Chapter 18: Little Matters. Great Causes.

(Photo courtesy of the University of Michigan: Piezoelectric Energy Generator. Pretty small but very cool!)

I have seen the task which God has given to the sons of men with which to occupy themselves...I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor-it is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 3:10, 12-13)

Galadriel: Why the Halfling?

Gandalf: I do not know. Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay... small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid... and he gives me courage. (2012, The Hobbit: Unexpected Journey)

I have always dreamed of doing big things.  Great things.  And important things.  I don't know what those things are yet, but I am keeping my eyes peeled and my ears open.  I read the news. I see libraries full of books. I hear politicians and preachers speak moving words to the masses.  I take notes and dream dreams, but I don't do big things.

And if I did, it would probably make my typical Sabbath day much more difficult to justify.  Sabbaths are for little things.  On Saturday morning, we drove an hour to watch my oldest son play basketball.  It didn't make the news.  I helped our youngest sons find Walter, our elf. As a result, I wasn't nominated for man of the year. On Saturday afternoon, we had lunch with some new friends. On Saturday night, we went to the wedding of a couple of old friends. My wife officiated and spoke beautiful words to several hundred people.  I was on crowd control. After the wedding, we came home and listened to an audiobook late unto the night. The world whistled and whirred without my participation.

And maybe that is okay.

After all, we ate well. We rejoiced and maybe did a little good along the way. We saw some beautiful country.  We fed the chickens and enjoyed the fire and drank in all of our labor and maybe, just maybe, we realized that in those little things was the gift of God.

And maybe Gandalf was right.  Maybe it is the "small everyday deeds of normal folk that keep the darkness at bay...small acts of kindness of love."  Maybe this is what God has been trying to tell me the whole time.  It's not the great causes of the earth that matter.  It's the little matters that are great causes. 

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it seems like the modus operandi of God; An old man and a barren woman give birth to a nation. The baby adrift in a basket becomes the deliverer of a whole nation. A little boy with a rock and a slingshot slays the giant.  The baby born in a two-bit town and lying in a feed trough out back is the King of the Earth.

Maybe I need to worry less about my delusions of grandeur and pay more attention to the little things that are truly grander. Maybe I should slow down enough so that I won't miss the burning bush. Maybe I need to spend more time playing Legos and shooting hoops and playing cars with the boys.  Maybe the greatest cause...the best thing that I can do for the world...is that thing that the world will never know. 

Maybe.

But this I know.  I should spend more time holding my boys close and more time holding my wife even closer because in that small embrace, I will feel the mighty touch of God.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Week 17: Imperfect

(Photo from Free Images.com #1058895)

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." (Jesus)

"Oh Lord, it's hard to be like Jesus." (Rich Mullins)

Our Sabbath began on Saturday evening this week.  Jennifer took the two older boys Christmas caroling with church and I took the youngest to see Santa.  During caroling, old friends were greeted and new friends were met and hearts and hands were warmed.  During our visit to Santa, the wish list was forgotten, but the point was made and the mission was accomplished. It was a great and promising start to the Sabbath, but it's hard to be like Jesus.

And on Sunday morning, Jennifer was asked to fill the pulpit.  That's work. On Sunday afternoon, I helped our oldest son take a bed apart, move it from the basement, and then out to the garage. That's work.  In a strict Sabbatarian sense, we stumbled impressively into a Sabbath transgression.  It's hard to be like Jesus.

And yet, I get the impression that the Lord of the Sabbath doesn't call us to be strict Sabbatarians.  He calls us to follow.  When we do, He promises us peace. And when we don't, He commands us not to be troubled with spiritual self-flagellation. After all, we are only human, and it is hard to be like Jesus. And God knows it.  

And God knows that though we didn't keep the Sabbath perfectly, we didn't neglect it entirely, either.  There were some things that we left undone; things like Christmas shopping, Christmas wrapping, and Christmas decorating.  Instead, we went out for pizza and ate a simple supper.  We listened to a book on tape.  Our oldest son announced that he would lead us in family devotions. It was awesome! (I'm not sure that he would have offered to do that seventeen weeks ago!)  

No, we didn't keep a perfect Sabbath.  That is no surprise.  But something has changed. Jesus is leading. We are listening.  And a little bit of that peace that Jesus promised has sneaked into even this busy and stressful season.  It is an umerited gift, and a precious one.

And even though we didn't keep the perfect Sabbath, Jesus kept us.  That is no surprise.  After all, isn't that what grace is? When we realized just how hard it is to be like Jesus, we discover that Jesus likes us anyway and is perfect for us when we are imperfect at best.  

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

  

Week 16: Superfluous

The "Opportunity" Rover on the prowl 225 million miles from Earth. (Picture courtesy of NASA)

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

"The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know--if you've ever picked a scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away." -Edmund

(The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by CS Lewis)

On our Sabbath day, we colored and drew and then showed each other what we had drawn.  My wife, who loves elephants and is an incredible artist, drew an elephant that was so beautiful, our five-year old wanted to draw one, too. (And he did!) Our eleven-year old drew himself thinking on a park bench in early spring with a newly-leafed tree overhead. Awesome! And our little, eight-year old knight drew a castle complete with cracked mortar, a climbing vine, secret passages and a massive, gated door. I drew a silly cartoon of our fattest chicken and our smallest chicken, side by side.  I would have drawn two eggs in the picture, but I am a bit of a realist in my artistic endeavors.

It was completely frivolous, but billy-oh! So much fun. No great thinking was done. No great songs were composed. The kitchen project languished. And we didn't feed the poor or command armies or walk on the surface of the moon. Yet, the political system didn't collapse. The Kingdom of God was in good hands. The earth continued to spin in this little corner of our ever-expanding universe. 

But I felt a little guilty.  I want my work to matter.  Most of my adult life, I have scratched and clawed about the surface of the earth like a chicken hunting for a junebug.  I stay up and work late. But as I put the finishing touches on my cartoon chickens, I thought that even if there was a person who managed to scratch and claw and control all the resources of Earth, and that same person commanded universal power and unlimited riches, all that accomplishment would have about as much impact on our universe as my drawing of a funny little chicken.  Not much. 

The world is just too big for us to matter.  After all, the observable universe (from our little corner of it) is about 92 billion light years in diameter. (And that is just what we can see!) In fact, some scientists believe that there is no end to it.  I think the sobering truth is that we are superfluous sprinkles adrift on a superfluous speck on the outer rim of a superfluous galaxy. But it's beautiful, isn't it?  The whole thing...elephants and castles and trees over park benches; chickens and solar systems and the double-helix of DNA. The superfluous part is the beautiful part.   

So, maybe we need to quit acting like a chicken, and start drawing one. Maybe we need to stop trying to do the important thing and try to do the beautiful thing. The thing that doesn't matter on Wall Street may be the most important thing of all.  Maybe we need to let Aslan peel away our false skin of relevance and self-importance and ambition.  It may hurt a little, to realize that we aren't nearly as important as we thought we were, but when it was all over, like Edmund, I believe that we will be much happier, knowing that our lives our not merely utilitarian, they are wonderfully beautiful and spectacularly superfluous.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Week 15: Wonder-full

For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us;

And the government will rest on His shoulders;

And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.

(Isaiah 9:6)

For Thou art great and doest wondrous deeds; Thou alone art God.

(Psalm 86:10)

And He is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His  power. When He had made purification of sins, He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high having become as much better than the angels, as He has inherited a more excellent name than they.

(Hebrews 1:3-4)

Our family has just returned home after a week sojourn in the beautiful Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming.  We arrived at the onset of six inches of alabaster snow.  The boys, full of wonder, played for hours outside making snowmen and snow angels and snow forts as huge snow flakes settled to the silent earth below. God snowed us in to the valley as the mountainous uplift of some ancient sea shimmered in the distance. With no where to go and no way to get there, we ate good food and visited long hours. We watched football and Swiss Family Robinson and ate turkey and ham.  We fed the fire and the boys drove Dad's tractor. They had fun plowing a path to the road.

We relaxed.

We rested.

God's Sabbath snow blanketed the earth and it smothered my ambition.  

By the end of the week, the snow abated and we ventured out into a winter wonderland.  The roads, cleared of slush and warmed by the sun, reminded us that our respite was coming to a close and pointed us towards home.  It was a two day trip from the highlands to our home on the plains and soon I realized that the blanket of snow had not completely covered my wanderlust.

At the hotel on our way home, eating breakfast in the hotel lobby, my wife asked the couple sitting next to us, "Where is your family going?"

"We are moving to Jackson Hole," they said, "from Tennessee."

"Enjoy the winter!" I thought as I tried to mask my desire for similar adventure; pulling up stakes and striking out into the great unknown. I've been to Jackson. I know it's beautiful.  "Awesome!" I managed to say as I poured more coffee. But I wasn't feeling it and I was quiet for the next several hours, lost in my thoughts as we listened to a book on tape and made our way slowly over the surface of the Earth.

And that still small voice spoke to me as the asphalt rolled past,  "It isn't something you are missing. It's someone.  The government will rest on His shoulders, He's a king, after all.  And His name is Wonderful Counselor..."  There was more, but that was it.  I looked up the word translated, "Wonderful" and it means "magnificent," "grandiose," "beyond comprehension," not just, "nice," or "good," but mind-boggling.  We worship a God who bathes everything that He creates with mind-boggling wonder. The King's expertise is on full display in the Big Horn Mountains, but it is here, even on the plains. It isn't something we see, it is something we feel...it is wonder. Children get it and adults need it. Without it, beauty becomes just scenery and adventure becomes just work and Christmas becomes just a day off.  

"Cowboy, are you glad to be back home?" my Kansas bride asked with the fading sunlight sparkling in her eyes, full of wonder.

"Absolutely!" I said, "The sky is bigger here."

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.freeimages.com #775525

Week 14: Joy Bombs

(Photo from original Star Trek television series.)

For behold, I create a new heavens and a new earth;

And the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.

But be glad and rejoice forever in what I create;

For behold, I create Jerusalem for rejoicing

And her people for gladness.

I will also rejoice in Jerusalem and be glad in my people;

And there will no longer be heard in her the voice of weeping and the sound of crying.

(Isaiah 65:17-19)

And the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people...." 

(Luke 2:10)

"It is a sin to be sad on the Sabbath day."

(Abraham Heschel)

"Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth."

(Pharell Williams)

Our Sabbath was on Sunday this week.  In the wee hours of the morning, I heard our eight year old screaming from his bedroom. I thought he had fallen out of bed...maybe he was having a bad dream.  Maybe, it was a mouse! (gasp.) No. It had snowed two inches over night. These were glee-filled screams!  God had just dropped a...

Joy Bomb!

Woot! Woot!

After breakfast, we rushed to Target to purchase items for Operation Christmas Child. After all, it was the last day for us to drop the goodie-box off at the goodie-box drop-off spot! (www.samaritanspurse.org) On two unsuspecting young kids in Africa, the Snook family had just dropped a...

Joy Bomb!

Sweet.

After church, a nap and some hot cocoa, our oldest son went outside to shoot some hoops in the snow. Our youngest put ornaments on the Christmas tree. Our eight-year old dusted off his sled and I was reminded what our true Sabbath work really is...

Joy Bombs!

(x3)

I know. I know. We live in a world where the word "bomb" is usually utilized in a sinister way.  In this world there are real bombs that hurt real people. The bad news has taken over the use of this word.  I think it is time for us to take it back! Especially in a world where parents "work-out" instead of play and eat kale instead of ice cream; in a world where pastors speak of "holiness" without cracking a smile and heaven as a far away place; in a world where angels sing only once a year, let's take back the word, drop a bomb, and resume our true Sabbath work:

"It is a sin to be sad on the Sabbath."

Believe me, these are difficult words for me to hear because I have pretended for too long that "responsibility" means "worry" and "holiness" means "humorless." So...

I'm mixing it up.

I'm going to laugh more and dance more...even when the basement is flooded and the weather is cold.  This year, I do not vow to get in shape. I vow to play. I do not promise to loose any weight. I vow to save room for dessert. I promise to rejoice not only when things are going well, but even when they aren't...and when they aren't, I will find someone who is rejoicing and invite myself to their party. It is an easy and lazy drift towards despair.  Sometimes it's hard work to warble but someone told me that singing is the second-most created command in the Bible.  And I believe it is kind of the point...

For behold, I create Jerusalem for rejoicing

And her people for gladness.

After all, it is no good to keep the joy, joy, joy down in our heart to stay.  Therefore, I decree in the face of this fallen world, to embrace the miracle of myrth, and not just on Saturday or Sunday. Today it's Monday, and it is time to go where no man had gone before.  T.G.I.M! You might be next on my list. So be ready. In fact, join me. It's time, people, to embrace your calling and drop a....

Joy Bomb!

(Who's with me?)

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Week 13: Menuhot

"Plenty of us take an hour here or there and call it Sabbath, which is like driving five miles to town and calling it Europe." (Barbara Brown Taylor, Christian Century, May 31, 2005)

Thus the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their hosts. And by the seventh day God completed His work which He had done; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work which God had created and made. (Genesis 2:2)

This week, my parents came to town.  Our Sabbath consisted of visiting and cooking and cleaning and, most importantly, no work on the kitchen project for the whole weekend. Our oldest boy enjoyed shooting his grandfather's twenty-two.  The youngest showed off his new reading skills to his grandmother. Our middle son busied himself drawing pictures for both Grandpa and GG to take home to Wyoming. 

But mostly, there was good food and long visits.  In the evenings, we stayed up late and visited. Often, the visits were about my parents little church. Their former pastor retired. As a result, some congregants have taken the opportunity to move their membership to the bustling Baptists on the other side of the traffic light. The remaining members can't really afford to hire a new parson...at least not full time and not at this time. In the interim, my parents have been filling in; visiting the sick, preaching to the faithful, and even remodeling the manse. They have been helping out to the point of wearing out.  They need a break, but if they stop can the church is to survive?

I remember hearing a message at a large church that I was attending a while back. In that message the pastor said sardonically, "What if all the churches in North America were to close there doors and there were no pastors preaching about the pride of Judah? Surely," he continued, "An entire generation would grow up without the good news." I remember wondering about that statement.  If the church in North America were to take a break, would our faith survive?

Yesterday, I joined a friend for lunch. He is a successful businessman and family man and a strong Christian.  He is also an ecclesiastical transient.  "Why is it," he asked, "that every church I have ever been too...large or small...modern or traditional...is exactly the same? They are filled with good people doing good things but when I read the Bible, I read about some not so perfect people who changed the world."

And it sounded like something more than survival. "What is it that we are missing," I asked, "miracles?"

"No," my buddy blurbed between bites of his Philly cheese steak, "Miracles happen in secret so that they can't be sold.  No. We have forgotten how to play. Where's the joy in our grown-up faith?"

Could he be right? After all, the Biblical word translated as "rest" in Genesis 2:2-3 is menuhot.  This is also the word translated as "still" or "quiet" in Psalm 23:2.  Even this, though, doesn't capture the depth of meaning.  Menuhot means tranquility, peace, and happiness.  God wasn't finished creating the world until God celebrated it with menuhot. God "finished" what was made with joy!

So maybe, just maybe, my buddy is right.  Maybe, just maybe, it would be good for my parents to stop trying to save the church if it doesn't bring them joy. I'm sure the church will be just fine. And maybe, just maybe, it would be good for the North American church to stop preaching Jesus if they can't do it out of a spirit of menuhot.  Not only would faith in North America survive, it might actually become something closer to the Author's original intent.

I am convinced that God's kingdom is unfolding all around us and usually through children who make sticks into scepters and wagons into rocket ships.  Our Savior came not as an acerbic ascetic, but one accused of eating and drinking just a little too much.  Our King didn't overturn the Roman occupiers, he turned water into wine and made the lame to dance and the mute to sing. When Jesus came to town, the tax collectors partied, common-folk sang praises to their king, and demons dove into the sea. 

In a world full of heartbreak and disappointment, shouldn't menuhot still be our marching orders? In a fallen world, isn't mirth still the miracle? Let's not settle for a five-mile drive to town when our gamboling God invites us to join Him in an all-expense paid trip to Europe.  Let's not settle for a solemn piety when our Savior invites us to a joyful feast.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.freeimages.com #1371446

Week 12: Anchor's Aweigh

"Follow me." Jesus.

(Mark 1:17)

Our Sabbath this week consisted of going to church, coming home, staying at home, and then watching a movie at home.  These are very dangerous activities.

For in this twenty-four hour respite from our crowded lives, I suddenly began to think about the hours I spent looking at National Geographic magazines as a boy.  The world seemed so big then...and strange and exciting.  There was so much time.  Much of it I spent sprawled out on the turquoise shag rug in the living room with my World Book Encyclopedias.  In high school, our family moved to rural Wyoming.  That was like traveling to a completely different country in itself.  In college I entertained the idea of the merchant marines and the Peace Corps.

At home, surrounded by people I love, in a place I am very familiar with, in a disengaged moment of reflection, I remembered it's in my DNA...I am prone to wander. Lord I feel it.

But somewhere along the way, the subscription to National Geographic expired. The World Book Encyclopedias and the dreams about traveling the world started to collect dust. I stopped dreaming about those far away places and tried to focus on making a living and being a responsible young man. I became active in church after a collegiate hiatus. I became gainfully employed. I bought a home and a dog and started a garden.

Good things, but my world became smaller. Even my Sabbaths covered familiar territory.  They involved camping and hunting with my dog and traveling back to Wyoming. These were all good things and enough, it seems, to keep my drifting dreams at bay.

Then, I married a fellow dreamer.  Together we read, "Dove" and "Mutant Message Down Under." We watched, "Lord of the Rings," and traveled to South Africa and spent a summer in Sitka.  We dreamed dreams of going to Italy and Sweden and the Tibesti Mountains of Chad.

After a couple of years of gallivanting,  we had children and settled down.  The dreams of going to Italy were tabled for Legoland.  The dreams of going to Sweden were put on hold for soccer games.  The dreams of the Tibesti mountains began to gather dust with the World Book Encyclopedias.

We dropped anchor on our dreams.

Thusly moored, this prudent little notion of taking Sabbaths together as a family blew in from the surging sea.  "It would bring us together," I thought.  "It would help us to grow in our relationship with our Lord and Savior," I mused. It turns out this idea of Sabbath was God breathed and perilous.  It turns out that our Lord is one who likes to let His hair down and get out on the open road, walk on water, and cast colorful worlds against the tapestry of infinite space.

As a result of our Sabbath experiment, there has been more time to dream.  Our children have begun to show signs that they too have inherited the vagabond DNA.  Our middle son wants to learn to surf in Hawaii.  Our oldest son wants to eat Chinese food...in China. Our littlest son wants to drive monster trucks and be a police officer. My wife has started to talk about learning Italian and I have an almost insatiable desire to visit my college buddy in Kosrae...and kayak the Snake River in Jackson Hole...and learn to sail...and find that remote swimming hole in the Owyhees.

I've discovered that my DNA hasn't changed. It turns out that I can't change my spots. I am still prone to wander. Lord I feel it! And maybe that's okay. Maybe it is even good.

During these first few weeks of Sabbath, I've noticed a change in our family.  There's more relief...but not in the sense of a celestial calm. By "relief" I mean more contrast in our lives. There are more contours to our dreams.  And more color...more excitement and more joy.  And yes, even more peace, though we've discovered that it is harder to keep up with the adventurous Jesus than the affluent Jones's.  I believe that it is the Lord that dusted off these dreams.  "Anchor's aweigh!" our Savior calls, "I am creating a new heavens and a new earth. Who's with me?" Deep calls to Deep. Maybe I have discovered just a little too late, that there is an inherent danger in Sabbath-keeping with dreamers.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.FreeImages.com #1358495