The other side of Iowa

LetsSingIt.com - Your lyrics engine on the internet!

Under the floor
Between me and the door
There's a presence I cannot deny
It's under the car
Between me and the stars
I see glory filling up the sky

And I'm certain that He hears me
He listens even as I sing my song
I'm emphatic that He's near me
And I can see His touch in everything here

-switchfoot

The sky is bright, like it is really day shot through a night filter like an old movie. I see for miles, I can look down coutry roads and into small towns as I speed by. I feel connected to them. I'm sure it is because I am connected to the God who's Glory is around me!

On our way

Right now we are on our way to Nebraska to visit my parents. I am sitting in one of the Iowa rest stops (at mile 300 on I80) that offers free WiFi. It is great.

Friday we went to the Moravian's Christmas eve service. I remembered how much more meaningful Christmas seems when holding a baby. I guess between the Putz, the sermon this morning about the great story and our journey right now, I have seen a theme in God's dealings with me. I will follow.

PoMoPLecBlo

I got thinking today about what my lectionary blog would be if it were abbreviated. I kept going on about pomoplecblo. It is my favorite tongue twister today. I started calling Ella Plec girl and Foster Blog man. When Elaine asked Ella where her bib was and I said pomobiblo, she said I'll pomo you, which in her world means she will pummel me.

Ella, our little princess turned two Thursday. We've been learning how our family dynamics have changed with another child. I see God through the love and my own sinfulness when trying to hold the family together in the face of frustration and split attentions. I think that may be a good illustration of what I have been feeling lately. Split, with glimpses of the Holy behind it all.

The Correct Answer

QUEEN. Finally he said "Death." I nudged the King-
KING. Accepting the word "nudge" for the moment, I rubbed my ankle with one hand, clapped him on the shoulder with the other, and congratulated him on the correct answer. He disappeared under the table, and, personally, I never saw him again.
QUEEN. His body was found in the moat next morning.
CHANCELLOR. But what was he doing in the moat, Your Majesty ?
KING. Bobbing about. Try not to ask needless questions.

"The Ugly Duckling" -A. A. Milne

The two women who have had the biggest influence on my ministry here in Sebewaing are people I barely knew. Sister Ella Lohermann's funeral was earlier this year. I ran across a copy of her funeral service today, the first I have ever performed. All I knew about this dear lady was that though she was in a nursing home she was ever faithful to our church. She had a newspaper clipping about our arrival in her Bible. I knew that she love us and prayed for us.

When my family went to visit her in the hospital, we came wanting to pray for her, to minister to her. Instead what I found continues to minister to me to this day. I entered a room filled with the warm presence of God. As she spoke to us, she punctuated her sentences with her continual conversation with her precious Jesus and comments about how beautiful our own Ella was. She prayed over my ministry, over me, over my family, she was already in the presence of the Holy one, one foot in eternity. I remember that my cheeks flushed and I held her hand not wanting to leave that sacred place.

The other woman is being buried tomorrow. Sister Dearing served with her husband as pastors here for 10 years. Their term here ended only by John's death in 1995. They were loved and a dear couple to the church body. Sister Dearing was present at our installation and prayed for Elaine, passing the flame on to her. A picture of that moment hung in the funeral home, I wept to see. Over the year that we've served, she sent us about eight notes of encouragement, saying that we reminded her of she and John when they were young in the ministry. I felt kindred to her. I felt her prayers. I melted at her encouragement.

These dear saints of the old bloodline connected me with the living history of our congregation, but more importantly they were used of God, Angels and flames of fire, ministering to me, and all who knew them. I sat in the funeral home today in silence meditating. It is good to meditate on a life well spent, on death.

Yesterday I had an EGD Scope, a minor surgery taking biopsies from my stomach. I could have died. A thought made all the more real by complications in the operating room. The iv was kinked and I began waking up in the middle of the procedure. They tell me that I flailed; they had to move the iv to the other hand and start over. In the process I inhaled some bile, which has made recovery more painful.

The thing is going into it, and even now, death doesn't scare me. I welcome entering the kingdom of the God I so desperately long for. I know my family will be well taken care of, in good hands. My wife though doesn't like the idea much. I made some flippant comment about the insurance money and she was angry. Perhaps "to live is Christ, and to die is gain," is not fully formed in me that I treat life and death with joke. Perhaps that is just the way of men.

Tomorrow brings more meditation, and goodbyes to another dear saint going home.

[Listening to: Be Glorified - Passion - Better Is One Day (05:30)]

Holy days

Holidays are nice. Yesterday was a wonderful change of pace. I cooked dinner, but even that didn't stress me out. The dinner went together so efficiently that our only problem was that I was done an hour and a half before I was supposed to be. We had my famous double glazed honey ham, equally famous baked hashbrowns, corn, stuffing, biscuits. Mmm, Mmm.

The day was like a pacific island in the middle of a turbulent sea of stress. Holy Leisure, a Sabbaths rest for this pastor who has a tough time observing that commandment. It is not that I work to hard, but rather I am not disciplined enough to make my rest holy.

Yesterday was a holy day. Even today is full of holiday rest. My mouth is lifted, both in smiles and in praise.

Obscene trees

My wife handed me this postcard from one of our larger churches. She looked at me, her head tilted, surprise a smile as she waited for my reaction. I looked at it trying to figure out what she wanted me to see. Was it a presentation of "Scrooge" like they put on at Summit? It didn't look like it. What could it be?

A few seconds went by... Silence.

Then I see it... And I screamed. Out loud.

Stare at the picture in silence, count to thirty and then scream in fright, and you may understand the absurdity of the moment. I realized what I was looking at was a "Singing Christmas Tree." Faribault did a singing Christmas tree. The first year they borrowed the contraption from a church up north. The second year, they decided to build their own tree. It took up the majority of the large platform requiring building of extentions. It reached almost to the top of the vaulted cieling. Once built it had to be used every year. As obscene as it size was the effort, argument and stress that went into what they thougth was their main way to fufil the great commission. I can only recall a few even coming forward, and I know there wasn't follow up.

The tree makes me angry. It got me started looking to be a relational church rather than one wrapped up in its programs and politics.

All those feelings came rushing back when I saw the tree forming the triangle on the lower half of the postcard. I screamed. I tore the card in two and my wife threw it away. I pulled it out of the trash to share it with you.

Labyrinth actualized

Last night I walked a sacred path. I walked with God. I could feel, as I twisted and turned around the labyrinth, my body grow warm. That seems to be the way the body reacts to Spirit. Even when praying for someone you can see their cheeks flush when God is moving on them, or so I learned in college.

My legs tingled, my whole body seemed bathed in the presence of God. When I went into the rosette, the space in the middle, each pedal held a different concept for my meditation. I followed a traditional contemplation of creation. Especially coming to thinking on human kind, I paused before stepping in. The pain of the fall and all our aspirations to know God flowed through my mind. There I lingered a bit. Finally when I came to contemplating the Unknowable Boundless Deity, I hesitated greatly before entering. Then when I lingered in that spot of meditation, my body felt aflame. It felt as though flames licked my hair as long as I stood there. I took my glasses off and wept into my hand.

On the way back out talking with God, I felt like he still hadn't answered any of the questions I sit with, but again he is there with me. I felt him saying through his touch that his presence was my consolation.

When I came out of the labyrinth I reflected on the community aspect of the experience. I had always imagined waling a labyrinth in some lonely place, alone. Passing people praying and meditating was a grace in itself. I watched my friend Rich walk, as he was the last. I watched as he paused in prayer, those moments were dear to me. Even sitting in my seat I felt the Spirit flood over me again, perhaps the way he was at that moment pouring over Rich.

At home as I was falling asleep I could still feel the presence of God bathing me. God is so gracious. I stand in awe of you Lord, that you would meet our seeking hearts even in the midst of a maze, a plaything for our bodies with divine consequence. I adore you, and feel a deep hunger to step into a deep communion of devotion.

[Listening to: Jesus Be Golrified - Skillet - Ardent Worship Live (04:39)]

Space

My office, even the sanctuary is not friendly to my contemplation. My devotional life is marked by restlessness, when I grow restless in my study, I'll go pray until the restlessness passes and I can think again. So much calls my attention and makes me uneasy around what is my workplace.

I've never thought before about my interaction with my environment as an important element to my spiritual formation. I have long been an atmosphere junkie. I love those spaces where the atmosphere is just right, like the coffee shop. I can breathe in the aromas, feel the warmth of my cup and the vapors rise to my face. I find it easy to meet with God there. It's great, but it is a half hour drive to the nearest coffee shop.

I put ten candles on a table in the cleanest corner of my office, next to the couch. This is my first day experimenting with making my space holy. I framed my activities and places with prayer. When I came in this morning I lit the candles and sat in the dark listening for a while. I'm also drawn to praying the Divine Office, or something like it that would be rhythmic. I am interested in the rhythmic ebb and flow, consolation and desolation.

[Listening to: Adding To The Noise - Switchfoot - The Beautiful Letdown (02:51)]

disconnect

Spiritual Direction is kicking my butt. I never thought just talking about where God is taking me would drive me so deeply to discipline. After our conversation, my director picks something for me to sit with, to listen. It is not like being held accountable for my devotional life, and it's not that this month between meetings with my spiritual director has been marked by unusual discipline, but rather I see how dear those times are to me, and how much opportunity has passed me by.

The last couple weeks my blog entries have been sparse. There were times when journaling that I would see gaps a month long. I don't know what was going on during those times. This last couple of weeks though has been a time of desolation. I haven't sat to listen to God, or at least, when I have, I haven't heard well. What I have received applied to my sermon, but was not quick to engage my own heart (?) so that it appeared in my lectionary writings rather than here. Yet, I love him. Yet, I worship him. Yet, I yearn for his Glory.

Lord, I long for your consolation, but do not begrudge this time of growth. Strengthen me, discipline me, and bring my life, my space, my time, and my responsibility into line with your whispers. Thank you.