March 1, 2026

On Peanut Butter and Wind

Thomas Friedman in an article in the Boston Globe mentioned a song from the Crystal Palace dinner theater in Aspen called “The Peanut Butter Affair.”  The song related the story of “a C.E.O. who had gone to work one day, without properly washing his face, and still had a lump of peanut butter on his chin.  But none of his employees dared to tell him.  When he got home, though, his wife told him it was there and he was appalled.  But he was even more appalled when he showed up for work over the next few days and eventually ‘every jerk from the chairman to the clerk had a lump of peanut butter on his chin.’”¹  The story is wonderful and really good for a laugh, but if we consider it deeply enough we might find it striking a bit close to home.  Our culture is so thoroughly saturated with games of “follow the leader” that we barely know we’re playing it.  The latest styles are musts whether in width of ties or pants verses skirts.  Everyone has to listen to the biggest hit songs, watch the hot new TV shows, and have the latest model car (well, nearly so – my Camry is 13 years old).  And when the twitter world gets tweaked, everyone is all atwitter.  It reminds me of the song from the musical, The Wiz.  As people parade around the Emerald City all wearing green clothing they sing:

 

I want to be seen green

Wouldn’t be caught dead, red

’Cause if you are seen green

It means you got mean bread . . .

 

But then comes an announcement from the Great and Powerful Oz: “I thought it over and green is dead.  ’Till I change my mind, the color is red.”  And suddenly everyone is wearing red and singing:

 

I wouldn’t be seen green

Ooo! Oo! Oo! Ah! Ah!

I wouldn’t be caught dead

And if I’m caught at all

Then catch me in dead, red . . .²

 

And on it goes with everyone’s clothing changing color according to the whims of the Great and Powerful Oz.  I think they had it about right; in the end, we all wind up with peanut butter on our chins.

In the Gospel According to John, Jesus is trying to explain to Nicodemus what it means to be “born of the Spirit.”  His explanation goes like this: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.  So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  That’s a difficult saying to comprehend.  But I think he is saying something like: don’t go around with peanut butter on your chin.  Being born of the Spirit means moving like the wind.  It means that you may not know, and folks around you certainly will have a tough time guessing, where you will be headed next.  And that’s because you will not be guided by what everyone else is wearing, or what is the latest cool app for your iPhone; you will be guided by that ineffable Spirit of Holiness that pervades all Being and blows in through the windows of your soul.

That’s what happened to Abram.  He was old; he felt old; he thought old; he talked old (I know the feeling).  But when that ineffable Spirit welled up inside him and said, “Abram, you’re about to give birth to something spectacular,” he was just loopy enough to believe it.  So he grabbed his son and took off on a journey to God knows where.  And if you’re loopy enough to wipe the peanut butter off your chin and live like the wind, you just may find yourself surprised by doing that which you know you don’t have the courage or the conviction or the character to make happen.

It also happened to Nicodemus.   He was left scratching his head when Jesus said, “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”  Nicodemus couldn’t figure out how someone could be born when they are already old.  He didn’t realize that it happens all the time.  Dadgie used to say, “I’m getting old.”  And I’d say, “No, dear; you’re not getting old.  You’re already old.”  Well, I guess I’m already old too, but I find myself born again about once or twice a week.  Usually it happens when I get reminded by friends or family or the exigencies and crises of life that my usual patterns and tried and true perspectives don’t necessarily apply.  I get re-educated to the need to find new answers, listen to different voices (including those from within), see things from another angle.

In the movie, Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating is an English teacher at a New England prep school for boys.  This school is strict and utterly conventional.  The boys wear uniforms and walk in orderly lines.  They learn the classics in the same way boys had there for decades.  Mr. Keating is trying to turn these boys into free thinkers.  One day while teaching a class Mr. Keating jumps up on his desk and he looks around the room.  He tells the boys that he’s standing up there to remind himself how important it is to see things from a different perspective.  “You see,” he explains, “the world looks very different from up here.”  And then he instructs them all to come up and stand on his desk, one at a time, and look at the room from that different perspective.  The boys grudgingly make their way up to the front of the class; no one wants to be the first to get up on the desk.  But they climb up anyway, one at a time, and then hop off the other side.  Some of them look amused, some bored, some impatient and annoyed.  But in some of their faces, there dawns a realization that stepping out of the rigid formation and unbending rules for a moment to see things from an entirely different perspective is not only liberating but enlightening.

A lot of the time, you and I would just as soon not have our perspectives changed or be surprised by anything, let alone by the Spirit of the Lord.  No matter what your age, it’s easy to start feeling old.  And then we become tired, a little shell shocked by the unwanted astonishments of everyday existence.  And we begin to fear the surprise of death as much as the surprises of life.  I’m reminded of the story told by Rabbi Skinner about the Jewish tradition of referring to the span of 120 years for anything desired to last a long time (as in: “may your good fortune last 120 years”).  This is the length in the biblical story of Moses’s life.  One man said, “I’d like to live 120 years and 3 months.”  He was asked, “Why the 3 months?”  He replied, “Because I don’t want to die suddenly.”

Most of us would not choose to live 120 years.  It’s a very easy thing when we see that the days ahead are fewer than those behind us to just keep walking in formation and keep our heads down ’till it’s over.  It is also as natural as can be to grow weary from the frustrations of our limitations, to become discouraged by our fruitless attempts to be bolder, more faithful, more understanding, or more temperate.  On the other hand, the patterns of your life may be full of energy and bursting with new ideas.  Believe it or not, that sort of pattern can also be a kind of trap, leaving you unable to hear a voice of counsel, or to find solid footing.

But succumbing to the law of inertia, of always doing what you’ve always done, is just as pitiful an existence as walking around with peanut butter on your chin.  Every moment can hold out the bright promise of a different direction, of something surprising to you, of something new and wonderful.  And every moment can afford the opportunity to offer something unexpected to yourself or those around you.  Nicodemus doubted that a person could be born when they are already old because he never knew any of you!

Jesus said, “The wind blows where it chooses.”  I can tell you about the wind blowing where it chooses; a few weeks ago I thought that wind was going to blow my house right off its foundation.  The wind that Jesus spoke of sneaks up on you!  It finds you when you’re feeling smug and self-satisfied, or in the mood for nothing but self-pity; it picks you up off your feet, and like Dorothy in the land of Oz, drops you right smack dab in the middle of a new way of looking at things.  You may not even know where the tracks of Christ are, let alone where they’re going, but that wind will carry you in the right direction, sometimes even against your will, if you’ll let it.

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, that by the time you’re three your personality is already established, and once you reach mid-life, you’re not likely to change your patterns of behavior.  Well I’ve got a piece of advice for any of us grown-ups out there who may have given up on ourselves.  Let’s wipe the peanut butter off our chins, feel the leading of the wind in our souls, join the league of those who are born of the Spirit, and keep knocking on doors.  To paraphrase Jesus, sooner or later one will open up.

¹ Thomas Friedman, “They’ve All Put Peanut Butter On Their Chins”, Boston Globe, March 8, 2017.

² “The Emerald City Sequence” from The Wiz, Quincy Jones and Charlie Smalls.