When we first moved here, we were overwhelmed by the number of eagles there were. It seemed like every lamp post, rooftop, and highpoint on a hillside had an eagle or nest. They are everywhere. When I first mowed, I ran into a bit of a quandary. With eagles comes what eagles leave - namely eagle feathers. Apparently these feathers are protected in such a way that I would not be permitted, by federal law, from collecting them. Eagle nests cannot be molested, and eagles are to be given a wide berth. According to the US Fish and Wildlife Service, taking of an eagle in whole or in part "a maximum fine of $5,000 or one year imprisonment with $10,000 or not more than two years in prison for a second conviction." (http://www.fws.gov/midwest/eagle/protect/laws.html).
So what are you to do when you are mowing your lawn and you come upon an eagle feather? Do you mow around and pray for a stiff wind before returning? Do rake them aside and mow the grass?
At the risk of federal conviction I have an admission - I just kept mowing. The feathers were gathered together with the grass clippings and deposited in the pile on the other side of the driveway. Some may be horrified at the callous response to this national treasure. Many people visiting island leave with these tokens of their time here, (I'll not be naming names, though). I can assure you that there were another half dozen or more the next time I mowed.
This made me think of those things that occupy the sacred spaces of our minds - those things we hold as having greater value, and therefore more importance. Sometimes these align with our faith - sacred spaces, sacred items, sacred scriptures, sacred prayers - the list could go on. Other times, they are created (consecrated?) through tradition and usage - a beloved church building, a certain peice of music, hymns or a type of worship, and this list, too, could go on.
There are times that the practical side of us overcomes the sacred - eagle feathers are bird feathers and hold no special value. Sometimes those things we hold sacred blind us to that which is holy - we hang onto a church building because of our history with it, and miss God's call to a revolutionary and new ministry. We hold a specific schedule or worship style because it is what we have known, what we are comfortable with, or what we know how to do. We miss the ever-creating nature of God and our relationship with him. We miss the creative powers and gifts God has invited us to use in our service to him.
People occasionally call these things 'sacred cows,' the things which we hold in a special place, which do not have inherent value. Here in Unalaska, we've sometimes called them sacred seals - as the cows are a ways off. Whatever we call them, our reaction to them needs to be thought through, and not reactionary.
There are those that approach these things with the additude that anything that is not of God is distracting us from the calling to share the Gospel. Others say, this is part of my faith, don't touch it or else. Perhaps the real solution needs to be someplace in the middle. Why did we start singing that song to begin with? What faith did people have that brought this building into existance to begin with? Let's go to the root of our faith and hear God's words - not mulching the sacred things, but appreciating the role that they've played, continuing to use them as appropriate, and explore the amazing richness of life with Christ even if it leads us away from these things that we have held dear.
Watching the water,
Dan Wilcox
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thoughts from Low Tide
One of my favorite activities to do with the family is to wander along the beach during low tide. At high tide, the beach is mainly grapefruit-sized rocks littered with rope, shells, occasional buoys, and various other flotsam. At low tide, all of that is there, too — but closer to the water, there is also smooth, shimmering black-chocolate sand. The sand, while it is still damp, is easy to walk on, and contains all sorts of treasures. We frequently find sand dollars, jelly fish, various shells, and colorful rocks. Once, we even discovered a worm that was clearly not something any of us had seen before.
The low-tide area is in some ways a whole new world. Separate from the higher area of the beach, with its ankle twisting rocks and nautical litter, the sand is smooth and simple, yet holds in its simplicity precious treasures anticipating discovery.
This reminds me of a quote that someone shared with me someplace along the line—”I don’t care a fig for simplicity that comes before complexity. But for the simplicity that comes after complexity, I would give my life.” I believe we are called to the latter —the type of simplicity that comes only after working through some ankle-busting complexities that otherwise inhibit our relationship with God.
In the same way that you can’t get to the low-tide sands without first wading through the jumbled rocks and rubble of the high-tide zone, you can’t appreciate a simplicity of life in Christ without wading through the complexity of our sin, fallenness, and self-stored baggage.
Simplicity in Christ is best stated in Romans 14:8 If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.
If we live and die knowing that we are the Lord’s, then living or dying, we are His—that is simple living!
We are called as Christians to this type of faith—this type of living and dying. We are called to low-tide living—knowing we are ever seeking to move toward this simplicity in Christ.
We are also called to the new world—called to something that none of us has ever seen before. We get glimpses of where we are going in the hopes and promises of the New Testament—a new creation—a new Jerusalem—a holy priesthood—a new heaven—and new earth. These promises are of Shalom—the old Hebrew concept of life as God intended it.
If this is our hope, and our calling, is it not also our proclamation? This is the hope of God’s new creation: not proclaiming things as they are or as they’ve always been — but with great faith and confidence in things yet unseen, to be proclaiming things as they should be according to God’s heart and plan.
Watching the Water,
Pastor Dan
The low-tide area is in some ways a whole new world. Separate from the higher area of the beach, with its ankle twisting rocks and nautical litter, the sand is smooth and simple, yet holds in its simplicity precious treasures anticipating discovery.
This reminds me of a quote that someone shared with me someplace along the line—”I don’t care a fig for simplicity that comes before complexity. But for the simplicity that comes after complexity, I would give my life.” I believe we are called to the latter —the type of simplicity that comes only after working through some ankle-busting complexities that otherwise inhibit our relationship with God.
In the same way that you can’t get to the low-tide sands without first wading through the jumbled rocks and rubble of the high-tide zone, you can’t appreciate a simplicity of life in Christ without wading through the complexity of our sin, fallenness, and self-stored baggage.
Simplicity in Christ is best stated in Romans 14:8 If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.
If we live and die knowing that we are the Lord’s, then living or dying, we are His—that is simple living!
We are called as Christians to this type of faith—this type of living and dying. We are called to low-tide living—knowing we are ever seeking to move toward this simplicity in Christ.
We are also called to the new world—called to something that none of us has ever seen before. We get glimpses of where we are going in the hopes and promises of the New Testament—a new creation—a new Jerusalem—a holy priesthood—a new heaven—and new earth. These promises are of Shalom—the old Hebrew concept of life as God intended it.
If this is our hope, and our calling, is it not also our proclamation? This is the hope of God’s new creation: not proclaiming things as they are or as they’ve always been — but with great faith and confidence in things yet unseen, to be proclaiming things as they should be according to God’s heart and plan.
Watching the Water,
Pastor Dan
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