What the World Needs Now

There's a moment from yesterday that I keep coming back to.  I'm not sure exactly why.

We were going on a short break after Thanksgiving.  Most of our vacation this year was taken up with moving out of our home in Minnesota.  The first time I went back, we made sure to see a few people but by the beginning of July it was clear that we would not get things done unless we put blinders on and worked non-stop.

So yesterday, we decided to take a one-night overnight, a real although short get-away out of town.  Friends from our congregation agreed to take care of our dog, Scout, for one night while we were gone.

And this moment -- it's not from the time away -- not exactly -- but we were on the way to the church to drop Scout off with our friends, who would meet us there.

When we got to the church, the door to the sanctuary was open, and they were both inside, getting some things ready for Sunday.  Scout saw them right away.  I let go of her leash and she ran down the middle aisle, where the husband greeted, and petted and patted and scratched her ears.

There was my twelve-year-old dog, who stumbles sometimes now on walks, running like a puppy.

I keep coming back to this moment.

And what I see is Joy.

My dog isn't perfect, as everyone who knows her will attest.  She has taken to destroying books lately, something that breaks our hearts, a little (or a lot, depending on the book).  The latest book of mine to be marred is one that my father gave me while I was living in Japan.  Usually I just throw the book away but with this one, I have kept it (so far) even though I'm not sure it's salvageable.

Lately when we come home and open the door, we wonder what we will find.  Sometimes everything is fine.  Sometimes there is a book with its cover ripped off and teeth marks and the spine destroyed.

Truthfully I can't hate her.  I know that what is happening has as much to do as our own early deficiencies in training as it does with her quirks in personality.  It's complicated.

But here's what is not complicated:  watching my old dog run down the center aisle of the sanctuary.

Joy.

It doesn't fix anything, but it's necessary, you know?  It's necessary.  In the midst of hard work, and fear, and changing what you can change, and figuring out what you can't -- there's Joy.

There is a lot that is not joy in the world, but it's there if you look for it, it's there:  a child opening a small gift and waving it in the air.  There's the joy of hearing an old song after a long time, or the joy of seeing someone you love, who loves you, despite everything.  There's a lightness in joy, a feeling that perhaps you could leap up, even fly.

I remember from last year now -- a Sunday when a little girl came into church while I was standing and giving the announcements.  She ran up to me and hugged my legs.  And I don't know what she was feeling, but I felt Joy.

There is serious work to be done in the world.

And then there's joy.

This is What We Came For

Transfiguration 2017  year A

Based on Matthew, Chapter 17

            Being new to Texas, I have gotten plenty of suggestions for places we ‘have to’ see, and believe me, we are making a list – and we plan to hit as many as possible!

            Before coming here, though, my husband and I used to make an annual trip up to the North shore of Lake Superior for a few days.

            We could take the dog, get a little exercise, and there is some pretty awesome scenery there too.

            We like to hike, especially short hikes, well, actually VERY short hikes, preferably a short hike up to a scenic overlook.

            So one day we drove up one of the roads up into the hills – the closest thing to a mountain in that area – and stopped to look around.

            The view wasn’t so spectacular, despite the height, so we wandered around a little, and discovered an arrow with a sign pointing to a trail.

            We both needed the exercise, so we decided to take the trail for a little while and see where it might lead.

            We walked a little while, and then walked a little farther, and then we walked a little farther yet.

            We kept wondering when we were going to see something, when a gorgeous view was going to appear before us.  But it never did.  After about ½ hour we turned around and walked the other direction.

            We both agreed that we didn’t really see anything, but the hike wasn’t a total loss, because we did get some exercise.

            I suppose that we were looking for some sort of unmistakable sign – some gorgeous sight – a panorama, a vista – to have a feeling of “This is it!  This is what I came for!  I came to see this!”

            But we didn’t get it.

            Later I did a little internet research and found that we were actually on a very small segment of the Superior Hiking Trail.

            The Superior Hiking Trail is a 296 mile long footpath running from Duluth up to the Canadian border.

            The ads say that the hike includes a lot of spectacular views, especially of Lake Superior.

            But I suspect that you have to stay on it for more than ½ hour, in order to get that feeling of:  “This is it!  This is what I came for!”

            Just like I suspect that it would be a mistake for me to think – just because I’ve been a couple of places in Texas now – that I have really experienced and know what Texas is like.  Right?  I still have a lot to learn.

            But here today, on this last Sunday after Epiphany – called Transfiguration – well, those three disciples got that, didn’t they? 

            They went up on the mountain with Jesus, a human being like them, their friend and their teacher, and suddenly – there he was, GLOWING

            Transfigured – his face was like the sun, and his clothes were whiter than white, and Moses and Elijah – the two greatest prophets of all, are standing there, talking with him.

            Elijah – the prophet predicted to come to herald the Messiah.  And Moses – the one who led the people of Israel from Slavery to Freedom.

            THIS IS IT !  they must have thought.

            This is what we came for!

            We can call it a mountaintop experience, because literally, it did take place on a mountain, but it wasn’t just a spectacular view – no, it was a revelation.

            It was a revelation of Jesus’ true identity.

            The voice confirmed it.  “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well-pleased.”

            Coincidentally, these are the exact words that were spoken at Jesus’ baptism.

            And three more are added.

            “Listen to him.”

            Moses and Elijah are there to confirm that Jesus is indeed the one they are waiting for.  He looks like one of them, like their friend, like their teacher – and he is.

            But he is also the one who shines like the sun, the one who will save them, the one who will save us.

            It is easy to forget.

            It’s easy to forget when you come back down the mountain,

            To deal with everyday life,

            When you walk on those trails of life where – you know – you never see anything – just a few wildflowers, and some kind of berry – you’re not sure what it is – some rocks.

            It’s easy to forget when the path gets steep, and there are no great views, and – let’s face it – there might even be SNAKES.

            There is so much more than meets the eye, so much more than we see, so much more than we know.

           

            And when you are up there on the mountain – if you even get to be up there – it’s tempting to think, in that moment, THIS is what we came for.”

            This is it.  That vision.  That shining face.

            But you know – the vision only lasts for a moment, and only three of the disciples even get to see it.

            Only Peter, James and John.  Sometimes I wonder why that is.

            Sometimes I have been a little jealous – jealous of those who have been to mountains I haven’t been to,

            who have seen visions that I haven’t seen – who seem sure at times when I have doubted.

            Isn’t this what we came for, after all?

            Isn’t the mountaintop the point of it all?

            The vision only lasts for a moment – because that’s how visions are.

            Like a couple of weeks ago during worship –

            When I had the big basket and got out rhythm instruments for the first time

            … and asked the children to come forward.

            And they did –

            They ran up to the front .. and they picked up the instruments and started playing

            It was great!

            Sort of a vision of faith and joy and love!

            Or the day when the little kids all unwrapped Bibles

            And someone unwrapped her Bible and shouted, “I got Jesus!”

            The truth!  A vision! 

            But not everyone got to see it.

            And it only lasted a moment.

            The vision those three disciples had – it only lasts for a moment, although the words linger.  “This is my beloved son with whom I am well-pleased.”

            And then the disciples go back down the mountain, where they will greet the suffering world,

            Where they will walk the paths where everything seems ordinary, or hard,

            Where they will fight among themselves about who is the greatest, where they will follow him,

            And keep following him, even though his face is not shining.

            This is my beloved son.  Listen to him.

            And so they follow him, and do you know – when Jesus goes to the garden of Gethsemane, to pray before he is arrested – it is those three disciples who are also invited.

            They are invited to watch and pray, to see his face as he struggles with fear.

            And they can’t do it.  They fail.

            The same three disciples who saw him shining, now they see him in darkness.

            This is what we came for.  Is this what we came for?

            Today, on the last day of epiphany, we hold in our hearts the vision on the mountain – the one not everyone got to see.

            But this is not what we came for.

            We didn’t come for the vision, the momentary vision, the spectacular vista.

            We came for the everyday service.

            We came  for the whole, ordinary trail,

            All 296 miles of it.

            Where Jesus is with us always, to the end of the age.

            We came to hear the words

            “this is my beloved son, with whom I am well-pleased

            and to remember the words

            that he is with us always

            on the whole trail

            as we bend down to serve

            as we give a cup of cold water to a strangers.

            This is what we came for.

            We came to hear each other’s stories

            Stories of where we caught a glimpse of Jesus – on the mountains
            in the valleys

            In the faces of strangers,

            The faces of friends,

            The voices of children.

            Their faces are not shining, the but words are still true, “You are my beloved child”

            Because when Jesus reveals his own true identity, he reveals ours as well.

            See what love the father has given us, that we should be called children of God.  That is what we are.

            This is what we came for.  Amen

           

            

Effective Ministry

I got an email last week from a woman whose wedding I officiated almost ten years ago.  I hear from her or husband occasionally.  We have kept in touch, even though they moved to New York (where he lived) right after their wedding.

I had known the bride for a few years before she got married.  She was a regular at our Saturday night chapel service.  The service was small, and filled mostly with retired people, so I couldn't help noticing her when she first started attending.  One of her best friends from church was an eighty year old woman who still volunteered regularly in the church office.   She also participated in a couple of Bible studies and went to a community organizing meeting with me, once.

At some point this young man started attending the Saturday night service with her.  All of the widows who attended our chapel service had a front row seat for their courtship.  Of course, they got married in the chapel, right before the Saturday evening service.

They invited us to come and visit us in New York sometime.  My husband and I took them up on it.  We went to a jazz club, Central Park, The Cloisters of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and then, on Sunday, to church.

When their son was born, I sent them a piece of art with a scripture passage from Isaiah,  "I have called you by name... you are mine."

The email I got last week said they would be in Texas because they were adopting a little girl.  How far away was I?  Actually, as it turned out, I was pretty far away from where they were, but they wanted to get together, if possible.

So, on Thursday night, they drove all the way over to where I am to meet me at my church, with their new daughter.  We had a tour of our fellowship hall, sanctuary and pre-school.   In the sanctuary, they walked into our chancel and asked if I would say a prayer for their daughter.

We did.

We spent some time catching up after that.  They told me about their community and congregation, and asked questions about my move and the congregation I serve now.  They are now attending a large congregation of another denomination but they would be Lutheran again, in a heartbeat -- if they could find a place to worship nearer them.

What is it that you miss?  I asked.

The liturgy, they said.  They love the liturgy.

I asked about their daughter.  They said she was a miracle -- the agency calling and asking them if they could get on a plane the next day, the flight being available, that they were here, right now.   We talked some more about their lives,  taking our time.

We finally said goodbye, grateful for the conversation, grateful for the prayers.  They returned home with their new daughter.

They are not members of my church any more.  They haven't been for many years.  They have another pastor.  But once in awhile, we share these small fragments of each others' lives, and we are grateful for it.  I know I am.  I'm grateful to see how they are a blessing in the place where they live:  in their congregation, in their community.  I am grateful to know that they are growing in faith, and in love.

One of my friends says that this relationship is a sign of my effective ministry.  I will tell you honestly that I am not sure exactly what that means.  I keep thinking that effective ministry is about big and flashy things:  transformative community and social ministries, starting new organizations, things like that.  But I also know that effective ministry is about relationships.  It's about our relationship with God, and our relationships with one another, and how they change us.  From one degree of glory into another.  In ways that we often cannot see.

But for a moment, this week, the veil was pulled back, and I caught a glimpse of it.  It was the kingdom of heaven, while were were sitting on the steps of the chancel, surrounding a tiny girl with prayer.

A miracle.

The Space Between Water and Light

On the last day of our after-Christmas vacation, the weather finally became closer to what you might expect from a Southwestern desert climate.  It was a sunny afternoon, and finally warming up enough so that we didn't need our jackets.  So, on Sunday afternoon, we took a little drive out into the desert.

My sister and brother-in-law had found the ruins of an old ghost town where they thought it would be fun to hike.  We drove down a road that I would have sworn was actually not a road ("No, that's it; that's where we are supposed to go," my sister said).  We got out of the car and stared out at the spare beauty of the desert, not seeing anything but varieties of cactus and palo verde trees.  There were no houses, no buildings, no roads that we could see.

When we got closer, though, we saw bricks, the remains of walls, some old pipes still sticking out of the ground, the last vestiges of the town that used to be there.  We hiked a bit, pointing out the clues to the former times, the times when humans prospered here, until my sister started insisting that we go and find the path to Queen Creek.

We knew it was near; we could hear it.  But the trick was finding the right path, the safe one that would take us there.  We even once looked down at the creek from a hill, but knew we could not get down to the water from there.

My brother-in-law wanted to go home; we had seen the ruins, after all.  That was the most important part.  But my sister kept talking about the creek; we couldn't go home until we found the creek.  At one point she disappeared for a little while; we thought she was lost.  But she knew where she was.  She was looking for the path to the water.

When we found it, it was just a little stream, tucked away in the middle of the ruins.  It was just a little stream, but once you saw the place, you couldn't help but notice -- in the middle of the desert, everything was starting to be green.  Green was sprouting up there.  We couldn't help it;  we just started taking pictures.  There was something shimmery there, where the light touched the water and bounced back.   It made me feel like this could be a place where secrets are revealed.

We started taking pictures of each other.   I took one of my sister, standing just in front of the creek, with the light reflecting off the water and a finger of the creek in the eeriest shade of blue.   I thought then that I knew why my sister liked this place.  She is an artist, after all, and I thought she must be attracted to the way the light and the shadows and the water all work together to make everything beautiful.

Even us.

On Sunday it be The Baptism of Our Lord, the 2nd Sunday after the Epiphany.  We hear the same gospel story every year, although a different variation.  This year the variation I am hearing is from Matthew, where Jesus is baptized by John in the river Jordan, and John doesn't want to do it.  Somehow,  in the River Jordan, the secret is revealed, and John can see it:  "I need to be baptized by you."  But Jesus knows something else, and he insists.  Somehow his being baptized will "fulfill all righteousness" whatever that means.

In my imagination I have sometimes thought that Jesus had a list, a list of all of the things he had to do to effect our salvation.  "Be baptized" was there, at the top of the list, even though, as the story goes, he had no sins to repent of.  That is what 'fulfill all righteousness' meant.

Today, though, I am imagining something else:  I am imagining Jesus and John, standing in Queen Creek.  "I need to be baptized by you," John says.  Somehow in the space between the water and the light he sees something about Jesus, something about himself.  But Jesus insists.  He insists because there is another secret that the world needs to know.

When he comes up from the water and the Spirit descends, the voice speaks.  "You are my son, the beloved."  And the Words shimmer in the space between the water and the light, and it all works together to make everything beautiful.

Even us.

Even us.

He has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, ¹as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.  (Ephesians 1:9-10)

Practicing Faith on Vacation

Whenever I go on vacation, I realize again how tangled up my faith practices are with my work.  I am not proud to say it, and I begin each vacation time with a desire to encounter God on vacation in a different way than I do in my daily work.  I bring along a Bible, and I look for devotional reading that does not have anything to do with having a more faithful, successful, growing, deeply authentic congregation.  But I realize as well that I have a lot of those books.  Where's one that is just about faith, my faith, and doesn't have anything to do with my vocation?

I finally found my copy of Debbie Blue's book, "Consider the Birds", and begin to read it, just a little, not as much as I had anticipated, but at least I got started.

One of the things I realize right away on vacation is how much of my Bible reading and study is directly related to preparing sermons, Bible studies and confirmation.  It makes me a little wistful for the days when I used to read large chunks of the gospel of John in the evening, and write in my journal about my insights (yeah, I really did that at one time).  

And then there is vacation prayer.  As it turns out, vacation prayer is every bit as random and undisciplined as it is when I am working.  Vacation is not necessarily a time to learn a new spiritual discipline, although I have tried bringing prayer beads, my "praying in color" utensils, and a small book to pray the Hours by (wait, what time is it?).

What is even harder, though, is to stop to incessant conversation in my head about my work:  to go to a worship service without wondering if we could use that song in my congregation, to read a chapter of a book without thinking about whether there is a good sermon illustration in there, to practice praying with beads without wondering if we could hold a class on this subject at my church, to pray without thinking about all of the saints and sinners back home.

What I recognize, though, is that I really need God with me on vacation, but in a different way.  I need to experience the God who does not require me to be wise or witty or insightful, but who shows me grace, allows me grace, even when I forget to pray at the specified time, even when the Bible studies crash and burn, even when the sermon falls flat, or I sing off key.  I need somehow to untangle so that faith is not just my work, but the air I breathe, the love I seek, not something for others, but for myself.

As it turns out, I don't think I can stop God from coming along, and even though my dreams are still of church services run amok, tasks uncompleted, there are still the birds to consider, the eagles that soar above the river, the sparrows everywhere.   Instead of looking up Bible verses, we practiced looking for eagles this week.  We drove along the river, and considered from where it flows, and where it will go.  These are not bad spiritual disciplines for vacation, I decided.

Someday perhaps I will have it figured out.  In the meantime, I will remember that my work and my faith are intertwined, tangled up, and I can't untangle them.  I can't untangle them, but I can remember that they aren't the same thing, while I am driving along the river, looking for eagles, looking for sparrows, looking for grace.

"Under a Flaming Sky", by Daniel James Brown -- a book review of sorts

I have driven by the sign for almost my entire life.  "Hinckley Fire Museum," it reads.

We stop for gas and a bite to eat on our way up to the resort and retreat areas of the North Shore.  Again, I see the sign.  But I don't go into the museum.  After all, Hinckley is a small town.  What kind of a museum could it be?

One of my college classmates was from Hinckley.  He talked about the Fire Museum some.  He talked about the fire a little too, but it didn't make much of an impression on me.  So every year we see the sign and we don't go into the museum.

This year, though, I was reading the book "Under a Flaming Sky" for my church's book club.  I wasn't at the meeting where we chose it, so I don't know the reasoning.  But I decided to bring the book along on vacation and read it while we were away.

I ended up finishing it on the drive home, as we were driving past Hinckley again.

"Under a Flaming Sky" is a harrowing book.  Brown sets the scene for the tragedy, describing life in the booming little town of Hinckley, describing the weather conditions and the logging practices of the day and the lives of several of the families whose lives would be irretrievably changed on the day.  He describes in detail the harrowing journeys of the two trains that left Hinckley that afternoon:  the northbound to Duluth, and the Southbound train bound for Pine City.  The northbound train with its bedraggled passengers stopped in Sandstone and in Partridge, and those aboard urged the townspeople to flee, but almost no one got on the train.  They just didn't believe that the fire would come there, even with witnesses attesting to its power.  The Southbound train left later and did not fare as well; even so, there were people on that train who survived the fire because of the dangerous journey it made.

One of those families included the author's great-grandmother, grandfather and his two sisters.  Brown's great-grandfather died in the fire; his great-grandmother Marie never got over it.  This book is, in part, borne out of Brown's desire to understand as much as he could about his own family, his own history, forged in the fire.

Logging practices and fire-fighting practices have changed, at least in part because of the Hinckley fire, and others like it.   While some fires are necessary and are a part of the natural order for the forest, so much of what was happening at the time had to do with a lethal combination of weather and carelessness.  I suppose there is some comfort in that, although I can't erase the thought of all of the children who were lost, who could not escape.   And it haunts me to think that, even after Hinckley and Peshtigo and Sandstone and a few other places, it still took several years to convince the logging interests that it was in their best interests to find safer logging practices.

So after reading the book, I am preparing a sermon for this Sunday.  This Sunday's readings contain difficult pronouncements by Jesus of division rather than peace,  the fire that he longs to bring to the earth, the 'signs of the times' that it seems that no one is heeding.  This Sunday's readings contain warnings by Jeremiah about false prophets and their dreams, lists of bedraggled patriarchs and prophets who live by faith in a world that mostly doesn't listen to them.  This Sunday's readings are all about suffering and struggle and division, and it appears that there is very little good news, just as there is very little good news in the book about the flaming sky.

I'm thinking about the sign that I never pay attention to as I drive past Hinckley.  What will make me stop and listen now?  I'm thinking about the people in Sandstone who would not take the train to safety, even with all of the voices urging them, the clouds of witnesses.  I'm thinking about how we can tell the false prophets from the true ones.  I'm thinking that it isn't easy, never hast been easy, to tell.  But one thing I can think about:  false prophets will tell me what I want to hear, whatever that is.  A true prophet will tell the truth, even if it's difficult to bear.

In his time, the people thought the prophet Jeremiah was a traitor.  But he loved Jerusalem as much as everyone else.  It's just that he saw the signs:  the signs of judgment, the signs of destruction.  He saw that the people were on a collision course with their own greed and idolatry.

I've always thought about the clouds of witnesses in Hebrews as those inspiring people from our past who trusted God and lived grace-filled lives. "Keep going," they are saying.  "Keep running." But now I have added another image:  the people on the train from Hinckley.  They are witnesses too, prophets of a sort, telling me that the life of a disciple of Jesus is hard, and fraught with danger.

The Long View

Last week we took a few days off and went up to the Great Lake north of us.  While up there, we find a spot to hunker down, but we drive around to different scenic areas, just to see the beauty.  It's beautiful country, with trails and waterfalls and wildflowers and rivers.  Scout gets to come along, which is a bonus.  She likes to hike too, but I'm not so sure she is as enamored of the views as we are.

One day we drove a bit north, to a great little town way up north, and then we drove up the Gunflint Trail a bit, just enough to get a view from a place called the Pincushion Scenic Overlook.  It was pretty foggy and overcast, though, and there wasn't much to see of the town and the lake below.  The guide hadn't told us about hikes from the place, but I saw a hiking trail, and I thought we should take it.  "Just to get moving," I said.  I wanted to get my thirty minutes a day (at least) in.  So we set out on the narrow uphill path, through pine forest and meadow.  After about twenty minutes, I said to my husband that I just wanted to go far enough to see something, but there didn't seem to be anything much ahead except more trail.  So after walking up a little and down a little again, we turned around and went back.

We both agreed:  we didn't see anything.

As it turned out, we had just walked a tiny bit of the Superior Hiking Trail.  It is 277 miles from Duluth to the Canadian Border.  The trail moves through pine forests and along Lake Superior, through groves of wildflowers and around waterfalls.  But from our perspective, it didn't seem spectacular at all.  "We didn't see anything."

Here's my confession:  I say that we "hike" a bit, but we aren't really hikers.  We gravitate to the short hikes, the ones that quickly lead to somewhere with a magnificent view of something or another.  We are fit enough and are willing to put up with some rough terrain, but only for a little while (we have short attention spans).  We don't come equipped with backpacks and water and special shoes; we don't train to make the long treks that true hikers do.

On our short trip up the Superior Hiking Trail, I briefly considered the life of faith:  discipleship, for all it means.  And I thought that the life of faith is like the Superior Hiking Trail.   If you are only on it for a short time, it might seem like there's not much to see.  If you are only on it for an hour a week, you might see a spectacular waterfall,  but it's more likely that you'll be disappointed. But if you are on it for all 277 miles, all 87 of your years, you might sing a hymn that makes you cry, or give a cup of water to a stranger, or pray with a child.  You'll walk by a lot of ordinary terrain, but you'll walk by some spectacular sights as well.

But there's something else too:  maybe those ordinary places aren't as empty as they seem, especially to a seasoned hiker.  On that short walk up the Superior Hiking Trail, I remember more than once glancing mindlessly at a wildflower, or stopping for just a moment to look at a ripening berry of some kind.  "I wonder what that is," I thought, and then I moved on.  Maybe the meadow and pines are full of wonder, for those who have eyes to see.

Maybe our ordinary days and times, our prayers and hymns,  our ordinary worship and service and sacrifice, are full of God, for those who have eyes to see.

Travel Light

Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals....

We just got back from vacation, which included a lot more boarding passes than I thought it would.  One of our planes was late, and one was over-sold, and a very kind ticket agent helped us find a creative way home from vacation, in the end.  (Her name is Aida, and she is from Bosnia.)

During the past few years we have been trying to simplify traveling by plane by only taking carry-ons:  no checked luggage.  This means that our vacations are somewhat shorter (at least the ones where we travel by air), and we try hard to travel light.

I always think I have accomplished this at the beginning of the vacation, when I root unnecessary items out of my purse and consider how to mix and match outfits by color scheme.  But I never travel light enough for the end of the vacation, when the items I thought I needed start to become a burden, and I realize that there were a few things I really didn't need.

For example, as it turned out, I only needed one sweater.  And I didn't do any knitting this vacation, despite the fact that I brought that sock pattern along.

But the final realization came when the security people decided they needed to dump the contents of my entire purse out on a countertop, because they thought my keychain looked like a pocket knife.

Suddenly, I looked a lot like a hoarder, and the purse looked like one of those little clown cars where the clowns just keep coming out......

Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, Jesus said to the disciples, getting ready to go on the road.  In other words, Travel Light.  For some reason, it was important to Jesus that his disciples not take too much weight with them when they went to the towns and villages to which they were going.

Maybe this wasn't so hard for them as it is for us.  But there has to be a reason Jesus said it, so perhaps even for first century missionaries, there was a danger of taking too much and being Weighed Down.  There was a danger of getting bogged down in security and not really seeing what they were there to see.

Travel light, Jesus tells his disciples.  And somehow I think he's not just talking about my purse, with the keys and the laptop and the extra book and all of the other stuff that I can't imagine leaving home without.  Somehow I think he's not just talking about the makeup and the aspirin and the lotion for aching feet that I have to put in a plastic bag.

I somehow suspect that Jesus is talking as well about other things that weigh us down:  assumptions, for  one thing.  When we go to those other towns and villages sometimes the things we think we already know weigh us down, and keep us from seeing what we need to see, and doing what we need to do.  Sometimes we hold our dogmas too tightly, until we are weighed down by all of the ideas of what we are supposed to believe.   Sometimes the problem is that we have large suitcases filled with What Is Most Important.

While we were wandering around with our carry-ons, trying to find a plane to take us home, people in San Francisco were quickly evacuating a burning plane.  I heard later that some of them found the time to grab their luggage before they fled.  Their large suitcase filled with What is Most Important.

Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals.

So, what is most important, anyway?  When the plane is burning, when you are stuck in a strange city, when you feel weighed down?

What is most important?

It seems to me at this moment, that a ticket agent named Aida, from Bosnia is most important.

Perhaps to those on the burning plane in San Francisco, guides who showed the way to the nearest exit were most important.  And the ones they were guiding:  they too were most important.

Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals.

Just bring yourself.

And show the way.

Accidentally and On Purpose

We're on vacation right now, for just a little while longer, anyway.   And I brought a little prayer book, and I brought a little New Testament, but I haven't spent a lot of time (truthfully) doing the daily prayers and reading the daily readings.

But I have been walking, sightseeing, planning and discovering.  And I think those are spiritual practices too.

We took a planned tour the other day, which turned out to be a good idea, since it was sort of a drizzly, cold morning.  We had a wonderful guide and got oriented to the city.  Then we got off the bus and walked, which was part of the plan, but turned out to be a bad idea, mostly.  It got colder and more than drizzly and the buses seemed to disappear.  I sort of got disoriented and started walking the wrong way a couple of times, which turned out to be because I was reading the map upside down.

But then, at one point, we just walked into this funky old locksmith store.   I saw a newspaper article near the entrance.  It turns out that the owner of this store saved the stools from the lunch counter where civil rights activists sat during the 60s, protesting Jim Crow there.  They were just sitting there, in all their shining silver and orange-seated glory.

Yesterday was sunny and beautiful.  We decided to walk.  And we had a list of things we wanted to make sure to see, too.  The Owens-Thomas House, an old bookstore, a couple of other things, a civil rights museum.  But the museum was closed, and as we were walking and looking for something else, we just happened to be standing by Temple Mickve Israel, the third oldest synagogue in the United States.

We actually got to see a Torah Scroll which was brought over to America in 1733.  We toured the sanctuary, with its beautiful stained-glass windows and gothic architecture.

I think it's a good thing to have a list and check things off, sort of like saying your prayers from the book, and on purpose.  But it's also a good thing to find yourself in a holy place, not by plan but by accident, and realize that God was in this place, too, and you did not know it.

The Journey, The Destination and the Journey

Yesterday we drove back from Waterton (but that's another story).  We are back in the place where we don't have to put our luggage in the car every day (which I like).

Yesterday morning, before we left, we took a scenic drive through winding roads and up into the mountains.  While I was looking around at scenery and remarking that it was pretty, but not what I expected, my husband said, "I  think this road goes to something.  We are not there yet."

(The night before we had just taken a little road into the mountains to try to see wildlife.  We drove a little while, and then turned around and went back.  We were not sure where that road led, if anywhere.)

So we kept driving for awhile, and sure enough, the road led to a clearing where there was a large parking area, and a beautiful canyon:  our destination.  We walked over to the top of the canyon, with jutting red rocks and a clear stream rushing over rocks below.  There were bridges and walking paths and a sign which read:  "Now that you are here, you are not at your destination yet.  There are several opportunities to experience the canyon."

Now we walked until we reached a waterfall, into the woods, along steep cliffs.  We passed people coming the other direction, including a couple from Germany.  The waterfall was not the largest i have ever seen, but up close, you could see the clear water running in crooked directions, and over rocks.  It looked a little like a twisty waterslide.

There is the journey, the destination, and the journey again.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now,
and ever shall be
world without end.  Amen.

The journey:  World without end.

Prayers from Vacation

Lord,
teach me to play.
I know how to work
to keep my head down
and make everything a duty
looking only straight ahead
like a horse with blinders on.
Teach me to play, to look around,
to veer off the path, to see mountains,
to imagine streams laughing,
to walk and leap and praise God
for you have made me free.
Teach me not just duty but delight
in all my life
Teach me to play
and that prayer and play
are not that far apart.
Amen

Lord,
I am up early, packing.
I am making lists
and looking under the bed
for the lost coin
and in the bathroom for the toothbrush.
I am counting t-shirts
and wondering if I am bringing enough.
I am packing my suitcase full.
Help me to leave space
for you to surprise me, help me,
whisper in my ear, or shout.
Help me to leave space.
Amen

Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier,
you have many names.
I have many names as well.
Some of them are true,
and some are not.
Sometimes I think I am my work,
and I am only who I am when I am doing
the work you gave me.
It is good work, Lord.
I love the ministry you gave me.
But here I am, resting,
playing, traveling.
Help me to see myself as you see me
and love myself as you love me:
not for what I accomplish
but for who I am:  child of God,
sister of Jesus,
friend of the Beloved
Amen

The Pastor on Vacation

I have been told that when you go on vacation, it's really important to get out of town.  And, for the most part, I have obeyed (though there was the time we went to Paris, came home and stayed holed up in our City, watching movies which featured Paris, and sneaking out for the occasional in-town excursion).

My husband loves to plan vacations.  Even though Mesa Verde was my idea (a long-dreamt dream), he made all of the arrangements.  As for me, as much as I love going places and seeing beautiful things, what really excites me at first is this:

time.

I always bring along more books than I can possibly read.
I bring paper and think I am going to write.  (sometimes I do, sometimes I don't)
I bring knitting.
I actually had the recorder out, wondering if I should bring it along and spend a little time practicing.  (I decided against it, at the last minute.)

Yesterday I took a really nice, un-planned nap.  Wow!, was that good.

On vacations, I like to learn things (I discovered that on the StrengthsFinder inventory, I am a "Learner", so that is no surprise.)   I think about things like learning the recorder, but actually, what I love is learning about a new place, like San Francisco, or Atlanta, or  Paris, or Santa Fe.

The tricky thing for me is that while I am taking a vacation from work, I realize that I'm not taking a vacation from God.  I think that this is one of the tricky things about being a sort of religious professional, at least it is for me:  how to not make my work so close to my identity that I can't just worship God without thinking about it in terms of work.  So, it's a growing edge sometimes to practice prayer and hear scripture without thinking about the next sermon.

so, there's time.

Time to read, knit, see in a different way, with different eyes.  And time to pray.

We Are Here

I come from a long line of vacation slackers, which means, our family didn't go on vacation much.  We only took two road trips of note when I was growing up.  My dad had his own business and it was difficult for him to get away.  We also didn't have a lot of discretionary funds for elaborate vacations in my family.  This seemed to be the case for me when I first got out of college, or even when I first became a pastor. 

But I've adjusted to the fact that I am going to go on vacation, not just because I was told that  pastors need to get away, but also because my husband really likes to go new places, and we both like to go back to old places too. 

And, humbly I admit:  I need to get away.  I need to get away more than I am willing to admit, even.  I need to get away and I feel a little guilty about it at the same time. 

So yesterday, after church, we packed up the dog and the car and the laptop computers (and a new ipad: a birthday present for my husband) and drove up to the North Shore of Lake Superior.  We had been warned about highway construction, but didn't experience too much delay on a Sunday afternoon (although there was a pretty long line of cars going the other direction).  We got in early in the evening and settled in right away, me reading and knitting, my husband playing with his new toy.

This morning we got up and started on the road to Grand Marais.  We made the obligatory stop at Betty's Pies (where we left Scout yodeling in the car for a little while), and then drove the rest of the way up without stopping.

It's one of my favorite places on the North Shore, this little town where the temperature rarely gets above 72 degrees, where there are artists and a bookstore, a famous donut shop, a Ben Franklin store crammed with everything you might need for wilderness hiking,canoeing or camping.   It's right there on the lake, the greatest lake, where there are sailboats and hydroplanes and people walking their dogs.

Scout made some new friends, and I mean that sincerely.  I think she believes that letting people pet her is one of her jobs.  (although every once in awhile, she will become inexplicably shy.)  She let lots of people pet her, particularly children.  She got to go into a variety/antique/etc store, although most of the time she stands outside with one of us while the other one of us visits the store.  She gets some of her best compliments (and pets) when she waits vigilantly outside a store waiting for one or the other of us to come out.

One of the reasons we drove up to Grand Marais was to eat at one of our favorite restaurants, the Angry Trout.  We love the local, organic, healthy food, and the fact that Scout is welcome at the outdoor tables.  Today I had the most wonderful salad with a little bit of trout; my husband had trout chowder and a burger.

Scout sniffed over to the table behind us where an older woman was eating alone.  I apologized, but she said she was a great admirer of dogs, and we proceeded to have an extended conversation.  She was a retired English teacher.  I confessed that I was an English major, but had become a pastor.  She said that ministry was her second love; she had just finished writing a Bible study on 1st and 2nd Samuel. 

Scout brought us together.

She also introduced us to a young couple with a little girl, who all came up to us at the Angry Trout and asked permission to pet her.  She happily obliged; the little girl even put her arms around her. 

Scout also got introduced to a woman who said she practiced "healing touch" for dogs.  The woman placed her hands right about Scout's head and made some movements until:  what do you know?  Scout laid right down.

So, all in all, it was a good day.  We had to leave Grand Marais, which always made me sad.  But we are still here, on the North Shore, for a little while, anyway.

The dog is lying on the floor.  We are reading, and I am knitting a little.  The lake is just outside, reminding me that there are so many things larger, and deeper and more wonderful than I am. 

Only one of the reasons that I go on vacation.

Far Away From Everywhere

On Tuesday we drove from Albuquerque to Mesa Verde National Park, with a stop at Aztec National Monument and a late lunch in Durango.  We spent a short time walking up Durango's Historic Main Street, peeking into a few of the shops, including a terrific Art and Antique Shop, featuring lots of local artists. 

We arrived at Far View Lodge just in time for an impressive thunderstorm. 

Our room is simple but nicely appointed.  There is really a "far view"  -- every room has a panoramic view of some of the mesas, and a little balcony where you can sit and have a glass of wine, if you like.  There is a clock radio, but no television, no internet, and very little cell phone coverage, as far as we can discern.

I think that's a good thing.

There is free internet in the lodge, so you can connect up if you really can't stand being unconnected.

One Wednesday we got up early and got some good advice on where we could go "on our own."  We ended up at Spruce Tree House, so early that we were just about the only people there.  A little later we joined a small group for a ranger-led tour of Long House at the Weatherill Mesa.  If Mesa Verde is a little off the beaten path, Weatherill Mesa is even more so, down many winding roads with no signs that say "keep going!  you are almost there!." 

It was worth it, in the end.

Today we took an all-morning tour called the "700 Year Tour", because it takes you along 700 years of Puebloan Indian History, culminating in a tour of the most famous and spectacular Cliff Palace. 

Both yesterday and today, we found ourselves doing trails and climbs we had thought we couldn't do.  I guess we both have more courage than we think, in a pinch.

But after this morning, I lost an entire afternoon trying to get rid of a persistent headache.  Even had one of the National Park medics up to see me.  We didn't figure out exactly what hit me, but verified that it was not hydration related (though I found out you can actually drink too much water; he had a word for that which I don't remember.)

I can't help thinking about water, when I'm here.  The thunderstorm, the droughts they experienced those hundreds of years ago, the drought they are experiencing now. 

Down at the most basic level of human life, there is water.  And there, at the most basic level of human life and need, there God meets us most of all.

On the Road Again

After a brief stop in Albuquerque where I met friend and blogger Paul and had yummy appetizers, we are back on the road again, headed out to Mesa Verde, somewhere I have heard about for many years, but never seen. 

Last night we also had a dinner (which I for one didn't really need) at the Church Street Cafe in Old Town.  We walked around the town (most places were closed, but a few were still open), and found a little shop that featured artists from New Mexico, especially as they painted religious folk themes.  I was captivated by a little display for Vicente Telles, and had to buy a tiny piece of art by him, called Mater Dolorosa.

As we exited, the shopkeeper called out, "thanks for supporting local artists!"

Yes.

We watched fireworks from our hotel room.

Got up early to eat a little breakfast in the downstairs cafe, and listen to the latest on the Casey Anthony trial.

Now we will be traveling scenic routes all day, cameras and journals in hand, until we get to our scenic destination.

My hope during the next few days:  that I will see the beauty in the local artistry, that I will support local artists, and that I will find freedom to be one.

A Week's Worth of Readings

I am on vacation and will be out of internet range for most of the week.  Here are the Bible readings for those of you who are reading along:

Monday, Day 34  --2 Chronicles 36- Ezra 10
Day 35 -- Nehemiah 1 - Nehemiah 13
Day 36 -- Nehemiah 14 - Job 7
Day 37 -- Job 8 - Job 24
Day 38 -- Job 25 - 41
Day 39 -- Job 42 - Psalm 24
Day 40 -- Psalm 25 - 45
Day 41 -- Psam 46 - 69
Day 42 -- Psalm 70 - 89

Have fun -- especially with the Psalms.

I will try to keep notes and share observations when I return.

An Interesting Way to Spend a Vacation

So I have just about two weeks off now.  I'm on vacation.  But we haven't gone anywhere .... yet.

That's right, we're right here in town.  We're leaving town on Monday.

99.9% of the time, when we go on vacation, we go somewhere else.  Though our family did not travel much on vacation, I was told in seminary that it's important for pastors too get away when they get time off, so I've pretty much done that.

But, so much doesn't get done.  During the last year, there have been a few times when my hours have not been pretty.  So I thought it might be fun to get a longer time away, but not actually go anywhere for part of it.  Just try to get some things done.

So, that's what we've been doing.  Especially yesterday, when my mom came over and helped us wash the venetian blinds, re-organize the pantry, and clean out the refrigerator (which has been dripping water again, so we took all of the food out and turned it off.) 

My mom is the most organized person I know.  I may have mentioned that when I lived in Japan, I always got my Christmas presents from home well before Christmas.  (This was not uniformly the case.)  She is also the best ever at packing a little car so that all the things you need to bring home from internship will fit into it.  (I still remember our checklist for weekend camping trips.)   We took her out to eat as well, which was fun.

We ran into members of my church there.  I said "hello."  As they left, they waved and said they liked this restaurant "because of the pop-overs."  I remembered that I had seen another member of my church the day before at our local Large-Chain Bookstore.  I just said "hello" again, but a few minutes later, the woman came running back to tell me how much she had enjoyed the service on Sunday.  That was nice.  (Especially that she liked the whole service -- not just the sermon.)

I understand why they say pastors should "get away" on vacation.  This is not a small town.  But I still run into people.

So, today we decided to "get out of Dodge," so to speak.  It was waaaay to hot to work outside, which had been our original plan.  We decided to go to a larger medium-sized town where there are some cute little shops and restaurants.  (More about that later, perhaps.)

But, before we left, we went swimming.  Where I bumped into someone from my church.

Really.  This is NOT a small town. 

A Fun and Productive first Day of Vacation (mostly)

My vacation officially kicked off at 6:30 last night as we were invited to be a part of a cruise on the St. Croix River.  It was all a part of a friend's celebration of the 25th anniversary of her ordination.  So her congregation sponsored a dinner cruise for her and her family, as well as some of the members of her congregation.  They had a great dinner, a fun program honoring her (my husband wrote a song in her honor) and a three-piece dixieland jazz band.  My husband and I liked them so much, we started calling out the songs we wanted them to play (It Don't Mean a Thing, St. Louis Blues, Washington Square).  Then toward the end of the cruise they came over and serenaded us.

I finished up a pair of bright blue cabled footies as a little present for my friend.  I actually put the finishing touches on the toe while we were driving out to the party.

This morning my husband made breakfast.   I started knitting a washcloth using a cotton blend yarn.  (I am avoiding the sweater.)

I got a pedicure for the first time in a long time, and then bought a new pair of sandals (aren't they pretty?) 

I made a mistake in the washcloth and ended up ripping up the whole thing and starting over.

I finally got some financial work done, and paid some bills. 

We took the car in (one of the tires has been deflating) and found out there was a screw embedded in it. 

We walked up to the grocery store to buy coffee and sandwiches.  The ice cream truck was there and they were offering free ice cream sandwiches.

We bought a new coffee pot.  (That is exciting!)  I returned some defective merchandise, and got a new item.  I drooled over ipads some, and asked questions about them. 

My husband got a massage.

And when we returned home, we discovered a charming movie was on, one that we had never seen before:  "I Know Where I'm Going." Wonderful, enchanting movie about a young woman who has her whole life planned out, and is going to marry a rich man in Scotland.  Except that this storm is getting in the way....