Prayer, incense, and the litter box

The other morning was a perfect morning, especially for a pastor at a very hectic time of the year.

I awoke early, slipped out of bed, and went to the basement. We have a finished basement that, except for the absence of a kitchen, is somewhat like a small apartment.

It was bitterly cold out, so braving the wind and the below-freezing temperatures, I gathered some wood and built a fire in the fireplace.

I brewed a cup of coffee, put on some soft music from a John Michael Talbot CD, and relaxed with my Bible and prayer book.

Having a special place in the basement where I conduct this activity, I also lit a specially made charcoal and burned incense as I spent the next hour and a half or so in prayer and in the scriptures.

This is how I re-energize — how I re-connect with that which is truly important, with that which is divine.

During these times, I hear what the Holy Spirit says through the scriptures and I listen for that “still, small voice.”

I also offer prayer for the leaders of the nation, for the leaders of the Church, for my family, for the people in my churches in Sharpsburg and in Illinois, for the leaders and congregations of our diocese, and for the police officers where I serve as a chaplain.

Of course, I also engage in intercession for those people that I know who are going through difficult days.

On this day, it was especially spiritual and uplifting. When I finished, it occurred to me that I needed to clean out the litter box.

We have two inside cats and, while they are well trained, as far as the litter box goes, if I neglect to clean it at least every other day, Kitter, our 13-year-old female, and Petey, the 2-and-a-half-year-old male, will make their deposits elsewhere, usually on our new carpet.

So, after an hour and a half of the aroma of the heavenly incense and the sense of connecting spiritually, I found myself on my knees once again — this time in the basement bathroom with the odor of cat feces and urine mixed with the aroma of cat litter, which is supposed to mask the cat deposit smell, but doesn’t, using a specially made plastic scooper to remove the foul leavings, and listening to the sound of meowing cats who were impatiently waiting for me to get out of their way.

And that was where I received a spiritual insight — this is the ministry. In fact, this is the Christian life.

We are called to be students of God’s Word, to “pray without ceasing,” to “hold fast to that which is good.”

Like Elijah, we are to listen for the voice of God, which is not always in the loud and the dramatic but in the stillness, which we are to seek out. Our life as a “king and priest” is to be offered in prayer, in intercession, and in worship.

But the litter box is part of that life, too. Mother Teresa of Calcutta knew about the odious smells of terminally ill humanity.

We find that much of our life is spent on our knees cleaning up foul messes that were not of our making.

One can have the most wonderful experience with God and then, within a few moments, go to work and find that the world is in chaos — a place where passions rise and tempers flare.

I have a friend, a bishop, who preaches the Word of God powerfully, ordains men to the ministry, has traveled the world planting churches and building lives.

Yet, at the end of the day, he goes home to his wife, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, and, in solitude where no one sees him but God, cares faithfully and lovingly for her every need.

It is not an “incense moment,” but it is ministry and it is life.

There are people I know who have no spiritual life at all — yet they still have the same “stuff of litter boxes” that everyone living has to contend with.

They deal with sorrow, job loss, death, sickness, marriage problems, divorce — and all the rest; yet they do not trust nor hope in God.

I can’t do that. I can deal with the smell of the litter box, but I need the incense, too.

I can listen to the doomsayers on the news channels, but I need to hear from God’s perspective, as well.

I can deal with the sorrow and the tragedies, but I must have the times of those heavenly experiences, or I will soon crash.

It is ministry. It is life.

I can, indeed, do all things — but only “through Christ who gives me strength.”

Whether I pray or not, the litter box awaits.