"Considering Bridges"

The primary purpose of this entry is to relay the image above used by Todd Hunter at a recent presentation at Christ Anglican Church in Overland Park. I have attached the Atonement newsletter article that referenced it and directed readers to this site.

Last weekend was typically busy…a staff & vision board retreat, three worship services (including jazz liturgy, baptism, two Eucharistic services, three sermons) and the obligatory Sunday afternoon meetings. By the arrival of Sunday evening the wearying voice inside my head whispered, “Go home and crash!” My calendar encouraged otherwise. I am pleased that I ignored the inner voice and honored my commitment to Todd Hunter, noted emergent church guru and, for this evening, presenter at Christ Anglican Church. Several vision board members and staff joined a group of two hundred or so souls interested in learning more about our changing culture and the manner in which the church is called to engage that culture differently. Todd entitled his presentation, “Anchored to the Rock…Geared to the Times.” (With permission I have collected his slides and placed them on our website and my blog. explore them at www.atoneluth.org.)

Todd left an enduring image with me. Beneath the phrase “Things are changing!” (words that are received with varying levels of discomfort by most mainline Protestants) he projected the image of a bridge. I am not sure where this bridge is now located…except that it is the ‘wrong’ place. The river that one would assume the bridge was intended to traverse approaches the bridge and then meanders around it. Todd explained that some years ago the bridge indeed helped persons across this river until a terrific storm relocated the river’s course. Now the bridge has been rendered somewhat…well… disconnected and irrelevant. It’s not that the engineers of the bridge erected the structure irresponsibly or foolishly. In its time, it served well. Problem? The context has changed. (Again…find the picture on the website and blog.)

Those who are not living with their heads in the sand realizes that our cultural landscape has undergone rapid, drastic and sweeping change in the past several decades that are unparalleled by those in any other era in history. We don’t need the shelves of relevant books at Barnes and Noble (or the pages of books at Amazon) to chronicle this seismic shift for us. It is undeniable, the result of the “perfect cultural storm”. Yet it often seems that the segment of culture least responsive to this change is the church. I picture the traditional colonial church located in the center of town. Outside and around it the decades race by in quadruple time. Automobiles, clothing styles, street signs and people all change. Yet the church continues in standard time, changing very little and operating as those inside perceive it has always operated. Eventually, the stream of culture ends up meandering around and ignoring the church altogether. We are deemed “irrelevant”.

The scope of this article certainly doesn’t allow me to address this issue in any depth. It is the subject for volumes of books and our continued faith conversatoins. My only goal here is to present the image and have it rest with you for awhile. I have encouraged the same for our congregation’s leadership. We are constantly conspiring, “How do we build gospel bridges into this changing world that God loves so?” It is a “missional” question.

Last weekend, in the midst of a typically busy schedule, God called me to pause and consider differently the world around me. Let me invite you to do the same this week. How does the church extend the tentacles of mercy into your typically busy week? How do we bridge the widening chasm growing between the church and wider culture? These questions are borne of our Lutheran DNA. We are, by heart, reformers of institution and translators of the best news the world will ever…if we connect with them…know.

Re-entry

One can look north from Melbourne Beach and spot Cape Canaveral jutting out into the Atlantic in the hazy distance. I stood there Wednesday evening and watched Don use his pointing finger to trace in the sky the trajectory of launches that Floridians witness several times each year. It is not launch that I am thinking about at this point in the sabbatical, but re-entry into life and ministry.

In many ways re-entry is easier for me than leaving the office. It generally takes me a week or two to remember/relearn how to place ministry aside and relax. Contrarily, I have no problem resuming the tasks of the pastorate and generally "touch down" with feet running. Yet notice the flames on the bottom of the picture of the shuttle above. They remind me that the manner in which one returns from a mission is critical. Entering the familiar earth's atmosphere at too severe an angle or velocity will not produce positive results.

I am back in Overland Park having left the Hagans' home (see picture below...Don, Karen and Buddy send their greetings) on Thursday morning and arrived home late last evening after an overnight in Chattanooga. I plan to be present in the pews tomorrow to honor Pastor John and his anniversary of ordination. Fifty years! What a milestone! And what a tremendous pastor and colleague. I will then spend the early part of next week reviewing and distilling information gathered from reading and experiences of these past weeks. It will be arranged into some sort of report for the Vision Board retreat scheduled in August and will serve as the foundation for our ministry planning for the next year(s).

Over the past five weeks I have driven 3850 miles, flown to Washington State and back and visited...let me count...1,2,3...15 states (5 of them twice). From Seattle, Washington to Melbourne, Florida I have worshipped in ...let me count them...1,2,3...7 different communities of faith. I have sung directly out of the LBW in the pews of Phinney Ridge Lutheran in Seattle and with nothing but a screen in front of me from the couches of Solomon's Porch in Minneapolis. I have been a part of a worshipping body of some 45 mostly older ("more mature") souls in Lake Chelan Lutheran and stood amongst 500 twenty-something persons in the first of several evening services at Upper Room. I have worshipped in very traditional settings and in a warehouse. Many wonderfully different expressions of praise to one God and Savior.

I have found more 'sabbath' in this year's sabbatical, partly at the insistence of the vision board. My re-entry finds me much more refreshed and renewed. I cut down last year's 3600 pages of course reading and writing and classes to a hand full of books, and even tossed in some 'fun' reading. I spent hours in conversation with friends and colleagues and spent another 24 hours completely removed from the sound of other human voices. There is a little more wear on my North Face hiking shoes, some dust from the high desert of central Washington, snow from the Cascades and scuff marks from the rocks of the Tennessee Smokeys. And friendships have been renewed with former Atonemenites and colleagues. Perhaps this is the most treasured part of these weeks, apart from the renewed relationship with the Holy Spirit whose voice and guidance have been ever present over the miles (and who surely has saved me from snakes and bears and countless tracker trailers on rainy highways).

I am not sure that I will post again before this leg of the sabbatical is 'in the books.' Perhaps. But if not, know how much I appreciate you who have followed along and remembered me in prayer. Again...an adventure is truly an adventure only when it is shared. Not only has this marvelous congregation made provisions for my sabbath, you have also accompanied me in many ways. Blessings to you!

"Four Corners"

Last evening someone requested this blog address and suggested that they might peruse its postings all the way back to the beginning of my protracted sabbatical experience last July. I recommend this as a certain cure for insomnia. As leg #2 draws to a close I must begin to prepare for e-entry. Reflecting today upon these two summers it occurred to me that I have visited the four contiguous corners of our country...from Moosehead Lake in Maine to Fuller Seminary in Pasadena last year...from Seattle and the Cascades of Washington State to the swamps of Melbourne, Florida this year. Criss-crossing the United States was not an intentional part of the itinerary, but surely a blessing.

I have had a delightful time in Florida. We cruised some local wetlands this morning in Don and Karen's matching Chrysler convertibles and then lunched at "The Lone Cabbage," a local, rustic, authentic fish camp, before climbing aboard an air boat to skim the marshs and weeds in search of gators. I recalled last summer's exhaustive (though eventually successful) search for moose in the Maine woods. These reptiles proved to be much more tourist-friendly and available than Bullwinkle. The pic's below offer a glimpse of some of the wildlife here.

"Warehouse 242"

Though it may sound (and look) more like a nightclub than a church, this name has significance. So explains the associate pastor of Warehouse 242 with whom I visited following this morning's worship service. The "242" references Acts 2:42 (the Pentecost day text, "They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.") The derivation of the "warehouse" portion of the name may seem a bit more obvious, given that this congregation 'emerges' twice every Sunday morning in a warehouse situated in a rather rough neighborhood on Wilkinson Blvd., just east of downtown Charlotte. But "the name has nothing to do with our setting," the pastor reported. A warehouse is the place where items are collected, inventoried, sorted out and prepared to go back out...somewhere. This captures this congregation's understanding of what takes place in worship. Followers of Jesus, for a short while, are warehoused and empowered to be Christ in the community. Cool!

Despite the aids of Rand McNally and Mapquest and a rather keen sense of direction I made several passes on Wilkinson before spotting this congregation. It took a director clad in an orange vest to capture my attention. The warehouse is rather unassuming and blends in quite well with its setting. Even in July (and arriving 15 minutes early at that) parking spots were at a premium. The predictably 20-30-something summer crowd poured into this retrofitted-for-worship space in impressive numbers nearly filling the 350ish seats. The pastor reported about 200 at the early service...so 550+ for the morning. The crowd differed from those of other emergent communities in several ways, i.e. they were a bit more socio-economically elevated (more European sedans) and slightly older (lots of children).

One enters the bagel, pastry and coffee welcome area through one of the roll-up warehouse doors and is greeted not only by the aroma of coffee (regular, decaf, lots of fixin's including whipped cream and any sort of danish one might crave) but also by smiles and "good mornings." There is an energy and undeniable hospitality about these people. The place is astonishingly acoustically friendly with a raised platform up front for the speaker(s) and an area for the band situated between the screens (of course). The chairs are set in a semi-circular pattern around the leaders' area and, much as with our space at Atonement, worshippers look not only at the band but at the faces of other worshippers. The space is rather dark and void of symbols, but red cloth has been hung in the metal rafters above to swoop over the congregation. Announcements and upcoming events scroll across the screens as worshippers gather.

This band was 'hands down' superior to any other group I've experienced this summer. Their sound was rehearsed, professional and impressively clean. Interestingly, this was the only group that did not display a rack of CDs for sale in the welcome area. I would later learn that this was the most mature of the three Warehouse 242 ensembles and that each member has a professional gig in some area nightclub the night before. There were four guitarists, two vocalists, a keyboardist and a drummer wrapped in plexiglas shielding.

The order of matters varied from other emergent services. Instead of opening with the typical 20-30 minutes of music/worship there was only one wonderfully presented piece prior to the pastor's mounting the riser to teach. I wanted more. He later explained to me that they feel that immediately engaging in music and worship is difficult for first-timers or for those new to the faith and church scene. Many who come need to ease into the morning. And sure enough, there was a notable crescendo to the service that built to an upbeat version of "All Creature of Our God and King" and a wonderful, prayerful benediction that recapped and tied the service theme together. So...there was one musical offering ...announcements ...teaching ...offering of tithes ...longer musical set ...benediction.

And here is one marked difference in understanding of worship between emergent congregations and many traditional mainline churches. While folks in our tribe typically understand that worship begins as soon as the processional hymn rings out (or at 8:30 am if that is the service we are attending), emerging congregations move from music to a state of worship when one's spirit ascends to a noteable encounter with God. This will take place at different times for each worshipper. Some of those attending the service may never actually enter worship at all. This seems worthy of further conversation at some point.

The sermon/lesson was 40+ minutes. Perhaps the fact that we were receiving the final segment of an eight-part series on "Home" might have made the experience a bit awkward, but most worshippers seemed to stay engaged in spite of the message more than because of it. Next week begins a five-part series that will study the redemptive themes of current blockbuster movies for the stated purpose of equipping Warehouse 242ers to engage cultural conversation in Jesus fashion. I really encourage you to visit the congregational link. It will take you to one of the more impressive web sites I have visited...and to the trailers for the movies they begin tackling next week.

The rest of the day was spent on the highway negotiating a surprisingly congested Sunday afternoon Interstate 95 South. We are moteling it for the night just south of Jacksonville and intend to roll into Melbourne, Florida tomorrow to visit dear friends (and former Atonemenites) Don and Karen Hagen who retired here several years ago.

I hear rumors that summer has arrived in full force in Kansas...and that Rick assembled a pretty impressive drum line for worship this morning. Eager to learn what that was all about and sorry to have missed it.

Must say that it is a joy to be away for these days knowing that ministry is left in the hands of such a wondrously capable staff! ...in charge of shepherding a congregation that cares enough about its pastor to allow for such a re-creative and spiritually renewing time away as this. Blessings to you all!

"The weather is here...wish you were beautiful."

Wait. That may not have come out just right.

Actually, the weather that folks are yearning for around here is nowhere to be found...at least locally. The triad of North Carolina is parched. Several hours away a tropical storm is dumping inches of rain on the coast, but these farmers can't coach, cajole or prod a drop from the clouds. Oh, but that the Iowans could have claimed as much this spring!

Tomorrow morning it is off to Warehouse 242 (see link) in Charlotte. I will be eager to experience and then to report on that experience. I have merged with enough emergent/missional congregations now that I can mark some of the identifiable threads that weave this cultural phenomenon together.

I will be more thorough about this later. For now I can quickly forward along some of the characteristics of missional churches that the readings have set forth...:

1. Missional Churches have a high threshold for membership.
   
   They are 'high expectation' congregations who realize that following Jesus is not something done too casually or easily. There is sacrifice involved.
   
   Mark Thames writes, "Most people today hold membership in stores such as Blockbuster Video or Sam's Club. Inevitably people bring this idea of membership to the church rather than carry the church's idea of membership into the world...Members, the people on the inside, do as little as required to be part and have the benefit. Non-members, those on the outside, do as much as required to share the benefit without becoming a member."
   
   
2. Missional Churches are real, not real religious.
   
   This missional characteristic may be the most notable to the dechurched visitor. "These folks are real." A more popular term? "Authentic." There is congruence between words and actions, between presentation and practices. Someone of my generation might say, "They practice what they preach."
   
   
3. Missional Churches teach to obey rather than to know.
   
   They understand faith as not something one just possesses, but something one practices. Jesus said, "Follow me", not just "Listen to me." Worship and community gatherings are not simply about head dumps and cerebral expansion but the equipping of flawed persons to be disciples in the world.
   
   
4. Missional Churches worship differently.
   
   Worship is experiential and highly participatory. It is different each week and defies capture by any tradition.
   
   
5. Missional Churches live apostolically.
   
   This is vital. These faith communities know the wider community well, understand it and relate the Gospel effectively to it. At their core they understand themselves as a people sent. Newly formed missional churches will rarely have the same walls around them each week, but will understand themselves as people on the move...indeed, a movement rather than an institution, an organism rather than an organization. You are more apt to find them meeting in someone's home or at the local Starbucks than a fixed street address each week. And when there is an address to which a web site can point a seeker, this is just the fueling station where the disciples...I mean, apostles...come to be recharged before being sent out again to the mission field.
   
   
6. Missional Churches expect to change the world.
   
   We've talked about this frequently. Remember...the church exists because there is a misison, not visa versa.
   
   
7. Growth and Success are measured by capacity to release, not retain.
   
   The litmus test for faithfulness rarely has anything to do with size of the community. Membership statistics are unimportant, oftentimes not even tracked. It is the impact upon the community that is most important. How has the congregation grown the kingdom in the world? This is the greatest measure.
   

One might read through these characteristics and wonder, "What is so unique about this? All churches should be tuned in these ways." Indeed. But as I look about me I see that the traditional congregations have often lost their way. If these are the characteristics for which they strive, they are woefully off track. As Joe Boyd, missional pastor in Las Vegas, claims, "I read the Gospels over and over. Nothing I was doing on Sunday was what I thought Jesus would be doing if he were here." Curious.

Back in the Land of "Honey"

Part of the family gathered at "Johnny's" tonight, a simple fish and fried food restaurant a town or two down the pike from home. I knew that I was back in the South when the waitress asked, "And what for you, Honey?" I almost responded, "Parden me. Do I know you?" before realizing where I was. Actually, had we known each other (which would have basically meant that I had patronized the restaurant on one prior occasion) then it would have been "Sweetheart."

A late start out of Madison Monday morning placed us in London, Kentucky around midnight. Tuesday was spent meandering leisurely through the Appalachians and taking advantage of some hiking in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. I had never accessed the park from the Tennessee side and was astonished to experience Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge (thankfully we were able to bypass Dollywood). With it's theatres, restaurants, hotels, casinos, amusement parks and surf shops (can someone explain the latter to me?) the area seems to be striving for the title, "Branson of the Appalachians." Once you negotiate this mess you arrive at the gateway to the most visited national park in the country. I marveled at the fact that several weeks ago I was able to hike for an entire day in the Cascades without encountering another soul. Here I could barely drive for the traffic. But the hike to Clingman's Dome and Andrew's Bald was a nice 5-mile leg-stretch opportunity in the middle of a long day of driving.

Arrived back at the farm around 11:00 pm and spent several hours visiting with my parents around the kitchen table. I helped with a few chores today that dad no longer has the energy to manage. His spirit and his spirits are wonderful. His body is noticeably weaker.

I will check back in this week when I have opportunity to venture into town for cyber-connection. I logged onto mom's dial-up this morning...had breakfast, read the paper, cut the back lawn...and the computer was still chugging to pull up the blog.

I will spend this week with family, reading and visiting.

Today I received word of Elaine Heinz's death. My prayers reside with her family. Atonement is a much different place today because of the discipleship of Ray and Elaine. As Phyllis writes in her prayer notifications to us, "What a reunion is taking place in heaven!" Indeed.

Blessings to you all.

(I wish that I could take credit for the picture above, but the Smoky's were too smoky [humid and hazy] yesterday for a good exposure, so I borrowed this one from the national parks service.)

"Pew Sore"

We arrived at St. Philip the Deacon Lutheran Church 20 minutes early for the 11:00 am worship service this morning. It is one of the larger congregations in our tribe, averaging 2,000+ worshippers per weekend over the course of the year. But it is July and worship does well to reach half the yearly weekend average this month as residents of suburban Minneapolis take exodus flight in rather significant flocks to "the cabins up north." "Cabin," John Wilgers explained earlier today, refers less to the type of dwelling and more to the location of the dwelling, i.e. on some body of water or just "away from the city". Some of the "cabins" can have six bathrooms, several saunas and a swimming pool. I thought back to the one-roomed, no plumbing retreat setting of Washington and smiled.

We met John, Trudy & Abby Wilgers in the narthex of this wonderfully impressive facility about 20 minutes prior to the invocation of the 11:00 am service. How tremendous to see them again! Abby, who I remember as the energetic little girl who was always first up to Children's Time and eager to sit next to me, has grown up. I am not at all sure that I would have recognized her had I passed her on the street this morning, at least not on "take 1". She now stands nearly as tall as her mom and fills her time with fast-pitch softball and basketball and whatever else young ladies her age do in western Minneapolis. Neither Hank nor Charlie were with us today, but all reports are that they are very well.

John and Trudy seem quite settled, happy and 'at home' here. Outside of "tickling the ivories" (as their Pastor David called it) once a year in August, Trudy is not playing the organ...neither is John involved in the music ministry. Rather, they are feeling called to involvement in the children's ministry here and seem quite immersed in that part of the life of the congregation. I share these tidbits because I know how dear the Wilgers are to many who are following along.




Following worship (which I will return to in a moment) we went to a local country club for lunch and were surprised there by Jim and June Winters, fellow Atonemenites who were visiting "back home" in Minneapolis. June had been following the blog, learned we were in town, and decided to join us for lunch. Tremendous!

I recognized Pastor David Hoffman from the Senior Pastors' conferences. He greeted us before preaching his fourth service of the weekend and leading a liturgy which the bulletin labeled "Fiesta". It certainly possessed a Latin flavor and flair and utilized shakers and other Mexican percussion instruments. "The first two morning services are traditional...very traditional," David told me. "But most folks will come to a 9:45 am worship no matter what liturgy we're using." Barely forty minutes after "good morning" we were beginning the final hymn. Jim revealed over lunch that Pastor David's policy/practice is "no sermon longer than 13 minutes". (No Atonemenites allowed to comment or suggest!) Apparently Trudy had shared with him some of the purpose of my trip and the nature of my reconnaissance study mission because following worship he handed me a card with information about a ministry in Edina called "Upper Room," and suggested it would be well worth our time to visit. I heard the voice of the nice lady on the GPS bark out an audible, "Recalculating!" and the itinerary for the evening immediately adjusted. House of Mercy in St. Paul had been supplanted by collegial suggestion.

After a wonderful time of breaking bread, sharing conversation and life stories with the Wilgers and Winters, Carrie and I headed downtown for a quick tour around one of the nicest, cleanest inner cities I've experienced. Then it was off to Christ Presbyterian Church in Edina and a phenomenon called "Upper Room." (I encourage you to visit the link on this page.) This emergent community weekly unleashes its spacial and technical arts teams on this typically colonial sanctuary and the results are an utterly transformed space to greet the largely twenty-something crowd that descends in droves, first at 5:00 pm and again at 7:00 pm. Upon entering, visitor's eyes are immediately drawn upward to the words, "Upper Room," projected high upon the wall of the spacious narthex, and are then beckoned by candles to the entrance to the sanctuary. A black curtain was hung in such a way that it had to be pulled aside and negotiated by all who entered. It extended around the perimeter of the entire room. No lights were used in the space save those of the screens that were tastefully built into the east wall on both sides of the cross (If you are going to use screens...this is the way to do it.) and the 30-40 large candles placed on stands about the large chancel area. The musicians (three guitarists, two vocalists, a electronic keyboardist and percussionist) were situated not on the chancel but on main floor level in front of the pews. It worked.

Quite amazing was the size of July crowd that turned out. The pews were nearly filled! ...including the balcony above and behind us. I would estimate 450-500 worshippers in this first of two services scheduled for the evening. Though there were some more "mature" members present, about 90% of the community aged in their teens thru early 30's.

The liturgy and form were predictable. Music, music, music, offering & announcements, teaching and more music. This was emergent church at its most prototypical. Look up "emergent church" on Wikipedia and there is a link to a video of this service (being facetious...sort of). The announcements were primarily about missional ministries...this evening, from a young lady just returned from The Congo to pitch her effort to "Heal Africa." Remember that this is the generation that really believes it can change the world! ...and just may. The teacher/preacher tonight was visiting from Atlanta and really delivered a fine offering, and 13 minutes it wasn't!

This may have been what struck me most poignantly about Upper Room. Worship opened with nearly forty minutes of music that felt like fifteen. I thought back to the morning worship and considered... at the chronological point in the Upper Room service when the speaker was just mounting her stool to begin teaching, the tribe at St. Philip the Deacon would have been packing up to head out for lunch. And remember...this is the twenty-something crowd whose attention spans have atrophied as a result of MTV and sound bites and video games and ... so claim cultural pundits. In order to scoot up the highway and make our second evening worship engagement we slipped out of the Upper Room after the top of the hour, the teacher still in teaching position and going strong. We only know that they concluded in time to reset for the 7:00 service.

Solomon's Porch is one of the most notable, recognizable emergent ministries in the country, intentionally situated in a more needy area of the city. They have taken up shop in an older church building on 46th Street almost within sight of Interstate 35W. Though we walked in nearly 20 minutes late (encountered a few navigational and detour challenges en route) no one would have noticed our tardiness. In the middle of this large, pewless room sat a mic'd presenter offering announcements and directing children to the basement where activities had been planned for them. The remainder of those present were encouraged to stand and bring greetings to those around the room and to help themselves to food. (I noticed root bear and pasta salad and tried to image Atonemenites leaving worship to gather such fare to bring into the worship space. Think not.) There were drop down screens and projectors located on each side of a room filled with sofas and bean bags and chairs of all shapes and sizes. Nothing matched. Those present obviously reflected the demographic of the surrounding community, quite disparate from Upper Room. The band, which played expected tunes, were smaller and located in one corner of the room. Those present were by DNA hospitable. One young couple offered to "squeeze together" that I might have a seat on their sofa. Others offered food and a hand or kiss of peace.

Deciding that we were a bit pew sore from the day and needing to get some mileage behind us before calling it "a day," we again slipped out of worship a little early. Arrive late. Leave early. No one minded.

It has been a good day. Pulling in late to a little community just west of Madison, Wisconsin I have negotiated the desk clerk of the Comfort Inn down from $109 t0 $70 for a suite for the night. I suspect that this is much more reflective of her need to fill a room than my bartering skill. It's off to the pool for a late night game of pool basketball and a dip in the jacuzzi before turning in. Tomorrow is a big, big road day with much more windshield and gas pump time than I would care for...bu ample opportunity to reflect upon the diversity of God's people and the type of worship and communities that have 'emerged' from part of them.

Blessings and more blessings to you all.

Minneapolis!

Have arrived in decent shape...

Left Kansas City in a rain storm, entered Iowa as the clouds cleared and arrived in Minneapolis this evening and immediately slipped on a jacket. Wonderfully cool!

A full day of worship tomorrow. Look forward to sharing with you as soon as I can find a connection on Monday.

The connection at the Days Inn of Plymouth, MN leaves a great deal to be desired. I will hit "post" while I can!

Blessings! Will have missed being with Atonement this weekend.

(Thanks to a discriminating reader who pointed out that the Warehouse242 link took them to the middle of a cyber black hole. This has been corrected. Error on the part of the poster...that be me. Pleased to know that you are researching these!)

"Head Scratching"

Someday I may assemble a log of the post-service sermon comments that worshippers offer to me. The remarks are normally given in the "receiving line," but more and more in recent years I find that they also trickle in electronically over the course of the succeeding week. There is the generic, "Good sermon, pastor." I get the feeling that this comment is often sort of akin to, "Good to see you today. How are you?" ...or "Thanks. I'll see you again next week." Don't get me wrong. I appreciate hearing this very much and know that most persons are very serious about this remark. It's just generic.

Then there is the "I felt lik you were preaching directly to me today, pastor." In these instances I know that the Holy Spirit has used something in worship to speak to the most needful places of one's soul.

It may sound a bit odd, but I appreciate when someone disagrees with something I say. I particularly appreciate that when the subject is taken up somewhere other than the receiving line, like in a phone or electronic conversation later that day. But such push back tells me that this person was really listening and cares enough about this faith matter (and their own faith journey) not to allow the sermon to end short of conversation.

The final significant post-sermon remark category is the "You made me think today." ...or "that was thought provoking." This is the head-scratching response. It generally suggests that this worshipper still has some chewing to do on these words or topics or texts. The Spirit is doing something new with that person in that moment and isn't quite done with him or her yet. I particularly like this response! It's even sometimes followed up upon a week or two later with a, "The wife and I have been talking about your sermon and... ." Cool.

I have gotten a few of the latter types of responses to the present blog. Missional church seems to promote some head-scratching among traditional church folks. This is good. My deepest faith has not resulted from times of comfort but from dis-ease and challenge.

Let me toss before you a few excerpts from today's reading to see if they might produce a little scalp-massaging on your part...:

"The church exists because there is a mission, not visa versa."

"If you want to build a ship, don't drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea." (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)

"The missional church is not limited by geography or denomination. It is found across the globe in an increasing number of places where leaders have been willing to lose everything to gain something that was almost lost."

"Today most churches struggle with change. As one church leader said, 'Churches are very willing to change. They will make any change necessary to keep things the same!'"

My plans, which seem to change by the minute, are to leave for Minneapolis in the morning. I have contacted the Wilgers and plan to connect with them for worship on Sunday morning. (Some will remember this marvelous family as incredibly integral to the ministry of Atonement for many years. Trudy was organist and the rest of the family was involved in congregational life in just about every way possible.) Then I will bounce like a pinball between several emergent ministry worship services that evening. Count on a descriptive report perhaps with pic's. **

Due to extended family health issues and schedules we have decided to bypass Michigan this time 'round and head straight for the Carolinas for a few days. There is yet another noteable emergent ministry in Charlotte called Warehouse 242. We will experience this community the following Sunday. I'll keep you posted. My hope is to be back in Kansas City to bid Pastor John a "Happy Anniversary" as he celebrates 50 years of ordination on the 27th...and to say, "Thanks for the sermon, John. Was thought-provoking." Along the way I'll see if the Spirit concurs with my itinerary.

(And speaking of head-scratching...what in the world were our Missouri cousins [at this Texas LCMS church] thinking when they erected this sign? Grace? Borrowed it from the website of an emergent church leader. )

Blessings!

(**I will be sure to exercise proper manners and decorum when taking pictures at our worship exeriences. During my May trip to England I snapped the image below of the recessional at Coventry Cathedral. A proper lady behind me immediately reprimanded me for such behavior and suggested that I might receive a "talking to" by the leadership at the church. [Looking again...the fellow in front of the recessional really doesn't look too pleased.] I pointed to the bulletin that noted, "All are welcome at Coventry!" I asked, "So this is true only if you don't bring your camera?" She didn't reply.)

"Emergent" & "Missional" ... like peanut butter & jelly ...Laurel & Hardy ... The Lone Ranger & ...you get the point

It has been a few days since I have checked in. This interim week between travels has gone well. Mornings have been spent at various area coffee shops reading, note-taking, laptop surfing, planning and drinking java and chai tea...and bumping into a few of you. On Tuesday morning, almost unconsciously, I pulled into Dunn Brothers Coffee Shop on Metcalf commenting to myself, "Hey, that looks like Rick's red camaro." Turns out that it was Rick's mothership...and beside it was Liz's hybrid...and...it was Atonement's weekly staff meeting! Knowing that if I ventured inside I'd have alot of s'plaining to do and ribbing to take, I renegotiated plans and headed to Homer's (where I bumped into a few church members).

I have also bumped into two of the more stimulating and helpful books that I have read in the past few years, Emerging Churches, by Eddie Gibbs and Ryan Bolger, and Shaped by God's Heart - The Passion and Practices of Missional Churches, by Milfred Minatrea. I am not usually one to juggle two readings simultaneously, but alternating between these works has served to convince me how utterly necessary it is for an emergent church, if it wishes to be successful and faithful, to be missional...and how missional churches are often, by nature, emergent. And if these terms are strangers to you, I commend you to these works. They are wonderfully helpful foundation reading. (Would be glad to loan them out in August.)

Jonathan Campbell, an emergent pastor in Seattle, captures some of the heart of the emergent church and a large segment of the current American culture stating,

"We have come to see that it is all about Jesus and not just a methodology. It is not about mission, not about church, but it's about Jesus and his glory, his life. To know Jesus is not an event, a ritual, a creed, or a religion. It is a journey of trust and adventure. We don't believe in any religion anymore - including Christianity - but we do believe in following Jesus. We no longer need religion with its special buildings, dogmas, programs, clergy (ouch!), or any other human inventions that displace genuine spirituality. Why do we need a name and address to be church? We've come out of religion and back to God."

This is a bit edgy for mainline traditionalists, for sure. But when you consider that 95% of nonchurched persons recently surveyed had overwhelmingly positive sentiments to express regarding Jesus one quickly concludes that cultural aversions are not to the Lord, but the Lord's church. As I have continually suggested, the old attractional model of evangelism just isn't going to be effective in growing the church of the future (or present) no matter how appealing we make our programs or sermons series or worship services. A large percentage of the persons we work with and live near (or perhaps live with) just aren't coming through our church doors...period. If we care about these sheep (these sheep being the ones that Jesus left the 99 other sheep in the wilderness to retrieve) then we have got to find a way to bless them where they are...i.e. outside the walls of church. This is where the "missional" church is pressed into service.

Bolger and Gibbs write, "In emerging churches the direction of church changes from a centripetal (flowing in) to a centrifugal (flowing out) dynamic." That is, we shift our paradigm from attracting crowds to equipping, dispersing and multiplying Christ's followers to bless the world beyond the church walls. Atonement is most authentically and faithfully the church only when it leaves 9948 Metcalf Avenue. This is not just an encouragement to shift paradigms for the sake of salvaging the church of the 21st century, nor is it just another program or programmatic adjustment. This is about living into the apostolic vision of the movement Jesus originally intended us to be. We become missional not for the sake of the church, but out of faithfulness to Jesus' desire to advance the kingdom. What results missionally could look completely different from church culture as we love and know it, the culture that has not only failed to interest a growing segment of culture, but has also, it seems, succeeded in repelling it.

One of the most significant challenges for the church is reevaluating the way we evaluate. Our institutional behavior is largely determined by what we measure. If the mother church is most interested in measuring how many sheep we congregations are attracting (and enrolling and turning into pledgers and confirming) then we will necessarily become attractional in our mission in order to fill out the report card favorably. If, however, we are measuring the number of lives that we bless, the number of children that we teach to read, roofs that we place on houses, hungry stomachs that we help fill and followers of Jesus that we encourage and teach, then our behavior will look quite different. It will be much more centrifugal. But we shall need a new report card from the mother church. Centrifugal impact is always more difficult to assess. It is also points toward the kingdom and not toward any particular pastor or congregation, meaning there are some clergy egos that may take a hit. Additionally, putting roofs on houses in the name of Jesus doesn't inherently result in increased money in the club's offering plates. In fact, it may draw or redirect current congregational resources. How do we deal with this?

Globally the church of Christ is by far most vibrant where it is described less as "institution" and more as "movement". In China, India, Russia and Southeast Africa, sometimes in places where it is illegal for religious groups to assemble in numbers greater than ten or so, the church is exploding. It is difficult if not impossible to accurately measure, but the shock waves of the work of this expanding movement is being felt throughout the kingdom.

So these are a few of the thoughts that I am wrestling with this week.

My plans for the approaching days are intentionally undetermined at this point, but it appears as if I will be headed north this weekend to Minneapolis to take in two emergent experiences Sunday evening. The website for House of Mercy states, "Founded in the spring of 1996, House of Mercy offers a discriminating blend of high church and low, of tradition and innovation, sincere worship and healthy skepticism." They meet for worship at 5:00 pm. Thirteen miles away is one of the premier emergent communities in the country, Solomon's Porch. They worship at 6:00 pm. So unless the preacher (more likely, 'teacher') is short-winded, I'll miss the benediction at HOM.

Then I will have a week to travel about Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan before dropping into lower state by the following weekend to experience two more congregations, "Water's Edge" and "Mars Hill," both in the greater Grand Rapids area. (I will try to post on this blog links to all of these ministries.)

If you are a traditional Lutheran Atonemenite plodding with me through this experience and losing sleep at night over the fear that Pastor Joe is going to work to turn our congregation inside out...don't buy the Sominex yet. I trust that a congregation becomes more missional not by supplanting its tradition and values but, especially in the tradition of our denominational tribe, more firmly embracing them. More to come.

If you are traveling the morning coffee circuit this week, perhaps I'll see you.

"Anyone who drinks from this well will never be thirsty again." (John 4)

A lazy Sunday it has been. I truly believe that if I didn't do what I do, then I'd give serious thought to becoming a Saturday or Sunday evening worshipper. Today I was the latter. In a few weeks I will be both again.

One of my goals for the remaining days of sabbatical is to engage in various emergent congregational worship experiences. It is helpful to read about these communities. It is entirely another matter to join them...to sit in their midst and try to determine what makes them tick. I am in the process of plotting trips to some of the more notable examples of such communities around the country. For today it seemed sensible to explore the most prototypically emergent congregation in our own community, i.e. "Jacob's Well" on 42nd St. just off the Plazas.

Worship began at 5:30 pm this evening. I was 1o minutes late, but you'd never have suspected it. No usher had to quietly open the door for me, whisper "Good evening," and slip a bulletin into my hands. Those who in a few moments would become worshippers were at 5:40 milling around the pews and fellowshipping. It was somewhat akin to what takes place around our Sunday morning cafe when it is "working," except there were no pastries and it happened in the worship space.

The order of events were predictably "emergent". Music was offered by a band consisting of several vocalists, two guitarists, keyboardist and violinist... with lyrics cast on two large screens up front. It was a pleasant cross between what my generation might call folk and country and...something I couldn't quite place. I'll call it "folkrymergent".

Then a lay representative publicized upcoming congregational events, including a headliner for next Sunday that included visiting pastor, Doug Pagitt (who I had planned to visit next weekend in Minneapolis. Guess a new itinerary is in order.) More music followed.

Then the pastor pulled a music stand and notes to the front of the center aisle of this remarkably traditional worship space (save the band and screens and excessive number of candles) and proceeded to teach, for 38 minutes on the "Lost Parables" of Luke 5. There was a simple communion (wonderful to see) and a musical benediction where all worshippers were invited to join hands and sing together.

I would estimate the average age of worshipper was 24ish. All present seemed engaged and many even took sermon notes (and weren't required to for confirmation!). It was an enriching experience.

Visit Jacob's Well. If you are an Atonemenite, do it guilt free, as we currently don't have a service scheduled for this time. Let me know what you appreciated about the emergent church experience and what they could do more effectively. They seem to be currently establishing a Christian connection with the 24ish culture more effectively than any other movement. Surely there is something for the rest of the church to learn from them.

"Sleepless from Seattle"

Cousin Clay is a naval pilot and, with wife, Amanda, and two daughters, is stationed in Anacortes, Washington on the Puget Sound and a little more than an hour's drive north of Seattle. We shared a wonderful afternoon and early evening together. Clay and Amanda could sell tickets to supper at their home as the two girls are more than entertaining. A delight!

The trip down to the airport was uneventful...as was the flight east. Uneventful and sleepless. I arrived back in KC at 8:00 am. Good to be home, even if in somewhat of a stupor.

We spent the holiday doing...well..nothing. Turned into a "Blockbuster Night" with intermittent fireworks showers between Wimbledon coverage and "The Bucket List". I have to say that the flat screen held less appeal than it had prior to my two weeks in the wilderness.

The plans for the days ahead and the remainder of the sabbatical time are as yet unscripted. I have ideas and will do some planning tonight, along with perusal of more emergent church material...not in that order.

An adventure is not truly an adventure unless you have someone to share it with. Thank you for following along in these days.

I send hopes that you are in the middle of a blessed Holiday weekend and have too much going on to check on this blog until this wish is a bit tardy.

"For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it." (Matthew 7)

I have heard it said, “Where we place a period, God places a comma.” Solid redemption theology. But this morning it sure seemed that God was placing periods on my best efforts to commune with Him.

My guide on Hiking the North Cascades described Hidden Lake Lookout Trail as “simply spectacular.” “One of the finest hikes on the face of the planet.” Enough said. I ventured out early to beat the heat and quickly located Sibley Creek Road obliquely departing Cascade River Road exactly 9.7 miles from my motel. Another 5 miles up (and I do mean “up”) this road, which the guide described as “rough at times,” would place me at the trailhead. Right. I’ve never before had an automobile’s anti-lock brakes engage while going up a hill! This rutted out, washboarded, God-forsaken road was all my rented Subaru could handle. In all wheel drive I inched over logs that lay across the road, silently (and not so silently) praying that I had enough clearance not to become suspended there. After crawling 3 of the 5 miles I arrived at a portion of the road that was simply impassable, covered by four fallen aspen trees. And so I negotiated my first U-turn of the morning, a four-point turnaround on the edge of a fairly impressive cliff.

“Plan B” was to explore the South Fork Trail of the Cascade River, just another 7 miles up Cascade River Road. After locating the trailhead I loaded my pack for the second time of the morning (water, camera, extra battery, sunscreen, sunglasses, band-aids, etc.) and ventured out up an old road that the forest service had reopened for fire crews. Barely a mile into the hike I slogged into Pincer Creek which, due to the torrential runoff from the extraordinarily heavy snowfall in the Cascades this spring, had turned into Pincer Rapids. There was no crossing on the trail. I climbed higher to see if there was any better navigating there. No luck. I admired the beauty of these thundering waters and then cursed them as I made my second U-turn of the morning.

We’re up to “Plan C” by now and the temperature is already rising into upper 80’s. Another 10 miles east at the terminus of Cascade River Road is Cascade Pass Trail. There can only be one “finest hike on the face of the planet,” but perhaps this trail could run a close second. My mood has been a bit redeemed as I drive once again and see before me the glaciers of the eastern ridge of these majestic mountains. I reached a parking area and a gate sporting a “road closed” sign. It seems odd to me that there is a privy here and a number of other cars, but no trailhead. I geared up again and began hiking past the gate and towards what I hoped would be the end of the road and the beginning of the trail and, finally, some serious hiking. About half a mile up the mountain I discover the reason for the closed road....a bridge is under repair. Some makeshift footbridges have been constructed out of wooden beams and are obviously there, I assume, for hikers. I continue to climb. The view to the south is spectacular! There are snow capped mountain peaks with myriad waterfalls cascading down into the swollen Cascade River. Another two miles and I encounter my third trail block of the morning, a 60-75 foot section of the road covered in 3 feet of snow and piles of brush and tree limbs, apparently the result of some sort of avalanche or slide. U-turn #3 comes only after about 4 miles of hiking.

By the time I return to the car the Cascades are scorching under the full brunt of the midday heat as we are well into the 90’s. Tired, and a little bitter, I return to the hotel for lunch and some siesta time. By mid-afternoon I have decided that the Forest Service needs to know about my morning’s mis-adventures so I pay a visit to the local station just a few miles west of the Buffalo Run Inn. Five rangers are present to listen to my tales and to respond, “Yes, we know” following each report. I just stare. “So,” I finally reply, “I was thinking about trying Sauk Mountain this afternoon.” “Nope,” they retort. “It’s blocked off as well.” I’m still staring. Ranger Patricia pulled out a map and proceeded to suggest Thunder Creed Trail and The Fourth of July Pass about 22 miles back into the heart of the national park. I’m game. “If you’re a fast hiker you have time to make this before dark.” This is my last opportunity before leaving this wonderland tomorrow. I veritably run to the car.

Thunder Creek Trail is a rather wide, tame path that leaves Colonial Creek Campground through a magnificent grove of stately firs that surely predate common sense and then winds along the riverside for a mile or so before crossing the water on a footbridge and gently climbing towards Thunder Point. The Fourth of July Pass Trail branches off to the left, beckons me, and immediately begins climbing in a manner that is anything but tame. For the next 4 miles I experienced the most rigorous, demanding, calorie-expending, heart pounding climb that I have ever undertaken, save the ascent on Long’s Peak. By the time I reached the campground at the summit I could wring sweat from both the t-shirts that I had worn and am almost too tired to take in the glacial views before me. By the time I returned to the car I estimated a total of 16 miles of hiking for today. None of it came about as I would have predicted. All was, in the end, a blessing.

There is a routine that results each time I decide to take a photograph. Loosen and unbuckle the waist belt on my camera pack…unbuckle chest strap…loosen shoulder straps…unzip bag…remove camera…compose and take shot…reload camera in bag…reverse process to situate the bag on my shoulders again. I am surprised that I have not worn my buckles out in these days. God has placed before me such tremendous beauty that no camera could begin to capture it. Neither can my descriptions. But perhaps both will encourage you to visit this area in person if you have not.

If I can muster the strength I will venture deeper into “Velvet Elvis” tonight before turning in. My 10-day course in “tree hugging” wraps up tomorrow as I check out of the Buffalo Run Inn (“Luxurious accommodations at an affordable price,” claims the sign outside) and head west towards Anacortes on Puget Sound. I plan to visit and share supper with my cousin, Clay, and his family before heading to the airport in Seattle to catch the red-eye home. Surely, somewhere en route I will find a little café that serves up just what the body is craving the day after it has been abused by such hiking. And if this little café has wi-fi then you will have these words to peruse. I know that I have neither the gumption nor strength to venture out to Gus’ tonight. Besides that, I hear the rumbling of thunder outside, a cause for prayers among the folks here who know one bolt of lightening can change the face of this landscape quickly.

God’s blessings to you all.

(Note that I have added a few more pic's to yesterday's posting.)

Nothing Diabolical about This Lake!

I am currently parked outside of what appears to be the main office at Alpine Meadows RV Park. Though the connection is intermittent I am currently hooked onto the “Free Wireless Internet Service” that is advertised on the sign at the main road. It’s the only wi-fi gig in town…or along this part of the highway as there really is little here that resembles ‘town.’ No one seems to mind. A rather large, untethered dog keeps sniffing my Subaru. A mostly unclad, bearded man with an axe occasionally passes. He has “Gus” tattooed across his chest. And AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” is playing rather loudly from one of the RV’s. I wish the uploads were faster.

Today the saints left me wonderful, snow-free trails. Ranger Lin at the information center wasn’t sure which paths were clear of snow, so I suggested Diablo Lake Trail. She thought I’d be fine, but warned, “We’ve recently spotted a mother bear near the trailhead who is rather possessive of a carcass she’s collected. We suggest that you work around that part of the trail.” Not being one to ever come between a bear and her carcass, and not especially wanting to become one myself, I took her advice.

To reach the trailhead one must drive over a dam. There is just enough room here for two average-sized cars to pass one another. Most traffic was headed towards the learning center built last year. I hiked a good part of the day and encountered only one other hiker.

Lake Diablo trail is a wonderful hike that ambles through the lower fern-covered paths and then climbs for several miles to a ridge that gazes down upon the turquoise waters of the Diablo gorge. Round trip is about 8 miles and offers a fair share of climbs and descents, avalanche areas, thick forests and open flowery meadows. But no snow. The trail concludes at a rather impressive swing bridge perched in front of yet another dam. The power harvested here is used to light much of Seattle.

An early morning start put me back to the Buffalo Run Inn by mid-afternoon. Anticipating an epic hike tomorrow I decided to rest and read for the remainder of the day. On the docket for this evening… “Velvet Elvis,” by Rob Bell. I am not sure if Rob would describe himself as an emergent church pastor. I would.

Neither Gus, his dog or the AC/DC fanatics have paid me undue attention, but I don’t wish to press my luck. I’ve decided to switch the television on tonight for the first time in nearly two weeks. Ten days without ESPN Sports Center can make a guy a little squirrelly. No way to get “Web Gems” on blackberry data downloads.

Peace!

Slog, Slog....Blog, Blog

I was packed and ready to load the car this morning when Paul asked, “Hey…wanna grab a coffee or something?” Translated… “Not ready to see you go yet. How about one last round of ‘shop talk?’” I said, “Sure.” Translated… “I’m not ready to go yet. Would love one last round of ‘shop talk.’” Chelan is basically a ‘one coffee shop town.’ As we stood in line Paul played mayor some more and visited with folks about the town meeting earlier this week. He bought (don’t tell Pastor Stephen) and we drank and walked around the part of the lake closest to town. We talked about changes in culture and the impact upon the church…and the church’s impact on the culture. It was a good visit.

I said farewells confident that it would not be as long before I would see this family again. In fact, there is an Atonement group headed to Holden Village the end of September and I just know we will find opportunity to pull into Chelan for devotions…or something. I headed north on Hwy 97 to Hwy 153 to Hwy 20 which would take me over the Cascades to Marblemount and my room for the next three nights. I was barely out of town before I lost cell reception. I would not recover it for the rest of the day.

The Northern Cascades are magnificent! Hwy 20 is the only road through them and there are no services for 74 miles. Motorists gas up before they go or suffer the consequences in the middle of the mountains. And there’s no hurrying through this wilderness. Highway 20 belongs to the tourists who are gawking and meandering all over the road and doing so about 15 miles per hour below the allotted limits. But there is much to gawk at. The temperature gauge on the Subaru read 91 degrees outside yet I was looking above at snow capped peaks and cliffs. There is Ross Lake Recreational Area and Diablo Lake with it’s turquoise waters. I suspect I did my share of motorized meandering as well.

I had one NASCAR moment where the wheel on the trailer being pulled in front of me (meandering 15 mph below the limit) flew from its axle and the tire bounced up the highway. I had been watching this wheel wobble for about 10 miles and was expecting an incident…so was ready to maneuver out of the way. Snakes, bears…and flying tires! Keep the prayers coming.

Right after lunch (sandwich that Sam had packed for me) I decided to grab a quick limber-up-the-knees hike on the east side of the range. The hiking guide described the trail to Blue Lake as a moderately difficult route climbing three miles to a lake fed by glacial waters. I believe the “moderate” rating didn’t factor in a snow-covered trail. Slog, slog…crunch, crunch…slog, slog…well, you get the point. Six miles (round trip) of searching for the trail as much as actually utilizing it. At times the going was just slow and sloppy. When conditions worsened I began slipping on 3-4 feet of snow sometimes falling through to nearly waist deep. I had to follow the tracks of the few hikers who had ventured in ahead of me and trust that they knew where they were going.

Of course I waxed theological about all of this. Slog, slog…crunch, crunch. I thought about the saints that have traveled before us and how they have helped to reveal the faith paths to us. They made their share of mistakes (consider, for example, the crusades and the ill-conceived convert-and-become-like-us-or-else missionary efforts) but they also helped show us the way. We do not have to forge our faith journeys without maps or tradition. We rely upon the saints and give thanks to God for them.

When I reached Blue Lake I immediately considered that someone had misnamed it. Perhaps it is blue in August. Today, it was white, mostly covered by snow, but beautiful nonetheless. I had depleted my one water bottle ascending and felt completely fine refilling from the lake. I will try to post a shot or two.

I am settled now into Buffalo Inn something or other. I have gotten one of the rooms without buffaloes on the shower curtain. I’ll manage and try not to complain. When one checks into the Buffalo Inn something or other you must visit the restaurant down the street. Marblemount is but a bend in the road, so the inn office/pay-for-your-lunch-at-this-register register is not a far walk. I asked the clerk/hostess if there was wi-fi to be found. He said, “Go two miles or so down the highway to Alpine Meadows Campground. He’s got service there. Just pull up outside the office and punch in code 121212. If it doesn’t work, just knock on the door. He don’t mind.” We’ll see. If you are reading this assume that it worked. I can’t imagine a more creative solution to connectivity.

The hiking boots and socks are resting atop the air-conditioner in the room. I am hoping they will be semi-dry for tomorrow’s adventure. There is actually a television on the wall in front of me. I don’t think I’ll turn it on.

"True Light...True Word"

I have reconnected with the rest of the world today. What follows are blog postings from the previous three days of retreat into the mountains...


THURSDAY

Chelan lies at the southernmost end of this long, narrow, deep lake. If the lake were more round in shape and one was to leave town driving clockwise to about eight o’clock on the map dial you come to One Mile Creek Road. It is a dusty, windy, sometimes washed out path that meanders 2 ½ miles up the mountain to just over 2,500 feet. This is where you will find Stan and Sandy’s place, a beautiful but modest cabin sitting beneath the douglass firs and ponderosa pines, barley visible from the road. Paul delivered me there today at lunchtime in my rented blue and silver Subaru Outback wagon (the unofficial state car of Washington).

The lunch table was already set with plates and silverware beneath a hung canvass canopy in the side yard. My host and hostess are strict vegetarians and, after a 30-second tour of the cabin home, began parading out one salad after another along with homemade bread. We held hands and prayed and then spent the next several hours feasting, storytelling and laughing until our sides hurt. Stan and Sandy showed me the photo album that chronicled the 2 ½ - year construction of their home. They built the entire cabin by themselves, including cutting, hoisting and situating every log. “Each timber,” Stan reported, “took a day to cut into shape.” This couple radiates due pride and grace.

Paul took the Subaru and headed back down the mountain at 3:40 pm in order to make a 3:30 pm meeting back at the church (a thirty-minute drive). He seemed remarkably untroubled by this. Sandy, a trained Benedictine oblate, conducted a tour of the property stopping first in the meadow at the massive prayer labyrinth that she had spent a summer fashioning out of rocks taken from the creek bed. She then introduced me to my home for the next several days, a one-room cabin nestled up beside the creek. There is no electricity to the cabin. No plumbing. I have spent my initial evening here reading Brian McLaren’s classic, “A Generous Orthodoxy,” by kerosene lanterns. There are no sounds here save the occasional rush of the wind through the evergreens and birds (that I am yet to identify) that are singing themselves and the woods to sleep. Somewhere in this silence I know that I shall hear the voice of God.

Before Sandy earlier left me in the cabin she asked, “There is something that I like to do for all who stay here. May I wash your hands and feet?” Then, from just inside the cabin door she collected a pitcher of water and a rough, stainless basin and did just that, i.e. she poured water over my hands and dusty feet and carefully dried each. She said, “Stan will blow the conk shell when it is time for supper. Please come.” She further invited, “I encourage you to spend tomorrow observing silence. I will bring your meals to you in the cabin but don’t feel compelled to speak. I believe you will find spending a complete day in this manner very powerful.” I have every suspicion that she is absolutely right.

Several hours later the shell sounded. After supper and another marvelous conversation, I noticed two Lutheran Books of Worship sitting at the end of the table. Sandy noticed my noticing and said, “I was hoping that we could share Vespers together.” She and I sat on the porch of the cabin and together sang through the service…the whole service! She provided readings and psalms from her Benedictine Orders for the Day. After the benediction, Sandy pulled the blanket from the back of her rocking chair, wrapped it around herself and we rocked and visited and shared “God talk” for another hour.

It is now eleven o’clock and the woods are as still and silent as they have been all evening. I have noticed that a red and white cooler containing tomorrow’s breakfast already sits on the front porch in what a few hours ago was our sanctuary. I have never known such hospitality.

Just before ascending the mountain this morning I received a text message from Brad Hodnefield informing me that Brooke was headed to the hospital to have labor induced. My prayers reside with them this night. By the time I return to civilization and post this I trust that God will have ushered into the world yet one more precious life.

There is little to do here now except pray. I have never been so eager to close my laptop.




FRIDAY

The only light in this one-room cabin emanates either from one of the two kerosene lamps or this laptop. When each were extinguished last night my world immediately became pitch dark. After a few moments my eyes adjusted and a walk to the front porch opened up a mid-November sky for me. No haze or humidity and the stars shone brilliantly. It occurred to me that we sometimes take the artificiality that fills our world for granted. I can’t recall the last time that I experienced a night uninfluenced by something electrically produced…i.e. a streetlight or sign or lamp from a neighbors house. It is nearly impossible to disconnect from the artificial. I managed to do so last night.

Not only was the night still and dark, it was also quiet. I decided to accept Sandy’s invitation to spend the day in silence. So, when I returned the breakfast cooler to her porch this morning she greeted me, folded her hands as if in prayer and, before I could slip up and bid her “Good morning,” or “thank you,” she bowed to remind me of the promise. The same was true when she brought lunch to the guest cabin at noon (make that enough lunch for a small group meeting…fruit, cashews and raisins, some Indian curry dish with rice, broccoli and tomatoes, ginger candy and an organic ginseng cola to wash it down). I must confess that it has been a wonderful, even if silently observed, day. This despite the fact that my plans for hiking were complicated by the discovery that I had left one of my hiking shoes at the Palumbo’s. I had a vision of striking out anyway and then having to explain to a passing hiker what this mute, hopping-on-one-foot idiot was doing on the trail. Not the way I wanted to break my disicipline of silence.

Just as I cannot recall the last night I spent without intrusion of artificial light, I dare say I cannot ever remember spending 24 hours without experiencing some human voice, not even my own…ever. This may have been a first. What I discovered is that it allows a great deal more room for God’s speaking.

Tonight, by kerosene light, I finished the final chapters of McLaren’s “A Generous Orthodoxy,” subtitled, “Why I am a missional, evangelical, liberal/conservative, mystical/poetic, biblical, charismatic/contemplative, fundamentalist/calvinist, anabaptist/anglican, methodist, catholic, green, incarnation, depressed-yet-hopeful, emergent, unfinished Christian.” A fairly ingenious work, if you can learn to stomach the seemingly endless run-on sentences (bet you couldn’t have guessed that from the title) and overuse of parenthetical comments (like this one). I commend it to the more thoughtful of you if you are willing to be challenged about the church and matters of faith. I apparently have been inspired on several occasions to read this work as when I opened the Amazon package that arrived a few weeks ago and placed the book in my “to read” pile I discovered that another copy already existed there. So…I have a loaner to the first who will speak up. Actually I have two to hand out as this present copy, though a bit bent and smudged from the cabin reading, is not highlighted. It has been a pleasure this year knowing that I could read for reading’s sake and not in order to demonstrate to a professor that I have extracted from the reading appropriate knowledge. Such is the joy of auditing.

I broke silence tonight precisely at 9:00 pm, twenty-four hours after the silence began. The first words? “Thank you, God, for silence. And thank you for your Word, Jesus, with whom I have become a bit better acquainted in these hours.”

For a brief moment today my blackberry actually received a text. It was the text I was hoping to receive and the reason that I had not been true to my promise to completely power down. The new Hodnefield baby boy has entered the world and all are well. Let the prayers of thanksgiving ascend! There’s a time to be silent and then…

SATURDAY

It has been a stifling day on the mountain with temperatures in the mid-90’s. Not a cloud has shown itself for two days. I haven’t checked the weather back home so I don’t know if I will gather any sympathy from mid-western readers. But here the humidity is so low that even on such days as these the shade, together with a gentle breeze, is almost cool. This is why Paul carries a light jacket around even in July. “My people always seem to want to stand in the shade,” he says.

Sandy left a note with last night’s supper that breakfast was to be around 8:00 am. I wasn’t sure if this would be at the guest cabin or their cabin now that the discipline of silence was over, but at 8:05 am the conk shell sounded and I headed up the hill. I am certain of two matters…I will leave this mountain spiritually refreshed and a few pounds heavier than I came.

During lunch we apparently lowered the volume of our conversation enough for a female mule deer to show herself. I have the sense that she would have ambled up regardless of our activity as she was patient enough for me to run back to the cabin, grab my camera and play paparazzi for awhile as she drank from the bird fountain and moseyed back up the mountain. I am puzzled why a deer would be moving during the middle of such a hot day…but pleased that she was.

This afternoon I hid from the heat and breezed through most of “Church Re-Imagined,” a book by Doug Pagitt, pastor of a faith community called “Solomon’s Porch” in Minneapolis. This is the epitome of ‘emergent church’ and I am already wondering how I might venture up to experience it once I return to the Midwest. This is a church that likely looks very little like any church you have experienced. Perhaps I can report more in a few weeks if travel plans pan out. For now, google “Solomon’s Porch” and take a look.

I mentioned that Sandy is a Benedictine oblate connected with an abbey just south of Portland, Oregon. She and I sang and prayed through Vespers again this evening. Waiting a bit later than Thursday night we had to fire up a lantern that we might see to sing, “Your Word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path.”

Over supper tonight Stan leaned across the table and said, “The other day someone asked me if I was Christian. I told them, ‘Well, I believe in Jesus. I don’t go to church but I pray.’ What do you think, Joe? Does that make me a Christian?” I suppose it depends upon your definition of Christian, and there are as many of those floating around as there are people to ask. But I know Stan’s own description makes him a member of a rapidly growing segment of our population, i.e. those who consider themselves deeply spiritual but not churchy or religious. I have a heart for these persons, for so does the Lord.

Stan is into yoga in a huge way, and has constructed a yoga yurt on the property. Don’t know what a yoga yurt is? Neither did I. (Mnemonic device to remember? “Yogurt”) It is a round, canvassed-toped tent-like structure with a heated wooden floor that is used for yoga class, which Stan instructs here several times a week. Eight to a dozen students ascend this dusty mountain and leave the world behind for a few hours to stretch and move and do whatever one does in a yurt, there with candles and pictures of Jesus and Buddha and various yoga instructors in front of them arranged in what looks like a shrine. Whenever we prayed, Stan joined hands and offered “Amen” to the petitions that we offered in the name of Jesus. But Stan is not convinced that Jesus is the only way. He stands as one among a multitude who are searching.

The only difficult part of this segment of my journey will be leaving in the morning. I will spend Sunday worshipping at Lake Chelan Lutheran Church and treating the Palumbo family to supper at the Local Mystic Pizza Shop where Sam Palumbo works and the tourists love to eat. And I will pay. (Someone call Pastor Stephen and tell him that I picked up the bill). Then on Monday I will strike out for the North Cascades and some more serious hiking before heading back to Seattle and… well… let’s not look that far ahead now.

Forgive me for my wordiness. There is something about cabins and lanterns that encourage verbosity, I suppose. To those who have persevered and slogged through this entire posting at one sitting and without snoring, you deserve my hearty “thank you!” It is a joy to share this experience with you!