Big mountains, small world

The last five days of kayaking, hiking, schlepping, and camping through the inside passage of Lynn Canal have left me a bit sore and a bit speechless. OMG seems a good place to begin as that is what I found myself saying in one form or another pretty much anytime I opened my eyes or looked up.

The mountains were slow to show themselves as we began our paddle in heavy rain, strong wind, and much fog. The rain and winds softened on the second day but the fog lingered. The views were beautiful and mystical nonetheless. I appreciated the unique experience that the trip was but I also braced myself each night and morning to deal with the cold and dampness that seemed to be with me 24/7. The temperature was in the 50's and 60's during the day but dropped to the 40's at night. Of course there was no indoor shelter and no plumbing in the remote camp sites. We carried our shelter - plus food, garbage, and clothing - with us.

Day three was a game-changer. Until then, this was a unique experience that I was glad to try once but that was also full of discomfort (including sleeping on a bed of rocks and going to the bathroom in awkward ways and places) which made it so I was counting the days until it was over. I wondered why I hadn't considered an indoor sight-seeing tour. And then... the sun came out. Yes!

It was magic how everything changed when we warmed up and received that wonderful solar energy. Now the sea sparkled and the mountains were unveiled in full glory. And I stopped shivering, which made a big difference! It turned the week into an excellent and truly renewing vacation. And I remember uttering the words: "there is nowhere I would rather be. Thanks, God!"

I was also aware that many people, including my family and church (perhaps my mom most of all), were praying for me and Tom this week - for safety and also renewal through the sabbatical experience. I am grateful for these prayers. When locals commented throughout the remainder of the week how unusual the calm seas and full-on sunshine was for this time of year, I mentioned that there is power in prayer.  If any of you reading this were part of that prayer-force, thank you!

The group with whom we traveled was jovial and worked well together. The three young guides were knowledgeable, enthusiastic, and helpful. The other kayakers included two single moms - former fisherwomen on the high Alaskan seas - and their kids (ages 10 and 15), three guys from New York City, plus Tom and me.

I was impressed with the attitude and leadership of our lead-guide, 26 year-old Dennis from western MA. I found out on day two that his uncle is none other than Paul Lindahl of Camp Calumet and that Dennis grew up going to that camp where I spend a week as chaplain each summer and where my church will be retreating for Columbus Day weekend. My buddy Knute was his counselor. How random that of all the kayak trips I could go on and of all the guides that are out there, a Calumet camper from New England would be the one to keep me alive for the last week.

After dinner last night, Dennis asked for the location of my church which is not far from his family home. When he is back in New England next fall, he plans to stop in. This world is too small, but I like it that way.

This Rocky bench on Beluga Island is where we pitched our tent for three nights. The pickings were slim, but we were just glad not to have to pack up our shelter and belongings every day. We were eager kayakers, but reluctant schleppers. The ground may have been rough, but you can't beat the view out our front door! 

We made it! Morning of Day Five. Friends to the end! 

On Day Two, we visited Davidson Glacier. This involved a 4-hour paddle and 4-hour hike to get there and back. Had to bundle up for the chilly winds generated by the cool

Glacier ice. 

Getting to Alaska

We arrived without interruption to our destination(s) - Juneau, then Haines - with bonus blessings along the way. Tom had broken his glasses the night before departure and was concerned about getting them fixed in time for our trip. Our four-hour layover in Juneau was more than ample time to walk to an eyeglasses store which happened to be open and a half-mile from the airport. People at the airport were impressively accommodating to help us get there, and one flight attendant even tried to fix them herself.

We were surprised by the size of our second plane whose job it was to transport us down the inside passage. The young guy carrying our luggage was also the pilot who led us and two other passengers across the tarmac to a five-seater plane, producing more than a little anxiety for Tom who is afraid of flying (and the smaller the plane, the greater the fear). Nonetheless, the views from 10,000 feet were incredible: glacier water is a beautiful turquoise blue unlike what I am used to seeing in the north Atlantic. Through the fog we also caught glimpses of glacier itself.

And for God to really show off in that 30-minute puddle jumper ride, an enormous rainbow accompanied us for the last third of the bumpy flight. We were encircled in that rainbow for several moments. Tom did not see any of this as his head was ducked and eyes closed, as he prayed and held his breath through the turbulence. Poor thing. But the good news is we made it!

Seas (waves) are at 5 feet today for the first day of our kayak trip which means we will do some kayaking mixed with some hiking. Our guide - Dennis from Amherst, MA - expects calmer waters for the rest of the week.  I don't plan to have access for blog updates until we return to shore and to this comfy lodge - Beach Roadhouse - over the weekend.

Until then, happy trails & paddling!

Tom and I with  our pilot Shane.

Into the wild

The next stop on the sabbatical journey is a place I have dreamed of exploring for years: Alaska. Given the vastness of the wilderness and my limited stay (10 days), I will barely scratch a smidgeon of the surface in sight-seeing but I anticipate it will be all sorts of awesome.

The first 6 days I will set off from Haines (across the inside passage of Lynn Canal from Juneau) on a guided kayak tour with eight other kayakers and three guides. We will tent-camp at night. On Sunday, after what I expect will be a much needed warm shower, I fly to Anchorage to visit a couple good friends, one of whom is the Lutheran Bishop of Alaska - Shelley Wickstrom. I'm excited to learn about what God is up to in this wild place - and how the Lutheran church plays a part or not - from her well-traveled perspective.

When I put a feeler out last winter to friends and family, in search of a companion for the kayak trip, my buddy Tom Judge from Chicago was the only one to say: Yes, sign me up! So I did, and here we go.

Tom asked what I hope to accomplish over the coming week. After thinking about it for a second, I decided the following three things tie in pretty well with the rest of my sabbatical objectives:

1) spiritual renewal: I hope to get lost (figuratively, not literally!) in the wonder and grandeur of God's glorious creation through the glacial peaks and rugged landscape of America's most pristine wilderness. By leaving behind my phone, car, and simple luxuries - like electricity, a bed, and running water, I hope to draw near to God and return to the basics of my humanity and mortal self. I too often rely on material things to bring me comfort while it is actually communing with God - preferably in nature - which brings me greatest joy. As St. Augustine famously confesses, "Our hearts are restless until they rest in you, O God."

2) physical renewal/kick-start: Prior to becoming a pastor, I ran with a vengeance. That habit involved completing a marathon each year during my 20's. The running habit petered out in my 30's (and at this point for good reason due to arthritic knees). Given my sedentary work and chocolate/sweet addiction (not to mention all those church potlucks!), I have gained on average 3 pounds a year for the last 9 years of ministry.  That adds up! Of course I can't reverse all that in a week. But I look forward to a rigorous and challenging physical experience - such as kayaking the fjords of the Inside Passahe - that will push me to be stronger and maybe a little bit leaner.

3) quality friend time. Tom is a pillar of support to me, and has been so since we met at the U of C Divinity School student orientation in the Spring of 2000. He is funny as all get out, never failing to make me laugh - at life and at myself. He stood up for me at my wedding and stood with me through my divorce. We got each other through an intense and often times miserable Koine Greek class in our first year of Div School. In short, I adore him! And since we live 1000 miles apart, I am thrilled to have a week to share quality time with one of my besties.

Pictured here with my iconography teacher Randi and kayaking buddy Tom. The three of us attended the University of Chicago Divinity School over a decade ago and shared a quick lunch after church on Sunday. What a rare and precious gift is an old friend. And a pair of old friends, all the better!

Almost done, thanks be to God

Today is the last part of our 6-day class. All I have left is to whiten the eyes, paint the back and sides of the board, and paint his name. And then Archangel Raphael will be finished! As someone who has never picked up a paintbrush in any meaningful or intentional way, this endeavor was only possible by the help of God and through a manner of painting in which humility, not artistic skill, was the requirement for creating something beautiful.

He is holding a spoon and a box with healing ointments. Archangel Raphael's story of healing and help for a traveler is found in the book of Tobit. He is the patron saint of nurses and travelers.

Here is a glimpse of Immanuel Icons studio in Pittsburgh (and my little work/prayer station) where Raphael was created.

Universal longing

"That evening at sundown they brought to [Jesus] all who were sick or possessed by demons. And the whole city was gathered together at the door." - Mark 1:32-33

It was like a scene taken from the pages of the Bible. There were mothers with babies strapped to their backs and cuddled in their arms; there were old people, barely able to walk and some in wheelchairs; there were young children, teens and adults streaming in from every corner. The people spoke to one another with hushed and subdued excitement and in different languages, not recognizable to me. People wore their Sunday best but that mostly equated to simple, modest fabrics, with many of the women wearing long skirts and head coverings.

Such was the gathering our icon class attended today at St. George's Orthodox Monastery in Taylor, PA. A myrrh-bearing, miracle-working icon visited the monastery between 2-4 pm and we were there to venerate it, while at the same time participating in an outdoor worship service on the feast day of the Transfiguration.

Between 250  - 300 people gathered in all, each lining up to have a personal moment of a prayer with the Theotokos (mother of God) and to be anointed by the sweet rose-smelling ointment which has been seeping from Mary's face in this particular icon for a few years. Dozens and perhaps hundreds of people who came into contact with the icon and its myrrh have experienced miraculous healing.  And so we thronged peacefully toward her this afternoon, with constant chanting and prayers led by nuns for healing of all who are afflicted, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

I thought of those who thronged toward Jesus wherever he went in Galilee for the very same thing: Healing of body and soul. He laid hands on as many as he could, but eventually he had to move on, just like this icon at its appointed time. For there were more sick people somewhere else waiting to venerate and witness this special happening. We weren't the only ones with the longing to be healed and made whole.

God's healing work is a mystery! I feel no need to limit that healing power to rational understanding. Today I was exposed to a healing tradition that was, until now, foreign to me but just as valid an expression of faith as I have been witness to.

Standing in that long line of the faithful, waiting for over an hour for my turn to approach, I was reminded that the healing for which I long and pray - for myself and my loved ones, for others who hurt, for divided communities and nations - is not unique to me, my family, or my church. It's part of all of us - the mommas and the papas, the newborns and the teens, the young children whose parents had to lift them to reach the icon.

And though I am skeptical of much, of this I am confident: God hears our prayers and receives our longings. And in God's infinite love, those longings of the universe are fulfilled.

Healing come, healing come.

Slower is sometimes (often) better

Moving slowly, with diligence and perseverance, is a virtue. And not one I possess. Icon-painting is well suited for those who enjoy giving attention to detail and keeping their attention on one thing for prolonged periods of time. I, on the other hand, tend to be a multi-tasker with a short attention span, flitting around here and there. Watching a feature-length movie can be a tall order at times.

To say that icon-painting all day everyday for a week is a challenge would be putting it mildly, but it's surprisingly not as hard as I thought. Due to excellent teaching, the companionship of other painters, and keeping the hours of prayer at 9 am, 3 pm, and 9 pm - in which we ask, among other things, for God's help to complete the task we are undertaking, the day unfolds in a natural rhythm and no part of it seems overly taxing. I am also aware of what a privilege and gift this time is... to have a whole week dedicated to prayer and painting beautiful things. What could be better? Maybe having my dog at my side as I go about this work. Only because I miss him. But I suspect iconography may be even less suited for the messy furriness of dogs than it is for short attention spans of humans.

Yesterday another of Randi's students stopped in to share with us the icon he just completed. It was an arresting and gorgeous image of one of my favorite Bible characters: John the Baptist. The last time I preached on him was about his death in which his head was served on a platter, which for obvious reasons made me sad. It was restorative to see him looking at us, intact, with a confident and fierce gaze through that icon, as he is remembered now as a saint in light. This icon was the work of a thoroughly attentive local artist - James Vonminden - who works as a maintenance man in an ecumenical Benedictine community. James worked on the piece for over a year. His diligence shows. His work is beautiful in part because of his attentiveness and slowness.

What should I do now?

I am learning  more from my friend and teacher this week than simply about the practical how-to of painting an icon (though there really is nothing simple about it!).  I am learning how to pray and how simply to be. Iconography, after all, is a way of praying with the hands.  As I am completely new to this art form, I have hung on Randi's every word and direction, even if I have, at times, forgotten to apply the technique she demonstrated only moments ago.

Painting an icon requires much waiting and, therefore, patience. Maybe this is true of all painting - because one coat has to dry before another can be added. And, since I am one of six in the class, we are not always on the same rhythm or timetable.

In one of the moments of down-time where I was waiting for one coat to dry and also for instructions as to what came next, I asked my teacher the simple and obvious question: what should I do now?

And she gave me just as simple and obvious an answer: meditate.

It is obvious because that is the point of it all... To meditate on the goodness and beauty of God through these illumined images of saints and Angels. So why didn't I think of that? I guess it's because even while on sabbatical and while taking a week to slow down and pray, I am programmed to think I must be doing something productive at every moment.

Meditate! What a novel thing to try and do, at rest and at work ... while painting, playing, and perhaps most importantly, at transitional times such as waiting for the next thing to happen but yet not knowing what that next thing might be.

When I wonder what I should be doing - even when this icon class has ended - I hope I remember her answer. And, better yet, that I practice it, not because it makes me more productive, but because it makes me a better - and more present - me.