Knowing our place

One of the things that first attracted me to the Cedar Tree Institute [http://cedartreeinstitute.org/] is its commitment to helping us to “know our place.” Over the years, I’ve helped to lead several Spirit of Place events with Jon Magnuson on Lake Superior and the lower Columbia River. For those who have yet to experience one of these events, they are multi-day immersions in the natural and cultural history of a patch of earth, sky and water – a place in other words – that invite participants not only to experience life in a new way (from a kayak of all places!) but also to learn and reflect about place from a spiritual perspective. Since the pilgrims who honor us by their presence at these events come from all over the country, part of our hope is that they will take their new-found spirit of curiosity and reflection with them to the places where they live and work. An unspoken but guiding premise of the work of the Institute is that all places have spiritual significance and that one key to a meaningful life is to bring ourselves into relationship and perhaps even harmony with the spirit of the places where we live. “If you don’t know where you are,” the poet and farmer, Wendell Berry, once quipped, “you don’t know who you are.”

All that being said, I’ve often marveled at what a “tough sell” the idea of “knowing our place” is in our own spiritual traditions, especially the institutional church. There are undoubtedly many reasons for this but my suspicion is that our “dis-placed” spirituality is closely related to our centuries old tendency to devalue our primary means of experiencing place – our bodies. I also suspect that our difficulties in making the care of creation a more central part of our religious practice is related to our tendency to discount the importance and sacred nature of the places in which we live and work and raise our families. If all the major theological, moral, and institutional decisions are made in the ballrooms of airport hotels or downtown convention centers – which is where my denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, makes most of its decisions, it’s not hard to see why the spirit of place plays such a small role in our decision-making. The reality is that once you’re inside the ballroom or convention hall, you could be anywhere – or nowhere. It’s not surprising that under such circumstances, we sometimes forget not only where we are but who we are.

Perhaps one response might be to listen more closely to the people my bishop once referred to as “local poets” – the writers and artists, the historians and musicians who celebrate the places where we live. Writing about the importance of a sense of place, Wallace Stegner reflects on Berry’s observation that if you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are:

"[Berry]is not talking about the kind of location that can be determined by looking at a map or a street sign. He is talking about the kind of knowing that involves the senses, the memory, the history of a family or a tribe. He is talking about the knowledge of place that comes from working in it in all weathers, making a living from it, suffering from its catastrophes, loving its mornings or evenings or hot noons, valuing it for the profound investment of labor and feeling that you, your parents and grandparents, your all-but-unknown ancestors have put into it. He is talking about the knowing that poets specialize in. It is only a step from his pronouncement to another: that no place is a place until it has had a poet."[1]

I don’t know who your “local poets” might be, but I invite you to do some exploring. If your place is really a place, then they’re out there, doubtlessly working in relative obscurity to understand and know the place in which you both find yourselves. In discovering them, you may also meet some unknown allies and friends.
11/18/09

[1] Wallace Stegner, “The Sense of Place” in Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs: Living and Writing in the West, Penguin, 1992, p.205

Living in the Ecotone

My colleague and friend, Jon Magnuson (www.cedartreeinstitute.com), called the other night and asked if I’d write down some thoughts about the transition my wife and I are currently experiencing. In the past six months, both Nancy and I have taken on new jobs. That means selling our home in Vancouver, Washington, where our family has lived for the past sixteen years and moving to a new place. Since August, Nancy’s been the principal of a large high school in Olympia, Washington, about a hundred miles north of here. Beginning in December, I will begin my work as the pastor of the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd, also in Olympia. “You’re living in the ecotone, brother,” said Jon. “Tell us what it’s like.”

Biologists know the transitional zone between two or more distinct habitats as the ecotone. William deBuys notes that “because it is a border zone where multiple sets of resources and opportunities become available, an ecotone tends to support greater biological diversity than either of the systems it mediates between.” Jon’s contention that there’s always action in the ecotone is correct. But as with any encounter with diversity, the challenge lies in trying to sort it all out. In thinking about what this transition has been like, several things come to mind: home, a sense of place, and pilgrimage.

Home: The most difficult thing about this move for me both spiritually and literally has been the effort to sell our home in Vancouver in a very difficult real estate market. Nancy spends her weeks in Olympia while I stay in Vancouver, commute twice a week to teach a class in Tacoma, and try to keep the house in presentable shape by “staging” it for potential buyers. If a sacred place is defined as a geographical location to which stories are attached, then this house has surely been that for our family. This is where our daughters grew up and where we’ve entertained our friends. In our circle, it’s always been known as “a great party house.” Now that everyone has left except for me and El Cid, the cat (our daughter, Britt, moved out in July), I sometimes feel like I’m keeping vigil with a dying friend. One irony is that we’re moving back to Nancy’s home town; a place where I was ordained and where we spent the early years of our marriage. Home is an elusive but important concept that has taken on new meaning for me during this time.

Sense of place: Like many westerners, I’ve learned to define my sense of place by the watershed where I’m currently dwelling. We’ve been living in the drainage of the Columbia River for the past 25 years. Since we came here in 1982, I’ve tried to learn everything I could about the history and geography of this region. It’s shaped the way I think and even the way I preach. Now I’m in the process of moving to a new place and a new watershed, Puget Sound, and I find myself beginning to pay more attention to the patterns of weather, time and tide that are characteristic of that part of “Salmon Nation” – the bio-region defined as “anywhere the Pacific Salmon have ever run.”

Pilgrimage: During another time of transition, I made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Along the way I learned some things about journeys and destinations. I used to think that life was about content and outcomes, traditional ways our culture measures success and failure. What I learned on the road to Santiago is that the quality of the journey is just as important as the destination. Life is about process and most of all, it’s about relationships. We’re all pilgrims whether we care to admit it or not if only because our life is one long transition. The salmon, those intrepid travelers who always find their way home to complete the cycle of death and resurrection, can be our teachers. Pack light, pay attention to where you are, and stay in touch with your friends. Those are some things I’ve learned here in the ecotone.

Early Morning Thoughts on "Thinking the Faith"

I've been slowly reading Douglas John Hall's, The Cross in Our Context (Fortress, 2003) in preparation for Hall's appearance at the annual Byberg lectures which will take place January 14-16, 2008 at Cannon Beach. (Watch the lens website for details!) Hall has always been one of my favorite theologians precisely because he's made the effort to place his theological reflections in the North American context. But he's not an easy read so I take him in short pieces -- often just a couple of pages -- each morning. That's why I'm starting a book in September that I won't finish until January! Today's short section was on the anti-ideological nature of the Theology of the Cross. By ideology, Hall means a theory or system of interpretation that functions as "a full and sufficient credo, a source of personal authority, and an intellectually and psychologically comforting isulation from the firghtening chaotic mishmash of daily existence. For the ideologue, whether religious or political, it is not necessary to expose oneself to the ongoingness of life; one knows in advance what one is going to find in the world." (p.25) Hall points out that there is a fine line between ideology and theology. But the test of a true theology is that it involves a lifelong commitment to thought that is never satisfied. His example is Luther, who, though he honored the Bible more than any other source of knowledge, mistrusted the certitude that some were claiming for Scripture. When challenged by his friend Justus Jonas, who pointed to the apostle Paul as an example of true belief, Luther replied, " I don't think Paul believed as firmly as he talks. I cannot believe as firmly, either, as I can talk and write about it." Then Hall shares a wonderful passage from Simone Weil, "One can never wrestle enough with God if one does so out of a pure regard for truth. Christ likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If one turns aside from him to go toward the truth, one will not go far before falling into his arms." Amen to that. May your efforts in search of truth also find you falling into the arms of Christ. jpr

Study That Delights In What Is

One of the books on my reading list for this summer is Gordon Lathrop’s The Pastor: A Spirituality (Fortress Press, 2006). It’s a short book but it’s by no means a quick read. I found myself lingered over each page. Lathrop, a renowned liturgical theologian, has written this book for working pastors, urging them to engage in a “life-long catechumenate.” Part two of the book is entitled, “Living from the Liturgy: A Little Catechism for the Pastor.” Using the Creed, Commandments, Baptism, the Supper, and the Keys, Lathrop writes about the pastor in study and prayer, in daily living, and in dying. One section which especially piqued my interest was the section on study. “Study belongs to the life of the pastor,” writes Lathrop. “Pastors owe it to their congregations, as a moral obligation of their vocation, to be persons of study.” But the study he urges is not simply going to a workshop to learn the latest evangelism or stewardship techniques, though that, too, has its place. “Pastors really do need to pay attention to what is – with curiosity following questions that genuinely interest them, apart from all utility, with joy delighting in the play of words and their interesting mediating relationships with other people’s experiences of the world.” I trust that you summer schedule has slowed down enough to allow you some time for “study that delights in what is.” I look forward to seeing many of you at Holden in September. If you haven’t registered yet, there’s still time. Registrations don’t close until August 25th. You can download a brochure and a registration form at www.lensnw.org. God bless your ministry and your study. jpr

The Bible and the importance of place

When we hear the word “context” in reference to the Bible, most of us rightly think of the historical and cultural context in which the various parts of it were written, edited and assembled as keys to understanding. Those attuned to the ways in which gender and race, along with wealth, status, and power, effect how and what we observe have alerted us to the ways in which these categories are also part of the biblical “context.” But what almost no one (to my knowledge) pays attention to is the many ways in which the land itself has had an impact on the Biblical writers and editors. Because of my firm conviction that place matters whether we’re reading the Bible or carrying on our various ministries, I’ve been reading with fascination Daniel Hillel’s fascinating book, The Natural History of the Bible: An Environmental Exploration of the Hebrew Scriptures (Columbia University Press, 2006). Although I’m only 4 chapters into it, Hillel has opened my eyes to the many ways in which the Bible is a reflection of the environment and the various and varied ecosystems in which it was written. “The premise,” writes Hillel in the prologue, “is that the events, characters, and ideas in the Bible evolved within a particular combination of environmental circumstances, and that the former can be properly understood only in relation to the latter.” I highly recommend this book to anyone desiring a deeper understanding of Scripture.

Genograms and Leadership

I spent Tuesday afternoon going through files and boxes of pictures, working on my genogram. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the concept, a genogram is a diagram – something like a “family tree” – that shows your family and your place in it. It’s also an essential component for understanding the family and the congregation or organization as an emotional system. How we function in our family system is often a key to understanding how we function in our congregation and in our role as pastor, deaconess, or associate in ministry. Family Systems theory is based on the work of Murray Bowen and his most famous student, Edwin Freidman (Generation to Generation, A Failure of Nerve). Peter Steinke (Healthy Congregations, How Your Church Family Works) also draws heavily upon it. It’s less of a theory about families and congregations work than an entirely new way of thinking about families, congregations, and our role as leader. About 7 or 8 years ago, I was introduced to family systems thinking as a tool for doing Interim ministry. Since then, thanks to teacher, coach and friend, Margaret Marcuson (www.margaretmarcuson.com/) and colleague Michael Nel (www.consultationtoclergy.com/), I’ve continued to read, learn, and try to put into practice the principles of systems thinking in my life and ministry. With the encouragement of Margaret Marcuson, I began attending the Leadership in Ministry workshops (http://leadershipinministry.com/) which are held twice each year in one of three locations around the U.S. The usefulness of the workshops is heavily dependent upon participants’ willingness to go back and do their own “family work” in order to understand who they are and where they come from as a key to leadership. That’s why I’m working on my genogram. It’s not easy work but its well worth the effort. If you’re looking for a way to improve your leadership style in the congregation, I can’t think of a better place to start.

Last Week with "The Last Week"

Most of you are undoubtedly enjoying a little “down time” after the important business (and busy-ness) of leading worship and preaching during Holy Week. Last week, as part of my personal Holy Week observation, I read The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach about Jesus ’ Final Days in Jerusalem by Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan (HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). I started – as the book does – on Palm Sunday and read a chapter a day through yesterday, Easter Sunday. The book is a day by day treatment of Jesus’ final week following the chronology of the Gospel of Mark, the earliest gospel narrative in the New Testament. A recent article in The Christian Century (March 20, 2007) is an excellent introduction to some of their major points. As they state in the book’s final pages, “Holy Week, Good Friday, and Easter are about the conflict between the radicality of God and the normalcy of domination systems, which is the normalcy of civilization. Jesus’ last week challenges the domination systems of this world even as it also invites us upon a journey through death to resurrection, journeying with the risen Jesus, the risen Christ.” (p.215) The Holy Week readings this year took on new meaning for me as a result of some of the insights provided by Borg and Crossan. The book is available in paperback and includes a study guide and discussion questions. Next Holy Week, I hope to use it with a group of adults. A blessed Easter season to all of you! jpr