TAKING LEAVE

O God, you have taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor …

How do we say good-bye? How do we take leave?

The short answer is: We don’t. If you know the movie ET, Elliot and the Alien realize at the end that they will be here and here (HEART & MIND).

When Elijah ascended into heaven, he left his staff and his cloak behind, so Elisha could carry on the work that Elijah had begun. “If you see me go, you will inherit a double portion of my spirit.”

When Jesus ascended into heaven, he said to his disciples: Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the ages.

In each of these leave-taking events, we are reminded that while we may be apart in body, we are never really apart in spirit.

In our time together, many of you have shared your experiences of clergy past – Dub Wolfrum, Rev. Karen, Ray Brown, Roy Turley, Todd Young, John Hay, Leigh Wallace – to name just a few.

So, maybe the question isn’t so much how we take our leave, but is there something we can offer one another that will serve as bread for the journey that lies ahead?

For my part, I would hope that you will remember that our task, our call, our vocation is always to share the Good News of God’s kingdom. Remember the church’s mission. 

Memorize that passage from the catechism: What is the Mission of the Church? The Mission of the Church is to restore ALL people to unity with God and one another in Christ. We pursue that mission as we worship, pray, serve, and give for the spread of God’s kingdom.

Jesus gives us great material to work with. What is the kingdom like? It is like a Pearl of Great Price. Remember to look at these parables from 2 directions. 

First, you are the Pearl of Great Price. God gave EVERYTHING to acquire you: you the individual; you the parish; you the diocese; you, the people of the world. In other words, look in the mirror and hear the good news: God gave his all for you.

The flip side of that is the kingdom of God is a real treasure to which we are invited to walk along, stub our toes, and discover to our great joy.

Imagine, if you will, stubbing your toe on Sheriff Plummer’s bag of gold in the backyard of some house in VC. You can’t just take it ... that would be stealing. 

So you knock on the door and ask the owners how much they want for the house. “It ain’t for sale.” “I want it. How much?” They suggest some ridiculous price, at least twice what they think it’s worth. You sell everything and you buy it, and when the dust settles, you “discover the bag of gold” – and it is yours fair and square. And then you not only get the value of the bag, but you get the movie rights, and you get Tom Hanks to play you, and Meryl Streep to play your spouse!

“The kingdom of God is like that!” says Jesus.

The question is, are we looking? Are we paying attention? Do we see what God sees? Do we see the value in our neighbor? “You have taught us to keep ALL your commandments by loving you and ...”

The challenge we sometimes face is that we can too easily become Pontius Pilates when it comes to the kingdom of God. We see people and maybe we don’t think they quite measure up – and we’re right. 

As St. Paul says, “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” But we have to remember that ALL includes US. None of us measures up fully, and if we make like Pilate and wash our hands of our neighbor, are we asking God to wash his hands of us?

God forbid! I want God to embrace me. I want God to hold onto me. I want God to love me with all his heart, soul, strength, and mind. And so I need to be willing to let go my prejudices, let go my greed, let go my laziness, let go all my other character defects – because if I let them go, then my hands will be free to become God’s hands; my hands will be free to embrace others in Jesus’ Name.

That’s why we prayed (in our collect): “Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, AND united to one another with pure affection …”

… because it is only by God’s grace that we can hope to do any of that.

Grace. That’s a gift, you know. As Paul tells us, “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.”

In other words, what Paul tells us is that we have all earned a spot in front of the Firing Squad. We’ve all been fitted with a blind-fold; we’ve all had our last meal; we’ve all had our last cigarette. But just as the executioner is ready to give the command to FIRE, a pigeon has arrived from headquarters, and the message tied to her little pigeon ankle says: Hold Your Fire; the King has granted a full pardon!

The question that leaves us is simply this: Will you tell your friends and neighbors how you deserved to die, but were given your freedom, instead?

Or will you live a lie? Free, but pretending nothing ever happened? You neither deserved death, nor did you ever gain or merit pardon?

There is no greater freedom I know than to admit I was a sinner, am a sinner, and will likely always be a sinner – and that God has a place at table for me anyway.

And the privilege that gives us is to say to another human being, that’s my story; that’s the truth and, you know what? I’d love it if you would join me for dinner, because I’d love to hear your story.

  

That’s why Jesus invites us (in today’s Gospel reading) to “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

You and I are not lone mules out pulling a plow all by our lonesome. Jesus has fitted us to work together with him and with one another.

I have a friend who used to own a pair of Belgian Draft Horses. One day he said, “You know, these horses may be able to pull a heavy load by themselves, but when teamed up, their strength is multiplied; not added.”

The kingdom of God is like that.

At the risk of moving from preaching to meddling, I would like to suggest that when parishes are yoked together, like Trinity and St. Paul’s are – it might be helpful to consider the yoke as a symbol of how God is strengthening us for service – multiplying our faith, rather than adding to or subtracting from.

There is an old story of heaven and hell where people are seated at a grand banquet table, loaded with Good Eats. 

In heaven, everyone is well-fed, healthy, and happy. In hell, everyone is malnourished, sickly, and grumpy. 

In both heaven and hell, everyone has a long fork tied to their hands – so long they can’t bend their elbows and eat.

What’s the difference between heaven and hell? In heaven, the people feed those sitting across from them; in hell they try to feed themselves.

In concluding my time with you here, I will openly confess that my spiritual health has always depended upon the generosity and grace of those with whom I’ve served – those who have fed us with companionship, friendship, phone calls out of the blue, drop-in visits.

Those are the sorts of things that sustain clergy in this life – more than anything else I can think of.

I would hope and pray that I have given at least half as well as I have received.

As English writer and philosopher Elizabeth Bibesco says, “Blessed are those who give without remembering, and take without forgetting.”

Barb and I have been blessed – honored to have been yoked with you, and we will never forget you. You will always be Here, and Here – in Jesus’ Name.

Amen.

The Air Apparent

DEWEY 1898 – 1910 “He was only a cat” but he was human enough to be a great comfort in hours of loneliness and pain. Found on a Tombstone

Sometimes life confuses me. Mostly when I’m awake, I’ll confess, but never-the-less, I find it quite mystifying.

Everything was quite fine and then one day recently – BLAM – my sinuses erupted in quite a Vesuvian style. I shouldn’t be surprised. It happens this time every year when the local trees begin tossing forth their dander. Most people have no trouble perambulating through this fuzz-filled air, but not me.

I could understand this vegetative assault on my sinuses if I were some sort of vegan or cereal murderer, but I am a carnivore. I am so kind towards the world’s flora I don’t even like mowing the lawn (but do so under the directions of a higher power).

Still, pollen hates me. Either that or it loves to afflict me. I suspect it has to do with my Scandinavian heritage. Snow and ice have no pollens so we blue eyed blonds have developed no defenses against such blights, I’m sorry to say.

It is a good time of year to stock up on your Tissue Stocks as sales bloom prolifically. I should just hang a roll from the ceiling above my chair and pull and tear as needed, for the bounty from my nose requires an endless issue of tissue.

I have tried taking a medical approach to my allergies, but find the instructions, warnings, and the complexity of symptoms each pill, capsule, or syrup addresses leaves me more confused and dizzy than the allergies themselves, and as nasty as it is to have a face that resembles the running of the bulls at Pamplona, it is preferable to the zombie-like trance so many meds put me in (or under).

Still, as my trash can can only hold thirty three gallons of used tissues before needing the bag to be replaced, I decided to try some of the OTC meds to see if they might help slow the mighty muddy flowing from Mount Schnozzola.

Some meds claim to do it all, but I’ve never been crazy for multi-taskers. I don’t want a pill fixing what ain’t broke. I just want something to stop post nasal drip (if that’s the issue), or to stop my coughing, if that’s the problem. I don’t normally have all twelve listed symptoms, so it seems a waste of resources to address that baker’s dozen – although to be completely honest, knowing there is a capsule that can address so many symptoms at once is not a concept to be sneezed at!

So I stopped by the pharmacy to check out my alternatives and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of pharmaceutical options sitting out there on the shelves. My goodness; we are either the sickest nation in the world or the healthiest! Only in retirement can I hope to have the time I need to read all the labels to determine which drug (or combination) I need. And have you seen the size of the print?

When I was a child, my eyesight was so keen I could read a passage of scripture printed on a microdot (although what earthly good a microdot passage of scripture could be is beyond my capacity to conceive). But now, I find it helpful if anything I need to read is done in the headline font of the local paper. How on earth is someone suffering from watery eyes, a runny nose, and constant sneezing and hacking supposed to stand in an aisle and read the micro-fine print that warns the dangers of taking that particular chemical experiment-in-a-box?

So I did the most counter-intuitively thing imaginable; I asked the pharmacist what I should take for what ailed me and he made some suggestions after asking a few pertinent and probing questions. I made my purchases, followed the instructions and, voila, have been improving. I am almost back to normal – or as normal as I ever expect to be – and hope some day to once again be a productive member of the human race.

In the meantime, I think I better start eating more fruits and vegetables. It’s the only way I know how to exact vengeance on that which has had its way with me each spring in this, our pollen-filled valley.

The Vagabond Life

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. Neil Gaiman, Caroline

I looked out the window as the truck pulled away from the house. The lion’s share of our worldly belongings were in that truck, and while the driver had a bill of lading, he was really leaving without a genuine destination in hand. For the short term, our goods were going into storage. From there, God only knows.

We have our suspicions, my wife and I. We know we will be relocating in about a month (that we are technically homeless). We still have a Post Office Box, but it isn’t really spacious enough for the two of us. By God’s grace, we have friends and they have taken us in for the month until my retirement from active ministry takes effect. For that, I am eternally grateful.

A month! Can you imagine that? There is an ancient document called the Didache (The Teaching) that instructs Christians to receive prophets, apostles, and teachers into their home – if they are “true” prophets. How can one know if they are false? If they outstay their welcome, of course! One day; two at most. “If they stay three days, they are a false prophet!”

Oops.

The Didache even provides a remedy for guests who overstay their welcome. On the third day, hand the vagabond a loaf of bread, show them the door, and wish them well. It’s such a handy little treatise, that Didache document. I’ll have to show it to my friends (after we leave).

Anyway, retirement is finally upon us, which is a good thing. I’ve worked all my life to get to this point (using the word “work” quite loosely, of course) and am actually looking forward to it. A friend recently mentioned how the other day he sat down and was dog-tired. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I always wondered what it would feel like to get old, and now I know!”

That’s so true. Some months back I hurt my shoulder. I have no idea what I did. I’d love to say it was from carrying the weight of the world while Atlas was off getting a massage, but in reality, I suspect I did nothing more than shrug when someone asked me a question. I went several months suffering with shoulder pain, a joint so sore it was hard putting on a coat or reaching for a conclusion.

I’d never had an injury that wouldn’t heal after a few days, so after a couple months (I never claimed to be a fast learner) I went over to the Clinic (for another malady, by the way) and before I was released back into the wild, my PA asked me if that was all. I hesitated a moment and told him about my shoulder. I was embarrassed to admit I had no idea how I had injured it – possibly flipping a page on my Prayer Book, scribbling a thought down on paper, or splitting an infinitive – but the healer nodded knowingly and told me it was my Rotator Cuff.

“That’s a really wimpy spot,” he said matter-of-factly, “It doesn’t take much to hurt it.” He then ordered up a little physical therapy for me and, voila, it’s much better. I figure I should be able to start cooking meals again within the next year or so, but I don’t want to rush it and risk a fresh injury.

Retirement, as they say, is not for the faint of heart, but I’m going to retire anyway. I have things to do I’ve always wanted to try – like sleeping in past sun-up. But more than that (and more seriously), retirement is not a time to stop working, but to engage life and ministry more fully, to take one’s benefits and serve God more freely. That will be my goal.

I will continue writing columns as long as anyone is willing to publish them and you feel they are worth reading. I will continue to reflect on matters that affect us until the streetlights come on, the fireflies dance, and some higher power should call me home.

Until then, know that I will always be your friend in this, our valley (but keep a loaf of bread handy, just in case).

Regrouping

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. Behold, I am doing a new thing! Isaiah

Every once in a while I see things I’ve not seen before. I know, at my age, that may shock and surprise many, but it’s true. One can have lived through the Jurassic and Triassic periods and still have experiences that surprise and (on occasion) delight.

This week I’ve been watching robins building a nest under the awning that covers a portion of our back deck. Since birds tend to look alike to me, I don’t know if it has been the work of a single bird or a couple, but it has been a weird process. For one thing, they didn’t choose a spot I would have chosen. That makes sense; I’m not a bird, so I don’t know what they look for when they decide it’s time to build a new home.

They chose a spot atop a ledge that didn’t seem to give much support for their nesting materials. They flew in and out regularly with their twigs, lengths of grass and weeds, and bits of material that would never pass muster for most Nest Inspectors – of that I’m sure. They seemed to lose as much building material falling to the space beneath the nest as ever made it into the structure, and yet, instead of dropping down to retrieve the detritus, they would fly off and come back with something else they’d found on their journey.

Consequently, there is almost enough material on our deck beneath the nest as there is in the nest itself. They could have built several nests from all the material they’d gathered. What gives?

Now, if I were going to assign wisdom to our feathered friends, I would presume they looked at the hard wood of the deck and decided they needed to prepare a soft landing zone for their loved ones should they fall out or fail to ascend when the time came for the fledglings to take flight.

I suspect the reality is less reasoned, but more profound. As twigs and grasses fell away, the robins no doubt considered them unworthy nesting materials. They let them go and simply found ingredients that would stick around and hold on more effectively – and it worked!

In life, we call this process “regrouping.” In football, when your offence is going nowhere or marching backwards with bad plays and/or penalties, they will drop back and punt. That’s a form of regrouping. They don’t give up on the game; they give up possession and, while the defense is out doing their part, the offense huddles up on the sidelines to figure out what to do next time they have the ball.

If there is one thing in life that never changes, it is the fact that life is always changing. The fresh air we took in has gone stale; the oxygen has been removed and absorbed into the bloodstream; the time comes we need to exhale and draw fresh breath. That’s a very natural process of regrouping.

Regrouping isn’t failure. It’s actually a healthy form of living. People who can’t or won’t regroup tend to let life’s droppings define them – and usually to their own detriment.

A couple who lost their jobs due to health and the downturn in the economy eight years ago had to move. They lost their home, their insurance, their savings – almost everything.

They didn’t allow those circumstances to define them. They regrouped, found a place to rent, eked out a living, and reluctantly accepted government food benefits to which they were entitled. That saw them through a year or so until they found new employment.

When sick, they visited the local government-funded clinic, paid a pittance and got the care they needed. That held them until the new job provided health benefits as part of its employment package.

The couple didn’t grow fat off the government larder. They survived. The benefits gave them the time they needed to regroup and rebuild their lives. They had faith in God; they also had a well-founded faith in a system that was designed to help its citizenry during times of crisis.

I think that’s some of what made this country great – at least as I see it from our nest here in this, our valley.

Pumped to Serve

Any old bug can hit a windshield, but it takes real guts to stick to it - Anonymous

My wife and I took some time recently to drive over to the Seattle area to visit our daughter and family. The trip was relatively uneventful as road trips go, but there were a few times technological glitches were a problem. They helped point out the value of humans, despite the wonders of this “connected” age we live in.

The first bug-a-boo we ran into was at a gas station outside Spokane where we decided to spend the night. We had checked into our motel (and unplugged the alarm clock; last time there some joker had set the alarm to wake the room’s occupants at 3 a.m.) and decided to head out, grab a bite to eat, and gas up the truck.

I gave the pump my bank card to start the process, but it (the machine) wasn’t happy; it directed me to go inside and talk to the cashier. Such things are a bit of an annoyance, but they are done for our security. A Washington pump sees a card from a Montana bank and wonders if the user is legit, and while it normally would ask for a PIN or zip code, this one wasn’t taking any chances. I think some machines have an electronic ego by which they hope to catch some miscreant in the act of miscreantry – and thereby gain fame within the wizarding world of Gizmos and Gadgets as “the Pump that caught the Big One.”

So I went in and presented the cashier with my credentials. As luck would have it, it was his first day on the job and his machine hadn’t given him an adequate security clearance to override the Pump which, from my vantage point, had begun puffing out its metal chest just a bit.

Now, at any point along the line here, I could have simply pulled out a different card and started over but, oh no; there was no way I was going to let this beast get the best of me and my perfectly fine bank card (which was quivering pitiably in the clerk’s trembling hands). By this time, the store manager had ambled on over to see what the holdup was (a phrase seldom used lightly in convenience stores) and the three of us stood there looking at one another like some scene out of a Spaghetti Western (I took dibs on the Clint Eastwood part, by the way). I am sure there was that macho Good, Bad, and Ugly music playing – if not in the store, then definitely between my ears.

After a most dramatic pause, the clerk explained what was happening. I could see tears welling up in his eyes and his manager, a grizzled veteran of many, many over-rides softened. She gently walked her rookie through the steps necessary to reboot the transaction so the Pump would be free to dispense its life-sustaining go-go juice – but the Pump rebelled. It would NOT be dismissed so lightly. It would NOT be told what to do or whom to serve.

At this point, the manager was no longer amused. She motioned her minion to step aside while she took charge of Central Command. She punched her ID code into the keypad, swiped the card along the card reader swiftly with strength and purpose and, with hand on hip, thundered forth, “Now don’t YOU give me no trouble”!

And it didn’t. At least, not exactly. We still had to do a funny bit of a work-around involving a deposit and a refund to get the Pump to acquiesce to the Manager’s instructions. But it complied, and that was the main thing.

Afterwards, she asked if I wanted a car wash (for which reason I had actually chosen that particular station for fuel). I looked into the gaping jaws of the wash-house and asked if it was connected to the same computer system as the Pump.

“Why, yes it is!” said the Manager (with a smile).

“Thanks,” I lied, “but I think we’re fine for now.”

The world is full of unsolved mysteries; I’ve got a feeling that the Bermuda Triangle has a younger sister living somewhere in Airway Heights. A storm is brewing, and it may soon be here – even here in this, our (mostly) sheltered valley.

The Eye of the Beholder

If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! 2 Corinthians 5

I sat in the waiting room. We had been told the whole procedure would be about an hour-and-a-half or two hours. If there was a clock, I don’t remember seeing it. If I had seen one, I’m sure the second hand would have moved at the pace of a saber-toothed slug sliming its way through sludge.

The room had a monitor displaying the stage each patient was in. Yellow was pre-op. Purple was intra-op. The post-op color was immaterial as it never seemed her number would ever leave stage-yellow.

There was no use asking the receptionist for updates, although she assured us at check-in that I could certainly do that. I could come over and ask any time what was happening – but I also knew she would look at the monitor and say, “Oh, she’s still in pre-op.” I can read, so asking would have been a waste of breath. Also, the one time I thought about asking I looked up and saw she wasn’t at the desk, so ….

I scanned the periodicals displayed in the waiting room. Leafing through People Magazine, I couldn’t help but note how few celebrities I know these days. Oh sure, there was an article about Brad. Brad Pitt. My God, he’s an old man now! A grizzled veteran of the silver screen. Hmm. Does he know how to fly-fish anymore?

I passed a bit more time working the Crosswords in various issues they had lying around and marveled at how few names I could identify from the clues. Heck, I have no idea what many of today’s shows are, let alone who is in them. If Brad Pitt’s old, what on earth does that make me?

I gently shook my head in amazement – slowly so nothing would snap, crackle, or pop. I have to be careful these days; only a couple months ago I jumped to a conclusion and had months of physical therapy to undo the injury that resulted!

I set down the third of my partially filled crossword puzzles (having given someone else a decent start to finish up) and glanced again at the monitor. The list of patients dwindled one-by-one as their colors shifted through the informational colors, each disappearing as they were discharged to the care of their guardians.

Guardian. Bemused, I thought to myself: Hey, that’s me! I’ve been reduced to a function, a purpose. It was strange being referred to as a guardian when, for well over three decades I’d been known by the more familiar role: husband. But the world we live in has changed. We never know who’s going to care for those who are brought in for “procedures.” Husband, wife, neighbor, lover, partner, son, daughter, friend, care-giver. Relatives are often too far away or working.

Alongside the monitor was a television tuned to a home improvement channel. I was ignoring the program for the most part, but noted that the show’s fixer-upper duo had helped a couple walk through three homes, bought one, completely gutted and rehabbed it, and then went into the whole “Reveal” production – and did it all faster than my wife’s own pre-op. I looked over at the monitor – Yellow.

Aargh! Maybe this is what drives people to entertain thoughts of murder and mayhem (or at least piracy). But then, when my soul began to quiver with a certain loss of hope, it happened.

The line within which my wife’s number was embedded changed hues: Yellow went to Purple (Intra-Op), to Lime (Recovery), to Green (Preparing to Go Home)! At green, they came to get me.

“Are you Keith? Your wife is doing fine and just about ready to go home. Come with me and we’ll let you see her.”

On the outside I was all calm, cool, and collected. On the inside, though, I was Jell-O after the hot water is added to the mix – quite sloshy. Her eye was patched (and I thought she was sorely in need of a parrot), but her cataract surgery had been uneventfully routine.

For God, and for the skills of her doctor and the surgical team, Eye am thankful. As St. Paul said, “See, everything is new” (and clear, now) here in this, our valley.

A Changing Past

The past, I think, has helped me appreciate the present, and I don’t want to spoil any of it by fretting about the future – Audrey Hepburn

Some people are pretty good at living life on life’s terms. They make plans for a picnic and if it rains, they simply change directions and go to a movie, instead. They don’t let the weather affect their attitude. They don’t curse the rain. They don’t pitch a fit. They simply make an adjustment and find some alternative activity they can enjoy, and then they go do that instead. They’re resilient that way.

They’ve learned to be flexible and to look for options. They seem to have learned somewhere along the way that “all problems are illusions of the mind” (Eckhart Tolle). It’s only a problem if you make it one.

There are almost always options that lie before us. Is there ever NOT one?

Let’s face it, life always gives us choices. Even if picnics and movies are taken off the table, there is still sitting quietly and being bored. That’s not a very exciting option, but it’s still one that exists.

Life isn’t about having no alternatives, but determining what options we choose to find or create. Many of life’s joys are to be found in looking for (and discovering) opportunities we may not have realized were in front of us.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a rut and it is just easier to stay there (and complain) than to turn the wheel and force the tires out of those channels and onto a new course. People prefer to complain about the wind than put up a windfarm, or complain about decisions made in city hall or the halls of government than talk or write to their representatives.

There is very little in life we can control, and that is what some people find most disturbing. They feel they need to be in control. They make plans and woe-be-tide the person, place, or thing that gets in the way. Control, however, is the antithesis of love. How can one love anything or anyone if they’re trying to manipulate it all?

Have you ever tried to “will” the wind to stop? It blows when and where it wishes. All we can do is go with it, fight it, or hunker down and ride it out. Another option is to hate it, but that is also a choice.

I know I may get tired of the wind, but then I’ll see a child and parent run outside into the lot across the street and fly their kite – watching it dip and turn and dance upon the breeze – all the while they’re having the time of their lives. The wind blows so hard they don’t need to run to get the kite to fly; it is carried away upon the gale!

The whooshing air at which I want to scowl is the same breeze that delights my neighbors. What’s the difference? It isn’t the moving air; it is the attitude of the participant!

So what needs to change isn’t the world around me but the attitude within me, and that’s where I can really get stuck – because who in their right mind wants to change?

Ah; there’s the rub. We may fight against change; we may buck up against it, but life is ever-changing and never the same, and those in their right mind have learned that basic truth.

I was down in the park watching the river flow past and couldn’t help but note that it’s not really the same river I saw the day before; yesterday’s water is somewhere between here and the Gulf of Mexico, and today’s water came from somewhere upstream from God only knows where. How amazing is that?

The fact is, life happens, which means change happens. To accept that simple fact is to actually begin to discover one’s “right mind”. We may not want things to change, but since they do, we are probably well-served to accept that change happens, and learn to not only live with it, but “let go (of control) and let God”.

Life, it turns out, isn’t a problem to be solved, but a kite to be ridden on the currents of God’s love. We are tethered to a loving Father who delights to see us rise in this, our valley.