Week Seven: Dust and Dreams

(This is the boat, my friend Pat is building in his driveway...it is so awesome!)

I have reconnected recently with an old friend who, it turns out, is building a wooden boat. He plans on cruising to Alaska once he is done.  Then, he plans on taking the, "Epoxy Empress" down the Mississippi.  In the meantime, he is a pastor focused on shepherding a flock.  I know him well.  I know that he is a great pastor, one that takes the time to listen to his flock.  He is also very good at listening to his Shepherd.  His roots go deep.

As I was visiting with him about his boat, the One who dreamed the vast universe into existence began to reacquaint me with my childhood dreams.  

I began to remember how I poured through the encyclopedias and National Geographics when I was growing up. I recall reading of tropical islands and dreaming of lonely mountains.  I saw pictures of lakes as big as oceans and deserts as big as countries and trees bigger than any other living thing in all of creation. 

I also dreamed of having my own sheep ranch and writing a novel and learning to sail...my dreams come like a heaving sea. 

But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of those dreams.  I started to listen to the background noises...the worldly voices telling me, "It just isn't practical to join the Peace Corps." Or, "The Merchant Marines? What about settling down and raising a family?" "Be responsible." "Be successful." "Get an education."

So that is what I did. I settled down, got an education, and started to raise a family.  I have chickens and small fruit trees and a mortgage and three wonderful boys that demand most of my attention....and I am so thankful for them.  But I am also married to the one who gave me, "Dove" to read on our first date; the one who toured the Baltic states in college and flew to her native Ireland right after graduation. She is a constant reminder of which way our roots point.  

Since becoming married, we spent a summer in Alaska and two weeks in South Africa. We've seen those great big trees and a couple of lakes as big as the ocean.   Sometimes I don't, but she always hears the voice saying:

"This is the way. Walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21)

As you continue your discipline of Sabbath, don't be surprised when you start hearing voices. Just when you thought your dreams were lost safely under a layer of dust, they are brought to light again.  Your world becomes less safe, but more vibrant.  Your days become a storm-tossed sea but at night you see clearly as the beacon guides you back to the dreams you had when you were younger; when the world was your canvas and you really believed that all things were possible.  

Where is He leading you?

Perhaps your dream isn't cruising to Alaska or down the mighty Mississippi on a boat you made with your own hands. Instead, maybe it's medical school, or writing a book, or living in a tree, or raising sheep, or painting. Why not?  To be rooted in Christ is to be yoked, not with the earth, but with an itinerant carpenter who likes to wear His hear long, drink good wine, and get out on the open road. Don't be surprised if you hear that still small voice telling you to leave Ur and everything you know for that undiscovered country. 

Our Shepherd knows the way.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being. 

Week Six: Connected

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” 

Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 

Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

John 20-27-29

"I touch you once, I touch you twice...

I won't let go at any price.

I need you now like I need you then,

You always said we'd still be friends...someday."

If You Leave - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

My old pickup overheated on the way out to the father-son camp-out and we arrived too late to throw our fishing lines in the creek.  We soon realized that there was only one other father-son combo there that we actually knew...and we didn't know them very well.  We had been led to believe that this was a middle-school retreat. Instead, we discovered it was mostly younger dads and toddlers.  In addition, we found out that there were leaches in the water and ants in our tent.  But the food was good and the speaker was good and we were challenged to be "mighty men of God" and to "slay whatever lion is in the pit with us." So, after dinner, my son, Sam, and I withdrew from the group to talk about how we might become mighty men and how we might kill the mighty lions we are facing in our lives.  

"Alright!" I thought, "Finally, some man-time with my 11 year-old son!"  We headed back to our broken down truck where we could talk openly.

"Dad," my son asked, "Can we just lie down look up at the stars for a while?" (The back of a pickup isn't called a bed because it is comfortable!)

At first, I was disappointed. I was hoping to talk, but we didn't talk too much about being mighty men and we didn't talk too much about the lions we had to slay.  However, this, by far, was the best part of the trip. We were far enough from the city that we actually saw the "milky" part of the Milky Way. It was like the night was lit up! We saw more stars to count than we had time. The universe on display was mind-boggling in its immensity! Sam saw four shooting stars.  I saw one, but it was enough to make me feel small, but somehow more important than when I tried to be big. Sam just said, "This is awesome, Dad. Thanks for taking me here." And in that moment, I felt connected to my son and connected to a mighty God and not nearly as worried about those pesky lions.  

I needed that.  Even though I know that we have been created with eternity in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11) I was worried about the truck.  Even though I know that we have been created in the image of a God who by definition is a connected trinity of three Persons,  I was worried about my son having a good time.  Even though I know that Jesus promised to never leave us or forsake us, I sometimes don't feel it. So, in those moments when it is easy to feel the presence of God, I want to stay.  And I know that I'm not the only one.  I can imagine Thomas, in that unrecorded conversation after touching Jesus once and then twice, exclaiming, "I won't let go at any price!" We don't want to let Jesus go.  

But we have to. The day dawns and the work week looms.  But when we stop to look up, between the overheated truck and the ant-infested tent, God will make Himself known.  No words have to be spoken, no falling stars need to be seen but we will see.  Maybe not with our eyes, maybe not even with our hands, but we will see and we will feel and we will believe. And it all starts with stopping.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.sxc.hu #37188 (This HUGE power shovel is named, "Big Brutus." It scooped out acres of coal in SE Kansas.  It is even more impressive in person!)

Week Five: Unfinished Business

The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world. (Abraham Joshua Heschel, "The Sabbath")

And the witness is this, that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son.  He who has the Son has the life; he who doe not have the Son of god does not have the life. (1 John 1:11-12)

We began our Sabbath on Saturday evening as we have the last several weeks...after spending the day working on the kitchen.  We weren't especially inspired to work on the kitchen, but we were motivated because the plumber was coming and that section of that wall absolutely needed to be done before he arrived. And it has also been two years since we started the dang thing and we really want to get it done already!  "And once we are finally done with it," we reason, "then we can really begin to enjoy it."

I live my life like that. 

If I get the lawn mowed, then I can enjoy it. When I fix the screen door, then we can savor these beautiful fall mornings. Once I get my book published, then I'll really feel like a success.  When we finally are able to take our kids back to the Redwoods, then I'll be happy.  And so it goes.  There is no time to stop because there is so much we still need to do.

So, I often don't really feel like taking twenty-four hours off.  I don't really feel inspired to go through the hard work of stopping.  I'd often rather work at work.  At least then I'll accomplish something. But if I stop, the promise is that Jesus will show up.  Jesus will come and finish what isn't done.  Maybe this unfinished part is not the kitchen. And I still have to go to the dentist tomorrow. I still haven't fixed the screen door on the back porch, but Jesus comes and something changes and my life becomes more than just the sum of some list I cross off on a daily basis. (I live by Post-it-notes!)

I don't know if it is the result of regular Sabbaths for these last five weeks, but my wife has also started to experienced the presence of God in the everyday...even doing laundry!   Isn't this what we hear from the beloved disciple, "God has given us eternal life in His Son..." 

"Has given" means that it is already here!  It's here as we wrangle the kids for church on Sunday morning. We don't have to wait! It's here when we go to work and its here when we do the laundry.  It's here when we experience heart-ache and loss. It's here already.  We experience the sacred in what we thought was just the fallen part of our lives. Those things that are necessary become celebratory. Those things that are broken become beautiful.

And there was celebration in our Sabbath.  We were able to celebrate a good friend's birthday. We were able to go on a date together. We played football in our yard as a family.  We went to worship and ate beautiful cookies with some sweet and savory saints. We tucked in our precious boys and went to bed exhausted but full.  As my wife fell asleep, she said, "It has been a good day."  

And I thought, "Yes. It has. It has been  a good day. It is has been a really, really good day. I didn't get to surf in Hawaii. I didn't even get the screen door fixed.  But it was good." 

And it was eternal. 

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.sxc.hu #2903028

Week Four: Sabbath Humility

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God that he may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety upon Him for He cares for you." (1Peter 5:6-7)

I knew that Sabbath-keeping was hard...I just didn't know it would be so humbling.

So far, it hasn't become any easier to carve out 24 hours our of 168 to focus on God and my relationship with Him as well as my relationship with those that God has called me to love. Life just gets in the way. So much of Sabbath seems to be, at least at this point, logistics.

Yes, my wife and I are still working on our kitchen project.  That thorn in our flesh became the focus of most of our day Saturday.  Then, I was called to go in to work for a couple of hours.  By the end of the day, I was tired.  I needed to rest.

It was about seven o'clock when the family reconnoitered in the living room.  To start our Sabbath, we watched, "Soul Surfer" and then fielded some questions about why sharks would attack kids.  Our son, Isaac, suggested, "Some day, sharks and swimmers will get along just like the lion will lay down with the lamb." What a glorious day that will be!

Before Sunday morning broke upon the city, I snuck out of the house and paddled for about an hour on the river. It was beautiful watching the sun come out, over the the skyline as the water flowed silently all around following the still small voice that led it always to its destination. "The Lord separated the light and the dark," I mused in the silent crescendo of the first day.  Then, a little fish jumped out of the water, into my boat, and on to my lap!  I nearly capsized myself in astonishment.  Maybe I still had the previous night's movie in my mind, but I called it a morning and headed for terra firma.

There was a bit of stress served with out breakfast Sunday morning.  My wife calls getting ready for church, "the unholy hour."  We arrived at church a little early because she was scheduled to preach, but found out when we arrived that the schedule had been changed and she was preaching next Sunday.  The hard part was over. We were there, so we went to church and Sunday school anyway. The other preacher was good and we had communion together as a family.

After church, we had to hustle home and make ready for twenty guests including a gaggle of elementary children and their families.  Our boys had made a switch to a new school and we wanted to help make the transition a little easier for them by getting to know a few of the students and their families a little better.

We had a quick lunch and began to straighten up the house, clean the porch, prepare yard games, and button things down for the approaching hurricane.  It takes work to prepare the fatted calf and I found myself grumbling and resenting this grand imposition of my time.  The Sabbath was my time to read, my time to write, and my time to take a nap if need be while watching football. None of that happened.  Instead, my selfish heart was exposed.

I was reminded that Sabbath really isn't about my relationship with myself anyway but with my relationship with God and my family and my neighbor.  I needed to cool my jets and roll up my sleeves.   I needed to cease my striving and my planning and sacrifice those conversations around the coffee pot at work regarding games I did not have a chance to see.  I had to die to myself so that our third-grader could have some new friends over from a new school.

I was humbled, I believe, under the mighty hand of God.

And we had a great time and we met some great families and ate some great food.  Isaac, our shark whisperer, came up to his mother after the party, bear hugged her, and said, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much for having this awesome party!"

I hope, as a result of a little house-cleaning and party-planning, our sons might have a little bit easier week...maybe even an "exalted" one.

I know that I will.

Church Stopping.  Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.sxc.hu #166502

Week Three: Sabbath Smells

Sabbath Smells: Week Three

It was Labor Day weekend, so it was okay to take our Sabbath on Monday:

"Therefore, let no one act as your judge in regard to food or drink or in respect to a festival or new moon or Sabbath day-" (Colossians 2:16)

But still, it was hard and there was a decision to make on Sunday night: Should I finish mowing before the rain, or should I spend time with family and usher in the Sabbath? It was a hard decision.  I really love the look and smell of a freshly mowed lawn...

Family or fescue?

Although I knew the right answer, it was a difficult decision to make. (In fact, it's more than a little embarrassing to admit how difficult it was!)  In the end, I enjoyed a movie and popcorn with the boys and my wife enjoyed a good visit with a dear friend. Besides, our lawn is bermuda.

And I was ready for a break.  My wife and I had worked hard tiling the backsplash in the kitchen, and before that, we had made a batch of jerky. So, that night, I went willingly to bed with the lingering bouquet of popcorn and jerky wafting through our home and coloring delicious dreams.

The dawn of our Monday Sabbath broke silently on the sleeping city as I plied the sable waters winding through the heart of town in my kayak.  The water was warm, but there were invisible rivulets of cold, evidence of a secret spring...or maybe a rain shower upstream.  The intermittent flair of lightning on the tail of the storm that had rolled through town during my redolent repose cast episodic, untimely, light in the shadowed places.

The air was blowing fresh and free, strong enough to tousle my my already disheveled morning hair. It was thrilling. I thought of Pentecost.  There were the distant tongues of fire that spoke of God's power and also the rain that spoke of His care. Everything seemed new.

At the bridge, the river became to shallow to continue.  I also knew that I should be getting back to help make final preparations for our family picnic later in the day.  So, I turned around. And as I did, the fresh wind stilled, the rich water pooled, the unpleasant aroma of stagnant water, and maybe something dead in the area, made its presence known to my nostrils.

Nonetheless, it was still a beautiful morning and I was happy as I drove back to the house having experienced the beauty and the power of the Creator.

As I walked into the kitchen, though,  my demeanor changed. The fresh and free Spirit that I had just quickened my heart to the majesty of God, stilled into something more malodorous. I noticed that the tiling tools from the interminable kitchen project had been tampered with.  (And this after explicit instructions to, "not to!")

Soon, a little person that I love dearly was the recipient of the unpleasant aroma of a lecture coming from a dead part of my heart, walled-off from the tousling winds of the Holy Spirit.  For my son, it was a heart-felt harangue.  For me, it was a glaring reminder of those shadowed places in my heart; those places that need to be burned out by God's episodic fire and made clean by God's wild wind.

I can't do it.

All I can do is get into a position where those stagnant places are exposed for what they are; dead. This has become for me an important part of my Sabbath journey-the hard part of resting-letting Christ in to expose those stinking places I have spent so many years trying covering up.

And this divine work can take place on Saturday, Sunday, or even Monday.  The day doesn't matter because the days are...

"...things which  are a mere shadow of what is to become; but the substance belongs to Christ." (Colossians 2:16-17)

May your practice of Sabbath be full of the aroma of Christ, on whatever day you choose.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.sxc.hu  706785