Saturday Morning

I've not looked at the calendar, turned on the radio, nor opened my cell phone, so I'm not exactly sure what the date is. All I know is that it is the end of a week in which the rains never stopped; the week in which the kids at school were told to crawl under their desks due to a tornado warning; the week in which it was not uncommon to see trash cans floating down the street.

We don't have many weeks like that in southern California.

I don't know yet what today's date is, but I know that this is a morning on which I can see my breath indoors. Everyone except me is still asleep. Even the dog has yet to ask to be let out.

I turn on the heater and make myself some hot green tea. I take the tea, a book, and a blanket, and settle in the chair by the window. As the antique clock on the mantle ticks away, I reach over and turn the lamp on. Dawn is breaking, but it's not yet light enough to read by.

The tea is still too hot to drink, but the cup is just the right temperature for me to hold with both hands and let its warmth bring life into my cold fingers. Once it cools a little, I take a sip. Ahh. Just right.

I read for awhile, finish my tea, and hold the ceramic cup for a minute longer, letting the last of the warmth flow into my hands before setting it down. Then I look up, and notice a sliver of sunlight on the opposite wall.

I continue reading, but can't resist looking back to the wall. The sliver is growing.

Again, I try to read, and again, my eyes are drawn to the wall. Now the whole wall is glowing, brilliantly yellow and bright. What a sight! It glows with the color of hope and joy and optimism and peace. What glorious light!

I turn the lamp off--it is no longer needed--and resume reading. A few minutes later, I look up again, and the sunlight is gone. Well, not gone, exactly. It has passed behind a tree across the street, so it has become more diffuse. The room is still bright.

An hour has passed.

"Ahh." A soft voice from the hallway. A young child has found his place by the wall heater. The dog is also awake, asking to be let out now. Soon, the house will be full of noise. Neighbor kids will be knocking on the door, asking to play.

Saturday has begun.

Adventure is Out There!

In Yosemite, Ethan was unusually eager to hike farther than anyone else; so when our large group reached the Vernal Fall footbridge, Ethan and I continued up to the top of Vernal Falls, and kept going until we had a view of Nevada Fall. All was good, until we reached some icy patches on the trail. Here, Ethan nervously and carefully traverses one of those icy spots; Nevada Fall is in the background.

The photo was taken on January 16. Two days later, a series of storms arrived, dumping a tremendous amount of snow and rain throughout California. The snow at this particular spot is now probably higher than Ethan's head.

Solviture Ambulando

In Yosemite Valley, there are many trails for walking and hiking. The most popular ones lead to the bases of waterfalls; Bridalveil Fall and Lower Yosemite Fall in particular. They are wide, paved, and lined with trees.

The paths are engineered in such a way that builds anticipation: first you hear the roar of the water; then you catch a glimpse of the falls through the trees; finally, the trees open up, and you are presented with the full majesty of some of the world's highest waterfalls.

For the most part, these are trails with a purpose, and that purpose is to bring visitors to the falls. On these trails, it's all about the destination. The point of walking on these trails is to reach that destination, and see the waterfalls up-close.

The waterfalls are indeed beautiful, even in winter when their flow is diminished by cold temperatures that keep much of the water frozen solid. However, there is another trail that does not lead to a waterfall. By myself, I walked this trail Sunday afternoon, after we had worshiped at the Yosemite Valley Chapel, in a window of time before the late afternoon ice skating session in Curry Village, where we were staying.

I began this walk at the historic Awahnee Hotel, and headed east, away from the waterfalls. Near the meadow's edge, I saw some deer grazing. The trail disappeared into a pine forest, where the brown earth was interrupted by a few small patches of ice and puddles.

For me, this trail was not all about reaching a destination. Some people did walk this trail to get to Mirror Lake, but that was not my destination. My purpose was not to arrive somewhere, but to be somewhere, to notice where I was as I walked, and not worry so much about where I was going.

A few squirrels scampered about. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse through the trees of a massive rock wall to my left. I enjoyed the smell of the pine trees, made noticeable even on this winter day by the mild, damp air. I breathed in the silence of this secluded part of the valley.

The trail crossed a creek, and brought me into a campground that was closed for the winter. I felt a few sprinkles of rain (not snow) on my face. With no umbrella, I quickened my pace, worried that I might get wet if I did not get to Curry Village quickly enough. In fact, "worried" is an understatement. A wave of anxiety swept over me, as I remembered all my admonitions to be prepared, and yet here I was without a rain jacket or umbrella. If these sprinkles became an actual rain shower ... I would get wet.

Suddenly, I unexpectedly laughed out loud. So what if I get wet? I get wet every day when I shower, don't I? I wasn't so far away from civilization that there was any danger. I wasn't in the backcountry. If it rained, I would get wet. So what? I could dry off and warm up when I reached the cabin.

I slowed down, and began to enjoy the feel of the tiny drops on my skin, each one tickling ever so slightly. I forgot about where I was going, and went back to noticing where I was. As it turned out, the real rain didn't start until long after my walk had ended.

I didn't realize why this particular walk was so meaningful to me until I got home and started reading Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World, in which she talks about noticing the world around us--and how most of us are too busy to. She asks about Moses: what if he had been too busy to notice the burning bush, or too focused on his destination to pause and investigate this strange thing he saw? If he hadn't stopped and noticed, then he wouldn't be Moses.

Barbara Brown Taylor quotes Shug Avery, one of the "wise women" in Alice Walker's book The Color Purple: "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."

The walks to the waterfalls are wonderful. No trip to Yosemite Valley is complete without them. But for most people, they are not that different from most of the other walks we take in life, which really aren't walks at all: walking across the parking lot to the grocery store, walking through the lobby of an office building, walking from the living room to the bathroom. We just want to get there. If we could instantly beam ourselves from one place to another as in Star Trek--and do away with the walk completely--we would. If we could get to the base of the waterfall without five or ten minutes of walking, most of us probably would.

Which is why walks that don't lead anywhere are so important. In this sense, walking the path through the pine trees was like walking a labrynth. The focus was on now, on noticing. The focus was on breathing in everything around me.

Skyscrapers

Note: I added a new blog to my blog list. Adventures in Life is the blog of two Global Ministries missionaries in Haiti. Needless to say, they have some amazing stories to tell...

This week, I saw some skyscrapers, both man-made and natural...

Checklists

Last Sunday, we had quite a few visitors at worship; more than we've had on any Sunday since I became pastor here, except for "special Sundays" like Scout Sunday, when all of Troop 29 attends worship. Some of the visitors we had last Sunday were young, while others looked like they might have been retired. Some were friends or acquaintances of current members, others were not. Some hadn't been to church in years, while others reported to me that they had become dissatisfied with their current church home and were looking for some place new.

In talking with visitors, the hope is always that they are looking for what our congregation offers. (In other words, a "perfect match.") The challenge, of course, is that everyone is looking for something different. Some want a church that is just like the church in which they grew up. Some want a church that is nothing like the one in which they grew up. Some want a church that is theologically conservative. Some want a church that is theologically liberal. Some want a certain type of music. And some want a church that is full of people who are just like them.

I've been told by people that they they didn't like their last church because there was too much conflict. Do I tell them that seven years ago, conflict nearly destroyed this congregation, and that the members who remained have been healing ever since?

I've been told by people that they left their last church after that church allowed people who were openly gay to take leadership roles. Do I tell them that most (though not all) of the members in this congregation are OK with that as well?

I've been told by people that they left their last church when the pastor said that the virgin birth was metaphorical and not literally true. Do I tell them that I don't particularly care if it's literally true or not, that I'm more concerned about what the story means?

One thing I know is that if someone walks in with a checklist in their minds of what a church should be--of what a church must be in order for them to be happy there--that we will undoubtedly fail to satisfy every item on their list, and will likely never see them again. At the same time, if we as a congregation have our own mental checklists of what prospective and potential members must be like, then we will undoubtedly fail in our efforts to be welcoming and hospitable, because no one can perfectly satisfy those checklists. How could they, when each of us have checklists that are different and even contradictory?

Sometimes it seems a miracle that we are ever able to come together and form a worshiping community. Somehow, despite the differences and even the conflict, the congregation I pastor is now entering its 65th year of ministry. Somehow, we have learned (and relearned) how to welcome one another, how to be a church, amidst our incredible diversity. That's nothing short of miraculous.

In talking with people who are new to our church, I try to be as open and honest as I can, especially when answering their questions about who we are or what we believe. I tell them that we are learning to put aside our own checklists. I tell them that the members of this church, though different, have agreed on one thing: to welcome one another in worship and ministry, accepting and even embracing the diversity that exists among us.

Then I leave the decision to them: whether to stay, or to take their checklists elsewhere.

Sutter's Fort

In the 1840s, John Sutter established a fort not far from where the American and Sacramento rivers merge. In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, he built a mill to help supply the fort. In 1848, gold was discovered at the mill, much to Sutter's dismay. He correctly predicted that many of his workers would abandon the fort in search of gold.

Every fourth grader in California studies California history. While we were in Sacramento recently, we stopped by Sutter's Fort, primarily so that Tristan, who is in fourth grade, could see a part of the history that he will be studying in the coming months. Incidentally, Sacramento is a lot colder in winter than it is in Long Beach!

Newspaper Update

The church I pastor is doing fairly well these days, but still, it hasn't escaped the effects of the recession. The result is salary cuts.

The other day, after some figuring, I proudly announced to my wife that we could save $60 a month by getting rid of our land phone line (which we hardly ever use anyway) and cutting back on some hardly-used features of our cell phone calling plan. She then informed me that she, too, had found a way for us to save money: she cancelled the more expensive Sunday paper we'd been getting and signed us up for a special deal with the Press-Telegram.

"You did what!?" I said. If you've read this blog over the past year, you know the trouble I've had with the Press-Telegram. (If you haven't, click on the "press-telegram" link in the topic list to the right ... or just do a google search for "press-telegram sucks." Yep, my blog will show up there.) Anyway, she said someone from the paper called and said something to the effect of, "I see you've had some problems with us. I'd like to make it good by offering you the paper on Sundays for a ridiculously low price."

Is the Press-Telegram really trying to atone for its past mistakes and shoddy customer service? And if so, will they be successful? I guess we'll find out.

Today I asked my wife, "So when will the delivery start?"

"Today," she said.

"Well, we didn't get a paper. I'll let you call and find out why."

Nerf Gun War

The great nerf gun war continues to rage just outside my living room window. The combatants in this war include most of those who gathered just a few weeks ago in my dining room to decorate cookies. Plastic guns that shoot nerf darts are the weapon of choice in this war, although a bow that shoots marshmallows instead of arrows is also used. In the most intense battles, one might also see a plastic sword or two.

Most of the battles are generally friendly, but sometimes things don't go right. A gun gets taken. A sword is broken. Complaints ring in my ears, and when they do, I respond with one of several phrases that I have come up with for the occasion, phrases that inevitable fail to satisfy the sense of injustice felt by the troops: "Casualty of war." "Cheap sword." "Game over."

As today's battle rages, I'm inside, reading, thinking, and wondering. Specifically, I'm thinking and wondering about how people have such different views of Jesus. Some see him as a great warrior, all-powerful, conquering evil with his mighty strength. This Jesus would kick ass in a nerf gun war, no doubt about that! Others see Jesus as meek and mild, soft-spoken, gentle--a lamb who would run away in fear.

Last week, I challenged the members of our high school youth group to try to imagine Jesus in a new way, as neither conqueror nor lamb. I also shared with them a series of hypothetical situations, situations in which a typical response would be "fight" or "flight," and asked them how they'd respond. (Nearly every time, they chose "fight.")

"OK," I said. "Now try to imagine a third way to respond, one that involves neither fighting nor running away; a response that is more creative than either of these, more effective, and more Christ-like."

Following Jesus is about finding that third option, choosing that third way, the way that is neither fight nor flight. It's the way outlined in the Sermon on the Mount. Don't fight back, but don't run away, either. Instead, go the extra mile.

Is there someone with whom you are constantly butting heads? Perhaps a co-worker who is controlling and overbearing in the workplace, not to mention obnoxious? How do you respond? Do you let him or her walk all over you? Do you push back, confront, challenge? Do you (in other words) run away, or do you fight?

Or do you look for the third option, a better, more creative solution, one that will lead to greater peace for both of you?

Whether it's nerf gun wars in the neighborhood, conflict in the workplace, or tension among nations, most people see only two options, but it's the third option that will make us all winners. It's the third option that will bring peace.

Vista del Lago

The first few days of 2010 have been sunny and warm here in southern California. The weather almost always cooperates for the Rose Parade and Rose Bowl. But a few days earlier, as we drove back from our visit to northern California, it was cold and drizzly. Driving over the Grapevine and Tejon Pass (elevation 4144'), the fog was thick, the air cold, and the windshield wipers were on. When we reached Pyramid Lake, though, the fog lifted, and I pulled the car over at "Vista del Lago" to take a picture.