Even though the day be laden

When I realized that I hadn't posted here since March 24, I couldn't quite figure out why, so I went back through those dates in my emails and on my calendar.

Since March 24,
I've celebrated Passover, Maundy Thursday, Easter—with extra choir rehearsals;
I've had my basement flood for the second time this spring, and cleaned it up;
I've led worship several times, preached and designed a service once;
along with colleagues, over the past two months, I wrote, edited and compiled a 650 page response to a state request for proposal on the agency's largest contract—a process that has to have been the most tedious thing I have ever done in my work life;
then I played catch up at work while interviewing to hire for a new position;
my mother has fallen twice and I've worried a lot;
my daughter has had some difficult things that fortunately she talks about with me, but almost always late at night;
we had a boil water order in our area for one weekend and part of the week because the metropolitan water supply line broke;
I've tried to get my yard into shape again after the winter.
That's a sampling…

In other words, I've been living a rather over-full life. I did make time for some intentional contemplation and centering. With all of this, though, I didn't have the energy to take my contemplations and reflections and turn them back around again into writing. That's okay. Sometimes, things need to simmer.

A thank you is in order to my friend, John B., for his recent Facebook posts for their inspiration, then:

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, God's mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:21-23

What a wonderful reminder today, when it is a lovely fresh and new spring morning.

John's second contribution was this poem that he said summarized his life just now (he's finishing seminary and has been organizing his papers and books).

At Fifty-Seven

By Mark Nepo on 05-14-2010

I feel like I stumbled
down a hill of years, only
to land in a pile of my books.

Along the way, I cracked
like a Russian doll; finding
something smaller and more
essential inside every version
I've known as me.

And now, when all I know
bursts into flame each time
I try to give it away, I'm asked
what matters.

There's something perfect
in how we're worn; like sculptures
left for Spirit and wind to finish, the
film taken from our eye just as
our heart is exposed, one
crumbling into the other.

John mentioned that you can subscribe to these postings here, so I did. Today as I was contemplating whether I should mop the kitchen floor, vacuum the rugs, mow the lawn, or do something else entirely (like write), I got a new posting, entitled My Messy House by Kathleen Norris, and this line struck me.

If the house is messy, they might have said, why not clean it up, why not make it into a place where God might wish to dwell?

God always dwells with us, and yet we need to make space and time to remember that. We need to clear out the clutter in our space, our lives, and our calendars to have room for what is truly important.

One thing I have held onto through all of the physical and mental labor of the last seven weeks is the spiritual and emotional assurance that God is always with us. My theme song during this time came from the Northumbria Community whom I first "met" via the book Celtic Daily Prayer. I had the book, but discovered their prayers are online, as is some of their music, and I ordered the music and recordings for Celtic Daily Prayer and Waymarks as an Easter present to myself. Their words and music have been the backbone of my contemplative practices these past weeks.

Even though the day be laden is from their Waymarks CD (also available as an mp3 download).

Even though the day be laden

and my task dreary

and my strength small,

a song keeps singing in my heart,

for I know that I am thine,

I am part of thee,

thou art kin to me,

and all my times,

all my times are in thy hands.

Sing that slowly and then work it up to jig tempo. May your tasks be lightened by song and by a reminder of God's ever present grace and love in your life today.

God’s Green Earth

I am writing from a chemical free, green, organic bed and breakfast, Topia Inn in Adams, MA. Coolest decorative finishes here: the walls are covered with clay, not paint; wood, some cherry, I believe, and some oak, floors were finished with non-toxic finishes; the carpets on the stairs are cotton and hemp; linens are organic cotton, air is filtered. Topia provides organic, chemical fragrance free toiletries for your use—not that all organic means non-allergenic—I can sneeze at organics and biologics too. Like many such places this green renovation of the inn was prompted when one of the co-owners developed multiple chemical sensitivities during the renovation of an old armory into an arts center and while running a restaurant. We got a peek at the armory cum theater and it is clear that detox still needs to occur, although the first pass has made a big improvement. Inexpensive theater rental rates now—all a part of an artistic and economic redevelopment project for the town.

Artistic highlight of our visit: On Thursday evening we went to a concert in the courtyard of the armory. Singer/composer Razia Said and her band performed. Razia is from Madagascar, and her band members were from Madagascar, Brazil, New York and Cleveland, as well as getting back up vocals from the inn co-owners, and the sitar player of the Greek raised inn co-owner, Nana. Still on the green theme, several of the songs she sang, promoting her new album Zebu Nation, soon to be distributed by Putamayo Music, were about the ecological problems facing Madagascar: Slash and Burn was the only one in English, but she has composed both laments and songs of hope in Malagasy, and if you ever listen to world music, track this down—I recommend it, and plan to bring home a copy.

Over breakfast both mornings we had great conversations with a couple of our fellow guests, and it turns out that David runs an information website called the Green Yankee. I checked it briefly and it is as wry, witty and down to earth as he was in person. He’s a cook, gardener and generally curious/interesting person, and the website reflects that.

If you haven’t had the chance to drive Route 2 in the western half of Massachusetts, aka the Mohawk Trail, this is a good year to do it. Everything is lush and green from all of the rain we’ve had—this was in marked contrast to the dry high desert mesas of my trip a couple of weeks ago, but truly an example that God must love and encourage variety as a creator and in creation. Do pull off Route 2 onto Route 8 north and take 30 minutes to an hour to see the Natural Bridge State Park. With water levels high, the only marble dam in the country is letting a lot of water pour through the Natural Bridge—one of the wonders of the natural world—where water has carved a tunnel through rock and left a natural bridge above. This is one part where I am reminded of the Arches National Park rock formations in Utah, only most of these rocks are marble, not sandstone. Cool, both in temperature and as vista, but noisy from the rush of the water!

I'm preaching next Sunday, and have been thinking about using the alternative Hebrew Bible text about Elijah’s encounter with God in 1 Kings 19:11-13 where Elijah meets God at Horeb—not in wind, earthquake, fire, but in sheer silence. "… and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'"

Perhaps this green excursion can serve as a reminder that we all need to find some quiet time to answer that question, particularly as it regards God’s green earth: "what are you doing here" to protect and be good stewards of creation? I am heartened that many Christian conservatives have begun to rethink the dispensationalist position that the earth was going to burn up, so we may as well use it up.

And finally, fittingly, I found where the phrase God's green earth originated: this poem originally published in The Scottish Christian Herald:

The Spirit of the Seasons
By the Rev. W. M. Hetherington

Оh! beautiful is God's green earth!
When in the gentle Spring
Its flowery beauties leap to birth,
And wild-wood echoes ring.
Instructive with melodious joy,
Glad Nature's anthem pure and high,
To Him whose goodness gave them birth:
Oh! beautiful is God's green earth!

Oh! beautiful is God's bright earth !
In Summer's golden prime,
When tides of light and life roll forth
Round every kindling clime;
Till the full bloom of gracious love,
O'er earth below and heaven above,
Beams in majestic splendour forth:
Oh! beautiful is God's bright earth!

Oh! beautiful is God's rich earth!
'Neath Autumn's gorgeous skies,
When the deep robe of ripened worth
O'er Nature's bosom lies;
Benignest dignity and grace
Adorning her maternal face
With heavenly smiles of conscious worth:
Oh! beautiful is God's rich earth!

Oh! beautiful is God's grand earth!
When Winter's mighty spell
Bids tempests in their savage mirth
O'er land and ocean yell;
Locks up pool, lake, and stream, or throws
O'er hill and dale soft veiling snows;
Pours through each vein health's glowing mirth:
Oh! beautiful is God's grand earth!

Oh! beautiful is God's green earth!
The changing Seasons all,
But give its varied glories birth,
And on man's spirit call
For grateful praise: О God above,
While life is mine still shall I love
Thy works, still shew their beauties forth,
Still praise Thee in thine own green earth!

Travel Reading: Music, Madness, and God

I just came home from a week of travel and mostly the vacation part of the trip was in books. I recommend the following:

The Soloist by Steve Lopez
This is a powerful encounter by journalist Steve Lopez with homeless schizophrenic and Juilliard trained bass player Nathaniel Ayers. Lopez first sees Ayers on a corner in Los Angeles playing a two stringed violin. Lopez goes beyond journalism to friendship, using his newspaper column to campaign for better services for homeless people in general and for Mr. Ayers in particular. It's a bumpy road, and a fascinating read.

It's also a movie—I don't know if it does the book justice, but the website is promising. The movie tagline is "No one changes anything by playing it safe." The soundtrack to the movie by Dario Marianelli is Beethoven inspired and at least the snippets I found on iTunes are lovely and moving. Music and madness come together and come apart.

As I leave his apartment one day shortly after he moved in, he calls me back and holds out his hand. It's a long, firm handshake, followed by a smile. I look into his eyes and see the man he's always been behind the racing, spinning madness. The son who lost a father. The musician who lost a chance. No, we don't have too many so-called normal conversations. But what's normal? I hold his hand in mine, and neither of us needs to say a thing.

By Heresies Distressed by David Weber
This is the third in this series by Weber, just released in hardcover. Teaser available from Baen Publishing. If you like thoughtful examinations of the consequences of the combination of religion and power, read this whole series, starting with Off Armageddon Reef, continuing with By Schism Rent Asunder. Can religious fundamentalism keep humanity safe? Can one person change the course of a world's history? Can creativity and innovation be controlled by religious hierarchy? Can religion not be corrupted by power? The quest for power is assuredly one road to madness, and Weber offers several portraits of those who succumb to power's madness vs. those who do not. If you liked Sharon Shinn's Archangel series, you'll like this series by David Weber too. If you haven't read Shinn's series, read it as well!

Song of the Beast by Carol Berg
"How much is required of a man chosen by a god?" One man hears the gods through music, and must be silenced by those in power, because what the gods want is to be set free. After seventeen years of torture, including seven years of silence, the protagonist leaves his prison to find out what his crime was. This book was a find in a small town Colorado library, by a Colorado author.

An Equal Music by Vikram Seth
This is a love story, about the passion, madness and disappointments in love and music. Beautifully written. Here's the final paragraph:

Music, such music, is a sufficient gift. Why ask for happiness; why hope not to grieve? It is enough, it is to be blessed enough, to live from day to day and to hear such music – not too much, or the soul could not sustain it – from time to time.

The Fifth Woman by Henning Mankell
This Swedish crime novel is a true psychological thriller—not much in the way of music or God, but much of madness.

I was going to read Speaking of Faith by Krista Tippett on the flight home, but instead my daughter finished reading and laughing, then handed me Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie by David Lubar, required summer reading as she enters high school. This is a story of how one high school freshman keeps his sanity by maintaining his sense of humor. As we returned from the annual pilgrimage to the town where I went to high school—a place that is no longer my home, I think I might be able to add to narrator Scott Hudson's list of

Things That Happen So Far Apart That you Forget How Bad They Are:
School dances
Dentist appointments
Hernia tests
Award shows
Chicken goulash in the cafeteria

My additions:
Middle seats on airplanes
Airport security lines
Continental breakfast in most motels
Conversational attempts with some relatives

Nonetheless, my reading and travels reminded me that music can be glorious, madness is relative, God is evident in all creation, and most people in the western United States tend to be 1) more friendly than most easterners, and 2) more afraid of coming east than easterners are of going west.

This afternoon I went to a memorial service for the beloved husband of a long-time colleague. He loved to read and was quite a joyful and special person. This poem by Emily Dickinson was printed on the memorial service program leaflet. It seems an appropriate cap for my week's worth of reading.

He ate and drank the precious Words—
His spirit grew robust—
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was Dust –

He danced along the dingy Days
And this Bequest of Wings
Was but a Book—What Liberty
A loosened spirit brings -

Back to work tomorrow, preaching this coming Sunday—we'll see how the books and travel will loosen my spirit and inform the week ahead.