The Journey Home

On the journey home yesterday from where we had been to where we were going,  exits were made several times from the hurried way to the softer and gentler places where real people lived.  Two homes became a haven filled with blessing.  First, there was a surprise visit with two friends known as college classmates back in the '60.  The welcome was so warm it felt like the journey had already ended at home.  It was clear that we were in sacred space where live had been and was still being lived,  

The second trip down the exit ramp was planned.  No sooner had we arrived than we were taken to a table filled with food that settled our hunger and conversation so real and rich that we felt as if we were  lingering around a table that was indeed a foretaste of glory divine.  It, too, was a wonderful moment that in some ways seemed almost sacramental, in the sense, that together as host and guest we were inside a precious holy moment.  

Before these moments of blessing, there was another.  It came shortly after our departure from where we had been.  Stopped at a traffic light, there came into view a man on the corner with a sign pleading for help.  As I rolled down the window and pulled out some cash from my billfold, he grabbed a walking stick that looked as ancient as did he and hobbled over to the open window.  As I handed him the money, my wife took a cup of ice given to us by my daughter for the journey and passed it to me to give to him.  It was hot afternoon full of humidity, the rain had not yet come, and it seemed he was more grateful for my wife's cup of ice than my folded cash.  Little did I know at the beginning of the journey, that a stranger and old friends would bring heaven crashing down among us. 

Walking in Harness

The farm which I call home is really a small place compared to the "real" farms all around me.  Most of the farmers around me work their farms as a way of life and the means by which they provide for their families.  While I have been called a "gentleman farmer" by some, I have never really liked that moniker since it seems to imply using the land for pleasure instead of its purpose.  I prefer to speak of the land as a working farm though I am the first to admit that less and less work is going on around here as the years are piling on.  The purpose of land that knows itself as a farm is to produce.  

I have tried over the years of being here to walk in harness with that purpose.  Gardens have been grown.  Fruit trees have been planted.  Chickens and cows have found a home here.  The pecan trees make their own harvest and the open fields grow hay and provide grazing land.  I am the maintenance man who tends and cares for the land.  After sixteen years of being here, I realize that I have been the servant of the land more than the owner.  I have come to understand that it is not I who owns the land, but the land which owns me.  It has become a part of me in a way I never knew was possible.  For all the sweat and sometimes blood invested over the years, it has blessed me with a place I know as home and where my soul belongs. 

In a larger sense whether we live in the open spaces or crowded urban streets, the earth, or the Creation as I prefer to call it, is our home.  Creation is a word which speaks to me more about the creative hand of God than words like earth or nature so I mainly use it as a way of expressing respect and honor to the creating God encountered in the first pages of Genesis.  Regardless of what we see outside our window and regardless of names on deeds, we live in God's Creation and as we do so, it is important that we walk in harness with its purpose.  Its purpose is not found in our desires, but in God's plan.

A Tale of Two Prayer Rooms

Every church should have a prayer room.  Not only should every church have a prayer room, it should be a room where prayers are prayed.  It should be regarded as one of the power sources of the church.  Money should be set aside for its maintenance and ministry, people should be challenged to be a part of its important ministry, and it should be in a prominent high traffic corridor instead of a place no one can find without a GPS system.   Churches have space dedicated for every conceivable ministry and no ministry is more important than its ministry of prayer.  

In the past year I have visited two prayer rooms.  The first one was hidden.  It was hard to find and it looked more like a storage area than a place which encourages and nurtures prayer.  It was obvious that it had once actually been used as a prayer room, but it had become cluttered with stacks of tables and leftover chairs.  The second prayer room was one I visited some ten years ago when the new church was built.  It was equipped and set up for praying.  It was a blessing to step inside that space and think about the lives its ministry would touch.  It was a place that was like a visible invitation to pray and I sat down back then for a time of praying. Today I was back in that church which was no longer new and I made my way to the prayer room.  I could hardly get in the door.  Boxes of Christmas decorations, chairs, tables, and all manner of stuff filled it from one side to the other.  It was a place of such promise in the beginning.  Today I left it filled with deep sadness. 

There are many reasons our churches are struggling.  There are many reason for mediocrity from the pulpit.  There are many reasons churches are more enamored with their history than hopeful for their future.  There are many reasons why churches are seeing so few professions of faith.  There are many reasons why baptisms are a rarity instead of the norm.  Their are many reasons why so many look at the church as an anachronism.  The most basic reason is found in the absence of a strong prayer room ministry.  It is a much needed and mostly neglected source of spiritual power.

Sure Footed Saints

The early morning hours before the sun finds its way over the dark eastern horizon must surely be the time God set aside from the very beginning as time for the soul.  It is not just the thought of one like myself who has podded instead of racing along the road of faith in Jesus Christ.  Unlike sure footed animals who tread the high mountain paths, I have done more than my share of stumbling.  Not even such a history keeps me from understanding the testimony of the sure footed saints who have gone before me.  

So many have left journals full of writings which tell us that early mornings are the best times for the nurturing of the soul.  A very simple axiom has proven itself true many times over the years.  What goes in is important.  What goes in determines what comes out.  When we fill our hearts at the beginning of the day with a time of listening for the Voice of God in Scripture and prayer, it is more likely that the heart is going to outwardly express the spirit of Christ in the ordinary moments of the day.  "Seek God first each day" is a good rule to follow.  It helps us stay out the miry bog and provides a hand in dealing with the temptations Satan throws in our path.  

I learned this again as recently as yesterday.  The sun was busy when I jumped out of bed and started racing toward the first place I had to be in a busy day.  I arrived on time, waited two hours, and then was told I would have to come back two days hence.  As patience and kindness disappeared from my spirit, anger came to take its place.  Throughout most of the day I fumed inside and made life miserable for those around me.  If God brought people into my path for His purposes, I was too busy nursing my anger to notice.  If it sounds like a wasted day, I would agree.  I should have followed the example of one saint from the past who got up even earlier than this his normal rising time to pray because he realized that they were more than the usual things to do.

Perspective

For a few minutes today, I sat beside a rapidly flowing creek which was narrow enough that the younger version of me would have figured to be "jumpable."  The older version which is the current version opted for sitting and watching.  Strange as it might seem to some, it was in many ways the highlight of the day.  It was shady, cool, and, except for the sound of the water running over rocks, quiet.  It was an unexpected oasis of stillness in the early afternoon.  The water was clear and I had in my mind that I might see a fish which did not happen.   

What I did see were some things which reminded me of who I am and where I fit in the order of the creation. This tiny running stream is hundreds of miles away from the ocean; yet, the water that I watched will make it to the ocean and, perhaps, return in the clouds to water the dry ground upon which I sat.  I could not help but be reminded that we are connected to one another and to creation as surely as Wolf Creek is to the ocean.  Our being conscious of such a connection is not necessary for it to exist.  Not a single one of us is the center of the universe.  We are simply and importantly a part of it.  

It is interesting that the Creation story in the first chapter of Genesis does not begin with the human creature who has come to think far too highly of itself.  In fact were it not for the creative work of the first five days, we would not be walking around thinking that the world revolves around us.  Perspective is important.  I am grateful for a quiet moment in which once again the divine lesson of perspective was taught to me. 

The Book

I fell in love with books back in the day when my mother took me to the library and signed me up for a summer reading program.  Even today going into a library filled with shelf after shelf of books and quietness is like entering a sacred sanctum.  Later I became a collector of books.  Once read and placed on the shelf, they become like old friends.  Some books are about entertainment.  Some are about opening your eyes and heart.  Some are read and finally closed with a sense of reverence and awe.   

From the very beginning of my history with books, the Bible was regarded as different and special.  When my mother gave me my first Bible, it was a big deal.  She taught me Bibles were to be handled with respect.   A Bible was not an ordinary book.  I could not have imagined back in the beginning days the way that one book would change and shape my life.  When I travel, it is packed to go with everything else.  It is the one book which never has a place on the book shelf except when it becomes so frayed it is retired.  The Bible stays close.  It is almost never out of sight.  Unlike some books that I may have to hunt, I always know where it is.   

Some may find it strange that a book would be regarded as a writing inspired by God, but such is how it is regarded.  It is not a book where advice is found, or a book where answers to life's questions are found.  It is a book where the voice of God has thundered across the centuries.  It is a book which has led millions to faith in God.  It is one of the places where God has chosen to make Himself known to us.  The Bible is not a book to be read, closed, and put on the shelf, but a book to be carried into every circumstance and corner of life.  It is a holy book which always seems as new as the next page.  It is timeless because its words are eternal and equip us for the life we were created to live.

Unexplainable

Standing deep in holy mystery is a humbling and overwhelming experience.  Who among us deserves to be graced with the presence of God?  Who among us has any right to a single gift from our heavenly Father?  Who can understand the ways of God?  Why are some prayed for day and night only to be lost to us while others are still here among us for no other reason than the grace of God.  It is beyond what we are able to comprehend.  Why do some receive the double portion (II Kings 2:9-12) and others what seems to be no portion at all.  Questions abound for us as we experience holy mystery.  Answers are few.   

What can we say other than not one of us is forgotten by God.  What can we say except that He knows our name and cares for each one with the heart of the Good Shepherd the Apostle John describes in his gospel (John 10:1-18).  I first started struggling with questions about the ways of God as a seven year old boy whose father went to work one day and did not come home. I am now so far from seven that memories are heavy with the dust of the past, but still I look for answers I am not likely to know in this life.  

There are times when our hearts can only whisper, "Lord, have mercy."  There are other times when we look at what cannot be known and are left with the words, "Thank You, Lord.  Thank You for this gift of grace."  The farther I walk with Jesus the more I see the clouds of holy grace ahead above the way much as the Hebrews walked through the wilderness with the cloud of presence leading them.  (Exodus 13:21).  God's grace has always been sufficient (II Corinthians 12:9) and because it is grace, it is unexplainable.