The Open Window

In the hotel where I stayed in Brazil last August was an open window. US hotels have windows that are securely locked, if not installed as an immovable glass plate. I suppose this is for interior climate control but its usually unpleasant; the air is totally stagnant and often stale. Smoking may not have been permitted for five years but from the moment you enter the room its past history is of no doubt. Even in the nicest rooms, with the most pleasant amenities, the air quality is generally lacking.  The strange thing about this open window was that it had no glass at all. The large, street-facing open space had a very solid, metal louvered covering on the outside, and a kind of light-blocking screen that rolled down on the inside, but there was no way to close the window. It was open permanently, by design.  How charming, I thought.  

In Brazil, sitting home watching TV is not the norm. I was struck by the fact that socializing wasn't a occasional activity, it was a way of life. People come out in the evenings to gather together and talk in the streets. The younger people drive around in their cars, going around and around the block with their windows down talking to people they know on the sidewalks. This goes on for hours every night. At 1:00 am people were still in the streets laughing and smoking and honking their horns. As I lay awake, the conversations being held on the street below my window reminded me of a crowded restaurant where one notices lots of voices in varying volumes all around but can't really hear any of them. Okay, this was not so charming after all.

My host was more than willing to request an interior room were this to be intolerable - but I loved the fresh air and the smells of Brazil and there was something enchanting about that open window. It was, all in itself, an adventure. I made up my mind to adjust, and I did.  It wasn't a perfect night's sleep, but after awhile the street noise became a familiar presence.

As I look back on this open window, it seems a good metaphor for God's relationship with us. We tend to be in a closed posture toward God; we chose whether or not to invite God into our private joyful moments or vulnerable places as easily as opening or closing a window; its our life, our room, our window.  But a solid reading of holy texts supports the opposite truth: Its God's life, God's room, God's street, God's open window, and by design, it never closes. From this perspective a couple of things become abundantly clear.  

The first is that the voice of God is never quiet. God is speaking to us from every corner of creation at every moment. There is no where we can go that God does not pursue us, speak to us, with us, through us. But is it any wonder we can't hear God speak when we believe we've closed the window? We deceive ourselves. The heart of the psalmist who knows the larger truth writes, "God, you examine me and know me, you know if I am standing or sitting, you read my thoughts from afar, whether I walk or lie down, you are watching, you know every detail of my conduct.... Where could I go to escape your spirit? Where could I flee from your presence?  If I climb the heavens you are there, there too, if I lie in Sheol." (139:1-3, 7-8) How radically different might our world view be if we were attuned to God's tireless presence and the constant rambling of the voice of the One who created us.

The second is that God is always active. The breath of God carries with it moist heat and thunderous storms in the summer and stinging cold winds in winter and we cannot prevent it. Through God's open window each passing day holds and releases the full measure of promises and losses that make up the created order. Each night the streets are filled with the sounds of people gathering.  The activity rises then fades as the dark of night approaches the light of day. In the early morning hours it is strangely quiet save the sound of the shopkeeper sweeping the walk, and the heavy steps of the occasional passerby on their way to work. After a while, the storefront grills begin to open, one after another: first the clanging of the chain and lock, then the noisy clatter of the receding metal security gate skimming up its track. The motor bikes hazardously zip between the cars, honking, honking as they move through the slowly building congestion in the narrow traffic lanes. And then it is fully day; noise amidst motion, emotions amidst expressions, walking amidst sitting, driving amidst skating, whispering amidst yelling, shuffling steps amidst sharp, deliberate steps, the chiming of church bells and the stillness of prayer amidst echoes of a fiery street preacher and the clapping swooning of the crowd, things sell amidst things that are bought. The ebb of evening comes; dusk. As the street lights brighten, the security gates clang shut and the chains rattle as the locks are set. It is night again and the people take to the streets.  

Adjust so that nothing is lost.

We're not in Eden anymore Todo

It is sometimes challenging to preach after a catastrophic event, especially one that is as tragic at the one the world is witnessing in Haiti since the devastating earthquake last week. What does one say? The underlying questions are: For the faithful, "How can we defend the God we claim to be loving and merciful in the face of such a scale of suffering?" For both the faithful and those who claim otherwise, "If God is so mighty and good, why did God allow this happen?" God is on trial, again.

Well, instead of defending God and our faith (which is what is really on the line), we might be better served by reviewing, even very briefly, the biblical story and God's role in it, as well as the historical record of the interaction of humans with the created world. Let's start with the created world.

"God created... and it was good;" good, not perfect. However, it seems that there was at least the assumption of perfection early on; life that was very sweet indeed and apparently not under threat of the natural order - life in the Garden. As we all know that gig was pretty short-lived. So out into the wider creation we went, to work the land, hunt for food, build our own lodging and generally (if not specifically, as those of us who have experienced childbirth can attest) endure the pain of living in the created world. A world that is good, that is sufficient, that is life-giving and life-sustaining; that is filled with potential, but is not perfect - nor ever promised to be.

For millions of years this planet has been creaking and moaning, splitting open, shifting and erupting; the winds are doing today what they have pretty much always done; and the seas and rainfall do what is natural for them to do as part of the created order. We ask, Why? when should just ask, When? We're not in Eden anymore Todo. We go through life under the self-created illusion that the created world is only for our benefit, our use, our disposal, our control, as if it were our possession. And when it seems to go wrong, suddenly God is to blame. But the natural order that God created is wild and uncontrollable and serves to remind us of God's unfathomable, awesome nature. The created order does not seek to destroy but simply does what is its nature to do. When the earth shifts violently and the landscape changes it is clear that creation itself is continuing to evolve. The ground we stand upon was once under water, and parts of it will be submerged again, given time. It is not that we do not know of this potentially destructive power, we do, we simply chose to ignore it. Even so, we build houses on shorelines that, in the natural course of time, will erode - and there aren't enough sandbags on earth to prevent it. We have the technology to build stronger structures to withstand the earth's violent shaking and destructive winds, but that is not where we chose to invest our resources. God's created order needs no defense, it is doing what it has always done; the issue is how we chose to live in concert with that order. It is far easier to ask, "Why did God do this to these people in this place at this time?" then to admit, "We could have done a better job to protect them and us against these powerful elements."

Humankind has always been at the mercy of the elements. The most obvious example is that of famine, a common threat to the people of the ancient world. God's response, again and again was merciful and saving. Certainly the people who wandered in the wilderness for 40 years knew of hunger and thirst and were provided with water and manna. Even so, many died. And many more mourned their losses. Yet all the while they were continually reminded and thus sustained by God's promise of new life: Shalom for the dead and hope for the living.

We have not been promised safety and protection from the powerful forces of the created world, any more so than we are immune to debilitating disease or accidental injury; it is the hardest part of living. On some level we all worry about the harm that might come to those we love. As a mother and wife, daughter and sister, and as a pastor, I am acutely aware of the tension that exists between the temporal joys and pleasures of life and the 'when' of the uncontainable events of the created world to which we are all subject. The thread the runs through both is the assurance of God's consistent faithfulness, presence, and comfort; so should we wake today only to die there is hope in tomorrow for us and for all who remain.

Perfection as Gift

It still amazes me, after four years, that I actually own horses. Though I had wanted a horse since I was a small child (and my mother thought I would outgrow it . . .), I could not have foreseen how much I would admire their simplicity and splendor until I had lived with them, cared for them, fed them, ridden them, provided for their every need. I could not have come to know the perfection they possess as gift.

For quite a lot of us perfection is an ideal to which we continually aspire knowing all the while that it is truly, finally unattainable. Yes, yes, we fully and easily acknowledge that we will never be perfect in our humanity, but gosh it would be great to be perfect in at least a few things, now and again? Lately, I have found it soothing when frustrated or disappointed, either in myself or with the imperfection of others, to simply say, "Self, I know how you wanted this to be, but it isn't going to be that way - it will be less than you had hoped, but it will be enough because it is enough. So let the dream go and be happy with what has been sufficiently given."

In my former life as a social worker I did a lot of driving and I spent a lot of time in not-so-nice neighborhoods. Over four years of doing this stressful work I developed (quite unintentionally at first) a habit of observing natural objects of beauty in the ugliness of the world I was so deeply submerged. Amidst the most profound expressions of poverty and human misery I would notice perfectly stunning specimens of flowering bushes, dramatically shaped trees, and other small pieces of the natural world. Over years this became an intentional, constant, almost compulsive seeking of perfection in God's creation which kept me grounded in the reality that whatever situation of abuse or addiction or violence I encountered, God was rooted in that place too. It seemed a soothing spiritual salve to ease the feeling of helplessness that crept into every day. There's always a limit, a cruel and terrible limit, to what one can do to relief suffering.

I had forgotten all about that time, that life, until recently, when I began to wonder exactly what it was about the horses that has been so comforting to my soul these last few years. I realized that the only other time I felt so soothed by just looking at something was during those years I spend doing social work. Now I have other animals but I don't see them in the same way - not that they are less mysterious in their beings, they just don't strike me as objects of perfection, or at least not in the same way. So clearly some personal preference and bias is in the mix. To me, horses completely capture the majesty and power of the divine. They do nothing to try to be beautiful and graceful and yet they are. These images of perfection are gifts from God. The perfection they represent is not the same as the perfection to which we aspire. It is the purest form of perfection - not polluted by the corrupted notions of what perfection is supposed to be. God simply puts perfection in front of us as if to say, "This is what it I do: I traffic in images of perfection so that you might have comfort."

Coming Home: A Reality Check

I am so spoiled.  Every time I visit my family in the research triangle area of NC I am reminded of why I love living where I do.  Remote.  Population lite.  Beautiful (my husband refers to it as eye candy everywhere you look).  Still wild in most places and everywhere in spirit.  

Now not everyone is cut out to live in rural, upstate Pennsylvania, on the final ridges of the Appalachian mountain chain.  Actually enjoying the cold weather and tolerating the sometimes impassible roads  in winter is a prerequisite. Beautiful fires in the fireplace or wood stove are not for pictures to be reproduced in House Beautiful but for generating some serious heat.  It only took us four years to figure out exactly how many cords of wood we needed to order, BEFORE it got cold. Learning to live under the haze of SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, is an acquired taste to be sure, but with the right interior lighting and a very good support group its tolerable.  Its amazing how little one cares about how one looks in any particular hat as long as it covers the ears (snugly, very snugly) because when you venture outside in the single digits, which is the high temperature for that day, and the wind is blowing in directly from the Arctic at 50 mph all you're really thinking about is how to keep your nose attached to your face - or at the very least - being able to find it in the snow in order to reattach it once it freezes, cracks and falls off - which you never felt because it was numb within the first 10 seconds you stepped outside.

Ah yes, home sweet home. Visiting populated areas now, after several years of life in the rugged north, reminds me of everything I both miss and loathe.  Having lots of places to shop is a plus, having to pack your lunch to travel across town to get to THE shopping place you wish to go is a minus.  My little town has two lights (a plus) and only one choice in shopping (Wal-Mart) a minus in theory but actually a mixed blessing if one is honest.  It's one thing to proclaim that the store is Satan's spawn and actually be able to boycott it for longer than a week at a time.  Only three people I know are able to achieve this level of discipline and two are married to one another and have no children; the other is a man whose wife does all the family's shopping (she shops Wal-Mart). The rest of us curse it for all the publicized, obvious reasons and shop there anyway - and are darn glad we didn't have to drive into the next state for groceries, a ream of paper and light bulbs (I'm not exaggerating).  But all this frenzy of capitalistic activity makes me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  How can there be enough people to feed all of these businesses?  The car lots here look like small cities in themselves - I'm blown away by all the choices every where you go.  I have lived in big cities before, though many years ago.  And everything I remember about them with not so fond memories I have relived in one way or another on my visits south twice a year.  

This year we had a chance to revisit an old friend who I have not missed in the least these last years; the auto rip-off artist.  We were buying my parent's car now that they are unable to drive. Unfortunately, their decision to relinquish the car was preceded by my father's wrecking it.  The damage was minor but some body work was required before we could take it home.  We could have moved it but it wasn't quite done when we went to get it and we had to return north.  No sweat we were reassured, not a problem, "we've got plenty of space."  Six months later we went to have it moved to the mechanic to have the engine checked out before taking it to its final destination.  A $2000 bill awaited us - storage fee.  Didn't sign for this, didn't agree to this, weren't told of this.  The only words I can use to describe my feeling about this are not permitable on this site - but I assume you are familiar with these deep emotions.  My husband actually spent the next day throwing up and was unable to get out of bed - a coincidence perhaps - but he was actually able to do what I was feeling. Did I mention the car is only worth a thousand at best? 

I can't wait to get home.  After some negotiating we've paid $1000 to settled a bum bill, but not before time ran out, again. It will be another six months before we'll be back to try to take it north, again.  Another plus of rural, small town life is that people like this don't make it in business very long. In order to survive one simply must act according the ways of the Golden Rule.  The consequences of not doing so are that however much you cheated your neighbor will be done to you, in spades.  Small town people are not well-known for how well they get along, but honest business dealings are not optional.  In urban life, the tactics of survival include learning to never trust anyone, take no one at their word and always remember that the sucker born every day includes you and that sooner or later you too will feel the sting of the rip-off artist.  Its not that there aren't honest business people, its that finding them is so rare, a pearl in the oyster - who has the time and money to burn looking?  Definitely a minus.

Well I've moaned and groaned, chopped the guy apart in effigy while cutting up chicken wings for dinner this evening, made confession; fantasized about how to get even; made confession again; complained, yelled, spit, and called friends to cry over spilled milk.  

I have small town friends too; wonderful friends who have listened to me confess my darkest violent wishes on this scam artist and then joked about why the pastor  (that would be me) would be unable to be reached for the next couple of years as she was doing time for these various fanciful acts.  Good friends who advise:  Pay the money, give  your husband a hug, because he too is feeling really badly, (have I mentioned I have not helped that situation?), and come home.  Come home to the several inches of snow that has fallen since we've been away; to the stunning still beauty of the miles of endless mountains riddled with bare trees; the tops of all their branches painted white.  Come home to what is rugged, untamed and undomesticated; where there are no malls or grocery stores but only a single Super Wal-Mart.  Come home to where the preservation of what it means to be truly human is a tangible and worthwhile objective; where the measure of a person is not by what they have managed to acquire or even how well they manage those acquisitions, but by their hospitality, generosity and acts of love for their neighbor (though, admittedly, this is sometimes limited to one's actual neighbor - no one ever said this place was perfect).  Come home to lick your wounds, to regroup, to strengthen and rebound.  Come home to what is safe and familiar and known.  Come home to where you belong.