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!

"Disconnected"

It occurred to me this morning that I needed to bring some planning and order to bear on next week's portion of the sabbatical. I am exploring one of the most beautiful parts of God's creation during the height of tourist season. Accommodations may not be a cinch to secure. So...knowing that I want to venture deeper into the North Cascades I set to work on the Internet and the phone to see what was available. What I discovered was...almost anything!

There are campgrounds with tent sites available. Sorry, I sport no equipment. Wait...they provide sleeping bags. There are rustic cabins that sleep anywhere from 1 to 15, traditional hotel rooms, as well as ranches that offer not only a place to lay your head but horseback riding, guided hiking, trout fishing and wildlife watching. There are rooms with jacuzzis, flat screen televisions and breakfast in bed. I settled on Buffalo Run Inn in Marblemount. It was relatively inexpensive and located only 10 miles from Diablo Lake, the heart of the area I want to explore. And I really liked the pictures of the buffaloes on the shower curtains.

It is most interesting that I found absolutely no desire for a room with television. Neither of the "Pauls" with whom I have stayed are much on television watching. I brought to the attention Paul #2 today that it had been over a week since I have sat in front of a television screen and I haven't missed it a bit. He invited me to go upstairs and sit in front of the one that their family owns. "It's not connected to anything," he said, "and I don't believe it works, but you're welcome to sit in front of it as long as you want."

I ponder the many activities with which we often fill our lives. There is some joy that comes with being 'unplugged' for awhile. There is also irony in my writing this while on a laptop plugged into a system as powerful and expansive as the Internet. I also see that my Blackberry is perched on the arm of the sofa beside me and continues to hum with announcements, texts, e-messages and calls from persons with whom I am connected.

Tomorrow I will attempt to become as disconnected as I have been in some time. I will hit the red button on the cell, hibernate the laptop and head for the hills to become connected in the most meaningful, most often overlooked ways, i.e. prayerfully and spiritually.

No pic's to post today. I spent Wednesday finishing The Shack. Tonight, after supper, four Palumbos and I took Xela the retriever for a walk along a tributary that spills into the Columbia River and stood atop a mountain that looked down into a jagged gorge. From there we watched a golden eagle take flight and roost among the cliffs.

I will look forward to 'reconnecting' with you sometime this weekend. Summer has arrived to north central Washington and the forecasters are calling for near triple-digit temperatures. If there is no electricity in my destination cabin then I will assume that there will be no a/c either. I will give thanks for the elevation.

And I daily give thanks for all of you.

"Snakes and Mountain Goats and Bears! Oh My!"

Paul shuffled off to the office this morning for a meeting. His daily commute to and from work consists of a 35-second walk across the side yard of the parsonage. There are some distinct advantages and disadvantages to this. When the sign at the local Texaco reads $4.49/gallon for 87 octane, the advantages seem heftier. I noticed today that Paul walks most places about Chelan. I accompanied him mid-morning to deliver food to someone in need. Along the way he greeted the townspeople with as much Spanish as English. (40% of the population here is Hispanic.) I Have heard story after story from the locals regarding how Paul's presence in the community has vitally changed Chelan. I have no doubt.

Virginia commented last evening that it was wonderful for Paul to have someone to "talk shop" with. We have done that, for sure...exploring various ministry successes and failures and probing theological issues. We sat at some outside cafe tables at noon and shared lunch and such shop talk.

For the afternoon we traveled around part of the Lake and up into the mountains for some hiking. Jeff was our guide. Jeff moved to north central Washington nearly 30 years ago when he would describe himself as a hippie. He collected some land, married Josette, a French Canadian woman who at that time spoke no English, and built a small cabin where he still spends his summers growing fruit, flowers and various vegetables. He spent an hour showing me how he had grafted his fruit trees and then gave me an aprium to test. This is a genetic cross between an apricot and a plum. Fantastic!

Once we began our trek down through the orchards, across the river and up the bank on the other side I was convinced that Jeff was part mountain goat. I was pleased that he was willing to do all the talking as we hiked for I may have been too winded to lead any conversation. After forging the second river of the afternoon we nearly stepped on a rattlesnake...and would have had he not taken care to let us know that he was here and that this was his path. We didn't argue. I did snap a pic that I will try to post. T'is as close as I ever care to come to such a critter.




(Jeff the "Mountain Goat" and Pastor Paul)







We forged our own path along the side of the mountain. In another 1/2 mile I heard some rustling of branches and spotted a bear cub climbing a tree about 20 yards down the hill. He was as interested in us as we were in him. I managed another picture here. We didn't tarry too long as this cub looked less than a year old, which meant that a third interested party on that mountain would have been momma bear, which, at that moment, we didn't spot. We saw more wildlife than people on our trek. We all agreed that this was fine.

Jeff is one of the only Jews in Chelan, but was very eager to enter the shop talk that Paul I carried out. He inquired about our ministries and hobbies and...an extraordinarily gracious dude. We finished our hike by driving to the lake to dip our feet, but no more than feet as the water is frigid! Lake Chelan is about 50 miles long and averages about a mile across. The water is pristine and a deep blue in the late afternoon sun. It is the third deepest lake in North America, claiming 1,600 feet in spots. Many of you may know that Holden Village (Lutheran retreat center where the Holden Evening Liturgy was born) lies on an island at the northern edges of this lake.

I will spend this evening reading and resting and may turn in early after a few games with the Palumbo's retriever, Xela. I have seen God in many places this day. I anticipate more encounters in my dreams.

God Always Finds a Way - "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

I am drawn to waterfalls. When I take inventory of the number of waterfall hunting guides available for purchase then I quickly surmise that I am not alone in this passion. I borrowed such a guide to find Wallace Falls this morning. Just west of Stephens Pass on Washington Highway 2 rests the sleepy town of Gold Bar. Turn north in the middle of this bend in the road, head through a small residential area and up the mountain and you will arrive at Wallace Falls State Park.

The trail is underwhelming as it leaves the small parking area following the crackling of open overhead power lines, but then turns into the forest and becomes a bit more inviting. The trail soon splits. The 'high' trail is an old railroad bed which is therefore graded for the walker. The 'low' trail is bit more arduously navigated along the Wallace River and is designated for "hikers." I'm in this for the adventure. I took the low trail, i.e. the trail less traveled. Robert Frost would have been proud.

I can study waterfalls for hours. It is a spiritual exercise for me. I wonder how it is that the rivers or streams first searched out their route and how many thousands of years it took to cut such a trough in the earth. This morning I pondered these matters more deeply than usual knowing that I would be writing you this evening. I believe the essence of my passion is this...i.e. I love that the water finds its way regardless of whatever obstacle might threaten to frustrate its progress. I admire the water. It reminds me of God's Spirit.

In Gold Bar I noticed two church buildings that were no longer serving to harbor churches. The first building was cause to pull over and snap my first photo of the day. I discovered only later that some varmint had apparently monkeyed with my aperture setting during the night and failed to inform me, so the shot was grossly overexposed. So while I can't share it with you, I can describe it. This old, white wooden building sported a traditional steeple, but no cross. It had apparently been removed. Upon the side of the steeple was a banner advertising the art studio and shop inside. My guess is that these weren't liturgical arts.

In one way I am concerned for the church culture. Dave Lind sends a wonderful link from USA Today that describes well and alarmingly the current state of matters (http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2008-06-23-pew-religions_N.htm?csp=34). But don't read what I'm not writing. While I am concerned for the church culture, the waterfall reminds me not to despair for the church. It is, after all, Jesus' church. It will endure. 'The gates of hell will not prevail against it," we sing. It shall be there, in some form, at the end of time to greet the returning Savior. Just as the water finds a way, so shall the church. But I suspect that the church that Jesus will greet on his second advent will look much different than the church of today. Just as I imagine what the waterfall might have looked like a million years ago, I wonder what the church of Christ might look like when my great grandchildren are a part of it.

Wallace Falls are quite impressive. There is little perspective to the photos I shall try to post, but the waters you hopefully see are plunging some 180 feet into the basin before rushing down the gorge. It was a wonderful arena in which to spend the morning and about 6 miles of hiking/climbing.

The banana and coffee cake that I had for breakfast at the Hoffman's before leaving Seattle was wonderful, but was spent about half way up the falls, so by my early afternoon return I was eager to make lunch of anything edible. Lunch was an old tuna sandwich and a few granola bars from the corner Shell Station. A few more hours on the highway placed me in the town of Chelan where my dear ole friend Paul gave a warm, gracious welcome. Paul, Virginia and three of their four children live in the parsonage next door to Lake Chelan Lutheran Church where Paul serves. Don't bother looking for their website. There is none. This is a wonderful, small, A-framed building where 50-80 folks gather for one service on Sunday morning. Paul has served here for 10 years. As we walked about town he called out to dozens of persons by name. I wasn't sure if he was pastor or mayor. ..or both.

I will blog again tomorrow evening, and perhaps Wednesday, and then I will be out of touch from Thursday late morning until Sunday morning. I have told you about Stan and Sandy. They own a small cabin about 20 minutes from Chelan where they host persons on spiritual retreat. They are especially pleased to pray for pastors. There will be a rite when entering this experience wherein Sandy will pray for me. Then I will spend the next days ambling about the mountains, praying to the Creator, and being served meals by this gracious couple. Darkness comes late here. Perhaps this is good as there is no electricity in this one-roomed cabin. "What is the fee for this?" I naively asked Paul. "Fee?! There is no fee," he replied. "This is their ministry, man!"

I think now again of The Shack, the novel of which I wrote to you yesterday. I wonder if I, too, might have some experience of the Trinity in this cabin. I'm counting on it. God always finds a way.

So this is what Sundays are like From the Pew!

Sometimes my sermons are worked out in the empty sanctuary...empty, that is, except the Holy Spirit. When I am challenged regarding a particular lesson, I will often leave the chancel and sit in the pew for a spell. "What do those who will fill these pews this weekend need to hear? Experience? With what life issues are they wrestling? Where are they in need of mending?" Sometimes what I need to say isn't exactly what is most needful to hear. I had a similar type of perspective today as I experienced Sunday morning like most of you.

I rose late after getting 8 hours of sleep for the first time in months, read the paper and had a cup of coffee (what else would I have in Seattle?). Then I lazily made my way to church arriving just a few moments before worship, sifted through the bulletins and announcements and...then rose for the opening hymn. While I wouldn't trade my usual 6:00 Sunday morning alarm or my "what am I going to do with the children this morning?" planning sessions on the way to worship for anything, it was nice to sit in an alternate world for this one morning.

Worship at Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church is noticeably and intentionally traditional. Some might call it "high church." It fits the niche here. It works.

This afternoon I made my way to Church of the Apostles Lutheran Church, an emergent community that is geared completely differently and attends to a very disparate crowd. There are no robes here. No organ. No one over the age of 30. Worship is participatory, imagistic and celebrates the mystery of God through art and a very different sort of liturgy. It is housed in a renovated older church building now called "Fremont Abbey."

Within site of my home in southern Overland Park there are two church buildings. The closest is Grace Community Church, a modern facility that is box-shaped and post-modern. You know before you enter that its worship space will be movable and multi-purposed. There are video screens up front and worship looks like you imagine worship when someone describes it as "praise," driven by guitar and percussion.

Across and just west on 159th street is Redeemer Presbyterian Church. Google it and you will see a church building fashioned to look like a church building. This is prototypical colonial architecture with a high rising white spire and cross. This is the church that "grandma used to attend." Worship is driven by organ and traditional liturgy.

So here in the heart of Seattle the church finds the same sort of varied persuasions and expressions that it does back in Johnson County. It reflects the disparity of our culture. You can't count on the McDonaldization of the Lutheran (or any other) tribe. We used to trust that a big mac was a big mac no matter where you ordered it. Lutheran worship was Lutheran worship no matter what red doors you entered. But the expression of our confession has now become as varied as the culture we attempt to address with the Gospel. It is a challenging, wondrous deal. It befuddles and excites me.

Following worship I stopped at the Red Mill Burger Shop for lunch. Like everything else in this town it is located beside Starbucks. I then ventured to the waterfront to walk along the piers and watch the ferries arrive and depart. Paul shared with me tonight that "I'm sorry I have to cut this meeting short for I have a ferry to catch" is a completely acceptable phrase here. It is a marvelous city.

I then spent the afternoon on the computer, researched some of the waterfalls I intend to explore tomorrow, and read further into the novel, "The Shack," by William P. Young, a faith-based novel that so far has been a stimulating read. I'll keep you posted.

Paul and I sat up until late tonight embroiled in wonderful collegial conversations and stories. There have been two decades worth to share. Needless to say, we hit the 'high points.' I spoke adoringly of Atonement and my dear love for this congregation. He was very interested in the Atonement line of apparel that I have been sporting since I arrived. Perhaps I will send him a shirt later.

Tomorrow we will share breakfast together before he heads off to open VBS and I venture east to see what sort of trouble I can rouse and how many waterfalls I can search out before arriving in Chelan tomorrow evening. Pastor Paul Palumbo and wife, Virginia, dear friends, promise to have the table spread. They asked if I had special dietary needs. I said, "Food is good."

Chelan is in a remote area of the Cascades of north central Washington so I don't know what to expect in regards to cyber connectivity. If nothing else, surely there will be a Starbucks on the lake!

A Protracted Sabbatical..."Take 2"

While I officially restarted the "Sabbath Clock" on Monday, it really feels as if the experience began today. Jim and Kaye Dalbec were kind enough to retrieve me this morning and ensure that I arrived at MCI on time for my date with Northwest Airlines. After a brief layover in the Lutheran Mecca (Minneapolis, of course) I was off to an expectedly cloudy, cool Seattle. It has been a long day and I shall surely not be "sleepless" in this city tonight.

What a joy to reconnect with Paul and Donna Hoffman. It has been two full decades since we last visited and shared life stories, so this was just how the evening was spent. We sat around the dining room table of their three-story downtown Seattle home, feasted on fresh seafood and caught up on life and ministry...in that order. Paul was my intern supervisor back in the late 80's at Christ the Servant Lutheran Church in Allen, TX. He now serves as senior pastor of Phinney Ridge Lutheran here where I shall worship tomorrow. "Normally," Paul confessed tonight, "I would rise tomorrow morning at 4:30 am to work on my sermon." (Finally, someone that waits even later than me!) "But the vicar (intern) is slated to preach this week, so I get to sleep in," he said. So tomorrow I shall watch Paul watch his intern for the purposes of evaluation. Surely it shall bring back memories.

The table fellowship extended to a wonderful late evening walk around a local lake. The sun is not in a hurry to set here. It was nearly 10:00 pm when we returned and there was still a glow in the horizon.

One of the purposes of my trip here was to visit Church of the Apostles, an emergent church community shared by the Lutheran and Episcopal communties here. Turns out that COTA is but 3 blocks from the Hoffman's home which makes visiting much more doable than I had imagined. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon.

My body and computer clock are both still on CST and are bellowing that it is nearly 1:30 am. So I shall turn in. It is good to be in blog conversation with you all. I shall miss being at Atonement this weekend and will surely experience a bit of withdrawal. I send a heartfelt "thank you" to those that have committed to pray daily for me. You have seen me safely to my first destination.

"Leaning for the Tape"

The day began with an earthquake at 1:00 am this morning. I am sure residents of this part of the vineyard have gotten used to such events, but t'was special for me. Clothes hangers began rattling and then the bed started to tremble. It is one of those moments when one takes assessment of life and begins communicating with the Almighty.

It is now 8:01 am in Southern California and the professor is catching some light-hearted criticism for being late getting class underway. The point of the week has arrived where giddiness begins to take over, especially in a room full of pastors who are far too used to having a microphone in their hands.

Today's studies are not scheduled to conclude until 9:00 this evening. We make up for that tomorrow by finishing at noon. Then we disperse to the airports and all sorts of home destinations. I could not find a convenient Friday flight back to KC so I will hang out until early Saturday morning. Somewhere between now and then I shall search out what the preacher's gonna say this weekend at Atonement.

My mind and soul are swimming with new learnings and inspirations and challenges. One of the keenest learnings is how much there is yet to learn. Collections of this experience will bleed out into community life at Atonement over the upcoming months and years. Trust that I will resist the temptation to perform an information dump on you as soon as I hit the doors (or pulpit or classroom). But have patience with me if I seem more excited or antsy than is easily explainable.

God has a wonderful plan for all of us...and for Atonement. For sure. God's Spirit is alive and active in the world. For sure. Our endeavor is to connect ourselves to that activity...and often, perhaps most often, this holy activity is taking place outside the walls of the church. I look forward to stumbling with you upon the mystery of God's plan for us, over and over again.

See you in KC or wherever our paths next cross. Thanks for following along!

Pastor Joe

The Homestretch

Class goes well. Today's presentations had some teeth to them and stimulated engaging conversation. But it's time to come home, I do believe. There is nothing that makes one miss ministry more than spending all day talking about ministry!

Class Begins

There are twenty pastors in this doctoral class of all sorts of persuasions and tribes. In fact there are representatives from denominations I've never heard of. A priest in a long black robe sits at the back of class and attests to serve some Greek Church of Antioch in California. There is a missionary from Japan and several Presbyterians from the northeast. Interestingly, the preponderance of students are Midwesterners...even an independent church planter from Lees Summit and three pastors from Nebraska. There are four of us here representing the ELCA.

Fuller Seminary takes up several blocks in downtown Pasadena and we sit in an small auditorium type room in the basement of the main classroom building. There are outlets and ethernet connections for all students and the majority of us and pecking away on laptops throughout class taking notes (and checking e-mails and researching to see if the Dodgers or Angels are in town and...). Content has been stimulating, though not much new material today. This will become more challenging as the week progresses.

Relatives of all sorts are contacting me for meals and get-togethers so the out-of-class schedule is filling. I am looking forward to another visit and stay over with Pastor Stephen on Friday as Joann will be in the Midwest for a wedding. We boys will see what sort of trouble we can find.

Now I'm off to complete the bulletin to send back to the office. Rick is on vacation this week. Then I am to connect for supper with a Lutheran pastor from west Omaha. Abundant blessings to all!

(The attached picture of our professor, Reggie McNeal. I am sure that you can investigate him readily with a quick browser search. He is well published.)

Mosaic

The Los Angeles highways are nearly manageable early on Sunday mornings, so I made the drive from Lomita up to Pasadena in about 40 minutes, arriving at William Carey University and Mosaic about 15 minutes early. What I encountered there was extraordinary. (Note the link to Mosaic on this blog.)

I was one of the first to enter the auditorium. It was dark save a brilliantly lit stage and set of three large screens down front. Techno music beat in the background and announcements about upcoming Mosaic events, servant projects, Bible classes and small groups cycled on the screens. Soon the first musicians took their spots and invited those present to stand. As I turned I was amazed to see young folks streaming down all aisles. Within minutes the space harbored several thousand worshippers whose average age I would guess to be about 24. There were three songs offered...loud and energetic. Some sang. Others clapped. Others observed and prayed. A second band tag teamed and took the stage where a tremendously talented African American woman sang her version of Don Henley's "The Heart of the Matter." I had never considered this song from a Christian perspective before. It was dynamic.

Erwin McManus then emerged for a time of teaching. He wore a white collared shirt open in front and untucked (In case you haven't heard, "out" is "in") and jeans with a hole in one knee. He sat upon a black stool in a spotlight and for 40 minutes (about the same length as Pastor Stephen's sermons), without a note, spoke about spiritual warfare. The young worshippers in attendance listened carefully, following along in their Bibles. An offering was taken to which only "followers of Jesus Christ" were asked to contribute, several more announcements were made and all were invited to a 10-minute party outside in order to get acquainted with the ministry. The Pasadena site is but one of four where Mosaic will "happen" this weekend. If you visit their link you can listen to a podcast of McManus' presentations...today's offering will likely be available soon.

Then, with the help of Google Maps, I made my way across town to Fuller Seminary and checked into my room in preparation for this week's class. With over 3,200 pages of reading completed and ten reports written, I am ready. Bring it on.

Despite the front desk clerks insistence that the wireless router on site was not operative, I have found a connection and should be able to stay in touch this week. I pray that all was well with worship at Atonement this weekend. I am sorry to have missed the opportunity to experience worship with both Rick and Alex Deasley at the helm. What a treat that must've been. It will be good to be with you again next week.

I see on CNN Weather you are in the middle of a heatwave at home. A good week to be in Pasadena, I suppose. Prayers I send you way and will surely accept any you have to offer in return.

Getting Reacquainted with My Watch

For five weeks I have been without a watch on my wrist. The only schedules to which I have had to attend belonged to Delta. These obligations have come infrequently enough that I could just pull the cell phone from the holster and gander at the clock. But now it is off to class and the wrist watch is again...well...on the wrist. I had not missed it.

Travel went well today. I was even unexpectedly bumped to first class for the Salt Lake City to LAX leg of the flight. Stephen and Joann Lien live only about 13 miles from the airport which is about a four day drive if traffic patterns are unfriendly. I hit them in good stride and arrived in time for a tour of their new home and a wonderful supper together on the back deck. It was 72 degrees with a light breeze. But then it's always 72 degrees with a light breeze here. Following supper I was treated to a ride in the convertible up the mountain to Ascension Lutheran, a lovely congregation that overlooks the Los Angeles valley where tonight lights twinkled like stars. Pastor Stephen has visions of evangelizing that valley. I suspect that, together with the Holy Spirit, he will.

My body doesn't know if it is to attend to Maine time or Kansas time or Pacific time. Right now it only knows that it is weary. A few more reports to write and print out tonight and it is off to bed. As much as I would like to attend worship at Ascension tomorrow I believe that I will beg out and head towards Pasadena to take in an emergent church worship service there. Joann helped to print pertinent information tonight, including a map and directions. The Lutheran service would be friendlier and more familiar. The emergent church service will be more educative and posture me well for Monday's class.

In order to grab something from my mailbox I dashed into Atonement this morning on the way to the airport. Nice that the building is still standing and all seemed well. My box was certainly stuffed. I didn't have the courage to check the office desk. But I am eager to get back to ministry as unusual. It is time.

I am not sure what sort of connections await me in Pasadena tomorrow evening. Surely a seminary as progressive as Fuller will have accommodations. If not, there's always Starbucks.

Once again, my thoughts and prayers are with you this weekend.

Back Home...at Least for A Moment

After I left the lobby computer two nights ago I told the front desk at the inn in Portland that we needed a 3:30 wake-up call. He asked, "am?" I suppose that it was a rather odd request given the fact that it was 1:00 am at the time.

Travel over the past few days has been rather uneventful. This is good. All the Delta connections were made easily (despite the incredibly long security check line at Portland). Our stay in NC saying "farewell" to extended family lasted longer than expected. So what's new? We left just before 9:00 pm last night and arrived in Overland Park at noon today, exhausted but thrilled to reconnect with the children and the growing number of animals at the house. Somehow we managed to pick up a few extra cats while away. Still trying to figure that one out. While the parents are away... .

So...some wash, a haircut, a few bills to pay, more reports to write and a suitcase to repack and I'm off again tomorrow, this time westward bound. The camera has enough miles on it for one month, so I shall not lug it to California. But I will intend to check in regularly to report on class and other 'happenings.'

Peace to you and many 'thanks' for the thoughts and prayers.

Well...I don't suppose Katahdin's going anywhere.

Just after midnight on the morning of our planned hike, after having managed ourselves to bed a bit later than expected anyway, we received a phone call from Lauren that she was feverish and ill. By the time we settled down again, the alarm clock was sounding. We decided that 6 hours of driving and 10 hours of climbing were not advisable after a sleepless night. So we bagged the trip until 'next time.' Perhaps that will be one year in late September when the leaves are in their glory, and God will whisper, "See, isn't this better?" T'is disappointing, but I trust that you were attending to us in prayer and there is purpose in this.

We are traveling for the next few days and postings may be scarce. Today we travel south to the Portland area to grab a hotel in preparation for an early Thursday morning flight back to Greensboro. A quick swing by the farm to pick up the bike and gear and books and...we're off on a 16+-hour drive through the night back to Overland Park. After spending my last day with Lauren (who is doing better now) before she heads off to Emporia State, washing clothes and re-gearing for the home stretch of this sabbatical, I take another early flight Saturday morning to LAX for class next week in Pasadena.

Blessings to you. Will likely sign in again in a few days. Perhaps I will have Pastor Stephen type "hello."

_____

It is now nearly 10:30 pm on Wednesday evening. We have settled into a nice converted inn in downtown Portland, but only for a few hours as our flight leaves the jetport at 6:00 am., about the time the folks at the Inn at St. John are laying out the continental breakfast. The feet and the camera are disappointed that the hike did not happen today, but the common sense knows that we made the right decision. Can't imagine starting out on the highways for Kansas after two nights of sleeplessness.

Heard from Pastor Stephen tonight. He called to say that the directions to his house which he had sent earlier were not correct. The exit comes at 1.8 miles and not 1.4 miles. Talk about precision! He suggested that I save the message and play it back en route. Probably the closest that I will come to having a GPS. It will be good to reconnect with this colleague and friend.

Here's hoping that Delta has it's act together tomorrow. I'll reconnect with this blog in a few days or so.

The Eve of the Climb

We've had a fairly uneventful day. I needed to be no prophet to predict that my back would need attention at some point during this adventure. Today was the day...and chiropractors are more difficult to find in this area than moose. An inquiry at the general store (the only store) here resulted in a phone number of a local "doc" that didn't keep office hours, but was available if called. Sure enough...a phone call and trip up the mountain to his basement offered a stiff table and an adjustment. What a hoot!

We are hoping that the "fix" allows us to rise and be on the road by 3:00 in the morning. Three hours up the logging roads puts us at the southern entrance to Baxter State Park and the trails that lead to the summit of Mount Katahdin. (I'll search for a pic to attach.) If all goes as plans, ten hours of hiking/climbing will allow a summit and return. We'll see. The loons won't have to work hard to lull me back to sleep...if loons do anything at 2:30 am. If I have any energy at all tomorrow evening, I'll report on the day.

Prayers requested.

(Just heard from Brooke Hodnefield. She has been officially accepted as an M.Div. student at Luther Seminary and member of the new online cohort of study. Prayers of thanksgiving abound!)

The Moose...Demythologized

The attached image is an AP picture taken over Moosehead about a week ago. It is this sun that has awakened each of these recent mornings.

The great Moose myth is no more. I am now a believer. A lengthy, guided boat ride this evening through the marshes of the northern end of the lake proffered for us one galloping moose. We saw more lake spray than mammal, but t'was enough to testify to a sighting. Even had we not succeeding in locating our goal the trip alone was extraordinarily beautiful, filled with loons, osprey and other fowl. Then, on the way back from the marina, we spotted a cow moose just feet off of the road. We stopped and chatted awhile, though she trotted off before I could secure the camera. All in all, a good moose day.

There was a different sort of "Son" that greeted us this morning at the Community Church of Rockwood, a small United Church of Christ congregation meeting at a log cabin in town. This beautiful, rustic building (that appeared on a cover of an old Christmas Edition of "The Saturday Evening Post") was nearly filled when the forty or so worshippers found their pews. Worship was predictably traditional and familiar. About half way through the service there was a time for worshippers to stand and share joys and prayer concerns. I was introduced. It is the sort of setting in which I have often been invited to "come up and say a few words." Thankfully, this morning I could just worship. It was a treat.

There was a little time today to crank out one more report. Three down...six to go.

We are beginning to renegotiate the next few days. While I appreciate the electronic suggestions, we have opted for a third direction that had not occurred to us until now. About three hours (by private dirt road) to the northeast is Mount Katahdin, the highest point in Maine and the northern termination point of the Appalachian Trail. It just sits there begging to be hiked. So...likely on Tuesday we shall head in the direction prepared to scale it. I'll know more after some web research this evening.

My thoughts and prayers were with Atonemenites this day. This time away has been wonderfully re-creating, but I am eager to get back to Kansas. Frankly, I'm a little tired of explaining where our wonderful state is to these northeasterners.

God's richest blessings to you!

Rip Van "Bul"Winkle

We were "up and at 'em" early this morning hitching a pontoon boat ride over to the island that is Mount Kineo, situated in the middle of Moosehead. (Borrowed a web picture to post.) A 4 1/2 mile round trip hike (or climb) places one at the top of the mountain and the base of an old forest service tower which is also very climbable. Great trip, especially after a few days of being sedentary and scholarly.

After returning to the cabin I took an unintentional and apparently much needed two-hour nap awakened only by the thunder of one of the more violent storms I've ever experienced. I swore that two of the lightening bolts traveled right through the upstairs room of the cabin. The storms canceled the Moose hunting boat excursion planned for late this afternoon. Our hosts, not to be dissuaded, offered another car venture following supper...but the great "Moose Myth" is perpetuated yet another day. No sightings.

The writing has begun and two of the books which I have read are now accounted for in reports.

I understand that worship tomorrow morning will take place in a cabin church just up the road. Holding about forty souls or so, it promises to be filled this time of year. Eric, our host and member of a previously served congregation, is scheduled to solo. T'will be a treat, for sure.

My prayers and thoughts shall be of Atonement.

The "Moose Myth"

Last evening's 20-mile journey down a darkened, secluded, washboarded, spruce-lined private road in search of moose produced only one suspicious set of eyes. Our hosts were incredulous...but persistent. "We will try again, by float plane if we must," they have promised. I'm pulling for the plane.

The reading is complete ahead of schedule! A by-product of cabin fever. Spiritual Leadership was disappointingly generic. But it is done. And now I dedicate the next days to reporting on this pile of books (most of which is still stacked in the front room of my folks' place in NC). It must all be ready to hand in on the first day of class. There will be 40 hours of class time in Pasadena and then an integrative paper of 40-50 pages due six months after class. There go my days off for the rest of the year.

I was invited this morning to preach two services this weekend at the local parish of undetermined denomination. The pastor was looking for a last-minute trip away...somewhere. I was honored, but declined, deciding to use the sabbatical as ...well... sabbath and find an opportunity to be fed as opposed to feeding. My staff would be proud.

The next big decision regards the trajectory of our final leg of this adventure. We either head into Canada to explore Quebec City, only 1 1/2 hours west north west ...or... we venture out to the Maritimes or the Maine coastline, about the same distance in the opposite direction. We'll flip a coin this weekend, but I'm open for suggestions on the comments section.

Peace to all. You remain in my prayers this weekend. I apologize that there will be no Maine pictures for a few days as the equipment here lacks USB ports or convenient ways to transfer pic files. Perhaps I'll inundate you later.

"Cabin Fever"

The loons sang us to sleep last night. The sun awakened us not long after 4:30 this morning. The temperature reached 90 today and thought the county was going to shut down. The world is strangely and wonderfully different "up here."

Realizing that I was a little behind in my reading I spent the day chained to the couch, alternating between two very different books, i.e. The Future of Leadership (a conglomeration of essays and offerings from various business experts on the topic) and Spiritual Leadership, by Henry and Richard Blackaby. I have plodded to the midway point of both, the last two books on the required reading list. With these completed I then turn to the task of writing/reporting on each of the books I have read. I have the awkward sense that this should've been done 'along the way' instead of 'after the fact' of reading. I also realize that the majority of the books are still back on the farm in NC, presenting another writing challenge. Perhaps the preponderance of writing will happen en route back to Kansas or on the way to Pasadena...or as Pastor Stephen and I are reminiscing. Well...likely not the latter.

We've just been invited out for another edge of dusk boat ride...or...a car excursion in search of moose. I have vowed not to leave here without at least one sighting. Oh, but that the moose where as prolific as the hummingbirds, which I have watched during each reading break this afternoon.

Given the equipment here I am still struggling to find a way to post pic's on this site. Will press into service all my technical savvy and then some.

Peace to all!

Wish You Were With Me Today in Paradise

We left Greensboro, NC yesterday morning at 6:00 am and were in Portland, Maine before my folks were out of bed. The trip was not without adventure, including a race across LaGuardia to change concourses, carriers and planes. We made it just before the doors shut.

We landed in this marvelous state and were greeted my mist and 62 degrees. By the time we traveled to Moosehead Lake, 3 1/2 hours into the northern timber country, the sun had broken the skies and the mercury was topping out in the lower 80's. We stopped for directions at the local country store were the Mainers were wiping their brows and complaining, "We only get about four of these days a year! Can you stand it?!" I chuckled, but only to myself. folks really talk funny up here.

We reached the Olson's cabin in time for a late supper. They were astonished that we saw no moose along the way and promised a dozen or so sitings before we leave. This morning was spent (as was yesterday's plane trip) engaged with The Missional Leader, a marvelous book that chronicles the style, gifts and approaches necessary for successfully leading a congregation through discontinuous change. I knocked the book out at a couple of sittings, mostly because it was so compelling. Kudos to the authors. (Note that I have added to this site the link for Missional Leadership Institute.)

This afternoon was spent lunching with our marvelous hosts aboard their pontoon boat in the middle this nearly 800 square mile lake. It is immense! ...and just as beautiful as it is large. (I will work to attach pictures to this blog but am struggling with the dial-up service here. Eric says that we can venture about 20 miles into town where someone he knows has a faster computer for rent...cheap. I passed.) We caught a lake salmon that looks postured for the grill here momentarily. The Olsens are members of my former congregation in North Myrtle Beach, SC where they winter beginning in October, just before the lake here begins to develop what will eventually become over a yard of ice. Go figure.

God was surely in a more artsy and creative mood when He fashioned this part of the vineyard. This evening we will spend on the deck overlooking the lake, talking about old times, ministry, our congregations and the way God is working in our respective lives. They will be good times, the stuff that memories are made of. And all the while I shall be thinking of my congregation back in Kansas, wishing that I could share this first hand. Who knows? Maybe a congregational retreat next year?

May the kind of peace that passes the world's understanding be with you this day.

Even The Very Best Laid Plans...

I wrote yesterday that this day would be spent largely traveling in the air and through airports. We experienced only the 'airport' part. When arriving at the check-in counter for Delta (after having scrambled frantically to negotiate traffic and a 45-mile drive) the attendant informed us that the flight had been cancelled due to storms in the New York City area. Surveying our options, we elected to try again in the morning at 6:00 am. So we recollected our baggage and the car from remote parking and decided to reboot our effort in the morning.

Eric confirmed our decision. Talking to us this evening from our cabin destination on Moosehead Lake he said, "Yeah...you don't want to tangle with the moose up hear after dark. Coming in the light of day is better." And so we shall.

So...weather and equipment permitting...we depart Greensboro tomorrow morning and stopover quickly at LaGuardia before traveling on to Portland. After breezing by BJ's electronics store to change out a cell phone (more technical problems) we are off up scenic highway 201 towards the great timber country of northern Maine.

I will scramble now to collect the reading that I had intended for 35,000 feet. I had hoped to have read ahead so that we would have more time to enjoy Maine, so I'll make the most of the this evening.

Blessings! And for those who offered travel prayers....pray harder tonight!