Participant: Field Notes from Here and Now

By Randy Saultz

The author sets off to pay attention to realities seen and unseen and discovers that he is surrounded by gifts. I am an observer, a collector of raw data I sometimes make assumptions that turn out to be incorrect, inferences that are premature. Yet, I have a responsibility to offer interpretation. I am a hermeneut, one who has come across a treasure map and has no other choice but to discover sign and report to others what I find.

Participant will make explorers out of each of us and will prompt us to look differently at the familiar and the unknown. This is a call to be curious about the world and about God with the biblical text as a regular part of the conversation. I make no apology for talking about bears and bugs, about mountains and oceans, about soil and skies, about people and calendar in the same conversation with the biblical text the fact is, I can no longer stare into the sky or dig in the garden or talk to anyone without thinking about the text. And I can no longer read the text without thinking about places and situations and people that I will discover on any given day.

These colorful and lyrical field notes highlight mysteries that become tangled with ordinary experiences and take us into places dangerous and glorious while putting us in the company of wonder and causing us to say Wow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490868776

Randy Saultz

Randy Saultz is a graduate of Ohio Christian University and Ashland Theological Seminary. He has worked as pastor and therapist. Randy enjoys reading, the outdoors, and making observations about how the details of our lives become tangled into a larger story than we first imagined.

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Copyright © 2015 Randy Saultz .

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-6876-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6878-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6877-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015901581

WestBow Press rev. date: 2/4/2015

Contents

An Invitation

Starved Souls in the Wilderness

Packing for a Dangerous Narrative

Searching for Wonder

A Seat Close to the Action

Pulled into the Unpredictable

A Colorful Liturgy

On the Border of Holy

One More Alleluia

for Mom and Dad,

who have always encouraged adventures in both nature and text.

An Invitation

This is quite a ride we are on. We spin on Earth’s axis at more than 830 miles per hour. At the same time, we orbit around the sun at over 66,000 miles per hour. This prompts the question, how do we spend our time during such an adventure? One full rotation gives us a day—one full revolution a year. But we want more than years and days; we want to know that we hang on for something that matters.

We hang on because we want to know what happens next. We want to know where to go from here. People seem to be aware that something lies ahead, but we do not know what to expect. We don’t know whether to be excited or frightened by the prospects. We don’t know where to look. We do not even know what to look for.

It would be easy to settle with the herd, where the loudest voices can convince us they have things figured out and where we can find the road least difficult. Yet I long for an adventure that explores the beauties of creation and the mysteries of the Creator. Fortunately, it is Advent. Advent is a path that leads somewhere. It calls for us to prepare. It creates a sense of expectancy. Like the wise men that followed a star, we still need direction.

Advent reminds us that even when things are bleak (maybe especially when things are bleak), there is reason for hope. Gray skies, lack of life, water like a stone, and even exile may be reality. But something is coming. We do not understand everything. We may not understand much at all. So we try to find meaning in the same ways everyone else does. We live like others, try to look like others, in the hope that others know something. We hope someone else has cracked the code and has found what we are all looking for.

Advent does not crack the code for us. Instead, it extends to us an invitation. It is like Tolkien’s wizard looking for someone to share in an adventure and having difficulty finding a volunteer. We may be inclined to respond like Tolkien’s hobbit and dismiss that invitation: We … have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! We want to know what happens next. Like the hobbit, we are uncomfortable with what we do not know.

Tis the season where nearly everyone acts as if something is coming, but not everyone is certain as to what it might be. Who will notice there is more happening than is evident at first glance? Advent reminds us to be attentive to what is really going on around us. In his book The Nature Principle, Richard Louv reports that Most scientists who study human perception no longer assume that we have five senses … The current number ranges from a conservative ten senses to as many as thirty. He puts these senses to work while hiking with his son in bear country. While on that hike he observes that the pleasure of being alive is brought into sharper focus when you need to pay attention to staying alive.

I would like to be hiking; instead, I am driving, and it appears the skill neglected by most travelers is attentiveness. It is the skill I desire most. I want to pay attention to everything—not only the visible and expected. I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to tune in to unseen realities and impossibilities. If Louv is correct that we have up to thirty senses, I want to put them all on alert.

Louv has introduced me to some interesting ideas. He is the originator of the phrase nature deficit disorder. I find the idea fascinating and agree with him that we miss way more than we need to because of our diminished ability to find meaning in the life that surrounds us.

Whether we agree or not, the fact is that we are not as attentive as we ought to be. Whether it surprises us or not, the fact is that a great deal of reality gets missed. It is easy to believe the unseen is less real than what is seen. Too often, I look past much of the evidence. I want to pay attention to not only the obvious, but also that which is heard, seen, and tasted by the soul. The stuff that demands a closer look and that requires a determined focus.

I desire to observe as much as possible—to be aware of God at work. I want to rethink the way God works. God seems to be visible in some places more than others. In some places, His activity seems more possible than others. But, then the angel Gabriel reminds us that nothing is impossible.

Attentiveness is important in order to know what is going on around you and to learn the terrain. Attentiveness is important in order to know when to speak and what to say. Attentiveness becomes important In order to learn when to act—and how. Attentiveness is important in learning where God is involved and what He is involved in. Only then can we learn to recognize His will, His ways, and His words. Attentiveness is necessary to learn what might actually be going on during Advent in our own town and on our own street. Before we are able to recognize the work of God, we must first be attentive.

Creation is the place where we practice our skills of paying attention. Every day we look out at it and walk around in it and listen to its voice, so it is no surprise that Genesis opens up with creation—a place that is both familiar and full of the not yet known. The opening lines of Genesis sometimes sound more like notes from physicists, astronomers, and biologists than a worship text. Still, this is where we first meet God.

The view of creation I have most often is from a broad valley between two mountain ranges. The Blue Ridge Mountains lie to the south and the Appalachians to the north. The valley combines agriculture with business (we can smell both from the house) and an assortment of residential areas and roadways. From the mountains flow the waters that form the tributaries that carry them east to the Susquehanna River. Across the Susquehanna is the state capital, Harrisburg.

I am an explorer here, an adventurer. Like Baggins and Gamgee, I am part of this whether I volunteered or not. I am trying to learn my surroundings in yet-unknown territory. I do not have to be master of where I am going. Of that, I am not even capable. I sometimes convince myself I know something because I have ventured there before, but I have not ventured there on this day, so there is no way to know for certain what lies ahead.

It seems we all start out as explorers. We spend our energy trying to lift our heads and focus on color and sound. We know there is more going on than what we are up to, and we aim to find out what it is. Why do we stop? What happens to us? At what point do we give in and start wearing the goggles that cause us to see like the grownups? And how can we dispose of such unnecessary accessories that prevent us from seeing things as they really are?

I am constantly gathering data. This is not for a future experiment; I am not out to prove anything. I am simply trying to discover what is grand, attempting to experience wonder, working to navigate the mystery of this place. At the end of the day, with more questions than answers, I stand and applaud, all the while stating the obvious: Wow.

Whenever I get the chance, I like to find a good vantage point and spend some time there. From that place, a look around is similar to a look around Genesis 1. I am witness to light, dark, and heavens with sun, moon, and stars. I am present on earth with water and dry land where things that fly, swim, crawl, and walk all dwell together—ah, creation. Eugene Peterson says that creation is a theater in which we behold the glory. I agree.

Not wanting to miss the next performance, I watched this morning as pinks and oranges appeared on a background of blues and grays. And then the sky turned to gold. Yesterday’s snow will melt today but last night it looked like seasonal decoration under the light of the full Frosty Moon. The bare trees along the highway reveal red-tailed hawks perched anywhere they could find a seat. Like sentries on constant watch, they turn their attention toward the open ground.

Every day I hope to remain at attention. Isaiah the prophet must have been at attention when he witnessed the mountains and hills break forth with shouts of joy. Before him, the chronicler witnessed the forest singing before the Lord. Even earlier, the psalmist witnessed that the rivers clapped their hands. Apparently, I have not been attentive enough, since I have missed out on this action. I come to the conclusion that I must spend more time with the chronicler, the psalmist, and the prophet. I approach with open eyes and ears. I watch. I listen. I put all my senses to work, for there is more out there than any of us realize. I want to see the hand of God, hear His voice, and to feel His presence. I want to taste and see that the Lord is good.

In an attempt to look for something different, I am meeting with a group on Tuesday evenings to read and discuss words from the prophet Isaiah. Even though these words were written long ago, they always seem to work their way into conversation at this time of year. Walter Brueggemann tells us that Isaiah is like a mighty oratorio whereby Israel sings its story of faith. So we open the book and we sing. We sing a story of faith.

Sometimes I like a big picture look at things. I like to stand back and try to see how all the pieces fit together. Other times I try to get as close as possible and just listen. On Tuesday evenings, we try to do both. We sit with the prophet. We listen as he brings his vision and history together. We watch him call for witnesses: Hear, hear! as he heralds his message. We spend time talking about his introduction of new words and ideas. We also stand back and read about how God has worked through the centuries. And we cannot help but notice he has been influenced by some and has influenced others.

Listen, O heavens, and hear, O earth, Isaiah the prophet calls witnesses to observe the messy relationship between God and His people. I wonder if the heavens and the earth are yet off duty. Are they still witnesses of our rebellious behavior? When I look at the sunrise, the full moon, the snow-covered ground and the red-tailed hawk, am I the one being watched?

The testimony is clear. An ox knows its owner, And a donkey its master’s manger, But Israel does not know, My people do not understand. This is not the first time Scripture tells us about a donkey that is more attentive than people (think Balaam). And it is not the last time we find a manger. While a manger may not be the first place we might look for the activity of God, we are reminded again that God does not always work in the way we might expect. After all these years, Isaiah is still asking that we rethink the way God works.

The prophet is a good companion during Advent. He points toward a night where a manger became the focus. He points toward a night when angels sang and shepherds waltzed. Heaven and earth joined to celebrate one born and laid in a manger. In my imagination, even friendly beasts acknowledged that something special had taken place. Yet, long before this night came to pass, the prophet wanted people to rethink the way that God works. He warned that the ways of God are not predictable. He wanted to be sure we knew to look for something different than the world was looking for.

Isaiah the prophet begins with a mention of a manger. In particular, he wants us to know that a donkey recognizes his master’s manger. In contrast, My people do not understand. I can’t help but think the prophet appears to have influenced the writer of the gospel of Luke in some way. It may be Isaiah’s reference that influences Luke to mention the manger. Actually, Luke does more than mention the manger. He brings it up three times in twenty verses in order to make sure we know it is there and this is where Jesus can be found. Isaiah might have influenced Luke to ask whether people recognize the one who is found there.

Raymond Brown suggests Luke is less interested in the details of birth than making sure we know where Mary laid the baby. I remember many Christmas plays where the emphasis was on the heartless innkeeper. But Luke may be trying to tell us that the manger was the plan all along. Luke may be suggesting God sustains His people through the birth of this child born and laid in a manger.

Isaiah 7 gives us a sign. It is of interest that this sign is a child, a sign that reminds us that God is the One in control and that it is His desire to save. At this time of year we are reminded that Luke also gives us a sign (2:12). It is