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.