I'll Take the Fish

If you're a fan of quirky movies, check out "I'm Reed Fish." The plot sounds pretty simple -- small town radio dj's Reed Fish's life becomes chaotic when a girl he had a crush on in high school comes back to town three weeks before his marriage to thre richest, prettiest, and queen of car sales in town. Katey Sagal stars as the astrology spouting mayor and DJ Qualls as a convenience store manager who's a cousin of Reed's highschool flame (and a madly in love wack-job).

Schuyler Fisk plays the highschool sweetie Jill -- or does she? That's about all I can say without giving away what makes this such a fun little film. Fisk's music is also good -- and the soundtrack's lots of fun, too (one of my few downloads from i-tunes).

Check it out -- not deep, but fun.

--Brent

Sow in Peace

“I believe there is more thought and attention given to the cause of peace today, both in this country and Europe, than at any former period. … I think we may reasonably hope that this is the beginning of a new era in the history of the world.”

Those are the words of Daniel Hill, secretary of Peace Association of Friends in America in his 1872 annual report to the yearly meetings. Human activity in the years to follow proved him right, though not in the way he meant. The world was about to embark on a new era — one of mechanized death and wholesale slaughter of civilians on a scale that no one in 1872 could imagine. The numbers of wars and rumors of wars is hard to fathom even today.

Which gives a Quaker pause. What is the worth of working for peace if, after doing so for 350 plus years (in the case of the Quakers), it has made no difference in the world?

Or has it? When somebody asked Winston Churchill how he could be such an evil man and still say that his faith was important, Churchill is reported to have replied, “Madam, imagine how awful I should be were I not a Christian.” Indeed, that might be a point for us to consider — how awful might the world be if we, in the face of seeming futility, did not proclaim and work for the way of peace?

The Quakers have always held that the way of peace was an integral part of Christian faith and could not be separated from the heart of the gospel. As Robert Barclay said “Whoever can reconcile ‘Resist not evil,’ with ‘Resist violence by force,’ … and ‘Love thine enemies’ with ‘Spoil them, make a prey of them, pursue them with fire and the sword,’… may be supposed also to have found a way to reconcile God with the Devil, Christ with Antichrist, … and good with evil.”

Strong words to back a strong conviction. Why then, should people of faith work for peace today? Ron Mock, Associate Professor of Political Science and Peace Studies at George Fox College, once wrote three essential teachings which are the basis for working for peace today:
1) the belief that we are intended by God to have an eternal loving relationship, even with our enemies
2) the belief that forgiveness is even more central to relationships than is justice of revenge
3) the belief that an omnipotent and loving God will always, without exception, provide a way to give
everyone means to meet their needs, if we can only find it and follow it.

These are all teachings which call for action. We are called to be active in the cause of peace. Jesus does not call us to passivity. Jesus does not say “Blessed are the pacifists.” Instead He says “Blessed are the peace-makers.” Peace-making is action — love in action.

The way of love as a way of life, the way of the peace-maker, finds its foundation ultimately in trusting God and to remember, in the words from the 1959 edition of Christian Faith and Practice, “that God is not alone the God of things as they are but the God of things as they are meant to be.”

If we are children of the God of things as they are meant to be, and followers and friends of Jesus, then we must ask the Spirit for power to live lives of peace and to work for peace. We must try what Love will do in the assurance that if we do we will find greater peace in our lives, neighborhoods and world. And the hope contained in Daniel Hill’s words may finally be realized.

--Brent

A Pilgrim Life

Early Quaker mystic Isaac Penington wrote:

Know what it is that is to walk in the path of life … It is that which groans, and which mourns; that which is begotten of God in thee. … The true knowledge of the way, with the walking in the way, is reserved for God’s child, for God’s traveller. Therefore … be no more than God hath made thee. Give over thine own willing; … and, sink down to the seed which God sows in the heart and let that grow in thee.

I love the idea that, as Pennington says, “The true knowledge of the way, with the walking in the way, is reserved for God’s child, for God’s traveller.” As I look at my life, I see one of motion. Though firmly rooted in the Midwest, as an adult I’ve lived in sixteen houses in two states, held fifteen full or part time jobs, and owned way too many cars. My life is one of various – careers, family, spiritual, and other changes. They all fit well with the concept of way opening. Way opens implies motion; a moving along life’s pilgrim way. What a winsome discovery.

--Brent

Quaker Thought for the Day

Isolation of spirit ... comes to most - perhaps all of us - at one time or another. There are times in our lives when the tides of faith seem far out, times of dryness, times when we do not feel the comfort and guidance of God’s hand. … within, we feel the agonies of isolation and the longing for light to lighten our darkness. I can think with thankfulness of Friends who have brought light to my darkness - perhaps a single sentence, a friendly letter, a walk on the downs: their help was perhaps given unconsciously, but it was because they were sensitive to God’s leadings that they were able to do it. Do we seek to be the channels of God’s love and caring? ‘Caring matters most.’

-- Edward Milligan

quoted in Quaker Faith and Practice: Second Edition (London: The Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) in Britain

I wonder....

What do you call a woman who goes on television dressed like a sluttier version of Britney Spears, spewing venom about anybody she disagrees with, confusing being a smart-ass with being funny, and spouting things completely against Jesus' message?

A "conservative Christian." At least that's what Ann Coulter said about herself yesterday on "The Today Show."

True conservative Christians like Billy Graham must be so proud.

-- Brent

The Sacred Compass

Compass. As a kid the very word conjured images of treks across trackless wastes, blazing trails through primeval forests, and other adventures unavailable to city boys. I didn't need a compass in a city composed of north-south avenues and east-west streets. One block north, two blocks west, two more blocks north and I was at my grandparents. Simple. Straight. No adventure.

"Compass" still hold an aura of mystery for me today in this time of GPS and turn by turn directions issuing out of my car's stereo speakers. It still implies a journey where no navigation DVD has gone and no satellites peer. And while there are few of those in my business life, they abound in my spiritual life.

Unlike GPS and other wonders of modern direction finding, a compass does not give us step by step steps to our destination. It does, though, no matter what direction we turn, always point us to true north -- a destination most of us (unless we're named Amundsen, Byrd, Peary, or Henson) never reach in this lifetime. This is a metaphor for our spiritual lives and the work of discerning God's will for them. There are many times I wish God would speak as clearly and as obviously as Mapquest or GoogleMaps. But the life of faith is not that way. Instead our sacred compass points us to our spiritual true north -- the mind and love of God -- and asks us to travel by faith and use the various maps we've been given. Things like spiritual friends, the Bible, prayer, and other faith practices. Our sacred compass is that which is embedded in our souls that calls us to life with God -- life abundant and adventurous, even during those times we wish it was less so.

-- Brent

Haven Kimmel & Brent -- Together -- Live

Yep, that's right, the girl named Zippy and I will be doing a gig together -- sort of, kind of... We're both presenters at Earlham School of Religion's annual Ministry of Writing Colloquium in lovely Richmond, IN (10 miles from any known sin). She's the headliner and I'm doing a couple of workshops. So about the closest we'll be together is when she's speaking and I'm sitting in the audience ... or at the booksigning when I ask her to sign a copy of The Used World, her newest novel.

Besides Haven and me, there are other really good presenters -- Lil Copan of Paraclete Press, poet Maurice Manning, Old Testament scholar and humorist (some combination, eh!?) Howard Macy, and others. You can download a copy of the registration form for this October 26-27 event at http://esr.earlham.edu/events/writersColloquium/esr_colloquium_07REF.pdf

It's a great time of hanging around with other writer types, making connections and meeting new friends. A good time will be had by writers and readers. Plan now to attend and besides hearing Haven's great prose, you'll get to hear me read my short story "A Trip to Amity." Why would you want to miss that?!

Hope to see you in Richmond!

-- Brent

A Sign from God

“Let's Meet At My House Sunday Before The Game.” – God. So said the white letters on a black background on a billboard. Some co-workers and I noticed it on a recent road trip to Evansville via a route not exactly known for it’s scenic opportunities. US 41 is long stretches of boring four-lane with only billboards and a few small towns to look at for any kind of conversational stimulation.

So the billboard got conversation going. “Like God would really speak in billboards,” scoffed Nancy A (so called to distinguish her from my wife Nancy B(ill)). At least, I pointed out, this message was fairly benign. Welcoming even. Unlike others we began to spot – the ten commandments painted in stark black on the side of a building, a sign warning “Turn or Burn” with burning red letters, and worse.

It turns out that the “God Speaks” ads were created by the Smith Agency in Florida which won awards for their campaign. Targeted at people who no longer attend church on a regular basis, there were eventually the campaign went nationwide and developed seventeen messages including, “C'mon Over And Bring The Kids,” “What Part of "Thou Shalt Not..." Didn't You Understand,” and “Loved The Wedding, Invite Me To The Marriage.”

For all our poking fun at these and other signs, a thought came to me – there are many times I wish God would speak to me as clearly and as obviously as on the billboards. But the life of faith is not that way. God, in my experience, is much more subtle. To discern God's direction, I have to pay quiet, close, loving, attention to the people, places, and things around me.

That’s what Elijah discovered. Here’s a fellow you would think would have pretty good spiritual ears. After all, he had a big showdown with the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. Elijah triumphed, and the idolaters lost -- their lives. Then Queen Jezebel sent an un-thank you note to Elijah saying, “You killed my prophets. I’ll kill you.” Elijah’s spiritual zeal evaporated and he got out of town, praying as he went, “God, I’ve had enough. Take my life.” God does not oblige.

Instead God tells him: “Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. (see 1 Kings 19)

God’s whisper is so deep and so holy that it may appear to be sheer silence – unless we pay heartfelt attention.

--Brent

PS The above church sign is not real -- I computer generated myself. Still... I wouldn't mind seeing a sign or two like that!

Judgment Day, II

Once again, heading to Meeting on Sunday morning, Garrison Keillor spoke to my condition. Especially after the discussion with the ATV'ers (see the earlier post, if you're interested).

This time it was via a skit brought to listeners by the Ketchup Advisory Board. Jim and Barb are talking and she's fretting and she says, "Well, anyway I was just sitting here thinking, what if I die right now, and I get up to heaven, or wherever it is I'm going, and God wants a report, huh? Like, what have you been doing all this time down there?"

I flashed back to the ATV'ers and our conversation. Then she says, "I wouldn't know what to say, Jim. What-I got up and did the laundry, and grocery shopping and then came home and took a nap? I mean, that's not what God wants to hear, does he? ... I mean, where is all my charity work? I never volunteered at a hospital, or adopted a strip of highway-I mean, I couldn't even take in that stray raccoon who wandered into the garage?"

Me, neither, I thought. And while Nancy and I laughed as the skit unwound and became more absurd, after I reached Meeting, plopped in the pew, sang a couple of hymns, and then settled into the silence, I thought, "Yes, that is what God wants to hear, doesn't he?" "How'd you do?"

"Oh," comes my reply, "some good, some bad. Some outstanding, some quotidian."

"Well, done, thou good trying and faithful as best you can be servant."

Maybe I do need some ketchup. Maybe then Judgment Day wouldn't seem so fearful.

--Brent

Judgment Day

I had just finished putting away the big mower when I heard the abominable sound -- ATV's heading down the creek. As I rushed to the hillside and looked down, I witnessed them blowing by all my "Posted! No Trespassing" signs. Angry, not an emotion I'm proud to admit, I shook with rage as I scooted and slipped down the hill, over the steep bank, and into the creek, alternately waving my arms to get their attention and reaching behind me to make sure I didn't somersault into the creek and drown. To no avail -- well, except for the somersaulting part. I tramped up the creek, following their tracks across the sand bars and rock piles exposed by the unrainy summer. They had neatly skirted each sign. I was as steamy as the Indiana weather. I tracked them for a while, but an old, tired Quaker trudging through sand and stream in cowboy boots was no match for this unholy trinity of four-wheelers. I gave up and turned back.

Climbing the bank through the weeds, headed for the cleared trail, I heard them returning. I ran back to the tracks. The first guy blew right by me. I spread my legs, waved my hands, and the second guy stopped. "Is there a problem?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "You're on private land." "Didn't know that he mumbled." I pointed to the sign -- "Guess I didn't see it," sheepish. The third rider pulled up. "What's the problem?" I repeated, heatedly, the problem -- and pointed out the signs up and down the creek. "Calm down, man," he said. "You're way too excited." That didn't calm me down. I went on about the ten signs that were posted and that I wasn't buying that they didn't see them, since their tracks swerved around the signs. Then he started shouting that there was no need for me to talking to them like they were a bunch of "little kids" -- with a few interesting adjectives inserted. He began using one of those adjectives, as the conversation continued, as both a noun and a verb -- and he and his friend roared off, running over my foot, and throwing gravel.

It was not one of my finest moments. I knew it even as I stood there fuming. It's not that I didn't feel like yelling -- I did. And, even though I was within my property rights -- and trying to protect the creek bed and all the critters that live along and within it -- I sure didn't handle things right. I remembered the early Friends declaration to the king of England that:

"Our principle is, and our practices have always been, to seek peace and ensue it; to follow after righteousness and the knowledge of God; seeking the good and welfare, and doing that which tends to the peace of all."

Well, I wasn't in the least "doing that which tends to the peace of all." And my own words -- though they did lack that word which above all words can be used in a variety of ways -- condemned me. Yes, I did talk to them like children -- the third guy was right. The scolding voice, whilst it did lead them to vacate the premises, condemned me for my trespasses much more than it did them for their trespass.

After standing and staring down the creek for awhile, I made my way up to the woods and toward the house. Nancy came running down the trail, alarm on her face. "I heard ATV's -- and shouting. I was scared." Still shaking, with embarrassment instead of rage, I told her what happened. She said I was being too hard on myself. They were wrong. I was within my rights -- and protecting the deer, bald eagles, snakes (ick!), et al who had no voice. Perhaps. Perhaps not. All I could think was, here I am a Quaker who professes peace and what kind of witness for Jesus did I make to these guys? Again, I thought about the early Quakers' words:

"O, Friends! offend not the Lord and his little ones, neither afflict his people; but consider and be moderate. Do not run on hastily, but consider mercy, justice, and judgment; that is the way for you to prosper, and obtain favor of the Lord."

Would that I had remembered them sooner, walked the creek in silence, and approached the three with the concern for the earth and her inhabitants that I held as the reason for my rage. May God -- and the riders -- forgive.

-- Brent

Open Source Religious Publishing -- The New Movable Type?

I attended a gathering about open-source (sometimes known as crowd-sourcing) publishing this past weekend in Ann Arbor, MI. It was convened by David Crumm who is the lead religion writer of the Detroit Free Press. David, and a group of like-minded folks, have had a web presence titled Spirit Scholars for about a year -- you can visit it at http://www.spiritscholars.com/ That effort led them to arrange a gathering last Saturday of publishers (Zondervan, Paraclete, Skylight Paths, and others), writers, web folks, and others (around 65 total) to talk about new ways to connect in a post-modern world where newspapers are dropping their religion specific coverage (i.e. the Dallas Morning News, once one of the leaders in this area now has no specific religion department) and book review sections (or farming them out to AP wire reviews, etc).

Some things that we found out (though they aren't, upon reflection, all that surprising) are that readership of Google News now surpasses the readership of the New York Times and USA Today combined. And that YouTube viewership far surpasses Google News. Beliefnet, according the statistics presented Saturday, has a declining number of viewers and the same is true for the online version of Christianity Today and Gospel.com. Publishers' websites do not seem to be losing ground -- but they're not gaining much either. The top religious sites are by Muslims (4 in the top ten), the LDS (Mormons), and Bible Gateway.

David and his cohorts are going to be setting up a new way for readers and writers to connect called Read The Spirit (visit it at http://www.readthespirit.com/). The event Saturday outlined their vision for this site and the connections and explored 10 principles behind this movement. Since the 10 are available on their website, I won't enumerate them here, other than the first one, which I thought was intriguing -- "It's about the VOICE, not the book..."

One thing their site will do that I find exciting is electronically publish Top Ten lists -- for example, their recommendations of the top ten spirituality books, the top ten inspirational books, etc. There will also be moderated discussion pages about the books.

All of this is, as I understood from the presentation, geared toward cutting through the clutter surrounding getting spiritual wisdom to people.

I had some questions, of course -- coming from my almost always skeptical little brain. And one was -- so, what? So what that You Tube outdraws the New York Times? What is the implication for us as writers and readers? I don't know what other people go to You Tube for, but I know in my case it's usually for silliness such as Will Ferrell parodying George W Bush and the like. I don't go there for book reviews or serious reflective pieces. Not that they aren't there -- it's just that I don't use You Tube for those things and I would like to know who does and how many of them are there? Is this an area writers and publishers ought to be using -- and if so, how do we do it?

Also, if places like Beliefnet.com are in decline, do we know why, considering we hear much about the hunger for spirituality and links to religion in this rather rootless age? What sites are growing and why? What can we, who write so that people will read what we have to say, do to get our words out to people outside of the "traditional" means? I was hoping for more of this sort of thing -- practical advice or thoughtful reflection on these questions -- from the gathering.

Crumm, et al see this new venture as the 21st century version of movable type. That's an intriguing idea and Read the Spirit will be something to watch.

--Brent

"I Know Ohio ...

... like the back of my hand." So sang "Over The Rhine" last Saturday evening in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I wasn't surprised. I had asked if they might as we had breakfast together at the Glen that morning. As fellow Buckeye natives and Malone College alums (I attended there one year), I was happy to make their formal acquaintance at this arts and faith festival sponsored by Image. Still, I was surprised at how affected I was by "Ohio" -- my eyes teared up and I was nineteen again and back in my home state. I wasn't the only one affected by the haunting rendition of one of the band's signature songs. The room of 200+ was still as the last note from Karin's piano hung and hummed in the high desert air.

Over The Rhine, in case you don't know, is the songwriting-singing-playing duo of Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist. Though they've been around for fifteen years, I first encountered them through their release of the 2 CD set "Ohio." Yes, I'm a sucker for anything Buckeye related (though I've lived in Hoosierland longer than I did in Ohio), but I found this a simply stunning set of CDs. “... a deeply moving, maddening, and redemptive work of art, and necessary, ambitious pop,” All Music Guide’s Thom Jurek called it in a 4.5-star review. And I've bought everything released since and many from before (including Linford's solo piano efforts).

If you're a fan of literate lyrics, moving melodies, and heartfelt harmonies, you'll want to check out "Over the Rhine." Their new album, "The Trumpet Child," is set for release on August 21. Don't miss it.

-- Brent

More from "The Glen" in future posts...

A Poem... Sort of

"Friend,
I would not harm thee
for the world
but thee is standing
where I am about to
shoot," says the Friendly
farmer in the old Quaker
joke. Today's joke
is, harm or no, that
the world is standing
where we are
shooting,
Friend.

-- Brent Bill

More on As Way Opens

As I wrote on my other blog (friendsinfellowship.blogspot.com), Nancy and I hosted the second gathering of our new worship sharing group last Sunday evening. Much of our talk centered around the topic of spiritual discernment. Besides the personal searching of this topic, it's also of interest because I'm writing a book on the topic.

We spent time talking about how you know a leading is from God -- and not your own ego. Are the voices we hear from the Divine or from Legion inside us? And why are we so fearful at times that we distrust our leadings -- testing them over and over again, afraid to act. One Friend suggested that it was time to put away false modesty and lay claim boldly to the leadings God gives us. To say, ala' Luther, I guess, "Here I stand, I can do no other."

We also talked about whether leadings were always personally rewarding -- or could a true leading take us to dangerous places emotionally or soulfully. As we talked about that I thought of what writer/theologian Frederick Buechner says, “The vocation for you is the one in which your deep gladness and the world’s deep need meet -- something that not only makes you happy but that the world needs to have done” and Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s dictum that “When Christ calls a man he bids him come and die.” Perhaps both overstate sides of leadings. Or perhaps both are true -- ultimately. Perhaps the idea that we are called to die somehow leads us into deep happiness -- as we die to self and live for God.

One of the few things I do know (how's that for boldly proclaiming a leading!) is that discernment is a lifelong process. And as one Friend mentioned the other night, it takes the ability to long backward over life more than it does to look forward. In the case of spiritual discernment, hindsight being twenty-twenty is a very good thing.

-- Brent Bill

Matters of Life and Death

As a writer I often hear that matters of life and death are essential for good drama. Well, I haven't gotten much writing done this weekend as I've been dealing with matters of life and death and that was more than enough drama for me.

On tap for this week was the hip replacement surgery for my friend and boss, Tim. What wasn't (or at least on my schedule) was heart surgery for my dad. On Tuesday, Tim underwent surgery and, as a relatively young man in his late 40s, did very well. As a matter of medical fact, he's now home and hopping around with the assistance of crutches. He's well enough and bored enough that he's emailing us in the office. Isn't he supposed to be resting?!

As soon as I heard Tim's surgery went well, I headed for Ohio to be with my mom and dad. Dad had chest pains a couple of weeks ago after visiting Nancy and me. We worked outside all weekend and early Tuesday morning (1 a.m.) he started having chest pains. The good doctors couldn't fin anything wrong and released him with an appointment for a stress test. That test revealed what appeared to be a minor blockage and so they scheduled Dad for a heart catheterization on this Wednesday. The plan was to use a balloon to open this blockage. If that didn't work, then they'd use a stent. So off I went to Columbus, where we had a nice dinner with some of their friends and spent the evening chatting about when he was coming over to run electricity to the barn.

After waiting a couple of hours on Wednesday morning, the surgeon came out. The catheterization didn't work. And a stent wouldn't either. That's because instead of one minor blockage there were multiple big ones. The one they worried about and wanted to fix was the least of their problems. Others were 90-95% blocked. It was as serious as a heart attack, literally.

The cardiologist recommended bypass surgery. So he and we had a true life and death decision to make. Dad is an adventurer, so he, scared as he was by the prospect of having his heart "turned off" for a while, went for it. And instead of waiting a week (one option) he had it done the next morning, yesterday. It turned out he needed five bypasses. It also turned out that he sailed through heart surgery as easily as anybody can sail through heart surgery -- tossed and turned by the storms of being cut open and sliced and diced and heavy hands squeezing your heart. But today he was up sitting in a chair, eating oatmeal (he is a good Quaker!), and flirting with the nurse -- which was even okay with Mom. He may go home as soon as Monday. And by mid-October be helping me wire the barn.

One of the hardest parts for me was sitting in the waiting room. The waiting was hard. Partly because of the great cloud of unknowing that surrounded us. But it was also hard because of another party in their, their kids running wild, the parents (or whoever they were) chatting loudly on their cellphones and walkie-talkies and the general mayhem they caused. My Quakerism was sorely tried. I did try to see that of God in them, but was not always successful.

As the day wore down, and it became obvious that Dad would be in great shape eventually, the room quieted some. I heard more snippets of the annoying people's conversation. They were there because the person they were concerned about had been shot over an argument about a dog.

Driving home later I reflected on that and how the choices we make sometimes make all the differences. The surgeon said Dad did so well partly because of healthy life choices -- no smoking, no drinking, and being physically active. The other fellow, from what I overheard, had made less wise choices -- he was drunk, so was someone else, there was a gun and an argument. I thought of Deuteronomy 30:19 "I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life ..."

Dad did and has. He chose even to have the surgery, with its risks, in hope for life. His choices have served him, and our family well.

This rant is not meant to cast aspersions on the other folks in the waiting room. They've been in my thoughts -- in good ways, too. Nor it is about good things happening to good people and bad to bad. We know that rarely works out the way we think it should for us.

I guess what it's about, from my stress strangled brain and sleepy mind, is that injunction from Deuteronomy is not a threat, but rather simply good advice that pays off in ways we may never know, but sometimes get a glimpse of, this side of eternity. And for John Bill's choosing life, I am grateful.

--Brent

Left Behind?

Driving to Meeting on Sunday morning, Nancy and I participated in the Bill Family Liturgy -- listening to Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion." His tales of Lutherans and others in the Upper Midwest help prepare us for an hour with Quakers and others in the Lower Midwest. Listening to his stories reminds me that for all our theological and geographical distances, we're not so different after all.

On Sunday morning, he and his radio players did a sketch about geese flying to Canada and who witness THE RAPTURE. Thousands of naked Christians are floating skyward -- a bit disconcerting to the geese! They observe that some towns (those more liberal) have few folks soaring to Heaven, while entire flocks from more conservative towns are being swept to glory -- just as they expected to be.

Nancy and I chuckled, both at the craziness of geese witnessing the rapture and the certainty of those who know they'd be raptured. Perhaps the laughter had a tinge of nervousness on my part, having grown up with just enough second coming talk that I wasn't anxious to experience and had even more fear of being left behind. Pulling into the parking lot, at the end of Keillor's story, I remembered a poem titled "On the Day the Rapture Happened" that I'd downloaded awhile back --

On the day the Rapture happened,

The man in America

Who keeps a record

Of all the things happening in the world

So he knows when the Rapture will happen

Found that he’d got a hundred per cent;

A one hundred per cent chance of the end,

That Jesus would come and take him away.

So he went outside

And he waited.

And he waited.

And he waited a bit longer,

And he looked at his watch

And he made himself a cup of coffee,

And he went inside and he thought:

Back to the drawing board.

On the day the Rapture happened,

Nobody else noticed that anything had occurred,

But a family in Kerala wondered where

Grandad had wandered off to,

And nobody noticed or wondered where

The girl who slept in a cardboard box

In a shop doorway

On a street

In Buenos Aires

Had gone to at all.

("On the Day the Rapture Happened," by Wood, http://www.wibsite.com/wibblethorpe/wood1.htm)

What, I wondered, would Garrison's geese make of that?

--Brent

Let Him Who Has Ears, Hear...

I had an absolutely stunning piece to post today. The insight it offered was profound, the thinking behind it crystalline, and it had a great piece of irony working, too. It came to me in the silence of open worship yesterday morning. It was so close to being perfect that I almost shared it in Meeting for Worship. But I wasn't quite sure it was a message for that place and time, so I stayed in my pew. And resolved to post it online today. You, loyal readers, would have experienced a life-changing event.

Except I can't remember what it was I was going to write. Not a shred of it. It's gone -- poof, like thistle down on a humid July wind. It was here, now it's who knows where. I've spent a good deal of time trying to reconstruct it, to no avail.

Which I'm taking as a good thing. At least I listened to the Spirit closely enough not to stand up and narrowcast the message to the assembled Friends yesterday. Now if I'd only been listening carefully enough to think, Well, that's a good idea, but should I post it on the blog? God, in God's wisdom, wiped my mental slate clean -- and so you've been spared my brilliance.

Learning to listen has been a lifelong lesson for me. I hope it's easier for you.

--Brent

It's easier being green...

I joined the ranks of the hybrid-ists last week. I sold my Impala and bought a Camry Hybrid. It's roomy, quiet, has a great sound system, and enough other gee-gaws to keep me entertained for quite a while. And the mileage!!! So far I'm averaging over 37 mpg, which is about 15 more than the old car. Of course, gas prices have dropped here in Indiana since I got the car -- now down to "just" $2.75/gallon.

I did get the car partly to make to make a statement about my "greenness" -- but am feeling more than a bit guilty about it. I mean shouldn't I have had to give up something? How hard is to be green when it's much easier today? Where's the nobility of sacrifice for the cause?

I keep being reminded of when Nancy and I attended a mega-church in Texas one time and there was a special pitch for sacrificial giving. The pitch looked professionally filmed and edited and was given on three big screen televisions. One young couple talked about how they had prayed about giving sacrificially and so were dropping expanded cable and going back to basic and giving the difference to the project. This was their sacrificial offering -- and it was going to build the church a bigger multi-million dollar youth facility to replace the fairly new multi-million dollar youth facility already in place. Didn't really fit my idea of sacrificial giving. The widow's mite, it was not.

Now, in accord with God's timing and sense of humor, I've sacrificed my big car with satellite radio, heated seats, trip computer, and Bose stereo system for a slightly smaller car with (the potential of -- though I haven't subscribed) satellite radio, heated seats, multiple trip computers, and a 440 watt JBL stereo system. Oh yes, and 37 -40 mpg.

Jesus and the widow must be proud.

--Brent

A New Worship Group...

In a response to one of my posts on my other blog (friendsinfellowship.blogspot.com), Martin Kelley notes the "recent phenomenon of small Christocentric worship groups coming out of the larger big city liberal meetings." As Midwestern Friends, some of us see the opposite need -- small theologically hospitable Christian worship groups coming out of fairly programmed, theologically conservative churches.

To that end, a few Friends in the central Indiana area are interested in exploring the idea of starting a new worship group. While it is still very much in the exploration/testing this leading stage, the idea is that it would meet twice a month (to begin with) and feature a sort of Quaker version of "blended worship" -- neither entirely programmed or unprogrammed. It would offer a chance for group singing, prayer, maybe a short planned meditation (10 minutes or less) by the day's clerk of worship, and then open worship.

If you live close to Indianapolis and would like to think with us and God about this, then you are invited to Nancy's and my place on July 8 at 6:30 p.m. for worship and discussion about this possibility. This is not about starting a new meeting or church or asking people to choose between this and their current meeting or church. This, too, would be like the groups Martin has observed -- "It's happened respectfully and ties, personal friendships and memberships continue."

For example, Nancy and I plan to continue to attend Plainfield Friends Meeting. What this is another opportunity for spiritual growth and vital worship with Friends. If you'd like to come, send me an email and I'll email you a map to our place. All are welcome -- Quaker or not!

--Brent

And the Survey Says...

As faithful readers (and what other kind could there be?) of this blog probably know, I'm writing a book on spiritual discernment. It's titled As Way Opens and is due for release next spring. I could use your help. I'm gathering stories and examples of how folks use various "tools" as they practice spiritual discernment. There are two ways to participate. Either reply to the questions I've asked below or take a brief online survey at http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=t8fKhCe_2bCe3BPBLWFUn_2fKA_3d_3d

Have you ever used Bible reading, including lectio divina, as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Have you ever used writing (letter writing, spiritual autobiography, journaling) as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Have you ever used spiritual exercsies (i.e., Ignatian exercises) as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Have you ever used devotional reading (i.e., lives of the saints, the Desert Fathers, contemporary authors) as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Have you ever used spiritual friendship(s) as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Have you ever used the arts (poetry, music, painting, etc.) as a spiritual discernment tool? If so, how?

Are there other practices you've found helpful as spiritual discernment tools? If so, please describe them and how you've found them helpful.

Regardless of which you choose, I hope you'll feel led (as we Quakers say) to complete it. It should only take a few minutes and it'll be really be helpful to me. I'll post a summary of the answers and some of the stories in future blogs!

Thanks!

--Brent

As Way Opens...

Where am I supposed to go with my life? That’s the question. “To be or not to be,” is profound and fine for a Shakespearean drama, but if we’re asking the “What am I supposed to do with my life” question, then “To be or not to be” is moot. We be. Now what? The “where” question is as universal and old as humankind. It is as personal and contemporary as each one of us alive today. It especially presses upon those of us who sense that we are not merely human trying to be spiritual, but rather that we are deeply spiritual endeavoring to live as fully human. We begin our days with that “what” question. We awaken every morning with a cavalcade of choices before us – beginning with whether to even get up or not. Things get more complicated from there. The very act of making a choice – any choice -- takes us deep into the concept that our lives are more than our own. We belong to ourselves, to be sure, but we also belong to others in our lives. And most of all we belong to God. And God has plans for us. At least that’s what faith and a good deal of religious training tells us.

When I was in college I encountered a group handing out little buff colored booklets titled “The Four Spiritual Laws.” The first spiritual law was "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." That’s not a novel concept. It’s firmly rooted in Christian scriptures. The Bible and the whole of Christian history is full of examples of people seeking to determine what God wants them to do. They cast lots, set out fleeces, prayed, fasted, learned to listen to donkeys, went on retreats, climbed up on cacti, and more. Bookstores are crammed full of titles about learning God’s will – Amazon alone offers more 38,000 books on the subject in its religion section.
While some of these books will offer you five easy steps for discerning what God’s directions are for you, this is not one of them. It is also not about taking charge of our lives in the accepted, self-help best-seller sense. It is not about twenty-one indispensable qualities of a leader or seven highly effective habits.

That’s because coming to an understanding of God’s direction for us is not that simple. It’s also amazingly countercultural – about learning to stop and pay attention rather than shouting and demanding attention. If we want to know what God wants, we have to go to a deeper place than a set number of habits or qualities and become men and women of spiritual quality and the habit of looking for God in every place our life takes us.

That deeper place takes us to the discovery that the act of deciding to seek God’s direction for our lives changes us. We find that such spiritual discernment is more about sensing the presence and call of God than it is about making the right decision. In a grace filled way, this process of discovery awakens us both to a life of constant creation and recreation. It shows us how we are less about being right or making the correct decisions than we are about the work of transforming ourselves. And in the process, we are also transforming the lives of the people around us and ultimately the world. When we pay attention, this is something our souls intuit, but it’s harder to get our minds around. What we do see is that nothing that involves transformation can be accomplished by a recipe found in The God’s Will Cookbook – take one dash of Bible, three tablespoons of prayer, and bake in the oven of God’s light.

Instead, at the heart of discovering God’s direction is contained in the wisdom of the Quaker saying “as way opens.”

Friends drop this tiny phrase into conversation as easily as other folks do “Hello” or “How’re you doing?” “Will you be coming for dinner tomorrow?” asks one. “I will, if way opens,” answers the other. In some ways, it’s our version, in daily conversation, of “Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.” It’s become almost a Quaker cliché.

But, as with all clichés, there’s powerful truth lurking in this quirky Quaker conversational pattern. That truth is the belief that God’s revelation, even in and integral to daily life, continues for those who seek God’s way. God is at work within and around us, leading, guiding, sometimes when we least expect or feel it.

“As way opens” comes from a bit larger phrase, “To Proceed as Way Opens.” This means “to wait for guidance, to avoid hasty judgment or action, to wait for future circumstances to help solve a problem. The spiritual guidance which may come in a time of seeking or entirely unexpectedly, bringing suggestion for previously unforeseen action.”

As way opens about more than one time spiritual discernment. While its lessons can be used to help us make major life decisions – careers, life partners – and minor ones, as way opens is about a form of Christian discernment that takes us to the heart of the Christian life as living in God's will. It’s about discovering a fresh and deeper way to live a God directed life – a life that eschews simple spiritual solutions and takes us to the deepest, most soulful parts of our being.

It is about learning from God in the daily and life long.

As way opens is how we can come to see our lives, with all their experiences good and bad, as God-directed.

-- Brent

More Good Books...

Ah, summertime and the reading is easy. Well, at least it seems like I have a bit more time to indulge my literary habit. I've found two recent reads worth sharing -- for completely different reasons.

The first is Philosophy Made Simple by Robert Hellenga. You've got to love any novel that mixes an Illini-Texan avocado grower with an Indian Ubermensch philosopher type afraid of commiting a social faux pas with an elephant named, sort of, after a movie star with Schopenhauer and the Upanishads with ... Well, you get the idea. It's both deep and light -- as in de-"light"-ful. While I didn't find it laugh out loud funny or tear-jerkingly sad, it truly earned the various emotions it generated. I loved it.

Now (as the Monty Pythoner's say) for something completely different -- Ancient Christian Devotional: A Year of Weekly Readings edited by Cindy Crosby and Thomas Oden. Its a devotional guide that combines excerpts from the writings of the church fathers for either daily or weekly reading and prayer. It follows cycle A of the Revised Common Lectionary or you can read them by thematic interest. Though as a Quaker-type, cycle for me usually is found on the Westinghouse and has the words wash, spin, or rinse associated with, I do treasure books that help my daily devotional life (way too weak, sad to say). Ancient Christian Devotional is now on my desk, right next to the Book of Common Prayer and Shorter Christian Prayer. You'll want to pick it up.

Happy Reading!

-- Brent

Questions for God

A friend of mine and I were talking the other day about the questions we plan on asking God when we cross over Jordan to that bright land where we'll never grow old (er). And while there were the fair share of big ones -- why war, why evil, etc -- the ones that have been buzzing around my mind have been the little ones. Part of that is, I am a sort of "creationist," but not in the usual sense as understood today. I'm not concerned about seven, twenty-four hours of creation or ten bazillion years of evolution. What I do believe is that God, in some ineffable way, called all this into being just like Genesis says. I don't care how much time it took or any of that other stuff -- mostly because I don't think I'd understand it if God patiently explained it to me. I can't get my head around quantum mechanics, let alone Divine mechanics.

So, since God will have to start small with me when we all get to Heaven, I'll start small with God. And here are the three things I'll start with...

What's up with mosquitoes? You made them, they must serve some purpose, but exactly what is it?

Likewise flies -- house and otherwise. Disease carrying pestilence. That's how they seem to me. And, like mosquitoes, the buzzing's really annoying. Some enlightenment please!

Then there's poison ivy. A truly noxious weed. I see lots of other noxious weeds that I can figure out some purpose for -- thistles, for example. The really hard to get rid six foot tall ones provide a roosting place for red wing blackbirds and seed that all the birds go wild for. But poison ivy vines -- inedible, nasty, blister and itch inducing. Is it the result somehow of original sin or did you come up with it, too?

Wanna add to my list? Write in...

-- Brent

A Walk in the Prairie

I can't remember who said it, but I remembered the words, "You never really know your land until you walk it" the other day as I was walking our prairie. Canadian thistles had sprung up in multitudes and I put on my backpack sprayer and was killing them as gently as I could so that the wildflowers and prairie grasses wouldn't be overwhelmed by them. And, though I had driven over this land many times before -- back when I used to mow it or in our utility cart on the way to the woods -- during the walk I felt subtle risings and fallings in the land that looks flat to the eye or feels flat to the tush on the tractor. The soles of my feet communicated to my soul the infinite variety of topography on our nine acre prairie -- soft ground, hard ground, mats of grass and thick stems of iron weed. My "eye-view" was lower than usual, too, so I saw the ground and growth differently -- rattlesnake master and brown eyed susans beginning to bloom, bluestem grass reaching slowly toward the sun. Rabbits where there'd been no rabbits before, butterflies fluttering by, and redwing blackbirds calling out -- warning me not to come too close to their nests. A coyote scampered out of the edge of the prairie, sneering indignantly over his shoulder at me -- how dare I enter his place. A couple of deer moved less slowly -- probably couldn't decide who was more dangerous, the human w/ his ball cap and sprayer or the coyote who was inviting them into the woods.

All in all, it increased my love of the place that Nancy and I call home. It drove home the responsibility I have to keep it tended as well as I can so that there can someday be even more rabbits, butterflies, deer, wild turkey, quail, and even coyote. It reminded me of the joyous, ecstatic creativity of God when this was all called into being by a Word.

It also reminded me that after all these years, I still don't recognize poison ivy when I'm surrounded by it. But that's another blog -- please pass the Calamine lotion.

--Brent

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...

... and ships. No, it's not an update of the Steve Martin/John Candy movie. It's how Nancy and I (and my parents) made our way around the Pacific Northwest for over ten days. We flew to Chicago, entrained to Seattle, ferried to Victoria, BC and back to Seattle, entrained to Eugene, OR, automobiled up the Oregon coast and through the Columbia Gorge, and flew back home. Quite a journey -- magnificent scenery, great times with friends and family, and the joy of seeing new things (such as sea lions swimming wild in the ocean).

But, being one of those people who think too much, I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that no matter how we traveled, our route was pretty much determined for us. The train, obviously, followed the tracks. The ferry followed the shipping channels. The car followed the roads from Eugene to Florence and then up the coast. The plane followed air routes established by the FAA. The way was determined for us. Which is unlike our way through life to God. No meandering on planes, trains, ships, or roads for those of us who are traveling commercially. Which is probably one reason why our way to God is more of a hiking pilgrimage than a tour.

On a hike we can stay on the road, walk the rails, swim a while, or just wander off the path and see what we want to see. Or we can nap in the meadow, climb a tree in the woods, or get lost. A hike is not quite as safe and comfortable as a plane (even in economy), train (even while waiting on a siding for a passing freight), or ferryboat (with free champagne breakfast). But we see and feel and learn things we can't any other way.

So here's to hiking through life, experiencing the joys and sorrows of the way. And here's to happy feet!
--Brent

Books, Books, and More Books

I just got back from the Southern Kentucky Book Fest (http://www.sokybookfest.org/index.htm). Held in April in Bowling Green, Kentucky, it's a great festival. I mean, what's better than being surrounded by books and the people who write them and read them? It was a good time to meet new friends and renew acquaintances with old ones. And to buy books.

Since Nancy and I are boarding a train shortly for a week of travel and relaxation, I stocked up on reading material. Here are just some of the eclectic titles (by some of my writer friends, I must admit) I picked up (mostly at the book fest) that you might want to look at.

Sufficient Grace by Darnell Arnoult. One quiet spring day, Gracie Hollaman hears voices in her head that tell her to get in her car and leave her entire life behind -- her home, her husband, her daughter, her very identity. Gracie's subsequent journey releases her genius for painting and effects profound changes in the lives of everyone around her. Ultimately, her quest leads her into the home of Mama Toot and Mattie, two strong, accomplished women going through life changes of their own. As the bonds between these women grow stronger, and the family Gracie left behind come to terms with their own loss, both worlds slowly and inevitably collide, revealing a long-buried secret that they share.

Savannah Comes Undone by Denise Hildreth. Book two of the Savannah series, Savannah's mother has chained herself to a monument of the Ten Commandments in front of a federal courthouse in this lighthearted but lackluster follow-up to Savannah from Savannah. Savannah spends most of her time trying to avoid both her mother and the TV cameras aimed in her mother's direction. The standoff between mom, the courts and the ACLU becomes the subject of two newspaper articles in fulfillment of Savannah's new role as human-interest columnist at the Savannah Chronicle. Nancy a fan of Savannah - the town and the heroine.

Grave Intent by Deborah LeBlanc. During a chaotic gypsy burial service at the funeral parlor of Michael and Janet Savoy, a ritual gold coin is stolen from the corpse of the teenage daughter of an egomaniacal Roma gypsy chief. The theft unleashes a curse on the Savoys, unwitting unbelievers who come to realize their own five-year-old child is doomed to a gruesome death if they can't unravel a foreign culture's arcane mysteries.

Kabul Beauty School by Deborah Rodriguez with Kristin Ohlson. the story of one Michigan woman's quest to help women in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban the best way she knows how: by opening a beauty school. Indeed, when beautician Rodriguez opens her salon and school, she doesn't realize how desperately Kabul, especially the women of Kabul, need her.

How's that for a potpourri? And what are you reading?

--Brent

Slaughter of the Innocence...

I've been reminded these past few sadness filled days following the shootings at Virginia Tech of the early Quaker George Fox's phrase, "I saw... that there was an ocean of darkness and death...." It certainly feels like that's true. The sheer horror of watching the aftereffects of desperate acts by a desperate man destroying life indiscriminately has been sad, sickening, and a host of other emotions all blended together in a bewildering mass of confusion. While the Indiana sky is clear blue and sunlight streams down, the world seems darker -- the joy of living and the goodness of creation somehow dimmed.

Which brings me to the second part of George Fox's quote -- "but [I also saw] an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness. In that also I saw the infinite love of God..."

This is a time to stand for this "infinite love of God" and remember Jesus' beatitude, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God." (Matthew 9:5). How can we bring peace -- to countries, to cities, to troubled young men and women? We need to be active in the cause of peace -- mourning without diminishment those students and faculty whose lives were tragically and unjustly cut short, but also praying for those whose desperation would cause them to commit such acts. Let us stand with people of faith and goodwill while praying and working actively for peace in the world and our own relationships.

It is time to remember that the God of all creation sustains our souls in the depths of tragedies and calls us his children as we work to bring peace -- that God is the source of an "infinite ocean of light and love" which will overcome the ocean of darkness.


--Brent

What a Friend We Have in Jesus?

Our local Friends Meeting has a problem. We’re always looking for new members, but one application came in recently that has us a bit concerned. His answers to our membership application are the ones in parentheses.

· He might be homeless. (Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head.)
· He seems to be a pan-handler who exists on handouts. (At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the sabbath; his disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck ears of grain and to eat.)
· He might be substance abuser. (The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Behold a glutton and a drunkard...”)
· He has the wrong kind of friends – probably not the kind of people we’d want hanging around here on a regular basis. (Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”)
· He speaks in service. I don’t mean occasionally, but any time he’s in worship he has to talk. And it’s usually very pointed or ego-centric. (And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up; and he went to the synagogue, as his custom was, on the sabbath day. And he stood up to read; and there was given to him the book of the prophet Isaiah. He opened the book and found the place where it was written, ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set a liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.’ And he closed the book, and gave it back to attendant, and sat down, and the yes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’ ... When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with wrath. And they rose up and put him out of the city...”)
· He might be schizophrenic. (“Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” “Then Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.’”)
· He hears voices. (And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens opened and the Spirit descending upon him like a dove; and a voice spoke from heaven “Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased.”
· He disregards those testimonies of the faith that he feels don’t apply to him (But when the Pharisees saw it, they said to him, ‘Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful on the sabbath.’...’I tell you...the Son of man is lord of the sabbath.’)
· He doesn’t have a very high view of family values. (For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law...He who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.)
· He is a fanatic. His demands for how Christians should live are impossible to meet. (You must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.)

These are just the things a cursory examination about this person turned up. They weren’t hard to find, they’re a matter of public record. As I said at the beginning, I am very concerned about this matter.

So I ask you: “What kind of Friend would we have in Jesus?”

-- Brent

Pounding Nails -- A Good Friday Meditation

Silence, especially in life’s busyness, leads us through the whitewater of life to gentle pools of stillness and calm. 400 years of Quaker silence have pointed us back to the center within. Interior silence takes us to a place where we are living St. Paul’s injunction to pray without ceasing, even when we are not consciously aware that we are doing so. That happened to me on a recent Good Friday. I spent the day hammering the nails out of pieces of wood that made up the pallets that the outside walls of our new house had come on. Our home is made of timbers recycled from old factories and exterior walls constructed on jigs on the factory floor. These were then put on pallets and shipped on semis from New Hampshire to our Indiana home site. “The wood we use in the pallets is better than most builders use in their homes,” said one of the people building our house. “You’ll want to salvage as much of it as you can. Don’t let the framers burn it up.”

Quakers are strong on grace and redemption. If something can be saved and used again, it is. I hoped to see these used 2x4’s born-again as a woodshed or workshop. So, the sun blazed and I pounded nails out instead of in. A few yards away, four framers worked at pounding nails in, hanging the walls and roof panels. While I drove 16 commons out of 2x4s, they drove 10 and 12-inch spikes through 2x6 walls into 6” posts and beams with 3 pound sledges. The sound of hammers on nails rang through the Good Friday afternoon. That ringing was accompanied by the church bells from St. Thomas More Catholic Church just a couple of miles away, drifting on the spring breeze.

This symmetry with the holy day was not lost on me, even though Friends, being non-liturgical, don’t celebrate holy days or seasons. Still it was easy to recall other nails driven long ago – not through walls into posts, but through outstretched hands into rough wood. Even while carpenters yelled to each other, rough voices calling out measurements and grunting and cursing to set panels in place, I found silence in my soul. I was not sitting in a congregation listening to the last words of Jesus. Nor was I following the Stations of the Cross. But I was, in my soul, remembering, alongside those congregants. My arms grew weary of pounding and pulling nails. In, but at the same time apart from, the noise I pondered Jesus’ tiring journey that day. In spite of the noise, silence swathed my soul. Here I am, I thought, spending Good Friday in the company of carpenters. How fitting. I prayed for them. I prayed for me. I prayed for the world.

I heard a car pull up our long lane. It was my friend Aaron. A rabbi. My soul laughed – how right, how good. Carpenters and a rabbi on Good Friday. I thanked God for the silence of my soul that helped me see that day that was holy because God breathed life into it.
I was led into the holy that day, while hammering out nails and visiting with rabbis and framers. Arms weary, back bent from stacking reclaimed wood, it was a Good Friday.

I hope yours is, too.

Blessed Easter -- Brent

Of Chocolate Crosses

My friend Nancy Armstrong, knowing my affinity for really tacky religious stuff (my collection contains "Wash Away Your Sins" soap, "Seeds of Samson" seeds and nut bar -- Kosher and "inspired by Scripture," and other, even tackier things) bought me something seasonal the other day -- a chocolate cross. To me this was beyond tacky -- almost sacrilegious. I mean, I'm a guy who grew up singing songs like "The Old Rugged Cross."

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,

The emblem of suffering and shame;

And I love that old cross where the dearest and best

For a world of lost sinners was slain.

The scandal of the cross still has a strong hold on me and I don't really see any room in it for chocolate crosses. To hand out chocolate eggs on Easter gives me no pause. That's about the Easter Bunny, who is eventually exposed to be Mom or Dad or Grandma or Grandpa. But the story of the Cross of Calvary is more than some Springtime myth and the thought of handing it to a kid and saying "Take, and eat" seems both a sorry parody of holy communion and a mockery of the sacrifice we remember this season.

So I accepted the chocolate cross in the spirit of smart-assness in which it was given -- and then gave it to someone else, who I'm certain threw it away. It was too much even for my twisted humour, because --

When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of glory died,

My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down!

Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

--Brent

Let Your License Plate Speak...

Sitting at the lone traffic light on my way to the freeway this morning (ah, the joy of country life), I could see a car coming up the road on my right pause, wondering if she could turn right on red before the light changed for me. I motioned her through and then the light went green for me. Immediately the yahoo behind me honked -- upset, I guess, that somebody got in front of us for our last 1/2 mile to the Interstate. She moved right along, not holding anybody up, but this guy in his Mercedes sat on my bumper the whole way. As we moved onto the ramp, I sped up ... 50 ... 55... 60... it's not like I'm known for driving slow... 65 ... 70... C230 right on my bumper. Then he pulled out on the right, zoomed past me, and entered the freeway a car ahead of me. As he flew by, I noticed his shiny new Indiana specialty plate -- "In God We Trust."

You'd better trust God, I thought, because the way you're driving, to quote an old Harry Chapin song,"He's the only one who can you now."

Uncharitable, I know.

It's not that I have anything against specialty plates. I have one myself, touting protecting the environment. For the rest of the trip in I pondered what bugged me about this guy and his vanity plate. And it's just this ... it's me. Besides being a Quaker type who eschews outward symbols of faith, I'm adverse to "In God We Trust" plates, fish decals or chromed symbols, clergy badges on my car because I know I wouldn't live up to the advertisements. My license plate would proclaim my trust in God, but my driving would, at times, reflect less than Christian values implicit in such a claim of trust. Just like Mr. Mercedes did this morning.

There's a Quaker saying that we are to let our lives speak. I have hard enough time making sure that my life is saying something positive -- I don't need to add my license plate into the mix.

--Brent

The Art of Living

Living is an art. It calls for imagination and spirit. One thing that shows it’s an art, not a science, or even a craft, is that there is no one way, no set formula to follow. Living into “as way opens” is understanding that the “way” that opens is unique to each person. God uses our life experiences to open the way, a way that we can perceive as we move through life, if we believe that our lives are more than our own and that we are moving through life with a holy purpose and safe in a Divine promise.

Yes, we may be flawed and confused. In that case we have good company in the Bible – David and his lusty heart, Noah and his getting falling down drunk after docking the ark, and others. But these were all folks chosen to do God’s work. God’s funny that way – choosing the goofiest of those among us to accomplish His purposes. In doing God’s work in spite of their shortcomings, these people stand as symbols of the holiness to which each of us is called. They encourage us to see that way opens to follow God in life’s messiness, including our self-made messiness.

Learning to see the ways of our life opening means that we need to be authentic people who live life as fully human, not as perfectly pious professional religious persons. What will then make our faith genuine for ourselves and others is that we are aware of the circumstances through which we have passed. We, and they, see our flaws and frailties, and still know that we are people who hunger after, and are loved by, God.

--Brent

Signs of Spring

Ah, the first day of spring! It feels like it here in Indiana -- sunny, bright, mid-50s, muddy. And all around are signs of spring and signs of God at work. The former are fairly obvious at Ploughshares -- crocus creeping up through the mulch, the bald eagles adding to their nest as they get ready for (hopefully) another hatchling or two, buds popping on all the saplings we planted last summer, the normally sedate, meandering creek at times a raging river whisking huge logs and other debris downstream (or leaving it littering our field).

The latter -- signs of God -- are usually a little less obvious, although those of us who attend worship services will hear lots of (mostly children's) sermon allusions to seeds sprouting et al as spiritual analogies of the resurrection. While those are good, and true, the signs of God I'm speaking of are obvious only if we pay attention in love, obvious only when we let our hearts and minds be open to the mysterious workings of God around us. I tend to notice those signs by using my senses. When I see the eagles soaring on the windy days, held aloft by the strong spring breezes and their mighty wings, I'm reminded how God sustains us -- "they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles" (Isaiah 40). When gather up broken branches from the many thorny locust trees and a thorn pierces my glove or shoots up through my boot, I'm reminded of a crown of thorns worn in love and agony thousands of years ago -- and it becomes real today. I could go on with smells, and sounds, and taste, but you get the idea.

I hope you'll take this time to "taste and see that the Lord is good." To savor the "sweet smelling sacrifices." And to listen with your ears and heart for signs of spring and signs of the everliving and everloving God. For, as poet Gerald Manley Hopkins, says "Christ plays in ten thousand places." Where is He playing around you?

--Brent

A Lenten Thought -- or Two

“What is happening?” That’s what Peter had to have been wondering. Just a few hours earlier Jesus had called Peter his rock, upon whom his church would be built. Now he’s calling him the Devil. Not even the son of the Devil, but the Devil himself. Peter may have pushed his way gruffly through the crowd. Maybe he’d had enough of this nonsense, Jesus always speaking in riddles. Peter had been faithful. He’d worked as hard as anybody of the disciple band to usher in the kingdom. He had walked upon the water -- well, at least part way. Until he forgot to forget where he was and keep his eyes fixed on Jesus. When he remembered that he was walking on the water and that men, even brave Galilaeans, can’t do that, then he began to sink.

Perhaps he shook his head in wonder. Everything he had ever thought or believed in had been turned upside down by Jesus. Men don’t walk on water. But Jesus showed him they could. Five loaves and two fishes are a nice meal for a young lad or two, but Jesus fed 5,000 with that meager meal. And had more left over when he was finished than when he began. The impossible was not the impossible with Jesus. It wasn’t even just possible. It was the norm. It was what was expected.

Preposterous. Unless… unless… unless, perhaps Peter thought, Jesus was right and my interests really are on man’s interests instead of God’s.

You just have to love impetuous Peter. At least I do. He tries so hard to be a person of faith. And frequently fails. Because his idea of faith is what he wants, not necessarily what God wants.
I find Peter’s life with Jesus’ an encouragement to my own spiritual walk. He reminds me that when I am surest about having a handle on the things of the spirit and God’s will, that that’s when I best check my leadings and make sure it is God’s voice I’m hearing and not my own. That is God’s side I’m on, not my own.

Perhaps Peter, while reflecting on Jesus’ words, found himself struggling with confusing his will with God’s? And wondering how he could learn to tell the difference between the two – between his interests and God’s. How could he determine if they were one and the same? Can anyone know the will of God? Or do you just have to act in faith and step out and try the path that seems good? But that’s hard to do when the Son of Man turns your notions of possible and impossible, power and poverty and everything else on their heads.

Certainly the life of Christian discipleship is difficult at times. Sometimes the stuff Jesus talks about seems crystal clear. At others, though, it muddles our mind.

Peter needed to learn to let go and relax a bit into God’s will, to trust that God had a better idea of what needed to happen than did he. When Peter quit striving and trying to force the outcome of things, he found himself turning into the Rock that Jesus had called him.

That’s a hard lesson for me. I am, by nature, a striver – and a worrier. I have a hard time letting go and letting God do God’s work. I feel much more comfortable letting God know what God’s will is than I do waiting and listening. And sometimes, I must confess, I hear Jesus’ words on the wind -- "You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men." Actually, not “men” but “man” – Brent.

I hear Jesus rebuking me as he did Peter. Which is a good thing. We all need correction every now and then – some of us more often than others. And when we hear those chastening words, we need to remember that God said “Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent.” If you’ve not heard God’s rebuke lately it may be because you are doing exactly what God has called you to do. On the other hand, it may be because you have stopped listening and grown spiritually smug . Even those, maybe even especially those, of us who haven’t heard God’s voice for a while and certainly feel that there is nothing we need to seek repentance for.
Repentance is a word we don’t bandy around much in our common lives. And yet we often put it into to practice in our relations with others. When we do something that hurts someone we love, we say we’re sorry and resolve to not do it again. We go a new direction with our behavior. And that’s what repentance is – turning a new direction. For Peter, and for many of us, it means turning from our direction (our will) to God’s direction (God’s will). Especially during those times of spiritual clarity in which we hear Jesus’ voice whispering down the Spirit wind, “You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.”

The Lenten Season is, for many Christians, a time of reminding us to be penitent, to be sorry for missing the mark, for reflecting the folly of man rather than the glory of God. Today’s scripture lesson reminds us that our spiritual ears may need unclogged so that we can hear the voice of the one who calls us through all time and eternity. As Jesus himself urges us “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

Peter heard. The playful wind flew up the hillside, tousling his hair and beard. He grinned, ruefully remembering other words of Jesus. “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” In the breeze he heard two questions. Satan or Spirit? God’s interests or man’s?
His mind made up, Peter gave the rock one last kick, headed back into the crowd, threaded his way back next to Jesus side and set his face toward Jerusalem.

Toward what will we set our faces – during Lent and our lives?

--Brent