It Takes a Lifetime

It takes a life time of living to get where we are.  This is true whether we are young or old.  It is the many experiences of life that bring us to the place we have arrived.  We may have arrived where we are with some bruises and scars and, perhaps, a few blemishes, but from each moment there has been a lesson taught and hopefully learned.  Life is never about arriving, but going.  It is never about the destination, but the journey.  

The Biblical patriarch, Abraham, is really the prototype for the journey God calls us to embrace.  The Abraham narrative makes it clear that Abraham was called to a journey with no destination.  The question he faced was not about choosing a place God wanted him to go, or a task God wanted him to accomplish, but choosing to go with God into the land of "know not where."  This is the context of the original summons on our lives as we choose the way of obedience to the One who brought us into being.  When we respond to that call, it might seem to us the way forward is clear and it may be for a time, but never should it surprise us when obedience takes us down a road not seen in the beginning.  

Perhaps, it is our moments of faithful going that God gives us experiences that will enable us to move into places, situations, and relationships not seen in the beginning.  The experiences which become a part of our journey can be a part of the equipping He does as He readies us for the more that is before us.  Whether the road brings us to joy or sorrow, He can as His Word declares use all things to bring about good, or to bring us into the new which He had planned for us from the beginning.

A New Word

Looking for something to read, I pulled from the shelf a book with the strange title, "The Soul's Slow Ripening"  by Christine Valters Paintner.  In the introduction she wrote about visiting some of the sacred Celtic shrines and ruins in Ireland.  She also introduced me to a new word and a concept for which I had searched in my own trips to some of the sacred places of my past.  It actually came in a quote she used from John O' Donohue who wrote, "ruins are not empty.  They are sacred places full of presence...The life and passion of a person leaves an imprint on the ether of a place."  

By definition "ether" refers to the invisible, spiritual domain which connects the four physical elements of wind, water, earth and fire.  "Ether" is that word which speaks to why some physical places seems so full of the spiritual.  It is something I have sensed in years of standing to preach in a pulpit filled with the shadows of preachers of other generations. It is the overwhelming awareness of God's presence when I return to places where His mighty works are remembered.  "Ether" refers to the holy places of our past which call us to take off our shoes before walking once again the holy ground.  

While I am more firmly convinced than ever that all the Creation is holy because it bears the imprint of the Holy Creator, it also seems true that entering into some places is like becoming immersed in an invisible spiritual air that is seen and experienced by some, but not by all.  It brings to mind the often quoted lines of a poem learned in high school literature class, "Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes, the rest sit round and pick blackberries."  The Creation is holy, but they are places made special because of the way they are for us filled with "ether."

The Small Church

I recently read a report that the mega church had grown and the small church had declined in these post pandemic years.  I was surprised.  I remember a quiet personal prediction that that the small church would begin to grow again.  It appears that I was wrong which is not the first time.  My experience with the mega church is slim.  I have been the pastor of  some small congregations, have watched them suffer through decades of decline, and was hopeful that the post pandemic years would bring about a re-emergence.  

The small church has suffered as rural communities have watched its young rush toward higher paying jobs in urban areas.  This has resulted in the disappearance of the family farm, the loss of inter-generational communities, and small churches counting funerals instead of new members.  Though I never served a large mega church, I did pastor a few larger congregations before retirement came.  The larger church can offer whatever money can buy, but the small church provides things money could never buy.  

Community is the most obvious.  The small church is filled with people who have lived with one another through thick and thin, from birth to death, and whose definition of family is not just biological.  It is the village which rears all the children.  Most of all it is a community grounded in a faith in God which will not quit.  It is a breeding ground for sinners who are beginning to look like the saints we are all called to be.  Anyone who wonders if there is more to church than being just a spectator on Sunday morning should visit a nearby small church.  It is a place where people know your name and will share your joys and woes.  It is also a place where the pastor is more knowable than the face seen from a distance on the big screen.

A Sunday Morning Question

The preacher this morning finished up a month long series on Paul's letters to the Church at Corinth. Unfortunately, life has taken me elsewhere during the month of the sermons so today was a moment for hearing the final sermon of the many preached.  Somewhere in the midst of the sermon, the preacher verbally considered the possibility of Paul writing a letter to the church of today.  It sent me scurrying to find an offering envelope with white space on the back so I could write my own question. "If Paul were to write a letter to the church today as he did to Corinth, who would want to read it?"  

"Who would want to read it?"  I fear not the church.  I fear the church would dismiss someone like Paul as one had been hiding from reality too long.  I fear the church has no real interest in hearing the prophetic voices which would call it to repentance.  Regardless whether we are liberal or conservative, we are sure we have it right and everyone else has it wrong.  The church is like the altar worker who kneels beside someone confessing their sins to tell them they are not so bad.  Maybe there was a time in the life of the church when sin was seen lurking behind every bush, but nowadays, it is doubtful the always right among us would recognize sin if it stared them in the face.  

I cannot help but believe that Paul would have something to say to a church which is more about self-preservation than sacrifice.  I cannot help but believe that Paul would have something to say to a church more interested in making "me" the center of its proclamation instead of Christ.  I cannot help but believe that Paul would have something to say to a church too interested in tickling ears instead of stepping on toes.  I cannot help but believe that the letter would end up in the trash instead of the heart.   

Lay Him There

"Lay him there, " He said.

And I said, "Are You sure?

He's a good boy, You know,

Gathered all the wood below.

When asked, he always does.

How 'bout we talk this over

Like reasonable folks do?"

"Once more, lay him there."

"But, Lord, he's all I got.

You promised him long ago

to me and a barren woman.

If's he gone, how will she 

live without him, and with me.

I'll have no heir,  and no hope." 

I said, "Lay him there!

What can't you understand?

Who do you think I am?

A liar and  deceiver,

A breaker of promises?

I promised You blessings.

Why can you not believe?"

"Once again, lay him there!"

So loud He spoke, I awoke,

A shaking body by Sarah.

Freed now to breathe again,

Still afraid, but now I know

Who has spoken in the dream

and so I will lay him there.

(Genesis 22:1-19)

A Morning for Pondering

While I am not one prone to climbing a hill and flying a kite during a thunderstorm, or even walking across the farm during those stormy moments when thunder and lightning come in the same second, I must confess to enjoying the rain.  When I was a student at Young Harris College, I would often take walks across the campus on rainy nights.  Later in my middle years when running was a part of my routine, rain never kept me away from lacing up the running shoes.  At the farm the front porch is a favorite place to sit and be a part of the rain that is falling.  

As anyone who has ever dabbled in the dirt knows, rain is a blessed gift.  The story of Elijah reminds us what happens to the earth when the rain ceases to fall.  The creek, or wadi, from which the prophet drank his water dried up and worse than hard times came upon the land.  And even as too little can be a serious problem, we know, too, that too much of it at one time can bring flooding, destruction, and even death.  Jesus spoke of the rain falling one the wise and the foolish.  Indiscriminately, the rain falls.  Sometimes it comes and sometimes it does not.  Sometimes it rains buckets and sometimes a thimble is enough.

From my window there seems to be much to ponder as the rain falls.  This morning it seems to be speaking about the nature of life itself.  We have no real control over our life.  It unfolds bringing seasons of tears and laughter.  It is unpredictable.  It is full of things not understood.  Some speak of it as mystery.  Perhaps, life can only be rightly understood and lived when we see it as a gift.  Though we live through the dark stormy days, the sunshine comes.  There is no darkness which can overcome the Eternal Light.  There is no power, not even death, which will keep us from finally reaching the glorious light of Home.  

Rainy Morning Musings

The first rain of the morning was gentle.  It would have been good walking weather.  Such is not the case now. The rain is pounding the ground.  Walking would put the walker at risk of drowning!  It is also the kind of rain which sets the mind going off in directions not anticipated.  One of my thoughts as I look out the window is to wonder why there is no mention of rain in the Genesis account of creation.  A little head scratching and page turning revealed the first word about rain in Genesis 2:5 which said, "the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth."  How strange that the first mention of rain is a report that it exist only in the mind of God.   

The first record of rain comes in Genesis 7:2 where we hear the Lord saying to Noah, "There's going to be a floody, floody, get them children out of the muddy, muddy, children of the Lord."  Forgive me for getting carried away with a memory of a childhood song.  The Scripture actually says. "For in seven days I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights."  Another big and memorable rain came of Mt. Carmel at the end of Elijah's battle with the prophets of Baal. (I Kings 18:45).  And, of course, there a few good storms described in the gospels, one of which is famous for the moment Jesus walked on stormy seas.  

What are the takeaways from this morning of musing about the rain?  Not everything visible to us was mentioned in the Genesis story of Creation.  It took seven chapters before we are able to see a decent rain.  How many years did the wheel lurk in the realm of the invisible before it became a means of transportation?  How long did the technology of airplanes and computers exist in the realm of the invisible before we were able to see it?  The creation is not yet done. There are things out there unseen which will one day be revealed.  The cure for diseases like cancer is surely one of those things.