It is really great to be back. I was on sabbatical over the summer, my first in 20 years of ministry, and it was truly wonderful. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend so much time with my family. Our boys are 12 and 15, and they were the perfect ages for traveling and trying new things. I’ll tell more stories in the forum, but I do have one pretty hilarious story to share today.
It was the first few days of our European vacation, and we were in the Ticino area of southern Switzerland. We had ambitiously decided to spend two weeks hiking across Switzerland, and that morning we set off into the mountains planning to follow an ancient trail back to our village. It was a 21-kilometer hike, in the middle of a massive heat wave, with our 12-year-old, Myles, who was in the middle of a growth spurt and required a constant supply of calories.
The hike was breathtakingly beautiful—an old Roman bridge crossing a river, tiny villages of stone houses, gorgeous forests. But by mid-afternoon, we were hot, out of snacks, and Myles was hungry.
Then, we saw flyers advertising a restaurant in a tiny village. Wonderful! We wound through the narrow streets until we found a gate leading onto someone’s porch. It looked like a house, but the sign said “Open,” so we wandered in. A young couple of hikers were eating at one table, so we sat down at another.
An elderly woman appeared with menus in Italian. She spoke no English. We spoke no Italian. And this was early enough in the trip that we hadn’t figured out the translation features on our phones.
We bumbled our way through ordering. It felt less like a restaurant and more like having a snack on Grandma’s porch. Her impatience with the dumb Americans was becoming increasingly clear, so I panicked and ordered several plates of food just to make it worth her while.
Then it hit me. I bet Swiss-Italian Grandma doesn’t take credit cards.
Joel and I started rifling through our backpacks. We had a few Euros, but no Swiss francs. My stress level started rising. The young couple at the next table overheard us. They spoke English, German, and Italian and offered to ask our proprietress if she could accept a credit card as payment.
Our fears were confirmed. No credit cards.
At this point, our older son Oliver decided the stress was simply too much and went for a walk. I don’t blame him.
Then, all the food I had panic-ordered arrived. Joel searched for the nearest ATM. Three hours away. We considered having Joel start walking. Maybe he could get there and back before dark. As we were spinning, desperately thinking about how to extricate ourselves from this situation without resorting to “Dining and Dashing”, the young German hikers came over to our table again. They thought they had enough Euros to cover their meal and ours. This was a massive relief. Now we just had to figure out how to pay them back.
“Do you have Venmo?” I asked. No. “Can you wire money to our bank account?” they asked. No.
And then, while the four adults were panicking about international banking on the side of a Swiss mountain, Myles quietly asked: “Can I eat the food?”
Fair question. “Go for it,” I said. “We might be washing dishes all afternoon, so you might as well eat.”
Finally, in desperation, I pulled out my phone and asked ChatGPT how a dumb American could send money to someone with a German bank account while standing on the side of a mountain in remote Switzerland. The answer: PayPal.
Our German friend had never heard of PayPal, but he gamely downloaded it right there. We sent him enough money to cover our meal and then some with much gratitude. German hikers to the rescue.
This is one of our favorite cringe-worthy stories from our travels. While we ended up getting exactly what we needed, thanks to Laurin Overstone from Germany, it was not even close to what we expected.
Isn’t that often how God works?
My time away this summer was a kind of pilgrimage and at Epiphany we take pilgrimage seriously. Twenty-eight Epiphany pilgrims are currently in Italy and we have several walking pilgrimages planned for next summer.
Pilgrimage is a spiritual practice and it can happen while traveling abroad with intention or right here at home. It might be enjoying a quiet morning, or working in the garden, or going for a hike. Pilgrimage is disrupting the regular patterns of your life in order to be changed. God isn’t more present in Switzerland, Italy, or Jerusalem. God isn’t even more present in the mountains or the woods. God is always present. But sometimes, going to those places allows us to better see. We go away so that something in us can change.
A similar thing happens in today’s reading from Exodus. The Israelites are traveling through the desert as they flee Egypt and journey to the Promised Land.
They’re hot and thirsty. They’re scared and they don’t have what they need. Put yourself in their shoes, what do you think they are looking for or hoping for? They are pleading for water because it’s true, they are thirsty. But what is underneath their pleading? They must feel as if God has abandoned them. Do they think God is absent or uncaring? In their desperation they cry, “Is the Lord among us or not?” (Exodus 17:7)
Essentially, God says, “go to the rock. I’m already there waiting for you.” God is always there even when they can’t see. They need something that God is already preparing to give them, but they aren’t yet able to see it. In their turmoil, they can’t see the divine right in front of them. God’s provision comes in the form of providing exactly what they need – water for their thirsty children and livestock, water to quench their thirst. God is already providing it before they realize the gift is from God.
In the Collect today, we prayed, “O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity.” I love this idea of God showing us “mercy and pity.”
We often think of pity as looking down on someone or feeling sorry for them. Human pity is often tinged with judgement, but God’s pity draws near. God’s pity is about compassion. You might have pity on the woman crying on the plane or the parent who is managing a toddler’s tantrum in a restaurant. But generally, we keep our distance. Human pity can stand by and observe another’s suffering. God’s pity crosses the distance and draws near with compassion and mercy.
When people complain, God draws near. When people are afraid, God draws near. When we question God’s presence, God is still there. And when we are thirsty, God gives us water.
God’s mercy does not depend on our ability to recognize it. God’s mercy is undeserved and freely given and sometimes, it’s right in front of us but we can’t see it. Or sometimes, we can’t see it until something changes and we are able to see differently.
Since coming back to work a few weeks ago, I’ve been asking myself that question. What changed? How am I different because of my sabbatical? When our ordinary routines get disrupted, we become more attentive. Travel makes us pay attention because everything is unfamiliar. You have to figure out the language. You notice what people eat. You have to find your way from place to place. You notice how your body feels after walking 21 kilometers in a heatwave. You have to depend on the kindness of strangers.
When I’m home in Seattle, I move through familiar spaces often without truly seeing them.
The disruption of sabbatical or pilgrimage is a reawakening that causes us to see things differently when we return home, at least for a while. That’s where the change happens. When we bring a new level of attentiveness back to our normal routines, we are changed through this practice of attention.
Whether it is sabbatical, pilgrimage, gardening, hiking, or Sabbath rest, all of these things can create space in which we become awakened to God’s goodness and return changed.
In today’s gospel, the religious leaders are standing in front of Jesus and asking where his authority comes from. Again, God is doing something profound right in front of people who aren’t yet able to recognize it. They are literally looking Jesus in the eyes and can’t see the presence of God.
We always have the possibility to wake up, change our minds, see with new eyes, and respond differently. But often, it takes displacement, a disruption to our routines to see God’s presence right in front of us.
I didn’t realize it in the moment, but the German hikers at Grandma’s restaurant in a tiny Swiss village on the side of a mountain embodied the presence of God and our needs were met. It wasn’t without strife or stress, but it was presence.
God is already standing at the rock. Jesus is looking us in the eyes. While a sabbatical was incredible, we don’t need that to see God. You don’t need Italy or Switzerland, you only need practices that occasionally interrupt your ordinary life enough to help you notice. Try on a practice of attentiveness in your everyday life. Get curious about where God may already be present, standing at the rock, waiting for you to notice.