A Return to the Wilderness

 

 For four days in August of this year I returned to my slice of heaven on earth: the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. This was my 9^th trip in 40 years. Five of those trips have been made from my homes in Miami, Florida and Savannah, Georgia, thus requiring a full two days of travel to get there and to return home. Clearly the lakes and rivers, spruce, pine and birch trees of the Northwoods of Minnesota have a strong pull on me. 

This pull even overrides the strong physical test and toll that it takes on my body each trip I make. This is a designated Wilderness Area, which means no motorized transportation is allowed. The only way to enter is by canoe or on foot. You must transport all your equipment and food for your time in the wilderness by canoe or backpack. This involves paddling fully loaded canoes up and across lakes, sometimes battling strong headwinds, portaging your canoes and equipment on rocky trails or across beaver dams to access rivers and streams that connect the lakes. All in search of a campsite where you then must unload all your gear, set-up your tent, rain tarp, hang your bear ropes to hang your food pack at night, and then see to your meals! It returns life to the basics, securing food, shelter, security. 

But this is all done while you are surrounded by the most beautiful, glorious canvas of blues and greens, browns and whites. With fluffy clouds scudding across the deep blue sky on sunny days and ominous, low hanging gray clouds when overcast. The weather is constantly changing and often in dramatic ways. The water is crystal clear and, though the outfitters and National Forest Service warn you to sterilize your water before consuming it, (and there is risk of bacterial infection) still you can drink it if you do so far enough from shore and it tastes cold and pure and better than any tap water! 

So, while visiting the wilderness is challenging and hard on me physically, it is just the opposite for me emotionally and spiritually. The wilderness is renewing and freeing and relaxing. My mind and my heart and my spirit breathe more deeply and freely in the wilderness. That is why I have returned again and again, now for 9 times. 

It is also a place where I have always been able to journal, faithfully and prolifically. In the wilderness I am able to write freely and deeply, exploring life and my inner self. What else is there to do here, beyond meeting your basic needs for living? I easily find the time, focus, and energy for writing. In the Northwoods, off the technology grid, it is just me, and the loons, birds, fish, mosquitoes, flies, trees, lakes, and my own thoughts. It is a perfect setting for reflection, meditation, contemplation, and writing.

So, with this introduction, you have probably surmised I am hoping to revive this blog: Sabbath Tango. I have many more thoughts to share which I will be posting (be patient with me as I am now back home and no longer in the wilderness and daily life intrudes much more on this activity of writing and sharing) in the days to come.

 

A New Beginning

Five years!  I cannot believe it!  It has been FIVE YEARS since I last posted in this space.  Sabbath Tango went dormant for five years, and oh, so much has happened!  There has definitely been a lot of Tango (more figuratively than literally) during that time and there has been, sadly, very little Sabbath (at least in the sense of true rest, time with God, time to soak in creation and enjoy the life God bestowed upon me.)  So much has happened and, while my inclination is to try to bring you up to speed all at once, I realize that would not be in the spirit of this blog, so let me just say that I am beginning anew.

I am renewing Sabbath Tango, and I believe that the original intent of this space will still be honored by my new postings.  Originally I created this blog to document and reflect upon my Sabbatical in 2008.  The majority of that time was spent in Argentina, learning the Spanish language and the culture of Buenos Aries.  Thus the name: Sabbath, a time of rest, reflection and renewal & Tango, the national dance of Argentina.  But more than that: the title expressed a belief that all of life is composed of a rhythm between pause and action – just like the Tango, which has deliberate movement, highlighted by flurries of activity and punctuated by pauses in all of it.

As I already hinted, my life has changed dramatically recently.  I am not on a new Sabbatical.  Rather, I have retired from my position as local church pastor.  After serving 5 different congregations in five different communities for the past 40 years, the last one for 24 of those years, it was time for me to take an extended “sabbatical” from local church work.  I have done just that and in the posts to come I will share reflections on that experience of saying good-by to a local church and to local church ministry.  I will also continue to post reflections on my new life and on what unfolds as the Spirit guides me into new activity.

I invite you to follow along and pray my reflections may prompt reflections of your own.

A Trip Becomes a Pilgrimage

I am convinced that pilgrimage is still a bona fide spirit-renewing ritual.  But I also believe in pilgrimage as a powerful metaphor for any journey with the purpose of finding something that matters deeply to the traveler.  With a deepening focus, keen preparation, attention to the path below our feet, and respect for the destination at hand, it is possible to transform, even the most ordinary journey into a sacred journey, a pilgrimage.                             –Phil Cousineau, “The Art of Pilgrimage”

It was the second day of our trip to Paris, our first full day in France.  The skies were thick with dark clouds hanging low and threatening rain.  It was not an ideal day for visiting the cathedral in Chartres, so famous for the amazing colors, vibrant blues and deep purples, of its stained glass windows.  But this is Friday and the only day when there is a “possibility” of walking the labyrinth inlaid in the floor of the central nave.  There is no guarantee.  Normally chairs cover the entire nave, arranged in cathedral seating with a center aisle and two sections of wooden chairs for people to rest, to sit and pray, and to worship.  But Friday is the one day when, unless something else is scheduled to take place in the nave, they will push back the chairs and expose the labyrinth.

Thus it was that I found myself sitting in the amazing Cathedral Notre Dame of Chartres watching about 20 people walking the labyrinth.  (That’s right; there are actually many Notre Dame Cathedrals in France, which translates “Our Lady,” for they are usually dedicated to Mary.)  As I began writing my thoughts in my journal to prepare myself for walking the labyrinth, it slowly dawned upon my how important this experience was to me.  We did not go to France so that I could walk the labyrinth in Chartres.  This was not a pilgrimage.  Yet at that moment, sitting in that Cathedral, gathering my thoughts and beginning to listen deeply to my own spirit, it became clear walking this labyrinth was something I very much needed to do.  At that moment, as Cousineau suggests, my trip to France became a pilgrimage.

When did I become enamored of labyrinths?  I cannot recall.  Dianne and I visited San Francisco in 1995 which is home to Grace Cathedral, an Episcopal church where Lauren Artress serves as Rector.  Lauren is one of the founders of Veriditas, the organization promoting the resurgent use of labyrinths as spiritual prayer tools.  Dianne actually visited Grace Cathedral while I was in General Synod meetings and walked the labyrinth they have, but I did not.  I do recall an outdoor labyrinth at the retreat center in Lake Worth, Florida which I visited often in the late ‘90’s to see a Spiritual Director.  But that labyrinth does not feel like my first labyrinth.  I can remember walking the outdoor labyrinth at Ghost Ranch Retreat Center in New Mexico sometime before 2005.  And of course I helped build a labyrinth on the Christ Church campus in August of 2005.

Most of these labyrinths were all patterned after the Chartres labyrinth, an 11-circuit.  While it is not the only pattern for a labyrinth, it has become one of the most well-known.  At one time there were 17 labyrinths laid in the floors of cathedrals across medieval France.  The labyrinth in the Chartres cathedral, placed in the floor sometime between 1194 and 1220, is the only one which remains.  No one is quite sure why labyrinths became popular in medieval Europe.  Some feel it was to provide a “virtual” pilgrimage to Jerusalem for those who could not make the actual journey themselves.  There is some suggestion that pilgrims would walk the labyrinth on their knees to heighten the experience.

Some think of a labyrinth as a maze, but it is not a maze.  A maze is a puzzle, with dead ends and little reason or rhyme to the path.  A labyrinth is a path representing a journey.  There is one way in to the center and one way out and you cannot get lost (at least not intentionally) on the path.  It is a simple spiritual prayer tool; it offers a way to physically pray, not so much or just with words, but with one’s whole being – body, mind, heart and soul.  Every time I have ever walked a labyrinth it has been a powerful spiritual experience.

And so it was this time!  The opportunity to walk THIS labyrinth, in the Chartres Cathedral, at THIS moment in my life, was truly a Divine gift.  I arrived in Chartres after a very difficult summer in my ministry and my life.  I arrived carrying many burdens and many questions.  As I sat in that sacred space, I was able to focus my thoughts, gather up my emotions, my burdens, the experiences of my life in the past few months, and offer them up to God as I walked into the labyrinth.  Surrounded by the symbols of faith, the altar, the Communion Table, the beautiful stained glass windows telling the stories of the Bible and the Church; moving with other pilgrims, experiencing their devotion, adjusting my pace and rhythm to their pace on the path, pausing for them to pass; realizing I was walking the very same path hundreds of thousands if not millions of other pilgrims had walked since the 13^th century, nevertheless I was totally immersed in the moment, opening my heart, mind, and soul to the presence of God to allow God to lift my burdens and to speak to me God’s Word and God’s Wisdom.

I have no concept of the time I took in the labyrinth.  I did not rush through it, but I did not dawdle.  I moved at a steady pace, but I paused when it seemed appropriate and I drank in the amazing surrounding environment of the Cathedral.  I spent significant time in the center rosette, specifically sharing my questions and seeking God’s guidance and wisdom.  When I moved back outward on the path away from the center toward the entrance I did so with the intention of moving back to my life and back to the world.  I did not hear a “voice” or direct message from God, but I clearly had a sense in my heart and soul that God had lifted my burdens and God was giving my guidance.  I experienced the power of the labyrinth once again.  And the labyrinth ministered to my heart and soul as I needed at that moment.  I came away from that experience with a deep peace about myself, about my life and ministry, and about the future.

Sabbath Time: Time for reflecting

“I just don’t think about it.” This is a common reply by my 93 year old grandmother who I have been visiting in Georgetown, Texas. Whether it is a function of her age, of the beginning traces of dementia, or a defense mechanism she has learned when she doesn’t want to talk about something I found it a fascinating reply. She offered it often when I would ask her some query, like why they receive nice linen napkins at their tables for lunch, but then receive large 2 foot by 3 foot cotton terrycloth bibs for dinner? She didn’t know. She just doesn’t think about it. I told her that was the sort of trivia about which I often find myself thinking. I would want to know. I would assume there must be a reason and I would wonder what that reason might be.

Martin Heidegger, German philosopher who lived from 1889 – 1976, said in an address given in 1955 that the greatest danger of our time was that the calculating way of thinking, that is part of the technical revolution, will become the dominating and exclusive way of thinking. Why is this so dangerous? Heidegger said: “Because then we would find, together with the highest and the most successful development of our thinking on the calculating level, an indifference towards reflection and a complete thoughtlessness … then humanity would have renounced and thrown away what is most its own, its ability to reflect. What is at stake is to save the essence of humanity. What is at stake is to keep alive our reflective thinking.”

Coming across that quote recently, and visiting my grandmother, began to crystallize some thoughts for me. I agree with Heidegger on the importance of the ability to reflect on life. Animals don’t seem to have this ability. It is part of what makes dogs such wonderful pets: they don’t remember and reflect upon the vagaries of human behavior. They grow to love those human beings who take care of them and they then do so with a complete devotion, with unconditional love, never flagging in their zeal to show that love. Other animals a primarily concerned with survival, with finding food and maintaining their security, and with breeding and perpetuating their species.

Certainly we human beings are concerned with those matters, but a large part of what makes us different, perhaps even unique, is our ability to also reflect upon our experience. We have the ability to remember, to recall, to think about and ruminate over what we did, what happened to us, and imbue it with meaning.

But as we have become more proficient at problem-solving, at calculating and planning, especially with the aid of technology, have we become so engrossed, obsessed, and consumed with this thought process that we take less time to pause, recall, remember and reflect upon the life we are living, the experiences we are having, and find some deeper meaning to our lives?

This is an important reason for Sabbath time. Not just to relax. Not just to take it easy and rest. But also to have time to think, not in a calculating, planning, problem-solving sort of way, but rather in a slower, thoughtful, reflective manner. Sabbath time allows us to just be still with our lives, to recall our experiences, to remember them and to reflect upon them. As we do, we begin to identify larger patterns, deeper meanings, and fresh insights that are refreshing, renewing, and enlarging of our lives.

My grandmother may not think about such things. (Although I suspect she might do more reflecting than she owns up to.) But I definitely need and desire to think about such things. In fact, I yearn to reflect upon many things. Sabbath time is indeed sacred time. It is time to reflect and keep alive that divine quality with which God blessed us when creating us in God’s image.

Memories Triggered by Familiar Sounds

The sound of the cicada's was omnipresent. The distant moan and rumble of the train washed over me like a warm shower. But it was the church bell's - just a brief Westminster chime sounding the quarter hour - which evoked the memories triggered by familiar sounds. I had not heard the sound of church bells in ages. A carillon used to sound from the steeple of Columbia Presbyterian Church, located right next to the Columbia seminary campus, several times a day, but most noticeably for me at the six o'clock hour every evening. Then First Congregational United Church of Christ in Elkhart, Indiana, followed by Melbourne UCC in Florida both had carillons serenading the local communities, primarily downtown business districts, with lovely sacred music several times each day. When I moved to Christ Congregational UCC in the south suburbs of Miami the carillon was turned off because the neighbors had complained to the County government about the intrusion into their lives with "church music." Shortly after I arrived we briefly turned the carillon back on, just to play the Westminster chimes on the hour, but the neighbors again began sending us nasty notes. Before we could even decide whether to turn it off or not, the carillon stopped playing and we never pursued repairs. Truth is none of the members of Christ Church really lived close enough to ever hear the bells and, other than the Preschool staff, the rest of the staff was never really present to hear them very often either. Still, I do miss the gentle sound of old church hymns played by carillon bells. Hearing the bells always brought me comfort and peace, often triggering positive, happy memories.

While reflecting on the church bells my ears picked up the distant moaning of a train horn following by the rhythmic parting of the sound waves by the passing of the train cars on nearby tracks. Again, the doors of nostalgia opened on past lives. The sound of trains did not become a regular part of my life until I moved to Columbia Seminary in Decatur, Georgia. The tracks were about a half mile away, close enough to hear the train as a distant romantic serenade, rather than an intrusive oppressive presence. Especially pleasant were the late night trains passing and offering a gentle form of lullaby while trying to drift off to sleep following late night studies. The trains followed me to Cullman, Alabama that first seminary summer, and then to Joshua, Texas my second summer, and even to Elkhart, Indiana in my first church after graduation. For eight years trains offered an audible connection with a romantic view of Americana, the earlier history of westward expansion, and a feeling of the transportation lifeblood of the country pulsating with life. When I moved to Melbourne, Florida, even though the church was one block off the Florida East Coast Railway, the trains did not seem to run as often and I can barely recall their presence. Since moving to Miami they have clearly faded the arena of nostalgia.

Strolling comfortably with these audible memories suddenly the cicadas jumped into my awareness. They had been providing an omnipresent backdrop of white noise so prevalent in northern climes in the temperate zone where forests with significant growth of deciduous trees are the rule. Sitting on the porch where we are staying, the sound of the cicada's ebbed and flowed, swelling to the crescendo that surrounded and enveloped as though it was a physical presence, only to fall to pianissimo level that never fades away, remaining at the lowest level of audible awareness.

I am not as aware of the sounds of my life in Florida as I was during this early morning meditation. What I did recall at that moment, becoming aware of their absence, is the sound of birds that are very present in Miami. There were no songbirds this morning. I don't hear songbirds in Miami either. Our birds are not the melodic type. We have mockingbirds and doves, jays and crows, parrots and peacocks, all joined by the squirrels. They offer more staccato, or screeching, or haunting calls rather than melody, but it is very present.

I will need to listen more closely when I return home to identify the prominent sounds surrounding me, providing the sound track for my life.

(The pictures offer a taste of the setting for this auditory reflection.)

The Glorious Poinciana

It was a scene straight out of some "indie" film. I was lying on my back, floating in my pool with my ears submerged so I heard no sound but the sound of the water. Staring straight up from there I was gazing at the most beautiful scarlet-orange poinciana blossoms, framed by the nearly lime-green miniature leaves fresh this spring, against a hazy bluish-white sky. It was deliriously gorgeous. (Poinciana trees [several pictures of them are posted here for those unfamiliar with them] are quite possibly my very favorite thing about living in South Florida. Along with the glorious weather 12 months of the year, which allows for continual golf, bougainvillea blossoms, orchids, frangipani trees, peacocks, ibis, white herons, and so many things that truly make this paradise.) With no sound accosting my ears or my awareness, what I was viewing was immensely more beautiful and intense. I felt like I was watching the opening scene of some strange, artsy, Sundance-worthy independent film and the camera was soon going to pan away to some obscure, or some strangely horrific scene. It was a mini-sabbatical moment.

I have been able to find such mini-sabbatical moments quite frequently, I have just been very terrible about making the time to write them down and reflect on them in the blog. I made a commitment to write at least once a month in this blog and I have done a terrible job fulfilling that commitment. Nor have I been writing in my journal, although I have probably written several more times there than here.

One of those journal entries I was able to identify that television watching had become part of my downfall for finding time to write and reflect on life. (Although I am doing quite a bit of writing, as I have now begun posting a weekly eDevotion for the members of my church, and having become Moderator of the Florida Conference United Church of Christ I am now needing to write a quarterly column for their newsletter and I intend to begin writing, perhaps monthly, eDevotions for the Conference clergy and lay leaders.) I do like to write. It is very cathartic for me and probably my favorite means for expressing myself. I really do enjoy the discipline of writing in this blog and in my journal and when I do not make that time I greatly miss it.

Anyway, I am recommitting myself, and I believe since we are entering the summer season and the regular television shows have all ended (including Lost, which was phenomenal, Fringe, which is almost as good, The Amazing Race, the only reality show worth watching, American Idol, what can I say, I get sucked in like everyone else, V, I am a sucker for Sci-Fi, and two which have been cancelled, so I will hopefully be watching a little less come next Fall, Heroes and FlashFoward) to writing regularly in my journal and on this blog. I will be making a stronger effort to share with you more of my experiences with mini-sabbaticals and other reflections on the wonderful dance of Sabbath Tango.

A Most Unusual Sabbath Moment

I continue to struggle, obviously, with my commitment to write every day in my journal and regularly on this blog. I still am not quite sure why. I do believe I am having trouble managing all my email and my addiction to information on Facebook and other blogs. That may be more excuse, or symptom, rather than actual issue, but that is where my thinking is moving right now.

I did have a reflection that grew out of a rather unique "sabbath" moment. I will share part of the reflection and then maybe add some more comments afterward. This is what I wrote one night back in January while I was on-call for VITAS Hospice and attending a death.

So I'm sitting in a patient's room in a nursing home, waiting for the funeral home to come and transport her body. On the wall facing her bed, in this otherwise very cold and sterile environment, is a small print of Seurat's "La Grande Jatte." It is a rather interesting painting hanging in a strange setting, so that I find it rather absurd. The painting is full of life, though somewhat surreal due to the pointillism style of design and due to the strange aura of underlying horror, sadness, uncomfortable feeling that pervades what, on the surface appears as a happy painting about people enjoying a bright day in a park. Having thought about it, perhaps it is a most appropriate print for a place where there is horror, sadness, and great discomfort being lived out every day in a facility that makes only a token effort to mask the horrible reality of people aging and dying without the presence of real love and often in great loneliness.

I always think of my son, Paul, when I see that painting. It is one of his favorite pieces of art. I called him in Salt Lake City (actually I texted him and then he called me back) to share my experience with him of seeing this print in this surreal setting. We had a very good conversation. He has clearly begun a new life for himself in Salt Lake City. His family, me included, clearly wants to still take care of him and cushion him from the harsh realities of the world. But I am growing to believe that he needs to find his own way in the world - even if it means taking some lumps along the way. I know he has a good foundation we gave to him. I know he is a smart young man and I truly believe he knows we are there for him. I trust him to himself and the arms of God and know he will be OK.

I do not often have a chance while I am working for VITAS to spend time in reflection and in jotting down some of those thoughts. Usually on a death visit I am very focused on family members present and helping them begin to cope with their grief over the loss of their loved one, as well as handle the details of calling the funeral home, dispose of the controlled medications in sent to the patient, and fill out the paper work to document the death and what I have done.

But in this case, there was no family present. Family was notified but chose not to come to the nursing home. There was no staff present, they were off handling other patients. So it was just me alone, with the dead patient, and my thoughts. It turned out to be a very positive and helpful "sabbath" time for reflection about life, death, and my relationship with my son.

What I learned out of the experience was to be alert for those moments of "mini-sabbath" opportunities that occur along the way. They are most irregular. They often come out of the blue, usually when you are not really looking for them. But they can be very powerful, both in terms of nurturing my soul, my spiritual life, but also in terms of nurturing my heart and mind. They can bring a refreshing sense of mental and emotional renewal, as well as spiritual renewal. A new step in the dance of Sabbath Tango!

The pictures are from the Art Institute in Chicago, the Seurat painting "La Grande Jatte." The larger picture is the whole piece. The closer view of the little girl in the middle begins to illustrate some of the underlying unsettling feelings in the picture.

A sunrise of promise for 2010

The sun rose brightly over Biscayne Bay on a new day, a New Year, a New Decade. There were clouds on the horizon so the sun was slightly delayed in breaking forth with bright rays of hope and glory for the new day. Somewhat symbolic it seems. Since 2009 was such a difficult year for so many of us undoubtedly we will not be able to put it behind us as quickly as we might like. While 2010 holds the promise of being a better year and for many of the problems of the past several years to begin to be solved, resolved, and improved upon, it will probably not feel a lot different than 2009 for the first part of the year. The promise, though, is that just as the sun did rather quickly rise above the clouds to a clear, open sky to shine forth brightly, 2010 will eventually prove to be a brighter, better year than 2009.

It has begun well for me. I did get up at 6:00 a.m. to walk to the Bay to start my day. As I left the house the full moon which closed out 2009 was still shining in the western sky through a slight haze hanging over the darkened world, whether from Florida humidity, or the remains of all the fire works exploded by our neighbors the previous night (it was like a war zone) providing an ethereal illumination for the beginning of the walk. The sunrise was well worth waking up early and the walk. It is always very nourishing for my soul to spend even just a few minutes down by the Bay at the start of the day. That also means I got my exercise and meditation walk in for the day. I then spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the house to get ready for my daughter to return with one of her Law school classmates for a few days before they have to return to Pennsylvania.

I have also been able to write this post for the blog, which makes two days in a row and provides a good start to 2010. That is my primary resolution this year: to make a commitment to finding time to write, either in my blog or in my private journal, every day. I wrote almost every day when I was on sabbatical. That was in addition to studying Spanish, doing homework, exploring the city in which I was living. There really should not be any excuse for not writing. So I will make a commitment to doing that each and every day this year.

Happy New Year one and all. Hold onto the hope and promise of the sunrise for a new day for our world in 2010!

Some final thoughts on/in 2009!

Happy New Year! It is 11:00 p.m. on December 31, 2009. I have done a lousy job of regular postings on this blog this past fall. My last post, "A New Commitment to Sabbath Time" talked about a plan for incorporating mini-retreats into my monthly schedule. I did achieve that to some extent: I had a trip to Orlando in November for the Florida Conference Board of Directors' meeting. I had some great reflection time in the car on the drive to Orlando and actually composed some blog posts in my mind, but then never made the time to sit down and actually commitment them to computer and post on the blog!!!! Then I had a nice weekend off for my annual immersion in NASCAR during the final Sprint Cup race in Homestead, Florida. That has developed into a very enjoyable, mindless, ritual event for me. It started as a means to better connect with my son who was a temporary NASCAR fan when in elementary school, because his best friend was a fan. Eventually Paul grew out of that interest, which was never very deep, but I had become hooked. Unfortunately, the weekend is all focused on watching the cars drive the track and there is not much reflection or meditation time. It is not an experience that requires a lot of mental activity, but it does require focus, even if somewhat mindless. Still, I have grown to enjoy it and look forward to it every year. Over Thanksgiving I enjoyed a long weekend, with a trip to Naples to have Turkey Dinner with my father-in-law. You may remember from the last post that during the trip to Naples in October I actually developed a deeper appreciation for the view from his patio as a place to meditate, reflect and blog. But that didn't develop this time in November, or on our trip over on Christmas Day. Both trips were nice and relaxing in terms of providing a break from the regular hectic schedule of daily work life. The first weekend of December also provided a break of sorts. Dianne and I traveled to Melbourne/Palm Bay to join with the Riviera UCC folks in celebrating 120 years of ministry to those two communities. This was the church I served for 9 years upon first coming to Florida when it was located in downtown Melbourne. I had very little responsibility for the weekend, just reading scripture in worship on Sunday, and enjoying their celebration banquet, greeting and visiting with old friends, on Saturday evening. It was a nice break from the regular Advent routine. This past week was nice and slow and I had a good visit with my two children, even if too brief with my son. He and his sister arrived the day after Christmas, along with Dianne's daughter, her family, and Di's brother and family for a very full day of family Christmas. Then there was worship on Sunday. But we did get to the movies twice as a family, enjoyed several videos and one game of cards, and several good dinners. Now he has gone back to Palm Bay for three days before flying back to Utah for the start of the next semester at college. His sister is returning here tomorrow for a few more days with us, along with one of her new law school buddies who needed a Florida sunshine break from the Pennsylvania winter.

The only problem with all those breaks these past two months is they were actually too many. The result was even more stress and pressure during the regular weeks of work, as all my regular work commitments had to be completed in the remaining time each month. While I really enjoyed the down time and the change of schedule, what I learn from this experience is the need for balance: I need some down time for reflection and meditation, but not too much, unless it is a large block of time taken all at once, like a week or two of vacation, or a longer retreat or continuing education event. I also need to make sure and incorporate at least a brief period for reflecting and writing those reflections so that the time takes on more depth and, especially when I do have a meaningful reflection like I did several times on some of the long drives, I don't lose those thoughts to the ether.

Anyway, while I missed November with a post, here is one for December, a final one for 2009, and I am saving some thoughts for tomorrow morning and hopefully my first post for 2010. Happy New Year!

A New Commitment to Sabbath Time

The sky was bright blue. There was a gentle breeze blowing off the Gulf of Mexico, which was shimmering invitingly beyond the mangroves & Australian pines. Sitting on my father-in-law’s fifth floor balcony in Naples on Wednesday morning, October 22, working on my submissions for the church newsletter, I wished that was my office setting all the time. I would really enjoy working in such a relaxed setting with such a beautiful, inspiring view.

Later that day Dianne and I then drove north to Clearwater Beach and set up shop on the ninth floor of the Hilton, with a balcony facing north presenting a view of Clearwater Bay and the condos, homes and palm trees of this sleepy little island to the east, and of the beach and the Gulf of Mexico to the west. While this was been a working trip for Dianne who went there to conduct the wedding of the youngest child of a life-long friend she has known since they were both 10 years old, for me it was another form of Sabbath retreat. Yes, I did engage in some work activities: finishing up my newsletter submissions as I previously mentioned, answering emails from parishioners and colleagues, scheduling a substitute preacher for an upcoming Sunday, participating in a conference call meeting of a committee of the Florida Conference UCC, and doing some reading as research for Sunday’s sermon. Even so, there was a much more relaxed rhythm to my days, with work slipped into the seams and edges of the day, while there were also many renewing and regenerating activities composing the bulk of my activity. Each day included a 75 minute walk on the beach (twice at sunrise, once in the middle of the day). I read the New York Times from front page to back every day (a much more complete, comprehensive, and interesting newspaper than my hometown Miami Herald). All three meals every day were relaxed times with Dianne, without a TV and with good conversation. I even enjoyed a little bit of pleasure reading, starting the Pat Conroy novel, South of Broad.

Early in my career as a pastor I read somewhere the suggestion that a pastor ought to schedule a monthly retreat for the purpose of self-renewal, spiritual regeneration and growth. I never felt I could afford to do that every month. I have always been very faithful about observing and keeping my day off each week (of course most people in the work force in the US get two days off, but clergy never seem entitled to that perk). I have also, occasionally, tried to schedule a quarterly retreat, a few days away from my ministry setting, usually at a retreat house. But I have never established even that as a regular pattern. But since my Sabbatical, when I learned how truly renewing time away from the regular schedule of responsibilities, activities, and expectations can be, this past year I have been reflecting more upon the nature of Sabbath as time away. As I look back at the year, especially through these blog posts, I realize I have had some sort of time away almost every month. Some of it has been around family concerns; my father’s failing health and then death, my children going off to law school and college, attending this wedding to support Dianne. Some of it has been more related to work; attending the Florida Conference Annual Meeting and staying over an extra day to enjoy Daytona Beach with my wife. And some has been family vacation time; our trip to Chicago to celebrate Dianne’s birthday with family, our quick trip to Savannah in September.

The result has been a more relaxed pastor during the more common active periods of ministry. I have been able to go about my work with greater energy, a better balanced sense of priorities and perspective, and a fresher capability for creativity. This past year this schedule evolved more by accident than by planning. Having a better understanding of the benefit such a schedule provides, however, leads me to the decision that I want to commit to such a schedule in the future. Toward that end I plan to take a mini-retreat each month this next year. If I will be away during the month for Conference related business or vacation time, I will dedicate a part of that time away to some intentional Sabbath time of reflection and renewal. If such time does not present itself in a month, I will take a 2-3 day mini-retreat during one week of the month and get away from my home, my regular routine, and set aside the time to spend in intentional prayer and reflection on life and my ministry. Such a schedule should provide great benefit to me and to my ministry, and possibly ensure a longer tenure with renewed energy and a healthier attitude and outlook. Stay tuned for more updates on the Sabbath Tango experiment!

Sabbath Tango is a Difficult Dance

I am really struggling to keep posting to this blog. I had set myself a goal of having at least one post each month this year, and here it is almost to the end of September before I am adding something for this month. The month almost slipped by without a post, and I even had 10 days off from work for vacation time with Dianne this month! I must say, it was a very mixed bag as far as vacation time goes. We had to begin the time with a trip to Naples, FL to check on her father who is having some health issues and then we had to end the time with another trip to Naples the last two days to check up on him again. Thankfully, the two trips resulted in good news from the doctors visited, so they were certainly worthwhile and necessary.

Sandwiched between these two trips to Naples was a quick trip to Savannah, GA, which is apparently becoming our new "favorite" southern city. (Sorry Charleston, you are being edged out by your neighbor to the south!) Savannah is a lovely, old south city filled with charm, story, restored 150 year-old houses and other architectural structures, lovely shaded squares, and very gracious hospitality. It also has a beach on Tybee Island (which Charleston has, too) which is very necessary for us as both of us worry we will dry up and wither away if we are ever removed too far from an ocean for too long! We had a very nice time in Savannah. The B & B where we stayed was lovely and very comfortable. The hosts were most attentive and prepared very delicious & filling breakfasts. We had some exquisite meals, very delicious and at least one, very gourmet! We enjoyed some jazz and some street artists.

It was a very enjoyable 4 days. But it did not have the feel of "sabbath" time. Why was that? It was vacation. It was a break from my regular routine. But it was not that special, step aside and live life at a different pace, time. It was somewhat diminished by the fact that I had not completed the work I needed to finish before leaving by Sunday, and so a big chunk of Monday and Tuesday, when I was in Naples, and then back in Miami before leaving for Savannah, was spent working on articles for the Church newsletter. I think it was also kept from being Sabbath time because of the time spent attending to my father-in-law's medical needs. (That was important time and necessary for us to pay attention to, but it was not sabbath time.) And then, for some reason, we filled the time in Savannah to the brim with activity: visiting Fort Pulaski (which was very interesting); visiting the Tybee light house; visiting Bonaventure Cemetery; visiting antique dealers and old houses, including the Mercer-Williams house, which was made famous by Johnny Mercer, whose great-grandfather began building the house before the Civil War, did not finish the house after the war, sold it to someone else, and no other Mercer, including Johnny, ever lived in the house! Everything we did was interesting. But in the short time we were there it felt like we filled the time too much with activity and not enough with laid-back, down-time, with no activity except perhaps to read, enjoy the gardens of the B & B, maybe even sleep some extra time.

What I would conclude is Sabbath Time is hard to find. We do not live in a world that encourages or nurtures sabbath time activities. Even our regular Sabbath Days, (Saturday for the Jews and Seventh-Day Adventists and Sunday for Christians) are filled with activity. For most of us, finding even an hour on Sabbath Day to gather with others for worship is often difficult. And forget about trying to find sabbath time during the rest of the week. Unless you have been laid-off, downsized, or had your hours cut-back, because of the bad economy, you are not working a 40 hour week, you are working a 50 or 60 hour week, often spread over 6 days instead of 5. On top of that you are needing to spend many hours attending to chores and tasks at home. So actually finding time for rest, relaxation, meditation, worship, just being and enjoying creation, it very, very difficult. It is most certainly a dance. As "Dancing with the Stars" has demonstrated for all America, to master a dance takes hard, hard work, time, and dedication. We keep wanting sabbath time to just "materialize" and when it doesn't, we don't seem to know how to advocate for our right to it and are afraid to proclaim how important it is. I wish I had an answer, but instead, as my minimal posts illustrate, it is a difficult tango for me to master as well.

Enjoy the pictures above of Savannah. It is a lovely city. And I encourage you to keep practicing your sabbath tango, as I promise to keep trying to do as well!

Walking Up & Down Memory Lane at 8,000 feet

Walking 1.8 miles uphill, achieving an elevation change of 1,040 feet in that distance, at altitudes of 7,500 to 8,500 feet just about did in the lungs of this sea level fellow! Today I walked up & down memory lane, basking in nostalgia, as I did the above in Mill Creek Canyon. This canyon has always been my canyon of choice. It is the closest canyon to Westminster College, in the Wasatch Mountains. Within 15 minutes I was traveling up the canyon from the eastern shelf of the Salt Lake Valley, moving from below 5,000 feet to over 7,000 feet in my car (I pitied the poor fools trying to make the climb on their bicycles!) The only hitch in the day was the fact that the first half of my hike took place in a steady, light rain shower. It was hard enough though to require me putting on my jacket (as much due to the cooler temps from the rain and altitude) and to carrying my umbrella, since I was concerned for my camera in my "supposedly" rain-resistant backpack. (Camera survived fine. Backpack is a good one.) I am sure I was quite a sight in my black tennis shoes, white socks, tan shorts, black jacket, backpack, and black umbrella! Oh well, everything stayed relatively dry and it did make it a little more enjoyable!

After surviving the climb in the rain, I was blessed by the rain stopping and the sky clearing to blue on my descent. Along the way I took lots of pictures of mountains, trees (both pines and aspens), tons of wildflowers, a squirrel who was quite agitated by my presence, and the stream that runs down the canyon alongside the trail. After descending and enjoying lunch in a picnic area, I took some photos of the Salt Lake Valley from the mouth of the canyon, which afforded a wonderful panoramic view from high on the eastern shelf.

Mill Creek Canyon was where I spent most of my hiking and canyon time when I attended Westminster College. One winter a friend and I attempted to snowshoe, on rented, plastic snowshoes, in this canyon and struggled through 10 feet or more of snow. Not very successful. Another friend and I did some low level rock climbing in this canyon, and I took at least one or two girls up the canyon for some romantic hikes. (I also took my wife, Dianne, up this same trail to Dog Lake 14 years ago when we visited Salt Lake City on our "Grand Western Loop" via car.) I remember visiting the trail heads one June and it was snowing at that altitude! It was a wonderful way to end my "Sabbath Time" visit to Salt Lake City. Paul is ensconced in Westminster College. I have enjoyed a deep draft from the well of Zion (as the Mormons call it), a locale I dearly love. My body is tired, but my spirit is refreshed. I am ready to return to Miami!

The photos are from my hike!