A couple of times over the last weeks I have driven by a large sign that simply reads: ‘Temporary Space Available’. Looking past the sign all that can be seen is a field of pasture grass and wild flowers. Further in the distance is a large office building. But you have to look very hard to see the building which, I suspect, is the temporary space that is available.

For some reason this sign has captured my imagination. On the one hand, who wants to rent space on a temporary basis? On the other hand, who is looking for a temporary space and what are their reasons? On the other hand, what if I am wrong and the temporary space that is available really is the open, grassy, wildflower strewn field and not the office building in the distance? On the other hand…..oh, so many things to consider!

While looking at this field, I can imagine many times during any given day when walking into this field, even temporarily, would help clear my head and put whatever seemingly urgent matter into perspective. I can imagine the grasses waving in the wind around me as I sit on the ground hidden from the sight of other humans. I can imagine staring for a couple of hours into the face of a black-eyed Susan or purple headed prairie grass, noticing the intricate shape of bloom and blossom. I can imagine this contemplative staring filling me first with awe at their very existence and then with calm at my relationship to them. I can imagine the sturdy strength of the ground beneath me and the comfort of that. I can imagine the other creatures….ants, worms,field mice, moles, voles…..that might crawl around me reminding me of place in family of things. I can imagine laying back and taking a nap, the sun warming my face and keeping watch over my temporary respite from the pulls of the world.

I suppose every one needs a temporary space now and then. A space where they can reconnect with their own beating heart, their own longing soul. Do you have such a space? Have you visited it recently? I know many people who have lake cabins that provide such a retreat from the stresses of work and every day living. Others I know have a coffee shop or pub where they have a familiar chair. This need for temporary space is always a pilgrimage of re-creation.

For some reason the second sighting of this sign sent me searching for this poem by Wendell Berry which seems to me an affirmation of the importance of temporary space:

“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

If you are out driving around the Twin Cities today and see a field with an advertisement for temporary space available and in the middle of that field you see a parting of grasses and an indentation, it could be me taking a break from the pulls of life on what promises to be, perhaps, our last sweltering day of the season. I may be found resting, temporarily, in the presence of wild things, allowing their grace to wash over me and send me on my way.

“May this house shelter your life.
When you come in home here,
May all the weight of the world
Fall from your shoulders.
May your heart be tranquil here,
Blessed by peace the world cannot give.
…..May this be a safe place
Full of understanding and acceptance,
Where you can be as you are,
Without the need of any mask
Of pretense or image.”
~John O’Donohue

This morning I am blessed to be in my house. It is quiet here this morning. Seattle Son has gone back to school for his final year of college. His gentle spirit still lingers in the air. The activity of those headed off to work has settled. No one else is here except the big black dog and ginger cat who are soaking up the sunshine that is floating through the windows. They have appropriately made beds in the warming rays of this autumn morning. The only sounds I hear are the ticking clock, some distant beep of large construction machinery lobbing its warning and the rise and fall of my own breath.

It is pure gift to sit this morning in this house I also call sanctuary. It is the place where I can allow the ‘weight of the world to fall from my shoulders.’ I pray it is also such a place for my family and for those who cross its threshold. The fact that this experience is privilege is not lost on me. I think of all the houses where it is not so.

Many times as I make my way around our cities I find myself looking at houses and wondering about the life that happens in them. Looking at the yard, the front door, what is or isn’t planted outside can give hints about the living that resides. I marvel that I know nothing of those within who carry out their daily tasks much as I do and yet we are traveling companions on this planet. It softens my heart to any judgments I might be inclined to make about tidiness or upkeep. What may be happening within those walls might break my heart or fill me with awe.

Aside from my college and early adult years, I have really lived in only three houses. Each have been sanctuaries for me. Another blessing. There is nothing extravagant or showy about these houses. They have simply been the nests in which I have been able to find a ‘tranquility and peace’ which is often counter to the world’s busyness and rough edges.

Is there a house that has held you in such a way? Are there walls that welcome you when your life is overflowing with sorrow or jumping for joy? This blessing written by Irish poet John O’Donohue who had such a deep sense of the importance of home ends with these words: ‘May you have eyes to see that no visitor arrives without a gift and no guest leaves without a blessing.’,

Today may be a perfect day to walk about the place you call home and offer a prayer for its gift to you. In each of the rooms you might also offer a word for those who do not have the privilege of such shelter. May you, may I, may we have the eyes to see the gifts of the visitors and the blessings of each guest who enters these places that nest us.

Blessed be.

My lovely calendar whose wisdom I have passed along in these pages before offered this message today: ” Have beginner’s mind today about something.” I smiled when I read it because I had just returned to the house after seeing a few of the neighborhood children off on their first day of school. Most had had a first day of school before but one was a first-timer, a kindergartner. Watching them gather and place their backpacks in the line that would lead them to the bus, I thought of the many things they would be experiencing, the many beginnings that were about to occupy their minds.

Thinking about their upcoming adventures led me to ponder what it might mean to have a beginner’s mind again.My prayer is that a beginner’s mind is an open mind, one that is not filled with preconceived notions as to how things might go or, even worse, how they should. A beginner’s mind does not carry many ideas of the right or wrong way something must be done but is instead filled with a curiosity that leads a person down new and unchartered paths. This kind of curiosity almost always has room for creativity and often is the place of discovering fresh ideas, new thoughts, better ways. These are the hopes I have for all those beginning their new year of school.

An experience of beginner’s mind is often difficult to walk into as an adult. It is too easy to fall into patterns of the same old, same old, every day. Getting up on the same side of the bed, having the same breakfast as yesterday, driving the same route to work, moving papers from one side of the desk to the other without any thought of trying something new. It can be difficult to remember and tap into that source of being a beginner at anything.

But what if at least one day a week, we got up and decided it was ‘Beginner’s Mind Day’? What if we walked into the day without any preconceived ideas about what might happen or how the day would go? What if instead we saw each and every activity of our day as a first-time? Would we choose to brush our teeth before our hair? How would coffee taste without cream or with sugar, or in some way different than yesterday’s cup? What if I took the longer, more scenic route to the office? What might I learn about the morning,about myself? What if we declared, say, Tuesday as the day we would do something in a completely new way or, (heaven forbid!) do something never done before? What about taking the task you do without thinking and pay particular attention to each and every detail? Would you enjoy it more or choose never to do it again?

See all the questions ‘beginner’s mind’ can bring to birth? I hope the young ones headed off to their first day of school arrive at home overflowing with a mountain of questions of their own. It is always good to begin a new year of learning with lots of tantalizing questions floating about in your head. I hope their beginner’s mind got a good work out today leaving them pumped with excitement about what beginnings they will embark upon tomorrow.

Beginner’s mind almost always requires a letting go. Letting go of control. Letting go of perfection. Letting go of striving. Letting go of order. Letting go of the past and the future and being present to the time at hand. Which is, after all, the only time we can be certain of. This letting go was brought home to me just as the children stepped onto the bus this morning. As I watched from my front door, the bus pulled away filled with a community of beginner’s minds. As the motor roared and the familiar yellow rectangle moved down the street, a cascade of red and yellow leaves let go from our maple tree, falling silently and gently to the waiting ground below.

Beginner’s mind was revving up in the letting go of this new season.

There is much talk in various media outlets about employment and the lack thereof in our country. I know of so many people who have struggled or are struggling with lack of employment or underemployment. I am also aware of those folks who are holding on mightily to jobs they either despise or are completely bored with. Most are hanging on for security or the health benefits the work provides. If they had a chance and their life circumstances were different they would quit, leave the paycheck and the benefits for something else, something they truly love to do or were trained to do.

Work is a complicated thing. Most of us, I believe, hear stories of people who are able to do work they really love and believe that somehow these people are the exception. We hear of folks who create art everyday or run a bed and breakfast in some fabulous setting and we think that somehow their life is easier than our own, that they are getting to live out some fairy tale existence. And they might be. My sense is that they have simply decided to do as Thomas Merton suggests, ‘allowed their gifts to meet the world’s great needs’ in their own way.

It seems to me that we all hope that the work we do will create some modicum of joy in our lives. We hope to make a difference. We hope to be remembered for what we have done. We hope to come to the end of the day feeling as if how we spent our hours is a good way to be spending our life.

On Tuesday I had the blessed experience of seeing someone whose work brings them great joy. Perched above the baseball diamond at Target Field, Sue Nelson sits on a tiny elevated stage in one of the many pubs that line the various levels of this beautiful facility. Her work? She is the organist who adds adornments of music to rouse the fans to cheer and shout for the action on the field. We all know that, this year, Sue has had her work cut out for her. But from all outward appearances Sue makes her music without one whit of worry about a team that is down in the dumps. Sue is there to make music, all the while talking to children and adults who stop by to watch her in action. She keeps one eye on the field in case a ‘Charge’ tune is needed or some little interlude might spice up the game. And she does it all with a huge smile!

When it game time for the seventh inning stretch people gathered around, Sue ramped up the volume, and she led us all in singing that ritual that allows a little levity and unity to even the most dismal game. As she bangs out ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, her already smiling face becomes a beam of sheer delight. She sings along and sways to her own music. It is a sight to behold. When asked how many times she has played this song, her reply? ” Well, I’ve done it for fourteen years. But sometimes I play it just because!”

Something tells me we all long for the joy that Sue experiences playing this simple, summer tune. We all hope to pour our very souls into the symphony of our own life’s work. We all wish that there might even be moments when we will break into the work for which we are paid ‘ just because.’

As we enter this Labor Day weekend in which we celebrate the ways we have honored and held sacred the work of our fellow life-traveling companions, my prayer is that those who have work might experience a small sampling of the kind of joy Sue has as she plays the organ. And for those who struggle to find work or are pulled down by the stress and weight of work that is soul-killing, may they find a place where their gifts meet the needs of this beautiful and complex world.

And for Sue……thank you for playing and lifting the spirits of us all.

“Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. If one keeps on walking, everything will be all right.”
~Soren Kierkegaard

Are you a walker? I have been looking through several of my books about pilgrimage in preparation for a journey to Ireland at the end of September and found this quote embedded in one of the photos. The image was of a winding path that seemed to go on forever into a distant pastoral scene. I have to admit that just looking at this picture and imagining myself walking on that path brought about a certain state of well-being.

It has been my experience that there are many forms of walking. For many years a woman walked with great speed and purpose through our neighborhood. Feet were picked up and laid down at a jarring rate while her arms swung like v-shaped propellers at her sides. She was clearly walking for exercise and her health. Imagine my surprise when I saw her one day, moving at this quick speed, arms flying and feet pounding, while also moving a cigarette to her lips! Her walking was, I guess, helping her walk away her illness.

Now that we have the big black dog living in our house, I have become one of those folks who is a dog walker. I have often thought this is a misnomer. Truly it is the dog who walks the human. But walking with our particular immense being is much like walking with a toddler. Stop and start. Stop and start. We have to check out each and every interesting odor along the way. This walking, mostly, fills me with amazement at the gifts of scent sleuthing available to him, a gift that is lost to me his lowly human companion.

Personally, I like to walk along the river. Walking along something that is also moving at its own rhythm, its own pace helps connect me with the inner rhythms I so often ignore or fight against. On the riverside I find myself moving in a more relaxed way which allows my mind to slow and my heart rate to go to some contemplative place. Like Kierkegaard, this kind of walking often brings me to some of my best thoughts and actually allows me to lay down all that is burdensome at the riverside. It is probably as close to walking prayer as I ever get. Watching the barges carrying enormous loads pushed by the tiniest of tugboats becomes a lovely and inspiring metaphor.

Have you taken a good walk lately? Have you put on your most unattractive shoes, the ones that are also the most comfortable and walked out into the world? Are there things going on in your life that could be helped or even cured by a good walk?

My husband often says that what most people really, truly want is to be told everything is going to be o.k. No matter the state of the world or the bulk of their wallet, most people just want to know that everything is going to be fine. I think it is true. In the midst of some of the crisis we experience or those we allow our imaginations to create, we really just want to know that, in the end, all will be well. Walking can bring about that perspective. Walking alone can do this. Walking with a friend or trusted companion can do this.

So my prayer for you today is that you find a few moments to walk. Whether at a quick pace for exercise or at a leisurely one that mirrors the flow of the river, I pray that in your walking you will hear the sweet voice echoing within: ” All shall be well.”

Last week I heard a radio report about two generations coming together in a sweet and powerful way. The story actually included some residents of a retirement home across the street from my church. These senior residents had been paired with international college students with the purpose of improving the student’s English language skills. The seniors and the students would gather to have conversation,to learn from one another and to share life stories while the younger people improved their ability to communicate in a language that still holds pitfalls and moments of embarrassment for them.

The report included some actual conversations with both the younger and older generations. The younger people spoke of loving to hear the stories of their older conversation partner’s early lives, how they met their spouse, what school had been like for them, what kind of work they had done. The older people liked listening to the students talk about their families, the far away places they call home, what they are studying in school, their relationships, what they do for fun. It was a give and take, sometimes slow working through of words and understanding. You could hear the mutual respect the two generations had for one another in what could have felt like a contrived and awkward situation.

Listening to this account of these two generations filled me with such hope. I thought of how I wished this experience for all young people, for all older people. For a long time now I have held that the church is one of the few remaining places where generations intentionally come together. It is one of the places where toddlers and octogenarians share the same seat in a long row of people of even different ages. It also seems a shame, to me, that we have done so little to encourage the kind of relationships like the students and seniors whose stories I heard.

Perhaps my mind was so ripe for this because just days before I myself had had one of those rare generational experiences. It was the week of vacation Bible school at church and the usual rather stagnant energy of our weekday building was instead filled with the electric energy of children. The small ones moved about with a little apprehension trying to acclimate to a new setting, trying to feel their way into school-like behaviors. The middle-schoolers were junior counselors dressing up in costumes to entertain and help emphasize the lesson of the day. Adult leaders moved around with the enthusiasm of cheerleaders who clearly loved what they were doing. It is always a wonderful and exciting week for both the children and those of us who come to the building every day as a part of our daily routine.

As one morning was coming to a close, I headed outside to eat my lunch on a park bench near the playground. As I sat down one of the middle school boys came and sat on the bench near by. He is a young man who has grown up before my very eyes and I have always loved his spirit. We sat and talked about his summer, what his plans for the weekend were, what he was looking forward to at school this year, what he was reading these days. The talking was easy and a true conversation not the interrogations that often pass for conversations between adults and adolescents. We laughed. The sweetness and privilege of this experience was not lost on me and I valued its rarity.

When his mom came to pick he and his sister up, I said goodbye but not before greeting her and his sibling strapped into her carseat looking sleepy from the warmth and rhythm of riding. They went on their way into another August day, to try to grab hold of a few more ounces of summer freedom.

But I walked back into my office filled to overflowing with gratitude for a few moments on a bench with a young man who trusts me enough to sit still and talk. Really talk. Person to person. Generation to generation. It would be my hope that more people could have such experiences, such blessed experiences.

Somehow such precious moments seem to have the power to transform our world. It certainly did mine.

“Connection is health. And what our society does its best to disguise from us is how ordinary, how commonly attainable, health is. We lose our health – and creat profitable diseases and dependencies – by failing to see the direct connections between living and eating, eating and working, working and loving. In gardening, for instance, one works with the body to feed the body. The work, if is is knowledgeable, makes for excellent food. And it makes one hungry. The work thus makes eating both nourishing and joyful, not consumptive, and keeps the eater from getting fat and weak. This is health, wholeness, a source of delight.”
~ Wendell Berry

Last Sunday the scripture for the morning was a common one to those who have spent any amount of time in the church. It was the story of the feeding of the five thousand. This scripture, often called miracle story, is the only one that appears in all four of the gospels. Scholars will tell us that it was the central story for the early Christians, the one around which they gathered and shared community and made sense of who they were. It is depicted in some of the earliest Christian art found in the Middle East.

In preparation for worship we began to try to see the ways in which the story had such meaning for these earliest followers of the Way of Jesus. One of the key elements we noticed was that it is a story of empowerment. Jesus demands that the disciples take responsibility for feeding a large number of people who have gathered to hear him teach and heal. He reminds them that they have enough right in their own circle. The miracle comes from taking what they already have and sharing it with all who are gathered regardless of what any individual may have to contribute. It is a fascinating and simple story and one we might want to hold out more often than we do.

One of the things we wanted to do was to also connect it with some modern wisdom, something that might get at people’s real lives in a real way. That is what led us to these words of farmer, writer and environmentalist Wendell Berry. As I read these words in worship on Sunday, I watched as faces softened and heads began to nod, all a sure sign that people were hearing something that made sense to them, connected to their own life experience. Believe it or not this is always a goal in worship!

The wisdom of his words have been traveling with me all week. I have wondered when we moved from thinking of food as what nourishes and brings joy to what it is we consume. I thought of my experience of the truly wonderful meals I have eaten and how almost always they were marked by simplicity, beauty, fresh food prepared with grace and love. Often by people I did not know but whose art within the food made it seem as if it was prepared by a Great Mother.

I also thought about all the people who have no tie to where their food actually comes from other than a grocery store aisle or a delivery person who shows up at their door. This makes me think of all the people who labor on my behalf, people who sweat and toil in all kinds of weather while hoping that same weather will be kind to them and their crops. Once we began(when did it happen?) to think of food as consumption we lost that connection to the greater health of a community that plants and grows and harvests the food that feeds our bodies even when it is not us who is doing the actual gardening. The local food movement is one of the ways in which we are trying to turn this tide and I am seeing changes in this consumption mindset.

Throughout time humans have shaped their lives by what we eat, how we work and how we make meaning of the two. It is one of the common experiences of walking upright and having opposable thumbs. And both the ancient story of Jesus and the modern words of Berry came to nest together for me this week. It became a true experience of carrying my worship into my daily life and having its message continue to work and find a home in me. Another goal of worship.

My sense is that it will be doing its work for a very long time.

“Memory….is the diary we all carry about with us.”
~Oscar Wilde