When the brakes squeal

It's just over three weeks before the sabbatical begins. As I've touched the brakes, they have begun to squeal.

Today we did a lot of chores around the house. Not a big deal, of course, except that it's a Saturday. Normally Saturday is the day to fret over the sermon.

Since our pastoral intern is preaching tomorrow, my wife and I made a big breakfast, tidied up a congested bedroom, purged large piles of junk from the basement, sprayed weed-killer on the lawn, and went shopping for a Memorial Day barbeque. I read a couple of chapters in a book, had a significant chat with one of my kids, and stared adoringly into my wife's eyes. Is this what a sabbatical is going to feel like?

Or is it simply a day of down time after a busy, intense week?

Preparing for the quiet has been a most curious experience, and cause for some reflection. The "to do list" is getting shorter, but I'm having nightly dreams about the remaining items on it. I'm spending more time with my family, but snarling at them a bit too much. When I sit in the Adirondack chair behind my house, a number of unfinished pastoral tasks intrude upon my imagination, and guilt creeps in.

It's hard to let go. Earlier this week, my bride asked why a dark cloud of sullenness had taken up residence over my head. My blurted response: "I'm anxious about being gone for two months." Hmm. Like a lot of extraverts, I guess I didn't know what I was thinking until I opened my mouth.

Some wise old pastor told me years ago that if I wanted to be in a vocation where everything got done by 5:00 p.m., the ministry was the wrong line of work. He was right. There's always something left unfinished. I struggle to tidy my office desk before the weekend, so that my Sunday patrons won't think I am more unfinished than I am.

And then there are the persistant brush fires, mostly out of sight, but always smoldering. I recently overheard one of our church members being criticized for doing a good job. By the time I was able to break from my existing conversation to intervene, the Critic had unloaded his rifle on her and smugly walked away. The victim was inconsolable. Oh, did I mention that this conversation happened in the church sanctuary? Not only that; it happened right after a sermon from our pulpit on kindness.

I suppose that's why we proclaim a Christ who saves the world. God knows we need saving. We need One who can finish what we cannot, who can love those who are out of reach, who can purge us from the sin that nips at our heels.

So today was a day of trusting Christ to save the world while I was tending other matters. It felt good to take eight boxes of trash out of my basement.

Ah, the symbolic importance of everyday chores!