jumbled gratitude on mlk day...

Our spring seed order has shipped, I've spent the last few hours shoveling 5" of snow, the days are growing incrementally longer, and Di is taking a quick COVID test: welcome to MLK Day 2022 in our small corner of God's creation. The so-called "wintry mix"- some deranged meteorologist's idea of a poem for the dangerous, freezing slush that plagues these parts - is falling again with a vengeance. Last week's episode left our homes, trees, shrubs, and driveways coated in a quarter inch of ice that required hours of intense chopping to remedy. About half our deck has finally been liberated, but given the current precipitation, I'm afraid there's more mess to come. So, accepting and surrendering what I cannot change, I moved our most recent acquisition of Anna's art work to my desk to remind me of St. Julian's mystical insight: All shall be well - and all manner of things shall be well.

Obliquely, that's a theme wafting through the two most recent novels from Richard Powers: The Overstory and Bewilderment. Christmas gifts from our children two years running, both works of art are saturated with loss and our quest for meaning within the morass. We live in grim and trying times. So, I think Heller McAlpin of NPR comments ring true: "Powers informs us in an author's note, bewilderment has come to mean confusion and bafflement, but its original meaning was to head back into the wild."

Indeed, at times of extreme stress, Powers' bewildered duo do head back into the wild, where they find temporary solace — and where Powers clearly finds inspiration. Few writers capture nature's glories quite so vibrantly. A spectacular "fluted ribbon of fungus rippled through itself to form a surface as convoluted as an Elizabethan ruff." A millipede smells like almond extract, which reminds Robin of his mother's baking. The Milky Way spills out in the dark sky like "countless speckled placers in a black streambed. If you held still, you could almost see the stars wheel." In novel after novel, Powers has built a case for holding still and really looking at the natural world. He helps us see things differently.

Still, there is a wisdom at work in creation beyond our control - often beyond our seeing and knowing, too. I lived within an anthropocentric bubble for most of my life. I've been awed by nature's beauty and inscrutable power to create and destroy at times; but have not really paid close attention - for good and bad reasons - like so much of the rest of my life. Imagine my surprise when I was awakened to the world all around me by the relatively recent new liturgical Season of Creation some ten years ago. "I once was lost, but now I'm found, 'twas blind but now I see." That is, now I consciously listen and look for the wisdom of Mother Nature most days. Not perfectly and not consistently. But with a modest vigor and intentionality I trust that every day is going to surprise me with a sign of God's first word at work. My ongoing labor at a spiritual sanctuary in our garden has helped. So, too living so close to a New England wetlands. And without a doubt, caring for our special needs dog, Lucie, regular pushes buttons I never knew existed. Amazing grace, indeed.

Resting my weary and arthritic back after my third snow-shoveling endeavor, I paused this afternoon to give thanks to MLK. The good doctor, preacher, prophet awakened my conscience like creation awoke my awe. I was called into ministry in 1968 just two months after Dr. King's assassination. His witness, his writing, and his wisdom shaped both my time with the farm worker movement of Cesar Chavez and my undergraduate thesis on non-violent social change. MLK gave shape and form to my seminary days and my advocacy for poor children while serving as part of an inter-racial reform slate on the Cleveland Board of Education back in the day. Putting it all together feels a bit like Robert Hunter saying to the Grateful Dead: what a LONG, strange trip it's been. But that's what it's been: a LONG and STRANGE trip. 

On this national holiday, 24 precious hours set aside for reflection and service, I regularly find the insights of Dr. King speaking to me in new ways. This year I am moved by the strength of his revolutionary compassion during his darkest hours. He told the garbage workers of Memphis the night before he was gunned down that he'd been through some amazing ups and some horrible downs. He made it clear that the threats against his life had increased since coming out against the war in Vietnam and mixing the struggle for Civil Right with economics. If yo watch Brother Martin, he is weary. Exhausted. And then, as if lifted from above, he says the following:

And then I got into Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop... And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

If you've never watched that speech, you owe it to yourself and your neighbors to do so without hesitation. It will give you a whole new perspective on what is being asked of us during pandemic fatigue, political dysfunction, and fear and loathing in America. "I been to the mountain top... and I've seen the Promised Land..." Check it out. It always puts my heart and soul back into perspective. And so tonight I am

grateful that Di's COVID test came back negative. I am grateful that I've been blessed to care for Lucie (even when she drives me mad), grateful for the solitude of shoveling snow and even the "wintry mix" on this quiet day in January, grateful for a loving family, a warm home, reasonably good health, friends in L'Arche Ottawa, friends who encourage me on "Small is Holy." Soul mates in the wild world of poetry and for exquisite novels the likes of those of Powers. All of this and so much more awakens me to the heart-break running amok among us right now. It is exhausting, frightening, trying, and surprising in ways that are often debilitating. So, I pause, rest a bit trusting that tomorrow I can do my small part to advance my trust that all manner of things shall be well, and return thanks to God for MLK.