Dangerous Money

That was the title of the sermon, preached by Powell Osteen at the First United Methodist Church, to which we were glad to return this morning.  As I have said before in this blog, Powell is a gifted preacher, and this church has made us feel welcome as mere visitors (although sadly we no longer qualify for the loaf of sweet bread given to first-time visitors.)  "This is going to be an uncomfortable sermon," he announced.  "It reminds me of a parishioner who once said, 'Preacher, now you've stopped preaching and gone to meddling!'"  The fifth chapter of James:

"Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming on you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days.  Look! The wages you failed to pay the workers who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty.  You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence."

I have tried to stay away from politics in this little blog, a difficult task in this day and age of POTUS Trumpus, but for some reason our Head of State came to mind immediately - the Chief Chiseller himself in all his sordid glory!  But Powell stayed away from the White House (and Mar A Lago, too), and so will I.

It was raining when we awoke this morning, it was raining on the way to church, and it was still raining after church.  But Martha had found something perfect for a rainy day:  the final matinee performance at the Carteret Community Theater of  Hello Dolly, a musical comedy that I had never seen in my life.  My spotty education for some reason overlooked the musical comedy genre.  All I knew about Hello Dolly was the big song in the middle, sung by Carol Channing and Bette Midler and so many other Broadway stars.

Well hello, Dolly
Well hello, Dolly
It's so nice to have you back where you belong
You're lookin' swell, Dolly
We can tell, Dolly
You're still glowin', you're still crowin'
You're still goin' strong

 
Now I know the context for that catchy song, which I have been unable to get out of my head for two days.  And there are some other lovely songs, like "Ribbons Down My Back."  The performance was far better than we had expected, and took place in that fine venue on Arendell Street, the same roomy theater where we saw Delbert McClinton play last year, with a cast of 23 and an orchestra of nine, and Dolly herself played by the appropriately well-endowed and flamboyant Kristy Boccia.

What an interesting parallel, we both said after the performance, between the sermon we had heard Powell deliver this morning and the Scrooge-like Horace Vandergelder and gold-digging Dolly Levi, determined to marry a "half millionaire."  "And on those cold winter nights, Horace," Dolly chides, "you can snuggle up to your cash register.  It's a little lumpy, but it rings."

But as in all musical comedies - that quintessential American art form that I was reluctant to embrace for so long (all that dancing and prancing and swinging of hats) but now have come to appreciate for being silly, corny, witty, and thoroughly entertaining - all turned out well.  Those two guys really did kiss a girl, and Dolly got her man.  Dolly Vandergelder, preacher and meddler.