Seeds of Community & Hope

As the daylight started to fade, Gary and I stoked up our wood stove and bundled up to go out into the wintry night. A friend had invited us to come over and help create a seed mandala using the beautiful multi-colored corn he had grown. 

We had participated in creating mandalas before, and had seen Tibetan monks as well as Navajo artists working with colored sand to do the same. We were eager to put our minds and hands to good use, breathing our prayers for community, for healing, for hope, and for peace into the pattern we would choose to create.

The colorful ears of corn were hanging along the ceiling, having spent the past month or so drying out. Our friend brought some ears down and we got to work stripping the kernels from the cobs, and then carefully sorting them into bowls of yellow, pink, orange, red, blue, purple, and some of surprising yellow and red stripe. 

Sharing a potluck dinner, we took a break and talked about possible designs. The three young children, still dressed as fairies in their fanciful outfits complete with iridescent wings, chimed in, eager to help. Deciding on a Tree of Life, each of us took hands full of kernels, carefully arranging them into a strong trunk, then deep and intricate roots. Once the Tree was established, each child chose a color and helped design a rainbow effect of pillowy leaves across the tops of the branches.

Mandalas are often created as an active prayer, a sign of hope. Their intricate patterns and designs are imbued with sacred meaning. Ours was no different. When we had finished, we all sat back around the edges of the Tree and spoke in hushed tones about what we saw in the beauty and intent of the design. 

As we prepared to leave, we knew that the mandala would last for the night, perhaps, and then the corn would be gathered into bowls to be stored for food this winter. Even though the mandala itself was ephemeral, as most mandalas are, the prayers and intentions it brought forth will, we hope, spill out into our lives and into the world around us. 

The cozy evening spent with a few other creators of beauty and hope, kept my heart warm as we made our way home. I imagine it will continue to keep my spirit hopeful whenever I reflect on it. My earnest desire is that it does the same for others who were a part of the experience, as well as for you, who are hearing about it now.

 

Where Stewardship & Ownership Meet

 I am getting ready to preach for the first time since I retired last year. The scriptures focus on Creation, which usually makes me smile. But just yesterday the Supreme Court pulled EPA protections away from wetlands, leaving room for the erosion of over 50 years worth of careful stewardship of these precarious and precious places. The wetlands are the spaces that absorb excess waters when extreme rains come, they protect the integrity and clarity of lakes, rivers, and oceans by filtering sediment and toxins.

The case that brought this to the Court's attention has to do with the concept of “ownership” of land. Some folks bought land, for a pretty penny, and they want to do what they choose with it. On the surface that sounds perfectly understandable, but if we rush to defend "ownership" we often do so by casting the idea of "stewardship" into the shadows.

Gary and I live on land that is in part shared space. We are part of a community of 6 homeowners who each "own" 10 acres and share in the care and stewardship of about 80 acres of orchard, meadow and woodland. When the community was conceived, nearly 50 years ago, the original participants had a loosely defined desire to protect the land and hold it in reserve for future generations. About 20 years ago we placed a good bit of the land into the Vermont Land Use program, agreeing not to develop the land and to care for it in special ways in exchange for a reduction in taxes.

We have interpreted this responsibility in different ways over the years, and for the most part, have been able to agree on what that looks like - mowing the meadow after the Bobolinks and Savannah Sparrows have fledged, cutting trees in the wood lot so as to increase habitat and mast for creatures and also to encourage the growth of healthy trees. Our orchard has presented a challenge, however. It turns out there are a wide variety of approaches to managing an old orchard, and divergent views of what we are working toward with said management.

All of this contributes to my asking, "so, what is good stewardship? What does it look like to take care of an orchard, a meadow, a woodland or a wetland? How much should we be interfering with the natural course of events, and for whom are we managing the land, anyway?" My ready answer is that we are taking care of the land for future generations, but does this mean our children and grandchildren or does it mean the people who will be here seven generations and more from now? 

I would hope that this is the same thing, but recent discussions have proven me wrong, or at least out of synch with the perspectives of some of my friends and neighbors. As I reread the creation story in Genesis, I became aware that my perspective has been shaped by this scripture and how the environmental movement interprets stewardship. It has been shaped by the Indigenous perspective that says the land does not belong to us, but rather we belong to the land. In this vein, I have to put aside my personal needs and desires and bow to the needs of the earth and all of the living beings who depend on her, not just us humans.

It is difficult for us to give up the personal perspective. It is difficult for us to let go of the notion of ownership and all of the rights and privileges this entails. It is difficult to move from a place of bending the land to our wishes and instead, putting ourselves in service to the land, but this is what is needed. It is necessary to do this in order to ensure that there is a sustainable future for any of us.

A Centering Place

Whenever I am at home in Vermont, I like to make a daily trek to this little stream that runs behind our house. Sometimes I carry a stick of incense, but I always bring a little bit of well water from our tap as I make my way along the wooded path my feet have created over the years. When I arrive at the stream, I offer a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of the day - whether sunny or rainy, warm or cold, and for the gifts that life brings to me. Sometimes this is a highlight of my day - recognizing the simple gift of being alive and able to take in the beauty and sources of wonder evident all around me.

Once my prayers are done and observations of all there is to be grateful for feel complete, I settle in at the edge of the stream and watch the water flow for a while. If I am feeling off, unsettled in any way, spending time with the stream helps. As the water flows, my frayed nerves calm down. The waters refresh and soothe me, clearing my mind of chatter and worries. I like to imagine the water washing my cares away, carrying them down stream and out to the sea where they are diluted into the vastness of the ocean.

This ritual grounds me in the place that I call home. It helps me to feel more centered, especially when facing challenges or dealing with worries. The picture above shows the spot where the water pools and some incense burns over it. You may be able to sense the peace and calm of this place through my words, but it is even more likely that you are calling to mind a place that offers this sense of centeredness for you. I encourage you to go there whether in person or through your memories, and let your heart be at home for a while today.

Like a Butterfly

When Gary and I stopped in Virginia to spend a week with Sarah and Kyle, their neighbors, Debby and her daughter Callie invited us to come over and learn how to work with stained glass. During the pandemic, they had set up an entire studio in their home so they had everything we would need to try it out. When we arrived to take them up on their offer, Sarah and I were entranced by all of the beautiful and unique stained glass pieces displayed throughout their home.

Downstairs in the workshop, we each chose a simple pattern to work with - a butterfly for me and a hummingbird for Sarah. Our hosts assured us that if we caught on, and they were sure we would, that next time we could make something more interesting and complicated. Speaking for myself, this project was just the right amount of complicated for my first attempt, and the process itself certainly proved to be plenty interesting!

With our patterns in hand, we looked through several rainbows worth of colors to find just the right ones to match the finished products in our imaginations. We cut the glass carefully using special tools, and then sanded the edges of each piece with a grinder. This was the first aspect of the process that worked on me like a meditation. Holding tiny pieces of glass up to the grinder as the machine spun, my attention was transfixed as I watched for the moment when each edge perfectly fit my pattern. 

Once they had been ground just right, Callie showed me how to apply a special metal tape around each piece. Some more grinding was in order as I refit the pieces together with the tape in place. Once the tape was secure, it was time to solder the pieces together. This turned out to be yet another opportunity for mindful focus as it was tricky to get the solder to lay down smoothly with no bumps or sharp spots.

Since I wanted my butterfly to have black edges, the last part of the process was to coat the cooled solder with a patina, let it set overnight and then buff it into a nice shine. Saying a grateful "goodbye" along with deep appreciation for Callie and Debby's patient teaching, I was excited to bring my butterfly home.

I learned more than the basic skills of working with stained glass during the hours I spent bringing my butterfly into being. As I said, it was a meditative experience in many ways because so much of the process required patiently shaping and reshaping each tiny piece of glass until all of the pieces fit together just right. It was a deep teaching about the importance of paying attention to detail and of the value of each and every part of the larger whole, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant it was. Every little piece of glass mattered. Paying careful attention at every stage of the process made a difference in the butterfly and in me.

Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Happiness is like a butterfly, the more you chase it, the more it will evade you, but if you notice the other things around you, it will gently come and sit on your shoulder.” As I was learning how to work with stained glass, a deep sense of contentment settled on me. It came to me as an unexpected gift that I had not even thought to pursue. 

My completed butterfly in a sunny window at home in Vermont. 

(I took this last picture, but all of the previous ones were taken by my daughter, Sarah Colletti.)

The Wisdom of Bluebirds

                                                                ~Photo by June Schulte

My friend June took this photo of a Bluebird who was doing his best to deal with below-zero temperatures. When you live in Vermont and it is winter time, your options for keeping warm are limited. Recently, when the temperatures dipped well below freezing, this little guy perched on a branch above a heated bird bath for the duration. Puffing his feathers out, he created as much insulation from the cold as he could muster. 

I have been spending a lot of time with Florida's birds, none of whom seem to have any trouble accepting the warm and sometimes hot weather down here. Being so close to water most of the time, they can easily dip in and cool off if that is their desire. The ocean breezes help to keep things comfortable as well, for birds and for us.

This got me to thinking about how we protect ourselves from the extremes that challenge us - extremely hot or cold weather, emotional ups and downs, and more painfully, the tragedies that sometimes touch our lives. How do we insulate ourselves so that we have the protection we need? How do we ensure that we are not thrown too far off balance by the challenges that come our way?

Sometimes I wish I was like this little Bluebird and could puff up my feathers to create a soft cushion around me. Seeing him got me to thinking about what we humans can do for ourselves when the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" whiz around our ears. What stands in the place of fluffy feathers for us?

Companionship is possibly the strongest protection we have. Family, friends, companion animals, co-workers, other folks who know something about what we are facing. Each of these offers support to us when we need it, and each offers different kinds of accompaniment, depending on their particular gifts and on our relationship with them. Some are good listeners, others offer deep wisdom, some are active and get us moving when we need that, while others are good cozy company when we need to curl up for awhile. 

For me, companionship also comes in the mysterious form of the Holy. Call this God, Spirit, All-That-Is - whatever strikes a chord with your own inner knowing. Even after years of ministering, and of praying my way through a humbling array of crises, the Holy shows up in my life, my mind and my heart in a wide variety of ways. Even now, a simple name does not manage to wrap this Presence up for me in any kind of authentic way. But I know I am held in this Holy Presence, always.

Quite some time ago when I was going through a rough patch, a dear friend guided me to imagine myself surrounded by rose colored light, she described it as an egg-shaped rose quartz. This was meant to provide protection from any outside elements that challenged me and also to be a source of strength so that I could face those challenges with courage. It helped, so I return to this practice whenever I feel the need for a little extra protection, a little extra courage. 

When I surround myself with this light, I feel the presence of all of my companions in life - the mysterious presence of God, Spirit, All-That-Is and the earthier presence of dear family and friends. In this way, I feel held in Love. As I get ready to take whatever step seems the next right thing to do, I am held in Love. If I need to curl up and sit tight for a while as the sweet Bluebird in this picture is doing, I can do that with a sense of peace. Knowing that no matter what, the love of family, friends and the Holy surrounds me now and always, gently guiding me, never judging, always holding me close.

The Christmas Tree That Almost Wasn't

Well, we got a tree... actually we got the top of a tree.

Gary and I were walking along the road that passes the Christmas tree farm near our home and we noticed a large tree that had been cut down. It lay there for at least a week, maybe two, so I called the owner and asked if the tree was intended to go somewhere, but he said he cut it down because it was too big. I explained that we didn't want to cut down a tree because we would be gone by the time Christmas rolled around and it felt wasteful. "If that big tree is not going to be used, could we cut the top for our Christmas tree?" "Sure" he replied. "Merry Christmas!"

As soon as I hung up the phone, we drove down with a saw and a handful of cornmeal to offer a blessing of gratitude to the tree for the gift of its life. Gary found a good place to cut, noticing that the tree branched off several times and so had multiple "tops" making it less than perfect as a Christmas tree, but it still felt just right for us.

Several of our friends have chosen to switch over to artificial trees, citing various reasons: It is easier, and far less messy. You can leave it up as long as you want without any concern about fire dangers or messy needles from drying out branches. Environmentally speaking, you don't have to cut down a living tree. We considered all of this for a little while, but came back pretty quickly to wanting to stay with the tradition of securing a live Christmas tree for our home. 

The tradition is actually an ancient one, with roots in Pagan as well as Christian times. While I appreciate the history, I have to acknowledge that my appreciation is mostly personal. In the cold months when deciduous trees have lost their leaves, the sight and smell of pine trees lifts my spirits. This is true when I walk through the woods, and it is true when we bring a Christmas tree into our home. Some evenings I sit in the living room just drinking in the sight of our lit up and decorated tree, breathing deeply in an effort to take in as much of the piney scent as I possibly can. 

Gary and I almost didn't get a tree this year, but I am so glad that we did. The fact that we were able to give new life to a tree that would otherwise have spent its days lying in a field with no particular purpose, makes me feel even better. It kind of feels like this Christmas tree has something to teach me. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that it has two top branches between which our angel stands, or maybe it has to do with its having been rescued, redeemed from obscurity, in a sense? (Although that sounds pretty grandiose when I actually write it down.) Maybe it has to do with the need we felt to have a Christmas tree in our home for these darkening days approaching the Winter Solstice, despite the fact that we will be gone by Christmas itself? 

As I sort out the many emotions associated with this retirement year of "firsts" there seem to be a host of meanings that undergird every decision I make and every experience I have. Meanings that I cannot decipher in the moment, but which I hope might reveal themselves to me at some point in time moving forward. For the time being, I am just enjoying the peaceful beauty of this tree that almost wasn't, enjoying it's imperfect perfection, while trying to accept my own.

 

Dinner Party

It has been a while. It has been a while since Gary and I gathered around a table with more than a couple of good friends or family members. Last night that changed. All of us agreed to coming only if we felt well, and were up to date on the available boosters against COVID. When we walked in the door and found ourselves embraced in long-delayed hugs, it felt like a homecoming. Back to ourselves. Back to friendships old and anticipated. Back to being in good company for an enjoyable evening.

The conversation may have begun with some sharing about bodies and minds that were showing the signs of age in various ways, but we quickly moved on to more interesting topics. We spoke of gardens and preserving the produce, of meaningful projects and the things that inspire us to press on and contribute to making our communities stronger and more resilient.

When dinner was served, we were directed to specific places chosen for us by the hostess. I found myself sitting near a woman whose life journey held some similarities to my own, and yet our paths were different enough to offer us both interesting avenues of conversation to explore. Throughout the meal, which was delicious, different topics popped up around the table, drawing each of us out and encouraging full participation in the exchange of ideas and insights. Many of us are involved in activism in a variety of venues within the larger community, so the sharing of our work and our perspectives was interesting. 

I have missed community like this. I have missed gathering around a table knowing there was much to explore and learn from with the others who were sitting there. Too often, and particularly during the past few years, we have restricted ourselves to the people we know well and with whom we are sure to agree. There is deep joy in being in circles where we feel loved and accepted and held. There is also joy in discovering new people with whom to engage in meaningful conversation, and people we may have known for a while but with whom we have not had the opportunity to go deep.

When we take risks, when we reach out and get to know people in new ways, when we embrace opportunities to stretch beyond our comfort zone, we are building community. I even believe we are taking on the challenging work of building a more whole and healthy world. It is amazing what a seemingly simple evening can bring to life.

Butterfly Peace & Power

This beautiful creature landed at my feet as I drank my early morning mate' on the porch. She sat in front of me for a long time, allowing me to take pictures and enjoy a companionable silence. After a while I went back to my reading, checking the New York Times, actually. As I took in the news, my unexpected guest provided a helpful counter-balance to the headlines, reminding me that the world is not just one thing. It is not just a place where 10 year old girls are raped but unable to terminate the pregnancy in peace and privacy in order to lessen the inevitable trauma of the situation. It is not just a world in which children and persons of color are gunned down at the whim of a fanatic with a ridiculously aggressive gun. And not a world in which the climate is changing but we are unwilling to challenge the oil and coal industries.

No, the butterfly reminded me. This is also a world in which beauty exists, and sometimes we don't even have to look very hard to see it. This is a world of serendipitous visitations by fragile-winged emissaries. This is a world where peace is possible. I know, because I felt peace when that butterfly landed at my feet this morning. I felt peace when the summer breeze blew the wind chimes and when I listened to the birds singing.

Small moments of peace and beauty might not seem like much when measured against the challenges "out there" in the world, and often the challenges in our own lives as well. But these small moments of peace provide the foundation upon which greater things are possible. Scientist Edward Lorenz made the discovery that even a tiny, almost immeasurable change in conditions could alter the weather in the long term. Surprised, he commented that if a butterfly flaps its wings it could ultimately cause a tornado. This led to the popular theory known as "The Butterfly Effect", and to the dream that even the small things we are capable of doing as individuals and small groups can make a big difference.

Even if we believe that our actions or words might make a difference for good, it still takes effort to keep on showing up for peace and for justice. Working against the formidable forces at work in the world is difficult. Greed, white supremacy, power and the fear which I believe is at the heart of these ills, are not easy to face down. But maybe this is where we need to consider my morning guest. Rather than feeling as if we are starting from scratch, how can we emphasize and build on the peace that is already present in our lives? How can we spread it out a little further each time it shows up?