Dying to Live

I'm reading Henri Nouwen's book Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring. One of his main points speaks to learning how to die well. We all will face death one day, and we get only one shot at it. What does it mean to die well? Nouwen says that one part of this is to become like children; have a second childhood. He clarifies by explaining this has nothing to do with weakness or immaturity, but with a newfound freedom and strength.

     This is not the voice of a small, timid child. This is the voice of a spiritually mature person who knows he is in the presence of God and for whom complete dependence on God has become the source of strength, the basis of courage, and the secret of true inner freedom.

     Recently, a friend told me a story about twins talking to each other in the womb. The sister said to the brother, "I believe there is life after birth." Her brother protested vehemently, "No, no, this is all there is. This is a dark and cozy place, and we have nothing else to do but to cling to the cord that feeds us." The little girl insisted, "There must be something else, a place with light where there is freedom to move." Still, she could not convince her twin brother.

     After some silence, the sister said hesitantly, "I have something else to say, and I'm afraid you won't believe that, either, but I think there is a mother." Her brother became furious. "A mother!" he shouted. "What are you talking about? I have never seen a mother, and neither have you. Who put that idea in your head? As I told you, this place is all we have. Why do you always want more? This is not such a bad place, after all. We have all we need, so let's be content."

     The sister was quite overwhelmed by her brother's response and for awhile didn't dare say anything more. But she couldn't let go of her thoughts, and since she had only her twin brother to speak to, she finally said, "Don't you feel these squeezes every once in awhile? They're quite unpleasant and sometimes even painful." "Yes," he answered. "What's special about that?" "Well," the sister said, "I think that these squeezes are there to get us ready for another place, much more beautiful than this. where we will see our mother face-to-face. Don't you think that's exciting?"

     The brother didn't answer. He was fed up with the foolish talk of his sister and felt that the best thing would be simply to ignore her and hope that she would leave him alone.

     This story may help us think about death in a new way. We can live as if this life were all we had, as if death were absurd and we had better not talk about it; or we can choose to claim our divine childhood and trust that death is the painful but blessed passage that will bring us face-to-face with our God.

This made me think about our life at present here in The Orchard. I've posted a couple of times about putting roots down like bamboo (here and here), and I do still believe that, while we appear somewhat dormant right now, there will come a season of growth and flowering. But before that, I wonder -- is it really just root-putting-down that is happening?

In this blog's very first post, I said Cathy & I were not really thinking of ourselves as planting a church -- instead we were planting ourselves and seeing what God would grow.

In light of Nouwen's words, I'm wondering if, instead of saplings being transplanted we're more like seeds being planted. And we all know what it takes for seeds to grow...

Bamboo Songs

In Autumn of 2007, I posted here about us being more like bamboo than ferns. In that post I referenced that it might be 18 months or more until we had any official meetings. It is now Summer 2010 and, while we've had a couple brief seasons of meeting with a few folks, at this writing we have no "official meetings". This past weekend I had some time to ponder and pray about things and was comforted by some perspective I gained.

As I ran and then later as I rode my motorcycle two songs kept running through my head. The first was Power of Love by Huey Lewis & The News:

The Power of love is a curious thing
Make'a one man weep, make another man sing
Change a hawk to a little white Dove
More than a feelin'
That's the Power of Love

You'll be glad baby when you've found
that's the power makes the world go 'round

These lyrics were freeing to me, remembering that The Spirit of The Master is in charge of what we are doing here, and there are no results we can work up, or hype. Instead, everything rests on God's promises of love.

And as I reflected on this, that's when lyrics from Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by Fleetwood Mac came to my mind, as if God were encouraging me to relax, enjoy myself in the now, and quit worrying about stuff that I don't need to hang onto -- that I can just look forward, and trust The Love that empowers and directs us:

All I want is to see you smile,
If it takes just a little while,
Open your eyes and look at the day,
You'll see things in a different way.

Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.

This was all very encouraging to me as I pondered the "not yet-ness" of what we are doing. You see, it is sometimes tempting to think "nothing is happening -- we've got to do something!" but the truth is, there is phenomenal work going on...it is just not visible work.

And as I re-read the above referenced post while writing this one, I was even further encouraged by reading on Wikipedia that bamboo grows in 3-7 year cycles of harvesting, so in our analogue, it is OK that now, at the 2-3 year point, there is nothing viable which is visible to anyone else.

So, there is no rush for us. We do not have to make anything happen. We couldn't if we tried, and wouldn't want to even if we could...

It is very stabilizing to remember that one of the founding ideas of what we are doing here in the first place is that we don't believe our calling has anything to do with trying to make anything happen.

So here we are, continuing to rest and cultivate roots.

~ Keith

Variable Seasons, Variable Weather

It's springtime in Oregon. March came in like a lamb and went out like a lion. April has been it's usual erratic-weather self, with sun, hail, rain and wind -- back-to-back all in one day.

I'm in St. Louis, MO this morning as I type this. My uncle died and went to be with Jesus on Saturday. The weather here has been warm and breezy; feels like almost-summer. The forecast for tonight and over the weekend is for thunderstorms. I'm excited for a good Missouri thunder & lightning show.

Being with family as we mourn our loss together, and seeing the difference in weather patterns helped me realize: Seasons in life don't necessarily follow seasons in weather. It is highly variable depending on "where you are at", and the net realization I've had this week is this:

We're OK

Why wouldn't we be OK? To answer that you need a little back-story.

We uprooted ourselves from California and planted ourselves in Oregon in August 2007, about a month before my father died. The Orchard Community was sprouted (on paper anyway) in December 2008 when we became an "official" Vineyard Church Plant. According to our two-year plan there are goals to meet by the end of this year -- goals that center around numbers of people. Our official agreed-upon goal was to gather 36 people, in approx 3 separate house-church groups, by December 2010. It's almost May 2010 and currently we have Cathy & me, and one other person who's personal life's schedule just created a conflict so we have not been able to meet together for around a month.

Many eyes have been on us as this idea of a Vineyard House-Church Plant is sort of an R&D experiment for the Vineyard. We've had a warm welcome, encouraging support, and have felt loved and cared-for in many ways. But we've also felt somewhat awkward; misfits in the literal sense of the word.

The Vineyard pastors in our state with whom we relate all face very different challenges than we do. They speak of hiring new staff or needing to lay people off; of adding Sunday morning services or paring back. They send their youth groups to conferences and sponsor short-term trips to other countries to do humanitarian work and share God's love with people in other cultures. They relate the challenges of running ministry teams and managing the financial responsibilities of owning or renting (or losing a lease on) a building. Coming from the church culture we left behind in California, we know these challenges and joys very well. We understand them and can laugh and cry along with these other pastors. But there's one thing we no longer seem to be able to do: relate to them. Yes we still have relationship and are very thankful for that. But the challenges and joys they face are difficult for us to relate to since they are very different from our own and, for the most part, it will always be that way since we have no plans to ever have a building or a staff or ministry teams or Sunday morning meetings, etc.

It's like they are round pegs, neatly fitting their round holes. They have their niche, and we're glad for them. But we feel like we're pegs of an undetermined shape, trying to figure out what-shaped hole we fit. We catch glimpses of it now and again, and while we think we know the shape to be sort-of squarish, all we are very sure of is that the shape is simply "not round". There's a tension just from that -- from the still-not-knowing. But there's an added tension which comes from an extended time of hanging out with round pegs, hearing about the round-holed joys and challenges, and knowing more and more "That's not us."

So here we are 7 months away from our 36-people, 3-group, December 2010 deadline...with no real deep understanding of what our ultimate plan will look like or how we'll fit in with the greater group of round peg/round hole folks -- or even if we'll fit.

That's why we sometimes don't feel OK.

But to repeat what I wrote above, being with my Seckel family as we mourn our loss together, and seeing the differences in the weather patterns of mid-Spring Missouri compared to mid-Spring Oregon helped me realize that the seasons in our life don't necessarily follow seasons in the year and the expected weather patterns. It is all highly variable depending on "where you are at", and so the net realization I've had this week is this:

We're OK

I don't know what December will hold for us, but I'm comforted in the assurance that the love and welcome and encouragement will continue from the pastors here in Oregon. I'm also comforted to know that the growth we experience, both internal and external, is not our responsibility. Yes, there are efforts we are called to make, but the ultimate responsibility does not rest on our shoulders. We do not have to somehow make ourselves figure out who we're supposed to be, and we're certainly not responsible for making ourselves into something we're not!

Rather, like plants growing in season, we can rest in the love The Orchard Master has for us; in the dreams He has had for us all along: the dreams He has had not just for us, but for the world around us, through us -- and the plans He has in us through the world around us.

We're very much like the farmer Jesus spoke of, as recorded by His follower named Mark:

"The kingdom of God is like someone who spreads seed on the ground. He goes to sleep and gets up, night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. By itself the soil produces a crop, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. And when the grain is ripe, he sends in the sickle because the harvest has come.”

We plant seeds in the soil around us. We allow seeds to be planted within us in the soil of our hearts. Watering happens as a collaborative effort. But the growth? That's His work, His labor of love, His dreams for the world coming true in and through us.

We're walking through The Orchard together with The Orchard Master; our hand in His. And although the weather up ahead looks like we might be in for a storm or two, we're OK.

Baked Ham in Paradise

Today is Easter. I like to think of this as "Christian New Year" -- the first Easter, when the first followers first discovered Jesus' tomb was empty was the first day in a new chapter in a bigger story than any of us can imagine; a story worth living in.

For many people, Jesus-Followers or not, it is also a wonderful feast day, filled with chocolate and other candy, eggs and treats of all sorts; and families gathering to share a meal. Winn Griffin shared this today and I thought it was worth passing along:

"There are eight meal scenes in the story of Luke. The seventh one was what we traditionally call the Last Supper. The eighth one was on the day of resurrection with the husband and wife that Jesus met on the Road to Emmaus.

Think of the first meal in the Garden. The moment is heavy with significance. “The woman took some of the fruit, and ate it, she gave it to her husband, and he ate it; then the eyes of the both were opened, and they knew that they were naked (Gen 3.6-7). This first meal of the new creation was celebrated with a male and female. One shouldn’t pass to quickly by in the reading of the Luke 24 text without noticing the echoes of the first meal in the Garden. Describing the first meal of the new creation, Luke says, “He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, then the eyes of them both were opened, and they recognized him” (Luke 24.31).

The first couple’s eyes were opened and they saw themselves naked. At the beginning of the new creation, this couple’s eyes were opened and they recognized Jesus. They recognized him in the breaking of the bread.

If you have an opportunity to receive communion as you celebrate the Resurrection, the beginning of the new creation in this present evil age, do so and let your eyes be opened to all the new creation in Jesus offers. It’s a story worth living in."

A story worth living in, indeed.

And I wonder, in the final chapter, what that first meal will be like in the New Orchard when we all gather with eternally-opened eyes and share together in the celebration feast? I'm hungry!

Happy Easter everyone...may all your best hungers be satisfied today and in this new year.

The Donkey was a Comma

Today is "Palm Sunday" -- the Sunday before Easter when Christians traditionally celebrate Jesus' "Triumphal entry" into Jerusalem -- the "City of Peace".

His entry is called "triumphal" because the crowds lay their cloaks and palm branches at his feet, or rather the feet of the donkey he rode. In the culture of that day this gesture was a sign that they were recognizing him as king. They were shouting "Hosanna!" which means "Save us!" and yet in this context it was more like "Hurray! You're here to save us!!!". They were also shouting about Jesus being "Son of David" (their last great military king) and "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord." Essentially they were saying "You da man!!!! You're the ambassador -- the personal representative -- of God himself, and you're here to take over the place and then YOU will rule over us instead of us being ruled by these oppressive Romans or all the other people groups that have kept us down! Thank you! You rock!"

But they missed something. Just. Didn't. See it.

 It's like punctuation. There's a big difference between:

"How are you my friend?"

and

"How are you, my friend?"

That one little comma makes a huge difference in the meaning of the phrase being communicated.

The donkey was a comma, and the people missed it. That one little crucial detail turned the whole thing around. And they Just. Didn't. See it.

Because they didn't want to. The donkey was a symbol of lowliness, humility. A triumphant king entering a city he had just conquered would have ridden the biggest strongest most impressive stallion in his stables.

Jesus rode a borrowed donkey.

Jesus wasn't conquering anything with military might or power. He was coming in peace, riding a symbol of humility. He let the people say what they were saying because it was right and true -- they just didn't see the whole picture -- didn't understand the sense of timing.

Less than a week later that same crowd would be angry -- likely feeling like the victims of some great cosmic bait & switch. The same crowds that shouted "Hosanna!" would be shouting "CRUCIFY HIM!!!" I wonder if the ones who were really gung-ho about staging a military coup (they called themselves "Zealots") went out and killed the donkey?

Today is Palm Sunday. Jesus is still riding a borrowed donkey as he enters my town of Salem, OR (a city called Peace). Will I let myself see the donkey?

I wonder how much I miss today when I look at Jesus riding into my life? What do I not see because I don't want to see it? What are my expectations on him? What do I shout when I first see him? What do I shout later this week when my expectations aren't realized, and I'm left to face the truth that he was on a donkey the whole time?

Lenten Feasting and Fasting

This is from the Friday morning eucharistic ceremony @  Mount Calvary (courtesy of our good friend Fran -- blessings on your head!)

Lenten Feasting and Fasting:

Lent is more than a time of fasting;
it can also be a joyous season of feasting.

Lent is a time to fast from certain things,
and to feast on others.

Fast from judging others

Feast on the Christ dwelling in them

Fast from emphasis on differences

Feast on the unity of life

Fast from apparent darkness

Feast on the reality of light

Fast from thoughts of illness

Feast on the healing power of God

Fast from words that pollute

Feast on words of purity

Fast from discontent

Feast on gratitude

Fast from anger

Feast on patience

Fast from pessimism

Feast on optimism

Fast from worry

Feast on Divine Providence

Fast from complaining

Feast on appreciation

Fast from negatives

Feast on affirmatives

Fast from unrelenting pressures

Feast on unceasing prayer

Fast from hostility

Feast on peace

Fast from bitterness

Feast on forgiveness

Fast from self-concern

Feast on compassion for others

Fast from personal anxiety

Feast on trust

Fast from discouragement

Feast on hope

Fast from acts that tear down

Feast on acts which build up

Fast from thoughts that weaken

Feast on promises that inspire

Fast from idle gossip

Feast on purposeful silence

Fast from problems which overwhelm

Feast on prayer that undergirds

What Kind of Fruit Will We Bear

This is the question we are asking ourselves these days.

If a peach tree is planted in Georgia, the peaches will taste somewhat different than if that same tree is planted in California. The soil and the air, and the trace minerals in the water, all will contribute to the unique taste of the fruit.

But is is still a peach.

We believe there may be a variety of fruits we bear over the months of each year.

So as we look to The Orchard Master, we are wondering how our context will influence our "taste", but on a deeper level we are wondering "What kind of fruit will we bear in this current Autumn season?"

How about you?