Just Showing Up

You know most of these posts will come from Russ, but I had to jump in again! One of my goals for this sabbatical time is just showing up. I think I've done pretty well at just showing up for work and just showing up in times of crisis and just showing up for meetings and just showing up at the hospitals and just showing up to preach. One of my hopes for these 12 weeks is to just show up for my boys. I've actually been pretty pleased over these 8-plus years of being pastor and mother that I've shown up as much as I have for my sons, but I have honestly been looking forward to this devoted kind of time with them as much as anything about the whole summer. This weekend, Bennett and I traveled to Myrtle Beach for his baseball team's final tournament of the year while Russ and Jackson stayed in Charlotte for Jackson's final tournament before we all head to Cooperstown in two weeks for a week of baseball mania at the Little League Hall of Fame tournament for Jackson's team.

Russ and I kept the phone lines hopping - calling each other every time one of the boys was at the plate or in between every inning. Between the two of us, we showed up for 9 baseball games in two days. We lived through wins and losses (no one brought home any hardware this time!) We witnessed strikes and balls, pitching and catching, outfielding and first base coverage and a little bit of bench warming. We enjoyed hits and walks and pop flies and some strike outs. We did our fair share of cheering and encouraging. We repeated to each other play by play moments when baseball really happened for a bunch of 10 year olds and 12 year olds who still hold on to the dream of many young boys to play in the Bigs - making their way to the Show. And all we did this weekend was to show up. And it was good.

Today was my father's birthday - he would have been 84 today, and he did love baseball - especially the Atlanta Braves and any team that his children/grandchildren played on. He was a big believer in just showing up for your children's events. He sat through more tennis matches (which he felt was about as exciting as watching paint dry!) and piano recitals and girls' softball and even many of Jackson and Bennett's baseball games. And when he wasn't at a game - I kept his phone line hopping with play by play details of "just the facts" of his grandsons' baseball action!

This weekend, my brother and sister-in-law and niece showed up for Bennett's games at the beach. It was hot, but we did have fun. In a couple of weeks, Russ, Bennett, my brother and sister-in-law and niece, my sister and brother-in-law, and I will show up for Jackson's week of games in Cooperstown. We'll cheer and laugh and have a great time. We'll quote Daddy when they get a big hit that goes right into the glove of the outfielder - "You reckon he didn't see that guy standing there?!" And we'll help the ump make better calls from the stands.

I can't think of a better place to spend Daddy's birthday than on a baseball diamond. I'm simply glad and grateful that I was able to show up today!

Amy

You Don't Have to Travel to Europe

We know this summer's opportunity fits in that once-in-a-lifetime category, and are obviously excited about the "exotic" nature of our upcoming travels to Spain and the Grand Canyon... but you don't have to get that far to find God. In less than two hours, you can be in some of the most spectacular country, well... anywhere.

I85 south to Hwy 74... through Shelby to Hwy 9, north, to Chimney Rock. The lake is beautiful, the town is quaint (if over commercialized), the "rock" is breath-taking.



In 1949 a man named Morse was determined to make this natural wonder accessible to the public, so he carved a tunnel deep into the granite, and an elevator shaft rose 26 stories, to a rock platform within a few steps of the top of the chimney. We recommend the hike to Hickory Nut Falls, and taking the stairs up (this route is 26 stories, too, but much more scenic... and a touch better for your heart!)... but for the faint of heart, Mr. Morse didn't want you to miss it.





It's amazing that this kind of scenery is accessible to us -- so what are you waiting for? Nice as it is, you don't have to have a Lilly Grant to enjoy the benefits of a sabbatical -- you can have yours, before lunch! And if God is not to be found at Chimney Rock, I don't think we need to travel another mile in the search.

Happy trails to you...

All of Charlotte

On Wednesday I had an interesting experience. The last two Sundays I've attended an early Sunday school class at Myer's Park Baptist; a discussion of John Spong's book, Jesus for the Non-Religious. (Interesting stuff, and interesting, always, to see how many people, and from how many different places, are so engaged with such a progressive treatment of the Jesus story.) In an email exchange with the teacher, I proposed a lunch meeting for further discussion, and Dan was open to my invitation.

So we gathered for Brixx Pizza (I recommend the Mediterranean Salad, add the blackened salmon) and a really nice, comfortable, conversation about all things Baptist and Christian and Spong and Dan and Russ... nice conversation. Amid my sabbatical reading of Baptist history, I'm into a well-written theological history of Southern Baptists, The Way We Were: How Southern Baptist Theology Has Changed and What it Means to Us All. Written by my former doctoral supervisor, Fisher Humphreys, The Way We Were is reminding me why Fisher titled his book in the past-tense... and my conversation with Dan is reminding me all that is present-tense about all I believe. What an appropriate two hours of a sabbatical summer.

I was on my motorcycle, as I'm want to be as often as possible these days, but I've never been a fan of the interstate. That motorcyle versus 18-wheeler thing is not appealing to me, so I asked Dan, who lives on the lake, near Birkdale Village (where we met for lunch), to recommend a more "interesting" way home (read, safe!). He pointed me toward the lake, and down the rural end of Beattie's Ford Road. What a fascinating ride.

Sabbatical is about seeing God along the journey, and what an interesting journey this was. All of Charlotte, in about 25 miles.

There's Birkdale Village, a.k.a., Yuppie-Heaven. I've never seen so many soccer moms "doing lunch" and white, upper-middle-class strollers and BMWs and Lexi (the little-known plural of Lexus)... in all my life. And just down the road, the Charlotte Lake Class. I was on the "poor side," but just across the water Lake Norman offers NASCAR and Bobcats and Panthers millionaires the homes they all deserve. (Don't they?) No sooner had I left Lake Society than I entered North-of-Charlotte, yesterday: actual, down-home, farm land... wide open spaces... homesteads that are being sold one after another for the next Gated Community. This farm-become-sprawl zip code runs directly into University Park Baptist Church, and its mostly-African American neighborhoods. Moving south along this corridor, these nice neighborhoods slowly become metro Charlotte, the inner city. Evidence of poverty and crime, homelessness and a drug culture run-amuck are visible on every corner. Then there's downtown Charlotte, everything from inner-city-life to Johnson and Wales to Bank of America stadium to the financial district... And then, before you turn around there's Dilworth and all those quaint little bungalows on Queens Road West. And from there, it's just a hop, skip, and a jump, to my own south-Charlotte home.

Amazing... Maybe every socio-economic status known to the U.S., all in a 25-mile ride.

And every mile... a glimpse of God. Still made flesh.

It's what this sabbatical is about. Thanks, Dan, for pointing me down this "road less taken."

r

Form and Function

So Amy asked, "What made you emotional in worship today?" And, of course, I said... "I don't know." (Do I ever!?)

The Psalmist says "deep calls to deep," and I know there is deep truth in these poetic words. At moments I can hardly predict, for reasons I cannot always name, something stirs the "deep" within... and in these moments I can only affirm that some other "Deep" is speaking.

So it was today. In worship...

Since we've missed so many of our boys' recent baseball games, we've been determined not to miss any this summer. (Why they insist on scheduling these tournaments on Sunday mornings!?...) And the last two weeks we've spent about 12 hours on a baseball field on a Sunday. But today, we had time to slip out to Myers Park Baptist for the 10a.m. service (before baseball!). I was there a 9:00 a.m. for a discussion of one of Bishop Spong's latest books, Jesus for the Non-Religious; Amy and the boys then joined me, and we sat together. And I cried.

As a minister, who worries his fair share about where all of his parishioners are on Sunday mornings (are you watching baseball, too!?), I also spend a fair amount of my brain's "down time" wondering about the effectiveness of worship... both the function and the form. And as something of a skeptic, one who's prone to be at least a little influenced by the real cynics, I sometimes wonder if all the effort we put into it is really worth it. Or if we need to change the way we structure it at PRBC. But after just two Sundays away from it, as I sat there, a full participant (and nothing more)... the tears welled-up from somewhere deep within.

Today's worship was excellently conceived -- about as formal as ours -- and with the same basic style... format... length... etc... Why was I moved by the experience? Well, as best I can tell... it wasn't just the magnificent room... not just the choir... not just the order of service... not even the excellent sermon...

Plain and simple, it was just the experience of... worship. The discipline of putting myself in the place and with the people and with a disposition to listen.

Listen.

I'm sure I'll start worrying again (irrationally, of course), about our style of worship (form and format) when I'm back in the pulpit (again wondering where you are!), but for now, all of my questions about our "liberal" or "liturgical" or "formal" or "traditional" style of worship are gone.

GONE.

It's not about the form. It's about the function.

Somewhere... somehow... we need to find that place where the deep can call. I found it today, and I'm grateful.



I need that hour.

2 Things after 2 Weeks

Well, Russ is the usual one to post, but I thought I'd add a word. I've had several objectives for this sabbatical: spend some real quality time with the boys, rest, read, observe, get away, restore. Well, two weeks down and I am well on my way to achieving my goals! For now, two full weeks and two aha's. Week One and the first aha: I read a book The Way is Made by Walking by Arthur Paul Boers. He is a Mennonite minister that has walked the whole 500 miles of El Caminoa de Santiago and written a book about his experience. While we will only walk the last 100 kilometers of the Camino next month, I have already been helped in our journey by "traveling" with Boers. One observation that he made is that on the Camino everyone is a pilgrim. He says, "Pilgrimages have always been spheres for folks to mix across dividing lines of culture, age, nation, class, politice, language and ethnicity. Pilgrims - like other groups on the edge of society, even those who are voluntariy marginal - cross boundaries that normally separate. Pilgrimages resist hierarchy and structure; folks temporarily suspend regular roles. Simplified dress codes, strenuous challenges and pared-down life styles, in the context of a supportive community, all contribute to what anthropologists call `liminality.' This describes a betwixt-and-between state that can help convert people from one way of life to another . . . It made sense that disintinctions elsewhere did not necessarily apply on the Camino. Sure, we might be blue or white collar, middle class or well-off. True, we were different ages. But now we were also notably similar. All of us where on a comparable quest, with corresponding struggles. We shared bathrooms and bedrooms . . . we lived simply and sweated profusely. Just as the Camino was not a place of comptetition, nor was it a place of status. Our only rank was our strong odor. Here there was no hiding behind social designations or distinctions. That too had a Gospel feel."After I read that, Russ and I headed out for a day's ride on our Harley and I realized one reason we love riding so much. It's the Harley code - the wave. When passing another Harley rider, the driver of the motorcycle points his or her left index finger toward the ground. That's it. That's the wave. The passenger does nothing. It's the unwritten code of acknowleding the commonality of Harley riders. We have no idea if the Harley folks we are passing drive 18 wheelers or are surgeons. There's no way to know if they are school teachers or pastors. Everyone is connected no matter race, class, religion, vocation, gender. And so the Camino and the Harley Davidson motorcycle made me think about church - The Church - and our church, and the strong desire I have for us to put aside all that keeps us distanced from one another so that we might truly know one another. I'm going to keeping thinking and dreaming about this.

Week two and the second aha: we were at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC waiting for the tour to begin when we decided to walk around the beautiful gardens. You'd think that 2 boys would find this boring, but they were too busy taking pictures of black squirrels and birds. (We have about 20 of the black squirrel from every angle if you want to see one!) Bennett got a great picture of a robin. He zoomed in for a great close up and the first thing he thought was that he couldn't wait to show this picture to Mr. Alan Eakes. I love that he knows that Mr. Alan loves birds. I love that he wants to share his find with his friend from church. I love that he was elated about a picture of a bird. I love that we weren't so focused on getting in line for the tour that we missed the black squirrel and the robin. I love that we shifted all of our plans for our time in Washington and took the Behind the Scenes tour of the Cathedral instead - opting to spend 4 full hours at the National Cathedral instead barely of glimpsing many sites in a hurried pace.

So weeks into this and so far so good - so very, very good.

Still reading and watching on the journey,

Amy

Walking Together

So we're walking together, along the way... and even when it's the "Monkey Walk" on the green in Plymouth -- we're still in step as a family. And, at least for a few moments, with the God who fills those moments.

We're back at home, and what a wonderful trip... 2007.4 miles on the odometer, and every moment, pilgrimage as we planned it.

There was the travel itself, and all the picnicing along the road...

The tour of FBC Providence with our buddy, Pete, and the behind-the-scenes bonus... here are the Deans in the Baptistry. (You know... "B" joined the church the week before we left... too bad the pool was dry!)

The Mayflower II was fascinating, but we cannot imagine the conviction that held 102 people (plus about 30 crew and more than 100 tons of cargo) together for the 66-day crossing of the Atlantic.

But we were all smiles!

In Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvannia, we studied the Amish for a few hours... even catching a buggy ride with a new friend named John. Here are the boys giving old Bertha a spin...

Our emphasis during these travel days has been to experience God with all our senses, and, boy howdy, let me tell you that we were singing with the Psalmist when we left the Amish: "Oh, TASTE and see that the Lord is GOOD!"

And, speaking of "taste and see," in Plymouth, Jackson had his first taste of lobster, and as you can tell... he's hooked!

And our last stop was at the National Cathedral in Washington... amazing. If you've not been -- plan your trip today! What an incredible architectural wonder. By design, we arrived in time for morning prayers at 8:45 a.m. After this time of worship with the staff of the cathedral, we spent a few moments as a family, singing in one of the nine, ornate chapels. (And, do those stones make harmonies come alive!) We spent the morning -- and could have spent several days. The architecture... the artisan-inspired theology... the history... What a fitting end to our brief study of the wonderful, yet diverse, religious picture which is America.

You should know that we've been praying for you. By name. With the directory in hand during our morning and evening prayers. From Monday to Friday, we've covered Abounader to Fletcher. This has been a wonderful experience for us. Calling your names. Reminding the boys of your work, your children, your place in our lives at PRBC.

And, we've remembered those to whom Anne and Michael are giving special attention... the family of Evelyn Roberts, Lexa and Wallace Taylor, Jerry Gerald, Trish Bishop, Hilda Moulton. You are never far from our thoughts.

We hope you are joining us... and would love to have your comments, so we can keep in touch.

Our first pilgrimage was all we had hoped, and we're back home -- "in and out" for about three weeks -- before heading to Cooperstown, NY for a little baseball, before the European adventure begins...

We are well. And grateful. And finding God with us, all along the journey.

Pilgrims, with you...

r

They Knew They Were Pilgrims

What a wonderful first pilgrimage this has been for our family. After putting about 1200 miles on Marmie and Dean-Dean's van, we got our first glimpse of Plymouth Harbor. Not in exactly the same location as the pilgrims of 1620... but close. And though that now-famous rock is probably a myth (there's no actual, historical evidence "Plymouth Rock" played any part in the pilgrim's landing), like all good myths, it's worth its truth.

So we've seen the rock... and what a solid place to begin our travels -- with that group of families, who set out to secure the freedom to worship, as they chose. (They were not unlike our Roger Williams (see my last post) -- they were Puritans, and Separatists... but not Baptists.) That group who had no particular expertise in travel, or pioneering, or self-defense... these were "butchers, bakers, and candle-stick-makers," who simply wanted the right to worship, where they chose, when they chose, as they chose.) So, the Deans have traveled... enjoying the freedom they found for us, and in our own way, looking for God.

And without the help of a few friends along the way, there is little doubt that their venture would not have been successful. And these friends were a surprising lot... a handful of Adventurers, traveling with them on the Mayflower, whose intent was not religious freedom but financial gain, and a few Native Americans, like the great sachem (chief/leader), Massassoit. The two documents produced by the pilgrims upon arriving in this new land are significant -- perhaps even forerunners for a later Declaration of Independence, and a Constitution, that would make manifest in the world an entirely new experience of living (inter-independent and respectfully free). The Mayflower Compact was an agreement between the pilgrims and their Adventurer-companions, that they would live and work together toward a common end, and the written agreement between Massassoit and the pilgrims, expressing a similar hope for harmony, have stood the test of time, as the continuing experiment in American-style democracy attests.

So their commitment and conviction and example of industry and harmony have been the cornerstone of this nation's success, and serve as an appropriate stepping stone for our family's journeys together.

As the pilgrim leader William Bradford said, of the rag-tag band who intrepidly sailed across that wild North Atlantic so long ago, "They knew they were pilgrims."

And so do we.

Feeling Baptist

Pete let us in, and I promise you I could hear Roger rolling over in his grave as we entered the First Baptist Church of America -- under that huge American Flag, flying just above the front door. Roger Williams, that is. Yes, the Roger Williams who founded this, the (very) first Baptist Church in America, in 1638. Roger Williams, who was banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony for his vehement insistence on religious freedom -- yes, that those Native Americans ought to be able to worship their spirit ancestors, instead of Jesus, if that's what they chose -- or that the Jews and the Muslims and the Atheists, along with them -- could worship (or not) as they chose. It was a bold, daring, audacious claim for an English Puritan-Separatist-Baptist believer...

It is what put Baptists on the map.

The Baptist churches I most appreciate understand this difficult-to-understand issue of separation between church and state. And one evidence of their understanding is the noticeable lack of an American flag in their sanctuaries (though the flag is an ironically prominent fixture in most Baptist churches these days). It's not at all that these Baptists are un-American, it's that they are so Baptist they recognize that an American flag is a symbol of a nation, not of God, and they recognize that God is not an American, and that Americans have no monopoly on the Divine. As a Christian church, worshiping a universal God, every Christian should be equally welcome... but a visiting Korean Christian (for example), might feel that she is in the wrong place if the church is paying homage to the nation that is not her own. (As might an English Baptist minister serving as a supply preacher for a Charlotte, NC church, while its ministers were on sabbatical!)

But Pete, who is the very nice (and very opinionated) sexton at America's First Baptist Church, told us that he told them that if they removed that American flag (as apparently they recently discussed) -- they would have to find a new sexton. (If I were the pastor I'd be reading sexton resumes!) I don't know how much influence Pete-the-sexton had on the to-fly-or-not-to-fly question. Pete, the former member of America's First Baptist Church. (You know, the church is "too liberal" for Pete these days. He goes to a (real), Independent Baptist, church now. (One which still teaches that the world is only 6,000 years old!)) I don't know how much influence Pete had. But I feel sure that Roger, who would otherwise be proud his church is still standing after almost 400 years, is turning over in his BAPTIST grave, with every flap of Old Glory.

Of course, Pete is feeling pretty Baptist in his position. Sure wish the equally opinionated Roger (the real Baptist) were here to have a conversation with him!

Come Away with Me

We call her Nora.

But her voice is not nearly as soothing as her name-sake. Nora Jones, with her amazing jazzy, silky, sexy, crooning, inspired Amy with her "Come Away with Me," and our own "Nora" was born.

She sits on a little cradle, suction-cup-mounted to the front windshield, and she anticipates every turn for you (in a very un-Nora (Jones) monotone): I N 1 point 7 M I L E S P R E P A R E T O T U R N R I G H T... She's annoying But incredibly accurate. And what a memory! The girl has every street in the US, and most of the ones in Europe memorized. Seriously. She comes in a little packet the size of a wallet, and is an amazing traveler on the journey.

I don't know that she'll be much help with finding God, but she's doing one whale of a job helping us find the shortest route to Plymouth, MA... and the nearest Cracker Barrell.. and a much needed CVS Pharmacy... and (OK, she got a little "scenic" on this one) the Quality Inn in Front Royal, VA...

We're here for the night. 5 hours north. 8+ to go. We're still looking for God.

And if Nora will keep us on the "straight and narrow," I hope we'll have a sighting to report. Soon.

Sleeping on Saturday Nights

It's the main difference between being at work and being on sabbatical: I sleep on Saturday nights!

It started almost nine years ago -- that writing-my-sermon-on-Sunday-morning thing. Oh, the first few months I had a sermon ready before the end of the week, but as my weekly schedule filled up the sermon writing kept getting postponed. Somewhere along the way, making a conscious decision to never sacrifice any family time (because I couldn't get my work time "together"), I decided that Sunday mornings would be a pretty good time to write. When I first started this crazy thing, it was sometimes 4:30 a.m. that I'd stop by the Exxon for a cup of coffee, and then unlock my office door... It's usually about 6:00 a.m. that I arrive nowadays.

Understand, it's not as if I show up on Sunday and only then start THINKING about what to say. I've been doing that all week. Reading... Studying... Preparing the bulletin... Thinking (when I should be sleeping). And, I do try to have an introduction written before I leave the office, usually on Friday... It's just that the whole thing doesn't come together until Sunday a.m.

And, though I've gotten very comfortable with this, and can say that I've learned to enjoy the "freshness" that such an approach gives to sermon writing, it is somthing I'd like to change about my weekly schedule.

Maybe a sabbatical will help?

Push back the email... schedule the meetings a little more strategically... close the office door... JUST DO IT, starting by, say, Thursday... (We'll see.)

And it's not just for the Sunday morning, it's-time-to-write-that-sermon, preachers that Saturdays are bad for sleeping. Amy doesn't do any better. I think this is part of the job -- seems to be a common Saturday theme for preachers I know.

Anyway, the last two Sunday mornings I've waked up and realized -- I slept all night. Saturday! What a novel idea.

I think I could get used to this.

Keeping it Between the Ditches

OK... you don't have to ride a Harley to really live. But until you've experienced the NC mountains on a motorcycle, you can't say you've fully lived.

There's just nothing like it.

Amy and I have started our sabbatical with two days on the Blue Ridge Parkway -- the only "pilgrimage" we'll undertake without our boys. (Originally we had written a week-long bike trip along California's famed Highway 1 into our grant proposal, but for various reasons, we dropped this. These two days have been a reasonable exchange!) We're staying at Jim and Jean Veilleux's wonderful house on Lake James, and from here have ridden out the last two mornings, for about 150 miles each day, to and around the Parkway. Yesterday was as good a biking day as we've ever had. Though the rain chased us home (we literally walked in the front door and the bottom fell out of the sky!), we had an amazing weather day and spectacular scenery.

Western NC boasts its famed "Tail of the Dragon," the 12-mile stretch from Deal's Gap to the Tennessee line, but since we've ridden that, too, I can tell you, objectively, that the Dragon has NOTHING on Highway 80, from Marion, north, to the Parkway. Even on our little Sportster, I met Amy coming around some of those hairpin turns behind me! From the Parkway, we rode to the highest peak on the Blue Ridge, Mt. Mitchell, and then down into Black Mountain, and home (after a stop at Thai Basil on Black Mountain's main drag) via Highway 70.

Until you've leaned into those turns... breathed in the freshness of Laurel and Honesuckle... taken in the goodness of blue sky and open road... you've missed something.

We're trying not to miss anything as we travel this summer. Thanks for the opportunity.

Primed for the Journey

We've been told to "expect the unexpected" along the journey. Such is the nature of pilgrimage. And my first "unexpected" came last week, when Dr. Tom Polaski told me he had a book for my travels. Great, what is it?

Before I tell you, a little background. Tom and I were classmates at Furman, but in our studies while he was majoring in math I was only plodding through "Math 16: Math for non-science majors." (This is the collegiate equivalent of, "If you put $2.74 worth of gas in your Harley, and give the clerk a five dollar bill, how much change should you get back?") I had taken the five math courses offered in my four years of high school, but high school calculus, now LOOOOONG, forgotten, was the apex of my mathematical career. (I'm still pretty good at getting the right amount of change back.)

So, when Tom shows up with The Millenium Problems: The Seven Greatest Unsolved Mathematical Puzzles of Our Time, I didn't know whether to be honored that the good math professor thought highly enough of my mind to expect that I could actually understand this stuff (which I can't, Tom!), or just laugh and say thanks. I laughed and said thanks.

Now let me tell you what I've learned so far. Which has very little to do with math.

The first problem is the 140-year-old conundrum named for Bernard Reimann, who first stated it. It has something to do with determining the density of prime numbers (which apparently get more sparse the higher you count them). Apparently there are significant implications for computers and internet usage in the "proving" of The Reimann Hypothesis. (Which also comes with a $1,000,000 prize from the Clay Mathematics Institue. Their money is safe with me, but you are welcome to buy the book and give it your best shot!)

In the Reimann chapter, written for the lay person (???) the author reviews: counting numbers (a really good start for a Math 16 whiz), which are now called the "natural" numbers... fractions, called "rational" numbers... all the other numbers on the number line (which are... exactly... what!?), called "real" numbers... and then, if "real" numbers aren't unreal enough, there are the "imaginary" numbers, and, if this is not complex enough, you've also got your "complex" numbers.

OK... so here's the point (for a pastor on pilgrimage)... in his method for solving any cubic equation, the Italian mathematician, Girolamo Cardano, discovered that to get to a final result one has to journey through several intermediate steps, which involve numbers that are not "real." Though the final result is (an actual, real number).

That which does not exist (an imaginary number)... helps a mathematician find a solution, which does exist (a real number, in a real world). Are you with me?

And...with the Reimann Hypothesis itself: his hypothesis about prime numbers has been used (however mathematicians use these things!) for more than a century, though it has never been proven. Of it, Keith Devlin, the author, says, "Suspecting that it is true, mathematicians have been investigating its consequences for years."

Do you see where a pastor is going with this?

Devlin opens up his book with this disturbing quotation from Landon Clay (the benefactor of the $1 million prize): "Curiosity is part of human nature. Unfortunately, the established religions no longer provide the answers that are satisfactory, and that translates into a need for certainty and truth. And that is what makes mathematics work, makes people commit their lives to it. It is the desire for truth and the response to the beauty and elegance of mathematics that drives mathematicians."

The disdain for religion that many people have comes from religion's inability to "prove" itself. God? What God? Where, God? Show me God... and I will believe.

So, why does mathematics deserve a "bye" in the proof department? If mathematicians can use numbers that are "imaginary" to yield a real result, and the "consequences" of a hypothesis that is "unproven" are practical and well-known... why can I not believe, likewise, in a God who cannot be proven -- even while I work out the very practical, effective, "consequences" in my life?

Such is the nature of faith. To work out the consequences of a God who is beyond proof. Of the mathematician. And even the "proof" of the believer.

Thanks, Tom, for priming me to see this God, the "beauty and elegance" of faith... even in that which is "imaginary" along this life's journey.

r

Praying With My Hands...

So the summer looks to be... fairly, let's just say... "active." (But could you imagine that we'd plan a sabbatical any other way?) Yesterday, a baseball friend, who'd just heard we were on sabbatical, asked Amy if we were goign to "do any travelling" while we were off! Amy said she was almost embarassed to tell her... motorcycle trip to the mountains... New England... New York with Jackson's ball team... London... Paris... Spain... Arizona... "Yes. We'll be travelling. A little."

And it suits. We've always packed our vactions so full, and enjoyed such an active time, that work has always seemed a little more like "vacation," when we returned!

So, I said to Amy that I was a little worried about our non-travel time. Would I be able to enjoy it? Sitting still is not my thing. Nothing gives me "the bots" (to borrow an expression from Amy's dad) any worse than having a day off and having nothing scheduled to do with it. Fix something. Make something. Go somewhere. Do... something.

So a summer to sabbatical. I'm not so sure. I recently made a gift of wood and in my note to the recipient I commented that I "do my best praying with my hands." So the summer of pilgrimage will suit just fine. Pray with my feet.

As to the other 40 days, with no agenda... I'll keep you posted!

r

6:24 pm... But who's counting...

"B" and I counted down the minutes as I closed out Microsoft Word and "x-ed" out that blessed/cursed Microsoft Outlook. (To date, two days without email is probably worth 12 weeks of sabbatical, already!) I want you to understand that it's not that our boys are embittered by our work. Nor are we. They fully understand the benefits that we, and they, receive as pastors. But as we have prepared for the beginning of our sabbatica, it's not the trip to Plymouth, MA, with their grandparents (who will travel with us on this pilgrimage) they are most looking forward to... not their first trans-Atlantic crossing... not London... not Paris... not walking 62.1 miles across northern Spain (definitely not what they're most excited about!)... not even the two-and-a-half day rafting trip down the Colorado River, or another excursion in the Grand Canyon with Sue-Sue, Don, and Katie (who ventured into the Canyon with us in 2006). When we talk with our boys about what they are looking forward to the most during this sabbatical... having mom and dad home for the summer seems to be the hands-down winner. No "Sorry, we can't make the baseball game today, Jackson -- you know, it's Sunday..." no, "Sorry Bennett, but we've had to cancel the camping trip -- you understand that we have to do funerals, whenever they are needed..." and no, "Boys, we hate to break it to you, but one of us is going to have to leave vacation... but we'll be back." We understand that when ministry calls, we've signed up to answer. They understand this, too. But they are 10 and 12, and like all other children their age, they like their parents to see them play, and so far (everyone knock on wood!) they still like spending time with us. So... as we closed down the computer, Bennett could feel the gravity of this moment, and as we pulled out of the church driveway, at 6:24 p.m., I announced, "Sabbatical has officially begun."

OK... so we came by the office twice on Friday and I spent 45 minutes doing work with Mecklenburg Ministries, and left one "last" phone message for Anne Neal, but... sabbatical has started.

I'm typing this on a Saturday night, out on our patio kitchen. The Cubs and Reds are playing, and that cloud is not hovering in the back of my mind. That undeniable weight that slowly gathers on Saturday afternoons/evenings (regardless the degree to which a sermon is complete). That almost-unconscious reminder that tomorrow is "the day." And it comes every week. (At least!) Yes, it's a weight we've accepted. Gladly. How can something you so truly love be the thing you most look forward to deleting from your life for a few weeks? (To be sure, we'll be in church, somewhere, every Sunday the boys' baseball is not calling. But we're looking forward to three months of well-slept Saturday nights, and sitting on your side of the pulpit for a while.)

6:24... and, OK... we are counting! Thanks for the opportunity to do just that.

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