The Poverty of God

Have invested chunks of time lately into missions - Salkehatchie youth mission camp and taking a team to Bombita, Dominican Republic. So this week have been reflecting on what I've learned from it all. I was helped yesterday in my devotional time with a passage by Simon Tugwell (in his book, Prayer) on the poverty of God. But I'll return to that in a minute.

In preparing the team for the DR, I stated repeatedly that we have three objectives. First, we are making ourselves available to God in a different (new, for some) way, and we should pay close attention to the work God does with our hearts on the mission trip. Secondly, we go to demonstrate God's love and our love in a ministry of presence, letting the people there know we care about them. Finally, we will do some physical labor to help the ministry there accomplish its goals. The order of the objectives is crucial. Most folks want to reverse the order, focusing on what we're doing to "get done."

Indeed, several times on the trip we wanted to make the third objective the first priority. Like most Americans, we were set on "fixing things." When we saw the lack of clean water in the Hatian village where we were working, we began planning how to get a micro-desalination plant installed there. When we noticed the lack of a wholesome diet, we brain-stormed how to introduce vegetable gardening. As we observed the subsistence housing, we talked about future trips to work on particular homes. We are easily deluded into thinking the most important things we have to offer are our "know-how," our "get-it-done" energy, and our vast resources.

A team member said during a morning devotional that she felt bad because, while our work on the school was important, she felt that there was so much more we could/should do for the people in the village. Guillermo, a local worker, replied, "You have done more simply by coming here than you realize. Your presence tells us you care, and gives us hope."

Simon Tugwell, referring to St. Paul's passage (1Cor 1) about the weakness of God, wrote about God choosing to reveal himself not in displays of power, but the foolish, weak, and seemingly unimportant things of the world. He states:

This is why, if we keep clamoring for things we want from God, we may often find ourselves disappointed, because we have forgotten what we may call the poverty of God. We had thought of God as the dispenser of all the good things we would possibly desire, but in a very real sense, God has nothing to give at all, except himself.

God wants to give us God's self, but we'd rather have the "things" God can provide. Might this have something to do with "You shall have no other gods before me"? And how do we carry an awareness of the poverty of God not just on a mission trip, but in our daily lives?

My wife left yesterday, driving nine hours to spend a day with a friend who is in the last stages of a battle with cancer. She said before she left that she didn't know what she'd say, what to do, or what to expect, knowing this would be the last time she'd be able to see our friend alive. In a very real sense, she has nothing to give at all, except herself. And if we could just learn and live that, perhaps we'd begin to understand the poverty, and power, of God.

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Love Feast

To wrap up our church retreat we decided to have a Wesleyan Love Feast today instead of Holy Communion. Since no one on the retreat had done a Love Feast before I wasn’t sure how this would go over, especially the part where we share with one another our experiences of God’s love. The participants had been sharing in their small groups (squadrons) during the weekend, but now we were all in one group, one big circle.

Needless worry. No all shared, but many did. Soon all eyes were moist as young and old alike stood to tell about their experiences of God’s presence. Some shared thanksgivings and new folks told how they felt welcomed into the “family of God.” In this setting the love feast was the right service that opened us up to a powerful, shared spiritual experience. I guess we just had a different kind of holy communion today.

A Lenten Examination

My Lenten discipline is not denial, but examination. Denial hasn’t worked before. I might choose something to give up, but it wouldn’t be something crucial. And then, like a New Year’s Resolution, it would dissolve in a couple of weeks. Through pure human defect, I’m just not good at works righteousness.

So this year I choose an intentional routine of something necessary - a daily examination of the day, of self, and of God’s subtle magnificence. A discipline of filing the important stuff, sorting the demanding, and tossing the rest. And I begin with ashes.

I have always been disappointed with the turn-out for Ash Wednesday services, no matter how well attended. Disappointed, but not surprised. Who wants to come to church simply to be told, “You’re going to die”?

And yet, we come and pray, kneel and confess. To old and young alike, each age evoking its own ominous sensation in my chest, I say the words, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.” Perhaps we come to be told the truth, our truth - a truth so veneered and disguised that now-a-days we experience death only as a fiendish thief, rather than as a stubborn, necessary, companion in the pilgrimage.

Live. Whatever life tosses on the table before you, take it and live it well. Else the greedy companion will take it for his own. Examine the day, keep what needs to be kept, and let him have the rest.

It's All About Us

"Jesus knows me, this I love." The person who put this on this church sign probably just thought it was a cute turn about of a well-known lyric, good for catching attention. If so it worked. It caught mine - enough for me to take a picture.

Maybe I'm seeing too much in it, but doesn't it reflect also the sad turn about of religion today? We've gone from revelation (Jesus loves me...the Bible tells me so) to, well...us.

Survival Basics

During one of the convention speeches last week I started channel surfing and caught part of one of the survival programs I enjoy. I never remember the name of the guy, but he’s put out in some wilderness area and has to survive as he finds his way back to civilization. Yes, the program has to be rigged for video recording, but still I enjoy it, especially the problem solving skills used as he tries to provide for the basics of survival.

And what are those basics? Water, shelter, food and fire - that’s what I surmise, although a survivalist may add more or rearrange the list. What the program emphasizes is that if you don’t provide for the basics, the body becomes too taxed and soon the mind cannot reason correctly and you can’t respond adequately to threats.

A couple of times this week I have been with friends and church members who have gotten horrible news - information that has dropped them down right smack in the middle of a different kind of wilderness. Life cannot go on as it did, and emotionally, they are thrust into providing for the basics of survival.

And what are those basics? Well, again, here are my suggestions. What are the emotional needs that have to be attended to before reasoning begins to falter?

SECURITY. We need assurance that we and our loved ones are safe. We need a non-anxious presence that sends a beacon of calm through the fog. We need someone in whom we can trust.

ACCEPTANCE. We need assurance that we are accepted just as we are with all our brokenness, wounds, inadequacy, sin, inability, and imperfection. We need release from the fear of shame and rejection. We need someone to welcome and acknowledge us.

AFFECTION. We need to know that we are liked and that our presence is desired. We need evidence that attention will be given to our needs. We need know there is someone to care for us.

COMPASSION. We need to experience empathy from others and we need to be moved to empathy for others. Compassion acknowledges our interdependence in sadness, joy, anxiety, and laughter. We need someone with whom to share.

I’m sure you noticed that I didn’t list “love.” That word just means too many different things to people. And I feel confident that if you experience security, acceptance, affection and compassion, you’ve experienced love. What would you add to the list?

Stepping into a crisis moment as a pastor, I would love to “fix” things – make it all right for everyone. Impossible. But I can by my presence remind others of the one in whom we trust. I can demonstrate acceptance and affection. And I can give and receive compassion. With those emotional basics in place, reasoning will not become scrambled, and those in the wilderness can find their way back.

I wonder if we could gauge the effectiveness of congregations in a similar way?

Dancing with God

A visitor at one of our worship services this morning blew me away with her comments about the sermon. I had just I preached about dancing with God. The sermon used the metaphor of dance to describe the relationship God desires with us. Part of my emphasis was to provide a balance to the popular “purpose-driven” attitude toward life. I said, “God doesn’t need us to achieve anything with all our purposeful behavior, but God did create us for relationship. One way to look at it is to say, God wants to dance the divine dance of creation, life, love, and joy with us.”

My closing illustration was one borrowed from Max Lucado, who tells of a man who bought a book about dancing so he could impress his wife. He worked on the steps and then invited her into the room to see what he’d learned. She watched as he held the book, reading aloud each instruction, and mimicking them with his movements. When he finished, she just looked at him. Instead of affirming him she said, “You’re missing something critical.”

She took the book from him, put some music on, took his hands in hers, and encouraged him to sway to the music with her. Soon they began to move about the room together, not counting steps, but dancing. I encouraged the congregation to begin to sway to the rhythm of God’s Spirit, who transforms our own labored lives into a movement of love.

The visitor spoke to me with a beautiful British accent and told me she loved the sermon. “My husband was a professional dancer,” she said. “I didn’t dance, but he insisted on teaching me. But, I would only dance with him. When he was sick, he would still look at me and say, ‘Dance with me.’ So I would help him into his wheelchair and I’d take his hands and we would dance around the room.” She paused, and finished, “Thank you, that was a most wonderful sermon.”

As strange as it may seem, there is a time to learn your sermon was meant for the stranger passing through, and a time to find healing in remembrance - there is a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

All together in one place

When the Day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. What does that tell us? It tells us that they weren't scattered about, each doing their own thing.

Peter didn't have his group of followers, as opposed to Matthew having his. Thomas hadn't started Doubters Anonymous, and James and John hadn't yet created the five simple steps to sitting at the right hand of Jesus. They were all together, in one place, and the spirit of God moved upon them.

We are so caught up in the culture of American individualism that we have a difficult time grasping the significance of how the day of Pentecost began. Before there was a rushing sound, before there were tongues of fire and languages, and before Peter's powerful sermon was given and converts were made, the people were together, in one place, in one prayer.

We have a harder time being present to one another than being present to God - but can we truly be present to God if we are not present to one another?

Into The Dark Night

We will not go into that dark night. That is certain. As it approaches, we will turn away, each at our own time and place. And Jesus will be left alone.

Preparing this morning to enter the dark night of betrayal tonight with our Tenebrae service. We do the service with the 13 candles and readings. After each reading (crowds turning against Jesus, disciples turning away, soldiers turning Jesus toward Golgatha, etc.) a candle is extinguished. When the candles, and sanctuary lights are all out, a loud harsh noise (done by a choir member hitting a sheet of metal with a hammer) signifies Jesus' death. No matter how often I sit though that service, or how well I'm prepared for it, that moment still constricts my heart.

Then a soloist sings as we sit in the dark, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" Truth is, we probably wouldn't have been. We'd have done the disappearing trick just like the disciples in the gospel passion narratives.

I was reminded in my study this morning how we easily excuse the disciples. They did not understand, the gospels say. They were afraid for their lives, we assert. They had too much to drink at the Passover meal, whatever. But he had told them repeatedly that he would go to Jerusalem to die. They may not have understood, or, they may have refused to listen.

We accept their humanity and failure to stand with Christ because we know our own weakness and failures. We easily excuse them because we know we need the favor in return.

I cannot promise, Lord, that my behavior will be any better than Peter, James or John. But you are the Lord, and I claim the gift you offer in your victory. You have mastered the darknest of nights, and you alone redeem the dark of our betrayals.

I Bind Myself to Thee Today

I bind unto myself today
The strong name of the Trinity
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three

- St. Patrick's Breastplate

And so, what is the day like, bound to God, as prisoners being transported are bound to one another? What is it like to maneuver through your appointments, your conversations and your decisions feeling another so close at hand? And what is it like to be so closely identified with the one to whom you're bound so that while you know you are still yourself, you also know you are not just yourself anymore? It is not so strange, the answer, for is it not like living the call of discipleship?

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger
- St. Patrick's Hymn

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY

Vulnerable pro Deus

Watching your daughter spend a week lethargic and in pain, with no resolve in sight, brings dark thoughts to your mind. You think things you’d rather not think, and feel fears you’d deny in the light. And finally you admit, in anger, the vulnerability of life.

How much of our lives are lived either in the denial of our defenseless exposure, or in a strident attempt to diminish it? What safe-guards have been set in place to keep at bay the things that go bump in the night?

Consumer reports lead us to the best and safest brands, but someone forgot to report the lead coating the baby’s toy. Your “good hands” rating for safety on the road is no shield from the oncoming swerve of drunken hands. My good friend Carl, jogging for his health, died when a dead limb dealt a crushing blow upon his neck.

Larger barns are built to store the grain of a plentiful harvest. And the farmer’s wife says, “Soul, take your ease.” But will there be bread when the market downturns? A good resume and plenty of drive do not put food on the plate, when manufacturing crosses the seas. Successful salesman Ted showed me the court’s settlement check. Eighteen hundred dollars was what he got for his two hundred and sixty-two thousand, compounded by years of trust in the fraudulent fidelity.

All is vanity, says the preacher. God has turned a blind eye to fairness in life, and a deaf ear to cries for equity. The wealthy become wealthier on the backs of the poor, and those in the middle, believing they may one day break out of the cage, confound all calls for reform. There is no surety for the righteous, no reassurance for the steadfast, and no way to know whether the path leads up, or down, or ends, around the bend.

What is it we lack, better odds? Is it only a matter of time before the safety measures are safe? What is it we need? Better intelligence, or a boundary fence? High-tech armaments, or low-tech recycling? Maybe some business IOU’s, with a network of friends? Is it a compass, a purpose, or a meta-narrative that lures us in?

“The flu shot we advised you to take is un-effective against the new strain of influenza.” And in the fragile wait, who is surprised? “There’s no cause for the suspicious lump and yet it must be removed.” And amid the numbing pain, we still proclaim, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Only vulnerable before God will we fully admit, we really need a Savior.

Perfect Love Casts out Fear

Got back from Israel and then is was off to Trinity At The Beach, our church's annual retreat. Enjoyed the time there with folks, the good weather, and the reflections brought by Rev. Lane Glaze. One aspect of the retreat that people always enjoy are the small group sharing times. Usually after every presentation we break up into small groups to discuss how the message applies to our lives.

In talking about the retreat experience with those who attend, usually they mention the sharing as a wonderful part of the retreat. I once thought we just needed to provide more time for that in church, but I think getting away to a new location, and with a different schedule, is an important part of the experience. We've tried to capture the experience by using small group reflection in our Mosaic worship. But that hasn't caught on as well. So we've yet to figure out what it is that connects with people's needs, helping them to engage the Word.

Rev. Glaze is the Campus Minister for the Clemson Wesley Foundation, and is associate pastor at Clemson UMC. He did a good job leading us on the theme: Life in the Spirit, It's Not Just Another Thing To Do. One of the things that stood out for me was his remark about the young ruler who came to Jesus at night wanting to know what to do to be saved. Jesus told him to sell all he had and come follow him, and the young man went away sorrowful. Lane said the reason the young man went away was not greed, but fear. He was afraid of what might lie ahead in the journey.

That kind of fear in following Christ is something that affects nearly everyone. Just what will God ask of me if I say yes? It's like a marriage. You don't know what's ahead, you just know you don't want to go forward without the other person. When you get to the point where you don't want to go forward in life without being with Christ, then you don't count the cost, you just give your all. Perfect (complete) love casts out fear.

Memory Stones

I collect rocks. When I go somewhere new I look for a small rock to bring back, something typical of the area. I label it with a Sharpie and it becomes a memory stone for me. I think the habit started years ago when I first went abroad to Costa Rica. Standing atop volcano Irazu I noticed an atypical quartz-like dark stone lying on the broad expanse of gray basalt. It rode home with me in my pocket. I gave it to a geology teacher to identify a few years ago and never retreived it. It may still be in his classroom. But the stones have been gathering ever since.

My immediate family enjoys a good laugh at me because of this. When I unpack after a trip they say, "Where are the rocks?" and insist that one of these days Customs is going to deprive me of my collection. I just smile at their teasing. I have enough Scottish stubborn-ness to keep doing as I please.

I was looking over the memory stones from this past trip and one in particular got me to thinking. I picked it up at Bet' She-an, the ancient Roman city mentioned in an earlier post. It is marble and the small ridge seen by the shadow in the picture indicates it was part of a carved stone. With all the ornamental marble carvings the Romans did, that is not uncommon.

But consider this. Slave labor cut this stone from perhaps one of the Roman quarries in Asia Minor. It was loaded on a ship and taken to the major port of Caesarea. There more hands loaded it on a cart to be hauled along the Via Maris (the Roman road) up to the Jezreel Valley and then down to Bet' She-an. Craftsmen then carved the stone to fit into the facade of the Cardo, the main road of the town. The large carving this piece was a part of could have come crashing down in the earthquake of 479 BC. and shattered. This small piece lay in the debris through the centuries. With all the marble uncovered in the excavations of the 20th century, it was not significant enough to be collected, and so it lay there until some nerd came along and picked it up, put it in his pocket, and carried it half-way around the world to his home in South Carolina.

When I rub my fingers along the shaped ridge I think of the countless people who have been in contact with this stone, unknown to me, and yet all of us known to God. The psalmist exclaimed, "What is man, O God, that thou art mindful of him?" (Please excuse the gender limited usage of the KJV, Psalm 8.) "Yet thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor."

Of the unknown multitude associated with this rock in its history, I suppose most of them knew little glory and honor in their lifetime. Yet in the sight of God, each person was beloved. What greater honor is there than to be valued by the creator of the heavens and earth? That is more than I can comprehend, but that's the nature of God revealed to us in Jesus Christ.

The great Roman empire of this stone witness is long gone. The marble monuments we erect to ourselves get shattered. Our penchant for praise and significance has us striving for honors that disappear within a generation. But the love of God endures forever. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Weeping over Jerusalem

It is special to get to be in Jerusalem, but it often leaves me sad. First, just the history of conquests (so many in the name of some religion) and the centuries of rebuilding and more destruction and more rebuilding leave you wondering about all the violence and hatred people are capable of. And then there's the ever-present tension of all the faiths wanting the hottest real estate in religion, the temple mount. Finally, there also something about the sadness in the people of the streets that just kind of soaks in.

So, by the time we got to the Dominus Flavit Church on the Mount of Olives, I was more in the mind frame for the place than I realized. The Church, built in the shape of a teardrop, signifies Jesus weeping over Jerusalem. The reading was from Matthew 23 where Jesus said, "Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often I wanted to gather your children as a hen gathers her young under her wings. But you would not."

Maybe I was just tired from all the walking we did today. But as we left there and walked down by the Garden of Gethsemane to the Church of the Agony (supposedly at the place where Jesus prayed and was arrested), I just wanted a Redeemer to show up and remove the sadness of the place. And believe me, I was longing for the kind of redeemer Judas was most likely hoping Jesus would turn out to be: a redeemer who was ready to use power and might to whip the place into shape.

Sometimes when you feel some of the brokenness of the world, you simply want it fixed. You don't want a plan, or good intentions, or promises, or a chance to demonstrate your faith. You just want the sick made well, and the lonely to laugh out the cackel of companionship. You want shalom delivered on a silver platter.

But it sure doesn't happen that way. Jesus walks the way of suffering and turns and asks "When are you going to figure it out?" (I think that quote is in there somewhere!:) And that's what I was feeling in the church of tears today.

What revived me for the rest of the pilgrimage, you ask? Surely you asked... A young woman, dressed in garments that indicated she was probably a novitiate for the Carmelite nuns, sat quietly in prayer throughout our time there. There it was, a juxtoposition of chaos and grace.

Down the hillside it dawned on me, I had the chaos, thinking about the chaotic evil of the world, and she had the grace, calmly placing life under God's control. I remembered a verse learned in childhood and suddenly realized for the first time that it has a much broader band of application: Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Such is life in the hands of God.

Convincing others we really care.

Yesterday afternoon I participated in an event at the county courthouse. One of Trinity's members, Jack Howle, was being installed as the Chief Public Defender for the 3rd Judicial Circuit. Last year our state legislature passed the Indigent Defense Act of 2007 to coordinate and standardize the public defender offices across the state, and to give the give the public defenders a more equitable status with the solicitor's office. Our own Rep. Murrell Smith was instrumental in getting it passed. It was a needed reform of the system and I understand it has become a model for other states.

Jack was the right man for the job and I felt honored to bring the invocation and benediction. Jack has been the Chief Public Defender in Sumter for ten years and has many more years experience in the field. He is calm and consistent and has a quiet determination to do what is right. Every Tuesday he is at my early morning men's Bible study and is very active in our church. Those who need the services of a public defender are fortunate to have such a dedicated and experienced attorney who sees his work as a call to ministry through his baptism.

Jack's comments after the swearing in acknowledged family and colleagues and the work of the public defenders office. What stuck with me were some of his closing words when he said that the general public often has a erroneous and negative view of the people who must rely on public defenders. Jack said that they are simply people for whom the circumstances and choices of their lives have put them in a position to depend on the expertise of others they cannot afford. "The most difficult part of this job," he said, "is convincing our clients that we really do care about them."

Jack, of course, was talking about the public defender's role, but I immediately thought about the role of the church. How good a job have we done convincing people that we really care about them? It doesn't matter to them if we can share the way of salvation if they perceive that we really don't care about them. What's the old saying? No one cares how much you know until they know how much you care.

Jesus is not a commodity that we can package, market and distribute to others. Jesus is known in a relationship of grace that is passed from heart to heart. Instead of evangelism and church growth programs, maybe we need to back up and re-train ourselves on being truly caring people. Perhaps we need to pray for hearts of compassion, and then the ability to break apart the stereotypes of the church so that the world can see through us that God indeeds cares. To what lengths are we willing to go to convince others that because of Christ, we actually, really, do care about them?

Christmas Blessings

How blessed we are to enjoy a family Christmas. At the Christmas Eve service at Trinity I had Cynthia, my wife preach. The danger is that my folks will be disappointed when I step back into the pulpit. The good is that I enjoyed seeing her preach and hearing her sermon in Trinity's sanctuary.

Then, after Holy Communion, and the candlelight singing of Silent Night, we jumped in the car and rushed to Isle of Palms to join the late service at First Methodist there, catching our eldest daughter by surprise. There we again enjoyed a beautiful service, and especially enjoyed hearing Lauren sing a duet of What Child is This. Kelsey commented in the service that this was the first time in months (since Annual Conference probably) that she had been able to sit with both her parents during a worship service!

Then, after Christmas morning at home, it was off to my mother-in-law's home for a family gathering. Christmas simply calls for family time. That's why it's so difficult when families are broken, or members are missing. Singles who learn to live well in daily life sometimes have to struggle with loneliness at Christmas, simply because of the unspoken call to be with family.

Knowing the true message of Christmas, who should be surprised at this? Christmas is family time for God and all God's creation. God sends his Son to become one with us. God says, through Christ I will make a way for you, a way for you to be with me. And thus we are called "children of God, heirs and joint-heirs with Christ."

With the packing of the car, and the travel, and the craziness of extended family time together, my senses get overloaded. But somehow in the chaos, the promise of God's blessing shines through:

Sing to God, sing praises to his name; lift up a song to him who rides upon the clouds -- his name is the LORD-- be exultant before him. Father of orphans and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. God gives the desolate a home to live in. Psalm 68

Jesus answered, "Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. John 14

A home in the midst of all the chaos and confusion, sin and sorrow, loneliness and longing of this world. And how blessed I am to partake of it with family again this year. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Walking Thoughts

We do not walk in our country, unless it is on a treadmill. Seriously, one of the readily noticeable differences when you travel abroad is that in other countries you see people out along the roads, walking. Here, people walking along a road signals that something is wrong. Either their car has broken down, or, (heaven forbid in a culture that worships the automobile) they don’t have access to a vehicle.

In recognition of this, we don’t waste money when constructing roads by creating paved shoulders or pedestrian lanes. OK, some of the newer roads have this, but in general you do take your life in your hands if you decide to walk along a road. I’ve tried it a few times, and the road shoulders hardly give you room to get out of the way of the speeding cars.

During the Living Christmas Story over this past weekend, we walked the street of Bethlehem, recreated in our church’s parking lot. One of the features that makes for a good LCS is when we have a lot of participants out in costume, walking up and down the street, talking and pretending to barter at the shops. The irony is that those who come to “see” Bethlehem and the manger ride through in their cars.

This year there was an exception. A large tour bus pulled up to the entrance. With the trees and turns in the route, the LCS isn’t designed to handle such a large bus. So forty people disembarked and walked through as a group. (One of my friends suggested we tell them they had to do the Monty Python thing and walk through keeping the same seating arrangement they had on the bus.) I wish I walked with them, just to see what I could pick up from their ambulatory experience of the event.

The experience of life changes dramatically when we walk instead of drive. I’m not just talking physically, though that is true too. Our bodies were designed to walk, with the large muscle groups in our legs. For those of you wanting to burn calories, it’s those leg muscles that do the job. That’s why cycling (or stair stepping) gets you in shape like nothing else. If you have a desk job, get up every hour and walk briskly for five minutes and just that reactivation of the leg muscles will keep the calorie furnace going. I don’t do it, but that’s what the research says.

When I walk through our neighborhood, the same streets I drive along regularly, I see a different world. The walking makes me aware of the changing texture of the pavement or the ground. I observe trees and animals and light patterns and all kind of stuff I never notice riding by. But besides being more observant, my mind settles into the rhythm of reflection.

Saint Jerome (340-420 CE), who after some years of contention near Rome moved to Bethlehem to finish his years in a monastery, gave much of his scholarly life to translating the Hebrew Bible into Latin. Jerome apparently often used the expression, “solvitur ambulando,” to solve a problem, walk around. Jerome dealt with a variety of textual and theological problems of his day, including the heresy of Pelagianism, and debates with Origenists. My issues don’t even make the cheap seats in his ballpark. Still, walking about works just as he advised. Walk, until your thoughts and prayers match the pace of your legs, until you actually see what makes up the blur of your life, until the wear on your shoes becomes a witness of waiting, anticipation and patience.

I wonder how church members would react if their pastor went on walks regularly? What if a couple of mornings a week we went walking instead of visiting, studying, attending meetings, or doing administrative stuff. Would they (and could we) appreciate the difference?

Rev. Maltbie Babcock used to take regular morning walks along Lake Ontario while serving as a pastor to a church in Lockport, New York. Bill Dagle, who writes HymnStories, says it was from those walks that Babcock wrote the beautiful hymn, “This is My Father’s World.” I think of the number of times his lyrics have spoken to me during worship. How many walks did Babcock take before those lyrics came clear to him? Was it good management of his time as a pastor?

In this busy season of Advent, with so much to “do,” I think I’ll take a walk.

Empty and Full

Well, there's a lot of fullness with Thanksgiving, if you are blessed so wonderfully as we were. In spite of a nearby water main breaking and leaving us with murky, unusable water during the morning, and in spite of losing the sweet potato cassarole (My fault! I "helped" by making room on the kitchen counter by setting the dish on top of the washing machine, and the vibrations of the spin cycle slid it right off on the floor, and everywhere.), we had more than enough of excellent food to fill us up, twice. We had a great time together.

Plus, I was reminded that you have to be emptied before you can be filled - and it wasn't the full plate of food that reminded me. Sometime after dinner Cynthia and I sat down to talk about the Christmas gifts we would be getting for others this year. She wanted to know what to watch for before heading out into the hunt on Black Friday. I was preoccupied with a program I was watching. I shared a couple of ideas, and then she did. But honestly, I didn't hear a word she said. My mind was full and her words bounced off my eardrums.

I didn't tell her (30 years of marriage have taught me something) right away. But later, after some mind/attention emptying, I chanced to ask her to repeat her suggestions, and got away with it! Great Thanksgiving.

Henry Nouwen once compared being pre-occupied to inviting a guest to take a seat in a room where all the seats are filled. There has to be some emptying first. I wonder if God often feels like such a guest when in my prayers I invite him into my life. God's welcome, but I've made no room for him. No wonder it feels that God is distant when our lives are so "full."

"A time to empty and a time to fill" is not the same as "a time to fill and fill some more." How in the world to we confuse the two? So full of stuff, of ourselves, and of our own ideas, we leave no place open where God can do new things. And then we wonder what's wrong when God allows circumstances to begin "emptying" our lives. And think of this: How many times do we go to church wanting God to fill us, when what we really need is for God to empty us? Do we expect times of emptying as well as times of filling?

I guess that was the reason the season of Advent began - a time of emptying like Lent, so we could receive the gift of Christ. Good thing it comes after a full Thanksgiving, or else I wouldn't have room for it.

Thanksgiving Rituals

For the first time in 30 years of marriage, we will have Thanksgiving in our own home. All the other years we have traveled to be with family gatherings. This year, however, I’ve just had minor surgery and while I could travel, my girls seized the opportunity to insist they would cook our Thanksgiving meal. Under Cynthia’s guidance in the kitchen, I’m confident the meal will be excellent.

But the change of ritual makes me wonder what it is about the Thanksgiving holiday that so tugs at our hearts. I don’t believe it is the desire to be “thankful” for a day. People either live lives of gratitude or they don’t, and a holiday isn’t going to change that. No, the power of Thanksgiving has to do with our common longings.

Our individual celebrations may have little to do with the idealized scene of sitting down at a bountiful table to share a meal with family and friends, but we still want it to be true, if only partially so. We want there to be a place we can come home to, a place where we are welcomed without question. We want there to be a seat set aside for us, where we are expected to be present. And we want the assurance of plenty for all, a fullness of food, joy and fellowship.

These longings are good, God-given, I believe. For they point us to the one place they can truly be fulfilled, the table of the Lord. The image of the messianic banquet (Luke 14) stands silently behind our idealized Thanksgiving tables, and the One who has prepared all things for us desires us to know the fullness of life only He can provide.

Thanksgiving will be a busy time for many people – filled with travel, hunting, cooking, parades, shopping, conversation, work, and who knows what else, as we try to fill our hearts. It is right to stop and give thanks for the blessings we enjoy. But I wosnder if our longings and gratitude can lead us to the presence of Christ, the all-sufficient One.

Surrounded by so Great a Chatter

I did not grow up with All Saint's. Like everyone else, it was Halloween I looked forward to. Getting pumpkins carved, making our own costumes, and overdosing on candy were perfect for me as a child with a short attention span. And while we knew ghosts and goblins weren't real, there was just enough uncertainty to keep us watching in the dark.

As parents of young children, Cynthia and I continued these basic traditions, as the rest of America became fascinated with Halloween. Now we've just become "old foggies" and hardly note its occurance. This year small packs of popcorn and pretzels replaced the sugary treats we handed out at the door, and there wasn't a pumpkin anywhere near. I googled "Halloween sales" and learned that the National Retail Federation predicted we'd spend over $5 billion on Halloween this year, with the average customer spending $64.82. Guess we let them down.

But today is All Saint's, a day of cosmic warping. Heaven bends near and all the earth becomes a thin place, for those with ears to hear. I awakened this morning at 5 to the laughter of the apostles, somewhere in the distance. Came to my study chair to read and write and realized the desert mothers and fathers considered my arrival to silent prayer to be tardy, and possibly disrupting. Saints and theologians, some ancient, but many not, peer out at me from the line of bookshelves in our study. We are not alone on the spiritual journey, and today is the day the faithful witnesses delight in reminding us of this.

I prepare myself for the rabble of the day, the kind of hub-bub that greets you when you enter a party late, and so many people are engaged in conversation. The writer of Hebrews called it a "cloud of witnesses surrounding us" but he (she?) could just as easily have said "chatter of witnesses," for it seems they each have a word of encouragement. It would be uncomfortable to be gazed upon and commented about by all these saints, except I recognize some of the voices, and the smiles here and there are from those I have known and loved.

As a child I was mildly concerned about the spirits out on Halloween night, for fear of what they might do. As a grown child, I now am concerned about the spirits out on All Saints, not for fear of what they might do, but for fear of my behavior. They look to me, to you, for us to be faithful, to run our laps with patience, looking to Christ, the pioneer and perfector of our faith, until the time comes for us to pass the baton on. Today heaven comes near, and the whispers become cheers, and I do not want to disappoint those who would not fail me.