"It is simple, I tell my gathering of friends. We understand the power of accident and magic in human affairs. We know better than anyone the immense unanswerable powers of fate, and how one day can shift the course of ten thousand lives. Fate can catapult them into lives they were never meant to lead until they stumbled into one immortal day." ~Pat Conroy,South of Broad

Yesterday I finished reading Pat Conroy's newest novel set in his beloved South Carolina. Having visited this beautiful part of our country a couple of times, I can see his passion for, not only the landscape of the Low Country, but also his dedication to portraying the interesting, often quirky, people whose use of American English can sound like butter spreading on warm bread. Like so many of his other intricate and rich stories, this book is full of uniquely Southern characters, people you would not meet in any other part of the world.

But what captured my attention most was stated in these last few lines of the book. The characters, thrown together through a series of odd circumstances, come to be life-long, soul-bound friends. Fate? I'm not sure what to make of it but I think we can all probably think of one or two people in our lives that we would not have chosen, that came to us in an out of the ordinary way, that now make up the circle of care in which we travel. I know I certainly have a few friends, close friends, that I would describe in this way.

Throughout the book Conroy weaves a story that brings these people in and out of one another's lives in ways that sometimes seem impossible, sometimes healthy and helpful, other times downright hurtful and crazy. Such is life, I suppose, and the result of what it means to give yourself to the intricacies of relationship. Again, I am sure we can all name one or two people who require more energy, more care, more compassion, than we can sometimes muster.

Yet, if we are open to the fullness of the gifts of living, we can find ourselves in the stew pot with a wide array of other people who can bring a richness to our lives we never imagined. If we are not interested in controlling too carefully the trajectory we travel on life's path, we may find adventure and novelty shows up at our door. And isn't that what makes life interesting?

Today may find us eating, playing, working with those we've been with for some time. We will know what to expect and that is not a bad thing. But what if, what if, we turned our head just so and smiled at the person sitting at the coffee shop table nearby and started up a conversation? What if we took a different route to our office or the grocery store and encountered something that would change our course forever? What if, unbeknownst to us, there is an adventure waiting just around a corner we've taken over and over, an adventure waiting for the right moment to open its door?

These could only be Labor Day musings. But then again, they could be the start of something big.

"Should one faint by the way who gains the blessing of one mountain day? Whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever." ~John Muir

Welcome to the days of richness! As I gaze out my office window right now, the sun is playing in the enormous oak tree I am privileged to see put on its seasonal show. I watch the buds form in the spring and the leaves make their summer appearance. Last week I observed the many children who play on the playground under its shady branches as they reaped the rewards of its year round work. Right now the mighty oak seems to be steeling itself for what is to come. Yet in the meantime its rich green leaves are waving gently in the breeze, while the squirrels who make their home in precarious places within its foliage, skitter back and forth collecting acorns.In several weeks, its branches will once again be bare and exposed to the cold, winter elements.

But in these days, these early September days, the colors all around seem brighter, fuller, richer, don't they? Is it the light? In part perhaps it is, but I think it is also the knowledge we have of the change that is in the air. And so, it seems to me, our work is to pay attention, to savor the beauty of each day, to store up our richness for the winter.

My goal is to not miss the leaves transformation from green to red, orange and gold. In fact, I noticed last night that a few leaves have moved to a deep,blackish red on a lovely large maple in our front yard. Before I know it that tree will be brilliant red, casting a scarlet shadow over the carved pumpkins we will place around its trunk.

It is very easy with all that must be done in autumn to miss the magnificent show of which we are merely players. There are school supplies to be purchased, forms to be signed, children to be readied. There are windows to be washed, summer furniture to be stored, lawn mowers prepared for their winter rest. For those blessed to have summer cabins there are pipes to be drained and windows to be sealed. The lists could keep us all distracted beyond measure.

But if we allow those  lists to drive our days, we may find ourselves so focused that we don't allow our gaze to move outward, upward. Looking down as we cross off the items that 'must be done' we might miss the sumac along the freeways turning their autumn scarlet. We might miss the morning mist that hovers over any body of water nearby signaling the change in temperature of the fall air. We might miss the azure blue at twilight and the sheer immensity of the moon as it hangs in that sea of sky. We might miss those geese practicing their formations, readying themselves for their big exit.

And if we missed all this, wouldn't  that be a shame? Wouldn't it be a terrible mistake to miss the opportunity to be rich forever?

"The world is alive with your goodness, O God, it grows green from the ground and ripens into the roundness of fruit. Its taste and its touch enliven my body and stir my soul. Generously given, profusely displayed, your graces of goodness pour forth from the earth. As I have received so free me to give. As I have been granted so may I give." ~J. Philip Newell

Entering the Agriculture and Horticulture building at the State Fair the other day, I overheard a woman who was a bit impatient about standing in line to see the prize winning vegetables. "I have seen vegetables before." she spoke with some derision to her Fair companion. She made this statement very near my head but I resisted the impulse to turn and glare at her. My eyes were instead fixed ahead as we approached the enormous pumpkins. I hardly knew which way to look….huge orange pumpkins, brilliant red tomatoes, lime green peppers, rich purple eggplants, perfectly dainty patapans. My head was spinning with the beauty of it all.

As we slowly made our way in procession past the ribbon winners, I thought of the woman's statement. How often we take for granted the every day gifts around us! Vegetables can be seen as simply food….but who can truly say 'simply' about food, this fuel that literally keeps us alive? And these particular vegetables were grown with such love and care, as most good plants are, that they deserve a sort of reverence, I think.

Walking past each offering, for that is what they are, I could imagine the growers watching over their garden plants, hoping that each vegetable would be 'just right' by the opening day of the Fair. Ripe enough to be completely beautiful, not too ripe so as to go bad during the twelve days they need to hold their audience. That takes some careful watching, not to be taken lightly.

Playing the scene backwards from picking to nurturing, from the perfect amount of water and sunlight, back to tilling the soil and making sure it was rich with nutrients, to planting the seeds and splitting the plants. So many steps to get to this 'simple' vegetable. Not to mention the hard work of the hands who planted and watched over them. And then there is the whole matter of the faith it takes to even do any of this at all.

Those who plant gardens, whether large or small, are people who deserve not only our thanks but our admiration. Whether their produce is grown to be prize winners or not is irrelevant. Each tomato, each pepper, each eggplant, offers itself to be food for someone. In some circles this is known as a sacrament.

If only the woman had known, we might have heard her running down Dan Patch Avenue screaming at the top of her lungs: "I've seen vegetables! I've seen vegetables!"

I am working at relaxing today. I say 'working at' because I have to admit that it is often difficult for me to avert my eyes from the tasks that always need to be done in any house, the piles that always seem to rise on any desk. So, today, I am trying my level best to chill, to lolly-gag, to read, drink iced tea, restore my soul and just let the hours pass gently, slowly.

Relaxing has become a bit of a lost art, I think. Even our leisure time seems to have purpose these days. What happened to aimless walks instead of power walks? Is it possible to have a day without to-do lists? Could there be reward in waking up without a plan for every day of the week?

Yesterday I observed several different people in states of what I would call relaxation. I noticed two beautiful women dressed in red and orange saris sitting on a park bench, their faces close together, talking animatedly, laughing as they threw their heads back.There very presence seemed to shout "no worries." In another place I saw a young woman, in what seemed to be her work-clothes, a dress anyway, laying modestly on the grass soaking up the sun, day dreaming or perhaps even dozing. Outside my office window the children from our vacation Bible school sat in small clumps, talking quietly to one another as they threw little objects, sticks, leaves, an acorn, up into the air, as sweat glistened on their sweet faces. They had had a full day and it was time to relax.

How do you relax? What hoops do you need to jump through to let go of all the things that 'must' be done so you can settle into the art of being? Do you plan for relaxation in the course of your daily life? I think we all would agree it is a good and important thing to do and is most often in short supply.

The weekend is about to unfold before us. My prayer is that relaxation will be some part of these final days of summer, that each of us can find a few minutes, even hours, to settle into the gift of breathing in the now cooling air, of simply being without purpose. Everything that needs to be done will be there when we've come back from the land of pure gift, pure joy. And we will be refreshed enough to tackle it.

"Leisure, it must be understood, is a mental and spiritual attitude-it is not simply the result of external factors, it is not the inevitable result of spare time, a holiday, a weekend or a vacation….(it is) a condition of the soul"  ~Peiper

Walking down Nicollet Mall today I was surrounded by booth after booth of freshly picked vegetables and fruit. Thursday is Farmer's Market day. Sandwiched among the food laden tables were buckets of beautiful flowers. I couldn't resist and decided to buy a couple of the brilliant colored bouquets for two of my co-workers who have gone above and beyond the call of duty this week. After carefully selecting just the 'right' ones for these two fine people, I continued my walk down the street and across the park.

Here's what happens when you walk carrying flowers. People whose faces are usually blank as they move through their morning smile at you. Some say things like"Beautiful flowers!" Others nod and say with a wide grin "Good morning!" One random man carrying his morning coffee while dragging on a cigarette smiled while nodding toward the flowers and said "Have a great day!" I accepted his offer.  By the time I reached my office I was buoyant with all the positive energy and well wishes.

I thought about the times in our lives when we actually carry flowers: weddings, senior prom, an occasional procession of some kind. Sometimes family members will carry a flower to the graveside after a memorial or funeral service, quietly, reverently laying the flower on the grave of a loved one. There is something special about walking while carrying flowers.

I wonder what would happen if we imagined all the people we pass carrying flowers. What if, in our imagination,we saw that boss or colleague we find most difficult walking around with a spray of red roses? What if we saw the mail carrier, the one who fills our mailbox with bills and other unwanted correspondence, carrying sunflowers sticking out of their mailbag? What if the children lining up at the bus stop all carried a bouquet of garden posies to greet their bus driver, that person who has one of the most difficult jobs in the world? What if, we all imagined ourselves in the long, beautiful  procession of each day, carrying a glorious bunch of gladiolas?

It is a fantasy worth playing out, I think. It might be just the boost your day…and those you meet….need. So, now let us all walk out into the day like a beauty queen taking the ceremonial walk down the runway, head held high, smile flashing, our flowers tucked neatly in the crook of our arm. I can assure you. Heads will turn.

"People
from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the
whole time to have such things about us."  ~Iris Murdoch, A Fairly Honourable Defeat

Many times in this space I have written about what I have observed on my daily commute between the two cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis. There has seemed to be a never ending source of inspiration as I tool along at 55 miles(most of the time) per hour. But over the last several weeks I have been making my way from my home to the church using the light rail system. This has made for  a completely different experience of getting to work, one I have been relishing.

The route I travel most people would think a bit cumbersome, certainly not direct. Getting on at the Fort Snelling station I travel downtown and get off at Nicollet Mall. Then I walk the mall, through Loring Greenway and across Loring Park. It makes for a good walk through some amazing scenery, past lovely gardens and the fabulous array of individuals I meet along the way.

What this has pointed out to me is what an isolated thing driving in a car really is. In addition to being a pull on the environment, driving alone(which most commuters do) creates this sense of individuality that is false. Especially in a culture that spends so much time in cars, it is easy to believe we are walking the world in isolation of our fellow human beings, alone, held safe in our little metal boxes with wheels. This is, of course, not true.

As I ride the light rail in the morning, I look at the other riders. I want to say to the young man dressed in what may be his first suit for his first real job, "I am connected to you." To the young Muslim woman who sat beside me on Monday, her head covered allowing the beauty of her eyes to shine, her smile to be brilliant, I say "I'm connected to you." The many rushed, suited, workers, briefcases held tightly to match their pursed lips, their furrowed brows, I want to say, "Breathe. We are connected." To the elderly man with the dirty clothes, the shoes so worn I could see his gnarled feet sticking through, I want to say, "I am connected to you."

Of course, I do not say this. I know the lines of eyes-straight-ahead privacy that seem to go with riding elevators and public transportation. But in my heart I say these words. And I mean them. I recognize that I ride this train out of privilege, because I can. I could be driving, alone. But if I did I would miss seeing my fellow life travelers, whose names I do not know, but who have shared the beginning and ending of my day. We have shared space and air and point A to point B. That has to count for something, I believe. If nothing else it has helped me remember all the invisible lines of connection that hold my days, that hold yours. And what a gift that remembering is.

"Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound." Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

Ask any Minnesotan today how their weekend was and 99.99% will say "Perfect!" They will most likely say this because, since in this state known for its frozen nature we are obsessed with talking about the weather, the weekend could only be described in one way:Perfection. This past Saturday and Sunday are the days we want to hold on to, to remember and recreate in our imaginations on those long, cold, never-ending days of winter. Perfection. Cool mornings & evenings, with warm sunshine and a light breeze sandwiched in between. The lakes, the pathways, the streets were crawling with people soaking it in, holding on to these glory days, trying to squeeze the life out of the beauty of it all.

Outside my window sits the church's playground. This morning it is full of children for our Vacation Bible School. They are laughing, screaming, running, climbing. They, too, are holding on to the last of these summer days. Unlike those of us who live in the work world, they are given the gift of savoring the freedom of summer. But now the school supplies are stacking up in the house. Parents are talking about 'schedules, planners, backpacks, homework' and they can feel the summer slipping away. Vacation Bible School this week is a last ditch effort at summer camp, that place where kids get to play, make stuff, do a little study to keep the adults happy, and play some more with friends they have known their whole lives or with new ones. As they swing, as they slide, they are holding on.

Last evening we gathered to celebrate our first ever community garden at the church. The garden held all the ingredients for salsa so we deemed it a 'salsa party' complete with a salsa band. We ate tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, onions, jalapenos from the two little raised beds. As we scooped our chips into the blessings of these vegetables planted, grown, watered, and harvested by many hands, we were holding on to the the tastes that will become shallow and dull in the winter. One of the saddest sights at the grocery store is a tomato in February and that is to say nothing of the taste. Yuck!

Holding on need not be an act of desperation.Holding on can bring us into the moment, help us to savor the goodness of this day, this minute, this life. Holding on connects us with the Breath that moves among us at all times, urging us to look around, to touch gently, to listen deeply, to love wholly, this world, this blessed world. And we can all say together……it is good, very, very good.

"This day God gives me strength of high heaven,

Sun and moon shining, flame in my hearth,

Flashing of lightning, wind in its swiftness,

Depths of the ocean, firmness of earth."

~James Quinn, SJ, ascribed to St. Patrick

"Give us grace in our changing day
to stand by the temple that is the present church,
the noisesome temple
the sometimes scandalised temple that is the present
church,
listening sometimes to what again seems mumbo jumbo.
Make it our custom to go
till the new outline of your Body for our day
becomes visible in our midst."

~George Macleod, founder of modern-day Iona Community

I have spent my entire life in the church. Unlike many of my peers, I never rebelled against it, never thought it was irrelevant. Even in college, a time when most young adults have other things to do like sleep in mostly, I went to church with some regularity. To my friends this made me interesting or simply odd, depending on their own experience of this fragile institution. In some ways, that same perception could still be true. Many of my neighbors and friends do not attend church. They don't see its relevance or are so overcome by its perceived hypocrisy that they wouldn't darken the doors.

Churches are institutions like any other…full of frail humans, muddling through what it means to create any kind of life together, developing systems that can work miracles or great injustice, declaring belief that might encompass all involved but rarely does. The church at this point in the history of the world seems to be particularly fragile. Most mainline denominations are dwindling. Generations are trying to figure out how to work and worship side-by-side with one another, finding relevance and the Holy together in one place. Many communities are simply trying to find ways to maintain the aging and expensive buildings they have come to call home in troubled economic times.The whole situation gives one pause and lots of fuel for prayer.

Just down the street from my office my Lutheran brothers and sisters are meeting to decide what it means to them to be church. They are voting and praying and, you can bet,singing and voting and praying some more. Certainly they carry with them the fragility of inheritance and a fervent hope for the future. What is the church to be in the next decade? How will we all live together in love and mutual respect? Where is the voice of God heard in our time? How are we then so to behave and believe?

From church history I know these are not new questions or struggles. And I suspect they will be lived out over and over again in the next decades as people, hopeful people, try to once again understand the movement of the Holy in their time. That is why I continue to stay in love with this broken yet blessed institution. It is the one place where I can come together with others as fragile as myself to keep my eyes and heart open to the One who breathed us all into being. And every now and then, together, we get a glimpse of what it means to live in the presence, the beautiful presence, of God.

At this moment I am sending my prayers toward the gathered Lutherans…….blessed be.

"Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons ev'rywhere
I've looked at clouds that way…….
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
Its cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all."
~Joni Mitchell

The waning summer days make for great cloud watching. Have you noticed how the clouds these days are filled with amazing color…..soft pinks, deep lavenders, a tinge of yellow, sometimes even a rich purple….all held in the fluff of billowy white against the brilliant blue sky? It is worth paying attention to this sky show. It won't be evident in the same way come September. I don't know what causes the difference, simply that it seems like pure gift to me.

I don't know if it is the late summer atmosphere that has also brought the gift of my night time dreams which have been rich and wild recently. Vivid dreams, many of them seeming to be important message-filled wanderings that leave me pondering them all day. It is times like these that I wish I knew more about dreams, how to interpret them, what I am supposed to do with them. My dreams have been filled with important people, Jesus even,though he didn't look anything like any artistic image I have ever seen. I simply knew it was him and I was neither surprised nor frightened by his presence. It simply felt normal that he was there.A regular guy, a part of my every day life.

Then there are the dreams filled with people I don't know, have never seen before. How does the mind do that, conjuring up people you don't recognize? Is there a place in our brains that stores up images we encounter but don't register and use them to create middle-of-the-night films in our heads?

Last night I dreamed I was taking one of my co-workers' young son to Door County. He is really only a toddler, just over a year old. I was excited to be taking him to one of my favorite places, showing him the water, the stones on the beach, allowing him to soak in the fresh, clean air. As I carried this little one out onto the beach, my eyes recognized his parents, just out of eyesight, further down along the shore, looking on with protective eyes.

Dreams….clouds…..images and illusions…..all a part of the Mystery. I might surmise that Jesus' presence in my dreams was a gift of night time faith, an affirmation of a fellow traveler. And all those faces I don't recognize, a reminder of the invisible lines of connection we hold with all those who travel the path with us. And that little boy on the beach might just be my hope for our youngest who will soon travel off to his own adventures on the Pacific Northwest shores filled with its own stones and fresh breezes. My dream may have allowed me to know that, though he may be far away, we will always be just down the shore looking on with support and love, just out of sight, yet near.

And then again, if clouds illusions I recall, I really may not know anything at all about clouds or dreams. But I can receive them for the gift they are.

"Theodicy…..the branch of theology that defends God's goodness and justice in the face of the existence of evil; an attempted answer to the problem of evil; the justification of a deity, or the attributes of a deity, especially in regard to the existence of evil and suffering in the world."

Last week I found myself wrestling with what, in 'churchy' circles are referred to as questions of theodicy. The basic question is this: If God is good and God is love, why is there evil and suffering? Why doesn't God 'do' something when bad things happen to good people? I found myself once again confronted with these questions as I attended the funeral of a friend who had been killed in a tragic accident, a friend who had struggled in many ways throughout her life, and it simply seemed wrong that she died in such a horrible way. Of course, it was wrong,no question, but the 'question behind the question, can often be, so where was God in all this?

And then yesterday as our group that plans worship read through the scriptures for next Sunday's service, once again we were confronted with evil in the world,however that might present itself. In book of Ephesians, evil comes from the devil and the task at hand is to overthrow the devil. Since most of the folks present saw the devil as an ancient creation of people to make sense of evil, we found ourselves spinning around in this theodicy question again. To be able to pin the problem on something outside ourselves seemed too easy, allowing us to relinquish responsibility. We were all in the same boat in believing 'the devil didn't do it.'

Last evening as I was reflecting on all the events of the past week, I found myself swimming in the words and intentions of those who have tried to make sense of a world that isn't fair,is often cruel and violent, that doesn't add up. I realized that, with all the progress we have made as human beings, some of the biggest life questions, still elude us. It is humbling, isn't it?

As my eyes shut for the night's sleep, I was no further along with the theodicy question than I suspect anyone else is. But at least I hang my heart and life on this: in the places of the most pain, the most violence, I believe the Holy stands in the midst of it all, crying out. In those times of deep darkness and despair, I trust the healing hand of the One who dreamed us into being to be holding on. In the times when we humans are so removed from the deep knowledge that we are created in the image of the Sacred that we are capable of unspeakable acts, that same One looks on, hoping beyond hope that we will turn our face toward the mirror that will allow us to remember and be made whole once again.

In that moment, it is not about the devil or anyone or anything else. It is about standing face to face with the One who reflects back only kindness, only goodness, only love, asking us to go and do likewise.