What’s Your Word About God?

The following comes from Walt’s book, Lighting Your Way, With Love

Okay, so when you hear the word, "theology," what is your initial reaction?  Are you a little intimidated?  Perhaps even turned off?  I remember sitting in my first theology class in seminary and feeling overwhelmed and inadequate.  Theology as a course of academic study relies heavily on philosophy; I was a business major.  Though I had gone to a few Bible studies and was involved in the liturgical life of my home church, I was not a theologian and seriously doubted at the time that I'd ever become one.   

In academia, theology has its own language and logic.  Some of it is dense stuff that requires a lot of pondering and pontificating.  As I sat in that seminary classroom in Gettysburg, I recall fretting, wondering if there was a place for me in the church.  How could I be a pastor if I couldn't do theology?   Within a short time, though, I discovered two things that made these questions irrelevant. 

First, although it seems strange initially, theology as a course of study relies on a unique language, and languages can be learned.  If you crack the code, all those big three- and four-syllable words, it becomes manageable.  Second, and far more critical, is that everyone already has a theology, which may or may not align with that of the ancient philosophers or prominent thinkers of the time.  Put simply, theology is a "word (logos)" about "God (Theos)."  We all have a theology because we have all thought about God.  Even the most petulant atheist has a theology.  Ironically, saying that there is no God is, in fact, a word about God.  Even children have a theology.  Ask a little one to tell you something about God and you will be surprised at the answers.     

If we all have a theology, then we are all theologians of a sort.  On a regular basis, consciously or unconsciously, we make adjustments and additions to our theology.  Experiences in life can add positive or negative ideas about God to our "working" theology.  For example, you find the love of your life.  From the experience of being in love, you might say that God, who is the source of love, brought you together with your beloved.  Or perhaps you just suffered the death of a loved one.  Speaking from the depth of your loss, you might be angry at God and say that God doesn't care about human struggles.   

At this point, you might be thinking: This is all interesting, but what is the point?  Do we need a theology at all?  Does it matter what my “working theology” is?  How does it relate to what I'm doing now in the real world?  Can't I get by without it? 

Sure, you can get by in life without giving much thought to God.  You can survive without a working theology, just as you can survive without exercising or eating healthfully.  There are lots of things that we can avoid in life, but all our choices have consequences.  Pay no attention to your body and you will find that unhealthy lifestyles take a toll.  Pay no attention to God and you will experience a hurting spirit.  If you don’t exercise, you will find that your body may be wanting in the physical activity department.  Likewise, if you don’t work on your theology, you might discover that your soul is wanting spiritually.   

Maintaining a working theology—here is what I believe to be right about God—is one component of spiritual care.  Connected to it is an active worship and prayer life.  These areas work together to make up our faith.   

Spiritual care takes some effort on our part.  Being open to God’s work in our life, our response to God, and the implications that our faith has for our relationships with others is an interactive enterprise requiring our participation.  It is also ongoing.   

At times of transition in life, our theologies are likely to be tested in a way that previously wasn't the case.  Even regular worship attendees who pray every day might find themselves coming up spiritually short.  This situation is particularly real in times of loss.  New questions, some of them quite disturbing, might crowd out what we previously held to be true about God.  We might feel angry or hurt—like God is punishing us or doesn’t care about us.  Ideas and images about God, one we’ve long held or even treasured, may no longer seem to fit our life circumstances.  What to do? 

I mentioned above that the task of theology is an unfinished work.  In trying times, it’s back to the proverbial drawing board.  Time to return to the basics and foundation of our faith.  Engage in the mantra: I believe, help my unbelief.  Breathe deeply.  Pray with a yearning desire for that peace which passes all understanding.  Seek God outside your previously constructed box.  Have the courage to wade into the turbulent waters and tension of the present in the hope that the God who was seen hanging on a cross is present in life’s most difficult places.  Did I mention, breathe? 

A PRAYER FOR YOU:

Gracious God, you were present as the first molecules of air filled my infant lungs.  When I take a deep breath, you fill my body with life.  There is not enough praise or thanks that I can give to you, my Creator and Sustainer.  Help me this day to connect my heart, head, and hands with you, giver of life.  Open my being so that I might grow as your child.  Through Jesus Christ, amen. 

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Today’s reading comes from Walt’s first book, Lighting Your Way, With Love. He wrote it on the occasion of his son leaving for college. It is a devotional book about transitions, faith, and living as a child of God.

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© 2019 Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Centered - A Personal Reflection

The following comes from “Broken and Beloved, 2019”

STEP ONE: BREATHE

Take a deep, cleansing breath. Allow the air to fill your lungs and expand your body. Exhale and empty yourself into the room. Repeat three times - once for the one who Created you, once for the Incarnate One who walks beside you, and once for the Spirit whose life fills your being.

STEP TWO: DWELL IN WORD

“They will hunger no more, and thirst no more;the sun will not strike them,nor any scorching heat;for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.””

— Revelation 7:16-17

I close my eyes and breathe. At first, my body won't even allow me to inhale full and smooth. A strange force prevents me from doing the most basic of human tasks, from taking air into my lungs and expand them with what is essential to life. It is as though someone or something substantial is sitting upon my chest.

But it is no alien life-form, no enemy of my state - it is all the debris of life that has accumulated within my being. Once again, I have allowed my distractions to take me to a place where I am no longer functioning as God designed me.

With eyes closed, I push through the awkward patterns of choppy breaths. Slowly, I expand my lungs to their capacity. My focus is now on one thing alone - breathing. In. Fill. Out. Exhale. Repeat.

I have set the timer on my phone, so I don't have to worry about losing track of time. I have a full ten minutes for a prayerful connection. With my eyes closed, I am not allowing my sight to cause me to stray. Focus. First on breathing and feeling the air move in and out of my body.

Before long, my body reminds my distracted spirit of the ancient pattern of life. Soon I am delighting in the calm and peaceful nature of air exchange. As I settle into the rhythm, my mind begins to clear of all the "gobbly gunk" that has built up since the last time. There are days when this is no small task.

No sooner do I empty my mind then random thoughts appear. A smart scientist once told me that space abhors a vacuum. Yup, that is true. Bizarre doesn't begin to describe the feelings, worries, preoccupations, and distractions that show up. At times they come from the scattered abyss of my inner world. Other times, I am all too aware of their origin; these are the current worries that haunt me.

No matter whence they come, the centering task at hand invites me to push them to the side. Now is not the time to be distracted. So I imagine these rambling thoughts to be a balloon that can I bat away as a child would do. That is all it usually takes for me to be able to refocus.

Sometimes, however, the rambling thought is a little more obnoxious and wants to linger where it is not welcome. On this rare occasion, I change the context of my imaginative construction. Instead of playing with balloons, I picture myself standing in a stream. As the water rushes around my bare feet, it brings with it debris from upstream. I look down at my toes and see what the stream has brought to me; I watch it touch my leg and then float away. It might sound peculiar to you, but it works for me. Don't knock it before you give it a try.

Clearing my mind from all the things that trouble and redirect, I can focus. At that moment (and sometimes it is only for a brief nanosecond), I find a peace that passes all my understanding and experiences. I enter a very precious and holy space of connectedness.

There is a communion between Creator and creature that touches the depth of my being. Words are unable to describe it. Suddenly, and in a flash, there is a link between all those times that I've experienced God's presence in my life: the warmth of a mother's embrace; an overlook at sunset; meeting my future wife; hands upon my head at ordination; the birth of my sons; a tearful goodbye at the bed of a loved one; the first signs of spring. They merge in an inexplicable way that I can only feel and receive with gratitude.

I breathe an even deeper breath, and the spirit fills every empty place in my being. God is near. There is a blessing, and I am beloved. My heart smiles as joy spreads inside. Although I remain very much connected to earth, the experience transports me to the metaphorical summit of a high mountain where God transfigures. For just a fraction of time, distractions are gone and I'm centered.

STEP THREE: RESPOND IN PRAYER

Gracious and Loving God, help me to stop for a moment and breathe. Give me the strength to push aside all distractions and diversions. Instead, let me focus on your presence, which is ever near. Envelope me with your loving care so that I might delight in being your child. Let me find new courage for facing the challenges and opportunities that lie in front of me. Through Jesus, amen.

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© 2019 Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Distracted - A Personal Reflection

The following comes from “Broken and Beloved, 2019”

STEP ONE: BREATHE

Take a deep, cleansing breath. Allow the air to fill your lungs and expand your body. Exhale and empty yourself into the room. Repeat three times - once for the one who Created you, once for the Incarnate One who walks beside you, and once for the Spirit whose life fills your being.

STEP TWO: DWELL IN WORD

“The time is surely coming, says the Lord God,when I will send a famine on the land;not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water,but of hearing the words of the Lord.They shall wander from sea to sea,and from north to east;they shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the Lord,but they shall not find it.””

— Amos 8: 11-12

Sometimes it is hard to get the words out and put them down on paper. The white screen with blinking cursor might as well be a mystical portal to another realm that is blocked by the magic of a dark wizard. Words don't always come; even to a professional purveyor of words.

Sometimes my mind wanders to faraway places or shifts through an abstract blur. Even though I need to be elsewhere, I allow the mental drift to happen. I have found that fighting it is worse. Better to ride the flow than to struggle in the riptide.

Why am I so easily distracted? I'm no longer a child. My hormone-filled teenage years are a distant memory. I have arrived in those middle years of life where I've established my routines, likes/dislikes, and I'm comfortable mostly in my skin.

Try as I might, however, to focus on the things that I need to do around the house, pay attention to the needs of others in my family, and work through a never decreasing to-do list at church -I remain susceptible to a rogue thought or passing squirrel. As much as I welcome the diversion when I reenter reality, I find that I'm overwhelmed.

Maybe it is because I expect myself to be able to multitask with the ease of a personal computer. Life is busy. So much goes on in the hours that I'm awake. When I try to expand the number of hours in a day, I find out the hard way of the value of a good night's sleep.

I know that when I'm distracted, it hurts my relationships with others. When I drift off or give in to the beckoning call of my smartphone with its silly games, I am not available to my family. You could say the same thing about every other sphere of my life including my spirituality. Distractions compromise my availability; I am less present when I'm chasing squirrels and butterflies. Whence did butterflies come?

When I'm not present at the moment, I miss things. I lack the availability necessary to engage, receive, comment, listen, or respond appropriately. Unaware of others - their needs, wants, desires, ideas - I get trapped in a vortex of self-interest.

Everything becomes all about me. I am at the center of the universe and disconnected by my delusion. In the extreme, this is a dangerous place at which to arrive. Here is where you create impotent gods out of straw. It is a socially and spiritually bankrupt location that will result in nothing good for ourselves, others, and the rest of the planet.

I forget about practicing my faith. In the heat of such days, my spirit withers a bit under the radiation of my self-concern. The questions are no longer: where is God in this day or what would God have me to do with this day? Instead, I replace any thought about God and God's will for my life with ME. What works best for me? What seems most right for me?

When I wander off all by myself into the land of daydreams, I disavow all my connections and responsibilities. It feels for a moment like freedom. For a moment there is a joy as I cast cares aside. Yay! No more worries!

Of course, all these things (the worries, cares, connections, responsibilities) shall return and with an unsympathetic harshness. When that happens, my spirit crashes again into a pit of despair.

They were too busy with a great many things: relationships, business, and possessions. When the invitation arrived from the king, they were distracted and unavailable. They forgot the importance of their presence at the King's event. Although the grand banquet was the central event, they allowed their distractions to deceive them into thinking that they had more pressing matters. On account of their inattention, their seats were given away.

STEP THREE: RESPOND IN PRAYER

Gracious and Loving God, I am easily distracted by a great many things. When I wander off, go with me. Watch over me closely. Remind me of your everlasting love when I forget that I'm your beloved child. Reconnect me with others, when I mistakenly think that I can go through the world by myself. Through Jesus Christ, amen.

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© 2019 Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Beyond "Either Or"

The following comes from “Broken and Beloved, 2019”

STEP ONE: BREATHE

Take a deep, cleansing breath. Allow the air to fill your lungs and expand your body. Exhale and empty yourself into the room. Repeat three times - once for the one who Created you, once for the Incarnate One who walks beside you, and once for the Spirit whose life fills your being.

STEP TWO: DWELL IN WORD

“Make me to know your ways, O Lord;teach me your paths.Lead me in your truth, and teach me,for you are the God of my salvation;for you I wait all day long.””

— Psalm 25: 4-5

Do you like either pizza or ice cream? Chocolate or beer? Vacation or Christmas? Pick any two items that you favor and put them into the equation: either _______or_______. It is a tough choice.

Now do it again, this time, pick two things you don't like or would rather not do. File taxes or dental surgery? Would you rather get eaten by a crocodile or by a shark?

As hard as this exercise might be, we do this sort of thing all the time. Maybe such extremes don't present themselves to us, but we are familiar enough with "either-or" scenarios. By definition, you can't have it all but must choose between options.

There are winners and losers whenever "either-or" frames the decision. In our divisive culture, we readily employ "either-or" when it comes to controversial issues and stances. Either you are with me, or you are against me.

In such a framing, there are extremes, and things are black and white. No gray. Enemies or friends. Good or evil. In such dualistic thinking, there is little middle ground or space for compromise. Gaps quickly form, and we can find ourselves on opposite sides of the proverbial street.

Separation and isolation are byproducts of "either-or" processing and thinking. But what if our culture is getting it wrong? What if instead of "either-or," life operated more "both-and?"

When Martin Luther taught about Christian life, he used the Latin word, "Simil." We are simultaneous "saint" and "sinner." Luther moves beyond "either-or" thinking and challenges us to consider that both aspects (saint AND sinner) are valid descriptors of our life. But how can such things be true?

Here is where the idea of paradox enters. Take two seemingly contradictory concepts and put them in creative tension with each other. Imagine two sides of the same coin or two poles of a continuum. For example, on the one hand, we are broken people (the sinner part of the equation). We do things that we shouldn't and don't do things that we should. On the other hand, God loves us, and by the grace of God, we are the beloved children of God.

But which is true? Are we broken or beloved? Either one or the other. The Lutheran in me wants to scream out - BOTH!!! Simultaneously both realities apply to my life. I am broken, AND yet, I am still beloved. Trying to choose between these poles, I am likely to get into trouble. If I only see myself as 'broken,' I may get discouraged and depressed. Likewise, if I only see myself as 'beloved,' I may be lured into an arrogance that ignores my 'less-than' perfect self.

Claiming both brokenness and belovedness, I am placing myself in a creative tension that provides a sense of balance. Paradoxical thinking can nurture spiritual growth. Throughout our Lenten journey, we will consider opposite poles. Each week, we will examine two different realities in dialectical tension. Although we might find that we naturally gravitate toward one of the poles, the other pole will stretch and challenge us to grow. It might get a little uncomfortable but let's agree to endure such temporary emotions for a deeper understanding of our relationship with God. With courage, let us seek to go beyond "either-or."

STEP THREE: RESPOND IN PRAYER

Loving God, life is complicated and simplistic explanations, and dualistic thinking always falls short. Grant us the courage to enter into the tension of contradictions. Stretch our thinking by pulling us into directions that are uncomfortable and unknown. Grow our spirit so that we may better understand and apply your abundance love. Through Christ, amen.

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© 2018. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Behind Bars

The following comes from “When the Path Gets Rocky, 2018”

Behind Bars 

READ SCRIPTURE: MARK 4:35-41

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?" And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" 

REFLECTION QUESTIONS:  

When was the last time that you were afraid?  Did fear prevent you from doing something?  When has fear been a barrier between you and others?

FIVE-MINUTE STORY:

The Indictment, trial, and sentencing took the better part of a year to happen.  It was an agonizing time for Michael and his family.  For his crime, Michael (whose name I've changed) would go to jail.  As his pastor, I offered to be present at Michael's trial, sentencing, and intake - to offer support. In his quiet manner, he said, "no thank you."   There was a deep sense of shame.   

The last time that I saw him at church, he wore standard business casual attire.  Michael was a pleasant sort of person - someone always willing to help out.  He served in a variety of capacities at the church and was a family man.  Michael was a good man.      

It took a couple of months of corresponding by mail before Michael finally agreed to let his pastor visit.   He surrendered to the Federal Penitentiary system in one city and was moved around from one place to another.  An orange jumpsuit replaced his dockers and polo shirt.  A number replaced his name.  Michael changed his appearance by shaving his head.      

On the day that I drove to the jail upstate, I was anxious to see Michael again.  I missed him greatly and was concerned about his safety.  What was I going to encounter?  How would his experience change him?   Visiting a jail is a dehumanizing experience.  Wearing my clerical collar provided no courtesy or sympathetic treatment.  

From the moment I arrived, I had a sense that the prisoners were thought of and treated with a disdain that transformed them into non-persons.  Those who came to see these non-persons were themselves suspicious.   I came to find out that communion was a banned substance behind bars.  There was no way that I could bring the sacrament to Michael so it remained in the trunk of my car. 

After sitting in a large waiting room for over an hour, I was finally allowed to enter the facility.  A guard marched me down narrow hallways and through a series of locked doors.  The destination was a large room filled with tables and chairs.   I was ordered to sit down and have no physical contact with the prisoner.   

No sooner did I sit down when I saw Michael come into the room.  Unable to give him a hug or even shake his hand, I longed to connect.  Here was a friend, a member of the church, a child of God - and I couldn't greet him as I wanted, as I'm sure he wanted.  Other than his shaved head and bright attire, Michael displayed no outward signs of his ordeal.  

Now, however, he was untouchable - labeled a felon. Michael's change of status happened as a result of his crime.  He made a mistake and had to suffer the consequences.  Regardless, as I think about how we devalue life, I think not only about Michael's crime but also his incarceration.  Why do we reduce people to less-than-human status?  Why must we downgrade the worth of prisoner and their visitor?  Does this make our society better or does it point to an essential flaw? 

We live in a broken world where people devalue life.  In the face of such things does further devaluation make any sort of positive contribution?  Is there a better way of punishment that can still value life?  As I wonder, I remember the power of using Michael's name in that place of heavily guarded bondage. 

Behind bars, Michael remained a beloved child of God.  The sacrament might have stayed in the car that day, but the Body of Christ entered restricted space to bring forgiveness, grace, and love. 

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© 2018. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Unable to Move Through A Pile of Putty

The following comes from “When the Path Gets Rocky, 2018”

SCRIPTURE: 

MARK 3: 1-6

Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man who had the withered hand, "Come forward." Then he said to them, "Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?" But they were silent. He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS:

Have you ever crossed a boundary to help someone?  What walls prevent you from living as God wants you to live?  What keeps you from being whole in body and spirit?  Where do you most need God's healing? 

FIVE-MINUTE STORY:

At a church carving group, I badly damaged the index finger on my left hand.  The accident resulted in two medical procedures on my finger; one that night in the emergency room and one a few months later.  The second surgery required my first personal experience with physical therapy. 

As a pastor, I have regular contact with people who need to go through some physical therapy.  It is pretty standard after surgery or an extended hospital stay.  Physical therapy is as the name suggests very physical.  It is an ordeal that can be exhausting.  It can also be frustrating as skilled therapists guide the body to relearning basic functioning.  Walking.  Talking.  Getting dressed.  We take these things for granted – hardly think about them at all.  However, when illness or accidents cause our bodies to forget or make them unable to do these things, we find ourselves in a situation that can challenge our spirit.

That was where I found myself after my finger surgery.  Three times a week, I went for physical therapy.  I had to report to a large room with tables and chairs set up in a large semi-circle.  A series of strange-looking and somewhat ominous equipment lined the outside perimeter.  When I started, my finger was still bandaged up from the hospital.  The therapist unwrapped my hand and then began her work.  Can you bend it?

Can I bend my finger?  Of course, I can do that – I was in my thirties and had long mastered the movement of both fingers and toes.  Bend my finger - uh, wait a minute - nothing happened.   Try as I might, I couldn’t move my finger, never mind bend it.  Somehow the connection between brain and body had been compromised.  Although the finger was still attached to my hand, someone else could have owned it, for all the good it was doing me.  It was a surreal experience.  My body was not listening to me.

In that realization, I was given a glimpse into another reality.  People need therapy because their bodies are not listening to them, try as they may.  Therapy is a necessity because, without it, our bodies would remain inactive and unresponsive.

It took a solid month of working with picking up beads and moving finger putty before I was able to use my finger again.  Slow.  Tedious.  Trying.  What would it be like for the whole body to need therapy?  One stubborn, inactive finger tried my patience.  What would I do if an arm, leg, or the left side of my body refused to obey?

Maybe you know?  Maybe you have seen the struggle of rehabilitation first hand. 

Perhaps you have insight into this whole matter.  I know that for me it was a struggle that made me question my worth and value.  What good and use was  I?  I couldn’t move my finger to accomplish a simple task.  One small “dis-ability” and I questioned larger competence and value. 

Why did I entertain prejudicial feelings about my worth?  Why did my inability to move finger putty spiral me into self-abnegation?  Disappointed.  Self-discounted. Discouraged.  

Though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I needed to mend not only my body but also my spirit.  I needed to reclaim my sense of worth as a child of God – broken body and all.   The healing that I yearned for – the shalom (wholeness) that I sought was more than physical.  I needed to be made whole in my spirit – with or without the ability of my finger to move through a pile of putty. 

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© 2018. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Hiking An Ice Field

The following comes from “UP: Lenten Journey, 2017”

The trail curved around the alpine ridge and it started to decline.  At this point, we would turn away from the view of Mt. Rainier that accompanied us up the ridge trail.  Now we would be looking out across the vast valley and unnamed purple-hewed peaks in the distance.  Descending, I could feel the muscles in my legs ache in different places.  The pace of the hike slowed with a sense of caution.  There were no guard rails.  If you fell at this point, there would not be much to stop your falling, perhaps fatally, down the mountainside.

Ahead, the rocky and dirt trail disappeared into a large snow field.  On the way up the ridge, this happened for a brief spell.  Snow at this altitude has little motivation to melt.  The snow field that met us on our ascent was fun and somewhat whimsical.  Imagine, snow in July!  It remained on a somewhat gentle slope.  Previous hikers had cut a clear path through the snow/ice.  Though there were no guardrails to stop a downward tumble, it didn’t seem likely to happen here.   However, on the other side of the ridge, which the width of the mountain originally prevented us from seeing, the snow field was a different story. 

Instead of a short snow crossing, the snow field was at least two city blocks long!   What is more, the slope on which the snow rested increased significantly.  “Oh Boy,” said I to myself.  To add additional challenge and complexity to the situation, the path cut through the snow was extremely narrow.  Evidently, the number of hikers that traveled this way was fewer.  Either that or their feet were smaller! 

It would be good to mention that we weren’t alone on this hike.  Although the Lichtenberger Four was a solitary expedition, throughout the day, we saw others.  Maybe a couple of dozen people were also out enjoying the trails.   When we approached the steep snowfield (which also didn’t have any guardrails, safety nets, or fence to prevent a rapid descent into the valley), there were others around.  We just passed a church group (you could tell from their Jesus sweatshirts; besides, pastors are somewhat easy to spot).  Halfway through the snowfield was a group that matched our size.   We would wait until they made it through until we started down the treacherous terrain.

I should mention at this point that all the members of the Lichtenberger Four party had hiking sticks.  Over the years, over many trails, I have found a hiking stick to be an essential piece of gear.  With a hiking stick in hand, you have better balance and can navigate tricky spots.   The snowfield we faced on that high altitude trail certainly qualified as a ‘tricky spot.’    Carefully we stuck our hiking sticks into the snow above and began the crossing.  Leaning upward, slowly we place one boot in front of the other.  Looking down (though I did from time to time) was not a good idea.  Slow.  Steady.  Forward.  At one point, we encountered a group of hikers on their way up that were in too much of a hurry to wait for us to clear the field.  We stopped, leaned on our sticks, and let the impatient ones walk downhill around us. 

Eventually, we accomplished our goal; we made it safely through!  Yay!  I must confess, at that point, I was ready to give a press conference to the National Geographic folks – the adventurer self-image that lives in my imagination doubled in size.    Seriously, the hike that had treated us to such wonderful views of Mt. Rainier blessed us with an adventure that would not soon be forgotten.

As the trail left the snowfield behind, we came to a sign that someone posted in the middle of the trail.  From the direction we were traveling, you could not see what it read.  Curious, we looked on the other side.   With an ironic chuckle, we read; “Caution: Steep Icy Slopes Ahead. Ice Axe Recommended.”  Sometimes, you just have to laugh. 

Our spirituality, from time to time, would benefit from a chuckle or too.   Life can be, after all, absurd.  It doesn’t make sense and trying to wrestle meaning out of every last minute is funny.  What is more, the contradictions in life provide abundant fodder for our very own late-night comedy sketch.   A perpetually serious demeanor holds to the lie that an undisturbed order and meaning undergirds everything.  Some call it purpose and maintain that it drives meaningful and successful lives.  Really? Ha!  

Such thinking ignores or tries to explain away the rough places where life is unfair or doesn’t quite add up.  If God is the provider of purpose, then God must also be the provider of tragedy.  Do we want to go there? 

What if instead of carefully constructed order and meaning to the universe (and our lives) and resting in a comfortable corner office while creation figures it all out, God is in the midst of the absurdities and contradictions.  The cross locates Divine presence in the very place of contradiction; God chooses the deadly cross to be a place of life rather than a place of death.  Absurd.   So absurd, in fact, that it brings the kind of laughter that welcomes unfathomable joy. 

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Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Finding It Hard to be Open

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“...Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”

— Luke 15: 31-32

From the new book Lighting Your Way, With Love

Jesus told a group of his critics, who were having a hard time with his “open table” policy, a story about a family squabble that continues to be all too relatable.   

Two very different brothers were vying for their father’s love.   The irresponsible one leaves home to squander a fortune.  He pays no respect to his father and asks for his inheritance ahead of time.  It is as though his father has become dead to him.  The dependable son remains faithful, stays home, and shows the proper honor to his father.   

All heck breaks loose: the wayward son returns home; the father welcomes him without restraint; the responsible son refuses to acknowledge his brother's existence.  There is trouble in the family as feelings are hurt, verdicts levied, and hearts break.   

It is a timeless tale that has a wide audience.  Even non-Christians might be familiar with this Jesus story, which is traditionally labeled "the prodigal son."  We might even hear someone refer to another, or themselves, as being the prodigal one in the family.   

Often lost in the retelling of the story is the original audience and context.  Jesus told this tale to those who were apt to judge.  The Pharisees opposed Jesus's ministry, which reached out to the margins and shared God's hospitality with the outcast.  According to the Pharisees, these people didn’t deserve God’s favor.  Yet Jesus ate and shared table fellowship with those whom the Pharisees marked as “unclean” and not worthy of God's attention.  Like the older brother in the story, both their lack of compassion and grace consumed them.   

This remains a tale that contains a pointed message, which speaks to the inner Pharisee within each of us.  Somewhere in our spirit, there exists a cauldron where legalism and judgment combine to form a toxic poison that bubbles over.  Whether we are prone to direct that venom on others or ourselves, it is invariably harmful and destructive.  Relationships suffer from the strain of internal and external condemnation.  Self-esteem withers under self-judgment.   

The final episode of Jesus's story speaks directly to this detrimental phenomenon.  In seething anger, the older brother refuses to enter the joy of his father.  The forgiving father seeks him out and begs him to come to the feast, to be a part of the celebration.  Forgiveness and reconciliation are the music that plays at the party to which the father has invited both his sons.  Jesus leaves the story open-ended for us to complete. 

How much authority and power will we give to our inner Pharisee?  Will we allow this damaging influence to dominate our relationships with others?  Will we let this voice shout within and make us feel unworthy to the core?  Will we exclude ourselves from the party? 

Or will we find the courage and wisdom to lean into God's grace?  Forgiveness and reconciliation come to us as generous gifts from a God who refuses to let us go.  It is a crazy idea—God loves us so much that no judgment in heaven, earth, or within can have the last word.  God desires a life-giving connection with you and with me.  Further, God wants us to extend that connection to others: family, friends, and strangers alike.  

Through God's outpouring of love in Jesus, we find an invitation to join our voices in a jubilant song.  Rejoice!  Shout for joy!  We have to sing, dance, and make merry. 

Found are all the lost.  Reunited are all the estranged.  Included are all the discarded.  Mercy has spoken louder than judgment.  Love has silenced the Pharisee’s objection as he or she enters the party.

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A Note to My Son:  

Dear Noah,
You know that "judgment" is a bad word at our house.  You also know that we have all called each other on “judging.”  When we judge others with disapproving words, glances, or tones, we do damage.  It is also true when we judge ourselves unworthy. 

I'm not saying that we should abandon all critique.  Seeking to better ourselves by measuring progress, effectiveness, and skill is not a bad thing.  Improving ourselves and our work should be a lifelong aspiration.   

That said, there is a difference between striving for excellence and beating up on ourselves or others for not being good enough.  True worth comes not from what we do or produce or attain. Instead, it comes from being the person God made us be.  Our value in life comes as a gift from God, and we express it best through loving and non-judging relationships with others.

Love you, always,

Dad.

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 Permission granted to share today's content with family and friends.  Copyrighted 2018. Walt Lichtenberger

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When teenagers leave home, it is a time of adjustment for the whole family. Lighting Your Way, With Love helps young and old find the wisdom, courage, and faith to face what lies ahead. Walt writes from the dual-perspective of a father whose son is going off to university and a seasoned pastor who has walked with others during times of transition.

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Terrifying Power and Majesty

blog first published on March 22, 2017

"On the cross, our illusions are killed off.  On the cross, our small self dies so that the true self, can emerge.  On the cross we give up the fantasy that we are in control, and the death of this fantasy is central to acceptance (Parker Palmer, The Promise of Paradox,  46)".

Before we pulled into the parking lot of the Johnson Ridge Observatory, we caught a glimpse of Mt. St. Helens in the distance.  Majestic.  A queen without an earthen crown, the horseshoe-shaped volcano was instead adorned atop with clouds.  It looked like we were going to be granted a rare audience with the mountain monarch.  

Thirty-six years and two months of time had elapsed since the fateful day when Mt. St. Helens unleashed its fury.   The parking lot, where we parked the RV, was once a forest.  You can see evidence of this previous identity surrounding the perimeter of the asphalt terrain.  Like the immovable protectors of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, gray stumps stand on guard.  Unlike their soldier counterparts, though, their appearance is less than tidy.  The top of each stump looks ragged like someone snapped a pencil.  

From the Johnson Ridge Observatory, we could see into the crater that was gouged out from the eruption.  It took only 40 seconds for the blast to travel the five and a half miles from mountain to the very spot we were standing.  A terrifying sense of futility fills my imagination; if I was standing then where I was now, would I have even known what was happening?  Escape would have been an impossibility.  Sound? Pressure?  Would I have even felt a thing as life passed away?  Would I have experienced a thousand horrible things as the shock wave crashed?  Seeing what the blast did to the trees in an instant, I don’t want to imagine what would have happened to my unrooted being had I been there.

As I stood in that place, the truth that I have experienced before when looking at a dark sky came once again.  I am small.  In the big picture, I am but a tiny pixel.  Any illusions of being the center of the universe fade quickly away.  All those moments when I have boasted of my smarts, prowess, strength, wisdom seem like the churros at a pushcart in Fantasyland; full of as many empty calories as sugary, fried dough.  The sense of being in control – the ultimate deception – also fades.  I am in about as much control as the shredded dead stumps that litter Johnson Ridge.  

At first glance, such realizations might seem depressing and to invite inaction.  If I’m not IN CONTROL then why bother?  Why even get up in the morning?   These might be the questions that pop into our minds.   They come from the place of fear.  Part of the reason we buy into the lie of being in control, propagated by our consumeristic culture, is that it can be downright scary to not.   Of course, deception is not real, and it misplaces our focus and attention from the truth.  

Just because we join the rest of humanity in lacking complete control (as catastrophic events such volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, etc. reminds us), it doesn’t mean that the universe is empty of agency.  It does mean, however, that it does not rest within our hands.  We can’t buy it, build it, invent it, steal it, demand it, expect it, or achieve it no matter how smart, rich, privileged, documented, or ego-centric we might find ourselves.

The cross proclaims this larger reality.  Our small self, as Palmer suggests, dies along with our fantasies of control.  What remains ought not to be feared because it lives in a place that runs as deep as our fears, the essence of our created selves.  What remains after the cross wipes our whiteboard clear of its pretensions and deceptions is an open space where acceptance can blossom.

Acceptance is a spiritual reality that honors the whole of created order (including the catastrophic elements) by receiving our place in it as a gift.  We might not be the center of the universe, but we are certainly part of it.  Our tiny pixels contribute to the light of the whole picture.  Our Creator has reserved for us a place and a role – wonderfully small as it is.   As we connect with this truth, we find purpose and meaning in our lives.  What is more, when we live into the truth that we matter, along with the stars in the sky and the shock wave of a volcano, we start becoming a collaborator in the ongoing process of creation.  Fear drives withdrawal from creation.  Acceptance ignites engagement. 

On the windy slope of Johnson Ridge, I breathed a different sort of breath.  One not of horror but one that honored the magnitude of power beyond myself.   It was a breath full of promise.  

Permission granted to share with family and friends.  Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger

Light in the Trees

The following was first published on September 16, 2016

Learning to paint watercolor has taught me a few unexpected things about spiritual life.  Before heading out on my sabbatical pilgrimage, I had the good fortune of receiving a few private lessons from a local, accomplished artist.  My teacher, Jill, was gracious, patient, and had that wonderful ability to meet me where I was to give me the tools that I needed to go further.  I remember bringing her one of my first paintings, which was accomplished via some tips I picked up on u-tube.  It came out okay but it lacked some of the true essences of watercolor.  It was as though I had painted a painting in acrylic or oil.     

Years ago, I dabbled a little (very little) in acrylics.  Thanks to Jill's instruction, I was to find out that the difference between these mediums is truly ontological.  With acrylics (and oils), you build up layers of paint.  Highlights (brushstrokes of white that mimic light) are added to the top of things that you paint on the canvas.  Watercolors, on the other hand, work from light to dark.  If you want to add highlights you need to either remove paint (which is rather easy when you are working in a medium that is water-soluble) or you need to leave white space from the get-go.  You can mask an area with masking fluid; this rubber-cement-type material prevents the paint from adhering to the area.  Your other option is to leave areas blank.  The white of the paper becomes an important participant in the painting.   

As I was painting on a daily basis throughout the sabbatical pilgrimage, I found myself applying Jill's wisdom.    I began going lighter with my colors earlier on in the painting process.  I also started to leave more white space in my work.   

In a recent conversation with my spiritual director, I reflected upon the progress I was making with my painting.  I shared that my painting had given me a new perspective as I looked at things.  Looking out the window, I described seeing the beautiful oak and maple trees in my backyard.  I noticed the multiple shades of green and the way that the light was moving through the leaves.  Were I to paint the tree, I would need to leave white space in order to allow for the light. 

Thinking back on this conversation, I wonder about leaving space in our days for the Light of God to find expression.  How might we pay attention to not only the colors that we see but also to the places where color is absent?  What are we missing in our incessant efforts to paint, paint, paint?  How would our imagination and creativity be served if we simply started to notice and revere the light?  

My painting and my spiritual awareness continues to be a work-in-progress.  Practice is an important discipline in that it allows for us to apply the wisdom (of teachers, faithful conversation partners, and sacred words) to our living and our response.  We grow as the light comes through the leaves of our days.  Joy happens when we become aware that the light which gently caresses our moments comes as a gift from our loving God.

Volcano in Remission

The following was originally posted on August 6, 2016.  It has been edited:

As we looked across the vulcanized valley we could still see the wreckage of nature's fury. Thirty three years after the eruption, forests of dead trees lie in the direction of the famed blast. Volcanic debris covers like a funeral pall across what once was a lush arboreal garden. At the Johnson visitor's center, Mount St. Helens looms large. Even though clouds crowned the summit, we could see well into the crater that bears evidence to the magnitude and raw power of that moment when the mountain awoke.

It was a solemn and quite place where the wind speaks strong. In the very place that I was standing, it took only forty seconds for the blast to reach on that fateful morning in 1983. Forty seconds after the Mountain belched, this place, which is five and a half miles away, was forever changed. Forty seconds before that, the mountain was 'dormant' or to use common parlance was in 'remission'.

"Remission" is a uneasy word. Those who suffer from chronic illness know this.  Even though they might long to hear it when the word 'cure' is not able to be spoken.  "Remission" means that for the moment there is an opportunity to live unfettered. There is also a chance that the moment might extend for a few years. When in remission, one lives in the wishful hope that maybe a cure will be found or maybe the volcano has gone dormant forever.

The sad truth is that volcanoes remain active below the surface. One of the lessons from St. Helens is that there is movement before eruptions. Under the surface, steam and lava are in cycles of building up and releasing pressure. Information gathered by scientists from the volcanic activity on this summit has sharpened the predictive tools of those who monitor these resting giants. Next time that St. Helens explodes we will be better prepared for the unstoppable blast, ash, and destruction. Even so, diagnostics can not hold eruptions at bay. The volcano will eventually do what it is that volcanoes do. Remission does not last indefinitely.

But life goes on... Therein lies the hope that is woven into even the most destructive portions of creation. Even though it might be changed forever, life goes on in the tiny delicate flowers that desperately cling to the side of barren hillsides. Life continues in the crunchy moss and lichens. Life goes on, beyond the time when remission and destruction ends. For life belongs not to the disease or the eruption but to the maker of heaven and earth.

The Squiggle Experience

The following comes from the Lenten series “When the Path Gets Rocky, 2018”

Scripture: Mark 9:38-41

John said to him, "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us." But Jesus said, "Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us. For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS:

Have you ever felt threatened by the generosity or faith of another?  Do you consider your belief the only way to have faith? How open are you to God working outside the boundaries of the Christian community, tradition, and your faith understanding?  How big is your concept of God?

FIVE-MINUTE STORY:

Ever since I can remember, I have enjoyed drawing.  For me, to have a pencil in hand and the space of a blank page for creating is satisfying.  Throughout elementary school and high school, I drew a variety of things from doodles in the margins of my notebooks to detailed sketches with shading.  When I reached college, I was excited for the opportunity to take a drawing class as one of my liberal arts credits. I never had a drawing class, and I was sure that I could benefit from some technical training.  With enthusiasm, I gathered all the supplies ahead of time.

With pencils, eraser, and a brand new sketchbook in hand, I entered the large studio classroom.  The professor walked in and made his way to the chalkboard. Silently, he started to sketch an apple.  It was a nice looking apple, complete with shading. On the other side of the chalkboard, he scribbled a squiggle.  When done, he addressed the class; “Class, which is the true representation?”

I sensed a set-up.  True representation?  The apple looked like an apple.  The squiggle didn’t look like anything at all.  As I deliberated, a more adventurous classmate responded, “the apple!”  Wrong. The squiggle? Right!

Huh?  Bewildered, I listened to the teacher’s explanation, “The squiggle was being true to itself - it was a squiggle and nothing more.  The other image, however, was pretending to be an apple. The image of the apple lacks integrity because it was not true to itself.”

After class, I left the art studio and marched straight to the Registrar to drop the course. I was not ready for philosophy.   I wanted to be taught to draw what I saw. Looking back, the "squiggle experience" threatened me. It operated outside my carefully scripted world.

Sadly, I missed an opportunity to not only develop my artistic skill but also to expand my thinking.  I wasn’t ready for this type of growth. At the time, I was too focused on mirroring and copying the world around me, that I couldn’t grasp underlying truths.  I was also too obsessed with grades. I couldn’t risk my grade point average to a class where the professor had “weird” ideas.

Looking back to the sketches in my drawing pads, they tell a story.  I tried to capture every detail of what my eyes witnessed. In the process, these images lack emotion and fail to connect with the heart.  I sought elusive perfection and precision. I missed the beauty and imperfection of life that good art brings to bear upon our conscience.

I regret my not having the courage to stay in that class.  I know now that I would have benefited from the strange lessons that would have challenged my carefully guarded assumptions.  But I wasn’t ready, and there is something to be said about the wisdom of the student needing to find the teacher. Now, I am finally open to learning from squiggles.

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Copyrighted 2018. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Eyes Upward

The following comes from my 2017 Lenten series.

O Israel, hope in the Lord

from this time on and forevermore.  Psalm 131: 3

Leaving the Redwood forest, I was filled with a renewed spirit.  It was a magical place that allowed for regeneration.  The Bible imagines Eden as a garden.  I wonder if it might have been a forest in the northwest.  Although the paths that we traveled throughout our stay in Redwood National Park were mostly flat, it was a place for the heart to ascend.

When you are standing at the base of a Redwood, there is a pull upward.  Your eyes can’t help but follow the enormous trunk skyward.  It is hard, maybe impossible, to see the crown of some of these giant trees.  Far above, where the sun breaks through the heavy canopy, a focal point emerges just beyond the limits of our vision. It is bright and lofty.  Is this a manifestation of hope? A glimpse of the heavenly realm? 

Hope.  It is an essential Christian value; it is a precious treasure that lives in that space beyond our seeing.  According to St. Paul, “Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen?  But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8:24-25).”  What is more, all of the creation shares this unseeable spiritual reality as it groans and waits for God to generate new life, whereby setting it from the shackles of decay and death.  

We hope because we seek reconnection for our broken lives; we yearn for God, the source of all life, to write the next chapter of Genesis with us included.  Living in the midst of messy contradictions and paradoxes, we find ourselves confronted with the unlikeliness that this will ever happen; we resist by not getting our ‘hope’ too high.  Still, with the fragment of the Divine spark in our gullet, we can’t help ourselves.  We hope with high hopes because that is how God created us.

Psalm 131 concludes with a hope that is communal.  We find ourselves in another spiritual paradox between the individual and communal.  We were created by God to hope and trust deeply in the relationship that God established with each of us.  Hope is an intimate thing – between our hearts and God’s heart.  And, it is also corporate.  Hope exists in the context of a community that encompasses the whole creation.  We groan along with the Redwoods in mystical forests for God to redeem. 

Hope seeks the renewal of ALL brokenness and decay.  It looks to a future, that lies beyond our sight when God will establish right relationships between all life in the universe.  To do this, it borrows the vision of eternity and the language of ‘forevermore.’  

As a community of faith and struggle (borrowing Letty Russell’s definition of ‘church’), we sing hope-filled songs of redemption for the whole creation, and we are inspired to walk the ascending trail that heads in God’s direction.  That direction, of course, is the same one that leads from the cross to empty tomb. 

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Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

Old Tire Guys

blog first published on February 1, 2017

Two decades have passed since I saw most of them.  We were both younger then.  I was in college, working at my Dad's tire warehouse during the summer months.  They were at the height of their wheeling and dealing careers.  Most came to pick up their tires, although we delivered tires to a few of them.  As a group, they remain an interesting bunch - like character actors cast in gritty 'real-life' roles.   They could spin a yarn or a joke or a creative string of profanity with the best of them.   Although I was not cut out for a life of working with tires, I enjoyed being in the presence of these 'tire guys.'  

Last week, at my Uncle John's funeral, they came out.   Since the closing of the family tire business two years ago, none of these people were 'still in business' with my family.   They didn't need to come to the funeral home to show their respect.  There was no monetary or business benefit to coming out on a busy Thursday night.   None of the major tire companies, whose products my family sold over the years, were present.  It was "just business" for them, nothing personal.  When that business concluded, so did the personal connection.   Not so with the old tire guys.  They came.

My respect for these, somewhat rough around the edges, men overflows.  It was more than 'good to see' them.  It brought back memories.  What is more, their presence was a precious treasure to my Dad and brother (who carries on the family tire mantle).  In showing up, these men bore witness to a fundamental truth about business, about life; relationships are central.  For the old tire guys, the relationships forged in the harsh and competitive tire industry of North Jersey meant more than just the bottom line.   They were a thread in the daily fabric of life itself.  And that is where the rubber meets the road.

As I continue to reflect on the Eucharistic life, this is important.  The regular encounters that we have with others, even in business transactions, create a web of relationships.  In this web, we live our lives with all their joys and sorrows, ups and downs, triumphs and failures.  Where there are relationships, there is the potential to enter into holy mysteries.  God is about relationships.  Christian communities are invited to embody God's love in relationships within the church.   Christ commands, calls, and cajoles Christians to share in tangible ways with each other the kind of love that Jesus experiences from God.  "Going to church" is important because it is our engagement in loving relationships with other believers.  Lest we think that this action is exclusive to or reserved for church, Christ invites us beyond the church for participation in a larger web of relationships.   These relationships are holy in so far as they embody Jesus' love, grace, respect, trust.  They find sacred grounding in the values of Jesus, not in the doctrines of Christianity.  

 
If I were to mention to the 'old tire guys' that they were part of something holy or sacred, they would certainly have a few choice words for me (remember their proclivity for stringing together creative profanity).  My Uncle certainly didn't subscribe to inclinations of holy living.  Nonetheless, holy living transcends even our characterizations of it.  

When life is honored and lived in relationships - even if those who are relationally connected don't acknowledge or agree - there is something that is holy; there is something of God in the living.   Eucharistic living comes as we recognize and celebrate the holiness of all life.  Eucharistic living is a Christian approach to life that is open to connections both within and beyond the church; God is God of all life, Christian and non-Chrisitian.  
Roll on 'old tire guys,' roll on!

 

Rainbows

The following comes from “UP: Lenten Journey, 2017”

Leaving the Wapiti Campground, which is near the town of Jasper in the northern section of the park, we headed out early for a full day’s adventure.  The first stop would take about a half-hour drive to reach:  Athabasca Falls.  Not the tallest waterfalls by any measurement, this falls is famous for the sheer volume of water that cascades into the gorge.  The sound and spray are all encompassing as you stand at the observation alcoves.   As I watched nature’s fury, the early morning sun and the water molecules combined to form a rainbow. 

I love rainbows.  For some reason, they always come as a surprise to me.  That was certainly the case with the rainbow that I saw at Athabasca Falls.  Instead of hanging in the sky, the rainbow was down in the midst of the gorge.  It playfully caressed the hard rock that the water was rushing over. 

Some are quick to point out the science behind rainbows.  They are, after all, an optical illusion that occurs when you view water droplets at a certain angle relative to a light source.   After a rain shower on a sunny day, as the air is still moist, you are likely to see a rainbow.  At the falls, with all the airborne water droplets, rainbows commonly appear.

For me, they live in the place of spirit and delight which science fails to describe.  With childlike glee, I will announce, “Look a rainbow!”  I want others to share in the joy and fleeting experience.  Rainbows don’t last forever.  When moisture levels change, angles of light change, rainbows can disappear.

Rainbows have spiritual significance for those who read the Bible.  The Noahic covenant involved a rainbow as a sign of the covenant that God made with Noah that creation would never be destroyed again by a flood (see Genesis 9:12-16).   It is the first covenant made by God in scripture, and it is truly a covenant with all creation.  Rainbows remind us of God’s desire that life continues in all its complexity, diversity, and even brokenness.  That said, the rainbow reminds God too: “When the bow is in the clouds, I [God] will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creation of all flesh that is on the earth (Genesis 9:16)."  God remembers the promises made to all living things with the help of rainbows.  Cool thought!

The covenant that God made with Noah and all living things (by extension that includes us) is but the first of many covenants in which the Creator relates to the created.  Even after humanity breaks its end of the covenants, God remains merciful and moves in the direction of forgiveness and liberation.  We are liberated, freed, from the things that prevent us from living life fully as God’s children.  Freed by the grace and mercy of God so that we might live as children of God.  Liberated that we might orient our lives in the direction of the Spirit.  What does this mean?

It means that we have work to do.  The work of opening ourselves to the Spirit’s movement as it builds community and seeks to bring people together.   It is to be a co-creator and care for this planet, for the rainbow forming water that rushes over the rocks.  To care also for the relationships that God has entrusted to us.  Our family and friends – to be sure.  But also to be open to the possibility of caring for the stranger and the outsider.  Here, we are invited to think beyond the Christian family; honor and respect all humanity.  For all bear the image and the promise of the Creator. 

When our prejudice or short-sightedness gets in the way, then we need to look up.  When our spiritual arrogance wants to claim exclusive rights to God’s care, then we need to look up at the moisture rich air with the sun at our backs.  When we are so caught up in our little worlds that we lose sight of the bigger picture, then it’s time to look for rainbows.   Look and remember.  Delight in the freedom God has given us to be alive.  God is looking too! 

Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved. Permission granted to share with family and friends

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Hiking Up A Rocky and Uneven Path

The following comes from my 2017 Lenten series.

“O Israel, hope in the Lord!

For with the Lord there is steadfast love,

and with him is great power to redeem.” 

Psalm 130: 7

The first half of the hike among the ancient ruins at the top of the mountain was flat.  The second half of the hike was not.  Let’s talk elevation.   When we were walking along the path to the 44-foot diameter excavated Great Kiva, we were at 7,400 feet above sea level.  Fun fact: St. James Lutheran in Burnsville is 819 feet above sea level.  It was no wonder that we were feeling the effects of altitude!

To see the twin spires from the Great House Pueblo, the goal of our trek, we needed to ascend two hundred feet more up a challenging unimproved trail.  The trail was not open to traffic without a tour guide.  It was a tricky climb, but as we took it slowly, it wasn’t so bad. 

When you hike up a rocky and uneven path, the conditions of the trail impose upon you a decorum of caution.  I suppose there is always the possibility of recklessness.  Fools can be found in every environment (been there myself a time or two).  Rocky paths, though, have a sobering effect.  On the path to the Great House Pueblo, there were no guard rails or fences; it was just a narrow path with a steep drop.  Caution.  Slow.  Careful. 

Thinking back on the walk to the top, I reflect upon how different that travel was from my usual walk.  Too often in my daily walk, I walk careless steps.  I’m usually on the busy side, so I scurry from place to place without paying much attention.  A month ago, I found myself unexpectedly on my hindquarters; didn’t see the ice before it pulled my feet from under me.  Not paying attention can hurt our physical and spiritual bodies.  We need to recognize that the way that we walk is important.   

As I made my way upwards along the same path the ancient peoples traveled (the trail wasn’t wide enough for many other possibilities), I was using a walking stick.  I have found that when I’m hiking, it helps to have something to hold onto, something with which to support your weight and give greater stability.  When I use a walking stick, I find that I’m more intentional about walking.

As disciples of Jesus, we are invited to walk with intentionality down the path that leads to a cross.  The cross calls into question our careless romping through life.  The cross highlights the dangerous terrain that lies ahead and invites a caution and intentionality.  Carefully watching our steps, we are invited to lean on hope.  Hope in the promises of God.  Trust in the relationship that we have with God and upon God’s track record.  The Psalmist above recalls that with God there is “great power to redeem.”  Redeem.  Save. Renew.  Reconnect to life.

Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

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New Lens

blog first published on May 18, 2016. It was published prior to my departure for my Sabbatical Pilgrimage. Thought it would be an appropriate one to share as I was away on my Pilgrimage to Tanzania. - Walt

Recently I got new glasses.  I had worn specks before but somehow my eyes got stronger and didn't need assistance.  About four months ago, however, the clock in the back of the sanctuary started to become blurry.  When it reached the point of not being able to see how long I was preaching I thought it was time to get my eyes checked out.   I work hard not to be one of 'those preachers' who go on and on.  I'm of the homiletic opinion that more is less and that if you can't proclaim what you need to in ten minutes than you have more work to do to refine the message.  Back to my eyesight.... when I couldn't read the clock it was clear that my  need for glasses had returned.    

It is amazing what the new lenses have done for me.  Beyond cleaning up the blurry time clock, they have sharpened the edges around things in the distance.  Greater definition around far objects has been good for driving.  It has also allowed me to notice things that sort of faded into the background.  This has brought both awareness of and appreciation for my surroundings.  

From time to time, it is good for us to consider the lenses through which we view the world and God.  In the day to day bustle of life, our senses can be dulled and blurred by a variety of things.  We lose focus, awareness, and appreciation.   For me, it is usually a gradual thing.  Vision worsens sometimes without our being able to perceive it at first.  I only realize that I'm not seeing as well as I should when I can't read the sign.  Then a 'crises' occurs.   What to do?  Get new lenses!

 Vision and spirituality are not a one time fit it and then don't worry about it.  It just doesn't work like that.  Both vision and spirituality are just too relational to be found, fixed, and done.  As the world and our lives are in a constant state of change, so too is our need for corrective vision.  In the ancient Hebrew imagination, which can be found throughout scripture, the concept of Sabbath is embraced.  This is a regular time of stopping and refreshing and refocusing.  In our 24/7 news cycle and electronic connected-ness it might seem outdated, unrealistic, or unattainable.   To set aside a time each week to stop and focus on our essential relationships with God, others, and all creation is a 'vision check'.  Without regular and periodic checks, our vision is bound to get worse.  

Observing a Sabbath time - to stop, refocus on God - is critical to reclaiming a lifestyle that God intended for us all to live.  We are invited weekly to rest and renew - it is a gift that was given in the Bible even to the slaves, outsiders, and the land.   When we stop, we find that we are invited to make adjustments (repent - by turning towards God's ways) for the next stage/week.   Weekly worship is not so much an obligation as it is an invitation and a Sabbath gift which we can all receive.  Setting aside time for God and for Christian community is an important step on the ongoing path of spiritual renewal.   

Ideas of Sabbath are certainly ingrained in sabbatical.   The Bible vision of taking time every seven years for a jubilation or laying land fallow under girds congregational sabbatical policies.  Sabbatical is a time for a pastor to do more than stop regular routines and meetings.  It is an opportunity for refreshment and to find a new lens through which to view mission, ministry, and call.   An extended vision check-up  (NOT extended vacation).   

In the coming days, I will be getting a pair of prescription sunglasses for the pilgrimage that lies ahead.  I am confident that they will help to bring things into better focus and sharpen the edges.  It is my hope that they  will serve as a metaphoric tool to a great re-visioning that will occur as I begin my sabbatical pilgrimage on this coming Sunday.  

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Walt is traveling with five other rostered leaders of the St. Paul Area Synod to Iringa, Tanzania for the Pamoja Summit. Sign up to receive a daily email that contains a prayer, a reflection, and find out what the Pamoja group is doing.

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Being A Part of God's Dream

The following was originally posted as part of “With Thanks” in 2018:

“Rejoice continually, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.””

— 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Every parent has dreams for their children. From the moment of their arrival, we imagine what the future might be like for them and set about making plans on their behalf. Some of our schemes are elaborately plotted - often to the frustration of the kids! Other designs are more laid back and fluid - more direction, less detail.

It is not a far stretch to say that most, if not all, people want their children to be healthy and happy. We want them to be filled with joy and make a positive contribution to the greater good. In short, we want them to love and to know love in their life.

The dream of love is one that our heavenly parent has for us and all of our human siblings. You can sum up scripture by saying that it is a love story between the God of steadfast love and God's beloved humanity. God loves and remains faithful even when people do not. God's love refuses to give up.

The life of Jesus embodies this enduring love. When we read the stories of Jesus' kindness, compassion, and inclusion - we read the next chapter in God's love story. Jesus forms a community with a command to love one another.

Through our baptisms, God links us to this community and to the mission to carry on with Jesus' love. Together, we are strengthened by the Spirit to help bring about God's dream of love.

Living a life of gratitude, we enter into God's dream of love. When we express thanks, we recognize that there is a bigger plan to which we belong. Appreciation for the PLACES, PEOPLE, and our PERSON encourages humility and generosity. Our energy, purpose, and focus turn outward - which is the same direction in which Jesus lived.

We won't always get it right. Most days we won't in spite of our most sincere efforts. We will cause heartache for God as we withhold our love and act in unloving ways. Still, by grace, God does not abandon but instead forgives. God keeps holding onto the dream of love for us.

What joy to continue to be part of God's dream! Thanks be to God!

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Prayer:

Gracious God, let me rejoice in your love for me and others. With thanks, help me to take part in your dream for this hurting world that you continue to love. Through Christ, Amen.

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Walt is traveling with five other rostered leaders of the St. Paul Area Synod to Iringa, Tanzania for the Pamoja Summit. Sign up to receive a daily email that contains a prayer, a reflection, and find out what the Pamoja group is doing.

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Travel is Fatal to Prejudice

blog first published on September 22, 2016

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."   Mark Twain in Innocents Abroad.   

I think I caught the traveling bug from my Father.   Growing up, we didn't have a lot of time (and probably resources) to travel.   Wednesdays and Sundays were the two days each week that my Father didn't work at the warehouse.  The days were long and hard that he worked.   When Wednesday rolled around, however, we would find ourselves in the car going somewhere.   If the place was a distance away, we would even leave on Tuesday night and drive through the night.   With little or no sleep, we traveled by car to see things that were beyond.  We went to museums and battlefields.  We went to state parks and natural vistas.   These trips filled our summers and our imaginations.   Though it would have been easier to stay at home, my dad sought to show us as much of the world as he could. 

And it made an impact.   Although I can't remember every place we went, I fondly recall that we 'went'. We left our hovel in the shire and set out to see the wider world.  In the process we were exposed to things, ideas, and people that were different from the sameness of the shire.  Some of these experiences were memorable and some were quickly (and maybe for the best) forgotten.  Regardless, I experienced first-hand (not through the TV and someone else's filter) the life that was beyond the life that I was living.  Over the years, travel has taught me to fear less and wonder more.     

The prejudice and hatred that seem to be present up during this election cycle worry me deeply.  As a nation we have become content with sitting behind our TV or computers or hand-held devices.  We consume sound bites and half-truths that support our pre-determined views and quickly discard, unlike, and retaliate on social media against anything that is different or outside the sameness of our thinking.    Without ever experiencing the situation of others, without traveling into unfamiliar territory, we have the audacity of professing 'one-size-fits-all' judgments and half-truths.  Worse yet, we slack into a fear and demonize those whose experience is beyond our limited existence.  We are deceived into the kind of thinking that builds walls to keep immigrants out and allows words of hatred to be put on public signs with the delusion of free speech.  We arm ourselves, sometimes literally, board up our windows, and brace ourselves to defend our turf at all costs.

As a Doctor of Ministry, I don't write prescriptions as a matter of course.  The pharmacy doesn't recognize - even though it can read - my signature.  Deeply aware of the need to heal our prejudice, bigotry, homophobia, short-sightedness, this Doctor would like to prescribe something for our spiritual health.  Based on the gospel of Jesus Christ and its radical call to love our neighbor as ourselves, we need to turn off the TV, put down the mobile devices, shut off the radio and computers and get out there.  Travel.  Even if it is only to the other side of town, we need to experience difference.  This is a risky prescription, with potential side effects, for it requires more than just stepping out of our comfort zones; it involves opening our mind perspective in the process.  Travel.   We need to see for ourselves the struggle, joys, culture, and humanity of others.  Again, to do this the destination need not be (though it could be) exotic and far off. 

It is the same prescription that Mark Twain offered generations ago.  At a time when travel was more difficult, Twain noticed that it is hard to hold the anger and hatred of others when you actually meet them on their own turf.  When we see in the different face of another, the spark that God placed in their soul, then we will find it fatal to our prejudices, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.    

Time for us each to take a little trip...    

 

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Starting on January 26, Walt will be traveling with five other rostered leaders of the St. Paul Area Synod to Iringa, Tanzania for the Pamoja Summit. Sign up to receive a daily email that contains a prayer, a reflection, and find out what the Pamoja group is doing.

A Crack in the Ice

blog first published on April 5, 2017

"Only by allowing life's contradictions to pull us open to the Spirit will we be able to live beyond the dualities that confuse and confound us - the dualities of yeas and no, day and night, right and wrong.  Life on the way of the cross is, finally, a life of liberty in the Spirit, a life of salvation or wholeness in which contradictions are transcended.  The liberation of the cross frees us not for indulgence and ease but for the discipline of serving truth without fearing the contradictions (Parker Palmer, The Promise of Paradox, 51)".

The Columbia Icefield is the largest icefield in the entire rocky mountains of North American.  It is 125 square miles in area, 330 ft to 1,198ft in depth and receives up to 280 in of snow per year.  Somewhere between 238,000 and 126,000 BCE, the icefield formed.  In human perspective; the first human civilizations began to develop between 9,000 and 7,000 BCE.   To say that the Columbia Icefield is ancient is like saying that Minnesotans like hotdish.  It goes without saying.   

The Athabasca Glacier is but one of eight major glaciers fed by the Columbia Icefields.  Ever since I was a small child, I remember hearing the stories of those who traveled to this glacier.  Through the use of a giant Arctic transport, you can drive right up onto the Athabasca Glacier.   I couldn’t wait to climb into one of these vehicles and experience it for myself. 

The snow coaches were even bigger than I imagined.  Huge.  Called “TERRA BUSES,” these massive buses carry 56 passengers and can travel on all terrains.  The low-pressure tires are the height of an average size person.  They creep along the rough and steep road that leads out onto the glacier.  What an incredible experience!  We boarded the Terra bus by ascending a ladder stair.  Once underway we traveled slightly less than the maximum speed of 25 miles per hour.  That was okay; I was not in a hurry.  I wanted to savor each glacial inch.

The Athabasca Glacier is receding at a significant rate of about 16 ft per year.  In the past one hundred twenty-five years, the glacier has lost over half its volume.  Although the leading edge (it should be called ‘receding edge’) is easily accessible from the highway, it is not safe to walk on it without a special guide.  There have been fatalities as tourists ignored the signs and fell into hidden crevasses.  The Terra Bus would take a while but would transport us safely onto the glacier.

We need to be careful about how we travel.  This truth applies to not only glacial trekking but also our daily spiritual walk.   So far, thanks to the insights from Parker Palmer’s book on Paradoxical living, we have been exploring the idea that we live our lives in the midst of contradictions.  Between the poles of good/evil, saint/sinner, conservative/liberal, yes/no, the list goes on.  Whenever we seek the truth of a particular pole without considering the opposite, we find ourselves in a place that is wanting.  Worse yet, we quickly rush to the pole of our choosing without even considering the alternate perspective.

Traveling on the coach of paradox, we slow down and nestle into the tension of opposites that can pull us apart.  At first glance, this seems counterintuitive and counterproductive.  Why would anyone willingly put themselves in the place where we hear the disheartening sound of cracking ice as a hidden crevasse suddenly appears beneath our feet.

Instead of leading to our doom, however, the crack is a point of hope.  In the place of tension is where the cross lives.  Here is also where the Spirit moves in and opens for us a place that was previously unavailable.  Here is a place for liberation.  We need not live in perpetual bondage by the lies and half-truths found at the poles.  Instead, a new path opens when the poles tug at our being.  This path is a graceful gift.  The tearing at the place of the cross is but a prelude to the new life that is born.

I have experienced this new life in my own heart as I have found my frozen and unmovable perspectives challenged.  Usually, this happens when my rigid thinking does not align with what I experience with my heart.  I might have this hard and fast judgment about a person or a place.  When I look into the eyes of a real person, I often see beyond the bondage of my heart.  I’m forced to reconsider.  At that moment a crack can be heard.  The Spirit has broken through the ice, and I enter into a new reality.  Creation is not receding but in fact expanding as I find myself available to God and others in a way I wasn’t previously.  Resurrection happens not only when we die.  Again and again, God raises us from the death of our stubbornness and short-sightedness.  Whether it happens overnight or over the course of years at a glacial pace – the Spirit moves in the direction of new life. 

Permission granted to share with family and friends.  Copyrighted 2017. Walt Lichtenberger