Our Rest
Crisp air, an autum breeze
Coverlet drawn to the chin.
A nap
Cool amongst dead leaves.
Our rest ends the summer days.
A Tale Told Twice?
Preachers, sales people, and raconteurs tell tales, we know. But our tales tell more than one story. Often it is the unconscious story by which our world view is shaped. I am not an advocate of political correctness but I wish to champion the role of story tellers as those who help shape our perception of the world around us.
In the comments that follow I am equally subject to the indictment that I would lay at the feet of others. Mea culpa.
Recently I read an attractive story of a drought apparently relieved following the prayers of many people. Among those who prayed was a child who bore an umbrella; a sign of deepest faith. It was touching as such stories usually are.
What struck me in the tale was the role played by each of the characters. I thought of how predictable the arrangement was and it seemed to comply with an unstated rule, “Children have faith and adults don’t.”
In many circles ‘child-like faith’ is idealized. Set aside the biblical precedence, please, and indulge me for a moment. It seems too easy for story tellers to rely on children to have this kind of faith but I wonder how much more powerful might the story be if a child is presented as a skeptic. Maybe the child was admonished by her parents to show evidence of faith by grabbing an appropriate talisman such as a bible, a rosary, etc. Maybe the child is cajoled by his mother on the way out the door and as a form of protest he seized an umbrella from the corner where it has lain, dusty from disuse.
Imagine how the story might proceed as the child raises this symbolic act of skepticism and watches the rivulets of water wash the dust from the protective shroud?
By avoiding the easy road where the story teller admonishes us to, “look at this childish act of faith” and by taking a less predictable path we who remain skeptical are confronted. Before us emerges a new possibility of grace rather than dregs of remorse over the loss of our childish innocence?
We live in a skeptical age. Unlike the scene in the New Testament where children are viewed as incapable of appreciating Jesus for who he is, it is we, the adults, that appear to suffer from an impaired capacity to believe. To paraphrase, Jesus might well have said, “Suffer those who struggle (and yet believe) to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
PalmSprings-Hotel
On the road in Palm Springs. Warm, clear air, nice conference. Spent three pleasant days in spring weather just in time to return to cold, snow, and dark. Ah…. well I did say that I like winter. Now, I have been bitten and the ‘spring bug’ has left me itching for the vernal equinox! Soon!
I Like Winter
What’s not to like?
It is dark, cold, slippery. My fingers crack, the heating bill hurts, and my body itches from super dry air. But I like winter?
I like this proof that nature does not fully bend to my will. I like the ubiquitous blanket of snow. I love frost heaves in the yard. I am excited by the sight of cardinals flirting with the feeder against a tapestry of frosted evergreen boughs. It thrills me to hear folks on the distant end of the phone moan as I say, “I haven’t seen the lawn since November” and the date is Valentine’s Day.
I like the possibility that I will go back to the yard in my snow shoes one more time. I fantasize that this may be the year I finally build an igloo. I cherish the hope that before this winter is over my best buddy (the six year old) and I will build a radically large snow man.
Ok, I don’t like winter, I love it.
True North
“North; Which way is north?” The imperative in her tone did not escape me.
“Which north do you mean, dear: magnetic or true?”
“Oh good grief, don’t be so complicated. Just tell me which way is north.”
The other day I learned that at various times in earth’s history the magnetic poles have been reversed. Does that mean that ‘down under’ becomes ‘up yonder’? I can hear folks in New England struggle with the notion of going up to Georgia and down to Canada. Don’t even ask me what we would do about ‘Down-east Maine’.
It seems there is a crisis of direction these days. Where are we going in Iraq? Why, when the economy is growing, are the “real” dollars that Americans earn less now than they were in 2000? What is the “real” definition of marriage? What is really right and really wrong?
Once, I took a trip to the mountains with a friend, Stan. Stan drove his 1963 Impala along an unpaved Forest Service road cruising uncomfortably close to the edge. As you visualize what I mean by “uncomfortably” remember we were in the mountains. I warned Stan that we were a little too close to the edge. To this he replied by veering farther to the right saying, “You mean like this?” To his amazement and to my sorrow I was vindicated. The soft soil of the shoulder yielded to the weight of the car. We began a slow roll that was, temporarily, halted by some small trees. The view from the passenger window was mud, stone, and naked roots. The view from the driver’s side was an azure sky framed by the forest canopy.
We crawled out Stan’s window to escape in case the roots lost their hold on the car. We stood on the roadway. I glared, Stan shrugged, the bugs bit. Stan pondered, aloud, whether one of us should walk out, a mere twelve miles, to get help. I glared some more. As he continued pondering “things” a man, on foot, rounded the curve and sized up the situation right quick.
“You boys lost?”
I could think of many things that could describe our state. Words like, injured, in shock, waiting for rescue, came to mind. “Lost” was not in the lexicon I was using as I glared at Stan.
“No sir, we were driving up to the Blood Mountain area and thinking of doing some fishing on the way.” I replied.
“That’s not what I meant. I mean are you ‘lost’ or are you ‘saved’. In those days I was pretty slow to pick up on the theological nuances of the English language and so I naively replied that we had ‘saved’ ourselves by climbing out of the car window.
The patient evangelist persisted, “Yes, I can see how that could be true but you could still be on your way to hell.”
I thought of Stan glaring, “The only hell that matters to me is sitting in the passenger seat with him.”
Perhaps the fellow concluded I was included in the category of fools and children after whom the almighty watches in spite of themselves. In any case he charged ahead, “I mean are you a Christian?”
My single worded response, “Yes” was hardly convincing. And the fellow surrendered the road to us and trudged on leaving us in silent bewilderment. No offer to make a call, no information as to where we might find a phone, seek shelter, or set up a beggars’ camp for the duration of our wait. He just left us.
I’m quite sure that he asked a fundamentally important question but the depth of his rhetoric was superficial. Am I saved? Am I lost? Am I a Christian? Could I be a ‘lost’ Christian or are they mutually exclusive? And, besides all that, which way is north.
Hypothetically I could tie a piece of string to the bed post and head in the general direction I believe is north and, when I can measure the sun’s position relative to the horizon in such a way that I can “prove” my location, I could pull the string taught, signal my dear wife and indicate which way is north.
Regrettably, I could not similarly satisfy our evangelist but I have a hunch. I suspect that I could choose to accept the possibility that the life Jesus called disciples to is a true one. Further, I could choose to follow that same ‘way’ of living, not out of hope for a reward but out of the hope that it is the ‘right’ way. Something tells me that I would be less concerned with questions such as “Are you saved?” and more concerned with “Are you hurt? Are you hungry? Do you need help?”
By the way, I don’t have enough string. I tried it this morning. Now the shoes have no laces, the dog has lost his leash, and the cord to the vacuum cleaner is missing. If my dear wife is looking for me, tell her I am probably lost but I don’t think I am headed for hell.
Oh yes, one more thing, which way is north?
On a whim... 