say, or think about me,
I am a child, I am a child of God.
I really like those blasts from our pasts that Facebook invites us to share. This is the labyrinth at the Franciscan Renewal Center in (of all incongruous places) Scottsdale, Arizona. Facebook reminded me that I was there for an Alban Institute training five years ago.
I tend to walk labyrinths, and other paths of prayer, barefoot. It helps ground me. It slows me down. There’s a sole / soul connection.
Sometimes it hurts. The Scottsdale sand is hard packed, coarse-grained, just a bit painful on my usually-protected feet — but Ah! there were fresh hoofprints that morning. (Deer? Javelina!)
(The labyrinth at the Whidbey Institute, by contrast, is worn into a grass lawn, and when I walked it, was deliciously cool, damp soil.)
A bit of Hopkins’ sonnet, “God’s Grandeur,” speaks of the degradation of earth by our action, and our alienation from earth:
“The soil is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.”
And then comes the poem’s turning point.
Taking off my shoes, becoming re-grounded, is a turning point.
Walking the labyrinth is an exercise in turning.
The lines that follow are after the turning point of the poem.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Hopkins could sense this in the 1800s. Perhaps we will too, when we take off our shoes, and turn.
That’s my response, all the way through Lent, to almost any request that I do, or even think about doing, something new.
Lent and Holy Week and Easter are stressful, for pastors.* The ongoing administrative and programmatic events of a church don’t usually shut down for Lent, but additional elements are added. It all culminates in Holy Week, when the number of worship services to prepare trebles or quadruples, without trebling or quadrupling the amount of available preparation time. To make matters worse, of course, Easter is a high-expectations Sunday: expecting maximum attendance, maximum quality, all while participating in not simply the two usual services, but a Sunrise service, a between-services brunch, and something to do with children, eggs, and candy.
And it’s not easy preaching Easter. It’s a challenge to proclaim the Resurrection to a congregation who, for the most part, skipped the crucifixion. (Not to mention that many of those also skipped every other gospel proclamation since “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill to all people.”)
So, with these seasonal tasks on short deadline … and of course, the normal but random assortment of pastoral & personal crises, memorial services, marriages, and beyond-the-church events as well … whenever an idea comes up for doing something really, utterly wonderful, creative, transformative, I’m liable to say, with all earnestness and honesty, “After Easter.” When I say it, I mean it.
You do NOT want to know how many reminders I’ve set on my smartphone, for the Tuesday after Easter. And you really don’t want to know how many times I’ve said, to others or to myself, “After Easter,” but not written it down. Or not written it down anywhere I can find. Or I’ve written it so cryptically that I can’t possibly figure it out (“DP. ord. smtlr” on a post-it is not really useful by the time After Easter rolls around!).
If you’re one of the people to whom I said, “After Easter,” … please be good enough to touch base with me, to remind me (compassionately, patiently!) that I said I’d get to it.
But please, do it after Easter.
* A clergy version of the Holmes-Rahe Stress Inventory pegs Lent/Easter as twice as stressful as Christmas, and more stressful than moving to a new home.
A while back, I received several emailed copies of a chain-letter from several friends, church members, even pastors.
I’ve been in pastoral ministry for thirty-five years. From the very beginning, chain-letters have been a serious problem to the effectiveness of the Church’s witness in the world. They used to be on paper. Now they’re email, or on FaceBook, or … who knows what’s next?
In the old days, it was the repeatedly received mimeographed, xeroxed, copy-of-a-copy letter on paper, bearing an urgent concern about saving religious broadcasting from Madalyn Murry O’Hair’s non-existent attempt to ban it. It spread at the speed of snail-mail. It did damage. Even in the pre-WWW days, the Federal Communications Commission had to hire staff members simply to respond to the counter-petitions and irate phone calls from concerned, gullible Christians. And it made Christians as a whole seem stupid. (And I received that very chain-letter, updated slightly, within the past 10 years, in email.)
With the growth of the internet, the speed of the spread of chain-letters has simply exploded. No more postage costs, no time delay between send and re-send. Whoosh! “See how great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire!” was James’ exclamation about the spread of gossip and rumors by word-of-mouth. James had no idea how bad it could become, once we got the internet!
The recent email was partly true, partly lies, and a decade old (so that even the true parts were seriously misleading). It is still out there doing harm. Well-meaning people forward things without reading them fully and checking the factuality of the whole thing.
I believe this: if we wish to be effective Christian witnesses in the world, we will need to be “wise as serpents,” not just “innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16). In the “World Wild Web,” this means we should have a healthy caution. We should check out what we read before we even begin to believe it, and we definitely should investigate it before we forward it to others.
It can be harmful to spread stories that are false – or (sometimes more damaging) partly false. It can make people angry (as this email was designed to do by its original compiler, back in 2006).
It can be harmful to others, and to those of us who spread the stories.
It can be harmful to Christ’s church. Like the kid who cried “Wolf!” too often, Christians will be ignored when we tell the truth, if we get a reputation for passing untrustworthy information. When Christians spread falsehood, we damage not only our own Christian witness, but that of all Christians.
I have three simple requests for you who are my church members and my friends (those of you who don’t know me, and especially if I’m not in your email list, you can take it or leave it as you see fit):
These are common sense, common courtesy, and grounded in the Gospel.
Frederick Buechner said that your vocation is where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep hunger.
Vocation – with the same root as “voice” – is about a person’s calling, and the concept that God, the mystery at the heart of all creation, calls and invites you to take on some of God’s mission for the world.
It’s not always about hearing voices.