No Less than MOab, Utah

A long-view of the Windows at Arches National Park and the La Sal mountains in the background

There is a certain beauty in a place where humans aren’t supposed to be living.  I found that today at Arches National Park, in Moab, Utah.  We traversed this national park for a little more than 3 hours before heading into the little community of Moab.  Brilliant hues of red, blue, and green.  (Some of which was actually vegetation – you’ll have to visit this place to see why I used the word some)

Of course, there was the obstacle course of humanity that invades Arches on a daily basis.  They were all behind me in a line as I drove the single-lane road through the park, pulling off occasionally for the opportune photo op and allowing the gathered train of traffic to pass on by.  This happened a lot, for both photos and cars.

Simon and Garfunkel once sang, slow down, you move too fast, you got to make the morning last.  While I didn’t kick down the cobblestone, but did manage to trip over a firmly rooted sagebrush while enjoying the scenery (THAT was embarrassing), I felt a rushed presence of the tourists behind me, as if they had another park to go to today.

It wasn’t too long ago, while at a retreat for confirmation youth, I experienced the same phenomena.  I purposefully entered into a prayer labyrinth ahead of the youth to see how long a one would form behind me.  It didn’t take long.  Before I knew it, I had to ‘pull over’ to allow a train of youth in the labyrinth to get to where they needed to go…the center of the labyrinth.  I imagine for many of these youngsters a prayer labyrinth was a new experience.  Not knowing what else to do, you just go with the flow, right?

Life can be lived much the same way.  Without knowing how to live it yourself, you could get sucked by the extreme flow of secular society, rushing down the rapids of life trying to hold on or even blowing wherever life blows you without holding onto something firmly planted…something…say, for example, God.

With the tragic myriad of activities for any one of our family members to be involved with, when would anyone have the time to slow down.  You have to drive through that proverbial park as fast as you can so you can get to another park as soon as possible, right?  Because that’s what life has taught you.  But do you miss a chance to perfectly frame a photo for a memory book?  Would you have the opportunity to be so lost in wonder that you trip over the very wonder you’re wondering about, looking goofy as ever in front of a few hundred people?  Would you even know to stop and take in the various colors of a land that you may only see once?

I’ve got the 59th Street Bridge Song rolling through my head…  especially the last line of the song… Life, I love you, I’m feelin’ groovy.

Maybe, just maybe, you all can join me in singing that first line – slow down, you’re movin’ too fast, you’ve got to make the morning last…today, tomorrow, and the weeks to come.  Life, I love you.  I’m feeling very groovy.

Go West, Young Man…

Once you’re past Grand Junction you enter… Utah… and many miles of barren lands.

So we’re here.  Well… Let me edit that.  We’re at our first stop.  Moab, Utah.  FAR from being ‘here.’  After 430 miles and a fill up 150 miles ago for gas (yes, mileage sucks.  No pun intended) we’ve arrived at a lovely RV just south of Arches National Park, where many a Dr. Scholl’s have trod (let that one sink in a bit).

The weather is mildly beautiful and, being 400+ miles from the eastern edge of the Mountain Time Zone, we had plenty of light to set up camp.

Now I can breathe.  Truth be told, I still drive tense – I had a muscular knot in my right shoulder that ached something fierce while navigating I-70 westbound and the lovely headwind that accompanied our ride.

Still, the journey has begun.  My head is filled with thousands of thoughts of what may happen during my sabbatical journey.  My only prayer is to save a tire blow-out for within a mile from home.

Actually, I have many prayers.  Prayers asking God keep us safe, and lead me to people in sacred conversation, and please, God, be a presence back home…at my church…that they may be lead to recognize your spirit and move forward in delight, just to name a few.  Rev. Mark Sandlin, a pastor in the PC(USA) in North Carolina, wrote in magnificent depth of his own sabbatical journey.  Another one of my prayers is to meet Mark when we journey through N.C. this coming May.  Many questions Mark asked then are my own today.

After five years of ordained ministry I am feeling the burn.  This journey, Lenten liturgical calendar timing be damned, is something I have longed for.  Our church has grown to a point.  We’ve received many young families.  A category most church-growth models show to me a less-than-dependable area of growth in the Church.  While I was excited about this our church has lived into that model reality.  Our average church worship attendance has trickled down like pee from a 12 and-a-half week-old baby’s diaper onto a clean pair of pants – takes some time, but eventually you notice.

So I figured we’ve made ‘members’ but not disciples.  There is this sense that people want a church to belong to but not a church to be.  What I mean is some people want a place of worship that’s there when they need it and so they can also tell their friends that they go this particular church or that unique church – but they can’t commit.  I’d say that less than 30% of our church members attend worship regularly.  That means that more than 70% of our church members hardly attend at all.

I was raised that going to church wasn’t an option.  I did.  Period.  No choice was given to me.  Even though I didn’t understand the pastor, even though I was bullied by other kids in the church, even though I’d rather stay at home a worship the almighty Atari I still went to church.  What that taught me was what I needed to be taught – Commitment.  And not just any commitment, but commitment with a capital C.  My parents’ level of commitment was passed on to me and for that I am grateful.

Now, instead of having to go to church.  I get to.  I long for this ideal to be the standard for all Christians.  A deep-seeded desire to want to be in church, to want to be the church.  Maybe someday that’ll happen.  But on we go.  Go west, young man… and then north.  And then back west before going east, south, north and back west again.

By the way, if you see me on the side of the road with a flat, kindly stop by for some friendly and potentially sacred conversation.  I’ll be waiting for the Good Sam Roadside Assistance to repair the dual-ie.

 

You Can’t Take It with You

The lists are many and they are, or at least they were, long.  The countdown to departure is now less than 60 hours. (Cue Europe’s The Final Countdown intro – sorry about that earworm)  Mentally I’m gathering and sorting, packing and re-packing hundreds of items needed for the trip.  I say mentally…It’s been snowing here – kinda hard to physically pack in those conditions.

As my anxiety for packing ebbs and flows, I realize the sheer amount of ‘stuff’ I’m choosing to leave behind on this journey.  The lump of it all can be called “negativity.”  And I could’t be more excited about it.

I was just on my Facebook account before hitting up this post.  I have been systematically eliminating some peoples’ posts from my Facebook feed due to negativity.  Well, that and major differences in political opinions.  However, I could tolerate political opinions if they were diplomatically stated and not these un-deserved attacks against other decent human beings – which, bottom line, is what these people are – human beings.  I keep thinking to myself when did all these friends of mine lose their respect for humanity?  Then I began to wonder if they had respect for humanity…ever.

I love people.  I really do.  And I am frustrated beyond Biblical proportion (Whatever that means, I just think the phrase “Biblical proportion” is cool even if it’s grammatically incorrect) that other’s negativity affects me so.  My solution?  Simply hide their feeds and posts from my own Facebook feed.  Yet, for every friend I’ve hidden, another pops up.  Aw, crap.  At the rate I’m going I may not have many friends left on my feed.

Then one might wonder, um, Greg, how are you choosing your friends?  Darn it… that’s a good question.  One I don’t have an answer for.

When I hit the road, all negativity stops.  I’m going for a refreshing ride with loving family and a neurotic cat.  (I can’t really include the cat into the complete ‘loving’ category.)  I’m going on Sabbatical to enjoy other’s company, to listen to the faith journey of others’ and learn something new.  I’m going to give myself a reprieve from the absurd (Facebook political memes – most of which, if you do the honest research, are complete B.S.) and relish in the satirical (bacon memes, of course.  All of which are healthy and good for you, too – only a decent cardiologist will tell you otherwise).

A trip like this demands luggage packed with a good sense of good humor.  Matter of opinion, nearly EVERY trip demands a healthy packing of humor.  Could I possibly live for 3 months, 9,800 miles with negativity?  Nope.  Not gonna do it.  Not packing that.  That can stay behind… preferably on the curb to be picked up by local trash trucks so its gone when I return.  After all, in this great creation of God’s, negativity only sets us three lightyears back of where we’d all like to be.

Negativity.  Leave it behind.  Being positive is a choice – not matter who’s President of the United States (I really want to say, “GET OVER IT ALREADY!”  But I’ll refrain)  Join a journey with hope, faith, trust, a 3-month old baby girl, a neurotic cat, and the humor (or complete stupidity) of two adults willing to embark on such a trip.  Or, choose to take a positive trip of your own.

Trust me, it’ll be a trip!  Less than 60 hours…  Where’d I put the baby?

Bats in the Belfry

There’s a joke I have shared amongst my ordained peers…  Wanna hear it?  Here it goes. (I hope you caught that In Living Color reference)

Once upon a time there was a large byzantine church with an equally large ministry staff.  (And no, that’s not the joke.)  Every Sunday as the crowd filled the pews in the ornate sanctuary their chatter was only muffled by the chirping of a rather large population of bats that lived in the belfry.  Fed up with the chatter as only a senior pastor could be (after all, who talks over the pastor’s sermon?) the esteemed clergy climbed up into the bell tower, trapped all the bats, relocated them miles away into a cave.  Rather proud of his endeavors, he returned to the pulpit with a smug appearance only to have it washed away with the return of the excessive chirping noise emanating from the belfry.

The associate pastor said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”  He, too, climbed the belfry’s ladder armed with a shotgun loaded with powerful blanks.  The confident young man fired off a few rounds into the tower, scattering the bats at once.  Yet, the following Sunday, the chirping was ever more present, ever more powerful – as if the bats were out for revenge.

As it so happened, this gangly, underpaid, part-time, guitar-toting youth minister approached the senior staff and says to the ministers, “I got this.”  He disappeared into the belfry and a short time later reemerged with a polite grin on his face.

The following Sunday morning you could hear a pin drop.  It was so quiet the members didn’t even recognize the pastor’s voice…and neither did he.  The senior pastor and the associate pastor approached the youth minster after worship and excitedly asked, “How’d you do it?!?”

“It was easy,” replied the youth pastor, “I confirmed them.”  (Okay, now you may chuckle.)

This joke has received better mileage than a Prius with a 100 mph tailwind.  Yet every time I tell it I laugh a little less.  I laugh less because there’s a reality that myself and my peers who laugh with me are all to familiar with.  Once we “confirm” our youth, most of them, if not all, disappear from the church.

I used to think this was all a problem with me as a pastor.  What was I doing or saying that estranged these young folk after Confirmation was over?  I’ve wrestled with this question for as many years as I’ve been in ordained ministry…which, altogether now, is only five years.  “Is only five years.”  (I hope you’ve caught the Airplane reference there.  Just don’t call me surely.)

What I have come to learn is that this problem goes beyond the local church setting and into the local church member’s home.  The understanding of Confirmation as more a rite-of-passage than an actual acknowledgment of their parent’s vows at their baptism is one part.  The other part is two-fold.  Part A is the family that perpetuates this ideal that Confirmation is just another ceremony that has to be done because “I did it at that age” or “this is the church that I was confirmed in, too.”  Part B is the local church staff that allows this ideal to be perpetuated without addressing it or, at least, trying to educate the general membership – some may have long  forgotten the meaning behind many of the church traditions and have simply begun to “go through the motions.”

I’ve been witness to families who play Confirmation as “there for when they need it” and then they’re gone.  The only value in the program is just to be “confirmed” – whateverthehell that means.  Whatever promises are made by the youth to participate, to serve, to worship, to be a part of this new church family are only as strong as the investment the parents have in said church.  Little investment equals bats in the belfry.  Greater investment equals…well…a guy like me, even though it took much time to fully maturate.

Keep in mind that I find the local church to be equally as dismissive of confirmation as many parents are.  Even members in these churches have no desire to reframe their own affirmation of baptism to dive into a deeper understanding of relationship with their God.  Sunday morning worship, for lack of a better phrase, is merely “going through the motions.”

I am taking an online coaching course from The Center for Progressive Renewal, based in Atalanta, Georgia.  I heard a statistic that was more disturbing; hardly anyone in our church experience God within the worship service.

We (the Church) are dramatically disconnected in this highly connected world.

I’m not sure the answer.  I find myself wanting to make more rules and structure for a disciplined Confirmation program… which is completely opposite of what my heart speaks is needed.  I want youth to come to me and say, “Pastor Greg, I want to be confirmed this year” without me having to ask for a parent-youth informational meeting at the beginning of the confirmation season.  I want these youth to be mature.  Perhaps more mature than their parents or even me.

Today we celebrated Confirmation Sunday.  Eight youth made commitments to the church.  Six of them I know I’ll see in church through their high school years, at least when their travel sport of choice isn’t playing on Sundays.  Five of them I’m pretty sure I’ll see if they stick around after high school.  Four of them I see as potential leaders.  Two of them have greater potential in ordained ministry.

When I look back on the classes of Confirmation I have had the privilege to lead, my best reflective guess is that roughly 20% of the youth confirmed in the last six years make regular appearances in worship.  Compared to other churches in our denomination, that’s hardly the joke of the bats in the belfry.

But it could be better.

12 days… But who’s counting?

The Itch…

I’ve got it.  The “itch.”  “Senioritis.”  Attention deficit… SQUIRREL!

Two weeks and we’re on the road for a three-month sabbatical.  Well, I’m on sabbatical.  My wife, on the other hand, will be fresh off of maternity leave and back to work, 3/4 time for about a month before full-time resumes.  She’s stressed, but for totally different reasons than I am.  For her, it’s all about the packing and placement of said pack”ages.”  For me, it’s all about tying up loose ends.  Every time one is tied up, about a million more present themselves.

I am itchy to get on the road and journey with my family…and my God, who I will be praying to on a more than regular basis out of sheer need to arrive at our destinations without conflict.  (Fat chance?)

I will also be praying for a little direction.  I’m fried on the ministerial inside.  I could use some rest and guidance for my pastoral life during these coming months.

An acquaintance of mine writes for the Facebook page called The God Article.  I love this page.  It’s a progressive Christian page with its foundations clearly in what I would think is religious ‘reasonability.’  Meaning – all is spoken out of love.  I like that.  Last year, this author left his own North Carolina church for a sabbatical.  I anticipated his blog entries religiously… no pun intended… as he intentionally avoided “church.”  The blog was published in the Huffington Post.

As he journeyed I felt he may, like others I knew in ministry, leave the church because of its often-cited hypocrisy within its church leadership.  While he didn’t leave the church another one of my friends left the church years ago and claims “reason” as his greatest following.  Sad thing is… I get it.

It may be the loose canon preacher pretending to “speak for all of Christianity” who’s asinine YouTube videos go viral.  It could also be the people within the church who, as American author, friar, priest, contemplative and speaker Brennan Manning once said, “The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips and walk out the door and deny Him by their lifestyle.  That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.”  It seems as if the whole of Christianity, even some who post on The Christian Left (similar to The God Article, I just find they speak with a little less love for others than our Gospels appear to teach) seem more able to open mouth and insert foot than to be effective at creating new (or, for this matter, used) disciples.

Am I going to do the same?  Will this sabbatical journey give cause to doubt?  Am I going to question my faith or will I … SQUIRREL!?!?

Two weeks from today the journey begins and the questions continue.  Prayerfully, mile by mile, God will speak the answers.  That is my hope.  It’s almost time to scratch that itch or grab some calamine lotion… one or the other will do.

Ups and Downs…and In Betweens.

Over the last week we’ve had some pretty interesting weather.  Now some may think that if you live in Colorado you’re a shoe-in for cold, snowy, cold, snowy, cold… and more snowy weather.  Visions of white-capped mountains may come to mind.  But that’s a little further up.  And we’re much further down.  There’s a joke I’ve learned while living here.  You want to hear it?

You know why northeastern Colorado is SO windy?  Because Nebraska sucks and Wyoming blows.  (insert appropriate level of laughter here.)

Yes.  We’re in between, it seems.  Cold and snowy we’re typically not.  This is one of two snowy winters we’ve experienced since moving here in November of 2007.  The last one was 2007-2008.  Otherwise temps here may be consistent with snowy-like conditions elsewhere, but the sun, the lack of cloud cover, and an elevation of 4,300 ft. above sea level seems to make everything feel about 10 degrees warmer than anywhere else.

Our weather is interesting because it’s been snowing.  I’ve pulled out the two-stage snow thrower a whopping total of five times more than last year!  How many times did I use it last year?   A big, fat NIL.  Zero.  Zip.  Zippo.  Nada.  None.  Not once.  I even pulled out the snow thrower a bit prematurely this evening as it’s still coming down and blowing.

Why do I mention this?  Ever try to RV in sub-freezing weather?  Right… you can’t.  Well, I should say you can, but with very limited capabilities.  Luxuries like using the shower are off limits (pipes freeze… or your water pump freezes and explodes… Learned the latter of the two the hard way) and even staying warm is a challenge.  It’s not like these RV’s are insulated like your congressman (again, learned that one the hard way – never do a test-run at an elevation of 9,400 ft. above sea level in February and expect good results) .

In two and a half weeks we’re on the road.  Going UP through the mountains and then slowly back down to an elevation of 4,000 ft. for our first stop.  4,600 ft. for our second stop.  I’m praying for mild weather to say the least.  It’d be slightly better than a good thing to get this adventure off to a good start.  Would you pray with me?  Please?

Thank you.

“Unpacking” the Packing Experience…

Yesterday my 2-month old daughter and I shopped.  I dread what I may be teaching her – “Shop ’til you drop.”  Of course, I am sure this is a far cry from the kind of retail shopping experience she’ll prefer 5 years from now.  Let’s revisit, shall we?

First, Camping World.  The Cozy app list was long, but at least it’s relatively cleared with a few minor treats to pick up before the expedition of a lifetime begins.  You know, all the important stuff like RV toilet paper that chafes yet breaks downs enough not to clog up the black well tank.  A light strand for the awning to brighten our evenings as we sit under the stars, some extra fuses, a collapsable dish-drainer, and so much more.

Then onto Best Buy (insert manly grunt here… no… wait… don’t.)  for a pair of two-way radios, a.k.a. “walkie talkies” just so we can, um… you know… walk and talk. (Oh, I did pick up the latest Batman movie release for a little DVD entertainment in inclement weather.)

By late afternoon, my wife had joined us as we ventured to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and the Container Store – two places that psychologically overwhelm me.  By the time we finished the minivan was a low-rider and views out the back window were at a premium.  Oh, did I mention we hadn’t yet eaten dinner?

To make a long story short our shopping adventure made for one looooong day.

And this is just preparation.  Preparation for the long haul.  I have no idea what will come at us during three months and more than 9,800 miles of RV travel.  “Plan for the worst” is a motto some choose to live by.  I’d like to challenge that – how does one exactly plan for “the worst”?

As we pack and organize I’ll be planning for the best of the best.  I’ll be packing my trust and extra loads of faith… Oh crap… where’d I put the patience?  Yeah, that too.  I can’t even begin to visualize a trip like this without these things.  I’ll be spending intentional time in quiet thinking and praying about this trip.

Two weeks.  Five days.  I can hear Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” beginning to play in the background… or is it Lindsey Buckingham’s “Holiday Road” or the B-52’s “Roam” or Black Sabbath’s “Crazy Train”?

The Adventure is About to Begin

The countdown has started… about a year ago.  As a solo pastor of a church of over 300 listed members and roughly 50 more children-in-tow, ministry has begin to take its physical and emotional toll.  I lack energy.  I lack motivation to lose weight.  My ability to hold back on frustration is minimal… I am ready for a time of renewal.  

Three weeks from today we leave.  “We” is me, my lovely bride of nearly 12 years, my newborn daughter Sophie, and Melissa’s cat, Tink, who loves me best… dammit.  We’ve purchased a Class C RV, a 2012 Jayco Greyhawk and have made a few test runs to break her in before our adventure begins – 29 states, 9,800 miles (give or take a few more), towing our grocery-getter for three months.

Did I say I was ready for a “”renewal”?  What was I thinking?  

My journey will consist of daddy day care, spending quality bonding time with my daughter while my wife slowly works back into…work.  We’ll visit national parks, friends, and make some new friends while hoping to enter into some sacred conversation along the way.

3 weeks.  Let the adventure begin… Why don’t you come along for the ride… I’ll need the company.