Garden gnomes. They can be useful little critters, and I confess to having a bit of a weakness for them. So when we were wandering through the shops of Leavenworth a couple of weeks ago, I was drawn to an interesting collection of them. The one that first caught my eye was this frowning gnome holding an axe with a sign behind him that said "GO AWAY!" I thought it might make a nice addition somewhere near the front door on Halloween, but my wife vetoed the idea, reminding me that in our complex we actually haven't had any candy-seeking visitors on Halloween the last few years. And the message didn't exactly seem to reflect a Christian attitude to our neighbors. In fairness, the sign did have a reverse side that said "WELCOME" which would have been nice except for the word NOT written across the corner of it.
But the gnome got me thinking about biblical hospitality. It's a topic that has scratched at my mind a number of times over the years. One of the blessings of moving to the Northwest over thirty years ago was getting to know Vic Walter, who was my District Superintendent and mentor. Vic regularly encouraged us pastors (and wives) to practice hospitality, to creatively find ways to invite people into our home whether we thought we could afford it or not. And it was a value that he practiced. I remember, for example, an invitation to enjoy the pool at his Olympia apartment one hot day. Never mind that I didn't have a swim suit with me; I could borrow one of his. (For those who knew Vic, please do not ask me if those swim trunks actually fit me; let's just say we made it work.) I was welcomed.
It's an interesting word that scripture uses when it tells us (Romans 12, Hebrews 13) to practice hospitality, a word that continues to scratch at my mind. The word translated hospitality literally means to love the stranger. Unfortunately in the current political climate, loving the stranger is a difficult topic for conversation, even among Christians. We live in a world that has become xenophobic, where fear of people who are different from us has become the norm, and love has become the exception. Before you disagree too sharply with that observation, try tossing the word "immigration" into a conversation, and then listen to the results. Frequently it is not a pretty picture, and politics poisons the discussion. It's a difficult thing to love the stranger while you fear the stranger.
Not that there aren't plenty of seemingly good reasons for becoming a xenophobe. The world has become a dangerous place, and there is no lack of haters who would prefer eliminating those they regard as the enemy to tolerating them. Am I really supposed to love that kind of stranger? (Which somehow reminds me of an overheard comment about cross-cultural church outreach: Look what they're doing to our church.) The trouble with scripture is that it doesn't include a convenient list of exceptions. It doesn't encourage practicing hospitality only when it is convenient. Or safe. Or inexpensive. It doesn't tell me to love the stranger unless the world gets too dangerous. And it doesn't let me display with a clear conscience that garden gnome either at the front door or at the border.
So we chose to leave the unwelcoming axe-wielding gnome behind in favor of a gnome with a different message. It sits just outside our door with a message that we mean: "WELCOME FRIENDS." It reminds us of our desire and commitment to have a home and hearts that are open to others, even others who are - dare I say it - different. It's not that I'm totally over my fear of strangers; I'm not. There is, I suppose, a bit of the xenophobe in all of us. But I'm pretty sure that loving the stranger is a more certain road to joy than avoiding him, so we're going to choose to practice hospitality as best we can, even in a xenophobic world. Tea and scones anyone?
It's autumn again, and it's a great time in the journey. Living in the Northwest has given me an appreciation of this season that I didn't have growing up in Southern California. The air is crisper, and the world is changing colors with more drama than I was used to as a kid. And of course, if that road were in Southern California, there would be a whole lot more cars, and the trees would have been replaced by three or four additional lanes of asphalt. I like fall in the Northwest.
The season does admittedly have its down side. The mail is filled with propaganda and political pitches from hopeful candidates and optimistic fundraisers, but I guess that's okay. It does, after all, create jobs for the folks who sort the recycling.
I sense, though, that some of my friends are not enjoying the season. It has something to do with the coming election, which is admittedly a strange one. The good news is that soon it will all be over. In four short weeks we will wake up, and the election will be history. There are quite civilized nations in this world that, were they holding an election in four weeks, would only now be launching the campaigns, and it would be incomprehensible to think of who might run four years later. Here it seems we launch our campaigns early enough to be able to land settlers on Saturn before the election takes place. And in this particular election season, there is no shortage of folks who would just as soon settle for Saturn as for either of the two major candidates.
Yesterday Valerie and I meandered through the Cascades to Leavenworth and back. We didn't talk about the election and generally ignored the occasional political poster. It was a good day. Mind you, we didn't escape completely. There was, after all, that window display of both Donald and Hillary with a sign that said "I already hate our next President."
Strangely, it seems to me, many of my fellow-evangelical friends have embraced this season with a gusto that has them burdened by the fear that one or the other (or both) of the major candidates will create irreversible chaos for the nation in general and Christians in particular. Some have confused the concepts of spiritual and political loyalty, or perhaps see no difference between them, and they have invested Donald and/or Hillary with greater power to shape the future than God himself. It is inevitable that four weeks from today, some of them will be severely disappointed, and the burden will be heavier. To paraphrase that famous poem about Casey, there will be no joy in Mudville, for mighty (fill in the name of your candidate) has struck out.
To the distress of some of my friends, I have chosen not to be burdened with care about who is elected President. Neither major candidate comes close to reflecting my values. Yes, you read that correctly. I have chosen not to care. Let me explain because I think my choice is a thoroughly biblical one. I am certainly concerned about this country that my parents adopted when I was a child. I'm concerned enough to pray, concerned enough to weep, and concerned enough to trust God for its future and mine instead of being burdened with care. And I'm concerned enough to wonder why so many Christians have opted to invest more in political polarization for a candidate that doesn't reflect their values than they invest in prayer. It strikes me as a strange choice.
I accept my responsibility to a nation that is mine by choice to seek its good no matter who leads it, but I will seek God's kingdom first. I think that means I need to pray for whoever leads this nation. But I'm not going to care; God can handle that, and he has said that he will. It is more important that I seek first His kingdom, which, everybody else's Facebook posts aside, is different from seeking Trump's or Clinton's or any other candidate's.
Whatever I awaken to on November 9, some things won't change. I expect the mountains will still be there. The leaves will still change color in the fall. And God will still be God. He will still continue to build his kingdom, an endeavor He can accomplish purely apart from politics and to which he invites our involvement.
It will still be a great time for my journey, and the destination won't have changed.
Sometimes I like to describe myself as a lifetime learner. It sounds so much better than saying that I haven't quite mastered this lesson yet. One of the lessons that I seem to be taking a lifetime to learn is that God's timing and mine aren't always the same. Over the course of my 71 years, most of the arguments I have had with God have been about timing. (And just in case you are wondering, I have lost them all.)
A year ago Valerie and I returned from a trip to be presented with a gift from my daughter and son-in-law. It was a book with the title The Gifts of being Grand, and was their creative way of telling me that there was a baby on the way. It was good news! A few days later excitement turned to sadness with a miscarriage. The time was not full, even though I thought it should be.
Fast forward a year. Last week Suzanne gave birth to a heathy bundle of joy named Mateo. He arrived right on time. Well, actually he arrived a week after the due date, but it still turned out to be the fulness of time. Example: Suzanne's friend Tricia (who happens to be a labor and delivery nurse) had planned to visit for a few days. As it turned out, her planned arrival date coincided with Mateo's, and she went from the airport directly to the birth center. Only God could have pulled off that kind of timing.
So for the last week, this very thankful dad has started to learn about the gifts of being grand. They are good gifts. And in the fulness of time it's something I plan to take a lifetime to learn.
