A recent conversation with a colleague focused on interview techniques. Actually, in our relatively small congregations, we don’t do that much interviewing. We don’t have many employees and when we have a change of employees we usually don’t have many applicants. The average lead pastor in a congregation is probably interviewed by others more often than she or he interviews candidates for jobs. Nonetheless, the topic came up and we were thinking of questions that might be asked to give the applicant an opportunity to reveal something of his or her character as well as a simple demonstration of job skills. In that conversation, the question that struck me the most was this: “When was a time that it cost you personally to tell the truth?”

There are many times when we are silent instead of telling the truth. Sometimes we justify our actions by claiming that we don’t want to hurt another’s feelings. Most of the time, we are trying to avoid conflict and disagreement. We are uncomfortable with being in a situation where we disagree and often we don’t want to highlight the disagreement so we simply say nothing.

Felling a bit uncomfortable, however, isn’t exactly paying a high price for the truth. I think that if I were asked the question about a time when it cost me personally to tell the truth that I probably would squirm a bit and have to think seriously before answering. The reality is that I haven’t had to pay a high price for the truth in my life - and giving that honest answer during the interview might just cost me the job bering offered.

It seems to me that one of the characteristics of modern society is that demonstrations of courage are few and far between. Politicians seem to be most likely to assume the convictions of their largest donors. It is often very difficult to see anything close to personal convictions in a political leader. What is labeled “integrity” often doesn’t come from within at all, but is rather consistency in a particular position. It takes far more courage to listen carefully to an argument and to be open to changing one’s mind than it does to simply repeat the same rhetoric and continue on a course of action despite the evidence being offered by those with whom one disagrees. Genuine political courage, it seems to me, might involve doing what one believes is right even if the action means the loss of a contributor or perhaps even the loss of an election. We’ve placed such a high value on winning, that we celebrate victories even when they come at the cost of integrity and honesty. There are occasional scandals when a sports hero is caught openly cheating through the use of drugs or manipulating the game in some other fashion, but the scandals soon pass and what is remembered is who won and who lost.

Thinking of truth and courage makes me wonder what other core values we have failed to encourage in our shared life. If we have created a society that values success over truth and rewards compliance over courage, do we also discourage genuine love in place of short term gain? I’m guessing that the answer is yes.

New York Times columnist David Brooks speaks of the difference between what he calls “resume virtues” and “eulogy virtues.” We often focus on the parts of our lives that might bring wealth, fame or status. When we prepare our resumes, we emphasize the qualities and abilities we have that will help us achieve success - often success as defined by our status. A person’s eulogy, however, rarely reflects the various accomplishments and awards that appear in one’s resume. Instead, after one has died, people speak of courage and truth and love. They remember service and sacrifice over accomplishment and wealth.

Brooks’ observation has been made by many others. The oft-repeated statement “you can’t take it with you” is another way of saying the same thing. In the end, we will be known not so much for how much we gained, but for how much we gave.

The truth is that I am a long ways down the road of my career. I am not particularly interested in continuing to build my resume. I’m comfortable with the things I have accomplished and a bit chagrined by the things I have failed to accomplish. I’ve reached the stage in life where I probably don’t need to work on my resume virtues. In fact, I may never need to actually prepare a fresh resume again for the purpose of gaining employment. I do, however, care about my eulogy virtues.

It is abundantly clear that while one can control what is written in one’s resume, one has no control over what is said in one’s eulogy. After we have died, what remains is the impact of our inner character. In the big picture we will be known not for our limitations, but for our inner strength. In the big picture truth and courage and love count for far more than accomplishments, wealth and public acclaim.

We live in the age of the “selfie” a picture of oneself taken by oneself. I’m not much for such images. I get a picture of myself in the mirror each day. I see no particular need to publish that. More importantly, the most significant things that I have done in life so far have been projects shared with others. The important projects are always bigger than one person. The causes worth serving can’t be accomplished in one lifetime - they take generations.

I shan’t be thinking about my eulogy - there is time for others to take control of what they may or may not say, but I will think of the virtues that will remain when my time on this earth is finished. There are some causes that are bigger than I and some investments that will outlive my time.

Maybe next time I interview someone instead of asking him or her to tell of their best accomplishments I’ll ask, “What are the unfinished tasks that engage your passion and energy?”

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If you’re not from South Dakota, you probably haven’t heard about the little family argument that we’ve been having throughout the spring and summer. It has to do with what we call the highest point in our state. The highest point in our state isn’t far from our home, and although it isn’t exactly like Colorado, where the highest peak is 14,433 feet above sea level, or Wyoming (13,804 ft) or Montana (12,799 ft), our peak at 7,242 feet is higher than any point to the east of it in the United States. We may be east of the mighty Rocky Mountains, but it is all downhill from here! The White Mountains, Appalachian Mountains, Blue Mountains, Smokey Mountains and all the other “mountains” of the eastern half of the continent are lower than our hills.

Sometime after 1889, when South Dakota became a state the same year that General William S. Harney died, the peak was given the name Harney Peak and the name has been the most common moniker for the granite peak since that time. In 1911 a wooden fire tower was constructed on top of the peak as a good place to look for fire, but the weather in the hills being what it is, the fire tower was frequently struck by lightning. The stone fire tower that is now on the top of the peak was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1938 and was in use as a fire tower until 1967.

The peak is an easy climb from the Sylvan Lake parking lot. Trails also lead to the top from Horse Thief Lake and a trailhead on Palmer Creek Road. From the Sylvan Lake parking lot, it is a gentle 7-mile round-trip.

Lakota people have not been big fans of the English name for the mountain. It is fair to say that William Harney was a controversial figure in his time and continues to have a mixed legacy. He was court-martialed four times during his career in the U.S. Army. When commanding Army troops in Oregon territory he ordered a buildup of troops on San Juan Island and nearly sparked armed conflict with Great Britain. He beat a female slave to death at his sister-in-law’s house in 134. During the Civil War he was accused of being disloyal to the Union for his cautious approach toward tensions between secessionists and pro-Union factions in St. Louis. He finally achieved military recognition for his role in protecting settlers from Indian attacks on the Great Plains, but also was known for his fiery temper, profane outbursts and beatings of military subordinates.

One key moment in his career has been remembered by Lakota people. In 1855, Harney was the commander of the US troops at the battle of Ash Hollow in Nebraska. Harney had 600 troops who killed 86 Lakota people. The attack was in retaliation for a Lakota killing of 30 soldiers and a civilian interpreter at the Grattan Fight the previous year. In the battle of Ash Hollow, women and children were also killed. The Lakota gave Harney the name “Woman Killer” after that battle.

Of course no person is completely defined by a single action, even one as terrible as commanding troops that engage in the killing of innocents. The historian George Adams, who wrote a biography of General Harney, says that in later years Harney developed an appreciation for the Lakota people and, in his role as Army administrator of the Great Sioux Reservation, consistently overspent the budget set by Congress in an attempt to keep faith with the promises of treaties that were made.

So the conversation we’ve been having here in South Dakota is about whether or not it is time to change the name of the peak. There are plenty of other things named after General Harney in our region, including streets in our town. It is unlikely that he will be forgotten anytime soon. But the South Dakota Boar on Geographic Names will soon vote on a recommendation to change the name of the peak to “Hinhan Kaga” which means “Making of Owls.” It is unclear whether or not Hinhan Kaga is the original Lakota name for the peak. The name was probably also used to identify the features known as “The Needles.” It wasn’t uncommon for Lakota people to name features that were used as meeting places and to leave other geographic features without specific names.

Two members of our Governor’s cabinet have opposed the name change, citing the difficulty of pronouncing the proposed new name. Quite frankly, it seems to me that their protest says more about the character of the people chosen by our Governor to serve in his cabinet, that they can’t even learn two words of the indigenous language of our state.

There are other features in the hills that I have chosen to refer to by their preferred Lakota names simply because they make more sense to me. Devil’s Tower is a strange name for the feature known by the Lakota as Mato Tipi. Home of the bear makes more sense than giving the place the name of the devil. I don’t think the devil had anything to do with the beautiful and unique feature. Since traditional Lakota spirituality has no personified evil spirit, only a “trickster,” the use of the name devil probably has to do with a misunderstanding of the Lakota concept of spirit. In North Dakota, Spirit Lake was given the name “Devil’s Lake” from a similar misunderstanding. Bear Butte is an accurate translation of the Lakota Paha Mato, but I like the sound of Paha Mato and so often use it when referring to that prominent feature.

I have no plans to testify at the hearing of the state board on geographical names, but I do think I’ll start calling the peak Hinhan Kaga. I like the idea of the making of owls. And using Lakota names makes our corner of the world seem just a little bit more exotic than giving a rocky peak the name of a long-gone general whose military career was, at best, mixed.

I'm not sure that we ought to name mountains after people in the first place. I certainly hope they never decide to name a mountain after me.

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I’ve noticed that people in the Dakotas often comment about the weather, “it usually isn’t like this.” When we have a run of cold, the people say, “this is unusual weather for us.” When it gets hot, or dry, or wet, “This isn’t typical.” I guess that when we don’t happen to like the weather, it is natural to long for something different.

It was hard to argue with the weather yesterday, however. It felt like summer. The temperature got up to 90 degrees, the sun was bright, the skies were clear with just a few high white clouds. It was lovely. After several weeks of rain, we’re heading into a week with few showers in the forecast. The temperatures aren’t going to be quite as high as they were yesterday for the rest of the week, but we’re definitely in for some very pleasant weather.

I love sleeping with my windows open. Fresh air from outside always seems a bit sweeter than the air that is boxed up indoors. I like waking to the birdsong even though we’ve had a few pigeons hanging around lately. Their repetitive cooing isn’t exactly musical, but theirs isn’t the only sound outside my window.

It is a reality, however, that our neighborhood is simply more noisy than was the case a few years ago. When I came back from paddling at the lake yesterday morning, a neighbor was out mowing his lawn at 7 am. We used to have an unspoken agreement in our neighborhood that we’d wait until 9 am on Saturdays to start up lawn mowers, weed eaters, and other noisy devices. Another neighbor was still mowing at 9 pm. Neither neighbor bothered me. They didn’t disrupt my sleep. I’m not concerned about people mowing their lawns. Still, I decided to wait until 9 am before I got out my lawn mower just in case I had a neighbor who wanted to sleep in. That seemed likely because one of my neighbors was just coming in at 2:30 am the night before, with plenty of slamming car doors, loud talking and yelling at their little dog. I do sleep with my windows open, after all.

Up and down the streets there are plenty of “for sale” signs around the neighborhood, and one of the houses on our street has sold within the last week. With hints that interest rates may go up, people are scrambling to get their financing in order and purchases made. We’ve lived in the same home for twenty years and thought there are a couple of neighbors who were here when we came, most of the homes in our neighborhood have residents who don’ remember what our subdivision was like a decade or more ago. Change is inevitable, and it doesn’t do any good to complain, but I can remember before we were annexed into the city, before the development of some of the neighboring subdivisions. When we moved in, our deer hadn’t been urbanized. If you went out of doors, or even turned on a porch light, the deer ran away. These days, we have urban deer for neighbors. I can walk out to get the newspaper in the morning and the deer will lift their heads and take a look, but won’t run away, and if I stomp my foot they’ll just walk across the street and come back as soon as I go inside. That is kind of nice because we get to see the fawns earlier and more often. And deer make good neighbors. They are quiet. On the other hand they’ll try to eat almost anything you plant. Between the hail and the deer, we aren’t expecting too many flowers this year. We keep the vegetable garden fenced, but each year we seem to plant fewer vegetables and more flowering plants inside the vegetable garden.

Despite my complaints about the changes in the neighborhood, we are still very fortunate to live here. It is truly a wonderful place and the weather is varied enough to keep us from being bored and temperate enough to be comfortable most of the year. I’m not eager to live in a place where the air conditioners run around the clock. I know that most of the world’s people live in urban areas where the neighbors are much closer and the personal space is much smaller than what we enjoy. I know it must seem ludicrous to a person from Connecticut to hear a South Dakotan complain about traffic. I doubt if I have ever been delayed in my drive to or from work by more than 5 minutes in the past 20 years. There aren’t many city dwellers who could make such a claim.

And the pigeons who have moved into the neighborhood will be gone by mid October. They may stay year round in the downtown area, but they are still transients in our part of town.

Of course I’m writing this before the height of motorcycle season. There were plenty of local bikers out and about yesterday, and a few tourists have come to the hills to get ahead of the rush of the 75th Sturgis Rally, but we all know what is coming. The first weeks of August are going to see a real increase in the number of guests in our neighborhood and most of them will be riding motorcycles. Mostly it requires greater vigilance when driving, which is a good skill to exercise all the time. Still all of those motorcycles do increase the amount of noise in the hills and we do like living in a rather quiet neighborhood most of the year.

Nat King Cole used to sing about those lazy hazy crazy days of summer. The pace around here doesn’t seem to have slowed quite that much. We’ve got lists of choir to be done and tasks to accomplish. Summer doesn’t involve a lot of slowing down in a tourist town. On the other hand, a diet of soda and pretzels and beer probably isn’t in the works for healthy living when you get to be my age anyway.

Still, summer has come, and it feels pretty good.

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During my college years I didn’t read fiction except for a few courses, such as Christian Faith and Contemporary Literature, that had fiction as required reading. But somewhere early in my seminary experience I encountered the novels of Elie Wiesel. which are fiction, but are almost in a category distinct from other fiction. Like all writers, Wiesel writes of what he knows. His early books, Night, Dawn, and Gates of the Forest are about that critical decade between 1939 and 1949 in which the world was transformed by the Holocaust and the establishment of the nation of Israel. Although the characters and specific scenarios of the novels are products of Wiesel’s imagination, the stories told are stories that must be told for the world to remember and process the horrors of our shared history.

Wiesel, in the introduction to one of his books, reports the true story of an encounter with a rabbi from his childhood after he has published a couple of books. The Rabbi asks Wiesel if he is writing the truth. Wiesel reflects, “Sometimes, in order to tell the truth you have to tell a story.”

None of us has a perfect memory. Even the most serious of nonfiction writers is influenced by the power of the human imagination. Then, once the book is read, people bring their imaginations to the reading and interpretation of the words. There are passages in the Bible from which different readers draw opposite conclusions. There is no doubt in my mind that our imaginations are critical to our understanding of the events of our lives.

These days I read quite a bit of fiction. It probably isn’t the dominant form of literature I read, but works of fiction constitute almost a third of the books in my library. One sub-genre that hasn’t been prominent in my reading is science fiction. Not long ago, I read a bit of Ray Bradbury because he has received so much acclaim. The book was well written, but the subject matter didn’t hold my attention for long. Unlike historical fiction, which gives some tools for interpreting events that actually occurred, science fiction tries to give meaning to the present by speculating on the future. I suspect that it is an acquired taste, and like some other acquired tastes, I just haven’t invested enough time for my palate to mature.

This past week, however. I have had a delightful journey through John Scalzi’s “Redshirts,” a very fun science fiction novel that gets the reader to speculate and think of the possibility of multiple universes and the relationship of timelines in different millennia. The writing is clever, and very funny for someone whose mind works like mine. The book was a gift from my son, who knows me well and who was, in part, sharing what he likes with me. Enjoying the story probably requires at least a surface familiarity with television science fiction such as Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, but not much more than one gains simply by living and being aware of popular culture. You don’t have to be a fan of the shows or addicted to television to enjoy the novel.

Reading the book got me to thinking about the relationship between science fiction and genuine scientific exploration. In order to be good, science fiction has to be informed by academic science. But it also pushes the envelope of human thinking in ways that open up new avenues of scientific exploration. Some of the things imagined by science fiction writers are indeed possible. Some of the devices we use daily were first imagined by fiction writers. Star Trek communicators were imagined before we all began to carry smartphones in our pockets. Many of the things these devices do were purely in the realm of fiction only a few years ago.

If the world of scientific exploration is enhanced by the power of imagination through science fiction, it seems possible that using our imaginations in other realms of human endeavor might also be valuable for human progress.

Perhaps our world needs more humanity fiction. I don’t even thing such a genre exists, but what if creative writers were to imagine a world where there were no wars, no poverty, no racism and no injustice? What if we brought the best of our creativity and energy to creating stories where human lives are valued and human relationships are successful? If our world is shaped in part by our imaginations, why not turn our imaginations to topics beyond technological devices?

It seems, from a very surface analysis that much of science fiction is centered around problems that exist in the present. Most science fiction stories concern war and injustice. The authors can imagine incredible advances in technology, but can’t seem to imagine humans being capable of ending injustice or war. One of the things that makes much science fiction not appealing for me is that so much of it centers around battles and wars with a fairly large amount of killing of innocents. Another slice of the stores center around broken relationships and failed love.

If we are to imagine a future of progress, surely we must imagine progress in the value of human life and relationships. There is so much more to the history of human progress than the development of technologies. Far more critical in the story of human civilization is the continued development of complex understandings of the nature of the world. Ideas such as monotheism took multiple generations to emerge and then many more generations to become established understandings. A reading of the Old Testament illustrates human struggles with power and justice and human progress in the understanding of the need to care for widows and orphans and immigrants.

If who we are today is so largely shaped by theological and philosophical concepts, it seems to follow that who people will become in the future will also be shaped by the advancement of theology and philosophy.

Perhaps it is time to get our imaginations working on the future of faith. Perhaps it is time for a few good books imagining the future of theology.

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When I was in high school and college, I tried a few times to write poetry. I think I lacked the patience to keep working with words. I don’t know how poets do it, but I suspect that poems rarely come all at once in sudden bursts of creativity. Rather, I suspect that the process is a long struggle with words being changed and replaced over and over again until the rhythm and the mood and the pattern come out just right.

I have never been a poet.

In fact, I didn’t read much poetry until I entered the sixth decade of my life. I used to think that I didn’t have time for poetry. I read lots of nonfiction, mostly related to my vocation, and a bit of fiction for recreation. I would occasionally come across a poem in The New Yorker or Atlantic and enjoy it briefly, but I thought of it as bit of a waste of time.

I now know I was very wrong in that opinion.

A marvelous parishioner, Barbara Gunderson, challenged me to read more poetry. She asked me to report on what poems I had been reading when I visited her. I bought a few volumes of poetry and started to look for poems that I though she might find especially meaningful. I made it a practice to have a poem or two to read to her on each visit. A visit to Barbara was always a production. Even when she was in the nursing home, I had to call ahead so that she could be ready for my visit. She would enlist the help of the attendants in the home to get her wig adjusted perfectly and be ready for the visit. She was always gracious and charming even as she lived through the final chapters of her life.

And she got me to read poetry.

It was then that I remembered how the great Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann has for decades referred to the Biblical prophets as poets. The word prophet implies some ability to predict the future. Bruegemann, however, argues that the role of the prophet is not to predict the future, but rather to speak honestly about the present. When Israel strayed from its covenant with God it took poets to call it back to its intended relationship. Sometimes the poets were the only ones with the words to speak truth to power. And Israel has, from the beginning, struggled in its relationship with God, living in covenant, but prone to unfaithfulness, forgetting God’s marvelous works and relying on its own devices and methods.

Fortunately we have the poets’ words to call us back to God. Isaiah and Jeremiah, Micah and the others all understand the power of carefully chosen words. Their words are so powerful that they continue to speak truth despite multiple translations from their original languages.

These days I make room for poetry in my life every day. Currently, I’ve been returning to Emily Dickinson, a poet whose depth escaped me on first reading. A few months ago I was reading Maya Angelou each day. I read slowly, just a few poems each day so that the words can sink in and be processed. I memorize brief phrases or sections so that I can return to them throughout the day.

Angelou’s poetry was surprising in many ways. I expected to hear some words of anger and resentment from a clear voice of an African American who chronicled the Civil Rights movement in our country. And there is anger and power in her poems. I did not expect to find as much humor and joy as are present in her words. Who would have though that a woman recognized as a spokesperson for black power and women’s rights would have a white man laughing out loud as he read her words? It was good for me to read.

So I returned to a few of Angelou’s poems as I seek to bring some understanding to the senselessness of the murderous white racist attack on the pastor and people of Mother Emmanuel Church in Columbia, South Carolina. And a couple of the poems from Angelou’s “Just Before the World Ends” seemed appropriate. “To a Freedom Fighter” and “No no no no” stirred my emotions once again.

But it was a very different poet who has given me the inspiration to renew my work in the face of this depression-causing turn of events. Mary Oliver’s “Landscape” provides a different kind of depth:

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky—as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.


It seems like a particular form of brilliance for the crows to be chosen as the vehicles of grace. We, too, get ourselves entangled in darkness. We find it hard to remember what dawn feels like. But the darkness doesn’t define us. Like the strong wings of the crows that separate them from the darkness and carry them into the light of day, our spirits aren’t destined to dwell in depression. Yes there is sadness in this world. Yes there is unspeakable tragedy. Yes there is genuine evil. But these are not our essence. These do not finally define the human spirit. We are called to the light of forgiveness and the brilliance of justice. We are called to love without reservation a world that seems at times to be loveless.

I thank God for the poets who remind me that there is more to this world than first appears.

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Relationships have many different expressions, moods and modes. Susan and I love to talk with each other. We talk about big, important things such as our faith, our children and grandchildren, plans for the future and the like. And we talk about little things like the weather, the color of an object, and trivia from the news. But talking is just one part of our relationship. There are times when just being together and sharing silence provides a deep and meaningful sense of connection.

In a similar manner, a relationship with God can take on many different forms. I am convinced that there is no single “right” way to pray. Prayer, instead, can take on many different forms. I am inspired by the eloquent prayers of Walter Brueggemann. The teacher and biblical scholar is widely known for his many books on Old Testament topics. Throughout his career he had the simple practice of beginning class with a prayer. Many of those prayers were written out in preparation for his day. The collections of his prayers are poetic, clear and very touching. I have found them to be just the right prayers for beginning meetings, bible studies and other gatherings. I also enjoy reading from his collections of prayers during my times of personal devotion.

When asked to pray in public, I think I am often quite a bit less eloquent than Brueggemann. Early in my time as a minister, I recognized that it was popular among some of my colleagues to complain about being asked to pray in public. “Everyone should be able to pray,” they would say. “You shouldn’t always ask the minister to pray for you.” While I agree that everyone should be able to pray, I am uncomfortable with the awkwardness of a minister declining the invitation to pray. I decided that I would never refuse when asked to pray. The words for some prayers are simple. I do table graces all of the time. When attending the death of a person in hospice or at the hospital, I’ve had a little time to think about the moment and compose the words of the prayer in my mind. Prayers for opening meetings sometimes become routine and, I suspect, repetitive. But there are times when I am asked to pray that I have to pause for a moment to collect my thoughts before speaking. Sometimes, when counseling with a church member with serious problems or having listened to someone caught up in one of life’s tragedies, I find myself struggling with the right words for the moment.

In those moments I need to remind myself that I do not need to clutter every moment with words. Sometimes silence is an appropriate form of prayer. Sometimes tears can say more than words.

I begin with the basic assumption that everything is a product of God’s creativity. There is, in my opinion, no distinction between the sacred and the profane. God created and is present in all of the universe. There is nowhere that we can go that is beyond the reach of God. So it is very likely that we can find God by simply living our lives. There is deep meaning in ritual and tradition and sacrament. And these are good ways to develop a relationship with God. I believe that public worship is important and I invest a lot of energy in preparing and conducting worship. But I think that God is also present in the desires and passions of everyday people. When someone says to me, “I hate this job! I wish I could . . .” I think that perhaps God is calling that person to something new. Vocation isn’t reserved to jobs in the church. There are people who are called to practice medicine or teach. There are people who are called to engage in business or provide services. I believe that God is present in the innermost desires and hopes of people. And God’s approach to people is love. When we discover what we truly love, we draw closer to God.

Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them how to pray. In Luke’s Gospel, they ask Jesus to teach them to pray, “as John taught his disciples.” Jesus gave them a simple prayer, one that many of us use every day. We often call it “The Lord’s Prayer,” or “the prayer of Jesus.” Many of us learned that prayer as children and find it very familiar and comforting. I’ve prayed it with people who were gravely ill, nearing unconsciousness and watched their lips move as they soundlessly prayed with me. I’ve prayed it with people suffering from dementia who haven’t said a thing I can understand for a whole visit, but who will join in with the prayer. It is a powerful set of words.

But if you look at the text, Jesus, after giving his disciples the words to the prayer goes on to tell a story of asking a friend to share some bread. In the story the one asking for the bread has to ask multiple times. Sometimes it takes perseverance.

It is not at all uncommon for people to report to me that they have prayed, but have not received an answer. Jesus’ instructions to his disciples teach us that when this happens we ought to pray some more. And we don’t need fancy words for our prayers. Simply asking for the things we need, like food and forgiveness, and protection, is enough.

Sometimes silence is enough.

The human imagination is a wonderful tool for pursuing our relationship with God. There are times when I imagine myself to be a participant when I am praying scriptures. I wonder where I might fit into a particular biblical story. That can be a powerful mode of prayer. But it isn’t the only way to pray. In my life, I seem to need many different ways to pray. I pray about the big things and the little things.

After all, it is about pursuing a relationship with God who is actively seeking to be in relationship with me. I don’t need to make things happen. More often, I need to allow them to happen and pay enough attention to recognize what is happening right before me.

I’m still learning how to pray.

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There certainly is a lot of talk about the Rainbow Family gathering that will take place in the first week of July in the hills about 30 miles from our home. Quite frankly, it hasn’t had any impact of my life so far except for all of the talk. And some of the talk reflects a bit of fear. I’m no expert on the group and explaining them seems to be a bit of a challenge. There are annual gatherings of the Rainbow Family of Living Light that involve thousands of people. Estimates for the gathering in the hills range from 5,000 to 20,000. That is a lot of people, but nothing like the annual motorcycle rally. We are used to having large gatherings in the hills. Although not specifically a music-based gathering, there is something about the event that reminds one of Woodstock - another event that I did not attend.

The group is committed to the principles of non-violence and egalitarianism. There is little or no official structure, though the advance team of a couple of hundred people, the busses and other structures for feeding people, and other parts of the movement do show a certain level of organization, planning and forethought.

There seems to be a combination of 1970’s-style hippie dress and a bit of new age philosophy thrown in.

As a student of theology, I’m a bit critical of “new age” philosophies. For the most part, there is nothing new about new age beliefs. They are beliefs with origins in other religious practices that are appropriated without complete consideration of the history and traditions of the source. Part of the conflict between some tribal members and the rainbow people is the appropriation of Lakota traditions and practices without a full understanding of Lakota values.

Although officially rainbow gatherings discourage the use of alcohol and drugs, except for the use of drugs in official religious ceremonies for religious purposes, the group makes no efforts to enforce restrictions on alcohol and drugs. The gatherings are attempted with a minimum of rules and enforcement mechanisms.

The practice of taking drugs as part of a religious ceremony has been around for a long time, but the use of synthetic drugs is, of course, much newer. Peyote and mushrooms are probably the most ancient of hallucinogens. The basic belief is that one can induce a state of religious euphoria by using a psychotropic drug. It doesn’t make sense from my perspective. The divine is not something that is humanly created or controlled. If religion is a matter of manipulating experience, it becomes an extension of the human, not an encounter with the divine. I suppose there is a long argument that could be held around the topic, but I have no particular interest in engaging in the topic. There are plenty of religious traditions that employ meditation and prayer without the need for chemicals. I stand in one of those traditions.

With concern for the rainbow gathering, the primary issue is that drugs are subject to abuse and risks. Cases of overdose have marred previous gatherings. If such events occur during this gathering, treatment could be a challenge with the nearest hospital 30 or 40 miles away, no cell phone service in the area where the gathering is occurring, and response at best delayed due to travel times for ambulance crews. Any gathering of the size of the rainbow group will likely involve other medical issues in need of treatment as well. It is unlikely that the impact on area hospitals will come close to that of the annual motorcycle rally, which involves a lot more people, but it will likely mean some overtime work for some health care providers.

Although the group has expressed interest in ecology and the care of the land, you don’t get that many people together in a small area without having some impact. Most of the attendees will come from out of state with private vehicles being the primary mode of transportation. That means the need for designated parking areas in a part of the forest where there is normally not that much vehicle travel. A multiple day gathering will produce a significant amount of human waste. In the past the group has dealt with this by creating pit or trench toilets. Even if these are properly filled in afterward, the surface vegetation must be disrupted to create the trench or pit. Other surface vegetation will be trampled in the crush of so many feet. Litter and trash pick up has not been a significant problem in recent gatherings as the group has some structure to pick up after themselves, but those items will need to be disposed of somewhere and probably end up in dumpsters at local businesses.

There is controversy over the need for the Forest Service Incident Management team, a group that is drawn together to provide oversight and coordination of law enforcement, emergency services and other aspects. Incident Management Teams are expensive, and unlike other large gatherings, the rainbow gathering will contribute no money to the government to offset those costs. (For example, the burning man gatherings in Nevada pay the government $750,000 for the costs of the incident management team.)

For my own part, the gathering will have little impact. I have my own religious community to serve and a responsibility to maintain connections with the traditions and faith of our people. I have little interest in trying to convert someone who has other beliefs. I have no interest in going out in the forest to gawk or look at the rainbow people. The arrival of the advance teams has brought an increase in panhandling and begging on the streets of our town, but I’ve encountered panhandlers and beggars in other contexts and doubt if that will be a problem for me.

I don’t understand the motivations of the participants and I don’t find their gathering to be appealing to me, but I don’t see visitors to the hills to be enemies, either. We live in a tourist area. Hospitality is part of our lifestyle. Sharing the beauty of the hills with others is part of living here.

It appears that it is going to be an interesting summer around here.

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We were married on a Friday evening. We were college students and didn’t have a big budget for a honeymoon. Susan’s parents had a small cabin in Red Lodge, about 60 miles away and we drove up there the morning after the wedding. We had a couple of days to explore the area, including a picnic alongside an alpine lake near the top of the Beartooth Pass. The bakery where I was working didn’t bake on Tuesdays and I had Monday off, so we had a long weekend to celebrate our marriage before returning to our small apartment and the daily routine of work. It seemed very natural to us. We didn’t need a fancy trip to a resort or a huge destination vacation. Time with each other and time outdoors to explore the beauty of the natural world was just what we wanted and needed.

Yesterday we celebrated our 42nd Anniversary by spending the day in the hills, rowing on a small reservoir, hiking, photographing and talking. Our celebration didn’t involve a big trip or elaborate plans, though we are staying at a campground that accepts reservations, so we knew we’d have a nice spot to camp. It is quiet and the campground isn’t full during the mid week. We arrived Sunday afternoon and we need to head back home this morning to be ready for a meeting this evening. But we had a glorious day with no appointments, no need to go anywhere, no schedule and time to talk.

The 42nd Anniversary isn’t one with a special gift, or place on the charts. I think that most lists of anniversaries just go by decades after 40, noting the 50th, 60th, 70th and 75th as the big celebration events. But we’ve never been ones for the big parties and celebrations in the first place. We have enjoyed making our anniversaries about our relationship and not so much about gathering others. I guess we’re not too big on parties and events anyway.

I don’t think we could be more happy. We don’t need destination vacations. We aren’t much for resorts and hotels with lots of amenities. We like our camper and its cozy feel. We have a comfortable and secure place to sleep where we don’t have to worry if it rains in the night. We have a place to prepare the kind of food that we like to eat and we don’t have to try to figure out who and how much to tip. Both of us are entertained by the eagle who flew above our heads and the red winged blackbirds along the shore and the antics of the rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks that run across the campground. It seems luxurious to us to sit in a folding chair and read a book in the shade on a summer afternoon with no cell phones, no need to check our watches and no deadlines to meet.

One of the things we’ve learned in the span of our marriage is to be comfortable with each other. Of course we love the opportunities we have to be with our children and grandchildren and we feel lucky to live in a time when the Internet is available so that we can video chat with them every week and check in on their lives. We miss them when we are apart and invest a fair amount of time and financial resources in getting together with them. When people ask us about our vacation plans, the answer almost always involves getting together with our family.

When we get together with them our activities usually involve walking or paddling or rowing or some other outdoor adventures. So far we haven’t felt the urge to book rooms at resorts or be entertained by the big acts.

After a delicious day like yesterday it is easy to feel gratitude. Indeed we are among the most fortunate of people. We have been granted 42 years without major illness or life-threatening accidents. Our children grew into their adulthoods and found mates and married without some of the problems and tragedies that have been met by other young adults. Our grandchildren are healthy and fascinating and our children are generous with their time so we get to be with them on a regular basis.

Both Susan and my parents had vacation cabins when we were teens. They were small get-aways that didn’t have all of the work associated with a big house with all of the amenities. They served as places to go when there was time off from work for relaxation and renewal. We’ve chosen instead to have a camper. Our vacation home has wheels and we take it to various places. It is a significant upgrade from the tent that we used when our children were little, but it represents a small enough investment that we don’t feel obligated to it. We use it when we want and store it when we have other things to do. Unlike a cabin, it takes about a half hour to winterize the camper and prepare it for freezing weather. In the spring turning on the water and getting ready for the next adventure takes even less time. Check the air in the tires and go.

I have no particular wisdom about having been married for 42 years. It is by the grace of God that we have been able to have such a good life together. My observation is that it seems to have passed quickly. I have such clear memories of many of the steps along the way, yet I am a bit surprised to have been married more than twice as long as I was single before we married. And I know that the odds are against us being granted another 42 years, though that would be nice, I’m sure.

It is important to treasure the time we have. It is indeed precious, and we know that this life we have will be ours only for a little while. Time passes. Things change. The day will come when I won’t be able to lift a row boat to the rack on the top of the pickup. Our adventures will have to be modified as we age.

Still, this time is sweet and we are indeed blessed to have it together.

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I am a person who likes a certain amount of routine in my life. I almost always rise at the same time and start my day by writing the blog. Then I go about other activities. I’ve not been much for sleeping in. I’d rather get going with my day and take a nap later if I need a bit more sleep. I don’t think, however, that I am stuck in a rut. I love to travel. I’m usually up for an adventure. I like doing new things and undertaking new challenges. And when one travels, one has to be flexible. Routines are disrupted by simple things such as time zones and different schedules of the people with whom you travel.

It is possible, though I’m not aware of it, that the routine of writing first thing in the morning every day limits my creativity. I’ve read about writers who adjust their routines and mix up their days precisely for the purpose of stirring creativity. New routines produce new ideas. Interesting, however, is that I don’t seem to lack for ideas. There are some days when I begin wondering what the topic of the blog might be, but more often, I have several different ideas and I have to choose one - narrow down and focus - in order to get my writing done.

I write the blog in part because I want to become a writer. Since being a writer is more about the process of writing than it is about publishing and productivity, I decided that to be a writer, one must write. So I write every day and I have learned a great deal about the process of the particular kind of writing that I do over the years. Since I began the process of writing a personal essay every day I haven’t skipped any days. I write when I’m feeling good and I write when I’m not feeling so good. I’ve not faced any major illnesses or health challenges in the nine or so years I’ve been doing the blog, so I just write every day. I write when I am traveling and I write when I am at home. Some days, like today, I write a little later in the day, but usually I have my blog posted before 6 am. I know that reading the blog is part of the morning routine for a few folks, and I try to have it ready when they want to read.

I have no idea how long this process will continue. When I began, I thought I’d write for four or five years and by then I would have compiled enough to make it worth the effort to go back, choose the best essays, edit, and produce a book-length manuscript. I’ve long enjoyed the idea of writing a book, but so far I’ve never produced a manuscript. From this particular vantage point, the process of sorting and editing seems daunting and I just can’t get my mind wrapped around how to start the process. Maybe I won’t ever really write a book.

Today is a day for mixing up all of the routines. We are having a true day off. We’ve taken our camper a few miles into the hills and are camped alongside one of the reservoirs. We don’t have anywhere to go today. We don’t have any deadlines to meet. We have plenty of food and a rowboat for exploring the lake and feet for hiking. The birds and squirrels and chipmunks are already up and chattering in the treetops and we haven’t yet given much though to breakfast. There is no rush. Today is a day for relaxation.

In my usual routine, there are plenty of chores for a day off. The lawn needs mowing, there are home repair tasks that need to be accomplished, groceries need to be bought, errands need to be run. I appreciate the break from my work, but if the right phone call comes in, I change my plans and respond to the need. It isn’t a bad lifestyle. I like life that way most of the time. But today is a treat. We’re parked in an area with no cell phone reception, no internet, no real way for people to interrupt.

We used to live like that a lot. When we were away from home we were away from the phone. If someone wanted to contact us they had to wait until we got to a place with a telephone. These days, however, our lives are filled with nearly constant contact by phone, email, instant messaging and other channels. We have to warn and reassure our children when we take a day like today to be disconnected.

All the same, I am traveling with my notebook computer and I am sitting in front of the screen at this moment as I write this reflection. I can’t seem to leave the keyboard behind, even for a day. The device is very portable and has a lot of battery life, so there’s no problem with bringing it along.

There are lots of options for this day as it unfolds. I can read a book, go rowing, take a hike, spend some time with the camera capturing images, have a long conversation with my wife, and, perhaps, just sit and do nothing for a while. It is a delicious feeling to begin my day with so much unstructured time on my hands. I don’t want every day to be like today. I think the lack of routine would become burdensome to me, I don’t want to invest too much energy into thinking about when and where I will eat. But for a day, now and then, it is a delightful mix.

And who knows? Perhaps an inspiration will strike me. Perhaps a new idea will emerge. Perhaps a solution to a problem will appear. That’s the thing about human creativity. It often is more apparent when it is allowed to emerge rather than forced.

We’ll just see how the day unfolds.

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Just a quick note to regular readers of my blog. After a long week, Susan and I will be slipping away for a day and a half to camp, row, walk and recover. We are going to a placer where there is no regular Internet service and the cell phone service is not the best. I’ll be writing my blog on Monday and Tuesday, but they may not get posted to the Internet until sometime Tuesday afternoon. Never fear, I’m all right, I just need a little break from the usual. Thanks for your patience and understanding.

I met Waltrina Middleton a decade or so ago when she came to work in the national setting of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland. She was initially brought in to work full time on the organization of a national youth event and remained as the Minister for Youth Advocacy and Leadership Formation. For a few years I served on the Board of Directors of Local Church Ministries, the agency that employs her. Mostly, I know her as a colleague in youth ministry. In the years that I was an educational consultant for our church, the consultants team met annually with the national staff developing resources and programs for the church.

How much do you really know a colleague, really, however? We have shared meals at the same table. We have talked about our families. We have shared our concern for the church and its ministries. We have commiserated over some of the challenges of working with the institution. But to say that I really know Waltrina is a bit of a stretch.

I do, however, recognize her, and it didn't take me more than a few seconds to know that the person in the BBC video interview on my computer this morning was the same person with whom I’m working in the church. She is in the spotlight of the lead story on BBC USA this morning because her cousin was one of the victims in the shootings at Mother Emanuel AME church in Charleston, South Carolina. Waltrina grew up in a close family in Charleston and she knew her cousin well. As soon as she heard that the shootings took place during a bible study, she got a sick feeling in her stomach because she knew that her cousin would be at the bible study. Her fears were confirmed shortly afterward.

Last night Waltrina was with members of Emmanuel AME as they gathered in the same room where the shootings had occurred for bible study to prepare for this morning’s worship when, once again, the doors of the church will be open to all. “It’s a church of the Lord - you don’t turn nobody down.”

Dylann Roof, accused of the shootings that killed nine people including the church’s pastor, spent nearly an hour participating in the bible study before he opened fire and started to kill his victims. He had been welcomed to participate in the church.

This morning the church will once again be open to all who come to worship. There won’t be any special security detail from the church, though law enforcement will be present outside of the building. It is hard to predict the emotions of the people who will attend worship, but I suspect that grief and sadness will be more evident than fear.

I grew up a long way from South Carolina and I have never lived in the south. Charleston has a long history of slavery and discrimination. Still, it has a large African-American population. It has been home to generations of people who have learned to live and make their way through life in that place. Emmanuel AME was often called “Mother Emmanuel” because of its prominent position in the community. It was a congregation that produced a lot of ministers who serve all across the church.

Rev. Waltrina Middleton is just one of those pastors. Her cousin Depayne was also a minister. Four of the nine victims of the shootings were ordained ministers. These people are my colleagues. All of the victims are brothers and sisters in Christ. Waltrina’s grief over the death of her cousin reminds me that we are all family and we are all victims of this violence.

I am struck by the simple fact that the word “terrorism” has been conspicuously absent from the media reports that I have seen. Had the race of the shooter been different, I think it is likely that the event would have been labeled an act of terrorism. I know nothing of the motives of the shooter, but if his intent was terror, he picked the wrong target. African Americans have experienced generations of racial violence. There have been lynchings and shootings and bombings and many, many innocent victims. One thing that isn’t going to happen at Emmanuel AME is terror. These are courageous people. They will worship this morning with deep faith and great spirit.

In a remarkable bit of courtroom drama on Friday as the charges were leveled against Dylan Roof, members of the families of the victims were allowed to make brief statements. Nadine Collier, daughter of Ethel Lance, one of the victims said directly to the accused shooter: “I just want everybody to know, to you, I forgive you. You took something very precious away from me. I will never talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again but I forgive you. And have mercy on your soul. You hurt me, you hurt a lot of people, but God forgive you, and I forgive you.”

Alana Simmons, granddaughter of Rev. Daniel Simmons, pastor of the church, said, “Although my grandfather and the other victims died at the hands of hate, this is proof, everyone’s plea for your soul is proof that they lived and loved and their legacies will live in love. So hate won’t win and I just want to thank the courts for making sure that hate doesn’t win.”

It is hard not to give in to hate, but these are remarkable people and I am confident that their faith and courage will see them through this crisis. Waltrina’s cousin Bethane, sister to Depayne who died, said, in part, “I acknowledge that I am very angry but one thing Depayne . . . taught me [is that] we are the family that love built. We have no room for hate so we have to forgive.”

I know that there is something to be learned from every tragedy. I know that each human death is a lesson for those of us who, for a little while, remain living. May we be open to the lessons of this tragedy.

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This has been a long week with lots of work and days that started early and ended late. It is typical of our life in the church and something that is known by a lot of other professions as well. Life offers opportunities and we respond. As a result, I’m a little tired this morning and sometimes when I’m tired my thinking tends towards the trivial instead of a topic that is deep with meaning.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day. That is the official spelling in the United States. You’ll see it on cards and in the official legislation establishing the holiday. I have no idea why we don’t spell it “Fathers’ Day.” After all there are many fathers whose lives are worth celebrating. When I think of Father’s Day, I think about my father, but also about my father-in-law. These days one of the thoughts that comes frequently to my mind is of my son, who has become a terrific father. I think that there is a legacy of good fathering that runs in my family.

Perhaps we want to celebrate our fathers one at a time instead of celebrating them because they belong to a group or class. If you stop to consider the number of fathers in the world, it is a pretty big group.

I don’t know the history of the holiday, but it is my understanding that Mother’s Day was established first and Father’s Day followed a few years later. It became a popular holiday across the US in the early years of the 20th Century and was established prior to World War I.

June is the most popular month for Father’s Day celebrations around the world. The third Sunday of June seems to be the most common date, with celebrations here in the US, in China, throughout the Caribbean and in many South American and African countries. A few countries, including Spain and Italy celebrate Father’s Day on March 19, the traditional feast day for Joseph, the father (or perhaps stepfather) of Jesus.

I thought it was fun in 2006, when we visited Australia, to note that south of the equator there are a few countries that celebrate the day in September. The first Sunday of September is the day of the holiday in Australia, Fiji, New Zealand and Papua New Guinea. I guess they think that spring is a good time to celebrate the holiday.

For years I have observed that church attendance goes up slightly on Mother’s Day and goes down slightly on Father’s Day. My theory is that when families ask mother what she would like to do on Mother’s Day, she says, “Lets all go to church.” When they ask Father what he’d like to do on his day, he says, “Let’s go fishing!” In reality, the difference is subtle and the difference in attendance probably has to do with other factors such as vacations, work schedules and other factors.

At any rate, tomorrow is Father’s Day and it is a good thing to think of the role that all of our parents and grandparents have played in our lives. There are so many things of deep meaning in this life that are bigger than the span of a single generation. Lessons we learn from parents often have roots in discoveries that took generations to be revealed.

It is also interesting to me to reflect not only on the traits and life skills that we inherit from our Fathers, but also to think of the things that don’t seem to have been passed on in the same sense. My father taught me many important things and I am like him in many ways. I am very grateful for his generosity of spirit and his special attention to me as I was groing up. I feel very close to him even though he died more than three decades ago. I see his influence in many of my interests and decisions.

Still, I am not him. He was a very good businessman and an entrepreneur. He could estimate costs and benefits in his head and was very good at business decisions. He managed his financial resources well and was able to accumulate significant wealth in his short lifetime. Our mother was supported for her 30 years of widowhood by the earnings of his career. His plans worked out.

I, on the other hand, have not been the best of financial managers. I think I’m probably much better off working for a salary than I would be as an independent businessman. I am less focused on profit and haven’t felt a need to make accumulation of assets a priority in my life. I suspect that I would not be as happy as an independent businessman as he was.

On the other hand, it is possible that my natural tendencies to spend without much thought to the future would be even more exaggerated wee it not for his influence.

What makes a father, however, isn’t business skill, or physical appearance, or personality traits. What makes a father is dedication to one’s children - the absolute investment in their future. And when it comes to that side of being a father the most precious commodity is time and attention. It isn’t just spending time with your children, but making sure that the time you invest is meaningful. Being fully present in the moments you have can make all the difference in the world.

My father taught me to fly an airplane. Many of my fondest memories of time spent with my father involve flying. He was fully attentive to the task of flying and he loved it so much that it made him and excellent natural teacher. When he was with me and I was flying he paid attention to me and to every detail of the new skills I was acquiring. His love of flying came through his every instruction and he was always encouraging and supportive, never critical or angry.

I don’t fly airplanes these days. My budget and the cost of flying don’t match up very well. However, I do feel very close to my father and am grateful for the time we had. And sometimes, when I am paying attention, I can see some of his traits in our son when he is teaching his children. It is a legacy worth celebrating.

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A few days ago I attended a wellness committee meeting at the Sheriff’s Office. Chaplains are part of the team of people who are working to develop programs that will enhance the lives of the employees of the office. As I listened to the participants speak of the problems that the officers face, it seemed to me that I had heard similar issues before - in fact it seemed to me that many of the issues raised fit right into the categories of stress management classes that we were teaching back in the 1970s and ‘80s. Four decades have produced volumes and volumes of research on stress and living in modern times, but we don’t seem to have a good handle on the dynamics of getting people to put the knowledge we have into play in their everyday lives.

In general, the employees of the office are in good physical shape. For officers there are annual physical fitness tests that require them to prove that they have trained their bodies well enough to stand up to the rigors of a job that is physically demanding. The office maintains a gym that is open 24/7 and is equipped with a variety of machines to help with overall fitness. Officers have access to a running track and other areas to train. And, if you listen to them, you’ll quickly learn how important physical workouts are to their emotional stability as well. Their times of working out and exercising give their minds opportunities to process and defuse the stresses of their demanding jobs. Those who work out regularly seem to have more options when they face stressful situations.

Exercise builds endurance and endurance is critical for a wide range of jobs. It isn’t just people whose jobs are physically demanding who need endurance. Vacation Bible School is a kind of endurance test for those of us who work at the church. 5 straight days of 14-hour workdays plus all of our regular duties add up. And, you might remember, we work on weekends at the church. Like the officers of the sheriff’s office, we need to be available every day of the week, not just some of the days.

Add in a funeral this morning and you might see us yawning from time to time.

It is good work. We feel that we are making a difference in people’s lives. We feel that we are contributing to the needs of our community and serving the people. We feel that we are doing what we were called to do. Still, it can be a bit of an endurance test at times.

Complete wellness, however, requires more than the discipline of regular exercise - at least our bodies aren’t the only parts of our lives in need of regular activity. I’ve discovered that as I age, I need to be as disciplined about mental exercises as I am about taking care of my body. There are more things juggling in my memory and I need to be vigilant to keep my memory strong. I try to read as much as I can, to spend time each day wrestling with a poem, and to play games that stretch and exercise my memory.

A healthy body and a healthy mind are important. Most important of all, is a healthy spirit. And that requires both discipline and creativity. We don’t control our spirits. The disciplines that nurture my spirit might seem like drudgery to others. Writing this blog has been an important part of my life. I know others who say, “How can you do that?” For them it would be torture to write an essay each day. I find the reflection of writing to be important, but I also need time for quiet and prayer. I need to sort out my thoughts and feelings and I need to give time to listen for God’s gentle directing of my life.

In addition to private Bible study, I need regular study with others. Bouncing my interpretations and reactions off of others and listening to theirs expands the meaning of the sacred texts for me. Some of the members of my lectionary study group have been meeting together for more than a decade. That means we’ve gone through the lectionary three times and are immersed on our fourth journey through those texts. We are still discovering new meanings and insights that we had missed on previous readings. There is much that is breaking forth.

These days I am more aware that life itself is an endurance event. Serving a church is far more than busy weeks of long days and short nights. It is about years of service and decades of work. Developing long term relationships has not always been a mark of pastoral service, but I have discovered that it may be at the core of faithfully serving people - not just witnessing the transformation of new relationships, but also being present for the long-term.

As I think of today’s funeral, I remember so many other occasions we have shared. The widow is a singer with a beautiful voice. A few years ago she was our “go to” soloist for funerals. We’ve don dozens and dozens of funerals together. The daughter has worked closely with us on Christian education events. She knows the rigors of Vacation Bible School first hand. The granddaughter was active in church programs as a youth and participated in a National Youth Event. We go into the funeral of a husband, father, grandfather and great grandfather in the context of established relationships and the understanding that this is not the end. We will continue to support one another in the days, weeks, months and years to come.

Wellness isn’t just the overall health of the individuals that make up an organization, but also the health of the overall organization. Do we have the resources to provide coverage for each other? Can we give our colleagues a break when a break is needed? Is our team effective in the midst of crisis?

Of course I’m not ready to raise all of my questions in a single meeting. But I suspect that I have much to say in the months to come about wellness at the sheriff’s office.

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My first internship was a youth ministry position at Union Church in Hinsdale, Illinois. At that time the congregation had a full-time minister for children, a full-time youth minister and two internship positions in the youth ministry program. The youth ministry was full-spectrum, with weekly fellowship meetings, a full calendar of retreats, lock-ins, game days, and other special events as well as camps, mission trips, and participation in conference, regional and national youth events. As an intern, I didn’t participate in all of the ministries offered by the church, but I definitely got in on the ground floor with driving rental vans and sleeping on church floors.

I’ve remained actively involved in youth ministries ever since. It would take me a while to make a complete list, but I’ve traveled with youth groups all across the United States, leading delegations to events in South Carolina, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Colorado, California, Oregon, Washington, Hawaii, Texas, the Dakotas, Montana, Idaho, Indiana and Michigan. I’ve driven cars and vans and suburbans and buses filled with often-sleeping youth.

I’ve been with youth on their first trip out of their home state and their first trip outside of the United States. I’ve sat beside youth for their first ride on a train and their first ride on an airplane. I’ve bought tickets and arranged group travel, figured out insurance and travel policies, recruited chaperones and trained a lot of adults in their role as advocates and protectors.

I am a big advocate for youth involved in mission and outreach. I am a big advocate for travel as a component in the complete education of youth.

These days, I’ve been more involved in promoting and arranging intergenerational ministries. I’ve become convinced that among the best youth mission trips are trips where youth travel with adults. I find that working side-by-side with people of different ages provides opportunities for growth in faith that might not exist when youth travel together and carry with them much of their own, music, friendships, language and culture.

Living next to one of the most impoverished counties in the United States, our congregation plays host to a lot of different traveling youth groups. We are the location for overnight accommodations for those on their way to more distant locations and those who come for work projects in reservation communities near to our church. I’ve watched the rise, in recent years of package mission trip providers who sell local congregations complete packages with the agency arranging housing and meals and work projects. The local congregation signs up, pays a per-person fee and makes travel arrangements. Once they arrive, all of the basics are covered. The agency acts as an intermediary to arrange many of the specifics required for a successful mission trip.

This process has advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, it is much easier for those in a distant location to work out their mission trip. On the minus side, the intermediary agency forms many of the lasting relationships with the people served and the local congregation experiences the trip more as an event and less as a relationship.

I can no longer count how many times I’ve sat in a circle of youth from other places and listened as one by one they recount how their lives have been changed by a week of working in a reservation community. Perhaps they did some painting or provided activities for young children or served at a soup kitchen or volunteered for some construction. They will have met a few people from the community and perhaps listened to some of the problems and trials faced. They will have seen, at least from the outside, substandard housing and yards filled with junk vehicles and appliances. They will have been amazed at the number of people living in a single trailer or small home.

Then they go back to their lives in the cities and towns from which they came and things are pretty much the same as usual.

Sometimes it makes it seem as if we live on the outskirts of some giant amusement park designed for the personal transformation of youth from distant cities. But I’ve got news for those people and for some of the organizations that organize these mission trips: entrenched poverty and institutionalized racism won’t be overcome in a week. Problems persist after they go home. Some of the places they visit won’t be able to distinguish them from the dozens of other youth groups that come summer after summer and as they pass through the poverty remains. Problems with inordinately high rates of teen suicide persist. Children experience hunger. People of all ages suffer abuse. Unemployment rages. Nothing gets fixed.

The joke in one of the communities where youth groups often visit is that there is a house whose walls are a foot thick because it has been painted so many times by work teams. No one lives there. They just keep the house to have a project to keep the youth work camps busy each summer.

I’ve decided that mission relationships work best when we form long-term relationships. That is why our congregation has been involved with the same sister church in Costa Rica since 1988. That is why I encourage our woodchucks to develop partnerships on the Cheyenne River and Pine Ridge reservations where we work with the same people year after year.

Youth ministry is, by its very nature, a deep combination of transient and mission ministries. It is transient because the youth are only youth for a short amount of time. Many move to other communities for college and a sizable percentage don’t return to their home congregations. All who survive their youth become adults. We are constantly re-inventing youth ministry because our congregation experiences a 25% turnover every year. It is mission because we are not raising our youth for our own future, but rather sending them out into the world to carry faith to other places.

Yes, it is transformational. Lives are really changed. But, in a sense that is automatic. No one gets through the ages of 15 to 18 years old without having their lives changed. What catches my attention is when a relationship is formed that endures. The people who remain in the lives of individuals when they have grown from youth to adulthood have the deepest impact.

My focus, these days, is on the relationships that endure.

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I am well aware that I can be curmudgeonly about quite a few things. I form opinions and sometimes stick to my opinions even when there is evidence that they are wrong. I don’t mean to be this way. I try to keep an open mind, but sometimes, when I have dug in my heels, it is difficult for me to change course and admit that I was wrong.

Even though I have been eligible for membership for a dozen years, I have yet to join AARP. I am well aware that the discounts that come with membership exceed the cost of membership. I know that my friends have figured out how to make their membership pay.

For me, however, it isn’t about money.

Let me be clear. There is nothing wrong with AARP. It is a legitimate organization that has lobbied for important causes, provided real assistance to its members, helped our society overcome age discrimination, and produced important publications. I would never try to talk someone else out of membership in the organization.

I suppose there are several reasons why I have resisted membership to date. One is my aversion to the methods used by the organization to obtain members. I receive multiple mailings each year from the group, often with membership cards enclosed and lots of slick full-color publications. I’m pretty sure that they are spending more than the cost of membership each year trying to get me to join. I’d rather be a member of an organization that was a bit more frugal with its appeals. I’m not a fan of a full mailbox. Given the amount of mail that the organization sends me when I’m not a member, I’m reluctant to give them permission to send me even more mail.

Part of my reluctance is that the organization was clearly designed by and for people of the World War II generation. My parents’ generation was filled with great leaders and advocates. As they aged, they faced discrimination and pressures that were unfair. They had much to offer for many years after their retirement. They met this discrimination in the same fashion as they had other problems in their lives. They organized. They formed a strong advocacy group, held meetings, elected officers, raised funds and accomplished a great deal. That is very good. But it is an organization designed with the structure and style of many other organizations our parents’ generation formed. The structure doesn’t exactly encourage new leadership. It is designed to maintain its current status quo. I think it would make more sense for our generation to create our own organization rather than expect the organization of our parents to someday become ours.

I’m not a big fan of senior discounts. In the United States, most of the wealth is controlled by people over the age of 50. What we need is discounts for young families and parents with children in the home. Why should the bulk of the discounts go to the people with the most money? It seems to me that those who can afford it should pay full fare and the discounts should go to the ones who need it. I know that there are some seniors living on fixed incomes with limited financial means. But AARP seems to be appealing to the jet-setting, international-traveling group of people who are well off and simply don’t want to part with their money.

I think they watered down the organization when they kept lowering the age of admission and distancing themselves from the word “retired.” The group was formed as an advocacy group for retired people. Now they seem to be ashamed of the word “retired” and are directly appealing to those of us who are not retired. As I said, they’ve been after me to join for a dozen years and I expect to be fully employed for nearly another decade.

All of that said - and I do apologize for my rant - this blog isn’t about AARP. As I began, I’m a bit of a curmudgeon. Still, if you checked my wallet, you’d find a National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Senior Pass. I went to the forest service and picked up my card on the second day I was eligible. The same day, I booked a two-night stay in National Forest campground. The cost of the lifetime pass was $10. The 50% discount on camping saved me $18 the first time I used the card. Not a bad investment, if you ask me. I’ll also be getting free admission to national parks, monuments, and lots more discounts on camping and day use. With three vehicles, the discount on day-use passes for my cars for the lake where I paddle is more than three times the cost of the senior card every year.

So, I have been wondering, why am I so quick to go for the discount for the National Parks and Federal Recreation lands and so reluctant to sent $16 to AARP? OK, I know that AARP asks for dues every year and that the price will go up as I age. Still, it would be easy to argue that the discounts that come with membership far exceed the cost of membership.

Part of the answer is my relationship with National Parks and other Federal Recreational Lands. I feel that I am a part-owner in these lands. I have been using them for all of my life. My parents took me camping in a National Forest within the first couple of months of my life and I have used federal lands for recreation every year of my life. I have tried to be a good steward of our public lands, being careful to clean up after myself and leave no trace behind. As a paddler, I don’t even leave footprints in some of the places I play. I also hike and take pictures and spend a lot of time refreshing my soul on public lands.

As a part-owner of these lands, it seems only appropriate for me to have a card in my wallet that says I’ve been a part of these lands for many years. After 6 decades, I feel entitled to the discount.

It is probably another case of twisted thinking on my part. And, who knows, I may change my mind about AARP. I’m planning to retire some day - just not now.

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We are off and running! Vacation Bible School 2015 has completed its first of five nights of food, games, crafts, stories and songs for children. One of the interesting things from my point of view is how quickly children go from being participants to being the teen helpers. I know that is simply a function of my age, but it seems like just yesterday that the teens were toddlers.

The theme for VBS at our church this summer is “Stories Jesus Told.” For several years now, we have been developing our own curricula for our VBS program. As denominational funding for education has been shrinking the quality of the commercially produced resources has been steadily declining. The appeal to popular themes, cartoon characters and entertainment has resulted in a series of resources with connections to the Bile and the traditions of the church obscured. It seems as if having fun is the only point of some of the programs. Others seek so hard to grab on to popular themes that they forget that the purpose of the program is educational - this is about passing the faith from one generation to another.

Admittedly, we in the church have been doing a poor job of faith formation for some time now, resulting in generations who are not deeply rooted in the church. Vacation Bible School is, for many families, a program for children whose parents don’t participate in the church.

Still, we are given the gift of five nights with 2 1/2 hours per night of contact with the children. Of course many of the children don’t really participate all five nights. Soccer and baseball games and family activities all interrupt the flow. We’ve learned to design programs that allow children to come and go - not because we believe it is the best way to provide education - but because we are resigned to the reality of the lives of today’s children.

Last night’s story, aptly chosen in my opinion, is the parable of the great dinner, reported in Luke 14. You probably are familiar with the outlines of the story. A person holds a dinner and sends out invitations, and the excuses start to roll in. One invitee has a new piece of land he wants to inspect, another has new oxen that demand his attention, a third just got married. Upon hearing the excuses the person holding the dinner invites those who have been marginalized by society: the lame and blind and the poor. When the banquet hall still isn’t filled, the invitation goes out to the transients and travelers on the road. Jesus, in telling the story, is reminding us of God’s realm. The invitation is clear, but people don’t always respond positively.

The parable seemed appropriate to those of us who work at the church because we hear a lot of excuses about church participation. We know about the sports events and family gatherings and weekends at the lake. We know about the busy schedules of modern families and the scarcity of time. We know about the priorities of the families we serve. We know these things because people still seem to feel a twinge of guilt and a need to explain when we meet them. There are members of our congregation who begin virtually every conversation with me with a list of reasons why they don’t attend church more often.

I really don’t intend to judge those people. I believe in the quality of the programs that our church offers and I see them as offerings. I have found that they are meaningful for those who participate. If others want to participate, I want the to feel welcome. It is, after all, an invitation - not a command.

We didn’t go into the details with the children last night, but there are two tellings of the parable reported in the Gospels. In Luke’s version, the person holding the banquet is not specified; in Matthew, it is a king. In Luke, the purpose of the banquet isn’t made clear; in Matthew it is a wedding. In Luke, there are excuses; in Matthew, the scene erupts into violence. Luke’s invited guests miss out on the party; Matthews are destroyed.

The two versions offer two different attitudes that might be taken when people don’t accept the invitations offered by the church. I can’t find myself associating with Matthew’s version at all. I see no reason to get angry when families are busy and people find all sorts of other priorities to place before the church. I know that I’m an insider and that my choices are different from those others make. I understand that not everyone thinks the way that I do. Furthermore, I think that there is great merit in inviting those who are sometimes marginalized by society. I think the church is richer and more meaningful precisely because we welcome those with disabilities and those who are traveling through and those who might not always feel accepted and welcomed in other settings. I think that the children we see only for Vacation Bible School have things to contribute to our community. Their parents are worth getting to know and we are called to serve all of the children - not just those whose parents are members of our church.

One of my favorite parts of Vacation Bible School is talking with parents as they drop off and pick up their children. The kids are usually in a good mood and the parents also seem to enjoy the excitement of the event. I hear about the accomplishments of the kids and the challenges of family life in these complex and busy times. The setting is less formal than our usual Sunday morning worship and I tend to have conversations with folks that I might not normally see on a regular basis.

The week is filled with hard work for staff and volunteers and we’ll find ourselves pretty tired by the end of it.

I’m thinking that the person in the parable was probably pretty tired after the big banquet as well. I’m also thinking that the banquet was worth all of the effort.

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There is an African-American spiritual that goes:

“Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus.
Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus.
Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus.
Allelu, allelu, alleluia!”

Historians have read a world of meaning into the spirituals. I once read that this song was, both a celebration of mental acuity and a prevention of losing one’s mind. To wake up with one’s mind was an accomplishment in a world of hurt, grief and sorrow. A slave suffered not only the indignities of unpaid work, but the cruelty of the master and the frequent forced disruption of the family. They saw their children sold away to other plantations and their families broken up through other harsh measures. It was a brutally rough life and just not going crazy from the stress of such a world was an accomplishment in itself.

I didn’t exactly wake up this morning with my mind “stayed on Jesus,” but I did wake up with a hymn at the top of my consciousness:

“There shall be showers of blessing:
This is the promise of love;
There shall be seasons refreshing,
Sent from the Savior above.
Showers of blessing,
Showers of blessing we need:
Mercy-drops round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead.”

That tune and those words shouldn’t surprise anyone. We had another rain shower in the night. I remember lying on my back in bed and listening to the rain outside my window. Our home is fairly tight and a little shower might not make that much noise, but there are some normal sounds that are easy to hear. Our bedroom is on the northeast corner of the house and their is a drainpipe that runs down that corner right next to where I lay my head. I like to sleep with the window open and hearing the water running down that drain is pretty easy. I can’t exactly hear the raindrops on the roof, as our home has a second story above our bedroom, but I can hear the rain falling on the walk outside and if it rains hard, I can hear the raindrops on a skylight over our stairway.

Last night’s shower was gentle. If there was thunder and lightning, it was so far away that I didn’t hear it. It has turned out to be a wet spring, a real blessing to the hills that were dry from a winter that was light on snowpack. The damp weather has made everything grow. The hills are green and the grasses are springing up at a fast rate. It seems like as soon as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds the grass grows so fast that you can almost watch the motion. Mowing is a challenge and should probably be done more than once a week in this weather, but I don’t seem to find time for more than the once a week trip across my lawn. The neighbors seem to be keeping up at about the same pace. Whenever it isn’t raining you can hear the sound of mowers in the neighborhood.

Showers of blessing isn’t one of my favorite hymns. I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps it is a line in the third verse that asks for blessings:

“There shall be showers of blessing;
Send them upon us, O Lord;
Grant to us now a refreshing,
Come, and now honor Thy Word.”

I’m not a poet and I’m not a hymn-writer, but I am not especially enamored with the appeal to “come, and now honor Thy Word,” as if God would somehow ever fail to honor a commitment. The problems with the covenant with God arise from human failures to honor our promises, not from God.

I know that is a picky little argument, and I know that the overall hymn is meaningful and sparks pleasant memories for a lot of people. I don’t mean to criticize it. Somehow, it just isn’t one of my favorites.

It is, however, embedded in my mind. Without a hymnal for reference, my mind was singing the song as I lay in bed listening to the rain in the night. I woke up with the song in my mind and at the moment, I haven’t gotten it out of my consciousness.

Scientists have a name for the phenomena: “earworms.” Researchers have found that if they play part of a familiar song to research subjects, the auditory cortex lights up with activity. Not only do we respond to familiar sounds, but we automatically fill in the gaps. Our brains keep “singing” after external stimulus has ended. I hear the rain. I think of the word “showers,” and my brain fills in the rest with the complete hymn. According to the researchers, the area of my brain that keeps repeating the song is the same area that is stimulated by listening to or making audible sounds. I’m literally listening to the song even though there is no sound in the room of me or anyone else singing.

Although it hasn’t happened with this song yet, there are songs that get stuck in your auditory cortex. They become a kind of brain itch. The more you think about them, the more you hear them. The more you try to get them out of your brain, the harder it is to stop hearing the songs. This happens with advertising jingles, children’s songs, and many other familiar songs. Most of us have learned to replace the annoying song with another song - sometimes we just replace one annoyance with another, but sometimes we can find a more pleasant tune for our brains.

With my song this morning, I’m not really annoyed. I do see a connection between my faith and the events of the world around me. I do find rain to be a blessing and I do find my self very fortunately surrounded by abundant blessings.

And, if your brain works like mine, now that you’ve read my blog the hymn will be playing in your mind as well.

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I suppose that every generation has certain unique features. Change comes quickly and things of the past disappear as new features emerge. For some reason, I have been thinking of changes that I have seen in my lifetime that my grandchildren will take for granted.

Before I get to those things, however, a bit about those who have gone before. My grandfather was born in a sod hut on a North Dakota homestead. They walked or used horses for transportation until he was a young adult. He lived long enough to make the transition from earning his living as a farmer to owning a service station and specializing in servicing and repairing automobiles. He owned quite a few different cars in his lifetime. His son was a pilot. He personally lived through the transition from the era of human- and animal-powered transportation to the jet age. Neil Armstrong walked on the moon before the end of his life.

I remember the elders being amazed at the amount of change in their lives. My wife’s grandmother, who grew up before her family had an automobile and lived long enough to travel by airliner to visit her family, used to comment on what amazing changes took place in her life.

Here are a few things that I know and understand that probably will be things of the past for my grandchildren.

Car windows that raise and lower with the use of a hand crank. The mechanism to raise and lower a car window didn’t used to require an electric motor. I don’t remember the cranks being difficult to use or hard to turn. I suppose the only thing was that you had to reach across the car to roll down the passenger window if you were the driver. And it could involve a bit of getting out and walking around to roll up or down the windows in the back of the car. Of course back in the day, we had corner vent windows in all of our cars. They improved the airflow when driving down the highway in those pre-air conditioning days. I guess my grandchildren will never experience a car without air conditioning, either. I can remember telling a car dealer, when negotiating for a new car, that I definitely didn’t need air conditioning. Where we lived there were less than 30 days a year that demanded air conditioning. That was in 1982. It was also the last car I owned without air conditioning.

My grandchildren probably won’t learn about writing checks. Their parents have checking accounts, but barely use paper checks. They pay their bills with electronic funds transfers and use debt and credit cards to make purchases. They rarely carry or use cash. They don’t expect merchants to accept checks and they wouldn’t think of a checkbook as an item that they should carry with them or pack when preparing to travel.

My grandchildren won’t know what to do with a wire whisk. Their kitchens have electric mixers the stir everything. They won’t know that it is possible to beat an egg by hand. Devices that were considered to be necessary and part of every kitchen don’t exist in their world. They won’t be able to imagine why someone would need a stove to make a cup of coffee.

Of course there are things in the world of my grandchildren that I don’t have trouble imagining living without. They have never known a world without smart phones and tablet computers. They take these devices for granted as part of the world of every adult (and most kids over the age of 10). Everyone has a personal communication device. The thought of a home with a single telephone attached to the wall by a cord will never occur to them. I can remember when we’d go to church camp that was located more than 20 miles beyond the end of the telephone line. We didn’t know we needed phones to be at camp and a week beyond the reach of telephone communication wasn’t a problem at all. My grandchildren won’t be able to imagine a few hours without a phone - let alone a week.

Speaking of telephones, Susan and I still have one phone in our home - in our bedroom - that has a rotary dial. The princess bedside phone was obtained sometime in the ’70’s as a rental unit from the phone company, that offered telephones for sale sometime during the ’80’s. We bought the phones in our home and just kept using this one. Our children used to enjoy showing it to their friends, who couldn’t figure out how you would punch in the numbers to make a call with such a unit.

Yes, I know this makes me sound like a dinosaur: I can remember before our home had a television set. It didn’t seem like we were deprived or that we were missing anything.

My grandchildren know about keys, but they will live beyond the time of keys being used for security. Already there are plenty of vehicles that start by pushing a button, not by inserting and turning a key. We have two ways to enter our home by punching numbers into keypads instead of using keys. Fingerprint recognition technology is becoming so sophisticated that there are already plenty of lock systems that you simply touch to obtain access - more are on the way. I remember my father carrying a case with a wad of keys. I have fewer, but my ring contains two keys for different entrances at the church, a key for the church mailbox, four keys for various internal doors at the church, and a couple of padlock keys - and that is my work ring. I have another ring for my home items. And my car keys are on a separate ring. We have a drawer at home that is mostly keys. My grandchildren will never have that number of keys.

So the world changes and the pace of change is increasing. I’m sure there are plenty of other things that will change, plenty of things we consider to be necessary that will become obsolete and plenty of things we can’t imagine that will become everyday.

The good thing about this is that I’ll be able to entertain my grandchildren by telling them stories about the good old days. I may have trouble convincing them that we used to use hand tools that were connected to the wall by extension cords, however.

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Looking back, it is a good thing that we had our Messabout with boats on May 31. Had it not been for that wonderfully fun afternoon, I might not have gotten any paddling done that month. May is usually a good month for paddling for me, but the particular combination of weather and various tasks that needed to be accomplished, with a quick trip to Montana thrown in for good measure, and I didn’t get on the lake very much at all.

For the record, it only seemed like the wettest May ever. 6.86 inches of rain is a good amount for a place that averages about 18 inches per year. It is well above double the average May precipitation of 2.98 inches. According to the National Weather Service, which has been keeping precipitation records in Rapid City since 1943, 2015 is only the seventh wettest May on record. In fact it is only the second wettest since we have been living here. May of 1996 was the wettest on record, with 8.18 inches of rain.

But everything worked together for me to get out in the rowboat yesterday morning and it really felt good to stretch my muscles and work out with a well-balanced little craft that really gets going when I put some muscle to the 7 1/2’ oars. I am really more of a paddler than a rower. Canoes are my favorite type of boats. This little rowboat, however, is very special.

I made it the year our grandson was born. He was our first grandchild and I want to share my love of boats with all of my grandchildren. I thought that his parents would probably be more comfortable with him going out in a rowboat when he was young than in a canoe or kayak. So I decided to build a rowboat and name it in his honor. The boat is named “Mister E.” The double meaning is intended. Our grandson’s name begins with the letter E and he is and will remain a bit of a mystery as we all are.

Of course not just any rowboat would do. I want one with a bit of historical flavor, but constructed of plywood for ease of construction. I don’t have access to old growth timber for planking a boat as was the case a century ago. After studying a variety of plans, I chose the Chester Yawl. Boats like the yawl were used as working craft in the 19th-century. Efficiency was critical in human-powered craft, so the shape of the hull evolved into a long and some what narrow form with quite a bit of rocker to make the boat handle mild waves and turn easily. These working boats were sometimes called Whitehall boats. For my purposes, I was hoping for a lovely wineglass transom that could support a name board with “Mister E” on it.

The Chester Yawl seems to match all of my criteria. Mine was made of plywood, formed by the “stitch and glue” process, with thickened epoxy filets sealing the plank edges. Designer John Harris seemed to come up with just the right balance of appearance, inexpensive construction, and performance.

Every time I take that boat out, I’m proud to be rowing it and I feel like a fortunate person to have such a fine boat. I installed oarlock sockets in three different places so that boat can be rowed solo or tandem with two moveable rowing seats and adjustable foot braces. I finished my boat with varnish on the interior, but paint on the outside to reflect the workboat heritage.

This morning promises the possibility of a paddle. I decided to do a little touch-up on the rowboat last night, so it isn’t ready to put into the water this morning, but I have a small canoe on the roof of the car and I’ll be heading to the lake in a few minutes. Two days in a row to be out on the water is a real treat this year. It hasn’t happened that many times so far.

When I do get out on the water, I remember how much I miss it when I don’t get there. It isn’t just the exercise - though exercise is important. It is the way that time alone outdoors adjusts my attitude. When I spend too much time in front of the computer, or solving church problems, or dealing with people, no matter how wonderful those people are, I find that I am a bit too cynical, a bit too critical, and a bit too quick to judge. An hour of rowing or paddling seems to accomplish the required adjustment in my attitude.

There are still plenty of signs of the wet May we just completed. The water is high in the lake and quite muddy. It is harder to see the fish and there are fewer fish rising. But there are also advantages to the high water. The lake is so full that the boat ramp is entirely underwater. This makes it more difficult for those who are launching big boats from trailers. However, for someone like me with small and lightweight boats, having the regular shoreline submerged means that I can launch almost anywhere around the lake with a nice grassy and gradual entrance into the water.

And then I get to breathe fresh air, watch the birds swimming on the water or soaring in the sky, enjoy the interplay of light on water with the rising sun as I feel its warmth creeping into my body that not long before was resting in bed, and behold the incredible beauty of God’s creation.

The luxury of owning several boats is just one of the privileges of being a boat builder. More significant for me is that there is a deep satisfaction in rowing or paddling a boat I made with my own two hands. I can trust my boats because I know exactly how they were built. And I can enjoy them because I was able to build them within my budget.

If you’re looking for me and I don’t appear to be around, check the lake. It is likely that is where I’ve gone.

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There are some blogs that are destined to become something more. In some of my essays are the seeds of a larger work. I seldom take the time to expand on the ideas of an individual blog, but over the years I have produced multiple blogs on the same theme that at least hold the potential of being developed into a larger body of work.

Other blog ideas are temporary and destined to simply be tossed out and forgotten.

There was a time, when I was younger, when I would hesitate to write my “best ideas.” I kept a writing journal and lots of notes of ideas filed on the computer without developing them. Since I started writing an essay every day, I have found that it is best to run with an idea when I get it. Creativity begets creativity in much the same way that generosity begets generosity and love begets love. Giving away my ideas results in more, not fewer ideas.

However, I suspect that today’s topic is one that will never become more than a fleeting notion. You see, what I have decided to write about is something about which I know next to nothing. I have no expertise in this field, just a grain of a thought.

To back up, I come from generations of preachers and pacifists on both sides of my family. There are families with many generations of proud military service. Mine isn’t one of them. My father did serve in the U.S. Army Air Corps as an instructor pilot during World War II, but he is the exception, not the rule. His father and neither of his grandfathers served in the military. A similar phenomenon exists on my mother’s side of the family as well. There were generations of public servants, who served in government and official positions, but no heritage of military service. They found other ways to act out their patriotism and call to serve others.

I have never served in the military. I have never gone to war. The year that I was eligible for the draft, my birthdate was selected as a low number: 11. I was destined to be selected, even sent for my induction physical. Then, suddenly, it seemed to me, they ended the draft. The Vietnam War continued for a while, but the draft was over.

I already knew that I was headed for the ministry, so in addition to a potential student deferment, I could have applied for clergy status. A 1D draft status rarely resulted in one being drafted. But I had chosen to register and submit to the draft process as a conscientious objector. I had appeared before the draft board and stated that I was very much in favor of service to my country, but that I wished to be assigned to non-military service as a result of my religious beliefs. The draft board agreed with me and I expected to be drafted and assigned to a service agency. The draft ended. I continued with my education. I went off to seminary. I have tried to be of service to others with my life and my work.

To be clear, I do not make judgments about others who serve. My son-in-law is in the United States Air Force and I am proud of him and his service. Many of the people who are members of congregations that I serve are active in or retired from the military and I try to honor them for their service and express my gratitude for the work they do and the sacrifices they make for our security.

Because I have chosen not to serve in the military does not mean that I think I am somehow exempt from the duties of citizenship. Furthermore, I believe that since I am a citizen, I bear responsibility for the actions of my government, including those of the military.

Thomas Jefferson said, “Every citizen should be a soldier. This was the case with the Greeks and Romans, and must be that of every free state.” Even though there are major differences between American Democracy and the governments of Greece and Rome, there is truth in his observation. All of us, even those of use who do not participate in the military, are part of this country that chooses to support a military. Our soldiers go forth on our behalf and we share in their responsibilities.

Having said that, I am deeply aware that military persons serve out of a call to service and not out of a love of going to war. There are thousands of quotes like the following:

• “Although a soldier by profession, I have never felt any sort of fondness for war, and I have never advocated it, except as a means of peace.” Ulysses S. Grant
• “The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.” Douglas MacArthur
• “I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity.” Dwight D. Eisenhower

Which brings me to the idea that got me thinking about this blog. I wonder what it is that makes war attractive to some soldiers. I know the stories of soldiers who have volunteered for extra deployments because they like the camaraderie of the deployment. I know those who say they never felt more alive than when they were in a war zone. I know those who feel that being deployed to a war is deeply meaningful. This has been true of people I know who fought in World War II, in Korea, in Vietnam, in the Balkans, in Iraq and in Afghanistan. Being ignorant of war, I wonder about its attraction.

It is possible that war is, for some, fun? Certainly those who pursue other dangerous adventures speak of the fun of parachuting, or racing cars or motorcycles or free climbing rock faces or bungie jumping or other dangerous activities. It seems conceivable that something might be at once dangerous and fun.

The question of the “fun” of war came from an interview that I recently heard with James Brabazon, author of “My Friend the Mercenary.”

I probably simply don’t know what I’m talking about, but it is an idea that has got my mind to thinking. I guess I’ll have to read Brabazon’s book and see if he makes any sense of it.

Who knows? Perhaps’s tomorrow’s blog topic will make more sense. Sometimes I even write of that which I know.

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When I was a young pastor in rural North Dakota we didn’t have out of town guests very often. Most of the time our attention was focused on serving the people who lived in our town. From time to time we’d have contact with someone who was traveling through our town and needed assistance, however. Perhaps a car would break down and repairs be expensive enough that money for gas and food and lodging was short. In that town we had a community thrift shop that produced a modest income and the pastors of the community had organized a system of gas, motel and meal vouchers that could be used to help people. Our church wasn’t the largest church building in town, though its location was close to the center of the community. From time to time I would be called upon to do what I could to help.

I learned a lot from those few experiences. I learned that not every story you are told is true. I learned that some people would take some really big risks, traveling long distances without sufficient resources, making it from town to town basically on the mercy of handouts. I learned that asking for help was a survival skill for some people - it was how they got through life. I learned that people would skip meals in order to keep going on trips whose reasons seemed to me to be very shaky.

A couple of times in those years I met people who had traveled to the northern part of our state in search of jobs in the oil fields. There was quite a bit of exploration in the Williston Basin at the time, though many of the discoveries didn’t lead to production for decades because of the high costs of horizontal drilling. Some of the oil that has been extracted in the past few years had to wait for the development of newer technologies before it could be profitably extracted.

The dream was that there were plenty of high paying jobs of unskilled workers. That dream became a rumor and people would leave behind everything they had in an attempt to make it to the area to seek jobs. Upon arriving they discovered that the jobs were all filled, or that they required special skills. They also discovered that the region didn’t have inexpensive housing and that groceries were more expensive than in other locations. With old and battered cars and only a few gallons of gas in the tank, they would wander from town to town trying to make it back home, often without really having a place to call home, only a dream or a promise of some other job.

That was many years ago, but the stream of people going to and from the oilfields continues. Just a few years ago the Williston Basin was booming. Locals were developing strategies to expand their businesses into the area and to provide services for all of the oilfield traffic that was going through our area heading north to the basin. There were stories of locals who made thousands of dollars renting out homes or speculating on a bare field that could be transformed into a trailer park. There were stories of companies that would pay high wages just to get a welder or a mechanic to work some shifts. There were stories of people sleeping in their cars lining up to get high paying jobs.

It was late last year when global oil prices collapsed. The price of a barrel was around $110 and it fell to about $45. When the price drops, the oil companies shut down wells, or at least refrain from the expense of drilling new ones. Where there had been plenty of very high paying jobs, suddenly there are none.

The price has bounced back a little - around $60 per barrel. That price, however, isn’t enough to produce a profit in many domestic oil fields. One report that I read estimated that around 17,000 jobs in the oil and gas industry were lost in May of this year.

That means more people in vehicles of questionable quality trying to make miles with insufficient dollars. And even though the price of gas has dropped form its levels of a year ago, small institutions like churches can’t afford to buy very much to help traveling strangers.

There really aren’t many high paying jobs for those who don’t have college educations. Globalization and increased automation in factories have eliminated many jobs that once were the staple of urban economies across the country. The jobs that are left - construction labor, retail trade and government service - all pay lower wages. And it is hard to feed a family on minimum wage.

The oil fields, where the majority of the jobs do not require a college education, offer promise when the price is up and the industry is booming. When it goes bust, as it does in a cyclical economy, families can see their income drop by 50%, 60% or 70%.

Things will change. The price of oil will go up. Companies will be hiring again. But no one knows when that will happen. And, when it does, there will be a surge of jobs, a surge of spending, and another bust. It is the way that economy works.

The result of this is that we never are able to meet all of the needs that we see. There are problems that we are unable to solve. We can help with a tank of gas here, a meal there, but the impact of churches on the big picture of the economy is minimal.

Challenges that are too big for our resources are part of a way of life for those of us who serve others. We often have more need than resources. We often go home with unfinished work and unsolved problems at the end of the day. We don’t have illusions about our abilities to “fix” the problems of the world.

What we can do is listen to the people and show our concern. And, once in a while, we can help a little bit. And occasionally - rarely - a little help is sufficient. That is enough to keep us going.

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A couple of evenings ago my wife and I were sitting on our deck in the evening. After a few minutes we commented to each other that our neighborhood just isn’t as quiet as it used to be. Part of the noise was coming from the particular activities of one neighbor, who was getting his Harley Davidson motorcycle running after a winter of sitting in the garage. He would start the bike, rev it up and ride it a few blocks, with the motor occasionally missing. Then he’d ride it back to his garage, make a few adjustments and repeat the process. Hopefully he got things adjusted in a manor that will allow longer trips soon.

There was also a lot of traffic on the road behind our home. In the twenty years that we’ve lived here, there have been about 400 new homes built between our home and Sheridan Lake. Many of the new subdivisions have a majority three- and four-car garages as opposed to the two-car average for our neighborhood. I’m not sure that translates into more cars per capita than our neighborhood, where there are plenty of cars parked in driveways and alongside garages. And I can scarcely complain since there are two of us in our home and we have two cars and a pickup. If the number of cars driving up and down the road is a problem, we have to admit that we are part of that problem.

We are delighted that there are more children in our neighborhood than was once the case, but we have also noted that there are differences in the games that children play. One set of neighbors, whose grandchildren are frequently in their yard, have children who play tag and a kind of modified street hockey game and jump on the trampoline. They are good at inventing new games. Yesterday in the heat of the day, they had a kind of game going where they were spraying the hose. They took turns being the one with the hose. I often watch them playing and think, “That looks like fun! I’d like to play a game like that.”

Another neighbor has a lot of different mechanical devices for their children. There are electric cars that are a poor match for our hilly terrain, which nonetheless are a bit noisy and seem to be fairly dangerous for streets with regular cars. They also have a small gas-powered four wheeler, at least one small dirt bike, a zip line, and a variety of other devices that involve propelling the kids by means other than their own muscles. When I watch those children play, I’m often thinking, “They should wear a helmet!” and worrying about their safety with the cars coming and going on the street.

Our neighborhood, probably like many other ones, is filled with four-wheelers and motor boats and motorcycles and side-by-side quads and lots of other mechanical devices and I, like my neighbors, have a shed full of motorized devices such as a lawn mower, snow blower, chainsaw, wood chipper, weed eater, and the like. When we all get together, we are capable of making a good deal of noise.

Since I’d rather not turn into the neighborhood curmudgeon who has little fun other than sitting on his deck complaining about the neighbors, I’ve been thinking of healthier ways to respond to the realities of my neighborhood.

That got me to thinking about a prayer discipline that I keep. I grew up with my ears to the sky and I’ve learned to identify many airplane sounds. I know the difference between different types of engines, can tell you how many engines on a propellor airplane and can easily identify the sound of a helicopter. I know the difference between the helicopters operated by the Army National Guard and the life flight helicopter operated by the hospital. So I try to say a prayer each time I hear the life flight helicopter. It is a simple prayer, usually something like this: “God be with the ones in pain, may they know your peace. God be with the caregivers, may their efforts provide comfort. God be with those anxiously waiting on the ground, may their prayers be answered.”

It was a short step from that prayer to adding a prayer each time the sirens are heard along the road behind our home. We live near a fire station and we’ve gotten used to knowing the difference between the EMTs responding to an accident or other emergency and a full-fledged deployment of firefighters. We tend to look out the window to watch if the sirens are patrol cars or the ambulance. It is a small thing to pray for those in crisis that they can hold on until help arrives and that their distress will pass.

It seems to be quite natural to pray for the safety of the children in our neighborhood. May they grow into their adult years without life-altering injuries and with their creativity and sense of adventure intact. And prayers for their parents seem in order as well. Sometimes I just pray that their parents would find more time to play with their children. Sometimes I pray that their parents would recognize that gifts of time and presence are far more valuable than gifts of expensive toys. Sometimes I just pray for patience for the parents, whose children seem to me to be a handful.

And, while I’m at it, it seems to make sense to pray that my neighbor will find a way to fix his motorcycle so he can spend more time riding to far away places and less time in his garage finding with the motor.

OK, I know that is a selfish prayer. It sounds a lot like the prayer I prayed when his motor home was parked in the driveway with the generator running.

And I pray for the three new fawns who are spending most of their young lives in ours and the neighbors’ back yards (not the one with the motorcycle). I pray they will wait until they are bigger before they attempt crossing the busy road. I pray that they will develop some sort of road sense, a talent not prevalent among the neighborhood deer. I also have been known to pray that the traffic would just slow down a bit for everyone’s safety.

It doesn’t look like I’ll be running out of things for which to pray anytime soon.

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This is a typical week in the life of a pastor. I had a fairly large funeral yesterday which meant that I needed to work most of the day. The constant process of developing financial priorities for our congregation means that our office isn’t staffed on Mondays, which wasn’t a problem, but also meant that I had to be responsible for answering the phone, and taking care of some administrative details that otherwise would have been handled by others. Monday is my usual day off, but pastors need to be flexible, and there is nothing unusual about needing to work on my day off - that is part of the business of serving people. Grief doesn’t follow my schedule. Needs aren’t always doled out in regular doses.

This week is also newsletter week and our goal is to have the print copy of our newsletter running by this evening so it can be mailed tomorrow. The electronic version should be distributed before I go to bed today.

Wednesday is our first major planning meeting with our new choir director. Our full staff will be looking at the texts and music plans for the fall season. Along the way we need to establish worship and working styles that incorporate a new staff member. Wednesday is also the monthly meeting of the Department of Stewardship and Budget. Our budget has been performing well this year and I don’t anticipate any crises, but the finances of a congregation the size of ours our sufficiently complex that it is good to have a group of people looking at financial reports with an eye to possible problems. It takes energy for me to read the reports and be prepared for questions and concerns that might arise.

There is another important meeting on Thursday and I have a wedding rehearsal on Friday and a wedding on Saturday and next week is Vacation Bible School with activities each day. You get the picture. Here it is summer - a time when I often anticipate a slowing of activities at the church - and I’m looking at June 22 - nearly two weeks away - as the first possible day for my next full day off. I’m not sure why I have such a problem being faithful to the commandment about considering the sabbath, but it does seem to be a challenge to me.

I think that we all have challenges with the management of time. It may be one of the burdens of this particular era that we have so many options of things to occupy our time that we find ourselves feeling pressure. Of course it could be argued that we have more time than previous generations. Our life expectancy is longer than was the case generations ago. I have already outlived my father - I have already received more time than he had. So there is really nothing to complain about - I’ve been given an ample amount of time. The problem isn’t “too little time.”

Still it seems to be a struggle for me and I observe that it is a struggle for many other people in the church.

What seems to be part of the issue is that there are a lot of undone things in my life at the moment. I have long said that part of the art of being pastor in a congregation the size of ours is learning to go home with your work undone. There are always more calls that should be made, more visits that could be made, more administrative tasks that need to be done. Each day is a matter of developing priorities and deciding what is most important. Some chores fall “between the cracks” and never are accomplished.

Sometimes my failure to do certain tasks is very good for the congregation. Sometimes my involvement in all of the church’s activities is perceived as micromanagement. Volunteers sometimes like to be given more freedom and responsibility in their activities. Sometimes allowing others to do work and learning to delegate certain responsibilities allows their ministries to grow and expand. I’m hoping that is the case with the current capital funds drive, which seems to be going in fits and starts. Much is accomplished some weeks. Then it seems to simmer with no visible action other weeks. I keep thinking that it is my job to keep the spark going and to keep people on task, but perhaps it is one of those church projects that needs to move at its own pace. I had envisioned that our roof would be under construction by now, but that prediction appears to be about 90 days off. I am trying not to worry about cash flow as there is a real difference between pledges and cash in hand, but sometimes when it appears that no one else is worrying, I feel a need to get concerned. On the other hand this may well be a situation where allowing the congregation to move at its own pace is better than pushing too hard.

I need to keep reminding myself that what we do best is mission and worship. Outreach and worship are the heartbeat of our congregation. Others may shine at planning and administration. There are congregations that are better at raising big dollars for buildings and grounds. That isn’t our role in our community and that isn’t the primary goal of our congregation. We are here to serve by providing meaningful funerals and weddings and regular worship services that are thoughtful and faithful and filled with music and opportunities for our people to participate. That is what we do well. We are here to serve others by supporting the feeding program in our Costa Rica sister church, providing firewood for our Woodchuck partners, making meals for the mission, sustaining our jail ministry, organizing for Love, Inc. That is what we do well. That is why we exist.

God will provide for the administration. God has blessed us with generous people who will keep the building painted and a roof over our head.

When it comes to time I need to remind myself that the Spirit is moving through the decisions I make. The constant prioritizing and making decisions about how to invest time is a part of God helping me to discover what is really most important.

Some lessons take a lifetime to learn.

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When I have the opportunity to listen to people speak frankly about their beliefs and doubts, a topic that frequently comes up is the afterlife. One blog post won’t do justice to the conversations that I’ve shared over the years but there are some interesting points that might stir further conversation. After all, our people have been raising questions about life and death for thousands of years. Our Bible is filled with conversations and different points of view on the topic and there is certainly room for continuing conversation.

From the Biblical record it seems that the earliest generations of our people focused primarily on the passage of traits from one generation to another. A parent lived on in the lives of children and grandchildren. The promise of God is not just to Abraham and Sarah, but to the generations that were to follow after them. Early in the story it is evident that God’s relationship to the people is a multiple-generation process. The promise of descendants as numerous as grains of sand on the shore and of a land flowing with milk and honey is not fulfilled in Abraham and Sarah’s lifetime. When Sarah dies, Abraham is landless and has to negotiate to purchase a plot of land for her burial. Their descendants remain wanderers for many generations before Joshua leads them into the land. In the meantime they have suffered all kinds of experiences including slavery and forced labor.

It is easy for a casual observer to see the ways in which legacy is passed from generation to generation. We can hear the voice of the father in the words of the son. We can see personality characteristics of a mother in her daughter. Each of us can see evidence of our parents in the lives that we live. Living on in subsequent generations and remembering the lineage - the history of our people - becomes an important part of preserving our identity. We also know about the ways in which genetics are passed from generation to generation through the discoveries of modern science.

A second kind of immortality that is evident in Biblical teaching is that we live on in the work that we do. There are projects that can be undertaken that will last longer than the span of our human lives. Well-constructed buildings can endure several lifetimes. Work that was done by people hundreds of years ago is still evident in cities around the world. The great pyramids still stand millennia after their construction. Psalm 90 speaks of “establishing” the work of our hands. We seek to do good work - work that will endure.

I often speak of these two kinds of living on beyond the span of one’s life in funeral services. Seeing the impact of a loved one in one’s own life is comforting at the time of loss and grief. Knowing that there are contributions that extend beyond the life of the loved one can help ease the pain of loss.

These forms of thinking about life beyond death, however, fall short in several critical ways.

When I was in seminary I studied apocalyptic literature and was struck by the difference in how victims and oppressors wrote about the end of time. The belief in a final judgment with the imposition of heavenly justice often came from people who had suffered deep injustice. There is a clear sense that there are wrongs that can occur that cannot be corrected by human justice systems. The wrongful death of a loved one cannot be somehow fixed or repaired. The pain of loss endures regardless of the judgment of courts or the punishments given to the perpetrator of the crime. You cannot undo the reality of death. Killing the killer does not make the pain of loss stop. You don’t “get over” the loss of a loved one.

Humans are capable of unspeakable violence and destruction. It isn’t just that a single murder occurs - history reveals examples of mass murder and of other injustices that can never be set right by human systems of compensation and justice.

It is often from the victims of these great injustices that arises a belief in justice from God that exceeds human capabilities. That which has been set wrong in this life will be set right in a life to come. It is almost as if the quest for justice is too big for a single lifetime and that there are times when one must carry a belief in an afterlife and an ultimate justice just to endure that pain and sorrow of the injustices of this life.

The resurrection of Jesus, however, is in an entirely different category than any of these other notions of life after death. The experiences of the early disciples with meals, conversations, and even show travels with Jesus in bodily form after his death form only part of our understanding of resurrection. After the passing of a generation, the real presence of Jesus in this world is not dependent on a physical immortality. The resurrected Christ is not just a human body that has somehow exceeded the normal limitations of flesh. It isn’t some kind of biological anomaly, but rather a gift of life and presence that exceeds the boundaries of death.

We’ve never been good at explaining resurrection in words - it stretches the limits of human logic. What we lack in ability to explain, however, is exceeded by the power of experience. For two thousand years our people have shared the experience of the presence of Christ in our midst. It is abundantly clear to us that we are a part of something that is much bigger than the span of a single generation.

I’ve never invested much energy in trying to describe what lies beyond this life that we know. I’ve always been a realist about the presence of death. I’ve experienced enough grief to know that the pain of loss is real. But I have also belonged to our people long enough to know that this is not the end - and that the story of our people does not conclude when my time on this earth is over.

I’m comfortable with trusting God to reveal the next phase in God’s way and in God’s time. In the meantime, I’ll continue to listen and wonder.

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There are good people of faith who have experienced major conversions. They can tell you the story of the event in their life that changed their perspective - perhaps reversed their thinking - and made them into a new person. We read in the book of Acts about Saul’s experience on the road to Damascus, when he was struck down, blinded, and discovered Jesus to be the Messiah in a sudden and dramatic experience. I don’t doubt that there are many other instances of people whose religion has been suddenly changed.

Such is not, however, my experience. I was raised in a Christian family with church as an important part of our life together. My identity was connected to the church from an early age. Among the documents that I have from a life in church are a baptismal certificate, a cradle roll certificate, Sunday School and Confirmation certificates. I followed the Christian Education process from my first days throughout my life. I attended a church-related college and pursued my graduate education at a closely-related seminary. And I have worked at the church as my primary source of employment for all of my adult life.

I’m not completely ignorant of other faiths. I have studied Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Hinduism, and other religions from an academic perspective. I know something of their practices and sacred writings. Being Christian, I have learned more of the ancient history of Judaism than of other world faiths. Because we share the same Scriptures and ancient history, it makes sense for Christians to learn both the ancient and modern practices and beliefs of Judaism.

I think I have a fairly competent understanding of the major religions of the world. But I have never been drawn to changing my religion. And, while I have never felt the need to apologize for being Christian or for my faith, I have also never been persecuted for my beliefs.

Persecution because of faith is, however, a very serious matter in this world. There is an incredible amount of violence and suffering that has come out of attempts to force conversion or to abolish certain religions. The world can never forget the horror and violence that erupted in the mid-20th Century against Jews in Europe. Now simply labeled as the Holocaust, the systematic attempt at destroying all of the Jews in Germany and neighboring countries remains a stain on the history of humanity. It was the event that produced a new concept: genocide. The world had previously seen attempts at the systematic destruction of a group of people because of their racial, ethnic, religious or national identity. The Armenian Massacre and the Nanking Massacre might well have been attempts at Genocide, and the term is now used in reference to both events, but the word was not used before 1944, when Winston Churchill called it a crime with no name. Formed from the Greek word, “Geno,” which means tribe or race, and the Latin word “Cide,” meaning killing, the term has been applied to more recent killings in Rwanda and Bosnia.

I suppose that there may be a few particularly violent and hate-filled individuals who openly call for the destruction of other people because of their beliefs or religion, but I don’t associate with those voices and haven’t much experience with such hate speech. More common, but still very alarming, are the statements I sometimes hear from people who stir up anger against others out of fear. There is a lot of fear in the unknown. And fear can be used to motivate people to donate to causes and participate in groups that may have agendas that are oppositional and destructive of human rights of other groups.

Having grown up in the shadow of the Holocaust, and having read fairly extensively about the dynamics of that horror, I am especially sensitive to all forms of discrimination. It seems to me that the horrors of genocide often grow out of a general climate of mistrust, hatred and fear and that discrimination is one of the shapes of that mistrust, hatred and fear that can accelerate into acts of violence.

One of the shapes that discrimination sometimes takes is the promotion of fear of the other. “We need to destroy “them” or “they” will destroy us. Describing the other group as the threat and promoting fear of the other can lead to a dehumanizing of an entire group or class of people and an acceptance of violence towards them.

These days there are voices within and without the Christian Church in America that sound very fearful and discriminatory when speaking of Isalm. As we have witnessed acts of terrorism that have a connection to Islamic fundamentalism, there is a real reason for concern. But that concern must not translate into the condemnation of a group of people or a religion out of ignorance. I’ve read writers who have proof texted a few verses of the Quran that appear to promote violence and forced conversion and touted them as endemic to Islam. They seem to be attempting to convince others that Islam is inherently violent and that all people of that faith should be converted away from Islam. Their rhetoric is just shy of calling for violence against others because of their faith.

Unfortunately, there are extremist forms of fundamentalism in all religions that call for the persecution of other faiths and Christianity is not without individuals who call for the elimination of other people because of their religion. We must never forget that it was Christians who promoted the Holocaust. Children of clergy were common among the ranks of the Nazi SS. Operators of death camps were regular members of Christian congregations. Clearly there is no support of such violence in the Scriptures or doctrines of the church, but our faith did not make all Christians immune from acts of unspeakable violence.

In the midst of the violence of the Nazi regime, however, there were voices of courage and faith. Dietrich Bonhoeffer spoke out of a strong Christian theology against the violence and was eventually killed for his dissident speech and actions. His writings continue to inspire many.

Whenever I hear people of faith speak about their hatred or distrust of others based on class or religion, I try to promote the reading and study of Bonhoeffer’s writings.

All of which is to say that “No, I have not been participating in the anti-Islam conference in our city this weekend.” I prefer to invest my energies in promoting my faith instead of stirring up fear and opposition against another faith. May I, like Bonhoeffer be known for what I believe, not for what I fear.

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For four years between 1974 and 1978 we lived in Chicago. There were several interesting aspects of our urban adventure. We were attending graduate school and living in the neighborhood of the University of Chicago. We had access to a wonderful library and incredible and challenging teachers. We had never before lived in a city, so the cultural cornucopia was wonderful. We visited museums and heard concerts and saw exhibitions and attended baseball and basketball games and witnessed many other things that simply are not part of life in rural and small towns.

One other distinctive feature of our time in Chicago was that we lived in a city that is very near to average for the nation in terms of precipitation. Chicago averages about 36 inches per year. The national average is 37. So, in a way, Chicago is not remarkable. But for me it was noteworthy. Next to Chicago, Rapid City is the wettest place I’ve lived in my life. And Rapid City is far below the national average with 18 inches a year. Every other place I’ve lived has been semi-arid. Boise gets only 12 inches a year and Billings isn’t much damper with 14.

And this year promises to be a bit wetter than usual here in Rapid. We’ve already gotten over 2 inches of rain in the first 5 days of June. the average for the month is only 2.5 inches. And that follows a May when we received nearly 7 inches compared to the average monthly total of 3 1/4.

Water is a precious commodity, so we store it up in reservoirs and try to make it last throughout the year. All of the hills reservoirs are full and there are extra releases from the dams to make room for more anticipated large inflows. Right now we have enough. But we know that the dry times will come and we know what it looks like when the reservoir levels begin to drop.

When we lived in Idaho we were aware of the amount of energy and financial resources that was being invested year in and year out in litigating water claims disputes. Irrigators argued over their water rights and the arguments erupted into full-fledged court battles. There were literally hundreds of people who made their full-time living off of the adjudication of water claims. And, I’m told, Idaho’s water disputes are nothing compared to those of southern California.

The state that produces a lot of the crops that are sold in our grocery stores, has more agriculture than its water resources can support. Now that resources are running short, some irrigators don’t get the water they need and some crops are being lost due to the lack of water, while upstream irrigators have enough water to grow their crops. California has an extensive system of canals that moves water from one location to another. Much of the agriculture of Southern California is dependent upon artificial irrigation.

In my growing-up years there was plenty of irrigation in the river valleys. Most of it was supported by ditches filled at diversion dams and ranchers, with a series of artificial canvas dams, would flood their fields and increase the yield of alfalfa for animal feed. There were a few sprinkler systems, mostly fed from wells. Irrigating was a labor-intensive business that required constant attention throughout the summer. After a couple of cuttings of hay, the irrigation season was over and the ditches were emptied until the next spring.

Irrigation has become much more sophisticated since those days. There are complex systems of canals and diversion dams and a few pipelines with valves to control the water flow. There are a wide variety of different sprinkler systems and orchardists are increasingly using drip and other systems that deliver water to individual plants.

We’ve known for a long time how important water is to our livelihood. We are, after all, mostly water ourselves. It makes sense that growing our food would require a lot of water. But we are beginning to glimpse that this resource isn’t infinite. There are limits to the amount of water that is available and the conflict over water use in California and other Western states is only the beginning of the issues that we will need to resolve as world population continues to climb and the demand for water for non-agricultural processes, such as manufacturing and power generation, continue to rise. This world has its limits and we are reaching some of those limits.

Of course most of us could consume much less water if we really worked at it. A great deal of water runs down our drains without even being used. We use water to clean our driveways and wash our vehicles whiteout a thought of reclaiming and reusing the water. I linger in the shower simply because it feels good. Our homes are filled with appliances that use water. However, the decisions we make about energy consumption and our choices about the foods we eat probably have a more direct impact on total water consumption than fixing the leaking faucet or stopping the drip in the shower.

As we seek to make healthy choices about the food we eat, it will do us good to remember that water is another factor in our food choices. Nuts, for example, take a lot of water. It takes about a gallon of water to grow one almond, and nearly five gallons to produce a walnut. In California, more water is consumed to produce almonds for export than is required to provide for all of the businesses and homes in Los Angeles. And most of the nuts grown in California are exported to other countries, with Hong Kong and China being the top buyers of US nuts.

So while we are drying out a bit and longing for blue skies, it is a good time to say a prayer of thanksgiving for the water we have received. Perhaps it is a good sign of a summer with less drought and fewer fires.

The ancients saw rain as a sign of God’s favor and blessing. It is good to give thanks for the blessings that we receive.

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We have all kinds of markers to demonstrate the passage of time. I don’t use paper calendars very much anymore, but the calendar that is shared between my phone and the computers at home and work is as cluttered as my paper calendar used to be. I keep track of appointments, meetings, deadlines, and other time-sensitive aspects of my life. Unlike the paper calendar, the digital one allows for alarms to be set. Throughout the day various beeps and vibrations remind me of the passage of time and the things I should be doing. I’m not sure that this system is any more efficient than a paper calendar to which I refer from time to time, but I have adapted to the use of my phone to remind me of the things that I should be doing.

I have also programmed my phone to remind me of significant days throughout the year. It reminds me to wish friends “Happy Birthday!” and to take time to celebrate significant anniversaries.

I think that our awareness of time and of its passage is more intense than was the case for previous generations. My father always word a watch and he liked a precise timepiece, but it was nothing compared to the accuracy of a cell phone that is constantly in touch with very accurate clocks. During part of the year, he woke to an alarm clock, but there were entire seasons where he rose and went to bed more by the light of day and the amount of fatigue he felt than by the measurement of a clock. I had an uncle, who was a farmer, who didn’t need a watch. He woke when the sunlight came into his bedroom and went to bed when the chores were done for the day. They kept a calendar on the wall in the kitchen and it had some important items, such as doctor appointments, penciled in. There were more days on the calendar without things written on them than the ones with appointments or other important dates.

When our children were in high school, the school issued planning calendars for the students and had them put into their calendars the important deadlines and assignments and other elements of their academic careers as a method of teaching students to manage time. I remember being aware of the big difference in how students used those planners. Some had every class and every assignment carefully written into their planners and consulted them frequently. Others left the planners in the bottom of their backpacks and carried the important information and deadlines in their memories. I didn’t notice a big difference between the academic performance of those who used their planners and those who ignored them.

These days, I notice that many middle and high school students are relatively unaware of their schedules. They can tell you what is going to happen today and perhaps tomorrow, but if you ask them if they are free for a meeting or event next week or next month they are likely to say, “Yes,” without any awareness of conflicts. I’ve learned that “yes” doesn’t mean that they are available. It means that they can’t remember the conflicts in their schedule. Planning with youth this age is a challenge and it takes multiple conversations, texts, Facebook posts and other communications in order to arrange an event. Different individuals use different media to communicate and their parents may use yet a different media, so keeping everyone informed is way different than years ago when we used to send out a printed schedule of youth group events once a month.

Today is a day that I don’t need my phone or any other calendar to remember. Among the other significant events of the day, it is the first birthday of our granddaughter. I don’t have trouble remembering the news as it unfolded and was reported to us by text message. I don’t have any trouble remembering the day. It is a little different for our granddaughter than it was for our grandson because the year that he was born was a sabbatical year for us and we had a bit more flexibility in our schedules. We were able to spend a bit more time in their home town during the first year of our grandson’s life than has been the case for our granddaughter.

As is the case for me with the coming of all birthdays these days, it seems like the year passed incredibly quickly. In contrast to families who lived many miles apart in previous generations, we have wonderful technological tools to keep in touch. We use Skype and Factime to video chat and we get to see our granddaughter on a regular basis. Like her brother, she now responds to our images on the screen of their computer or tablet and shows sings of recognition. Our relationship isn’t the same as if we lived in the same town and were able to be together more often, but it is greatly enhanced by the technology. There is a great value in being able to see and respond to the visual. When our children were little, they didn’t respond to the phone at all during their first years. I think they were 4 or 5 before they were able to speak to their grandparents on the phone. We get a much more complete view of the lives of our grandchildren.

Nonetheless, the distance is great, and I confess that I long for opportunities to be together in person.

For now, I hope that our granddaughter is blissfully unaware of calendars and schedules and the complexities of our busy lives. I hope that she is free to play and dream and explore life without being burdened with our over attention to the passage of time. There will be plenty of time for her to learn about time management, appointments, deadlines and other encumbrances of adult life. These days she still has the ability to sleep during the day and keep her parents up at night. She is not too concerned with her birthday or the need to count them as a measure of the span of here life.

The girl has a good attitude. I would do well to imitate her on occasion.

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I’m quite confident that regular readers of this blog don’t read in order to learn trivia, but occasionally trivia does become a topic in the blog because I write from my mind and I often know insignificant things as well as significant things. I tend to write what I know and allow time and the readers to sort out what it important. Actually, I’m pretty amazed that I have any regular readers because my format - essays - is not one of the more popular forms for the Internet. Few people actually stay with an Internet posting for a thousand words, and a thousand words is my norm. However, for the few of you that do, Thank you! It is nice to hear (and I do from time to time) that I have written something that carries some meaning for you.

If you’re looking for deep meaning, today might not be the best day.

So here is the trivia. Sigmund Freud, one of the most significant psychologists of the 20th century, who shaped our understanding of the human mind more than any other scientist of his generation, had his own irrational fears. There are two of which I am aware. He had a fear of ferns. There is actually a psychological name for this particular phobia; pteridophobia. AllWords.com defines pteridophobia as “An irrational or obsessive fear of ferns.” So there you have it. Freud himself had a diagnosable psychiatric disorder.

The fear of ferns, however, didn’t seem to have much an impact on his daily life. He had another fear, however, that did affect his daily decisions. According to theatricaloutfit.org, Sigmund Freud was deathly afraid of the number 62! This phobia was so intense that he would not book a room in any hotel with more than 62 rooms in case he was allotted that particular room. One presumes that he never stayed in Hotel 62 in Barcelona.

Freud, also known as the father of psychoanalysis, lived to the age of 83, so he must have had to face his own 62nd year. I couldn’t find any information about how reaching the age of 62 affected him. Perhaps the year passed uneventfully.

I’ve been thinking of 62 because that is the age that I will become in a couple of weeks. From one perspective, every year is a bonus and a treat for me. My father didn’t live to the age of 60, so each year that I live beyond his lifespan seems to me to be a gift. And I am blessed with good health, sufficient energy, meaningful work, a wonderful family and so many other reasons to take care of myself and continue to live with vigor and enthusiasm.

In a sort of strange sense, however, I look on this particular age as a bit of a mystery. Since I’ve never been 62, it will be a whole new experience for me. Not many years ago, 62 was an age that was considered to be a good age for early retirement for those who had planned carefully and saved well enough to retire at that age. it seems that that kind of thinking isn’t as common these days. Clearly there is no “right” age for retirement. People make career shifts and change directions in their employment at all kinds of ages. And there are plenty of examples of people whose most productive years were after they had reached the age that I now am entering.

At any rate, I don’t have any special plans for retirement. I’m fairly certain that I’ve got a few more good years left in me and I see nothing special about the age of 62 that would entice me to stop working at the job that has been a wonderful career for me so far. It seems that there are plenty of things that I still could accomplish by continuing my work. Fortunately I have a vocation where there is little pressure to retire at any specific age.

One of the fun things of every age, is the opportunity to work one’s way deeper into the Psalms. So, for the year to come, my Psalm will be number 62. After a year of contemplating how God protects the faithful and imagining what it might mean to live under God’s shelter, I’ll be moving on to a Psalm that reminds me to trust in God alone. It is a natural follow-up to its mate.

I always struggle a little bit with Psalms in the 1st person, because I naturally assume that I couldn’t be the subject of the Psalm. After all, both Psalm 61 and 62 are attributed to King David - a person who was vastly different than I am. I don’t think of myself as a king and while I can pray the psalms of David, there is always a little thought in the back of my mind that I’m not really in the same circumstances as the author of the Psalm.

62, however, does have a very powerful verse at its mid-point: “For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him.” Maybe 62 is a good year for my soul to wait in silence for God. It seems that patience is a virtue that takes an incredible amount of nurture and that I often fall short of being silent in my waiting. I’m probably more of a complainer as I wait most of the time.

Perhaps 62 is a good age for me to sit back and explore the depths of silently waiting. I am convinced that God has much more yet to reveal to me. I’m sure there is plenty worth waiting for.

The Psalm concludes with the assertion that God repays all according to their work. Like the glorious ending of Psalm 90, which asks God to establish the work of our hands,, this now anticipates that our work will not be in vain.

Perhaps part of what I’m waiting for is the clarity of Psalm 90. That will take a good many years of patiently waiting. I’m not that old yet.

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From the early days of my career as a minister, I have tried to encourage the congregations that I serve to be the church for those who need a church. We don’t require that people be members in order to have their funeral at our church. We don’t require membership for weddings. Sometimes this means that we are able to reach out and connect with people who don’t have a church - occasionally a wedding or funeral becomes the point of entrance into the community for those who have been seeking community but didn’t know how to get started. Sometimes we simply provide a service that is needed. Our sanctuary is over twice the size of the largest chapel in a funeral home in our city, so we can provide space that is not available in a secular institution.The members of our congregation are gracious and generous and often provide funeral lunches and other services to families that might not otherwise be able to obtain them.

Our culture, however, is shifting. And the requests that we get are different and varied. We have decided that a church is much more than just a hall to rent and that we care deeply about the services that are held in our facility. As such, we decline when someone wants to bring in their “own” minister to conduct a service in our church. It isn’t that our ministers won’t work with pastors of other denominations. Rather, we have learned the hard way that we need to maintain control of worship in our setting. It isn’t appropriate for our church to become associated with unprofessional and uneducated behavior of pastors. We have invested a lot of our resources in expensive items such as a sound system and musical instruments that need to be treated with care and respect. The classrooms and nursery in our church require that children be appropriately supervised and we have safe church policies that protect children and teens from abuse and bullying. Not all congregations have such policies. The list of really poor behavior that we have witnessed is enough to make us very reluctant to have someone that we don’t know and who hasn’t been properly vetted in charge of anything associated with our church.

What we have discovered is that there are a number of church and para-church organizations in our community that don’t provide full services to their members. There are actually churches in our town that don’t provide weddings and funerals. There are other congregations that don’t have adequate space for services. I realize that God never judges churches by their size or by the amount of building they possess, but it does seem to me that families should take into consideration the full range of services they need from their congregation when choosing a church.

Still, we seek to serve. And we don’t want to be punitive towards others for the choices they have made. And we don’t want to condemn others simply because they are different from us.

The result is a dilemma that seems to be coming up more frequently than was the case in the past. Do we allow others to use our building? When we do, what rules or guidelines do we impose? What costs do we ask them to share? It seems that every time we write a policy, we find that there are exceptions or adaptations that are needed.

Once again, I’m in the midst of drawing up revisions to both our wedding and funeral policies. Simple things, such as families not paying costs they agreed to pay create problems for everyone. We have real costs associated with providing for the security of our building, cleaning, and care of our equipment. When we have to pay staff, but are not reimbursed, we have to evaluate our priorities in terms of other spending.

We have discovered that people who don’t spend much time in a church and then suddenly discover the need for a church often don’t know how to behave in a church. I suppose hotels and other venues that rent their space witness such inappropriate and destructive behavior all of the time, but it surprises us in the church when unsupervised children take out all of the toys in a room and put nothing away. We don’t quite know what to say when parents don’t step in and provide limits for their own children.

Most upsetting to me, however, is when uniformed theology with questionable references to scripture is touted as the absolute truth from our pulpit. We have worked hard to share the good news of Jesus Christ, the love of God and the power of forgiveness in our community for more than a century and a quarter. When someone describes an angry and vengeful god as if they somehow possessed the truth, or proof-texts a single bible verse without any understanding of its context or relationship to the whole of scripture, it frustrates me. Coming from a long tradition of educated clergy, we expect sermons and other proclamations to be informed by the history of the church. I am well aware that there is a big difference between faith and academic accomplishment, but to claim that ignorance is the truth is not only presumptuous, it can cause harm to people who are struggling with their faith.

So we continue to struggle. We sincerely desire to practice hospitality and to serve our community. We really believe the slogan we recite in worship: “No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” We welcome a diverse community with many different ideas and interpretations. We enjoy engaging in conversation and learning more about the depth and breadth of faith. Still, it throws us when we are abused and advantage is taken of us.

We haven’t yet discovered the perfect balance point. There is much that we still need to learn. And the challenges of serving this community continue to require that we develop flexibility and resilience. After all, we’ve been in this community for a long time and we intend to continue to serve for many years yet to come.

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Last night I woke and wandered about the house for a few minutes in the middle of the night. The moon was full, or nearly so. Tonight is the full moon. The sky was clear so the moonlight made it easy to see the deer grazing peacefully in the yard. The birds weren’t started with their chatter, so it was very quiet. There was no wind, but the evening cool could be felt at the open windows. It was the kind of night when one is tempted to talk a walk or go paddling. I resisted the urge, knowing that I have a day’s work ahead of me and soon was back in bed sleeping soundly.

It was very different than the scene had been 15 or so miles to our north earlier in the evening. I grew up watching the clouds. With parents who were pilots, we learned to read the sky and to pay attention to the weather. We definitely had some interesting - and wild clouds last night. I had been working in the library and had the window shades drawn to make the room dim for the computer monitor when the civil defense sirens started wailing sometime between 8:30 and 9:00. Like all of the rest of the neighbors, before seeking shelter, I went outside to look at the sky. It was evident that the center of the big storm was passing to our north. Although we watched the clouds from the safety of our front porch, it didn’t even rain at our place last night.

But I knew there was significant precipitation - and most likely hail - off to the north. The most violent storms go beyond dark clouds - the dark blue turns to black and then to a kind of a green color. Those green clouds almost always produce hail. I checked the scanner and radio as the storm progressed. There was plenty of violent weather as the system parked over Piedmont and Summerset. According to the highway patrol, over a foot of water covered the Interstate, which was closed for a time, backing up traffic. Hail the size of golf balls - and some stones as big as softballs was reported. I’m sure that we will find lots of reports of damage as the day unfolds. There are a couple of large RV dealers with millions of dollars of inventory sitting out in the open on their lots that are right in the area that was hammered by the storm.

It is often that way in the hills. A storm is pelting one part of the hills while another part is dry and we are given the opportunity to watch the storm from its edges. There is something about the hills that produces some really big thunderheads and then conditions where the storm sort of stalls and sits in the same place for quite a while. It is amazing, when you are near or in the midst of such a storm that the wind can be blowing quite hard, yet that wind is all circulating within the storm, and there is little wind aloft to blow the cloud on to another location.

And after the storm comes the calm. The peaceful mood that I witnessed in the middle of the night was being shared with the places that had been at the heart of the big storm just a few hours earlier.

Again and again we are reminded that there are many forces in this world that are beyond our power to control. The hills have been teaching people for many generations about the power of storms and the danger of flooding. Having witnessed the aftermath of Black Hills floods, I was happy to find a house near the top of the hill when we moved into the area and I have continued to appreciate our vantage point to watch the storms roll by.

Of course we can have the hail hit our place as likely as it falls in other places. There are a few storm tracks that have a history of more hail, but there is no place in the hills where there hasn’t been enough hail to cause a boom in the roofing business for months. We say that in the hills there are only two types of cars: ones that have been hailed on and ones that are going to be hailed on. The same could be said for roofs, for RVs, and for other objects that spend time out of doors. And we’ve seen hail that takes out skylights and windshields and leaves vehicles and homes vulnerable to more damage from the rains that accompany the hailstones.

It is a fascinating phenomena as long as you are safe. Which is why they blow the civil defense sirens. They are supposed to motivate us to seek shelter.

Years ago, when we lived in North Dakota we used to say that our local customs were a bit different from the National Weather Service alerts. A severe thunderstorm WATCH means that the conditions in the atmosphere are favorable for a severe storm. Citizens are advised to have a plan to seek shelter if the weather gets more intense. A storm WARNING means that everyone rushes out into the middle of the street to see if they can see a funnel cloud. Of course it doesn’t really mean that - it means that the storm is imminent and that you should seek shelter immediately. But it always seemed like our neighbors would head outside to look at the clouds before seeking shelter - and before long I found that I was imitating their behavior.

I’ve seen a few tornadoes, but I’ve never been in a place where one has struck. We’ve lived in places where tornadoes are much less likely than some parts of the country. But severe weather can happen anywhere and it is prudent to be prepared for the possibility of violent storms no matter where you live.

And after the storm, the calm will return and soon it is easy to remember why you moved to that neighborhood in the first place. In the meantime, there will be plenty of work to clean up the damage from the weather.

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Those of us who like small boats have a quote that we are known to spout from time to time:

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing... about in boats — or with boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not.”― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

From that quote came the name of a series of gatherings of people who like boats and talking about boats. I’m not sure when the term “messabout” was first used, but there are formal organizations like the Southern California Small Boat Messabout Society (SCSBMS) and the Traditional Small Craft Association (TSCA).

For years now, I have been playing with, building, rowing and paddling boats in my spare time. I often keep my hobby and my work separate. I need time away from work in order to remain fresh when I am working and I need my own space to think and dream and reflect. But there are times when mixing the two simply makes sense if for no other reason that it allows the people in my work life to see me as I really am.

One of my favorite magazines is called “Messing About in Boats.” It is a simple, black and white publication that is filled with articles about small boats, including design, building, restoring, sailing, rowing and paddling.

Sometime last winter I got the idea that we needed to have a messabout for our church. The idea was simple. We’d just pick a day. I’d load my boats onto a trailer and haul them to the lake and whoever came would be welcome to play with the boats. Those who didn’t want to paddle could have a picnic on the shore. It wouldn’t take any organization, really. We’d just get together for the fun of it.

Yesterday was the day and the weather cooperated. There were a few clouds in the sky and a moment or two when it almost threatened to rain, but that kept us from getting too sunburned as we paddled around the end of the lake. There were lots of other boats out on the lake, but we claimed a bit of shoreline. I was pleased and surprised that a couple of dozen people came out and tried the boats. We had preschool paddlers and senior paddlers and we mixed them all up for a bit of fun.

One of the conversations I had with a parent around the edges of the gathering was about how there are really lots of structured activities for children these days, but fewer opportunities to just play in unstructured ways. I was spouting my theory that young learners don’t need too much instruction in paddling. While there are specific techniques that can be learned and specific strokes that are helpful if one wants to get into whitewater or technical situations with a boat, it is also the case that for thousands of years paddlers have learned to paddle by just getting into a boat and experimenting in what does and doesn’t work. One of our eight-year-old paddlers succeeded in developing an effective forward stroke and taught herself how to do a back stroke just by taking a bout out and playing. Along the way she learned to be comfortable in the boat, found her balance, and discovered the joy of human-powered travel.

We watched as boats worth many tens of thousands of dollars were launched into the lake. For the big inboard powerboats, Sheridan Lake is a bit too small. They make a few journeys around the lake and there isn’t much more for them to do. The are gorgeous and demonstrate some amazing engineering feats. Dollar for dollar and pound for pound, however, you really can’t beat a cheap canoe. There is a lot of fun and entertainment in a simple boat and the smaller the boat, the bigger the lake seems. There are times in life when going slow is just the right pace.

The world has changed a lot since the days when my brothers and i used to tie together rafts of inner tubes and float down the river. There were lots of makeshift boats in my growing up days. We had time for unstructured activities every summer. I remember looking forward to summer in part because we had less schedule and less structure to our lives. Our chores were simple and accomplished in a little time and then we had the rest of the day to build treehouses, explore the river, play makeshift games, and entertain ourselves. My family didn’t have television in the summer and we didn’t need it. There were no video games and very few organized sports.

I suppose that we occasionally did things that might not be considered safe in today’s world. We rode bicycles without helmets and we played in the river without lifejackets. I don’t advocate such behavior for children today, but there are lots of things that can be done safely without much structure. yesterday was a good example. We had properly fitting life jackets for everyone and everyone wore them when we were out in the boats. We had plenty of extra adults to keep an eye on those who were out on the water.

From there we simply messed about. It was a gloriously fun adventure and it was difficult for the parents to get the kids into the car to head home when it was over. I’m pretty sure I’ll have plenty of interested participants for the next messabout.

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