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"Holy Time, Holy Place"
Pentecost IV June 28, 2009 I was at a church council retreat, somewhere at a Methodist Bible camp in Amador county, in the Sierra Nevadas. We had literally just finished and dedicated a new sanctuary, which we had been told we didn’t have the resources to build, and we were about to start on a major remodeling of our old sanctuary, creating a chapel, offices, a conference room and a work room. We had been talking (seemingly forever!) about whether to add to, or change a worship service, we really had a lot going on. As you might imagine, with “veteran” council members, “newbie” council members and all these changes; done, happening, still in the talking stage, there was a bit of contention among council members. Saturday morning, I got up early for a walk and a run, and headed off out of the camp. As I went, I gradually began to hear what sounded like some mightily rushing water. I decided I wanted to see it. As I crossed over one hill it got louder so I thought “I must be getting close.” Walked over some more hills, all this time staying on a road, hearing it become louder. After a while I turned around and started back to the retreat center. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe the river, creek, water fall, whatever was running parallel to the road so I got off the road and proceeded up another hill. It got louder and I thought: “Right on!” figuring it might be over the next hill, which was considerably higher. Got up there, looked through the trees, and saw nothing except smaller hills and trees. It was quiet, that is still, nothing moving not even a breeze. I was surrounded by Douglas Firs, Ponderosa Pines and Redwoods, all with massive trunks. It was really peaceful except for the rushing water. I looked up, and there, more than 100 feet above, the trees were swaying, moving like some mighty giant hand was shaking them. This then, was the rushing that I had heard, that I had thought was the sound of water. I stood in awe, I said something like “Oh! My God!” but it was in reverence, it was because I had the sense that I was in a holy place, a holy time, a sacred time. I felt like I was in a majestic cathedral with high ceilings, but instead of seeing the words of human hands, albeit inspired by God, I was seeing the work of God. Where I stood was absolutely still, but 100 feet above me was the power of God. Was he in the wind? Was he in the stillness? I can only answer “yes,” God was there, in all of it. I felt like a little boy again, held safely in my father’s arms, free from the cares of the world and all the inadequate solutions of the world. I eventually went back to the retreat; some of the folks, most of them up and having coffee, asked where I had been. I said I was in a cathedral created by God. Curiosity aroused, some of them asked me to take them there. I suppose 7-8 of us went back, talking, carrying travel mugs with coffee, bemoaning the hills. They could hear the wind, but like me, weren’t sure what it was. We got to the top of the highest hill around and I simply said: “Look up.” There was silence, there was a holy, sacred moment that transcended conversation, coffee, taking pictures, even the fact that we were going to be late for the business part of the retreat. I mentioned a moment or two ago that I had felt like I was in the arms of my dad. I think I’ve shared with you the fact that I helped him get through Bemidji State, sitting up late with him as he studied, wrote papers, inked drawings, made blue prints, and so on. Mom and younger siblings in beds and cribs, me and my dad. Sitting on the couch, both of with text books in our laps, me unable to read but sitting there anyway. Sitting at the kitchen table, dad doing something that called for careful precision drawing, lettering or inking, me painstakingly trying to make the letters that he printed out for me, learning how to make dogs and steam shoves simply drawing ovals, squares and rectangles. And eventually starting to nod off, being picked up by my dad, carried in his arms, my head on his shoulder, feeling safe and secure from whatever concern a little boy. There were times when I must have simply fallen asleep because I would wake up wondering how I got to bed because I didn’t remember dad carrying me. Experiencing that same feeling as I stood in the cathedral that God made, feeling totally secure because I was in the arms of my Father, a sacred time, a sacred place, finally understanding deep inside how the love of God even transcends the love of a parent, knowing and experiencing a connection, a bond that I couldn’t name. Then a few years ago I heard something from someone from the national ELCA office that reawakened, strengthened this sense of connection. A woman told me how she had been on a mission trip to Kenya for the ELCA. She spoke only English, but she told me how she had been invited to a worship service held by villagers where she was staying. They walked out on the plains of Kenya, to a large tree that stood by itself, where a number of people had gathered, dressed in what finery they had. The worship started – all of it in Swahili. It started with those familiar words, or the Swahili version of them: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love…” She knew it by the cadence. They then sang “A Mighty Fortress,” again in Swahili, accompanied by local instruments. She said she recognized the Apostle’s Creed, The Lord Prayer, and other parts of the liturgy, all by their cadence. She participated in the service, feeling totally connected and a part of it – as traditional Lutheran as you can have anywhere. As she told this story to me, I admit to getting goose bumps, all over. I was moved and I thought of the power of our worship, being together in a sacred time, God’s time, to worship our God. How we don’t need a common language, common dress, common anything, other than our God and our connectedness in and through God. I’ve never forgotten that story, and how it made me feel, that our worship, alternative, contemporary, traditional, blended, from LBW, WOV, ELW or SB&H, or any other source is all connected through ancient words and practices that go back two thousand years, rooted in the Community of God, that is, rooted in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. That sacred time, holy time, God’s time can be any time, any place, that it can be a joyous, swaying, foot-tapping worship and still be reverent and in praise of God, that we can sing the most ancient and traditional hymns we know and there is no difference. We come to worship for a variety of reasons, or so it seems. We want to leave our burdens behind us for a while, we want to spend time in a sanctuary seeking sanctuary. We think we are escaping the real world with its cares, problems and inadequate solutions. We want to be in community, in fellowship, to be awakened by the Word, strengthened by the Word, renewed in the Word. What we don’t always realize though, is that this, here, now, this holy time, this sacred time together, is the real world. This is the already/not yet, the Kingdom of God, the rule of God, the reign of God and we are blessed to be able to get a foretaste, inadequate as it sometimes seems, of what is to come. Our services, all of them, rooted in the Community of God, taking place as part of the body of Christ, remind us that we are indeed surrounded by so great a cloud of witness, saints past and saints present, as we care for the legacy we have received and share it with saints future. Our services, here, in Kenya, on a hilltop in the Sierra Nevadas, are a gift from God, a connection from God, that goes beyond anything we could accomplish on our own. Brothers and sisters! You have reason to celebrate! AMEN. Rev. Bruce Hannem, Associate Pastor
Lutheran Church of the Cross, Nisswa, Minnesota |
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