Clarity

“Making room for less …”

That phrase has stayed with me now for the last two and a half weeks. Making room for less.

I write this sitting by a lake in one of our state parks. Temperatures have been much cooler these last few days compared to the other days of May. I have a tent pitched and water is coming to a boil on my camp stove. I am alone. But then again, I am not alone at all. When we live in community, as people of faith often do, we are never alone.

At home, my wife and youngest son prepare themselves to turn in for the evening. My oldest is with his mother, getting ready for bed before his last day of second grade.

The congregation I currently serve is now seated around a table for a called board meeting. Their task, as I understand it, is to be creative as they discern and plan their future in the midst of economic crisis and chronic anxiety.

Tonight, MY congregation includes crickets chirping, a very friendly squirrel, a thirsty deer, and birds playing on a sand bar a lob wedge’s distance away. There are also gnats swarming around me … every congregation has gnats.

The sun is beginning to set.

The church choir tonight is Jimmy Buffett on my I-Pod (ironically, “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus” just started. No lie. You cannot make stuff like that up.).

It has been windy today, but now there is just a breeze. The Holy Spirit likes to worship outside, too.

A couple of Sundays ago, I sat with a different congregation. The music was to die for. A thin young man wearing a turquoise shirt and khakis with a beautiful voice sang a capella. His voice filled the church and my soul. God bless the men, women, and children with that gift; I certainly covet it.

The sermon that day was “based” in John’s Gospel; Jesus’ words of being the Vine. Vines. Branches. Fruit. Pruning. I heave heard these words and preached them more than I sometimes care to. I soon became disinterested in the sermon. It seemed to be ill-prepared and rambling. In my head, I began to write my own sermon - I guess from that standpoint the sermon was “successful.” Here it is, nine days later, and I still reflect upon it.

Each biblical text, I believe, has within it at least one“image.” Some are obvious, others are more embedded, if you will. My mind began to wander to the image of “pruning.”

On my most cynical day, this should not be to surprising. William Sloane Coffin once stated that in order to protect the sheep, you have to get rid of a few wolves. That is pruning. This, however, is not the type of pruning I was considering … THIS time .

I was thinking more of the temporal pruning my life – and I am sure, most lives – find themselves in need. A pruning of things that in the Grand Scheme … that in a healthy and fruitful life – that within the Kingdom of God – do not mean a damn thing. My wife calls it “clutter.”

I have a lot of clutter in my life and most of it is clutter you cannot see. It is the clutter that fills my mind and often troubles my spirit. It is the clutter that causes me to grind my teeth and clench my jaw. It is the clutter that causes me to snap. It is the clutter that causes me to question. It is the clutter that brings me to the woods. THIS clutter needs to be pruned. It needs to be cut away and burned in the unquenchable fire. This MUST happen in order for new fruit to spring forth and flourish.

When the clutter is gone, newness has the potential to come in and take its place. Without clutter, there is the possibility for clarity.

Silence

The trip to Greensboro is now behind me and of course, Bruce did not disappoint. Like the Atlanta show, he played for three hours and while the set-list was about 60% the same, the other 40% really blew the doors off the Greensboro Coliseum. This is not to say it was better than the Atlanta show; it was just different – very much geared to the Greensboro audience.

Walking back to the car, I was asked how this show compared to Atlanta and my responses were more technical in nature – because, after all, I am such an expert on these technical matters. The Coliseum in Greensboro seemed much smaller than Philips Arena. I do not know this for sure, but I would guess it is about 80 percent the size of Philips, but most importantly, with a much lower ceiling. My opinion is the sound techs had everything checked for a larger place, which caused the sound to be distorted at different points in the show. Also, this show featured Max Weinberg’s son on the drums for about half the show. The younger Weinberg is a great drummer, but lacks the finesse of his father and he often threw the band off tempo, including Bruce. Still it was an awesome show and I have no regrets about making the trip.

Believe it or not, all of this plays into a topic often on my mind, silence, and my journey to regain the authentic voice …

The drive to NC was filled with noise. Driving up I-85, speakers and I-pod were blaring with Dropkick Murphys and Springsteen – both in an effort to stay awake and get primed and pumped for the evening’s activities. In my car I have the I-pod, regular radio, satellite radio, and of course my Blackjack (the poor man’s Blackberry). I have more in my car to keep me occupied than many people have in their homes. I know, it’s pretty damn sad, but (not as a defense) it is a sign of the times. We find things to fill our ears and heads until the next thing comes along. We have lost patience with silence - which is also a damn shame as I think silence is truly a spiritual discipline – and a lost one at that.

Those who know me and who experience worship with me know I love to interject periods of intentional silence into the service. This is unnerving to a lot of people because silence can be awkward. Did someone forget their cue? Am I supposed to be DOING something? This is boring just sitting here. We have become so conditioned to SOMETHING in the background AND foreground. Our lives demand a soundtrack, and not just one of music.

So I tried something radical on the way home; I drove the 316 miles from Greensboro to my house in silence. No NPR. No I-pod. No Sirius. I found the addition of silence to be freeing; liberating me of so much of the clutter which had built up over time. At this point, I must make two confessions: the first is that I DID on occasion check the score of the Hawks game on my phone … but give me some credit, I am sure the game also could have been found on Sirius, but by that time, I was committed to the silence thing. The other confession is that the silence was not, at first, intentional.

As I pulled out of the hotel parking lot, my ears were still ringing from the night before. I was also trying to decide the soundtrack for the drive home. I postponed my decision since I did not want distractions trying to find my way back to the interstate (how easy it is to get lost in music and forget your surroundings – both a blessing and curse). It was probably 30 minutes later before I realized there was no music coming from the speakers of my car. I figured I had experienced enough sound and noise in the last 12 hours (hell, in the last 14 years) and so at that moment, I made the conscious decision to see how far the silence could take me.

It is an amazing thing to drive for 5 hours in complete silence. The only noise was the air and wind made by my car, the occasional sound of a blinker, the sporadic drops of rain hitting the windshield and the sound of my engine. I was both conscious and amazed by how much more one pays attention to their surroundings when in silence. I paid closer attention to the scenery. I noticed more the road signs. I saw the people driving around me. I found myself asking aloud, “Does my car ALWAYS make this noise, and if so, should I be worried it does?” At these moments paranoia began to creep into my silent journey, but all it all it was an amazing trip home - the only drawback being the lack of Starbucks along I-85 between Greensboro and home. (Important driving safety tip: it is not a good idea to give up both noise AND caffeine when driving more than 4 hours on the interstate.)

316 miles. 5 hours. Complete and total silence. It was amazing and a great way to being my journey. Originally, my trip to Greensboro was just an excuse to see another Springsteen show and to meet up with old friends, but it turned out to be something even more. Springsteen’s music has provided much of the soundtrack to my life since I bought Born in the U.S.A. in 1984. From that moment, I was hooked.

I checked out Greetings from Asbury Park and Darkness on the Edge of Town from the library where I worked before buying them.. I remember purchasing a copy of Born to Run in the bargain bin of a Kroger in Charleston, SC when on vacation when I was 14. I thought The River was the greatest thing I ever heard, wearing out 2 copies of the 2-tape set. Nebraska still haunts and inspires. Over the years, I have found his music and lyrics empowering, soothing, comforting, and energizing. I have now seen him live 8 times and each concert is for me an act of worship – a truly spiritual experience – and no two are ever the same. He is a master storyteller and as I have matured, I have come to realize this as my number one connection to his art.

This trip proved to be a fitting beginning to my Sabbath - my search to regain the authentic voice within me. Bruce provided both the noise and the inspiration for the silence. These five hours were great preparation for the DAYS of worship and silence awaiting me within the context of monastic life down the road.

Our world is filled with so much noise demanding our attention it becomes imperative for us to seek out the silence. We must make room for the silence within our spiritual journeys in order for the clutter to be removed. It is then and only then, we become aware of the path we are traveling as well as the scenery along the path itself. In the silence sometimes, there is only the sound of the wind – a sure and certain sign of a Holy and sacred presence. This I think, is the first step in living more simply – living with authenticity.

Sometimes we must add more so we might make room for less.

The Journey ...

So now, the journey really begins …

It has been a long time since I have posted to this blog. There was the first obligatory post and then a sermon, followed by dormancy. I write every week out of necessity. Well, that is not really true; I write every week out of a calling. It is a calling about which I still feel passion, however, it is a calling which has burned me out. I have found it difficult to find time for personal reflective writing or journaling, it is called.

When I began this blog, I was feeling as though the voice within me had been lost. That voice is personal and hopefully, authentic. Somehow, along my journey authenticity had been lost, and at times, taken away from me. I wonder, did someone take it from me or did I allow it to be taken? Perhaps, the answer lies not in the “either/or” but somewhere in between. I have always been covetous of those who observe the spiritual discipline of journaling and in the coming months, I plan to use this location as one place of spiritual practice.

Today is May 1, 2009; the beginning of a 3 month sabbatical from my vocational ministry. It is not, however a sabbatical from the spiritual life. In fact, these 90 days will be an attempt to reconnect spiritually; an attempt to rediscover my own voice – a journey of rediscovering personal authenticity.

The journey began with a trip to the optometrist office. This was not a planned stop along the way. It seems when you inadvertently attempt to insert a torn contact lens into your eye, you run the risk of scratching your cornea. Who knew? Along the way however, my journey will take me to places like the Greensboro Coliseum, a monastery in Conyers, a camp in Gordon, an island called Andros, and a hotel in Indianapolis. I imagine there will be a golf course or two thrown in for good measure – after all – God loves golf. The journey will take me many other places, I am certain, yet I have not idea when the journey will conclude or if it will. I remain open however, to wherever it might lead.

My traveling partners will of course include my wife and children; but will also include a host of other characters and participants – a colorful cast to include the names Springsteen, Craddock, Campbell (Will and not so much Alexander or Thomas), Lamott, Nouwen, Norris and Willimon. These are familiar friends along my travels to this point but who deserve an encore appearance. Brooks and Roney will pop in for the ride from time to time and I look forward to the collaborative efforts with these two. Also joining me will be Rumi, Bondi, Merton, Bonhoeffer, Armstrong, Silverstein, and Palmer. (see picture of my travelling partners scattered about our living room floor).I look forward to discovering their insights fresh and anew.

I have chosen to begin my journey with the master of the travel narrative – Mark Twain and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I think I read this for the first time when I was in fourth grade. Great example of story-telling, it is (Yoda voice)– from both the oral and written perspective!

That, by the way, is the whole purpose of voice finding and authenticity – discovering how to tell and share your own story!

So, let the journey begin! I covet your prayers, traveling mercies, and even participation.