Frog Rock: On The Way to the Platte; Restoring Authenticity in the Christian Church

The rock formation lies just off the north side of Highway 24 between the small towns of Divide and Florissant. I often point it out to my fishing clients on the way to fly fish the Platte or South Park’s Spinney and Antero Reservoirs. I have a friend who is a bit superstitious and every time he travels past on his way to fish, actually talks to the rock asking how the fishing will be.

The “frog” sits right on top of a large boulder about 30 meters north of the road. It looks like a “frog” ready to jump and viewers can clearly see what looks like it’s legs, body,  head, and face. For 30 years, I have noticed frog rock every time I drive by on my way to fish, ski or whatever.

Then, this past season, I noticed something different. Some one had painted it green. Someone must have dragged a ladder down there or rigged up a climbing rope and climbed up the boulder and painted the frog.

Of course, I did not like the paint job. Yet, I know there are worse things a group could have done as in Utah when a group of scouts knocked down a delicate rock formation in a park. Or, some one could have painted it orange or something stupid like that.  But, I still do not like it. In fact, it kind of reminds me of our need in this culture to fancy things up. It is not enough that nature carved this rock formation that really does look like a frog.

We fancy up a lot of things in our society. Of course this is done to help sell products or services or make us look better than we really are. Look at anyone’s face book or business website. The list goes on and on.  

I think where this fancying things up really bothers me the most is in the Christian church. I do not speak of all churches or ministers but it does seem that more and more are resorting to making faith more fashionable. Among other things, I am referring to the flashy, “light and music shows” and the “spiritual drama” used by many ministers, and the smoothie/coffee machines screaming and being offered to members during the service. Even the “one man show” can also be the churches way of using a charismatic individual, a professional speaker, to fancy things up to entertain the masses and bring in more people. More people means good business.   

Can anyone ever imagine it ever being another way? Could you imagine if churches actually had its members, ordinary lay people, participate and be the “center” of a service ?  Let them be the main show. Could you imagine having the members with all their brokenness and messiness be the focal point?  Oh no, it would be too boring and not fancied up enough.  It would not be much of a “show” to actually allow lay folks to express their thoughts, needs, insights and concerns. That would be far too slow.  Churches have to keep the pace up; keep up the hype. Keep everything on schedule as planned; keep the beat going.  And, why?  Well, we must remember people are more inclined to pay for good entertainment, a good show all fancied up.

The phrase “fancy it up” caught my attention years ago when I was rereading the  novel, “Fahrenheit 451” by Ray Bradbury. In this futuristic society all books are burned. The government controls everything. It is illegal to have books in possession or in your home. The state does not want anyone to, “get any ideas”. Don’t dare be an individual; oh no!  Only mass conformity.  And one way to help that process of conformity is to take literature away from the masses. Take away poetry, Shakespeare, the classics. Take away the scriptures. Take away individual thought. Block out the thoughts of God.  Only ‘big brother’ is watching you and that is all that matters.

But in the novel as in real life there are always a few rebels. Guy Montag, a fireman, is such a rebel and he wants to preserve books instead of burning them as he once did. He wants to help print books again illegally and he is willing to risk his life for it.  

Late in the novel when Guy Montag has nothing to lose tells his mentor, Faber, another rebel in the story, “I can get books”. Faber replies, “You’re running a great risk”. Guy counters, “That’s the good part of dying; when you’ve nothing to lose, you run any risk you want”.  Faber is excited at Guy’s metaphorical insight and laughs, saying, “There, you’ve said an interesting thing without having read it”. Guy is curious, “Are things like that in books”?  “But it came off the top of my mind!” Faber brilliantly responds, “All the better. You didn’t fancy it up for me or anyone, even yourself”.

I love this!  I love this insight of realizing it is usually better to not fancy things up. It is better to not fancy things up for those we interact with, nor even for one self. Once we start thinking in terms of making something fancy, everything changes, and perhaps the purity of our message.

I can try not to be this person who compulsively has to fancy things up. I can try to live authentically with those in my own community. I can try to be sincere and more transparent. I can try to be authentic. All the better.

I can also only hope the church would value its members for offering up insights like Guy Montag.  Such insights could be all the better if we too learned to not fancy things  up.  I hope the ordinary individuals of churches can learn to stand up and offer up their vital authentic “un-fancied” perspectives within their church communities because these too, are “All the better”.

And I wish whoever painted Frog Rock would have left it alone. All the better.

Something Can Happen

"Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not the fish they are after" (Thoreau).

When I go to the mountains, the river, the woods I get the feeling that “something” can happen.  I can’t say that is why I go. In fact, most of the time I am not looking for anything and nothing extraordinary happens. But something could.

I am past the age of being a thrill seeker looking for an adrenalin rush. I don’t need to ski off cliffs. I don’t need to catch the biggest fish or a certain number.  It is something else that I seek. In fact, the more I look for thrills or some number of fish that defines “success”, or even the more I look for  the “something”, the more it eludes me. Then, more than likely,  I  miss the “something”.

However, at least for me, I get the sense that this “something” that might happen will most likely occur when I visit wild places such as trout streams. I am quite certain that this something won’t happen while I am sitting on the couch watching TV and especially not while watching a football game.

So, I often go to the mountain, the river the woods. Most often nothing happens. But something could.  Therefore, maybe I can at least try to show up now and then.

Something could happen.

Fly Fishing On the Run: Pueblo's Arkansas River Tail-water

Today I fly fished along 13 miles of the Arkansas below Pueblo Dam. Technically it was only about half that distance as I ran an 'out and back' half marathon course this morning.  I was not really fly fishing. It was too cold: Temperature: 6 degrees with light misty snow.  

To pass the time, in my mind, I fly fish as I run. I am pretty good at picturing things. Fly fishing is not any different. Memories took my soul back to big rainbows hooked over the last several years in this river. I run over and under bridges following the “river walk” path looking for rising fish in the slower pools. I run from City Park up river past the deep run along the Honor Farm, past the nature center and then up and over the bridge below the dam.  I thought of big rainbows I had caught in the gauging station hole on pegged eggs and RS2”s after school on a  February late afternoon.  I then loop around and head back down river again toward the nature center. As I run, I think back to a big fish a client had on in the “Carp hole”  that broke my rod and how I had to run back to the nature center parking lot to my truck to get another rod. It was a 100 degrees that day and Waldo Canyon was burning out of control.  But here in the freezing mist every time I see  structure, a pile of rocks, or any number of habitat improvements,  I thought of fish; abundant fish;  if not hooked then beautiful fish laying  in the runs showing their colors and often ignoring my offerings.  I thought of clients I fished with, my daughters and a monster Brown we stalked, and dear friends. These images warm my heart but not my body.  The memories come and go with each mile marker of beautiful fish, holding in the runs and sometimes, huge fish hooked leaping out of the water in the movie of my mind.

I am awakened from my winter day dream by the sight of two runners I had finally caught up to in  the cold mist.  I stop casting and pick up the pace, in spite of my aged and dulled competitive edge,  to make a move past, one, and then the other. Now I hear people yelling at the finish line and as  I try to finish strong,  I also try  to maintain the hope that the river, in spite, of the fires and droughts and flooding and endless fishing pressure, will continue to hold its magnificent fish.

I know these memories are more than merely a winters’ day dream.  

After the Storm

In my last few posts I spoke of how I love being covered in the Gray of the forest. But today, after the storm, I also find  there is something beautiful  in the sun shinning on the bright new snow covering  the mountains with bright blue sky above.  Even as I love the gray, I must admit, I also love the return of  sun and the brightness of  blue skies and white snow. But I think, perhaps, best of all, my favorite, is a mix of  some blue skies,  white snow, gray clouds, fog and rays of sunlight angled through falling snow in the high peaks. "There's a certain slant of light, winter afternoons". Emily Dickinson.  Amazing to live in Colorado.

Loving the Gray Days: Enclosed in the Shadows of the Forest

There is something about the shadowy gray woods of winter. 

I feel drawn to the dim light of late afternoon,

away from the brightness, noise and lightness of the world.

This is the season when I shy away from all the silly happiness of bright days.

It is when I slip away for a few moments,

Into the calm, quiet, womb of the gray forest where everything has weight,

and everything has soul.  

I feel the weight of the forest, under me and above me.

Roots that spread deep in heavy soil hold me from beneath.

Dense trees, heavy with snow protect me overhead as a shield,

Overhanging branches laden with snow lean over me and the path.

Here I am enclosed.

Snow is falling through the trees;

Snow on snow, heaviness on heaviness,

Even the shadows cover me like a thick heavy blanket,

I am loved.

I am in a place where I feel my own weight,

and I know my soul is  more than what I am on  bright summer days.

This is a place where I know and feel,

The weight of God under the gray,

The weight of God in my soul. 

In this piece of prose, I tried to capture what I feel when I go into the woods and how I strangely feel protected and comforted in the seclusion of the forest. During such adventures, (in this case cross country skiing), I shy away from noise, brightness and lightness. In order for me to feel this "blanket" over me it has to  be during certain times of the year (Usually late November and December), and most often when it is late in the afternoon and snowing. The gray blanket closes down on me and I feel almost "held" in some mysterious manner. I doubt this feeling could ever happen while in front of a TV.  :)