"May we find each other in the silence between the words. May we heal the loneliness of our expertise with the wisdom of our service. May we honor in ourselves and all others the deep and simple impulse to live, to find sacred space and open land. May we remember that the yearning to be holy is a part of everyone and the only hope for the next thousand years."  ~Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.

Some days leave you speechless. Yesterday was such a day. From early morning as I caught snippets of the coverage of Inauguration Day, I found myself without words, adequate words anyway, to name my feelings and observations. I know that there were people who went along without noticing but I believe they were few and far between. Nearly everyone I know, whether they voted for Barak Obama or not, recognized the pivotal, historic moment we were witnessing. Words could not, can not, describe the breadth of the moment, the day.

Which is why i am so glad that there was a poet in the crowd, a poet commissioned to find just the right words, only a few words, that would mark the inauguration. The carefully chosen words(for isn't that what poets do?) by Elizabeth Alexander will be read and reread many times over the next weeks. English teachers will hand the poem out to students who will analyze it, criticize it and eventually,perhaps, write a paper about it. More words, too many words.

Several months ago I listened to an interview of Professor Alexander talking about her process of writing this important poem. She was asked if she was frightened or nervous about what people's about tackling such an awesome task. She answered that she couldn't think of it that way, the profundity that might be anticipated. She simply had to do what she knew how to do…write a poem.

And she did:…."Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of……….In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun." These words are only a few she chose, the right words for the right moment.

And perhaps that is exactly what we do on this new day which seems to hold so much promise for healing a wounded nation, of mending so many broken hearts. All that is really asked of any of us is to choose just a few good words, to speak them truthfully and then give ourselves to the task of listening deeply to one another. It is my prayer that our new president woke this morning ready to do just that. In the end it may be the holy poet in each of us that brings about the change we have longed for.

Many of the conversations I have had over the last several days inevitably turn to the heroic landing of US Airways Flight 1549 on the Hudson River. It is such a compelling story and the images seen almost immediately via the Internet make for lasting impressions. Who can get the picture of people standing on the wings of the plane, seeming to walk on water, out of their head? It is truly the stuff of big screen movies. But it actually happened. Really.

Capt. Chesley B. Sullenberger, known as Sully, is now a hero to people around the world. Saturday night on Prairie Home Companion Show, Garrison Keillor even created a song using his and his flight mates' names. The song was simple, sweet, and filled with deserved admiration. In times when our news is usually filled with disaster and how people failed one another, here is a story to hold onto…tight. Each of us want a Sully in our lives, someone who under extreme duress, remains calm and does what needs to be done. Some of us even hope to be that kind of person.

The part of this story that intrigues me most is that what Capt. Sully did was something he never practiced. While he had flown gliders, what he knew about landing a plane of that size on water…a river, no less….he had learned only in theory. At some point of his flight training he had learned what he needed to do, the timing of doing it, what he needed to avoid to exercise such a landing and it planted itself within him to be called upon when…if…needed. He carried that wisdom someplace deep within himself and when the time came he retrieved it for the good of all the people on that plane and most likely those who lived on each side of the river.

Today is the celebration of the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. As a child I was shaped by Dr. King's message and mission of nonviolence and peace, of his dream for a time when all children, regardless of the color of their skin, would stand together and bring about a world where racism no longer is a shadow upon our land. For so many years we have continued to tell his story, lift his message of hope for the freedom of all people as we have celebrated this day. For nearly forty years children have read and memorized parts of the I Have a Dream speech as teachers hoped to plant deep within those students the seed of wisdom that can grow and flourish, a seed that will grow into the fullness of Dr. King's dream for our great country.

In so many ways we are like Captain Sully. We have within us what we need to know to reject hate, to lift up the poor and impoverished, the downtrodden and the hopeless. We have within us the wisdom to shun violence and to be peacemakers in our time for the sake of the world. We have within us the power of love for our brothers and sisters, a love so great it could heal any wound the world might inflict.

This wisdom, this love, this power was placed within us at our birth by the Creator. Perhaps today will be the day when we reach deep within and remember how to do what, up to this day, has only been known in theory.

"I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together." Martin Luther King, Jr.

Over the last few days almost all conversations begin with some comments about the cold. Minnesota has been held in the grip of subzero temperatures for the last two days with some frightening wind chills. When I speak with family in other parts of the country they are dumbfounded that we leave the house at all, that we don't take a cue from our animal relatives who hibernate. When I tell them that children go to school, people go to work, some people continue to exercise outside, they basically think the cold must have numbed us to stupidity.

Yesterday in something I read a person was quoted as saying "Cold weather is the great equalizer". At first I took that statement at face value and then my mind began to be nagged by it. Cold weather can be seen as a great equalizer if you know you can go home and turn the heat on. Cold weather can be the great equalizer if you have a home to go to at all, if you are not destined to spend your day walking the streets until the shelters open up. Cold weather is a great equalizer if you have used your last few dollars to buy infant formula and you have turned the heat off so you won't be delinquent in your payments.Winter days are harsh for those without resources, those who live on the margins, those who are just down on their luck at an unfortunate time in our country's history.

There are many gifts of winter…snow, the beauty of brilliant blue skies and golden sunsets, the miracle of a snowflake, the comfort of a warm fire, the smell of hot cocoa, the gleaming red cheeks of a child who has played outside. As a person who lives a privileged life I name these with gratitude and, hopefully, some humility for I know they are not the gifts those less fortunate enjoy.

On Monday as we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, the new first family has invited the nation to be in service in our communities. Folks I know are rallying to do a myriad of things that will connect them with those who have been pushed to the margins by economic, social, educational and racial imbalance. It is an opportunity to look beyond our own comfort zones and participate in the true equalizers…..compassion, empathy, kindness, humility,love, faith, peace.

Here in Minnesota we will undoubtedly reach out with gloved hands. But it is my prayer that we will also do so with hearts filled with warmth and hope for building communities that sustain all the people regardless of wealth or status. As people of faith we are, after all, only following the example of Jesus.

"I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me." Matthew 25:37-40 The Message

Blessings on your weekend……………..

This year I began a read-the-Bible-in-a-year program. I have always been inspired when our bishop and others I know talk about doing this. I thought 2009 was as good a year as any to begin. I am not sure what I expected when I began. Mainly it is a good spiritual practice and it will help me read parts of the Bible that I most likely would never get to, or quite frankly, might avoid. I have extended an invitation to members of our church community to join in the 'challenge'. We will get together every few weeks and see what gems have shaped us, troubled us, helped us pray.

Early on in Genesis, I began to notice names….names of women that have not been spoken much in the life of the church. Now it is no secret that women's stories and women's names are often missing from the scripture and from history in general. There are many reasons for this….the culture in which they were written and told, the status of women in those cultures, and mostly who did the writing. Something inside me said:"Write down these names". So I have been keeping a log of the names of these women in my journal. Adah, Zillah, Sarai, Milcah, Hagar, Reumah, Dinah, Deborah, Oholibamah….on and on. Mostly they are identified as someone's wife, someonee's daughter, someonee's concubine. Again, a reflection of the time in which these words were written.

It caused me to think of all the people, not only women, who live in the shadows of our lives, whose names are rarely spoken. Those with unspoken names who contribute to our well being, our history, our daily comfort, our unfolding future. How often I buy groceries, pay for them, and walk out of the store without ever having read the name tag of the person who served me, without ever saying:"Thanks so much, Charlotte." I don't know the name of the person who delivers my newspaper in the frigid morning hours. The list is endless.

We all like to have our name known, have it spoken aloud in intimate and public places. Do you remember when your name was written on the blackboard as a child, how good it felt?Even if your name was there for a negative reason, seeing your name in print is a powerful thing.

So today, I pledge to speak the names of those I meet. I will ask those whose name I do not know, to tell me their name, so they are not simply a face to me, but someone I may known in a different way. I will continue my list of the women in the Bible who have lived in the shadows of our faith stories, who if the culture had been different, might have been the leading character instead of a marginal one. I will do this because the scriptures have also told me the words of the Holy One: "I have called you by name and you are mine."(Isaiah 43:1)

"A dazzling dare to perch up there–
a slender-branched moxie, swaying
in wind whips, impervious, curtailing
nothing on land or in tremulous air.
You sail the maple's masthead,
You scout the rolling hills, apprise the skies,
and you descend at will; no seeming dread
your reconnoiter with the earth, no surprise
amid your daily ups and downs. At dusk
you ride the coming dark, the stars
ablaze in night's broad bowl above.
Defying rain and ice, astride that leafy husk
you grip–pendulous–crepuscular,
no steering by our blinking lights; you simply hover."

~Deborah Carlin

Now that the trees are bare, stripped of their leaves by the winter wind, I have become aware of the squirrel nests that dot the branches. All along our street the nests perch precariously high in the trees. The nests are not visible when the trees are full of leaves. But now, there they are, resting between branches once full of green life, their cocoon of leaves and twigs and who know what else forming a home, a place to rest, give birth and grow.

I can't imagine what a squirrel thinks but from a human perspective it seems to me that building a nest closer to the center of the tree makes more sense, is much safer. Why does the nest need to be so high, out on such a thin limb? And yet, haven't we all built our homes sometimes in some very difficult and dangerous places? Haven't we chosen to rest and grow in places where their is great opportunity and yet great peril? It is the choice of adventurers and seekers to go to the edge, to seek the opportunity to grow in ways new ways. Perhaps it is the practice of going back and forth to their nests that allows squirrels to run across the telephone lines with the skill of an acrobat, never falling, always a straight shot from point A to point B.

Where we build our nests can help us grow or challenge us to new feats of adventure. Where we build our nests can instill courage and daring or invite us to leap with faith. I once had a card hanging on my office door that read "Leap…..and the net will appear." That must be the mantra of squirrels and all those who build their nests on limbs that seem fragile to the outsider. 

Where are you building your nest these winter days? Is your life calling you to build higher, go out on a limb so to speak, take the contents of your nest to the edge? Or are you carrying the materials you need, comfort perhaps,to a safer place to hunker down against the winter wind near the sturdy trunk of the tree and be present in a quieter more contemplative way? The good news is that life calls for both.

"Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?"  Matthew 20:22

Our cabinet is filled with mismatched coffee cups. While some have been a part of a set and have broken, the collection is really intentional. Each morning I open the cabinet and take out the one that fits my mood, my need in the moment. This morning I took out one cup only to return to the cabinet to choose a different one. Since the colors or styles don't differ greatly, it is some ways a strange ritual. And yet it makes sense to me and sets the tone for my day.

Some days I need the weight and strength of a larger cup, one with more clay per inch. I hold it with solid hands, grasping the fullness of its form. Other mornings I reach for the one remaining wide mouthed daintier cup. I hold its pale green close to my face while the steaming coffee warms my face.

In addition to being utilitarian, the cup is a wonderful metaphor. The fact is we don't always get to choose the cup from which we drink. Sometimes the cup of sorrow or illness chooses us. Sometimes we are forced to drink from cups too heavy or to fragile. It is the nature of living fully. Sometimes we choose a cup that is too big for us and we spill its contents unmercifully. Most often we underestimate ourselves and choose a cup that is too small to hold all we have to offer the world.

At some point of this day you will no doubt drink from a cup. I hope you will not take it for granted. If nothing else remember that it was formed by hands that you do not know, most probably by someone who was paid very little to create it. If you are lucky you will drink from a cup shaped by an artist whose passions still live indelibly in the shape and creativity you now cradle. Cups are not to be taken lightly so savor not only what you drink from the cup, but the cup itself. It offers itself to you for your sustenance and your enjoyment.

"Bestower of Life, Abundant Love, Trusted Companion, Eternal Wisdom, I pray your blessing to be upon this cup and upon myself. Make of this cup a sacred vessel as I pray with it each day. May this cup become my teacher, helping me to find my way to you. May this cup hold many messages of your wisdom and your comfort. May this cup connect me with life and create in me a generous heart. May this cup draw me ever closer to loving oneness with you."  ~Joyce Rupp

"Luckily some youthful dreams never see daylight. A world of nothing but firemen, astronauts and ballerinas would indeed be a nightmare. There's another dream in creation today, and this is one the world really needs."

This was my horoscope today. While it was meant for my 'sign', it seems to me it could be shared by everyone, no matter their birth date. Reading it I thought of the circuitous route my own life has taken. I assume most people can claim something similar. As a child I wanted to be a nurse,a librarian, an archaeologist, a dancer, an actress, an opera singer, a teacher, a writer. As I reflect on my life today, I probably have an amalgamation of all those in the work I find myself doing, the work to which I feel I have been called by a power that is greater than any career counselor, any interest assessment.

I believe each person has gifts the world needs. This is outlined in our scriptures and the wisdom stories of all cultures. How we are 'hardwired' for those gifts continues to nag at us until we answer the deep call within us to explore, develop, hone and share those gifts with the world. I often think that so much of the mental and spiritual anguish that exists in people's lives comes from never having the opportunity to share the deep gifts of that lie within.

Today is a good day to look within to see what those gifts are that simmer beneath the surface of our days, of our longings. Are we paying attention to the nudges, the Spirit touches that urge us toward our deepest dreams? What if….what if….only we can bring the most needed gifts to this day, this time, this place, our world? Would we want to withhold what has been given us to share? I don't think so.

January days are meant for ruminating, for dreaming, for looking deep within for the pearl of wisdom and warmth that needs to be born in winter's cold and dark. January days are ripe for looking for the 'dream of creation' waiting to be born. Are you ready to dream? Are you willing to share?

Enjoy the weekend……………………

"If we are to achieve a richer culture, rich in
contrasting values, we must recognize the whole gamut of human
potentialities, and so weave a less arbitrary social fabric, one in
which each diverse human gift will find a fitting place."~Margaret Mead

"There are things your can't reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.
And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier……."
~excerpt, Mary Oliver,'Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?

Yesterday started out to be like most other days. Rise early, read the paper accompanied by my morning cup of coffee, a little bit of this, breakfast, a little bit of that. Good morning and goodbyes to my husband and son, and then off to the office. Driving along between the Twin Cities, listening to the radio, half-listening really, not noticing much of anything that passed by me.

And then at the lip of the Mendota Bridge, my eyes were drawn skyward and there it was. An eagle, soaring above the bridge, floating on the gray mist of a Minnesota winter morning. It hovered a moment and then positioned itself to fly right across my on-coming path. I saw the definition of its feathers, the white of its head, the golden yellow of its beak, its strong, beady eye. I felt the fullness of its presence.

And just like that, what had been ordinary became extraordinary. I had been blessed by the flight of an eagle. How could anything else in my day go wrong or be better? Later in the day, as I took a quick trip to a sandwich shop for lunch, I was once again not completely present to my surroundings. Turning a corner onto a snowy street, the red flash of a cardinal swooped over my path. He flew close to the ground, seeming to say:"Look at me! Look at me!" And so I did. Brilliant red against the whiteness of nearly everything else visible.

So what started out as a typical Tuesday morning became a day to be blessed by birds. I began to wonder what these winged ones might be trying to tell me. What might their offering be to someone bundled up in down and wool, now entrenched in the throes of winter? I'm still reflecting on their gift of wonder, of beauty, of wildness. Somehow the mere memory of their presence lifts me above the frozen landscape. Maybe that is gift enough.

“Life can only be understood looking backward. It must be lived forward.” from 'The Curious Care of Benjamin Button'

A button is not something we think about much these days. Buttons are utilitarian, a must. We lose them. We find them. We sew them back on and away we go.

But yesterday as I watched 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button', the opening credits held a frame with a cascade of buttons of all shapes and sizes. One by one they fell, until the whole screen was a sea of buttons. The movie was lovely and I recommend it. But my memory today is not of Brad Pitt or the amazing actors who told this unusual story originally created by F. Scott Fitzgerald. My memory is of my grandmother.

My grandmother was poor by the world's standards. Her house was small, warmed by coal heat as so many were in the area. It had been added onto once or twice, not by architects who measured and planned well, but by regular folks who knew how to build what needed to be built to serve a purpose. I would go to her house for over -nights and we would  make fudge and work thousand piece puzzles, snuggled by the coal burner. She lived most of the life in which I knew her, alone, my grandfather having died when I was very young. I looked forward to those visits because they often included playing with the button box.

The button box was kept by her sewing machine. It contained hundreds of buttons…small ones, large ones, mostly ordinary ones. But nestled in the box were also buttons made of mother-of-pearl, or rhinestone buttons that looked like diamonds. There were colorful buttons in the shape of flowers, or little sailboats for, perhaps, a sailor dress. I would pour the buttons onto a tray and look at them, like someone panning for gold. Often I would ask if I could take a certain one home and, being given permission, would tuck the treasure in my pocket.

Buttons are ordinary things. But my grandmother's button box provided, for me, a glimpse into the mystery of her life before her face was loose with wrinkles. As I fingered those rhinestone buttons, I imagined what she must have had that carried those shiny ornaments. Where did she wear it? What was she like when she was young and wearing glamorous clothes?

As children, none of us can really know our grandparents or parents as they were known by their peers. We cannot imagine them carefree, or cool,or staying out all night dancing till dawn in the arms of someone we've never met. We can only see them through our relationship with them.Those of us who are parents are reminded daily of this fact.

The button box now lives in our attic. It is one of the only things I asked for after her death. I'm glad I have it for it holds the ordinary and the extraordinary, the known and the mystery, the plain and the fancy, all a part of my grandmother's life. Just as it is for each of us.

"The journey we begin as we answer the call is long, and filled with all that we have been and all that we will become."  Cairistiona Worthington

Do you remember those little plastic puzzles that had movable squares within the frame? The point was to move the small squares until you could form the complete picture that would become visible as you moved pieces around and around trying to find the perfect maneuver that would spell success.. When that happened…voila! Your picture was complete. That's how these days after the Christmas season seem to me, as we move the tree this way so we can put the chair back over there. The table goes to the side so we can put the box that holds the things that only come out at Christmas where the table sat. And so it goes….on and on until, eventually, order is restored and the picture becomes complete again.

I love the feeling of Christmas in our house. The twinkling lights, the smell of evergreen, the decorations that we have collected over the years, all holding their own history, their own story. But I am also glad when it is time to take the tree down, put away all the 'extra', and work from a cleaner slate. It somehow fits the spirit of a new year. "The ordered space is the ordered mind.", someone said. And, for me, that is true.

Each new year is also like those plastic puzzles. There is the frame of what is to come and the little squares that we are called upon to move this way and that way until things begin to become clearer. Ahh…we say…so this is how it's going to be. The picture of this particular year in our lives becomes visible to us in small increments, sometimes becoming very clear and other times all in a jumble, waiting for a few more moves to get any sense of where we are headed. This is the gift of a new year.

The boxes are on their way back to the attic now, safe until next year when they will be unpacked to help us create a Christmas scene. By that time next year, the small squares of 2009 will have been moved into near completion and the surprise will be over, the puzzle solved.

I hope the task of creating the picture, of solving the puzzle, will be mostly filled with good times, happy times and I will be given the gift of patience for the work of its creation. I pray for courage and tenacity for those moments when the puzzle becomes too difficult and I want to give up in frustration. 

This is my prayer for us all……………