After a wonderful worship service
and send off from the church, my family and I went home. We had a relaxing Sunday afternoon. At 4PM, I made a final pastoral visit – to our
church’s most senior member, Esta Mae Johnson.
She and I talked about 45 minutes, I left, and Sabbatical had begun.
Monday morning, I saw my kids off to
school, and then hit the road. I drove 3
hours to Ft. Caswell at Caswell Beach, the North Carolina Baptist retreat
center directly across the Cape Fear and Elizabeth Rivers and Intracoastal
Waterway from South Port, NC.
As I drove, I listened to Isabel
Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns: The
Epic Story of America’s Great Migration.
She tells a history many Americans don’t know, but should. It is the horrible, tragic, and hopeful and inspiring
account of Post-reconstruction black life in the Jim Crow south and the efforts
black people made to get out from under the inequality of Jim Crow to the
American Freedom they hoped they’d find in the west and north. The black populations of Los Angeles, Milwaukee,
Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, Philadelphia, New York, and other cities are largely
descendants of the children and grandchildren of former slaves. This post-civil war generation of African
Americans left the miserable lives to which they were relegated in Florida,
Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and other places in the south and sought their
fortunes in the North.
Listening to these stories as I
traveled, so unencumbered in all my male, middle class, white privilege as well
as the tremendous blessing I have for a season of sabbatical rest, was
poignant. I felt free and in my freedom
I was ready to embrace and enter the stories of others, stories of people
forced to live harder lives than I have lived.
I cruised east along I-40 and inhabited stories of cotton picking for
pennies, lynchings, and people powerless to change it. But they weren’t powerless, and when they had
had enough, they left. This movement had
no central figure, no Martin Luther King Jr.
It is the anthology of stories of people who knew their own self-worth
even though the white south did all they could to beat it out of them.
I drove along and listened. And then I got to Caswell and walked the
ground. It’s a large retreat center with
numerous dormitories, a chapel, a PX, a gymnasium, a theatre, and a hotel
(where I stayed). Mingled in with these
typical retreat facilities are the ruins of World War I era batteries which
were set up as a war-time military installation. These bizarrely shaped concrete structures,
long abandoned, are now weed strewn, but were once the foundation of the
coastal defense.
I climbed around on the
batteries. I walked the beach. I sat in the sand and unending wind. I wrote the opening entries in my Sabbatical
journal. I began releasing the cares of
a pastor. For the next four months, I
exist in a different space, a “castle in time” (Abraham Joshua Heschel). Caswell, which at times is crawling with
North Carolina Baptists, either screaming teens or adults on retreat remembering
when they used to be screaming teens, was all but empty. For several hours I had the place to
myself. In my journal I wrote that I had
found solitude. The beach was gloriously
abandoned.
So I walked and prayed and let
go. I played chess on my computer with
people from Morroco, Brazil, and Poland.
I ate so many Oreos and fried clams I got sick (almost). And I let go.
Gazing across the Atlantic, it
struck me that I haven’t settled on a scripture passage for Sabbatical. I have not been led to that one word from the
Bible that will provide the undergirding and the theme for this time. As I sat atop one of the batteries ocean
Tuesday morning, I found what might be
it. Matthew 10:39 – “Those who find
their life with lose it, and those who lose their life for Jesus’ sake will
find it.” I don’t know what this
Sabbatical has in store, but I know this.
I have to die to self. I have to
stop worrying about who I am and stand upon whose
I am.
Midday Tuesday, I drove up to New
Bern. I went there to interview a woman,
Daynette Snead who is African American, has her own real estate business, and is
the associate pastor of a Chin Church. The
Chin are another people group (like the Karen who meet at HillSong) exiled from
Burma (Myanmar). This African American
lady from Richmond, Virginia is killing it in business in mostly white New Bern
and getting it done in ministry among Chin refugees.
She and I discussed race and life
and ministry. She graced me by sharing with me her
story. I won’t go into it because it is
hers, but in what she shared, I found symmetry with what I was hearing in The Warmth of Other Suns. Listening to that, talking to Daynette,
hearing God in the wind and the waves of the ocean, listening to Jesus in
Matthew 10 – it all came together for me.
I have big dreams for the future of the church I pastor, HillSong Church
of Chapel Hill. Big dreams. Those dreams forming and have been for some
time, but they will be set aside temporarily.
For now, I am awed by how God has brought things together for me.
God
is dropping me into the stories of others.
I hope this expands my ability to
love others.
I hope this enriches my telling of
the Gospel story. I know it is deepening
my understanding of it.
I pray that in all of this, I will
learn to see more clearly that God is in control and that my life is to be
spent following Jesus, not worrying about things. As I learn to die to self and as I am
enriched by other people’s stories, my own dreams will take shape.
Next for me in Sabbatical is a lot
family time, and, I hope, a lot of reading.
Have a refreshing sabbatical
ReplyDeletePraying for a restful refreshing sabbatical for you and your family!
ReplyDeleteEnjoy the quiet and still small voice of God. You will come back different, of that I'm sure.
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ReplyDeleteThanks for this update, Rob. Praying for God's blessings of rest, renewal, and transformed life for you and your family.
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