I love Montana in July. The MLP’s (the Mountains, the Lakes and the Petersons) have become a holy place for my family and I over the last several summers. There I find time and space to notice a God at
work. The tour begins by Kathie and I gathering with a small group of locals from the mountain, that houses our cabin, all gathered a-top Jake and Carla’s Lookout Tower on the 4th of July. We are patiently waiting for a seemingly never-ending summer solstice sun to set behind the western mountains, so that we can simultaneously take in four different displays of fireworks over the Flathead Valley. We were not disappointed. On this clear and crisp evening at 10:22pm, we were treated with a bonus, a full moon rising out of the Mission Mountains. As we were being treated to this Holy Firework, Darrell’s curiosity got the best of him. He knew I was a pastor, I had offered a blessing before we all ate together. But besides praying or causing folk to clean up their language, people don’t know much about what a pastor does, though they are usually curious. “So where’s this place you work in?” Darrell asked. “Chicago-heard of it?” I responded.“Our church is an African-American community- Lawndale.” With that brief introduction Darrell’s interest was piqued. “Its a long way from Montana and I don’t not mean just miles.” I quickly added. “It is a tough place to live, but we’ve been blessed raising three daughters there.” I went on to talk about the July 1st Chicago Tribune article listing the 254 Chicago homicides in just the first 6 months of the year. “Many of those were in our neighborhood.” “How long you’ve been there?” Darrell seemed captured by the stats. “About 34 years, and as I get older I feel more vulnerable and affected by the violence.” I stated. Darrell’s curiosity now shifted to shock. He sat quiet a moment and then quipped, “Well, I’ve got an easy solution for you- GET OUT OF THERE!” I thought about Darrell’s injunction during the rest of July, but somehow the “MLPs” did their sanctifying work again and closed off the rugged realities of home. “Hold that thought till later” I said to myself. We can’t hold onto the Holy (ask Moses and Peter!) moments, people, or the beautiful. God’s pull is always forward- we are always being challenged to notice the Holy wherever His pull takes us. I did concede to my Montana friends that the Holy was a bit easier to notice in Montana than in Lawndale….. or was it? In August, as Kathie and I drove the three days back to Chicago, I asked myself, “When would I know I was really back in the hood?” Would it be the traffic snarls, the $1 a gallon gas increase, when the rodents changed from chipmunks to rats, when I heard afresh the belching profanities coming out of vibrating jacked-up vehicles trolling the streets and grinding the Holy One out of me---what would be the moment that I knew I was back? I returned to my familiar surroundings and favorite “swimming hole”. Near the Lawndale pool a woman I knew caught my attention and after a brief exchange explaining my absence I, being a good pastor, asked how she was doing. With a placid–poker face she routinely responded, “I found my brother sleeping in my car this morning. He’s divorced his wife, his girlfriend practices witchcraft and blew all the tires out on his car…oh, but there is hope- he’s got a new girlfriend - and she’s got a good job!” WELCOME HOME! I was back. But rather than having the urge to jump into my car and drive back to Montana, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and presence, the way I often feel after swimming a mile. It defies definition. Maybe the verb graced gives a glimpse. I have been graced to have been stitched into this finely woven fabric of relationships that joins the MLP’s of Montana to Rainbow Chasers in Chicago- another picture in God’s Funny-Holy-Folk mosaic. God of Strange Ways and Special People!
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