Right now I am wearing a small silver bracelet equipped with a piece of oval plastic that buzzes my wrist every ninety minutes. This is not a tracking device. I am wearing it willingly. It was a gift from two lovely women in California who happened upon these pages entitled 'Pause', no doubt, when they were googling this word/concept on the internet as they established an evolving idea. It is a bracelet they have created to remind the wearer to stop periodically to breathe, pray, center, to take a pause in whatever is pulling at their attention in any given moment, of any given day. Their creation is called 'meaning to pause'.  

 I have to admit that when I first started wearing the bracelet, I jumped and even gave a little girl-squeal when it buzzed. At first, it was shocking. This, of course, says more about me than the bracelet. In the intense ways in which any one of us move through the world, such a gentle reminder can come as a shock.  But now I have become accustomed to its gentle vibration. In fact, I actually look forward to its buzz. When I am not wearing the bracelet, I have kept it in a bowl on our buffet where I can still hear its call.

Wearing the bracelet, I am reminded of the faith traditions who are called to prayer several times a day by a chime ringing, a bell sounding, a horn blowing. The faithful are called from their workbench,stove, field, assembly line,or desk, to stop for a time of connecting with their own breath and the Breath that dreamed them into being. No matter what is happening, these people stop with meaning…… to pause, pray and remember who and whose they are. I imagine that there are those who, at times, are as startled as I was with my bracelet.  Pulled out of the intensity of their work they are brought into the present moment, always a gift.

And then there are those monastic traditions that follow the liturgy of the hours, stopping at several times a day to come together as community for prayer. Morning, noontime, evening, and compline or late night prayers.The very rhythm of their day is kept by coming to and returning from prayer. I wonder how long it would take for that kind of rhythm to get inside you so that, no matter where you are, you begin to feel the tug of morning prayer or compline? 

Most of us live what I call 'the distracted life' and yet long for something different,something more grounded, with more gentle intention,  something that connects us with the Holy in a more disciplined way. Most of us do not live in monasteries where the liturgy of the hours is our practice. There are no bells ringing or gongs sounding that remind us to take a moment to remember our own breath. And so we must come to our own place of creativity for creating the triggers we need. I had a friend once who created a practice of praying at every stop light where he stopped. It seemed to work for him….he was never in an accident while praying!

Whatever your process of prayer, however you take time to remember to breathe, I offer blessings. In these small, captured moments of intention we come to know ourselves more deeply and live more fully. And who doesn't want that?

You can learn more about the Meaning to Pause bracelet at www.meaningtopause.com.

The last several days have been jam packed with wonderful things….sons arriving home from college, beautiful, inspiring music at worship, plans for summer events, graduation parties and the anticipation of summer activities and all the plans that need to be made for them.  When you pile all this onto the regular demands of daily life it can be,  truth be told,a whirlwind. I, of course, recognize that this is pure blessing. There are many people who would love to have this manner of activity flowing into their lives. And so I don't mean for my words to be complaint, simply report.

Late Thursday afternoon I was on my way to a graduation party in between a day of work and an evening meeting. I had decided to take the scenic route along Lake of the Isles and Lake Calhoun in hopes of having a few moments of quiet, slower driving. Going along the lakes, the frenzy of day began to slide away as I watched joggers, bicyclists, and frisbee players enjoying the cloudy, though dry day. Young children climbed all over the playground that sits on the shore of the lake as the began to live into the freedom of summer. Walkers made their way around the lakes, talking animatedly with their companions.

As my eyes strayed away from the lake, I looked toward the back garden of the Zen center that faces the lake.What I saw caused me to nearly slam on my brakes as I glimpsed about 6-8 people doing walking meditation. Their bodies were moving so slowly that they seemed like statues except for the ever so slight movement of an arm, a hand, a head, a foot.. Their eyes were intently focused as the tiniest muscles propelled them at aslower than tortoise-like gait. The sheer beauty and silence of their pace stunned me out of the nature of the movement of my fast-moving day. I wanted to pull over, abandon my car like one who had been 'raptured' and join in their slow, deliberate, breath-filled movements. My whole body was filled with such deep longing for what they had!

Over the last several days, I have thought so many times of what I witnessed on Thursday and the deep longing it placed within me. I don't know if I'd ever be able to slow down to that kind of pace or not but I'd sure like to try. For some reason, when I have thought of those practicing this walking meditation, I have kept thinking of the insect, the praying mantis. Have you ever observed the slow, deliberate movements of these green, stick-like creatures? I remembered the summer my brother captured several and kept them in jars for our curious child selves to ponder. I would stare into their eyes, the multi-faceted lenses that seemed far too big for their faces. Why had the walking meditation triggered that in my memory?

Then today, as I was searching for a poem of healing for an upcoming worship service, I saw these words: "May my body be a prayerstick for the world." I have no idea who Joan Halifax is, or why she wrote these words, but somehow I think she must have seen humans practicing walking meditation. We must be kindred spirits. 

For all those who walk their prayers slowly, like sticks, and for those who rush by, like fireflies, may we all offer our prayers to the world, as we learn from one another the power of the walking. So be it.

"Christ wears 'two shoes' in the world: Scripture and nature. Both are necessary to understand the Lord, and at no stage can creation be seen as a separation of things from God." John Scotus Eriugena (810-77)

I came across this wise man in reading John Philip Newell's books, Christ of the Celts and Listening to the Heartbeat of God.. Eriugena was an Irish theologian, philosopher and poet known as one of the wisest and most read in the Middle Ages.He was thought by some, but not all, to have strayed from orthodox Christian teachings as he wrote about how the entire Creation, all people, animals, beings reflect some attributes of God .He saw a day when all creatures would live in harmony with God. He based his beliefs of the Greek writings of the early Christians. And, unlike some others, he lived to tell the tale! 

I have to admit that with our church wide theme of 'Open My Eyes' I have been thinking about good old Eriugena. To think that more than 1200 years ago someone talked about Christ's two shoes….scripture and creation…. astounds me. I think of the many circles today where this statement could still get you booted out the door. And I am thankful to be in a faith community where this is not the case.

And yet, who can not look at the unfolding summer around us and not see the movement of something larger than the human creatures? I have a sweet bouquet of pansies sitting on my desk, smiling back at me. This gift from a friend has brightened my stress-filled day, bringing a certain salvation of color and simplicity that was needed. As I look outside, I see the mighty oak tree towering outside my window. Each season I learn as much about resurrection from its bare branches, buds, and leaves as I do from the gospels. It is true I would not have the fullness of God without one or the other. Like Christ, I need both shoes to give word and work to God's movement in my life.

I do not believe this is just church camp, feel good about singing under the trees theology. When I wear both shoes, I am firmly planted in the world in which God still speaks over and over again. The scriptures help me interpret how Creation invites me to give shape to faith in my time and place. It is a lovely, sometimes confusing, always transforming dance. The music changes with the seasons of both age and climate. But the partner, the Great Artist, keeps inviting.  

"May I have this dance?"

'

"And then as the little plane climbed higher and Oliver saw spread out below them fields of bright and tender green in this morning sn, farther out the coastline, the ocean shiny and almost flat, tiny white wakes behind a few lobster boats-then Oliver felt something she had not expected to feel again: a sudden surging greediness for life. She leaned forward, peering out the window:sweet,pale clouds, the sky as blue as your hat, the new green of the fields, the broad expanse of water-seen from up here it all appeared wondrous, amazing. She remembered what hope was, and this was it." Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout

This morning I finished this lovely book, Olive Kitteridge, written by the Pulitzer Prize winning author Elizabeth Strout.The book is the sweet, yet painful story of Olive and all the marginal and deeply connected relationships in her life across more than seven decades. Each chapter has Olive appearing in some way in the lives who make up a tiny community in Maine. As a teacher in the school system she knew people in various stages of their lives and formed some kind and not so kind opinions of them. Olive is a strong personality who moves through the world like a bull in a china shop yet is capable of genuine tenderness. I commend this book to you.

What struck me most about this book was the beautiful writing, words which moved and twisted, phrases that formed and were shaped with such intention that they became breathtaking. At times I found myself reading the sentences aloud because they were so wonderful they needed to be given voice. While this book was about Olive, I thought that it could have also been about any one of us. It told the story of out deep human tragedies and the amazing moments of transformation and hope that make up nearly every life. The author was able to show how each of us lives a life so full, coming into contact with so many people we touch and are mostly clueless to our impact. At the end, of the book I had the sense that, given the talents of a good writer, each of us could be immortalized in book form just like Olive.

Oliver speaks of a greediness for life. It seems to me these summer days urge us to this kind of drinking in all we can of the beauty of burgeoning gardens that creates equally burgeoning hearts full of praise for Creation and Creator. I find myself asking the question:"Who am I to get to behold all this?" Are you having the same experience? If not, I invite you to open your eyes to the wonder.

At the same time, my heart is breaking for the ways in which our world is being diminished by the continuing oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. To see the faces of the brown pelican, the oil globs on the once white, pristine beaches, creates a deep ache. On a level closer to home, friends are living a day-to-day fight for the life of their wife, mother, daughter. Another deep ache.

This life is full of it all. Soul soaring majesty and deep, despairing ache. The prayer is for each day to have some balance of the two. May our greediness for life keep us attuned to the fragility and beauty of each day that connects our life with so many others and with this Earth. Though our life stories may not be put into print, we live them nonetheless, held by the Spirit who breathes through us reminding us of what hope is.May we have ears and heart to hear its ever beating rhythm.

On Saturday morning I was walking near our neighborhood park, enjoying the crisp morning air. I recognized that it was no doubt going to be a rainy day so I'd best enjoy the clear skies while I could. I was surprised to see several groups of people throughout the park planting trees. The trees, maples and oaks mostly, were being planted near, but not under, the many mature trees that grace this lovely green space. It quite a sweet sight, the small, immature trees standing near their towering,botanical relatives, many of whom are probably several decades old.

 I noticed that the trees were being planted by groups of people from several generations. I watched as a grandfather-type held the young sapling in place while two children, a boy and a girl, both with bright red hair, scooped the dirt into the hole in which the ball of the tree sat. I was not close enough to hear the conversation but it was very animated. Their arms flew and their expressions were joyful as they laughed at their efforts. 

Not far from this trio, another generation worked. Three teenagers were just putting the finishing touches on their planting. To celebrate, they handed a cellphone to what seemed to be a supervisor who took their picture standing next to their horticultural feat. Their arms entwined with the trunk of the tree making it difficult to see where human limbs stopped and barked limbs began. I was touched by their pride and found myself wondering if, someday, they will bring their own children to the park to see the tree they planted with their very own hands. That tree, with luck and care, would then be the mature one, tall and strong, as will those who planted it.

I was interested to see who was in charge of this planting party. I approached one of the workers who seemed to be in charge and began to ask some questions. He told me they were a part of Tree Trust, an organization that has been bringing people together to create positive, lasting changes in communities for 32 years. The group recently launched an initiative called Green Futures that brings people together to plant trees in the Twin Cities. You can learn more about them at www.treetrust.org.

All week I had been part of conversations as people registered their helplessness at the devastation off the Gulf Coast. How is it possible to take in the destruction of that beautiful land, the precious water, the vulnerable wildlife? We talked about how, in this particular situation, we have failed so miserably as stewards of God's creation. They were sad conversations and I had been carrying the weight of the words that had been spoken.

So when I came upon these people, all generations working together to plan for the future of the park we hold dear,the park in which we ran and played with our children, it birthed such hope in me. As I thanked the planters for their work, I walked out of the park a little lighter than I had felt in some time. The devastation continues in the Gulf and for that my heart aches. But there are young trees planted near my home, trees that will grow and come to maturity, not in my lifetime, but in that of my children's children. And for that I am eternally grateful. And in that I put my trust.

"For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace;the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." Isaiah 55:12

I have just returned from the yearly gathering of United Methodists in St. Cloud. I have often wondered if the residents of this fine river city steel themselves against our arrival. "Must the the first week in June. Here come the Methodists!" they might say. Or perhaps, as is probably the case, we scoot under the radar like any other group that comes to the Convention Center. I hope that somehow an employee or two heard the fine singing that has been happening over the last three days. I also hope a few stuck their heads into the ballroom where we held worship and were stunned by the beauty of candles, banners, images and transformation from big-black-block-room to a kind of sacred space. 

This annual Conference is rather like a big full-blown family reunion which carries with it all the complexities of any family. All the differences of opinion, complicated relationships, outright arguments and hurt feelings show up. But also so do the warm, heart felt embraces, the smiles and laughter that come from shared experience, a common history that people remember and recount in different ways but mostly with a sense of deep love. It carries with it the fullness of what it means to be the church, warts and wonders for all to see. 

Last night we welcomed and celebrated those newly ordained to ministry. This service is always rich and glorious, full of memory and hope. The red fabrics and stoles associated with ordination and Holy Spirit, made the room where we worshiped feel as if it was on fire. And in some ways it was. The Spirit's presence moved through those who were ordained, their ministry an experience yet to be fully discovered. That same Spirit moved among the families, churches and friends of those who had worked so hard, so diligently over the last years. Pride and excitement filled each, often tear-stained face. The Spirit also danced above the heads of those who have been in ministry for a long time as knowing looks could be seen as those who have 'been there' watched those at this entry point be blessed in their journey. The entire service was, yet once again, one of those mountain top experiences in which we all can see one another as our 'best selves'…..perhaps as God sees us.

While this mountain top experience was fabulous, the high point for me came in the meeting where the clergy meet to affirm those to be ordained, memorialize those who have died this past year, and vote on several other things that keep us up to date with the institution. The high point came when one in our midst was asked to pray. Not an unusual thing except that he began his prayer:"Galactic God of grace……" I heard nothing after that naming. Galactic? Grace? In all the prayers I've ever heard(and there have been many), not once, has anyone every referred to the Holy as "Galactic". My mind was catapulted to the immensity of this Source of All and bounced right back toward my own small self. Here I was, here we all were, connected to this 'galactic' One and everything in between. Isn't is a staggering thought?

I am not sure if others in the circle heard this in the way that I did or not. I am also not sure if those newly blessed to be hearers, speakers, doers and be-ers of God's word, in other words 'clergy', heard the enormity of this address either. But if they did, they must have realized that what they are signing on for is a life bigger than anything they can imagine. It will take knowing, no matter how poorly or how brilliantly they have done their work, at the end of the day they are loved in an unconditional way by the God who birthed the immense galaxies and them. And who holds both in eternal grace. 

From experience I can say, it is a message that will come in handy.

Many mornings I head into a local Caribou Coffee shop on my way into the office. It is a guilty habit that brings with it smiling faces of people who greet you with a knowing look as they make your 'regular'. I also spend time at our many independently owned coffee shops as well. I know, some kind of intervention may need to happen!

A few months ago Caribou changed their look and marketing plan. After years of being the homey, plaid-flannel-shirt,Minnesota company they were ready for a new look, a hipper image. The new plan still includes their 'Life is short. Stay awake for it.' logo with a twist. The cups and napkins give ideas of what to 'stay awake' for….ghost stories around the campfire, break dancing,maxing out your passport(my personal favorite).  Plus there are post it notes with the question "What do you stay awake for?" which patrons can fill out and stick on the edges of the counter. I have to admit that I love reading them. I love this sanctioned form of graffiti that allows people to put a little bit of themselves out into the world for all to see. There are the familiar ones: a good book, a calculus test, a sick child. There are those who find it an opportunity to declare their love, or crush, in public: I stay awake for Amber, for Jason, for Rachel. Others are more curious: I stay awake for Jesus. There are the ones that make me smile: I stay awake for good chocolate, for ballroom dancing, for playing the violin. 

Each of these tiny notes tells a story, one which we caffeine deprived readers only get to read a small part. The sticky notes tacked to the counter space provides a glimpse into the everyday lives of people we do not know and yet there is an intimacy about it that appeals to me.Somehow I leave there wondering if the person staying awake over Amber is having their adoration returned. And the one who is staying awake for Jesus…well…..I'm  not sure what to think about that. 

Perhaps this was the marketing department's intention, to create this sense of connection between coffee drinkers, a relationship of sorts, so we will keep coming back.Or maybe I am one of only a few people who takes these notes with such seriousness. It did, however, make me wonder what might happen in our churches if we did a similar thing. At the entrance of a church building what if we had post it notes that said: "What are you longing for?" "Where have you experienced God?" "How do you shown love in the world?" We could then invite people to plaster their answers all over the door and walls of the entrance. I can imagine people standing and reading. Smiling. Crying. Laughing. Turning to the person next to them. Making eye contact. Maybe even taking hands in recognition of something deeply shared.

Such a 'marketing plan' might create a church of evangelists in the true sense of the word….tellers of good news. Now wouldn't that be something?

What are you staying awake for?

"Open my eyes that I may see
Glimpses of truth you have for me
Open my eyes, illumine me
Spirit Divine."
~Clara H. Scott

Our church is about to embark on a summer emphasis of "Open My Eyes", a way of encouraging people to stay awake to the experience of God in their travels, vacations, time at the lake, whatever summer holds for them. The theme originally started with the idea of focusing on the environment, how we are stewards of Creation, being 'green'. It will continue to do that but in the process of evolving has become so much more. 

 In conversation with a nature photographer who will join us at the end of June, I was struck with something he said. I had asked him to do a presentation about how to take good pictures of the natural world. He said, "Well, I can tell people what kind of camera to use and how to use it. But all that means nothing if you can't see, really see."I hung up from that conversation and immediately began to think about his statement. I, of course, knew he was exactly right. I think of the photographs I have seen that are lovely but somehow are lacking something. While others seem to capture the essence, the spirit, of a moment that draws me in, that touch something deep inside me, make me feel as if I was truly there when the image was captured. Those kind of pictures require a presence and an ability to see, deeply see the fullness of any given image. Can this ability be taught? Is it something anyone can do or is it only for the 'gifted'? Time will tell, I suppose, but hopefully this talented photographer will help those who are interested to develop their gifts for seeing which may result in some amazing photography for them to share at summer's end.

Whether it is photography or simply the ability to be more fully present to God's movement in our every day lives, seeing begins with intention. Is my intention to be present to the fullness this day brings? Or is it simply a matter of getting through one meeting, one project, one load of laundry to find myself watching the 10:00 news, the day ended? Some days play out like that. But if our intention is to live with an awareness of traveling with the Sacred through the day, then opening our eyes becomes imperative. This wide-eyed walk will carry with it not only the beauty of faces and places we love but also the struggle and challenge of those who rub us like sandpaper. It will also allow us to see the person standing at the corner, sign in hand, as the face of God in our midst and that can bring as much pain as compassion. Living with our eyes wide open will not always bring joy but it will, I believe, bring us in deeper connection with the One who walks with us and with all we encounter. Living with our eyes wide open deepens our hearts, our minds and our spirits.

The old hymn by Clara Scott, written in 1895, still carries with it a profound longing. And so I am not troubled at all that it has become a tune that has been playing through my head at the oddest times, sometimes when I least expect it. 'Open my eyes that I may see. Glimpses of truth you have for me.' It has become a prayer, a traveling prayer. 

May each of us make our way into the world today, full of intention to see, really see. And in our seeing may we know truth. A truth that will,perhaps, change us and help to heal the world.

"Every day
    I consider 
    the lilies-
how they are dressed-
 and the ravens-
     how they are fed-
  and how each of these
  is a miracle

of Lord-love
    and of sorrow-
for the lilies
    in their bright dresses
cannot last
    but wrinkle fast
and fall,
and the little ravens
in their windy nest
    rise up
in such pleasure
at the sight

of fresh meat
    that makes their lives sweet-
and what a puzzle it is
that such brevity
the lavish clothes,
    the ruddy food-
makes the world 
so full, so good."
~Mary Oliver

Yesterday I shared this poem as a part of worship. It seemed the perfect piece of beautiful language to go with two of the scripture readings, Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8, both speak of the beauty and fragility of the created world. I commend them both to you. Proverbs speaks of our search for wisdom among the gifts of Creation while the psalmist lauds God's work in Creation asking what the human purpose is in the midst of it all. 

These two scriptures and the poem created a kind of perfect storm of words to bless my experience of yesterday. It was, in truth, a nearly perfect summer day. Warm and sunny with a marvelous rain storm that came in late afternoon. The brilliance of all that is blooming…..trees, flowers, plants…..created a palette of color that dazzled the eye. Outside the entrance to our church, pink and red shrub roses line the walkways and labyrinth creating a welcome of both sight and sweet scent.  The rain not only cooled things and gave a free watering to plants fresh to the ground but  also brought about an end to those flowers which had been lingering past their spring prime. What had looked bright and beautiful in the morning, seemed a little aged and worn by day's end. 

If we are awake to the daily movement of the season's work, we can honor this brevity of beauty, the elusive nature of it all. It is, I believe, an important life lesson to learn that a rose will not always be as beautiful as it is in the first days of blooming. The same may, of course, be said of so much of our living. The sweetness of an infant, the precocious nature of a three-year-old, the poignant longing of an adolescent, the wide-eyed wonder of someone newly in love, all change and come to some kind of end. Those who spent time honoring our fallen veterans on this Memorial Day know this fragility all too well. So the ability to be present to the fullness of miracle in each day, in each stage, is something to practice.

The invitation is ours each morning to awake with the blank slate of the every day looming before us. As our eyes open, and I dare say our hearts as well, we can come to know the fullness that is this life, which is pure gift. This day can never be repeated so, perhaps, it would serve each of us well to consider wisely what we choose to do with it, how we will choose to hold its precious minutes and hours.

 The beauty,the  fullness, the goodness awaits. Are you ready?

"The grace of the love of the skies be thine,
The grace of the love of the stars be thine,
The grace of the love of the moon be thine,
The grace of the love of the sun be thine."
~Carmina Gadelica

Over the last couple of days I have been rereading J. Philip Newell's lovely little book, Listening to the Heartbeat of God. This book uses many prayers from the early Celts which have been collected in a book called Carmina Gadelica which simply means 'songs and poems of the Gaels'. It is a collection of the unceasing prayers of people of the Scottish Hebrides,those tied closely to the earth, who understood the Holy's movement in their lives.This was true in the day to day tasks of laying a fire that would warm their home and cook their food, in the birth and death of their animals, family and neighbors. The prayers reflect that they saw no part of their life in which God was not active. They are beautiful, sweet,sometimes simple prayers passed down orally to generation after generation until they were finally collected by Alexander Carmichael in the late 19th century.

I thought yesterday about how far we have moved from this kind of deep understanding of our connection with Creator and creation. I wonder how many people say a prayer as they turn the gas on to warm the teapot that will create the hot water for their morning cup. I know I certainly don't. With a turn of the knob I watch fire flare forth and turn toward the next thing to be done never giving a single thought to gift of this amazing source of warmth. I wonder how many people took the tiny plants that have been planted in gardens over the last several days,held them gently, saying a prayer for the wonder of seed that sprouts into food to nourish our bodies. How many of us pass by fields full of dairy cows and raise our hands in blessing for the milk that builds our bones and brings us the pleasure of ice cream on a warm summer's day? So many things to be thankful over……

There is a kind of envy that wells up in me when I think of these early faithful giving thanks for the ways they were connected to their God. And yet nothing except intention and a perception of busy-ness keeps me from following their lead. Yesterday I told a coworker that it seemed nearly a sin to have left my backyard to go any place else. The bold purple irises were so splendid. The columbine, lavender and dainty, had just bloomed. The bright red gerbera daisies were lifting their faces toward the sunlight. I could have spent the whole day moving from plant to plant enveloped in the awe of it. But somehow duty called and I answered.

And if the beauty and wonder of these earth bound ones weren't enough, what about that moon last night? The deep blue night of sky was hung with a yellow moon so bright it must have kept the most sensitive awake with its brilliance. As I crossed the bridge over the Mississippi coming home from a late night meeting, I saw it hanging like a huge dinner plate in the sky waiting to be feasted upon. The ancient Celtic cells in my body collected into a prayer with no words, only deep breath,and an even deeper connection to something I can only describe as Sacred.

Perhaps it is romantic to think that, in the 21st century, we might be as prayerful as those in earlier times. Perhaps it is not possible to connect our daily actions with the Holy as deeply as they did. But I do believe that living with a sense of humility about our place in the family of things cannot be a bad thing. The beauty of the iris, the majesty of last night's moon, was something I had no hand in creating. And yet it was a gift to me from a Source bigger than I can imagine. And for that I offer my praise and my gratitude. Amen