<– back to god on the margin
My friends in traditional churches like the new scenery we are all travelling through, but i’ve got a feeling that the road turned a while ago, and the car kept going straight. “What’s that cow doing on the road?” “Why aren’t we moving any more?” It seems as though we’ve broken down in the middle of a paddock somewhere. So a few of us suggest that it might be time to get out and walk.
But the others in the car (and especially the driver) cry “no! no!, stay in the car – if we stay together here we will surely get moving again soon. Anyway, it’s a car trip we’re on, you can’t just go walking out there in the fields. That cow might be dangerous. stay in the car!” We get out anyway, and head off, more or less randomly, hoping to find a track which might lead us back to the road. Because we think it was a road trip we came here for, and it doesn’t much matter which car you’re in. Because we don’t want to still be sitting there when the car has rusted away and it’s just a field of rust and sump oil we’re sitting in.
And the biggest surprise is that the paddocks and hills are alive with walkers, other people who have left their vehicles and taken their chances with the cows. Their stories are all the same, and as the groups merge and diverge, the promise is repeated: to send word as soon as we find the road. We’re walking. It’s not fast, but it’s interesting, and you meet a lot of people you never would have talked to if you stayed in the bus. And if we walk with care, and love, and the grace of god, we will meet again on the road. amen.
Andrew Lorien March 01
–> for more like this, read the one true autobahn
or move on to andrew’s wounded history of plunge