Lenten Walk Series 4/5
Gratitude for legacy and heritage have been on our praiseful lips these past two daysas we have made our way to Big Sky, Montanta for a week of skiing with family. We overnighted in Butte, MT the birthplace of both of my parents and a landscape both sets of my grandparents intimately knew and loved
Gratitude for legacy and heritage have been on our praiseful lips these past two days as we have made our way to Big Sky, Montanta for a week of skiing with family. We overnighted in Butte, MT the birthplace of both of my parents and a landscape both sets of my grandparents intimately knew and loved. My paternal grandfather, Knute Plate, immigrated from Sweden to Butte and worked the mines here in what is known as the “richest hill on earth.” And, my maternal grandfather advocated and proponed any project or proposal that would keep this motto socially and theoretically true. One of the projects in which my Grampa, Don Ulrich, was critically involved was the restoration of Blacktrail Creek, which runs through the mid-line of Butte. This stream corridor, highlighted by the majestic presence of the nearby Continental Divide, had suffered adverse affects by “channelization” (or the straightening of the stream), livestock overgrazing, highway construction, and other urban development. A primary restoration goal of this project was to improve public access and use of the stream corridor as well as improving ecosystem function and biodiversity habitat. The restoration resulted in a healthier stream and made a valuable natural resource more accessible to the public.
The pedestrian trail was renamed the Ulrich-Schotte Nature Trail and is now a two-mile segment of a Greenway system in Butte. Named after my grandparents, Don and Kathryn Ulrich and their dear friends and civic leaders, George and Jennie Schotte, The Blacktail Creek Restoration Project was completed in 1998. These visionaries believed that this landscape could be more than what it was. They believed that they didn't have to be content with the status quo: a sickly stream that was a regular dump site for neighbors' trash. Over the years, the project grew from a stream restoration project to include a recreational trail used by thousands of area residents and visitors. This grand vision resulted in something that would serve the greater community, humans and creatures combined!
Considering the stewardship work that we are currently about in Seattle’s Rainier Valley, I was struck anew with the realization of all my grandfather did on behalf of Other and the Future. In this context, he spoke on behalf of the healthy biodiversity that hung in balance depending on the health and well being of this stream corridor. He had the insight and clarity of mind to foresee that healthy and vibrant ecosystems would result in a native, beautiful landscape that would mutually enhance the health and well-being of Butte’s people and generations to come. It became clear that we do this work in our lives out of a great hope for the future, but also because of the legacy and heritage of my family’s DNA.
This was an ideal, which Grampa had to champion with both shovel in hand and policy papers in the other to get the City to support this intrinsic value proposal. But I understand now that he had a vision that was rooted in justice. It would be socially irresponsible to allow that stream to dry up due to the City’s mismanagement of resources. It would also be a holistic loss for both the creature’s depending on that landscape for life, and the inherent health benefits that would be available to the people if allowed to enjoy this native feature. Peace is the presence of justice, Martin Luther King Jr. once said. And the peaceful place that is experienced along this vibrant stream attests to the justice advocated on behalf of systems greater than our own.
For the past couple days we have been walking segments of this trail. We have offered prayers of thanksgiving for our heritage and ancestors, the lives that link us to a lineage of justness and action. It has also caused us to reflect more on our own “legacy work”--that great work of making an impact on something greater than, and beyond, ourselves. We prayed that our children would be impacted by a need outside of themselves that would cause them to cry and subsequently stand up and fight for a better way. We prayed that they too would continue to walk in our heritage’s path of faith, always looking to the mountains, from where comes our help (Psalm 121:1), for the vision to reimagine a better way on behalf of something greater than themselves.
Lenten Walk Series 3
Walking through the streets of Seattle's New Rainier Vista neighborhood can seem somewhat like a maze. If you don't keep your bearings on Mt. Rainier (easy to lose for non-natives on a cloudy day), you can effortlessly get turned about. As we walked along the sidewalks of this redevelopment, the children picked up garbage; it seemed the only familiar act in which to respond to the ever-present litter lined up along some of these unfamiliar lanes.
Walking through the streets of Seattle's New Rainier Vista neighborhood can seem somewhat like a maze. If you don't keep your bearings on Mt. Rainier (easy to lose for non-natives on a cloudy day), you can effortlessly get turned about. As we walked along the sidewalks of this redevelopment, the children picked up garbage; it seemed the only familiar act in which to respond to the ever-present litter lined up along some of these unfamiliar lanes.
We prayed for this new community that has both displaced long-time Valley residents and offered new hope for immigrants and refugees from around the world. We acknowledged that living in this dense urban village must seem very much like a maze for families who come without great resources from war torn countries. However, we also prayed that, unlike a maze, these souls wouldn't come here to get lost. Rather, more in alignment with that of a labyrinth, these many homes and streets would lead to personal transformation and, ultimately, abundant life.
The children played for a bit at a happened upon pocket park surrounded by tall, dense homes. As we followed the trail to exit the playground, we came upon a grouping of carved stones with labyrinth images.
Today's prayers echoed this ancient prayer, attributed to St. Brigid:
“God of the Twisting Path, God of the Turning Spiral, God of Revelation, God of Infinite Mystery; may this God enfold and entwine you in every step. ”
The Legend of the Labyrinth of the Minotaur
Upon ascending to the throne of Crete, King Minos prayed to Poseidon to send him a white bull, which he would sacrifice in honor of Poseidon. However, Minos found the bull so delightful that he kept it and sacrificed an ordinary bull, which angered the gods. Aphrodite made Persephae, Minos' wife, so desire the white bull that she bore its offspring, which grew to become the monstrous Minotaur, half man and half bull. King Mino had Daedaius, the master craftsman, build a giant labyrinth to hold the Minotaur.
The Athenian King Aegeus was compelled to pay Minos penalties every ninth year by giving up seven young men and seven maidens, who were forced to enter the Labyrinth of the Minotaur and ultimately be devoured. At the approach of the third sacrifice, Theseus, the son of King Aegeus, offered to enter the labyrinth as one of the virgins so that he could kill the Minotaur. He promised his father that on its return his ship would have white sails if he was successful and black sails if he had been killed.
Ariadne, on of Minos' daughters, fell in love with Theseus and gave him a ball of red string, allowing him to retrace his path to escape. Theseus killed the Minotaur with the sword of Aegeus and led the other Athenians back out of the labyrinth. On the trip home, he abandoned Ariadne on the island of Saxos, continuing home with er sister Phaedra, who became his wife. Theseus forgot to put up the white sails, and when King Aegeus saw the black sailed ship he threw himself from a cliff lookout into the sea, which is now called the Aegean. Thereby, Theseus ascended to the throne of Athens.
Lenten Walk Series 2
Today's prayer walk was under cloudless skies, which is a rarity for Seattle in February. And instead of 10 prayerful feet, it was simply my own and Anna's. Funny thing how as soon as you draw your line in the sand around an intention, circumstances immediately set themselves up against it. I've learned to identify this as the Pilgrim's Path, others may call it Murphy's Law; be it as it may, the boys were unable to get in on the practice today. Whatever laws were against our family participating today in our Lenten commitment, Anna had clarity of purpose and firmly directed our route. These pictures represent the prayers for our community, on Anna's Spirit-led route.
Today's prayer walk was under cloudless skies, which is a rarity for Seattle in February. And instead of 10 prayerful feet, it was simply my own and Anna's. Funny thing how as soon as you draw your line in the sand around an intention, circumstances immediately set themselves up against it. I've learned to identify this as the Pilgrim's Path, others may call it Murphy's Law; be it as it may, the boys were unable to get in on the practice today. Whatever laws were against our family participating today in our Lenten commitment, Anna had clarity of purpose and firmly directed our route. These pictures represent the prayers for our community, on Anna's Spirit-led route.
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Creator of every country, color and kind,
Forgive us when we see difference instead of commonality.
Forgive us when we we react in fear of Other instead of celebration of diversity.
Give us the eyes to see the intrinsic beauty of cultures other than our own, and develop in us a posture of learning, gratitude and respect.
Guide us away from judgement, misunderstanding and offense and bring us to the holy grounds of community and neighborly care.
Amen.
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We pray against fences and barriers of all types.
We pray against the fences that keep people out...and the ones that keep far too many others in. We pray against the chain-links that mark something that some may have, but others may not.
We pray for the sense of safety that can only come from you, O God-that people so desperately need-because there is so much fear in the world and in our own neighborhood.
We pray against the violence that fences are want to proclaim through graffitied messages of hate, intolerance and territory. Bring peace and freedom to those who rally against the barriers in their lives; may their fists shake their confines with justice, and not bloodshed.
Amen.
Lenten Walk Series I
The last couple weeks leading up to Lent, my children were bemoaning the Lenten possibility of eating only rice and beans for dinner (as we did last year). While I am really glad we did that practice last year, it didn't seem to fit where we all are this year. Giving up coffee, chocolate or wine are never very realistic options for me for obvious reasons, but on the whole, I'm just not inclined towards the "lack" this year. We all seem to be needing something more....
The last couple weeks leading up to Lent, my children were bemoaning the Lenten possibility of eating only rice and beans for dinner (as we did last year). While I am really glad we did that practice last year, it didn't seem to fit where we all are this year. Giving up coffee, chocolate or wine are never very realistic options for me for obvious reasons, but on the whole, I'm just not inclined towards the "lack" this year. We all seem to be needing something more....
I'm grateful to Joel for the inspiration to practice a daily family prayer walk during this season of Lent. When he first brought up the idea, it clicked with everyone immediately. The intention behind it all being that we, all five of us, rain or shine, will take a walk and pray intentionally for our neighborhood, or whatever else is stirred in us as we ambulate through our community. It will give us time together, a healthy practice and continue the ever challenging charge to be OUT in our neighborhood, an all too easy bidding from which to back away when gun shots and sirens are our common caterwauls.
Today we set out on our first Lenten Walk and we went to the landscape that is both near and dear to us: Cheasty Greenspace. As we walked on our beloved trails, we thanked God for the countless volunteers who have given of their time and energy to create this much needed safe access to Nature for our community. We gave thanks for a supportive Parks Department and staff members who have become friends through this long and arduous process. And we prayed for the process that would lead towards the dream to see this greenspace in its entirety restored, reclaimed and reimagined for the greater good of our neighborhood.
On our way home, as my tummy tumbled and turned with the tensions that have arisen out of this greater work, we came upon this tree. Given that today is Valentine's Day, and provided I was praying for softened hearts, I couldn't help but accept this tree's message as a gift from God.
Heart Tree
Great Impressions
There are some souls you come across in your life whose imprint they make on your own is more than the hands you hold every day. Richard Twiss (Taoyate Obnajin: He Stands With His People) was such a soul. And today, as the world cries, dances and drums their response to his death, I am humbled and challenged by the deep and lasting impression Richard made on my life.
Richard Twiss
There are some souls you come across in your life whose imprint they make on your own is more than the hands you hold every day. Richard Twiss (Taoyate Obnajin: He Stands With His People) was such a soul. And today, as the world cries, dances and drums their response to his death, I am humbled and challenged by the deep and lasting impression Richard made on my life.
A personal sense of what it means to live on behalf of something began to form soon after I first met Richard at Seattle Pacific University in 2004. His story and teachings from the perspective of a First Nations person silenced and stunned me, and implored that I reject the insidious ethnocentric ways of our culture and Church. His dancing prayers displayed an understanding of the Creator for which I had always yearned, but never found within the four-walls of our standard sanctuaries. Richard's visceral understanding of all actions, decisions and hopes being born out of a respect for future generations shamed my consumer-lifestyle. The deep joy of living forward from this place took hold of me!
I had the wonderful opportunity to facilitate a Native Expressions of Faith workshop for Seattle-area church and lay leaders at Seattle Pacific University in 2007, where once again I was able to work alongside this tremendous soul. As I danced with my prayers and my feet kept the drum circle's beat, I recall feeling the clarity and formation of a personal mission statement that has informed my vocational call and way our family lives our life: to live on behalf of Other and the Future.
I bow to you, Richard, in deep gratitude for the life you walked along the path of the Waymaker. I am forever changed because of your response to the Creator. May the Spirit brood over your family as they continue their journey on this side.
My personal altar to honor the life of richard twiss
Traveller's Palm
Tread in solitude your pathway, Quiet heart and undismayed. You will know things strange, mysterious, Which to you no voice has said.
Tread in solitude your pathway, Quiet heart and undismayed. You will know things strange, mysterious, Which to you no voice has said.
Wile the crowd of petty hustlers Grasps at vain and meager things, You will see a great world rising Where soft sacred music rings.
Leave the dusty road to others, Spotless keep your soul and bright, As the radiant ocean's surface When the sun is taking flight.
-from the German of V. Schoffel
Hearth Places
This has been a day to gather around the hearth-places to find warmth and inspiration. For centuries the hearth was considered an integral part of a home, often its central or most important feature. These brick lined structures were a place of survival from where nourishment and story came; food would be served from this seat of heat with a healthy side of laughter and conversation. This was the gathering place. This is where socks and tears were dried. This was the place that centered and from which one left to go out into the world.
Today is drenched in Seattle rain; gray blankets of clouds drape over the cityscape and the wind is whipping remnant leaves about and collapsing the emboldened umbrella. Even for us who believe that “there is no such thing as bad weather, only being poorly dressed,” this has been a day to stay in doors. For every puddle formed, a tea kettle has whistled. With every heavy drop of rain, a child has sighed a resigned breath onto the window pane, the weather affirming mommas’ requests to stay inside.
This has been a day to gather around the hearth-places to find warmth and inspiration. For centuries the hearth was considered an integral part of a home, often its central or most important feature. These brick lined structures were a place of survival from where nourishment and story came; food would be served from this seat of heat with a healthy side of laughter and conversation. This was the gathering place. This is where socks and tears were dried. This was the place that centered and from which one left to go out into the world.
In an era of central heating and warmth that comes from pushing a button, hearths are no longer a required feature in a home. It is far more common to have the television set inlaid in a prominent wall, which then becomes the family gathering place. Indeed, one can turn on a channel that emulates the spark and sound of a crackling fire to enjoy the perceived warmth of a fire place.
In the context of these modern conveniences, how do we still create a place that not only provides warmth, but also inspiration and reminders of all that nourishes us? These places need not provide a literal heat, but something that warms the heart and soul, and provides both renewal and reminders of all that is most dear.
I have two such hearth-places in my home. Our primary hearth-place is appropriately in our kitchen, which is central to our home in its location and in its function to our family. In this room we cook, paint, draw, play games, eat our family meals, tell stories, and yes, even cry. Our very old (and very loud) dishwasher provides a lulling hum to the room while our clothes washer and dryer spin and bump along its own chorus. So it is here that I have created our family hearth. On this lovingly passed-along, blue bookshelf, which is just off from the most center-point of our house, I tend a collection of meaningful items that warm my heart, that affirm our family’s stories, that remind us of loved ones in need of prayer and even hold favored cook books. This simple collection warms and brightens my spirit; it guides my memory and affirms the love of my family.
The other hearth-place I tend is in my office. I am grateful that I am able to have this room in my home, as it allows me to be in this home I love with the people who are most dear. However, when I enter this space, my mind is activated with the work that fuels me in other vibrant and important ways. Here are my books, my articles, my correspondence, my planning and in many ways, my prayers. So it is here that I have assembled a hearth-place that puts fire to my spirit and ignites my soul. It reminds me of the passions behind my work and rekindles memories of places and people so dear. At this hearth I am renewed by my faith and The Story that fuels me to get up each day and do the work I do outside of our home. This place centers me, feeds me and sends me out into the world prepared to do the work I was uniquely created to do.
The Celtic tradition perceives God’s presence in and through all the mundane and domestic details of daily life. No moment in the daily round is too small or insignificant to be an occasion to experience Spirit. The most common of chore is seen as an occasion to be in the posture of prayer. This prayer was offered following the rhythym of awakening and tending to the hearth. May this blessing be an invitation to you to transform a place in your home that daily calls you to the warmth of all the gifts you have been given and urges you to share what you have with the world.
Blessing of the Kindling
I will kindle my fire this morning In presence of the holy angels of heaven, In presence of Ariel of the loveliest form, In presence of Uriel of the myriad charms, Without malice, without jealousy, without envy, Without fear, without terror of any one under the sun, But the Holy Son of God to shield me....
God, kindle Thou in my heart within A flame of love to my neighbor, To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all, To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall, O Son of the loveliest Mary, From the lowliest thing that liveth, To the Name that is highest of all. Carminda Gadelica, 82
How to create a Hearth-Place in your home.
- Decide on a location in your home. Which room do you naturally gravitate towards when in need of warmth and nourishment? Where do you instinctively go to be cozy, to read, to be told a story?
- Use a defined space to create your hearth-place. Tops of book shelves, a shelf in a book shelf, the top of a piano, a wall shelf or the top of a dresser can all work to provide the structure.
- Assemble items that remind you of essential times in your life or represent loved ones near or far. Bring in a bit of the natural world to this as well as it anchors us within the greater community of things of which we are apart. Invite your family to participate in this gathering!
- Light a candle in this space. This serves as a reminder of the warmth we have been given in these many gifts of people and places. It renews the soul and activates the space.
- Make it dynamic! The hearth-place is a dynamic place that can reflect the change in seasons, people in need of thoughts and prayers, as well as current stories and reflections. Enjoy bringing new items to this space.
Ordinary Blessings
Ordinary Time is a God-season, just as much as the holy days of Christmas and Easter are. Look to the signs that are all around you. They won't be covered in Christmas lights or available for purchase from the store. Look to your immediate places, your normal pathways; the plants, people and publications that surround your life could be whispering their own important inspirations for how to find meaning and truth as time passes through the year.
We are in Ordinary Time. Did you know? To be precise, we are in the 29th week of Ordinary Time. Perhaps this phrase conjures images of Madeleine L'Engle's young heroine Meg and tesseracts, or perhaps it reminds you of Seattle's notorious slick-wet grey days and how indeed, they have returned-in all their ordinary Northwestness-for months to come. Ordinary Time is actually a season within the Christian liturgical calendar; this English name translates the Latin term Tempus per annum (literally "time through the year"). This time (and there are two) bookends the Christian holy periods of the weeks following Christmas and Lent, and Pentecost and Advent.
While I have grown to truly appreciate the rhythms of the church calendar, I am just a wee bit frustrated with the word association of our current season. Hum-drum and run-of-the-mill are two words that come to mind; they certainly don't sparkle and bellow with bright lights. This phrase seems to denote days that are some how lesser-than, weeks that begin to lose themselves in count beyond 20. When we are told that we are in the 29th week of Ordinary Time, one can almost hear a collective sigh of consternation, "*sigh* Really?! Still just in Ordinary Time?! When will it be Christmas?!" And how can we not long for these stand-apart sacred seasons when their semblances are splashed all over shopping malls and online retail markets as early as late September? The holidays, Christmas, winter break, all seem to be calling out to us from glossy catalog covers to long for their festive, fun-filled days.
Far from ordinary, I prefer to consider this current season a time of quiet and happened-upon blessings. A period when we are challenged to look for the divine in our day-to-day, mundane activities. There are extraordinary things going on all around us, all the time! Do we have the eyes to see? Do we have the ears to hear? A public charge from Jesus, as recorded in the Gospel of Luke, says it this way:
“Then [Jesus] turned to the crowd: “When you see clouds coming in from the west, you say, ‘Storm’s coming’—and you’re right. And when the wind comes out of the south, you say, ‘This’ll be a hot one’—and you’re right. Frauds! You know how to tell a change in the weather, so don’t tell me you can’t tell a change in the season, the God-season we’re in right now. ”
Ordinary Time is a God-season, just as much as the holy days of Christmas and Easter are. Look to the signs that are all around you. They won't be covered in Christmas lights or available for purchase from the store. Look to your immediate places, your normal pathways; the plants, people and publications that surround your life could be whispering their own important inspirations for how to find meaning and truth as time passes through the year.
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Following are three significant blessings that came my way this week; they were excellent reminders that my seemingly mundane days are filled with the extraordinary!
Rainbow chard from our garden
Blessing of Abundance
Times are financially tight in our household. These seasons of restraint challenge us to make-do with the abundance we already have readily available at home. This week, in particular, there weren't even quarters to spare on healthy greens to augment our dinner. I've taken to simply watching my garden from the inside kitchen windows as the rains and damp cold have taken their grip on our city. However, I remembered that my now grey and nodding sunflowers were planted over my rainbow chard...I grabbed my rain boots and coat and quickly left the kitchen through the back door to examine the gifts at the feet of my dear sunflowers.
Indeed, in these dark and interior-living days, my rainbow chard had shot up more lovely stalks, a challenging statement of bright and vibrant color to the ordinary, clouded Seattle weather. We feasted well that night. We were blessed.
candles at meal time
Blessing of Life
This week we celebrated the seventh year of my first born son. We lit seven candles representing each year of his life; each lit candle corresponding to a memory of that particular year. We noted that with each year of life, the candlelight became brighter and brighter. So too should it be with our lives. With every year of life, every experience lived through, adventure had, wisdom won, we too should be shining all the brighter. Our lives become beacons of light for those who are in dark places, for we are given Light/Life to give it away. Furthermore, our task is to perceive the Light in which all exists, and to live from that perception. Our luminescence can be cleared and become brighter when we go through challenging times as well; tears of sorrow for our callousness towards ourselves, others and the earth allow us to behold one another (and the universe!) as a sacred whole.
We delighted in the candle light on our son's birthday evening. We are blessed by the light of his life and the reminder to be light to others all the time!
Blessing of Story
A couple weeks ago, we began reading E.B.White's Charlotte's Webwith our boys. Being the city-kids that they are, this 1952 classic took a bit of warming up time. However, by Chapter 10--what with rope swings and exploding rotten eggs--the boys were hooked. More importantly, their hearts were hooked. Through this tale of adventurous friendship, they have been reminded that relationship is risky; connections with others call you to give of your life and energy on behalf of each other, no matter what. This is what living life together means. Because we are in one another's life, we choose to risk: we risk our time, resources and energy for the sake of someone else. Why? Quite simply, I believe it is because of Love. The essentials of life, of which friendship most definitely is, can always be boiled down to the Golden Rule: Love your neighbor as yourself. The web that weaves all of us together-including the miraculous web that entwines Wilbur the pig, Charlotte the spider and Templeton the rat-is one based in Love and expressed in relationship.
I hugged my boys all the tighter after we finished the book this week. As tears streamed down their young, fresh cheeks (and mine as well, to be honest), we talked about what it means to be a friend, and concluded that it is the most precious thing to be.
"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what't a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little bit of that." (Charlotte's Web, E.B.White)
Sunflowers-Their Gift
Once our shadows begin to lengthen towards the north and the sun just doesn't quite crest the southern hill behind our home, these lusty heads of summer begin to transform to a smorgasbord of seed. They become somewhat bedraggled looking and I have had more than one visitor ask when I will cut them down to "clean up my garden for the Autumn." Their lost lustre (petal-less, drooping and dismal) is but a facade for this is the season of their true crowning glory; this is when they give!
The Chickadees are back. They come back every Autumn when our hedgerow of sunflowers begin to go to seed. Their sweet, lilting "chick-a-dee-dee-dee" is heard just beyond our kitchen windows and we all stop mid-whatever to catch a glimpse of their stealth seed-gathering as Chickadees seldom remain anywhere long.
I have thought it actually quite smart, being the mother that I am, to arrange the kitchen table in such a way that the children face the windows in the morning while eating their breakfast. What would normally be somewhat of a hectic pre-school-send-off dining affair turns into quiet contemplation as they witness these tiny birds swoop and swoon for their food. While I watch this particular bunch munch on their meal, I too am stopped. I am staggered. I am held by a lesson from which I continue to learn every Autumn when the sunflower seeds I diligently plant in the early summer--so to enjoy the heady vibrancy of their yellow faces while picking from the veggie patch at their feet--continue to feed in beauty not only my soul, but the neighborhood collective of Chickadees.
And the lesson is simply this: GIVING. Relentless, unconditional, No-matter-what, giving. And it comes by way of the sunflowers. And it really is quite simple. I plant these little seeds (and I always plant way more than I need at weekly intervals as the early summer bird-types love these seeds) for their beauty: for their yellow-splash of sunshine in my Northwest-green yard, and because they are now my children's mutual annual favorite. And they never fail me. Their thick, fibrous stalks always shock me; how can this strength come from such smallness? And, of course-as it always is with the natural world-there is a whole other homily! And then there is the budding heads; these tightly wrapped packages of summer-essence, waiting to open and sway over the tended gardens below. I just love it! Every time, which in the summer is all the time, I walk beside my sun flowers I slow my pace, I gaze, I wonder, I receive the gift that their simple existence provides.
But their giving doesn't stop there. Once our shadows begin to lengthen towards the north and the sun just doesn't quite crest the southern hill behind our home, these lusty heads of summer begin to transform to a smorgasbord of seed. They become somewhat bedraggled looking and I have had more than one visitor ask when I will cut them down to "clean up my garden for the Autumn." Their lost lustre (petal-less, drooping and dismal) is but a facade for this is the season of their true crowning glory; this is when they give!
While I know many who harvest their sunflowers at these signs, I choose to let them continue their stand. These silent sentinels quietly call out to the local Chickadees (its always the Chickadees; and we have birds of prey and many other woodland birds in our neighborhood) that their seasonal feast has been prepared. And they get plucked! Oh, my! How they are plucked, prodded and put away! And yet they stand there...in our darkening days, dampened by our autumnal rains, offering their essence, giving back to the great community of life to which we all belong.
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And while my children clank their spoons against their cereal bowls and begin the mad-dash towards shoes, packed lunches and back packs, I stand--back against counter, facing these truth-telling windows--plumbed with the question of how am I giving of myself? I mean, truly, really, in-the-most-authentic-ways offering who I am to the world? I am myself a seed...and one with particular characteristics and genetical properties, a product the result of my mother (and father) "plant". I have an intended purpose for which I was created, right? *long, sip of hazelnut-flavored coffee* I am created to be more than just a burst of seasonal summer color. I am called to be more than just the beautiful backdrop to the hard and glorious efforts of the produce growing at my feet. My seed, my quintessence, is to continue to feed other populations by virtue of my life and my energy.
Those who hang out with me long enough know that this is the dropping-in point to highly passionate talks around gift-sets and vocational callings. And *sip-of-coffee* truly, this is the heart of the matter: we were given life so that our lives might enable LIFE for others. We are called and challenged to live our lives on behalf of something other and greater than ourselves. There are populations that need us to make ourselves available to them, whether through advocacy, voting-lines, or straight-up presence. Our beauty and external prowesses will fade, most certainly. And ironically enough, it is in the quiet, brown, dry, almost wilted, seasons of life when our offering is at its best.
Following is great advice for what to do with your sunflowers if you don't intend to leave them for the birds!
Drying Sunflowers – On the Stem
You can easily let nature take its course when it comes to drying sunflowers, and allow the drying process to occur naturally on the stem. If you are drying sunflowers this way you should keep an eye out for when the backside of the sunflower's head turns yellow and the petals have fallen off. Once this has happened you need to act fast if you do not wish to lose all of your sunflower seeds to the ground! Use a brown paper bag to cover the head and this will also protect it from birds, squirrels and other critters that are interested in the sunflower seeds too. The paper bag helps the sunflower head still "breathe" and prevents moisture from accumulating in the bag and turning the seeds moldy. (If it rains, you may need to replace the bag with another in case the bag gets soggy or tears.) Dry your sunflowers like this until their heads turn brown on the backside - then it is time for harvesting. Simply collect the head by cutting the sunflower off one foot down on the stem, making sure you don't lose the paper bag off the top in the process!
Drying Sunflowers – Early Harvesting
If you do not want to struggle against birds, squirrels and other critters competing to get a taste of your sunflower seeds before you do, there is another way to dry your sunflowers. When you see the signs of the yellowing of the backside of the sunflower head you simply harvest them right at that point. Cut the heads down leaving about one foot of stem below the head. You can then dry your sunflowers where ever you want to, as long as it is warm and dry with good ventilation to prevent molding. A small shed might be perfect, or even in your house. You may still want to cover the seed heads with paper bags, especially if drying in an outdoor shed! But primarily, as long the sunflowers are kept warm, dry and sheltered, you'll be able to successfully harvest the seeds. Simply run your hand over the sunflower head and the seeds will pop right out.
(from the online resource, Sunflower Guide)
Michaelmas-Dragons and Delight
Michaelmas is a relatively new seasonal celebration for my family. While I've always grown up with an attunement to the season's shifts from Summer's boisterous bounty to Autumn's slow and silent movement towards interior living, this special feast day and its long-time celebrations were not known to me. However, its themes of harvest and community, threat and injustice and, ultimately, a light that vanquishes all are ones with which I deeply resonate.
michaelmas chalkboard drawing, bright water waldorf school
Michaelmas is a relatively new seasonal celebration for my family. While I've always grown up with an attunement to the season's shifts from Summer's boisterous bounty to Autumn's slow and silent movement towards interior living, this special feast day and its long-time celebrations were not known to me. However, its themes of harvest and community, threat and injustice and, ultimately, a light that vanquishes all are ones with which I deeply resonate.
A bit of light history may be in order:
The festival of Michaelmas occurs on September 29, and is a traditional Celtic holiday associated with the autumn equinox. As long, sun-filled days, turned to slanting shadows, the legends of St Michael--principal of angelic warriors, protector against night's darkness, and the Archangel who fought against Satan and his evil angels--were told around the bounty of harvest as a way of distilling the fear associated with the coming cold winter months. It was believed that negative forces were stronger in darkness and so families would require stronger defences during the later months of the year. The epic heavenly battle against Lucifer and his dominions would be retold with light-filled swords slaying ghastly dragons, similar motifs as found in the tales of St. George and the Dragon. This story and celebration would encourage the "looking-to" for protection (the looking-to a good harvest, strong community, and faith in God), the "looking-for" collective and individual strengths and the "looking-back" with thanksgiving and praise.
michaelmas chalkboard drawing, bright water waldorf school
While this festival has agrarian and pre-Christian roots, I greatly appreciate the challenge that it still holds for us today. I have been reaping the benefit of bounty a plenty this summer: berries, plums, tomatoes and herbs have piled themselves on our sun-drenched kitchen counter these warm months. But as my family and I enjoy this harvest, I am mindful of the lack that is present in the lives of so many today around the world. We all know and feel the tension that exists between our reaping while another is weeping and herein lies the proverbial dragon that makes this story of Michael a needed one, even in our one-stop-shop lives.
Dragons do exist and they lie in wait everywhere in all forms of injustice; these are the dark nights of the soul where despair lurks and preys, making victims of those without a voice to be heard. In our bounty, in our blessing, we are called to wield our swords of light on behalf of those who desperately need advocacy and speak for those who may not be able to even scream as the beast aims to gobble them up. We summon courage, we look-to the source of Love and Light and demand that our sword be as bright and bold as Michael's so that we can vanquish the dragons of this world, living forward with the possibilities of peace and justice, the possibilities of bounty, for all.
The traditions around the Michaelmas festival all come with delicious community sharing, this being the acknowledgement and celebration of the cyclical nature of the gifts of the earth, and the gifts of God. So, while we gather to celebrate the harvest of the summer season and come together in strength of numbers to combat the darkness of the coming season, we are also already raising food and drink in praise of the battle already won, the dragon already defeated.
We celebrated Michaelmas yesterday at Bright Water School, where our children attend, which included feasting on Dragon Bread. This was a great-tasting metaphor for this valiant legend that calls us to come together to fight the challenges of darkness and oppression that combat our earth and its communities, and collectively feast on the good things given us!
michaelmas dragon bread
Reflections
As you move into the darker, quieter months of Autumn and Winter, what interior light invigorates and inspires you?
Where do you draw strength for the courage to fight the dragons of your life?
There is injustice that surrounds us in all our elements-from the earth, to the water, to our air, to all the creatures that live and breath here. For whom can you advocate in your community during these approaching seasons?
It is important to look back on our journeys and offer thanksgiving for the battles already won! Can you share a "dragon-vanquished" story with someone in your community?
O Michael Militant, Thou king of the angels, Shield thy people With the power of the thy sword, Shield thy people With the power of thy sword. Spread thy wing over sea and land, East and west, And shield us from the foe, East and west, And shield us from the foe.
Brighten thy feast From heaven above; Be with us in the pilgrimage And in the twistings of the fight; Be with us in the pilgrimage And in the twistings of the fight.
Thou chief of chiefs, Thou chief of the needy, Be with us in the journey And in the gleam of the river; Be with us in the journey And in the gleam of the river. Thou chief of chiefs.
Thou chief of angels Spread thy wing Over sea and land, For thine is their fullness, Thine is their fullness, Thine own is their fullness, Thine own is their fullness. Amen
-Celtic Prayer
Redemptive Booms
What is warring about you in your life today? Is there something that threatens and seeks to destroy? Our call is to come to that place and redeem it, restore it, reclaim it. Believe in the beauty that is inherent in all of creation and begin to witness the transformation. It will be better than any firework show you've ever seen!
Last night I joined the throngs of millions of Americans in celebration of our nation's democratic birth. I pawed through our vacation-packed luggage for semblances of the requisite red-white-and-blue for my children's ensembles and reflected on the greatest reasons why I love my country, and my deepest hopes for it as well. While speeding luxuriously across a hot, muggy Midwestern lake towards a fine meal of steaks and wine, I was acutely aware of the great privileges surrounding my life to make this scenario remotely possible. I supped and sipped in humble gratitude for the legacy of lost lives and the litany of wars whose cumulative effect is for me to live in relative peace and to seek after opportunities for justice to be extended to all. As our celebratory crew later lit off firecrackers and, in inky darkness, listened for the deep bellowing booms that heralded the commencement of the community's firework show, I was struck that these blasts weren't sending us for cover. Rather, these blasts joyfully invited us to lift our faces up to the beauty of the night sky. These sounds of siege and ominous glows on surrounding horizon lines, in any other decade and/or war-torn country on our earth, would have seen us screaming towards safety and huddled close to those with whom we share our homes. But instead of these reverberating blasts delivering demolition and death, the fire created a coordinated display of artistry, which resulted in a corporate sense of joy. People's laughter and festive shouts, along with affirming honks of speedboat's horns, all mixed together with the echoing screams and blasts of the fireworks was a seasonal picture of redemption and reclamation. Even these sounds that are historically rooted in war can instead, be used for festive joy and community celebration. These are the sounds of redemption.
The proclaiming words of the Psalmist, that there will be a time when the God of the Universe will break and shatter weapons of war and make them into instruments of peace (Psalm 46:9), bellowed in my heart as I witnessed the peaceful explosions lighting up the sky. And my thoughts have since gone to my musician friend, Trace Bundy, who is a world renowned guitarist, and was deeply moved by the account of an Agros village in El Salvador called San Diego de Tenango, so much so that he wrote a song in response to their story.
Tenango's history is one of horrific hardship and despairing displacement. During a season of civil war, the villagers fled the country, surviving the war by finding safe keeping in Honduran refugee camps. The villagers returned years later to find their homeland ravaged and occupied. With the aid and assistance of Agros International, the original families were able to purchase back the land and start a new life again together as a community. Out of gratitude for their story and with a deep sense of faith, this group decided to postpone the building of their own homes and instead erect a church and join together in a service of joyful gratitude. To make the church complete, these villagers wanted a church bell. Due to limited supplies and resources, they went searching and discovered an old missile casing laying in a nearby field left over from the war. While this very token could have been that which destroyed their village, the families instead saw the peaceful possibility and quickly hoisted it up on a rope, thus transforming the casing into their melodious church bell.
This missile-turned-to-bell speaks of the transformative power of redemption: the old becomes new, what was of war turns to peace, what brought demolition can bring beauty and joy. This El Salvadorian bell now rings in praise, just as the Fourth of July booms and blasts now proclaim peace. There is great hope in this ancient paradox and one that continues to call to us, even while living in privileged peace.
What is warring about you in your life today? Is there something that threatens and seeks to destroy? Our call is to come to that place and redeem it, restore it, reclaim it. Believe in the beauty that is inherent in all of creation and begin to witness the transformation. It will be better than any firework show you've ever seen!
Pilgrim's Path: Bringing Home the Boon
The challenge and bitter truth of coming home from a pilgrimage is that we soon learn that what is a pearl to us is mere pennies to others. How can we even begin to describe the depths to which our soul has traveled? Ultimately, it is our changed life that must tell the story of our journey; no picture slide show or souvenir will scratch the surface of the truth found at the sacred center.
It is a strange thing to come home.While yet on the journey, you cannot at all realize how strange it will be. -Selma Lagerlog (1858-1940)
We've been home now for a little while; our Easter arrived and our journey through Lenten landscapes appeared complete. With celebrations and feasts, we marked the homecoming of our pilgrimage-- grateful both for the cross and the completion of the journey it represents. But it soon became clear, perhaps a day or so into the return into the daily rhythms of the Eastertide calendar, that the time apart had changed us. The intentional space created by a journey of abstinence or abundance had not only left a mark on our lives, but elbowed out new permanent places in our spirit. So, while home once again, the hearth is not how we left it. And it will stay in a state of strangeness until we are able to assimilate our learnings and experiences into stories of transformation and actions of justice.
The one thing the pilgrim returns home with is wisdom and the responsibility to share the truth gleaned from the profound pilgrimage. The story that we bring back from our journeys is the boon. There is a universal code of sorts, which requires the pilgrim to “share whatever wisdom you’ve been blessed with on your journey with those who are about to set out on their own journey.”[i] The challenge and bitter truth of coming home from a pilgrimage is that we soon learn that what is a pearl to us is mere pennies to others. How can we even begin to describe the depths to which our soul has traveled? Ultimately, it is our changed life that must tell the story of our journey; no picture slide show or souvenir will scratch the surface of the truth found at the sacred center.
In Joseph Campbell’s popular book of essays Myths to Live By, he described something pertinent to our theme of sacred journeys: “The ultimate air of the quest if one is to return, must be neither release nor ecstasy for oneself, but the wisdom and the power to serve others.” This parallels the belief of the ancient wisdom teachers that the ultimate answer to the sorrows of the world is the boon of increased self-knowledge.[ii] Interestingly enough, this responsibility resonates with Frederick Buechner’s definition of vocation as “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It seems clear that the great value of a pilgrimage is to return with a knowledge of self that will enable one to engage the world’s needs in an authentic and passionate way.
Because of the journey to the sacred center, and the perils experienced to get there, you are transformed. And because you have changed, so will your home. You have encountered the Holy-experienced God in a fresh new way-and as a result of your epiphany and your struggle, you will not relate to your world or those in it as you did before.[iii] Your challenge is to now live into the new edges of your life, inhabiting the new spaces created by pushing through the trails of your inner-soul landscape. These are the places where dynamic opportunities lay for you to share your wisdom and bring back the boon of your journey.
Reflection
Since you have been home from your Lenten journey, have you had the opportunity to share with anyone about your experiences?
Have you identified the ways in which you have changed?
What were the waymarkers that truly transformed you?
In what ways can you continue living forward out of these places of transformation?
Set up waymarks for yourself, Make yourself guideposts: Consider well the highway, The road by which you went.-Jeremiah 31:21
[i] Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage, (Boston, MA: Conari Press, 1998), 216.
[ii] Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage, (Boston, MA: Conari Press, 1998), 217.
[iii] Sarah York, Pilgrim Heart: The Inner Journey Home, (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2001),149.
Lavender Labyrinth
I love lavender. There is really no other way of expressing it: I. Love. Lavender. Its fragrant heads have waved in the landscapes of my life since I was a child and for as long as I remember we have cooked, crafted and even healed with it.
I love lavender. There is really no other way of expressing it: I. Love. Lavender. Its fragrant heads have waved in the landscapes of my life since I was a child and for as long as I remember we have cooked, crafted and even healed with it. How thrilled was I when my friend, Christine Sine (of Mustard Seed Associates), shared this Lavender Labyrinth in Kastellaun, Germany. Thrilled because I also have a deep love and respect for labyrinths and the healing they too can facilitate. This Saturday, May 5, is World Labyrinth Day--a day to recognize and celebrate this ancient practice as a means of present day prayer and centering. Christine Sine compiled a very helpful resource list concerning the labyrinth practice. Do check out her suggestions and resource links here.
And may you find a special place to participate in this experience; perhaps this sanctioned date will be an invitation for you to do so for the first time! It may take a little research, but you'll be surprised how many labyrinths are tucked in the quiet places of life around you.
If you are in the Seattle area, my personal favorite labyrinth is located at the Whidbey Institute on Whidbey Island. It is a bit of a journey (nay, I'll call it a pilgrimage) to get there, but well worth the process; a stone lined labyrinth residing under the embrace of an old growth forest awaits you.
Arrival: Holy Week
The traveler has important tasks upon arriving to their final destination. Because the entire journey has been intentionally marked and prayerfully pondered, so must the arrival. This is the time to surround yourself with prayers, poems and hymns that anchor your place and provide the touchstone for this final experience.
We ride into our beloved Jerusalem, the sacred destination of our wanderings these past many weeks. Here we will shout our hopeful hosannas, weep with unexpected sorrow, and celebrate our ultimate Answer. As we look about this place of our arrival, do we feel compelled to echo the behaviors of Jesus as he walked through the expectant streets towards Calvary? What do you feel when you look across your living landscapes, when you touch your city's wealthy and impoverished walls, when you are carried away in the lofty cathedrals? Do you feel joy? Do you pray? Do you weep? Jesus, you wept for the city you loved - in your words and actions the oppressed found justice and the angry found release.... (prayer heading used on Iona)
The traveler has important tasks upon arriving to their final destination. Because the entire journey has been intentionally marked and prayerfully pondered, so must the arrival. This is the time to surround yourself with prayers, poems and hymns that anchor your place and provide the touchstone for this final experience. Phil Cousineau speaks to the essential task of "feeling the thrill of completing your pilgrimage...If we remember that the word thrill originally referred to the vibrations the arrow made when it hits the target, than the pleasure is compounded. There is joy in having arrived, moment by moment." We have come far on this Lenten pilgrimage; we have sacrificed, we have given, we have changed.
There is deep value in going through this seasonal process for what began in our winter, has now come to completion in our spring. With fresh, vibrant colors surrounding us, we too see the contexts of our lives with fresh new eyes. We hear with a new kind of clarity. With this sense of lucidity, comes both gratitude and responsibility. The appreciation for the lessons learned on the long journey translates to a new sense of obligation, a fresh response of advocacy. We have come to love more deeply in this season and like Jesus, we weep with the depth of this love for Others and we know we cannot return to pre-pilgrimage ways. We have been changed by the wintery road, and subsequently, so will be our home-lives. New growth has sprung from the soil of the sojourn. How to respond to our changedness may seem overwhelming; in these moments we must pray and pray according to the lessons learned.
Today I share with you a beautiful Holy Week prayer written by the Iona Community's Neil Paynter. These beseeching words seem a fitting response to the Lenten Labyrinth where we have seen and witnessed the pain and suffering of our deepest selves, which is the pain of so many others. May this prayer be yours today as you anchor into the ancient and present meanings of these most holy days.
Visionary God, architect of heaven and earth, unless we build in partnership with you we labor in vain
Help us work to create cities modeled more faithfully on the plan of your Kingdom -
Communities where children are respected and encouraged where young people can express themselves creatively where the experience of old people is called on where the insights and gifts of all God's people are fully realized where shared gardens and plots bloom in once derelict places where all cultures and traditions are honored and celebrated on soulful, carnival streets where gay couples can dance to the beat of their hearts homeless people are received with loving arms and open borders news vendors cry Hosanna! All are fed and loved and set free...
O God, our maker, open our eyes to new possibilities and perspectives, organizations and projects, structures and outlooks...
Help us to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem:
to break down the barriers in ourselves that prevent us from reaching out to neighbors and making peace; to rebuild communities based on understanding and justice, illuminated with the true light of Christ.
Amen
-Neil Paynter
Pilgrim's Path: Roadside blessings
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in [these] rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
This is the great moment, when you see, however distant, the goal of your wandering. The thing wich has been living in your imagination suddenly becomes a part of the tangible world. -Freya Stark
In a few weeks time, thousands of people from all over the world will gather outside of Boston's city-skirts. Individuals committed to a cause, a question, a challenge, with hundreds of miles of distance carried in their limbs, will congregate, and celebrate, in this community. Lithe, strong bodies will arise before the sun to lace up shoes and participate in the consummation of months-yes, even years-of training for The Boston Marathon.
While it is no Delphi, to argue that this notable race isn't a sacred shrine would be to miss the enormous effort and journey it has taken everyone to get there. The rewards of participating in this race are immediate and life-altering, as are the hours of sacrifice it took to reach the point of being able to simply look at the starting line. And while the last 26.2 miles may seem to others the beginning and end of a great race, this really is the final stage of a pilgrimage that one was called to long ago. For one doesn't enter into the rigorous training and sacrificial lifestyle of marathon-preparation without carrying a deep and heavy question about something in their life. And the pilgrim-runner inevitably carries this question or concern with them every single training mile and all the way to the starting line. The race itself sets the stage for the soul-stirring vision and provides the sacred encounter, which can replenish the runner's life.
In what feels like another life-time ago, I had the great opportunity to participate in Boston's 100th marathon. It wasn't necessarily something that I set after, per se. As it often is with the great seasons of life, it calls to and names us, even before we are significantly aware. I had started running with a bit more focus while living abroad in Sweden. After a handful of minor successes at small neighborhood races, I was encouraged (by my mother) to consider training for the Stockholm Marathon. With youth and unfettered responsibilities on my side, I was able to train and prepare well for this race. I wanted to participate in something that would give me a real, temporal perspective of the Apostle Paul's words to the church in Corinth: Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever (I Corinthians 9:24-15). When an athlete decides to run a marathon, he or she commits to serious training. Why would it be any different with my spiritual life? I was reminded of the many stories in my faith tradition that involved transformational journeys, all of which included a road of some sorts and an encounter with the Almighty. I wanted this training to transform me. I wanted to be touched by God and be changed in return. I wanted the milage put in on the road to be full of meaning.
I crossed the Stockholm Marathon's finish line with a time that qualified me for Boston's heralded race. I shook my head in both confusion and surprise as my father this time, nodded his head emphatically: You've got to run Boston, I recall him saying, This is a chance of a lifetime! What I thought was the end of my running race, that which I imagined was the source of divine inspiration for me, turned out to be just the beginning of a greater pilgrimage towards knowing myself and subsequently, knowing God.
Drizzled, fog-filled back-country roads became my training ground. I found mountain's foothills and ran repeats up and down their curves to ready myself for notorious aspects of Boston's course. My dad would drive me 20 miles east into the North Cascade mountain range, drop me off, and meet me at home. I ran in the mornings. I ran in the afternoons. I read articles about running. I studied maps of Boston. And I dreamt of my finisher's jacket. My time, my energy, my life was focused and centered on preparing well for this event, and I believe I truly did what I could to make ready the road.
The morning of Boston's finest race had sparkled with diamond dew and turquoise skies. My strategies to gain ground had worked, my stamina was strong and I was on the clock to PR this race and qualify again for the following year. I was doing great by mile 20. The almost half mile ascent up the infamous Heartbreak Hill began. My feet kept a steady pace, my heart and spirit felt strong and determined: this is what I had trained for all those miles up and down Northwest woodland roads. I crested the mighty climb! The rest of the race was downhill; the finish line was almost palpable! Soon enough I would be drinking beers and eating an amazing pasta dinner somewhere in the city with my family-I could almost taste the joy of that delicious finish line!
But then, at the high descent point, blew a wind so strong, that even my down-hill pace was slowed and swayed by its force. And this easterly gust, being channeled by narrow streets, carried with it a chill for which I could never have prepared myself. My once wet head, a mixture of both hot sweat and hastily poured road-side water, was quickly drying and taking with it my body's crucial temperature and energy reserves. I didn't have additional layers and I was getting so cold. Soon enough, I recall not being able to feel my hands and feet; that sensation moved through my extremities as I began to navigate the tunnel my vision was presenting me. I was staggering. And suddenly, alongside me came an upholding embrace and a warm, gentle voice offered me their top long-sleeve layer and gloves. Somehow, while still running, I was helped into these items, and this loving arm stayed around my side until my vision began to steady and open up again. When I turned to thank this benevolent fellow runner, there was no one there. I mean, yes, there were thousands around me, running past me, not seeing me, but there was no one who had just just stopped and gambled away their race time on ministering to me.
Bewildered and blessed, I tried to keep running and just finish the race. My personal record was shot, as was my chance to run Boston again the following year, but I knew I still must cross the finish line. As I did, my state must've been like a siren, as medics immediately brought me to the first aid tent. I had hypothermia and had I not had these great layers and gloves, I could've been very badly off, I was told. My body lay wrapped in emergency blankets for what felt like hours processing this experience. My heart was warmed by the memory of whomever-or whatever-it was that covered and comforted me on the road. My spirit was stirred by that service; I knew that God had brought me through the race and I now began the work of pondering the wisdom of the finish line.
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in these rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, marks the beginning of Holy Week for Christians around the world. In the accounts of the four Gospels, Jesus road into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, whilst the gathered crowd waved the branches of palm branches and laid them on the ground before the mounted Christ. An incredible journey had brought Jesus to this point, this final stretch of dusty road. His riding into the sacred city proclaimed his purpose, and people blessed him with shouts of Hosannah. His entire life time--nay, all of time--had led him to this pivotal point in the Greatest Story ever told. He would climb the most important hill in humanity's history in the upcoming week. And it would be a heart breaking hill.
But because of this great ascent, and the cross at the crest, we have the potential of knowing our uniquely created purpose in ways that only can occur through a cosmic lens!
Reflections
This week, as we move through the last leg of our Lenten journey, reflect on these questions as a means of bringing you to your place of pilgrimage, your Easter-place:
What sacrifices have you made to get this far? What has the inward experience been for you while you have traveled the outward road?
What are your recollections of images of humbleness on your journey?
The call that has brought you thus far was the call to pay attention to the sacred source in your life. What is your response?
Labyrinth: The Darkest Wood
I need to tell my truth, my story, for another reason. Many of you today are journeying through the wilderness and traveling without the knowledge of company or solidarity. That kind of isolation can eclipse all hopes in ever leaving the labyrinth. Those of us who have gone before you would be false if we withheld the shadowy parts of our own lives. We have the power to provide community and comprehension for others when we share authentically about our own story.
“Meg suddenly finds herself alone in complete darkness. She has no idea what is happening to her. She seems to have vanished into nothingness. She is lost in a void. Then she hears Charles Wallace saying that they have had quite a trip. Calvin reappears too. Meg finds herself in a sunlit field, where everything is golden with light. There is an atmosphere of peace and joy. …They arrive on a mountain peak, from where they can see a moon of Uriel. As the sun sets, they see a faint shadow of darkness that seems to have a life of its own. The stars come out, but the dark shadow remains. Meg feels how terrible the shadow is,and is afraid." Madeline L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time
Afraid of the dark. How many of us have known that feeling, either as a child in a dark bedroom, or running up an ink-black stairwell, always fearing that someone is coming up quickly behind you to grab at your ankles and pull. Or, even having to take the trash out on a dark night-that skip of the heart, that dread is real and rarely do we dally there. Meg’s fear in A Wrinkle of Time is one based on the immediacy and darkness of evil. But even in her quest to journey to, and confront, this ominous presence, she is brought to a place of self-knowing and light; a kind of self-knowledge to which we can only arrive when we have journeyed through alien lands.
What we call these alien lands in our life may have many names and metaphors, but common themes, however, hinge on the images of wilderness and woods, deserts and darkness. The journey through these themes is often equated to a pilgrimage. Phil Cousineau describes sojourns such as this as “a transformative journey to a sacred center full of darkness, hardships and peril.” We are brought through the wilderness-through the labyrinth, which is often the long way around-to our sacred destinations, to our places of divine answers and self-knowledge and understanding. If we are to arrive at the heart of our pilgrimage, sometimes this means we must enter that dark wood and go into that lightless labyrinth. But we mustn’t believe that we are destined to be lost there. Darkness is just part of the trip. This is the typical point of panic and precariousness. For when are we ever really encouraged to BE in the dark? You know, to be okay with it? At night there are street lights everywhere. In our homes we likely have night lights in the hallways. We are never completely in the dark. But to be well with it is to allow it to be a holy-dark and to surrender to it enables us to journey to the real light.
Dante spoke truly of this journey in the following passage from The Inferno:
Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost. To tell about those woods is hard—so tangled and rough and savage that thinking of it now, I feel the old fear stirring: death is hardly more bitter. And yet, to treat the good I found there as well I’ll tell what I saw…. (Canto I)
Traveling through times of darkness will ultimately bring us to that sacred center – full of light and joy. While darkness is not the whole of the story, as pilgrimages often have vistas of beauty and happiness, it is often the part of the story left untold. Parker Palmer writes prolifically about these obscure seasons and offers a mandate that we share with others about our journeys. He wisely recognizes that in telling what we saw in our dark woods, we cross an essential threshold into a place of selfhood and regenerative new life. Furthermore, there is a sense that to tell the whole of one’s story-to illuminate one’s life journey- can actually help to keep us out of the darkness.
I need to tell my truth, my story, for another reason. Many of you today are journeying through the wilderness and traveling without the knowledge of company or solidarity. That kind of isolation can eclipse all hopes in ever leaving the labyrinth. Those of us who have gone before you would be false if we withheld the shadowy parts of our own lives. We have the power to provide community and comprehension for others when we share authentically about our own story.
The tale of my journey through barren wilderness is no more or less important than anyone else’s. Mine is simply mine, and therefore the only context from which I can speak. My dark night began when I was a university student. I was sexually assaulted by someone I knew and called a friend. The darkness of that particular night became that of an endless, starless season. I became pregnant as a result of the rape. Horrified doesn’t even begin to touch the emotional state in which this realization spun me. For so many varied and vulnerable reasons, my overwhelming shock hunkered into my deepest, softest places and alone, in quiet confusion, I made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. I soundlessly screamed against a God who could allow this to happen to me. I reticently raised my fists at systems that seemed to condone such manifestations of mysogony and misappropriations of power. I was in shock. I was in denial. I felt I like was dumped at the trailhead of a trek for which I would never in a lifetime have signed up. But like it or not, my life was taking me into the darkness of a journey that called me to wrestle with dark angels and beg me to ask this question: toward what newness is God calling me?
This assault brought me to my knees, my spirit to the ground. I felt alone and alienated in my pain, and completely unknowable in my experience. This isolation later contributed to factors that diagnosed me with clinical depression. Wise counsel helped me understand that instead of perceiving these attacks as being crushed by the enemy, I could see this rather as an invited time of being laid down on the ground, a place where it would be safe to curl up and cry, but to ultimately stand up tall again as well. I had to discover the ground of my own truth, my own nature, my own mix of darkness and light. This wilderness journey, this labyrinth, wasn’t leading me to hell, but was journeying me towards God.
Now here are where the paradoxes of our faith come into play.
Now, clearly I don’t believe that God willed and allowed me to basely suffer at the hands of that man. That happened because our world is fallen in nature. Nor do I believe that God wanted me to have an abortion and become depressed. There is deep and distracting theology around both those points; here is not the place to delve into either. However, what I do believe is that God inhabits the perilous places in our pilgrimage. The Bible often uses darkness as a metaphor for sin and the absence of God. On the other hand, there are references to darkness being a place where God dwells and seems to take comfort. In Psalm 18:11, the Psalmist describes it this way: “God makes darkness his hiding place, the covering around Him, the dark rain clouds of the sky.” The image of the Creator of the Universe shrouded in darkness with images of distended, dark rain clouds is not our normal frame of reference; the Psalmist’s perspective, though, has sufficiency and solidarity all over it. God in the dark. God living your darkness. Therefore, darkness can feel strangely nurturing, swollen with the mystery of becoming. All of life first incubates in darkness. New development follows and life begins. Darkness indeed is a necessary condition for development. Whenever a new life begins and grows, darkness is crucial to that processes. Whether it is the caterpillar and the chrysalis, the seed and the soil, the wee one in the womb, or the true self and the soul. There is always a time of waiting. In. The. Dark.
In John’s Gospel, there is a story of when Jesus tells a high ranking Pharisee named Nicodemus that in order to see the kingdom of God, he must be born again. This did not mean reentering his mother’s womb; rather, Christ was talking about a spiritual transformation. As Christians, we often just focus on the-life-everlasting after the rebirth and forget to recognize the inherent (and necessary) gestation period. Sue Monk Kidd describes this as a time of “incubating darkness.” I believe that Jesus selected this strongly feminine metaphor not just so we could grasp the power of new life but also to engage in the implications of the womb that precede every birth. If we want to enter the kingdom of God, we will have to enter a place of waiting, of darkness and of incubation. We will have to walk the wilderness. Julian of Norwich wrote that “our wounds become the womb.” This touching image points us to the awareness that transformation hinges on the ability for us to turn our wounds into a fertile place where life is birthed-the womb.
I have now been out of these dark woods for many years now. That devastating time in the desert slowly began to change to seasons of oasis; the shadowy woods became my own personal Tree of Life. I now have a loving, supportive husband and three beautiful children who daily teach me so much about life, our world and how to live well into it. And I have a life that would not be what it is had I not sojourned through that dark, wild forest. The wound of that trespass so many years ago is now the site of great life and fertility. The darkness of that decision and depression has given way to new perspectives on life and the Christ-light. My threshold for empathizing with another’s story and listening without judgement has increased in depth and breadth because of that journey. There is a great sense of light in my life these days and this certainly isn't to say that I won't once again travel in the hard, rocky places. It is simply that I have such a clearer understanding that out of death, comes life. We only know light because of the darkness. I walk in the woods now and I witness a fallen tree on the forest floor and I smile and understand a little bit more; for this wizened wood has now become a nurse log, a fertile place which will provide life, and company, for a gazillion little creatures for a long, long time.
And so today I ask this: let the Christ-life incubate within the darkness of your wilderness. Share your dark journey with a safe-someone else, for it is in sharing our story that we invite others to be light, to be grace, to be hope, and to be Christ to us; thereby bringing us out of the darkness or simply being there to illuminate it.
Taproot: Living Fully, Digging Deeper
I'm strongly compelled to interrupt my normal posting schedule to share with you a new magazine that crossed my mother's counter top to mine over the weekend. Taproot is a dedicated printscape of stories; stories deeply rooted in the earth that tell of knowing our earthen HOME. These tales talk about urban chickens and soil under the finger nails, touching your food and children in gardens. It is also ad-free and the kind of collection that calls you to make a pot of coffee or tea, and cuddle up for a read. Please visit their site by clicking on their photo and consider subscribing to this beautiful new venture.
I'm strongly compelled to interrupt my normal posting schedule to share with you a new magazine that crossed my mother's counter top to mine over the weekend. Taproot is a dedicated printscape of stories; stories deeply rooted in the earth that tell of knowing our earthen HOME. These tales talk about urban chickens and soil under the finger nails, touching your food, and children in gardens. It is also ad-free and the kind of collection that calls you to make a pot of coffee or tea, and cuddle up for a read.
Please visit their site by clicking on their photo and consider subscribing to this beautiful new venture.
Labyrinth-The Lorica as Light
As we journey through life, we each come to, and through, seasons of great challenge and often despair. From the time we are children, we face the fears of monsters-real and imaginary-and the dark. We come up against the things that cause us to cringe and curl away from our castles in the air. And we are reminded that in many ways, we are very much like Max, the cajoling, contrary little boy in Maurice Sendak's story Where the Wild Things Are.
As we journey through life, we each come to, and through, seasons of great challenge and often despair. From the time we are children, we face the fears of monsters-real and imaginary-and the dark. We come up against the things that cause us to cringe and curl away from our castles in the air. And we are reminded that in many ways, we are very much like Max, the cajoling, contrary little boy in Maurice Sendak's story Where the Wild Things Are.
In this tale, through a sequence of events that tend to happen to parents of young children between the hours of 4:00-6:00pm, our protagonist, Max, finds himself sent away to his room without supper. That night, a forest grew up in his room, and an ocean roared by, and Max boarded a boat and "sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks...to where the wild things are." These wild things "gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws," but Max tamed and ruled over them, becoming their king. Ultimately, it is clear to Max that it was time to return home. He sailed back over the same vast ocean, in the same little boat, reappearing in his same childhood home...only he found that he was immeasurably changed, even as he ate his hot supper.
Our journeys will not be without trial and darkness. What we have marked as a pilgrimage will most definitely bring us to-but always through!-turbulent oceans of fear and doubt. Just this week, popular author and pilgrim, Phil Cousineau tweeted, "When you're following your passion, threshold guardians will try to hold you back. Getting past them depends on how deep your passion goes." The image of the labyrinth is an ancient symbol for the meandering path of the soul that goes from light into darkness and emerges once again into light. The soul emanates transformed. This darkness (the wilderness) is the heart of the pilgrimage and always involves an element of inner conflict or struggle. It is the time spent within the wilderness where you meet your fears and confront them-where you come up against whatever prevents you from hearing the voice of God or living a life of compassion and generosity.[i]
We may have not be sent to our room, but we have been sent on a soulful sojourn with the promise of sacred encounters along the way and a bounty beyond belief upon our homecoming. But these "threshold guardians," these wild things, will do their best to frighten and influence us away from our goal. Young Max was wise to use power to command his fears. As we progress through the pitchy places of our pilgrimage, we find St. Patrick's timely prayer, The Lorica, and use it as a lantern to light our way.
The Lorica is also known as St. Patrick's "Breastplate" Prayer. These powerful words call out to God to protect those parts of the soul and body that would be preyed upon by evil throughout the day's ventures. These words become likened to the necessary armor that guards, but they also provide guidance as one explores their private seas. Inevitably darkness and dismay will descend on your journey. It has been said that “patience, silence, trust, and faith are venerable qualities of the pilgrim, but more important is the practice of them.” Along with these virtues, this strengthening prayer becomes the light that will illuminate the darkness and reveal that which is at your sacred center. Godspeed!
The Lorica (St. Patrick's 'Breastplate' Prayer)
I bind unto myself today The strong Name of the Trinity, By invocation of the same, The Three in One and One in Three.
I bind this day to me forever. By power of faith, Christ's incarnation; His baptism in the Jordan river; His death on Cross for my salvation; His bursting from the spicèd tomb; His riding up the heavenly way; His coming at the day of doom;* I bind unto myself today.
I bind unto myself the power Of the great love of the cherubim; The sweet 'well done' in judgment hour, The service of the seraphim, Confessors' faith, Apostles' word, The Patriarchs' prayers, the Prophets' scrolls, All good deeds done unto the Lord, And purity of virgin souls.
I bind unto myself today The virtues of the starlit heaven, The glorious sun's life-giving ray, The whiteness of the moon at even, The flashing of the lightning free, The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks, The stable earth, the deep salt sea, Around the old eternal rocks.
I bind unto myself today The power of God to hold and lead, His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to hearken to my need. The wisdom of my God to teach, His hand to guide, His shield to ward, The word of God to give me speech, His heavenly host to be my guard.
Against the demon snares of sin, The vice that gives temptation force, The natural lusts that war within, The hostile men that mar my course; Or few or many, far or nigh, In every place and in all hours, Against their fierce hostility, I bind to me these holy powers.
Against all Satan's spells and wiles, Against false words of heresy, Against the knowledge that defiles, Against the heart's idolatry, Against the wizard's evil craft, Against the death wound and the burning, The choking wave and the poisoned shaft, Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.
Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me. Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.
I bind unto myself the Name, The strong Name of the Trinity; By invocation of the same. The Three in One, and One in Three, Of Whom all nature hath creation, Eternal Father, Spirit, Word: Praise to the Lord of my salvation, Salvation is of Christ the Lord.
Sarah York, Pilgrim Heart: The Inner Journey Home, (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2001),12.
Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are, (Harper Collins Publishers), Copyright 1963 by Maurice Sendak.
St. Patrick's Breastplate is traditionally attributed to Saint Patrick during his Irish ministry in the 5th century.
The Pilgrim's Path: Surprise in the Familiar
The work of bringing down heaven to earth is no easy task. And it always takes time...and a lot of it. This is the epic work of pilgrimages and journeys, deserts and dreams. There is always such fanfare and exhilaration when one picks up the walking stick and marks, and crosses into, the beginning of the journey. The vision of the destination is so clear, so lucid--it seems you could just reach across a short breadth of time and realize every desired detail. But soon you find your arm is tired from being extended for so long...for so very long.
I've been walking in our neighborhood's woods for years now. What started out as hopeful curiosity in a forest behind our house, led me down a path towards becoming a Forest Steward- trained in local flora and fauna, urban forest restoration and community activism. I wanted a trail upon which to walk my dog; I found homeless encampments. I wanted a place in which to refresh and recreate; I found prostitution base camps. I wanted a place in which to be quiet and still; I found needles and sex toys. The sacred place I wanted didn't even seem like a possibile hope; the English Ivy and Himalayan Blackberry covered the promise of this land with its dark invasiveness.
In 2007 we commenced our commitment to hosting monthly volunteer work parties for our neighborhood. We believed that the fear, filth and felonious behaviors could be combatted to reveal the great gift Earth is always offering us: LIFE! In the context of these first-Saturday-of-the-month gatherings, we began the slow, inglorious effort of hand removing the ivy and blackberry. We became master garbage collectors and bore witness to the very real social tensions of encampments being told [repeatedly] to vacate. We became versed in our City's shelter programs and at which pier personal affects can be collected. We canvassed the neighborhood looking for support and interest in changing something that was into something unimaginably better. We were committed to the long-term work of restoration and transformation. We wanted to transform this urban soil into a sanctuary.
The work of bringing down heaven to earth is no easy task. And it always takes time...and a lot of it. This is the epic work of pilgrimages and journeys, deserts and dreams. There is always such fanfare and exhilaration when one picks up the walking stick and marks, and crosses into, the beginning of the journey. The vision of the destination is so clear, so lucid--it seems you could just reach across a short breadth of time and realize every desired detail. But soon you find your arm is tired from being extended for so long...for so very long. Your hand clutches that walking stick with a deepened sense of understanding that this stick is with you to uphold and offer stability when the road gets longer, instead of shorter. For sacred destinations always require time and long processes; the meaningful meanderings are necessary to bring you to that place where you are able to see and hear with a clarity that simply doesn't exist at the beginning.
We have hosted over 75 work parties in our 10 acre parcel of urban forest in the last six years. We have painstakingly picked up invasive plants and planted more than 1500 trees and shrubs. We have written for and received grants to fund an urban forest trail system to connect neighbors and neighborhoods. I have sat in Council members chambers in City Hall sharing our story of forest transformation and restoration. The heaven that I thought was just one-shovel full away has taking me years to begin to see. I have leaned on that shovel-and on the arms and hearts of committed neighbors and friends-in fatigue and frustration, wanting so badly to be done and to realize the destination for which I had set out for...so very long ago.
I long for free social weekends and open evenings not requiring correspondance with local organizations. ...And then I have to make the choice--the choice we all have to make on our journeys. When we have been on the road for a bit of time, the enchantments and sparkles of roadside attractions become great. They call for us to stop, rest and even consider them a favored substitute over the sacred destination. We can choose this...or we can look to the "imaginative, active encounter with the place" (P. Cousineau). At this point in the journey, we must look all the harder and request for a renewed power of vision.
I went up into the woods this week and came across a beautiful, seemingly-spontaneously-built, road side alter of rock, wood and fern at the trail head into the woods. I was startled and stunned by its presence. Everything about its quiet appearance shouted reminders to me of what these woods once held. For at one time-at this very spot, I had uncovered over 200 hypodermic needles...and now there was just this free, intentional, beauty. This organic gathering was a blessed statement of how far along the journey we had come to seeing this forest as a place of community refreshment, a place of collective comfort. We certainly aren't there yet--the destination is still a long way off. But the meaning that is being collected along the whole long way is going to make this little piece of heaven one helluva place!