a surrender - 60

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

I squat here in the rain, not moving, looking up into the angry sky. The rain comes down in fury, battering my face. Any sane man would be crouching under a rock ledge, even inside one of the caves where they bury the rich dead, to be out of this.

I am not a sane man.

I am Legion.

My demons are a legion, an army in my head, marching in step one-two one-two. Too many of them to count. One-two one-two one-two and then suddenly they scream, they shriek their battle-cry and charge, and I am trampled under their feet and I know nothing; those times are my rages, the times I’ve torn chunks out of any man that dared set foot among my tombs. Then I feel no pain. I take the rocks that lie on this hillside and run their sharp edges down my chest and bleed, and I feel no pain. Nothing at all. Just the trickling on my skin as warm as tears.

They thought at first they could bind me, they thought I was a joke, a raving screaming lunatic joke—and they found out how wrong they were. They tried to tame me, tie me like a goat to a post—I tore their ropes to shreds. They tried to chain me up and I pulled their chains in two, I chased them through the tombs whipping the broken chain around my head, big men screamed and ran from me.

No one can look me in the face and not be afraid.

No one can bind me.

I stand and shout it to the storm as the thunder booms around me: I am Legion! No one can bind me! And the rain runs down my scarred body and the wind whips my tangled hair around my face and the lightning rips the sky and the thunder cracks again—

And within the space of a breath the storm is gone.

I saw it happen, saw the clouds pull back, draw themselves in and up into blue sky. Sunlight shooting down as sudden as lightning. The waves on the lake flattening out into calm, like the raised hackles of a dog suddenly lying down again at the sound of his master’s voice—there is something out there.

Continued... 

a surrender - 59

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Later that summer we had our first retreat guests come for a weekend. Friends had given us a dining room table and chairs just the day before. And only a few days before that we had finished painting the third guest room. We were still short two mattresses, two bedsprings, and a nightstand. Two families at the farm loaned us mattresses for the weekend, so we decided to just put the mattresses on the floor, and set up a temporary nightstand. The two staff people with the group slept in that room. There were fresh blueberries, green beans, potatoes, and lettuce from our garden, and several kinds of fresh bread from the farm bakery. I made pizza. Heather roasted two chickens. And everyone had as much as they wanted.

We listened a lot that weekend. And we all discussed the story of Jesus confronting a man’s demons. Heather read to us her own version of the story, to help us get a deeper understanding of what happened that day:

Bad storm today. The sky is as black as my mind, and the wind is whipping the lake till it heaves and groans with the pain, humps itself up into waves that are taller than me. Lightning rips down the sky onto the water, close—very close—the thunder cracks as soon as the light is gone, a sound of huge stone smashing against stone, almost drowning out the voices in my head.

I look up to the cliff where the pigs are pastured; I can hear them when the thunder fades, grunting and screaming in fear. The pig-herders are having a bad day of it. Everyone is; except me. 

Anyone out on that lake is a goner, but here on my hillside of rocks and caves and graves I listen to the thunder and it wraps me in sound, and the voices are stilled to a low angry mutter and I can hear myself think 

I like storms.

Continued... 

a surrender - 58

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Over the weeks that followed, we slowly made our way south to my parents’ house. But we didn’t stay with them long. As soon as we arrived, we found out that one of the families at the farm had moved away, so there was an apartment available for us. And it was in a large community building that had a small library and several unused rooms next to the apartment, which could be made into guest bedrooms. So we took a bus back to the farm.

That winter, we started preparing our retreat house. We stripped wallpaper and painted all the rooms. We asked for donations of beds and blankets. We searched resale shops for sheets and towels and decorations, and found a pretty set of china dishes that could serve twelve. We wanted to treat the people who came for retreats as honored guests in our home, serving our best food, on our finest dishes. We wanted to show our respect for them, as Jesus did.

We were inspired by Jesus’ words, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” So our retreats would be free. And we would invite people who normally couldn’t afford retreats, from ministries and transitional programs, often from the city, and we’d offer transportation too. We already had some money from our wedding, and family and friends on the farm offered money for the retreats as well.

In the spring we started working on the farm again. I remember riding out to the fields on our bikes, in the chilly air of dawn, to pick sweet corn before market. We had to wear raincoats because the leaves were so wet with dew. Every day at lunchtime we ate quickly and fell into bed, so we could get some sleep before we had to start work again in the afternoon. Those days were long and exhausting.

Continued... 

a surrender - 57

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

A few weeks later we visited a similar community. It had been started in the 1940s following the model of Jesus’ early followers, and was known as a place where black and white people could live and work together peacefully, as equals. Clarence Jordan wrote about their experience starting the place:

I remember quite well that we were supposed to pay the fellow $2500 down. Martin England, who was a missionary under the American Foreign Mission Society to Burma, and I started it together. We agreed on [pooling our finances] and I had the idea that Martin was loaded. I don’t know why I should think that, he being an American Baptist missionary, but he talked about, “Let’s do this and let’s do that,” and I said, “Yeah, let’s do” and I thought he had the money. And so I said, “Let’s do this and let’s do that” and he said, “Yeah, let’s do” and when we finally pooled our common assets, we had $57.13. We were three weeks from the time we had agreed to pay $2500 down! To make a long story short, we put down that $2500. A fellow brought it to us and said God had sent him with it. I didn’t question him—we took it right quick before God changed his mind.

Years later, a newspaper reporter came out there and asked, “Who finances this project?”

Well, all along, folks who had helped us said that God had sent them, so I said to this newspaper reporter, “God does.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I know. But who supports it?”

I said, “God.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but who, who, who, uh, who—you know what I’m talking about. Who’s back of it?”

I said, “God.”

He said, “But what I mean is, how do you pay your bills?”

I said, “By check.”

“But,” he said, “I mean—hell, don’t you know what I mean?”

I said, “Yeah, friend, I know what you mean. The trouble is you don’t know what I mean!”

While we were there, I got an e-mail from the pastor of the church where we found the baby shower. Someone had showed him that I had briefly (and without naming the church) mentioned the incident online, and he had then read about our walk and our preparations to offer free retreats. He said he was sorry that they had not invited us to stay at his church that night. The next Sunday he had preached about the experience. “I would like to ask,” he wrote, “if you are ever coming through this area again, I would love for you and your wife to share with our church. If I can ever be of assistance feel free to call.”

Continued...

a surrender - 56

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Sara, a friend I had met online, picked us up from the library and we enjoyed being with her family for almost a week. The day after we left them, she wrote to tell us that her four-year-old daughter had seemed worried about us. “I want dem to stay all night, ‘cuz I yuv dem,” she told Sara. “If dey det a baby boy or dirl dey will need a house.” But when Sara told her that God would provide a house for us when we needed one, she seemed satisfied. “Dod a’ways helps us,” she said. 

Two days later we were in a library and a man struck up a conversation with Heather. He introduced himself as a pastor, an African, from Cameroon. When Heather told him that her great-grandparents were missionaries there years ago, he got excited and began asking more about our walk. Soon we were at his house, sharing cassava dipped in a soup made from chicken and spices and greens. Quite good. And he was very impressed that Heather knew how to eat it and dug right in with her fingers. The pastor offered to drive us down the road a ways. But then, as we described our next planned visit to a rural community known for their work with international refugees, he decided he wanted to take us all the way and see the place for himself.

We were warmly welcomed and ate with the community and their summer volunteers. They were also welcoming some new refugees arriving from Burma that day. In the evening, we visited the houses of some other families staying there, from Chad and Burundi. I thought they wouldn’t appreciate a crowd appearing at their door, but they seemed quite pleased and welcomed everyone in. Then the singing started, traditional African songs in their native language, with everyone clapping along and sing-ing and ululation for applause.

Just before we left, the pastor stood up to say a few words and pray. He spoke in French so someone could translate to the African dialect, while Heather translated into English. He was very impressed by his experience here. I remember him saying before he drove away, “This is how it should be.”

Continued... 

a surrender - 55

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

But stepping out onto the road again, after being in a warm, safe place, always brought back a cold shiver of vulnerability. Even more so this year. I sometimes tried to imagine how I would react if Heather and I were threatened, way out in some isolated place. The thought of her being attacked scared me badly. But God had protected me out on the road for years, and we both trusted God to protect us now.

I also tried to plan our path carefully. We could stop in libraries along the way and check maps online, and even see where there were places we could buy food and possibly find shelter for the night. But there were occasional surprises. The day after we left Tom’s house, a church that I thought we could stop at just wasn’t where the map said it would be.

So we had to keep walking. It was late, already dark. Really dark. We happened to be walking through a national forest and there was nothing around but trees and night noises and the occasional rush of a passing car. Then I heard a vehicle coming up behind us, and it sounded like it was slowing down. My heart started beating faster. It was definitely slowing down. I felt extremely isolated. The vehicle was pulling up next to us. I turned to look.

“Y’all need a ride?” The man smiled and gestured to the bed of his pickup truck. 

I was so relieved I couldn’t say anything, but Heather said yes, and we climbed into the back. After a blustery ten mile ride, we were dropped off close to the next town. And right there was a church porch we could sleep on.

A couple days later we came to a church in the evening, and hoped we could stop there for the night. But there were people there, a group just leaving a baby shower. We introduced ourselves. Sometimes we told people we were on “a pilgrimage,” sometimes “a faith walk.” These women seemed like they would understand “a faith walk” better. They invited us in, and promptly put some leftover fried chicken in front of us, potato salad, and sweet tea. Heather tasted it and grinned. “Now I know I’m in the South,” she said. One of the women called someone, to ask if we could stay at the church that night, but couldn’t get permission. Undeterred, she tried again, calling her own pastor at another church. Then she took us there. The pastor showed up to make sure we were comfortable. The next morning he took us to breakfast, and drove us to a library down the road. We talked all the way. I remember smiling at Heather when his cell phone started ringing. “When The Saints Go Marching In,” Dixieland style. 

Continued... 

a surrender - 54

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

A couple weeks later we arrived at a church Wednesday night, just as people were going in. So we joined them. After worship, since it was already dark, I asked the pastor if we could sleep outside the church. He seemed reluctant. “There’s been some problems,” he said, “and the police come around here….” When I asked if he thought we should just move on down the road, though, he grew more uncomfortable, then consulted with one of the other men. They offered us the man’s shed for the night. But then another man, who had overheard our conversation, stepped in. “I’ll take care of them tonight,” he said. We stopped by his house where his wife made us sandwiches, then he took us looking for a motel. As it turned out, a motel wasn’t easy to find. He ended up driving us all the way to the town where my friend Tom lives, where we had planned to stop for a few days.

Tom is a potter who I first visited on a walk five years earlier. He lived with his young son, Slate, who has cerebral palsy, but whose eagerness and energy make it easy to not notice the crutches. Tom’s home, his little gallery, and his workshop and kiln shed were tucked back into the woods, a comfortable place to rest for a while. And he had become quite the pizza chef since I had seen him last. The first night he served us pizza with gorgonzola and pear on handmade plates, each one beautiful and unique. And the day after that, he showed Heather how he was making some small platters, and she got her hands in the clay and shaped fifteen of them. I was happy to see her enjoying that new experience. Later, admiring the pottery, we noticed a lovely chalice and plate set that was meant for celebrating communion. When we asked about purchasing it, Tom gave it to us. He mailed it back to the farm, where we would use it to serve communion to the guests that came for retreats with us. Our bellies and our hearts were very full when we said goodbye to Tom and Slate.

Continued... 

a surrender - 53

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

About a month later, after a hard and lonely week and a half, when we talked with almost no one and slept outside every night, we were offered a ride by a couple of young guys in a red sports car, blaring music by Rage Against The Machine. Not your stereotypical good Samaritans. But Heather thought they seemed okay, so we accepted. They proceeded to drive us up and down the shores of the beautiful river there, showing us the sights. Then zipped us across a wide dam. As we rode across, I was surprised to see a sign that said pedestrians weren’t allowed on the dam—our only way across the river. They took us right to the church we were hoping to visit the next morning. There we found a cluster of tall Boxwood shrubs that formed a leafy little cave next to the very old cemetery, and we settled in for the night. 

It was a Quaker meetinghouse. In the morning we first met a woman who had accidentally arrived early, and talked with her for an hour before the meeting. She then suggested to the small group that had gathered that Heather and I give a short talk before their silent prayer time, which makes up most of the worship. So we talked about our walk and answered questions. When someone asked us to lead them in a prayer, I offered the words of Charles de Foucauld: “Father, I abandon myself into your hands, do with me what you will… For I love you Lord, and so need to give myself—to surrender myself into your hands, without reserve, and with boundless confidence, for you are my father.” Then we all prayed in silence together.

The rest of the day it rained, but we were incredibly well cared for. Many people came up to us after the meeting, offering encouragement, praise, and gifts. The woman we had met first took us to her home for a lunch of fresh rainbow trout, and a warm shower. Then two other people from the meeting invited us all for dinner. We had a feast of rotisserie rosemary chicken and fresh sweet corn, wine, raspberry ice cream from a local dairy, and lots of lively conversation and encouragement. We were overwhelmed by the gift.

I was especially relieved, because I sometimes worried about Heather’s needs being met. I guess I felt responsible. It was one thing to suffer cold or hunger myself because I had taken this wild risk, but now I had led her into this risk with me. Or maybe it had been her idea, but I had encouraged it. So I was especially grateful when God provided for her needs generously. Not just good food and rest, but also friends and happy gatherings.

Continued... 

a surrender - 52

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

We worked on the farm for a few months, then we did something that Heather had once dreamed of. We took a long walk. It started with a bus ride to the east coast, where there was a church for homeless people, that met out on the streets. We joined them for an inspiring worship time, and tried to learn from their experience and approach. It seemed similar in many ways to what we hoped for our retreat house. I was especially impressed by their respect for the spiritual lives of the people who gathered there for worship. It wasn’t about preaching at them, but being their church community. That was very unusual, in my experience. I remember a suburban church I visited once on an earlier walk, that had bussed many homeless people in for a service, preached to them about hell’s eternal flames, and then sent them back to their shelter in the city. Ironically, the preacher had used Jesus’ story about a rich man and Lazarus, but he failed to notice that in that story it was the poor, suffering Lazarus who ended up comforted in heaven, and the rich man who ended up in the flames. Jesus very much respected the spiritual lives of those who were ignored and cast out of society, and they were the ones who heard him gladly.

As we started walking south from there, Heather quickly took to life on the road. When we couldn’t find shelter one rainy night, she figured out a way to rainproof a big playground structure using our rain ponchos. And the next day when she wanted a break, she found a quiet spot in the woods, hidden from the road. There was a small clearing next to a shallow, rocky stream. We napped for while, and I woke to bird songs and the sunlight winking through the leaves overhead. With Heather beside me.

Our first big challenge came about two weeks later. Heather had developed a very sore ankle, but it was difficult to rest it when we had no place to stay for an extended time. I thought we might have to end our walk. And then the next morning, after a breakfast of bread and milk, we ran out of food. I was impressed that Heather seemed so calm about it. I didn’t feel so calm. It rained as we walked through the city that day, so we were looking for shelter, and hungry, as we approached a church that night. There were two men in the parking lot. We briefly explained our walk and asked to sleep outside the church. Then one of them, the pastor, asked for a personal reference. So we gave him the phone number of one of the leaders of the church at the farm community. We watched as the pastor called and talked with her. Then he talked with his wife. Then he invited us into their home, and his wife put supper in front of us. For dessert, she brought out a warm, homemade blueberry pie.

We had a good talk with them the next morning, over breakfast. And then they surprised us by offering a generous gift of money, too. We were so relieved and grateful. I left a thank you note behind, with Jesus’ words: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me… as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.” 

The next day we used some of the money to get arch supports for Heather’s sandals. And her ankle pain went away.

Continued... 

a surrender - 51

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

We were amazed by the response to our presentation. Though some hard questions were asked, what we heard from them was almost completely positive. There was a surprising feeling of energy from the community, and the sense that we all wanted to work together to figure out a way through the difficulties. Our personal visits with a number of people in the following days confirmed that impression. We were thrilled.

“I will give you rest,” the wind had whispered in the pines. After working so hard, for months without a pause to catch our breath, and searching and struggling for two years until we were about to give up, the answer had been on a cluttered desk, in a newsletter about a retreat house for poor people. And a memory of a farm once visited. It felt like a miraculous gift.

The next morning I woke up even earlier and couldn’t sleep any more. But this time it felt like I was a kid on Christmas morning. I didn’t want to miss anything.

Three months later, we were married. A beautiful, grassy clearing in the woods was offered for the ceremony, and a simple cabin for our honeymoon. The cake was amazing, decorated with wild Sweet William blossoms, a gift made by a woman who lived on the farm. Heather’s aunt offered to arrange the flowers. Her uncle, the pastor, performed the marriage and her aunt, the music director at their church, arranged and performed the songs we had chosen, along with other musician friends. A friend gave me a beautiful Guatemalan shirt to wear. And Heather made her lovely white wedding dress. Many other people at the farm volunteered to help set up and decorate, and clean up afterwards, and also offered hospitality to many of our friends and family from out of town. And to us as well. An older couple had shared their home with us when we moved to the farm, and continued to do so through the first few months of our marriage.

During the wedding, under a towering oak, tinged with the new green of spring, Heather and I read to everyone from the psalms:

This poor man cried, 
and the Lord heard him, 
and saved him 
out of all his troubles. 
O taste and see 
that the Lord is good; 
happy are those 
who take refuge in God. 

The sparrow 
has found a home,
and the swallow 
a nest for herself, 
where she may lay 
her young.
O magnify the Lord 
with me,
let us exalt God’s name 
together.
I sought the Lord, 
and he answered me, 
and delivered me 
from all my fears.

Look to God, 
and be radiant; 
so your faces will never 
be ashamed.  

Continued...