My Convertible At Last

To stave off hunger, and healthier than creamer and sweetener -- at least that was what I got from it watching without my hearing aids -- a couple of days ago, Dr. Oz recommended whisking a spoon of butter in hot coffee. Sounded gross, but the women on his show liked it, so I have tried it, this is the second morning. Puts a froth on top like melted whipped cream, hardly affects the flavor, and softens the black dark roast Italian coffee hitting my stomach so early in the morning. Dr. Oz said a tablespoon, but I’m doing a teaspoon. 

Try it, Sam I Am, just plop the butter in and twirl the whisk.

Fifth Sunday of Easter and our Scripture for this morning is the best. Acts 7, Luke the author tells about the horrid stoning of Stephen at the hands of those who are wickedly certain, and introduces Saul, who never suspects what the Lord has in mind for his life as St. Paul. In response, a bit from Psalm 31. Then a beautiful passage from First Peter.

Finally, our gospel reading is John 14:1-14, among my favorites and a most popular promise to be read and heard at funerals, I’ve preached it many times. “In my Father’s house are many mansions,” from the King James Version, “if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and take you to myself, that where I am, there ye may be also.” 

Never certain of anything, I’m never quite sure how to understand the promise, especially when we examine and discuss the passage in what’s called a “modern Bible criticism” method. But, as those who’ve done that with me in the past know, I take it quite personally. The NT Greek word is μοναὶ which modern translations render many “dwelling places” or many “rooms,” but at my funeral it’s to be read, heard and preached as “mansions” and by then I will already have claimed it. As I’ve said on this blog before, it’ll be a lovely Southern mansion with white fluted columns (doric or ionic, not those flashy corinthian capitals), set way back from the road. A long, curved driveway leads up to it, and sitting in front of the mansion is a red Duesenberg touring car, with the top down (it never rains in heaven anyway), and the motor tuned and running. I’m going for a long drive across the heavens before I even enter the house to see who’s waiting for me.

That convertible has been sitting in the garage for many years, waiting for me. I know, because now and then I've peered at it through the window. When I looked last month, it was gone.

The Gospel of the Lord.

TW+