Many people I know are searching for a clearing…..a place where the world, their days, their lives open up and there is space to breath. Really breathe. Deeply. I hear it all the time. Tales of rushing from one things to another. Ways in which people express their 'failure' at being able to do it all, or at least all they feel is asked or required of them. Even writing these words causes my muscles to feel weighed down, heavy.

Last week as I listened to Barbara Brown Taylor talk about The Sacred Art of Stopping she used the phrase 'finding our way to the clearing.' I jotted it down quickly on the program I was holding in my hand. The phrase brought such openness in my chest, a deeper breath, a sense of longing.

I don't think I am alone in saying that the multitasking we all seem to be engaged in is killing me. Not literally, of course, but it certainly has a way of killing the spirit, doesn't it? The ways in which we are always 'on', always available, 24/7, 365 days a year. Instead of using the amazing technology we are privy to as a tool to help us live saner, fuller lives, to do our work with greater ease, we often use it to be connected 24/7, 365 days a week without rest.We need a way to find a clearing.

Mary Oliver wrote a poem I thought of when the image of this clearing was conjured up for me last week: I'd seen their hoof-prints in the deep needles and knew they ended the long night under the pines, walking like two mute and beautiful women toward the deeper woods, so I got up in the dark and went there. They came slowly down the hill and looked at me sitting under the blue trees, shyly they stepped closer and stared from under their thick lashes and even nibbled some damp tassels of weeds. This is not a poem about a dream, though it could be. This is a poem about the world that is ours, or could be. Finally one of them-I swear it!-would have come to my arms. But the other stamped sharp hoof in the pine needles like the tap of sanity, and they went off together through the trees. When I woke I was alone, I was thinking:so this is how you swim inward, so this is how your flow outward, so this is how you pray.

Each of us is waiting for the 'tap of sanity' from some hoof. Perhaps that tap must be self-imposed so we may swim inward, flow outward, and at long last, pray.

"Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me." Matthew 25:40

An article in the newspaper this week tells of the combined efforts of city dwellers and office managers to help out what might be thought of as 'the least of these.' It seems during their migration season small birds get thrown off by the office lights that often are on in the wee hours of the night. As cleaners make their systematic movement through a building, polishing and vacuuming the past days' labor away and preparing for the day to come, the lights of these tall buildings burn on.These winged night travelers,doing so probably out of the necessity of safety, find the pattern of flight that is imprinted in their tiny wings confused by the constancy of light.They either fly into the windows or die of exhaustion from circling trying to find their way. To help these small songbirds…..warblers, thrushes and others…who are guided by the stars….corporate folks and those who live in high rise apartments are saying 'lights out.' In the process they are also saving valuable energy and money.Good for the birds, good for the planet.

Over the weekend I opened my dishwasher and was surprised to find a box elder bug casually sitting on the door. Where did it come from? How has it survived the winter? How long do these insects live? Another small fellow traveler in this world. I gently lifted it out of what could have been its tsunami ending and put it on the windowsill. Yesterday I didn't see it but I felt glad somehow that I had remembered that it was a guest in our home.

We travel this world with many smaller, weaker ones…..birds, insects, infants, children,the elderly. We walk through our days surrounded by those wounded by life's tragedies…..the homeless, the hungry, the hurting. We encounter, often without knowing it, those who carry deep grief, unimaginable loss, pain too deep for words.

Today may we have the courage to reach out to the least among us offering what we can. May we know when to offer light and when what is needed is 'lights out'.  In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says this is the way to build the family of God. Sounds like a good plan to me.

In an early morning report on MPR today, I listened to a reporter's story on yesterday's memorial service for beloved Minnesota writer Bill Holm who died last week. Died, too young, I might add, with stories still to be told, heads still to be turned, minds still to be expanded. We grieve his loss and celebrate the words he shaped to make us think, challenge us, make us proud to be Midwesterners.

One part of the report was of particular interest. In the small Minneota church where the service was held, the sanctuary was, of course, packed with friends, family, reporters, former students, and admirers. But there was also an empty chair that simply held the newspaper. It seems it was Bill's practice to read the newspaper during worship services. He didn't try to hide it. He just sat there reading. The pastor of this church said he always knew Bill was reading the paper AND listening to what was preached. He knew because at times Bill's bushy white eyebrows would lift in a certain way as they hovered over his clear, Icelandic blue eyes. From the particular lift, the pastor would know that his point was perhaps too sappy or….he could hope….articulate and well made.

All preachers need a Bill Holm in their community to keep them honest. We need those in the community who lift their eyebrows asking the questions we perhaps forgot to ask ourselves. We need those people who will send us to the latest book, the newest theological thought, so we continue to grow in our understanding of the faith as we encourage and affirm the paths and questions of those around us. We need to read the morning newspaper, in and out of church, so we grapple with the difficult issues of our day as we seek to connect them with the wisdom of the scriptures. We need to resist the easy, sappy words that sound like greeting cards and embrace instead the full bodied messages that withstand time, those our ancestors gave their lives for…..mercy, justice, forgiveness,resistance,unity, and hard-won hope.

Holm's pastor also told of how he once casually left a poem he had written lying around and Bill found it. He was proud and humbled when Bill handed it to him and pronounced it, "pretty good." As someone who had probably received his fair share of criticism,both literary and otherwise, Bill Holm probably understood that a "pretty good" every now and then is a salve for the soul.

So for all the preachers out there, may there always be a few raised eyebrows to promote honesty. May they be raised with love and care for the good of the whole community. And may that "pretty good" go both ways, from pastor to parishioner and back again as the whole community seeks to be the people of faith grounded in love.

It won't make headlines but it might make for a pretty powerful journey together.

"I write not just to amuse and divert (though I hope that happens, too),
but to make connection to all of human history on the planet, to the
fine threads that connect us into a tribe, quarrelsome and idiotic
though we sometimes are." ~Bill Holm

Yesterday I was in the presence of a prophet. It is not that i don't have this experience with regularity because I do. Quite often I find myself in the company of those who speak a prophetic word that has the capacity to put me on the right path. But yesterday I was in the presence of Barbara Brown Taylor, author, preacher extraordinaire, professor, prophet. I have read many of her books and also read her occasionally in The Christian Century. It is always a joy to read what she has to say but most often it is how she has the ability to say it that causes my heart to soar.

Yesterday her talk was entitled "The Sacred Art of Stopping". She outlined her perception of where our culture finds itself: multitasking, consumed with productivity, exhausted, undone. There is no down time, no time to connect with our own heartbeat. I am of the opinion that this way of living makes us more vulnerable to those who would plant the seeds of fear and despair in our midst. And it seems as if those seeds are growing mightily these days.

There was a time when our faith communities were the places where people fled at least once a week to stop and remember who they are and whose they are, a time to mark and reclaim our place in Creation. In the Hebrew and Christian traditions this was known as Sabbath time. But as churches have been shaped by the culture, which has always been the case throughout history, we have instead sought to cram a host of things, not only in a given Sunday, but even into a single worship service. There is little time for the sacred art of stopping even in the places meant for sanctuary.

Her prophetic message was timely given this season of Lent. I am reminded that before Jesus headed out for the most difficult leg of his own journey he first headed into the wilderness to pray. He stopped. He spent time alone, presumably in silence, certainly in prayer, accompanied only by wild animals and angels. He wrestled with the demons of temptation. He fasted and removed himself from the distractions of daily life.

Wilderness. Sometimes we choose our wilderness experience and sometimes it chooses us. Almost always the wilderness provides us with the sacred art of stopping. We are led-or forced-to stop our busyness, set aside our to-do lists, and turn away from distractions. We have the opportunity to take our demons of temptation to the mat.

If we are lucky, what follows is silence….blessed silence. And if we are even luckier, in that silence we come to know the One who has been with us through it all, hoping beyond hope to capture our attention.

"Everyone learns something different at Le Cordon Bleu, and maybe this is my lesson: Sometimes, I can't be the best. Like today. My sauce was fine. It wasn't the greatest sauce the judges saw, but it was what I could do today. I have to be happy with that." ~Kathleen Flinn, The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry

I think I mentioned earlier that I was reading this memoir of Kathleen Flinn who left her corporate job(unwillingly through downsizing) and decided to pursue a life long dream of attending Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. As I have been finishing up the reading I have been touched by the life lessons the students articulate. Only some of those lessons pertain to cooking.

The quote above comes from one of Kathleen's classmates, a woman who clearly always wanted to do things perfectly. She arrived at class early, always sat in the middle of the room where the chef of the day could be in direct eyesight, prepared and over prepared, even purchased the finest cooking magazines and carried them so the chefs would see what a great student she was. I hate to admit that this behavior is not unfamiliar to me.

Life lessons come to us, I believe, when we need them. They can come up behind us and catch us by surprise. If we think back, we often realize that what we learned is what we had been searching for all along.. I think of the life lessons I've learned while watching my sons play sports…..so many having nothing to do with the game, things like knowing what you are capable of and what you aren't, how to win and how to lose.  Singing in a choir or with others is always an opportunity to learn so much more than music…..listening, blending, the power of a rest, to name a few. Working with others on projects can bring lessons in humility and compassion in addition to knowing just the right moment to share your creativity and when to wait.

Over the years I have had the opportunity to learn the life lesson the woman in Flinn's book did:  whatever I am doing is 'good enough'. For many people, it is not an easy one.Understanding what we 'can do today' and being satisfied with it can be a difficult lesson. But when we can embrace it, life seems much easier, less stressful, more hopeful.

Whatever you are doing today, I invite you to cut yourself some slack. If you are doing the best you can, be happy with it. It may not be perfect but it is most probably good enough.

And tomorrow, if all works out as we hope, we will get another chance.

"This morning outside I stood

And saw a little red-winged bird

Shining like a burning bush

Singing like a scripture verse

It made me want to bow my head

and I remember when church let out

how things have changed since then,

everything is holy now.

It used to be a world half there,

heaven's second rate hand me downs.

I'm walking with a reverent air

cause everything's holy now."

~Peter Mayer

Yesterday morning I was rushing to make my early meeting. I had thrown everything I needed for a long day into my car and thought I was mentally and physically prepared for a full day. As I rounded the corner from my house, I headed down the hill that snakes along the Mississippi River. Winding down the bluffs I looked straight ahead determined to be attentive to the road, to my driving. But out of the corner of my eye, at eye level really, sitting in a grove of leafless bushes that line the road, a cardinal called to me. The brilliant red of his feathers against the dull brown we have come accustomed to in these March days called out for attention. His beauty brought me back to reality…. mind, body, spirit….the reality of this amazing creation of which I am such a tiny part.

That's when the words of Peter Mayer's song came to me. It was almost as if the cardinal itself was singing this lovely song, reminding me of the holiness I so often miss in my daily walk. Peter's message, that once he thought of what was 'holy' as just those things that happen on Sundays, at church, by specially designated people, has changed over his lifetime. Now he has the gift of seeing the presence of the Holy in all that exists, in the tiniest creature of God, as well as the symbols and sacred sites we have created. In fact, he says, the trick is to be able to see something that 'isn't' holy.

Opening ourselves to this kind of worldview has both gifts and challenges. Suddenly, we can't take anything for granted. Even the peskiest insect, the most annoying person, the seemingly most insignificant action takes on new meaning when we choose to recognize that the Holy is in even these. Walking the world with 'sacred eyes' also allows us to celebrate each interaction, each emerging bud, every smiling face, every landscape for the gift it is.

I guess it is a life choice which we can each make. We can store up our holy thoughts, our sacred words, our prayers, our affirmations and use them on Sundays or when we go to church or wherever we worship. Or we can wake up each morning and allow the first thing we see to be the beginning of the prayer that continues without ceasing,every hour, every minute, every moment, as we dance with the Spirit through the mundane and the majesty of what the day holds.

As for me, today I'm going to try walking with a reverent air. How does that sound to you?

Some days are more complicated than others. You wake up and look at your calendar only to see that you have to be several places in the course of a few hours. Trying not to get overwhelmed you plot your game plan, try to make lists of what you will need for each stop along the way. Downing breakfast and a quick cup of coffee, you head out into the world, head tucked in, fists clenched.

That was a snapshot of my morning, my Monday morning. After a somewhat relaxing weekend, I awoke to a full plate on what promises to be a smorgasbord of a week. As I got into my car and headed out, I was mentally playing through all the details of my day. Did I have that document printed? Did I make the changes in that paragraph that I thought about in the middle of the night? Had I thought through in a clear way what I wanted to say at the afternoon meeting? All these thoughts racing through my head at near speed limit as I crossed the Mendota Bridge.

And then my eyes caught sight of the vanity plate on the car in front of me. "Maybe" was all it said. Maybe. What can that mean?, I thought. Why would anyone put 'maybe' on their license plate? Immediately a snippet of song from the musical 'Cabaret' went through my head….'maybe this time I'll be lucky…maybe this time for the first time…..'. Shaking off that savant moment, I turned my mind back to the car in front of me tooling along with this 'maybe' message taking up the rear.

Maybe is a good Monday word. On the second day of the week, the first of most people's work week, 'maybe' holds unlimited possibilities. Maybe I'll get that project finished this week. Maybe I'll negotiate a raise this week. Maybe I'll have the courage to speak up at that meeting and tell everyone about my idea. Maybe I'll talk to that interesting person I always see on the bus. Maybe I'll surprise my family with a wonderful dinner tonight. Maybe I'll reach out to the co-worker I know I was short with last week.

Maybe is also a good word for the season of Lent. It holds the possibility of reconciliation, healing, forgiveness, hope. In these days that move us toward an ever-evolving spring and the celebration of new life, 'maybe' cracks open our crusty winter ways and holds forth the golden egg.

I have no idea what the person driving the 'Maybe' car meant by holding out this message. Perhaps there was some very concrete purpose to this word for them. All I know is that today, for me, their 'maybe' really made my Monday. Their message jogged my winter brain into the possibility of spring,of new life, and raised an ordinary start to another week to fresh,new heights.