Footprints

I have encountered a specific and unusaul Van Gogh panting twice this year. The first time was with the youth group on the way to camp. We took them to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. We turned the group loose asking them to find a piece of art they liked and then take a selfie with it. Later, we had them share the picture and talk about the art they loved and why. It’s a great way to see a museum through other people’s eyes.

I stopped for a long time and look at a paining called Olive Trees. It was painted in 1889 while Van Gogh was hospitalized and trying to recover from a mental breakdown. He was initially only allowed to look through the windows, but eventually was given greater freedom and went out into the olive groves to paint. He was drawn to the olive trees. They reminded him of the struggle of Jesus on his long night of anguishing prayer - Van Gogh was having his own moment of torment. The olive tree had also become a symbol of resurrection. In part, its gnarled tree trucks and extreme age gave testimony to life surviving in the greatest struggles.

In Kansas City, the sign next to the painting told of a recent and odd discovery - a tiny grasshopper encased in paint. It indicated that the paining was created outdoors, probably in the olive garden. The close up was very clear, but I could not find the carcass and eventually gave up frustrated. I did not pick it as my favorite.

Last week, we went to Dallas to see a new exhibit that reunites the olive grove paintings for the first time in one hundred years. It was amazing and enlightening. There, in the center of the exhibit, was the painting I met in the summer. This time, the placard described the art curator’s surprise upon examining the surface of the painting and finding footprints that had been made in the wet paint. Again, I searched the painting. I got closer and closer until the guard rebuked me and made me move further away. I asked her if she knew where the footprints were. She did not. I looked it up online and finally found a helpful guide and was able to see the insect prints.

Van Gogh named these paintings, “consolatory painting[s]” for they offered hope and comfort in a difficult world. He was trying to paint his way back to health. He took a path through an olive garden. His mental illness finally overwhelmed him in 1890. He died without every seeing his paintings displayed or loved. He did not know that his struggle would one day inspire many of us. Like tiny footprints in the paint, Van Gogh’s images testify to the muddy feet of our existence, of the heavy steps that it takes to get through this world. He reminds us to see its beauty. He encourages us to see it anew. I’m glad I walked through the garden with him.

It makes me wonder who around us is struggling and does not know what a beautiful gift they are to the world? It makes me want to “see” those that are struggling and encourage them. It makes me want to be alert, unlike the disciples who slept in the olive garden.

Top

We were hiking to the top of Mt. Humphries, the highpoint of Arizona. We spent the evening before loading our packs. It was a long trail and several hiking blogs warned that the altitude and temperature required extra water. We packed and unpacked trying to achieve the right balance between carrying the too little and too much. My pack weighed way more than I wanted, but I could not figure out what else I could leave out and be safe. The next morning we got up early. We drove to the trailhead and checked our packs one more time. The light of the morning was just dusting the treetops as we began.

The trail started by crossing ski slopes covered with waving grass getting ready for the coming snow. Then it entered a lush stand of aspen and pine trees. We were dwarfed by them. It climbed steeply through the forest. After about an hour we stopped and hid some water in the rocks. I marked it on my map. We had been drinking water, so it was good to lighten the load on our shoulders. After another hour, we hid some more water.

We broke out of the trees after about three hours and could see the summit. The last push was brutal. It was steep. It was hard to judge the distance and it sometimes felt like we were getting further away instead of closer. We lost the trail for a bit. We met some people who had scampered ahead of us and were already on the way down. It was a little demoralizing. They did not seem to be struggling. They did not seem to be carrying nearly as much as we were. I judged them in my mind saying, “They are not prepared for any emergencies. They are traveling too light.” I was envious in my muscles.

We finally got to the top. We took pictures. We hunkered down in some rocks to break the wind. We ate some food. We took a few minutes to look around. Not far away I saw this concrete block. There was no structure at the top, no building, no tower, nothing but rocks. Why a cinder block up here? I’ve been told that if you see a turtle on the top of a fence post, then you know someone put it there. If you see a concrete block on the top of a mountain, someone carried it there. It came by hand. There were no roads. We saw no evidence of pack animals, and they always leave evidence in the trails. What would cause a person to lug a 20 pound block of rock 5 miles to the top of a rock strewn plateau?

We are all carrying burdens. Some are ours to carry. Some are necessary (Heb. 13:17). Many are optional. Some are damaging. What burden could you unload? How would it feel to travel unburdened? What hurt in your past is weighing you down? Jesus says

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, 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” (Mat 11:28-30).

When you get to the end of life don’t be carrying paving bricks (Rev 21:21), or unreasonable responsibilities (Numb 11:17), or unnecessary guilt (Ps 38:4). Lay your burdens at his feet and walk easy.

Empty

I was cleaning in my office and came across this empty salt shaker. I had used some for graduation gifts in 2017 and this one had worked its way behind a bunch of books and was hidden from sight. I stared into its emptiness. A salt shaker without salt is not of much use. Sprinkling air seems ridiculous.

Jesus tells us the we are the salt of the earth, but sometimes it seems our salt shakers are a little empty. We are not adding anything into the world, but are of the world and sharing the world’s values. We are just rehashing what the world thinks. It’s like we are just shaking out the air.

Jesus wants to fill us with something so different that the world cannot live without it. Jesus wants us to change the environment around us. He wants us to preserve life around us. Jesus demands that we do this or else be thrown out (Matthew 5:13).

I was on a zoom call in my office this week and someone noticed a large block of salt sitting on the shelves behind my desk. Its a rectangular bar (3”x4”x14”). The sides are wrapped yellow tough fibrous bands, like the leaves of a yucca plant. I bought it on the backside of an obscure market in Dire Dawa. It had been brought out of the Afar dessert on a camel caravan. In 525 AD Cosmas Indicopleustes, a Greek merchant saw them used as forms of money when he visited Ethiopia. (He wrote book of his travels and he also wrote a book about the earth being flat. He is largely responsible for the erroneous idea that most people in the middle ages believed the world to be flat).

The salt on my shelf is not better than the empty salt shaker. It is an object to be studying and considered. Its a talking point and oddity, but I doubt it will ever be turned into life giving flavor. Instead, it will linger on my shelves until someone finally throws it away, years from now.

Salt drove ancient economies, paid peoples salaries (a form of the word salt), accompanied all the grain offerings (Lev 2:13), bound people in covenants (Num. 18:19), and flavored their food. It was all around them. It was not sitting on a shelf, but sprinkled in the world.

If your salt shaker is a little empty then seek the face of Jesus and ask him to fill you up. If you have some salt, its time to spread it around.

Leaks

I have a fascination with fire hydrants. When I was a kid I have a strong memory of a hot day, a spewing fountain and kids playing in the street. The fireman had opened one of the caps and the water made a blowing mist and a rainbow that worked like a kid magnet. I have a ton of pictures of them from around the world. I just can’t resist.

I walked up to this one while walking in the Cain Center. The water was draining out and pooling in the parking lot. I stood and looked at it for a while. The first thing I noticed was the wrench. The last person who had worked on it left it leaning against the side. I considered the leak, the lake and the leverage needed to tighten the cap. I picked up the wrench. I attached it to the outlet cap’s nut. I put some energy into the metal. It did not move. I stopped quickly. I wondered which ways these threads move. Is it righty tight? If not, am I about to unleash a tourney of water upon myself? Is this cap going to come shooting off and injured me? I set the wrench down. Then I looked at the top operating nut, that is what releases the water, was it closed? Was it pressurized. I decided that my Good Samaritan instincts were not what I need to be listening to.

I took a picture and sent it to a contact in the city government. They passed it along. I will go check tonight to see what happened.

Ive been looking at the picture. There are at least three distinctive colors that this hydrant has worn: red, yellow and green. Its like a little traffic light sitting on the ground. I’m a big fan of red hydrants. That seems to be the “right” color. This poor little guy needs to get a makeover.

Lots of things leak. Our energy leaks, our vision leaks, or commitments leak. Time and culture shift and what we were committed to fades not only the public eye, but our own awareness. Sometimes we need to tighten the leak ourselves. We need to notice and do something about it - are you paying attention to your own spiritual load? Is it too light? Is it too heavy? Sometimes we are almost unaware of the lowering internal pressure, we don’t see the runoff pond and it takes someone else to speak into our lives - to who are you listening? Sometimes we reach the end of what we can do, we can’t tighten it anymore and we need to call in help. Last week, I was struck by these words in Deuteronomy, 1:31, “the Lord your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place.” Look inside, listen well, let God lift you up.

Sparks

I joined the welding connect group this semester. We met on Sunday night. It was amazing. Jack Harrington is the instructor and a great encouraging teacher. We had a blast. I was amazed at how much I learned in one night.

I had no idea that the welding tool had different tips. I had no idea about the pressure needed in the gas hoses. I had no idea that the pressure was different for the different gases. I thought you just lit the torch and it worked. Its like a lot of things in life that some people make look easy, but is really hard.

After getting a safety briefing, Jack got us into a hands on experience. We started by cutting. First we needed to see the power. It was so hard to cut a straight line. My hands floated all around like quivering jello. I told them to stay still, but they disobeyed. I practiced it a few time and my final attempt was better than my first attempt. I would need to practice for months to figure out a way to steady myself.

Then we we began the process that leads to welding two pieces together. He called it, “seeing the puddle.” We changed tips, reset the pressures and then began to heat the metal. As it absorbed the heat it began to glow red. Then a small round pool developed and it became shiny and fully liquid. The experienced welders like Bruce Moore, who was helping, pushed the tiny puddle across the metal gently coaxing it back and forth across the metal sea. Theirs looked like gentle waves the beach.

It looked easy. I started. The glow came, then the puddle, then I made muddle of it. My attempt looked like a churro, lumpy and beaded up. I tired again and had a bit more success. It looked like elephant skin.

I imagine that so many people are really in the dark about so much in the world. We just don’t know, but somehow we think that if we read it on the internet, then we know the whole story. Too many of us think we are experts at too many things. I was on the bottom of the pile Sunday. I was glad I had a good teacher who was patient with me. We could all do better at listening and learning.

I spent 2 days with a group of 14 pastors from around Texas. We had met regularly during COVID on Zoom, but this was our first gathering in person in over 2 years. We caught up with each other, sharing details of the many different challenges of the Pandemic. We updated one another on prayer requests, one of them was recently diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Eventually, we settled into debate and analysis of what we experienced and what we learned since March of 2020.

Most of the churches expereinced a loss of about 40% of their people. That broke into four groups. The group of people that before March of 202 were on the fringe of the church, they were not invested in groups or service, but mostly just attended worship. A second group of people left because fo the churches COVID response. Churches who were cautious lost those who wanted fewer restrictions. Church with few restrictions lost the cautious. A third group stopped coming because of the political polarization of society that spilled over into the church. Finally, all church seemed to have people who say they will return, but have not yet, their habits changed and they have not and may never return to church. Many of the churches have experienced some growth in new people. Mostly people who have moved during the pandemic and were looking for a new church. Some came because they left a place for one of the reason listed above. Most were running 75-85% of the numbers they were running in February 2020.

We took a break and went to a place to learn to throw axes. It was a good diversion and we laughed a lot. I was practicing on one of the targets and the operator watched me for a few minutes. They then told me that I should back up at 3.5 inches. It was such a specific number. I did my best to reset my feet and then throw. While my next throw did not get into the very middle, it did bury itself into the wood with the handle nearly parallel to the target (this is the goal). Whenever I put my feet in the right spot, the axe would land with satisfaction.

We all wish that we could move just a few inches, changes just a tiny thing and everything could go back tot eh way it was. That is not going to happen. We are now living in our new normal. They people we have now are the ones that will rebuild our church in this community. It might be scary, but all the people who are in our church now are here because they love our church. We can build on that love. What do you love about our church? Would you share it with others? Do love our emphasis on missions? Our impact in the community? Our growing bilingual congregation? Our worship? The preaching? The people?

The churches who are succeeding are succeeding because church members are enthusiastic about Jesus and his church.

Favor

Last week I saw someone on the TV and they reminded me of a painting. I think it is a Flemish or possibly a Dutch painting. I can just close my eyes and see the picture, but I cannot locate it. I have tried every combination of search words and image searches to find artwork, but I keep coming up empty. The face is haunting me and I just can’t shake it. It is very frustrating when my mind will only give me a few of the details. I just know I am going to stumble on the picture eventually. I keep going back to look at the face I saw on TV and each time the back of my mind tickles.

One of my attempts to locate the art took me to Google Arts and Culture. It’s an app. I downloaded it.  You take a selfie and then it makes suggestions of who you look like. It says I have a 56% chance of being Johann Sebastian Bach. That seems cool to me. He is famous and contributed some great art to the world.

I retook my picture over and over again. I opened my eyes, I smiled big, I frowned. It generated other matches. Most of the closest matches were Dutch and the portraits were in the Rijksmuseum. I think that the search engine might run to that museum first therefore everyone looks like someone from Holland. After working at it for a while the closest match I got was 62% for Hermanus Boerhaave.

I looked him up. Wow he did some good in the world. His wiki article says, “Dutch botanist, chemist, Christian humanist, and physician of European fame. He is regarded as the founder of clinical teaching and of the modern academic hospital and is sometimes referred to as "the father of physiology," …introduced the quantitative approach into medicine, …best known for demonstrating the relation of symptoms to lesions …first physician to put thermometer measurements to clinical practice… often hailed as the "Dutch Hippocrates". Not too shabby.

Not one of the searches compared me to a portrait of Jesus. We don’t really know what Jesus looked like, some ancient sources indicate that he was neither good looking nor tall. As it says in Isaiah, “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him”(53:2). We do know what his life looked like. It was filled with love and truth and grace. I hope to look more like Jesus than I do.

Caution

We turned down a side road. It was labeled as a “scenic” drive. It was a tiny road and not particularly beautiful at first. it looked like a sad forgotten road, the one that the new road bypassed. Eventually, we came to a picturesque stream and spent some time taking photographs and getting bitten by mosquitos. When that played out we jumped back into the car and continued down the road.

We saw the steeple first as it emerged above the trees and then the church came into view. I stopped to take a look. It was obvious that the building was in need of repairs. Water had found its way into multiple openings and the wood rot was evident. The thing we really noticed was the yellow caution tape wrapped around the building.

I think the tape was put up because there is real fear that the building is unstable and unsafe, but what I was thinking is that all churches should be wrapped in caution tape. The bible has made it clear, following Jesus is a pathway to trouble.

• You have to deny yourself (Mat 16:24)

• You have to take up the cross (Luke 9:23)

• Put God before family (Luke 9:59-60)

• Count the cost (Luke 14:28-32)

• Put Jesus first in everything (Col 1:18)

• Give up possessions (Luke 14:33)

• Face tribulations (Acts 14:22)

• Face persecution (2 Tim 3:12)

Walk past the caution tape. Pay the price it is worth it. As it says in Philippians, “But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ” Philippians 3:7–8 (TNIV).

Delicate

I opened the garage and a bright blue glint caught my eye, right behind my truck. I saw the dragonfly resting on the driveway. I figured he would spring into the air as I got near. The wind blew and he moved, but stayed right by the truck. I came closer. He stood still. I put my things in the truck. His fluttered a bit, but my tire would make quick work of him if he did not move.

I went to shoo him away and then realized he was already far away. The movement had been caused by the wind. His wings, made to fly, gave the appearance of flight. I picked him up and placed him inside the truck. Some ants came scurrying off the carcass. They did not make it.

Later in the day, I tried to takes some pictures in the sun to try to recreate the bright blue beacon I saw in the morning, but the wind was blowing so hard that every time I set the dragon fly down, he took to flight and I kept having to chase him across the parking lot. The picture I took of him does not do him justice. The blue was magnificent. Here it is muted. As I have looked at the picture I can see the damage done to his wings. Either life or death was rough for him.

I feel like we are living in a difficult world and people are more delicate than we imagine. They need to know that they are loved. The need to know that they matter. Unfortunately, the wind of the times is tumbling people over and over. Their wings are damaged. Their colors have been diminished. They are dying on the inside. A dragonfly lives a short time (6 months from start to finish), but people have a long way to go.

Our job right now is to love the people around us, to lift them up, to give them hope.

Walking Together

I keep coming back to this picture. Its on my phone. I scroll through photos and I stop and look at it. It’s my two boys. I wish I could remember where it was taken. The when is fuzzy, but their size gives me a rough estimate. It’s grainy. I scanned it from an old photograph. There are dust spots on it that I try to edit out, but there are lots of them.

I love the golden light at the center. First, in the shirts. Then in their hair. I love the way the path trails off to the left disappearing into a point. I love Logan’s hand (on the left) reach over toward Lance. I wonder what Lance has in his hands. Was it a stick, a rock, a feather? The memory is always right on the edge. I can’t seem to recall if I remember the moment or just this picture. I know it was my eye that was looking through the camera. I framed the shot and captured it for a reason.

I have lots of shots of them growing up. My favorites tend to show them in the midst of joy. I love the look of smiles. The twinkle in their eyes. The mischief before the threw the snowball. I love the ones showing exploration, but I love this one the most because it captures our hopes. That they have family by their side through life. They they don’t walk alone.

I have looked at this photo so often the last year (during COVID I decided to scan my old photos into the computer) since I rediscovered it in a box of old photos. My heart aches because I thought I was walking through life with some people, friends, who decided they didn’t want to walk with me anymore. Things have not worked out the way I saw it in my head. I thought we would get there together. I’m so thankful for people who are walking side by side with us, not because they agree with me, but because we love one another. Jesus says, “by this everyone will know that you are my disciples if you love one another” John 13:34.

I know too many families torn by conflict and hurt. I know too many churches that have fallen prey to the same. John 1:12 says “Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” We who are in Christ are one family-brothers and sisters. I’m praying God’s blessings on each of you. I’m praying that God would bring his family together and that we might go down the road together.

Trophy

I came around the corner. The bright yellow eyes shone out of the inky blackness. The cat stared at me unblinking. The grey mouse hung limply in her mouth. I stopped my truck and stuck my camera out the window. The cat did not move. The mouse did not move. We gazed at each other. A car moved behind me. I pulled away as the cat won the staring contest.

I am intrigued the way animals bring their trophies for us to see. We once had a terrible dog. She was erratic, hyper and unable to be inside the house without destroying it. She came with us from Spearman. It was not long that we realized that she was never going to be great family dog. We were very discouraged. We finally made the terrible decision that we need to find a new home for her. The next morning she was on the back porch with a dead snake to show us. It was a copperhead. The dog stayed with our family for another ten years until she died.

Cindy was standing at the back door and a huge locust was buzzing around the door frame and about to be squished when she shut the door. So she swatted the bug. It shot toward the ground where our dog Bear snatched it out of the air. He swallowed it as if it were a Scooby snack. One wing hung limply from his lips. He seemed please with himself.

What are you proud of? What are you living for? What do hope other people see as evidence that your life is being lived on purpose, that your life matters? Get hunting. Get living.

Witness

We were out walking the dogs in the Cain Center Park. It’s our favorite loop trail. It was hot, we had gone an extra long distance and it was time to head back to home and the air-conditioning. The dogs were dragging. Between us and home was an estate sale. The road was filled on both sides with cars. It meant that the road was very narrow and only one car could pass at a time.

I pulled the dogs tight on their leash. The cars, the traffic and the closeness made us all a little nervous. We started down through the car gauntlet. In front of us, a red pick-up was trying to thread the needle. A car was waiting on the other side. The red truck seeing the car started to hug the right side, thinking it might create enough space for the car. There was not enough space. The red truck hit a white truck and then scraped down the side leaving a blood like stain in its wake. Some black trim, set free by the collision, waved happly like a dogs tail.

The occupant of the white truck stepped out, a little stunned, and stared at the damage. The driver of the red truck pulled to the side. He parked and then headed toward the estate sale. The driver of the white truck walk toward him expecting some recognition for what had just happened. He told him that he hit his truck. The red truck driver denied it. We had reached them by this time. I confirmed that he had hit the truck. I followed them back to examine the damage.

About that time, the driver of the car parked behind the white truck stepped up and said, “You also hit my car!” I had not seen it. I was looking down at my dogs and trying to stay out of the way, but the paint gashes where real. I left my phone number as they all began to share insurance cards. I took pictures in case anyone need to ask me what I saw. I felt bad for everyone.

I wondered how the situation might have gone differently if there had been no witnesses. Who do you believe? Who do you trust? When God calls you to stand up in the community and testify to what you have seen - the risen Christ, the forgiving Christ, the righteous Christ, will you? When someone who is likely to be overlooked or who has no voice is in need, will you stand up for them? Acts 1:8 says, “You will be my witnesses.” How good of a witness are you?

Found

While we were in the Dakotas, we saw a poster telling people that if they found fossils on their land entrepreneurs would come and help them make a profit from the finds, so, “Please call.” We saw the posters in several locations. We assumed it meant we were in fossil territory.

On one afternoon at the camp, we had a little time, so we walked out to the back of the property. The hills look just like the hills where people make fossils finds. For over an hour a bunch of us fanned out and turned over rocks. I picked somethings up. I found some man made items. I found some pretty rocks. I found a piece of a fossilized bone. It was cool looking, but disconnected from something larger, it was mostly just another rock. The groups began to loose interest and drift away. My brother and I were the last people back to camp.

When I was in Boy Scouts I hoped to make a big discovery. One year, on a camping trip, a friend and I excavated what we hoped were dinosaur bones. We dug and swept. We had seen enough that we knew to be careful. We left the long rounded bones in the dirt, just uncovering enough to trace the pattern. When we were sure, we took one piece with us, and marched triumphantly back to camp. The scoutmaster looked it over and the proclaimed it as interesting, but not a bone. It was the fossilized reman at of an ancient borrow. It was a solidified hole in the ground. Another time the same friend and I saw a glint in the water. After about half a day we brought back a cup of fools gold. We thought it was gold. We were fooled.

I stepped out of my truck and my foot came down next to a T-Rex figure lying in the parking lot. I think he was laughing at me. One day, I would love to discover something hidden, something waiting to be uncovered, a treasure. It is easy to loose heart, to give up on a dream, to become worn down by life and struggle. Don’t give up, I really do believe their is treasure all around. We just need to keep turning over rocks.

Fragile

I got into the passenger seat of our van. We were about to back out of the driveway when Cindy drew my attention to the spider web that had been spun on the sideview mirror. We slowed down and watch as the fragile lace undulated in the wind. The spider was nowhere to be seen, but the delicate tatting was a testimony to the industry and the beauty of the weaver.

As we drove away I watched the air pressure rise and fall and the web along with it, almost like it was a set of lungs. It was protected from the direct wind and survived all the way to the church. I think it might still be there, but I have not had the heart to check.

I have an ambivalent relationship to spider webs. Most of the time that I have a direct encounter with them it is because I catch one in the face. One of the hazards of hiking and leading a hike is that my face is ever the foremost part. I have never gotten used to the sticky mass clinging to my brows, cheeks and forehead. It always feeling like some of it is left behind and it takes two or three wipes to get my face clean. On some hikes through the woods I beat the air with my hands as If I was blind and groping in the dark.

At other times, I see the artistry and stop to take pictures of the webs. I have never really captured one in a photo that makes me feel that same as seeing one in person. They are so tiny, ephemeral and delicate. On those occasions I take a wide berth around the webs, giving the spider a chance to benefit from it's industry. For some reason, I have less compassion for the fly than I do for the arachnid. I hate the thought of sweeping my hand through the air and destroying the work. I hate the feeling of heartlessness and waste. It just feels like destruction for the sake of destruction because that spider is helping keep other pests at bay.

That gesture, that brief decision to tear down, when I could easily allow life to go on unhindered seems to be a decision that people make all the time. Its the careless word, its the slight twisting of the story, its the abandoning of a value or a friend for quick convenience. Our world seems to be running headlong to deeper fracturing and some of it is the rolling power of people who just bowl over the small, the voiceless and the powerless because they can. Christianity has gotten so used to being in power, that we have let power and influence be what we care more about that the Christ who is the author of compassion, of servanthood and the downward way. We have equated success with Godliness. We spurn sacrifice in our consumer, me-driven world. We just wave the problems away.

I bet that spider will be up again, trying again, building again. Maybe you could look around and build up some tiny thing, say an encouraging word, listen when you could talk. Maybe you could inconvenience yourself and go around instead of going through someone.

Marking the North American Pole of Inaccessibility

Southern Pole of Inaccessibility

Last year, I heard a story about the most remote spot on the continent of Antarctica. It’s called the Southern Pole of Inaccessibility. It’s 550 miles further from the coast than the South Pole and was not reached until nearly 50 years after Roald Amundsen planted the Norwegian flag on the South Pole. It is hard to reach. The first group to do it was traversing from coast to coast. They were Russians and they built a research station crowned with a bust of Lenin sitting 20 feet in the air. After 50 years he is nearly covered with snow. 

Eurasian pole of inaccessibility

I started to wonder about the other Poles of Inaccessibility (POI). They are the point furthest from the coast, the middle of the continent.  The Eurasian one is near the border of Kazakhstan in the middle of the desert.

Australian Pole of Inaccessibility

The Australian one is also in the desert, both are essentially unreachable. It has a small metal marker. The South American POI was just marked in 2017 with a short fiberglass stick. The POI of Africa is unmarked at sits in the jungle in one of the war torn areas between S Sudan and the Congo. 

I searched for the POI of North America. It sits just a few miles away from Kyle, SD. I got excited. It’s just 25 minutes away from Čhaŋkú Wašté Ranch where we would be volunteering. I found descriptions of the place. It is unmarked. I hatched the idea of  creating and erecting a marker at the spot. For several weeks we doodled. We came up with a design that is based on the Lakota values and Medicine Wheel. We got approval for our design from the local Lakota tribe representatives. Jack Harrington and Red Dot helped me bring my idea to production. Then we hauled the 15 foot long pole and crown (about 350 pounds) over 1,000 miles to SD to be placed in the ground. 

I scouted the location and met Byron Bear Killer on the Pine Ridge Reservation. He has guided numerous people to the location as the best parking lot is beside his house. He helped guide our team and on Thursday they raised the pole. It has the four traditional colors (red, yellow, white, black) representing the points of the compass. The crown is encircled with animals that represent the 7 Lakota Values (Bear - Courage, Eagle - Love, Beaver - Wisdom, Bison - Respect, Turtle - Truth, Wolf - Humility, Foot - Honesty). It was made to last out of thick steel, powder coated and welded together. It stands 12 feet out of the ground and is cemented deep in the earth. It was designed so that people will come to visit, take a selfie and see this beautiful land.

The group of students from the Čhaŋkú Wašté Ranch who placed the pole at the site. They are a group of students from Texas and the Pine Ridge Reservation.

Our hope now is to add a descriptive sign at the site, add direction signs on the reservation and ultimately a directional and distance sign on the interstate leading people to the location. Our desire is for people to come, spend some money in the area, visit the reservation, and visit the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre which is about 38 miles away from the pole.

If you come visit the middle of North American swing by and get Byron to show you the way. 

Isolation

We drove for hours. We had left 2 days earlier than the rest of the mission trip so that we could make a swing through North Dakota before meeting the team in South Dakota. We were headed to White Butte. At 3,506 it is the Highpoint of the state. It is way off of the grid.

after driving for two straight days we arrived in its vicinity. We spent the night and then got up early the next morning to drive the 16 remaining miles. It took us over an hour to make those last few miles, but only because I kept stopping to take pictures of birds, deer and antelope. It was an amazing morning.

During that whole time we were only passed by one car. We had the whole countryside to ourselves. Early in the trip I had expressed a desire to photograph a yellow- headed blackbird. Right in cue one appeared on the side of the road. Ring necked pheasant crowded the fence lines. Antelope munched happily in the open fields. A deer spring through the tall grass apparently entertaining himself.

We pulled into the parking area and found that we were the only people attempting the Highpoint that day and all my nervousness about getting an early spot was in warranted. We made the four mile trip and we were back in the car and headed south. All along the way we drove past abandoned homes

I wondered about the families who had come out to farm and live a simple life. I did not look like many had made it to a second or third generation. The towns were tiny and decay hung around them like flys on roadkill. Why do something’s last and others fade away? The last year has been like a drought on the prairie time will tell what is going to make it.

Spin

I did the hardest workout of my life this week. I admit that I undeerestimated the process. My son’s girlfriend was completing her certification as a spin class leader and she invited us to her final exam. It’s the only time men are allowed at the gym so I jumped at the chance. I was curious about spin class, having heard about them for years, but never actually seen one. I thought it would be difficult. I was wrong. It was way harder than difficult.

Two minutes into the forty-five minute session I knew I was in trouble. The pace was fast. My legs and lungs wanted to go slower. I did not want to look bad, pride is an ugly thing, so I pumped my legs to get onto the right rhythm. The music was exciting and fast. The energy in the room, palpable. After just a minute, we went into an intricate set of choreographed routines. Riding faster, bobbing up and down toward the handlebars like doing push-ups. We were up out of our seats. I’ve watched the Tour de France and felt like we were riders in the Pyrenees Mountains struggling to reach the summit of a long hill climb, but the summit was thirty minutes away and shrouded in darkness.

I tried to disconnect from my legs and lungs. I kept telling the nerve endings to fire, to keep the muscles lengthening and shortening. I concentrated on the screen trying to sync my RPMs with the beat of the music. I cheered for others, riding the course with me. I looked into the mirror. What was a 59 year old doing among all these young people? I checked the clock. There was still twenty five minutes to the end. I kept spinning. Then we started new exercises. We kept our legs moving and began to exercise our arms and shoulders with resistance bands. Each time I lifted my arms the bands felt heavier and heavier. I tired, but I could not keep up.

Mercifully, I reached the finish line. I unclipped my feet and wobbled next to my bike as we stretched and cooled down. I drank my water. I dried off my bike. I shuffled to the door. I was amazed at the level of fitness in the room. I knew I pulled down the average. It was a lot to take in. When I slept that night, I slept hard. I woke up in the morning. My muscles decided to go on strike. It’s apparent that they are going to take off the rest of the week.

Spin class was fun. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. I would love to do it again. It was hard, but I did it with others who were cheering me on and not judging me for not succeeding. It was more than I expected, addressing muscles my regular workouts don’t ever touch. It was a wake up call, I thought I was in better shape than I am. Every time I massage my hurting muscles I keep saying to myself, “Worth it.”

The next few months of church are likely to be hard. None of us were prepared for “After Covid.” It’s a wake up call of sorts. We have the glorious Gospel of Grace. We have each other. Those of us that have chosen to be First Baptist know that having a missions driven, service oriented church is not for everyone. We still need to serve. We know that having multiple services that meet lots of different worship needs is not for everyone, but it is for us. We know that having a multigenerational, multicultural church is not for everyone, but it is for us. At the end of the day when we look back on this moment and we rebuild our church we will be able to say, “Worth It!”

Chickens Come Home To Roost

I met these chickens this week. They were calm and even inquisitive. They did not mind if I touched their feathers. They ate feed from my hand with gusto. They were three great chickens (see the beak of the third one peeking out from below the other two).

The one really strange thing is that they have adopted the top of the backyard grill as their roost. Each evening, they hop up on the grill and drift off to sleep. I’m pretty sure they do not know the irony of their situation. Right below them numerous other poultry products have been cooke to perfection for the family living just inside the door. These chickens are just a few inches above the cooking surface. Maybe they will not meet the same fate. Maybe they will offer the trade of eggs for safety in the backyard, but how can they really know?

Lots of people are playing with fire. They think short term. They think what is popular. They just want to feel good. They are not concerned with what is right, what is better, what is difficult but true. One day, it will all come home to roost. Compromising on values might generate a quick fix, but it will not sustain for the long run. Choosing preference over conviction might make you briefly happier, but when your preferences switches, when the winds of the Spirit move in another direction you are left with nothing but grill marks on your feet.

What God needs more from people is individuals that are so committed to his Word, that they will follow it no matter what. No matter if others leave, no matter if others think it’s too much, no matter the excuses people give, no matter what.

Out of the Cave

I was walking back to my cabin getting ready for evening worship when I saw the beautiful colors in the sky and then in the lake. I walked down to the water’s edge and just watched as the colors deepened and the light faded. The water did not have a ripple in it. It was restful and renewing.

Retreats and camps have been at the center of spiritual renewal for as long as there has been people. The children of God were formed in the wilderness wanderings. Elijah found himself and his strength in a cave in the desert, David’s psalms speak often of his time alone with God, Jesus frequently went alone to meet with God. St Francis, was born into a wealthy family where he was afforded all that money could buy. As a young man he was sent off to war. He was traumatized by the cruelty. Upon his return home he flounder, looking for a new way of life. He found Christ. Eventually, he renounced his wealth and began to preach and teach about Jesus to all who would listen. He retreated from the world, but followers were quickly drawn to him. Still he went away often by himself to reflect. He often spent nights in caves. He actually thought they had been created by the earthquakes associated with the death of Jesus and he thought of them as passages into the heart of ‘god. His complete transformation by the love of Christ has inspired people for over 800 years. Those transformations often happened in caves.

G. K. Chesterton wrote a biography about Francis. He believed the cave experiences turned Francis’ world upside down.

“The man who went into the cave was not the man who came out again...He looked at the world as differently from other men as if he had come out of that dark hole walking on his hands...This state can only be represented in symbol; but the symbol of inversion is true in another way. If a man saw the world upside down, with all the trees and towers hanging head downwards as in a pool, one effect would be to emphasise the idea of dependence. There is a Latin and literal connection; for the very word dependence only means hanging.

Chesterton, St. Francis of Assisi, 102-103.

I think COVID was a dark cave for our world. Now we have come out and it seems like the world is upside-down. Things I counted on have seem to evaporate. People have disappeared. The future looks out of focus. Ideas that once made sense now seem ridiculously impossible. With Francis, I am thankful that the trees are not falling from the sky, that God is holding the world together and I’m trying to get my equilibrium to adjust to this new upside-down world. I covet your prayers.

PS. The picture above is upside-down. You can tell with the small grass blades at the top of the photo.

Flicker

The candles sat on the stage. I was in the back of the room as 200 campers gathered for morning prayer -a short 10 minuet quiet time and devotional. Listening to the Word of God and joining in prayers together. It was a great way to start each day of camp. As I watched the candles the light flickered and the shadows swept across the ceiling. It was not until later that I learned that the candles were electric and the flickering controlled by electronics in the base of the candle.

Why do we feel the necessity to have the candles flicker? They certainly seemed more authentic that way. We are used to candles, the way that heat, oxygen and fuel to combine and create the mysterious dance that is a flame. Above it, heat waves seem to wrinkle the fabric of reality bending it in midair.

Is it because we all know the experience of flickering ourselves. We know about the moments when we seem overwhelmed, frustrated and uncertain and our lives collapse and then curl back to life again. Its fitting that the Bible often uses light as a symbol of Spiritual life and growth. Since the only light known in the Bible was created by the heavens and flames, then the time we watch these lights can help us see with renewed eyes. Looking at the skies above camp I’ve been watching the stars twinkle. It’s the same mesmerizing dance that the candle makes. The thermal layers bending and shaping the light before it gets to me.

We need the candles to flicker to feel the gentleness of grace. We need to know that our imperfections are not so overwhelming that we cannot be found again, we cannot recover. The unrelenting light of a bulb pierces us, it examines us, it accuses us. It is perfect, unchanging. We on the other hand are flawed and transitory. We are imperfect and like a vapor. I’m glad they made the electric candles flicker. They did not distract me but invited me to be real, to turn and react to the moment of the Spirit in the room.