As the remaining days of my sabbatical/renewal dwindle, I now face the rather daunting "re-entry process." To be honest, this part of the sabbatical/renewal time is something neither I nor the congregation gave much thought to. We were so concerned about the details of what would happen during our time apart that we gave little formal consideration to just how it would feel to get back together again as pastor and congregation.
I naively thought that I would head off and do my own thing for four months and then pick up where I had left off as pastor. I don't know how the congregation is handling the end of this renewal time, but I am experiencing a host of feelings and emotions. Here are some of the major ones:
1. Excitement - I'm excited to find out just how our journeys as pastor and congregation complemented eachother. I am excited to hear about my church's journey and to tell everyone about mine. I am excited to see good friends again, to preach, and to lead worship.
2. Regret - I regret that this sabbatical/renewal time is ending. These four months have been magical and more than I could ever have anticipated or hoped for. I know that this has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience and will not be repeated ever in quite the same way. I understand a bit better now in the story of the Transfiguration just why Peter might have wanted to build those little shelters around Jesus, Elijah, and Moses in order to capture the moment forever and never let it go.
3. Grief - I grieve the loss of time, unscheduled time, that this sabbatical has given me. I grieve the loss of unfettered and unhurried time to read, reflect, walk, be with Joe and the kids, visit and share coffee and cookies with my parents.
4. Restored - I don't mean restored in the sense of caught up on sleep and rested but restored in the sense of feeling better balanced inside and therefore less stressed. I feel more firmly centered in Christian ministry and the promise it holds for transforming the world.
5. Apprehensive - I know that my congregation has made connections and in a sense formed a new community while I have been gone. I don't know what the impact of those new relationships will be on my role as returning pastor.
6. Changed - Everything I read about sabbaticals includes something about how you change during them. And I guess it's true because I have changed in some ways.
I worked hard at being in the moment during these past four months. I knew that if I looked back at how much time had passed or forward at how much time was left that before I knew it, the whole thing would be over and I would not know where the time had gone. Most of the time I did a pretty good job at just living one day at a time, and that is a change I would like to keep working on.
I also realized how precious - and essential - the concept of sabbath is for me. This deepening sense of the need for regular renewal time is something I want to continue to work on. I have two weeks of study leave as part of my terms of call but have seldom used them other than a day or two here and there. I would like to be more intentional about my renewal time going forward.
I also renewed my connection to God and to my spiritual self. I would like to keep that connection strong in my ministry. How do I take what I have experienced and learned and incorporate it into "ordinary" time? That is surely the question. In that regard, here's a quote a found by Alice Walker on someone else's sabbtical blog: “Anybody can observe the Sabbath, but making it holy surely takes the rest of the week.”
7. Blessed - These past four months have truly been a blessing for me - in ways that are so crystal clear but also in ways I am sure I have yet to know!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sacred Space and Worship: What is the Connection?
Throughout my sabbatical/renewal journey, I have been exploring the theme of the sacred space and worship. My travel to Peru, Canada, and Scotland and my building the labyrinth and my reading and reflecting over these past four months have been my way of searching for an answer to the question of what is sacred space and how does it relate to worship anyway.
During John Bell's program on Iona, he defined worship as "a gift to God, not entertainment for us." He went on to say that worship is the faith community sharing in love before God and with each other that which is most important to them. One definition of sacred space then might be the site where that sharing takes place. It could be in a 20th century church or in a 12th century abbey. It could be at the top of a mountain, in a garden, by a flowing stream. It could be in what some would call the crumbling ruins of an Incan temple. For Christians, it could be anywhere where two or three or more are gathered in Jesus' name. For most of us, I guess that leaves out the golf course.
If worship is our gift to God, then surely a foundational question is why bother giving a gift to the Holy One anyway. But before you can answer that question, you need to answer the question of how important God is in your life. What has God done for you? What do you look to God for? Who is God for you anyway?
If, in your heart of hearts, God is irrelevant to you, then you have no need to worship, no need to give this gift. Then you can head to the golf course with no regrets.
However, if, in your heart of hearts, God has meaning for you in any sort of ultimate way, then giving this gift of worship is an extremely important thing for you to do. IGiving the gift is the only thing you can do. Heading to the golf course then is really not an option - or a substitute for the gift.
Seen in that light, worship in a sacred place is outside of the realm of day to day priorities. Worship is not one of a number of activities on your "To Do" list.
We all need to answer the question not once, but every day (and particularly every Sunday!). Is this gift to God that we have an opportunity to make more important than having a late breakfast and reading the newspaper? Is this gift to God that we have an opportunity to make more important than an athletic contest or mowing the lawn? If the answer is no, giving this gift is not more important than a late breakfast and the newspaper, not more important than the athletic contest or mowing the lawn, then what does this say about us and about how we feel about our relationship with God?
Why is it that so many of us these days make choices about how we use our time as if God was irrelevant to us? How we answer that question says a lot about who we are as human beings, as children of God. Can we be all we are meant to be by going it alone - or can we be all we are meant to be only in relationship with God, our Creator?
All this, of course, brings us full circle to our first question about worship in sacred places - ultimately, what meaning does God and your relationship to God have for you - and will you have the courage to express that relationship by giving to God the gift of worship?
During John Bell's program on Iona, he defined worship as "a gift to God, not entertainment for us." He went on to say that worship is the faith community sharing in love before God and with each other that which is most important to them. One definition of sacred space then might be the site where that sharing takes place. It could be in a 20th century church or in a 12th century abbey. It could be at the top of a mountain, in a garden, by a flowing stream. It could be in what some would call the crumbling ruins of an Incan temple. For Christians, it could be anywhere where two or three or more are gathered in Jesus' name. For most of us, I guess that leaves out the golf course.
If worship is our gift to God, then surely a foundational question is why bother giving a gift to the Holy One anyway. But before you can answer that question, you need to answer the question of how important God is in your life. What has God done for you? What do you look to God for? Who is God for you anyway?
If, in your heart of hearts, God is irrelevant to you, then you have no need to worship, no need to give this gift. Then you can head to the golf course with no regrets.
However, if, in your heart of hearts, God has meaning for you in any sort of ultimate way, then giving this gift of worship is an extremely important thing for you to do. IGiving the gift is the only thing you can do. Heading to the golf course then is really not an option - or a substitute for the gift.
Seen in that light, worship in a sacred place is outside of the realm of day to day priorities. Worship is not one of a number of activities on your "To Do" list.
We all need to answer the question not once, but every day (and particularly every Sunday!). Is this gift to God that we have an opportunity to make more important than having a late breakfast and reading the newspaper? Is this gift to God that we have an opportunity to make more important than an athletic contest or mowing the lawn? If the answer is no, giving this gift is not more important than a late breakfast and the newspaper, not more important than the athletic contest or mowing the lawn, then what does this say about us and about how we feel about our relationship with God?
Why is it that so many of us these days make choices about how we use our time as if God was irrelevant to us? How we answer that question says a lot about who we are as human beings, as children of God. Can we be all we are meant to be by going it alone - or can we be all we are meant to be only in relationship with God, our Creator?
All this, of course, brings us full circle to our first question about worship in sacred places - ultimately, what meaning does God and your relationship to God have for you - and will you have the courage to express that relationship by giving to God the gift of worship?
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sacred Sites in Scotland
For those of you who have been following this blog, you know that each of my sabbatical/renewal adventures were linked to one of my five senses. My trip to Scotland was predicated on using my eyes to see sacred places.
St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh was my first encounter with the Church of Scotland and sacred spaces in this part of the United Kingdom. I wasn't sure what to expect from a Presbyterian Cathedral. Like most cathedrals, it was cavernous with various carvings and side chapels. The Thistle Chapel was the most ornate and beautiful with loads of detail, including a small carving of an angel with bagpipes. It is the home of the Order of the Thistle, Scotland's great order of chivalry with its roots in the Middle Ages. There are 16 stalls for the 16 named Knights of the Order with their heraldic crests on canopies above.
And, of course, when we were on Iona, we worshipped daily in the Abbey Church. To look up at the stone ceiling, arches, and buttresses and realize how ancient parts of the church were and how many people before me had worshipped there each time left me awed.
We saw other Church of Scotland churches as well on our travels, a number of them unfortunately boarded up and for sale. In fact, you can go on a website and find listings of all the churches in Scotland on the market. The Church of Scotland seems to be facing the same problems of large buildings and dwindling numbers as the moderate church here in the US. In both places, the evangelical right has usurped the name "Christian" and in many ways given us moderate folks a bad rep.
When I wrote the grant proposal for this sabbatical, I had a very romantic view of hiking in Scotland. First of all the Brits call it "walking," and perhaps that is what threw me off. In my imaginings, I saw Joe and myself walking on country lanes through small towns and hamlets, stopping by and photographing small churches on the way. The roads were always flat, and the sun was always shining. In reality, that didn't happen at all. It rained every day, and we were hiking across lonely moors and up and down Scottish mountains. There were no little villages and hamlets along the way, with the exception of the deserted ruings of a croft here and there.
And so I found myself looking for the sacred in my surroundings instead of in churches. And perhaps that is as it should have been since this part of the world developed its own unique brand of Christianity - Celtic Christianity - which was grounded in our close relationship with the natural world around us - the streams and hills, the wind and stormy weather.
If Jesus had lived in Scotland, he would not have talked about the lilies of the field but rather the heather on the hillsides. The living water of which he spoke to the Samaritan woman would not have been water drawn from a well but rather water gushing in rivulets down a mountain. When Elijah found God in the stillness, here in Scotland, he would not have been standing at the entrance to a cave but rather he would have been sitting in the lush green grass in a stone hermit's cell surrounded by hills and silence.
And so I found the sacred in the wind and the rain. I found it in the sapphire color of the sea on Iona. I found it in the purple of the heather. I found it in the rocks on Iona, some of which are some of the oldest rocks on earth - 2 1/2 billion years old! John L. Patterson wrote this about Iona: "The rocks of Iona are little older than the ocean from which they rise. The Reverend Edward Craig Trenholme in The Story of Iona (1909) has written: ‘When our planet from a glowing mass of combustion like the sun, shriveled into a globe with a solid crust and the first oceans condensed in the hollows of its hot surface - then it was that the Archaean rocks, of which Iona and the Outer Hebrides consist, were formed on the sea bottom. They contain no fossils, for, as far as is known, no living creatures as yet existed in the desolate waste of waters or on the primeval land. They are hard, rugged and twisted, and in Iona as elsewhere marble had been developed by the vast heat and pressure they have undergone.'
When we were on Iona, a 12 year old from Australia in our group shared at our final reflection time when she had felt most alive that week. She told us it was when she was on top of a hill, by herself, dancing and feeling the wind that always blows on Iona on her face and whipping back her long hair. How could you not feel alive, she said, when the glory of God was so obviously all around you?
St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh was my first encounter with the Church of Scotland and sacred spaces in this part of the United Kingdom. I wasn't sure what to expect from a Presbyterian Cathedral. Like most cathedrals, it was cavernous with various carvings and side chapels. The Thistle Chapel was the most ornate and beautiful with loads of detail, including a small carving of an angel with bagpipes. It is the home of the Order of the Thistle, Scotland's great order of chivalry with its roots in the Middle Ages. There are 16 stalls for the 16 named Knights of the Order with their heraldic crests on canopies above.
And, of course, when we were on Iona, we worshipped daily in the Abbey Church. To look up at the stone ceiling, arches, and buttresses and realize how ancient parts of the church were and how many people before me had worshipped there each time left me awed.
We saw other Church of Scotland churches as well on our travels, a number of them unfortunately boarded up and for sale. In fact, you can go on a website and find listings of all the churches in Scotland on the market. The Church of Scotland seems to be facing the same problems of large buildings and dwindling numbers as the moderate church here in the US. In both places, the evangelical right has usurped the name "Christian" and in many ways given us moderate folks a bad rep.
When I wrote the grant proposal for this sabbatical, I had a very romantic view of hiking in Scotland. First of all the Brits call it "walking," and perhaps that is what threw me off. In my imaginings, I saw Joe and myself walking on country lanes through small towns and hamlets, stopping by and photographing small churches on the way. The roads were always flat, and the sun was always shining. In reality, that didn't happen at all. It rained every day, and we were hiking across lonely moors and up and down Scottish mountains. There were no little villages and hamlets along the way, with the exception of the deserted ruings of a croft here and there.
And so I found myself looking for the sacred in my surroundings instead of in churches. And perhaps that is as it should have been since this part of the world developed its own unique brand of Christianity - Celtic Christianity - which was grounded in our close relationship with the natural world around us - the streams and hills, the wind and stormy weather.
If Jesus had lived in Scotland, he would not have talked about the lilies of the field but rather the heather on the hillsides. The living water of which he spoke to the Samaritan woman would not have been water drawn from a well but rather water gushing in rivulets down a mountain. When Elijah found God in the stillness, here in Scotland, he would not have been standing at the entrance to a cave but rather he would have been sitting in the lush green grass in a stone hermit's cell surrounded by hills and silence.
And so I found the sacred in the wind and the rain. I found it in the sapphire color of the sea on Iona. I found it in the purple of the heather. I found it in the rocks on Iona, some of which are some of the oldest rocks on earth - 2 1/2 billion years old! John L. Patterson wrote this about Iona: "The rocks of Iona are little older than the ocean from which they rise. The Reverend Edward Craig Trenholme in The Story of Iona (1909) has written: ‘When our planet from a glowing mass of combustion like the sun, shriveled into a globe with a solid crust and the first oceans condensed in the hollows of its hot surface - then it was that the Archaean rocks, of which Iona and the Outer Hebrides consist, were formed on the sea bottom. They contain no fossils, for, as far as is known, no living creatures as yet existed in the desolate waste of waters or on the primeval land. They are hard, rugged and twisted, and in Iona as elsewhere marble had been developed by the vast heat and pressure they have undergone.'
When we were on Iona, a 12 year old from Australia in our group shared at our final reflection time when she had felt most alive that week. She told us it was when she was on top of a hill, by herself, dancing and feeling the wind that always blows on Iona on her face and whipping back her long hair. How could you not feel alive, she said, when the glory of God was so obviously all around you?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Photos from Oban, Iona, and Staffa
The Island of Iona
You begin in Oban and take a 45 minute ferry ride to Craignure on Mull. Then you take a bus on a single track road across Mull to Fionnphort where you catch a second ferry for a brief 5 - 10 minute ride to Iona. The first thing you see is the impressive Abbey church.
The present one was built in 1203 and restored in the 20th century. The Abbey marks the foundation of a monastic community established by St. Columba in 563 when he was sent from Ireland to do penance on Iona. The monastery he founded was influential in spreading Christianity to the British Isles. The famous illustrated manuscript known as the Book of Kells was created on Iona.
Anyway, the Abbey Church was where we worshipped twice a day for the week we were on Iona. We were part of an intentional community of about 50 people for the week. We lived together, did chores together (I washed windows and Joe cleamed toilets), ate meals together, drank endless cups of tea and coffee together, and participated in a program facilitated by John Bell and Jo Love of the Wild Goose Resource Group, the small staff of which creates wonderful music and creative worship materials.
Our group had people from the US, Canada, Australia, Scotland, England, the Czech Republic, Cameroon, and Sweden. We were clergy, music directors, lay church workers, and people interested in exploring their own spirituality on Iona, truly a "thin place."
A couple of highlights of the week for me was the ceilidh, a marvelous and energetic evening of Scottish dancing. It's kind of like contra dancing or square dancing, but with its own unique flavor. We had a brief instruction time before each dance, which for Joe and me was pretty important since we didn't know any of the steps. However, everyone danced. We were many ages and levels of competence, but it was awesome!
Another highlight was the pilgrimage. We were part of a 7 mile off-road exploration of the island. We began at St. Martin's Cross, an 8th century Celtic Cross and one of the earliest surviving ones. We walked over hill and dale, to the highest point island, to St. Columba's Bay, which is the most beautiful stone beach I have ever seen. Joe and I went back there later to collect rocks and find some Columba's tears, which are marble stones with bits of green serpentine in the shape of tears. Though these are not the oldest rocks on the island, there are some of the oldest rocks on earth there - up to several billion years old! We also walked through the ruins of the nunnery and a wonderful peaceful spot with the remains of a hermit's cell.
Being part of this Christian community for a week was truly a privilege. Though based on the island, Iona Community is a world-wide dispersed ecumenical community of members and friends committed to "working for peace and social justice, rebuilding of community and the renewal of worship."
The present one was built in 1203 and restored in the 20th century. The Abbey marks the foundation of a monastic community established by St. Columba in 563 when he was sent from Ireland to do penance on Iona. The monastery he founded was influential in spreading Christianity to the British Isles. The famous illustrated manuscript known as the Book of Kells was created on Iona.
Anyway, the Abbey Church was where we worshipped twice a day for the week we were on Iona. We were part of an intentional community of about 50 people for the week. We lived together, did chores together (I washed windows and Joe cleamed toilets), ate meals together, drank endless cups of tea and coffee together, and participated in a program facilitated by John Bell and Jo Love of the Wild Goose Resource Group, the small staff of which creates wonderful music and creative worship materials.
Our group had people from the US, Canada, Australia, Scotland, England, the Czech Republic, Cameroon, and Sweden. We were clergy, music directors, lay church workers, and people interested in exploring their own spirituality on Iona, truly a "thin place."
A couple of highlights of the week for me was the ceilidh, a marvelous and energetic evening of Scottish dancing. It's kind of like contra dancing or square dancing, but with its own unique flavor. We had a brief instruction time before each dance, which for Joe and me was pretty important since we didn't know any of the steps. However, everyone danced. We were many ages and levels of competence, but it was awesome!
Another highlight was the pilgrimage. We were part of a 7 mile off-road exploration of the island. We began at St. Martin's Cross, an 8th century Celtic Cross and one of the earliest surviving ones. We walked over hill and dale, to the highest point island, to St. Columba's Bay, which is the most beautiful stone beach I have ever seen. Joe and I went back there later to collect rocks and find some Columba's tears, which are marble stones with bits of green serpentine in the shape of tears. Though these are not the oldest rocks on the island, there are some of the oldest rocks on earth there - up to several billion years old! We also walked through the ruins of the nunnery and a wonderful peaceful spot with the remains of a hermit's cell.
Being part of this Christian community for a week was truly a privilege. Though based on the island, Iona Community is a world-wide dispersed ecumenical community of members and friends committed to "working for peace and social justice, rebuilding of community and the renewal of worship."
Photos of Edinburgh and the West Highland Way
Friday, September 23, 2011
The West Highland Way
We just completed walking/hiking the last half of the West Highland Way, a 95 mile route from Milgavie to Fort William, arriving in our guest house in Fort William at supper time after about 10 hours of walking that fourth and final day. There are so many ways of talking about this adventure. Which way to choose??
I could talk about it in terms of the weather. In many ways, Scotland's weather is much like Maine's. As the old saying goes...."If you don't like the weather now, wait five minutes." And so we hiked sometimes in shirt sleeves and other times in winter hats and gloves. We hiked in sunshine, showers, driving rain, wind, gale strength gusts of wind, and hail.
I could talk about it terms of the places we stayed and the food we ate. We walked inn-to-inn - and each innkeeper sent us off with a full Scottish breakfast of porridge and generally eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, black pudding (don't ask what's in it), fruit, yogurt, and tea.
And so we left from Tighe Na Froache (loosely translated from the Gaelic as "Heather's home") owned by the friendliest inn keeper ever in Tyndrum. There I actually had an alternative to the full Scottish breakfast, one of scones and delicious baked freshly caught brown trout. Anyway, we walked 6.75 miles that day to Bridge of Orchy.
Bridge of Orchy has a railroad station, post office, and one hotel (the Bridge of Orchy Hotel, not surprisingly!). There we enjoyed one of the most delicious (bar none) fine food dining experiences ever - right in the middle of nowhere in Scotland!
From there we hiked 12 miles over Rannoch Moor to Kingshouse, which consisted of only the KIngshouse Hotel, the oldest licensed inn in all of Scotland. The pub that night was filled mostly with walkers - and enjoyed an awesome steak and ale pie - Yum!
Our next day continued our journey for 9 miles over the rest of Rannoch Moor to Kinlochleven, the first stop since Tyndrum with a grocery store and ATM! We had fish (yet again, we're really enjoying out Omega 3's!) and made the acquaintance of 2 Scottish wolfhounds, dogs of the hotel owner and welcome in the pub.
Our last day was a very long 15 miles to Fort William, the end of the West Highland Way, to our final bed and breakfast. How glad we were to take off those hiking boots and then make our way to a highly pretentious (comically so, we are such pretentious people, you know) restaurant for dinner.
I could also talk about our trip in terms of the terrain we walked and the vistas we were privileged to view. The highlands are absolutely wonderful. Our trail went high in the mountains, through farmers' fields with sheep and even a few highland cows, and through dense pine plantation forests. We experienced one of the largest and most desolate moors in all of Scotland. We saw streams and rivulets gushing down the mountains sides and the last of the heather blooming. When the heather is at its peak, it must be gorgeous - entire hillsides all done up in purple.
But perhaps I should just recount a couple of the highlights for me of those four days and 42 miles:
1. Scottish Highland Cows - Those are the big brown cows with horns and long hair in the faces. They look like they are always having a bad hair day and give the impression that they are perpetually in a bad mood. I read a section in one of the guidebooks to the West Highland Way entitled "Hazards and Safety Precautions." A subsection was entitled "Cows" and talked about what to do if you encounter a herd of Highland Cows. The advice was to go around the herd rather than through is and never separate a cow and her calf. As we were walking through a field on the first day, we rounded a bend and there in the road was a small herd of highland cows. It was not possible to go around it as there was fencing on both sides of the trail. The herd seemed to move apart for us, except for a female cow with one of the larger racks of horns and her calf, who remained planted in the middle of the trail. Throwing caution to the wind (what more could we do?), we rather loudly announced our presence and walked right through the herd, carefully skirting the other while being careful that she knew our whereabouts. And so we could list highland cows to our list of wild life, which consisted primarily of sheep, red deer, and a golden eagle flying overhead.
2. Rainbows - When you have sun and showers and clouds skittering overhead, you often get rainbows. We saw several, but the one coming into Kinlochleven was magnificent. It was the most vibrant in color that I have ever seen, and it arched from the very ground itself into the clouds overhead - a memorable sight.
3. Friends in Passing - We met several groups of walkers on the trail. There were the 6 women from England and Canada, friends who get together annually for a hike. One of them was a fan of John Bell and was excited that we would be spending a week on Iona with John leading our program. She was a choir member in her church in Canada and sang me bits and pieces of Jim Strathby's Mass for the Healing of the Earth, which her choir is doing shortly after her return. There was the couple from outside of Washington, DC and the Scot they hiked with that day who helped us cross a stream that was not passable at the usual crossing point. After we got across, we stayed and helped the next group (from the Netherlands) by forming a human chain of sorts.
4. Rain, wind, and more rain and wind - Most days we had only showers, but the day we hiked our 9 miles we did so in predicted driving rain and gale force gusts of wind. Much of the moor and the mountain passes were exposed, and so we felt the full brunt of the weather. It was pretty amazing - and in a way quite exhilarating!
Both Joe and I really loved the highlands - with the mountains, the wind, the weather, the mists, the legends. We come away with such marvelous memories as we begin the next phase of our journey here in Scotland. In some ways it seems as if our walk on the West Highland Way was almost like we were on a pilgrimage, walking to Iona. That is where we are headed tomorrow. Tonight we are in Oban, and in the morning we will take a ferry to the Isle of Mull, a bus across Mull, and another ferry to Iona. There we will be staying for a week in the Iona Community based at the centuries old Abbey Church, exploring the island and enjoying John Bell's program on the in between season between Pentecost Sunday and Advent. I am told that we would be dreaming if we thought there would be a computer connection on Iona....
I could talk about it in terms of the weather. In many ways, Scotland's weather is much like Maine's. As the old saying goes...."If you don't like the weather now, wait five minutes." And so we hiked sometimes in shirt sleeves and other times in winter hats and gloves. We hiked in sunshine, showers, driving rain, wind, gale strength gusts of wind, and hail.
I could talk about it terms of the places we stayed and the food we ate. We walked inn-to-inn - and each innkeeper sent us off with a full Scottish breakfast of porridge and generally eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, black pudding (don't ask what's in it), fruit, yogurt, and tea.
And so we left from Tighe Na Froache (loosely translated from the Gaelic as "Heather's home") owned by the friendliest inn keeper ever in Tyndrum. There I actually had an alternative to the full Scottish breakfast, one of scones and delicious baked freshly caught brown trout. Anyway, we walked 6.75 miles that day to Bridge of Orchy.
Bridge of Orchy has a railroad station, post office, and one hotel (the Bridge of Orchy Hotel, not surprisingly!). There we enjoyed one of the most delicious (bar none) fine food dining experiences ever - right in the middle of nowhere in Scotland!
From there we hiked 12 miles over Rannoch Moor to Kingshouse, which consisted of only the KIngshouse Hotel, the oldest licensed inn in all of Scotland. The pub that night was filled mostly with walkers - and enjoyed an awesome steak and ale pie - Yum!
Our next day continued our journey for 9 miles over the rest of Rannoch Moor to Kinlochleven, the first stop since Tyndrum with a grocery store and ATM! We had fish (yet again, we're really enjoying out Omega 3's!) and made the acquaintance of 2 Scottish wolfhounds, dogs of the hotel owner and welcome in the pub.
Our last day was a very long 15 miles to Fort William, the end of the West Highland Way, to our final bed and breakfast. How glad we were to take off those hiking boots and then make our way to a highly pretentious (comically so, we are such pretentious people, you know) restaurant for dinner.
I could also talk about our trip in terms of the terrain we walked and the vistas we were privileged to view. The highlands are absolutely wonderful. Our trail went high in the mountains, through farmers' fields with sheep and even a few highland cows, and through dense pine plantation forests. We experienced one of the largest and most desolate moors in all of Scotland. We saw streams and rivulets gushing down the mountains sides and the last of the heather blooming. When the heather is at its peak, it must be gorgeous - entire hillsides all done up in purple.
But perhaps I should just recount a couple of the highlights for me of those four days and 42 miles:
1. Scottish Highland Cows - Those are the big brown cows with horns and long hair in the faces. They look like they are always having a bad hair day and give the impression that they are perpetually in a bad mood. I read a section in one of the guidebooks to the West Highland Way entitled "Hazards and Safety Precautions." A subsection was entitled "Cows" and talked about what to do if you encounter a herd of Highland Cows. The advice was to go around the herd rather than through is and never separate a cow and her calf. As we were walking through a field on the first day, we rounded a bend and there in the road was a small herd of highland cows. It was not possible to go around it as there was fencing on both sides of the trail. The herd seemed to move apart for us, except for a female cow with one of the larger racks of horns and her calf, who remained planted in the middle of the trail. Throwing caution to the wind (what more could we do?), we rather loudly announced our presence and walked right through the herd, carefully skirting the other while being careful that she knew our whereabouts. And so we could list highland cows to our list of wild life, which consisted primarily of sheep, red deer, and a golden eagle flying overhead.
2. Rainbows - When you have sun and showers and clouds skittering overhead, you often get rainbows. We saw several, but the one coming into Kinlochleven was magnificent. It was the most vibrant in color that I have ever seen, and it arched from the very ground itself into the clouds overhead - a memorable sight.
3. Friends in Passing - We met several groups of walkers on the trail. There were the 6 women from England and Canada, friends who get together annually for a hike. One of them was a fan of John Bell and was excited that we would be spending a week on Iona with John leading our program. She was a choir member in her church in Canada and sang me bits and pieces of Jim Strathby's Mass for the Healing of the Earth, which her choir is doing shortly after her return. There was the couple from outside of Washington, DC and the Scot they hiked with that day who helped us cross a stream that was not passable at the usual crossing point. After we got across, we stayed and helped the next group (from the Netherlands) by forming a human chain of sorts.
4. Rain, wind, and more rain and wind - Most days we had only showers, but the day we hiked our 9 miles we did so in predicted driving rain and gale force gusts of wind. Much of the moor and the mountain passes were exposed, and so we felt the full brunt of the weather. It was pretty amazing - and in a way quite exhilarating!
Both Joe and I really loved the highlands - with the mountains, the wind, the weather, the mists, the legends. We come away with such marvelous memories as we begin the next phase of our journey here in Scotland. In some ways it seems as if our walk on the West Highland Way was almost like we were on a pilgrimage, walking to Iona. That is where we are headed tomorrow. Tonight we are in Oban, and in the morning we will take a ferry to the Isle of Mull, a bus across Mull, and another ferry to Iona. There we will be staying for a week in the Iona Community based at the centuries old Abbey Church, exploring the island and enjoying John Bell's program on the in between season between Pentecost Sunday and Advent. I am told that we would be dreaming if we thought there would be a computer connection on Iona....
Sunday, September 18, 2011
You take the high road....
"You take the high road (as the old song goes), and I'll take the low road (or rather I'll take planes, trains, and buses), and I'll get to Scotland afore ye..."
And so we arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland on Friday morning after an all-night flight (and an hour or so of sleep) from Portland via Newark. We found our way to our guesthouse and felt quite blessed to have our room ready, so we could sleep for an hour or so before heading out to begin to see the city. We walked the Royal Mile, thinking about what we really wanted to do the next day and ate a scone as we drank some afternoon tea at the Robbie Burns.
The following day we visited Edinburgh Castle, situated at one end of the Royal Mile, looking as if it had been literally cut from the rocky crags on which it stands. The oldest building in the complex is St. Margaret's Chapel built in 1123. It's also about the tiniest church building I have ever seen. We also toured some of the 43 closes (very narrow streets only 6 feet or so in width) that currently lie beneath the modern city of Edinburgh, new buildings having been built on the foundations of the old. The closes were much like tenements, some with buildings rising 12 stories above them - not much in the way of bright sunshine streaming in. Mary King's Close is said to be cursed as so many of its inhabitants died when the plague wiped out 1/3 of the population of Edinburgh in 1645.
We also walked down to Holyrood Park and climbed partway up Arthur's Seat, a very steep hill that overlooks the city. In addition, we bought our lunch at the local farmer's market and enjoyed it in between the raindrops in the Princes Street Gardens, absolutely beautiful public gardens. There was so much more to see in Edinburgh, but today we moved on, taking the train to Tyndrum, the starting point for our inn-to-inn walk along the West Highland Way to Fort William. We are in the Highlands, and it is beautiful. We have seen "heather on the hill", and so I am humming all those wonderful songs from Brigadoon. Once in the highlands, the highlands of Scotland.....
We are staying in a warm and cozy bed and breakfast in Tyndrum. The inn keeper is also a massage therapist and consequently the local alternative medicine healer. Staying in guesthouses and b&b's is alot of fun. Joe and I enjoy all the interesting people we meet. Here in Tyndrum, in addition to our healer/hostess, we have met a couple from Seattle also walking the Way. In Edinburgh, we met a couple that had just returned from Iona, where we shall be going after we finish our inn-to-inn trekking. He was a Baptist pastor from Canada and grew up quite near to where we have our summer cottage in Ontario. It's a small world....
Tomorrow we begin our walking. Armed with 2 guidebooks of the West Highland Way (one which provides practical information and the other which regales us with history and poetry about the region), enough lunch provisions to get us through the next two days (as there are no grocery stores along the way 'til then), and a hearty Scottish breakfast (I'm having freshly caught brown trout), we will begin our 6.75 mile walk (the shortest of our four days). We're hoping for good weather, which isn't likely, but we have our rain gear and good humor, so what more can we need?!
And so we arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland on Friday morning after an all-night flight (and an hour or so of sleep) from Portland via Newark. We found our way to our guesthouse and felt quite blessed to have our room ready, so we could sleep for an hour or so before heading out to begin to see the city. We walked the Royal Mile, thinking about what we really wanted to do the next day and ate a scone as we drank some afternoon tea at the Robbie Burns.
The following day we visited Edinburgh Castle, situated at one end of the Royal Mile, looking as if it had been literally cut from the rocky crags on which it stands. The oldest building in the complex is St. Margaret's Chapel built in 1123. It's also about the tiniest church building I have ever seen. We also toured some of the 43 closes (very narrow streets only 6 feet or so in width) that currently lie beneath the modern city of Edinburgh, new buildings having been built on the foundations of the old. The closes were much like tenements, some with buildings rising 12 stories above them - not much in the way of bright sunshine streaming in. Mary King's Close is said to be cursed as so many of its inhabitants died when the plague wiped out 1/3 of the population of Edinburgh in 1645.
We also walked down to Holyrood Park and climbed partway up Arthur's Seat, a very steep hill that overlooks the city. In addition, we bought our lunch at the local farmer's market and enjoyed it in between the raindrops in the Princes Street Gardens, absolutely beautiful public gardens. There was so much more to see in Edinburgh, but today we moved on, taking the train to Tyndrum, the starting point for our inn-to-inn walk along the West Highland Way to Fort William. We are in the Highlands, and it is beautiful. We have seen "heather on the hill", and so I am humming all those wonderful songs from Brigadoon. Once in the highlands, the highlands of Scotland.....
We are staying in a warm and cozy bed and breakfast in Tyndrum. The inn keeper is also a massage therapist and consequently the local alternative medicine healer. Staying in guesthouses and b&b's is alot of fun. Joe and I enjoy all the interesting people we meet. Here in Tyndrum, in addition to our healer/hostess, we have met a couple from Seattle also walking the Way. In Edinburgh, we met a couple that had just returned from Iona, where we shall be going after we finish our inn-to-inn trekking. He was a Baptist pastor from Canada and grew up quite near to where we have our summer cottage in Ontario. It's a small world....
Tomorrow we begin our walking. Armed with 2 guidebooks of the West Highland Way (one which provides practical information and the other which regales us with history and poetry about the region), enough lunch provisions to get us through the next two days (as there are no grocery stores along the way 'til then), and a hearty Scottish breakfast (I'm having freshly caught brown trout), we will begin our 6.75 mile walk (the shortest of our four days). We're hoping for good weather, which isn't likely, but we have our rain gear and good humor, so what more can we need?!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sensing the Sacred: Smell and Taste
In my proposal to the Lilly Endowment National Clergy Renewal Grant (that has made it possible for this renewal/sabbatical to unfold in the wonderful ways that it has), I said that I would try to experience my time in Algonquin Park through my senses of smell and taste.
And so the question is this: Can you smell the sacred - can you taste it? Can you experience the sacred through your sense of small only in church when you catch a whiff of incense or the odor of candles as they are extinguished? Can you taste the sacred only when you have communion and partake of the bread and wine (or grape juice)? Can you smell and taste the sacred at other times and in other places?
Here are some of the smells and tastes that help me to realize the sacred here at our cottage in Algonquin Park.
SMELLS
1. Pine Needles - Someone long ago dubbed this cottage and its land as "Needle Point." Pine needles and pine cones, pine pitch and ageless pine trees - tall with thick trunks - are in abundance here. And what is not pine is most likely hemlock and fir. We have very few hardwoods. That delightful pine fragrance reminds me of the astounding creative power of God - and makes me just stop everyonce in a while and breathe it all in. The sheer massiveness of some of the trees reminds me of the solid and unchanging nature of God's presence. The wind whistling through the branches reminds me of the breath of God - the pneuma - the Holy Spirit - that continually envelopes and protects us.
2. The Lake - Lakes smell different than the ocean does. Instead of the salty odor of the sea is the smell of reeds growing along the shoreline and if you are here at the right time in the summer and if you can lean far over the side of the canoe without tipping it, you can catch the very subtle whiff of a water lily blossom. For me, lakes have an odor of purity - reminding me of the depth and breadth and essential goodness of God and all that God has created. How blessed we are to be a part of it!
3. Fires in the Woodstove - The smell of wood burning down to coals - warming the cabin after a morning dip, perfect now for making breakfast toast - is somehing I look forward to every morning. It reminds me of the warmth not only of my family but also of God's love.
TASTES
Meals always taste better at Algonquin. Pizza, pasta, burgers - the ones you make at home seem to pale in comparison. The ingredients might be identical, but the ahnds of everyone helping in the preparation really does make a tangible difference. Meals in Algonquin remind me that we are all connected, that we are all on this earth to live together, work together, build community together, break bread together.
Then there the foods that we only get in Canada. Their tastes will always bring me home to our cottage in the Park - to experience once again the sacredness of this place.
1. Chelsea Buns - These are the most delicious, sinfully sweet morning buns that are best lightly toasted over the coals of the fire that warmed you after your morning dip.
2. Butter Tarts - This is a wonderfully tasty English Canadian dessert treat - kind of like a miniature pecan pie with the emphasis on the filling and not on the nuts.
3. Bisquick - Yes, you can buy Bisquick anywhere, but the recipe used in the Canadian product is slightly different - with the results a whole lot better.
4. Pots of English breakfast Tea - These are seemingly endless pots enjoyed at breakfast of roaming, far-reaching conversations.
We sing a grace before each meal when the family is here together at the cottage. It is the first verse of the Johnny Appleseed grace with a second verse added on. The new verse goes like this:
When I come to Algonquin Park
I sing a song to Thee
To praise you for the glorious shore, Mr Snips*** and the flroest floor
The Lord is good to me.
***Mr. Snips was surely the BIGGEST snapping turtle ever who happened to live at our dock for a few days one summer when the children weree quite young. Naming him took some (but by no means all) of the fear of having a large snapping turtle in the vicinity of the water you swam in. Mr. Snips moved on when the activity level at the dock wsa ramped up: Gone but NEVER forgotten!
And so the question is this: Can you smell the sacred - can you taste it? Can you experience the sacred through your sense of small only in church when you catch a whiff of incense or the odor of candles as they are extinguished? Can you taste the sacred only when you have communion and partake of the bread and wine (or grape juice)? Can you smell and taste the sacred at other times and in other places?
Here are some of the smells and tastes that help me to realize the sacred here at our cottage in Algonquin Park.
SMELLS
1. Pine Needles - Someone long ago dubbed this cottage and its land as "Needle Point." Pine needles and pine cones, pine pitch and ageless pine trees - tall with thick trunks - are in abundance here. And what is not pine is most likely hemlock and fir. We have very few hardwoods. That delightful pine fragrance reminds me of the astounding creative power of God - and makes me just stop everyonce in a while and breathe it all in. The sheer massiveness of some of the trees reminds me of the solid and unchanging nature of God's presence. The wind whistling through the branches reminds me of the breath of God - the pneuma - the Holy Spirit - that continually envelopes and protects us.
2. The Lake - Lakes smell different than the ocean does. Instead of the salty odor of the sea is the smell of reeds growing along the shoreline and if you are here at the right time in the summer and if you can lean far over the side of the canoe without tipping it, you can catch the very subtle whiff of a water lily blossom. For me, lakes have an odor of purity - reminding me of the depth and breadth and essential goodness of God and all that God has created. How blessed we are to be a part of it!
3. Fires in the Woodstove - The smell of wood burning down to coals - warming the cabin after a morning dip, perfect now for making breakfast toast - is somehing I look forward to every morning. It reminds me of the warmth not only of my family but also of God's love.
TASTES
Meals always taste better at Algonquin. Pizza, pasta, burgers - the ones you make at home seem to pale in comparison. The ingredients might be identical, but the ahnds of everyone helping in the preparation really does make a tangible difference. Meals in Algonquin remind me that we are all connected, that we are all on this earth to live together, work together, build community together, break bread together.
Then there the foods that we only get in Canada. Their tastes will always bring me home to our cottage in the Park - to experience once again the sacredness of this place.
1. Chelsea Buns - These are the most delicious, sinfully sweet morning buns that are best lightly toasted over the coals of the fire that warmed you after your morning dip.
2. Butter Tarts - This is a wonderfully tasty English Canadian dessert treat - kind of like a miniature pecan pie with the emphasis on the filling and not on the nuts.
3. Bisquick - Yes, you can buy Bisquick anywhere, but the recipe used in the Canadian product is slightly different - with the results a whole lot better.
4. Pots of English breakfast Tea - These are seemingly endless pots enjoyed at breakfast of roaming, far-reaching conversations.
We sing a grace before each meal when the family is here together at the cottage. It is the first verse of the Johnny Appleseed grace with a second verse added on. The new verse goes like this:
When I come to Algonquin Park
I sing a song to Thee
To praise you for the glorious shore, Mr Snips*** and the flroest floor
The Lord is good to me.
***Mr. Snips was surely the BIGGEST snapping turtle ever who happened to live at our dock for a few days one summer when the children weree quite young. Naming him took some (but by no means all) of the fear of having a large snapping turtle in the vicinity of the water you swam in. Mr. Snips moved on when the activity level at the dock wsa ramped up: Gone but NEVER forgotten!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Photos of Our Cottage
Musings from the Dock
Here it is August 31st. I am sitting on the dock at our family cottage on Cache Lake in Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario. Joe is doing some business travel for a couple of days, so it is just me and the two dogs. It was supposed to be brilliantly sunny today, but instead it is completely cloudy - but warm all the same. The lake is perfectly calm.
There are five other cottages in sight - at least as much in sight as any cottage in the Park is. Only one of them is occupied this late in the season. So - it is particularly quiet - and very peaceful. As heron might fly by into our small cove to do some fishing later on. And a couple of loons might cruise the bay, calling to one another if I am lucky. That solitary duck may return to the reeds by the shoreline of the cove that she or she seems to have adopted as a temporary feeding pace.
The water has warmed up since we arrived a week ago. It has gone from "bracing" to merely "brisk" on my personal scale of Cache Lake water temperature. However, it is likely to always be warm enough this year for a morning dip each day before breakfast.
Of course, I do make sure that there is a good fire going in the woodstove in the main cabin first. For me, the woodstove serves two important purposes. The first is to stand in front of for a few minutes after that morning swim. The second is to make toast using coat hangers that have been bent into the perfect shapre for making toast over the coals without burning you hand - an invention of my grandfather's decades ago.
The dogs love it here. They can wander freely without worry. There are no roads or cars to speak of as every cottage on Cache Lake is accessible only by boat - and every boat is either a canoe, cayak, or has a motor of less than 10 hp. The dogs love to lie on the dock and take a swim when it gets too hot. Millie merely steps into the shallows off the end of the dock and gently lowers herself only enought to wet her legs and belly. She's not much of a water dog.
Chloe loves to swim and reminds me of an otter. Unfortunately, she overdid it the first day and strained her tail. It was three more doays before she could sit down and before it did not hang limply behind her. She too seems content to splash in the shallows.
Daisy was our dog who loved to swim. She would go great distances for a stick or a frisbee. Last year she had to wear a doggie life preserver as she had lost so much muscle in her hindquarters. Unfortunately she died earlier this suimmer. One evening before we leave, Joe and I will toss some of her ashes over the water she so loved. There they will join those of her "cousins" Emma and Gracie - also expert golden lab swimmers.
Our cottage is really four separate buildings - and an outhouse. We have a propane refrigerator that is old enough to be quite tempermental at times (sometimes freezing everything and other times freezing nothing), a propane stove, and propane lights in the main cabin - which is really a kitchen, small dining/living area, and a woodstove. There is also a chest of drawers filled with decks of cards and numerous games that you would never play at home - except maybe at Christmas. Bananagrams has been a favorite the past two years. There have also been years of Scrabble, various forms of rummy, hearts, and back alley bridge. There are also bookshelves filled with summer reading books brought up, read, and left for others to enjoy.
We have three sleeping cabins named for their location - Upper, Lower, and Back. Attached to the back cabin is a shower - used daily and gratefully by some members of the extended family - and scoffed at by others.
We have a swimming dock, a boat dock, three canoes and two kayaks brought up and left by various family members, and the motor boat. We spend most of our dock time on the swimming dock where we get the afternoon sun and are treated many evenings to a magnificent sunset.
For me, our cottage is a sacred place. It has something to do with the peace that emanates from it - even when the winds blow and the storms come - the lake itself, the trees, the sameness year after year, the generations that have enjoyed it, the memories, the sense of a family place.
There are five other cottages in sight - at least as much in sight as any cottage in the Park is. Only one of them is occupied this late in the season. So - it is particularly quiet - and very peaceful. As heron might fly by into our small cove to do some fishing later on. And a couple of loons might cruise the bay, calling to one another if I am lucky. That solitary duck may return to the reeds by the shoreline of the cove that she or she seems to have adopted as a temporary feeding pace.
The water has warmed up since we arrived a week ago. It has gone from "bracing" to merely "brisk" on my personal scale of Cache Lake water temperature. However, it is likely to always be warm enough this year for a morning dip each day before breakfast.
Of course, I do make sure that there is a good fire going in the woodstove in the main cabin first. For me, the woodstove serves two important purposes. The first is to stand in front of for a few minutes after that morning swim. The second is to make toast using coat hangers that have been bent into the perfect shapre for making toast over the coals without burning you hand - an invention of my grandfather's decades ago.
The dogs love it here. They can wander freely without worry. There are no roads or cars to speak of as every cottage on Cache Lake is accessible only by boat - and every boat is either a canoe, cayak, or has a motor of less than 10 hp. The dogs love to lie on the dock and take a swim when it gets too hot. Millie merely steps into the shallows off the end of the dock and gently lowers herself only enought to wet her legs and belly. She's not much of a water dog.
Chloe loves to swim and reminds me of an otter. Unfortunately, she overdid it the first day and strained her tail. It was three more doays before she could sit down and before it did not hang limply behind her. She too seems content to splash in the shallows.
Daisy was our dog who loved to swim. She would go great distances for a stick or a frisbee. Last year she had to wear a doggie life preserver as she had lost so much muscle in her hindquarters. Unfortunately she died earlier this suimmer. One evening before we leave, Joe and I will toss some of her ashes over the water she so loved. There they will join those of her "cousins" Emma and Gracie - also expert golden lab swimmers.
Our cottage is really four separate buildings - and an outhouse. We have a propane refrigerator that is old enough to be quite tempermental at times (sometimes freezing everything and other times freezing nothing), a propane stove, and propane lights in the main cabin - which is really a kitchen, small dining/living area, and a woodstove. There is also a chest of drawers filled with decks of cards and numerous games that you would never play at home - except maybe at Christmas. Bananagrams has been a favorite the past two years. There have also been years of Scrabble, various forms of rummy, hearts, and back alley bridge. There are also bookshelves filled with summer reading books brought up, read, and left for others to enjoy.
We have three sleeping cabins named for their location - Upper, Lower, and Back. Attached to the back cabin is a shower - used daily and gratefully by some members of the extended family - and scoffed at by others.
We have a swimming dock, a boat dock, three canoes and two kayaks brought up and left by various family members, and the motor boat. We spend most of our dock time on the swimming dock where we get the afternoon sun and are treated many evenings to a magnificent sunset.
For me, our cottage is a sacred place. It has something to do with the peace that emanates from it - even when the winds blow and the storms come - the lake itself, the trees, the sameness year after year, the generations that have enjoyed it, the memories, the sense of a family place.
The Labyrinth: Sacred Space Created?
I'm reading a book entitled "Sacred Places" by Philiip Carr-Gromm. In his introduction, he writes: "Sacred Places are like doorways into another world, reminding us that life is more mysterious and wonderful than we ever imagine. They evoke awe and reverance in us."
So - what actually makes a place sacred? It seems that often times these places are ancient - like Stonehenge and the Pyramids in Egypt - mysterious in their origins and purpose. Sometimes they are natural places - caves or streams or the Apurimac River in Peru. Sometimes they are made by human hands - Chartres Cathedral or Choquechirao, for example.
But always the seem to touch us at a deeply spiritual place. Through them we experience Kairos time, and the veil between the worlds in for a moment lifted. We experience a thin place.
Can we create such places - or is there something inherent in the space itself that we simply uncover and nurture?
My labyrinth is in some ways a grand experiment to see what role I might play in creating a sacred space. Does the mere existence of the labyrinth and the knowledge that labyrinths touch a deeply spiritual place for many people somehow confer sacredness on this particular labyrinth in this partciular location? Does the sacredness lie in the stoenwork and winding pathways - or does the sacredness lie beneath and around the granite and mulch?
If all of life is sacred and we are somehow connected to the earth as well as to one another in a deep and profound way, do I have it within me to unleash the sacred that may lie dormant in the world aroudn me? Is that at least part of what it means to be made in God's image, to have a divine spark within, to be a child of the light? If so, imagine the world that could be transformed - though our own efforts!
So - what actually makes a place sacred? It seems that often times these places are ancient - like Stonehenge and the Pyramids in Egypt - mysterious in their origins and purpose. Sometimes they are natural places - caves or streams or the Apurimac River in Peru. Sometimes they are made by human hands - Chartres Cathedral or Choquechirao, for example.
But always the seem to touch us at a deeply spiritual place. Through them we experience Kairos time, and the veil between the worlds in for a moment lifted. We experience a thin place.
Can we create such places - or is there something inherent in the space itself that we simply uncover and nurture?
My labyrinth is in some ways a grand experiment to see what role I might play in creating a sacred space. Does the mere existence of the labyrinth and the knowledge that labyrinths touch a deeply spiritual place for many people somehow confer sacredness on this particular labyrinth in this partciular location? Does the sacredness lie in the stoenwork and winding pathways - or does the sacredness lie beneath and around the granite and mulch?
If all of life is sacred and we are somehow connected to the earth as well as to one another in a deep and profound way, do I have it within me to unleash the sacred that may lie dormant in the world aroudn me? Is that at least part of what it means to be made in God's image, to have a divine spark within, to be a child of the light? If so, imagine the world that could be transformed - though our own efforts!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Creating Sacred Space One Stone at A Time
In my proposal to the Lilly Endowment for a National Clergy Renewal Grant, I indicated that I would reflect upon the Labyrinth Project using my sense of touch. So - the question that must be answered is this: how does my sense of touch inform the significance of building a labyrinth?
Here are a couple of things I thought of:
1. Reconnecting with the earth in a hands on way - Each stone I dug up or picked up or moved to the site was a reminder of the the world that God created. The same can be said for the roots I pulled from the ground, and the sand I spread in order to level the site. We often get so pressured to stay close to our computers and cell phones that we often never find ourselves out in the woods, experiencing nature. Thoreau railed about this disconnect between work and nature in his essay entitled "Nature." Much more recently, Richard Louv also wrote about it with regard to children and their relationship (or lack thereof) to nature in his book entitled "Last Child in the Woods." In building the labyrinth, I found the my spirituality, my connection to God, is enhanced when I am outdoors. Working on the labyrinth (most often alone) gave me that quiet place of reconnection.
2. The Physical Nature of the Projects and Events I Chose For This Sabbatical/Renewal Time - I always knew that my time in Peru would be a physical challenge, and our trek to Choquechirao certainly bore out that fact. However, it did not occur to me that the other ways I have chosen to spend my renewal time also have a challenging physical component as well.
I'm starting to realize that walking 10+ miles a day in the hills of Scotland won't be a picnic, especially if Joe and I run into any typically Scottish weather, i.e rain!
However, I never gave the building of the labyrinth much thought in the pysical sense. However, that project ended up with a signficant physical component as well - not only carrying stone to build the labyrinth either. I am now remembering clearing the site - and the hours of raking I did, looping down small trees, and hauling branches away.
I am also remembering the MANY wheel barrow loads of sand that I hauled a good distance to the site. Then there were all the wheel barrow loads of mulch carried to the site and then raked on the pathways as well as working with Joe to set up the solid granite bench in the center. I never thought that I was putting such a physical spin on the grant proposal, but I guess physical challenges are important to me - and something that I actually enjoy.
3. Sensing the Power of the Site - I feel that there is a certain power that is emerging at the site of the labyrinth. For me, there is a deep sense of sacredness there, and I feel connected to something profoundly spiritual. There is a sense of kairos rather than chronos time - a feeling of connecting with something ancient.
Here are a couple of things I thought of:
1. Reconnecting with the earth in a hands on way - Each stone I dug up or picked up or moved to the site was a reminder of the the world that God created. The same can be said for the roots I pulled from the ground, and the sand I spread in order to level the site. We often get so pressured to stay close to our computers and cell phones that we often never find ourselves out in the woods, experiencing nature. Thoreau railed about this disconnect between work and nature in his essay entitled "Nature." Much more recently, Richard Louv also wrote about it with regard to children and their relationship (or lack thereof) to nature in his book entitled "Last Child in the Woods." In building the labyrinth, I found the my spirituality, my connection to God, is enhanced when I am outdoors. Working on the labyrinth (most often alone) gave me that quiet place of reconnection.
2. The Physical Nature of the Projects and Events I Chose For This Sabbatical/Renewal Time - I always knew that my time in Peru would be a physical challenge, and our trek to Choquechirao certainly bore out that fact. However, it did not occur to me that the other ways I have chosen to spend my renewal time also have a challenging physical component as well.
I'm starting to realize that walking 10+ miles a day in the hills of Scotland won't be a picnic, especially if Joe and I run into any typically Scottish weather, i.e rain!
However, I never gave the building of the labyrinth much thought in the pysical sense. However, that project ended up with a signficant physical component as well - not only carrying stone to build the labyrinth either. I am now remembering clearing the site - and the hours of raking I did, looping down small trees, and hauling branches away.
I am also remembering the MANY wheel barrow loads of sand that I hauled a good distance to the site. Then there were all the wheel barrow loads of mulch carried to the site and then raked on the pathways as well as working with Joe to set up the solid granite bench in the center. I never thought that I was putting such a physical spin on the grant proposal, but I guess physical challenges are important to me - and something that I actually enjoy.
3. Sensing the Power of the Site - I feel that there is a certain power that is emerging at the site of the labyrinth. For me, there is a deep sense of sacredness there, and I feel connected to something profoundly spiritual. There is a sense of kairos rather than chronos time - a feeling of connecting with something ancient.
Photos of the Completed Labyrinth
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Photos from the Labyrinth Construction Day
This maple tree will be at the center of the labyrinth.
David is laying out the guide stones.
We are beginning to fill in the spaces between the guide stones.
This is David, our designer.
Nancy and Susan are helping david measure the width of the pathways.
Lori is beginning to shovel the mulch.
The labyrinth is taking shape!
A bird's eye view of the project.
We're putting in the mulch.
Paddy is raking the mulch into the pathways.
The stonework is done, but there is still mulching left to do.
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