the wisdom and grace of mystery...

In this week's summary of reflections at the Center for Contemplation and Action, Barbara Brown Taylor's synthesis of the apophatic spiritual tradition really spoke to my heart:

I trusted God to be God even if I could not say who God was for sure. I trusted God to hold me and those I loved, in life and in death, without giving me one shred of conclusive evidence that it was so.

One blessing of the Eastern Church is its willingness to live with ambiguity. Yes, some of the creeds are laborious, and the liturgy itself can feel like a spiritual endurance test. Simultaneously, however, there is a deep respect for silence, the wisdom of our senses, beauty, poetry, and what some have called a generous and sensual orthodoxy. Like any other religious tradition, it, too, is far from perfect. Still, their commitment to and trust of mystery is worthy of deeper consideration. This massive icon in St. Vladimir's Cathedral in Kyiv alone offers more grace to me than most of the scholastic theology of the Reformed Church combined.

 

the wetlands are shining this morning: sabbath thoughts

This is my favorite time of year: the gradual letting go of Terra Mater's warm colors of autumn as she begins her slow descent into the starkness of early winter. The ancient Celtic (Gaelic) calendar calls this Mabon's journey of abundance into the emptying liminal time of the New Year at Samhain. Now, I am about as far from a practicing neo-pagan as the Pope, but I find this season's light, energy, and possibilities extraordinarily pregnant with significance. Those old Druids were clearly on to something as they celebrated the season's second harvest at the Autumnal Equinox; its balance of light and dark en route to the dark wisdom of winter's death invites us to practice both relinquishment and anticipation. And if I am paying attention, the wetlands behind our home communicate this to me in the yellows of goldenrod, the maroons of sumac, the ethereal whites of the thistles and asters, and milkweed, as well as the fading browns of Joe Pye weed. 

The recently departed Wendell Berry, apostle of God's abundance in a slow life,    put it like this:

The woods is shining this morning.
Red, gold and green, the leaves
lie on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes
the place it has been coming to forever.
It has not hastened here, or lagged.
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.
See how without confusion it is
all that it is, and how flawless
its grace is. Running or walking, the way
is the same. Be still. Be still.

“He moves your bones, and the way is clear.”

After a joyous month of going slowly in both urban and rural Québec, where we walked and watched, listened and sang together at the speed of Anna (our blessed granddaughter with whom we celebrated her 9th trip around the sun), we returned home to car troubles and emergency oral surgery. That is behind us now, so it's time to harvest the tomatoes, savor the sunlight, and do what we can to keep the pace gentle. My congregation and I have taken the next steps in extending my time of ministry - and I am wildly grateful. 

My challenge over the next three months is to stay grounded in the rhythms the Creator is revealing in nature, at a time when it would be all too easy to be held for ransom by the turmoil of culture. The absurd cruelties of midterm elections saturate the airwaves. This week marked both the first anniversary of the assassination of Charlie Kirk and the twenty-fifth anniversary of September 11th. Gas and grocery prices are skyrocketing. War rages in Iran, Sudan, Yemen, and Gaza. Parts of Mother Gaia are on fire while others weep in floods, hurricanes, and the excesses of El Nino. It would be easy - and natural - to despair or escape into denial. 

Thankfully, Wendell Berry offered an alternative when he rephrased Jesus' advice in a quasi-interview with a reporter from The Atlantic shortly before his death. Berry had articulated this insight long before in a variety of poems, the most famous being "The Peace of Wild Things."  

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

His analysis of worry is equally liberating: it is exhausting and unnecessary. He notes that most of the disasters and bad outcomes he's been anxious about have never come to pass. He then references Jesus in St. Matthew's account of the Sermon on the Mount: "Take no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. A more contemporary rendering of this text from Matthew 6: 34 says: So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today. Prompting Berry to conclude: "Taking thought for the morrow is fairly predictably a waste of time... what we call the 'future' is a flimsy and insubstantial thing at best - a phantom we obsess over that never really arrives, or never arrives in the way we imagine." The interview in The Atlantic adds:

By taking thought for the morrow, we have invested and wasted a lot of effort in preparing for morrows that never came. (To which the writer adds: he's right! When we become too obsessed with a future that may or may not befall us, we tend to turn our backs on the moment we're in.") Saying the time is coming when it will be too late to save the world, oh, oh, oh, (suggests) that we and the world are dead already. The present is going by and we are not in it. (Joe Fassler, Atlantic, September 5, 2026.)

Berry does not banish lament. Nor does he surrender to passivity. In his own way and time, he has done what little he actually has control and agency over and calls that sufficient for the day. Tomorrow he will encounter tomorrow with as much equanimity as today - and leave the rest to the Lord. Before his recent death at 92 years, Berry spent most of his sabbath days walking his farm and then writing a sabbath poem as the day's worship. Like his contemporary, Annie Dillard, or his Native American ally, Robin Wall Kimmerer, Wendell Berry married beauty and science with faith filtered through awe. A poem from 1979 captures his essence:

I go among trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet 

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes

and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me,

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What I fear in it leaves it,

and the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor, more in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. As we sing,

the day turns, the trees move.

(This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems)

For me, this is sufficient for today.

shifting gears in autumn and a quest for koinonia...

We've been back home from Canada for a full week now: it was a joy to enter each day without an agenda and be fully free from anxiety or stress. It was truly a restorative reprieve - and I am grateful. Now it's time to get back to music-making and soul care. Our band, All of Us, will be playing a private party in Otis this Sunday at one of the many vacation camps that is closing up for the season. My brother-from-another-mother, Dave, and I are the core of this band, and three new/old friends will be part of the magic this week: guest bass player Jim; female vocalist Eva; and percussionist Andrew. In some ways, this incarnation feels like a whole new groove! David and I, of course, have been working together on and off for over 15 years. Eva, too, has been part of the music as a foundational part of our other ensemble, Wednesday's Child, for 17 years. And Jim is a well-seasoned local pro who, along with Andrew, has played with both groups periodically, too. But this is the first time we'll all be together in the same place at the same time. It should be a gas.

Being back in worship with Palmer's faith community was equally refreshing and joyful. After nearly a year of discussing, studying, praying, and waiting upon the Spirit, it became clear to me that the suggested UCC process for exploring issues of sexuality, equality, and justice no longer works. I'm not sure it ever did, but it clearly doesn't fit us now. Without deep trust built on conversation, careful listening, risk-taking, prayer, vulnerability, and time, making bold choices in pursuit of justice feels dangerously capricious and even immature. 

If the Biblical stories of the early church - and the wisdom culled from subsequent vigorous historical study - suggest anything, it is that the Body of Christ incarnates radical hospitality first and then, over time, searches for wisdom. It used to be said that ours is a faith seeking understanding - fides quaerens intellectum - or orthopraxis before orthodoxy - right action before right doctrine or belief. After 18 months as interim minister, my head and heart sensed that before we make any significant changes to the Open Table of Jesus ministries, we strengthen at least these two time-tested Christian formation practices:

+ Careful conversation and listening: Our 21st-century culture has forgotten how to listen carefully, let alone wrestle with hard realities with love and respect. Families no longer eat together. Our nation lives in segregated siloes and gated communities that banish the complicated gifts and challenges of diversity from consideration. And life moves too fast for anything except a surrender to economic, political, and cultural homogeneity in pursuit of relief from anxiety and fear. 

+ Congregational spiritual formation: Our era of bottom-line ethics, fast food living, and economic insecurity has eliminated time for spiritual reflection and study for most individuals and families. If our attend worship, they barely receive 130 minutes of Sunday School each month. Likewise, our elders who attend public worship can only receive about 190 minutes of scripture, prayer, music, and interpretation each month. That means almost no one has time to look beneath the surface of popular culture concerning what "motivates and forms" our thoughts, words, values, and actions. With Sunday worship being our only time to equip believers with a taste for the counter-cultural values of Jesus, we need new strategies to reconnect our lives with the grace of God.

My proposal, endorsed by our leadership team, is to start an experiment in relearning how to talk together about what is essential to our faith. The German Evangelical and Reformed church used to emphasize: in essentials, unity; in nonessentials, diversity; and in all things, charity. I am reminded of the wisdom the late Fr. Raymond Brown brought to the table in his study, The Churches the Apostles Left Behind. My takeaway is that while the early church gave shape and form to the New Testament, it included seven different emphases (see https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/739501. The_Churches_The_Apostles_Left_Behind) that were unique and situated in the realities of their discrete contexts. Nevertheless, they celebrated koinonia, the unique fellowship and community crafted by Jesus, and found the grace to welcome those with differing theologies to the shared open table of the Eucharist.

Brown's close examination:

... reveals the distinguishing characteristics that delineate the differences among these seven churches: Christology, church structure, exclusivity, community, liturgy, good works, the Spirit, the Eucharistic meal, salvation and, interestingly, Jewishness. These somewhat arcane nuances that define each church are essential in understanding the New Testament. The author points out that there is a pro-Jewish conception of Christianity and a pro-Gentile view that are struggling side-by-side to capture the soul of this emerging religion (17). One of the big questions faced by the early church: Is it necessary for a Christian convert to become Jewish first before becoming a Christian? On one hand there is the Jerusalem church, represented by James and Matthew, who want to see the Jewish Law strictly followed and “…the smallest letter, not even the smallest part of a letter of the Law…” (41) altered. This church consists of mostly Jewish Christians and is advocating for the circumcision of all new Christians. 

Then there is Paul, who has a more libertine attitude toward the Jewish Law, and is troubled by these Christian Judaizers (21). He makes a radical missionary decision (after his vision is restored) to replace the very physical act of circumcision with the spiritual act of baptism. The spirit of Baptism received through fire, water or the laying of hands becomes the preeminent marker of Christian identity. Once the Spirit arrives, it alters the soul of the individual and the nature of the entire church. It liberates the individual from its slavery to worldly sin and it propels Paul and the other apostles to bring Jesus’ good news to the ends of the earth. The Holy Spirit, sent by the Father once the Son ascends to heaven, guides Christ’s body on earth (i.e. the Church) and is of “massive importance”(67) in every step of church history. It is the fulfillment of The Law that makes adherence to God’s statutes possible.

This commitment to koinonia is key in the work we are crafting for at least the next year as we start to talk and listen to one another about what is essential to our church. What we hold in common is our unabashed desire to follow Jesus more authentically without surrendering to exclusivity or judgment. I have found the research and practical wisdom of C. Christopher Smith and the Slow Church movement, which focuses on the patient way of Jesus, to be foundational. These five texts have been clarifying for me:

+ The Virtue of Dialogue by C. Christopher Smith

+ The Form of the Word by Stephen E. Fowl

+ The Shape of Our Lives by Philip Kenneson, Debra Dean Murphy, Jenny Williamson, Stephen Fowl, and James Lewis

+ Slow Church by C. Christopher Smith and James Pattison

+ How the Body of Christ Talks by C. Christopher Smith

Of equal importance has been my slow read of the new translation of the New Testament by David Bentley Hart and the synthesis of Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin's theology by Kathleen Deignan and Libby Osgood. This time of year, filled with a transition from the abundance of summer to the slowing down of autumn, and the latency of winter, is a great time to refocus and regroup. I think Mary Oliver got it right:

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come – six, a dozen – to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.