The Unthinkable

Humans are transforming Earth’s natural landscapes so dramatically that as many as one million plant and animal species are now at risk of extinction, posing a dire threat to ecosystems that people all over the world depend on for their survival, a sweeping new United Nations assessment has concluded.

The 1,500-page report, compiled by hundreds of international experts and based on thousands of scientific studies, is the most exhaustive look yet at the decline in biodiversity across the globe and the dangers that creates for human civilization. A summary of its findings, which was approved by representatives from the United States and 131 other countries, was released Monday in Paris. The full report is set to be published this year.

Contributing to the urgency, is Global Warming, and the resistance of the Trump Administration to accept its reality and causes.   As a result, policies in place to slow down and mitigate the impact of Global Warming, are being intentionally cut or ignored.https://youtu.be/B9K8jgUcZ00

The unthinkable has become our reality.   Short term economic advantage has trumped a responsibility for the well being of generations not yet born.

What are people of conscience to do?

First, it is important to support good science.  The overwhelming scientific community affirms that the  science is incontrovertible.   Global Warming is a reality and primarily caused by human actions.

Second, to collaborate with like minded organizations, local and global, that advocate for progressive governmental policies that limit carbon emissions and protect natural resources.  For example, on a local basis I’m a member of the Ipswich River Watershed Association, http://www.ipswichriver.org which protects the watershed I call home.  On a local and global level I support https://350.org founded by Bill McKibben to limit and ultimately begin to draw down the amount of carbon being emitted.

Third, vote for local and national politicians who will work to protect our environment.

Fourth, don’t give in to despair. Take the long view.  Advocating for the well being of our planet is a marathon, not a sprint.

Fifth, spend time in nature and with children.  Nature restores and inspires.  Spend time every week in the outdoors.  Savoring and soaking up the beauty and wonder of our natural world.  And, hang out with kids.  We are protecting the earth for the well being of children and generations of children to come.

Sixth, draw strength from a philosophical/spiritual foundation that fuels your passion.  John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club and a mystic at heart said:

“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”
John Muir

Seven, hold on to a righteous anger.  We must on behalf of creation, challenge and confront the selfish impulses of political and economic forces.   We are to offer positive, sustainable alternatives to the selfish ambitions of the few who seek to gain the most, in the short term.

Eight, draw wisdom from your spiritual tradition.  As a person who draws from the well of the Judeo-Christian tradition,  I believe that the willful destruction of the natural world is a deep and profound expression of Sin. I believe these words to be true: ‘If you love the Creator, then take care of creation.’  To turn our back on this truth, is to turn our back on the Creator.

God saw all that was made, and it was very good.  And there was evening, and there was morning, the sixth day.  ~ Genesis 1: 31

What is your conscience calling you to do?  May we choose wisely. For the sake of generations to come.

 

The Road to Managua and Emmaus

I’ve been travelling to Managua for 30 years. That’s two pant sizes and a full head of hair ago. I continue to return, because Managua is a place of meeting for me.

In that poor, scattered city, I continually meet remarkable people.  Such as  Guillermo, who meets me at the airport with a warm smile and friendly banter; Dr. Woo who goes about her work as a physician, in a calm, caring manner; Juan Carlos, quietly ensuring that the cement is poured and projects completed.  I think too of Marissa from the States, who is volunteering for a year and has fallen in love with the people and culture of this beautiful and sometimes, tragic land.

For thirty years, as a pastor, I’ve been travelling to Nicaragua to support public health initiatives, most recently through AMOS: Health and Hope.  AMOS http://amoshealth.org is a faith based, community health care model, which empowers local communities, to leverage their wisdom and resources, for the purpose of improving their overall health.

Mother and children in the village of Apantillo

AMOS accompanies 70,000 of our most vulnerable neighbors, in 22 underserved rural communities and one urban clinic.  We train  local health care workers and committees, to immunize their children, provide clean water and monitor the health of those pregnant and with infants.

In these vulnerable communities, in the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, it is beautiful to see communities empowered to grow in health and hope. The good news, arises from the talent and commitment of neighbors watching out for one another.

In truth, I receive much more than anything I give.  The people of Nicaragua, remind me of two truths:  That we need Faith and we need each other.  That together, there is no challenge we can’t overcome.

In the Gospel of Luke 24, a story is told of the afternoon of Easter.  Two travelers are walking from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus.  They are talking about events of the day.  Rumors circulate that Jesus’ broken body had been stolen. They are distraught, hopeless.

As they walk, a stranger joins them and opens their eyes and hearts to a new possibility, that all is not lost. That hope remains.

That evening, they invite their new companion to join them for supper.

When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him (as Jesus); and he vanished from their sight.

People of faith, like me, tell this story 2000 years later, because it has legs.  It offers a timeless story of God’s initiative into the common place moments of life …  sharing a conversation and meal.

The road to Managua and Emmaus, remind me of a profound and simple truth.  That companions enter our lives, sometimes but for a moment.  To remind us that we do not walk alone.   To bless us and be on their way.

I’m just days back from my most recent visit to Nicaragua.  As before, I’ve met remarkable people.  People who open my eyes and expand my heart.  I’m nothing, if not grateful to my fellow travelers.

Worship in the Woods

As children, we know this to be true:  Nature inspires, fascinates and heals.   As adults, we can forget.  But the ‘child within us’, brings us back to this timeless truth.

I remember being with my daughter at age two and seeing her fascination, as she saw a  ‘wooly bear’ caterpillar for the first time.  She got down on all fours, close to the earth and watched amazed, as this fuzzy, black and orange striped caterpillar, inched ever so slowly, across our path.

Do you remember the last time you were as fully present, to what was right in front of you?  Do you remember the last time you allowed yourself to experience awe, wonder and such absolute delight?

This past Sunday, a group from the church I serve, travelled to Church of the Woods in Canterbury, NH.  This little church, offers a profound and compelling witness to the wider community. https://kairosearth.org/church-of-the-woods

Rooted in the Christian tradition, this congregation has no building.  Their Sanctuary, is an 112 acre forest, clear-cut several times over, and slowly being restored to a healthy forest.

Their pastor, is Steve Blackmer, a professional forester, who in mid-life became an Episcopal priest.  The vision for Church of the Woods, arose from Steve and kindred spirits, who believe that we connect more deeply to the Creator, as we immerse ourselves in the beauty and wisdom of creation.

The altar around which we gatherd, is a stump of an old growth tree, cut down years before.  Upon the altar is placed a chalice and plate, to hold the Eucharist, reminding us of the body and life-force of God’s own child, Jesus.

 

 

 

Now gathered at your table, remembering that we are one with our Creator and with all creation, we offer to you from your own Earth these gifts of the land, this bread and wine, and our own bodies – our own living sacrifice.

Fill us with your Breath, O God, opening our eyes and renewing us in your love.  Send our Spirit over this land and over the whole earth, making everything a new creation.

 

After the liturgy, we are invited to quietly walk the paths of the forest.  With open eyes and hearts we seek to awaken to what nature has to say.  Martin Luther, centuries ago, said: “The call of a bird, the sound of a brook, the wind against one’s face, is but a ‘little word’ to us, from the Creator.”

 

Reverent play at Church of the Woods, as the children lead us.

For an hour or so, on a late afternoon, we walk,   ages 5 – 75.   We walk, look and listen, closely, carefully.  We are mindful of the words of the prophet Isaiah, ‘Listen, and your soul will live’.

 

As the sun begins to set, we conclude the liturgy with these words:

 

 

 

‘God of abundance, you have fed us with the bread of life and the cup of love.  You have reunited us with Christ, with the Earth and with one another.  Now, send us forth in the power of the Spirit that we may proclaim your love and continue forever in the risen life of Christ’.

May it be so.

 

The First People

I live in Massachusetts and was raised in Rhode Island.   All around me is history.   In my neighborhood are houses built-in the 1600’s. These are not museum pieces but houses that have provided homes for generations of families.  My own house is a newcomer, built-in 1806.

Down the street is Independence Park, where the Declaration of Independence was read to citizens.  Around the bend, in Beverly Harbor,  is the  location of George Washington’s navy, during the Revolutionary War.   All this history is told through the lens of the Europeans who settled here.

Preceding this were the indigenous people who call this region home:  the Wampanoag, the Narragansett, the Nipmuc, among others.   For most non Native American’s like me, I am disconnected from the stories  and wisdom of those who preceded ‘my people’.

This past Thanksgiving I met Larry Spotted Crow Mann, a Nipmuc elder.  The Nipmuc (which means ‘Fresh Water’ people), is an indigenous community whose ancestral land once comprised over 1000 square miles from northern Rhode Island, Connecticut, central Massachusetts and southern New Hampshire.

Today the Nipmuc land consists of a small allotment of acres in Central Massachusetts.  But as Larry Spotted Crow Mann says: “We never left.  Most non-Native people think we were wiped out hundreds of years ago by war and disease brought by Europeans.  But we are still here.  This is still our land, our home.”

Nipmuc elder, Larry Spotted Crow Mann

Larry Spotted Crow Mann, is a mixture of warmth, humor, intelligence and mental toughness.  His profession includes counseling indigenous youth, who feel disconnected from their heritage and judged by the majority culture.

For Larry Spotted Crow Mann, the path to healing is found in reconnecting to one’s tribal tradition and spirituality.  For this Nipmuc elder, the past is not the past, it is circular, where the past informs the present and future.

A few weeks ago, I again met Larry Spotted Crow Mann.  This time he was leading a drumming workshop.  He spoke of the drum beat as a reflection of the ‘heartbeat’ of the earth, of the Creator.  He spoke of the intricacy of the rhythm of nature, how in indigenous culture, there is no separation between the natural world and a person’s place within it.

“Everything is a circle, a hoop, within which we each have a place.  Our place in the circle has no greater or lesser importance than anything else…birds, bugs, water, air, soil…everything is interconnected.”

For most of us, in the majority culture, the Nipmuc and other tribal communities are invisible.  At best we are indifferent, at worst judgmental.

Yet, the truth is, the Nipmuc have never left.  They are still here. Their language continues to be spoken.  Their tradition passed from generation to generation.

The Nipmuc offer timeless wisdom to the majority culture too.  Lessons for how to live and how to be.  For those with the eyes to see and the ears to hear.

 

Ash Wednesday: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Today the Baptist church I serve, gathered with our sisters and brothers of Saint Peter Episcopal Church for Ash Wednesday.  The beginning of the Season of Lent.

Ash Wednesday is not normally part of the Baptist tradition and it is beautiful to see distinct branches of the Christian tree come together for a common purpose. For this ‘liturgically challenged’ Baptist, my spiritual imagination has been enriched and expanded by the addition of Ash Wednesday.

In my previous setting in Oregon, we shared this ritual with a Roman Catholic congregation.  For the Latino/Latina members of that congregation, it was the largest service of the year.  It was beautiful to worship in Spanish and English.

Here in New England, we gather with an Episcopal Church.  The crowd and diversity may not be the same, but the meaning we find in the company of one another is a constant.

For this ritual, ashes are placed on the forehead in the shape of the cross.  The ashes are presented with these words, “Repent and believe in the Good News”.  It is a truly intimate act to look someone in the eyes, offering ancient words of repentance, as you smudge their forehead with ashes.  You can’t avert your eyes, you can’t deny your vulnerability.

In our highly individualistic culture, Ash Wednesday is profoundly counter cultural.  This ritual reminds us that we come from dust and to dust we will return.  The placing of the ashes on the forehead is an ‘in  your face’ reminder that the illusion of our immortality, and hyper individualism,  is just that, an illusion.

There is something strangely reassuring, in acknowledging one’s mortality.  Rather than being a morbid ritual, Ash Wednesday is a reminder to savor the gift of life, to take care of each other.  A reminder that one day, each of us returns to the Source of all that is good, lasting and true.

Ashes to ashes.  Dust to dust.

In Praise of Wild and Lonely Places

There is something evocative about slowing down and becoming quiet.  A primitive, even visceral desire, to strip away the distractions and focus on that which matters.

For many of us, getting outdoors, is a way of focusing on that which matters.  We do so by working in our garden, hiking, snowshoeing through the woods or walking on the beach.

We are drawn to that which allows our hearts, minds and imaginations to expand. To be reminded that we belong to the cosmos, not just to our daily routines.

Stephen Hiltner taps into this desire in a provocative article in the New York Times entitled: ‘In Britain, Enraptured by the Wild, Lonely and Remote’. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/21/travel/in-search-of-britains-bothies.html?partner=rss&emc=rss He writes of a journey through the wild lands of the United Kingdom, finding refuge and inspiration in isolated huts called ‘bothies’.

A vast majority of bothies are repurposed structures — crofters’ homes, shepherds’ huts, mining outbuildings — that have been salvaged from various states of disrepair by the Mountain Bothies Association, a charitable organization founded in 1965 whose aim is “to maintain simple shelters in remote country for the use and benefit of all who love wild and lonely places.” Some, like Warnscale Head in England’s Lake District, date to the 1700s. Collectively, since they came into recreational use in the 1930s as weekend getaways (sometimes used clandestinely) for working-class laborers, bothies have given rise to a unique culture that values communal respect for fellow visitors, for the bothies themselves and for the land on which they’re situated.

Such wild and lonely places remind me of a week spent on the Longtrail, in Vermont.  With my cousin, Tom, we spent that week moving from rustic hut to hut, soaking in the vistas and silence.

On the Longtrail, there is a tradition of receiving a ‘trail name’ that evokes who you are, or, what you hope to be.  My name was ‘Slow and Easy’.  The name reflects a tendency when on the trail, to linger and savor what the trail has to offer.  While some seek to conquer the trail by bagging a maximum of miles per day, my goal was to experience what was right in front of me.

Travelling ‘slow and easy’ was somewhat counterculture on the trail and certainly is countercultural in our plugged in, highly scheduled lives.

Back to the line I opened with: ‘There is something evocative about slowing down and becoming quiet’.

John Muir lived this truth. He was a mystic and founder of the Sierra Club in the 1930’s.  His formative years were nourished by the wild and lonely places in Scotland.  Later, as a youth, his family emigrated to the United States in the 1870’s and it was there that he fell in love with the wild and lonely places of America.

The moors of Scotland and the mountains of Yosemite, evoke a sense of awe, wonder and belonging to that which is greater than oneself.  Muir wrote:

“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”

Muir’s words reflects that which drew monks and mystics for millenniums to the out-of-the-way places.  Yet, we know too, that such wild and exotic places are simply pointers to that place we can enter each day.  A reminder to slow down, reflect and reconnect, to that Source which is eternal, which is good, lasting and true.

The portal to such a place, begins by simply slowing down and becoming quiet.

Isaiah, an ancient prophet said: ‘Listen and your soul will live’.

May it be so.  Wherever your path may lead.

 

 

Remembering Mary Oliver and the Gift of Red Bird

Yesterday, the great American poet, Mary Oliver died, at age 83.  Her poetry grew out of a love for nature, that served as a refuge from a turbulent childhood.  In the woods and ponds around her rural Ohio home, she found beauty, healing and hope. Throughout her adult life, she found wisdom and renewal on daily walks along the beaches and forests of Provincetown, Cape Cod.  Nature fed and expanded her soul.

Her poem Red Bird, invites the reader to look for the gift of color that breaks into the often grey and cold days of a New England winter.

Red Bird reminds us that beauty however fleeting, comes into even the darkest of times.

May Red Bird speak to you.

 

Red Bird

Red bird came all winter
Firing up the landscape
As nothing else could.

Of course I love the sparrows,
Those dun-colored darlings,
So hungry and so many.

I am a God-fearing feeder of birds,
I know he has many children,
Not all of them bold in spirit.

Still, for whatever reason-
Perhaps because the winter is so long
And the sky so black-blue,

Or perhaps because the heart narrows
As often as it opens-
I am grateful

That red bird comes all winter
Firing up the landscape

As nothing else can do.