Bridges

Bridges in my city most often cross over dry washes. A even a "wash" is a misnomer. Rarely does a wash wash anything. It's a dry riverbed that sometimes will flood in a heavy rain. Otherwise it stays dry most of the time. But we need bridges for those occasional rain storms. In my church there are a lot of stories about before the bridges over the dry riverbed were built. At times, our part of the city was cut off from the rest, requiring long detours to the neighboring cities (now suburbs) to cross the seasonal swell of rain water.

I was thinking about bridges last week when I read some scripture stories about Jesus. We're often obsessed with getting to the other side of things we are concerned with, or - especially these days - getting people on the other side over to our side. There was a lot of that with Jesus. Pharisees watching him, plotting, waiting to find him on the "wrong side," then pull up the draw bridge and condemn him.

As a child, there was a large footbridge that crossed a deep ravine at my grandparent's house. At the bottom of the ravine was a small creek that drained out into Lake Michigan. My brother and I use to love to run back and forth across that bridge, throwing rocks and sticks into the green leafy forest below. We could cross that bridge and go to the large, old and kind-of-mysterious house of some friends of my grandparents that had an old swimming pool in the back yard...sometimes it had some water in it, sometimes it didn't. I think it depended on whether it rained. It was quite an adventurous place for a young child.

It seems that more often than not these days we're not much interested in crossing bridges. We want and expect that everyone should come across to our side. We are on the right side afterall. Who in their right minds would want to stay on the wrong side? But, really, I don't think Jesus was very interested in which side people were on. He seemed more interested in the bridge itself. Being the bridge. And I think that's what he may have wanted us to be as well.

For him, stories about common things like seeds, wheat and weeds, fishing, birds and flowers, were bridges to get over the dry fears of people's close-mindedness. Food and feasting was a bridge to connect people across deep ravines of culture. Healing was a bridge. The Sabbath was bridge - even though the Pharisees thought it was a ravine that could not or should not be crossed.



This painting is by Marsha (Sasha) Porter, called "Bridge of Sighs." I think it was painted after the collapse of the bridge in Minneapolis-St. Paul a few years ago. It caught my attention because it reminds me of what happens when we ignore our bridges. They crumble and cause chaos. People die. The same is true when we ignore our bridges. If we're too concerned about bringing people over to our side - which of course is the right side...the bridge only becomes a means to an end. Our own end. Because, the important thing isn't getting everyone over to our side... but the adventure of exploring the worlds beyond ours, running back and forth, being able to cross back when we need some familiarity, and being able to get to places and meet people we could not know before. I'd like to see us strengthen our bridge-building skills a little more.

Forward Through the Fog

I'm very good at discerning when to stay put and not go out into bad weather. Too good, really. I'm not a brave driver who wants to conquer anything. When I lived in snow country, I was basically a wuss. When it's foggy outside, I stay put. When the "fog" is proverbial...I am good at waiting. I don't like it, but I can wait.

When I'm trying to get through the proverbial fog in life and discern a direction, catch a vision, grab a conviction...I can usually do that too pretty well. As soon as there's a break in the fog of confusion or a lifting of the blanket of the unknown, I can often quickly discern a direction and go for it.

What I've learned I cannot do well is push myself forward through the fog. As I said...I'm a wuss. I'm finding that somewhere around 50, a heavy blanket of fog set in and my life felt like it came to somewhat of a wussy, wavering stall-out. I suppose some would call it a "midlife crisis." Mine felt more like a midlife muddle. In some respects I'm still in it, yet I'm learning something about it.

I'm trying to get better at continuing to move forward through the foggy times in my life. Even if it's just one step at a time. The truth is, of course, none of us knows if we have another step to take. So, fog or not, all we really can do is fill that one next step ahead of us with all the purpose, conviction, vision, and fulfillment possible, just in case there isn't a next step. If you can only see the distance of your arm held out in front of you, well...fill that arm's length with all the purpose and intentionality you can. No, it may not be a huge accomplishment, or a world-changing phenomenon; it may not be the end goal you've always been dreaming of, but it will at least be an arm's length of knowing you lived fully and faithfully.

I've also discovered it's really a matter of trust. In the fog, you use your past experience to know the road is there, even if you can't see it. I'm learning to trust that all I have been and all I will be as God intends and is shaping me for is true. It is still present within me even though I may not be able to see it or feel it in the murky mud of midlife. There is a road I'm on. There is a destination I'm heading for. The road is good. I can keep taking those steps forward, trusting myself to the foggy way.

Rain

It's raining today.

I know it's not big news for the summer in most places. It is big news, however for the desert-dwellers. Television stations in my city carry video footage of puddles on both the six o'clock and ten o'clock news when it rains. But, I'm not in Phoenix, I'm in the Pacific Northwest where rain is a usual thing.

I'm amazed at the affect it is having on me today. The water is gently washing all my rough edges to roundness; it is smoothing the sharpness and soaking the soreness. The rain is bringing me a serenity I've come on vacation to find.

It's good to change climates if you can on vacation. We need that shift of environment and sensory input, and be refreshed by the differences. We desert-dwellers need to be reminded of puddles and feel the cleansing of a steady rain. Those who live in the land of heavy clouds and humidity, need to feel the dry, unencumbered sun sinking into their bones once in awhile. Those that live in level lands, need the taste of mountains, and vice versa.

If we are fortunate to love where we live, we will love it even more if we can manage a little variety. The earth feeds us with her diversity...and it's a food that nourishes deep into our souls. I had a friend who commented once on how uncomfortable it was for her, as a Midwesterner use to being surrounded by tall trees, to venture into the desert or the plains with all their immense openness. She felt intimidated and exposed. Others feel claustrophobic in the midst of a forest. These fears are probably good to feel on occasion as well. They remind us that the earth really is not under our dominion, but has a life of its own and qualities far beyond our reach. They have the power to refresh us and to remind us that not all is under our control. We need to pay attention and open ourselves to the gifts.

Vacating

There's something very holy about vacation. For us clergy-types, I'm afraid it at times seems like more of a pain that it is worth. I'm vacating right now, and trying my best to empty out, shift gears, slow down, savor, and hope that in two weeks the pressures built up within the tectonic plates of my life will shutter and quake enough for a resettling to take place. A more comfortable fit.

But, somehow, sometimes we get suckered into believing the great lie. Our absence - even for a week or two - will be so sorely missed as to wound the church irreparably. Somehow we will become abandoners, not caring for those who count on us to be at bedsides or gravesides. Especially when we are lolling away our time dangling our feet in a cool stream or watching a video at home with the curtains drawn mid-afternoon. It's a great lie - not that parishioners tell us, but that we tell ourselves.

Let us love our people enough to entrust them to the caring hands and attention of others that might speak a word of God or have a touch of God so slightly different than our own so as to catch our beloved parishioners by surprise and let them perhaps meet God in a new way.

And, let us love ourselves enough to trust ourselves to the great vacation void, where God may be waiting to meet us in the empty, surprising space of a blank schedule or a new location.

A deep-body thanks to those who are enabling and enriching my holy vacating! Rich - far away but always close; April - "Anam Cara;" Christopher, Jaylin, Cara & Jenole - sharing sacred family space like a down comforter!