In church, we’ve been going through the book of Ruth. I’m sure that by now you’ve heard the old joke that if you took this book out of the Bible, that would make the Bible fairly ruthless.

But the central character is an intriguing one. She’s from Moab, the archenemies of Israel. In fact, there’s a passage that I ran across in Nehemiah 13 that says that no Moabite was allowed to enter the assembly of God because they failed to show hospitality to the Israelites during their desert wanderings and in fact hired Balaam to curse them.

But Ruth abandons her own people and her own beliefs to follow after Naomi and this God of Israel. She leaves everything behind without once looking back. She eventually becomes mother to Obed, grandmother to Jesse, and great-grandmother to David, King of Israel and the one from whose line would come Jesus, Savior of the world.

It’s fascinating that out of all the possible people in the world, God chose Ruth as his means of bringing Jesus into the world. He chose someone who was an outcast, an outsider, a foreigner, and a stranger to the promise. Sound familiar? It’s the same way Paul described the Gentiles that God brought into the Kingdom of God. That’s you. That’s me.

It’s beautiful how God can transform an outsider into royalty. That’s what he did for Ruth. That’s what he’s done for you and me, making us into children of the King, a royal priesthood, and heirs to all the promises of God, because that’s what God does. That’s who God is.

“Tirian had thought—or he would have thought if he had time to think at all—that they were inside a little thatched stable, about twelve feet long and six feet wide. In reality they stood on grass, the deep blue sky was overhead, and the air which blew gently on their faces was that of a day in early summer. Not far away from them rose a grove of trees, thickly leaved, but under every leaf there peeped out the gold or faint yellow or purple or glowing red of fruits such as no one has seen in our world. The fruit made Tirian feel that it must be autumn but there was something in the feel of the air that told him it could not be later than June. They all moved towards the trees.

Everyone raised his hand to pick the fruit he best liked the look of, and then everyone paused for a second. This fruit was so beautiful that each felt ‘It can’t be meant for me . . . surely we’re not allowed to pluck it.’

‘It’s all right,” said Peter. ‘I know what we’re all thinking. But I’m sure, quite sure, we needn’t. I’ve a feeling we’ve got to the country where everything is allowed.’

‘Here goes, then!’ said Eustace. And they all began to eat.

What was the fruit like? Unfortunately no one can describe a taste. All I can say is that, compared with those fruits, the freshest grapefruit you’ve ever eaten was dull, and the juiciest orange was dry, and the most melting pear was hard and woody, and the sweetest wild strawberry was sour. And there were no seeds or stones, and no wasps. If you had once eaten that fruit, all the nicest things in this world would taste like medicines after it. But I can’t describe it. You can’t find out what it is like unless you can get to that country and taste it for yourself” (C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle).

I confess that I didn’t really get heaven for the longest time. Whenever I heard pastors or other people talking about it, I had a hard time getting excited about it. Maybe it was the way they described it as a never-ending church service, or maybe it was just me being a dumb kid.

What opened my eyes to the glories of heaven was the last book in C. S. Lewis’ masterful Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle. He described the joy of heaven as that feeling you get when you realize that school is over and the summer has started. That was something I could grasp.

I still don’t pretend to understand everything about heaven, but I do know that whatever I can conceive in my mind or imagine in my heart falls so far short of the reality. The very best parts of this life — those almost perfect moments, those fleeting moments of thrilling bliss are but glimpses into the heart of heaven.

Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out.

If you’re above a certain age, you probably remember those old station wagons with the wood paneling. You probably remember those road trips where you got stuck in the very last seat that faced the cars behind you. I am still a little traumatized from that.

It was the days before social media and smart technology took over everything. We didn’t have smart phones or tablets to pass the time. We had to be creative — read books (unless you were one that got car sick), listen to music, count out of state license plates, play I Spy, etc. We have memories that are completely unrelated to a tiny phone screen.

If that was you, you probably had an awesome childhood. Just sayin’.

I don’t know what the deal is, but it seems like meteorologists are frighteningly accurate when it comes to predicting rain. Every single time there’s even a small chance of rain in the forecast, it rains. And the rain likes to show up early.

I actually like rain. In moderate amounts. And not when I’m driving in it. But when I’m at home, I find that cold and rainy days make for the best naps. They also make for good lounging around, binging Netflix, reading a good book, being lazy days.

That said, I’m ready for some quality sunshine. I could use a few sunny days in a row, especially before the insane summer in the South heat with humidity kicks in. I’m not a fan of sweating, and I’m sure no one in smelling distance of me is either.

But as usual, I am thankful that tomorrow is Friday, rain or shine. That automatically will make the day better.

Cinco de Mayo, as it turns out, is is “a holiday that celebrates the date of the Mexican army’s May 5, 1862 victory over France at the Battle of Puebla during the Franco-Mexican War” (from the interwebs). So it really is about more than just tacos.

I hope you had a good day. I hope you had tacos or enchiladas or burritos or some other Mexican-themed food to celebrate the day. I hope you are able to fully appreciate and celebrate the upcoming holiday of — wait for it — Revenge of the Sixth. Another Star Wars holiday.

You’re welcome.

Well, no matter how your day went, you can always take comfort in the fact that today is National . . . I mean International . . . no, wait Galactic Star Wars Day. I say, “May the 4th be with you,” and you respond, “And also with you.”

For me, there’s something comforting about Star Wars. Maybe it’s because it takes me back to my childhood and the original trilogy that awakened my imagination and dreams and birthed in me a love for all things fantastical and mythological.

It gets better.

Tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo, which in this part of the world means Go Somewhere and Eat Mexican Day. I’m sure there’s an actual history behind it, but as with all holidays these days, it has turned into an excuse to eat mass quantities of food. If you plan just right, you could end up eating tacos tomorrow. Or you could avoid the inevitable and insane crowds at all Mexican restaurants and just eat your tacos on Thursday, which just happens to be . . .

Revenge of the 6th. It’s another Star Wars day. I’m not really sure of the point, other than it’s a play on Revenge of the Sith, which is Episode III in the Star Wars saga (and the best of the prequel trilogy in my humble opinion).

That’s it. Enjoy some Star Wars and tacos. That’s my prescription for a good week — or at least a reprieve from a not so good week.

“A mosaic consists of thousands of little stones. Some are blue, some are green, some are yellow, some are gold. When we bring our faces close to the mosaic, we can admire the beauty of each stone. But as we step back from it, we can see that all these little stones reveal to us a beautiful picture, telling a story none of these stones can tell by itself.

That is what our life in community is about. Each of us is like a little stone, but together we reveal the face of God to the world. Nobody can say: ‘I make God visible.’ But others who see us together can say: ‘They make God visible.’ Community is where humility and glory touch” (Henri Nouwen).

You could say the same about stained glass. Individually, they’re just shards of broken glass, but together, they make some of the most captivating and stunning artwork you’re likely to see.

That’s why community is important. Each has unique gifts and talents that no one else. When you put all those together, you really do become better together than you would be apart. Each member makes all the others better and can be strong where the other is weak, and visa versa.

That’s why community for believers isn’t just a nice idea or a good option. It’s vital.

Sometimes it seems hard to believe that on this day 11 years ago, Nashville was in the midst of its heaviest 2-day rainfall ever. I remember that it poured rain non-stop for 2 straight days. It rained so much that Nashville ended up in a 1000-year flood.

I remember seeing news videos of roads and blocks and even interstates flooded. I distinctly remember seeing one of those portable schoolhouse buildings floating down the interstate in all the floodwater.

I was stuck at home for a bit because I couldn’t get out of my neighborhood. That was one of the craziest weeks I can recall ever having lived through. I hope I never live to see anything like it again.

But I also remember how Nashville came together and helped those in need. We put aside out differences and were able to clear out flood-damaged debris from homes and help people in the process of rebuilding and starting over.

It’s sad that it takes a disaster or a catastrophe to bring people together like that. Even in the Church, it often takes a crisis to pull us together in the kind of unity that Jesus said we should have all the time.

But it’s a beautiful thing when people do decide to work together in harmony. I think that’s because it’s a glimpse of what heaven will be like all the time.

I did it. I got the first dose of the Moderna COVID-19 vaccine today.

It was not planned. I found out that the Publix pharmacy had some shots left over that they were going to have to throw away if they weren’t used, so I went and volunteered.

This is not about whether or not vaccines are good or bad. This is not about who’s right or wrong about the vaccine. This is about me making my own personal decision to put the greater good above my own personal preferences. This is about me wanting for life to return to normal.

For the record, I have received a flu shot for the last few years. As far as I can tell, I show no signs of growing a third arm or mutating into a different species. Again, it’s all about me making a decision that works for me.

I hope and pray you will be free to make the choice to get a vaccine or not. I also hope and pray that you will make an informed choice, not one based on conspiracy theories or what you read on social media but one informed by actual medical opinion from a doctor or nurse that you know and respect.

So whatever choice you make, I really hope and pray that you will respect those who choose differently. This is still America where we are free to live as we see fit based on our beliefs and convictions. I don’t want to see everyone forced to take a vaccine against their will, but I also don’t want this pandemic to continue.

In short, I don’t know a whole lot. I definitely don’t want to speak for anyone else, but I think that in my own best judgment getting a COVID vaccine was the right call for me to make. I want us all to be able to think for ourselves and not blindly trust any politician or media outlet that tries to tell us what to think and how to live.

I’m a bit weary, so I won’t add a whole lot other than to say that I have repeatedly found this to be true in my own life. The less I try to live under the illusion of control, the less I worry and fret and the more peace I have. Also, the less I pretend to be god of my own world, the more I see the real God in my world.