A Harsh Winter

My morning drive to work most days includes a flip across the car radio’s preset buttons, one of which is tuned to a frequency recently claimed by a (very) conservative Christian radio station. Music is the predominant component of the station’s rather scant programming. . . very bad music. . . make that atrocious music. My God, how awful that stuff is! Why it’s so bad that I . . . . Anyway, I don’t like it.

On a recent drive to the church I ventured into the offending station’s air space, heard its elevator-style rendition of some old song I never liked to begin with, then initiated my usual self-righteous rant. . . until for some reason I started thinking about the song’s writers, performers, recorders, and fans. For those people that song wasn’t a musical misstep or mess of mediocrity; it was rather a testament of faith, a declaration of praise, and a song of hope. It was for them whatever it was for them, but it surely was not for them what it was for me; and that reality gave me pause.

It reminded me of a moment during the recent Christmas season when on an evening drive Shari and I came across a residence whose only seasonal lighting decoration was a single row of large single color bulbs strung from one corner of the garage’s face to the other. That’s all there was. No other lights on the house, or even on the street corner the house occupied.

I thought it silly to go to the trouble of hanging such mediocre lighting, and expressed my sentiment through a snickering cackle of a laugh. Shari quickly corrected my editorial, reminding me that perhaps the residents could not afford other decoration.

It was a valuable lesson her reminder taught, but not one with which I was unfamiliar. During a drive through an economically challenged part of our community a few years ago I saw a house whose exterior was deeply scarred by the effects of time and disrepair. My reaction then was not to smirk or to wax self-righteous. Rather, when I saw a light on in what could have been the living room I thought, that’s someone’s home.

So I understood the lesson when I passed by the worn-out house. Shari reminded me of the lesson when we saw the single strand of Christmas lights. But somehow I forgot what I had learned as I listened to a song I disliked. I am quite the work.


This piece is not about my forgetfulness, though it could be. I use my failings to remind you not to mimic them. There are within the rainbow we call humanity opinions you won’t like, politics you’ll think appalling, music you’ll find laughable, attitudes you’ll deem ill-grounded, and statements of faith you’ll judge harsh and judgmental. Get over it. Whether you like it or not, most people – make that all people – are not like you. No one sees the world the way you do or hears the radio the way I do. About the best you and I can hope for is that those who observe our ways, means, and lifestyles will be no more childish in their assessments than we are in ours.

Jesus said, “Stop judging others, and you will not be judged.” I think what he meant was, if you don’t like the music, shut up and change the station.


Pray with me:
God, help me remember that the world is not destined to be my way, or his way, or her way; it’s destined to be your way. When I look critically, think harshly, or judge too quickly about others, put me in my place, then guide me to a healthier, more spiritual place. Teach me, remind me, and when necessary, scold me back to faithfulness. In the name of Jesus, Amen.