I have this awful feeling that I am moving through mud this week. No matter how detailed my to-do list is, I seem to end up at the end of the day asking myself the question,"What in heaven's name did I do today?" Perhaps it is because I have been having the 'whack-a-mole' syndrome. Do you know what I mean? It is that carnival game where you stand with a rubber mallet as these little,furry, fake moles pop up in random places on a flat surface. The point of the game is to 'whack the mole' back down into its hole. The better you are at it, the faster the moles pop up. You can imagine it. Perhaps you have even felt the same way some weeks.It is simply a fact of life that some weeks are just more complicated than others. More challenges. More conflicts. More opportunities. More, more, more. I liken it to the same experience I have when I have a cold. When you are in the midst of a full blown,nose-blowing, stuffed up, red faced cold, it is difficult to remember when you ever felt 'normal'. At least that is my experience. I become the person who has always had a terrible cold, have always been whacking moles.

But, of course, this is not true. Soon this rolling around in the mud will break loose and things will ease into a calmer, quieter, more peaceful way of being.Much of that has to do with the ebb and flow of work, of life. But sometimes we have the ability to soften the thrust of the mallet and smooth out the muddy mess by simply stopping and remembering that it will not always be so. After a deep breath, an uttered prayer,clarity creeps in. Solutions will be found. Challenges will be overcome. Conflicts will be resolved. It is the nature of goodness and order to prevail.

If you are in a similar place as I am, I invite you to put down your mallet and take off your waders. Let the moles pop until they exhaust themselves. Invite the sun to come out to harden the mud. Take the reins of creativity and calm and hold on tight. Better days are ahead.

"Come and find the quiet center in the crowded life we lead,
Find the room for hope to enter, find the frame where we are freed:
Clear the chaos and the clutter, clear our eyes that we can see
All the things that really matter, be at peace, and simply be."
~Shirley Erena Murray

Yesterday I was in a workshop that provided me with some very helpful information. The leader of this workshop was a lawyer and an ordained deacon in the United Methodist Church. At one point of her presentation she asked us what we thought was the most important point listed on an image on the screen. After several answers were offered, she pointed out the word 'resolution'. Now, indeed, the process of resolution was the point she was making but then she pointed out that the word resolution had been written in the color blue. She then told us that in one of the most important classes she took in law school she learned this: Blue is the color you wear when you want people to know you are speaking the truth. Somehow 'blue' signals truth to our brains. When you want to distract or keep people not focusing completely on our words, wear red. When you want people to completely focus on what you are saying, wear black.

Now there were many important things I heard during this presentation, but these are the messages that have been playing with my imagination. Blue, the color of truth. Perhaps I am thinking about it because I would have to say that blue is not really in my color palette but mostly it is intriguing to me that, as humans, we are such complex creatures. The idea that the colors we choose to wear can have such an influence on people's experience of who we are and what we say is fascinating, isn't it?

It led me to think about all the times I might have been distracted by red. Was I so enthralled by the brilliant scarlet of a jacket or scarf that I completely was taken in by words I might have heard differently if my eyes had been bathed in blue or green? Have I listened too intently to words that really should have rolled off my back because the speaker was wearing basic black? It is a fascinating concept to me. I think of all the years that the 'red power tie' has been a symbol of men's power in the work place. Hmmmmm……We can all surmise what we will from that.

Today I will be traveling along the country roads of Minnesota on my way back to the Twin Cities after a couple of days at a retreat center.My eyes will be shocked by the blaze red of the sumac and the amazing gold of the birch trees that line the freeway. As I walked early along the shore of the lake that was shrouded in the mist of a colder than usual autumn morning, the deep, blue sky of morning truth gently cradled the brilliant crystal of stars and a sliver of white moon. Over in the east, the sun was making its way toward the horizon causing streaks of lavender, hot pink and a golden yellow to streak across the brightening sky. The colors of the October morning took my breath away. Never underestimate the power of color.

"Believe nothing just because a so-called wise person said it. Believe
nothing just because a belief is generally held.Believe nothing just
because it is said in ancient books. Believe nothing just because it is
said to be of divine origin. Believe nothing just because someone else
believes it. Believe only what you yourself test and judge to be true."
[paraphrased]
~The Buddha

One of the Lutheran churches in our neighborhood recently sold their building to a Roman Catholic church. As I drove by the other day I saw on the outdoor sign the title "Divine Liturgy" giving the time of the mass. I actually said the words out loud:"Divine Liturgy". Since I am not well versed in the various kinds of masses of the Catholic church, this could be a service for something very specific. But what struck me is that the word 'liturgy' literally means 'the work of the people.' Divine liturgy…..the divine work of the people. Doesn't it sound wonderful?

What if every morning we woke up with the idea that today we were going to be about divine work? What if every time we walked into our places of worship we really set about engaging in divine work? What if we saw all our work as a relationship between us and the Divine? How do you think your work would be changed by this intention? It is an intriguing thought, isn't it?I am imaging how I might approach that difficult person if I truly believed the Divine was standing right in the midst of us. Wouldn't I see this person with the eyes of compassion? I am imaging all the mundane tasks I do, we all do, daily. How might I approach them differently if I saw the Presence of God intricately woven into each little detail, each form, each copy made? The meals made and eaten, the hands touched and held, the eyes met, the words said, all wrapped in the breath of the Divine One.

Those who have declared many times "God is in all places." forget the truth of this with great regularity. Those who have heard these words also allow them to roll off their backs with ease. It is our way.

But what if today was the day, the real beginning of a new way of employment? What if today is the day to begin our Divine Liturgy? A snowy Monday in October seems as good a day as any to begin the work of the people anew. It couldn't hurt and it just might make all the difference in the world.

When we get together to make liturgy
we share things,
no hierarchies,
We are wordsmiths and story-tellers
sculptors of images
 explorers of silences
 music makers
 singers of songs.
We move chairs
 create sacred spaces in living rooms
 set off fireworks in back gardens
 dance in cathedrals
 picnic in rain-threatening weather
 float candles in baptismal fonts.
When we get together to make liturgy
 we rejoice with the saints and the angels,
 discovering our creativity,
   being ourselves
in the image and glory of God.
~Ruth Burgess

The sun hears the fields talking about effort
and the sun
smiles,
and whispers to
me,
"Why don't the fields just rest, for
I am willing to do
everything
to help them
grow?"
Rest, my dears, in
prayer.
~St Catherine of Siena

I don't play golf often but when I do my favorite part is 'whacking' the ball with my wood and seeing just how far it will go. I love putting all my energy and force toward this little inanimate thing and letting it fly. I usually do pretty well at this.

Where my game really falls apart is with putting. The small, often gentle, precise movements needed to actually put the golf ball in the hole are lost on me. I cannot contain my need to go at things full force long enough to rest in my movements, focus on the connection between my arms, the club, the ball and the hole. I usually end up laughing at myself over this for a few moments. But then it is on the next good 'whack'.

We recently received as a gift to our community a beautiful, crystal singing bowl. These bowls are used in meditation and are tuned to the different chakras of the body. This bowl, larger than your largest salad bowl, is tuned to the throat chakra and has a high, ringing tone that stays in the room for minutes after it is rung. It is rung by tapping it gently with a rubber mallet and then the person ringing can gently move in circles with the mallet on the inside of the bowl to keep the ringing going on and on. It is a glorious, calming, centering sound.

I, however, cannot seem to master this second part of creating the on-going sound. I tap, tap, tap and when I try to move the mallet in circles within the bowl, I apply too much pressure and the sound comes to a grinding halt. As I was trying this one morning before worship I realized that I am approaching the singing bowl much like I approach putting. Too much effort, too much energy, too much punch, just plain too much.

Many things, perhaps most things, in life take little effort. Most often the things that matter….relationships, love, kindness, appreciation of beauty….really only require being present. Riding on the breath of Spirit we can find a way of walking in the world that isn't so much about how we push and pull, but how we rest and pray. Just writing those words made my shoulders relax.That tells me there must be Truth present.

I am breathing now, deeply, all the way down to my toes. No whacking for me today. Only resting and breathing which may be a good definition of prayer. If you are also wearied from effort, I invite you to join me.Breathe in. Breathe out. Deeply. Resting. Praying.

Have a beautiful, restful weekend……………….

Over the last two days,we have had some work being done on two of our porches. Brick laying, brick repair. I have to admit that I love watching this kind of work happen. I wonder at the satisfaction those who do this work must feel at the end of a day, at the end of any project. To begin from nothing and then to see something materialize right in front of your eyes, through the power of your muscles and your training, must be very fulfilling.

But, at the end of most days, I know that it takes us all to make a world. It takes the builders and the teachers, the computer programmers and the lawyers, the preachers and the nurses, the clerks and the designers, the farmers and factory workers. The list goes on and on as far as the imagination takes us. It takes those of us who won't know for many years if the work they did counted for anything and those who see immediate results. Together we are, hopefully, an inspiration to one another for keeping on, keeping on.

These are the building blocks of the world. And we are all builders together. For growing, for healing, for change, for hope. Each day, armed with our individual gifts, we walk out our doors and into this blessed world in which we know the privilege called life. We serve and are served by a vast array of humans doing the work that feeds them and their families. Work that is unique to the individual gifts of the person.

And so it goes. Today might be a day to say an extra special thank you to those you meet today. For the work they do, for the service they provide, for sharing a small part of who they are. Our thank you may just help them see the visible difference they actually make in the world. It may be the only sign they get this day. And wouldn't it be a shame to deny them that?

"Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are a variety of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone." I Corinthians 12:4-6

Today I am one of the bleary eyed Minnesotans who feel as if they personally played 12 innings of a professional baseball game last night. As we watched our beloved Twins throw, catch, hit and run their way to last night's win, it was a glorious time to see the excitement and pride that happens in such an event. With each pitch, each hit, each run, I practically felt it in my own body, the tension and excitement of a a well played game. We actually watched the game at a local restaurant and I have to say I left that place feeling as if I had been at a family reunion in which I knew no one's name. I high-fived and clapped hands with total strangers who didn't seem that way at all. We were united in the love of the game, the love of the team.

At some point over the last weeks, while watching this team crawl back toward a winning season, I began to think about what it must be like to be an adult who plays a sport for a living. For instance, does Joe Maurer ever wake up and say,"Oh, no, I have to play baseball again today.", the way others do in their work? Does it ever become boring, hum-drum? I guess I want to  believe that, like any job, there are days when these grown men want to call in sick, take the day off, take a 'mental health' day. But somehow it is difficult to believe, isn't it?

Last night as they ran out onto the field after more than five hours of playing the game they love, skipping, hugging, jumping on one another like bear cubs, I saw in them the nine-year-old boys that dreamed of a day just like this one. A day when they would be triumphant while doing what they love most…playing baseball. This simple game of pitch, hit, run, catch, is so much more and last night's game was a perfect example of the strategy involved.In the end, I imagine these men play because they recognize the privilege of being able to do so or I hope that is the case. They also, I would imagine, recognize that the ability to play the game it fleeting and so the joy becomes greater with each day, with each game. It is a joy to watch.And for those of us who are the fans, there is also something that connects us to these players getting to do what they love. It is the nine year old in each of us who once had a dream that we would spend our adult days in the pursuit of that thing that gave us the most joy…..dancing, singing, flying, painting, running, playing…whatever it is. Vicariously, we are reminded of that sheer possibility that was once ours and, perhaps, still is.

Go Twins!

"Tell me, what do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"~Mary Oliver

As I have been out and about my neighborhood and a few of the adjacent suburbs, I have seen several signs for a 'Booya'. I have to admit that, until a few years ago, I always asked myself "What in the world is a Booya?" But a few Octobers ago, we actually stopped and found out.

We followed the people and the laughter to a large cauldron of soup being cooked over an outdoor fire. It was a hearty, meat based soup with vegetables and what I imagined were its own set of spices known only by the booya-makers. I have since learned that it is a soup that probably has its origins in Easter Europe but my sense is that, on this side of the pond, it has been adopted by many people hailing from many different ancestries. It is an autumn tradition. People gather together to prepare for the coming winter, share in the harvest and the good company of those around them. What could be better?

Seeing these signs has caused me to think about the many ways people have gathered to create community. None of these are particularly complex or expensive endeavors. In fact, the more simple the experience, the more people are likely to be involved and engaged. I thought about all the people throughout time who have gathered around fires, around cauldrons, to toast the end of summer and to look around at the faces, memorizing the lines and smiles for the winter ahead when isolation sets in. It made me want to build a fire and do a booya in our backyard!

Last weekend the smell and feel of fall was settling in like a blanket. I did the only thing that seemed right….I took out the heaviest soup pot I have and made a rich corn chowder. We nibbled from that pot all weekend. But it didn't really create the 'booya effect'. We forgot the most important part. We forgot to invite people to share the warmth and nourishment of the soup.

The weather forecasters are predicting snow flurries over the next few days. There is still time to make another pot of stick-to-your-bones soup rich with the glories of summer gardens. Autumn is here and it is time to gather warmth…..of soup and of friends, old and new. It seems the only sensible thing to do.

"A soup like this is not the work of one man. It is the result of a constantly refined tradition. There are nearly a thousand years of history in this soup." Willa Cather, Death Comes to the Archbishop

"Nobody 'thinks' the spiritual life. They act it out. Both publicly and privately. But it is what we have trained ourselves to do privately that will eventually become the seed of the public self." ~Joan Chittister, OSB

It has been rainy and cloudy the last few days. I find these kind of days refining in some way. They cause me to look inward much like the days of Advent. It is an experience of looking inward, stripping away what can often seem brilliant in the sun light of brighter days. Perhaps it is my Celtic soul that loves the experience of the rain, the clouds, the melancholy they seem to hold.

Whatever the reason, I do love these days for the way they encourage me to reflect on how my spiritual walk is unfolding. I don't know about you but I can often spend so much time reading and studying about spirituality, faith, the arguments for and against my native tradition Christianity, that I forget that the spiritual life is about action. I can keep my walk, my living in the 'student' place……always gathering information for how this spiritual stuff might influence my life…..rather than knowing that, bidden or unbidden God is present.

The spiritual life is then not as much about thinking as it is doing, living. The reality, of course, is that thinking about walking with the Holy is much less risky than actually doing it. Reading about how others have been present to the Sacred's movement in their lives allows me to live vicariously through their experience, but if I go no further, I don't have the joy and the fullness of my own experience, with all that might bring. Living in the moment, staying awake to the dance of the Spirit in the ordinary tasks, the everyday often mundane acts of living takes a certain intentionality that is not easy in a world meant to distract us at every turn. It is all a matter of training and practice.

And yet that is the call of the Spirit in our lives. Stay awake! Look at this! Listen! Touch! Breathe! Feel! I truly believe the Holy One is trying to get our attention at every turn much like a young child trying to show us something new they can do. Look at me ! Look at me! And when, if, we actually jar ourselves out of whatever stupor with which we medicate ourselves, we will be welcomed by surprise and delight at what awaits us.

So, today is Friday, the beginning of the weekend. It could be filled with all kinds of things we need to do. And that's o.k. The good news is that the One we claim to be in all things is waiting in the to-do list, the repairs to be done, the errands to be run, the naps to be taken. Our only work is, not in thinking about the Presence, but in being actually present. And then living the spiritual life becomes allowing each act we do to be infused with the deep knowledge that the One who breathed us into being walks with us.

Lived in such a way, who knows what the weekend might bring!

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I haven't been paying much attention to my horoscope recently. I am not sure why but I seem not to get to that section of the newspaper with much regularity. But as I perused the comics(Bizarro was particularly funny today), I looked down at what this Gemini might expect for the day. "The time has come to move in a new direction and see different
perspectives. To see them doesn't mean you agree, but you are in the
process of opening a door."

Well, now there's something to make me sit up and take notice. A new direction? Different perspectives? I like the sound of that. Even as the days grow darker and colder the prospect of a new direction sounds very inviting, even exciting. Bring it on!

Yesterday I sat in a meeting that could have been boring but wasn't. It was a budget meeting and several around the table shared some new ideas, new directions.  As we looked toward 2010 and what funding might be available for programs, ministries, dreams, I realized how often we humans become set in our ways. We tend to find a certain groove and stick with it. So many times that groove turns into a rut. And before you know it we are doing the same old things, over and over again, no longer remembering the excitement out of which they were born. It is sad really.

Every day we wake up with the possibility of a new day. It is ours to shape and reshape as we wish. Now certainly we are sometimes bound by circumstances beyond our control. But we do have power over our perspectives if we want to open our minds, our hearts, enough to see new possibilities, try looking through a new lens. I tend to believe this is the work of the Holy Spirit, that great Door-Opener.

So, here's the deal. If you are someone who is need of a fresh start, a new beginning, take my horoscope. As a Gemini, the Twin, we love to share, the more the merrier! Let's look for new directions, creative perspectives that can set the course for an engaging autumn.It is my prayer that the Spirit will throw open the door for what can be. And won't that be exciting?

"Ever-Present Opener,
you offer me your love and strength.
You can help me open any door.
Lead me to where my truest self dwells.
I reach out to receive the freedom and courage
you extend to me at this very moment.
Transform my life into one that reflects your love.
I open the door of my heart to you.
I open the door."
~Joyce Rupp

" I do not know if the seasons remember their history
 or if the days and nights by which we count time remember their own    passing.
I do not know if the oak tree remembers its planting or if the pine
 remembers its slow climb toward sun and stars.
 I do not know if the squirrel remembers last fall's gathering or if
 the blue jay remembers the meaning of snow.
I do not know if the air remembers September or if the night
 remembers the moon.
 I do not know if the earth remembers the flowers from last spring
 or if the evergreen remembers that it shall stay so.
 Perhaps that is the reason for our births–to be the memory for creation.
Perhaps salvation is something very different than anyone ever expected.
Perhaps this will be the only question we will have to answer:
 "What can you tell me about September?"

–Burton D. Carley–

Today is September 29th. We are bidding goodbye to this very significant month. A friend sent me the poem that is above and I have been sharing it wherever I can. It touched my heart and soul and I have held onto its truth all week.

September is one of the months when we become so aware of the changing and shifting all around us. Children return to school and the easy flow of summer finds a pattern, a regularity that summer thumbs its nose at. We see the change of all Creation all around us. As leaves turn from green to brown through various other forms of the color wheel, we recognize the changes in our own bodies, our own lives.

September is a letting-go month. It is a time when we are not where we were and not yet where we are going. Sometimes, as humans, we have the ability to remember Septembers past and can conjure up feelings or experiences that ground us in these autumn days. But most of the time this shedding, this storing up for winter, this heading into the darkness that September heralds, is all new once again, as if we've never lived through it before. Are we more like the tree, the squirrel,the blur jay than we'd like to admit in our human bound ego?

Or are we, as the poet proposes, meant instead to be the memory of Creation? Will how we remember this September, this glorious sun bathed, warmer than usual September, save us? I can't fully answer that question. But on the off chance that the poet is correct, I want to remember the fullness of this September with all its joys and sorrows, its sunshine and brilliant starlit nights,its letting go and holding on. I want to remember how the light played on the tree's leaves, how the children ran up and down on our block full of their freedom. I want to remember the sheer pleasure of the warmth on my back and how the clouds looked as they danced slowly in the changing sky. I want to remember the glorious taste of tomatoes and the first bite of a Honeycrisp apple.

I do not know what salvation is. But I do know that to remember the beauty of September, to learn its lessons, is worth storing up,not only for the winter, but for my whole life.The opening it creates at my center, for how it connects me with the Sacred is something to hold onto before it's too late and this September is gone forever. And that, in the end, might just be enough.