We don't all like the same things. You could make a list of things that you would assume might be universally loved, admired, and adored, but your list would be different than the one made by your best friend, or your mother.

Travel! Some people want to see the world, and they know exactly where their passport is at all times. Other folks have rarely left, and don't care to leave, their own little corner of the globe. And still, even with today's requirements, they do not own a passport.
 
I could talk all day long to some of my people about how wonderful and lovely Paris is in November, and how the ability to stop along the street about every thirty steps or so and order a crepe smeared with Nutella reminds me of what I think Heaven will be like. But many of them would simply look at me with glazed-over eyes, and yawn, and say, "That's nice, dear. Have another slice of pound cake."

I love pound cake, too. It's just that I think a slice of pound cake and a cup of coffee would be especially nice while strolling through the Jardine du Luxembourg, and watching the children ride the carousel and watching old men play bocce ball, and craning my neck to watch a well-dressed Parisienne walk passed me, eating a crepe smeared with Nutella.

Tacos are perhaps the one thing you might be able to say are universally loved. Perhaps not as much as 'I' love them, but close. Yet you couldn't say that about very many things.

Not poodles
Or convertibles
Or skiing
Or granite countertops
Or peanut butter
Or Levi's
Or mayonnaise
Or Elvis
Or Raiders of the Lost Ark
Or oatmeal raisin cookies
Or old church hymns
Or motherhood
Or Caribbean cruises

I know many, many people who 'love' New York City. Love it! But I know about as many who have nothing good to say about the place. Even one's who've never been there.

I live in New Mexico. We were granted statehood in 1912, (during T.R.'s administration, I think.) It's just about the most beautiful place I know of on Earth, and yet it is still often mistaken for the last un-annexed slice of Mexico...Old Mexico...as well as being a bastion for meth labs and automobile commercials.

And speaking of meth labs, didn't 'everyone' love 'Breaking Bad?' No? Michelle and I began watching it when it first started, five or six years ago, curious to see the familiar locations they'd use (The Dog House is just down the road from our house). But we quickly grew uninterested. Stopped watching it, until, five or six years later, it was all the rage and all the talk and 'everyone' seemed to be waiting on pins and needles for the 'final episode.'

So, because over those last five or six years God and Netflix invented 'streaming,' we began watching the series from the beginning, sometimes together, often separate (Michelle watching an episode or two from some hotel room wherever she was, getting an episode ahead of me, or being two behind).

Just last week we finished. We watched the 'finale,' or as Mr. Gilligan coyly titled it, 'Felina,' several weeks after it aired.

Shakespeare never wrote anything much better than 'Breaking Bad,' right? (I have to admit, I've never watched 'Duck Dynasty' (prolly never will) so my comparisons are perhaps limited.) But what a beautiful, heart-wrenching, ugly, human story of utter un-redemptiveness.

But we don't all like the same things.  Who's the greatest rock band of all time? Twenty different people will have at least fifteen different answers. What would you like for your last meal before being slowly led down the Green Mile? Fried Chicken? From where? KFC, or Church's, or Popeye's, or some local 'mom & pop' place, or your mother's? And what about The Green Mile? Is that your favorite, or is it Shawshank Redemption? (Just wait a few days and they'll both be on again.)

What about color? We always ask what people's favorite color is. Why doesn't everybody say 'blue?' Heck, the sky is blue, and Columbus sailed the ocean 'blue,' so what other answer is there? Brown? My favorite color is brown! Sue me!

We do not all go to the same church, or even all go to church. We don't all vote for the same candidate (and I'm not even gonna go there). We don't all believe, or have the same 'family values' (worst phrase ever invented), and we're not even all attracted to the same kind of person.

I could say here that we all bleed red. I'm sure of that. I could say here that we were all created by a loving and kind God who made us for the pure and simple reason that He felt like it, and had need for His love to be expressed in the purest and most perfect way, and frankly, it's beyond our reasoning or understanding, and He knows that, and He just wants to hear us sing. I'm sure of that. But not everyone would agree, or be willing to spend much time and effort dwelling on it.

So that's why there's not one color. That's why you don't have to go all the way to Paris to figure out how to make crepes and smear them with Nutella (though, you know, deep down you know, it would be better). That's why not all the books written over the last century are about Democracy, or slavery, or war, or falling in love, or the trial of Tom Robinson, or petty thievery, or the journey of a father and son through the Apocalypse.

There are days when it almost seems like it would be better if we all lived in a commune, where rigid laws and regulations were followed, and the same music blared out over the loud speakers, and we all wore black, and the women's skirts fell just below the knee, and the men had names for their pitchforks; names like 'Buck' and 'Wally' and 'Fernando,' and everybody's favorite color was gray, because it wasn't black and it wasn't white, it was gray.

It seems like there'd be a lot of folks who might be satisfied by that kind of safety. But the world is not a safe place. It bursts with color and unusual tastes and smells and sensual pleasures and the search for life. There are figs still growing on fig trees, long after Adam and Eve wandered from the Garden, and the garden is still there, begging to be tended by bright people who still know how to sing. God is still waiting for us, to sing for His pleasure and for His glory, and thereby finding our own.

The world is full of life, and full of laughter, and full of color, and full of pain. No matter what your particular likes and dislikes are, there will be a poodle cross your path, or peanut butter in the middle of the chocolate, or Elvis singing an old church hymn, or another war breaking out, or another child of God shooting up a mall or a school like some crazed cowboy on the wide open American plains. And gray is the color of grace. The world isn't black and white. There are men who love men and women who love women, and nobody's starting no war against your marriage or your religion, so stop whining.

Look up! There's blue and green and brown and yellow and red and lavender and black and white. Look up! There are bulldogs and mastiffs and shepherds and wire haired terriers and Chihuahuas, for goodness sakes. There's lasagna and sole Meniere, and fish sticks and popsicles. They're still making Chevrolet's! They're still making Chevrolet's, for crying out loud!! Who cares if you like Fords or Fiats. They're still making Chevys. And the world still spins on its axis just as it always has, and it always will until love ceases. So look up!

The world may not ever suit you. I rarely suit myself! However many minutes you spend pointing out the sins of others is that many minutes spent not being about Gods work, not loving, not stooping down or reaching up to help someone...and there's 'always' someone. The Good Samaritan is Jesus' story of what I think He would call 'the gospel.' There's no mystery to what we're supposed to do or what we're to be about. The folks in Washington never, ever, ever talk about what it is we're supposed to do. None of 'em. The arrogance of spending all your days trying to bash in the head of somebody who doesn't really care for the color blue or for poodles.

It's not that simple. I know, so don't say it. But maybe it is. Maybe God 'is' love. Maybe He made 'all' the colors. Maybe we weren't supposed to stop singing, and holding hands in a great big circle, wearing robes of pink and green and orange and purple and ecru, and basking in all the differences, and completely satisfied in knowing that God is utterly and perfectly big enough to wrap His arms 'round it all.

Five thousand fed with two loaves of bread and some fish. Fish tacos!!