
“Are you okay?” I knock on the window of the ute, the motif on its side suggesting that the owner rescues and re-homes dogs. Inside, there is only a silver-haired gentleman. He is slumped over the steering wheel.
Today was the first of my ‘contemplative walks’ – a spiritual disciple that I’m trying as an experiential part of a subject on missional spirituality. ‘Missional’ means that the ensuing spirituality benefits others and not just myself. I didn’t expect it to be this immediate.
I had left home with only my water bottle and keys, determined not to be distracted by my phone. I had chosen to meditate on the verse, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). I diligently repeated the verse over and over to myself, the first half as I inhaled and the second as I exhaled. I was consciously enjoying the sensation of a cool breeze on my face and noticing my underused leg muscles as I strode down the street.
And then I saw the ute. The ‘rescue and re-home dogs’ decal caught my attention. But seeing the man slumped over the steering wheel shattered my meditative mood. What should I do?
I looked around for somebody responsible … or at least somebody with a phone. There was only a group of school kids on the footpath. I figured that I could dash to the medical centre, just down the road, and ask for help … but there was little point in going there until I knew if this was indeed a medical emergency What if he was dead? What if he was inebriated and angry at being disturbed? What if ……? Deep in my mind, a little voice recited, unbidden, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.”
*****
I approach the vehicle, conscious that my heart is pounding and that the hairs on my arms are standing on end.
I knock on the window. “Are you okay?”
The driver jerks up in his seat, his bleary eyes struggling to focus. He attempts to open the passenger door window, but fumbles with various knobs for what seems like an eternity. In reality, it only takes a couple of seconds.
Finally, the window down, he speaks to me. “What? Oh – yes – I’m fine. I’m just waiting for somebody.”
Man! He could have put his seat back if he wanted a snooze. That way it would be clear to concerned passers-by that he had chosen to nap. He could have driven around the corner to a more secluded area. Seeing him slumped over the steering wheel like that had scared the living daylights out of me. I stomp away, muttering under my breath … though not God-centred meditative muttering, I’m afraid.
*****
Embarrassed to be watched continuing down the street, I turned the corner. At the same time, I turned my thoughts back to my phrase for the day: “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.” Could God have just given me an object lesson, I wondered? Choosing how best to act in that situation was informed, in no small part, by my awareness that the all-knowing one would know how I responded, even if no-one else did. Yes, I had behaved like a responsible citizen, but that, too, comes from a fear of God. Making wise choices about priorities, how I spend my time, and even what I think about all stems from a healthy fear of the LORD.

Just the same, I will take my phone on my next contemplative walk. And I will walk around Lillydale Lake, where plenty of others also walk, rather than roam the roads near my home. But walk again I will. Contemplative walking – I like that concept – I like it very much indeed.



This is where those super humble, delicate spring flowers, hellebores, come into the picture. I’ve been studying the verse, “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.” (Romans 12:3 NIV) The original readers, proud first-century Roman citizens, were warned against arrogance. But as I gazed at these gorgeous hellebores in modern-day Melbourne, crouching low so I could look up at their bowed heads, it occurred to me that perhaps we can be too ‘humble’. We can refuse to display our gifts in ways which bring God glory and benefit those around us.
Having taken the plunge and committed to buy a MacBook, the salesman said, “What is your computer’s name? Call it Seniqua. That sounds sassy.” Of course, I needn’t name my computer, but I enjoy a bit of silliness, as the salesman had sensed, and decided to call it ‘Shibboleth’.



The final part of the retreat, the self-focused part, seemed almost like an addendum. My ‘question’, which I had intended to choose from the five possibilities I had drafted just two hours earlier, and which had seemed all-consuming at the time, had now shrunk into its proper perspective. As it turned out, I had one single answer to all five of my ‘possible questions’. Here they are, with the single answer:
One of my favourite modern hymns, ‘Revelation Song’ (look it up and listen), contains the line ‘Clothed in rainbows of living colour’. The author of the song, Jennie Lee, took these words from Biblical descriptions of ‘the Son of Man’ as recorded in both Ezekiel 1:28 and Revelation 4:3. In both cases, the rainbow wasn’t exactly a bow. It was complete, with no ends, encircling the one who sits on the throne in heaven.






It felt like the last six years of my life had been pointing towards this moment. The sun’s warmth radiated our backs. In front of us were two classrooms, erected here on a field strewn with summer flowers. These rooms, adapted from shipping containers, are for outsiders like us to have a base for regular involvement in this community – the community to which I had sensed God’s call back in 2012. We were meeting the man who holds the keys to the community – the monk who is effectively, if not legally, the one in charge around here.
At which point a blasted bee buzzed relentlessly about my face.



All this is too much for my little mind. I resort to singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…”. It is true – Jesus does love us immensely. We are made in the image of God and we are very special to God (Genesis 1:26-27 and Psalm 8). God loved us so much that he became one of us and, in Jesus, went to the cross for us (Philippians 2:1-11).
