Walking

Walk

"There's a difference between knowing the Path and walking the Path." (The Matrix).

My friend Jonathon Stalls begins his walk across America on Monday, March 1st in Lewes, Delaware. His journey will take him across twelve states covering nearly 3,000 miles over roughly 11 months. His adventure is as much about his faith as it is his desire for authentic community. He will also be walking to raise awareness for an organization he supports called Kiva.

You can find out more about his journey by going to his website at www.kivawalk.com.

In honor of Jon's impending journey, I want so share the Prayer of St. Brendan with you. St. Brendan, born in 484 near present-day Tralee, Co Kerry, Ireland made a missionary voyage across the Atlantic in a leather boat according to tradition. Facing the unknown perils of the journey, this prayer was offered:

Shall I abandon, O King of mysteries, the soft comforts of home? Shall I turn my back on my native land, and turn my face towards the sea?
Shall I put myself wholly at your mercy, without silver, without a horse, without fame, without honour? Shall I throw myself wholly upon You, without sword and shield, without food and drink, without a bed to lie on? Shall I say farewell to my beautiful land, placing myself under Your yoke?
Shall I pour out my heart to You, confessing my manifold sins and begging forgiveness, tears streaming down my cheeks? Shall I leave the prints of my knees on the sandy beach, a record of my final prayer in my native land?
Shall I then suffer every kind of wound that the sea can inflict? Shall I take my tiny boat across the wide sparkling ocean? O King of the Glorious Heaven, shall I go of my own choice upon the sea?
O Christ, will You help me on the wild waves?

Jon -- God be with you on your journey. Safe home.

Recommended

From the cover:

"A growing number of people are disturbed by the values exhibited by the contemporary church. Worship has become entertainment, the church has become a shopping mall, and God has become a consumable product. Through Scripture, history, engaging narrative, and the inspiring art of Vincent van Gogh, The Divine Commodity explores spiritual practices that liberate our imaginations to live as Christ's people in a consumer culture opposed to the values of his kingdom. Each chapter will open your eyes to how consumerism has distorted our faith and equip you to live differently. The Divine Commodity articulates what so many have been feeling and offers hope for the future of a post-consumer Christianity."

I highly recommend Skye Jethani's The Divine Commodity to you. Here are a few excerpts to chew on:

"Rather than putting on a 'Tommy Hellfighter' t-shirt, a 'Got Jesus?' bumper sticker, or 'Jesus is my Homeboy' underwear, why not follow Paul's advice and focus our energy toward putting on 'compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience'. This is how our identity is revealed, not by the brands we display, but by faith working through love. Jesus said, 'By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another'. Christ's true people are branded with love." (p. 59, The Divine Commodity).

"Jesus wasn't driven by impact. His desire wasn't to attract an ever-increasing crowd of people. In fact, episodes like the events of Holy Week and his teaching to the crowds (John 6) reveal a Jesus who intentionally weeds out those who are attracted to him for the wrong reasons. Something as rudimentary as assembling a crowd was a goal far below his calling. Late night television has proven that a man crushing a beer can on his forehead can draw a crowd. A two-liter of Diet Coke and a pack of Mentos mints can draw a crowd. For Jesus impact did not define legitimacy; bigger was not intrinsically better." (p. 164, The Divine Commodity).

Dependent

"No man is an island." (from Meditation XVII by poet John Donne).

I've been married for seven years, and I am beginning to notice a disturbing trend. I can't seem to find anything any more. With increasing frequency, I am having to ask my wife where I can find a lot of the little things I used to have no difficulty finding. Since I am only 40, I am doubtful that dementia or senility is settling in. I seem to have no problem managing my classroom and finding what I need there, but at home, things are entirely different. It causes me to be suspicious.

Is this a game wives learn to play to make their men more dependent upon them? Is there some "secret code of the wife" from which they learn to wear down their men and subdue them into some form of domesticated submission? I don't know if this is a darker, feminine consipiracy or if this is just the way it is supposed to be. I used to make fun of those sniveling old men who seem led around with a leash by their wives of 40 years. You know...the ones who would instantly revert to caveman status because of their inability to cook or dress -- emasculated shadows of their former selves. Now, I am beginning to understand how that could happen!

I was single a whole lot longer than I've been married, and I functioned quite well in that environment. I managed my home, cooked great food, did my own laundry, matched my clothes, and -- more importantly -- knew where everything was at. I was in control. These days, whenever someone asks where they can find something in our kitchen, I refer them to Brenda. Three weeks ago, I needed to run something through the wash. I stood in front of the washing machine for 5 minutes staring at the buttons and lights wondering when washers went digital and not knowing what to do. Fortunately, our 17-year old came by and saved me (much to his delight).

I feel much less "in control" than I used to be. In our American vernacular, the word "dependency" carries with it some fairly negative connotations. From the time we are young, the themes of individualism, independence, and personal liberty are held before us as some of our highest virtues. In my opinion, these pursuits in their extreme have produced in us a barbaric aloneness and pagan individualism that has left many of us adrift in the sea of isolation. I see the affects of isolation sickness all around me -- among the students I teach, among my neighbors walking down the street, and even in those sitting in the pew nearby.

I say "barbaric" because this individualism strips men (and women) of community, transparency, and belonging that sustains healthy living and offers necessary support. Isolation tears a person down and has been used as a weapon against POW's and inmates to coerce conformity or interrogate. Aloneness is dehumanizing.

I say "pagan" because I don't believe that rugged individualism is the Way of Christ. I see no where in the scriptures that we are to "go it alone". Our faith is expressed in community, and our faith leads us to care for our community. Even the Trinity -- God himself -- is a model for us of identity, kinship, dependency, and love. We are created for God, and we are created for one another.

I am enjoying this shared life, free of power-struggles and a diminishing self-reliance. I appreciate my growing dependency on those in my family and community of faith which somehow also reflects my growing dependency on God. I was independent by necessity and circumstance; I'm dependent by the grace of God!

Individualism

Oreo's, Pepsi, and Potato Chips

"He who shares is left with the best share."

There's a story that took place when I was eleven that I have enjoyed sharing with my students throughout the years. I usually tell the story in the context of discussions surrounding the topic of selfishness or assertiveness. It also reveals just a bit about where I came from and why I think the way I do on certain subjects. The story takes place the night I kicked my step-dad out of the house.

I remember my step-dad possessing an affinity for five things: Oreos, Pepsi, Seyfert's Potato Chips, Oil of Olay skin products, and cigarettes. As a young kid, two of the five didn't interest me in the least, but those junk foods possessed quite the temptation. One of my step-dad's more notable characteristics was that he didn't like to share. Consequently, the Oreos, Pepsi's, and potato chips were stored underneath his sofa and he gave them up for no one. Before he would leave the house, he would count the cookies and Pepsi's and fold and seal the potato chip bag in such a way to know whether it had been tampered with. If he found anything missing, or -- God forbid -- if he had miscounted, an unholy hell would break loose.

You can imagine the temptation those things had for the kid getting off the school bus and coming home to a house without much food in it. There were times when an Oreo would go missing and I would have to take what was owed. I weighed the costs each time and took calculated risks, but at least I got the Oreo.

There was one particular night that stands out in my memory, the night my step-dad left for good. He came home to discover his priceless possessions had been invaded, and the usual game began. This time, however, the missing pieces were the result of his miscalculation rather than an eleven year old's sweet tooth. I stood up to him for the first time and told him about how selfish he was. By the time my mother chimed in, he had had quite enough. He went to the living room, grabbed the Oreos, sodas, and chips and brought them into the kitchen. In front of us, he crumbled up every cookie and every chip and poured each Pepsi down the drain in a tirade that would embarass a three year-old.

He grabbed what was left of his precious possessions and walked out of our lives.

Funny enough, I don't really like Oreo's, Pepsi, or potato chips. Some would say that's because of the associations I make in my mind with my childhood...or it could be that I don't eat junk food or drink many soft drinks at all. What I do know for sure is that there are a couple rules I've established in my life as a result of my experiences with my step-dad and his junk food fetish:

1) Don't hide (or hoard) food.

2) Share what I've got.

This sharing principle is exceedingly important to me and is one of the driving forces of my life. The kind of sharing I am talking about is beyond the "plays well with others" evaluations of kindergarten and encompasses a broader generosity of living. I believe that everything I have is a gift from God and, as such, is not simply my own to possess. Consequently, it is quite easy for me to share my home, my family, my income, my possessions, and my life with others.

It may sound elementary, but I have gained much more in my life by sharing than I ever have by hoarding. I suppose I've got my step-dad and my Father to thank for that valuable lesson.

Paraphrase

"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water. I was a stranger, and you wanted me deported. I needed clothes, and you needed more clothes. I was sick, and you pointed out the behavior that led to my sickness. I was in prison, and you said I was getting what I deserved."

(paraphrased Matthew 25 from "The Hole in Our Gospel")

Knee

Distance

"Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time" (Steven Wright).

I'm a sucker for a road trip, even when others are taking them instead of me. Our friend Jolene gave my wife a road trip to the nearest In-n-Out Burger as a Christmas gift. We live in Denver; the nearest In-n-Out is in Salt Lake City. Eight hours of open American interstate lay between them and that burger, but they managed to bridge that gap and eat there twice over the course of their weekend together.

Personally, I find In-n-Out Burger to be relatively mediocre, which I know doesn't win me many friends on the west coast. Then again, I'm not from California, and I certainly don't have the same sentimental associations with the place that my California girl does. If I'm going to go out of my way for a burger in America's west, it would probably have to be from Carl's Jr...but it is highly doubtful I would spend an entire weekend trying to get my Guacamole Bacon Burger.

Practically speaking, I can't help but think how much each of those burgers and fries cost when figuring in the cost of gasoline, wear and tear on the car, and any other purchases along the way. But then again, that's not really the point, is it?

While the pursuit of the burger may have been the selling point for the road trip, the journey wasn't really about the burger. There was something much deeper going on. Eventhough In-n-Out might appreciate the lengths and distances people will travel to get their food, I know that this road trip was about the pursuit of friendship and a meaningful existence: two friends journeying together to meet up with a third (Brenda's friend, Janet who lives in Salt Lake).

Though some might judge their little road trip as impractical, irrational, and inane, there are quite a few things about it that I can appreciate. I appreciate the lengths people will go to bridge the distance between themselves and someone they value. I admire people who are willing to sacrifice time and resources to run after what is important to them, particularly when those sacrifices are beneficial for others. Distance traveled can be a measure of devotion. In this particular case, it was more than brand loyalty that took Brenda and Jolene across the west.

Our friend Jonathon leaves in a month to begin his walk across America from Delaware to California. He will spend the better part of a year doing so with pack on his back and dog in tow. His journey isn't some "Into the Wild" escape or running away from life but is instead filled with purpose, beauty, and meaning deeper than many can grasp. San Francisco isn't his goal; the journey is. I can appreciate his journey.

As impractical, irrational, and inane some journey's may seem to others, there can be no arguing with the things that move a man's heart and cause him to go the distance in the pursuit of others. The Christ I admire went the distance for humanity, and he teaches us that leaving the ninety-nine in pursuit of the one is a noble journey. Each of us measures the worth of others by whether or not we are willing to go the metaphorical distance to get to them. Jesus reminds us that people are worth the pursuit, and their value is affirmed in the time spent.

We may seek to quantify whether or not such journeys to help a neighbor or serve a nation are worth the blood, sweat, and tears (or, God forbid, the money). Our consumer culture has taught us this lesson well. But I don't think we should measure the worth of a man according to my convenience, my comfort, or the amount of money spent. Such measurements seem to cheapen a man's soul.

I will always love the journey. For me, the getting there is as important as the destination. The journey is the reward.