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.

So, y'all know how much I love my home town of Chattanooga. And there is a centerpiece of the city – the Walnut Street Bridge. It spans the Tennessee River and is now one of the longest pedestrian bridges in the world. It connects the restaurants and galleries of the Arts District to the restaurants and shops of the Northshore. On any given day scores of people can be found making their way across planning on a fun outing, putting the cares of the world away for an hour or two.

So, Jesus is sending his disciples out and he's ordering them to travel light. Just the clothes on their back and don't add layers. Trust in the journey he seems to be saying. Trust in me. Trust that I will take care of you as we move along.

So, many, many years ago, I was doing a road trip of the great upper western states. I saw myself as this clever young adult, headed off to discover the real America so that I could be even more clever (actually, irritating) when I got home. I was a new Jack Kerouac.

Sometimes it’s just a boat.

Today's gospel reading is one of those we all know by heart, and there is not end to the allegories that we preachers can come up with.

So, when I first started work at St. James, I met a guy named Garrett. Garrett was ...well … Garrett was a different sort of human being. First off, he was really scary looking. He was stocky, bald, gruff, and absolutely covered in tattoos. Not just some here and some there. But from the top of his head down to his feet. Chest, back, legs...even his face was covered in tattoos. If you've ever read Ray Bradbury's “Illustrated Man,” this is THAT guy.

So, the other day, Fr. Brooks texted me to fuss at me. I won't go into the details...suffice it to say, whatever it was he said I did, well, I did! He ended by asking if everything was alright, that he thought our relationship was a bit off. And I suppose it was. But here's the interesting part, or at least the part that matters today: I responded with a long text listing off all the reasons I could think of as to why this was so. Six reasons, to be exact.

So, the other day I was sitting in my home office preparing for an upcoming class on the Book of Judges when I happened to look out of my window out into the graveyard. Tomorrow is Memorial Day, and during national holidays, it's not unusual to see an larger number of cars pull up with people getting out to place flags or flowers or various and sundry mementos on this or that grave. It's always a bittersweet scene, love and loss always is. Time sometimes heals those wounds; sometimes it doesn't, at least not yet. And out of that window I can see a lot of people dealing with a lot of things. Especially around Memorial Day.

So, here we are. Pentecost. The birth of the church. And I have to admit that this may be my new favorite liturgical holiday. It wasn't always like this. To me, Pentecost was sort of the New Year's Day of the church calendar. But not this year.

So, years and years ago, I was a co-op student in chemical engineering, living in Midland, Michigan, working at Dow Chemical. And I had this roommate from the University of Cincinnati, Rob Schmidt, who was this awesome guy. Gregarious, fun, friendly. But he had this one fault. Well, not really a fault. Just a thing, I guess.

In the wilderness, outside of Jericho, there is a sheer wall of rock. It is called by Christians “The Mountain of Temptation,” the place where Jesus had his run-in with the devil. But the Jews have another name for it. As, you work your way along the top of the mountain, you come to a place where the terrain is cleft in two forming a gorge. It is a treacherous place, but even here life goes on. Even here, a narrow footpath works its way from the top down to the valley, where centuries of shepherds and sheep have wandered up and down it, moving from the barren mountain top to its secrets below. And the chasm is situated in such a way that you can only see clearly down to the bottom right when the sun is directly overhead. Only then can you see a shimmering down there of a stream as it trickles from somewhere underground to a tiny wadi or oasis. But the rest of the day, it lays hidden in darkness.

So, the Catos and I have an unspoken, unremarked tradition. I don't even know that any of us have thought about it until now. Monday (or sometimes Tuesday) is family dinner down here at my place. Thursday (or sometimes Friday) is family dinner up at their place. Nothing fancy, just dinner, some streaming of something, and some time with each other and the dogs.

Last week, someone asked me, “What is Lent all about really? I mean, why do we do this?” And I started thinking about that. Lent is a rough season. Lent always is a little rough.

So, when I was in first grade, my teacher, Miss Sirus, began class by laying down the law. She had a list of rules that she taped up on one wall. These were the things you had to do in her class, those rules you must obey. She also taped, on the facing wall, a list of consequences. The bad, baaaad things that would happen when you inevitably broke the rules.

So, you'd better watch out...when God changes your name.

When I was working at St. Paul's Kingsport, before I came up here, that church had a thriving Godly Play curriculum designed for young children. I remember the kids' favorite thing was to play with the sandbox. The teachers tell them stories of Biblical characters in the desert as they tried to follow God. Heat, jagged rocks, wild animals, sunburn, hunger, thirst. And the teachers are supposed to say, “The wilderness is a dangerous place. You only go there if you have to.”

So here's something you may not know, but my close friends and family know. And it probably drives them crazy. When something happens that is out of my control, I want to do something. And usually, the thing I want to do has nothing to do with the thing that is out of my control. But sitting still is completely off the table.

So, the South is known for its awesome church signs. Once on a back road in Alabama I saw a church sign that said:

God's Will: Accept Jesus Today.

Satan's Will: Wait Till Tomorrow.

So, the other day I got a call from an unknown number in Knoxville. When I listened to the message it was from a social worker at Blount Memorial in Maryville. Blount is the main hospital in that area that serves severely mentally ill patients. Seems an former parishioner, Pat, had been committed there, and I was listed as one of the people who had her power of attorney. They were wanting me to make some decisions about further committal to a local assisted living facility.

So, in my continuing conversion in becoming a Yankee, I hit my first deer Wednesday. Now many of you probably know just how traumatic this was for me. First, killing the deer really bothered me. Now, don't get me wrong. If you give me venison, I'm going to eat it. I love venison stew. But killing the deer with my car? That just seems so useless.