A Message from "Out There"

As I weeded and planted tiny spinach and tinier lettuce seeds in my garden this past summer, I found myself once again ruminating on the way friends (and some not so friendly) refer to me as being "out there." Because I view myself as "right here," I don't understand why to them I'm "out there." Why is anyone referred to as "out there"? Simply put,  an "out there" person doesn't think like the people who think she's out there. Some don't care a wit what people think or say about them; unfortunately I guess I do. 

As I weeded and mused about being "out there, " I suddenly realized that the space where I was weeding was, in fact, really out there; the community garden is located in the back 40 of our 92-acre church property--a blessing in it's quiet remoteness and a space from which our church building can't be seen. As I embraced my out-there-ness, I began to think about other "out there" people--those who leave the milieu to go "where no man (or woman) has gone before"; those who, like the martyrs mentioned in Hebrews, answer the invitation to join Jesus "out there" (Hebrews 13:13), beyond the pale of normal, expected ventures. I'll admit here that I'm not sure Hebrews 13:13 reflects the way I am out there. I hope at some point it does.

But here's the thing: all discovery happens in some way "out there." And important, life-changing events have happened because people have been willing to go out there--people like Patrick who traveled to the far edges of known civilization for the sake of the gospel; like the men and women who left their homelands to rescue France and the rest of Nazi-occupied Europe during World War II; like saints, prophets and witnesses throughout history who went "out there" in search of a better country--who responded to a vision beyond their own lives and experiences. It's the story, over and over again, of the good shepherd who goes "out there" in search of his lost sheep, leaving 99 sheep behind. (And how do we think the 99 left in the pen respond to the question, "Hey, sheep--where's your shepherd?" No doubt, "Our shepherd? Somewhere out there!")

But here's where being "out there" is especially worrisome (or at least interesting fodder for blather); the shepherd puts himself/herself (yes, there are girl shepherds--think Little Bo Peep) at risk for the one sheep that has wandered "out there." Our explorations can get us and others into trouble. But they can also lead to more expansive lives--an appreciation that the world is bigger and more diverse than we thought, wilder and filled with glory as well as danger.

And by the way: I’ve made my peace with being “out there” and will be happy to give you my address in case any of  you want to visit me. 

10/10/13