entering the time in-between time...

When I walked out of the house this morning, 

it finally felt like fall: 47F, grey skies with yellow and brown leaves falling all around, and a seasonal transition silently taking shape as autumn slowly dies and winter struggles to be born. Oh, do I love this time of year! The ancient Celts grasped that this is an in-between time, that sacred liminal space that was neither "one thing or another" (The Celtic Wheel of the Year, ed. Meg LLewellyn.) It is the passage from one half of the year to another - and my ancestors in Scotland and Ireland trusted that all of these passages were pregnant with possibilities. 

(These) in-between places and times, whether they are shores between land and water, the boundaries between political territories, bridges that cross streams of water, the twilight between day and night, or the transitions of the seasons, are holy.

All of my life I've felt most alive when the leaves start to show their true colors, the air cools, apple cider flows freely, the pumpkins pop, and sun light shifts from direct to slant. It is Samhain, a cross quarter day, taking shape and form half way between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. "This is the Celtic end of the old year, the beginning of the new, and as such, it is a 'hinge' in time, marking the transition from light into darkness." (Llewellyn) William Palmer puts it like this in a Thanksgiving Prayer:

Lord of the changing seasons,

   of harvest time, frost, and hearth fire,

   I think you for this holy turning of the year.

A hard freeze on All Saint's Day morning.

The russet leaves fall thickly in the still, early light.

Like all men and women who have ever lived, they return to the Earth.

I thank you, Lord, for this moment in time,

   this moment of clear revelation.

I thank you for the faith of my ancestors,

   remembered this day,

   for Halloween candy and pumpkin pie,

   for the Communion of Saints,

   and cozy evenings,

   for the low-angled sun of an autumn afternoon.

I the name of the dead: I thank you.

I the name of the living: I thank you.

I the name of those to come: I thank you.

Two weeks ago, we gathered pumpkins and corn with our children and grand children. This past weekend, we went into the hill town and found mums and apple cider. Today, I finished putting the plants and paraphernalia of gardening away for another season just as a light rain began. I moved our fountain inside, too. Our home, our energies, and our lives are ever more directed by the ebb and flow of the sun and moon as Mother Earth speaks all around us. We are moving towards the inward journey. 

facing into the apocalypse...

Most days I do not write political posts. To be honest, life is too short and my time on this grand planet is increasingly limited. But let's be clear: these are days that exhaust our souls and break open our hearts. They are an ever-flowing cascade of grief and fear mixed with moments of solace and sometimes even beauty. I currently experience our four horsemen of the apocalypse as: the pandemic, the ongoing destruction of Mother Earth, political gridlock in our nation's capitol, and the current know-nothing venom of right-wing activists who hate people of color, creative women, and the LGBTQ+ community with an unholy paranoia.

PANDEMIC

"The coronavirus pandemic" notes the NY Times, "has affected our lives, our economy and nearly every corner of the globe. More than 3.74 billion people worldwide have received a dose of a Covid-19 vaccine, equal to about 48.7 percent of the world population. However, there are stark gaps between richer and poorer nations. The United States has surpassed 700,000 known Covid-19 deaths, making the coronavirus pandemic the deadliest in American history. Diana Butler Bass sensed a connection between these incomprehensible deaths and a new NETFLIX show, "Midnight Mass." She writes: "Over the last few days, I spent seven hours watching "Midnight Mass" (which is) done in the genre of horror (which I generally eschew), Midnight Mass follows a group of (mostly) church people whose world is collapsing - and the choices they make when facing the last things. At its heart are questions: Is Christianity about a sacrifice for the life of the world or a sacrifice for personal salvation? Is it about the power of wisdom or the power of eternal life? And how do faithful people choose the right way when facing apocalypse?" 

MOTHER EARTH'S DESTRUCTION

Climate activist, Greta Thunberg, was recently interviewed by YES Magazine. Her take on the devastation of our planet was characteristically blunt and honest: I think that you can objectively say that the climate crisis is not being treated as an emergency, especially when you compare to COVID in many parts of the world. The climate crisis is not being treated as an emergency, and it never has... We need to change social norms, and we need to change what we perceive as the crisis, and what we perceive as being normal. But one thing that it will take is honesty. We need to be honest about what we are doing and we need to be brave in order to confront that, in order to be able to change things. And it will take the people who have a platform, whether it is media, people in power, or just people who are influential, that they use that platform to communicate that we are in a crisis. Because if we do not start to treat the crisis like a crisis, then the people around us will not understand that we are in an emergency. 

POLIGICAL GRIDLOCK (from Heather Cox Richardson's writing)

Yesterday, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) told his colleagues that on Monday evening he plans to bring up the Freedom to Vote Act and to try to get it through the Senate. The Republicans are determined not to let Democrats level the electoral playing field. While Democrats in the House, where legislation can pass with a simple majority vote, have passed voting rights laws, Democrats in the Senate have to deal with the filibuster, which enables senators in the minority to block legislation unless the Democrats can muster 60 votes. Republicans are dead set against voting rights laws. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) has called voting reform “a solution in search of a problem,” driven by “coordinated lies about commonsense election laws that various states have passed.” Republicans are trying to regain control of the government by making sure their opponents can’t vote, while Democrats are trying to level a badly tilted playing field. If the Democrats do not succeed in passing a voting rights law, we can expect America to become a one-party state that, at best, will look much like the American South did between 1876 and 1964. Our nation will no longer be a democracy.

RIGHT WING DOMESTIC TERRORISM (from NY Times)

The American flag became a blunt instrument in the bearded man’s hands. Wielding the flagpole like an ax, he swung once, twice, three times, to beat a police officer being dragged down the steps of a United States Capitol under siege. Other officers also fell under mob attack, while the rest fought to keep the hordes from storming the Capitol and upending the routine transfer of power. Sprayed chemicals choked the air, projectiles flew overhead and the unbridled roars formed a battle-cry din — all as a woman lay dying beneath the jostling scrum of the Jan. 6 riot... nine months removed from the mayhem, Republicans bound to former President Donald J. Trump’s unfounded assertion that the 2020 election was stolen from him have all but wished the day away: blocking the creation of a bipartisan investigative commission; blaming antifa, or Democrats, or the Federal Bureau of Investigation; and minimizing the overwhelming video evidence. Even so, a reckoning is underway, as prosecutors and congressional investigators seek to understand how a political rally devolved into an assault on the citadel of American democracy and those who guard it. They are drilling down on whether the riot was organized and what roles were played by far-right extremist groups, various Trump supporters and Mr. Trump himself.

At the close of the Dr. Bass article, she notes that people of faith often wonder what is the right way to face when staring into the abyss of the apocalypse? She writes:

Some Christians argue there is no choice. That our only choice is to turn our backs on a fraying, fractured, evil world and form an exclusive community of true believers - who can, when called upon, destroy the wicked and restore godly society. That’s the vision laid out by Rod Dreher in a book originally published in 2017, The Benedict Option, where he urges Christians to reimpose “Christian belief and Christian culture” to save the west. (Another choice exists, however as Patrick Henry reiterates in his book Benedictine Options.) It is the call to love and live here and now in a fully human way, “a world-embracing monastic spirit” of faith that is “experimental, rhythmical, communal, ecumenical, and ‘narrational.’” While Dreher sees ours as “a world growing cold, dead, and dark,” Patrick insists that “Benedictine options are for a world of many colors” - aglow with laughter and lightness and love. “What, finally, is the consequence of implementing Benedictine options? It’s the opposite of The Benedict Option’s withdrawal. . . It’s being alert to what God says in Isaiah (43:19): ‘I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?’ The ‘new thing’ appears in the world - the whole world - that Benedict saw in his vision. Benedictines are connoisseurs of surprise.”

Dr. Bass then notes what I have been advocating for the past few years: We can choose to turn away from the end of the world, in the process, turn ourselves into monsters - or turn toward it and see a loving, healing, forgiving, and hospitable God even there. When we fear we’ve reached the end. We have choices. Surprises await.

I rather like the way Carrie Newcomer puts this in a recent poem: "I'm Learning to Sit with Not Knowing."

I'm learning to sit with not knowing.

Even when my restless mind begins jumping

From a worried

What next?

To a frightened

What if?

To a hard edged and impatient,

Why aren't you already there?

I'm learning to sit and listen

To pat myself on the knee,

Lay my hand on my heart,

Take a deep breath,

And laugh at myself.

To befriend my mistakes,

Especially the ones,

That show me how

I most need to change.

I'm learning to sit with whatever comes

*Even though I'm a planner.)

Because so much of this life

Can't be measured or predicted.

Because wonder and suffering visit

When we least expect

And rarely in equal measure.

I'm learning to sit with

What I might never know

Might never learn,

Might never heal.

I'm learning to sit with

What might waltz in and surprise me,

Might crash into my days,

With unspeakable sorrow

Or uncontainable delight.

I'm learning to sit with not knowing.

So, as beloved Walter Croinkite of blessed memory used to say: That's the way it is: Sunday, October 17, 2021.

autumn's call to let go and trust...

NOTE: Each Sunday evening at 4 pm, Small is Holy - my online gathering for prayer, song, silence, spiritual reflection and online Eucharist - meets. This is yesterday's message.

Tonight, I want to playfully consider the appointed Scripture from the gospel of St.
Mark and tease out some of its wisdom about learning to let go like Jesus and Mother Nature. In times past, I’ve heard this text used in a variety of ways – all of which have left me wanting:

+ Liberals tend to use it to encourage greater financial generosity within their congregations, radicals often shame the rich with it for accumulating wealth while others endure excruciating poverty, and conservatives and Biblical literalists do their best to hide these words from any consideration because Jesus is explicit when he says that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.

+ I’ve even heard preachers from so-called fundamentalist congregations refer to a fabricated and fallacious medieval legend that claims one of the gates leading into the city of Jerusalem was named the “eye of the needle” that was so narrow NO camel could pass through it. Well, that’s an ingenious but untrue manipulation that calls to mind a quip made by Southern preacher and civil rights activist, Will Campbell, who said: “Religion has always been with us - without it there would have been no reason for the coming of a Messiah to put a stop to it.”

And that’s really what I sense Jesus is getting at here: offering a way to end childish and selfish reli-gion that equates blessings with wealth and scrupulosity for spirituality. In the newly published First Nations Version of this New Testament, Jesus – called Creator Sets Free – tells the young man: “The instructions from the lawgiver drawn from water – Moses – are clear. Do not take the life of another, do not be unfaithful in marriage, do not take what is not yours. Never lie or cheat a fellow human being and always give honor to your father and mother.” These are the second half of the 10 Commandments, the relational ones that build loving and just connections between people and are the building blocks for ethical behavior that strengthens the common good.

“Wisdom keeper,” the man replies, “I have followed all of these from my youth.” To which Jesus asks: has doing so helped you live consistently with compassion, joy, and integrity because that’s what eternal life is all about. It’s not a quest to get into heaven when our race is over but a way of being saturated with love in this life. So, don’t confuse your material well-being with spiritual blessings from God, ok?” That was one of the ancient perspectives codified in Deuteronomy – that God blesses the just with abundance and punishes the wicked with poverty - and became standard operating theology in ancient Israel for a time. To identify the well-off with God’s beloved was in the spiritual water of that era. It helped maintain the status quo and has regularly found new life in other cultures, too. During the Protestant Reformation, John Calvin named wealth as one of the signs of God’s eternally elect and Joel Osteen says much the same thing today. But Jesus doesn’t.

+ Immersed in his tradition’s prophetic school, Jesus called out any notion that wealth was God’s reward for anything; same, too, for a rigorous or literal adherence to the commandments. Such is shallow spirituality, childish and self-centered, that leads to nothing except creating God in our own image.

+ It was popular among the Sadducees of Christ’s time who had no grasp of life beyond life: that’s likely why the young man thought he was all set. His religion had trained him to see his status as authentication of God’s blessing. To which Jesus replied: it’s great that you have money and know the Law. What you need to do now, however, is quit trying to get God to be on your side. “With tenderness and love, Jesus said: take all your possessions, invite the poor of your village to a give-away, then let it all go and come walk the good road with me.” This part of the story ends with the young man’s heart falling to the ground and walking empty away because he had great wealth.

"Let it go" is the universal insight Jesus offers: if you grasp, clutch, or brace over anything, it will shrink your heart and compromise your soul. If, however, as Cynthia Bourgeault so persuasively teaches, you release – relinquish, yield, or surrender – you align yourself with the heart of creation and will dwell in the house of eternal love forever. In her little book, Wisdom Way of Knowing, Bourgeault writes:

There are any number of spiritual practices both ancient and universal to bring a person into a state of inner relinquishment, but the most direct and effective one is simply this: in any situation in life, confronted by an outer threat or opportunity notice if you are responding in one of two ways. Either you will brace, harden, and resist, or you will soften, open, and yield. With the for-mer you will be catapulted immediately into your smaller self with its animal instincts and sur-vival responses. If you stay with the later regardless of the outer conditions, you will remain in alignment with the heart of creation and our truest self where the divine can reach and love you. This is spirituality at its no-frills simplest: a moment-by-moment learning NOT to do anything in a state of bracing.

In the particularity of this gospel story, where Jesus is talking with a unique individual, he brings specificity to the universal by advising the wealthy one to let go of his bounty and follow him as a disciple. Intuitively, not ideologically, Jesus offers this soul a way of being that is aligned with his individual situation. It is NOT a blanket solution to poverty, but a personal invitation to surrender everything that might get in the way of living with an open heart. That’s what I missed back in my radical and doctrinaire days: the fact that Jesus NEVER offers a one-size fits all solution to our spiritual journeys. Think back to the young man possessed by demons living in a graveyard infested with swine just outside of Israel. Jesus casts out the demons and tells his disciples to give up some of their clothing to cover the boy’s nakedness.

But, when the one who has been healed asks Jesus in awe and gratitude, if he might join the band of women and men wandering through Palestine, do you recall master’s answers? “No, my child, you need to go home and make peace with your family.” One of my spiritual mentors, the late Clarence Jordan of Koinonia Farms who was the father of Habitat for Humanity, suggests that the healing experience of this person is at the heart of the parable of the Prodigal Son. Interesting, yes? For those you don’t know the tale it’s about a young man who fritters away his inheritance and winds up living among the pigs someplace in Gentile country. When he comes to his senses as a young Jew living among the ritually unclean swine, he thinks he should return to his family and live as a servant. But when his broken-hearted father sees his long absent child walking back all broken and vulnerable, he throws a feast of thanksgiving announcing that once you were lost but now your found. It’s a beautiful and consistently relevant story for all ages.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that Jesus was no ideologue: sometimes he encouraged people to join him, other times he offered then another path. I think of Zacchaeus, the despised and wealthy tax collector, whom Jesus embraced and feasted with: he wasn’t asked to leave it all behind – just make right relations with those he’d harmed – so Zacchaeus to let go of half his sav-ings but continued to live in his home community. And let’s not forget Mary Magdalene whom Jesus let make her own choice – he was grateful that she did sign on with the tour and used her resources to help feed the group – but she did so without any pressure and without obligation. Do you hear what I’m saying?

The universal practice of Christ’s spirituality is yielding: pick up your Cross, let distractions go, and trust the path of relinquishment. The way this happens, however, is always personal and unique. That’s one reason why the spirituality of Jesus was first called: the way. It was a way of living, a way of being, a way of the Cross. And St. Mark underscores this throughout his storytelling by using a precise word: hodos. It is the word the early faith community used to define itself: People of the Way (hodos.) Our English translations make it hard to see how St. Mark repeatedly uses this same Greek word, hodos, throughout his story. He wants us to know that trusting God is a journey – hodos – a way of being not a religious institution defined by creed or cult. In the first chapter of his gospel, St. Mark speaks about preparing the way of the Lord: hodos. Later, Jesus is described as the one who teaches us the truth of God’s way: hodos.

+ When Jesus asks his friends, “who do the people say I am?” chapter 8 tells us that he was on the way – hodos – same too when the disciples argue about who is the greatest among them – the story says that they were on the way to Jerusalem – hodos.

+ Tonight’s passage starts by saying that “Jesus was setting out on a journey” – hodos. It is a journey to the Cross, a journey to Jerusalem, a journey of faith – and ALL of these journeys – hodos – have something to do with letting go as the way of Jesus.

Some commentators suggest that St. Mark places tonight’s story directly after Jesus receives and welcomes the little wounded children with healing to contrast the hodos of letting go and sharing love – even at the cost of his life – with the hodos of one so caught up in his possessions that they have become a prison. We spoke of this last week where Jesus proclaims that whoever receives one of these little ones – children who most likely were sick and vulnerable – receives me. Then, speaking from his heart, Jesus adds: for such emptiness and vulnerability is the way – the hodos – that leads to the kingdom of God. Two other texts rooted in prophetic Judaism come to mind about the hodos of Jesus as well: First, the song of Mary, the Magnificat, which she sings in celebration of Christ’s unique birth: My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is his name. God’s mercy is for those who live with awe from generation to generation. God has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich empty away.

Second are the words of Jesus used in Matthew, Mark, and Luke: What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and forfeit their soul? Do hear the connection between letting go and being blessed by God along the way? The way of Jesus lets go of the habits and practices of the status quo in order to trust God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind. In this, the way of Jesus is antithetical to institutional religion. So, let’s play with this for a moment and consider how the way of Jesus, one incarnation of God’s word, is linked with God’s first incarnation in creation and nature itself. Right now, in the Northern hemisphere we’re entering the sacramental season of autumn which holds carries a unique spiritual message for us if we have eyes to see. Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote:

The earth that is) finite manifests the infinite where the physical becomes the doorway to the spiritual. If we can accept this principle called “incarnation,” (where God’s word becomes flesh) then we might see that all we need (in life) is right here and right now—in this world.This is the way to that! Heaven includes earth and earth includes heaven. (For nature shows us that) there are not sacred and profane things, places, and moments, there are only sacred and desecrated things, places, and moments—and it is we alone who desecrate them by our lack of awareness and reverence. (God has given us) one sacred universe, and we are all a part of it. Rohr then adds: The first act of divine revelation is creation itself. The first Bible is the Bible of nature. It was written at least 13.8 billion years ago, at the moment that we call the Big Bang, long before the Bible of words.

St. Paul celebrates this truth in the opening words of his letter to the Romans: “Ever since God created the world, God’s everlasting power and divinity—however invisible—are there for the mind to see in the things that God has made” (Romans 1:20). One really wonders how we missed that. Words gave us something to argue about, I guess, while nature can only be respected, enjoyed, and looked at with admiration and awe. Don’t dare put the second Bible in the hands of people who have not sat lovingly at the feet of the first Bible. They will invariably manipulate, mangle, and murder the written text.

On the equinox this year I came across a pre-Christian aphorism from ancient
Wales that celebrates the spirituality of autumn like this: “Light and darkness, in equal balance, remind us that hope balances despair, and that all that falls into the dark will one day rise again into the light.” St. Mary Oliver’s poem, “Autumn Song,” posits much the same thing:

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.

This is how hope has been rekindled in my heart: by witnessing every day the way of God reveals all that is sacred through the FIRST word of the Lord. God’s witness in nature tells me that faith is about balance, letting go, and trusting that every day starts with a sunrise and ends with a sunset. That each season begins softly, ripens in due course, and then slowly fades into completion before yet another renewal; that spring follows winter and fall follows summer. That each life – and each day – has ups and downs, blessings and troubles, celebrations and sorrows. That the well-ordered unfolding of time is a silent reminder that I can trust God’s steadfast love to endure forever. David Cole, a master of reclaiming ancient Celtic insights for our day, notes that the old calendar had:

… Eight high points each year set six weeks apart with four changing seasons, two solstices as well as two equinoxes… The order and rhythm was obvious – like the seasons where we watch the trees and flowers change in dramatic ways in front of our eyes – and subtle – like the stars shifting in the sky each night and how the sunrise and sunset moves backwards and forwards along the horizon throughout the year. Much of our modern western world has become com-pletely detached from the turnings of the earth, the cycle of the seasons… and in this we have lost the intrinsic relationship the natural world holds for sustaining both physical and spiritual life.

To be sure, there is still suffering and darkness, chaos and even destruction in God’s first word. There is mystery, too, like how the hell DOES a virus like the Delta Variant of COVID flow and ebb in real life. But, as the Jewish wisdom tradition affirms, there is also a sacred balance to rest within:

To everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to harvest… a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

Now I didn’t grow up noticing Mother Nature, the cycle of the seasons, or the ebb and flow of light and dark. It wasn’t part of my spiritual tradition to look for the holy in ordinary things either. So, like many working- and middle-class kids, I took creation for granted. It’s only been in the past 20 years, as outward events have shaken my faith and weakened my former sources of assurance, that I’ve started to witness and experience the presence of the holy revealed in nature – and a tree in the wetlands behind our home has become my favorite teacher. The insights of some First Nations people have helped. So, too the ancient Celts and some poets. But my tutor has been a big, flaming tree in the wetlands.

+Right now, she’s saturated with shimmering yellows and oranges. But soon, her leaves will fall, and she’ll be naked. Over the course of the winter, there will be times when she’ll look strong and other times that she’ll look dead although I’ve learned that even in this state a lot will be happening under the ground with her root connections.

+ And then, when spring sneaks up on us in these parts, I’ll see the soil around her trunk has melted the snow – a clear sign that nutrition is flowing upwards again and her season of rest will be over – and almost overnight a sudden crop of little red buds will pop out only to be-come green leaves and then white flowers as her sacred cycle starts all over again.

I’ve been watching this wise old friend for almost 15 years now, and she consistently proves to me that God’s steadfast love endures forever. Grace, she tells me, never quits. Holy love can be trusted even when other events cause me to fret or fear. “Light and darkness,” those old wisdom keepers of ancient Wales knew, “remind us that hope balances despair, and that all that falls into the dark will one day rise again into the light.” Another wandering mystic within nature, Herman Hesse, wrote: For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves…

Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth; for they do not preach learning or precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden within me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life… A tree says: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy; life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your restless thoughts will grow silent.

My mentoring tree tells me what the Psalmist assured us all: be still – and know. Know the way, know the truth, know the life. It’s all connected – and if we listen, we can hear hope in this silence. I like the way Pope Francis put it: “Nothing in nature lives for itself. Rivers don’t drink their own water. Trees don’t eat their own fruit. The Sun doesn’t shine for itself nor is a flower’s fragrance for its own enjoyment. Living for each other is the rule of nature.” This is the first word incarnated by God – and it is as true for each and all of us as for all creation

This season feels like home to me. Beginning back with the autumnal equinox and running through the numinous darkness of All Hollow’s Eve, All Saints Day, the day of the Dead and Advent, I’m awash in the colors, sounds, sights, and spirituality of autumn. They’re a resting place of beauty and solitude that calls me to step back from the exciting, extroverted, and public ways of the summer and take stock of what must be relinquished. Outwardly, the bold greens and harvest bounty incrementally give way to subdued browns and countless shades of nuanced grey that are easy on my eyes. Right now, the wetlands are bursting with bold reds, yellows, browns, greens, and oranges, one last show of outward beauty that will soon let go in a soothing emptiness. And the pumpkins – oh, Lord, let me NEVER forget the blessings of all these pumpkins. The spirituality of this season marks the close of one year on route to the opening of another A prayer from an old Scots-man is a good place to quit: As the trees are stripped of foliage, Lord, may we be stripped of clutter. As the leaves fall to the ground, Sacred Heart, may we fall into your quiet rest. And as the crops ready for harvest are gathered, may the wisdom of our days be garnered.

see video @ https://fb.watch/8Ab75fJpKn/

small is holy resumes for the feast day of st. francis: october 3 @ 4 pm

This Sunday we return to the online reflections and liturgy of Small is Holy. (Please join us @ ttps://www.facebook.com/Be-Still-and-Know-913217865701531) It is the Feast Day of St. Francis and our return to our small group of friends seeking to go deeper into contemplation and compassion. Our Evening Prayer Eucharist will follow this order borrowing from the Celtic communities of Northumbria, Iona, and Corrymeela.

Small is Holy Evening Prayer and Eucharist
At 4:00 PM (EST) we open with quiet music for gathering and centering.

We gather in peace,
In the name of God: the Creator + Christ, and Holy Spirit. Amen
My soul waits for the Lord,
More than those who watch in the morning.
Out of the depths I have cried to you, O God.
O Lord, hear my voice.
With my whole heart I want to praise you.
O Lord, hear my voice.
If you, O Lord, should mark my iniquities:
Who could stand? O who could stand?
So I will wait upon the Lord
And rest like a child upon her mother’s breast.

Let All Things Now Living (Katherine Davis/ASH GROVE)
Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving
To God our Creator triumphantly raise;
Who fashioned and made us, protected and stayed us,
By guiding us on to the end of our days.
God’s banners are o’er us, pure light goes before us,
A pillar of fire shining forth in the night.
Till shadows have vanished and darkness is banished,
As forward we travel from light into Light.

Scripture Reading: Psalm 131 and St. Mark 10: 13-16

Response in Song: Alleluia, allelu; alleluia, allelu; alleluia, allelu; alleluia.

Reflection

Response in Song: Ca va bien aller – All shall be well with God – Alleluia (3x)

Invitation to God’s Open Table (Iona)

The Great Thanksgiving
The Lord is with you – And also with you.
Lift up your hearts – We lift them up to God.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God 

It is right to give God thanks and praise.
It is right…

Sanctus
Holy, holy, holy God Ruler All-Loving: heaven and earth are full of your glory. Glory be to you, O God. Blessed is the One who comes, who comes in the name of God. Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna in the highest.

The Eucharist Prayer continues and closes with the Lord’s Prayer. Please pray this in whatever form resonates with your heart…

Our Father in heaven, hallowed by your name: your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread; and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil; for the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever. Amen.

The bread and wine are blessed and prepared for sharing.

The bread which we bless + and share is our participation in the brokenness of the world. 

And the cup which we bless + and share is our participation in the celebration of joy. 

These are the gifts of God for the whole people of God: come for all things are ready.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: grant us peace.

We share the bread of life and the cup of blessing.

Prayer and Song (South Africa/Community of Celebration)
Sing amen: Amen we praise your name, O God.
Sing amen: Amen, we praise your name, O God.
Amen: amen, amen, amen, amen.
Amen we praise your name, O God.

Prayer of Parting
Lord, you have always given us bread for the coming day; and though I am poor:
Today I believe.
You have always given peace for the coming day; and though of anxious heart:
Today I believe.
You have always kept us safe in trials; and now, tried as I am:
Today I believe.
You have always marked the road for the coming day and though it may be hidden:
Today I believe.
Lord, you have always lightened this darkness of mine; and the night has come:
Today I believe.
Lord, you have always spoken when time was ripe; and though you are silent now:
Today I believe.
Go in peace to love and share God’s presence by your being:
Thanks be to God.

gypsy soul, hippie heart, bohemian spirit...

We arrived home in the gentle Berkshire hills last night about 8:30 pm. We left sweet Montréal midday and took a slow visit to one of the small cities in the Eastern Townships: Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu. It is just one hour south of Montréal but a world apart. The "townships" - home to the Inspector Gamache series by Louise Penny - have become our favorite "resting" place. Truth be told, we ache to live there. Or, at the very least, to spend spring and summer, as they are rural, mostly très français (with key exceptions), eclectic, beautiful, and wonderfully restful. We have explored various places in the townships and continue to be attracted by their creativity and earthiness. 

Besides being on the Richelieu River, a sacred setting in my earth-centered
spirituality, two places grabbed us:

+ Gypsie Bohème: a small local craft store filled with art, herbs, jewelry, incense and more created by regional artisans. We chatted with the owner and the very helpful attendant in both French and English. One of the things that has saved us time and again is attempting to start a conversation in French and then, when confusion reigns, asking if we might go slower and/or switch to English. These two women were open, helpful, encouraging, and wise. We took home a number of indigenous goodies and can't wait to return. Indeed, their enthusiasm has us pondering how we might rent out our Berkshire home for the summer and head to the townships. How can you beat their mission statement: Ame gypsie, cœur hippie, esprit bohème (gypsy soul, hippie heart, bohemian spirit.) Please check out their site @ https://www.gypsieboheme.com/atelier-boutique/

+ Le Planc: a chill hipster pub with poutine, mac and cheese, and other local comfort foods in a very easy-going context. The young woman server was very gentle with us when we got lost in her French. She engaged us, however, and helped us make sense of the menu in both French and English. And the food was smokin' good! As some know, I pay careful attention to the "small threads of synchronicity" that pop up when I attentive and try to discern what deeper insights might be revealed. Di and I had been talking about music, various Rod Stewart songs in particular, and I was raving about "Every Picture Tells a Story." And what just happened to be playing in Le Planc? Brother Rod in his best incarnation... (OMG do I LOVE this song.) You can check them out here:

https://www.facebook.com/laplank/?fref=ts

And now we're home: I cut the way too high grass, gathered up Lucie from the kennel and reconnected with a spiritual direction friend. I made dinner, did some laundry, and sorted out my homily for Friday's L'Arche Ottawa community prayers. The world is freakin' crazy - probably always has been - and certainly will be for the foreseeable future. But the Spirit is still alive and nourishing if you take a little time.

as one door closes and another is peeked through...

We head out one last time to wander in Montréal. It has been a grand time of rest and renewal for both Di and myself and, while we're sad to leave, we're also ready to be back in our own digs. One of the challenges I've been walking with since our departure two weeks ago is: what does a new year of Small is Holy look like? While we in Massachusetts have weathered the worst of the pandemic - 68% of us are fully vaccinated and still wearing masks - that is not the case for much of these semi-United States. Further, it seems clear that the next six to eight months will be lived as transitional time into our brave, new world. Carrie Newcomer calls this a season of unravelling where we've been summoned to become better people than we ever imagined.

We have lived through the process of unraveling and reweaving the threads of our lives where we now face the possibility of transformation after crisis. We have all lived through a time of great unraveling... and with great disruption comes a possibility for change. We can’t just be healed; we must be transformed.

I certainly have experienced both unraveling and reweaving over the past 18 months - and I've been grateful to God to share it with you. As summer fades into fall and then tenderly morphs into winter, a hope-filled report from NPR suggests that:

After a summer crushed by the delta variant, we're almost too nervous to send you this shot of hope: Researchers say the most likely scenario for the coming months is that children will get vaccinated and no superspreading variant will emerge.

Connie Hanzhang Jin/NPR If this model plays out, the researchers project that new cases would likely drop from about 140,000 a day now to about 9,000 a day by March. Deaths would fall from about 1,500 a day now to fewer than 100 a day. That means we may soon breath a sigh of relief. But one of the lead researchers says the group remains cautious. "The virus has shown us time and time again t+hat new variants or people loosening up on how careful they're being can lead things to come roaring back," he said. So what does that suggest for our tiny gathering of Sunday morning friends at Small is Holy? I have discerned a few insights: + First, I know that I want to continue holding our live streaming reflections: They offer me a chance to prayerfully reflect on what contemplative and compassionate living might mean in this strange, sacred, and sometimes scary season of life. They also keep me in communion with you even as I mostly live in solitude. + Second, I want to continue to do so on Sundays: Even if I have moved away from a deep presence in traditional Christianity, it remains my beautiful albeit broken home. As I loved to say years ago: THIS is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. I also want to continue celebrating Eucharist online, too and observing the deep ecumenism of our liturgical seasons. + Third, I'm thinking of changing our time from 10 am to something more like a Vespers/Evening Prayer time, say perhaps 4 pm. I don't know if that shift would resonate with others, but it feels like coming together at the end of the day for quiet prayer, music, and spiritual reflection might offer us, myself included, time to a part of the emerging reweaving. I know that I will be going back into community at L'Arche Ottawa on a more regular basis now that the border is open. I hope to visit with our children and grandchildren as well. An evening prayer gathering offers me - and perhaps you, too - great flexibility in this betwix and between era. To that end, I'm going to give it a shot NEXT Sunday, the Feast Day of St. Francis, October 3rd @ 4 pm. I was moved by this FB meme from the late, great St. Leonard Cohen. He captures much that is in my heart today.

bringing it all back home...

We are heading into our last three days of anniversary wandering: as much fun as it has been, with lots of together time and talk, we're both ready to slip back into our monastic-like routines in our own home with our wacky dog. Di has students to reconnect with, I have writing and some re-visioning to do with Small is Holy, and it will soon be Louie's 8th birthday to celebrate. And while I hope to make being in community at L'Arche Ottawa a more regular occurrence now that the border is open, we have some land to clear, gardens to prepare for winter, and a few more outside house repairs to accomplish.

Yesterday was a quiet walk through the Mile End neighborhood. It is just over the line from St. Laurent, the historic geographic division between French and English Montréal, making this area wonderfully bilingual in the 21st century. Our favorite Anglophone book store is here, Stephen Welch Books, as well as a small stand selling the world's best fresh gnocchi. It is a physically beautiful area of town and we always fantasize about living here. For a lark, Di checked the monthly rent and it's only about 5K! And so the dreaming continues.

Today will be a bit of nostalgia for us at le marché Jean-Talon, Parc Baldwin, and then a farewell evening at our all-time favorite jazz club Dièse Onze (check it out here: http://www.dieseonze.com) Le marché Jean-Talon in Petite Italie is another favorite neighborhood. It's where we first landed 15 years ago when we sensed a desire to be flâneurs in this grand city. It is a world class farmers market with some of the best Quebec fruit and vegetables arrayed in abundance with an eye for beauty. Even if we don't buy anything - highly unlikely - there's a little crêperie to die for - that always captures our attention. We'll head there by car as we have to move our auto by 2 pm for weekly street cleaning. (By the way, parking here is a bitch, but that's another story entirely!)

Then we'll slip over to Parc Baldwin at the end of L'Avenue Mont Royal - our old digs while on sabbatical - and just take in the quiet beauty. We would often stroll to this park in the early evening both because it is lovely and to give Lucie her constitutional. About half way through that experience an old Francophone woman started to greet us regularly - and then share some of her fresh garden vegetables with us. It is a quiet, attractive, anddown to earth part of le Plateau that we wish we could live in, too. A picture of Di and Lucie from our last night in Montréal still graces my IPhone. And then, after naps, one last night of live Québécois jazz!

In so many ways this get away has been refreshing and clarifying. For me it has been a chance to consciously live into my prayers: embodied spirituality. My body has taught me some of the constraints of aging; a few of those limitations can be changed but most require acceptance. I also know better how to be with Di as her health changes. We've both rested well. We have experienced the innate goodness of countless people who in small ways incarnate comfort and grace into a broken world. And we've watched as Mother Nature slowly reveals her commitment to balance as summer slips into fall.

I came upon this quote from Aldous Huxley that cuts to the chase:

from whence comes a vision...

Earlier this week, while still wandering in the mystery that is Montréal, I was buying groceries in a market off St. Laurent. While bagging my goodies, the young blonde clerk said, "I really like your bag." That caught me off-guard - the picture on the front is the Virgin of Guadalupe - and all day I had been wondering, "What are the metaphors and symbols that guide/shape contemporary people who do not embrace a faith tradition?" 

Over an extended lunch in a small park, you see, Di and I had joined another couple for an introduction to Québécois French. One insightful and naughty section took us through the curse words of this culture - and they are all religious terms signifying the long tension between hard-working, ordinary people and the Roman Catholic hierarchy. With an impish grin, our instructor told us that since the Quiet Revolution of the 1960's everyone uses these words to curse, but few know what they represent given the dramatic secularization of Québec society. We had fun explaining what the religious meanings of words like Tabernacle, Chalice, and stoles meant beyond their current curse value. McGill professor, Douglas John Hall, has written that within one generation there was a rapid collapse of public support for the Church in this province and asks: does this prefigure what secularization means for other Western nations? Walking home from the market I couldn't help but muse over the young clerk's appreciation for my grocery bag. What did she like about it? Why did she make the effort to say in both English and French that it was lovely? What value does the Mexican Virgin Mary hold for her? For others?

My curiosity continued as we hiked the Stations of the Cross yesterday in Oka. It is a two mile hike up the mountain dotted with seven small chapels telling the story of Christ's crucifixion. The view from the top looks out over forests, rivers, and the Adirondack mountains in the distance. Aesthetically it is well worth the effort and as the day evolved we encountered a handful of hikers who chose to do so: they were young and older, some clearly out for the exercise, others who found value in this embodied prayer. After the first chapel, Di and I wondered aloud about what metaphors, symbols, and clues give shape, form, and even meaning to this generation? 

Some have suggested the Leonard Cohen has become a secular saint. His devotion to poetry, beauty, struggle, sensuality, irony, and humility might be a clue. He certainly evokes sorrow and celebration simultaneously in songs like "Dance Me to the End of Love." He also freely borrows from Judaism and Christianity filtered through a lens of Western intellectual Zen Buddhism. But this is not the case for nearly a third of young America and probably more in Canada and Western Europe: they have no training or roots in spiritual traditions of any type. Walking slowly - and sometimes painfully - towards the top of this devotional mountain, feeling and thinking about the struggles of my journey through life, my own tradition clearly offers me clues about how to find meaning in the chaos. The liturgy of the Eucharist, the hymns, the texts, the various embodied prayers, icons and stories all help me sort out where I am on the road of life. So how do others without this grounding sort things out? Clearly, I have no idea... 

To be sure, I've read some of the studies conducted with the "nones" (none of the religious categories stated above) as well as SBNRs (spiritual but not religious) folk. Their analyses mention a mistrust of institutions, a desire for mysticism, and encounters with the holy. They also speak of a shared desire to live compassionately with a respect for the environment. But no one has identified the guiding symbols that give focus and direction to those living into this brave new world. The best clue I've come up with to date is mandolinist Chris Thile's new recording: Laysongs. (https://www.americamagazine.org/arts-culture/2021/09/16/chris-thile-laysongs-mandolin-review-241284) I want to listen to this carefully. If anyone who reads this has some other clues, please send me a note.

following the tiny threads of synchronicity...

After an all too short trip to be with friends in the L'Arche Ottawa community on Sunday and Monday, we returned to home base in Montréal. It was a joy to party and sing with these dear friends and then spend a good chunk of Monday in various meetings to continue building tender community in the L'Arche charism. Beyond the uncertainties of COVID we face some rigorous challenges entering the community's 50th year. But that is what Jubilee is all about: reconciliation with authenticity and justice, compassionate accountability for past wounds, and a desire to walk humbly in God's spirit of trust. We have our work cut out for us. I closed our planning meeting noting that the words of Jesus from the finale of St. John's gospel are among my favorites:

Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.

After a pregnant pause, one wise soul said, "That's not your favorite scripture because you LIKE it, right?" We laughed and I replied, "No, but it is true - and it is where we are right now!" As the Psalmist used to sing: "It is so good and healing to be together with sisters and brothers in unity." Leaving was sweet sorrow and I am already anticipating my return in October.

Today we had an extensive lesson in Québécois French: it will take more time than the sacred has allotted to me to grasp the intricate and wonderful distinctions of this branch of the language - but it was a total blast giving it a shot. I am going to keep working on whatever French I can muster over the next year so that at the very least I can sing more songs a français in community. Already I'm working on a simple round to the prayer the Québécois shared during the pandemic: ça va bien aller - all shall be well - from St. Julian of Norwich. Our instructor, Alissa Bonneville, was sharp, insightful, a ton of fun, and wildly creative. Afterwards, as we looked for small souvenirs for the grandchildren I came upon a graphic novel telling the story of Leonard Cohen's life. Serendipitously, I later received a note from a friend in L'Arche that today is St. Leonard's feast day (born this day in 1934.)

While in community, another friend and community member shared with me a hand crafter ceramic crucifix that has been in her family for a few generations. It is poignant and holy - and I love it. I was told that it used to be the costume to give a crucifix like this to young Québécois families upon the purchase of their first home. I am honored in ways beyond words to receive this sacred treasure. My friend, who regularly translates my little Zoom homilies into beautifully poetic French said, "Looking upon the crosses on the wall of your study gave me the idea and I didn't want this to leave our family. You are family." Thanks be to God. I am so blessed. 

We have been so graciously welcomed by our Québécois and L'Arche friends both francophone and anglophone. It is a humbling responsibility to live into this love and it came at just the right time in my life. Those who read my words often know that I pay attention to the "little threads of synchronicity" that show up along our journey and gently whisper: follow me. As if by confirmation, when I walked up St. Laurent tonight to buy some groceries after the normal pleasantries of greeting, the young check out clerk said to me: j'adore votre sac (I love your bag.) It's a recycled grocery bag with the Virgin of Guadalupe on it. I smiled, touched my heart and replied, "Merci beaucoup. Moi aussi." There are connections of love and tenderness to be made everyday if we're not too tired, afraid, or busy to notice. Tomorrow we're off to the wetlands north of the city and then into the Côte-des-Neiges neighborhood.

random thoughts after a week away in Montréal...

We arrived in town a week ago today. I may have posted that our trip north was lovely and uneventful until we reached the border. It seems as if our COVID test was 74 hours old rather than the proscribed 72. Who knew such precision was essential; we thought 72 hours meant three days! Now we know better. So, after answering the young guard's questions, we were directed to a mobile COVID test site for a new fast test. We registered with the provincial government's online tracking site, swabbed each nostril for 15 seconds, inserted the swab in a sealed test tube and awaited the results. We were declared COVID free 5 minutes later and the entire affair took about 45 minutes. 

+ I am grateful that Quebec is being pro-active re: tracking and testing. Their commitment to the vaccine passport has been in effect since September 1st and all the venues we have visited have been conscientious in adhering to the letter of the law. This is prudent - unlike so many of my nation's local governments. Alas, there are clearly two United States: one respects science and lives into the common good while the other blindly resists testing and vaccinations. The former is discovering new and safe ways to move into our brave new world, the later are dying. Dare I say: talk about karma? I grieve the horrific deaths that are now flooding Southern hospitals with anguished and suffering people of all ages. AND this is NOT a tragedy: it could have been avoided and never should have happened.

+ Our Canadian friends are as mystified by the anti-vaxxers in their country as we are in ours: the depth of conspiracy theories, however, is greater in the USA. As we speak with local business people who have endured chaos, loss of business, governmental uncertainty, financial distress among their employees, and now belligerent and uncooperative citizens who oppose the new COVID protocols, there is a remarkable unanimity in their comments: life is upside-down now in the worst possible way. With time-tested solutions to the plague it is only selfishness and sometimes greed driving the anti-vax hordes. They are a discrete minority, to be sure, but still a troubling presence. I make a point of talking to both business owners and clerks about this and they all agree that there is a clear path out of this wilderness but it needs everyone's participation.

This was in full display earlier this week when we ventured down to Place des Arts for a Jazz Festival concert. Here's what was required to get in - and please know that I support it fully. First, we had to register on line with Ticket Master to get our free tickets; as a part of this registration was a COVID test questionnaire. Second, after securing our free passes - with both paper and smart phone authentication - we had to show our vaccination records to the Jazz Festival checkers. Third, we had to show the vaccination wrist bands to another set of festival guards. Fourth, after a check for weapons, we had to show our pre-registered free passes at one of four performance centers. The crowd for each concert was divided into a variety of groups so that social distancing could happen AND COVID tracking could take place in the event of an outbreak. It was well organized, reasonably efficient, and very, very different from the festival feel of previous concerts. It felt like a wise next step into what is still to emerge: subdued, masked, and controlled. 

That this reality is the polar opposite of jazz...? Well, let's just say we only went to the downtown concerts once. It's been much more fun to join our old friends at Diese Onze (where we're returning tonight) for an intimate, COVID safe gig with a top drawer jazz trio. A few other random thoughts:

+ For the past four months Avenue du Mont-Royal has been turned into a pedestrian walk-way. The hope was that this would bring foot traffic to an area of the city that needed support. It looked like a number of businesses that we knew from six years ago have given up the ghost to COVID. A few new ones have taken their place and the wonderful Avenue du Mont-Royal is tenuously holding on like the rest of us.

+ At St. James United Church the large open area in front of the Sanctuary has been turned into a massive sandbox for children and their families. A small Black Lives Matters information table was being staffed as downtown folk gathered in the open air. There is a bit of playfulness here alongside the desperation of the people of the streets. A few buskers were giving it a shot, too but the vibe is decidedly suppressed.

+ The streets of this grand city are in disarray as a decade's long replacement of aging water mains continues. When we were on sabbatical here six years ago, Rue Sherbrooke was a mess. Same too for Avenue St. Denis. The industrial carnage has now moved to side streets making non-residential parking even more precious than before. Thankfully the city's excellent mass transportation system of subways and buses works well. Given Di's reality, however, the Metro still needs to give attention to their handicapped accessible ports of entry and egress. 

+ Yesterday we gathered in the Anglophone section of the city near Marche Atwater to visit with the Montréal contingent of the English Farm: the online English learning firm they all work for. For the past three years, Di has been calling this group together whenever we can get up here. They are young, brilliant, funny, and creative people and teachers. We shared laughs, sushi, fresh fruit, and stories for three hours. After 18 months of solitude, however, my introverted sweetheart is feeling exhausted. We're both being way more physically engaged while here with lots of walking. We both love this but it's taking its toll on her so besides some evening jazz we'll take it slow.

Being so closely linked in this studio flat has been another learning time for me as I see how I can be supportive of Di when fibromyalgia flares. At home, in our quiet and monastic setting, each day is simple and easily paced. Here we face many more challenges: hills, steps, negotiating a bi-lingual world, being "on" after so many months of silence, etc. Medication has been a Godsend and yet even that has its limitations. What's more, we leave for a quick visit to my L'Arche Ottawa friends and community tomorrow. We'll visit, sing, and catch-up together on Sunday evening before I have a full day of meetings. Staying close to home today therefore is good medicine.