The Dog with a Clock in His Head

 There’s been an odd things going on in our house for the past few months. OK, I realize that was one of those, what do you call them, duh kind of statements. I mean who hasn’t been having an odd thing going on in their houses these past few months? It’s a pandemic for Pete’s sake! Odd things are de rigeur. And who is Pete anyway? And what does de rigeur mean, for Pete’s sa... 

Pete, say some of the researchers of language and idioms (no, not idiots, that’s a different field of inquiry all together), might actually have referred to St. Peter the sort of head of the merry band of apostles. It was another attempt to be able to swear without actually “taking the Lord’s name in vain,” because someone frowned on that. (See Exodus 20 for the full frowning list.) So, they invented words that were close, “gosh darn” for example. Well Pete was close to Christ, so we started saying for Pete’s sake. 

De rigeur is French that leaked over into English and it means “required by etiquette or current fashion.” Which means, by the way, that political correctness isn’t new. And the French started it. So there.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the odd thing. In addition to all the pandemically inspired odd things happening in our house and yours, we have a different odd thing. Or maybe different, I don’t know. Maybe this thing is happening everywhere. Maybe you have this thing too, and will nod along knowingly as I tell you of this odd thing. Which means it isn’t an odd thing after all. I mean, if it is happening to you, and everyone else, it can’t be odd, can it? Can an odd thing be universally odd?  But then, since it involves our dog, Nick, the three legged rescue terrier mix of doubtful parentage, then perhaps it is still odd.

And what is this odd thing you ask, hoping that I’ll get to the point however odd it might be? Well, the odd thing is Nick seems to know what time it is. Even when we forget. Although, to be honest, daylight savings time threw him off a bit. Not only does he know what time it is, he knows what we should be doing at what time. Which, frankly is how we became aware that he knew what time it was. He isn’t able to say to us, hey did you realize it is 4:45 in the afternoon? No, he doesn’t give us time checks, nor does he bark out the number of the hour on the hour. That’s not happening. Though, I confess, that would be odd.

No, here’s what happens. He gets restless, he whines and fusses and is unable to settle. That’s not new, he’s done that before. Like when he has to go out, or needs to chase a squirrel or bark at a cat. Except, we kept discovering that those weren’t the things he was upset about. He would fuss, but wouldn’t go out when we got his leash. Or run to the window and bark. He was obviously trying to get us to do something, but we sometimes has trouble figuring out what that something was.

After a while it dawned on us that he had figured out our schedule. There were certain things that happened at certain times. We got up at this time, we did his morning walk, his morning pill (he has arthritis in his hip, maybe both, can’t really tell since he only has one back leg), then we did breakfast, and went to work. I had the long commute upstairs to my home office, La Donna sat at her desk in the family room. Then we had coffee break, later was lunch, then afternoon tea, then end of work day and then dinner and then evening pill and then reading or TV in our chairs. It was a routine. He figured it out. And if we got off track, or forgot something, or did something out of order, or took too long to do something, he fussed. If La Donna went to her computer in the evening instead of her easy chair, he fussed. If we forgot his pill, or if daylight savings time made him think we forgot his evening pill, he fussed. It was weird. He’s not a herd dog, but it is like he was trying to keep our lives on track. Follow the schedule people! For heaven’s sake! Or Pete’s. Or Nick’s. He’s doing his best to make sure we have a routine. And heaven forfend if we skip a meal or worse yet, eat in front of the TV. Unless it’s popcorn, because he loves popcorn. And how in the world he knows it’s Sunday and should be time for popcorn, I have no earthly idea. Except maybe virtual church in the morning followed by hours of football in the afternoon, might be a clue.

We sometimes complain about a routine. And yet all of us are a bit lost without something consistent in our lives. We know who we are by what we do, at least in part. Sure, it is bigger than that. We are bigger than that. There is something of essence about us, we are who we are because of our creation, because God made us and claimed us. No question. Yet, our living comes alive in our doing, in our routines. The patterns we create in our lives give texture and rhythm to who we are and how we encounter the world. 

Ritual is the theological word for routine. We do these things in this way, again and again, and we encounter God in our ritual. We become aware of God’s presence as we commune and kneel and pray or sing and gather. We fill up our lives with doing of holy things. And a sacramental approach to life says that anything can be a holy thing if we’re paying attention. Any action, or routine, can be full of God’s presence, with the breath of the Spirit if we stay in tune with that, if we set our minds on the things above. And the things above doesn’t mean we think of heaven up above, but of the things that lift us up rather than pull us down. We think of higher things, of service, or caring, of love. And when we ask how do my routines speak of love or any of these things, that’s how we grow in our faith. That is how we make the most of the time.

Colossians 4:2-6 Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. 3 At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, 4 so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should. 5 Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders, making the most of the time. 6 Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.

Another of Paul’s lists. A list is another routine, of a sort. It is a way of shaping our lives as though who we are and what we do matters. This is, Paul says, making the most of the time. One of the hardships of the pandemic is that our routines are shattered. And some might even lose their way in the midst of it, or lose themselves in the process. Finding ways to make the most of the time is one of the techniques we have of keeping ourselves sane during the pandemic. But maybe there is more to it than our sanity, as important as that is. Maybe there is something of faith there. Maybe even the simple things of our daily existence, our daily routines can be alive with the Spirit of the living Christ. 

Which is how we get to gratitude. This is Thanksgiving week here in the US. Many are missing the routines and rituals of that festive day, many are facing being alone, families scattered and apart. A zoom chat Thanksgiving doesn’t sound all that great. But then staying healthy does. Gratitude can still be the core of our living in this un-routine holiday. If we live alive to the moment, if we remember who we are and whose we are, then gratitude flows like a stream through all our routines. And turns routines into rituals of grace. 

Nick is trying his best to keep us on track with our lives. He sometimes strains with the effort and we haven’t given him the respect that is due his most difficult task. But in this strange time we are learning even more to be thankful. For the family that we are, human and furry both. For grown up kids making their way despite setbacks and roadblocks. For the beauty of a new place and work that sustains us both. For life and health and hope and for joy. And for friends near and far. All of whom we wish the happiest of Thanksgivings and the blessedness of routine. 

Shalom,  Derek 

The Calm

Do you hear that? Behind the silence, a hum, perhaps. Maybe a vibration, an electricity that prickles the skin, raises the hairs on your arm. I remember sitting in the big old parsonage in Larwill, Indiana, just off the highway, listening to the radio tell us about a tornado sighting not far from town. And we waited. It looked green outside, a strange cast to the coming wind. We didn’t speak, didn’t breathe hardly. Just waited, afraid of the destruction to come. But not able to do anything, just wait.

The calm before the storm. That’s what it feels like this weekend. Let’s be honest, some of us are afraid. A recent poll said a significant number of people are worried about violence after the election. Those who aren’t afraid of violence are probably afraid of the outcome. It seems like so much is on the line. The storm that is coming might sweep us all away.

Too much? Overreaction? Maybe. But overreaction seems to be the theme of year. The political ads tell us if this party wins there will be terror in the streets. If the other party wins there will be the end of truth and the collapse of democracy. No wonder we are scared. No wonder we wait uneasily in our socially distant houses. No wonder we feel abandoned by hope. On the brink of a national election we should feel united, the betterment of the country in mind. Instead we feel broken and alone.

Waiting alone is the worst kind of waiting. We may think that’s what we want, so our fears don’t show. But the fear multiplies when we’re alone. Lying awake in our bed, we stare at the digital clock counting down our uncertainties late into the night. We are hardest on ourselves, particularly when we are alone. We reexamine every decision, every choice. We question every thought or inclination. We doubt ourselves, and become suspicious of everyone else. 

This is why it is the modus operandi of those who seek to dominate us try to separate us from one another, to create an us and them; real Americans and our enemies. It’s not a matter of disagreement, of differences of opinion, it is fear and suspicion, division and distrust. The more we are alone, the more we are broken into pieces. 

But that aloneness itself is a lie. Oh, it is often our human experience. We feel alone, abandoned, separate. But we aren’t. Sometimes our experience doesn’t reflect reality. There is a deeper truth that we forget. Especially in times of high stress, or threatening times. That deeper truth is that we are bound together by the source of being.

Isaiah 43:1-7 But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. 2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. 3 For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. 4 Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life. 5 Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; 6 I will say to the north, "Give them up," and to the south, "Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth -  7 everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made."

There are a bunch of little words that we have to note in this text. Oddly, this time it is the little words that carry the weight of meaning. The first little word to note is “when.” Read verse two again. There are two descriptions of the reality in which we are living. Or so it seems to me. Passing through waters and going through fire. Can you find a better description of 2020? Whether you talk about the pandemic or the racial uprising or the never-ending hurricane season, we’re either passing through deep waters or going through a fire. We are under threat. But notice how the prophet introduces these circumstances. When you pass through the waters, when you walk through fire. When. Not if. Or not “should you be so unfortunate as to find yourself in these difficult situations.” No, he very boldly, and unfortunately truthfully says when you walk through fire. When. It’s going to happen. We might hope we can live free of difficult times, but deep down we know that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. We know that stuff happens, to any of us, to all of us, stuff happens. When.

The second little word makes a world of difference in our difficult circumstances. And that word is “with.” When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and they will not overwhelm you. How do we know they won’t overwhelm us? Because it sometimes feels like I’m about to be overwhelmed, I don’t know about you. How are we to hear this promise? Through that little word “with.” We won’t be overwhelmed because we aren’t alone. 

How does that work, exactly? If we could claim this truth, God is with us - we are not alone, then we will find resources that just might surprise us. When we realize that we are not alone, then we look for those who will walk beside us and share our hope and strength and work to change the circumstances that are threatening to overwhelm us. When we claim the presence of God as a given, then we shape our responses around that peace and that love that makes our world a kin-dom like place to live. This is why John Wesley’s supposed dying words were “Best of all, God is with us.” 

But you might say, presence doesn’t change anything. On one level that is true. Nothing is changed in terms of the circumstance. But everything has changed in terms of the resources available to respond to the circumstances. When we embrace that presence, when we acknowledge that God is with us because God loves us (another small word in the text above), then our sense of self and our ability to react to the waters that threaten us, to find resources around us and within us expands into the wideness of God’s mercy. 

The other truth to read in this passage is the somewhat obscure ending. There is a lot we don’t know about the history of this text. But what is clear is that God promises to gather us together. God says you work better as a community, as a nation unified. So, God says, I will gather you from the separation in which you have found yourselves. You may seem so far apart that you are no longer one people. But God can bring us together, God can overcome that distance. If we are willing to be brought together. 

That’s the key. God doesn’t overwhelm our will. If we choose to be separate, if we choose to be alone, we can be. But that is not what God wants for us, or from us. And it begins with the realization that we are not alone. It’s a counter-cultural message to be sure. In our society we value the rugged individual who fights alone against all odds. That makes a cool movie. But it isn’t the way to live in the real world. We’re better, no, it’s more than that, we’re made to be together. To be one. That was Jesus’s prayer for us. That we would be one. One in the way that Jesus is one with God. Intimate, supportive, sacrificial, love alive in our oneness. 

The storm will come. We might as well admit it. But it doesn’t have to overwhelm us. If we simply remember that we are not alone. We can then rise to the hope that brings us. Thanks be to God.

Shalom, 

Derek