Did Flo & Eddie beat SiriusXM or will they force classic rock off car radios?

Flo & Eddie, who by lawsuits long ago and far away, are advertised on tour today as “The Turtles Featuring Flo & Eddie” (exact wording from their official web site) harken back to other legal issues that they resolved ultimately in their favor, after being taken advantage of by several of their managers in days of old (watch the YouTube and see "what happened" back in the day). Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan, adopted the “Flo & Eddie” identities as shortened monikers, short for a 1972 album “The Phlorescent Leech & Eddie,” released by the duo, who also sang with Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, as well as also singing prolifically in studio sessions for other rock artists.

Now there are times when you can't take these guys seriously but they are Sirius about their complaints against not being properly compensated, hence the law suit. Questions remain, however, as to who wins and who loses based on this one suit in California. Other states to be sued, other artists to do the suing, theoretically. ALl SiriusXM has to do is pull the plug on their best 60s on 6 and 70s on 7 channels and watch how quickly the music, and interest in classic rock, fades away. The 60s on 6 station is one of the few remaining stations in America to play classic rock without changing the format every 10 minutes, the way so many of the larger, corporate "terrestrial" radio stations do. Plus, there are no commercials, which enhances the listening experience. So what, again, is considered a 'win'? Full story and details on the suit, click here

Singer Phillip Phillips Brings National Tour to College Station, Texas

Phillip Phillips, An American Idol winner, is coming to Aggieland, Oct. 8, 2014, Rudder Auditorium, performing hit songs from latest album, "Behind the Light"--students have first-option on tickets, beginning today--links to $15 great tickets inside story. Click HERE to read.

Some of Phillip Phillips' hits:
"Home"
"Gone Gone Gone"
"Raging Fire"
"Alive Again"
"FACE"
"Midnight Sun" Order the album today:

Tickets on sale Sept. 23, 2014 for Texas Aggie and Blinn TEAM students;
Rudder Auditorium, Texas A&M campus, Oct. 8, 2014, 8 p.m.
General public can purchase tickets (only $15!!) one week from today.

Chicago's Own Band, The Ides of March, to Celebrate 50th Anniversary in Style

S O L D - O U T  N I G H T !! This event is sold out!
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On Saturday, Sept. 27, 2014, Chicago music history will be made as The Ides of March will be celebrating 50 years in performing. The Boys from Berwyn will be celebrating at the McAninch Arts Center on the campus of the College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. The evening's hosts are the great Bob Sirott and the legendary Dick Biondi, two voices of entertainment who everyone regards so highly. Special guests who will be there as the Cornerstones of Chicago Rock
Jim Peterik - The Ides of March
Tom Doody - The Cryan' Shames
Carl Giammarese - The Buckinghams
Jimy Sohns - The Shadows of Night
Ronnie Rice - The New Colony Six

                                                                     The Ides of March.

Great poster for this 50th Anniversary Show for The Ides of March

Ides of March!

                                                These are definitely X-treme Ides Fans.

The Boys from Berwyn always draw a crowd!

More Ides of March!

It's great when you get your own...way. The Ides of March Way, that is.

Click to read the full story on AXS Entertainment web site here:

Leonard Cohen’s 80th Birthday Celebration is Cause for National Tributes

Perhaps no singer-songwriter has had more of an impact—of some kind—on his contemporaries, and those who came a decade or two later, than Leonard Cohen. Cohen, who turns 80 years old on Sun., Sept. 21, 2014, is being given a celebration or two (or many) in his honor across the United States simply for remaining an inspiration. 

Read the full story here.

Order Leonard Cohen's new album/CD/mp3 "Popular Problems," from Amazon.com
Official Release Date: Sept. 23, 2014.




All photos from Leonardcohen.com web site 

Artwork for new Leonard Cohen's new album, released in conjunction with his 80th birthday.

Nikki Pederson propels children to national visibility in movies and television

It was during the premiere of CBS’ inaugural broadcast of “Thursday Night Football,” on Sept. 11, 2014, that a handsome young man stood, adding raw vegetables into a home blender, waiting and waiting for a few ounces to emerge. Looking at the national TV commercial spot for V-8 Juice, anyone from Bryan-College Station had to be screaming out loud, “That’s Michael Lane, our Michael Lane!” As Variety reported, CBS and the NFL Network “combined to draw 20.8 million viewers.”

Last year, Lane was featured in a national commercial for Kay Jewelers, and he also managed to propose to his future wife, Caritia. When Michael and Caritia married last night in Huntington Beach, CA, Nikki Pederson was there celebrating with the happy couple, as she had been instrumental in Michael’s training and acting career in California. It was as if Michael’s baton had been passed to her by MA Sterling, artistic director of Brazos Valley TROUPE, to have Nikki take Michael to that all-too-famous but very hard to reach, “next level.”

Last week the Wareing family, formerly of College Station, were in Toronto, Canada, for TIFF 2014, the annual opening event where Garrett Wareing is featured in his first film, “Boychoir,” directed by Francois Girard. The film focuses on Garrett as “Stet,” an 11-year-old child who is angry at the world after his single mom dies. The reviews for the film have been nothing but sterling.[Editor's note: Eventually this film was purchased by Hallmark for broadcast on their TV network but has not aired as of 2017.] This exceptionally talented, charming and brilliant young man credits Nikki in his IMDB biography in a manner that demands a direct quote:

After a meeting with famed talent scout Nikki Pederson of Nikki Pederson Talent, Garrett accepted an offer to enroll in IMTA 2013 where he earned numerous awards, including 2013 Pre-Teen Male Model of the Year, as well as garnering the attention of a significant number of agents in Hollywood. Nikki has been instrumental in the guidance of Garrett's career and has made a profound impact on his life.

Garrett is the central character to the film starring (both) Oscar and Emmy winners Dustin Hoffman and Kathy Bates. This is the same Dustin Hoffman who was a Kennedy Center Honoree in 2012 and has Oscars for “Rain Man” and “Kramer vs. Kramer.” Of course, Kathy just picked up another) Emmy a few weeks ago for “Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or Movie and her Oscar was for “Misery.”

Everyone remembers Bates’s most fun role in “Primary Colors,” for which she won a Screen Actors Guild Award. And any Baby Boomer worth his or her salt knows Dustin Hoffman’s breakout role in “The Graduate” (Plastics, my boy, plastics!”). Also in the film of which Garrett is a vital part is Josh Lucas, whose movies include “A Beautiful Mind,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” “The Lincoln Lawyer,” to name a few.

And these brilliant and talented people are there in the “ultimate classroom.” Also in this film are Kevin McHale, Eddie Izzard, and River Alexander. Garrett was chosen for his role out of thousands considered. Thousands. From College Station to Hollywood in less than two years, thanks to Nikki Pederson and her ability to spot talent, train talent, and then make sure they find the very best, most highly reputable management.

In a related story, the wonderful relationship between Nikki Pederson and the entire Wareing family (parents Rooter and Ginny, and their children, Garrett, Mackenzie, and Mason) is detailed. What’s relevant is that three members of the Wareing family were selected for “Boy Choir,” as Garrett’s beautiful and talented actress sister, Mackenzie, plays Stephanie On Sat., Sept. 13, flipping over to the Disney Channel to catch another episode of “Austin & Ally,” you’re watching Raini Rodriguez, costarring as Trish De la Rosa, and you have a “V-8” moment.

That’s another Nikki Pederson Talent Alum! When Nikki took Raini out to Hollywood to compete in the IMTA national acting competition, the adorable young lady blossoming in talent impressed talent manager Susan Osser, who signed Raini and has done a superb job in booking her for movies. It started with “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” with Kevin James; Disney’s “Prom” and now Raini is filming the “Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2” sequel. That’s Nikki Pederson’s alumnus.

Just two days earlier, while watching a MOFY Marathon on USA Network, you’d have seen Bryan’s Rico Rodriguez, who plays Manny Delgado, son to supermodel/actress Sofia Vergara and distinguished actor Ed O’Neill’s Jay Pritchett. Just last month Rico was on hand for his fifth Emmy Awards ceremony where he was part of the ensemble stagebound to receive their fifth Emmy for “Best Comedy Series.”

Rico, in addition to being Raini’s younger brother, owes his opportunity to what happened when Raini and her whole family went into Osser’s office for a meeting, but it all started with Nikki. One of his first television roles was on NCIS, in the season 6, episode 19, “Hide and Seek” playing Travis Buckley. Rico was 10 years old at the time, and NCIS was then as it is now, television’s Number One Scripted Drama. Two young children in the same family, making their way in Hollywood, part one. Another favorite episode of “NCIS” is from season 8, titled “Freedom,” where the corpse of a U.S. Marine reservist is discovered in his backyard by dogwalkers, and one look at the opening sequence and you yell out, “That’s Matthew Florida!” as you see his character, Kyle Severin, onscreen. “He is one of Nikki’s kids,” you think. Florida also played Ford Decker on “Days of Our Lives,” he’s the voice of Arrow in Tom Clancy’s “HAWX 2” video game and he’s currently voicing “Raif” in the animation comedy “Oishi High School Battle” and has an increasingly strong resume, with lots more to come.

Disney star Tiffany Thornton is another Nikki Pederson talent alumnus and she recently came to Nikki’s new acting studio in downtown Bryan to inspire and talk with her current students about the process and the training of what it takes to make it to Hollywood. Recent Texas Aggie graduate (and newlywed) Michael Green got his SAG card as he was booked for a national television commercial for K-Mart, directed by Spike Lee. Three guesses where Green found his training? That’s right.

Many students also benefit from the outstanding California-based training from another of Nikki’s trusted colleagues, Patrick Baca. Nikki insists on bringing in only the most outstanding, trustworthy team members to work with her young trainees.

So, with that predicate, who exactly is this woman who has made all these dreams come true for young people from Bryan-College Station happen? She’s Nikki Pederson of Nikki Pederson Talent, and she’s a businesswoman who is committed to children reaching their goals, if they have the skills, talent and qualifications to make it, and if they are willing to do the work to get there.

When you first meet the College Station native Nikki Pederson, you are taken aback somewhat at the aura of a woman that simply glows when she speaks of “her children.” For the past 15 years, Nikki has parlayed an innate ability to coach, train, demand and expect young aspiring actors, models, and singers into a bevy of results.

She is not, let it be understood, a person who will accept any child for a fee, who trains the wannabe’s and the never-gonna-make-it’s brought to her by anxious stage parents who think their child is “gonna be a star.” She will not shine you on, because she won’t take you unless you have what it takes, but she can deliver the message gently with kid gloves.

One personal story from Nikki’s childhood is sufficient to tell you where, how and why she does what she does, in 70-hour weeks where shadowing her for even a day is exhausting. When Nikki was a young girl growing up in College Station, her dream was to be in front of audiences, doing something that would bring them joy in entertainment. Blessed with model-like good looks at an early age, Nikki lacked only the confidence to shoot for the stars. Her father, Russ Coleman, was an accomplished singer and had entertained audiences, but singing was not what Nikki wanted to do.

When Nikki shared her dreams, in a quiet voice, with her mother, she didn’t get the encouraging answer she was seeking. Instead she got a variation on the “cold, cruel world” speech of walking uphill to school in the snow, both ways, hard-knocks life of Hollywood and was essentially encouraged to get that notion out of her head, promptly. Young Nikki was crushed. As she grew up and finished high school the young beauty had a bevy of friends, was pursued by the neatest guys in class for dates, and yet, her secret dream didn’t die. It just stayed buried deep inside her, but life and circumstances combined to bring that dream back into the forefront of her mind.

Nikki began working with IMTA, the International Modeling and Talent Association, and she would take on young students in her Woodlands, Texas studio and train them in sessions such as “Kids on Camera,” where budding actors had actual on-camera experience and the chance to rehearse, train and review their progress.

Through the years of “paying her dues,” Nikki had a chance to see the best and the worst in talent scouts, modeling executives, agents and artist representatives. In that time Nikki was encouraged to branch out on her own, but she didn’t quite feel ready to take the plunge and be her own talent scout and skip the middle part of IMTA, a group for which she still maintains the highest regard today. It was through IMTA that she met and was mentored by Al Onorato, a man of whom she states, “has the highest integrity” of anyone she’s ever met, noting “I’ve been blessed by our friendship and I cherish the opportunities I have to talk to him about everything.”

Pederson’s model training included head shots with professional photographers of top Hollywood studio pedigree and her public speaking programs gave her pupils excellent exit skills, if their goals were only to be able to speak confidently in public. Students (like Garrett, Mackenzie and Mason Wareing, to name three) would commute from College Station to the Woodlands to study with Nikki and her team.

As she’d spend substantial time away from her home in the Woodlands to work with students in Bryan-College Station from time to time, Nikki built a family of believers in a dynamic group of local women known in the community for their good works simply as “The Princesses.” The queen, of course, is Cherry Ruffino, an effervescent do-gooder and real estate mastermind. Then you have academic dean and singing sensation, Karan Chavis, who spends her barely existent spare time working with Nikki’s students who want to sing as part of their full-talent package. [Editor's note: One of Karan's students was Courtnie Ramirez, who would become a finalist in the 2016 season of NBC's "The Voice," yet another example of how Nikki Pederson and Karan Chavis know talent and help foster it whenever they can.]

Mary Mike Hatcher, hometown beauty and longtime radio talent cum national sales manager for Bryan Broadcasting, is another of the shining stars in the group, and often the chief ringleader for all kinds of fun as the ladies frequent local charity functions en masse and collectively support so many good causes that they comprise a “special interest group” of their own accord. The lovely and charming Sharon Merrill completes the royal entourage and keeps them flowing on a smooth course. Someone has to!

These five women together have believed in one another, from the day they each met. They’ve had each other’s backs if one finds a setback in their paths, and when you just can’t find one good thing about your day, a princess will step in and fix that for you. And when life was at an important crossroads for Nikki, you know now who to thank for seeing that she not only reached her own dreams of starting her own talent agency but who were the first in line to congratulate her. An important quote comes to mind:

“Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you in theirs; the ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you, no matter what.”

Ultimately, late last year with the gentle encouragement (or all-out strategic movement) of “The Princesses,” Nikki relocated her headquarters to the Bryan-College Station area of Texas, where she’s established a tremendous and beautiful studio in the heart of historic downtown Bryan.

And with that as a predicate, Nikki Pederson today is still in the background of the world behind the scenes, making big things happen. It’s never about Nikki. It’s always about “her kids.” God did not bless her with one or two children. Instead, she says, “He made my dreams come true by allowing me to be a part of the lives of these very special young people who are following their dreams. If I can just make a contribution to them by believing in them and working for them, that’s why I’m here.”

So don’t look for Nikki on her own IMDB page. Instead, you can find her on Facebook for yourself and see many of her alumni and current students there. And when you see them on a giant IMAX screen, in a Broadway play or on your television each week, she is there. Her children rush to thank her for believing in them, for “being there” for her, and in being an integral part of her family, as all of the parents adopt her as part of their extended family. And to think it all started because one talented, beautiful little girl had to reach deep down inside herself, with faith, and do what everyone else said wasn’t going to happen. Robin Williams said it best, “No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.” They do, every day, in Bryan-College Station, Texas, thanks to Nikki Pederson.

The Buckinghams Rocked the Annual Bolingbrook Jubilee 2014

It's a great feeling to play for a crowd of people in your hometown who will drive from all over the city to watch you play. The annual Village of Bolingbrook Jubilee was held last weekend and on Sunday, Aug. 17, 2014. The Buckinghams headlined the event weekend as they have in the past few years in the Illinois village known for how to put on a great party for its residents each year.

It was also the weekend closest to The Buckinghams' lead singer Carl Giammarese's birthday (August 21) so Bolingbrook Mayor Roger Claar brought out a cake with a few candles on it and presented it to Carl before the concert began.

Thanks to Joni Cohen, you can enjoy these great pictures of a night to remember.

                                     Dave Zane doing his thing on guitar and vocals!

                               Bruce "Rocky" Penn gettin' busy on the drums and vocals.

          Carl Giammarese, Dave Zane and Nick Fortuna sing "This Boy," by The Beatles

                              No, he's not singing "Fire and Rain" but he's rockin' Bolingbrook.

The Buckinghorns, aka Carlo Isabelli (Trumpet), Charles Morgan (Trombone), and Rich Moore (sax).

                                             Nick Fortuna on his 5-string bass.

                                 Bruce Soboroff has played with The Buckinghams since 1986.

Carl Giammarese starts off the medley of great "Chicago" tunes with the dynamo Buckinghorns, Carlo Isabelli, Charles Morgan, and Rich Moore.

If you missed The Bolingbrook Jubilee this year, mark your calendar for the 3rd weekend in August next year, and be there.

A Test of Faith: Small Town Church Worship and Inevitable Changes: When the Charismatic Ceases to Lack Charisma, the Journey of Faith Continues

Can I Get an Amen?

That was the question from the latest senior pastor to his audience, err congregation, in an old-time church of grand tradition in my east Texas town. He was the guy who started the whole shebang with his seemingly innocuous comment, "Can I get an Amen?" The first Sunday he asked it, a few among the audience, er, group of worshipers, looked at each other, left and right, and sort of shrugged because they weren't sure quite what to do about the question. A few apologetic "Amen's" were offered in lilting sotto voce but nothing you'd call a groundswell of affirmation. But one man emerged from the crowd, destined to make a difference, to lead the way to showing the senior pastor that he was right there with him, he 'got it' and he was all about it. Every week. Every sermon. Every minute, in fact, "Amen."

Acculturation to a Leader in Need of Affirmation

It must be daunting to be a new pastor in a congregation when the prior leader reigned supreme for almost a decade. His predecessor had divided a once-family-like congregation into the veritable Hatfields and McCoys, so you put yourself into the shoes of the new guy in front of the church. You understand he's in search of those willing to follow his leadership. Slowly, the march of the sheep to the shepherd began, step by step, week by week.

Pastor Offers Personality Plus to Preach the Word

Each week his sermons changed, it seemed, beginning with the length. The first few out of the box were long, overflowing and worthy of admiration, but irritating to the seniors who kept being last in line for lunch at the retirement complexes, the best offerings having long been picked over by the Baptists, who'd released their people a good 45 minutes prior. It's hard to hold a heart full of love when you know you're doomed for scraps when you get to the buffet lines, except at Luby's where there's no waiting at all, because the food is so bland and cold there, no one is fighting to arrive.

Those close to the senior pastor had already informed him that worship should conclude at noon straight up, as in the fall, football games began on CBS and well, "is there something he could do?" they asked. He ignored them, for a long time. Then he began singing from the pulpit, and though a little unsettling to have your senior pastor singing, we were not surprised. After all, his predecessor was also unsettling, to say the least.

We only thought we'd seen it all until the new guy showed up. Visions of Chuckwagon Sunday, Bones on the Altar Sunday, the singing "setup" prior to each sermon, pastoral garb from the "Rick Warren Saddleback Church" couture collection and a propensity for "huntin' and fishin'" stories featuring himself as the hero (every single time), we were already numb. However, we became dumbstruck to hear the new guy a-singin' along, over the radio (if you were homebound and listening), and through the microphones, loudly. Sometimes he even sang (quoting Barney Fife) "acapulco." You have to give him credit-the new guy sounds one heck of a lot like George Beverly Shea, from the good old days of Billy Graham television broadcasts and Crusade appearances.

The delivery of his sermons grew louder, and the requests for affirmations more frequent. Easter about blew the roof off the place, as even those in neighboring downtown churches couldn't miss the message of the day. He'd shouted it three times in a row. Not sure about scaring the little cherubs nestled in their mothers' arms, but it sure scared the heck out of me. I jumped in my pew a little. My 98-year-old favorite churchgoing companion, the ranking senior member of the congregation, merely scowled and cocked her head ever so slightly with disgust. Holy, holey, wholly unacceptable. "Frustrated: party of two? Right this way."

Pleas for Affirmation, Please

If I'd had a nickel for every time I heard, "come on people, can I get an 'Amen'?" over a few months' time, I could buy a Lexus. Disgruntled and confused at what had happened to transform our sweet, little old-fashioned congregation into a shot at creating a quasi-charismatic operation (in my mind), I decided to be gone for a few months, and set about visiting other churches in town. Wondered what I'd find.

The Nomadic Wanderer in Search of Worship Alternatives

It seemed as though every church in town received visits from me, in search of a place to belong that resonated with the permanent DNA embedded in me from early more worshipful (than this) faith roots. The senior pastor of my childhood made it virtually impossible for any pastor to measure up, to be sure, but I'd moved away from the more worshipful to these other folks 30 years ago, with occasional changes to the other faith platforms. Still, I'd been lucky enough to have been part of churches with tremendous ministers, most all my life now. I missed their respective (and respectful) ministries to our church so much that I couldn't believe what was going on in "the church today."

Folks in town were confused for a while to see me popping up in their sanctuaries. They knew I belonged with my so-called "people." I knew a few congregants in the "other" churches, so everyone was welcoming and their doors were wide open, too. Those open doors were not a copyrighted trademark of our church's big kahuna after all. Who knew?

Even the Baptists only managed one "Amen" per worship service, if that. Maybe those were a few low weeks when I was going, but a faith well known for affirmation was so far behind the my downtown church's style that you'd have thought them "behind the curve." Finally, convinced that not everyone expected you to play the audience-participation game, I decided to return to my home church, the new guy still in reign, concluding his first year there.

Basso Profundo

On my first Sunday back, I was treated to hearing more than I'd bargained for, from one of the newer but brightest spots in the leadership of the church. I didn't actually speak to him; I just heard him, loudly, a lot, during the sermon. He'd emerged from the crowd and was distinctive by being known mostly by all if not by name, by the general descriptor, "The Amen Guy." Whenever you needed him to affirm what you said, he was there. The senior pastor, just like the pastor before him, asked the congregation "Can I get an Amen?" Before, the "old guy" would let you know when to chime in with the precedent, "And the people said, ____" and then you knew when to come in, "iffn' you wonted to" (accent implied).

The new guy was so pleased for affirmation that he'd often thank "The Amen Guy," by his given name, from the pulpit, each time he heard the solo basso profundo holding forth. I figured this was my test of faith for daring to question the right of individual spirituality to potentially be bottled up and not released in glorification of wisdom emanating forth in the sense of faith and respect. I was ashamed of myself every week, for daring to grumble, but I wasn't alone, not by a long shot. Others volunteered privately that it drove them nuts, it drove them out of the worship service, and it even drove them to go to early service, just to avoid having to hear that.

But then, "The Amen Guy" began to expand his repertoire, and he went from just an "Amen" response to "Right." Those "Rights" would come when you least expected them. Then he got braver. "Yesssss!" he'd affirm, even when the senior pastor hadn't asked for affirmation. One fine Sunday morning, he held forth with a "Hallelujah!" Took me all I had in me not to roll my eyes, outwardly. Inwardly, I was steaming. This was not a Benny Hinn revival and this guy was just one note short of reminding me of Rev. Hinn's long "Alleluia" songs on television (don't ask).

Was This What the Founding Fathers of Our Faith Had in Mind, Really? Really?

I thought each week it would be different, but my biggest problem was the proximity within which I sat to "The Amen Guy," and I was trapped by loyalty to my 98-year-old friend, who'd logged exactly 74 years in that church as a member and at least 60 or so in that very pew. If anyone in church knows her, they know which one is "her pew." Each week I'd drag myself to church, and often arrive five minutes late, because I was home listening to the message of First Baptist on television and being enthralled as they didn't have interruptions during the message! Woo hoo!

Counseling the Weary

I asked to visit with the senior pastor to discuss my concerns. He graciously granted me a meeting to discuss what was on my mind. I told him. I thought for sure he might cut back on asking for congregational 'Amens' when I shared that his predecessor, not beloved by at least half the church, had done exactly the same thing, but I was wrong, so wrong. If anything, he upped the ante and asked for more Amens the very next Sunday. And, call me paranoid but I was sure he was looking directly at me as he was calling for them. Uh huh. I got it. I knew that his needs for affirmation were greater than mine for solemnity and worshipfulness. By the time it was "Laity Sunday," guess who was the lay speaker on deck?

I Said, "Amen!"

That's right, the lay speaker was... "The Amen Guy."And, because the church's air conditioning system was being overhauled, Laity Sunday worship was held in the gymnasium of the Christian Life Center. The lay speaker prepared for the occasion. As the media tech watched for his cues, when he said to the audience (not congregation because it's all about the media these days), "Can I get an Amen?" the media tech hit the switch and then the biggest font of "AMEN" came up on the screen. People seemed all caught up in the effusiveness of the speaker, his sincerity, his true spirit, but I was a holdout, probably the only one, because I missed the old, old days so much...never moreso than that day.

Back in the sanctuary, each week for the last six months, I've been regular in my attendance and yet not faithful in worship. It's impossible to worship when you are continually being interrupted from paying attention to what the senior pastor is saying when "The Amen Guy" is all wound up and ready to roll out his best for the pastor's requests.

Doing the Math

A good nerd who finds comfort in statistics, I had long since given up paying attention to the senior pastor's message or even trying to remember it. There was no way that I, a seasoned multitasker, could recall a sole thought from a sermon that was long and interrupted all the livelong day. So, I put my church bulletin to good use. Grabbing a pen from my purse, I began charting the various flavors of commentary from the party of one in the nearby pew. At the end of worship, I'd divide the total number of interruptions--because that's what they were--by the length of sermon and get the final stat. The tally had been running typically as one basso elocution per each 1.4 minutes.

One of his fans shared a sweet thought, offered in "fair and balanced" counter to my one-person's opinion. This very morning a longtime and faithful church member acknowledged me as I prepared to enter the sanctuary. I said, "I'm late arriving to begin my tally of outbursts from 'The Amen Guy'." She smiled like an angel would smile and said, "Oh, I find that so endearing." "What?" I replied. "Are you serious?" "Yes," she said, "You never know when it's coming; you miss it if he doesn't do it. You sort of wait for it," and then she smiled as an angel would surely smile. I mumbled my admiration for her truly gifted spirit of faith and said, "Perhaps I should pray for more of your sweet spirit to be imbued in me so that I can emulate your unconditional affirmation." And I meant it. For about 14 minutes, until the new guy preacher began his sermon.

Steeled for the Long Haul

In previous weeks, I'd celebrated quietly if "The Amen Guy" was sitting up in the balcony. Oh, you'd still hear him all right, but it was not a sonic boom-it was a sonic styling, but still I'd make another mark on my tally sheet. Every time you thought you'd gone a minute or two without an interjection, you'd wind up paying for it by hearing two, one right after the other, in rapidfire succession. "Right, amen" or "Yes, hallelujah"...but then one day he threw me a curve. "Come on" he interjected, as the senior pastor begged again for affirmation. "Come on, indeed," I thought to myself, but with an entirely different emphasis.

Traboccare il Vaso-The Final Straw

This morning I had steeled myself away for the inevitable. We'd been running around one interruption of affirmation every 1.27 minutes, and a total of 19, 20 and 21 total interjections of approval in the past three weeks. But today, we hit a trifecta. It was a Communion Sunday and that usually means a (slightly) shorter sermon, but it was part of a multiweek sermon series about doors. Not The Doors, with the late Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison. But the kind you open to allow faith to come in. The perfect sermon series that would undoubtedly please any church's big kahuna, even the overly obtuse grand leader of our flock, the one with a penchant for doors, whose trials at assigning pastors to our church likely featured a dart board and darts, accompanied by cackles of glee and delight. "I'll get you my little pretties" might be the theme song of what is done "for our church," at least in one person's opinion.

He started it. The new guy senior pastor started it. Calling for affirmations, "Can I get an Amen,"; "You're going to hear a lot of opportunities to say 'Amen' in this sermon, so get ready"; and, "Come on people, you can do better than that!" when enough were not chiming in with the solo voce basso profundo leading the way. A few folks had had enough Kool-Aid and were beginning to chime in. I kept staring at the stained glass window and measuring the potential sinfulness of humming the REM song, "Losing My Religion" to myself to keep from screaming.

Instead, I bothered to check my silenced cell phone, just like the teenager down the pew who spends the entire sermon doing that every week. Smart kid, if not irreverent. I'd received a text message from my Baptist buddy who'd already been long gone from worship, free at last, and all. I replied, "I'm tracking "The Amen Guy"-really setting a new record today." The reply came back, "You only still go there to sit next to your (98-year-old friend), right?" "Yes, that's right."

I replied, "In 8 minutes, so far, 8 'Amens,' 6 'Rights'." "Oops, there's another one, 9 'Amens'," I texted. The reply came back and sent me into virtual giggle fits, "You just jump up and scream 'Hallelujah'. That ought to do it." I didn't consider it seriously but I determined to keep close tally because I couldn't pay attention to the sermon. Peter, Rhoda, didn't open door, I forget. The sermon was overloaded with PUSH: "Pray until something happens." I have been praying, pushing if you will, for understanding and peace with the situation at large, at hand, and in my ears. No resolution, but the answer is in the numbers.

At the end of the sermon, I clocked it, 24 minutes in length, exactly 10 minutes too long to ever get out on a Communion Sunday with sufficient time to let the seniors enjoy anything but what used to be today's lunch buffet. And the grand total was: 28 'Amens', 11 'Right's', 2 'Yes's', 5 'Come On's' and 1 'PUSH!' for the 24-minute sermon. A total of 47 interruptions in 24 minutes, or one every 30 seconds.

I dare anyone in that sanctuary this morning to share what they took away from the sermon entitled, and I'm not kidding, "I Hear You Knocking, But You Can't Come In." Perhaps that is what St. Peter will tell me one day upon attempting to enter Heaven. And he'd be fully within his purview to deny me safe sanctuary as retribution for my sinful impatience and lack of understanding about the need others have for affirmation and a flock full of people who are as characteristically patient and eager to please as the day is long.

It's been quite the journey, this test of faith. It's all gone multimedia anyway. For every beautifully proffered formal choir anthem, there's an obligatory praise "na-na-na" tune to balance it out. We've got videos, two motorized screens suspended from the ceiling, so you can watch the same guy on TV who's standing right in front of you in the pulpit. Oh, and he makes sure all his main themes are displayed in bullet points on slates on the video screen because he's sure you're not going to listen to him, so you need some infotainment as a take-away. Someone ought to find the person who designed those background slates with the puffy white clouds against a weird blue sky as the "theme du jour." It's been "du jour" for about two years now and frankly it's getting old. And Mitch Miller's bouncing (often misspelled) lyrics in slates on the screens just in case you don't want to use a hymnal. We're making all kinds of ch-ch-changes to bring you in and make you feel right at home.

If I had to pick a theme song for this morning, it wouldn't be Fats Domino's "I Hear You Knocking (But You Can't Come In)" nor would it be anything by The Doors, though I was tempted by "Riders on the Storm." Instead, it would be a little something by Emerson, Lake and Palmer, "Welcome to the Show." It's from their "Brain Salad Surgery" album. But of course.

Epilogue

Although the preceding was written for Yahoo Voices and published on July 11, 2013, many things have changed in "the little church on the way" in the year plus 2 weeks to the day. For one thing, Yahoo voices is discontinued as of July 31, 2014, and all rights to the publication revert back to me and I'm reposting it here on my own blog. 

Now, "the little church on the way" is not really such...it's one of the biggest churches in downtown but I love that old hymn about the church in the Wildwood and, well, you know how it goes.  But something so spectacular happened this past weekend that this article demanded a revisiting of the topic and sharing of what had changed. 

As much as I hated to admit it, my reason for attending my home church had changed--my little 98-year-old friend had encountered health issues and had to move from her own independent living apartment (yes, seriously, she didn't need much, if any, help) to an assisted living facility and beyond that to a nursing care facility and was no longer able to attend so I found it so much easier not to attend worship in the church that has my name on the roster. The nomadic journey continued.

Several weeks with the Episcopalians reminded me that the order of worship, the litany of prayers and the liturgy brought comfort with familiarity but it wasn't enough to want to erase my name from one role and add it (back) onto another. The Baptists gave me two weeks of sermons with my very favorite (and theirs) interim visiting pastor, so those were two super-D-duper Sundays, but then he went back home and I was back on the road again. I had even grown so complacent in my lack of interest in my own home church that I vowed that any time the Senior Pastor wasn't preaching, I'd go. And then a miracle happened.

The senior pastor decided to take a sabbatical, sooner than you'd expect him to take one, and presumably to reflect and perhaps even write a book, which left the pulpit open for a month. Yippee! Lightning bolts are already en route to find me, with their express disappointment at my glee. One Sunday it was this guest, another Sunday it was that guest, but last Sunday was the guest to end all guests: the new District Superintendent or Regional Director to governance who spoke on a topic of greatly needed content.

I went to the early service (to avoid having to hear the Amen guy at the late service) and was thoroughly enthralled by her message. She even suggested it would be appropriate and acceptable to "Amen" at such points of the sermon where one felt moved. I didn't mind entertaining that concept at all, when she suggested it and a few minutes later I almost did say "Amen" and I stopped myself short with just a vigorous nod of the head.  What was nice to hear was a respectful chorus of "Amens" coming in unified voice, from somewhere in the back of the church, by many different people, but they were gentle and welcoming. I noted that in my memory bank as "when" I felt it was a good thing to chime in. I still kept silent on the subject but without a scowl on my face or resentment in my heart. The speaker deserved the affirmation, earned it through her message, and she had us all going along in the same direction, in my "just one person's opinion."

The speaker's message was so inspired, delivery so uplifting and her entire demeanor was that of a person who is truly spirit filled that I just kept listening in amazement and appreciation. Tears streamed down my face to hear a 'real' sermon from a 'real' pastor, who believed what she was saying. At the end of worship, though I thought I'd been surreptitious in wiping away the tears flowing down my cheeks, I was wrong. People came up to me and grasped my hands, offering condolences on my apparent pain and shared how much they agreed that it was the best sermon they'd heard in, well, years. I wasn't in pain. 

Just the opposite, I was so grateful to have been treated to one of the most wonderful messages, to not lose heart, that was perfect for that day. They, too, understood my tears as they'd so long awaited the return of "their church" to real worship, real sermons and truly faithful preachers who believed what they said. The contrast of watching the regular pastor sitting, every Sunday,  in an air sickness bag stance, hunched over his knees, in visible pain, brow furrowed, praying for relief of burdensome problems, every single week, was anything but uplifting nor confidence-in-God's love inspirational. He needed to check his issues at the parking lot and come in and try to believe the verses he was preaching from. It seemed to me that "that guy" just didn't get it, which made it disconcerting to sit there.

Then, the  "Amen" guy was the other reason to stay away from the home church. I don't even have a good reason for why I stayed on the rolls except I still held out hope that this latest guy would be transferred when an opening came up or perhaps he'd realize that he had a great future anywhere but here, likely not in church service but somewhere he could make an important contribution. Neither had happened yet. But I held out hope.

The second service of Sunday morning arrived and after a cup of coffee and a glance at the morning's headlines, I returned to hear her sermon again. It was as magical as before, but not a carbon copy of what she'd said the first time, yet 98% the same feeling of uplifting of just the hours before. The presence of "the Amen guy" in the second service was less painful as he must have been sitting in the balcony ("Yeah!) and his mumbling interruptions seemed muffled and less frequent. So I was able to sit and enjoy the worship service without basso profundo offensivo destroying it.

The coming Sunday marks the return of the pastor who has lost hope and faith and thus I will put gas in the tank and be traveling in search of a worshipful service in which to say my prayers of thanks and share my gratitude until our church gets a new senior pastor who I would feel comfortable presiding over my funeral when that day should come. Were I to go too early for my expectations, my friends and relatives know to bury me out of the funeral home rather than my "home church." But for one morning, for two hours, I knew a great sermon when I heard it, and I appreciated it. And I won't give up looking for a church where that's a weekly event rather than an annual fortuitous happenstance, because it was real. And I am grateful. Amen, and amen.