Over the last two days,we have had some work being done on two of our porches. Brick laying, brick repair. I have to admit that I love watching this kind of work happen. I wonder at the satisfaction those who do this work must feel at the end of a day, at the end of any project. To begin from nothing and then to see something materialize right in front of your eyes, through the power of your muscles and your training, must be very fulfilling.

But, at the end of most days, I know that it takes us all to make a world. It takes the builders and the teachers, the computer programmers and the lawyers, the preachers and the nurses, the clerks and the designers, the farmers and factory workers. The list goes on and on as far as the imagination takes us. It takes those of us who won't know for many years if the work they did counted for anything and those who see immediate results. Together we are, hopefully, an inspiration to one another for keeping on, keeping on.

These are the building blocks of the world. And we are all builders together. For growing, for healing, for change, for hope. Each day, armed with our individual gifts, we walk out our doors and into this blessed world in which we know the privilege called life. We serve and are served by a vast array of humans doing the work that feeds them and their families. Work that is unique to the individual gifts of the person.

And so it goes. Today might be a day to say an extra special thank you to those you meet today. For the work they do, for the service they provide, for sharing a small part of who they are. Our thank you may just help them see the visible difference they actually make in the world. It may be the only sign they get this day. And wouldn't it be a shame to deny them that?

"Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are a variety of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone." I Corinthians 12:4-6

Today I am one of the bleary eyed Minnesotans who feel as if they personally played 12 innings of a professional baseball game last night. As we watched our beloved Twins throw, catch, hit and run their way to last night's win, it was a glorious time to see the excitement and pride that happens in such an event. With each pitch, each hit, each run, I practically felt it in my own body, the tension and excitement of a a well played game. We actually watched the game at a local restaurant and I have to say I left that place feeling as if I had been at a family reunion in which I knew no one's name. I high-fived and clapped hands with total strangers who didn't seem that way at all. We were united in the love of the game, the love of the team.

At some point over the last weeks, while watching this team crawl back toward a winning season, I began to think about what it must be like to be an adult who plays a sport for a living. For instance, does Joe Maurer ever wake up and say,"Oh, no, I have to play baseball again today.", the way others do in their work? Does it ever become boring, hum-drum? I guess I want to  believe that, like any job, there are days when these grown men want to call in sick, take the day off, take a 'mental health' day. But somehow it is difficult to believe, isn't it?

Last night as they ran out onto the field after more than five hours of playing the game they love, skipping, hugging, jumping on one another like bear cubs, I saw in them the nine-year-old boys that dreamed of a day just like this one. A day when they would be triumphant while doing what they love most…playing baseball. This simple game of pitch, hit, run, catch, is so much more and last night's game was a perfect example of the strategy involved.In the end, I imagine these men play because they recognize the privilege of being able to do so or I hope that is the case. They also, I would imagine, recognize that the ability to play the game it fleeting and so the joy becomes greater with each day, with each game. It is a joy to watch.And for those of us who are the fans, there is also something that connects us to these players getting to do what they love. It is the nine year old in each of us who once had a dream that we would spend our adult days in the pursuit of that thing that gave us the most joy…..dancing, singing, flying, painting, running, playing…whatever it is. Vicariously, we are reminded of that sheer possibility that was once ours and, perhaps, still is.

Go Twins!

"Tell me, what do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"~Mary Oliver

As I have been out and about my neighborhood and a few of the adjacent suburbs, I have seen several signs for a 'Booya'. I have to admit that, until a few years ago, I always asked myself "What in the world is a Booya?" But a few Octobers ago, we actually stopped and found out.

We followed the people and the laughter to a large cauldron of soup being cooked over an outdoor fire. It was a hearty, meat based soup with vegetables and what I imagined were its own set of spices known only by the booya-makers. I have since learned that it is a soup that probably has its origins in Easter Europe but my sense is that, on this side of the pond, it has been adopted by many people hailing from many different ancestries. It is an autumn tradition. People gather together to prepare for the coming winter, share in the harvest and the good company of those around them. What could be better?

Seeing these signs has caused me to think about the many ways people have gathered to create community. None of these are particularly complex or expensive endeavors. In fact, the more simple the experience, the more people are likely to be involved and engaged. I thought about all the people throughout time who have gathered around fires, around cauldrons, to toast the end of summer and to look around at the faces, memorizing the lines and smiles for the winter ahead when isolation sets in. It made me want to build a fire and do a booya in our backyard!

Last weekend the smell and feel of fall was settling in like a blanket. I did the only thing that seemed right….I took out the heaviest soup pot I have and made a rich corn chowder. We nibbled from that pot all weekend. But it didn't really create the 'booya effect'. We forgot the most important part. We forgot to invite people to share the warmth and nourishment of the soup.

The weather forecasters are predicting snow flurries over the next few days. There is still time to make another pot of stick-to-your-bones soup rich with the glories of summer gardens. Autumn is here and it is time to gather warmth…..of soup and of friends, old and new. It seems the only sensible thing to do.

"A soup like this is not the work of one man. It is the result of a constantly refined tradition. There are nearly a thousand years of history in this soup." Willa Cather, Death Comes to the Archbishop

"Nobody 'thinks' the spiritual life. They act it out. Both publicly and privately. But it is what we have trained ourselves to do privately that will eventually become the seed of the public self." ~Joan Chittister, OSB

It has been rainy and cloudy the last few days. I find these kind of days refining in some way. They cause me to look inward much like the days of Advent. It is an experience of looking inward, stripping away what can often seem brilliant in the sun light of brighter days. Perhaps it is my Celtic soul that loves the experience of the rain, the clouds, the melancholy they seem to hold.

Whatever the reason, I do love these days for the way they encourage me to reflect on how my spiritual walk is unfolding. I don't know about you but I can often spend so much time reading and studying about spirituality, faith, the arguments for and against my native tradition Christianity, that I forget that the spiritual life is about action. I can keep my walk, my living in the 'student' place……always gathering information for how this spiritual stuff might influence my life…..rather than knowing that, bidden or unbidden God is present.

The spiritual life is then not as much about thinking as it is doing, living. The reality, of course, is that thinking about walking with the Holy is much less risky than actually doing it. Reading about how others have been present to the Sacred's movement in their lives allows me to live vicariously through their experience, but if I go no further, I don't have the joy and the fullness of my own experience, with all that might bring. Living in the moment, staying awake to the dance of the Spirit in the ordinary tasks, the everyday often mundane acts of living takes a certain intentionality that is not easy in a world meant to distract us at every turn. It is all a matter of training and practice.

And yet that is the call of the Spirit in our lives. Stay awake! Look at this! Listen! Touch! Breathe! Feel! I truly believe the Holy One is trying to get our attention at every turn much like a young child trying to show us something new they can do. Look at me ! Look at me! And when, if, we actually jar ourselves out of whatever stupor with which we medicate ourselves, we will be welcomed by surprise and delight at what awaits us.

So, today is Friday, the beginning of the weekend. It could be filled with all kinds of things we need to do. And that's o.k. The good news is that the One we claim to be in all things is waiting in the to-do list, the repairs to be done, the errands to be run, the naps to be taken. Our only work is, not in thinking about the Presence, but in being actually present. And then living the spiritual life becomes allowing each act we do to be infused with the deep knowledge that the One who breathed us into being walks with us.

Lived in such a way, who knows what the weekend might bring!

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