Spouse getting ready for General Assembly, which is coming up soon. I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for General Assembly because it was at General Assembly 1997 when I first met he-who-would-be-Spouse. (A story for another day, I think.) But, romance is definitely not the first thing you think of concerning General Assembly. This annual meeting of Presbyterians doesn’t have the greatest reputation. Yes, there are long meetings. Yes, there can be too much procedure. But it is one of the marks of our denominational nature, which is kind of compelling. We choose to meet and talk and listen to each other, confident that God is present when we listen. That’s good government.
Now, I’m not always going to use this space for tribal discussions like this. But the practical theology I’m engaged in as a parent today comes from the context of the Presbyterian Church in Canada. Sometimes, that context will be subtle or assumed. Others, like the time before Assembly, it comes to the forefront. Most of the time, families talk about the things around them, but from time to time, we need to talk a little bit about ourselves.
And we Canadian Presbyterians like the Old Testament symbol of the burning bush. It sums up how we see ourselves and our faith. You can see it on church bulletins across the country, in stained glass windows and on websites.
It’s a great image – contrasting colour, vibrant and organic. Everything you could want in a logo. Not that we have an official logo. There is no authorized version, which is one of the things I like about our church. My scribbled burning bush doodle is just as “accurate” as your cleverly cross-stitched version or the designer image projected on the screen at the church down the street. It’s the idea behind the symbol that we like.
We’re not terribly original with this. The symbol links us with our mother church, the Church of Scotland, and also with other protestants worldwide – in Ireland, France and New Zealand. It was the Huguenots’ idea in 1583, and, back then, it made a lot of sense. The burning bush as a symbol for an oppressed people. Burning but not consumed. Hopeful and persistent.
It’s still a great story today, when hope and persistence need to tackle different problems, and one that easily makes its way into every Bible-stories-for-kids-at-bedtime storybook. Moses, the shepherd alone with his sheep, and God miraculous talking (talking!) from a bush, giving him his marching orders.
“Hey Moses!”
And Moses wheels around to see the bush on fire, where upon he kneels, prayerfully. Off come the sandals, and God speaks directly to Moses.
But it wouldn’t quite have been like that. This is a fantastic miracle, when you think about it, because it was one that wasn’t obvious right off the bat. Moses must have been watching the fire closely to notice that there was something different going on, that this fire was leaving the bush intact. Think about sitting around a campfire, watching the flames play on the wood. It takes time to realize that the wood is aflame, but not consumed. You wouldn’t notice that at a glance. You need to be paying attention.
I came across this notion in Lawrence Kushner’s book God was in this place and I did not know it. Kushner writes of the burning bush as a test. “God wanted to find out whether or not Moses could pay attention to something for more than a few minutes. When Moses did, God spoke.”
I like the idea that God wants us to pay attention. I think we often talk about faith as if all of God’s commands and callings in our lives come through loud and clear and that the hard part is following them. I think often the hard part is listening. We tell our kids to pay attention. Listen to what I am saying. Watch what you are doing. Be here with me. I like the idea that God asks the same thing of us.
Paying attention is hard. It’s setting yourself aside, with all your plans and thoughts and feelings, and it’s being present with someone else. We’ve been travelling across the country this spring – family of four in a beat-up station wagon packed to the brim with everything we might need. Spouse does the driving and I am the entertainment unit. Often that means dispensing food to the sprogs in the backseat, one of whom has a bit of a tendency towards carsickness. But it also means providing toys, concocting stories about whatever giant statues we’ve recently seen (I’ve got a doozy about Kenora’s Huskie the Musky and the Grumbly Troll) and finding the yellow crayon. Again. They say that driving across the country with kids is a battle of endurance best fought with McDonalds Play Places and Gravol, but I find the hardest part is dealing with myself. Because I often don’t want to find that crayon – again – or dole out any more raisins and apple juice while twisted around backwards in my seat. I want to pay attention to the coffee in my cup and the colour of the birch trees out my window and my music on the stereo. Martin Luther described humanity’s sinful state as being curved in on itself, rather like a solipsistic snail, I guess. At times, I found that an apt description for this tired parent in the front seat. But it’s my turn to be the parent, and their turn to be the kids. So I need to put myself aside, at least for a bit, and pay attention to them.
This isn’t a matter of the martyr mother, just a putting of things into perspective. Blue – at 18 months – doesn’t understand 60 km to lunch. And Beangirl really does need the yellow crayon. I needed to pay attention to that.
Enter Mrs W., example of attention. While on the road, we spent at night in Thunder Bay, with the mother of an Ottawa friend. We’ve been trying to stay with friends as often as we can on this trip, partly because motels do get old after a few nights, and partly because of the welcome. There is something wonderful about going into a home at the end of a long day of travelling. It is a blessing. Being part of the church – and I don’t just mean our little denomination, but the church far and wide, in her all permutations – means that we can stay with family anywhere we go. And at the home of Mrs. W., we got a full demonstration of welcome and attention. Her home was in the midst of renovations. The new kitchen cabinets had just been installed, the sink was not yet working, and the floor was dusty boards. Mrs. W. had just come in from work herself, and was probably as ready to put her feet up as we were. But all that was put aside, and we were given attention and welcomed as family. Together we set the table, served and blessed the food. And afterwards, we all cleaned up, doing the dishes in a bucket, and telling stories. And Mrs. W. didn’t just listen to us – we heard plenty of stories about our Ottawa friend, growing up, sharing a small bedroom with his two brothers and playing endlessly at Star Wars on the sofa, while his sister looked after the cats. She was present with us in the midst of her own daily life and our travel weariness.
I think that attention is being present with each other. I want to be in a church like this. If the kingdom of God is within – an evocative phrase, that – then we need to look for it within everyone, not just ourselves. We need to pay attention to see where to look.
So, there are the marching orders for us travellers, parents, readers and bloggers and all General Assembly delegates, too. Let’s be present with one another, aware that when we pay attention, God speaks.
