A Life Worth Living

From Gabe

The sign said it was a mile and a half trail, down 600 feet, to the base of the canyon. The implication, of course, was that there was a not-quite-identical mile and a half hike back up 600 feet to the rim. I admit sometimes I forget to respect implications (the implications of that statement are not really important to me). What I knew is that I really wanted to go to the bottom, and see the White House Ruins.

Canyon De Chelly (pronounced d'Shay) is one of those God-made wonders that defies explanation. Its beauty rivals that of the Grand Canyon. In fact, if the Grand Canyon were not quite so grand, it probably would pale by comparison to the breath-taking Canyon De Chelly.

This place is more than just significant to the people of the Navajo Nation. It is the cornerstone. According to their tradition, the life of the Dine (it's what the Navajo call themselves, is pronounced d'nay, and means, simply, "people") originated here, at the site of one of these inconceivable rock formations called "Spider Rock." With the exception of 5 years that began in 1863 (a profoundly dark time in the legacy of the White Man), it is believed that dine (that is "people") have lived there for 5000 years. There are carvings, etchings and ruins of dwellings built into the shear mountain walls to bear witness to that history.

Canyon De Chelly is a National Park site that resides entirely within the Navajo reservation. The reservation, which is approximately the size of West Virginia, has been under the stewardship of the Navajo from "the beginning." They call it "Navajoland." Not because it belongs to them. It's much more like they belong to it. The Navajo are a proud, gentle and soft-spoken people. And they possess very little. How they survive is still a bit of a mystery to me, though I am sure it largely involves White Man's favorite version of repentance: Federal Aid.

Well, anyway, who wouldn't want to see these ruins, that speak of the ancestors of the Navajo? Well, for starters, people smart enough to realize that they need to be in fairly good shape to climb up a mile-and-a-half-long, 600-foot-tall trail. I am not such a person. In either respect.

After seeing the ruins and purchasing some beautiful hand-made jewelry, my group started our walk back to the trail. Along the way, I noticed a young man selling limestone carvings that were replicas of those on the actual limestone walls of Canyon De Chelly. He was a delightful young man, though his replicas were easily the least accurate of any I'd seen that day. Still, I allowed him to give me his sales pitch and history lesson, then I talked to him about how hard it must be to carve limestone with a nail (really), and generally made him feel as good as I could about what he'd done -- without actually purchasing his work. And I got one more opportunity to soak in the Navajo. Then I had to catch my friends.

The floor of Canyon De Chelly, at least where the White House Ruins are, is sandy, much like a beach. I briskly trotted off to my friends, thinking (perhaps for the first time with a clear head), "If I hit the base of this trail winded, I have no hope of reaching the top alive." Indeed, I hit the base winded. Obviously, since I'm writing this, my prediction was a tad melodramatic. But that doesn't mean I didn't believe my fate with each step and each breath I took.

But I learned a few somethings as I labored up that path, and I lived to tell about them. So now you get to hear it. (Are you wishing now that I have the gift of prophecy?)

As I stopped to catch my breath the first time, a little more than a third of the way up the canyon wall, I began to think that I couldn't possibly die this way. After all, I am not an athlete. It would be as ludicrous for me to die doing something athletic as it would for me to be trampled to death by a mob of angry hamsters. Maybe even more ludicrous. No, I would press on, perservere, achieve the goal set before me, no matter how painful, how daunting, how... unproven...

It was at this moment my friend Gary showed up. He and the rest of our party had actually gone on ahead, not realizing I had fallen behind. But, when he did notice my absence, he waved them on, and waited for me. And he stayed with me. Several more times I needed to stop. Somtimes I realized it, sometimes he did. He didn't need even one stop. But he stayed with me: to cheer me on, to encourage me, to keep me company, to "pace" me, to protect me.

As I considered what I had done, and what he had done, a few things occurred to me.

First, a life worth living is meant to be experienced -- to be completely consumed. In order to do that, we have to be willing to try things we've never tried before. Sometimes, we may not even plan them appropriately. But life is to be siezed and lived and not just witnessed.

Second, a life worth living is dangerous. And it can be painful. And daunting. And unproven.

Third, a life worth living is worth sharing. Sometimes, that sharing might even save your worth-living life. But every time, it makes the journey richer. After all, in God's economy, the only way to multiply your assets is to share them.

Fourth, God really, truly loves me. And He proves it repeatedly by blessing me with the people whom He draws to me. And he proves it by challenging me to embrace a life worth living.
I'm taking this lesson home with me (along with two, seriously stiff calves). I'm going to try to remember it as I contemplate and exercise my living in Philippi. But, as I wait on God, on theatres, on the blossoming of a church, I won't wait on life. I will live it.

Why was I even near Canyon De Chelly this week? I went to Gallup, NM to work a conference on Christian community development, hosted by the Navajo churches in that area. I was there as part of the worship team. Amazing things happened at that conference. And I promise you'll hear about them all, and I promise that many of you will be astounded.

In the end, do you know what we all learned there? We learned that a community has a life worth living. And that such a life is dangerous. And that the living of that life is worth sharing. And that God really loves the community that is Navajo Nation, just as much as He loves one called Philippi, West Virginia. And whatever yours is called as well.

After four days of witnessing that truth, I still needed an excruciating 45-minute uphill climb to make it real.

A Good Man

I have a friend. He does many good things for many people. People say he is a good man. A very good man indeed. He works very hard, doing things for God. Yet he's never satisfied, never fulfilled. Always running. Seeking more. He's good -- good and tired. And there's always more to do. I suspect there always will be.

There are many people like my friend. They do good things for many people and for God. History is rich with such people. One such man was the one we know as the apostle Paul. He devoted his life to doing good things for God. In the process, he persecuted and killed many godly people. He did this in God's name and many people thought he was a good man. Then, one day, on his way to Damascus (to kill more Christians), he finally actually met God. God said to Paul that day, "If you think perhaps you're finally finished doing things for me, then it's time to let me do things through you." And the world was changed forever.

There's little doubt that Paul had a "type A" personality. Some say Paul's driven nature enabled him to change the world. I remain unconvinced. I believe instead that God worked through Paul to accomplish this grand mission, and it was only possible because Paul was willing to be used. His personality, his nature, his training and all of his qualifications were secondary.

Why do I think that? Well, for starters, because Paul said so himself, in stronger words than these. Beyond that, I also know this about Paul: immediately following Paul's dramatic conversion that fateful day, the Lord didn't immediately unleash him. Instead, He sent Paul off to his hometown of Tarsus. Not to work. To wait. Ten years. For ten years, as far as we know, Paul seemingly did nothing for God. God used that time to season Paul, and I suspect, given Paul's personality, it took every moment of that time to prepare him to be God's vessel. And when finally Paul was ready to stop trying to do things for God, God did amazing things through him.

It's not that Paul wasn't capable. He was exceptionally capable. But Paul himself pointed out that his capabilities really counted for nothing. My friend is like that: extremely capable. As for me, I'm kind of glad to say I'm no Paul, and I'm not like my friend. I am not "type A." Nobody would ever accuse me of being "driven." I certainly do not consider myself particularly capable of anything God might "need" me for. And it would seem, by the standards we tend to use, that I certainly am not qualified to plant churches. And yet, incredibly, God has called me to do just that.

Lots of people are wondering what exactly that will look like. Will I be able to use the methods all the well-qualified type-A church planters use to plant a church? Not a chance. Not because using methods are bad or wrong, but simply because that's not how God works through me, because He hasn't made me that way. And, amazingly, I cannot please God or glorify Him unless I am the man He has crafted me to be. As the song says, "I gotta be me." But not for my own pleasure or comfort, but entirely for His delight.

As I have thought about it (and oh, I've spent plenty of time thinking about it), the only method of planting a church that makes sense for me is this one: "Unless God builds the house, the people labor in vain." Sounds pretty catchy to me. I'm going to give that one a try.

So what will I do? I'll obey God. I'll watch for Him. I'll wait for Him. I'll abide in Him. I'll move when He tells me to. I'll let Him use me, however He sees fit. I will take on whatever role or moniker that pleases Him: be that "minister", "missionary", "Christian businessman", "pastor", "janitor", or "bum". And I will do everything I can not to try to do things for God. I expect it to be difficult. I expect to work hard, strictly according to God's agenda. And, as the Lord sees fit, He will plant a church through me. In the meantime, and throughout the journey, my only expectation is that it won't look to anyone like I'm planting a church at all. Rather, the church I like to call Church of the Renaissance will simply emerge, in God's perfect timing, in His supreme power, as the simple result of "doing life" together with the people God puts in my path.

After all this, what will people think of me? Well, if I do things right, not much. They won't point to me or anything I've done and say, "Look at all the good things he did for us." Rather, they will say, "See how much God has done." And who could ask for anything more than that?

I love my friend. I respect him immensely. He is a hard-working man. And that is something to be admired. Paul never stopped working hard. My friend needs a dramatic experience -- a Damascus Road moment -- in his life, so that he will surrender himself to God. For me, this part was easy, because my weaknesses are so obvious. But that is not so for him. My prayer for my friend (because I love him), is that God will grab hold of him soon, so that he can get out of the way and let God work through him. After the dust settles, will he work less hard? I doubt it. But I suspect that he will find the fulfillment that eludes him now, and he will be content that everything God wants to accomplish through him is being done. He will have peace. And rest. And he will find his true identity. Indeed, he will be richly blessed.

Coronado's Happy Ending

I've always been troubled by the book of Ruth. It's the story of woman named Naomi who loses everything and everyone (her husband, her sons, her home), except her daughter-in-law, Ruth. By the end of the book we see Naomi in the home of Ruth and her new husband Boaz, rocking her little grandson. And the Hebrews who first heard the story were like, "Ah! Peace! Redemption! Restoration!" I, with my American mindset, have always felt a little guilty, because it seems like Naomi got a raw deal. After all, she did still lose her husband and sons. How can there be a happy ending with so much tragedy?

I know someone else who knows a little something about a raw deal. His name is Francisco Coronado, and he was the explorer of the American Southwest, as well as the man who put in place the first missionary to the Zuni Indians. He was a man of integrity, a man of faith, and a fine leader. And he got a raw deal.

I was thinking about him today as I was reading the review of the latest "National Treasure" movie on Plugged In. (I really want to see this movie!) Part of the story line deals with the legendary cities of gold, including Cibola. Cibola was what Coronado was seeking when he left Mexico City on his expedition in 1540. We've been studying Coronado in school, and just finished the bittersweet story of his life this week.

Coronado made a 3-year exploration of the Southwest, traveling through modern-day Mexico, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. He fought only when he needed to, and won every battle he was in. He lost almost no men of the more than 1,000 he commanded. He was well-respected by his men, and the Indians, all of whom he treated kindly. At the end of 3 years, his men signed a petition to go home, and he assented. On the march home, they passed many settlements, and he allowed his men if they wished to stay behind to build new lives. As they approached Mexico City, he told his men to enter the city a few at a time. He didn't want them to return as heroes because he believed they'd failed. After all, they had only claimed more land for Spain than any expedition ever, converted thousands of Indians to Christianity, and created an atmosphere of goodwill with the tribes so as to open the area for settlement. That sounds a lot like failure!

Coronado even feared returning to his own home. His wife, Beatriz, had financed a large part of the expedition (with Coronado's best friend, Mendoza). He was afraid she might not want to see him again because he'd lost all her investment. Her response to his return was a great celebration and prayers of thanksgiving for his return. (He had been critically wounded just a few months before when he was kicked in the head by a horse, and nearly died.) When he confessed his failings to his friend Mendoza, he told him, "How could you find gold if there was none to be found?"

Coronado's life story echoes Naomi's for me. Where's the happy ending? I think a large part of the problem with happy endings is our own definition of them. We are quick to say, "Well, God's ways are not man's ways..." all the while holding on to our own secret dreams and aspirations. What does success look like when defined by God? Many years ago, Eugene Peterson coined a phrase that is sort of my personal mission statement, "A long obedience in the same direction." Is that (or something like it) closer to God's definition of success?

We have spent a year in the hills of Appalachia, pursuing a dream that God planted in our hearts. And from the get-go things have been everything but what we planned. A year down the road finds us someplace we'd never thought we'd be - struggling to put food on the table, worshipping in other churches, and living a quiet, often lonely life. But it also finds us enmeshed in our community, experiencing the life that our neighbors live, and sharing the hope and the future that we have. We find ourselves uniting the pastors and congregations of this area toward a common goal, and ministering to children and college students in ways we couldn't have imagined.

No, we're not ministering the way we'd planned. This is way better.

And I feel incredibly successful.