Chapter 19: Christmas Slush

(Photo from www.freeimages.com #132680)

"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!

Let your forebearing spirit be known to all people. The Lord is near." 

(Philippians 4:4-5)

"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 Heschel, The Sabbath)

I remember the first year that I was unable to make it back home for Christmas. I was single and going to school in Connecticut. My family was over the river and a world away in Wyoming. Though I was given a Christmas break, I still had to work. All my classmates were gone.  My roommate was gone.  I didn't have any pets. I was all alone. The only thing living in the living room of my apartment was a fig tree which I had decorated with a string of broken lights.  When I looked at it, I thought of the rest of my family gathering around a warm fire, drinking hot cocoa, and admiring one of my mother's amazing Christmas trees. 

I looked away with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I was smack-dab in the middle of a Thomas Kinkade Christmas going on outside, it just didn't seem like any of it soaked into my inside. In fact, all the glitz and tinsel and beauty and wonder of the season only seemed to spotlight my personal slough of despond.  I was having my first blue Christmas.

Occasionally, I still get the Christmas blues, though I know that Christmas can be tough for many people for reasons much more serious than a poorly-decorated house plant and episodic ascetism. But the command is still, "Rejoice!" And if that is not enough, the indefatigable Pharisee continues to rub salt in our woundedness, "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!"

Is it possible to "rejoice" in the face of our loneliness and from the heights of love, from the dregs of our brokenness to the fullness of our hearts? The answer must be, "Yes!" It has to be even if only by the eyes of faith. And I believe that this vision is best cultivated by the practice of Sabbath.

Jewish scholar, Abraham Heschel, suggests that we can experience "holiness" in time through the practice of Sabbath.  It may not happen overnight, but it does happen. God replaces our thoughts about the sad string of lights on the poor, fruitless, fig tree with a thousand little reminders that God is still at work in the world and in our lives, even when the beautiful snow turns to slush.  

Sometimes it is a beautiful church service, a grand Christmas meal, and storefronts bedecked with holiday wonder. But sometimes holiness comes in swaddling clothes wrapping a fragile memory of Christmas past when the house was full.  It can be a smile on the street or picking up the phone and calling a family member back home in Wyoming. After all, God does not promise that the lights on the tree can dispel the darkness of the world.

Our holidays this year were spent visiting with family and eating fine food.  On Christmas, there were beautiful church services and a wondrous Christmas tree.  But it was this morning, sitting with my wife in a cluttered house with the remains of the last five days in the sink and another full week of work looming before us that I realized God was still with us. This moment was holy. This moment was Sabbath. In this moment, heaven kissed the earth just like it did when the angels first sang to an audience of Shepherds, "Rejoice!" May we all find little reasons throughout the year to remind us to do the same.

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

Week Eleven: Jack O'lanterns, Legos, and Legolas

"Lego Garden," by Isaac Snook

The Kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and approved by men." (Romans 14:17-18)

Our family's Sabbath practice is a bit of a moving target. Sometimes, we practice Sabbath on Friday night and finish it up on Saturday night. Sometimes, we practice Sabbath on Saturday night and finish on Sunday night. The day that we practice Sabbath, we have found, isn't as important as the actual practice of it. Sabbath has become not only something we look forward to each week, but something that helps us through each week.

Our eleven-year old son has been interested in archery since reading about Legolas in the Lord of the Rings. Some of his friends at school told him that they had actually fired some guns and shot some bows in their hunter's safety class. It sounded like fun to him, so I signed him up and we attended the class together. It quickly became clear, however, that this was not the same stirring class his friends had been talking about.  This class went from 6-10 PM on Friday and 8:30-4:30 PM on Saturday. There was no shooting of guns or bows.  Not here. This was a lecture.

But we made it through knowing that Sabbath was coming.

And while we were learning the difference between lever-action and bolt-action rifles, our two younger sons (and their mother) were busy sorting Lego bricks. Over the years in our home, many Lego sets had been assembled, disassembled, reassembled, and disassembled again into a confusing conflation of individual bricks scattered between hither and yon. This disparate assembly was regathered, sorted by color and by size, and then placed into long-empty bins. It has hard, tedious work.

But they made it through knowing Sabbath was coming.

After hunter's safety and Lego sorting, my wife and I met for a couple of hours of tiling in the kitchen.  Oh! The interminable kitchen project.

But we made it through knowing Sabbath was coming.

We finally stopped our saturnine strains and embraced the Sabbath. We had a beautiful dinner coupled with a cacophonous conversation with our oldest son brandishing his newly-minted hunter's safety card our youngest sons showing off their latest Lego masterpieces. (See above.)

It was soon time to go to bed.  The boys were happy.  Their parents were tired.  It felt like the kingdom and we slept in peace.

And we were able to sleep in a little on Sunday.  My wife preached and sang in the choir at a little church that was so appreciative of her gifts. After worship, we enjoyed a potluck meal.  Our oldest son enjoyed two pieces of pecan pie. Our middle son savored the pumpkin. Our youngest son used pie as a vehicle for whipped cream.  There was food for both the body and soul.  It felt like the kingdom. God smiled on that little place and bestowed it with His righteousness.

We came home and put on our comfortable clothes and carved our pumpkins.  During the remains of the day, I know that there was an argument or two between brothers and a reminder of chores and homework that still needed to be done. But what I remember about our Sabbath day was the episodic and spontaneous peals of laughter reverberating through our home. It was LOUD, and it felt like the kingdom. God had blessed our day with joy.

I sometimes wonder about my vocation. I sometimes wonder if I have been a good steward of God's gifts. I sometimes wonder if  I am missing something.  But sometimes, especially with Sabbath practice, there are those moments when God's kingdom sneaks into this unlikely life.  The doubts dissipate in the assurance that I am where I need to be and I am what I need to be.  Sitting on the couch, beside the mother of our own Legolas, surrounded by stray Legos, and in the presence of smiling Jack O'lanterns, I know that my life, at that moment, is pleasing to God and approved by men .

Week Ten: A period, an exclamation mark, and a question.

Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath of the Lord your God; in it you shall not do any work... (Exodus 20:9-10a)

Period.

On Saturday, my eleven-year old son and I were covering the flower beds with mulch.  It was a surprise to my wife who was out of town for the weekend.  I was feeling very magnanimous when he asked, "Dad, is this acceptable Sabbath work?"

My gut response was, "Of course it is! Just imagine your mother's ebullient elation when she arrives at home tomorrow and beholds the work of our hands! Oh! the work of our hands."  However, before I could say anything at all I was acutely convicted by the commandment, "Six days you shall labor and do all your work..." Period.  No, "ifs", "ands", or "buts". You shall do no work.  None at all, and it wasn't just the daffodil beds. Earlier in the day I had fed the chickens, fixed breakfast for our three boys, and helped this self-same son build a field goal from PVC pipe.   My life suddenly seemed very utilitarian.  Especially for a Sabbath day.

So, I answered my inquisitor, "Of course it is! We aren't doing this for us. We are doing this for your mom." This axiom aphoristically assuaged my sore-afflicted soul.

As I further reflect on what I said, I am further convinced it is true.  The Great Commandment given to us by the giver and the fulfiller of all the commandments is this, "You will love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength."  (Luke 10:27) This has always been acceptable Sabbath work; Bible study, fellowship, worship, etc. But this is just the first part of the command. The rest is like it. You will also love "your neighbor as yourself."

So, yes, son. There is an exertion clause.  It is inserted into, and surrounds, the Sabbath. We can labor on the day of rest, but not for the love of the work. Furthermore, we can work, but not to be more productive.  Our only valid Sabbath work is love; love for the Lord and love for one another.  Period.

For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day...(Exodus 20:11a)

Exclamation point.

After the morning labors, the boys and I took advantage of a beautiful fall afternoon to go on an autumnal walk.  The leaves were turning. Some were falling.  A cache of fallen acorns became a priceless treasure.  (Many acorns and their "hairy nests" found their way to the kitchen table.) The two little boys played guns and swords in their castle (aka, tree house) while I shot hoops with the oldest.

For several hours on Saturday we were all outside.  The sun was warm and the air was cool. We were in the same yard and we walked the same neighborhood that has been our home for five years. We were in the same yard we work in and the same neighborhood that we rocket by every day of the week but don't see. Not really. Not close up. Not in a way that reminds us that God's world is big enough to make us lost and small enough to make us kings.

This transformation can only happen if there is a period at the end of our week.  The Lord made the heavens and the earth and the sea and in that period that is Sabbath, we can see just how big God is and we see that it was God that made every leaf and every acorn and every ray of light and breath of wind.  Everything becomes magic and the very period that we found so hard to write becomes an exclamation point we don't want to end.

Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:11b)

A question.

After an ill-conceived and poorly-executed meal of pasta, bacon, toast, and ice cream, the boys and I set out on a night walk.  We were sleepy and tired and dirty and hypoglycemic, but this too was Sabbath work.

There's a pond not too far from our home.  You have to walk around the block and up the street, past an overgrown slough full of the usual urban debris...but if you look up on a clear autumn night, you see the vast unspoiled reaches of space, and if you go just a little further, you find a pond as far as a little boy's eye can see - full of ducks and geese and pirates and sea monsters.

It had been a long way to the end of a good day and the boys were tired by the time we reached the pond.  However, I had been on several night-walks gone bad and on this night I was prepared. I brought granola bars.  We ate in silence and gazed up and out at this world that God had created and we realized, I think, that we belonged in it.  Somehow, God had made it all for us at that moment and in that moment we were made for Him.  It was a mystery, and in a world that somehow has convinced us that knowing is the reason for the journey, it was a miracle.

In Sabbath, God encourages us to write a period at the end of our week.  If we do, God promises us an exclamation point to elevate our pedestrian path. And then, in Sabbath's closing coda, God reminds us that it is to the question mark where our true life leads.  That question mark is holiness. It is the recognition that God is more and God is other.  We can't know...not completely...but it is in this unknowing that we can finally be known completely and be completely at rest.

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photos from www.freeimages.com (in order) #102275, 115389, 72921

Chapter Nine: Ovine Elevation

And He said to them, "Who shall there be among you, who shall have one sheep, and if it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will not take hold of it, and lift it out?" (Matthew 12:11)

We started our weekly Sabbath with good intentions.  My wife and I even talked about it during the week indicating to me Sabbath was becoming part of our weekly routine.  We even began to make some plans. With our growing flock, we have found planning to be very necessary.

"Okay, there is the soccer game on Saturday and we have to work a little on the kitchen," I said. "And I am going to have to work a little on Saturday night."

"And I'd like to make a nice dinner on Friday night," my wife countered, "and feed the little lambs breakfast in bed on Saturday morning.  We can work on the kitchen after church on Sunday. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, trying to catch up to my wife's altruistic ambition, "Let's plan on beginning our Sabbath on Friday night with a nice dinner followed by a family game night before bed. On Saturday morning, we will wake the kids with waffles and bacon, go to the soccer game, and finish up on Saturday night with a trip to the pumpkin patch."

It sounded like a great plan and we embraced it with much enthusiasm. Little did we know, the pit was looming before us. 

My wife placed the roast in the crock pot on Friday morning and the delicious aromas wafted through the house all afternoon. Dreams of the glorious Sabbath supper sustained my labor throughout many a trial and travail during the day.  I cam home Friday evening with much anticipation. I sat down with the lambs at the trough. My wife went to check the roast, Alas! The roast was not done. Therefore, Plan B was initiated albeit with less fan fare than Plan A.  The reluctant roast continued its insouciant simmer as we partook of pizza and root beer.

Alternatively nourished, we proceeded to the family game night portion of our "Sabbath rest."  A rousing game of, "Toss the Pigs" ended in  a spectacular double-trotter for our youngest son who was catapulted to victory, gleefully unaware of the agony of defeat sousing the souls of his older siblings.

An imprudent game of UNO evened the score and the pit yawned wide before engulfing our little lambs in self-loathing and enmity.  They went to bed under some duress.

Morning came earlier than usual and my wife and I brought breakfast to our woolly offspring, "Why are you doing this?" the middle lamb asked.  "Because we love you," his mother responded. The pit became a little shallower.  

After breakfast, we loaded up the car and went to the soccer game. We have given up fall sports for our three sheep as we acclimated to a new school, but the team was desperate and our oldest was willing. We went to the game and I didn't understand most of it, but some friends were there and they granted me permission to hold a brand new baby lamb.  With three boys, I am not very practiced with the female variety of the species, but she was unaware of my inexperience and smiled and squirmed happily in my arms.  

While our oldest played soccer, our two youngest found some new friends.  They ran and played and soon it was time to go. I had to give the baby back, and admit I was feeling some loss.  It was then I overheard our middle son, who had worn his favorite shark-tooth necklace to the game, tell his new friend that he could have his treasured possession.  Later, he told me, "He really wanted it, Dad, and there are other shark teeth in the world."

How true. And with that statement, the lamb rescued the shepherd from the pit.

Thus refreshed, our family headed to the pumpkin patch. It was a beautiful afternoon.  Our boys jumped on hay bales, went through a maize-maze, tried their hand at the hoola-hoop, and teeter-tottered till dusk.  It was hard for me, but I spent thirty dollars on squash...but it was worth it. The sheep were happy and their shepherds were happy and we all headed home to a beautiful roast dinner!

Of how much more value then is a child of God than a sheep! So then, it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.  (Matthew 12:12)

Church Stopping. Less doing. More being.

Photo from www.freeimages.com #1379109

Week Eight: Bricks, Sticks, and Storms

Let the heaven be glad, and let the earth rejoice;

Let the sea roar, and all it contains...

(Psalm 96:11)

It is sometimes difficult for me to get started.  Getting out of bed, going to work, doing the dishes, dancing, beginning the Sabbath...all are difficult things to start.

On Saturday morning, we worked hard at cleaning the house.  This was a big job that involved handing out chores, exhortation of the unskilled labor performing the chores, and inspecting the final product after the chores were completed.  After works righteousness was achieved, we made lunch, served lunch, cleaned up after lunch, and  went to work on the kitchen project.  Oh! The kitchen project. But we worked hard knowing that Sabbath was coming.

Time flies when you are having fun and after what seemed like an interminable amount of time, we cleaned up the mortar and mess and celebrated a belated birthday gift for our five-year old boy by watching a movie he had been waiting to see.

We came back home and made dinner.  We served dinner. We cleaned up dinner. Finally, Sabbath! Ah! Sabbath.

Then, I was called in to work. My world was rocked.  I was reeling. My peaceful Sabbath would have to be postponed all because of the storms of life. They happen to the best laid plans. It is hard to start the stopping.

In the meantime, our two youngest children had been incessantly imploring for a dispensation to sleep  outside on a bed of bricks and sticks that they had made in the far corner of our back yard. So, I did what any loving father would do.  I told them to layer up. I told them to find a stocking cap. I told them to get their sleeping bags and I would meet them outside. I rummaged around in our camping gear and found a tarp and a couple of inflatable backpacking mattresses. I tucked them in and went to work.

It was almost midnight when I stumbled back home and into the backyard.  I noticed that the youngest had rolled out of his sleeping bag and off his mat. He was sleeping directly on the bricks and sticks. He didn't complain when I led him up to his room.  However, the older of the two was sleeping more soundly than I ever remembered him sleeping before. I couldn't rouse him.  I almost left him, but felt that was irresponsible, so I told him that a storm was rolling in.

At church we had communion. "Don't participate in an unworthy manner," we were told. I prayed for grace and took communion anyway.

When church was over, I knew that I couldn't look at the kitchen any more.  I suggested we go out for lunch. My wife agreed.

Then, we came home and helped the kids with homework.

Finally, my wife and I finally sat down in the living room and looked at each other.

We didn't speak.

We didn't move.

We stopped.

And it was like heaven. Ah! Sabbath. It was a glorious afternoon.  The storms had passed.

Soon, our Sabbath wound to a close as it has for several weeks; family devotions.  With three boys ages 5, 8, and 11, family devotions are a challenge.  This week, we tried a family sing-a-long. (This was only possible because I married up musically...way, way up!)  I did contribute by finding the boys favorite songs on You Tube and we then we sang them together; My Lighthouse, "Happy", and the theme from the Lego movie.  My wife tied it all together with an African spiritual we learned on a mission trip over a decade ago.  We finished with a rousing rendition of Father's Day Rap and a reading from Psalm 96.  Like the song says, it truly was awesome!

Then, It was time for bed and putting away the laundry. We finished what we had started.  The boys were happy and we were tired.

It wasn't a perfect Sabbath, but somehow, through the bricks, sticks, and storms of life, it worked. Somehow, God squeezed a few eternal moments into the minutes. I have learned that no matter how hard it is to stop, keep trying. Keep Singing. The Lord is coming!

Let the field exult, and all that is in it. 

Then all the trees will sing for joy before the Lord, 

for He is coming; For He is coming to judge the earth.

He will judge the world in righteousness,

And the peoples in His faithfulness.

Psalm 96-12-13

Church Stopping. Less Doing. More Being.

Photo from www.sxc.hu #768577

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