Month: August 2011

Extreme Welcoming

/ uurevjeff

In my travels among different congregations, I have found many healthy, happy churches.  Unfortunately, finding them often takes a good deal of work on the part of the searcher.  We have many wonderful religious communities in our denomination.  But, too often we make the task of locating and entering those communities onerous.

The consequences of our inattention to outreach ministry was struck home to me last week when I attended a local folk music festival.  The odyssey started with driving to the fairgrounds and entering one of the two main entrances.  I shortly found myself facing a barricade with no indication of exactly where I was supposed to park my car.  After crawling around two such obstacles, I found a grassy area with cars and stopped.

Seeing no obvious starting point for the event, I walked over to the main building.  Inside I found an information table and some vendors selling instruments and music.  However, there was no starting place and no obvious location for the visitor to talk to someone about the schedule of events.  In fact, quite the opposite, no one spoke to me, offered assistance, or even said hello.

I walked around the room and was again astonished at the lack of interaction or interest in my presence at all.  When I did talk to people, their interest waned quickly when the realized that I was not “one of them.”  And although the posted information indicated that food was available, I found nothing but one small table selling bags of popcorn.

The event could have been very interesting.  Perhaps the group might have engaged me in what could have become a long and fruitful relationship.  Instead, I doubt that I will ever have much interest in the organization or its events again.

It saddens me to think of the many times I have heard similar stories from people visiting our churches.  Knowing how I felt that day, I would never wish that feeling of unwelcome on anyone, particularly someone looking for a religious home.

So, while you may be perfectly happy with your own congregation, take a moment and examine it through the eyes of a visitor, a stranger.  How welcome would you feel?  How would you want to be treated upon entering the space and in the days after?  Are the things you would want really all that extreme, or simply practices that should be commonplace?

Some Assembly Required…

/ uurevjeff

That’s a phrase every parent has dreaded at one time or another (especially at 4:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve as the bicycle lies strewn in uncooperative pieces on the floor).  Lately that phrase has run through my mind as I construct my new life here in Midland.  From the metaphorical (assembling new relationships with congregants and a new town) to the literal (a desk, three bookcases, an office chair, and a still-not-quite-functional filing cabinet) my life lies in pieces on the workbench waiting for Geppetto to assemble the puppet who would be a boy.  I’ve put together quite the collection of Allen wrenches and instruction manuals.

As much as I like to receive packages, I am beginning to yearn for some end to the chaos.  Something in me wants at least one room in my life to be finished.  Just once, I want to look around me and be satisfied.  As one of my favorite movie bad guys once said, “When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.”

The real problem, though, is believing in the illusion of completion.  There really is no such thing as being finished with anything.  Just as the elements that comprise our universe are in a constant state of flux, so our lives consist of an endless stream of shifts and changes.  I suppose if I ever got everything that I think I want, I would immediately identify some new desire or place for improvement.  I’ve come to believe that enlightenment is not a stagnant state of serenity and wholeness, but rather an attitude that nothing is permanent and that no current state of anything really matters at all.

In the meantime, I’ve got piles of unsorted books beckoning for my attention, a sad recliner due to fall apart suddenly as I sit to watch the next episode of Hell’s Kitchen, and a garage full of shipping boxes awaiting the next “heavy item” garbage pick up day.  Until I achieve a transcendent state, I will seek that balance between the nirvana of the perfect home and a disorganized and unmanageable hovel.  And I will continue to embrace the many opportunities before me to assemble my life.

Floating Logs in the Stream of Life

/ uurevjeff / 1 Comment

Before my move to Midland, I took one last walk south along the railroad tracks out of Smithton toward Jacob’s Creek.  The summer temperatures had fallen, but the air was still muggy and warm.  I went to an opening along the bank where people launch kayaks and canoes to drift along the Youghiogheny River.  I have sat there before watching the water flow by, but the log I had used before to sit comfortably was nowhere to be seen.  Doubtless some camper tossed it onto a fire not knowing they were depriving me of my resting place.

So, I wandered along the fishermans’ trail, tossing branches and stones into the water.  Unable to find a place to sit and rest in solitude, I grew restless and unable to allow my mind to wander unfettered.  I headed back along the road.

I soon came upon an old, partially-rotted piece of wooden guard rail post.  Still close enough to the water, I tossed the semi-log in.  It hit the surface with a low plomp, sank, and quickly resurfaced.  In no time, bulky block of wood sped along with the river.

Now walking with the current, I found that I could easily keep pace with the floating wood.  With its large exposed surface, it reminded me of a Mark Twain raft drifting along the mighty Mississippi.  I started gaining ground and stayed paces ahead as I walked.  Occasionally a car would pass by, forcing me to hug the guard rail and check up on my small ark.

Watching the steady progress, I thought of my kids as they grew and went off into the world.  Had I wanted to, or really needed to, I could have lumbered down the bank and jumped in to retrieve my child from the current.  But in reality, I was consigned to watching its inevitable journey, knowing that I had provided the initial impetus and castoff.

As the foliage grew taller, I only caught fleeting sight of the floating log until the weeds grew too high.  At the same time, the road started to dip slowly away from the water, and I knew that ever a herculean effort would not rejoin us again.  I began to imagine its future course down the river, knowing that I could do nothing to influence its path significantly.

Returning home, I couldn’t help but think of all the times in our lives that we give birth to activities and ideas and how soon they develop lives of their own, quickly moving out of our control.  When theologians talk about the cycle of birth and death, they often only include consideration of salvation of the individual or the progress of the soul along the path of reincarnation.

But, in fact, our lives abound with little births, giving rise to lives – some fleeting and others carrying on long after our own demise.  More often than not, we are completely unaware of our continual creations and the impact they have on others.  Perhaps a respect for the interdependent web of all existence begins with such awareness.

My Life as My Books

/ uurevjeff

I don’t suppose a therapist would classify this an addiction, but I am inordinately fond of books.  Having just moved to a new home in Midland, I find most of my time consumed by organizing books, buying shelves for books, and grieving the loss of a handful that fell victim to a spill in the moving van.

People ask why I want to possess so many books.  Why do I keep books I have already read?  Why do I buy books easily available in libraries, even online?  And why would I keep a book that I am entirely unlikely to ever read?

I will admit that my bibliophilia borders on the obsessive.  I do use libraries liberally and love the growing availability of documents on Google Books and other resources.  Logic certainly would not explain the contents or size of my personal collections.

But, there are reasons for my madness.  I am comfortable around and among books.  Sometimes I feel smarter or more insightful just knowing that all of that collected knowledge resides in immediate proximity.  There is an art to the library, from dust jacket illustrations to bindings.  And, the symmetry and line of rows of texts appeals to my design sense.

The primary reason for my peculiar compulsion, however, is how my books help my spiritual practice.  Just as I love to saunter along streets and pathways, I also love to walk among ideas in my mind.  I cannot count the number of times a worship service design changed direction after a casual glance at a neighboring book, or the coincidental discovery of a text related (often in an obscure way) to the subject of my sermon.  I know that virtual libraries will in time replace my beloved stacks.  But, I will miss wandering among the towering shelves of Dewey-decimalled dusty tomes.