Which Way Ahead?

It is a wistful summer evening at home, the kind one loves to spend reflecting--especially on this historic day. All seems peaceful here--even if not entirely quiet. A slight breeze moves the white bear weathervane on our back deck westward.

The sounds of traffic on a nearby Interstate are heard in the distance, as are those of occasional airplanes moving in and out from the Twin Cities where we live. Pieces of blue sky are laced with white clouds passing by as the sun begins to set.

Often what appears to be, of course, as the old song has it, "when you are come to the end of a perfect day," is by many measures far from perfect. For in this viewer's mind linger memories of how two stately twin towers in New York crumbled to the ground nine years ago today and a seemingly impregnable symbol of American power in Washington DC was also compromised by terrorists. To the west even of these tragedies was another in the making, aimed at the White House itself, thankfully averted by a few brave souls who conquered its terrorists only to lose their own lives near Pittsburgh in the process.

Even on this very day in 2010 a thoughtless pastor almost brought off a terrorist attack of his own, threatening in reprisal to burn copies of the Koran in Florida. Thankfully the whole nation rose to that occasion and stopped him in his tracks, though the effect of his plan lingered to further anger Muslims all over the world.

What shall we make of it all? Which are the roads forward on this earth that common folk of every tribe and nation long to find--the roads that lead to reconciliation and peace? How shall the angers so close to the surface in all of us be calmed under the common skies of the earth we share?

Most Christian know in their heart of hearts. So do most Jews and Muslims, whether in North or South, East or West. Only a few are out to stir those masses. May God show the latter how to calm the former, each lending perspectives beyond themselves and their faith traditions that the God they confess is waiting to supply.

Food for the Body and Food for the Soul

Few things delight our son Peter more than time on the dock fishing, More is involved than the casting, time after time. More, too, than the catching, all of which is more for celebrating than eating. Though I cannot speak for him, it seems like the essence of it lies in gathering food for his soul in the process.

Watching him fish and being alongside this summer when he cooked on the grill was food for my soul and body as well. Just as our Lord once told his disciples in Samaria that he had food they knew not of, so has it often been with me. Much as we all need regularly to eat from nature's store, our souls require even richer fare, in ready supplies God offers to those with ears to hear and eyes to see.

Peter is now on a well-deserved sabbatical until Advent. Next week he will be with us in White Bear Lake, eating at table with us and extended family. He will also be fishing through many of the personal effects of his grandfather and grandmother Hawkinson--gathering food for his soul from memories of his forebears, just as Jesus drew it from Jacob's well as he sat down, weary, in Samaria. Later next month and early into November he and I will travel together to Egypt, Jordan, and Israel--a first-time experience for both of us. No doubt there will be plenty of food for our bodies. Yet what we anticipate most is experiencing together first hand the food for our souls that surely awaits us there to satisfy our deepest needs and renew our ministries.

Wandering and Wonder

Last night was special. We were treated, with many others, to a trial run presentation of “Mr. Wonder Boy” by Bob Stromberg, our son-in-law. Written and performed by him, and re-crafted over time, this unique one-man theater show is essentially a personal narrative, centered on the keen sense of wonder over life that has captivated him since childhood.

All too many of us as human beings are wandering aimlessly these days--void of that sense, lonely and without meaning or purpose. We are "amusing ourselves to death," as Neil Postman once said in his book by that title. as if life had little meaning apart from entertaining ourselves and being entertained by others. Bob uses his skills as an entertainer to ride that crest, inviting us now into a sensitive, thoughtful world of wonder he has always known life to be. And, in his own two-hour narrative, one is captivated and challenged to open mind and heart to the wonder of both ordinary and extraordinary experiences in one’s own pilgrimage.

Soon to be premiered in an East Coast setting over several weeks, it will be interesting to see how “Mr. Wonder Boy” is received. Surely it will provide ample reasons for belly laughs, even as it did last night. Call it comic relief, which we are all in need of these days. But to be true to itself and its deepest appeal, critics and audiences alike will need to hear and heed the serious call within it to re-discover and nurture their own sense of wonder.

Isn’t that what good theater is really all about? Performance is for more than entertaining. Absent the meaning it is meant to convey, it will soon be forgotten. Bob is giving us here a gift of perception, brimful of good reasons to experience wonder in our own lives. Hopefully, we will not miss opening the gift again and again, in whatever future we are allotted.

Spanning the Years!

Under the same sky, fishing as boys love to do, we see here my grandson Michael (left) as a boy and years later his son Peyton (right), this year at Hembygden, our cabin in Wisconsin.

Who could have thought it years ago, when Michael was a curly-headed blond, that his son Peyton would be standing in nearly the same place, olive-skinned with trim, black hair? Thus does God work over time and generations to enrich our lives, ever watching our comings and goings and infusing them with grace and surprise. Only he remains the same, endlessly creative, always present, and forever loving--even when, for one reason or another, we lag in paying attention.

An old Swedish hymn that neither Michael nor Peyton know, one I grew up with and hope yet to teach them, comes to mind and streams from my lips and heart:

Thanks to God for my Redeemer, thanks for all thou dost provide!
Thanks for time now but a mem'ry, thanks for Jesus by my side!
Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime, thanks for dark and dreary fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten, thanks for peace within my soul!

Thanks for prayers that thou hast answered, thanks for what thou dost deny!
Thanks for storms that I have weathered, thanks for all thou dost supply!
Thanks for pain and thanks for pleasure, thanks for comfort in despair!
Thanks for grace that none can measure, thanks for love beyond compare!

Thanks for roses by the wayside, thanks for thorns their stems contain!
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside, thanks for hope, that sweet refrain!
Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow, thanks for heav'nly peace with thee!
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow, thanks through all eternity!