In the 1964 Presidential election President Johnson ran a closing advertisement that captured America’s attention; certainly mine. I was eleven. In it was a lovely young blond girl, maybe five, surrounded by tall grass and enthralled with a daisy, whose peddles she is picking while—as only a child can—counting the number up to ten. The frame freezes as a voiceover counts down from ten to an atomic blast.
I grew up in privileged America always afraid. Fearful that each new day could be our last or of the social tensions as the cities of America were burning around a series of social whirlwinds stirring around us like the powerful tournedos of the Nebraska plains; civil rights, the free speech movement, Vietnam, women’s rights.
My faith community watched in fear in a world apart offering a commodity of “peace” in the soul if only to Jesus I would surrender. The offer came packaged in the ever changing rhythms and sounds of gospel music and the camp meeting dance.
I was an avid seeker of this peace, my anxious, guilty heart making me an easy pick for the next altar call. There was enough reality in all the fluff to see in myself and the old and young whose stories moved us, genuine faith, broken hearts finding their way to a kinda “safe space” of love—a peace with God. For me, tender of heart and conscience it rarely lasted in the ebb and flow of my human emotions, sensual desires and perfectionist expectations.
What I came to realize over time was that peace with God and the peace of God were two different things. The soul truly at rest in a world of chaos was a rare moment caught between rushed debates or visits to tent city or the grinding schedule of a church offering salvational moments; when the sun light filtered through and all that mattered was the peddles of a daisy—before the explosion of another sin or expectation or injustice.
The whirlwinds of the culture swirl still, no longer just a distant view kept at bay. Following Jesus has taken me into the fray in ways I would never have wanted or sought. These have brought meaning and reflection and in a very real sense salvation. But the “safe place” at the center of the storm remains aloof, though often experienced. I live keenly aware of just how privileged I am, not as a White Protestant American—though that be true enough—but as a truly unrighteous, wounded man who keeps running into Jesus exactly where I neither expect nor deserve.
Whatever whirlwinds surround of one thing I am sure. “Jesus loves us—all of us—this I know! That assurance allows me to count the daisies even as the needs of community or of my own soul explode all around.
Such is the message of the young Virgin Mary in her times.
Terry :) Blessings!
To purchase “The Advent of God through Mary” go to Amazo.com.
The Daisy Advertisement: https://youtu.be/dDTBnsqxZ3k
Comments