Seeking Authentic Voice

  Unravelling. We have spent the summer reflecting on stories in scripture of people whose lives are unraveling. When a life unravels everything is upended and it may seem as though God is nowhere to be seen. Yet the stories we have heard remind us that God is very present even in the unraveling. God does not cause the chaos, the circumstances, the unraveling. Life circumstances cause the unraveling. But God is in the mix, helping people restore their lives and make meaningful, substantive changes to adapt.   The three readings in our scripture today are no exception. Each one of these three characters is, or has experienced, unraveling in their life. Let’s begin with Job. This is a man who had lived a very safe, comfortable life. He was blessed with riches of land and money and family. The story begins with the Satan, a member of God’s executive council, making a bet with God. The Satan says, I bet I can make Job stop believing in you God. And God says, you’re on. So the Satan cause

 During the eight days of the first leg of this mini-sabbatical and during the nineteen days of this leg, I have made it my intention to slow down, to let time just unfold. I have spent countless hours sitting in a chair observing the water as it shifts and noticing the algae bloom as it moves and reveals the current of the water. I have spent countless hours being attentive to the Great Blue Heron, and captured it’s statuesque beauty in photos. I have laughed at the squirrels and given thanks every morning when the baby rabbit appears with the mom. I have been awe struck by the beauty of the morning sun rising over the water and the graceful colors of nature in morning: pale pink, blue, green. I have read, and painted icons, and been still. I have tried to let time just unfold, to let time be long and leisurely.  And yet, time has flown by. I am almost packed. Soon I will load the car, tighten the cables holding the kayaks in place on the roof, and lock the door behind me. By noon I w

 Time is a curious sense of reality. Minutes, hours, even days, can feel like an eternity. Yet weeks, months, and years fly by. I can hardly believe that I have come to the end of this 19 day mini-sabbatical. Tomorrow I pack up and leave this little cottage. I will miss my mornings watching the sun rise over the water and the busy birds and rabbits as gather. Fall is in the air because the blackbirds are here, part of their twice yearly migration. They amaze me, so many all at once. The squirrels and rabbits are not pleased to have to share this space with them.  The water quality here has been tricky. Every day the algae bloom drifts in and then drifts out. Some days it gets stuck in this corner of the lake, getting thicker as the current and wind piles on more and more. Then, within hours, it all drifts away. Usually it floats under the road and to the other side. Sometimes it floats down to the other side of this inlet lake. The algae bloom is disgustingly dirty, bits of trash stuck

 Having finished the icon of Theotokos, on the eve of the feast of her assumption, this sabbatical time is turning from rest to play. My daughter and grand-daughter came down yesterday and we played. 

 Every morning for the last twelve days I have sat for several hours, reading, reflecting, and gazing out the window. I have watched the water shift as the wind blows and the current shifts. I have found moments of awe in the smallest of things, the baby rabbit that nibbles on clover a few feet from the sliding glass door where I sit, birds flying over head, and the array of waterfowl that come to hunt for fish, frogs, snakes, and bugs. I have made all of my own meals, slept with the window open and the night sounds of crickets and frogs serenading me as I sleep. I’ve laughed with delight when a fish, often a huge white bass, jumps from the water for a tasty bug.  Four brown ducks, later six ducks, and this great blue heron shared this space for hours. The heron moved a bit north later in the day, but the ducks stayed all day, leaving only when the rain came at sunset. I have read about icons and worked on two in these twelve days. Each one used different techniques for painting icons.

The winds blew yesterday, creating waves in Lake Erie and clearing this little inlet lake of the pond scum. Last night it was like a sheet of glass.  The wind continues to blow this morning and a trail of green scum is drifting back into this corner. Off in the distance I am watching a large white bird, possibly a great white heron, or a juvenile great blue. It has black markings on its wings and long yellow beak. It could be an egret, but I’ve been told that there are white herons here, the locals call them night herons.  It is too far away for me to see it clearly, even with binoculars, A juvenile great blue will have lighter legs than an egret and more feathery breast. It’s arrival this morning, the first time in the twelve days I’ve been here is curious. According to animal spirituality the presence of an egret signifies completion and prosperity. This stately white bird, heron or egret, has arrived but no sign of the great blue heron that has been here every day for the last week.

 The heron drops in every morning, settling on a log or rocks or a pile of floating dried reeds. It stays for hours, preening itself, hunting for fish and frogs, settling now and then for water bugs. I spend hours watching it, taking photos, awed by its beauty. If I move in too close it flies away. Apparently there is a demarcation zone of safety between the heron and people, a peaceful cohabitation can be maintained if I don’t move past a particular point between. There is a thin line between what it deems is safe and when I have moved too close.  Jan Richardson’s reflection on St. Brigid this morning considers the thin places between this realm and the realm of God. She writes that whenever humans cross into a thin place we become keenly aware of God’s presence, a presence that resides more within us than without. The thin place opens us up to this place within ourselves.  Every morning I wake to watch the sunrise, coffee in hand, the glow of pink and blue and green, a softness, a th

 A little over a week into this segment of the mini-sabbatical. I woke this morning headache free, the work I’ve been doing on G20, the acupressure point at the base of the skull, has finally taken effect. This point is located where the sternocleidomastoid muscle attaches at the base of the skull, it then travels down and around to the front of the chest, attaching again at the clavicle and sternum. This muscle holds the head up and allows it to turn from side to side. It’s a powerful muscle, but thankfully it is located just under the skin, easy access for treating it. After the deep pressure I applied two days ago, this muscle was sore yesterday, so I used ice/heat/ice compresses a couple of times. And now, it’s better. Why was it sore, who knows? This muscle gets triggered and activated when I lift and carry things or if I have leaned on my arm while sitting and knitting, or anything else that engages it for long periods of time. I really do think I need to see an physical therapis

 Mornings continue to be plagued by headaches, although they are less intense and more easily managed than that massive one a few days ago. I’ve gone back to some of my training in massage therapy school, twenty eight years ago, to relearn some shiatsu. Shiatsu is acupressure, like acupuncture but using one’s fingers or other tools to apply pressure to the areas of the body where energy is stuck and release it. I have known for some time that my headaches are caused by a tight spot in my neck, just below the skull and a few fingers width away from the spine. I have treated this spot as if it were a trigger point, a tight muscle, and used ice/heat/ice to release the tightness as well as pressure from a massage wand. However, in my reading about acupressure points I’ve learned a couple of things.The pressure point in the neck, the one that correlates to the same spot that is causing my headaches, is called G20, which means Gallbladder 20. It is part of the gallbladder meridian and is kno

 Yesterday was a sweet day: beautiful weather for walking around this little inlet lake neighborhood and then sitting outside to read. I also painted a lot of the icon and fixed the problems from my out of proportion drawing. The water continues to fascinate me, the current flowing east in the morning and washing away the green scum while flowing west in the evening and bringing it all back over night. Late yesterday afternoon the grey or blue heron flew to this side of the lake and spent 3 hours standing, waiting for a meal, not far from where this cottage is. It took over the cove where a flock of ducks like to settle in, which disturbed them greatly. They’d drift by, not too close so as to not become dinner (probably too big for the heron anyway), and then float away, only to return an hour later and repeat. After finding no food, the heron flew away as darkness settled in.  I ate well, I thought, salads and fresh veggies, shrimp and rice, and went to bed before 11pm, having had a r

 In four hours time I watched as the water current shifted and the green scum drifted away, All of it, gone.  Later I took a walk through the neighborhood on the other side of the road and discovered that the green scum had drifted over there. And now this morning it is back. It’s as if there were a tide that moved in and out. There is not. But there is a current that seems to shift directions, moving west in the evening and east in the morning, The green scum is back this morning, but the current is flowing east, I wonder if it will be strong enough to move this stuff along today? I’m watching water fowl and raptors vie for territory and food. A flock of baby ducks floated through the scum and under the border trees. And now two raptors, some kind of hawk, are hiding in the trees. I watched them land but now they have blended into the branches and I can hardly see them. The ducks moved on awhile ago, but clearly the hawks are hoping they’ll drift back. White bass jump out of the water

Monday to Wednesday, the algae bloom has taken hold. I can’t imagine that it will dissipate in the time I will be here, I can only imagine it will continue to grow and thicken. Although I do not know, since I have never lived on the water’s edge. Apparently this is an annual event on the western edge of Lake Erie, due to farmers over applying fertilizers which wash off into the waterways. The heavy rains on Saturday and Sunday contributed to the timing of this bloom event, or so I have read.  It’s interesting though, to watch the water current move the scum around. It shifts by the hour moving across this inlet lake. Except where this cottage is, where the currents can’t quite reach and the algae seems stuck and has increased daily.  I booked this Airbnb on December 31 for three weeks of sabbatical time. It was supposed to be a week in July and two in August, but I had to shift it to three weeks in August. Timing is every thing, right? I came here with a plat read and practice painting

A month ago I was finishing the first week of my broken up mini-sabbatical time. After twenty years of working in parish ministry I was finally provided with 14 weeks of sabbatical. I broke up three weeks of it over about six months for some intensive study to gain knowledge and tools for intentional intercultural ministry. This is important in many contexts, but particularly relevant for the one I serve in. I had planned to take 9 weeks this summer broken into about three section: two weeks in Ireland followed by two weeks in the upper peninsula of Michigan. Then a week home where I’d check back in on the congregations and our Partnership in Faith initiative, followed by three weeks at an airbnb on Lake Erie, then a week home to check in on the PiF, then a few more weeks off. Instead I am only taking five weeks this summer which will leave me about six weeks for next summer. My trip to Ireland was rescheduled so if things in the world improve I will do that next year and cobble togeth