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.

From Pits to Palaces, From Desperation to Restoration

“From Pits to Palaces, From Desperation to Restoration”

Genesis 45:1-15
“And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them;
and after that his brothers talked to him” (Genesis 45:15)

I. Family Reunions

In just a short time, in fact as we are later gathering for fellowship,
in a small Baptist church near Hendersonville, NC,
members of my mother’s family will be gathering
for its annual rite of summer – a family reunion.
They call themselves Lancasters and they shall come
from all over the Carolina Piedmont area and beyond.

They will gather around several wooden tables
filled with deviled eggs, fried chicken, casseroles of unknown origins –
secret “family” recipes. They will swap stories – laugh some –
they might even shed a tear or two.
A family separated for the last year, reunites.

When the last deviled egg begins to settle,
topped off with a pecan pie which, if truth be known, was probably bought at Ingles’ –
the smaller clans will scatter and return to their hometowns –
that is except for my mom and her sister.
THEY will travel from Hendersonville to Cherokee
where they will worship and make their offerings to the church of Harrah’s.

The rest are likely to share the stories of the day
with those who were not able to make the long trek to Hendersonville.
If you think about it, never again will this same group of people –
these Lancasters, as they are called –
gather in the same place at the same time.

When they gather on this weekend before Labor Day weekend of 2009,
some who are there today will have passed away –
new Lancasters will have been born –
some just unable to make the journey.

II. Psalm 133

“How very good and pleasant it is,” says the Psalmist,
“When kindred live together in unity.
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down upon the beard – on the beard of Aaron.

The image of oil running down the beard of Moses’ brother
has always been odd to me; the simile often lost upon the listener.
Yet it is a powerful image of blessing
as Aaron and the other priests are ordained.

In short, for families to live together in unity, says the Psalmist,
is a sign of God’s blessing.

III. Joseph

When we last left Joseph,
he was probably wondering if the blessing of God would ever be known to him.
His own flesh and blood had betrayed him – selling him into slavery.
Hardly what the Psalmist had in mind.

He was at the time,17 – arrogant – a twit – a tattler.
He was spoiled; the apple of his father’s eye.
He was also being lifted out of a pit used for storing water
and sold off to a band of nomads for some 20 pieces of silver.

Lost forever was the beautiful – some say gaudy – robe his father had given to him.
The gift and his dreams of greatness served only to fuel the brother’s fire.

There were to be no more dreams by the way – none from Joseph anyway.
Over the 22 years that had passed
since he was first sold into slavery,
Joseph had learned that dreaming is risky business.
Rather, he branches out – franchises –
becomes an INTERPRETER of dreams.
He moves from sales to management –
It’s much safer behind a desk than on the sales floor.

When his brothers stood before him
every memory of that day near Dothan came gushing forth
along with every possible emotion.
He cried out so loud, the neighbors said to one another, “What WAS that?”

When Joseph revealed his identity, I bet his brothers were scared to death.
Here they were in a foreign land, starved by famine,
weary from traveling back and forth between Egypt and Canaan.
I bet knees buckled, stomachs churned.

“Boy, we’re gonna get it now,” Judah said.

“I TOLD you not to do anything to him,” Reuben said behind clinched teeth.

“We should have killed him when we had the chance,” Levi thought to himself.

But strange things happen when families are reunited; little surprises await.
Every now and then, human conflict and divine care converge.
Rather than animosity and hatred, we find restoration and grace.

No one seems to remember, let alone care
what great Aunt Martha did to crazy cousin Suzy –
so it is when reunions take place

That day, as Joseph and his brothers stood face to face,
An entire family was reunited – restored to one another.

IV. The Family of God Restored

It has been a very long time since I have been able to attend
one of the Lancaster reunions – perhaps as many as 25 years.
Back then they were held on Father’s Day weekend,
on Saturday afternoons at Tugaloo State Park up near Toccoa.
Back then, family reunions meant my grandmother’s banana pudding,
putt-putt, and later a second, smaller gathering of cousins,
aunts and uncles back at our house on Lake Rabun.

Every year my mother asks, “Pat, can you make it to the reunion this year?”
“No, Merry I can’t.”
I have called my mother by her given name
for as long as I can remember.

“Pat, are you sure you cannot get away –
I know the everyone would love to see you and your family.
You can even join me and Bobbie at Cherokee –
Harrah’s will comp us the extra room, I am sure.”
“I am sure they will, Merry.”

“It will be a lot of fun,” says Merry.
“I am sure it will be,” I say,
“But I have another reunion to attend.”

“Each week,” I explain to Merry, “a different family gathers and I need to be there;
a family also who comes from different places and different circumstances.
Some come having clawed their way up
from the pits of desperation or depression –
using all of their strength to just climb out of the bed.

“Others come, slaves to their job or their finances,
hoping to experience the liberation of God in Christ.

From their pits, they come to the Palaces of God,
some of which are adorned with brass and gold,
others, made of old whitewashed lumber –
they gather in these palaces because of famine.

Out of desperation they come for restoration.
In those palaces, human conflict and divine care once again converge.

“From time to time they come to the reunion with deviled eggs,
fried chicken, casseroles of unknown origin and,
if truth be known, pecan pies bought from Ingle’s.
Hopefully, though they come to experience the Kingdom of God.

“And for that to happen,” I tell Merry,
“we too will gather around a large wooden table.”

I will confess to you,
as much as I would enjoy being in Hendersonville right now
seeing people I have not seen in quite a long time,
ideally speaking, this is the kind of reunion I would rather attend –
where the family of God gathers –
sometimes in spite of and even sometimes because of
how we have treated one another in the past.

The family of God gathers perhaps not even recognizing
One another’s true identity as brothers and sisters –
children of the same faith and of the same God.
Yet by coming, strange things happen –
True identities ARE revealed.

Restoration, it is called – sometimes reconciliation.
It that act - unity - God’s blessing - is made known.
Let the feast begin.

My First Post

Everyone blogs nowadays. I guess some people would call it cliche'. If you know me, then you probably already know that I generally do not give a shit what others think. By the way, in case you did not notice, I am an ordained minister and yes, I say "shit" ... It's one of my favorite words, along with some others. Anyway ...

A long time ago, a wise person told me the first step to being heard is to discover your voice. Every person has a voice - it is their own - it is unique - it is distinct to the individual.

There was a time, I felt certain, I possessed that voice. For many reasons, I feel it was lost for a period of time. In my profession, if you lose your voice, you run the risk of losing your calling.

This blog is more for me as it is for anyone else. I feel my voice is finally returning. If finding my voice again helps others to find theirs, it will be a great journey we share.

Most of what I write will be theological in nature. Some might call it "spiritual" - but to me spirituality IS theological. I might post a sermon I have written from time to time. I might put something here I otherwise could not put in a sermon or newsletter article (for example, the word "shit"). I might just post some reflections from the everday and find a way to connect it to the Holy. To me, that IS how our voice is formed - by connectiing our own thoughts to that which is holy and sacred in our world.

If this kind of things interests you, check back from time to time or email me and let's engage in a discussion - let's help one another find our respective voices.

With grace and peace,

PDC