One Suggestion About Where To Begin A Faith Journey…

Have you ever had a sudden change of mind about something? It is not really a common occurrence, and usually we find, upon reflection, that there was really nothing “sudden” about our sudden change of mind. A host of seedling thoughts placed over time within our hearts and minds react with a particular set of circumstances in our lives that bring about this new way of thinking.

The Scriptures refer to this phenomenon as “repentance.” The word repentance, in the original language of the Scriptures literally means: “to change one’s mind.” The Scriptures tell us that it is impossible to begin a faith journey without learning to think differently. So, the question becomes: “Think differently about what?” Great question.

The central figure of the Christian faith is the person who referred to himself as both the Son of God and the Son of Man. In the English language, we call this person Jesus, a knock-off of the Greek translation of the Hebrew name Yeshua. Yeshua was a very common name among the Hebrew people, sort of like our Joe, or Bob. A more familiar translation of the name Jesus, or Yeshua, in our English language would be Joshua, or Josh for short. Part of this great journey of faith is to learn how the Creator of the whole universe humbled himself and became one of us and assumed a common, non-descript name like Joshua.

So, what do you think about “Josh?” It is an important question. A lot of people have tried to admire Josh from a distance and they have had some pretty nice things to say about him. They have said things like: “Josh was a great moral teacher.” Or, “Josh was a great example.” Or, “Josh is right up there with Buddha and Mohammed and Gandhi.” Or, “I really like Josh but I can’t stand his followers – the Joshuites!”

But Josh had something much different to say about himself. Josh not only referred to himself as the Son of God and the Son of Man, but also as the “road.” He said these very words: “I am the Road, also the Truth, also the Life. No one gets to the Father apart from me.” These are pretty extravagant claims that Josh made. Josh proclaimed, without any hesitation or apology, that he himself, not just his teaching, was exclusive and unique. Other great teachers and sages might vaguely point in the general direction – sort of like a compass – but he claimed to be the very road that one needs to take to make all things turn out well in the end. He didn’t say that there were a lot of roads; he said that there was one road and that he was it. He didn’t say that there were a lot of truths, but that he was THE truth. He didn’t say that there were a lot of ways to experience life, but that he was and is the life. That’s what Josh said.

To some that sounds like the height of arrogance or delusion. If that is your opinion, then according to Josh, you are on the wrong road, believing the wrong truth and living the wrong life. That’s his view of things. If that is how you feel, then I invite you to pray a prayer – a bold prayer – to Josh, just to see if he is listening. Trust me; he can handle all sorts of prayers, even one that says something like this: “Prove yourself to me.” Now, you need to help a little here and be part of the answer to your own prayer. Find a Bible. You can borrow one at the local library or buy one at Wal-Mart or online, and look up one of the little books contained within the big book called, “The Gospel According to Saint John”, or something along those lines. It will be broken into chapters and verses. Don’t let that slow you down, just do this: Every time you come to a new chapter, say out loud, “Josh, prove yourself to me.” I know it doesn’t sound like much of a prayer, but it will do. If you are so inclined, keep some paper handy and jot down your thoughts about Josh as you read. See what happens. You might find as many have that your prayers begin to change as you read along. Your thoughts about him being a great moral teacher will certainly be reinforced. Your thoughts about him being a great example will not suffer either. But, you will also most likely find yourself attracted to him. If you find that happening then you can trust that you are being loved and drawn into a friendship with this remarkable person. You will find your mind being changed. But even then, something deeper, something more profound might begin to happen – you will find your heart – your inner world, your gut, responding to him. Here is the place where the faith journey really begins in earnest – when our hearts and minds meet. You might find that your heart – which has been so beat up by this sad world in which we live, by mistakes made, by failures, addictions and disappointments – is running ahead of your mind. That often happens. Oftentimes the heart has a logic all its own. While our mind protests and negotiates some middle ground, some reasonable compromise – our hearts cry out for a friendship that is offered freely to us. When and if that happens, just keep talking to Josh - a.k.a. Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God and the Son of Man. He is listening. But, he is also talking. He knows the language of our hearts.

If you happen to reach this point and need someone to talk to, please feel free to e-mail us at: patrickcrossing@gmail.com.

A small grace at the soup kitchen...

This past Sunday I spent a good part of the morning at the Manna Soup Kitchen in Durango. I had been invited there by a couple I had not previously met, by the name of Jim & Nancy Sanderson. Jim and Nancy have worked for many years with the poor and dispossessed. They have even been known to grab their sleeping bags and some food and camp out with folks who have found themselves without a home. Someone gave them my name because that person thought my vision of the church and that of the Sanderson’s were very similar. Upon hearing of their journey, I felt horribly inadequate in regard to the comparison.

I arrived at the Soup Kitchen to help cook breakfast. I was greeted at the door by a young teenage girl. She told me I needed to put on an apron and to go and wash my hands. Later I heard her remark that gum chewing wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. I later found out that this young lady was one of Jim and Nancy’s granddaughters who helps each week with cooking and serving food. She then instructed me to open cans of chunky fruit and pour them into a large silver bowl. After mastering the commercial can opener – which I did in less than two minutes – I then completed the assigned task in about a minute. Three minutes total. Now what? The young lady was a buzz of activity as she put the final touches on the breakfast burritos and she didn’t appear to need my help. So, I went scrounging for some coffee.

Somewhere into my first sip, granddaughter number two appeared – a bespectacled eight year old. She said that I could come and help her wash the “cooking” dishes. When we got to the sinks, she was very distressed to find that her wooden step stool had gone missing. After a brief search of the premises, I found it in the storage room. My new supervisor then began to instruct me on how to wash dishes. I found out the following: it takes at least a half bottle of Dawn for one skillet, that drying is optional, and that it is fun to operate the powerful automatic dishwasher. She showed me how to place a tray into the dishwasher and then pull the large lever down. In thirty seconds or so, the dishes came out clean. On one load, she even let me pull the lever. She was right, it was fun.

After that, she announced that we could go join the customers for breakfast. By this time a pretty good crowd of folks were shuffling through the line and taking their seats in the dining room. For some reason, I was a little self-conscious. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to talk to people or leave them alone. So, I found a lonely spot at the end of a long table and chose to eat in silence. At the far end of my table sat a very skinny man – perhaps around forty years – with sunken cheeks and slicked back hair. Across the table from him was a rather pretty young lady, maybe in her thirties. They both looked very tired and sad.

My monastic moment was interrupted when a rough looking man plopped his plated burrito down in front of me. He had tattoos across his knuckles. He stared at me. I stared back and gave a little half smile. Before I could say something stupid like: “So, where do you live? Where do you work? Where did you go to college?” I felt a whir of activity to my immediate right. My eight year old supervisor had taken the place next to me and was handing out sticky notes and colored pencils to rough man and me. She asked us to draw her some pictures. Seizing the moment, I proceeded to draw her a picture of a…….rough man! She squealed with delight and held the picture up for my neighbor to see. “Egads – What was I thinking?” I decided on the spot to change to the animal kingdom and drew a quick sketch of a dog. She was equally excited with this effort and began to urge the rough man to draw a picture. Finally, he picked up a pencil, and on the little sticky note he began to slash away. In a few seconds he presented to our side of the table a picture of a very passable elephant. Then he spoke. I fully expected to hear deep gravel - a Slingblade type of voice. Instead, a very kind and gentle voice said, “Elephants are my daughter’s favorite.” With those few words I heard pain, love, longing, and regret.

The enthusiasm that was fidgeting at my right somehow helped me to keep my peace. Normally, I would have asked this man about his daughter which, more than likely, would have unleashed a fury of a sad tale. But no, not on this day. To countenance and rehearse pain in the midst of the incredible wonder and joy to my immediate right seemed somehow out of place –perhaps even unholy. On this day I would sit and marvel at the Holy Spirit’s condescending ability to work through every molecule of an available eight year old. The moment of pain passed and the rough man and I smiled and shared together this moment of grace.

(PS Any PC folks who wish to help in the soup kitchen, please give me a call. I will be cooking there every other Sunday).

Meditation while resting on a dead tree...

Following Tom was a chore. With his long legs, he has been traversing the high mountain meadows of Southwest Colorado for many years trying to lead people to fulfill a primal urge to get closer to nature and to God, and if successful with the former, to eat a bit of nature. You see, Tom is an outfitter by trade. I have never really looked up the etymology of the word "outfitter", but my best guess is that it means something like: "Outfitter; noun, a person who assists chubby guys from the flatlands - decked out in the latest Cabella fashions -to ride a horse, not shoot themselves, not shoot each other, not shoot the horse or the outfitter, and not have to worry about cooking, doing dishes, or digging their own hole in which to go poo!" During the years that my friend - Tom the outfitter - has been running around the mountains, I, on the other hand, have faithfully sat like a statue behind my desk trying to get closer to God. I live in the world of sermons and books printed on felled trees. Tom lives in the world of trees still standing. On this day I began to think that Tom's way of getting closer to God might have its advantages.

During our hike through a downpour of rain, sleet, and then snow, I finally asked Tom if we could stop and rest for a moment. For some reason, I was under the impression that we would be riding horses most of the time, but that turned out not to be the case. Tom seemed to think that the elk that we were pursuing would be just over the next mountain. He had this same thought many times as we scaled what I was sure was the last of the last of the Rockies, only to discover another bigger and ascending and more scrub-oak infested path before us. On we would go, up and up, mountain after mountain. Having seen so many elk in the lowlands around my house, I was wondering if this was Tom's idea of a hazing. I could imagine him thinking to himself, "Okay, you stubby legged little preacher - this is payback for all of those sermons where you made me feel guilty or inadequate!" Such thoughts travel remarkably easy through an oxygen starved brain.

I finally came to rest on a massive tree that had fallen many years ago and was well into its quiet and determined return to dust. As I sat there pondering the enormous tree, I began to wonder just how long it had been since the day when it fell in the forest and no one heard it - a philosophical question. And, I began to wonder how many years it had lived before it died. And, just how far back did this tree go? When did the seed mysteriously fall to the ground, and against great odds, take root and begin to grow? Because of the remoteness of the area, I wondered if I were the only person in history to ever stop and take a breather on this old decaying tree. How many birds had nested here? How many squirrels had scampered up and down its trunk? All of these thoughts passed through my mind in an instant. It was a holy sort of moment. This one dead tree, with a history known only to God and some small woodland creatures, made me feel rather small - but in a good way. This tree had stood by while the world tried to burn itself down in W.W.I & W.W. II. This tree had predated computers, cell phones, supersonic flight, the Beatles, Big Macs, 911, and Britney Spears. I felt small because the age of this enormous dead tree lying there was a silent reminder of how brief and scattered my life on this earth had been - and will be.

Long after the Lord has called me home, this tree will still be slowly decaying and in doing so, give a chance for survival for another small seed that will randomly tumble into the shelter of its life-giving compost. Somehow, this brief little sermon preached to me from creation made me want to live - and die - in a good way. It reminded me of words once spoken by the great Apostle, "If we live, it is to honor the Lord. And, if we die, it is to honor the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. Christ died and rose again for this very purpose- to be both Lord of the living and the dead." All this while sitting on a dead tree high in the Rocky Mountians.