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I do not
know how the crow flies. All I know is that’s the way most
of us want to go. The shortest route. The straightest path.
The quickest way. The crow, of course, is not dependent on
good roads, open roads, paved, plowed or salted roads. For the
crow can fly above it, to it. To my knowledge, no old timer at
a backwoods gas station ever said to a crow: “Birdie, you
can’t get there from here.” The crow can get there from
anywhere.
Philologists
(which is a five dollar word for scholars who study language)
tell us that the phrase “as the crow flies” has been with
us since at least 1800. No one really knows whether the crow
flies in a straighter line than any other bird. And there is a
fair amount of anecdotal evidence that crows don’t. Somebody
named Sandy Dacombe writes:
Of all
the birds I’ve watched, crows are the most acrobatic of
aviators. They seem to derive real pleasure from flying. They
play with the wind and each other, weaving, sweeping, tumbling
in tight barrel rolls and dramatic stall turns. They swoop and
glide and hang on the breeze like paragliders. And their
hoarse cawing sounds are like the shouts of sheer exhilaration
made by a bunch of rowdy street kids.
What is
known is that crows have a reputation for elevated
intelligence (in spite of having bird brains). Meaning that
they could fly straight to their goal, assuming they wanted
to.
And there
are times when that’s exactly what I want to do. Yet there
are times when I don’t. “Let’s go for a ride,” I’ll
say to Kris. Which leads to the question: “Where would you
like to go?” Well, the truth is, I haven’t the faintest
idea where I want to go. I just want to start out and see
where the mood takes me. But when she voices a similar desire,
I am the one who asks the pragmatic questions:
-
What
should I wear?
-
How
long do you think we’ll be gone?
-
Have
you given any thought to dinner?
-
How
will we know when we get there if we don’t know where
“there” is?
But as much
as I enjoy back-roading and casual-meandering, my life has
been far more purposeful than my leisure. When Ione Shuster
told me and my fellow sixth graders that we were going to
launch a unit on “careers,” we were told to pick one…any
one….and research it. Clearly, she was more interested in
teaching us some rudimentary research skills than she was
desirous of charting our life course.
Not knowing
what to pick, I chose “chemist.” That’s because I had
received a Gilbert chemistry set for Christmas and was having
a grand time in the basement mixing things in test tubes,
heating them on my miniature Bunson burner and seeing how far
the resultive explosion could force the cork across the room.
So I wrote to the University of Detroit and got a catalog that
told me about their courses in chemistry. And I may have done
one or two other things pursuant to writing my report.
But
that’s as serious as it ever got. And sometime along about
grades seven and eight, ministry (as a career and a calling)
became crystal clear to me. And I can’t say there has been a
significant waver since. Everything seemed to work according
to a plan. Doors opened at just the right time. Dollars
materialized at just the right time. Mentors appeared at just
the right time. Appointments were offered at just the right
time. Relatively few surprises. Even fewer regrets. There were
three bishops’ assignments I turned down….back in the days
when you could still do that. And there were a couple of
independent searches by churches in other denominations that
almost materialized….and may very well have materialized,
had not my feet gotten colder as their pursuit grew hotter.
But I have spent precious little time pondering untraveled
roads. What was, was. Having about it, in retrospect, the
appearance of “as it was meant to be.”
That’s
rare any more, and I know it. People’s lives are all over
the map. Maybe your life is all over the map. You may even be
sitting here at the turn of the year wondering if this is
where you want to be. Or, to the degree you see a bigger hand
in this than yours, if this is where you are supposed to be.
Leading you to wonder about detours and deviations, both the
ones you have experienced in the past or the ones you may be
experiencing now. Why wasn’t the path more obvious? Why
isn’t your life more purposeful?
Years
ago….maybe even 25 or 30 years ago….life-planning seminars
for clergy were all the rage. Our denomination offered them.
And, in the cases of the minimally-salaried brothers and
sisters, our denomination was willing to pay for them. So lots
of clergy signed up for them, complete with several weeks of
self-assessing, goal-setting and career-planning modules. Only
to discover that their district superintendents didn’t
always pay close attention to them, in deciding where next to
send them. For the clergy had made a small miscalculation. In
attempting to plan their lives, they assumed more control over
their lives than they really had. Or ever would have.
Well, to a
degree, what is true of Methodist clergy is true of us all.
Taking charge of our lives is a good and desirable thing, as
long as we do not succumb to the illusion of having total
control over our lives. I don’t have it. You don’t have
it. Never had. Never will.
So who
does? Well, in my case, all kinds of people exhibit a measure
of control over my life. My wife. My kid. My kid’s husband.
My stepfather. My bishop….though not for long. My colleagues
in ministry. You….most certainly you. Along with the
impersonal and amoral happenstances of nature. Those, too,
control my life. What did I say to you several weeks ago
(quoting Carlyle Marney)? “Nature means to kill us, and may
well succeed in the end.” Which none of you believed when I
said it. But you believe it now.
To be sure,
I can resist being controlled….even rebel against being
controlled. But one day I will wake up and realize that my
life has been defined by resistance and rebellion. Which is
one lesson adolescents never get, but maturity eventually
teaches.
But being
of a religious bent, most of us wrestle with the idea that God
has some measure of control over our lives. The only question
being one of degree. As we have talked before, few of us are
pure pre-destinationists. One even doubts that there are many
of those folks next door. As Methodists, we believe that
there’s a lot of room for exercising free will. Although a
beloved professor at a Baptist college recently got fired for
saying so.
Most of us
agree with what I have called “a measure of divine
steerage” in the unfolding of the universe. How does the
oft-quoted line from “Desiderata” go?
And
whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
And most of
you will grant the corollary, that there is a way that God
would have you go….a bent for your living….a summons for
your answering….a road for your taking. But if that be true,
why hasn’t God’s way been “as the crow flies”?
I have but
one suggestion to offer this morning (apart from pointing to
your own stubborn obstinance….which I have done multiple
times before and do not feel led to do now). And that
suggestion is this. Have you considered the possibility that
some of the detours might be God’s doing….and that God
might be leading you “in a roundabout way?”
The phrase
“in a roundabout way” comes right out of the scriptures.
For that’s what happened to the Jews when they left
captivity in Egypt and set out for the Promised Land. We are
told they wandered forty years. And as I pointed out in a pair
of sermons last fall (for some reason I find myself suddenly
captivated by the Exodus), the number forty is biblical
shorthand for “a long time”….much longer than expected
or desired. So long that they got feisty. Not once. Not twice.
But weekly, it would seem (if not daily). We read that Moses
died before entering the Promised Land with them. No word on
the cause of death. But I’ll put my money on bleeding
ulcers. You heard it here. Moses died of bleeding ulcers.
When you
consider the distance in years, you also have to consider the
distance in miles. Between Egypt and the Promised Land (“as
the crow flies”) is 150….maybe 200….miles. That being
the direct route….the short route….the route along the
coast. But that is not the way God led them. Why? Well, the
text suggests a couple of reasons. The first has to do with
the word “military.” For it is thought that the
Philistines lived along the coastal route. And, as we later
learned….given all the battles between the Philistines and
the armies of Saul and David….the Philistines were a
war-like people. Which means that annihilation might have been
a reasonable expectation. I mean, if you ever took the long
route home from school so as to avoid the street where the
bully lived, you can understand my logic.
But the
“roundabout way” may have had as much to do with the word
“maturity” as with the word “military.” What God may
have surmised was that the Jews lacked the character….the
inner toughness….the stick-to-it-in-the-face-of-adversity
kind of resolve to carve out a life in the Promised Land
(given that while the land may have been “promised,” it
was also “occupied”). Maybe that’s why God slowed them
down and sent them round. Meaning that the detour was not so
much about aberration as it was about formation. Slow learners
need to be slow travelers.
It is now
believed that there are many (well, not many, but some) high
school hoopsters who have the athletic ability to play
basketball professionally. Skip college. Take the money.
Others have done it. You can do it. But while certain parts of
the game may be a slam dunk, life (especially life on the
road) is not a slam dunk. For life offers a faster lane than
the one that begins at the free throw line and ends at the
basket. For while you can get fouled in the game’s fast
lane, you can get lost….utterly lost….in life’s fast
lane.
Sometimes
the roundabout way gives you time to see the pitfalls as well
as the options. Surely some of you saw today’s sermon title
and said: “Roundabouts. He’s going to talk about driving
in England.” Well, he’s not. But he could. For in England,
when two or more roads intersect or converge, it is relatively
rare that a traffic light will govern who goes first, who goes
second, or who turns when and where.
Instead,
all drivers coming from all directions enter a traffic circle
called a roundabout. And while it is clear to you as a driver
where you enter the circle, it is often less clear where you
should exit the circle. A hasty decision often spins you onto
the wrong road going in the wrong direction. So wiser British
heads counsel: “You do not have to choose a way out
immediately. Rather, keep driving around the circle until it
is clear to you the way you are to go.” But for some people
at some intersections, it will take longer than others.
Norman
Neaves (a friend of mine who preaches in Oklahoma) shares this
about prayer as it relates to life’s journey:
I am not
sure there is a direct road to your personal Land of Promise.
But neither do I believe that every detour is necessarily the
work of God. Some, yes. All, no. But whether or not God is
behind your detours, God is able to use them. Meaning that no
experience of your life should ever
be viewed as a total waste. Let me repeat that once
more. No experience of your life should ever be viewed as a
total waste. You are who you are as a result of where you have
been….what you have done….and who you have met along the
way. Someone once said to me: “I may not like all of my
past, but I needed it.” With which I may not totally agree.
But I have slowly…. very slowly….come to see that some of
the things I thought I needed least, God has used best.
*
* * * *
Kris and I
had a relatively quiet New Year’s Eve. Along about supper
time, I did a wedding here at the church. Then I looked in on
some of the First Night venues unfolding in our building.
Following which the two of us enjoyed a quiet candlelight
dinner with a pair of good friends. Truth be told, we were in
bed before 11:00.
But
sometime along about six in the morning, I had a pair of
dreams that were relatively unsettling. In the first, I was
preaching my Easter sermon, but you all left three or four
minutes before I came to the end. I alerted you to the fact
that I was nearly done. But you left anyway. Nothing
malicious. Nothing personal. You just left. Walking out past
me, I overheard one of you say something about it “being the
time to go.”
In the
second dream, I had a ticket to a baseball game at the old
Tiger Stadium….where I was to meet my son, no less. Having
been at the stadium countless times, I was confident that I
could find my way. And, from time to time, I could see the
outline of the stadium in the clearing of buildings, telling
me that I was heading in the right direction. Except I
couldn’t get there from where I was. Roads were under
construction. Traffic patterns had changed. Barricades had
been erected. In one case, I even wandered through a slum
house in the inner city, thinking I was taking a shortcut.
As to why
Tiger Stadium should have appeared as “the Promised Land,”
I do not know. All I know is that at a time in my life when
“the way” is less clear than at any time since the seventh
grade, I have more confidence in God than I have in the crow.
Note:
Norman Neaves preaches at Church of the Servant in Oklahoma
City, a pulpit he has occupied (with equal measures of
creativity and authority) for the last 35 years.
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