Death by Assumption

I realized this week I mistakenly live by a set of concrete hard assumptions.

Just yesterday I had three different people tell me I had better enjoy summer, as summer is now. I've always assumed summer was June through August for school kids, or after July 5 through September (or some years not at any time) for the Pacific Northwest. But here in Southeast Alaska, summer happens in the spring, April and May. Not in the summer. (As a side note Australia's summer actually happens in the winter, but that's an entirely different matter.)

I've always assumed high school athletes anywhere initially resist the authority coaches hold over them. That assumption, at least here is wrong. These kids at JDHS do whatever we ask of them, after responding with "Yes, Coach!". Totally fakes me out.

I make assumptions about how my body will feel the day after a strenuous workout. Those assumptions are proving to be outdated...by about three decades or so.

I've had the misguided assumption people who love Jesus but are not currently connected with a church will be interested if not captivated by my starting a church (and my assumption of my own captivating personality) here in Juneau. This assumption has been challenged, (on both counts.) Not everyone is interested.

And my assumptions are challenged when someone I assume not interested shows interest in our church planting efforts. We're currently working to bring those interested people together.

I could die by my own assumptions. Or I could reassess my assumptions and leave a great deal more room for God to fake me out.

Time for Story

I took our dog for a walk yesterday morning. (Short dog with short legs makes for short walks, low to the snow she is.) I've noticed over the weeks a neighbor working with wood in front of his place during the daylight hours (which seem to gain an hour each week these days.) I finally went and made introductions and to see his ongoing project.

Jerry is a Tlingit (pronounced "Klin-git") native Alaskan, Raven clan. The Tlingit's and Haida's are the dominate tribal groups in Southeast Alaska, and make up between 15% and 22% of our population. Jerry is a single parent of a daughter away at college, and quite proud of her. Jerry works nights as a janitor, and by day is a wood carver; better yet - Jerry is an artist.

Jerry is making a canoe paddle. He told me he is still behind his schedule of making a paddle for each of his departed relatives. By his way of thinking relatives should be honored with a paddle, beautifully decorated. I thought to myself I honor my living relatives by picking up the phone...once every so often. Jerry brought out several of his finished paddles for me to admire.

Jerry told me stories. Jerry communicates with story. His native culture prizes story. We talked about our respective cultures, the strengths and weaknesses of each, and how those cultures sometimes collide. I realized I am a product of a fast-moving culture: West Coast car culture, keeping and meeting self-imposed deadlines, with an eye always on the clock. Jerry's culture is not in a rush; they take time to tell and hear story. Listening to story conveys respect. Jerry does not rush to complete his paddle projects. He told me the paddle is not complete until "the story has come out of it."

Jesus told stories. If I am here to communicate the changeless story of the gospel of Jesus to my new culture and context here in Juneau, I may have to slow down long enough to hear story as well.

Frontier Reality

It's not like everyone is necessarily thrilled when I tell them I'm here to plant (start) a church. And I can understand if a church person views me as a potential threat to their own church. Deb and I are here to start a church, not join a church. So when it came to Easter Sunday we didn't have any particular place to go.

When I was out walking the dog on what was the continuation of a string of stellar weather mornings I was experiencing an emotion, but couldn't define or describe it; until later in the day. I didn't feel sad per se; just missing something.

I didn't miss the planning and logistics necessary to pull off an Easter Sunday service. I didn't miss singing "Crown Him with Many Crowns" or "Up From the Grave He Arose" (though I did have those tunes in my head throughout the day.) I didn't miss wondering if new visitors would show up, if we would have enough food, our coffee decent, or if our church would double in size. I didn't even miss my feeble attempt/s to craft a Easter Sunday sermon that included the important stuff and made the important stuff clear.

What I missed...and it took me a while to get this...was gathering with the people of God. I missed the sense of covenant, and community, and shared lives. I missed the people at Soteria Church and other churches we have called family in years past. I realized again that our faith, our relationship with Jesus is intended by design to be experienced in concert with other people, in community, like family.

A reality of the frontier is that there is not necessarily a pile of people waiting for the frontiersman. If the early days of starting a church don't feel like isolation, those days do include a certain sense of free drift autonomy, like doing life apart from relational bearings. And the way God's designed me, all of us for that matter, is not for autonomy or isolation. We're designed to express our relationship with Jesus in the context of shared relationship with each other.

And in that I'm already looking forward to Easter next year.

Hunters - You are not Alone!

Juneau has 100 miles of roads and 250 miles of trails. The main thoroughfare runs bottom to top, east to west for 40 miles or so, and depending on where you may be is known as Egan Drive or Glacier Highway. Locals simply know it as "The Road." If you live north of Auke Bay you live "out the Road."
Along the Road at Mile 3, half a mile from our home is the Mendenhall Wetlands State Game Refuge. With Juneau's 15 foot plus tidal changes the Wetlands is (are?) well-named. Sometimes it's under water; sometime quite dry, as it was when Deb and I decided to check it out this past weekend. I made a point to pick up one of the informational brochures.

The brochure informs its reader that the "Mendenhall Wetlands are a mecca for waterfowl hunters, wildlife viewers and outdoor enthusiasts alike." In other words, people can be enthusiastically outside, watch birds, and then see those same birds fall from the sky like rocks.

This handy publication also reminds hunters that they are not alone. The refuge is "surrounded by residences, businesses and the Juneau Airport." Shooters are encouraged not to shoot toward any of these already inhabited structures. Sounds like a good safety tip.

This is where I know I live in a strange new land. All hunters are told they must obtain a waterfowl hunting permit. Check. "Hunters younger than 15 years of age must first complete a certified hunter safety course...unless they are accompanied by an adult." So if the kid completes the safety course he/she and his/her buddies can don the camo and the face paint, grab the shotgun and shells and (I assume) trusty bird dog, and get to stalking and killing their own game - while being mindful of nearby outdoor enthusiasts, bird watchers, residences, businesses and an international airport with associated flight path. My parents wouldn't have trusted me with a slingshot at age 18, and here we potentially have 13 year old's (or younger) legally empowered to hunt for subsistence or sport.

This is awesome!