The Roman Road

I’m currently in the mountains, but posted this before I left. My goal is to summit Mt. Whitney on Monday, Sept 12 at about 8AM. Then we will start a long descent (about 10 miles) and then a multi-day journey back to Texas. We drop off our backpacking equipment and pick-up a different packed back and head to Turkey.

We should arrive there on Saturday, Sept 17. During the following three weeks, we will be retracing the route of Paul on his first two missionary journeys in Asia Minor and even to the edge Greece. We will also visit the seven cities of the book of Revelation. My goal is to study the book of Acts and the writings of Paul in the geographical context where they were penned or near the people to whom the letters were written. I have many specific things I want to see, but I’m praying that along the way Serendipitous things occur and that God gives me new insight into the text of Scripture.

I’ve been reading, learning and praying. I’m especially looking forward to visiting Antioch. It was there that the followers of Christ were first called Christians. I’ve been giving that idea a lot of thought. What did the people of Antioch see that made them label these people? How distinctive did they need to be to have been given a new name? Would people watching us now say that we look like Jesus? Would they give us that nickname if we already did not have it? My Dad’s nickname was “shorty” because when he was young he was the shortest kid in class, but in High School he shot up and was one of the tallest. The nickname stuck, but the reality was very different.

The church in Antioch was the first mission sending church and a church driven by acts of compassion (like our church). Yet, there is almost no trace of it. How is it that the area that first received the Gospel, formed a thriving Jesus community, now shows so little evidence of the the way of Christ? What does it say about our culture? Where will we be in twenty years? In a hundred years? Will the same thing happen here?

Along the way, we will be visiting ruins, most of them Roman ruins. Buildings, roads, infrastructure that are now piles of rubble. The transition from the Roman world to a Christian society, to a now post-Christian area has great interest to me. How does one transform a civilization with the cause of Christ and how do we keep from abandoning the way of Jesus? How do we continue to renew the church so that it stays relevant for centuries to come? I’ll be studying and praying through these questions and I ask that you seek the Lord’s input on them with me.

Essentials

I start sabbatical this Thursday. Our church knows about the unique pressures of pastoring and the need to decompress. Every five years the church encourages me to take some extra time to recharge. I have delayed this trip due to COVID, but the sense is that now is the right time.

My mentor, Henri Nouwen, wrote extensively about the spiritual need that leaders have to withdraw, as Jesus frequently did, to deal with the stress of ministry and to create opportunities for the Spirit of God to do things that only happen in an unhurried and reflective way. I have designed my sabbatical around the themes Nouwen articulated in his book, The Way of the Heart: Flee-Be Silent-Pray.

The first two weeks of my time away will be spent high in the mountains of central California, near Yosemite. The first several days will be filled with acclimatization hikes helping my sea level lungs get ready for the rarified air about 10,000 feet. Then we will start the 43.6 mile multi-day hike from Onion Valley to Mt. Whitney and then exiting at Whitney Portal. Twenty of the first thirty five miles are uphill, starting at 9,200 feet and ending at 14,500 feet on the top of Mt. Whitney (the highest point in California, the highest point in the lower 48 states and Kyle’s 41 highpoint).

The picture above is the contents of my backpack. It is the essentials as far as I can calculate (except water, which is in a specialized container). I have packed and repacked over the last few months. Each time, I pick up an item and ask myself, “Is this absolutely necessary?” If it is necessary I ask, “Is there any way to make it lighter?” For instance, the blue lightening charging cable (left side) is necessary for me to be able to charge my phone, which has my maps on it, my GPS, and my camera for the trip, but it is too long and so I’m replacing it with a much shorter cable. The shoes (top left) seemed for a long time to me to be extra, but in reading blogs of people who have done this trip, everyone is united that to care for my feet, I need to let the inside of my boots dry each day, therefore, it is necessary to have an extra pair of shoes. This pair is the lightest I could find.

I don’t have any idea how much it all weighs. I’m not sure I want to know. It is what is required to accomplish the task, therefore, it is essential and knowing the weight will not change that reality.

We all have burdens we have to carry. Jesus wants to help us. “Cast all you anxiety on him because he cares for you,” says Peter. I’m swapping one burden for another over the next couple of weeks. I’ll be out of cell coverage, I’ll be away from media. We will be miles from most other people. We will be in the beautiful mountains and inch by inch listening for the Spirit of God. I’ll be praying for you. We covet your prayers for us. (More next week on phase two of the Sabbatical).

Signs

While driving down the road in South Dakota I saw a sign out of the corner of my eye. I thought it said, “Bed and Breakfast Winter Rats.” My foot came off the accelerator. The truck drifted to the shoulder of the road and I waited until the coast was clear. I reversed directions and went back to see the sign. I could not understand why someone would be advertising that they had winter rats. Maybe it was a plan to heat the cabin with rodent body heat.

I pulled up to the sign and looked at it more closely, it still looked like “winter rats.” Cindy helped me see what I could not see. It was “winter rates.” I had to look at the sign for a long time before I could see the ‘e’ hiding in plain sight. I was a little embarrassed. I took a picture and we head back on our way.

As I scroll through my pictures of the summer I have stopped at this picture several times. I wondered how long ago the sign was put up. Was it put up before or after it was a joke? The roof has caved in, the windows have been broken out, the walls are falling apart. Was it ever a rental? What would the winter rates be? Would they be more or less than the summer rates?

Brain lock is when first impressions blind us to reality. My brain resisted seeing “rates” because I had identified the word to be “rats.” The information challenging my preconceived assumption was discarded by my brain. I had to zoom in on the sign, I had to really look at the sign, I had to let Cindy’s words settle in my consciousness before my brain would “unlock” and see the sign as it really is.

My brain was locked on the cabin thinking it might be fixed up, that it might again be a bed and breakfast. The sign had influenced my thinking. The more I look at the picture the more I am sure that this cabin is just a stack of wood that will one day collapse back into the earth. The sign can’t change the underlying reality.

The people at the time of Jesus had “brain lock.” They just could not see what was right in front of them. They could not see the signs, they could not hear the prophecies, they could not understand Jesus because they had a belief system that helped them explain the world. It helped them get through every day. Jesus was trying to get them to see that the sign out front did not match the interior reality. The house they had been building was falling down around them.

Jesus showed us that power comes through sacrifice and servanthood. They could only see force and conquest. Jesus showed them that love was more powerful than anger and revenge. Jesus showed them that seeing our similarities were more important than tribal differences. Jesus was announcing the new kingdom, the new way of living. They were clinging to winter rats.

The Middle

Last month, while we were in South Dakota, we revisited the North American Pole of Inaccessibility. Each continent has such a pole. It represents the middle of the landmass. It’s the place furthest from the ocean in every direction. In 2021, we led a large group of teenagers from the Pine Ridge Reservation to erect a marker on the site. We designed and fabricated the pole in cooperation with the camp and the local Tribal leaders. The pole has a seven petal iron crown. Each petal is connected to one of the Lakota values (Bear-Courage, Eagle-Love, Beaver-Wisdom, Bison-Respect, Turtle-Truth, Wolf-Humility, Foot-Honesty). The four sides of the pole are marked with color blazes connected with the directions (North-White, South-Yellow, East-Red, West-Black).

We looked at the other poles around the world and wanted to create the most unique pole, one that fit the place and the people. The only marked poles currently are Antarctica, marked with a statue of Lenin, and Australia, marked with a small welded iron plate. We were anxious to see how the pole had survived the year. We were thrilled to find it in almost pristine condition.

We wanted to help people find the trail and find the pole, so this year we designed a trailhead sign, a pay pole and two highway signs. We were able to meet the family who oversees the parking area and leads people to the pole. They helped us set the trail sign so that people can visit, make a donation for parking and get the tacit permission needed to cross the land to the pole. We continue to hope that more people will visit the Reservation. Each visit helps connect people together; it often helps the local economy as people stop and spend a little money in the area. It also helps people see the beauty of the land and the people.

The people we meet there are so great. Our goal is to help counter the narrative that is rampant on the Reservation, that they are a forgotten people, that they do not matter to the world. Instead, we want to communicate that they are a valued people who contribute to the strength and beauty of the world. It’s a long term project. They have generations of evidence that we don’t value them. Please join us in prayer for our partners who work every day on the Reservation. Please pray that God will continue to lift up people in our church who will make the long journey to South Dakota to support this amazing work. And if one day you go, please make the short hike to the middle of North America.

Getting your Wires Crossed

Our oven broke and our cooktop became unclean-able and it was time for a change. It has been a disaster. I ordered a new cooktop. I love it. I love the way it looks - black, sleek and modern. It uses convection cooking, which seems like magic to me. I turned off the power at the breaker box. Took out the old top. The hole was slightly too small, so I enlarged it using the pattern. I cleaned the area, added the soft cushion on the bottom of the glass top and began to put it in place and then I banged the top left corner and the glass broke.

I finished the install, but was embarrassed, angry and frustrated with myself. I spent a long time figuring out the wiring, but eventually got it all hooked up. It cooks great, but looks bad. Now I’m trying to decide if I should reorder a new one. For now it sits in the kitchen and is judging me. It makes me feel bad.

In the process of getting ready to get a new oven, I began removing the old oven. It also had a glass front to it and the hinge on the door was broken. If you opened the door it fell like a rock. It was one of the reasons we were replacing it. During the process of moving it, the door came down, hit the floor and the glass front shattered. It was safety glass so 1000’s of pieces littered the floor. It took forever to clean. I was embarrassed, angry and frustrated. I had studied Consumer Reports and ordered a new oven. I was so excited for it to arrive. I paid for the company to take the old oven with them. When the delivery people arrived they looked at my oven and said they would not take it. It took awhile for me to figure out that they would not take it because it was still hooked up to the wall. I turned off the power, unhooked the wires and they were happy. They left me the new one and took the old one.

Like a little kid on Christmas, I was ready to hook up the new oven. We drug it in place, lifted it into the hole only to find out that it was slightly too large, not by much, just a tiny amount. We took it out and I studied the hole. It was going to be a simple fix. I got some tools and worked for a couple of hours and had the hole big enough and the area cleaned. We tried the install again and found another problem at the back of the hole. Out came the oven and in I dove in with my tools. This involved sheet rock, clouds of dust and a huge mess. Another hour transpired, but again the hole was ready and the oven slid into place perfectly.

The last step was connecting the electricity. I had three sets of wires and none matched. I read online about wires. I watched videos about wires. I made a chart listing the configuration of my wires. I made a plan. I went in and looked at the wires. I called an electrician. A man has to know his limitations. They hooked it up with ease (exactly as I had diagrammed) and with confidence (which I lacked). It's not bad to ask for help. We all need it sometimes.

Lost Things

I got curious of the lost and found in our office this last week. I was preparing for a talk at AISD and was thinking about what we have lost over the last few years and what we need to find to get moving again in the world.

I took the items out of the box one by one and looked at them. I grouped them by categories and then took photographs of them—bracelets, rings, necklaces, keys, watches, pendants, pins. and more. Most of the items look like they are moderately valuable, but a few appear that they might be real treasures. I zeroed in on the knife. Because I’m an Eagle Scout I was drawn to it. It is pretty, has a beautiful eagle on it, a copy of the eagle patch and on the back side a portrait of Baden Powell (the founder of the Scouting movement), an image of a hiking scout, the BSA logo, and an American Flag. I remember when I became an Eagle Scout. My former retired Scout Master came to my reception - it meant a lot to me. I imagine that knife is a treasure to someone. It might be that some of these others things might have real importance to individuals around us. We should try to reunite them to the owners.

According to the Scouting movement, only 4% of scouts have become Eagle Scouts. It’s a small number. The knife looks worn. We have had it a couple of years. The average age of an Eagle Scout is 17, which leads me to believe that it was the property of man over the age of 20. According to Amazon, this kind of knife was first available in 2010, but is no longer available. So if it was bought for someone who was newly an Eagle Scout, they are between 20-30. It was lost at the North Pole event, which does make the net broader, but still in our area. It’s possible that we could help find the owner of this knife and get it back to them.

The strategy would be to ask people to help us. Each of you has a network. If you passed along this blog post to others with the simple question, “Do you know an Eagle Scout?” and then ask them to send it to any Eagle Scout they know, maybe we could get it to the right person. It should not take long for a blanket of questions to be passed around Athens and the surrounding communities. While passing this around, others might see the picture and recognize something they lost. After I talked about our lost and found on Monday, two people mentioned things they had lost and wondered if they were in our cache of items. I was sad that neither was there, but there is hope for others.

The church is on a mission to reconnect the lost with the one who rejoices in the found. ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep. . . .Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin . . . Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (Luke 15).

Out of the Loop

The first thing I saw was a bright yellow flash. I had turned my head and the golden flecks caught my peripheral vision. I had looked out of the restaurant I was sitting in due to some movement near the door. I swiveled my head back to the yellow dots and tried to focus my eyes as if they were binoculars. The shapes and colors came into view. What had been a glimmer of an idea formulated into clarity. The dashboard of that car was filled with rubber ducks.

A few minuets later, as I was headed to my car, i snapped a picture to show Cindy. It was then that i noticed the incredible diversity of the ducks (a pirate, a unicorn, a reindeer, panda, red, blue, orange, white, pink). The lineup made me smile.

Later, I was showing someone the picture, still reliving the joy. They did not have any of the surprise that I had. Instead ,they told me that it was a “Jeep thing.” I inquired, but they did not know much more. I consulted Google. Sure enough, I found out that in 2020 “Ducking” became a thing. It grew out of an angry encounter in Canada (Yes, Canada!). A Canadian citizen, who was working in Alabama and therefore had an Alabama license plate, but had returned home due to COVID was accosted on the street, "A not-so-kind person walked up to me, grabbing my shoulders so hard he left bruises and pushed me back into my vehicle and told me” to “Get out” and that ”I wasn't welcome in Canada” (Allison Parliament).

Instead of getting angry and react with hate, she decided to act with joy to try to replace the hurt feelings she was having. So she went to a nearby store. She walked down the aisles and finally settled on a bright yellow rubber duck. She then went and put it on a car with a note of encrouagment. The recipient, a stranger, thought it was so funny and it got posted to Facebook and then other social media. Because the first car was a Jeep, it became adopted by the Jeep community and the hashtag #duckduckJeep was born. Pictures have been posted from all 50 states, all the Canadian provinces and multiple other countries.

It’s a fun story of redeeming a bad moment. It’s a fun idea and I’m glad I learned about it. I, however, am a little sad. I don’t have a Jeep and so I feel like I’m standing on the outside realizing that it will never happen to me. These Jeep people have all the ducks, maybe they could help spread the love around to say, owners of red Ford 150s.

As we turn to the coming fall, I get the feeling that lots of people in our world are living on the outside and they need to be invited to the inside. I think many of our community are isolated, not attending any church and are in a funk. The next challenge for our church is to invite people. If you have ever been on the outside, then you know how a simple invite can make a difference. “We have missed you.” “We would love to have you back,” “Please come and join us.” Just a few words could make the difference. They might be going to another church, but they would still know that you care about them. Try something simple. Just share a little joy with the people around you.

Overlap

The Gordon Stockade is a reconstruction of a log fortress built on the banks of French Creek in the Black Hills during the winter of 1874-1875. It was illegally built in violation of the Fort Laramie of 1868 guaranteeing the Black Hills to the Lakota. It was built by the Gordon party who believed that gold could be found in the area after the reports of gold found by the Custer expedition of 1874. They, in fact, did find a tiny amount of gold, but only lasted five month before being removed by the US calvary. The damage had been done. Within two years over 10,000 people had flooded the area and the cavalry abandoned their task of protecting the land. They just could not keep the people out.

The stockade served as a military fort for a short time, but then fell into disuse. It was rebuilt in in 1925, again in 1941, and then again in the early 2000’s. Its historical significance as the place that launched the gold fever of the Black Hills meant that succeeding groups of people chose to preserve it for history. The plan of the buildings is based on engineering drawings from the original stockade and on the account of one the building of the structure by one of the members. (Incidentally, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s uncle, Thomas Quiner, was part of the Gordon party who built the stockade).

Last week, we stopped and took a short tour. The buildings were interesting, the creek beautiful, but the roofs were a revelation. All of us took notice of the amazing ingenuity.

The roofing was made by splitting a log about a foot in diameter and hollowing each of these halves out like a trough. A course of these were laid out over the roof, with the hollow side up. Then another course was reversed, covering the jointings. Grass and mud were used to stop up all cracks

David Aken, Pioneers of the Black Hills or Gordon’s Stockade Party of 1874

I have seen cedar shake shingle roofs and sod roofs in lots of reconstructions of the prairie (and I have seen lots of reconstructions-I’m just that kind of history buff), but I’ve never seen this techique. It’s dependent on long straight logs that can be hollowed out and the pine trees in the area are perfect for this application. I wondered how effectively it kept the water out of the cabins.

We have discovered and designed lot s strategies for keeping things out. We have developed physical barriers and employed human guards on lots of occasions, but no boundary is 100% effective. That is why when we come to our own lives, our own souls, we so often employ similar methodologies. We develop laws (external guardrails) and rally people’s energies (human guards) to try to accomplish the moral purity we yearn for. The failure, however, of these methods is evident throughout history.

The only reliable method is the one God teaches, “write it on your hearts” (Jer 31:33, Her 8:10). That will be to you better than any physical barrier or rule and better to you than any watcher you could deploy. That will give you to power to resist evil and live.

Squeezed

It’s called a squeeze box. It simulates the tightness of a passage, Hurricane Corner, in Jewel Cave National Monument. People traveling on the three and a half hour, Wild Caving Tour, are required to pass through the box before being allowed to enter the cave. If you can’t squeeze through, you can’t go on the trip and you don’t get your money back. The outside of the box proclaims the dimensions as 8-1/2 inch by 24-inch. I thought I would give it a try. I laid down on my back and tried to negotiate the space. The button on my shirt caught on the top. I gave up and went on the tour for which I had tickets. It only required that I was able to get in an elevator and then negotiate 734 stairs. The tour was fantastic. The guide was engaging and the cave delightful and actually very cool. After nearly and hour and a half we were on the surface and headed to the cars. I saw the squeeze box. I took off my button up shirt and tried again. I was not able to compress into the space. I got up defeated. I will never be able to take the Wild Cave Tour at Jewel Cave.

The week before, I had gone on the Wild Cave Tour at Wind Cave National Park. It also required passing through a squeeze box before entering the cave. The dimensions were 10 inches by 30 inches. I was able to squeeze through like a tough bit of toothpaste, but I was able to proceed the the actual cave. With knee pads, elbow pads, a helmet, 3 lights and boots we entered the dark chamber. Immediately we were on our hands and knees traveling through a tunnel. It opened into a large room. We followed this same routine for a couple of hours. We climbed up chimney like structure that required a person to climb about 30 feet up. We did it one at a time. I was the last to go up. It meant that I was alone, in the dark, waiting for my turn. It was a little strange.

We were two hours from the end of the tour when we reached the tight point. Again, I was last to go as I was taking up the post of the responsible adult (they did not know me at all). I watched as person after person descended down a very tiny hole. Finally, my turn came. I sat down and started sliding. After about four feet I reached the spot. My legs slid though with no problem, my stomach was sucked in tight and passed easily. I got to my chest and I was wedged in the hole. It was only for a few moments, but the panic in my brain was real. I stopped. Calmed my breathing. I exhaled and pushed. The protruding rock scraped a little valley in my sternum, but I slid free.

The people below could not see my face or my panic. They could not hear my heart, but I could. As soon as I got through, they charged into the next challenge. It reminds me, that we frequently do not know what other people are going through. We don’t know how good people are at masking their pain and deflecting our questions. Slow down, look around. I bet someone you know needs a little boost today.

Sanscrit

During Bible School this week I was playing the part of the teaching Rabbi. Children came to synagogue school each day and I taught them the basics of reading Hebrew. On the first day, I showed them the word I was going to teach them to read, יְרוּשָׁלַםִ. Each day, I added another skill or taught a letter sound, so that by the end of the week they could sound out the word, Ye•ru•sha•la•yim or Jerusalem.

On the first day, people grumbled and laughed and rolled their eyes. They did not believe me that they could learn to read the word. The letters are strange and too foreign. It seemed too much to learn, but I’m convinced that all of the students that tried were able to sound out the word. It takes concentration, focus and patience.

On the same day a package came in the mail. It was a set of coins for the Bible teaching that I will be doing in South Dakota on mission trip. It was a set of replica Spanish coins. I looked at the coin face and was overwhelmed as I tried to sort out what it meant. I, however, knew that eventually I could solve the puzzle if I did not give up. The first breakthrough came when I determined that it was a replica of an Eight Escudos Spanish Gold Cob. That led me to a coin collecting site that described the figures on the coin.

The eight on the top indicates the valuation. The ‘712’ at the bottom indicates that it was minted in 1712. In the middle is a series of letters that is an abbreviation of a latin phrase “more beyond.” The two upright bars are trees and the lines at the bottom are the Mediterranean Sea. This refers to the long held belief that there was nothing more beyond the straight of Gibraltar, but that Spanish exploration had proved otherwise. “More beyond” continues to be the motto of Spain.

What at first were indecipherable characters became a road map to understanding the time that this coin was designed. Through effort and patience I could understand. Too often, people get overwhelmed and don’t do the careful thinking to understand the complicated issues in the world, but deep thinking is required to make informed choices. It’s not Sanskrit, but even if it was, you could deploy your marvelous brain and gain understanding.

Thistles

I went walking on the last morning of youth camp. I really love the early morning. Lots of people don’t. Lots of people dread the early hours. Tiredness, weariness and grogginess are like a cloud obscuring the day. Science tells us that people have a natural circadian rhythm and that it is difficult to reset. Being a night owl or a morning person are neither character flaws or badges of honor.

I do still wish for people the joy of a new morning. I love the growing light in the sky. I have cajoled my family, my friends and youth groups over a long peril of time to wake up in the dark and climb up, drive up or just crawl out of bed to see a sunrise. For me, the pain is always worth the gain.

Last week, on Friday morning I wandered the camp grounds nearly alone. A single runner circled the opposite side of the lake. I followed a red-winged black bird through the rushes. I watched the mist waft off of a pond. A bluebird ruffled his feathers shaking off the cold night air. The sounds of life swirled around me.

One of my favorite pictures was the vivid violet of a thistle perched on the edge of the pond. The sunlight was glancing across the flower petals. The first thing I saw was the colors. Then, I raised my camera to snap a photo. That is when i looked at the flower more closely. The sharp spines protect the flower. I remembered the story we were told in Scotland about how these particular sharpened blades protected their country. We were told about the viking hoard and how they were about to spring a surprise morning attack on the castle when an unfortunate nordic foot stepped down upon a thistle. The resulting whoop of pain alerted the castle to the threat. The Norsemen were defeated, the castle saved.

I looked carefully at the stem. Tiny filaments of a spider’s web clung to the stem. A different day, a different trap, still deadly. The unsuspecting insect, drawn to the sweet nectar of the flower is a target for the arachnid hiding in the spiky leaves. Beauty and danger all in the same place.

Every morning, holds the same promise. Will this be a beautiful day? Will I avoid the traps laid for me by the evil one? The answers to these questions will become clear by our choices.

Overlooked

On the way to youth camp, we stopped by the Kansas City Zoo. Its a great, huge zoo. We sent the kids into the park to explore and see as much as possible. There were a buch of exhibits that I was excited about. I’m a sucker for the otters. I was not disappointed. They were frollicking and rolling in the water. It was fantastic. They have massive polar bears. One of them came near the window rolled, on the ground and gave himself a soothing back-rub. The penguin house had an underwater observation window and watching these little feathered missiles rocket through the water was mesmerizing.

The standard animals were great: rhino, elephants, hippos, antelope, goats, monkeys, lions, tigers and bears. They had areas dedicated to Africa, Asia, and Australia. They had a children’s area that was swarmed with kids. The weather was almost perfect.

My group stepped into the Australian Aviary. I love birds and was excited to see what special visitors from down under they had transported for us to see. On the railing were pictures indicating what might be hiding and flying in the enclosure. I let my eyes scan across those with vibrant colors and outlandish displays, but then my gave locked on a non-descript lump of a bird, right in the middle. It is called the Tawny Frogmouth. Several years ago I watched a video about the bird. It has an amazing ability to blend-in and look just like a log. I really wanted to see one.

I deputized all my kids. I showed them the picture and was about to release them to search for the winged wonder when one of the girls said, “Its right there.” I snapped my eyes to her eyes and then followed her gaze. All I could see through the leaves was a big black swan. I asked, “Right there?”

“Yes,” came the reply. In my mind I chuckled a little. I tried to clarify which bird we were trying to locate. The student was a little more forceful. “Yes, that bird (pointing tot he picture) is right there.” I tried again following their eyes and still seeing just green leaves. Then I made one more adjustment. I lowered my head by about 20” to be on the same level of her eyes. That is when I could see it. When I got down under the green canopy and started looking up, the birds was easy to see. I moved some limbs and leaves out of the way and the bird was only about 4 feet away from me. I snapped his picture and let the leaves close back together.

Lots of time we are all looking, but do not see the same thing. Because we all have our own perspective and our own position, it is hard to get everyone to agree. It is hard to get people to stoop down, to stretch around, to displace leaves and try to get a better look. It is easier to stay stuck in our own position than try to see from another person’s perspective. Jesus was know to have compassion, that he saw problems from other people’s perspective and that his heart was moved by understanding others. I pray we all see together.

Moments and Flow

We stopped in Wichita Falls and took a side trip to the “falls.” I grew up driving through the town on the way to Colorado. I remember wondering, “Why is this place called Wichita Falls?” There were no falls. I mostly knew it because it had an old fashioned Arby’s, shaped like a conestoga wagon. It was one of the few place we stopped to eat roast beef sandwiches and potato cakes. Over 100 years ago, a flood swept away the geographic formation in the river that had cause the water to fall a short distance.

In the mid 80’s, the city fathers decided they were embarrassed by the name without the accompanying water feature so they created a park, installed water pumps, large rocks and turned on the switch, instant waterfall. It is filled with mud and silt, so it looks like the chocolate river in Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I think they made the right choice. Whenever we travel through, we always take notice. Sometimes the switch is off and the water is not running, but usually we get a smile from looking at the water.

I took a picture of the falls. There are two ways to look at it. A camera sees it as a moment in time (see the left half of the picture), The water droplets are frozen in midair. The streams of water loose all their action. They are suspended, frozen, unchanging. That, however, is not the way we experience a waterfall. It is urgent, flowing and active. Each second you stand by a waterfall it is changing. The sound is thrilling. The mist coming off the splash zone swirls around you. It is an assault on all of the senses. I changed some setting on my photo and it produced the time-lapse effect (see the right half of the picture). The edited photo gets some of the spirit of the water. The water looks more like a curtain. Neither picture gets the expereince of a waterfall.

That is the way of lots of pictures. I have taken them of sunsets but the field of view is never large enough. It is only a sliver and never captures the overwhelming awe of a sunset. My Grand Canyon pictures look like a ditch. Pictures of the ocean seem lifeless. Some of my landscapes feel like smudges. A camera cannot capture an experience. It can be a reminder, but never the real thing.

It is graduation season. Familys gather and take photos as kids are handed a diploma. The pictures cannot possibly contain the years of prayers, the nights of studying, the highs and the lows of tests and evaluations. Yes, it is a moment. It is also the end of a long journey. Pray for the graduates and the parents. Its a big moment filled with emotion and its is the edge of a great transition. Pray for students to handle the next big steps with grace and faith.

Awake

I walked into the family room and was met by our attentive sentry. He stands guard in the foyer. I walked in at just the right moment. The sun was streaming through the front door windows and bathing him with light. He looked ready for the day. He looked eager. For years he has stood greeting each day with an expression of quizzical excitement. “What will this day hold?” he seems to say. His paws are open with an embrace.

For most of my life, the morning has meant a fresh start. I good night’s sleep was able to sweep away the bruises and the buffetings of yesterday. A dark mood was replaced by energetic light. In the last year and a half, I have awakened in a darker cloud. The heaviness of the world around me is waiting in the dark corners of my room. It hangs in my closet as I get ready for the day. It sits next to me in the truck as I drive to work. There lots of days that it is hard to shake. I sigh more than I used to.

I know I am discouraged, depressed and down. All the studies of pastoral health in the last couple of years point to the reality, that I am like most of my peers. I’m not unique. Our church is not unique. We have all been fighting the same battle and we are all a little shell shocked. These are not normal days.

The bear statue in our foyer has developed a huge crack. It can bee seen right between his two front feet. It penetrates deep into the wood. It threatens to split him in half. Not seen in this picture, is the crack in his front left cheek. Its as if you can see into his thoughts. I sit and look at him sometimes. I feel the cracking and the pain. He is trying to keep up a good front.

I’m not looking for simple platitudes or even a pat on the back. I’m not looking for someone to come and “make this better.” Rather, I’m imagining that there are others who feel the same way I do and they feel very alone.

I don’t feel alone. I have my family. Cindy and I lean on each other. COVID gave us lots of time together. It did us good. I also have a group of pastor friends. We have developed years worth of relationship and trust and I have shared my feelings with them. They text and support me often. What I can’t imagine is going through tough times without a group of committed friends to help.

It’s why we need Christian community. I need people who greet me each day and remind me of the power and love of God and the transient nature of this world. As it says in the book of Hebrews, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (Heb 10:24-25).

A Long Time Ago

45 years ago my brother took me to see a movie at the Forum 303 mall. I was 15 and still not able to drive. It ws an animated film about wizards by an animator that we really loved. It was March of 1977. Before the film began, a grainy blue screen announced that a preview that was approved for all audiences was about to begin. A narrator described a struggle in the universe, the introduction of space creatures and then we saw Luke and Leia for the first time. They swung on a thin line across a chasm. The words “Star Wars” finally grew into view. My brother and I turned and looked at each other. We committed to being at opening night for the movie 2 months later. We were good to our word. The movie we went to see faded into obscurity, but Star Wars continues to grow. My brother and I did not see many more movies together until years later. We met in mesquite with our kids to see the second set of Star Wars movies.

Last Sunday, we went to the Dallas Symphony as the performed along with the third film, The Return of the Jedi. I have wanted to attend one of these event for years. It did not disappoint. The orchestra was fantastic. The massive sound, the pulsing tympani, the sawing of the bows all produced energy and excitement. The sold out crowd laughed and cheered during the movie. The standing ovation at the end lasted for a long time. A single green light saber cut through the darkness. It reminded me of the first time I saw the movie in 1983. Cindy and I had been married for 11 days. We saw it on opening night in a packed theater.

I was filled with so many moments of joy remembering a life time of connections to this movie. I collected the toys and still have them in a storage box. My boys and I love to get them out periodically and look at them, then we seal the box up until the next time. I remember so vividly March 11, 1999. We purposefully kept the boys home from school. The announcement had been made that the trailer for Star Wars Episode 1 would play on the morning news program. We gathered around the TV and waited as each segment came and went. Finally, the screen showed shadowy figures emerging from the mist. The familiar sound track played and a rapid fire series of images flashed across the screen. We hooped and hollard in the car all the way to school. They were both tardy, but it was worth it.

I hope you have joy in your life. I hope that you have shared moments that you celebrate and revisit. When I’m discouraged, I draw strength looking back at these moments. I see the faces, the smiles, the joy. What makes you smile? Go spend some time smiling.

Perfect

A graham cracker top and bottom, a layer of ready to melt chocolate, a marshmallow toasted and gooey on the inside. Since at least the early 1920’s "Graham Cracker Sandwich” (their original names) have delighted campers around campfires. I had one last weekend. It was perfect. The marshmallow squeezed out all over my fingers and surrounded my mouth. The chocolate was the perfect temperature, it bend instead of breaking. The flavors combined to perfection. It was so good I did not have a second one. No reason to entertain the disappointment for not getting it right.

Several months ago I was helping some people with their first s’more experience (kids) and others who had gone years since having one. We had brought the crackers, chocolate and marshmallows. They live overseas and these items are not readily available to them. The first thing we needed was a fire. It had rained for several days so the wood was soaked. They had only gathered a few big logs. This was never going to work. They went and got a generous amount of diesel fuel. They poured it on the wood. They urged everyone away for the area. They lit the fire and black smoke billowed from the pit. It was acrid and awful. It was apocalyptic.

The children surged forward with their white sugar pillows bobbing on the ends of their long sticks. They plunged them into the smoke and flames. I was only a helper and not the leader. I could not stop the marshmallow carnage. I tried to encourage them to wait until we actually had a fire and some coals, but the ravenous desire for a s’more overtook their brains. Nothing I did changed their behavior. It was freezing cold so the chocolate was hard as rocks. It broken into brittle shards that did not stay easily on the graham crackers. The wind made keeping everything in one place impossible. White blobs turned quickly into flaming black orbs. They smelled like being stuck in a traffic jam in the summer. People tried to make the sandwiches, but none worked out very well. The kids that had their first s’mores that night might never have another. They tasted like a tailpipe.

I stayed and tended the fire for a long time trying to get wood to burn and to create real heat. I walked the grounds gathering twigs close to the trunks of trees. I gathered pencil sized kindling, I found broom handle sized branches to help the fire grow. Eventually, I was able to release flames and heat stored inside the wood. By the time the fire was really ready, most people had wandered away. The kids were off playing games. The adults had gone back to their rooms. A few people stuck it out. I brought my chocolate out of my inner pocket where my body heat had begun to melt it. I then placed it near the fire. It finally softened. Other followed my lead. I took a marshmallow and slowly rotated it above the coal until it was golden brawn and beginning to droop. Others saw where I had been cooking and relocated the the deep heat. Then they assembled the layers and marveled at the mixture of the three flavors. I watched their faces. For an instant, they were home. Miles across the world, but instantly transported back to places where they had been loved as children. S’mors are nostalgia that can be eaten. It connects us for people for the last 100 years.

Like most valuable things. It takes commitment. It takes time and it is worth it.

Grainy

A grainy letter appeared in the mailbox. It was attached to a threatening letter. It was very unnerving and a little scary. It felt like a blackmail letter from the movies. They told me that they were preparing to turn me over to a collection agency. That they would boot or tow my car all “across North America.” They acted like they could track me wherever I go. They threatened escalating financial fees. If I would just pay the money, all this would go away. Just a few dollars to buy peace.

There was no phone number to call, no person to talk to, just an anonymous website. “If the attached ticket was issued in error” you can submit “evidence.” So much for innocent until proven guilty. I, however, had already presented evidence. The company had already written me telling me that the ticket had been voided. I still have the email.

I was in New Orleans for the Baylor game. On the morning we were leaving we parked in a pay lot. I signed into the pay app and paid an amount that I thought was outrageous. My good friend was standing next to me. He was dong the same thing. We talked about the amount as we walked to get beignets. Then we returned to our cars and headed home. I didn’t think anything of it until February when the first threatening letter arrived. I submitted my “evidence” I offered my friend to give testimony and they wrote back that the ticket had been voided.

Now they have come back seeking more money, threatening booting and towing all across America, but the ticket has already been “forgiven.” The debt has already been paid. This is Satan’s strategy. He tires to pull up old grudges, old lapses, old sin and remind you of them. He seeks to make you feel threatened. He tires to drag up the old charges against you. This is the game of shame and guilt and unforgiveness. It is the sense that you are not really clean, that grace is not enough and that you must pay again and again to be set free. It is a denial of the sufficiency of Christ and the certainty of the atoning work of Jesus.

I sent back a copy of the forgiveness letter. I am waiting for their reply. My hunch is that their business model is based on harassment and they conveniently forgot the letter they sent me. They are hoping I will pay so that it will go away, but Im willing to wait. I’ll keep sending them the evidence that the debt has been paid. i will not be surprised if somewhere down the way a boot appears on this vehicle and I have to go through a huge hassles, because they seem committed to the path of harassment and not the truth. Just like the devil. Jesus never promises us we will go through the world untouched. He does say is standing right by our side and whispering in our ear, “Don’t listen to them. You are loved, you are forgiven. I paid the price for you. Listen to my voice not theirs.”

Rooster

I was driving up highway 31 and turned on to Clinton. At the corner I saw a flash of red. It was a rooster. He was watching the cars rushing past. He was standing in front of a big sign as if he was protesting or maybe judging the parade of people. He looked haughty. My truck kept going but my mind stayed on the bird. After about 50 feet my foot caught up with my brain and it pressed on the brake. I shifted into reverse and slowly approached the rooster. The fowl ignored me as I took his picture. I looked around. He did not seem to be connected to any of the nearby homes. He had come a long distance.

I hastened on to my destination and when I was finished, headed back home. I reversed my route returning to the same corner. The red-headed alarm clock was busy scratching through the grass, eating bugs and shaking his comb at all those who were near. He fixed a glassy eye on me as I took a second picture.

Since we have just passed through the Easter story, I could not help but connect his appearance with the rooster in the story of Peter. The proclamation of faith shattered by crowing in the courtyard. The opportunity to stand with Jesus undone by fear and denial. This bird standing in the middle of town made me think about all the people that attended Easter services across our town. They got up, dressed in their Easter best and showed up for worship. They sang, gave, listened and responded. They left feeling closer to our risen Lord.

Then Monday arrived. Then the blows began to fall. The temptations began to rise. All the old patterns were just below the surface. I was thinking of an old sign I used to see, “Dear God, So far today, I've done all right. I haven't gossiped. I haven't lost my temper. I haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or overindulgent. I'm very thankful for that. But in a few minutes, God, I'm going to get out of bed ... and from then on, I'm probably going to need a lot more help. Amen.”

Easter week was great. Our Lent Lunches were a success. It was so good to gather again with other churches. Our Stations of the Cross service had near record attendance. The cross decorating, fish fry and egg hunt was a blast. Easter morning services were blessed by amazing music, encouraging giving, lively fellowship and great attendance. All of the planning was rewarded.

This rooster reminded me that Easter Monday is where the real spiritual battle is fought - to take the message of the risen Christ and live it fully and proudly in our community. I listened as I drove away to see if he was going to crow for me. I didn't hear anything, but the radio was on and the AC was blasting. Let’s not get distracted. Our community needs us to stand up an speak up for Jesus.

Well Said

I poured hundreds of scrabble tiles in the middle of a table. They made a wonderful sound like the hiss of a steam engine. I waited for the children to come visit me as part of their rotation of learning. I looked at all the letters thinking that all the words ever spoken, all the sentences ever written were just a shifting around of these few building blocks. I asked for help from the children. I was playing the part of Paul. He was about to address the people of Athens and he was looking for the words to share that might help people come to know about Jesus.

The older children quickly dug letters out of the jumble and rearranged them. Words emerged: Grace, Faith, Savior, Messiah, Worship, Eternal Life. One at a time they told about the words they had selected and why “Paul” should use these words in his sermon. They were excited to help and filled with passion.

One of the children, on the cusp of literacy, shuffled his tiles. He read out loud, “God Loves Everyone!” His was the most concise sermon, the most complete message and the most startling news. Paul was addressing the philosophical elite, the trained thinkers and the religious leaders. My little friend got it right.

There is one God, God’s very nature is to love, and that love has no limits.

When the message sinks in deeply, the world changes. Each time it is received, it is life.

“For God so loved the world.” That was the the energy, the purpose of what God did. That is what God was trying to communicate. That is what God wanted everyone to know.

The words are not all spelled right, but the message is clear and true may each know it at the core of your being. You are loved.

Emerge

The Generations trip to the Arboretum was fun and beautiful. It has been over 30 years since we have been on a visit to the gardens. We think it was around Easter in 1992, right before we moved to the Panhandle. It also snowed about that time. We remember walking around the flowers dusted with snow and ice.

So much has changed. The place seems to be twice the size that I remember. I looked on Google Earth and watched the historical images as the ground was torn up, rearranged and replanted. Waterways were created. Paths laid down and flowerbeds planted.

When we walked through the front gates we were greeted by a riot of color. Every direction we looked it seemed a new hue begged for our attention. Like butterflies in a high wind we flitted from flower to flower, never quite able to focus on any one blossom. There was another and then another and then another more beautiful display. We gasped, we smiled and quickly ran out of new adjectives to describe what we saw.

There were beds of flowers not yet ready to reveal themselves. Tiny green spikes pierced the earth as they slowly rose to seek the sunlight. It made me wonder what the unseen flowers would look like. No matter what, I know I will use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe them. I have seen enough flowers over a long enough time to be certain that the next flower will be another exquisite sculpture by the hand of God-the rich colors, the tiny intricate structure, the soft velvety surface of the petals. Each one a masterpiece. Each one waiting to testify to the greatness of the Lord.

As the Lord says, “See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? (Matthew 6:28-30).

Potential is all around us. It is in the ground as Spring rushes in to push away the winter. It is also in the people around us. Watching people emerge from the dormancy of the last two years, watching people find new paths, new insights and new dreams is inspiring. What is God going to do in you?

Links for my sermon about the 10 virgins.

My Jewish Learning