Saints on Safari

The Book of Genesis tells us nothing about Abel, son of Adam and Eve, except that he was righteous, obedient, and murdered by his jealous and angry brother.  That does not speak well for obedience and righteousness, in human terms!  We never hear Abel’s voice.  He leaves us with no quotes, no books, no photos, no blogs.

Yet his blood cried out from the ground, and God knew exactly what had happened to him.  His death was not unnoticed.  His life was not forgotten.

There are thousands, more likely millions, of Abels today, killed through the centuries by human siblings who can not learn to appreciate them for who they are in the sight of God.

Greed, jealousy, hatred, religious intolerance.  How many words can we use to say that we do not want our brothers and sisters who are different from us to continue living in our neighborhoods, our country, our world?

Jesus said that even to think in hateful terms makes us guilty of murder.  We may think that no one knows where the bodies are buried, those whom we have rejected, ignored, slighted, cheated, turned away from, refused to help.

Yet their blood cries out, and God knows.  God knows them, and God knows us.

We are becoming accustomed to our short-term neighbors, those who arrive near the end of the week and remain till Sunday afternoon, enjoying a week end in the wild, with all their modern equipment. We exchange waves, and sometimes brief conversations, but we give them the privacy that they deserve for these respites that they have chosen.

We live, however, in a part of the camp that is reserved for long-term residency, and the neighbors surrounding us are here for seasons, if not for years.  Next door, when we arrived, we found a classic Airstream camper, tucked into an oasis that the resident had created.

Potted plants surrounded his residence, and he lived in beauty and apparent peace, while working in construction in the area.  He was quiet and withdrawn, and we were giving him time to become accustomed to us.  We were looking forward to a long acquaintance and a time to create relationship. 

Yesterday, when we awoke, we discovered that he was gone.  Every potted tree, every vestige of his life here, had simply disappeared.  He must have left the day before, when we were gone all day and arrived home after dark.  

Our disappointment at losing him is matched by our hopes that his next oasis may also bring him the privacy and peace that he desires.  Our prayers accompany him on his safari.  God go with you.  Go with God.  May you find the friendship somewhere that you did not have the time to find with us.

Cain, the murdering son of Adam and Eve, by theological standards is seldom called a saint, but, in the love of God, he was still accepted and protected.  How easy it would have been for him, had he acknowledged his guilt when God asked him where his brother was.  He knew that he had killed Abel in a fit of jealous rage, but he compounded the act by refusing to admit it.  Admitting guilt, confessing sin, acknowledging accountability – humans struggle with those concepts to this day.  How easy, and how impossible for Cain, to face his own weakness and his shame.  But God confronted him with it, and God forced him to confront his own act of disobedience and duplicity.

Why was Abel’s gift to God preferred over Cain’s?  Both brought the best of what they had.  Cain brought gifts from his garden.  Abel brought gifts from his flock.  In human terms, it seems unfair of God to refuse the gift from the personality of the giver.

And yet, going back to the parents’ story, perhaps God had told them what was required in terms of sacrificial blood.  Plants do not bleed.  Leaves do not cover sin.  Could that be why Abel’s gift was received and Cain’s rejected?  I do not know, but I suppose.  And Cain must have known what God required of him.  Perhaps his pride would not allow him to ask his brother for a lamb or goat to use for sacrifice.

The saddest part of the story for me is that Cain was banished.  Why did God not take his life, in retribution for the life that he had taken?  I do not know.  Perhaps God wanted Cain to learn in solitude the meaning of life and relationships, so that when, at last, he died, he would be ready for the heavenly realm.

For me, the happiest part of the story is this:  even in his banishment, God did not abandon Cain.  He marked him, so that no one would fail to recognize him, and no one would harm him.  Protection in the midst of loneliness,  safety in the midst of despair, a Creator who hovers near even in the midst of our own desolation.  The making of a saint on a solitary safari.

The first saints on safari were Adam and Eve.  Whether you believe that they were an originally created pair who are the parents of all of us, or that their story is a myth, shaped to tell a larger story, the concept of their beginning life outside Eden’s Garden is a chilling one.

In the Garden, they had all needs supplied, plus more.  They had safety, even among the animals that we consider to be predators today.  They had housing, food, no need for medical care because illness was unknown.  They had companionship with each other, fellowship with other species, power over the rest of creation. 

They had residence in the ultimate vacation destination, with no need of a vacation because they did not have to work.  What ever we strive for, wish for, think longingly of, they already had.  Without question, they were cared for in every way.

Best of all, they had intimacy with God. They walked and talked with the One who had created them.  They experienced the relationship that the human heart has longed for since that time.

When they were removed from their idyllic life, and began a life of toil and suffering, I wonder how often they regretted their act of disobedience and willful choice.  They began to endure the long cycle of pain that has plagued us since. 

I do not know what their greatest sorrow was, but I suspect that the murder of a son by another son must have ranked high on the list, and the murderer’s banishment from their life had to hurt greatly.

The grief in that story is overwhelming, but in the midst of it, we find hope and promise.  The naked pair, vainly attempting to cover themselves with leaves, were carefully and lovingly clothed by the Creator whom they had scorned.  They were dressed in animal skins. 

Imagine what may have happened.  A place where no death had occurred knew the death of that (those?) animal(s).  A sacrificial death, to cover the exposure and vulnerability of human disobedience, a shedding of blood to show the Creator’s love for them, even in the midst of his disappointment.

Was this a foreshadowing of the atoning death of Christ?  The law of Moses, many years later, called for animal sacrifice until the death of Christ fulfilled the law.  We still toil and struggle, suffer and know sorrow.  Yet what the first family lost in the Garden of Eden was restored in the Garden of Gethsemane, when Jesus chose to be obedient.  His choice cancelled theirs, forever, and restored the intimacy with God that each human heart is created to share. 

Abby wrote a few days ago about seeking and finding a place that is home.  My last post here was about the temptation to seek a larger space for home.  Now, having evaluated what we need and what we want, we are both settled, in mind and spirit, into this space that is ours, in this beautiful place.

Days are often spent at the house that my daughter and son-in-law so graciously share with us.  There we can spread out to do the laundry, cook on a full-sized stove, and scatter paper work on their dining table.  So we are not really as confined as we thought that we would be, but a strange and wonderful thing has happened.

As much as we enjoy our excursions into the larger world, as much as we appreciate the hospitality shared, as much as we love seeing our children and grandchildren so frequently, in the evening, as we wend our way through the wooded drive to our campsite, we experience the quickened heart rate of the knowledge that we are coming home.

Our tiny motor-home, with its limited capacity for space and stuff, has become the oasis that nurtures us, the haven that shelters us, the resting place that prepares us to go forth another day.  It is the place for prayer and conversation, for sleep and contemplation, for solitude and socialization.  It is our space for being and becoming, a holy place.  In a way that is new and fresh, it is home.  It is the place that God has helped us find, and we are aware that God shares this space with us.   We hope for each of you a space like this, where you are safe and loved, a place to be the person God is shaping you to be.

As we drive the roadways of our campground complex, we see many fancy campers and motor homes.  Some offer lifestyles that rival the fabulous condominiums of Palm Beach.  Several are for sale.  We looked at one that offers more space than the house we left in West Virginia, with storage in every nook and cranny, hot water on demand, a glassed in shower, space for a washer and dryer, and a Lazy boy recliner with massage and heat.  There is only one negative feature.  It can not be driven.  It must be towed.  Were we to choose it as our home, we would be bound to this place.

The seller is offering it at a reasonable, actually low, price.  It looked wonderful and sounded like a gift to us, but a gift from whom?  And for what purpose?  Self indulgence?  Comfort?  A life of ease?  After ten days of togetherness in our small space, we dreamed briefly of surrendering our shallow tent pegs and indulging ourselves in the luxury of permanence   and comfort.  We could purchase it.  We would love to live in it.  It even has room for guests.

We thought of each other.  Abby knew how much I would love the space and the storage.  I knew how much she would enjoy the recliner, the built in sound system, and the fantastic mattress.

And yet…After our so-recent surrendering of stuff and space, it seemed a betrayal of all that we have committed to doing and becoming.  Mobility in ministry, freedom to follow Jesus where ever he may call us, simple living, so that we can help others simply live…Were they only words that we shared, or are they the basis of who we are, the center of who we are to be?

We said No to the temptation, but even as the warmth of knowing we made the right decision spreads through us, we look longingly in the direction of where we might have been.  When new owners move into our dream house, we will bless them and smile in relief that this temptation has passed.  There will be others, but we will keep reminding ourselves that there are many rooms in our Father’s house.  Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us, and we will have all the space we need when we get there!

Today, we forgot to purchase bread.  There is no possibility of storing extra loaves in our small freezer, so we have to learn to anticipate our needs and meet them in the European manner, on a day to day basis.  This will happen, but has not, yet!

About two miles from our home is a store calling itself a Super Market, so we stopped for bread.  Small, crowded, not as clean as many markets, it was a disconcerting experience, from the goat meat in the cooler to the signs entirely in Spanish.  The clerk spoke a rudimentary English, while all the shoppers chattered rapidly in what we assumed to be Spanish.  (School-studied Spanish and locally-spoken Spanish are NOT the same!)

All the customers seemed to be staring at us, and some of the men appeared to leer.  As the only ethnic minority in the store, with no prices marked, the clerk charged us double the usual market price for our one loaf of bread.  We paid, and left with the hope that we never have to go there again.

And it made me wonder.

God’s people have always and everywhere, to some extent, lived as strangers in the land. Having a citizenship that is not of this world marks them as different, even as they are the same as their surrounding culture. The challenge is to live faithfully and helpfully where we are, while never forgetting where we belong.

Yet, are we so busy protecting our own space and our out-of-this-world culture that we have for centuries ignored, overlooked, sneered at, or set the price too high for those who do not yet know that they are children of the King?  Do they enter our space and find themselves hurrying to leave, feeling like intruders, hoping never to return?

What is the responsibility – the privilege – of the safari saint toward those who are different, whose language we do not understand?  How can we help the stranger find a home?

God, who understands all languages and loves all cultures and all peoples everywhere, help us to be so at home in your love that we share it everywhere we go. Then the stranger becomes a sibling, and the barriers dissolve. 

I am ashamed to admit that, after less than one week here in this beautiful place, I am feeling frustrated and annoyed.  The space is smaller than even my smallest dorm room.  Fortunately, my room mate is beloved and cooperative, but we can not pass each other without touching.  We have covenanted to pass facing each other, so that we hug as we pivot to change places.  That will help us laugh together and not growl at each other, but the space is still so small!

The first time that I attempted to cook a full meal, I blew the electrical breaker by plugging in too many appliances at once.  Part of dinner was hot and part was lukewarm, by the time I figured out that we are – literally – living in Green Acres.  Does anyone remember that show?  It was a comedy to watch, but not so funny to live.

Today, we have uninvited guests – ants.  My back still aches from moving.  My hair has not adjusted to the humidity, so I look raggedy and unkempt.  And the heat – well, if you are complaining about cold weather, come on down.  It is still HOT here, too hot to be outside, so we are back to my complaining about the small space in this motorhome.

I feel guilty and ashamed.  We have fresh running water, indoor plumbing, electricity (even if I can not plug in everything at once, beds that are comfortable, food to eat (even if it has to be cooked in stages), maintenance people who will spray the ants, a beautiful pool, laundry facilities, free Wireless connections, complimentary coffee, and professional security people.  We are near to world class medical care.  The campground manager has given us her personal cell number, in case we need her in the night.

So many of the world’s people have no place to lay their heads.   They are hungry, sick, terrified, abandoned, alone in an uncaring world.  They carry their few possessions with them, in a blanket if they are lucky enough to have one.

God, please forgive me when I whine.  I thank you for this space, for this wonderful person who shares it with me, and for all these blessings that I gladly receive.  Help me to share more freely and live more joyfully in your gracious love.

Pam, the manager of this great place.               A glimpse of our home from the back side.

Photos of reality from http://www.incourage.me/2011/09/how-not-to-get-lost-in-translation.html

Abby and I have been wandering the grounds of this beautiful place every day, meeting our neighbors and establishing acquaintanceship with the staff who serve here.  We are the rookies, with just six nights of living here, so we are learning from those who have experienced this lifestyle for months or years.   Our willingness to learn from them opens doors to conversations that are as delightful  as they are unexpected.

We were a little later than usual today in going about our rounds, as we are sill sorting out the best places in this tiny abode to tuck the necessities of daily living.  We are still a bit weary from the process of leaving West Virginia, so we are not moving very fast, but we discovered that we are moving at exactly the right pace.  

When we entered one of the public spaces, usually alive with ringing phones and chattering residents and staff, we found one person there.  Beginning a casual conversation, we discovered that here was a person with deep sorrows and a need to share concerns.  For more than half an hour, we listened, extending the comfort of our presence and understanding. What a privilege to arrive at that quiet time, when there were no interruptions.  Surely we experienced the brush of angels’ wings as we joined hands in prayer and asked God’s best in the situations that affect the family.

And we walked away with the knowledge that, for this day and in this place, we could bring the touch of grace that was needed by a person in pain.  If this were the only reason that we came here, it would be enough.