"Let's Pray"

It is easy to be overwhelmed by the need around us.  When the gospel writer Mark told his story about Jesus, he began it with a series of healing stories.  Jesus healed a few, like the man with the unclean spirit and Simon's mother-in-law, and the word got out.  Nothing spreads faster than people talking in the streets.  In a relatively short time after the healing took place in the home of Simon's kinswoman, "...the whole city was gathered around the door."  (Mark 1:33)  The Word says Jesus healed many, but interestingly enough did not use the word all.  Apparently some left without being healed.      

As the story unfolds, Jesus calls it a night, but is up before everyone else in the house.  He quietly leaves in the darkness and goes to a deserted place where He could be alone to pray.  While the Word gives us no clue what was on His mind, it is easy enough to imagine that the evening before when so many clamored for healing was an overwhelming time.  It was a time for important decisions to be made about the road ahead.  Should He stay or go?  By the time the disciples got up, washed their faces, and found Him, He knew what to do, "Let us go to the neighboring towns..."     

We are all called to live with the heart of an intercessor.  We are all called to realize that there are many around us who need a touch of compassion, an ear for listening, and a moment of intercessory prayer.  What often happens to us is that our prayer list, or our list of people for whom we have said we will pray becomes so lengthy that we end up being overcome by the many and end up praying for none.  Even as Jesus realized He could only do what He could do, so is such a moment of truth necessary for us if we are to maintain our spiritual integrity.  I have a friend who responds to requests for prayer not by putting a name on a prayer list, but by immediately saying, "Let's pray now" and doing it wherever the situation has taken them.  Maybe his model is not the only way, but it is a way that could bring us to a more focused and disciplined time of intercessory prayer.      

A Word of Widsom

With the marking of another birthday just a day ago, I recognize two things.  I am older than I used to be and not as old as I hope to be.  My youngest daughter asked me for a word of wisdom of my 74th birthday, but the moment was too much like a party to really speak a serious word.  Maybe the offering of the previous sentence is profound enough.  The truth is that the deeper I get into the years the more I find myself pondering the reality of the unfolding mystery all around me.    

Back in the days of my pastorate at  the St. John Church, there was a young guy named Burleigh who came to church as an agnostic.  His wife was a person of faith and he came because it was important to her.  He did not anticipate encountering Jesus in a way that changed his life.  I often remember one of the things he said after the moment of transformation, "I still have my questions, but I will just put them on the back burner."  In recent years I have come to figure that what he was putting on the back burner was the mystery he could not comprehend.    

Neither he nor I could define it as such back then.   We all live with our unanswered faith questions, Some of them we get answered as we walk the road of faith, but some never seem to get resolved.  And, another truth is that the longer we walk, the more questions we have.  Or, maybe, the appropriate thing to affirm is that holy mystery becomes more evident to us as we walk deeply into its enveloping dimension.  So, as for my word of wisdom on my 74th birthday:  "There is more mystery out there than ever I figured."  

On Reaching 74

When I retired and turned in my robe for a pair of work jeans and the pulpit chair for a seat on the tractor, I looked ahead and counted the years that seemed reasonable and possible.  Of course, we all know the folly of such counting.  The only day we can count is the one we live today.  Nonetheless, I looked ahead with hope, optimism, and a belief that there were good years ahead.  And, so it has been.  Twelve years have passed by somewhere into the past and they have been good.   For each of them I am grateful.   

But, now as one who has been blessed with something written in the Word, "The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty if we are strong..."  (Psalm 90:10), I find myself still going forward into whatever it is that is ahead with the same hope and optimism of the day that brought me here.   I have received no premonitions which might point to the final year coming soon even as I have not received any guarantees of making it through a few more on the way to eighty.   

I remember hearing E. Stanley Jones, a great missionary evangelist to India and the world, saying back in my Asbury days that the Lord had given him ten more years.  While I would have no problem with hearing such a word, I am content to know that the years that remain for me here on this earth will be years of being in the hands of the Father God who created me and that when those years are ended, I will continue to be in those same sure hands of a God who also holds eternity.  

The Day Before

While I remember very well the day each of our daughters were born, I must confess to not remembering the day before each was born.  Of course, this is a rather strange thought.  It is actually a new one for me, but somehow or another on this day before my 74th birthday, I find myself thinking about the moment in my life which can only be known as the day before my birth, the day before my counting.  The only ones who really knew much about me then was my mother who knew my stirrings within her and my father whose hands surely felt the movement of a child not yet fully seen.    

And, of course, even though still unseen clearly by human eyes, the Word with which I have lived most of these years of the counting tells me that my Creator knew me first.  The Word says things like, "(He) formed my inward parts; (He) knit me together in my mother's womb; my frame was not hidden from (Him), (Psalm 139:13, 15)  The day before I became clearly visible to the eyes of my mother and father was not the first day I had been clearly seen.  The Father God and Creator had seen me and been watching since "before I was formed..in the womb..." (Jeremiah 1:5)    

I must confess to not being able to get my mind around such a reality.  Yet, one of the things surely learned on this long journey has been the fact that there are mysterious realities which exist in this creation around me and I have such little understanding when all that might be understood is considered.  Each one of us is filled with this divine mystery.  Our being here goes far beyond biological understanding and into the very hands of God where all that was and is and yet to be abide.  Thanks be to the Creator who brought us into such a marvelous world.

Gratitude and Joy

A few hours ago the night sky was lit up by powerful bolts of lightning racing from high above to the parched earth below faster than the eye could grasp what was really being seen.  And, of course, the accompanying thunder was loud enough to wake up the dead and rouse those beaten down by the hot sun from early dozing in the chair.  But, the great blessing was the sound of rain falling upon thirsty ground.  It was not much rain as rain is measured, but it was rain that sounded the assurance that surely it was only the beginning of a season that would bring renewal to a water thirsty earth.    

All through these very hot days of early summer are signs of life needing the renewing waters of heaven.  Tall corn ready to make ears is twisted in the sky, young fields of cotton droop in the sun, the grass seems to crackle when walked upon, and there is a never ending need to make sure livestock has ample water for the heat of the day.  Out here where the land produces what finds its way to home freezers and grocery store shelves, rain is not a luxury, but a necessity.  It is not an inconvenience, but a blessing.   

There have been times when this old man would like to be as a boy out dancing and playing in the rain when it falls.  If it were to be seen, know that it is not a sign of irrational behavior, but deep gratitude and joy.  There are moments when we know of our dependency on the Creator, moments when our hearts are filled with joy at His blessing, and a sadness and remorse than every day is not so lived.  

Hanging On

When I went to the St. John Church in Columbus a long time ago, it was a depressing place.  Attendance was down.  The financial situation was so dire the preacher was not getting paid on time.  People were waiting for one more family to leave as if it would get them permission to go as well.  One of the members told me as we got acquainted, "This church does not need a preacher, it needs a Savior!"  I felt bad because all she had in me was a preacher and one still young and green.    

But, what happened was that the church decided with the pastoral change to give it one more chance to grow.  Folks decided to go to work together.  The Spirit apparently was not yet done with the church since He started blessing the efforts and prayers of so many.  As I was leaving nine years later, we were finishing up a new fellowship hall and educational space.  More than can be remembered happened in those Spirit blessed year and I have always been grateful to have been a part of them.   

I remember those days when I see a church struggling and ready to give up.  Even in the most difficult of circumstances, the Holy Spirit can work and accomplish what seems impossible and beyond common sense.  Many a church that has learned the art of hanging on a little longer has discovered the way forward.  Giving up too soon is never a good thing.  Until the prayers have saturated the altar and the Spirit has been given ample time to work, folks should hang on because we never know what miracle might fall upon the church from the Father in Heaven.  

Gratitude for Helpers

When I started preaching over fifty years ago, I never thought about how many different sermons I would have to write and preach.  Back in those beginning days of preaching, it was common for churches to have morning and evening services on Sunday which meant more preaching than today's one sermon a week preacher will do in a lifetime.  I suppose I could do some math, but my high school math teacher would say in a heartbeat that it would be suspect so I will just say I did a lot of preaching.    

I thought I knew what I was getting into when I said "Yes" to the call to preach, but I did not have a clue.  Oh, there was a lot of preaching, but there were also funerals, hospital trips to see the sick and sometimes the dying, a thousand or more meetings in which it seemed little was accomplished, being administrator for a small business, and learning the brutal realities of church politics.  Had God laid it all out for me as clearly as I see it in retrospect, I would have been a harder sell when He called me to preach.   

Fortunately, along the way He provided direction I needed, people to help me when I was clueless about what to do, and more folks than I could ever count to pray for me as their preacher.  Seminary was good training, but it was more head stuff than the heart stuff which is at the core of ministry and being a disciple of Jesus.  I remember a new Bishop who said to us at his first Annual Conference, "I have never done this before and I am going to need you to help me."  I am grateful in these days which are closer to the end than the beginning for all those who helped me along the way.

The Slower Pace

I have always remembered that day at a Retreat Center when the retreat leader directed us to rise from our chairs and follow him in a line around the room.  My first thoughts were that we were walking too slow.  I kept thinking about stepping on the heel of the guy in front of me.  And, then we were going nowhere but back to the place from which we started.  It was like slow motion and my mind was going at its usual much faster pace.  I was a slow learner.  It took me a long time to understand what he was saying without speaking a word to us.    

I did then, and still do, struggle with the pace of living.  What I have learned about myself is that it is easy to allow the things around me and the people who are a part of those surroundings to dictate the pace at which I live.  Of course, to speak of the pace of life is more than just talking about walking slow or fast, instead, it is about an attitude that we allow to grow within us.  Living too fast is about missing out on what God has put in our present; yet, still we hurry on toward whatever it is that beckons us.    

There has been something liberating about living midst the creation and realizing that the creation is not on fast time, but slow time.  Some baby chicks came to the farm back in the Spring.  Now they are young chickens, but it will be a couple of more months before they start doing what they were brought here to do.  Lay eggs.  Like that retreat leader of long ago, creation moves slowly.  I am slowly learning that I am better served when I live in sync with the created order in which God has placed me.  

Glimmering

This morning in the midst of some devotional time, I came across some words that glimmered.  When something glimmers, it catches your attention.  It seems to shine with a light all its own.  It calls for attention.  We all see the glimmering stuff in what we read as well as in what we see around us throughout the day.  Today's glimmering words were, "See yourself as the parched ground looking upward waiting patiently for the rain to fall.  You can only wait."  ('Lost in Wonder" by Esther de Waal)  The glimmering words came in a section on centering prayer and they have been carried with me all day.     

Certainly, one of the reasons these words glimmered so brightly has to do with the fact that the weather in these days has been extremely hot and very dry.  It is as if the earth is like a nest of young birds with mouths open waiting for their mother to fly back to the nest to fill their mouths.  Many have been the times in recent days when my shirt was drenched in sweat and my body beaten down from the heat that I have looked in the sky searching for some sign of the renewing rain needed by the parched earth and worn out people who walk and work on it.   

The image set forth by the writer was easy enough to imagine.  It was easy enough to find myself sitting with an understanding of how it is that we need to wait on God.  We are to wait as if life depends on Him, but trusting in Him to provide what is needed in His time.  We are to learn what it means to wait on Him even though every part of us longs for the blessing which we sense that is necessary for our life.  The image reminds me there is nothing to do but wait which is always a hard discipline for us.  As the parched earth longs for rain, so is there a desperate longing in our soul.  

Ministry of Giving Hope

Church is about hope.  Those who go Sunday after Sunday may go through many ordinary times, but there are also those moments which come to all of us which are anything but ordinary.  In those moments we make our way to the place of our Sunday habit not out of routine, but out of desperation.  We go seeking not to be entertained, but to hear some Word from God which will enable us to go home, make it through the rest of the day, and get up tomorrow.  We go looking for hope even though every part of us is screaming that there is no reason to hope.    

With this being true, the nature of what we do as we gather is changed.  Spending extra time in prayer before daring to preach is something important for the preacher.  Looking at and seeing the congregation which gathers is another.  At first glance the desperate ones may look like the ones who are living under sunny days.  And those who sit in the pews might look around, make sure to say a kind word to everyone possible, and to pray prayers of concern for others to the God who knows all of us and all our needs.     

Broken ones do not just show up at church on Sunday once in awhile, but every Sunday.  It is a gathering place for the hurting and the broken as well as the dying.  It is the place where we go when there is nowhere else to go and when there is no one else to whom we can turn.  To come to the place where sufferers gather to worship every Sunday means we are stepping into the arena of holy work.  Most assuredly, God will be at work in the hearts of those who live without any reason to hope and if we are listening and seeing, He is likely to involve us in the ministry of giving hope to the hopeless ones.  

Wet Before Home

 Walking home, almost there,

       bone tired and weary, 

         ravaged by the heat,

           a day's work done.

Walking, watching, wishing,

       a small dark cloud,

         out yonder on the edge

           of the evening sky.

Longing to be wet again, 

       doused from the sky

         soaked to the skin

           cooled to the soul.

Hoping against hope,

       that water will fall,

         blessing  the dry earth

           and wetting me before home.

Remembering that day, 

       still a fresh memory, 

         not so long ago,

            as I keep on going.

An old body truly worn out, 

       ravaged by life's storms,

         the work finally done,

           all left now is the waiting,

Watching now the river,

       first a glimpse ahead, 

          now fully before me,

            winding always toward here.

Pushing through the darkness, 

       hoping now once again, 

         to be soaking wet,

           before I make it Home.

Spirit Blessings

 Dry and parched,

    waiting, hoping

       the land listens

         distant rumblings,

           a cooling breeze

Bless, coming wind.

As is the land, 

    so is my soul

      empty of life

        listening, hoping

          for sweeping wind,

Bless now, Holy Wind.

A soul darkened,

     the chaos reigns,

       as in first times, 

         bring new life,

           end the dry days,

Bless, creating Wind.  

The Mirror Test

Being absolutely honest with self would seem to be an easy thing, but the truth is we have installed so many defensive mechanisms that the blame game is played flawlessly without thinking.  I always remember the lamp in the living room which fell and broke because of some rough play in the wrong place.  Before the noise had ceased and the last broken piece had settled on the floor, I was telling my mother that it just fell off the table.  It was not my fault.  Gravity did it.  Or, maybe it was the day of the first earthquake in the land where I lived as a boy.    

It seems that we are born with this innate ability to put the blame for what is wrong everywhere but within ourselves.  I can look at the spiritual life of others and figure out in a minute the source of the problem, but looking in the mirror gives me nary a clue as to what might be wrong in my own.  Certainly, it is not so hard to figure out and see.  The Apostle Paul wrote a Word to the Galatian Christian which says, "...the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control."  (Galatians 5:22-23)  When I see other things surfacing in my outward life, it should not be so difficult to realize that it is not about someone else, but all about me.    

The fact that I may choose to act with something other than love and the forgiveness which goes with it, or the fact that I choose to be short tempered and ill with others only points to the fact that the Holy Spirit does not really have the control in my life to which I might be bearing witness.  And while we might think it is a big secret that the Spirit does not have the control that we think He has in us, it is no secret to those around us.  Unfortunately, those who know us can often see what we do not want to see ourselves when we spend a few extra moments in the front of the mirror of spiritual disclosure. 

Entanglement

The creation story in the beginning of the book of Genesis is one story told twice.  There is the carefully theologically defined account of the first chapter and then there is in the second chapter the folksy story which bears the markings of something passed on from one generation to another around the campfire.  I remember reading these first two chapters as a teenager and the frustration of not being able to make them fit together.  Back then it seemed that if something was looked at long enough, it could be figured out and now, after a life time of reading and living there is this awareness that more remains beyond the reach of being figured out.   

There are, of course, some common threads which we find in both accounts.  The main common thread is the work and presence of the Creator God.  What is does not bear the mark of chance or coincidence, but divine plan.  And, another common thread is the way everything that is created is connected to everything else.  It is not just everything that is connected, but everything and everyone.  Nothing and no one stands alone, but is in some way connected to the whole which is seen in many parts.  The deeper we go into the creation account the more we able to realize something of what the ancient mystics must have sensed as they spoke of Brother Sun, or danced in the presence of rising Sister Moon.  

Every part of the creation is intertwined in such a way that it is forever tangled together.  And what we sometimes forget is that we are a part of what God has tangled with the rest of creation.  We are a part of it.  Everything and everyone bears the imprint of the Holy.  To see what is around us through the lens of the creation story causes us to see the world around us as sacred space and not as something to be used for our pleasure and purposes.  Everything is connected for a reason and part of the mystery we are forever seeking to figure out has to do with our place in the entanglement of what we know as the creation.  

Storms and Sunsets

A great summer storm raged across this area in the middle of the afternoon.   The darkness settled in and then came the distant thunder which soon turned into simultaneous sharp lightning and crashing thunder overhead.  The rain that fell was not gentle.  It was hard and anyone caught in it would not only get soaked, but would surely feel the pain of water being driven to the ground from distant clouds high above the earth.  And while there was no visible damage here on the farm, I would imagine there were places not so fortunate.   

So often when we talk about the creation, we speak of it as something which is filled with benevolent goodness.  The roses always bloom.  The garden is always productive.  The sky is always blue and the sunsets are forever breathtaking.  Creation is something which is easy to romanticize and turn into something which does not exist.  The creation which actually exists around us is one which contains both the beautiful sunsets and the terrifying storms.  And, somehow in a mysterious way it is all a part of God's plan.    

As is creation, so is the Creator.  The creation can be understood as something which bears the imprint of His hands as surely as you and I are marked by those hands as well.  And, even as we are here to bring glory and praise to the Creator, so does the creation exist.  There are many things about the creation we cannot understand and there are many things about the Creator which defy understanding by our finite human minds.  All we can know is that life is not about chance or madness, but design.  The fact that we cannot fathom the design does not deny the reality that the Creator God is at work within each aspect of it in such a way as to bring good into our lives.  

Seed Planting

When seed is planted in the dark dirt of the garden, it is always an act of faith.  What should come forth as young tender sprouts with the promise of producing a harvest does not always happen.  The soil may be too dry, or the expected rain may not come.  Planting is never a sure thing.  Well, there is one sure thing and that is the seed is put in the ground.   Another sure thing is that we know what kind of seed we planted.    

What is true in the garden is not always true in the living we do.  While we can talk about life in many different kind of ways, it can certainly be talked about as the process of planting seeds in the lives of those who are around us.  We do it every day.  The smile we offer to the child or the stranger may be the seed which produces a hopeful spirit.  Stopping to talk to someone even though we are in a hurry and running late may be the seed which produces a spirit of self worth.  Sharing our faith in Christ in a conversation may be the seed which brings forth new life in another seeker's heart.  We are always planting some kind of seed, but we do not always know what kind of seed we are casting into the ground of someone's spirit and neither do we know what it is going to produce.     

Whenever seed is cast into the ground, it is going to be seven or ten days before there is any sign that a seed has been cast into the dirt.  The creation works like the Creator.  Slowly.  Neither the creation nor its Creator is in a hurry.  There is a season for all things and no one understands this and works it to perfection as does the Creator of everything.  Most of the time we are the seed planters.  Once in awhile we may be blessed to see the seed produce spiritual fruit in someone's life.  It is more likely that the fruit we see produced in another's life is the result of some unknown person planting the seed.  Even as we are blessed in sharing with the Creator in such a moment, someone unknown to us may be up the road to share in the moment the seed we planted produces a spiritual blessing of life in a soul we encountered somewhere along the way.  

The Blessing of Memory

Hearing the call of the Bob White Quail is a mystical experience that always causes me to exit the world in which I am walking and enter into a world full of mystery and memory.  When I hear the unique sound going forth, I always find myself stopping, and listening for a second call as I prepare myself to imitate the call that is sure to come.  And, it is also a time of blessing as I remember the many times I have followed a bird dog in search of their hiding places.  And, of course, there is nothing like the rush of excitement as the birds explode into the air.    

In these later years I am always amazed at how there is such blessing in our memory of things from the past.  Sometimes the memories are so powerful it seems that we have arrived again at the moment of their inception.  Remembering might be viewed in some circumstances as a grim reminder of things gone wrong, but good remembrances are like gratitude in that there are more of them than we often see at first glance.  The ability to remember is a precious gift given by a loving Creator.     

The Word is full of calls to remember.  We are told to "Remember the sabbath day..."  (Exodus 20:8).  The Hebrews were called to remember the way God had blessed them as a people in many different ways.  And, as we share the Sacrament, we are told through the ritual to "do this in remembrance of Him..."  God uses the memory which He has gifted to us to bring to mind who we are, who He is, and how we have learned to walk the road of faith.  These memories not only bring warmth to our heart, but they also give to us a sense that even as He has blessed us in the past, He will surely do so as we go forward into whatever it is that the future holds.    

Friday's Faith

There are days which bring such tragedy and sadness that not even the strongest are able to stand.  The one who has no knowledge of what it is to have their spiritual foundation shaken to the core is the one who has not lived in the world most of us walk each day.  Imagine for a moment the sense of loss felt by Mary, the mother of Jesus, on that day when her son was nailed to a cross as a public spectacle.  Of all the people who knew and understood the heart of Jesus, Mary knew.  She knew His gentle spirit.  She knew His compassionate heart.  She knew the kindness and love that dwelt within Him.    

The day we talk about so glibly as Good Friday was an unthinkable day for her.  It was a day filled with the coming of her worst nightmare.  As we consider her loss that day and begin to look around us, we see those who wander about with the sadness and grief that is so akin to what we are able to see in the heart of this holy woman. Sometimes these sufferers stand out because their inner darkness is so great.  Sometimes all we can really do is offer our prayers.  We want to do more, but more is not anything which brings any consolation.    

And, finally, as we consider Mary on that day, we must also consider the heart of the Father on that dark day in human history.  Even though God the Father knew how the story of the cross was going to end,  His heart must have surely been broken as He saw the pain required of His Son on that day.  To those who suffer the unthinkable loss and tragedy, we do offer our prayers.  We know naught else to do.  And, as we pray, we pray hopeful that the One who knows the story that continues on the other side of the terrible darkness being endured will so make Himself known to sufferers so deeply troubled that they will not only get through what is around them, but will do so with an enduring and confident faith.  

Looking for Answers

When I was assigned to the Talbotton Church back in 1976, it seemed like I was going nowhere.  My previous church had its difficulties and moving from there to wherever was not an option.  In some ways anywhere seemed better than where I was.  It turned out to be a place which gave me four years of good memories.  I learned to use a bike when doing visitation.  Every Friday afternoon I walked the courthouse square visiting in every store on its four sides.  It was an experience of being a big fish in a little pond which provided some much needed healing for a preacher who came bruised from battles in another church.   

I think those four years were good years of ministry for the church I served, but I am sure the people in the church I served never knew how much I was being blessed by being a part of this small town where denomination took a back seat to just being.  As I look back at those early years of ministry, I have often thought that it would be a good thing for every young preacher to have a place like some of the small churches I served.  Of course, most do, but it is also true that most preachers do not realize the value of what is happening in those places where the steeple is not quite so high.   

It saddens me that so many small churches have come to moments of having to close.  It saddens me to see them fighting and struggling to hold on when things seemed stacked against them.  It also saddens me the way closing some of these small churches seems to be the only answer the larger denominational leaders have for the plight being experienced by the small church.  There must be other answers.  Maybe we have to look outside the box to see them, but outside the box is not such a far piece to look for a way to keep alive what can continue to have an impact for Christ in the community where these small churches have been placed.   

The Blessing of a Bird

With the front door open to the warm summer afternoon, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation inside the door because of the loud boisterous crisp music being offered by a tiny Carolina Wren who was sitting and singing on the porch railing.  It seemed that the creation needed a song and this  small winged creature had been given charge of providing the music.  It was so loud I finally got up to see the songbird and, of course, as my presence filled the door, the song ended and the brown bird flitted to a nearby tree.    

There are so many moments during the course of the day when blessings are poured out upon us from surprising sources and from the smallest things of creation.  They have come recently as I have watched the deep green corn stalks soaring into the air above the rest of the garden, or as order re-appears from the passing mower, or as a neighbor's sunflowers stretch so far into the sky they seem to have become a part of it.  So many things within the creation bring blessing to us.  So many things stir our hearts to expressions of gratitude.     

The beginning story of creation speaks of how God put us in this garden known as creation.  And though many of us live as those who sense separation from the creation rather than connection to it, there are always those reminders that it is full of divine blessings for us to know along the way.  Even as the Carolina Wren brought a musical blessing to me on this summer afternoon, may the part of the creation I have been entrusted to tend provide a safe place for the songbird to praise its Creator.  

Miracles

On this upcoming Sunday twelve years ago I stood in the pulpit of the Richmond Hill United Methodist Church and preached my last sermon as an active working preacher.  A few days later on what is called moving day, I moved from the parish to the farm, from the work of the church to the work of the farm, from a life of dancing with the calendar to a life of dancing with retirement.  Twelve years may not be a long time for some, but for a guy who has moved quite a bit during the course of life, it is a long, long time.     

One of my appointments was nine years long and the next was ten, so twelve years in one place is a record that is moving toward a bigger number.  During the course of these retirement years I have learned what it means to live in a world of  miracles.  Actually, the great awareness of miracles came along the way when it suddenly dawned on me that every day has not within a miracle, but is instead full of miracles.  Every day is a day to walk into a new unfolding miracles.  

Chief among the long list of miracles experienced is the awareness that not a single one of these last twelve years has been like any other day.  No day has had the same morning serenade from the trees, no evening has had the same sunset, and every thing seen today was different yesterday and will be even more different tomorrow.  And as amazing as these miracles of creation have become, the one of holy revelation and presence is even more amazing.  Not a single day passes without some awareness of holy presence and some opportunity to hear the holy voice spoken.  If I miss these daily moments of divine grace, it speaks more of my failure to pay attention than the Creator's intent to make Himself known.  

The Untamed One

The second chapter of Acts reminds us that when the Holy Spirit acts, makes Himself known, intervenes in the space where we live out our lives,  vocabularies suddenly become inadequate.  Adjectives seem impoverished and those who would speak about Him flail away trying to hit something in the wind which is impossible to touch.  Few of us have stood in the midst of moments which we might describe as Pentecostal in nature, but even then as powerful as those times might be, they are nothing alongside of what is recorded in those holy words of Scripture.     

It is a description of chaos; yet, one of order.  It is a Word which speaks of diversity; yet unity.  It is a story of that speaks of a violent wind; but, not a destructive wind.  It is one that speaks of fire; but, not one that consumes all before it.  It is a description of different languages drawing different people together instead of something which scattered people.  In those brief words which have enabled us all to catch a glimpse of the wild and uncontrollable and all powerful Holy Spirit, we are enabled to see Who it is that is really important in the life of the church.    

And, of course, the sad truth is that the Holy Spirit Who is allowed to slip around in the shadows of church corridors is a domesticated and tame version of this One who prowled the world and broke into the Upper Room long centuries ago.  A church obsessed with planning and control has no room for the Spirit Who is revealed in the second chapter of the Acts.  When such a choice is made it is not often intentional, but regardless of how it happens, it is always one that diminishes the power of the church set in motion on the day we remember as Pentecost.  

The Second Chapter

Many churches focused on the second chapter of Acts in their worship service this morning.   For those who found themselves in a place with some other focus and who are wondering what is so special about that chapter on this day, they likely missed out on celebrating Pentecost Sunday.  The more liturgical minded churches no doubt read all the Spirit related Scripture passages, brought out the red paraments,  and heard a sermon about the beginning moment of the church.     

While it may seem to be an unimportant thing for some, there is always some value in going to place of roots.  The place where are roots are remembered is a place that helps define who we are, it is the place which holds the origins of the dreams birthed for us, and, finally, it is the place that can help us get our feet back on the path we set out to walk.  If we are of a mind to look at the spiritual roots of our church, it is imperative that we go back further than the beginning moments of our denominational movement, or further back than the division which caused us to wage a "us-them" war that resulted in pulling out of where we were to start a new church.    

A serious look at who we are as a church always requires looking at the second chapter of Acts.  There we see a picture of the divine intention.  There we see a Jesus centered spiritual community empowered by the Holy Spirit which looks not inward, but outward into the world.  The measure that we have wandered off course can be seen in the contemporary theological and cultural division which pushes those within the church away from community toward sectarianism and away from Jesus and the Spirit toward the prevailing winds of culture.  

Remembering a Mentor

I have been privileged to know a lot of Methodist preachers in my days.  When I was growing up in parsonages, they would come as visiting revival preachers.  In the years after ordination some of those preachers would come and do the same in the place where I was serving.  One of those was Bill Dupree.  I mentioned him today because I heard late in the afternoon that he had died.  As a young aspiring preacher, Bill hired me to work for him one summer as a youth worker.  It was the beginning of a mentor relationship that I treasured all the years of my ministry.     

All of us have people in our past who filled the role that Bill Dupree filled for me.  By listening to him, I learned much and by watching, I learned even more.  When we look behind us, we see folks like him.  Some may have been preachers, some may have been a neighbor down the road, or a teacher who would not give up on us.  All of the ones we remember as our mentors were folks who saw in us what we were unable to see in ourselves and were patient and persistent enough to call it out for us to see.     

And, what is also true is the fact that there are some people in our past who look to us in the same way we look toward the important influences in our past.  It is not that we set out to do fill that role in their lives, but that God in His grace worked through us in such a way as to impact the spiritual life of one young and seeking after His ways.  The one thing we never know when we start out with Jesus is how our life will touch the life of another who is on the road behind us.  And while we may think such could not possibly be true for us, it is.  Even as Bill touched my life, I have touched others, and so have we all touched those whom God has put out there on the road with us.  

The Burning Bushes

It is not always easy to speak of seeing what cannot be seen, or hearing what is not being spoken, but those who attest to such experiences stand with a long line of folks who have learned to hear with more than ears and to see with more than eyes.  We tend to think that such folks are the mystics among us and while some may fit into such a category, it is also a spiritual phenomena which describes a host of ordinary folks like each one of us.  It is not that extra ears and eyes are grown, but instead that the senses are sharpened by the discipline of paying attention to the present moment.    

It is a difficult discipline for most of us.  Getting focused and staying focused on the present moment seems impossible when we find ourselves always thinking about getting through tomorrow and tomorrow's difficulties.  What is ahead often grabs us with the force of a snapping turtle who has no intention of turning lose.  Even though we know the Word tells us,  "So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.  Today's trouble  is enough for today,"  (Matthew 6:34)  we still find it easy to carry a load not yet come. 

Seeing, hearing, and knowing what can only be experienced through the senses of the soul requires being comfortable with ourselves, learning to be at ease minus the noise and activity, and an expectation that the God of creation is on the edge of what is not yet visible.  The presence for which we go searching requires no searching for the One whom we seek is always present in the burning bushes which are all around us.  

Three Worlds

The ancient Celtic saints believed that the place where sea and earth met was a "thin place."  A "thin place" is a place where earth and heaven, the visible and the invisible, the here and there intermingle.  In such places the presence of the others who dwell in the eternal might be sensed by those who lingered in the present moment and the places seen and known by all of us.     

Most who frequent the places where rushing water and waiting sand meet do not think of themselves as walking on the edge of two worlds, one seen and one unseen.  For those skeptics it might be a good thing to note that there is a massive sign there on the edge of sea and sand which speaks of the unseen possibilities.  Remember for a moment those times of sitting on the edge with feet in the sand and eyes mesmerized by the constantly moving water.  To be there in that moment is to be in all that is visible:  the sand, the water, the sky, the people around us, and over ours shoulder all we left behind us.  To look forward from that sandy spot is to see the moving surface of an invisible world full of life; fish, turtles, coral reefs, and an ocean full of living things.  On the edge of the seen and unseen, our feet, and perhaps, our spirit feel the presence of both.    

With such signs before us of an unseen world on the edge of the visible one, is it too long a leap to look upward from the rolling waters and sandy earth and know that there is all around that invisible world of the eternal where the saints who have gone before us linger with joy and wait with anticipation for us to join them there where the presence of God fills everything with overwhelming glory?  What a blessing it is for us to be on the edge where our senses and our spirits can look toward glory with such anticipation and joy!  Hallelujah!