"And then as the little plane climbed higher and Oliver saw spread out below them fields of bright and tender green in this morning sn, farther out the coastline, the ocean shiny and almost flat, tiny white wakes behind a few lobster boats-then Oliver felt something she had not expected to feel again: a sudden surging greediness for life. She leaned forward, peering out the window:sweet,pale clouds, the sky as blue as your hat, the new green of the fields, the broad expanse of water-seen from up here it all appeared wondrous, amazing. She remembered what hope was, and this was it." Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout

This morning I finished this lovely book, Olive Kitteridge, written by the Pulitzer Prize winning author Elizabeth Strout.The book is the sweet, yet painful story of Olive and all the marginal and deeply connected relationships in her life across more than seven decades. Each chapter has Olive appearing in some way in the lives who make up a tiny community in Maine. As a teacher in the school system she knew people in various stages of their lives and formed some kind and not so kind opinions of them. Olive is a strong personality who moves through the world like a bull in a china shop yet is capable of genuine tenderness. I commend this book to you.

What struck me most about this book was the beautiful writing, words which moved and twisted, phrases that formed and were shaped with such intention that they became breathtaking. At times I found myself reading the sentences aloud because they were so wonderful they needed to be given voice. While this book was about Olive, I thought that it could have also been about any one of us. It told the story of out deep human tragedies and the amazing moments of transformation and hope that make up nearly every life. The author was able to show how each of us lives a life so full, coming into contact with so many people we touch and are mostly clueless to our impact. At the end, of the book I had the sense that, given the talents of a good writer, each of us could be immortalized in book form just like Olive.

Oliver speaks of a greediness for life. It seems to me these summer days urge us to this kind of drinking in all we can of the beauty of burgeoning gardens that creates equally burgeoning hearts full of praise for Creation and Creator. I find myself asking the question:"Who am I to get to behold all this?" Are you having the same experience? If not, I invite you to open your eyes to the wonder.

At the same time, my heart is breaking for the ways in which our world is being diminished by the continuing oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. To see the faces of the brown pelican, the oil globs on the once white, pristine beaches, creates a deep ache. On a level closer to home, friends are living a day-to-day fight for the life of their wife, mother, daughter. Another deep ache.

This life is full of it all. Soul soaring majesty and deep, despairing ache. The prayer is for each day to have some balance of the two. May our greediness for life keep us attuned to the fragility and beauty of each day that connects our life with so many others and with this Earth. Though our life stories may not be put into print, we live them nonetheless, held by the Spirit who breathes through us reminding us of what hope is.May we have ears and heart to hear its ever beating rhythm.

On Saturday morning I was walking near our neighborhood park, enjoying the crisp morning air. I recognized that it was no doubt going to be a rainy day so I'd best enjoy the clear skies while I could. I was surprised to see several groups of people throughout the park planting trees. The trees, maples and oaks mostly, were being planted near, but not under, the many mature trees that grace this lovely green space. It quite a sweet sight, the small, immature trees standing near their towering,botanical relatives, many of whom are probably several decades old.

 I noticed that the trees were being planted by groups of people from several generations. I watched as a grandfather-type held the young sapling in place while two children, a boy and a girl, both with bright red hair, scooped the dirt into the hole in which the ball of the tree sat. I was not close enough to hear the conversation but it was very animated. Their arms flew and their expressions were joyful as they laughed at their efforts. 

Not far from this trio, another generation worked. Three teenagers were just putting the finishing touches on their planting. To celebrate, they handed a cellphone to what seemed to be a supervisor who took their picture standing next to their horticultural feat. Their arms entwined with the trunk of the tree making it difficult to see where human limbs stopped and barked limbs began. I was touched by their pride and found myself wondering if, someday, they will bring their own children to the park to see the tree they planted with their very own hands. That tree, with luck and care, would then be the mature one, tall and strong, as will those who planted it.

I was interested to see who was in charge of this planting party. I approached one of the workers who seemed to be in charge and began to ask some questions. He told me they were a part of Tree Trust, an organization that has been bringing people together to create positive, lasting changes in communities for 32 years. The group recently launched an initiative called Green Futures that brings people together to plant trees in the Twin Cities. You can learn more about them at www.treetrust.org.

All week I had been part of conversations as people registered their helplessness at the devastation off the Gulf Coast. How is it possible to take in the destruction of that beautiful land, the precious water, the vulnerable wildlife? We talked about how, in this particular situation, we have failed so miserably as stewards of God's creation. They were sad conversations and I had been carrying the weight of the words that had been spoken.

So when I came upon these people, all generations working together to plan for the future of the park we hold dear,the park in which we ran and played with our children, it birthed such hope in me. As I thanked the planters for their work, I walked out of the park a little lighter than I had felt in some time. The devastation continues in the Gulf and for that my heart aches. But there are young trees planted near my home, trees that will grow and come to maturity, not in my lifetime, but in that of my children's children. And for that I am eternally grateful. And in that I put my trust.

"For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace;the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." Isaiah 55:12

I have just returned from the yearly gathering of United Methodists in St. Cloud. I have often wondered if the residents of this fine river city steel themselves against our arrival. "Must the the first week in June. Here come the Methodists!" they might say. Or perhaps, as is probably the case, we scoot under the radar like any other group that comes to the Convention Center. I hope that somehow an employee or two heard the fine singing that has been happening over the last three days. I also hope a few stuck their heads into the ballroom where we held worship and were stunned by the beauty of candles, banners, images and transformation from big-black-block-room to a kind of sacred space. 

This annual Conference is rather like a big full-blown family reunion which carries with it all the complexities of any family. All the differences of opinion, complicated relationships, outright arguments and hurt feelings show up. But also so do the warm, heart felt embraces, the smiles and laughter that come from shared experience, a common history that people remember and recount in different ways but mostly with a sense of deep love. It carries with it the fullness of what it means to be the church, warts and wonders for all to see. 

Last night we welcomed and celebrated those newly ordained to ministry. This service is always rich and glorious, full of memory and hope. The red fabrics and stoles associated with ordination and Holy Spirit, made the room where we worshiped feel as if it was on fire. And in some ways it was. The Spirit's presence moved through those who were ordained, their ministry an experience yet to be fully discovered. That same Spirit moved among the families, churches and friends of those who had worked so hard, so diligently over the last years. Pride and excitement filled each, often tear-stained face. The Spirit also danced above the heads of those who have been in ministry for a long time as knowing looks could be seen as those who have 'been there' watched those at this entry point be blessed in their journey. The entire service was, yet once again, one of those mountain top experiences in which we all can see one another as our 'best selves'…..perhaps as God sees us.

While this mountain top experience was fabulous, the high point for me came in the meeting where the clergy meet to affirm those to be ordained, memorialize those who have died this past year, and vote on several other things that keep us up to date with the institution. The high point came when one in our midst was asked to pray. Not an unusual thing except that he began his prayer:"Galactic God of grace……" I heard nothing after that naming. Galactic? Grace? In all the prayers I've ever heard(and there have been many), not once, has anyone every referred to the Holy as "Galactic". My mind was catapulted to the immensity of this Source of All and bounced right back toward my own small self. Here I was, here we all were, connected to this 'galactic' One and everything in between. Isn't is a staggering thought?

I am not sure if others in the circle heard this in the way that I did or not. I am also not sure if those newly blessed to be hearers, speakers, doers and be-ers of God's word, in other words 'clergy', heard the enormity of this address either. But if they did, they must have realized that what they are signing on for is a life bigger than anything they can imagine. It will take knowing, no matter how poorly or how brilliantly they have done their work, at the end of the day they are loved in an unconditional way by the God who birthed the immense galaxies and them. And who holds both in eternal grace. 

From experience I can say, it is a message that will come in handy.

Many mornings I head into a local Caribou Coffee shop on my way into the office. It is a guilty habit that brings with it smiling faces of people who greet you with a knowing look as they make your 'regular'. I also spend time at our many independently owned coffee shops as well. I know, some kind of intervention may need to happen!

A few months ago Caribou changed their look and marketing plan. After years of being the homey, plaid-flannel-shirt,Minnesota company they were ready for a new look, a hipper image. The new plan still includes their 'Life is short. Stay awake for it.' logo with a twist. The cups and napkins give ideas of what to 'stay awake' for….ghost stories around the campfire, break dancing,maxing out your passport(my personal favorite).  Plus there are post it notes with the question "What do you stay awake for?" which patrons can fill out and stick on the edges of the counter. I have to admit that I love reading them. I love this sanctioned form of graffiti that allows people to put a little bit of themselves out into the world for all to see. There are the familiar ones: a good book, a calculus test, a sick child. There are those who find it an opportunity to declare their love, or crush, in public: I stay awake for Amber, for Jason, for Rachel. Others are more curious: I stay awake for Jesus. There are the ones that make me smile: I stay awake for good chocolate, for ballroom dancing, for playing the violin. 

Each of these tiny notes tells a story, one which we caffeine deprived readers only get to read a small part. The sticky notes tacked to the counter space provides a glimpse into the everyday lives of people we do not know and yet there is an intimacy about it that appeals to me.Somehow I leave there wondering if the person staying awake over Amber is having their adoration returned. And the one who is staying awake for Jesus…well…..I'm  not sure what to think about that. 

Perhaps this was the marketing department's intention, to create this sense of connection between coffee drinkers, a relationship of sorts, so we will keep coming back.Or maybe I am one of only a few people who takes these notes with such seriousness. It did, however, make me wonder what might happen in our churches if we did a similar thing. At the entrance of a church building what if we had post it notes that said: "What are you longing for?" "Where have you experienced God?" "How do you shown love in the world?" We could then invite people to plaster their answers all over the door and walls of the entrance. I can imagine people standing and reading. Smiling. Crying. Laughing. Turning to the person next to them. Making eye contact. Maybe even taking hands in recognition of something deeply shared.

Such a 'marketing plan' might create a church of evangelists in the true sense of the word….tellers of good news. Now wouldn't that be something?

What are you staying awake for?

"Open my eyes that I may see
Glimpses of truth you have for me
Open my eyes, illumine me
Spirit Divine."
~Clara H. Scott

Our church is about to embark on a summer emphasis of "Open My Eyes", a way of encouraging people to stay awake to the experience of God in their travels, vacations, time at the lake, whatever summer holds for them. The theme originally started with the idea of focusing on the environment, how we are stewards of Creation, being 'green'. It will continue to do that but in the process of evolving has become so much more. 

 In conversation with a nature photographer who will join us at the end of June, I was struck with something he said. I had asked him to do a presentation about how to take good pictures of the natural world. He said, "Well, I can tell people what kind of camera to use and how to use it. But all that means nothing if you can't see, really see."I hung up from that conversation and immediately began to think about his statement. I, of course, knew he was exactly right. I think of the photographs I have seen that are lovely but somehow are lacking something. While others seem to capture the essence, the spirit, of a moment that draws me in, that touch something deep inside me, make me feel as if I was truly there when the image was captured. Those kind of pictures require a presence and an ability to see, deeply see the fullness of any given image. Can this ability be taught? Is it something anyone can do or is it only for the 'gifted'? Time will tell, I suppose, but hopefully this talented photographer will help those who are interested to develop their gifts for seeing which may result in some amazing photography for them to share at summer's end.

Whether it is photography or simply the ability to be more fully present to God's movement in our every day lives, seeing begins with intention. Is my intention to be present to the fullness this day brings? Or is it simply a matter of getting through one meeting, one project, one load of laundry to find myself watching the 10:00 news, the day ended? Some days play out like that. But if our intention is to live with an awareness of traveling with the Sacred through the day, then opening our eyes becomes imperative. This wide-eyed walk will carry with it not only the beauty of faces and places we love but also the struggle and challenge of those who rub us like sandpaper. It will also allow us to see the person standing at the corner, sign in hand, as the face of God in our midst and that can bring as much pain as compassion. Living with our eyes wide open will not always bring joy but it will, I believe, bring us in deeper connection with the One who walks with us and with all we encounter. Living with our eyes wide open deepens our hearts, our minds and our spirits.

The old hymn by Clara Scott, written in 1895, still carries with it a profound longing. And so I am not troubled at all that it has become a tune that has been playing through my head at the oddest times, sometimes when I least expect it. 'Open my eyes that I may see. Glimpses of truth you have for me.' It has become a prayer, a traveling prayer. 

May each of us make our way into the world today, full of intention to see, really see. And in our seeing may we know truth. A truth that will,perhaps, change us and help to heal the world.