Last week Cyndy and I went home to South Dakota. It’s been 6 years now since we moved out to the Seattle area to be close to our daughter, Cassie. When we moved out to Washington, we were determined that we would make the Seattle area our new family center. We would circle around this place and make it the destination point for our family. And even though we have family in Brooklyn, NY, and Seoul, South Korea, and now Orlando, Florida, I feel like we’ve accomplished that. Woodinville and Snohomish, Washington are certainly grand central station for the McBride family!
But as much as I love what we’ve created here, that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my homeland, or even more my home people! Going back to the Dakotas is, for me, remembering where the “dirt” of my life was planted. It’s about taking off my shoes and socks and sinking my bare feet in the dirt from which I came. In a sense I feel like my strawberry plants. The strawberry seedlings of my life were started in South Dakota, but 6 years ago Cyndy and I followed a “runner” that stretched across the Rock Mountains and landed here in Seattle.
But something strange happened to me this time, going back to South Dakota. I realized that South Dakota, though important in my life, is no longer my home base. And even though I miss some of the “ritual” of the Dakotas (the wind bending the cornfields, the “down-to-earthiness” of the people, the prairie sunsets, and yes, even the haze hovering over the fields on a 100-degree day), it is no longer “my” ritual.
In so many ways, this change in “home base” is a difficult thing for me to come to terms with. Because, no matter what this culture may believe, a sense of “place” is deeply important to humans. Because no matter how many McDonalds and Olive Gardens there are, we still need “Dick’s Burgers” and “Maltby Café” and “The Oyster Bar” on Chuckanut Drive! Because it’s those unique places and people that make us who we are. (By the way, if you are driving on Hwy 50 between Yankton and Vermillion, SD don't forget to stop by Toby's Chicken in Meckling, SD.)
Sometimes I worry about our culture and its need to make everything look and feel the same. Chain stores are comfortable when we are traveling, but they really don’t “locate” us in the dirt of life. I feel with all my heart that one of the things we are missing in this world is dirt! Something to sink our toes into that reminds us of who and whose we are. Too many of us are just floating along on the surface of a nebulous journey that goes nowhere. We float along for 20 years thinking this is “life”, and then we wake up and we’re fifty and haven’t done a thing! Real Life is about taking off all those fake cloths and “chain stores” and sinking your feet into the dirt. We as Christians are called to be “salt of the earth” people. One of the characteristics of salt in Jesus’ day, was that it was used as fertilizer. It was mixed into the soil where it wrapped its nutrients around the plants in the ground and helped them to grow.
I feel like, one of the things we’ve lost here at Bear Creek due to the pandemic is our “salt.” Someone came into my office a couple of weeks ago and shared that they felt we, at Bear Creek, needed to get back to the basics of being a church again. We need to stop using “Covid” as an excuse and get going on being a church again. I couldn’t agree more. And for me that is about getting back to the “dirt” of ministry: caring for each other and those around us, building layers of connectivity by creating fellowship opportunities and making the time to attend them, getting back to some basic Bible studies like “Disciple Bible Study” that not only help us deepen our understanding of what it means to be a follower of Christ but also helps us make long-lasting friends in Christ, getting back to an understanding of mission that isn’t just about giving money to great causes, but also about getting our hearts and hands dirty helping others, and always and everywhere inviting others to come and join us.
Take some time today to read these lyrics from the song “North” by Sleeping at Last. Pray with me over this poem. Churches are a place where people paint and repaint, scratch and claw, together to make their church building a home. What could you commit to in order to make Bear Creek not just a cool place to go occasionally, but a true home for you, for our community, and for every stranger who walks in our doors?
Your friend and pastor, proud to call this place my home, Brook
LYRICS TO NORTH
We will call this place our home; The dirt in which our roots may grow Though the storms will push and pull; We will call this place our home We’ll tell our stories on these walls; Every year, measure how tall And just like a work of art; We’ll tell our stories on these walls
Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine A little broken, a little new; We are the impact and the glue Capable of more than we know; We call this fixer upper home With each year, our color fades; Slowly, our paint chips away But we will find the strength; And the nerve it takes To repaint and repaint and repaint every day Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine Smaller than dust on this map; Lies the greatest thing we have: The dirt in which our roots may grow; And the right to call it home