Another Sermon from the Tattooed Minister Sunday morning, and I see the sun is beginning to make its appearance. This is a good thing…. This is the moment I work long hours for, right now, right here. This is it. This is my time to sit and improve my conscious contact, to reflect, and breathe. As I write to you, there is peaceful music playing in the background. I can hear the birds whistling outside my window, and the smell from my coffee is beginning to do its magic. This is what I work for. This moment I work for this minute of peace. I believe life comes with different weights and shadows. Some moments are bright and soft, and others can be heavy. This is why I keep these early morning rituals. This way, I capture the bright moments and learn how to hold them. And for the heavy times, I capture them too. This way, I remember my history without repeating itself. As I write to you, I am listening to Gregorian chants with soft music playing in the background. I do this because the music is fitting and helps me think… Wholeheartedly, I believe in the word redemption. I believe in the second act of life and that I can reform, and change. I believe history repeats itself for a reason and though I can see, I am sometimes blind. This coming Wednesday, September 4, begins what was known in my home as The High Holy Days. At sundown, Rosh Hashanah begins and the book of life is opened. This is the New Year, and between then and the sundown of Yom Kippur, or otherwise known as The Day of Atonement; these are the 10 days of awe and a time for reflection. On the night of Rosh Hashanah, the book of life is opened; on Yom Kippur it is closed. It is written: He who shall lie down and he who will rise. It is written who will wake and who will sleep, who will become strong and who will weaken. And though I have lost my taste for organized religion and possibly my seat in the synagogue, I keep these Holidays special. As a young boy, I went to the long services with my family. The temple was over-crowded so they held services in the sanctuary and the large banquet room. I would go along and sit next to my father. I watched as he listened to the Rabbi and prayed with all his might. I can remember the smell of his cologne and the suit he wore. I remember the smell of my mother’s perfume and dress. I was young then. I was too young to truthfully understand sin or desire. At worst, my sins were taking a toy that belonged to someone else. My sins consisted of not doing my homework, or not going to bed on time. As my father prayed in temple, I stood when he stood. If he bowed forward, I bowed forward. When he closed his eyes and dropped is chin as a sign of humility; I did the same thing. Not long after, I grew. I grew older and spent less time beside my father and more time outside the temple. I grew further from my family and the lessons they taught me. In other words, I began a series of history repeating itself. When the Son of Man sat with Levi, the tax collector, He told a story. There was a father with two sons. The youngest son asked to be given his inheritance, and the father agreed. Then the youngest son left his father’s home and spent all of his money. He wasted everything. And then, a famine swept the land. The young son had nothing. So he found a job with a farmer. He was tired and poor. He was so hungry; even the food he gave to the pigs looked good. The young son thought to himself, “At my house, my father made sure even his servants were well fed.” And so, the young son decided, “I will go home and work for my father as his servant.” Still some distance from the house, the father saw his son approaching. And quickly, the father ran to his son and wrapped his arms around him. He held his youngest and kissed his cheek. Confused, the son asked, “But father, I have wasted everything you’ve given me. I have disgraced myself and your name.” The father called upon his servants to come quickly. “Put the finest robe around my son!” He told them, “Cloth him. Put shoes on his feet and rings on his hand.” “Kill a fatted calf,” he commanded. “My son was dead and now he is alive.” Of course, the sound from this celebration reached the older brother. He sent for one of the servants and asked about the noise. When he learned the news; he refused to walk in the house and greet the youngest son. The father came outside and tried to plea with his oldest. But his son would not listen. “I have been with you throughout the famine. I have worked the land to keep us fed and you have never given me so much as a sheep so I could have a feast with my friends... My brother goes off and wastes everything you gave him. He comes back after all this time, and for this you celebrate?” “Please,” the father said. “All that I have is yours and it will always be yours. But it is right that we celebrate. My son was gone, but now he has come back to me. Your brother was lost, but now he is found.” I believe in the second act. I wholeheartedly believe in redemption, and though I might not be welcomed by everyone, I believe in change. As far as I ran away, I came home. I was lost once too but I came back I may have lost my taste for organized religion and perhaps I lost my place in the synagogue, but I would give anything to sit next to my Old Man in the sanctuary ……and smell the cologne from his suit. Enjoy your Sunday, folks
Posted on: Sun, 01 Sep 2013 14:31:03 +0000
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