"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all………."
     ~Emily Dickinson

Over the last few weeks I have had many conversations about hope. Our faith community is entering a time of reflection and contemplation through our worship on the the theme "Harvest of Hope." Hope. As we have talked we have tried to differentiate between ‘hope’ and ‘wish’ or ‘dream’. Hope seems somehow deeper, more long lasting. I can wish for a new car but hope doesn’t seem to fit that kind of desire. Dreams are important and telling, whether awake or asleep, but hope is still something deeper than that.

One person described a particularly difficult time in his life when hope seemed nearly impossible. But through prayer and contemplation, he became acutely aware of the deep kindness that lives at the heart of the universe. That kindness became the well from which hope nourished his despairing soul. Not wishes, but hope.

As we come upon the anniversary of 9/11 tomorrow, I am reminded of the visible hope that I experienced the days following that very dark time for our country, for our world. Our house rests in the flight pattern for the airport so we are accustomed to the sounds of planes going overhead with regularity. Spending time outside in the beautiful fall weather seemed healing in those days. My memory may be colored but it seemed to me the sun shone particularly bright those days following the tragedy.though people’s hearts were heavy, tears welled in our eyes, the sun warmed our pain.

But it wasn’t even the sun shining that connected me with the deep sense of hope. It was the geese. You see, during those days our neighborhood was silent…no sounds of planes landing or taking off. Just the silence of the open, crystal blue sky. And then the geese would fly over head, honking, rising from the streams and fields that dot our landscape. They would rise majestically into the air headed south, doing what they instinctively knew how to do. I remember thinking, "They don’t know." They don’t know what’s happened. They don’t know our sadness. They don’t know they are supposed to be grounded, not flying.

But in later days I rethought that statement. They do know. They know that the sun will rise and set and the seasons will change. They know that there will be great joy and great tragedy and that time and life will continue. They know that hope is ‘a thing with wings that perches in the soul’…..and never stops at all.