While studying religion at Lambuth College, I wrote a paper entitled, “Santa Is Alive And Well On Planet Earth’. It was a fairly comprehensive work comparing and contrasting Santa and Satan. Before you scoff, think about it: they share the same letters in their names; they both wear red; and they are both mythological figures used by adults to scare children into being good. One delivers good gifts to those who are “nice”, the other delivers eternal punishment to those who are naughty. I thought it was clever.
Dr. Davenport did not. He gave me an “F”. Or, rather, I earned an “F”.
So it is with some trepidation that I launch into this musing. Yet, lest some are misled, I feel the need to clarify just where Margaritaville is for me. If you recall from my last posting, I implied that I go to Margaritaville to overcome the stresses in my life. Because of what I believe to be the wide-spread misunderstanding of the music and life of Jimmy Buffett, some people might have the wrong impression. Wherever it is, Margaritaville is not found at the bottom of a tequila bottle!
That would be a worm!
The “official” definition of Margaritaville (courtesy of Jimmy) is: “A state of mind found wherever one desires, known for its frozen concoctions, cheeseburgers, and frequently misplaced shakers of salt”.
Several years ago I went in search of Margaritaville. I almost found it in Cancun, where the ocean is a beautiful turquoise blue, and the white sandy beaches are pristine (and some of them are topless!). But the poverty in the local economy outside of the tourist area troubled me; Margaritaville has to be guilt-free.
I looked for it in Gulf Shores, Alabama, what one person called “the Red-Neck Riviera”. It was Spring Break, but falling so early in the year, the Gulf Coast was still frigid. There were no wild “MTV Spring Break” parties; in fact, we only saw three college girls sitting on the beach… bundled in hooded sweatshirts and blankets to keep warm. They had come to the beach for Spring Break and they were determined to be there!
I looked for Margaritaville in Hawaii, where the elders of the community are referred to as “Uncle” and the younger men are all called “Cousin”. But the spirit of Aloha is being replaced by capitalism, trash dropped by careless tourists (a polite way of saying “A**holes”) floats in the water, and there are too many damned ABC Stores. And again, life outside the tourist area is not as romantic as along the beaches. Native Hawaiians struggle to maintain their culture as tourism encroaches and forces them into ghettos and even off their own islands.
I looked for it in Key West… and almost found it there. While the cost of living (and regular hurricanes) makes life difficult for local residents, most of them choose to live there anyway. The weather can’t be beat. And Key West provides a welcoming setting for a wide diversity of people – from bikers to gays and lesbians to cross-dressers to Hemingway look-a-likes. And the nightly sunset celebration down at Mallory Square makes life fun every night of the week. I just wish we had found a better beach.
Having trouble finding Margaritaville in tropical locations, I looked for it at a Jimmy Buffett concert. Sort of makes sense, doesn’t it? A couple years ago Jimmy and the Coral Reefers played at the Pond in Anaheim (now the Honda Center), where the Anaheim Ducks play hockey. It happened to fall during Spring Break, so off we went. Unfortunately, many “Parrotheads” chose to arrive when the parking lot opened at noon, and by concert time were sloppy drunk. One guy shouted throughout the concert, “Play ‘Son of a Son of a Son of a…’…whoohoo!” A couple sitting in front of us were smoking (a huge no-no in California), and when another couple asked them to put it out, a fight broke out. I also found two people having sex in the men’s room – thank God for those disposable paper seat covers! I decided that wasn’t what I was looking for either.
So I asked myself, “Just what are you looking for?” My mind pointed me to the book of Revelation, to the description of the new heaven and new earth in chapter 21:
Sure beats floating on clouds and playing a harp for all eternity!
The good news is that unlike Heaven, one doesn’t have to die to get to Margaritaville. As Jimmy himself has tried to tell us, Margaritaville is a “state of mind”. So now, instead of searching for it in other locations, I try to live out the spirit of Margaritaville. I make hospitality my calling, and all who come in peace are welcome. When I wear my Hawaiian-print shirts to Annual Conference, it is not about a mid-life crisis, but a quiet call for us to move beyond the coat-and-tie “business as usual”. We need to embrace a different vision, in which people matter more than politics, in which ministry matters more than protecting our turf.
Karen and I have also tried to create a physical manifestation of Margaritaville at our parsonage – a warm, comfortable place; a welcoming place of peace for all people; a hospitable place, where one might even get a frozen concoction and a cheeseburger. A recent guest at our house looked at the tropical décor and proclaimed, “Why, you don’t ever have to go away on vacation!”
That’s my Margaritaville.
And as Jesus tried to teach us, Heaven breaks through every now and then… whenever two or three gather together… even in a place like Margaritaville.
And someday, I hope, even in my church!
Dr. Davenport did not. He gave me an “F”. Or, rather, I earned an “F”.
So it is with some trepidation that I launch into this musing. Yet, lest some are misled, I feel the need to clarify just where Margaritaville is for me. If you recall from my last posting, I implied that I go to Margaritaville to overcome the stresses in my life. Because of what I believe to be the wide-spread misunderstanding of the music and life of Jimmy Buffett, some people might have the wrong impression. Wherever it is, Margaritaville is not found at the bottom of a tequila bottle!
That would be a worm!
The “official” definition of Margaritaville (courtesy of Jimmy) is: “A state of mind found wherever one desires, known for its frozen concoctions, cheeseburgers, and frequently misplaced shakers of salt”.
Several years ago I went in search of Margaritaville. I almost found it in Cancun, where the ocean is a beautiful turquoise blue, and the white sandy beaches are pristine (and some of them are topless!). But the poverty in the local economy outside of the tourist area troubled me; Margaritaville has to be guilt-free.
I looked for it in Gulf Shores, Alabama, what one person called “the Red-Neck Riviera”. It was Spring Break, but falling so early in the year, the Gulf Coast was still frigid. There were no wild “MTV Spring Break” parties; in fact, we only saw three college girls sitting on the beach… bundled in hooded sweatshirts and blankets to keep warm. They had come to the beach for Spring Break and they were determined to be there!
I looked for Margaritaville in Hawaii, where the elders of the community are referred to as “Uncle” and the younger men are all called “Cousin”. But the spirit of Aloha is being replaced by capitalism, trash dropped by careless tourists (a polite way of saying “A**holes”) floats in the water, and there are too many damned ABC Stores. And again, life outside the tourist area is not as romantic as along the beaches. Native Hawaiians struggle to maintain their culture as tourism encroaches and forces them into ghettos and even off their own islands.
I looked for it in Key West… and almost found it there. While the cost of living (and regular hurricanes) makes life difficult for local residents, most of them choose to live there anyway. The weather can’t be beat. And Key West provides a welcoming setting for a wide diversity of people – from bikers to gays and lesbians to cross-dressers to Hemingway look-a-likes. And the nightly sunset celebration down at Mallory Square makes life fun every night of the week. I just wish we had found a better beach.
Having trouble finding Margaritaville in tropical locations, I looked for it at a Jimmy Buffett concert. Sort of makes sense, doesn’t it? A couple years ago Jimmy and the Coral Reefers played at the Pond in Anaheim (now the Honda Center), where the Anaheim Ducks play hockey. It happened to fall during Spring Break, so off we went. Unfortunately, many “Parrotheads” chose to arrive when the parking lot opened at noon, and by concert time were sloppy drunk. One guy shouted throughout the concert, “Play ‘Son of a Son of a Son of a…’…whoohoo!” A couple sitting in front of us were smoking (a huge no-no in California), and when another couple asked them to put it out, a fight broke out. I also found two people having sex in the men’s room – thank God for those disposable paper seat covers! I decided that wasn’t what I was looking for either.
So I asked myself, “Just what are you looking for?” My mind pointed me to the book of Revelation, to the description of the new heaven and new earth in chapter 21:
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”I realized then that what I have been looking for is an earthly manifestation of Heaven. And since we don’t have a definite description of Heaven from scripture, why can’t Heaven be white sandy beaches under a warm summer sun, with the soothing rhythm of the steel drum drifting through the air?
Sure beats floating on clouds and playing a harp for all eternity!
The good news is that unlike Heaven, one doesn’t have to die to get to Margaritaville. As Jimmy himself has tried to tell us, Margaritaville is a “state of mind”. So now, instead of searching for it in other locations, I try to live out the spirit of Margaritaville. I make hospitality my calling, and all who come in peace are welcome. When I wear my Hawaiian-print shirts to Annual Conference, it is not about a mid-life crisis, but a quiet call for us to move beyond the coat-and-tie “business as usual”. We need to embrace a different vision, in which people matter more than politics, in which ministry matters more than protecting our turf.
Karen and I have also tried to create a physical manifestation of Margaritaville at our parsonage – a warm, comfortable place; a welcoming place of peace for all people; a hospitable place, where one might even get a frozen concoction and a cheeseburger. A recent guest at our house looked at the tropical décor and proclaimed, “Why, you don’t ever have to go away on vacation!”
That’s my Margaritaville.
And as Jesus tried to teach us, Heaven breaks through every now and then… whenever two or three gather together… even in a place like Margaritaville.
And someday, I hope, even in my church!
