He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”
So, doesn't that sound good? I mean, who doesn't need some rest? Things are picking up again, and so much is happening.
Tomorrow, I'm up at 4:30 to get to the gym. Then it's back home to prepare for Morning Prayer. Then I need to meet with Terry about an employee whose mother died, and we need to figure out how we can help him out. Then off to Norwich to see what's going on since Fran is out. Then a call with the diocesan controller about a meeting we are having on Tuesday. Speaking of, I need to make a few more calls to parishioners who are in various hospitals. Then begin planning a memorial service for Joan Axtell to be held in the next couple months. Need to see if the Emmanuel Historian office computers are actually working and hook up the second monitor. Also need to start the review for the next class in Judges. And squeeze in a little time to start prepping for a class in the Book of Samuel. Then up to Hamilton to pick up Brooks so we can go look at a building for the diocese up in Fayetteville. While I'm up there, I may as well swing by Wegman's to get some okra to cook for “family night” on Tuesday. Drop Brooks back off, swing by Kinney Drugs. Get back home. Rustle up some grub and try to look at the first draft of the diocesan budget. And that's just Monday.
I mean, I'm busy lately. If Jesus came to me and said, “Come away with me to a place with no cell phones, internet service, or television,” I'd go in a heartbeat. If he said, “It's on a deserted beach, but there's a buffet and massage therapy,” then I'm on the first flight out!
Vacations aren't the ticket for me. I mean, y'all know...I go home, and that means work. Last trip to Chattanooga entailed chores at Mom's, replacing a grill at the house. Defrosting a freezer. Living through that freak gasoline shortage, and a 12-hour drive each way. Exhausting.
So, come on Jesus, lead the way! I can sure use a mental health day.
We all could, right?
Now see, that's where my mind always goes with this reading whenever it pops up in the lectionary. Jesus sees how hard his disciples are working and wants to provide some time out, maybe a nice retreat center where they can check in with each other about all their adventures carrying out the Great Commission of going out, baptizing, driving out demons. All that.
There's where my mind always goes. Or rather that's where my mind usually goes. But this last Wednesday, during Morning Prayer, Fr. Brooks mentioned something that happened to me during my CPE. CPE stands for Clinical Pastoral Education. It's usually some sort of hospital work.
I was placed in Chattanooga at Erlanger Hospital. It's a level one trauma center for the region north of Atlanta and east of Nashville. It is a huge place, easy to get lost in. And so busy. Even when I was on one of the 24-hour shifts, it would be busy. In the middle of the night, it was as busy as during the day, just with different things, shootings, stabbings, overdoses...and car accidents.
It was late, like 1:30-2:00 late. And I was doing an overnight on-call shift. And my beeper went off in my little hospital dorm room. There's never any info on the beeper, just the source – emergency room. So, I shook off the sleep, got dressed, and padded down to the ER.
There had been a wreck. A really bad one.
The driver of an 18-wheeler had been drinking and crossed the yellow line, right into a van. The van had a husband, his pregnant wife, and their six other children. The husband survived with only bruises. One daughter survived with both legs broken and a concussion. And the seven-year old son survived with a severed spinal cord. The rest of them did not survive.
I am good at remembering things. Y'all know this. I mean how many sermons have you heard based on a memory of mine. Yet I wish I could not remember all I remember about that night. I remember the daughter, staring off into space, trying to remember anything about what happened. I remember seeing the young boy, suspended face down in some contraption, I guess designed to do something with the spine. I don't know.
And I remember the father. I remember him looking at me, saying, “Tomorrow is going to be bad. I'm going to have to tell my daughter and son what happened.”
TOMORROW is going to be bad.
I told him I'd be with him then, and went back to my dorm and didn't sleep at all.
The next day I went looking for the father. The nurse said he'd gone for a walk. I went looking for him and found him in the chapel. He saw me come in and he saw me just sit in the back of the room, not wanting to disturb him, knowing I already had.
Finally, he got up and came and sat by me. We sat for a while, then he said, “I came in here to be alone, to get away from all the noise.” I thought he was going to chide me for bothering him, but instead he continued, “And then it suddenly hit me. I mean, I could feel it, you know? I'm not alone. You know. God is here, too. I thought I wanted to be alone, but I guess I needed to know that I'm not.”
I had nothing to say, and he patted me on the knee and said, “Pray for me today.” And he got up and left, and I stayed there and prayed for him. Then I went in search of him again.
Y'all, I've realized something.
When Jesus tells us to come away to a deserted place and rest, he isn't wanting me to clear more time on my calendar...I mean, look at what happened in the Gospel reading. The disciples went away and were as busy as ever. It's not about “busy.” It's about burdens.
Come to this lonely place and lay down your burdens, because this lonely place...this deserted place? It's not deserted at all, is it? God is there. God is there to give us permission to lay those burdens down. To lay our burdens down and even there to feel peace. And that peace of God is what keeps us going, doing this whole thing, this Christian thing, in the face of all that out there telling us to give up and quit.
The Apostle Paul tells us that Christ comes to proclaim peace to those who are far off and to those who are near. It's so easy to feel the peace of Christ when you feel he's near, right? But to feel peace when you are far off in that deserted place? That is truly a blessing. To know you are not alone, even there, that is truly a blessing.
I found that man by his daughter's bedside as she was crying, the whole world crashing down around her. I felt small and helpless. More than that, I felt pointless, except that maybe my purpose was just to bear witness to what I was seeing.
Because that man looked at me, and he smiled a wistful smile, then turned back to his daughter. And he looked tired, but he looked rested. And he looked pitiful but he looked strong as he laid down his own burdens and picked up the burdens of his remaining children and kept right on working.