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Sabbatical Update from Pastor Doug Kelly
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September 3, 2008
I am sitting in one of my favorite candy stores, except there is not an ounce of candy to be found. The city is Portland, Oregon and the store is Powell's. Powell's is not really a candy story at all, but rather one of the largest book stores in all the United States. Used and new, fiction and non-fiction, biology and U.S. history, philosophy and computers, management and mysteries, and, of course, the queen of the sciences -theology.
Portland is a wonderful city to walk through especially in the revived Pearl District where old delapitated warehouses have been transformed into boutiques, high rise apartment buildings, edgy restaurants and enough coffee shops to caffeinate the entire northwest. This is also a city that is home to my two brothers, a long time friend from a church small group and no less than three very good Presbyterian clergy friends who double as professional colleagues and mentors. These people and this geography make my heart sing. Yet the song is not complete without a visit to this gigantic playland of words.
John begins his gospel, "In the beginning was the word," giving echo to the very first chapter of Genesis where, before God makes anything, God first speaks. "Let there be light," was a word before it was a physical reality. It is no mistake that while the classical Greeks were designing theatres for people to see, the ancient Jews were constructing libraries and copying texts for people to hear. And the voice they strained to hear the most was one who avoided front page covers and the video screens like the plague. In fact, this "voice" forbade the printing or sculpting of any visible image of any kind. It is, in a sense, strange to our 21st century visual mind set that the One who is at the center of our faith does not want the spotlight at all. God wants not our eyes so much as our ears.
And this is why I love Powell's. For, although I use my eyes to browse titles and dip into paragraphs, my ears are really doing the workload. I hear voices in book stores. There isn't a book I read where I don't hear a voice, and sometimes, I think it's fair to say, I hear the Voice. This is why I love books. It's not simply the words, but the Word that penetrates through my ear drum to the mind and heart to create, shape, redeem and call. I'm not advocating expanding the biblical canon. The Bible is at the center. It is the Book, but other books can be used by the Almighty. I hear the Word in the words of St. Paul for sure, but I have also heard the divine summons in the writings of Colin Powell, Simone Weil and David McCullough. Jeremiah was God's mouthpiece shouting "Thus says the Lord," but my ears have perked up as well to God's voice as it has come to me through people like Brian McLaren and Kathleen Norris. Oh, I see a new book by Kathleen Norris right now, Acedia. See, I told you, Powell's is the best candy store in the west.
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August 19, 2008
When you are lonely in a distant land, encountering a familiar face makes your heart sing. There I was, at the Eagle and Child pub in Oxford, my last night in Britain before flying to LAX, eating my fish and chips under the photo of C.S. Lewis and the plaque celebrating "the Inklings" who gathered with Lewis in that corner three times a week many decades ago. The Inklings was a group of half a dozen or more friends and scholars who shared a love for Nordic languages and mythology. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are its most famous members. In fact, Lewis' conversion to faith in Christ was due in part to his many conversations with Tolkien there in that pub.
Well, anyway, there I was with no lack of Christian faith but suffering from a serious lack of camaraderie munching on hot deep fried haddock and those wonderful chips (French fries to us) that the Brits are so in love with. My palate was never so satisfied, but my soul had rarely been this low. I was so lonely. I had not seen my family in three weeks and, though I enjoyed my study time at University of Edinburgh those previous weeks, I had no community. I was walking on my own, reading on my own, writing on my own, and eating on my own. I got so tired of eating by myself in restaurants in Edinburgh that my last 10 days found me eating Subway "Veggie Delight" sandwiches at the Meadows Park while the rest of Edinburgh's citizens were jogging, throwing frisbies, or kicking soccer balls. (Of course, the benefit to my wallet and my waist line did not skip my attention either.)
I was so hungry for human conversation at the Eagle and Child that night that I started a conversation at the pub with a Baptist from Riverside, California. He was a delight, but he had to leave before I even ordered my dinner. I then tried to gently join a discussion with two Oxford theology professors. They were friendly enough, but I yearned for something more.
Then it happened. A gentleman was suddenly standing next to my table waiting for my attention. I looked up and there was Rob Haggan a Presbyterian pastor from Washington with whom I had become friends after years of attending a clergy conference together each spring. I leapt to my feet and embraced him. I grinned ear to ear, and we both started laughing. Then Rob's friend, an elder from his church, commented on the likelihood of this meeting. They quickly invited me to find a table with them and they ordered dinner. It was a joyful two hours of swapping experiences, sharing stories and just finding joy among Christian brothers. What an ending to my trip in Britain!
I had thought that I was homesick those last three weeks. Certainly, that was true. I missed Jean terribly and longed to see my kids, but more than simply sick for home, I was hungering for simple, basic, human community. And now to find it with a Christian brother was pure happiness. Psalm 133 tells us, "How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!" So true. Sometimes, however, just two hours with kindred in Christ is all the goodness and pleasantness one could wish. My heart sang that night.
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July 28, 2008
America's greatest gift is impossible to see. It's something you hear.
Last weekend I took a break from my studies at University of Edinburgh and zipped down to the historic city of York. There is so much to experience in Yorkshire: Roman ruins from the first century, medieval walls that allow you to walk 20 feet above the ground, museums, and, of course, the famous Yorkminster - the largest cathedral north of the alps.
But what captured my heart that weekend in York as well as at the cathedral in nearby Durham was the glorious traditional worship. In two and a half days I worshiped in these cathedrals four different times. Especially moving were the evensong services which are sung by boy or girl choristers and men. I do not know if there is a more moving traditional worship experience. Marvelous settings of psalms by a number of British composers including the famous Ralph Vaughn-Williams. This music is historic, resonant, and heavenly. I soaked up every note.
Then, a curious thing happened back in Edinburgh on my Monday lunch break from studies. A Presbyterian church choir from San Jose - the Stone Church at Willow Glen - gave a St. Giles Cathedral noon concert at the end of their Ireland and Scotland tour. I heard them offer worship pieces set by the baroque composer Palestrina and the contemporary Brit John Rutter. Good stuff. But what stunned me was the energy and passion that filled the room when they sang Amercian spirituals and gospel hymns.
I was shocked at how it touched me. Now, for sure, I am a bit homesick and perhaps there was a hunger to experience anything of America. Yet, that doesn't explain my experience. The simplicity of melody and strong rhythm coupled with lyrics from the soul delivered with soul penetrated all of us in the pews. Dare I say, "This music rocks!"
God rocked me that afternoon. Give me Handel and Palestrina any time. And I will greatly miss the evensong choristers. But the peculiar music of America that I heard that day is a universal message from God to hope, to pray and to live. We've given the world a great gift. The world knows it. I wonder if we do. It's a gift you can't see, but, oh, it's there.
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July 13, 2008
During my overnight visit to Oban, Scotland, I found myself praying at a street parking meter. More about that later. First a word on Paris. My, how that city loves to stake its claim as the artistic center of the world. It has my vote. The Louvre. Versailles. The Mussee d' Orsay. On and on it goes. I have always loved the impressionistic paintings of Claude Monet, and found his gigantic "Waterlillies" a delight to my visual palate.
On the down side, I found the Cathedral at Notre Dame the least spiritually inviting place. I marvel at its architecture, but for some reason can't imagine praying there. Perhaps it was just the crowds that day. The Chapel at St. Chapelle was a different story, with its magnificent stained glass. As our family found some much appreciated seating in this sun bathed chamber, our chatting was interrupted by the a capella singing of a youth choir from Mississippi. Just on the spur of the moment they burst into some gorgeous Latin sacred work with sonorous tones resonating off the glass into the ears of smiling tourists. It was heaven!
This was only to be surpassed by the glorious voices of the boys and mens choir at Westminster Abbey. Is there anything more glorious than English boys voices in a Gothic cathedral?
The rest of London was a bust for me since I spent three days on my back ill with some virus. I never saw the Thames River! Imagine that.
Which leads me to the event at the parking meter. On July 10th I left London on my way to the Isle of Iona, famous as the birth place of Christianity in Scotland. I had one night in the city of Oban and after unpacking in my hotel had launched on a stroll along the sea shore only to be stopped by stomach pains and wee bit of dizziness. I saw a sign on the sidewalk that said "Pray at the Parking Meter." Of course, it really read pay at the meter. Yet, I took it as a sign and walked the ten yards and uttered a prayer, "Lord, just get me to Iona."
And here I am in Iona, still a bit sick, but inspired by this very spiritual little island. My prayer time scripture that evening was the first beatitude in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount in The Message translation:
You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
I was almost at the end of my rope in Oban and God was faithful. I hope there will be less of me and more of God's rule in the rest of my journey. May it be for you at CPC as well.
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July 7, 2008
They drive on the WRONG side of the road here! Why did my travel agent rent my family a car in Edinburgh? We were going to walk everywhere and hop on the double decker buses. And, yes, we did walk - quite a bit actually. But when Uncle Eli (Eli Lilly of Lilly Foundation) is paying for a car one feels obligated to use it. And so we drove to Stirling castle and then to St. Andrews. Then to the North of Scotland, back down along Loch Ness and back down to Glasgow. We drove not in one of those small Renaults or VW's but in a full size Voyager family van on some of the narrowest roads invented by man, and all of this on the wrong side of the road, driving on the wrong side of the car. This trip was supposed to be a retreat to old abbeys and castles. Sometimes it reminds me more of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland.
My children enjoyed counting every curb I drove over and marveled at how many times there dad could not quite get the hang of the "roundabouts" which are everywhere - those curious intersection inventions where you drive in a circle (in the wrong direction!) to make a turn or simply go straight. We were accident free, surprisingly, so praise God! There was however the little disagreement the van had with a concrete wall in a Glasgow car park. Those ancient Romans knew how to build things, but why they placed that wall right behind my car space I'll never understand.
Enough complaining, what the old Scots, Angles and Celts knew how to do was build churches and abbeys in some of the most peaceful countryside of the northern hemisphere. Gosh, it's beautiful here! Ben and I spent our first week walking from Melrose to Lindisfarne along the Scot-English border region. This route was traveled by a revered bishop from the seventh century, St. Cuthbert.
This is the Scotland I will remember and treasure. There is an ancient spirituality in this land. One can feel it when walking about the ruins of Melrose Abbey and the priory of Holy Island (Lindisfarne.) I'll never forget sneaking out of my hotel room at 6:15 a.m. to walk to Lindisfarne castle amidst biting wind off the North Sea and then snuggling into a Church of England morning prayer service with 11 other locals and travelers in a church constructed in the 12th century. May God be praised for faithful saints, past and present, far and near, for those who worship the Three in One.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through the belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
St. Patrick's Breastplate
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June 9, 2008
I slept in until 5:15 a.m. on the first day of my sabbatical. My intent when my head hit the pillow on the night of May 25th was to hit the road at 3:45 a.m. and get up to Yosemite National Park as quickly as possible. But alas, I slept in until the day was half over. Let me tell you something: Memorial Day is the day to drive through LA during rush hour. It was a rush alright, not a lane change necessary!
I could not wait to get up to Yosemite. After all, two days earlier, three inches of snow had fallen at the higher elevations. My first morning at Yosemite greeted me with threatening clouds overhead. I decided to tackle the Upper Yosemite Falls trail to catch some awesome views of the tallest waterfall in the U.S. One guidebook described this trail as a "butt-kicker." And it was. I barely made it and then was greeted by hail at the top.
The next day my brother-in-law, also a Presbyterian pastor, drove me to Glacier Point for some more majestic views, at least that's what they say. We were greeted by pea soup fog. I had yet to see half-dome and this in my 56th hour at Yosemite.
But alas, the next day greeted me with sunshine and I ventured on the Tioga Road to hike the North Dome trail, having put this off for two days already. The weather cooperated, but I was again stymied by the elements. There was just too much snow. I followed one set of boot tracks into three foot drifts. However, when those footprints turned around, I thought it better to do the same.
Having said all this, it was still an amazing beginning to my sabbatical. Is there any prettier place than Yosemite Valley? The glacier carved granite, the grip upon your eyes always up and up, the water falls and all those trees. I put in 60 miles of hiking in four and a half days and couldn't have been happier. I didn't rest much in a physical way, but it was such rest for the soul. Praising God was so natural and easy. It will always be Yosemite Cathedral to me from now on.
The second week of my sabbatical was absorbed in reading four books and writing an essay on missional church leadership. I am now engrossed in reading and writing on the dawn of devotion to Jesus in the early church. I have been appointed as a Visiting Fellow at New College Divinity School, University of Edinburgh and look forward to more study on this topic there.
In the midst of this hiking and reading I am praying through the Psalms using Eugene Peterson's translation The Message. I always knew that the psalmists didn't hold back in addressing God. Praying The Message psalms is an exercise in chutzpah!
Keep me in your prayers. You're in mine.
Doug
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