Crossroad Choices

When we read that Word which says, "Thus says the Lord:  Stand at the crossroads..."  (Jeremiah 6:16), it should go without saying that crossroads are strategic.  The journey is often forever changed by the choices made at the crossroads of our life.  And while the crossroads that Jeremiah envisioned as he wrote, or spoke to the Hebrews may have been a geographic one, we know that some crossroads are not nearly as distinguishable as those where four roads come together.  The poet talks about "two roads diverge in a yellow wood" but crossroads present us with multiple choices.   It is not surprising that the Word of God calls us to stand still in such moments.  

When we stand at the crossroads, we are at the threshold of something important and life changing.  I remember the testimony of E. Stanley Jones, a great missionary evangelist of the last century, who in his book "The Song of Ascent"  spoke of the choices before him as he graduated from Asbury College.  Someone was telling him God wanted him to teach at the college.  Another voice said God wanted him to go to Africa.  Choices abounded in that crossroad moment of his life.  Jones wrote about kneeling to pray and getting up saying to God, "It's India."  And, without looking back he left that crossroad of choices to serve God for a lifetime in the land of India.  There was no going back, only forward into the road he knew God had chosen for him.     

It is about this kind of crossroad that Jeremiah spoke.  When God brings us to a place of opportunity, it is important to stop and find out what God is about.  Otherwise, we are likely to make choices which will bring regret into our life as well as a sense somewhere up the road that we have gotten off course.  Nothing is more important than living in sync with the will of God.  Knowing where He is leading is imperative not only in the major decisions of our life, but also in the ones which seem to us in the moment to be of the ordinary variety.  Standing in stillness in those moments is the only way to know with confidence what choice God is calling us to make.  When we rush along as if there is nothing strategic or important about a crossroad moment, we end up out of step with the plan our Creator God has for us.   

Shimmering

In recent days a verse from Jeremiah has captivated my attention.  I have heard it said that sometimes something shimmers in the ordinary which is another way of saying that some common thing is calling out to us for special attention.  These things which shimmer often have within them a word from the Spirit.  Jeremiah 6:16 has been shimmering in my view.  It begins with the words, "Stand at the crossroads..."  Standing is not easy for us.  If we are on our feet, we want to be moving.  Standing points to stillness and stillness is not exactly something regarded as virtuous.    

The Word from Jeremiah speaks to our need to pause and wait, to look and to ask before setting out on some course about to be chosen.  The truth is most of us are making up our mind about what we are going to do as we move toward the moment of decision which negates the possibility of standing still at the intersection of some choice.  It is much like being in a conversation and thinking about what we are going to say instead of listening to what the person speaking is saying.  

It may be that where we are in the circumstances of our life is a place where we need to simply stand in stillness for a time.  Being still enables us to hear what we are often too busy to hear and gives us the ability to see things which movement hides from us.  It makes making life giving choices more likely.  When we pause and look and listen, the way forward will not be one of needing to look over our shoulder with regret, but one which can be experienced as the unfolding will of God.

At the Crossroad

The church of our day does stand at a crossroad.  And while some seem to be seeking life in sync with the word which Jeremiah spoke when he said, " Thus says the Lord:  Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls,"  (Jeremiah 6:16)  there are also many which look not for the ancient paths, but for the untested and untried paths which inevitably lead in a direction far from the direction of the ancient paths.  

The church we see standing at the crossroad is a divided church, one that in many denominations can no longer live in the same house. The ancient paths find their authority in the Word, in tradition, and in values which are threatening to those who are choosing the more modern paths where the authority of the Word is filtered through values centered on the common consensus of culture.  The conflict of the crossroad is not so much about the differences in liberalism and conservatism as it is the source of authority for the church.  Certainly, adherence to the authority of the Word creates some discomfort, but then the Word has never promised to be something which makes us comfortable.  It is full of tensions between one thing or another and seeking to create a world free of the tension generated by the Word is to seek something which the creation itself tells us is impossible.   

What seems obvious is that the church will not choose the ancient path, or the untested path paved by the mores of the culture, but both.  The problem is that the church has come to a place of being unable to live in compassion and love with the tension and, therefore, will diminish itself by division, weakness, and further polarization.  Yet, despite the outcome, one thing is certain.  The church will not disappear.  It has faced such moments in the past and has not only managed to survive, but has arose triumphantly.  Such is its future.  What we often forget is that the church is not just a visible physical presence among us, but an invisible spiritual community which stretches from Pentecost to the present and from here into the eternal.  

Too Big for Your Britches

My mother used to warn me about "getting too big for my britches."  Trust me.  It was not her way of throwing a compliment my way.  I remember one time rather distinctly.  I had come home after my first quarter of college and carried with me all that I learned in my first Old Testaments survey class.  I had learned enough to know more than my preacher Dad and had gotten smart enough to announce to my Mom that Sunday morning that I would not be going to church.  So, after I got up from bed, I went to church.    

No one said aloud that I was "getting too big for my britches,"  but it was surely common knowledge that weekend.    "Getting too big for my britches" speaks of a problem a lot of us had growing up, but in recent years I have come to understand it to be the original sin.  Adam and Eve surely must have figured they knew more than God that day when the serpent came slithering into their presence and filling their ears with visions of grandeur.  This original sin continues to plague so many of us in these days.   There are a lot of new and novel ideas out there these days in the places where people let their values be shaped which makes folks too big for their britches.  They end up thinking they know more than they really know.    

There is a verse from Jeremiah which speaks to this condition which says, "'Thus says the Lord:  Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths,where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your soul."  (Jeremiah 6:16)  Too much is thrown away and regarded as irrelevant simply because it is old.  Being new does not guarantee better, or truth.  Actually, the values and ideas which have sustained generations of people and given strength and life to our communities may speak more truth than some of the things we tote home and make us seem like someone who needs to hear my Moma's warning about "getting too big for your britches."

80,000

One of the things we cannot see is up the road.  From where we stand in the present moment, it is impossible to see where the road takes us.  While we may have some notions, maybe some expectations and hopes, it is likely that the road ahead will be filled more with surprises than the things anticipated.  Back in June of 2008 with retirement still two years ahead, I wrote the first JourneyNotes.  I had my own ideas about what was ahead.  It was going to be more like an addendum to my ministry instead of the core that it has become in these fourteen years.     

The provider of the space for the blog has a counter which records the number of times someone goes to the blog to read.  This week I noticed that number had reached a smidgen over 80,000.  It is something I could not have imagined back in the days of beginning when I was writing four or five posts a month instead of one each day.  How that happened I am not sure.  I do know it was not in the original plan, but it happened.  As I went along it seemed like where the road was taking me and so I went along.    

What I have discovered is that I have exchanged a visible congregation for an invisible one.  Some of the invisible ones are people I know, people who have encouraged me to continue by their writing notes, and some who find their way to what is written in much the same way as I found myself coming to the place of writing.  I have come to understand God has been in all of it.  The call to preach is no longer a compelling issue in my life.  It has become more of a call to write.  But, whether I preach, or write, it still has the same feeling of being called by God to be a part of what He is about in the world.  I am humbled that so many have become readers and deeply grateful to God for finding me a place in these days of retirement.  

Two Old Hinges

On ongoing project around here in the last week or so has been building a chicken pen.  Several months ago five chicks were brought to the farm and are past being ready for bigger digs than the brooder where they have been living.  The frame has been put up, the chicken wire hung, and today I built the gate and hung it.  The most interesting thing about the project has been the find of some old hinges which someone around here used a long time ago.  They were frozen tight by rust, but a hammer, screwdriver, and a generous dosing of WD-40 freed them for another round of use.      

It is kinda nice to be able to use something from someone else's hands who worked this land.  It reminds me of many things.  Not only have other people been here, found purpose in what they were doing, and left stories in the memory of the farm, but these old hinges remind me of my place in the scheme of God's ongoing creation.  Like them I am here for awhile and like them I will be leaving signs of the presence of another for whoever it is that comes after me.  What we do is important for the day, but it has rippling effects across the time which comes after our time on the earth is gone.    

Whenever I open and close the gate, those old hinges will speak words to me about the ongoing life that God has for me and for all of us.  Maybe one of those things will be the reminder on some day of questioning my own usefulness that each one of us can be put to some use for which we had never anticipated.  Just maybe the word about God not being through with us yet is really true.  Certainly, it is a good word and I have put up a sign now on the gatepost of the chicken pen in the form of two old rusty looking hinges to remind me.  

Noon on Sunday

Preachers who moan and groan about not having enough time to preach during the Sunday worship service which as we all know is supposed to last no longer than a hour could always preach shorter sermons.  When I first started preaching back in the early '70s, a ten minute sermon seemed like forever to this preacher.  I was always amazed when I finished, looked at my watch, and saw that only ten minutes had passed.  Of course, I never got any complaints from the folks who were listening.  I imagine listening to a green preacher fresh out of seminary for ten minutes was more than enough punishment for any sins!  

Of course, over the years I managed to become more verbose.  And like most preachers,  I often fought to get through before people started shaking their watches when the noon hour arrived.  Finally, I simply laid all that hurrying and worrying to rest.  I came to a place of preparing a sermon and preaching it even it went beyond the time most folks thought I should be pronouncing the benediction.  I always told people not to worry about after twelve o'clock preaching because it was free.  No charge.  I am not sure it made anyone feel any better about sitting in the pew an extra ten minutes, but such was the way it worked for this preacher.  

Part of the problem with a sermon that goes past twelve noon is not that the sermon is too long, but in the fact that too much time gets spent on announcements, or the meeting and greeting part of the service.  When a preacher spends ten minutes on the announcement, getting finished before twelve is not likely to happen unless, of course, the preacher is preaching those ten minute sermons.  As the years went along, I came to a place of starting ten minutes before the appointed hour to get in all the advertising pieces so that the hour which began at eleven o'clock was only about worship which included all the preaching, and maybe more, than most folks wanted on a Sunday.

Preaching the Word

While some preachers like to clear the pulpit so that nothing gets in the way, I always felt that the big pulpit Bible which never really got much use had a place on the pulpit and needed to be there more than anything else I might put in place of it.  As I recall every church I served had one.  And as I also recall, it just stayed open, but never read.  The only exception was in Richmond Hill where people were invited to come into the sanctuary during the week and read aloud to an empty sanctuary.  It was our intention to read completely through the Bible in this way.     

Those of us who made a habit of going in to read figured it was a good thing to fill the air of the sanctuary with the Word of God.  Certainly, it was not something which would hurt anything.  Aside from that usage, the big bulky pulpit Bible was always a visible reminder to the preacher who stood behind the pulpit to preach.  It reminded me that whatever I said needed to have at its core something from that Book.  One of my seminary preachers always said that people did not come to the church on Sunday to hear what the preacher was thinking, but to hear what the Word of God was saying.    

It was one of those things that I carried with me through the years of preaching.  Being a Bible based preacher does not mean filling a sermon with so many scripture references that the sermon seems like a concordance, but instead, it means preaching with a mind to proclaim what a particular part of the Word of God is saying.   A common refrain often heard after the Scripture is read is "The Word of God for the people of God."  Many a preacher has uttered the refrain and then went on to preach something that had nothing or little to do with the Word of God.  Such may be acceptable in the church as good preaching, but it is really just a poor substitute.  

Cemetery Stories

Cemeteries are sacred places.  Memories are written around those graves.  Stories are told from the tombstones.  And, imagination and experience enables those who pass by to consider what it might have been like for folks of other days who came to lay a love one to rest.  Grief and love brings unique moments to those places.  When Felder's wife died, he made a daily trip to her grave.  Always he read poetry to her that he had written and when he went to where she lay, he continued the act of love.  And, then there were those late afternoon moments when so many of us in that small town knew Felder was visiting with Libba because we could hear the music sent forth to her from his trumpet.    

When I was a boy growing up, it was a trip my sister and I counted on making at least one a week with our mother.  Daddy was buried out in a country cemetery accessible by dirt roads and a ford across a creek.  It was a small church cemetery filled with the graves of so many whose DNA I shared.  It became sacred ground for me long before I understood the meaning of something being considered holy.   

Perhaps, it explains why I have always been partial to church cemeteries.  To see the cemetery outside the window while worshiping reminds those who sit of the Ash Wednesday message, "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,"  but it also is a visible sign of the communion of the saints.  Some of us sit inside while others who once sat beside us have entered into glory to be a part of that great crowd of heavenly witnesses.  To worship in such a place reminds us we are here, but there is our Home.   

A Day in the Garden

For just a tad bit more than forty years I handled the holy stuff of the church.  I not only handled it, but was surrounded by it so much of the time.  And, if it was not in view, it was only a short walk to the sanctuary which was, of course, the home of the holy stuff.  There was a baptismal font.  There were two altar candles and during the Easter season the big candle, the Paschal Candle.  There was a pulpit, a huge pulpit Bible, an altar, and the Table from which the holy meal was served.  On those Sunday when the meal was offered, I prayed prayers to bless the bread and the wine and placed it in the hands of kneeling parishioners.   

Today I handled holy stuff again.  But, it was not the holy stuff of the past.  Using a push plow I broke open furrows in the holy dirt.  I dropped okra, corn, butter beans, and pea seed in the furrows before pushing the dirt over them.  As I dropped them in the dirt I actually heard myself quietly blessing the seed as it dropped from my hand.  In those moments of walking up one furrow and down the other, looking at the waiting dirt, and dropping seed, a strange awareness of holy presence seem to settle down over me and the garden around me.   

It has been a long journey which has brought me to the place I walked today.  While I have come to understand that there is holy stuff within the sanctuary that has been blessed by prayers, there is more holy stuff outside of the sanctuary than inside it.  For so long I lived with some kind of ecclesiastical blinders that kept me from seeing what others have surely realized long before these days in my life.   As the poet wrote long ago, "Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God..."  I learned the words in high school, but being the slow learner I am have only come to understand that everything the Creator God has touched is blessed and holy.  Everything. 

The Preacher or the Plan

One of the first things I did in ministry in the church was working as a summer youth worker in Blakely, Georgia.  Clark Pafford was the pastor.  He left an imprint on so much of what I did and how I did ministry for the next forty years.  I remember that he often told me, "The success of your ministry will be measured by what happens after you leave."  I am not sure I understood exactly what he was trying to help me understand at the time, but as the years slipped along I began to realize he was telling me not to make ministry dependent upon myself.      

It is a subtle temptation for many who serve the church.  The temptation manifest itself in the false idea that the church we are serving cannot function without us.  We begin to see ourselves as being indispensable to its future.  And, a further manifestation of the delusion comes as we create an cadre of people who buy into the idea that no one else can do the work.   One of the things I have noted over the years of going from one church to another is that not one closed after I left and someone else showed up to fill the pulpit.   

While I have always been a believer in the importance of strong leadership from those who serve the church, there is also some truth in the reality that God is often about certain things in given moments in the life of the church and we partner with Him in the work, or we can balk and set back the plan of God for a time.  But, if there is something He designs for the church in a particular place, He will find someone to do it.  The great temptation for any preacher is thinking the preacher is greater than the plan.

A Great Cathedral

I am learning a lot of new things in retirement.  As one who had never been any closer to a cow than the meat market, I spend a good bit of time tending the moma cows out in the pasture.  And, as one who has had trouble figuring out which end of the screw driver to use, I have learned that there are many tools for fixing things I never knew needed fixing.  Prior to getting to the farm, I had never driven a tractor and now feel like someone has died when it has some kind of mechanical problem that keeps it and me from working.   

To think about all the new things which have come into my life in these last twelve years would make for a long list.  Surprisingly enough, one of the most important new things which has become a part of my life has to do with the way I have come to understand the presence of God in my life.  For a life time He and the church was inseparable.  And while the church still remains an important part of my life, it is not the only means by which the presence of the Holy One is experienced and neither is it the only means of hearing His voice.   

Much to my surprise I have come more to the place of Brother Lawrence who came to know God's presence in the kitchen midst the pots and soapy water.  Or, to put it another way, He came to know God's presence in the ordinary things experienced in daily living.  Such is how it has been in these years of being on the farm instead of being in the church.  The church is indeed a holy sanctuary, but the creation is a great cathedral that points to the beginning, the end, and on into eternity.  

Daily Interactions

When folks share about their walk with Jesus, they often go back to the days of beginning.  And, there is nothing wrong with these remembrances.  It speaks of a radical change in our life which set our feet on a path we never imagined could be walked.  In some ways it is like hearing the stories we are told and learn to repeat about our own birthing moment when we were sent forth into the light of the world.  The only problem is sometimes we get stuck in the original moment and it is as if we never had any interaction with Jesus after the moment of beginning.    

Our relationship with Christ is like the relationships we have with those who walk the journey of this life with us.  We may remember the story which speaks of our beginning with the significant loved people in our lives, but what we know is that the story naturally grows as the interaction continues over the years.  Who can imagine a marriage which has only one story?  If every day is indeed sweeter with the one we love, or with Jesus, why is it that the day to day stories never get told?    

Of course, our story with Jesus is really not a one encounter story.  We know we have many encounters along the way.  And, if we live with eyes open enough we know that the story grows and changes every day for every day is a day which holds within the possibility of interaction with the One who has loved us and called us to Himself.  Maybe we have lost our eyes to see.  Maybe our spirits have become dulled to the constant manifestations of His presence.  Maybe our ears are not listening.  Maybe there is too much noise in our life to hear.  Whatever it is that keeps us from those daily interactions with the Christ, we must know it is not from a lack of Him making Himself known, but from our not paying attention.  

Christ is Risen

Everyone looks at the Easter event through the rear view mirror.  This is true even of the women who went to the tomb of Jesus on the morning of resurrection.   When they hurried back to find the disciples, they went not with a witness to the resurrection of Jesus, but with a witness to the empty tomb.  From the very beginning the resurrection of Jesus had to be spoken of as something that had happened.  No one spoke of being an eye witness to the event itself.  It may well be that there were Roman soldiers who stayed the night watching and guarding the tomb, but there is nothing in the Word which would point to them being eye witnesses to the moment things exploded with resurrection power there at the place of death.    

It has been that way since the first evening on the day of resurrection and it continues to be this way for us.  We look at the resurrection of Jesus not as something which is happening, but as something which has happened.  Our view is of something which is in the past.  It is interesting that the traditional liturgical Easter greeting is "Christ is Risen."  And the response is, "He is risen, indeed."   No one uses the past tense.  No one says, "Christ has Risen."   Even though it is as an event always seen as something behind us, we speak of it in the present tense as if it is happening in the moment.     

Or, maybe given the nuances of the English tenses it is a way of acknowledging that Christ lives not as one who belongs to history's past, but as one who belongs to all that is in the present moment.  Our lives are forever changed because the man of the cross lives in a risen realm in the current moment.  As the old gospel song declares, "He lives...you ask me how I know He lives, He lives within my heart."  When the Spirit worked to raise Jesus from the dead, the power of that darkness was shattered so that the light that has shined from the beginning of creation will shine and shine and shine and live forevermore.  

The Quietest Day

Good Friday was a day beyond terror for those who loved Jesus and watched him die a horrible death on the cross.  All during the time of His agonized dying, they longed to help Him in some way, but the presence of the Roman soldiers made giving help an impossible thing.  So, they did what they could do.  They watched.  They waited.  And when His suffering was over, there were those who wept as He was lowered from the cross.  Some of those mourning His death also managed to carry Him to what was to be His resting place while some of the women hurriedly prepared His body for death and burial.   Of course, as we know there was not enough time and the stone was rolled in place while the mourners hurried to beat the sunset home.      

Nothing is really said about Saturday.  It was surely a day which brought a sadness all its own.  No doubt those faithful followers huddled together, talking and remembering, and making plans for an early morning trip to finish the burial anointing the next morning.  One can only wonder if Jesus was really in the tomb on that Saturday.  While we know the stone was rolled away and He was gone on Sunday, we do not know exactly when He arose.  He did speak of rising on the third day so, perhaps, any speculation about an early exit is inappropriate.  But, one can still wonder.    

After all the stone was rolled away from the opening to the tomb not for Jesus to walk out, but as a way of allowing and encouraging the disciples to walk inside.  Other stories would speak of Him showing up in a room where the door was locked and shut so getting out of the tomb would have been no problem for the resurrected Jesus.  The stone was rolled away for those like us, not for His convenience.  It may simply be enough to say that Saturday was like a pause in history, a prelude to the great story about to be told.  The earth of creation held Him its care for a short moment and then He came forth walking into a glorious spiritual realm which now awaits all the rest of us.   

Understanding the Cross

The one thing missing from the theology of many churches is the part that lifts up the cross.  One day a year on the Friday before Easter the cross is remembered, but just briefly.  I remember the advertisement for a Good Friday service some years ago which encouraged people to come by saying that it would be a brief thirty minute service which is likely more than enough for most folks who attend church.  Back in the day I was growing up in church preachers were commended for "stepping on my toes," but not today.  Today folks want a preacher who is entertaining and lets people leave feeling good.    

To stay too long at the foot of the cross is anything but comfortable.  If we allow ourselves to stay more than briefly, we will find our soul being troubled, our heart made heavy, and our mind being filled with mystery which cannot be understood.  Volumes have been written about the cross event, but it still remains something which is beyond the realm of complete understanding.  Anyone who says differently is not someone to be trusted to be a teacher of sound theology. When I finished seminary, I knew what happened on Good Friday.  I had it figured out and packaged it in sermons for years to come.  

Now after all those years of preaching and a few more to realize how little I really know, I am not sure.  I read the Word and know that something happened on that hill which changed history and which in the process changed the trajectory of human experience.  And, I know, too, that what happened was mostly about God doing something through Jesus and having affirmed this, I have already alluded to more than I can understand.  There are a lot of theological understandings of that event, or windows through which to see it and I have stood in front of many of them thinking that everything was clear.  Now, I just kneel before the cross with gratitude for the grace it has brought into my life.  

The Fundamental Flaw

It is interesting that the Word speaks of the beginning taking place in a garden.  Humanity begins its story in a garden.   The beginning moment of the human story and the story of creation begins not in a crowded urban area where towering monuments to human ingenuity soar toward the heavens, but in a place as simple as a garden which has as its center the creation the Creator put in place.  Some have suggested that part of our human brokenness is connected to our separation from the place of our origins which is the creation.     

While such a large majority of our people are now urban dwellers, there is still some truth in this condition of separation.  This is not to say that the urban dweller is somehow outside the intentional will of God, but to say that our loss of connectedness to the creation is something which is more serious than might seem to be the case on the surface.  Urban planners give credence to this reality with their plans for green zones in the midst of the city, or the dedication of large green spaces for parks, or the way some cities have brought rivers into their modern urban plans.  Even in the midst of the high rise and the expanding seas of concrete having a place where humanity can experience a moment of being connected to their beginnings is seen as something of importance and value.  And, it must also be acknowledged that the rural dweller surrounded by vast acres can live hurried and oblivious to where life is being lived.   It is a problem common to us all regardless of where we throw our hat.

But, at a more personal level the separation speaks of our being out of step with everything which is around us as well as the lifestyle which God intends for us to embrace.  The creation is not something to be used, but something of which we are intricately a part.  As is the creation, so are we.  As we understand the rhythm of the creation so are we better able to orient our life to the divine intention.  When we live out of sync with the creation which is always all around us, a separation has taken place which can only lead to a loss of knowing who we really are in the plan of God.   Not knowing who we are speaks to the fundamental flaw with which we all seem to struggle as we begin to pay more attention to intentions and plans other the holy ones.   

Remembering Music

Recently I re-connected with a couple of grown up kids who back in the early '70's were in the children's ministry which I offered at my first appointment.  What they both remembered was a song we sang which went, "The Lord said to Noah there's going to be floody, floody, get them children out of the muddy, muddy, children of the Lord."   Actually, I was amazed to hear that anyone still remembered those early days of ministry, much less some song we sang.      

It was at that moment of laughing at their memory that I remembered two lay people from the St. John Church whose names are forever associated with the solos they enjoyed doing.  John sang, "Cornerstone," and Marynell sang, "People need the Lord."  Whenever I hear those songs, I remember those two raising their unique voices in praise to God.  Music really has a way of taking root in the deep places of our life.  Those who are gifted in music offer a very special gift to the Body of Christ.     

As I have often said, I remember very few sermons I have heard.  I probably remember even fewer that I have preached, but I carry around a songbook of songs in my memory.  Some are remembered as the songs of special folks, some are remembered from special places such as Evening Vespers at Young Harris College, and some are songs which have enriched the worship life of the church for hundreds of years.  I am not a singer, but I love to sing.  I love to sing with the congregation of people who like me are not good singers, but enjoy doing it.  It has always blessed my soul and most assuredly the singing we have offered to God has been received as a gift of praise and thanksgiving to the God who created the music and put love for it in us.  

Words from the Garden

A garden is not just about tomatoes, peppers, corn, and beans.  These things are simply the result of something else.  A garden is really about order and discipline.  As I walked away from a day of working in that space which becomes the center of life in these days of Spring and looked over my shoulder, I saw rows of plants lined up in order breaking the ground.  Tomato plants were starting their upward journey inside the wire cages around them and the onions had been pulled to lay in a row to be dried by the sun.    

It was a moment before the real battle with the weeds started, a time when water had left its glistening mark on the plants, and when hope was abundant in everything that could be seen.  When I took that evening pause to look I was amazed at the order which had been created out of what some months ago was overgrown chaos.   It was a moment for stopping for a second look and expressing gratitude for being enabled to be a part of something so much a part of the creation.   

Surely, a garden teaches us about the way chaos can be overcome by allowing ourselves to enter into the creation's rhythm of order and discipline.  Those things abound in the creation around us.  It may be evident in the neatly laid out garden, but to allow ourselves to become immersed in what God is about in His created order enables us to see that it is as much a part of the fabric of creation as is earth and sky and sea.  What we see visibly outside of us is also, perhaps, a symbol of what the Spirit of God desires to do in our inner being.  Though the holy order and disciplined work of the Spirit an important harvest is being readied within us.  

Symbols

While I am attracted to poetry and cannot help but dabble in the creation of it at times, I know the results of my efforts are feeble attempts at a form of expression that goes beyond my abilities.  Yet, still I work with it.  There is an inner compulsion to the dabbling.  As I was reading in "Anam Cara,"  a book on Celtic spirituality by John O'Donohue, I found an explanation for that compulsion when I read the words, "The symbol never gives itself completely to the light."  Poetry  is a verbal medium that invokes the imagination.    

Our spiritual history is full of symbols.  From the first pages of the Word to the final benediction symbols abound.  They seem to hover over every page.  They point us to what we cannot see and to things that are filled with holy mystery.   And, of course, holy mystery is not something which will ever fit inside our definitions and our finite understandings of the the holy things.  It may also be the reason I find myself so drawn to John's gospel.  There is so much within those words that leave us with no choice except to sit and ponder.    

As O'Donohue wrote,  spiritual symbols never give themselves completely to the light.  They always leave us with things to ponder.  These holy symbols enable us to use our imagination to engage the Holy Word.  Perhaps, this is a part of the reason Jesus used parables and why we find ourselves so intrigued with them.  They are an invitation to "Go figure" as one of my clergy friends used to say.  The symbols within poetry do the same.  And, the figuring of one person is never exactly the same as another which merely speaks to the way God has made us and given us our own unique walk.

The Invisible Light

 In the first darkness

   invisible light shines

    not the blinding light,

      the bright squinting kind,

but eternal light,

   life creating light

     dispelling darkness

        making something new

the unseen now seen.

The second darkness,

    a deep, deep darkness,

      dreaded and feared,

        the unknown beyond,

but in that darkness,

    the first light shines, 

       bright leading light, 

         creating once more,

behold, the new comes.

Light of the World,

    bringing into being

      all things, the seen,

        the hidden unseen,

shining in darkness,

    the invisible light

      penetrating now

womb and death darkness.

(John 1:3-5)

        

A Tribute of Faith

Today two years ago my mother died.  As we go along through life, we find ourselves adding to the keeping of birthdays and wedding anniversaries the death dates of those we love.  As I woke up remembering I find myself drawn to a simple word in the letter Paul wrote to Timothy, "I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure lives in you."  (II Timothy 1:5)  Yes, I do have faith in Christ.  It is the bedrock of my whole life. I was drawn to it as a boy and now hold it tightly as the treasure of my life.    

And, yes, while my faith is mine in the sense that I made a positive intentional decision to embrace it, I know it is also the faith that my mother carried with her as long as the years she was with us here instead of in the heavenly place where she now dwells.  She was the one who made sure I learned to pray.  She was the one who put the stability of the church in my life.  She was the one who modeled faith in Christ before I knew how it looked.   

Today I remember my mother with some degree of sadness.  Like anyone whose mother has died, there is a place not filled.  But, more than anything else I am grateful for this faith she gave to my sister and me when we were young and for the way it has stayed rooted in our hearts for the journey of faith which has becomes ours.  When my time on this side of the River comes to an end, I pray for the blessing of being remembered as one who lived with faith, died in faith, and lives among the great cloud of witnesses because of that faith.  And, I pray, too, that the faith of my mother which still lives in me may continue to bear fruit in the lives of those who come after me.  

Hallelujah!

 Just beyond here,

    the other shore, 

        not really seen,

          but shimmering

like evening's sun

     circling the edge

       bringing an end

          with the soft glow

of glory not seen.

The not here life,

    filled with saints

      midst the holy

        not looking back

but at the Son,

    who brings the light

       now reflected

          across the way

and seen by faith.  

Hallelujah! 

    Hallelujah!

        Hallejuah!

           Praise the Lord!

Hallelujah!

     Hallelujah!

        Hallelujah!

           Praise the Lord!

Hallelujah!

          

       

Between Two Worlds

In between, 

   but in both

      one foot in

        one foot out,

here is there,

   there is here,

      where I am 

        touches both.

Moving waves, 

    shifting sand,

      taking now,

        giving then.

walkers wait

   while walking

      eager to see

         what comes in.

Waiting here, 

    always close 

      to the edge 

        the thin place

where glory

    comes and go

       breaking through,

         upon the clay.  

         

On the Edge

 Sometimes,

     not so sure

       where I stand

         on the edge

of two worlds

    in and out,

      one moving,

         one so still.

On the edge

    one pushing,

      one pulling,

        contending

for the space

    under my feet

      here and there

          always here.

Here and there

     visible

        and unseen,

          clay and spirit

touching earth

     with heaven,

       ordinary

         and glory.  

The Long Arm

One of my favorite Biblical stories is the story John tells about the morning a resurrected Jesus cooks breakfast on the beach for the disciples who as the story begins are out in the water after a night of unsuccessful fishing.   While Jesus is still a distant stranger to them, they cast their nets one last time according to His instructions and they pulled in nets full to the breaking point.  But, Jesus really did not need their catch.  When they got to shore, the now recognizable Jesus was cooking fish over a charcoal fire.   Everyone knows it is a real fishing tale because they counted the fish, every last one of the 153 of them in the torn nets.  (John 21)    

But, of course, everyone also knows there is more to this story than just fish.  It is a story of reconciliation.  It is a story of a man finding his way past his broken heart to the place where he belongs.  The fact that Jesus intimately spoke to Peter three times as they strolled down the beach was not lost on Peter who had three times betrayed Jesus while the smoke of charcoal fire filled his nostrils.  In those moments with Jesus, Peter not only knew he was forgiven, but he was told that he was still useful for the work of Jesus.     

There are times we need to hear this two fold message of Jesus.  Sin has touched all our lives and sometimes the weight of our sin causes us to think that Jesus would surely have no use for us.  We feel like we are such damaged goods, such a failure that Jesus is surely not going to entrust us with Kingdom work.  What we have discovered as many times as we have sinned is that Jesus is never done with us.  We can never stray beyond the reach of His forgiveness.  Grace has an arm as long as eternity and every forgiven sinner such as me or you has thankfully felt the weight of that arm around our shoulder as Jesus walks along the way with us.  

The Small Church

A sad phenomena of our changing culture is the closure of so many small churches which stood like solitary sentinels in the countryside and small towns.  In many situations it is the thing of its young growing up and looking for greener pastures.  Of course, it is also a reflection of the movement of our culture from an agrarian one to an urban one.  For those who have never lived in the smaller places, it is hard to understand the hold those small churches have on the ones who still live nearby and linger in their pews.   When one of them finally gives up and closes, it is like a funeral for the few who wish and long for another option.  

These smaller churches are more than just a church.   Each one is the center of life in a community and, therefore, the center of life for those who attend.  None of its member would consider leaving.  Those churches have problems like any church, but leaving is not an option.  Working it out is what churches do when the church is like family.  It is the place filled with memories of revivals, baptisms, weddings, and funerals.  It is the center that has held life together from birth to the grave and many of them give testimony to this reality with graveyards which surround the sanctuary.     

Some define these small churches as family churches which usually means most everyone is related to everyone else, or at least it feels that way to those who have grown up  knowing and sharing each other's joys and sorrows.    To see these small churches standing empty and unused now is sad because it speaks of a book of memories now closed.  There may be a thousand or more memories within the empty room, but there will be no more stories written in its future.  So many of the stories written which are now just memory are of ordinary, salt of the earth, people coming to faith in Christ and learning how to live with one another in that faith.  Though small and often not sought by ambitious preachers, they modeled Christian community in a way not always seen in the larger churches which now draw people to what is seen as a more attractive gathering where the spiritual things are done better.  

The Heresy

When people come for baptism in our denomination, no one is asked if they have any bad habits.  No one is asked how much money is earned, or if there are any plans to become a tithing Methodist.  There is no Wesley test given to make sure the baptismal candidates have a basic understanding of what Methodists believe about baptism.  Neither is any one asked their opinion concerning controversial social issues, or their political persuasion,  and certainly no one is asked about their academic credentials, or their credit rating.     

The question asked is the question of faith.  The only question is the one which is framed by the words, "Do you have faith in Christ?''  To answer "yes" to this fundamental question sends the baptismal waters flowing.  The New Testament is clear that this is the only question which matters at such a moment.  It is the litmus test for anyone who seeks recognition by the church as a believer and follower of Christ. It is not always easy for the church to stop with this one question when there are so many which might be asked.  

Paul faced this issue in the Galatian Churches.  He preached a "faith and faith alone" message to would be converts and new believers.  After he left some of the Jewish Christian members of those churches said that Paul was right, but only partially.  Faith was important, but the Jewish rite of circumcision was also necessary.  It was a Jesus plus heresy which infuriated Paul and prompted the letter to the churches.  Hopefully, the Galatain heresy is in the past, but every now and then someone suggests that faith in Christ plus some other thing is required.  It is a dangerous heresy which feeds on the church's desire to control.  Watch out for it.  

The Holy Ledger

Some folks come to know Jesus at a very early age.  I have baptized more than a few children who came to me long before they were of confirmation age speaking of a desire for baptism and a love for Jesus.  Perhaps, they did not speak the faith language with the expertise of an adult, but genuine faith does not require an education, or any certain number of years.  It just requires faith.  Along the way there have also been a few who have raised a skeptical eye at the practice of baptizing a child and affirming their love for Christ.  There are some who think a child should wait until a certain age of understanding is reached, an age no doubt determined by them.    

And, at the other end of the spectrum, there are people who come to know Jesus almost an the end of their life.  One of the thieves on the cross that day when Jesus died is a great example of a last minute come to know Jesus moment.  So, it is never too late.  One of the most precious memories I have of my time at the Zoar Church which was my first appointment was going to the home of a man who had become housebound for his baptismal service.  It was a moment when the Men's Sunday School Class came to be the Body of Christ present with him as he professed faith in Christ.  And, of course, there are some who raise skeptical eyes at such a thing saying that it is not so much about expressing faith in Christ as it is fire insurance.  Personally, I am skeptical about believers who would think, or say such a thing.  

It is never too early, or too late to come to know Jesus.  He is not just the Savior of the middle age folks, or the people with families, or the folks who look like and act like you and me, but the Savior of all people.  Age is irrelevant.  Actually, everything is irrelevant except faith.  Paul wrote in the letter to the Ephesians, "For by grace you have been saved  through faith..."  (Ephesians 2:8) and the whole book of Galatians is an argument putting down a Jesus plus theology which declared that something in addition to faith is necessary.  Faith and faith alone.  Nothing else counts on the holy ledger.  

Memory

Words are powerful.  Some words have a way of lingering long after they are read.  Such a word came in the reading of "Anam Cara,"  a book written by John O'Donohue.  "Yet, the future of every experience is its disappearance. This raises a fascinating question:  Is there a place where our vanished days secretly gather?  As a medieval mystic asked, 'Where does the light go when the candle is blown out?'  I believe there is a place where our vanished days secretly gather.  The name of that place is memory."    

I have almost wished I had not read those words and caused to consider the image they created.  Not only have they lingered, but they have caused me to long for deeper understanding than I seem to find as I see those words of the page.  Memory is, of course, a powerful God given gift.  It is not like the memory of a computer, but a memory that not only stores information, but also brings to mind the feelings which come with the vanished moment.   The warmth of a smile and the feel of the wind against the face cannot be stored on a computer chip.  Only a soul can hold such a treasure.    

That memory is a God given is indisputable.  Several hundred times the Word of God reminds those who read to remember.  Sometimes it seems that memories are lost, but just maybe God has created a place in eternity where treasures so precious are gathered and kept.  And then, again, maybe those vanished days that we remember can be shared to become a part of the memory of those who will come after us.