On the Move

One of the predominant, but rarely talked about, themes of the Bible is moving. The characters in the Bible are constantly moving, asking to move or being asked to move. Adam and Eve are moved out of the garden. Abraham was called to a new land. Jacob moved to escape his brother’s wrath. Later his tribe moved to Egypt to survive a famine. The nation of Israelites wandered in the wilderness before settling in the promised land. David stayed on the run to hide from King Saul. Jesus’ ministry is described in the gospels as a journey towards the cross. Paul’s travels kept him moving to spread the news about Jesus.

We all know what it is like to move. Just thinking about such a change can cause anxiety to well up inside of us. We leave what has become familiar to face the unfamiliar. We walk away from the comfort that we know in hopes of creating a better life. We venture into unknown places, unknown relationships and, sometimes, unknown customs and cultures. Even when our move is nothing more than leaving one job to take another, we experience the same kind of anxiety and change as if we moved across the country, just on a lower level.

So far in my life, I have lived in ten unique zip codes in five different states. I’ve moved more than that, however.. I’ve lived in some towns more than once and have moved to a new residence within the same zip code a couple times. I’ve lived in cities, in suburbs, in small towns and in rural settings. Each transition created its own grief over what it being left behind as well as hope for what possibilities existed in the new place. Each place presented its own mix of new values and cultural assumptions. Each move brought unexpected challenges in addition to surprising gifts of wonder and grace.

The first move I remember happened when I was three or four. My family moved from a modest house in the city to a newly built house in the suburbs. Well, it wasn’t a suburb yet. It was a subdivision plopped down in the midst of a cornfield between the city and neighboring town. The landscaped brick wall at the entrance let passersby know that this was no ordinary, run of the mill neighborhood. These homes with sodded lawns and spindly trees were, in fact, Countryside Estates.

The subdivision was primarily one, main street with a couple of other streets that looped around and came back to main drive. In two or three places streets branched off and dead-ended at the edge of the corn field ready for future development. Since there was only one way in and out of the neighborhood there wasn’t a lot of traffic which made it great for being able to ride bikes when I got a little older. The subdivision ended at the top of a small hill in a wooded lot where some of the older kids made bike trails. It always felt dangerous and thrilling to ride through the woods since I was certain that my mom could sense whenever I participated in this forbidden activity.

When we moved to the subdivision we left behind my neighbor Ernie. I remember him being old because he had grown children but he was kind to me and my brother whenever we were outside. He wasn’t the only kindly older person we moved away from either. In the city we lived between my two sets of grandparents, just a few blocks from each. The subdivision wasn’t too far away but it required some planning to get together.

What I gained in the move was a bigger yard to play in (and eventually mow) and a house where I could have my own bedroom, which, as it turns out, was one of the very few times in my life when that was the case. The move also provided a safe place to gain a growing sense of independence. I started school while living here. As I got older I was able to venture beyond the borders of our yard without constant parental supervision. And I began that arduous task of making friends of my own with all the attendant heartache and joy that entails.

People leave home and move away for many different reasons. My parents moved because they thought it would be best for the family. I moved because I had to. We see both of  these reasons for moving in the Bible too. Clans and communities move because they decide it is in the best interest of everyone to make a change. There is better land somewhere else or they can avoid famine over there. But people also move because someone more powerful forces them: A community is sent into exile, an employer transfers a worker to a new city to keep a job or the government announces that a new highway is being built through your neighborhood.

Moving, like any change, is a varied mixture of outside forces and interior desires. No matter what the motivation, however, not moving rarely seems to be a viable option. (Lots of Bible stories are about people’s reluctance but I can’t think of any stories where people refused to move and found blessings. If you can think of one leave let me know.) While we like to think that making such a change on our own terms is better, the truth is that it is difficult regardless of the reasons. Leaving a place of comfort and venturing out to experience something new is never easy but it seems to be one of those things that we are forever being faced with.

Finding a Place

Growing up, I spent a lot of time at church. My family was there every Sunday for an hour of worship and an hour of Sunday School. We were usually one of the first families to arrive and last to leave making it an all morning affair. Later in the week, my mom would bring me and my brothers back for what we called “Midweek,” which included a class, supper together in the fellowship hall, and then children’s choir rehearsal. During the summer there was a week of Vacation Bible School and when we didn’t have school we were at the church while my mom had her weekly prayer group. My childhood life was split three ways: Home, school and church. 

It was at Calvary Lutheran that I first started to tie my identity to the church. Most of my church friends attended different schools. I always looked forward to seeing them. As a kid I was overweight and slow but that didn’t seem to matter to my church friends. When I tried out for teams at school I wouldn’t get many chances to actually play. The church, however, had teams that played in church-sponsored leagues where everyone got to play no matter how good or bad they were. For me, the neighborhood was where I lived and school was where I went but the church was where I felt I belonged.

It was also at Calvary that I was first encouraged to share my gifts and abilities with the whole congregation. I loved being asked to help and there were a thousand different ways to do it. I helped fold bulletins before worship. I served as an acolyte and did other things in worship. I set up chairs or would carry things from the supply closet to the places that Sunday School classes were taught. I helped my dad mow the church property whenever he signed up to take care of that chore. I enjoyed being asked to help out in these special ways. People would encourage me and that always made me feel more grown up and responsible.

One day, the pastor asked if I would like help with a baptism. He said that I could put the water on the baby’s head while he said the words. The baby was my Godmother’s child, my second cousin, and I was more than eager to help. I stood there at the baptismal font in my acolyte robe and awkwardly scooped water on the baby’s head as he was held over the font while the pastor said, “You are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” I had never seen another acolyte, or anyone beside the pastor ever do part of the baptism.

Later, as an adult, I took a class where I discovered that I have the spiritual gift of Helping. Simply put, that means that I find meaning and purpose in doing behind-the-scenes kinds of tasks that are necessary for the life of the congregation or community. Most of the time people don’t recognize that someone has taken care of these tasks unless they aren’t done or are done poorly.

As a pastor I still spend a lot of time getting things ready for other people. I spend a lot of time trying to make sure that everything is ready for worship. I no longer fold bulletins but I prepare and proofread sheets for our worship leaders. I set up the presentation software with song lyrics and congregational responses that are projected on the screen at the front of our worship room. I still get to the church on Sunday morning before anyone else to open up, turn on lights, adjust thermostats, set up the sound equipment and other electronics and make sure that education rooms have been set up the right way.

Many Sunday mornings I feel more like a stage manager than a pastor. I worry about what's coming up next in worship and whether or not someone is going to miss a cue. But this is what belonging to a community/congregation is all about to me. It’s about making sure that details are taken care of so that people can come and find a place to belong. I know that I can’t create that place for everybody but I keep trying. The church became a place for me to forge my identity and share what I was good at. That has always been my understanding of what church is and what it can be.

The Everyday Call

The call to ministry isn’t always a thundering voice from the sky or a burning bush on the side of the road. In my case it was a slow accumulation of experiences and encouragement from people I respected. The most mundane and everyday things that people are paying attention to can contain the call to ministry.

I stood in front of my first grade classmates and launched into an incredible account of my weekend activities. It was time for Show & Tell. This was one of my favorite parts of the school day. I didn’t get to go up front every day but I did whenever I could. Sometimes I would bring something to show but most of the time I preferred to regale the class with adventurous tales of riding motorized mini-bikes through the woods, exploding firecrackers in glass bottles or attending some spectacular show that had been advertised on TV. I would talk until the teacher told me it was time to sit down so someone else could have a chance.

Had anyone been paying attention they might have thought I would grow up to be the World’s Most Interesting Man and make a living pitching Mexican beer. Evidently, no one was paying attention, including the teacher, because it would have been pretty easy to tell that I was making things up as I went along. Some might call it lying. They would be justified to do so. I prefer to think of it as the beginnings of my creative writing talents and practice for public speaking.

I found that I liked being at the front of the class or the front of the church. Of course, I was in the Sunday School Christmas program every year but I also volunteered to act in special dramas put on at the church. When I was old enough I signed up to be an acolyte for worship. The acolyte got to wear a special robe, light the candles, hand out the offering plates and collect the tiny glasses as people finished receiving communion. It wasn’t long before the pastor began asking me to help out at special services. Adults encouraged me and said that I did a good job which made me want to do more.

None of these things is particularly ground shaking. There isn’t a single one that I can point to and say, “That’s when I knew I would be a pastor.”  But when I look back at them I begin to see a pattern. I was encouraged through these things and was given opportunities to lead and serve. These were some of the experiences that led me into ordained ministry. And even though I never heard God’s voice speak to me as I did these things I can now comfortably say that God did indeed “call” me through these everyday events.

The Bible is full of stories where people hear God’s voice speak to them. Is it possible that God’s call came to them in one of these everyday events and when they looked back at what had happened they could “hear” what God was saying to them? What if the places where God speaks to people in the Bible were more common than we assume they were?

God spoke to Abraham through three travelers that he hosted by the Oaks of Mamre. Who hasn’t hosted someone in their home and found themselves in conversation late at night only to reflect on what it meant later? While Moses paid attention to a burning bush that appeared not to be consumed, God spoke. Who among us hasn’t seen some phenomenon that boggles our mind, makes us take a closer look and wonder aloud at what we are seeing? Yes, words came out of Balaam’s ass (I could say it was his donkey but the play on words here is way too rich) while Balaam was trying to go someplace and was frustrated by his animal’s refusal to move. Who hasn’t been frustrated at the roadblocks (often put in place by someone who resembles the aforementioned animal) and the inability to get around them, and then spent time wondering what to do next. God speaks to the prophets, to Peter, to Paul, to John of Patmos and to so many more through dreams and visions. Have you ever awakened with the memory of a dream so vivid that you return to it over and over again during the day and ask, “What does this mean?”

I’m not disputing that people actually heard words they understood to be from the voice of God. I’m simply saying that God doesn’t always come to us in big, grandiose ways but frequently in the everyday moments that are easily overlooked. God doesn’t always come in the earthquake or a whirlwind but instead comes in the still, small silence that takes shape when we take time to listen and reflect on what we have been through

Called to Ministry

In the church we like to talk about the way God “calls” each of us to ministry but we don’t often talk about what that means or how we discern the call. In the days ahead I want to share my experience of being “called” and how that led me to where I am today and eventually where I end up in the future.

The question comes from a middle school student in a large group discussion at Bible camp: "How did you know you wanted to be a pastor?"

Instantly a picture forms in my mind. I see the line of large box elder trees to the south side of my family’s house near Fowler, Michigan. A rope swing hangs from a limb in the tree closest to the road. A scrap-wood fort is nailed among the sturdy branches of the tree farthest back.  It’s the summer before my seventh-grade year and I’m riding the old Wheel Horse mower across the front yard. I drive into the shade under the canopy of braches and cross the two-rutted path that wraps around three-quarters of the old farmhouse and connects to the gravel driveway near the milk-shed. On the other side of the ruts the lawn continues for about twelve feet and ends where we let the grass grow tall.  It’s the one field on the 40-acre property that is not defined by a barbed-wire fence. The dark-green tips of small evergreen trees, planted in rows just a few years earlier, poke up above the wavy grass. 

"I don't know," I begin, "But I remember this time when I was a kid mowing the lawn and I noticed something about the trees and the short grass of the lawn and the tall grass in the field. I remember thinking that what I noticed would make a great example for our pastor to use in a sermon. It would help to explain what he was trying to teach us."

"What was it that you saw?" someone else in the group wants to know.

I shake my head, "I don't remember exactly. I just remember having the sudden realization that what I saw could be used to help people understand more about God. I think I knew then that I would be a pastor but I didn't admit it for a long time.”

The conversation moves on to another topic and I sit for a time, half listening to the conversation around me and half thinking about that day on the lawn mower. At the seminary I was asked about my call to ministry on several occasions. It was a question I had to answer in my application essay. I was asked to answer it again for the Candidacy Committee of my sponsoring synod and again to faculty panels who were charged with determining my fitness for ordained ministry. Never once in all those opportunities did I mention or even think about that day on the lawn mower.

Now, when someone asks what led me to ordained ministry, I retell this story of mowing the lawn and conclude it by saying that after that moment, “I just knew.” In all honesty, though, it wasn’t as if the clouds parted that summer day and a booming voice told me that I would be preaching in front of a congregation someday.  It’s my earliest memory of a growing knowledge, that eventually became a certainty,  that I was being led in a particular direction.

Sometimes people talk about being on a path in life. There have been many days when I wish the path was more clearly defined, days when I have cried out to see what lies ahead of me. Reflecting back on where I have been I realize that I have not been led down a path at all. It has been a direction. It’s like walking through a field of tall grass. I can only see a path when I turn around and see where I have been. 

It’s funny that the image of a field is what comes to mind as I describe my life’s journey. To a farmer with livestock a field of tall grass is known as a pasture, a place for the animals to graze and be fed. The word pastor is derived from the same word for pasture. A pastor is one who feeds the flock.

My entire life I have been moving towards and within the field of ordained ministry; into the pastoring field if you will. My identity as a person has been formed inside the church. For 23 years (19 years as a pastor and 4 as a seminary student) this identity has been centered specifically around my call to be a pastor. As I look back on the trail I have made I see that it meanders and wanders through the field. But I also see that the meandering has moved me across the field, away from where I was and towards something that lies beyond.

Fighting Loving Feeling Stealing

This week I’ve been writing about the tension between forging ahead with life and waiting for the right time and the right set of circumstances before moving forward. The impetus for this has been a spiritually torturous span of time where I have been trying to discern what the next chapter of my life will be. It’s not that I have to know all the details beforehand, it’s just that I want to be sure that I’m headed in the right direction.

To be honest, I’m not sure where I get the sense that there is one, right direction or why I want to be so sure that I am heading that way. If life is a gift to explore and enjoy then there really is no one way in which to do that. The fact that everyone experiences life differently is a testament to the idea that there is no one, right way. So why I am so concerned that I should know the right direction before I move?

One reason is that I am pretty sure that there are some wrong ways to explore and enjoy life. I want to avoid those ways because they tend to cause me pain and anxiety. I know that it’s not always possible to avoid these things and that wisdom and understanding often come from times of suffering. I also know that trying to avoid suffering often leads to more of it for myself or for others. Yet I go to great lengths to keep suffering at arm’s length from me and escape from it when I can't.

Yesterday, as I wrestled with these thoughts for the umpteenth time I was happily distracted by the news that my favorite band released a new single in preparation for the release of a new album in June. I watched the video and found myself connecting to it immediately which I don't usually do with their songs. The song played right into my thoughts about the way we go through life and learn from our joys and sorrows. It laments and celebrates the fullness of life. I have to share it.

Headlong Flight by Rush

All the journeys of this great adventure

It didn’t always feel that way

I wouldn’t trade them because I made them

The best I could and that’s enough to say

Some days were dark

I wish that I could live it all again

Some nights were bright

I wish that I could live it all again

All the highlights of that headlong flight

Holding on with all my might

To what I felt back then

I wish that I could live it all again

I have stroked the fire of the big steel wheels

Steered the airship right across the stars

I learned to fight

I learned to love

and learned to feel

Oh I wish that I could live it all again.

All the treasures, the gold and glory

It didn’t always feel that way

I don’t regret it

I’ll never forget it

I wouldn’t trade tomorrow for today

Some days were dark

I wish that I could live it all again

Some nights were bright

I wish that I could live it all again

I have stroked the fire of the big steel wheels

Steered the airship right across the stars

I learned to fight

I learned to love

and learned to steal

Oh I wish that I could live it all again.

The song is even more poignant when you realize that the man who wrote these words, Neil Peart, lost his 19 year-old daughter in a car accident and then, ten months later, lost his wife to cancer. To be able to write that you would live it all again is an incredible testimony to the power of life.

There is an African proverb that says that we back into the future. Perhaps by looking at where I’ve been I can more easily see where I am going. By exploring the paths that have brought me to the place in life that I inhabit now, maybe I can make sense of where I am and where I am going.

You’re welcome to come along if you like. Whether you do or don’t consider this video by one of the world’s greatest bands as my gift to you. (And if you want to contribute to a fund that will help me see them in concert in the fall, I will consider that your gift to me.)

Waiting & Suffering

Yesterday I wrote about blazing trails through life and about not waiting for a clearly outlined path to appear before moving forward. But there many places in the Bible that exhort us to “Wait upon the Lord.” (Job 14, Psalms 27, 33, 37, 38, 40, 119, 130, Isaiah 8, 26, 30, 64, Lamentations 3, and Romans 8 for a quick list) So what does that mean? When are we supposed to wait and when are we supposed to forge ahead?

In the English language we use the word “wait” in a few different ways. First, we use it to mean anticipation or a looking forward to some event. We wait for the light to turn green at an intersection. We wait for the food in the microwave to be heated. We can be doing other things while we wait but when we wait we are acknowledging that time has to pass before the event happens.

A second way we use the word “wait” is when we talk about predator and prey. An animal lies in wait for the prey to come close enough to attack. A mugger lies in wait for a victim to pass by. Still, there is a sense that time has to pass and certain conditions need to be met before the event happens.

The third way we use the “wait” in English is when we talk about serving tables. While there are places in the Bible that talk about waiting tables, the original Hebrew and Greek use different words to indicate this action. The passages that tell us to “wait upon the Lord” are not telling us to serve a meal to God.

Most of the passages in scripture that exhort us to “wait upon the Lord” are found in the wisdom literature (Job, Psalms, Ecclesiastes and Lamentations). We also see it a few times in some of the prophets (Isaiah, Hosea and Micah). And in the New Testament it is fairly uncommon, appearing only in Romans 8 and Hebrews 6.

The exhortations to “wait upon the Lord” seem to serve as advice in situations in which a person or a community is ready to give up. On the verge of despair they are ready to give up any hope that their situation will get better. Every admonition to “wait upon the Lord” is an encouragement to hold on to hope and to keep looking for the way out of the suffering that God will provide.

But there is another thing that this exhortation does. It discourages me from seeking vengeance and blazing a trail for my own salvation. “Waiting upon the Lord” means that I will not become the one who lies in wait. It means that I refuse to become the predator or the perpetrator making those who oppress me into the prey or the victims.

One of the things that my wife and children have been good about keeping private is that I suffer from occasional bouts of road rage couple with Situational Tourette’s Syndrome (a self-diagnosed condition where I find myself using publicly inappropriate language to vent frustration due to external circumstances).  Sometimes I find myself frustrated beyond belief at being stuck in the lane that isn’t moving on the expressway. I envision pulling onto the shoulder and speeding forward with complete disregard to the safety of everyone on the road. I can also find myself on the verge of losing it when someone else is driving like a maniac, swerving in and out of traffic, tailgating and being a hazard to everyone on the road. Sometimes I catch myself driving like it's my responsibility to teach that person a lesson by blocking the road or giving them a taste of their own medicine.

Most of the time, however, I let such drivers go past while delivering a stern lecture to them from inside my vehicle. I call them names that I won't repeat here. This is a form of waiting. Certainly not the patient and calm waiting that I imagine that I am "supposed" to do, but it is a form of waiting nonetheless. I wait on the Lord to deliver me from this frustrating, anxiety producing experience. Once or twice I have had the pleasure of finding the idiot driver pulled over by the police farther up the road. Even though I had nothing to do with them being pulled over I feel vindicated and exultant. But even when they aren't punished for their actions I know that by waiting, the moment passed and I did not participate in making the situation worse.

When the Bible tells us to “wait upon the Lord” it’s almost always in connection to finding relief from suffering. (Admittedly, thinking that traffic delays and unsafe drivers are a form of suffering is relative but all suffering is relative to the person it affects.) Waiting is an admonition to avoid becoming a vigilante justice system to those who are responsible for my suffering. It is a reminder that I can actually endure more suffering than I ever want to go through. Waiting upon the Lord is a way to adjust my mental framework from within my suffering so that I can continue forward and not add to the suffering already in the world. Waiting is hoping and having faith that things will change.

Perhaps waiting is simply a way to be reminded that it’s not all up to me. Maybe the admonition to “wait upon the Lord” is to get me into the right frame of mind to watch for the signs that tell me the time is right to take action. What if “waiting on the Lord” is about moving us out of the anxiety and panic that comes with suffering and places us in a more reflective and reasonable state of mind so that we can clearly see the way out of our suffering when the time and conditions are right? Isn't that better than causing more suffering?

Blazing Trails

In my third through eighth grade years my family lived on a 40 acre farm in Michigan. We raised some chickens, occasionally some ducks and a pile of barn cats. My mom insisted on having a garden in which to torture her sons with the spirit-breaking task of pulling weeds 45 minutes a few days each summer while paying five cents for each ice cream bucket that we filled. That was the extent of our farming. Two fields were rented out to a neighbor who planted corn in them and there were two fields that had been hay fields for the previous owner. Since we didn’t raise livestock we let the grass grow tall in those fields.

We called these two unfenced hay fields of tall grass “the weeds” to distinguish them from the areas of cut grass around the house that we called the lawn. My brothers and I spent hours playing in the weeds every summer. There were no trails so we would blaze our own, carrying our bare arms at shoulder height so they wouldn’t be cut by the slicing blades of grass. Sometimes we would turn around and follow our new trail back out and sometimes we would make a new trail through to the other side of the field.

Standing on the edge of the field I could see where we had been. I don’t remember any of the trails ever being straight. Each one meandered and twisted through the tall grass. Sometimes they went around patches of nettles or around a rock but most of the time the crooked path was simply due to the fact that something inside us told us to step over this way or follow the slope of the land that way. Or, more likely, there was nothing inside of us that insisted that we travel a straight line.

 As a kid it would have made no sense to stand at the edge of the field and wait for a path to appear so that I knew where to go. I knew that playing in the field was fun and a large part of the fun was creating our own trails. We learned painful and irritating lessons about nettles and cockleburs by walking through them. We would be startled and excited by a noisy pheasant taking flight being flushed from its hiding place in the weeds. We would avoid the corner of the field where we could smell that a skunk den had been built. We were scared out of the field for days when a ground hog bull rushed its way past us low in the grass.

Had we stood on the side of the field waiting for a path to appear we would have missed all of this.

That’s the problem with waiting for God to reveal each new step in our lives. It completely ignores the fact that we learn through our experiences. It actually disengages us from the fullness of life that is given to us as a gift. But the biggest problem is that it immobilizes us with fear. When we wait to be absolutely sure of God’s next step for us we become anxious that we will miss it. We hesitate, afraid that it is too soon to move. We fret that we may have missed our opportunity and now it is too late.

The Plan

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

-Jeremiah 29:11

I believe that God does have a plan for us. However, it is not as specific as we sometimes wish that it would be. Instead, what if God’s plan for us is to set us free from fear (fear of harm, destruction, death etc…) so that we can live in the fullness of this life? What if God’s deepest desire isn’t to create a world full of obedient people but is to see the gift of this life experienced in all of its glory and tragedy? What if the point is to be blazing trails through the field of life instead of standing where we are in hopes that a straight and narrow trail with fences on both sides appears to lead us to the other side?

So then, if we are truly engaged and are blazing trails through this field of life, what does it mean to “wait upon the Lord?” What exactly are we waiting for?

A bit more about that tomorrow…