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On September 24 of this year, Kim and I had the surreal experience of standing before a judge, seeking to make as clear and compelling a case as possible as to why we should be granted legal guardianship of our son Coleman. There are very few subjects about which I feel that I possess an expert level of knowledge, probably only one, and Coleman is it. Still, it was rather unnerving and intimidating for us to be providing answers to questions about his condition and his daily care to a person who had the legal authority to either grant or deny guardianship. We felt the intense gravity of the situation every time we heard Coleman referred to as a “ward” during the proceeding. I now have a little insight into the emotional implications of being “at the mercy of the court.”
We have known for years that we would need to secure legal guardianship of Coleman after he turned 18. From a parental standpoint, this seemed totally counterintuitive. We have cared for him every single day of his life, through all of the ups and downs, joys and sorrows, victories and setbacks that accompany developmental disabilities and chronic illness. He was indisputably “ours.” However, from a legal standpoint, when he reached adulthood it would be necessary to demonstrate that he was incapable of caring for himself and that we were the ones best suited to continue providing for his health and well-being.
Despite our realization that this would be required at some point, it remained a “back burner” concern for us, even after he celebrated his 18th birthday early last year. However, the issue got moved to the front burner very quickly in August when Coleman’s sedation dentistry procedure was cancelled by the surgical center on the day before it was scheduled to be performed because we did not have legal guardianship. Suddenly, what had only existed as a vague concept for us now took on serious, concrete implications. While Kim has lived in constant “advocacy mode” for Coleman for almost 20 years, she once again shifted that labor of love into warp drive with a flurry of phone calls. Within a few days, we appeared before a judge on August 27 to gain emergency, temporary guardianship and had the hearing for permanent guardianship set for September 24.
It has always “taken a village” with Coleman, and God has consistently and faithfully provided the right people at the right time, in moments of both crisis and calm. We are extremely grateful to Jerry Lundy (friend, brother in Christ, attorney), for helping us traverse the very unfamiliar legal landscape of the guardianship process. Also, we deeply appreciate the counsel and practical insights shared with us by our friends Bill and Lawana Duwe, who for many years have provided 24/7 care for their son Ray who was disabled in a car accident.
At the end of the hearing, which was dominated by extremely matter-of-fact (somewhat stern) questions and statements by the judge, the tone became significantly more “human” and compassionate as she expressed her understanding and appreciation of the challenging demands of raising a disabled child and her confidence that Coleman would continue to be ably provided for under our care and guardianship. While the petition was entirely uncontested and we couldn’t foresee any reason why the court would find otherwise, it was still a huge relief to see the judge sign the guardianship documents and witness them being embossed with the official seal of the court.
While Kim and I were somewhat perplexed and stressed by having to go through the guardianship process for Coleman, we understand that these legal statutes exist as part of the “ordinance of God” (Romans 13:1-7), serving to protect the interests of those in our society who are the most helpless, the most defenseless, and the most susceptible to being used and abused by others. It is an extension of God’s own concern, care, and protection.
The language and status of guardianship caused me to reflect upon our relationship with our God and Savior.
I Peter 2:25 reads, “For you were continually straying like sheep, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Guardian of your souls,” (New American Standard Bible). The New Living Translation joins the NASB in rendering this second descriptive term of Jesus Christ as being our “Guardian.” Other standard English translations go with “Bishop” or “Overseer” (it’s episkopos, for you Greek geeks). The Aramaic Bible in Plain English translates, “the Caregiver of your souls.”
I love this figure of Jesus being our spiritual Guardian and Caregiver. The language in the guardianship document stipulates that Kim and I are to act on Coleman’s behalf to “promote and protect” his well-being, doing things for him that he is entirely incapable of doing for himself. That is precisely what has been done for us by “the Great Shepherd of the sheep through the blood of the eternal covenant,” (Hebrews 13:20). Though we rightfully belonged to God as children made in the Creator’s own image, the guardianship of our souls was thrown into question because of sin and was fiercely contested by an Adversary and an Accuser. It took the blood of Jesus Christ to satisfy the Court of the Most High. We have now been sealed with the Holy Spirit, who serves as an authoritative mark of identification, authenticating the fact that we have been returned to the care and protection of our rightful Father.
It’s good to have a Guardian!
Sorry, Aggie friends! I hope that the title wasn’t misleading. This post doesn’t have anything to do with your beloved university, although, while I’m at it, I would sincerely like to say that it’s great to have you in the SEC. The excellence of your football program has been immediately felt in the conference, you made quite a statement when you knocked off top-ranked Alabama on their home field a couple of weeks ago, and Johnny Football is the real deal. Welcome!
As indicated by the accompanying logo, this post concerns A&M Records which was founded in 1962. That’s right! A&M and I were born the same year, and we sort of grew up together.
I occasionally mention in blog posts that music was a big part of my adolescence. I was never extremely outgoing when I was growing up, “a bit of a brooder,” as one of my high school friends remembers. I was pleasant enough, always had a group of friends, and used athletics as a social outlet, but I was naturally quite introverted (still am). I really didn’t mind spending time alone, especially if it was spent listening to music.
Do you remember cabinet stereos? Mom and Dad had an incredible cabinet stereo (RCA, I believe), complete with a turntable, AM/FM tuner, reel-to-reel tape deck, and a great set of speakers. It must have been six feet (maybe more) in length and was well-crafted from quality materials. It was actually a beautiful piece of furniture. It also had a headphone jack, which allowed me to lay on the floor in front of the stereo with tunes from my favorites bands playing directly (and loudly) into my ears without any parental admonitions to “turn that music down!”
Included in my parents’ record collection that I remember as a little boy in the late 1960s were several albums by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass. The A&M Records emblem on the album covers bore the image of a trumpet, but I never made the connection between the logo and Alpert, a world-class trumpeter and composer. As I learned from a story on NPR last week marking the 50th anniversary of the founding of A&M, it was Alpert himself who formed the label in 1962 with recording executive Jerry Moss. Alpert is the “A” and Moss is the “M” in A&M. Who knew?
A&M recorded numerous artists whose music found their way into the storage compartment of my parents’ cabinet stereo, including Herb Alpert, Burt Bacharach, and the Carpenters. But the label continued to grow and expand exponentially in the ’70s and ’80s, signing performers that would make it into my album collection, A&M artists like Peter Frampton, Styx, the Police, Supertramp, and others.
I won’t detail all of the corporate buyouts, mergers, and lawsuits that ultimately affected the record label in subsequent years, but the NPR story brought back some great childhood memories for me, informed me of Alpert’s role in the founding of the company, and caused me to reflect on music’s ongoing influence in my life.
So, “Happy Birthday, A&M!” I’m glad that we both made it to 50, at least in some semblance of our former selves!
Today I want to share a few final thoughts and observations as I bring this Gethsemani Journal series of blog posts to a close.
I want to thank the shepherds of the Broken Arrow church where I serve for seeing the long-term value in providing for an annual week-long sabbatical for the ministry staff. While I have benefited greatly in past years from attending conferences, seminars, lectureships, and one-week intensive seminary courses, I have never gained so much spiritual refreshment and renewal as I did during the week that I spent in a silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani.
I also want to thank the Trappist monks who live, serve, and receive guests at the Abbey for the warm welcome, the gracious accommodations, and the idyllic setting that are provided for retreatants. I was blessed by your kindness and hospitality.
My sabbatical week caused me to rethink our typical approach to what we commonly call “retreats.”
First of all, when I normally mention to someone that I am going to be attending a retreat, one of the first questions that I am asked is, “Are you speaking?” The assumption is that I will be teaching and/or leading some sort of discussion. It was wonderfully refreshing, not just to be freed from the preparation of lessons and the preoccupation of presenting them, but to be relieved from talking altogether. “No, I won’t be speaking this week; at all!”
Secondly, I returned from this silent retreat incredibly rested and refreshed (physically, emotionally, and spiritually), rather than the usual feeling of exhaustion that accompanies the end of a retreat. That’s because most retreats could be more accurately described as “Bible Boot Camps” or “Fellowship Free-for-Alls.” Roll out of bed at dawn, breakfast, clean-up, lecture, break, discussion group, lunch, clean-up, lecture, 15-minute quiet time, discussion group, team-building exercise, dinner, clean-up, evening worship, cards and board games, campfire and s’mores, lights out, rinse and repeat. If you’re not exhausted, then you’re just not trying. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! My intention is not to trample on anyone’s fond memories of such events or to devalue the blessings that can come from them, but simply to suggest that maybe we could find something else to call them instead of “retreats.”
I have already been asked about the possibility of planning a silent retreat for those who would be interested in attending and sharing in the experience. It could be still be hosted at a traditional camp or retreat center. The format would just be significantly different, and the schedule, well, there really wouldn’t be much of a schedule. It would take some creativity and a paradigm shift, but the retreat could center around silence, prayer, reading of Scripture and devotional literature, meditation, journaling, rest, etc. I am not so naive or idealistic as to think that this would appeal to everyone, but I am confident that there are many who would jump at the opportunity to share in a silent retreat.
“Come away by yourselves to a secluded place and rest a while,” said Jesus (Mark 6:31). We would be wise to accept His invitation.
Fruitcake and cheese made by the monks at the Abbey of Gethsemani
Retreats at the Abbey of Gethsemani are “silent, unstructured, and undirected.” As I have mentioned earlier in this series, retreatants are pretty much on their own to pursue their own spiritual goals and objectives for the week in a context of silence and solitude. However, in addition to being welcome at all of the daily hours of prayer in the chapel, a morning lecture was provided at 8:30 on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I took advantage of this opportunity each morning to hear from one of the resident monks and to gain more insight into monastic life at the Abbey.
The morning lectures were shared in a conference room, which was one of the two or three designated areas in the retreat house where conversation was permitted. Still, when the other retreatants and I entered the room after breakfast, we all sat in silence until time for the lecture to begin. This was not awkward silence, but respectful silence. In most other group settings in life, we often feel pressured or compelled to speak, regardless of whether we actually have anything to say. It was nice to be a context where mutual permission was granted not to break the silence.
The presentations each morning were made by the guestmaster, Brother Christian, who has been of a part of the monastic community at Gethsemani for 38 years. Although he did not mention his hometown, my fairly confident guess would be Brooklyn in New York City. It struck me that, even after living in Kentucky for nearly four decades, one’s accent probably doesn’t change very much when you spend most of your life in silence. Brother Christian was informative, gracious, engaging, and displayed a very robust sense of humor. Below are just a few of the valuable nuggets that I gained from these morning lectures.
- The primary elements of life for the Trappist monks at the Abbey are prayer, work, and spiritual reading. However, as was pointed out, these are not uniquely monastic, but rather universally human and needful for everyone.
- The walls are not intended to keep people out, but to keep noise out. Silence, solitude, and seclusion need to be practiced by all Christians on a smaller scale as we build “cloister walls” within our lives for prayer and the reading of Scripture, which are just as necessary as physical food and drink each day. Reducing the noise can be as simple as turning off the radio during your morning and afternoon drive time for spiritual reflection and prayer.
- The monastery is noted for their production of cheese, fruitcake, and fudge. A thriving mail order business, particularly in the last three months of each year, provides the monks with the means to “pay the bills, give to charity, and maintain the monastery and guest house.” Despite a huge demand for their products, they resist the pressure to turn the monastery into a year-round factory or a “zoo.” Brother Christian said, “Our goal is to make a living, not a killing.” I don’t know if that was original or not, but it is brilliant. How many people in this world are not content to make a “living,” but instead will sacrifice themselves, their values, and even their families in order to make a “killing?”
- Living in community with others is challenging. “Bearing with one another” means setting an example of not getting flustered over those things in life that are not that grave. It also means being patient with “holy bunglers,” those well-intentioned people who try to be helpful, but somehow manage to regularly mess things up for you and your plans. Later that day in the garden, there was a pesky fly that was obsessively drawn to the surface of my yellow legal pad as I was trying to write. After numerous failed attempts to shoo it away, I contented myself with its presence, decided to just work around it, and named my new insect friend “Holy Bungler.”
- From the rather brief Commemoration of Mary that was sung at the end of the hours of prayer, I was beginning to think that perhaps Mary was more ancillary to Catholic teaching and practice than I had presumed. Thursday morning’s lecture cleared that up and communicated in very detailed fashion just how essential her role is in the work of salvation and the life of the Roman Catholic Church. Brother Christian was very open about the fact that this teaching did not emerge directly from the pages of Scripture, but had rather been revealed through the Doctors of the Church and mystics down through the ages. Though my understanding of the person and role of Mary in Scripture is radically different, I was still extremely grateful for a very beneficial, enlightening, and clarifying presentation on the subject.
In addition to this “food for thought” each day, samples of the Abbey’s cheese, fruitcake, and fudge were provided at various times during the week in the dining room. The aged Trappist cheese was incredibly flavorful; I had some every day with my lunch and dinner. Despite the “bad rap” that fruitcake has gotten in contemporary culture, it brought back some great childhood Christmas memories for me, and I would highly recommend it if you are a “fan of the fruitcake.” By the way, the “special little something” comes from being soaked in Kentucky bourbon. And the fudge? Well, how can you go wrong with fudge!?! So, if you are looking for a unique Christmas gift to mail to that “hard-to-shop-for” friend or relative, you may want to do some browsing here.
My silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani in September provided an incredible, distraction-free week of prayer, reading, meditation, introspection, writing, and spiritual renewal. It also provided a glimpse into the monastic life of the Trappists who live, work, and worship there.
As mentioned previously, the Abbey was founded in December of 1848. Since then, the resident monks have observed 7 daily hours of prayer, rain or shine, summer and winter, in wartime and peace, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, for the last 164 years. While some European monasteries might still consider the Gethsemani monks as “new kids on the block,” 164 years is a long time in this country.
Having spent my entire life worshipping in a manner that would be categorized in ecclesiastical terms as non-liturgical and “low church,” it was enlightening to visit the guest chapel which adjoins the main sanctuary. The seven daily services that make up the Liturgy of the Hours are Vigils (3:15 a.m.), Lauds (5:45 a.m.), Terce (7:30 a.m.), Sext (12:15 p.m.), None (2:15 p.m.), Vespers (5:30 p.m.), and Compline (7:30 p.m.). These do not literally last an “hour” each. Vigils is the longest at about 45 minutes or so, and all seven combine for 2 1/2 to 2 3/4 hours each day. Mass is also celebrated every morning.
Over the course of the week, I attended each of these hours of prayer at least once, with the exception of Mass. I attended Vigils on two mornings at 3:15 a.m. (partially to see what it was like to assemble at that hour of the morning) and Compline each evening at 7:30. At the heart of each of these services were the Psalms, with all 150 of them being sung or recited every two weeks in a liturgical cycle that is repeated 26 times a year. The services also include prayers, hymns, Scripture readings, and a commemoration of Mary (which will be further discussed in the next post).
Despite the very significant ecclesiastical divide that exists between Catholic theology and practice and my own understanding of Scripture and the life of the church, there was still much with which I was impressed in the Liturgy of the Hours. First and foremost was the centrality of the Scriptures, whether in song, reading, or recitation. It is only through regularity, rhythm, and repetition that the Word of God can truly become written on our hearts and etched into our consciences. It takes an incredible amount of commitment and discipline to allow every single day of one’s life to be regulated by hours of prayer that begin at 3:15 a.m. How often do I “rise before dawn” to commune with my God and Savior in prayer and the reading of His Word? How frequently do I pause throughout the day to turn my heart, my mind, and my lips heavenward?
A beautiful doxology is sung several times during each service: “Praise the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit, both now and forever; the God who is, who was, and is to come at the end of the ages.”
While the liturgy during the other hours of prayer differs every day in the two-week cycle, the Compline service is the same each evening, 365 days a year. Psalm 4 and Psalm 91 are sung, which include the thoughts, “I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety” (Ps. 4:8) and “you will not fear the terror of the night…nor the plague that prowls in the darkness” (Ps. 91:5-6). These are psalms of trust in the Lord and confidence in His protection.
Of particular beauty and appropriateness at the close of the day are two other songs which are sung during Compline each evening. The first is an ancient hymn, the lyrics of which are attributed to Ambrose (c. 330 – 397 AD).
Before the ending of the day
Creator of the world, we pray
That with Thy gracious favor, Thou
Wouldst be our guard and keeper now
From fears and terrors of the night
Defend us, Lord, by Thy great might
And when we close our eyes in sleep
Let hearts with Christ their vigil keep
O Father, this we ask be done
Through Jesus Christ, Thine only Son
Who with the Paraclete and Thee
Now lives and reigns eternally
Amen
The other is “Antiphon for Canticle of Simeon”:
Lord, save us, save us while we are awake
Protect while we are asleep
That we may keep our watch with Christ
And when we sleep, rest in His peace
This service, about 15 minutes in length, seemed to effectively put one in a frame of readiness to retire for the night, which I suppose is extremely helpful if you have to be up at 3:00 each day!
The greatest personal “take away” for me from these services was a renewed commitment to delight in the words of Scripture and meditate on them day and night (Psalm 1:2) and to treasure His Word in my heart (Psalm 119:11). If the monks at the Abbey can sing through the Psalms every two weeks, surely I could read through this book of sacred poems every week as part of a morning and evening devotional reading schedule. It is one of the spiritual disciplines and goals that I am considering for 2013.
“Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous law.” (Psalm 119:164)
I plan on bringing this Gethsemani Journal series to a close with another post or two in the next few days.
From today, Monday, November 12, there are 7 weeks left in 2012, the Mayan calendar notwithstanding. It’s hard to believe that the year has gotten away from us this quickly. 7 weeks! Sounds Biblical, doesn’t it? 49 days to do … what?
Let me encourage you to resist the urge to just coast to the end of 2012. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away, and there is a tendency at this time of year to slip into the “Holiday Rut” of traditional, habitual, expected, comfortable activities and routines.
Let me challenge you to finish strong! Don’t wait until the new year (if God grants it) to recommit and “re-resolve” to pursue goals that you set last January. Ramp it up, get after it, cut loose, put your heart into achieving something worthwhile that will benefit both yourself and others, body and soul.
- Spend 15 – 30 minutes each day reading your Bible.
- Commit to pray for 5 – 10 minutes, three times a day (morning, afternoon, evening), for the rest of the year.
- Talk to someone who has been on your mind and heart about their relationship with Jesus.
- Invite someone to join you for worship.
- Read a new book, or a classic that you have never read.
- Pay down some debt (yeah, I know Christmas is coming; do it anyway!).
- Take $50 and do something nice for someone you love, or, better yet, for someone you don’t.
- Send a card or email of encouragement to someone (friend, family member, minister, missionary, etc.).
- Restart that exercise regimen.
- Commit to weigh the same (or less) on January 1 as you do today (again, I know Christmas is coming; do it anyway!).
Don’t like my list? Then make your own! Be creative! Knock yourself out! Get crazy!
Finish Strong!
(Please accept my apologies for interrupting the tranquility of my current blog series for such an unpleasant, but needful, discussion.)
“So, Tim, what do you think about the election?”
To be perfectly honest, not a single person has asked me that question, so my intention has been to keep my thoughts to myself. What changed my mind was a phone call that I received on Monday from a sweet, kindhearted, generous, elderly Christian woman. She spoke to me through tears as she described how a fellow believer had told her that she could not be a Christian or have any hope of going to heaven if she voted for a Democrat. My dear sister was concerned that I was going to be preaching this from the pulpit and feared that a political test of faith would bar her from fellowship and participation in the life of Christ’s body here. I hope that I sufficiently allayed her fears. May God be merciful to the souls of those who would cause this kind of offense to His precious children and promote such divisiveness.
Yesterday, I had absolutely no idea who would win the Presidential election. I didn’t know if I would be praying today for President Obama as he prepared to serve a second term or for Governor Romney as he prepared to be sworn in next January 20 as the 45th President of the United States. Regardless of the election’s outcome, I was committed to offering prayers on the winner’s behalf (I Tim. 2:1-2), extending the honor and respect that is due to one who holds such an office (I Pet. 2:17), and being as submissive as my faith allows as a citizen of the United States to our government and its leadership (Rom. 13:1-7; I Pet. 2:13-17).
Before I proceed to offend many of my fellow believers, let me affirm that I am a conservative Christian who believes in the inspiration of Scripture, the triune nature of God, salvation in Jesus alone, and what are commonly called Judeo-Christian values and ethics, including the right to life of the unborn and the biblical definition of marriage between one man and one woman (for life, by the way, and not just until the next one).
Over the course of the last four years, I have been saddened, disturbed, and sometimes embarrassed by the politicization of Christian faith and the bitterness, vitriol, spitefulness, ill will, rumormongering, name-calling, “doomsdaying,” and unkind speech from many who profess faith in Jesus Christ and claim to represent Him as disciples. If you haven’t done this, then I’m not talking to you. Feel free to skip out on the rest of the discussion, or keep reading if you wish.
Here are a few of my “major maladjustments.”
Far too many Christians have been seduced by the allure of political power, intoxicated by its vain promises, and convinced that any hope for a Christian America lies in the hands of a secular government and a single political party. Jesus had the opportunity to establish a Christian nation from the get-go. He passed on that and chose instead to manifest His reign through a borderless spiritual kingdom made up of people from all nations, tribes, and tongues. The authority, power structures, and military might of the “rulers of the nations” do not figure into the economy of His kingdom.
Much of the conservative, Christian community in the U.S. has been shamefully silent this year on the heterodoxy of Mormonism. Prominent evangelical leaders “observed the Passover” on the subject and some even backed off of their long-held classification of Mormonism as a cult, not because of new-found, theological common ground with the Latter Day Saints, but for purely political reasons.
I recently saw an admonition for Christians to “choose wise, understanding, and experienced men” (Deut. 1:13) in a religious publication that served as a thinly veiled endorsement for Governor Romney. Question: Is a man wise and understanding (or credulous, naive, and foolish?) to base his entire worldview and belief system on myths, legends, fabrications, forgeries, and latter-day “revelations” that are accepted as Holy Scripture? The editors of the journal apparently believed that “winning” was worth the emboldening, empowering, and further mainstreaming of a faith that is radically foreign to Biblical Christianity. So did a lot of other people.
Fear, guilt, and manipulation have been used to convince Christians that there was only one vote in this election that would keep them in good standing with their Lord and Savior. A recent video from Mike Huckabee warned Christians that their votes would be “recorded in eternity.” Does it not strike anyone else as inexplicably odd that evangelicals, who stress the grace of God to a fault and vehemently reject any hint of “a righteousness of works,” could simultaneously suggest that the way you marked your ballot might “make or break” heaven for you? Lest you think that I’m somehow biased against Governor Huckabee, you should know that I voted for him four years ago in the Republican primary in Texas. This is just a prime example of what happens when faith sells out to politics.
While I’m on the subject of irony, have you noticed the following? When we talk about money and stewardship in our worship assemblies on Sunday, “everything we have belongs to God.” On Monday, when we start talking politics and taxes, “it’s our money and they can’t take it!”
In the name of faith and patriotism, many American Christians are sowing seeds of destruction. It was Jesus, and not just Lincoln, who said, “Any kingdom divided against itself is laid waste; and any city or house divided against itself will not stand,” (Matthew 12:25). While Christians are not to be blamed for creating the gulf in our nation, far too few are working as peacemakers to narrow the gap. Rather than serving as voices of civility, reason, grace, and purposeful persuasion, many believers are deepening the divide through the thoughtless parroting of inflammatory rhetoric. The current administration is referred to as a “regime” and “tyrannical” as if it were some Third World dictatorship. There is widespread talk of “Taking America Back” as though control of the country had been wrested away by a military coup rather than through the democratic processes on which our nation was founded. Do we despise democracy when it results in the election of officials that we do not support?
Several months ago, I encouraged a brother in Christ, despite his intense dissatisfaction and personal dislike, to still pray for the nation’s Chief Executive. He sharply responded, “He’s not my President!” That’s patriotic? That’s American? That’s Christian?
As for the persecution and suppression of Christianity in America, I can only speak from personal experience, but neither the exercise of my faith nor the ministry and mission work of the congregation where I serve have been impinged upon or impeded by government interference in the last four years. I don’t expect that to change in the next four years, regardless of who was elected yesterday. For the record, I don’t count restrictions on the distribution of candy canes and the prohibition of high school sports banners with out-of-context Scriptures as persecution. Unfair and wrong, yes! Persecution, no!
Had Governor Romney been elected yesterday as our next President, I anticipate that, unlike President Obama, he would have been regularly and publicly prayed for by name in numerous Christian assemblies over the next four years. Many of the Christians that I have just described would be issuing rousing calls for national unity and making impassioned pleas for all Americans to work together despite our differences. Hypocrisy would be running high.
If the sitting President were more frequently prayed for than pilloried by Christians, then perhaps his positions and performance would more closely conform to our preferences. If we were as passionate in proclaiming Christ as we are in promoting our politics, maybe we would be closer to the nation of Christians that we seek to be. The more that Christians are distracted by politics, the more we should seek to identify “the ball” from which Satan has succeeded in diverting our eyes and attention.
First and foremost, I am a child of God, a disciple of Jesus Christ, and a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit. No power on earth can change that. I am also an American, and one who loves his country very much. I love it so much, in fact, that I cannot remain silent when I see fellow believers further contributing to its demise and weakening their witness as Christians.
These thoughts and viewpoints are entirely my own and are in no way offered as being representative of those of my family, my congregation, or my friends (real, imaginary, or Facebook).
Peter, James, and John Asleep – Abbey of Gethsemani
Wednesday, September 19
After breakfast, I took advantage of a crystal clear sky and the crisp, windless, 40 degree air and set out on what turned out to be a five-hour excursion along the trails that traverse the 2,000 acres that belong to the Abbey.
My first destination was the Garden of Gethsemane and its statues. I walked north on the highway a short distance to the trailhead. Stepping stones soon gave way to a graveled surface on the narrow trail that wound its way through the trees and undergrowth. The gravel only extended for a short distance, and the remainder of the trail was the hardened dirt that I had expected, packed down firmly by the feet of monks and guests over the course of decades.
I emerged from the shadowy forest into a clearing, and on my left was the Guesthouse Pond, the absolute epitome of peaceful beauty. The pond, still warm from the summer’s heat, was releasing a low-hanging mist from the surface of the water into the significantly cooler air above. Passing the pond, I re-entered the wooded trail which began to follow a ridge line. The trees along the trail were amazing. This property has been attached to the monastery since 1848, and it was clear that no timber had ever been cut here. The high canopy overhead and the undergrowth that blanketed the descents along the ridge brought back wonderful boyhood memories of traipsing through the woods in Kentucky and Middle Tennessee. Few sights are more beautiful and calming to me.
As I entered the area of the Garden, I came to a statue of a reclining Peter, James, and John, depicting the scene of the apostles as they slept. A bit further down the trail was a statue of Jesus in prayer, His hands covering His anguished face. I sat quietly for quite some time on a bench that faced the statue. Then I began softly quoting the Sermon on the Mount, which I first committed to memory over 20 years ago. I know that the Message on the Mountain (Matthew 5-7) is far removed chronologically from the agony of Christ in the Garden, but it just seemed appropriate in the stillness and quietness of the moment. The recitation took much longer than usual, as I would pause and reflect between sections of Jesus’ words.
Another trail took me to a fork in the path, literally! A sign with an arrow pointing to the right read, “To the Cross.” It struck me that this was the “sign” that Jesus followed throughout the entirety of His earthly life and ministry leading up to Golgotha. The particular cross that I was seeking, however, was one that sat atop Cross Knob, which appeared on my map of the Abbey’s trails. Like the previous one, this trail followed a ridge line, ascending toward the crest of a knob that was 800 feet above sea level compared to the Abbey’s location at 570 feet. At the point where the trail became intensely steep, I saw a couple of sturdy, natural-cut walking sticks leaning against the trunk of a tree. I sensed an unwritten message which clearly communicated, “Feel free to use these to aid you on your journey to the cross. When you have completed your journey, return them here to assist the next traveler.” There are all kinds of useful lessons in that one!
I reached the summit of the trail with my pulse pounding and my breathing labored. My recent weight loss had not been accompanied by rigorous exercise, so the ascent mercilessly exposed the weakness of my cardio fitness. This was not a “bald knob” as I had imagined, but one that was still heavily wooded. However, a few trees had been cleared down the descent toward the monastery, creating a “window” that framed the Abbey which was located well over a mile in the distance.
I snapped a quick photo of the large, wooden cross that stood by the trail. I looked at my watch and saw that it was nearly 11:00 a.m. For some reason I felt rushed. Lunch was served promptly at noon each day. The lady who worked in the kitchen had already given me “the look” a couple of times when I showed up at the serving line just as things were being put away. Monastery guest house or not, “the look” was as loaded with negative vibes as any I had ever seen anywhere. It seemed to be saying, “Dude, you’ve got gray hair! Can’t you tell time?”
Maybe it was wisdom. Maybe is was a still, quiet voice. Maybe it was the fact that I had just spent time reflecting in the Garden of Gethsemane. But, something brought to my heart and mind the words that Jesus spoke to Peter, James, and John when He returned to find them sleeping. “Could you not keep watch with Me for one hour?” (Matt. 26:40; Mark 14:37).
What was my rush? Why the hurry? It had taken me nearly 50 years to make it to this place. Why did I want to leave? For lunch? I remembered His words, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God,” (Matt. 4:4; Luke 4:4). I should at least wait until my heart rate got back down into the double digits and my respiration returned to normal.
“Tim, can’t you keep watch with Me for one hour?”
“Yes, Lord, I can. Yes, Lord, I will.”
I sat down on the small bench in front of the cross, looking out toward the distant Abbey. I closed my eyes and began to pray. I spent time in thought, then opened my eyes and prayed some more; it was really more like talking. I wondered, “Shouldn’t my prayers be more like this anyway?” I thought about how sleepy Peter, James, and John must have been. Since I had not been sleeping well at night (more on that later), I was feeling a bit drowsy myself and was tempted to stretch out on the bench. I resisted, and kept watching and waiting.
I heard the pealing of the distant chapel bells at each quarter-hour until they finally announced the arrival of noon. The hour had passed rather quickly. It had been spent far more meaningfully than it would have been if I had scrambled down the trail like Pavlov’s dog, enslaved to the dinner bell, and desperately seeking “the food which perishes” (John 6:27). The bowl of oatmeal that I had for breakfast would sufficiently satisfy me until the evening meal.
I resolved to more regularly seek hours in which to “watch and pray” when I returned home from my retreat.
Jesus Praying in the Garden – Abbey of Gethsemani
“Be still…” (KJV, NIV, NLT, ESV)
“Cease striving…” (NASB)
“Calm down…” (CEV)
“Step out of the traffic…” (The Message)
“… and know that I am God”
(Psalms 46:10)
Tuesday, September 18
I am learning that silence is not “soundlessness.”
On Tuesday, I sat in the garden in the cool morning air. The ground, trees, and shrubs were heavy with moisture from the rain that fell during the night. I heard a car or truck traveling down the nearby highway, a sound that was greatly amplified by the tires on the wet surface of the road. My first reaction was one of being slightly annoyed by what I considered to be an intrusion upon my solitude. But, my own silence was beginning to foster a new level of attentiveness that allowed me to reinterpret this “annoyance.” I began to ponder some questions? How many people were in the car? Where were they going? To work? Taking children to school? Traveling to the funeral of a family member or friend? Visiting a relative in the hospital? A sound that I was tempted to write off as an annoyance actually represented lives… souls… people created in the image of God… people loved by God… people for whom Jesus Christ died.
My “morning lesson” was multiplied exponentially a short time later when I heard a passenger jet passing overhead, hidden from sight far above the gray clouds. This plane was likely filled with dozens of people, each with a story, each with inherent value as a precious creation of God.
In the quietness of silence, we clearly hear things that otherwise would be indistinguishable within the normal background noise of our lives. In the slowness of solitude, we see things that otherwise would pass unnoticed beyond the range of our fleeting glances and frenetic movements. As I walked the garden path that morning, I heard the beautiful melodies of songbirds, along with the intermittent cacophony of passing crows. I saw tiny wildflowers, some of them brilliant blue in color, nestled among the wet grass. I began to recite the words of Jesus, “Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith!”
On Tuesday afternoon, the sun came out, and I sat in the garden and read for a couple of hours. As I read, I noticed a tiny black bug crawling across my open Bible. It was about 1/3 to 1/4 the size of an ant. The brightness of page’s white space in the sunlight contrasted sharply with the dark bug, allowing me to see it very clearly with my reading glasses. I have no idea what it was. Soon afterward, I noticed an even smaller red bug, barely visible on the leg of my jeans. As I was straining to identify any distinguishing features, it flew away on wings too small for me to even see. I am certain that I had never seen this type of bug before – one of God’s marvelous creatures, probably among hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of species of tiny, living things. My lack of any knowledge about it or prior experience with it did not negate its existence or reality. What was its “function” in the scheme of things? I haven’t the slightest idea, other than the fact that it is undoubtedly both a feeder and food – a miniscule, vital link in the chain of life – part of the order, balance, and wonder of God’s creation.
Then, it was hummingbirds that kept distracting me from my reading; or was my reading the distraction from what God intended to be the main attraction? The divine engineering of hummingbirds is incredible! I had as many as four in view at one time as they took turns at the feeder. One of them would drink the red nectar and then fly away to the same branch on a massive fir about 30 feet away, doing this repeatedly and landing at almost the same exact spot on the tree. Was this a routine? A rut? Was there a reason? Again, I didn’t know.
(A brief aside about the hummingbird feeder for the benefit of my relatives in Tennessee and Indiana who know their horses and mules… The feeder was suspended from a decorative piece of iron, crooked at the top, and crowned with the image of a horse. It took me a long time, but I finally noticed that, despite being right in the heart of Thoroughbred country, it was a Tennessee Walking Horse that adorned the feeder frame. Just a bit of “irony” (pun intended) and further evidence that all were welcome at this Kentucky Abbey!)
Occasionally, a hummingbird would fly close to the feeder while another was imbibing and would summarily be chased away. I wasn’t sure if this was playfulness or micro-agression at work, but the two would dip, dive, and bank in an aerial ballet and then rocket out of sight. Though normally silent in flight (at least to my ears), they emitted a distinct hum (thus their name, I suppose) as they shifted into warp drive on these high-speed chases. Ornithologists and bird enthusiasts can correct me on this if I’m mistaken, but on two occasions I heard what amounted to a “chirpy” sound from them during their pas de deux. It was brief, but definitely audible.
Speaking of chirping, a mockingbird was providing the backing track to the entire hummingbird show. The songs of the other birds earlier in the day had been mere warm-up acts in this outdoor music festival. The mockingbird, sitting in a nearby cedar, was the headliner and the showstopper! It went through every tune in its repertoire, never wavering or waning in strength and clarity of voice.
“All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.”
“The birds their carols raise; the morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.”
“This is my Father’s world!“
Guesthouse Pond at Abbey of Gethsemani
Monday, September 17
“Checked into my room at 11:30 – about to go to the dining room on the ground floor. Silence is observed in the dining rooms, hallways, stairwells, porches, gardens, etc. Silence is serious here! I am anxious to experience it, along with solitude, over the next four days. Very grateful for this opportunity. I’m serious about drawing closer to God, developing a more real and consistent devotional life, and leading my family as a more dedicated, more selfless disciple of Jesus Christ.”
Those were the initial thoughts that I jotted down as I was getting settled into my room in the retreat house on Monday morning. I had been anticipating this retreat for four months, and I was very excited about spending the week in a context of silence. But, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t exactly sure how silence “worked” in practical terms. I had never done this before. I’ve spent most of life talking, a lot. It’s pretty much an occupational hazard for me; it’s what I do. I’m expected to have something to say, always, and to do so with “relentless regularity,” as Robert Oglesby once described the week-to-week demands of ministry.
Was this going to be complete silence? Mostly silence? Strongly suggested silence or seriously enforced silence? I got my answer as I carried my bag from the parking lot down the sidewalk toward the guest house, church, and monastic quarters at the Abbey. There was a sign posted on both sides of the walkway that read, “Church Entrance – Silence Beyond This Point.” Well, that was helpful! Questions answered!
Actually, I did speak in quite pleasant conversation with the first person I encountered, one of the resident monks who was sitting behind the desk in the lobby of the retreat house. He welcomed me, found my name on the reservation list, gave me my room key, handed me a brochure with useful information, and wished me a wonderful and blessed retreat. It was the last conversation that I would have until Friday afternoon, with the exception of my conversations with God.
“Silence is spoken here.” Those words adorn small plaques on every table in the main dining room of the retreat house. It is a gentle reminder of the lingua franca at the Abbey. It took me until early Tuesday afternoon to reach the point where I was not having to consciously restrain myself from speaking to people as I passed them in hallways, on the stairs, and on the garden paths. After that, it seemed quite natural, comfortable, and most suited to the surroundings. Silence didn’t necessitate rudeness or ignoring others; quite the contrary. I began to be impressed with how much kindness and courtesy could be communicated without speaking a word: a pleasant smile, a hesitation that allowed someone else to pass through a doorway ahead of you, handing someone a coffee mug while waiting in the service line, etc.
Mealtime took on a significantly different dynamic in a context of silence. It negated an entire category of common speech, i.e, “table talk” or dinner conversation, that is so integral to our usual fellowship with family and friends. Guests in the retreat house at the Abbey quietly made their way through the cafeteria-style, self-service line in the kitchen, then found a seat in the main dining room where a taped lecture or readings from Thomas Merton would often be playing softly on the speaker system. Another dining room (sans tapes) was available for those who wanted a completely quiet atmosphere. And a third, smaller dining room was provided at the end of a long hallway for those who wanted to share in conversation while they ate. I never saw anyone utilize that room all week.
Eating in silence allowed me to thoughtfully consider God’s gracious provisions for our physical needs and His faithfulness in giving us our daily bread. Rather than merely tweeting a brief prayer of thanks (140 characters or less) before my meal, I could pray throughout. During one evening meal, I decided that I would thank the Father for something different between each and every bite of food. I succeeded in expressing gratitude for an extremely long list of blessings in my life.
Silence served as a bond and a unifying force among the 30 or so retreatants at the Abbey that week. Silence fostered anonymity and functioned as a great equalizer, negating the multitude of things that tend to define us, label us, and divide us. Small talk and “mixers” in other social settings give us the opportunity to “suss out” other people (as Aussies would say), providing us with the data that we need to figure out what to do with them, where to pigeonhole them, how to stereotype them, and assess (almost instantaneously) whether or not they are worthy of our investment of time and interest.
Did the person sitting next to me in the dining room graduate from high school or have a Ph.D.? Were they a minimum wage earner or a CEO with a six or seven-figure salary? Single, married, divorced, widowed? Republican or Democrat? Catholic or Protestant? National League or American League? SEC or Big 12? No one knew. No one needed to know. Everyone was there on the same terms, their own!
This “relational silence” among the retreatants also caused me (actually it convicted me and shamed me!) to realize how easily we make “snap assessments” of others, not just based on what they say, but even by the mere sound of their voice. Their accent alone signals us whether to assume that they are a snob or to question their intelligence. Are they articulate? Do they have a speech impediment? Is their voice gravelly or shrill? I repented, asked God for forgiveness, and resolved to stop being so shallow, so superficial, and so judgmental of others based on such non-substantive criteria.
More on the subject of silence and stillness will follow.
Thinking Out Loud 