Minstrels in the Gallery – Trapping versus Truth

Greetings Dear Reader,

So many years ago when I was just embracing faith I was also emerging from the trappings of a belief system for which God is sometimes an afterthought.   When I struggled with belief during this period I got no substantive answers.  I was told just to stop asking questions.

Telling me not to question something has always led to more questions.  As a teenager telling me not to ask questions was putting fire to a powder keg.  When I started asking questions about God and was told to just accept what I was being taught it fueled my anger and doubt.

Ian Anderson had just danced into my life and my Grandfather had just slipped from this mortal coil.  I wrote extensively about the album Aqualung last year.  This particular song crashed over me like tidal wave.  It gave me the surge I needed to consider God as a viable alternative outside of the structure to which my upbringing had nailed him.

One needs to remember that it is not the framework that makes God who he is.  God is who he is because of his own power.  If we let God be God then it becomes easy to see what ceremonies, practices, and trappings do not really matter. 

It is God’s desire to permeate everything about us.  He wants to be a part of my every breath.  He wants me to invest my life in him and not ceremony or pretense.  If I live and teach that it seems to work much better.

Wind Up  – Ian Anderson

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And taught me how not to play the game,

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,

Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So I left there in the morning

With their God tucked underneath my arm --

Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.

So I asked this God a question

And by way of firm reply,

He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):

Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --

I don't believe you:

You had the whole damn thing all wrong --

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --

How do you dare tell me that I'm my father's son,

When that was just an accident of birth.

I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song

'Cause that's the honest measure of my worth.

In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,

As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And taught me how not to play the game,

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,

Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So I left there in the morning

With their God under my arm --

Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.

Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And taught me how not to play the game,

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,

Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):

Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers –

Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --

I don't believe you:

You had the whole damn thing all wrong --

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store."