The God of the Road Trip

I've basically been living out of a suitcase for the past month.  Pack for Thanksgiving.  Unpack from Thanksgiving.  Pack for Cran Hill.  Unpack from Cran Hill.  Pack for Bonaire.  Unpack from Bonaire.  It's gotten so bad that I find myself using travel size containers for my personal hygiene.  Right now my life is a road trip.

Which of course makes a ton of sense because if you've been in relationship with God for any period of time you know . . . God is the God of the road trip.

Abraham had to pack up his things and move to the land of Haran. Joseph, after being captured and sold by his brothers, travelled off to Egypt.  David, while a biblical hero for many, was also a man with the travel agent on his speed dial.  He was constantly on the move.  Jeremiah, even though he didn't want to travel, was told by God "to go with this people."  And go he did, also to the land of Egypt.

God's movement of people wasn't just for the individual.  It involved whole communities as well.  People familiar with the biblical language know the meaning of words like Exodus and Exile.  What we sometimes forget is that it meant significant travel.  In the Exodus, the people of God packed up their things in haste and moved out of the land of Egypt and headed off somewhere to a place called "the Promised Land."  No GPS, or Garmin, or Map Quest directions . . . just a cloud and pillar of fire and a man with a staff.  In the Exile, the people of God were forced to move by people other than God called Assyrians and Babylonians, moved out of their land into a land they were unfamiliar with.

So when we come to Christmas, are we surprised that God uses a road trip to bring about his salvation story?

Mary and Joseph leave Galilee and Nazareth and head toward Bethlehem.  While some people like a donkey in the story because there is no way in our culture of medical progress that we would allow a pregnant lady to walk that far . . . the biblical text doesn't give any indication of a donkey.  Donkey's were for rich people and Mary and Joseph certainly were not rich.  Personally, I think Mary and Joseph  walked.

When they get to Bethlehem there is no room from them in the inn.  Apparently they hadn't checked their reservation with confirmation numbers.  I guess, when you're giving birth to the Son of God, it's easy to overlook these things.   Still, they find a place to stay . . . in the stable where sheep and other animals eat and find shelter.  I can only imagine the type of review Mary and Joseph would offer on Trip Advisor about their stay in Bethlehem.

While we search for "a warm sweater with a cup of hot cocoa gathered around the Christmas tree" type of experience for our celebrations of Jesus' birth . . . sometimes we need to remember that God is the God of the road trip. To remember that Mary and Joseph were probably exhausted from their travel, just wanted to sleep in their own beds and were sick and tired of living out of suitcases . . . all in the middle of giving birth to a baby.  To remember that wise men came from the east following a star.  To remember that Shepherds ran from what they knew to what they didn't know and when they went back they were completely different people.  To remember that Mary and Joseph didn't stay in Bethlehem very long until they were headed off to Jerusalem for Jesus' circumcision and then to Egypt to avoid Herod's jealousy.  Is it any wonder that later in Jesus' ministry that he said "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has no where to lay his head."  His life had been and is a road trip.

Right now, I find myself there.  Living out of suitcases, traveling from place to place, sharing life with people who speak different languages and live in different rhythms.  I don't feel settled or comfortable or confident from day to day.  It's all new.  And maybe, just maybe, that's the point.  That when we are in relationship with God, when we are traveling down the gospel road, when we are following the cloud or the pillar or the star or the angel's message or the prophecy of God . . . that this is all new because we are being made new . . . made new in Christ Jesus.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pack for Orlando.

Only after the Descent

It is Sunday afternoon December 4.  Kendra and I are in Bonaire sitting on the back of a scuba diving boat.  Looking around us, the sky is mysterious and cloudy, a little like the rummage of thoughts bouncing around inside of our heads.  We have been on the Dutch Antilles island of Bonaire for 24 hours and are about to take our first ever boat dive.

Geared up with all our equipment we stand at the edge of the boat about to jump in.  We have been trained and prepared and yet there is no substitute for experience when it comes to adventures like this.  What will it be like?  What will we see?  Will we remember all we are supposed to remember?  There is an excited nervousness ruminating in both of us.

Mark, the boat captain and dive master, yells "the pool is open . . . time to go diving!"  With respectful fear for what we are about to do we edge ourselves to the platform.  It's time to take the plunge.  To descend below the surface of the ocean and discover the world under the water.  With one final deep breath we leap . . . into the unknown . . . into a world we know nothing about.

Eugene Peterson, pastor, writer, scholar and friend, reflecting on the call of being a pastor, writes these words in his book Under the Unpredictable Plant, "Gradually, and graciously, elements of vocational spirituality came into view.  The canyons and arroyos were not so much bridged as descended, and in the descent I reached a bottom from which I could ascend as often as I descended (but only after the descent) with a sense of coherence, the personal and vocational twinned."

"But only after the descent."

What did Peterson mean by that?  What does descending have to do with anyone's life . . . let alone a pastor's?  To descend means to drop down, to sink or to drop lower than the place we currently are . . . which of course is completely contrary to anything we experience in this world.  We live in a world of ascent.  Corporate structures, educational systems, government hierarchies, even families are all shaped by the mindset of climbing the ladder.  We all live in a world formed by a top down mentality.  What does Peterson mean by "but only after the descent?"  I was about to find out . . . off the back of a boat . . . on the remote island of Bonaire.

Letting the air out of my buoyancy compensator (a fancy name for a vest filled with air) I slowly started to descend down into the ocean.  I was unprepared for what I saw.  Beauty raged in colors and formations I had never seen.  Corals and creatures twisted in dependent relationship dancing back and forth with the surge of ocean currents.  My eyes were as wide as a five year old child on Christmas morning.  Life was abundant here . . . full and free . . . beautiful and striking . . . discovered only in the descent.

It strikes me that the descent is the life Christ revealed to us.  "He came from heaven to earth" we sing year round.  "Infant holy, infant lowly, for his bed a cattle stall" we sing during the Advent and Christmas season.  "But he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness" Paul writes.

This is the stunning beauty of the gospel.  It is also the stunning beauty of baptism.

In baptism we descend with Christ.  We descend to the depths of brokenness and separation and sin and death; and in doing so we reach the bottom only to discover the beauty of grace.  Grace filled with the vibrant colors of God's mercy and compassion.  Grace that floods us with life even though we don't deserve it.  Grace that brings us to the surface as new people with a new identity and a new way of living.  Grace that unites us with Christ . . . but only after the descent.

The Love that Rescues Me

As we prepare to head to Bonaire for our first exploration of the sea . . . I have three random influences bouncing around in my mind.  The first is from a marine biologist, the second a fellow diver, and the third an Australian musician.

In this months copy of Outside magazine there is a fascinating interview between writer Michael Roberts and marine biologist Wallace J. Nichols.  Nichols believes that being in the ocean changes us for the better.  "If I walk in and say 'This is my friend the Stanford neuroscientist, and his research using brain scans shows that sitting by the ocean has the same calming effect as meditation on reducing stress' -suddenly the coast becomes a public health issue."  Simply stated, even science is exploring the power in the water.

I have also been reflecting on a statement I came across from a fellow diver.  "God lives in the ocean.  When I dive I go to see him.  I wish I could stay longer."  While the theology is poor, the expression creates a curiosity in me.  What will it be like to explore the deeps of coral and sea life and a system so few really understand?  Will the book of Jonah take on a new meaning?  Will the crossing of the Red Sea or the disciples going to fish after the resurrection take on new meaning?  I guess we will find out in the next few days.

Finally, I've been listening to one particular song throughout this journey of Sabbatical.  It is a song by Australian singer Michelle Tumes.  The title is Healing Waters.  The lyrics are as follows:


I've built a bridge, All of my strength cannot cross over 
I stand at the edge, The end of a road that I have followed 
Sinking from the weight of my own world, Wanting the waves of Your ways to wash my feet


Healing waters . . . Healing waters 
Solace flows, Through the river of forgiveness to my soul 
Oh, I need You . . . Healing waters


Pour over me, Water to clean all my intentions 
Baptising streams, I swim in the freedom of redemption 
Floating on the sea of purity, Knowing I can dive in the love that rescues me


Memories are raging high, Floods so deep they touch the sky 
All the things I've done to You, All the parts of life untrue 
Healing comes from outstretched hands, Saving me from what I am 


Carry me . . . Carry me.

I love the line "Knowing I can dive in the love that rescues me."  As we leave for Bonaire today, may our experience be the height and depth and width and length of God's love.  May it be your experience as well.

Baptism Imagination

Early this morning, before the sun was even up, I stood on the edge of Cranberry Lake.  Glass smooth water surrounded me with the air a still crisp clean.  There was no sound but the sky screamed to be noticed as the sun was pressing us toward dawn.  God's creation was coming to life and it was stunningly beautiful.

But I was here for a reason beyond beauty.  Something I wanted to wonder about in a place that would assist my imagination come to life.  The specific was how Moses, the famous and well known biblical character, got his name.

When we read the text carefully we find the people of Israel in a harsh place.  Motivated by insecurity and fear the Egyptians have pressed hard against God's people.  Oppression is rampant and abuse is overflowing.  It hits the crescendo of ugly when Pharaoh orders an infant genocide of all boys.  "Throw them in the Nile River" he orders, "so they drown."  Which is another way of saying, "So they don't come up."

And then a side story that becomes the main story.  Which is why I stood at the edge of Cranberry Lake this morning.

There is a Levite man who marries a Levite woman.  The woman becomes pregnant and gives birth to a beautiful baby boy.  You know the story, I'm sure of it.  Wanting to protect her child from Pharaoh's orders the woman hides her son.  After three months she can't do it anymore . . . and so she gets a basket boat made of papyrus.  She waterproofs it with tar and pitch and placed the boy in the basket.  She then sets it afloat in the Nile.  This is what I'm wondering, what was that like?

What was it like for a mother to have to place her three month old in a waterproof basket and leave him?  To set him on the surface of the very place so many Hebrew boys had lost their life.  Can you imagine?  I try.

I imagine she brought him under the cover of darkness.  This is not something you do in the daylight.  I imagine that she stood waist deep in the water holding onto the basket, rocking it back and forth as she lingers for one last time.  I imagine that her face contorts in sadness as she begins to weep, pushing the basket into the water and walking away.  I imagine a level of grief and guilt and pain that I, to be honest, am unfamiliar with.  I imagine that her mother's heart cries out in a prayer to God for something different to happen. 

Miraculously something different does happen.

The daughter of Pharaoh, the offspring of the very man who gave the genocide order, comes down to the Nile to bathe.  This is a strange place the Nile.  Children die here and children bathe here, it just depends on which side you're born.  As she bathes, she sees something.  A basket under the camouflage of reeds.  She sends her maid servant to see what it is.  When the basket is brought to her, she opens it and finds a baby boy . . . crying.  Crying like every other Hebrew baby boy brought to the Nile.  Crying like the nation of Israel under harsh oppression and abuse.  Crying like everyone of us who has ever suffered.  Pharaoh's daughter, the text says, is moved by the child. 

The child's sister swoops in, as a Hebrew girl she has no reason to fear.  She suggests getting a nursing mother for the child which seems like a great idea to Pharaoh's daughter.  The sister gets the mother and the mother and Pharaoh's daughter have a conversation.  She will do what she wanted to do all along, only now she'll get paid for doing it. 

And then a remarkable thing happens.  Something I've never seen.  Something I've skipped over all these years.

Pharaoh's daughter names the child.  Not the Levite father.  Not the mother.  Not the sister.  The daughter of the oppressor, the offspring of evil, the one who bathes in the pool of death, names the child.

He shall be called Moses because I pulled him out of the water.

This story makes me smile because it's my story.  It's your story too.  It's the story of baptism.  I was supposed to die but I've been found by the offspring of another king and that offspring pulled me out.  Out of the waters of death and into the remarkable life of being alive.  Alive in Christ.

Standing beside Cranberry Lake early this morning, before the sun was up, I tried to imagine.  I try to imagine what it was like.  I think I know.

Laundry, Baptism and the Sacred Ordinary

Today is laundry day.  Having just come home from Ohio for Thanksgiving, I get to turn around and head out to Cran Hill Ranch for a week of silence and solitude at the Pastors Prayer Cabin.  In order to do that, I have to have some clean clothes . . . so it's laundry day.  Which, of course, is an ordinary every day task that reminds me of baptism.

You know what this looks like.  The worn and stinky are gathered from the places they have been tossed; laundry baskets, bedroom floors, gym bags, or in our case, from plastic bags we have kept separate throughout our week with family.  It's stunning to realize how quickly it all piles up.  With great care the colors and whites are separated, each garment placed in its appropriate pile; and then one by one the piles are immersed into the cleansing power of the washer.  Soon, the bell tolls, and clean clothes are moved from one machine to the next as the dryer puts the finishing touch on the old is gone and the new has come.  Is there anything more naturally comforting than warm jeans from the dryer or clean sheets stretched out fresh waiting for a new night of sleep?

Eugene Peterson, in his contemporary translation of the bible called The Message, writes this of David's confession in Psalm 51: "Soak me in your laundry and I'll come out clean, scrub me and I'll have a snow-white life."  I like that translation because doing laundry reminds me of what God has done for me through the cross and resurrection of Jesus.  He's made me clean from the wear and the stink of my dirty laundry called sin.  Not just sort of clean . . . but snow white and laundry fresh clean.

I wonder how much we recognize these every day baptismal reminders surrounding us all the time.  The dishes moving from the dinner table to the dish washer to the cup board speak of God's baptismal promises.  Cars entering a car wash covered in mud and grim exit out the other side with a show room shine.  Bed head and crusty sleep boogers are washed away in the jets of a shower head and we stare at a new person in the mirror.  "New mercies every morning" the bible says, and a simple shower reminds us of such.  Even a rainy day, where mercy is falling like a sweet sweet rain, can remind us of those powerful life giving promises at work within every single one of us.

Our culture teaches us to look for the extraordinary in the sensationalized and overly dramatic.  God's way is different.  God teaches us to look for the extraordinary in the simple ordinary things of life . . . what some theologians called the "sacred ordinary."

We find the sacred ordinary in things like bread and wine which invite us to a holy table . . . in things like the vine and branches of a tree in which we are to abide to bear fruit . . . in things like the simple power of light that shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it . . . and yes, even in things like laundry where the stink and stench of piled up sin are washed away.

Today is laundry day . . . and laundry day reminds me of "sacred ordinary" promises God has made in my life to wash me clean.  Not even warm jeans can compare with that.

Coming Home

I wake up this morning in one of my favorite places in the whole wide world: Celeryville Ohio, Kendra's hometown.  My college room mates used to call it "Pickleville" and we have heard on more than one occasion the term "Hick Town."  We get it, but still, we love this place.

This rail road town speckled with drive thru party stores whose best restaurant goes by the name of "Uncle Dudley's" is a place our family can't wait to get to.  It's not the scenery.  It's not the ambience.  It's not the 9 hole golf course you have to circle twice to make up 18.  Trust me, you don't get post cards with pretty pictures and inviting environments from Celeryville.  What you do get is family.  A family that is real . . . entirely authentic . . . genuinely caring . . . that let's you be who you are with no strings attached.

You don't have to impress anyone here and yet they always leave an impression.  From late night conversations that cross the spectrum of what people talk about, to meals that go on for days, to man games in the woodshed that include eighty something year old Uncle Rog and twelve year old cousin Ben, to golf wrapped up like the Michelin Man just to keep warm; this is a place we all love.

With this week being Thanksgiving and the source of income among the family found in growing and selling vegtables, it has to be said.  You've never experienced Thanksgiving until you celebrate Thanksgiving with a vegtable farmer.  They do it big.  The party begins on Wednesday and lasts until sometime on Sunday afternoon.  Sleep is optional. 

Coming to Celeryville reminds me of a single line you find in every gospel.  The line is simply this: "And Jesus went to his hometown."  He went home.  Even though he wasn't welcomed as a prophet in his hometown . . . even though they couldn't get over his being Messiah instead of the son of a carptenter . . . even though they were as stiff necked as a man in a hosptial brace . . . he went home.  It wasn't the place, it was the people . . . and they were people he loved.

Fredrick Buechner spends three books of memoires writing about the human desire to go home.  About the inate human longing for emotional connection and acceptance.  Essentially, Buechner concludes, that the true home we are all longing for is the place where God is and the people God places in our lives to remind us of Him.  Ultimately the longing is for heaven but there are moments and places where we experience the grace of heaven on earth.

Celeryville is a grace of heaven that reminds me of God.   For that I'm thankful.  Seems an appropriate beginning to Sabbatical.

Stunned

The end of Sunday's combined worship service literally stunned me.  To have a congregation gather around your family in care and blessing, to have friends invest time and effort into creating a memorable video, to hear the excitement and encouragement of heading out on Sabbatical; it was all very humbling.  With only a few more days until we officially begin I've find myself contemplating the blessings God has surrounded my life with.

Here's some brief insight into what's rolling around in my mind:

• I've said this often but it bears repeating: the staff of Faith Reformed Church is incredible.  The genuine investment and passion they have shared with me over the past ten years has been awesome.  These are sisters and brothers in Christ who I love deeply.
• The leadership support within the Faith Church community is inspiring.  Each member of consistory over these past ten years has truly influenced my life in so many meaningful ways.  Thank-you!
• I love the value of being a multi-generational Church.  I am absolutely convinced this is what heaven looks like.  To listen to our children sing while the Sanctuary Choir waits patiently for their turn to share their gifts before God always brings goosebumps.  This truly is one of God's greatest gifts to all of us.
• I'm excited that we are learning to redefine when "Church" happens.  I get to see Church every Thursday night at Vitale's with some of the most caring men I know.  I see it on Wednesday nights as tables are filled and pizza is served and surface conversations cross over into the real places of life.  Please . . . please . . . may we never stop doing these things.
• No church is more caring or compassionate than Faith Reformed Church.  It is beauty on display to watch us care for each other.  Thanks to all those who secretly pray, send cards, or just offer a helping hand.  Although, seemingly small, it is the gospel coming to life.
• While I'm grateful for our church family, I'm also so very thankful for my own family.  One of my repeated saying is "I married out of my league and my kids take after their mom."  It wouldn't be so hokey if it wasn't absolutely true.  Thank-you Kendra for being the most honest and authentic person I know.  You are wife extraordinaire.  Thank-you Kiley and Mark for living faithfully into the people God has created you to be.  As your father, it is an absolute riot to see you live in the sweet spots.
• Finally, but most importantly, I am humbled by God's continued and constant grace.  I don't deserve any of this and yet I thank Him every day.  In the words of Psalm 150 "Praise Him according to his surpassing greatness."  In word: God . . . You are stunning!

The Grace of Getting Lost, Being Late, and Lacking Vision

Today was a water day.  It was also a testing day.  Level 1, 2, & 3 testing today with Level 4 & 5 testing on September 10.

Everyone was sort of anxious.  We tried to be ready, we really did.  During the week, we all re-read parts our text book.  All of us re-watched the Open Water Certification video.  Friday morning we went over all of our equipment and tested everything for safety.  Unfortunately, when something is completely new, no matter how much you know there is no substitute for experience.  Oh the joy of being a novice!

So there we were this morning . . . excited . . . nervous . . . ready to go . . . and just wanting to crawl back in bed.  It's weird how emotions and worry can play havoc on our insides, isn't it?

Twelve novice divers started with our log books, pens in hand, ready to learn.  We could do this we thought.  Then it started.  Chuck Larson (one of the most educated and experienced divers in the world) going through each page like a cheetah chasing a gazelle.  When we all caught up, finally breathing again, he said "Ok, it's time to go diving!"  Everyone loaded up in the vehicles and headed to Gull Lake.

One Problem.  Our family got kind of lost.  Not real sure about our log books and now we couldn't even follow a map.  Not the start we were hoping for.  Quickly unloading, we got everyone hooked up, buddied up, and suited up . . . and then we were in the water.

I don't know if you're familiar with Gull Lake, but it's a very cloudy lake.  Meaning, it might be great for all that water activity on the surface, but it makes it very difficult to see when you're under it.  No exaggeration here, the visibility at best was about 5 feet.

So . . .  just a quick review . . . we don't know what we are doing (novice) . . . we don't know how to get there (lost) . . . and we can't see (no vision) . . . and we are being tested.

It reminded me of Abraham.  God comes to him and says "Go to the land I will show you."  Doesn't know where he's going, can't see very far in front of him, and still he goes.  It reminded me of Moses.  Sees a burning bush, stops to see what's happening and then finds himself called to be a leader of a people under the yoke of oppression and slavery.  What did he know about being a leader or even a trip leader for that matter?  It reminded me of Peter.  Just a family business fisherman minding his own boat who suddenly finds himself on the adventure of a life time even though he didn't know it was the adventure of a lifetime.  It reminded me of Paul.  A passionate protestor to the way of Jesus who suddenly finds himself blinded by what's really true and what really means something.  What did he know about being a missionary or a bible book writer?

It amazes me how much today felt like what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

I'll be honest, most days I don't know what I'm doing as a husband, a father, or a pastor.  I pretend that I do, but I don't.  Some days things happen so quickly that I'm just trying to keep up.  Some days I'm late getting somewhere because I don't know where I'm going.  Some days I can't see beyond the five feet in front of my life because there is too much debris in the water.

And then something amazing happens.  At the end of the day, the instructor comes up to you and says "You did great today!"

Not knowing what you're doing, not knowing where you're going, not able to see five feet in front of you and still the Great Teacher is proud of you.  That my friends is grace.  It's true in scuba but it's even more true in life with Jesus.

"O for grace to trust you more" the great hymn sings because grace is what we all need.  Abraham needed it.  Moses needed it.  Peter needed it.  Paul needed it.

And today . . . a family learning to scuba dive on an August Saturday in Michigan needed it too.

Preparation . . .

Even though our Sabbatical doesn't officially begin until November . . . we already find ourselves taking some important first steps.  Certification, as in Scuba certification.  We had no idea how demanding this would be.

First, you are required to read through an entire book on scuba diving, watch a video, and then take a test on each chapter.  The requirement for passing is simply getting everything right.  I guess, when you are breathing underwater at 80 feet below the surface, it's important to know how everything works.  Who knew?

Next, we had to sit in a classroom for three hours going over all the ins and outs of scuba equipment, preparation for a dive, oxygen and nitrogen levels in the blood and how they change in different pressure levels, and then we had to take an exam.  The standard for passing is 80%.  We all passed with flying colors.

I'm amazed at the knowledge and insight of our instructor Rob Stam.  He's been helpful with all of us, but especially with Kiley and Mark.  In fact, the entire Ocean Sands Scuba crew has been awesome.  They know the importance of safe diving and are diligent in making sure we understand as well.  Someone told me that if you get certified through Ocean Sands you can get certified any where in the world.  Based on what we've experienced so far, I believe them.  It also gives me great comfort to know we are being trained by the best.

We have almost 10 hours invested and we haven't even been in the water!  It makes me wonder.

I wonder about preparation.  How well did I prepare for being married or for being a parent?  How well do I currently prepare to begin each day or to prepare myself for worship on a Sunday morning?  How often do I find myself learning in preparation from the One who knows how it all works?  How well do most of us prepare ourselves for anything?

A mentor from my past used to say "It's time to grab the lunch pail and head down to the factory floor and put in the hard work . . . of getting ready."  Even though it's still months away, I want to be ready for Sabbatical.  I want to be ready as a Church.  I want to be ready as a family.  Along with the Sabbatical Committee, we are committed to grab the lunch pail and hit the floor to get ready.

But it's more than that.  Sure, I want to be ready for Sabbatical . . . but more importantly, I want to be ready for every day as a follower of Jesus.  As a follower of Jesus who is a husband, a father, a pastor, a family member, a friend.

One of my favorite worship songs as a teenager was "Sanctuary."  Do you know this song?  If you do, sing it with me . . . "Lord, prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, with thanksgiving, I'll be a living, sanctuary for You."  Over the next few months, I want to sing that song a lot.  I want to sing it . . . to hum it . . . to pray it . . . to whisper it . . . to shout it.  Lord, prepare me.  Lord, prepare us.

It's an important first step.