“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” Luke 6:21

It would be safe to say that the majority of Minnesotans feel as if they are in the death grip of summer. It is a Beast we long for in February but who has now backed us all into the corner of heat and humidity and we are willing to do nearly anything to escape. Just try having a conversation with anyone and see if you can avoid talking about the weather. It is, I believe, impossible. Those folks who are clawing at the walls of their homes in winter, those who can hardly wait to peel away the layers of fleece and wool that have become another layer of skin, are now holed up in any shelter that has air conditioning. Every mall looks like the day before Christmas. People have no packages in their hands. But they are at least cool for the time being.

But yesterday I began to notice people who were defying the 90 degree temperatures. While on a walk around my neighborhood I encountered more than a dozen bikers, product printed spandex hugged their sweaty skin, as they stopped at the top of the Smith Avenue hill to hydrate. Stationed by the world’s smallest park which just happens to be in our neighborhood, they had the glassy-eyed looks of people who had overcome a trip through the Sahara on a good day. No doubt they felt some pride in their accomplishment but they looked worse for wear.

Further along the way, I witnessed a group of young to middle-aged women carrying on a game of kick ball. Taking up their positions on the baseball diamond, they threw a large purple beach ball to the kicker at home plate. She gave it a whack with her glistening foot and then ran toward first base as the others scrambled for the ball, laughing and having loads of fun. Then again, maybe they were delirious.

On a field nearby, several men were also defying the heat by hitting baseballs. One man stood at the pitcher’s mound and threw the ball to a guy at home plate who hit the ball as hard as he could. Ball after ball after ball. It was as if the batter was trying to knock the very heat out of the air that was visible with humidity.

But by far the most promising act of defiance I witnessed was a little earlier in the day. As I made my way across the High Bridge from downtown St. Paul to St. Paul’s Westside, I drove my car in a line of other people coming home from their work day. In our cooled cocoons, we inched up the incline toward a stoplight. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy, perhaps seven years old, dressed in madras plaid shorts and a striped polo shirt. He was strumming a guitar for all he was worth, singing at the top of his lungs to the passing audience. Behind him two girls, in sun dresses, were acting as his backup singers. They swayed their hips and moved their hands in that ‘Stop in the Name of Love’ Supremes motion. He was wailing away and they were, as any good backup singer must, making him look good. I was thankful for a red light so I could enjoy the show and allow my sweltering spirit to have a good laugh.

The heat is not letting up and promises to linger for the next several days. Even the storms we have had have not dulled the ache by bringing any cooler air. So, it looks like we can complain and stay locked up in any place that is cool. Or we can join the budding Elvis and his band and defy it all.

All I can say is they looked like they were having a blast!

This morning during my quiet time I read these words from a devotional I use often: “Shield of Souls, I place myself in your protective silence. May we meet heart to heart. To you I dedicate the unfolding acts of this day.” Because this is a devotional resource that is cyclical, I know I have read these words before but for some reason, today, they had special meaning for me. What does it mean to place ourselves in the protection of the Holy One? What might it mean to meet God ‘heart to heart’?

I think of all the times I have heard prayers for protection. I think of all the times, often in great distress, that I have prayed them. Most often these prayers are on the line of “Please God don’t let this happen.” I have to admit that even in the midst of praying these prayers, I am a bit sceptical. There is an implication in the praying that somehow I am so special to God that, whatever bad thing I am trying to outrun, will be stopped by the hand of a Superhero God. The truth is, I don’t really believe that is the way it all works. I am not more special to God than my friend who is battling a beast of a cancer. I am no more special to God than those who die in a car accident or a terrorist attack. I am no more special than the one whose house is destroyed by storm, or whose child is lost, or whatever terrible life circumstance that can be imagined.

The Celts have countless prayers for protection that I find very helpful. They are not of the superhero kind. They are prayers that claim from day’s beginning to day’s end, we travel in the presence of the Holy. Whatever befalls us, God is there. There are the tragedies of life that come to everyone sooner or later but these prayers of protection, many written hundreds of years ago, are more about a deep wisdom that God is in it all with us. No matter what.

For me, this is the heart to heart part. When I am ecstatic with joy, my heart is touching God’s heart in that experience. Whatever it is that is bringing me such a spirit of rejoicing, knowing that the very Breath that breathed my life into existence is dancing in that joy makes my days worth living. When my heart is breaking, the heart of the Holy is in the depth of my sorrow with me. I am not alone. There is no miraculous, swooping in motion to save the day. But there is the assurance of not being forgotten, or lost, or unimportant, in being loved. In that knowing, I am grounded in this relationship with God. My heart and God’s heart become one, sing together, weep together.

Wherever the journey of this day takes you, it is my prayer that you can know you do not travel alone. If your day brings joy, if your day brings sorrow, may you be held, heart to heart.

May the blessing of the
Arch of Heaven be over me,
may the blessing of the
Abyss of Earth be under me,
may I be safe-kept in your care.
~Caitlin Matthews

“Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”
~Wendell Berry

The summer has fallen into a sweet, relaxed rhythm for me. Perhaps it is the stifling heat and humidity making my mind into mush, but I realized at some point of last week that I was not anxious about anything in particular. I had not awakened in the night worrying about what I hadn’t done or what I did that I was now regretting. I realized that I had a calmness that felt good and right. I am not sure what contributed to this state of being but I think it has something to do with the ways in which both my work and living spaces are being cleaned out, spruced up, how the extra ‘junk’ has been slowly been being moved out. I mentioned to a coworker today that I had the feeling that there was more space being created in both my head and my heart. She nodded her agreement. Clearly, this experience is not mine alone.

Last week we used this Wendell Berry poem in worship. I love the idea of the geese being held in their flight path by an ‘ancient faith.’ I believe it is true. The ancient faith that helps them maneuver through their flight patterns also holds us, reminding us that ‘what we need is here.’ And yet so many times I find I try to force what I think is needed in a situation, in my life, in my work. Still other times there is so much junk….distractions, little undone tasks, too much looking backward, too much looking into the future…..that it becomes nearly impossible to be fully present in the here and now.

When our children were born I remember thinking, as I looked at their perfectly beautiful faces: ‘They have all they need to be who they are meant to be in this world.’  I believed, and still do, that our role as parents was to provide the safe, loving environment for them to evolve and discover all that means. The same is true for each of us. What we need is here. We may need to do some clearing and cleaning out now and then. But the ancient faith out of which we have our birth holds us and supports the small and large steps we take.

And if we are truly present some days, like the geese, we will take flight.

“The Sabbath is a patch of ground secured by a tiny fence, when we withdraw from the endless choices afforded us and listen, uncover what is ultimately important, remember what is quietly sacred. Sabbath restrictions on work and activity actually create a space of great freedom; without these self-imposed restrictions, we may never be truly free.”
~Wayne Muller, Sabbath:Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives

Sometimes the sheer juxtapositions that can occur in any given snapshot of life can be so jarring. You just have to take a deep breath and rest with them for awhile, try to discern the wisdom of seemingly disjointed events that are spaced so closely together that it must mean something. A lesson, perhaps? A bit of universal wisdom thrown down like a gauntlet at your feet?

Just such an experience happened to me this weekend. On Saturday, I went to a movie I had looked forward to, one that had been well received by critics. Shortly into the movie I realized that my expectations were a little off and that, what I thought was a comedy, was instead something much deeper, darker, more disturbing. The film consisted of, in my opinion, adults(read here, who were old enough to know better) acting on the first thought or feeling that came into their minds. The choices they were making seemed self-centered and without a mindfulness as to what their actions would mean to others around them, namely their partners, co-workers, children. Now, I know, the stuff of fiction relies on this kind of behavior. We don’t read novels or go to movies to see people living boring lives! So, in that case, the movie did its work….it made me ask questions, feel sad, be angry, even shed a tear. Hold that thought for a minute.

Then yesterday, I was privileged to listen to a group of people who had made the choice to be in community with one another. This community, the St. Brigid of Kildare monastery, is made up of United Methodists who are following the Rule of St. Benedict, protestants living the monastic life.Though they live in far-flung places around the country, they have made the choice to be in community with one another, setting their life path in prayer, scripture and acts of justice and service. They have made a definite choice about how they will walk in the world with the full knowledge of how we are all connected in ways we cannot always know, ways that require us to choose our words and our actions wisely, ways that are full of reminders of how we are images of our Creator.

I think of the choices I have made in my life, the big choices, and I pray I have given them adequate attention and time to serve, not only myself, but all those whose lives intersect with mine. I think of the choices we are asked to make daily, from the foods we eat to the things we purchase, to those we eat with and those we pass by. I pray as Wayne Muller suggests to us, that I am able to take into deep consideration what is important in an ultimate way and not just for the thrill of any given moment. I pray that I never, ever forget that I am a small being tied with invisible lines of connection to those I know and see, to those I have never met, and to the vast Universe of which we are all a part, a tiny part.

How we make our choices depends on so many things. But attention to those choices have the gift of leading us to a freedom that brings joy and not sorrow. For every choice to be made this day, may there be an extra breath taken, a deep listening for what is sacred and ultimate. And may the world be a better place for the Sabbath moment we take in all our choices.

“What one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever.” ~Mary Jo Putney

Over the past weeks, I have been skimming a wonderful book entitled Storycatcher: Making Sense of Our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story by Christina Baldwin. I am reading this book in preparation for our church’s fall theme of “A Story to Stand On.” More about that at a later date. While reading the book, I saw this little quote tucked in the edges of the margin and it made me smile. As these summer days have held us captive with their heat and humidity, most of my native Minnesota friends have been complaining and hibernating in the air conditioning. If I have the courage to mention that I actually like this weather, I am given that stern glare of a teacher who has just caught a child cheating on a test. “How can you like this weather?”

I like it because it is the weather of my childhood. I like the way the air smells damp with humidity, how the mornings have moisture hanging along the trees and plants, a moisture that mimics fog. I like how the evenings draw on, how you can hear the neighborhood children after dark as they try to wring a few more moments of play out of the hot day. I like how your iced tea glass sweats and you are forced to wrap a paper towel around it to keep it from dripping down your arm. I like the sort of dazed looks on people’s faces as they stand waiting for the bus or those who have been working in their gardens, how the heat has dulled any thought of worry or trouble. There is only the temperature to be reckoned with and it is a powerful force.

On hot summer days like these, I love going to the library where people have sought solace. In the cool air they walk among the stacks looking at books they might not have taken the time to even pull off the shelf in the dead of winter. They linger over a cheesy novel. Who knows? It might just be the book that will take them through this hot spell. Children, sunburned and glassy-eyed from being swimming most of the day, sit at tables looking at picture books while teenagers rifle through adventure and fantasy stories wishing to be snapped into the drama of its pages. Yesterday, I had the privilege of an hour or more to sit on the couch reading a book for no other good reason than it was too hot to do anything else. What a gift!

When I moved to Minnesota, I embraced the cold and snow, the sheer pride we feel when we speak of things like wind chill and white outs. But the loves of my childhood have stuck with me. Sweaty legs tucked up on a porch swing, a book held loosely, while balancing a glass of sweet tea and listening to the cicadas hum background music. The summers of my childhood will always hold a soft spot in my heart. I could move to the frozen tundra and it would not change.

What are your child hood loves? What lovely memory from child hood have you left untended? May you be blessed today with a visitation of those things which will always have a sweet resting spot in your heart. And may you stay cool…….

“Come, grow old with me. The best is yet to be.”
~Robert Browning

Today is a day for feeling lucky. Today is a day for knowing I am blessed. I suppose the difference between luck and blessing is all a matter of how you see your life and where you aim the gratitude. I am standing, like Libra, holding the scales of luck and blessing as I look back on twenty-five years of marriage.  Twenty-five years ago today, on an equally hot and humid August Saturday, my husband and I were married. It seems nearly impossible that so many years have sped by. And yet, this morning as we looked at our photo album from that day, the years became visible to us. We saw our younger, thinner selves flanked by other younger versions of our friends. We gazed upon children who now have children of their own. Most poignantly, we saw faces of those who are no longer with us. Some were already elderly when their photo was snapped that day. Others, as young as ourselves or even younger, have tragically been taken from this life. To look at the photos provided a perspective on what twenty-five years really looks like.

Many of the people in the images have continued to surround us these years, are still our friends and the dearest people in our lives. Others, we remarked, we have not seen much since that day. And yet, they sent us off in style and their blessing created the soil in which we planted much hope. As one who now is on the official end of marrying people, I always try to remind the couple that those they have chosen to be present at their wedding are the ones who are helping to create the threshold over which they will step into a life together. For those who are witnesses to the vows that are made, I offer a reminder that they are the ones who are promising, by their presence, to support the couple through the inevitable ups and downs of married life.  In these twenty-five years, we have certainly known the blessing of such a supportive circle.

And yet, the statistics of failed marriage in our country is not lost on me today. And that is, perhaps, where the feeling of luck comes in. While we have had amazing support, loving family and friends, a strong faith, a deep love, a good dose of sheer stubbornness and lots of laughter, we have also watched those we love go down a different path than the one we have been privileged to travel. And so, with all the blessings, I also feel mighty lucky.

Luck or blessing? I think it is a bit of both. And through it all, my heart is filled with a deep, deep gratitude.

“The autumn quarter of Lughnasadh brings the gift of maturity and is a time of physical harvest and spiritual garnering. It sees the greatest change in weather from broiling heat to dark and chilly nights. It is the time for celebrating the harvest and sees the busy preparations for winter. In the human growth cycle, Lughnasadh corresponds to the period of mature adulthood when a certain steadiness and responsibility have been established. It is a good time to celebrate the lives of all you have helped stabilize and uphold the noble values of life, of all who have exercised good judgment and steered the doubtful into the harbor of certainty, of all holy ones whose guardianship has saved us from life-disabling mistakes.”
~Celtic Devotional:Daily Prayers and Blessings, Caitlin Matthews

Have you begun to feel and smell the chill of autumn in the air of these August mornings? If you follow the Celtic calendar, you might know that August 1st begins the season of Lughnasadh( pronounced ‘loo-nah-sah’) or autumn. The season extends from the first of August to October 31st and carries us from the heat of summer to the fires that warm us on late fall evenings. For some time now I have done a check-in with myself using this calendar. Somehow it seems to make sense to me and finds a home in the rhythm of my body and daily life.

Over the last weeks I have been gathering the fruits and vegetables of summer to ‘put by’ for the winter months. Strawberry jam, blueberries in the freezer, cucumbers turned into both sweet and sour pickles are beginning to fill the shelves of the pantry. My husband walked through the kitchen on Saturday and rightly asked, “Why do you always have to can on the hottest days of the year?” The simple answer is that this is when the produce is ripe and, to be ready for winter, you have to work while the sun shines and the temperatures rise! Of course, none of this is truly necessary. Everything I squirrel away for winter is available year round if you want to pay the price. But it does my heart, and my soul, good to ride the waves of the seasons in this way, to live by the calendar of what is growing and what is not. It somehow just seems to me like the right and faithful thing to do.

On Saturday a group of friends sat on our deck enjoying the mounting summer heat and the presence of one another’s company and frequent laughter. I could hear them as I chopped and diced in the kitchen. At one point someone came through the room and asked me what the Celts called the season of autumn. I stopped to remember that indeed, July 31st, was the last day of summer according to this calendar. As I answered, he held out a gift to me: “Look what just fell into my lap.” he said.  He held out a small leaf from our black walnut tree. A small, beautiful yellow leaf.

The Celts would offer this welcome to the season and all the yellow leaves yet to come: “Lady of the Land, open the door, Lord of the forest, come you in. Let there be welcome to the bountiful compassion. Let there be welcome to the Autumn of the Year. In fruit and grain you are traveling. In ferment and bread you will arrive. May the blessed time of Lughnasadh nourish the soul of all beings, bringing love and healing to all hurts. From the heights to the the depths, from the depths to the heights, to the wounds of every soul.”

And so riding the wave begins. So be it.