YOU’VE COME FAR, PILGRIM

 As an avid outdoors person and lover of wild things and wild places, Jeremiah Johnson has for many years been my favorite movie.  I have often thought of the subtle, almost archetypal spiritual imagery in the movie.  Prominent themes of dangerous journeys, life transitions, moving toward spiritual maturity (“higher ground”), great adventures, the wilderness experience as a symbol of finding one’s way in life, leaving behind painful memories and the value of a wise mentor are all features of the movie that are important to me in life and in the practice of ministry.

The first time we meet the main character, he is arriving at the headwaters of the Missouri River in what is now Montana.  He wears a military hat and is apparently a veteran of the Mexican War.  Having come from somewhere “back east,” he arrives here after having “said goodbye to whatever life was down below.” 

Throughout the movie it becomes evident that Johnson is on a solitary trek into the wilderness in search of a new life.  Of course, the wilderness motif is a powerful image of life transitions and is one which I sometimes use in spiritual direction..  This is an image most people can understand, even if they are not familiar with its frequent use in the Old and New Testaments. I might ask, do you ever feel as though you were in the wilderness right now, between one place and another, becoming prepared for the next stage in your life?

It also becomes evident throughout the movie that Jeremiah (a nice, biblical name) leaves behind some painful memories and experiences, some things that he wished had turned out differently.  Apparently, something has happened in his life that was so painful the he is determined to leave everything behind – everything – and start a new life in a new place far away from all the painful memories.  Often we encounter folks who have felt the need to relocate, find a change of scenery entirely in order to move toward healing from painful memories.  But even with this location change, some of these issues can remain unresolved until one does the inner work required.

The fact we are told he said goodbye to whatever life was “down below” suggests a change in altitude –  his new life is literally in the high country, reminiscent of the way the spiritual life is often thought of in images of ascent to higher altitudes, like Thomas Merton’s Seven Story Mountain, or Hannah Hurnard’s Hind’s Feet on High Places.  The trek of Jeremiah Johnson is more than a new beginning.  It is symbolic of the journey toward spiritual maturity, leaving the old life behind and discovering the new.  His odyssey is a metaphor for the stages of spiritual development. 

At first, Jeremiah is inept in his new surroundings.  An Indian sees him trying to catch a fish and laughs at him.  He has a hard time building a fire, finding food, and coping with his new life in general.  He is a novice.  Harsh winters, empty traps, elusive fish, hostile Native Americans, frustrate his new beginning.  Spiritual maturity comes at a price. 

Before long Johnson is discovered and befriended by “Bear Claws” Chris Lapp. Bear Claws is old, gray, and wise in the way of the woods.  He teaches Johnson the life skills he will need, along with giving him advice on how to deal with the Native Americans in the area.  He becomes the archetypal sage, the mentor.  He is also the archetypal trickster, from whom comes much wisdom!  When Johnson first meets Bear Claws, the old man says, “I know who you are; you’re the same dumb pilgrim I’ve been hearin’ for twenty days and smellin’ for three.”  Henceforth Johnson is referred to as “Pilgrim.”  After Bear Claws has mentored Johnson and taught him some high-country survival skills, Johnson sets off once again on his own.  Bear Claws is not out of the picture though: they will meet again.

Jeremiah’s journey from this point is fraught with danger and difficulty, unexpected twists and turns, sadness and sorrow.  By the time he sees his mentor again, he is battle-scarred and weary.  But he would not turn back, even if he could.  Another mountain man, by the name of Del Gue, suggests he might want to return to a town.  “I’ve been to a town, Del,” he says. You can’t go back.

At some point in our lives we are Johnson the pilgrim, and later we become Bear Claws, the wizened mentor.  As pilgrims we are seeking higher ground, and gradually learning the skills of life in the high country, then we get to companion others who are in the process of negotiating the wilderness and finding their way again.

Near the end of the movie, Johnson reconnects with Bear Claws, who still calls him “Pilgrim.”  “You’ve come far, Pilgrim,” he points out.  “Feels like far,” is the response.  “Were it worth the trouble?”  “Ah?  What trouble?” 

The journey is not often easy, but it is always worth the trouble.

“I hope you will fare well.”

MORE THAN JUST CHICKEN

"We should be about more than just selling chicken. We should be part of our customers' lives and the communities in which we serve."

S. Truett Cathy

1921-2014

When I was in seminary back in the 1980’s I attended chapel service on campus almost every week. The speaker in chapel one day was Mr. Truett Cathy, the founder and owner of Chick fil-A restaurants. Mr. Cathy was a devout Christian man, and his faith informed the way he did business and the way he treated his customers and his employees. Since 1964, the organization has been a leader in innovation in food preparation, restaurant design, human resources, and things like “Upstream Ordering” and “Upcycling.”   

 I was instantly taken with Mr. Cathy’s sense of focus, his business philosophy, his ideas about treatment of fast food staff, and the ways he lived out his faith in his business. From the beginning, for example, Chick fil-A stores were always closed on Sundays, because “Our founder, Truett Cathy, made the decision to close on Sundays in 1946 when he opened his first restaurant in Hapeville, Georgia. Having worked seven days a week in restaurants open 24 hours, Truett saw the importance of closing on Sundays so that he and his employees could set aside one day to rest and worship if they choose - a practice we uphold today.” This was not just a statement of his faith but about his commitment to his employees. This was revolutionary since in the beginning all the Chick fil-A stores were located in shopping malls where the busiest days were on the weekends. His friends said he was crazy and that he would go broke being closed on Sundays.

The shopping mall was the center of urban retail through the 70’s and 80’s, and that was where all the stores were located. But the retail landscape changed; the immediate context changed; the business environment changed; and Chick fil-A was smart enough to change with it (let this be a lesson for the Church). They began to open their first free-standing stores which were still strategically located to serve the shop-and-eat market and other places where quality fast food is in demand. Today you can find Chick fil-A in hospital cafeterias, airports, college campuses, and urban retail centers throughout the USA. As far as I know, no one in corporate headquarters complained that “We’ve never done it that way before.” They never forgot what business they were in or why they existed.

About fifteen years after I met Truett Cathy in seminary, my daughter Liz got her first job working for Chick fil-A in Conway, Arkansas. She would remain with the organization for six years, all the way through high school and college. When she interviewed for the job, she was told that every employee learns the company’s mission: “We are not here to serve chicken, but to serve people.” If you did not understand this, you did not need to work for Chick fil-A. I was glad she got the opportunity to work for a company with this kind of business philosophy.

As long as Truett Cathy was alive, he never allowed Chick fil-A managers and staff to forget why the organization exists and why they do what they do. Once his son Dan took his eye off the ball and regrettably got involved in one of the culture wars of the day, but he learned his lesson and returned to the core mission and purpose of the organization.  The Church can profit by his example.

                                                                        Yours in Christ,

                                                                        Dr. Bill <)))’>

AN AIRBORNE RECOVERY MONDAY

 The Monday after Easter Sunday is referred to by some of us as “Clergy/Staff Recovery Day.” It’s been six and a half weeks since Ash Wednesday which began a long season of spiritual intensity plodding through Lent, rising to a crescendo during Holy Week, and culminating in a rousing climax on Resurrection Day. This Monday is the day for pastors and worship leaders to pause, reflect, and catch their breath. The season of Lent/Easter this year has been for me like no other. Recovery Monday has become a pivotal moment. 

On Ash Wednesday my sermon was, as usual, about letting go. Not just about giving something up, or taking something on, but simply about letting go. But even letting go is only half of the story. What are you letting go of, and what are you laying hold of? Letting go of something always leaves a void unless and until it is replaced by something else. Now on Recovery Monday I thought to myself, now that Lent is over, what is being released, and what is being embraced?

 This year the answer to that question was easy. On Ash Wednesday I was carrying a secret that I could not yet reveal. The day before, I had received a call from the cabinet about accepting another appointment. Neither I nor the congregation I served had asked for a change in appointment, so this unexpected development was something I was just beginning to process as I began to lead the flock into Lent and all the way to Easter.

On Recovery Monday, I was talking on the phone with one of our worship leaders and she remarked that she was happy we had such a meaningful Holy Week since it was my last Holy Week here. “Your last Holy Week here.” Those words caught in my mind. Even through we are itinerant pastors, there is still a grieving process for us to go through as we prepare to leave behind memories and relationships and prepare to make new ones. 

Henri Nouwen loved the circus. At one time he took his father to see a trapeze troupe known as the Flying Rodleighs, and he became deeply enthralled with them. He went to see them several times, and finally he introduced himself to them. They allowed him to attend their practice sessions, invited him to dinner, and he actually became kind of a “groupie” and friend of the Rodleighs. Nouwen describes one of this conversations with them in a talk he once gave on death and dying:  
        

One day, I was sitting with Rodleigh, the leader of the troupe, in his caravan, talking about flying. He said, "As a flyer, I must have complete trust in my catcher. The public might think that I am the great star of the trapeze, but the real star is Joe, my catcher. He has to be there for me with split-second precision and grab me out of the air as I come to him in the long jump."

            "How does it work?" I asked.

"The secret," Rodleigh said, "is that the flyer does nothing and the catcher does everything. When I fly to Joe, I have simply to stretch out my arms and hands and wait for him to catch me and pull me safely over the apron behind the catchbar."

"You do nothing!" I said, surprised.

"Nothing," Rodleigh repeated. "The worst thing the flyer can do is to try to catch the catcher. I am not supposed to catch Joe. It's Joe's task to catch me. If I grabbed Joe's wrists, I might break them, or he might break mine, and that would be the end for both of us. A flyer must fly, and a catcher must catch, and the flyer must trust, with outstretched arms, that his catcher will be there for him."[1]

While Henri Nouwen was using this as a metaphor for letting go of this earthly life and reaching out to be “caught” by God in the life to come, it can also be applied to many of our transitions in life. For those of us who are moving, we are being called to let go from holding onto our status quo, and “trust the catcher” to be there for us in the next place of service! We don’t have to catch the catcher (God) – the Catcher will be there to catch us!

---

[1] From Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring by Henri Nouwen