T-U-L-I-P Festival

For a half century I've been up in front of people, reading things aloud--stories, essays, meditations. In fact, I've got a thing going right now--I'm recording all the stories from the pen of Ruth Suckow (1892-1960). I'm twelve in, lots more to go. 

So, before yesterday's unique assignment began, it seemed a breeze: just recite a couple of things in front of the screen, send what you record along to us, and we'll use a line or so for one of those compilation videos, a dozen people reciting the Lord's Prayer in bite-sized chunks. You've seen 'em. Just remember, when you do the Lord's Prayer, keep your eyes shut. Sit there in front of your screen and make a video. We'll cut and paste. 

No sweat. 

Then do the same with the first Q and A of the Heidelberg Catechism--everyone's fave--and The Apostles Creed; but for those, go ahead and keep your eyes open. They're not prayers.

Gotcha.

I must have repeated the Lord's Prayer thousands and thousands of times in my 75 years, but, video running, I turned into a nervous Christmas program pre-schooler. I could not get through it. I could not recite it. I'd forget lines, forget where I was, flick off the camera, kick myself around the desk, and go at it again. What comes after "daily bread'? Doggone it!--start over. I even looked the Lord's Prayer up on line, printed it up, and read it over. I'm not making this up. No help. I botched it again. And again. And again. No one to blame but myself.

Finally, I made it through.

Apostles' Creed. Thousands of times I've been over it, written meditations about every line, every phrase. No matter. Soon enough I'd have given away half my fortune for a teleprompter. Time and time again, I looked at my wretched mug on the screen in front of me and simply forgot the next line.

My goodly inheritance includes a predilection for things theological, especially when it comes to Calvinism, that hybrid set of ancient principles often most efficiently explained by the acronym T-U-L-I-P, which I won't unpack now. Message me (just kidding). Each letter represents a principle intimately related to the next. When you play all five, they harmonize--sort of, in a dark way.

I've been around theologians of Calvinistic ilk for my whole life. TULIP was, long ago, sewn into my underwear for sorting and identification, and the first principle, the T, an abbreviation for "Total Depravity," not only begins the hand but looms over all the rest because the two core principles of Calvinism are 1) the sovereignty of God; and 2) the depravity of man. When mixed thoroughly, those two reveal a  self-portrait you won't get from any other camera: it goes like this--without grace, I'm toast. 

(It'll be on the test. You're taking notes, right?).

So cued up within my heart and mind is this ancestral Dutch Calvinist that reminded me, one more time, of the immense legacy of what some describe as "total depravity." Oh, yeah?--you say. Listen to this. I was more than ready to punch the computer, but my ridiculous bumbling wasn't technology's fault. I couldn't recite the Lord's Prayer because I was thinking about me--how I looked, how I sounded, how I was going to play in the compilation. I was listening for the competence of my elocution, one might say in standard highbrow. 

Comes down to this. Yesterday I couldn't pray because I was too concerned about me.

There. Confession, even non-Calvinists would say, is good for the soul. 

You'll be happy to hear that I'm 2/3 finished with this assignment. What remains is the first Q and A of the Heidelberg Catechism, which I couldn't recite even if I wasn't on camera. I'll need comfort, I'm sure.

Stay tuned.