There are places that can surprise you even in your own backyard. Last weekend I attended an event that I had no idea existed. The Shepherd’s Harvest, held at the Washington County Fairgrounds, was a ‘harvest’ of all things sheep. There was sheep shearing. There was sheep herding with the amazing sheepherding dog that followed verbal commands of his owner that were unintelligible to my human ears. There were spinners and carders and row after row of people whose true love was clearly wool. Colorful bags of brightly dyed wool waited patiently to be purchased and spun. For those who did not want to exert that effort there was equally brilliant yarn begging to become a sweater for winter’s chill. People…lots of people…roamed the aisles looking, touching, searching for the perfect weight and color to call to their creative heart. 

If you were lucky enough to be there on a warm and sunny Saturday morning, I was the person roaming around with the look of wonder on my face. The questions rolled around in my head. Who knew so many people in this part of the country raised sheep? Who knew so many people were drawn to all the arts associated with wool? How have I not known about this event, these people before? Over and over, I saw women standing and knitting as they talked to interested folk never seeming to miss a beat or a stitch. As someone who has tried over and over again to knit, this seemed impossible to me and I was in awe of them. 

The fact is over the last many years I have been fascinated with sheep. I have a love of the places where I have mostly encountered them: the fields and pastures of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. I have no idea how I came to this heartspace. Their gentleness and their contemplative presence seems to draw me in and bring a calmness in me that I treasure. To find people closer to where I actually live whose days are filled with the presence of these wooly creatures created such joy. Watching the skill and strength it takes to shear a 200 pound sheep makes my head spin. (Pun intended.) And watching women, young and not so young, sit quietly behind a spinning wheel pedaling and forming yarn from fluffy wool nearly made me weep.

Since that Saturday I have thought often about all the opportunities to be witness to things you had no idea were just around the corner. If I hadn’t heard this event advertised on public radio I would not have known that somewhere…someplace…there is a community of people who come together to join one another is the celebration of what are really ancient arts. They have chosen to continue what people have done since they first realized that the fluff that covers that four legged one can become something more. And it took off from there. Sheep. Wool. Yarn. Clothing. Creativity. As with so many of the things we see as ordinary, things we take for granted, there is a connection that goes deeper and can transcend time. 

For awhile that morning I slipped into a world that was unfamiliar to me. Walking among the people and the animals I found myself allowing the news that had sounded from my radio on the way there to fall away. Instead I felt connected to something kinder, gentler, something that seemed to speak of a greater truth, a deeper wisdom of how the world really is. It was a blessing of sorts to be there and to imagine a time when the whole of the world could be more like that. 

The ancient Scots in the collection of blessings and hymns, Carmina Gadelica, offered these words for those who shepherded the sheep:

May the herding of Columba
Encompass you going and returning,
Encompass you in strath and on ridge
And on the edge of each rough region;

May it keep you from pit and from mire,
Keep you from hill and from crag,
Keep you from loch and downfall,
Each evening and each darkling;

The peace of Columba be yours in the grazing,
The peace of Brigit be yours in the grazing,
The peace of Mary be yours in the grazing,
And may you return home safe-guarded.

Yes…like the sheep and the shepherd may we all return home safe-guarded.

“We sat in silence, letting the green in the air heal what it could.” 
? Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

Green. It is, hands down,my favorite color. All the many shades and hues of it. I think it has always been my favorite. I have probably one too many green coats and I am always drawn to any sweater whose threads create a green warmth. And in my part of the world the amount of rain we have received has given rise to greenness everywhere they eye lands. On a drive along the Wisconsin side of the river over the weekend, I could have been lured into believing I was in Ireland if there had only been more sheep and stone fences. My eyes were very, very happy! I am sure the farmers are also happy as they have been enduring a severe drought over the last springs.

The color green spells such promise…of beauty, of growth, of the longed for summer days that will be here before we know it. Green heralds the bounty of our gardens and of the Midwestern fields that will soon be sporting stalks of corn and rows of soybeans. I have been watching as the trees in my neighborhood begin to leaf and I marvel at the varying greens that each one offers to the world. Driving across the Mississippi River as I do every day, I focus my eyes on the ever increasing palette of green that paints and frames the now burgeoning water. From chartreuse to kelly and on to deep, forest green, the picture unfolds.

Every Sunday I sit in the sanctuary of the church I attend and look up at the stained glass windows that tell stories of faith of the Christian household. I love this community and this church building for a myriad of reasons but one is that each week I am graced by the looming presence of a green faced Jesus. It is one of the first things I noticed about this church when I began attending. This central figure in the front of the sanctuary has a green face, green hands and green feet. It is subtle but green nonetheless. I love this for so many reasons. For one, I am reminded of my Celtic ancestry and the Green Man that plays a central role as a harbinger of the season of spring and the rebirth of all things. Like my green coats, I probably also have too many of these wild, leafy-faced fellows gracing my walls. While I do not know the intention of the artist who created this window, I love this green faced Jesus because he reminds me that this faith household that I have chosen and who has chosen me when I have been unable to choose it is an ever-unfolding, ever-growing pursuit to make meaning of what it means to be human.A pursuit that spans the ages with all its changes and complexities 

This pursuit walked into the spotlight over the last weeks. The church I have loved since I was a teenager chose to give itself to that unfolding, that growing. The church I was drawn to as a young person because it stood for justice for all people and worked for peace and solidarity during the Civil Rights movement and the Viet Nam War, finally opened the doors to  officially include all people. By removing harmful language and practices toward our LGBTQIA siblings, the United Methodist Church opened its heart and its doors to the greening power of love. And while this does not mean that all people are in total agreement, the process has allowed for there to be enough room, enough light, and enough nurturance for new things to grow. 

The medieval mystic Hildegard of Bingen wrote of ‘viriditas’, the greening power of the Divine. In a cautionary note she also wrote, “Now in the people that were meant to be green there is no more life of any kind.” Writing for her time about situations I know nothing about but were holding her heart captive, she called out to the people of faith to open themselves to the greening power of the Universe.

The people who were meant to be green. It seem to me that each spring the Earth harnesses that ‘viriditas’, that greening power of the Divine and we once again see the rebirth of all that was dead and dormant. And every now and then the people who were meant to be green make the choice to be just that…green and growing…green and unfolding…green and open to the promise of new life. All change is difficult and making large, systemic steps toward a new way, a new life is almost always full of pain and uncertainty. 

Yet that urging toward greening is at the heart of who we are as people and at the heart of how the world moves. The green-faced Jesus looking out at me reminds me of this every Sunday and I vow once again to try as best I can to be a part of it. As Hildegard also said:” The Word is living, being, spirit, all verdant greening, all creativity. This Word manifests itself in every creature.”

And so we move on…