I wake this morning to the sound of Rock Creek rushing by. We are not far from the little creeks and rivulets that are coming off of the snow pack high in the mountains that form the source of the creek. By the time it gets to this town, it is a formidable force. Were you to try to wade across the stream, it would knock you down and roll you against the boulders that give the stream its name. Farther downstream it is more placid even though there are more creeks that join it and more water in the river. It will join the Yellowstone, the nation’s longest river that still flows in its own natural bed without any dams or obstructions. The Yellowstone flows into the Missouri near the North Dakota border and the Missouri into the Mississippi downstream in Missouri. The Mississippi flows into the Gulf of Mexico near New Orleans. But when the water that is flowing by as we begin the last day of our vacation finally reaches the ocean, its journey will not be ended. Some water will journey on ocean currents and be swept out into the Atlantic. Some will lie next to the surface and be evaporated into the clouds where it will be blown by the Jet Stream to distant locations to fall as rain or hail or snow and begin flowing down stream once again.

Ending our vacation - returning to the place we call home for now - is only part of our story. And our journey is not about the destination, but rather about the process of traveling together. The stories of our people have always been the stories of those with whom we travel. Abram and Sarai left the home of their parents and grandparents to journey to the land that God was going to show them. They took with them some of their possessions and some of the people that they had known in the old country. They had a son born to them later in the journey. That son was the father of two sons and his son was the father of twelve. And our people began to tell our story be telling of the other people with whom we journey.

We have been called, for this season of our lives, to journey with a particular people who form a congregation in Rapid City, South Dakota. Though we vacation, we know that we are still called to make our journey with these folk. We’ve been with them long enough to have celebrated many, many baptisms and confirmations and weddings. We have been with them long enough to have officiated at many funerals. Our church has welcomed hundreds of new members, some of whom have remained with us for the rest of their lives, others who have journeyed with us for a little while and then go on to other communities and other expressions of faith. The journey of our congregation is not primarily a journey through space, though we live on a traveling planet that is constantly in motion. Ours is a journey of history-making through time. The decades have passed and we continue to serve the people of our community. We celebrate anniversaries and can count 137 years that we have been around.

But like the creek flowing by our camping place, there is more to the story.

For we also share the journey with classmates and colleagues who serve in Australia and England and South Africa and Indonesia and many other countries. We share the journey with classmates and colleagues who serve in different states and regions of this nation. Some of those people serve in different denominations and different expressions of our shared Christian faith. Some no longer serve as pastors but now are lawyers and doctors and teachers and writers and work in other vocations. Each serves in accord to a call from God.

And we are no less engaged in God’s work than are our children: Isaac working at the hospital, Rachel caring for children at the Child Development Center.

The journey has never been about a particular destination. Although tomorrow I will rise early and head to 1200 Clark Street in Rapid City to greet my office and the people who come there, the journey has never been about an address.

The journey is always about the people with whom we travel. I’ll need to catch up on their stories. There are stories of new families learning in wonder to raise children, stories of illness changing the course of lives, of healing making new possibilities open. I’ll need to find out how one person’s addiction recovery goes and how another has gotten along with the care of a grandchild. I’ll want to hear of how the congregation gathered for a rummage sale and how worship went in our absence. I’ll need to read the minutes of meetings that happened in our absence and decisions that were made as we traveled. There will be many correspondences requiring response and much to learn. There will be a pile of paper on my desk that needs to be sorted and responses that need to be made. There is a bulletin to prepare and people to call.

The journey continues, whether or not I am in the office. And that is as it should be. The journey is not mine alone and never has. The journey will continue after the time of my service to this particular congregation.

But for now, I have a place and a people that I call home even as I remember the words of the Psalmist, “Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.” Even that place we call home - or in my case the many places I call home - is not our true dwelling. Our true dwelling is a relationship with God. We live and grow and breathe in the hands of God who is love.

Soon we’ll be on the road again and hundreds more miles will fall behind. We’ll sleep in our home in the hills with its familiar sounds and neighbors.

And the journey will continue.

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