Why I race...

As someone that is not an "athlete," doing things considered very athletic would seem out of the norm. Oh yes, I've had hobbies that have taken me outside into the mountains. I've enjoyed mountaineering (when I lived near mountains), which included hiking, rock climbing and camping (often in the snow). Many considered this exceptional, but it was not "athletic" as much as it was adventurous. I've enjoyed swimming all my life, riding bicycles and just about anything else that was a fun and rigorous activity that took me out into nature (including skiing and kayaking). These also, though indicative of an "active lifestyle, " do not make one an "athlete." I've known many that are serious athletes, and I've revered them for their discipline, their drive, focus and the results of being able to perform such incredible physical feats.

So then, the decision to engage in such an "athletic" enterprise as the Spartan Race is seemingly a step up from dabbling in just being an "active person." After all, there are plenty of fun opportunities, in the marketplace of activities now, to merely get muddy while trampling along a trail with friends headed to the beer-flowing party at the end. Why the decision to test myself with a race that, though also fun, enjoyable and "family friendly," is also a seriously athletic event that requires significant training in advance? Why engage in a race that required lifestyle changes and discipline I had not previously maintained? Why voluntarily sign up for something that mandated so much transformation?

Spartan Race offers a wide variety of races to participate in...

 

The Spartan "Sprint" is a race billed as "3+ miles with 15+ obstacles." The "+" is an important caveat because each course is custom designed. Thus, the "+" could mean a few more miles AND many more obstacles. You never know what you're going to get (*says in Forrest Gump voice*).

The "Super" Spartan is advertised as "8+ miles with 20+ obstacles," and the Spartan "Beast" being "12+ miles with 25+ obstacles." The Sprint is an athletic event in itself, but is also designed to be the most accessible of their races, wherein a person could enter who had never gotten off the couch before. The Super is where it starts requiring some training in advance in order to have an enjoyable experience, rather than a miserable one. The Beast is a half-marathon in length, but the inclusion of the obstacles make it, according to the testimony of some athletes, more difficult than a normal marathon (which I have never considered trying). As seen from the graphic above, the events that Spartan Race conducts go well beyond the Beast. Nevertheless, to set a goal for achieving the "Trifecta" (completing the first three - Sprint, Super and Beast - in a calendar year), is by far a more athletic pursuit that I have ever considered before...

...yet that is exactly what I am attempting in 2014 (the Spartan Beast is on November 1st)!

Spartan Race (and admittedly other race companies has risen up attempting to duplicate this function) has provided an activity that challenges many to push themselves beyond where they have been before. However, I have found, along with multitudes of others, that these races are indicated of more than merely physical struggles. They wind up being a physical, athletic analogy of other "obstacles" in life that must be overcome as well. 

The opening line of their promotion video is "Could a race change your life?" One might not think so, but an unexpected internal event occurs on the course. Suddenly what started out as a fun idea for the day turns into a test of will, and a nexus of mental, spiritual and emotional struggles. It demonstrates the folly of the ancient gnostic heresy that sought to separate body and spirit (it lingers on today in many forms). We are integrated complexities of matter and energy that cannot be separated even at death (thus the Christian doctrine of resurrection). Disciplines of the body cannot help but have a corresponding affect on the soul. The religious practice of fasting is an example of this. Several Biblical passages either elude to this or downright proclaim the connection.  The apostle Paul says "Instead I subdue my body and make it my slave, so that after preaching to others I myself will not be disqualified" (1 Cor 9:27). The classic spiritual disciplines have all had this as their motive. Training of the soul via discipline of the body. The connection is inescapable. Does this mean that all who discipline the body are spiritual growing? Not at all. But the connection is such that seldom do people find internal development that was not manifested externally also.

Classic spiritual disciplines have included both abstaining and engaging disciplines; meaning that one either abstains from an activity as their discipline (fasting), or engages in an activity (study/meditation) as their regimen. In most cases, it's a choice that involves activities of the body, and comprises actions of will, speech, choice, appetite, rigor and difficulty. Many perform these spiritual disciplines with full expectation that they will be changed as a result of it.

"Could a race change your life?" Those that understand and appreciate spiritual disciplines would answer in the resoundingly affirmative. For in training for the race, decisions are made regarding schedule, exercise and motivation that disciplines life and brings it into an order that might not have otherwise occurred. Encouragement and accountability is sought from other racers to prepare well and plan to gather for the event. The race itself brings all of this together, serving as a living analogy for struggles and trials faced in other categories of life.

Why do I race? Because of all of the other aspects of life that benefit from the decision to struggle and emerge. Because the discipline of it that hones the senses and sharpens the spirit. Because of the camaraderie among those racing for the same reasons. Because of the spontaneous moments of community evident on the course when people help and encourage each other. Because of the accomplishment of attempting and achieving something out of the norm. Because even training for it develops a fitness level, with the accompanying positive health benefits, that seemed out of reach before now. Because I believe that, were the apostle Paul writing much of the New Testament today, he would have used these races as analogies to make his point in at least a few places (along with the other sports, gladiatorial and military analogies he used). Because the course is all a physical, spiritual and mental challenge all put together. Because being "Spartan" has taken on meaning that applies to myriad struggles off the course as well.

Certainly this is not why everyone does it, but it's why I race.

I Need to Go Hunting Again

Growing up, my father was much more of a hunting enthusiast than I was. Each year, just prior to deer season, he'd get "the fever," and his mind would begin racing on all the necessary preparations for hunting. On the other hand, I paid it very little attention until the day we left. For the most post, I found it a lot of unnecessary work to simply enjoy the outdoors and have more meat in our freezer. The whole experience seemed almost spoiled by having to lug around a heavy rifle, or having to paint my face camouflage colors for bowhunting season. My heart just wasn't into it. My father, however, was the consummate hunter, and ascribed profound importance to all aspects of it. As I look back to those years, I've come to appreciate what a "conductor of life lessons" it was that I simply didn't value at the time; not unlike how different metals are often shown to be a better conductor of sound or heat than others are.

When the term "hunting" is invoked, it often brings one thing to mind: killing. However, the actually slaying of an animal in the wild is a small minority of the entire process, and frequently is absent from the outing altogether (I went on SO many hunts and came back with nothing). But regarding the killing of big game, I don't begrudge people their aversion to performing this act. It's not for everyone. I do, however, think that those who are "anti-hunting" should also be vegetarians for consistency's sake; for every human carnivore, whether eating a fast food burger or jerky made from a proud Mule deer, is consuming a creature which as once alive, but was slain for their sustenance. Nevertheless, I've come to consider it an important virtue to participate in the ecosystem as a responsible hunter does. Note how the term "responsible" excludes poachers that ignore government regulations concerning management of game populations, or, in my opinion, those that hunt game they have no intention of consuming. I disagree with exotic hunts that seek to "bag" a rare animal for mere trophy's sake. That's not being the "ecological participant" that my father taught me to be.

Having said that, the actual harvest of the animal (i.e. killing), is something that cannot be divorced from the mystique of hunting. The marksmanship necessary to ensure that the animal is, in fact, slain (not merely sent of into the woods wounded, to die providing no benefit to the human "predator") requires preparation that precedes the outing by weeks or months. The hunter must educate themselves on the various regulations specific to the region so that they are compliant with game management and (during rifle season) firearm safety laws in every way. They must outfit themselves with the needed gear and accessories for the safety and comfort of their party. In my case, my father saw to my care and comfort, all the while teaching me to be more self-reliant through the process. I cannot speak for all hunters, but I was imbued with a striking appreciation for nature through this process; it's beauty, artistry and fragility. "Pick up after yourself," "police your brass," "minimal residual impact" were the frequent commands. Woodsmanship and ecological responsibility were the lessons and the wilderness was the classroom... and "class" was ALWAYS in session whether or not we saw any deer.

I remember killing my first buck. I was young. I fired three accurate shots that all contributed to the deer's quick expiration. It appeared to suffer as little as possible - if at all. This was important to me. As we approached the downed animal, my father began giving me instructions on how to "gut" it right then. Thoroughly grossed out, I resisted, hoping my dad would just do it for me. He became indignant that I might even think of slaying an animal this majestic and then seek to escape taking responsibility for the entire process. "No son of MINE is going to cheapen life that way by just killing an animal, but then not cleaning it too." Needless to say, I learned everything about the insides of a Black-tailed deer that morning. It was a messy and sobering ritual that had begun months before at the target range, and would later culminate with the integration of venison into family meals. At dinner, whenever some on my deer was included, the round of thanks for providing it was uniquely mine to receive. It was profound. That connection with not only the animal, but with the entire process, would wash over me anew with each successive morsel. Something primitive and timeless had been handed to me, and the singular pride that came from engaging it remains to this day.

Over the years, as I no longer lived near my father, hunting became less and less a personal pursuit. Eventually I sold my deer rifle to pay for college books, and seemed to lose all interest in perform all that work. I eventually got another buck again 20 years after the first one during another outing, of course, with my father (I've gotten just two in my lifetime). Even then, though, I was more pleased that my dad was pleased with my buck than I was elated for getting it. I'm just not a hunter as a matter of instinct.

Recently though, I've been thinking differently about it. Because the entire process, from sighting in your rifle at the range to enjoying your harvest at the dinner table, is seemingly such a powerful conductor of life lessons... I've felt like I should pursue it for my sons' sake, and for mine. The task is daunting. Re-acquiring the "tools" necessary to undertake this venture are varied and expensive (i.e. firearms, bullets [or bows and arrows], camping gear, licenses, deer tags, etc.). Learning and selecting the places to hunt is no small task either. I don't live in the same region I grew up in. Texas hunting is a very different "animal" (pun intended) from that of northern California. It's intimidating to be so unfamiliar with local customs and access areas for hunting... to say nothing of the expense of actually taking the trip. All of this could be an effective deterrent from attempting it at all, but the lessons conveyed from one generation to the next through hunting were so important as to make all the trouble seem necessary and valuable.

I'll keep learning what I need to and perhaps I may soon be out there with my boys, teaching them some of what my father taught me.

The Assisting Instructor's First Workout

When I taught kung fu full time, it was always understood in the Temple that new instructors were ever being trained and groomed to lead in student development and workouts. One of the first "rites of passage" for a young assisting instructor (AI) in the Temple was to lead the workout in Skill Class. The structure of Skill Class was that the 50 minute group session was divided in half. Roughly 25 minutes was spent on a rigorous workout full of repetitions of moves, stances and strikes that all participating had learned in private sessions. Then a 5 minute stretching period would ensue to help the students relax their breathing and prepare their bodies for pairing up to spend the remaining 20 minutes practicing the technique for the night. The chief instructor, or senior instructor (SI) present that evening (this could, at times be one of the masters visiting, or even Grand Master Simon) would show the class an advanced technique that all present could then practice with their partner. The senior instructor (SI) could lead the workout portion if they chose to, but that was often left to the assisting instructor (AI) to lead.

The first half of Skill Class was often left to the AI for a few reasons:

1. They needed the practice being in front of people. Every AI simply needs time in front. Those butterflies must be subdued. In fact, while the workouts can be intense and physically demanding, they're not as mentally demanding. The AI can teach in short spurts of what we called "filler talk" (i.e. "louder!," or "lower in the stance," or "check your foot position") between repetitions. Such basic techniques are the norm for the workout portion of Skill Class, that the AI need not access a vast repository of knowledge in order to deliver a good sweat. Certainly there is the occasion of the mind inexplicably going blank, wherein the AI is at a loss as to what basic motions to lead the class in. One humorous example was from another teacher that shared about his first Skill Class as an AI. He seemingly forgot all other motions and lead the class in 25 minutes of Front Thrust Kicks. Those poor people were barely able to walk back to the changing room. I myself remember leading in such a basic selection of moves that SI later bailed me out by standing in the back and giving me hints on something else to do beside yet again another High Rising Block/Thrust Punch combination. For the AI, this is his practice time to become comfortable leading the people of the Temple.

2. The students need to acclimate to a new face teaching them. Private instruction can be a more personal venue than a group session (i.e. Skill Class, Kung Fu Club or Sparring Club), thus it's necessary for an AI to develop some of their credibility alongside teaching new students, and at times prior to teaching more advanced students. The AI is being taught directly from the SI throughout the workday and even at times apart from work hours altogether. Thus their skills are often likely beyond that of the more advanced students simply because of the constant exposure they had to higher knowledge. However, the advanced students still, as a courtesy, because of their faithfulness, deserve the AI "prove" themselves before deigning to instruct those that have often been in the Temple longer, though have not sought instructor rank. There simply is legitimacy to letting the student body get used to the new guy. In this symbiotic relationship wherein training occurs, the SI does well to think of the people of the Temple as another means of molding AI's into good teachers.

3. The "technique portion" of Skill Class is made more significant. There's little doubt that when you change instructors midstream in Skill Class, different weight is given to what the latter teacher brings. The AI played the role of the "Tasmanian Devil," bouncing off the walls and leading the workout with such rabid intensity and frenzied energy, that his is clearly not the persona of the poised and circumspect teacher emerging from the office to impart wisdom. His role was simply to hone the body and mind to adapt to the chaotic rigors of hellacious combat. Concluding his portion with a climaxing "sound focus," the AI lead the class into stretching that calmed their breathing and quieted the mind so that the SI delivers higher techniques and pearls of wisdom to those truly prepared to receive it. Speaking with a softer tone, with measured words and a calm demeanor, the SI demonstrates the technique (or series of them), to the class attendants paired up with their partners. His teaching is given considerably greater respect, and the technique is considered "homework" for the students who want to lace their skill sets with this new "hidden treasure."

As a practice, the system of delegating the "workout portion" of Skill Class to the AI is effective and has stood the test of time across many different martial arts traditions, settings and styles. What many might not realize, without this background, is how evident this system is in the Church as well. Unlike Skill Class, the liturgical Holy Communion service is divided into three groups: the ante-communion, the communion and the post-communion. However, in practice they truly do separate into two major groups, for the communion and post-communion are both executed by the "SI" in the service, be it the resident Rector or Bishop present for a special occasion. At the end of the ante-communion portion, the sermon can possibly be delegated to an "AI" specifically authorized to do so as a Deacon, but all that follows concerning consecrating elements for communion cannot be delegated. Only the Priest ("SI") can perform these tasks because of the unique qualifications placed upon them in the Church to do so.

This morning, as the "AI" for Saint Matthias Anglican Church (Deacons are assigned by the Bishop to assist in whatever capacity the Church requires within the scope of their qualifications), I was metaphysically transported back to my first Skill Class as a young AI for Temple Kung Fu Studios. All the of the same admonitions from my SI at the time were repeated today ("Speak up," or "enunciate," or "project your voice so that people can follow along well"). I was tasked with leading the ante-communion portion, climaxing in leading the congregation in reciting the Nicene Creed. We then changed "instructors" with the Rector preaching the sermon and leading the remainder of the service.

The usual and predictable hiccups occurred that are part and parcel with weathering my first "workout" in the liturgy. Indeed I'll remember to pray more loudly when facing the front in the future; for if the people cannot understand what you're praying, how can they give the "Amen" (cf. 1 cor 14:16)? Nevertheless, the entire service was like leading my first "workout portion" of Skill Class all over again. Improvements will naturally occur since no one ever undergoes their "first time" more than once. Being the Deacon for Saint Matthias Anglican Church is comfortingly reminiscent of being a young assisting instructor for Temple Kung Fu, yet I expect it to be far more rewarding; For “physical exercise has some value, but godliness is valuable in every way. It holds promise for the present life and for the life to come” (1 Tim 4:8).

Their First Mission

On Wednesday it was necessary to send my two sons on their first traveling adventure on their own. Of course, I had no doubts that it would go smoothly. I had the standard confidence that fathers are suppose to have that their sons have been listening well throughout all the previous training on how to act like men in his absence. Previous summers had found all three of my children flying off to the grandparents' house for an extended stay. Early on, they all needed an escort with the airline to ensure that they successfully made the necessary plane changes at layover cities. As the trio grew into seasoned travel veterans, and my daughter was old enough to be the watchful "Wendy" from "Peter Pan," no escort from the airline was requested. So off, onto the airplane my wife and I would sent them each summer, assured of the kids' safe passage to grandma and grandpa's house.

This year differed, however, in that my daughter was now too old to take a full month away from the responsibilities she's seeking to take on here at home. Thus the boys now needed to fly away on their own. The initial exchange that took place with my oldest son needs to be discussed briefly. Upon learning of this situation, his tone took a fearful turn as he mused, "Oh. I don't know about that." Among a father's many duties is to seize opportune moments for his children to mature. At critical times in their life, the right combination of circumstances can emerge that will place them at a crossroads of sorts. In that instant, they can either (1) choose the path requiring courage, that challenges them to take on new responsibilities, exercise new powers and brave the possibility of failure, or (2) shrink back into familiar patterns made comfortable in childhood. To my son's seemingly timid response laced with uncertainty, I countered, "You 'don't know about that?' Well... I DO.. You ARE going on this trip and you WILL be fine. You WILL accept this challenge, and you ARE flying to Grandma and Papa's house on your own. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." He knew no other response would do.

As we drove to the airport on Wednesday, I took that time on the road to brief them thoroughly on what to expect. I would be with them at Houston Hobby Airport, but not as they changed planes in Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). Yes, that's right. Their first time ever flying alone included changing planes at LAX. I was fine with this because I was aware they were receiving good training. Navigating the highway, I emphasized the need to talk to people, to ask questions, to identify those in a Southwest Airlines uniform as people eager to assist them. I attached it to our family identity with "We're Otts. That means we ask more questions, get more cooperation, speak to more people, coordinate our help and get more done than most people. Some might not ask for help," I warned them," because their pride convinces them it'd be better to do it alone...not so with us. We're Otts," I continued, "we get it done because we ask for help. Understand?"

"Yes sir," they both agreed in unison.

I made sure this principle of asking and getting help played out before their eyes multiple times at the airport. When we got their, I was shocked to discover that every parking garage was "FULL." In all my years of flying, I have never seen an occasion when all garages were full at an airport. It might be a more frequent occurrence than I'm aware of, but this was the first time I had seen it. After driving two loops around the terminal entrance, I stopped and asked a parking lot attendant where parking could be found. He instructed that lots were available out on Airport Rd. that offered shuttle service to the main terminal. Therefore, that is exactly what we did, and the boys thought the shuttle was a neat addition to their experience.

Next we entered the main terminal and approached the ticket counter. I made sure the boys were watching as I walked up to the Southwest Airlines employee and openly declared, "Hello. These guys are 12 and 14, and it's their first time flying alone." As expected, the gentlemen beamed, looked at my sons and responded, "Outstanding... we'll make sure everything goes perfect." He checked their suitcase, and issued the boarding passes (plus my pass to escort them through security). After successfully navigating the security gate (a tense matter considering the TSA horror stories that abound), we put our shoes and belts back on.

Standing in the center of the main concourse, I began to test them: "Where's your gate information display? Find your flight number. Where's you gate? Is it leaving on time? Do you see the current time there?" Standing there, after they were able to answer all my questions, I was satisfied they could find their bearings in an airport. Still having plenty of time before their departure time, we elected to have lunch. Following that, we walked to their gate. Again, I made sure they were with me, watching me, as I walked up to the gate counter and addressed the attendant: "Hello. These guys are 12 and 14, and it's their first time to fly alone. They'll be changing planes in LAX."

"That's wonderful," she said, winking at the oldest, "these two young men look perfectly capable to me of flying on their own. But if you'd like some directions about the next airport, step up close, honey."

"Man," I thought, "she's good."

She instructed my oldest about the airport they're changing planes at, what gate they'd arrive at, and where the next gate nearby would be. Making sure he understood, she smiled and offered to have them move up in line so as to ensure they'd sit together (Southwest does not have assigned seating). "Wow!" I thought, "this was a good lesson to them in asking for help."

Indeed it was, the boys commented to me as we were waiting for their flight to board on all the cooperation we had received simply because I spoke up. The insights gained through what they witnessed had made an impression, and I could not be more pleased. As a result, I was more confident than ever they would do well on their first "mission" on their own. Waiting by the gate with them, they seemed suddenly taller than they were mere hours before. A little step toward manhood was taken in those brief minutes from the house to the plane. As I watched them saunter down the ramp, the 12 year old looked back at me, but the 14 did not (just as it should be). The elder son's eye were fixed on the adventure ahead, the open door to flight #618 welcoming them into their next phase of life. I was proud of them right then. As a father, I felt the quiet satisfaction of completing a vital stage of their training. These young apprentices stepped out into a new world, and I walked back to the car a little taller as well.

Spontaneous Sacred Space

Much of my praxi fide regarding interacting with the trappings and surroundings of worship gravitates around "elements of the sacred" (which I describe in "That's Sacred to Me"). Of those elements, "sacred space" is a powerful component. I'm deeply moved by space that has been designated, set aside, prepared and constructed with architecture, decoration and layout for the service and worship of God. The sanctuaries of churches will often reflect their character, history and culture. The wood beams, the stained glass, the steps, stage and shape all reveal something of what the congregation and leadership sought to convey simply by having you walk in and have the senses quickened by the environment. The fact the many cathedrals are built in the shape and floor-plan of a Cross is not lost on me; nor does it escape my attention how steps to the altar simulate ascending the mountain to meet God at the peak. "Sacred space" is an element of the worship that reminds me of God's habit throughout Holy Scripture of "localizing his presence." In a stunning condescension to our spatial finitude, the God that is everywhere elected to make himself detectable somewhere. If he remains everywhere then he's as good as nowhere to those who cannot, due to mortal limitations, be everywhere with him. Thus, the omnipresent God "localizes" his presence somewhere as a benefit to those who need him nearby. What makes some space "sacred" where other space is "common?" God is present there, for the benefit of finite creatures, in a way that he is not present elsewhere. Thus I do not begrudge Daniel praying westward toward Jerusalem (Dan 6:10), since the people of God clearly felt his presence in a way there that they did not feel while in captivity. A church sanctuary can have this effect, being reminiscent of ancient worship in the Temple, when God's presence was so localized as to be visible. These things are on my mind when at church.

For this reason, I was particularly excited to have my ordination to the Diaconate performed in the sanctuary of Church of the Holy Trinity. It's dark wood and subtle windows; it's architecture and pews; it's layout as an intimate and rustic space with heritage and character; along with my own history there over the past two years of becoming "regularized" as an Anglican Christian, reading the selected lessons from the Scriptures during the Holy Communion service, processing as the Crucifer, assisting in preparing the table for Communion or serving as Chalice-bearer. That space is not only "sacred" for use in Christian worship, it has become "sacred to me." To those who might think this an unhealthy attachment, ask any martial artist and they will tell you how the "training area" holds a special place in their heart. I was thoroughly and understandably thrilled to learn that the service would take place at Holy Trinity, and particularly in that place where I had undergone so much "training" to serve The Church in this capacity.

Imagine my disappointment, then, to learn just two days before that the air conditioning was not working for the sanctuary and could not be serviced in time for Sunday morning. I was informed that the entire Holy Communion service, with my ordination included, would need to be moved to the parish hall - where meals, games, parties and all sorts of other activities in the life of a church are conducted. Don't get me wrong. It's still the part of the church's building, so it "borrows" a sacred aspect from the sanctuary simply by virtue of facilitating other necessary functions of the church's culture and mission (the kitchen is there for crying out loud!). Nevertheless, comparatively speaking, the parish hall would seem a rather "common space" to hold my ordination service in light of those thoughts regarding "sacred space" that I carry with me in worship and that I also teach to others. Try as I might to be a "big boy" about the news, I suspect some were likely aware of my downcast tone when I responded to the news with, *sigh* "that's okay. We can't have people melting in the sanctuary. It's July in Houston, after all."

The sense of loss in my heart, and possibly even detectable in my voice, revealed an epic lesson I had yet to learn - or perhaps remember that I already knew: that space is not made "sacred" by human hands, but instead by God's presence. The reason THIS space is more sacred than THAT space is because the Lord is there. Ask any Israelite what makes "that tent" more special than "this tent" and he'll tell you, "Hmm...it might have something to do with the PILLAR OF FIRE (that is God's own presence) shooting up out of the top of it." Among the better examples of this are found in Genesis 28, where Jacob awakens from his vision of the Lord and realizes the Lord is "there" in a manner not experienced elsewhere, renaming it from Luz to Bethel ("the house of God").

Yet even this is eclipsed by the example in Exodus 3 wherein Moses is instructed to remove his sandals because he's standing on "holy ground" near a desert sage bush. We are not to take from this a general reverence for near East desert soil or sage brush. On the contrary, "this ground" here is pretty much the same as "that ground" over there. This bush here is just like that bush over there. Thus, for the Lord to declare THAT ground to be "holy ground" was undoubtedly tied to his presence in the bush before Moses. It's not the bush that's necessarily special because, as Tony Evans as aptly stated, "When God's the fire, any 'ole bush will do." God's presence upsets our fixed notions of "common" and "sacred" because he can, for reasons which seem good to him, chose to inhabit seemingly "common space" and by this rendering it not so "common" anymore. This sense of "spontaneous sacred space" is essential to Christian doctrine, for it reflects God's prerogative to inhabit what and who he wants for his own reasons - not needing to consult with anyone for approval or input. His use of the bush before Moses was the first lesson Moses needed to learn from the Lord...that being: "I use what I want. I inhabit what I want. I empower who I want to do what I want. I, even I, and I alone, make the 'common' into the 'sacred' with my own arbitrary will and incomprehensible presence." This makes Moses' objection all the more exacerbating. God did not choose him because he was special. He was being made special by God's choosing of him. God did not inhabit that bush with his fire because it was sacred. His presence as fire in that bush MADE it sacred. Such could be said of the Apostles as well. A simple character study for each would reveal surprising inadequacies for becoming habitations of the Holy Spirit who would come upon them with power, transforming them into Christ's own witnesses to the far ends of the Earth. These "common" men were made not so "common" after all simply by God choosing who he wants, indwelling who he wants, and consulting none before doing so.

Today, the "sacred space" at Church of the Holy Trinity was to be found in a place normally designated "the parish hall." Our own culture understands this. "Air Force One" is not a specifically striped and equipped Boeing 747. While it may be the normal mode of air travel for the President of the United States, it receives that designation only by carrying the President. Should another aircraft carry the President? THAT plane will be "Air Force One" for that time. So also was that place normally designated the "parish hall" today instead transformed into the "sanctuary." For indeed, where God chooses to localize his presence, that place is now sacred for such time as his people can enjoy his presence there. Without even immediately realizing it, my thoughts regarding "sacred space" were actually reinforced and honed by this event. My ordination DID take place in the sanctuary, for worship of the only God who IS carried on with glorious aplomb. Far from anything missing, unexpected benefits and additions arose that might not have otherwise. Just as one example will suffice: the image to the right [click to expand] shows the moment in which the Bishop placed his hands on me to deliver that particularly connection in the ordination service wherein the responsibilities and weighty charge for a Deacon is placed upon a man, and empowered by God for executing that office in The Church. Another Deacon ("Deacon Dave"), took the picture from his vantage point seated with this music team. The unintended consequence of this angle was that, as the Bishop would later point out to me, the glow of the window's light behind us would give the appearance of "the fire of God descending your head as I laid hands on you." *Gulp* This sobering thought might have been been pictured in some other way had the a/c been working, allowing the service to been held in the normal sanctuary, but not...like...this. This picture was uniquely made possible because "the sanctuary" (or "sacred space") moved about 40 yards to the east this morning.

In addition, "elements of the sacred" present in the service rendered it so monumentally special as to leave all other concerns about architecture virtually irrelevant. Even the music selected was alarmingly appropriate, and it was everything in my power to maintain discipline and not leap for joy, losing all composure in the midst of this reverential event. My two sons were able to serve as Curcifer and Gospeler, completing the picture of our household faith and service to the Church as we processed down the center aisle for reading the Gospel lesson. My good friend, Fr. Lawrence, presented me as a candidate to the Bishop, and I indeed felt very "Viking" as it was now my privilege to lead the congregation in the recitation of the Nicene Creed. ALL of the elements of the sacred were present (Sacred times: it was during the Sunday morning Holy Communion service. Sacred rites: the ordination service was meaningful, ancient and weighty. Sacred objects: carrying the Cross, the Gospel, etc.. and having a Deacon stole place over my shoulder. Sacred Offices: the Bishop was present to conduct the ordination, in involved Presbyters and the induction of a new Deacon. and yes... Sacred space: we held the service in "the sanctuary").

I learned this morning, or at least needed to be made to remember, that God may, at any time, create "spontaneous sacred space" with the help of any human hands or the planning of prepared architecture. His presence alone is what is required to make a space "sacred," and in this we had a generous portion of his presence today. My ordination as a new Deacon in the Reformed Episcopal Church did indeed take place in the "sanctuary," and I was short-sighted in thinking it might be otherwise. Thanks be to God that he localizes his presence to make the space around him "sacred," wherever that might be.

On the Mixture of Kung Fu and Church service

"Better to sweep the floors of the Temple than to seek one's fame and gain outside of it."

This was a common saying in the martial arts system I trained under. It's possible we romanticized the life the old Shaolin monk in the 2nd Fukien Temple, and perhaps even took at face value more than we should stories of the lifestyle of Shaolin Priests sent out into the countryside; but I figure that the old legends must have an antecedent of truth to them. These stories and legends helped us to maintain the right attitude on the Temple, and to think about our training and our responsibilities with the right frame of mind. The legends and legacies, many of which have been since supported in both popular magazines and reputable journals about martial arts, helped us think about service to our students and community, about humility in the face of authority, the passion with which we should pursue our students' growth and the reverence one should show to the history and contribution of those who have come before you.

In the Temple we started with a little "bow in" procedure that acknowledged both the past masters that had developed the Art and kept is alive throughout the ages, and also acknowledged Grand Master Simon for bringing it to us today. It was not necessarily declaring our Grand Master as superior to all other teachers in the world, but a martial artist is nothing without respect for his teacher. That respect remains with them throughout their training in the temple, and became part of their strength when they left the temple to go out and take justice and their teaching out into the world. As a result, the training lifestyle of the Shaolin priest maintains his ability to serve those around him, and keeps his skills honed for instruction as well. The priest has entered a life of service, continually training so that service does not dwindle from him.

The parallels to service in the Church are astounding. So much so that I have found that most of my old principles and ideals for serving and training in the Temple fit seamlessly with serving in the Church. When I don the vestments for a Sunday morning, it might as well be the flowing uniforms we trained in. When in the sanctuary, I have every instinct to bow when I enter or exit just like in the Temple. The Cross I carry seems well weighted like a kwan dao. Orthodoxy feels like loyalty to the "past masters." Apostolic succession of the Bishop seems reminiscent of the importance we gave to tracing the line of one's master, though a succession of masters, back to the early Temple, as a manner of claiming fidelity to the Art and the master's that have come before. I was once told that if I looked at the Church through the same lens that I looked at the Art, I'd be in a liturgical context - most likely Anglican. Well, indeed that is exactly where I am.

I considered all of this as I trained my old forms today in the backyard. In light of the clear comparisons that can be drawn, I could not help but think of my kung fu as a exercise of in service of the Church now. Each movement, every leap and strike seemed like practice for skills that Church puts to use for servicing the Lord and the community. Blurring the line between Art and Church even further, "kung fu" is often a euphemism for "excellent work." There's a "kung fu" of poetry, of architecture, of writing, of reviewing accounting statements or working on cars. Yes, there can be also a "kung fu" of liturgy and service in the Church. Thus, kung fu in my back yard now feels like a living analogy of my "kung fu" of church service. If I ever have the opportunity to teach kung fu in the church again, the combination will feel so very complete. The mixture of kung fu and church service is a joy, especially when I feel like one flows into the other without any effort at all.

The Things that Attach and Corrupt

Sin is alive...
It has a will.
It eats.
It hates.
It spares no innocence; gives no quarter; honors no boundaries.
It remains ever hungry, and is never satisfied.
It has one instinct, and one instinct alone:

To attach itself to a host, and impregnate him with a creature that will feed on him... destroy him... and then attack everyone around him.

Sin has a metaphysical element, traveling across creation... across time... and across dimensions. It emits out like a wave, and passes through substance, soil and soul.
It's more destructive than a tsunami.
It permeates more than radiation.
It consumes more than Great White shark.
It's more venomous than a Cobra.
...more encroaching than darkness.
...more communicable than the flu.
...more blinding than cataracts.
...more intoxicating than Everclear.
...more irritating than a rash.
...more scalding than boiling water.
and more tactical than a chess master.

It's faster than a viper strike.
...colder than wind chill.
...sharper than a straight razor;
and meaner than a bully.

With sinister cunning, this creature eludes detection until it is close enough to pounce. All of its sensors reach out with mystical searching, seeking to find its prey and perceive its weakness. It crouches at the door (Gen 4:7) of the dark room. Lying in wait, it's patient to await just the right moment to launch through the air and land on the unsuspecting. As the legs extend out to secure a grip, its tail wraps around the horrified victim. If the victim cannot resist well at this point, the creature attaches firmly to the face so as to implant its destructive seed down their gullet. If they can resist, the fight is violent and erratic. So determined is the muscular, spider-like alien to affix itself securely to the new host, that removing it takes the timely and persistent help from friends that care deeply enough to get their hands on the thing and pull with all their might. In fact, unless the quick assistance of beloved associates intervenes, the struggle may be short lived. This creature is strong, agile and wiggly.

Sin, a living thing, does not rest until it attaches itself to the child of God, and lays in them the "seed" of a creature than can destroy them from within and will terrorize those around them. If their family, their friends and their church doesn't step in with loving vigilance, Sin is often too strong for them to fight alone. This is why secrecy is such a friend to Sin, and confession is so harmful to it. Through transparency and confession (James 5:16) the community becomes aware that quick help is vital. In addition, Sin's ability to affix itself to the soul is weakened by confession as well. It's a great mystery, but the very things one would want to keep to themselves out of shame must be shared with others to overcome.

How unfortunate that the historic practice of confession fell out of favor with Protestant traditions. Psychologists and counselors has their use, to be sure, but they MUST be viewed as secondary to the timeless necessity for an officer of the Church declaring, after hearing your confession, "God offers forgiveness to the penitent. Go in peace." This "creature" is determined, and the Church must be more so, if indeed it loves the sinner seeking release from it.

Sin is alive. It's seeks to dominate, impregnate, destroy and multiply. The help of those quick to aid is vital. Though God has granted the Believer great abilities, seemingly absent from those is the strength to fight away the "creature" in isolation.

Wisdom plays "Hard to Get"

The wisdom literature of the Bible pictures "Wisdom" as being like a virtuous, yet attractive woman that any red-blooded male should pursue with reckless abandon. She simultaneously both calls out in the street so as to be found and remains hard to find among a thousand. All at once she's the picture of every desire and yet stands in stark contrast to the "easy" slut. She speaks truth that convicts the conscience, yet clearly differs from the contentious nag. She's feminine, but not sultry; romantic, but not trashy; dignified, but not snobby; knowledgable, but not a "know-it-all;" sophisticated, but not "stuck up;" relatable, but not simple; devout, but not judgmental.

Wisdom is the ideal "woman" to pursue above all others.

Yet she is a mysterious and demanding maiden/matriarch. When asked for a date, she may turn down the first, second or even third attempts, yet seems eager to reward the determined "suitor." Casual "come-ons" will be turned down flat, but even the slightest interest shown in sincerity finds an enthusiastic dinner date. Wisdom is tough to figure out. She doesn't conform to most formulas men try to construct. The buttons we push that seemingly work for "wooing" her today may be met with a cold shoulder tomorrow. She's a tough nut to crack.

For this reason, many in our society often abandon the pursuit. Wisdom may stand on the street corner and rightly declare herself the only woman worth your time, but most still choose to wander away dejected because they couldn't figure her out. Saddened that they give up so easily, she entreats, "I'm not difficult... just more complex than the 'Barbie Dolls' you've been dating up to now." Nevertheless, for many, courting a woman of this quality, this renown, this beautiful, this articulate, this industrious, this virtuous and this devout is just too hard for them. They settle for something less, convincing themselves over time that they're happy with what they got.

All around me I see evidence that Wisdom has been bypassed. In political circles, the insights of the country's Founders is ignored in favor of present popular feelings. In relational circles, timeless principles of marriage are ignored in favor of fleeting individual desires. In religious circles, sound principles regarding life's diverse nuances are eclipsed by a simplistic list of arbitrary rules. Those who cannot tell the difference between the negative of 'situational ethics' and the positive of 'firm ethics applied according to the situation' reveal that "Wisdom" was just too intimidating to ask to the prom.

In our own home, people ask what 'method' we have employed in rearing our children. At this point in their life, our children's behavior is pleasing enough that this question arises frequently (Yes, we know this could change anytime; but up to now, they're pretty descent people). It's an awkward question to answer though, because we have never employed a 'system.' Classes for "Love and Logic," "Basic Youth Conflicts" or "Growing Kid's God's Way" never had any appeal to us. Instead, upon learning our first child was fast approaching, we prayed for wisdom; that 'she' would help us observe our children closely, interpret their needs and apply ourselves accordingly; that 'she' would grant us insight regarding those moments with our kids that the other 'systems' will never address or even think to teach about; that 'she' would remain in our home and perform her work shaping my wife and I as she supervised our kids' development. We courted "Wisdom" instead of dating lesser "tarts" of rules, lists and behavioral 'laws' not explicitly given by Divine revelation.

For Wisdom never conflicts with God's law given in Holy Scripture since she is sent from God to give life and rescue from folly. Wisdom knows God's Word on a matter, yet assists in the moment when the application of that Word is not otherwise obvious. Wisdom stands beside the one of innocent ears, bristling at the profanity emitting from the conversation companion and whispers in the ear, "Listen to what they're saying - not just how they're saying it." Wisdom leans in and assures, "There's much to enjoy that is not sin. Consider enjoying more the people you know than the rules you invent." Wisdom is attractive and beautiful, sending tingles down the spine as she utters softly in the ear the secrets of sound judgment. Her words hone one's skills and make the hands bear good fruit. Her influence brings prosperity instead of destruction, dignity instead of debasement, honor instead of shame, life instead of death.

Though it may seem like Wisdom plays "hard to get," she is nonetheless the only 'woman' fully worthy of a man's passion (she is, by far, the finest 'matchmaker' for young people as well as a wife's best friend). Wisdom is clothed in God's glory, perfumed by God's grace, groomed by God's perfection, speaking insights from God's Word. She is none other than the Spirit of God remaining the close companion every young person should be looking as their "first love."

What's the "Calling" in life?

One of the issues that contributes a great deal to "teen angst" is the concern over "What do you want to be/do when you grow up?" The process of selecting a profession that will be both personally fulfilling and financially sustaining is a daunting task that few high-schoolers are up to. It is, therefore, of little help that so many influential voices surround them regarding what they ought to do with their life. The malaise of messages they imbibe while braving the gauntlet often labeled "finding yourself" are by no means harmonious. Familial opinions may clash with the youth's own internal proddings, or they may echo them. In any case, the young person can by no means ignore the thoughts of their surrounding peers or parents when considering the career path.

Hopefully, all of the hard work of personal discovery pays off as choices are made regarding vocation paths and education strategies. Nevertheless, when engaged in that path, the individual must perceive that it is a course they have chosen. However, the truly autonomous choice is somewhat of a misnomer. Myriad factors come to bear in the process of decision making, and ambient conditions of peer pressure and familial approval cannot be fully discounted. On the contrary, so varied are the influential components on one's choosing of a life course that it remains highly problematic to identify them all. As a result, many do not even attempt to do so. Instead, the kaleidoscope of shades that color their decision are clumped together and summarized with a nebulous label: "calling."

This term ("calling") has come into such popular use that the fact that no one truly knows what they mean when they use it is, by no means, a deterrent from using it with dizzying frequency. It's uses range from the relatively benign compliment "You missed your calling" (given when one supposedly observes exceptional skill demonstrated in another), to the more sinister source of teen-angst "You must discover your calling" (saddling the youngster with the heavy misconception that there might be one thing they can do in life). In any event, "calling" is meant to convey the supposed marrying of aptitude and appetite as regarding one's vocation. It can be used in a comparatively harmless manner, suggesting that one's "calling" should reflect both high aptitude AND high appetite activity, but in religious circles it can take on a very different connotation.

The propensity of the religious sub-culture to "punt" to the work of God as a sort of universal "fudge factor" cannot be overstated. Anything for which I'm unwilling to take the time to explain, I can simply invoke how "God works in mysterious ways" to end the conversation. This instinct is not entire misplaced, for the life of faith acknowledges how frequently God works through seemingly natural processes (also labeled "Providence" in some literature). Nevertheless, this same instinct can be abused to infuse certain inexplicable choices with Divine authority. In few cases is this more evident than with the manner that minsters describe themselves as "called of God." Instead of simply acknowledging the choices they made, and that their aptitude and appetite converged in a ministerial career, the choice to pursue a career in ministry is suggested to have been a response to a "Divine call."

This language can have the positive effect of helping the minister weather tough moments in the career, where setbacks and disappointments can test resolve. However, at the other end of the spectrum, it can have the destructive effect of keeping someone locked into that arena that should not be there. It is one thing for a man to endure hardships in a vocation because he feels "called" to it. It is another matter altogether for a man to remain in a vocation he not well suited for because of the guilt over potentially ignoring his "calling." Thus the whole language of "calling" seems hardly worth it's destructive potential. Surely God is not offended if a man who he "calls" admits that he really wanted to become a minister. But what untold pain ensues when a man that should not be in ministry stays at it because he perceives himself "called by God?"

This misplaced and pious language borrows its terms from Biblical terminology used less than a dozen times in Pauline literature (Greek-kaleo meaning "to urgently invite someone to accept responsibilities for a particular task, implying a new relationship to the one who does the calling — ‘to call, to call to a task.’"). Most often the phrasing of "calling" or "called" referenced God's drawing of someone to salvation through faith in Christ - having little to do with vocation choices or service in the Church. Nevertheless, because the term is found in the Bible, this gives license to use it, in popular religion, to blame my career choices on God more than on my own desires or the influence felt from friends and family.

For years I had labored under the assumption of having been "called" to the ministry. Many education and ecclesiastical choices were made in light of this assumption. However, now, after a considerable time of reflection, it is more plainly evident that the various ambient influences that came to bear should have been better identified. Ministerial choices were made with considerable attention to how family and friends found it laudable and praiseworthy. In an evangelical sub-culture, it is considered that if someone is truly spiritual, they will seek to "devote their life to the service of Christ" (this is code language for pursuing a religious career). As much as I revered my father, there was no one he revered so much as the local pastor. If a young man wanted to pursue a career that pleased that father, the choice was obvious. In addition, having various friends in the evangelical sub-culture who also thought a ministry career to be more respectable than any other pursuit, peer approval also played a role.

Can it be forcefully asserted that God played no role in this? By no means. To the extent that Providence can be credited for life lessons, God is appropriately thanked for life events that have proven beneficial. Was ministerial training and service totally contrary to my desires? Not at all. Indeed for one who enjoys teaching and training others, such aptitudes can find fulfilling expression in many careers (ministry included). But was I "called of God" to ministry? This language seems so meaningless now. I was once quite convinced I was "called," but had also failed to account for the various factors that had influenced my choices. So now, it seems far more responsible to merely assert that one is "called" to be conformed to the image of Christ - and some may choose careers of training other people in that process (which I did for a time).

But that's not good enough for some. It was recently posed to me that if I once was "called," to rebel against that "calling" now is sin. THAT'S SICK! The man that suggested that to me is one who I have some respect for, so I didn't exclaim to him what was blaring in my head at the time ("You pulled that out of thin air!" - censored, of course). What great pressures are heaped upon some for suggesting that their career choice is no less vital to the Church than when Jesus "called" his disciples to follow him. No, it is far more helpful to simply acknowledge one's choices, along with the various influences impacting that decision (Yes, religious zeal is a legitimate influential factor; so long as it is acknowledged as part of one's own choice), rather than to "punt" to the ambiguous language of "calling" that, while shielding one from others questioning the choice, serves to misplace responsibility for the choice. God didn't make you do this. You wanted to. Now admit the various reasons why doing it brought you fulfillment.

For me, Christian ministry brought me fulfillment because I enjoy watching people develop. It gives me pleasure to see people learn, and through that learning be better equipped to advance in their pursuits. In the Christian life, "advancement" means to be more conformed to the image of Christ. But for the same reasons I found fulfillment in ministry, I can easily find it elsewhere in academia as well. It's better to simply admit this than to maintain the unhelpful language of "calling." If a minister I respect speaks of being "called" to the ministry though, I won't try to refute him. I'll simply think to myself, "actually, you pretty much chose to do this. You're good at it. There was an opportunity to do it...and we're all the beneficiaries of your choice." May we all take more responsibility for our choices, identifying the various motives we bring to the table in making our choices, so that, while Providence can be credited for some good choices, God won't be blamed for bad ones.