(World's largest totem pole and Tlingit woman in Kake, AK. Photo from TripAdvisor)
"Return, O my soul, to your rest; for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you." (Psalm 116:7)
In the summer of 2000, my wife and I spent a few days in the small Tlingit village of Kake, AK. We were filling the pulpit of the Presbyterian Church while the pastor spent some time on vacation. Kake is the home of about 500 people and the world's third largest totem pole (132 feet!) and stunning natural beauty. While we were there, a short trip out our front door, up the main street, and on to the bridge provided a good observation point as black bears fished for salmon below.
In fact, sometimes, it felt as if there were more black bears then humans.
I arrived one week prior to my wife by float-plane from Sitka, AK. I was dropped off with my bag at the end of the village marina greeted by a dog that looked something like a wolf; only bigger and meaner. However, he kept his distance as I prayed in earnest for divine intervention and watched helplessly as the float plane soared away. I could only hope that this really was Kake and there had not been some mistake.
I walked from the empty marina towards Main Street with the big wolf-like canine still following me at a distance, growling and getting closer. I didn't see another human for several minutes as I walked in what I hoped was the direction of the church. Later, I would learn that it was hunting season and most of the village had piled into boats and dispersed to the surrounding islands. (I believe that this is the reason the pastor trusted his congregation to a couple of seminary students for two weeks!)
Eventually, an old pickup drove by and the driver, somehow, could tell I wasn't a local. He asked me where I was going and I told him. He was kind enough to offer a ride. His name was Stanley. I was so thankful for Stanley and quickly jumped into the pickup. I watched as the wolf-like dog sauntered back towards the marina. Stanley turned the pick-up around and drove me to the church, pointing out some of the local points of interest. Stanley was unable to go hunting because of a fishing accident that had taken his arm. He was happy to have someone to share the local lore of the village with and I was happy to have someone to talk to.
After a quick driving-tour of the town, Stanley dropped me off at the manse. The manse was a comfortable log cabin with spectacular views Keku Strait and Frederick sound. I settled in and went over my notes for tomorrow's service before walking the empty beach. Though the beach was deserted, God seemed present in Kake, somehow, in a way that I had not known before. Maybe it was because there were no cars, no noise, no TV; no distractions. Or, maybe it was the feeling of complete dependence and wild adventure. Somehow I imagined Jesus walking with me just as he had walked along the shores of the Sea of Galilee, visiting with the disciples with the salted wind tussing at his hair.
I was told that the Sunday service started at 10:00. I didn't know if any one would show up. I didn't know if there was anyone in town, but I was ready. At 9:00, I showed up at the church. There was no one there, but it was a beautiful place and I went over my sermon a couple of more times. It was the most polished sermon that I have ever preached. At 9:45, the organist showed up and went through the music for the day. We visited, and at 10:00 AM on the dot, I welcomed the three people that were there. After the Call to Worship, the Opening Hymn, and the Prayer of Confession, I read Scripture and began my sermon. That was about the time the rest of the congregation showed up. There were approximately twenty, and I thought that must have been pretty much everybody that was left in the town.
I was to learn, in my brief stay in Kake, that time was not regulated as much by the clock as it was by relationships. There was no hurry to get going on time and no worry if things ran late. It was jarring at first, then it was peace and rest.
In a couple of days, my wife and her parents came over to Kake by ferry from Sitka where they had been staying. We spent our time doing puzzles and watching the whales breaching in the distance as they made their annual migration to their winter breeding areas in Hawaii. The four of us would take a daily walk up the road to the bridge and watch the black bears fish for salmon. My wife and I, fresh from the cornfields in Iowa where we were going to school, took long walks on black sandy beaches where we were able to unwind from our seminary studies and breathe in the salt air and dream big dreams of where we would live and where we would serve and begin planning for a brand new family.
It was during that second week of our stay that a lady in the congregation we were serving passed away. Somehow, word got out to the village people dispersed throughout the archipelago that this matriarch of the community had entered her final rest. The marina began to fill up with hunting boats and the village began to swell and surge like an incoming tide. I was summoned by a couple of the other pastors in the village. Plans were made for a service at the Presbyterian Church followed the next day by a celebration of life at the community hall. On the third day, we would board a vintage WWII landing boat and take the remains for burial at Grave Island.
In those three days, it was amazing for me to see the community come together; neighbors helped cooked meals and prepare music and had long visits. All the pastors of the community came together at the community center because the entire village was there and that included members of their own congregations. Stanley even hooked me into singing with the Alaska Native Brotherhood Choir. (It was one song, and I have never been invited to return.) By the end of three days, grief had been tempered by the joy of knowing that a faithful daughter of God had been welcomed home and the simple joy of a community glad to be called together
As I reflect on that stay in Kake, AK over a decade ago, I still remember how rested I felt. Even in the midst of preparing two sermons and a funeral homily, time seemed to stand still.
The village of Kake is still not a fancy tourist destination. It is a bit off the beaten path and a little bit weathered and cracked around the edges. There is still probably a big, angry dog guarding the town from interlopers stressed out by time. But somehow, in that pocked of human civilization by the sea, the people had tapped into an ancient rhythm of life that I have experienced only episodically since then...a rhythm of life that is not governed by exhaustion and trying to fit one more thing in, but a rhythm devoted to the One and then fitting life around Him. A rhythm the ancients called rest; they called Sabbath.
I would love to go back to Kake now that we have children. I would love for them to see the raw beauty of God's creation, but, even more, I long for our children to experience that rhythm of life...it is a life that doesn't demand more to make us full but rather dwells in fullness as its only demand.
Church Stopping. Less Doing. More Being.
No comments:
Post a Comment