Pastor's Note

Beloved,

Discipline. Three syllables. Ten letters. A word that is hard to follow. Defined as "training to act in accordance with rules; drill (as in military discipline)" it is also defined as "activity, exercise, or a regimen that develops or improves a skill; training. Discipline is usually considered to be a good thing. It has the ring of excellence, competency and even professionalism. Athletes are disciplined. They have to be. How else are they able to do the things that they have to do to get a gold medal, or even a silver or bronze medal, in the Olympics. I admire them. Heck, I admire anyone who is disciplined. I wish I were more disciplined. Oh, I brush and floss daily, I bathe daily, I wear clean clothes. I'm regularly at work. I'm ready for Sunday mornings (and Wednesdays when I need to have the bulletin information to Tammy). I say my nightly prayers and say grace before every meal (often by myself if I'm eating alone).

I'm pretty good and pretty well disciplined at all of those. But I don't have the discipline of going to the gym even three times a week. I don't watch the portion control on my meals as I should. And, sometimes, I envy those who have what I consider to be most excellent prayer lives and discipline.  I look at those who walk regularly and are fairly fit because of the discipline of walking. I can say to myself, "I'm going to start walking regularly" and it may last for a week, or even two.

Why is that? Why are some things harder to do regularly than other things. When we are on vacation, it would never cross my mind to skip church on Sunday morning. Why is it hard to miss church but not hard to miss the walk or the gym? I don't know. It just is.

There are nine of us United Methodist pastors on our Circuit Retreat at the Villa Maria del Mar in Santa Cruz a few years back. Two full days of silence from Tuesday around 2:00 p.m. until Thursday around 2:00 p.m. Seven of us are talking during mealtime when we gathered at the table, but two of us are eating separately and remaining silent. I'm actually OK with about 42 out of 48 hours of silence. But it is a little hard, I must admit.

During the silence, I pray, I meditate, I read theology and philosophy and a little fiction. I would work on my sermons. I texted Sue and shared the day with her (and we talk on the phone at night). But, on the whole, I'm quiet. Quiet. One word. Two syllables. One diphthong. The word even sounds like silence. Quiet. Almost breathy and soft (although if yelled at kids it is anything but).

On that retreat, I certainly learned to appreciate the scripture that says, if I may paraphrase, "He went off to a quiet place to pray awhile." And then, there is the admonition in Psalm 46:10, "Be still, and know that I am God." We don't do silence very well. Frederick Buechner points out, "The preacher is not brave enough to be literally silent for long, and since it is his calling to speak the truth with love, even if he were brave enough, he would not be silent for long because we are none of us very good at silence. It says too much."

There are times when I will try to listen to the silence, and, perhaps, hear the still soft voice of God. Are you listening, too?

Grace and peace,
Bert