...love pitches a tent

Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down,

Fix in us Thy humble dwelling: all Thy faithful mercies crown.

Jesus, Thou art all compassion, pure, unbounded love Thou art;

Visit us with Thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

You a camper? I am…was…have been…wouldn’t mind being again. I grew up camping with my folks and brother, both in tents and in a way-cool pop-top VW van camper that seemed in my teen years to have all the comforts of, well, almost-home. For those of you familiar with the groovy contraptions, my sleep spot was the hammock hung over the front seats (because I sleep curled up anyway---perfect). Tim slept in the pop top. We have slept in that van in every sort of weather (including a surprise tropical storm), and even in someone’s front yard outside Baton Rouge by mistake (another story for another day)! Our longest trip was a 5 week jaunt out west, as far as Glacier National Park and back, most of the trip toting a genuine tumbleweed (don’t ask) that took up much of our precious free space. Dad even drove straight through the night to get us from Oklahoma to the AHS parking lot in time for Mr. Goff’s band camp to begin (‘cause didn’t nobody miss band camp).

Shortest camping trip? A bit shorter. Counting car time, it lasted 4 hours. Henry and I were the parents of a toddler, and looking forward to passing on a joy of camping adventure to Sam. The itinerary went something like this: plan, pack, check for approximately 2 days; load up the car with tons of stuff (camping, little kid, pregnant lady, etc.); drive just across the state line to FDR State Park in Pine Mtn GA; unload tons of stuff in the dark (yeah, those of you who camp, or have kids, or watch comedy movies, or read Greek tragedies---you know where this is going); set a lit kerosene lantern safely (haha) out of reach on the picnic table while assembling the 347 pieces of the new family-size tent; listen in horror as prized first-born son screams in agony after grasping the hot kerosene lantern; cuddle child, bandage hand, sing songs, hang lantern on tree, mutter under breath, try to continue with the joy of camping adventure; give the whole thing up; do everything in reverse; arrive back home---4 hours later. Even with this less-than-stellar start, we enjoyed some good times in the woods over the years following.

When I read the line in this verse of Charles Wesley's wonderful hymn---‘fix in us Thy humble dwelling’---I can’t help but think back to those years of pitching tents in the woods with little kids in tow. There was a time in our collective faith memory where pitching a tent figures pretty prominently, too. When the people of Israel wandered in the wild places, they packed the ‘tent of meeting’ with them, inviting God’s presence among them even in (or especially in) their wandering.

For us today, the cry of our hearts is that the God of Love would pitch a tent in us---among us, and within us. Imagine the ways we might experience transformation, with the tent of love fixed in our souls.

Visit us with your salvation, Divine Love. Fix your dwelling in us.

...more and more

God who made us, Christ who calls us,

Breath who guides from deep within,

may our lives of mumbled praying

end with Heaven’s clear “Amen.”

---Terry W. York, 2006

In this beautiful new hymn, which guides us into worship with an invocation of the Trinity—God, Christ, Breath—we are called to consider the deep mystery that is prayer. Well. At least, to me, prayer is often deep mystery. I think I am clear on some differences between prayer and wishing, and prayer and magic…although I am certain that in moments of crisis I might act less on points of clarity and more on base instinct.

When I think of magical prayer, I think of the now-famous instruction Dorothy was given in L. Frank Baum’s 1900 novel Wonderful Wizard of Oz:

Then close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. And think to yourself, there’s no place like home.

As for the power of wishing, who doesn’t immediately burst into song on hearing the lovely waltz from the 1950 Disney animated film Cinderella?

            A dream is wish your heart makes

            when you’re fast asleep.

But prayer must hold more for believers. More than lining up words in some incantational magic, more than wishing and dreaming what will delight us. The prayer I aspire to is the dynamic partnership between our searching and God’s guiding, a holy hide-and-seek where God will always intend, more and more, to be found.

More and more.

...gathering beside the flood

So now let peace and justice be never far apart,

but flowing like a river for every thirsty heart.

These two shall be united, a mighty flowing stream,

upon whose banks we gather to work and pray and dream.

---Ken Medema, 2003

One thing I’ve noticed lately…peace does not have a very powerful reputation. In an age where even our words are weaponized, the idea that peace could be strong, or courageous, salvific in a world of self-made chaos—such an idea is foreign, unsettling, maybe even a little bit radical.

Now it’s true, that there can be an uneasy peace-and-quiet sort of peace overlaid like a coverlet on a reality of fear and hatred and warring. That creepy sort of quiet from suspense movies, right before the villain bounds out from his hiding place to hatch his dastardly plan on his poor, doomed, should-have-known-better victim.

But there is a powerful peace, and it is real. This peace is rooted in justice—justice that seeks the good of the village, and the equitable treatment of neighbor. When this steady, seeking justice and this powerful, persistent peace join streams, their rolling becomes a massive force that is transformative and healing. Beside that flood we can gather, and dream a new way to live together.

Because empowered peace can change the world.