“For the sense of smell, almost more than any other, has the power to recall memories and it is a pity we use it so little.”
~Rachel Carson

I find myself surrounded by incredible scents. We have just arrived in San Diego for a few days vacation and time with family. As quick as our legs would take us upon our arrival at the airport, we walked outside to just smell the warm, moist air. The ocean was not far off our noses told us. As our eyes took in the green grass and the swaying palm trees, we were also flooded with a wash of flowery scents. It was a delight after so many months of frigid, sterile Midwestern air. And so have found myself walking up to nearly every green and blossoming plant, not only drinking in the color, but absorbing the richness of scent. Ahhhh……..

It is said that our sense of smell is most tied to memory. Most recently I was walking through a store and got the overwhelming sense of my grandmother who died over twenty years ago. I still don’t know what the smell was but it was some mix of flowery, sweetness that sent me back to times snuggled safely in her tiny house as we sat at a card table tackling the challenge of a jigsaw puzzle. The scent of memory has the power to conjure up so many experiences.

I recall a conference I attended many years ago on the subject of the spirituality of children. The opening ritual invited those in attendance to share their earliest memory of worship. I was struck with the memories of those whose traditions involved the sense of smell….sweet oil, incense, candles. Their memories were described in rich detail and represented experiences of a much earlier age than those whose tradition had abandoned these worship practices. I remember feeling sad that my own tradition had, over the years, been stripped of these practices.

And yet I perhaps will never smell the perfume Evening in Paris(do they still make this?) without thinking of worship services in my little church in southern Ohio. Positioned between my mother and my brothers I could smell the exotic, fruity scent of my mother’s perfume wafting in the humid, heavy air. My father’s Old Spice aftershave was no doubt filling my brother’s head with equally tranquilizing thoughts. These scents were not created for liturgical means but they provided the backdrop for the scripture and prayers of our tradition to be seeded in our hearts and minds. These seemingly elegant smells relegated to dress-up clothes and special occasions were not the scents of our every day. Combined with the peppermints we were secretly handed from the hidden treasure chest of my mother’s purse,we were kept quiet and attentive in worship by perfume and candy. Though not traditional elements of worship, they make up my sense memory to this day.

The power of our sense of smell gets neglected during Minnesota winters. But as the snow continues to melt and the Earth once again comes to life before our eyes and under our noses, the memories of experiences planted deep within us will float to the forefront. They are to be celebrated and honored for the gifts they continue to offer. Gifts of the present and also days long gone by.

Today I will continue to add to the my bank of scent memory. The native Californians may notice a woman stopping to smell every colorful flower she sees. Like the humming bird I saw yesterday hovering over the red flowers of an azalea bush, I will be collecting. Collecting the memories of scent to store away for another winter when I will need their sweetness and their assurance of life renewed.

On Tuesday I had lunch with a wonderful woman at one of my favorite restaurants, Lucia’s, in south Minneapolis. It had been a glorious morning. The air smelled of the spring that is emerging, a wonderful mix of moist air, mud and the scent of green. I waded over glorious, unfrozen puddles to get across the parking lot from my car, dodging little patches of blackened snow that are hanging on for dear life.

Siting down with my lunch companion we remarked about how blessed we were to be able to be able to sit down to such a lovely, healthy meal in an equally lovely environment. Then our conversation rambled to and fro about children, the world situation, the communities in which we live. Eventually the conversation meandered to the church. It was at that time my companion set down her salad fork and said: ” You know for my whole life I have been watching church. I finally have decided to be church.”

She continued on as if what she had said was the most normal thing in the world, as if what she had just said had not punched me right in the stomach. I stopped her and asked her to repeat what she had said. After she did I explained how important this statement was, how it is a remark that has the ability, I believe, to renew the life of our tottering faith communities.

Watching church. For those who have been a part of a faith community for many years, this may seem like an odd statement. But I know I have certainly observed its happening over and over again. I, myself, have been a watcher of church many times. I have allowed the performance and presentation of worship to be a spectator sport. I have watched choirs sing, preachers preach, scripture be read, heard prayers prayed, and yet I am not engaged in them. I have simply watched as if it is a grand show that someone else has created for my amusement. While this experience has happened to me, I am pleased to say it is not the norm. But I believe it is for many, many people. And so her statement got inside me and took up residence.

Church, like life, can find us unwilling to let the vulnerabilities that hold us fall away. We hold ourselves tight, guarded to an experience of a word, a sound or an action that might change or transform us. Fearful of what might happen if we allow our heart to be softened or our mind to be challenged, we watch. But we don’t really engage. It feels too risky. And yet something continues to draw us to a place, a community. I believe we show up out of a deep desire to engage in the very transformation we so often resist.

I imagine the early followers of Jesus did their fair share of observing. Observing what it meant to reach out to those who were hungry for a word of peace, a sign of hope, a piece of bread, a kind touch. Though no liturgical words were spoken, no choirs sang, they were quickly drawn into the action of being church. Church was not what happened for an hour on any given day, it was a way of life. No buildings confined their work or their ability to be present to one another and the Holy in their midst.

Again, like life, the church can be a place for watching, allowing the grand show to continue with us in the audience, applauding politely every now and then. Or life and church can be where our deep desires for connection, for meaning and for being known are brought and offered for the goodness of one another and the healing of the world. The choice is really ours. But we need to consider what we miss when we choose to be only watchers.

Have a blessed weekend……

This morning was as busy as most. I had been bustling around the house making piles of things I needed to bring into church…..magazines, soup, the bag with my computer, my purse. It didn’t help that I had slept in later than usual. Before I could make it to the office, I had several errands I needed to run for our Wednesday evening Lenten supper and gathering. I had made a couple of trips to load the car and was on my last exit out the door carrying a crock-pot of hot soup for tonight’s pot luck when I was greeted with a sound from the sky.

Overhead, flying quite low a gaggle of geese were making their way home. In their perfect ‘V’ formation they swept across the morning sky with spirit and intention. Nestled in the formation was one lone goose. It almost made the letter ‘A’ with its body! Only the sound of air being cut by wings echoed in the frosty blueness of the day. And then one single ‘Honk!’ I stopped in my tracks. My bustling came to a halt and I was royally chastised by this goose blessing. These beautiful winged signs of spring put me in my place simply by doing what they knew how to do: make their way toward home.

Immediately the Mary Oliver poem entitled ‘Wild Geese’ flitted through my mind.  Lines like:’You do not have to be good………Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’ You see, in my pursuit to get all the things checked off my daily list, I had forgotten to be alive to the world, had forgotten to be awake to the sun glistening off the remaining icicles on the neighbors house. I had forgotten to notice the green grass emerging from under piles of dirty, tired snow. I had forgotten to be grateful for the gift of another precious day. I had forgotten my true home.

And then the geese flew over and jarred me out of my numbness. They blessed me with memory. As they used their inner resources to find their way home, they announced their place in the family of things. They also reminded me of mine.

And so the question has flown with me all day, does this mean that spring is really on its way?

“To the home of peace
To the field of love
To the land where forgiveness
and right relationship meet,
We look, O God, with longing
for Earth’s children known.
With compassion for the creatures
With hearts breaking for the nations
and the people we love.
Open us to the visions
we have never known.
Strengthen us for self-givings
we have never made.
Delight us with a oneness
we could never have imagined.
That we may truly be born of you,
Makers of peace.”
~J. Philip Newell

Yesterday, on the first Sunday of Lent, we handed this prayer out to our community. The hope was that, this week,  we would all take a moment midway through our day, perhaps over lunch, and offer this prayer. The thought was that we would then be engaged in prayer, even a unified prayer, that would bind us together on the six other days a week when we are not together in worship. The prayer was written on a card small enough to travel with us where ever we might go this week, where ever we might open a lunch bag or sip a cup of coffee.  Who could have known that these words, chosen weeks ago to be printed, would have fit so perfectly for the prayers we are carrying with us?

As we have watched the unfolding events in Japan and speculate still about what will happen, certainly our hearts are breaking. The devastation and turmoil seems unimaginable. And yet these dear people whose lives have been changed forever are picking through the rubble looking for fragments of their past in order to pave a future. The rebuilding will require compassionate hearts, vigilant patience and ‘visions we have never known.’ Strengthen them, O God. Strengthen us, to continue our praying and self-givings in any way we can.

These are the times that remind us, because we forget so easily, that we are intricately woven together in this beautiful and unpredictable Earth. We are full of knowledge about how the Universe works but it is always only in part. We can understand the seasons and the geological construction of the Earth but we have no control over its workings. We can plan for disasters that never come or we can experience disasters we never planned for. This is life. Sometimes we cavalierly say that a certain event ‘changed my world.’ The truth is that the earthquake in Japan actually changed the rotation of the Earth’s axis and moved the landmass of Japan by as much as 13 feet. This change in the rotation will result in a shorter day for all of us. If we needed any affirmation that we travel as guests on this amazing planet, that does it for me.

And so at the end of the day, we are left with our fragile, beautiful lives that are held in a loving uncertainty. In many ways, this is the message of Lent we proclaimed on Ash Wednesday. We are also left with our prayers, those passionate messages we send toward one another and the Holy. And we are also left holding those deep silences we rest in as we listen for a reminder that we are woven in a complicated and exquisite pattern called living. This is the ‘oneness’ that can delight and can give us courage to continue on seeking to be Makers of peace for the healing of the world.

I have been thinking a lot about food lately. Our theme for Lent is “Feeding Hungry Hearts” and we have just completed and published a devotional on this theme. It is interesting what people imagine when they talk about being fed. Of course this theme calls people into a wider, richer place than literal food. It encourages them to reflect on what it is they are truly hungry for, what it is that really nourishes and brings life.

Earlier in the week I heard a news report about a town in Minnesota that was anticipating the loss of many jobs due to a closing business. One woman who was interviewed owned a flower shop in town. She was commenting on her sadness at the losses this would bring to many of the people she knew. She also spoke about how people choose to spend their limited resources mentioning, of course, food, housing and fuel. She then went on to say that in the course of what was about to happen ‘people really won’t need flowers.’

The statements I am about to make come from my own place of privilege and I own that. No doubt I found myself disagreeing somewhat with her comment because I had been thinking of this Lenten theme. I had been thinking about what really feeds my hungry heart. I know beauty is certainly one thing. I don’t disagree about the necessities she outlined, I just know that each of us also have deeper longings that cannot be met by those hierarchy of needs we know exist. She is right that those who do not have a warm home or enough food probably are not thinking about flowers. But that does not mean they don’t need them. It only means they might not be able to afford to buy them.

In these winter days,when I take time to visit the Como Conservatory and allow the color and fragrance of the various flowers and plants to wash over me, I am fulfilling a need. I often allow myself to watch others taking in the beauty of the tiny petals, the enormous, complicated leaves. Surely these people are meeting some need they have. A need to be a witness. A need to be surprised. A need to be present to something that they had no hand in creating or bringing to birth. A need to be open to the goodness that exists in Creation. So many needs filled through the power of seed, sun, water and tending.

Most days we are hungry for more than bread. What hungers are you holding? What gnaws at your stomach in the middle of the night and keeps you awake in the morning hours? Whatever that deep hunger is, my prayer is that you find what nourishes, what feeds you. And may you blessed with what you need.

Have a wonderful weekend and remember to Spring ahead……

Today is Ash Wednesday. And so the season of Lent begins with a reminder that we are people of the Earth. We are born of the stardust that existed thousands of years before we took our first steps. We breathe in harmony with the oxygen created by the trees that clothe the ground on which we move and create our lives. We have our moods affected by the Sun that either shines upon us or hides behind days of clouds. We Survive on the water that falls from the sky and fills our rivers, oceans and lakes. Everything we eat that nourishes our bodies has been grown and fed from the gifts of Earth…the plants, the legumes, the animals, the fruit. It is all good, very good.

Today those who count themselves among the Christian household will make a pilgrimage to their places of worship and will be marked with a sign of ashes on their foreheads. This will be a reminder. We are of the Earth. We travel on the Earth. We are fed by the Earth. And we will someday return to the soil of this same Earth that has been our home. The ritual act begins a 40 day reminder that we share this walk with Jesus of Nazareth who was born, fed and traveled this path before us and while he traveled his journey he gave his life making known the movement of the Holy in all he did. We are asked to reflect upon what it means, perhaps even what it requires, to follow his example.

Over the weekend I was in the presence of Dara Molloy, a Celtic priest and writer, who spoke about Celtic Christianity’s characteristics. He spoke of the concept of being ‘guests of the world’ and how we all are on a pilgrimage here. Sometimes this is a literal traveling as we search for places that awaken us to the presence of the sacred. Most days, however, we are wandering around inside ourselves trying to find that touchstone of who we really are that often gets hidden, those God-created unique selves we catch glimpses of every now and then.

He also spoke of another characteristic as knowing ‘places of resurrection.’ These are the places we feel a sense of aliveness, a home that goes beyond a physical structure, a hometown. They are also the places where we are awakened to our true work. I believe we are often in the presence of these resurrection places. But most often I find I am moving too quickly or I am not present to the moment and those flickers of rebirth fly by unnoticed, unrealized and the beauty of my true work goes unlived. In this your experience?

Lent offers an opportunity to live with intention. Some people choose to give up certain things that distract them from being present to God’s movement. Others begin a practice that will help them align their steps with those of the Holy. Whether giving up or taking on, Lent invites us to reflect upon what it means to be a guest of this world and where we find places of resurrection. It is a gift that will bring us through the winter of our days into a spring that will promise new life.

As we wear the birthmark of ashes, may our walk this day and all the following be filled with a deep knowing that we do not travel this path alone. We are woven together with all those who walk with intention and are held by the the One who has loved us from the beginning.

Yesterday was Transfiguration day in the Christian church. It is the Sunday when we read the story of Jesus leading Peter, James and John to a mountain where Jesus’ face is seen glowing like the sun. The story goes that they are then joined by Moses and Elijah and from a cloud the voice of the Holy One speaks: “This is my child, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

After this dramatic experience, Jesus goes on to tell those with him to tell no one about what had happened. Peter, being his ever exuberant self, had wanted to build houses for them all to live in this shiny, heavenly mountain top experience but he is stopped in his tracks by the voice of God. So, we have Jesus telling everyone to keep what happened on the down-low and Peter ready to bust his buttons to tell everyone what happened. And then there is that glowing part. It is difficult to make sense of this story in our 21st century minds.

Oddly enough, we did not even read this scripture in the worship service I was in yesterday. We had a guest, Dara Molloy, a Celtic priest from the Aran Islands of  Ireland and that had not been his scripture choice. Instead he had chosen Jesus parable about new wine and new wine-skins. The whole service was woven throughout with Celtic music and a sense of the Spirit was palpable. In Celtic fashion, we affirmed that we arise everyday in the Presence of the Sacred as we echoed the words of St. Patrick. We heard poetry that challenged us to be the new wine talked of in the scripture story and we were surrounded by prayers that were deep and rich. Our voices joined in song in a way that was both beautiful and bold.

At some point of the service, I allowed my eyes to look around our circle.That’s when I noticed it: Glowing! The faces around the circle were glowing. No cloud had moved in but still the faces I know so well and those who were new to me all had a shining countenance. I felt myself take a breath so deep I knew I was breathing with the Spirit that moved among us. It was a powerful moment.

I can’t say what happened in the scripture account of Jesus on the mountain. But I do know what happened yesterday and I guess some might call it a ‘transfiguration’. One definition of the word is ‘the sudden emanation of radiance’.

Yes. That’s what I saw. And while I know it is impossible to build my house in that kind of mountain top experience, I do believe I heard a voice saying something about being pleased and being beloved.

“The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure.”
~Joseph Campbell

Last night I happened to catch an interview on NPR by Terri Gross with Beverly and Dereck Joubert. This couple studies animals in their natural habitat and create exquisite photographs. This particular interview dealt with their work in photographing and observing lions in Botswana. It was fascinating to listen to the many things they learned about these beautiful, exotic creatures.

About midpoint through the interview, Terri spoke of their titles: ‘Adventurers-in-Residence’. My head snapped at the name. Wow! How do you get a title like that, I wondered? Here at the church where I work we have had a Composer-in-Residence, an Artist-in Residence and even a Bishop-in-Residence. But Adventurer-in-Residence? I long for the day!

The rest of the interview was lost on me because my mind was already thinking of where, in my dreams,  I would like to be as I took on this new title. What kind of adventures might be calling? Where might those adventures take me? What tools would I need to be an adventurer-in-residence, what skills? Could I take up this calling and still keep my day job? So many exciting questions streamed through my brain like a quick out-pouring of all things possible.

As I parked my car in our garage, it became clear that no one had offered me such a position. I looked at all the bikes, kayaks, lawn equipment, garbage cans, and general junk that lined the walls of this snow encrusted structure. These were the things of real life, my life. Not adventure. These were the things that in just a few short weeks will need to be hauled out and cleaned up for the season ahead. Not very exciting or adventurous.

However, I was only momentarily brought back down to earth. The seed of this adventurer spirit had already been planted and watered. With a sense of possibility I wondered what would happen if I saw myself as an Adventurer-in-Residence in my own life. How would I live differently? How would you? What if in the very work we are already doing someone gave us the promotion to this illustrious title? Perhaps then the way we approach even the most mundane task would suddenly take on new energy, new vision. Perhaps if we all saw ourselves as adventurers we might approach the work we do, the gift of each day with an excitement worthy of the task as we ward off danger and disasters, as we climb mountains, battle dragons, even heal the world.

Webster’s dictionary defines ‘adventure’ as ‘involving danger and unknown risk‘ but also ‘an exciting and remarkable experience.’  Anyone who has lived a few years knows that it often takes unknown risk to bring us to remarkable experiences. So,what adventure is in your future? How can you take the simple tasks of this day and see the adventure in them? How can we all allow the adventurer spirit to take up residence in us?

Folks, it is March. The winter has been long and there is another snowstorm predicted for early next week. I say, it is time for some Adventure!

“God, I feel I could wear this day
I feel I could wear the day today
like a scarf
(But not because it’s cold
’cause it’s not)
I feel I could wear the day and
the wind would wrap it around and around me
I feel I could wear the day
I feel I could wear the day today
Like a scarf
and dance it
Yellow with a fringe or two of blue.”
~Neil Paynter

This morning as I sat down for a cup of coffee after a bowl of granola,I began leafing through some of the new prayer books I have recently purchased. I am ever on a quest for words people have used to express their prayer. There is something in reading them that makes me understand my own search for just the right word, just the perfect combination to create the phrase that will breathe through me on its way to touching the Holy. This morning’s search gleaned this gem by Neil Paynter. The truth is I was drawn to these words not because they express my prayer but for the fact that they do not.

I awoke on this day after a couple nights of fitful sleep. Too many stray details taking night flights through my semi-conscious brain. Two nights of deep breathing to bring on sleep that never fully arrives. So this morning I feel somehow lost to the tasks at hand, the list of to-dos this day holds. Right now I simply feel I am waiting for my brain to make a grand entrance into the light of the sun. Ever have this experience?

Some days, some weeks are more complicated than others. Some richer and fuller. The last few days have had me silently asking for a do-over. But of course, we never truly get do-over days. We only are offered the gift of this particular day which begins in mystery no matter what we may have written down as its agenda. What I planned to happen given what is on my calendar for this day and what actually unfolds may be very different. My prayer is that I will have the wisdom to choose what is the greater good of the many options that may arise. And that I will be present to its fruit.

In reading this prayer, I was confronted with a choice. I could choose to muddle through, crossing off the many things that need to be accomplished, and arrive at day’s end with pencil marks on a piece of paper and perhaps a certain feeling of satisfaction. Or I can choose to ‘wear this day’ like a colorful scarf allowing its brilliance to flap in the wind,to keep me warm, to be seen as fringe that falls across my tired but searching eyes.

This is the gift, and the choice, that is offered to us every day. Our work is to intentionally make a decision. Will we wear this day? Or allow it to wear us, even wear us out? At day’s end, as we take stock of all that has flowed through the minutes and hours that have expired, will we find ourselves dancing as a colorful scarf makes a pillow for a good night’s rest?

It is my deepest hope.

On Sunday evening I attended an evening with Sara Miles author of Taste This Bread. Her memoir tells the story of her work as the ‘holder'(my word not hers) of the Food Pantry at St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Fransisco. It was a book I found very helpful and quite profound so it was a privilege to be in her presence. The ways in which she speaks of the holiness of food rings true to me. The generosity with which she moves in the world, and the guts she has do to so, is inspiring. If you have not read this book, I commend it to you.

At some point in her talk she was speaking of the volunteers that staff the Food Pantry. Describing them and the passion they have for what they do, she said they are ‘running toward the work.’ At this point I stopped just listening and actually wrote down that phrase. Running toward the work. I thought of the people I know who run toward their work, those who find such joy and satisfaction and meaning that they literally run toward the act of work. Many of these people are actually paid for this work which brings them such fulfillment but I fear there are often too few in their company. I thought also of those who hate their work, find it demeaning or a place to put in their time, waiting for the paycheck, watching for the clock to run out. And then there are all those who long for work, any work, to prop up their longing spirits,their depleted bank accounts. Work is such a defining and important part of being human.

For some reason Sara Miles’ statement reminded me of my teenage years in which I was a Girl Scout. I will be honest….I was a terrible Girl Scout. I was, in fact, every devoted Scout leader’s nightmare. I hated camping. I saw no possible reason in the world to do tasks in which I was not interested in order to earn badges which would be sewn onto a uniform I would not be caught dead in. But what I did love about Girl Scouts was being a Candy Striper.

Candy Stripers, for those of you who may not remember or never knew, were young women who wore red and white striped jumpers and volunteered in hospitals. This service of the Scouts was one I ran to with all my heart. My fellow ‘Stripers’ always knew that if they ‘had something else to do’ when their shift rolled around that I would take their turn. It was work I ran toward. I ran toward this work not because I had a delusion that I would make medicine a career. My science gifts were few and my math skills nonexistent. What I loved about this work was delivering flowers and mail to the hospital rooms and seeing the delighted smiles on frail and hurting faces. What I loved was taking trays of food that often went uneaten but which provided a time to talk about things other than illness with a young person who happened by. I suppose it laid the groundwork for the times I now stand in similar places offering diversion, a kind word, a prayer, a presence.

As far as I can remember, I never earned a badge for Candy Striping. But in those years when it was easy to be self absorbed with the latest fashions and newest song on the radio, this work provided meaning and a connection with something larger than myself. I think it is a similar thing that the volunteers at the Food Pantry experience.  It is what, perhaps, we all want from whatever work we do: a sense of meaning and a place to make a small difference in some one’s life and the life of the world. This has very little to do with any monetary reward and so much to do with seeing our place in the grand scheme of things.

My prayer today is that all may find work they can run toward. Whether paid or not, may the work lift us all above the smallness we sometimes feel and connect us with others in a way that lasts.

And if a badge is important, and earned, may it be bestowed and received with grace and love.