The Writing Spider

She built her web in the most precarious fashion, a few strands attached to the door of the chicken’s feed room and those on the other side connected to the mountain mint growing by the door. Every time I opened the door, I took care not to detach the web. And she spun and wrote and the web stayed intact. (She was a yellow garden spider, Argiope aurantia, also known as a writing spider.) And then one day, she was gone. The web was still there, but she was not. I thought maybe a bird had gotten her. But no: A few days later, another web appeared, a few feet from the first, but this one in a more stable location. And there she was – I’m sure it was the same spider – weaving and writing away. The nights are cool and the days are shorter, and I think she is getting ready to leave some egg sacs for next year. 

And from the spider, I try to learn the lesson of waiting and hoping. In Hebrew, that is the meaning of the word qavah (Psalm 130:5-6). And it also means stretched out, the tension of pulling from both ends. It can mean strength, the kind of strength that comes from a rope made of twisted cords. And it has the same origin as the word for a spider’s web. 

Ounce for ounce, the fiber of a spider’s silk is one of the strongest materials that exists – 10 times tougher than Kevlar which is used to make bullet proof vests. Medical researchers have discovered healing powers in the spider’s web. And the construction of a web is an amazing thing to watch. How does a spider know measurement and design and geometry? Why do different species build webs of different designs? How did that fragile web survive when it was anchored to a door that got opened and closed every day and a plant that swayed in the breeze? It is all a miracle. 

And this miracle is a kind of parable for human waiting and hoping. I do a lot of that these days, waiting and hoping for a safer world, an easing of the pandemic, a return to sanity in our body politic. And I feel at times like that spider, in a most precarious fashion. What does she teach me? Maybe to anchor myself in the present, even if it feels like a moving target; to weave a strong web of prayer and support to sustain myself in the hard times and the good times; to hope for God’s healing power; to wait for what God will provide. 

Frederick Buechner has said we are to go where our best prayers take us. For me, maybe that means connecting myself to the source of faith, no matter how fragile and wavering it seems, and then casting off into the unknown guided by a thread of prayer, remembering that my prayers are both fragile and tough, always beautiful, guided by God, created in my soul. Waiting and hoping, holding to a thread, praying for a landing place, weaving a web of faith and hope and love.

The first web, falling into disrepair,
but still attached!!

 

The Church

In March 2020, days after our part of the world came to a screeching pandemic halt, I officiated at a wedding – in the backyard, five people present. Last night, I led that couple in a renewal of their vows. This time, they had a ceremony with their attendants, a lovely reception and family and friends around them. And their four-week-old son was nearby! 

We gathered in a lovely old building that has been turned into an arts center. Lots of events, including weddings, are held there. The building dates to 1889, when it was constructed to house St. Andrews Presbyterian Church. That church long ago merged with another Presbyterian church in town, but the building remained with the name above the door and an old Sunday School chalkboard in one of the event spaces. Alexander McClure was the minister for many years; he was active in the community and highly regarded. When he died, the businesses in the whole town closed so everyone could pay respects as his funeral procession passed. He also established ministries beyond St. Andrews. One of them, founded in 1926, was named in his memory: McClure Memorial Presbyterian Church. I was the pastor there for just over four years. There was a picture of him hanging in the hallway at the church. 

And there is a picture of him at the arts center – hanging over the bar. I wondered last night what he would think about that, and about that place where he preached all those years now hosting weddings and fancy parties. 

And I thought that maybe the spirit of the church was still in that place. There was so much love and joy present there. People were looking after each other -- loving their neighbors -- by wearing masks and being careful. We shared bread and wine (and cake!). There were laughter and tears, story-telling, remembering. There were prayers and blessings. It wasn’t a church, but somehow it was still church – people gathered in love, offering thanks for God’s gift of marriage, giving and receiving blessing. 

Sometimes people come to the church (the building), but more and more I think, the church needs to come to the people. Last night, I felt that I brought the church to the people, in that old once-consecrated space that was yet again made holy by Love.

 

Sunday School attendance board

The Rev. McClure's portrait hanging in the bar.....

Ministry

October 4 – today – is the 23rd anniversary of my ordination to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament. Some years I have had a quiet day of personal retreat to reflect on ministry, what God has called me to in the past and what new call might be emerging. I did not do that this year. 

October 4 is also the feast day of St. Francis. And today my ministry was less about the church and more about animals. The horse is lame and has to be dosed twice a day. The dog is on meds for neurological issues. One cat is just back from the hospital and is isolated from the rest. Another cat is on anti-depressants for stress. So I have spent time today caring for our animals. And there is ministry in that, too. 

I am thankful for all the ways my calling has stretched and challenged and blessed me. I am grateful for the churches I have served. I rejoice in the blessing of having a ministry in place, in a place that I love, with people that I love. And animals!

 

The Cross is Everywhere....

Moss growing on the back steps 

leading into the sanctuary where I preach