Come Away

Song of Solomon 2:8-13     

James1:17-27   

I read a wonderful little story this past week, about something that has happened in the past and might possibly still be happening today.

The story goes that when a Navy man served on board a submarine, his wife, if he had a wife, was permitted to send him messages – but only short messages. They were limited to eight words. That’s pretty short. And they were censored, if needed. You can just forget about privacy.

But the Navy wives had a secret: The Song of Solomon. They would send messages like SOS 1:2, which counted as only one word. The husband knew that this meant Song of Solomon, chapter 1, verse 2, “Let me kiss him with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is better than wine!” These wives were sending coded messages and some of them were pretty steamy.

So, that’s one thing you can do with the Song of Solomon. Another thing we often do with these verses is to read them in weddings. In fact, we used this particular passage from the second chapter for both my daughters’ weddings. So, weddings and coded messages. But, other than that, we generally don’t know what to do with this book.

We don’t very often read from it in worship.

However, the Song of Songs, as it is often called, is always read during the Passover services in Jewish synagogues. In this tradition, the song is interpreted allegorically as a reflection of God’s amazing love for Israel.

Traditionally, in both Judaism and Christianity, the Song has been interpreted allegorically, rather than literally. The lovers represent God and God’s chosen people. Although, when you actually read the words, it’s not always easy to keep that focus. Because it is obviously about romantic love.

Since the beginning, the book has been controversial. There was a serious debate about whether it was even appropriate to include in the biblical canon. Perhaps the strongest argument for its inclusion was the assumption that it was written by King Solomon – anything written by him should, of course, be preserved. But another reason it was kept was the ardent advocacy of Rabbi Akiva.

Rabbi Akiva is regarded as the greatest rabbi of the late first/early second century. He was a leader in Israel when the Jerusalem temple was destroyed and Judaism began to reorganize itself into the kind of religion it is today, in which the word has essentially replaced the temple as the center of one’s religious practice. He organized and systematized the written and oral teachings of Judaism, which included establishing the canon – the set of scrolls that would be included in the Bible. And when it came to the Song of Songs, Rabbi Akiva said, “While all the sacred writings are holy, the Song of Songs is the holy of holies.” That is, the inner sanctum of the holy temple.

Rabbi Akiva was in awe of the Song. He was not afraid of it. Others, however, have been rather intimidated by its potency. One of the early church fathers, Origen, was very concerned about its potential effect. He warned that this book was so powerful it absolutely should not be read by anyone who had not already conquered their passions. Still, Origen loved the Song just as Rabbi Akiva did. Because, as he and others over the ages have seen, the Song of Solomon’s words may lead us toward intimacy with God.

And intimacy with God is the ultimate pleasure.

The only problem is, intimacy with God might not actually be what we are looking for. Because the truth of it is we human creatures are woefully inadequate to the role of loving God.

It is true, isn’t it, that our relationship with God is often characterized by fear more than enjoyment. We might prefer to keep a safe distance from the Almighty than to risk coming too near. We see the awesomeness of God; a powerful, perhaps angry, God who punishes to the third and fourth generation of those who have sinned against him. Many of us were taught at a young age to be wary of the ones who have the power to punish us, and we know God has that power. Sadly, we humans have a bad habit of doing fear so much better than we do love. And we assume that God is the same.

But here’s the thing: Again and again and again, throughout the ages, we have heard from the mystics – those who have experienced intimacy with God. They have told us one thing: God is beautiful. God is love – pure, absolute, radiant, ravishing love. The experience of God is better than the best thing you have ever seen, heard, felt, tasted, smelled. Meister Eckhart, the German theologian and mystic of the 14^th century, said, “God is voluptuous and delicious.” Can you imagine saying that? I am sure he raised a few eyebrows with that choice of words.

What do you suppose he meant by it?

In spite of how racy it is, the Song of Solomon hasn’t been banned from the scriptures in two thousand years, because it somehow rings true. As weird as it might seem, as uncomfortable as it might be, there is something in us that is drawn to this kind of love. Don’t you think?

The Song leads us toward a full multisensory kind of love, involving our whole being – head and heart, body and soul. A tremendous appreciation for the creation as well as the creator. The Song tells us that love is only really love when it is total and complete. That God loves us in our entirety, and God loves us to love others in their entirety, too.

Because love isn’t only about words, as we know, and the writer of James tells us. Words convey a lot about love, but the words wouldn’t mean a thing to us if not for the real, embodied love that we experience in our lives. And, to paraphrase Paul’s words to the Corinthians, words without loving actions are nothing but a clanging gong – nothing but noise.

The Song of Solomon really is about love between God and God’s people – the metaphor of God the husband to Israel, protecting and caring for her. The image of Jesus as bridegroom, taking the church as his bride. The Song of Solomon is about this kind of divine love.

But the Song of Solomon is also about love between human beings. That much is obvious.

Perhaps this is the point of the Song of Solomon – to show love as something so embodied, so sensual, that we can’t help but see that love truly is built of what we say and do and think and feel That love for one another is about all the ways we appreciate and care for one another. That the love of God toward us is found in the absolutely wonderful experiences we have in life. And even this: that the way we move toward greater love of God is by sharing that love with other human beings – love with heart and mind, body and soul.

I want to suggest that what we think we know about God might actually be countered by what we can know of God, when we experience God. If we dare to approach God. And if we dare to approach God, we might find out just how beautiful God is.

And when we can see how beautiful God is we cannot help but see that all God created is beautiful as well.

Jesus was once asked which of all the commandments was the greatest and he said, “There are two: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and body and mind. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

It’s this simple: Love God; love people. They are inseparable.

Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

The Hard Stuff

John 6:56-69      

We Presbyterians like to think of ourselves as intellectual Christians. We place a high value on our doctrine, often making reference to what Calvin had to say about this or that. We insist that our pastors be well-educated because we enjoy a good challenging sermon. In fact, the common criticism that you hear of Presbyterians is that we love the Lord our God with our whole mind – and we stop there. Never mind the heart, soul, and body. Hence our nickname, the “frozen chosen.”

And perhaps because of the way we embrace the intellectual things, we often find ourselves in an uncomfortable position with the scriptures. For instance, what in the world do we do with these words Jesus said in this chapter of  John?

Would you like my honest opinion? At the risk of offending you, I will say I think we sometimes are a little bit embarrassed for Jesus. When he says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me.” That’s embarrassing. We don’t do that. We are modern people, educated, well-read. We know science is real, and we don’t believe Welch’s Grape Juice somehow turns into Jesus’ blood. It sounds too much to us like magical thinking. Juice is juice, bread is bread. That is that.

I know there are a lot of Christians who do believe that in some mysterious way the bread becomes Christ’s body and the juice, or wine, becomes his blood. And they would object to the suggestion that this is magical thinking. I think they would tell us what they are doing is embracing the mystery of this holy and ancient tradition. I can accept that. I am simply saying this is not who we are, as Presbyterians.

So what we do with these words is a problem. We might say, “This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?”

Just like the disciples said.

And many of them left, John writes, because it was just too difficult. Which was a pity. And, I dare say, many still do leave because it is too difficult.

I once had a nice conversation with a philosophy professor about Christianity and he talked about his inability to believe. He seemed wistful. He wanted to believe but regretfully walked away from it because he could not accept much of it. It seemed irrational, illogical. Much to his sorrow, he couldn’t help but think his way out of faith. And, actually, I could sympathize with his position. Thinking people know that some church teachings are difficult to accept.

Last Sunday in the New York Times there was an article by Ross Douthat titled “How to Think Your Way into Religious Belief.” Normally, that is the kind of invitation that I would scoff at. I take an immediate dislike to books that claim to offer “proof” of Christianity or proof that God exists. Because so often the authors are taking what I feel to be an oversimplified approach to faith. The assumptions they work from require you to narrow your vision and shut out many questions you would like to ask. They demand that you close your eyes to scientific reality and honest observations of the world around you and it doesn’t work for me. I find their logic illogical, their assumptions ludicrous. Too often the way to “proof” of faith is to close your eyes to any evidence that challenges your faith.

In spite of all that, I read the Douthat article, and I was amazed. He doesn’t dumb it down. He doesn’t insist that his readers close their eyes to reality and submit to a kind of make-belief. He doesn’t present a black and white, literal interpretation of the scriptures – nor does he twist them into something they are not in order to make “proof.” He suggests, without actually saying it, that maybe the real problem thinking people might have with belief is the same one we often criticize fundamentalism of – taking everything too literally, too concretely, and ignoring everything else. Ignoring the pieces that don’t fit.

Ignoring the fact that people still, in the 21^st century, experience the world as orderly, beautiful, and awesome. And that people still have mystical and numinous experiences. And, when we think about it, it still feels extraordinary to be human, with our human consciousness; we are like other creatures and yet so different…almost as though we were created in the image of our creator.

Douthat sort of shifted the lens a little, so we might look out at the world a bit differently. If we are willing.

And for those of us who sit here every Sunday; those of us who enjoy a challenging and educational sermon; even those of us who might call ourselves thoughtful Christians; I wonder if we are willing.

Are we willing to stay with Jesus right through the difficult teachings? Are we willing to put aside our sense of being offended? Are we willing to accept that any faith we have is purely a gift we have received – not any great thing we have done? Are we willing to say that Jesus sustains life, a life that we very much need? That we need whatever nourishment he has to offer? Are we willing to open ourselves and let Jesus meet all our needs – all of them?

Are we willing to acknowledge our enormous need? the gaping emptiness within us that we have no way to fill except to turn to him?

Are we willing to accept the hard teachings? Are we?

Many have not. Some have turned away.

Jesus turned to Peter and asked, “Are you going to leave me too?” But Peter responded, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

The way to belief? It is to know what is true. We don’t dismiss the weird, hard stuff. But neither do we make it a deal-breaker. Because what it all comes down to is this: I don’t put my faith in doctrine or scripture. I put my faith in Christ, the one who leads me to life. All thanks be to God. 

Photo by Kenrick Mills on Unsplash

QUEST, Part 4: RETURNING HOME

Psalm 36:5-9

John 15:1-17

I have heard that if you want to really get the feel of a place you need to stay there at least three weeks. One or two weeks feels like a vacation away from your real life, but sometime during that third week your perspective shifts. You begin to feel like a resident, a local.

When I was in college I spent a month in Oxford, England and that happened to me. I came home from that month away and looked at everything with new vision. I became a tourist in my hometown. An obnoxious tourist, actually. I was critical of everything, I rolled my eyes at the naivete of my loved ones. I was 19 and insufferable.

I have grown up since then, but still, when I return home from a journey there is always a sense of seeing things differently. I spent three weeks in Cuba a while ago, and coming back I was overwhelmed by all the stuff. We are great consumers in the United States, and we have a surreal number of choices. And not enough music.

Whenever you return home from anywhere else, you bring bits and pieces of it with you. You say, here is a rock I picked up from the beach. Isn’t it beautiful? Here is a vase I bought in the village. It was hand-painted by local artisans; isn’t it beautiful? You bring home keepsakes to remember your trip, but you also might bring home a broader perspective, as Rick Steves says. When you return, you see things differently because you bring home with you a greater sense of understanding other parts of the world. A greater awareness of the interconnectedness of everyone in the world.

You might bring home new friendships, people you keep in touch with by phone or letters. At some point they may come and visit you, to discover a new place for themselves, and you get to see your home through their eyes. The gift of travel is in finding these rich new connections between people and between cultures. The connection we all share because we are all God’s beloved children.

Traveling to a new place, we might look at the people who live there and see them as exquisite human beings, just as special as we are, just as loved as we are. When we travel to a new place we might see what the other branches of this big, beautiful tree of life look like, and sound like, and act like.

The Lord God claims and loves us all. Our God, whose steadfast love extends to the heavens, whose faithfulness extends to the clouds; this God claims us all.

Remember the story I told you about my mother-in-law and Myanmar? She never got to make that trip. But not too long afterward I met a man from Myanmar. He was in the U.S. as part of the Presbyterian Church’s peacemaking initiative. 

He was a guest of our presbytery and I got to meet him when he joined some of us for a weekend youth retreat. It was a gathering of church youth groups from all over the presbytery. The leaders all tried to coordinate to organize things, but I think youth group leadership is inherently disorganized, unfortunately. I arrived at the lodge with my youth group to find about half the people were there. Kids were messing around together, ignoring any adult requests to help. One of the leaders introduced me to our guest from Myanmar. He was standing in the kitchen cooking dinner. 

The kitchen was not much. In one corner of the lodge, it consisted of a very small stove, sink, fridge, and about three square feet of counter space. And there stood our peacemaker, sleeves rolled up, chopping and stirring.

Someone was supposed to bring spaghetti and meat sauce. But they weren’t there yet, and nobody knew when they would arrive. Our guest scrounged up a variety of ingredients and whipped up an amazing dish – it was a miracle on the level of loaves and fishes. 

Later, we all sat in a circle together and he told us a story. His English was not fluent, so we kept thing simple. More than a hundred years ago the American Baptists – the same folks my mother-in-law worked with on the Global Missions Board – came to Myanmar and showed them Jesus. And now, he said, I come to you.

And I thought to myself, thank you, God, for sending him because we need him. Just as the people of Myanmar needed the American Christians who came to them with Jesus in their hearts, we need this man to remind us who we are.

We need to be reminded that Christ is everywhere in the world, our vine-grower God grafting branches onto him. We need to be reminded that because we are in him, we are also a part of one another, each of us bearing fruit, each of us being pruned and cleansed to become ever more fruitful. Knowing we are a part of this may increase our love.

Jesus said, “As the Father has loved me, so I love you; now abide in my love.” To abide in his love is to love in the way he does. That is, to love not only the ones who live with us or share our name, our experiences, our preferences – but to love, also, those who live far away from us. To know that love is an action more than anything.

So many of us don’t travel because fear keeps us at home. We may watch the news and learn that we should be afraid of other countries, other people, big cities. Yet, the scriptures say, “Perfect love casts out fear.” Love seeks understanding and understanding will lessen our fear. 

When we travel, we might see that wherever we go the network of branches is already there, bearing fruit, loving God, living with the same loves and hopes, worries and challenges we do. 

When we travel, we might learn that life is much more than a series of transactions, where we take what we need and give to others what we think is fair. Life in this world God made and loves is full of opportunities to both give and receive amazing gifts – even from those we think have nothing to offer us.

And when we return home, we might hold and cherish these experiences and ponder them in our hearts. 

May we know ourselves and all those around us as part of God’s beloved family. 

May we practice curiosity that comes from a love of God and desire to know God’s vast, colorful, and diverse creation. 

May we seek out friendship with the other branches and increase our fruitfulness for the sake of the glory of God. 

Photo by Ethan Medrano on Unsplash

QUEST, Part 3: REFLECTION

 

Isaiah 65:17-25

Revelations 21: 22-26          

I often hear people complain about the Old Testament. They say that it is full of nothing but violence and ugliness. I just want to point out this beautiful passage from Isaiah is part of the Old Testament.

People, including me, also say that the book of Revelation is chock full of awful stuff. But then you have this exquisite passage from chapter 21.

It is true, in the Old Testament and in Revelation, and perhaps even in the gospels, we wade through a lot of hard stuff, awful stuff – and then we get to this place of breathtaking beauty. Kind of like life, at times. There is a lot of awful and painful stuff in the world, stuff that is hard to look at. Yet, if we remain present, we may get to hope.

These two passages we read today are preceded by accounts of violence and suffering that are hard to read – all the bad stuff you think of when you think of the Old Testament or the book of Revelation. I don’t enjoy reading them. They take us down as low as we can go – into sorrow and fear and pain, until you’re asking yourself why we call this the “good book.” But then we come to this: “For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth,” and we come to this: “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb.” Picture it. The beauty may bring tears to our eyes.

The promise of a new heaven and earth, the shining joy of God’s glorious light, these are wondrous - but they do not erase the suffering. They do not discount the suffering. But they offer hope. And hope is what we need when we are living in this world.

As people who live in relative comfort, we can easily forget that. We may forget that we need a new heaven and a new earth, because we have arranged this world to our liking. We may forget that we need the light of God in our midst, because we feel like we have plenty of light already. But people who live in extreme poverty are unlikely to forget how much they need a new heaven and earth. People who are oppressed are unlikely to forget how much they need the light of God.

When we travel to different places we have the chance to encounter these people. There are 700 million people in the world living in extreme poverty. We don’t actually have to travel far to see this. We only need to keep our eyes open.

It was very hard for me to keep my eyes open when Kim and I traveled to Mexico City. As we walked the city streets, we encountered women begging and young children selling packs of gum to the tourists. All day long they were out there. At night I discovered these families lived on the streets. They had no place else to go. Coming face to face with this staggering injustice shattered me. I could barely stand it. And the truth is I have had similar encounters traveling in American cities – strolling amidst the grandeur I see clear signs that not all is okay in our nation. People are hungry, people are homeless, people are suffering.

It can be very hard to keep our eyes open when we are facing suffering and injustices. And when we travel, especially if we go to places where there is extreme inequality, we may see more than usual of the hard stuff in the world. Staying present to it is not easy.

Thomas Jefferson once wrote a letter to his nephew saying, “Dear Peter, traveling makes men wiser, but less happy.” And so, he advised, stay home – advice he himself did not follow. Travel can, indeed, have that effect. But many things that are worthwhile do.

We have the opportunity to grow from these jarring experiences if we engage in some reflection. If we stay in the discomfort just long enough to reflect on what we see and hear and feel. To wonder where God is in all of this.

As a campus minister I tried to provide opportunities for students to get out of their comfort zones, to encounter people who were different, whose struggles were different from theirs. As a result I received many requests for help.  

I once got an unusual request. A man called on behalf of an elderly woman who had the opportunity to move out of her apartment into a care facility. But she had a big problem. She hoarded stuff. Every inch of her apartment was crammed full of junk. And she had become helpless in the face of her problem.

I was scheduled to be out of town on the day they needed help. I asked my students if they wanted to do it without me and they said yes. The week after, when I returned, I asked them about it. They told me they completed the job and left the apartment and stood together on the sidewalk outside, not sure what to do next. They asked themselves, “What would Pastor Maggie do?” and so they went somewhere they could have coffee and a donut and reflect on the experience.

They described to me their initial shock and even repulsion at what they saw. Then they told me they saw embarrassment in the woman’s face. They saw her shame. As they talked, I could see then the tenderness of their feelings toward this woman, and their desire to bless her with the chance to make a fresh start.

It was important for them to reflect on their experience. We need to reflect on who are the people we serve, the people whose lives are so different from ours. We need to reflect on the truth that, as different as they may seem, these people are like us, too. These people have the same hopes we do. They are loved by Jesus, as we are.

The messages of hope we read in Isaiah and Revelation are badly needed by so many people in this world. There are so many people who know firsthand about the ugliness the world can offer, that we like to skip over if we can. But turning away from it will only keep us estranged from these brothers and sisters. Perhaps we need to really hear the powerful hope in these words, ourselves, in order for us to really see the people who are suffering. And then truly know that every one of them and every one of us are beloved children of God.

When we experience the world just as the least of these do, then we will hope for God’s new heavens and new earth just as much as they do. May we seek and find our shared humanity with the others and know that God is in that space.

Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash 

QUEST, Part 2: THE ENCOUNTER

John 4: 7-40

Many years ago, my mother-in-law was active in the American Baptist Church Global Mission Board. This gave her opportunities to travel. At one point she was offered a chance to go to Burma, which we now know as Myanmar. She was so excited about it, and I couldn’t help wondering why. What on earth was in Burma that she cared about?

Well, actually, I should have known at the time. The reason she wanted to go there, or anywhere, was because there would be new encounters. Conversations to be had, people to meet, places to see, things to learn. This is the kind of person Claire is. Every stranger is a potential friend. How you approach the encounter makes all the difference.

Burma was a very unlikely place for Claire to travel, but a journey to an unlikely place can hold surprising gifts. This is the case in Jesus’ journey to Samaria.

Samaria was an unlikely place for him to be. The Jews and the Samaritans did not get along well. You know the parable of the Good Samaritan? Those who heard Jesus tell the parable did not, in any way, consider the Samaritans to be “good.” The notion of regarding a Samaritan as a neighbor was not a popular notion.

In verse 4 of this chapter, John writes, “He had to go through Samaria.” It was in between Judea, where he had been, and Galilee, where he was going. Actually, it was common for Jews to take long detours to avoid going through Samaria, but Jesus did not. He had to go through Samaria, John says, and I suppose he did. Because there was a conversation awaiting him there.

Whether or not he knew he would encounter a woman at the well, I think Jesus went to Samaria with the intention of having a conversation.

His disciples went off in search of provisions, leaving Jesus to wait by a well, a place they, no doubt, considered safe. It was unlikely that anyone would be at the well then. High noon in the desert. Most women would go in the early morning and the evening, when the heat of the sun was not beating down on them. You would be unusually brave or foolish to venture out at midday.

But, against the odds, this woman came to the well at noon to draw water.

Many have suggested that this particular woman is there at noon because of who she is. She is a five-time divorcee, apparently. This would mean that she has been discarded by five husbands. Five different men have married her and then, for their own reasons, announced, “I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you.” It was not possible for a woman to divorce a man, but it was that simple for a man to divorce a woman.

One would think that she carried this as a burden of shame. One might assume that she managed her days so that she could avoid the other women of the village because she knew they talked about her, looked down upon her, and probably distrusted her.

But she doesn’t act like a disgraced woman. She doesn’t shuffle around, bent over, head low in shame. She behaves as a woman who is at home in her skin.

Maybe it is Jesus who has this effect on her. She doesn’t appear to be afraid of him. She recognizes him as a Jew. And she knows all the prohibitions that warn her against interacting with this man. Even so, she asks him a question: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

And this one question contains so many:

How is it that you, a man, are speaking to me, a strange woman?

How is it that you, a Jew, are speaking to me, a Samaritan?

How is it that you, a religiously observant son of Israel, are speaking to me, one who is considered by your people to be unclean?

What are you doing here in Samaria? What are you doing at my well?

Just asking. Maybe it’s rude, but she’s just wondering.

Jesus isn’t bothered by her blunt question. It is almost like he was waiting for it.

So he says: Let’s talk about the water that I could give to you. The living water.

And they’re off.

She is a worthy conversation partner for Jesus. She doesn’t back down. She responds to every strange thing he says – at first not understanding him, but staying with him nonetheless. Perhaps one of the best things that can be said about her is this: She is not afraid of what she doesn’t understand, but is willing and able to continue the conversation through the ambiguity.

The Samaritan woman did not come to the well looking for Jesus. She had no idea he would be there. But finding him there she was fully present with him. In the bright midday light, they speak and listen to each other in truth. She has questions: Why do you ask me for water? How would you possibly get this water you are referring to? How can I get this living water that will forever satisfy my thirst? Wait –

Why do you mention my husband? What is that to you?

How do you know me, Jesus? How do you know me?

Jesus has never met this woman before, but he does know her. And he doesn’t shame her or look down on her.

One thing you notice in this story is that both Jesus and this woman have the traveler’s mindset; they are open to seeing things in a way they haven’t before; they are open to learning something new. They are having a real, authentic, and meaningful conversation.

When you have a conversation, there are two sides to it. That is what a conversation is, after all. Each one shares with the other. And you never know, when you enter into a conversation, whether Jesus might be a part of it too.

The prophet Muhammed said, “Don’t tell me how educated you are. Tell me how much you have traveled.” I would modify this to say, “tell me how much you have lived in the world with a traveler’s mindset.”

My mother-in-law, Claire did not get to travel to Burma, because the political situation became too volatile and dangerous; the trip was cancelled. She was deeply disappointed. But she did have other adventures. She traveled to Russia during the Cold War. She traveled to Nicaragua during the revolution. And she had extraordinary, life-changing encounters. But it is also possible to have extraordinary encounters without leaving home, because there are people all around us who have come from all over the world and have lived through extraordinary things.

An encounter with someone different is an invitation to deepen our compassion, to make meaning, to broaden our perspective and our spirit. And it is an opportunity to give the gift of God’s love.

May you open your heart to the encounter, and may you encounter Jesus.

Photo by Vincent Eisfeld on Unsplash

QUEST, Part 1: Leaving Home

 

Exodus 13: 17-21        

Ann Tyler wrote a book called The Accidental Tourist. It is a story about a man who has made a successful career of writing travel books for people who hate travel. His audience is primarily businessmen, for whom travel is a necessary evil in their lives. The books presume that the reader hates leaving the comforts of home just as much as the author does. So he fills the pages with tips on where to find Kentucky Fried Chicken in Stockholm, Taco Bell in Mexico City, and other absurdities. He writes travel guides that let travelers pretend they never left home.

The character, Macon Leary, is quirky and endearing, sort of typical for Ann Tyler’s stories. To say that he is set in his routines is an understatement. He is a man of systems, which he has devised to guard against anything unfamiliar happening to him. He has been living in the same Baltimore neighborhood his entire life; merely venturing into other areas of the city are unnerving to him.

It’s funny that he has found his niche in travel writing. But, of course, it makes for a good story.

One of the most popular real-life travel writers in America is Rick Steves. His Paris guidebook never left my hand during my visit to that city. He guided me through the most famous museums, showing me how to avoid the long lines, and into the most charming, off the beaten path, streets. My trip would have been so much different without his guidance.

You may know him from his TV travel shows on PBS as well. He has a wonderful midwestern accent, folksy style, and a quirky sense of humor that comes across so well.

What you might not know about him is that he is a devout Lutheran. He has spoken often about his faith and how it informs his experience of the world as well as how his experiences in the world inform his faith. For Rick Steves, traveling is an act of spirituality.

That may sound strange. We are accustomed to thinking of travel as having many benefits. It can be restful, getting us away from the daily grind. It can be educational, allowing us to learn about different cultures and lands. It can be profitable, as it was for the businessmen Macon Leary was writing for. Travel can be just fun – as it is for the millions of people who travel every year to Disney World, Broadway shows, Las Vegas casinos, or the Ocean City beach. But is travel something spiritual?

The business of moving from one place to another actually takes up a lot of space in the scriptures. Much of the biblical story takes place on the road. Or in the water. Or, as in the scripture today, in the wilderness. And all these travels we read of in the Bible – were they just necessary evils, like they were for Macon? Or is the journey a part of God’s plan?

The more time you spend with the story of the Exodus, the more you realize that the journey itself was as important as the destination. Maybe even more important.

The people of Israel did not imagine they would be journeying anywhere, anytime. They were stuck in Egypt. They were enslaved by Egyptian rulers and forced into hard labor, building monuments to glorify Pharaoh. The Exodus story tells us they had fallen into this situation sometime after Joseph died, when the rulers of Egypt forgot all that Joseph and the Lord had done for them. And they were consumed by fear of the Israelites, so they did what fearful people often do: they brutalized them.

This went on for hundreds of years, until God lifted up for them a leader – Moses. Moses led them out of Egypt and through the wilderness, toward the land that God promised to them.

The journey was long. Forty years they spent in the wilderness, leaving us to scratch our heads, wondering why. Did the lose their way? Were they having trouble deciding which way to go? What was the reason it took so long?

And the answer I come to again and again is this: it wasn’t about the destination. It was all about the journey. The time spent away from home was time for them to grow spiritually.

It was time for them to learn about the ways of God and draw closer to God. It was time for them to learn how to live in obedience to God; to learn how to worship.

It was a time for them to learn something about who they were, as a people. You see, they didn’t really know who they were. They had only ever been slaves in Egypt. They needed to learn to know themselves as free people in the world.

The Exodus story is one that speaks to many peoples and many times. It certainly spoke strongly to the Black slaves in America before the Civil War. In fact, it was such a powerful story, the white slaveowners made every effort to hide it from them. Special slave Bibles were printed that omitted the Exodus story and various other parts of the Bible that might inspire Black slaves to imagine themselves as free human beings.

That is how powerful the story was.

The Exodus is just as powerful today, and it speaks broadly to all of us. Because there are so many ways to be enslaved – very often enslaved to our own devices.

The character Macon, in Ann Tyler’s book, appears that way to me. He has drawn his life so close, so small, because everything else seems frightening. He becomes a slave to his rigid systems and he knows no way out. When certain things happen that disrupt his systems, Macon finds himself in a kind of wilderness.

What Macon needs is a guide to get him through the wilderness. He finds one. But I won’t spoil the story – you might want to read it.

We all need guides when we set out to explore unfamiliar territory. The Israelites needed Moses to guide them toward taking that first step out of Egypt, leaving what had been for them the only home they had ever known. That first step might be the hardest one of all. Not to say that they didn’t want to turn back many times during the journey. They couldn’t have done it without Moses, and Moses couldn’t have done it without God guiding him.

And where would any of us be if they had not made the journey?

Travel is a spiritual act because it allows us to grow.

When the Israelites left home and ventured into the wilderness, when Macon Leary ventured out of his comfort zone, when we get in a plane or our cars and go out to explore new places, we have the opportunity to learn something new about the world and learn something new about ourselves. Encountering a new place is a gift that allows us to broaden our perspective, and as Rick Steves says, the most beautiful souvenir is a broader perspective.

All kinds of strange and wonderful things happen to us when we venture out into the world. We see that God created people and places that are so different from the people we know and the places we live.

When we go out into the world we learn that we can do more than we ever thought we could. We find, perhaps to our surprise, that there are good and generous and helpful people everywhere. We carry home with us some of our best stories, and we never tire of telling others about the time in Mexico City when we followed a woman onto a subway train, not knowing if something terrible or wonderful would happen. That’s one of my stories. I will tell it to you sometime, if I haven’t already.

When we travel we see the world God created. And in the process, we see God.

During the next few weeks we will spend some time thinking about the things that happen when we travel – the encounters we have, the ways these encounters give us opportunity to reflect on our lives, our beliefs and assumptions, and then be transformed.

After a year and a half of being mostly homebound, some of us are raring to go, while others are still hesitant. And yet others are simply unable to go anywhere. Travel is not available to all of us. But what we might call the traveler’s mindset is something that is available to all of us. Regardless of whether we go anywhere, we all can look at the world with wonder and curiosity, and a willingness to learn and grow.

The people of Israel could not take possession of the promised land unless they sojourned in the wilderness. That is the reality. So it is that we cannot take full possession of our identity as God’s beloved children, until we spend some time sojourning. Whether we hit the road or stay at home, the journey begins with the first step. A willingness to move out of our safe space, our comfort zone, and look at the world with new eyes. To surrender our judgment and preformed opinions. Or, as Rick Steves says, to let the road be our church.

Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash

REST

 

Exodus 20:8–11

Let’s take a moment to try something. Think about the last 24 hours of your life. And make a list of three people who were a part of it – in big or small ways. They might even be strangers, whose names you don’t know. Then list three things that you engaged with – things you made, washed, ate, threw away, something you did something with.

Now list three choices that you said yes or no to. Can you see how in each of these things, people, actions you listed you were entering into God’s creative field? How does it feel to think of yourself and your daily life in this way?

The creative process that we have been talking about these past six weeks is really just the natural flow of our lives. When you analyze it, you could break it down into six stages. But we do better to imagine them as waves in a cycle, a cycle that continually plays out – the cycle of God’s creativity.

We began with the dream. Every creation begins with a dream – before the work begins we have to dream up what we want to create. The dream of some possibility that doesn’t already exist. Our ability to dream is essential for us to be able to envision God’s kingdom and then begin the work of bringing it to fruition.

Next is the hovering. God hovered over the waters at the very beginning, and each day God brought some more order to the universe. We too must practice hovering, which I think closely aligns with the incubation stage of creativity. The process of creating is a combination of making something happen and letting something happen, so sometimes we step out of the way and let it happen.

And then, at the right time, we step forward and take a risk, we try something new, not knowing how it will turn out. But if we don’t try it we will never find out.

Then we step back again. We listen. We watch. We pay attention to what happens with the new thing we put into the world. We pay attention to what might be the next step, the next right thing to do.

And then we re-integrate. Everything new must find its place in the world. The old must make way for the new. Every time something changes everything changes. This world is in a constant state of creation.

Constant! And it could be thoroughly exhausting – if we did not include rest.

Rest was an essential part of God’s creation of the world. On the seventh day God rested from all the work that God had done. God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, according to the story of creation in Genesis. And so from this we derive the laws regarding the sabbath day.

We have this text from Exodus, which clearly states that the seventh day, the sabbath day, is for rest, not work. And the law then proceeds to delineate everything that cannot be done on the sabbath day, everything that counts as work.

It can seem to verge on extreme. I thought so when I was in college and shared a dorm suite with a Jewish student. She asked me to leave the bathroom light on from Friday evening through Saturday evening because she was not permitted to turn a light switch. This was considered operating machinery, work, which is forbidden. If I forgot and turned the switch off, she explained to me, she would have to use the bathroom in the dark. To be helpful, she would leave a little note on the switch each week, in case I forgot.

It seemed a little bit silly to me. Although I have come to understand since then that the sabbath restrictions are a way of articulating a rhythm, the rhythm of God’s creation which includes rest. I have grown to appreciate the rhythms of daily life under the law for Jews who live lives of observance.

Still, I think it might feel suffocating at times. Because I think that Jesus felt that. Mark’s gospel tells a story of a time Jesus and his disciples were walking through fields of grain, and as they walked they plucked off some heads of grain. It was the sabbath day. The Pharisees watching them charged them with breaking the law. Plucking grain was forbidden because it was work. But Jesus turns to them and reinterprets the law. He says, “The sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath.” In other words, God does not intend for us to be slaves to the sabbath.

Jesus did all kinds of unlawful things on the sabbath day, like healing people of their afflictions. As he did with so many aspects of the law, Jesus challenged the traditional understanding of it.

Not to say that Jesus was opposed to rest, however. For he also said, “Come to me all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29).

Eugene Peterson, in his translation of the scriptures called The Message, says it this way: Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

Jesus moves our understanding of sabbath away from a rigid form we force ourselves into, toward a delicate, gentle, rhythm of finding grace.

Perhaps I am treading into a minefield when I say this, but I wonder if we let church become a form we force ourselves into, rather than allowing it to be a gentle rhythm of God’s grace.

I say this out of love for the church and concern for the church’s life. Because too many people have walked away from the church because it felt like this to them – rigid, joyless, something that just didn’t fit. Something lacking that gentle rhythm of grace.

If we allow the church to become just work, we have lost our place in the rhythm of God’s creativity. To the extent that we shut out dreaming, we lose our rhythm. To the extent we shut out play, to the extent we shut out rest, we lose our rhythm – the unforced rhythm of God’s grace.

We give it up for the sake of the artificial rhythms of religion.

We need the holy, creative, playful, loving Spirit now more than ever.

Photo by Agence Olloweb on Unsplash

Photo by Agence Olloweb on Unsplash