Pillar to Altar
Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid, and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’ So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. He called that place Bethel; but the name of the city was Luz at the first…
Jacob came to Luz (that is, Bethel), which is in the land of Canaan, he and all the people who were with him, and there he built an altar and called the place El-bethel, because it was there that God had revealed himself to him when he fled from his brother. (Gen 28.16-19; 35.6-7 NRSV)
God appeared to Jacob at Bethel as a young man setting out in life. Jacob returned to the place twenty years later, older and wiser. As I imagine the scene, the original pillar was still standing when he returned to Bethel, and he took its stones apart and incorporated them into a new altar.
Jacob’s return to Bethel makes me think of sacred places and times in life.
Davis Creek Park sits in the foothills of the Sierras, midway between Carson City and Reno. As a young man, I often drove there, set myself down at a picnic table and read the Bible. I have an old Bible with wrinkled pages at 2 Timothy because it was raining lightly at Davis Creek Park that day. This park is a Bethel to me, a place where God appeared to me in the beauty of nature and in the practice of reading holy scripture — two of the ways God is indirectly present to us, according to Simone Weil. I knew nothing of Weil then, of course. I only knew that God became real to me as a young man in northern Nevada, and one of the key places this happened was Davis Creek Park. I’ll return there someday.
I watch religious people fleeing from their past, a religious upbringing they regard as harmful. It’s as if they return to Bethel, topple the pillar and scatter its stones in all directions. But for all its flaws, wasn’t the experience of God then genuine? Where there not fragments of authenticity to it? It’s more challenging, and more useful in the long term, to take those stones and build them into a new altar, as Jacob did, a new place to worship and seek God.
It’s important also to seek out new Bethels. I cannot live in the past as I was twenty or thirty years ago. So the Quaker mystic Thomas Kelly says the key to an authentic spiritual life is “continuously renewed immediacy” rather than “a memory of the divine touch.” True.
Spirituality for the Rest of Us
Spirituality for the Rest of Us
Isaiah 6.1-8
Sermon preached on February 7, 2010
King Uzziah died of leprosy in 742 BC. His kingdom, Judah, was in a time of stability. There were troubles on the horizon, but it was peace and prosperity now. The throne passed peacefully to his son Jotham. There was a coronation ceremony at the temple that Solomon had built centuries earlier. Crowds swelled Jerusalem for the event. There was a sense of excitement and hopefulness in the air, much like when we inaugurate a new president in Washington.
Among the dignitaries was a young man named Isaiah. He was from a noble family in Jerusalem – they had means and connections. He had a ticket to the coronation ceremony. We can imagine him standing there in the temple courts, wearing a white festive robe and his best sandals, standing on tiptoe to see the new king Jotham.
During the ceremony something happened to Isaiah. He had a mystical experience. He had a vision of God. He saw God seated on a throne, high and exalted. The train of God’s robe filled the temple. Angels were around God, and they called to one another, “Quadosh, quadosh, quadosh… holy, holy, holy is the Lord almighty. The whole earth is full of his glory.” Isaiah was stunned and silent. Others were watching the young king Jotham, but Isaiah saw the real king, the great king, God almighty. Once Isaiah recovered his ability to speak, he said simply, “Woe is me. Woe is me.” The presence of God overwhelmed him.
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Have you had an experience like this? You’re sitting in the stands during a graduation ceremony. The graduates go up to receive their diplomas. But for you suddenly the sky opens up, and you see the glory of God, brighter than a thousand suns, and it blinds you. Has that happened to you? If you’re like me, probably not. This is an experience for saints, mystics and prophets like Isaiah. Our ordinary experience is different.
Some of you have shared mystical experiences with me. You saw a vision or your heard a voice. I don’t doubt that happens. Sometimes the curtain parts, and we see beyond it. But for most of us, it’s not part of our ordinary experience. We need a faith that doesn’t depend on them… a spirituality for the rest of us who are not saints, mystics and prophets.
I’m going to say something now that makes me nervous. I actually laid awake at night this week wondering, “What will they think if I say this in a sermon?” It’s different… it’s the opposite of what we usually say in church. But here it is. I believe our ordinary experience is of the absence of God, not the presence of God. We live our lives in the absence of God. This is normal. This is how it should be.
Philosopher Robert Sokolowski said it this way, “God as God does not appear in the world or in human experience. God is not the kind of being who can appear as a thing in the world… we approach God as one who is always absent to us while we are in our current state.”
This is basic theology. God made the universe, and God is not the universe. The act of creation included a withdrawal on God’s part… God pulled back, so to speak, to allow the creation a space to be. What is immediately present to us is the universe itself – that tree, that rock, this brick, that person… and none of them are God. Compared to them, God is absent to us. This is normal. I’m not saying we are abandoned. It’s not the same. I’m only saying there is a distinction between the creation and the creator, and what is immediately present to us is the creation itself. God is behind and beyond it.
Now there are benefits to the absence of God in our lives. Actually, if we faced the presence of God in its full intensity, we’d be annihilated. The absence of God keeps us alive. Grasping God’s absence also relieves us of the pressure of having to force a certain experience… “If I try really hard, maybe God will be present to me like he is for so-and-so.” We don’t have to do that if we realize our ordinary experience is the absence of God. There’s nothing abnormal about it. Even more, a sense of God’s absence connects us to people who are not religious, who don’t get spirituality at all… they live in the absence of God each day, just as we do. So we have kinship with them.
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I’ll have more to say about this, but let’s go back now to Isaiah. We left him in a trance in the temple. He is staring at his vision. He is trembling. People were beginning to look at him and whisper among themselves.
As I read the scripture, three things happen to Isaiah as a result of his vision. First, he is confronted by the awesome majesty and holiness of God, which has the effect of instantly reordering his life and priorities, as it would for us. Second, he is cleansed from his sin and shortsightedness. God’s holiness reminds him of his sin, but then the angel takes a coal from the altar to remind Isaiah about the sacrifice that brings him forgiveness and cleanses him. Third, he is commissioned for a new work. The voice says, “Who will go for us.” And Isaiah says, “Here I am, send me.” He will become a prophet, the prophet in Israel. Isaiah will address idolatry and social injustice, and he will call people to a new faith in God.
After he dies, his words will be collected, and Isaiah’s writings will become the foundation of Hebrew literature. You can go to Jerusalem today and visit the Shrine of the Book, where the Dead Sea Scrolls are housed, and in the center there is a large display, the focal point of the exhibit, and it is Isaiah’s writings. He will become that important. But it all starts when he is a young man in the temple, and he has a vision of God, a mystical experience of God’s presence.
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Earlier I spoke about our normal experience of the absence of God. Now I want to qualify this and say that God is also present to us in certain ways. God is absent and present.
If I were in the pews listening, I’d be thinking now, “Wait… how can God be absent and present? How is this possible?” Well I know it’s possible… quantum physics tells me so. In quantum physics they study subatomic particles with funny names. They’ve done experiments that show that a particle can be there and not be there at the same instant… it can be present and absent simultaneously. This tells me that physical reality at its basic level is not simple… it’s complicated and paradoxical. How much more then is the reality of God in our lives complicated and paradoxical. God can be absent to us and present to us, the key is that it’s an indirect present. God is indirectly present.
Let’s move away now from quantum physics to something more everyday. Say you know a family in need. They’re going through a crisis. You decide to help out by fixing them dinner. You know they’d do the same for you. So you go to the store and buy the ingredients, and then you go home and fix your standard tuna noodle casserole for them. You’ve called ahead to make sure they’ll like it. You fix other dishes too, including something resembling a vegetable because you want the meal to be healthy. You take the meal to their house and ring the bell. You go inside and deliver the meal. You talk with them for a bit, and then you get back in your car and leave. So here’s the question… when that family sits down for dinner in a few minutes, are you absent or present? Well, you are absent to them… you’re not at the table. But you are also indirectly present through the meal your own hands have touched and prepared. The meal makes you present to them indirectly.
This is how I think about the indirect presence of God. And for this I am indebted to the French writer Simone Weil. In her essay on the Forms of the Implicit Love of God, she wrote about God’s ordinary absence from us, but she also said God is indirectly present to us in three ways: through the beauty of the universe, through acts of mercy and compassion, and through religious practices. When we pay attention to these things and give ourselves to them, we encounter God’s indirect presence and we are changed. Think of them as three dishes in the meal God has prepared for us… they make God indirectly present to us.
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So here is where a spirituality for the rest of us comes in. Most of us are not saints, mystics or prophets. We are not likely to have dramatic visions of God as Isaiah did. But if we pay attention to God’s indirect presence in the beauty of nature, in acts of mercy, and in religious practices like prayer and worship, then the same thing that happened to Isaiah will happen to us, only it will happen more slowly. We will be confronted by a reality beyond ourselves, which will reorder our life and priorities. We will be cleansed of our sin and shortsightedness. And we will be commissioned for a new work, a way of life set out for us by the creator of the universe. Amen.
Rainbow Arch Bridge
The Merrick Street Bridge is my favorite bridge in Adrian, especially when snow rests on the rainbow arch. It was built in 1926 and rebuilt about ten years ago. Learn more about the bridge here.
The bridge spans the River Raisin, also pretty this time of year:
Snowfall this year, as you can see, has been mild. Some people want to see more snow, but I’m happy with what has fallen.
The Ax Comes Out
Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. ~ Mt 3.9-10
His years living with God in the desert gave John the Baptist a clarity of vision. Ancestry and history meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the fruitfulness of a life lived in the sight of God. Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God, as an earlier prophet said.
Churches face the same problem. We are children of John Wesley, they say, or John Calvin, or whoever the ancestor is. Their heritage defines and consumes them. They become merely a historical society, a service club, or a social gathering. They cease to bear fruit — faith, humility, charity, reticence and works of mercy. Their theology atrophies, and they lose the capacity to reproduce themselves in new believers. They no longer appeal to people hungry for God.
Then the ax comes out because God looks for fruit. It’s happening right now to a lot of churches.
A Striking Insight About Youth Ministry
Formerly a youth minister, Kate Murphy is now a solo pastor in a Presbyterian congregation. Her latest experiences make her wonder about the wisdom of youth ministry programs that segregate youth from the rest of the congregation:
I’ve always met young Christians through youth programs. I’ve been hired by churches so committed to the discipleship of their young people that they’ve dedicated resources to creating specialized curriculae and activities. These churches expect regular events that are created exclusively to minister to young people.
But I wonder now if we’re ministering them right out of the church. Unlike Jonathan, the kids I’ve previously pastored never sat around a table with adults at church-wide fellowship events—they had their own program options. They’ve never worked side by side with other members to put on a neighborhood vacation Bible school—they were off on their own mission trips…
I may have been unintentionally disconnecting kids from the larger body of Christ. The young people at my current congregation—a church that many families would never join because “it doesn’t have anything for youth”—are far more likely to remain connected to the faith and become active church members as adults, because that’s what they already are and always have been.
She mentions Jonathan, a sophomore in her church, who impresses her with his faith, maturity, and ease of interaction with adults.
I’d not thought of the problem she poses, that youth programs can short-circuit youth involvement in a congregation and the world of adults, making it less likely for them to be connected to a congregation when they grow older. It must be hard for her to question youth ministry in this way.
I think youth benefit from their own groups and activities. In our congregation, caring adults organize programs for youth. But they also work hard to integrate the young people into the larger life of the congregation — ushering on Sunday morning, assisting in VBS, leading an Ash Wednesday service, and singing in the praise band. My experience as a teen in church included both — Sunday worship in church and regular youth events. Both were important to my faith development.
I’m not good at leading youth ministry. I don’t have the right personality or gifts for it. I’m better with youth one-on-one or in very small groups. I lead a Bible study for 5th grade girls each Wednesday evening. I love these girls and enjoy spending time with them. We’re always on the edge of chaos but still learn about faith and the Bible along the way.
Kate Murphy believes her small congregation, though not appealing to families looking for youth programs, will benefit its young people more than big churches with fancy youth ministries. This is a striking insight from a former youth minister — it flows against the current of conventional wisdom.
Pastoral Care Rationing
After 15 years in pastoral ministry, I’ve begun to use the r-word. I see a need to ration myself. I have only limited energy for pastoral care. Especially as an introvert, my tanks will run low.
I felt it earlier this week. Each day brought its own focus: delivering Meals on Wheels, preparing dinner for a family of six and taking it to them, visiting a parishioner at an out of town care facility, and attending to the regular pastoral care needs of the congregation. I didn’t realize how low the reserves were until an unexpected need arose, and I found myself sucking on a dry tank.
There are far more needs in the congregation than I can care for. I see people on Sundays, and I know there are critical things going on in their lives. But I have to pick a few to focus on. I’m not the only one caring for parishioners. There is another pastor, and there are the church members themselves. The priesthood of all believers is alive and well here. I’m always impressed with how parishioners become priests to one another in times of crisis.
The word husband, in addition to being a noun, is a little used verb meaning “to manage prudently and economically.” As a pastor I must husband my own energies. When I attend to the needs of parishioners, energy seeps out of me. I become like Jesus in the crowd that day… someone touched his cloak, and he knew that power had gone out of him. Power goes out of me, and there is only so much of it. It’s like a cell phone battery that will need to be recharged.
It’s not only taking care of needs. It’s also being aware of them. He has just lost his wife. She lives alone. She has cancer. He worries about his wife’s illness. I carry these concerns around with me, and when too many of them accumulate, the sadness and anxiety linger. The need for self-care marks anyone in a helping profession. Fatigue sets in. I’m only more aware of it than ever lately. Maybe it’s a function too of how much I love my congregation. They are precious to me, and when they hurt I live with the hurting too.
So I’m thinking about pastoral care rationing today. I must ration myself. I’ve probably been doing it all along, but I’ve not named it before like this.
Sin as Bentness
C.S. Lewis had a fertile imagination. It shines in the Narnia saga, and it burns even brighter in his science fiction. It’s a mystery how writers create these worlds. I just finished Out of the Silent Planet, the opening story in his space trilogy. I read it last 29 years ago as a senior in high school.
Dr. Ransom, a university professor, is abducted and taken on a spaceship to Mars, known to its inhabitants as Malacandra. His adventures there span several months. He lives among the hrossa, rides a sorn and studies the landscape, language and culture. His abductors try to kill him but fail. The story ends after Ransom has an audience with Oyarsa, the spiritual being who rules Malacandra, along with his assistants, the eldila. Oyarsa sends Ransom and the other two home to earth. They arrive after a three month journey and exit the spaceship just before it disintegrates.
As Ransom learns about life on Malacandra, he sees his home planet in a new light. Earth, known on Malacandra as Thulcandra, the Silent Planet, is a bent world. Something about earth is skewed, out of joint, and Ransom sees this clearly as he lives among the inhabitants of Malacandra and notes the harmonious way they live with one another. Earth is characterized by desire and a need for dominance not found on Malacandra. Earth is bent because it is the victim of a spiritual battle it is only dimly aware of.
Lewis the theologian was speaking through his science fiction. The bentness of earth must be his way of conveying the Christian doctrine of original sin, for example. The eldila and Oyarsa stand in for angels, I think. Of course you don’t have to read it in this way — you can simply see it as a fascinating story about a man’s unexpected trip to Mars. It is that too.
The image of sin as bentness intrigues me, though. A bent object does not work in the manner it was designed to. It needs to be straightened to do that. But it cannot straighten itself — an outside influence must assist. So in Christian theology, the image of God in human beings has been distorted through sin, and redemption is the process by which God restores it.
What if you were bent, but you didn’t know it? You mistake your bentness for straightness because you don’t know any other way. A lot of people today do not believe they are bent. They haven’t been on Mars, as Ransom was, to see the difference.
Prayer for Kids
I helped with children’s Sunday school last Sunday. Since worship and education run concurrently, that meant skipping out of the worship service itself. Being an associate with only minimal responsibilities in morning worship, I can easily do this. I understand parents who want to worship while their children are in church school — there are advantages to this way of doing things, but one of the drawbacks of the arrangement is that the children see the pastor less often. I think they need to, so I show up from time to time to assist the teachers.
Lately the children have been learning about the Lord’s Prayer. Twenty of them sat in rows of blue chairs, singing a song about the Fruit of the Spirit. They walked over to the sanctuary and performed the song and returned to class. Then it was my turn. I brought a newspaper with me and asked the children if they knew the 5 Ws — reporter questions journalists use when they write stories. Who, what, where, when and why. Two children on the left knew the answer. So we used those five question words to talk about the who, what, where, when and why of praying.
Who can pray? (Anyone, not just ministers or parents.) What do we pray? (Thanks, help, the Lord’s prayer.) Where do we pray? (Anywhere, in a secret place.) When do we pray? (Anytime, morning and evening, when someone we know is sick.) Why do we pray? (God loves us and wants us to bring our needs to him.)
With their teacher’s direction, the children showed me hand motions they’ve been learning as they memorize the Lord’s prayer: Our Father (hands together in prayer), who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name (finger pointing to the sky), thy kingdom come, thy will be done (hands over head making a castle), on earth (point down) as it is in heaven (point up). Give us this day our daily bread (pretend you are feeding yourself). Forgive us our trespasses (fighting motions) as we forgive those who trespass against us (shake hands or hug). Lead us not into temptation (finger on forehead, thinking) but deliver us from evil (make protective circle with other children). For thine is the kingdom (castle again) and the power (hold up bodybuilder arms) and the glory forever (thumbs and index fingers together in heart shape). Amen.
I shared with them my own version of the Lord’s prayer, the way I pray it when I’m just myself… not the minister. I say, “Loving Father, may your name be praised, and may your kingdom come. Take care of my needs today. Forgive my failings, as I forgive those who fail me. Save me from trials and temptations. Free me from evil. And fill me with your Spirit. Amen.” I end with a request for the Spirit because Jesus ends his teaching on prayer in Luke by saying God will give the Spirit to those who ask (11.13). So I ask.
At the end of the class, the teacher led the children in a game. They had to ask for forgiveness and then hop, step or twirl forward. It reminded them about “forgive us our trespasses” and gave them a chance to move. Children need to wiggle a lot. I played the game with them and left the class with a smile on my face. I’m one of God’s kids.
How Can I Forgive?
The Record of Wrongs
1 Corinthians 13
Since I’m a pastor, people ask me questions about faith. One of the recurring questions is this: “Someone has done wrong, and I’m angry. How can I forgive them?”
When they ask this, I stumble and bumble through some answer. But what I want to say is, “I’m not sure. I don’t know how you can forgive. But I know how that feels. I’ve felt the same thing.”
We’re around people all the time. Work, family, friends, strangers. It’s inevitable that someone will do something wrong… hurt us… let us down. They may even break the law. And a great test of faith is how we respond to this.
It’s hardest when they’ve hurt not us, but someone we love. Then the anger burns like a furnace… a coal-fired furnace. Each time we think about what they’ve done, we add a shovel of coal to the furnace, and it grows hotter. We want to scream, ARRRGH!
So what do we do? How can we forgive? I think there’s an answer, but it’s not easy. For help, I’m turning to our scripture tonight from Corinthians.
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The church in Corinth had piles of problems, more than we can imagine. When we read about the early church in the book of Acts, it’s easy to think they were perfect. Reading Acts is like leafing through an LL Bean catalog… everyone looks so perfect, all coiffed and all wrinkles ironed out.
Luke, the historian who wrote Acts, wanted to make the church look as attractive as possible. But when you read the letters of Paul, you see a different picture, a behind the scenes picture. You get the whole story.
The church in Corinth was divided by factions and filled with criticism and backbiting. People there would say, “You’re not a bad Christian, but you’re not as spiritual as I am.” It was a sad situation.
Paul wrote his letter to instruct them and to answer questions they’d posed to him. But he also wrote to deflate their heads and bring them down to earth.
In the middle of his letter, he plunks down a description of love. It’s a famous passage… 1 Corinthians 13. If Paul had a Greatest Hits CD, this would be track #1. This is what we remember from him.
He speaks of love’s priority. Love is more important than anything I say or accomplish. In fact, without love all my accomplishments are worthless. He speaks of love’s permanence. Love outlasts anything and everything. It’s the only think I take with me.
And he gives a thumbnail sketch of love itself, in short phrases. Love is patient, love is kind, and so forth. A list of attributes of love, things love is and is not.
In this middle of his description, he says this about love: “Love is not easily angered. Love keeps no record of wrongs.”
At this point I want to close the book and stare out the window. Because I keep a record of wrongs. I imagine you do too. We all do… it’s human nature. We keep a notebook of grievances. “Can you believe what she did?” “Oh, he’s such an idiot.”
For some people their grievance notebook is small, for others it’s large. Some wear their notebook on a heavy chain around their neck. But we all have one. We get used to it, and it’s hard to imagine life can be lived in any other way. But this description of love in Corinthians reminds us of other possibilities.
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There was a Israeli soldier dying at a hospital in Jerusalem. He wasn’t dying of injuries he’d gotten in battle. He was dying of AIDS… he was gay, and he’d contracted AIDS.
His father was a prominent rabbi in Jerusalem. His father and his family had disowned him. The staff in the hospital knew his story. They avoided his room, only doing the most basic things for him. They were waiting for him to die.
His regiment patrolled the West Bank, where the Palestinians live. His regiment was known for being cruel and brutal.
One day in the hospital, this soldier went into cardiac arrest. The alarms went off, but when the staff saw who it was, they went back to what they were doing. They weren’t rushing to help. After all, they were waiting for him to die.
There was a janitor on the floor, a Palestinian Christian. He knew the soldier’s story. His own village had been attacked by the soldier’s regiment. He had every reason to allow him to die too.
He heard the alarm, and he saw that no one was moving. His heart was moved with compassion. He dropped his broom, and it clattered to the floor. He went to the soldier’s room, and he began to perform CPR on him.
Do you see the image? A Palestinian Christian trying to save the life of an Israeli soldier. The soldier later died. But everyone remembered the act of compassion from a Palestinian Christian janitor. *
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Love keeps no record of wrongs.
This story startles us. It reminds us of possibilities. Somehow the janitor set aside his record of wrongs, his grievance notebook, and helped an enemy
I think what the janitor did was humanly impossible. But the thing is we can be more than merely human… because we live in relationship with the living God, whose power can amaze us
You see… when Paul gives us his description of love, he is really telling us about the character of God. He is telling us what God is like.
God is patient. God is kind. God does not envy or boast. God is not self-seeking. God is not easily angered. God keeps no record of wrongs. God always protects and perseveres. God never fails.
Elsewhere in his letters, Paul speaks of how the love of God can be poured out into our own hearts. It’s something that comes from outside of us… it enables us to do the humanly impossible, to become more than what we are.
So back to the original question. How can I forgive someone who has done wrong. Maybe the answer is… “You can’t. But God can.” God can forgive them.
Live your life daily in the presence of God, open your life to the influence of God. And God will plant in you a seed of love. It will take root and grow, whether you are aware of it or not.
Then the day will come when the person you are angry at will be in need. And you will set aside your record of wrongs, and to your own surprise you will move over to help them.
You will do this because your heart has filled with compassion – compassion drawn from the very heart of God. The God who keeps no record of wrongs.
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(*illustration from Gary M. Burge, Jesus, the Middle-Eastern Storyteller)
Gimme that Rock
A half-pound meteorite plunges into a doctors’ office outside of DC. No one is hurt. The doctors donate it to the Smithsonian. The museum offers $5000, which the doctors plan to donate to Haiti earthquake relief.
A touching story… until the owners of the building step in.
But in an extraterrestrial soap opera still unfolding, the landlords of the Virginia building that houses the doctors’ office now say they are the rightful owners of the meteorite.
Apparently the landlords can sell it for $50,000. Here’s the whole story.
In Praise of Wasted Time
My wife and I stopped at our Internet provider to change our service package. We have finally succumbed to the lure of broadband. While we sat off to the side filling out paperwork, a UPS driver bustled in the room with a large package. He set it on the floor with a thud and bounded over to the receptionist for her signature. As she signed the electronic device, I noted he took out his key ring in his left hand and got the key ready for when he returned to his brown truck.
“They teach him to have his key ready like that,” I thought later. If he saves only three seconds by not fumbling for his key when he gets back to his truck, after 100 stops he will have gained five minutes. UPS drivers make hundreds of deliveries each day, and their training must teach them not to waste a second of time. All for the sake of efficiency.
Lest I imagine this a feature only of the business world, the incident reminded me of John Wesley. He urged his network of itinerant preachers always to be employed and never to waste any time. He followed his own rule too. The great sage Samuel Johnson once looked forward to meeting Wesley, but he was disappointed when he received only ten minutes with the founder of Methodism. It was all the time Wesley would alot him. I’d have been thrilled to waste an hour or a week with Samuel Johnson. My first question of him: “So what was it like to write the dictionary?”
With all my respect for capitalism and Methodism, I wonder if either has discovered the fruitfulness of waste. Eugene Peterson defined Sabbath as wasted time — as good a definition as I’ve seen. Even God wasted the seventh day in this way. Wasted time, I believe, is like a margin on the edge of the page. I can write in the margin, but then the paper gets so cluttered I can’t read it well anymore. Life without a margin — wasted space — makes me nervous, scattered and sad.
My Sabbath happens on Fridays. On the best Fridays, I waste as much time as possible.
Mid-Life Conversions
Paula Huston on the radical spiritual changes than can happen in mid-life, which she calls the third conversion:
Despite my upbringing as a level-headed Lutheran and my later allegiance to a church that locates the source of spiritual growth primarily in the sacraments and liturgical worship, I’ve become convinced that we experience the most surprising spiritual wake-up calls at the most inconvenient times. When we do, we are faced with a choice: we can avoid or ignore them, or we can close our eyes, hold our noses and take the plunge into disruption.
Her “plunge into disruption” took the form of leaving her teaching job and her marriage for a time and going on a pilgrimage to shrines around the world. Hers is a powerful story, offering insight to those of us passing through gentler forms of mid-life conversion.
