Diverting Conversation

Today my husband, Gary, and I drove to the end of Spruce Knob Road so we could take a walk on different section of it than we usually do. We parked in a small pull-off across from a field that had recently been hayed. Round bales lay in a haphazard fashion, and an old tractor was parked on the edge of the field near the road. Over the expanse, clouds, puffy and white piled up on top of one another and seemed to be constructed with an eye to setting off the deep blue of the sky. It was a beautiful August afternoon.

When we walk we are often torn between having a deep discussion about something that is on our minds or being quiet so that we can better take in our surroundings. Today felt like a day for silence to me. The beauty of the sky and the fields, the trees in their full summer greenery and the occasional bird flitting by demanded all of my attention.

After we had walked for a while, we came to a stream which had hardly any water. It was unusual to see it so dry, and Gary commented on the news he had read. "Some of the major rivers in Europe are drying up, and out in the Western US they are talking about diverting the Mississippi river to supply water to the drought-stricken Southwest."

I didn't really want to talk about it. Honestly, I didn't want to think about it either. I couldn't help remembering Mary Evelyn Tucker's comment nearly 20 years ago now at a Yale symposium I attended on climate change and the church. She said something to the effect that, if we didn't preach about climate change and encourage our churches to do something make a difference now, then we would be forced to talk about it soon enough because the results of it would become evident and catastrophic.

Well, things do feel pretty catastrophic, and despite the beauty of my surroundings, anxiety zips through my mind. I know there are many small things I can do to help ease the situation, and I do as many of them as I can manage. But I also know that real change will only happen when good, environmentally responsible decisions are made at the national and international levels. 

This means we need leaders who understand the issues and are willing to do what is right, despite the political fallout. This means helping our leaders find their way back to values like honesty, integrity and working for the good of all people and all inhabitants of the earth. It can be discouraging, to see how wealthy businesses and individuals continue to pursue financial gain rather than looking to do what is right for the whole. 

People ask me, "How can we deal with the frustration? How are we supposed to handle the anxiety and the stress all of this brings to our lives?" For me the answer lies in spending time in the natural world every day, even if I am just sitting on my porch for a little while. It means breathing in the air and paying attention to whatever is there - birds flying across my line of vision or a bee buzzing around my lunch, a lush garden of flowers or weeds poking up out of the sidewalk, clouds rolling up from the distant hills or a a trickling stream, my cat pushing at my hand for attention. 

Breathing in, I take in the freshness, the reality of this moment in time. Breathing out, I release the things that trouble me. I do this as long as it takes, until I feel a bit calmer, a little more prepared for my day. And then I stand up and put my hands and my heart toward whatever is next, whatever is needed of me.

Theater in the Woods

"Theater in the Woods" is a tradition of long-standing in our little Vermont town. It began as a part of a larger festival that featured workshops and speakers about solar energy and homesteading practices along with music and a celebration of the arts. The plays were written by local folks including children's book author Frank Asch, and usually had a moral to them that reminded the audience how to care for the earth, or how to treat one another with kindness. Although the festival is no longer, the theater that was a part of it has continued. It has grown into a popular summer camp for children and teens, run by many of the people who starred in the original performances back in the day, carrying a wonderful continuity of purpose and joyful connection.

On the final day of each session, the campers and staff put on a play that travels to a variety of locations in the neighboring meadow and orchard. The audience troops good-naturedly through the fields, along trails, with special accommodations made for those with mobility issues. We all follow the lead of a colorful larger than life puppet, squeezing in close to the action at each location, the better to hear and see. Before the performance, the camp's director, Melissa Chesnut-Tangerman commented that the play they chose this year was a wordy one, making it challenging for the actors to learn all of their lines in the brief time they had together. As a group they came to the conclusion that it was the process that was important to them, and not the end result of a flawless performance.

As the play unfolded, this intention became clear to those of us in the audience. The actors supported one another, covering for each other so well and smoothly that it was difficult to pick up on any glitches of memory. The meaning of the play came through when one of the main characters used her wish to grant a gift to her newfound friend rather than for personal riches. Her action, and the cast's true ensemble spirit brought home the message that community, and supporting one another are values that make for a good life.

My hope is that all of us - actors and audience - brought home with us this message. Each of us has it within us to make the world a better place, one choice at a time, one action at a time, one person at a time.

For more info, see: Theater in the Woods 

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? 

God, Love & Truth

"God, Guns and Trump" is emblazoned on a barn that I have to drive by frequently. The flag first went up when the 2020 election was in full swing, but it is still hanging there and I can't help but see it as a threat to the democracy and the faith that I hold dear. 

The whole idea that God has anything to do with guns or with promoting a particular political candidate disgusts me, and I am speaking as a Christian, as a pastor of 38 years. Jesus was a pacifist who refused to seize power through force or any underhanded methods. Satan tempted him with power and authority over the nations of the world when Jesus was fasting in the wilderness. Jesus said "no" in very clear terms. He refused to make any deals with the devil even if the deal seemed to promote things that Jesus was working toward. 

Peter wielded a sword in Gethsemane, cutting off the ear of a Roman soldier who had come to arrest Jesus. Jesus told Peter to put his sword away. Scholars think that a part of Judas's frustration with Jesus was that he did not raise up an army to fight the Roman oppressors. Some of them say that Judas was trying to force Jesus's hand when he betrayed him to the authorities, wrongly assuming that Jesus would finally turn on them and fight.

Jesus's messages centered on Love, not violence. Yes, he did expect to win over the world and all of the earthly and political powers that were and are, but he expected to do so through the power of Love. He did not threaten his enemies with physical violence, but rather with the power of God, whom he saw as the God of Love. Jesus turned the world's understandings upside down. “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you," (Matthew 5:43-44)

We are in challenging times, times in which love is being pushed to the side as not being a strong or effective force. We live in times when honesty is seen as a quaint character flaw of the naive rather than the central characteristic of a good person. We live in times when the idea of fairness has been subverted to mean, "if I have the power or the money, I can do whatever I want no matter who it crushes underfoot in the process." But I want to go on record saying that this attitude is not Christian. The end never justifies privilege-bought, deceitful or violent means, even if the end is something you think God wants. 

God's ways are not our ways. God has the power to work through Love and does not need our guns or dishonest politics in order to win the day. In fact, if you are not honest; if you need to resort to violence, then you have most likely strayed from the Way laid out by Jesus.

My prayer is that we can find our way back to a Christian faith that honestly reflects the values that Jesus embodied throughout his entire life.

    

Cherries & Mindfulness

Yesterday morning I spent  a couple of hours picking cherries at the orchard near my home. I love tart cherries and try to stock my freezer with them each summer so we can enjoy them in the winter. Rarely in the past have I ventured out on a Saturday. During my working life Saturdays were spent preparing for Sunday worship services. Oh, sure, I might take an hour or so to hike or swim (or ski) with Gary or a friend, but for the most part I found it difficult to relax and actually pay attention to something that was not related to Sunday morning.

It was amazing, then, to wake up yesterday realizing I had the time to not only pick cherries, but also to use my little gadget to pit them while they were still firm, making that task a whole lot easier to accomplish. Cherries pretty much took up my entire day. There was something freeing about spending all that time focused on one simple intention of filling the freezer with a taste of summer's tart sweetness. 

I have always enjoyed taking time to prepare good meals for my family from scratch, to keep a vegetable garden, and to make bread, yogurt or kombucha when I could. No matter what I was doing though, whether home and family-related or work-related, it often felt as if I was stealing the time away from something else. When I was still in college a missionary couple stayed on campus for their sabbatical and spent time teaching and talking about their experiences overseas. One piece of wisdom they imparted to me was, "don't let the urgent take place of the important." This bit of advice tends to pop into my mind when I stress about not doing some urgent-seeming something.

Too often, we let the urgent rule our days, and sadly there are times when we never get to the things that are important. Overall, I manage to maintain a pretty decent balance in the choices I make, but yesterday's cherry immersion showed me that there is more for me to learn in this regard. I felt the difference between doing something I loved with absolute freedom, versus doing it while another responsibility lingered in the back of my mind. Although I have practiced meditation for several years now, and even taught it, the mysteries of mindfulness continue to unfold, offering new insights at each turn. There was a different quality to my ability to focus yesterday which I long to experience more often. 

A little book I read a long time ago, whose title and author I do not recall, told the story of a monk new to monastery life who was charged with making bread. He had started mixing, adding raisins to the dry ingredients, when a senior monk told him they were making plain bread that day so he needed to pick out the raisins. The new monk started to protest, saying it would take too much time. The senior monk calmly reminded him it didn't really matter what he did to occupy his hands, that what was important was what occupied his mind and heart. He could pray and meditate whether he was taking raisins out of flour or mixing the ingredients together. 

No matter what I do today, or any day, I hope that I can embody this good advice, and be fully present in the process of whatever activities make up my day.

 

Retired!

This is the first day of my retired life. It is pretty exciting to finally take the step I have been contemplating for awhile now! In The Summer Day poet Mary Oliver asks, "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" This question has been haunting me. I feel that there is something inside of me that wants to come out, but I don't know what it is. I sense that it needs me to create time and space where it will feel welcomed and safe, where it can stretch its wings a bit and let them dry before attempting to take flight. 

Karen Walrond, author of The Lightmaker's Manifesto, in conversation with Brene Brown, said it is important to create space in your life, to not just get restless, but to get bored! As I listened to their conversation I started to recognize that I am very familiar with getting restless when I take time off from the normal routines of my life, and that my restlessness usually pushes me to get active again pretty darn quickly. It is rare that I allow myself the freedom to actually get bored. Even on vacation, I often bring along a pile of books I plan to read, or work on some writing. I was nervous about retiring and leaving behind a job that was meaningful to me, one through which I felt I was contributing to the community in a positive way. Sure ministry can be anxiety producing, but it also has aspects that are deeply fulfilling and rewarding. Still, after 39 years of parish ministry, I knew it was time. It was time for me to prioritize this other calling that kept tugging at me, the one that Mary Oliver's words reminded me of.

One of my favorite places in the world is an island off the coast of Maine where my husband and I have been going for eight years now, often twice a year. When people ask me what I will do there, my usual response is "I will hike the trails and sit by the sea watching the waves, the seals and the birds." And that is what I do, I sit for extraordinarily long periods of time observing and even becoming a part of the scenery. I realized that this is what I need to do now. I need to simply be present where I am, letting the peace of the place (no matter where I find myself) settle into my bones.

Eventually, whatever is next will start to show itself, but until then I will be trying to get comfortable with any restlessness that emerges. Until then, I will keep breathing deeply, practicing those meditative techniques and prayerful approaches to life that have anchored me through the years. I will be waiting for boredom to take hold, and, hopefully, welcoming it as a true gift.

Eclipse and Community

           This Monday started off like any other week, with my yoga class where I encouraged my body to stretch and where I was encouraged to pay attention to the infinitesimal details of how various muscles and ligaments moved (or didn’t).  But afterward, Gary and I drove off to Castleton chasing the sun, or to be more accurate, in search of a way to safely view the imminent solar eclipse.

            We pulled into the parking lot at Castleton University near the small planetarium where there were already at least 100 people gathered.  The Green Mountain Astronomy Club had set up four telescopes with special filtering lenses and already a long line snaked its way across the grass to that particular tent.  As we approached, a couple asked if we would like to use their special eclipse viewing glasses to take a look at the sun.  The astronomy club was urging people to share glasses they said, encouraging newcomers to just tap someone on the shoulder and ask if they could borrow theirs for a moment. 

            Not only did this tactic work, but it helped to create a festive and communal atmosphere among the crowd.  People were smiling, sharing glasses and stories, showing off their homemade devices crafted out of old cereal boxes or colanders or in one case, a pair of binoculars embedded backwards in a large cardboard box lid and held a couple feet above a white sheet of paper where the image of the sun appeared.  We discovered that Gary’s straw hat left perfectly shaped little eclipse light shadows on his shirt, and had fun sharing that with the people waiting in line with us.  Strangers talked and smiled and were at ease with one another.  It was a wonderful gathering, and we left smiling, lighthearted and feeling that we had participated in something very special.

            It seems that we weren’t the only ones to feel this way.  The day after the eclipse I noticed several articles in the New York Times and other news and commentary sources that I regularly follow mused about the sense of community that was a strong thread running through Monday’s eclipse viewing gatherings across the country.  I think we all needed this.  We needed to come together to celebrate and experience something that we all had in common.  We needed to share smiles and stories and eclipse glasses with one another without worrying about the politics or religion of it and whether or not we could agree on it. 

            We all saw the same thing, a very simple image of the bright circle of the sun being swallowed up by the shadow of the moon, and even though it was simple we kept passing the glasses around exclaiming about the changes, asking if the person next to us noticed the difference from just a minute or two ago.  The camaraderie was just what the doctor ordered for what is ailing us, a good dose of community spirit, of shared lighthearted celebration.  In Castleton the crowd cheered at the height of the eclipse, and it felt to me like we just might have been cheering about the shared experience even more than we were cheering for the sun or moon or their beautiful dance in the sky.