Starting and Finishing

In some ways it is hard to believe this week marks the end of this sabbatical. In other ways it is truly amazing the journey these three months have been. When asked lately how I feel as my sabbatical comes to a close, the real sentiment that continues to surface is one of gratitude. I am grateful for the gift of this time for renewal and re-creation. I am grateful for time with my family and friends. I am grateful for the things I have learned and the places I have been along the way. I am grateful for the abundance, beauty and providence of God's creation.

This week has been one of transition marked mainly by a starter and a finish. Last week I learned that wheat contains natural yeast (as does the grape). When mixed with water, daily feeding and a good dose of patience, flour ferments and creates a starter (levain in French) that can be used to baked wonderful, artisan breads. This last week of my sabbatical I have been nurturing each day a levain I will be able to use to make bread for years to come.

I've also been putting a finish on the refectory-style table I built with my grandfather on my sabbatical. We chose a hand-rubbed tung oil finish which accentuates the natural grains of the wood. This process too requires patience and persistence as each coat of finish needs a full day to cure before the next coat can be applied.

A starter and a finish - both appropriate for the end of this time and the beginning of the next. This table will provide a place for family and friends to gather for years to come, a place where memories will be shared and created, a place of sabbath in the home, a place where communion can be known. This living starter was born this week. Each time I feed the levain and use it to make bread for home, friends or communion, a connection will be reestablished with this sabbatical time, with this gift for which I am oh so very grateful.

Last week I read the 23rd Psalm with new eyes and from a new perspective. As the end of my sabbatical nears and as I prepare to return to the church as a pastor, I heard things here I had never quite heard before in the same way:

GOD, my shepherd! I don't need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.

...You revive my drooping head;
my cup brims with blessing.

Your beauty and love chase after me
every day of my life.
I'm back home in the house of GOD
for the rest of my life.

(from The Message by Eugene H. Peterson)

Peace...

Pain

Brett and I laughed at the back of the Sullivan St. Bakery t-shirt yesterday. It reads – Pain Management. Pain is the French word for bread, and we’ve been immersed in the world of French bread making this week. Our teacher and companion along the way has been Alice Downs, and Episcopal priest here in Monmouth County, NJ. Alice also holds a Diplôme du Boulanger from the French Culinary Institute in NYC.

Brett Hendrickson and I met almost 15 years ago serving as young adult mission volunteers in Buenos Aires, Argentina. We became close friends, at times almost like brothers. More recently time, work, family, geography and such have meant we haven’t seen each other in a number of years. A time to reconnect and share in the baking and breaking of bread was a hope of my sabbatical, and these days have been wonderful.

On Tuesday, Alice Downs spoke with us about and we witnessed the work of the yeast in making of bread/pain. The yeast quietly pushes the rise, giving depth, complexity, texture and flavor to the bread. Though it is pushed down several times in the process, it continues to fight upward. However when placed ultimately in the heat of the oven, the yeast must die. You can clearly watch the dough fall – a visual reminder that life is not without pain and death. However what follows is truly new life, as what was once a sticky mess becomes a beautiful loaf. Pain.

I’ve been reading one of the post-resurrection accounts in the Gospel of John. We had to go through the pain of the Passion and the Crucifixion to get to this point. Now Jesus stands alone on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. His disciples don’t recognize him. A miraculous catch occurs, and only then do they see him. He invites them onto the shore. When they got out of the boat, they saw a fire laid, with fish and bread cooking on it…Jesus said, “Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught…Breakfast is ready.” Jesus then took the bread and gave it to them. He did the same with the fish. (Take a look at John 21.)

Peace…

The Heart of the Pine

Heart Pine is a fragrant, solid wood that has been used for centuries in our country for building homes, barns, factories and furniture. It often came from the southeast region of the United States. Its name comes from the fact that this wood comes from the heart of the pine.

Antique Heart Pine has an intense grain and durability seldom seem in fast-growth timbers harvested today. I've spent this past week with my grandfather beginning to build a Table of Welcome for my family's home that hopefully will last for generations. I was able to find some antique Heart Pine from recycled timbers that we are using to build a refectory style table, like those used in monasteries for centuries upon centuries.

The olfactory sense has the ability to transport and reconnect us with a world gone by. As my sabbatical approached this idea surfaced of actually building a table of welcome with my grandfather in his wood shop. As we worked yesterday at the band saw I knew this was our time to be spent together.

The smell of the blade cutting through the wood carried me to his workshop of my childhood. I was carried there right back some thirty years ago...that familiar smell of sawdust intermingled with pipe smoke as he'd make yet another rubber band paddle boat for us to play with on the lake. I remembered Thanksgivings and the flagstones on their patio, football games with my uncles in their front yard and the embrace of my grandmother we lost to an automobile accident when I was an early teen.

I love my grandfather, and I'm thankful for this time to spend with him. This table we are building together will carry memory forward to generations yet to come. My hope is that it will be a place of welcome for many - where meals are shared, tales are told and communion will be known.

Peace be with you...