what we need is here...

It is genuinely spring in these hills: red tips are sprouting on countless trees in the wetlands, the grapevine has become maroon while passing patches of green grass rise from within fields of winter brown. The blessings of the equinox are in full view, too. Dozens of birds stop on the still naked lillacs to feast on seed and suet. Peepers by the hundreds fill the night with crazed mating songs. And blue has returned to the sky over the Berkshires after 178 days of New England grey. Visible life is making a come back just in time for Easter.

I have journeyed into, beyond, away from, afraid of, and then back again to the sacred symmetry between the cycles of Mother Earth and the movement of the Christian liturgical seasons in the Northern Hemisphere. There are differences, of course, and nuanced distinctions as well. Still, as the artist, Alana Levandowski, writes in a recent blog post:  "I was chatting today with another "Hildegardner" who was talking about how a Hildegard von Bingen garden has a pagan underlay and a Christian mystical overlay..."

The pagan underlay and mystical overlay is very beautiful to me! What an organic incarnate metaphor. Particularly because we are presently in the eye of another epochal conundrum, I've been spending time with the tension of other threshold times: the tragedy, the greed, but most of all, the beauty of a thing incarnate with more than one expression. For instance, feeling the sensations that arise when spending imaginal time at the Synod of Whitby, sitting with especially those who weathered the threshold/epochal storm poetically, Caedmon the Bard. Christendom heritage has been so hard on "syncretism" but the paschal rhythm and much of what we do is (precisely) the overlay found in our Hildegarden.

My ancient Celtic kin persisted in calling creation God's first act of incarnation. As Pelagius said: "If you want to know the Creator, get to know Creation." We see the essence, mystery, beauty, terror, awe, and rhythm of the Creator in the ebb and flow of nature. That much of what passes for Christianity in the post-industrial West has discarded, banished, and forgotten 1700 years on holistic "syncretism" is part of our current eco-socio-political collapse. I know that when I was living a somewhat disintegrated life as a professional clergy person, paid to strengthen and "grow" the body nummerically rather than nurture the soul, the wisdom of the earth was rarely on my radar. Speaking with my daughter last night at supper about marketing (she is developing a beautiful eco-business recycling) we both agreed that in a culture and economy predicated on more and big, whatever marketing takes place often feels manipulative. Ungrounded even. 

I confessed that often I was in competition with my colleagues rather than solidarity. Our respective congregations expected us to "win" new members - build up the bottom line - and keep our name in public circulation through novelty, creativity, and buzz. It was the equivalent of life after the electric light bulb: with the movement of the sun and moon no longer a consideration, production could go on 24/7 as perpetual illumination at midnight became the norm. So, too the marketing mania of local congregations. Yes, we tipped our hats to the seasons - especially Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday - but not as a way of living into the spirituality of nature's cycles. Rather the seasons became another resource to be exploited for increasing numbers in worship.

After almost 30 years of trying to be at peace with this madness, I had a dream
after Easter in 2008: how was the marketing drive helping me and those who gathered for worship living into "the unforced rhythms of grace" Jesus promised? Eugene Peterson's reworking of St. Matthew 11 had long energized me: Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. I realized just how tired and worn out I was. Burned out on religion as it was being practiced. So, without permission or discussion, I started a small, quiet, contemplative midday Eucharist every Wednesday during the lunch hour. It was NOT about marketing. It WAS about the unforced rhythms of grace. And it became holy ground for a small circle of friends for the rest of my time in public ministry. Indeed, it became the template for what has emerged during the pandemic: a quiet livestreaming Eucharist grounded and guided by the liturgical and natural seasons of life in these ever-changing hills. I share "Small is Holy" every Sunday evening at 4 pm partly to feed my own soul and stay grounded, partly to share encouragement with a small circle of friends, and partly to quietly celebrate the unforced rhythms of grace in a culture going crazy in its addiction to busyness and growth.

Looking back over this past year I find that we planted forsythia 365 days ago. A few other native shrubs, too. Right now the kale and cucumber seedlings are sprouting in their seed beds. It's time to add compost and top soil to our raised beds - and construct two more after Easter - so that the rest of our seedlings can be transplanted in the soil that has had a consistent week above 50F. This time of the year, in-between winter and the fullness of spring, is close to my heart. It is almost as life-giving to me as is the numinous days of mid-November when the sky is silver, the leaves have escaped, and creation slips slowly into a deep rest not unlike death before resurrection. Now it is the exact opposite as everything around me is just about to burst forth with new life. Wendell Berry gets it right in his poem, "What We Need is Here."

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,

as in love or sleep, holds

them to their way, clear

in the ancient faith: what we need

is here. And we pray, not

for new earth or heaven, but to be

quiet in heart, and in eye,

clear. What we need is here.