The Son Also Rises

The Universe is not in a hurry. You are. That’s why you are anxious … Author unknown

The sun is a lolly-gagger. Did you know that? I always thought there were twenty-four hours in a day. That’s what I was taught. I am sure I was even told it was a verifiable “fact.” But it turns out it isn’t. The earth makes one complete rotation in roughly twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. Where do the extra four minutes go (or come from)?

Ah ha! As the world turns on its axis, it is also working its way around the sun. The earth travels approximately one degree each day (365 days to make the 360 degree trip), so it takes those four extra minutes to get the face of the earth back to where it was relative to the sun. 

I won’t bore you with everything else I know about time and space (for I’m sure you have better things to do with the three minutes it would take me to dump all that information on you), but I just found that bit of trivia interesting. It’s not something I had ever thought of before and, to be honest, don’t think my life will change significantly in light of that new information. What will change, however, is how I view the word “fact.”

Instead of thinking of facts as things chiseled into stone, I find it more useful to think of them as how we describe things until better descriptions come along. The sun appears to rise in the east each morning, so we call that event sunrise. We talk about the time that happens as a “fact.” The sun will rise at a certain time each day. It is how we describe the event, even though we know the phenomenon is described differently in astronomical terms. 

Are facts important? A few years ago a group of firemen got together and built a large deck on the back of a house for a fellow firefighter. I suspect coffee, tea, and ice water were not the only beverages used to quench their thirst. They finished the job in under five hours. They did the job without permits, without inspections, and without using proper materials or building techniques. A couple bought the house a few years later and needed to completely dismantle the deck which had become unsafe, and rebuild it completely – using proper materials and techniques, meeting or exceeding minimum building standards.

The fact is the old deck was poorly constructed. The fact is the new deck is vastly better. The differences between the two decks could be seen and felt. Facts matter. The question is, what do we do with facts when we have them in hand?

The sun will rise and set when it is supposed to. That’s a fact. There’s nothing I can do to change it, so I don’t need to waste energy trying. I can decide what time I want to rise each morning and what time I wish to hit the sack. That’s also a fact; it’s a fact I can work with. Those two facts aren’t in competition with each other. One doesn’t cancel out the other. One isn’t better or worse than the other. One is a fact of nature (the universe), and the other is a fact of nature (me). Each operates on its own timeline.

One of the things that makes life chaotic is the idea that it is a competitive sport. It’s not. We tend to mush our facts altogether as if each one carries the same weight as the one next to it. If you believe the earth is flat and sits on the back of a turtle or across the shoulders of Atlas, that’s fine by me. Neither set of facts or fables will ultimately affect my life. Some facts rest in the hands of a higher power, and that’s the point.

Each of us rests in the hands of a higher power. I suspect the only facts God is interested in are how we treat one another, how we treat creation, and how we treat ourselves. That is a fact upon which I base my life’s decisions and actions. Now I think I’ll go out and watch the Son rise here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

On a Light Note

What I do today is important because I am exchanging a day of my life for it. Hugh Mulligan

I went into the garage last night before retiring for the evening to confirm the garage doors were closed and locked. In the darkness I saw the car’s interior lights were on, so I went and turned them off. I had had the car in for some repair work and the manager told me the battery wouldn’t hold a charge (they had had the car for a number of days waiting for parts), so I asked them to just put in a new one. 

I had noticed that before I took the car in for some electrical work because I’d had to charge the battery whenever the car had been sitting for a week or more. Now I am wondering if the problem was a bad battery or having interior lights switched on 24/7 – lights I (and the service folks) would not have noticed during the long daylight hours of summer. Good grief!

The car has a new battery now, so I’ll never know. I could gnash my teeth over the possibility that I’d spent money I didn’t need to (and I do need to be more frugal in retirement), but I also know they installed a top-notch battery that should last 75 months according to the paperwork I received, so I see it more as an investment in a trouble-free power source rather than a wasted expense. It won’t be the first time I’ve done something silly, and it certainly won’t be the last time.

I try not to waste time in the world of “woulda, coulda, shoulda.” I may not be the sharpest financial genius with a piggy bank, but I know better than to invest time and energy in regrets. We all have regrets, of course, but we don’t need to wallow in them. I find spending too much time regretting keeps me from investing my time and energies more productively. As a friend once said, “You can’t live in two places at once; if you live in regret, you can’t live in the present.”

The point is, there is no time to waste. Assuming a human lifespan is 142 years, I’ve finally reached middle age, so it’s time to get going and make something of myself. As Mulligan (above) says, “What I do today is important …”

When I was working, I was a list-generator. I would make a list for two reasons. First, I needed to keep track of what I was supposed to be doing, who I needed to be visiting or calling, and so on. Secondly, I gained a lot of satisfaction seeing things get checked off my daily lists. It gave me a sense of accomplishment. 

Nowadays, the only lists I make are grocery lists; they’re always on the refrigerator door where I find (when I get to the store) that I’ve usually left them. Still, there is a certain amount of satisfaction of getting home and seeing how many things I remembered to get! Every victory, no matter how small or insignificant, is STILL a victory.

There’s a lot more flexibility with my calendar in retirement, of course (and a certain amount of irony to be found in getting older: my calendar is now more flexible while I’m not).

Be that as it may, I do manage to find things to keep me busy. I enjoy pulling weeds – something I never liked doing before. Of course, I wait until they grow knee high so I don’t have to bend so far, but the daily trip around the garden to find unwanted vegetation is productive. I continue to add water to the front and back bird-baths, although my avian friends haven’t been visiting as regularly as in the past. Most likely that is due to some new cats having moved into and prowling about the neighborhood.

I don’t mind. Cats have to do what cats have to do. This is their world, too, and that’s important. The planet isn’t a sandbox humans can explore and exploit. It is a home for all of creation. Perhaps that’s why the car lamps were lit. Home is where we leave a light on for those we love.

Apparently that’s what I’ve done here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

 

During a Storm, Bail!

“Why do you like thunderstorms?” asked an inquiring mind. “Because it shows that even nature needs to scream sometimes.” Author Unknown

Life is full of routines. Routines are dependable, and that’s a comfort when it seems so much of life is out of control. The world is often a very scary place. It is like the story in the Bible where the disciples are striving to cross the big lake one evening after a full day of preaching and teaching. Jesus is asleep at the back of the boat and a major squall rises up. It is so severe that it threatens to swamp the boat and sink it, drowning everyone onboard.

Life is like that. We turn on the news and it seems that nothing is going on except war, pestilence, famine, domestic strife, mass shootings, and fires without end – Amen. It is truly disheartening and discouraging. One is tempted to go full turtle: covering ears, closing eyes, pulling in heads and limbs, and going to sleep until everything has just gone away. It’s tempting to turn off the news and whistle our way through the graveyard.

Some ladies were visiting a graveyard one day after one of their friends who, like a certain Alexander, had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.* They’d gone to anoint the body because his arrest, trial, conviction, and execution had been so swift they hadn’t even had a chance to prepare him for a proper burial. 

When they got there, the tomb was empty and an angel sat on the stone which had been removed from the mouth of the sepulcher. The angel asked them who they were looking for, and when they told him they were looking for Jesus, the angel (eyes atwinkle, I suspect) replied, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He is alive and has gone before you, as he said he would. Go …”

The fact is we can’t fix things if we don’t face them. There’s more to life than fixing things, of course. Sometimes all we can do is sit with someone who is hurting and hurt with them. We can recognize when we do something wrong and decide to do something differently next time. 

One of the driving forces behind Jesus’ life and ministry was something he called the “kingdom of God,” and while we may think the term to be quaint and/or antiquated (since we’re not all that big on kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, counts or countesses) his view is less about hierarchies and more about seeing God in the people, places, and situations that surround us.

Jesus doesn’t define the kingdom of God as much as he describes it. Jesus uses the term “like” a lot. “The kingdom of God is ‘like’ a seed, which starts small but grows a big bush. Or the kingdom of God is ‘like’ an empty net that is tossed into the sea and gathers an abundant draught of fish…” 

It isn’t much different for us, is it? The kingdom of God is like leaves that clog a storm drain and the homeowner takes her rake and clears the clog, saving her and her neighbor’s property from the stormwaters. Or the kingdom of God is like what happens when a car gets stuck. One man sits in the back of the car praying for a solution while the other gets out to push. 

In other words, yes, the kingdom of God is a mix of those who do and those who pray. This is not to denigrate prayer, but to underline that prayer isn’t about asking God to do something, but asking God what we must do (God helping). 

The kingdom of God isn’t perfect, and neither are we, but nothing will change unless something or someone changes. So Jesus invites us to open our eyes and ears, look and listen, and identify what it is we can do to help. 

Don’t worry about what those around you are or are not doing. In the midst of the storm, it’s OK to beg Jesus for relief. But while you’re begging, don’t stop bailing. The bucket may well be the answer to your prayer in this, our storm tossed valley.

* ALA Notable Children’s Book, by Judith Viorst

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

There’s More Than Bats in This Belfry

“God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.” C.S. Lewis

This past week I celebrated the thirty-seventh anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. Well, “celebrated” is a bit strong. I made a mental note of it as the day came and went. I don’t think about my vocation much anymore. I retired five years ago, and while I always enjoyed my life and work as a priest and pastor, I was ready for a change.

I didn’t stop being a priest, of course. Although I may not wear my collar much anymore – not even on Sundays – I am still a priest. The pandemic changed things, however. 

Having had some experience with audio-video technology, I became the parish A/V technician. I pieced together the equipment we needed to provide worship online when the congregation could not gather in person. Even now that we have returned to our sacred spaces, we continue to share our worship online with those who cannot attend in person because of age, illness, or (let’s be honest) they didn’t get up on time.

I believe that my modern-day-Quasimodo work in the loft (fiddling with the A/V equipment, managing glitches on the fly, trouble-shooting issues the online folks raise during worship, etc.) is every bit as holy as the work I did behind the altar or in the pulpit. I know that in my head, but sometimes my heart turns a deaf ear or a blind eye to that spiritual truth. 

Transitions are like that. Some are thrust upon us quite suddenly. Life is going along quite swimmingly and then, WOMP! The body that has always served quite admirably as an engine of mobility breaks down, or the mind that was once sharp as a tack has become a tarp on a shack. We pick up the phone and the people who have always been there to answer, don’t. It’s not that they don’t want to; it’s that they can’t. “Oh, right, they passed away,” I say to myself, suddenly remembering they died three years ago. And darkness descends. The dead-letter office has grown larger, and one’s own life more fragile and diminished.

Other transitions are slower. They sneak up on us like Gollum seeking his “precious.” The early days of the pandemic stretched on from days to weeks to months to years. The isolation and care we took to be safe, to avoid contracting or passing along the disease became a habit, a way of life. The joy and vitality of living became mundane, replaced by a spirit of drudgery, hopelessness, haplessness, and helplessness. The Alleluia of Faith, somewhere along the way, was replaced by a more doleful tune: Lamentation.

We are told that the human body has many organs, and I know it is true, and yet it seems I can only play the black keys on the organ of my soul. That is truly horrifying for one who has striven for most of his seven decades to maintain a decent level of positivity and good humor (albeit humor filled with some absolute groaners).

So, what is there to do? Is there a way through this morose desperation? Of course there is!

First, we need to recognize it for what it is. It is part of life. The fact that this depression has struck me so hard lately is evidence that I’ve had to struggle with this darkness so little in my life. There is no “bucking up” and getting “over it.” It is what it is, so I find (for myself) that it’s enough to embrace a line from Simon and Garfunckle, “Hello darkness, my old friend.” It’s OK. Not, it’s “going” to be OK. Simply, it’s OK. Even Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

Secondly, while we may not know how long an episode will last (and it could be life-long), we know that even in the darkness, God is there. Pain? God is there. Loneliness? God is there. Despair? God is there. God does not arrive suddenly, like the Lone Ranger, to set things right. God is not Deus ex machina. God is Immanuel – God with (and in) us – the source of all true happiness here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

There’s More to Cherries Than the Pits

“The world is so loud and makes so many demands. Sitting next to you doing absolutely nothing means absolutely everything to me,” said the boy to the tree. Sketches in stillness.com

I went to the store, as is my custom, to pick up a few necessities for the week and found a delicious display of cherries greeting me at the entrance. Cherries are among my favorite fruits of summer, so I looked over the bags of cherry-red goodness lying before me and, as I could determine no discernable differences among them, made my selection and went on with my shopping.

After I got home and put away the groceries, I unbagged the cherries, placed them into a colander, and gave them a good rinsing. I popped a couple of test samples into my mouth (one at a time) to see how they were and must admit they were a disappointment. They weren’t as sweet or flavorful as I had hoped or expected. I wondered if they had been grown on a candle-maker’s plantation. In fact, a smoky flavor might have helped.

That’s OK, though. While they didn’t meet my hopes and dreams for flavor, nevertheless they do contain nutritional value and are likely healthier than the chocolate chip cookies I would have otherwise been eating, so I’m not going to complain. It is also quite possible that some of my ability to taste food items continues to suffer the lingering effects of my bout with Covid a couple of years back. Life goes on and, if I need to, I can delight in pondering how delicious those cherries may taste to others.

I suppose that’s important. I have never been accused of having good taste in anything, and so it has never been important for me to compel others to think like me, feel like me, dress like me, or do things the way I do them. I think it is perfectly fine for me to like what I like, and for you to like what you like, right?

There is a certain freedom that comes with detachment, by which I mean I’m free to be me, and you’re free to be you, and we are each free to own what is ours (feelings, thoughts, ideas, experiences, etc.) and others to own what is theirs. That means each gets to keep their identity. 

For some people, detachment could mean one doesn’t care. If I see my child run into the street without looking both ways and ignore it, that isn’t detachment; that’s neglect. If my child misbehaves in the store and I don’t care how that may be affecting others, that isn’t detachment; that’s hostility by proxy.

No, detachment the way I mean it is how I am able to retain my own identity and still love, care about, and identify with the feelings of others.

When Jesus says, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” he’s asking us to see our neighbor with our eyes and hear them with our ears – not literally, not figuratively, but honestly. We are so often caught up into our own worlds, our own situations, our own messes that we’re unable to see or hear the pain (or joy) of those around us. Sadly, that also means that others are often oblivious to the pains or joys we are experiencing at any given time. That’s isolation, not detachment.

God calls us into community, but our culture values individualism to such a degree that we’d often prefer to fall heck-bent into perdition than take hold of a hand reaching to raise us up to safety. God says it isn’t good for us to be alone. Remember the wisdom of Life cereal’s Mikey: Mikey dared to try Life, and to the great surprise of his siblings, he LIKED it. God is always calling us to try life, too, to learn how to live as individuals and as members of a larger whole.

God calls us into community, which doesn’t mean we lose who we are or sacrifice what we like. What it means is we get to explore the kingdom of heaven more fully, because we see and hear together far more than we ever could alone. To do less would be the pits for us here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

What the Tide Teaches Us About Faith

The Lord grants his loving-kindness in the daytime; in the night season his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. Psalm 42

I am thinking of taking a trip sometime this summer, although it may not happen until autumn. I don’t know what’s happening with me. There was a day I could spontaneously get a wild hair up my nether regions, toss a few essentials into my rolling duffle bag, and take off on some wild and bizarre adventure. Not anymore. My spontaneity gene has up and left town without me.

Now I plan and plod. I check out long-range weather forecasts and astronomical charts, put my finger on the calendar, seeking a day where the roads won’t be clogged by tourists or (worse) three day weekends where I’ll have to add a slug of inebriated jack-a-lopes to the mix and, since there is nothing that actually stirs the soul, fold up the map, toss it back into the cupboard, and decide that maybe next year I’ll feel more like traveling.

The paralysis of analysis is a real thing. So is depression (clinical or otherwise). Life is cyclical and sometimes we are just so worn down and beat up by the constant pounding of the surf that we find the bank of the soul eroding and washing away like the banks of the Yellowstone in full flood. The psalmist knows this. 

Life – both regular life and the spiritual life – has its ups and downs. People of faith are often surprised to find the feelings of warmth, love, and joy they might have experienced early on ebbs and flows. They may feel guilty when they discover their faith becoming lukewarm or, God forbid, even cold and icy. They wonder if there is something wrong with them, or if their faith is genuine, or if they have some unknown sin that has disappointed God enough for the good Lord to withdraw favor. Ouch!

No. Feelings are real. The love of God is there whether or not we feel it, just as the sun is there when the clouds or night obscure the fact.

I live close to Puget Sound, and there are times I see nearby Padilla Bay lapping the shoreline next to the roadway, and other times there is a mile or more of mudflats exposed by a tide that has gone out – way out. I love the freshness of the salt-air at high tide, but when the tide goes out, blech!

Sometimes the tide is out in life, and that’s OK. The psalmist doesn’t try to hide his face in shame. He doesn’t try to power through it as if it isn’t OK to feel what he feels. I suspect he might even be willing to punch the nose of any peer who suggests he just “buck up” or “turn that frown upside down!” There are three things I get from this psalm.

First, be genuine. Don’t worry about what others may think or say you should feel. Own your life. Acknowledge what’s happening. There is a commandment that we are not to bear false witness, so we need to be true and honest to self and to God. Putting this stuff down on paper or sharing it with a trusted friend often relieves some of those internal pressures.

Secondly, the psalmist remembers better and brighter times. He remembers that God is eternal, but our circumstances and feelings aren’t. “In the night season his song is with me.” The presence of God often grows warmer and more real in the midst of the assembly, so he makes a point of surrounding himself with the faithful, depending on the warmth of their presence to warm his own soul.

And finally, he listens for the voice of God singing. God sings life into creation. God sings resurrection to a cold, dark, dangerous, and deadly world. When I hear the voice of God singing in the night, I know God is calling. 

Unlike the Sirens who called sailors to their destruction in the ancient fables, God calls us to new life, and if we need to rest a bit, God changes the tune to the lullaby we need and, like the psalmist, I find that very kind, sweet, and loving here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

God Dances With Whales

“Come, Love! Sing On! Let me hear you sing this song – sing for joy and laugh, for I the creator am truly subject to all creatures." Mechtild of Magdeburg

The other day I set about replacing the power antenna on my car with a new unit. The original mast had been snapped off and it seems I can’t do anything lately without getting sliced and diced by anything sharper than a gummy bear. My blood may be O-Negative, but it is positively attracted to anything sharp, especially jagged metals.

I peeled back the carpeting in the trunk and managed to find and remove the two bolts that held the original antenna in place; it all disassembled and came out neatly enough and, I’m delighted to report, without my shedding any blood (yet).  The new device isn’t exactly like what I had removed, so I fiddled with it a little bit to see how it would fit, made the wire connections and, before mounting it, decided to test it to make sure I’d wired it correctly. 

I turned on the car’s power supply, then turned on the radio and – Voila! – the power mast extended … and extended … and within seconds the mast and gear-cable exited the housing! Oops. It turns out the antenna should have been mounted to keep the mast from leaving home. Now THAT would have been a helpful bit of information to include in the instructions, don’t you think?

Warning, do not test the unit without mounting it first!

Life is like that. Not everything comes with warning labels and, while the antenna snafu may be a bit irksome, it isn’t the end of the world. It was assembled by someone somewhere. What one person can do, another can do. I decided not to tackle the re-assembly at that moment because, to be honest, I was fighting allergies, exhausted from all my coughing and sneezing, blowing through reams of facial tissue, and somewhat brain-dead from the antihistamines that seem to stop up gray matter more effectively than yellowish-green matter.

Fortunately, I learned a long time ago not to take things too seriously. None of us is getting out of here alive, so take time to smell the proverbial roses. Life without joy, song, and playfulness is dullishly incomplete. 

Even God plays. The Bible tells us God created Leviathan (a whale or sea monster) “for the sport of it.” Amazing; God plays. God wallowed in the mud one day playing patty-cake with the angels and next thing you know, God created Adam, and then had a rib-tickling idea to create a playmate. Oh, I know you sticklers for the scriptures will say the word is “helpmate,” but the focus of the passage is “goodness” – and for that, God created a woman precisely for goodness’ sake. The purpose of Sabbath (the day of rest) is also for re-creation. God did not make the gift of Sabbath solely to stop our labor, but to promote our well-being and happiness.

Since we were created in God’s image, it seems to follow that we need to play, too – and sing, and dance, and hop, skip, and jump!

There are, to be sure, times for grieving. The past few columns have touched on matters of grief, anger, frustration, death, destruction, wars, and violence. They are certainly constants in our lives, but it seems that if that’s all we look at, that’s all we will ever see, and I’ll be darned if I am going to let the stupidity of dunderheads and transmissibility of viruses get the better of me. 

There is a wonderful church song called The Lord of the Dance. I am not one given easily to cry, but the dam always bursts open when I get to this point in the song: “They buried my body / And they thought I'd gone, /But I am the Dance, / And I still go on …” (© Bardis Music) 

Life is wonderful, despite the woes we see. Greater is the One we do not see! Music, joy, dance, and fellowship enrich our lives. I may find myself spending two years before the (antenna) mast; it may never ever retract, but it’ll never let that get me down here in this, our valley. Dance on!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)