So how do we identify and follow the spiritual inukshuks in our lives?  How do we live by faith?  The most basic answer comes down to following the guidance of the Holy Spirit, who serves as our power for day-to-day living and spiritual interaction with God (and with other believers) and our means for obtaining spiritual wisdom.  1 Corinthians 2:9-16 explains this for us more fully:

It is written: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” -- but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit.  The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.  For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man’s spirit within him?  In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God.  We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us.  This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words.  The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned.  The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man’s judgment: “For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him?”  But we have the mind of Christ.

So really, finding the inukshuks in life and determining God’s direction all comes down to having this “mind of Christ” (the Holy Spirit).  It's not a formula or a mathematical equation; it’s a spiritual thing.  The Holy Spirit is the ultimate trump card.  His leadership is most important!  But with that said... there do seem to be a handful of principles that we can observe in the Bible and from real-world experience for identifying the spiritual inukshuks around us and making Spirit-filled decisions.  In particular, I believe there are five main checkpoints that we can use to help determine the inukshuks in our lives and find the path being marked out by these inukshuks: (1) God's Word, the Bible, (2) Prayer, (3) Godly Counsel from Other People, (4) Circumstances, and (5) the Test of Time.

With actual inukshuks in the Canadian wilderness, Inuit hunters don’t just look at them and see a random pile of stones.  They know how to study the rock formation like a map and read it for specific clues as to which direction they must go.  In the same way, we can study the Bible to give us direction (see 2 Timothy 3:16-17, Psalm 119:97-99, 138, and John 14:21).  Secondly, real inukshuks are discovered through searching for them and consistently scanning one’s eyes across the flat, arctic horizon in hopes of spotting the next marker on the trail home.  An Inuit hunter knows that he won’t see anything if he’s not looking for it.  In the same way, prayer gives us spiritual eyes to see what’s in front of us (see Proverbs 2:3-6, Colossians 1:9-10, and James 1:5).  Thirdly, it's important to remember that an inukshuk is not just an arbitrary pile of stones on the tundra.  There may be quite a bit of variety in the way one inukshuk might look from the next, but there is an element of consistency as well -- stemming from the fact that they are a part of the Inuit culture, and people who are from that culture know what separates an inukshuk from just a bunch of rocks.  In the same way, our involvement in Christian community helps us in determining the direction God wants to take our lives (see Proverbs 12:15 and Proverbs 11:14).  Fourthly, it's significant to note that for the Inuit people, an inukshuk’s environment, placement, and circumstances are important in determining the inukshuk’s meaning and significance.  A pile of rocks in the middle of the wilderness means a whole lot more than a pile of rocks in the village.  Likewise, God can use circumstances in our lives to help prevent us from going wrong directions and steer us in the right direction for the future (see Acts 16:6-7 and Matthew 10:11-14).  And finally, it's important to realize that one inukshuk is not enough to guide an Inuit hunter on the entire path that he needs to follow.  Rather, it is the collective alignment of several inukshuks that mark the path, and the only way to know that you’re truly on the right path is to be patient and make sure that they consistently line up, pointing in the same direction.  I feel it’s the same way with spiritual inukshuks (see Psalm 27:13-14, Isaiah 30:18, and Proverbs 14:29).

In summary, I believe the better we can get at discerning these spiritual inukshuks and applying the principles outlined here above, the better we will be able to determine the Holy Spirit’s leading in our lives —- allowing us to make wise, Spirit-filled decisions.  At times, it will seem like the journey is incredibly long, with the inukshuks placed impossibly far apart.  But if we can keep moving forward in faith, staying true to the direction of the last inukshuk that we passed, we will reach our destination in God's time, and according to God's plan.

I remember getting all giddy and excited the first time that I saw the logo for the Vancouver Olympics (several months ago, before the current Winter Olympics ever got started).  It's silly, of course, to allow such emotion to be attached to a marketing device.  But the reason that I got excited about it was because I recognized the image right away as an inukshuk:  a Native American trail marker, which has become a powerful spiritual metaphor for my life through the years.

I initially learned about inukshuks at a gallery in downtown Chicago, in the late 1990s.  I was immediately fascinated by both their natural aesthetic beauty and the story behind their design.  A few years later, when Marci and I were first considering the possibility of moving to Amsterdam, the inukshuk came back to me as a powerful metaphor for following God's direction for our lives -- ultimately providing some of the faith and confidence that I needed to make a trans-Atlantic move.  And ever since then, the inukshuk has inspired me and encouraged me.  I've written rather extensively about inukshuks through the years -- in my journals and in sermons delivered on both sides of the Atlantic -- but it's just occurred to me, with this year's Winter Olympics in Vancouver, that I've never actually blogged about inukshuks.  So I thought that I might put together a mini-series on inukshuks as a spiritual metaphor.

For today, I thought I'd share a short story featuring inukshuks that I wrote back in 2002...

*     *     *     *     *

It’s been a long hunt.  He began over a week ago, following the trail of the caribou herds northwest towards the Arctic Ocean.  And after a disappointing week of tracking and hunting, he is on his way home.  Unfortunately, the village is still a long ways off -- he estimates perhaps another full day’s journey.  His supplies are running low, and he is hungry because he has been rationing his food supply for the past day and half -- ever since it became clear that he would not be returning with fresh meat.  He is tired and alone.  And he is starting to worry that he’s lost.

The surrounding landscape offers little reassurance.  For miles and miles in every direction, the flat arctic tundra spreads out like a cold gray blanket.  Broad fields of stone and ice, moss and lichen -- there is very little to look at, and even less to mark the way home.  The hunter has a vague sense that he is traveling in the right direction, but nagging doubts persist and it is difficult to be certain in regards to his heading.  He looks behind him, in hopes of finding reassurance that he is going the right way -- but he can find none of the landmarks that have guided him to this point; they are all far behind him, blended into the flat desolate wasteland.  He can do nothing but press ahead in the direction that he thinks to be the proper path.  Straining his eyes toward the southeast horizon, he walks onward… continuing by faith and instinct...

And then he sees it.  It is still a long ways off -- its form difficult to make out over such a great distance, but unmistakable nonetheless.  He is encouraged to see it, and his step quickens in the direction of the distant shape.  As he approaches, he’s able to see more clearly and there’s no mistaking the fact that he has found the next inukshuk.

Walking up to the structure, the hunter smiles and then stops to sit on his pack for a moment and gaze upon the inukshuk in front of him.  It is simply a pile of stones, loosely arranged in the shape of a human figure, rising from the desolate landscape.  It is plain and basic, but its design is unmistakable -- obviously erected by hunters before him, standing solid and keeping vigil to direct the lonely traveler on his way back to the village.  It is called an inukshuk -- meaning “image of a man’s spirit.”  His people, the Inuit, have used inukshuks for many generations to mark the best and safest passages through the wilderness.  Their individual forms are unique -- varying according to the available materials -- but in every case, they are of distinctly human design, never to be mistaken for a natural rock formation...

By studying the placement and design of the inukshuk, reading the orientation of the stones as if they were a map, the hunter is able to once again determine that he is, in fact, on the right trail.

He must still travel a great distance before he will reach his village, but it is good to be reassured of the direction that he is going.  Chewing a small portion of dried meat, he stands up and shoulders his pack again.  It will be getting dark soon, and he still has a lot of ground to cover if he wants to make it home by tomorrow night.

Placing his hand on the cold stone “shoulder” of the inukshuk, as if to say good-bye, he turns away and begins to trudge onward in the direction of his village, faithfully plodding along the vague path that was marked out for him by the inukshuk -- waiting and trusting for the next inukshuk to guide him yet another step closer to home.

*     *     *     *     *

In my next post, I'll explain more of why the inukshuk has taken on such spiritual significance for me and what it teaches me about the life of faith.  So stay tuned...

This is a piece that I wrote a couple of years ago, trying to put words and images to my experiences of prayer and meditation with God.  I shared it at our church earlier this evening, as a part of a larger message on prayer (with Luke 11 as base text).  A couple of people asked if I might be posting the piece on my website... so I said I would.  Here it is:  the Story of the Ocean and the Styrofoam Cup

The ocean is filled with life, motion, color, power, and vast expanses of mysterious depths. And the styrofoam cup is filled with the remnants of yesterday's coffee -- cold, bitter, a slightly metallic aftertaste as but a memory...

The ocean is framed by rocky cliffs, wide beaches of powdered sand, glorious cities with gleaming skylines, and an infinite stretch of horizon hosting rosy dawns and amber sunsets. And the styrofoam cup is framed by dingy, dented, pressed-chemical-compound with brown stains and the indentations of anxious incisors...

And yet -- and yet... the ocean invites the styrofoam cup to submerse its tired corrugated form into the infinite, enchanted fathoms of living water. And if -- and when and as long and as often and as deep as -- the styrofoam cup dares to be immersed, a miracle of renewal is enacted.

The ancient, briny deep enters the shallow confines of the dilapidated space-age refuse. Not merely into but around, under, through, over, out, and in again. The substances and stains of the styrofoam cup are scoured and scuttled by the ebbs and flows of the salts, minerals, and microbes of the ocean water. Yesterday's coffee grounds, saliva, and bacteria are combined with the primordial depths until they are so diluted as to be indistinguishable from the hundreds of billions of molecules which hold their imprint from the dawn of time. The rolling tide reshapes the supple styrofoam into something clean, new, bright, and beautiful.

And when the styrofoam cup is lifted from the ocean, it is drenched and dripping. And filled to overflowing with infinity.

David and Charlie had been meaning to sit down for a heart-to-heart for quite some time.  They'd had some random, passing encounters over the previous weeks, but nothing really meaningful.  But finally, over morning coffee at the Salon, they had their opportunity to chat.

Charlie arrived a couple of minutes before their scheduled appointment.  He smiled warmly upon seeing his friend walk through the front door, and they briefly embraced.  They ordered two cups of regular black coffee and sat down to talk.

David was the first to talk.  "Charlie, I thank you for meeting me here this morning.  It's a beautiful day, Charlie, and I just want to say that it's good to see you again, friend."

There was a brief pause in the conversation.  Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, David started talking again.  "Charlie, I ask that you would listen to me this morning.  Friend, I want to say that  Beth and I have been going through a tough period in our marriage, friend.  And Charlie, I say that we need help... Charlie, I ask that if there's any way for you to help us understand each other -- to mediate between us in our time of trial -- that you would speak to us, Charlie, and tell us how we might help one another get through this."

Charlie lifted his eyebrows, concerned for his friend, and again attempted to form a response.  But again, without any eye contact or acknowledgement of his conversational awkwardness, David again plowed ahead with his monologue.

"Oh, Charlie... I also want to lift up the topic of Zack's struggles with his learning disabilities, Charlie..."

Charlie was quite familiar with Zack's dyslexia and subsequent educational and social challenges.  David and he had talked about the situation numerous times.  Having children of his own, Charlie knew how elementary school kids could be relentless with their peers, and he knew that it also weighed heavily on David and Beth, as with any set of parents wanting nothing but the best for their child.  So Charlie leaned forward and put a hand on David's forearm, to comfort him.  He nodded sympathetically and leaned in to offer words of comfort and reassurance.  But again, David ignored the friend sitting in front of him and continued in a half-moan, "It's so hard for us, Charlie.  We don't know what to do, Charlie.  I know that you've dealt with situations like this before, Charlie, and I want to ask if there's anything that we could do to help Zack.  Friend, I ask if you could help us understand what to do in this situation.  I say that you are a good friend, Charlie, and you can help us if you want to."

Charlie sat still, listening, waiting for his moment to talk.  He knew that his friend was not trying to be rude or awkward.  He knew that David genuinely wanted his advice, which he would be glad to offer.   But he understood, in this moment, that he needed to wait for David to speak his piece.

"Well, Charlie... I'm afraid I need to get going now.  I've got to run and pick up the dry-cleaning, and then I'm meeting Beth for lunch.  Would you please wish us well in that conversation, Charlie?  I thank you for the opportunity to talk again, Charlie.  I ask that it could be a longer conversation next time, Charlie.  But for now, I close this conversation."  And without another glance at his friend sitting across the table from him, David stood up, tossed a couple of bucks on the table to cover the cost of his coffee, and darted out the front door.  Charlie didn't even get a chance to say good-bye.  He just sat at the table, smiling at the bizarre turn of events which had just taken place.   When the waitress passed by and asked if he'd like a warm-up on his coffee, Charlie just nodded with a pleasant look on his face and said, "Yes I would.  Thanks for asking."

In my line of work, it's something that is probably inevitable.  I've heard stories of several others going through similar experiences.  But this afternoon I got to experience it for myself for the first time:  preaching with a nasty stomach-flu.

It wasn't much fun.

It really is a tricky situation, though.  A sermon is something that takes several hours of preparation and is intensely personal.  It's not the kind of thing that can easily be handed off to someone else (either trusting that they can whip up their own sermon within a couple of hours' notice -- or handing them a stack of your own notes to try and work up into presentable form).  But at the same time, it's not something that can easily be accomplished, either -- considering the physical energy required to stand in front of the congregation for the better part of an hour, considering the need to be animated and engaging.  It's choosing the lesser of two options.  And after much deliberation (even thinking up a plan to send Marci to teach in my place, after having been briefed by me!), I decided that I would go ahead and try to do it myself.

And I'm still not sure if I made the right choice or not.

My teaching was two parts, with kind of a workshop exercise in between.  And after a good bit of rest and a lot of prayer, the first part of the teaching went remarkably well.  Not that I was in top-form.  But at least passable.  However, after the ten-minute workshop time, it went down-hill quickly.  I started teaching and almost immediately needed to sit down in a bar-stool that I had set aside if just such a need would arise.  But then I started sweating.  My back, my shoulders, my forearms, my forehead.  I kept talking through it all.  Then I started to feel light-headed and my vision blurred; people later told me that the color visibly drained from my face.  Still I kept talking.  At one point, though, I felt so miserable that I needed to stop and take a drink -- and at that moment, I noticed that just about everyone in the room visibly (and nervously) smiled and nodded in an overly-exagerated way, obviously having been made quite uncomfortable by my own level of discomfort.  It was embarrassing.  But after gathering myself for a moment, I finished the teaching and managed to hobble off to the church office where I crashed on the couch.

In the end, I made it.  But I genuinely wonder if anyone will remember any of the content of the teaching -- or if it will only be remembered for the circumstances in which the message was delivered.

It was a frustrating experience.  I know that the sickness was beyond my control, and I'm not beating myself up about being sick.  But I was frustrated and discouraged by the whole experience.  I was teaching on Luke 5, the story of the Big Catch, for goodness sake!  Teaching about applying faith in the areas of our failure, trusting that God can turn around our shortcomings (which, in my case, just so happen to be church leadership and Sunday preaching).  I prayed for the strength to make it through the teaching -- and I know that several others were praying for me, too... So what does that mean if God didn't answer those prayers?!?  I'm standing up there, trying to "rally the troops" for a new season of ministry -- speaking to a discouragingly-small crowd, by the way -- and I can't even present the content that God laid on my heart without my human frailty dominating the sermon!  What am I supposed to make of that?!?  So yeah, you could say that it was a frustrating experience...

I guess I really have no other choice but to entrust myself -- and my church -- to God.  Again.  And again.  And again.  Faith and patience must be applied in spite of (or perhaps because of) doubts and long periods of time.  And like I suddenly feel well enough to sit at a computer and write (after three hours of laying in my bed, covers drawn up around me against the fever as I curled up in a fetal position against the pain)... I have to hope that God will move us forward in His time and according to His plan.

In Jesus' name, Amen.