tranquility in an era of destruction...

While chaos, violence, and destruction fills the air all around us - and so-called acts of God aided and abetted by human generated climate change and war bring death and despair all too close to the Lord's beloved -today life in these rolling hills are saturated in a sumptuous beauty. Clearly this tranquility won't last forever as it is all grace.: a gift to be savored and honored with gratitude.

I am all too aware of the electoral storms to come. Whomever is the victor in November will bring with them differing levels of anguish to half our nation and the world beyond our borders. Pundits have been predicting a new 1968-like political violence and division. But 2024 is unique. America has now banished all manner of public civility. To be sure, compassionate and honest citizens far outnumber the barbarians within who have hunkered-down in their silos of fear and disgust. We meet them everyday and I rejoice in their courage. But our land is now weaponized beyond recognition as gun violence is greeted with a nearly universal cynical acceptance.

Nevertheless, I reject the hyperbole of the Left that insists that democracy will be destroyed in our still imperfect union Project 2025 notwithstanding. Simultaneously, I refuse to even entertain the notion that a convicted sex abuser and felon could be God's lesser of two evils in our anxious era of fear and loathing. My vision recognizes these dangers but trusts that the totality of reality is NOT defined by what I can see or comprehend. The path of Jesus insists that the story is not yet over no matter how despondent or delusional we become for Good Friday is as true as Easter. And while we may be forced into a new encounter of Nazi ethics, or, a contemporary season of deeper polarization or even a more bizarre possibility... I look not unto the hills for solace but to God. In resistance and faith, I embrace this prayerful insight of Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin:

Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new. And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you; your ideas mature gradually—let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don’t try to force them on, as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will) will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be. Give Our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

welcoming the growing dark mystery with trust and awe...

From the primal and sacramental wisdom of John O'Donohue:

On the day when

The weight deadens

On your shoulders

And you stumble,

May the clay dance

To balance you.

“And when your eyes

Freeze behind

The grey window

And the ghost of loss

Gets into you,

May a flock of colours,

Indigo, red, green

And azure blue,

Come to awaken in you

A meadow of delight.

“When the canvas frays

In the currach of thought

And a stain of ocean

Blackens beneath you,

May there come across the waters

A path of yellow moonlight

To bring you safely home.

“May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

May the clarity of light be yours,

May the fluency of the ocean be yours,

May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

Wind work these words

Of love around you,

An invisible cloak

To mind your life.”

returning thanks on the autumnal equinox: let all creation cry gloyr!

This week marks the Autumnal Equinox: once upon a time I didn't even know such a thing existed. But now? Well, I am a bit more informed about the vital rhythms of Mother Nature. There are a ton of reasons why I'm less asleep about my place in creation than before, but being partnered with Di is foundational. She is a total water child who is more Selkie than almost any thing else. Our daughters - and their children and animals - have been instrumental, too. So, too, leaving urban America for the desert Southwest and then returning to the rolling hills of Western Massachusetts have been life-changing. And may I NEVER forget the role Lucie the Wonder Dog has played.

Getting reconnected with gardening and walking in the wetlands as been an encounter with embodied prayer. This evening I gathered up a basket full of fresh basil: besides pinon wafting through the house or frankincense in worship, is there any scent more holy? Not for me - so I cherish our herb garden as holy ground. The wetlands behind our home is filled with red grapevines, brilliant yellow leaves, bold white milkweed, and every hue of green and brown imaginable. As we sit for tea in the morning or lunch midday, the visual bounty before us sings praise to all that is holy! The Community of Iona's founder, George MacLean, used to insist that all of creation cries glory throughout the year - and these days, I'm a believer.

On Sunday, our band, Wednesday's Child, will share an afternoon of song and poetry at a friend's spectacular restored barn. This band is comprised of soul mates I have known for nearly 20 years. We trust one another. We pray for each with voices, hearts, eyes, and songs. And we blend harmonies - and kick ass rock and roll - with as much of grace and verve  as Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. And like that band, our Sunday gig will start off with "wooden/acoustic" music before cranking out our favorite "electric" songs. We've got some fascinating arrangements of "Paint It Black" along with "Fields of God," "Helplessly Hoping," and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." This poem/prayer by artist Jan Richardson evokes part of the groove:

Go slow
if you can.
Slower.
More slowly still.
Friendly dark
or fearsome,
this is no place
to break your neck
by rushing,
by running,
by crashing into
what you cannot see.
Then again,
it is true:
different darks
have different tasks,
and if you
have arrived here unawares,
if you have come
in peril
or in pain,
this might be no place
you should dawdle.
I do not know
what these shadows
ask of you,
what they might hold
that means you good
or ill.
It is not for me
to reckon
whether you should linger
or you should leave.
But this is what
I can ask for you:
That in the darkness
there be a blessing.
That in the shadows
there be a welcome.
That in the night
you be encompassed
by the Love that knows
your name.

So, tonight I'll make pesto as a prayer. I've already packed up our musical gear with sacramental tenderness. My rock'n'roll brother and I will set the stage tomorrow at midday with care. Then, I'll review my worship notes for Sunday. Lead worship in the morning. And then...may blessings abound. If you would like to join us, please send me a note and I will forward you the address. 

embracing the wisdom of sister autumn at the equinox...

The next few months are among my favorite as they evoke both "liminal space" and a sense of nature's wisdom calling us to listen and tenderly shift gears. The wetlands behind our home are already turning shades of amber, auburn, and crimson. Pumpkins dot the terrain, too with their vibrant orange and gold. Evenings are increasingly cooler as Brother Sun gives up 2-3 minutes of light every day. And a combination of sorrow mixed with possibility is present in the very air we breathe. The wise feminist teacher and shaman, Starhawk, puts it well:

A real relationship with nature is vital for our spiritual development as well as our psychic health. It is also a vital base for any work we do to heal the earth and transform the social and political systems that assault her daily.

For one who savors this season, New England is the place to be as fresh apple cider fills roadside stands, gardens share the bounty of summer's last hurrah, and the few remaining ears of sweet corn linger to tease us with their impending farewell. Those far wiser than I teach that as the autumn equinox approaches, all that is sacred in creation ask us to recognize God's invitation to find reclaim a measure of balance in our lives.

A balance of light and dark, spirit and body, mind and soul. As we return thanks for the blessings of the summer harvest and the fruit of our gardens, we also take stock of the mystery that is life as it once again opens us the the blessings of transformation. Like leaves falling away from their branches, Mother Nature asks us to release our attachments to who we think we are. Like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, we slowly enter the darkness of our own being and surrender to the unknown. And like a monarch butterfly, we let the winds of change become our guide and welcome a season of flowing within quiet grace. 

I didn't grow-up honoring the spirituality of creation. I suspect that's true for most of us white folk - especially those without intimacy with the land. But now I find the ebb and flow rhythms of creation to be a time-tested mentor into the unforced rhythms of grace. St. Paul told us this in chapter one of Romans: "The basic reality of God is plain enough if we open our eyes to creation: there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: the eternal power of the sacred as well as the mystery of God's divine being." (The Message) This, of course, was never unpacked in the Congregational churches I grew up in throughout New England. But that was true of the genocide perpetrated by my spiritual and familial ancestors, too. A great deal was hidden just below the surface for those with eyes to see; but like many other bourgeois white folk - women as well as men - my post WWII generation learned a sanitized and sentimentalized history of the USA  that we're still working at relinquishing in a quest for the truth.

On Sunday, September 22, I begin a conversation and Bible study into the spirituality of the 12 Steps. This is part of my own healing and a chance to share with others the practical wisdom of this way of embodied prayer. Later that same day, the Autumnal Equinox, our band, Wednesday's Child, will play a gig in a friend's barn stating @ 3 pm. This, too is one of the ways I seek balance: the music and poetry of the season open my eyes and all my senses to the next part of life's journey. This prayer says it well:

For the light-filled days behind us and the darkening days to come: we give thanks. For the harvest itself as well as the wisdom and beauty of that still surrounds us in fading vibrance: we return thanks. For the turning of the wheel, the insights of letting go, the liberation of release, and the promise of winter's rest: we give thanks. In this brief season of repose, this sacred pause in the turning of time, that illuminates the balance of light and dark: we give thanks.

If you would value marking the equinox with us and the music, prayer, and poetry: please send me a note.