PRAYER

With the start up of the churches I pastor after the winter break, I am now back to leading another Bible study. This one has been looking at prayer. We have been using two Biblical prayers as our discussion starters. As we have worked through the Lord’s Prayer and begin looking at the prayer in Gethsemane, we have had ample opportunity to think about, discuss and speculate on prayer, as well as many other topics, some related and some that seem to come from nowhere anyone can identify.

The start up of this study has caused me to take another look at my prayers. Basically, I have two somewhat separate prayer lives. One is what I would call a professional prayer life. I am a pastor of active congregations which means I pray a lot: several times during each worship service, before and after Bible studies and meetings, during pastoral visits, over the phone and occasionally on the street. By any standard, I have a very active professional prayer life. That goes with the territory—anyone called to Christian ministry needs to expect that they will spend a lot of time praying for anything and everything.

My other prayer life is my own private and personal life. And while it isn’t always totally clear which category any given prayer fits, in general, I have a pretty good sense of when I am praying professionally and when I am praying personally. Well, actually, I have a really good sense of when I am praying professionally. I am not always clear when and even if I am praying personally.

Let me give an example. I am sitting in my work chair after finishing writing a sermon. That always leaves me with a sense of mental confusion and fatigue and a feeling that what I have spend so much time writing is worthless. I contemplate what I have written and mentally mutter, “What a pile of junk!”. My question is: When I say that, am I commenting on my sermon, expressing the mental fatigue that comes with having finished writing a sermon or actually praying?

Sometimes, I see that comment as an actual prayer. I have a somewhat warped sense of humor and tend to make comments that people who know me understand but which others might find quite strange. Since I work at being open to God’s leading when I am writing a sermon (mostly), if I am conscious of a hearer of my end of sermon comments, it would be God. Is it a valid prayer to call what he has (hopefully) helped me produce a pile of junk—or worse?

I mean, shouldn’t a pastor who has been in the business for many years and prayed enough to total up to months or years of time finish the sermon process with a heartfelt, “Thank you Lord for this wonderful expression of your grace”. Maybe that is what some would expect—and there may be some pastors who actually pray that prayer every time they finish a sermon. I have actually prayed it a few times, times when the sermon flows and even my writing fatigued brain can see the value of the sermon.

But mostly, when I finish, I am going to nudge God in the ribs, wink and comment on the junkiness of what I have produced. If I really thought it was junk, I wouldn’t have written it. But the stress of the writing process, the energy required to keep God, the congregation and myself in proper balance during the writing and the simple fatigue that results comes together to produce an offhanded, dry, somewhat negative comment on the whole thing. I am expressing my fatigue to myself and God, a fatigue that doesn’t allow me to actually objectively evaluate what I have produced—easier by far to semi-jokingly insult it because both God and I know I don’t really mean it. I am ultimately acknowledging that with his help, I produced something that he will use later as part of his and my ministry in the churches that will hear the sermon.

Would it be more reverent and spiritually mature to simple tell God thanks for the leading and help and the hint on the third point? Probably. I may get there someday but for now, God knows what I am doing and we are both comfortable with my end of writing prayer.

May the peace of God be with you.

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NOT ANONYMOUS!

Many of my Kenyan friends were pleased to discover that my given names come from my grandfathers—they felt that somehow my parents had known their tribal naming customs and followed them. The fact that many of them couldn’t easily pronounce any of my names didn’t take away from the fact that my names fit their customs. To solve the pronunciation problem, they gave me another name, one from their culture which fit my circumstance. Later, some of the students I taught gave me at least one nickname—I say at least one because this one they revealed to me. There may have been other names that they didn’t reveal—these were students, after all.

So, I have a name. Actually, I have several names, all of which I acknowledge and to be honest, am proud of. I appreciate the family connection coming from my given names. I also deeply appreciate the names given to me by my Kenyan friends. My names are a basic part of who I am; they mark my place in the world; they connect me with others and cultures. I would likely still be the same person with a different name but still, the names I have been given are important to me. I am careful to introduce myself with the appropriate name in the appropriate circumstance.

When I am in Kenya, for example, there isn’t all that much value in giving people my Canadian given and family names. I tend to use my Kenyan name, which, in the right circles is recognized. Most of the people in the church we work with there know me or know someone who knows me, at least as long as I use the Kenyan name. In Canada, I use some version of my given names—mind you, that doesn’t always go over well because many people find “Legassie” hard to pronounce.

I am who I am and my names are a part of who I am—and despite the increasingly anonymous culture we live in, I choose to be known by name. To be honest, I hate hiding behind anonymity. When faced with an anonymous survey, I often choose not to fill it out—and if I do fill it out, I often sign it.

When I read something that interests me, I try to discover who wrote it—I want a name to put with the thoughts—not a made up net identity but a real name. It doesn’t really matter what culture the name comes from expect that it can’t come from the internet culture. I tend to ignore stuff identified by strange letter and number combinations or timely slogans or some other way of hiding identity. If I have something to say, I am going to own it—and for me, part of owning it is to tell people who I really am. Not telling them who I really am suggests that I am not really committed to what I am saying or that what I am saying isn’t that important or, perhaps, I am a coward.

I am aware that this puts me at odds with a significant part of our culture, the part which prefers not to be known as they slash and trash and troll and generally spew vitriol and anger and disrespect all over the internet. It puts me at odds with the moral cowards who send anonymous letters to people they don’t like telling them to move or change or even die. My desire for names puts me on the opposite side of a culture that wants increasingly to be able to say and do whatever it wants without taking personal responsibility, which suggests to me that we are fast developing a culture that doesn’t want to deal with consequences.

I am probably a dinosaur because I want real names from real people. If I disagree with someone enough to speak or write it, I am going to let them know who I am. If people disagree with me enough to speak or write it, I want to know who they are. And if people don’t give me their name with their comments, I am going to ignore their comments. This, I think, it part of the personal honesty that my faith teaches. I am who I am and my name is part of who I am. If I am going to be honest, you need to know my name.

May the peace of God be with you.

AN INTROVERT’S WEEK

Being an introvert is something I didn’t have any choice over, at least according to my understanding of current psychological theories. While there may be some environmental factors involved, most likely I am hard wired to be an introvert. I can and do function as an extrovert because of my calling—ministry in small congregations and rural areas demands a certain degree of extraversion.

But honestly, my ideal work week would consist of sitting with my laptop, writing the sermon and Bible study, reading the various books and articles that interest me, taking short walks and long trips on the exercise bike and not actually interacting with too many people during the week. The ideal week would get even better if there were a couple of strategic snowstorms that cancelled existing appointments and allowed me the opportunity to play in the snow a bit. Certainly, I would get tired of that week if it was repeated too often for too long. I don’t actually know how long it would take to get tired of the repetition because I have never actually has one ideal introvert week, let alone a string of them.

This week is shaping up to be the anti-introvert week. I began with two worship services, one of which was followed by a potluck lunch. During the rest of the week, I have two counselling sessions, a mentoring session, a Bible study, a ecumenical clergy retreat and strategy session, two doctor appointments—and that is just the stuff that I know about. The nature of ministry is that invariably, there will be other people contacts along the way, either in person or on the phone. By the way, while some might see phone contacts as something of a blessing for an introvert, I actually don’t like talking on the phone—I need the non-verbal information that is so vital a part of real communication.

This week is a bit unusual but only a bit. I normally don’t have doctor appointments and try to keep counselling sessions to one a week. But in the end, this week is closer to the norm of my life than that idealized introvert-friendly week. I occasionally dream of having blocks of introvert-friendly weeks after retirement but in my more realistic moments, I am aware that while my basic nature might be introversion, I have also been called to and gifted for pastoral ministry, which means that in the end, I have an equally powerful drive to connect with people.

So, how does an introvert called to live an extrovert life cope? There are lots of psychological and emotional coping mechanisms that I know and use—but the truth is that these really aren’t what makes the whole thing work. They are tools that can and do mitigate the fatigue and stress somewhat but they aren’t the real answer.

The real way I cope is tied in with my faith. I am an introvert who has been called by God to an extroverted role. God, I have noticed repeatedly, specializes in calling unqualified people to tasks they are particularly unsuited to. In fact, I have been known to tell theology students that we don’t get called to ministry because we are qualified—we get called like all the Biblical examples because we are unqualified and likely losers who will never be able to do what we are called to.

Why would God specialize in calling the unqualified? Why would he chose a clear introvert for a job involving so much and so intense contact with people? Simple: God wants us to depend on him. The callings that God gives us are not given because he needs us to do his work. They are given so that we who are called can learn more about the faith we have accepted and grow more in that faith through discovering that what we can’t do on our own, God is willing and able to help us do. As we surrender our weakness and unqualified state to him and accept his power and leading, he accomplished ministry through us. A significant part of that ministry is for us—we learn and we grow as we allow God to teach and nurture others through our ministry.

I will survive this week from an introvert’s hell. More than that, I will likely actually accomplish some significant things as I interact with God and his people to do his work. What I really can’t do on my own, he will accomplish through me.

May the peace of God be with you.

DAVID THE BLOGGER

The worship service at one of the churches I serve has a unique addition to the order. Right after I read the Scriptures, the congregation has an opportunity to ask questions or make comments. This came about as a result of a suggestion by one of the members and has become a highlight of the worship for both pastor and congregation. While there are occasional Sundays where nobody has a question or comment, there are generally some interesting comments and questions—and several times a year, the ensuing discussion become so interesting and valuable that we never actually get to the sermon, which means I am prepared for another Sunday.

Recently, the Scriptures came from Isaiah and Mark. Both passages prompted some comments and we batted them around for awhile. And then, one of the congregants had a question about the responsive reading that we had used earlier in the worship. It was a legitimate question because the reading was Scripture, a reading from Psalm 27.

The question concerned the author of the Psalm. The question and discussion focused on David rather than the Psalm itself. We re-established the fact that David wrote many of the Psalms but not all of them and then the discussion began to look at the character of the writing. The questioner wanted to know a couple of things:

• Can we figure out what David was doing at the time he wrote each Psalm?
• Why are the Psalms so different from other parts of the Bible, like the Gospels for example?

The first question was relatively easy to deal with. Some Psalms identify the circumstances of the writing either in an explanatory note at the beginning or be the content. The second question was more interesting, at least for me. David’s writings are different from the Gospels or the Epistles or the History books partly because David was a poet whose response to the realities and events of his life drove him to record his thoughts and feelings. He wasn’t writing history, biography, theology, explanations, or apologetics. David was writing his feelings.

The best explanation of the difference I could offer was to suggest that if David had been alive today, he would have been a blogger. I don’t read a lot of blogs but many of the ones I do seem to be focused in the writer’s response to their life and the realities they see and experience. Certainly there are the factual blogs, the history blogs, the informative blogs—but there are also a uncounted number of blogs that deal with the writer’s feelings and responses. Even this blog has a strong element of that, although I will never be accused of being a poet.

David used his poetry to help himself deal with his life—and given that his life had a significant number of highs and lows, he had a lot to deal with. In his day, his audience would have been limited to people in the royal court and the temple. But somehow, through the grace of God, some of his poetry was recorded and made available not just to the people of his day but also to people of all time. David probably holds the record for the all time highest number of views—and likes, for that matter.

While it is interesting to speculate how well David would have done as a 21st century blogger, there is no need to actually speculate on his ability to connect with people. His words, written over 2500 years ago in a small, somewhat backwater country in a language that most of us don’t speak manage to cut across time, language and culture and touch something within us that shouts that he got it—he understands. We read his blog, we are touched by the words and ideas and emotions, we react—and most of the time, we are helped. The poetry from the past enables us to deal better with our life in this very different present. And, given the track record, if the world lasts another 2500 years, or 25,000 or 250,000 more years, people are still going to read the Psalms and be touched and changed and helped.

That is pretty good for a 2500+ year old poet who was just trying to make sense of his life using his propensity towards poetry. Most of the rest of us: bloggers, preachers, writers, even poets can only dream of writing something so significant.

May the peace of God be with you.

WAITING

Right now, I am waiting to find out when I will have surgery. I am also waiting for enough snow of the right kind to go cross-country skiing. I am waiting for our spring vacation (which might be cancelled because of the coming surgery). I am waiting to hear if the group that was interested in having me speak at an event has made a final decision about my coming. I am waiting for the next StarWars movie. I am also waiting for retirement, buying a house, knee replacements and tons of other things, including the dishwasher finishing its cycle so I can unload it.

It might just be me at the stage of life I currently occupy but it seems to me that we human beings spend a lot of time waiting. Waiting often requires patience and my relative lack of patience might be part of the reason I find waiting difficult. I have never been good at waiting—all the experience I have at waiting hasn’t actually translated into making waiting all that easy.

I have, of course, learned lots of tricks and techniques. I always have a book or two with me. These days, that is much easier thanks to smart phones. Having my books on the phone also has another benefit—when I get tired of the book, I can switch to the games on the phone. Also, given that many waiting rooms these days no longer provide newspapers or back issues of magazines, I always have something to do while I wait. I can also watch people, which is great when there are other people around. Watching other people handle the waiting process poorly is a big help in keeping myself from dealing poorly with the waiting.

But these and other tricks only mask the real problem. I don’t much like waiting, especially when I am waiting in North America. I am a bit more comfortable waiting in Kenya—my cultural training and insight seems to allow me to deal with reality of waiting in Kenya better than I deal with it in Canada. But even then, waiting is a chore. Whether it is waiting 2 minutes for my wife, 10 minutes to see my doctor, 2 hours for my car to be serviced, several weeks for surgery or months until the next StarWars, waiting is hard—I am not blessed with an abundance of patience.

Actually, that isn’t true. Like all who follow the Christian faith, I have been given all the patience that I need. Becoming a believer brings with it the presence of the Holy Spirit and according to Galatians 5.22, one of the fruit of the presence of Spirit is patience, along with a bunch of other stuff. So, as an individual, I might suffer from a lack of patience but as a follower of Christ, I have all the patience I will ever need, made available to me from God himself through the presence and power of the Holy Spirit.

So, if that is true, how come I get fidgety when the wait is 60 seconds, annoyed when it is 5 minutes and have to have something else to do when it is longer than 10 minutes? How come the divine patience doesn’t just wash over me and allow me to peacefully and placidly and patiently wait? Am I missing something somewhere? Maybe I have to enter a user name and password on some form somewhere to access the patience sitting in my account, just like when I access some of my ebooks?

No—the problem isn’t technical. It is personal. God gives in abundance and freely but I don’t always want to open myself to the abundance that God gives. Accepting what God gives doesn’t just imply that I need something—it bluntly and blatantly states that I am less than perfect and need what God is so willing to give. I have to confront my imperfection and admit my needs before I can admit that I need what God is so willing to give. In short, I am pretty much a normal person who struggles with admitting that I need God.

Fortunately, I have recognized this need and accepted the grace of God offered in the risen and living Christ. Now, as I wait, God is at work, helping me see how this works out in all areas of my life, including the waiting.

May the peace (and patience) of God be with you.

THE OTHER SIDE

I need some surgery sometime in the near future. While it is fairly serious surgery, it is important because it will prevent even more serious stuff down the road. After thought and prayer and some consultation, it just makes sense to me to go ahead with the process.

However, committing to that process also commits me to another process, one that I am normally involved with on the other side. I need to inform and involve my church people. Normally, I am the one church people inform and involve—they want my prayers, my pastoral concern, my connection with God. I am happy to be involved in their process. My giftedness, my calling and my temperament enables me to support them and do what I can to help them through the process. Most of the people I have provided pastoral care for through their process have seemed to be appreciative.

But approaching the whole thing from the other side—well, that is and has been and will be a huge shift for me. I haven’t actually had to deal with medical issues in my ministry. The only time I have been hospitalized was for kidney stones and that occurred between public ministry activities and so I didn’t miss anything. For this surgery, I will be out for at least a month, which means that I have to tell people so they can make arrangements.

My introverted inclination was to simply forget about telling people and have my wife call the deacons the day of surgery and tell them I won’t be there for a while. Aside from the fact that my wife simply wouldn’t assist my fantasy, that really wouldn’t be a very good way to deal with things.

I teach, preach and encourage Christian community and sharing. I seek to have people involved with each other as an expression of their faith. I want people to know that faith needs to involve us with other people so that we can both give and receive the love and grace of God through each other. For me to follow my introverted fantasy process would be hypocritical at best and ministry destroying at worst.

So, pushing the all too tempting fantasy out of my mind, I set about informing people. I had a meeting scheduled with the church leadership before I knew about the surgery so that became the first place to announce what was coming. I didn’t swear them to secrecy and released them to tell others in the church what was coming. I think I was secretly hoping that the message would quickly travel through the church the way most things do.

That didn’t happen, or it didn’t happen the way I wanted or as fast as I wanted. I faced a congregation on Sunday made up of people who knew and people who didn’t. Since the surgery is coming soon but not that soon, I chose not to make an announcement from the pulpit—that will come when I know dates and so on. But I did find myself telling individuals as the opportunity arose during the potluck that followed the worship.

I have spent most of my life on the other side of this part of ministry and now I have to learn how to receive what I have been giving. I could continue the role of pastor and say that it is good for the church to learn how to minister to the pastor—and that is a good thing. But the deeper reality is that I need to learn more about how to be ministered to. I haven’t done that well over the years. Being an introvert means that I tend to keep to myself and be somewhat self-sufficient. I have had times when others have ministered to me and they have been very important and valuable—but overall, I am much more comfortable providing the ministry.

So, the coming surgery will not only take care of a medical problem but will be another step in the more significant learning process that is helping an introvert who encourages community to experience the fullness of Christian community. I really do want and value the prayers and concerns and support of my Christian community—I just don’t like telling people that I need their prayers and concerns and support. Like all of us, I have a lot to learn about the fullness of my faith.

May the peace of God be with you.

WHY AM I NOT ASLEEP?

I have been up for about a half an hour this morning. It is a seriously cold winter morning in Nova Scotia, which means that it is dark and windy outside and dark and cold inside, at least until the heat we turned down last night comes back up to comfortable levels. There is no real reason for me to get up and several suggesting that I not get up.

I don’t have to work today; I have no scheduled appointments; we have no major plans for today. It was warm and comfortable in bed. So, why, when the clock read 7:00 did I get out of bed, close the door behind me (my wife and her dog were sleeping in), turn on some lights and my computer, turn up the heat, get some breakfast and settle down in the living room chair that is my office?

I was pondering that question when I was looking at the outside temperature as I got my breakfast ready. And the answer I came up with is that I am not totally sure why I got up when I did. I am a morning person and do my best thinking (and writing, maybe) early in the morning. But all I really have to write today is a post for this blog, which won’t actually be posted until next week—with both sermons and blog posts, I like to be ahead of the due date so that I am prepared for emergencies like funerals or pastoral calls.

But being a morning person doesn’t seem to be a valid enough justification for getting up this morning. It isn’t because I am opposed to sleeping in. Saturday is sleep in day and on occasion when I am really tired, I decide not to get going as early as normal. As I have got older, I have discovered some real value in getting the proper amount of rest.

I have decided that the ultimate reason for getting up this morning was that it was time to get up. I am up at 7:00 six days a week and so it was time to get up so I got up. I got up because it is part of my personal discipline. Some things we do simply because it is good for us to have some discipline in our lives. I am not talking rigid, every minute scheduled, agenda anxiety producing, fear and trembling discipline. But I am talking about giving life some structure and organization that sometimes takes us in directions that we might not want to go in.

I could easily have stayed in bed this morning and the only real consequence would be that my post this morning would be a bit late and this post would be written some other time. But for me, there is value in having some discipline in my life—and one form that discipline takes is having some structure to my time. There may be some people who can function without such discipline but I realized a long time ago that I can’t actually live that way. I need some sense of what is coming.

Perhaps it was because I have been called to ministry, a vocation well known for its unpredictable twists and turns, that I discovered the need to manage what I could to be able to respond to the unmanageable. While that may have been part of the process, I think I also realized early that I function best with some sort of structure and schedule. I have a sense of how my days, weeks and months will go, which paradoxically means that I am more able to deal with the unexpected and unpredictable which is definitely a part of the vocation and life to which I have been called. I know that if I get called to help a family work through their grief/funeral process, there will be a spot to get everything displaced by that call taken care of.

So, the end result is that when 7:00am rolled around this morning, I go up. I didn’t have to but I choose to because it is part of my personal discipline necessary to help me keep my life and work on track. There is also something kind of peaceful being awake and active with my thoughts when everyone else is sleeping, even on a cold, wintery Nova Scotia morning.

May the peace of God be with you.

BEING A PATIENT

I spend a lot of time in hospitals. There are three where I am a regular and three more where I end up now and then. My calling as a pastor to rural congregations and communities with aging members means that there are frequently people in the hospital who want to see their pastor—and I generally want to see them. So, I am no stranger to hospitals or people needing medical attention or the processes that go on in hospitals. I am comfortable and feel that I am making a difference in the eventual outcome for the people I see.

But for all the time I spend in hospitals, I have very rarely been a patient. Until recently, I had spend about a day and a half in hospital as a patient and since that was for kidney stones, I wasn’t much aware of what was going on around me. The debilitating pain followed by the blessing of serious pain killers pretty much rendered me oblivious to anyone and anything around me in the hospital.

Recently, though, I was in the hospital for some day surgery, a process that involved a lot of waiting. We waited for my turn at the registration desk, we waited for my turn for further processing and then I waited in the surgery prep room—my wife wasn’t allowed there. After the surgery, I waited while the staff made sure there were no complications. There were lots of other people waiting at every stage in the process. In my ministry, I have spent time in most of those waiting places as a pastor, helping others through their waiting.

But what I noticed during my waiting was that I really wasn’t interested in being a pastor in any of the places I was waiting. I wasn’t overly nervous nor was I anxious about the coming surgery. Although it could have some serious implications, I wasn’t stressed or biting my nails. It wasn’t high anxiety that kept me from being concerned with the people around me.

I just didn’t want to engage anyone. My introversion was working overtime. I talked to my wife when she was present—but once she was gone, I was most comfortable reading and playing solitaire on my phone. Being me, I was aware of what was going on in the rooms—I heard the loud extrovert covering his anxiety with talk; I noticed the very anxious couple over in the corner; I spotted the guy trying to cover his nerves by appearing to sleep; I watched lady try to make a safe nest in her hospital bed as she waited for her turn—but I didn’t want to engage. I just wanted to be a patient.

I wanted to be someone there for day surgery who was most comfortable reading and playing solitaire. I did engage a bit when someone I knew was wheeled into the room—this is after all, a rural area and the chances of my knowing someone any place are good. But he wasn’t overly interested in conversation so after some general talk, he picked up his crossword and I went back to the phone.

I am aware that many of the people waiting with me could probably have used some pastoral input. Some might have appreciated some prayer. There may even have been one or two there who would even see a repetition of my last sermon as a good distraction. But I really wasn’t interested in providing it. Now, if someone had recognized me and specifically asked for pastoral care or prayer or even the sermon, I would probably have provided it, although they might have got the condensed version of the sermon. But mostly, I just wanted to be a patient, waiting out the process of getting my surgery done so I could go home.

I have given it some serious thought and have come to the conclusion that this was the best choice for me. I am a pastor and I do care about people and I do push beyond many limits. But that particular day, I needed to be a patient. Of all the ways I could have dealt with that day, I think I chose the best for me—I had a hospital patient arm band, I was a day surgery patient, I was in the process. Going with the flow worked for me. I was glad to just be a patient.

May the peace of God be with you.

RUSH HOUR

The other day, I was heading out in the car to go see someone in the church. I came to the stop sign at the end of our side street and had to wait before I could turn. That isn’t uncommon—about half the time, there is a car coming and I have to wait. But this time, well, there must have been at least half a dozen cars coming from both directions. It felt like I waited hours and hours to get a clear stretch so I could pull out. I mentally joked about it being rush hour in town.

But then I visited our daughter in the big city. We took a train into the city for a day trip. Part of the route parallels some of the major roads into the city. We went into the city after the morning rush but left just as the rush home was building. The train car we took going home was packed and the roadways were also packed. This was the real rush hour—when the train car has more people than our village, it is crowded. I know that there are more people in our town than there were in the train car but allow me my country mouse exaggeration.

I enjoyed our time on the city. There are so many things to do and see and experience. I could eat samosas, eat lunch in a revolving restaurant hundreds of feet in the air, visit a waterfall and an huge shopping mall within minutes of each other. I could listen to English, French, Hindi, Spanish and who knows how many languages. The options are endless and when I visit, I like to enjoy them—our town hasn’t seen samosas in ages and our restaurants are fantastic but they don’t revolve.

But after I visit, I am going to come back home to our small town, settle back in and still complain about having to wait for six cars before I can pull out of our side street. For better or worse, I am a country mouse. I like where I live. I am not tied totally to any one location but I just prefer places where rush hour involves a whole lot less people than what I see when I visit the city.

It isn’t that I dislike cities. I have spend time in a lot of cities, significant time occasionally. I like exploring cities, especially in the days when my knees allowed me to walk. I love the possibilities in the city and whenever I am in a city, I quickly discover places where I can indulge in treats. I can tell you where to find great coffee in Nairobi; a great curry buffet in Toronto, fantastic street food in Ottawa, some tremendous beaches in Mombasa, a entertaining open top bus tour of Vancouver, a middle of the road evangelical church in Louisville—I have discovered and enjoyed all this in my travels.

I look forward to time in a city and try to experience it to the full and bring home the pictures to prove it. But in the end, I am going to come home and look at the pictures and remember the coffee and all the rest as I sit in my living room in our small rural community. I might sit there planning my next trip but I know I am going to always end up here or somewhere like here.

And that is because in the end, I know who I am and what works for me. I prefer the slower and less crowded spaces when it comes to a place to call home. That is part of my nature and part of the reality of who I am. I like rural spaces, I like small churches, I am most at home with fewer people. I might want samosas and revolving restaurants now and then but in the end, I am going to come back to a smaller, slower place where rush hour involves six cars probably driven by people I know and have spent time with or who I have at least seen at the store or market or post office.

This isn’t everyone’s reality but it is mine and I learned a long time ago that I can live my choices without knocking someone else’s choices. This isn’t an anti-city rant—it is a statement of who I am and nothing more.

May the peace of God be with you.

SENSOR CHECK

It’s was about a week and a half before Christmas and I had to go to the town where everyone goes to do their Christmas shopping. Part of the reason for my trip was to finish my Christmas shopping—as much as I like online shopping, I need to check out the real stores because there are just some things I have to see before I know they are just what I want. Beside, the backlog from the mail strike was making delivery times sort of vague.

But the Christmas shopping was actually an add on to the real reason for the trip. I had to be fitted for my new hearing aids and get my eyes tested. I referred to it as a sensor check with a friend which led to an extended conversation about the bionic man and what his enhancements would look like today. But for me, there is something about going for both appointments on the same day that causes me to think and wonder.

On some levels, the reality of sensor enhancements is great. Eye glasses mean that I can read whatever I want whenever I want and enjoy the beauty of our area. Hearing aids mean that I can hear what people say to me without asking them to repeat stuff a million times. When I get around to having my aging knees replaced, I will be able to walk without as much pain and complaining. That part is all good for me and everyone else who makes use of the medical and technological enhancements.

But somehow, combining the two appointments with Christmas shopping made for a very difficult and tiring day. Now, it made perfect sense to join them all together—it is an hour drive one way to the shopping area and I try to be as ecologically sensitive as is possible for a rural pastor serving two different spread out pastorates.

The day didn’t start too badly—as usual, I was early and had time to check out one possible present before the first appointment. But then things started going bad—I used the wrong credit card to buy the present. That was only a minor problem—the real problem was that the five minutes it should have taken to get to the first appointment was taken up just getting out of the store parking lot—obviously, I wasn’t the only person shopping that day.

I did arrive at the appointment on time and had my eyes tested, including having drops which made everything look funny for a bit. But now, the rush was on. There was time for some quick reconnaissance and lunch before the second appointment—and I really don’t like being rushed. I am more of a contemplative, think things through, don’t rush personality which, when combined with my obsession for being early at everything means that I spend the next block of time checking my watch and running the time and travel calculations in my head. Ultimately, the calculations suggested I leave and have lunch at a less desirable spot that had the advantage of being near the second appointment—no need to find another parking space.

Anyway, in the end, I survived the day. I have new hearing aids which I am going to hate, at least until I get used to them at which point I will love them. I have new glasses coming—another trip up the Valley. And I got the Christmas shopping done and even managed to surprise myself with a couple of the selections. But when I got home, I was tired and borderline grumpy.

I realize that I don’t do rushed and stressed and over-scheduled all that well. Some of it is likely a function of age and some of it probably has to do with the fact that most of the time, I am rushed and stressed anyway and therefore don’t have the capacity to add the extra that comes from a day like this one—although, to be honest, I did cope with the day. Maybe most of the problem is my reaction to stress not so much the handling of the stress. Maybe my problem is that I forget I am capable of doing what I need to do and letting myself forget that allows room for counterfeit stress to thrive.

May the peace of God be with you.