted φρονίμως wisely, prudently, with insight, viscerally, according to his gut. It's the one and only use in the NT of the word φρονίμως, telling us to listen to our gut.

Finally. "Once upon a time — oh many, many years ago as time is calculated by men — but which ...". Remembering The Littlest Angel, one of the most popular children's books of all time, my mother bought it for me when I was a boy, and it broke my heart, a story of a little boy who had died, and in heaven was homesick, and an angel arranged for the little boy's favorite toy to be brought from his home to him, and it was the time of the Nativity, and all the angels were bringing gifts for the baby Jesus, but this little boy had only his favorite toy but was afraid it would offend God, and God was so moved and touched with the little boy's gift that He sent it into the sky transformed into the Star of Bethlehem, announcing the birth of His Son.

Life is still and ever breaking hearts. Jordan, a little boy I never knew, 8 - 10 years old, up for heart replacement surgery. Last week a heart came available, and Jordan didn't make it. It's a beautiful day, and please say "Jordan" to God this morning.

It's a beautiful day. And somewhere beyond the Star of Bethlehem, Jordan lives, is alive with Jesus, the Son of God.

TW+