Thursday June 17, 2010 - Portland, Oregon to Camarillo, California

For the first time since our journey began on February 28, Gena and I will be separated for an extended period of time. Our kids went out to Phoenix several days before us in February to give us time to clean the house and finalize the packing and do all the last minute things that are vital but incredibly boring to kids. But the two of us have been together non-stop. And this is the second time during our journey that I will be traveling by airplane instead of mini-van. Maybe Gena will have some things she'll want to fill you in on about the family's doings during the next few days. Otherwise, all I can say is what I've been doing.

I flew from Portland to the Burbank Airport. Then I was able to take a Metrolink/Amtrak train from the Burbank Airport to Camarillo. I was met at the station by my friend Jake, because my car has been stored at his house for the last four months. His house, incidentally, used to be our house. Through a fortuitous set of events, they were able to move in after we moved out, ensuring our landlord had good, continuous renters.

It was only moderately surreal to be back in Camarillo - back even in our former home. It seems as though so much more time has passed than nearly four months.

After 30 minutes or so chatting with Jake and his wife, I headed out in my car for our friend Lewis' house. It was odd to be driving something other than the Toyota Sienna mini-van! While I'm impressed with the Sienna's power, having that same power in a smaller and lighter vehicle was, well, invigorating.

Lewis had dinner ready and waiting when I arrived. After we finished, we drove up to my former church buildings. He showed me the inside where, indeed, the congregation who had purchased the property had completely gutted the interior. The beautiful blues and greens that had greeted me almost exactly three years ago on my first visit were all but gone. Gone was the carpeting, the pews, the altar area, the choir loft - anything that wasn't concrete or brick or glass was gone.

It was an oddly detached feeling, observing it all. I ached for my former parishioners who had lost a beloved place of worship. But it was also confirmation. A building is just a building. It can be changed around. It can be destroyed either accidentally or intentionally. It's nature is transitory - unlike the Church proper, the men and women and children past, present, and future who share a common faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God. Hearing the echoes return over the cold concrete was a bitter reminder of what we lose when we prioritize where we worship, or even how we worship. It was also a very direct reminder of what happens when the body of Christ ceases to function as a body - integrated, fully connected and involved. We all have gifts that we bring to the body, and we all have responsibilities that we can't simply choose to ignore or defer to others. Each of us is completely unique, irreplaceable, and brought into a particular instance of the body at a particular point in history for a particular purpose. When we abdicate, the body that is the local community & congregation suffers. Sometimes, to the point of death.

Later that night I took my favorite drive down the 101, through the surreality that is Malibu and on to the outskirts of Santa Monica. It was beautiful, as always. The moon was out, allowing the ocean & waves to drift in and out of existence as they caught and absorbed or reflected that silvery light. The smell of the salt air was as intoxicating as it has been since my youth and first experiences with the ocean.