Following the recipe.....

I love to cook and enjoy experimenting with new recipes.  If I’m thinking of cooking something I’ve found on-line, I often read the comments. Some of them are very helpful, but others are astounding, even nervy! For example, I read comments like these for a recipe I recently tried: 

“I don’t like fish sauce; can I use Worcestershire and soy instead? But will soy add too much salt?”

“Would this work with fish instead of pork?”

“I don’t want to cook this if it smells up my house.”

“This seems like a lot of work.  Can I skip the step of sautéing the veggies?”

And then the perfect comment – a reply to some like those I’ve mentioned:  “Just make a different recipe. If you don’t want to do all this, you aren’t really ready to cook this.”

Some folks seem to approach their faith this way:

“I don’t like that commandment.  Can I do this instead?”  

“Would it work to worship at the golf course instead of at church?  Can’t I get close to God in nature?”

“Will this affect how I live?  Will it sometimes be unpleasant?”

“This seems like a lot of work.  I don’t want to have to do stuff when I come to church.  Can’t I just sit in the pew and skip all that?”

And so the answer to all this is similar to the reply to those posting on the recipe site: If folks aren’t willing to do what it takes, then they probably aren’t ready to be real Christians.  Not to be too harsh, but maybe they should decide if this calling is really for them.  Maybe they should just take it easy and order the religious equivalent of takeout -- no effort, no fuss, no investment.  

Unless we are willing to follow the directions (given to us in the Bible and the lives of the faithful), and follow the Christ, we won't be able to “taste and see that the Lord is good.”  

I made the dish, by the directions in the recipe, and it was pretty good!

“This was my life”

It is hard to fathom the destruction that the floods of Florence left behind. Yesterday, we traveled one of the roads that has just been reopened.  All along the way, debris is piled high.  And it is this way all over our county.

Bulldozers and dump trucks will come and pick it all up at some point but almost two months later, folks are still cleaning up.  We drive along and see houses all open, windows up and doors wide open.  People are trying to dry things out.  And there is no need to lock anything up since there is nothing left to protect.  A favorite restaurant is now a pile of rubble. The owner and all his employees have lost their livelihood and they won’t get it back.  

A small trailer park looks like a ghost town, with vacant windows and doors, all dark and smelly.  The people who lived there will have to try to go back.  I can’t imagine moving back into a trailer that was filled with filthy water.  But they likely still owe on the trailers, and they probably have nowhere else to go.

All kinds of stuff is piled up by the road:  refrigerators, sofas, family Christmas ornaments, pink insulation, photograph albums, baby clothes, furniture passed down for generations.  And it is all ruined.  

Friends told me of one woman standing in her front yard.  She pointed to the shell of her house and said “That was my house.” But then she looked at the pile of stuff out by the road and said, “That was my life.”

It is heartbreaking. 

The Parable of the Loving Father

I recently spent several days in Montreat, North Carolina.  There is a chapel there with a very large fresco that is the focus of the worship space.  

The fresco tells the story of the prodigal son.  You see the son and the father in the center, the prodigal on his knees, the father’s hand raised in blessing.  And there is  something in the scene that would have been unheard of in the courtyard of a Jewish home -- pigs!  They are there because this fresco tells the whole story of the prodigal.  To the right is the older brother.  He stands alone, in his fine robes, scowling at what is happening.  There are servants bringing a robe and other things. And there is the fatted calf.  In that part of the painting, there is the clear outline of a cross. I suppose the artist painted it that way to remind us of Christ’s sacrificial love – like the love of the father giving up his entire estate for his children – both of them, not just the prodigal.

That’s one of the surprises of this story.  It was the younger son who asked for his share of the inheritance, but the father divided his estate between his sons.  He gave everything he had to them.   The younger son got what he asked for, but the older son got his portion, too.  The father gave it all away.  Everything he had was given to these two boys to do with as they wished.  The one threw it away.  And the other clutched it so tightly that he could not see the value of what he had.  Reading between the lines, he was obsessed with getting and having.  He was leading a joy-less life.  You can see that from the painting, can’t you?  Is he happy to see his long-lost brother?  Not exactly!

In fact, the only one who might be happy here is the father.  He is not smiling, though.  It seems to me that he has a look of worried concern on his face.  The younger son is stricken with guilt and shame, the other son with greed and resentment. Both of them have failed their father.  Both of them are sinners.  One threw away the father’s gifts and the other hoarded them and refused to let them go.  Both sons look miserable.  

But the father has both of his boys back at home. And he will do whatever he can to welcome them home, both of them – the prodigal and the older brother.

The poet Robert Frost once wrote these words:  "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." 

In all the thousands and thousands of years since Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, all that long history in our fallen world, we have been trying to find our way back to paradise, that first and truest home, that place where everything was as God intended for us.  

And maybe this story is a reminder to us that we no longer have to look for that place.  We know where to find welcome, acceptance, unconditional love.  Whether we have squandered all the gifts God has given us, or whether we have held them so tightly they have become squashed and useless, God still welcomes us.  

(Slightly revised from a meditation shared at our monthly vespers)

A reflection on the Gospel for October 21, 2018 Mark 10:46-52

Some years ago when I lived in Connecticut, an unexpected snow storm left us without power for almost a week. It was cold, difficult to sleep, impossible to cook. One of the hardest things was the darkness. Streetlights were out, and it was frightening not to be able to see hazards in the way. At home, it was disorienting and isolating. Familiar routines were disrupted, and moving around required concentration and effort.

 For me, the darkness was a brief inconvenience. But for those with visual impairments, darkness affects everything. Bartimaeus lived in the disruption of darkness, in isolation and helplessness. His blindness had pushed him to the margins of society; he was ignored and invisible, not worthy of notice or attention. Because he could not see, others usually did not see him. But those who are visually impaired often have other senses that are highly developed, and Bartimaeus heard things that the others may not have heard. He knew something about Jesus that they seem not to have noticed: "When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!'" Bartimaeus recognized Jesus as the Son of David, the Messiah. Jesus, in turn, saw the blind beggar for who he really was, the son (Bar) of Timaeus (honor or value) -- a valued child of God. And when Bartimaeus cried out for mercy, for relief from his suffering, Jesus stopped in his tracks and had those in the crowd call Bartimaeus to him.

 When Bartimaeus was called to Jesus, he threw off his cloak and leaped up. He left behind what was likely his only real possession, a means of protection and livelihood, the cloak he used to keep warm at night, that he spread out during the day to collect the coins and scraps of bread he begged for. He left everything he had and came to Jesus. Maybe that leap of faith was the beginning of Bartimaeus being made well. Maybe it was then that he was saved. He could not see where he was going, he did not know what lay ahead, but he went. He acted in blind faith. I imagine Jesus continuing to speak, giving Bartimaeus a word to guide him and help him find his way. And then he asked the beggar a question he had asked others (Mark 10:36) --"What do you want me to do for you?" -- but this time, he granted the request. Bartimaeus could see!

 Faith is the conviction of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1). It is getting up and going blindly in the direction of the Word that you have not heard yourself. It is sitting in the ashes with Job, finally understanding -- seeing -- and being able to respond as he did: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you" (Job 42:4-5). Faith is going to the cross, watching them compete for the cloak that is left behind, and suffering and dying and not being able to see God. It is following Christ, even when you cannot see where the way leads, even if it leads to suffering.

 We are all beggars, poor blind beggars, dependent on others, struggling along, suffering and often unable to see the source of blessing that is right in front of us. But God watches over us, God sees us, and God in Christ waits to offer us mercy. All we have to do is get up and go in the direction of the Word. And when we can finally see the One who calls us, then we, like Bartimaeus, are to follow. 

(Slightly adapted from devotions I wrote for the 2018 Upper Room Disciplines)

I am a rooster….and other transformations

Last year in February, I closed the door of my little house in Connecticut, got in my car, and drove “home.”  I have settled in to a way of life that feels both familiar and new – familiar because I grew up here and spent my early years on this farm, but new because being here is so different from my life in New England.  These months have been a time of transformation.

A few months ago, I boxed up most of what was my work wardrobe and sent it off to “Dress for Success,” a group that provides clothing for women who are trying to get a job and need appropriate outfits.  I have some church clothes, but mostly these days I wear jeans, a tee shirt, and boots. I am dressing for a different kind of success, I suppose.  My closet shows the transformation in how I spend my days now.  

I have always loved to cook for those I love, and it is a joy to do that every day.  I figure I have cooked over 500 suppers for my family. Feeding others feeds my soul.  In addition to the humans in our household, most days I also feed eight chickens, six goats, one horse, one dog, and three cats. When you come bearing food, you get a warm welcome from all kinds of creatures! 

My little garden in Connecticut was just that – little.  Here I have hundreds of acres!  It is easy to have eyes too big for the planting.  My first garden was long rows that I hoed day in and day out. The second garden was some rows but also six raised beds – more manageable.  I have dirt under my fingernails and a farmer’s tan. I have become a redneck – the literal kind…..

Ruby, the Rhode Island Red

I have always been an early riser, and I still am.  But these days, I don’t get up and commute to work.  I get up and let the chickens out.  (There is much less traffic!)

And, I am a rooster! The hens look to me as the boss of the chicken yard.  They squat down when I come to them, just as they would for a dominant rooster.  It is a bit disconcerting!  Who knows what they think I am, but they talk to me, in sweet little chirpings, they come to the gate when I call them, and they follow me around the fence.  In my past, people sometimes spoke of negative or petty things as chicken sh*t. Now that is not a negative at all, but rather good organic fertilizer for the garden!  

Looking by Listening

The sun in the sky!

Some years back at a silent auction for an organization I supported, I bid on and won a series of watercolor painting lessons.  And after those lessons, when the town's recreation department offered classes, I signed up.  I loved seeing how the water on the paper pulled the paint in surprising directions, how colors could be mixed, how the seemingly clear plain blue of a sky might also include yellow or red.  I dabbled a bit but then the paints and brushes got packed away and almost forgotten.  But the other day, as I was sorting out some things, I found them.  One of the five-year-old "grands" and I decided to paint.  It was a new thing for her and she was intent on learning.  We practiced painting plain water on the paper and dropping in paint, making pink out of red, making green out of blue and yellow.  We painted together on the same paper, working on a picture of the sky.  I had the yellow paint and asked her where to paint the sun.  She said, quite nonchalantly, "Listen to the paper."  And she went on painting her section.  

"Listen to the paper."  As in, perhaps, if you pay close attention, it will tell you what to do.  Don't just look:  listen.  

And I've been wondering if there might be more things to listen to, like the land, the trees, the old house we are about to renovate.  Is there a hidden wisdom in things, even inanimate things, that is waiting to be heard?  Is there some holy guidance all around us, waiting to show us what to do?  

In his poem Ash Wednesday, the poet T. S. Eliot wrote these words:  
       Where shall the word be found, where will the word 
       Resound?  Not here, there is not enough silence....

We live in a noisy world, with all kinds of distractions.  It takes silence to find the Word, to hear the Word.  It takes silence to listen to the paper.  And sometimes, it takes a five-year-old to open the ears of your eyes!

Pecans and Pears

The hurricane stripped the leaves from the pecan tree.  It was an instant fall – green leaves one day, bare branches the next.  
But now, three weeks later, the tree has sprouted new leaves.  And the Bradford pears are blooming all over the place.  It looks like spring, not October.

Stress to a tree can prompt out-of-season budding or flowering.  The trees are using a lot of energy to flower, trying to produce fruit and foliage after a traumatic event.  That is the botanical explanation.  But I think of it is a sign of healing. 

After trauma, when things have been stripped away, there is a stubborn energy that can emerge.  In the face of devastation, new life can appear, like spring leaves in October.  There is a resilience and a will to flourish built into nature, and that includes human nature, too.  

Those who just rebuilt from Matthew are physically and spiritually exhausted. Like the pecan tree, they have been stripped bare.  Can they continue to grow and flourish where they have put down roots all their lives? Some have already started, their efforts popping out like little green leaves.  For others, though, this has been one flood too many.  May they find healing and renewal wherever they are transplanted.

Situational Awareness

A practice called situational awareness is a key part of emergency operations.  In simple terms, it means being aware of what is going on that might affect what you are doing. I’m sure that the emergency management teams responding to Hurricane Florence have included this in their work.  When I was the “commander” of an emergency management team, we had at least two people assigned to situational awareness.  Their job was to take note of the wider environment – the weather forecast, traffic conditions, upcoming events, reports from state officials, and things like that.  This information helped others on the team solve problems and respond effectively in their assigned areas.  

When you are in a crisis mode, it is all too easy to develop tunnel vision.  You focus so intently on the problem in front of you that you miss the bigger picture. For example, if you fail to note that a road has been closed, you may not be able to get your supplies where they need to go.  Or if you are unaware that a road has reopened, you may waste energy and effort on an unnecessary detour.  (The book Five Days at Memorial details a chilling view of failure resulting from lack of situational awareness among other things post-Katrina.) 

As a somewhat trivial example, we were isolated for a time during the aftermath of Florence by flooded and washed out roads; we were like a little island.  I became so focused on feeding us with what I had in the house that I was not paying attention to when roads began opening with new detour routes to the grocery store. 

It is easy in a disaster to focus on what we need to do to survive and recover.  That is important and necessary.  Those who have lost everything are rightfully attending to their own problems.  But they, too, need situational awareness. They don’t have to do everything themselves.  There are organizations and agencies and individuals who can help.  

And, I think, in this time we could also use some spiritual situational awareness.  It is easy to focus on our own needs, our own problems, our own issues, or those of our nearest and dearest, and pray for those.  That is important and right.  But might we also widen our circle of concern to those we don’t know, praying for them, too? Might we reach out to strangers, here at home and around the world, with tangible support – money, cleanup supplies, hands-on help where possible?  

The flood waters here are slowly receding.  The full scope of the devastation is yet to be known. One early estimate is that over 5000 structures in our county are destroyed.  There will be years and years of recovery, and some will never recover. And a world away in Indonesia, a tsunami has wiped out a whole landscape.  Hundreds, maybe a thousand or more, are dead.  Spiritual situational awareness calls us to focus on events and conditions in our wider world, to care for those in need wherever they are. 

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, the neighbor is the one in need.  The first two who passed by the wounded stranger were focused on their own situations, perhaps bound by the requirements of their religion to avoid contamination.  The third man, the Samaritan, focused on the other rather than himself.  He was aware of the wider situation.  And at his own expense, he reached out to help a stranger.  

Many have done that in these recent weeks.  At their own expense – of time, money, effort, convenience – they have reached out to help strangers.  May we all find a way to do that, to focus on others with the same intensity as we focus on ourselves.  And may God bless our feeble efforts to help a hurting world.  

First, the fire ants.....

When I left Yale, the emergency management team had a little going-away party for me and gave me a hurricane preparedness kit.  They wanted me to be ready for the new kind of emergencies I might face in the south. That self-charging weather radio with lights has certainly come in handy!  They put everything they could imagine in that kit, but they missed a few things.  For a true hurricane survival kit here, you need fire ant bait and bug spray.  

Fire ants abound down here. They are especially nasty pests, aptly named because their bites burn like fire and then blister up.  By continually disturbing their mounds, we generally keep them moved to the perimeter of the farm.  But when it rains and rains and rains, they move wherever there is higher ground.  They can form rafts and float through flood waters. 

And they are everywhere, in the water, in the yard, even indoors.  So even though I tried to be careful cleaning up the yard, my hands and ankles are blistered.  And even though I am an organic gardener, I went around Saturday putting out poison.  

First the first ants, now the mosquitos.  It is impossible to walk outside without getting bitten.  Bug spray is essential.  People trying to clean up will be faced with yet another challenge, not on the magnitude of the flooding but painful in its own way.  

It is hard to imagine the suffering: physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.

Almost Full Moon

God bless the moon and God bless me.  God bless the ones I love.
And all in the shadow of this moon -- God bless all.

I am still here -- down on the farm

The national news coverage has shifted back to other storms (the political kind…) but the storm effects continue here.  We are, thankfully, high and dry, but many of our friends and near neighbors are flooded, and the waters continue to rise.  It is hard to fathom how much water came from the hurricane.  Never in 65 years has the creek on our farm flooded the road until now.  We are able to start cleaning up with power restored and a good supply of food, buckets, rakes, and chain saws.  Others have nothing left to clean and we grieve for them.  Two years ago, Hurricane Matthew forced many from their homes, and recovery was still happening even as Florence flooded them again. This is an area with a lot of poverty; many will have nowhere to go and no money to rebuild.  It will be years, not weeks or months, before things even approach normal.  And for some, normal is gone forever.