This weekend I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen for quite some time. He is one of my more gregarious friends, someone you can always count on to be wearing colorful clothes, often things that speak volumes about his values, his creativity. He is a musician, an artist, a teacher, an activist, a composer….the list goes on and on. Over his lifetime he has almost always been a part of a church. He has led liturgy, written music and traveled the country helping people express their faith.

One of his first sentences in our conversation was "I don’t really go to church anymore. I guess I’ve lost my faith." It was not really a confession, only a statement of where he is right now on his life’s journey. I felt honored that he felt safe to say those words to me. We talked and caught up a bit. In the course of what was turning out to be a very warm morning, he removed the long sleeves of his jacket to expose his arms….now filled with tattoos that I’d never seen before. They were brilliant colors, red, yellow, deep blue and paler shades, a warm brown and rich orange. I asked about these new body decorations. And he began to tell me their story.

He said he wanted to illustrate, in a permanent way, his connection with the four elements…Earth, Wind, Water, Fire. His left bicep held the Earth, a yin-yang symbol swirled where planets often are, stars and water  floated all around. This Earth sat upon a large grape leaf and the vines and grapes of the leaf held the Earth like a nest. The leaf represented his father, a grape farmer whose 50 year old vines now grow in my friend’s back yard.  His right arm displayed Water cascading down, snaking from stream into Celtic knots that moved toward shells that circled his wrist. These shells represented the strong women in his life and the tattoo had replaced a bracelet he had worn in memory of a young niece who had taken her life. He now wears her memory and that of other women who have shaped his journey permanently painted on his right wrist. A Fire breathing dragon encircled his lower left arm. This was a symbol of strength, a connection with the East and one he and his wife agreed represented their marriage and commitment to one another. He was still waiting for the addition of the tattoo that would represent his Mother and her influence. He talked for quite some time of all the thought, commitment, creativity that had gone into the palate of his arms.

When he was finished I could only say one thing:"It seems to me you have not lost your faith. You are wearing it." He smiled and nodded his agreement. In his search for a way to express his connection with what he experiences as the Holy, he has chosen to affirm that understanding by painting it with permanence on his arms. While the faith tradition of his youth and early adulthood no longer seems helpful in expressing his faith, he continues to seek to be true to the movement of the Divine in his life.

I am not a tattoo person. I do not like pain. I can barely stand to pluck my eyebrows. But as I listened to my friend express his unconventional faith, his deep connection with the Sacred in his life, I wondered…….what would my faith tattoos look like? What would yours?

"All that is of earth returns to earth, and what is from above returns above…..but good faith will last forever." Sirach 40:11-12

"O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain…for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain…………. America! America!"

Tomorrow around noon I will gather with family and friends for the annual 4th of July parade in a small town in northern Wisconsin. It is a tradition, one we’ve had for many years.  The small area of the parade route where we gather has seen, in my memory, at least two generations of children grow up and another is about to be added any day now. We watch pretty much the same entries every year and would be disappointed if they did not show. It is one of those traditions that everyone….all ages…wants to remain exactly as it is. Only we have changed…growing up…growing older.

This is not a parade with marching bands or fancy floats. The people who watch along the road, for the most part, do not live in the town. They are "weekend people", "lake people", "up-North people", those who travel several hours to live in a simpler way, at a slower pace, if only for a few days every summer.

What brings us all together is what will bring millions of people together on this day…..a love of this country and a desire to celebrate it and what it means to us.  When I look at the parade audience tomorrow there will be people from all over this country, those who think differently about this country, those who agree with its politics, those who don’t, those of great economic means and those with less, those who have traveled from "sea to shining sea" and those who have not seen much of our country at all.

The point when we all come together happens at the beginning of the parade. After the singing of the National Anthem the parade starts with the color guard of soldiers from wars past,carrying flags. Each year there are fewer of one generation, additions from another. No matter our feelings about the current war, we stand in honor of those soldiers…… those who have seen things we hope to never see, those who have been placed in situations we hope to never be in or to have our children in. We stand out of respect for their lives and to witness to their living.

"O beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years……thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears! America! America! God mend thine every flaw, confirm thy soul in self control, they liberty in law."

Independence Day provides us with the opportunity to celebrate what we love about this country, flaws and all. The beauty of the land, the fragility of the people, the hope of generations past and the promise of those to come…….America!  America!

***Note….I will be back writing on Monday when I return from "up-north". Happy 4th of July!

The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me. I stand alone on the word of God, the B-I-B-L-E. Do you remember that childhood Sunday School song? Perhaps not. It could have been a regional song……. particular to the Bible belt area where I grew up.  It had a catchy, little tune and really was meant to be as much an affirmation as music. The message was…the Bible is the only book I need.

Make no mistake, I love the Bible. I love the people who live within the pages and I love the stories of their lives. I do, however, sometimes get weary of how we can argue and divide ourselves over the interpretations of those stories….the messages of those people. I’ve led enough Bible studies and been present at enough meetings where the ‘word of God’ turns into finger-pointing, "I’ve got the real truth" bullying matches. It can wear on one’s spirit…….and it must grieve the Holy.

This week I was reading a chapter from Leaving Church:a memoir of faith by Barbara Brown Taylor. She had, what I thought, were very profound words to say about this very divisive way we can read scripture. She writes: "I know that the Bible is a special kind of book, but I find it as seductive as any other. If I am not careful, I can begin to mistake the words on the page for the realities they describe. I can begin to love the dried ink marks on the page more than I love the encounters that gave rise to them. If I am not careful, I can decide that I am really much happier reading my Bible than I am entering what God is doing in my own time and place, since shutting the book to go outside will involve the very great risk of taking part in stories that are still taking shape. Neither I nor anyone else knows how these stories will turn out, since at this point they involve more blood than ink. The whole purpose of the Bible, it seems to me, is to convince people to set the written word down in order to become living words in the world for God’s sake. For me, this willing conversion of ink to blood is the full substance of faith."

It is important for me to remember, when in the midst of the ‘scripture wars’, that I am blessed nearly every day…….watching ink converted to blood, witnessing people who have the courage to risk taking part in stories that, as of yet, are still being written. I bet you are, too.

The Twin Cities has been filled with jazz music over the last days. There are jazz musicians making music everywhere. These musicians have been doing their work, making their music, not only in restaurants and bars where they are often the ‘background’ music but in concert with our full attention. It is in this place of  full attention that we listeners get to experience the real art and gift of jazz. It is a style that has much to offer that goes beyond the music.

Being an improvisational style of music, there is usually only a ‘lead sheet’, the shape of the melody that the musicians work around. Everyone shows up with their instruments, there is a down beat and off they go. The music happens in the sharing of melody, taking turns, the wisdom to ‘sit out’, knowing when you are up for the melody and when you are better at backup, at harmonizing. The art form is built on trust and listening.

It is a form of music that has so much to teach us about how we work together, how we are in relationship, how we live our lives. It requires that we give up a certain amount of control and that we trust our fellow travelers along the road, that we listen well and respond when appropriate. It also requires that we trust ourselves to share our gifts and that we stretch ourselves in that process.  It teaches us that sometimes we are meant to be the leader and other times a follower, sometimes center stage and other times backup singers. And sometimes our best work is no work.

What if we did our days, our work, more like jazz musicians? What if we picked up the lead sheet every morning and headed out into the world to ‘play well with others’, trusting one another to lead and follow, play melody or harmony, or just sit out and listen? What if we tried less to control what was happening and instead practiced moving in and out of the basic melody, offering what we had to offer and receiving from others their gifts?

A jazz musician might say………."Cool,man!"

"I find it shelter to speak to you."  Emily Dickinson

An acquaintance gave me one of the daily calendars with poems, inspirations and sweet little drawings meant, I believe, to start your day in a positive, lovely place. This Emily Dickinson quote appeared on June 21st. I routinely miss looking at the calendar for several days in a row, only to read quickly, tear off the day and dispose of the sheets. When I came upon this quote, I tore it off and tucked it into one of the books I am currently reading.

I have no idea in what context Ms. Dickinson made this statement or to whom. All I know is it is a statement that holds so much……trust, intimacy, understanding, reverence, respect, comfort, security, to name a few. What a compliment to have someone say this to you!

Saving the quote has caused me to think of the people in my life who provide shelter when I am with them. I have several friends I can put in that category….those who spread their arms wide, listen with pure hearts and open minds, those who don’t judge but simply hold my words, my very presence, with love. Certainly many in my family create a shelter when we speak with one another. We listen with ears that have been informed by knowing the subtle nuances only partners, mothers, fathers,siblings and children recognize after many years of living together.

This image of shelter reminds me of Psalm 91 and the song "On Eagle’s Wings" that is based on the words of the psalm. "You who live in the shelter of God, who abide in the shadow of the Holy. You say to God, You are my refuge, the one I trust." The psalm tells of someone who is in danger in countless ways. But when the writer remembers this shelter of the One who surrounds their life, this presence who hears their voice, they are filled with peace and trust that their voice is heard, they are held in love.

Shelter……it is one of the basic needs of humans. Whether built of stone or wood, cloth or mud, we all need shelter. We also need the shelter of those who hear our stories, witness to our lives, listen deeply to our voice. May each of us know this shelter of another. May each of us be this kind of shelter for another.

"And God will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of God’s hand."

Enjoy the sunshine this weekend……………………

"Listen to your life. All moments are key moments." Frederick Buechner

Once a month, I go into a quiet, beautiful little room with another person. We sit in soft, comfortable chairs. She lights a candle and we sit in silence for some time. She welcomes the Holy One into our midst and she prays a short prayer. Then I begin to tell her what has been happening in my life since we last met. She listens. She listens not to try to help me fix some psychological or emotional problem but to help me hear how the Sacred has been at work in my life. She asks a question here and there. She makes an observation. She might quote scripture or another sacred text. We end our time in prayer. I leave, sometimes with as many or more questions as I came with and sometimes feeling as if I’ve had the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. It is holy time.

Today we call such a relationship, spiritual direction. The ancient Celts called this relationship, "annam cara" or soul friend. It is a great gift to have someone listen to your life. This soul friend relationship is different than a partner or spouse, even another friend. Those people hear us with a different kind of love, a different kind of listening based on shared history, shared life experiences. A spiritual director is someone trained to listen deeply for how God is moving in the life of another. More importantly they are trained to help the speaker really hear how God is moving in their life.

In our fast paced, deadline based world it is so easy to keep moving only hearing the swoosh of traffic, the background banter of the radio, the flip and flop of feet rushing by. Our  monkey chatter brains keep us moving form idea to idea, thought to thought, fear to fear, anxiety to anxiety. It is easy to believe that God is not in it with us.

Each month my soul friend helps me stop,look and listen to the pulls, pushes and gentle nudges of the Divine.  She helps "keep me honest" in how I choose to live faithfully. She often prays that God will meet me "at my workbench". I always grin inwardly at that image. It makes my work seem much more physical that it is, much more earthy.

For all who are sitting at their workbench,whatever your work may be, may the Holy One sit beside you and bring you peace.

I am feeling troubled this morning. I have been privy to a deep unkindness and it is nagging me, causing me to stew and fret about what I should do, what I should say, how I should be present to it all. Once again, I am reminded of how powerfully we are connected as human beings, sometimes even when we don’t know it. One person says or does something in a mean spirit and its ripples flow out into so many other lives. I am reminded of the Native American concept of the Sacred Web of Life……one pluck and the entire web vibrates, sometimes for great good and other times for irreversible damage.

Each day we make choices about what we will do, what we will say, how we will behave in any given situation. We go from a meeting to a phone call, sometimes unconsciously brushing past another person with little regard or awareness for what may be going on in their lives. We flippantly make a comment……or try to make a joke…..only to cause hurt and pain to another. In anger, we say things we may later regret.

As the created beings who have the gift of language, we are a powerful lot. If only we might use the power of our words for goodness, for kindness, for instilling hope and generosity and ………genuine love, genuine peace. What difference might that make in the world?

The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes in Creating True Peace:Ending Violence in Yourself, Your Family, Your Community and the World: "We (can) become aware that our mind is like a garden that contains all kinds of seeds: seeds of understanding, seeds of forgiveness, seeds of mindfulness, and also seeds of ignorance, fear and hatred. We realize that, at any given moment, we can behave with either violence or compassion, depending on the strength of these seeds within us.When the seeds of anger, violence and fear are watered in us several times a day, they will grow stronger……When we know how to cultivate the seeds of love, compassion and understanding in us every day, those seeds become stronger, and the seeds of violence and hatred will become weaker and weaker. We know that if we water the seeds of anger, violence and fear in us, we will lose our peace and our stability. We will suffer and we will make those around us suffer. But if we cultivate the seeds of compassion, we nourish peace within us and around us. With this understanding, we are already on the the path of creating peace."

Note to Troubled Self……make sure you are watering the right seeds.

One of my favorite Rest Areas is the first one as you cross the Minnesota/Iowa border into Iowa. It is a wonderful red barn. It has the usual amenities….rest rooms, soda machines, a dispenser with really bad coffee, display maps and information about Iowa. (I will note the unfortunate addition of a casino that now sits very near by, also in a "barn" building.) The big, red barn says clearly "This is who we are. This is what we are about." People drive up in their cars, vans, and RVs,  move in and out, on their way to or from….someplace. But first they needed a rest.

Rest Areas are often placed in a particularly pleasing spot along the highway, a spot that seems to say "When you remember our state, remember this." Many are well groomed with picnic areas and places to walk dogs and other travel companions. Children can stretch their legs, run around and get their sillies out before they need to be strapped back into their car seats for the next miles of a trip.Stiff bodies, too long constrained, can remove shoes and let toes wiggle in the grass.

We all need Rest Areas… for all the logical reasons….a bathroom break, a cool drink, a hit of caffeine. But in the larger scheme of things, we all need Rest Areas. Those places where we can stop and slow down, rethink our schedule, perhaps cut back on this leg of the journey or decide to speed up to get someplace sooner, even choose to change drivers.

Often along the highway we will get the warning…."Rest Area: Exit Two Miles. Next Rest 38 Miles." It would be great if life worked that way. Clear direction about where the rests will be, when we can take them and when they will not be available. I don’t know about you but it has rarely been that clear for me. So,I guess the lesson is we simply need to visit the Rest Area when we can, when we need to, when it seems wise and healthy…….unsure of when the next rest will come.

Are you in need of a Rest Area? It is supposed to be a hot, humid day. A good day to think about a rest. Need permission? Here it is. Rest.

"Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And on the seventh day God finished and rested from all the work. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work done in Creation."   Genesis 2:2-3

Driving down Interstate 35 through Iowa, looking out into the corn and soybean fields, one cannot help but be impressed by the wind turbines standing straight and tall on the horizon. There is a majestic nature to their very presence, the blades turning slowly, making the watcher aware of the invisible……wind. I cannot even fathom how they really work.They are pure mystery to me and, it seems, pure economic and ecological genius to those who own the land on which they stand.  The whole idea of ‘harvesting wind’ to create energy, electricity, is a powerful concept, a powerful metaphor.

In the Pentecost story told in Acts, the Holy Spirit is described as a rushing wind. That wind blows through the people and their lives are forever changed, their community is infused with energy….. electricity….. and their faith becomes a source that draws people to them and fuels their lives. They move from being a group of ordinary people to an extraordinary community. In a sense, they also were ‘harvesting wind’.

Do you remember those little pinwheels you had as a child? A straw or stick with a colorful paper or plastic wheel which you’d blow on or hold into the wind, watching the air catch the colors and turn them into a spinning, whirling blur. It was such a simple toy….but what fun! The invisible source…..sometimes caused by your own hot air….caused this static thing to become beautiful movement.

Perhaps that is what the Spirit longs to be for us…..that invisible Source that causes the static places in our lives, in our communities, in our world to become beautiful movement. Like the wind turbines hovering on the edges of our vision, or the pinwheel in our hands, the Spirit continues to offer energy for our lives. All we need do is remember to go to that Source.

" The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound,
but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is
with everyone born of the Spirit." John 3

My Mother likes to tell the story of how, when hugely pregnant with me, she sat down and ate strawberries….all the strawberries my Father and Grandfather had just picked. She couldn’t stop herself, she says, and attributes this hormonal induced binge to my passionate love of this early summer fruit.

I have just returned from spending a bit of time on my knees in a form of prayer…..kneeling on straw, my hands moving swiftly and firmly under the green leaves of the strawberry rows, harvesting this precious red, berry. Carried out to the field by tractor and wagon, we pickers lined up, our brown waxed boxes under our arms, waiting to be assigned our row for kneeling and plucking. Instructions:" Knees are the only way to go. Don’t try to bend over….you’ll only hurt your back. Leave a little of the stem and crown on the berry it helps them last longer. Enjoy…..pick as much as you want and call for another box when you need one. When you are finished, plant a red flag so the next pickers will know where to begin."

We each walked toward our row with anticipation. As my friend and I picked, we talked, continuing the conversation we began in the car. The longer we picked, our "neighbor pickers" began to join in the conversation. We laughed and talked as our fingers became stained with the juice of the berries. In less than an hour, I had three full boxes of luscious, ripe sweetness. I stood up from my row and saw how very little I had traveled, how much was left for another person. I  think I could have kept picking all day.

But now the work really begins. These gifts of the Earth must be washed….gently, of course. Jam will be made, perhaps a pie, and others will be frozen for a time in January when I will reach into the freezer and pull out…. a memory of June 22nd, a cool morning, a hint of rain in the air, a good friend at my side, fruit falling quietly into my palm.

Still others must be eaten…..right now.   After all, the apple, or in this case the strawberry doesn’t fall far from the vine!

"God said, ‘See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the the face of the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food. And it was so. God saw everything that was made, and indeed, it was very,very good.’"  Genesis 1

Have a fabulous weekend……………