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.

If you talk to most Minnesotans, they will probably admit to a certain feeling of what we call in our house ‘Groundhog Day’. Taken from the movie with Bill Murray where his character is destined to live the same day over and over again until he learns to be a nicer person and love his life, these February days have a similar feeling. The snow that has been with us since late fall, and continues to want to renew itself, provides the perfect monochromatic backdrop for these feelings. The sameness outside mirrors the sameness of daily activities that are itching for change. For spring. For green. For a glimpse of renewal of life.

So yesterday I left the office after a day of doing wonderful things, normal things that needed to be accomplished, things that had been done in a similar way the day before and the week before that. I made my way onto the freeway heading east. I had barely made the courageous merge into traffic when my eyes beheld a big surprise,a startling sight. A large black SUV was pulling a trailer with an enormous silver statue of a horse on it. Galloping along at rush hour speed was a ten to twelve foot tall horse that look like it was perhaps made out of chrome car fenders. Patch worked together with various segments of silver this stallion was an impressive sight. I shifted lanes to follow the horse as if to be its guardian protector. Coming up on my right I noticed a car, driver’s side window rolled down, the driver holding their phone out to snap a picture of this amazing vision. To my left the driver on their cell phone seemed oblivious to the racetrack they now traveled.

The traffic changed and I slipped out of my lane to pull up beside the mighty horse. I galloped alongside for sometime until the cars in my lane slowed down and for awhile I lost my place beside this mighty horse. My mind then slipped to our oldest son who had been such a horse lover as a child. I longed to participate in some time travel experience, to have him in the car with me, a young boy,knowing the sheer joy he would have had at this beautiful sight. By this time I was once again riding along side this steed, flanked by its surprising gift to my day.

Soon it was time for me to exit. I could not follow this equine art into the sunset. It was time to return to the normal flow of my February day. But I did so with a renewed spirit, with a lift in my chest and a smile on my face. Just when I thought all these days were grinding away in the depths of the white landscape, one the same as the last, a silver horse showed up and surprised my senses and filled me with joy.

It was an important reminder to stay awake to the possibilities of each day. No doubt all days, no matter the similarity to the days that went before, have a surprise or two tucked within. Our work is to keep our eyes open and our hearts ready for whatever the big surprise of the day will be. Like Bill Murray in ‘Groundhog Day’ we need to be ready to fall in love with every day and what it will offer.

Sometimes those offerings include enormous horses. Happy watching!

“A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.”
~Pam Brown

On many Sundays, I remind those with whom I worship that we have all arrived with the bags of our week carried invisibly at our sides. Indeed, we carry the bags of our lives fully packed with us through every moment of every day. It is a helpful metaphor, a useful image for me as I assess the sometimes curious reasons why I do what I do. It is something I tell couples I meet with as we do pre-marriage counseling. They carry with them the bags of the lives they have led up to that point and will carry the contents of those bags into this life they will forge together. It is true, I believe, of all relationships, all friendships. The baggage of our life thus far infuses our work, our play, our understanding of faith, the development of what we might even call our theology.

So, it was with some fascination that I read a prayer today from a little prayer book published by the Iona Community. It was written by Kathy Galloway.

“Oh my Lord,
I am carrying too much luggage,
and it’s weighing me down,
holding me back.
I worry about losing it,
but don’t need much of the stuff I’m dragging about.
It blocks up the aisles and gangways,
getting in the way,
making people cross
and wrapping itself around my ankles.
I need to travel light,
but don’t know what to do with all this stuff.”

Whew! I can certainly relate to those words. Can you? I think of all that is packed in my bags: guilt, old resentments, unfair expectations of myself and others, jealousy, feelings of being wronged or misunderstood, insecurities to beat the band, failures….the list goes on and on.

Of course I also have some very fine stuff packed that I carry with me all the time. The felt experience of unconditional love, the support of community,deep friendships, a sense of humor, the love of beauty,to name only a few. I think of some of those things I am glad I have packed away, things like my father’s gift of loyalty passed on to me through DNA and modeling. I treasure it. And yet I also know that even this precious, positive gift has sometimes kept me blind to important realities, kept me closed to some possibilities.

How we are able to understand the luggage we carry makes a big difference in how we move and have meaning in the world. What we have packed in our bags has the power to move us forward or hold us back. What is packed in your bag? What are you ready to throw out to lighten your way?

These days many Minnesotans are thinking of packing bags to head for warmer places. Sunday’s snowstorm was, for some, the last straw. Even if literal travel is not in your foreseeable future, perhaps today is a day to take stock of what is tucked away in your life’s luggage that no longer serves you. Perhaps today is a day to give it a toss into the circular file. It could be the beginning of traveling lighter and opening to what the hoped for spring will bring.

Kathy Galloway’s prayer ends with these words:

“Here,
you take it.
I’m leaving it with you.
Perhaps you can find a better use for it.
For who knows me better than you,
who has given me the substance of my life,
bone and marrow, patterned in my mother’s womb?
You are my unfolding and my unburdening.
You are the keeper of my deepest secrets.”

For all which we carry with us every day that needs honoring, may we find the grace to do so. For all that needs to be given away or given up, may we have the courage to unloose our grip. All the while knowing the Holy One walks with us in each blessed step.

“This day and this night,
May I know,O God,
The deep peace of the running wave
The deep peace of the flowing air
The deep peace of the quiet earth
The deep peace of the shining stars
The deep peace of the Child of Peace.”
~J. Philip Newell, Celtic Prayers from Iona

Over the weekend I had the privilege of being on the North Shore, about an hour north of Duluth. Driving there in an intense fog, we arrived long after dark, to spend a few days with friends at a family cabin. The fog was so thick as we drove the last several miles that we had no landmarks to give us our bearings. All we knew was that every now and then, the fog would clear and we would catch a glimpse of the cold, sparkling waters of Lake Superior out the passenger window. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, we would again be plunged into the enveloping fog, and the lake would be gone from our sight once again.

Being an early riser, even while on vacation, I was awake the next morning to see the sun come up over the Big Lake. What had been invisible to me in the foggy night was now shining in the morning sun. As I sat watching the morning sky turn numerous shades of pastels…..pale yellow, blue, turquoise, lavender,…..I was reminded of the many times the fog of night has obscured my ability to see what becomes clear by morning’s light. I thought of the many times I have wrestled the fears and demons of the nighttime only to find myself calmer and better sighted in the pure light of morning. Perhaps you have had similar experiences.

From my picture window lookout I could see how the ice cold waters of winter had made coats for the enormous rocks that formed the cove in front of me. Large stone walls had been splashed by what had to have been tremendous waves, over and over again, until they now wore icy, thick layers forming what looked like icebergs. The waves were much calmer now but I could still see the waves pushed and pulled by the strong winds. Dancing back and forth across the water, wind became visible.

That evening we were graced by the full moon making its presence known in the winter sky. Slowly it moved across the sky until it stood just in line with the cove, with the cabin’s windows. A brilliant shaft of white light traveled from moon to the ice formations below. As we gazed at the moon bathing the earth in light, I thought of all the stories I have heard of children who beg their parents to give them the moon. This is not metaphor but real. They want that big, shiny, round jewel. At that moment, it would have seemed to me like the most natural thing to want to reach up and take possession of the moon. Such beauty!

To be present to the daily rhythms of sunrise and sunset is a gift and something we rarely, in our fast paced world, allow ourselves to notice. Of course, sunrise and sunset over Lake Superior gives this practice a certain profound nature. But, I wonder, how might my life be different if, for just one week I would be present, really present to both the rising and the setting of the sun. How would it help put everything else that happens in a day in perspective? Somehow I think it might be something to consider. Do you?

I think of the ancient Celts who had prayers for the rising and the setting of the sun and many other daily experiences. The daily rhythms of their lives were always kept in the full light of their traveling with the Holy. The understanding of the imminent presence of God in such mundane tasks as washing the floor, milking the cows, building the fire that would warm them and cook their food, was never far from their lips, their heart. Some part of me longs to travel in such close Presence. How about you? From sunrise to sunset, through the profound moments of a Full Moon to the mundane of laundry, to remember that with every turning of the day, the Holy and I make our path together. It is in the noticing that we come face to face with the truth. A truth to be remembered and claimed with the rising of each day.

Yesterday morning, early, I sat in a chair looking out the window waiting for the day’s light to emerge. I knew the lake was out there and that the ice houses had spent the night being refrozen in place by the night’s cold temperatures. During the day the balmy temps and glaring sun and created little moats around the tiny structures. But I trusted that the colder airs of nighttime had glued them safely once again to the lake’s frozen surface. Blackness was all that I could see.

At some point of the night I had been awakened with the feeling that I had perhaps overslept. It was so light in my room. I thought it must be morning. But as I shook the sleep from my head and groped for consciousness, I saw it was the nearly full moon that was shining brightly through my window. I moved the pillows around in my retreat center bed and situated myself in the wash of its rays. It was a powerfully primal experience. Like those ancients who had known only the stars and moon as their canopy, I now found myself in their company. After some time, I must have fallen asleep once again, held in the waxing whiteness of the winter moon.

Hours layer I sat, waiting for the light to come once again to the morning sky. Slowly the blackness began to turn to a deep blue. The outlines of the enormous oak trees, naked in their February state, slipped into the vision of the landscape. As the light emerged, shadows took form and I saw the tiny wooden houses take become visible once again. I watched as the day began. I could now make out the cars and trucks parked beside the ice houses confirming once again that there are people so much braver than I.

To watch a day arrive is a gift. I am happy to say that it was not a gift that was lost on me. I breathed in its pure possibility. I offered prayers for those things I believed the day would hold and also for those that would surprise me. Someplace, in the recesses of mind the scripture echoed: This is the day God has made. Rejoice!

And I felt the truth of that statement, and that command, at some very deep place within.

Once again I find myself overlooking a frozen lake dotted with ice houses. It is February and time for a retreat in which a gathering of faithful people, some clergy and some not, will hear the stories of those who are coming to the United Methodist church to become ordained for ministry. It has been my privilege to serve in this way for several years now. In preparation we have read papers that have been prepared by the candidates and have watched sermons they have preached. But today we will do the truly holy work of speaking with them, asking questions and doing the work of holy listening.

To begin our time together last night, we heard the story of Elijah, his love of God and telling God’s movement in the world. Elijah is told to go out and stand on the mountain because the Holy One is about to pass by. In I Kings it says: “Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before God, but God was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but God was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake, a fire, but God was not in the fire; and after the fire, the sound of sheer silence.” The story goes on to say that when Elijah heard this powerful silence he covered his face and heard God’s voice asking: “What are you doing here?”

I can imagine that at least a few of the candidates for ministry may have awoken this morning asking themselves this question. My prayer is that some small, still voice has entered them allowing them to know that there are grace-filled people who are waiting to listen to their lives. My prayer is that they will know that we will be listening to the strong winds, the earthquakes, the fires and, most importantly, the silences that have enfolded their journey.

This is why we are all here. This is the work for this day, for these people. But isn’t this really the work we are offered every day? This is not the task set simply before those who are interviewing people called to ministry. The work of holy listening is offered to us with the rising of the sun each day. In all our relationships. In all the daily comings and goings of work, family, play, in the errands we run, the strangers we encounter.

Earthquakes, strong winds, and fires are moving through the lives of nearly every person we meet. All these same acts are moving across the face of our world. Surely the Holy One is in it all. And there are those moments of sheer silence that also hold the gentle, sometimes prodding, presence of God. Our work, should we choose to accept it, is to practice holy listening.This is why we are here.

For the healing of the world………