After an epic Sabbath involving St. Patrick's Day festivities and my young adults taking over the church service, I was all too happy to hit the road again. This time, I had a traveling companion--the other associate pastor, Gary Smith, and instead of the 5, we took the scenic Route 395.
I had never driven Route 395 myself before, and it was worth the trip. It dazzled me with scenery of such intense beauty, from the starkness of naked desert land against the purple sky to the warmth of Red Rock Canyon to forests, frosted with snow. There are few towns on that highway, and it felt good to be away from the relentless bustle of LA to behold the lovely beauty of sparsely-populated nature. Gary's company made it even more fun.
Our senior pastor, Donald Smith, arrived at the time share in Tahoe shortly after us. Together, the three of us shopped for food for the week. Being native to the kitchen (thanks to Camp Wawona), I took a leadership role with this. We dined together, then Gary and I lost spectacularly at pool to two young men from the Bay Area. Knowing better than to continue to challenge such pool virtuosos, we retreated to the room, where the three of us played Upwords, a modified form of Scrabble, before settling down for the night.
The gentlemen were kind enough to give me the bed, shuttered from the rest of the place, while they chivalrously took the floor of the time share's living room. As their chatter fell into silence and peace descended on the room, I reflected on how glad I was of it. I really, really needed solitude and the ability to defrag after such an epic weekend, and to prepare for the weekend to come.
After a good breakfast together, we recapped the service and discussed small group matters at length. In the afternoon, we walked through the snow to the movie theater at the Horizon to see One Thousand Words.
There were only two people staffing the whole theater. Our movie started 20 minutes late because they were cleaning up a popcorn emergency in Concessions. I didn't know it was possible to staff a movie theater with just two people, and I admired the courage it took them to do it. The film itself, after all that craziness, was really good. Although it was a formulaic anti-workaholism morality tale, I liked how it approached the issue from such a different angle. It was all about finding peace and learning to communicate in ways that are more important than words.
A thousand words. I would be dead already, just from writing this email, if I were Eddie Murphy.
The following day, we really delved into the conceptual work of the small group series, then went to see The Lorax, which I loved even more on the second viewing than on the first. The first time I saw it was with my buddy Hillary after a very, very long Sabbath, and the last song in it made me cry, it was so good. Or maybe I was just tired. But I have been ridiculously obsessed with that song ("Let It Grow") ever since.
The last full day of our retread, we put together all of those ideas into a beautiful whole. The outline of the series emerged, and I began to feel some excitement about it. We also cleared the air on some frustrations from the last series, which was needed to build team unity. I suffered a good deal during the first small group series because we didn't do this kind of prep work on it, and I write the curriculum. I go into this one excited and prepared.
For our last movie of the retreat, we saw John Carter, which was so sumptuous, it made me want to read the book it's based on. Later, I would get a chance to see a number of its props and costumes on display at the El Capitan Theater, but even on this first viewing in a far humbler theater, I was struck by what a good film it is. It seems a shame that it was marketed so badly. Would it have killed them to mention that it was based on a book by Edgar Rice Burroughs, who also wrote Tarzan? Or that it had really good-looking people, great effects, and a compelling story in it?
After the movie, Don and I took a walk in the sunlit day. I really appreciated it because of how rarely I get some quality fresh air, sunshine, and exercise back at home. It was also a good chat.
I made taco salad for dinner--no easy feat with the equipment at hand--and the guys seemed to like it.
After a final worship together the next day, Gary and I took off towards home. The landscapes on the 395 had changed; instead of the pure, crystalline snow there was earth and land exposed. Heading towards Mojave, we almost run out of gas, but fortunately found a tiny station with one pump just after Red Rock.
Once I had bid Gary good-bye, I tried to treat the rest of the evening as a night off. I needed to store up my energy, because I was preaching that weekend. The day after the retreat, I was preparing the most difficult sermon of my life thus far. It was called "Journey On," and I forced myself to relive the days surrounding my brother's death over and over again in practice, weeping in the sanctuary of my church, until the telling had cleansed my grief.
In some ways, even though this was the most difficult sermon I've ever preached, something about it makes me really feel like I can journey on myself. It's been eight years since Justin died, and I've never had the courage to talk about the whole experience publicly in the US before. Getting it out there and really processing it like that finally helped me to understand what the peace Justin was talking about the night before he died was all about.
It's a beautiful dance between the hereafter and the hear-and-now. It's preparing for eternity while enjoying the present. It's loving the people with you right now while loving the Savior you'll see later. It's accepting the light of grace for the future while trying to live a grace-filled life now. No easy task, no strict science, but a wonderful art.
I hope you come to know that peace. I am still working on it myself, but I'm learning more about it day by day.
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