But wait - wasn't it chocolate cake?

I have always loved Holy Saturday.  Whereas Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (The Great Vigil of Easter through the Sunrise Service to the Festival Celebration of the Resurrection) are stuffed full of liturgical possibilities, Holy Saturday is -

Empty.  Vacant.  Still.  How does one sacralize thin space - liminal space?  Chrysalis time.  Womb time - where everything is happening behind the scenes that makes the impending celebration possible.  Sabbath rest time.  Richard Rohr calls it "the crucial in-between time - when everything actually happens and yet nothing appears to be happening.  It is the waiting period when the cake bakes, the movement is made, the transformation takes place" (Wondrous Encounters:  Scripture for Lent, p 141).  Perhaps it is because there are no set expectations of how this time is meant to be observed that allows for the presence of that intoxicating scent of freedom and possibility.

I pruned rose bushes for Holy Saturday.  I simply could not stay indoors on such a glorious day.  In the backyard I was serenaded by the birds, and joined God in creating the space for beauty in the near future.  Every once in a while the traffic noise from Meridian Road was still, and I could hear the chickens from the farm across the road.  Our development doesn't allow chickens, but they encourage spraying the lawns with chemicals to kill the bugs that chickens would naturally eat.  Silly rules.

I made a pot of spring vegetable soup.  I listened to the birds.  I put aloe on the cuts from the thorns.  I felt the warmth of the sun seeping deeper into my body, until my joints all seemed to take a deep breath and relax.  Nice.

In many ways all of Lent has been thin space for me, so much so that words were not possible.  But I notice that the words are back again, so perhaps the cake is almost done.  I confess that what is emerging in my soul is unexpected (I thought for sure I put a chocolate cake in the oven, but that's not what I smell)...

...but the fragrance is delightful - mysterious - welcome.  I celebrate this unexpected emerging gift.

What new life/new possibilities/new beginning is emerging for you at the end of this sacred journey?

Easter blessings,
Kim

Bread of Heaven

Yesterday was bread baking day at the Monastery, which means that every inch of the building - chapel included - was filled with the fragrance of freshly baked bread.  Since bread is one of my favorite foods (ever), I find the aroma to be almost intoxicating.  Sadly, it is not something I can enjoy right now, so the longing went unfulfilled.  Freshly baked bread is not something I can eat; it no longer sustains me.  But I still love it, and miss it!  Rice bread, or sprouted organic "who knows what" bread just doesn't taste the same as a lovely loaf of oatmeal bread.

When David was growing up I made oatmeal bread with some regularity.  One day (when we lived in Taborton), I took two loaves out of the oven and put them on the counter to cool - a stick of margarine next to them that had been used to "butter" the tops of the hot loaves.  I went into the other room to read, and a little while later had a sense that I needed to go back into the kitchen.  When I turned the corner I found our labrador puppy Cali sitting on the counter starting on her second loaf of bread - her face and paws smeared with what was left of the margarine.  I fully understood where she was coming from!

With this longing unfulfilled, I was tempted to go down the "woe is me" path (or "woe unto me" if I wanted to be Biblical), but my better angels encouraged me to instead think about what does and can sustain me.

What is bread for me now - today - at this place in my life?  What sustains me, nourishes me, and helps me to be healthy and well?  What gives me life?  Quickly these questions took me from the realm of whole wheat or rye to the very core of what keeps my soul alive.

I return to Boise tomorrow having spent valuable time here being challenged and nourished - sitting with questions that brought forth important answers.  I was embraced by the love and respect of this special community, and go back to my daily life with their prayers and blessings.  My experience here is bread for me now; the challenge is to find an equally nourishing source of bread back in Boise.

What is bread for you?  Where do you find your sustenance?  What gives you life?

Bread for the journey,
Kim

Robin repast, and lambs and their choices...

This is the first year I've noticed the flocking habits of robins.  They first caught my attention a few weeks ago when the sky darkened outside my office window as no fewer than a hundred robins landed for a feeding frenzy on the crab apple trees adorning the church property (the first time, I might add, that I saw a useful purpose for those @&%! trees)!  Although robins have a reputation for being territorial, I watched with utter amazement as they worked together to created Robin Thanksgiving -some bounced on branches and pecked at fruit until it fell onto the ground (which I might add, is the major drawback of these trees) while other birds savored the repast falling from the sky.  They stayed about forty-five minutes, flew up into the trees, serenaded us with their lyrical signature tune, and then were gone.  It was quite the sight!  A smaller group (maybe 25) were feeding outside my window this morning.  There was just enough sun hitting the window to keep me obscured from their vision by the glare.  They fed within inches of the window, until a cloud passed by and revealed my location - and away they flew!  It was nice to share breakfast with them - although I prefer my oat bran to their invertebrate food of choice!  A flock of robins pulling spring and new life into the world by their sheer numbers - amazing!

That I noticed the robins this year is a sign that my primary New Year's intention (read: resolution) is continuing to unfold:  I set the intention to consciously be more aware - awake - notice - God's presence  in the world around me.  Since I equate God with that which brings life (and is life), the robins - a traditional harbinger of spring and new life - connect me deeply with God.

It was a quiet day today - ample time for reading and reflection, worship, birdsong, proofing bulletins for worship this Sunday (the wonders of technology) and a long, reflective chat with my spiritual director.  It was also the day I asked to borrow "The Book."

"The Book" first caught my attention my first year here at Cottonwood.  I had come up for retreat, filled with the usual questions about leadership that pastors like me carry around in their heart, and in the course of a completely unrelated conversation, heard a quote from a book by Ruth Fox, OSB entitled Wisdom Leadership.  I was captivated by the quote, and looked for the book in the library (no copy), checked Amazon (never heard of it), did a google search (nada), and finally went to my director and asked if she knew where I could find this book.  She loaned me her copy, and I went back to my room and read it in one sitting - thrilled to find a book that talked about leadership in a way that made sense to my heart as well as my head.  I knew that this book, and the ideas within it, would guide me into becoming a more effective leader while keeping me true to my values and beliefs.  What a gift - and challenge!

Almost every visit back to the Monastery I have asked to borrow "The Book," and dipped into its wisdom on another aspect of leadership (this pastor has no end to her questions about what it means to express healthy leadership in a Christian community).  The book always challenges me, and never disappoints me.  I once even contacted the author to see if she could locate an extra copy of her book for me - it is the kind of book that belongs on my nightstand!  Alas, she knew of no extra copies (it was self-published by the Sacred Heart Monastery in Richardton, North Dakota), and all the copies she had were gone.  I accepted that I would only have access to "The Book" while on retreat, and called reading and discussing this book the "leadership seminar" that was part of my retreat time.

As I sat with "The Book" today, I felt compelled to try Amazon one more time - to see if they had a copy.  And they did!  A library had parted with their copy (fools!) and it was on Amazon for less than lunch at Shangri La.  Soon it will be on my nightstand, and can inspire and challenge me daily.

One of today's most precious blessings (even more than Amazon and "The Book") was my time meditating in front of the reredos in the chapel.  This amazing reredos is designed to allow the artwork to be changed - I love it when the Hubble/Holy Spirit image is up there - the universality of Spirit is breathtaking.  But instead of my favorite image, now there is a painting of Jesus finding and helping a lost lamb.  Not my preferred kind of artwork - the standard, barefoot European Jesus romantically helping the lost lamb - ho hum.   But today I spent some time with it and noticed...attended...contemplated...and saw that the lamb was scratched and bleeding, and caught in a thorn bush...saw that Jesus was pulling back the branches of thorn bush so the lamb could step back and be free.  Will the lamb step out of the thorns into freedom?  That, my friends, is the $ 64,000 question posed to all people (and lambs).

The God who pulls back the wounding obstacles and gives us the choice to step away and be free - what a beautiful image of God!  How much God must love and respect us to give us that choice - I note with interest that the artist doesn't have Jesus lifting the lamb out of the bush or pulling the lamb into freedom.  Instead, Jesus, with bare hands, grasps the thorny branches and holds them back.  The rest is up to the lamb.  And us.

With love and blessings,
Kim

Glory

My guardian angels were on active duty today as I drove up the 95 to Cottonwood, Idaho, and a Lenten Retreat with the Sisters of St. Gertrude.  Each mile driven took me deeper into the signs of spring and new life, from the adorable lambies at Thompson Ranch and the sweet calvies grazing on the hillsides, to the bald eagle that flew across my path somewhere between New Meadows and Riggins  - and the ancient willow shimmering in that new coat of  yellow/green.  By the time I arrived here I was completely enchanted by what I had seen - creation works her magic yet again!  I was probably the most distracted driver on the road today, and it had nothing to do with technology or mind-altering substances.  I saw my first bald eagle in flight - incredible!

I settled into my room by pulling the rocker in front of the window so I could savor the view.  A visit with my spiritual director reminded me of the importance of rest, prayer, and play (they have an art/play room now - with a sandbox)!!!!!  Studies show that this combination of deep relaxation, inspiration and recreation (read: play) sparks creativity as it refreshes the soul.  We'll see - right now I'm less worried about outcomes and instead focused on being present, aware and awake for this sacred time with God.

The word for this retreat is kindness - I've been invited to show deep kindness to myself.

After dinner tonight I sat in front of the window and watched a herd of deer cross the meadow as the stars appeared.  It is a crisp, clear night, and I found myself being beckoned outside...so with a few words of encouragement to my knee, I bundled up, grabbed two canes, and hobbled out to the hillside.  As I looked up at the Milky Way and listened to the deep call of an owl, the only words I could say were glory...

...and amen.

May you know the renewing power of the natural world - and may you see abundant signs of spring!

With love,
Kim

Manna on Thursday

God stopped by my office for a chat on Thursday - a surprise visit, to be sure.  That there was a visit to my office scheduled for that time was not the surprise...the unexpected part was that it was God who came along for the visit.

We had been talking only a few minutes when I noticed that this was not going as I had anticipated.  Instead, over the course of half a hour, God shared some very important truths with me via my visitor -

- that God had indeed noticed what was going in in my heart and circumstances...
- that God cared deeply about what was happening...
- that I was not alone...
- that I was a capable adult and more than equal to the tasks before me

Noticed - cared for - not alone - capable - what gifts to be offered during this unexpected visit!  Just when I think I have God's behaviors and routines all mapped out, I am reminded yet again that God is not a puppet at the end of my strings - but is completely free to surprise me at will and provide me with bread sufficient for the day (and then some).

To be reduced to awe and silence is a great gift.  On Thursday I could only smile - there were no words.  By Friday I could say "thank you."  And today, well, I can say that my soul was fed manna on Thursday, thanks to the the open heart of a person who invited God to accompany them to an appointment with their pastor.  They were quite a team!

What would this coming week look like if you invited God to accompany you as you interacted with people?  Conversations, meetings, appointments, chance encounters - how might they be transformed if God joined you in the experience?

Still smiling from being noticed, cared for and reassured - bread from heaven -
Kim

View from the Sea of Galilee

Long ago, when I was in high school and spending the summer in a music camp, I broke curfew to engage in some last night of summer school wildness.  Chautauqua Institution was not a place prone to late night mischief, and we gave the police (in their golf carts) a night to remember.  Hurlbut Church wasn't locked (and in a residential area), so we began by starting a 3 am organ recital with full organ.  When lights starting going on in neighboring houses, we grabbed the contents of the lost and found box, raced through the center of town and ran towards the lake, decorating the stop signs with sweaters and jackets as we went.  We then switched the North Lake Dr. and South Lake Dr. signs (they hung on hooks making switching them child's play) and were just about to get away with our low stakes mischief when the police started to chase us (remember the golf carts).  We split up and ran in different directions, running as fast as we could.  A friend and I ran towards the lake, forgetting that there was a large scale model of the holy land in the vicinity.  I tripped over Bethsaida, flew up into the air and landed on my back in the Sea of Galilee - with my friend holding her hand over my mouth so I didn't scream out in pain.  Once the police golf carts were long gone, we crawled out of the Sea of Galilee, and limped back to our dorm, giggling as we went.  Our exploits made the local newspaper - you would have thought we had started a crime spree!  The next day I headed home from the heady excitement of my summer experience to Labor Day weekend and the anonymity of a High School with over 1000 in my graduating class.  Reentry was extremely difficult, because at Chautauqua I was known and had an identity that differed from my reality back in Kenmore, NY.  The challenge was to meld the two together so that I could be "me" in both places, different though they were.  It was a daunting challenge at 16.

Thirty-eight years later, I find myself experiencing a similar-though-not-exactly-the-same kind of reentry challenge.  How can I build the same affirming experiences/schedule/opportunities into my daily life away from Seminary?  How can the "me" that is nourished, valued and respected at SFTS thrive here in an environment with very different expectations and challenges?

The past few weeks I've felt like I've been lying on my back in the Sea of Galilee - not a comfortable feeling.  I found myself unable to write, and acutely aware of entering into this deepening spiral known as Lent.  Reentry is not always easy, but can be a time rich with opportunities for insight and growth (known as an AFGE when one is feeling cynical and wishing for one less growth opportunity, and called a gift when one is rested and open - and ready for what is emerging).  Even though life has felt like an unending series of AFGEs lately, there has also been a quiet, invitational pull coming from deep within, drawing me along this spiral dance into the heart of Lent.  Richard Rohr's Lenten devotional has been a companion, as has two special icons - one of the Transfiguration, and the other of Mary Magdalene.  She holds a red egg in her hand - a symbol of life.

New life and transformation - not bad companions as I travel this Lenten journey.  

What or who has been your companion as you travel into Lent?

Drying off from my unexpected fall into the lake,

Kim

"If a tree falls in a Facebook post, does it make a sound?"

Just as classism, sexism, and racism provide ideological undergirdings for the oppression of people on the basis of class, gender, and race, so the destruction of the ecosystem is undergirded by the ideology of naturism.  Naturism is a way of thinking and dwelling that places the human species at the top of a hierarchy in which other species are relegated to the status of objects to be exploited.  In the hierarchy of being, the human being is at the top of the holy order and other objects are assigned meaning only as they serve the purposes of human beings.  Naturism is the ideology that undergirds our genocidal acts against nature.

- Eleazar S. Fernandez, Reimagining the Human:  Theological Anthropology in 

Response To Systemic Evil  - (a must read for anyone trying to understand how God,

humanity, classism, sexism, racism, and ecocide are interconnected.  Not an

easy read, but a necessary read all who feel called to a justice ministry and a just life)

It is funny how the simplest of concepts can unlock profound revelations.  The past two weeks we have been engaged in substantive discussions round the role of nature in Christian theology and life - is it just the stage on which God and humanity act (merely a backdrop), or is the relationship less mechanistic and more vital?  Instead of seeing ourselves as separate from nature, can we accept that we are nature - we share a common creation story and the same basic building blocks of life with trees and butterflies and elephant seals and roses and algae - we are part of the web of life, not the master of it.  Can we give up our anthropocentric (and androcentric) illusion in favor of a different approach to understanding our place in the cosmos?

I left early this morning to get to Muir Woods before the crowds descended in tour buses.  I arrived before the Park Attendants opened up the ticket booth, and looked forward to some silence and stillness in what is left of a beautiful, old growth forest.  Ample benches dotted the trail, so I had many places from which to sit and meditate on the beauty of the forest.  I noticed that at first the forest seemed to absorb the noise of the visitors (clearly the idea of communing with nature in silence was only on my agenda today).  It was hard work, but for the first 45 minutes the forest managed to absorb the onslaught of shouting, talking on cell phones, endless conversations about all manner of thing - all while people engaged in behaviors such as checking emails (while walking on the trail), power-walking on the trail (heads down, watching what was right in front of them), and loudly debating where to go for brunch after getting the trail "done" as quickly as possible.  Some people stopped and read the trail instructive signs - some people read them out loud.  The one sign that was almost uniformly missed was the one asking people to be quiet in Cathedral Grove - where I was sitting.  Lots of people took photographs - some posted them on Facebook immediately and others in their group watched their phones to see when they would "get" the picture of the tree that was right in front of them.  I found myself with a mixture of emotions including incredulity, annoyance, some frustration, curiosity, some pleasure (it is nice to see people happy together), hope (when people would stop long enough to notice the trees) but sadness (as they looked at their pictures of the trees on Facebook instead of actually looking at the trees).  

There came a time (around 8:45 am) when the forest could no longer absorb the presence of the people, and it was like a loud speaker was turned on full volume.  When I got to the parking lot and saw the row of tour buses, I understood why - our ecosystem can only absorb so much...an important lesson to remember.

The drive from Muir Woods to Stinson Beach gives breathtaking views of the ocean.  The bad-good news is that you dare not look too long lest you mow down a cyclist (very narrow roads).  The good news is that I think I saw more cyclists today than motorists - nice to see folks doing their part for the environment, even if they sometimes show contempt for motorists and gesture in ways that I haven't seen since high school.  Maybe one day I can join them and ride the roads on a bike - I've now had the refresher course for conversing with motorists through sign language.

The beach was lovely and warm - I prefer Drake's Beach (where I was yesterday), but Stinson was ok.  The roar of the ocean was the dominant sound for the first hour - and then the human population swelled and out-roared the sea.  I found myself torn between watching the surf (which was enchanting) and watching adults with their back turned to the sea as they watched things on their cell phones.  Beach blanket, cooler, ipad.  Children playing in the sand, parents on their iphones - not talking, but looking at data.  People walking along the beach with a phone in their hand and their eyes glued to it - again and again and again.  Wow.  Again, a mixture of emotions - joy over the beauty of creation and pleasure at seeing adults plbut deep curiosity over what was on those silly phones that was more beautiful than the Pacific Ocean on a beautiful sunny day?

Once the sea was out-roared by the humans, I headed for the car and drove towards Pt. Reyes - only to be surprised by a "haul out" of elephant seals in a nondescript shallow area of a estuary.  I pulled off the road, rolled down the window and sat for about 30 minutes watching the seal pups through my binoculars.  They were incredible!  Cars and cyclists whizzed by as I sat and watched these beautiful creatures.  Then I found my way to Sir Francis Drake Blvd. which is the road back to San Anselmo.  A few miles along is Samuel P Taylor State Park, which is almost always quiet.  I paid my fee and drove as far in as I could and parked by a stand of tall trees.  No one else was around.  I sat in silence with the trees around me, the sound of the Lagunitas Creek passing by, and the ever present sound of cars from the road.  But the trees were able to absorb the sound - it was lovely.  A moth/butterfly caught my eye - it was fun to watch.  After about a half hour, I said goodbye to my tree friends and headed back to read some more of Eleazar's challenging book.

What does it mean to be part of the web of life, instead of being the center of it?  Can we humans accept that the universe does not revolve around us, and that we have a calling to embrace our true place in the cosmos?  If we see ourselves as nature (instead of seeing nature as something we visit and photograph and post pictures of on Facebook) does that free us to work creatively and cooperatively with nature - with creation - with God who is embodied in nature?   We treat the "other" (be it the poor, people of color, women, nature) with a level of proprietary ambivalence - if the "other" meets my needs and serves me, it is useful; otherwise, it is useless.  This thinking says that trees are useful for what they can do for me - be it paper products or entertainment, or absorbing the excess CO2 my lifestyle emits.  They serve me by giving me more oxygen.  Can I grow to the point that I see the intrinsic value in trees simply because they are trees?  

The linking Fernandez does of classism, sexism, racism and naturism makes a bold proclamation - it is all of one piece.  Each impacts the other - no "ism" exists in isolation.  The good news is that the theory of simultaneity states that acting in one area also impacts the others - a thought that brings hope.  But before we can act to address the "isms," we must understand our role in perpetuating them.

The sun has set, and I have yet to pull the shades on the window that looks out at the big trees, and the hillside that is a grazing place for the deer visitors who one day were my lunch buddies.  They came back today - late afternoon.  But only four.  I stopped what I was doing (reading Fernandez) to be with them.  To notice them; to respect them.  What if I treated the created world (including all humans) with the same respect?  

The common story also helps us understand that though we may be different, as others are different, we are also intrinsically related and interdependent.  Individuality (particularity) is an important feature of this common story, but we are also connected to the whole.  We are not "self-made being," but we belong to the web of life.  We cannot totally separate ourselves from the world of nature, and we do so only at our own peril.  What happens to the world, happens to us, for the elements that are in the cosmos and the air that we breathe are connected with the elements of our bodies.  (Fernandez, 

Reimagining the Human, p 172).

To think these thoughts, to see these things and not change and grow would be sin.  God, save me from the sin of indifference and from believing the lie that claims that the actions of one person are insufficient to bring about change.

And all the trees and deer and moths and mosquitoes, and one woman sitting at her computer join voices and say, "Amen."

Thinking of a few small changes,

Kim