Last night I sat down to watch the news. Instead of choosing a local news station or even a national one, I chose instead to watch the BBC. I would recommend everyone do this every now and then. It brings a different perspective on the world, one that seems somehow more balanced, more global. As I watched I wondered if the whole world is unraveling. I know that this is not a thought based in faith but it is what I experienced as I watched the various places around the world where the least among us, those with little privilege, little resources, seem to be moving farther and farther toward the margins,helpless.

I was reminded of something that one of my children asked once. "Why is the news always about the terrible stuff happening? What would happen if the news was made up of the good stuff people do?" This is a question we have probably all asked ourselves. And every now and then the news reports will tell the stories of those who, given difficult choices, choose the greater good. We should all take comfort in the fact that the majority of people are doing the right thing, the kind thing, the noble thing, the just thing….otherwise we’d be hearing their names on the nightly news!

When I was starting down the unraveling road, I remembered the Boy Scouts who the day before had put into action many of the things they had learned on their way to a sash full of badges. As a tornado hit their campsite in Iowa, they looked to the skies, helped one another, especially those younger and more vulnerable to places of safety. They talked one another through their fears, held hands and laid flat against the ground or found doorways and ditches. When it was clear there were injuries, they performed CPR, ripped bandannas for tourniquets, stopped blood from flowing, pulled others to safety from amidst the rubble. I am sure they also shed tears and helped one another grieve as they waited for those that didn’t survive to be attended to. I don’t think there is a badge for that unless we simply call it ‘life’.

I am thinking of the people who have lined the river and waterways waiting for the two Minnesota boys who are following the path of Eric Sevareid’s Canoeing with the Cree. I have written before about Sean Bloomfield and Colton Witte, recent high school graduates are making their way to Hudson Bay chasing a dream that was planted in them in seventh grade. As they have traveled over these weeks, people have lined the path offering food, shelter, help, but mostly encouragement and affirmation to these modern day adventurers.

When another tornado hit Hugo, Minnesota a few weeks ago, the word went out that people were needed to help with cleanup and carrying debris away. One requirement was the ability to use a chain saw. They needed 400 people…..4000 responded.

These, of course, are the big stories but there are countless others played out each day of those who, despite all kinds of odds, do the right thing, the kind thing, the noble thing, the just thing. We just don’t hear their stories. But here’s my suggestion. The next time you see someone behaving in this way, let them know you noticed. I did this this past week as I visited twin boys born prematurely. The neonatal nurse was talking sweetly as she cared for these beautiful, innocent, vulnerable ones. She stood like a sentinel when I came into the nursery until I could prove who I was and that I should be there. I’m glad for her vigilance. As I left I simply said, "Thank you for all you do." Her reply, "We love our work."

For all those in the world who love their work. For all those who do what is right, what is kind, what is noble, what is just. Thank you. May your anonymity never be obscured by the world’s need of you.

"In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart."  Anne Frank

Enjoy this last weekend of spring……………

"The dreamy heads of the grass in early summer.
In midsummer:thick and heavy.
Sparrows swing on them, they bend down.
When the sparrow sings, its whole body trembles.
Later, the pollen shakes free.
Races this way and that way,
like mist full of life which it is.
We stand at the edge of the field, sneezing.
We praise God, or nature, according to our determinations.
Then the grass curls or breaks, or we cut it.
What does it matter?
Do you think the grass is growing so wild and thick for its own life?
Do you think the cutting is the ending, and not, also, a beginning?
This is the world."
        ~Mary Oliver

I am sitting in the middle of an orchestra. Lawn mowers are moving all up and down our street. One has a deep bass tone, a steady sound of bow on string. Another sounds flighty, high pitched like a coloratura soprano. Stopping and starting, the humans who push them, throw stray sticks and stones out of the path, interrupting the music. It is truly…almost…summer. All the rain we have had over the last days has caused grass to grow at an alarming pace. For those who make their living grooming the lawns of homeowners and businesses, it is a mother lode week. For teenagers forced to mow or those who hate the tedious back and forth of the act of mowing, it is not such a welcome sight.

The sound of the mower and the smell of freshly cut grass is something I treasure. My father was a person who loved to mow lawns. He mowed our yard and the neighbor’s. When I was small he had a regular push mower but at some point he acquired a riding lawn mower, yellow and green. When he was finished with our lawn he would move on down the street to the front lawn of the city swimming pool and mow that. While it was certainly work that needed to be done, I think it was also contemplative time for him, though he certainly would never have described it that way. He was a quiet man, a thoughtful man, and I think the act of mowing provided a meditative motion that appealed with his spirit. Back and forth, back and forth, until the grooming, or the thinking, was finished

The movements of summer are opening up all around us now. Children are staying out later each evening. I have heard them laughing and playing until after dark now that school is over. This afternoon I saw a group of boys, perhaps 11-12 years old, walking barefoot down the street, towels thrown over their shoulders, sunburned skin visible on their shoulders and faces. Bikes lay here and there, Koolaid stands are popping up on street corners.

The rhythm of summer is upon us. Though it doesn’t officially arrive until next week at the Summer Solstice, signs are everywhere. It is a season to savor…smelling the greenness of grass, the sweetness of skin touched by the Sun, the warmth of sidewalk on bare feet, the laughter of children’s voices, the music of bird song.

This is summer. This is the world. Thanks be to God!

Never under estimate the power of a good story. This statement was proved true this past week as five men clung to only four life jackets after their sailboat capsized in the Gulf of Mexico. Floating in the water for over 26 hours the four Texas A&M students and one of the boat’s safety officers also held to a cardinal rule of water safety…stick together. I think it is probably also a cardinal rule for most of life. As they floated there through daylight and darkness, with fish nibbling their skin and clothing, the students were held in the moment by the power of their sailing mate’s stories, their ability to not panic and something no doubt their mothers taught them…..to share. They tied themselves together and shared the jackets amongst them.

Steve Conway, the eldest and a retired Coast Guard commander was the storyteller. When morale began to wane or fear started to set in, he would crank out another story binding this group of treading survivors together through word and imagination, allowing them to come back to the moment, stoking their will to live. It worked and they were rescued  by a helicopter crew who noticed the small flash light that was attached to Conway’s life jacket. Their other safety officer, the one who had pushed the students to safety along with their flotation devices, did not survive.

I wonder how many times a good story has saved a life? How many times in a situation of grave danger has a parent held a child and soothed their fears with a fairy tale? I think of the wonderful ways in which the father in the film Life Is Beautiful kept his young son from knowing the horrors of the concentration camps by spinning amazing yarns. Or how many times has a soldier hiding in a foxhole, recounted a story of safer, more ordinary times, keeping himself and those around him from the fear of war? I remember the only time one of children had to have stitches and standing near him, holding his hand, taking him on a journey of imagination with stories of places he loved the most

Stories…and sticking together…….cardinal rules for living. I am deep in reading the scriptures of Exodus which are filled with dramatic stories of seas parting, staffs that turn into snakes, horses and riders thrown into the sea. Through all of these stories, Moses, that reluctant prophet, leads the people of Israel, helping them to stick together and make it to the land, and the life, they have been promised. Through it all they become a people, God’s people, and we continue to tell their story as we seek to make it our own.

In our families, in our communities, may we have the wisdom to tie ourselves together, to ignore the fish that might be nibbling at our skin, and the courage to stick together while we live out our ever-evolving story.

"In the next century
or the one beyond that
they say,
are valleys, pastures.
We can meet there in peace
if we make it.
To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:
stay together
learn the flowers
go light."
   ~Gary Snyder

This morning I spent a long period of time simply looking at the light falling in my backyard. Of course, with all the rain we’ve had, the flowers look particularly colorful and lovely and the grass rivals the Emerald Isle. But it was the play of light on it all that captured my attention.

Any photographer will tell you ‘it’s all about the light’. Any well captured image will pull the eye toward the subject that is held in the light. Any performer will also tell you about ‘finding their light’ on the stage, that hot spot which you lift your face toward until the heat hits….just there….bringing all eyes onto the face of the one who will deliver the monologue or sing the music. Many performers also know that asking for a ‘pink light’ will make them appear younger, more vibrant while a stark, white light will bring out the coldness and age in a face.

Light is a powerful source of energy and a powerful metaphor. We wish to be en-light-ened. We know people who light up a room. Driving at certain times of day we are blinded by the light and it becomes a hazard. We revel in these nearly summer days when the light is so much with us. As we move toward the Summer Solstice next week, we don’t like to think that on June 21st the light will once again begin to lessen each day until deep December.

Light is so very important….but so is the shadow. In those same images snapped by a photographer, the shadow brings the depth to the photo, gives texture to a face and power to what is in the light.I wonder why we don’t honor and think of the shadow of ourselves, the shadows of our lives, with more fondness? Embracing the shadow of our experience helps us to walk more beautifully and fully into the light.

The 13th century Sufi poet and teacher Rumi writes: "You must have shadow and light source both. Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe. When from that tree feathers and wings sprout on you, be quieter than a dove. Don’t even open your mouth for even a coo."

Outside my office window the newly formed oak leaves are dancing in the light of this glorious June day. The sunlight is creating shadow puppets on the huge trunk that has grown in this spot for decades. Back and forth, back and forth goes the dance. Light and shadow joining forces…..creating awe. I’ll keep my mouth closed for now. I’ll only coo with my eye and, perhaps, my heart.

"It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.
In the home of evening light.
From the story made of evening light.
On the trail of evening light."
                   ~Navajo Prayer

Our family has lived in our house for nearly twenty years coming here when our oldest son was just two years old. We have what some tell me is a rare neighborhood where people really know one another by name, know the workings of one another’s lives, the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows. For some time it has been a neighborhood of many generations and our block parties could contain an infant and an over-ninety. It is a rare and wonderful gift.

One such over-ninety passed on last year. She was vibrant until the last couple of years, being one of the first to uncover her garden. She walked, once a week, to the bus stop several blocks away to meet friends downtown for lunch. Her house now stands empty and on the market and today there is an estate sale. For some reason I am filled with emotion over it all. You see, she was quite the expert on Plains Indians and had artifacts and books that were cataloged and displayed in her home. The lucky children in the area were invited in and treated to stories of these first people and the importance of their life here in the Midwest. My hope is that those precious things fall into the right hands, the hands of someone who will understand, not only their importance, but the love and pride with which they were kept safe until now.

But my emotion comes from more than the concern over these valuable things. It comes from the little, ordinary things of the everyday….the pots and pans, the dishes,the aprons, the garden tools. Will the person who buys them recognize the love with which they were used? Will they, in some way, honor the one who owned them? It is an irrational emotion, I know, one that could lead a person to a terrible habit of collecting. And yet, I of course came home with a 9×13 pan and several lovely cups and an apron. And then also the wine glasses, etched in a dainty pattern. When I use them I will remember Karin and what she brought to our neighborhood……her strength, her intelligence, her meticulous love of all things green.

And then there is the baptismal gown that I found in an upstairs bedroom. I never knew she had children Who wore it? Why wasn’t it passed on to someone in the family? How can it be lying here for strangers to buy?

I don’t know what I will do with this tiny, yellowed cotton dress edged in lace with buttons so small they seem useless. But some place, someone is walking the earth who was welcomed into the family of God while wearing this dainty gown. I will hold onto it. I will keep it safe. Maybe someone will need it for another baptism, another welcoming, another beautiful walk through the world.

Have a restful weekend………….…

"Rise up, child of earth. Let life rise up in you, full-term, new-born. Time enough in wondrous darkness, Echoed sounds of voices, sittings, splashings of new life. Relinquish to memory this one mystery we yearn to know and will again in after-death. So much latent still to rise, until our rising lifts us to a depth of questions every truth we’ve ever known. Mud-stirred of first-clay. Plaything of a potter who fell in love with hands’ work. Blessed be her handiwork. Blessed be the work of her hands. Blessed be." ~Pat Kozak

I have several friends who are doulas, those who are trained to be companions to pregnancy and birth. I am amazed by their work and by their stories of being witness to the birth of another new one who will walk this earth. It is work that, I imagine, takes patience,wisdom,deep relationship,trust and a large dose of hope. I send blessings and prayers for all those engaged in this holy companioning.

Our family has been, in a sense, acting as doulas over the last several weeks as we have kept watch over a nest built in the tree that is adjacent to an upstairs window. When we noticed it, the fat mother robin was not sitting there and I climbed into the attic to peer down to see if there were indeed any eggs in it. There, fragile and brilliant blue, lay one single egg. Within moments the mother was back and settled in. Over the days that followed, we observed the father bringing food to the nest, heard raucous sounds as a crow was chased away, until finally my climb once more into the attic produced a glimpse of a pitiful, ugly little squirming mass.

Winds were strong over the next days and yet the mother sat tight on her offspring, shielding it from cold and the chance of being blown to its death. It was at that moment that I remembered a book our boys had loved as children. It was called "Are You My Mother?" and told the story of a baby bird who had fallen out of the nest and went searching for its mother. The bird would approach other living things, a dog and an owl, asking "Are you my Mother?"Throughout the story, of course, there were near misses with danger until finally the baby bird comes to a crane and asks "Are you my Mother?" The crane gave no answer but slowly lifted the bird back into the nest where it was reunited with the mother who had been searching for it.

The reality of course is that there was really nothing our family did to help this little bird into the world.The ways of Creation have provided for that. But we did feel somehow connected to these harbingers of spring, those we look so ardently for in April and May. We kept watch and became witness to the fragility of their lives. I would love to think that had the winds blown the baby from its nest, we could have been like the crane and returned it safely to the presence of its Mother.

But there was no need. This morning I saw the robin, now looking more adolescent than infant, scraggly feathers poking out from its growing body. The Mother was not home and the bird was walking with a feigned confidence around the edge of the nest. It is waiting to fly.

As a Mother, I know that look. It is one that fills our hearts with fear and pride and resignation. It is a reminder that the real job of parenting is to give our children roots……………..and wings. Blessed be the handiwork. Blessed be. Blessed be

I have been spending time these last weeks with the Book of Exodus, most specifically with Moses. We are about to have the installation of an art show based on the life of Moses and the Ten Commandments. I have to admit always loving this book of the Bible. It is, what is known in storytelling circles as, A Big Story. I love the characters, the drama, how you know what is going to happen before it does but you can’t stop the people from doing stupid things. Moses couldn’t. God couldn’t. And neither can the reader. It makes for perfect storytelling.

I picked up a book by Rabbi Harold Kushner that someone recommended to me when she found out I was mining the life of Moses. It iscalled Overcoming Life’s Disappointments. In the book Kushner uses the life of Moses and the Israelite people to help readers find some wisdom and balance in the inevitable disappointments that come with living.He writes about his book: "It is a tribute to the human quality of imagination, the ability to dream and to envision a better world than the one we live in, and to the human quality of resilience, the ability to go on bravely when those dreams don’t come true."

Moses is given a thankless job in so many ways. Only Charlton Heston could make it look good. He was entrusted with a group of whining, quarrelsome, nagging people who wanted someone to take all the responsibility but also wanted things to turn out just the way they thought they should. Not an easy leadership gig. Ever been in this situation?

Moses finds himself leading this group reluctantly. He tried to convince God that he was definitely not the person for the job. He tried to point out other people who would be so much better.Sound familiar? But in the end, the Holy One’s confidence in him prevailed and he heads out into the wilderness.

Ahh, yes, the wilderness…where seas must be crossed, and plagues must be overcome, and food falls from the sky. Moses, the reluctant prophet, slowly begins to take on the role that has been given him. Through it all he has high moments of revelation and very low moments of despair and great anger.

The catch? God promises to be with him, traveling right along side him, no matter what. Even when dreams were lost, when disappointment threatened to overwhelm him, Moses knew that right there, a breath away, was the One who had birthed him and pulled him out of the waters of his mother’s womb.

The gift of Moses’ story?  It teaches us so much about our own.

"She named him Moses, ‘because,’she said, "I drew him out of the water." Exodus 2:10

"In every deliberation we must consider the impact on the seventh
generation… even if it requires having skin as thick as the bark of a
pine."    ~Great Law of the Iroquois

Yesterday I wrote about the three simple rules from a book by Rueben Job. The first rule for living a life to change the world was ‘Do No Harm’.  Upon reading this concise statement, I thought immediately of the Seventh Generation principle often spoken of in ecological circles. It is a concept of sustainability, borrowed from the wisdom of the first people, that invites all people to think of how their actions today will affect the generations to come…..imagining out seven generations. Let’s see, that would be my great,great,great,great,great grandchildren. It is a sobering thought. How does my living today create opportunities, or lack, for those who will carry my DNA into the far-reaching future? How can I resolve to ‘do no harm’ in the anticipation of their walking this Earth?

Doing no harm is not necessarily passive work. It can take a certain amount of thick skin ….just like the pine….to resist the lures of the easy life of throw away bottles, cars that use massive amounts of fossil fuels, and entertainment that sells short our creative spirit. Doing no harm can often mean going against the flow, not buying into a culture of fear and hopelessness.Doing no harm can be as simple, and as difficult, as saying ‘no.’ No to poverty. No to abuse.No to religious messages that are harmful.No to war. No to more. No to all those little things that add up to mountains of trouble for the great, great, greats yet to be.

This practice is not born out of stubbornness or rebellion but out of a great hope. Susan Werner, who performed at our church in April wrote a beautiful, soulful song that speaks to this way of walking in the world.

r life."There is a hope
That’s been expressed in you
The hope of seven generations, maybe more
And this is the faith
That they invest in you
It’s that you’ll do one better than was done before
Inside you know
Inside you understand
Inside you know what’s yours to finally set right
And I suggest
And I suggest to you
And I suggest this is the best part of your life."

Hundreds of years ago, a great, great, great I did not know, imagined a world for me. And now I do the same…….hoping to do no harm, hoping those I only dream about will walk their steps on a whole, healthy,beautiful Earth….and be as grateful as I am.

"These are three simple rules that have the power to change the world. While they are ancient, they have seldom been fully put to the test. But when they were practiced, the world of things as they were was shaken until a new formation, a new world was formed." Rueben Job

This past week at our annual gathering of United Methodists around Minnesota, we were given a book entitled:Three Simple Rules:A Wesleyan Way of Living. It is written by Rueben Job, a former bishop in our denomination. I have always found his writing engaging, challenging and holding a certain openness that appeals to me and so I look forward to reading it. It won’t take long. It is a tiny book, only sixty three pages and is dark brown with gold lettering and a simple border on the cover. Nothing flashy.

The Preface is called "Three Simple Rules…that will change your world." I was intrigued so I searched through to see what they were. One: Do No Harm.  Two:  Do Good.  Three: Stay in Love With God. On first read, Simple enough, I thought, I can do this.

The idea of this Rule is similar to that of St. Benedict, which is really a ‘practice’ more than a list of rules to follow. I believe it is the Quakers who hold to the practice of "Do No Harm’. Coincidentally, doing no harm calls for a certain level of quiet, as in keeping your mouth shut at the right time, of listening deeply to the words of another. Not always easy, but I’m up for the challenge. Will I be able to suspend my judgments, be an active listener, keep a soft heart in the midst of difficult conversations? Will I let the words play through my head several times before I speak in an effort to do no harm? Will I think carefully before I act, before I step, before I…..? You get the picture.

And then there is ‘Do Good’. Of course, the intention is always to do good. But sometimes understanding what is the greater ‘good’ in a situation is more difficult than expected. And doing good is more than just being nice or fair….it is really about answering the question ‘what would be the holy action?’ What would bring about a peaceful, positive movement in the world? How can goodness be personified?

And then there’s the love part. Not just "love God’ but ‘stay in love with God’. When ‘in love’ a person can do some wild and crazy things! You see the world with wide eyes and intensified energy. Everyone looks more beautiful…especially the One you love. When in love, you can stay awake all night thinking how fabulous the world is, how blessed you are, how great your life is because you are loved by such a Beloved. Being in love is dangerous business, too, because you risk your heart, your very life for the love of the Other.

Oh my, I guess I’d better stop speculating about this little book and see what Rueben Job has to say about this rule, this practice to change my world. I’ll give you a review as soon as I’ve finished. In the meantime, I’ll be practicing.

"The whole universe is symbolically seated about a communal fire called life – a fire that we all share in the darkness of our isolation, that courses through the veins, that maintains the life of even stones and plants and all that we seldom think of as living. It is a fire that burns in all times and places." The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year, Caitlin Matthews

I have lost my patience for sitting in rows. I learned this over the last few days as I sat at our annual gathering of United Methodist clergy and laity. Seated shoulder to shoulder by people I know and love but could not really see, I realized my whole body had become antsy, agitated. As I strained to see the beautiful faces of my faith colleagues, I recognized the quite unnatural way in which we were organized. Long straight rows of people facing walls and screens, without the ability to truly interact. In the defense of this process, I know it is extremely difficult, if not impossible to arrange several hundred people in one room in any other way. However, that did not limit my impatience.

When I opened the newspaper this morning and saw the image of Stonehenge, my heart leaped. This ancient stone circle has always been special for me. From as long ago as I can remember, I have been fascinated with it……What was it for? What do the stones mean? Who were the people who built it? Most importantly, how in the world did they haul those stones from more than 250 miles away and how did they manage to lift them into an upright position without the benefit of crane or bulldozer?

Today’s article poses some possible answers to the first two questions.Looking back more than 5000 years at the practices of humans is a fascinating and enlightening experience. Through the amazing technology of radiocarbon-dating many cremations were analyzed giving rise to the speculation that Stonehenge was home to 30 to 40 generations of family members, perhaps from the same single family of rulers, buried beneath these memorials. It becomes clear that the symbol of the circle has been deeply rooted in the fabric of humanity for a very long time.

I have to be honest that, while interesting, the specifics of what happened in this circle is not as important to me as the fact that the circle of stones exists. My imagination can leap to the grand and the grotesque as to what transpired in this sphere, as countless others have done over the centuries. It is instead the commitment of these ancients to create such an enduring monument, one that mirrors the very creation of the Universe itself, without the knowledge of the science of it all, that fills me with awe. Five thousand years ago our brothers and sisters-through-time dreamed, labored, and no doubt died, to erect this circle. Someplace within that building they have placed the wisdom and importance of facing one another, of being seen, of gathering around the fire and the One who brings the spark of Spirit to us all.

The circle is the great leveler of people and power. As we gather in circles, around dinner tables, at the campfire, in offices, on a picnic blanket with friends, we claim the gift of looking into the eyes of one another and seeing the reflection of the Holy there. When we meet face-to-face, we listen more deeply, are present more fully.  In my imagining, Stonehenge and its builders gather with us, forming the circle with the Ground of All Being, that has existed since the beginning reminding us once again that we are connected through time and that there is nothing that can truly sever that connection.Caitlin Matthews puts it this way: "It is the calling together or re-formation of a primal web of unity and harmony that individual and corporate acts have torn or fragmented."

My prayer is that we each learn to honor the circles of our lives in ways that build memorials which transcend time in the powerful ways that the builders of Stonehenge did. In so doing, I believe we will be honored to lay the bones of our earthly bodies in the midst of the communal fire called Life.

Have a blessed weekend……………..