Throwing Rocks

I never realized how rocky the Appalachian mountains were until this week. My boys have hoisted heavy rocks, climbed boulders, and pocketed pebbles. However, their favorite thing to do with rocks is throw them: into the woods, off a ledge, down the slope, into the water. They can't get enough of this.

I was thinking last night about stone throwing in the Bible. David felled Goliath with a stone (at least my guys don't have slingshots--yet). Jesus saved the adulteress from the mob in the Temple, saying "Let him who is without sin among you, cast the first stone." A mob stoned Stephen, while Saul/Paul watched.

Our rock throwing adventures brought to mind something else: a service I attended a few years ago at a local messianic synagogue. Tashlich is a ceremony carried out on the afternoon of Rosh HaShannah or on the following day. Tashlich means "you will cast away" and during the service we symbolically cast off our sins. After a time of reflection and preparation we walked down to Tampa Bay, picking up small stones along the way.* We collected stones to symbolize sins. It was humbling to pocket each stone and feel the weight increase with each new addition. After a time of prayer and repentance we threw our stones into the bay--casting them off as far as we could throw. Those rocks were gone, never coming back, you couldn't have retrieved them from the bottom of the bay if you tried. My pockets felt empty and light.

As we threw our rocks, we remembered that God is faithful to forgive sins, that Jesus (Yeshua) died for our sins, and we meditated on the text for Tashlich: Micah 7:18-20.

Who is a God like You,
Pardoning iniquity
And passing over the transgression of the remnant of His heritage?

He does not retain His anger forever,
Because He delights in mercy.
¹⁹ He will again have compassion on us,
And will subdue our iniquities.

You will cast all our sins
Into the depths of the sea.
²⁰ You will give truth to Jacob
And mercy to Abraham,
Which You have sworn to our fathers
From days of old.

In all the times of confession, in all the worship services I've ever attended, I don't think I've ever felt as forgiven as I did on the shores of Tampa Bay. So much of our Protestant worship is abstract and emotional. It took the weight and feel of throwing rocks to really imprint one of the basic tenets of our faith.

Vacation's almost over. I'll be thinking about this on our final few rock-throwing days--thanking God and praising His holy name.

Shalom y'all.

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*Traditionally bread crumbs are cast into the water, or pockets emptied of lint, but some congregations use stones instead.

Didn’t I Just Clean This House?

We had a rite of passage in the library for new pages, the folks who put away all the returned books.  They truly became part of the family of staff when they made the observation, “Didn’t I just clear this cart?”  After we finished laughing we assured them that yes, they had just put all those books away. In the meantime, thirty more people had come in and returned books, filling the cart once more.

Library work is not for those who like closure.  New employees who thought they’d actually finish their work in a day, a week, a month were quickly disappointed.  Our job was to keep one step ahead of chaos.  Like Mickey, the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, in Disney’s Fantasia, the circulation desk staff bravely tried to maintain order as our patrons passed through our doors carrying armloads of books like so many pail-toting brooms.

Now my pail-toting brooms are toy-toting boys who manage to create endless piles of dishes and cups to clean, laundry to do, and messes to straighten. Like our library’s patrons they ask interesting questions, have a boundless curiosity, and love to read.  There’s no closure, only the change of seasons and the growth and deepening of lives. 

So here I sit, having just cleaned the house. Again.  I’ll do it again and again, trying to keep one step ahead of chaos. I know better than to ask, “didn’t I just clean this?”

While I cleaned I plugged in the iTouch and listened to the album at the top of the list.  As I scrubbed, Charlie Peacock sang 

I have got to clean house


Gotta make my bed


Gotta clear my head


It's gettin' kinda stuffy in here


Smells sorta funky too


Like monkeys at the zoo;

...

Spirit come flush the lies out

One of the things I love about Sunday morning worship is the chance to sit quietly and clean house, especially on communion Sunday.  The weekly grind fills my mind and soul with gunk as surely as those brooms filled Mickey’s master’s workshop with water.  I treasure one entire hour (!) of reflection, confession, and praise as my Master puts things back in order. He never asks “didn’t I just clean this?”  He welcomes my confession and strengthens me as I confess my weaknesses to him. I know that one day there will be closure, for there won’t be any housework in heaven.  But for now I’m thankful for the one in whom there is no chaos, the one who washes me white as snow.  

A magic eraser, indeed.