Did I Get It This Time?

Matthew 21:28-32 contains the parable of the two sons. Assumedly Jesus is talking to the chief priests and elders in the temple courts as this is the group he was talking to in the passage immediately preceding. I’ve always been confused about this parable. In translations I’ve read before it was very unclear to me which son Jesus was pointing to as doing the right thing.

In the parable, a father asks his first son to work in the vineyard. The son refuses, but later goes and works. The second son is asked to work in the vineyard and immediately agrees to do it, but ends up not ever going to the vineyard. Jesus asks, “Which of the two did what his father wanted?” They answered, “the first.”

This is where the NIV seems to make this clear for me, though a Greek scholar may laugh. I quote the rest of the passage:

Jesus said to them, “I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.”

It seems to me like Jesus was telling the chief priests they were wrong. He commends the tax collectors and prostitutes for believing right away. I’m thinking that those kinds of folks who had some serious behavior problems were much more likely to jump in and say “yes” to Jesus but then have problems following through, perhaps falling back into their bad behavior, than the other way around.

So what is Jesus saying here? Elsewhere we are told that God looks on the thoughts and intents of the heart and that He is much more concerned about this than anything that shows on the outside of a person. It would seem that God is more concerned with response and intent than behavior. That he would rather me respond and intend to obey even if I keep falling down and failing than to be rebellious and independent, even if in my behavior I do everything exactly as he asks.

The parable of the workers in the vineyard in Matthew 20 where the guys who worked just the last hour of the day got the same pay as those who worked all day long seems to jive with this. The accumulated work of a day or a lifetime (behavior) is not what is important, but rather the willingness to be on God’s agenda when he calls one to it.

This interpretation seems to me to line up with other scriptures where time and again Jesus says that what is in a man’s heart makes him clean or unclean, not external things. Behavior is important too, ref: the book of James, but it has not nearly the prominence that our traditional practice has given it. This is some pretty radical stuff. Dare I say, as radical as Jesus?

One More Time

This little guy bloomed three or four times in a row. I thought it was played out and I hadn't gotten a picture. But yesterday I came home and there was yet another flower waiting for me.
(In case you're interested, this is an orchid type called a phragmipedium or "phrag," sometimes called a "lady slipper." The many varieties and hybrids all get named by their growers. This one is called "Sunset Glow.")

Proud Daddy

I went to a play tonight with my daughter. She designed the sets for it. It was called "Eve Redeemed," a story based on the book of Hosea. You should see it if you get a chance.

Malfunction Junction

My email to the SCDOT this morning:

I have gone through the I-20/I-26 malfunction junction every work day for the last six years. This morning, once again, I came upon a semi-truck laying on it's side at the bottom of a ramp. It seems that this happens approximately once a month. One can practically be reminded to change the calendar page upon seeing the overturned truck. I have no clue what prompted the terrible engineering compromise to build the interchange with decreasing radius turns on the ramps as the result is completely predictable. Each time a truck goes over costs emergency crew resources, insurance claims on the damaged trucks, and wasted time and gas for countless people stuck in the resulting traffic backups, not to mention the pain of injuries. It seems a comparative pittance to spend a few thousand dollars on some signage that would warn the truckers of the danger. The existing arrows just don't cut it. Signs showing a graphic of a truck tipping over and/or possibly a warning on approach to the interchange of decreasing radius turns along with the graphic of the tipping truck would give the drivers enough time to slow down and be ready. Those turns sneak up on people even in cars which spin out often when it rains. Please, please, put up some signs at malfunction junction! If it embarrasses the engineer who drew the plan, so much the better. Maybe his next design will be more sensible.

Old Friends

Some good old bikes and some good old times on them:

This picture was made on the rock face mentioned in this post.

Pile O’ Miles

It’s been a while since I reported the mileage on the bike. I took a little ride over the weekend and when I came home the old beast had racked up 800 more to top 84,000. If we keep this up she may just end up a very rare 100,000 mile motorcycle.

And I just realized that this blog has a few miles on it too. I missed two things a few weeks back. The first birthday of this blog went by while I was distracted elsewhere, as did my sister’s birthday which I just now realized was the exact same day. I’m terrible about birthdays.

These Spring Nights Are Still Cold

When I stopped at the ranger station on the way into Smoky Mountains National Park, I found that Cade’s Cove is part of the park. I remembered that some of “Sheffey,” a film I worked on while in college, was filmed there. I couldn’t remember which part was done there, but saw some pictures and soon realized it was the John Oliver place that was used for Shed McComb’s cabin. This angle approximates the one used in the film:

In that scene, young Robert Sheffey, who had been traveling for two days, had spent the previous night along the roadside where it had been colder than he expected. He was seeking lodging and the McCombs took him in. I ended up spending the two nights of my three day ride around the Smokys sleeping on the ground under the stars and yes, these spring nights are indeed still cold. (to quote some dialog from the film) My complete set of camping gear consisted of a blanket and a flashlight. Fortunately it didn’t rain.

The first night I looked for a place in the woods but found that things have changed in the last couple of decades. It seems that outside the parks, there is a house tucked into just about every few acres of the mountains. I ended up finding an empty one with a for-sale sign out front and found a hidden corner behind a hedge row on the hillside out back. The second night I spent $17 for a campsite in the National Park. Next time I think I’ll plan to have a better kit of gear.

More Scenery

Riding on the Heights of the Land

Today’s chapel at the school started a series dealing with the Sabbath. I was debating in my mind the appropriateness of my choice to spend not only a Sabbath, but Easter no less, alone on my motorcycle in the mountains of North Carolina. Feeling the need to get away and hoping the mountains would have their usual euphoric affect on my dragging soul, I headed north last Friday. Actually it was supposed to be just an afternoon ride with a friend, but when we didn’t connect and with no absolute commitments for the next several days, I just decided to go see some mountains.

I aimed north to where I knew I’d find some and with no map, intended to get myself intentionally lost and just wander. I pretty much did that the first day until somewhere around Asheville I ran into the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was getting late so I decided to find a place to sleep and get on the parkway the next morning. This is when I found out how hard it is to find any out-of-the-way woods in this part of the country.

Next morning I got a map and decided that, having been on all of the parkway to the north at one time or another, I would head south toward Great Smoky Mountains National Park which is the southern terminus.

This I did and then wandered the park with numerous stops to take pictures. After another night on the ground under the stars, this time in a legitimate campground, I headed home.

Not wanting to fight the traffic back through the park I determined to go around the south/west end. I discovered some great new roads. Soon out of the park I took the Foothills Parkway, a less formal, much shorter, and lesser traveled ridge route than the Blue Ridge.

Then it was on to route 129.

Not far up this wonderful, serpentine road I encountered motorcycles. Lots of them. And an occasional photographer sitting in a bend. I got to thinking that this might possibly be the famous stretch known as “The Tail of the Dragon.” I had given passing thought to seeking out this roadway on this trip but decided not to bother as I thought it was much further west than I intended to go. (Which it was at the time.) But when I saw the photographers I realized this was it – the road I’d wanted to ride for years. 318 curves in 11 miles.

I had started up the back side of it. Most folks seem to start at the resorts on the other end. I stopped a few places and took some pictures myself. Sure enough, at the top there was Deal’s Gap and the motorcycle resort I’d seen on the internet. I stopped and got a few more pictures and bought a t-shirt.

It was pretty cool. I almost turned around for another run down and then back up again, but I was kinda wanting to get home, another night on the ground not sounding very attractive, and many miles to go. I intended to get to 64 and head to Brevard and then back south. To do so requires a bit of back road adventure. I took Wayah Road which turned out to be a delightful run.

64 is a nice highway but kinda dull after the switchbacks. I was making good time, though, and planning to be home by 9:00PM.

But somehow at Franklin, 64 must have made a turn I missed and by continuing straight ahead I got onto 23/441. At Dillsboro I managed to turn onto 23/74 and put aside the nagging thought at Sylva that something wasn’t quite right. When I crossed under the Blue Ridge Parkway I was finally jolted to the fact I had messed up. After a stop and check of the map I decide to proceed to Waynesville and catch 276 south to Brevard. I had originally intended to take 276 from Brevard to Greenville, then back down 385 and 26 back to Columbia. As it turns out, I thought I was done with the great roads when I hit 64, but 276 is an awesome ride. My detour cost about an extra hour but the discovery of that part of 276 was really worth it.

Each of these roads is a motorcycle dream. Though all are mountain experiences, each has a different character. It’s hard to decide which is best. They are all great.

So, at the end of chapel today, a passage from Isaiah 58 was read. After a long list of “ifs” that basically involve honoring what the Sabbath is all about, one of the three “thens” that will result is “I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land.” I took it that I had the Lord’s blessing.

You Really Can’t Go Back

When I was in college I maintained my sanity by getting away from campus on my motorcycle. A few places drew me back time and again. One I would always do alone because everyone thought I was crazy for wanting to do it. I’d stop at the Krispy Kreme store right by the municipal airport, buy a coffee and a couple of raspberry filled doughnuts, and then carefully balancing the cup and bag of goodies, ride up to a high spot overlooking the north end of the main runway. I’d sit on my faithful mount, consume the delicious snack and watch airplanes take off and land. A mouthful of pleasure and eyes full of visual poetry. I could never understand why nobody else saw this as a heavenly pastime. Today my old spot is the official observation area. But they have put up a fence that kinda spoils the vibe. Also, between the price of avgas and the gutting the light aviation industry received in the 80’s at the hands of our whacked tort system, the once busy airport is very quiet, as are most small airports these days. I didn’t expect to see any planes flying and indeed I did not.

Another one of my haunts was more popular with my friends. At the top of Paris Mountain, the high point of the environs of Greenville, there is an open rock face one could park very near and climb down to for a beautiful vista. It was a magical place where we’d go to watch sunsets or just enjoy being up high. It was a favorite place to bring a special date and I remember having a magical experience or two there for the first time in my life. Pretty tame stuff by today’s standards but pretty spectacular to me at the time. I passed through the area on my way to the mountains over the weekend and ran up the old Paris Mountain road as I’d done probably a hundred times while I was a student. I hadn’t been on that road in 25 years but I remembered each turn and bend in the road as it came up. But the once desolate road along the top of the ridge now had a house tucked into every possible niche. It was just about sundown so I thought I’d stop and watch the sunset from the old rock face. When I got near it, to my great disappointment, a sturdy gate and threatening signs blocked the way.

I wandered down and around the front side of the mountain and got a view of the rock from below. From the cleared lot of a subdivision going in just beneath it on the hillside. A young couple in their early 30’s parked their shiny new Hummer and walked up to me. Turns out I was standing where their house was to be built and they had come to see the lot which had been cleared that very day. I told them I’d experienced their mountain some thirty years ago. But some places you just can’t really go back to.

A more idealistic time, circa 1978. I wrote about another event that took place on this rock and just placed a couple more pictures there which were shot at the same time as this one.

Born in '57

I’ve always felt a bond with the ’57 Chevy. Partly because I was born the year they were built and partly because my dad had a red four door when I was a tyke. They tell me I called it “Red Daddy’s Car.” I don’t have many memories that far back but I do remember how I loved to hang onto that steering wheel pretending I was driving it. I was one of those guys who couldn’t wait to drive, longed for it, and ached for it for years. During my early teens on a very rare occasion we would be out in Kansas somewhere on a back road and my dad would let me drive the family car. That was the greatest thing in the world. Well, second only to when he would give me the controls of an airplane. Anyway, I was the guy first in line at the driver’s license testing facility on the morning of my 16^th birthday and it all started with that ’57 Chevy. The car I drove the most initially was another family Chevrolet, a ’66 Bel Air wagon. I remember the sad day my dad sold the ’57 and we watched it drive away. I don’t really know why he did because he really loved that car. It’s one of those you wish had never been let go.

On my way north last weekend as I rode up 385 just south of Simpsonville, I spotted a bevy of ‘57’s at a junk yard. A couple had been restored to fairly nice condition and a couple were derelicts that looked beyond hope. The nice black four door had a price of $14,000 on it. The worst of the derelicts was on the block for $1,500, about half of what it fetched when brand new. Why didn’t dad save Red Daddy’s Car? I can only wish. I’ve occasionally thought that should I ever happen to become a rich man, something completely impractical that I might like to own would be a restored ’57 Chevy. In red, of course. And while we’re at it, a convertible. Right now I’d certainly settle for some restoration for my own raggedy ’57 vintage body and soul.