08/24/2026
In June 1859, Jean-François Gravelet (known as The Great Blondin) crossed Niagara Falls walking a tight rope. During his life, he repeated the feat several times, always with a different theatrical variation: blindfolded, in a sack, trundling a wheelbarrow, on stilts, carrying his manager, Harry Colcord, on his back.
Not surprisingly, Blondin's crossings drew crowds. About to cross pushing a wheelbarrow with a sack of cement, he asked a reporter standing with crowd. “Do you believe I can do this?”
“Yes sir, after watching you, I believe you can do anything.”
“Do you believe that instead of a sack of cement, I could put a man in this wheelbarrow, and wheel him safely to the other side?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Blondin, I certainly believe it.”
“Good,” said Blondin, “Get in.”
I love the simplicity of the metaphor. Get in.
And I can imagine my response if I was the one asked. “Do you mind if I just watch?” “Is it okay if I just take photos?” Or, “Would you like me to write a homily about ‘getting in’?”
“Get in.”
This is very different than, “Do you believe?”
I grew up in a church that taught me to believe. And to recite my beliefs (to have a creed). And to challenge anyone who had incorrect beliefs. Or if not challenge, at least pity them. And then I grew up. And it turns out that holding such blameless beliefs turns out to be the easy route. And I can tell you that I have too often used my belief system as a shield, rather than an invitation.
Believers are easy to find.
Practicers, that’s a different story. Think of the parable of the Good Samaritan. Two men who were advocates of a devout creed, plainly passed the beggar—who needed help—by. And one man—the Samaritan—stopped to care for the beggar, a vivid reminder that practicing what you preach, is a metaphor for the invitation, “get in”.
Don’t get me wrong. Passing by is easy to do. Think of it as living in a “bubble”.
It keeps us from seeing, or knowing, or commitment. And bubbles are a good sedative. “I don’t need to know.” Or, “I’m not affected. It’s not my world.”
When I think of this invitation to “get in”, I think of Jesus readily and willingly being “in the midst”. Whenever there was need, he did not pass by, staying in his bubble.
And reading the New Testament, we often see Jesus “in the midst”.
I love that phrase. So, when you "get in," get ready for the ride of your life.
When I get in, I am in touch with my heart. And I am available to... give, forgive, risk, fail, try, create, offer, feel, see, embrace wonder.
I am available to build-bridges, cry, laugh, play, grieve, mourn, fall-down, get-up-again, paint, write, and see poetry in the clouds.
I am available to lend a helping hand, hold a hand that needs it, and give in to the vulnerability of trusting another who pushes the wheelbarrow.
Why get in? Because we’re in this together, and I have something to give. And trust me, it makes a difference. “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Hide it under a bushel, No.”
If life is to be lived, and not merely managed, get in.
If life is to pour out from the heart, and not be solely analyzed from the head, get in.
If life is not just about answers, but about asking the right questions, get in.
It makes sense. You know Teddy Roosevelt's, "in the arena, face marred with sweat and blood" and all that. But what does it mean, to get in? I know this for certain.
If my primary concern is security or well-being…
Or, if my primary concern is staying in the bubble to avoid anxiety and fear…
Or, if my primary concern is avoiding disappointing or aggravating someone, I will believe (and most likely recite my belief in a Creed), but seldom, get in the wheelbarrow.
As a young pastor, I would ask people to be involved with certain ministries—many having to do with real life trauma, supporting people and finding a place for healing and community and redemption. It’s messy work. And many, who found healing in these gatherings themselves, would answer, “I’d love to be involved, but I’m sorry I can’t. I’m not even remotely qualified.”
And my answer, “Good, then you’re perfect for the job.”
Get in.
And I think of the parable of the shepherd looking for the lost sheep. Skill sets are one thing. We can teach them. And procedures and protocols can be learned (and in too many cases in church, they can be happily unlearned).
But a whole heart, an honest awareness and admission of what it means to be a lost sheep, to know sorrow in your heart, and a willingness to set down the moniker of expert and to say, “Please let me carry you” is enough.
It’s easy to be unnerved by it all. For starters, the story of the “lost sheep” would make more sense if it had a wolf. Find an enemy and channel the energy of domination and the tactics of war. No wonder the tsunami of information distracts and overwhelms. And I react (taking sides before I try to listen and understand). The tsunami wins. It drowns my voice; which means I can’t hear the good news, the truth that I still have a role to play.
“To bring about change, you must not be afraid to take the first step. We will fail when we fail to try." (Thank you Rosa Parks) We’re afraid to let “try” be our first step. And we’re afraid to let “fail” be our second step. And because of that, we never see the joy of finding lost sheep, and carrying them home.
Here’s the deal: when I am inundated with internal and external hubbub, I forget about the heart I can bring to this day. The touch I can give to people around me who are tussling with bleakness. The gift of welcome I can offer people who are left out and diminished. The calling I have (to be Tikkun Olam, repairer of the world) to bring pardon and hope and love.
Get in indeed.
My heart is wholly and unreservedly connected.
I realize that I can get in when I know that fear does not own me. In other words, when I know that I am loved, with nothing to prove and no one to impress.
I spent Saturday with my son Zach. I am so grateful for those days. And the little gifts. A sunny Seattle day, full of people, doing what they can, to savor and enjoy. Pike Place Market was brimming. Buskers serenaded us. One singing, “Hallelujah.” “Now I've heard there was a secret chord, That David played and it pleased the Lord.” I had to stop, and let it console my heart.
And then, a Seattle Mariner game. Which we won. Gratefully.
Quote for our week…
“Here's to the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light-bringers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world. They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whisperers of hope that peace is possible. Look for them in this present darkness. Light your candle with their flame. And then go. Build bridges. Hold hands. Bring light to a dark and desperate world. Be the hero you are looking for. Peace is possible. It begins with us.” L.R. Knost
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Bulletin Board
We're all just walking each other home. Ram Dass
