TWO BUILDINGS

One of the realities of being a pastor for rural churches is that I get to work in some really old buildings. One Sunday recently, both worship services occurred in old buildings. One dates back to 1835 and the other to 1833. In another pastorate, we were responsible for a building that was put up in 1810. By European standards, these are of course relatively new buildings—but by our standards, they are very old.

These buildings have all the drawbacks that you might expect from such an old building: limited facilities, inadequate electricity, inefficient heating systems, no cooling system, poor parking, uncomfortable and fixed seating. Most of them are wooden buildings, which always need serious work—the 1835 building needs sills replaced and the 1833 building has had major work done recently. The majority of them indicate their age with the tell tale scent of mold and decay. Basic maintenance jobs tend to be expensive and eat up lots of time, energy and money getting them taken care of.

There are some advantages to the buildings: we have a place for our church to gather, we can enjoy the old-time craftsmanship, we can complain about the hard seats. If we get enough money and support, we can and so make some modifications that make them better for our purposes.

But lots of people ask why we are so committed to these old, expensive, inefficient buildings. Generally, the only people not asking that question are the ones who have regularly worshipped in the buildings year after year. New comers, people from away, leaders of bigger congregations in other places, denominational dealership, even theology professors ask the question a lot, sometimes assuming that just because they ask the question, we inhabiting these old buildings will see the light and abandon the buildings.

But those of us who worship in such buildings aren’t asking the question. A person like me who has pastored congregations like this for years used to ask the question. These days, I don’t bother asking because I know the answer. Why do we in small churches keep meeting in old, antiquated, expensive to maintain and heat buildings? The answer is simple: because we can.

We don’t worship the building—well, maybe a few do. Mostly, we continue to inhabit our buildings because they are ours. We worship week after week and the building itself enhances our worship. Occasionally, the enhancement is a result of the building itself–the acoustics, the craftsmanship, the view—but more often, the enhancements occurs because of what the building houses.

It houses our memories. That seat at the back left—that is where I first went to Sunday School. The third pew from the front in the centre, that is where Deacon Zeke used to sit—he was a wise and wonderful example of the Christian faith. That pew right there—that is where I was sitting when I decided to follow Jesus. That Communion table—that was donated by my great-grandparents and my great-grandfather made it by hand from wood he cut himself.

The building houses other memories as well. We remember those we grieved and whose lives we celebrated at the funeral. We remember the weddings when new families came into being. We remember those who grew up in our midst and went on to serve God in the pulpit or the mission field. We are reminded each week of the faithful whose memories are collected and celebrated in our buildings.

We keep our buildings because they hold the memories. We keep our buildings because they allow us to celebrate the cloud of witnesses that are part of our story. We keep our buildings because they are a visible symbol of the endurance of our faith. We keep our buildings because they help our faith.

We don’t worship our buildings and we don’t need the building to have and express our faith. If the building is beyond repair or suffers a fire, we will grieve. We will mourn the loss—but we won’t lose our faith. We will still be believers, albeit believers struggling to find a place to locate our memories.

Our old, inefficient and expensive to maintain buildings could disappear and our faith would continue. But we have them—and because we have them, we can and do use them to enhance our faith.

May the peace of God be with you.

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A MOMENT IN TIME

It was a hot, muggy Sunday evening. The humidity and heat made the thought of getting out of the air-conditioned car painful, especially since I knew that the church building where I would be preaching the evening service would be uncomfortable. I was also pretty sure that our attendance would be down that evening—a good number of our people were travelling or having family events or not planning on attending. About the only positive note for the evening was that the tide was coming in and that might mean a slight drop in temperature.

I arrived my usual half-hour before worship time. I could hear the organist practising the music for the evening. The building is located high over the water and as I looked down to the water, I could see the tongue of fog that sometimes accompanies the tide on hot days like this. I picked up my jacket and carried it, my briefcase and my water cup into the church. The building was as warm and stuffy as I expected it to be. The organist and I had a talk about the weather, our week and the music for the evening. I organized all the stuff I think I need to have organized for the service.

Then, as the organist began to play over one of the hymns we were going to use for the introductory hymn sing, I went outside to stand on the steps where it was just a bit cooler. I stood and watched the fog rolling in—from the building steps, I could look down from above the fog. In the background, the organist was playing Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah, one of my favourite hymns.

I would like to say that everything changed in that moment: the temperature dropped to more comfortable levels, the humidity disappeared, the people who wouldn’t make it to the service all changed their minds, I wasn’t tired and uncomfortable any more. None of that happened. But I did have the opportunity to watch the fog roll in, enjoy the slightly cooler temperature that the incoming tide and fog brought with it and listen to the music in the background. It was a moment.

There was no earth-shaking revelation; no major re-alignment of priorities; no miraculous change of attitude. There was just me on the steps, watching the fog and listening to someone play one of my favourite hymns well. It was a moment of peace and relaxation in a busy, uncomfortable day.

After a few minutes, the hymn ended and the organist began to change the hymn numbers, the first cars bringing worshippers showed up and I remembered a couple of things that I hadn’t yet done. The evening worship service was beginning. I greeted people, we talked about the heat and our need for rain. We discussed health issues and family issues. We laughed and talked and settled in for worship, which moved along at its own pace.

I did my pastor thing: talking and listening; leading worship; preaching the sermon and pronouncing the benediction. My moment on the building steps didn’t make much difference to that whole process. It didn’t change who was there and who was away. It didn’t make me throw away the sermon and do something different. But it was still an important moment, a time to slow down and enjoy something that doesn’t happen all that often. I can’t say it brought me a deeper sense of peace or connection with God; it didn’t slow the rushing of my mind; it didn’t reconnect me with my inner self.

But it did make a difference. I slowed down for a bit. I appreciated the beauty of the creation around me. I gave some thought to the physics of cold water and warm air producing fog. I really listened to some good music.

Had I not had that moment, things that evening would have followed pretty much the same pattern. But I did have that moment and it was and remains important and valuable. I probably won’t be telling my grandchildren about it when I am old(er) and grey(er). But it was important and I do appreciate it and it did make a difference so I thanked God for it and went on with life, a bit better because of that moment.

May the peace of God be with you.

TREES

Years ago, I was travelling in rural Saskatchewan, speaking at various churches about our upcoming work in East Africa. I was roaming the province, following a schedule put together by someone somewhere. Each day brought visits to several places and a variety of forms of transportation to get from one place to another. Sometimes, I was on a bus; sometimes, I was being driven by a church volunteer; occasionally, I was in a taxi. I was sometimes in several different homes and church buildings in the course of a day: wake up in one place, have lunch at another, have supper in yet another, and spend the night on one more.

It was an interesting trip and one where I discovered something interesting about myself. As I was driven over the vast open spaces of Saskatchewan, I was enjoying seeing a whole new geography: rolling plains that stretched for miles was something that I had only read about and seen on TV and movies but now, I was on them travelling uncounted miles over them. After a few days, I realized that there was something on the plains that always caught my eye and captured my attention.

I was generally travelling in farm country and most farm houses had a square of trees protecting the house from wind and hot sun. These little squares of trees always took my attention. The huge tractors in the fields were interesting; the square mile cultivated grain fields were awesome; the endless vistas provided by the geography were inspiring—but the squares of trees where what I kept looking for and focusing on. And one trip took us through an area with an actual forest—that produced a level of peace and comfort that actually surprised me.

I discovered that I need trees. I need to be able to see them and hear them. The bigger they are, the better. The thicker the growth, the more inspiring. One of the only negative aspects of living in East Africa was the relative lack of real trees in our area. We lived in a dry area and the trees tended to be scrubby throne trees scattered over large plains—there were very few big, fully developed, actual trees, although we were fortunate to have some in front of the house.

When I first walked among the towering giant trees on Canada’s west coast, it felt like a touch of heaven—trees that hurt my neck to look up at them, trees so big around that they could be hollowed out and used as a home, trees that when they died and fell provided a new beginning for lots of life forms.

Trees provide me with something that grounds me. Large, mature trees towering over me provide a sense of peace and stability. And that is true no matter what is affecting the trees. A tall oak tree on a calm sunny day is restful and inspiring. That same tree being whipped about by strong winds is still inspiring and oddly calming. In the winter, the bare branches trace interesting and intricate shapes against the leaden sky that are still inspiring and peaceful.

I imagine that part of the attraction of trees is that I grew up with trees all around. I played in and on trees. I cut and processed trees for firewood. I built and build useful stuff from trees. But if I never burned another stick of wood or used another board for a project, I would still need trees just because their presence calms and relaxes me.

As I studied science in school and university, I discovered a great deal about the ecological niche trees occupy. I discovered how tree varieties succeed each other, with each generation preparing for the next. I discovered their value as carbon sinks. Trees provide significant amounts of oxygen and filter out tons of junk.

With all that I learned, I don’t believe that God created trees just so that I could have something to make my life calmer and more peaceful but I am deeply grateful that he did create them. Something about trees touches me at a deep level of my being and provides something that I can’t get elsewhere. The wonders of creation are never ending.

May the peace of God be with you.

WELCOME BACK

Both the pastorates I serve are located in beautiful, rural areas. Both have waterfront and both have relatively inexpensive property, even relatively inexpensive waterfront property. This is not an introduction to a post encouraging people to buy real estate in our area—it is actually background to help understand something that happens in our churches. Our congregations have bigger summer attendance that we do during the winter because a lot of our people only spend the summers with us. Some are with us for several months, some for a few weeks and some come and go.

Whatever their pattern, we have a significant part of our worshipping community who are with us only part of the time. But they are a part of our community and we all respond positively when they are with us. Worship starts a bit late because everyone has to greet and be greeted by those who have arrived for the summer. It takes longer to get away after worship because the conversations that were interrupted by worship are picked up again.

We are happy that our seasonal people are back and are again sharing their gifts with us. The normally tight budget gets some wiggle room as more people contribute. The singing, which is normally good, becomes even better as the seasonal voices kick in. The special seasonal events that they are so much a part of begin to take shape as dates are set. The social scene in our community ramps up as everyone tries to make the best use of the time that people are here.

From my perspective, the arrival of the summer participants has some real benefits. Several of them are pastors, both retired and active. One Sunday recently saw a total of two active vacationing pastors, two retired pastors and one theology student attending the two worship services I lead. Several of them are interested in supply preaching, which means that I can call on them when I want to take vacation, something I really appreciate. A couple of them also provide some valuable professional feedback on my sermons and ministry.

The seasonal people are not visitors. They are a basic and vital part of our congregations, even if they are only with us part of the time. Both they and the permanent members of the congregation recognize that. We do some of our planning around their schedules. I include their presence in my sermon planning process. We minister to them and are ministered to by them. We are a stronger congregation because they are with us, even if only for a couple of weeks now and then.

For me, this points to a deeper reality of church life. All congregations except the most informal and loose ones have an official membership—but all congregations are much bigger than that. As well as the official membership, there are those who attend but who for some reason aren’t official members. There are the seasonal people, the ones who live away part of the year and those who can’t get out part of the year. There are those who look to our church for a variety of spiritual services like weddings, funerals, counselling, prayer and so on. There are the people whose parents or grandparents brought them to worship once or twice who still feel some connection with us. There are also some who used to be an active part of the congregation but who got upset and left but whom still feel they have a stake in the congregation and who want some say in what happens.

All of these people are part of our congregations—and as pastor, part of my responsibility to is figure out how to ministry to all of them. And given that I am a part-time pastor at both places, that can get complicated at times. The active, permanent members might understand that I have only so much time and can understand and live with the limits. But the further from the centre people are the less they are likely to understand that there are good reasons why they aren’t getting the ministry they think they should be getting.

This too is part of my ministry—figuring out how to juggle time so that I can get 20 hours of ministry out of 16 hours of real time. It doesn’t always work but the process is interesting at times. It is nice to have the summer people back—but I had better go so I can figure out how to see them before they leave.

May the peace of God be with you.

NOT DEPRESSED

Because depression tends to be one of my less desired coping mechanisms, I am generally on the lookout for signs that I am slipping into another bout of the familiar low level, persistent depression that steals enjoyment from me and those around me. There are some clear signs that I have learned to watch for over the years. Feeling tired is one, especially if I find myself telling myself “I’m tired” a lot. Inability to get out of the chair is another, as is becoming more and more focused on TV or Youtube. Depression also brings an increase in appetite in its early stages, especially for junk food, cheese sandwiches and lots of sugar. Disturbed sleep patterns are also part of the warning package.

Over the last few weeks, I have noticed a lot of these symptoms and began to get a bit worried/prepared for another bout of depression. But as I began the process of looking at what was going on and trying to discover what was pushing me towards depression, I discovered that although the symptoms might be there, I am not actually depressed.

I am tired, there is no question about that. But I actually know why I am tired. The past three months have been extra busy for a variety of reasons and I simply don’t have the same energy level I had when I was younger. Physically, emotionally and intellectually, I get tired sooner and more often. But being tired isn’t the same as being depressed.

I also found myself sitting more—but some of that has to do with arthritic knees that react poorly to standing and walking and stuff like that. However, since they also react poorly to long bouts of sitting, I realized that I might sit a lot but I also moved around a lot—I just don’t go for hour long walks like I used to.

I do spend time in front of the TV and actually watch Youtube videos. But I have limits and keep them. The TV in the kitchen is on when I am cooking and I watch an hour or so before the news in the evening. Youtube, well, I watch one or two as a break and then move on to something else a bit more constructive.

I do have an appetite for chips, cheese sandwiches and extra cookies, which I sometimes give into. But in truth, I have those appetites anyway and have to set limits all the time. Having the desire for a bag of chips and cheese sandwich isn’t really a sign of depression—it’s the giving into the desire too many times that is the real symptom and so far, I have been doing okay there. I am also sleeping well, or at least as well as I normally do—even my non-depressed self doesn’t often have an unbroken night of sleep.

So, the signs are there but I am not depressed. I am definitely tired, definitely sitting more and dealing with other stuff but right now, I am not depressed. And for me, that is important. I probably should be depressed—I definitely have been at other points in my life when I have been stressed from work and over-tired but right now, I am not depressed.

I am not rejoicing too loudly or emphatically. I am not seeing this lack of depression as a sign that I have finally been freed from the pain of depression. I am not going to write a book on how I overcame a life time of low level depression. I am not going to blog about how God has delivered me from the demons of depression.

No, I am not going to do any of that. I can’t guarantee that I won’t be depressed again. So, this is what I am going to do.

I will take a nap or two. I am going to watch a Youtube video or two. I am going to write a sermon or two, attend a meeting or two, lead Bible studies and worship, do some thinking about the churches’ directions, read some books, take a short walk and even mow the lawn. I am going to deal with what is going on without having to deal with the overlay of low-level depression that sometimes hits when circumstances are like they are now. But for now, I am not depressed and I can enjoy that.

May the peace of God be with you.

A SUNNY DAY

Question: What do you call a bright, warm, sunny day after two days of rain and cool weather? Obviously, the answer is Monday. Rainy, cool weekends are the ultimate indignity for most normal people, those who work Monday to Friday and count on the weekend to rest, recreate, work and play doing all the stuff that there is no time to do during the work week. Or at least, that is what I understand—I have never actually had a job where I had the weekend free.

For me, the weekend always involves work. I am aware that this is true for others as well—lots of us work on the weekends while others have the time free to do what they want. In fact, those of us who work on the weekend make it possible for many others to do their thing on the weekend. A popular weekend activity for some is weddings—and although the number of weddings is declining in our region, most still happen on Saturday. If I didn’t work on weekends, the wedding would be a lot more difficult to organize and carry out.

Of course, when I work a Saturday wedding, I don’t have the option of sleeping in on Sunday as most of the wedding goers do. I still have to get up and lead worship and preach—and since I have two services on Sunday, that doesn’t leave much time on the weekend for much more than eating and collapsing in front of the TV.

The bottom line for me is that a rainy weekend often doesn’t make a lot of difference in my plans. It does mean that the arthritis in my knees makes its presence known a bit more; the church building will likely be seriously over-heated; the congregants will be somewhat down because of the dark and dreary weather and a few may develop a phobia about getting wet and stay home from worship. But in terms of getting things done, well, most of my stuff on the weekend involves work and my work can be done rain or shine. Even outdoor weddings always have an indoor back up plan—that is one of my requirements for the couple getting married.

So, when it rains all weekend, I am not as bent out of shape as the members of my congregation since I am not really missing anything. But when a rainy weekend fades away and Monday dawns bright, sunny and warm, well, then I am all set. I generally have Mondays off—nobody ever gets married on a Monday; not much goes on in churches on Monday; my personal work schedule calls for study to begin on Tuesday. So, Mondays are mine, except for the occasional funeral or must have meeting that can’t fit anywhere else.

This Monday morning is bright and sunny and warming up—and it rained yesterday and was cool on Saturday. So, what am I going to do with this day everyone wanted yesterday and didn’t get? I don’t actually know. I am going to work on my blog—an activity that parks me in the living room with a perfect view of the sunny day illuminating the emerging leaves on the trees surrounding the neighbourhood.

I might get out and plant a few seeds—some to produce plants that the deer will probably eat and some that just might produce something that we can eat. I might go for a walk, depending on how much the drive to be out in the sun overcomes the anticipation of the pain it will cause. I might do some preliminary work on my next woodworking project. I might enjoy the sunny view as I finish that book I started last week and am enjoying. I will definitely take a nap—I may actually combine that and reading the book.

It is something of a frustration that my time off is generally at odds with the majority of people I know. But it isn’t frustrating enough that I am going to give up the time off I do have. And to be honest, while having a day off on a nice sunny day is a plus, I can and would enjoy the day off even if it is raining and dreary. For me, the bottom line is that I recognize I need to take time to relax and rest. It is nicer to do that on a sunny day but the sun isn’t a requirement.

May the peace of God be with you.

A DONATED SUIT

I am sitting in a deacons’ meeting where we have been looking at a lot of different issues affecting our church. Since we were slowly climbing out of a serious mess that occurred just before I was called to the church, there was a lot to talk about. We rejoiced at the signs of life we were seeing and pondered the best ways to deal with the continuing issues from the previous mess. Near the end of the meeting, we opened the agenda to anyone who might have concerns.

Our senior deacon wanted to raise a concern. Since he was a retired pastor with many years of experience who tended to be on the ball and quite helpful, we all listened to him. He raised the issue of the young people who were attending our worship—about six of them, week after week, faithfully attending, participating and seeming to really appreciate what we were doing. I had wanted to raise the issue myself—we had a lot to rejoice about: the kids were coming, our student intern was doing great things with them, they made up 10-20 percent of our small but growing attendance.

But the senior deacon had a whole different idea. He was concerned about how the kids dressed. Their clothing wasn’t respectful. Some of them were showing up in jeans and t-shirts, covered with various jackets. They were wearing sneakers and some of the guys wore baseball hats—although somewhere along the line, they had learned to take the hats off during worship. But the bottom line was that these young people were not showing sufficient respect for God because they weren’t well dressed.

He had a solution, one that had helped him as a young person. He came from a poor family and didn’t feel comfortable attending worship until someone in the congregation graciously donated a used suit that he could wear. As a church, we needed to find people to donate good used suits for the guys and appropriate dresses for the girls. Then they would feel much more at home and be more reverent and respectful.

The only thing I found more difficult than preventing my student intern from climbing over the table to do physical harm to the senior deacon was preventing myself from climbing over the table to do serious harm to the senior deacon. Somehow, the grace of God broke through and neither I nor the student intern did what we were thinking.

Instead, we had a serious and significant discussion about cultural relatively. The senior deacon was concerned about these kids but was working from a whole different culture. It made a major difference to him when I pointed out that the jeans the kids wore on Sunday morning likely cost more than the suit he wore—these weren’t poor street kids. The student intern pointed out that some of those kids got more allowance than the senior deacon got in pension, which was probably an exaggeration on both sides but helped the discussion along.

While the senior deacon would still liked to have seen the kids coming in attire appropriate to the culture from 40 years ago, he began to get some insights into the changes that had occurred over the past years and decided that maybe jeans that cost more than his suit were more appropriate for those kids than a donated suit. With the crisis averted, we adjourned the meeting, secure in the knowledge that we could continue the ministry we were involved in and could rejoice in the fact that these kids found our worship valuable enough to get up early on Sunday morning, put on their best jeans and t-shirts and join us.

Is there a point here? Well, maybe we in the church need to pay attention to our culture and realize that much of the time, we want to donate suits to people who neither want nor need our used suits. They need and want something different and sometimes actually find it—but because we get caught up in the need to supply a suit to the suitless, we damage their ability to get what they actually need and want. Isn’t is much better to amplify what we are doing that they need and want than spend all the effort it would take to donate a used suit?

May the peace of God be with you.

SOMETHING IS FINALLY DONE

There is an empty space in the corner of the basement that I use for a workshop. The cabinet and shelf unit that I have been working on for several months is finally done. It took several weeks longer that I had planned but it did come in under budget, thanks in part to sales and discount scratch off coupons. This was a winter project designed to fill in some of the “free” time I was anticipating during the three months one of the pastorates I serve was shutdown.

As I have posted here before, the time wasn’t as free as I had anticipated and when it was, the weather wasn’t always cooperative, which wouldn’t have been a big problem except for the fact that I have to do major cutting and sanding outside. But eventually, the job got done and I moved the cabinet and shelf into the dining room where it is now filling up with all the stuff that needed a place so that we could get at other stuff.

Each time I walk through the dining room, I look at the finished project and have a sense of accomplishment. I do notice the imperfections and “not quite right” stuff that are incorporated in the piece because of my less than perfect woodworking skills. But even seeing all those doesn’t take away from the fact that the job is done, the project is finished and it is now doing what it was built for and the next time I have to do anything with it will be the day I take it apart so that we can move, a day which isn’t happening anytime soon.

That might seem like a small thing but for me, it is significant. I have spend most of my life involved in ministry: pastor, chaplain, teacher, missionary, counsellor and one of the most clear and unchanging realities about ministry is that completed projects are few and far between. I can spend a week on a sermon, researching and planning and writing and rewriting to get it just right. I stand in the pulpit and preach the sermon, doing an almost perfect job of presenting the message. (Or I could waste time, skimp on the research, present poorly—it happens.) But the job isn’t done—because I have to do the same thing all over again—and again and again.

Or suppose I am teaching a class. I research the topic, read extensively, write out the syllabus and the individual lectures. I plan the assignments. The class begins, I teach and discuss and mark and do all the work. And then, we finish—but it isn’t over because likely as not, I will need to do the same course again for another group or prepare a different course for a different group. So, I work hard and then I start all over again with the same thing.

Ministry keeps going and the stuff I do in ministry just keeps going as well. Even when I finish one chapter in ministry, another opens up. When I realize that I have finished the particular work God has called me to do on one place, I discover that God’s call and leading are taking me to another place where there is work to be done—it might not be exactly the same kind of work but there are enough similarities that the same processes work.

And that probably goes a long way towards explaining why I like woodworking. No matter how long it takes, no matter how complicated the process, no matter how much delay, there will come a point where the work is actually done and I don’t need to do anything more. The project is done—it sits in place, doing the work it was designed to do and I only need to appreciate the enjoyment I got out of doing the work and that I get out of it doing what it was designed to do.

I am comfortable with the reality that ministry doesn’t have clear and easy to notice completions. In many ways, I appreciate the process nature of ministry. I work well in the context of always being in process. But it is also good to have a part of my life where I can point to clear completions, to things that I have finished and which don’t need my input anymore.

May the peace of God be with you.

DRIVING BY OTHER CHURCHES

I spend a lot of time on the road when I am working. The nearest of the churches I serve is an 18 kilometer round trip and the most distant is a 78 kilometer round trip. No matter which building I am going to, I have to pass other churches—some Baptist and some representing other denominations. And because I have lived in this area for a long time, I know quite a bit about those other churches.

And the one fact that stares me in face every time I drive by is that they all have more people in worship that I have. It doesn’t matter which denomination or where they are on the theological spectrum, they have more people in worship than I have. There are a couple of congregations in the area that have fewer but they aren’t on my regular routes so the bottom line is that every congregation I drive by has more people in worship than I have.

Now, being the spiritually mature, balanced and understanding pastor that I am, this doesn’t bother me at all. I can drive by and say a prayer of thanksgiving that they are doing so well and go to my small worship spiritually secure in the knowledge that all is well and that numbers don’t matter and that as long as God is being praised, all is well.

And if you are willing to believe that last paragraph, can I interest you in some land I have for sale? It is a great piece of land, although we need to wait for a six month dry spell so the ground is firm enough to stand on without sinking in too much.

Being the pastor of some of the smallest congregations in our area does bother me, especially since I have been working there for over two years and have managed to slightly decrease our average attendance in that time. Driving by other congregations can be painful.

I drive by the very conservative ones that have clear answers for everything, along with lots and lots of cars in the parking lot and wonder if maybe I need to start giving people clear answers like those groups do. But then, as I think about the people in the pews that I work with week after week, I realize that they neither need nor want clear and rigid answers—their faith needs the freedom to ask questions and seek answers that is such a strong part of our ministry.

I drive by the buildings of more liberal denominations which sometimes question what I consider the basics of the faith—and who also have lots of cars in the parking lot. I wonder of maybe I should copy their approach—but then I remember that most of the people I work with have built their lives and their faith on these foundational realities.

I drive by charismatic congregations, whose music and worship are obviously attracting people, at least according to the number of cars in the lot and I wonder if maybe we need to ditch the organ and piano and traditional hymns for a worship team and choruses projected on the wall—but then I remember that we are lucky to have any musician at all and we do like the older hymns but when possible, we try some new stuff.

So, I drive by. I look at the cars in the lot with some envy and maybe more jealousy that I am comfortable with. I wonder if I am doing something wrong that keeps us small and struggling. I wonder if maybe we should close up shop and go somewhere else. And then I realize that we gather each week for worship and for Bible study because we have found something that works for us. It probably won’t work for others—well, obviously, it doesn’t work for a lot of others because they aren’t there. But what happens in other places might not work for us either—I know that because some have tied hard to fit in there and it just doesn’t work.

So, I drive by and look at the cars and continue to my congregations where we gather as a small group seeking to understand God’s presence and calling and purpose for us. I don’t really know why we are who and what we are—but I do know that we are who and what we are because God has called us together and works in and through us—and for now, that counteracts the parking lot envy enough to keep me going.

May the peace of God be with you.

SITTING DOWN

A long time ago (in this galaxy, not one far, far away), I was interviewed for the weekly paper published in the community where I grew up. We were getting ready to leave for work in Kenya and that was newsworthy back in those days when the story of the hour trip to the city was worth a free cup of coffee at the local gathering place. When I was reading the article later, I discovered that I was described as an active and avid outdoorsman—I suppose that today, that would be written as outdoorsperson.

And that was fairly true then. I liked walking, biking, and being in the woods. I could set up a campsite and have a fire going in less than a half an hour and have a camp meal ready shortly after that. Sitting around—well, I liked and like to read so I did that. And given that my work involved both study and people, I sat a lot inside at other times. But ultimately, I had to get outside, to walk around. Even puttering in the yard was an acceptable reason to get outside and move around. At several points in my ministry, I managed to combine ministry and being outdoors be being involved in camping ministry, including a several year stint as a wilderness camp counsellor and co-director.

Let’s move forward to today. I am currently sitting in the living room, a posture which will pretty much define my day. Today, every 2-3 hours, I will be heading to the basement to put another coat of varnish on my woodworking project. At some point, I will spend an hour or so on the exercise bike. I will be outside sometime today—maybe to get some groceries and definitely to go to the play this evening that a friend is directing.

But mostly, I will be in my chair, either writing something, catching up on email or reading news. We won’t mention the fact that there might be some YouTube videos along the way. I definitely won’t be walking all that far. If it were drier, I might be tempted to dig out the bike and go for a ride but today, well, the best and safest trail is still quite wet from all the rain we have had.

So, why do I spend so much time sitting? The answer is relatively simple. I am 65 and my arthritic knees set serious limits on what I can do. I can actually go for a walk—but going for a walk involves a complex set of decisions as I weigh the value of the walk against the consequences: serious pain that leads to limping and possible a sleepless night. To be completely honest, often the results of the calculation indicate that sitting in the chair is the best solution.

I do need to move some—I can’t sit all day. Sitting too much also causes complaints from my knees so most days, I struggle to find the balance between sitting and moving that results in the most manageable amount of pain. There is a solution—knee replacement and that is coming, although for a variety of what I think are valid reasons, I am putting that off for a while.

The aging process is interesting and frustrating for me. I have to learn and live with limits imposed by an aging body. Some limits have fixes and some don’t. All of them need to be realistically addressed. And all of them need to be emotionally addressed. It is sometimes depressing to realize that I likely won’t ever be a counsellor at a kids’ wilderness camp again. It is even more depressing to realize that I probably won’t even go wilderness camping myself. But that is reality and even though I have a good imagination and am somewhat creative, I have also learned that I need to keep a close connection with the realities of my life, including the realities that come with accumulating years.

There are good things about the aging process and I embrace them as well—if some business wants to give me a discount just because I have managed to live a certain number of years, I am going to take it. When the local seminary asks me to mentor a student because of my accumulated years of ministry, I am going to do it. I may have to sit down a lot more than I used to but I am going to be actively sitting.

May the peace of God be with you.