Little Portion Hermitage

I just returned from a delightful day in Arkansas (yes, it is possible--as long as I can be back across state line before dark). I started off at Pea Ridge National Civil War Battleground, then went through Eureka Springs to John Michael Talbot's monastery.

(If you want to read about how the two are related, at least in my experience, you can check out post at http://beegleanings.blogspot.com/. But that may be more than you care to read, so feel free to ignore...)

I called Sr. Carolyn when I was leaving Pea Ridge to get directions to the Hermitage. I have been acquainted with Sr. Carolyn for a number of years through CBA. I would visit with her at the convention each year, and each year she would invite me to come visit the Hermitage. (I would also see her jogging in the mornings through the city streets wearing her habit and running shoes.) I had emailed her a few weeks ago so she was kind of expecting me. The drive from Pea Ridge is awesome--through the Ozark Mountain region, through Eureka Springs (a quaint old mountain town with really neat historical stone stores that, inexplicably, all sell the same plastic crap and same vulgar t-shirts. Sigh...), past Holiday Island. Then I turned onto a gravel road for the next 10-12 miles. At first I wondered about driving on this kidney-busting road. But the further I drove down the gravel road, the further I felt myself driving away from civilization.

Sr. Carolyn met me at the bottom of a last steep drive; she was not wearing her habit as they dress in, as she calls them, "regular clothes" on Saturdays.

The good news is that no one was hurt in the fire. The bad news is it destroyed the chapel and the common building. On Tuesday, April 29, just after midnight, a spark from the wood-burning stove in the corner of the chapel flamed to life and spread rapidly.

"Fortunately," said Sr. Carolyn, "we were saturated from weeks of rain. We had been complaining to God that we had had too much rain. But God knew we needed it. If it had been dry, the fire would have spread and it would have been a huge forest fire."

Four volunteer fire departments, three from Arkansas and one from Missouri (which is just a few miles to the north) responded and kept the fire from destroying more than it did. It stop just short of the small stone chapel--right in front of a stone depiction of Mary.

"It seemed that God said, 'You shall come this far, but no more" said Sr. Carolyn.

The small chapel is now where the brothers and sisters say Mass and pray together. Behind the altar are a few stairs that lead down into a prayer grotto with two kneeling benches for prayer before a hand-carved crucifix. The brothers and sisters join together in prayer, I believe, three times a day. They use the Common Book of Prayer for their daily offices and prayers.

Outside of the chapel is the prayer garden. Honestly, I don't remember when I have been in a more beautiful garden. It is better than Cox Arboretum in Dayton; it is even better than the beautiful Linnaeus Garden here in Tulsa. If I were a brother at the Hermitage, I think I could spend most of my waking hours either in the chapel praying or in the garden.

And that is where the members of this community spend many of their waking hours. But they also have work assignments. The community supports itself in part through raising and selling chickens--"meat chickens," as Sr. Carolyn calls them. They have chicken coops where they raise fowl from chicks ("We get them in the mail. The post office calls and says, 'Your chicks are here.' They want us to get them quickly because they make so much noise!") Part of Sr. Carolyn's assignment during work times is bookkeeping--not only in the sale of chicken, but also in the sale of John Michael Talbot books and music. The fire destroyed her office and computer--she lost the last five weeks of sales records in the fire.

As we walked through the garden, I asked Sr. Carolyn why she chose to separate from the world and join this community. I mean, there are many times I wish I could separate myself and join a monastery. There is a member of our small online community who has told me many times, I told Sr. Carolyn, that she is fed up with this world. That there is nothing this world has to offer. So is it right to pull away and live apart from the world like this?

"Oh, no," she said. "Living in this way makes us much more able to engage this world."

How so?

"When we are able to give ourselves more fully to God, we draw closer to His heart, which is to love others. So we are able to love others as we should."

Wow. Makes sense to me.

A lot more I could share. I asked as I was leaving how I could help. How can I serve her and the Hermitage?

"The fire destroyed our library in the common room. We will need to rebuild that."

So I am going to start gathering books for them. And I will call publishers I know and have them send books as well.

How can I pray for you?

"Pray that I can learn to love others as I should," she said. "And that I can give myself to God more fully."

How could we possibly improve upon that?

I have some ideas for our community, for us Misfits, following this trip. But you've had enough of me for now. I will digest these ideas and get back to you.

In the meantime, here are some shots from the Hermitage (the last is actually taken on the road to the monastery--I told you it is beautiful there).

Not wearing shoes...

The person with the worst feet in history was most likely St. Francis. He went mostly barefoot on rock or sand, rain or snow. If he was given sandals, he didn't keep them for long. He would give them away to the first person he found who was barefoot. His feet were a mass of bleeding wounds and scars. But he kept walking, and walking, and walking.

Today I am wearing Johnston and Murphy slip-ons with sheepskin lining. They are maybe the most comfortable shoes I have. Do I have sheepskin-lined faith as well? Is my walk with Jesus way too comfortable? This article was on the Out Of Ur blog. It talks about our too-comfortable walk much beter than I can, but not as well as St. Francis' feet could.


May 30, 2008
You Walk (with God) Wrong
Do our spiritual practices insulate us from the benefits of pain?

In a recent issue of New York magazine, Adam Sternbergh accuses, “You Walk Wrong.” And I can’t help but think that his insight into feet has spiritual application for Western Christians.
As the title suggests, Sternbergh claims that none of us walks correctly. But it’s not our fault; it’s shoes. “Shoes are bad,” he claims. In fact, he cites researcher William Rossi as saying, “Natural gait is biomechanically impossible for any shoe-wearing person.” After comparing the feet of 180 people from different cultures, along with a few feet from 2,000-year-old skeletons, researchers concluded that feet were healthier before shoes became fashionable (the skeleton feet were better off). And people who don’t wear shoes—Zulus, in this case—have healthier feet than we Westerners. Athletes who wear cheaper, less padded, shoes have fewer injuries. Elderly people with back, knee, and hip problems report less pain when barefoot. This is, to oversimplify, because feet absorb shock better than shoes (because they flex) and because we walk lighter when barefoot (because we can feel the ground).
Growing up, I loved the feeling of shag carpet and cool mud between my toes and feeling the earth as God made it, with all its points and sharp edges. So I was particularly pleased at Sternbergh’s conclusion: that our feet—and the rest of our ambulating parts by extension—are healthier when we avoid the temptation to wrap them in foam. Lacing up to avoid the momentary discomforts of walking unshod causes long-term problems, because although our feet adjust to walking without shoes, our joints never adjust to walking with them.
Now for the spiritual application.
Our culture is determined to mediate its own experiences, so that we feel what we want when we want. That explains my frustration with NetFlix. Who knows what kind of mood I’ll be in by the time I get a movie in the mail? Will I want to laugh or think or cry on Friday evening two weeks from now? Or to take another example, when my wife brings up a difficult conversation (like the family budget) at an inconvenient time, I’m tempted to say, “I can’t deal with this right now.” It’s as if I have some right to determine when to face difficulty and what emotions to engage.
This impulse appears in broader Christian culture. The title of a book by the bestselling author of Boundaries (Zondervan, 2002) says it all: Safe People: How to Find Relationships That Are Good for You and Avoid Those That Aren’t (Zondervan, 1996). We’ve learned to protect ourselves with spiritual gifts inventories: “I’m afraid I can’t help in the youth group; it’s not my gift.” We consider things edifying if they reinforce what we think, not if they unsettle us (I had this conversation with Christians concerning Pedro the Lion.)
Churches, too, can further insulate their members by catering to these tendencies. Instead of encouraging parishioners to submit to the congregation, an elder, or mentor, churches often teach them to self-diagnose and self-prescribe their spiritual formation regimen. Or they offer a variety of service times and styles to prevent congregants from making difficult (and formative) decisions about priorities.
When you walk without the insulation of shoes, you don’t have the privilege of deciding when to tread rocky ground or cool mud or warm sand. But that’s just what makes our feet resilient. We take the rough terrain when it comes and learn balance in the process. Similarly, if I lived without spiritual insulation, I would learn balance by adjusting my stride to account for difficulties when they arise, not by avoiding them until I’m ready to face them. My spiritual feet would toughen and I would be healthier for it.
What’s the solution? Spiritual disciplines are a great place to start. We can slip off our shoes and maneuver uncomfortable ground through fasting, silence, and giving. Over time—according to the saints who do this sort of thing—you find the periods of discipline more natural than indulgence, and your feet stay bare more often.
For myself, I’ve found liturgical worship and following the Church calendar to do much the same thing. Pentecost Sunday—regardless of how I feel about my finances or family issues—is a cause for celebration. I may not feel the presence of the Holy Spirit, but I am directed to rejoice in it nonetheless. Conversely, whatever my personal victories, Good Friday is a time to mourn.
In The Gift of Pain (Zondervan, 1993) Paul Brand (with Philip Yancey), explains that insensitivity to pain has serious medical consequences:
Without this chorus of pain, a leprosy patient lives in constant peril. He will wear too-tight shoes all day. He will walk five, ten, fifteen miles without changing gait or shifting weight. And…even if sores break open inside his shoe, he will not limp.
Does the same not apply to our souls? What do we risk by ignoring the “indispensable protection of pain?”

Walking On The Moon

I am a geek when it comes to the Wright Brothers and manned space flight, as much of its history goes through Dayton and vicinity. (Hey North Carolina--first in flight this! The airplane was invented and perfected in Dayton. Get that stupid slogan off of your license plates. Don't make me come down there.) I have several dozen books on Wilbur and Orville as well as space flights. I can remember exactly where I was seated in July of 1969 when I watched a man actually walk on the moon. I have never forgotten that.

So I am kinda embarrassed to say that I did not know right away how many men actually did walk on the moon. Do you? To save you the same shame I experienced, I'll give you a hint: It is the same as the number of tribes of Israel. Or close disciples of Jesus.

Twelve men have walked on the surface of the moon. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Pete Conrad, Alan Bean, Alan Shepard, Edgar Mitchell, David Scott, Jim Irwin, John Young, Charles Duke, Gene Cernan, Harrison Schmitt. Conrad, Shepard and Irwin are all dead. The youngest of the remaining nine, Duke and Schmitt, are 72. Other than Neil Armstrong--and maybe Buzz Aldrin--most school kids today could not name any of these pioneers.

Each of these men walked where no other created creature has been. Their footprints remain today. But it was on their return to earth that the enormity of their adventure set in. All twelve found life on Earth to be, well, difficult to adjust to after their time on the Moon. Many ended up alcoholics, divorced, uneasy with life as they had known it. They were celebrities, but shunned the spotlight. Or grabbed it and ended up saying and doing things that, well, were difficult for us earth-bound creatures to understand.

Take Armstrong. He was offered a high-ranking position with NASA, but turned it down to become an engineering professor at the University of Cincinnati. He bought a farm in my hometown of Lebanon, Ohio and kept to himself. Those who had occasion to speak to him said if you kept to a topic like farming or the weather he was pleasant enough. But even try to bring up his moon experience and he turned vicious. He and his wife of 36 years divorced when his mood swings became too much to handle. He now lives in a suburb of Cincinnati--Indian Hill--but rarely makes public appearances or talks about his walk on the moon.

What impacted these twelve so strongly that their lives were forever changed after walking on the moon? What made it so difficult to fit into this life after a very short life on another rock?

There are a lot of factors that contributed to their difficulties. But as I studied the lives of these heroes, I began thinking about the twelve men who walked with God for a few years while He was on the Earth. The men who watched Jesus teach and heal and create. Who ate and drank with Jesus every day. When we see them throughout the rest of the New Testament--after Jesus had ascended to the right hand of the Father--we find them having a difficult time fitting in with life on earth. Look at the early church. There was a discrepancy in which widows were being fed first in the food lines. The twelve apostles scratched their heads and said, "We can't handle this. Find some men who are good at administration to handle these kinds of things. We are pursuing God." The church grew, not because the apostles were brilliant marketers and businessmen, but because they had walked with Jesus, because the Holy Spirit filled them with God through and through. They were not very good at life on this earth because they had transfered their citizenship elsewhere.

Sometimes I stand outside at night and stare at the moon. (The neighbors pull back their curtains and say, "What is the matter with that boy?" But they are getting used to me...) I wonder if any of the surviving nine moonwalkers are looking at the moon at the same time. I see it as a mystery; they see it as, however temporary, their once home. And since leaving the moon, they have never been the same.

I purport to walk with Jesus. I have the Holy Spirit residing in me. Why, then, do I find it so easy to fit into this world? Why do I not stand out, not find daily life here--to use a term coined by Laree--perfectly awkward. I have walked on the moon--life on the Earth should not be the same. But, too often it is. On the other hand, I am feeling ever more a pulling from the inside out, like I just don't fit into my surroundings like I used to. And while it is awkward. it is good.

(If you don't like the astronaut illustration, think of Richard Dreyfuss' character in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. After being buzzed by flying saucers he just didn't fit in to his family, his job, his neighborhood. He was haunted by a shape he just could not put his finger on. Once he did, he dangerously fought to climb Monument Rock because, well, he didn't know why, did he? But his heart kept pulling him there, and he could not resist. That is what I am feeling. Does that work better than the astronauts?)

I am playing with the idea of writing a book comparing the twelve moonwalkers with the twelve disciples. So far I have read a lot. I guess that is a start. What do you think? Do you find yourself fitting in to life here too easily? Do you feel a pull on your heart? Have you had any close encounters of the third kind?

Our Dangerous God

This word was shared in October of 07 by Joe Spann at Believers Church in Tulsa. For your prayerful consideration:


The Specific Prophetic Sense for RIGHT NOW:
- First, this part is for those of you that are not believers – God is a loving God, do not be mistaken about that. His love however is unlike any human love, its chief concern is not to make you comfortable, but to make you free and to be free is dangerous and the act of making us free is dangerous. So for those of us who profess to be followers of God, here goes:
- There seems to be a growing feeling that God is ok with making us uncomfortable. In fact, I think He plans to. To seek God as our shelter will cost us something – perhaps enough that some of us would rather face the tornado.
- I am sensing specifically the danger of the nearness of God. He is waiting in places you do not expect to approach you in ways that you think God shouldn’t and wouldn’t approach you.
- He is about to move in a way that WILL NOT allow Him to be a household idol on your mantel that you cherish and pass down to your children. Your “here and now” will be changed by His presence.
- We worship a DANGEROUS GOD and He is coming to threaten every area of your life.
- If you want safety, then go back to your idols. They get their name from you, they don’t change your name, they don’t move without your leave, and they will never threaten your comfort. If you want safety, then go back to your idols but do not profess to worship the Creator of the Universe, because He WILL NOT be counted among your idols.
- He is about to become dangerous to your everyday trappings, dangerous to your comfort, dangerous to your retirement plan, dangerous to your schedule, dangerous to your social standing, dangerous to your secrets, and dangerous to your religion.
- The good news is, He is also dangerous to your limits, dangerous to your fear, dangerous to your addictions, dangerous to your sickness, dangerous to your unforgiveness, dangerous to the chains that bind you – chains that you have become way too comfortable with.
- The end result of this is that He wants to make YOU dangerous again; dangerous to your neighbors’ bondage, dangerous to the pain in the people around you, dangerous to the generations of abuse and pain in your family and the families you know, dangerous to the culture you are in every single day.
- Finally, He wants to make us dangerous again. Dangerous to our neighborhoods, dangerous to our friends, dangerous to our culture, dangerous to the kingdom of darkness.
- God is about to overtake us, to leap from the shadows and subdue us, to wrestle us to the ground and change our names, and in the process to injure us forever. We will never be the same.

Finally, I grieve. I grieve because I am a rich young ruler and I am not so sure that I want this. I want it from a distance, but to actually be in the Presence of the un-nameable God seems increasingly dangerous. So many of us are rich young rulers. We have our problems solved, our needs met. If they aren’t met at any given moment, an alternative other than God is there to meet them.

It will truly cost us everything to follow Him. The fact that we have to “lose our lives to find them” has been relegated to a cliché and sapped of its power for most of us. God is about to move in a way that will no longer allow that to be a cliché for you. That means that both the losing and the finding will be at a much deeper and more meaningful level.

So what should be our response to this?
- Brutal honesty – you may find yourself in situations in the future where you are not sure if it is God dealing with you or not because He has never dealt with you like this before. The best response is an honest one. Don’t pretend that you know exactly what to say to God – just be honest. But be prepared to wrestle all-night if you must.
- If you respond honestly, then God’s work in you will be completed.
- Recognize that He is a dangerous God. Look for the God-boxes that you have built and tear them down.
- Commit today to NEVER pray another superstitious or insincere prayer. Your pretense dishonors Him and He doesn’t want it from you anymore.
- He wants you to have a dangerous relationship with Him. Tell Him all the things you’ve always been afraid to say to God. Meet Him where you are and reveal yourself to Him in ways that you never have.

This seems severe, and I want so badly to say something to make it more palatable. Something that will make it set more nicely over lunch after the Sunday service. But I can’t. He comes now, and He comes in force, and He comes to threaten us, His followers, in every way.

The Cross I Wear

I have a cross I sometimes wear around my neck. It is a small, wooden cross on a leather necklace. It has a rustic look and feel, and I’m sure it is rather fashionable.

It’s fashionable.

This cross didn’t cost me anything, as I found it in my classroom at the high school in Ohio where I taught for nine years. I found all kinds of clothing and such, and would usually ask around to try to find the owner before storing them in my office. At the end of the school year I (and many of the other teachers) would give all of our lost and found items to a clothing bank to be distributed to those in need. But I kept this cross in my desk for nearly three years, then decided to wear it myself.

It didn’t cost me anything.

I am not a big jewelry wearer on the whole. I have only my wedding ring, an anniversary ring and a watch as my regular accessories. I don’t really like the feel of other things, like necklaces. I feel too weighed-down by them. But this particular cross is very light, so I hardly even know it is there. I can wear it all day long and not feel as if I am toting a piece of furniture around my neck. As a matter of fact, I often forget I even have it on.

It is easy to carry.

The cross I have is fashionable, cost me nothing, and is easy to carry.

This is not the cross Jesus tells his followers to pick up and carry.

Anyone who does not carry his cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.

At the time Jesus spoke those words, crucifixion was the preferred manner of execution by the Romans for criminals, runaway or disobedient slaves, political enemies, traitors, pirates, and rebels. Roman citizens in good standing were rarely subjected to the humility of the cross. If their crimes were sufficient to warrant capital punishment, they were killed honorably, usually through beheading. Crucifixion was torturous and humiliating. Sometimes the condemned was impaled on the end of a long pole, which was then stuck in the ground. Some were affixed to a single vertical post—hands, feet and genitals nailed to the wood so that the accused would slowly die from loss of blood and organ failure. Others were executed on dual posts—one vertical, the other horizontal: cross beams. Whatever the method used, crucifixion was anything but fashionable.

When the Romans chose to use cross beams, the condemned was typically tortured with a whip first, resulting in a great loss of blood which would put the body into shock. Then he was forced to carry the horizontal beam on his shoulders to the place of crucifixion. This beam weighed anywhere from 75 to 125 pounds and, compounded with the loss of blood and loss of strength, would cause the man to weave and stagger under the load, adding to his humility and shame. Many did not make it to their spot of execution, needing someone in the crowd to help them carry their cross. The gathered crowd would jeer and taunt the condemned as weak and unmanly. The cross was not easy to carry.

The cost of crucifixion was more than just the condemned man’s physical death. The Romans would often abuse the bodies as they were dying by breaking bones, poking holes in them with spears, and allowing birds of prey to feed on the dying and dead men’s flesh. The corpse, when finally removed from the cross, would often not even resemble a human. This was the ultimate shame, as many at that time believed the body you had when you died would be the body you were stuck with in the afterlife. Death by crucifixion was meant as eternal humility, eternal punishment. The cost, therefore, of the cross was not just a few hours of pain but of suffering forever and ever. To bear the cross in death was to bear ultimate failure, pain, suffering.

Anyone who does not carry his cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.

Perhaps today these words have a nice religious sound to them. Like, “Jesus means we are to deny ourselves, you know, like instead of buying a latte you give five bucks to charity and drink the coffee at work.” Or, “I sacrifice an hour’s sleep and spend that time in prayer.” Both decent enough things to do, but this is not what Jesus was talking about. Once a condemned person picked up the cross, there was no turning back. No last-minute pardon from the governor. That person knew that his or her life was over. This was an execution, not a do-gooders ball.

One of the coolest and wisest people I know is Bob Jobe. I brought up the topic of carrying our cross over coffee once (I think Bob had a latte, and as a matter of fact, it probably cost me about five bucks.)

“Bro,” he said, “we don’t know what the cross really means today. It is just a religious symbol to us, not what it was in Jesus’ time. The closest equivalent for us is the electric chair. Instead of wearing a cross around our necks, we ought to wear a mini-electric chair. And we could change that verse to read, If you don’t strap yourself into the electric chair and prepare to die, you can’t be my disciple.”

Anyone who does not strap himself into the electric chair and prepare to die cannot be my disciple.

No matter how you phrase it, talking like this does not make you or your cause popular. Jesus should have added a PR firm to help him build his ministry. I mean, honestly, you just aren’t going to grow a large church saying the kinds of things he said. People are looking to follow someone who will make their lives better. Yet Jesus made a habit of saying things that drove people away from him.

“You know you are really blessed when you face persecution.”
“If you want to be first, get at the back of the line.”
“The only way to have real life is to eat my flesh and drink my blood.”
“You cannot be my follower unless you consider yourself dead.”

Perhaps you can see why that Jesus did not have a large following at the end. There were only eleven men who stuck it out, and even they ran off when Jesus was arrested. So what about you? What about me? What will we make of these hard sayings of Jesus? Will they drive us away as well?

I am not me...

What I mean is this. I am not self-made. I am not simply the product of my own efforts, my own abilities. As a matter of fact, I think God uses very little of me to make me. 

He uses you.

That is why "we" is much more than "me." And that is why community is so important, even if our community is spread out across the map. 

"We" pray together, fast together, share together, laugh and cry together. "I" have to do those things alone, so I often just don't do them at all.

Have you ever been alone in your home for a few days? Do you prepare a full meal for your dinner, set the table, make sure that you have bright colors on your plate for a proper presentation? Or do you grab a bowl of Cap'n Crunch and eat it in front of the TV? Same thing. If it is just "me," my walk with Jesus is more of a wobble--a slow limp at best. But when I have "we" pacing "me" I can go a lot faster and a lot farther. 

That is the importance of "we."