Breathing While Running

My high school cross-country coach was not a runner. He was a sixty-something, cigarette-smoking man with a body that closely resembled a prune held up by two toothpicks.

 Each fall, on the first day of practice, he'd explain about muscles. "Some of you have more fast-twitch muscles, and some of you have more slow-twitch muscles." Then, in a voice as dry as ash, he'd add, "As you can see, I have only no-twitch muscles."

 It was ironic, I suppose, a nearly immobile running coach. His age and condition, though, served him -- and us -- well. Mr. Brush was not coaching because of a need for competition. He wasn't there to build his resume. And it surely wasn't about keeping himself in shape. It was about us.

 Mr. Brush taught me how to run and breathe at the same time. "Focus on the exhale," he said. "Push that dead air out. Your body will remember to inhale on its own."

 I don't run as much as I used to, but the advice remains useful. God the Holy Spirit -- like the breath it is so often compared to -- fills us quite effortlessly when we make the space. But when our days become 5k races, over hill and dale, around roots and rocks, we leave little room for that capital "I," Inspiration. Sometimes, on those days, the image will come to my mind of a loving little prune of a man, barking "Breathe out! Breathe out!"

Two or Three

For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them. - Matthew 18:20

It's a verse that I've often heard spoken in the defense of a small group of people who wished it were larger. "Hey, if two or three is good enough for Jesus, then it's good enough for our youth group!"

Since I've almost always heard these words of Christ employed as a minimum - a self-justifying quota - I've always thought of them that way. We need at least two or three. And more is better, obviously.

Only recently did I notice that there is no "at least." Christ says "two or three." Period.

In fact, taken in context, it's pretty clear he's saying that the task he is describing -- confronting a member of the church who has acted inappropriately -- will be most inviting of God's presence if undertaken by two or three, not the entire body of the 9:00 a.m. service. Imagine those two scenarios.

Crowds are terrific for kickball and capture the flag. They can enhance a worship experience. I hope that we will have large groups this year for Sunday School and youth group and special events like our October 14 trip to Busch Gardens.

However, I also want to be sure that there are times and places for small groups of youth to gather. Because there is no "at least." Jesus promises his presence in a special way to gatherings of two or three. You probably know this from experience, from a conversation that connected you more deeply to another person and to God.

So introduce yourself to somebody new. Strike up a conversation. Start building a new relationship. Jesus himself tells us where he can be found; let's remember to look there.

Re-Potting

I spent a good chunk of my day off this week re-potting house plants. It's one of my favorite things to do that someone else might consider work.

Re-potting a plant whose roots have outgrown its old home is usually good for the plant. But that doesn't mean the plant likes it. Who enjoys being forcibly uprooted? My peace lily, in particular, appears to be sulking in its beautiful new pot.

I'll have dirt under my fingernails for weeks, and what do I have to show for it? A house full of upset plants, whose sagging bodies seem to moan, "Why, Michael, why? Couldn't you just leave us alone?"

I can relate to my plants. I rarely ask to be removed from patterns and places of comfort. When I'm forced away from them, I whine. I'm reminded of the Israelites in the wilderness, complaining that they'd just as soon have died in Egypt as well-fed slaves than starve to death in freedom.

As we begin a new school year, we are certain to face new challenges. The unexpected will arrive, turn us upside down, and shake us free of our old "pots" - the ideas and things that we've been holding so tightly. Yet, by the time you read this, my peace lily will be flourishing again, growing deeper, taller, and stronger. And, by God's grace, we will do the same.

Escaping the Crowds

When I think of summer, the first image that comes to mind is the cover of The Days Are Just Packed -- a collection of Calvin & Hobbes comic strips. In the golden glow of late afternoon, the boy and his tiger lounge in a tree. Hobbes stretches out lazily along the branch, and Calvin leans against him, holding a water balloon. With wide smiles and closed eyes, they've spent the whole day up in that tree, just hanging out and hoping that someone would walk underneath them.

I don't know how you all spent your summers. I know I didn't spend a single day in a tree. I was working pretty hard at Camp Bishopswood. But I did begin almost every day sitting quietly by the shore of the lake, watching the sun rise on a glorious Maine morning, the light glittering like jewels on the surface and gliding like waves of fire along the bottom.

For many of you, and myself certainly included, summer already feels like a distant memory. The days are getting shorter, and we are getting busier. If the days of summer were packed, these days are bursting at their seams and spilling over into the nighttime. One of my enduring memories of high school is waking up in the middle of the night, the light still on and my face resting on a glossy pillow of textbook pages. Perhaps you've been there.

My Facebook feed recently provided me with a gem of wisdom, a Zen saying that a friend had posted. It read, "You should sit in meditation for twenty minutes a day, unless you're too busy; then you should sit for an hour." For me, it was an important reminder that the busier I am, the more important it is that I make time to be still, to pray, to retreat from the busyness of the world. In the Gospels, Jesus is forever escaping crowds and taking breaks from his important work (sure puts my day-to-day in perspective) to reconnect with God.

In the summer, your place of retreat and connection to God might have been up a tree or beside a lake. In the fall, I hope that many of you will find that special place at St. Stephen's.