Filed under "I couldn't resist..."

From the Green Bay Packers and www.packers.com

On the Prowl...

Got a ticket yesterday, actually just a warning.

Just north of Frontenac, Minnesota on Highway 61 I saw a State Trooper pull up fast and turn on the red lights. I was puzzled but pulled over. He asked me if I knew how fast I was going and I said, "About 55 or 60." "Oh, and did I know that I had an illegal license plate bracket?" (That would be the one the dealer put on the car).

When the Trooper came back it became clear that he didn't know my speed either but I had apparently passed someone on the road that had been going 55 and so I must have been going faster. Oh, and when I get home I should probably take that bracket off the car.

My guess? It's around New Year's and the Troopers are out doing some intensive checking for drunk drivers. If they stop you, even if they really have nothing (or something as silly as what they determine to be an "illegal" license plate bracket) they get to check things, your car and you, out and dig a bit. When he found out I was stone cold sober, and have been for almost three decades, hadn't had a ticket since 1984 and generally so boring that my local Red Cross calls me all the time to give blood, he gave me a warning so I got out of it and he saved face.

Better luck next time.

Sometimes its obvious...

You know when you've been staying at a hotel for a lot of weekends in a row when THEY send you a Christmas card! Got it in the mail a few days ago.

Some wisdom from Michael Coren...

On the National Post

Nativity Eve Homily...

December 24, 2007

Many years ago around this time of year I would read the story of Christmas from my grandmother’s Bible. It was the King James Version, with all the “thee’s” and “thou’s” intact and words like “holpen” and the classic “my soul doth magnify the Lord…” There was something about reading that most wonderful story in a kind of English now far removed from the banality of every language. There still is.

And the story itself is wonderful, profound, full of angels, shepherds, and wise men coming from distant lands. Imagine what it must have been like to see the sky lit up with angels in the small hours of the morning! How can a heart not be drawn to that first cry, the sound of the king of glory entering his own world in a humble cave. Truly all the artificial and commercial trappings of this time pale compared to the simple richness and depth of that night recorded by those who came to know and love Jesus.

But the greatest wonder still remains, not in the details, but in the why of it all. Why would God do this? What compelled God to come to this little blue circle in the depths of space and pay us any heed at all?

Our faith tells us that God has no need we can fulfill. God is complete in His Trinitarian unity, fully self-sufficient, perfect within himself. To survive we humans need each other but God has no such need for any other than himself.

And frankly it should be noted that our record as a species on this planet has been remarkably less than stellar. Had this world been created without people it would still be a pristine paradise, it’s inhabitants living without preying on each other in a garden of plenty perfectly created and maintained for life. No one can argue that God would, having placed us here, be perfectly just in simply speaking a word and destroying everything to rid his creation of the pests we have become.

Yet God chose to create, and God chose to create us. And then when we had become the most serious kind of nuisance and by our sin infected the whole of what he had made, he chose again not to destroy us or abandon us in an endless cycle of brokenness but rather came to us in the most humble of ways, a million times more profound than a human becoming an ant, to save us from ourselves.

There is no reason for this that any human can fathom. But in the glimpses and shadows we do observe we can at least partially understand the existence of a kind of love, awesome in its magnificence, unsoundable in its depths, a love that the keenest intellects and holiest souls only see in the smallest of fragments but yet is real and perpetually reaching out to us from the very heart of God.

There simply is no human equivalent to this. It eclipses us. It shatters our feeble attempts to comprehend it. The appreciation of even the smallest bit of it can pierce our soul and tear every bit of darkness out of us. And if by some measure of pride or hubris we think we may possess it, it humbles us and we stand in a place beyond words, capable only of awe.

It’s the “why” of this night, as St. John says, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son…” This love is what makes this night holy. This love is the gift beyond all others. This love remains the song of angels calling us to the hope of hopes and the star that leads all who are wise to Christ.

A Bit of Christmas Humor...

Next Sunday's Homily in Advance...

Sunday of Geneaology,
December 23, 2007

When I was first seriously inquiring about Orthodoxy I remember attending liturgy and hearing today’s Gospel comprised mostly of a recounting of Jesus’ ancestors. I have to admit my first thought was probably, “What an odd Gospel,” difficult to chant, almost like reading the phone book. Certainly there would seem to be easier texts to preach from, especially this time of year.

And for the most part when preachers approach this text they do it for scholarly reasons, seeking out and explaining, for example, the differences between the genealogy in Matthew and Luke. Some focus on the order and number of the listing. It’s also very common to pull individuals out of the list and do homilies about their lives. Others will speak of how theologically and socially these lists were important to the authors of these Gospels.

Those are all good reasons to read the text and good reasons for the Church to include it in Her ancient cycle of readings. To know the Scriptures requires not simply reading easier texts and avoiding ones that take a certain amount of work. All the Scripture was approved by the Church and all is worth reading even if the message is not immediately clear and the first question is “Why is this important?” To be Orthodox is to be a serious and inquisitive student of Holy Scripture.

And my own ponderings of this text helped me recall something very important in this text, something that underscores all of the content of the New Testament and the stories of Jesus’ life. The scriptures contain many kinds of literature ranging from poetry to apocalyptic writings like the books of Daniel and Revelation, from love songs to historical accounts, ponderings on the nature of things to individual tales of courage and more. One can often see the form of the literature simply by reading it. The Psalms, for example, are poetry and liturgical hymns, the book of Esther is a historical tale designed to draw out faith and trust in God, while Job, not a historical book, is a drama of man pondering the meaning of tragedy and faith.


In this very beginning of the New Testament, of the stories of Jesus, his followers are, by placing this genealogy at the head of the text, locating the story of Jesus not in some mythical place and time but directly in human history. Jesus is a real person with a real family who really existed in time and space as we know it. After all isn’t our family our first and primary place in history? In the context of our family we enter this world and rooted in it we live our lives and in the end our family is more than likely the only vessel that will carry our memory through time. Our spot in the family tree marks the fact we were truly here.

Some decades after Christ’s resurrection there would be a group of heretics called the docetists who would deny that Jesus was real, a human being. He was, they would say, a kind of being that only appeared to be physical. Later skeptics would look at history and observe that in some places and times there were myths about women giving birth to gods and that perhaps the story of Jesus was just another one of those tales. In our time there are those who would say that perhaps there is a core of “history” to Jesus but most of what we know of him is the product of pious embellishment by people long distant from his actual life.

To each of these St. Matthew and the whole of the New Testament would say “No, he had a family, he walked among us and we saw what he did, heard what he said, touched him, saw him die, and then witnessed his resurrection. We knew his Mother, met his relatives, ate with him, prayed with him, traveled with him along the road, and our lives were transformed by it all. This is not about once upon a time in a land far, far, away, but about real time, real people, real places, and real history. It’s not, as the writer of the Epistle of Peter would say “cleverly devised fables,” but about what we saw with our own eyes, what really happened, this is history, remarkable for sure but ever so real. You can even check the genealogy”

And there is a confidence in this for us as we live as Orthodox Christians. In our day and age it’s fashionable to think of religious belief as a story we invent to help us become better people or perhaps cope with our fears and inadequacies. But our story is not a human invention. Those who witnessed it and passed it on were very careful to include names and dates and places that were easily verifiable to those who first read them and even to history. They did this so others would understand all of this not as something created in the desperation for answers but rather as the recounting of how God in mercy came to us and how we can truly be transformed because of it.

Next year, if our Lord does not return, you will hear this reading again. And when you do let it, in the recitation of the names, call to mind something far greater, the truth that all we will hear about Jesus, beginning with this story is real, and because of it so is our life of faith and our salvation. And as you ponder that everything about this holy season will change for you and you’ll never be the same again.

Death of a Church Mouse...

It is the custom for some at St. Elias to bring the Prosphora (the bread to be used in the Divine Liturgy) on Saturday evening and place it on a table in the sanctuary in anticipation of Sunday morning. In the past two weeks this has been the case and each Sunday morning as I came early to church to prepare the bread I have discovered the presence of our church mouse.

Apparently in the evening after Vespers is done and the church is quiet he (or she, who knows?) emerges from his home in our temple, climbs up the table and partakes in a single loaf of bread, eating his fill and then retiring for the night. On Sunday morning I arrive early to discover a small hole in a loaf with the evidence of mouse-like mastication. But this time I was prepared.

For those not from these parts you'll need to know that as the weather cools the local population of mice seek shelter, some finding it in outdoor burrows but many coming to reside in any building they can find. For the most part they're pretty quiet about things, running in the walls and shadows looking for scraps of food and pretty much staying to themselves. They do,however, leave little shall we say, "calling cards" wherever they live and being mice have the ability to settle in, adapt quickly, and respond to it all by having a family, a very large family. So I knew they had to go.

The truth is I'm not crazy about killing anything. Yes I know the chicken at the restaurant didn't commit suicide but I see the taking of any kind of life as something that's necessary but not part of the orginal plan if you get my drift. So when I have to I try to make it quick, painless, and never wanton. For mice that means what I call a "snappy trap".

There are sticky glue traps out there that snare a mouse and then hold him fast while he struggles to death. There are live traps that capture a mouse but then what do you do with it? Unless you have a fair plot of woods around any mouse you release just becomes someone else's problem and not many people consider giving a live mouse a definition of "loving your neighbor as yourself." The old fashion snap trap solves much in one fell swoop. No suffering on the part of the mouse and no wondering what to do with a live one. Just a swift second, a "snap" and then everything is done.

So before liturgy this morning I set the traps in the area where I thought our church mouse might be and since he had already developed a taste for holy bread I took a bit of it from the loaf he had already sampled and placed it in the trap. I didn't have to wait long.

About a half hour after everything was done and the upstairs of our little church went silent our devout mouse scampered out from wherever he was living and lured by the scent of prosphora stepped on to the trap. A quick inspection on my part of the traps just before leaving filled out the details. Now a new question emerges. How many mice are still with us? Being socialable critters the answer is probably more than we know. For even as our little church mouse may be, in his own unsuspecting way, devout he is no hermit.

Only time, it seems, and the two other traps laden with prosphora, will tell.

Highway 14...

Took a detour on the way south just to see some new country. From time to time its good to change the route to make the journey interesting.

By pure chance we found ourselves on Highway 14 in Rochester, Minnesota, heading east and decided to follow it all the way to Winona. For most of the run the highway was unremarkable, rolling farmland broken by small towns with names like Eyota, Dover, and Lewiston. But a dozen or more miles from the river the topography changed as the highway plunged down from the prairies and through the coulees.

For those who live in mountain country coulees are nothing much, not hills at all but rather valleys like the hollows of the Ozarks. But in our flat state they're the best most of us will do, our own little piece of pseudo-alpine country, a chance to drive the scenic twisties normally reserved for folks farther west.

Highway 14 winds out its run clinging to the sides of these coulees, stark in winter beauty, inaccessible for human use, and refuge for any creature who can adapt to them. At some points along the way you can see for miles as the valleys break steeply from the road leaving nothing but space between their sides. A few miles back the road snaked through farmland, domesticated, servile, and long broken by plows. But here there is still a memory of the wild, a place too steep for lumberjacks, too difficult for miners, and unsurrendered to any human implement. Rattlesnakes live in these valleys as they have since the last ice age and no one has ejected them from their towers.

In too short a time the houses reemerge, a few here and there, and then as the valley levels to the floodplain more and and more. Soon we're in town again with all its lights and comforts but curious minds can wonder what things have yet to be discovered, what caves remain hidden, or what wild thing remains wild just a mile or so back up the road.

At least I do.

Cold night...

6 below farenheit last night, looks like real winter is coming back. The weather report says snow today in southeastern Minnesota and Iowa. Could be a long drive to LaCrosse.

I remember winter like this. As a child I recall snow banks tall enough to require cars to have a bright orange or green ball on their antennas so we could see them from the sidewalk. On nights when the snow was deep and the sky clear the temperature would drop, sometimes well below zero, and everything became still. In the darkness houses with lights on glowed warm and the snow underfoot crunched beneath your boots. Every so often you could turn, look over your shoulder, and see the remnants of your breath floating through the air.

There's a romance to that but there is a truth as well. The truth is that I get older the charm of winter decreases. What was beautiful and serene in my childhood grows colder with each passing year. I can still endure it but the childhood joy of winter and snow only rarely resurfaces these days. I do what I have to do.

Some years ago I served a parish in Kansas and on the whole it was a sad experience, a small church that wanted nothing of the future, good people trapped in something they could not understand. But the weather, dry and clear, only occasionally dipping into the 20's, spoiled me, perhaps for life. I was willing to pay for the hot summers with an easy winter and even if that time was not typical it was set inside me as the way I wanted these months to pass.

I don't want to go to Kansas again but some day I'll retire to some place where winter is like that, not Florida warm and muggy but not frozen hard like here either. In time, everything in time...

Dhimmi Watch...

I've included in my list of links a site called "Dhimmi Watch" which is the product of the same folks who produce jihadwatch.org.

The term "dhimmi" refers to the status of non Muslims in a Muslim dominated society, generally a status of existing as people whose fate, for good or ill, is largely in the hands of the dominant Muslim culture. Dhimmi Watch documents things that you'll probably not see in the mainstream media, instances of Muslim cultural intrusion or dominance around the world and the effects it has on non Muslim peoples. Perhaps out of ignorance, laziness, fear, or that strange part of American culture that identifies with forces seeking its destruction the ongoing efforts of some in the the larger Islamic community to establish Islamic law and practice globally has often been ignored.

But we as Christians need to be aware of both our faith and what is happening in the world in order to respond in a Christian way and so I provided the link with a few caveats. The main person behind these pages is a scholarly type named Robert Spencer who appears well versed in Islamic culture, the Koran, and while honest is remarkably moderate in tone. Some of those who post comments on his site are not so gracious and this needs to be taken into consideration.

It's also not about instilling fear and hatred. The greatest defense of Christian faith is for those who hold it to know it and practice it. When we do we have nothing to fear and no one to hate. The stories presented in Dhimmi Watch are not to inspire racism or revenge but rather awareness and the call to pray for those in the Muslim world, for they are as much as we people God loves and for whom Christ died and rose again even if they consider that and us as blasphemous.

So read and be aware.

Interesting quote...

Picked this up while browsing over at Dick Staub's blog. "Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future"

The Way of a Pilgrim..

For some time now I had been reading, in short bursts, "The Way of a Pilgrim" a tale of Russian Orthodox spirituality centered on a wanderer seeking a life of continual prayer. I actually found the book several years ago in a used book sale at a local public library and its been close by ever since.

At times when I read the book and others with collections of the desert Fathers or biographies of illuminaries like St. Macarius a part of me wishes for the same life of contemplation and ceaseless encounter with God. I suspect that I'm like many who feeled pulled in too many directions and would give much to be simply focused and directed. But even as I do I realize two important things.

First I have to recognize that some of this is just an urge for rest. It's not easy, sometimes, to live halfway between here and there, caring for a parish in one town and living in another. At times I wonder why God simply doesn't fill the people of St. Elias with such hope and inspiration that all their fears and struggles would vanish and their tenativeness would disappear. But to get to that place of peace and joy, a place where their hearts would naturally respond to the care and nurture of the parish, will take time and time means that for now I still need to travel. So the normal rest of proximity, of being in the place I serve, of returning home in minutes rather than hours following Liturgy will have to wait. And sometimes that desire for a time in the desert is just my body and my soul's way of asking for rest.

Then, too, I believe I would make a terrible monk. For a while it might be novel to live in community and pursue the life of a monastic but I know that it would wear off and then what? As much as the larger world has its shares of sadness and stuggle it is still, for lack of a better term, my home the place where I belong. I respect the conviction that causes people to flee the world but I do not share it. So what am I to do?

The truth is I'm not sure. In these issues of prayer and contemplation and the ascetic life I am an amateur acting almost entirely on a combination of scattered writings and instinct. Seeing the value of constant prayer and the call on my life in the world I have been trying, and mostly not succeeding, to fill in every open space with, if not formal prayer at least the Jesus Prayer or thoughts of godly things. I try to go to sleep at night with prayer and wake in the morning with the same. If I cannot fill all my day with prayer I feel I should at least attempt to fill all the cracks, the open spaces in a day's business, with heavenly things or at least to see the holy in all things. I presume that over time, as the Bible says, a little yeast will leaven the whole lump and what I do in bits and pieces will eventually become just the way of my life.

This all may sound pious but the truth is that I'm just at the very beginning, the point where I see the need and I'm trying to find a way. Most of the time I miss the mark, and that's not just the kind of "humble speak" we Orthodox are often so good at, it's the truth. All I know is that I need a different kind of life and by grace I want to find it, or have it find me.

Baby Boomers owe Americans an apology...

From Dennis Prager...

On Gloom and Doom...

A bit of wisdom from Michael Medved...

Winter storm warnings...

The weather reports say a major winter storm will be coming through after noon tomorrow with sleet, rain, and a possible six inches plus of snow. It was bound to come, they always do.

Getting to LaCrosse should be okay, just get on the road early enough in the morning and beat the storm as it crosses through Minnesota in to Wisconsin. The ride home, though, will be another thing, long, tedious, eyes always on the road, and everything at the mercy of the weather. The car is as prepared as it can be and everything will just have to unfold as it does.

We may think, sometimes, that we are, by virtue of our technologies and skills, the masters of the world we walk in. This may be true in a certain way. All along the river road I'll be transported by things that 200 years ago may have seemed like magic. But nature still charges her tolls and nothing, not even the best things we can design, escapes its grasp. If the weather says "Go slow" even the best car still must go slow.

So, we'll see how things happen, pray for the best, and head south along the Mississippi.

Attack of the bifocals...

Had the annual eye exam a few days ago and it appears that bifocals or perhaps even trifocals are in the future. They assure me that I can easily get used to looking through them but I intend to fight it all the way! For some reason bifocals just mark a place I'm not yet ready to enter, the door to being an "old" person or something like that. I presume I'll get them some time, but not today.

The end of stem cell wars?

An interesting article from the Weekly Standard on how science is making embryonic stem cells unnecessary.

On potlickers...

The driving along the river road has been better these past weeks.

As fall fades into winter highway 61 empties of its tourists and all that are left on the road are locals, those who use the road for commerce, and occasional travelers south. The speeds have approached the posted again and the run to LaCrosse has shortened. All in all its a very good thing, except, of course if your business was about the potlickers.

Potlicker is a family term, from my wife's side, for people who drift along the road at whatever speed they choose, usually slow, as they gawk at the scenery. Along the river road they lead caravans of cars up and down the hills, people trapped by roads too narrow and winding to pass and the person leading the way at a speed somewhat less than posted.

They're a mixed blessing at best. For those who have places to go and things to do they're a nerve wracking obstacle. For the people who live along the road and make their living from tourists they're slow rolling cash machines prone to stop at every antique store and gas station on route. Avoiding them means traveling in the small hours of the morning or late at night. I choose the day as I never tire of the scenery and so I drive south and hope I miss them.

But these last few weeks the trees have gone bare, the sky has grayed, and the temperature has dropped. The summer tourists, the ones who sought vistas and a day on the river watch football games now. And the fall tourists, those who basked in the magnificent colors have trickled away. Only those who love the stark beauty of leafless trees remain and travelers with places to go and truckers carrying their wares along the winding river road.

And I drive alone with my thoughts and whatever is on the radio. Full speed ahead.

Some wisdom from David Warren...

Some wisdom on chastity and dating from David Warren.

This week's sermon in advance...

This Sunday marks the leave taking of the Feast of the Presentation of the Theotokos in the Temple, one of the five major days of celebration related to the Virgin Mary. The others are the Nativity of the Theotokos on September 8th, the Presentation of Christ in the Temple on February 2nd, the Annunciation of the Birth of Christ on March 25th, and the Dormition of the Theotokos on August 15th.

The feast, celebrated on November 21st, commemorates an episode in the life of the Theotokos recorded not in the Scriptures but in the Protoevangelion of James. In this story the young Mary is taken to the temple and presented to God. The tradition then records her living in the temple until such time as she was engaged to Joseph who was chosen by lot to be her husband and protector of her virginity.

The story records, as well, a procession of young girls, led by the Theotokos, into the temple where they are received by the priest Zacharias, the one day father of John the Forerunner, and her being taken to the Holy of Holies, the most sacred part of the temple. While there God touches with her with supernatural grace.

The tale is touched with sadness as well. For even as they know they doing that which is right and holy the Virgin Mary’s parents, Joachim and Anna, follow behind the procession with tears in their eyes at their separation from their only child.

Like many of the pious stories of our Orthodox faith the central issue is not in the details so much as it is in the meaning. The details of this event are unique, there is no way to verify them outside of the sources themselves, and there is no need because it is the “why” that matters more than the “how”. These stories were treasured because they reflected a desire of the faithful to know more about this amazing and holy Mary , the mother of our Lord. They reflect the veneration the early Church had for her and it tells us the veneration of saints and luminaries of the Church was not some addition to the Apostolic faith but rather an expression of it.

But the veneration of the Mother of God is more than simple honor for its own sake. As is always the case the most sincere form of veneration is imitation. Our prayer states “Calling to remembrance our all holy, immaculate, most blessed and glorious lady Theotokos and ever virgin Mary, with all the saints, let us commend ourselves and each other and all our life unto Christ our God”.

The story of the Presentation of the Theotokos records the child Mary coming to the temple in joy, and in a like manner we should come to this our own small temple not begrudgingly but with the desire to be in the presence of the holy. As Mary was dedicated to God throughout her life, so we should also live as people dedicated to God. Joachim and Anna knew that the greatest gift they could give their child was the gift of being in God’s presence and our children should have this gift as well.

Suffice it to say every detail of the story of the Presentation of the Theotokos in the Temple, and indeed of all the feasts of the Church, could be unpacked with implications for own lives of faith and our call to commend ourselves and each other and our whole life unto Christ. Each one is far beyond a ritual thing rooted in centuries of habit. Each is a call to learn and grow and become what God wants us to be individually and as a parish and we do well to pay heed to them every day of our lives. When we do we begin to understand what it means to be Orthodox.

Things that make you go hmmmmm.....

My wife and I were visiting the credit union yesterday to refinance our car at a lower rate and we discovered something.

In 2005 our credit rating was over 800 and when our credit rating was examined yesterday it was in the high 700's. The culprit? We actually paid off and CLOSED several accounts and apparently paying off credit cards and closing accounts is NOT good for your credit rating! The loan officer told us it was actually better to keep a number of accounts open and simply slice up the credit cards and then proceeded to offer us a credit union card so we could BOOST our rating by having another account. Amazing.

And they wonder why there are credit problems in the US.

Did you know...

Thanksgiving isn't exclusively about the Pilgrims and Indians and such and actually came to be officially established in its basic format in 1863 during the Civil War as per a proclamation from Abraham Lincoln.

The day, the last Thursday of November, was set aside by President Lincoln as a day both of thanks to God and penitence for the sins of the nation as well as a call to care for those affected by the Civil War. Apparently the President forgot to check with the ACLU before he put pen to paper!

Construction...

Painting is on the way!

Our venerable old building, built in the early 1900's and on whose premises St. Raphael of Brooklyn walked, is getting much needed repair inside and out.

Notice that the building is very unlike the design of a traditional Orthodox Church and resembles, in fact, a Protestant country church. Even the older members of the parish do not know why the immigrants who built the parish chose this design. Speed of construction? Desire to assimilate? Cost?

All we know for certain was the land in this area was first used by lumber mills, lumber being the first large industry of LaCrosse, and then was the area of town settled by Middle Eastern immigrants who were gathered together into a parish by then Bishop, and now Saint, Raphael.

The times have ebbed and flowed and for some decades the building was used only intermittently by traveling Priests when there was a need for special services in LaCrosse. Over time a hodge podge of various projects were undertaken to clean and maintain the facilities and now, by the grace of God and the generosity of the parishoners our special "old lady" of a building is getting cleaned up, fixed up, and gussied up.

Oh if these walls could only talk!

This week's sermon in advance...

Do I love God?

It’s a question I ask myself sometimes and it causes me to think.

I believe God exists. I believe God matters. I believe that God is uniquely manifested in the world in Jesus Christ. I know I need God and want God.

But do I love God?

I’m not talking about the emotional syrupy kind of stuff where people get together and sing pop songs with the word “baby” replaced by the word “God”. Emotions are part of love but they never define it, they are never its substance.

I’m not talking about needing God or wanting God. So much of our modern definition of love is about having someone in our life who can meet our needs or hungers, but that’s not love, that’s manipulation, and it doesn’t matter whether God or somebody else is involved.

I am talking about authentic love, the kind where those who love each other enjoy each other’s presence for its own sake, where they strive to grow together, make each other the center of their existence, and are incomplete when they apart. It’s the kind of love we all hope for, even for a moment in this life, a love beyond the emotion of a moment, beyond the meeting of a temporary need, beyond even the beauty of the erotic, a union as it were, of souls.

But do I love God?

I would have to say “I’m not sure, my reasoning has been so clouded that I’m often not certain what real love is.” If the truth was known it’s more than likely my relationship with God is 99.99 percent God loving me with very little in return. But I know I want to love God. And I know that something inside me says that it’s what I was meant to do.

I know that without a love for God my life, my faith, my religion is merely ritual without substance, like a marriage where everything is gone except for the routine. I know God created me with the ability to respond with love to His love and in its absence I am empty, I am less than human and all I do is meaningless.

I know, too, that my love is tainted with selfishness, ambition, an eye to my own benefit and the feeding of my never ending hungers. I rarely love for its own sake even though it’s what I know should be. I seek others out for my own needs and give back when it is mutually agreeable and even more so with God. My list of demands for heaven is long, my list of sacrifices miniscule.

Yet I know as well that God’s love is so profound that it can even enable me to love God truly in return. I can humbly ask “God teach me not just to recognize you, or obey you, or come to terms with you, but to love you” and God, in love, will work with me, overcome my faults, enlighten my darkness and slowly but surely guide me to where I can truly love God in return for the love that has been given to me.

I suspect in these days that God has many who claim to speak for him and act in his name, many who study him, many who poke through the tea leaves of time and history to discern his presence. All that may be well and good but is it possible that God is actually looking most of all for people who will love him?

I believe this may be true, and God granting me grace I am going to try.

Thursday afternoon bass...

A worthwhile article...

From the Heritage Foundation, an article on the positive personal and social benefits of religious practice.

November 12...

As I'm writing this is in the early morning hours of November 13th I can see a picture of my father on a mantel in my living room. He would have been 74 yesterday but he barely made it to sixty.

After my brother died I told my remaining brother that in our family we have "big hearts but not good ones" and the shadow of these two early deaths, my father and brother, has become part of our life. A co-worker of mine is in her middle 50's and looks like she's in her late 30's with aunts and uncles well into their 90's but we can't seem to make it past 60, not my grandfather, not my father, and not my brother. And I suppose that even though I've inherited most of my genetics from my mother's and not my father's side, the clock is ticking for me as well.

Yesterday's reading for the morning prayers in the Orthodox Study Bible was Psalm 90 where the writer contemplates the brevity of life and asks God for the kind of wisdom that comes from understanding our days are numbered (v 12). I'm trying to learn this because that wisdom often comes at a very high price, a cost our family has incurred not once but twice.

I remember someone once joking about how religious older people were by saying "It's because they're cramming for final exams...". But the truth is that test is often a surprise test, a pop quiz that comes when we least expect it. The only way to be ready is to live as Christ would want and make every day count.

In a family full of bum tickers that's more than a platitude.

The Chilling Times...

We're getting in to the teeth of autumn up here in Minnesota, the daylight savings times when the sun is down by 6 pm and the cold starts to settle in. It's probably my least favorite time of the year.

I call it the "chilling time" because for a week or two I literally get the chills as my body adjusts to the new lower temperatures and my brain gets used to the dark. The brightness and warmth of summer is gone and the color of fall has faded and now only bare trees, cold winds, and early sunsets remain.

Christmas (Nativity) saves this time of year with its preparations, its lights, and its joy. But I can see how my pagan ancestors would make the emergence of the sun at the winter solstice a holiday. After all how depressing could this time have been in the wilds of northern Europe in the days without either lights electric or the light of Christ? It must have seemed a dark vision, like the end of the world.

An irony of it all may be that this warmer climate cycle we're in actually makes it all a bit more bearable. I can recall in years past being snowed in on Thanksgiving but today the forecast is for nearly sixty degrees with sun and so I can at least take a walk and get outside. I may even do some chores outside the house after work so we can get things buttoned down before winter sets in with a vengeance.

And set in it will...

Joys of this work...

This past Sunday I spoke with the mother of a young parishoner who just turned seven. She told me about how her daughter told her she was glad to be seven so now she could fast.

Out of the mouths of babes...

Disappointment...

My house is being painted at an achingly slow pace.

When the saleman from the paint contractor came to us he assured us that it could be done quickly and even in this cooler weather. And I wanted it done. I wanted it done so it would nice for my next door neighbor who plans to sell his house in the next few months. I wanted it done so that I wouldn't have to cram the work into my own crowded schedule. I wanted it done because in the Priest business your house should always be in good repair as you can be one phone call away from it being on the market. I wanted it done because I wanted it to look nice.

And I spent a good amount of money on it all, more than I paid for my first few cars. Now its mostly done but the upstairs windows are still covered with plastic, the window frames are unpainted, the basement windows are still undone as are some of the soffits and all of the facia. Yesterday it snowed, just a tiny bit, and that means time is running out and so is my patience.

I still struggle with the balance between speaking my needs and patience. Where is the line between not being anxious, trying to see the big picture, and trusting and making that phone call to get things that need to be done completed? The truth is it takes a while for me to trust. I've been burned too many times and that history has made my window of trust very small. People have a short amount of time to follow through before I close the door and when that door is closed it's more often than not nailed shut. I'm on the edge with these folks right now and I want to see some paint on some places without it before too long or I'll take that big step over.

And I know I need to be better than that. I need to be wiser, more discerning, less vulnerable to being jerked around by people and events. I hate the part of me that relishes the opportunity to send a nasty note and make someone's life a living hell by badgering them. I hate that when it happens to me and I hate when I feel like doing it to someone else. But I hate being played for a chump as well, of being marked as a person to whom things can be done and considerations not given because they won't do anything about it. And all of it has made this encounter with the paint contractor just a pain when I had hoped I could just send a check, wait a few days, and have everything handled.

Oh well...

I guess that's why we always pray "Lord have mercy..."

I wonder sometimes...

It was an early morning (4:30 AM) drive yesterday, south on Highway 52 to Interstate 90 through deer country. It's fall and deer are in the rut, moving across the countryside at sunrise and sunset. It's hard to drive for any distance without seeing a deer splayed on the side of the road, the victim of a car.

Something puzzles me. Whitetail deer are swift, possessing of keen eyesight, an enhanced sense of smell, and the ability to hear a twig snap at distance. Hunters seeking deer must be stealthy, cover their smell, and often spend long hours in a single place nearly motionless. So what is it about cars, loud, fast, and bright with lights that seems to defy them? What makes this normally hyper vigilant animal such easy prey for something so obvious?

I'd like to think that somehow after more than a century of cars they would have figured it all out. And I have a picture in my mind of a bambi kind of scene where the wise old deer speaks of the dangers of cars in hushed tones to a rapt audience of fawns. Alas it is not to be and as the road descended from the prairies into the river valley on the shoulder lay a buck in full horn and strength, dead. Sad.

The baby who refused to be aborted...

An amazing story about one of a set of twins selected for abortion.

Every Orthodox needs this...

Here is a link to the book that should be on every Orthodox Christian, and inquirer's, shelf!

The complete Orthodox Study Bible can be pre-ordered now with a substantial discount from Conciliar Press.

A radical idea...

Every year the exhausted gather up the remains of Christmas like morning after drunks and vow never to do it again. And like the addicts they are they will, same time, same place, next year.

But here's an idea, perhaps a radical one. What would happen if devout Christians simply opted out of our culture's notion of Christmas and practiced the Church's?

"Impossible" you say and I would respond "Why?" "Well, there's too much hype, to much commercialism, too much of that syrupy music." And I would say "Are you that weak that some advertiser somewhere can so easily pull your strings?"

Now in some parts of the Muslim world people would riot and kill off a few dozen people to respond to a challenge to their sacred days. That's off the option list for Christians even through we do have some folks trying to ride the "the culture is attacking Christmas" bandwagon to notoriety and financial success and ironically aping the commercial culture's desecration of this day by still making the season all about their needs. The truth is that if we feel strongly about this sacred season being hijacked by a morbid commercial culture we simply need to start actually approaching it as Christians and not Americans.

Start slowly by cutting down on the gifts and ramping up on giving to the poor. Decorations don't have to go up right after Thanksgiving and if you can't find your way to fasting at least say no to a cookie once in a while. It's about a change of focus towards the One whose arrival we celebrate and away from ourselves. towards the truly hungry and away from our own shallow cravings, towards the celebration of Christ and away from self indulgence.

You see the reason the holiday has been polluted is that for too long Christians have been willing dupes in its desecration. Oh we may gripe a bit when Christmas displays are up in October, or earlier, but we're there shopping with the rest of folks and buying in to it all. What difference does it make to complain about the holiday being removed from the schools or government offices when the true spirit of the holiday has long ago been removed from us? What right do we have to expect the pagans to be more faithful then we are?

The actual truth may be that we really do enjoy the chaotic consumer mess that Christmas has become in this country. We have come to accomodate ourselves, as we have in so many things, to the dictates of a broken world and that brokenness has become normal, even desireable to us in the same way that addicts enjoy their terrible pleasures. But if there is a part inside of us that still thinks something is wrong about it all, that there must be a better way, we should quiet ourselves and listen. Perhaps we may discover in that silence a still small voice challenging us to something better, something more holy, some more real about the season soon upon us.

That may make all the difference.

It's nearly four in the morning...

It's nearly 4 AM and yes, I'm awake.

From time to time this happens, especially if I go to bed early, and over the years I've learned to make the best of it. My theory is that when I was a teenager I worked the 3-11 shift at a nursing home and because of it I sort of set my rhythm in a night owl direction and have never really recovered. In my ideal world I would go to bed around 8 and then get up at 11 and work for three or four hours, go back to sleep, and then start up again about 10 in the morning. Alas, there are no jobs out there with those hours.

So when the times come when for one reason or another I can't sleep through the night I make the best of it. It's a great time to pray, these hours when everything is quiet. And it's not a bad time to get work done free from the usual interruptions. It's even possible to combine the two by, say, washing dishes and praying. Since my wife is a sprawler when she sleeps it all works out. Prayers get said, work gets done, and she gets the whole bed. Such a deal!

PS - Apparently I'm not the only one up at this hour. My stats have just recorded a visit by googlebot slinking around the web and dropping in on my place to see who's home.

A little wisdom from Willow Creek...

Willow Creek Church in Barrington, Illinois has a reputation in the evangelical Christian world as the center, perhaps even the originator of "seeker friendly" churches, the kind of parishes you see springing up all over the country with subdued architecture and casually clothed pastors leading low key, pop music powered, worship.

According to this article from TownHall.com Willow Creek has done an internal audit of its life and programs and found that while its practices have attracted large numbers they have not created disciples of Jesus Christ to the depth they had hoped. Lots of people have come but large numbers have remained spiritually immature and unable to grow in their faith to a level where they could become as the report says "self-feeders", people who could take responsibility for practicing their faith.

Lest, however, we Orthodox become too critical with our "I told you so's..." and perverse pride in being small it should be noted that while we have it right that the development of true disciples of Jesus Christ with a deep and living faith is a priority we have failed to do that ourselves AND neglected the basic kind of open door hospitality that marks the "seeker" churches. Large numbers of Orthodox Christians are basically uneducated about their faith AND our parishes often have the feeling of ethnic clubs or insular communities where people have to jump through any number of hoops before they're welcomed.

In the end it's all about balance, being in that place where we are firmly established in our faith and a place of welcome for the throngs, and yes they are there, of people seeking spiritual solace in the materialistic desert of American life.

The long way home...

The sun was bright again today and so we took the long way home on the Wisconsin side of the river, highway 35 from LaCrosse and then crossing over at Red Wing, Minnesota.

The topography is different on the Wisconsin side, less open areas and few areas for towns or substantial farms. Once you're past Trempeleau the road narrows to two lanes and snakes along the very edge of the river through tiny towns that hang on to the bluffs in any space even close to flat enough to hold a home. I've often wondered why people simply didn't build on top of the hill but apparently these towns were founded when the river was the focus of life and horses were incapable of pulling wagons up snowy roads. People must have quickly become content with the idea that their little place on the big river was never going to be much of anything people-wise and those who wanted to stayed and rest went up the Mississippi for larger venues.

The blessing of that is the scenery, which because of its inaccessibility has retained its beauty. The road hugs the bluffs and even at this late time there's still color in the trees mixed with the deep green of the coulee floor. Eagles have found shelter here in these places where even the best of plows are useless and the river provides a constant source of fish. Along the way there are markers calling to mind where a river fort once stood or a battle was fought in the days when there were no roads, no wires, and an amazing kind of quiet.

I like to take the slow road more often than not. There are enough freeways in the world where people sit behind their steering wheels grim faced and obsessed with their dashboard clock. What a precious and unusual treasure to find a road without billboards, a road that winds because nature does, a road without generic restaurants. And since I have take the trip I choose to make the best of it, to enjoy every moment and if I lose 15 minutes so be it.

After all, not everyone who wanders is lost.

The tie that binds...

By this time next Saturday I'll be at St. Mary's Orthodox Cathedral in Minneapolis getting ready for my niece's wedding. I'm not actually the celebrant so I need to get dressed up nice and smile piously and handle a few things, but that's okay.

As I get older I come to see my age not so much in terms of the face I see in the mirror but rather by the transformation of those around me. I remember when my niece was born and suddenly it seems she's done with college, on the job, and getting married. What did I do in all that time? I'm not sure I remember but I don't recall it moving as quickly as it did. Time does move on and with each ritual, each ceremony, each event of passage for those around me I see its rhythms. One generation does indeed give way to another and some day I will be that old man sitting off to the side while the young folks dance.

Who can stand in the way of the flower of youth? And yet there is a sadness in this because the blooming of it all comes at the cost of many goodbyes. I suspect that jobs and life and the flow of things will one day take us all apart and all that we've managed to maintain through these years by staying close to each other will one day rust away.

It's just the way of things, so as I go through the work of the Liturgy next Saturday I'll sear each image into my memory, all the hellos, all the good byes, every color, sight, sound, and dream. When we are someday apart it will be the unseen tie that binds.

In case you want to know what real country music sounds like...

My Brother's Birthday...

Tomorrow will be my brother Paul's birthday, his 46th had he remained with us.

Paul and I are 14 months apart and when we were kids we teased him about being an "oops".
Usually on his birthday I would give him a call and say "Hey, you're old" and he would respond "But you're older..." , remind me of those two months when I was two years ahead, and we'd have a conversation. Over the years our lives took different paths and like all brothers we had our own lives but that call was something we had in common and would often be the prelude to a longer talk that helped keep that which knitted us together even though we were different people.

I remember thinking sometimes that time was on my side and I would have the last laugh. One day I would die and then he would, perhaps, finally be older and if by grace I made heaven I would look down and mischieviously smile. Sadly, it was not to be.

However he shines in the presence of God, Paul will always be 44 and time for the rest of us will march on. In God's eyes, of course, it's meaningless, all time is present. But we choose to mark our lives by it, often distress ourselves over it, and watch it pass by too quickly when times are good and too slowly when they aren't. I will grow old as God gives years but all is not lost.

One day, too, I hope to make the short leap from here to the arms of God and live in timeless joy. We'll talk then, Paul and I, not about age or anything else but rather in worshipful tones about life in the sight of God, heavenly things, and everything good and right. And we'll have all the time in the world to do it.

My Morning...

Another Mandolin...

A few weeks ago I was on vacation in Marquette, Michigan and drove in the night through downtown and past a music store. In the window was, hanging among other instruments, a mandolin.

It has been over a year since I started playing the mandolin. Originally I thought it would be a way to challenge myself by having an instrument strung GDAE and directly reverse of a bass. Over the months, though, the mandolin came to have a life of its own. I love the high lonely sound, the two finger chords, but most of all how it has given me a different voice to express my heart.

The upstairs of my house has a room of instruments, a key board, four basses, three mandolins, a dulcimer, and a recorder stashed somewhere along with the various electric gadgets needed to make some of them work. I’ve cleared a few away over the years but there always seems to be room for one more, like the Portugese style mandolin from Marquette with it beautiful wood and soulful sound. One day I believe we may add a hammered dulcimer (this one for my wife) and I think that some day a Native American flute will follow me home and I’ll have to keep it.

I’ve never been content with one instrument. Each instrument has its own qualities, each its own sound, and each elicits something in and from me. They, or rather the music they produce is a solace for me, a world apart where that which is physical and spiritual and intellectual and spiritual are one for a moment. I would like to think that the sounds are still out there somehow, too quiet for hearing but floating through the ether in some mystical way. I’d like to believe that everything I’ve played, good or bad, is still traveling through space.

Who knows? Maybe heaven will be the place where I catch up to my music or where whatever tears have been shed, anger expressed, joy revealed, or fears made known in a hundred songs as prayers will find their perfect purpose, their intended beauty.

Regardless, I’ve got another mandolin, spruce, sycamore, rosewood, and soul and I’ve got to go play.

I'm moving...or at least I thought I was...

I had planned to move my blog to Wordpress because they have better templates, still do, but its harder to post and so I'm back. I guess its just a guy's perogative to change his mind.

Moral Revolution...

Another terrible school shooting, this time in Ohio and you can hear the clock ticking.

How long will it be before you hear the activists seize on this tragedy and demand less guns or more school counselors or cameras in schools. Amazing, though, you'd think by now with all these programs and laws and such in place that all would be well, or at least even on the way to well.

But none of it, as well intentioned (or not) as it might be will matter until there is a moral revolution, a revolution of the heart. You cannot take morality out of a society and expect that something else, something more sinister will not fill the void. It has, it will, and we continue on this path to our peril if we do not wake up and realize that all the laws in the world will not make a difference if a person is not transformed within. Take away the guns they will still murder, take away the murder from the human heart and guns will gather rust.

In that line of thought it may be good to say one more thing. Critics of Christianity speak often of the violence caused by religion. They ignore, of course, the reality that nations and people have used Christianity and distorted it to justify violence and that Christianity is not the actual source of the violence and they carefully forget one more important question. How many violent acts have NOT been committed because of Christianity? How many times in the history of the world has a violent thought or consideration come to mind that the moral framework of Christian faith has redirected towards better solutions? Unfortunately there's no real way outside of anecdote to measure this but one thing seems certain, where Christian faith is truly and rightly practiced violence decreases and that's where the revolution must begin.

Leaves and sun...

As per usual this time of year the vistas along Highway 61 are radiant with the colors of fall. (Yes, that's really a picture) From the sky I imagine it looks like blotches of paint have been dropped to Earth by angels transforming the trees and the whole world with shades of red and orange and yellow.

It's a good time to drive, listen to the radio, and let the tires roll the miles away. I suspect that if I had to drive to some other place these journeys would have long ago grown tiresome. It wouldn't be the same to live, for example, in Phoenix and drive two hours over the open desert. Along my particular road there are hills and valleys with small towns as the highway winds along the Mississippi River. At places you drive through a tunnel of trees and in others the road clings to a high point on a bluff and you can see the fire and light on the Wisconsin side.

It's Monday, the time for tired, the time for trying to catch a breather, the time when for a minute or two you realize that you've been at this for over two years, every Saturday south on Highway 61. Just this year a 30,000 mile car has become a 50,000 mile car and the people at Microtel know my voice on the phone. I know just where it's hard to get cell phone service and just how far north you can drive before WKTY and the Packer's game fades out. Lake City has a Dairy Queen that serves twist cones and the gas is always cheapest in Red Wing. And when Dresbach emerges on the way I know I'm almost there.

Some day there'll be no more need to make this run and I sometimes wonder what I'll do when I can make to church in a few minutes and sleep in my own bed on Saturday. We'll see. Until then the colors are vivid, the road is open, and there's work to do; White bear Avenue to Interstate 94, left on Highway 61 and two and a half hours south to St. Elias.

A part of it all...

I was driving home this weekend, thinking about things and it occurred to me. We Priests get credit for a lot of things where God is actually doing the heavy lifting.

It's not that we do nothing, we do a lot, but when we pray for a child and they get better we often get the credit but it was God who healed. When we preach we use our skill but true inspiration comes from heaven. Our words of counsel when they are at their best only mouth what God has revealed. It may be that our basic task as Priest's is to simply pay attention to God and then pass that gift on and maybe more often then not its just to get out of God's way.

A Worthwhile Read...

An article by Phillip Jenkins about the "next Christianity" and the future of the Faith.

One of the things we Americans do is think of Christianity on our terms and rarely see the larger global context. Jenkin's article is important to help us refocus and see the emergence of Christianity in the world outside our cultural and physical borders.

What do you think?

Solutions...

If you spend time at all on line you know there are a zillion sites all about this and that and who's doing what to whom and pro and con on just about anything. It's a world of complaints. It's depressing, a lot. Everyone has a sword, no one a plowshare.

There seems to be be several choices. Ignore it all and hope it goes away. Thrive on it and live for the daily combat and gotcha scores. Enjoy it as some kind of sign of the coming apocalypse in which you and yours will be safely snatched away so that God can burn a few billion folks to set the score right. Or do something about it.

As terrible as these times may seem, and some of the darkness of these days has little to do with a sheer amount of darkness but rather about how we get to witness it all over and over again in a 24 hour media world, it's also a good time to be a Christian. We're free from the burden of being the culture. The powers that be are not us and frankly they're making a huge mess of it all. In time the sheer volume of pain will wake up a society still drowsy from all its drugs (materialism, relativism, etc.) and our moment will arrive.

Will we be ready? Will I? When the world seeks answers will they find them among us? I hope so. Because what the world needs now is not more wallowing in its own painful filth or another hundred dead ends. What the world needs now is a way out, something better, and that's all about Jesus Christ.

A Site Worth Visiting...

Orthodoxy Today

On Men and Orthodoxy...

Frederica Matthewes Green on men and Orthodoxy.

Been There, Loved That...

Then and Now...

Standing at my first Baptist church and with

Bp. MARK this past weekend.

A Short Interview Worth Reading...

Here

This Sunday's Homily...

It was said that in his youth a man named John who lived on Cyprus had a dream in which a beautiful maiden named Compassion appeared to him and told him she was the eldest daughter of God.

As John grew, then married and had a family, the dream never left his mind. When he became a widower and then an ascetic it stayed with him. As popular acclaim required he serve as the Patriarch of Alexandria that dream followed him to his palace. And as Patriarch he made it his mission to give to many, to all, to people he did not know, and people far and wide, and by generosity express compassion and so serve God.

These acts were not always met with approval. The Church in Alexandria in the early 600’s was wealthy, prominent, and there were those who would keep the wealth intact. But Patriarch John understood something greater than the economy of those times, and ours as well, an economy based on acquiring and storing for ourselves. John understood that in God’s economy what was given away, what was shared, was what came back to you and that the glory of the Church was when she lived not for herself but for God and those outside her walls. It was that attitude that made John notable in his life, acclaimed in his service, and eventually glorified by the church where he is now known as St. John the Merciful.

And it’s this attitude that’s found in our Epistle and Gospel readings today. Our Orthodox faith teaches us that we truly own nothing in this world. All that we acquire in our time here is given to us by God, the source of all good things, and we are required to hold it in trust and use it for the glory of God and the benefit of all. At the end of time we will be asked to give an accounting of what we have been given and the basis of that accounting will not be in how much we acquired by how much we have shared.

We Orthodox often use the hammer of “tradition” against each other, arguing about what kind of music we have, what language we speak, how the Priest served, what kind of food we need to make, a million things we all think are tradition. But the truth is if you want to know the heart of Orthodoxy none of those things matter in any particular way at all. Jesus himself said it best we he urged those follow him to love God with all their heart and soul and mind and love their neighbor as themselves.

If you love God in this way, you will trust him for all your needs. If you love your neighbor this way you will understand that you find your own true life in living for others and all that you have, all that you are exists for the benefit of all. If you understand this you will have mastered the tradition of our faith in a way that people obsessed with rubrics and cultures and liturgics and who does what and who has the power will never know. Whatever they may gain they gain for only a short while but those whose lives sow bountifully into the lives of others for the sake of the love of God hold on to their treasures for all time.

It is said of St. John the Merciful that he commanded his coffin to be made but left unfinished and his grave to be partially dug. At various times during the year he instructed those in charge of making coffins and digging graves to approach him and say “Master, shall we complete the preparations for your death…?” In this way St. John reminded himself of what things truly matter in this life.

Perhaps something like that would be good for us as well. We should ponder our end not as some kind of exercise in morbid introspection but rather as a way to give our lives focus and meaning. The Psalmist asked of God, “Teach us to number our days so that we can increase in wisdom” and another has said “The shortness of life underscores the value of giving ourselves to the right things.”

If we did we would soon come to realize that we truly own nothing in this world, even the clothes they bury us in will one day turn to mulch. We would understand that everything we think we possess, including this church, is not our own and what matters is not what we hold close to ourselves but what we give away. And perhaps the most remarkable thing is that as we draw nearer to understanding this we become more free from the tyranny of life, more alive, more whole, more real, and more focused on the things that last. And we begin to know what it is to have eternal life.

He's Orthodox...

The story here...

It's Sunday Night in Minnesota...

It's Sunday night back at home in Minnesota. Vacation is done, work awaits in the morning.

Some weeks ago the plans were ambitious, a trip to Seattle to get in a baseball game or maybe a flight to New Mexico to view archaeological sites. A hard month of work and the preparation for our Bishop's visit took that all off the table. We settled for a trip to Bemidji, Minnesota and followed the fall colors to Marquette, Michigan on the Upper Peninsula.

Even on vacation I enjoy driving, miles under the wheels and simply seeing things I've never seen before. Planes are faster but cars are more real, what you see from the air as little squares of ground and distant roof tops fill with people and houses and the palette of life. From 30,000 feet you'd never know that below you was a place called Ball Club, Minnesota or see Agate Falls hidden under the Michigan trees.

Moments with nothing to do are rare for me. I usually get a few hours on Saturday morning and the quiet of the ride home but often not much else. Yet work and family found their way into this time as well. Even if you go away from it all it seems to have a way of finding you and dragging you in to its own whirlpool. I remain convinced that cell phones and the internet have played havoc with the whole idea of vacation. You can never seem to get "away" because whatever you've left behind can track you. It was good to leave work for a while but I never did get a few hours on a beach or a long walk in the woods. I miss that and as Monday morning looms I feel like I only had part of what I needed and that it will be months before I find it again.

Yet sleep is coming and I'll take as much of that now as I can and we'll see what tomorrow brings.

It's around 9:30 at night...

It's around 9:30 at night and I'll be in bed soon.

These past weeks have been busy beyond belief with arrangements for an episcopal visit, the change of staff at work, vacation plans, an illness in the family. I've pushed through more paperwork and dealt with more people asking for help then I can remember.

But one part is done, work is over for this week and the time for church things will begin tomorrow morning. I'm sitting and writing and waiting for a load of laundry to get done and then my pillow beckons.

A month ago I knew this was going to be a very busy time. Yet somehow things got done. Some people let me down but I was often amazed at who stepped in, who added a little bit of help to take some of the load. Events that seemed impossible for a moment somehow found a way to resolve themselves. When there was tired there always seemed to be a little more strength. Nothing about me, everything about grace.

It's not done by a long shot. I've got three more days of an episcopal visit. Our Bishop is a very nice man but I still have to study the services and will be flying solo in all of this for the first time. I'm nervous but not because the Bishop makes me nervous but because I want everything to be perfect and too often snare myself in that and miss all the good things along the way.

I want everything at St. Elias to go so well that I think I have to do it all. Now that's arrogance!

There's a lot of things I wish would have happened this past year, buildings painted, things started, progress made, things that would make a good impression and help the parish but I have to be careful that I lead and not drive people. There's a big difference.

More than anything else I would like our Bishop to see what we've been doing, how hard we've been working, the progress we've been making. We've got a long way to go but we've also traveled far and I hope he sees the progress. I would like the people of St. Elias, as well to know our Bishop and be hoonored by his visit and sieze this moment to get a sense of their own future.

Bu now I've got to sleep. Lots of things to do. Lots of miles to travel. And lists everywhere.

Wireless...

We had some family over this past week and their dog ate through the 50 feet or so of cable that went up from my basement to the upstairs and the DSL modem. Time to go wireless and after a few tries, okay more than a few, I'm up and running with my own wireless network in my house. And I remember when someone who had a 14.4 modem thought they had the world by the tail!

Anyway this should be just about the busiest week of my life, so much to do and His Grace Bishop MARK coming on Friday. I'll be out of circulation for most of this week and blogging on vacation for next, so say a few prayers for us all and I'll see you on the other side of this week.

A Year and a Day...

Today marks a year and a day since my brother Paul died suddenly while on a business trip in California. And as I type I think.

I'm amazed at how quickly a year goes by these days. I know time is a constant but as I get older it seems to be picking up steam and sometimes I feel like I'm riding a comet through space. The Psalmist's passages about the temporary nature of human life in the greater expanse of eternity become more real as each day passes.

I've seen again the resiliency that faith creates in a person. In the larger scope of things I suppose my brother's death was just one of who knows how many that occurred that day, just as mine will be. But to those who knew him and cared for him it was like fate sucker punched them and yet those closest to Paul still endure. Faith makes a person resilient, able to flex in the winds of time by virtue of being rooted in something larger. It handles the larger questions of life not so much with answers but rather assurance and hope.

And my faith has not died. To this day I have no answer as why this all happened. There is no logic, no sense, no heavenly vision in which all is explained. I will probably never know anything concrete about this while I still have breath. Yet I'm not angry with God, perplexed sometimes maybe, but not angry for all of this. Perhaps if it had been my wife who passed I would be, I don't know and there is a certain comfort in whatever distance we have, no matter how small, from hard events. But somewhere inside there is a still and calm place that remains secure in this storm.

My sadness now is mostly not for me but for a future that will be remarkably different and less because of Paul's passing. Every future wedding, children, events, gatherings, anniversaries, all of it will be a kind of mourning. We''ll say, "If only Paul were here..." or "If only Paul had seen this..." That will be sad but I suppose in a way those yet to be spoken words will also mean that he still matters, is still part of the equation, still loved, and still with us in some way.

A year and a day, oh my!