Sabbatical Journal 9

I’ve just arrived in Kings Canyon National Park which abuts Sequoia National park and actually has some of the largest sequoias within its bounds. Capturing one of those huge trees on camera is difficult. A good filmmaker can do it, perhaps, but the grand scale doesn’t seem to come through in my pictures and videos.

I was previously in Grand Canyon National Park, the same difficulty is even more pronounced there. With a helicopter and specialized cameras and lenses perhaps I would do better, but when I was standing there looking at the endless vista I said to myself, “You really can’t fully appreciate this without being here.”

Faith may well be a similar sort of thing. You can learn a great deal about it and gather all sorts of helpful information about it, but it’s not the same thing as experiencing it. I’ve often used a quote about Mainline churches that came from someone at the Alban Institute, perhaps Roy Oswald but I don’t really remember. He said, “People come to us seeking an experience of God and we give them information about God.”

Of course part of the problem is that we cannot manufacture the experience. True experience of God is wild and unmanageable, not unlike experiencing a stunning sunset in the Grand Canyon. America’s national parks provide incredible access where wild experiences can be had, but even here there are no guarantees or control. Haze might obscure a great canyon view or clouds might blot out any stunning sunset. But the parks do what they can to give you the best possible shot at experiencing the grandeur nature has to offer.

What is the analog for the church and experiencing God? As with weather in the park, there is much we cannot control, but how do we best point people to the correct spot at the right time with some hints at what to look for and then get out of the way so they can experience it?

Sabbatical Journal 8

Once I got moving again, I’ve not done much writing. Some of that is the result of getting into a hectic schedule again. Getting from one place to the next then hiking till I’m exhausted in order to see everything. I can’t say that I’m not enjoying it though, and I haven’t a lot of profound thoughts about my journey.

I have become very comfortable with being alone. On a few occasions I’ve told myself a joke. I hope that’s not a sign of any sort of deeper problem. And there was no one else to tell. I’ve even gotten used to social media aloneness. WiFi and decent cell service have been hard to come by, and so I’ve not shared pictures on Instagram and such in a number of days. (When I get WiFi again, should I go back and catch up on my pictures or just not worry about it?) Fortunately I’ve been able to get enough texts through to let my wife know I’m alive.

I would have thought that I’d be feeling lonely by now and craving conversation with someone. I’ve had some nice conversations here and there but not because I sought them out. They just happened. Maybe my true religious calling is as a hermit, a modern-day, desert father. But I’d want to make sure it was in a cooler type desert, at least at night. I can’t sleep when it’s really hot, and I’m assuming that desert fathers don’t have air conditioning. I know my tent doesn’t.

Another surprise is that I don’t really miss eating they way I do at home. I tend to eat a good breakfast and supper and then nibble and graze the rest of the time, right up until bedtime. But I can’t carry very much food on the motorcycle and there isn’t a pantry with crackers and snacks to munch on all evening long. 

That I’ve hardly noticed the lack of snacks makes me wonder about all that eating at home. I’ve not felt hungry without all the snacking, although I have lost a good deal of weight. Some people might be delighted but my wife thinks I’m too thin already.

If, for some reason, I were trying to lose weight, I would be feeling hungry all the time. But here I am losing more weight than I should, and I feel no pangs of hunger at all. What does that say about the things that motivate and drive us?

There’s a line at the end of Voltaire’s Candide (It’s been forever since I read it so I’m not sure I can quote it.) where Candide says, “But we must tend out garden.” It seems I’ve been so busy tending my garden that the things that typically clamor for my attention have a hard time getting through. 

This garden tending is a different sort of busyness than usually occupies my life. Modern people tend to live hectic lives and then seek solace in “leisure time.” But what if that’s not how it works. What if we just need to tend out garden?

Sabbatical Journal 7

One of the things I’ve been doing while at Ghost Ranch is taking an art class. There were many to choose from. I selected stone carving, in part because it explicitly said it was for beginners, and in part because I was not expected to bring an easel or brushes and such. (I have no room for such things on my motorcycle.

It has been an enjoyable experience. We’ve been “carving” — actually rasping and filing for the most part — soft stones such as alabaster or soapstone. I’ve been able to produce a couple of passable little sculptures of animals somewhat reminiscent of Zuni fetishes. And I’m not at all the artistic type.

I discovered that I enjoyed some parts of the process much more than the others. I found the initial process of taking a rock and rasping it down into a small slab that was smooth on all sides to be most gratifying. It was stress releasing and required no major skill and not all that much elbow grease. And it was fascinating to see a rock become a canvas, waiting for the artist to begin work.

I also enjoyed the early process of began to form the rough shape of an animal. It was very satisfying to see an idea began to take shape, to the general contours of some creature clearly becoming visible.

Bringing that rough shape into final form proved to be less enjoyable. The stone that easily allowed a basic shape to emerge seemed less cooperative permitting the final product to look anything like the original vision. In truth this step simply requires more skill and finesse. Nonetheless, this was at times satisfying but more often frustrating.

Along with the need for skill and finesse, I also seem to prefer more conceptual work to detail work. I have a tendency to get bored and want to move on. Detail work often takes the most attention and concentration, and it can feel confining to me.

I suppose the world needs both good conceptual people and good detail people. If you are both, so much the better, thought that seems not to be the case with me.

Sabbatical Journal 6

Combining my stays at Christ in the Desert and Ghost Ranch, I will have been in the same general locale for almost 8 days come Saturday. It is nice to settle for a while, especially when it comes to setting up and taking down camp. Packing everything up on a motorcycle is not the same as throwing things in the trunk. Every item must be folded and situated just so to get it all into the hard cases on my bike.

That said, I’ll be ready to start moving again when Saturday arrives. As much as I’m enjoying Ghost Ranch, and even though I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m looking for, I feel certain that I won’t find it here. If anything, this has felt like a respite from the searching. I might well have felt differently had I spent nearly a week at Christ in the Desert, but Ghost Ranch has a certain church camp/retreat familiarity to it, something I know well. I just spent a lovely lunch chatting with a retired couple from Florida. But he’s an elder in his church and we ending up talking about issues in his presbytery.

As to what it is I’m looking for, I’ve been thinking a lot about that. As best I can figure, there are a number of parts to it. One thing is simple energy. I’m just beginning to realize how burnt out I’d become. Even sermon writing, one of the things I most enjoy, had become difficult, largely duty and chore. Perhaps the varied perspectives of travel to unfamiliar places will help with that. Maybe that’s why I’m ready to move again.

Another thing I think I’m looking for is something a bit more than simple energy. It is a sense of spiritual energy or vitality. It’s the old, “Where is God in all this?” question. God seems to get lost in the routines, the day to day busyness, the meetings, the things that have to get done. Many people probably do not expect spiritual energy to be found within their work, so my experience is probably typical for lots of folks. But for over 20 years, I have found ordained, professional ministry to be spiritually life-giving. Not every moment of it, but on balance. Is that something that can be found on the road?

A thought just occurred to me as I write. My own loss of spiritual energy has largely coincided with the increasingly polarized political climate in our country. At the same time, the congregation I currently serve is populated largely by liberal or progressive Christians. And while that might seem to be a better “fit” for me than my previous congregations, I sometimes wonder.

My previous congregations were more of a mixed bag politically. We were not unified by our political leanings, and so we had to find our unity in following Jesus. This could have a down side if the only things we could agree on were vapid acts of charity or nice worship services. But at times it had a real up side. We didn’t really operate with any assumptions that our actions and stances would be liberal or conservative, and sometimes that allowed people who didn’t agree with each other politically to work together in good faith to figure out what God wanted of us. 

I wonder if congregations that are fairly monolithic politically, whether liberal or conservative, lose something in the process. They may avoid internal squabbles about current hot-button political or social issues, but might we mistake our politics for our faith at some point. Surely that is not a ticket to spiritual energy and vitality. And are there any answers for this out here on the road?