Full Moon at Sunrise

Something strange has happened to me. After decades of defending my right to prolonged sleep, I've become a morning person. Even on vacation.

This morning - though not that long ago I would have insisted that it be called last night - I found myself at the beach well before 5 am. The vast tranquility engulfed my spirit, as I felt my feet drawn to that sweet band of wet sand which welcomes wave after wave of incoming tide, in persistent unpredictable patterns of advance and retreat. A soothing calm began to wash over my chaotic thoughts, as my legs propelled me northward, the endless sea to my right, keeping my feet always in the range of uncertainty, sometimes splashed by the sprawling surf, sometimes left untouched and alone.

The full moon beamed brightly from my left; its light played tricks on my eyes, as it danced and bounced off the changing contour of the subtle waves. It seemed I could sense the moon pulling both me and the tide, as I veered slightly from left to right, not unsteady or unsure, but unscripted and unhindered. Sometimes walking sideways, sometimes backwards, with feet finding playful foundation at every unwatched step and skip, I simply continued to move up the beach, toward the pier, with no particular purpose or cause, except to be a part of this place, and to enjoy its free expression.

A hint of rose began to appear above the edge of the sea, distant clouds diffusing its glow. My eyes turned to the moon, knowing that it had already seen the brightness that awaited me, and was itself little more than a reflection of that same brightness. Still I wondered if there was not some sadness, some envy, sensing that its wondrous shine would soon be diminished and ignored, made irrelevant by the very star it both reflected and opposed. The rose tint lingered longer than I expected, and the moon retained its dominance with apparent pride. I changed my pace slightly, slowing and turning more often, to stare at the silent drama unfolding on the twin horizons.

As I approached the pier, my eyes grew annoyed at the interference of artificial light. Incandescent bulbs above me, purposeful in their own way, waged a silly war with the greater lights from east and west. I wanted to move away from them, to avoid their boastful interruptions. The pier itself provided that opportunity, as I sought refuge underneath it, among the rocks, its wooden boards blocking the false lights above, allowing me to gaze fully and undistracted upon the spreading dawn.

Only mildly aware of the passage of time, I began to notice other people on the beach. Not resentful of their presence, it nevertheless made me mindful of how much I had treasured the solitude, the vastness of endless beach and ocean, without competition for its enjoyment. I spotted a cliche - an elderly man in long khaki shorts, a white t-shirt and a wide-brimmed hat, scanning a thin stripe of sand with his metal detector. A young teenage boy walked by, not far from me. He returned my simple welcoming nod, turned to face the dawn, gazed at it with me for a brief time, then returned the way he had come. Others arrived, scattering randomly near the water's edge, drawn perhaps by the same forces that drew me, seeking the peace and joy of an emerging day, from a wide assortment of unspoken needs.

I abandoned my post without clear reason, and began the return journey southward. The sand, water, and light commanded my attention less now, as the forms and faces of other persons began to draw my fleeting interest - two women doing yoga, men of various ages jogging at different speeds, a man struggling to cast his line far out into the sea. A smile warmed my face, as I spotted a golden retriever playing happily in the waves, his master nearby, nodding in joyful approval. And in the spaces between the faces, in the moments not distracted, my gaze returned to the two horizons.

Then, at the next glance, it appeared. It had already appeared, barely, just before I saw it - a thin arc of fire, constant and fixed, becoming ever more visible, as the horizon turned and bowed to its majesty. I stopped in simple wonder, as I suspect did all around me, amazed at how quickly the unseen became seen. The thin arc was quickly resolved into a half-circle, then three-quarters, then full. As sky rejoined sky beneath the flaming sphere, my gaze returned once more to the west. For that moment, and not much more, the moon retained its brilliance. Twin lights in opposite skies, briefly equal in size and radiance, positioned in perfect symmetry above the edges of all I could see.

And then my legs resumed their pace, along the path of dancing waters. One light had become two, and just as quickly, light was everywhere. More people emerged, and more creatures. A family of sandpipers searched for food, unbothered by my near passing. People walked and jogged past and beside, some with gazes fixed, others returning a gentle greeting. My treasured solitude was as diminished as the moon's glow, washed away in the vibrance of an emerging new day. And my morning journey was complete.

Worthless Restraints

Call me a contrarian. It's not a well-kept secret that the easiest way to motivate me to do something is to tell me that I can't do it. And the quickest way to get me to stop doing something is to tell me that I must do it. I simply don't like having other people tell me what to do, or what not to do, and will often go out of my way just to demonstrate that I have not surrendered my independence. This may be a little surprising to those who know that I was raised by a military father, and that I began my adult life as a soldier, but the truth is that many (if not most) of the military people I know feel and react the same way I do. We are willing to accept and submit to duly appointed authorities, but before you "pull rank" on us, you might want to be sure you actually out-rank us, that your boss out-ranks our boss, and that the orders you are giving are both lawful and reasonable. Many brave soldiers have proven their worth by disobedience, when loyalty to country and conscience require.

I am also a bit unorthodox. I don't like to do what everyone else is doing, or in the way they are doing it. When my friends in fourth grade were learning how to play guitar, I decided I would take up banjo. But I didn't learn bluegrass (at least not at first); no, I learned classical - with actual sheet music, not tablature and chords. I eventually learned to play the guitar, but not electric or folk - I went with Spanish, mixing classical technique with latin strumming patterns. Malagueña was my favorite. (It still is, but I only remember bits and pieces.) As a math major in college, I spent a semester in France, studying literature, food, and wine. As a seminary student, I worked for a defense contractor doing software design. The placement office told me no church would ever hire me as a pastor, because I clearly didn't "fit the mold".

So how does an unorthodox contrarian end up as a small-town preacher? I can only say that God has a sense of humor. In fact, I suspect God may be a bit of an unorthodox contrarian, too. For in all my years of reflection and struggle to know what God expected from me, I never once felt that God wanted me to conform, to "fall in line" with what others were doing, or had done before. God has always seemed even more willing and eager than I am to blaze new trails, to try a fresh approach, to inspire creative innovation. And so, to make a long story less long, I have ended up being, doing, and loving a life that is nothing like what I expected, not like any other life I know. (If you know of another bi-vocational tri-denominational rural pastor who runs a software design and financial consulting firm, let me know. We would have a lot to talk about.)

But where the unorthodox contrarian spirit really shows up is not in church, or in career choice, or in musical tastes. It is in the experience of life itself. From the first time I saw a velvet rope across the staircase in a movie theater, I have always longed to see what I wasn't supposed to see, to go where I wasn't supposed to go, to understand what I wasn't supposed to know, to discover what was being concealed. But alas, I have only rarely and timidly pursued that longing, all too aware of the preponderance of stern warnings and ominous forebodings. High voltage, dangerous curves, dense fog, slippery rocks - "Danger, Will Robinson" echo the robotic alerts, with metallic arms flailing. Do not enter, no admittance, authorized personnel only - restrictions clearly lifted for some, but supposedly not for me. Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. It gets, well, oppressive.

Be forewarned, this may not sound like a "Christian" thing to say -- certainly not "ministerial" -- but the truth is: the signs don't work. They don't actually keep people out. They may give friendly guidance to those with cooperative spirits, but they do nothing to quell curiosity or suppress adventure. They don't teach discernment, they don't foster maturity. (If you think a velvet rope is actually going to cultivate discipline and self-control, then you cut too many classes in Psych 101.) To short-circuit a prolonged and redundant analysis, let me simply state the obvious: all of our efforts to control each other's behavior (especially on moral or ethical grounds) are patently ineffective at best, and dysfunctionally counter-productive at worst.

We really don't need all the signs. If you can't figure out that an icy bridge is slippery, without a yellow sign to tell you, you don't belong behind the wheel. If you need a warning label to tell you not to use lemony dish soap in your custard, please stay out of my kitchen. More to the point, if you can't sort out the profound effect that various foods and drinks and drugs and sex have upon your mind and body, without referring to published guidelines from your regional moral rule-writers, then you're really not paying attention.

We really don't need more rules.

We need more faith...

in our own understanding of righteousness,

in God's promise to write his laws on our hearts,

in God's assurance of wisdom to those who seek it,

in the guidance of God's spirit in every situation.

We need forgiveness when we fail to trust,

when we learn things the hard way.

We need grace to believe that our hearts

can be made trustworthy and whole once again.

And all of these things that we need, God gives.

For free.

Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belonged to it, do you submit to its rules: "Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!"? These are all destined to perish with use, because they are based on human commands and teachings. Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence.

-- Colossians 2:20-23 (NIV)

-- Brother Tom