Shining Spirit

Tucked away on an infrequently visited bookshelf, this little red Bible is worn around the edges and the pages are beginning to yellow. It is old. Things happen as you get older. But this isn’t about my latest visit to the doctor. Or yours, either.

This is about a little book that has a big message. If the number of Bibles one has on the shelf determines sainthood, I am now St. Roger. But among the many translations is this one, the little red one that belonged to my Mom, and it still has something to say. The first time I opened the little red book I thought to myself: this little book has Mom’s heart prints all over it. That’s particularly true when I turned to the back, inside cover. In this usually blank space after the writing has stopped, I found thirteen little strips of paper glued to the blank surface. Each strip of paper had a message in a few printed words. “The time will come when civilized man will feel that the rights of every living creature on earth are as sacred as his own.” Mom loved animals. “Animals are such agreeable friends: they ask no questions; they pass no criticisms.” “Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.”

Maybe you have something that reminds you of someone special, or a special moment in your personal history. I’ve said many times that we cannot live in the past. But we can certainly learn from the past, respect and honor the past, and give thanks that Love speaks to us in so many ways, through photos, letters or notes discovered, and little Red Books.

Thank you, God, for the Word contained between the covers of this book, and thank you for the heart prints that give it life even now.

I learned yesterday that Robert Willis, former Dean of Canterbury Cathedral, died October 22 of this year. I didn’t know the quiet, gentle man; never met him and he did not know me. I was, though, a member of his Garden Congregation, a creative response to the terror called Covid. When the terrible illness struck, churches, among other public gathering places, shut their doors. Crowds of potentially infected people posed great problems. So, Fr. Robert thought: If they can’t come to the church, the church will come to them electronically. So, he created morning prayer each day in the lovely Cathedral garden where his onsite congregation consisted of thousands of online viewers and local congregants: chickens, pigs, cats, rabbits, birds, ducks…any and every living thing was invited to The Garden Congregation. It was not at all unusual for Fr. Robert to speak of the Love of God will holding a cat in his lap, balancing his Bible in one hand while scratching a pig’s ear with the other hand. He was authentic. He was a kind man who cared for his “flock.”

I offer the following as a tribute to the man who pulled many, many of us through the dark days of Covid.

The Garden Congregation

They had a meeting in the garden today,
a sad meeting, a weeping meeting.
“Is it true?” a large white duck asked a piglet.
“Tell me it’s not true.”

“It is so sadly true,” piglet replied.
“But,” said duck, “who will cast grain for us
across the lawn? Who will pour milk for Leo
and Lilly and Tiger?” Piglet sprawled on the
ground: “But who will scratch behind my
ears anymore?”

A choir of circling birds looked down
on the empty lawn chair and began
singing a dirge of despair. There is
no lap I can jump into, thought the cat.
Chickens wandered aimlessly through
the trees and along the old wall.
And there on the simple little table that
held his tea set was a single pitcher,
the small one that held milk for
kitten’s paw, now turned on its side.

At the hour of his usual appearing,
black cassock dragging through the wet
grass, prayerbook cradled under his arm,
tea set rattling with each step,
at that moment the Cathedral bells
clanged into a harmony that swept
through the streets and the halls and
the homes of Canterbury, causing all the
aimless animals to look up into the sky.

“Did you see him? I saw him,” the
gray cat exclaimed. “There. Just
above the pointy steeple.” But when
they all looked, the gentle puff of
cloud had disappeared into soft
droplets of rain that fell over the
garden. Some said later that it
didn’t rain anywhere else that morning,
only on the garden and the animals
awaiting his appearing.

Only on the Garden Congregation of his
tending where his gentle voice is silent
until the roses bloom another day.

“Come to me all who labor…and I will give you rest.”
Matthew 11:28

“I think I shall never see
a poem lovely as a tree…”
From “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer

Redwoods, ancient guardians
Maples, flame-throwers of color
Aspens, white-coated mountain spirits
Oaks, sturdy neighbors along the country road
Pines, mass choirs chanting sacred melody

Trees talk in their own language, communicate with each other, living – breathing – speaking

Trees promote mental health…ever take a walk in the woods?
Trees clean the air…particle filters
Trees are high-rise apartments for wildlife…sparrows and eagles
Trees cool the climate…the ultimate refreshment: shade
Trees filter our water…life in a gulp

My infant child’s crib, the carvings of artistic masters,
the cane that allows me to walk
I cannot live without trees.
The world cannot survive without trees.

Then, why do we cut down 27,000 trees
globally every day to make toilet paper?
27,000 Every day

There must be a better way.

“I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as a…” roll of toilet paper.
(Sorry JK)

I can give you 14 reasons why you should
never chop a hole in the roof --
bumblebees   rain   snow 
woodpeckers  dust
and 9 more

Unless you are locked out of something
absolutely  surely  certainly
critically important
like love

What if I knock a hole in the roof
and it starts to rain?
Dance in the puddles

What if a bird flies in?
Invite her to tea

What if dust settles on everything?
Draw pictures with your finger

What if I break through and
love isn't there?

What if I don't and
it is?

According to my records, this was the first photograph published on Shining Spirit more than a decade ago. The most recent posting was number 1,040. I found myself strolling down memory lane early this morning when I opened my eyes to this Sunday dawn with bits and pieces of an old song tumbling around in my brain. Here are some of the memory pieces: “the little congregation,” “chapel bells,” “little Jimmy Brown.” You won’t remember the song unless you can make it back to 1959.

Sung by The Browns, the song “The Three Bells” was a huge hit. I guess it was with me because it has stuck around for 65 years in the crevices of my consciousness. And, of course, given the wonder of our technology, I entered a few words in a search process and within one minute I had the name of the song, the artists, and a You Tube of the song being sung at The Grand Old Opry. We’ve come a long way in 65 years.

The photo above is still powerful in its contemporary message. This morning I see the bridge, the deep fog that obscures one end of it, and an almost eerie quietness in the forest setting. Given the uncertainties of our own day, are we coming out of the fog or into it? The unknown teases some and terrifies others. If I am driving into the blinding fog, what waits ahead? I want to see the curves and turns in the road, but I cannot. How does my faith inform my responses and reactions to the fog?

In hindsight, 1959 seems to have been a quieter time. More stable? Probably not. It hadn’t been so long since we came out of a World War. Korea was next. Viet Nam waited. Maybe there has always been fog at the end of the narrow bridge. Maybe the road has never been comfortably clear. For those of us who are approaching the fog, clutching the steering wheel until our hands ache, tenuous and tired and troubled by what might be lurking around the next unseen curve, I offer three words that, like The Three Bells song, insist on escaping from my mind this morning. The words are Despair, Daring, and Devotion.
These words were not in my consciousness when I started writing this post. They have come out of the fog and offered themselves to us.

Despair: some of us have chosen this word and we dread waking every day to disillusionment and doubt. We live in a house of fear.

Daring: some of us have determined to be daring. Or, as one writer put it: Stand up. Speak out. Speak often. Demand truth. We will live in a house of courage.

Devotion: some of us, and I hope most, will draw hope and strength from the faith that we profess. If we really believe it, now is the time to live it. We will live in a house of faith, a house built on a Rock, a house framed with the strong supports of values, principles, and ethics.

Like it or not, there is bridge ahead, a bridge that leads into an unknown. Will it shape us or will we shape it? Last thought: as I read back over these words, I realize that I’ve simply described the way life is for millions of people in hundreds of places at any hour on the clock. We can’t see the end of the bridge ahead, so we have a choice to make. The house in which you choose to live will make a big difference. Don’t fear the fog; follow the Way. Press on.

Just because you spread your wings doesn’t mean you will fly. The air is waiting for you, but there is some effort needed to soar. The bird sitting on my balcony railing jumped into the air with his wings moving up and down, and he rose gracefully into the morning breeze. The breeze lifted him because he trusted the air and he did his part.

Bit of a similarity there, do you think. Today, if you want to fly, trust the Spirit to lift you as you give yourself to that surrounding and abiding power. Soar, glide, do acrobatic rolls…flap your wings if you want to stay airborne. Live today very intentionally by the wisdom of Jesus, by the sacred Wind we call The Spirit, and by the love of God given to you so that you can give it away.

Leap into life. Flap those wings. Come on! Let’s fly!

If you have Luke 17 handy, take a moment and read the story of the 10 lepers who approached Jesus and asked for help. Go ahead; I’ll wait.

Now, with that story in mind, here are some observations. We know from history that any person diagnosed with Leprosy was isolated from community. They were cast out of the village and left to roam on their own. To be sure that a “clean” citizen knew of a leper’s proximity, the afflicted person was forced to wear or carry a bell to signal their presence and to call out: Unclean! Unclean! as they moved around the outskirts of the village. So, in the story, the 10 lepers call out from a distance. They beg for healing and for mercy.

Here are three things to note about this story:
1. Jesus tells them “Go and show yourselves to the priest.” And as they went they were healed. Not before they went…as they went. They left Jesus still leprous and found their healing as they followed his instructions. Trust comes to mind. How often do I want to have the assurance in hand, the answer given before I take my first step. “We can’t go to the priest, Jesus. Look at us. We have leprosy. Heal us and then we will go.” A pastor friend used to call it “stepping out in faith.”

2. Ten went and one came back. All got the healing but only one was grateful enough to say Thank You. The others were probably celebrating, walking the streets for the first time, shaking hands with their neighbors. But one came back. Gratitude is an essential element in our faith. I wonder if this grateful man even got to the priest? “Then one of them, when he saw he had been healed, turned back.”

3. The one who came back was not a Jew. “He was a Samaritan.” He was a foreigner, a menace, a threat to Jewish welfare. Do you think Jesus is making a point by telling us that the man was a Samaritan? I do, too. That even our enemies need mercy and healing, not rejection and hate. In fact, why “enemy” anyway?

So, three points to ponder. Take a few minutes and let this wonderful story marinate in your mind. Ponder it. I’ll wait.

Years and years ago, someone planted a tree but never saw it grow. It takes time for trees to mature. But, full grown, the tree provided cooling shade for people, animals, for the earth itself. It lived its life authentically. Each year the tree would dress up in a colorful robe of reds and yellows. People came from everywhere go admire the tree’s beauty. Then, when the air grew crisp, the tree, assisted by a friendly northern wind, shook and shook until all the leaves tumbled to the ground. And there it stood, stripped of its colorful leaves, now revealing a marvelous work of art. What artist could create something as stunning as the stark reality that waits just below the surface? What artist, indeed.

Only One.

In a time when we define “Hero” as a political figure who has trouble with truth, an ego-dominated actor, an overpaid professional athlete, a multi-billionaire who doesn’t know what share means, (add your own here), it’s good to remember that once upon a time “hero” meant someone who possessed valor, an understanding of what it means to sacrifice and did it, and the decency not to brag about it. There are more heroes in the world today than you may realize. They live in big cities, on farms, in little towns like Sunnyvale, Texas. Might even be your next-door neighbor. Remember them. They made a difference, in life and in death. “Thank you for your service,” is not a glib phrase. If you say it, mean it. If you hear it, take it personally. To all who today or yesterday served the common good, thank you.

I have a bone to pick with Jiminy Cricket. In the 1940 film Pinocchio, the cricket sang “When You Wish Upon A Star.” Remember the tune and the words? “Makes no difference who you are. Anything your heart desires will come to you.” How about a ham sandwich or a warm coat or a cure for my child’s disease? I was halfway through a TV program last night before I realized that I was watching something bordering on obscene. I was drooling over the walk-through and description of an eight-story townhouse on the Upper West Side in NYC. For sale, by the way. The sleek couple taking me through the place stood on the circular staircase that was continuous from floor one to floor eight. To say it was magnificent would be a gross understatement. If you’re interested, it may still be on the market. Only $85M…that’s Million. When you wish upon a star….anything? Let me tell you one thing I really wish for, and it’s not a 19,000 square foot townhouse in Manhattan. Show me the right star and I will double down on my wish for patience, specific patience, not the generic type. Call me grumpy, but I seem to have less and less patience with folks who unashamedly wear their version of the Christian faith like a lucky charm on a bracelet. It’s as if they are buying stock on the NYSE. An investment. A retirement plan, eternal. But Jesus isn’t selling Whole Life policies. He is, though, offering life on His terms. Some of us…many of us, need to rethink reality. There are basic principles that pertain to accumulating wealth…enough is always just a little more; build bigger barns; cut corners when necessary. And there are basic principles when it comes to aligning yourself with Jesus…by giving you receive; dying to self is birth into life; do unto others.

When you wish upon a star….which one, Jiminy? Anything, you say? Justice? Kindness? Mercy? Cheapening Christ comes as the result of picking the wrong star…the one that reflects one’s own self image.

Grumpy, I know.