I think Greg Wilbur is one of the best living composers of music for worship. That he happens also to be the Chief Musician at Parish Presbyterian Church in Franklin, Tennessee means I have the privilege of hearing his music each week. (You know his music is really wonderful when your 7-year-old daughter sings it to herself when she’s coloring.) Greg recently teamed up with Ligonier Ministries to create a new CD of his songs called My Cry Ascends. Last week, Parish Pres came together to sing a number of those songs, many of which have been sung by the church for years. I am quite sure Greg’s music brings great pleasure to the Lord, who, like 7-year-olds, takes special delight in wonderful songs. If you have a minute, go to Ligonier’s site and sample some of his music for yourself. [If you'd like to watch the video in HD, just click the button in the upper right corner.]
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One of the questions I have as a filmmaker is, ‘how does one film spiritual realities in an effective and realistic manner?’ Film is a notoriously physical medium, one that dominates two of our five senses to the exclusion of everything else. Since, by definition, spiritual things cannot be seen or heard, how exactly do we show the spiritual? I’m not talking about showing spiritual beings such as angels or demons: for years film has used actors or computer graphics to represent these characters; but this is more fictional than real. The average person has never seen a demon or angel, and so knows there is something unrealistic when they are used in film. Rather, I’m interested in understanding how to film daily spirituality in a realistic manner without it seeming forced or fake. How does one show the influence of the Spirit? How does one reveal the personal relationship between God and man? How does one show love between the creature and his Creator? 
My favorite sermon was preached by a Dutch professor of theology over a hundred years ago. Just as some of the most beautiful flowers are found in the most unlikely places, this sermon given to a handful of seminary students provides the most extraordinary perspective on the morning of our Saviour’s resurrection. I discovered it a decade ago, and now make a point to read it again every Easter weekend. Its subject is the tender relationship between Mary Magdalene and Jesus, and although this text from John is often found in pulpits on Easter morning, I’ve never heard anyone give such a penetrating and sympathetic explanation of it: “Jesus saith unto her, ‘Mary.’ She turneth herself and saith unto him, ‘Rabboni;’ which is to say ‘Master.’” You can 
As I continue to read on family worship for our next curriculum series, I often run across books that are particularly good. 
